#or maybe he is and this is some kinda curse and he possibly also maybe has some influence over electronics still iunno

[d-issent]

Botched. (Dissent AU.)

Peter Sam encounters Proteus. Having had the Sad Story of Smudger in the back of his mind for decades, he wishes on a whim for Smudger to be restored. Months later, after a remarkable discovery at the Mid Sodor, rebuild!Smudger is indeed - well, rebuilt - but has seemingly lost all of his memories in “exchange.” He loses his personality, his quirks, everything, he’s completely reset.  Peter Sam doesn't do well with guilt. This is part of the Dissent AU! So these guys are all robotisized - robofied? Robotified. Hell if I know. I could've written this with them as their normal engine selves that you see in the show but uhhh I didn't want to! Enjoy!

After days and days of a stalemate, on a hazy, muggy summer evening, Peter Sam finally spoke up, with no one around to hear him but the root cause of his grievances.

“I just feel so guilty,” he blurted out to his shed-mate, “I feel responsible. I feel like I’m the only one at fault for the state you’re in, and I can’t speak about how I feel without someone dismissing everything as ‘just an old fairytale.’ I can’t get closure like that.”

Silence followed his words, at least at first, but soon enough a gentle, almost melodic, metallic ticking of well-oiled parts began to sound, as the second occupant of the shed slowly stretched his arms up to the ceiling. As he moved, the cylinders in his shoulders and elbow joints clunked, releasing a few short, sharp jets of steam, and with it, the tension of the day’s work judging by the sigh of relief that also left him.

“Dunno how I feel about that wording of yours, Peter.” He finally replied, blinking rapidly as the fading daylight from outside prompted the automatic lights in his eyes to flicker on, bathing the shed’s dull, wooden ceiling beams in soft, golden light. Even on their lowest setting, they still illuminated the dust, the cracks and the spider webs stretched across the wood.

Another pause, then his voice sounded again, a twang of something that almost resembled humour mixed into his usual monotone.

“I like to think that I’m in a far better state than some of them poor bastards in the scrapyard at least.”

“That’s setting the bar pretty low if you ask me.” Peter Sam mumbled, his eyebrows pinching together in distress, a crease forming in the soft silicone of his face. “Anyway. My wording’s the least of my worries, God’s sake, Smudger, I’m pouring my heart out to you here, mate.”

“I know, I know. Sorry, I’ll try to be a little more compassionate.”

With another muffled cacophony of clicking and ticking, Smudger hauled himself up into a sitting position, more steam hissed, warming the already humid air.

“I don’t wanna sound like everyone else when I say this, I really don’t,” he began, “but aren’t I enough closure for you? I’m back up and running again, right?”

“Not all of you.” Peter Sam retorted, his voice deepening into an almost pouty, sulking tone. It was a wonder he hadn’t stuck out his bottom lip. “Sure you’re working, Percival even said he’s never seen a re-hauled engine operate so smoothly, but that’s all there is. So what if you’re a ‘miracle of engineering’? You’re not you, Granpuff said so.”

“Duke hasn’t made you feel like this, has he?” Smudger asked. “Because from what I’ve been told, he’s never had the best opinion of me.”

“He hasn’t done anything like that. He never wants to talk about the Mid Sodor anymore.” Peter Sam said defensively, proverbial hackles immediately raising at the thought of the tension between Smudger and his mentor. His hands twitched and twisted in front of him anxiously, wearing down the already peeling, plush grey silicone a little further down his fingertips, revealing the smooth metal beneath. 

Smudger eventually spoke up again, his shoulders pulled up around his head in a tiny shrug. 

“Eh. That’s his cross to bear, I guess. Anyway, even if I’m not all there as you said, I’m not sure if I even wanna be the ‘me’ I was back then if just the thought of that ‘me’ gives our fellow engines a headache, Peter.” 

The older engine tilted his head, eyebrows raising, bringing a little bit of life into his usual plain, weary expression.

“Leave your dang fingers alone. You know it’s not easy for management to get hold of that material. You wanna look like the Terminator?”

“Ugh…”

Peter Sam threw his mauled hands down with a groan of frustration, but the itch to do something with his hands just wouldn’t leave him, and soon enough he was back, almost stealthily picking at the peeling silicone, hoping against hope that Smudger wouldn’t notice.

Silence fell between the two of them, in which the air around them hung heavily with troubles yet to be spoken about, grievances yet to be aired. Peter Sam really couldn’t stand it, he knew that the night was drawing in, and with it the other engines, all groaning and complaining half-heartedly about the day’s work, yet all of them still content and chatting away, filling the shed with noise and stripping away all privacy. He wasn’t sure if he could go another day without getting this off of his chest, he feared his boiler might explode.

“Look. I know how silly this sounds, I know it’s nonsense!” He blurted out, voice high and wavering with misery. “But I know what I saw and I know what I did. I wanted you to be found, I wished for it, I asked Proteus to save you and he said, consider it done! Should’ve known that it would’ve been too good to be true; that it was a botched deal; look at what he’s done to you!”

He turned in his seat, gesturing wildly towards his bemused friend.

“You’re a total blank slate! I know everyone is all cock-a-hoop about your re-haul, everyone’s always talking about how good a job they did and everybody’s always saying how well you run and how bright and glossy your livery is, but what does it matter? You get up; you do your work; you come back here and that’s it! You hardly talk to anyone, you barely react to anything, it’s like you’re sleepwalking through life. Is that really what you want?”

“Sleepwalking through work doesn’t sound so bad.” Smudger quipped.

“God above, Smudger…”

Peter Sam ran his patchy hands down his face, the last remnants of steam leaking out from his ears, covering his face in a misty halo, obscuring his expression for a moment. 

He continued on.

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for you to be so apathetic about everything, I asked for you to be given a second chance, but what does that matter if he didn’t bring you back? You’re completely rebuilt, you don’t have a single original part left, save for your chip, and even that got completely overwritten! It’s like you’re still lost under the Mid Sodor. You don’t remember what happened, you don’t remember who you were, you couldn’t even remember your name when you first came here, for goodness’ sake, and it’s my fault!” 

He exhaled sharply, leaning forward with a creak of metal, his head in his hands, shoulders hunched, a truly pitiful sight to behold.

“I hate sitting on all of this, and I hate that no one believes me.” He grumbled. 

Outside, the muggy, sticky heat was finally given a period of reprieve. From the murky sky, raindrops began to fall, thick and fast, peppering the ground and the buildings of the Skarloey Estate with much needed water, a roll of thunder sounded in the distance, deep yet muffled, a promise of a stormy night yet to come.

From the gaps between his fingers, Peter Sam saw Smudger tilt his head towards the sound inquisitively, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the older engine’s first storm since his retrieval from the Mid Sodor, and his suspicions were confirmed as he spoke;

“Man. It ain’t just you. Dang sky’s yelling at me and all now.” He muttered, his voice almost lost in the white noise of the rain.

Peter Sam grimaced.

“… I’m sorry,” he sighed, finally lifting his head out of his hands, an uncharacteristically haggard expression on his face, it made him look far older than he was, “didn’t mean to shout, really.”

“S’fine. Feels good to yell sometimes. You’re just lucky Handel ain’t around to make a fuss about the noise.”

Another lapse, and outside the rainfall turned into a deluge, pouring from the sky in a great sheet. The temperature steadily dropped, and the scent of petrichor lingered in the air; the sight and the smell normally would’ve brought some sense of comfort to Peter Sam, but tonight the gloomy weather just made him feel boxed in. He gazed reproachfully up into the dark hills that surrounded the estate, eyes narrowing.

Was Proteus up there right now? Skulking around, refusing to interact with anyone, human or engine, loyal to no railway, answering to no man; spreading his spoiled wishes across the island, duping silly little engines like him into thinking they could make a difference.

Oh. If he found him again… 

“Think you’re beating yourself up about this for nothing, y’know.” Smudger said, bright eyes watching the rain, blinking slowly, lazily. “All that spiel that came outta your mouth was great and all. But you didn’t actually stop to ask me how I feel about all of this, the uh… So-called victim of the hillbilly and his faulty lamp.”

Peter Sam drew his knees up to his chest, his face pulled into a sullen, moody arrangement, feeling for all the world like a student being reprimanded by his teacher. It was a weirdly familiar sensation, one that he really didn’t care to look into at the moment.

“Alrighty. Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, doing his best to lighten his tone.

“I ain’t that cheap, sorry,” Smudger sighed, barely disguising a yawn, it was clear that the older engine’s lack of steam was winding him down for the night, but still, he spoke, “look, I just reckon you’re thinking about all of this the wrong way. Sure, I don’t remember anything about Duke, or the Mid Sodor, but from what I’ve been told, I’m not sure I want to.”

“I can understand that.” Peter Sam nodded, though an awful, sour feeling now sat resolutely in his throat, a need to tell Smudger that he should at least be a little curious as to his origins, but he stayed silent, letting the older engine speak on.

“Even if I could remember all of my misfortune, all of my spills, all those decades spent as a generator, I’d probably wanna forget all that crap anyway.” Smudger said simply. “Wouldn’t you? Growing and healing from horrible stuff that’s happened to you is cool when it’s a plot for some cheesy novel, but it sucks in the real world. Would you wanna do it if you didn’t have to? I wouldn’t.”

“Depends on the engine.” Peter Sam pointed out. “Some of my friends wouldn’t be who they are today if they hadn’t gone through the hardships of life.”

“Guess you could argue that, yeah. But I’m not interested in working through everything that’s happened to me,” Smudger replied, “if I was given the choice, and I have been; I’m fine with not knowing. That’s good enough for me, and that should be good enough for you too, right?”

Peter Sam didn’t reply, but it was clear that Smudger’s words hadn’t sat well with him. He was frowning mightily, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and when he finally spoke again, that sulky edge was present once more, rough and grating.

“Being told about who you were and what happened to you isn’t the same as remembering it.” He grumbled. “It’s hard to think about the past, of course it is, but how are we supposed to grow if we don’t? We need that experience and those life lessons, otherwise we never learn anything, we end up doomed to repeat the same things over and over again.”

“Peter, I’m not stuck in a loop, you know.” Smudger said sharply. “I’m not an idiot, man. I’m not doomed to make mistakes and then immediately forget why and how I made them.”

The older engine sighed, a short and sharp exhalation of breath, a frustrated sound.

“Maybe I haven’t started growing yet,” he went on, “maybe you, and Duke have just gotta give me a chance to figure some stuff out first. Maybe this right here is gonna lead me to become whoever I am in the future. ‘Cept this time the world’s a kinder place, this time I’ve got a bit more sense and this time, I’ve got a couple hints as to what I shouldn’t do under my belt. How about that?”

“What happened to you on the Mid Sodor wasn’t right.” Peter Sam said doggedly, and in his anxious fidgeting, an entire strip of silicone was peeled away from his thumb, earning a grimace form him. “Fiddlesticks. You shouldn’t have been put away like that because of a bad track record, no engine who was treated like some object with no sentience did. What humans did to some of us back then was draconian, you know that, right?”

“That’s not what I’m getting at,” Smudger replied with a shake of his head, “I don’t wanna be a victim. I’m tryna reassure you that this is a far, far better start in life for an engine like me, and knowing what little I know about who I was back then is enough to make me wanna be better. Useful, if you want, that sounds like a second chance. Sounds like you got your wish to me.”

“But…”

Peter Sam struggled to think of another point to make, another angle at which he could approach this, all of what Smudger said made sense, but it still did nothing to appease the squirming, nauseating feeling of guilt inside of his stomach.

“Think what this all boils down to is you worrying that after all of that effort to restore me, I’ve ended up as some miserable prick. A bit like Duke,” Smudger snorted, casting a glance at the deluge outside, “contrary to what you think, I’m pretty happy right now. I’m not out in that mess at least. That’s a cause for celebration if you want my opinion.”

Peter Sam finally found himself cracking something like a smile, a wobbly expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and from across the shed, Smudger appeared to notice this, as with a groan of metal, he sat up a little straighter, fixing the younger engine with those intense, yet warm eyes.

“Peter Sam.”

“Smudger?”

“You did a good thing, alright? It’s fine.”

Peter Sam swallowed a retort, a retort that he wasn’t even sure he wanted to make. Something about the way Smudger spoke worked to calm the storm howling away inside of his head, after such a hard conversation, it was strange how just that simple sentence was enough to quell the unease plaguing him.

It’s fine.

Directly above Smudger’s head, the lamp hanging from the wooden ceiling beam suddenly fizzled, the lightbulb buzzing and dimming almost to the point of popping, before it flashed back up again, bright and warm as if nothing had happened.

Smudger glanced up, an eyebrow cocked.

Peter Sam held his breath, hoping against hope that nothing would come of it, hoping that it was just a faulty lightbulb, hoping…

“Someone’s gotta check out the wiring in this shed tomorrow.” Smudger commented, his eyes sliding closed. “Reckon I might know a thing or two about that.”

[batsplat]

if more people knew Herstory (aka 2004 season and sete&vale) so many questions wrt 2015 season(mostly “why would vale….”) would immediately be answered addfghjk like guysssss guyssssss

it is kinda funny that there's a simple cheat code out there to understanding most of valentino's career but it's just about long enough ago that most people simply... ignore it. like there's a three year span that more or less tells you what you need to know about him. it's like you say! pretty much every possible "why would vale..." secretly has a straightforward answer, and 9/10 it's something that was established in 2003 to 2005. simple as

if anything it's almost annoying because it's too easy. the 2004/2015 stuff in particular is incredibly funny. oh, so you say you have a controversial last lap at assen where valentino beat a rival in direct combat and said rival reacted surprisingly poorly, making valentino reevaluate his relationship with the rival? might that tell you something about how a seed of suspicion once sown can remain dormant for months until valentino is given cause to revisit it? valentino quite literally says in his biography that he could never have hated biaggi because he wasn't a friend and didn't have the power to hurt him... the sepang pressers thing is genuinely just silly, I know this is mainly a function of when they happen in the calendar but what a bizarre coincidence. 2015 is like a slightly more opaque funhouse mirror version of 2004 - but so many of the major beats are virtually identical. which means you've got a season Out There where a younger less experienced less guarded less cynical valentino basically walks you through his internal processes so you get a really good handle of what his deal is. he's piecing together his identity as a competitor going forwards in real time - and then in 2015 he just reminds you of what exactly that identity involves. it's a reaffirmation and not a departure... he's not that inscrutable after all, in the end

[inbarfink]

When talking about the distinction between Simon Petrikov and the Ice King,  it’s important to remember that originally, the Crown wasn’t trying to turn Simon into Ice King -

It was trying to turn him into this guy.

At the time, the Ice Crown - or rather the Wishing Crown - was programmed with Gunther’s wish to become Evergreen. So everything related to making the current wearer like Evergreen is a very direct result of the Crown’s Magic. The physical changes -

And the obsession with the name ‘Gunther’ -

And maybe some of the irritability and anger issues -

That is something the Crown is very directly forcing unto its current wielder. 

But everything else?

Ice King, personality-wise, was not much like Evergreen at all, or even like Gunther's view of him. And Ice Finn of the Farmworld Universe was also pretty different from the both of them.

At the time, I remember people assumed Ice Finn’s behavior is more indicative of what the Crown is actually trying to do with its wielders. That Ice King is so different because of Simon’s subconscious resistance against the Crown - while Finn’s much younger and dumber brain is a lot susceptible to the Curse’s influence to become some sort of mad world-conquering emperor of ice and snow. 

But, with the context of the Crown’s actual backstory. That doesn’t seem very likely anymore. I think what’s actually happening there is that the Crown is just trying to make its wielder an Ice Wizard on par with Evergreen (who was the Actual Goddam Ice Elemental) and that means pumping the wielder’s brain so full of Magic, Madness and Sadness to a level that is bound to overwhelm anyone.

And Simon’s and Farmworld Finn’s very different behaviors after putting on the crown is indicative, more than anything, of how their psyche reacts to Madness and Sadness in general. You know, Finn has a very proactive and kinda aggressive personality - and you add Crown-induced-Madness-and-Sadness and a compulsion to use Ice Magic as much as possible and you get all of…. this 

Meanwhile, for Simon, the compulsions of the Crown originally filtered exclusively via the language of protection 

As his madness always manifested as romantic obsession 

And using goofy humor to try and deny the pain he’s going through 

Because that’s how Simon’s mind specifically reacts to being flooded with so much Madness and Sadness.

That’s why there’s so many parallels between Ice King and the sort of mistakes and screwed-up stuff Simon does right now! He’s even kidnapping people again!

Because the Madness and Sadness of Ice King might’ve been induced by the Crown, but now Simon has plenty of personal home-grown Madness and Sadness inside him - and it’s no surprise that Curse-Induced or not, his mind reacts to it in a sorta-similar way. (Although obviously not as intensely, again, there was a LOT of MMS in the Ice Crown).

Now as for Ice Thing, and the fact that he seems to be actually rather well-adjusted under effects of his version of the Wishing Crown. I mean... not by the time of the 1000+ Era, but that’s literally eons in the future and also maybe more Gibbon’s fault. Even if the Crown will eventually take some sort of toll on him, for now he seems to be doing pretty well considering his wish. I mean, there's still some sort of Loss of Identity stuff going on

But everything we've seen of Ice Thing (in the present day, at least) shows him as a friendly and cheerful individual that gets along well with others. A far cry from how maladjusted every single wielder of the Ice Crown acted.

At the very least, if there's any notable amount of Sadness in him, we really haven't seen it yet.

There might be several factors here:

First things first, I should acknowledge the possibility that it’s just that Orgalorg’s eldritch brain is better at intaking all that MMS juice. That could play a part, but I think it’s probably more important, at least thematically, to look at the distinction between ‘I wish to be Evergreen’ and ‘I wish to be Ice King’. 

First in the sense that while Ice King was occasionally mean to Gunter at times - he was generally much kinder than Evergreen ever was for ‘his’ Gunther. So, like, pretty much the one Personality Flaw of Ice King that you can directly link to the Ice Crown’s attempt to mimic Evergreen is the occasional anger issues.

And how they relate to Gunther’s view of Evergreen, so grumpy and controlling and constantly saying ‘NO!’

(Both Finn and Simon’s demonstrable not-crown-induced trauma responses can make them pretty short-tempered as well. So I’m not going to say this is purely the effects of the Crown. It still probably plays some sort of factor at why the wielder of the Ice Crown is Like That).

And that is not a factor in how Gunter views Ice King. For him, Ice King was a doting and loving father figure - so if the Crown was ever trying to implement any sort of specific negative personality traits, this is absolutely no longer a factor. Because the original Ice Crown was a reflection of Evergreen’s abuse, and now Ice Thing is a reflection of Ice King’s fatherly love.

Which is, itself, probably an echo or remnant of Simon’s own strong parental instincts. 

Secondly, while the Crown was trying to make the Ice King just as powerful as Evergreen…. Ice King was obviously not as powerful as Evergreen. Because he was already a second-rate copy of the Ice Elemental’s power, and because Ice King was often just too doofy to use his powers correctly and probably because some remnant of Simon’s original sensible self is subconsciously holding his powers back.

Either way, being ‘like Ice King’ as Gunter sees him requires less Magic than being ‘like Evergreen’ as Gunther saw him - and therefore less Madness and Sadness. Leading to the wearer or, um, the eater being a lot more well-adjusted from the get-go.

And I think that the implication that Ice Thing has fused with the Crown, so there's never going to be another poor sap who puts on the Crown and gets Ice King'd. But if there is one somehow... at least the process is going to be less mentally detrimental that time around?

Maybe one day Simon could look back and appreciate how much he (or Ice King, or both of them, or however you want to look at the situation) is responsible for basically neutralizing the Crown that ruined his life in the first place.

[monzabee]

prison for life - mv1

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where if anybody hurts you, Max is going to prison for life.

Pairing: max verstappen x pregnant!reader 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of throwing up, cursing, kinda angsty in some places, jos verstappen

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i’ve been in such a max mood recently that is actually shocking to me, but i just needed some fluffy anything after working on smutty pieces for weeks. i got this idea in my dream and honestly i think it turned out better than i could’ve imagined!! feedback is always appreciated, and my requests are currently open if you want to check that out, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

If you would have to choose a word to describe Max, it would be ‘overprotective’, because that’s what he is. It’s not a bad thing, per say. He isn’t overbearing or controlling at all, but he is simply overprotective. And if you thought he was overprotective when the two of you were dating or when you first got married, you have to admit that you were not, at all, prepared for his protectiveness when you told him that you were pregnant. Apart from his initial meltdown over becoming a dad, or rather becoming like his own father, Max has been pretty chill about the whole thing – with the exception being your safety, of course. The underlying problem isn’t the fact that you’re some sort of daredevil because you’re not, the problem is the fact that Max believes that everything is out to get you. 

The olives you wanted to eat for breakfast? Choking hazard.  

The candles you bought for the living room (to be purely decorative, but still)? Fire hazard.  

The pool lounger Victoria thought would be a cute addition to the pool? Drowning hazard.  

The seatbelt in his car that is surprisingly tight? Could be all three, according to Max, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.  

So, yeah, maybe he wasn’t that scared of becoming a dad, but he was surely scared of you being in danger. That’s why you agreed to stay back for the most races this year – you knew he didn’t need to worry about you or your baby’s safety on top of the stress he had to deal with during the usual racing weekend. That was until you realised how much you would miss your boyfriend after almost a month of not seeing him due to a triple header. And so, you did the thing any person with a common sense would do – flying out to see him without telling him beforehand, because what’s the fun in that?  

The sheer look of shock on his face might be the funniest thing you’ve ever seen when you meet him in his driver’s room, but of course Max doesn’t share the same sentiment as you. Because all he chooses to focus is the fact that you were on a plane – a 0.23% risk out of very 7.7 million flights each year, but still. He spends at least half an hour, just checking you over and assuring himself that you and the baby are fine; at some point he decides that you need to go to the nearest hospital to get an ultrasound just to make sure the baby is okay, but you tell him to fuck off and calm his tits down in the kindest way possible. And that’s how the two of you end up on the small couch in his driver’s room, with his arms around you as you lay between his legs, his hands splayed on the swell of your stomach as he caresses the skin through the fabric of your dress. His voice is low as he tells you about his day, mostly media duties since it is only Thursday, and how he thinks putting a cat tree in the nursery is a bad idea (that was your idea initially, but you can see how having two rumbunctious cats hang out in the nursery could cause problems). 

“I also thought about something else,” he mumbles, suddenly busying himself with the flower pattern of your dress instead of looking at you.  

You raise your brows slightly, motioning him to continue, but let out a huff when he doesn’t do so right away. “Come on,” you whine softly, “tell me what it is Maxie.”  

“I don’t want him to get into karting.” His words are soft, mumbled, and most definitely final. You know how Max can be when he puts his mind into it, and this particular topic has been a discussion in your household ever since the two of you found out that you were having a boy. “I don’t want him to go through what I went through.” 

Letting out a soft exhale, you motion Max to six next to you on the couch. “He won’t,” you assure him, voice soft as you give pleading looks at him, “you’re not your father, Max.” He gives you a look that basically begs for you to not dwell on the topic, but you continue despite the look he gives you, “And what if he wants to get into karting? Are you going to tell him no?” 

Max tries his best to ignore the knowing look you give him, knowing very well that he won’t be able to ever say ‘no’ to his son, who already has him wrapped around his finger. “I might do that, you never know.” He grumbles, hiding his face in your hair – though the soft giggles coming from you manages to put a soft smile on his face. “You’re supposed to agree with me, you know, we have to be a united front.”   

“We’ll discuss it when the baby comes, until then, I’ll be the voice of reason.” You emphasise, poking him at his bicep to convey your point. “You feel better now?” 

“Kinda,” he murmurs, leaving small kisses onto the exposed skin of your shoulder as he keeps on murmuring against your skin, “I would feel better if I knew you stayed in bed all day, relaxing.” 

With that, you choke a loud laugh, and motion him to stand up as you try to do it yourself – though, of course, he has to help with the baby bump being in the way of you doing any sort of physical activity. “You’re funny, let’s go get me ice cream.”  

The only response you get back is a confused look from your husband, his head tilted to the side as he eyes you warily. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Um, excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow, “Your son,” pointing to your stomach, you emphasise your words, “is craving ice cream right now.”  

Max’s eyes soften instantly, and a smile creeps across his face. He nods, taking your hand gently as he helps you up. “Well, if my son wants ice cream, then ice cream he shall have.” 

You giggle as you both make your way out of the driver’s room, Max's hand never leaving yours. The paddock is bustling with activity, but for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, cocooned in your little world. As you approach the nearest concession stand, Max’s protective instincts kick in once again. “Is this ice cream stand safe? How long have they been here? Do they have the proper health certifications?” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Max, it’s ice cream, not a five-course meal. I’m sure it’s fine.” He sighs but nods, deciding to trust your judgment. After all, you did manage to fly all the way here without incident and somehow alerting him. You both get a generous serving of your favourite flavours, and as you sit down to enjoy your treat, you feel a sense of normalcy and contentment wash over you. 

Max watches you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. “I know I can be overprotective,” he says softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face, “but it’s only because I love you so much.” 

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I know, Max. And I love you too. But sometimes, you need to trust that everything will be okay. We’ll figure things out together, just like we always do.” 

He nods, his gaze shifting to your belly. “You’re right. I guess I need to talk to my mom.”  

“Why?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.  

“Well, she promised me she’d look after you but you’re here, so I think we need to have a talk about not keeping secrets from each other.” He mumbles, dragging a hand down his face. 

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Oh, Maxie, who do you think helped me with my bags at the airport? Your mom is unsurprisingly a strong woman.” 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known better than to think you’d stay put for a whole month.” He sighs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Alright, but next time, at least let me know you’re planning something. My heart can only take so much.” 

Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice-cream into at least staying put withing the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice cream into at least staying put within the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. He periodically checks in, making sure you're comfortable and well-fed. Each time he sneaks a glance your way, you catch him with a knowing smile and a roll of your eyes, and he returns it with a wink. He knows that there is absolutely no reason for him to be checking on you as much as he does, because you’ll be fine in the cool hospitality suite with enough water to keep you hydrated for years, but he can’t help but worry about anything and everything going wrong. And his worries prove to be true when he sees the one person who he definitely doesn’t want around you.  

“What are you doing here?” He asks the approaching figure, “I thought you were not going to be coming to this race but the next one.”  

“Given the drop in your performance in the last few races I thought I should be here for... support.” His dad supplies, eyes finding you behind his son’s back on one of the couches in the hospitality, “And I can see the reason for why you’ve been distracted lately, what is she doing here?”  

Max scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest protectively, “She’s my wife, she is more than welcome to be here.” 

“She’s also a distraction, Max,” his father points out, “you’re going to lose your focus if you keep–” 

Since Max is faster than his father where it matters the most, he cuts him off before he can say anything further. “Leave, I don’t want you here.” 

Max’s father looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before they narrow into a scowl. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. 

“You heard me,” Max replies firmly, his stance unwavering. “I don’t want you here if you’re going to criticize my wife and stress me out, or worse, stress her out.” 

“You’re being irrational,” his father argues, taking a step closer. “I’m just trying to help you stay focused.” Seeing that his son is not going to back down anytime soon, he points a threatening finger towards him. “I’ll be back on race day, but you better be ready to put in a winning performance,” his father finishes, his voice laced with finality. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tense silence in his wake. 

Max sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair as he watches his father disappear into the crowd. Looking back at you over his shoulder, talking to some interns from the social media team, he can’t help but feel the dread of you having to face his father – which gives him another reason to somehow stop the two of you from running into each other during the weekend.  

On Friday, Max’s luck decides to do him a favour as you tell him that you’re not feeling well enough to go to the track with him for the qualifying, and though it is true that he wants you to be with him, he also realises that this will give him one less thing to worry about. He knows how stressful it can be for you to navigate the bustling paddock and deal with the crowds, especially with the added pressure of possibly encountering his father. 

“You rest up, okay?” he says, his voice full of concern. “I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything, just call me.” 

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I will, Max. Good luck today. We'll be cheering you on from here.” 

Max leans down to kiss your forehead gently as he mumbles into your skin, “I love you.”  

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice soft and comforting, “be careful out there, okay?” 

Max has one goal throughout qualifying, and to his team principal’s dismay, it is not being on pole. His one and only goal is to get the session done with as quickly as possible and get back to you as soon as he can. After the session ends, he barely waits for the car to come to a stop before jumping out and heading straight for the hospitality suite. His team notices his urgency but knows better than to question it once he tells them he’ll pay whatever fine the FIA will give him for missing his interviews. 

Bursting through the door, Max finds you resting comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The sight of you immediately calms his racing heart. “Hey,” he says softly, walking over to sit beside you. “How are you feeling?” 

You smile up at him, still in his team gear and the hat he almost never takes off, the warmth in your eyes easing his worries. “Better, now that you're here. How did it go?” 

“Starting on pole,” he replies, mostly in a mumble, taking your hand in his. “But all I could think about was getting back to both of you.” 

You squeeze his hand, your expression tender. “I'm proud of you, Max. You did great.” 

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thanks. Let's just relax for the rest of the day, hm? I want to hold you to make sure you’re not getting out of this bed until tomorrow.” 

“You know, I would be happier about this proposal if it was until different circumstances,” you sigh, earning a laugh from him as he pulls you towards his chest, being careful not to spill your tea, of course. Why? Because it is a safety hazard, of course. 

As you settle back into the bed together, Max feels a sense of relief wash over him. The stress of the day melts away in your presence, and he realizes how much he needs these quiet moments with you to forget all about the outside world and focus his energy on what actually matters instead. 

The next day, feeling much better, you prepare to join Max at the track for the race. He’s still concerned but reassured by your determination to support him. As you arrive at the paddock together, Max is more attentive than ever, keeping an eye out for his father in hopes of trying to prevent the two of you running into each other. Navigating through the bustling paddock, Max keeps a protective arm around your waist, and a hand on your bump whenever the two of you stand somewhere talking to someone, guiding you through the throngs of people. His eyes constantly scan the crowd, his jaw set in a determined line. The other drivers and team members greet you warmly, and you return their smiles, feeling the anticipation that surrounds you. 

“Max, relax a bit,” you whisper, squeezing his hand as you notice the tension in his posture. 

He glances down at you, his expression softening slightly. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “but we’re here to enjoy the race and support you. Try to focus on that.” 

He nods, taking a deep breath as both of you make your way to the Red Bull hospitality area. The team welcomes you with open arms, and you settle into a comfortable spot where you can watch the preparations for the race. He asks one of the interns to keep an eye on you, which he thought he was being sly whilst doing it, but you of course catch him in the corner of your eye. That’s when you realise the man walking towards him, your eyes meeting in nothing short of disdain for each other.  

You stiffen slightly, your hand tightening around Max’s hand as he turns just in time to see his father approaching, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he lets go of your hand and decides to wrap his arm around you protectively instead. 

“Max,” Jos says, his tone neutral but carrying an underlying condescension. “We need to talk before your race begins, walk with me.” 

Max's grip tightens around you for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold. “What is it, Dad?” he asks, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. 

Jos's eyes flicker to you before focusing back on Max. “I wanted to discuss strategy, but I can see this isn't a good time.” 

Max's jaw clenches, his protective instincts on high alert. “If it's important, we can talk here. I’m not leaving her side.”  

Jos sighs, clearly frustrated. “Fine, if that's how you want it.” 

Max’s arm remains firmly around you as his father steps closer. “Make it quick,” Max insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. If other people were to see your eyes moving from one Verstappen to the other, they’d probably think you are watching a tennis match, though the situation in front of you is certainly more tense than that. 

Jos glances at you once more before addressing Max. “I just wanted to remind you to stay focused. Pole position is a great start, but you need to keep your head in the race.” 

Max's eyes narrow, and he lets out a scoff, “I know how to do my job, no need for reminder. Anything else?” 

Jos shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. “Just don’t let distractions cost you the win.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Max hisses, taking a step towards his father as he gently pushes you behind himself. You have to put a hand against his chest to slow him down, though that doesn’t prove to be a sufficient prevention method. “I already told you; she is my wife, and he is not going anywhere so you better get that into that damaged brain of yours.” 

“Max,” you try to plead with him, “please, not before your race.”  

He gives you a look over his shoulder for a short moment before turning back towards his father. His jaw is set as he looks at the man in front of him. “I’ll only tell you this one more time. When she’s here with me, you don’t show up. If you do show up, you don’t come near her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t even look at her.” Another step taken towards his father has you tightening your hold on him, but he still manages to convey his message. “Try something like this again, and you won’t be in my life anymore let alone my son’s.” 

Jos's lips press into a thin line, his eyes darting to you briefly before settling back on Max. “Fine,” he repeats, his tone colder. “Just remember what’s at stake every time you get behind the wheel.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.”

It’s not the first time Max has stood up to his father, not by any means. But you can tell that this time affects him in a different way. The weight of the words exchanged and the implications for their future relationship linger in the air. You can feel the tension radiating from Max as he watches his father walk away, and it takes a moment for him to relax his posture and turn back to you. “Please tell me something that will calm me down so I don’t somehow do something that would put me to jail.”

“Okay,” you singsong, quickly positioning yourself in front of him so that you can fix him with a strict look on your face. “You are not doing something that will put you into prison, period.”

“I’m going to need a very good reason because all I want to do right now is follow him to his car and punch him.” Unfortunately for you, the way his jaw is set is a telling sign that, no, Max would actually do something like this given the circumstances.

“There is no sim racing in prison.” You try to provide, giving him a weak smile.  

Max's lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile at your words, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “No sim racing in prison, huh? Do you honestly think that would keep me from doing something stupid?” 

“I panicked!” You exclaim, hitting him on his chest lightly as he laughs at you silently. “How are you supposed to help me raise our son,” you point to your stomach to emphasise your point, “if you’re in prison, huh?”

Max's smile grows wider, the tension in his posture finally starting to melt away. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. “I need to be here for both of you. But it’s so damn hard to ignore him.” 

You reach up and cup his face in your hands, your eyes soft and filled with understanding. “I know, but you’re stronger than him. And you have more important things to focus on. Like winning this race and getting me more ice cream on our way back to the hotel.” 

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly as he lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re right. I can’t let him get to me. Not today.” 

“Exactly,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, “I usually am.” 

Max laughs, the sound lightening the mood even more. “Yes, you usually are,” he agrees, pulling you closer for a brief kiss. “Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now, go out there and show everyone what you can do. We’ll celebrate with ice cream afterward.” 

“Deal,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with affection and determination. With one last squeeze, he lets you go and turns towards his team, his focus now fully on the race ahead. “But I feel like I need to let you know that I would definitely go to prison for life for you.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t you have a race to win, Verstappen?” 

He grins, giving you one last kiss before heading off to prepare for the race, giving you a grin over his shoulder as he starts to move away, “So, I’ll get the rest of that kiss after the race, then?” 

“Yeah, Max,” you let out a breathy laugh, your eyes not leaving his for a moment, “after the race!” 

[yoyomomiko]

WHAT ARE UR HEADCANONS 4 DAISUKE X READER??????

Pairings: Daisuke x F!reader

Warnings: a lil cringe, maybe some cursing, not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, ENGLISH isn't my first language!!

(A/N): OMG I LOVE DAISUKE😍😍 ANYWAYS THIS IS KINDA SHORT AND RUSHED BECAUSE I WAS EXCITED TO WRITE THIS I'M SO SORRY👉👈 -> m.list

★CRUSHING/CONFESSION

Hear me out, you fell first he fell harder.

I am very confident that at first he didn't even realize he himself had a crush on you... Like, he wanted to make you laugh more than he wanted to to the others, he always wanted to help you and be there for you... So, he pieced two and two together, and figured out that he actually was in love with you.

If he were to tell someone (probably not) it would OFCCC be our nice old man Swansea☺️

You see, Daisuke is very... Uhm, an idiot, so he won't understand when you're flirting with him. That's just him, he's too dense. You have to speak up, or else he won't pick up.

He always cracks jokes around you just to try and make you laugh😀

But like, it's so obvious he likes you

He's following you like a lost puppy, eager to please you in ANY way.

He's crushing on you so hard...

You kinda notice it since he just helps you with everything, offering help with your chores or just anything in general.

HE THINKS HE'S HIDING IT SOOO WELL BUT IN REALITY AT LEAST SOMEBODY CAUGHT UP TO IT (probably Swansea duh)

Let's say he's the one to confess first...

He would do it on accident for SURE. Do what you will with that information, let your imagination get ahead of you😍 (I'm actually lazy that's why I didn't write it but yeah whatever sue ME)

So then, he realizes what he said and then you also confess and BOOM, he's all over you. Good luck trying to get rid of him (who tf would do that🤨)

★DURING THE RELATIONSHIP

This man will go show you off the moment you two have an established relationship (unless you don't wanna)

RANTS TO SWANSEA ABOUT YOU

No but fr Swansea's probably tired of hearing him babble about you, he seriously had to force him to shut up just for a small moment of peace. BUT he secretly likes the fact that Daisuke is happy so like🤭

Daisuke is a really energetic guy so I feel like if you match his vibe he's never gonna let you go

LISTEN TO MEEE, he loves both physical affection AND words of affirmation, he's big on BOTH.

If he could, he would hold your hand forever, NEVER would he let go of you. He wants to hold you, close, for as long as possible.

If you decide at some point to sleep in the same bed, you will get cuddles every single night.

Big spoon or little spoon, he doesn't care. Just TOUCH him, in ANY way, he doesn't care and doesn't mind just do it!!

OMG PRAISE HIM

He always searches for your compliments, just PRAISE HIM please, tell him you're proud of him or something IDKKKK

"Did I do good?" "I'm doing great, right?"

UGH if there's something he loves most about you (he would kiss every inch of your body but whatevs) it's definetly your laugh.

Okay, maybe it's the way you praise him at the end of each day.

Okay, no, MAYBE it's the way you play with his hair while he slowly drifts to sleep from your soothing touch.

Okay, maybe he just loves you wholeheartedly and would do anything for you (he's whipped)

I imagine that he seeks out for head pats. Just pat his head. Pet him or sum idk ask him.

While in bed, he definitely headbutts your palm just to let you know what he wants. Cause like at first he just nudges you but if you don't get the hint, he'll straight up headbutt your hand (I saw someone say this and I love you for that)

CALL HIM A GOOD BOY UGHHH

Lowkey imagine if you called him a good boy tho that's crazy

I have to say that I think Daisuke, as much of a dumbass as he is, listens very well.

He's surprisingly very good at comforting you

He might now understand you, but he listens, and tries his best

TELL HIM YOU'RE PROUD OF HIM OMG

He's gonna find cheesy nicknames for you so buckle up >⁠.⁠<

Daisuke LOVES kissing you, there, I said it.

Whether it's a small peck on the cheek or a full on make out session, he's gonna enjoy it and THANK you.

He sometimes wonders how he pulled you ngl🤨

If like, some sort of small argument got in between you, he'll be apologizing on his knees and begging you to forgive him with snot running down

Imagine you called him a good boy that'd lowkey be crazy

If you somehow ever decide to wear a piece of clothing that belongs to him, it WILL be yours.

He's gonna squeal like a school girl and compliment youuu

Overall 10/10 boyfriend. He's sweet, charismatic, energetic, a bit of an airhead, kisses the ground you walk on, and bonus for being handsome.

★yoyomiko ★miko

[f1goat]

kinda hot tho ; lando norris + part one

In which your brother has the most awful new teammate, but you keep finding yourself closer and closer to him. It's only sex - right?

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader trigger warnings: offensive language | player!lando | smut (eventually) | not proofread

a/n: this story is based on another story of mine (his teammate), in the beginning it'll have a lot of similarities, later on this will become less.

3.5k words

masterlist | playlist

It’s hard to forget about the day your older brother, Formula One driver and three time champion, Max Verstappen found out about his new teammate at RedBull. When he first heard the name of his new teammate, he laughed and thought it was a joke. However when he noticed that the team was serious about it, his mood shifted. You remember that afternoon easily. It was filled with angry phones calls, many curse words - even so many that it surprised you, and many, many complaints from your brother. 

At first, you didn’t really get it. What could possibly be the problem? Max always wanted a teammate who could challenge him on the race track. Earlier he always complained about previous teammates who weren’t any competition. So, what could the problem be? Eventually, after Max told you to Google his new teammate, his reaction started to make sense. Your first impression of his newest teammate? Trouble. Maybe even with a capital T. Or wait, probably with every letter in caps lock. 

Lando Norris seems to be the kind of driver that cares about no one. He isn’t like Lewis Hamilton who’s putting effort in all kind of good deeds for society. He’s nothing like Yuki Tsunoda who helped cleaning the streets after the flood in Imola. He’s not like Pierre Gasly and Charles Leclerc who always seems to be hanging out with each other in their spare time. He’s nothing like your brother who tries to have a good relationship with everyone on the grid. Lando Norris doesn’t seem to care about things like that.

After even more searching around you were quick to find out that Lando Norris seems to care about a couple things next to himself. Racing, of course. But, not a big surprise, he also seems to care a lot about girls. Or maybe you should rephrase that, he cares about sex. There are many stories online about him with different girls. He’s photographed with many women while making out or taking them home. Next to those girls, it seems that he mostly cares about himself. You heard from different people on the grid that Lando Norris is one of the most egocentrically drivers on the grid. He cares about himself, but nothing about others. 

There was one surprise during your stalk session online. Some guy named Max Fewtrell. It took you a lot of digging but you found someone Lando Norris really seems to care about. It looks like they’re friends. Slowly you start to find out more about the friendship. You find a couple videos of them streaming together. It’s the first video you see in which Lando Norris actually seems to have fun. Then you notice the older age of those videos. A lot must have changed in the last years. 

After stalking him online like that you feel like a proper FBI agent. Eventually you decide that your brother has spend a long time as the villain of Formula One, but it’s safe to say that Lando Norris took that title from him. He’s an arrogant ass. Media don’t know a lot about him, only about the player facade that he seems to have settled with. His socials are done by social media workers from his previous teams and now RedBull. He doesn’t post anything himself, not even a story. It seems like he has walls as high as the Mount Everest all around him.

You haven’t formally met him yet, but now with the first race happening right in front of you, that won’t be long anymore you guess. Even without meeting him, you do understand your brothers reaction. It seems like Lando Norris won’t be a nice teammate for him. Max has been complaining since he first formally met him.

“He doesn’t care about team results at all.” “He doesn’t even greet me.” “It seems like he is mean to everyone on the team.” “He doesn’t give a fuck about anything else then himself.” 

You can dream about Max his complains. It’s a shame, really. On paper it seemed like they could have been great teammates. Even a match for a friendship maybe. Your brother has put his reputation aside and is well liked by his friends, co-drivers and many fans. At first you thought that Max could get Lando to be a bit more open, but it didn’t work like that. 

Some pretty frustrated sounds awake you from your thoughts. You almost forget that you were setting in the RedBull garage and there’s a race going on right now. It’s your first race in a long time. It’s also the first race of the season. You wonder what those sounds caused. Multiple team members are making annoyed sounds in the mean time. You watch at the screen. When you look at it, you’re quick to notice what’s going wrong. There are two cars of the track. Two cars who previously drove on top. Two drivers who are going down in the ranks with three small, but feared, letters next to their name. DNF. When they play the replay, you see what everyone else already saw. 

Lando and your brother pushed each other off the track. 

Fucking idiots. You can’t think anything else than that right now. You’re tempted to say that it’s Lando his fault, that the team should blame him. But, you can’t. You don’t know enough about the rules to make such statements. And, how longer you look at the replay how more you doubt. It almost seems like a racing incident in which the both of them take too much space from each other. Were they testing each other? Wondering which of them would back out first? Apparently neither. They would both rather crash. What a great team. 

It’s your brothers teammate who’s first to arrive back at the motorhome. This race week you’ve barely seen him. You have only seen him from distrance. That seems to change now. Of course, you’ve seen photographs, video’s and even TikTok edits from him before, but it’s only now that you realize how he actually looks. You can’t help yourself and stare at him. The angry look on his face is hard to miss. You want to say that it’s a shame that he looks so angry. You’ve seen enough ‘normal’ pictures in which you found yourself liking the looks of him. Yes, you don’t like him - but even you can’t deny that he’s beautiful. You like the way his curls seem to have a mind of their own. You like it how he always seems to be dressed in a casual hoodie, no matter the temperature. Something about him breathes calmness. At least, normally. 

You want to say that it’s a shame that he looks angry. But you can’t. In some weird and twisted way you can only think about how hot he looks when he’s angry. Fuck. 

“What the fuck was that Norris?”

It’s Christian Horner who is the first one to say something. You shiver from the harsh tone he uses. Max told you before that Christian is pretty good at getting angry, but it almost never happens with his own team. You start to fear for his reaction to Max. 

“I told you to keep it clean!” Christian continues to shout when he doesn’t get a reply from Lando fast enough. This time Lando is ready to react. You notice the way his eyes darken and how he clenches his jaw. Why does he look only hotter like this?

“Tell that to your other driver,” Lando sneers, “The fucker crashed into me.”

You can actually hear the frustration dripping from Lando his words. You don’t like it. Neither do you like the way he tries to paint your brother as the bad guy here. They both did it. 

“I don’t care if you have any plans for the rest of the day, you can cancel them all. Max, you and me are going to talk until we’re sure this won’t happen again,” Christian states.

“Oh fuck off,” Lando sighs with an angry tone in his voice, “We’ll fight it out on track like actual race drivers.” You notice how his volume is getting higher with every word he speaks. He’s almost screaming by now.

“Like you did today?” Christian asks annoyed. Lando nods. “Oh great! That’s such a great fucking plan. Let’s just crash every race and ruin the whole season. Don’t you think?” Christian continues sarcastically. It seems like Christian has more to say, but Lando is already walking away from his teamboss. He storms off to his drivers room. 

And apparently just in time, it’s your brother who’s just walking in as well. Christian is quick to see Max as well. He’s even quicker to start shouting at him as well. It’s the same things he told Lando before. You’re not in the mood for another screaming match. You know your brother well enough to know that this one will take a while. Max isn’t the type to walk away from them like Lando just did. Plus, you guess he’s pretty frustrated and ready to tell Christian all about that. That’s why you decide to walk away from all the screaming that’s going on. You rather spend some time in Max his drivers room until it’s a bit more calmed down. 

There’s only one small problem. Max did show you his driver room. He did tell you that you could be there whenever you wanted. However, it was during a whole tour that he showed you where his drivers room was. So, you aren’t really sure where it is anymore. A bit clueless you do however start your search. 

You wander around for a bit. You wonder why they haven’t gotten name tags around the different rooms. Eventually you’re pretty sure that you’re in the right hall way. Only one problem left, which one of the two doors is the one you should have? You’re well aware that if you chose the wrong door, you’re going to meet Lando Norris. And it doesn’t really seem to be the right timing for something like that. 

Eventually you do chose one of the doors. 

“Fuck off.”

Of course, you chose the wrong one. That must be your luck. You barely dare to look up right now, you’re sure that Lando is already sending you angry looks right now. His tone said more then enough. When you do look up, you’re quick to meet Lando his angry eyes. You should be worried about that. However, you seem to find yourself distracted when you notice that Lando isn’t wearing more then his underwear right now. 

“Shit, sorry,” you stammer nervously, “I thought..”

You can’t even finish your sentence. Lando is quick to interrupt you. 

“You thought what?” He asks you. “Did you thought that you could come here to talk to me about how I fucked up your dear brothers race?” He continues to sneer. 

You actually don’t know what to say right now. A small part of you is surprised that Lando even seems to know who you are, or at least that your Max’s sister. But every other part of you is getting more mad with the second. What did he just say? How does he even come up with things like that? What a dick.

“Are you fucking deaf?” Lando asks you annoyed. “I don’t care about you, your brother or what happened on the track so don’t try to make me.”

You start to get angry as well now. Who does this boy think he is to talk to you like this? Doesn’t he know the word respect? He’s even worse then you already thought. Lando keeps looking at you. For the first time you focus your gaze on him as well. You feel a small trial of shivers over your back when you have eye contact with him, but you don’t break the contact.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask him with an annoyed tone in your voice.

“You’re in my fucking room,” Lando reacts.

“I’m not,” you argue, “I’m standing in the doorway, trying to apologize for even opening the door because I thought this was Max his room.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because someone here started to talk to me like I’m some sort of idiot,” you sneer.

“Save it princess,” Lando sneers at you again. 

“Don’t call me that,” you grunt.

“Oh sorry,” Lando sarcastically states, “princess.”

“Stop acting like such a dick,” you sigh annoyed. 

“Not an act babygirl,” Lando tells you, “It’s just how I am.”

“Compromising what you’re missing?” 

That seems to annoy him. “What the fuck do you mean?” Lando asks you annoyed. 

“Do you have to say fuck in almost every sentence?” You sigh. 

Lando steps closer to you. He seems to be waiting for some sort of explanation. You wonder if he doesn’t get the joke or that he thinks you’re serious about it. The only thing you did is implying he has a small dick - and with the way he acts, it’s not like he can’t blame you for saying something like that. You’re getting more and more mad. Lando is even getting closer to you then he was. You can barely stop yourself from taking a step backwards. You don’t want him to know that he’s intimidating you. 

In the mean time Lando wonders about you. Why aren’t you backing down? He takes another step closer to you. He’s feeling the air you’re blowing out on his skin by now. You still don’t take a step backwards. You keep staring at him. It amazes him. 

You look at the frustrated glance in his eyes. It’s a shame you’ve only seen him angry, frustrated and annoyed today. Not a good day to meet with him apparently. 

“What am I missing?” Lando continues to ask you with the same mad tone in his voice.

“I guess that if you feel like you have to act like such a dick, that’s because you’re having a rather small one,” you eventually tell him. 

Lando lets out a low chuckle. “You think I have a small dick?” He asks you.

“Yeah, but I also think that you’re arrogant, don’t have a lot of friends and that you’re a massive player who doesn’t know how love feels,” you slap back. You don’t know where those words came from. The frustration is getting to you. 

Lando is silent for a couple seconds. This is new for him. It’s been a long time since someone said things like this to him. Things he might deserve, but he won’t say that. Eventually he sends you another angry glare. This time he actually takes his time to look at you. Of course he knows you’re the little sister of his new teammate. He has seen some pictures of you before. Yesterday he saw you in your brothers side of the garage. At that point he was trying to get some courage to flirt with you, but eventually he didn’t. Now he’s just surprised about the things you’re saying. Why does he like your attitude?

“I don’t have a small dick princess,” Lando eventually states confidently.

“Great to fucking know,” you reply annoyed, “maybe you can start acting like it.” You don’t wait for another reply from Lando. You’re not in the mood for endless discussions. “I just wanted to say sorry for entering the wrong room, but forget it. I’ll gladly leave you alone Norris,” you tell him. 

With those words you turn away from him. You quickly walk towards the other room, this time finally entering Max his drivers room. You feel Lando his eyes burning on your body. 

Before you can close the door behind you, you hear Lando his voice once more. “Just wait till you find out how big it is,” he tells you. Why does he sound so serious? As if he’d want that. His words sends shivers through your body. Fuck, why have those words such an impact on you?

“I bet you’d beg for it,” Lando adds.

You still feel his eyes on your back. His stare burns on your body. But that isn’t your main concern right now. His words are doing all kind of things to you. You can’t stop thinking about him making you beg for his cock. Fuck. You remind yourself about his awful personality. How you only tried to apologize to him and this is the result of it. He’s a dick. You should be thinking about that, not about his dick. 

But, you still can’t deny that he’s hot.

You slam the door shut before Lando can say anything else. What you don’t see is how he’s still staring at the closed door with a small grin plastered on his face. He wonders when he’ll see you again. Suddenly his new teammate doesn’t seem so bad anymore, at least if he continues to take you to races.

+++

Later that night you’re standing in a short white dress in front of your mirror. Max is sitting on your hotel bed. He lets out a soft sigh when he continues to complain about his new teammate. You try to focus on his words, but also do your make up in the mean time. While applying some mascara, Max complains further.

“He’s just the absolute worst,” Max sighs, “I’ve spend hours in that small office from Christian so we could talk it out. But he didn’t apologize for anything. Even I apologized for going a bit wide, but he didn’t say anything. He just acted like I wasn’t there.”

It pains you to see how much trouble your brother has with his new teammate. You’re not used to this anymore. “How further?” You ask your brother, “I can’t imagine that RedBull will drop him, so you have to find some way to make this bearable. Right?”

“Yeah,” Max sighs annoyed, “but I have no idea how.”

You’re doubting to tell Max about your own small encounter with Lando. Max is already mad at the guy, so it might be stupid to make it worse. On the other hand, it would be nice to talk about it with your brother. You’re in the mood to vent about what happened. And, who’s better to vent to then someone who also hates Lando Norris? 

“You know,” you eventually start, “I also met him.”

Max is quick to give you his attention. You spray on some perfume before continuing with your story. The only thing you’re still doubting about is telling Max about the later subject from your encounter with Lando. It seems weird to tell your brother that it was about his teammates dick. Right? 

“He’s the absolute worst,” Max tells you after you told him the story globally. You did let out the part about you calling his dick small and how Lando told you that you’d probably beg for it. You nod at your brother as a form of agreement. However, now you think back about the last part of the conversation with Lando you feel shivers over your body all over again. 

“I don’t like asking things like this from you, but please keep your distance from him,” Max eventually speaks up. You show Max a small nod. “I don’t trust him,” Max continues to sigh, “and I just know he’s going to use me to annoy me even more.”

“I get it Max,” you quickly speak up, “I’ll keep my distance.”

You search for a pair of shoes in your suitcase in the mean time. You’re sure that you packed that one pair that match with your white dress. When you find them, you’re quick to put them on. After that you look in the mirror again. You feel cute. Maybe it’s because of the white color on your sun tanned skin, but you feel yourself getting confident. 

“Thanks,” Max tells you in the mean time, “I’ll try to become better teammates with him, hopefully this won’t too long.”

“You realize that when you’re friendly with him, I can’t really keep my distance right?” You ask Max.

Max nods. “Just watch out around him,” he tells you, “I’ve heard enough stories about girls who did trust him and that didn’t end nicely for them. He’s a massive player.” Before you can reply again, Max is continuing to speak. “Let’s get going,” he says, “I’m ready for some drinks after today.”

You chuckle. After the weird day you just had, you more then ready to let loose in the club tonight. You can’t wait to forget all about Lando Norris after drinking a couple cocktails and having fun. However, that doesn’t seem to happen.

Not even an small hour later you’ve enjoyed one cocktail and trying to order the second one at the busy bar. It’s your brother who’s interrupting your peace. “He’s here!” Your brother yells at you. You wonder about who he’s talking. It doesn’t take you long to find out.

It’s Lando Norris.

Of course it is.

part two

a/n: let me know what you think! and if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[cursed-peanut]

A/N: Hello everyoneeee!!! As promised, here is part 2 of Reunited!! I will be making more parts however it won’t be like a fic, more like a combination of scenarios, headcanons, etc. If you have any questions or thoughts on this AU, my ask box is always open and so are my comments. My taglist is also open! If you’d like to be added, lmk! Please make sure I can tag your account first though. May sound silly but I couldn’t tag some people because they had tagging disabled. If you were one of the people who asked to be tagged but wasn’t, please change that in Tumblr settings :) Anyway, this kinda gave yandereish vibes at the end??? If you want me to turn it into that or write a spin off where Sukuna is a Yandere for reader, lmk in the comments 💗 Anywho, happy reading and I hope you all enjoy this as much as you all did in part 1 <333

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“You are to be monitored by me at all times! If you get caught walking around by yourself well…I will either get an earful from the old hags at the top or they’ll have both of our heads, no in between!” Gojo Satoru tells you in a tone way too cheerful for what he was telling you.

“What? Why? I don’t even have any cursed energy, I’m just a regular human, I’m not some powerful sorcerer.”

“That is exactly why. We’re keeping your presence under the radar for now, but as soon as it inevitably slips out that you’re back and so is Sukuna, so will immediately become a target.”

“That’s not true. ‘Kuna may not be back to his full power, however he is still strong. No curses and sorcerer’s alike would dare hurt someone so close to the King of Curses.”

“While you may be right that he’s powerful even though Sukuna isn’t at his full potential, your ‘Kuna’ currently has the power of one of his fingers and is stuck in a fifteen year old boys body. He could easily be evaded by fellow special grade curses and curse users. Please realise this is for your safety.”

This doesn’t make sense to you. Yes, he’s not at his full power, but it’s not like you’ll be leaving Jujutsu Tech anyway. After all, you don’t go on missions, you’re not a Jujutsu Sorcerer and you will never have a chance to — not that you want to anyway. So logistically there is no need for your protection. Are they worried sorcerers might attack you? That’s surely a fault in the system of their schooling and society if they’re scared of that. Or maybe…they don’t trust you?

“They want me dead because of my relation to ‘Kuna, don’t they?” Gojo’s deafening silence answers your question. “Why?”

“Because they’re afraid that there’s a possibility you’re hiding a powerful technique from us. I personally don’t believe you are deceiving us, but even if you were, I’d be able to stop you anyway. So don’t be become all cocky with delusion. Thinking you can defeat me.” He grins.

“Mhm, well…thank you then.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for believing in me,” You shakily sigh. “I’m happy to know someone is willing to stand up for me.”

“Of course! I would get a mopey Yuji if you died, and who knows how Sukuna would react, but I know for a fact it would not end well. Talking of Yuji and Sukuna, we should go check on them now!”

That’s right. Itadori has recently been announced as dead, however it seems Itadori must have made some sort of pact with Sukuna to revive him. You and Gojo, along with a few others at Jujutsu Tech, are the only people who know he’s alive. Gojo seems to take this opportunity to train Itadori well, and what that truly means is most of the time he conducts experiments that mainly consist of Gojo purposely annoying Sukuna to see how Itadori’s body would react. Most experiments involved you in some way — he found Sukuna’s threats very amusing, but what he found even more amusing is your ability to make the King of Curses sulk for a day by simply lightly reprimanding him for these threats.

“‘Kuna! That is no way to talk to someone. He just wanted a hug.”

“Yeah ‘Kunaaaa. I just wanted a hug.”

“Gojo-Sensei, please. Stop angering him. It’s getting harder and harder to suppress him.”

“This is exactly why I’m doing this! To help you learn how to suppress Sukuna, no matter the circumstances.” Gojo explains. While that may be partly true, Itadori knows that’s a lie. He’s doing this because it’s funny to him.

“You better watch it, Sorcerer scum,” Sukuna grits. “May I remind you that when I make this idiots body my own, I’m killing you first.”

“‘Kuna!” You scowl, hugging Gojo tighter to Sukuna’s dismay. Gojo flashes a shit-eating-grin Sukuna’s way for one last time and lets go of you.

“Thank you, Sensei. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could suppress him for.” Itadori sighs. You sit down next to him and give him a warm hug, rubbing circles on his back. Itadori looks up at you with warm eyes as you press a kiss to his forehead. You always bring the mummy issues out of him.

Meanwhile, in Sukuna’s domain, Sukuna is looking at you through Itadori’s eyes and he can’t help but marvel at you. You’re even more beautiful than he remembers, and you’re so unbelievably near. He wishes he could take his vessel’s place, return to his former glory with you by his side, but that will have to wait.

He will return to his former glory and you will be at his side when that happens. But above all else, what makes his wait all the more worth it, is the world he plans to create will be perfect for you and him. You wouldn’t need to worry about any disgusting sorcerers killing him and sealing you again.

Even if you hate him for killing the sorcerers, he can live with that. As long as you still love him, and stay by his side, he can deal with that.

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Taglist: @makuzume @spicyhyunn @pearlescentwonderland @namjooningera @six-eyed-samurai @natriae @domainofmarie @lixern @fluttershyfangs @girlyuuta @anabort @yu-87 @sukunaglazer4ever @madison777x @dervngedgf @calisnewworld @ilybbg @the-banshee @mostnormalsukunastan2024real @williamafton26 @mythoswarrior-23 @megantheefan @mindless-rock @kimsunoo2003 @anayesha1 @lelelenlenn @shyshybabyy @unlikelystay @shigemis0ra @iloveboysinred @eresel4mordemivid4 @meo66 @frozen-waffles @mrsslytherin00 @lazyperfectioniste @whosmarjj @itawifeyy @sugurubabe @hanniebanggi

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[lustlovehart]

Hi, will you continue with the twisted wonderland monster au? Could you write something about vile, please?

Bed and Desperation

A/n: This ask was from so long ago 😭. Also, I wasn’t too sure if you wanted Yandere or not? The monster Au is a Yandere Au, but just n case I didn’t make it like extreme, kinda.

Pairing: Incubus! Vil Schoenheit x Reader

Summary: [Yandere] Even during a mission, the wretched monsters you hunt can’t leave you alone, and unfortunately, the incubus that accompanies you today is one of them, and it wouldn’tbe the first time you’ve found yourself held by his arms.

Warnings: Heavily Suggestive, as well as implied NSFW, Reader has injuries, Vil’s a meanie, Seduction (Vil to Reader), Stitches, Biting, Part nudity (Reader is in their underwear)

The bedsheets on your mattress smell heavenly.

This isn’t your bed, since when did you wash your blankets?

It also seems to have an extra weight added to it. The softest hands on your waist are felt, as well as the feeling of a skinny tail being tightly wrapped around your thigh.

“What the…” Your eyes look down, glossing over the hand that’s currently spooning you, only looking at the numerous bandaged wounds and stitches on your skin. It’s only when you finally look at the culprit who fixed you up do you understand.

You really should’ve known, with such well-manicured hands that have been moisturized to hell and back, and the most heavenly scent shifting in the air, there really should’ve been no doubt in your mind.

You’re in bed with Vil Schoenheit. The all-famed model and actor, who’s well renowned for his feats.

The well-known incubus who has led millions to their downfall.

And unfortunately, this wouldn’t be the first time you were in his bed. Seems even a hunter isn’t immune to such charms.

Maybe if I get out quietly… Your hand slowly takes hold of his, moving it away from your waist as you slide to the side of the mattress. Your footsteps are gentle as you glide towards the door, at this point you’re about to turn the doorknob before the sound of the bed creaking attracts your attention.

The sight of bright purple diamond-shaped pupils gives paints an irritation on your face, the purple tattoos of mist dully glowing on his fit lean body, and pretty horns a companied by a golden crown, also serving in your annoyance.

“Your hands are so calloused, even the tiniest touch would have woken me up anyway.”

“Damn it…” his body is propped up on his elbow as he looks up and down at your body, only an oversized t-shirt and underwear covering any sense of decency you have.

You still remember the previous night, having suffered blows with a monster somewhere in the inn you were sent to. You had stripped yourself of your clothes in an empty room to tend to your injuries before losing consciousness from your lack of sleep.

Curse you, Crowley, if you hadn’t sent me on an extra assignment I could’ve gotten some rest and not end up here…!

“Are you gonna thank me? Or does hunting not come with any lessons in etiquette?”

“Thank you for…?” His head leans down with a sigh, before throwing the blanket off and covering himself in his very unnecessarily luxurious robe, you distantly remember passing by a vendor selling the exact same robe for 360,000 madol. I hate rich people.

“What? Did you think you bandaged yourself up in your sleep?” His footsteps are heard as he slowly walks towards you, his eyes still looking over every inch of your body for any injuries he could’ve possibly missed.

“Obviously not… Wait, hey why did you make me sleep in your bed if you were sleeping there too…?!” You don’t move from your spot, staying in place to show you’re not bothered, your finger being the only thing that moves as you point it at him.

When he gets close to you, his face leans in towards your own, making you accidentally lean back from shock, causing a sharp pain blooming on the side of your thigh at that exact moment. He quickly catches you before you have the chance to fall, laying you on his bed once more.

“Hah, look, now you’ve undone my work. I should really…” he pauses before sighing for the second time tonight, “Stay still.” He doesn’t finish his thought, only grabbing a needle and thread, his left hand taking hold of the fat under your thigh, lifting it slightly up so he can work easier.

“You didn’t answer my question Vil…” he looks up for a moment, giving you that prideful smirk he’s always shown when he feels triumph, the ridges on his horns being more noticeable, making the expression he holds remind you, he is in fact, still a monster. You’re sure the next words that leave his mouth will be something you can’t counter, so it’d be best to prepare yourself for embarrassment.

“Hmm? I thought you wouldn’t mind considering we’ve slept in a bed together before, even done more than sleeping—“

“Okay yeah, never mind don’t answer me please.”

“I think it’s a fair trade, let me demean you for being so careless and I’ll get you back to the way you were.” He’s being mean again. Every time you meet him he’s always nitpicking you about some imperfection on your person, whether it be messy hair, wrinkled clothes, eye bags, or even scars from your job.

Yet he always stays to fix them up. You still remember the last time when you had noticeable eye bags and he gasped at the sight, grabbing his own formula of beauty cream and rubbing it into your skin with his fingers.

“Those eye bags of yours are looking better, did you use what I gave you, or did you get better sleep?” His fingers still skillfully sewing your skin together with the thread, the pain bearable but stillthere nonetheless.

“I only did your eye cream, it works though— Hey…!” Now instead of your leg being in pain, it’s your cheeks, his fingers taking hold of your jaw, squishing the fat of your face together.

“That’s not good enough.” When you reply your voice comes out slightly muffled from your muscles being squeezed together, your hand reaching up to massage the soreness in your face when he releases you from his grip.

“Okay okay sorry, Blame my boss, he keeps sending me on back-to-back missions without rest, it’s not my fault!” He pauses for a moment after, the thread through your skin freezing alongside him. “… Vil…?”

“Then why don’t you find a new job?”

“I’m not suited for any other job.” A single leaves him, though you can’t tell if it’s one of humor or one of pity. His hand that was previously holding up your thigh curves and takes your free hand, ghosting his breath over it as he places a kiss on the palm of your skin.

“Riddle said you’re terrible at your job, and, if you didn’t notice, all of us are still alive and well.” He’s acting all romantic while saying such a thing to you. Charm, charm is a part of his pathetic abilities but he doesn’t seem to be using that right now. He’s acting. He’s acting… he has to…

He’s right.

“[Name], it seems out of this entire group, not a single of us has been slain yet. Please, tell me why that is?” He pulls your hand down, making you lean in closer to him, your face only inches away from his own. His pretty face. “I have a better job for you.”

“Are you saying you want me to work for you…?” Your voice stays firm, maybe if you try holding your ground he’ll leave you alone. Maybe…? Your head lingers around his, before realizing this distance is a little too close for comfort.“It’s a no Vil.” You finally move away from them, your eyes looking for something else to garner their attention.

Vil’s eyes don’t break hold from yours despite your desperate attempts to move away from his gaze.

“Pity, you would’ve done beautifully at it, had you accepted. A perfect fit, only if you worked hard at it of course.” Now you’re just curious as to what this secret job was before turning it down. But, you’ll leave it as a mystery.

His fingers sew in the rest of the skin, when he finishes threading the wound closed though, he doesn’t cut off the string, only placing the needle down on your thigh before looking back up at you.

“[Name], you know, you’re beautiful. It’s a shame you don’t make the effort to maintain that.” He takes your hands in his right palm, standing back up to his full height before dropping the two of you on his bed.

“But I do? At least I think so, I do what you tell me to do anyway.” His knee is positioned to the side of your thigh as his tail draws patterns in your skin.

“But that’s not enough, I need you to go further than that, dear.”

…

He doesn’t use dear on you outside of bed.

You really can’t tell if he’s using his charm from being an incubus or just being an extremely good actor. Either way, it’s unfortunately working.

“Vil, I need to go back, my boss will be questioning where I am—“ his finger is swiftly placed on your lips, shushing you from speaking any further.

“And you will go back, I’ll let you leave when you want, of course, just indulge for a moment.” Indulge… He’s being tempting again. “I will make you reach a height you’ve never experienced before.”

For the third time of the night, you’re scandalously doing something with this… this monster, you shouldn’t be doing. Let alone for a third time.

If Crowley finds out… You can’t. Your hand quickly escapes his grasp to grab the needle he left in your thigh, snapping the thread ready to jab it through his eyes.

You’re only a centimeter away from his pupil, only being stopped by a hand that tightly grips your wrist.

“I’m disappointed, and that’s the first time. It’s a shame [Name], it seems we’ll just have to keep playing your silly game of Hunter.” Before you have a chance to react, he pulls your arm up and bites into your flesh, your vision going dark immediately after.

The dimly lit hallways of the inn you were stationed at are the first sight you see, the second being the corpses of the monsters you were sent to kill.

You’re sat on the carpet floors, the moon of the night still shining through the windows. The clothes you were originally wearing are back on your skin, with tears and grime from your previous ministrations still there.

Could he have used hallucinations…? No that felt too real.

There seems to be only one way to check, your fingers grip the end of your shorts, slowly pulling them up, your eyes peaking over and seeing exactly what you hoped you wouldn’t.

Black seams from stitches.

“Damn it…” your head hits the wall behind you, as your arms collect your legs and hug them to your chest.

It’s a shame you spared him the first time around, maybe if you had killed him you would have one less beast on you.

Oh right, he’s not the only one.

You go back to burying your head in your knees, the sound of footsteps resonating through the empty halls of the inn, the light from the windows shining through to show off who it is.

“Crowley, what do you want—”

“That was the third time you met with that incubus wasn’t it?”

…What?

“You know…?” He doesn't have that usual “humble” smile, his lips shut in a straight line, a sight you’re only seeing for the first time.

“I’ve always known.” your heart starts beating faster in your chest. What now? What will he do knowing you’ve broken the code? Everything you’ve done will go in vain if he rides himself off you. You won’t get to see any of them anymore, you won’t be able to finish your job and finally kill them off, you won’t—

Crowley’s hand is wobbly. He’s not real. A hallucination by Vil. Wait but… Is this inn…

Even real at all?

A/n: Ahaha, I need someone to strap me to a chair so I actually finish the first chapter of the Monster Au. Heartslaybul has been neglected and only Riddle’s portion has been finished. Ahaha.

[purplestanleypinkblanket]

First Kiss With Logan:

Pairings: (DP3 Vers.) Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: After a shitty date, you seek comfort from Wade who threw you a ‘Cherry Popped’ party. It ends up making you feel worse, which leads you into the arms of a man who’s grown fond of you. Logan.

Warnings: Kissing, talking about bad date, cursing, brief mentions of drinking, innuendos to "cherry popping", use of the word virgin. Self-deprecating talk in some areas, from both reader and Logan.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 2,388

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You hated that you found yourself, seated across from a man who, frankly, hadn't asked you a single question about yourself all night. You also hated how much this man yapped. God, all he did was talk and talk without even the slightest breath. And you hated that you continued to stay seated. Perhaps you were too kind, or maybe you thought you had no right to leave. After all, the man was buying you dinner. It was hard to shake that kind of guilt. You knew you owed him nothing, that it's okay to leave a shitty date- but a part of you wondered if this was all you had going for you. A shitty date, with a shitty man on a shitty afternoon.

As you spaced out your thoughts drifted back to Logan, you wondered if dates with him were like this. What if they weren't? What if he was kind? Well, slightly kinder than normal. He didn't strike you as the pull-your-chair-out-for-you kinda guy, but you had a feeling he would ask you questions instead of yapping your ear off. Maybe he would ask about your day at work, or what you like to do in your free time. Possibly he'd like to hear funny stories about your family. No, that felt too intimate for a first date. Maybe on a third date you'd share those stories with him.

God, what are you even on about right now? You're on a date with a man buying you dinner and you're thinking about Logan! As your eyes looked over the man, you finally tuned back into what he was saying.

"My ex was fucking crazy! That bitch-"

Aaanndd, you lost interest immediately. The more this dude spoke, the more of a dick he sounded. You couldn't help but feel thankful when the date ended. However, the chime of your phone caught your attention during the walk back to your apartment.

'Hey, sugar tits.' Wade's text read. 'Come over, we're celebrating you getting your cherry popped!' That dick knew you weren't a virgin, he just wanted a damn reason to celebrate. What better way to celebrate then partying over your friend not getting laid? It was a cruel joke you really weren't in the mood for but the image of Logan blowing up balloons with Blind Al, a smile just barely tugging at his usually grumpy face...it was hard to say no too. And Wade knew that- its why he sent you the picture after all.

"Fucking dick." You murmured to yourself as you wrapped your cardigan around you tighter, pushing the front door to Wade's apartment open as you did so. The sight was ridiculous, balloons, streamers, wall decor, banners that read 'Pop That Cherry!' draped off the ceiling. You took a mental note to punch Wade in his smart-ass lip later. But, for now, it was nice being in the comfort of your friends. Yes, even the snarky teenager Negasonic and her girlfriend. You were a teenage girl once, but it still didn't stop you getting annoyed when she nitpicked your outfits. It isn't your fault baggy sweaters and legging were literally a godsent.

You trudged your way through the crowded apartment, hand adjusting your white sweater to cover the tank top under it a little better. As you approached Logan and Wade, you grew more aware of the length of your skirt. Was it too long? Too short? Would Logan think it looked good? God, why did you even care what Logan Howlett, labeled the worst wolverine, thought of you? You didn't think he was the worst wolverine. You'd never say it, of course not, because then he'd know you actually liked being around him! Perhaps it was selfish of you to keep yourself so guarded around him, but you couldn't shake the fear of letting down your walls and risking getting hurt. It was scary. Losing that much control. And over what, a feeling?

A hand extending towards you caught your attention, it was Logan, offering you a drink.

"Thank you." You spoke to him, voice quiet compared to the blaring pop music Wade was playing. He grunted in response, but you swear you heard a 'you're welcome.' You brought it to your lips, casually slow sipping the alcohol over the course of the night. It was fun to dance with Vanessa as Wade and Peter tried to convince Logan to join the group. You couldn't help the laugh on your lips when Wade made a snarky comment about Logan's panties being in a twist, earning a threatening unsheathing of claws from logan. You never fully understood the shame Logan felt, even though you tried incredibly hard to. To you, he was amazing, he was strong, he was...well, to say you only admired him would be a lie.

You wished you could show Logan the way you saw him, the way the world saw him. Sure, he was hot, unnecessarily hot, with large biceps and shoulders that went for days. But he was more than that. He was a grump who pushed people away out of fear of hurting them. And to prevent himself from getting hurt. It was ironic, really. Perhaps you and him were more alike than you thought. After a while in the overstimulating party, you slipped away, moving to stand on the balcony. You hadn't been there long, probably thirty minutes? It was nice, listening to your friend's party as you took a break to look at the city.

"Thought I'd find you here." Logan's rough voice spoke as he walked out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him.

You hummed in response, flashing him a smile as you looked away. Logan could feel his heart skip a beat at your smile- it was always nice when you graced him with it. He'd give anything to see you smile. Hell, he wished he could make you smile and laugh the way Wade and Vanessa did. They matched your morbid sarcastic humor easily. Something he struggled to do. He approached you, leaning onto the railing beside you.

"Congrats on the...uh..."

"I'm not a virgin."

"Oh..."

The silence was awkward between you. You had to purse your lips to prevent you from bursting out in a laugh. You found it hilarious how just one statement suddenly made him go quiet.

"Wade had-" You spoke, trying to stifle your laugh with your hand. "Wade thought it would be funny to throw a 'cherry popped' party because it's been forever since my last date." You revealed, not able to contain your laugh any longer. "It's actually kinda sweet. In a weird way, ya know, Wades weird way." The corners of Logan's mouth lifted slightly at the sound of your laugh. It had always been his favorite sound after meeting you.

"Guess so." Logan contributed to the conversation, bringing the glass beer bottle to his lips. You looked at logan watching as he looked over the city, your eyes analyzing him. His jaw, his hair, the crow's feet by his eyes from his constant state of scowling. Maybe it was the liquid courage you had drank. Or you finally just decided to give Logan a sense of affection. You loved to shower your friends with affection, often times holding Wade as you two watched tv, or Vanessa sitting on your lap as you gossiped. Logan had seen it plenty of times. God, sometimes you even gave Peter affection. Each time he felt a twinge of jealousy, he wanted to be the object of your affectionate touches. Or the way you murmured praise directed at them after a task- he wanted that.

Your hand reached up, gently soothing out some strands of his beard that were in disarray. Logan tensed under your touch, and you immediately pulled away, guilt and embarrassment swarming you.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You adamantly apologized, face heating up.

"Don't worry about it." Logan roughly said, silently regretting the way you withdrew so quickly. He watched as you tried to subtly put some distance between the two of you- the sting of rejection clear as day on your face. He hadn't meant to reject you; you were reading too much into it. His mind sidetracked as he looked away, maybe he was the one reading too much into it? "How was your date?" He settled on asking, bringing the beer to his lips.

"Shitty." You sighed, frowning.

Logan nodded, waiting for you to continue. Silence falls between you two and he flashed you an expectant glance. You hadn't realized he wanted you to keep talking until he looked at you.

"Oh, uh, there isn't really much to say." You shrugged, looking away. "He didn't ask any questions, just talked about himself the whole time. Was super annoying too." Logan couldn't help the satisfaction that welled in his chest upon hearing your defeated words. It sucked for you, of course it did. But Logan was so glad the date was bad- that way no one could come in, sweep you off your feet, and away from him. He hadn't made a move on you, and he couldn't decide if he ever would. He didn't want to risk hurting you like he had done the others he cared for.

However, the glance of tiredness in your expression when you had looked at him momentarily...he hated it. He hated himself for being so happy your date was bad, and he hated that he wasn't the one you wanted to sweep you off your feet.

"Like...it isn't hard to make a girl feel special. To make her feel like a princess." You laughed with a shake of your head. "I dunno, maybe I'm just expecting too much?" You looked at Logan as you asked, a need for reassurance present.

Logan stared at you; brows furrowed as he analyzed you. The scowl on his features prominent. Believing you had said too much, or you annoyed him with your ramblings, an apology escaped your lips.

"Fuck, sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Princess." Logan's comment snapped you from your rushed apology. "Relax." He had taken that brave step closer to you, facing you fully as his side and arm holding the beer leaned against the balcony railing. He was glad you were comfortable enough to unload that on him and he was determined to keep it that way. "I don't mind." You looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly pursed as your mind ran. That was another thing he liked about you. It was so easy to tell if you were thinking. Your eyebrows always furrowed, your lips pursed into a line, and your eyes always spoke a thousand words.

Despite his better judgement, his hand rose, gently flattening the skin between your eyebrows. The gesture was small, yet it held so much intimacy. You had always been picky about who could touch you. You loved to shower your friends with affection, but rarely ever let anyone reciprocate it back. Logan wondered why that was. What had affected you so much that you refused to let anyone even shake your hand. Here he was, though, thumb moving from the area between your eyebrows to his hand cupping your cheek. Your eyes were wide, your throat dry. You had never expected this from him. This gentleness, the way he had observed your furrowed brows...you leaned your face into his hand, unable to help the way you melted into it. It was a chilly night, and, God, was he warm.

Logan closed the distance between the two of you, now standing directly in front of you. His thumb caressing your cheek. As he stared into your eyes, his gaze couldn't help but flicker down to your lips, a red faded stain on them from the lipstick you had worn to your date. They looked so soft, so enticing. And he couldn't help but wonder if that peppermint chapstick you wore 24/7 worked. He had never been one for chapstick, but you seemed obsessed with it. Logan's thumb slipped from where it rubbed your cheek to your bottom lip, slowly tracing it. You subconsciously licked your lips as he traced them, your chest tight. Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe? Your throat was beyond dry, your face paled under his gaze yet somehow it felt like your blush deepened. The way his eyes analyzed your lip, your eyes, your nose, that mark you had since you were a child...It was like he was memorizing you.

You wanted to say something, anything. Preferably something sarcastic and witty. No words came to your lips regardless of the fact that your mind was working overdrive. Time slowed as his thumb gently pulled your lip down, encouraging your mouth to part as his hand cupped your chin now, guiding you closer to him. He leaned down, face inches from yours. He paused there, however, waiting for your permission because he knew that you needed that variation of control to feel safe. He wanted to make you feel safe, he wanted you to know you were safe. That he had you. You brushed your lips against his, slightly closing that gap between you two. He took that as permission as he pressed his lips to yours fully. It was gentle at first, as if he was scared that at any moment you'd disappear. Or worse, break.

Your arms moved to wrap around his neck, pulling him close as you held onto him. His hands finally rested around your waist, the kiss growing stronger as he deepened it. People claim that you would feel fireworks during a kiss, but that wasn't the case at all. You felt electricity against your skin that was against him, but the most powerful feeling was how right it felt. Like you were meant to be there, in his arms, kissing him, holding him. He had broken the kiss, opening his eyes to stare at you.

Logan wondered if he'd ever be able to let another person get close to him. He was certain Wade would've been the only one- a victim of the circumstance's kind of thing. But he sure as hell was glad that today he was the one who held you attention as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

[mikanotes]

Hiii

Chishiya x reader that takes place in the first episode (season 2) when the king of spades starts shooting everyone and Chishiya protects reader in his own Chishiya ways 🙏🏻 And they both don’t get in the car with arisu & the others so they go off to find somewhere they can stay. Maybe established relationship & from chishiyas pov

TyTyTy ❤️

— GUNS AND SPADES

chishiya x gn!reader | ? words

genre: established relationship, slight angst

warnings: s2 spoilers, shooting, guns, blood, death, mentions of fainting, kinda spoilers for chishiya’s past, aib stuff… badly written might edit later idk

synopsis: Surviving in the Borderlands was something you’d been forced to get used to. Getting shot at for absolutely no reason when no game was ongoing was something else entirely.

author’s note: thank you for requesting! hope you like it!! to be honest i struggle with writing about chishiya this way a bit so this isn’t nearly as good as i wanted it to be. also i have no idea where i was going with this. nevertheless i hope it’s nice to read!

The sound of shots was clear. People scrambled around Shibuya Crossing, running for their lives without a care for one another’s. When faced with Death, people showed their true selves— Or whatever.

It would seem that, as per usual, your true self in this situation was to start running away before cursing at Chishiya and pulling him so he’d follow. Sure, he would start running eventually either way, but he certainly took his time.

“Chishiya, seriously.” you scoffed.

Thus the run began.

Arisu, Usagi, Kuina, you, and Chishiya were all lined up hiding behind an underground subway’s stairs entrance, crouching behind the wall and checking through the glass for the unknown shooter.

“Is this a game? Where are the rules?” Usagi exclaimed through panicked breaths. Arisu shook his head immediately.

“There’s nothing. This is just mass murder.”

“Seriously.” you mumbled, checking through the glass, “More people are coming this way. We should get moving.”

You all started running away in a group before realizing there was no point. Arisu yelled at everyone to split up and you all did. Running through a crowd of scared people, all confused and fearing for their lives— It was never a good feeling.

“Ah!”

Especially when some were too rushed in their run and tripped over, resulting in you falling along with them.

“I’m sorry!” the man yelled, scrambling to get up.

You laughed dryly, jumping up to your feet with ease. “You should be.” you breathed out, before ducking and running to the nearest corner. You turned and ran and avoided people and ran and it felt like hours of your breathing getting progressively worse and more heavy before you finally ran into a familiar face.

“[name]!” Kuina exclaimed, stopping in her tracks before you two could run into each other, “Come with me!”

She grabbed your wrist and ran to a car nearby, quickly pulling you to sit down behind it along with her. You exhaled a heavy sigh, your chest heaving up and down and your head spinning.

“You look tired.” a familiar voice spoke casually. You lifted your head up only to see Chishiya look at you with an easy smile, waving his hand from his seat on Kuina’s other side. You deadpanned.

“Yeah. And you don’t.” you scoffed, “Are you two okay?”

“I’m surprised I don’t have a single wound, honestly.” Kuina sighed, head hitting the car’s door in exhaustion, “Seriously, what the fuck is going on?“

You glanced at Chishiya and he gave you a slight nod, affirming that he was okay. You nodded back before looking over your shoulder. “There’s people on the other side of the road. Usagi and Arisu, I think.”

Kuina furrowed her eyebrows before moving her head to the side, signaling you to move over and switch places with her. You did, as discreetly as possible, and let her check whatever it is she wanted to. Chishiya waved two fingers in front of your face and brought your attention to him.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” you sighed, “Just tired. I knew things weren’t over but I expected a little break after the hell that went down at the Beach, at least.”

“The hell continues, I guess.” he said casually, smiling.

You could only sigh.

“You have to stay focused if you don’t wanna die!” Kuina suddenly yelled. You looked over to her and jumped at the sound of shooting right at the road the car you were hiding behind was parked on. Chishiya grabbed your shoulder to pull you back when he did, only relaxing when the shots stopped. Kuina scoffed, “Where the fuck are they shooting from?”

Just as she sat back down properly, an airship of sorts appeared over everyone, creating a looming shadow that did nothing to reassure the players. Chishiya hummed. “The King of Spades.”

“Great.” you commented. There were probably hundreds of pieces of fabric tied together to form a giant King of Spades card floating in the sky, attached to the bottom of the airship. You wondered just how much more of this hell you would have to go through before you could return to the comfort of the hell you knew. The normal world.

Chishiya leaned forward and handed Kuina something. It looked like a can and… Oh. You’d seen him make this back at the Beach one day. He’d made three. They were small bombs but they could definitely help out if you ever needed it. His words. He handed you one as well and you inspected it. “Here you go. A good luck charm.”

“What’s this? A bomb?” Kuina asked.

“Use it when you’re in a pinch.” he said casually.

“You have questionable hobbies, Chishiya.” you hummed, spinning the object in your hand before putting it in your jacket, “Thank you.”

“I second that. Thanks.” Kuina chuckled.

The sound of shots rung in the air as well as several running footsteps along with it. You checked Kuina’s side and saw Arisu and Usagi hide behind the car directly next to yours— Just a few meters away. Kuina tilted her head, “Are you hurt?”

“Did you seriously stop to try and save someone?” you followed after glancing at the dying boy they’d seemingly carried all the way there, and Arisu looked at you with wide eyes, before looking away and grimacing. Nothing new, you thought.

Shots fired again but the sound didn’t drown out the clear, loud honking of a car. You thought you’d imagined it, honestly, because logically speaking there was no reason for anyone to not only show themselves so obviously with a moving car but also announce themselves by honking.

Yet when the entire group looked over to the road there was, indeed, a car waiting. Ann and Tatta. Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Hurry up! Get in!” Tatta yelled.

Usagi and Arisu were the first to run into the car, closely followed by Kuina. Chishiya, irritating as he could get, refused to take his hands out of his pockets to run. You were a bit behind, careful, and caught up to him quickly. “What part of hurry up are you missing?!” you exclaimed.

Chishiya stopped and stared at the ground. You were about to question why he wasn’t going into the car despite standing right in front of it but followed his gaze.

A grenade.

“This is bad. Run!” he instantly yelled, pulling you back and moving to start running away, “Get going! Drive!” he told Tatta, knowing there was no point in risking getting into the car anymore.

“[name]!” Usagi yelled.

Kuina seemed just as worried, “Chishiya!”

The sound of their voices were quickly drowned out when your head hit the hard concrete of the sidewalk as you and Chishiya jumped as far away as possible from the bomb. The explosion went off before your senses could start coming back and just as the car started driving away. You covered the sides of your head with your arms and felt Chishiya’s arm wrap around them.

Everything was spinning. For a moment, you weren’t sure you were alive. Then Chishiya’s voice brushed that thought away.

“We have to move.” he tried to speak over all the noise. You nodded faintly and got up on your feet to the best of your ability, before running away with him— Bullets following you closely.

To Chishiya, this would’ve been fine if you hadn’t been there.

If he had been alone during that shooting, even including the part where he fails to get in the car because of a grenade— it would all have been fine because Chishiya Shuntaro is used to dealing with whatever hellish cards the Borderlands hand him. But that’s where the problem lies;

You’re there.

Chishiya met you before the cruelty of the reality of the world stripped him of his empathy— Forced him into the stoicism of a person suppressing their own emotions. He met you before his job ruined a part of him, and his feelings seemingly didn’t waver one bit at that. The importance of your wellbeing had been something he cared about before but even with attempts at erasing his emotions he couldn’t erase the quickening pace of his heartbeat if he heard you weren’t doing well.

Chishiya made the mistake of letting himself fall for someone back in college (though he claims fall is too ridiculous) and now has to deal with the pains of feeling like he needs to protect said person. You were good at dealing with things yourself, too— Sure, but that didn’t mean anything to the instinctive worry that held him by the throat.

So he watches you, unconscious due to the amount of things that happened in a few seconds, lying on the ground of some empty apartment complex— With something anyone could easily mistake as disdain. It used to be easy dealing with complicated things when he was alone. He was also sure playing games would be so much more simple if you weren’t by his side. All he would have to care for would be his own survival and that would just be it. Now he had to fear Heart games and count you into every calculations he made to get himself out of a deadly game of chess.

It was almost infuriating how much you unconsciously forced him into changing his ways, even after all these years. He figured that was just how things went when you loved someone.

When you shift in your sleep and start sighing, eyes slowly blinking to force yourself awake, Chishiya doesn’t feel the smile form on his lips. “You’re lucky we found this place before you decided to pass out.”

“My God.” you grumbled, sitting up with some effort. “Have you just been sitting there? I’m surprised. Were you watching over me, or something?”

Even in situations like this, you just didn’t miss an opportunity to try and tease him. It’s not like it ever worked, but the attempts were amusing.“You weren’t out for that long.” he spoke as calmly as usual, “Sleep fine?”

“I dreamt of fireworks at Shibuya.” you said, and your voice dropped to a silent low. The shift from casual to slight anxiousness was barely noticeable, but very obvious to Chishiya. You cracked your neck and stretched. “Guess my head decided to make people yelling and loud sounds seem more happy than how it really was.”

“At least your mind’s version of the events that just transpired is less disturbing and nightmarish. Glad to know you slept well.” he said, pushing himself up to stand. “We should check the game nearby. I don’t like the idea of us standing there waiting.”

“Less chances of getting shot by that Kind of Spades, I guess.” you sighed, following him to stand up, “Just as many to get killed, though.”

Chishiya held his hand up and you looked at it, then at him, and a small smile pulled at your lips. You high-fived him and then you both wrapped your fingers around the other’s hand.

“Not if I’m there.” he claims, smirking a little. You scoff lightly and Chishiya knows you feel slightly better. It’s enough for now. The feelings of anxiety are pushed back far away enough for you to focus during games. Enough for you to play properly and keep yourself alive. Chishiya nodded a bit, “Let’s get going.”

“Alright.” you tightened your hold on his hand and you both walked towards the game near where you were staying at— Steeling yourselves for whatever the Borderlands had prepared for you.

[hannieehaee]

hey ;)) could you write a svt reaction where they're being interviewed by foreign singer reader, who is too flirtatious and which is the crush of all of them and they can't help but look amazed at her and a little nervous too <3

also, I'm a big fan of your work, I love it! Thank you very much! 😔🤌🏻

being interviewed by their celebrity crush

content: afab reader, fluff, reader is a lil flirty in some of these hehe, a lil second hand embarrassment, etc.

wc: 2215

a/n: agsjsk loved writing this tysm for reading and for requesting!! idk if i understood ur request 100% correctly so i just did a reaction for each member i hope u enjoy! <3

masterlist

seungcheol -

even as leader, he would try to pass on the title to someone else for the day, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of you and the cameras. would be consistently teased by the guys through every sentence exchanged between the two of you. cursing both joshua and vernon in his mind for refusing to help him out, he'd power through the interview, trying to keep his heartbeat as calm as possible as you smiled and giggled at his cute demeanor towards you. would be so in awe of you at the way you paid full attention to his responses, not minding the extra wait as the translator interpreted his answers. would come out of the experience even more in love with into you, kicking himself for not taking a leap and asking for your number or something. would be very pleasantly surprised a few hours later at finding out you'd had your manager give his manager your contact info, instructing that it was specifically for seungcheol to use.

jeonghan -

jeonghan wasn't one to really wear his heart on his sleeve when it came to liking a person. he'd probably have the ability to remain calm even if facing you, his one and only celebrity crush since predebut. he'd have it all planned already; just stick to the back and nod at vernon and joshua's answers. would not have expected his members to throw him into the wolves, taking advantage of seungcheol's absence and informing you, the celebrity interviewer, that he was the stand-in leader, and that all questions should be directed to him. would only be caught off guard for a few seconds, soon being able to keep up with you (thanks to the translator) and even turning up the charm a little bit, enjoying the back and forth between the two of you. would still be a bit surprised when you approached him after the interview, blatantly flirting with him even through the language barrier.

joshua -

so excited to finally meet you, having looked forward to this since the moment he heard seventeen would be attending an award show you were scheduled to conduct celebrity interviews for. would've thrown your name around many times any time discussions about collabs came around, but being disappointed it never really did anything, thus preventing him from meeting you until now. now that you were finally meeting, he'd take advantage of being one of the designated english speaking members™️ and take up the entirety of the screen time in the interview flirting with you in the most lowkey way he could. would maybe trade numbers with you by the end of it.

jun -

he knew he was a handsome guy, but he'd still be incredibly flustered the moment he caught you, his long-time celebrity crush, making eyes at him from across the red carpet, practically inciting him with your stare as the group approached you for their turn at a quick red carpet interview. would be twice as flustered upon noticing you stood as close to him as possible as you conducted the interview, throwing him a smile every so often. he'd feel kinda disappointed at himself afterwards for not having spoken to you at all during it, having felt too shy even if you had showed blatant interest in him. his day would improve, however, as soon as his manager approached him a few hours later, letting him know your manager had given him instructions to provide him with your contact info, even with a cute little handwritten note form you requesting he call you sometime.

soonyoung -

do you guys remember that one interview with that one rlly pretty interviewer where he started singing spider and just wouldnt stop even as the guys kept dying of second hand embarrassment? he'd do the exact same thing with you. if you happened to mention anything related to him in the interview whether it be a solo song or his part in a new cb or some choreo he made, he'd instantly try and show off to you like a little kid, not realizing the second hand embarrassment the rest of the members were feeling. if you were any tiny bit flirty though, he would probably go into shut down mode and just giggle at everything you said, zero thoughts in his head as he nodded and agreed to everything you said in complete awe of his celeb crush even acknowledging him. would be so excited at the interaction he'd approach you afterwards hoping to get you to follow him on instagram and physically cheering the moment you followed him back, even directing him to message you sometime.

wonwoo -

so shy and reserved. he has a tendency of blending into the background, always being talked over during any type of show or interview that involved all members. this time he had been kinda grateful for it, feeling too anxious to interact with someone whose music had impacted him so much (and also someone he might kind of maybe have a thing for). he'd feel extremely touched at you going out of your way to get his responses during the interview, claiming you were a fan and had always noticed he sat back sometimes, wanting to hear from him specifically. would not be able to stop looking at you in awe after that, wishfully thinking that maybe his favorite artist had taken some type of interest in him. when you approached him after the interview, shyly trying to start conversation, he'd muster all knowledge he had in english to communicate with you, hoping this would be the first of many conversations.

jihoon -

would be so shy and easily flustered. do not dare even speak to him directly because he will break. he's been crushing on you since forever, not just admiring you as an artist but being so unbelievably attracted to you he had no idea how to even make eye contact with you. the moment he heard you were gonna be the one interviewing them he started looking into flights to get his ass back to korea. under no circumstance was he going to embarrass himself in front of you. if you dared even try to compliment him (don't even mention the word flirting to him rn), he would turn bright red and stumble over his words, making the guys cackle behind him as he tried to work his way through a sentence. would reach an undiscovered shade of red the moment you approached him after the interview, asking for his contact info under the vice of interest in his producing skills, but your flirty tone would have him thinking otherwise, causing him to heat up even more.

seokmin -

embarrassment is usually scared of seokmin. he can do anything, anywhere, anyhow, and not feel a single ounce of shame at it. but this was the exception. upon hearing he'd finally be meeting you as you interviewed them for a special celebrity interview, he was beyond embarrassed in advance. he knew there would be no way for him to act normal around you. he was in love with you! okay, maybe that was too much, but he did have a huge thing for you, even having fantasized about your first meeting many times before. nothing could have prepared him for the moment the interview started and you revealed (with no warning whatsoever) that you'd been a carat for a few years now, biasing none other than him. the teasing from the members was the least of his problems as he attempted to formulate some type of charming response to you, ultimately settling for an uncharacteristically quiet 'thank you' as his ears burned. would muster all the courage within himself to approach you after the interview, coaxing vernon into acting as interpreter as he expressed his liking of you as an artist. both him and vernon would widen their eyes in surprise the moment you asked vernon to let seokmin know he was welcome to contact you any time if he ever wanted to get to know you in the future, handing him a note with all your personal contact info.

mingyu -

even though he was a little nervous at the idea of meeting you after all these years of crushing on you, he would still be 100% down for it, loving the chance to finally meet you face to face. would go out of his way to be the main one you interact with the entire time you're in the same room, even if there's a language barrier between you. after getting a bit comfortable around you, would do his best to flirt even if you two couldn't understand each other very well. would make his interest be known, hoping maybe this won't be the last time you two interact. not too surprised when you began to show interest back, using this opportunity to hand over his phone with a new contact popped up, acting visibly giddy upon seeing you register your number, winking at him and instructing him to call you.

minghao -

at times he tends to be a little reserved and quiet during interviews, and i think thatd be specially the case during a foreign interview. if the interviewer happened to be you, his celebrity crush of many years, he'd still keep silent, hoping quietly to himself that none of the members would bring up his crush on you to embarrass him. would try to keep his interest in you lowkey, even if it was hard to keep his eyes off of you now that you were finally in the same room as him. would be a little surprised when he noticed you making eyes at him off camera, and even during the interview. would be twice as surprised when you came up to him afterwards, boldly asking for his contact info the best you could through the language barrier. even as flustered as he was, he'd hand type in his instagram @ on your phone, feeling like he was on top of the world.

seungkwan -

despite being super outgoing and extroverted, would shut down the moment his manager informed him you would be conducting a celebrity interview for seventeen. he'd try to keep himself as small as possible, hoping you don't notice him among the 12 other members. would try so so hard to keep his eyes off you, knowing he'd turn red as a beet if you even made eye contact with him. he'd spent one too many nights already fantasizing about meeting you, his favorite singer and celebrity crush, refusing to ever actually meet you in order to avoid ever embarrassing himself in front of you. would be caught so off guard when you approached him after the interview, telling him you'd seen some of his covers and fell in love with his voice, asking if he'd be interested in ever doing something together. vernon would have to intervene after a full minute of shocked silence from seungkwan, taking your contact info for him and excusing his friend, earning a scandalized smack on his chest from him at his reasoning of 'sorry, he just really likes you.'

vernon -

he had never wanted to not be fluent in english more than in this moment. being one of the members who spoke fluent english, he knew he had some responsibility to take charge of western interviews and be the one to answer most questions during interviews, but the moment he heard you were the one who would be interviewing them on the red carpet of some awards show, he immediately wanted to take his ass back to south korea. even after mentally readying himself for a few days, nothing could've prepared him to see you in that outfit, so pretty and so close. if you showed any type of flirtatious behavior, vernon's mind would go blank, being unable to respond to your questions as his brain could not even process what you'd said after the word 'handsome' came out of your mouth. joshua would have to take over to salvage the situation. luckily for vernon, you'd found his reaction to be adorable, deciding to ask for his socials once the cameras were off.

chan -

the moment he heard you were interviewing him and the members, he would pray to god none of the guys would go out of their way to embarrass him in front of you, knowing he'd been crushing on you even since predebut. would be in absolute awe of you from the moment you walked in the room, heart going a mile a minute as the time for the interview approached. would internally curse the guys for making him sit closest to you, meaning you instinctually would direct most questions at him. would sometimes miss a question because he'd be too distracted staring at you with moony eyes. would have to be nudged by the guys to focus, causing you to giggle at him, probably realizing he might have a lil thing for you. he was lucky he was cute, because that would lead you to seek him out after the interview, with chan dragging vernon over to awkwardly third wheel as he translated your flirtatious comments to chan.

[lukespookie]

sweetheart. | luke castellan x f! child of ares!reader

about - "i need you more than i want to." - camila cabello

warning - smut, all characters are 18+, petnames, oral (f receiving), luke is MEAN. brat taming sorta kinda maybe

a/n - guyssssss i luv enemies to lovers im gonna SOBBBBB anyways i hope this is good lmao

here you two sat. in mr. d's office while he yells at you for fighting again. it wasnt even in a in trouble way, more of a shut the fuck up and get along kinda way.

but it wasnt your fault!!

it all started when you were training. you were extremely upset since luke had, once again, beaten your team at capture the flag. you had such a good plan too!

then, luke just had to come on over and brag.

"you look a bit tense, sweetheart. don't tell me your upset that we won?" luke smirks from behind you, making you turn around.

"you only won because you cheated." you say, your eyes squinting.

from there, it basically turned into you insulting each other back and forth.

you hadnt always been like this. there was a time when you two were the best of friends. but you were driven away by your siblings since the ares cabin and hermes cabin hated each other

so now, here you were getting chewed out all because luke is cocky!!

"you two are both banned from capture the flag until next month." mr. d says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"what?!" you and luke say in sync.

"luke started it! this isnt fair!" you groan, standing up from your seat.

"how did i start it? you're the one who started being rude!" luke argues. the two of you ramble on and on before mr. d gets fed up at kicks you out.

you and luke walk outside of the big house, burning in anger. leave it to luke castellan to ruin your month!!

his stupid handsome face is always getting on your nerves! and what annoys you the most is that you cant stop thinking about him.

mostly at night, when you touch yourself in your bedroom. luke is who you think of. but who can blame you?! hes just soso hot when you spar, sweat dripping down his forehead and his chest heaving. :(( his veiny arms tense as he holds his sword and swings it with ease.

and gods, his lips!!!

"you started it!" you repeat, annoyed that he was blaming it on poor lil you!! :((

but, thats when you get a genius idea. you had to find a way to put luke in his place, and thats what you had.

as a child of ares, you had the power of telumkinesis, the power to curse your opponents' weapons and transfigure any object into any weapon. you could also change the weight of your opponents weapons, which is exactly what you planned to do.

"we could settle it with a spar?" you sugest, shrugging to look as natural as possible!!

"you're on." he smirks.

you get dressed in your camp half-blood shirt, cut and fitted to be shorter and tighter, and some jean shorts. you throw on your super dirty, red converse and grab your sword, walking to the arena to spar.

you see luke and look down at his hand, holding his sword.you stop walking and.. okay, how does this shit work?

you stare at the sword, focusing only on that and eventually lukes arm drops a bit and he brings his sword up to his face and examine it. it worked!!!

you walk over, feeling as confident as ever.

"you okay, castellan? you look a bit stressed out." you smirk, making him snap around to face you, a scowl on his face.

"what'd you do to my sword, daughter of ares? dont think im dumb." luke snaps, making you scoff.

"i dont know what you're talking about." you shrug.

luke looks around before snatching you wrist, his grip tight as steel as he drags you into the forest.

luke ignores your insults and protests as he pins you to a tree, his hands on your waist and him towering over you.

"not so strong now are you? hm?" he growls, grabbing your face.

"l-luke.. this isnt funny.." you whisper, stomach twisting into a billion knots. "wasnt tryna be" he mutters, grabbing your sword and throwing it gods know where.

"so fuckin' pretty when you're not talking." he sighs looking at you for a moment before connecting your lips.

he kisses you sloppily, not caring to try to use skill. you're stunned for a moment before you kiss back, kissing with as much desire as him.

he pulls away. "shit, can i?" he breathes, making you nod rapidly.

he unbuttons and unzips your jean shorts, tugging them down and letting them pool at your ankles.

"gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart." he mutters, kissing your cheek before he kneels down in front of you.

he rubs his thumb over the wet spot on your panties with a groan, making you shutter.

"you're soaked." he smirks. he pulls your panties down and your pussy is connected to it with a string of wetness. "fuck, who knew you were such a whore?"

he digs in, lapping at your swollen clit like a starved man. your hands find their way to his messy curls, tugging as hard as possible out of spite.

he slightly pulls away. "don't tug so hard." he mumbles, arousal all over his chin. you push his head back into your cunt, moaning when his nose connects with your clit.

he thrusts his tongue in and out of your hole, making you cry out and tug his hair hard. "pull my hair like that again and i'll stop." he warns.

you quickly move your hands to his shoulders, not wanting him to stop eating your cunt.

he goes back to pushing him tongue inside of you, your moans and cute noises egginng him on.

"fuck, luke! dont stop, dont stop." you cry out, back arching off the tree.

he pulls away, breathing heavily onto your cunt. "im not baby, im not."

he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue on it.

"luke! cant, its too much!" you sob, trying to push his head away. "you can take it. you'll take it."

your orgasm crashes over you, shuttering as luke licks it all up.

he stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

you notice the prominent tent in his pants, making you frown. "what about you?" you ask, looking up at him.

"just gives me a reason to see you again." he shrugs, kissing your cheek.

[gay-dorito-dust]

ok what if reader is also a vigilante?

reader and Jason met in their civilian identities, and after a while they start dating. but like, neither of them tells the other one about their vigilante identities? and then something random happens and they both find out in a funny way?

(alsooo can I be 🐈‍⬛? :3)

Idk if this is considered ‘funny’ but I tired, oh and Yes, you may be 🐈‍⬛ anon. 🦦

When you first met Jason in the cosy book store, you were far too concerned with keeping your stint as a vigilante as close to a secret as possible, so much so that the mere aspect of dating wasn’t something you contemplated on a day to day basis; Never less dating a civilian when you’re fighting street level thugs. However you couldn’t help but get lost in the beauty of his smile, his eyes and the way he ran his hand through his hair.

All you were aware in that moment was that Jason is just perfection in a six foot something frame. He was just that beautiful that you couldn’t find yourself looking away from him, ever; It had to be illegal to be that beautiful.

When Jason first met you in the cosy book store, trying to reach for a book that was just out of reach, he was far too concerned about the new vigilante that had taken to the street of Gotham. Nightshade was their name and they obviously had natural talent but were still sloppy in some areas, but they showed enough promise in their debut outing to be apart of the Outlaws. Dating was the last thing he needed honestly, despite affection, loyalty and love were something he deeply longer for more so then anything, however he felt a little tempted by the idea when you gave him a look of gratitude as he handed you the book was enough to set him alight.

‘Jason.’ He blurted.

‘Come again?’ You asked.

‘My name. It’s Jason.’ He clarified, internally cursing himself for making himself looking like a right idiot in front of you, but you just had that effect on him and it hadn’t even been ten minutes upon meeting you. Was he really that depraved? He asked himself as in that very moment you decided to smile at him, which gave him his answer that yes, he was indeed that depraved for a genuine connection. ‘Well it’s nice to meet you Jason. I’m y/n.’ You greeted, finding Jason absolutely endearing and insufferably cute. ‘Do you often help people with books or is it just a one time thing?’ You then asked, holding the book close to your chest, biting the inside of your cheek.

‘I don’t come here as often as I promised myself I would, so consider this as a rare occurrence.’ Jason shrugged, leaning against the shelf. ‘So do you come here often or are you a fellow procrastinator?’ You chuckled and Jason has to pat himself on the back for that one. He managed to make you laugh and god did it sound ethereal. ‘I’m kinda a fellow procrastinator but that’s because I’ve been busy with life and such.’ You told him, not wanting to admit to everything to a conventionally attractive man you’ve just met at a small, run down book store just yet; You didn’t want to fuck this up for yourself.

‘Oh yeah? Then maybe if you come here more often, I’ll have more of a reason to stop by other than the books.’ Jason said and you felt your smile even wider and tighten your grip on the book, casting your eyes to the floor. Curse this beautiful man for making you feel like a silly little schoolgirl either way a crush, it was both embarrassing as it was all consuming. ‘Sounds like you’re asking me on a date, mr Jason.’

Jason shrugs. ‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I mean is it wrong for me to want to get to know you better?’

‘I guess it wouldn’t hurt.’ You admitted.

‘So it’s a date?’ Jason asked, anticipating your answer.

‘Yeah. It’s a date.’ You replied, feeling a warmth flood through your body, followed by a feeling of nervousness simultaneously it was hard to figure out which feeling you should focus on.

Several book store dates, skirting your obvious feelings for one another and moving into his apartment later, you and Jason were officially a couple: and a happy one at that. And yet despite sharing everything to one another, every deep secret you’ve ever kept in your entire life and yet the one secret neither of you chose to disclose was your vigilante identities, and for simple and justifiable reasons on both your parts; You didn’t want Jason to be brought into the crossfire as a casualty and Jason didn’t want you to get hurt because of the dangerous people he wronged as RedHood. You’ve both hated yourselves for keeping a tight lid on your vigilantism but you knew it was for the betterment of the other, after all ignorance was indeed -on some occasions- bliss.

However on this very night, everything you and Jason have ever hidden from the other had decided to come to light but not in a way that’d either of you were expecting.

You and Jason were cuddled up on the couch and enjoying a peaceful evening in together, seeing as for a week straight both of you have had your hands full with capturing and clearing the streets of Gotham of thugs, goons and drug dealers, and actually getting the golden opportunity to act like an ordinary couple and shower the other in the love and affection that you’ve both been aching for the entire week.

‘You need to get some better sleep Jaybirdie, I can see dark bags starting to form under your eyes.’ You mutter softly as you run your calloused thumbs under his eyes, naturally concerned for his health and well-being. ‘Are you saying that I’m not that appealing to look at anymore because I’m developing eye bags? How shallow of you babe.’ Jason joked as he moved his face from your hands and looking away from you with a pout on his lips.

You laughed, reaching to hold his face in your hands again and gently made him look at you. ‘Stop being dramatic my little Jay bird, I think you make eyes bags work for you but I just don’t like the idea of you staying up longer than you should.’ You said as you kissed his lips and then under his eyes, feeling him hum in content as he dragged you into him tightly. ‘I appreciate the compliment babe.’ He said as he pressed a kiss to your head, closing his eyes as he breathed you in deeply. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t had enough time with each other lately.’

You burrowed yourself deeper into him, hands clutching at his shirt. ‘it’s okay Jason and besides I should sorry too because there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. I hope you don’t hate me afterwards.’ You admit, scared that this might break your beautiful relationship with the sweetest man you’ve ever met, who had been nothing but unquestionably loyal to you through and through. ‘You could do no wrong pretty baby,’ Jason cooed, ‘but since we’re sharing things, I have something that I’ve been keeping from you also sweetheart.’ Jason said as he feared that he’d only be scaring you away afterwards and he can only hope that you’d stay and hear him out.

‘No, Jason you don’t-‘ you were cut off by the sound of two emergency alerts going off from your shared bedroom and before leaping off of Jason’s lap, much to his displeasure and worry, and rushed towards the bedroom with Jason hot on your heels going on about something you couldn’t quite make out over the noise of the emergency alerts. It was rare that it goes off and when it does, it’s when someone like scarecrow or Joker has made a reemergence to the public and when they do, nothin good ever comes to pass.

Within the depths of your shared closet in your bedroom were two equal sized duffel bags. Inside these duffel bags held everything to do with your vigilante personas that you and Jason had hastily shoved inside, and all before you officially moved into his apartment too. You never touched his out of respect for him and he never touched yours out of respect also, you both knew which one belong to who as they also sat just beneath your own civilians clothes, that and the fact that Jason’s duffel bag was a lot more beat up and rugged compared to yours which only had slight wears and tears; but other then that it was relatively a new bag.

Right of this moment however you didn’t stop to think about which bag you’ve picked up because before you knew it you had locked yourself within the bathroom, just about ready to change into your attire, when you were face to face with a familiar red helmet causing you to freeze in place. While you were trying to grasp the idea that your beautiful, beautiful Jason was the ruthless RedHood, a knock on the bathroom door broke you from your thoughts, and you automatically knew that Jason saw your vigilante attire and was feeling a similar sort of confusion towards you as you were about him. You placed the red helmet back into the duffle bag, zipped it shut before unlocking and opening the door wide enough for Jason to hold out your duffel bag towards you.

‘I believe this is yours sweetheart.’ He said awkwardly.

‘Thank you Jaybirdie.’ You mutter as you took the bag off of him, placing it down on the toilet seat as you picked up his duffel bag and handed it to him through the gap in the doorway. ‘I believe this belongs to you.’

‘Thank you sweetheart.’ Jason replied as he took the bag off of your hands as an uncomfortable air of silence followed as you both stood on either sides of the door, not knowing how to properly address the situation. Until… ‘I knew I recognise that ass in spandex anywhere.’

‘JASON!’ You exclaimed, face becoming flushed.

‘What? It’s true you’ve got a distinctly shaped ass! So of course I’m going to recognise it!’ Jason replied, throwing his hands up in the air.

‘So you’ve admitted to staring at my ass like a perv?’ You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jason pushed the bathroom door open fully to get closer to you and hold your face in his hands. ‘Don’t start acting like you haven’t stared at my ass like a perv, perv.’ He says with a chuckle upon seeing the expression upon your face, pressing kisses from your forehead and all the way down to the tip of your nose. ‘I thought you wouldn’t notice.’ You murmur softly, making Jason laugh as he lead you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where he then sat you down on the end of the bed and held your hand.

‘Well unfortunately for you, I do notice and I can’t say I don’t like the attention that I’d get for my charming parent.’ Jason says as he kisses the back of your hand. ‘You’re not mad that I’m a vigilante and have been keeping it from you all this time?’ You asked, running your thumb over his hand. ‘No because it would be quite hypocritical if I did because I’ve been keeping the same secret hidden from you also. Would you be mad at me being RedHood?’ Jason asked and you immeditly replied ‘no because I know you did so to keep me safe.’

‘Ans I know that you didn’t tell me for the exact same reason.’ Jason butted in. ‘Now that we know however, this just means that we’re even more of a kick ass couple because we literally kick ass every night and I couldn’t be more prouder of you baby.’ He add as he presses kisses to your face, making you chuckle before pulling away. ‘But that doesn’t mean I won’t stop worry about my baby. So expect a whole lot of team ups in the future okay chipmunk?’ You pressed a kiss to his cheek before stealing one from his lips as you stood up from the bed, tugging at his arm. ‘Why don’t we start teaming up now? RedHood and Nightshade, they’ll never see us coming by a long shot!’ You said and Jason couldn’t help but smile at your excitement as he then stood up, groaning dramatically. ‘Alright, alright, quick pulling my arm and get changed so we can go catch us some bad guys.’

You beamed brightly as you stole another kiss from his lips. ‘I love you Jaybirdie.’

‘The things I do for you buttercup.’ Jason spoke against your lips as he kisses you again.

[egcdeath]

spectator sport

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: you and joel are the most competitive parents in your daughters’ soccer league. as it turns out, it’s not so easy being enemies when your daughters become best friends.

word count: 4.8k

warnings: canon divergent (no apocalypse yay!), rivals(?) to lovers, they don’t really like each other at the start but they also kinda do?, fluff, realizing feelings, domestic moments, yearning, allusions to a divorce 

author’s note: tlou is an angsty masterpiece, but sometimes all i want is a little lighthearted fun. is this the most in character thing?? no! is it more fun to imagine malewife joel in a world without cordyceps? well… you tell me ;) 

part two / series masterlist

“You got it, Chlo,” you cheered from behind a spray painted white line on a cleat-beaten grassy field. You balled your fists as you anxiously watched your daughter chase after the ball with a ferocity, herding it closer and closer towards the goal.

Your daughter had always had a passion for soccer, having watched professional matches with her father since the moment she could comprehend the game, and playing as soon as she could walk. Chloe had leaned even further into the sport following you and your ex-husband’s somewhat messy divorce, which left you in charge of bringing her to practices on Tuesdays, and games on Thursdays. It wasn’t like you minded much, you were always happy to support your daughter in whatever brought her joy. 

“Pass it! Pass it!” a loud, masculine voice interjected as the man next to you shouted at your daughter. 

Joel was not exactly your favorite parent on the team. While most of the parents enjoyed his presence, with his oddly wise advice for the girls and vocal support of the team (it also helped that he was quite easy on the eyes), something about the man had always thrown you off. Maybe it was his stubborn demeanor, or the way that he found a way to argue with you during every single game, without fail. 

Now, as far as soccer parents went, you weren’t the worst. You had your moments of snapping at a shitty referee after a particularly rough week at work, or possibly being a little too enthusiastic when something bad happened to the opposing team, but somehow Joel always managed to do or say something that provoked you just enough to go back and forth with him.

Chloe glanced over in his direction, briefly losing her footing in perfect time for a member of the opposing team to snatch the ball right out from under her. 

There was a collective groan from some of the more intense parents on your side, and you openly glared at them for indicating their disappointment with your daughter’s performance. But this wasn’t their fault. It was Joel’s.

“Great call out there,” you spat, shooting daggers in Joel’s direction as you took a few steps closer to where he was standing.

“Oh please,” you could practically hear the roll of his eyes in his words as he prepared to defend himself from your vitriol. “You think I wanted that to happen? I’m rooting for the whole team, not just my child.”

“I am not just rooting for my kid,” you delivered the statement a little too genuinely considering that the truth was probably closer to the opposite. “But you’re acting like you wouldn’t have felt the same way if it was your daughter.”

“I wouldn’t, ‘cause I understand that we’re probably gonna win,” Joel responded casually with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“Well, we would’ve had a much better shot at that if you weren’t so dead set on yelling shitty directions at the girls. Maybe leave that to their coach?”

“Hey, don’t curse! You’re forgetting there are kids around,” one of the fathers interjected, sounding far more offended than he needed to be. 

“Shut up, Mark,” you and Joel said at almost the same time, voices overlapping. Your little spats were yours and yours only, and you’d thought it was common knowledge by now not to interfere when any of the parents were getting into it—but especially with you two. 

As usual, your little back and forth seemed to go on and on. It had reached the point where you weren’t even really sure it had anything to do with the game as much as it had to do with the text you’d received from your ex just a few hours before the game, and whatever bullshit Joel had going on in his own life.

As much as you’d like to say you had self awareness, week after week the other parents shared knowing looks and snickered at your spectacle, yet being the laughing stock of the game didn’t deter either of you. 

This week’s argument was no different. 

To be quite honest, you hadn’t ever really paid attention to those who treated your spats as their mid-game entertainment. Right now, all you could think about was stupid Joel, shouting something stupid at your daughter, making her lose her focus, and miss out on a moment. 

Well, maybe you two had too much tunnel vision, as an uproar of cheers from your side pulled both of your attention from each other, and to the celebrating team on the field. Particularly, Chloe and Sarah high-fiving as they jogged away from the goal. 

Awkwardly the two of you clapped, cheering the names of your respective children. You didn’t miss the slight flush of red on Joel’s cheeks after missing the sight of his daughter working with yours to score, but you would be a liar if you didn’t admit that you felt the slightest hint of embarrassment too.

The game wrapped up soon after, with a quick discussion with the coach before the children were dismissed back to their families. As you waited for Chloe, you didn’t miss the newfound camaraderie between herself and Sarah, with the girls seemingly laughing at something as they made their way over to you. 

Despite whatever negative feelings you may have had towards Joel, you were always happy to see your daughter happy, and if that meant you may have to tolerate the father of her friend, maybe, just maybe, you would stop treating her games as an arena for your shouting matches.

——

As an involved parent, you were no stranger to school fundraisers. For the most part, you would enter a raffle and sit through a catered dinner as the school choir butchered school-appropriate songs, or purchase a handful of chocolate bars from whatever kid was knocking at your door. However, for this fundraiser, Chloe insisted that you volunteer. 

It was a simple bake sale occurring during school hours, and you had the day off. How bad could it really be?

Apparently, really bad. 

Just minutes after you arrived and began to set out the cash box and assorted baked goods, an unwelcome presence joined you, immediately bringing an uncomfortable tension into the atmosphere. If you knew when you signed up for this event that you would be working with Joel Miller, you could guarantee you wouldn’t have been so eager to register.

“Oh, hey,” you tensely acknowledged after a moment, glancing up at the man who was joining you, then back down at the bagged brownies in front of you.

“Hey,” he responded just a second too quickly, then went silent as he seemed to feel out the awkward tension in the room. After a few seconds of heavy silence that felt closer to an hour, he finally added, “Any ways can I help out?” 

Joel gestured to the table where you’d been organizing some of the baked goods. “Is there a method to your madness? Or just…” he trailed off awkwardly. 

It was obvious that he hadn’t expected to be working with you, likely not enthused to be spending a good portion of the day in such close proximity with someone he clearly did not like being around. The situation was almost comical—spending hours in a school with someone that you weren’t sure you could spend five minutes with without breaking into explicit argument. Obviously it would be inappropriate to argue with him in this setting, so you reasoned that for the duration of your shift, you could at least attempt to be cordial.

“Uh, they just want us to keep twenty items out at a time,” you shrugged. You could be cordial. You could just give Joel instructions, then only interact with him when need be. “And to keep gluten free items in this basket. Other than that, everything is set up. The first lunch period’s in about a half hour, so we won’t have much to do until then.”

“Got it,” Joel nodded, pulling out a rather squeaky chair before taking a seat next to you. 

The following few minutes could only be described as painfully awkward. You could cut the tension with a knife as you attempted to scroll nonchalantly on your phone, and Joel uncomfortably rubbed his hands on his jeans. This was going to be a long afternoon.

“So, what made you decide to help out today?” he asked out of the blue, drawing your attention away from your phone and over to his face.

Okay, you could handle small talk without getting into an argument. Besides, it’s not like you had anything to argue about. And to be frank, were your arguments really ever anything of substance? Sure, sometimes you both had done something slightly annoying or antagonistic, but your arguments never really felt that serious. 

“Chloe knew I had the day off and pretty enthusiastically suggested I come help,” you shrugged as almost a means to shake some of your nerves out. “How about you?”

“Pretty similar on my end. Sarah thought it would be a great idea for me to come in today and help out.” Joel looked at you, then back down at his watch, as if he didn’t want to maintain eye contact for too long. 

What a strange coincidence. Both of your daughters suggest you come to their school and work together on something.

You bit back whatever emotion it was involuntarily forming on your lips as it occurred to you that there was not a chance in Hell that this was accidental. Sarah and Chloe seemed to be quite close—you rarely heard a story that didn’t involve Sarah these days—and it was not unlike your daughter to plot schemes to try to fix relationships, a trait you and your ex-husband know a little too well. Clever, clever girls.

“What are the odds this was on purpose?” you asked, finally not restraining your entertainment by this whole situation. How ridiculous. And ironic. How ridiculously ironic. 

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say quite high,” Joel pressed his lips together and shook his head to himself. 

And while you’d rather have your child just communicate to you that you’re embarrassing her at games, or that she would prefer you to be at the very least amicable with her new best friend’s father, at the end of the day you couldn’t really blame her for pulling off an elaborate plot. Besides, your feud with Joel was silly and unnecessary, and part of you had always wondered if you hadn’t spent so much time arguing with him, if you two would actually get along. 

“If they did plan this, which they most certainly did, we have some smart kids,” you chuckled softly. “And maybe for the sake of them, we can attempt to be… friendly?”

Joel nodded slowly, “I can do friendly.”

A truce. Although the tension between you could still be cut with a knife, it felt nice to agree at the very least not to start a war at the little table. 

”Can we really blame them for setting us up?” you pondered aloud, “I mean, who would want their best friend’s parents to be enemies?”

“We’re enemies?” Joel asked with a lift of his brow.

“Well,” you paused. You weren’t really enemies. Despite all of the heated arguments, more times than not, Joel provided you a pretty safe outlet to vent your feelings without many repercussions. “Maybe… rivals?”

Joel shrugged, “Maybe. I know for certain I don’t see you as an enemy. Although, I apologize if I ever made you feel that way.”

Was Joel… apologizing? First, working together with the man, and now an apology. Maybe you should’ve gone and visited your psychic after all, with the unpredictable way your week was turning out. 

“I’m sorry,” he admitted, sounding quite genuine. You still weren’t completely sure that this was some weird joke, or that you’d woken up in a parallel dimension. “For always stirring the pot during games. It’s really quite-“

“Joel, it’s really not an issue,” earnestly and without a thought you interrupted the apologetic man, not wanting him to feel the guilt of being solely responsible for your little tussles. “I don’t take anything you say during games seriously. But I also want to apologize. It’s probably not the best to find little things to argue about every week.”

“I just wanted to be clear that I don’t hate you or anything,” he emphasized.

“Well I don’t want you to think I hate you either. If we’re being honest, it’s been pretty nice to be able to inconsequentially blow off steam every now and then. If anything, you’re doing me a favor.”

The corners of his lips turned up and into the slightest smile at your admission, and suddenly it had felt as if a weight had lifted off of your shoulders, and a bit more of the tension had dissolved in the room. 

“No hard feelings?” he offered. 

“None. Maybe the opposite,” you teased.

“Well, you know what they say about love and hate…”

“Now that may be a step too far.”

As it turned out, you and Joel made a pretty efficient bake sale team. Joel helped the kids pick out their baked goods, and you cashed the kids out. Sure, it wasn’t the most complex operation, but it felt nice to be in such a comfortable rhythm, especially considering the majority of your professional work you did alone. 

By the end of your shift, you were far less displeased with your situation. In fact, one might even say that you enjoyed spending your afternoon at the sale with your daughter’s best friend’s father. Maybe Chloe and Sarah’s plot to force you together wasn’t so terrible after all. 

Maybe Joel wasn’t so terrible after all.

——-

Every year, Autumn means one thing in your town: the annual fall festival.

It was honestly impressive the way that the entire community would go all out to put on such a large event in order to adequately honor the season, although part of you was convinced that the whole weekend-long event was an excuse for kids and adults alike to indulge in candy apples and Oreo turkeys and show off unnaturally large pumpkins. 

This year was no different, and as tradition, you and Chloe hauled yourselves down to the festival. It just happened to be your luck that as you were exiting the car, a pickup truck pulling into a parking space caught Chloe’s attention. 

“It’s Sarah!” your daughter informed you, practically skipping over to the vehicle. You followed after your daughter (who just so happened to be much faster than you) as she pulled her friend into a hug the very moment she popped out of the car. 

Joel hopped out as well, glancing at your children who already seemed to be walking off towards the fair, then back to you.

“How are you?” he asked, fidgeting with his keys as he put them into his pocket. It was clear that despite deciding not to feud anymore, things were still a little fresh and weird between you two. 

“Good, good,” you trailed off, nodding slowly as you slipped your hands into your own pockets and began to follow the two girls. Somehow, Joel ended up walking next to you as you trailed behind your daughters, and a light tension filled the air. 

Despite feeling slightly more comfortable with him after your shift together at the bake sale, it was clear that there was still some strange awkward energy between you two. After all, you had only made amends around a week ago, and prior to that, the majority of your interactions had included some sort of verbal altercation.

Walking into the fair, you maintained a less-than-comfortable silence as your daughters chatted and led the way to the field, filled with booths and stations as far as your eye could see. 

After a bit of aimless walking around, Chloe suggested a stop at a cornhole station. Watching your respective children play from the sidelines, you couldn’t help but crack a smile at the pure, unadulterated joy coming from your daughter as her and Sarah bantered with each other and tossed little bean bags. After ending with a tie, the pair began to walk away from where they were standing before pausing in front of you and Joel.

“You guys should play!” Sarah suggested enthusiastically, looking up at her father with an animated look in her eyes. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Joel trailed off and glanced at you as if he wanted to check how you were feeling on the matter. 

Sure, you didn’t have the upper body strength of someone who did construction for a living, but you were confident in your ability to kick some ass at corn hole. 

“C’mon, mom. And you too, Joel. It’s fun! It’ll be fun!” Chloe, ever the instigator, egged you on. 

“Alright, alright, since you insist,” you played up your reluctance, but happily accepted the red beanbags your daughter offered you. “It’s on, Miller,” you said as you approached the boards. 

“Just you wait,” he shot back, matching the overconfident, cocky persona you’d seemed to put on. “Before I embarrass you, I’ll be polite and let you go first.”

“How kind,” you playfully rolled your eyes, but focused long enough to toss the pack not too hard and not too light, and it slid on the board before landing in the hole. “What was that about embarrassing myself?”

Heckling Joel was unsurprisingly quite easy, considering the majority of your interactions prior to the past week had consisted of taking blows at each other. What you didn’t expect was how naturally the banter between you flowed when both of you were able to acknowledge that what you were saying really wasn’t serious at all.

“I think that was called luck. You still have plenty of time to embarrass yourself,” Joel didn’t even miss a beat as he tossed his bean bag with ease, landing right into the hole.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t impressed by his aim, and that your confidence hadn’t slightly faltered. For once in your life, it was possible that a man wasn’t over exaggerating his capabilities.

“Not bad, Joel,” you brushed his accomplishment off as you went to toss your next bag. This time, you weren’t so lucky, and your turn ended with your beanbag on the side of the board.

Chloe and Sarah dramatically reacted from the side, cheering or whooping whenever they saw fit. In a weird way, it was like your roles had been reversed. You and Joel were no longer the overenthusiastic spectators.

“What did I say? Luck,” Joel tutted. “Look, girls. I’ll show you how a real expert does it.”

Turning his back to you and the board, Joel attempted to toss his bag through the board, yet as he turned back around, he found it in the grass between your two boards. 

You, Sarah, and Chloe erupted into laughter at the irony of it all, so much so that Joel couldn’t even help but to join in. 

“Great job, ‘real expert’. Can you teach me your ways?”

You were somewhat stunned with the speed at which the ice had broken between you and Joel. Just a few minutes ago walking into the fair, you were nervous that the evening would be tense and awkward, yet here you were, teasing and laughing right along with each other.

Once your laughter subsided, you both tossed your last bags, with you making it in and Joel missing. After a gratuitous moment of celebration, Joel walked over to you and extended his hand for a handshake. You took up his offer, and firmly shook his hand. 

“Good job out there. You were a worthy opponent.”

“Thank you, Joel. I could say the same, but I won’t. Y’know, since you lost.”

This received a giggle from your kids as Joel abruptly dropped your hand, feigning offense. Maybe it had just been a long time since you’d received any physical affection at all, but the loss of his brief grip stirred something strange deep inside of you. 

Ew. No. 

You could barely tolerate this man a week ago. Sure, he wasn’t terrible to look at, and your daughter had seemed to take a liking to him, but you’d be remiss if you hadn’t thought about all of those charged arguments you’d had during soccer games. You had only just recently considered him to be anything more than a nuisance. 

“Where to next?” Joel asked, pulling you out of your head as the girls began to chatter and move in the direction of whatever booth had caught their eyes. 

That was a train of thought for another time. Maybe you’d let yourself think about it tonight night, as you attempt to fall asleep in a bed that’s far too big for one person and far too cold without someone else there. But not here, where the situation felt like a live wire, and a little too real for your liking. 

——

For the most part, Chloe’s soccer hobby took up more time than it gave you. The time it took going to practices, games, and tournaments quickly added up, on top of working an absurd amount to make sure that you could pay the mortgage and club fees on time and keep your child happy. The one exception to this general rule were team dinner nights—a night where you didn’t have to worry about spending an hour or two in the kitchen, giving you far more free time to do whatever you wanted.

This time around, Joel was hosting the dinner at his place. Clearly, Chloe was excited to be spending the evening at her closest friend’s home, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t the slightest bit curious to see what his place looked like.

And maybe, just maybe, you were the slightest bit excited to see Joel again. 

“Can we just go over early?” she requested as you checked the nearly done cookies in the oven. “Can I go over early to hang out with Sarah? Please?”

You practically could hear the puppy dog eyes in her voice, and when you looked over to her, she was indeed looking at you with a somewhat convincing sense of desperation. It was never easy for you to say no to your daughter, which she unfortunately knew. This time was no different. 

Sighing softly, you conceded, “have Sarah ask her dad if you can come by.”

Chloe cheered as she dashed off to the other room, seemingly reaching out to her friend who very quickly responded, as your daughter was back in just a few minutes with confirmation that she could come by any time. 

Quickly pulling the cookies out from the oven and throwing them into a container, you packed Chloe into the car, and hauled her over to her friend’s house. 

Chloe grabbed your Tupperware and skipped to the door, politely knocking and waiting patiently as you stayed seated in your car, just to make sure your daughter got in okay. As if she was awaiting Chloe’s arrival (and she most definitely was), Sarah pulled open the door the moment Chloe had put her knuckles to the door and welcomed her friend in. 

A somewhat muffled voice from inside called something out, leaving Sarah to relay it back to you: “Before you go, my dad wanted to know if you wanted to stop in for a drink?” she called out, just loud enough for you to hear from your open window.

Any other day, you would’ve said no. But for some reason, coming in and checking in just felt right today—so that was exactly what you did. It wasn’t like you and Joel weren’t in friendship territory with each other. 

While the girls ran off upstairs, you made your way to the kitchen to find a very stressed-looking Joel. He was in complete disarray as he checked the oven twice, then the fridge for something, then stirred something in a pot.

“Hey, you alright?” you asked right off the bat, setting down the container of cookies your daughter had given back to you onto his countertop. 

“Yeah, fine. Just didn’t think about how I was gonna cook all of this in time,” he moved away from the stovetop and towards a cupboard to grab you a glass. “Now what would you like to drink? I’ve got some coke, some juice, something a little stronger…?”

“Just water is fine,” you hummed, awkwardly standing by the counter. “Joel, do you want some help? You know, four hands are better than two. And I’m pretty competent when it comes to reading and following a recipe.”

“Please,” he barely let you finish speaking before he spoke, and desperation was practically dripping off his tone as he passed you a glass of water.

You weren’t sure you expected him to say yes, but you were somewhat surprised when he agreed anyway. He didn’t exactly seem like the type to accept help, let alone ask for it. Joel must’ve been even more stressed than you initially picked up on. 

“Of course. What would you like me to do?”

“Uh, if you could just cut up some of the fruit that would be great,” the man ran his hands through his hair as he approached the fridge once more.

You nodded and walked over to the cutting board where it was clear that Joel had begun to attempt cutting some fruit up, but had been interrupted by one of the many pots on the stovetop or dishes in the oven.

Although you didn’t necessarily envision your evening being spent in a frantic Joel Miller’s kitchen, you weren’t particularly mad at it. It didn’t take long for you two to fall into that easy collaborative rhythm that you seemed to always have when it came to working together. Maybe you weren’t too bad of a team after all. 

By the time the doorbell rang with the first family, you and Joel had just finished up, and your daughters had just about finished setting up the table in the dining room and on the patio. Taking you by surprise, Joel reached out for a high-five, which gave you a hearty laugh as the two of you tapped hands.

“I appreciate your help,” he remarked. “You saved my ass tonight.”

By all means, dinner was a success. Parents and children raved about how good everything was, and conversing with Joel and the other parents was surprisingly easy—despite you not noticing the knowing looks that a few of the more gossipy moms frequently shot each other. 

Luckily, a few families assisted in cleaning things up after dinner before heading out, cutting the time you’d need to spend helping with cleaning pretty significantly. As the night wound down, it came as no surprise when Chloe asked if she and Sarah could hang out for just a bit longer. It’s not like an extra hour would kill you, especially not when Joel was pulling out a bottle of white wine and suggesting sitting out on the patio in the pleasant Austin autumn weather. 

As you got settled into your seat, Joel poured you out a glass before pouring himself some. You sighed contentedly, happy with a rather pleasant evening, but tired from the stress of the day. 

“Thank you for helping me out. There’s no way in hell I could’ve done this without you,” he confessed, peering deeply into your eyes. He looked at you for just a moment too long, the attention bringing a warmth to your face.

“I’m always happy to help anyone,” you smiled shyly under the pressure of his intense look before taking a sip of your drink. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be happy to help Amy. But I’m always happy to help you.”

“Well, I appreciate you,” Joel paused as he drank. “And I wouldn’t help Amy either.”

The two of you shared a little laugh before a rather comfortable silence filled the air. The two of you looked up at the sky, gazing at the stars that seemed to be shining a little more bright than usual.

“I’d like to repay you somehow,” Joel said, breaking the silence as he continued to keep his eyes fixed on the sky. 

“Mm, that’s not necessary,” you hummed. “Dinner was plenty. It was great, and Chloe and I will definitely be enjoying our leftovers.”

“It’s necessary to me,” Joel paused as if he was contemplating even saying the next words. “Would you let me take you out sometime?” 

It was clear that he was looking right at you, nervously anticipating your answer. 

You cracked a slight smile as you turned your head towards him, “That would be nice,” you nodded. “I think that would be really nice.”

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part I: Radio's not dead

| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor

"Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow. You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.” “Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?” You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” [Or after a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping . . . *checks notes* . . . the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You pass the tissue box—the third one already.

Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles.

Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes. Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.

“—and I have this . . . uh . . . like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.

Your eyes twitch.

He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”

“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Pastel pink floor.

Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ears. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum ring. Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found.

The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.

“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”

You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.

His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh . . . well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “

You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.

“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says.  “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to do that.”

You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.

Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology.  (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)

“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means.  “What kind of nurse ar—“

“Doctor.”

“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”

You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now.?

“Yeah . . . ?”

You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”

“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”

You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”

His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”

You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”

He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”

You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”

“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”

“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Pheny—what?”

“ . . . Angel Dust.”

“The porn star?”

“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Come on, nurse—”

Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting.

He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns.

You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair.  His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.

Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs.Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.

“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.

Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle.

Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic. You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.

You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus.

You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.

“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”

The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.

He doesn’t close the door on his way out.

The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.

(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)

You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.

“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”

Silence is your reply.

“Tagatha?”

Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date.

Although . . . those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.

Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.

Too bad he’s occupied.

You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.

Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA.

The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears.

The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before

The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.

You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment. Just . . . a small . . . single moment.

 . . . On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.

Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.

“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”

Huh? The feather on your hair preens. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light.  You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.

“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”

Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.

“What a dated voice!”

A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”

Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That . . . that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.

“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”

Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”

Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.

“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.

“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”

The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖̖͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ “Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management.  You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “ . . .Doctor?”

Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.

“The . . . uh . . . the lights are back.”

You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”

She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”

“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are . . . difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”

“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”

Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.

You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”

You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.

You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.

“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”

“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”

“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”

He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”

“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”

“Really, now?”

You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”

“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”

You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”

Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve . . . almost . . . almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.

Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.

You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.

Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You hold your palm out. “May I?”

His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”

Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”

You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”

“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”

He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”

You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.”  You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”

You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.

“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such . . . er . . .interesting decorations around. . . . May I?”

You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.

“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.

“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)

“I figured you were.”

Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”

You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”

He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”

“How ever did you know?”

You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”

You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.

Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”

Alastor hums in reply.

You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?

Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.

“The wall isn’t over here.”

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.

He counts.

“Out loud please.”

He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.

Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”

Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”

“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well . . .we . . . we certainly could be paid more.”

“Why not become an actual doctor then?”

“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me . . . and . . . hmm.” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”

He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”

You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”

You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”

“Oh yes,” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor . . . I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”

“Knitting?”

“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much”

“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”

“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”

“Next time then.”

You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”

He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”

“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”

Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh . . .There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

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Next Part |Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away

[americas1suiteheart]

Impractical Jokers has taken over all of my interest, especially Q, so here you guys go, some Brian Quinn stuff.

Not In On the Joke

Brian "Q" Quinn x Fem! Reader

Summary; The Jokers have to do certain tasks to win in the park, and a certain task given by the rest of the Jokers leads Q to talk to you. (I've gotten really bad about writing summaries, sorry).

Notes; This was an idea I had in my head for a while so I decided to just get to writing it. This one's also just a little short, too short for my liking but I wanted to post something.

Extra Note; The words in italics are the rest of the Jokers talking into the earpiece.

Warnings; Some cursing, but that's about it.

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"Alright, Q, it's your turn now, go on out there". Sal says. The rest of the Jokers watch Q as he walks to the middle of the park and stands in a random spot.

"Alright, give me somethin', anything and I'll do it, I'm not gonna lose to Murr." Q says, rubbing his hands together and swaying slightly.

The Jokers stay quiet for a few moments trying to spot someone they can get Q to go up to. "Okay, you see the person wearing the blue cardigan, go walk up to her." Joe speaks into Q's earpiece. Q does as asked and Murr speaks into the earpiece.

"Okay, what now?"

"Kinda creep up on them from behind and tap their shoulder and say, "I was watching you from over there, I gotta say, you look really interesting."" Murr says, giggling.

Q sighs, running his hand through his hair and walks up from behind to the girl. He gets close to her and taps her shoulder. She turns around slowly and stares up at him confused.

"Excuse me, but I was watching you from over there and I gotta say, you look really interesting." Q says, turning around and pointing at a random spot in the park and looking back at the girl, standing awkwardly in front of her.

The woman stays looking at him, not saying a word with her mouth slightly agape for a few seconds. "Oh, uh. Interesting? What do you mean by interesting?" She says, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

"Well uh, you know.. Interesting." Q replies, shrugging his shoulders.

"Make her as uncomfortable as possible. Just stay quiet and just stare at her." Joe says. Q could hear giggling from Murr and Sal through his earpiece.

Q turns his head away and lets out a breathy laugh, shortly turning back to the woman and staring her in the eyes with as blank of a face as he could with wide eyes.

The woman stares at him for a while before finally looking at anywhere else but at him and letting out an uncomfortable laugh. She scratches the back of her neck and stares down at her feet.

Q felt terrible, he doesn't like looking at people directly either, and it definitely seemed like she did either. There was just an awkward silence for an uncomfortable amount of time, that would be quickly fixed by the rest of the Jokers, as they began speaking into Q's earpiece again.

"Okay, okay, I want you to ask for her number." Sal says. Q could practically hear the smile just by the way he said it.

Q turns away from the woman again. "Is this one of those things where you get one of your friends to be in on the joke? Because if it isn't then I might just get punched in the face in a minute." Q says quietly into the mic hidden on him.

"Nope, she's not in on the joke, unfortunately for you, man. But you can always take the loss." Sal replies.

"You guys are dicks." Q says quietly before turning back to face the woman.

She had an odd look on her face, not even so much uncomfortable anymore but just confused. "Uh, were you saying something?"

"No, no, I wasn't saying anything, sorry."

"Dude she probably thinks you're insane right now!" Murr says, laughing as he does so.

"He uh, do you think... Oh my god... Do you think, that I can maybe get your number, sweetheart?" Q asks, awkwardly laughing in between.

The woman's expression quickly turned into one of shock. Her face and ears began to flush red, something that she thanked could easily be passed off as a result of the cold weather.

"Um, sure. Let me put it into your phone, or I could also write it down for you, too?" The woman says after snapping out of her trance like state. She tried to say it as confidently as she could, trying to hide every ounce of anxiety and fear she had. She wasn't even sure if she was thinking when she said that, she thought to herself.

She thought that he was an attractive guy, probably one of the most attractive guys to come up to her in a long while. He has a nice appearance, with bushy brows, brown down-turned eyes, a clean shaven face, and to top it off a great smile when he was wearing one.

She thought that the way he dressed himself was nice, one of those things where it looked comfortable and simple yet still classy. His softer body type fit well with the length of his hair, she liked how good it looked with the hat he was wearing, and the slight graying of his hair made him all the more attractive.

Yes, the part where he stared at her for an uncomfortable amount of time was odd, same thing with when he seemed like he was just talking to himself for a while, but she had already completely forgotten about that right at the moment he called her 'sweetheart'.

"I, uh... Are you sure?" Q asked, it was now his turn to be just as shocked as she was before.

The rest of the Jokers were just as shocked and confused as he was, they weren't laughing or even smiling, they just stood looking at Q and the woman from their setup with confused looks plastered on their faces.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Unless you don't want it?" The woman said, unsure of herself.

"Oh, uh. Yeah alright, here you can put it into my phone." Q handed her his phone and watched as she put her contact into it, then typing her name in.

"My name's Y/n, by the way. Figure you'd need to know that so you don't accidentally delete my contact." Y/n says, putting her hand out to Q.

Q takes her hand and shakes it firmly. "Nice to meet you, Y/n. I'm Brian, but my friends call me Q." He says, flashing a charming smile, more comfortable and confident then just moments ago.

"Well, uh, I need to be on my way, I was supposed to be somewhere like five minutes ago, but I'm glad I stayed. Hopefully I'll get to talk to you later, Brian. It was nice to meet you too."

"I'll definitely be talking to you later, sweetheart. Have a good rest of your day, thank you." Q says, sending a wink and waving goodbye before turning to walk away.

Q slightly jogs over to the setup where the rest of the Jokers were and takes his earpiece out while walking to stand next to them.

"What the hell just happened? What the hell did we just do?" Sal says, looking back and forth and Joe and Murr.

"I just got a girl's number is what happened, and I think that makes Murr the loser this time." Q says, patting Murr on the back and laughing with a smug smile on his face.

"Can we even put that on the episode?" Joe says, rubbing his face.

The cameramen and rest of the crew look at each other and shrug, seeming to not really know the answer for it either.

Q takes out his phone and opens it. "Let's see, let me text her number that she gave me that's currently in my contacts right now, on my phone." He says, clearly trying to rub it in the guys' faces.

Sal rolls his eyes. "You just gotta hope she likes cats now, Q."

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I'm going to be completely honest with all of yall, I had no clue on how to end this and it's the reason why it took me a month to finish, but we don't talk about that because it's done now. Hope you enjoyed.