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everythingne · 4 months

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akin to a pride, mv1

[series, 1] - 'the lions come at night'

Reina 'Little Lion' Matsumoto is known for her reckless driving on the track, earning her the nickname she partly shares with a certain 3x WDC. Off the track, however, she's known for being bubbly, bright, and kind. When she's reached out to by F1 about joining their new 'Siblings Mentorship,' a program that will pair her with a 'similar F1 driver' as her mentor for the upcoming season, she fully expects Daniel or Lando.

Her surprise comes in the form of Max Verstappen, and though she thinks they won't be that much alike off track, she's quick to find it's quite the opposite. Reina learns she needs someone who understands what shes going through to lean on, and Max learns that sometimes healing comes in breaking a cycle that's not your own.

(multipart series, non-linear in writing)

warnings/notes: mentioned/implied abusive father, father being manipulative and nasty via phone call, [word] used to show other languages being spoken, probably inaccurate/purposefully inaccurate f2/f1 information but its for the plot, also purposefully incorrect NASCAR information (RBR having a currently running NASCAR team being part of it), and probably incorrect Japanese culture (please correct me, I'm not Japanese myself!!), 5k words.

face claim: nina hillman

MAX HAD ALWAYS ENJOYED MEETING YOUNG FANS. Especially the ones who were karting or just getting into motorsports, there was something strong and pure in their hearts--a full love for what they were doing that was so refreshing to him. The media could wear him down day after day, racing every few weekends and changing time zones over and over making him a bit of a husk. He and the people he worked around were always so drained and tired, but one meeting with a young fan, listen to their proud "I'll be just like you when I grow up" and a big grin as they snapped a photo with him would always set him right.

Victoria had called him soft but he didn't care. He was the go-to babysitter of her two sons for a reason, the so called 'baby whisperer' by her husband and the beloved Uncle Max who they cheered on every other weekend on TV. When Victoria's eldest had an F1 themed birthday party with his class, Max had shown up with some of his gear in his car just in case, and ended up being the life of the party as he let each kid try on some of his old helmets and gloves and such.

Max loved the few and far between meetings he had with kids because they always seemed to come to him at the perfect times. Like the day Christian asked him if he wanted to do a program a few other drivers were a doing. It was a season long 'older siblings' mentorship for teens in the F3 or F2 leagues so they could get insight into what being an F1 driver was like and how it differed from what they were doing now. It had been mentioned off hand, with Christian expecting Max to say no and that he 'didnt want to do that media stuff', but imagine Christian's surprise when the man instantly said yes. He said it with no hesitation, a small smile peeking on his lips as he asked who he'd be helping.

"Reina Matsumoto." Christian had said and Max's eyes widened with a mix of excitement and genuine happiness as a grin peeked at his lips as he looked through Reina's social medias. It was a face Christian hadn't seen much, typically reserved for Penelope or Victoria's boys.

"Oh, wait until I tell Kelly!" He'd laughed, following the driver and shutting off his phone as he'd crosses his arms and smiled.

Geri had laughed with her whole heart when Christian told the story to her that night, watching as she attempted to pack three school lunches, do the dishes, and clean up while he was making his way over to help her. He dropped his bag on the floor by the island, hands coming up to her back as he slipped behind her and into the kitchen.

"He's got a big heart," Geri said gently with a grin on her lips, pausing mid sandwich packing to press a kiss to her husband's cheek. Her nails scratched slightly as she pat his shoulder as she handed him the dishes she needed put away, "and look at him and little Penelope! He's practically her father."

"This is a teenager though." Christian emphasized as he opened the cabinet with one hand, the other balancing a stack of plates from dinner--porkchops, he'd missed it due to being in the office for the exact thing they're talking about.

He sets down the dishes in their respective spots and shuts the cabinet as he turns back to Geri, "She's seventeen, she’s Bluebell's age.”

"First of all," Geri zips closed the remaining lunch bags for the kids and turns to Christian as she points at him, "Teenager or not, Max knows how to deal with kids. We've seen that."

Geri then flicks her wrist to show a peace sign she points at Christian once more, "and second, she's from Formula Two and she? Is it Matsumoto?"

"Yep. The Reina Matsumoto, Miss Little Lion," Christian nods, the girls nickname being given due to her driving style being very similar to Max's when he was her age. Controlled chaos, slightly reckless depending on the day, but she almost always left unscathed.

"Her dad was one of Japan's top Tour Racing drivers," Christian explains as he moves to help Geri finishing wiping off the counters, "Her mom raced drift cars in the states, works in NASCAR now. Reina used to live with her dad in Japan. She just moved to England to continue pursuing racing."

"So she has two motorsports parents... how much pressure is on her?" Geri crosses her arms as she leans back on the kitchen island and Christian lets out a low whistle as he rubs his forehead.

"I don't know, they don't exactly brief me on her entire past, Ger. But from what I was able to dig up on her father? It's not good."

"Do you think they teamed her with Max because of how they were both raised?" Geri pushes off the counter to open the fridge and waves over Christian to help her stuff the lunch boxes inside with all the leftovers and other foodstuffs stacked in the fridge,

"I don't know. But looking at the words 'Project Matsumoto' as the third term when I looked up her name; and having it be an article where her dad says he pushes her to be her best 'no matter what he has to do to make her'? I can't imagine it's anything good."

Geri sighs, rolling her neck and then nodding, "But how's her mother?"

"Oh, Hana is a sweetheart. She owned the NASCAR side of Red Bull Racing until about... two years ago, when she took full custody of her daughter. Now she does engineering, she has nothing but good articles about her."

"So, dad who forces her to be the best in every race she does, and a mom who was in racing but doesn't seem to push her too hard. Parents divorced, she lived with her father, now she lives with her mother." Geri recounts and when Christian nods sharply she starts to laugh and rub at her forehead.

"So... literally Max?" She says and Christian just nods again. There's no other way to explain it, she was simply a younger version of Max. But maybe there was a chance here, to save some of the love for the world she had left, because while Max was a genuine sweetheart he was always a bit haunted in Geri's eyes.

If she could save Reina from looking the same way, that would be her own personal WDC.

reinamatsumoto made a new post !

liked by biancabustamente, lilymhe, premaracing, and 15k others...

reinamatsumoto: winter break recap. whew. what a time. from my dad's place in fukushima to my grandparents home in washington state, to buying an apartment by myself in london :D!! (with my mom living there until I know how to adult because lord knows I can't be trusted by myself yet..)

also, big news! I am excited to announce ill be joining in the f2 to f1 mentorship program! I cannot wait to see which f1 driver I get to annoy with my useless knowledge of everything (and katsu…)

tagged: mrshanatanaka

mrshanatanaka: [my beautiful daughter] xx

user1: so pretty!!

biancabustamente: so i need your whole workout routine

⤷ reinamatsumoto: when are you back in london ?? I can take u to my trainers .. 👀

premaracing: so happy to have you back reina!

Dear Reina Matsumoto,

I READ MY NAME FOR THE THIRD TIME, fingers dusting over the slight texture change from the ink on the white paper that slightly creases in my hand. René had handed it to me at Prema last weekend before I went home for Christmas. Inside was a little invitation from Formula One. I had assumed, and kinda prayed, it was some sort of contract for any team (my fingers had crossed briefly for Red Bull) but was also a bit more delighted to see it was an invitation to their 'siblings' mentorship program. I took my time reading the letter, glossing over the words asking if I would be fine being trained by a handpicked Formula One driver who matched my driving style and my personality...I was elated.

I didn't know many drivers who matched both, maybe like Lando as the closest, or if we pushed it a bit maybe Daniel but his driving was more reserved than mine. I had explained to my mother, and she had joked saying my closest match would be Max. But I doubted they'd put him with me. I doubted he'd even said yes to the whole thing, everyone knew Max hated media stunts that didn't involve him driving some weird ass vehicle or like, putting snow chains on an F1 car.

I roll over to slide the note back on my bedside table, sighing as I curl deeper into my blankets to try and fight off the chill I still felt after my afternoon run in the light snow. Probably my last exterior run of the year, I was lucky to get one so close to the end of December.

The heater fan is on high blast next to my bed, rolling warm air across my chest as I look out the window and into the setting sun on the snow tipped trees of Washington State. My mom had worked hard to get us here, to her parents home up in a coastal town, where I can faintly smell some sort of curry dish being prepared by my grandmothers nimble hands. My grandfather a fisherman, my grandmother a school treasurer, my mother a business owner and engineer, her only daughter an aspiring Formula One driver.

Quite a group.

My attempt at warmth is abruptly ended by my mother knocking on my door, waiting only a brief moment before entering. She's dressed from work, I can tell it was some sort of zoom meeting by the slippers she has on. Her hair is pulled back, makeup light on her face as the warm golden rays slip through into my room from the hallway.

"You got mail, Rei, did you not see it on the counter?" My mother asks with a slight huff, sitting on the edge of my bed and cranking up my heater with a complaint about how its still too cold in my little room. It was supposed to be an office, but when I visited my grandparents and moms side of the family (since my aunt and cousins lived with them here in the states) it became my room so I didn't have to share with toddlers.

"Jiji was cooking, didn't wanna disturb her." I say softly, looking over at my mother and noticing the giddy expression on her face. Her eyes are sparkling as her nails crease the edges of the letter.

"What?" I ask, looking up at her through the thick fuzzy blankets that cover me and basically cement me down to the bed with their weight. Another wonderful thing about my grandparents, they were always prepared.

"It's from Oracle Red Bull Racing." my mother emphasizes each word with a huge smile that only seems to grow. My mother had raced for Red Bull back when she was a bit older than me, and owned their NASCAR team for years, which she now was an engineer for. I think her excitement bleeds onto me as I throw myself up into a seated position and snag the unopened letter. I take it and nearly tear the damn thing open, my mom laughing as I hand her the envelope and flip the letter open to read aloud.

"Miss Matsumoto/Matsumoto-san," I say and then whistle, "Someone did their homework."

My mom laughs and urges me to keep reading, and so, I take a deep breath and read the words that seem so powerful even with their tiny ten or so pixel statue.

"We at Oracle Red Bull Racing wish you well this holiday season, and it's an honor for me, Christian Horner, to welcome you to the family as the younger sister/mentee of three time world champion, Max Verstappen!--"

My mom squeals in excitement at the same time I do. The usually reserved side of her gone as she leaps off my bed and jumps around as I kick my legs in excitement. Seconds later I'm falling back as my mom is crashing into me in a bone crushing hug as she laughs with watery eyes I ignore for both of our sakes.

"Oh! Oh my god, that's so exciting!" She shouts.

"[Is everything okay?]" I hear my grandfather rough voice call from the base of the stairs in Japanese and my mother lifts her head away from my ear to shout through the doorway,

"[Yes, yes, everything is fine!]" My mother laughs once more, "[Just some very good news,] keep reading Rei, keep reading!"

"Okay, okay!" I laugh, grabbing the letter and continuing down the page, trying to keep myself from skipping ahead in excitement.

"We are very excited to get to know you over this season, and look forward to meeting you in person for the first time soon! In fact, we have extended an invitation for you to meet Max and the rest of RBR at our home base in Milton Keynes on January 5th-10th. We will provide you and one guest a flight over if needed, room and board at The Berkeley in London as well as transportation to and from our garage.

We eagerly await your response. Thank you and welcome!

Christian Horner."

But the letter doesn't stop there, in fact, there's a little hand written note that's been scanned to fit on the paper and I squint to read the scratchy handwriting.

'Reina,

Hello! It's Max, your 'big brother' or mentor for this upcoming season. As you may know, I'll be your right hand this season when it comes to advice with driving and media, but I wanted to extend an invitation for you to ask/talk about any of your interests or just life in general. I genuinely cannot wait to get to see how we get along (as I'm sure we will) and I hope you have a wonderful holidays with your family.

See you in January!

Max Verstappen.

(ps. I wrote my phone number on the back of this, feel free to send me a text/call and introduce yourself!)'

The exciting news brings my family to tears of joy as we celebrate with loud laughter and tight hugs. Max Verstappen. A three time world champion helping me of all people learn the real ins and outs of racing? It’s like a dream come true.

And even though I know it should be the absolute last thing I ever could even think about asking, he’d been raised similar to myself. I needed to know how he handled it, or the lack thereof.

redbullracing made a new post !

liked by gerihalliwell, reinamatsumoto, misshanatanaka and 674k others..

redbullracing: Introducing the final set of mentorship siblings for this season! Our @ maxverstappen will be mentoring @ premaracing 's @ reinamatsumoto for the upcoming season. Reina is known across Formula 2 for her bubbly bright personality and colorful disposition. Join us on TikTok Live, January 5th at 6pm BST to see them in action!

user1: sunshine x grumpy trope frfr

misshanatanaka: so excited for my little lion cub !

user2: they definetely picked her for her little lion nickname and yk what. respect.

reinamatsumoto: this is such an incredible opportunity, thank you so much red bull!!!

danielricciardo: soon we will have a whole god damn lion pride in RBR.

user3: unlikely duo actually?

logansargeant: and they wouldnt give ME reina???

⤷ maxverstappen: another L for logan sargeant

⤷ logansargeant: i'm gonna take your damn knees old man

⤷ reinamatsumoto: its ok logan i will never forget my first (and favorite) f2 teammate 💙

WALKING INTO RED BULL'S HEADQUARTERS WAS LIKE A DREAM. My mom chats with the woman whose brought us in eagerly, and excitedly points to a photo of her on the wall from the early 2000s. I'm shocked to see Christian Horner's in the photo as well. Reading the little plaque under makes it all click, it's a photo of all the 'team principles' or their equivalents of each Red Bull Sporting branch at the time.

My fingers skim over the names, EHC Red Bull München, FC Red Bull Salzburg, Hansen Motorsport, JMB Racing, and eventually I find my moms name, 'Hana Matsumoto (neé, Tanaka) Team Leader: Red Bull Racing (NASCAR).'

"Ah! Glad you both could make it!" A voice calls and I snap my head to its source, making his way across the big expanse of the lobby is Christian Horner, Geri following close behind her husband with a glittery smile. My mother shakes his hand and the two begin conversing, immediately snapping back into some sort of old pals situation while I step back to admire it.

My mother, after my father abandoned us when I was twelve, refused to touch racing for years, except for when it came to me and my karting. When I advanced to rally, she got back into working for NASCAR as an engineer, and then when I was going into Formula Four she had become a head engineer for Red Bull's NASCAR team.

I had never had an opportunity to work for Red Bull myself, narrowly missing making their junior team due to my dad's interference. I had hated Red Bull due to my fathers influence, but once or twice I caught my mother reminiscing over old images of her in her glory days of drift cars and owning a NASCAR team, and it made me wonder...

I wondered about wearing navy blue, standing on a podium, racing a car that would rocket itself around a track with no issue. And then slowly my mind would shift and I would wonder what else my father had stolen from her other than money and her daughter for years. A stolen daughter for some sort of prize he could never get for himself. A Formula One racer. Something I could be, something he would beat into me.

"And you must be Reina." Geri's voice catches me off guard and pulls me out of whatever pouty moment I've found myself in. The smile on my face is real as I allow her to pull me into a tight hug, her warm hands settling on my back as she squeezes me. It's safety in two arms, immediately, and I relax into it as I place one hand on the center of her back.

"Geri Horner, it's such an honor to finally meet my favorite Spice Girl." I say into the hug and Geri laughs, stepping back to squeeze me shoulders in her hands as she looks me over with an approving grin.

"Good to know you have taste!" She teases, turning to my mother who nods and laughs as she makes her way over to where Geri has come to distract me. Christian grabs his phone out of his pocket, glancing behind him, but I miss what he calls out as my Mom starts to speak to Geri.

"Yep! God, we have so much Spice Girls stuff in our house in Washington you'd think it was a museum." My mother giggles, patting my back as she sends me a small grin, "I think you even have a replica of the union jack dress."

"It's in Fukushima, so who knows if it's still there." I hum, my smile dropping for half a second as I remember the cold home I had lived in for years, before I force it back up, "But I bet I can find photos of it!"

"Would love to see them." Geri places a hand on her heart, then turns to Christian as he approaches us. He brings us to a small room, two chairs facing a few cameras, interns and workers milling around the room as I'm instructed to sit down in one of the chairs. I sit down as told, crossing my ankles as my mom frets with my collar and sweater for a few moments, then presses a kiss to my forehead and tells me to be kind before slipping behind the lights that shine on me.

"Alright, we're gonna have you introduce yourself..." A woman starts to explain the protocols to me. The stream is running right now, people can see me, but the audio is muted. On her signal, I'll introduce myself, and then they'll start a QnA with me while they wait for Max to arrive. I nod along, smiling when she compliments me and laughing at her jokes with practiced kindness. I wasn't media trained, but rather trained by walking on eggshells and keeping peace for years.

Eventually, I'm cued in, and I wave happily.

"Hello!" I cheer, "I'm Reina Matsumoto, known as Rei or Little Lion, this is my third year racing for Prema in Formula Two. I finished my first season with them in second, right behind Oscar Piastri, my second season I unfortunately didn't complete due to personal issues and an injury, and so I'm looking to use this season as a comeback to finally get my hands on an F2 win.

"I'm going to be mentored by Max Verstappen, which is... just really incredible." I feel heat rush to my cheeks and I let a giddy smile cross my face, "So yeah! Let's get on with the QnA?"

A man steps up so I can see him, and holds up a phone, he scrolls before landing on a question he likes,

"Can you explain your racing journey to us?"

"Oh! Yeah! So I started karting in Japan with my father when I was barely three, and started competing on my fifth birthday. I kept karting, I won, I lost, y'know, and got into rally racing for a few years when I was around ten to fourteen, then I went into Formula Four when I was fifteen, did half a season of F3, and then jumped to compete in Formula Two the last three years." I explain, having to pause a few times to think and make sure I'm getting my age right. Trying my best to keep my voice happy as I recount the time spent with my father, "Around the time I switched to Formula racing, I also moved in with my Mom, Hana Tanaka, in the United States and lived partially in England."

"Do you race for Japan or for the States?"

"I'm racing for Japan since I'm technically a citizen of Japan living on a work visa in the UK. I lived in Japan for years, my mother traveling back to the states a lot for work, and--uhm," I swallowed, glancing down at my left wrist briefly as my hand twitched and my pinkie struggled to close up in the fist I balled up, "I lived with my father there when my parents divorced, from when I was nine to thirteen."

"Do you have a favorite F1 driver who is racing right now?"

"If I say anyone other than Logan or Oscar they'll be very upset." I grin, kicking my feet a little, "They're basically my older brothers! They took me in when I started racing F2, since we all raced together, and I'm really proud of both of them and all their hard work."

After maybe ten or so more questions, the man leans back as someone whispers something to him and he nods, there's a bit of a shuffle and then I see a door open. I know it's Max who walks in even if I can only see his shadow behind the lights. I try to hide my giddy smile as the same woman from before steps in front of me and begins to announce Max and I are meeting for the first time. I take a deep breath, swallow my nerves, and plaster on the most professional smile I can muster. Max is much taller than I am, that much is obvious when he dips under a light to come in front of the camera and I stand immediately to greet him. I expect him to go for a handshake, but I'm pleasantly surprised with a hug. We take our respective seats, Max gives his little introduction to the camera, and then we're off.

"So this is a drawing challenge." We're both handed whiteboards and I grin, looking at Max who laughs and looks down at the whiteboard being set in his hands. I can see a little playful gleam in his eyes, something I've never caught before in the hundreds of photos and videos I've seen of him. It's intriguing but I don't have time to stare, and this is hardly the place to do so.

"You guys are about to be amazed at how much someone can suck at art." He says, uncapping his pen.

"You both have to try and draw each other in three minutes," She says, "and then there will be a poll on who won."

The timer goes off then and I prop the whiteboard up and begin drawing. I had doodled as a hobby, so I make it less realistic (because lord knows I can't do that) and make it more cutesy. I giggle at my drawing as I add a little flare to it and when times up, we flip them around. The crew audibly awes over mine and Max laughs, tilting it so he can see it past the glare of the lights.

"Oh my god, I need someone to save this so I can have it. This is genuinely the cutest thing anyone has ever drawn for me." He looks at it in awe and I laugh into the back of my hand as he takes the whiteboard from me and just looks at it.

"Proud dad moment," I grin, trying to hide my obvious giddy attitude at the fact that Max fucking Verstappen was praising my shitty art skills. He nods, holding it up and telling everyone to look, which only makes me blush and grin harder.

We move on from that a few moments later, we're asked to draw each others cars, then we play a few rounds of pictionary where Max fails horribly the whole time. By the end of it, I'm laughing teary eyed as I lean onto his chair for support--and he's pretty much in the same boat as me as we both struggle to catch our breaths.

"How the hell is this a cat?!" I wheeze out, pointing at the oddly long cat he's drawn with a much too big head and much too small legs, "don't you have two? Do you not know what they look like?!"

"I can't draw! It's the thing I can't do!" He leans back in his chair, struggling to catch his breath and I have to pause to dot under my eyes so my makeup doesn't run. After a while we catch our breath, and move into QnA.

Max asks me, from a Twitter tag we both idly scroll on our phones, "What are some of your favorites? Racers, colors, TV Shows, etc?"

I look up as he asks the question and a big grin splits across my lips as I proudly announce, "When it comes to F1, I'm one hundred percent a Vettel girl,"

"Really?" He says, and I start laughing as I nod to him, adjusting the way I'm sitting as I lean on the arm of the chair a bit and wave my phone as I speak,

"I grew up watching him and Lewis Hamilton winning, y'know, so it was always like--my dad would always reprimand me and say stuff like 'you should race risky like Hamilton' or 'go fast like Vettel' so they're kinda cemented into my brain as the like--top drivers."

"My dad was the same with some older drivers, always had to practice like I was the best of the best." Max nods, but waves for me to continue on with answering the ret of the question,

"NASCAR is huge in my family, my mom works for Red Bull's NASCAR team," I explain, looking to where I think my mom stands behind the camera, "So my favorite driver from there? I'd say Jimmie Johnson or Kyle Busch. I've met them both quite a few times, since they both raced with Red Bull, and Kyle is one of my sponsors for racing right now which is so kind of him to do."

I continue when Max doesn't have a comment, "Favorite color, blue." He agrees, "TV Shows..? Right now I'm binging Doctor Who--I'm on Matt Smith's doctor right now."

"Oh, which episode?"

"Uhm... I just finished The Almost People. So I think next is A Good Man Goes to War?" I turn and watch Max's face light up as he makes a soft gasping noise in the back of his throat.

"Oh you have to tell me how you like that episode. It's so good."

My eyes widen, "You've seen Doctor Who?"

"Kelly watches it all the time. When I started watching them with her she made us restart at The Ninth Doctor and watch from there, and then we went back and watched all the older episodes but her favorite is The Ninth Doctor so she made me start there. I think my favorite is him or The War Doctor."

"My favorite so far is the eleventh." I smile, kicking my feet a little once again and Max nods.

"A solid choice."

We run through another twenty minutes or so before signing off, and the energy in the room is light and almost electric as we begin to pack up. A phone call ends up with me slipping out into the hall as everyone mingles, my mom loudly laughing with Kelly and Geri as Christian brings Max over to introduce to my mother. I catch Max's eye fleetingly as I whisk around and slip out into the much quieter hall, pressing my phone to my ear.

"[Hello, Dad.]" I say into the phone, the ten missed calls from him already enough to make my blood icy and my hands shaken.

"[Why weren't you answering me? Am I not important?]" His voice is hard as it always is when he thinks I've wronged him. It makes my heart pound a little bit harder, makes me swallow, makes my hands twitch.

"[I was doing work with Red Bull, Dad. I wasn't with my phone, I'm sorry.]" I say into the phone, crossing one arm over my chest as I look out into the little track behind the building from the windows, walking up to lean against a pole that separates the panes of glass.

"[Oh, about that, you didn't want to tell me? Hm? That you even thought of signing up for that? You're going to waste the talent of a three time world champion on yourself? On the lack of talent you have? You couldn't even beat that Australian boy, now you expect Max Verstappen to want to help you?]" My fathers voice grows harsher, the insults digging deep into my chest and ripping at my confidence and my heart. I hear the door next to me open, but I can't even spare a glance as my fathers hateful tirade continues. I lose track of what he's saying, his voice louder, and when I don't respond he claims I'm 'losing my heritage' and switches to English to mock me. I feel someone behind me, eyes glancing up in the reflection to see Max leaning on the wall on the other side of the hallway.

"[Dad--]" I try, but he cuts me off with more ramblings.

"A waste of talent, a waste of that mans time!" He shouts, "You are nothing but--"

A hand comes to grab the phone, a thumb thats not mine pressing to end the call. I flinch at the touch, but it's warm, and when I look up Max just watches me before slipping my phone back into my hand and sighing. Nothing is said, he just turns and nods over his shoulder. Max moves like a ghost back to the doorway, eyes peeking over at me from under his hat and his voice carries down the hall to me.

"You're not wasting my time. I picked you."

And then he slips into the room where I can hear my mother replaying some story of my early racing days to someone, and I blink back the tears that well up with my shaky sigh. Then something hits me, eyes widening as I stare after Max's retreated form.

Max had picked me to be his mentee.

He picked me. Me.

And a giddy smile crosses my face before I can try and suppress it.

formulaupdates made a new post!

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 359k others...

formulaupdates: Reina Matusmoto (Prema, f2) joined Max Verstappen (Red Bull, F1) to welcome their 'siblingship' this season during a livestream on Red Bull's TikTok wearing the teams signature color in a vintage Ralph Lauren sweater! (+ a scanned version her drawing of Max for everyones icon needs)

tagged: reinamatsumoto, ralphlauren, premaracing, redbullracing, maxverstappen

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#f1 fanfic #f1 smau #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic

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crimsonhydrangeavn · 3 months

Note

If mc had a bubble tea place, what would the li order?

Ohhh! That’s a fun question!

Garret - He’d order the most complex thing on the menu and flirt with you the entire time you made it. Once finally got it, he’d shower you with compliments and hang around the shop, trying to soak up as much attention from you as he could while you tried to work/ attend to other customers. He’d also glare at any other customers that dared enter, only to look like an angel when you looked at him.

In terms of flavors, he usually tends to go for a low sugar Lemon Tea with some kind of jelly or aloe added.

Marcelo - He would probably try all of your new flavors, but ultimately usually order his go to favorite drink. He’d probably also try to work out a deal where he brings you lunch in exchange for a drink. That way you both end up having lunch with each other every single day.

As for flavors, he loves anything that has coffee, milk, and black pearls in it.

Camilla - Camilla would probably cycle through the same 3 or so drinks, though whenever you came out with a particularly cute drink, she would insist on being the first to try it. She’d also take soooo many photos of your drinks and blast them all over social media getting you a decent amount of business.

When it comes to drinks, she probably cycles between a Matcha Milk Tea and anything lavendar flavored teas you have on hand.

Rita - She would stop by every day after the bookstore is closed and offer to help close up shop. She’d probably also secretly try to make it a point to be your last customer each night so that she can make sure you’re not working too late.

While her tastes are pretty basic, they’re also really consistent and easy to make. She always orders a Brown Sugar Milk Tea with black pearls.

Teagan - Like Garret, they would order the most complex thing on the menu. However, unlike Garret, they would insist that you made it wrong. They’d then throw it away and force you to make them a new one while they complained. They’d say that the reason why it tastes terrible is because you can’t get the right ingredients you need on this tiny little island and you need to move back to the city with them so you can PROPERLY start a boba shop.

As for flavors, they’d probably like anything loaded up with ridiculous amounts of sugar.

#crimson hydrangea vn #visual novel #yanderes #crimson hydrangea #original character #yandere #yandere visual novel #yandere vn #male yandere #garret belmont #rita miller #camilla bello #marcelo aguilar #teagan conners

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rockabell-chime · 4 months

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hi people who live on rotomblr. nice to meet you, i'm bell, pronouns they/them; and i made this blog because it's apparently one of the better 'social media' sites out there and it's -according to celestic- a good way to ease back into society

my team! do not badmouth them. i will find you if you do. they're very dear to me and the best pokemon to ever pokemon

blue, my metagross. they like gardening a lot. it's a new hobby of theirs, and wyndy loves bobbing around the flowers

rainbow, my sharpedo. she's the fighter of our team. i've been thinking of maybe going to the battle tree and signing up? still not too sure on that

celestic, my lunatone. it's the one that convinced me to make this blog. it loves the stars and its made it its mission to never taste revives again. this has been an ongoing one for several years. if you have any good astrology photos please send them over

wyndy, my chimecho! he cycled through names a lot, so it might change. but probably not. he loves windy days, that's why he picked that name

coco, my oricorio. she's the newest addition to the team. last night she tried to teach me a fire dancing routine! it was very fun

i guess i also count?

//ooc info: no nsfw allowed on this blog! decided to make this as me and a couple friends made a discord to roleplay, and me having made bell have a tumblr account... well. why the fuck not lol. sometimes bell WILL ramble in the tags; it's always bell talking in the tags unless there's an '//' or a pokeblogging tag/the 'bell speaks' tag

fellow roleplay people, feel free to interact (and non-roleplay people, feel free to interact in general)- if you want to do plots tell me about them first and suchlike, just follow polite roleplay etiquette

pelliper mail/magic anons is not on because quite honestly i couldn't find an in-character way to do it yet. though you COULD mail it to poni's pokemon center via a teleporting psychic pokemon, i suppose? they're a paranoid little guy. multiverse rotomblr is on though. we love multiverse bullshit here. sentient/sapient pokemon go ahead. anon hate... hmm, for now it's a yes. this may change

also bell is a kind of immoral character. ask to tag posts. i use the 'tw [thing]' here to tag warnings. they also talk in the tags a lot

there are a few things bell isn't saying, and that hopefully yall will find out as this blog advances in age, so. yeah go wild. they're currently living in alola, poni island, out of their trauma arc (now in their cottagecore arc, kinda) and friends with trial captain mina! :D

tags i use:

#bell speaks - in-character posts from bel; #//ooc - out of character posts #rotomblr, pokeblogging, pokemon irl, pokeblog rp - the tags for. like. showing up on tumblr #ask answered - ask tag #reblog/occ reblog - reblogs, in for the former and out of character for the latter #ask game - ask game tag #pokenav info - things from bell's pokenav, which is basically a tablet/computer/phone

#intro post #bell speaks #pokeblogging #pokemon irl #rotomblr #pokeblog rp #pokeblog intro #//is this how you do it? probably! hopefully #//inbox is open by the way. mod is often bored. expect activity at least once a day #//also if your blog has a thing against sapient/sentient pokemon; like if the character doesn't put them on the same level as a human uhhh #//not too sure where to put bell on the human/pokemon divide so keep that in mind maybe. they've got some lore i'm still fleshing out a bit #//don't think anyone's done this particular concept on pokemon roleplay tumblr yet! i think someone's got the spirit of it though. kind of

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thesecrettimes · 9 months

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Bison are being introduced to the Russian Arctic to replace extinct woolly mammoths. But why?

Scientists have introduced bison to the Russian Arctic to take on the role of extinct mammoths and help restore ancient ecosystems. Twelve plains bison (Bison bison bison) have arrived at Ingilor Nature Park, a protected area covering more than 2.2 million acres (900,000 hectares) in the northern Yamal-Nenets Autonomous Area. The animals traveled 5,000 miles (8,000 kilometers) from a nursery in Denmark and disembarked from their long journey three weeks ago, according to a statement. Before they can discover their new home, however, the bison — also known as buffalos — must first complete a one-month quarantine. "Buffalo can easily adapt to the Arctic because, historically, it is their natural habitat," the Yamal-Nenets Autonomous Area Department of Natural Resources and the Environment said in a separate statement. "They can take on the role of mammoths, which became extinct 11,000 years ago." Steppe bison and woolly mammoths roamed the Russian Arctic during the late Pleistocene epoch (2.6 million to 11,700 years ago). Though a small population of disastrously damaged mammoths survived on an island off Alaska until about 4,000 years ago, most of these herbivores died out at the end of the ice age, when the climate became warmer and the grassy plains gave way to shrubs and trees. Related: Woolly mammoths were seasonal sex fiends just like elephants, study finds "The Pleistocene ecosystem was treeless and had quite thick soils," Mary Edwards, an emerita professor of physical geography at the University of Southampton in the U.K., told Live Science. "What you can see in geological sections of these kinds of landscapes is that, over time, they're storing soil carbon — it's frozen by the permafrost and it's basically a big carbon stack." The animals that lumbered across these frigid plains contributed to shaping the landscape by grazing and recycling nutrients. "It's a nice cycle of animal dung fertilizing the ground and allowing the plants to grow," Edwards said. "The thought is that the animals created the ecosystem." A 'very interesting idea' Now, in a bid to restore this Pleistocene landscape and its ability to soak up carbon, scientists are introducing large herbivores, such as plains bison, to different parts of the Arctic. Nikita Zimov, the director of a restoration project called Pleistocene Park in Yakutia, has been bringing bison over from Denmark since 2019. "For our rewilding efforts we are bringing to the Arctic animals which either lived here during the ice age or those who could live here in the modern climate," he told Live Science in an email. Woolly mammoths roamed the Arctic tundra during the late Pleistocene before going extinct. (Image credit: MARK GARLICK/SCIENCE PHOTO LIBRARY via Getty Images) This year, Zimov bought a herd of 24 bison, half of which he gave to Ingilor Nature Park in exchange for 14 musk oxen (Ovibos moschatus). These musk oxen almost went extinct in the early 1900s, and only a few scattered herds remain in the Russian Arctic, he said. With the musk oxen now en route to Pleistocene Park, Zimov said he "aims to restore high productive grazing ecosystems in the Arctic, and through various ecological mechanisms mitigate climate change." But Edwards is skeptical. Animals can transform ecosystems locally, she said, but the climate during the Pleistocene was probably more important in shaping the landscape. "It was too cold and too dry for trees and shrubs to grow, so you had grasses and different kinds of herbs covering the landscape," she said. RELATED STORIES —Scientists want to clone an extinct bison unearthed from Siberian permafrost. Experts are skeptical. —Siberian cave filled with mammoth, rhino and bear bones is ancient hyena lair —Woolly mammoths weren't always shaggy. Here's when they evolved some of their trademark features. Today's climate is much warmer and wetter, meaning the ecosystem may not be suitable for large herbivores. "You have to change the landscape for them and create pastures," Edwards said. But modifying the landscape could have unintended consequences. Thawing permafrost means there is more water in the soil, which shrubs and trees take up. "If you got rid of all the shrubs everything would get waterlogged," Edwards said, adding that this stagnant water could contribute to thaw and enhance the loss of carbon from soils. However, introducing these animals to the Russian Arctic is "a very interesting idea," Edwards said. "There's definitely a window for the reintroduction of some of the big, lost animals of the Pleistocene." Read the full article

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captainkirkk · 3 years

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Currently thinking about an atla au where almost everything is the same except it takes place in the modern world

Just the sheer chaos of blurry photos of the gaang being snapped across the globe. The cabbage merchant has uploaded the most of them and they’re all captioned with full caps, no grammar, boomer-style

Appa must be faster than cars, but what about planes? What the fuck are the gaang going to do against PLANES? The fear of an aerial assault might actually slow their journey down a lot

Also the thought of Aang emerging from the iceberg and not only finding century-old skeletons, but photos from the days/years following the massacre.... Photography was relatively new, so the images are blurred and uncoloured but still fairly clear. Do you think anyone photographed the aftermath? The generals celebrating the defeat. The pillagers ravaging the temples.

A less morbid thought: there would be hundreds if not thousands of forum boards speculating about the Avatar’s disappearance and Zuko would be on ALL of them. His username is well-known on the boards, though no one knows who this weirdly aggressive but well-traveled dude is

The White Lotus probably has a group chat/fb page disguised as a pai sho fan club where they trade information via coded discussions about the game. Bumi communicates almost entirely in gifs.

Information control is already a huge thing in atla, but in a modern au? Ba Sing Se would have insane media control and online filters. Any posts about the war are taken down and the culprit tracked. If there was a rebellion in Ba Sing Se, it would be from the tech savy population who can get around the censorship

Speaking of media: can you imagine the media attention on the royal family in the Fire Nation? The media would adore Iroh and Lu Ten and either ignore or occasionally criticize Ozai - until Lu Ten died, then the press tears Iroh to pieces and becomes Fire Lord Ozai’s unofficial fanclub overnight.

Azula is the media darling of the Fire Nation. Zuko is praised as often as he is criticized. In canon, the pressure already fucked with these kids, but can you imagine if they had tabloids and a 24-hour news cycle? Zuko’s banishment is warped and vague, and yet covered extensively. Photos of the banished prince sold to tabloids for a fortune in the weeks after his exile - until Ozai shuts that down, then he vanishes from the public’s eyes until Aang returns, then Zuko goes through periods of blind, worshipful praise by the press and intense negativity and hate, swinging wildly between the two extremes. The media will always be extremely polarised around him, until he eventually retires and hands the crown to Izumi. Only then will the press drop their hostility and talk about him as if he has always been the Fire Nation’s darling

Also he looks painfully awkward in every single photo the press take of him. His PR person has tried to coach him on body language with limited success

After Book 2, Azula gets a very similar treatment to Zuko. But while Zuko grew up criticised and hated and learnt to ignore it, Azula has always been adored. So when the press starts documenting her downward spiral, starts questioning her perfection, she loses it

Years later, when she’s an adult, she learns how to bait and play the press like a cat toying with a mouse, laughing at every negative article posted about her or Zuko. But for now, she’s fourteen and never been anything other than perfect and the pressure is killing her

Momo has his own insta. It’s wildly popular. Most of the canon characters are following it, including Zuko and Iroh - the former for any possible hints on the Avatar’s location, the latter because he thinks Momo is very cute

He has a twitter too. For some reason. It has 5x the amount of followers as Sokka’s twitter account and Sokka is SO bitter about it

Ty Lee is a very successful influencer

Do you think there’s a “#ty lee is over party” when it’s revealed she committed Actual Real-Life War Crimes?? I’m losing my mind

#this au swings wildly between angst and crack #PLEASE weigh in if you have ideas #avatar #atla #atla headcanons #don't ask me to fill in any plot holes for this au okay this thing is not that fleshed out skjskjskd #au ideas #my posts

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sweetsbfreex · 3 years

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a father’s duty

Summary: brought to u by the wholesome picture of Cevans sewing up dodger’s stuffed lion 🤧

Warnings: Talk of trauma (nothing too in depth) and talk of sex

Pairings: Dad, Husband!Ransom x reader

You and Ransom were cuddled up together on the couch, some random movie he had chosen that you weren’t paying attention to. You wanted to cuddle, but he insisted on watching this movie so a compromise had to be made. And the feeling of his hand going up and down, inside your shirt, against your arm; Could only make you purr in contentment.

And you were meant to doze off if it wasn’t for the dramatic, high pitched scream of pure agony. You both shot up from your seats, looking at each other wide eyed before dashing up the stairs (Ransom ahead).

Until you were in the doorway of an overly purple room.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Ransom let a small, stunned gasp at the feel of a teary eyed four year old, Celeste bolting to his legs. Her small arms had tried to wrap around his legs as she sobbed into his jeans, fists tight as she clutching the denim.

Confused you had leant down adjacent to her, Ransom peering down from his stance, lifting her arms to softly run circles over her back.

“What’s wrong baby?” a fake pout on your lips.

“She’s dead!” she had sobbed, her puffy cheek making contact with his expensive jeans to make eye contact with you.

“What? Who’s dead babe?” Ransom asked, tilting his head downward, eye brows stitched together.

She propped her chin up against his leg, “Daffy” she blubbered, extending her arm behind her to point at the limp stuffed bunny a few feet away.

“Fucking––” He couldn’t finish his sentence a hearty laugh emitted into the otherwise somber air, still laughing (some tears streaking his face) he had picked up the once blubbering girl so she saddled on his hip.

“Ransom! It’s not funny and language, god”

“C'mon” he dragged the n, “You gotta admit this is hilarious, she’s so dramatic...I wonder who she gets it from” he smirked, looking at you knowingly.

“You” you appointed, holding back your smile.

“As if” he scoffs rolling his eyes.

“Daffy!” Celeste exclaimed, snapping the two from their loving trance.

“Right!” you snapped yourself back into mom mode, making way to Daffy and your way back to the two, watching Ransom wipe the tears from Celeste’s face, calming her down in a hushed voice.

You sidle up next to Ransom lifting the stuffed animal, so the both of you could evaluate the state of her favorite buddy. You looked up to him, watching his face scrunch up, almost like disgust, but you knew he was just very confused.

“Jeez leste, what’d you do?”

The light yellow bunny up front was perfectly fine, but once you had turned it around a tear in the fabric of the it’s “spine” was parted, the thread poking out along the hem.

“I–– I was just spinning her around”

“Is that really what you did” you prompted.

“No..” she set forward shyly, resting her temple against her father’s shoulder. “There was a string and then I pulled it by accident”

“By accident?” Ransom asked, eyebrows raised.

“On purpose” she mumbled, eyes tearing up slowly.

Celeste is probably the biggest liar the two of you know. You both have been working on that habit, reassuring her that it was fine and being honest is better most times (minus surprises, safety, etc). You both had even resorted to acting out examples for her. She was getting better, but ever the fibber she still found a way to slip into the habit. And when you had asked her why exactly she loved lying, she only replied with a quib “It’s fun!” giggling to herself.

“Hey it’s okay, you were curious” he cooed, “Mommy will fix it don’t worry”

You looked up at him mesmerized, not so surprised at the father he was becoming. Remembering all those nights he had kept the two of you up, even the day you were in labor, he had been worried. How was he ever supposed to love a kid properly–– let alone his–– when he never had that benefit. All these what ifs running through his head in a cycle.

He had even taken it upon himself to sign you both up for those parenting classes. The ones with the fake dolls. Dolls that he held gently as if they were alive.

“I will. You’ve had a long day, love, you wanna go to bed now?” you asked her, smiling.

She nods silently, reaching her hands out to you. Ready for the familiar night routine to begin.

––––

After Celeste had been put to bed, it was not you and Ransom being the only two up. You were both in your shared bathroom, getting ready for bed.

You groaned, catching the attention of Ransom. “Sewing that thing is gonna be some work” watching yourself in the mirror as you rub in your lotion.

“You’re tying that thing together, how hard can that be?”

“I’m sewing it together”

“Tomato, Tomahto” he responded.

“Fine, since you think it’s so easy why don’t you fix it for her?”

“Deal. I’ll take another night of anal as my end” he says this confindently, not expecting another word for you, as he saunters past you briskly but not before placing a kiss to your check and a rough smack to the ass.

Ransom.

–––––

And god did he take this seriously. Making sure you were up this entire time as he achieved his new level of domesticity.

And you did, sitting up against the headboard as you watched him sit shirtless across the sized room.

He sits in the barrel chair. the stuffed animal in his lap, a spool of light pink thread to match the bunny in between his legs, and a packet of needles in his hand.

“Babe you have to––”

He holds up a hand, stopping you from saying whatever you were about to say.

“I got this babe” he tells you, looking at you wearily as he pulls up a video (‘how to sew stuffed bunny animal together’) on his phone.

You watch him watch the video,switching the show you were watching to make it seem as if you weren’t watching him too carefully.

He squints, focused as he listens to the lady in the video.

“You look so cute”

“Thanks” he grumbles, placing a thimble on his pointer finger.

He was like a cute grandmother. His eyebrows brought together and tongue poking through his cheek, which you teased him endlessly about. There was just something about watching a brawly, grumpy man like him knit. So you pulled your phone out wanting to take a quick picture.

“Put. it. down.” he tells you, not even looking away from his task.

“Wha–– You’re really creepy, you know that. Smile” you demand of him. “It’d be so cute for the album”

He of course doesn’t smile instead raising the stuffed animal to cover his face from the camera, but you were quick enough to get something before that. Smiling fondly at the adorable photo of his concentrated face. Once you had your fill of serotonin, you closed the device and reached over to set it on your nightstand.

“You gonna give me a kiss goodnight before you go?” he asks you stoically, head still looking down at his task.

“Yes Ransom. Just give me a minute’ you respond, shimmying yourself from the soft sheets. You make your way besides Ransom–– naturally he wraps one arm around your waist to bring you–– leaning down and placing a kiss to his cheek (which he smiles at) then his lips. He pulls back first only to return again for a deeper one. Sending you off, finally, with a pinch to your ass.

“Goodnight, Baby” you tell him over your shoulder on your way back to the bed.

“Night y/n/n.”

–––––

“y/n” is whispered in your ear and the shaking of your shoulder is what causes you to wake up. You turn your head over your shoulder to see Ransom standing over you gleefully.

“Ransom?” you rasp, turning your whole body over to face him, looking at the clock on your night stand. “It’s two in the morning!”

“Thanks captain obvious” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Yet, he lifts up the stuffed animal. Both hands on either paws, holding it up to show you. “I finished!”

You instantly noticed the band-aid wrapped around his thumb and the brightest smile on his face. Through it you could see how proud of himself he really was. He really was getting a hand of this dad thing he was still figuring it out.

Ransom, however, could only think about how tired he was and how strained his eyes felt––probably rimmed red. With the amount of times he had to rewatch the video because he missed or didn’t understand a step. But, for his little girl it was definitely worth it.

“Well, look at you. You did so good bub” you extend your arm up lazily to then loop it around his neck, bringing him down for a kiss.

If only his conceited friends could see him now. Thinking about how Danver, one of the many friends he had dropped, would berate him passively. Calling it a women’s role most likely.

“Thank you” he settles one more kiss, “Let’s go”

“Go where?” you chuckle

“Leste’s room...where else? She’ll need him to sleep the rest of the night comfortably” he explains, removing your arm from his neck. To gently tug your hand.

“You sure?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hundred percent, let’s go”

––––

You open the door slowly, the creaking sound it emitted making you cringe. And when you’re hushed by Ransom, you twist around instantly sending him a stink eye.

And you both stand against the side of her bed, you crouch down. Raising your hand to her shoulder.

“Lesty” you whisper, your thumb running circles over her shoulder.

She wakes up slowly, as always. The clear indication that she is awake being when she raises her hand to rub at her eyes.

“Mommy? She stops and gasps, “Are we going to Disney?” asking the question with glee, she sits up, her hands placed over her book patterned pajama pants.

You and Ransom share a short laugh. Remembering how you surprised her just like this months ago. The frown that overtakes her face makes you both want to laugh.

“I’m going back to sleep” she tells you both, already reaching for her blanket.

“Wait” you laugh, holding her hand. “There's a surprise for you”

At your announcement, Ransom steps up holding out the sewed up stuffy. Her tiny hands covered the gasp she let out, muffling it.

“She’s fixed!” she’s astonished, running her fingers along the stitches.

Celeste felt like a jumping bean with all this happiness filling her body and she wasn’t sure how to express how happy she felt. So, she jumped onto her mother, arms latched onto her neck. Kissing her cheek incessantly.

“Thank you thank you thank you-”

“Actually––” you start.

“Woah! Woah! Woah!” ever the dramatic, “Momma didn’t do this. I did babe” he tells her, a gobsmacked, playful expression on his face.

Ransom’s replica quickly unlatched herself from y/n, rocketing herself into his arms. He held onto her tightly. Falling in love with the toothy smile–– albeit it was missing a front one–– she gave him. He was rolling around in her appreciation towards his gesture. This was all he wanted. To be a better man for you to marry and be a better father for his daughter.

He brought her into him a little bit, placing a kiss to her forehead.

“Anything for you Leste” he tells her in a hush.

You rise slowly from your crouch, knees a bit sore from how long you were down there. Just in awe of the love they both exerted towards each other. Ransom’s hand lightly flying over the back of her head and Her tiny palm coddling his cheek.

“Time for bed?” you ask the two of them, your hand naturally going to Ransom and Celeste’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m tired” she tells you, dragging out the h. Setting her cheek to her dad’s muscled shoulder. Nuzzling her cheek against it lazily.

“Yeah? Well let’s put you in bed first” Ransom responds.

You walk behind the two, as Ransom sets her down gently on her bed.

He sets a kiss to her cheek then he pulls back, watching the way her arms tighten around the stuffed animal.

“You love it?” he asks, a proud smile etched on his face.

“Yes” she whispers, “Thank you, daddy” her palm caressing the top of it’s head.

“Anything for you Leste” he reaffirmed. He needed her to know that he’d do anything. Anything. To keep a smile that bright on her precious face. He didn’t want her to doubt if he ever loved her or if she could ever come to him about anything. He especially didn’t want her to think that she’d be second to his work.

He loved her too much and decided, right when you told him the news, he’d learn from his parents’ mistakes and trauma he had to deal with.

“Goodnight, honey”

He gets up from his spot watching you lean over placing a kiss to her cheek, tugging the crocheted blanket to Celeste’s chin.

“Night baby” you tell her sweetly.

“Night” she replies to the both of you before snuggling into the duck more.

––––

RIght when you shut the door, you expect to face Ransom’s back walking towards your bedroom. But try not to scream, startled, when your head meets with his chest.

You look up, probably not the smartest thing to do. “You ready for bed?” you ask nervously, each hand landing on his broad shoulders.

With the way he was looking at you, you would assume you were the last stash of biscoff cookies he always keeps fully stored in the house. Especially, with the other Drysdale in the house, the cookies went by faster when they used to.

“Don’t think so..We made a bet. Remember?” he smiles

“RIght now?!” you hiss lowly. He must have lost his mind. “You woke me up at like three in the morning”

“It was actually two” you whack his arm at his smart mouth, of course he doesn’t react. “Anyway. A bets a bet. Let’s go baby” he crouches down, lifting you up swiftly into a bride-groom like position.

“Ransom!” you whisper, taken by surprise.

“A quickie and then we’ll drop her off at your parents tomorrow to get to the real stuff tomorrow” he asserts.

With that, he picks up his speed. Taking you both down the hallway. Once he’s arrived at his destination–– the bedroom–– he throws you on the bed. Laughing to himself with how stricken you look. You should be used to this by now, he tells himself.

“Ransom!” is the last of his name he hears with a tone of scolding mixed with shock, before he gets to work. When he climbs on top of you quickly––like a lion to prey––biting your neck.

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #knives out fanfiction #dad!ransom #dad!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale drabble #ransom drysdale one shot #ransom drysdale fluff #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x fem!reader #husband!ransom #dad ransom drysdale

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sxlver-sweet · 3 years

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Please i'm begging youu i want to see more fantasy au for tokrev and that pirate would be so good i even have some idess on me already 😩

–🎴

I HAD A FUCKING FIELD DAY WITH THIS I WANNA HEAR YOUR IDEAS PLS SHARE

i’m currently sleep-deprived, so some of these are probably really basic and there’s most likely errors somewhere in here skdkcmdksk

also, requests may be closed, but discussions and more ideas are absolutely welcome.

faerie!kokonoi, who preys on the heartbroken drunkards at upscale bars, listening with a secretive smile as they spill their life stories to the bartender. silver-tongued and clever, kokonoi purrs his condolences, slipping their name into the conversation with ease and feigning oblivion when they, cloudy-eyed and ignorant, hand over their precious bank information and the locations of their valuables.

tailor!mitsuya unable to concentrate on stitching up a torn dress with the incessant clanging in the background and snapping at blacksmith!pah-chin, who’s busy forging knight!baji a new sword. mitsuya chastises baji for being so careless, but all baji does is grumble and turn away, black oil and dirt smeared on his flushed cheeks and long hair clinging to his sweat-stained forehead from his previous sparring session.

wizard!mitsuya spinning golems out of clay and shooing them away with an order to find him more materials to craft matching cloaks for his newest apprentices, luna and mana.

leprechaun!nahoya luring unsuspecting villagers into the forest with the promise of gold coins, only to send branches crashing down onto their heads when they venture far enough. they shout irately and scramble after him as he tumbles, laughing, into the shadows… but it’s no use. he’s too fast.

mermaid!yuzuha punching the shit out of pirates and dragging them down from their ships when they disturb and/or hunt the peaceful merfolk

knight!draken pledging his life to princess!emma

werewolf!baji, who appears to casually laugh off questions about his sharp, prominent canines; when in reality, when he’s secretly sweating bullets. werewolf!baji, whom the others wrinkle their noses at and tease when he orders his steak rare. werewolf!baji, who can’t hide the particularly ferocious, almost predatory glint in his eye that only appears during brawls after the sun has fallen. everyone laughs it off, mistaking his bloodlust for adrenaline. it’s only baji, he’s just intense, they reason.

half-blood!takemichi, who leaps through time with the protective blood of a phoenix coursing through his veins. half-blood!takemichi, whose blood aids him in resisting the beckon of death that pries at the empty body he habitually leaves behind and enables him to keep rising back to his feet no matter who knocks him down.

dybbuk!shinichiro, whose rage inhabits mikey’s body, only flaring to aid in crushing kazutora beneath his little brother’s fist. dybbuk!shinichiro, who plucks away at mikey’s sanity day in and day out, demanding for his death to be avenged. dybbuk!shinichiro, who is the reason that mikey can no longer set foot in his bike shop, because no matter how hard he tries, mikey can’t seem to shut out the eerie groaning of forgotten bikes as they rust away or the crackling squelch of metal colliding with bone that he’s positive he’s never heard before—so why is he hearing it now?

executioner!kazutora, who has no problem with the unjust slaughters that tyrant!kisaki approves, because his unchecked guilt can only be satiated by “cleansing the kingdom of immoral souls.” executioner!kazutora, who hums a crude tavern song as he takes his sweet time lining up his blade with the neck of the shivering woman hunched before him—the shivering woman whose only crime is swiping some bread to feed her starving family. executioner!kazutora, who only finds retribution in the twisted cycle of playing the role of god’s “divine” axe.

knight!toman forming a wall in front of their king to square off against an approaching army, a measly one hundred men with fire in their eyes and swords dripping with blood—a measly one hundred men fully prepared to offer up their lives to protect king!mikey.

jester!hanma, who flirts with the women of the court and openly takes cheap shots at tyrant!kisaki, regardless of whether or not he’s in the vicinity. still, it doesn’t matter how humorous the joke is. no one dares to allow even a twitch of their lips. how hanma hasn’t been executed yet, they don’t know.

pirate!nahoya, who cackles like a madman and jeers at an opposing ship from his place perched atop the crow’s nest

apothecary!souya meeting his future s/o in a field of lavender while he’s searching for fresh herbs. apothecary!souya, who’s mortified by the chalky powder spattered on his overalls and runs a hand through his hair, accidentally smearing a yellow dust through his blue curls. apothecary!souya, who blushes when you kindly offer to brush the powder from his hair. apothecary!souya, who offers you one of the dandelions peeking from his pocket as a gesture of gratitude.

ladies-in-waiting!emma and hina scurrying off to deliver empty dishes to cook!mitsuya, who leans forward expectantly to hear the latest gossip when they approach him with sparkling eyes and poorly concealed smiles.

adviser!draken storming into king!mikey’s private chambers without an invitation to shout at him for neglecting his duties and drag him by the ankle out of bed

sorceress!hina enchanting a four-leaf clover necklace with a spell to keep knight!takemichi safe in battle

spymaster!sanzu scaring the shit out of his scribe!s/o whenever he pops up in the windows of the library in all black with no prior warning

doll-maker!izana, who lives in a secluded area of the woods with his apprentice kakucho and obsessively lines his shelves with replicas of the older brother he wishes he had

knight-in-training!chifuyu working extra hard to impress knight!baji, who had recruited him and taken him under his wing

steampunk inventor!chifuyu, who’s never seen without his trademark goggles that kazutora always pokes fun at and threadbare overalls splattered with oil stains. inventor!chifuyu, who nearly has a heart attack when baji hobbles in on one leg, grinning at him with a face swollen with bruises while waving his detached prosthetic leg in greeting. inventor!chifuyu, who keeps wrenches on his belt specifically to hurl at his idiot friends whenever they come into his shop all beat-up with their bronze prosthetics severely damaged

steampunk!hanma, who has a glass eye with the word “pain” engraved on the iris. steampunk!hanma, who asks kisaki to hold something for him. when the latter holds his hand out with an exasperated sigh, hanma sets his replacement eye in his palm and cackles hysterically when kisaki promptly jolts with disgust and chucks it across the room

cyberpunk!sanzu, who’s already inebriated but continues to drown deeper in the neon lights of the club as he pops an array of glowing pills into his mouth, body numb to the robotic assistants that hum around him and intermingle with the equally delirious crowd in case someone were to collapse from overdosing

masquerade!mitsuya, who smiles at you with such kindness and respect as he guides you onto the marble floor that you immediately resolve to discover his identity at a later date

masquerade!kakucho, who does everything in his power to prevent you from uncovering his identity. masquerade!kakucho, who fears that you’ll be disgusted with his deformed appearance once you see his scar.

samurai!yuzuha, who rescues you from a band of thieves but is perplexed when you insist on repaying her goodwill. samurai!yuzuha, who eventually starts coming to you whenever she needs her wounds bandaged or a home-cooked meal. samurai!yuzuha, who refuses to let you touch her sword with your pure, unsullied hands.

potion-maker!ran, who always despises when rindou barges into his workspace for nothing else than to tip over a couple jars and poke fun at his craft. potion-maker!ran, whose skin and hair have been permanently imprinted with the scent of clove and allspice berries. potion-maker!ran, who concocts love spells and perfumes that grant increased intimacy for the lovesick women who visit him when their own assets aren’t working. potion-maker!ran, who smiles charmingly and calls his female customers “darling.” potion-maker!ran, who has no problem with allowing them to test his products on him in order to guarantee their potency—but only if they’re attractive and have a pretty penny to spare :)

gunslinger!mikey, who almost shoots his big toe off trying to impress the beautiful barmaid across the room

servant!baji, who isn’t the slyest but always makes sure he leaves out a saucer of cream for the stray cats that wander through the town during the night, regardless of how much trouble he gets in. servant!baji, who develops a forbidden bond with his royal!s/o due to their shared love of animals. servant!baji, who is ignorant of the ways of courtship but does his best to flirt with you, however flustered and awkward he may be. servant!baji, who sheepishly seeks advice from his mother about how to impress royalty despite him being unable to offer you any material items.

necromancer!takemichi who doesn’t know wtf is going on and is literally only a necromancer because he fucked up reading a recipe for garlic bread that was written in cursive

vampire!kokonoi, who looks wistfully upon his collection of dusty, old perfume bottles as he recalls how they’d been the most expensive items on the market centuries ago. vampire!kokonoi, who possesses splintered, wooden chests overflowing with outdated currency that will never again be utilized. vampire!kokonoi, who sits for hours and stares at the photo of the young woman that he’s preserved in mint condition for countless years, wondering why he can’t remember who she is

half-blood!mikey, who wonders why his legs are so much stronger than the rest of his body, why he’s always been so much faster than his peers, and why they’re always chock-full of energy. half-blood!mikey, who’s blissfully unaware that the blood of his ancestors is not as it seems. half-blood!mikey, who has zero clue that his lineage marks him a descendant of the minotaur.

farmer!chifuyu, who’s too shy to approach the seamstress’s daughter, so he resigns himself to only admiring her from afar until she makes a move herself. farmer!chifuyu, who’s beyond embarrassed when he accidentally bumps into her, the dirt and grime on his clothing soiling her pristine outfit. farmer!chifuyu, who tries to brush it off, only to panic when the dust on his hands stains the fabric. farmer!chifuyu, who shows up at your mother’s shop the next day to apologize and is nearly chased out due to his kind “not belonging there,” only for you to object and invite him in, claiming that he’s your friend.

jack the ripper!sanzu, who leans up against a dirty brick building with his head low, tongue clicking in rhythm with the slim hands on his golden pocket watch as he decides on his next victim. jack the ripper!sanzu, who dons a simple, shapeless white mask that contrasts sharply with the elaborate feather woven into his top hat. jack the ripper!sanzu, whom others eye skeptically when he skillfully, easily slices his steak into cross-sections with nothing more than a butter knife. jack the ripper!sanzu, who smiles so charmingly at women, basking in their ignorance as he lures them into a sense of false security with a few sweet words. jack the ripper!sanzu, who seals all of his letters documenting his crimes with a lipstick-stained kiss and giggles manically when it smears onto his cheek. jack the ripper!sanzu, who is taken aback when one of his targets whirls on him with anger in their eyes and a knife gripped in their hands, fully prepared to give him a dose of his own medicine.

achilles!izana and patroclus!kakucho. that’s all i have to say. y’all know what’s up👀

soothsayer!takemichi, who’s looked down upon by his fellow prophets because of his frenetic efforts to change the future. while the rest lounge beneath the shade of trees, sweet-smelling smoke curling from their ornate pipes and hazy eyes trailing after people who they know are supposed to die tomorrow, takemichi is doing his best to track them down to warn them of their fate. “he’s just a boy,” the others chuckle, “he won’t make a difference.”

victorian era painter!s/o, who finds seishu inui snoozing beneath a tree and resolves to capture his beauty on a canvas. seishu, who’s well-aware of what you’re doing but decides to let you have your fun. painter s/o, who’s mortified when seishu happens to “wake up” as soon as they sigh with satisfaction and requests to see the picture.

barista!izana, who mixes drugs into his drinks for certain customers while they discreetly slide a handsome wad of cash across the counter

archer!chifuyu, who accidentally spears his superior through the leg while struggling with his bow. archer!chifuyu, who meets kazutora in the dungeons and befriends him during the one night he spends there. archer!chifuyu, who is confused and hesitant when he is abruptly assigned to join the ranks of the prince’s bodyguards. archer!chifuyu, who is white with shock when he sees kazutora stroll into the room, a golden crown balanced atop his head and a wide smile blooming upon his lips when he spots his new friend.

ROBIN HOOD!CHIFUYU

potion-maker!souya, whose face always softens whenever you stop by his shop during your daily mail delivery route. potion-maker!souya, who’s ashamed of himself for having considered exploiting your trust in him and slipping a love potion into your drink. potion-maker!souya, who always offers to make you something befitting the occasion whenever you’re running low on energy, not feeling well, or are nervous about something. potion-maker!souya, who’s too shy to confess his feelings for you.

town crier!nahoya, who sometimes slips a swear word or two into his announcements and prefers to storm the town on horseback, disregarding his elaborate attire. town crier!nahoya, who has definitely snatched you off the street during his routes, leaving you to cling to his sweat-dampened clothes and shout at him for being such an imbecile.

shapeshifter!nahoya, who diligently keeps his eyes closed because he can change everything about his appearance, except for his distinctive eye color.

353 notes · View notes

titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

Prima Vista Part VII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)

It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.

It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk.

“Erwin here?”

The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”

Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”

Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead.

He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

“What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy.

You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different.

“I needed to talk to you about something.”

Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”

You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”

He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?”

“Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”

“You can shut it then.”

Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you.

“Why haven’t you been talking to him?”

Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!”

Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”

“And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”

Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”

You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping.

“That motherfucker,” he grunts.

“What?”

“You blocked his number.”

“What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”

He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”

Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”

“My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.

You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.

If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.

Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list.

“Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal.

“Have what?”

“Tinder.”

“What are you talking about?”

Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”

That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced.

Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself.

“Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”

Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”

“Probably.”

“Might be a little difficult now, though.”

Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”

Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”

You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”

Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”

You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.

But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process.

“It, uh… It gets worse.”

Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”

Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry.

“I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”

Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling.

Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her.

“Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”

Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”

You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest.

There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him.

“Come on.”

“W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”

“I’m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."

You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person.

“Fine, but put a shirt on.”

“Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”

You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.

You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand.

“We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze.

It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.

Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous.

He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy.

"Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand.

"Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."

You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."

"I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable.

"Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."

"I'll be there, Nile."

"Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."

Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth.

"So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back.

"Don't fucking tell me."

Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."

"She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good.

"Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."

"How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."

"Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."

"I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."

"Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?"

"Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever."

It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it.

"Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."

"I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"

"As a distraction?"

Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?"

The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party."

It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house.

Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight.

Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on.

When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party.

Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him.

So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this?

And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink.

Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit.

She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?"

No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight.

They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism.

They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin.

Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you.

Oh, you don't like her.

"Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?"

Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."

"Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"

"Kind of?" You try.

Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?"

Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible.

Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"

Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe.

"Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"

"Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."

"I don't think that's really—"

"Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits.

"You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out.

For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands.

He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you.

"The fuck do you want, Jaeger?"

"Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?"

Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt.

"Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back.

"He's not worth it, Mike."

Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.

He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights.

He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him.

He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger.

You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now.

So he drinks.

He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—

Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch.

"What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him.

"I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"

"I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!"

Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in.

"What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?"

"No!"

"Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.

He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms.

"Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head.

Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?"

Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."

"Are you serious?"

Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile.

"I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!"

Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again.

"Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks.

"Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"

"Including you."

Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him.

"Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?"

"Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests.

Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty).

Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak.

"What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"

Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice.

"It's just Adderall, I swear!"

Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren.

"Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up.

Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen.

"They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile.

"Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"

"Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."

Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time.

Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way.

"Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back.

It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause.

"Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink.

He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind.

It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets.

He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts.

Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.

"God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in.

Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels.

A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again.

"Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."

"No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"

You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction.

"Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again.

"The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?"

"Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—

"Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic.

"I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him.

Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."

"He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker.

You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).

"Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."

"Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss.

He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand.

Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."

You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."

"What? No."

"There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out."

Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea.

"Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."

"So?"

"Erwin."

He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?"

"Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.

"Text me if you need help, alright?"

"You got it, boss."

He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.

His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning.

How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass.

It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh.

People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place.

Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way.

More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of.

Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three.

Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep.

Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest.

After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it.

You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex.

You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).

It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long.

Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."

"Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."

"Nooo. No Miche."

"Yes, Miche," you laugh.

He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again.

When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."

You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again.

"Okay. Just Mike then."

He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again.

"You're a needy drunk, you know that?"

Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again.

"Sleep now," he mumbles.

"No, no sleep now."

"Sleep now."

"Oh my fucking god."

His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water.

He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday.

Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self.

So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid.

He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much.

"President… dumb boyyy."

"Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"

"Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr."

There's really no pleasing him.

"Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."

"Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."

You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you.

"You're fucking ridiculous."

Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub.

"Jesus Christ, Mike."

He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower.

"Water, pleeeease."

He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them.

"No, dude. I am not letting you drown."

Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle.

"Yeah, okay, I guess that works."

The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.

So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist.

He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."

Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright.

"ευχαριστώ."

"Come again?"

"Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward.

You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways.

Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze.

"You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time.

"Dunno."

"Can you tell who I am?"

Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"

"Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.

"That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun.

He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress.

Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel.

Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands.

"Can I help you?"

He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you.

"Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh.

Switching tactics, he pats his chest.

"Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."

Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…

Not like this.

"Please. No more vom. Promise."

"I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."

He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants.

A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth.

This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin.

Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks.

"'m mad at you."

Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting.

"I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."

Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep.

"Still love you."

You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason.

"I love you too, Miche."

Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake.

You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?"

"Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub.

Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."

"What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?"

He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!"

"You're disgusting."

"Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"

God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint.

"Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep.

"Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off.

"We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.

Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."

You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."

It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day.

"Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub.

"He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts.

"Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add.

Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing.

"We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile.

"Probably."

Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious.

It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look.

You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy.

There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him.

"'m still wet."

"You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."

"Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"

"Know how it works, dumb… butt."

"Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."

"Don't panotrize me!"

You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."

"That's what I said!"

It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard.

He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."

"All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."

"Why?"

"I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."

"Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair.

It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot.

He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours.

A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest.

Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed.

Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it.

You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.

The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #tw manipulation #tw vomit

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

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Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 | Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N: Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed). It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will. Keep your hate to yourself.

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt. Tom has an idea to solve all their problems. Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts. Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else. In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards. And the press are having a field day. Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt. An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning. Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem. All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of: child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED! THANK YOU FOR READING!

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston angst #accidently married

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otonymous · 4 years

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“The Most Beautiful Girl In The World”: The Guys As Fathers (MLQC Headcanon)

Hi dear Nonny!

What a wonderful idea! We could all use a bit of fluff every now and then 🤣 I hope you’re doing well too! Sending you much love along with these headcanons! Hope you enjoy the read! 🥰💖

Victor:

Daddy’s little princess - this little girl is the CEO of Victor’s heart

She is also the unofficial CEO of LFG: Victor loves to bring her to work with him every now and then, and all the office staff go absolutely ga-ga over her

Goldman. Is. Smitten. (Especially since she has a way of softening Victor’s hard as nails exterior)

Victor likes to front like he’s strict, but he’s not fooling anybody. Just one look at the tenderness in his eyes when he’s looking at his daughter would tell you who’s really the boss

Psst! He loves to spoil her!

And by spoiling, we don’t mean that she gets whatever she wants, all the time (although daddy’s heart DOES thrill a little inside to see her all bubbly with happiness after he presents her with a gift) — Victor will also ensure that he carves out time from work to spend with his family (there will definitely be a shift in work-life balance)

He won’t let her get away with everything though! The man will still insist that she be on her best behaviour when necessary, but he is a lot more lax than you would’ve expected from him

Family time would consist of: horseback riding lessons, teddy bear picnics and tea parties (best believe she will be sending an actual invitation in the mail to Mr. Mills) — you will absolutely melt the first time you see Victor perched uncomfortably in a tiny chair, holding a mini plastic teacup to his lips and asking a stuffed cat if it would like another scone

She LOVES to be Victor’s sous-chef in the kitchen, and when she gets a bit older, she’ll also become daddy’s jogging buddy

Victor will always, always read her a bedtime story, even when he’s away from home on business, even if it means interrupting a meeting (Victor will establish a new norm; his peers will come to respect his family values)

The absolute apple of the eye of Victor’s father and aunt: this munchkin can do no wrong. If she is to be spoiled rotten by anyone, it would be by these two.

Every time you go over to their place for dinner, it’s pretty much guaranteed that you’ll be leaving with a trunkful of new toys

This little girl would be a good mix of her mother and father: she’ll inherit her father’s jet black hair, but the intensity of her eyes will be softened by your genes

In spite of all this generosity, your little girl will grow up to be far from spoiled

She will be incredibly compassionate, and will go from donating her many, many books and toys to other less fortunate kids as a child to organizing charity functions, etc., as a young adult.

Victor couldn’t be more proud.

Lucien:

The shift is seismic the very first time Lucien holds his newborn daughter in his arms

“She looks just like you,” he whispers to no one in particular, careful not to wake you as you get one night of precious sleep immediately postpartum before your nights become interrupted by endless wake-feed-soothing back to bed cycles

Lucien doesn’t sleep that first night in the hospital; he spends it cradling your daughter by the light of the moon seeping in through the thin slats of the blinds

The cool rays illuminate every single feature that Lucien sets his mind on memorizing: her eyes — still a little bit swollen, the flare of those tiny nostrils, the sharply defined cupid’s bow of the most perfectly shaped lips

He is putting his face to the downy soft hairs on the crown of her head, nose pressing to cheek to inhale the scent of his newborn daughter

A tiny seed of anxiety begins to sprout from deep within Lucien to know that he will never have this moment again with her, and it feels like time is already slipping from the tight grasp of his hand

But then suddenly, she opens her big, bright eyes. Quietly, she stares at her daddy, her irises the same colour as the ones drowning in her gaze, and the nervous clench in Lucien’s gut dissolves

And when she opens and closes her mouth in a soundless gape as if to say that everything will be okay, Lucien knows he would give his life in a heartbeat to protect hers

This little girl is wise beyond her years, and will often say things that surprise the adults around her; family friends will refer to her as an “old soul”

She is far from a little chatterbox, preferring instead to listen and observe those around her, her big, bright eyes patiently taking in every detail

Initially, you’ll be concerned that she isn’t speaking as much as other children her age. Lucien will take his time reassuring you, an almost knowing smile on his lips.

When she does finally speak, she blows everyone away with the relative complexities of her sentence structures

Little genius: your daughter shares her father’s intelligence and can often be found snuggling up under her favourite camphor tree, books and sketching pencils in hand

She loves flying kites with her mommy and daddy

Quiet but kind, she’ll have no shortage of friends and admirers

You might be surprised, but she also has a wicked sense of humour. Enjoys delivering jokes with the cutest wink in the world.

Her favourite place in the world is daddy’s laboratory. The noisy whirs of those big, fancy machines make her jump for joy and Lucien cannot help but smile

There are times — especially when you guys are at your happiest as a family — that Lucien has to fight back the anxiety that all this could be taken away from him. The melancholic tinge in his smile is so slight that even you could miss it at times. But your daughter will always catch it. And when she does, she’ll slip her tiny hand within her father’s much larger palm, look up and give him the biggest smile she can muster. It’ll always bring him back to the moment.

Little though she is, she gives him strength beyond compare

And on the day of her graduation from university at the top of her class, she’ll be given a priceless gift from her parents: a silver pen named Iridescent.

Gavin:

Usually so calm, cool and collected in even the most stressful of situations, Gavin is a nervous wreck when you go into labour

He is pacing back and forth and back and forth in the hospital room. You almost want to send him on an errand to get some popular street eats with a guaranteed long line up just so he can calm TF down and not get in the nurses’ way

He is offering you ice chips before you even ask for it, patting at your forehead with a facecloth even though you’re not sweating, giving you his hand to hold every two minutes even though you haven’t started pushing yet

When you mention that he should probably try to calm down since you likely have at least another hour to go before your cervix is fully dilated, he nods in agreement and starts doing push-ups and sit-ups on the floor

The battery of Gavin’s phone dies from all of Minor’s messages asking if the baby has arrived yet

Birdcop is fit to burst from all the joy his body just simply cannot contain the moment his little girl arrives

Because now he has not just one, but TWO of you!

Your daughter will be the splitting image of you, except for her striking amber eyes

The names she gives her stuffed animals will be strangely familiar: Fluffy, Softy, Pearly Jr., etc. (you’ll have to ask her whether daddy helped with the naming 🤣).

Minor’s enthusiasm cannot be dampened: he is over so often with food, diapers and offers to do the housework that you basically have to make him your child’s godparent LOL

Gavin is a giant teddy bear when it comes to your daughter: he cannot say no to her and lives to see her smile

She is gifted with her father’s athleticism, and Gavin won’t hesitate to personally instruct her on the art of self-defence starting at a very young age (needless to say, any future suitors will be given very intense once-overs by Gavin, even little boys at the playground; you can never let your guard down)

Eli is on Gavin’s watch list the moment G-man overhears her shyly asking you about “daddy’s handsome coworker” the year she turned 8

Yes, she will also be getting a bracelet with a GPS tracker LOLOL

She is incredibly strong: could probably toss Minor around like a burlap sack by the time she’s 12

This little girl is all about the thrills, screaming, “Go higher, daddy! Higher!” in Gavin’s ear as he flies with her on his shoulders

He will take her to the BEST places for stargazing at night (when she’s old enough to stay up) — best believe this is something G-man will lament the loss of when she’s all grown up

Yes, the motorcycle will be her ride of choice the moment she gets her licence (much to her parents’ chagrin)

Gavin cannot help but tear up every time he watches her play the piano, especially if she plays with her mother at the same time

Psst! He has a photo in his study of the two of you sitting next to each other on the piano bench, the late afternoon sun streaming in through big, French windows, dappled by leaves falling from the ginkgo tree planted in the backyard

He only wishes his mother could’ve been there to see his beautiful baby girl

Kiro:

This little star charms absolutely everyone at first sight: the doctors and nurses that help deliver her are completely enamoured with this little bundle of joy

Tears are streaming from Kiro’s bright blue eyes the moment she is placed into his arms for the first time; he’ll bend over to give you the biggest kiss while gently cradling the baby, the salt of your tears mixing together

This little girl has the best laugh: clear and bright and like music to the ears of anyone lucky enough to hear it.

And she laughs often — daddy is hell-bent on filling her childhood with love and joy and will do anything to make her smile

You’ll often see Kiro crawling around the house on hands and knees, your daughter shrieking with laughter as she tugs on his golden hair, yelling “Giddy-up!” over and over again

Genetics aside, let’s just pretend that her hair is long and golden like her father’s. At times, she literally looks like a doll come to life, especially with those azure eyes

Budding superstar: this girl has inherited her father’s talents when it comes to acting and music. She is hitting those high notes, projecting that beautiful voice and basically hamming it up all the time just to get a laugh from her adoring family.

Kiro will “complain” about double standards because Savin will always have a tasty treat for her whenever he sees her, saying “Make sure your daddy doesn’t get any, okay?” LOL

At the same time, Kiro decides to (gasp!) cut down on his junk food habit when his daughter is born. He actually already started out of solidarity during your pregnancy, and wants to be healthy so he can have as much time as possible with his beloved family

Kiro also cuts back on his workload when his little girl arrives. This daddy is super involved in all aspects of taking care of his baby and his wife. You’ll never hear him complain about having to change a dirty diaper. In fact, he even does it better than you do — no leakages here! LOL

Kiro LOVES to dress his daughter up and will often wear matching outfits with her. Baby and daddy denim overalls? Check. Father-daughter couture? Check.

Baby globetrotter: you guys will tag along with Kiro when he flies overseas to shoot on location. Kiro loves having you and the baby near.

When she gets a bit older, you can bet that they’ll be the best gaming buddies (you’ll insist on her having completed her homework first, but Kiro will secretly let her play one game before she starts - “just don’t tell your mom, or else we’ll both be in trouble!”)

Charming and bright, your daughter is also a bit of a tech wiz. Learns to code at a very young age under her father’s tutelage, and enjoys building computers from scratch as a hobby.

This little girl carries joy with her wherever she goes, spreading it around like warm sunshine

Shaw:

Shaw is soft, soft, soft the moment he becomes a father

He could be blasé about everything else, but not when it comes to his daughter, the absolute treasure of his heart along with his wife

There will be times that you wake up in the middle of the night and find his side of the bed empty. You’ll hear his footsteps, softly pacing back and forth before a large window as he tries to sooth your infant daughter back to sleep. Shaw will look like he literally stepped out of a ‘90s Calvin Klein ad campaign, topless and clad only in low slung pyjama bottoms as he cradles your daughter in his arms, the muscles of his biceps bulging in the pale moonlight that casts a silvery glow on his lavender hair.

(Example of a Calvin Klein ad from the 1990s)

Guess your thirst will have to wait till your daughter falls asleep again to be slaked LOL

This little girl will have her father’s amber eyes as well as the fine features of his face — she will slay all the kids in school with her beauty

Loves to snark her dad but is all sweetness to you (Psst! Shaw (not-so) secretly loves it!)

A fast-talker and quick-witted: sometimes, you think you can actually hear her mind working

Absolutely loves her daddy’s skateboard and would much rather learn new tricks on her own board than play with more age-appropriate toys

She is also a bit of a bookworm: loves to read and is often surprising you with new topics of interest, everything from ancient civilizations to meteorology

Your little girl will often snuggle up to him and ask him what he is reading. Shaw will then proceed to read to her, even if it’s a paper or a textbook. Her quick mind has been able to grasp even abstract concepts from a very young age. She’s a bit of a genius in that respect.

Inherits her dad’s love of music. The two of them will enjoy rocking out in the basement the moment she is big enough to properly hold an electric guitar (with you sneaking peeks every 5 minutes to make sure she’s still got her protective headphones on LOL)

She’ll take after her dad in that she’ll seem uncomfortable with the concept of authority starting at a very young age. She questions nearly everything and will drive many of her teachers up the wall, although they will also recognize the extent of her incredible intellect. She’ll set herself apart at school as a leader, having also the charisma to charm those who would wish to follow

Her dad, of course, is absolutely ecstatic to have a daughter capable of thinking for herself instead of blindly following others (and you will be too!)

🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣

Thanks so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

(Please do not copy/alter/edit/repost my work - thanks!)

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 5

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia, blood, gore, bloodplay, knifeplay, suicidal thoughts.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself trapped.

Note: So I managed to finish this chapter before work really starts to kick my ass. Just letting y’all know, there will be a part 6 but I have an 11 hour day tomorrow and work straight through to wednesday so I’ll probably be exhausted.

That being said, I appreciate y’all reading and your reactions have been the highlight of writing!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You coughed into the blackness. Your awakening was gradual as you waded through the void and slowly broke the surface of consciousness. Your throat was dry and sore and your head swelled with each breath. You reached to touch the tender flesh along your neck, bruised by the rope which had so violently been strung around it. You only recalled the dread of your suffocation before the world turned dark.

As you moved, bright lights flicked on suddenly and you groaned as your eyes watered. You trembled as you pushed yourself up on the bed. The room was small, just big enough for the large bed and the metal chest secured with a heavy padlock. There was a heavy door with a slot and no handle and another smaller door to your left.

You shimmied to the side of the bed and turned your legs over the edge. You slowly turned as the wall behind the bed stood in contrast to the rest of the sterile white room. Every inch around the low frame, from floor to ceiling, was pasted in images and documents. A startling map of your existence.

Pictures of you in the grocery store, at work, on the train or even in your apartment, spanning years back. There were even a few of your dorm room, long forgotten to the haze of your college years. A transcript of your credits and copies of your resume and even pages of the journal you thought only known to you. The one you’d thought you lost in your move from student to adult. And the drawings; just as you remembered, sickening and horrifying.

You stood, unsteadily, and neared the demented collage. There were other pictures; of women who looked like you; crying, screaming, bleeding. You grabbed one and tore it off the wall. You crumpled it up, unable to look at the woman’s dead eyes.

You flinched as the heavy door jolted suddenly and you turned as it opened. You dropped the picture and pressed yourself to the wall as Bucky entered and the door closed behind him. His blue eyes were predatory and intent on you. His right hand twitched as he cleared his throat.

“Sit,” he said softly.

You gaped at him and shook your head. You quaked as you edged over to the corner as if you could hide there.

“Baby girl…” he warned, “Please, don’t make this difficult. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You grazed your neck with your fingertips and scoffed. The sharp breath scratched your throat and made you wince.

“You made me do that,” he said, “Please, sit.”

You blinked at him. His left hand balled into a fist and he shifted on his feet. Your heart jumped and your lip quivered. Slowly, you pushed yourself away from the wall and neared the bed. You sat sideways against the wall with one leg hanging to the floor. You folded your hands and braced for the unraveling of his wrath.

“Good girl,” he preened. “I just want to talk. That’s all I came for.”

“You’re a murderer,” you rasped, “So just kill me already.”

He smiled and chuckled. He took a breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He neared the end of the bed and gripped his hips.

“If that was what I wanted, I wouldn’t have waited so long.” He said. “All you have to do is listen, baby girl. And if you can do that, I will bring you a treat.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you muttered, “You’re disgusting. You’re…” you shook your head as you couldn’t put into words how he made your stomach twist and churn.

He sniffed and took a deep breath.

“Where were you seven years ago? What were you doing?”

“Looks like you already know,” you paused and tried to clear your sore throat. You coughed and pressed your hands to your neck.

“You were just a student, yes?” He shifted on his feet as he spoke, “Innocent, unaware. Running across campus to get to your next class. So clueless you didn’t even notice the man you collided with. Didn’t notice me with that look in my eyes; distant, determined.”

You frowned, confused. You shrugged. You didn’t remember.

“And what did you think when you heard of what happened to the dean?”

Your heart dropped. You remembered that. It was in the headlines for weeks; the mysterious attack on the dean of criminology. It was revealed that he was a former intelligence officer but it could not be linked substantially to the event. He resigned shortly after and as any new cycle, the story washed itself out.

“You--?”

He sighed and his eyes darkened. “What I was… then. What they made me.”

“I don’t--”

“Shhhh,” he hushed you and neared the bed until his legs touched the mattress. “I was their weapon; a machine. My job was death but that day, their weapon failed. Their weapon was distracted and for that the weapon was reforged, honed, beaten down until it was once more sharp enough to use.”

You shook your head in confused, Your fingers curled until your nails cut into your palms.

“Even when they wiped my mind, you remained. The girl who smiled at me without thought; who apologized and asked if I was okay… Who gave me directions to the right building… never knowing… because she thought I was good.”

“I don’t remember. I don’t know you…”

He held up a finger and tapped his lips. You went silent and watched him.

“When I was free, when I found Bucky again, I found you.” He breathed. “And you were the same. Flitting around without a care. And you ran into me again and you apologized, as you had before, and not a second thought to the man who watched you run for the train. To the man who held the door for you the next day or returned to you the card you dropped on the sidewalk. Always just a smile.”

You touched your cheeks. You remembered the card, some forgotten coffee rewards counter you never used. It came clearer then. His gloves hand holding the cardstock, his blue eyes. It was just another random interaction in the chaotic city. But it wasn’t.

“No…” you shook your head, “But why--”

“You see, the people who corrupted me, their control has nothing to do with what I am. It is a part of me. The soldier, Bucky… one does not exist without the other. Bucky fell in love with you, Bucky wanted you, but the soldier… he didn’t how to help Bucky. How to get you. So he found the girls and he tried to figure it out.”

“Stop. Please. I can’t--”

“But even the soldier couldn’t hurt you,” he put one knee on the bed. “Bucky won’t let him.”

As he placed his other knee on the mattress, you turned to get off the bed. He caught your ankle before you could and pulled you down the bed. He climbed over you and straddled you beneath him. You struck out at him and he stopped your hands, gripping your wrists tightly.

“I told you, I won’t hurt you.” He said softly.

“You are hurting me,” you tried to pull away from him and wiggled beneath him.

“I am trying to help you,” he pushed your hands beside your head, pinning them to the bed. “I only want to love you.” He bent over you and his hot breath tickled your lips. “To feel you.”

“Please, you can’t-- I never-- I’m scared, Bucky. Please don’t hurt me.” You begged. “Please…”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. He glared at you and pressed his forehead to yours. He let go of your arms and his hands gripped your head instead.

“Listen. I’m not going to hurt you,” he growled. “But I will if you make me.”

You stared at him, paralysed beneath him. He squeezed your head until it pulsed then pushed himself up suddenly. He climbed off of you, jostling the bed, and scanned the wall of photos. He lowered his chin and nodded.

“Take your clothes off.” He said.

You stayed as you were, stunned and scared. He looked at you slowly and his lips curled.

“Do it or I will.” He warned.

You sat up. You were numb as you skirted to the edge of the bed and pulled your tee over your head. He snatched it from you and you stood to unbutton your jeans. You rolled them down and he took them in turn. You struggled to unhook your bra as you trembled and he spun you sharply. He snapped the clasp and the fabric fell away from your chest. He gathered it up and tore your panties just as easily. He even bent to take your socks as they sat balled on the floor.

You tried to cover yourself as you turned back to him. He marched to the door and stopped. He looked back at you and gritted his teeth.

“Good girl,” he smirked and then turned around and looked above the door.

A small lens sat above the frame and the door unlocked. He opened it with his foot and sent you one last glance before he pulled it shut. You slumped onto the bed and folded your legs against your chest. There was only the sheet stretched across the mattress and a single pillow. You shivered and hung your head.

You felt the eyes of all the dead women behind you. Felt the weight of their souls. And yet you were horribly alone.

👁️

Shortly after he left you, a tray was slid through the slot in the door. You ignored it at first but your stomach began to ache as the hours dripped by. You took the tray and rested it on the foot of the bed as you sat carefully. You took a long gulp from the bottle of water and the muscles of your neck reminded you of your assault.

The sandwich was cut neatly in half; ham and cheese with mustard. You chewed it without tasting and emptied the cup of applesauce. That was all you could manage and you set the tray in the corner.

The other door, the smaller one, opened up to a small booth. A toilet and sink only. You refused to be thankful for anything but were relieved to have at least that.

You hugged the pillow for much of the time. Your only shield against the cold and your nudity. You dozed off for a little, a shallow, distraught slumber.

You were awoken by the door. You sat up dizzily and stared at the figure as it cleared in your vision. The lights were dimmer as Bucky moved around. He went to the metal chest and opened the lock. You pulled the pillow to you as he closed the lid and plopped a roll atop it.

He turned to you and you cowered as he knelt on the bed. Wordlessly, he pulled on your arm until it bent painfully away from the pillow. You fought with him as he dragged it to the top corner.

“What are you doing?” You whined. “Please, don’t--”

You choked on your voice as he pulled up a leather cuff over the mattress. He wrapped it around your wrist despite your struggles and buckles it.

“Bucky, Bucky, please--”

He hushed you and grabbed your other arm. You kicked you as he forced you onto your back and shook the whole bed as he secured your other wrist. You hit his shoulder with your heel before he grabbed your left ankle and tied in down before he did the same to the right. You were stuck, stretched across the bed, writhing and whimpering as he backed away.

“What--”

“Baby girl,” he tapped his fingers atop the metal chest. “I don’t want to gag you… You have such a pretty mouth.”

You grunted and tugged on your binds. It was pointless. Even if you got loose, there was no way out of this room, no escape from this monster. Your eyes drifted to the wall above you and you closed them against the sight of the tortured women. Would he do the same to you?

You heard a clink and your eyes snapped open. You looked over at the knives that lined the fabric roll and you sobbed. You let out a pathetic squeal that slowly built to a scream.

“Please, please, please!” You shouted. “Don’t do this!”

“Baby girl,” he hummed as he dragged his fingers over the blades. “I told you, you’re safe with me.”

He turned and his eyes roved over your body. He let out a thick breath and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. He pulled it over his head and let it heap on the floor. His gaze clung to you as he undid his belt and pushed his pants down. He forced his boots off as he stepped out of his jeans and his socks went with them. He undressed methodically, never looking away from you.

You grunted as you tried desperately to free yourself. This animal, this monster, was coming for you.

He went to the chest and slid a knife from the row. You bounced in frustration on the bed and shook your head. No, no, no, this couldn’t happen. His weight caused the bed to dip as he lowered himself between your legs. He looked up at you as he pressed the cold blade to your thigh. You squeaked and bit down.

“You see, if one doesn’t know what they’re doing then it’s difficult to know what cuts will kill and which won’t,” he slithered. “But if they do, they know how much pressure, what angle,” he pushed the point down and you felt it pierce your skin, “where to cut… just for a taste. That’s all.”

He sliced along your thigh, a shallow but painful cut. You cried out and he did the same to your other leg. Your feet arched as your muscles tensed and you pulled against the cuffs.

The warmth of your blood was met by the heat of his mouth. You gasped as lapped at the flow and smeared it over your skin as he edged closer to your cunt. You grasped at air as your fingers curled and uncurled. You let out pathetic noises as he pressed his thumb to the slice along your other thigh.

He purred as he brushed his tongue along your pussy. He pushed carefully between your folds and you gulped. The tingle it sent through you had your heart hammering. He spread his hand over your thigh and his other gripped your hip as his tongue teased you.

He sucked on your clit as his hand slipped further up. You pushed your head down into the mattress as you felt a storm of hot and cold fill your core. He needed to stop. He had to stop. You couldn’t feel like this. It was wrong. He trapped you, he cut you, and now he was toying with you.

He traced two fingers along the crease of your thighs and pushed against your entrance. You moaned and he dipped them inside slowly. He stretched you around his vibranium digits until his knuckles were pressed to your cunt. He curled his fingers and moved them in time with his tongue.

You bared your teeth as you tried to resist the instinctual response of your body. The way your core pulsed and buzzed without your consent. You whined as he brought you closer and closer to your peak. Between your mewls, one word was clear; ‘no, no, no.”

You went rigid as the waves rolled over you and your climax overwhelmed your fear. He urged you through it, his fingers working into you quickly as your sighs turned to sobs. He didn’t stop until you were shaking and wincing against his touch.

He raised his head and drew his fingers from inside you. You looked down at him, his beard and nose stained red. Your stomach flipped and your fear spiked once more. He took the knife from beside your leg and backed off the bed. His cock bobbed with each step as he went to the chest and unsheathed another blade.

He returned to you. This time he moved to straddle you as he turned the knife in his hand. He admired the sheen of the metal and poked your lips with the tip. He trailed over your chin and traced the line of your cheek. His blue eyes sparkled as he teased you.

“You’re beautiful…” he breathed, “I could never ruin that face.”

He brought the blade to your neck and lingered on the still tender flesh. He continued on to your chest and circled your nipples. His hand cupped one tit as the knife played with the other. He moved his hips and grinded against you.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. He hovered the knife below your clavicle and turned the tip to your skin. He split the flesh slowly along the centre of your chest, a red line rising between your breast. Again, it was shallow, enough to bleed, enough to make you sick.

He set the knife down on the mattress and his fingers crawled along the incision. Your torn skin stung at his touch and he bent over you. He traced the line with his tongue and lifted his head. He pressed his hot lips to yours and forced his tongue inside. You tasted the metallic taint of your own blood and groaned.

His chest rubbed against your and you felt the warmth as it spread across his skin. His hand felt around as he lifted his pelvis and moved his knee between your legs. He slickened his fingers with your blood and once more began to play with your cunt. You squirmed and tried to turn your head away from him. He bit down on your lip and shoved his fingers inside of you.

“Baby girl,” He drew away, “You’re ready for me.”

“No--” He pulled his fingers out of you and his hand came up to wrap around your neck and he shushed you once more.

His eyes bore into yours as he angled his hips. He shifted as his tip poked along your cunt. He slowly pressed against you until he slipped inside. You grunted and bit down on your lip. You shook your head as his hand grew tighter. He eased into you an inch at a time and your eyes rolled back as he reached his limit.

He sighed as he moved his thighs flush to yours. His heavy breaths filled your ears as he began to rock. He thrust into you carefully, relishing in each long stroke. He hummed as he kept a steady rhythm. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to resist the burgeoning swell in your core.

He moved fast and pushed himself up, his hand still on your neck, nearly crushing your windpipe. His other hand stretched across the gash on your chest and he slammed into you harder and harder. The clap of his flesh echoed through the room as the blood from your thighs seeped onto his.

The bed quaked beneath your bodies as he pounded into you, his voice rising with each tilt of his hips. Your own breathy moans floated in the air and knotted in your chest.

“Baby girl,” he growled, “Fuck, you feel so good… you taste so good.”

He lifted his hand from your chest and you opened your eyes. He licked your blood from his hand, his left still firmly at your throat.

“You’re gonna look so pretty,” he touched the cut again and played with your blood. His chest was marked with red and it trickled down his muscled stomach as he hammered into you. “This is gonna be a pretty little mark, isn’t it?”

You gnashed your teeth and turned your head. You stared at the blank wall as your thighs tensed against his. You gasped as your orgasm rose violently and your body spasmed.

Bucky let go of your neck and grabbed the knife. Your eyes followed the blade and he pressed it along his chest and cut into his left peck. He stilled as the blood leaked from his flesh and he put the knife aside once more. He coated his fingers in his blood and wiped them across your lips. He forced his way inside your mouth and began to fuck you again.

He lowered himself over you. He slipped his fingers from your mouth and grabbed your chin. He kissed you deeply, tasting the mix of your blood. He pulled away as he began to pant and rutted into you without relent. He snarled and pressed his lips to your cheek.

“You feel that, baby girl,” he rasped, “Hmm, you’re going to make me cum. You want it inside of you?”

“Please--” you whispered.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby girl. Over and over--” He jerked his hips with each word, “And over-- and over--”

He hissed and thrust into as deep as he could. He spasmed and rolled his hips as his cum spilled into you. He slowed and let his weight down onto you. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest and your own beat loudly in your ears.

“Over and over… baby girl,” he murmured and flinched. He slid his arm up under you and slowly moved his hips. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

👁️

You were in a daze when Bucky finally untied you. He left you limp across the bed as he packed up the knives and locked them away. He sat lightly on the edge of the bed with a wet cloth and began to wipe away the blood from your cuts. You winced but only closed your eyes and waited for it to be over.

Your entire body hurt. You lost count of how many times he’d fucked you. He cut you again on your thighs and under your breasts. You were caked in your own blood and sweat. He washed you gently and you let him. You hoped he would go when he finished.

He stood and you heard the heavy lid of the chest again. He returned to you and wiped each cut; the alcohol tickled your nostrils and burned your skin. The bleeding had mostly stopped but he bandaged each carefully. The crumple of wrappers and the tinny clasp of metal. He rose again and the padlock was snapped shut.

“You have to keep yourself clean, baby girl,” he said. “I’ve left some bandages and wipes out for you. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”

You ignored him and rolled onto your side painfully. You shivered and hugged yourself. You’d wait for him to leave before you cried. You listened to him dress. He hadn’t cleaned himself up. Your blood was still smeared over his face.

“Good night, baby girl.” He looked at you for a moment. “Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?”

You didn’t answer and just stared at the wall.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” he cooed as his footsteps neared the door, “It’ll take some time… but we both felt how much you liked it.”

The door opened and clunked behind him. Your eyes pricked and you closed them as the tears began to fall. You grabbed the pillow and hugged it as your entire body was wracked with sobs.

You wished he had cut you deeper. You wished he had just killed you. There was no other way out.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #serial killer #serial killer au #scopaesthesia #winter soldier

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athenasbloodyspear · 3 years

Text

Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

Chapter Under the Cut

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed.

The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee.

The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them.

The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out.

Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends.

If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge.

“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12.

“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie.

“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove.

“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked.

“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.”

Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed.

“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter.

“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug.

“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back.

“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited.

“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee.

“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up.

“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically.

“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter.

The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures, with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy.

“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.”

“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it.

Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store.

“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”

All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it.

“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists.

“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter.

“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts. There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.”

“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up.

“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs.

“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed.

“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”

Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.”

Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.”

“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door.

~0~

The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years.

They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars.

Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast.

The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked.

“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?”

Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.”

“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.

“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.”

“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.

“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.”

“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.

“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.

“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.”

“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?”

“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.”

“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.”

“Jesus Levi.” Jake said.

“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.”

“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister.

“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters.

“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.”

“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.”

“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.

“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately.

All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop.

“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door.

A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk.

“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?”

The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces.

“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door.

“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?”

“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started.

“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.”

“Wicked.” Maven calls back.

All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley.

~0~

The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi.

COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN.

A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.”

“Why the weird text?” Jake asked.

“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage.

The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks.

Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands.

She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe.

“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.”

The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly.

“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured.

Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack.

“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio.

Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.”

Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.”

Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”

“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.”

“Sure.” Levi replied.

Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote.

“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked.

“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.”

“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?”

Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded.

“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.

“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.”

“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.”

Maven just rolled her eyes at that.

They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly.

“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio.

“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back.

Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.”

“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.”

“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.

“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.”

Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?”

“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased.

“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled.

Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”

~0~

Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect.

Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today.

Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states.

Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago.

She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?”

The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her.

He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again.

But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off.

Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad.

She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something?

She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open.

“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder.

“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly.

“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain.

They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.

He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point.

“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake.

“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak?

Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way.

She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side.

“Oh hey Maven-”

“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door.

“Maven wait-”

But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space.

“Sorry.” Jake muttered.

“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed.

After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?”

Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.”

“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere.

The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter.

“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped.

“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake.

“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.

Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.”

“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.

~0~

Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player.

However, none of these things were easing her mind.

She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake.

The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this.

She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray.

~0~

Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name.

“It’s Maven.” He said.

“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair.

“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked.

All four boys leaned in to read the screen.

CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS.

“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.

#jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta fic #jake fic #gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta fan fleet fic #peaceful army

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jrueships · 2 years

Note

about your latest kyle/demar/jimmy… i can 100% see kyle and jimmy bullying demar on both daily basis or yk the bedroom 😏😁

what else is to be expected when demar gets with his two biggest haters !!! Thank you again to clutchpoints serving the gay agenda, unasked

BUT ALSO.........

you're So right op ... i think they're So funny. It's like they take turns being the one bullied like the healthy polycule they are! They remind me of that one stock photo compilation of these women bullying each other but like.. they would take turns being the one bullied?? Like in one pic the girl with the scarf would be the one getting her hair grabbed then the next pic SHES the one doing the hair grabbing ?? And people were captioning 'healthy elaborate polycule foreplay !! ' or 'the switch squad goin CRAAZY!!!' And it's like! Wow! It's very kyle/demar/jimmy

Like okay hmmm... like maybe kyle and jimmy are picking on deebo for idk always wanting to rp old movies LMAO like jimmy points at deebo mouthing the actors lines while he watches New Jack City and kyle does his evil little snort choke laugh and they clown on him in a duo. ' he think he Wesley snipes AAAHaa' 'he from Cali! The actor's dream is in his blood!' And deebos like 🙄 the copious stank yall be wafting through the vibes rn.... but then HE says smthin clever like 'if jimmy were an actor, he'd go every scene with some product placement in his hand' and kyle starts laughing at JIMMY now and jimmy like WOW. WOW! okay well at least i could fit on the screen without the camera needing to pan down everytime the crowd wants to see someone so Short' and kyle is like 🤣🤣🤣😐. That's not funny. So now deebo and JIMMY are laughing at kyle until kyle somehow turns it back onto deebo AND THE CYCLE CONTINUES !!!! like ! Idk!! Those three are just a bunch of little haters in love <3 i think they're just really funny, television worthy dynamic that flips All the time. They're similar but also Not, and it's Great. Also i Do be thinking about them cuddling together in bed <3 taking turns who sleeps in the middle. Jimmy is usually not allowed because he gets up really early and shakes the whole bed, but also he usually gets them all up in the morning with him even though they don't have to because he's insane planet fitness anyways. But yeah the idea of deebo sleeping in the middle of kyle and jimmy, buff arms around him at both sides, kyles leetle arms trying to hold both deebo And jimmy.. jimmy randomly holding kyles hand across demars chest.. demar waking up after a really bad dream that leaves him shaken and worrying about being alone, only to realize the two people he loves the most (besides his kids (and some stinky people too unfortunately bcus deebo is too nice)) are right there beside him and he kinda reaches his arms out behind them and pulls them closer, kisses their foreheads while they sleep <3. kyle doesn't sleep as often in the middle as youd Think he would because he moves alot in his sleep. Jimmy and demar wake up to kyle curled up on their legs like a cat under the covers LMAO. Also he probably hates jimmys coffee breath, even though jimmy smells like a God he Still finds Something to complain about. ALSO ALSO kyle probably still tries humping people LMFAO. Like they just be cuddling and suddenly deebo feels a dump truck repeatedly backing into his pelvis and jimmy feels something keep hitting his butt and deebo is like 'kahl. OK. Kahl- kahl, kahl. enough-' until jimmy goes 'LOWRY.' which gets kyle sent to the couch. Kyle probably sets the house on fire in the middle of the night and leaves lol (IM KIDDING

TO BE MORE SPICY ABOUT IT THO... LESS ON THE DOMESTICS UHHHHH... i think kyle and jimmy when they Bully deebo in the bedroom its kinda like... it basically feels like you're in hell getting 'tortured' by imps or whatever u know ???? like kyle is all 'you deserve a Break deebo, you deserve to Have this, you deserve So much.' And his stroking Demar's thigh getting closer and closer to where deebo wants his hand but won't until he has demar saying Please. Then there's jimmy behind demar muttering about how badly he wants to see him cry. Being more Crude with it. More rough, more demanding. Which is a pretty big accomplishment considering how bossy kyle can be. Which doesn't go away btw. Sometimes they don't always agree on what they wanna Do with deebo or want him to do or Want from him, not out of jealousy but out of 'EXCUSE ME??? im the sex SAVANT here get OUT B U M ' and deebo is just like. In heaven lol

#I'D TELL MORE ABOUT H*RNY KYLE/DEMAR/JIMMY THOUGHTS IF WANTED BUT I WAS MAINLY THINKING ABOUT THE FUNNIES #SORRY WILL WRITE ABT THEIR HOTNESS TOO IF WANTED #i just think ships should be a Little funny <3 #THANKS FOR ASKING THIS #THEYRE SO FUN TO WRITE #ted asks #ted redacted #ted sus #IDK I JUST THINK THEY R NEAT #i would write more about deebo getting bossed around but 🤩🤩 another day perhaps #kyle/demar/jimmy #ted drabbles

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honestsycrets · 3 years

Text

Say Your Piece II: Heart Breaker

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader, hvitserk x ?

❛ type | double triple? shot, mistakes were made au

❛ chp summary | after the reader says she doesn’t want hvitserk; he makes a bad decision. it gets worse from there.

❛ tags | plus size reader, verbal arguments, extreme social anxiety, extreme body insecurity, drinking, hateful words, illustrator hvitserk x writer reader, mention of infidelity, shame, OCs, sexual frustration, blackmail, cheating mentioned, verbal abuse, sexual blackmail, poor communication? it’s more likely than you think. tags to be added.

❛ request | So Hvitserk request (you a asked for it 😂) Remember the Little Lovers event and the self-conscient plus size reader who didn’t want to have sex ?Well I didn’t get the sex lol. I want my Hvitserk to show a woman how her body is enjoyable. Thank you 😊 for @alicedopey

❛ sy’s note | i’ll eventually get you your sex scene, DAMN IT.

He wakes with a blaring headache caused by a stream of fresh morning light against his soft cheek. He pulls his arms around you-- or, what he thought was you, as the moment he does so, he knows it’s wrong. Where soft folds and overflowing breasts were, he finds thin limbs and small breasts.

It’s not your body-- he realizes all at once. The high rise apartment that overlooked the city wasn’t, either. It was the fruit of an accomplished older woman, whose many books hovered on a white shelf beside a white bed. Everything in the room holds the same pure standard. He flings himself from the bed, his naked ass colliding with a nightstand. The items ripple over the surface and settle into new positions. The woman pushes up, dragging the painfully monochrome white fluffy sheet to cover her flat chest.

“Hvitserk?”

Erika, in all her sharp-eyed glory, stares right back at him. Vomit spins up his throat, incited by the affection by with her eyes considered him. Hvitserk scrambles over the perfectly plain hardwood floors, upchucking up what’s left of his agitated stomach after his pathetic night out on the town.

“Hvitserk!”

Her spindly hand is at his back. Ordinarily, she was a comfort in your absence. That despite her pushing, and pushing, and pushing to get your name off “his” book, she would always be there for him in ways that a lover could not. Author-illustrators make so much more than being an illustrator alone, she reminded him. Her considerate words now feel like measured steps against his relationship. Her touch rips his skin into gooseflesh. Hvitserk works his shoulder away, his knuckles becoming white around the bowl.

“You drank too much last night.” it’s a non-question. Obviously, if he were here, he had. He groans his miserable response into the toilet bowl, wishing he could smother himself in the water, as it would be a better punishment than anything his girlfriend could do to him. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

Her steps become distant echoes. When he finishes and cleans after himself, he starts his search for his clothes. He picks them from a singular pile, draws them back on, and reaches for his phone. It bleats a miserable eight percent battery life.

“She didn’t call if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ericka stands in a silvery slip; although he’s not sure when she put on some clothes. She hands him his cup of coffee and takes a seat on her “divorce couch”, a plain grey chair that she scammed her ex-husband out of. As she sits there, all long limbs, and purposefully sultry clothes-- the guilt strikes him.

Hvitserk takes a sip of bitter, burnt black coffee. She’s never been a great coffee maker but her heart is in the right place. It wouldn’t feel right to snuff her. After all, he probably spent the night before buried in her cunt.

“You called me to pick you up at the bar last night. You were so drunk all you wanted to do was lay on my chest,” Ericka pulls a sheer black kimono over her thin collarbones. His eyes fall on her hands. “I told you she’d break your heart. Women like that-- once they get over a certain weight-- they aren’t emotionally available to do anything but eat. It consumes them.”

“She ain’t like that.”

“If she’s not like that, then why did you have sex with me? Be honest with yourself, Hvitserk. Your needs aren’t met with her. That’s why you needed me.”

His mouth runs dry. Like he’s been chewing on his regret as if it were paper. He couldn’t remember the night before. It was like a bad memory he never wanted to recover. Hvitserk glances down to his cup as he sinks onto her bed.

“It was an accident,” he glares at the surface. “I- You know I can’t be with you, right? You’re--”

“Old?” she asks. He’s never cared about something as simple as that. Twelve years his senior or not, it wasn’t an issue.

“It’s not that. C’mon Erika, you know I don’t give a shit about age. She’s my baby girl.”

“You’re going to stay with her? A woman like that?”

“Like what?” Hvitserk sets the coffee on the nightstand as he snaps at her before he could bite it back. He knew what she meant. Erika’s long ranging sigh reminds him of Aslaug. How tenderly her hands would wrap around him even though they were truly tainted with alcohol perfuming off her breath.

“I’ve been your agent for years Hvitserk. We go through this every time you find a girl. This oen is by far the worst. She doesn’t care about you. Look at all that work you did for her yesterday. The pendant you bought her. The work you’ve put into her books! You even pick up all the food she eats. She won’t go outside of her house and you still expect that she’ll suddenly become this fat trophy wife on your arm.”

“Just because she’s fat don’t--”

“It isn’t about the fat, Hvitserk. How many times does she have to show you, or tell you for you to get the picture through your stupid head, huh? She doesn’t want you! And you have the balls to call me a fucking accident.”

“Erika--”

She leaps up from her chair. Hvitserk sucks in a hard breath and tries to find sense through the nonsense, looking through his phone. Erika was right. You hadn’t sent a message. Not in his texts, not on his social media. More egregiously, he spots a new post. Ericka’s hands fold over his, pushing him back to sit on the bed. She slides over his thin hips and takes a seat on his empty lap. It was painfully simple, painfully domestic, and painfully wrong.

“Let me tell you what I’ve learned in forty years,” Erika whispered in his ear. Her thin lips move, gliding like butter in his ear. “If someone doesn’t want you, there’s nothing you can do to change that.” Her fingers comb through his hair, like slimy tendrils. “But I’m here.”

Hvitserk tips his head nack, gazing at the ceiling. Her palm caresses his scruffy jawline to drag his attention from the ceiling to her soft blue eyes, a painless depth, if only he would listen to her words. Hvitserk shifts her back on the bed, loitering around her waist with a supportive hand on the base of her back.

“I know you care ‘bout me. I just-- need some time, okay?”

It doesn’t slip him that she’s scowling as he walks out of her home. There was someone he could count upon, when things were difficult, his phone buzzing in his palm reminded him of that.

“Hey, Ivar.”

Or, maybe not.

“You fucked her?” Ivar stopped chewing his pastry, ambling his head one way then another, laughing against himself. He took his mug of properly brewed coffee to his lips. Hvitserk regrets agreeing to meet him at the cafe. “What were you thinking sleeping with your agent?”

“I wasn’t thinking! I was drunk--” Hvitserk set his hand to his forehead. He has no appetite as he cycled through what he had done, searching out the moment that he called Erika. He fails to locate anything but quiet sobbing behind the neck of a beer bottle and a distant, squeamish feeling of fingers down his nape. “I think she took advantage of me.”

Ivar sets down his cup of coffee, picking up a fork and knife as he leaned over the table, lips punctuating each word.

“Yes, well, I am sure that will go over with your girlfriend well. I’m sorry, I slept with my skinny, well-established agent who has been wanting me to get rid of you. That bitch has been after you for years. What do you think she will do now? She won’t let you go.”

“She understands,” he reflects at the monochrome crowd. His plate is full but has gone cold with his lack of appetite. Normally, this was the place he came with his brother to binge breakfast and muse about women. Ubbe wouldn’t care about his issues: he never had time for anyone but himself. Not really. Ivar scoffed, gazing into the foot traffic flitting by their cafe.

“Tch, I’m sure she does. She will probably break up with you.”

He bobbed his head.

“I think she already has.”

A normal man would come to beg.

But Hvitserk draws in the deep quiet of the park. With only the barks of dogs, the giggles of children, and the occasional frequency from couples watching movies in the park, it’s a place of solace by the small pond.

He starts with an outline of Xiao’s small face. It’s a rough outline, budding and ready to be kissed with by watercolours. Soft pinks like petals of peonies droop in his photo. He must have blended this shade wrong. Line after line that he sweeps, he weeps. His phone jingles in his pocket and his heart tightens around his chest like a straight jacket to someone in an insane asylum. He must be going crazy-- if he too can no longer paint.

“Where are you?!” you boom on the other end of the line. Hvitserk fumbles his phone, suckling in a breath. Had Ivar told you? No, his brother wouldn’t. Not Ivar. He was never a gossiper.

“In-- in the park?”

“What has gotten into you? You could have at least texted me to tell me you were okay. I was worried sick!”

You? Worried sick? This wasn’t the you from yesterday. The one that pelted out how selfish he was for craving intimacy. The one that told him that all he wanted was to sexualize you. As if he were some sixty year old pervert with a camera in hand to click a picture of under your beautiful pastel skirts. Hvitserk sets the brushes into his cup of water and sets aside Xiao’s painting to dry.

“Hvitserk!”

“I’m here,” he blurts out. “I didn’t think you’d care. You didn’t call.”

“Like I didn’t I call you all night.”

Something cracks, deep in his belly. With all the days of work he’d done for you and you alone, he forgot himself in the mix. He jerked his phone back, frantically looking at his phone app. No recent calls meant what they meant. When he finds nothing, it only thrusts him into a further rage.

“Bullshit,” he belts out. “You didn’t. You didn’t care about me last night. You never fuckin’ do.”

“Hvit--” he turns off his phone. There was a sliver of a moment in which he regrets that on the basis of last night. Maybe you rejected him, but he wasn’t an idiot. A man simply didn’t cheat on his girlfriend because she said no.

He packs up his bag and heads toward the football field. It’s time to play football.

He smashes Ubbe on the field. If he wasn’t at peace with being an illustrator, maybe he could have been a ballplayer. Flipping the ball from foot to foot with Ubbe on his trailing his tail was fun, but watching him try and miss as he thwacked the ball on its net was even better. Unlike Ubbe’s well-proportioned body, he’s all long limbs and quick feet. Just the right combination to slip out of Ubbe’s grasp. Well, that was, until Ubbe tackled his ass onto the blades of grass, sending the both of them rolling through the grasp.

“Bro, really?!” Hvitserk laughs, dropping back onto the grass. The skid marks on his clothes would be unreal.

“If I can’t catch you,” Ubbe heaves, digging his hand into his pocket. He finds his phone there, vibrating with messages from Torvi: probably. Hvitserk shoves his arms behind his neck, drawing out breath after ragged breath.

“Wanna go eat?”

“Na,” Ubbe shoves himself onto your feet. “Your girl is here.”

His what? Ubbe rushes off. A sinking feeling came over his clammy hands. He opens his mouth to beg him not to go, to take him along with like he used to as a child. He’s terrible at making up and hours ago, he’d hung up on you. His lips press together, soothing himself with the false pretense that-- no, it would be fine. If you didn’t apologize, perhaps neither would he.

He finds you on the other side of the soccer field, fashioning his favorite sundress. There’s something glamorous about its corset bodice and its draped sleeves that left him breathless. He wills down his terrible arousal, drawn to the pendant he bought you nestled between your large breasts. You wait for him by his things, pulling the rim of a broad pale hat and looking down at beautiful chunky nude heels.

You’re beautiful and terrifying all in one. He regains himself enough to make his legs solidify from the liquidy mass they were seconds ago. He might feel much like a newborn calf falling over himself to get his things, but perhaps he looked better than he felt. Women like sweaty, stupid men, right?

“What are you doing here?” he picks up his things. “I thought you didn’t like to be seen in public.”

“You hung up on me,” you hold his tablet flush against your dress and offer it out to him. He takes it and secures it back in his bag. “I had to come to find you.”

“Yeah? I’ll bet.” Hvitserk wills down the painful throbbing behind his joggers, pulling his bag to obscure the pain he was in. The sooner he went home, the sooner he could jerk himself off without the overwhelming guilt of being, as he was, a whore. Why couldn’t he stay mad? He wanted to stay mad! “You look... nice. Never seen you looking so nice. What’s the occasion?”

“You like it?” You pull out the skirt and stop to do a twirl that he curses himself for stopping for. Normally, his girl wouldn’t even go outside. Who was this? He’s aware of others watching-- the fat girl in a flashy dress. “I wore it for you.”

“Yeah, I do.” He moistens his lips, his voice raspy and thick. “Looks like an angel.”

“Does that mean you’ll come back home?” You reach out for him. Your soft hands winding around his well-corded arm. He realizes then, the confidence in which you carried yourself masked the desperation in your hands. They trembled over his bicep. “I’ll be good, I promise I won’t yell at you again like that. I wouldn’t even be mad if you-- you found someone else to fuck. I know you-- I know you need it. If you can’t get it from me, I can wait on the side. As long as you’re not in love.”

“Hey,” he softened, settling his hand atop of yours. He stops midstep, turning on his high tops on the sidewalk. He takes your hands and listens waits for your outpouring of emotion. Traffic passes by him. They speak in hushed whispers. “Hey, hey, hey. Baby girl wait-- that’s not -- what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that but you were pushing and pushing and wouldn’t stop! I didn’t know what to do. I want to have sex with you,” you squeeze his fingertips. “But you don’t know what it’s like to be fat, old virgin.”

He was trying to listen. He really was. The moment you spoke that word: that v-word, his mind went blank and numb. You’re still talking long after he’s stopped listening. Hvitserk sucks in a breath: it sends him into a flurry, pursuing the bone of your virginity long after you’ve stopped talking.

“What do you--” his lips twitch, drawing in a smile. “--mean a virgin?”

“I haven’t had sex-- I… I wanted to--”

His girl-- a virgin. He wants to smile, if not for the knowledge of the other night, waking up in Erika’s itchy sheets. Hvitserk knows that he has to tell you, he only doesn’t know how. You’re talking again.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“I want you to do it,” you answer. “Right now. Just forgive me.”

He about drops, a moistness coming over his mouth that he can’t-- exactly-- help. His palms feel just as hot, sweating as he pulls them free from yours. Clearing his throat, he slips his hand against the small of your back.

“Na, let’s… let’s take it easy. We’ll talk ‘bout it later.”

He wants that virginity.

But logically, oh woe is he, he knows it’s not really right to take someone’s virginity if they’re not all there. You’re not all there because you don’t know of that night. It’s like, consent, right? Bad consent was just jerking your ankle like some Viking and dragging you into bed with him. If he was going to do it, he told himself, you had to know what he’d done.

It was a slip-up.

Hvitserk finished another drawing for his new book independent of your input. It was a children’s book about good bodies-- because as he looked at your good body, he was reminded of Ericka’s cruel words. He wanted to do better for lil kids.

“Hvitserk, your phone is ringing,” you said pointedly from across the room where you sat like a madwoman. Your frantic papers sat nestled around a basket of shared chicken he made for lunch.

“Huh?” Tapping over, he recognizes Erika’s photo, planting a kiss on his cheek on his first big break. She had been the first one to really believe in him. It was a long time ago now, he reminds himself to change that to something more… suitable after last night. He gestures his fingers at you. “Thanks, baby girl.”

He answers the phone. The moment he does, he hears Erika’s flat voice snaking into a hiss. It’s a noise that he hasn’t heard. Not in all his years of having her as his patient agent.

“You’re with her, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m uh-- with Ubbe.” He throws you a glance. You tilt your head, he shakes his, and that’s the terrible loneliness of holding a secret. “Erika--” Hvitserk sighs, parting his lips to talk. She shushes him with such severity that he thinks she’s trying to lop his head off, too.

“Break it off.”

“What?”

He steps outside and leans against the cold metal door separating the high-rise apartments from, well, the outside world. He expects to see her standing out there. All he finds are the many cars parked on the street and the stillness of movement. It’s too quiet. The whistle of the wind through the street chills him.

“I know you’re with her. I can tell her for you if you’d like.”

“No. Don’t--” Hvitserk sighs, searching for the words in the silence. “I don’t think you understand. We worked through it.”

She laughs something from deep in her belly at him.

“I wasn’t asking. Either you do it— or I’ll make you do it. You obviously don’t know what’s best for yourself. Why else are you fucking around with some--” He collapses on the stairs, cradling the phone to his ear as she goes on. “Don’t think I won’t expose her for what she is. A thief.”

“She’s never-- Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“You told me you would take care of it. Something you’ve failed to do-- I should have known you couldn’t do it. ”

“If this shit is about yesterday--”

“I’ll give you one more chance to break it off if you come over tonight.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” There’s a pause on the other line. Then a chuckle. A long winded, painful chuckle. He should have known better. That night-- calling it an accident wasn’t exactly tolerable for a woman like Erika. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could be easily ignored.

“If that’s what I have to do.”

He chokes out a sob. Ivar was right. She wasn’t going to let him go.

“Fuckin’-- fuckin’ fine.”

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lils-writes-stuff · 4 years

Text

Where it all started

Best years part one| part two

Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: while on a case, a little to close to home, reader and Spencer discover some feeling that they’ve developed for each other over time.

Warnings: normal criminal minds things, kinda slow build up ngl.

A/n: this takes place after the whole Doyle thing, so it’s the dream team all together.

“No I mean all I’m saying is if you are too play online scrabble you have to know that the other person is probably cheating.”

The laughter that rang from Emily’s mouth also made Y/N chuckle after the statement she made. The two sat in the bullpen, Emily in her swivel chair, Y/N perched on the end of her desk, ankles crossed and coffee mug in hand.

The sound of phones ringing and people chatting created a white noise scenario in Y/N’s ears. The sound was interrupted though by the clicking of heels from Penelope Garcia, as she came walking into the room. File in hand, ready to deliver it to Hotch.

“Ah- come on people, I had a weekend planned!” Emily said, slightly disappointed as she saw Garcia walk into Hotch’s office. Derek chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

“And what were those plans?” Derek asks the smug look on his face, telling those around that he was ready to crack a joke for any scenario that followed after her answer.

“Me, wine, and a hot tube,” Emily replied with a sigh as she leaned into the back of her chair. Derek just laughed as he turned back to his mug of fresh coffee sitting on Spencer’s desk.

“I hope we have a case, I didn’t have plans,” Spencer’s voice is monotone almost. He doesn’t even look up from his book while he speaks. At this, a slight giggle leaves Y/N’s lips.

“Me neither Spence, me neither.” Y/N says as she pushes herself off of Emily’s desk, tapping Spencer's shoulder on the way back to her own desk and sitting in her chair.

“This is 29-year-old Dillon Goodman, he was found in a ditch in the North Georgia region, stab wounds to the stomach and upper chest region,” Penelope spoke as the picture of the victim appeared on the screen. Pictures from the crime scene soon followed the driver’s license photo.

“He’s laid out like a burial, shows remorse.” Y/N spoke as she looked more closely at the pictures in her hand. The victim looked familiar to her, yet she couldn’t place it.

“North Georgia, Y/N isn’t that your stomping grounds?” Rossi spoke, looking at Y/N with furrowed brows.

“That it is,” she spoke, eyes still trained at the victim who she could still not place as to how she knew.

“Atlanta P.D. has this case because two days ago another body was found in Fulton county, same M.O., also laid out the same,” Hotch said as Penelope pulled another picture up of the first victim.

“Any I.D. on this one?” Derek asked. Penelope shook her head as a response.

“So this guy shows remorse for his dead victims but the overkill is extreme,” JJ spoke as she looked at the rest of the team.

“The burial like the placement of the bodies looks like those that Vikings did, they were known as Norse funerals, but they were placed in ships as their burial,” Spencer spoke, as he looked at the victim’s photos more.

“We’ll have more time to discuss this on the plane if he keeps up his two-day cycle, we only have that to catch him before he kills another, wheels up in 30,” Hotch said as he stood up, signaling everyone to get their go bags and depart.

————

The plane ride wasn’t long but it was enough to give the team time to discuss theories as to why someone with such overkill in the process of killing and so much remorse after.

Y/N looked intently at the license photo of the second victim Dillon. It was on the tip of her tongue as to how she knew him but she couldn’t figure it out.

“Y/N, the look on your face is hurting me, what’re you thinking?” Rossi asked as he broke her out of her stare.

Y/N looked up, a slight hum sound leaving her throat. “Sorry, it’s just-this victim, Dillon, he looks so familiar, and I can’t place it and it’s really bothering me.” She spoke, slight irritation evident in her voice.

“I might be able to answer that for you,” Garcia’s voice was heard through the speaker of the laptop placed on the table, everyone’s attention now focused there. “Dillon Goodman, born December 19, 1982, in Cleveland, Tennessee moved to Georgia when he was ten, and went to our beloved Y/N’s high school and were actually in the same graduating class together.”

“Oh my god, that’s right I remember him now!” Y/N said as the memory of the boy came to her mind.

“Does anything you remember help us with this case, any enemies, stuff like that?” Hotch asked looking at Y/N.

“No he was a good kid, didn’t make good grades, but he was nice. Didn’t have problems with anyone really, to my knowledge at least.”

“Garcia, is there any I.D. on the first victim yet?” Spencer asked.

“Yes, a 31-year-old Tyler Moore, also from the North Georgia region,” Garcia said as she continued to type on her computer. “Oh my- he also graduated from Y/N’s high school too.”

“Same class?” Emily asked.

“No, he graduated two years before Y/N and Dillon,” Garcia replied looking at the date in her screen

Everyone’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Well there’s the common denominator for all our victims, they all went to the same high school,” Emily said.

“So someone must’ve had a grudge against these two, maybe they were apart of a group our unsub wanted to be part of,” Derek said. “That would explain the remorse, he wanted to be apart of their lives.”

“Cliques would cause something like this, high school is when we develop who we are the most,” Spencer said looking at everyone. “If this unsub was rejected from this group, it probably formed some deep aggression in him that caused him to lash out.”

“So these probably weren’t his first victims,” JJ said.

“Probably,” Hotch agreed. “When we land, Rossi and Morgan go to the first crime scene, Y/N and Reid to the newest, the rest of us will set up point at the station.”

————

“So, did you know our first victim too?” Spencer asked Y/N as they drove to the latest crime scene. Y/N looked over for a second, glancing him before turning her attention back to the road.

While the rest of the team had been together for a while, she had only been there for a year. She joined a little while before Emily’s ‘death’, it hit her just as hard as the rest of the team. She was relatively new out of the Academy, but every unit wanted her. She had the scores, a good shot, and when she was given team experience she was a huge help. Strauss said to Hotch when she told him that Y/N was joining their team, it was the best decision she could make for them.

“I think so, I remember the name, he was a football player, wasn’t as good as a kid as Dillon though,” she said eyes trained in the road as she drove. “He got in trouble for bullying a lot.”

Spencer nodded, “Were you a part of any clubs or groups that had these guys in them?” He continued with his questions to her.

Spencer looked over, the side profile of Y/N’s face captivating him for a second before he looked away back at the file.

“I-I wasn’t really a club person, I played sports. And when I didn’t play sports, I was working,” Y/N spoke as she reminisced on her high school experience. Never the star, but her name was known. A good group of friends, slight teasing from guys for her looks, but nothing serious.

“Turn left, and we’ll be there,” Spencer’s instructions pulled her from her memories.

They pulled up to the sight of the crime scene. A ditch beside the lake that Y/N grew up swimming in. Local police were there waiting for the two as they exited the SUV.

“Detective Callaghan?” Y/N asked the man in front of her.

“Yes ma’am,” the detective responded.

“Hi, SSA Y/N Y/L/N,” she said shaking his hand then pointed next to her. “This is Dr. Spencer Reid.” Spencer stuck his hand up in a wave.

“Thanks for coming out, let me show you to the dumpsite.” The detective led the two of them over about 30 yards to where the body was discovered. “A couple of fishermen called it in early this morning.”

Spencer squatted down to look closer to the victim that was still on the ground. “The overkill is extreme,” he spoke inspecting the stab wounds of the victim.

The two talked to the detective some more and looked at the body trying to figure out some more ideas as to how this unsub thinks. The ME came and took the body away and Y/N and Spencer we’re back in the SUV on their way to the station.

“You know, I pegged you more of a mean girl in high school,” Spencer said as Y/N began to drive.

Y/N laughed as she looked at Spencer for a second who also had a smile on his face. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, you have a very dominant personality, and taking into account with how you are very pretty,” he said, blushing slightly at his statement before clearing his throat to finish his thought. “I just would have pegged you to be a mean girl.”

“I was definitely not a mean girl,” Y/N said, her head shaking at the statement. “I wasn’t always very assertive and pretty.” She stated matter-of-factly.

“Really?”

“Really! I was a follower. I played sports, but I was never a star. I was good, but I wasn’t the best.” She explained, “I wasn’t pretty either, well pretty for the standards of the boys around me.”

I would have thought you were beautiful, was Spencer’s thought.

“What were you like I’m high school?”

“I was twelve, so my name was known, but as the butt of the joke,” he spoke remembering his high school experience.

Y/N giggled, remembering how she was younger than all of her classmates since she skipped a grade.

————

Morgan, JJ, Spencer, and Y/N sat around a large conference table, coffee cups and food containers filling in the spaces that didn’t have open files. It had been a day since they arrived meaning the time they had left in the cool off period was coming to an end.

“Okay, so this unsub is killing those who we are assuming were apart of some group?” JJ asked as she took another sip from her coffee cup next to her.

“Well, actually I can confirm they were apart of a group. A clique if you will, one that went of for years and years after one group graduated,” Penelope said over Derek’s phone. “A group that called themselves the ‘wolves’. Were these boys, and an occasional girl, would go and harass older couples and vandalize their homes.”

“So these guys weren’t all that good of kids like Y/N said,” Derek spoke. Y/N leaned back, tracing her memory to think if she had ever heard them speak of this group before.

“This must have not been talked about a lot in front of me cause I do not remember this,” Y/N spoke as she looked at her tablet in front of her, an article of the group sent from Penelope on the screen.

She looked at the photo of the group of mostly boys, gazing over the stoic faces in the picture. One stuck out though, the boy in the photo couldn’t be older than 15, his eyes still and his face just seemed off to her.

“Penelope, what can you tell me about Alex Wright?” Y/N asked as she looked at the boy’s name in the bio below the photo.

“Alex Wright, 15 at the time the photo was taken, a Sophomore, he didn’t seem to do much, raised by his single mom, didn’t play sports, he was a loner,” She explained as she typed on her computer.

“He fits the profile you think it’s him Y/N?” JJ asked her as she looked at the boy in the photo also.

Y/N shook her head, “No, but I think he might be the key to finding out who is.” She explained her thoughts.

“Why do you say that?” Spencer asked her, a questioning look on his face as he looked at her.

“Look at his eyes in the photo,” she said pointing at him.

“He looks scared,” Derek said as he examined the boy in the photo.

“Almost like he’s there against his will,” Spencer said agreeing with what he was saying. “Guys, what if he is our unsub? What if he is getting back at all those in the group who made him do those things.”

“That would explain the overkill,” JJ said adding in her input into theory.

“And also the remorse, he probably considered them as friends,” Spencer continued on his theory. Everyone continued on the thought and soon came to the conclusion that Alex Wright was more than likely the unsub.

“Garcia-” Y/N started but was cut off.

“Addresses already sent,” she said knowing the answer to the upcoming question.

“You’re the best Baby Girl,” Derek said before hanging up.

They gathered with the rest of the team and told them their theory. Hotch got everyone together and they all loaded up into the cars. Vests on ready to go as they came to a halt at the front of the house.

“Rossi, JJ, and Morgan you guys go round back, the rest of us will take the front,” Hotch instructed and they all followed and got into position.

Spencer, Y/N, Hotch, and Emily all went up front and readied to open the door.

“Alex Wright, FBI,” Hotch said with a loud voice. A loud crash was heard and within seconds the door was open and the four of them moved in.

Alex stood, knife to the throat of his next victim who was tied to a table.

“Get back, leave!” He screamed at the four.

“We can’t do that Alex,” Y/N spoke, gun pointed ready to shoot.

“Y/N, it’s good to see you,” Alex spoke a small smirk on his face. Y/N turned her head to the side, questioning what he just spoke.

“I’m sorry, do I know you,” she said a puzzling tone in her voice.

Alex scoffed and stood up straight, pointing the knife in his hand at Y/N. “Of course you don’t, no one remembers me, the loner, the outcast. So stereotypical, if it wasn’t for me that school wouldn’t have been what it was. The wolves would have killed all of you, but I convinced them not to, of course, no one believed me when I told them though. Because all those boys were so good and loved. Well, news flash, they were rotten. So they all must pay.” He finished his speech, ready to stab his next victim, but he stopped and looked up at Y/N. “You know they always spoke highly of you like you were their queen or something so maybe I should just kill you,” and at that he launched himself at Y/N ready to stab her.

Gunshot.

The smoke from Spencer’s gun went off as he shot Alex in the arm before he got any closer to them. The other three looked at him, before going over and cuffing the man.

----------

The team sat together around a table wine glasses in front of them and plates of food smelling oh-so-delightful. Celebrating the win from this case, Rossi stated that Y/N take them to a restaurant she spoke of loving when she grew up, his treat of course. The team laughed as they discussed stories from their own high school experiences, telling of memorable moments and embarrassing stories.

“Y/N, do you know why Alex said they treated you like their queen?” Emily asked with a laugh at the statement that was made by the unsub.

“Oh-uh, well I think I figured it out, I looked at the photo again and I remember there was a boy in high school, that had a huge crush on me, he- I’m assuming- was the ring leader of this whole clique,” she said with a giggle. Everyone laughed at this and continued with a conversation about high school.

Y/N glanced across the table at Spencer, who also glanced at her. The eye contact made gave Spencer a slight blush on his face and made Y/N giggle slightly.

Grow a pair Y/N, she thought to herself, invite him to dinner or something this light flirting thing can’t last forever.

Emily nudged Derek beside her, everyone else distracted with a story Rossi was telling.

“When will those two realize that they are in love with each other?” Emily asked the man beside her.

He chuckled, “When Pretty Boy realizes that, she might as well be throwing herself at him.” The two giggled at the statement.

Y/N looked at Spencer once more, a small smile laid on her lips as she watched him laugh at the story that was being told. The little butterflies in her stomach erupted as she watched him. She looked away before he could notice and listened to the ongoing story.

As Y/N looked away, Spencer looked at her. He watched her smile and her eyes light up.

She’s beautiful

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #Emily Printiss

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