#where is that energy for worm boy

[luvisia]

can we be crazy about simon peacock again (?)

[almostempty]

Look at this photograph

(joel miller x f!reader)

The half sequel (Chapter 1.5) to Never made it as a wise man

WC: 3.5k | Part 1 | Other fics | Rating: 18+ 

Summary: you open Joel’s dick pic and (after examination) decide to give him a call

Note: it’s me ya boi (gn), back with more divorceddadrockdilf!joel bc you guys get me. i know y’all want them to fuck, and I want them to fuck too. unfortunately, this flowed through me first, and I am merely a vessel for the spirit of buttrock joel. 

so, until they get their freak nasty on, please enjoy this as a chapter 1.5, with gratuitous dick pic art critique and crankin’ it over the phone <3 don’t worry, he’s still a lil pathetic. mistakes and bad jokes are all on me. 

Tags: au no outbreak modern joel, divorced dad rock dilf joel x f!reader, picks up right where ch.1 ended, dick pic descriptions, alternating pov, dirty talk, phone sex, masturbation, it’s all just phone sex, but edge yourself through it with fond memories of ch. 1, still crackish, but i am still dead serious about it being hot so idc

inspo playlist i found on spotify: Divorced Dad Rock: BANGERZ

thanks: to @hellishjoel for hosting the #hotdilfsummerchallenge and to everyone who enjoyed part 1 

@gothcsz i promise fuckboy!joel is cookin, he’s just in the crockpot rn. he’s gotta tenderize like a white lady’s pinterest recipe for pulled pork. 

* i tried to tag everyone who wanted more, but if you don’t wanna be here i’ll remove it <3 or if i missed you and you want to be tagged next time pls let me know

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you blurt out after opening the message from Joel. The vulgar dick pic sends a prickly worm of arousal slithering down your spine. 

Without thinking, you tilt the phone down toward your chest, and your eyes shoot up like you’ve got to make sure nobody saw your naughty message. Warmth blooms on your cheeks as the flash of embarrassment starts to dissolve. You don’t need to hide. 

You’re in your bed, in your apartment, wearing Joel’s grubby Creed t-shirt. The one that smells like Degree Sport and a Jiffy Lube break room. You're free to look at all the dick pics your heart desires. And that’s what you’re going to do. 

The wiggle of bashful energy turns into a squirm as you shift your hips, seeking a comfy position in bed. The t-shirt bunches up under your back and you wonder if the unique Joel scent of it will linger on your pillow beneath your shoulders. You knew pilfering the shirt on the way out the door was a good move, and now you get to enjoy your trophy. It makes it feel like the broad-as-a-barn-door DILF himself was still close enough to touch you. 

It gives you another bright shudder when you think about the noises he made when he came in your hand earlier. The disappointed grunts of “fuck, wait” and how he tried to choke down the throaty groan that came from deep in his chest. Fuck. The perverted gremlins that have a permanent residence in your mind have been roused by the digital dick, and now they chitter and squawk at you. More! More! More!  

You reopen the message, and seeing it gives you another rush. You save the picture to your phone storage. For your personal collection. Mine now, big boy. Your chin starts to dip towards your chest. It’s like you’re giving your phone the Kubrick stare with the ghost of a smirk. You’re free to take your time with this one. And you can be as much of a creep as you want. That makes you sigh softly and sink deeper against your pillows. 

Before this afternoon, it was titillating when Joel would pop up in your mind's eye with his slutty slo-mo scenes. The one where he was bent over your car's engine like Megan Fox in that Transformers movie. Or, that damn happy trail tease with the t-shirt-sweat-rag move. You had just enough imagery to let your dirty thoughts take the wheel. 

And, god, you had a good production team in your mind for projects starring Joel. Adding this will give the team a whole lot more to work with. You can hear them crashing around your conscious like the Animaniacs on the Warner Brothers lot. Horny chaos goblin mode activated. 

Now that you have time to study the image, from the luxury of your microfiber sheets and lamplit bedroom, you let it get pervy. It’s your first real, lingering look–earlier today, you were so busy trying to rile him up in his jeans that you didn’t even pull it out.

It had somehow been even more delicious that way. Having him all needy and unable to stop himself from making a mess in your hand. And not just the noises, but the erratic thrusts into your tight fist? The heat of his pulsing length as he forgot himself? Yeah, you’re gonna remember that one. 

But now? Now you need the visual. If the devil is in the details, you have a new neighbor with horns and a tail. 

You zoom in on everything. Holding your phone closer to your face than necessary, like how do we enhance this bitch? 

And holy shit. 

Drool pools in your mouth and between your legs. You have the knee-jerk reaction to lick your phone. 

You can hear Joel’s voice from earlier today. All husky and grumbly, arguing that you really were a slut for him, like, “You are, aren’t you, though? You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt just to see me?”  He might be touch-starved enough to cream his jeans, but you just know he’s got a nasty mouth in bed, and you’ve got to find out firsthand. Soon. There’s no reason not to, right? 

You pause when a flicker of reasoning tickles the back of your neck. 

You’re back to looking in your review mirror in Joel’s driveway. The last-ditch attempt at checking your ego before you marched to his front door like a Halloween hoe bag version of Betty Crocker. 

You had told yourself you weren’t trying to fuck your (almost) friend’s (sort of) dad. Told yourself there was nothing to pursue, and even if there was, you wouldn’t bite. 

You like Ellie. She’s been (mostly) welcoming to you. You told yourself not to fuck anything up with the only person that’s got a single one of your jokes at your new job. 

You were just bringing some food as a friendly gesture. The fresh visuals to add to your spank bank reel were supposed to be a harmless bonus. Okay, maybe it was a stretch to say you had rolled up to Joel’s driveway with pure intentions. 

And it was an even bigger stretch–when he added that third finger while he finger fucked you on the kitchen counter—wait, no. It was an even bigger stretch when you had told yourself you probably weren’t his type anyway. 

Like, that guy? With the fridge full of Coors Banquet? With those ugly Oakley sunglasses that you know are featured in his only picture on social media that isn’t a car or truck? The guy with all the words to Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” and Puddle of Mudd’s “She Hates Me” memorized? 

Nah, deep down, you knew. You knew there was no way that middle-aged bachelor would turn down any action. But you hadn’t planned on actually making a move, especially not a handjob in the middle of the kitchen. 

That’s on Joel for leaving the door open while trying to rub one out to some bimbo on Brazzers. And for barking at you in that sexy, angry voice. And for teasing you with the bulge in his oil-stained jeans. What were you supposed to do? 

Something must be really rotting in the logic department of your brain. 

Hey! The gremlin voice in your head is still shouting at you. Hey!! Why are we not tasting that dick yet?!! You’re back from your daydream and the excuses you crafted for your behavior, back to laying in your bed with Joel’s dick pic emitting a bright glow in your hand. 

You still do want to lick the screen. 

Fortunately for your immune system, you control your tongue. The critical part of you expels a sigh when you zoom out and take in the picture. 

It’s undoubtedly a nice cock, but the image as a whole? Yikes. 

Why do men have to be so fucking thick? And blunt? Wait, now you’re just describing the slightly blurry boner lighting up your face. Thick as in dense. How can men be so dense? 

No imagination or creativity. No patience. 

You shake your head slightly, scoffing. No wonder you caught him hunched over his cracked phone screen. It was probably the first video loaded on the only site he had saved. 

No sweet, sweet, buildup, setting the mood, or getting cozy. Just whippin’ it out midday or snapping a photo in some ratty sweats. 

Like you’ve never been that touch-starved or down bad?

You ignore that voice to continue your art critique. 

The photo you sent is… sexy. 

Sultry. A flirty tease. It says, “Look who has your shirt? Am I wearing it in bed? Do you think I'm wearing anything else?” 

It’s all implied in the look in your eye and the picture's composition. The tease of the soft curves on the underside of your breasts, asking if he remembers what they felt like. Your hand bunching up the shirt, asking if he remembers the slide of that fist around his cock. If he remembers those fingers, the ones you sucked his sticky spend off of. 

Such delicately crafted imagery. Personalized erotic fine art.  

But men are so crude about it. He sees your tasteful, sexy pic, and immediately, the best his caveman brain can come up with is: send her ur dick! STAT!! Hard cock! Now!!

And, of course, he did. Taken in the dark with the flash on, making ominous shadows in the background. His old charcoal gray sweats are pulled down just enough to expose everything he’s offering. 

The color is slightly blown out from the flash, and it’s a touch blurry where his phone didn’t autofocus quickly enough. His hand looks like it’s straight up, just choking the base of his cock. It’s jarring. 

But that’s really the “man” of it all, right? Nothing subtle or demure about a rock-hard erection jutting towards you, reaching like it could get to you on its own if it just could get a little bit harder. No, there’s nothing coy about the raw thoughts of a man with no blood left in his brain who’s just aching to get inside you, either. 

And fuck if that doesn’t start to override your critical analysis. 

The glare from the flash reflects in the beads of precome rolling down his rosy tip. Mouth wateringly delicious. Your blood rushes to your pussy, filling your tender sex with heat and a deep, needy itch. It makes you dopey and silly. Not cock drunk, but like, dick pic buzzed. 

You know it felt sizeable in your hand earlier, but you aren’t an expert at estimating size from a through-the-pants handjob. You try to recreate your own grip around nothing to estimate the size. 

You giggle to yourself when you realize you're just a woman in her bed staring at her hand, jerking an invisible cock. The horny goblins aren’t amused, though. They’re sick of the daydreaming and distractions. They’re picking fights with the rest of your mind. Throwing rocks and sticks, shrieking and hissing. 

The part of your brain that was griping about how men used to write love letters and respect the art of romance is getting quieter and further from your faculty for caring. You can hear its muffled shouts, and you assure that voice that you won’t give it all up this easily. Then, you completely tune it out. 

The last brain cell with a complaint has you rolling your eyes. You have to be ovulating or something because it’s wholly debased the way this guy is doing it for you. 

He’s just shameless with it. 

You sent him tasteful underboob, and he gives you jumpscare dick-in-the-dark! How is this supposed to escalate? He gave it all up immediately! You send another picture, and he sends you his money shot? What’s he gonna do to give you more? Send you an asshole shot? That one makes you snort. You bet he would do it, too, if you asked. 

Oh, that gives you a better idea. He’s not getting another picture from you at all. You tap on his name and tap the call icon. Of course, this horny motherfucker answers immediately. You aren’t sure it even rang before you’re connected to his porny bedroom voice. 

“What are you wearing, dollface?” 

“I already showed you. Call me dollface again, and I’m hanging up.” 

You can hear his breathing like he’s got the mic on his phone in his mouth. That would typically drive you fucking nuts, but right now, you wanna hear his heavy breath against your ear and feel it hot against your skin.

“All right,” he speaks slowly, distracted. You know why. “You wanna be my slut, instead?” 

Fuck. That has you throbbing between your legs, but he doesn’t get to know that yet. 

“I already told you,” you keep your voice low and soft, “you don’t get to call me a slut for you, not with your behavior.” You strain, trying to hear any other noises, but his mic is probably clogged with dust from his shop or lint from the pocket of his sweats. You can just hear his fucking breathing. 

“What behavior, baby?” he rasps.

“You always jump straight to sending a picture of your cock?” 

You hear the soft snort through the phone. Followed by a deeper, throatier noise. A noise that makes you go cross-eyed and has you running a hand down to your naked lower half to tease yourself. 

“You always steal a man’s clothes after you come on his fingers?” 

You don’t really care what he asked. His voice makes your tongue go numb. Your mind goes blank. You start slowly, coating your own fingers in your slick arousal and drawing circles with a light touch. 

You hum a noncommittal response into the phone. 

“You look good in my shirt, baby, fuck,” he trails off breathlessly. The idea of you in his clothes gets him too close. 

You don’t answer, and he’s too far gone to wait and tease. 

He’s been wound up since you took off this afternoon, and it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that you sent him that pic when he had just gotten into bed.

It had taken ages to get his brother out of the shop this afternoon, and then Joel completely fucked up when he mentioned you and the lasagna. He had to begrudgingly host Tommy for dinner when he couldn’t come up with a better excuse than saying, “I’m gonna need you to fuck off so I can deal with the aching balls I’ve got from your surprise visit scaring away the woman I had my fingers knuckle deep inside.”

But when he was finally alone, it was like fate; your text came through right after he flopped onto his bed. His semi-stiff cock had sprung to full mast at the sight of you. The shirt he knew he didn’t fuckin’ lose, your soft curves, and the expression on your face. Like a vixen. Your PG-13 tease would do more for him than any X-rated video. 

Knowing you were thinking about him and that you wanted him to know? That had him throbbing. He already knew from the desire in your eyes earlier today that you wanted more.

He could swear his fingers still hold the lingering flavor of your wet cunt. The visceral memory of you has him on edge. When he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, he has to pause, holding firmly in place. His body screams and aches for release, but he’s determined to keep it in check. He doesn’t want to blow his load until he gets a response from you. 

He fights his urges, trying not to fuck his own fist in a frantic race to come. 

But, fuck, it’s difficult when he can imagine the sounds you’d make as you sank onto his cock for the first time. The face you’d make. Your tight, wet walls hugging him just right. Like, he’s where he’s meant to be. 

And the way you would look, bouncing on top of him. Your tits, your blissed-out face, the way your soft lips would part when you called out his name and cried for more. 

Those lips. 

The way he’d love to see them swollen and slobbering around the base of his cock. Fuck. His hips buck reflexively, and he hisses out a breath through his clenched teeth. When his phone lights up with your name, he answers before it can make a sound. You’re so bold. He likes that. It plasters a saucy grin on his face. 

And now, with your breathy voice crackling through his janky phone speaker, he’s not gonna last long. You've got him losing his composure for the second time in one day. His whole body is rigid. His toes flex and snap unconsciously, and his jaw tenses. He hears your soft moan, and his thoughts are overflowing. He has no filter left. 

“Yeah, baby? You moaning for me?” His hips punch up into his fist, and he gives in, allowing himself firm, severe strokes. “You’ve got me so hard. You moaning for my cock?” 

You are so not gonna answer that one. If the next words out his mouth are, “Yeah, you like that?” you’re gonna block him for that. But it is undeniably hot to hear him already so worked up. You just know he’s gonna be coming all over himself again for you, and that really does make you moan just for him.

Your noises earn you another growly groan from Joel that you’d kill to hear again. The more uninhibited his noises are, the louder you get in response.

“You using your fingers, or you have a toy?” his question is punctuated with a grunt. 

“Mm, just fingers,” you purr, finally granting him an actual response as you roll your hips. Having Joel on the line gives you a heady sense of satisfaction. Wondering what’s going to come out of his filthy mouth next gives you a shiver of anticipation. 

“I know that sweet pussy is just achin’ to be filled again.” Correct. 

“Yes.” 

“S’right, baby, I know.” 

Joel whimpering on the phone for you is absolutely going to get you off. Your hips chase your own fingers. You switch your phone audio to speakerphone and drop it on your pillow so you can use both hands. Pinching at your own nipples as if it were Joel’s big hand under your smuggled shirt. 

“Tell me,” he pants, “who do you need to fill it for you?” 

“You, Joel.” 

“Fuck,” he chokes out, “you wanna ride this cock, huh baby?” 

“Mhmm.” Bingo. Right again. You wish you could feel the pressure of him inside of you, massaging and soothing away the agony. The weight of his body atop of yours, so solid and secure. You can just about feel the pressure of his pelvis grinding into you. The friction from the coarse curls at the base of his cock getting you closer and closer. 

“Know you’d do so good,” he cuts himself off with a low noise, “so damn sexy.” 

“What else would you do with me?” You wanna hear it. For your own fantasy and to know what he’s into.  

“I’d have you taking me down your throat til you’re crying on it for me, fuck,” a primal noise erupts from him.

Face fucking. Of course. You can’t deny that when he says it, your body responds instantaneously. Your pussy floods eagerly at the idea, and your cheeks burn hot from the visual he gives you. You swallow down your moans, and you can imagine the weight of him on your tongue and the strain of trying to swallow around his cock. 

“You wanna come down my throat?” As if that isn’t a fucking siren song that would make him steer a fleet of ships into a cliff? Your salacious words are too much. 

“Shit. Yeah, baby, wanna watch you swallow for me.” You let all your moans and gasps flow freely for him to hear. “I’m so fuckin’ close,” he can’t stop the words from spilling out his mouth, “let me hear it, baby,” he can’t stop his pending bliss either. “Please, baby, I can’t, oh f-fuck,” he cuts himself off with another primitive grunt, and that’s precisely what your cavewoman cunt wanted to hear. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The horny goblins chant out loud this time. You can envision sweaty, pleading Joel lurching toward a reckless, full-body climax. 

You’re far from grace when the crude sounds he lets out turn you into an uncivilized beast. You hear him gasping, growling, and whining for you. It plunges you into a staggering orgasm. Rolling waves of ecstasy leave you panting and sweating.  

You lie in bed, chest rising and falling beneath the Creed logo. You’re left stunned at the intensity. A dreamy smile spreads across your face, and warm contentment, like honey, pours slowly over your muscles. Relaxing you as your tension softens and you turn to pick your phone back up.

Why was it so wholly consuming just to listen to him? Imagining the mess he made again,

because of you. 

Maybe you’re just made for each other. 

You and Joel. 

Oh, god. You should start listening to Alanis Morissette and Evanescence and trade your car for a 1990s-era Toyota 4runner and a pack of Marlboro Smooths. Really lean into matching his freak and the divorced alt-rock vibes.

You laugh softly into your phone before a deep sigh possesses you, and you nearly fall asleep. You stretch and smile, letting your heavy eyelids rest. 

He’s muttering something at you, catching his breath from the stress of being that fucking horned up for you all evening. And the overexertion of lasting long enough to hear your sweet cries of release. 

“You’re unreal,” his smoky voice rings with awe. “Got me shooting loads like a fucking teenager.”

You snort at the juxtaposition of his tender voice and crude comment before ending the call with a whispered, “Goodnight.” 

It shouldn’t make you smile. 

But he’s somehow such an enticing disaster. A cliche lonely bachelor, a cocksure idiot who knows he’s got a big dick and a generous guy who was willing to fix a stranger's car. 

You shouldn’t be trying to justify it, but you know he had you figured out earlier. 

You may be sated tonight, but you won’t be able to rest.

Not until you get your hands on that DILF – or rather, your pussy on that dick. 

divider by @cyberangel-graphics

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[brain-deadx0]

(Got a brain worm that I had to write. No plans to continue so feel free to take for yourself)

Batman was responding to reports of Harley Quinn running around Gotham. Joker had been put back in Arkham several months ago so there was a chance she was making a move to set him free again.

But apparently Harley was expecting him.

"Well finally! You sure know how to keep a gal waiting Batsy. Ive been running around all night waitin for ya."

When Harley turned to face him his eyes were immediately drawn to her stomach.

"You're pregnant..."

"Yeesh your manners are bad ya cant just say that!" Harley rolled her eyes before pausing with a sigh and a serious look that almost seemed out of place on her, "But yeah... I am."

"Joker?" Batman asked softly.

Harley nodded, "Thats why I was runnin around tonight. Wanted to get your attention." She looked down before continuing, "I was in denial about it at first. I was always careful with that birth control stuff ya know? And I didn't want it to be real. Before I knew it it was too late to... you know... but. But I dont think I coulda anyway. I know its selfish but I love em too much already. Thats why I need your help."

"I'll help in anyway I can." Batman told her, "I can set up a place for the two of you where Joker won't find you."

Harley shook her head, "No can do Batsy. Mista J wouldn't let me go that easy. Specially if he knows about my little puddin. And if I'm honest I love him too much to leave too.

"I need someplace to have 'im that won't tell. And... I want you to look out for him. Not like, take 'im in or nothing. If I see my baby runnin around as one of your birds in ten years I'll let you have it-" She sighed, "But find someplace away from Gotham and all this. I don't want this for my little puddin. I don't want him to turn out like me or Joker and his best chance is someplace else.

"Please Batman."

-

Bruce kept his promise to Harley. She gave birth in secret and Daniel was taken to the other side of the country to be left at a firestation with nothing but his name and a note from Harley saying she loved him.

When Daniel was adopted Bruce ran a background check on his new parents. Inventors who seemed to be researching some sort of renewable energy and already had a child. Seemed safe enough.

He checked the area when they moved to a small town in Illinois and it seemed safe enough even with the likely tourist trap of "most haunted town in America"

Daniel, or Danny as he seemed to prefer, got decent grades and had a few close friends. His grades dropped suddenly for a time but eventually they returned to their previous state so he didn't worry too much.

But when the boy applied to and was accepted into Gotham U, Bruce started to worry.

They had left Danny as far away from Gotham as possible. So what were the chances he should return?

[bugboybuck]

boys will be bugs, right.

read on ao3

Evan turns up at Tommy's door on a morning Tommy wasn't expecting him with a manic look in his eyes. Tommy - who'd been dragged out of bed by the doorbell, still wiping sleep out of his eyes - doesn't immediately know what to make of his expression. It's never a bad thing to see his boyfriend unexpectedly; in fact, if Tommy had his way, he'd see Evan all the time. But he's also not a sucker, and he knows that when a guy like Evan looks at you all pink-cheeked and dimpled, you're at risk of being talked into some of the dumbest decisions of your life.

"Hey, baby," Tommy greets him, trying not to sound wary. "Did I forget a breakfast date? I'm still kind of out of it from my shift."

"No, you didn't forget," Evan tells him, leaning in for a kiss. It's a sign of what a simple man Tommy is that the press of Evan's warm pink lips and the smell of him all close, the feel of one of his thick hands sliding onto Tommy's waist, is enough to distract him for a solid ten seconds, even when Evan pulls back and says, "Sorry, did I wake you? I just need to measure some stuff in your back yard."

He squeezes Tommy's hip and kisses him once more and then pushes past him, heading right for the kitchen, where the door to Tommy's back yard sits.

"I've been meaning to get you a key cut so you can just let yourself in," Tommy says, more to himself than to Evan, who doesn't seem to have heard him anyway. Brain still getting online, Tommy closes the front door, makes to follow Evan - and only then processes the next part of Evan's statement. "Wait, what about my back yard?"

Evan's already bounced out the back door. Tommy briefly regrets getting a boyfriend ten years younger than him with a seemingly endless well of energy like a puppy. He rubs his eyes, presses the button to turn on the coffee machine, and then follows Evan out the door.

Tommy's proud of his back yard. He doesn't have the time to garden much, but he has a little planter of herbs, which Evan has been delighted by ever since he first came here and now cooks with on every possible occasion - he has a nice spread of lawn which is good for hosting barbecues, one large tree which casts a dozy shade from the sun. Most pleasingly to Tommy, the yard stretches around both sides of the house, putting him a decent distance away from his neighbours. The house itself is small, a one-story, two-bedroom Spanish revival thing he'd bought in the market crash, but he'd wanted it for the double-garage and the spacious yard, and he's never once regretted buying it for those reasons. He's glad his boyfriend likes it too, but the way he's currently mapping around the base of the Palo Verde tree with a measuring tape is putting a kind of dread in Tommy's stomach that he can't accurately explain.

"Evan, can you communicate with me in some kind of human language? My usual mindreading powers have been dampened by the fact I'm still half asleep. Why are you measuring my tree?"

Briefly and optimistically, Tommy thinks maybe Evan just wants to host a barbecue. Maybe he's plotting space for a slip'n'slide for the 118's kids, or something. But unfortunately -

"It's for the bees!" Evan tells him, bouncing back towards Tommy. He's got a smile like an angel. Tommy's stomach erupts in butterflies like he's not a fucking forty year old man as Evan slides both his arms around Tommy's waist, pulls him close, the warm smell of him invading Tommy's space. "I know you haven't forgotten - I texted you!"

Tommy remembers the texts, which he'd sent a couple heart emojis back to the night before immediately prior to passing out from a shift from hell. Evan had sent him some fun facts about the importance of pollinators and a link to a local bee society saying he wanted to 'get involved'. Tommy had thought maybe Evan was planning to volunteer the firehouse for an awareness event, at most.

Now, a much more worrying reality is worming its way into his vision.

"Evan," Tommy says, "Please tell me I am not getting bees."

"Babe," Evan says, sounding exasperated. "Of course not. I know you don't really like insects. I'm getting bees. I just need to keep them in your garden because my landlord said no to putting them on my balcony."

Evan rolls his eyes, like that is somehow a ridiculous stance in his opinion. And, look. Tommy is a tough guy. He was raised tough. He knows how to hunt, how to shoot a gun. He doesn't like that stuff, but he's done it. He's seen war, he's seen tragedies as a firefighter. He's seen people die, he's held people's guts inside their bodies with his bare hands. He's not scared of bugs.

He just doesn't like them or the way their weird legs move or the way they buzz around your head when Tommy thinks helicopters should be the only things allowed to fly.

He adores Evan's enthusiasm for the natural world and seemingly endless well of untapped optimism. It's a huge part of why Tommy has fallen so hard and fast he can't even see the sky anymore. But in this moment he does, in fact, briefly consider locking Evan out of his home forever.

"Evan, we are not putting bees in my garden. No way. You don't have time to come here every day and I'm not gonna look after them when you're working!"

"They don't need looking after every day! They're not like puppies, Tommy. I promise, you won't even notice they're there."

Evan kisses the cleft of Tommy's chin and then the hinge of his jaw with his hot wet mouth. Inside, the coffee machine beeps. He can't believe he's having this conversation without caffeine.

"I'm pretty sure I will notice they're there, on account of the fact my garden will be full of bees."

Evan's thick, calloused fingers are sliding underneath the hem of Tommy's t-shirt, rubbing at the taut skin of his waist.

"Don't you want to help the pollinators, Tommy?" Evan asks. Tommy looks to the heavens and thinks, help. "Plus, think of everything we'd be able to bake with the honey! Have you ever had honey cake? I bet you'd like it."

"Evan." Tommy attempts to sound firm. He's not really a firm sort of guy. He's more a go-with-the-flow, embrace-the-chaos sort. But there are occasional moments, like this one right here, where push comes to shove, and you just have to put your foot down. "We are not getting bees."

Evan pouts.

______

They get bees.

[henry7931]

Summer Bod Part 1 (SwapCorp Story)

Tons of people around the world are trying out the latest advancement in body swapping technology. All led by a company called SwapCorp. SwapCorp allows its clients to selectively choose an ideal body provided with what characteristics/ features the client wants. Once a suitable body is available, the client comes in with their body knowing some else will be using it and leaving with a new one.

This is where our story begins.

Justin Samuels (age 21, 5,3”, 145 pounds, caucasian, red hair, slim build) who is the first person he knows thats trying out SwapCorp. Justin describes himself as a bit of a book worm, has a small friend group, gay, and wants to try a more ‘muscular/ masculine body’. He wants to do a 3 month contract for his swap.

SwapCorp pairs him with David (age 25, 6,2”, 218 pounds,caucasian, dark brown hair, muscular build). David is a personal trainer who wants to explore the opposite gender. Luckily with SwapCorp their algorithm matches the precise swaps necessary for their client’s satisfaction.

So now let’s see how Justin is adjusting to his new body!

Justin:

God this all still feels so surreal, granted it’s only been one day since I got this new body from SwapCorp. But I’m so happy with my swap! I love this body!!

I feel sexy and confident with all of these muscles. And I can’t wait to show off my new temporary self this summer.

I was never the athletic type, I spent more time studying than going to the gym in college but that’s the reason why I’m so successful right now.. Started a part time job, graduated early, and I’m starting grad school in the fall that’s covering all of my bills.

So I figured why not splurge some of my savings and actually have a good time this summer.

And today feels like the true start of it. I’m planning on going to the beach with all of my friends and I can’t wait for them to see me! They are going to be so jealous.

Yesterday, after leaving SwapCorp I spent my entire time exploring this beautiful body. And I feel a little embarrassed to admit just how many times I jerked off.

But I can’t help it, I’m just so turned on by this body! Plus, I paid good money for it.

And speaking of jerking off, I’m already hard! What’s really been getting me are these sexy feet.

I know feet aren’t for everybody but I’ve always had a fetish for them. I’ve spent countless hours jerking off to jock feet porn on the internet. Even in school, when I’d see some of the jocks wearing sandals or chacos— it would take all of my energy not stare at their feet.

And now I have these gorgeous size 11s! They’re so much bigger than my size 9s. And I can do whatever I want with them. Sniff them for hours, run my tongue across the soles, I even came on them 2 times yesterday just to lick it off.

Oh boy all this talk about my big jock feet is making my new dick leak. Speaking of which this thing has a mind of its own!

It’s longer and thicker than mine paired off with a nice set of hairy balls. I had to trim back my pubes a bit. I can tell this is a straight guy’s body since he doesn’t manscape that much. ( Luckily, I took care of all that for him. )

But I can go rounds of jerking this big meat! Even back to back, somehow this body just continues to pour out cum.

I grab it and it’s so hard. I take the head and rub it on the sole of my foot.

“Fuuuuuck, that feels good!”

I start rubbing my dickhead faster on my foot and just feeling both touch sends shocks through me.

I lift up my hairy armpit and take sniff. Wow those stink!

I sit my foot down and start jerking my meat. I need to speed this up so I’m not late for my big new bod reveal.

I pump aggressively, I love how much this dick can handle versus my old one.

I go faster and faster… moaning loudly. My moans are almost like screams. I stair down at my fit stomach and hairy legs/feet.

It sends me over the edge and I squirt out so much cum. Before I get up, I take my thick jock fingers and grab all of the cum off my stomach. I lick each finger clean before heading over to my shower.

*30 minutes later*

Okay now I think I’m ready to introduce my new body to my friends.

My friends and I are a lot like. Alex, Max, Will, and I all share the same interests like our education, video games, comics, boys… I guess the only way to put it is that we are 4 gay nerds lol. But I love our little crew.

I head to the beach early and told them where to meet me. I haven’t sent any photos of my body yet so this should be fun!

I take off all of the clothes I had on over my new red speedo. I figure this is one way to make an impression. I run tanning oil all over my body and lay back waiting on them.

That’s when I see all three shuffling their way down the beach.

“Hey boys!” I holler out to them.

All of them look stunned by my presence.

“Oh my god, is that you Justin?,” says Alex.

I flex my arms just to show off a bit before saying, “Yep! This is the new me.”

“Holy crap! That body!!,” says Will.

I stand up and all of them are drooling over me. Mex even asks me if he can touch my abs.

“Go for it bro!”

Alex giggles, “oh so now we’re your bros.”

“Yeah with a body like this I have to get all of my ‘straight’ lingo down.”

“Shit, Justin how much was all of this? Do you have any side effects?”

“Surprisingly affordable and no I haven’t had any side effects.”

“Wow! This is so crazy, I can’t believe that’s you inside.”

I grin at all of my friends amazed by my new body.

We rented a boat to take on the water so we all hop on and all three of them can’t stop looking at me.

I sit in the back while Alex drove, Will and Max continue to ask me questions about the process.

Will even took a photo of me which I jokingly said to him, “hey don’t jerk to that pic later haha.”

“Lol no promises,” he says back.

All around it was a fun day, we ended up getting food afterwards and by the end we made plans for dinner tomorrow.

As I get back to my place, I wash off all of the salt water and sand. And went straight to my bed.

I laid in bed fully naked just gingerly fondling my dick and balls. All I can think about is how much my friends lusted after my new body.

I look down at my hard dick and grinned. Maybe it’s time to upload a couple of pics to Grindr. I’m ready for some real action!

*The Next Day*

I get a text from Alex that he has an emergency and for me to come over to his place immediately.

I quickly got dressed and rushed over. I get to his door and text that I’m here.

He responds, “it’s unlocked, come up to my bedroom.”

I thought the text was strange but Alex and I are probably the closest in our crew so I trust him.

I go up his stairs and open up his bedroom door.

And to my surprise I see a very hot guy laying in his bed.

“Surprise mothafucka!!”

“ALEX?!?”

“Yep! What do you think?”

“Holy shit! You went to SwapCorp? Oh wow you are… so freaking hot now!”

“Thanks! Now Justin we’re buddies, so why can’t we help eachother out a bit,” Alex pulls the blanket down realizing a massive hard on between his new legs.

“Wow! Are we about to hook up?”

“Only if you’re down!”

“Hell yeah!”

I strip off all of my clothes and hop into bed with him. We immediately start making out, we get so into it and I naturally gravitate my mouth down his chest to his cock.

I start sucking him off and he lets out these loud moans.

“Justin… god, this feels amazing!”

I lift my head up and I say, “this isn’t your first BJ right?”

He doesn’t say anything and just grins at me.

“Well… I guess I feel honored to your first.”

I fondle his balls while taking his dick deep down my throat. He’s convulsing from all of the pleasure.

“Oh god! Hold on Justin! I don’t wanna cum yet!”

I pull my mouth off and take my hand off of his balls.

“I have a weird request and you can say no to me,” he says nervously.

“Sure man!”

“Can I smell your feet?”

My eyes widen, holy crap Alex has a foot fetish?

“Oh my god yeah! As long as you let me smell your sexy toes!”

We both position ourselves to wear each others feet are directly in view.

His big jock feet are soooo hot!

I put my face into them and start licking between each of his toes.

I feel him tracing my soles and he says to me, “wait till you see Will and Max…”

“WHAT?!?”

God this is about to be the BEST summer!

[lincolndjarin]

Every Now and Then - ch. one

[ I Dream of Something Wild ]

pairing : joel miller x f!reader, platonicsoulmate!tommy & f!reader

word count : 6.4k

summary : Joel Miller destroyed you. He loved you, then he left, leaving you in the New York City, QZ. But he's a good southern gentleman, so of course he didn't leave you without a reminder of the time you spent together. Four years later you're living in Jackson, in a lovely little ranch house. (With your reminder.) The last person you want to see is Joel Miller, unfortunately you've never been particularly lucky.

tags/warnings : 18+ mdni, angst, canon typical violence, injury, language, manipulation, joel takes advantage of readers situation, eventual smut, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, she is picked up by joel at one point but i'm a firm believer that he's strong enough to lift any one who may find themselves in the pov of our reader, joel is possessive and controlling, dark!joel miller in a sense?? like he's not really dark now but he's going to be, multiple time lines, not canon compliant, mentions of prostitution, i sorta made up my own timeline, i probs missed tags sorry!!

a/n : i really need to fix my writing schedule so i'm hoping that having a new fic to put my energy into is going to help!! also sorry if this chapter doesn't have much going on i need to set up a lot of stuff but i promise more action in future chapters

ao3 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ main masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ kofi

He crept up on you like the shadows as the sun sets in the west. An all encompassing darkness that blotted out the sun until all that was left was night. He sunk his claws into you so deep that your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you shrunk away from the inevitable sunrise that made him cower away from the dawn as if he never really was big and scary. 

And in the light of day you saw him for what he really was.

He was just a man, who was once a boy, who was scared of the dark. 

So he made himself big, and terrifying, and he grew so accustomed to the thing he once feared that the very idea of anything else made him recoil.

You feel something akin to pity when you think of him now. That doesn’t mean you forgive him, but when you can stomach it you try to, for the sake of your peace. You’d probably be happier if you could just forgive him. 

But you can’t.

So you don’t. 

It’s hard when his own blood doesn’t think he’s a good man. Tommy was afraid of him. Terrified at the very thought of his big brother. You can recall several nights where you had woken up to him screaming in the sleeping bag beside you, absolutely petrified of a memory that had inevitably snuck in through the darkness. You never feared him quite like that, but seeing the effect he has on Tommy makes your stomach churn, a painful reminder of your own suffering.    

Most of the time it’s easier to just not think of him at all, despite the reminders he’s branded into you forever. You ignore him when he tries to soak back into your very being, but at the end of the day he’s unavoidable. You see him in the dark brown eyes of others, hear him in Tommy’s southern drawl, taste him when you have the occasional sip of whiskey. He tries and tries relentlessly to worm his way back into you, but you never let him. You put up walls and you focus on other things, anything, that isn’t Joel Miller. And even though you can’t forget him entirely you manage to ignore the memory of the man you once loved for several years.  

Until one day it’s impossible to keep the thought of him away. 

Until he himself makes it impossible.

Then - NEW YORK CITY, QUARANTINE ZONE : 2019

“Stay off of it or you’re going to lose it.”

That’s what the QZ doctor had told you. A couple weeks of bed rest was the most he could offer when you came to him with your broken ankle. 

A couple weeks without working is a death sentence. 

If you don’t work you won’t be able to afford food. And you don’t have anybody to fall back on, no family, no friends, not even an acquaintance to borrow funds from. 

Lose your leg or starve. 

As appealing as it sounds, starvation isn’t an option, too painful. 

So you have to work. The only issue with that is you’ve been blacklisted, the stupid doctor had you put on a no-shift list. You beg them to let you work, you’ll do anything, but they never budge. 

You only have enough ration cards stocked up to make it to the end of the week so you have to consider your other options. You could sell yourself. It certainly isn’t uncommon and the money’s good but it’s too dangerous, especially if you can’t run on your leg. You’ve seen too many people get hurt in that profession to risk it. You don’t have a trade. You’re terrible at sewing, you can’t cook, there isn’t a need for much of anything else and you own nothing valuable. 

So there’s only one other option for you. 

You steal. 

You dress inconspicuously, in your only pair of jeans and a plain shirt, both of which are getting rather tattered at this point but you have nothing else. With your jacket on you pull up your hood and you do the exact thing you aren’t supposed to do, and you walk. 

The conditions in the QZ are poor enough that your limp doesn’t stand out. You walk up and down the streets all day, slow and steady, with your head down and you don’t take risks. You don’t take anything big or obvious, just little things. A single ration card peeking out of a pocket, a pocket knife off a vendor's table, stale bread, set away from the good stuff where no one is looking. And you return home each night with your pockets full and your leg aching. 

By the end of your second week you’re still barely scraping by but you’re managing. What little ration cards you manage to snatch you use to buy food, but it’s still nothing compared to what you’re used to making. Your ankle feels worse by the day. 

You need more. 

You need to find a source of income that will let you rest or you’re going to lose your leg, which will leave you in an even worse position. It isn’t until you hear your neighbor slam his door that you come up with an idea. 

Your neighbor probably has more cards than he knows what to do with, and he’s always coming and going so he probably wouldn’t even notice if you skimmed a little off the top. Nothing substantial, just enough to keep you going and give your leg time to heal. 

The only problem is your neighbors reputation. 

You doubt you’d have much of a chance of surviving him if you got caught. Joel Miller was a bit of an urban legend around the QZ. Of course you only knew him as your stoic neighbor, just a guy who didn’t make a lot of noise and came home at strange hours, and sometimes disappeared for days at a time. 

But everyone else acted as if he was some kind of Boogey Man. You didn’t see him much in the streets but when you did children ran and people whispered, and while you had no knowledge of how he earned that reputation you knew it probably wasn’t pretty. 

So you’d have to be careful. 

He’s gone now, you’d heard him stopping down the hall so you decide it couldn’t hurt to take a peek, just scout out the area. 

You climb out onto the fire escape, your leg aching as you do, and you use the dull little knife you’d stolen a few days ago to shimmy open his window lock. It slides open pretty easily, he’s probably rather confident that nobody would ever mess with him so he doesn’t seem to have the usual precautions taken to protect his belongings. 

Lucky you. 

Stepping into the room you wince as you land on your bad leg, stumbling onto the floor, knocking a board loose in the process. 

“Shit.” You groan, sitting up quickly, trying to put everything back in its proper place when you catch a glimmer of something under the floor. 

A revolver. 

You shouldn’t be here. Joel Miller is a dangerous man, you knew that but you did this anyway, you can’t help but feel incredibly stupid as you stare at the weapon. You feel so stupid that you don’t even hear the click of a lock. You don’t even bother with the ration cards you can see peeking out from under the gun, you just want to leave and forget that you ever thought this was a good idea. It’s a struggle, getting back to your feet, your leg is throbbing, begging for a rest you can’t afford to take right now. With a groan you push the window open, eager for this silly idea to be over you try to figure out the best way to go about this. You’re starting to lose feeling in your leg, should you go bad leg first or try to balance on it while shimmying the rest of your body out the window? 

You never get to decide what the best course of action is because your head is slammed against the wall, your knees crumple underneath you as you hit the floor, the room spinning as your leg bends at an angle that makes you shriek. You slap your hand over your mouth but it’s far too late for that. He’s been here the whole time. It’s dark but you can still make out the foreboding shape of his figure. The broad shouldered beast that’s glaring down at you, his boot nudging your chin roughly as you bite back a shriek of fear. 

“I could report you to FEDRA for this.” The gruff voice whispers into the darkness. 

You’re desperate to avoid lockup, you know you’ll die in there, or worse. Although you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen to you either way. 

“I- I’ll tell them about your contraband.” You point frantically at the loose floor board. “They’ll lock you up too.” His glare is unwavering as he stares down at you. You’re a little worried that he might just kill you himself, there would be no consequences, no one would be looking for you. 

No one would look for you. 

The thought makes you shudder and even though you try to stop yourself you feel your eyes beginning to water. You hear footsteps, watching his outline move across the room before you’re shrinking away from the light of a dim lamp in the corner. 

“You gotta be real dumb to find yourself in this situation.” He mutters, turning back around to stare at you. His gaze makes you want to cover yourself up, it’s like he can see every single part of you within that icy glare. You’ve never taken the time to really, truly look at him before but you do now, after all this might be your last chance to look at anything at all. 

He isn’t a terrible last sight. 

Sure, he’s ominous enough to make you want to try and run despite the ache in your calf right now, but that doesn’t make him any less handsome. In a rugged, weathered sort of way. He’s older than you thought, gray sprinkled throughout the mess of curls framing his face. What a nice face it is. Soft where it needs to be soft, sharp where it needs to be sharp. He marches back over to you, easily taking the pocket knife from your hand and crouching down in front of you.

“Give me one good reason not to finish you off right now.” He points the blade in the direction of your leg. “Seems like it’d be a mercy at this point.” 

Maybe he’s right. 

Maybe it would be a mercy to just let him put you out of your misery. Why have you been fighting so hard? You can’t seem to recall a reason other than the fact that that’s what you’re supposed to do. Your mind tells you that you’re supposed to keep fighting but you can’t think of a single driving force. You’re in pain, constantly, you live in a world that wants you dead, and you have no one relying on you. 

You don’t have a good reason, other than the fact that surviving is all you know how to do. So you look up at him and you nod. Taking in the sight of the pretty, frightening man one last time before closing your eyes. 

It feels good. You feel good, for the first time in a long time, knowing that you won’t hurt anymore. You won’t have to be afraid of someone kicking your door in, you won’t have to worry about where your next meal is going to come from, and you won’t have to worry about turning into a monster. It’s a mercy.

So you close your eyes.

Suddenly grateful for the killer before you, your guardian angel, here to deliver you the peace you didn’t know you needed. 

You wait patiently for the sting of a blade or the embrace of his hands around your throat but all you're met with is a sigh. When you finally find the courage to open your eyes he’s sitting on the edge of the bed across from you, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Just go.” He grumbles, muttering a few other words you don’t catch. 

You’re almost disappointed, having accepted this was the end, and now you’re being shoved back into the cold and unforgiving world. You start to get to your feet but your knees buckle under you. You try again, willing your leg to just work but much to your dismay you can’t even straighten out your leg anymore. When you try to move it all you find yourself only able to bend your knee a few inches.

Shit. 

You think of the fall you took on the way in and wonder if you finally pushed yourself to the limit. If you go back to the doctor will he remove the entire thing? Maybe you should just ask Joel to finish the job before it comes to that. It would be a kindness, between a quick death here or a slow death starving in your apartment you’ll take the quick way every time. Before you even have a chance to ask he’s on his feet. Maybe his patience has run out and you won’t have to ask at all. 

“Let me.” His voice rattles around in your head, so low and commanding that you put up no resistance as he lifts you up under your arms and sets you down on the edge of the bed where he just was. He flips the knife out, going to cut your jeans off of you but you stop him.

“Wait!” He freezes in place, giving you an impatient look. “These are my only jeans, just- just pull them down.” Before you can realize how embarrassing it might be to show your neighbor your faded pink panties, you're already unbuttoning your pants, lifting your hips up so he can pull them down your legs with a roll of his eyes. It’s painful, the feeling of the denim running against your skin but it’s better than not having any pants at all. 

Fuck. 

It’s been a while since you’ve actually looked at your leg. You’re surprised he was able to get your jeans off with how swollen it is, the flesh bulging around your ankle and now up your calf. The skin is shiny and blotchy with shades of purple and red. The sight of it makes you want to hurl but you manage to swallow the urge, looking away as he pokes at the tender flesh. 

“Christ girl, what the hell did you do?” When he grabs your ankle to lift your leg you yelp in pain, making him set your leg back down instinctively. 

“I just- it’s just a broken ankle.” You mumble as he gives you an incredulous look.

“Like hell it is.” Something about the sternness of his voice demands your obedience as you nod. “Wanna tell me what really happened?” 

“Well I- I fell and-” You struggle to find an excuse to justify how bad you let this get but you come up empty. So you tell the truth. “I fell off a ladder while painting over graffiti during my shift and broke my ankle. The doctor told me to stay off of it and- well, I couldn’t afford not to work so I just… didn’t” You rush through your words, staring anywhere else but into his demanding gaze as you explain yourself. 

“So you turned to stealin’.” He says it like the fact it is and you can only bring yourself to nod. “You need antibiotics.” He says just as matter of factly. “You know how much that sort of thing costs?” 

A lot. 

More than you’d have even if you were working overtime. 

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes. 

His eyes were so dark that day they threatened to swallow you whole. Were they always that dark? Or was it just that day, the first day, when he realized that he had you. 

“Look, I don’t do this kinda thing for just anybody. But I can help you.” He had sounded so kind, his hint of a smile had seemed so promising. 

“I can’t afford it-”

“You can use alternative methods to pay me back.” 

You told him you’d think about it. 

And he hadn’t pushed you, he had simply helped you back into your jeans and carried you back to your apartment. He told you he’d check on you tomorrow and see if you had an answer for him.

So when the next day came and you had a fever and your leg was throbbing, demanding your attention you’d been all too eager to accept his help. 

And just like that, it was your idea. 

It wasn’t his, he was blameless, you asked him to help you. And it didn’t matter who had suggested it first, it mattered who brought it up after. 

You had been certain that when he had told you you’d be using alternative methods to pay him back that his intentions were unsavory. And at that point you didn’t really care, you’d made your peace with that. The medicine you needed wasn’t cheap and you could find worse looking men who didn’t take care of themselves the way Joel did. 

But he wanted nothing of the sort. 

Southern Manners.

All he wanted was for you to take care of his apartment when he was out with his business partner, a woman who didn’t seem to dislike you but certainly didn’t care for you. He told you to take a week to just rest, take the medicine he brought you, eat the food that he fed you, and be good. So you did as he asked. And after a week you could move a bit more, you started spending your days at Joel’s tidying up and organizing while he was gone, it was much easier to stay off your leg for most of the day and he always made sure there was food and books for you while he was gone. And when he returned he would help you hobble back to your place and help you into bed without complaint and with a promise that he’d be back in the morning. 

But you still don’t relax around him.

It doesn’t make sense. Even someone who wasn’t known for their cruelty wouldn’t just take a stranger in. You’d like to believe that there’s good in people but you know better than to have that kind of faith. There isn’t enough left of the world to share the remains. Yet Joel does. He doesn’t ask to know you better and he certainly doesn’t tell you about himself yet he shows you more kindness than anyone else in your life has before. 

He must like having someone to take care of. 

That’s how you explain it to yourself. 

You watch him with Tess and it’s clear who’s in charge there, she barely even lets him stitch her up when she returns to the apartment. Joel gets frustrated every time, huffing and pacing around the room before finding some way to tend to you in her place. Icing your leg, or bringing you a new book to read, or feeding you. 

It took a few months for your leg to heal, it had been in such bad shape a part of you worried that it might never be the same as it once was. 

After the first month of your arrangement Joel told you his knees hurt and he wouldn’t be able to carry you home, you offered to just walk yourself over, your leg didn’t hurt that bad anymore and you were more than capable of walking short distances. But he insisted you stay, told you you could sleep in the bed and he’d take the couch.

But his knees hurt, you couldn’t let him do that. 

And you told him you’d take the couch and he told you he wouldn’t feel right making you sleep on the couch with your leg the way it was. 

So you told him you’d both just sleep in the bed. It wasn’t a big deal. You trusted him, of course you did, he had an opportunity to exploit you and he didn’t, if he was going to hurt you he would have done it already. 

He had acted unsure. 

You know now that it was acting. 

So you had insisted. You told him it was okay, you told him you felt safe with him. 

It was your idea. 

Even though it hadn’t been your idea to stay that night.

You had insisted he get in the bed with you. 

A fact that he would bring up often in the months to come. 

He would still help you to your apartment some nights, but just as often he’d complain about his knees and you’d stay. You got used to his warmth, you got used to waking up in his arms and not talking about it in the morning. 

So it made sense when he told you that you should keep your pajamas at his apartment. 

It made sense when he got a toothbrush for you to keep in his bathroom cabinet. 

It made sense when he told you that he couldn’t find new clothes in your size and you could just wear his. 

It made sense when he told you that he and Tess had never been a thing, so you had no reason to feel weird about sleeping in his bed. 

And it made sense when he told you that he’d hold onto the keys to your apartment, afterall you wouldn’t want to lose them. 

Joel Miller was a glue trap. And you had waded across his sticky surface without a care in the world, never realizing that it was getting harder and harder to move until you were standing still. Until the only way you were going to escape was by biting off your own leg. 

You don’t remember when you stopped returning to your own apartment completely, but you know that it happened early on, before you’d even started chewing. 

Now - JACKSON, WYOMING : 2023

“Ruth?” You’re gonna be late if you don’t find her soon. The turntable in the corner of the kitchen plays a 3 Doors Down song as you lift the table cloth, searching for the little girl. “We don’t have time to play, we need to get you to school.” You groan, turning to face the boy currently sitting in a highchair he’s just about grown out of. “Do you know where she is?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glaring at him as he shrugs. 

Of course he isn’t going to tell. They look out for each other before anyone else, a fact that normally fills you with joy but not when they’re ganging up against you. Thankfully you catch his eye as he shoots a glance at the pantry. Pulling the door open you’re quickly met with the sight of Ruth, giggling on the floor. You pick her up, putting her in her own highchair before setting a plate of fruits down in front of her.

“Eat. We don’t have time to play this morning, young lady.” You poke your fork in her direction as you sit down across from them.

“Eat.” She repeats in a mocking tone, her brother erupting into a fit of giggles at the impression as you sigh. They need to be at the community center in half an hour. You make the job schedules on Friday and you need as much time as possible if you want to finish them in one day. You’re having a hard time focusing on the mess your son is making as he smashes each blueberry down onto the table before popping them into his mouth as you try to schedule your own weekend. 

You need to finish all of your work today while the kids are gone so you don’t have to juggle watching them and working later, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue, scheduling should only take a few hours if you really zero in on it. You have dinner with Tommy and Maria tomorrow and you promised to bring dessert so you’ll have to take the kids to the market tonight, which also means you’re going to have to find supplies to barter with before you go. 

You have nothing planned on Sunday.

You’ll have to change that. 

You hate having nothing to do.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts as a blueberry hits you in the forehead. Both twins laugh now as you frown at them. 

“Behave or I’ll tell your aunt that you’ve been bad.” Both children look at each other nervously before returning to their breakfast. You were never stern enough with them. You loved them too much, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to yell at them, and it wasn’t like they were troublemakers by any means, they were just kids with a lot of energy in the mornings. And when they did misbehave a small threat of telling Maria was enough to make them stop whatever it was they were doing. 

You finish up your own plate and start getting ready to leave as the kids start giggling again to themselves. When their plates are empty you use a wet washcloth to clean their hands and faces before lifting each of them out of their respective seats, letting them run off a bit more energy before you head out. You set all three bags down in front of the door. Yours being the beige over the shoulder bag accompanied by two little backpacks. Ruth’s green canvas bag is covered in mud and other remnants of the yard that she’s brought in with her but Arthur’s purple backpack is kept neat and tidy. You slip into your coat before turning just in time to watch your son dive into the couch, quickly followed by his sister. 

“Come on little ducks. Time for school.” You take their jackets off the hook, holding them out to them as they rush over to you, tugging their own coats on before grabbing their bags, once you pull the door open they both rush out into the cool autumn morning, talking to each other in hushed tones. Always secrets with those two. It would probably make you a little worried if these were normal circumstances, the way they don’t let anyone in except each other, with you being the only exception. But the world is a terrifying place, it brings you peace to know that they have each other. 

A part of you is certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle just one. 

One little person relying on you, all while you’re doing your best to hold it all together? It sounds like a nightmare. It’s better that they have each other. Once you’re standing outside the community center, busy with parents dropping off their children, you kneel down. 

“Be good, if you behave today you can go to the market tonight.” The promise of the market has both of them grinning, showing off the teeth they’ve both recently had grow in. “I love you, I’ll see you in a bit.” You hold open your arms, each of them taking their respective sides as they wrap themselves around you. You take your daughter's face in your hands before pressing a kiss to her forehead, repeating the motion with your son. After a few “love you mama’s” they both run into the building, once you’re sure they’re safe inside you head off in the direction of town hall. 

You have what you would call the best job in town, despite the fact that no one else seems to want to do it. 

Maria understood when you arrived that you needed something that let you work from home if needed, you needed something that kept your mind busy but also gave you time with the kids. So you took care of the parts of Jackson most didn’t think about. 

You document all of the citizens, you make the shift schedules, and you make sure everyone has the necessities. You take care of housing, when big hauls from scavenging come in you divide them up among the people who need them. You make the meal schedules for the dining hall, and you make the crop schedules. 

You keep Jackson moving. 

When you arrived all of this was Maria’s job along with her other duties, when you told her you wanted something engaging and demanding she was more than willing to pass off those duties to you. So now you’ve got to make the schedule. Town hall is nothing more than a house with several desks for people doing work similar to yours but thankfully you’ve been lucky enough to reserve your own office in one of the bedrooms. 

Most Friday's Maria visits you for lunch but you know she’s on patrol currently, another perk of this job is knowing where everyone is, all the time.

No surprises. 

You hate surprises. (With a few exceptions.)

One of the exceptions is waiting for you in your office, Tommy sits with his legs up on your desk, reading over this past week's schedule. 

“You put me on crop harvest way more than anyone else.” He grumbles, tossing your notebook down.

“It’s the end of the season, everyones on crop harvest.” You lean down, kissing his cheek before taking your place across from him, immediately getting to work as he groans. 

“Maria gets to go on patrol.” 

“Council gets first dibs on patrols during harvest season.” The tip of your favorite pen is dry so you quickly bring it to your mouth, wetting it with your tongue before you start writing out jobs for this upcoming week. The second he sees how many farming related jobs you’re listing he leans back in his chair, groaning and running his fingers through his dark curls. 

Today’s his day off. You always gave anyone doing more manual labor three days off instead of two. 

“I can get you on one patrol shift but they’re going to need your help with the corn.” You write his name in with the Monday and Tuesday patrol squad, filling in the rest of his week with harvest as he grins. 

“Thank you, darlin’.” He drawls. You hate that nickname, you hate that he isn’t the first to give it to you but you never complain, you’d let Tommy get away with murder at this point. It’s the least you can do considering everything he’s given you. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever. You’re only getting a two-day weekend next week.” You mumble, searching through the list of citizens, trying to pick out the people you know won’t mind the hard work. 

“Fine by me.” You have a complicated relationship with that smile of his. You can love it all you want but that doesn’t change the fact that it makes you uneasy, it doesn’t help that you’re starting to see that same smile in your son. 

“I was thinking about berry cobbler for tomorrow night.” Molly twisted her ankle last week, make sure she isn’t standing. You put her down for shucking corn, she can sit in the dining hall and work. 

“We have a bunch of extra sweet potatoes if you want to make sweet potato pie.” He takes your crop ledger, flipping through it, clearly not reading a thing. 

“Ruth hates sweet potatoes.” Marcus insists he’s capable of doing manual labor, his pride won’t let him act his age. You put him down for pushing the wheelbarrows, he won’t have to bend down to pick anything up but hopefully he’ll still feel like he’s doing enough. You’ve told him countless times that at his age he shouldn’t be working so hard but he always insists. 

“Shit, forgot about that. Maria might have some apples.” 

“I’ll stop by tonight before I take the kids to the market.” 

You’re thankful for Tommy.

He keeps your mind busy with conversation while you work, and he’s one of the only people you actually trust. By the time you’re almost done you know you need to go get the kids, with a conflicted glance at the clock you start to gather your things but Tommy beats you to it.

“I’ll go get them, Maria should be home from patrol soon, she’ll want to see them.” He’s already putting his coat on so you stay seated. 

“Are you sure?” You already know there’s no reason to argue, he’s stubborn, just like his brother. 

“It’s the least I can do to make up for bothering you all day.” He steps around the desk to give you a peck on the cheek before going to leave. “Just come by the house when you’re done, no rush.” And just like that he’s gone. 

You make quick work of your remaining duties. Finishing everything within a half an hour before heading out in the direction of the Miller’s farm house on the edge of town. It’s only a few houses away from your ranch house, a fact that you couldn’t be more grateful for, if it weren’t for Tommy and Maria you aren’t sure you’d have been able to handle those first few months of parenthood. Most people in town assumed Tommy must be the father purely based on how much effort he put into taking care of not only them, but you as well. As you make your way up their porch steps and into the living room you’re also reminded of the similarities. You can’t blame people for making assumptions, even Maria thought he was the father. The twins have his eyes, (which by association means that they also have his eyes, but you try not to dwell on that.) Ruth has your nose but Arthur has that Miller curve already starting to show on his little nose. Both little ones are sitting in the big recliner with their uncle as he tries to get them to settle down while he reads to them but the second they see you, both are scrambling out of the chair to hug your legs. 

And everything goes exactly how it’s supposed to. 

(Of course it does, you plan every day down to the minute.) 

You give Tommy the list of things you need along with a few things he can trade them for and he takes the kids down the street to the market as you sit at the kitchen counter, talking to Maria about her patrol. You had all planned to go to the market together but she’d insisted she was tired and you didn’t want her to be here alone so you stayed, helping her cook dinner. And you talked about all the things you knew you would, something cute the kids did, how her patrol went, what things you could put on the dining hall menu in the coming weeks. 

It’s all exactly how it should be. 

Until she frowns. 

“Are you busy Sunday?” You had sensed something was wrong with her but you assumed maybe she was just a little rattled coming off of a three day patrol. 

“No, did you need something?” You continue to chop up the sweet potatoes she now planned to use tonight instead of tomorrow. 

“We found a couple of strays, I thought maybe we could get them settled in.” 

Odd. 

Normally finding survivors would be the first thing she mentioned after returning, even stranger is the fact that she’d often waste no time getting them supplies and a home to make their own. But you're not one to question Maria’s judgment.

“Sure, we can do that Sunday morning.” You want to ask questions about it but she’s already changed the subject to doing a clothing drive at the community center so you don’t press. Despite the way the look on her face is bothering you.

It wasn’t fear, or discomfort, or something you could explain away with the excuse of the strays being off putting or violent. 

It’s a look of pity. 

As if she feels bad for even asking. 

It unsettles you enough to leave it be. Making idle chit chat with her until Tommy returns with the twins and you take them home. It unsettles you as you make your own dinner, as you give the twins a bath, and as you help them into their pajamas and read them a story. It never leaves your mind. 

“Goodnight Ruthie.” You lean down to kiss her forehead, watching her eyes flutter shut as she continues to fight sleep. Always the stubborn one. 

“Night Mama.” You take the stuffed bear from the foot of her bed, tucking it in beside her before quietly standing, walking across the room to your son's bed. 

“Goodnight Arthur.” You lean down, kissing both of his rosy cheeks, he doesn’t fight sleep the way his sister does. So similar but so different. 

“Goodnight Mama.” His little voice has the same southern drawl you know he’s been picking up from Tommy. 

“I love you, little ducks.” You smile at him, turning to see that Ruth is already asleep, you tuck in the blankets around Arthur before leaving, keeping the door cracked open a bit so the light from the kitchen can act as a night light. 

God, you're tired. 

You’re quick to shower and slip into your own pajamas, crawling into bed with a yawn. You take the book from your nightstand, flipping through until you find where you left off yesterday. 

You never really know what’s going on in the books you read, they serve a singular purpose and it isn’t entertainment. 

You read until you fall asleep, they’re just a distraction to keep your mind busy with thoughts so he can’t sneak in right before you fall asleep and embed himself in your dreams. 

It works.

Your dreams never feature him. 

They aren’t good dreams by any means, they’re wild. Often of your journey to Jackson, the fear you felt then. But you’ll take that over Joel any day. Tonight isn’t any different, your sleep is restless as you fight the memories of fighting for survival in those woods, but instead of your usual nightmares of infected hunting you through the trees you’re faced with a sight that somehow makes you even more uneasy than the living dead.

The look on Maria’s face when she told you about the two strays. 

support me on kofi!!

a/n : this fic has been bouncing around in my brain for months now and it feels so fucking good to finally start it omfg. sorry if this felt a little slow, i really needed to set a tone and a base for the story, sorry!!

[bunnisari]

Miguel Ohara who has a City girl girlfriend! who LOVES going out with her bestfriends but she be testing him with the outfits she be wearing I’m talkin bout titties popping, ass out, outfits and like one night she goes too far, and like he fucks her..

Yeah. 🤷🏾‍♀️

PAIRINGS ✩ — miguel o’hara x black!hyperfem!reader

WARNINGS ✩ — drunk!reader, tummy bulge,edging, smut stuffff, didn’t proofread so excuse mistakes xx

THE sound of the City Girls blared from Miguel’s phone. His thumb pressed down on the phone, pausing your story. Your 24 inch black straight hair laid down your back. Your boobs were on the verge of falling out of your dress, your cuban link chain glistened under the light of the flash. He lifted his thumb up, allowing the video to continue playing. He watched as your friends shows your body all off to the camera, your ass cheeks hanging out and all. He can see the tattoo of his last name on the underside of your ass cheek, followed by the scar of where he first ever bit you.

He asked for you to not go out tonight, not in the mood to be defending the city at night and worried about his girlfriend who couldn’t stay away from a good time.

He clicked and clicked through videos, you chugging a drink down with your bestfriend, some random guy doing the worm to Poundtown, tons of angles of you singing R&B songs.

The next video was what set him off – you needed to come home now. You were drunk and giggling, bent over a stool as your best-friend took a jell-o shot off of your ass. A few college boys were recording as well, horny as hell.

Miguel was already fed up with you, your outfit being way too revealing.

You could wear whatever you wanted of course but, showing others what’s his..? Nah. Not gonna slide. He finds it amusing, he’s paralyzed you so many times with his dick, you’d think you’d be able to respect his wishes. But you just had to disobey him.

He spammed your phone with multiple calls that went to voicemail, many replies to your story, and many imessages.

Meanwhile, you just pulled up to another club with a bigger group than you arrived with. At this point you were fucked up, shaking your ass anytime you bent over. You were feeling a bit horny tho, missing your strong man so much.

“Ughhhh I miss my mannn” You dramatically throw your head back.

“Um speaking of your man he’s been blowing your phone up for like 30 mins” You best friend laughs as she nodded her head to the muffled music playing from outside the club.

“Oh oh oh! Where is my phone” You frantically looked around you, turning the flash on your phone to see the dark…. wait the flash on your phone?You looked up at your right hand, giggling at the coincidence. You were holding your phone the hold entire time.

“Man am I wasted!?” You asked out loud, walking into the club cheering with a random burst of energy. You immediately walked to the bar, Latch by Disclosure playing loudly. Your phone vibrated once again as you sat at the bar.

BIG DICK🧛🏽

11:35 PM

Bring your ass home.

Right now Y/N i’m not playing.

11:43 PM

Answer your phone.

I told you not to go out.

Answer.

12:31 PM

Okay Y/N.

Omw.

READ 12:56 AM

Oh fuck.

He was on his way like right now. You scrambled to check his location, it took a couple seconds to reload. Just then it refreshed, his contact picture right on top of your best-friends location.

“Let’s go” A deep voice rumbled into your ear.

“Mig-” Your whines were cut off when your arm was snatched up by Miguel. “Wait” You followed behind as he dragged you out of the club.

“Ba-by wait..” You tried to come up with an excuse. You thought Miguel had a mission for the night and you meant to hide him from your story.

“Get in the car and shut up Y/N” Miguel opened the passenger door. You shut your mouth, knowing that if you just listen, you’re punishment wouldn’t be as harsh.

Miguel walked to the other side of the car, opening his door but his movements halted when you whispered out something inaudible.

“What?” Miguel looked over at you with anger. “I left my .. purse with B/N (bestfriend name)… and it’s like designer… can you get it?” You looked over at him with teary eyes. Miguel just started at you for a moment, you’re gonna kill him.

He sucks in a deep breath before getting out of the car, closing the door to go get your purse.

He soon came back to you sleeping in the passenger seat, shaking his head.

Thirty minutes later, you’re getting carried bridal style. Miguel carried your heels,purse, and the house key in one hand. His other hand firmly holding your weight.

He swung the penthouse door closed with his foot, taking you to the bedroom. “Mig?” Your pouty whiney voice called out. “Go ahead and rest mama, you’ll be up allll night tomorrow”

“Mhmmph” You muffled out into Miguel’s shoulder as he pounded his lower half into you. “F-fuck! Fucking gripping me” Miguel hissed as you clenched against him. “Harder” You pant out, body getting squished into the mattress.

“Harder baby? Yeah?” He smiled down at you, such a fucking whore.

This was originally supposed to be punishment for last nights actions but, knowing Miguel he can’t resist you.

“Yeah” You smile back at him before your eyes rolled back as he delivered a punch to your cervix. “Ahh..shitt” Miguel moaned out as he could feel himself so deep in you. He looks down to the bulge that appears everytime he thrusts inside you. “Feel me ma? I’m right here s-shit” Miguel presses his hand on the bulge.

“I’m cummingg” You tapped his arm, clenching around his hard length. “Not yet pretty” He slid out of you. “You were bad remember” He sickly smiled down at you.

“Nooo” You whine out in frustration, “M’sorryyy I told you this!”

“Prove it to me that you deserve it then” Miguel say up against the headboard, dragging you on top of him. Your hand stroked up and down his cock before you slid down onto him.

“Fuck” You whimpered in unison. You placed your hands on his shoulders, breathing heavily. “C-can’t move”

“Yes you can pretty girl. You can take it cariño” He placed a kiss on your chin before slowly moving you up and down. You followed his guidance, throwing your head back in pleasure. “Just like that mama,” He lets go of your waist and slapped your ass before growling out, “Good girl”

“Make us cum and maybe i’ll forgive you”

[phantomskeep]

The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 2

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 2 -  A Bird, a Babe, and a Butler All Walk Into a Cave

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter One | Chapter Three

When Danny had first ventured into the darkened alleyways of this dirty city, he didn’t expect to run into some weirdo in a skin-tight black and blue suit. Fellow dumpster divers? Yeah, sure. He figured that fighting off a family of possums was normal when scrounging around for any scrap of something to fill his stomach.

He didn’t even know where he ended up honestly. Danny got a headache anytime he thought too hard about the details of where he was or how he got there or even who he was. He knew his name was Danny. He knew he was small (he had looked in a mirror, thank you, but it felt wrong somehow, like a funhouse mirror upside down) and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be small. But thinking about stuff like that hurt a lot–kind of like a metal fist bashing into his skull.

Danny wasn’t really sure how he knows what that feels like, yet he was sure that was the best comparison.

What he certainly wasn’t expecting at tonight's garbage dump feast was being kidnapped by a vigilante. Was it really kidnapping though if he kind of went along willingly out of pure curiosity? 

Although, man, was he glad (not that he'd ever admit it out loud) that this random vigilante decided to kidnap him tonight. After Nightwing had bundled Danny up onto his motorcycle once their meet-up with Batman was done and peeled out of the inner city of Gotham, the bird-themed hero brought him to a hidden entrance in the hills that led to a literal cave. He had watched when they pulled up as a reinforced steel panel lifted into the rocks above their head, leaving a gaping maw that Nightwing just zoomed into. Lights activated with motion sensors as they sped into a huge room that was full to the brim with gadgets and computers that lit up at their arrival. Danny could only stare in awe of how awesome and improbable it all seemed.

Seriously, how crazy were these Fruit Loops?

The man had started explaining some boring stuff about the cave when they arrived, but the massive freaking T-rex had immediately caught Danny’s eye and he stopped paying attention to Nightwing. It was like a switch was flipped, his cautious suspicion he’d been holding onto was thrown out the window, and now all that he could think about was flying himself up to the giant dinosaur and touching it. Danny was sure if you looked at his face at that moment, there was no other thought behind his eyes beyond must touch right freaking now.

Nightwing must have sensed the gremlin energy pouring off of him because next thing Danny knew, the collar of his jacket was being grabbed before he could move from his spot at the entrance. He pouted up at the man, demanding with his eyes that Nightwing let go so he could play on the dinosaur like he was a kid. But wait, maybe he should say because he’s a kid? He is a kid right, being all small? But he still wasn’t sure if that was correct. He mentally shrugged and thought: Eh, who cares? All Danny could see was shiny scales glinting in the fluorescent lights lining the cave.

And Danny? Danny was but a simple man (boy…maybe a crow?). He sees a shiny thing and must have the shiny thing.

“Danny, don't even think about it,” Nightwing intoned. He gripped Danny's jacket a little tighter and pulled him closer to the man's side. He totally did not pout at being squished into the vigilante. One hundred percent, no siree. No pouting here.

“Think about what? What are you thinking that I'm thinking?” Danny shrugged, acting casual while his eyes flitted back and forth between the vigilante and dinosaur. “There's no thoughts going on up here, I can promise you that.” He knocked on the side of his head to prove his point, but Nightwing looked unimpressed.

“Master Nightwing, I presume you brought this child back to the cave for medical attention?” Danny's nose bunched in confusion as he heard another, older and British, voice enter the chat. He turned his head around, looking for the source and spotted an older guy in a butler outfit paired with a mask, much like Nightwing’s, appear around the corner.

“Agent A! Good timing!” Nightwing jovially responded, yanking Danny around like he weighed nothing (shut up, he was a BIG MAN!) and presented him like a scrungly, dumpster-infested gift to Agent A. Danny crossed his arms and attempted to sit criss-cross while hovering in the air in response. He hoped it showed both men how displeased he was being carried around like a kitten.

Agent A only raised a single eyebrow, humming as he set down the tray he had been holding on a nearby table. Danny felt a little awkward at the look, like the man was able to be disappointed in him for nearly trying to be a brat and was waiting for Danny himself to realize it. 

“Hmm, well Master Nightwing, would you be so kind as to introduce the young Mister to me?” Agent A's attention (thankfully) shifted to Nightwing and Danny huffed a near silent breath in relief. 

Danny shifted uneasily, eyeing the new person. “How do I know you’re not some sort of government spy trying to steal my spleen?”

Nightwing let out a tired sigh, patting Danny’s greasy hair with his free hand. “This is Danny, he’s in need of some medical attention like you said. Starting with an attitude adjustment, I think.”

The young boy spluttered, smacking away Nightwing’s gloved hands. His feet dropped to the ground as he glared up at the vigilante who had finally decided to let him go. “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much! You’re the one who kidnapped me, so what kind of attitude should I have in the first place?”

“You came with me willingly!” Nightwing cried out, throwing his arms over his head in exasperation.

“You bribed me with sandwiches! I see no sandwiches here!” Danny rebutted, tilting his chin up and moving around like he was towering over Nightwing (he decided it was best to ignore his current height).

“Danny, you’ll get your sandwiches after Agent A and I check you over--”

“You’re a dirty liar and I hope you know that I will haunt you in your nightmares.” He squinted his eyes at Nightwing and Danny made a mental promise to himself to follow through with the threat…whether he knew how to do it or not. He would figure it out though if he didn't get the food he was supposed to be shoving in his mouth right about now.

Nightwing just sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Okay, kiddo. Whatever you say, I'm too tired to argue.” Danny pumped a little fist in the air at his win.

A small cough caught the quarreling black-haired duo’s attention. They both shifted their gazes back to where Agent A was watching them bicker. Danny resolutely ignored how they acted in sync and shifted a few inches away.

“If it may please you, Mister Danny, while Nightwing gets you set up in the medical bay I can make you a few simple sandwiches.” The older man turned a pointed look towards the youngest present. “Are there any allergies or preferences that I should be aware of?” When Danny shook his head negatively, Agent A turned to leave for…wherever he had spawned from before.

“Thank you, A.” The vigilante called to his retreating back before starting to herd Danny over to a well-lit corner of the literal freaking cave with actual bats. He still couldn’t get over it.

Danny glared up at Nightwing, eyebrows scrunched in a face of pure childish pout. “I would like to state that I am doing this under heavy protest.”

“Duly noted.”

The medical bay was stocked full of random bits and bobs of probably important looking equipment. From IV lines to a full x-ray machine, Danny had to take a moment and question just how loaded these guys must be to have this stuff at the ready. None of this looked second-hand or even well-used to his untrained eyes, though he couldn't remember if he really had much of a reference for this stuff. As he was ushered onto a cot, Danny couldn’t help the shiver of fear involuntarily creeping up his spine as he sat down.

Watching Nightwing move around brought a thin feeling of panic racing through his veins. The sterile smell, brightly unadorned walls, and the constant hum of devices plugged into every outlet. There was a mayo cart near the end of the cot he sat on, not much on it but Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the larger-than-they-should be tweezers and the forceps peeking out from under the sheet covering it. 

“Alright, Danno, we’re just gonna check you over real quick,” Nightwing told him, bustling around the small space comfortably. Danny felt like he couldn't breathe at the nickname for some reason he couldn’t recall. But that wasn't right? Because he was pretty sure he didn't have to breathe, which is wrong because a human should be breathing, right? He raised a shaky hand to his chest and yep, it was definitely not moving. Danny had stopped breathing at some point without realizing and it wasn’t affecting him, which was weird. But he still hadn't stopped watching the gleaming silver taunting him as though the instruments would start moving on their own towards him. So, he couldn’t bring himself to care about his own unnaturalness. “Now, I'm not the one with a history of medical care and knowledge. I know more than most. but I’ve only got enough in this old noggin for some basic first aid. Agent A will be the one actually looking you over in a bit.”

Nightwing continued to chatter on, but Danny couldn't bring himself to focus on his words until the man stepped in front of the instruments, blocking them from Danny’s line of sight. He sucked in a sharp breath for the first time in minutes, but Nightwing didn’t act like he heard him as he reached over to remove Danny's jacket. 

“Now, real quick I'm just going to do a surface check,” Nightwing rubbed Danny’s hands between his own rapidly. “Jeez kid, you're like an ice cube! We'll get you some warm clothes after we make sure you don't have any injuries. I'm gonna look for any bruises or cuts or anything broken so I can bring it to A's attention. Okay?”

Danny didn't respond. His eyes had started scanning the room and landed on a tiny centrifuge on the counter a few feet away. It looked off, it wasn't spinning at least, but the sight of it caused questions to blur in his mind. Were they going to take his blood? Why would they do that? Lots of reasons he knew, but couldn't name a single one. Why couldn’t he think of them? Would anything happen if they did take his blood? Why was he worried? Was there something that Danny should know, should remember, that he just couldn't? It was important, it had to be important! They were important, they were terrifying, they were his everything, they were his end–!

He felt his mind screech to a sudden halt, narrowing in on the blinking red light of the power button. The centrifuge just taunted him innocently as his mind panicked. Danny felt his chest going up and down, but his lungs still felt empty while his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his throat. He could hear his own heart beating. 

What if he was some kind of monster behind his memories? What if Nightwing and Batman arrested him, handed him over to someone? No, no, no! He couldn't let them! He couldn't go back, not to that place or to them--they hurt him, there was no way he'd go back! Danny refused to be sent back to the—!

Suddenly his thoughts stopped. Danny felt light-headed, all of his questions still swimming in his mind, but not as loud. He felt…calmer, but not at the same time? Who was he thinking of? What was he about to remember?

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there? It's not normal for you to be so quiet.” A voice spoke next to him, low and anxious but Danny's mind didn't really register it was Nightwing. He just sat there, his limbs heavy and eyelids sinking in exhaustion. He's not sure why he's suddenly so tired, but he felt his mind drift to the thought of flying through the skies with a blue shape holding onto him tightly–laughter chasing them in the wind.

********************************

To say Dick was panicking would be an understatement…He was absolutely losing his shit. One minute, Danny was perfectly fine (if a little bit nervous) but the next he was dissociating and hyperventilating! But without the very important part where he breathes! His little chest was moving up and down rapidly, but there didn't seem to be any air coming in or out of the boy.

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there?” Dick smiled, hoping it was a bit comforting. “It's not like you to be so quiet.” He spoke in hushed tones, but hoped that his goading brought the boy back to his former spunk for even a moment and snap him out of his altered mental state. When he got no response out of it though, which worried Dick even more. 

When Danny’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he passed out, just as Dick was reaching out for him? He felt his heart stop. But when Dick barely managed to catch the small boy before he fell off the cot? That was the final straw. He quickly cradled Danny in his arms and faced the main portion of the cave.

“Agent A! I need your help, come quick!” 

A hurrying of footsteps alerted him to Alfred arriving, but after calling out for assistance, Dick's eyes never left Danny’s face. There was a clatter as Alfred hastily dropped the sandwich tray he had been carrying onto the counter, the older man stopping next to Dick with a distraught expression. “What has happened here?”

“I don’t know, one second he seemed fine and then he just stopped talking!” Dick reached a hand up to gently cradle Danny’s small face, turning his head up to look at his pseudo-grandfather. “I tried asking him a question and he just passed out all of a sudden.”

With a quick nod, Alfred took Danny from his arms and laid him down on his side. Dick couldn’t help but notice just how small the boy looked laying on the adult sized cot. His breathing was short and shallow–nothing like how it was supposed to be when someone was sleeping restfully.

“Get the oximeter set up on him, lad. We’ll need to take his temperature and get a baseline.” With a determined nod, the young man set off to do just that. As he clipped the small, child-sized plastic equipment Bruce kept in the med bay for whatever reason, Dick couldn’t help but run through what had happened prior to him absconding with Danny to the top of Wayne Tower. Did he notice anything wrong with the kid besides the obvious? Did Danny act like he was protecting a wound of any kind while they spoke? He had no idea, but he sure was some detective for not noticing. Dick scoffed at his own thoughts and rushed back to Alfred.

“Was there anything that might have happened to cause any kind of head injury to the young lad?” Alfred questioned as he slipped a thermometer under the unconscious boy’s tongue. He held it there, never looking away from his patient as he questioned Dick. “Any symptoms of a fever or cough that may indicate he is sick or suffering from an underlying issue?”

Dick shook his head, impatiently waiting for the oximeter to give him something. When it continued to show nothing, he felt his heart sink. “Not anything I was there for. The kid was dumpster diving when I found him…looking for food.” He closed his eyes, trying to recall what exactly had happened earlier that night. “He kept swaying around when I got close to him though, like he was exhausted or something but trying not to show it.”

Alfred hummed, pulling the thermometer from Danny’s mouth as it beeped a cheery tune. “His temperature is not where it should be, but not out of the question with the weather and how thinly he is dressed.” The butler gave a sharp nod, depositing the used thermometer off to the side and moving towards the blood draw station. “We’ll need to perform a blood panel on Mister Danny, it’s a very high possibility that his blood sugar is low, as well.”

Dick felt his shoulders deflate, glancing helplessly between the kid he knew he was getting attached way too fast to and his grandfather. “And what if his blood sugar isn't the problem we're having here? What if something else is going on?”

Alfred's eyes softened a little around the edges, his steps a little less hurried, though still confident nonetheless. “Then that is simply one diagnosis we will be able to remove from the realm of possibility. Now, please help me get Mister Danny cleaned up a bit. I daresay, we cannot have the child catching an infection from the street grime finding its way into an injection site.”

“Got it–okay.” Dick pushed his shaking hands to still as he hurried over to one of the cabinets alongside the walls. He opened the drawer housing the many rags they use in these types of situations, a box of alcohol wipes, and a small bucket he filled with water at the sink to take over to Danny’s bedside. Setting them all on the nearby mayo cart, he started gently scrubbing away the thick layer of filth coating the young boy’s arm until the skin turned near pink. Doing his best to not think about just what was happening, the vigilante cleaned up the young boy with Bat-trained efficiency.

“He’s ready,” Dick announced as he swiped an alcohol wipe repeatedly over the now-cleaned flesh. Alfred hummed as the older man wrapped a latex band around Danny’s upper arm, watching as the young boy’s veins slowly thickened with blood swelling. With a gentle precision, Alfred prodded around before reaching a hand out to press lightly above the tourniquet. Instinctively, Dick passed over a needle and syringe to him, keeping the empty tiger tubes in his palm until Alfred asked for them.

Just as the cool metal of the needle began to poke into Danny’s veins, the boy’s fist snapped out, almost knocking the empty tubes out of Dick’s hands. They were shocked enough by the response–both men startled more than they expected–that Dick found himself taking a half step back and Alfred was pulling the needle away from Danny's arm to ensure he didn't poke the boy in the wrong spot by accident. 

“Danny?” Dick called out, his surprise hurriedly making way for relief. “Oh my, Danny! You scared me–” Snarling greeted his approach and instantly stopped Dick in his tracks. His arms were held up in an aborted hug as he watched Danny inch upwards and lean forward so his weight was supported by his wrists. It couldn't have been comfortable, but Dick wasn't sure if Danny even realized as his eyes remained tightly shut–lines appearing around them that made him seem so much older than his young age was.

Danny’s noises intensified when Alfred began to move again, the needle still held tightly within his right hand. Although they didn't open during all of this, Danny's eyes were trained on the gleaming silver as though it personally offended him. Dick’s gaze flitted between the two others for a moment before he had an idea.

Lowering himself a little so he wasn't too tall in this moment, settling into a crouched position that put him eye level with Danny, Dick took a deep breath. “Alfie, I need you to take a step back for me.”

The old butler raised a brow and did not move, keeping his eyes on Danny with continuous aborted attempts to reach the child. “Master Dick, I do not know what you are planning–”

“Sorry Alf, I just need you to trust me,” he held a hand out, interrupting the butler and accepting his consequences for later. “I've got an idea, but I need you to step back a little first.”

Alfred tsked in disapproval, but did as Dick asked and the young man watched as a little bit of tension left Danny's face. “Okay okay, now I need you to slowly lower the hand that’s holding the needle.”

“Now, really Master Dick.” Alfred didn't complain, but he made his displeasure known. “This young man is now my patient, so I must treat him. Would you please allow me?”

Dick resisted the urge to sigh. He felt like right now was not the best time to be arguing, it could only lead to Danny running from them, from him. Dick didn't know how he knew that probability, but he felt it in his very bones. Every second they wasted, he knew that it would lead to Danny running as fast as his small legs would take him.

“Alfred, please, I'm asking you to trust me right now,” he begged. Waving a hand at Danny’s current state as though to prove his point. “There's something happening, and I think that we need to follow Danny's lead here. If I know grunts and growls from B, then this is an angry or scared one. We have to step back, ok?”

Alfred glanced away from Danny long enough to stare into Dick's eyes and sigh under his breath (Dick didn't actually hear the noise, but he knew it happened). But without argument, he moved his arm down slowly, never letting go of the needle–but rather just removing it from Danny's direct line of sight. The snarls didn't completely disappear, but they lowered enough in volume that he could almost say the kid sounded like an old fridge humming to life for the first time in years.

Turning to the (obviously freaked out) child in front of him, Dick put on his best showman's smile for him. “Danno, it's okay, no one will hurt you.” There was no response, not that Dick thought there would be. “No one will ever touch you again without your okay on it, is that alright?” 

A blank stare was the only reply Dick received, making his worry increase. He did his best to not show it, his smile steady and sure as he kept gently talking to the scared boy in front of him. “What’s got you all worked up? Must not like needles, huh, bud?” With the utmost caution, Dick slowly reached out a hand. When Danny’s snarling continued as before without raising in volume, the vigilante kept creeping closer and closer. “Needles are pretty scary. I used to hate getting shots, y’know? Batman would have to bribe me with ice cream to get me to do it.” Dick dropped his voice to a stage whisper as he gently touched Danny’s shaking arm. “He still has to bribe me, even if I’m not scared anymore. It gets me free ice cream, how could I say no to that?”

Alfred chuckled despite himself at Dick's words, no doubt remembering all the times he had to quell Dick's tantrums when he had to get all of his vaccinations after moving in. “It is true, Mister Danny. Master Nightwing was quite the rambunctious child and the main aggressor in Batman's multitude of gray hairs coming in early.”

Dick frowned at Alfred. He wasn't that bad growing up! But before he could protest his angelic childhood nature, he heard a quiet snort. Whipping his head back around from where he was about to defend himself to Alfred, Dick watched as the lines on Danny's face receded a bit and there was a tiny quirk to his lips.

Deciding sometimes it's better to join them than try and beat them, Dick moved forward. “Oh yeah, for sure, I was a total monster! There was this one time where Batman told me I couldn't go on patrol with him after I kept playing with Poison Ivy's plants,” Dick started in a hushed whisper, as though he were telling a secret. Danny leaned forward, his eyes still closed but not as tightly and he thought he could almost make out a sliver of color from them. “Well, I couldn't stand for that, of course! I was all of eight-years-old and totally knew better than Batman himself, so I went out anyway but in the opposite direction of his patrol. I figured if he didn't see me, he wouldn't know.” Dick shrugged casually, leaning back a bit with a faux-cocky smirk.

“How, pray tell, did that end up working out for you, Master Nightwing?” Alfred was smirking. That was never a good sign for any of them. 

Dick looked away from the old butler, keeping Danny in his peripheral as he muttered. “I slipped on some ice that Mr Freeze had left on the ground and slid into the middle of traffic. Batman got a call from Gordon about ‘an extra traffic light the city didn't authorize’ and told him to come get me.” Dick pouted remembering how Bab's’ Dad kept chuckling at him the whole time Bruce gave him a silent lecture on the police station roof. “I was grounded from everything, not just patrol, for a month. A whole month!”

A small huff of laughter caught Dick’s attention, and he could see Danny’s shoulders lower from their tense position. Dick gave a quick glance over him, checking for anything wrong, and just seeing that the little boy was much more relaxed. Within seconds his little head was lolling around like it weighed more than he could handle. Dick jumped up and grabbed hold of Danny's shoulders before he could slump over and fall off the cot. With the same amount of caution one would use to approach a rabid dog, Dick slowly laid the once again unconscious child back down. He stayed still for a few tense moments, waiting for Danny to react negatively at the change in position. When there was no aggressive movement, he breathed a sigh of relief. Turning his head to face Alfred, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Maybe we don’t draw the kid’s blood just yet.”

“Master Nightwing, we need to find out what’s wrong with the young lad.” The old butler set the needle down on a nearby table, locking covered eyes with Dick’s own. “It could be something that needs immediate treatment.”

“Is there any way we could get that information without drawing a panicked child’s blood?” Dick hissed.

Eyes narrowing in displeasure, Alfred spoke with a sharp tone. “Master Nightwing, it would do you well to remember the manners Batman and I taught you.”

Dick sheepishly looked at the ground, mumbling out an apology. “But, A, c’mon. He clearly doesn’t like needles for some reason. Why don’t we just wake him up, or do some tests that don’t involve drawing his blood?”

Alfred twisted his lips in a way only the man himself could, eyes trained on Dick who was anxiously rubbing his hands together, waiting for an answer. When Bruce wasn't here, Alfred was in charge. (Aw, who was he kidding? Alfred was always in charge, but when Bruce isn't here the arguments are a lot easier). 

“As you wish, I will view Mister Danny's current status without the transfer of biological tissue of any kind,” Alfred agreed easily, moving past Dick to properly dispose of the needle he had opened. “But I tell you this now sir, if there is an underlying health issue then I won't be able to do anything if his condition worsens in this situation. So I suggest coming up with an idea for when the young sir awakens.”

Dick nodded while feeling like groaning in misery. He barely knew the kid–how was he supposed to act as a health surrogate for this tiny child right now? The vigilante put his hands on his hips as he watched Alfred work, removing Danny's dirty outer clothing. Alfred’s facade broke for a second as he made a face at the two filthy, thin jackets covering the boy’s still covered arm and the ripped flannel around his waist. The old butler methodically cleaned every part of Danny's arms and face that were covered in dirt, and Dick watched in awe as the most adorable freckles appeared on his round baby cheeks. He needed to squish them and coo at the little boy right that second, having to use every ounce of Bat-trained restraint to not coddle the tiny human.

“Nightwing,” Dick took in a sharp breath, instinctually standing up straight. He hadn’t been expecting Bruce to be back to the Cave so soon, normally the man would stay out as late as possible on patrol. “Report, now.” Bruce's voice garnered no argument, a tone demanding answers. Dick knew that he probably had some kind of traumatic response reasoning or whatever for needing to know literally everything for a sense of control. But Dick had a traumatic response to fight at every turn when being spoken down to.

“Not now B, if you can’t tell there’s something going right now we’re a bit busy with,” Dick grit his teeth as he responded, unable to tear his eyes away from the laceration on the back of Danny’s left arm that Alfred had just uncovered. What could have made that? A kitchen knife perhaps? Dick wanted to get a closer look, but he knew he’d just be in Alfred’s way right now. “So if you could kindly fuck off until later, that would be great.”

“Language, young sir,” Alfred admonished him absently. 

Dick felt his cheeks heat up, but didn’t move from his position in the doorway where he was watching everything that happened. He didn’t want Bruce coming close to Danny. “Sorry A, my bad.”

“Nightwing,” Bruce–no, Batman–intoned. Dick wanted to ignore the man. God, did he want to just flat out pretend he wasn’t there and focus on this tiny bundle of cuteness that filled him with a strong urge to protect said bundle from any and all harm. 

But Batman was someone that couldn’t be easily ignored.

“What part of ‘not now’ do you not understand?” The younger vigilante quipped, trying to play the part of happy-go-lucky-Dick-Grayson everyone always seemed to expect from him. It was exhausting most of the time these days, but somehow easier to just fall into his assigned role than live with the anger brewing in his chest bit by bit.

“I don't have time for your remarks, Nightwing,” Batman scolded. At this point in his life, Dick can tell Bruce's frowns apart as well as he could the grunts. This was an ‘you are lucky you're my kid, otherwise I'd sock you in the jaw’ kind of frown. He didn't earn those too often, surprisingly. “You let an underaged civilian into the Cave without consulting me first. Explain your actions, now.”

Dick’s lips curled, snarling at Batman. “What I did was bring a scared, hurt little boy to a place that I knew would give him half-decent medical attention. It’s better than dropping him off at, I don’t know, Ma Gunn’s?” With an ugly type of satisfaction, he watched as the blow hit its mark. He could read Batman’s body language well enough by now to see the half-hidden wince, the slightest uptick of his shoulders. Hopefully it was enough to make Batman be Bruce for half a minute so they could have an actual conversation, rather than a screaming match.

“You're out of line, Nightwing,” Batman frowned, the creases in his mask deepening as he stalked towards Dick. A dark feeling wormed its way through Dick's chest. It was an awful thing that made him feel like a shit son for being cruel to the man who raised him, but also felt glad he could inflict just a little suffering back at Bruce for his emotionally constipated actions over the years. Dick felt sick at the words that just came out of him. “I suggest you stop now, and let me move past you.”

Dick jutted out his chin, shifting on his feet to broaden his stance and better block off the entry to the medical bay. “Absolutely not.”

The two stared each other down for a moment. Dick didn't move from his post, crossing his arms defiantly as Bruce tried to stand up to his annoyingly taller height in an act of intimidation. Too bad for him, it stopped working after the last time he betrayed Dick's trust, right before he abandoned the mantle of Robin that he had built.

“Nightwing, that was not a request but an order. Move now.” Bruce made to shoulder his way around Dick, but the younger’s lithe form moved to block him.

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you take a kid–who just fainted–out of this cave! He needs medical attention and Alfred’s the best of the best.” Dick argued defiantly. Maybe a little childishly too, if he had to admit it. Dick knew that Danny would do well to be treated properly in a hospital, but after what he witnessed in that room with hardly the basics in medical care? He wasn't letting that kid anywhere near a hospital without his consent right now.

“Alfred, while skilled, is not comparable to a trained doctor who can treat this child and get them the help he needs.” Bruce put his hand on Dick's shoulder and he roughly shoved it off, feeling the skin burn despite layers of kevlar and spandex separating them. “You are acting irrationally right now–”

“I don’t care, Bruce!” Dick shouted, shaking with a barely-contained rage. He felt his chest burning with it, unable to hold the words in and since there were no younger siblings or small children around (and awake), so he didn't stop them. “I don’t care that Alfred’s not a trained doctor. I don’t care that you’re so against this! What I care about is the fact that this little kid trusted me enough to bring him here, to get him help, when he very clearly does not trust anybody!” Dick moved, getting up in Bruce’s face as he went on his tangent. He was so fired up, he couldn't even notice Bruce's dominos widening in shock. “You should know better than anyone what it’s like to have a kid dropped right in front of you and know that you need to help! Hell, how many orphans have come through here, again?”

Dick huffed loudly, his breaths causing a slight mist in the damp cave as he watched Bruce process his words for a moment. The man barely moved the whole time Dick was ranting and he was honestly shocked he got out what he did without Bruce shutting him up. Or Alfred complaining about how they were disturbing his patient. 

“Exactly, Dick,” Bruce agreed. But his voice was low and dangerous, the tone he saved for when he was incredibly angry. Dick only ever heard it when the man was facing Joker or The Riddler after their antics affected large groups of people and led to deaths. “I have seen multiple orphans walk through this manor and through this cave. I have watched as you were consumed by rage and tried to avenge your family with your small hands, still growing as you filled these halls with so much sorrow it couldn't fit in a tiny body.” Bruce's fists clenched at his sides. “I watched as you followed in my footsteps, becoming Robin and channeling your anger before just leaving everything behind. I couldn't stop you.”

Bruce jutted his chin out, the vein in his neck popping as he remembered Dick's younger years. “I watched as…as Jason, so filled with hatred and rage entered the manor. He hid his food and tried to protect himself even when no one was coming after him, and then he took over Robin. He was the happiest I had seen him in those days,” Bruce's voice quieted some, but the steel in his tone grew sharper. “Then I watched as he died. He died because he was Robin, because I took him in.”

Bruce pointed at Dick suddenly, and the accusatory finger felt so strong he took a step back in surprise. “Tim was not one I expected, and I tried to push him away for his own good. He'd have been better off not being Robin for his own sake. Even a life lived like his could have become better than the one he has now, risking his life on the streets when he could be at home developing film or skateboarding with friends. A normal life, without the mission,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Dick, I know what it's like to see an orphan child and want to help them, of course I do. But sometimes, even with good intentions, there are people who want to help but in hindsight probably shouldn't. They could end up making the child's life even worse, completely without trying.”

The guilt that Dick had been feeling washed out in a seething tsunami of fury. All throughout Bruce’s speech, the acrobat felt regretful over what he said to Bruce. Maybe the man actually understood how fucked up his relationships with his kids were? He was mentally debating how to apologize to him for what was said and move forward, maybe turn this into an actual conversation for once. Yet, Bruce's words at the end gave him pause. He made some points Dick could find himself agreeing to in other circumstances, but to say that he shouldn’t be around Danny? Because he would make the kid’s life worse? That's just catastrophizing and projecting his own guilt onto Dick!

“I want you to think about how old you were when you took me in, Bruce.” Dick said, slowly and clearly as he stalked closer to his father-figure. “You were only twenty-two. Fresh out of traveling the world, leaving behind all your responsibilities to start out on your own quest to avenge your parents. To lead a one-man crusade against all the bad things this screwed up city has to offer.” The younger man glared up at Bruce, hoping that he was communicating just how royally pissed off he was. “I’m two years older than you were. I have a full-time job as well as having a normal life outside of the suit. I have decent relationships with my co-workers and I have not only successfully led teams, but I have been fighting towards The Mission for most of my life. I have friends inside and out of being a vigilante who would be more than happy to help me if I asked them to. And, unlike someone I know, I would actually ask.”

Dick shook his head bitterly. He felt the insane urge to laugh right now, but none of this was funny. He knew that.

“I know I can take Danny under my wing and raise him well. I have a great example of what not to do, after all. But, what happened to the one kid you ever bothered to actually adopt, Bruce? Where is he now? Would you say that being under your care made his life even worse?” They both knew he was talking about himself, but Dick wanted Bruce to say the words he was always afraid to admit out loud about their relationship.

Dick felt a sick sort of satisfaction still though at seeing Bruce's shoulders shake minutely. There was not a lot that could rattle the man, but bringing up the mistakes he made raising his kids would always do it--you just had to know what signs to look for. If Jason had been here for this, or even Tim, they probably would have tried to stop their fight before it got to this point. His brothers never enjoyed being around him and Bruce at times like these, but it still made him feel awful in a way to speak to Bruce like this. But he was so upset at the situation he couldn't bring himself to care.

He barely managed to dodge the swing Bruce tossed his way, ducking down to his haunches as the man pushed his weight forwards. Sliding around his legs, Dick hooked himself around Bruce's ankle to bring the bigger vigilante down, but Bruce only stumbled a bit. Dick tumbled a few feet away and popped back up, lowering himself into a half-crouched stance in case Bruce came towards him again. But he didn't, Bruce just stood in the entry of the doorway, huffing like an angry bull as he whipped his cowl off and turned burning blue eyes onto Dick.

He peeked around the man's wide shoulders at Alfred, who stood in the background like a sentinel over Danny's quiet form resting on the bed. Somehow the kid was still asleep through all of the noise. If he weren't facing Bruce, Dick would laugh at the sight of the kid’s slack jaw and an ever growing puddle of drool under his chin.

“You have no right to talk about situations you don't understand, Dick,” Bruce ground out, his voice gravelly with the emotions he never let out. “The choices I made were–”

“Really shitty?” Dick quipped as he rose from his crouch. “Because, yes. They were, I agree.”

“They were the best choices I could make at the time,” Bruce corrected, lines deepening on his face and aging the man even more. “I was young and I had a child dropped into my lap–”

“More like yoinked from the cops, but go on.” Dick shrugged at the man, body language loose but his nerves were shot now that he was further from Danny. “Keep digging that hole B, maybe soon it'll be big enough to fit you.”

“Nightwing, stop this now–” Bruce started to lecture. But the step backwards he made caused Dick to snap. He was too close to Danny and Dick was too far. He had to protect!

“No! This isn't Batman and Nightwing time B,” Dick began marching forward, fists trembling in front of him with each step. “This is Dick and Bruce, man and ward time. You and I are talking, it is not you giving me orders!”

Stopping in front of his father-figure, Dick looked him dead in the eyes. Blue met blue. Frown met frown. He stood up to Batman who was keeping him from the child his heart had already claimed.

“So how about we talk, old man?”

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 5] Evening Off

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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“Mommy…” Ren taps your face. Lately he’s picked up the bad habit of waking you up earlier than you’re supposed to, and it’s getting on your nerves. The first morning was because he was hungry, but lately it’s because he’s bored and wants to spend time with you– You understand where he’s coming from, you two barely spend time together and the early morning is the only time you can actually do something, but you barely sleep and you appreciate every minute of rest.

“Let’s sleep some more, buddy.” You tell him, wrapping your arm around him and cuddling him. You need to save up all your energy for tonight, after all, you’re going out with people you don’t want to go out with. You talked to your mother to take care of Ren since she’s feeling better, you also wanted to give the nanny the night off since she has her own family to take care of. 

“I’m not sleepy, mommy.” He answers while your hand begins to pet his hair. You hope that it’ll help him sleep, but once Ren wakes up, it’s hard to get him to go back to sleep. He gives you around five minutes– Five minutes in his mind, but it’s actually a minute of extra sleep before he says, “Can we play, mommy?”

“Baby, I’m so tired.” You whine, and he worms out of your embrace. You hear him walk away, and just as you’re succumbing to slumber, you hear a squeaky toy in your ear. You finally open your eyes, and you look at the little boy who looks at you with doe eyes. He just really misses you and wants to spend time with you. You get up and you begin to walk to the bathroom, “Brush your teeth before anything, Ren.”

“Okay!” He yells before he runs behind you to brush his teeth. And like that, your day gets started.

You eat breakfast, play a little with Ren, then you make lunch for the two of you, and after you play a little more, and by a little more, you mean for the rest of the day. You’re tired of playing, but he’s just so happy while he plays with you. When you finally get him to watch a show and relax, there’s a knock on the door and then someone rings the doorbell; you know it’s your mother, meaning that it’s time for you to start getting ready and actually start your day. 

You open the door, and your mother engulfs you with a hug. You hug her back, a smile coming to your face as you feel her arms around you. The smile fades as you remember that you have to go out. And your stupid self agreed to go out clubbing with them afterwards. Maybe you can cancel last minute, but you’re not sure that Mrs. Gojo would be too happy with you.

She walks inside, pulling away from the hug. She calls out Ren’s name, and the little boy goes running to his grandmother. He hugs her, and you smile as you watch the exchange. You close the door and you tell them, “I’ll start getting ready.”

They ignore you as you walk to your room and to the bathroom to take a shower and begin getting ready. You try not to spend too much time getting ready because you tell yourself that you’re not trying to impress anyone… But you are, and even though you try not to spend too much time on your makeup, you do. You take too long picking out an outfit and matching shoes. You’re not even going to comment on accessories– You don’t have a lot to pick from, yet you struggle with which ones to put on.

While you decide on the earrings, your mother walks into the room. You don’t notice her, focused on your reflection on the mirror. You’re startled when she says, “This is a nice apartment.”

“I know. I like this better than staying at her house.” You share, and she chuckles in response.

“I can only imagine the nightmare she is. Worse with age.” She responds, and you hum in response. You finally decide on the earrings and you put them on.

“She’s not so bad with Ren. Absolutely adores that boy, that I can say.” You tell her. You finally turn to look at her, a sigh leaving your lips before you roll your eyes just thinking of Mrs. Gojo. “She wants to make my life miserable though. I have no idea why she wants me to go out with her son and friends. She probably just wants me to be miserable.”

“‘Her son’ like he isn’t Ren’s father.” She quotes, and you two are so focused on your conversation that you miss the little boy that stands behind your mother, one that walked out of his room and wondered where his grandmother went. He makes his presence known when he hears the word father.

“Daddy? Are you going to see my daddy, mommy?” Ren speaks up, and you both freeze as if you had been caught red-handed. As Ren grows older, he asks more questions about his family. Thanks to what he sees on television, he knows that he’s supposed to have a father. It also doesn’t help that he sees his friends’ fathers, and he slowly realizes that he’s supposed to have one as well. Your mother turns around and smiles down at the young boy.

“How about we get some ice cream.” She offers, completely dismissing the question. He completely forgets about what he was talking about at the offer for ice cream, and you watch as he nods excitedly, a big smile coming to his face. You watch them walk away and go to the kitchen, and you end up sighing. Each day you wonder how you’ll answer the inevitable question of who his father is and where he’s at; he doesn’t know about you doesn’t seem like a good enough answer. 

You arranged a ride to take you to the restaurant that you were supposed to go to. You weren’t expecting anything fancy, just a small restaurant to eat something before getting the night started, but you’re proved wrong. Of course you are. They’re not going somewhere cheap to eat, even if they have other plans after. You’re not sure if you’re dressed right until you see Shoko who dresses in the same style. She holds a cigarette between her lips, and she throws it on the floor when she sees you walking over.

“Are we underdressed or…?” You begin and she chuckles before she pulls out the phone to look at the time. “I was expecting some cheap place… I mean they do have plans to go out afterwards right?”

“It’s funny you think that they’d step near a cheap restaurant.” Shoko responds, and you two begin to walk into the place. Shoko tells the hostess Gojo’s name for the reservation, and she walks you to your table. You find that you’re not the first ones there since Suguru is sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone. Shoko rolls her eyes before saying, “It’s a surprise that you’re here early.”

“Why do you sound irritated by that?” Suguru says, raising his brow as he look at Shoko. The man stands up from his chair to walk over to you and give you a side-hug. When he does so, he walks back to his seat, and you take a seat as well. “Did you two come here together or…?”

“We just met outside.” Shoko answers. Your leg begins to bounce as you think about what’s coming up next. Shoko notices and she’s about to ask why the hell you even decided to show up, but she puts two and two together and it all goes back to Mrs. Gojo. “How long do you think it’ll take for Sayo to realize that they were together for a bit.”

“Who?” Suguru asks, genuinely confused but then he looks at you. Suguru then chuckles before shrugging. “I mean… They are so awkward around each other, she’s bound to know something is up.”

“I’m right here. Change the topic.” You tell them. “I don’t want to talk about the Gojos. I already have enough dealing with the mother daily, I don’t want to talk about the son nor the wife.”

“How did you even end up working for her?” Suguru questions, and that’s something that Shoko also wonders; she knows that you had a son, but that’s about it. What prompted you to seek out help from Mrs. Gojo.

“A lot of bills, little money, barely any help.” You keep it vague. “What can I say? She might be a total bitch but the woman pays well.”

And just as you say so, the couple makes their presence known. Your face gets hot immediately, thinking that they heard you call Satoru’s mother a bitch. Sayo and Satoru greet everyone at the table before taking a seat. Your eyes look over Sayo, and you feel… Inferior. You know another person’s beauty doesn’t take from your own, but as you look at her, you feel as if she’s sucked the beauty out of you. She wears a white silk dress that accentuates her body, a ruby necklace around her neck with matching earrings, and red lipstick on her lips– She’s not dressed  to go out clubbing.

She looks at you and smiles. “It’s so nice to see you here.”

“How’s your cat doing? I hope he’s not too bummed out that you’re here.” Suguru mentions and you end up chuckling. Dinner would’ve been fine without Satoru and Sayo, but that’s not the reality. They’re there so it’s all too awkward, even if you try to converse. Sayo is pretty much the only one that speaks, occasionally, Suguru helps her out.

You do find out that she’s your age, of course from a wealthy family, and she’s currently a stay-at-home wife, and she’s planning on keeping it that way. She’s into painting, yoga, horseback riding, and whatever rich pastime one could think. What you find the most interesting is that apparently Sayo and Satoru met once before in their childhood: a winter that the Gojos went to Switzerland. They have a picture together from years ago. It made you comment,

“Wow, it’s like you two are soulmates.”

Sayo chuckles while Satoru’s eyes wander around. He can’t look at you straight, you don’t think he ever will again. Sayo tucks a strand of her long black hair behind her ear before she comments, “I don’t believe in soulmates, and Satoru doesn’t either.”

“Really?” You furrow your eyebrows then you look at Satoru. He would always call you his soulmate but apparently he’s changed. Or maybe he doesn’t want to admit something so foolish to his wife.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” She asks and you end up nodding. She then proceeds to ask, “Do you think you’ve met your soulmate?”

“I don’t think I have.” You answer, and you glance at Satoru who finally looks at you. You look away and your eyes land on Suguru. “How’s your residency going?”

“God, let’s not talk about that because I’ll rip my hair out.” Suguru responds, which makes Shoko say,

“Oh my God, let’s talk about it then.” She smirks while looking at Suguru, and Suguru rolls his eyes. The pair used to get along but now Shoko seems like she can’t stand Suguru.

“You’re just mad because your parents didn’t let you study medicine.” Suguru comments, and she end up scoffing. Sayo takes over the conversation before they continue bickering.

Shoko drives you and Suguru to the club that you’re going meeting Satoru and Sayo at. You’re more excited about this than dinner because you actually have the chance to get away. You’re able to let loose for the first time in five years. Of course, you’re in a private booth of the club because apparently Sayo and Satoru don’t like to be close to other people, but it’s fine. You and Shoko still get away.

You do a round of shots with Shoko, which didn’t take too much convincing from her part, and then you dance with her. You’re having fun with her, until you feel a pair of hands on your hips, and you tense up. You turn to look at who it is, brushing their hands away. You bite down your lip, holding back a smile as you put Suguru’s hands back on your hips. You begin to dance together, and when Shoko notices, she walks away not wanting to witness whatever the hell is happening.

“Why aren’t you two dancing?” Shoko asks, raising her voice so it can be heard over the music, walking back to Satoru and Sayo. She’ll sit down for a minute, have a drink, and then go back to dance. Satoru has his arm wrapped around Sayo, just looking around while she sips on her cocktail.

“Sayo doesn’t like to dance. What about you? Are you tired already?” Satoru replies, raising his voice as well, and Shoko chuckles.

“Suguru started dancing with her and I needed to get out of their way before they started making out in front of me.” Shoko says, which makes Sayo laugh while Satoru shifts in his seat. His eyes look around for you amongst the crowd of people and he finally finds you, grinding on Suguru. 

“Does she like him?” Sayo asks, and Shoko shrugs.

“I know that he likes her! Ever since we were teens!” Shoko responds, and maybe it’s the dim purple lighting that makes her eyes see things, but she swears she sees Satoru clench his jaw. She acts as if she didn’t see anything, playing it off as her own faulty eyesight before she stands up to get herself another drink. She doesn’t want to stay with Satoru and Sayo for too long; she feels too awkward when she’s alone with them.

“I’m gonna get something to drink! Will you come with me?!” You tell Suguru and he follows behind you when you grab his hand instead of letting go. And even though you came here with the Gojos, you’ve completely forgotten since you’re having fun. You finally let go of Suguru when you spot Shoko, and you hug her from behind before resting your chin on her shoulder.

“Are you drunk already? You’ve only had one shot.” Shoko comments. “Did you become a lightweight after having a baby or what—”

“Huh?!” Suguru’s eyes widen. Did he hear that right or is the music so loud that he’s mishearing things?

“What?!” Shoko turns around, and you let go of her. She acts as if she didn’t say what she just said, and she’s able to convince him that he heard wrong. And instead of getting the drink that you originally had in mind, you do another round of shots with Shoko but this time, Suguru takes one with you.

You go back to dancing with Suguru, and you try to drag Shoko with you, but she doesn’t want to join you. The next time you do see her, she’s with Sayo which you weren’t expecting. But you don’t pay much attention to them.

You’re focused on having your own fun with Suguru.

“Uhh…” Suguru’s neck hurts. He slowly opens his eyes, feeling something poking his cheek. He doesn’t remember much from last night– Just dancing with you, and maybe having a little too much to drink… Did he drive himself home? No, he’s not reckless nor irresponsible. He didn’t even take his car– Maybe it was Shoko. His head is killing him, and he wants to go back to sleep, but something keeps poking him.

He opens his eyes and the place is too bright. This has to be Shoko’s apartment because it certainly isn’t his. He sits up, and begins to look around. The poking on his cheek stops, instead it transfers to his ribcage. And he finally looks down.

His eyes widen at the sight. Is he still sleeping? He has to be because he’s seeing a four-year-old version of Satoru; he doesn’t remember taking any drugs last night. Suguru just stares at the little boy.

He fully wakes up when he hears,

“Are you my daddy?”

🏷 @yeagerfushiguro @luckimoon @uhremmi @conniesbbymama @mykyoon @prettyiolanthe @mc-reborn @the-loneliest-girl @cloudsinthecosmos @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @blinkingsuns @oi-loverboy @neireav @lilith412426 @misshale21 @rivaiken @q-the-rockaholic @merlinssassybeard @ikilledsparky2 @mimizsworld @lily3847 @Teslumieres @floralsightings @Mocha-plxnet @idreamitski @creolequeen11210@jooaannnnaaa @enthusiastiics @lovinkiri @abdce12345 @bkgnotsuma @kariito-art @beelzmunchkin @satosuguswife @kurome-ga-kill @hoonberrie @mittypops @suhaaaefre @AZE107 @ackerstein @sweetshawty @saiewithakatana @psychopotatomeme @innocxntdexth @4-morant @shan-nein @marymosaa @Ditzyberry @purpleguk @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @bomjug @idkbutokaylol @rosieee491 @ieathairs @simpfully-heartbroken @witchbybirth @ddalgisworld @pinksilk @torutoji @notarshia @filmreelononescreen @Anemicjaguar @kurookinnie

[taegimood]

ummm woah what’s that! points in the opposite direction as i scramble behind my open for business sign as if i didn’t disappear without a trace for months and have totally been here the whole time oh guess it was nothing anyway hi guys

i wouldn’t be me without eternal soobin brainrot so naturally i’ve emerged to throw this old now-finished draft at you for my first post back 🫡

so the best friends to fwb to lovers pipeline is my mf roman empire i’m so serious. like bestfriend!soobin always sitting next to you with his hand casually resting on your leg at all times, not even in a suggestive way, he just gravitates towards touching you 🥺 his safe place !! imagining his huge self slumped practically in half to rest his head on your shoulder, or him just mindlessly playing with your little fingers in his big hands glitches as he sits observing the room w that soft pout and big boba eyes combo yeah you know the one- clutches chest

so then later turned fwb!soobin who’s so used to showering w his friends iykyk lmao that now that he’s fucking you, in his mind you’ve crossed over that threshold of friendship where he expects to be able to join you for your showers even when it’s nothing sexual.. is genuinely confused if you tell him no 😭

“soobin i just need some me-time”

“….you can’t have your me-time with me?” *displeased pout*

like a needy puppy fr

but like you guys having such an interesting dynamic cuz you’re just still straight-up best friends (who are actually in love with each other but neither of you realize that even tho everyone else does cue yeonjun rolling his eyes into the camera like the office) so even tho the boys are all waiting for you both to wake up from your one joint braincell’s loop of stupidity and realize the truth, (beomgyu’s words), no one actually suspects that you’re out here skipping steps and FUCKING each other, because you guys just act so normal and chill together otherwise — the same way you’ve always been.

until later when the feelings start coming to the surface and you suddenly don’t know how to act around each other but that’s a whole other can of worms 🫡

so, when you’ve joined them for a short weekend schedule in japan, no one questions it when soobin meanders over to your hotel room after everyone is all settled in and getting ready for bed. eh, he’s just gonna go veg out there for a bit cuz he’s bored while she rambles about random stuff. classic soobin and y/n. they are wrong

you had just settled into bed when soobin slips into your room with the spare key card you had tucked into his pocket earlier, and you’re shuffling around and getting comfy when you hear the door open and close. you two hadn’t made a plan to mess around tonight, but you aren’t surprised, as it isn’t unusual for soobin to still seek you out for cuddles while he talks about his day.

you don’t even have to say anything as he slides into bed behind you, instantly wrapping an arm around your waist and nuzzling his face into the nape of your neck with a sigh.

“needed a break from beomgyu’s pororo impressions,” he mumbles, and you snort at the thought. “how does he still have so much energy right now…?” you murmur back, sleep lacing the edges of your voice.

“i still think i’m right about him being an animatronic bot who reaches peak terror at night.”

the two of you giggle at soobin’s joke before falling into a comfortable silence, broken intermittently by comments about your day, about their schedule tomorrow, about the anime-themed shopping center you guys plan to sneak off to with kai afterwards.

with another sigh from soobin, this one more of contentment than exhaustion, he’s soon nestling further into you, your eyes slipping shut in sleepy bliss at the warmth of his body pressed to yours.

that is, until you begin to feel small kisses being placed softly along your shoulder.

“soobin,” you warn half-heartedly.

“‘m not doing anything,” he complains back quietly in an equally half-hearted mumble, as he continues clearly doing something.

you’re so tired, but you can’t deny the tingles that run through your body whenever soobin touches you, and tonight is no exception as you wordlessly turn your head to look over your shoulder at him, his features coming into focus in the near-darkness of the room as he pauses to gaze at you in turn.

his blonde hair all tousled from the pillows, the sharp line of his jaw, his soft shining eyes — and his lips that you can never seem to resist for very long.

case in point. it’s only a few passing moments before those lips are on yours in a deep kiss, languid and slow, his hand gently holding your chin that’s still angled back towards him, your own hand reaching behind to caress the back of his neck — and then he’s shifting backwards to turn you over fully, your back now against the sheets as he positions himself half over you, his tongue moving lazily with yours, warm and wet and tasting of him as he comfortably rests his weight on you.

you make out like that for a while, his wandering right hand leisurely squeezing and kneading your tits beneath your shirt, his lips occasionally finding themselves trailing down your neck, but always coming back up to find yours.

i can picture how needy he’d start to get, subtle at first in the way he’d shift his hips, in the way his breath would quicken — and then it would be obvious from the moans that escape him as his kisses grow heavier, more insistent.

“need you..” he’d groan breathlessly through his kisses, attempting to shove his sweatpants down with his free hand as his lips stay latched onto yours, too desperate and impatient to sit up properly and use both hands.

“someone might come looking for you,” but you’re tugging his pants and boxers down his hips for him anyway and his lips are on your neck as he pushes your panties aside.

“let them look.”

soobin wasting no time rocking into you with deep, needy strokes, his face buried in your neck while your arms wrap around his shoulders, clutching onto him as his hips press you further into the mattress the more desperate he gets.

his hands are all over you, squeezing and caressing anywhere they can touch, and closer just isn’t enough as he holds you against him with breathy moans and grinding hips until you’re both cumming, his stuttered groan the giveaway before his final thrust is filling you up and your own climax washes over you like a wave. you can feel each other’s hearts beating as he stays there rested on top of your chest.

your best friend eventually lifting himself to hover over you in the dark, his warm breath fanning over your lips as you push the damp hair from his forehead, hand sliding down to caress his cheek, his jaw, thumb ghosting across his parted lips as he twitches inside of you — you bite back a smile.

this time, when he kisses you.. you don’t know it yet, but this time, it’s different.

soobin isn’t exactly sure why he can feel heat rising to his cheeks or a little somersault in his chest, but he’s glad that it’s too dark for you to notice the redness in his face when he asks,

“can i stay here tonight?”

[goldsbitch]

Just don't talk--

-and come over. p3 to Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. Lando can't stand Y/N, the first female driver in F1. He also can't stand not having her with her clothes on.

warnings: minors do not interact, cursing, a bit of smau...just generally don't take this one too seriously

The following week marked a u-turn in the media strategy of McLaren and Aston Martin. Another set of meetings, very quick as nobody wanted to open a can of worms or cause even more talk on the topic of Y/N and Lando. They studied the material shot for the F1 - and the consensus was to stop the Lando x Y/N part being released out as it gave off strange vibes. It was a mix of pure lack of chemistry and then a sudden spike of sexual tension and a 180 shift. In all fairness it was a bit uncomfortable to watch for the media teams, who had to analyse people they were in direct daily contact.

No unnecessary contact. No joined interviews. Keeping them as apart as possible. Gone were the days where teams would use the sexual tension as a selling point. Times have changed, this would fly really well in 2010's, but now anything of this sorts for a nightmare for PR. Y/N would be undermined. Lando put in a fuck boy category. It wasn't like anyone saw anything happen. None of the people initiating these meetings had even slightest idea that their worst nightmares were only a light version of the truth. If there was ever an elephant in a room, it was this time. Nobody dared to speak their mind. The whisper challenge video came out without the two. Having it cut and deleted from all hard drives was an order and nobody was to speak of it again.

Social media had been strangely quiet, focusing on race related topics. That was until Lando wore a short sleeve, his healing bite mark seeing the light of day and on display for thousands of eyes. How was one suppose to wear long shirts in hot ass countries they were constantly traveling to? Personally, he thought it was cool and there was even a point where he debated having it tattooed - owning the shit out of and taking the power away from Y/N. Max, his best friend, stopped him. But the thought still lingered back in his mind. It had been a little too long since their last night session. Jerking off was fine, but never good enough. The bite mark caused quite the stir among his fans, but he honestly gave little to no shit about that. He was not going to contact her first though. The last thing he would do is to simp up to her. So when there was a hot model present at one their random club night outs, he did not think twice. It was a little too easy for his liking, but he needed to blow some steam. He could have been discreet, he really could. But why? There was a part of him that was excited to see how this would resonate with Y/N. The violent make out outside the club really was not necessary. Especially when Lando knew that there was a photographer sitting nearby patiently, about to make a living out of a Lando's whim.

When Lando scrolled instagram the next morning, he has a little too proud smile on his face. He would never admit it out loud, not even to himself, that Y/N was on his mind when he fucked the brunette. Mediocre night at best. What worried him a bit was that bad sex was something he almost forgot existed. Of course that Y/N saw it. It was one of the first things that popped up on her phone that morning. It did not bother her. Not even closely. She just had a good energy streak, that was her reply to her trainer when she nearly broke the rowing machine at the gym. She uninstalled instagram later in the afternoon, trying to get the instagram girl's face out of her memory.

There was no way she'd be the one texting him for a late night hook up now. Maybe it was for the better in the end. Focusing on racing only now and even potentially beating him on the track. Night got a little too lonely without the option to have him over, on her and under her. She tried baking, reading, got really into chemistry related youtube videos, yet drinking and working out seemed to be the only thing to really work.

Two long weeks passed until she finally received a text. She ignored that her heart skipped a beat when she saw his name on her phone screen.

"Bro. What are we going to do now?"

She rolled her eyes. What a lame ass opening. No point in playing the waiting game, so she replied immediately. She could care less.

"Aw, got bored and miss some quality fucking?" She second guessed the text right after sending. Was that too desperate? She thew the phone away for few minutes. One late night unnecessary coffee later, she picked it right back up.

"No, you little shit. You not on socials or what?"

A screenshot followed.

There were PR nightmares and there was this kind of disaster. Instagram and Tik Tok got installed back immediately. She watched some cuts and edits from their video, low quality snips that were not giving any full image. Comment after comment, the creativity not being of concern to anyone. All of the same note. Is there more to their obvious dislike of each other? There were only few who were concern by why did most of the leak footage give such a hostile vibe. Lando's eye fucking was more of an attractive topic.

She scrolled for few minutes, watching a new shift on their public image unfold. It was mostly the hardcore fans, not really something the big outlets took interest in at the moment. But there was one theme that followed - people were curious. Panic set over her, mind started racing in all possible scenarios. And then did something for the first time - she dialed Lando's number. He picked up reluctantly.

"How did it get out?" she asked right away.

"Hello to you too. And the fuck would I know."

"Seems like something that would fit into your current portfolio, so yeah, I am asking directly."

Lando smiled proudly. She was jealous. Oh, what he would do to see her face now.

"Hate to disappoint, but I don't have the need for cheap attention." Liar, all he wanted was for her to notice him.

"Ok, assuming nobody from your team or my team did, who got it out?"

"I severely overestimated your ability to focus on the important thing here, apparently."

"So you tell me, Mr. Genius."

"Like I said before you invaded my evening by this panic phone call. What are we going to do? The last thing I'd want is for someone to find out...about us." It felt strange for both of them, to hear him say it like that. Like it wasn't a problem. Every time someone put them together in a sentence, it had been a bad connotation. But not his tone, this one time.

"Well, I don't know, I've only had a minute to process."

"Oh, take your time, of course. Time flies really slowly on social media, so yeah, I'd say you have about a year or so to react."

"Well, we're obviously not going to react anyway."

"I really hope they don't force us to. I'm getting sick of all the media team meddling in. It's their fault in the first place," he said, unamused.

"Yeah, you're right. Good defense, I will use that if they bring it up."

"Don't worry, you'll get my invoice for consulting in your email tomorrow."

"Aw, McLaren not paying enough?"

"I'm sorry, you're still at Aston, correct?"

"Shut it, Norris. So that's it? We'll just not react and let it go?"

"I mean, what else is there to do. Denying anything will only bring up more questions. It's not like people will believe we're friends."

"That, my friend, is true."

"I'm a smart boy, not only a sex god."

"Uhm." Trouble is that he really really was.

"So we'll just let it die out?"

"Yeah. When someone mentions it, we can say that we just don't get along and that's that."

"Great, no lie there."

There were few seconds of quiet tension. Panic was somehow over, but the high adrenaline stayed. It was late evening, their usual prime time. Would they? Should they? Y/N was debating whether she wanted to see Lando again with the vibe he was setting around himself lately putting her off a bit. But then there was the need for territorial claim. Built up energy that wanted to get out. Both of them silently trying to come up with a line good enough for Lando to come over and "dance" with Y/N in a way no friend would. Lando took a breath to speak, but Y/N was quicker.

"So, wanna come over for a work out?" He was over at her place within 25 minutes.

part 4

[sstormyskyess]

Tender Love and Care

author's note: aftercare is probably one of the cutest things in the world so i had to match up some classic types of aftercare with the boys

cw: fluff, implied off-screen sex, massages, cuddling, shared baths/showers

word count: 1200+

TF-141 x GN!Reader

Simon “Ghost” Riley [massages]

♡ Ghost is not a very handsy man and never has been; he keeps to himself 90% of the time and even with you the physical contact you share is minimal. It doesn’t bother you, of course, since it’s simply a part of the way he operates.

♡ However, after coming down from the sweet high that you brought each other to, he needs to be close to you. He gets so swept up in the pleasure that he needs something to ground him and having his hands all over you is the perfect solution.

Simon frowns at the quiet groan you let out while his hands massage your stomach, soothing the muscles underneath. “I didn’t go too hard, did I love?” You smile at his concern and hold his wrists, giving them a squeeze. “It’s okay, Si, just a little sore.” You assure him. He hums, still worried but trusting your words regardless.

You sigh happily as you feel Simon’s hands rubbing languid circles into the skin of your thighs, soothing over the bruises he left there unintentionally. His thumbs slowly move down to your calf and bring your ankle up to his lips, kissing it softly. A shiver goes up your spine at the way he stared you down, his eyes trailing down your body with adoration in his eyes.

He places your leg down gently, shifting his attention to your wrists, the anchor he used to hold you in place earlier. Carefully, he pulls you up by your arms and has you sit chest to chest, eyes locked onto your hands, massaging your palms with his thumbs. You watch him kiss each of your knuckles and whisper a quiet, “I love you.”

John “Soap” Mactavish [cuddling]

♡ This man. This man. Soap is absolutely addicted to cuddling, whether he’s the big spoon or small spoon, face-to-face with you, or laying on top of you and vice versa. It doesn’t matter how, he just needs to kiss your skin: cheeks, hands, chest—anything. He also loves it when you kiss the marks you made on each other, reminding him exactly where you paid the most attention to each other.

♡ He whispers sweet nothings to you and tells you how much fun he had and how good you felt and how good you were for him.

After wiping the both of you down with the cold, damp washcloth you’d put on the bedside table, Johnny has you cocooned in your favorite fluffy blanket, holding you close. He tucks your head under his chin and lets you play with the hair on his chest, a quiet chuckle leaving his lips when your fingers start to tickle him a bit. He holds you tight, hands around the small of your back and the back of your head.

You hum and start to wiggle out of his hold. “I gotta go pee really quick,” you mumble into the skin of his neck. A grumble fills his chest when you start moving away, his grip tightening. “Johnny, let go…” You whine, struggling in his hold. He frowns and shuffles to lay on top of you, pushing the air out of your chest with a little ‘oof.’

You worm your arms out from under him and try to pull him off, tugging on his shirt. “Get off!” You squeak, but all you get in return is even more pounds laying on your chest. He laughs and starts covering your face in kisses, a wordless attempt at keeping you right where you were. “Nope, you’re staying right here, dove.” He nuzzles his face against your shoulder.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick [snacks/water]

♡ Often, Gaz has already gotten something for you both to drink and snack on while you’re laid up next to each other, watching whatever’s on the TV sitting on your dresser. He knows how much your evening activities can wear you out, so he always wants to replenish your energy before heading to bed.

♡ If he hasn’t prepared anything, he’ll pick you up and carry you to the kitchen with him to keep you close, not wanting to part with you for even a second. He’ll have you wrapped up in a blanket and sitting on the counter while he fills up a bottle with water and cuts up some fruit for the two of you to share.

Kyle’s eyes widen when you grab one of the grapes in his fruit bowl. “Hey!” He pouts while you giggle quietly, a smile on your face. Popping it into your mouth, you look up at Kyle who had his handsome face locked on you with stars in his eyes. You can’t help but bashfully laugh and look away, your cheeks warming under his adoring gaze.

His hand rested under the baggy t-shirt you’d stolen from him, fingers wrapped around your bare hip. You frown when a breath of cold air slips into the blankets when he reaches to the bedside table for his water bottle. “Kyle, come back…” You whine, tightening your hold on him. He laughs and comes back with the bottle, handing it to you before readjusting the blankets. “Drink up, baby.”

You cuddle up closer to him and open it up to take a few gulps of water before handing it back to him. It ends up haphazardly dropped onto the bed sheets when Kyle tosses it aside and leans down to kiss you on the head, on the cheeks, and all over your face. You start to giggle, trying to push him off; then, when you do, you see Kyle with his hand in your bowl of fruit, stealing a grape of his own, much to your dismay.

John Price [showers/baths]

♡ Sex with John can get fairly filthy; he loves making a mess of you and it often ends up with both of you covered in more than just sweat, so cleaning you up is a first priority once you’re done. He’ll wash you ever so gently and clean off anything that tainted your skin over the time you spent under the sheets.

♡ He’s invested in a variety of things to put in the bath, ranging from oils to bath bombs and salts, all in your favorite scents. He loves the feeling of your soft skin after being pampered, running his palms all over you just to feel it.

The bath bomb at the end of the bath has almost fizzled out by now, the bathwater now a light pink. John hovers over you and stares down at your relaxed face, eyes shut with a tiny smile perking up your lips. He chuckles when you press your head into his hands as he caresses you, his nails scrubbing along your scalp gently. You take a deep breath of the lavender oil coating his fingers and exhale, the steam from the bath shifting with your breath.

His hands dipped under the water and ran up your thighs, his fingers gliding across your skin smoothly. “You feel lovely, darling.” His lips brush along your shoulder as he speaks. You smile wide, letting him kiss up your shoulder and neck, all the way to your cheek.

You wiggle a bit when he gets a nice handful of your thighs and squeezes, a small laugh leaving you. You retaliate by reaching back and pinching him on the cheek. He joins in with his own laughter, pulling you closer to him and running his nails up and down your sides, tickling you. You squeal, trying to pull his hands away. “John, the water’s gonna spill out—!”

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[fanaticsnail]

Grand Line Playgroup

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,200+

Synopsis: Adoptive parents have all taken the initiative to join together with their children to form: Grand Line Playgroup. This is the way it usually goes at playgroup: filled with shenanigans, support, and most importantly love for their children. 

Themes: the adoptive parents of one piece, all children are all relatively aged 3 to 7, but Robin is 10, au they all live, modern au, platonic, not an “x reader” fic, parenting drabble, fluff, nonsense. 

Parents: Mihawk, Rosinante (Corazon), Bellemere, Dadan, Zeff, Uncle Beckman, Shanks, Garp, and Smoker.

Children: Perona, Zoro, Law(rence), Nojiko, Nami, Uta, Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Sanji, Uta, Koby, Helmeppo, Robin, and Tashigi.

Notes: A small drabble about what it would be like if the one-piece characters were adoptive parents to an assortment of their toddler counterparts. This silly brain-worm was brought to you by several conversations with @feral-artistry & @writingmysanity, and the bestest aunties @since-im-already-here & @sordidmusings. This worm got to me and I needed to get it out. Links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff, @gingernut1314, @vespidphoenix, @i-am-vita

Dracule Mihawk arrives at Grand Line Playgroup ten minutes early every single Tuesday. He has a personalized gothic embroidered bag for both of his children filled with snacks, changes of clothes, water bottles, first aid kits, and a book for him to read while his two children play.

He wears matching nail polish with his daughter, Perona: today, she chose pink with black accents. He has parenting down to a fine art, everything always perfectly planned for any circumstances. Zoro takes out a collection of sporting equipment and begins kicking around a soccer ball as he waits for his friends to join him. 

The next to arrive is Donquixote Rosinante. He always attempts to get there early: set up his variety of bags to ensure his son, Lawrence, has everything he needs to enjoy his time at playgroup. His hair is a blonde, fluffy mess of mopped curls, his clothes disheveled and askew, but his smile is always cheerful despite his constant exhausted exasperated state. 

Law is a quiet child, not really engaging with Perona as she sets up a mock tea-party, nor Zoro as he kicks the ball against the wall. He, instead, opts to sit quietly alone and read a picture book in comfortable silence. 

Mihawk offers Rosinante a moist towelette, gesturing wordlessly to his lips, cheeks and right eye where Law graffitied art with permanent marker on his face as he slept. Rosinante gives him a gratuitous smile, huffing his laughter as he scrubs at his face with the towelette. 

The next to arrive is Rosinante’s old work colleague, Bellemere, with her two daughters in tow. Nami and Nojiko were walking arm in arm before rushing off to join Perona in her tea party. Bellemere gives Rosinante a clap on his shoulder, nodding her acknowledgement to Mihawk before taking her elected seat. 

As the clock ticks over to 10am: a small bundle of nervous, chaotic energy bounces inside the door and over the walls. This flash of black hair was followed immediately by a small blonde child that stares, unblinkingly, at Law. Dadan is exasperated as she carries an older and asleep Ace in her arms, attempting to catch up with Luffy to rein him in and set up. 

Rosinante springs into action, offering to ferry Luffy towards his regular playmate, Zoro. As Luffy nearly joins Zoro, he is instead drawn to the sticker book Law is holding containing bugs, beetles and arachnids. Luffy becomes entranced by the stickers: and he and Law begin cataloging them by shape, size and type over pages of lined paper. 

Dadan sighs, already exhausted although her day has barely begun. Rosinante smiles and fawns over the two dark-haired boys before resuming his seat beside Bellemere, talking about the latest gossip at his old workplace and the shenanigans his colleagues' love lives.

As if on queue, Ace wakes up and immediately springs out of Dadan’s arms, hurrying over to Zoro and joining him by kicking the ball against the wall. Sabo backs into the corner of the room and glares with his pale, blue eyes at Perona’s tea-party with intrigue. 

After Dadan, in comes Benn Beckman with his niece, Uta. Uta bounces on her heels as she runs over to Sabo, doing all in her power to make the small blonde smile instead of glare. She has a cheery disposition, guaranteed to always get a smile out of the quiet boy the longer she sings and pulls faces at him.

Zeff is the next, his young son, Sanji, sprinting towards the soccer ball and easily stealing it away from Zoro. They immediately get into a heated fistfight: legs and limbs flying as they butt heads as to who's turn it is to kick the ball next. Mihawk sighs, immediately rising to his feet to play referee to the match as Beckman places Uta's bag beside Perona's. 

Arriving late, and with his two adoptive sons Koby and Helmeppo, strolls Garp. Dadan glares at him, up turning her lip in a snarl as Garp shepherds his boys into the room. The tension is thick between these two due to Garp's history of dropping off children at Dadan's and not returning to raise them himself. She refuses to help with the latest two additions to his family, although she cares for them greatly. Sabo nods at Koby, Helmeppo scoffs at Uta. 

Another late arrival is a larger gentleman with his quiet and older daughter, Robin. Sir Crocodile is dripping in luxury brands, gold rings and smells of expensive colognes. Robin immediately humors Perona, Nami and Nojiko by playing mother in their tea party adventure. 

“Mihawk,” the larger man gruffy nods in acknowledgement. 

“Crocodile,” Mihawk mirrors his tone, gesturing with his chin to take a seat beside him. Sir Crocodile takes his seat before unrolling the newspaper tucked beneath his arm and beginning to read. 

As the children interact together, the more talkative parents swap parenting advice amongst one another. 

Rosinante asks for support with Law's current food aversion. How does he get this child to eat grained carbohydrates without him gagging about the fact it's bread? Dadan is a seasoned expert in parenting at this stage, still ignoring Garp as Garp speaks to Mihawk about his blonde son’s latest interest in kendo. 

Bellemere joins in the conversation, Mihawk leaving as the topic changes to work and joining beside Beckman who is silently brooding on the chair beside Crocodile. 

“No Shanks today?” Mihawk quips at the larger man. 

“No Shanks today,” Beckman parrotted in return with a disgruntled and gruff growl. 

As if the mere mention of his name summoned his presence, in comes the red-haired Shanks in a lazy and cheerful stupor. His socks are raised to his knees, tucked into some comfortable sandals on his feet. His cargo shorts are tied loosely on his hips by a brown belt, and his patterned shirt is open to expose his bare chest. 

Glasses are lying lazily on his head as he extends an enthusiastic smile at the children before acknowledging the adults. An enthusiastic chorus of “Uncle Shanks!” echoes throughout the playspace, a flash of small bodies immediately moving to tackle and engulf the redhead in a warm embrace. 

Shanks falls on his ass, holding high his coffee cup as he laughs at Luffy, Uta, Ace and Sabo as they enthusiastically clutch at him with grabby hands. Their faces all shine with the utmost adoration at the redhead, who shoots Beckman and Dadan a wink while mouthing: “I'm still the favorite.”

Beckman sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Dadan rolls her eyes at him. 

The adults are finally all gathered for their children’s weekly playgroup, the kids settle into playing amongst themselves once again. Shanks offers Beckman a smile before offering him the half-drunk coffee cup. The taller man takes a sip, choking on the liquid as the surprising burn of warmed alcohol scorches his throat so early in the morning. 

As their meeting draws to a soft close, a knock at the door interrupts their close knit conversation. 

“I heard there was a playgroup in here?” a gruff voice rumbled at the door. White hair and the scent of tobacco immediately sprung through the hallway. In arrived a large gentleman, another common associate of Garp, Bellemere and Rosinante who immediately sprung up to greet him. 

Smoker presented ushered a quiet child into the room, her uncertainty was one the children knew well. Immediately, Luffy sprang up from his arachnid archiving with Law and went to introduce himself to the girl. Smoker smiled at the interaction, nodding to Tashigi as an indicator for her to go ahead and play, before joining Bellemere and Rosinante. 

“Finally decided to foster, Smoker?” Bellemere smiled, embracing him into her warm and welcoming arms. Smoker returns her gesture, tapping her on the shoulder and releasing her from the embrace. 

“Foster? Not a chance,” he smirked, pulling away and smiling at the purple-haired woman, “Adopting.”

[natailiatulls07]

The Golden Trio

Lando Norris x female!reader

Carlos Sainz x female!reader

Max Verstappen & Female!reader & Charles Leclerc

Summary - Being bestfriends with two famous formula one drivers is never easy, but what will happen when you get involved with yet another formula one driver??

Warning - offensive names hate comments swearing slight arguments

A/n - there will be a part two, however I’m thinking of making this a series so keep an eye out for that 🤍

The golden trio

-

yourusername

Sorry boys, mother Taylor called 🤩

Liked by landonorris and 49,273 others

username Probably using the money of Charles and Max

username Could’ve been there to support her bestfriends but chose to ignore them and be selfish, slut

maxverstappen1 Betrayal 😣

= charles_leclerc It was bond to happen, remember when she made us stay up to try for tickets with her??!

= yourusername I would’ve taken you two but you were busy with something 🙄

username The fact that she choose Taylor over supporting her two bestfriends, fake ass bitch

= username She has a life of her own, she doesn’t need to follow them around the world yk so shut your mouth 😘

username Love the midnights inspired outfit 😍

charles_leclerc posted a story

maxverstappen1

Got the book worm out in the fresh air 🌊

Tagged: charles_leclerc yourusername

Liked by arthur_leclerc and 42,193 others

username She doesn’t deserve this sort of treatment, she’s just a whore who only wants their dicks and money

username The golden trio are really glowing in that sun 😍

landonorris Where was my invite?!

= yourusername They wouldn't let me :(

= charles_leclerc Good ahead blame us!

= yourusername That's because you are the ones to blame 😊

username Is that DR3 merch I see???

= yourusername yes I'm his biggest supporter 😋

= username oh great another f1 driver that she’ll steal money from

f1gossip

Spotted: Outside of her shared apartment with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen, Y/n L/n is looking a bit annoyed. Did something happen?? How are Max and Charles feeling?? That’s the real question 👀

If anyone has any more links to what is going on please DM me 🙏🏻

Liked by username and 5,203 others

username Why are you just assuming thing??

username It’s obvious that she’s the one to blame

username I wonder where she’s going

= username Probably to a bar or a club with their cards 😒

= username It’s giving gold digger energy

username I hope the golden trio is okay 😕

landonorris posted a story

Gossip Groupchat (white: Reader) (red: Charles) (blue: Max)

Please come back to the apartment Y/n, we’re sorry

Yeah we never meant to say those things

You’ve got to be kidding me! This is an actual fucking joke

I’m sorry, we don’t know what was going through our minds

I have been you’re bestfriend for years! Years of constant hate on social media, I’ve been called every name under the sun because I’m friends with you two! And then you both go and decide that it’s okay to practically agree with that hate, wtf!

I know and we’re sorry and we mean that sorry so much

Please, just come back to the apartment

I can’t, not tonight or tomorrow.

Where will you stay??

Lando’s, we bumped into each other at the club and if you got a problem with that, you can shut your fucking mouth

Okay, we love you Bee

Yeah, I agree with Charles. We do love you so much Bee

I know, I just need space rn

-

[endursent]

- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 summary; You have always been sensitive to the foul miasma left behind by dead gods, the terrible energy that seeps into the earth and poisons any living creature that comes into prolonged contact with it. You've made a living of cleansing and purifying these energies from humans and fields in small villages in exchange for food, places to sleep and clothing, you had just settled in a particularly affected village when you are suddenly summoned to the palace of the gods of this land and have no choice but to accept.

Through corruption and war, Morax can only hope the stones of the earth are steadier than your fate, plagued by a sudden misfortune that threatens your balance on solid ground. 】

【 note; this is an ongoing fic i've been posting on ao3 and decided to post it here too. please keep in mind that this is a multi-chapter slow burn, this is the first chapter, and i'll be posting the others over the next days to not clog the tags. read it here on ao3 if you're impatient, it might also be a good idea to look at the tags while you're there. 】

【 word count; 5.322 | next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 1 - Left in the Woods

“Please… stay still,” you practically plead with the small boy, he’s barely a child and is currently wailing and pulling on your sleeve as you try to cure his ailment. His mother is on the other side of the bed, prying his small hands off of your clothes to let you work, but the loud crying makes it difficult to focus.

 “I’m sorry, he doesn’t usually cry like this, Si Leng is a polite boy,” his mother apologises, holding the boy’s hands gently, her greying hair is disheveled and sticks to her forehead as she tries to calm her son down with soothing strokes of her thumbs over his small hands.

 You shake your head but say nothing, you don’t have much time to extract the miasma from the boy’s skin before it seeps deeper. His mother had barged into your home holding him as he wailed and cried, a dead bird in his dirty hands–you had instantly sensed the foul energies clinging to the bird, and now seeped into Si Leng’s body. His skin is pale and the dark taint visibly wriggles under his skin, having wormed its way into a cut on his knee he got from playing this morning after having held the bird for so long. How the bird came to near seep with corruption was something you intended to find out after finishing your first task.

 The corruption is spreading from his knee, prodding at his skin, you judge the distance both by Si Leng’s increase in crying–it really isn’t helping your focus, but you can’t blame him–as well as the way his skin softens where the area is affected, like poking pudding. You reach for a small cart next to you and bring out an old bell, the bottom is rusted and chipped, but it works better than any newly crafted bell the village chief has gifted you. The chime causes the darkened slithers of the corruption to jolt back, then return their advance, and jolt back as it chimes again. Si Leng’s hands fly to his ears as it chimes, it sounds short and unimpressive to your and his mother’s ears, but the taint in his body increases his sensitivity fourfold, especially to blessed tools.

 As the darkness jolts and twitches, you dip your brush in the ink next to where the bell had been, and utter under your breath as you paint intricate lines over his thigh and calf, in the middle of an uncompleted circle around his leg, you drag the brush into a character that seals the circle. The corruption touches the ink, but doesn’t progress, it’s confined to the area of his knee, and just a bit above and below.

 Si Leng’s mother watches carefully, relief in her dark eyes as the spread halts. “Ah, thank you, it’s–”

 “It’s not done, please be quiet,” you don’t mean to sound harsh, but the extraction requires a lot of focus and having someone talk to you is probably the largest distraction you face when cleansing. “Hold him tightly, he will squirm and thrash,” you warn, setting your brush aside and taking a jar from the same cart. Holding your palm over his knee, you close your eyes and take a breath, searching the energy in his body, trailing the lines down to his knee–there, you fist your hand and Si Leng’s wail turns to a scream.

 “W-why!?” his mother cries, holding him into a sitting position so she can encircle his torso better, the little boy’s hands clutching at his mother once more and tighter than before. “Why is he screaming?”

 The extraction takes your utmost focus, so you don’t reply–or really listen, anticipating questions. You usually purify or extract such miasma from objects or fields of wheat, not people, thus there never been a mouth to scream with and the sound is difficult to adjust to… a scream as a result of your work makes every nerve in your body twitch and demand you stop, but you press on regardless, stopping in the middle of a cleansing would only make the spread worse. Dark tendrils akin to thick mist flow from the deep scratch on his knee and into the jar, it takes almost eight minutes of focus and careful extraction to pull the last of the taint from his leg and as soon as the last is out, you shut the jar and slap a paper talisman over it–it’s a temporary solution, dispersing it will come later.

 Si Leng doesn’t stop crying–he does stop screaming–but seems more aware of his surroundings, enough to cling to his mother like a lifeline. It’s not unsurprising the poor boy still cries, all he knows is that it hurt and the lady at the end of the street made it hurt more before it was finally gone. You wouldn’t be surprised if he bolts away after seeing you on the street for a few weeks.

 You let out a breath, feeling as if you had just run five laps around the village and took a dip in the cold springs down the hill… but it was done. You set the jar aside and stood to set your hands in a basket of water, rinsing them before drying as Si Ling’s mother calmed him down, he fell asleep in only a few minutes. “Thank you,” his mother lifted him up and held against her chest, his head pressed into her shoulder. “I’ll fetch payment straight away, I don’t know how this happened, he was just playing in the woods with his brother–they never go further than the stream.”

 You walk to the burning incense on the table, set up to cleanse the air and ensure the corruption couldn’t escape if anything went wrong before the extraction could begin, but now that it was over it only made the house feels stuffed, the thick smell of the incense made your nose tickle if it stayed for too long, you place the burning end in the small bowl of sand next to it and open a window, waving your hand slightly to usher it out. “Could you ask your oldest son where they went? I need to investigate what happened to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

 “Of course! I’ll be back momentarily!” she nodded and bowed thrice before hurrying out of your home, you stepped outside and meant to tell her the recovery process… but if she’s coming right back, there’s no need to rush after her.

 Closing the door behind you, your eye catches the deceased bird laying on your kitchen table–it was practically reeking darkness and foul energies, surely it didn’t gain all of this from around here? Your village is small and tucked against a tall mountain south inside the Guili Assembly, just a two day trek to the “disputed” border to the next territory. Every few weeks the Millelith Brigade would pass by either coming to or leaving the border, it was a line of tall mountains, and every so often either side would inch over the top and gain the higher ground, ensuring their position until the next storm drove them off and the other would regain it. They would occasionally come to your village for small things that the village could afford, they even brought two strange artifacts to you once that were steeped with corruption–the amount of mora plopped in your hands after cleansing them was enough to let you travel east and shop in the larger town closer to the ocean for produce that wasn’t readily available in your small village.

 Could the bird have flown from there? The situation wasn’t particularly perilous at the moment, or so you’ve heard in passing, so why would such dark energies gather there? Perhaps it came from somewhere else…

 As you consider where it must have come from and try to ignore the exhaustion that pulls your muscles downwards–as if it wants to pull you into the earth–you prod at it’s body and examine the flow of the corruption, you were about to reach for your bell when a knock comes from the door. Expecting it to be Si Leng’s mother–you never quite got her name, she lives alone with her two boys and primarily sews… she even has a small box you can put your clothing into with your name on a wooden slab wrapped inside and she’ll have her sons bring it back when she’s done–you don’t make a move to turn around, merely calling for them to enter.

 “I apologise for the intrusion… but is this the village exorcist’s home?” an unfamiliar voice says, you turn and see a man in your doorway. He has slicked back brown hair and wears common travel clothes, a bamboo box on his back and a hat of the same material on top of it, there also seems to be a faintly green streak in his hair on the left side.

 “Ah, yes, that would be me, can I help you?” you moved to stand in front of the bird… it would be quite strange that you just have a dead bird on your kitchen table–it clearly hadn’t been prepared enough to eat, you would usually at least pull the feathers outside.

 The man stepped further inside, it was difficult to read his expression… but he didn’t seem to be in a bad mood, your village doesn’t get many visitors so your introductory skills are lacking. “My name is Houzhang, I was trekking further south in search of a specific herb when I began to feel ill… I already saw a doctor at the Millelith camp by the border but they couldn’t find anything, I fear lingering miasma from the recent battle may be affecting me and they sent me here.”

 You put a hand on your chin, inclining your head to the side as you looked him up and down… he wasn’t particularly pale, there was a healthy tan to his skin and his face didn’t indicate any discomfort, it indicated very little in fact. “Okay, let’s have a look, come sit,” you gestured to the table where Si Leng had been before and moved to clean your hands again, you didn’t want to touch a potentially tainted person with hands that just prodded at a dead bird. Approaching the man as he sat down, you slowed your breath to focus, you had always had a keen affinity for sensing fouler energies, ones of corruption and death. The war between gods had reigned for many human generations now and every time a god perished, they released a terrible amount of miasma into the earth, dark energies that seep into the soil and poison the land and creatures around it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only circumstance this taint could appear under. Immense despair, pain or grief can breed it as well, though it requires either a powerful being or a large collective to do so.

 The man sat patiently under your scrutinising gaze. Surprisingly, you did sense a thick gathering of dark energies in his body–his left hip specifically. “Were you injured?” you asked. The miasma would only gather like this in one specific spot if there was a terrible injury there, if it was exposure by being close to lingering energies, the entire body would seem to have a heavy blanket of it over it.

 “No, but I was directly under the mountain for three days,” Houzhang said.

 “…” your eyebrows furrowed, no sign of sweating either… you counted his breaths and they had a normal frequency. “Hm, please lie down.” he did as you asked and you brought your little cart of tools over, less intimidating than that of a doctor’s though. You poked and prodded at his torso, asking if any specific place hurt or felt numb–he had probably already been asked this by an actual doctor, but you were doing it for a different reason and thus the answer would gain different results. He always said no and you began to doubt there was really anything wrong with this guy, if it weren’t for that condensed spot.

 You poked at the corrupt spot with two fingers… and it moved… you blinked.

 You poked again, and it seemed to fall down his side.

 “…”

 “…”

 He pulled out a small wooden doll from inside his robes, it was round and carved like a furry forest creature. “It was this,” he didn’t sound surprised at all, and he held it towards you. “Can you cleanse it?”

 Why didn’t he just lead with that? What was with making her examine him? Is he a weirdo of some sort? You sighed and took the doll. “Sure, please be patient.” You stood and brought it to a table next to the bed, you had already extracted the taint from a human today, so this would absolutely drain you, but you kind of wanted this guy out of your house because of the weird… display, and interaction. Doing the same as you always do, you lit the incense on the table and closed the windows, you lit the two candles on each end of the table and took out a talisman to lay on to the table. Houzhang watched you work in silence, eyes following every single move you made. Eventually, the doll was clear of the foul energies clinging to it and you handed it back to the man.

 You honestly felt as though every movement you made was akin to wading through stomach-high water.

 He examined the doll carefully and then nodded. “Very good.”

 Very good? Are you being graded?

 “This one apologises for deceiving you,” Houzhang said. “The doll being corrupted was intentional, one did not want to waste your time.” He stands up and hands you the doll back. You’re not entirely sure what to do with it, or why he handed it to you, so you just hold it. “Please come to the capital, we have need of a cleanser, if half-skilled.”

 The capital? Half-skilled ?

 You handed the doll back to him, and he took it to your surprise. “The capital? Who is ‘we’? The capital isn’t exactly close by, and this village is high-risk when it comes to taint and corruption due to its proximity to the southern mountains. Who is going to take care of things here?”

 Houzhang didn’t seem particularly pleased with your questions, it seemed that he expected you to simply say yes and trot along. “The nearby Millelith Brigade will protect it, if they have problems they can’t fix, they can travel to the capital.”

 “You make it sound like a day trip,” you said, slightly exasperated… after two cleansings, you really just want him to leave and let you sleep until midnight. “Do you ride on a cloud or something?”

 He blinked at your question. “No, this one travels normally.” How vague. “It is only a twelve hour journey.”

 Twelve hours? It took you four days every single time that you have gone there, what are this guy’s legs made of? Even by cart it would take two days at best. “You’re lying.”

 “This one doesn’t lie,” he insists, clearly offended that you would suggest such a thing.

 “Okay,” you waved your hand vaguely, why had he changed his speech a minute ago? “But do you expect me to come along with you just because you said so? I’d need some–” you were cut off by a scroll being thrust into your hands. You looked down at it with bewilderment.

 The outside had an intricate golden pattern over a deep brown cover that protected the paper, it was bound with a blue silk streaked with a pale grey pattern that was different to the golden one and a small white ore attached to the end of the silk. Oh… this is a scroll from the palace, where the two gods of this land reside. From them.

 You stared at Houzhang as if he had grown two heads, he simply folded his arms over his chest and waited.

 Opening the scroll, you carefully set it out on the table after moving some blank papers aside. ‘We ask that you travel to the capital of the Guili Assembly to provide cleansing services to the palace. Travel safely.’

 Who wrote this? It’s not exactly what you expected of a godly summon, you were expecting more… grandiose? Something like ‘By mandate of the heavens and the will of the gods, you are hereby summoned…’? Though, the calligraphy was absolutely beautiful… you write a lot for your talismans and seals, but whoever wrote this could write poems and have the characters convey it equally in writing and art.

 Houzhang seemed impatient with your dumb staring and spoke. “Well? Let us depart.”

 Snapped out of your thoughts, you nearly clapped the scroll shut. “How long will this take?”

 “There are a lot of people in need of cleansing,” was his only answer.

 You can only help two people in one day, tops, at your skill and energy level… you’ll need to work hard. It’s not like you can say no to the palace of the land’s gods, and you can safely assume this man works in the palace at the very least–honestly, this guy is so weird you would almost think he was one of the gods in the palace.

 Houzhang stood and waited as you tossed some clothes in a basket, he took the bamboo box from his back and set it down, telling you to use it as well… there were three corrupt dolls on the bottom of the basket, so you declined, you’d rather like your clothes to be clear of foul energies. After packing your tools at last, you looked around… there might be a while until you come back home. It hasn’t been your home for a very long time, only a few years… but it’s quiet and peaceful, it’s been nice and it feels a bit bad to leave, like there’s a small force trying to keep you tethered to it. You moved here only three years ago to assist the village with its frequent corruptions, you had set up barriers and cleansed the farms, but it always seemed to slip through the cracks, no matter how tightly you sealed it. You just hope they’ll be alright, they’re a hard-working bunch.

 As you and Houzhang leave, Si Lang’s mother was just about to knock on the door. “Oh…” she looks at the basket on your back. “Where are you going?”

 You give a small smile, it’s almost sheepish, like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t–and you probably shouldn’t leave without warning, but goodbyes are hard and you suspect Houzhang won’t wait patiently while some villagers ask you to stay, or try and bribe you with their rice dishes (you would cave). “Ah, I’ll be going to the capital for a while, but I’ll be back soon.” you decided not to delve into too many details, but you do hope you will return relatively soon.

 “Ah,” she seemed surprised, but then set a heavy robe in your hands. “Then, this might help! Yu Ming gave me this, saying she didn’t need it anymore, and… it was a bit torn, but I fixed it and it’s too small for me,” it was a heavy travel robe, perfect for colder months and coloured a deep blue with brown fur lining, though it’s freshly spring so it wouldn’t exactly come in handy at the moment. Either way, you knew better than to reject a payment, you gave her a smile and thanked her as she saw you off. You made sure to double-check the seal protecting the village and ensured it would hold for a good while… it should be fine for almost a year if nothing catastrophic happens.

 After walking for a while, the robe was getting very heavy in your hands, and your basket was stuffed… Houzhang took it from you and set it in the basket on his back wordlessly, as soon as he had convinced you to go, he seemed to have lost interest in talking, as if he only had done so to begin with because he had to.

 Despite that, he did speak about two and a half hours into the trip. “This one deceived you twice, one is not named Houzhang. Now that we are away from the village and you have agreed to come, you can call this one Moon Carver.”

 You stared at him.

 Why does he say that so casually? As if you have never heard that name before? “No way. You’re not. You’re deceiving me for the third time.”

 He immediately seemed both offended and annoyed at that. “Believe what you want, it won’t affect your surroundings.”

 “Prove it,” you insisted. “There’s no way, Moon Carver isn’t just some guy,” you looked him up and down, he was entirely normal, there was not a thing that stood out except perhaps for the green streak in his hair.

 “This one doesn’t need to prove anything,” he folded his arms, gaze forward… and thus, he began to ignore you. No matter what you said or did, he didn’t reply nor even look at you, it was entirely annoying as well as slightly amusing. If he really was Moon Carver, one of the adepti at Rex Lapis’ side that has saved countless people and villages, felled beasts and gods… it was rather funny how easily frustrated he got–but perhaps it was best not to intentionally get on his bad side… just in case he wasn’t lying. It would be a rather bold lie, if he was caught lying it surely wouldn’t be hidden for so long.

 After passing a stream, you stepped off the path causing ‘Moon Carver’ to halt, he watched as you took our a small jar, the one you had used earlier to contain the miasma extracted from Si Leng, and dissipated it into the wind gliding above the water, making sure it didn’t enter the water.

 Three hours later, you stepped off the path again, this time to dispose of the bird, pressing a more advanced seal to its body and burying it into the ground, it will slowly erode the miasma and the ground will claim the corpse. You don’t have the energy to cleanse another thing today, so this is the next best thing, though not an immediate solution.

 It’s almost a straight walk north towards the capital, it’s mostly hills and plains, flanked by high mountains that shield the cool winds from the eastern ocean. There is a brief period of woods on the last day of walking, but you would need to sleep under the open sky for two nights. Before the forest is a small village that makes most of its mora housing travelers and Millelith making the trek between the capital and the southern border.

 In silence, you and ‘Moon Carver’ continue walking towards the capital, as you had said, it was indeed not a twelve hour trip and the alleged Adeptus was very unhappy with the slow progress. You set a blanket on the ground as the two of you took a break for the first night–you had to almost plead to stop and rest, maybe this guy really is who he says he is, he wasn’t at all bothered with the trek… meanwhile you are dead on your feet from the events of the day and an eight hour walk. “You know, if you really are Moon Carver, why can’t I just ride on your back to the capital? Then it would only take a few hours.”

 He didn’t even consider it. “No, not just anyone can ride on this one’s back, one is not a form of transport,” he crossed his arms again, his robes would gain permanent wrinkles if he didn’t keep them uncrossed for more than five minutes at a time.

 The walk took four days, but you arrived earlier than usual on the fourth day, just before noon—you had always arrived at the capital after dark and seen the way the lights lit up the large city, after everyone had retired and the streets were relatively empty.

 Today, it was the opposite.

 The crowd was so large that you thought every single person in the Guili Assembly had just gathered here today, the gates were wide open and you could barely hear yourself or ‘Moon Carver’ (you still don’t entirely believe him, he certainly made it more difficult by refusing to prove it, it’s a game at this point) as you walked the streets. “What’s going on today?” you called to him, almost walking into three different people just to enter through the massive gates to the city. You don’t recall there being a specific holiday.

 ‘Moon Carver’ leaned closer so that you could hear him better. “When the oceans warm with the spring, the oceanic gods slumber for three weeks to adjust to the temperature, allowing fishing further from shore–the first batch of seafood has arrived and culminates in a festival of foods.”

 The village you left, as well as your birth village aren’t within appropriate distance for the villagers themselves to fish in the ocean and thus it wasn’t celebrated there, but you do recall that the fish bought from traveling merchants always seems larger halfway through spring.

 After a while of practically wading through the crowd like you would a swamp, ‘Moon Carver’ suddenly tells you that he must see to a task that will only take a short while, and that you should wait exactly where you are for him to return. Thankful for the breather–there are a lot of steps up to the palaces and the peak of the capital–you find a good rock to sit on that reaches about to your knees and decide to rest and observe the festival.

 The capital is huge, larger than any other village or town in the Guili Assembly, built over several human generations under the rule of the same two gods, two gods… that you kind of hope you won’t have to directly face, surely the scroll you were sent was penned by some civil official? Perhaps a doctor or some kind of supervisor in the palace? Though there are technically two palaces at the peak of the capital, one belonging to Rex Lapis, and the other to the Lord of Dust, there are several connecting buildings between them that make them appear as a single palace with two large buildings on opposite sides. The thought of standing before the gods of the land is nerve wracking, especially since they requested your specific help.

 You’re far from the only exorcist or cleanser in this land, but you like to think you’re alright at it… or ‘half-skilled’ as ‘Moon Carver’ so eloquently put it. Now that you’re in the capital, directly under the gods’ gazes… you’re starting to think he was probably not lying, which is a bit embarrassing–but can you be blamed for being doubtful? Who would believe you if you said an adeptus came to your house, played a trick on you and gave you a scroll that summoned you to the gods’ palace!?

 Now deep in thought as the festival continued around you, you barely noticed your rumbling stomach, it wasn’t until it stung that you realised how hungry you are. Considering this is a festival celebrating food, why not try it out? If you can get through the crowd, that is.

 Elbowing yourself through some people–and being elbowed thrice–just standing around in the middle of the street, you manage to observe some stalls. Most of the food was a type of seafood, predictably. Fish cooked in all possible ways from grilled to boiled, squids to prawns, crab to jellyfish. A lot of the options were both curious and enticing, there was a lot of foods cooked in ways you hadn’t tried before, but you were hungry and needed something filling that you knew you wouldn’t dislike, you’re sure the festival goes on for a few days, you can come back and try some new things later. You purchased three large steamed buns, two for eating and one for saving for later, they were stuffed with smoked salmon and vegetables and you hoped it would taste just as good as it smelled.

 Returning to your little rock, you saw that your spot had been stolen, you were certain it was a safe spot to use as respite as it was directly under the sun and had no cover, most people sitting around did so under some shade or next to trees lining the wide streets. You stuffed your buns into your sleeve and approached the rock… what kind of creature is this?

 It was small but long, it had brown scales that shimmered and reflected under the sun, giving it a strangely golden shine that didn’t take away from the earthly colour. It had a thick mane leading from it’s head and down slightly below it’s faintly glowing antlers, and after that did lighter fur take its place, lining the spine of the creature all the way down to the tuft at the end, twitching faintly as it stares at you without blinking once.

 You had never seen anything like it before, it was too skinny to be a cat, and cats don’t generally have antlers like this, or scales… but it was similar in size… you stared down at the creature for a while, unsure if just to give up your spot or try and scoop it away. You have no idea how long it will take Moon Carver to return, and you don’t want to sit on the ground, maybe this little thing will accept sharing? If you share first, you assume.

 So, you take forth one of the buns in your sleeve and crouch in front of the strange creature. “Hey… you,” you hold the bun to its small nose. Its nose twitches as the creature sniffs the bun and its two long whiskers sway. “You kind of took my spot, and I need to wait a while… will you scoot if I give you one of my buns?”

 The creature’s eyes are so… almost aggressively noticeable, the glowing amber burning holes in your own eyes before it turns its snout up and away… that’s a no, then. Your shoulders slump slightly. “Please? You can sit with me? I’ll pet you?”

 It’s head turned further up, so far you thought it might fall backwards and roll off the stone.

 “What are you doing?” you heard a voice behind you and looked over your shoulder, Moon Carver stood behind you, looking at you as if he wished he wasn’t there at the moment.

 You turned back to the rock to see the small creature gone, maybe Moon Carver’s presence scared it away, or it took the opportunity to leave before you could just simply pick it up and move it off the rock. Well, since Moon Carver is here there’s no need to sit on the rock anyway so you stand up and straighten your clothes. “Nothing, I just saw a little creature here, I’ve never seen one like it before.”

 “Creature? Bugs are hardly creatures,” he says simply.

 “No, it was a long creature, it had scales and antlers, it didn’t want my bun as a bargain,” you explained, making a gesture with your hands as to circa how long the creature had been. “Brown with sun-orange eyes?”

 Moon Carver only stares as you try to explain, to a point you thought you might have hallucinated the encounter. You gave up and lowered your hands, it doesn’t seem like he believed you. And why would he believe you? Is he supposed to believe that the esteemed Rex Lapis was lounging around on a rock on a random street as a miniature version of himself? Absolutely not.

[its-all-papaya]

landoscar + 41? 🧡 maybe fake/pr-dating-turned-real-dating coded, so maybe even + 56? like, they realize the fake wasn't that fake anymore 🙈 (insert i am in love are you in love audio here)

they are both in love, anon.

(because i found it kind of impossible to explain without adding sooo much exposition... oscar is not a driver. he's just... a guy. that mclaren found. to date lando. suspend your disbelief, idk)

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

41. to pretend (or is it?) | landoscar | 1.2k

Lando is in over his head. His aching, pounding, hurts-so-bad-it’s-making-him nauseous head. If he’d known one throw-away trip to the club in Miami was going to complicate his life so irreparably, he would have tucked his P1 trophy into bed next to him and gone straight to sleep like a good, boring boy. Instead, he’d gotten catastrophically fucked-up on any number of things he doesn’t remember and tossed himself dick-first into an entire publicity nightmare. That’s the worst part, probably: Lando doesn’t even remember. He remembers taking shots with Max and Danny and he remembers – barely – stumbling to the bathroom, and the next discernable point on that mental timeline comes at approximately 6:45 a.m., when he’d woken up to go vomit and found his lock screen so full of notifications that it’d made him forget to wonder where the man he’d gone to bed next to had pissed off to so early.

Since then, every minute of Lando’s life not spent in the car has felt full wall-to-wall with interviews, and meetings with crisis management, and saying “I’d prefer not to comment on that” so many times he hears it on repeat like an ear worm when he’s falling asleep at night. And also Oscar. There’s been a lot of Oscar.

He’s waiting in the lobby of McLaren’s hospitality when Lando arrives down from his driver’s room after qualifying in Brazil. Lando wonders how he got in, if their bosses have finally decided he’s trustworthy enough to walk around unchaperoned. It’s funny that he ever didn’t have a pass, actually; he is technically a McLaren employee. Probably. Lando thinks he gets paid. They’ve never talked about the specifics.

Either way, however he got there, Oscar is by himself in the lobby, leaned back in a chair, thumbing at his phone. He looks up when he senses Lando’s arrival, and Lando must look even more pathetic than he even thought, because Oscar’s face immediately goes soft with concern and he leaps up to take Lando’s bag off his hands.

“Hey, you alright?” he asks. He slides the backpack onto his own shoulders and then steadies a hand in the middle of Lando’s back, thumb tracing comforting little circles near his spine.

Lando could lie, but there’s not really any point to that, so he lets his face fold into the grimace it wants to be in and presses his thumb between his eyebrows.

“Head’s killing me,” he says. It comes out weak.

Oscar makes a sad little sound in sympathy, and the palm on Lando’s back shifts to his side so Oscar can tug him closer. Lando doesn’t have the energy to fight Oscar on these things at the best of times lately, so he’s definitely not going to when he’s exhausted and sick with the pain behind his eyes. Even though there’s really nobody around to see them.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel, then,” Oscar says, and Lando has never agreed to anything faster.

Oscar leads the way out of hospitality and through the paddock, fingers linked securely between Lando’s own. It’s baffling that he’s already been around this circus long enough to know the way without help. Nice, though, because Lando’s not really in a state to be of any.

They run into a few people along the way – fans or sponsors or employees. Lando doesn’t get the chance to tell which are which, because every time somebody new greets them, Oscar’s fingers tighten around his own and he talks the both of them cleverly out of the conversation before Lando can even consider what he would say if he was left to his own devices. It feels nearly impossible that less than six months ago, Oscar could barely say two words to Lando without being directly asked to.

“Oscar!” he hears as they’re nearing the exit, and they’re so close to relative quiet that Lando can’t help but groan about it. Oscar squeezes his hand again like an apology as he turns to address whoever it is.

"What’s up?” Oscar asks. When Lando lifts his eyes from the pavement, it’s Max stood before them. Both of his hands are hooked in the straps of his backpack and his chest is heaving just a little, like he’d jogged to catch them up.

“You’ll of course be at the race tomorrow?” Max asks. Lando’s not sure where this conversation is going, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t have to happen right now. He hopes the look he’s giving Max is sufficiently irritated.

It must do the job, because Max’s eyes brighten and he says “Not pleased about that, Lando?”

Oscar’s hand goes from Lando’s palm to his back again, quick, and before Lando can open his mouth, Oscar’s saying, “He doesn’t feel good.”

“Ah,” Max says. Lando can’t figure out the look he’s being given.

“The race tomorrow?” Lando presses. If they’re going to chat about whatever it was right now, they could at least get to the point.

Max nods, shifting his gaze back to Oscar, “You are staying, yeah?”

“Yeah," Oscar says, "Why?”

It’s taking too long. Lando squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against Oscar’s shoulder, hoping the counterpressure might do anything at all for the hot ache in his brain. Oscar’s hand goes immediately to the back of Lando’s neck, like it’s habit, and his thumb starts drawing firm lines down the muscle there, hairline to nape. It feels…really, really nice, actually.

“You’ll fly back with us after,” he can make out Max saying, “to Monaco. Lando and I and a few others.”

That doesn’t really make sense. Oscar’s been planning to go home for a bit over the mini break, Lando knows, they talked about it nearly right away when the agreement was drawn up. Far be it from him to argue that point, though, not when Oscar’s saying “Yeah, thanks, mate,” and his thumb’s still easing the pain in Lando’s skull. Lando would blame it on the headache, but it’s not like he’ll mind the extra time with Oscar, either. Which Max knows.

Lando cracks his eyes open and shifts enough to squint suspiciously at his friend, but Max is just grinning happily at the pair of them.

“Very good,” Max says. Sure.

“That’s all?” Oscar asks. His thumb finally stills. Lando does not whine about it, but it’s a close thing.

“Yes,” Max says, “you can take grumpy home now.”

Then, before Lando can decide whether that’s worth getting upset over, Oscar squeezes the back of his neck and nudges him up off his shoulder. His eyes are apologetic when Lando meets them, and he kisses Lando once on the forehead as he slides their palms back together.

It’s nice. Domestic. Very convincing, probably. Oscar’s gotten really good at his job.

“We’ll see you, mate,” Oscar says.

Max clasps Oscar’s hand for a second, then squeezes Lando’s shoulder on his way by.

When he's a few steps off, Oscar says, “Ready?” like Lando hasn’t been begging to go this whole time.

Lando says yes, please and he can tell it's a little whiny, because Oscar says "Hey, okay love, I'm sorry" and brushes a gentle kiss against his lips. Lando thinks Max is probably too far away to see it, but Oscar would know better.

It’s not until they’re finally settled into the back of the car, sides pressed together, that Lando remembers:

“Max knows about everything. You didn’t have to… he knows.”

Oscar’s gaze is soft and maybe a little sad, for some reason, but he smiles past it and combs his fingers through Lando’s hair until he settles.

“Yeah,” Oscar says as Lando’s head falls back against his shoulder, “He does.”