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spookyspaghettisundae · 7 months

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The Three Horsemen in the Boardroom

The thunder of spinning rotor blades slowed to a crawl. Artificial thunder deafened the world to Chloe Grant, drowning out any shouting on radio comms, and the shouting of U.S. military operatives as they coordinated all around her like she wasn’t there. It even drowned out her own heartbeat.

“It’s your mess to clean up, Future Proof. We were never here.”

Every word he said pounded her skull like a jackhammer in slow motion. Captain Dariel Rose pulled up his ski mask, slipped his goggles back on, and joined his forces in their controlled retreat.

Metal cables screeched in the pulleys as they dragged the tremendous weight of the T-Rex carcass into its designated black container. Heavy doors slammed shut.

And Max Carter stayed on the ground. Destined for a depth six feet under. His blood had drenched the dust and dirt beneath his lifeless corpse, besides which Grant now sat.

Though her own blood still pumped, kept inside her body without a single injury to note, she sat there, almost as lifeless as Carter. The statue of a sitting, thinking woman, garbed in a black jumpsuit and body armor, and peppered with dust. But she was not thinking a single thought.

The unmarked helicopters gained altitude as soon as all black ops had clambered back inside them. Two soldiers rode inside the container with the dinosaur carcass.

Dust in the artificial windstorm devoured the bright blue sky.

This was the darkest sunny day Grant had seen in years.

Looking back, she wished for it to stay the last.

People’s panicked words shot from her helmet’s headset, but they all fell upon deaf ears. Grant recognized the voices, registered the chorus of upset tones, and wallowed in a confusion which she only fed by not responding.

She always thought before she spoke, so she had nothing to say for now.

Without a sense of how many queries went unanswered, Grant turned her radio off.

Dust settled around her in silence. The clouds of loose dirt kicked up by helicopter rotors finally descended upon the abandoned oil rig where she sat, in the middle of nowhere, thoughtless and speechless in some Midland desert, unable to locate without some map.

The dust settled on everything, layers of it, turning even the T-Rex’s pools of blood a brackish brown.

Grant waited without knowing what for.

A nagging voice in the back of her mind said she needed to be professional. That internal voice told her she needed to be cool, to get her shit together, switch that radio back on, and do what Future Proof expected her to do.

Damage control.

The U.S. soldiers had just absconded with the specimen’s carcass. Carter was dead. And Stantz had pretty much offered up Singh on a chopping block for the government to hang out to dry for hacking their comms.

Grant’s weary head bobbed once, then twice, then she peered over to the unconscious boy, who lay lost, sleeping uncomfortably in the brush nearby.

She had shot him in the back with her EMD rifle. Just thinking back to her snap decision, her impulse to pull the trigger and stop him from running away—the one step of damage control she had contributed for the day—it all elicited a sigh from the deepest and most depressed depths of her lungs.

The kid would survive. Grant herself had once volunteered to take a shot from the EMD rifle back in Future Proof’s headquarters, just to see what it felt like. To know for sure.

To guarantee to herself that it worked. Carter had claimed it could take down a mammoth with sufficient shots, and it had worked on the T-Rex.

Tested on herself, it hurt like hell. Grant had spent a day in agony, wracked with muscle spasms whenever she wasn’t trying to sleep it off in a delirious haze brought upon by painkillers.

The kid, Aiden, was going to get to know that same world of hurt like she had, though he hadn’t signed up for it.

Aiden was still caked in the blood of his family and the dirt of Midland’s desert. The stains upon him would never be washed off in his life. Filthy, miserable, and bound for a future filled with therapy. Over the course of a day, this young boy had witnessed a T-Rex kill his mother and brother, destroy his home, and chase him through the wasteland. To add insult to injury, the people who had just promised to protect him ended up shooting him in the back.

Literally.

On top of it all, Captain Rose’s grim expression still lingered in Grant’s memory, haunting her thoughts like a cruel ghost. Would things have turned to the same disaster if the soldiers hadn’t showed up?

It probably wouldn’t matter to the kid, and eventually, Grant would have to live with it all.

“I’ll pretend we didn’t tango like we did, and we go our separate ways,” Rose had told her.

Generous words, considering it felt like Grant had broken his nose in their struggle against each other on the ground. Then again, Rose’s team ended up shooting Carter and not her, likely because Rose had been Grant’s living shield amidst the chaos.

She understood why they shot Carter—he opened fire in a Mexican standoff. Though he had only taken shots at the waking T-Rex, to prevent disaster, they responded as anybody would in an armed negotiation.

The only difference was, they had been using live rounds, the kind that made human beings very dead, very quickly. Rose’s team had killed both Carter the dinosaur. They only took the latter.

Carter still lay on the ground with Grant, dead. Aiden lay crumpled in a bush, shoulders heaving with every breath. Rose’s team hadn’t given a damn about them.

It’s your mess to clean up, Future Proof. We were never here.

She gripped her helmeted head. Squeezed, as if it helped in any way. Grant had lost fellow soldiers before. Attended funerals of former colleagues. Her history in the military and the private sector was a path paved with corpses, the eternally resting bodies of allies and opponents alike.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” her mother had once told her. “Compartmentalize, meditate, mediate—you, girl, you’re Zen, Girl-Buddha, I sense it. You ain’t a bad person just ‘cause you keep your cool. You ain’t cold ‘cause you’re smart, y’know? Me, I can barely function when some ass-wipe cuts me off on the road, honey. What you got is a gift, not a curse.”

Grant sighed again. It was time to clean up the mess.

She clapped Carter’s shoulder twice, as if to motivate him, to get back up.

As expected, his body stayed lifeless on the ground while she groaned and rose to her feet.

She switched the radio back on.

A new chaos of chatter engulfed her already cloudy mind.

She found that Zen her mother had spoken of, compartmentalized, got to work. Barked sitreps, called in sitreps, pat the dust down. Cuffed the kid, carried him away. Rendezvoused with the others.

Hours later, the job was done. Mischchenko and Ruiz had performed a clean sweep elsewhere. They had somehow managed to herd the injured Hadrosaurus back to the Anomaly, sending it back to its rightful time and place. They even locked it before the glowing hole in the space-time continuum vanished again.

Spencer himself had shown up in the Midland deserts. He won whatever pissing contest there was to be won against Captain Rose’s superiors, and Future Proof laid claim to the other dead Hadrosaurs strewn around the farmstead where Aiden had lived.

The unconscious boy was sent to HQ, where he received better medical attention than his family could have probably afforded in a lifetime, though he would be barraged by incessant brainwashing for the ensuing days. Following Marcus Stantz’s guidelines for media control, Future Proof’s best HR agents would be schooling little Aiden not to tell the wider public about dinosaur incursions or mysterious glowing orbs that connected different eras of Earth’s history.

All the while, Chloe Grant avoided human contact as much as she could.

She filed her report, kept everything above deck, by the book. Checked in with communications, medical, therapy, accounting, Stantz, R&D, Solomon, Containment—the works.

One day, she caught herself frozen, paralyzed, as she stood outside Singh’s office, now empty. He was the first person to give her a tour in Future Proof after Spencer had hired her.

The door to his office now stood wide open. Nobody but cleaning personnel had been inside there since his arrest. Grant stood there frozen, till the sound of a phone ringing in the offices helped her snap out of her trance.

The last she had seen of Singh, he was staring at the floor, sneakered feet shuffling listlessly, while intelligence agents escorted him out of the Future Proof building—in handcuffs, with his designer varsity jacket draped over his wrists to conceal the shackles.

The days melted away without light. Sunny, each and every one of them, but darker than ever.

Grant accepted the invitation to Carter’s wake—least she could do for her colleague. Another name to add to her list of people she buried.

She filed more reports, studied more protocols, fell back into safe routines. She stared at her computer screens and phone and always let calls bounce to voicemail, which she answered in texts, and she answered all emails just timely enough to conform with company policy.

Showers took her longer than usual. She found herself staring into the drain every time, where water spiraled downward, and the steam and heat and the wet engulfed her, muting every other sense, and washing away the imagery of carnage and chaos in the Texan desert.

She skipped every nonessential meeting and only read the minutes that Danielle Bennett gathered in her absence. Grant scoured the notes that R&D had gathered, and frowned when she learned that something had been disrupting their Anomaly Detection System.

Had the government done this? Was that why Rose’s team was on-site so quickly?

She didn’t want to think about it. The likelihood was high, but Grant didn’t care to pull the trigger on that. Spencer and the rest were calling the shots, she would only speak up if she had anything important to add.

Eventually, all reports had been processed and evaluated. The CEO of Future Proof himself drummed up everybody, had them all gather in the glossy, windowed boardroom atop the towering skyscraper.

Debriefing.

He chewed everybody out. Made the T-Rex look like a kitten.

Malachi Spencer never swore. He never even came close to uttering a single syllable of profanity, yet every one of his words cut with a vicious sharpness to match his knife-like appearance. It felt like getting cut down to the bone, and having every pound of flesh carved away until he was done.

With everybody. He was done with everybody. Yet nobody was fired.

Nobody received compliments.

He had a whole plan of action mapped out for them. Next steps for every single person in the boardroom. Future Proof’s intel matched Grant’s hunch. The government was behind the ADS disruption. Someone was out to sabotage them.

Singh’s actions were under a microscope, nobody understood why he had hacked comms, or what the hell he had been thinking at the time. And the NSA was holding him in custody without offering Future Proof any means of contacting him. Rida Singh’s actions would remain a mystery for now.

Through the dreamy haze of those past days and all the detachment Chloe Grant felt throughout the lengthy debrief, she picked up on things she hadn’t picked up before.

Valentín Ruiz’s hand was shaking the entire time, not just when Spencer looked his way.

A subtle shaking. Like she had seen with other traumatized veterans. The type they usually suppressed with drugs or booze in their downtime.

She wondered if Ruiz and Carter had been close, friends, anything. Ruiz spent most of the meeting staring at the surface of the table, scanning monitor displays and briefs without paying much attention.

A subtle shake. The sharpshooter and tracker was a smoker—sure—but she had never noticed this about him in their past weeks of working together. He had gone hours without lighting up a cigarette and never displayed any such tics before.

And when Spencer wasn’t looking his way, Ruiz did something even weirder. A weird hand movement.

Didn’t fit.

Only Grant clocked it. Ruiz didn’t notice that she had.

It didn’t even really sink in until after the debriefing, after the whole main team shuffled back out of the meeting room.

It didn’t fit.

Outside, three new faces awaited. Grant had seen them on photos on the internet, but never in person before.

Three of the most important stakeholders in Future Proof’s business. The people representing the people who were footing the astronomic bills behind the mercenary company.

Roger Cole—a wispy little man with thick-rimmed glasses and a mop of curly hair, clad in an unseeming tweed suit. Looked like a nerd, but he was serious money, backed by weapons manufacturers worldwide. He offered Grant a faint and fake smile as she passed him by like the rest of the team.

Kim Jae—a liaison to the international telecom committee, sat on a leather couch as black as his leather attire, with his expensive shoes up on the coffee table like he owned the place. He was so buried in the screen of his tablet that he didn’t even spare anybody a glance while the crew filed out of the boardroom.

And last, but not least, Lena Romero stood by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, with the grace of a stoic empress, gazing out into the skyline of Austin. The mature-looking woman in the dark blue suit and pencil skirt was a liaison to the FIP, the International Pharmaceutical Federation.

These three figures were just one head short of the corporate world’s Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, all gathered here on the top floor of Future Proof, ready to meet with Malachi Spencer.

The CEO stayed behind in the boardroom, folding his glasses and then steepling his fingers as he waited. The Future Proof team had all poured out, riding elevators down, taking the stairs, all dispersed. Opening the stage for the Three Horsemen.

Grant gazed through the moving mass of people, watching the Three Horsemen join Spencer in the boardroom.

That’s when she understood what Ruiz had done.

He had stuck a bug underneath the table where he had been sitting. A tiny little black device, so small that nobody would notice unless they checked. She couldn’t even spot it from here, but she knew the movement, the motion of his hand, how it hadn’t fit.

A bug. A spy.

Ruiz thumbed his lips and patted himself down on the way out, looking for his pack of cigarettes in his pockets. The man with the looks of an underwear model shot Grant a sideway glance, then he shot her a flirtatious smirk.

Waiting for the next elevator down, she kept her cool. Kept her poker face up. It wasn’t really like her to respond to such a smirk, especially not from a guy who in all likelihood was a huge womanizer.

Ruiz’s eyes flashed and his entire expression fell, stopping just shy of something sad. Maybe, aside from whatever espionage he was embroiled in, Carter’s death still weighed on him.

Ruiz pushed through the doors and disappeared into the stairwell.

Grant’s haze had lifted. Replaced by something else, something creeping; something that sent a tingling sensation down her entire spine.

She was back in her element, and it offered a whole buffet of distractions from any darker thoughts. After all, Spencer had hired her out of the private sector, with a history of counterintelligence and cybersecurity.

Grant was going to find out what was going on. What the hell Ruiz was up to.

The next elevator arrived. She stepped inside.

Roger Cole, Kim Jae, and Lena Romero had gathered in the boardroom. Cole and Romero took seats left and right of Spencer, while Kim Jae paced around the room like a stag in heat.

Whatever they were talking about, Ruiz had planted a bug that would allow him to listen in.

Grant wanted to know what that was he was listening in on. And why.

The elevator doors slid shut.

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macfrog · 11 months

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2003: a dbf odyssey

a @chloeangelic x @macfrog fic

greetings greetings one and all. welcome to the fucking circus. chloe cupcake and i have a gift for you. we put our heads together, took turns writing a classic dbf fic, and here is the hellscape we created. please enjoy. [this is entirely satirical and just for funsies. no harm intended. no tw discourse required. love u]

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. and that's all we have to say on that

warnings: unspecified age gap, tale set in 2003, female masturbation, creepy joel, praise kink, size kink, fingering, unprotected piv, degradation, angst!

word count: 4.6k

chloe's masterlist | max's masterlist

The sun shines through the window of your childhood bedroom. You’re still reeling from an argument you just had with your mom, over the degree you just spent four years and fifteen grand on. She doesn't understand your passion for fossils, she never has, and during every family function, only one person asks you how school is going.

Joel Miller, your dad's best friend.

He’s tall. Broad. He’s built like a Dorito. Flamin’ Hot Cool Ranch. He drives a truck and he listens to dad rock. One time you saw him in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. You asked what that was, and he said it was a band from “before your time, darlin’”. You swooned at the pet name.

He’s quiet and unassuming. Lingers on the outskirts of every gathering your parents throw. He likes to talk about construction, and wood carving, and little else. At least, that’s what you thought, before you came back home after graduating.

Suddenly, he started glancing in your direction every time you came into the room wearing a tight little top with significant cleavage. He would clear his throat at dinner and wipe a bead of his sweat from his forehead at BBQs.

You always called him Mr Miller, and ever since graduation, that name made him blush. Last Thanksgiving, when his family was over for dinner at your parents’ house, you started asking him about old movies, and he grumbled, then told you about 2001: A Space Odyssey.

He said he couldn’t believe that a girl with a paleontology degree had never seen A Space Odyssey before. Promised he’d show you it sometime. ”Smart girl like you will love it,” he said.

You had opened your mouth to respond, to lend him the quirkiest retort you could think of, when your dad had bumbled into the room, shoving you out of the way. He brought up the latest Austin Ice Bats game, took Joel up in a conversation you couldn’t be a part of - you knew nothing about minor league ice hockey.

Your mom called you through to the kitchen and asked you to help her with dinner. When you came into the kitchen, she started asking you if you’d gone on any dates recently, if there were any cute guys in your college classes.

You rolled your eyes, “No, mom, none of them are my type.”

She huffed while handing you a pot of mashed potatoes, “What’s your type then?”

You didn’t want to tell her that your type was older men. Really old, in their fifties. Your type was Joel, but you couldn’t tell her that. Instead, you described what you thought Joel might’ve looked like when he was younger. “Brown hair, beards maybe,” you said, and turned on your heel before walking into the dining room and setting the pot on the table.

You glanced over the place settings. Your mom had already put down everyone’s drinks. Yours and Sarah’s - a glass of water each. She says water helps with clear skin. Her own - a white Russian cocktail. And your dad and Joel’s, side by side - two beers, dripping with condensation. You paced around the table, formulating a plan.

As your mom’s voice drew nearer down the hallway, you quickly switched Joel’s beer for Sarah’s water, sitting him next to you.

When he came into the dining room with your father, you noticed that Joel was looking at you with dark, sultry eyes. He gave you a tight lipped smile as he sat down in his chair, then turned to your mother, “Looks great.” You felt his knee knock into yours under the table, but he didn’t move away. Heat pooled in your stomach. Your chest tightened, threatening to burst from the confines of your tight t-shirt.

The same t-shirt you’re wearing right now - sat at the end of your bed. Remembering the way his denim jeans felt on your bare leg. You lie back on your sheets and stare at the ceiling, thinking of his swollen muscles under his flannel shirt. The tuft of chest hair sprouting from over the collar. The veins in his hands as he passed you the salt.

You were holding a pair of jeans in your hands, about to slide them over your legs when you looked down to see a wet spot in your panties, and now you can’t ignore the throbbing in your core at the thought of seeing him again.

You carefully trace your fingers over your panties, grazing the wet spot, feeling your cheeks burning from the awareness that it’s your dad’s best friend making you wet.

You lift the skirt of your barleycorn sundress and open your legs, knees wide on your springy mattress. You hope that it doesn’t make a sound as you push the fabric aside, dragging your fingers over your most sensitive spot.”Joel,” you whimper when your fingertip brushes your wet opening, but you’re startled when you hear the doorbell ringing.

You pull your hand out quickly and your eyes flare open, chest heaving. You sit up, throw your legs over the side and slip on your jeans, button them up and turn to look at yourself in the mirror before heading downstairs, feeling the low throb deep inside of you as you carefully walk out into the hallway and hear your father greeting Joel as he comes in the door.

“Howdy,” he says when he spots you descending the staircase.

You hold tight onto the handrail, afraid you might topple over from the sight of him and the fluttering between your legs. “Hi.”

Joel’s eyes travel from your face down your body, ending up on your legs. You suddenly feel self-conscious, but all the same, secretly thrilled that he’s staring at you in this way. You stare back, eyeing him up and down from his scruffy beard to his dusty lace-up boots. Your eyes meet again as you reach the bottom step.

Joel sniffs once. “The hell are you wearing a dress and jeans for?” he asks.

“It’s called fashion,” you sass, and he grunts in response. “Ready to watch the movie?”

“I’m readier than a fried egg on the San Antonio Boulevard sidewalk, darlin’.” There’s that pet name again. You bite your lip and walk into the living room, trying to regulate your breathing. Your dad is already on the couch, remote control in hand, saying he has rewinded the DVD and that the two of you are being slowpokes.

“The old man’s got jokes,” Joel grumbles, motioning for you to sit down in between him and your dad.

The three of you put your feet up on the coffee table in front of you. You angle your feet towards Joel’s, your pinkie toe nudging against the sole of his boot. He crosses his ankles and settles back into the couch, folding his arms and prodding your side with his elbow.

“It’s a classic,” he mutters, and you giggle.

Your dad’s head whips around to face you from your peripheral like he is watching a tennis match. “What’s so funny?” he bleats.

“Nothing,” you and Joel chime, focusing hard on the screen. You smile smugly at the fact that you have an inside joke with him, something just between the two of you.

You can’t focus on the movie when your dad turns it on, and you suspect that Joel can’t either by the way he shifts around in his seat. “Got ants in your butt, buddy?”, your dad snorts, and Joel waves dismissively while you stifle your laughter.

“Just feel like I’m sinkin’ into the couch here,” Joel says, “‘S too soft.”

Soft, you replay the way he says it, over and over in your mind. You wonder if he’ll think you’re soft if he touches you with his rough hands.

“This movie sucks,” you announce, halfway through. “I can’t believe I had never heard of it. I thought it only came out two years ago?”

Joel snorts. “It came out in 1968 and was directed by Stanley Kubrick, dingus. 2001 is just the title of the film.”

Your face flushes fifty shades of fuchsia. Your dad guffaws on your left side, clapping his hands together like an annoying seal. His laughter is so loud that he almost doesn’t hear his cell phone ringing until you point it out to him.

“Yellow,” he says as he answers, and chuckles at his own joke, then holds up his finger and turns to the side, mumbling something into his phone. “Be there in twenty,” he says, then hangs up, and turns to you and Joel, “Gotta go pick up your mom but I should only be about forty five minutes as long as she doesn’t drag me into a conversation with her girlfriends. Y’all gonna be okay here?”

You both nod and sit still as your dad groans and gets up from the couch, listening as he disappears into the hallway to put on his shoes and jacket, then the door shutting.

You go to grab the remote control to keep playing the movie, and accidentally spill some of the Coke from the can you’re holding. Joel is looking at the screen while you look at the dark stain on the couch cushion, and instead of getting up to get a paper towel to clean it with, you scoot a little closer to Joel.

He clears his throat and puts his hand on the back of the couch, right behind your shoulders, not saying a word. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife and you glance down at his crotch to see the bulge in his jeans, then look up at him.

He looks at you for a second, then furrows his brows, “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“Thinkin’ about bones.”

“Bones?”

“Specifically the one in your pants, Mr. Miller,” you say and bat your eyelashes, and then, “Just kidding.” You turn your head back to the TV but you can see that he’s still looking at you. “I was actually thinking about the Micropachycephalosaurus.”

“What did you say ‘bout my pants, darlin’? Could swear you said somethin’”

“Nothing, I promise,” you giggle and look away.

Then his hand comes to your thigh, long fingers splayed over your jeans, thumb tracing back and forth, igniting a flame inside of you.

“W-what are you doing, Mr. Miller?”, you ask nervously, feeling the heat pooling in your panties again, and this time, it’s not because of your imagination.

“Lookin’ real pretty tonight,” he says, and his other hand comes to your shoulder. You whimper at his touch. “Can just call me Joel, you know that,” he scolds with a wink.

“Th-thanks, Joel.”

You feel his hand come up under your chin with a featherlight touch, turning your face up to meet his eyes. He brushes his thumb over your cheek and your face feels hot, your heart beating fast.

He looks at you through big brown eyes. You blink softly back, trying to transmit a code to him to clue him in on the ache making your thighs clench. You wonder if he knows Morse.

Joel grips your jaw and leans in, his smoldering eyes flashing between yours and your lips. He purses his own and before you know it, his warm mouth is flush against yours, his tongue pushing inside. He licks along the rim of your teeth and you open your jaw, letting him explore your wet gums.

In an instant, you pull yourself on top of him and remove his flannel, ripping the buttons apart and scattering the cloth to the couch. Joel’s hands curve around your round tits, he rolls your pebbled nipples between his thumbs like fiddling with a console controller. You roll your hips forward with a moan.

He's so hard. You look at him with wide eyes and a pout, “You're so hard.”

“Are you wet f’me, pretty girl?”, he asks. You know it's wrong, your dad could be home any moment, but you frantically nod.

“Good girl,” he says, and traces his fingers along the edge of your jeans, barely making contact with your skin.

He stands from the couch in one fluid motion, and you squeal at the sudden way in which you’re lifted in the safe grasp of his arms. It’s astounding how strong he is. How able he is to sweep you into the air, carry you out of the living room. How his biceps bulge as his boots thud up the stairs one by one.

He reaches the landing and pauses, eyes scanning the four closed doors. He steps forward and kicks open the one closest to your bodies, before realizing it is the bathroom and reversing out again.

“Pardon me,” he mumbles an apology, and you giggle again.

“It’s the one on the right,” you instruct, and he shuffles down the hall carpet before bumping your door open. He pauses for a moment when he enters the room - your childhood bedroom.

“Haven't been in here in years,” he says, and you know he's referring to when he helped your dad take out the old closets and replace them with new ones. You still have the same closets. Maybe he's admiring his work. You look at the posters on the wall and your floral bedspread.

Then he lays you down on the bed and sighs. “These old knees,” he grumbles, “And my fuckin’ back.”

You giggle.

“Mind if I take this off, darlin’?”, he asks, gently tugging at the bottom of your barleycorn sundress. You nod again, feeling your face getting hot and your panties sticking to your pussy.

Your back arches as he slips the thin fabric from your body, your breasts spilling out of their polyester prison. Joel straightens up, admires the view and hums to himself.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muses, then bends again to press his body against yours. His fingers tussle with the waist of your jeans, the petite buttons only women's clothing seems to have, and you growl at the effort it takes for him to derobe you.

“I know,” he says, lips close to your ear, “‘S these big ol’ hands. They get in the way of everythin’, baby.”

You whimper pathetically, wanting nothing more than those big hands to get in the way of you. You shove your fists beneath the denim when he finally undoes the zipper, and help him drag them from your legs. As soon as the heavy fabric hits your floor, Joel’s removing his own jeans. Now, only your underwear and his separate you.

There's a wet spot on his boxers already and you whimper when you place your fingertip on it, biting your lip when he growls at the sensation. “M-Mr. Miller,” you whine, “Can I see your cock? It looks really big.”

“‘S real big, sweetie, are you sure you can handle it?”

“Y-yes, Joel, I'm a big girl.”

“‘F you say so,” he grumbles, then takes off his boxers, and you admire the sight of his manhood. You've never seen a big cock like that, a real thick and long one. You don't think it'll fit inside and you gasp, eyes flashing open while you start to creep backwards on the sheets.

“Keep the panties on,” Joel orders, following between your legs. His hairy knees push deep into the plush cushion of your mattress, his fist jerks slowly up and down his dick, which seems to only grow larger the closer he gets.

You nod obediently, biting your bottom lip. Your eyes stick on the dribble of precum he swipes with his thumb. You fall back, head sinking into your pillows, and Joel hovers over you, one hand by your head.

You peel your underwear to the side, now positively soaked. Joel’s hand leaves his member to cup you, feeling your dripping mess. “So wet f’me,” he whispers, and you moan, long and ragged.

Then he touches the tip of his finger to your opening and watches you squirm while he starts to push it in, entering you with one thick finger. You take all of it in stride, and you frown when he retracts it.

“So eager,” he says triumphantly, then adds another, and you feel the coil inside you start to tighten. You can't reach as deep as he does, nobody can except for him. Your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. Tears start pricking your eyes as you get closer.

You whine, “I’m gonna come, Mr. Miller.”

He clicks his tongue, “Just Joel,” and then he picks up the pace of his fingers, pushing them inside you until you gush all over your sheets and his hand, feeling the tears sliding down your temples and your fists gripping the sheets tightly. He made you come, it's like a wet dream.

You gasp when you see the mess you made and he chuckles. “Sorry Just Joel - I mean,” you shake your head, clearing the hazy fog of sex your orgasm left behind, “Joel.” Your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“No need to apologize, sweet girl,” he whispers, pinching your cheek with his soaked fingers. Your own cum stains your skin, somehow cooling against the stifling hot air in your room. The air filled with lust and sex.

He draws his hand back, wraps it back around his cock, rubs your gleaming slick up and down his thickness. He groans as you coat him, head tilting back to the ceiling. For a second, you wonder if he will actually fuck you, or if he’s just here to jerk off using your cum, kneeling over you.

Your query is answered when he returns his gaze to yours and leans over you again, running the tip between your folds. Your body jolts at the contact, overstimulated and spent already. But Joel doesn’t care. The man gives no fucks.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groans as he makes space for himself inside you, pushing the head in and impaling you on his fat girth. You feel so full.

He bottoms out and moans. You watch a drop of sweat gliding from his hairline and down his temple, then crane your neck up to kiss it. His tip kisses your cervix on every thrust and you grip his broad shoulders, hanging onto him while he pounds you.

“Good girl, takin’ this big fat cock,” he praises, panting into the crook of your neck.

“Oh, fuck,” you feel the band inside of you tightening, about to snap, but then he pulls out of you and wraps his fingers around his cock again, stroking himself and snarling when he tells you to turn around.

You’re spent, limbs wrung out like a rag, but you force yourself up while you look at his cock dumbly, seeing his precum dripping out and onto your sheets. Suddenly, you hear him, “What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart?”, and you immediately turn around and onto your hands and knees, seeing a photo of your parents on your window sill.

You screw your eyes shut so you don’t think about them, and try to focus on Joel penetrating you from behind in one motion, going full hog, filling you to the brim with cock. “F-feels so good, Joel,” you squirm and moan while he slips his large hands onto your hips, fingers splaying out over the curve of your asscheeks, pulling you back so he can fill you relentlessly.

His skin slaps against yours, the air in the room quickly filling with nothing but the sounds of his moans and yours, his wet and yours, his body and yours. Your eyes squeeze tight until you see stars, raining down over the darkness behind your eyelids. Your whole bed shakes vigorously with the rate Joel pounds into you, mattress knocking against your nightstand and sending the objects on it tumbling to the floor.

Joel notices as one in particular - your Satisfyer Pro 2 Gen 2 Air Pulse Stimulator, which you find good but really intense with its sucking power - rolls across the wooden floor. His grip tightens on your hips and he chuckles. “‘S a good girl like you doin’ with a thing like that in her room, huh?”

Your back curls. You moan in response. “Umm,” you mumble nervously, trying to think of a response when you see his lips curve into a smirk, “I- I was trying to come, last night.”

“Oh yeah? Thinkin’ bout what, young lady?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You were thinking about him. He can tell - he brushes his thumb over your cheek. “Were you thinkin’ about me, darlin’?”, he asks, and you don’t respond. You look at him with wide eyes. “‘S alright, I’ve been thinkin’ about this tight little pussy, blowin’ my load in the shower. I ain’t ashamed to admit it, you’re a real pretty girl.”

Your pussy gets wetter when you think about him touching himself and you wonder how it looks. Your dad would kill him if he knew, and you’re surprised Joel would tell you something like that, but it makes you so wet.

The image in your mind forces you to arch your back, your body curving before Joel into the mattress. He grunts each time his hips come into contact with the plushy meat of your ass, telling you good girl and squeezing you just right as his cock hits you so deep you feel him in your chest.

“I’m - gonna - cum - again,” you pant, words muffled by the floral pattern your lips are smushed into. “Joel - I’m -”

“I hear ya, baby,” he says, hips snapping. His voice is rough, hoarse. He sounds like he needs some NyQuil. You make a mental note to offer him a refreshing glass once you’re done. “Cum for me, go on. Know you need it.”

Your walls close around him as you do as he says, tightening around the intrusion in your pussy.

His cock begins to twitch deep inside you and he shoves you by the ass off of him. You tumble to the bed and roll over just in time to be drowned by his cum, thick white ropes spraying all over your tummy and tits. You worry with the ferocity of his release that it might reach the photo of your parents, but you’re too caught up in the pleasure of the moment, your own spend spilling out of your tight little hole.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, “Take that cum.” Then, all of a sudden, his face drops and he freezes in place. He looks at you, covered in his semen, then runs his hand over his face and tucks himself back in his pants. He looks stressed as it dawns on him that he just came all over his best friend’s daughter.

“Joel,” you say carefully.

“Yes, darlin’”. He winces when the word leaves his mouth.

“W-what if my dad finds out?”

He runs his hand over his beard. “I don’t know,” he says, “I gotta go.”

“But w-wait, Joel!”

He’s already shuffling out of your room, hopping as he tugs his jeans back over his hips. “M’sorry, baby, I have to-”

“Wait!” you yelp, tearing your underwear from your body. You almost trip over the fabric as you hop down from your bed. “Take these!”

You throw the panties across your room and Joel catches them against his chest, scrunching them into a ball. You sit back on your heels, totally naked in front of him, smirking at the thought of him crossing paths with your dad in the hallway and knowing the secret he holds in his jeans pocket. Knowing that he just fucked his best friend’s daughter, in her childhood bedroom.

His cheeks heat with shock. Your panties are dripping wet. He nods and tucks them into his back pocket and adjusts the crotch of his pants over his still hard cock.

Suddenly, you hear the front door opening.

Your parents are home.

You gasp and fumble with your jeans, trying to put them on with shaky hands while you hear Joel step onto the first floor, just leaving the staircase as the door shuts behind your parents as they come in.

“Hey, buddy,” your dad calls, and you hover at the top of the stairs. “What- whatcha doin’ with your shirt off?”

Joel stammers, scratching the back of his neck. Your mom stares at him, eyes raking up and down his hairy torso. You feel a hot pang of jealousy at her wandering eyes on the man you just fucked.

“She, uh,” he motions up to you, now stepping slowly down the stairs, “She spilled her drink down my shirt.” He reaches for the crumpled flannel, whipping it in his hands and throwing it over his shoulders.

Your mom tsks. “So clumsy,” she says, shaking her head. “Did you get it cleaned alright?”

Joel nods, jumping a little when you arrive at the bottom of the stairs by his side. He’s still buttoning the shirt. “Yeah, all cleaned up. Thank you, ma’am.”

You feel a surge of excitement shoot through your veins, feeling your wet leaking out onto your jeans and knowing what lives in Joel’s pocket. You sway back and forth, hands clasped behind your back, smiling innocently.

“Sweetie,” your mom calls over, “Why don’t you go walk Joel to his truck?”

“Y-yes, mom,” you stutter, and motion for Joel to walk ahead of you.

“Have a good night,” he says and pats your dad on the back on his way out.

You watch every one of his heavy footsteps down the hall and out of the house, slipping on your Crocs before you follow him out, closing the door behind you.

The two of you linger outside of his truck for a moment. He looks over your shoulder, squinting in the Texas sun as he looks towards the house. You look at the gray in his beard, the curve of his nose and his salt and pepper hair.

Part of you hopes he’ll ask to see you again, but he’s your dad’s best friend, it could never work. He kicks a small rock with the toe of his boot, arms folded. He leans against the truck and looks up at the sky.

Your stomach flutters at the sight of him and the feeling of his sticky cum on your stomach, gradually absorbing into your skin.

“Guess I’ll see you ‘round,” he says and straightens up. He purses his lips while he looks away, then at you.

You giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Um, yeah.”

“Then I’ll teach you a lesson ‘bout not payin’ attention while watchin’ a movie,” he says, and his voice is sultry and raspy. His fingers are around your chin, tilting your face up to him. “You’ve been a bad girl, lettin’ your dad’s buddy fuck you like a little slut.”

Your lips smush between his finger and thumb. “Yesh, Mr. Miller,” you push between your teeth.

“The hell’d I tell you? It’s Joel.”

You nod fervently. “Yesh, Jool.”

He releases you and opens the truck door, eyeing you constantly as he gets in.

You pick at your nails nervously as you watch him start the truck, and then drive away.

You lean against your parents’ Honda Civic and look up at the sky, closing your eyes and sighing. Your teeth come to bite your lower lip into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue. Your dad’s best friend.

He promised he would teach you a lesson. You wonder what the lesson is.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel

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blueballsracing · 6 months

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charles leclerc and max verstappen: suburban legends

Just Give Me A Reason by P!NK and Nate Reuss // Enemies by Wendell Berry // Mortal Man by Kendrick Lamar // Cut from the Same Cloth by Chloe Taylor // Mastermind by Taylor Swift // The prince and the pauper: How Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen swapped F1 fortunes, The Athletic 2023 // Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë // this is me trying by Taylor Swift // Supercut by Lorde // Suburban Legends by Taylor Swift // Verstappen and Leclerc look back: 'We knew then’, GPBlog 2024 // The Glass Essay by Anne Carson // Chicago by Carl Sandburg // Maybe The Last Chapter Hasn’t Been Written Yet And Our Story Is Not Over, The Thought Catalog 2017 // So It Goes by Taylor Swift // Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story from Hamilton // The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot // Allie in The Notebook // It happen in this sport: Verstappen reconciles with Leclerc after dramatic Austrian GP win, Scroll 2019 // Only Us from Dear Evan Hansen

#lestappen #charles leclerc #max verstappen #f1 #formula 1 #f1blr #my posts #f1 fandom #f1 web weaving #my creation #web weaving #taylor swift #musicals #il predestinato #caro weave #enjoy :D #caro edit

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lifeisstrange-incorrectquotes · 4 months

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Max: Someone approaches you and tries to rob you. What do you do?

Rachel: T-pose to assert dominance.

Max: That's awful.

Chloe: I pull out the spoon that I carry with me at all times and say "Thank you God, for this meal I'm about to—"

Max: Even worse!

Rachel: No, Max, let her finish.

#max caulfield #chloe price #rachel amber #amberpricefield #life is memes #life is strange #life is strange before the storm #incorrect quotes

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abbyandersonism · 3 months

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max caulfield headcanons 18- can interact

post storm / bae ending hcs

midwest emo listener. refuses to admit it to anyone.

while she can drive, it's rare for her to do so. not for fear of what may happen, but fear of her lack of ability on the road.

she has had the same pair of shoes since 7th grade, they're sewn, duct taped, and glued. she says they're apart of her, and when the "universe" wants them gone, they'll be gone.

she doesn't really spend money, well unless it's on camera equipment. she's tried every hobby in the book, from origami to surfing, and yet she always comes back to photography. her walls are plastered in polaroids of chloe and photos of scenery. it's nearly impossible to see her without her camera

she's has nothing against weed, when others smoke it. after the stress of arcadia bay, chloe said maybe it could help her, and hell, it's the pnw, everything's legal. but that was a bad idea, not even 20 minutes later she started crying, something about how it mixes with her mind, causes it all to pour out, so now when she's stressed she prefers to take a walk.

chloe cut her hair after they left, her bangs were in her face. It hasn't changed since then, every 2 weeks, they clear sit in the kitchen and make sure her hair looks good.

she's a shit romantic. she wishes she could be better, but surprisingly, that's chloe's job, date planning, romantic dinners. but one thing max had down to a t is knowing exactly when flowers are needed, something in the air shifts when chloe's day is bad.

a freak for physical touch. kisses, hugs, anything. one of the few things that can truly calm her down is just being in chloe's arms. FREAK!

her style hasn't matured since 2013. she's tried, new styles of jeans, different shirts. the only thing that has changed is her pants got a little baggier.

knows too many people, max is the typa person to see atleast one person she knows everytime she leaves the house

silly sock wearer

not big on the idea of kids, but in love with the idea of plants. every windowsill has atleast one plant, for a while, it was the only thing that helped her get outta bed.

black coffee enjoyer, she's a little embarrassed by it, makes her feel old, but something about it reminds her of home

max got what she wanted, she's a photographer, her main source of income is freelancing weddings and senior pictures. but no one outside of seattle knows she does that, her social feeds are filled with scenic photos, and they get famous.

she has a dream of a tire swing one day, weird dream, they don't want kids, she wants it for herself.

a diner regular, they know her order, and always ask how chloe is.

she gets bruises while sleeping, at this point she's given up and figuring out how

after the storm, it messed up her perception of everything. hearing even one raindrop can send her spiraling, therapy is doing all it can.

a/n : i wanna write nsfw headcanons cause i think shes hot so. if enough people want that lmk.

#lis #life is strange #max caulfield #rachel amber #chloe price #warren graham #nathan prescott

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maxthesillyy · 1 year

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b4 i go to sleep i have a quetsion

#i def should have made this when i was more awake so i couldve made it more. like better ig 💀#i kind of forgot somehow that bpd chloe wasnt implied. im just so used to it i Forgor #just double clarifing for everybody sho doesnt have the timestamps on. i made this at ONE AM while i was half alseep #i would put other stuff other than adhd autism and neurotypical but that is what the Other choice is for :p #i will be genuinely surprised someone votes on max being neurotypical #i have to look away from the poll to stop trying t make it pretty/organized #anyways for me personally i say either choice 1 or choice 3 #so technically choice 9 #anyways #lis #life is strange #poll #max caulfield #chloe price #headcanons #hcs #i’ll probably add more tags tmmr

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amber-jinx · 8 months

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If Rachel only ever used Chloe & never loved her then...

Why prepare Chloe a bag full of clothes within the first few days they've met and just kept giving ever since? (Loving means giving)

Why did the exact same 😁 post-it note appear in Rachel's drawer, then subsequently, on Chloe's table?

(unrelated but notice how Rachel is organised on the surface, but not really in her drawer. Deck9 put great details in)

Why did she send her this post card full of love when she's not in Arcadia?? (Surely someone who's manipulative at her age wouldn't go that far. Sigh why do I even have to clarify)

Why staunchly tell James "Chloe stays" and hold her hand when it's the most personal thing there is for her (contrast it with her reservations towards Chloe on day 1) & that James have reservations about Chloe??

And these ???

Why read Chloe's book reccomendation? And hug her when she's dyed her hair blue?

Look at her eyes lighting up and smiling when she sees Chloe's new hair. Also the hug. Then tell me she doesn't love that girl.

Oh and lying for Chloe after skipping class, telling her she's gonna get in "serious trouble" when Chloe tries to argue, & even after she was told she's gonna be removed from her duty as Well's assistant AND The Tempest play (which she was excited & rehearsed & prepared for a long time), still said "it's okay Chloe, you don't have to do this, really." ???

also Rachel shoving Damon away telling him not to touch Chloe even though she was facing a whole grown-ass drug dealer? And standing slightly in front of Chloe even though she's afraid of the knife pulled out as well?

Even Frank & Max-imagined Jeffersh*t couldn't compare to Chloe.

Rachel "cared about a lot of people.. especially Chloe".

"I was jealous."

"Now I get why she dug her."

"they're f***ing together in heaven right now. Is that what you wanna hear?" (Max's subconscious knows)

I'm pretty sure she'd tell Bowers and Jeffers*n to screw off if Chloe went missing and they stood in the way of finding her.

AmberPrice never was a toxic relationship. They were true teenage lovers discontinued by life.

#rachel amber #lis #amberprice #life is strange #chloe price #rachel amber 4ever #life is strange before the storm #lis bts #lgbtq+#gaming #character analysis #rachel amber character analysis #amberprice4ever #lis: bts #lis before the storm #she deserved better #max caufield

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pricefi3ldz · 1 year

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pricefield hcs dump <3

chloe and max are both interchangeably the big and little spoon. chloe prefers to be spooned when she’s upset, but also loves to hold max in her arms through the night.

chloe loves how max looks in her t shirts, partially because it’s way out of max’s style, but the oversized look on max makes her heart melttttt

adding onto above, max loves to be a little shit and constantly wear chloe’s shirts when they’re alone together. it drives chloe CRAZY

they both def send each other playlists and songs. u cant convince me otherwise.

before they told their parents they were dating, theyd (MAINLY CHLOE) send one another flirty texts while around their families just to get the other all flustered

sometimes chloe will get convince max to smoke with her, and when she does, she loves to light the blunt for her while max keeps it in between her lips

max is more affectionate at night, kissing chloes shoulders and acting pretty demanding for undivided attention

slight nsfw!! they both have a playlist for doing IT..

chloe uses their height difference to her advantage and loves to trap max against walls for fun (before making out against them ofc)

they love to watch horror movies together and make fun of them, but chloe gets super spooked later at night and demands max to wake up and talk her for a distraction. chloe refuses to admit they actually scare her

middle of the night dates to abandoned parking lots where they sit on chloe’s car and talk for hours while it’s peaceful

max totally has a thing for chloe’s tattoos, she’ll trace her fingers on it all the time

and chloe has a thing for max’s neck. she’ll constantly sneak up behind her and kiss it, even if max is in the middle of taking a photo

chloe’s asked max to take a nude shot of her before. max angrily declined, insisted she couldn’t capture all that beauty into one image

i love them sm i cant.

#chloe price #life is strange #pricefield #max caulfield #chloe x max #the last of us #arcadia bay #rachel amber #chloe x rachel

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lgbtqreads · 10 months

Note

Do you know any LGBTQ+ holiday books or winter books?

Sure do! You can find these here: https://lgbtqreads.com/romance/by-tropearchetype/

F/F

Matzo Match by Roz Alexander

Higher by Roz Alexander (Rosh HaShana)

A Masc for Purim by Roz Alexander

How to Excavate a Heart by Jake Maia Arlow (YA)

Snow Globe by Georgia Beers

All I Want for Christmas by Georgia Beers

Checking it Twice by Lucy Bexley

*Make the Season Bright by Ashley Herring Blake

Take Me Home by Lorelie Brown (Thanksgiving) (Amz)

*Most Wonderful by Georgia Clark

Kiss Her Once For Me by Alison Cochrun

Mistletoe by Lyn Gardner

Season of Love by Helena Greer

Mangos & Mistletoe by Adriana Herrera

Under a Falling Star by Jae (Christmas)

Under the Mistletoe by Everly James

In the Event of Love by Courtney Kae (Christmas)

Collie Jolly by Leigh Landry (Christmas)

All I Want for Christmas by Clare Lydon

All I Want for Valentine’s by Clare Lydon

Christmas in Mistletoe by Clare Lydon (Amz)

Holly and Ivy by TB Markinson and Miranda MacLeod

Stocking Stuffers by Erin McLellan

Party Favors by Erin McLellan

The Holiday Trap by Roan Parrish

The Christmas Ball by Lily Seabrooke

Silent Night by Lily Seabrooke

Eight Kinky Nights by Xan West (Chanukah)

M/M

The Geek Who Saved Christmas by Annabeth Albert

Catered All the Way by Annabeth Albert (Christmas)

A (Fake) Boyfriend for Christmas by Sean Ashcroft

Faux Ho Ho by ‘Nathan Burgoine

Felix Navidad by ‘Nathan Burgoine

Hearts Alight by Elliot Cooper (Hanukkah) (Amz)

Real World by AJ Cousins (Christmas)

Glass Tidings by AJ Cousins (Christmas)

You’re a Mean One, Matthew Prince by Timothy Janovsky

Candy Hearts by Erin McLellan

His for Hanukkah by Reese Morrison – T (Amz)

A Boyfriend for Christmas by Jay Northcote

A Family For Christmas by Jay Northcote

What Happens at Christmas by Jay Northcote (Amz)

The Longest Night by EE Ottoman – T

The Holiday Trap by Roan Parrish

Finding My Elf by David Valdes

Kissing Santa Claus by Max Walker

Red Envelope by Atom Yang (Lunar New Year) (Amz)

M/F

The Mistletoe Motive by Chloe Liese – DF

Bottle Rocket by Erin McLellan – BM

F/NB

Christmas Inn Maine by Chelsea M. Cameron (Demigirl)

NB/NB

A Very Enby Christmas by Eli Wray

M/F/M

Her Christmas Cookie by Katrina Jackson

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whimsicalcotton · 2 months

Note

36 on the kiss meme?

36 - to give up control

you didn't give me a particular ship so i'm gonna take the liberty of providing myself w more apf because i. am insatiable.

^^^ that's what i said before i started writing and then i got lost in the amberfield sauce. like actually idk what came over me but i straight up just wrote 4.5k of pointless/shameless rachel&max flirting and then took Several days to edit it. sorry? sorry.

--- --- ---

Max Caulfield likes to be sure of herself before she tries something.

Like, super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure. It's caused some problems over the years, and maybe everyone else finds it somewhat irksome, but she needs at least some degree of certainty if she has any hope of working past that initial burst of anxiety that so often arises at the mere thought of doing something unfamiliar. So she tends to stick to the sidelines. Asking a lot of questions she hardly puts to use, watching on as others are able to effortlessly do things she can scarcely bring herself to imagine.

Chloe's been helping her out with it. Or at least attempting to. Serving as the (mostly) gentle push Max needs to step out of her comfort zone, trying to teach her how to be a little more impulsive, but always remaining patient and reassuring when Max finds herself in over her head or chickening out.

And then there's Rachel.

Rachel helps in a… different way. Max thinks she overheard Chloe calling it, “throwing her to the wolves,” in a conversation that probably wasn't meant for her ears.

Whatever it is, it’s how Max finds herself in the blaring lights and veritable sea of drunken bodies known as a party. But it's fine. It's been fine. She’s just been hanging onto Chloe for dear life and trying to remember how to talk like a normal person whenever someone spoke to them. No biggie, no problem.

And then they lost Rachel. And Chloe's immediate response was, “Goddamnit, not again.” That definitely added a few points to the metaphorical uncertainty metre.

Though they still had fun off on their own for a bit. Chloe even mixed her one of those infamous red solo cup drinks, so she's getting a good grade in acting like a normal high-schooler tonight; something that is totally not weird of her to want and surprisingly difficult to achieve. It sort of helped and sort of made it worse that Chloe kept checking in with her every so often, looking at her like she was expecting Max to crack at any second.

Max misses the looks. She realizes it as she's wandering through yet another unfamiliar hallway, semi-frantically looking around whatever rooms she finds, having now lost both Rachel and Chloe. She doesn't know half the faces here, let alone names, so if anyone has to be looking at her she'd really, really prefer it be Chloe.

Alas, for the moment it's just a bunch of strangers’ gazes darting over to her every time she pokes her head into a room, searing into her skin even if only a momentary glance. Not to mention everything everywhere is so goddamn loud. Like, unreasonably loud. I don't know how anyone else's ears aren't bleeding loud. Even in rooms where the music is barely audible, there's chatting and laughing and a hundred conversations all happening at once. And don't even get her started on the lights downstairs.

She's just beginning to debate the merits of tearing her hair out over everything when she nearly crashes into yet another girl she doesn't know.

“Sorry,” she squeaks out, wincing at the sound of her voice. “M-My bad. I didn’t mean to.”

The stranger beams down at her. “Hey, no worries. I saw you come in with Rachel, didn't I?”

Max nods vigorously before realizing she probably looks ridiculous and uttering an, “Uhm, yeah,” in its place. “Have you seen her?”

“Looking for her, huh? Aren't we all. She's pretty slippery when she wants to be.” The stranger leans in to put an arm around Max's shoulder, and she goes rigid as a board under the touch. “Come with me, I think I saw her over this way not that long ago.”

“You think?” Max asks, half in earnest and half in reactionary grouchiness.

“Ooh, the puppy can bite,” answers the stranger, grinning at her with a hungry gleam in her eye. Max gulps. “Have a little faith in me. I've partied with Rachel before, I know where she likes to hang out.”

Max can feel her face going red. Maybe those stupid bright colored lights could actually be helpful right now.

Thankfully the very touchy stranger does actually know what she's doing, and it doesn't take too much walking and weaving through the crowd to find a certain flannel-clad blonde. She's at the head of a table full of people playing cards, and Max has no idea what they're playing but it sure looks like Rachel is winning. She's got her signature big, bright, confident smile plastered across her face, and there's a pile of loose change, cigarettes, and joints off in her corner of the table; next to a small stack of empty solo cups.

“Hey, Rach,” the stranger calls over to her, one arm still wrapped around Max. “Is this your lost puppy I've found?”

Everyone turns to look at her. Max’s face goes hot and she isn't sure if all the ensuing smiles are genuine or mocking and she still doesn't even know the name of the girl draped over her and –

“Maxie!” Rachel's voice is just as bright and boisterous as her winner's grin, and she too has taken to Chloe’s habit of calling her almost every iteration of her name under the sun. But Max is sort of grateful for it right now. “C’mere and watch me wipe the floor with these guys. We're almost done with this game.”

The whole table grumbles in protest to Rachel's gloating, but Max doesn't need to be told twice. She ducks out of the stranger's grip and rushes to Rachel's side, half hidden behind her. She lets out a shakey sigh of relief, knowing there's at least a cap on her nerves now that she's near someone familiar. Usually Chloe is her designated safe person, but she's in no state to be picky, and next to Rachel feels about as safe as she can manage right now.

Rachel looks back to give her a softer, sweeter smile before turning to the girl who brought her here. “My puppy,” she snaps, in full seriousness. “Paws off.”

The girl holds her hands up in mock defense and gives Rachel a scoff, turning to leave.

“Sorry,” she tells Max in a laugh. “A girl's gotta stake her claim. She'd eat you up if I didn't.”

Max chokes on nothing. “She'd what?”

“You heard me,” Rachel answers, pulling some cards from her hand and dropping her offering of cigarettes into the new betting pool at the centre of the table without really paying attention, practically playing with her eyes closed. “You are absolutely fucking adorable, after all.”

Max short circuits for a minute while she tries to process the sentiment. A chorus of groans and grievances circle the table.

“Goddamnit, again?”

“What are you a fucking wizard?”

“C'mon, Rach, you're bleeding me dry here.”

“She barely even looked at her fucking cards! What the hell!”

Rachel answers them all with that dazzling smile, tone honeyed and blithe. “I can't help that Lady Luck favors me so.” She nods towards Max beside her. “Especially now that I have my good luck charm with me. Back out while you still can.”

That's something about Rachel that Max can't help but admire. That damn silver tongue, effortlessly charming and always sharp enough to quip back with ease. She's somehow bolder when she's been drinking, if such a thing is even possible. So far Max has only ever dealt with the aftermath of drunk-Rachel, she's never actually been around to watch it in action. She can see why the girl is often considered the life of the party, bouncing from conversation to conversation without a hitch and still managing to make a show of shuffling the deck all the while.

“Where’s Chloe? Weren’t you guys sticking together?”

Max startles back to attention, still disoriented from being off on her own and maybe the slightest bit buzzed from what little she had to drink earlier. She finds Rachel staring up at her with those all too alluring hazel eyes of hers. Maybe Max doesn't mind her looking, either.

To say it's a struggle to get her voice working would be an understatement. “We were. And then we went looking for you and I– I got lost.”

Rachel hums as if considering a particularly tough equation. “Ah, I see, I see. Well, come sit with me for a bit. Chloe will find us eventually.”

Max raises an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure?”

“Poor, sweet, Maximilian,” Rachel replies in her infamous Shakespearean drama voice. “Always so caught up in the pesky certainties of life. Sit, have a drink, see for yourself if I'm sure or not.”

When Max continues standing there staring at her like a very confused fish out of water, Rachel offers her best impersonation of Chloe by grinning like a great, joyful fool and moving to tug Max down into her lap. Both hands gripping her small waist, relishing in the startled little eep it earns her.

“C’mon, Caulfield. Live a little.” She drops her voice to a murmur, husky and low and so close to Max’s ear that she could probably nibble on it if she wanted to. Not that Max is thinking about that or anything. “You’ll be fine. I'll look after you, promise.”

Max shivers and she knows that Rachel can feel every second of it, that she's enjoying it. For a minute still she debates what to do, but as much as she wants to find Chloe, Max also doesn’t want to get up and risk losing track of Rachel again. Besides, she’s probably right. Chloe will find them eventually. She shouldn’t get so caught up in knowing every last detail ahead of time, that’s the whole point of why they brought her here. Like Rachel said, she should live a little.

So she takes in a breath of that jasmine perfume Rachel's so fond of, tries to relax in her hold, and asks what game they’re playing.

Rachel is all too happy to talk her through it as she deals everyone’s hand, putting an unequivocally silly amount of theatrics into her explanation, not that that stops everybody from hanging onto her every word. Even if most of them have undoubtedly heard the whole spiel before. Max then proceeds to watch her demolish everyone at another few rounds, midway through which someone brings them both a refill of something fruity and red.

“You made mine a double, right?” Rachel calls after them.

“They’re both doubles,” they answer with an enthusiastic thumbs up and a foolish grin, before disappearing back into the crowd outside.

“Sorry about that,” Rachel offers with a half bashful, half guilty expression. “Don't worry if you can't finish yours, I'll take it.” She pauses for a moment, laughs to herself. “Although it would be kinda fun to see you go wild for once.”

And Max, perhaps incentivized by all the physical affection or perhaps looking for a way to enjoy it without feeling like she's going to blow up, takes that as a challenge. “It's okay,” she assures, with far too much determination for her own good, a hamfisted plot to impress already forming in her mind. “I can handle it.”

First things first, she takes a massive gulp of whatever was just handed to her. Then, instead of whatever the hell she thought she was gonna do, she grimaces like she just swallowed a brick.

Rachel laughs, a brilliant, golden sound that serves as higher reward than Max could ever hope for. “Easy there, tiger,” she says, holding Max a little tighter, closer. “You’ve gotta pace yourself.”

“Sorry,” Max splutters in return. “I'm not used to this.”

“I can tell.” Rachel laughs again, this one slow and syrupy; eyes roaming Max’s face with reckless abandon. “Don’t worry, I think it's cute.”

“Jesus, get a room,” one of the boys at the table huffs. “I thought we were playing cards here.”

“I'm in one,” Rachel replies without missing a beat, delightfully glib and sounding far too proud of herself. “And I think you mean losing at cards here. Read ‘em and weep, fellas.”

She lays her cards out for everyone to see with decidedly cocky flair, all but basking in the latest bout of cursing her name to fly around the table. She offers Max a victory toast, giggling once more at the girl's sour expression and knocking back half of her own drink without even flinching. By the time Rachel actually comes out of a round empty handed, they've had so many victory toasts that Max can't remember just how long they've been here. Long enough that she's been able to arrange their hoard of treasure into several smaller piles. Long enough that the sensory onslaught she'd been so arduously fighting through feels a thousand miles away.

Drinking makes everything a little fuzzier, makes all the lights and sounds and staring a little more bearable. It also destroys her sense of time and makes her approximately a thousand percent more likely to say something stupid. But it's not all bad. She manages to crack a few jokes that have everyone laughing, and as the minutes march on and the drinks keep magically appearing beside her on the table, Max finds herself growing bolder.

“Looks like your hot streak is finally over,” someone says to Rachel as the round comes to end, slurring their words and leering over at her in premature triumph.

Max watches in equal parts concern and entertainment as Rachel swings her latest cup around a bit dangerously. “Hey, don't count me out just yet,” she huffs, sneaking a sip between sentences. “Max, quick, give me a kiss for good luck.”

And instead of questioning it, instead of stammering and getting all flustered, Max leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek. Which is bold by her standards. She's still a bit shy about kissing either of them, but especially Rachel. She's just so intimidatingly pretty, and nice, and way, way out of Max's league. Sometimes she still doesn't understand why Rachel was even willing to be in this little triangle relationship with her, let alone be the one to suggest it in the first place. But when a gift horse opens, you don't look it in the mouth. Or something like that.

And why not try and be a little brave for once? That's what all the liquid courage was for, after all.

But Rachel, as Max has often heard, is someone who isn't afraid to ask for more, more, more. Even as the alcohol robs her of some of her usual eloquence. “I meant tongue luck,” she says, complete with an admittedly adorable and endearingly earnest pout.

For a minute, the nervousness returns tenfold. A thousand worries and wonders swirl around her head and she can't help but think of all the eyes on them, all the pressure, all the ways she could mess this up. All the ways she could disappoint. If it's all just meant to be a joke and she's taking it way too seriously and getting herself worked up over nothing again.

But then she's looking at Rachel and Rachel's looking at her and Max is drunker than she's ever been and suddenly none of it matters anymore. Suddenly, she doesn’t need to be sure of anything other than the fact that she’s the lucky one for getting to be so close to Rachel. Before she can talk herself out of it, Max takes the girl’s face in both hands and kisses her. Really kisses her, just barely sliding under the bar of full stop making out as she startles back when someone at the table cheers for them.

“I-Is that more what you had in mind?” She mumbles upon pulling away, fixing Rachel with a bashful, doe-eyed stare. She knows people must be staring again, but it’s fine. She can just look at Rachel and pretend no one else exists instead, let go of all her nerves and replace them with those sunny hazel eyes and that silky, honey-blonde hair.

And that's so, so goddamn easy it isn't even funny.

Rachel blinks back at her, momentarily dazed, before breaking out into an expression best described as the cat who got the cream. “Yeah,” she says, half breathless, moving to ruffle Max’s hair. “Good puppy.”

Max just keeps looking at her, for a moment or two, and then she feels her face going red again as it catches up to her, so she rushes to hide in Rachel’s shoulder. “That’s mean,” she whines, piteous and small, doing absolutely nothing to help her case. “That’s so mean.”

“Duly noted,” Rachel answers with a devious little hum, and Max can picture the way she’s grinning ear to ear at the new source of teasing material.

She reaches out over Max to grab her latest hand, and Max knows solely by the way Rachel's fingers dance along her waist that it's another good one. She tries to keep her drunken grin hidden from the silent tension of the rest of the table. The quiet won't last long, of course. Even without looking Max can count down to the oncoming clamor; four, three, two…

The person who'd been taunting Rachel a few minutes ago drops their cards down and heaves a melodramatic sigh, and the guy next to them lets out a cry of, “You fucking jinxed it, dude,” while giving them a playful shove.

“This is madness. This is actual madness.”

“So fucking unfair. Yo, can I get some of that tongue luck over here?”

Max winds up with a fresh lungful of jasmine as Rachel wraps a protective arm around her, threading her fingers through her hair. “Nope,” she answers in Max's stead. “No way. Didn't you hear me earlier? Mine.”

Max is learning a lot of things about herself tonight. Like how it's kind of exciting when Rachel gets territorial over her, or that the more she hears it the less she questions being likened to a puppy. Or that she apparently isn't above letting Rachel hold the cup to her lips and coax her into another victory sip after finding her own cup empty.

Oh, and according to one of the many strangers at the table she's, ‘so light of a lightweight she should win an award.’ Rachel agrees wholeheartedly and gives Max another pat on the head, which Max was too busy enjoying to really pay attention to what they were saying.

All in all a very educational evening.

“I think that’s it for you tonight,” Rachel says, finishing off the rest of her cup in one swig. Max almost shudders just watching her. “Chloe will probably have my head if I get you any more wasted.”

“She’s already gonna have your head.”

Max turns to face the source of the interruption, smiling like she's just laid eyes on the sun after a long dreary winter, but Rachel scoffs and remains oblivious.

“Says who?” she huffs, defensive and gloating. Everyone stares at the space behind her.

“Says me,” answers Chloe, arms crossed, leaning ominously over Rachel and donning an I'm so gonna kill you sort of grin. Rachel tilts her head back to look up at her. Her tone comes out sickly sweet and simmering with a hint of trouble just beneath. “And what have you two been up to while I was running around half the night wondering where the fuck you were?”

“Winning,” Max says, without a hint of irony. In fact she can’t help but to beam with pride as she proclaims, “I’m her good luck puppy.”

Chloe blinks down at her once, twice, and then moves to pull Max up into a hug. Max hums contentedly to herself. She really is the lucky one, having not just one but two girlfriends tossing her around like a hot potato. Oh yeah, this is the life.

“There, there,” Chloe assures, probably meant in jest but Max soaks it up as if it were genuine, leaning up into Chloe's touch as the girl pets her hair. “What's reckless ol’ Rachel got done to you, huh?”

Rachel gasps in melodramatic mock offense. “What have I done? You wound me, good sir.”

“You got Max drunk.”

“Well, you lost her.”

“Not on purpose,” Chloe snaps back. “Pretty big distinction there, Rach.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.”

Max interrupts them with the utmost confidence, even as she finds her tongue heavy and uncooperative. “Ladies, ladies, please.” Both the words themselves and the hiccup that follows them are muffled in the fabric of Chloe’s jacket, but Max doesn't move. “There’s enough a’ me to go around.”

“Oh she's smashed. Jesus, Rach, you really are a bad influence.” Chloe's probably trying to tell her off, but the effect is greatly lessened by the fact that she's audibly covering up a laugh. “Max, Maxster, Maximilian, how are you doing? How much have you–”

“Rachel already used that one tonight,” Max notes, somehow coming in too late and too early at the same time.

“... had. That answers that question.” Chloe pulls back all of a sudden and Max scrambles not to tip over. “Wait, which one? First or second?”

“Second.”

“Ugh, what? C'mon, Rach, you know I've been saving that one.”

Rachel offers her best attempt at that snake-charmer’s smile, and Max finds herself thinking that she'd never be able win an argument against her. “Yeah, sorry, it just kinda slipped out. It is pretty good.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere now, Princess.” Chloe huffs back. “C'mon, up, both of you. I'm cuttin’ ya off.”

One of the guys lets out a cheer. “And my wallet is once again saved by the power of Rachel having a spousal dispute! Thanks, Price. You're a lifesaver.”

Rachel starts saying something about finally getting lucky only to have the competitive smirk wiped off her face by Chloe elbowing her in the side. Max dutifully gathers up the various little piles of Rachel's winnings and the two of them share a look as she hands them over. Though it must have been longer than just a glance, because the next thing Max knows Chloe is between them and has them both by the shirt collars like a pair of unruly kittens getting picked up by the scruff of the neck.

“Well, I’d better get Romeo and Juliet over here back home before they start fucking on the table–”

“Chloe,” Max sputters, having just enough remaining wherewithal to get flustered over such a remark.

Rachel does another one of those laughably dramatic gasps. “What kind of brute do you take me for?” She adds, far too nonchalantly, “I'd bring her to a room first. I'm not an animal.”

“Rachel,” Max squeaks, balking over at the girl with her face undoubtedly turning cherry red. Rachel offers only a drunkard’s smirk and a wink in return.

“ – And as you can see, I've got my hands full.” Chloe continues, barreling over them.

She lets them go and gives them both a pat on the back, trying to get them to start heading out but only succeeding in sending them stumbling into each other.

“Thanks for keepin’ an eye on ‘em for me,” she sighs. It's quickly replaced with a devilish smirk of her own as she reaches to give the guy a few rough pats on the shoulder. “Oh, and thanks for never learning your lesson when it comes to betting joints against Rachel. I'll be smoking good tonight, thanks to you.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.” He nods towards Rachel and Max, both of whom are not so subtly eyeing the setup for the next round. “Now get those two outta here before they find a way to win from halfway across the room.”

Chloe turns back to them. “Alright guys, you heard him. Time to scram.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Max says as they head for the door, giving Chloe a haphazard salute.

“Ooh, are we pirates?” Rachel asks, before nodding sagely in approval. “Hell yeah. Yeehaw.”

Chloe fights to form a sentence around the burst of laughter that follows. “That's cowboys, you dumbass. How much have you had?”

“A lot,” Max supplies, trying not to trip over herself as they step into the cool night air outside. “Like, twenty cups.”

“It wasn't twenty,” Rachel huffs. “More like a sensible seven. And jeez, way to tattle on me, Caulfield.”

Max blinks over at her. “Oh, sorry. Can I try again?” Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Chloe. “Rachel had a nice sensible seven drinks and there's nothing to worry about.” Then, she turns back over to Rachel with a thumbs up and a lopsided, optimistic grin; whispering as if Chloe isn't right next to them and listening to every word. “Was that better?”

“Perfect,” Rachel just barely manages to answer through a bout of giggling. “Thanks, Maxie.”

The sharp flick of a lighter draws both of their attention, and they find Chloe in the process of lighting up one of the joints she'd claimed as ‘drunk-sitter tax.’ They both watch a little too intently as she takes that first drag and lets it plume out into the dark. “Don't mind me,” she coughs. “I'm just tryna get on your guys’ level. You've got like one brain cell between you right now, I gotta get in on this shit if I'm gonna be the one dealing with it.”

“Do you want some tongue luck?” Max asks, too earnest for her own good. “For dealing with us?”

Chloe stops walking. “Do I want what?”

Max turns on her heel and closes their distance, reaching up to take gentle grip of Chloe's jacket. “Here,” she says, getting up on her tiptoes. “Let me show you.”

Chloe makes this cute little noise of surprise, muffled by Max's mouth over hers, and it only serves to spur the girl on. It doesn't take long for Chloe to melt into it however, unconsciously leaning towards Max as she pulls back, keen on continuing.

“Damn,” Chloe whispers, eyeing Max with a look of eagerness and wonder. “Drunk-Max has game.”

“I know, right?” Rachel agrees on the end of a smokey exhale, having nabbed the joint from Chloe's hand while she wasn't paying attention.

Max puffs up like an overexcited budgie trying to show off for its mate. “I can't help being so swaggy.”

For a minute, all is quiet.

“Aaaaand we're back to normal,” Chloe notes with a humorous sigh, while next to her Rachel breaks into a fit of contagious cackling.

Max merely smiles to herself, watching their faces light up as they chase each other in circles over the joint, listening as they calm halfway down only for one of them to start up again and drag the other into a fresh round of barely contained laughter. She may be playing more on the wild side than usual tonight, but she still finds herself sure — super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure – of one thing.

No amount of alcohol could compare to the rush and butterflies of making her girlfriends happy.

#amberpricefield #amberfield #i'll be honest this is the sorta fic that normally wouldn't see the light of day outside my gdocs but. you asked so you shall Receive shgfs #tho i'd be lying if i said i wasn't debating putting this up on ao3 #i just. i just think that max deserves to be a happy/silly drunk. let her have some Fun #also apf being adorable gay dumbasses my beloved <3 #nova writes #nova answers

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msweebyness · 4 months

Text

Revenge of the Akuma Class

Hey, ya’ll! I find the dodgeball and paintball posts by Artzy incredibly funny, so I decided to make a little reversal scenario! Enjoy! @artzychic27 @imsparky2002

Shadow Crawler: A game we played back in my hometown. It’s kind of like hide and seek, but it’s played in two teams. One team is the ‘seekers’, kind of, but the kick is they’re the ones hiding. They hide all around the area while the other team has to keep an eye out for them, while they walk around the area. So the tagger team will jump out when someone passes to basically spook and try to tag them. And there’s several home bases that the runner teams try to get to. If the people you’re chasing get to home base before you catch them, you’re out!

Setting: Grand Paris Hotel (Closed for some renovations)

Marinette: (Has just explained the rules to the Science and Recess Classes) Alright, is everyone ready?

Marc: Yeah, seems simple enough.

(Most of the kids in the other two classes feel a chill down their backs all of a sudden. Did the room just get darker?)

Marinette: (Claps her hands together) Great! Now we’re going to go hide while you all wait here. Max will send out a group text when we’re ready to go, okay?

DJ: S-Sure. L-let’s do this!

(The lights in the room suddenly dim.)

Marinette: Perfect. This will be so much….fun. (The other classes wonder if they’ve gone nuts because Marinette, like the rest of her classmates, now has bright red eyes and razor sharp teeth, all bared in disturbing slasher smiles. (Like that family in Helluva Boss))

(The lights abruptly go out)

Simon: Okay, what the shit?!

(The lights flicker back on…and Bustier’s class has vanished.)

- - - - -

(Denise and Spinelli dive behind a desk, breathing heavily)

Spinelli: Do…do you think…we lost her?

Denise: Yeah, she couldn’t have seen us duck in here. She was too far behind!

(The two take a moment to get their bearings back…when the door cracks.)

Rose: …All around the mulberry bush…

Spinelli: (under his breath) Maledetto Inferno!

Rose: …The monkey chased the weasel…

Denise: (Biting their lip to keep from making any noise)

Rose: …The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun….

(Things go silent for a couple minutes after that, leading them to decide Rose must have left)

Denise: (Slowly beginning to stand) I…I think we’re-

Rose: (Popping up over the desk) POP GOES THE WEASEL!

Denise/Spinelli: *Scream*

- - - - -

(Jean and Austin T duck into a room that seems to be empty, dropping down to the floor as they breathe heavily)

Austin T: Okay, not gonna lie. Not having too much fun right now. God, who knew they could get so intense about a game?!

Jean: It’s punishment, Aus. The actions of my class have wrought demons unto the earth. (Looks around) It looks like we’ll at least be safe here for a-

(An ominous giggle sounds through the darkness, and the boyfriends slowly turn to look, seeing Mylene sitting atop a dresser with a threatening, sharp-toothed smile.)

Mylene: Well, hello. You two seem like you’re lost.

Jean: N-now, Mylene, let’s not…I’m your friend, remember?

Mylene: Oh, Jean…in this game, there are no friends across enemy lines. As of this moment…(she smiles, showing off her sharp teeth as her eyes glow crimson) You’re prey.

(Jean and Austin T slowly back away from her…only to bump into a large, solid object behind them.)

Mylene: Oh, there you are, love! Right on time! I could use some help dealing with these two.

Austin T: You know what, I think we have a prior engagement, so we should really- (grabs Jean’s hand and they bolt from the room)

(Deciding to give them at least a small chance, Mylene and Ivan share a quick kiss before donning matching malevolent, shark-toothed grins.)

- - - - -

(Zoé and Austin A hide under a counter in the kitchen. A strange scraping sound, like nails against metal echoes through the dark space)

Chloe: Zoe~… Where are you, sis? I just wanna talk! I’m not mad that I’m still finding paint in my hair which I told you to avoid! (Psychotic cackle) Come on oooout~…

(The two blondes hold their breath, praying for the surprisingly ominous sound of high heels to pass them by. Suddenly it stops.)

Austin A: (Whispered through his teeth) Understand that if she finds us, I’m bolting and leaving you for dead. You’re the one she’s after.

Zoe: (hissed under her breath) Not if I shove you at her to buy myself time, asshole.

(At that moment, the table is upended, landing with a clatter several feet away)

Chloe: Survival Tip 1. When the person you’re hiding from is in the room, you should probably keep your big mouth shut, hon. (Manic giggle)

- - - - -

(Marc and Austin Q walk slowly around the hotel’s storage area, shining their flashlights into any potential hiding places. Suddenly, Austin Q sounds like he’s choking)

Marc: What? What is it? (He looks where the redhead’s flashlight is pointing, and freezes)

(In dripping red paint on the wall are the words “I SEE YOU.” And just below that, Nathaniel sits, giving them an intense, crimson eyed stare.)

Nathaniel: Hello, Rainbow. (Jumps down from his perch)

Marc: Hi, N-Nath…

(The redhead vanishes into the shadows, before reappearing right behind them.)

Nathaniel: Boop. (Lightly taps the back of Marc’s head) You’re out, babe.

Marc: W-wait, that’s it?

Nathaniel: For you. (Turns to Austin Q, his eyes glowing scarlet and pointy teeth bared in a grin) Run.

Austin Q: SHIT! (Turns and flees)

- - - - -

(Simon and Gerard are slowly making their way down a dark, empty hallway)

Simon: Do…do you feel like someone’s watching us?

Gerard: Yeah, it’s like there’s a…presence…

(Suddenly, their phones scream, scaring the crap out of both of them.)

Simon: Okay, I don’t remember changing my notif to that.

(They pick their phones and to their confusion, they both have a text from an unknown number. Hesitantly, they open them at the same time, and their screens go black, glitching as the words ‘LOOK BEHIND YOU’ appear in staggered white block letters.)

Simon: What the…? (He and Gerard turn around…and standing less than fifteen feet behind them is Max, giving them a Cheshire Cat grin as his eyes glow bright red.)

- - - - -

(Lacey and Austin B slowly inch their way around the wall of the hotel’s main ballroom)

Lacey: Okay, we’re almost to home base. I saw the marker on the other side.

Austin B: Sure, as long as no one sees us out in the open. Like we currently are. Seriously, we have NO cover.

Lacey: Just shut up and keep moving, Boulet. The ballroom is wide open, it’s not like anyone can sneak up o-

(With a loud crack, a fist with a familiar sweatband smashes the window above, blowing glass over their heads)

Kim: (Pops his head through the shattered window) HOWDY, FUCKERS!

Austin B: Oh, HELL NO! What the shit?!

- - - - -

(Ismael and Kendra look up at the ceiling, where loud bangs and clatters sound from every possible direction.)

Ismael: She’s in the vents. She’s in the GODDAMN VENTS! How did she even get up there?! These are vaulted ceilings!

Kendra: I have no fucking clue, but I think we better run. Maybe if we split and go different directions, we can-

Alix: (Pops out of a vent just above their heads) SURPRISE, BITCHES!

- - - - - -

(Reshma and Mindy back slowly through the darkness of the room they just ducked into, closely watching the door to make sure no one is going to follow them.)

Mindy: Do you think anyone saw us come in here?

Reshma: No, I don’t thi- (She bumps into something)

(Slowly, the two turn around…and there’s Juleka, hanging upside down from the ceiling, with a sharp fanged grin and mercury-colored eyes.)

Juleka: Boo.

(Reshma and Mindy shriek)

- - - - -

(Cosette and Gia are hiding in a supply closet, watching a stream on the school blog)

Alya: (Over the phone) What’s up, y’all? So my class is kicking ass in a game of Shadow Crawler, and I think my prey is hiding in this very room. Cosette? Gia? Maybe you’d like to say hello?

Gia: Well, at least we know she’s in the wrong room. We would hear if she was in the room with us.

Cosette: Y-yeah.

Alya: Oh, I wouldn’t count on it. (The two look down at their phones and see themselves on the livestream. They then look up and see Alya giving them a sharky smile, twiddling her fingers in a little wave.)

- - - - - -

(Back in the room where the game started, all the defeated classes are rounded into a corner, tied back to back with…were these jump-ropes? Must have come from the Hotel Gym. Thoroughly unnerved, they begin to exchange conversation.)

Aurore: Marinette got me and DJ. She set up a fucking cage rig. We somehow didn’t see the X…

DJ: And next thing we know, a full-on iron cage crashes down and we’re trapped!

Mireille: Adrien came down the fucking wall! Like a spider!

Lotta: He’s supposed to be sunshine personified, not a demon! Since when does he speak Aramaic?!

(All of a sudden, the lights go out again. When they come back on, before them are the akuma class, still with those unnerving, demonic grins.)

Marinette: Well, well, well…it seems there’s no more prey left to hunt….our game is at its end.

Ismael: Alright, you guys made your point! Now…what are you planning to do with us?

(The akuma class tilts their heads in confusion)

Kim: Dude, what are you talking about? Game’s over.

Alya: Yeah, we- Wait. Omigod, did you guys think we were gonna hurt you?!

(The Science and Recess classes all exchange looks, before the Akuma Class all burst out laughing.)

Mylene: Guys, it’s just a game! Do you think we’re psycho or something?

Alix: A game that we just dominated! Score for the most badass class at DuPont! Whoo!

(Her classmates all cheer)

Marinette: Victory pastries on me!

Adrien: Sorry if we freaked you guys out a little. Markov, you can untie them now. (The little robot sets to doing this.) Besides, now we’re even! And we’ll all have fun and play games or sports like friends, like normal people. And nobody will get too intense! …Right?

(For the briefest of moments, the Akuma Class’s crimson eyes and dagger-like teeth return, prompting rapid affirmations from the other two classes)

Rose: (Cheerful) Great! Well, see you guys!

(The akuma class leaves)

Well, that happened. Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs!

#miraculous ladybug #shadow crawler #akuma class #payback time

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