#this is definitely a sign to get back to it

[all-my-love-for-harry]

Call Sign: Daddy

pairing; jake seresin x wife!reader

summary; Everyone thought Hangman’s biggest secret was his ego—turns out, it’s a wife, two kids, and a killer marshmallow recipe.

word count; 6.6k

warnings; nothing. fluff, fun, the daggers being chaotic and dramatic

a/n; you ask i deliver! here's girl dad!jake! this was SO much fun to write, i love these kinds of pieces. i am SO down to keep writing for this little family or just dad!jake in general (i am incapable of writing anything short i'm sorry)

masterlist

The new house still smelled like paint and sunlight.

Boxes towered in the living room like a cityscape, half-labeled and already a little rumpled from the drive. The front door stood open to let in the sea breeze, and the soft whir of ceiling fans stirred the scent of fresh wood floors and cardboard.

“Daddy! This one!” Cami’s voice rang through the hallway like a firecracker. Her curls bounced as she darted from room to room, barefoot and beaming. “This is definitely the best one.”

Jake, still in a gray t-shirt and jeans dusty from the move, peeked around the corner with a smirk. “Didn’t you say that about the last two?”

She planted her little fists on her hips. “Yeah, but this one’s got the biggest window. And look—” she ran over to it and flung her arms wide, “I can see everything!”

From the kitchen, you laughed softly, adjusting the baby sling on your chest. Lex was snuggled close, soft and warm against your body, her tiny fist curled against your collarbone. She made a sleepy noise but didn’t wake, lulled by the rhythm of your movements and the muffled excitement around her.

“She’s going to change her mind five more times,” you called over your shoulder. “Minimum.”

Jake walked in and leaned against the doorframe, watching you unpack a box labeled Kitchen - Fragile in your handwriting. “That’s generous. I was guessing eight.”

He crossed the room to you, brushing a hand along your spine in that absent, instinctive way he always had—gentle, grounding. “You good?”

“I’m good,” you said, smiling up at him. “Lex is asleep, I haven’t dropped a mug yet, and Cami hasn’t tried to climb on the counters. I’m calling it a win.”

Jake glanced down at Lex, and his whole face softened. He reached out to cradle her head briefly with one palm, then kissed your cheek. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Flattery doesn’t get you out of assembling the crib again.”

“Worth a shot.”

From down the hall came the unmistakable crash of a box being tipped over, followed by Cami’s delighted giggle. “I’m helping!”

Jake’s eyes closed with a sigh, but he was smiling. “That’s my cue.”

He turned and jogged off in the direction of the chaos, and you watched him go, heart aching a little in that sweet, full way. Seeing him like this—barefoot, hair a little messy, completely wrapped around his daughters—it was everything you’d always wanted for him. For all of you.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us, San Diego,” you whispered to Lex, who sighed in reply.

You went back to unpacking, and in the next room, Jake’s voice rose in a playful protest: “No, honey, that’s not a hammer. That’s a whisk. Where did you even get that?”

Cami shrieked with laughter, and you swore your heart couldn't grow bigger.

The sun had started to dip low in the sky, casting soft gold across the living room floor where half-built furniture lay in various states of disarray. Instruction manuals fluttered open beside tiny screws, wooden pegs, and the mysterious metal contraptions that always seemed necessary but never quite explained themselves.

Jake sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, brow furrowed and tongue caught in the corner of his mouth as he studied the baby dresser. He had gotten the frame halfway done. Maybe. Depending on how generous you were feeling.

Cami, perched on her knees next to him, had a tiny screwdriver clutched in her small hand like it was a magic wand. She wore a tutu over her leggings and one of your old t-shirts, which hung off her shoulders like a dress. Her curls were a riot around her face, and her fingers were smudged with something suspiciously marker-colored.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, Lex still tucked snug to your chest. She was asleep again, her little cheek pressed to your sternum, one leg dangling out of the wrap like she owned the place.

“Okay, Daddy,” Cami said with authority, poking the air like a tiny forewoman. “This piece goes on top of the other piece. Like a sandwich.”

Jake blinked at the board she was pointing to. “That’s the bottom panel, baby.”

“But it looks like the top.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s upside down.��

Cami frowned, then flipped the piece over with both hands. It clunked to the floor, just missing his foot.

“See?” Jake said, trying not to laugh. “Now it’s a bottom that looks like a bottom.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

From his spot on the floor, Jake glanced up and caught you watching. He grinned, wide and slow and just a little sheepish. “Hey, darlin’. How’s the supervisor?”

You adjusted Lex’s head gently and whispered, “She’s napping on the job.”

“Slacker,” he murmured with a wink, before turning back to the pieces in front of him.

Cami leaned in close beside him, pressing her head to his arm as she whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was made Jake laugh under his breath, then glance back at you with mock-seriousness.

“She says we should throw away the instructions and just use our feelings.”

“Oh God,” you said, laughing. “That explains so much about you.”

Jake chuckled and ruffled Cami’s curls. “You hear that? Mama’s roasting me again. Typical.”

Cami grinned like she’d won something, then leaned against her father’s shoulder, tucking her tiny feet under her.

For a moment, everything was still.

Golden light spread across the wood floors. The air smelled faintly of new furniture, baby lotion, and the faint salt of the ocean drifting in through the open window. The soft rustle of palm trees outside, the distant echo of a car door down the street, and the occasional creak of the settling house were the only sounds besides Jake humming tunelessly as he tightened a bolt.

Jake leaned back, resting his weight on one palm and looking up at you.

“I know we’re not done unpacking,” he said, voice low and a little rough with feeling, “but it already feels like home.”

You smiled, walking toward him slowly. “That’s because you brought your girls home.”

He reached up and touched your wrist, brushing a finger over the baby’s foot.

“We’re lucky you came with us,” you said.

Jake looked up at you, eyes soft. “No,” he murmured. “I’m lucky you waited for me.”

Cami blinked between the two of you, then laid her cheek against his shoulder again with a sigh. “Okay, but are we building this dresser or what?”

Jake snorted, grabbing a screwdriver. “Yes, boss.”

And with his firstborn on one side, and the rest of his world standing just steps away, Jake Seresin went back to building his life—one drawer at a time.

The California sun beat down on the tarmac, sharp and dry, but not even the heat could keep the familiar buzz of energy from crackling through the air.

Top Gun had changed. Sleeker buildings. A brand-new hangar. The same stretch of runway, but with fresh paint and a higher security presence. What hadn’t changed, though, was the group clustered just outside the ready room, voices overlapping as they swapped stories, insults, and half-serious bets on who’d forget their callsign first.

“—told you, man,” Fanboy was saying as Jake approached, sunglasses perched on his head and a wide grin on his face. “He puked in the rental van. Twice. And then tried to blame it on the dog.”

Coyote laughed, arms crossed. “Please tell me that was your neighbor and not your cousin again.”

“Nope. Cousin.” Mickey smacked a hand to his chest like he was proud. “And I had to deep-clean the whole backseat before I drove out here with Bowie.”

“Wait,” Phoenix cut in, squinting at him. “You brought your dog across the country?”

“Hell yeah, I did.” He pulled out his phone and showed a picture of a scruffy, golden mutt hanging its head out the passenger window, tongue flapping. “Look at that face. He’s the real MVP.”

Rooster whistled low. “You’re braver than me. I left my plants behind.”

“They were fake,” Bob said dryly, getting a chorus of laughs.

Jake slid into the circle with a nod, arms folded, boots scuffing a mark into the concrete. “What, no one’s moved with a houseplant, a dog, and a messy break-up? Come on, you’re telling me I’m the only one who had a peaceful move?”

That earned a few snorts.

Rooster elbowed him lightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t bring anything?”

Jake gave an easy shrug. “Couple duffel bags. My truck. That’s about it.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “No roommates? No girlfriend clinging to your bumper? No tragic love story in your rearview mirror?”

Jake let out a short laugh. “Nope.”

He didn’t look at Javy. Not directly.

The lie wasn’t heavy—not yet—but it was sharp. Quick. A reflex. The same one he’d used a hundred times over the years. It felt different now, though. Dirtier. Because this time, he wasn’t hiding a fling or dodging a label. He was leaving his family out of the picture.

Not forever. Just… not yet.

Coyote gave a low whistle beside him, too casual to be anything but a cover. “Guess some people travel light,” he said, and if the words held a second meaning, no one noticed but Jake.

“Hangman, a minimalist,” Phoenix said with a scoff. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Jake gave her a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “New year, new me.”

Rooster snorted. “You said that last year.”

“And look how great I turned out.”

They all groaned, but the mood held, rolling easy like a wave that hadn’t quite crested yet.

“Alright,” Maverick’s voice cut across the courtyard from the ready room doors. “Let’s see if you all remember how to fly.”

The squad moved in a pack, still joking as they filtered inside.

Jake walked a beat behind the rest, sunglasses shielding his eyes, the weight of the secret pressing a little more firmly against his ribs. It was only a matter of time before they found out.

But for now?

For now, it was just him, his girls, and the silence between.

[..]

It had been a week since Rooster arrived in San Diego and he was already sick of takeout. His fridge held nothing but mustard, half a lime, and a six-pack of beer. It was time to act like an adult — or at least pretend to.

He pushed his cart through the grocery store with a lazy rhythm, sunglasses tucked into his collar, and a list on his phone that he was half-ignoring. Eggs, coffee, something green… cereal.

He turned into the cereal aisle, already reaching for the same red box he always bought, when a familiar figure ahead caught his eye.

Blond. Tall. Broad shoulders. Back turned.

Rooster paused mid-step.

Seresin?

It looked like Jake — same relaxed posture, same stupidly perfect haircut. But the guy was wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt, not his usual base uniform or something annoyingly designer. Casual. Normal.

Rooster took a step forward, ready to call out a sarcastic, "Didn’t peg you for a Cheerios guy," when the man turned slightly to the side.

And that’s when he saw her.

A baby.

Strapped to his chest in one of those soft, wraparound slings. A tiny baby — maybe six or seven months old, by the size of her — nestled against his chest, dozing peacefully with a pacifier bobbing in her mouth. One of her socks was missing, her little toes peeking out like she’d kicked it off mid-nap.

Rooster froze.

And then—

“Daddy, look! They have the cinnamon ones!”

A second voice. High-pitched, sweet, and excited.

A little girl — maybe five — stood up in the shopping cart seat and waved dramatically at the shelf of cereal boxes like she’d discovered treasure. Her curls bounced as she wiggled, and she wore a pink t-shirt with sparkles on it and denim overalls with a sticker stuck to one leg.

Jake turned to look at her fully, the side of his face now visible, and Rooster’s heart tripped over itself.

No way.

“Alright, alright, Cin-a-mon Swirls it is,” Jake said, stretching to grab the box while carefully balancing the sleeping baby on his chest. “But only if you promise not to sneak handfuls before breakfast again.”

The little girl giggled. “I don’t sneak. I sample.”

Jake laughed under his breath — that soft, genuine laugh Rooster had never heard from him on base — and dropped the box in the cart.

Rooster ducked quickly behind the display of oatmeal, heart hammering.

What the hell did I just walk into?

Those weren’t nieces. That baby was practically grafted to Jake’s chest, and the little girl had his eyes. The same green-gold color. The same crooked grin. The same exact nose.

Rooster peeked around the endcap.

Jake had one hand resting protectively on the baby’s back and the other guiding the cart while she chattered away, telling some elaborate story about a dragon and a breakfast castle. And Jake? He was listening. Actually listening, nodding at the right moments, smiling to himself like this was the best part of his day.

What the—

Rooster stepped back, the shock settling into something sharper. Confusion. Disbelief.

Hangman has kids?

Real kids. Not nieces. Not a girlfriend’s kids. His. There was no mistaking it. That little girl might as well have been a clone.

And he’d said nothing.

Rooster stood frozen, cart forgotten, eyes still locked on the aisle corner where Jake had just turned out of sight, baby and child in tow.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t say a word. He just stood there in the cereal aisle, trying to process the impossible.

Jake Seresin — Hangman — had a secret family.

And now, Rooster wasn’t sure who the hell he’d been working with all this time.

Rooster didn’t remember checking out.

He was pretty sure he paid — probably — because the cashier smiled and told him to have a good day. But everything from the cereal aisle to the parking lot felt like a blur. His brain was short-circuiting, looping through the same impossible images like a broken projector.

Jake. Baby. Little girl. Daddy.

He sat in his Bronco, staring blankly at the wheel. The cinnamon cereal he'd ended up grabbing by accident sat in the passenger seat like evidence.

“This is insane,” he muttered. “This is literally insane.”

He could not be the only one to know this. He didn’t want to be the only one. Someone had to validate this reality — and someone had to help him process what the hell was going on.

Which is how he ended up at the base gym, tossing his keys into a locker with a little too much force, pacing past the row of squat racks, and scanning the room like a man on a mission.

Phoenix.

There she was, finishing up reps on the bench press like a total machine, earbuds in, hair tied back, towel around her neck.

“Hey,” he called, voice slightly too loud.

She didn’t hear.

“Hey!”

Phoenix startled, pulling one earbud out with a scowl. “Jesus, Bradshaw. I almost dropped that on my face.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry,” he said, stepping closer. “I need to talk to you. Right now. Privately.”

She raised one eyebrow and sat up slowly. “What, did someone die?”

“No, but—close. I mean—no. It’s not a death death, it’s just—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just—can we?”

Phoenix stood, towel in one hand, already skeptical. “Okay, drama queen. Come on.”

They ducked into the hallway outside the locker rooms, still sweaty and smelling faintly like antiseptic and rubber flooring. Phoenix crossed her arms.

“Alright. Spill.”

Rooster opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Shook his head.

“Rooster.”

“I saw Hangman with a baby,” he blurted, eyes wild. “And a kid. Like a five-year-old. And he was grocery shopping with them like it was normal. The baby was strapped to his chest like one of those little marsupial carriers and the kid called him Daddy.”

Phoenix stared.

He waited.

She didn’t blink.

Finally, she said, “What?”

“In the cereal aisle! I thought it was him, and I was about to say hi, but then I saw the baby, and the little girl looked just like him and then she said ‘Daddy’ and I—I panicked, okay? I hid behind the oatmeal.”

“You hid behind the oatmeal?”

“I was caught off guard!”

Phoenix let out a snort-laugh. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious, Nat. They looked exactly like him. The girl had his eyes. His smile. And he was being all—dad-like. It was weirdly gentle. I didn’t know he had a tone like that.”

Phoenix was quiet for a long second, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “No mention of kids. No ring. No pictures. No weird schedule conflicts. If he has a family, he’s gone to serious lengths to hide it.”

Rooster nodded like a bobblehead. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“Are you sure they weren’t his sister’s kids or something?”

“The baby was drooling all over his shirt and the other one was bossing him around like she owned him. And he was listening. Patiently. Hangman doesn't listen patiently to anyone.”

Phoenix stared into the middle distance.

“...Holy shit,” she said under her breath.

Rooster folded his arms. “So what do we do?”

Phoenix blinked at him. “We?”

“You’re involved now!”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“But you know.”

Phoenix gave him a look. “So what—you want to confront him?”

“No,” Rooster said quickly. “God, no. What if it’s, like, a secret family on purpose? What if it’s some Witness Protection-level thing? Or he’s on the run from the PTA?”

Phoenix barked a laugh. “Okay, calm down, you're not in a TV show.”

“I just—I feel like I stepped into the Twilight Zone,” Rooster muttered.

“And I can’t un-see it. Like, every time he opens his mouth now, I’m going to hear that little girl’s voice saying ‘Daddy.’”

Phoenix scrubbed a hand down her face. “Alright. We sit on it. For now. He’ll crack eventually.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She gave him a slow, sly smile. “Then we accidentally run into him again. Maybe outside work. Maybe at the grocery store.”

Rooster looked appalled. “You want to stake him out?”

Phoenix shrugged. “What? You already started the recon mission. Might as well finish it.”

Rooster groaned. “This is going to drive me crazy.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bradshaw,” she said, patting his shoulder. “It already has.”

Jake had been minding his own business. Genuinely. For once.

He’d gotten through the morning flight briefing, his simulation review, and even a cup of coffee without roasting anyone. It was a personal record. But then—suddenly, for no reason at all—Bradley and Natasha started acting weird.

“Hey, Hangman,” Rooster said casually, sliding into the locker bench beside him, half-dressed in his flight gear. “What’d you do this weekend?”

Jake squinted at him, one boot half-laced. “What?”

“Just curious,” Rooster said, far too quickly. “Normal question. People ask each other that.”

Jake stared. “I did laundry. Took the truck in for an oil change. Nothing exciting.”

“Cool, cool,” Phoenix chimed in from across the aisle, leaning against the lockers like a detective interrogating a suspect. “Did you, I don’t know, go to the store?”

“The store?” Jake echoed slowly.

“You know,” Rooster added. “For… groceries.”

Jake blinked. “Yeah. Got some eggs. Why?”

“No reason,” they said in unison.

Jake looked between them, brow furrowing. “Did I miss a memo about getting really into meal prep?”

Phoenix gave a tight smile. “We’re just... interested in nutrition lately.”

Rooster nodded solemnly. “Very into breakfast.”

Jake opened his mouth, paused, then slowly tied his boot. “You guys are so weird today.”

Phoenix pushed off the locker. “So you live around here, then?”

Jake’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Obviously.”

Rooster jumped in. “Yeah, yeah, but like... where?”

Jake pulled his boot tighter. “You wanna come over for dinner, Bradshaw? Is that what this is? You finally caving to my charm?”

“No! I mean—unless you’re offering.” Rooster looked at Phoenix. “He could be offering.”

Jake stood, rolling his eyes. “What is wrong with you two?”

Phoenix played it cool. “Nothing. We’re just making conversation.”

“You’re never just making conversation.”

Rooster crossed his arms. “Maybe we’re trying to be your friends.”

Jake paused mid-zip on his jacket, one eyebrow climbing like it was headed for the stratosphere.

“My friends?” he repeated. “You think this is the first week of kindergarten and we’re picking lunch buddies?”

Phoenix shrugged, entirely unfazed. “Stranger things have happened.”

Jake gave her a long look. “Are you both dying?”

“No.”

“On drugs?”

Rooster smirked. “Only caffeine and a burning need for the truth.”

Jake stared for a beat longer, then shook his head and walked out of the locker room with a muttered, “Y’all are exhausting.”

Phoenix turned to Rooster once he was gone. “Okay, new plan. We’re terrible at this.”

Rooster groaned. “I thought the grocery question was subtle.”

“It wasn’t.”

“He’s too smug. He has secrets and he knows we want to know them.”

Phoenix sighed. “And he’s enjoying the hell out of this.”

Rooster tilted his head thoughtfully. “He might be just confused. That would track.”

They both stood in silence for a moment before Phoenix said, “We need to try again. Cooler. Smarter.”

Rooster gave her a long look. “You gonna say ‘do you have kids’ in Morse code or something?”

Phoenix’s eyes lit up. “...Maybe.”

Jake pushed open the front door with his shoulder, juggling his keys, a bottle of wine, and the pink glittery water bottle Cami had insisted on bringing to preschool. The house smelled faintly of laundry and lemon cleaner, and somewhere in the background, Taylor Swift’s voice floated out from the kitchen speaker.

You were at the counter, barefoot in leggings and one of his old Academy hoodies, hair piled on top of your head like a soft crown of chaos. Lex was in her bouncer on the floor nearby, babbling softly to her toes like they were telling her secrets.

Cami was on the couch with a coloring book and a stack of markers that had no hope of staying uncapped for long.

Jake dropped his keys in the bowl and stepped into the kitchen, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I survived another day of being interrogated by two weirdos.”

You smiled without looking up from the dishwasher you were loading.

“Phoenix and Rooster.” He opened the fridge and tucked the wine onto the bottom shelf. “They’re acting weird. Like, weirder than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘weird.’”

Jake pulled out a leftover container and leaned against the counter. “Asking where I live, what I did this weekend, if I’ve been to the grocery store. They were so subtle it was almost adorable.”

You bit back a smile. “Huh.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Maybe they already know.”

Jake froze, Tupperware in hand. “Know what?”

You turned and gently nudged the fridge closed with your hip. “About us. About me. About the girls.”

Jake blinked. “How?”

“I don’t know,” you said, scooping up a bib from the table. “Maybe they saw us out. Maybe someone mentioned something. Cami does talk to strangers like they’re long-lost cousins.”

Jake groaned. “Oh God. Did she tell the cashier I’m a Top Gun pilot again?”

“She told the woman at the post office that your call sign is Hangman because you ‘always hang upside down on the monkey bars.’”

He dropped his head to the counter with a muffled laugh. “She’s gonna get me court-martialed.”

You smiled as you stepped closer and gently carded your fingers through his hair. “You said you liked them. The squad.”

“I do,” he mumbled, voice slightly muffled. “Most days.”

“Maybe it’s time they knew the truth.”

Jake lifted his head, watching you carefully. “You think so?”

You tilted your head, soft and teasing. “What’s the worst that could happen? They start calling you Daddy-man?”

Jake winced. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

You laughed, warm and easy, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Seriously. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. You have a great life. You have a family who loves you. And a baby with thighs so chunky they deserve their own zip code.”

Jake looked down at Lex, who had stopped babbling long enough to blow a spit bubble.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “I know.”

Cami’s voice floated in from the living room. “Mom! Daddy! Where’s the sparkly purple marker? It’s an emergency!”

Jake shouted back, “Check under the couch! Or in your hair!”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. “Well… when you’re ready, we’re ready too.”

He kissed the top of your head, arms sliding around you with a quiet, grateful squeeze.

The squad had claimed their usual table on the outdoor patio of the base commissary — sun shining, aviators on, trays full of fries and whatever passed for lunch that day. It was the kind of afternoon that made everything feel like summer break, even if they were technically on duty.

“Well, I hope you’re all happy,” Bob was saying dryly as he unwrapped a sandwich. “I checked my mailbox today and it was filled with glitter.”

Fanboy leaned back in his chair, beaming. “You’re welcome. That’s the kind of magic only Bowie and I can bring to a neighborhood.”

“You named the dog after David Bowie?” Phoenix asked, chewing on a carrot stick.

Mickey grinned. “Ziggy Stardog.”

Groans went around the table.

“Unreal,” Coyote muttered. “That’s terrible and I’m impressed.”

“I live to serve.”

Jake was halfway through a burger, content to let the chaos unfold, when Maverick appeared like a ghost with sunglasses, stepping out of nowhere and holding a coffee in one hand like it was sacred.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, voice easy, “but Penny wanted me to let you all know we’re doing a bonfire tonight. Out by the beach. Her place. Says it’s a welcome-back thing, so don’t bring beer, don’t bring drama, and for the love of God, don’t bring your motorcycles onto the sand again.”

Everyone snickered. Rooster threw his hands up defensively. “That was one time.”

“And it’ll stay that way,” Mav said with a pointed look.

Jake straightened slightly, setting down the last bite of his burger. He glanced around the table, pulse oddly steady. The decision had settled itself sometime that morning between spooning oatmeal into Lex’s mouth and Cami asking—again—when she could meet Daddy’s new friends.

“Mav,” he said, casual but clear. “Is it cool if I bring some people with me?”

The table went quiet.

Maverick blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

Jake gave a little smile and nodded. “Appreciate it.”

Everyone stared.

Fanboy was the first to break the silence. “Uh… what people?” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even like people.”

Payback looked mildly alarmed. “Are we being replaced?”

Jake just shrugged, reaching for his drink like this was the most normal conversation in the world.

But Phoenix was watching him like a hawk.

And Rooster was actively vibrating with contained energy, a fry halfway to his mouth, completely forgotten.

“You’re being weird again,” Jake said, pointing his straw at Rooster.

“You’re bringing people,” Rooster shot back, eyebrows in the stratosphere.

Phoenix leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, a slow smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We talking plural as in roommates? Or plural as in… little people who call you Daddy?”

Jake’s eyes flicked to hers, the tiniest tilt of amusement in them. “I’m just saying,” he said evenly, “if I show up with the most beautiful girl at the party, don’t be surprised.”

Rooster choked on his fry.

Phoenix kicked him under the table.

Fanboy looked around, utterly lost. “What is happening?”

Bob squinted suspiciously. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Jake only smirked and stood, brushing the crumbs off his shirt.

“See y’all tonight,” he said, casual as anything. “Save me a seat by the fire.”

And with that, he walked off — calm, unbothered, and just smug enough to make Rooster groan into his hands.

Phoenix leaned back, arms crossed, a gleam in her eyes. “It’s happening.”

Rooster looked haunted. “I knew that baby wasn’t a hallucination.”

Payback stared between them. “What baby?!”

The house smelled like sunscreen, baby lotion, and a little bit of anxiety.

Cami was bouncing from room to room like a ping-pong ball, wearing a sparkly denim jacket over a pink sundress and clutching her favorite plush unicorn in a tiny fist. She kept popping into the bathroom to check her hair in the mirror, then running back to Jake.

“Do I look okay, Daddy?”

Jake crouched to her level, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “You look perfect, honey.”

She beamed for a second, then hesitated. “What if your friends don’t like me?”

Jake blinked. “What?”

Cami twisted the unicorn’s mane around her finger. “What if they think I talk too much? Or that I’m weird?”

Jake’s heart ached in that split-second way it always did when she got serious. He smoothed her curls gently and gave her that look — the one he reserved for bedtime promises and skinned knees.

“They’re gonna love you, bug,” he said softly. “Because you’re smart, and funny, and you make the best marshmallows on the planet.”

Her brow furrowed. “But we haven’t even made them yet—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jake whispered, grinning. “You still win.”

That got a giggle out of her, and she hugged his neck, throwing her little arms around him with enough force to knock him off balance onto the hallway rug.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said into his shoulder.

Jake’s voice caught. “I love you more.”

You stepped out of the nursery then, Lex already strapped to your chest in a soft carrier, cheeks pink and drool bib firmly in place. She was wide awake and blinking like the golden light in the living room was the most interesting thing in the world.

Cami ran to grab her tiny heart-shaped sunglasses from the coffee table. Jake stood and watched you for a second longer than necessary, just taking it all in.

“How’s Lex?” he asked, crossing the room to meet you.

“She’s been cooing at the ceiling fan for fifteen minutes straight,” you said. “I think it’s her soulmate.”

He smiled and reached out to gently fix the strap across your shoulder, his thumb brushing your collarbone.

“You okay?” you asked quietly, looking up at him.

Jake hesitated. “Yeah. I mean... yeah.”

You gave him that look — soft and knowing and full of the kind of patience he still didn’t fully understand how he’d earned.

“It’s not a bad kind of nervous,” he said after a second. “Just… new. I’ve never brought my family to anything like this. Not with coworkers. Javy doesn’t count.”

“He absolutely doesn’t count,” you agreed.

Jake chuckled under his breath, then exhaled, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I just… this is the part where it’s not just mine anymore, you know? Where they get to know you. The girls. The best parts of me.”

You stepped in closer, pressing your hand to his chest. “We’ve always been yours, Jake.”

He looked down at you, green eyes a little glassy now. “Yeah,” he said. “But tonight... I guess it starts being real to everyone else, too.”

You smiled. “And that’s a good thing. Because it means more people get to see what I see. That you’re a good man. A good husband. A good dad. And the people who matter? They’ll never forget that.”

Jake swallowed hard and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then one to Lex’s. Then one to your mouth — soft, slow, like a thank-you.

“Alright,” he said, voice lighter. “Let’s go make an entrance.”

“Let’s go blow their minds,” you replied, already grabbing the baby bag.

Cami burst back into the room, sunglasses on upside down. “Do I look like a cool kid?”

Jake scooped her up with a dramatic gasp. “Coolest kid in the whole world.”

Cami giggled into his shoulder.

And just like that, the Seresins stepped out into the soft evening light, hand in hand, baby bouncing, hearts a little nervous, but completely full.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the horizon when the Seresin family arrived.

The beach behind the Hard Deck glowed in warm amber and rose, the bonfire crackling at the center of it all, with the Daggers scattered around in folding chairs, drinks in hand, laughter rolling easy on the breeze. A cooler full of seltzers sat half-buried in the sand, and someone had already started a playlist that leaned heavy on Fleetwood Mac and bad decisions.

Jake stepped onto the sand first, Lex balanced easily on his hip in a floral romper and a soft pink headband that did absolutely nothing to keep her hair down. She let out a content little sigh and sucked on two fingers like she’d been born for the beach life.

You followed beside him, Cami’s small hand clasped tightly in yours. Her sparkly jacket caught the firelight as she walked, pink sunglasses pushed up into her curls, gripping her unicorn under one arm like backup.

To anyone watching, it was immediate.

They looked like Jake.

Same eyes. Same golden skin. Same confidence — even Cami, who clung to your side but stood tall, taking it all in.

The Daggers didn’t notice them at first.

Not until they got close enough that Bob glanced up and nearly choked on his drink.

Then Rooster turned — already half-expecting it — and froze with his cup halfway to his mouth.

Phoenix elbowed him like don’t say anything stupid but her own jaw had gone slack.

Fanboy actually gasped.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Coyote just sat there grinning like he’d known all along — because, of course, he had.

Jake stopped just in front of the fire, let the conversations fizzle into stunned silence, and gave them that damn cocky smile — the one they all knew so well — only this time, it was softer. Warmer. The kind of smile that said this is everything to me.

“Evening,” he drawled. “Hope we’re not late.”

Nobody said a word.

Cami peeked around you, her voice small but clear. “Are these the pilot friends?”

Jake looked down at her and nodded. “Sure are, baby.”

You smiled gently at the group, then bent to whisper something in Cami’s ear. She stepped forward a little, still clutching the unicorn, but brave in that way only five-year-olds could be.

“I’m Camila Seresin,” she said proudly. “But you can call me Cami.”

Jake gave a slight nod, then shifted Lex on his hip. “And this little one is Alexandra. Lex, if she likes you.”

Lex burbled in response, blinking sleepily at the circle of stunned adults. Jake’s arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close.

“And this is my wife,” he said, voice soft but certain. “The love of my life. The reason I’m not a complete disaster.”

You gave a small, amused wave. “Hi.”

Phoenix finally blinked. “You’re married?”

“To her?” Payback added, looking between you and Jake like he was trying to process a physics equation with no numbers.

Fanboy leaned forward. “You’re married married. Like… full on?”

“With kids?” Bob choked.

Jake smirked. “Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes!” they all said in unison.

Coyote just raised his beer and clinked it against Jake’s bottle. “About time, hermano.”

Phoenix gave you a look of genuine bafflement. “I mean, no offense, but you’re… like… stunning. And you married Hangman?”

“I know,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “We all make mistakes.”

Jake pressed a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”

Payback was still staring at Cami, then Lex, then Jake. “They look exactly like you.”

“They should,” Jake said. “Made ‘em myself.”

Phoenix groaned. “Okay, we’re leaving.”

Jake just laughed and tucked Lex’s head against his shoulder. “Cami, wanna roast some marshmallows?”

“Yes please!” she squeaked, already dragging you toward the snack table.

Jake looked around at the still-shocked faces of his squad — his friends now, he supposed — and gave them a rare, genuine smile.

“Welcome to my real life,” he said.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the flames of the bonfire cast soft flickers across everyone’s faces. Music drifted low from someone’s speaker, mingling with the sound of the waves and the occasional snap of firewood.

It should’ve been a normal night.

But nothing felt normal now that Jake “Hangman” Seresin was casually sitting cross-legged on the sand, marshmallow stick in his hands, helping his five-year-old daughter make the perfect s’more.

“I said not too toasted,” Cami whispered urgently. “Just golden. Like the picture.”

Jake nodded seriously. “Golden. Got it. This is high-stakes work, sweetheart.”

Phoenix nudged Rooster with her foot. “Who is this man?”

Rooster, still visibly reeling, shook his head like it might clear the image in front of him. “I thought he ate protein powder straight out of the tub and slept on a bed of ego.”

“He’s using baby talk, Bradshaw.”

Rooster narrowed his eyes. “And I think the baby just giggled at him.”

“Not the baby,” Fanboy said from behind them. “Me. I’m giggling. This is surreal.”

Across the fire, Jake caught the tail end of the conversation and gave them a smug little look, tossing a marshmallow at Mickey that he expertly dodged.

You were nestled beside Jake on a blanket, Lex sleeping soundly against your chest now that she’d exhausted herself chewing on everyone’s fingers (with permission, of course). You leaned into Jake’s shoulder with a soft smile, watching Cami flit between the snack table and her latest obsession: Bradley Bradshaw.

“Hey, Mr. Rooster?” she called, holding her unicorn in one hand and a half-eaten graham cracker in the other.

Bradley blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“Can I touch your mustache?”

Jake nearly dropped his beer.

Phoenix howled.

Rooster sat very still. “Um. Sure?”

Cami wandered over and patted it with her little marshmallow-sticky fingers, studying it like a curious scientist.

“It’s soft,” she declared. “Like a cat. You should name it.”

Jake groaned. “Cami.”

“What?” she asked innocently. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Jake shot Rooster a look over her head. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Rooster raised both hands. “Hey. I’m just standing here. With a face.”

You leaned over to whisper, “You’re really going to lose sleep over your daughter flirting with a mustache, aren’t you?”

“She has bad taste,” Jake said grimly.

Before anyone could tease him further, Coyote appeared at Cami’s side with a juice pouch and a twinkle in his eye. “Hey, kiddo. Want to help me find more sticks for the marshmallows?”

“Uncle Javy!” Cami cheered, grabbing the juice and launching herself at him like a tiny cannonball.

Phoenix blinked. “Uncle?”

Jake shrugged. “He’s the only one who knew. Got promoted early.”

“You told Javy?” Rooster cried, scandalized. “You told Javy and not me?”

Coyote slung Cami onto his shoulders with practiced ease. “I’m the trustworthy one.”

Jake smirked. “He didn’t try to follow me home or interrogate me about my grocery list.”

Rooster folded his arms. “That was one time.”

Phoenix grinned. “Still your worst stakeout.”

As the night deepened and the stars came out, the squad began to shift from disbelief into something sweeter: genuine admiration. Watching Jake tuck a blanket around Cami’s legs, kiss the top of her head. Seeing the way Lex instinctively settled in his arms, one tiny hand curled into his shirt. Hearing the way he said darlin’ to you like it meant something old and permanent.

This wasn’t a side of Jake Seresin anyone had expected to see.

But it fit him.

Perfectly.

[natalianovnas]

Craaaaving ceo!wanda so muchhhh! Was thinking about how she would be with a new young intern. Cause yn would totally be the sweet supervisor and wanda I mean is just wanda, the ceo, she won’t go soft on the intern. And it would be a moment when the intern finally figures out that yn is Wanda’s wife.

. . . 𝙲𝙻𝚄𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽 — w. maximoff

The new intern—Sarah—did not know she had made a mistake. At least not at first.

She thought you were just the nice one. The one who explained how lunch breaks worked, who gently reminded her to use BCC, who offered half of your cookie during the Tuesday budget review because “everyone needs sugar during numbers hell.”

Sarah liked you.

You were normal, soft-voiced and undeniably sweet.

Unlike the boss — Wanda Maximoff.

Wanda was… something else, entirely —Cold, impossibly perfect, always in black or navy.

She never smiled, never blinked. Probably didn’t bleed, probably killed people in her previous life with those cheekbones and that voice.

So when Sarah was asked to help with filing upstairs—in the CEO's office—she panicked.

You smiled. “You’ll be fine, just knock first. She doesn’t bite.”

Sarah states, muttering. “I feel like she definitely does.”

You winked “Only after six.”

Sarah laughed.

Wanda did not.

The moment Sarah stepped into Wanda’s office, it was clear the temperature dropped five degrees as the Sokovian paid her no mind and barely looked up from her screen.

“You’re late.”

Sarah stuttered, “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Three minutes. That’s enough to miss a deal.”

The blonde swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Wanda repeated, one eyebrow lifting. “What am I, sixty?”

“N-no?”

“Don’t stutter. Say what you mean. Speak like someone who belongs in my company.”

Spooked out enough, she swallowed thickly and nodded furiously. “Yes—Ms. Maximoff.”

Wanda stared then nodded once. “Better.”

Sarah thought that was it — just a terrifying run-in. Until she handed over the folder. Wanda opened it, flipped through. Her brows furrowed.

“Did Y/N supervise this formatting?”

“Yeah, she tried to help. She’s been so sweet about everything.”

Your wife's eye twitched. “Sweet?”

While Sarah, oblivious, nodded quickly. “Yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She even offered to stay late to help me fix the printing error—like, no one else would do that and honestly? I feel like she deserves better than this place sometimes, you know? She’s too kind for how cold everyone is up here.”

Sarah was greeted with silence after that exact sentence.

Wanda very slowly set the folder down. She stood, walked around the desk and stared at Ava like she was mentally writing her eulogy.

“She’s my wife.”

“Wait, what?”

“My wife, intern. As in married to me. As in—mine.”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. “You—you’re… her…?”

“Yes.” Wanda’s voice dropped to low and lethal. “The one who makes her coffee in the mornings. The one who rubs her back when she stays up too late reading proposals. The one who buys her flowers after stressful Wednesdays, and the one who got her that cardigan you complimented earlier, because she gets cold during meetings.”

“...Holy sh—”

“Correct,” Wanda said calmly. “Now, are you going to fix this formatting before I start regretting ever signing your internship approval?”

Sarah practically sprinted, “Immediately, Mrs. Maximoff. I mean Ms. Maximoff, I mean Wanda. I mean—”

“Out.”

. . .

Later that night, Wanda walked into your shared office, still fuming. “She called you sweet,” she muttered, setting a new tea beside you.

You laughed softly. “I am.”

“She said I was cold.”

You grinned up at her. “Well, you are.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You like it.”

You stood, wrapping your arms around her neck. “I love it.” She smirked, hands resting on your hips.

“You’re mine,” she said against your lips. “I don’t care who hears it.”

. . .

[narcjsistx]

would sae itoshi be able to recognize his girlfriend just by a simple shade of lip gloss? <3

lately, madrid is always so crowded. SAE ITOSHI as been living here for quite a few years now, he probably knows this city better than his not-so-beloved home prefecture of kanagawa — yet, lately, the number of fans keeps growing

he often has to spend a lot of minutes driving around in front of his house, just to wait for the fans to disperse — since they already know which building he lives in, he can’t risk them finding out his exact apartment number. maybe the situation has gotten this out of hand because of his return to spain after the loss — his first in years — against blue lock, in japan

today is not his lucky day, he’s known that for the past twenty minutes. it’s definitely not his lucky day if, even after getting out of the car and making sure no one was around, he still ended up surrounded by a crowd of at least thirty people

"im a huge fan of yours, sae! i've been following you since you started playing in the youth club!"

"okay. here's the autograph"

even though he’s tired, coming back from a full day of training and all he really wants is to collapse into your arms, being socially acceptable is necessary. the fan looks at him dreamily, eyes flicking between his face and the autograph, while he hands her the pen and moves on to the next person — starting the cycle all over again: autographs, photos, and brief exchanges of words. he notices the shoe store in front of the house and realizes that the time you usually get home has long passed, yet he’s still here — and not with you

by now, he signs the banners without even noticing, more focused on figuring out the quickest way to handle the last ten people that are still waiting for him. he only snaps back to reality when he feels something unexpected

lips crash against his cheek, sticky from a thin layer of gloss. he involuntarily tightens the pen in his hands, feeling the irritation grow quickly but gradually inside him — annoyed but not surprised by the fans who always try to cross the line

"im taken, go fucking awa-"

"i know"

as he turns around, ready to call the police, the first thing he notices is the tint of gloss on the lips that kissed him. it’s a soft reddish, enough to resemble real lipstick — and, above all, the color of his hair. his muscles relax automatically as he lets out a sigh and moves a hand to your side, gently pulling you closer to him. there’s only one person in all of madrid who wears this shade of gloss, rosewood shine

"why aren’t you waiting for me at home?"

"i saw you from the window and you looked a bit in danger. you don’t mind your fans seeing me, right?"

"i think it would be hypocritical to be afraid of my fanbase seeing my girlfriend of three years, after stories and post"

you smile, rising onto your toes once again to kiss his cheek. you know he’s not particularly fond of being affectionate in public, but maybe the fact that you haven’t seen each other all day makes him more willing to let you — and his fans — notice just how disgustingly in love he is. you hear light giggles from the crowd while someone takes a photo of you without your permission, but honestly, it’s something you’ve been used to for a while. sae hands the signed paper back to the fan, who smiles gratefully — maybe genuinely — amid the fancrazybase

"you immediately pulled away when she kissed your cheek!"

"that’s normal. im taken, i didn't know it was her"

"that’s not something everyone would do"

"then raise your standards"

only seventeen photos later, you finally get the chance to step through the door of your home. sae collapses onto the couch, pulling you with him, as you end up sitting on his lap while he slowly massages your hips. you kiss his face affectionately, while he finally seems to relax, still amused by what happened

"do you do this with all your fans? reject their kisses?"

"it’s called basic human decency, bonus points if you’re in a steady relationship. why would i have gloss on my face that’s not yours?"

"are you seriously only bothered about the gloss?"

"honestly, i just need them to be your lips. you can even wear a lipstick that doesn’t come off, not even if i cut my cheek"

"so cheecky"

"you said 'disgustingly in love and loyal' in the wrong way"

✶ beautiful dividers by @dollywons !!

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[oscpstri]

chicken shop date | piastri

piastri x fem interviewer!reader, 532

welcome to chicken shop date! where you take the world's hottest stars on the most awkward dates. today's menu consists of crisp chicken tenders, greasy fries, and an uncomfortable oscar piastri.

INCLUDES: fast-paced dialogue, many cuts, not a full-block thing, funny car jokes (please laugh), they don't really eat, poor osc definitely wants to get out of there, but its alright at the end, SASSY OSCAR BTW

NOTE: inspired by chicken shop date by amelia dimoldenberg! i loveeee the series its so fast-paced and witty and uncomfortably funny. planning on doing this with more drivers but osco is my first pick of the litter! enjoy :>

The shop smells like grease and chicken. Oscar Piastri sits across from you, uncomfortably shifting in his seat— he does not know what he has just signed up for.

"So, Oscar," you begin, picking up a fry from your box. "Are you emotionally available?"

His eyes flick to yours, blinking comically. "I thought this was going to be a racing interview."

"I lied." You offer him a faint smile, taking a bite of the grease in your hand. "So?"

There's a long pause before he clears his throat. "I... guess I'm emotionally stable? Does that count?"

You raise an eyebrow, still munching on your food. "That's what emotionally unavailable people say."

Oscar looks back up at you with a mix of both amusement and mild concern.

You lean forward slightly, a glint of teasing in your eyes. "Do you smile this much in races, or is it just me?"

"I don’t think I smile during races at all," he says, cautious.

"So I'm special?"

His lips twitch into a smile, despite himself. "You're definitely something."

You nod slowly, pretending to be unfazed. "Flirting already? We just got our drinks."

Oscar looks down at his tray. "Yeah, I think I might need another."

"Would you rather win the championship…" you pause for effect, "or get a second date with me?"

Oscar blinks. The silence stretches.

"…Is there a third option?"

You blink in offense. "Rude."

"Sorry."

"Would you say I'm more of a red flag or a yellow flag?"

Oscar hums at the question, swallowing the food in his mouth before answering. "Can I say black flag?"

You furrow your eyebrows at this. "What am I being disqualified from?"

Oscar looks at you dead in the eyes. "Being my date."

"You're from Australia."

Oscar nods. "That is correct."

"Well, that's good. 'Cause guess what?"

Oscar softly narrows his eyes, putting down the tender he was munching on. "What?"

"I've got a pick-up line for you."

"Go on, then."

You clear your throat, wiping your greasy fingers on the napkin in front of you. You look at the McLaren driver dead in the eyes and lean forward into the table.

"Are you from Melbourne? Because you just flipped my whole grid."

It's silent for a few seconds, an amused smile slowly itching onto Oscar's face.

"Get it?" you start, "Flipped like... like upside down. 'Cause— 'cause Australia is—"

"Down under," Oscar finishes for you, "Yeah, I— I got it."

"You've won a fair amount of times already," you start, catching Oscar's attention as he takes a sip of his drink. "You think you're gonna win a lot more now that we've finally gone on this... date."

Oscar blinks a few times at this, staying silent as he puts his drink down. "I think the opposite."

You get taken aback by this, eyebrows furrowing suit. "What?"

"I might start losing more that this has finally happened." He takes a fry and gestures it between the both of you. He takes a bite to cover his cheeky smile, your mouth slightly agape.

"Are you saying I'm a distraction?"

"No," Oscar shakes his head. "I'm saying you're bad luck."

You breathe out a laugh at this. "Wow."

[sturnlsstuff]

⸻ PUSH AND PULL • part three

— fratboy!chris x sassy!reader

— includes: smut, dom!chris, sub!reader, making out, dryhumping, titty playing, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex, riding, car sex, dirty talk — english isn't my first language.

chris is cocky and persistent, all about getting what he wants until he accidentally runs into you at a party. your sarcastic attitude, and the way you refuse to fall for his charm, is both incredibly hot and frustrating- challenging him in ways he never experienced before.

previous part. | wc; 10k

the harsh buzz of the fluorescent lights was giving you a headache, or maybe that was just the lingering stress of everything. either way, the store was quiet, only a few customers walking around and a bored cashier scrolling on his phone behind the counter, the hum of the refrigerators lining the back wall.

you padded down the narrow snack aisle, the oversized hoodie barely brushing your thighs. you were on a mission for hot cheetos and maybe some chocolate milk. it was one of those nights— overthinking too much, not able to sleep, bored out of your mind. you had to leave your apartment.

the last week had been crazy. since the phone call with chris, you couldn't understand why he made you feel this way— like your body didn't belong to you. it was constantly betraying you, reacting to chris's words and actions against your will. your fingers were replying to his messages and answering his calls late at night on their own, your mouth responding to his banter faster than you could think, and it started making you sick, 'cause he was the type of person you couldn't stand. typical player, looking down at people, acting like he's better than everyone, as if girls were nothing to him, and all he cared about was having fun.

but then again, wasn't that what you needed? to have some fun? and you definitely had it while interacting with him, even if you didn't want to admit it. you were torn between blocking him and playing along with this little game you two had. you just didn't know what to do and hopefully you'll figure it out tonight. maybe if you got some kind of sign—

you turned the corner without looking, literally slamming straight into someone with enough force to make you stumble back with a soft gasp, hot cheetos crinkling in your hand.

“shit,” a voice muttered. deep, familiar. too familiar.

your stomach dropped. "you gotta be kidding me,” you said before even looking up.

of course the universe had to mock you. you'd just been thinking about him and now here he was. hoodie halfway zipped, backwards cap in place, a six-pack of cheap beer dangling from one hand. when your eyes locked with his and he realized it was you, his usual smirk curled slowly onto his lips. it made you want to punch him and get down on your knees at the same time. god, you hated it.

though, chris was completely in heaven. he tried to convince you to meet up with him for the past week, but you were stubborn, even if you already made him come through the phone a few times. whenever it was listening to your voice on the call or just getting some selfie from you— he was going crazy.

and now finally seeing you in person after almost a month? he might explode right there and then.

“woah,” he said slowly, taking in your legs, then your face. “so it really might be d—"

"if you say that it's destiny again, i'm gonna cut my ears off," you interrupted him, making his grin wider.

"sassy as ever," he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, checking you out again. he wonders how can you look so fine without ever trying. "you look good," he adds.

you wish he didn't say that.

"thanks. glad my pajama shorts and old hoodie can make you hard." you reply with a hint of sarcasm, taking a step to the side to pass by him, but he mirrored it, blocking your path just to be annoying. not touching, but close enough for you to feel his cologne. you got deja vu.

"who said m'hard?"

you arched an eyebrow, glancing down at his lap and then back up, causing a shiver go down his spine. he mutters, "naughty girl, you only think 'bout one thing, huh? who's the freak here?"

"you are," you said, stepping to the other side, but he did the same. "you're in my way."

“you ran into me.”

“'cause you were standing like an idiot in the middle of the aisle.”

chris smirked, eyes dropping briefly to your thighs again, "not complainin'.” rolling your eyes, you glanced at him again, catching the way he was just shamelessly looking you up and down. you knew that he knows exactly what he's doing. your stomach twisted and heat crept up your neck, hating him for causing it, for the flutter in your chest.

you crossed your arms like that would hold you together, fingers tightening around your hot cheetos. "stop it," you snapped, trying to keep yourself in check. chris looked back up, his gaze deepening, the corner of his mouth twitching. "stop what?"

"stop staring, dumbass." you muttered through clenched teeth. "what are you even doing here?"

his eyebrow shot up. "what am i doing here? what 'bout you? ya followed me to my grocery store?” he teased, tilted his head. “that's kinda obsessive, don’cha think?”

you gave him an unimpressed look. “your grocery store? what, you own aisle seven now?”

"i might,” he said, glancing at the shelves. “feels like my territory.”

you gave him a glare, arching a perfectly judgmental eyebrow, only to see the smirk on his face growing bigger. "you live 'round here?" he asks when you move past him, spotting your favorite cookies on the top shelf nearby. his eyes were drawn to your every move, his feet quick to follow too.

"why? you planning a break in?" you tiptoed, fingers stretching as far as they could go, but the box of your cookies remained frustratingly out of reach.

"maybe,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching when he sees you struggling. "depends how good your alarm system is.”

you pressed your lips together, biting back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "so? what's the plan for tonight, sweetheart?" he teases, taking a step closer without you realizing. he almost rolls his eyes at the fact you're too short to grab fucking cookies.

you let out a small huff, rocking back on your heels and squinting up at the candy like maybe glaring hard enough would make them fall into your hands— but no.

"wouldn't you like to know."

"i would."

before you could even turn around, you felt it. the solid press of his chest against your back, letting you know he's just behind you. your breath hitches when his arm slides past you, slowly reaching for the box, letting you feel the warmth of his body. you glanced up, only to find him already staring but at you, that smug smirk tugging at his lips. but behind it, his eyes burned with something intense, like having you this close without touching was some kind of torture.

your pulse stuttered.

you clear your throat, trying to keep it together, taking the cookies from him and stepping back.

“just felt like getting hot cheetos." you answered like nothing happened, your brain forgetting how to function, the butterflies in your stomach going ballistic.

“oh yeah?” he asks, tilting his head, enjoying your reaction to him being too close. “i've got a party and way too much weed for one guy. you could tag along or whatever."

you stared at him, something unreadable flickering behind your lashes. you hesitated, knowing it might be fun, but also being aware how this would end. that's why you've been avoiding parties lately. even if some foolish part of you wanted to go with him, just to see what would happen this time, you shake the thought off. "tempting,” you replied, brushing past him finally. “but i already made plans with netflix and my vibrator.”

chris laughed, shaking his head amused, something about the way you said it makes him more affected than he'd like to admit.

“you gonna miss me eventually,” he called after you, watching as you walk through the aisle without looking back. "only if you’re the last man on earth,” you tossed back, leaving him behind. chris watches you go, still grinning like the cocky asshole he was. netflix and your vibrator. jesus christ.

he stood there for half a second, blinking like he’d just gotten slapped and kissed at the same time, then adjusted the grip on the six-pack in his hand, smirk deepening as he started following you. you were halfway down the next aisle when he caught up. "so, vibrator, huh?" he asked casually, falling into step beside you like this was totally normal. you tossed him a bored side eye. “yeah. you threatened?"

he chuckles, looking down at you. “threatened? nah. just wonderin' what model. y'know, for science.” he leaned in a little, voice dropping. “i mean, was it that little pink one you showed me on facetime two days ago, or—?”

"shut the fuck up." you spun toward him, eyes wide. “you did not just bring that up in a public store.”

he shamelessly continues, not caring about how loud he speaks. "you think we could use it next time m'deep inside you? y'know, like, we'd see if your pussy likes my dick or your vibrator better."

your jaw almost drops, the image slips into your head before you can stop it, making your cheeks grow hotter. him pounding into you while using a vibrator at the same time? what a freak.

what is even freakier is that you'd be into that.

before you had a chance to respond, you both heard a weird, choking sound, your eyes catching a guy a few feet away, giving you both the most bewildered, horrified look, like he'd just overheard something that will haunt him forever. without a word, he turned and walked off, clutching his shopping basket like it might protect him. chris follows your gaze and grins even more after seeing your mortified expression. "oh. my. god."

"oops."

you gave him one of your typical death glares before lightly smacking his arm. "god, chris! so embarrassing." you shake your head and pick up a carton of chocolate milk, pretending to examine the label. “i hate you."

"ow," he massaged his shoulder dramatically, though the clear amusement on his face said he didn't mind one bit. watching you worked up like this was absolutely priceless. "that's abuse, babe."

“you're disgusting.”

“and yet,” he said, looking you up and down with that slow, lazy confidence, “you still ran into me.”

“i literally turned a corner,” you said flatly, moving past him, heading towards the register.

he grinned, loving the way he was able to annoy you in person again. he didn't even mind being late to the party, if it meant seeing more of that pissed off look on your face, it was worth every second.

he obviously follows you. "you sure you didn’t feel me from halfway across the store and come lookin'?”

you rolled your eyes so hard, that it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of your head. “you're so delusional that i almost feel bad for you."

“'n' you walkin' away from me again.” he tilted his head, getting into your way and walking backwards now, so you could see his stupid grin. "shit hurts, sweetheart.”

"stop calling me all of these."

“what 'bout sunshine?” he offered, voice low and teasing. "'cos y'know, you a real bundle of joy."

you stopped walking, looking at him like you couldn't decide between kicking him and pulling him closer by his shirt. "i'm going to pay for my snacks, but you—" you point your finger at him. "you're going to go to your stupid party, and get drunk with people who think pong is a sport. leave me alone and everyone will be happy." chris looked at you, your hair up, skin flushed, hoodie hanging off one shoulder like it had no business being that sexy. you hadn’t even tried and somehow that was making him even more frustrated.

"yes, ma'am."

you groaned painfully, practically losing your goddamn mind over his teasing, knowing damn well how he enjoys watching you struggle. you couldn't even blame all the girls who fell for his bullshit— he was such a charmer.

you turned on your heel and he watched you paying for your stuff, giving you the impression that maybe he will actually back off.

once again, you forgot who you were dealing with here.

a few minutes later after leaving the store, the night air hits you like a wave as the automatic doors slid shut behind you. you exhaled, finally alone again, the plastic bag swinging from your wrist as you walk through the parking lot towards your car. you had just clicked the unlock button and put your things inside, when a voice coming from behind scared the shit out of you.

“god, you walk fast for someone so small."

you jumped. chris was jogging toward you, breath a little short, beer still in hand, receipt flapping in the other.

“what the fuck, chris?” you snapped, spinning to face him. “you were sprinting?”

he slowed to a walk, grin already forming. "kinda. you left before i could give you shit one last time.” you rolled your eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm, "oh, lucky me."

chris stopped in front of you, eyes roaming over your face. "runnin' away after flirtin' with me in a snack aisle is wild."

"i wasn't flirting."

“you said vibrator in public. that's, like, second base.”

god.

the stare you gave him makes everything even funnier to him. “you are—”

“—irresistible?”

"ridiculous. you're fucking ridiculous." you moved to open the car door, but he leaned against it casually, blocking your way with a smirk.

“i mean, you can leave,” he said, voice low. “or you can go to the party with me."

he desperately needed to have you there, so he could hit again, 'cause the calls and messages you'd exchanged over the past few days just weren’t cutting it. it wasn’t enough to satisfy the frustration building up inside him, chris felt this restless ache, and he got bored of jerking off. no other girl could get him going as much as you could. no matter how annoying or confusing it was, it was the truth.

you huffed, "i'm not going. i got plans."

"yeah, with your vibrator, i get that." he says mockingly, making you regret the stupid sarcastic words that left your mouth. he leans closer, your heart skips a beat. "you could get the real thing though. or better— get both. maybe you don't miss me, but i bet your pussy does."

your mouth parted slightly, as if you were about to argue or at least say something, but then closed again, after realizing he was right. even now, you don't trust yourself to be this close to him.

before you could even begin to form a response, chris's eyes shifted over your shoulder, narrowing slightly. his expression subtly changed, so you followed his gaze, turning around. across the parking lot, halfway to the entrance, stood no one else but your ex. slouched, arms crossed, trying not to look like he was watching you and chris, but failing. your stomach dropped, not in the emotional way, but more like an eye roll from your soul.

"oh, ew." you grimaced.

why's he everywhere you go lately?

he scoffs quietly, "he wants another live pre show or what?"

the corner of your mouth twitched upwards, your eyes locking with jake's. he was still standing in the same spot, looking completely unbothered which was clearly an act. you could tell how mad he is even from the distance. you knew him too well.

"don't care," you shrugged. "i just wanna eat my hot cheetos and have some peace."

"he tryna make eye contact like a weirdo."

"he is a weirdo. and he's just trying to be all tough," you rolled your eyes. "i'm surprised he's alone and not with his little bitch that follows him around like a dog."

chris's smirk was back in place when you looked at him again. "clearly he didn't got the message last time."

"probably," you said, thinking back to the night, when you pulled chris closer and he kissed you without hesitation. jake never kissed you like this, he never make you feel wanted like this, even if he was the one you were with.

and even if this thing between you and chris was only physical— it still felt good, knowing that someone is obsessed with you in ways no one else ever was. you couldn't forget how quickly this whole thing went from trying to make jake understand that you two are done, to something that had nothing to do with your ex anymore. maybe that's why you couldn't bring yourself to simply tell chris to go to hell, and stop this from going any further.

the eye contact was making the air around you electric, goosebumps appearing on your skin. chris didn’t say anything, just stood there, eyes fixed on you with that same half lazy, half predatory look he always got right before saying something infuriating. he leaned just slightly closer, your breath hitches, his lips inches from yours.

he wasn't gonna miss this opportunity.

"so," his voice low and hoarse when he speaks up. "you down to give him some deja vu?"

your fingers twitched at your sides, aching to reach for him, but didn't yet. his gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips and lingered there, the tension curled around you two like a wire pulled taut. one more second and it would snap.

you swallowed hard, moving closer just barely an inch. your heart was pounding, every nerve felt like on fire, and you knew that if you kiss him, it's not gonna be to put up a show for your ex, but because you crave that. he doesn't have to know it though.

"maybe i do," you whispered, leaning in, hands finding his hoodie and pulling him down. your eyes fluttered shut, lips crashing against his, getting a respond instantly. chris hummed, tilting his head slightly, matching your rhythm. his one hand went to your hip, the other bracing against the car, boxing you in. his lips were warm and rough, all heat and familiarity, just like you remembered. your mouths moved in sync, greedy, like you both were starving for years— and to be honest, it felt like it too.

he bites your bottom lip lightly and you make a small, muffled noise— the kind you'd never admit to making, before pulling back with a short gasp. god, the way he kisses makes your legs weak.

your eyes open, blinking, catching chris already looking, your cheeks growing hotter. he licked his lips slowly, like he was tasting the moment before giving you that usual smirk of his, clearly trying to act nonchalant, but failing.

"if you gonna kiss me like that, better don't blame me for followin' you wherever ya goin' tonight," he speaks up, voice low.

you arched an eyebrow, "kiss you like that?"

"yeah. like you wanna devour my soul."

you stand there silent for half a second before chuckling and shaking your head, the amusement clear on his face as well. putting your hand on his chest, you gently push him away, trying to put some space between you both.

devour his soul, sure.

"can say the same about you."

"maybe i do wanna devour ya." he leans closer again. "and i think you'd let me."

"really?" you raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. "you're so sure about it, huh?"

"yeah, i am." he just smirks while you try to hold back a smile.

the cool night air wraps around you, but it’s not enough to chill the heat still simmering from the kiss even if you both are joking around. chris leans against the side of your car like he owns the damn thing, grinning lazily, his hand still on your hip like he’s got no plans of moving it anytime soon. "so, you gonna pretend that—"

"are you seriously doing this shit again?"

a sharp, familiar voice cuts through the air, interrupting whatever chris wanted to say.

your head snaps around just to see no one else, but your ex storming toward you like he owns the parking lot, like he's entitled to some kind of explanation— his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. you didn't think he would had the balls to come here and speak to you. clearly he's had enough of seeing you making out with another guy in front of him.

and maybe the first kiss you shared with chris a few weeks ago was to send a clear message to jake that you moved on, but now? now you kissed chris 'cause you wanted to. you felt like it.

should it be concerning?

chris straightens slightly but doesn’t move away, his fingers curl at your hip calmly, like he’s clocked the situation and is more amused than anything. he even lets out a breathy laugh through his nose, barely turning his head. "aaand there he is,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

you sigh. "oh, for fuck’s sake.”

jake stops a few feet in front of you, face twisted in jealousy and indignation. “what exactly do you think you’re doing?” the guy snaps, not even looking at chris. his eyes are locked on you like you betrayed some unwritten rule. your eyebrows shot up and you actually wanted to laugh.

and you did.

"excuse you?"

"dont play dumb. you're really trying to get back at me with him?”

"oh, you think it's about you?"

"isn't it? it's the second time you've seen me and then you two are fucking making out with one another. like, do you even know who he is?" jake gives chris a look over. "since when you're into fratboys?"

"aw, man, y'know who i am. see, i barely even acknowledge your existence. this says a lot 'bout us, isn't it?" chris speaks up, his tone dripping with irony, making your lips twitch upwards.

"shut the fuck up, i'm not talking to you." he looks at you. "this is your revenge? still bitter i left?"

woah, he really is doing this. seriously standing here, trying to confront you like he even had the right to be jealous.

the disbelief hits you first, but it's melted quickly, replaced with annoyance. another bitter laugh leaves your lips, you could absolutely feel the pulse in your neck, your fingers clenching into fists without you realizing it.

oh, he was asking for it now.

"you have no fucking right to be acting like this right now," you snap, pointing your finger at him. "am i still bitter that you left? all i feel is actually freedom, 'cause i left. finally not bothered by your pathetic ass. you're the one who couldn't keep your dick in your pants, and it's not your business what i'm doing now, and with who."

"it will always be my business." he takes a step forward, making chris shift slightly. "like, i told you we could fix it and you didn't want to. it's not my fault that you're so fucking stubborn—"

chris lets out a small snort, jake's glare shifting to him, sizing him up. he looks like he’s about to combust. chris just grins wider.

“the fuck you laughing for? you think it's funny?"

"i mean, yeah, a little. what you sayin' is literally ridiculous." chris raises an eyebrow. “you stormin' across a parking lot, like you’re 'bout to throw hands over a girl who clearly doesn’t want you. kinda peak comedy, bro.”

“fuck you,” jake spits.

"yeah, she gonna, so if you could be quicker with this insecure bullshit, i'd be glad." chris replies, throwing his one arm around your shoulders to piss off jake more which was working, cause his face was getting red like a tomato from anger. "look, i'd be mad too if i fumbled someone like her, but c'mon man, you cheated. you don't get to act offended now."

jake bristles, "that's none of your fucking business."

"he's spitting facts though," you add casually, shrugging. watching jake being so mad over chris, who was clearly finding this whole situation funny, was in fact really hilarious. you enjoyed it a bit too much— to be honest, you should've confronted jake like this a long time ago.

your ex ignores you, his eyes locked on chris's and he steps forward, jaw clenched. you raised an eyebrow. is he trying to put up a fight with chris? it was ridiculous to see, 'cause chris couldn't be more unbothered.

he looks him up and down, his smirk growing, "i'd be embarrassed if i was you. y'know, comin' here, tryna be all tough like she owns you an explanation. what do ya wanna hear? that she traded up for someone who actually makes her finish?”

your eyes widen and let out a chuckle, not able to hold back.

“guys— c'mon..." you cut in, still finding the situation amusing, but sensing that what chris said just might completely set off your ex.

and it does.

jake shoves chris, hard enough to make him his six pack of beer almost slip from his hand. he doesn't flinch or backs off though. “you wanna say that again?"

"hey—" you try to step in, but chris just hands the beer over to you, pushing you gently out of the way.

he looks at jake still amused, a low, disbelieving chuckle escaped him as he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "a'ight," he muttered, "you want me to repeat, yeah?" he nods and hums, then landing a clean, solid punch square to the guy’s jaw. not really that hard, but enough to make your ex stumble back, catching himself on a nearby car, stunned.

your jaw drops.

chris shakes his hand out once and exhales, bored. "that was just for bein' a dick," he says. "not for me, 'cos trust me i couldn't give a fuck less. but you won't be acting like you're the one who got hurt. your ears fixed? you hear me now?"

you're frozen.

you were expecting some snappy comeback or maybe a push back, but not this. time literally seemed to splinter for a second, adrenaline buzzing in your fingertips, breath caught halfway in your throat. a part of you was definitely in shock, but underneath it, was something else— a deep, burning satisfaction.

you hadn’t even known you needed it, until you saw it happen. your ex finally being ripped out of whatever reality he thought he owned? hilarious.

and chris... he literally just stands there, his lip curled into a half-grin that bordered on arrogant. did he just kind of defend you somehow?

karma finally threw a punch and you didn’t even have to lift a finger.

jake wipes his mouth, still not coming back with anything smart, but slowly straightening up. you decided to land something harder than the punch. "go cry to your girlfriend about it. y'know, the one you swore was a 'mistake' just to keep fucking her, and kneel to her like a pathetic puppy after i left your dumbass."

jake gives you a glare, only muttering something unintelligible and finally walking off, humiliated, shoulders tight with rage.

you watch him for a few seconds, then looking back at chris still in shock, for the first time seeing him without the filters of lust or annoyance. you were actually impressed.

your eyebrows shot up when he locks eyes with you, grabbing the beer out of your hands, clearly unbothered. nonchalant final boss.

"what?" he asks. "stop lookin' at me like that, shit freaks me out."

"i didn't need you to defend me."

chris scoffs, rolling his eyes. "stop being dramatic, i wasn't defendin' anyone. his face just needed a little fixin'."

you smile, amused despite yourself. "oh my god," you shake your head. "you're crazy."

"yeah," he smirks, leaning in. "you like that?"

something twisted low in your stomach, the way he looked and what he said was honestly kind of hot, causing your pussy to clench around nothing.

get. a . grip.

"you wish," you mumbled, playfully pushing him away. he backs off with his smirk wider, arms raised in surrender. the air is lighter now, even if your heart still thuds with leftover adrenaline. your eyes drifted to his hand, the skin across his knuckles slightly red. he notices your gaze, looking down at his hand and back at you. he raised an eyebrow, giving you a small shrug and stuffing his hand casually into his pocket. "didn't even hit that hard."

you look at him in disbelief, "he looked like he literally saw stars and you tell me you didn't hit that hard?"

"yeah, should've punched him harder, but i thought i'd leave the honor to you for another occasion."

"wow, so thoughtful of you, thanks." you rolled your eyes, even though you weren't able to hold back a smile again.

"no problem."

"if i hit him, i probably wouldn't have stopped at one." chris smirks, "yeah, figured. that's why i did it f'you. controlled damage."

"i mean, you didn't have to get involved, but that's nice, i guess." you keep the tone sarcastic, "i might tolerate you a little more."

"fuck, if i knew that punching your ex would get you to finally stop being annoyed with me, then i'd do it the first time i saw him."

"no, you wouldn't." chris raises an eyebrow at your response. "we were quite busy back then," you add.

lately, you wondered who the fuck was even saying and doing all those things, 'cause it for sure wasn't you.

his mouth tugged up in that annoyingly confident way, like he couldn't believe his ears. "i think i might have too much of an influence on ya."

"i think you're right."

you clear your throat, trying to wash that goddamn grin off your face, your hand finding the car door and opening it.

"still time to make it to that party, y'know." he speaks, not wanting you to leave, 'cause he knows that then he won't see you again so soon. and he really hopes for more tonight or he'll go insane.

you look at him, resting your hand at the top of your car. "i'm not gonna go, chris."

"what 'bout somewhere else? you were plannin' to go home or—?"

you're torn between lying and telling him. you could easily blow him off, it's not like he'll push himself into your car, he wasn't that crazy, but why not take him with you? or at least mention what your plans were for tonight? he'll probably prefer to go to the party anyway, when he hears that you weren't planning on doing anything interesting. besides, you know that he only wants one thing today— and you couldn't blame him, 'cause you yourself could barely hold back, especially after what he did a few minutes ago. it made him ten times hotter.

chill.

"nope, was gonna drive around and then eventually chill somewhere," you finally reply. "nothing fun."

"i mean, we can always make it fun," he winks at you, almost getting an eye roll in response.

"freak."

"am i gonna get invited or what?" he tilts his head teasingly, wanting to hear you say it. now you rolled your eyes. "do you have to? bet you'd somehow end up at the place im gonna go anyway. stalker."

"you're the stalker here, always runnin' into me."

"not always."

"often."

"only two times. and you runned into me."

his grin widens. "whatever ya say, ma."

you felt heat pool low in your belly, your pulse kicked up. you try to look annoyed when you say, "you can come, i guess."

he was already making his way to the other side of the car. "i heard that once from you before." he opened the passenger door and slid inside, closing it behind and leaving you in disbelief. a flush spread across your cheeks before you could stop it, the memory of you making chris come on the call still printed in your head. then it happened two or three more times, but he was more in control. you still remember that whimper. is it time to tease him about it?? two can play this game and he happens to forget it.

you got inside, closing the door and buckling your seatbelt. you looked over at him, seeing his smug expression as he puts the beer to the backseat, letting his hand brush against your arm. sickening.

the engine purred to life as you shifted into reverse, chris watching from the passenger seat as you pulled out of the parking lot, adjusting the volume on your crappy bluetooth speaker.

"speakin' about that call," you glance over at him, the city thinning out into quiet stretches of road as you drive. "when you said— what was it again?”

he sat up a little straighter. “no.”

“wait, let me get it right. something like, ‘please, keep talking and help me cum.’ or how i called you a good boy and you loved it."

chris groaned and slid down in the seat, like he was trying to disappear. “nah, absolutely not. that conversation is legally sealed and burned.”

you had to bite your lip to hold back a laugh. “come on, it was so sincere. you begged.”

“i was definitely on somethin'," he lies.

“you were stone cold sober.”

“i was emotionally compromised.”

“just horny.”

"same thing."

you burst out laughing, gripping the steering wheel with both hands to keep from swerving.

chris glares at you, but the corners of his mouth are twitching. "didn't i tell you not to bring that up again?"

"maybe," you shrugged, unbothered. his tongue clicks against his teeth as he tries to play it cool, even if he was just slightly embarrassed, 'cause no girl ever made him do any of this before. he just couldn't stand the fact that he wasn't able to get off without your help, which made him really desperate— he still is needy, wanting to feel your pussy around him again, and he has a good feeling about tonight. "i wasn't beggin', by the way."

"sure you were."

"don't be a smartass," he replies, his voice lower. "we both know i can have you cryin' and beggin' in twenty seconds."

"twenty seconds is solid, if you ask me." you said sarcastically, trying to keep your thoughts in check, even if your thighs subtly pressed together. he smirks, his eyes never leaving your side profile. "yeah, we wanna check that?"

you pushed out your bottom lip a little, shaking your head. "nope."

"that's what i thought."

"you're such an asshole."

"takes one to fuck one."

you glare at him, just to meet with his smug expression. chris adjusts his backwards hat, leaning his head back as he watches you drive. pretty hot sight, if he's being honest.

you two fall silent for a few moments, before you decide to ask. "so,” you start, looking forward at the road, “you always punch ex boyfriends for the girl's you sleep with or what?"

beneath the sarcasm, there was a real question out of curiosity.

"yeah, m'walkin' around, asking which one of 'em has an idiot ex, and then i find him and kick his ass," he replies playfully. then he adds, "didn't hit him 'cos i like you or some shit, if that's what you think."

"i didn't think that," you lie. he just smirks, "for sure. just say that's what you want."

"what?" you glanced at him again, before focusing on the road. "want you to like me?"

he hums, "mhmm."

you grimaced, "ew, don't ever say it again. i'd actually rather eat glass."

"good," he replies, still not looking away from you. "means we on the same page."

his gaze drifts to the window, trying to guess where you're taking him, but the road signs meant nothing. you'd left the familiar parts of town behind at least ten minutes ago, and you hadn’t said a word about directions. he shifted in the seat, peering out at the empty suburban sprawl slipping past the windows. "so," he spoke again. "where are you kidnappin' me?"

your eyebrows shot up. "i'm not kidnapping you."

"really? i was hoping you would," he replies sarcastically. the corner of your mouth twitched upward, "no, you'd be way too loud." chris snorted, "you tellin' me that i'd be way too loud? did you forget how loud you were when i—"

"one more word and i'll leave you here." you cut him off mid sentence, feeling your stomach twisting at the memory. you take a sharp right, tires crunching over a gravel path lined with trees.

chris blinked, looking at you again. "okay, gonna leave it for later. and that’s not a real road, by the way. shit's gettin' creepy."

“aww, you scared?"

he scoffs, "don't have enough reasons yet."

"yet," you repeat, smiling.

the car finally rolled to a stop around ten minutes later, parked in front of an empty field, edged by a half collapsed chain link fence. a wide, curved concrete bowl was off in the distance.

"a fuckin' skatepark?" he raises an eyebrow, unbuckling the seatbelt and leaving the car after you do.

"yup, found it recently. i can hate everyone in peace here."

"okay, emo."

you just rolled your eyes. chris follows you, the distant city lights blinking through the trees, the wind slightly messing with your hair. you climbed up to the edge of the concrete bowl and sat down, legs dangling. chris joins you, obviously sitting a little too close.

you hear the sound of a can opening, your eyes moving to chris, just to see him taking a big sip of the beer he bought. you didn't even notice him taking it from the car.

"what?" he asks, catching your gaze. "didn't grab one f'you 'cos you drive."

"you're being responsible? wow," you raised an eyebrow.

"m'not as stupid as you think."

"you don't know what i think."

"so you do think somethin'."

"i never said that."

"didn't need to," he smirks. "i know you gotta think a lot 'bout that one night."

"the one i called you a—"

"no," he interrupts immediately, your amusement back in place. he really tries to remove this from his memory. "the one when i fucked you so good that you spilled my pepsi."

"what's with that pepsi obsession, by the way?" you ask.

he shrugs, "it's delish."

"delish? you're gay."

"shut the fuck up, i spend too much time with nick."

"i'm sure he doesn't use that word."

"okay, can i live? jesus." he lets out a huff, pretending to be annoyed, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes, and that damn smirk not leaving his face.

you lied down on the cold concrete, biting on your bottom lip. chris was pretty funny and this started to bother you. if he was horrible and boring, you wouldn't even be here with him in the first place.

he takes another sip of the beer, glancing over at you and raising an eyebrow, but not saying anything. he slouched back as well, spreading his legs, his hand behind him.

you looked at him for a second. and then another.

god, he was such a guy. like, every dumbass fratboy stereotype who you never liked before, always thinking that they're all so shallow, but now there you are, sitting here with the king of the frat.

you watch the way his jaw clenches when he takes a sip, his adam's apple bobbed as he swallows. his jawline was stupidly defined, and he has this one small mole right along it that was annoyingly hot. the kind of detail you only see when you're too close or pay too much attention. his hair stuck out from under his backwards hat, in messy little curls at the nape of his neck, a little too long and boyish for someone, who walked around like he owned every room he stepped into. you hate that you notice things like that.

"shit, don't tell me you fallin' in love, 'cos that's when the fun always ends." his voice bring you back to reality and you realize he caught you staring. damn it.

you scoffed, now looking at the sky and starting to count stars you couldnt care less about. "with the idea of choking you, maybe."

"how many more kinks you got?" he asks sarcastically, voice all lazy and smug. you glare at him, quickly realizing it was a bad idea, when something twisted low in your stomach. that stupid smirk. he was so cocky and infuriating, yet it was so fun and easy to talk to him. "i wont tell you. we don't want you to fantasize about me more than you already are." you reply, looking back at the sky.

"too late."

he puts the beer down, shifting closer to you until his face was hovering right over yours, blocking your view of the night, one arm lazily holding him up. the air between you thickened, his breath warm near your cheek.

"you're in my space," you said. "you like it," he mutters, voice low and teasing. your eyes shift to his. "y'know... don't have to pretend to be all mysterious with the stars, when i'm way more interesting."

you raised an eyebrow, your pulse quickening when his gaze flickered down to your mouth. "proof?"

god, the way you were challenging him in ways no one else ever did.

his lips crashed into yours with a force that made you softly gasp, not in a surprise, but because it was so fucking obvious this was inevitable.

you pulled him even closer by the front of his shirt, returning the kiss as your hand slid up to the back of his neck. he leans over you, settling between your legs, his body pressing against yours, not all the way, but just enough to make you want more. his hand moved, brushing against your waist where your hoodie had ridden up, his thumb traced a line just above the waistband of your shorts. not rushing, but teasing, even if he was impatient as hell.

you hummed in response, deepening the kiss, your tongue sliding past his lips, tangling with his. you felt how his hand started sliding up under your hoodie, your skin warm and tense beneath his palm. a low groan leaves him when he finds out that you're not wearing a bra.

you playfully bite his bottom lip when his thumb brushes against yours nipple, sending shivers down your spine immediately. he smirks in response, his mouth leaving yours, moving down your jaw instead, nipping at your neck. you knocked his hat off, hand sliding into his hair and tugging on it, causing him to groan again, which you felt deep in your stomach. your body was betraying you again, arching into him and his touch. he spreads your legs with his body, his growing bulge pressing against your core as he lowers his head, letting you think for a moment that he's finally gonna give some attention to your pussy, but no— his head disappears under the soft fabric of your big hoodie, lips teasingly brushing along your skin. you raised an eyebrow, amusement written all over your face. "what're you doing?"

"hm?" he hums against your stomach, hot kisses dragging up your chest, your breath catching with each one. if someone saw you both, it'd look ridiculous, but at least you were still covered. "nothin'," he adds.

"doesn't look like nothing— oh!"

he groans, noticing you're not wearing a bra, and his lips attack your hardening nipple immediately, making you gasp softly.

all those weeks, every single night he spent replaying your last time together, every fucking moment he’d imagined having you again, it all had built up into something sharp and heavy in his chest. now that he finally had you under him again, he felt like he was going to explode, but he was dragging it out, teasing you until you felt as desperate as he had been.

he couldn't get off with anyone else, or without hearing and seeing you, so now with his lips on your skin, he was barely holding back, just enough to drive you crazy first. you weren't fighting it, having to admit that you thought a lot about that party. the way he made you feel like you were burning from the inside out, making you completely spent and hitting spots no one ever did. so with his hands beneath your hoodie, and his tongue flicking over your nipples, all you did was exhale and let him keep going.

his face buried between your boobs as he kisses, licks and bites softly, his free hand playing with your other breast, while the other one traces patterns on your inner thigh, close to your clothed pussy. you start getting more responsive as he switches between your nipples, your hips starting to shift slightly under him. he smirks against your skin, starting to move his lips down your stomach slowly, until he pulls his head out from under your hoodie, his breath just a little uneven, lips pink, hair a complete mess— sticking up in all directions, making him look even more delicious.

"no bra, huh?" his tone low. he licks his lips, "makes me wonder... got nothin' under those tiny shorts too?"

a shiver goes straight to your pussy.

you shrug nonchalantly even if you were anything but.

"check."

he wanted that kind of answer. he grins, knowing that you're already pretty damn desperate if you're getting submissive. he leans in, catching your mouth again with his in a kiss that felt hungrier now.

you respond immediately, deepening it. he moves, quiding you with him as he leaned back on the concrete, pulling you effortlessly on top of him, his hands resting on your ass now. your legs shifted instinctively, knees bracketing his thighs. heat crawled up your spine when he made you press against the bulge in his pants, getting a small whine from you. the ache between your thighs was too strong to ignore now.

you were getting in fact really frustrated.

chris groans into the kiss when he urges you to start grinding against him, the feeling of your warm pussy against his hard cock through your clothes is driving him crazy. your shorts started clinging to you, sticky and damp, and he could feel it with each movement of your hips. he smirked against your mouth, pulling back slightly, his hands gripping your ass tighter, guiding you in rhythm against his hardness. "you gettin' so... fuckin'— wet...—"

your stomach flipped, still rocking your hips in a way that makes you both moan. "shit," you mutter, slowly straightening up, thighs tight around him. one hand grips the front of his shirt, fingers curling in the fabric like you needed it just to stay upright. your eyes slightly unfocused, the pleasure overwhemling, but still locked on his. you already looked wrecked and somehow it makes you even hotter to him.

but chris in this angle, god. eyes half lidded, jaw clenched like he was holding back some noises, brows furrowed. he looked too good and the way he stared at you makes heat pulse down in your stomach.

"you look so fuckin' hot on me right now," he says, voice hoarse with lust. "but if we keep goin' m'gonna cum."

you bite back a smile, now moving your hips in circles, his cock brushing against your clit perfectly. "thought that's what you wanted."

"i mean, yeah, but not in my pants. that's fuckin' embarassing." his hands moved to your hips, urging you to stop moving. "would rather your mouth much more."

oh.

before you could reply, you heard wheels scrape pavement and it makes you snap back into reality, reminding you where you both even are.

"chris, we're in public—"

he scoffed, "no shit." he keeps looking at you, his chest raising and falling rapidly. "dry fuckin' me just two seconds ago and suddenly now remembering where we are?"

"god forbid a girl gets distracted," you roll your eyes, making him smirk.

he slowly sits up, keeping you close and still on him. he looks around, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. "i mean, ya ever did it in a car?"

you weren't strong enough to not agree to this idea.

few second later, the car door slams shut behind you both, cutting off the outside noise like a switch. chris gets comfortable on the backseat, already pushing his jeans down while you slid down between his spread legs. the cramped space barely was giving you space, but you didn't care.

"y'know," he starts as you look up at him, hands moving to his boxers and pulling them down with his help. his dick splits out, already leaking precum. "had a lot of girls on their knees f'me like this, but you look the hottest."

you raised an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth twitching updward. "is this what you tell all of them?" you ask, wrapping your hand around the base and sticking your tongue out to lick the head slowly, collecting the clear liquid there. his hand comes down to the back of your head, not pushing, but letting you know he's still in control.

"nah," he replies, biting on his bottom lip to suppress a sound when you take him into your mouth. "but my dick likes seein' you like this the most for some reason."

heat flashes through you like a jolt, settling low in your belly. after hearing that, you double your efforts, wanting to make sure that what he said was true. you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head and taking him deeper until he hits the back of your throat, making you gag. "fuck— just like that... you can take it— you wanted this so now take it."

you hum around him which is enough to make his hips jerk slightly. you pull back for a split second, saliva connecting your lips to his tip, before you give him a kitty lick. "don't stop," he mutters, tilting his head back against the seat as you take all of him again, watching his reactions.

after thinking about this exact situation for past weeks, chris felt like in heaven right now, finally getting what he craved and what no one else could give him lately. there was only one thing he needed more in that moment— your pussy.

he groans, his breath starts to stutter as you keep going, now faster, lips stretching around him. if he could, he would take a picture. "look at you. mouth full of me, tearin' up and gaggin' on my cock."

you let out a soft, muffled sound around him, your things squeezing together involuntarily. he smirks, gripping your hair tighter. "yeah," he mutters, voice a little lower as he begins to struggle. "i knew you like being talked to like that."

by the way your pussy was literally pulsing with need, it was clear that you did like that.

his breath was ragged, every time your mouth moved on him, every flick of your tongue, the way you looked at him while sucking him off, it was all pushing him closer to the edge. it was incredible, finally being able to feel this again, knowing that he'll get the release he craves from you.

he exhales deeply, fingers clenching in your hair, not to guide but stop you. "a'ight, fuck. i can't—" he pulls your head back firmly, his dick sliping out of your mouth with a pop. "what?" you blink, lips swollen. chris grips your wrist, pulling you up. "get over here," he says, voice rough. "need to be inside you right now."

he was supposed to make you wait more for it, but he couldn't torture himself like this, especially that he was struggling to come without you so bad.

you smirked, pulling your shorts down and as he thought— no underwear. he licks his lips unconsciously as you straddle him, exposing your glistening cunt to his gaze. "so, no panties, huh?" he drags the tip of his cock along your folds, making you whimper. "fuck, that's hot. you always walkin' around like that?"

"m-maybe," you stutter when he puts the tip in, getting a soft gasp from you. "you'll never know."

chris lets out a low groan, feeling your tight walls stretching around him inch by inch. this was what he needed. weeks of frustration, of bullshit that didn't work, and now he has you wrapped around him again, and it's like his whole body remembers how to feel again.

"it's like you knew you'd bump into me, not havin' anythin' under that little outfit," he mutters, watching as your pussy swallows his dick completely, until your ass hits his thighs. you felt full. "yeah, 'cause i thought, lemme not wear anything so maybe if i randomly see chris then we'll fuck in my car." you reply sarcastically, gripping his shoulders for support. he grins amused, hands sliding to your hips as he starts guiding your movements. "that's exactly what i thought," he says.

chris thrusts up into you, dragging a choked moan from your throat as he perfectly hits that sweet spot inside of you. "feel that?" he asks, removing your hoodie in one swift motion and exposing your tits to his hungry gaze. "that's what you've been makin' me think 'bout for the past weeks."

you whimper, fingers clutching at his hoodie, head falling back as the pressure builds too fast and too strong. his hands move to your ass, helping you bounce and meeting his thrusts. "yeah, this what you needed, hm?" he mutters, leaning in to press some kisses on your neck. you bite down on your bottom lip, nails digging into his shoulder as he rocks up into you again, making your head spin. "mhm, fuck—" you moan, hand moving to the back of his head, gripping his hair.

"i know i did," he sucks on your skin, marking it. "needed to feel your pussy fuckin' soaked f'me again."

"oh my god, chris— it feels so good—"

every roll of your hips matches with his hard, precised thrusts, his hands using you like he pleases. your tits bounce as you desperately try to speed up the pace, but he doesn't let you. "slower," he groans, squeezing your butt. "want you to feel every inch."

you obeyed, clenching around him, struggling to keep riding, but doing the best you could. the car around you feels too small for the sounds you both were making. the sharp slap of skin, your pussy making squelching noises everytime you slid up and down his cock, the windows had long since fogged up, trapping the heat.

"fuck, you hear that?" his head tipped back as you sank down hard on him again. you whimpered, fingers curling against his chest for balance and he was instantly more feral for it. he bucks up, hitting that spot of yours deeper, his dick throbbing inside you. "doing so well f'me, pretty. keep goin'."

"i'm— m'trying— oh!" you cry out, a smug grin spreads across chris's face at the sound, like it fueled him. your legs were shaking now, not just from how good it felt, but from how long you'd been moving like that. your thighs burned and every time you tried to slow down like he asked, you just ended up riding him harder, chasing that release you were barely holding back from. he felt the way your rhythm got uneven, the little whimpers slipping out louder, the way your hands clutched him like you were falling apart in slow motion.

"legs givin' out already?” he asked mockingly, his cheeks flushed from effort. "can't take it anymore, huh? you poor thing."

you opened your mouth to argue and say something sharp, but it came out as a gasp, when he suddenly stilled you completely, hands tight around your hips again. he shifts, lifting you up just enough to slide himself out, dragging a broken sound from your throat as you clench around nothing. "lemme fuck you properly then."

"chris...."you breathed, voice wrecked.

"yeah, feelin' a lil' empty now? missin' my dick already?" he smirks, guiding you down onto the seat, making you lie back and spread your legs. your pussy dripping with juices, making his cock twitch at the sight. he hovers above you, lining himself back up, but not pushing in yet. "ask nicely," he looks down at you.

your eyes narrow at him, ready to talk back, but when he starts rubbing the tip of his dick against your clit, that's when you completely lose your mind.

"oh— please.... i need it, please chris..."

"need what exactly?"

"you— mhhp, fuck!"

chris pushes back in without a warning, feeling how your pussy sucks him in, until he's buried to the hilt again. your back arches off the seat instantly, mouth falling open, a sharp moan ripping from your throat. he stays still for a moment, smirking while watching you and then he starts moving, deep and slow, like he wanted you to feel it for days. your legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, trying to pull him closer.

"jesus— shit, right...— there...—"

chris's face contorts with intense pleasure as he starts pounding into you, not being able to keep the slow pace, your breasts bouncing with impact. he reaches down, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder to go even deeper. his balls slap against your ass with each powerful thrust. "thaaat's it, take my dick... fuck, you're so tight—" he groans.

your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails dragging down his back even through his hoodie. the combination of his dick hitting perfectly your g-spot, his words and just chris in general, it all makes your toes curl as your orgasm starts building up. you were shaking beneath him, chest raising and falling rapidly, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.

"you close, huh? can... can feel it, y'know—"

you whimper in response, gripping him like you might fall apart otherwise. you try to hold it, try to breathe through the tension building up in your stomach, but he didn't let up. "chris, i... fuck, i can't— please...."

his thumb finds your clit and when he starts rubbing it, adding to the stimulation, that's when you lose it.

"f-fuck, i'm... oh shit—" you gasp, walls clenching tight around his dick.

"c'mon gorgeous, give it to me."

your whole body seizes, legs trembling, moan breaking free from you. chris watches how your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt gripping him like a vice. he hisses through his teeth, your walls milking him perfectly.

you're a moaning mess, pulsing around him, barely able to think. he doesn't stop, now moving even more erratic, like his desire had taken over, chasing his own release. every thrust sends a fresh jolt through you, eyes barely open and breath shallow.

"chris..." you whine, getting overstimulated.

"i know, ma." he breathes out. "gonna come inside you."

"please," you whimper.

he slams in one last time, his hips twitching, breath catching in his throat. the pressure and frustration of weeks without your pussy, all of it breaking loose at once. he groans, painting your inner walls white as he comes hard, filling you up.

you both stay still for a moment, the only sounds left were your breaths, heavy and tangled, lingering in the thick air of the car. you shifted slightly, coming down from the high, leg still wrapped around his hip, the other one on his shoulder. he hisses at the sensitivity.

"already sore?" you teased, breathless.

he raises an eyebrow, "ya think m'done only 'cos i came once?" he grins lazily, "the night's long, sweetheart."

a/n: i wrote half of it at night while literally falling asleep so if there's any mistakes or something doesn't make sense, y'all know why 😭

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @brazyturtleneck @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs @seluky10 @chriss-slutt @icrazy106 @ribbonlovergirl @izzylovesmatt @trevorsgodmother @sturniolo101 @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @bernardsbendystraws @loser41ifee @cleolovespepsi @slvt4subchratt @oopsiedaisydeer @sturnsc @ellieluvssturniolos @sturnssmuts @nulasuma @matts-wife @phiphispage @sturn-ath3na @viviansturns @slvtf0rchr1s @chrismyman @frshsturns @whore4-chrissturniolo

[technofeudalism]

that’s because no one ever actually said anything like this. the op is mostly in response to the influx of people ridiculing the massive amounts of middle aged white women (and other suburbanites and liberals of all creeds and colors, but that doesn’t fit the appeal to morality being made) who show up at “protests” with “If Kamala Won We Would Be At Brunch Right Now” signs for a few hours and then fuck off back home for 2 years.

unfortunately, some of us wacky, crazy online leftists (we don’t actually exist in the real world i guess) don’t consider getting mad at MSNBC anchors and dancing in parades with the local police as being “hardcore” and instead see these things generally as a waste of time, effort and a lack of comprehension of how dire the circumstances are.

the op is correct. middle aged women (and definitely Black and Latina women) are some of the most efficient and effective organizers in this country. sadly, a lot of them spend their time organizing for the Democratic party unquestionably no matter who the candidate is, which results in them doing more harm than good. that’s the real criticism that is often being made, not whatever straw man the op was trying to create.

maybe Sheryl from Iowa should look at her life circumstances the next time she steps into the voting booth and ask herself what the Democrat she’s voting for has done to improve them. just a thought.

tumblr leftists being surprised to see middle aged white women with signs or hats saying "deny defend depose" really reinforces for me that tumblr leftists don't actually talk to people lmao. like I did a lot of canvassing as a teenager and you know who the best most reliable political organizers are? middle aged women. you know who's bloodthirsty after watching rachel maddow every night and sharing HuffPo articles on facebook? middle aged women. maybe sheryl from iowa who's been voting religiously for democrats for the past thirty years IS more hardcore than you, tumblr user who did a write-in "protest vote." what are you going to do about that.

[gothicmisty]

Havin' his baby

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | ao3 | masterlist part 2

summary: "I'm pregnant." His face. His totally normal face that was there seconds ago. It goes blank. White as a ghost. Joel blinks once. "You're what?" "It's yours," you blurt out, panicking. "I haven't been with anyone in awhile, and you were the last person..." The one in which you are pregnant with Joel miller's baby.

authors note: so, apologies in advance. this is a prologue of sorts. there won't be some smut for a while. i wanted there to be a bit of build up at first. i imagine reader is like 30s. but you can make her younger. but i still hope everyone enjoys!! tags: MDNI, pregnancy symptoms, implied age gap, joel is older, reader can be anywhere between 28 and mid 30s. reader is not described in this just that you have breast and long enough hair(eventually), no use of y/n, lots of pregnancy in this one. strangers to lovers vibes, pregnancy test. mention of being a mother, mentions of ultrasounds. tommy is in a few seconds of this. tbh, this can be either game joel or show joel. word count: 3.2k

The morning felt worse than the few before. You had woken up in the middle of the night more than once–not ‘cause you couldn’t sleep, but ‘cause you couldn’t shake that feeling of anxiety in your stomach all night. 

The clock beside your bed says 7:45. Small bits of sunshine slip through your cheap not-so-great curtains. The summer heat in Texas. God. And your shitty lack of air conditioning wasn't helping you feel any better.

You sigh. 

Not because you spent most of the night tossing and turning. But for the first time in a year, you missed work. Not just a day. An entire week. You had to get a substitute to cover most of your days.

Teachin’ life and what not. 

You were sick. Nauseous. Your head was killing you. At first, you chalked it up to some bad leftover chinese you’d had.  But by the second day?

You told yourself it was just from being around kids. Kids carried all kinds of germs. Practically little petri dishes, never washing their hands.

By day four. Most definitely, you were gaslightin’ yourself. Telling yourself it wasn’t anything serious. Until you realized your period never showed. You were never late. Never. Always right on time. 

Instead of staying in bed. You drove all the way to the furthest pharmacy from your house that you could find. You didn’t want to run into a single person you knew. 

Truth was, you’ve never had a pregnancy scare in your entire life. 

Not even when you were a reckless teenager fuckin’ around with Billy Davis behind your parents back.  Or that long term boyfriend you had up until last year, Jesse. 

Never even needed to look at a test. But there is a first time for everything, you suppose. You looked over all the boxes. 

How in the hell were there so many different brands? Different kinds? Some had two pink lines. Some had a blue plus sign. What is the difference between a digital one and a regular one?

You pick up the digital box. Flipping it over. Reading the words slowly. Was there really a need to know six days early when you already were a week late? 

This was all…confusing. You feel it too. How drained you are. Filled with so much anxiety that this is real. You are really standing in the middle of a pharmacy because you might actually be pregnant. 

So, you do the only thing you can think of. You buy six different ones. 

‘Cause there was no way six tests could all lie to you, right? No way one of them could give you a different result. 

The drive home was terrible. 

Maybe it’s the car making you feel sick. The Texas heat since the air conditioning in your car also sucked too. Or maybe it’s just… really all of this.

After an awkward run in with Mrs. Sims on your way into the house and fifteen minutes of standing in the bathroom. Six pregnancy tests are spread out in front of you. 

The first four are the easy ones, the kind with the little lines. Two pink lines on the first two. A large square pink plus sign on the other set. Positive.

The digital ones were next. Ninety-nine point nine percent accurate. The first one you pick up has a smiley face on it. 

Like that’s supposed to make you happy. Instead of making you want to cry on your bathroom floor. 

The second digital one just confirms your fate. 

Pregnant.

Six different tests. Six different ways of telling you that you’re definitely expecting. 

Having a mental breakdown about being pregnant wasn’t exactly on your to-do list today. Not ever. 

There’s no pep talk you can give yourself. Tell yourself that everything is gonna be just fine. You’re not happy. You aren’t exactly devastated. You are just numb. 

The handbook of life never taught you how to react when you’re finding out you’re pregnant. Especially when this wasn’t part of the plan. Any plan. 

The details from that night aren’t really there. You remember the bar. You remember goin’ into his house.

You’d only gone out to that rundown bar a few streets over because of Rebecca, your college friend. Who wouldn’t stop complaining you never went out. Never enjoyed life outside of work. 

Girls’ night, she called it. 

But you’d seen him.  Your neighbor. Joel Miller. 

You barely know him. He lives across the street. Waves back at you when you’re getting the mail. Greets you with that southern drawl. Says, “Mornin’.” Helps with things occasionally.

He’s always working. Has a daughter in college. Not that you ever saw her, or paid much attention to what was across the street.

Joel Miller hadn’t been much of an interest to you. Not until that night.

That night he was sitting by himself on a barstool. At the same bar you were at. 

He’s older. Dark greying hair. Hazel eyes. Spends more time looking ahead than looking at you. Which was a change for once. 

After two hours, it turned out you had a lot more in common than you would’ve thought. Both of you like older music. Spent half the night talkin’ about old records alone. Your friend? She was long gone. You’d practically ditched her to talk to someone else. So, Joel offered you a ride home. 

When you got back to his house. The night faded away. You had a few more drinks. But, so did he.

But you. You kissed him first. Drinkin’ and makin’ terrible choices was a thing that happened to you before. That’s why you never liked to drink. But on his couch, in his living’ room, you made the first move.

From there? It was nothin’ you can remember.

You didn’t talk after that. Not really. You had to leave early for work, and Joel? He was in the shower when you snuck out. Not your proudest moment pickin’ up pieces of your clothes. Heading back home. 

The two of you would occasionally wave. And smile. The same polite nods you’d given each other before. But weeks went by, and now. You’re staring’ at six positive pregnancy tests on the counter wondering where this all went wrong. 

You weren’t on birth control. It’s not like you remember much of what happened that night.

That feeling of needing to throw up already started creeping’ back. You’ve barely kept down crackers and ginger ale wasn’t helping either.

And now, you’re back on your knees. Throwing’ up into the toilet again. 

You’re pregnant with Joel Miller’s baby. Something you never thought would happen in a million years. But here you are. 

It’s been over two weeks since you found out. Three days since you went to the OBGYN. Who confirmed what six home pregnancy tests already told you. 

The first appointment was how you expected it to be. Normal. As normal as it could be. You were alone. Too scared to break the news to Joel yet. 

You discussed your options. Which you had spent way too much time thinking about. Eventually you decided that you were gonna keep it. Even before the appointment. 

The doctor talked to you about what to expect. At almost nine weeks. 

How the nausea might last until twelve weeks. Maybe longer. 

“Every woman is different. Experiences different symptoms,” she said. 

She gave you some suggestions. How you can take something called B6 to help. A few home remedies that you could try. Even a wristband that you could put on a pressure point.

She sends you for a dating scan the next day. To confirm how far along you are. Though, by your blood work she estimates nine weeks. But you already knew. 

You sit in the ultrasound room. The smell of those lemon scented bleach wipes filled the room. It was cold. Freezing. And the sweet ultrasound tech shows you your baby. A tiny little bean lighting up the black-and-white screen. You cry. Not because you’re upset…but because it’s real. All of it. A small part of it might be due to hormones. 

They send you home with a photo. That flimsy photo paper. One small, tiny photo of your baby. Yours and Joel’s baby. 

You’re back to work. Back to a room full of kids. Pretending that you’re okay. Pretending that Brenda’s lunch doesn’t make you a little sick. Or that really nasty coffee they kept in the teachers lounge. How was it possible that an off-brand made you nauseous? But the name brand didn’t? When you get home, you look across the street. His brown house. The porch lights off. His truck ain’t there. It rarely is. Maybe it was on the off chance he decided to take a day off. 

You take out your phone. Pulling up his contact. Just Joel. The only text you’ve ever sent him is still sitting there. Not like you deleted your text messages.

It’s from over a year ago. Something about the school needing’ to hire a contractor. 

You: Hey.  You: Are you home?

You knew he wasn’t. 

But you needed an excuse to talk to him. After all…you needed to tell him. This was his baby too. 

Joel: Workin’ late tonight. You need somethin?

You leave him on read. But the truth was. You can’t avoid it forever. 

Saturday morning, while you ate your breakfast. You decide it’s finally time. You leave early enough. Head to the construction site he mentioned he was workin’ at. It was a longer project. Said it would be weeks worth of work. 

This wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you break over a text message. 

Hey Joel, so I’m pregnant. 

That ain’t the best way to deal with this. You drive thirty minutes out there. When you stop the car, it hits you. God, it hits you hard. Harder than you thought it would. You almost talk yourself out of it. Out of this whole ridiculous plan while sitting in your car. 

You shouldn’t do this. Can’t do this. What if he’s angry? What if he’s upset? What if you start crying ‘cause all these damn hormones racing through you? 

You’ve never seen him angry. Never really been around him enough to know. He’s always been just… himself. Brooding. Seems lonely at times. Keeps to himself. But he’s always just…Joel. 

The courage finally comes. You get out and walk toward the trailer. But Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, stops you. 

You met him a few times. Over at Joel’s. He even stopped to talk to you once when Joel helped you fix a flat tire. 

“You’re Joel’s neighbor, right?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say, giving a small smile. “Is he here? Need to talk to him.” 

Tommy nods towards the trailer. “He’s here. Had himself a day,” he mutters. “Reckon he’ll be glad to see a face that ain’t mine.”  You swallow hard.

Walking toward the trailer. Do you knock? Just walk in? Why the hell do you feel like such an angsty teenager trying to decide all this? 

But, you knock.  Twice. 

You hear his voice through the door and step inside. “Tommy, I ain’t in the mood to–” he starts, then stops when he turns and sees you. 

You stood there. A tired smile on your face. “Shit, sorry,” he says, takin’ off his glasses. “Thought you were Tommy. He’s been ridin’ my ass all day.” 

“He, uh…warned me you were havin’ an off day,” you say. 

He shakes his head. “Ain’t nothin’ new.” 

You are silent. Can’t say anything or maybe there isn’t anything you can think to say. 

‘Cause his day was possibly about to get worse. Finding out he’s gonna be a dad again, and at work of all places, isn’t exactly the kind of news that’s gonna go over easily.

“What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?” he asks, voice low. “Don’t get a pretty girl showin’ up at my work too often. ‘Specially not a neighbor who didn’t even let me say goodbye.” 

Fuck.

Panic starts to set in. A little bit of nausea too. Was it warm in here? Or are you about to pass out on the floor? Or worse, throw up for the one millionth time. 

“Can I–um–sit?” 

“Course,” Joel says, nodding toward the chair. 

You sit in the old chair. It was metal. Wobbly. But you were fidgeting, picking at your fingernails. Tryin to will yourself to just say it. You take a deep breath. 

“I’ve known for a while,” you mutter, looking at him. “Just didn’t….didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Just say it. Rip the damn band aid off. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

His face. His totally normal face that was there seconds ago. It goes blank. White as a ghost. Joel blinks once. “You’re what?” 

“It’s yours,” you blurt out, panicking. “I haven’t been with anyone in a while, and you were the last person…” 

You don’t finish the sentence. Don’t know if you can. He goes quiet. You get it. You just changed everything in his life with two words. 

It stretches on. That shocked look on his face. God knows how long ya’ll were sitting there for. 

The tick of the clock on the wall.  The sound of construction going on outside. 

He lets out a slow breath. “Well, shit.” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Ain’t usually good with words, ya know that. Sure as hell ain’t right now.” 

You don’t know where to start. If you should apologize. If you should stay quiet. This was such a difficult situation. 

“If you don’t want to be–” 

“No,” he cuts you off, quickly. “Ain’t like that, darlin’. Just surprised.” 

He pauses. “Just strugglin’ to wrap my head around it right now.” 

You get it. If someone dropped this on you at work. On a stressful, exhaustin’ day. You’d be losing your mind too. 

You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact you’re pregnant. 

“How sure we talkin’ here?” he asks. 

“I went to the doctor,” you say. “No doubt about it.” 

Joel sighs. Running a hand over his face. Fidgeting with a pen on the desk. “I know this is a lot all at once,” you murmur. “But it’s…happenin’. I’m keepin’ the baby but I don’t expect anythin’ from you, Joel.” 

“We outta talk ‘bout this I get hom—” 

But Joel’s cut off by the door slamming open. 

“Hell Joel,” Tommy announces, steppin in, shaking his head. “Half the damn shipment’s missin’. Boys can’t do shit without it.” 

“A’right,” Joel says, getting up from his chair. “I’m comin’.” 

Tommy huffs. Muttering something as he slams the door shut behind him.

Joel looks back at you. Hand on the door. “We’ll talk more ‘bout this later.”

It’s been four days since you told him. Not like you’ve seen him. Not once. Every morning when you leave for work. His truck is already gone. You spent the whole day wondering. Did you screw up by telling him? Is this even something he’s gonna want in the long run? Maybe he doesn’t wanna be part of it. 

Between the morning sickness and teaching first graders, it’s been rough. Hard to keep up during the day. You’re sleepy half the time and so fatigued. One cup of coffee was barely helping anymore. 

Pregnancy makes it so you can only have one cup. No more. Limited caffeine. 

It’s a shitty day without it. Not like you can remember the last time you had a normal one. You figure those don’t really exist in these first few months anyway. 

But when you get home that night. Pulling into the driveway. He’s there. 

Sitting on your porch steps. Black t-shirt with the construction logo on it. 

Muddy boots. Jeans that are mostly worn and washed out. 

“Hey,” you say, walking up to the steps. 

Joel looks up at you with those hazel eyes. 

“Know it’s been a few days,” he says. “Ain’t proud of that.” “I dropped a lot on ya,” you reply. “Sorry for that.” 

You sit down next to him. It was something about it, sitting with him. Quietly on the steps. Lookin’ at the cars going down the street. 

He rests his hand on your leg. “Ya doin’ a’right?” he asks. “Feelin’ sick or…any of that?” 

Every single symptom seems to have creeped up on you. If there’s a checklist. You’ve got every fucking box ticked. But you don’t want him to worry. Don’t want him thinkin it’s his problem to fix. 

“Mostly just not feelin’ great,” you admit. “End up gettin’ up in the middle of the night. Throwin’ up. Really, Joel, it’s okay–” 

“You’re carryin’ my baby,” Joel says, eyes on you. “‘Course I’m gonna check on ya. Whether ya like it or not.” 

My baby. 

Words you didn't think you’d hear him say out loud. Words you weren’t so sure if you were ready to hear. 

“I’m just…tired,” you mutter. “Ain’t got much energy between work and this.” 

You two continue to sit on the porch.

Truth is, you don’t know much about him. He doesn’t know much about you either. 

All you know is he’s guarded. Alone. Has a grown daughter you’ve seen maybe twice since you moved in. 

Two people. Two strangers with completely different lives. And now…you’re having a baby. Together. 

“I’ll tell ya,” he whispers. “Didn’t think I’d be doin’ the whole raisin’ a baby thing again.” 

You never expected any of this either. Now you’re gonna be a…mother.

“I got an appointment comin’ up,” you say. “You can come with me. If ya want.” 

“Yeah, darlin’,” he replies, squeezing your leg a little. “Ya just let me know when.” 

Joel’s sweet. You’d expected him to be upset. Maybe even angry. But he surprised you. The way he handled it. The way he was trying his best at this moment. You reach into your bag. Pulling out the photo the doctor gave you. Handing it to him. 

His calloused fingers take it. He looked down at the small black-and-white photo. Your name printed at the top. The tiny blob of the baby in the middle.

“Crazy, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you mutter. “It really is.” 

He goes to hand it back. But you shake your head. 

“Keep it,” you say. “It’s yours.” 

You stand up. Letting out a breath as you stretch. “I feel like I got hit by a damn truck. Gonna go lay down, Joel.” 

If you sat there long enough. You could’ve fallen asleep right there on the porch steps. On his shoulder. With how damn tired you felt. 

Everything felt like it was wearing you out. 

You’re almost at the door when you hear him. “Sweetheart.” 

You turn around. 

“I’m here,” he says. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere. You need anythin’—you just let me know. Kay?” 

“I know.” 

The moment you close the door. You stand there. Waiting to hear his footsteps fade off the porch. 

You wouldn’t trust anyone. Not really. Not in this situation. But for some reason, you decide to trust Joel Miller. Maybe for the first time in your life. You don’t feel alone. 

taglist: @chewie-bars , @aquanatalie , @tupelomiss , @glitterspark , @missladym1981 , @pedropascalsbbg, @onlythehobi , @kungfucapslock , @streamermattsgf, @stories-we-read , @luciebisaku.

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[formulafanfics13]

finding out the condom broke 🔥

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉

Current grid

Lando Norris “Wait, what?” He freezes. Like full body tension, brows furrowed, eyes locked onto you like you just told him he’s starting P20 in the rain. He pulls out, inspects the damage, and immediately spirals. “You’re on something, right? Like the pill? Anything?” You shake your head. His face drops. He paces naked with one sock on, talking to himself. “No no no this is fine. It’s okay. We’ll handle it. We’ll handle it.” Fifteen minutes later he’s back in the room with three versions of Plan B, a thermometer, a fucking calendar, and a half-eaten granola bar. He keeps repeating, “We can’t tell anyone. No one can know.” Like you're carrying state secrets.

Oscar Piastri His face goes pale. Just sits there, dick still out, blinking. “Right. Okay. Good to know.” He stands, gets dressed in complete silence, calmly grabs his phone, and you assume he’s calling for help or booking a pharmacy visit. But no, he’s opened a Google Doc titled Emergency Protocols. He hands you water, asks how long it’s been since your last period, and starts setting silent alarms on his Apple Watch. You try to joke that he’s treating this like a pit stop and he just looks at you like, “Would that make it easier if I did?” You’re not sure if he’s okay. He’s definitely not sure either.

Charles Leclerc “Merde.” It’s soft at first. Almost a whisper. Then louder. “Merde, merde, merde.” He goes full Monaco dramatics - hands in hair, pacing the room like it’s the last lap at Spa and Ferrari just botched the strategy again. Lays on the floor like the world is ending. You’re still half-naked. He’s already running through baby names. “Do you think I’d be a good father? No, never mind. That was a stupid question.” It takes you twenty minutes to calm him down. He doesn’t sleep that night. He just lies there holding your stomach like it might start growing immediately.

Lewis Hamilton Unfazed. Scarily calm. The kind of calm that suggests he’s either been here before or has already accepted the consequences. He kisses your shoulder, reaches for water, and says, “Alright. First thing tomorrow, we’ll sort it out.” Then he starts listing options like he’s reading off a race strategy plan. “We can go to the pharmacy. Private clinic if you’d prefer. I’ve got a driver on call. Don’t worry.” You wake up at 3am to find him meditating with crystals and ordering prenatal supplements ‘just in case.’ He doesn’t fuck around. He’s already built a future, just waiting for you to sign off on it.

Max Verstappen His head snaps around like you just said “DNF.” “You’re kidding.” You are not. Max goes completely still. Stares at you. Then stares at the condom like it personally insulted him. He stands, mutters “unbelievable” under his breath, and disappears into the ensuite. You hear drawers opening, bottles rattling, the clatter of his phone on the marble. When he returns, he’s holding a boxed set of pregnancy tests and muttering about switching brands. “I knew something felt off. I should’ve known. I knew it.” He refuses to sleep until you’ve peed on at least two sticks. Then watches you sleep like you’re a ticking time bomb. Doesn’t say a word, just keeps watch.

Yuki Tsunoda Immediate panic. No buffer. No processing time. “WHAT THE FUCK!” Fully yells. Throws the broken condom like it’s a war crime. “NO. NOPE. NO FUCKING WAY.” Storms around the room butt naked, grabbing at his hair, screaming at nothing. “WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN TO ME? WHY DO I HAVE SUCH BAD LUCK?!�� Then suddenly quiet. Dead serious. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He crouches by the bed, still panting. “Like, seriously. Are you okay?” You nod. He nods. Then screams again.

Carlos Sainz “Joder.” That’s it. That’s his whole response for the first five minutes. One word. Over and over again. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s walking in circles, muttering “Joder, joder, joder.” Eventually stops. Stands in front of you, stark naked, hands on his hips like he’s about to give a post-race interview. “Okay. So. What do we do?” You suggest a pharmacy. He’s already halfway out the door before you finish the sentence. Later that night, you catch him googling “how to know if sperm is strong” like he’s trying to psych himself out of being fertile. He starts calling you "mama" jokingly and then gets quiet when it makes him feel weirdly emotional.

Alex Albon Laughs. Actually fucking laughs. “Oh my god. I knew something felt off!” You stare at him, waiting for panic. Nothing. He’s still laughing. “Of course. Of course this would happen to me.” Then he looks at you, eyes wide. “Wait. You’re not like… gonna have a baby now, right?” You shrug. He stops laughing. Thirty minutes later, he’s bought ten tests and is trying to manifest infertility. “My swimmers are slow. I know it. There’s no way. I’ve had Monster energy drinks every day for like a decade.” You tell him to shut up. He says, “Yeah okay fair.” But then googles “caffeine and sperm count” anyway.

George Russell Gasps. Like actual Victorian fainting couch gasp. “Oh my God.” Immediately spirals. “This isn’t in the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” He’s pacing, calculating conception rates, asking if you’ve taken folic acid, and already emailing a fertility specialist he knows. “I’ll book us both in. Just to be safe. Might as well check the system.” You suggest sleeping on it. He sits upright in bed with a notebook. You glance at it. It’s titled Post-Coital Crisis Management. There’s a colour-coded flowchart.

Kimi Antonelli He says nothing. Like, nothing. Just sits there. Still inside you. Frozen. You touch his arm. He blinks. Pulls out. Stands up. Leaves the room. You hear a door open. A drawer slam. Then silence. Five minutes later he returns with a Plan B box, three bottles of water, a banana, and a cold pack. Says nothing as he hands them to you. Then sits at the end of the bed like a soldier awaiting orders. You ask if he’s okay. He nods. “I think so.” He’s not. But he’s trying so hard not to show it.

Lance Stroll Sighs. Not even panicked. Just tired. “Damn.” Leans back against the pillow and rubs his face. “Of course. Of fucking course.” Looks over at you and shrugs. “You alright?” You nod. “You?” He shrugs again. “We’ll survive.” Orders two smoothies and a Plan B on delivery. Later offers to fly in a private doctor. You refuse. He shrugs again and says, “Honestly? If something happens… I wouldn’t freak out.” You stare. He shrugs again. He’s on a fucking loop.

Fernando Alonso Raises an eyebrow. “Interesting.” You’re already panicking. He’s still inside you, smiling like he knows a secret. “It felt good though, didn’t it?” You throw a pillow at his face. He dodges, gets up, and pours you a glass of wine. “Too late for prevention. We plan now.” You ask what the fuck that means. He says, “You’d look beautiful pregnant.” You scream. He says, “I’m just saying.” Ten minutes later he’s showing you schools in Switzerland and calling someone he knows about fertility testing.

Liam Lawson Blinks rapidly. Face turns red. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re serious?” You nod. He covers his face with both hands like a teenager getting caught by their parents. “I am so fucking stupid. Why didn’t I check it?” He’s spiraling. Checking the floor for evidence. Rechecking the wrapper. Pulling up articles on his phone. You try to calm him. He blurts, “I’ll support you. Whatever happens. I’ll be here.” You remind him that you're probably fine. He texts you four times that night just to make sure.

Isack Hadjar “You’re lying.” You’re not. He knows you’re not. But he still says it three times. “You’re lying. No you’re not. Fuck.” Then: “Okay. Okay. Okay.” Stands up. Walks in a circle. Then says, “So... what now?” You tell him you’ll handle it. He nods like you just told him to prepare for battle. Two hours later he’s bought baby shoes online just to see what they’d look like. He shows them to you. “Cute, right?” You threaten to block his number. He says, “You’d miss me.”

Nico Hülkenberg Looks down. Then looks up at you. “Well… that’s not ideal.” He’s so calm it’s unnerving. You ask if he’s worried. “I mean, I’m German. I’m always worried. But I’m also prepared.” Opens drawer. Pulls out Plan B. Opens another drawer. Pulls out calendar. Then just sits beside you, totally nude, and asks if you’d rather take the test in the morning or evening. Says something weirdly philosophical like “Life finds a way,” and goes to make coffee. You’re still sitting in bed, in shock. He brings you coffee and says, “Just in case, we should pick a name. I like Max.”

Gabriel Bortoletto “Wait... what do you mean it broke?” His voice cracks. He looks down. Then at you. Then back down like he can actually see the mistake if he stares hard enough. Goes from cocky to terrified in 0.2 seconds. “No no no. This is not... this is not happening.” Starts muttering in Portuguese. Full-blown panic mode. Pulls a pillow over his face and just screams into it for a solid ten seconds. When he resurfaces, sweaty and wide-eyed, he says, “I’ll take responsibility. I swear. But also I’m still a baby myself. Like mentally. Emotionally. I don’t even own an iron.” Proceeds to google ‘how to raise a child’ while pacing the room in just socks and a chain.

Ollie Bearman Freaks the fuck out. You say, “The condom broke,” and he says, “What? Like… broke how?” You show him. His face goes white. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.” Paces. Pulls his shirt on inside out. Slams a water bottle down. Stares at you like you’re about to explode. Then gets really quiet. “I’m sorry. I should’ve checked. This is my fault.” You try to calm him down. He brings you a protein bar and a juice box. Offers to take a pregnancy test with you. You say that’s not how it works. He says, “Yeah… yeah, okay. Cool cool cool.”

Esteban Ocon Stares at you like you just told him his telemetry failed. “…It what?” He gets up, completely naked, walks calmly to the bathroom, turns on the light, and examines the condom like it’s a cursed object. “That’s not possible. It didn’t feel like—” Then his eyes go wide. “Fuck. No. Shit.” Immediately starts tidying the room while asking questions like a crisis manager. “What’s your cycle like? When was your last period? Have you eaten today? Do you need electrolytes?” You tell him to stop moving. He says, “I can’t. I’m spiralling. But like… productively.” He later texts Pierre just in case he dies from anxiety in his sleep.

Pierre Gasly Gasps. Audibly. You: “The condom broke.” Pierre: “BROKE? Like… fully? Like we were going raw and I didn’t even know?” He jumps out of bed like it’s lava. Begins inspecting it like Sherlock Holmes with a murder weapon. “Look at this. Look. This is sabotage. I’ve been betrayed.” You ask him to calm down. He deadass says, “We might’ve just made a human. I will NOT calm down.” Then he looks at you. Eyes soft. “Are you okay though? Because I’ll handle this if you want me to. All of it.” He’s somehow both spiralling and romantic. Buys three types of Plan B and kisses your forehead like you’re on your way into war.

Franco Colapinto You say the words and he just blinks. “…What do you mean it broke?” You show him. He physically recoils. Like the latex committed a crime against humanity. Then he says something terrifyingly sincere like, “We just created something sacred, maybe.” You threaten to throw a pillow at him. He looks genuinely panicked now. “Wait no, I’m joking. Or not. I don’t know. I’m panicking.” Sits down on the floor, legs crossed like a schoolkid, googling fertility stats and pregnancy symptoms on his phone. Eventually looks up at you and says, “If you need me to marry you for legal reasons, I’m available.” You: “What the fuck?” Him: “Just letting you know!”

Others

Sebastian Vettel Immediately looks like you just told him you crashed an endangered bee. “Shit.” Sits up and runs both hands through his hair, naked, thoughtful, deeply German about it. “That is… not good.” You try to play it cool, but he’s already calculating the environmental impact of raising a child. Pulls out a pen from somewhere and starts scribbling on the back of a hotel notepad: dates, timelines, probability of ovulation, German pharmacy locations. He doesn’t panic. He over-prepares. Also asks if you're okay about seven times in a row. You end up wrapped in a duvet watching him map out a 10-year education plan for a child that doesn’t even exist yet.

Kimi Räikkönen Looks down. Looks at you. Grunts. Gets up. Pours vodka. Drinks it. Sits down. Lights a cigarette. Still butt-naked. Finally says, “Could be worse.” You try to talk. He holds up a finger. “Don’t panic. It’s boring when people panic.” You sit in silence for a full ten minutes while he drinks and stares at the wall. Then he mutters, “We use different ones next time.” Next time?? You blink. He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t flinch. Sleeps like a baby that night while you lie awake wondering if he’s immortal or just completely detached.

Mick Schumacher Eyes wide. Immediate concern. “Oh no. Wait. Oh no no no no.” Rushes to inspect the damage, as if staring hard enough will fix it. Then he looks up at you like a puppy caught chewing on something forbidden. “Are you okay? Are you mad? Did it hurt? I didn’t notice, I swear—” He’s panicking. Pulls out his phone, starts Googling faster than you can stop him. Orders Plan B and three pregnancy test brands. Later that night you find him on his Notes app planning a gender-neutral nursery. You say nothing. He blushes. “It’s just in case!”

Jack Doohan Blinks. “…Did it actually break or are you messing with me?” You show him. His soul leaves his body for a second. “Holy shit.” Then it kicks in. “Holy fuck.” Then he starts laughing. Not because it’s funny. Because he’s mentally imploding. “My dad is gonna kill me.” You ask if he’s okay. He lies face down on the bed, muffled groaning into the sheets. Fifteen minutes later he sits up, hair a mess, eyes bloodshot, and says, “I’ll raise it on a fucking ranch if I have to.” You honestly believe him.

David Coulthard “Ah. Well then.” Very British about it. Like you just spilled tea, not cum. He sighs. Looks down at the broken condom. Shakes his head like a disappointed headmaster. “It’s always the good ones that go first.” Gets up, cleans himself, puts on silk boxers like nothing happened. You’re panicking. He pours scotch. “We’ll handle it. You and me. Adults.” You ask if he’s done this before. He sips the drink and mutters, “Several times.” Doesn’t explain. Refuses to elaborate. Winks at you across the bed and says, “Worst case, we raise a beautiful little bastard.”

Jenson Button “Oh bloody hell.” Sits up immediately, panic washing over his face like a safety car announcement. Starts apologising profusely. “I should’ve double-checked. That’s on me. That’s completely on me.” You say it’s fine, but he’s already halfway to his phone googling ‘can you get pregnant if the condom breaks even if it’s been less than 60 seconds’. Texts his assistant asking for a “discreet, high-quality pharmacy rec.” You ask if he’s okay. He gives you the softest look. “We’ll be okay. But also, I might never sleep again until I know for sure.”

Toto Wolff Freezes. Absolutely still. Doesn’t breathe for ten seconds. Then turns to you with terrifying Austrian control. “Are you alright?” You nod. “Are you alright?” He stands up and calmly removes the broken condom with surgical precision, like he’s dismantling a failed rear wing. “I will fix this.” Twenty minutes later, he’s called a doctor, ordered you a care package, emailed someone from the team a warning just in case this turns into an HR nightmare, and has a full plan. Also randomly mutters, “This wouldn’t have happened with Pirelli.” You don’t know what that means. He doesn’t explain.

James Vowels Immediate British panic. Like red-alert nuclear panic in a three-piece suit. “Oh my God.” Rushes around naked but still wearing a watch. “I need a calendar. Where’s your calendar?” Starts scribbling on a hotel notepad while muttering to himself about cycle tracking, probabilities, ovulation windows, and high-speed risk management. You try to joke. He says, “This is not funny. This is my life.” Accidentally cries a little. Apologises for crying. Tries to hug you but knocks over a glass of water. You end up holding him and whispering, “It’s gonna be okay,” while he resets his entire five-year plan in real time.

Paul Aron Young. Hot. Full-body panic. “…Wait. What? What do you mean it broke?” You show him. He goes pale. “Like, broke broke?” Starts pacing. “Okay okay okay okay okay.” Sits down. Head in hands. “You’re not gonna… like… get pregnant, right?” You raise an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Paul. Want to flip a coin?” He chokes. Then mumbles, “If you do, I’ll like… I’ll step up.” You nod. “That’s good.” He panics again and says, “But let’s not, okay? Like let’s not let that happen?” He buys out an entire pharmacy’s Plan B stock just in case.

Arthur Leclerc Physically flinches. Like he feels the consequences crawling up his spine. “Oh no.” Covers his mouth. Sits on the edge of the bed looking like he just crashed out of quali. “Do you think it’s okay?” You shrug. He starts listing every potential pregnancy symptom even though it’s been 4 minutes. Goes online, orders Plan B, two types of herbal teas, and three books about parenting. You ask him if he’s always like this. He says, “No. Only with you.” Then blushes, realises he said that out loud, and dives face-first into a pillow.

Pato O'Ward “Holy shit.” Jumps off the bed like it’s on fire. Looks at the condom, then at you. “No no no no no. That was NOT part of the plan.” He’s pacing in loops. Pulling at his hair. Muttering something in Spanish too fast to follow. Then suddenly stops. Looks at you. “Do you want a baby?” You: “Right now? No.” Him: “Cool. Cool cool cool.” Buys five pregnancy tests, brings you a Gatorade, then says, “If it happens though, we’re calling it ‘Turbo.’” You slap him. He grins. Still sweating.

[emilielhess]

on air, off ice | 🎙️🏒 chapter 0:1

pairing: hockeyplayer!vi x nerdy!radiohost!reader tropes: 📌college AU | 💘 slow burn | 🎧 strangers to lovers | 🕶️ secret identity | 📻 late night radio vibes | 🤓 nerd radio host

<- previous | next ->

"Well, that brings us back to last night, right? Big congrats to our beloved hockey team for totally smashing it yesterday! I still don't get half the rules. Okay, maybe none of them, but watching those wild moves on ice, with goals flying left and right?

You let out an impressed whistle, lips brushing the mic's grille.

"Yeah, that told me the night got feral real fast. Shoutout to the captain for making campus something warmer than pre-midterm panic. Who knew she was actually good at more than just throwing elbows and breaking stuff?Just kidding. Good luck with pre-midterms, everyone."

Your fingers instinctively fumble across the control board, searching for the right switch-off button. You could find it with your eyes closed by now. Pressing keys, talking into the mic, messing with the knobs. Saying 'hi' to Piltover Collage over the speakers has become your thing. Your second nature.

The speakers crackle. Something they like to always do at the start and at the end of your broadcasts. It must have been the dust.

The corridors have been silent until you found this place. Or actually refound it.

Scratchy, faint buzz reminds you that you're sitting in the most neglected corner of campus. No surprise there. Studio, as you like to call it, is buried in a forgotten wing of media and communication building, right across unused bathrooms. No official sign. Just a fading, handwritten 'ON-AIR' note, barely clinging to the door.

Decades ago, it was probably a sound lab. Hard to say. When you first found the place it looked more like a junk closet. Two mismatched tables from the biology wing, washed-out walls and the light above your head that flickers every time you press the wrong button. If not for a half-working mic and a scratched-up control board, you wouldn't have looked twice.

It's definitely not glamorous.

The administration clearly had shinier priorities. Like the state-of-the-art hockey rink built two years ago, after completely the team's championship win. That's where the budget goes now.

You don't mind your barely-functioning place.

Moreover, Piltover doesn't even offer courses on radio, wave signals, or broadcasting. At least, not anymore. It's not like you'd be interested.

Your chair squeaks as you swivel to grab your bag from the floor.

Nobody had really considered starting a college radio station since the '80s, or that's what you figured. And honestly, you keep your broadcasts so random, it barely counts as official anyway.

Especially when every broadcast means slipping out of your safe space, hoping not to get caught by a lost freshman. Your phone screen reads 11:37. Seven minutes total. Maybe three of you rambling and around four for the tracks you queued up. Just enough time to pack up and disappear back into more civilized part of the media wing before anyone realizes you were gone.

Not a hard task, really.

The journalism section's never that crowded during breaks unless there's free coffee on Fridays or a looming deadline.

You stepped out of the booth and into the hallway, greeted by the sound of echoing footsteps. The corridors were empty, but you could still hear voices around the corner.

I was hoping she'd play that song from last Monday again. I've been trying to find the title everywhere.

This year's championships is ours, obviously. Too bad, it's just women's hockey, right?

Who's the radio girl, though...

You flinch at the last one, your legs suddenly rushing towards your class. The sound of soft clicks welcomes you. When you reach your desk, your friend don't even look up.

"You've vanished again."

You roll your eyes and then collapse into your chair. "I'm allowed to take a break, Ekko. It's practically written in the student handbook. And the constitution."

"But you missed the broadcast again, like... do you even care about our campus life?" He rests his chin on his hand. "Or your head will be buried in your books for the rest of your life?"

"I don't mind." You started your computer.

"That's unhealthy."

"It's just I got stuck in the coffee line. Took forever, so I came back." You gave him a shrug.

"Okay, forgivable." He nods to himself. "So... you've heard it? The broadcast, I mean. It was kind of cool, she mentioned about the hockey team. The whole canteen went nuts."

"Yeah? Good I wasn't there then." You click your mouse, opening a black doc for the day's assignments. "All that scream gives me headache."

"Seems like socializing does the same thing to you." Ekko says, turning back to his screen with a proud smirk.

You hum noncommittally.

"She said something about Vi, like she's got anger issues, but dressed it up so well it almost sounded like a compliment. You think she's actually that aggressive?"

You tilt your head slightly. "I think you just dramatically paraphrased whatever was actually said."

Ekko snorts, but says nothing. He dives straight into a list of new assignments.

"Three thousand words to write about a freaking book club. That's a joke, right?" He groans, dragging both hands down his face when he opens his task for today. "Heimerdinger's lost it. I swear, I'm gonna quit and switch to the arts major. They've got a graffiti course. That's literally my thing."

You pause mid-type. You belonged to that book club for a whole year.

"Since when?" You ask flatly, fingers clicking the keys without typing anything useful yet. "Since you sprayed 'eat the syllabus' on Heimerdinger's office door?"

"No," Ekko scoffs, leaning back in his chair until it squeaks. "Since, like... forever? I could be doing something that's actually creative, y'know? Writing columns about tea-sipping freaks arguing over plot twists makes me sick."

You scroll down your folders, searching for a decent template. "And journaling isn't creative now?"

"You just rephrase what someone else said. It gets even worse when they make you copy it word for word. Like some dumb parrots."

"If you're doing it wrong, sure," you mutter, clicking into one of the cleaner templates. Your eyes skim the options. "Minimalistic layout or over-the-top layout? Can't decide."

"You see? Even you're recycling your old stuff. It’s all repetitive. We're just parrots in a zoo, mimicking echoes of things that already happened. In zoo they feed them for free, at least."

"Well, since you're so creative, maybe you can help me design the layout for this month's paper." You turn your screen towards his face. "And, just for the record, those templates are obligatory."

"Fine. Move over," he rolls on his chair to your desk and peers at the screen. A blink. "That's it? A blank page? You do realize I can't level up a layout if there's nothing to level up, right?"

"It's kind of intuitive," you mutter, already clicking around. "I was busy."

Ekko raises an eyebrow. "Busy doing what? Reorganizing your folders by date and theme again? You already did that last week. Twice. You gonna get allergic to fun and people one day. Breathe a little, geez."

You want to hit him with a glare, but the empty document practically screams at you.

And it is definitely your fault.

You'd spent half the night buried in your broadcast notes again. Told yourself you'd only pick a playlist, maybe write down a few lines. Instead, hours vanished.

You still remember your first night in the booth. Voice shaking. Fingers hovering over the controls like the wrong button might set off a fire alarm.

Back then, you'd had enough of silence. Enough of switching campuses, trying to fit where you don't. Every school near home worshipped sports, like talent only counted if you wear a jersey.

And you weren't that.

You were lonely and broadcasting gave you a sense of escape. The only way to reach people without having to look them straight into their eyes.

No face. Just your voice.

Ekko was a different story. Loud, annoying, intrusive. But safe. It took time to let him in. But somehow, he got there. Not many do.

His shoulders slumps. "Just... let's start with that your soulless template. We don't have much time to make this art."

"While balancing this and mid-terms in two weeks. We don't." You say bitterly.

"Shit. They're already here?"

"That's what I said."

"I'll pass. You'll help me.'

'You're delusional,' you laugh, eyes flicking across the screen.

"Nope. I'm strategic. Besides, you're the only person the profs believe will pass."

"You could be that person too, you know. All it takes is sitting on your ass and cracking a book open." You shake your head.

Ekko shrugs. "That's your talent. I have other gifts. Like... avoiding Heimerdinger during breaks." He glances around the room. "Speaking of-have you seen Ellie?"

The chair creaks beneath Ekko as he spun around, scanning almost empty class.

You don't bother looking up from your screen, the glow of the monitor reflecting faintly in your eyes. "No. I mind my own business. You should too."

Ekko rolls his eyes, dropping his voice low. "Strange, though. We're supposed to finish the sports section, and she's been MIA since last Monday."

You keep your fingers poised above the keyboard, distracted by the subtle misalignment of the title on your page. "And I have to finish the layout, so… we're both hitting hard rock bottom. Sport column is not my concern right now."

"Eh," Ekko says, leaning back and brushing a stray braid behind his ear. "You sure about that?"

You finally glance up with a tight frown. "Yeah. Why?"

His gaze is fixed on something over your shoulder.

"Because," his voice drops even lower, "Mr. Heimerdinger is coming right at us with the blue file."

Blue file. Your gut twists.

The words echo in your head like a bad omen. Blue file. You feel a cold prickling down your spine.

God no.

You try to look busy, fingers tapping feverishly on the keyboard, pretending to be absorbed in your work, maybe even switch places with Ekko. But it is useless. He's already slouched back into his chair, eyes darting away, unwilling to meet yours as Mr. Heimerdinger's steps grew louder, bouncing in the small class.

"You filthy traitor," you hiss at him, a lump already forming in your throat.

"(Y/N)?"

You jolt, twisting your chair with a forced smile stapled on your face. "Yes, Mr. Heimerdinger?"

He's standing right in front of you, blue folder clutched in his hands. Even if you're sitting his not much taller than your. But his gaze full of expectation makes you feel small. You already hate this.

"I must say, this semester we find ourselves in a bit of a bind," he begins carefully, almost diplomatically. "I know the mid-terms are creeping up for al of you and this class is, of course, half-exceptional, but I do hope you're still taking the course seriously. Recommendation season is no joke."

You must go visibly pale, because your professor immediately places a hand on your shoulder. "I reviewed your last submission. Flawless editing. There wasn't a single correction needed." He smiles. "So far as I'm concerned, your section is done, and with your standards of work, I believe you're more capable of stepping in."

Your mouth opens.

"Stepping in?"

"For Ellie." He confirms. "We need someone to take over sport coverage for this month's issue."

From your right, you hear a very unsubtle snort.

"Oh-uh-can't we just wait for Ellie?" You scramble. "I mean, she's probably got all her notes. Maybe just couldn't format things yet. We could just... compile what she has?"

Mr. Heimerdinger shake his head slowly. "I'd rather not. It's highly unprofessional to abandon assigned work. At this stage, we need someone who follows through."

"But I still have to take care of the layout." You try to fight back with arguments.

"Don't worry. I've already thought about it. Ekko can handle the layout. He's got an artistic eye."

Your friend shrinks.

You blink twice emptily.

"I know this isn't ideal," the professor continues gently, "but I believe in you. This is an opportunity to grow, to step out of your comfort zone. I'd be more willing to recommend you if that'll motivate you just enough."

You stare at the blue file. Hockey section material. Leftovers from Ellie's work.

"With all due respect, professor," you said, voice barely steady, "I don't know anything about interviewing. Especially not the athletes. I can do anything else, really. Just not... this."

A brief smile flickered on his lips. "That's exactly why I picked you. You're sharp behind the desk, I know it, but I noticed you tend to stay in one place. This is your chance to break out. To do something new."

You swallow again, your heartbeat thundering in your ears, your hands clammy on the desk. The quiet safety of the booth is slipping away.

But Mr. Heimerdinger's expectant eyes hold yours, and something in them tells you this isn't a request.

You take from him the blue file like some kind of disease.

"Just do the interview for now. I hope miss Ellie will come back to us next week. Either way, I'm sure you won't disappoint."

You nod reluctantly. When he's few steps away, Ekko can't help yourself and says:

"Guess you're finally getting into sport journalism, huh?"

Fuck. Me.

You've texted Ellie countless times last night, practically spamming her inbox with panic-soaked messages, but she seemed to either be really sick or simply blind.

you: hi ellie, when do you plan to come back? you: I cover for your sport table you: do you have any advice or materials? you: its important you: text me back pls you: hope you recover fast

You weren't mad. It wasn't anger that kept your fingers twitching over the screen yesterday, rather your unfiltered, rising panic which took the whole space.

Not till today's morning. That's when you saw red.

No reply.

Just the awful, empty notification.

Read. 11:42 PM.

Ellie has seen everything and left you on a freaking read.

You stare at the screen for a long time, thumbs still curled around the phone. Part of you believe you're going to see the three dots popping up, but no. She's been inactive since yesterday.

You press your phone to your forehead, hit it three times and let out a soundless groan.

That's when you know. Time to say bye-bye to your recommendation list. Seed of hope Heimendinger waved in front of your nose gone.

Now, you are someone who couldn't even fake an interview for the school column.

The blue file lies innocently on your desk, its laminated tab gleaming under the light, supposed to be your pass to an easier life. Without scholarship, you had to fight only with your grades, but it would be way harder to compete, even if you're a nerd always at the top of your class.

To hell with muscles and jerseys.

You take a deep breath, shove it your bag with more force than necessary. Then you grab your coat and throw it on over your fuzzy, creamy cardigan. You don't bother with breakfast. You barely remember to lock your room.

You just go with resignation paper in your hands.

"You good?" Ekko slings a casual arm over your neck, as the two of you step into the library, the heavy doors creaking shut behind you.

You sigh, your shoulder already slumping as you lead your way to your usual table near the back, next to the window, with your friend following you behind.

"Do I look good, Ekko?" A snarky, muttered comment escapes your lips.

You drop your bag beside the chair with a dramatic thud.

"That's why I'm asking," he rolls his eyes and makes himself comfortable on a puff chair, the only reason he agrees to follow you between regals full of books. "Is this that interview thing?"

You unpack your textbooks and place them on the small, square table, your pens and favorite, cannery highlighter already there.

"If only that," you take your sit and start flipping through your notes, "Ellie completely ghosted me."

"She did?" Ekko squints his eyes, straightens himself up. "Strange, she replied on the group chat yesterday."

"I had nothing to work with, Ekko," you whisper-shout, stopping on a page from last lecture. "Like... nothing. No questions. No context. I've never even seen a full hockey match unless we count those fifteen-second reels on Instagram. I thought Ellie would at least save me with some kind of PDF or a cheat sheet before deciding to disappear."

You knew nothing about hockey and you only watched some shortcuts just for the case of your broadcasts to make people listen to you closely because it seems it all they care about.

You don't get goose bombs when you talk about the team. You have to talk about them. To keep Piltover interested. To get satisfaction from not only being the best one in courses.

He raises a brow. "Weren't you supposed to, like... find something to work with? On your own?"

You groan, leaning back on your chair. Your eyes drift to the high, white ceiling of the library. "Technically, yes. But then, I figured I'd get a head start by working with whatever materials Ellie had. I did really think about doing this whole shit. I mean, I need this scholarship and maybe it's my only chance to bag a place here since the whole school seems to be obsessed with sports, but I can't do this."

"Well, that was unwise." He huffs unimpressed.

You scoff. "Giving me this task was unwise. Like, why me? I have zero communicative skills. My charisma walks backwards. I don't even make an eye contact with a librarian or a guy from gas station."

Ekko lets out a quite laugh. "You are literally studying media and communication study. You're talking to me. Right now. In full sentences. You're opening your mouth and the words just flow. Some of them even make sense."

"That's way different." You shake your head, looking back at the pages sprawled before you, trying ot read the first paragraph. "I can't even focus." You push away your things and fold your arms. "He could have just given me anything else. Just not the hockey team."

"It's a sport table. You could do something different than this."

"We both know it has to be hockey." You purse your lips. "They buy our issues mainly because of this column. It funds the entire student paper."

"Make something up then, or at least try. It can't be that hard." He shifts in his sit. "I managed to pull off a piece with just the variations of 'we like books'. I'm sure, the hockey team will be all about loving pucks or something."

You blink.

"You really think I could pull this off?"

"Sure. Just smile, ask deep stuff, nod like you know what you're doing and boom. Journalism in a nutshell."

"I could borrow the clipboard." You say after a moment of hesitation.

"Totally. Clipboard is like half of the job. You would look professional."

Or just use it to cover yourself up.

"Yeah, still not doing it."

"Too bad. Because I've already pulled some strings."

You freeze.

"What do you mean you "pulled some strings?"

Ekko seems to be unbothered by your expression. "I've booked you an interview with hockey team, no need to thank me."

"You did what?" The words barely escapes your lips.

"I mean, not officially booked-booked," he offers, palms raised. "More like... I asked a friend who asked a friend, and now the coach knows. He's cool with it, said it's up to the team. So... you're kind expected."

You stare at him. You can feel the heat crawling up your neck. "Why-why would I thank you? I already gave the blue file to Heimerdinger this morning! I-" You cut yourself off, breath shallow. "I resigned."

"You did what?" He repeats the same line after you.

"Yeah. Guess we both had little secrets, huh?" Bitterness stings your tongue. "Like, how do you even know the hockey coach?"

"That's not really important." His grins becomes more sheepish. "Just-just calm down, you'll be fine. Bookworms from that club would ramble for hours if I didn't stop them. I'm sure the athletes are so fixed on their thing, they'll do the same. Maybe you won't even have to ask, they'll tak you to death. You'll get that recorded and voilà."

You groan, burying your face in your folded arms, your head hitting the table. "You better be right. If I survive this, I'm going to kill you."

"Not if you get that recommendation," he taps you with your highlighter. "Then, you'll owe me. Big time. And I mean it. I was begging on my knees yesterday."

"In front of who?" You peak up your head.

"Doesn't matter," he mutters.

"And when exactly am I supposed to do this?" You ask with a flicker of hope in your chest. "Next week or something?"

"Uh... A little bit closer than a week. Like, today?"

“Today?!”

"Couldn't negotiate. They have practice today," he say with a helpless shrug. "Plus, this whole thing ties into your scholarship, remember? Now or never." Ekko leans down next to you. "Listen, I've got a plan, alright? You go do the introductory interview and I'll sneak into Heimerdinger's office and pull your resignation letter before he sees it. And the blue file."

You bite on your inner cheek, a nervous tic you never quite grew out of.

"I do really owe you, right?" You murmur, not really meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, about that..." Ekko taps his phone screen, then pockets it. "I'll text you later. I might need your smart brain for something."

"Sure." You say, almost automatically. "Anything." You nod slowly, your voice quite now, heavy with a dread-soaked gratitude as you watch him rise from his puff.

"Don't worry, (Y/N)," he says with a smile, hanging his backpack over one shoulder. "It's just till Ellie comes back."

Yeah, till she comes back.

As Ekko strolls off, you start gathering your scattered things. The weight of the task still mocking you.

You pause, glancing towards the library window.

And then you hear it.

Laughter. Loud, unbothered. A sudden clash of sticks.

The hockey team.

You spot them just past the main entrance, occupying space with ease.

And then her. Vi. The captain.

She twirls her hockey stick like it's an extension of her own spine. Her shoulder are squared, posture effortlessly confident.

A teammate bumps into her from the side, playful, a little too rough, but she doesn't even flinch. Just throws a smirk over her shoulder and continues walking like nothing just touched her.

Your throat tightens. Uncertainty knocks on your door again.

No file. No questions. No Ellie.

And your nerdy, overthinking brain already knows how it ends.

She's gonna eat you alive.

note from Emi: Hey loves 💌 I just wanted to say - wow. You've completely blown me away with all the feedback on this fic. I wasn't prepared for how much love this idea would get, and honestly, my heart is do full 🥹❤️ I'm beyond excited to keep building this world with you. The hype for hockey captain Vi? Get it, she's dangerously hot. Trust me, ugh. Thank you for reading this. I hope this chapter keeps you hooked. Take care 🥰

taglist: @sycamore55, @baylegend6, @summerwriting, @tsujifreya, @sevikas-whore, @jnksvelvet, @eriiwaiii2, @wooziil, @bluminescent-moon, @thxtmarvelchick, @klallx @freakyjorker @lqqkis, @chellecunttt, @cottagegirlworld-blog, @sapphicscripts

[ddejavvu]

You and Me, as One - Hiccup Haddock x Reader (Part Two) | SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III isn’t the burliest, hairiest, or the best with an axe in his tribe. But he is the viking who can tame any dragon with only a flash of his palm. Until now. When he stumbles upon an unfamiliar dragon off the far coast of Berk, she doesn’t play nicely with his offering of friendship. Neither does the dragon’s rider, who has just as fierce a snarl. The feral pair present an enticing mystery to Hiccup, but neither the dragon nor the human show any interest in getting close. Can he make friends, or are there corners of the world his optimism can’t brighten?

Contents/Warnings: afab!fem!reader, mentions of past torture/captivity, trauma, mention of physical scars/injuries, The Light Fury (light fury haters this one's not for you sorry)

WC: 4.0K / navigation / inbox / ddejavvu's summer of series

A/N: I'm sorry for the long wait between chapters one and two!! updates should be much more consistent after this. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think of the story so far!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Hiccup and Toothless set out at first light, aiming to beat any suspicion from the residents of Berk. They do frequent patrols, so it wouldn't look out of place for him to be soaring over the island, but with a secret this big, Hiccup is intent on keeping it private. At least until he can figure out why you’re there, and where you’ve come from. Outsiders are- few and far between on Berk, but most of them end up being murderous, so Hiccup wants to curb that instinct of yours before introducing you to the village.

Despite the disappointment of yesterday, enthusiasm rises in both of their chests, so that when they land on the cliff where you’d nearly gutted Hiccup just yesterday, both boys are nearly trembling with excitement. Toothless is ruffling his wings and bobbing his head up and down, desperate to catch a glimpse of the white dragon, and Hiccup casts a cursory glance into the trees above him, intent on finding you before you find him.

“Careful bud. Like we talked about. We’ve gotta get them separated. I think we should try the woman first.”

Toothless snorts at him, momentarily discouraged.

“I know you want to see the dragon.” Hiccup soothes him with a stroke of his palm over the dragon’s head between his eyes, “But she wants to kill us both. And she’s tried. Twice. At least I can talk to the woman- she seems to understand even if she won’t talk to me, and she can’t shoot plasma at us, which is definitely a plus.”

Toothless lets out a low, grumbly warble, something distinctly upset, but doesn’t shove Hiccup into the grass, which is a good sign.

“Okay. Food.” Hiccup opens the satchel he’d brought with him, slung over one shoulder and resting against his hip, “I brought- bread,” He shows the fresh-baked, still warm loaf to Toothless, who eyes it curiously, “-and some jam to go with it. Fish jerky, because it’ll last longer than fresh-caught fish, and some berries so that she doesn’t have to pick her own. I’m pretty sure, like, half of the ones that grow around here are poisonous.”

Toothless, who had busied himself just two days ago by munching on the wild ones he’d found while exploring the island, looks distinctly alarmed at this information.

“Hopefully she likes it,” Hiccup sighs, anxious as he drags a hand through his hair and stares out over the clearing below, “Do you see either of them, bud?”

Toothless’s enhanced, draconic senses aren’t enough to save the day. The dragon is just as lost as his rider is, and they settle into the grass towards the edge of the cliff to wait for either of you to show yourselves.

“We might not ever find them.” Hiccup realizes, dismayed, “We might have scared them off, or they might be hiding because they knew we’d come back. We might not make contact today, bud.”

Toothless warbles sadly and nudges his face into Hiccup’s belly, begging for a reassuring scratch beneath the chin. Hiccup grants him one, sighing as he stares out over the empty grass.

“And now we wait.” Hiccup declares, pushing the satchel away from Toothless’s wide snout, “Don’t even think about eating that jerky.”

--

Waking comes with a rush of pain, like it always does. Being kept in such a small space for so long, crammed beside a dragon five times your size has certainly changed your body, given you muscle pains and creaky bones. No matter how much it hurts to sleep bundled up each night, you tuck yourself beneath her wing because you know she’ll protect you if need be. Waking first means that you’re on guard duty now, and you slip out from beneath her white, shimmering wing to peer blearily at your surroundings.

No iron bars, which is nice.

Each day of freedom feels like an anomaly. Like a dream, like something that’s going to melt away and reveal itself as a psychotic episode. But the dirt feels real beneath your feet, and the grass too, once you edge your way out from beneath the rock protruding above you, and soak up the sun on your skin.

Water is sometimes a hard thing to come by on the run, because most of it is either salt or still. Ponds build bacteria and ocean water dehydrates you, but there’s a brook that runs through one side of this clearing that filters away all of the sediment from the water and gives you something to cup your hands in. You do so with a wince at your dry throat, and you scrub off any dirt from your face with the clear liquid, too. You’re keeping yourself as clean as possible because you have the privilege to now, but you’re sure you still smell like a fresh-caught fish, or something worse.

--

“There, bud.” Hiccup elbows Toothless to wake the drowsy dragon, pointing towards a stream down the side of the clearing that you’re kneeling at, scrubbing your face with the fresh water, “She came from over there.”

What Hiccup had thought was just another cliff face must be hollowed underneath, because you disappear beneath it after you’re done washing yourself. Hiccup can’t see much from their spot atop the cliffs, but he catches the shine of a white dragon’s tail and Toothless perks up at the sight.

“Okay, we know where they sleep.” Hiccup whispers, trying not to make any sound that either of you could pick up on, “Let’s move that way. Not closer, just- just enough to see them.”

He and Toothless creep through the shrubbery above you, settling themselves down in a thicket of berry bushes to avoid being seen.

“These ones are poisonous.” Hiccup mutters to Toothless, who plops his head onto his paws with a world-weary sigh.

From this angle they can see you clearer. Not perfectly, because the rock that hangs over your shelter still obscures your face from view. But he can see your legs, your hands, and her tail, which are all working together. Your fingers scratch and scrape at the scales on her tail, and they shed onto the scarred skin of your legs that she’s resting on. You’re grooming her, and Hiccup lets himself get lost in the image.

He wishes he could see your face. Your touches are tender, but rough enough to scrape the old scales off and reveal the softer, more tender ones underneath. The white dragon could be doing this herself, either with her talons or with her teeth, or by dragging her tail against a rock, but you’re letting her drape her tail into your lap and you’re doing it for her, delicately peeling away old itchy scales. He’s done the same favor for Toothless countless times, and he wonders if you keep any especially pretty scales like he does.

When you’ve grazed your fingernails over every scale on her tail she snakes it out of your lap, and Hiccup can finally see all of her as she burrows her face against your legs in thanks. Her face is rounder and smaller than Toothless’s, and he feels an involuntary grin ghost over his face as she snarls at you, gumming at your calf to get you to play with her.

Retractable teeth-! Another similarity, Hiccup realizes. He pulls out his journal, scribbling it beside a drawing of her he’d done last night. He keeps it out, charcoal laying limp in his hand as he watches you rise to her bait.

You push hard at her head clamped over your leg but it’s no use- she’s stronger than you. All you manage to do is tumble forwards yourself, and she takes the advantage of size by plopping herself on top of your back, pinning you face-down in the grass. You yelp and kick your feet out, your voice once again gravelly and reminiscent of a dragon’s call, but she takes to gnawing on your bicep instead of setting you free. You try shaking it out of her grip but you have almost no leverage- not from the way you’re cemented beneath her into the ground. She only lets you go to snort hot air into the space between your shoulder blades, and drag her snout down your back.

Hiccup’s drawing without thinking, something innate fueling the sketchy lines he’s mapping out on the page as his eyes flick from you to his journal. He’s drawing so vigorously that the charcoal scratches noisily on the paper, barely able to keep up with his eager hands. By the time he’s got body parts clearly detailed he glances up and realizes he’s lost you again, as the dragon has wandered away to drink from the stream and you’re nowhere to be found. Something jumps in his chest at that- fear, maybe - and Toothless doesn’t seem to know where you’ve gone either.

“We’re bad at this, bud.” Hiccup glances sideways at Toothless, “Where’d she go?”

He barely has time to get the question into the air before he’s pounced on, heavy bones and toned muscles knocking into him from behind and pinning him face-first into the dirt beneath him. For the second time in twenty-four hours Hiccup finds himself rendered completely useless beneath you, much the same as you’d been beneath the pearly-white dragon only moments ago.

“Ow! Ow, don’t- I’m not here to hurt you!” He yelps, and Toothless is again unsure of what to do. He knows Hiccup wants to make friends with you, as he wants to make friends with your companion. But that’s his rider you’ve got beneath you, his best friend, and he doesn’t like the way you’re shoving Hiccup’s face into the dirt, nor the way you’ve got his hands bent painfully behind his back.

This culminates in a low snarl, not an attack but a warning.

“Toothless,” Hiccup gasps, the air knocked from his lungs as he tries catching a glimpse of the dragon at his side, “Toothless, no. Stop. Back off.”

The dragon’s growl peters into a series of concerned rumbles, and he takes off pacing back and forth over the grassy cliffside, anxious.

“We’re not here to hurt you.” Hiccup repeats, as best he can with his nose in the dirt, “We brought you food.”

You don’t respond, but you do lift his face out of the dirt without taking the pressure of your knee off the point between his shoulder blades. It means his neck is craned uncomfortably, close to snapping, and he moans as his muscles are pulled taut.

“Ow! Ah- it’s- it’s in the bag! There,” He points as best he can, trying to move his shoulders as much as he can despite your weight resting on them, “Toothless, my satchel.”

The dragon rushes to shove it forwards, and a jar of preserves rolls out at the nudge of his nose.

You study it with a skeptical expression, and at another pained whimper from Hiccup, you let go of the sides of his head. He lays it back down in the dirt, strangely relieved to be sticking his nose in the ground. When you touch his head again it’s to turn it, and he lets you press his cheek into the grass so that you can stare into his eyes.

“Hi,” He supplies lamely, breath tight in his chest, “Can I get up? I swear we won’t hurt you.”

Toothless ruffles his wings nervously, crooning plaintively as if it’ll convince you to free his rider. Your companion is alerted to their presence now, sensitive ears having picked up the scuffle, and she’s poised to fly, ready to help if need be. She’s clearly still skittish around newcomers, but she must have faith in your fighting skills if she hasn’t jumped in yet. Not reassuring to Hiccup, who’s laying limp in the grass.

“It’s fresh bread.” Hiccup continues, keeping his voice soothing and low, “And jelly, and jerky, and berries. I can imagine fish gets old after a while."

He’s attempting to calm you with the sound of his voice, but what catches your attention is his journal, sprawled out to a random page as it had been tossed aside in your scuffle. It’s a sketch of Stormfly, turned sideways so he could draw out her large, round eye.

A soft, inquisitive coo comes from your throat, something barely audible to Hiccup whose ear is pressed flat into grass.

“My- my journal? Here,” He wriggles an arm, trying to free it, “I’ll show you. Let me go, I’ll show you.”

You pinch his wrists tighter, clearly unwilling to let your prey go. But perhaps something about staring down a muscled night fury makes you reconsider your actions, even if your own lethal dragon is waiting for your cue. You let Hiccup’s wrists go, and leap back to sit back on his legs so that he can reach for the journal. When he shifts his legs you scramble off of them, standing ready to bolt into the surrounding trees. But you watch warily as he crawls to his feet, Toothless eager to help him off of the ground. He scruffs at the dragon’s neck and plucks his journal and charcoal from the grass, brandishing both to show you.

“Look, see? I draw dragons,” He explains, but your eyes dart to his charcoal stick, the tip fine-tuned into a point from the amount of shading he’d done on your page.

You look at it like it’s a spear, because it probably seems like one to you, and you decide your time is up. You dart backwards, turning and twisting yourself up into a tree so fast that Hiccup blinks and you’re gone.

“No, wait!” He chucks the charcoal behind him, “No, come back, I won't hurt you!” But you’re gone, swinging from branches until you reach a tall enough one to jump from. You dive straight off the edge of the cliff, and Hiccup feels his heart drop to his stomach until the white dragon soars to meet you midway, and you land squarely on her back in mid-air. As soon as she’s caught you she flees, beelining for the far side of the island, even further from Berk.

Hiccup and Toothless watch side-by-side, helpless as you disappear into the foggy mountains. Hiccup's shoulders slouch as he realizes he’s botched two chances in a row.

“It’s… okay, bud. We’ll come back.” Hiccup smooths a hand over one of Toothless’s ears, taking it in his fist and tugging gently, “Let’s go down there and leave them their food.”

Toothless grumbles agreeably, albeit morosely, and as soon as Hiccup gathers his things, they’re gliding down from the clifftop to the shelter that you’d found beneath the bedrock. It’s rudimentary at best, littered with seared patches of ground and ashes that used to be twigs. There’s fishbones scattered around and a patch of grass that’s flatter than the rest, which he assumes is where you’ve been sleeping. You’ve been living with nothing, no water bucket, no food reserves, no blankets. Nothing but grass and dirt, and whatever you can fish.

Hiccup gathers the food he’d brought you, hesitating before keeping the knife he’d brought for the preserves in his satchel. He won’t bring it next time- he doesn’t want to spook you again, but he doesn’t think giving it to you would be smart either. He sets everything neatly wrapped and concealed in one of the back corners of your little cave, and, on second thought, reaches for his journal.

He takes the sketch he’d done of you and your dragon- messy, rushed, unrefined but recognizable, and rips it from the bindings. Toothless tilts his head sideways as Hiccup sets it in the grass, pinned beneath a corner of the loaf of bread so it doesn’t blow away.

“There.” He hums, stepping back and leaning against Toothless’s neck, “Do you think they’ll come back?”

--

That’s the question that weighs so heavily on Hiccup for the entirety of his journey back to work that Fishlegs notices something is wrong. He’s one of the more emotionally intelligent members of their group, but often distracted by something, so when he asks Hiccup what’s bothering him, the man knows he has no choice but to tell the truth.

“There’s a new species of dragon in the woods.”

Fishlegs’s eyes glow, “Really? What class? Are they venomous? Or- or fire-breathing? Or do they bash things in with their tails?”

“Fishlegs.” Hiccup cuts him off, “It’s- one dragon. Just one. And… she looks a lot like Toothless.”

“Another night fury,” Fishlegs breathes, “A mate for Toothless!”

“Fishlegs” Hiccup repeats, slowing the man’s excited bouncing, “I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. Not even the other riders.”

Fishlegs frowns, “You know I’m not good at keeping secrets.”

“Fishlegs. This is important.” Hiccup meets his friend’s eyes with a steely gaze, “Promise me. They’re skittish, and the last thing we need is someone rushing in there and scaring them off.”

“Them?” Fishlegs asks, and Hiccup inhales deeply.

“There’s a woman there, too. With the dragon. And she’s- aggressive. She acts like a dragon. I think they ran away from someone. Something. She thinks I’m trying to kill her.”

“Another dragon rider.” Fishlegs realizes, “But she’s running from something. Hiccup, do you realize what this means?”

“That we’re going to have to keep this a secret from my dad until we can calm them down?”

“What? No. It means whatever they’re running from is going to chase them here. To Berk.”

Hiccup actually hadn’t considered that. But having seen the scars littering your skin, the primal fear ingrained into your behavior, and the clear desperation you possess just to survive, Hiccup knows he can’t stand by and let whatever you’re running from find you.

“You’re right. We have to help them.” He decides, “Not just let them live here, we have to finish whatever fight they’re in.”

“That’s-! Not what I meant,” Fishlegs’ shoulders sag, his expression nervous, “But- um, I guess you’re the future Chief. Just- don’t let anything bad happen to Berk?”

“You know I’d never do that,” Hiccup’s determined expression deepens, “Tomorrow, Toothless and I are going back to find them. The woman doesn’t talk, but- but I’ll talk to her. I’ll figure out how to get her to Berk and I’ll find out what she’s running from. Then we can help her finish it, once and for all. So they can stop living in fear. And you,” Hiccup glares at Fishlegs sternly, “Are going to keep your mouth shut.”

Fishlegs nods vigorously, “Okay, but- but if Astrid threatens me, I might crack! You know how scary she can be, Hiccup.”

“She’s bluffing.” Hiccup vows, “Trust me, if she weren’t I wouldn’t have any limbs left. Stay strong, Fishlegs.”

“Don’t let her find me!” The man begs, but Hiccup and Toothless are already making their way homeward, leaving the nervous man behind.

--

After hours of hearing nothing but silence from your temporary shelter, and peering over the cliffside to ensure there’s no intruder skulking around, you finally decide it’s safe to go home. She flies you down to the cavern you’ve taken residence in, but her nose scrunches as she snarls at a pile of things in one corner that weren’t there before. You’re sure they reek of the man and his dragon, and you crouch before them to inspect his parting gifts.

It’s food. Not the kind of food you were granted in the cage, on the boat, but real food, the kind you’d made for yourself before you’d been taken. The kind of food they’d all enjoyed around you, rubbing it in your faces that moldy bread and raw fish were your only options. This bread looks fresh, and the berries beside it look enticing. 

She moves past her hatred for the man and his dragon in favor of sniffing at the fish, but before she can snap it up you grab her chin and shove her face away.

She huffs at you, irritated, but you give the food a wide berth. Grimmel's finally found you. You’re being hunted, you’re sure of it, and to accept any food from the man he’d sent as bait-? That would be downright foolish. You’re not going to indulge in freshly-baked bread and dried fish just to wake up on the ocean again, trapped behind iron bars.

You kick the food out towards the mouth of the cave, but something stays behind, and you peer down at the paper that rustles in the cool night wind.

It’s a drawing. Not the dragon you’d seen earlier, the nadder with a spiked crown of horns and a large, inquisitive eye. No, this is a drawing of her, and you glance at the figure her tail is draped over only to realize it’s you.

He’d sketched the two of you, your messily-drawn fingers plucking scales off of her tail. Your stomach churns at the knowledge that he’d been watching you- he’d been there and you hadn’t even noticed, but you admire the way he’s caught her beauty in her sweet, curved face, and her delicate tail fins.

She’s really a gorgeous dragon, and even if he’s hunting her for a bounty, it’s nice to know she’s appreciated.

You wonder if he grooms his dragon. You wonder if he scratches at the dragon’s itchy underbelly, if he helps whack stubborn bugs out of the gaps between the night fury’s scutes. You can’t fathom why someone with a night fury- with something to lose - is helping Grimmel, but you know this is the last one Grimmel’s after. The black dragon is the last of a dying breed, and you’re all three being hunted in equal measure. 

The dragon seems to trust him. They seem close, in-sync, and they move together the way you move with her. If you didn’t know they were working with him, you’d have mistaken them for friends. But when Grimmel gets you he’s going to take the night fury too- he’s trading his dragon’s life for a sack of gold. How can you abuse the loyalty of someone who trusts you- does his dragon know he’s marked for death? Does the night fury know his rider has sold him out? You have half a mind to free the beast, but you’d have to kill the man to do it, and you’re sure it would give Grimmel a reason to kill you, too.

But perhaps dying would be better than living if it’s Grimmel you’re talking about.

You wonder if the man knows he’s signed a deal with the devil. Surely Grimmel had offered him money for your capture, but had he mentioned the part of the deal where the night fury would die at his hand? Grimmel likes staying two steps ahead- maybe the man doesn’t even know Grimmel hunts night furies. Maybe Grimmel had played the part of the cheated captain, searching for his mutinous crewmate who had fled with his prized possession.

Maybe the man isn’t a monster. Maybe he is bonded with his dragon, maybe they are truly friends. But he’s working for a monster, and that’s enough. 

Grimmel has always sent her to lure his targets in. He pokes and prods her onto shore, he makes her tempt the lonely into her trap, he makes you think there’s someone or something out there who cares for you- and then he takes it all away. You’d fallen for it once, and you won’t fall for it again.

You fling the drawing towards the food outside of the mouth of the cave. It flutters in the cool night breeze, landing softly atop one of the dried fish- surely poisoned. You try forgetting its compelling lines, the sweetness spread over its surface, and you retreat into the cave to retire for the night. You take solace in her glimmering white wings, letting her spread one over the floor of the cave for you to lie on. Then she drags it towards her chest, rolling you over with it and covering you with the other one. Her steady breathing and beating heart are comfort enough to drift off, and you lament that you’ll have to go back to being on the run now that you know they’ve found you here. The man is hunting you, Grimmel is hunting you, and even if the night fury’s rider doesn’t know the full story, he’s dangerous enough that you need to get out. Tomorrow, at first light, you’ll leave.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[librarygarten]

Saja Boys - General Headcanons

I’m trying to figure out how to write these guys. I’ve been rewatching the film and studying every scene they’re in because we literally have NOTHING about these guys.

Jinu

He gets the fewest headcanons because we know the most about him lol

I know a lot of people like to theorize that he somehow recruited a failing K Pop band from the present day (because of the doctor’s office pictures), but I 1) don’t think any new demons were created after the creation of the Honmoon and 2) think’s it’s way funnier if he recruited four random demons to his boy band

With that last point, I think he was one of the last demons created, as we can see his mom and sister present when the Honmoon was created. This also technically makes him the youngest in the group.

Also, Jinu fully expected to die and never come back when he gave Rumi his soul. It was his first (and last) selfless act.

HOWEVER, I hate that. So, after the movie (maybe a week) Rumi summons her sword and instead of her weapon, Jinu just poofs into existence near her and faceplants onto the ground. Hooray :D

Abby

Look at that face. That is the face of an asshole.

He’s the cockiest of the group members.

Like, some of the other Saja Boys aren’t fans of the way they need to pretend to be K Pop stereotypes, but Abby is 1000% down to be fanservice material. He likes being looked at.

I think his deal with Gwi-Ma had something to do with becoming more attractive. Perhaps in his past life he had insecurities about his looks, so he made the deal to fix those perceived flaws. He DEFINITELY enjoys how he looks now (at least in human form).

As for what Gwi-Ma whispers to him about, I can see it going one of two ways:

Option One: Making himself more conventionally attractive did not actually get rid of Abby’s insecurities. He still dislikes how he looks, but he’s just insecure about different things, particularly the demon marks. He hides his true feelings behind a massive ego

Option Two: He feels lesser for ever being unattractive and Gwi-Ma makes fun of him for being so pathetic as to need demon magic to fix everything that was “wrong”. It’s a massive hit to Abby’s otherwise incredibly large ego.

Personally, I like option one for story reasons, but option two fits his character better.

As for his fate after the movie, he is the only Saja Boy we saw disintegrate away during the battle. He is back in the demon realm, sealed behind the Honmoon.

(LONG theory time): I saw that the directors called making the Honmoon golden “evil” in an interview, as it would be forever trapping demons to suffer despite their capacity to be redeemed. The Golden Honmoon also represented repressing and hiding flaws, when the movie’s whole message was that vulnerability and openness are a good thing, actually. Given this, I think the new Honmoon that Huntr/x made at the end of the movie acts the same as the original blue Honmoon, but stronger. Abby can’t get through it until he undergoes ✨character development✨

I also think he enjoys physical contact, as he is very touchy with the other Saja Boys. It’s not just for the camera.

What WAS just for the camera? Him being shipped with Mira. He liked flustering Mira and Zoey with his abs, but it was just to get in their heads and to feed his own ego.

Romance

Of all the Saja Boys, he is the most on-board with the whole “demon boy band” idea. Besides Jinu, he knows the most about this type of work.

He also has an eye for details, so he helps Jinu keep the other Saja Boys in line and in character (like how during Soda Pop he subtly pulled up Abby’s pants)

I lowkey think that he isn’t actively trying to fulfill a stereotype. Boy is just Like That.

He actually finds Mira attractive, given how he was just full on staring at her during the fan signing. Sure, he could have been trying to fluster her or get in her head, but Mira only seemed mad at him, so if that’s what he was going for he was not very successful.

While I do think he found Mira attractive and would have asked her out if circumstances weren’t what they were, he also falls in love (and out of love) pretty fast. For him, it’s more about the chase, the tension, the will-we-won’t-we. Boy has a long way to go before he’s ready for a committed long-term relationship, and Mira won’t be the one to give it to him.

I think his deal with Gwi-Ma involved some type of lover. Perhaps there was a woman he wanted to pursue, but was unable to due to social status, marital status, or some other barrier. The deal made it so he could court her (extra points if he had to leave behind his partner/someone who was interested in him to do so), but because he’s him, he got bored and left.

Gwi-Ma won’t let Romance forget his habit of leaving people heartbroken after having his fun with them. He does genuinely care about them, and the fact that he keeps doing this to people he loves tears him up inside. He just can’t seem to keep his heart from wandering to the next “conquest”.

In the final battle, Mira pushes him away and then he just doesn’t show up for the rest of the film. I think this means he didn’t get sent back to the demon realm like Abby, so he must have run away when he realized he was not winning against Huntr/x

Mystery

My man. Why do you bark at people?

I think the whole “mysterious” cover was partially forced onto him by the rest of the group because if he was allowed to speak outside of scripted videos, he WOULD blow their cover by biting someone.

I also like the theory that the reason he has those big bangs is because his disguise couldn’t fully hide all his demon traits (and given that the whole two times we see his eyes they’re yellow demon eyes this might just be canon. Yes this would also make Zoey’s “type” slightly demonic don’t @ me). 

Speaking of Zoey, I think Mystery did like her back and enjoyed having her attention, because he smiled at her when she greeted him during the fan signing. He still had a job to do, which is why he attacked her in the final battle, but he was not trying that hard.

That being said, he absolutely does not know how to show affection. Man is awkward as hell (see again: barking at people).

To parallel Zoey’s struggles with being “too much”, I think Mystery is aware that he can be… kind of weird, and he’s a little self conscious about it! Gwi-Ma probably won’t LET him forget how weird he is.

As for his demon deal, I think Mystery was a social outcast and wanted to fit in more. (Him and Jinu are the only two Saja Boys that don’t reek of rich kid energy, so perhaps there was a monetary element to it as well).

Listen to me. LISTEN TO ME. We literally SEE Mystery teleport away from Zoey in the final battle. He’s out there somewhere I SWEAR.

After Jinu’s sacrifice, the camera cuts to Mystery and Baby looking absolutely shocked. I think that moment was them realizing that there was still a chance for them. That’s why Mystery just kind of ran at Zoey and then left. He WANTS to escape Gwi-Ma like Jinu did

On an unrelated note, he also really likes puns. (His one line is "We really feed off your energy"). He thinks the double meaning in Soda Pop's lyrics is hilarious.

Baby

Out of all the Saja Boys, Baby hates the “mission” the most.

He is a fully grown man. He does not want to act like a child. But he needs to so he can appeal to the fans and destroy the Honmoon.

I think Jinu might have just told him to “act like a baby” because we see him suck on water bottles like baby bottles and the only time he speaks is to say “goo goo ga ga”.

He’s the opposite of what his assigned “role” was, which is why bro always looks so pissed. Instead of being a sweet widdle uwu child, he’s sarcastic, scheming, and often stand-offish.

I also think it would be really funny if he was the “oldest” in the group, as in the first of them that was turned into a demon.

Given that a good third of his lyrics are in Korean, him being the oldest also makes sense as he would be the least likely to be open to learning English. He looks down on K Pop artists for incorporating a foreign language into their songs, and hates that he has to copy that

He was probably the most well-off back when he was human, perhaps even being in a position of power somewhere in the government. He was the youngest member of whatever court he was serving in, so he was constantly overlooked and underestimated.

Gwi-Ma promised to make him be taken seriously. To finally move up in the world and get what he “rightfully deserved”. What followed was a series of schemes Baby created to get rid of and undermine everyone in a position above him.

Gwi-Ma whispers to Baby about the innocent victims of his climb to power and mocks him for still not being taken seriously due to his youthful appearance

In the final battle, Baby is last seen reacting to Jinu’s sacrifice, realizing that there is a way out. There is redemption. He doesn’t even try to attack Zoey. He just leaves.

(I saw one person say that you can see Baby running away in the crowd of the stadium, which is just so funny. He can teleport but he chose to sprint.)

[shiningbysapphires]

Pick a Picture: Who is a spirit guide that wants to introduce themself to you today?

Spirit guides are an entity that protect and/or guide individuals in their lives. Some spirit guides are with us since birth and will remain with us for the rest of our lives, other spirit guides will come and go in our lives, but every single person has a spirit guide

Pile 1: Page of Wands and Six of Swords 🦋 Your spirit guide feels very playful and energetic. There is a very youthful energy about them and they feel very fiery in the best ways. It almost feels like their energy is infectious and whenever they hype you up or get excited about something, you feel very energetic because of them. Oddly specific, but it feels like sometimes they make you want to dance along with them. They have an optimistic nature about them, but don’t be fooled by that, they will lay things out pretty straightforward when you talk to them, it will sort of be like “You need to stop this job, you suck at it, buttt at least you have more free time now”, kinda thing. (Sorry it’s a very random example but that’s what popped up into my head. They also seem to have a strong sense of justice and what is right and wrong, they are urging you find power from within  and also channel this sort of energy. I’m seeing that they are introducing themselves to you today because you may be needing a sign to move on. I’m getting that some of you guys may be scared to turn your back against something, however I’m seeing that there so so many better opportunities out there waiting for you and your spirit guide just wants to give you a push in the right direction.

Pile 2: The Wheel of Fortune and the Seven of Swords in Reverse 🦋 Your spirit guide is a go with the flow kind of guide. They feel very flexible and can adapt to different situations you put yourself in.  I’m getting the phrase that they can “weave up words”, so perhaps they may have very poetic and eloquent messages for you, or at least something more complex you have to think about. Yes, I am definitely getting that your spirt guide has multiple layers and is quite complex in character, so it seems like you might take a while to get to know them fully, but the journey is always worth it. It also seems like they are never short on offering a helping hand, I’m getting from spirit. They won’t hesitate to help you out so long you ask them for it. I keep getting that they understand the nature of life and won’t fault you in your flaws/faults, hopefully this is making sense. They are coming forward today to introduce themselves to ask you not to cower away from challenges. It feels like some of you are trying to take shortcuts, but they are saying straight up that it won’t produce the results you want, embrace the challenges of the full journey and you may find something more meaningful in life.

Pile 3: The Hanged Man and the Sun 🦋 Your spirit guide feels very warm and patient. It’s almost giving like a grandparent vibe, which for some of you, they may very well be a grandparent. They seem to be quite insightful, so definitely go to them if you want advice or insight to a situation. They are very understanding with you, they get humans, I’m hearing, they get the flaws and everything they miss, and they are okay to wait for you and aid you on fully grasping all perspectives in situations. I’m suddenly feeling quite tired, so this spirit guide could make you feel really at peace, so much that you get sleepy in their presence, or perhaps you don’t prioritise sleep and they are telling you to. Yeah, overall just feeling a very patient guide. Now, your spirit guide wanted to introduce themself today because it seems like you guys haven’t been feeling as much joy in recent times (check out my reading on how to add more joy in your life, it may help you out). Your spirit guide is trying to change that, and additionally, try to heal your inner child. They just seem very much like grandparents trying to nurture their grandchild.

[identityarchitect]

[ID 1 - 3: A comic of a library worker observing a woman and four kids getting books.

The woman, who looks annoyed throughout the comic, says: "All right, go and pick out TWO books. One fiction and one nonfiction!"

She continues: "if I see a phone in anyone's hand for even a second, I'm taking EVERYONE'S phones!"

The library worker looks concerned and frustrated as the woman continues: "I said one fiction and one nonfiction, you can't take out two nonfiction!"

Then yelling: "No, put that comic book back, go get a real book!"

The woman returns to the counter, where the library worker looks annoyed to see her. The woman says to an off-screen kid, "No, you're taking too long! I'm picking your book for you! I'm signing you up for a book club and you WILL be going!"

Then warmly smiling at the worker, she says "I've been trying to get them to read more, but it's hard, you know, with Fortnite and all."

Annoyed, the worker says "Yeah… Fortnite… that's definitely the problem."

ID4: Four panel comic of a mother and son talking.

Mother: You will play the violin! Son: But I like to draw. Mother: No buts! Mom knows best what you need. The son looks upset.

18 years later

The son sits at a computer desk with his mother behind him.

Mother: No job! No hobbies! Why are you so passive!

ID5: Two-panel comic of a young person talking to their mother.

Person: I'm feeling depressed lately… Mother: Oh don't be silly. You have everything in the world going for you.

A week later, the two are in the car. The person grumpily stares out the window as their mother says "How come you don't tell me anything?"

ID6: Stock image of a book open to the middle, with the pages folded in to make little ice cream cone shapes.

ID7: "The Rights of the Reader", a list of rights accompanied by illustrations.

The right not to read, with three people on a sofa reading while one, laying across them, tinkers with a miniature train.

The right to skip, with someone skipping many pages at once.

The right not to finish a book, with someone putting away a cake slice saying "I'm keeping some for tomorrow!"

The right to read it again, with three kids asking their teacher to read a book to them again.

The right to read anything, with some people reading various books.

The right to mistake a book for real life, with two people reading and thinking "It's just SO me!"

The right to read anywhere, with a person perched on a moving bike, reading a book.

The right to dip in, with one person showing an open book to another and saying "Try this page - it's fantastic!"

The right to read out loud, with one person reading to their stuffed animal and another listening to an audiobook.

The right to be quiet, with someone holding a book.

At the bottom is a kid saying to a teacher: "10 rights - 1 warning. Don't make fun of people who don't read, or they never will." /end ID]

based on a true story

[wetorwild]

Hellow! Hoseok one shot. Husband wife trope. Age gap..maybe.. and.. idk rich hoseok (no idol pls) whose wife runs a book/flower shop which loses 50k every month?🤭

Devoted Care

warnings - age gap (reader 25, Hoseok is mid thirties),Hoseok loves her so much, sickly inlove, couple still in the honeymoon phase, Hoseok uses his money to help reader without her knowing, alluded to smut/intimacy,reader is not financially smart, reader loses alot of money

The streets of Gangnam were empty in the early hours into the night, the streetlights beginning to creep out its shades. Hoseok's hand was wrapped tightly around the wheel, his lap spread in a layed back manner. The sleek car rushes down the sleek streets, his eyes focused ahead with only one destination in mind. You. He knows you had been having a hard time with the shop, the shop you had just opened almost a year ago. He remembers the twinkle in your eyes when you were being shown around it by the agent. He rhink about that look on your face regularly.

Of how beautiful you looked.

It makes him reminisce about how you guys met. How your parents were planning on selling dome land to him, and there you were. Tucked away in the corner, with his interest piqued he had later questioned about you. That's how he learned of you coming home from college on holiday, to find your parents selling land that had been in your generations, and for the life of you, you couldn't just understand why. Although you gave him the cold shoulder in a matter of one year, you had a heavy rock on your ring finger. And on tour wedding day he promised to take care of you and he meant that.

Truly

Even if that meant going through hundreds of apartments to find the one you truly loved, he was right behind you with his black card ready. Or buying you a shop in the middle of the city once he saw you were getting bored around the house. He remembered you once telling him about your passion of gardening, but most important flowers. And how you loved to plant them and watched them grow into something beautiful, knowing you did that. So once he had bought that new shop and surprised you ln you anniversary, it was safe to say you were ecstatic. If the look on your face didn't show that, what you did to him all night surely did.

But you were never really a sales woman. The passion was there but the technique of selling, definitely wasn't. And that's how he had arrived to pick you up after you were supposed to have closed up. Instead he saw the lights still on amd you slumped over the front desk crying. His eyebrows hunched forward in both clncern and curiosity, what had happened? He gently knocked on the glass to get your attention, you face rose tear soaked cheeks and red eyes. You slowly went to open it and once he was inside and locked it behind him.

He attacked you with questions but gently, with him pulling your head on his shoulder.

"Were you robbed?"

"Was it a rude customer?"

"Were you tired?"

The questions were bouncing off inside your head, overwhelmed you shook your head and pushed a piece of paper into his hand. With the other one still around you, he took it and read it, it looked like your financial statement for the business. He immediately assumed it was happy tears, had you finally seen how good your business was? How the small problem at the start of sales was only temporary? That was until he was the negative cash flow. Of worth $50,000. His eyes widened un shock, he knew there was some problems, but gosh. He didn't even know you could spend that much money on spending flowers.

But quickly recovering from the shock knowing you were watching him, he looked up to be met with such sad eyes. "Baby its okay, every business starts out slow" he knew ge was lying that no business should be losing that much. That fast. But this was about comforting you. But you saw right through it, you shook your head "but that much? And with the lack of sales each day, maybe I should quit while I see the signs." Ypu say as you wipe your cheeks, but Hoseok was having none of that.

"No, no, no. You love flowers, you love running this shop. And what do I say about running a business," your face now in his hands as he stares at you. "It always works out if you enjoy it" you recite, as Hoseok sniles back at you and puts your head back into his chest, as he soothes you. That night he took care of you running you a bath, spending in bed with you and watching your favourite movie as you fell asleep in each others arms. He knew that statement had upset you, and he knew just the thing to do.

Hoseok was hunched over his desk as ge looked through files, the sunlight from the tall windows seep into the room. He knock kn the door snaps him put of it he looks up to see his secretary. "Mrs Jung is here to see you Sir" he nods giving the greenlight for you to be sent up. A few moments pass until he hears the excited clicking of heels coming straight to his office, the door swings open and a smile is already on his face. You skip over to him and settle on his lap, as his arms envelope you in an warm embrace. "Guess what" you voice light with flirtation "What?" He plays along.

"I just was 3 major companies want to order from the store to use for their latest campaigns in their stores. Nationwide!" your voice drips with excitement, and Hoseok has the biggest smile on his face. Showing his beautiful heart hspaed smile you love so much, "see didn't I day it would get better" he lightly teases. You laugh slightly before gently kissing him. He kisses you back in an instant showing the joy he had for you in that moment.

His eyes slightly open into the kiss as he looks to his desk, a stack of papers sitting there. The papers detailing how he had negotiated with the biggest companies to use a flower shop he highly recommended, in exchange of his investment and advertisements. He knew this was caused by him, but why ruin your big moment? He discreetly flips it over and under another pile, before gently swiveling his chair to the other side. All that matters is that you were happy and didn't feel like a failure anymore right? Atleast that's what he tells himself as he tries to mask his guilt with your soft lips.

[zulashi-the-writer]

Hey I saw your Rujinu headcannon can I please get one for miroabby x fan reader and she's stuck between both groups

Miroabby

It was definitely at the fan meeting that you guys met, your heart almost beating out of your chest as you nearer them with a drawing you made of them, mumbling a 'please sign this' with shyness, Mira lost her foul mood when seeing you (it came back when romance started flirting with you) they each fight to scribble down their numbers.

When you start messaging them they eagerly fight for your attention, demanding for your replies, Romance and Abby would invite you to hang out and you'd always Mira (which they didn't mind) it would kinda take you awhile together, Mira would actually be the first one to actually speak about a relationship while Abby and Romance would dance around the subject.

They would definitely be the type of couple to have group dates and seperate dates, Mira would invite you to the bath house then to a convenience store to pick out snacks before you head back to chill on her couch watching a movie, Abby is definitely some kind of active activity person gym, hike, indoor obstacle course or even just walking around a mall and eating ice cream and Romance is the typical fancy dinner and movie dates.

The group dates would basically be the luck of the draw it depends on everything sunny looks like a picnic or beach cold couch with a movie marathon in a cuddle pile or making food together either cooking or baking, the relationship would definitely be kept under the radar people know about it but you guys don't post every single photo you take together.

Romance spoils you and Mira a lot with clique but sweet things, roses at work, fancy dinner dates and your favourite snacks, Abby is definitely the showy type, new clothes and anything you'd like to show off while Mira likes to spoil you in comfort all your comfort foods stocked in the cupboards, blankets check, pillows and squish mellows check and check.

[strawbswrites]

"More alike than we thought" - Clark Kent x Kryptonian Reader

Request - anon

First day, new job at the Daily Planet. Many emotions filled you, as a new recruit there. Nervous? Excitement? All of it there mashed into one.

You'd wake up early, earlier than you'd waken in a while. You brushed your teeth, changed into your work clothes, brushing off lint and small things stuck on it. You felt satisfied with your outfit, wondering what the day would entail. Putting your hand on your front door handle, ready to walk out.

You felt the handle disconnect from the door as you turned it because of your super strength. You just sighed and told yourself that you'd deal with it after work.

You walked into the Daily Planet’s building, you went directly to your boss's office. Mr. White was in that chair, as usual. You started conversing with him, with any questions or anything you had to say. But, that eventually led to you meeting your new co-workers.

You laid your eyes upon a man, he was a tall, dark, scruffy-haired, nerdy, man. You'd stare at the man for a second, then your eyes had drifted somewhere else. He couldn't think you were odd or make him uncomfortable because you had been staring too long at him. He let his hand out, for a handshake.

“I'm Clark Kent, Nice to meet you. Welcome to the Daily Planet!” He introduced himself, with a soft smile etched on his face as you shook his hand and introduced yourself to him.

As a few months went by, the romantic feelings that were shared amongst you grew louder, more palpable. A few of your fellow co-workers even noticed it. I mean, you started noticing Clark was a little softer towards you, a little more nervous, his face was a little more red. I mean, just looking at you for a few seconds when he thought you didn’t notice him! These were tell-tale signs. He liked you back, he had to...right? You decided. You’d ask him to go on a date…eventually… Just, when? That was the question. You kept thinking about it, it was on the back of your mind as you wrote articles and reports on whatever topics. I mean, building up courage is important, can’t just run into these things… You noticed him talking to Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane in the halls. He seemed a little nervous for some reason. He was walking closer to your desk. He gulped and he cleared his throat once getting closer to it. He took a deep breath.

“May I take you out on a date…?” He asked nervously, you stared at him for a second as he added “You don’t have to say yes, it’s your decision.”

“Yes! Yes! It would be amazing- I’d love to go on a date with you Clark!” You exclaimed. As you do that, you notice Jimmy and Lois watching. The two seemed proud of him, they were definitely here to support him. You hugged Clark as he said.

“Tonight at 7?”

“Yes, that’s good!” You agreed, and you were over the moon.

As the end of the work day itched closer, all you could think about was your date with Clark. Once the work day ended, Clark nodded to you and spoke. “See you at 7! I’ll text you the address to the restaurant!” as you confirmed and got the text.

When you came home, it was 4:43. You relaxed for a bit, thinking about the date. Then, started to get ready, trying on a couple outfits, asking friends for advice on things until ultimately getting an amazing outfit for the date and started driving to the restaurant.

As you got there, you saw Clark getting out of his car. When he noticed you he waved and walked to you. “Uh, Hi… You, you look absolutely stunning. You are so gorgeous…” He told you, getting slightly red.

He prompted his arm out as you took it. The both of you walked inside this fancy restaurant, it was beautiful, bustling with fancy people. It was nice. Both of you took a seat, he moved the chair for you to sit. He was such a gentleman… The date with Clark went amazing. There were no interruptions, no insane supervillain keeping everyone hostage, just.. You, nice talks, and Clark.

The next work day was amazing too, you guys were obviously so in love with each other. Even more than before you guys went on that date. You guys were acting as if you were already dating even if it was just one date. It was all smooth sailing for a few weeks, going on another date. But, You had the idea to make it official… Be an actual couple. On your third date with Clark, you decided to make it official. Ask him to be your boyfriend. As you were building up courage, Clark went to the bathroom. A minute after that you notice there is a weird group of people walking into the restaurant you are at… Those individuals had a gun! They were holding their guns out, pointing it around.

“Everyone hand over your wallet. NOW!” One of them yelled, supposedly the leader.

“Don’t even try to call the cops or something. We want everything.” Another one added.

“They don’t need to call the cops.” Superman replied, flying to the group as some people ran and called the police as they saw their saviour, superman. Superman smiled, he started beating the muggers up, tying them up and giving them over to the cops with a smile. He made sure of everyone’s safety. He truly did save the day. As Superman left, Clark came out of the bathroom.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting…” Clark said.

“Uhh, yeah. It was an event- filled time for sure. I mean, this group of people came with guns and then Superman came and saved the day… It was honestly crazy.” You explained to him everything that just happened.

“Really? Are you okay…? Uh, is everything fine?” Clark asked, nervous for you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, Clark. Don’t worry.” You calmed him down, still a little shocked about what happened.

“That’s really good to hear.” Clark nodded.

“And… uhm… Clark, I have something to ask you.” You gulped.

“Yes…?” He tilted his head.

“I’ve had really amazing times on these dates, they are so fun, and you are such an amazing guy. I’ve thought and decided to ask you this… Do you want to make our relationship official? Like, we are a couple?” You nervously asked.

“Yes! That would be absolutely lovely, I would love to!” He nodded, immediately accepting as you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

All the times after that were amazing, Clark ended up telling Lois and Jimmy. They were so happy. You both went on dates and hung out whenever you could. You had lunch at the office together and with Jimmy and Lois who teased you both about being “lovebirds” so much that Clark turned bright red out of pure embarrassment, it was truly adorable! Clark and yourself were an amazing couple. Though, you both had the same dilemma… When would they reveal to the other that they were Kyptonian instead of human? You both thought about it so much, having no one else to talk about their secret to except their self…

At the nine month mark, you decided… You were going to tell your boyfriend that you weren’t human. You texted Clark that you had something important to talk about, as you made your way to his apartment a million different thoughts raced into your head “would Clark not accept me?” “What if he breaks up?” and so many other scenarios. But, alas, you stood in front of his apartment and knocked. Clark pushed his glasses up as he let you in.

“My darling, what is the important thing you need to talk to me about? I’m all ears.” Clark softly smiled as you took a breath.

“Promise me it won’t come between us?” You asked, wanting the comfort of his confirmation.

“Of course it won’t! Nothing will, my love.” He put his hand on top of yours, as you let out one last breath.

“I’m… not human. I come from another planet called ‘Krypton’, I’m kryptonian.” You looked down, not meeting his eyes. He immediately hugged you, engulfing you in his muscular body.

“What I'm about to say might sound crazy… But, I am too. Plus, i’m also superman, dear.” He smiled as he hugged you tightly.

“Really? You’re superman? That’s… Wow.. You are also a kryptonian…? That’s…Wow…” You said in shock. “We really are made for eachother.” You said, leaning in for a kiss on his cheek.