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vettelsvee · 2 days

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EACH OTHER BEST KEPT SECRET | Sebastian Vettel

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sebastian vettel x carlos gf!reader

summary: seb's is feeling like shit and the only thing that will make him feel better is having a one night stand with carlos sainz's girlfriend

word count: 4328

warnings: cheating, y/n is carlos sainz's gf and seb is married to hanna (pls do not cheat to your partners!). smut (oral, both female and male receiving; fingering, p in v). curse words. slight degradation. narrated on seb's pov. use of y/n y/l/n.

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback as well as comment and reblogs are truly appreciated! <3

Mick was by my side with a drink in his hand. He was constantly smiling despite getting a worse result, which only made me feel worse. I had dragged myself here so as not to look bad, and all I felt was that I was letting him down and had become more of a burden to him.

How could I enjoy this crappy party when all I wanted was this season to end when it just started?

"Do you really think bringing me here would help me?" I asked him as I waited for the seventh drink I thought I had taken. "I'm not in the mood, and I'm too old for this."

"I know you're not feeling well, Seb, but you need to disconnect a bit. Trust me, you will feel better.”

I reluctantly agreed.

I tried to smile at everyone who greeted or simply looked at me. I even tried to mingle among the bodies swaying back and forth, as drunk as I was, but it was impossible.

I was disappointed with myself. From being a threat on the track to seeming like a rookie.

"You don't look like a rookie, Seb. At least, not like me."

The voice of the recent Haas addition snapped me out of my thoughts. Had I said that out loud?

"Remember why you started all this, Seb," the boy continued. "The passion you have is still there. What's different are the results you're getting."

"Did I speak out loud?"

"This is the definitive sign for me to realize you’ve had enough alcohol today,” he pointed at my glass, filled to the brim with gin and tonic. "That's the last drink you're having. I don't want to drag you to your room. What would Hanna say if she saw you like this?"

She'd probably want me to have a good time, for sure.

"That I should stop drinking, or what?" I replied to Schumacher.

"Exactly. Don't let the pressure collapse you, Seb. You don't deserve that."

After talking a bit more about the disastrous first race of the year that we both had, Mick dragged me to the center of the dance floor. I refused several times at first, insisting that I wasn't one to let loose in front of others, but the boy was so enthusiastic, and I was so wasted, that I decided to go along with him and the atmosphere.

I moved not as timidly as I expected to the rhythm of the music, setting aside my worries and, above all, starting to care less and less about what would happen from now on with every drop of alcohol I ingested.

I noticed how suddenly Mick stopped. His gaze was fixed on a girl who passed next to us and who, undoubtedly, looked quite attractive, at least that's what the blond's looks confirmed. I also stopped my body's dance and turned to her, but it was quite difficult to recognize who she was among the crowd. Her dark green sequined dress and her raven hair, falling in waves over her back, were, at that moment, the only things that seemed to stand out from her in the dimness of the nightclub.

Who the hell was the girl who seemed to have caught my eye?

"Seb, are you coming?"

Mick's shouts over the music briefly made my eyes divert to him, then quickly return my attention to the stranger. She was now moving quite sensually with who knows who, somehow making me, Sebastian Vettel, married and a father, start to get excited.

"You go ahead, Mick. I'd rather stay here for a while."

My answer, barely audible, was a complete lie.

Of course, I wanted to go with him. What I didn't want was to once again succumb to temptation as I did with Astrid a few years ago.

"Wait, Mick!" I shouted, approaching the boy enough to grab him by the bottom of his shirt and pull him back to me. "Who is she?"

"Don't you know her? Seriously?"

I denied it too many times for him not to understand.

Did he really think that if I knew who she was, I would be asking him?

Mick, with a mischievous smile, finally understood that I was more confused than I would like.

"It's Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N. An influencer. She makes TikTok videos and all that stuff," the blond whispered in my ear. "She's also Carlos's girlfriend, in case you're interested to know."

I tried to remember, but the drunkenness prevented me from recalling any kind of connection or image of that girl. Y/N Y/L/N, Carlos's girlfriend... Sainz? Of course, it had to be Sainz, there was no other Carlos on the grid... that I knew of.

"Oh, yeah, of course," I lied. The last thing I wanted was to admit that right now I didn't remember anything about that girl. "Carlos Sainz dad or son?" I added, then laughed.

Mick looked at me, raising an eyebrow. Clearly, my last comment didn't amuse him.

"You seriously don't remember her?"

"Well, I talk to too many people throughout the day, and I have more important things on my mind than that girl whose dress gives her a perfect ass, you know?" I tried to excuse myself.

"If you don't know her, as you say... Why don't you go and say hello? It never hurts to socialize, and maybe it'll help you forget all the birds you have flying around in your head," the boy insisted, ignoring my previous comments.

I felt a mix of shyness and concern invading me. If I approached the supposed girlfriend of Sainz, not only was I letting down my wife, but also a colleague. I didn't know who could be around here or what might happen if we were seen talking.

I was sure that if I approached her, there were two options: either I made her uncomfortable, or everything was misinterpreted, and we both got into trouble unintentionally.

"I don't want to overwhelm her, Mick," I replied. Right now, I couldn't think of coherent excuses, but any seemed good to me. "What would I say? 'Hello, Sebastian, how are you?' Come on Mick, we're not kids anymore."

Mick crossed his arms. His eyes revealed amusement, and there was no doubt he was enjoying this.

"Seb, you're at a party. Talking is what you do at a party, not talking about cars all the time, that's what briefings are for."

"But..."

"Stop being silly. Go and say hello. You'll see she doesn't bite."

I loved Mick Schumacher like a son and like a little brother, but moments like this were when we seemed like teenage brothers fighting over control of a video game.

"Fine, I'll go say hello," I finally relented.

"You won't regret it, you'll see."

I was sure I would regret it.

I was drunk, and I could barely remember my own name.

I wasn't sober, and I knew I was about to make another mistake, one I didn't know if I would regret as soon as I woke up.

I was Sebastian Vettel, and, of course, adrenaline and the forbidden attracted me.

I had done it once before, and everything had stayed between Astrid and me, so... why not do it again for a second time, and let everything stay between Y/N and me?

"This place is too packed."

Y/N turned around, our chests almost touching. I immediately lowered my gaze, and it was difficult for me to look away from her cleavage, quite revealing.

"I hope it is not full of idiots like you, Vettel. My face is up here, not between my tits."

Shit.

"Sorry," I said, rushing. Did I really have to screw it up now?

"Do you need something, Vettel?"

"Do you want to go out for some fresh air?" I asked without even thinking. "The music is too loud, so it's going to be hard for me to hear you."

Y/N seemed to consider it for a moment. Her expression betrayed indecision and, at the same time, I would dare say curiosity. After a brief silence that felt like an eternity, and where I was praying that she saw me with the same eyes as I saw her, she agreed.

We walked outside, she in front of me and me acting as if I were doing something completely normal. I sat on some steps far enough away so no one could see us; to my surprise, she sat next to me closer than I expected.

"Well, Vettel, what's the reason for wanting to talk to me so badly?" the young woman demanded to know.

I'd like to tell her that I'd like to fuck her tonight, but that wouldn't be very polite of me.

"Well... I don't know. I saw you and I said, 'Oh, it's Y/N, Carlos's girlfriend,'" I emphasized the last part to see if she reacted. There was no reaction on her part, so I counted it as a win. "I wanted to say hi."

"Did your nerves also wanted to say hi?"

I said nothing.

"From the little we've talked you seem like a nice guy, Sebastian," she continued speaking, calling me by my name for the first time. "But today it seems like you're especially quite interested in talking to me. Do you have something else to tell me, or is it just a feeling I have right now because I've been drinking?"

"Maybe."

I tried to keep my composure, but her getting even closer to me, and starting to caress me in a way that sent shivers down my spine, and leaving her hand on my thigh, too close to my member, made all the hair on my body stand on end.

She smiled, and then I knew I had achieved my goal.

"Why don't we go somewhere more private, Seb?" she whispered in my ear. Her index finger traced my arm, while her right hand began to undo a few buttons on my shirt. "It would be great if we continued this conversation without any chance of being interrupted."

"Do you think you're going to talk a lot tonight? The only thing coming out of your mouth is going to be you moaning my name, Y/N."

"Are you sure you're going to get what you might want, Mr. Vettel?"

God. I didn't expect her to play along, but now I was sure I was going to need more of that.

"Sure, as long as Carlos doesn't find out," I said, deep down, with concern.

"Well then, let's get out of here then, as long as Hanna doesn't find out..."

She nodded with a playful smile, and immediately, I forced myself to get up and find a taxi.

Of the thousands that seemed to be around, I decided to stop the only one that was moving towards us. When it stopped in front of us, I opened one of the back doors for Y/N and settled in next to her, putting on my sunglasses to avoid being recognized.

"To the Grove Hotel, please."

No need to say anything else because, in an instant, the driver set off.

As the vehicle moved through the night streets of Bahrain, Y/N and I seemed to become one. Her hands grabbed the collar of my shirt and she pressed her lips against mine. Even knowing that we were taking a risk, I decided to undo her seatbelt to position her on top of me, where I had much greater access to her entire body. The kisses became faster, more aggressive, and I felt my erection growing at a dizzying speed.

"Is your friend happy to see me, Sebastian?" the girl asked, rubbing herself slowly and torturously against my bulge.

"You'll see him as soon as we get to my room."

I couldn't say much more because my hands acted for me, grabbing her neck and starting to bite it, sucking, and surely leaving a few marks that I didn't give a shit if they showed. Her moans grew louder and louder, begging me for more.

We were lucky that our journey had ended because I was more than convinced that if we had continued like that, I would have fucked her right there.

We got out quickly, trying to act as if nothing had happened, but once we were in the elevator we acted the same way again. Torturing each other seemed to have become the main game of the night, caring less and less about being discovered. The forbidden seemed to excite us more, and I didn't blame the Spanish woman: after all, it was me who had started everything.

When we reached the door of my room I forced myself to stop kissing her. Y/N, however, stood behind me on tiptoe, wrapping her arms around my neck. I turned around and wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her closer to me and searching her eyes to see if she wanted the same thing I did at that moment.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked in a soft, husky voice.

She nodded, and with a movement that seemed memorized, I swiped the card through the reader, opened the door, and forced her to step inside.

Once I made sure I had locked the door, I knew everything was done.

She wearing only her black lace underwear, threw herself into my arms to continue what she had been doing on our way here. I lifted her astride me, her legs around my waist, and leaned her back against the wall, continuing to kiss her fiercely while she finished unbuttoning my shirt, throwing it somewhere as soon as she finished her task.

"Y/N..."

"You're horny, aren't you, Sebastian?"

"If you know I am why the fuck do you ask?"

My reluctant comment made the young woman hit my ches. I knew she wanted to go down, so I let her down and, as soon as her feet touched the carpeted surface, she got on her knees and started to unfasten my belt, then the button of my pants before pulling them down.

She left a trail of kisses on the lower part of my stomach and on the beginning of my groin, playing at the same time with the elastic of my boxers and my member.

"Let's see what we have here..."

She pulled down my underwear in one swift motion, leaving my cock, fully erect, exposed.

Her right hand wrapped around it in an instant, moving it up and down too slowly for my liking. I began to sigh, but I refused to beg her to speed up, hoping she would realize it herself. Soon enough, her tongue started to lick my tip, and pre-cum appeared as if out of nowhere; before I knew it, she was sucking on it like a child with a lollipop.

"You look so good like this, Y/N. I know that having another man's cock in your mouth, not your boyfriend's, turns you on more than you might want to admit. You must be fucking wet..."

I couldn't say anything else, but my moans seemed to say it all. My hands were on her head, indirectly urging her to go faster because I was getting closer and closer to what I hoped would be the first orgasm of the night. She listened to me: at least that's what she seemed to understand when a much greater sense of pleasure invaded me as her tongue began to make circular movements on my glans while she continued to suck without stopping and masturbate the part that wouldn't fit.

I came in her mouth without warning, and she swallowed everything without a word, moving her tongue over her lips to finish taking the remnants.

She got up and the only thing I could do, almost powerless, was throw her onto the bed and position myself on top of her to undress her and finally make her mine.

After unhooking her bra and being just about to start taking care of her lower part, my cell phone began to ring.

"Damn it..."

"Pick it up, daddy," she demanded. "We don't want anyone to find out about our secret, do we?"

Having her beneath me, teasing me as if she were an innocent schoolgirl, when all she was doing was provoking me even more, got me even hornier.

I picked up the phone and saw who the call was from.

Hanna.

"It's my wife," was all I could say. The annoying ringtone kept on, but I didn't dare to answer the call.

"Why aren't you answering?"

"I'm with you, darling. Let it wait."

"What if we do something better?"

The girl sat up a bit on the bed and moved to the edge of it. The call seemed to be continuing, and my unease grew. Did Hanna imagine what I was doing right now, like this, with Y/N? Did she even consider the possibility that I might be unfaithful?

"Sebastian," the girl spoke again, "eat me while you talk to your wife."

"What?"

"Don't you want to play?" she asked. Again, that playful tone that turned me on so much came from her lips. "Well, let's play, but let’s do it my way."

I hated being challenged, and it seemed she knew it perfectly well.

Great. Did she want to play? Well, she was going to get it.

I got on my knees, still holding the phone in my hand. Hanna had already hung up, but that didn't mean I couldn't do things properly.

I selected her contact and put the call on speaker, leaving the device on the bed. I grabbed Y/N by her thighs and dragged her a bit further onto the surface, aligning her pussy perfectly with my face.

I yanked her panties off and the girl let out a surprised scream that coincided with my wife answering the call.

"Seb, are you okay? Is something wrong?"

And indeed, something was wrong, but Hanna Vettel wasn't aware of it, nor could she be.

"Yes, yes..." I replied as calmly as I could while I began to play with a finger between the girl's folds, spreading her wetness all over her pussy to lubricate her well. "It's just that I had to come to the bathroom because it was too noisy, and,you know how people are... having sex in stalls where barely one person fits."

Taking advantage of the fact that now it was my wife's turn to talk, I began to entertain myself with the girl's clitoris, who was ending her moans by putting a hand over her mouth.

"Do you remember when we used to do it?" my wife exclaimed excitedly. "We should do it again next time I come to see you."

"Damn it, Seb!"

"Honey, did I hear someone say your name, or am I just imagining things? Please tell me I'm not going crazy."

Shit. Sticking two fingers inside Y/N without warning hadn't been a good idea.

"No, no, no! There's another guy here named Sebastian. He met a girl named... Y/N, and look, now he must be doing something good to her for the girl to have screamed," I lied the best I could.

"And you're doing it really well," Y/N whispered so that only I could hear. "No wonder Hanna wants to do it with you in some disco bathroom. Who wouldn't fuck you anywhere?"

I took the opportunity to spread her legs even further and sliding my tongue, flat, over her entrance, moving up slowly enough to make her desperate, all the way up to her clitoris. Her hand was on my hair, gripping it tightly so that I wouldn't stop; I quickly moved it away and nodded towards the phone, where Hanna was still on the line.

"When are you coming back, Seb?" my wife spoke again. "The girls are asking more and more about you, and I don't know what else to tell them to make them stop."

"Well..."

Shit. Y/N had to stop arching her back, tilting her head back, and massaging her right breast because all that did was let me know that she was about to come, and for now, I didn't want her to reach that point.

My goal at that moment was twofold: to prevent Hanna, my wife, from discovering what I was doing, and to prevent Y/N, who seemed to be my new lover, from coming, no matter that three of my fingers were entering and exiting her at the same time as the tip of my tongue moved quickly over her clitoris.

"Seb? Can you hear me? Do you have coverage?"

"Yes, yes!" I hoped I didn't have coverage. "Although it's getting worse every time I think.”

The Spanish girl was close, I could feel it in the contractions of her entrance around my fingers. I wrapped my arms around her thighs and pulled her even closer to me, if that was even possible. I placed my right hand on the lower part of her stomach, forcing her to stay still.

"Hey, Hanna, I'm going to hang up because I think my phone is running out of battery," I lied again. Now, my only goal was to eagerly lick my new girl, not to talk to the woman I had been sharing my life with for years. "How about we talk tomorrow? I'll call you before I'm at the airport."

"Sure, Seb. Take care and don't do anything crazy, okay? And take care of Mick too, I don't want him doing anything crazy either."

I didn't give her time to say anything else because I pressed the red button at the same time as I withdrew from Y/N.

"You're a son of a bitch, Sebastian Vettel," was all the young woman said. I knew she wanted to kill me at that moment for leaving her on the edge of ecstasy.

"You know as well as I do that you'll thank me soon when I make you mine. The next time you fuck Carlos you regret it’s not me making you feel wanting to be fucked like the slut you are."

I put on the condom as quickly as I could and forced her legs to wrap around my waist.

I entered her abruptly, and now I was convinced that her scream had gone beyond the four walls surrounding us.

"Oh God, Sebastian. Don't stop, please."

"I hadn't planned on it, angel," I replied as best I could. Pleasure had invaded me too quickly, and I was quite surprised.

Why was the forbidden so tempting?

Her back arched again as my thrusts increased in both speed and depth. Her legs seemed to give way because I knew it would be difficult for her to hold out without coming after having been so close before; I kept them on my waist with one of my hands, while the other began to rub her most sensitive spot relentlessly.

"Look at me."

My voice sounded too demanding, but I didn't care.

"Look at me right now, angel," I repeated after seeing that she hadn't listened to me.

I felt her walls surrounding my penis as if her insides were on fire. Her gaze tortured me; her teeth biting her lower lip made me want to put her in a thousand more positions, to keep going with her until we both died of pleasure.

My hips increased in speed when I felt the nervousness in the lower part of my stomach. Then, I forced her to lie down more to start kissing her neck desperately, licking and sucking her nipples, making her sighs increase and forcing me to forget all worries.

Was it the same person who just a few hours ago was crawling around the corners because she had stopped being who she was a few years ago?

If having sex with Y/N would make me forget everything, I was more than condemned to madness because that was what I intended to keep doing if she allowed me.

"Seb..." the girl gasped. I felt her nails digging into my back. The pain that on another occasion would have seemed unbearable was now giving me pleasure.

I was desperate to come. I felt like I was about to explode, but I controlled myself because I didn't want the night to end so soon.

My hands went from holding her lower extremities to massaging her breasts, so big they didn't fit in my hands. I forced myself to stop giving her hickeys on her neck to lift myself up a little and enjoy the sight in front of me. My cock entered and exited Y/N constantly, more regularly even though I couldn't take it anymore; her breasts moving so irregularly because self-control was impossible, and her hand massaging her clit forcefully to come once and for all was an absolute damnation.

"Sebastian!"

I watched her squint her eyes after her shout because she wanted to see herself reach what we both had longed for that night. I followed her with a guttural sound and my semen filling the condom as my hands gripped her hips for as long as I was coming.

I stayed inside her long enough to realize that it had been real.

Meanwhile, silence had taken over. The only thing that could be heard was our breaths, agitated and synchronized with the rhythm of our chests.

I ran two of my fingers over her entrance before lying down, and without me telling her anything, she took them in her mouth, savoring herself. She did the same when she kissed me again, now lying on top of me.

"I want to keep going like this, Sebastian," she whispered, kissing me again in between. "But neither Carlos nor Hanna can find out."

"That's fine with me, angel. From now on, we're both each other's best kept secret."

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viennakarma · 2 days

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hi! oh my gosh i loved wreck my plans, fernando is just chef’s kiss because that man was sooo patient he deserved that happy ending

even if you don’t add anymore parts to that story, i just wanted to ask how you think it would be between reader and nando in the future. and if luna gets a new sibling ☺️

Hi there! Thank you so much, hun.

So, a few head canons about the life after, in wreck my plans:

- You went back to social media after a while, and the followers were surprisingly receptive to you. There, you shared small snippets of your life (nothing too personal), pics of you, of Luna, your pets and even pics of Fernando (but they didn't show his face or anything recognizable).

- You found out you were pregnant again a little bit before your 3 year anniversary with Fernando, so you decided to tell him about the baby with a cute little present (a box with a custom AM baby onesie, baby socks with the number 14 and the positive pregnancy test). You moved in together around that time (Luna also started picking up spanish because of the familiarity of living with Fernando).

- Luna took the news very well, you and Fernando were scared she wasn't going to like it, but she was very excited about a little sibling. And because of Luna, it didn't take long for her to tell her dad about it. Which resulted in a frantic call you got from your Lewis late at night asking if it was true, he went ballistic once you confirmed and before he could do anything, you hung up on him.

- Only two weeks later, a paparazzi posted pictures he took of you, Luna and Fernando walking around in his hometown. It sent the world into a frenzy. You calmed down an angry Fernando telling him it was a coincidence, but deep down you knew it wasn't. Luckily, your pregnancy wasn't showing at that time, so no one noticed.

- You sent Lewis a big rant via text, and all the screenshots of the texts the woman who he cheated on you with sent you when you were pregnant with Luna. Then you blocked him before he could reply. There was a big wave of hatred towards you when the news came out, not only on social media, but also in general media outlets.

- Only a couple of days later, Lewis was questioned about your (now public) relationship with one of his rivals. Surprisingly, he said you were a single woman and he just wanted you to be happy. He also held himself accountable and came clean about the cheating that caused your relationship to end.

- Fernando wanted to retire immediately after finding out you were pregnant, but you convinced him to think better and at least finish the current season in Formula One. When the season ended, you were around five months pregnant.

- You went to the last race of that season with Fernando, a pretty dress that clung to your body as you proudly showed the baby bump and a jacket with a big 14 on the back. That was his last race before retirement and there was a small symbolic ceremony to celebrate his career.

- Fernando and Luna got a great relationship, and she even asked him to take her karting in his track frquently. She enjoyed time with him, and Fernando always respected his role as a step father. Eventually, after her brother, Vicenzo, was born, she started calling Fernando "Papá Nano" because her brother called him "Papá". (There was a long conversation with Lewis about his opinion on the matter, and after some discussion, he said Luna could call Fernando that as long as Lewis kept being the only Dad/Daddy)

- You and Lewis manage to get a good, respectable relationship for the sake of Luna. You never found out if he was the one who leaked your relationship with Fernando (and you never cared to ask).

- You and Fernando got married in a little intimate wedding ceremony on the beach, just the closest family and friends. Vicenzo was 2 and Luna was 7 when the wedding happened. You got pregnant again by accident after the honeymoon.

IDK I JUST THINK ABOUT AN OVERALL HAPPY ENDING BECAUSE READER DESERVES IT.

#f1 fanfic #fic talk #f1 x reader #ask rae #f1 imagine #f1 fic #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader

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castorcasting · 24 hours

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Jason Todd x Vampire!Reader

Little Vamp

Note: This doesn’t follow any comic canon. :D

Warnings: Slight bit suggestive

Lately there have been more sightings of vampires around Gotham, with the rise of vampires. Vampire hunters also increased in numbers.

Jason was recently tracking down these ‘vampire hunters'’. He didn’t really believe in vampires but then again, he was brought back to life by green water so who was he to say what’s real or fake. He’s been keeping tabs on Penguin, Penguin has been hiring assassins to find vampires - since there’s an old legend that says a dead vampire's blood has properties of immortality, or whatever. All those reports led him to you. You're the most important vampire listed in Penguin's list. Jason had a few options in mind, it was to either kill you, or save you. He has no idea if you're a good or bad vamp. He'll find the answer to his question soon enough though .

It was in the dead of night, you were hunting. Silently stalking a creep in a dingy alleyway, that creep has been staring at some young drunk girl. You growled softly in disgust, you had class. You didn’t like to drink the blood of the low, you liked ‘normal’ blood; Preferably blood of non-creeps, though you can't be picky, especially since you had a decent moral. Which is to not hurt innocent people.

The guy slowly went up to the drunk girl, holding her waist and trying to sweet talk her into having a good time. The girl, despite being drunk, rejected him. The man didn’t take the rejection well, leading to him groping her. You had enough, you jumped in. Pushing the creep away with your enhanced strength, he fell to the floor, scurrying away as he's been caught. The girl ran away when it happened, but you panicked when she started darting towards the road.

Deep down, you aren’t a bad person. You have the title of a vampire, and vampires have a bad rep. You killed the guilty and saved the innocent, however all that killing has rightfully messed with your moral compass. You abandoned the creep who was your meal for the night, and ran towards the girl who was inches away from the busy road.

You ran and ran, as fast as you could. The problem was, you had super strength, and super hearing only. You didn’t have superspeed, and for some reason that drunken girl was faster than you. “Hey! Stop-..” You heaved in a deep breath. “Stop running!” Reaching your hand out to grab her, luckily you caught her by her hair. You yanked her and she came stumbling to you. The girl cried out for help and apparently god was at her side today. A red batarang came flying towards you; the whooshing sound alerted you.

You let go of the girl and dodged the batarang. Looking up you saw a guy, covered by his red hood. “Preying on innocent people? Looks like vampire stories are true.” The stranger shouted out to you. You felt your bloodlust increase as your hunger rose, a sign that you needed to feed or you might go feral. Okay maybe the stories about vampires are not far off from the real thing.

“What little vamp can’t speak?” He mocked. Jumping down from the high building he stood from, holding onto a metal pipe to slow down his descent. You watched cautiously as he approached you, you finally got a closer look of him. His muscles and his height intimidated you a bit. You backed off slowly when you heard the sound of a gun clocking. “Look, there have been sightings of you killing off criminals..I have respect but that's not the way to do things.” He lifted his arm and pointed a gun at you.

“Wait don’t!-” You shouted out, using your arms to shield your face. Jason watched you, he was having second thoughts about killing you. You didn’t seem all bad, sure you killed but it was only criminals, something which he supports. Plus he did kill as well. He lowered the gun, he was still on guard. Thinking that you could be using his emotions to play with him. He observed you through his red mask, the way your body shivered in fear and how your breathing seemed uneven. There’s no way she could be faking all that? If so she could be a damn of an actor. He thought to himself. Jason carefully walked over to you, he couldn’t see your face. He looked at you up and down, trying to find any weapons on you. Nothing, however.. the way your body looks..Jason closed his eyes and just took in a deep breath. Not the time for that now. He scolded himself.

You slowly put down your defensive stance and looked at him. He just kinda stood there, frozen in a walking stance. “Uh..? Hello?” You waved a hand to his face, he snapped out of his trance and jumped away from your hand. Jason and you stood a few distances apart, he was thinking about what to do with you now. You clearly had good strength, he was watching when you pushed the creepy dude who was twice your size away...It clicked, you could be a useful ally to have. “What’s your name, little vamp?”

You tilted your head at him, “Why do you want to know?” It was odd. A stranger wanting to know your name after threatening to kill you, there’s clearly a catch to it.

Jason pondered for a bit, he knew that Penguin is looking for you - more specifically, your blood, or DNA. whichever does not matter. If your DNA gets into the wrong hands, it’ll be a catastrophe. The world has enough clones, it doesn't need more. “You could be of use to me.” Jason said in a monotone voice, he saw how your face scrunched up. Cute..It was odd, he just met you and yet he feels an attraction to you...But anyways, Jason saw how your once confident body language became closed off. Crossing your arms and you glaring at him. He must've hit a nerve, he quickly backtracks on what he said.

“I mean like, you’re a vampire. Penguin is hunting for you..I could offer you protection and you could help me out. Fair trade?” You scoffed, your pride getting the better of you. “I don’t need a simple human to protect me from humans.” You didn’t believe him, because who would protect you? You’re a vampire, feared by humanity and will always be labeled as a threat. But then again..Your heart is aching, you want to believe that this stranger will protect you. Naive little vampire.

You’ve been used before as a weapon, a test subject, and a bait. You just want to be normal, as normal as a vampire can get. No more fighting and killing. Just a mundane life is all you ever hoped for.

Jason knew what you were feeling when you stayed silent. He may be dense when it comes to emotions but he isn’t oblivious to it. “Look vamp. I get it, you feel like you can’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either if I were you.” He slowly walked to you. Looking down at you from his looming height, Jason crouched slightly to be face to face with you. “Just trust me alright…I’ll be honest, I see a lot of myself in you, (not like that.) untrusting, prideful. And all that other bullshit, I get it.”

Your gaze softens and your breath hitches, you couldn’t help but want to trust him. Furthermore, his gaze made your face feel warm. Your head was indecisive but your heart has made the decision. “I’ll meet you in the Batburger restaurant nearby.” You tossed him a tracker that you made, it was in a bat symbol. Not for Batman, it’s for the fact you’re a vampire. You know, the myths of vampires being able to turn into bats. “I’ll find you tomorrow night.” Jason tilted his head in confusion.

“Vamp..You could just come with me right now. You know that right?” You turned around and walked away. The sway of your hips commanded his attention, he looked at you up and down once again as you spoke. “I need to hunt. I’m a little vamp after all.” Your teasing tone of voice was like music to Jason’s ears. He’s entranced by you. Supposedly all stories of vampires are true to some extent. You’re beautiful in an intimidating way, just like how vampires are described to be. The way you talk and act. He’s a goner. Jason would’ve offered himself as your meal right then and there, but he didn’t want to scare you away. So he watched you jump away on rooftops, blending into the city lights. Jason is eager to see you again. He stared at the tracker you gave him, a smirk forming behind his red mask. See you soon..Little vamp. He thought, as he went on with his night as Red Hood.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you

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idyllcy · 2 days

Text

this is a drama. i am the drama.

word count: 10.4k

WARNINGS: mentions of SA, mentions of sex trafficking, mild violence (all r kinda glossed over but still warning), Nonexplicit smut

summary: your soul drowns Tim, but he finds comfort in it.

The city of Gotham is not phased by much.

From the drug trafficking in the docks to the human trafficking happening under everyone's nose, the average citizen doesn't really care. Though, arguably, they do mind when their sleep is disturbed by the sound of racing cars— something else that isn't necessarily new in Gotham. However, there had been news that the racers were steering off into the city at night, so Tim finds himself in civilian clothes, holding up a pass to access the venue that the racers were using, stepping in past the loud noises and people screaming. Ah, he made it in time.

He's surprised to find actual racing cars— cars that look like they could be in a grand prix.

From the seats, he meets eyes with a racer. He can't tell anything, but from posture and body frame, a woman. Now that he looks at it, all the racers seem to be female-presenting. He turns down the drink offered by one of the men, striking up a conversation instead, batting his lashes at the man, hoping to seduce him in some way. He wore too much clothing to be able to do so with his body, but it was still worth a shot. He hates dressing up like this anyway.

"So, what's a goody two shoes like you doing here?" The man smiles, sliding an arm around his shoulder.

"A friend gave me his pass because I said I'd never watched a Gotham street race." He bats his lashes. (Hopefully the fake lashes Stephanie glued don't fall off. God, did he hate dressing as Caroline)

"Really? Usually we place our bets on a racer." He hums, waving a guy over, dropping a twenty in a box. "I'd recommend you vote for Spitfire, she's an oldie and usually wins."

"Who are the others?" Tim slips a twenty from the back of his phone, blinking at the other names.

The man chuckles. "Lightwing is another good contender. She's been around forever. But also, her vision is spotty from an accident last time, so she's not as popular as before."

Tim nods slowly, staring at the other two names. "Who's Moonknight and Aquastar?"

"Moonknight is making her debut tonight, but her test run streaks were pretty bad because she doesn't have as big of a team as the rest of them." The man waves his hand. "You don't need to bet on her, pretty girl." He grins toothily. "Oh, and Aquastar is a visiting racer from a nearby city. We usually have more racers, but Cardinal got suspended for going off the race tracks and breaking into Gotham two weeks ago."

Now that he thinks about it, all of the names were practically knockoffs of the vigilantes and heroes who protected the cities. Although, he's surprised the street racing had ended up this big without any of the bats shutting it down. Someone must have a hand somewhere. He just wonders if it's Hood or B. It could be neither for all he knows.

"How does one race?" Tim blinks at one car in particular. It looks too much like a batmobile for comfort.

"You'd have to talk to the racers for that."

"Ey, Chris, are you hitting on newbies again?" A woman walks up the stairs, shoving him to the side playfully, tilting her head at Tim.

"Oh, come on, Spitty. You know I only do that so I can collect profits when you win."

"Arguably," She tilts her head at Tim, pausing. "You should bet on Moonknight."

"A-ah?"

"If she wins," Spitfire smiles, "then you collect all the profits. It's only a twenty, after all."

Tim frowns.

"But there's also a tradition for newbies to bet on newbies." She laughs. "You never know. That girl's got more speed in her than Cardinal. She just refuses to tell people."

"What's the cash prize?" Tim raises a brow.

"Driver gets ten percent of the bet money on top of the two million that WE pours into the track." She pauses.

"WE pours money into this?"

"We're not sure why, but they have been for a while now. The whole race track was from them." Spitfire sighs. "It's an old story, so it's not that surprising anymore."

Tim glances at the car again, pausing. Ah. This was where Bruce tested out his batmobile by using other people. No wonder he didn't push anyone to check the driving out. If Bruce was testing out all of his vehicles here, then there was no way he'd want it to be shut down. It would explain why he handed him an access card without having him get one. Tim glances around to look for seating, and Spitfire notices.

"You wanna sit in the grandstands?" She smiles. "My treat."

"Really?" Tim puts the money into Moonknight's box. The woman was right. It's only a twenty. Worst case, he loses the money. Though, he wonders what kind of a racer would have a leading champion telling him to vote for her. "Oh, is there a reason all the racers are girl?"

"We tried co-ed racing for a while." Spitfire holds her hand out for Tim, and he takes it. "But the men would get too aggressive and lead to unnecessary accidents on the track. Our goal is to test out cars for our sponsors before they're taken onto the field."

"Is that why there's a pass to get in?"

"Yeah." She hums, pulling the door open. "Come on in."

"Spitfire, favoring a newbie?!"

"Spitfire, who do you think is going to win!"

The woman turns her head, smile on her lips. "Me, obviously."

But it proves wrong when Tim meets eyes with the same woman from the first time.

You stare into his eyes, white racing suit snug on your body, a look in your eyes he recognizes. Though, the longer you look at him, the more you seem to read him— as if his entire past were exposed in front of you at a table. There is a sort of darkness to both your eyes and hair, the stare of a thousand souls. He breaks eye contact first, waving goodbye to Spitfire as she hops back to her position, final checkups of the cars in progress as Chris asks him if he wants a drink. Tim waves him down, but he mentions a can of Zesti would be fine. Chris barely makes it back in time for the announcements.

Tim catalogs the majority of the announcements in, checking for their voice on his phone, blinking when he finds a lack of match for it. He'd ask Chris, but the man is practically leaning over on the stand, eyes glittering as the cars prepare to race. He stands up, cracking open his soda, blinking when the four racers seem to fly off, and his eyes glance at the big screen, camera flying after the cars.

Moonknight goes from second to third, and Spitfire goes from third to first. He doesn't have much faith in his twenty bucks, but he wonders if the batmobile would really be helpful in a race like this. It didn't—

Moonknight goes from third to first at the final moment, boosting past Spitfire and racing to first place as she makes it into the second lap. Tim pauses while recalling the batmobile, and he remembers the change he had made just a week ago on the car, letting it accelerate faster than the other cars. Seeing his own creation in action hits something in him, blinking as she swerves.

"Oh, I might actually lose my money today." Chris laughs. "I didn't think she'd be able to do it."

"Who is Moonknight?"

"She's a completely new racer. She's called Moonknight because he sponsor gave her a car that looks eerily like a batmobile every time. Though, her car is in light grey." Chris points. "I'll hand you the pamphlet later."

"Thank you." Tim mumbles, watching as Spitfire races neck to neck with Moonknight. Tim wonders if it's going to be a tie. Though, he did add something else to the car. Maybe Bruce told you, maybe not. If she manages to find it, she could win. Though, he's more curious to know if rocket boosters were technically allowed in a race like this. Who knows.

You grimace in the car, pressing a couple of buttons as your fingers brush over something new. You wonder if it's the self-destruction button that Batman had told you not to touch. Yet, you shrug it off, clicking it anyway, slamming back into your seat as you speed past Spitfire, breaking past the finish line, steering with one hand as you try and stop the rockets on your car, clicking on the screen, grimacing. You'd rather not call Oracle. Last time you did, she tried pulling your social security number on you, only to find a lack of one.

Your heart races in your chest as you press the button again, the rockets only growing stronger, and you groan as you type in a code you had memorized from the Batcave, successfully shutting down the systems on the car, turning it back into a regular vehicle. You don't know who invented that line of code, but god were you thankful that you memorized it. The car eventually slows, and you drift next to the other racers, parking successfully. You step out of the car, leaning on the door as it closes, the blood in your body flushing your skin.

"Moon, are you alright?" Spitfire rushes next to you, hand on your bicep.

"I'm fine." You pull the helmet from your head, meeting eyes with Tim's again. You raise a brow, and you lower your voice to Spitfire. "That girl isn't a girl."

"Drag maybe?"

"No." You mumble, turning to shield your mouth from his eyes. "Undercover cop. Either that or they're a vigilante. They used Batman's card to get in."

"Ah." She frowns. "Are we safe?"

"I'll deal with it if he throws a fit." You stretch your neck, placing your helmet onto the top of your car. "Gotta submit a report later."

"I'm not looking forward to that." Lightwing groans. "Our next race is supposed to be motorbikes."

"Ewwww." Spitfire shudders. "I hate racing those."

"I hope they don't have rocket boosters like on my car today." You shudder.

"Alright, go get your cash prize, girlie." Spitfire smacks your back to send you walking to the podium.

You step over to the makeshift stage, taking the cheque from the announcer, blowing a kiss at the phones as you stare at the blank cheque. Two million was the max, but you were told you'd get to cash out five if you could win the race. You pause, though, when the girl you were staring at earlier makes her way out of the stands and walks over. Spitfire tries stopping her, but she seems to say something that has her quiet as she steps up the podium to meet you. You tilt your head at her.

Tim opens his mouth to speak before you cut him off.

"You know." You pause to wave the announcer off, hooking your arms under her knees to rest your chin on her chest. "You're real hot as a woman, but I'm sure you'd look better as a man."

Tim flushes as you press a kiss to the crown of his head, and you set him on the podium, lips pulled into a pretty smile. Your voice lowers as you rest your chin in the valley of his tits, blinking up at him. You jut out your bottom lip as Tim swallows thickly. Your fingers lace into his hair, nails digging into his scalp gently, blinking slowly, reading his emotions, his expressions, his everything. You look entranced, and Tim almost feels bad that he's here undercover and you're staring starry-eyed over someone who doesn't exist.

"What's your name, pretty girl?" You raise a brow at her, grinning.

"Caroline." He swallows again, heart racing in his chest. You're too attractive for your own good. Maybe you were using that against him. "Caroline Hill."

"Well, Carrie," You hum, tucking his hair behind his ear. "I think you're gorgeous. Care for a drink sometime?"

"A-as much as I would like to, I'm not into w-women." He stumbles. (A bold lie. He's never had a worse panic over a woman in his life.)

"Quite a shame." You mumble. "You're so pretty too..."

You step down the stage, holding the cheque up as the girls cheer with you.

Tim should really talk to Bruce about what the batmobile was doing in a street racing event.

Though, as Tim tries to run a background check on you, he finds nothing come up. Even in the private files of the batcomputer. Even on the card that gave him access, all the fingerprints were wiped clean. He finds practically nothing, not that it gets to him, he just looks harder. He practically lives in the cave now. He doesn't remember the last day he got regular sleep. He has nothing on you.

So, he shows up at the next race as himself this time. He enters with the same card, and this time, you find him first.

"So? You related to B?" You hand him a can of unopened zesti, and he raises a brow at you. You raise a brow back at him, pointing at his card. "Card. That's a B exclusive card."

"How so?"

"Sponsor card." You smile. "Since it's light grey, that means it's my sponsor. My sponsor is B."

Tim frowns. "Who are you?"

"My question first."

"He's an aquaintance. Now my question." He opens his can, pressing the drink to his lips.

"I'm a racer." You smile.

"I meant as a person." He clicks his tongue.

"Why don't you find out?" You bat your lashes at him prettily, hand pressed to his abdomen, leaning in to blink at him devilishly. "Or are you not into women too?"

Tim's heart races in his ears, swallowing as he tries his best to match your pace. "What does the media say?"

"Lots" You grin, pressing yourself closer to him, arms wrapped around his neck, your air mixed with his, lips pulled into a dangerous smirk. "But all I hear these days is how someone keeps trying to hack my personal information."

"Yeah?" He tilts his head, placing the can to the side.

"Mhm." You hum.

Tim smiles at you, dangerously, all while his mind is a jumbled mess. You had an effect on him that he dared not to pry further into, but god were you intoxicating — bad for his brain even. He finds himself leaning closer to you, all systems going off about how this was bad for him, but he doesn't care. Not when your perfume smells tantalizing and the only thing he wants to do is kiss you sick— make out with you until you're whimpering against his lips, knees giving out under you, and brain fuzzy with only him. His eyes darken with the thoughts, a smile on his face.

You remove your arms from him, tapping his shoulder twice with an innocent smile. "Thanks for giving me the last piece."

Tim raises a brow as you peel yourself from him, his mask in your fingers, smile not so pure anymore.

There was no way.

Tim grabs it back from you as you back up, both hands in the air, and as he shoves it into somewhere you can't touch, you hop over the stands, landing on the dirt with a thud. Tim frowns in frustration as you send a wink his way, starting final check-ups for the race. It's bikes today, and Tim recognizes all of the models. A copy of his own bike is in Spitfire's hand right now. Maybe this was how Bruce figured out whether or not his bike was safe to ride after his own customizations. Jason's bike is in another rider's hands, red helmet with black— presumably Cardinal, and Dick's bike is in Lightwing's hands. You have Bruce's bike still. It checks out now.

This was the testing ground for the vigilante vehicles in Gotham.

The fact that you had figured him out so quickly only meant that you had realized faster than everyone else.

But there had to be a reason that no one part of the team saw the similarities between their vehicles and the ones that the Gotham vigilantes used. There had to be a reason that only you would be crazy enough to figure it out just based on vehicle models. Maybe he could use the status card to talk to you all for a little. Too bad you were already checking the vehicle. He should have asked earlier— strange. It's not like him to be this disoriented.

You win the race.

It's obvious. B's bike was designed with the fastest engine possible, and in a race of pure speed, it would win. No matter how much Tim tinkered with his bike, he wasn't allowed to go faster than Bruce. The man had said it was too dangerous, and Tim could see why. The Batbike was a nightmare to steer at such high speeds. Though, he does wonder where everyone on the track gets their practice. There's never a peak of sound during the day on the track, and neither was there much noise at night when you weren't racing.

Tim does not dig the idea that he has to pull his money card out, but the more competitive part of him does wonder what it would look like to have you fold for him.

"A drink?" He leans over the railing, card held up, raising a brow at you.

You wave him off, handing your helmet to someone else, clicking your tongue.

"That's not the way to ask a pretty woman out on a date, boy." You raise a brow, lips pulled upwards in a grin. "Maybe ask better next time. Some of us have black cards too."

So Tim watches as you leave with the rest of the racers, his heart racing in his chest.

It takes ten more tries for Tim to trace from someone else to you.

He blinks at the woman on the screen, and he pauses to ponder. Perhaps.

However, all of his thoughts are thrown off when a command is called from behind him by Bruce with a new case. A file is handed to him, a file with a rather unoriginal name, and it makes Tim raise a brow. Surely it was a jest.

"I assure you, they are very much real." Bruce rolls his eyes, cowl peeled off, humming with a drink pressed to his lips.

"Is this related to the serial murder of rapists going around in Gotham?" He opens the file.

"Not just Gotham." Bruce hums. "Clark did a report on the serial murder of both registered and unregistered sex offenders in Metropolis as well. It has been a trend. Despite the vigilantism, it is still very much illegal to kill someone."

"I don't see too much of a problem with killing a rapist." Tim presses his coffee to his lips, scanning through the files Bruce hands him. The target seems rather clear. The killer does not regard anyone in the way, knocking everyone out and always only killing the rapist. A maneater. The name given to the murderer was maneater, as if it were some ploy. In some cases, the victims were found with their pants unzipped and an anti-rape condom stuck on them, writhing in pain as they were almost always found dead with poison in their system.

Those who suffered more gruesome deaths... either found castrated with their genitals lying not too far away, or a hole where their heart was supposed to be, the organ missing. It reminds him almost of Heartless, but... that is not the case. This is a vigilante no different from them... just less sparing and guaranteed murder. Now, does Tim solve the case or let the vigilante free...

He does not know what possesses him to ask you of all people, but your response does not help much.

"Moonknight." Tim hums, adjusting his glasses as he puts them on. "May I pick at your brain?"

"Is this about the serial murders?" You wipe the helmet in your hand, cheque tucked safely into your wallet.

Tim nods. "Thoughts?"

"I feel like the murderer's doing us ladies a favor." You shrug. "Think about it."

"I know, but murder is a little..."

"Little hypocritical of you, you know?" You raise a brow. "Must I name your war crimes?"

"No." Tim hums. "Perhaps I should do some digging anyway."

"Wouldn't hurt to have it on file in case you do need it one day." You eye one of the newer men on the track, grinning at Spitfire as she greets him. "Hm?"

Tim's eyes trail up to Spitfire.

Similar build. His glasses indicate the same.

"It's not any of my girls." You crack open the can of soder. "I promise they're clean. B runs background checks on all of us."

Tim mulls over your words.

Scary.

Yet, he visits you anyway, money piling in his back pocket as you win round after round, small talk rolling off your lips in a sort of practiced way, smile inviting as you turn down his request to grab a drink again, humming quietly as Tim's eyes trail down to the small of your back, brow raised as he notices your shorts peeking out past your pants.

"What does it take for a date with you?"

"Maybe not being part of law enforcement." You hum. "Legal or not."

"Why? Worried I'll turn you in?"

"No..." You trail off, chewing your top lip as you turn your head at Lightwing. "Well, if you save Lightwing from some trouble, I'll consider."

"What's wrong?"

"You see the man talking to her?"

Tim raises a brow and spots another group of men not too far off. "Bingo."

You wink in her direction, and Tim hums.

"Hey big fella. Having fun so far?"

You watch as Tim tears the man apart, Lightwing leaving at one point to stand next to you.

"Really, I don't know what you see in that man."

"Not much." You purse your lips, smiling. "Something tells me he's the one."

"I'm willing to bet that he is not." She mumbles.

Yet, as Tim barely lifts a finger to piss the man off, you grin.

"Oh, he's definitely the one."

Tim runs the information, stalking down the final member of your racing team, matching the majority of information to the final member, brow raised when he realizes that Cardinal was not part of B's files either, hunting the woman down as he searches for her current location, and it makes Tim's stomach churn uncomfortably when he realizes how eerily similar the racer is to the described criminal. The person who was dubbed Cardinal had been face-matched to someone who had entered Metropolis just a little bit before the serial murders. It made Tim nauseous.

"Got any leads?"

"Might be one of the previous racers." Tim grimaces. "Of the race tracks."

"Cardinal? I assure you it is not her."

"Really? There had been rumors—"

"It is not." Bruce mumbles. "You know who Cardinal is. It is not her. They may have similar builds, but it is not her."

"Who is Cardinal?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough."

Bruce's evasion of his question does not help the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

You end up with Tim on the date, hair ruffled as he picks you up in his bike, hand held out to you as you take it, humming. It's supposed to be simple. Though, you suppose simple for a Wayne is impossible to determine. You never know what to expect from him. Though, when he pulls you to the local diner, you find it impossible to not know he's the one. It's really too simple.

"Would you tell me about Cardinal?" Tim finally asks you proper questions once the two of you finish ordering.

"Do you think she's the one?" You raise a brow.

"You said your girls are innocent."

"The ones I currently race with." You hum, reaching for the bread on the table.

"And Cardinal?"

"I don't know much about her. She didn't talk much."

"But she was aggressive, no?"

"No." You hum. "She drove into Gotham because she saw something. She also raced her own bike. No one knows who she is."

Tim connects something in his mind, and it sends him back to step one.

"Would you be able to help if I gave you the file?"

"Isn't it just what's available online?"

"One final thing. The killer in Metropolis might be the same person." Tim mumbles. "Thank you."

The food is presented before the two of you, and you stab into your pasta. "I don't think so. Did you track anyone else that entered and exited Metropolis that was a Gothamite?"

Tim shakes his head. "I find it strange."

"Perhaps magic?"

"Not impossible." Tim mumbles. "What do you do in your free time?"

"Tinker." You hum.

"With your bike?"

"No. That's B's property. I tend to tinker with smaller things. It's always fun to build a PC from scratch."

"Ah, you're quite handy with tech." Tim hums, blowing on his pasta. "Anything else?"

"I like watching detective shows." You pause to think. "And racing. I think that's about it. How 'bout you, boy wonder?"

"That's my brother." He laughs dryly.

Tim finds that it's intriguing to talk to you. You know everything that he does, and it seems you know much more than what you let him in on. Dare he say it, perhaps he's met his match.

Tim sends you home and starts patrol. Gotham had become eerily quiet since the murderer had been on the loose.

Though, he has a knack for saying things too early.

A man dies the same day, and B finds his way there with Tim, the two of them sweeping down and kicking the man down, a woman shaking as Tim shields her, holding his cape out, making sure to not look at the way her clothes are ripped up and she's shaking with an intensity unknown to him. He can feel the vibrations of her skin through his cape. The fear is easily contagious had he not known.

"B?"

"Dead. The poison spread too fast."

The woman doesn't look like she was aware.

"Did you buy the product?" Tim raises a brow, eyes scanning her face for any changes in emotion, and she shakes her head.

"I... a-a friend got me o-one on because—" She gasps, shoulders trembling still. "I-it saved her life."

"Do you know where she bought it?"

The woman shakes her head. "Th-they were giving them out on the streets a while back. It's been m-months."

"May we take one back?"

B shakes his head. "Gordon is coming. We will decide then. Oracle?"

Oracle has no intel either, and Tim wonders just how far this murderer is willing to go. If he just let them kill all the rapists in Gotham, then it would result in a number of the population as gone. If he checked them, perhaps the offenders in Gotham would assume they are protected by B — which truly could not be further from the truth.

"Where are you living? I will take you back." Tim catches a figure in the corner of his eye.

"B."

The man shakes his head.

"I-I'll be fine." She mumbles. "May I borrow a... clothes?"

B nods, and Tim hands the woman to him as he takes a good look at the man on the ground.

Familiar. He looks familiar.

The scan from his mask indicates the same. The man who had been talking to Spitfire at the tracks. It was the man who had been talking to her. Some clicks in the back of Tim's mind, his fingers pressing to the silicone, pressing the dirt and grime to the back of his glove to check for DNA.

Just the shaking woman.

"B, I need one of them." He speaks firmer this time. "There has to be some unidentified DNA on one of them."

"There are in one of the files on our computer. It was sent this afternoon." B hums. "The police are arriving. Come on."

Tim doesn't need to be told twice, yet he lingers, eyes trailing on the woman as he waits.

One of the policemen is an unregistered sex offender.

He clicks on his mask as he zooms in, a dark figure flying out of the alleyway at the man, and Tim watches as a claw digs into the man's genitals, ripping off with a sound that shakes the walls, followed by a guttural scream. The policemen shoot at the figure, but they don't react, only retreating back into the walls, seemingly unhurt by the bullets.

"Oracle, did you catch that?"

"No face was detected."

"How about figure?"

"Non-human." Oracle mumbles. "I can't identify anything."

"Tsk." Tim clicks his tongue.

"Though, it has to be a shadow ability. Perhaps something adjacent to it. They're gone, right?"

Tim hums into the mic. "Affirmative."

Tim ignores the way the shadow shapes weirdly underneath his feet.

"You can come out." He taps the corner of his mask for reinforcements, taking a step back into the moon as the shadow forms, a smile of white forming into a human.

"Can you—"

"Neither. All indications of sex are missing."

"Oh..."

Their voice is nothing short of horrifying to him.

"I caught a bird." It grins, and as Tim takes a step back, he finds that his other foot has a shadow warping around his ankle.

"Who are you?"

"We are the night." It sings. "We are the darkness..."

Tim knows what's next.

"We are... vengeance."

"That's rather cringe, don't ya think?" Tim raises a brow.

A batarang flies from behind him, and the shadows only create a hole for the weapon to fly through. The shadow splits into two people, and Tim smiles.

"Gotcha."

"Ah ah," The one on the left shakes its hand. "We were promised... freedom."

"Only where you belong." Batman shines a flashlight at the creature, and Tim watches as it retreats back into the shadows, his ankle free. "And you. Next time, just shine the flashlight."

"Are they weak?" Tim raises a brow. "Just to light?"

"It stuns." Batman nods.

"Go track the leftovers on your ankle back in the cave."

"Will do." Tim pauses before he goes. "Is it an alien?"

"No. Something worse."

Tim does NOT know what could be worse than an alien. (He lies. He does.)

The DNA tracks too many women to count. One shows up and then the next, and eventually, Tim has at least twenty women pulled up on his screen, all pronounced dead after being found used and discarded. It is horrifying. Tim may not understand just how terrifying it is to be a woman, but as he finds children, he seems to understand just how disgusting this is. Girl after girl, woman after woman, every last one of them were used and discarded bare for the world to see, photographed and made a case study out of — all who met their unfortunate end and their rapists never see the end of their life the same way they did.

It is disgusting, but something else is discovered.

He does not remember if it is something new, but it seems strange. It is not a shadow, but rather a composition of human souls forced to merge into an unrecognizable shape. It is science, not an alien, and Tim understands why it is worse. It is an unfortunate victim and not an alien. It is someone who had been forced to change into something unloveable. He wonders if the souls of the unfortunate make up the shadows.

Ah. If they are shadows...

Tim turns around as the shadows form a human again, shorter than he is, apple of its cheeks soft and gentle. A girl. It is a girl this time; not a woman.

"Are you a victim?"

It does not answer him.

"Tim? Tim, do you hear me? Red!"

"It has not attacked yet." Tim answers. "How many of you are there?"

The child does not respond, holding up one finger, and then two, and three, and eventually there are too many fingers sticking out of the hand that Tim had lost count.

"Many."

"What's the deal?"

"I matched the DNA." Tim swallows. "I won't hurt you, but please—"

The shadow dissolves, and Tim lets out a breath, staring at the faces plastered across the screen of the Batcave.

"Tim?"

"Oracle." His voice goes quiet. "They are all victims of... The computer just keeps going."

Eventually, B returns, staring at the wall of faces Tim left, finding the man in his room, glasses on as he stares at his PC, case file after case file being read, news article after news article. There is more than one soul occupying the shadows, and Tim reads one after the other of how they were murdered. Stabbed, strangled, shot, mangled, burned. None of the souls were able to escape death at the hands of their rapist. It was sickening.

"It is not a human." Tim speaks, staring at Bruce at the door. "We can not arrest it."

"Is it humanoid?"

"No. It is a shadow of vengeance."

"There has to be a way to stop it from collecting more souls."

Tim closes his eyes, brows furrowed as he sighs.

"And if I do not want to?"

"Tim."

"I know." He mumbles, exhaustion written all over his face. "How will we destroy the remaining souls?"

"How many women were identified?"

"There are currently twenty seven." Tim mumbles. "There may be even less if more of the men die."

"The vengeance of a ghost." Bruce mumbles. "Just find a way to stop the addition of souls. Surely, someone is collecting souls and adding them."

Tim finally closes his eyes when the sun starts peeking over the horizon.

"Sorry." Tim shows up to your meetup place, eyebags extra bad, and you raise a brow at him.

"Something up?"

"What would you do if someone was collecting the souls of the victims of rape and kill and turning them into a shadow of some sort to let them have vengeance on their rapist?"

"Wow, what a loaded question." You mumble.

"Thoughts?" Tim closes his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Feel free to ignore it if not—"

"I mean... it makes sense." You hum. "Is it scientifically immoral? Yes. Is it in some way morally correct? Perhaps. Their lives were taken and their souls haunt the earth because they are still held down by things they could not resolve while they were alive. Perhaps to the living, they are a monster, but to the dead? to the dead, they are a savior."

Tim pauses to think. "Should the person be punished?"

"Under the law? Sure."

"How about according to yourself?"

"No." You mumble. "If I was raped like that, I would love to ruin the life of the man who ruined mine. I heard a police officer got his dick ripped off. Is he still alive?"

"Alive." Tim nods. "Vitals are stable, but he can no longer procreate... obviously."

"Deserved, maybe. I heard he got off with only two months of jail time after the initial trial."

Tim does not answer, pausing to mull over the case.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out." You stand up, stretching your legs. "Shall we get something to eat?"

"You have food by here?"

"No, but since you brought your bike, I can take us somewhere."

"It better not be the diner from last time."

It is NOT the diner from last time

Instead, Tim finds himself seated outside of a Batburger place, thanking you as you hand him his order, clear view of the alleyway.

"This place is a little..."

"It's where a lot of drug trades happen." You hum, staring at the alleyway behind him. "Also where a lot of sex trafficking occurs."

"Ah, right." He mumbles. "Red Hood manages that, no?"

"Not as much." You bite into the burger, humming happily. "Sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting."

"I think the burgers and shake could fix me."

You raise a brow.

"As much as it can try, of course."

"Nah, I have those days too." You hum. "Did you find much on the souls?"

"I just wonder if they are decreasing after extracting revenge on their former rapist." Tim mumbles.

"I heard somewhere they started off in the fifties." You hum, continuing with your burger.

"...fifties? Where did you even hear that?"

"Rumor gets around quickest at the racetrack." You mumble. "Cardinal kept closely with the news. Apparently the figure was as large as a human at one point."

"Is twenty souls not enough to form a full grown woman?"

"Perhaps it picks a child for other reasons." You reach for a fry. "Am I being of much help, mister detective?"

"Somewhat." Tim pauses when he hears rustling behind him. "...May I?"

"Careful, they carry stun guns."

Tim nods, leaving you alone, and you click on your phone as you watch Red Robin swing in, kicking and freeing the poor girl, handing her off to the police as you stare at the two men knocked out. Tim had overestimated just one thing.

From behind, a spike of darkness pieces through the men's hearts, killing them on the spot as Tim holds a hand over the eyes of the woman.

Dead. The two men are dead.

The shadow forms behind them, three young women who look no older than the one that Tim is covering the eyes of.

"How many of you are left?"

This time, the shadow forms a 24.

The number is going down.

So, Tim reports the findings to Bruce, changing out of his suit to get back to you, nodding as he sits down and sighs.

"Sorry, stomach died."

"Nah, don't worry about it." You sip on your shake, humming. "Duty calls."

"Are you racing sometime soon?"

"I think B's trying to have us race less lately." You hum. "I won't be racing for some time. The only reason we raced so often a while back was because there were so many upgrades being implemented."

"So you have more free time?"

"Yeah." You hum. "I was thinking of traveling."

"Where to?"

Tim knows something you don't. The gentle taps of your painted nails omit some eerie sense of death, and it seems that no matter how much Tim likes you and feels fine around you, it is impossible to ignore that eerie sense of death. It reminds him of the first time he met you, stare of a thousand souls. Yet, it seems that...

"Staring?"

"You're rather pretty." He hums, pressing his napkin to his cheeks. "Is it not normal to stare a little?"

"Oh, look at you and your smooth words." You hum.

"I mean them." Tim stares at you.

You only give him a weak look.

You don't seem to believe Tim when he says you're everything.

And maybe at some point in time, Tim had realized that your words swayed him harder than they need to. He does not know when he had ended up so deep with his fingers and hands stained with a passion for you, but as it drags him under, he finds that it's fine. Maybe you were just destined for him in some way. If he would be dragged under, then he would simply find a way to clear it out. He enjoys the sensation of drowning in you. Maybe he is just weak for you.

"Do you love me?" You tilt your head, milkshake straw on your lips as Tim sorts through his files.

Tim stares at you, pushing his glasses up. "Why?"

"Curious." You hum. "You've brought me to your place, after all. Isn't this the nice little boat you got with your boyfriend? I remember the media going insane."

"Perhaps." Tim mumbles. "I brought you here to help me with the case, though. I don't think love is the right word for what we feel towards each other right now."

"Mm." You nod slowly, picking up some papers. "The number went down?"

"Yes. The two men who were killed resulted in three less entities in the shadow." Tim mumbles. "I just wonder if the number is going to increase."

"You wouldn't want it to, huh?" You hum.

"Prefferably no." Tim pauses. "Though, I suppose if the entity is acting on its own, then I can not do much to stop it. Someone is letting the souls merge into the shadows."

"If it's just cells, shouldn't it be the act of a human? That must mean they have some sort of way of accessing the victims' bodies."

"That would be the case, but a further search indicated that they were not picking up the cells, but rather just souls. I don't know when we got an upgrade to be able to locate souls, but—"

"It was probably when you tried cloning your best friend." You don't bother letting him finish the sentence.

Your statement freaks Tim out.

"H-how the hell do you know?!"

"B." You puff out your cheeks, continuing with reading the file.

B does NOT have that information open to just anyone to access.

Yet, Tim shuts his mouth, continuing with the file, taking the chance to seal your fingerprint. He runs the match while you continue checking, and he ends up in a dead end again. You do not exist in the database. Your fingerprint is not a real person. Surely there was a chance that you were not quite human either.

"Just how cautious are you?"

"Very." You hum. "My fingerprint won't show up."

"What gives you the boldness to say that?"

"A gamble." You hum. "I race for B. Surely, he would not do something as cruel as that."

"He is consistently paranoid."

"That does not matter." You click your tongue. "He could not hold me down if he tried."

Tim senses that there is a certain level of untruth to your words, but he can not say just what it is.

Three days later, four more men are found dead by the docks. Tim checks them with the police, Oracle's voice in his ear as he observes them. All three have had their hearts pierced through, a gaping hole left behind. Tim looks to the side at the shadows brewing beneath the water, and he observes that the number shown is four less than before.

"These men have to be part of an organization."

"They are." Oracle notes. "Human trafficking. These are the men who are part of a human trafficking specifically for sex workers."

"So... rapists."

"Yes."

"Did we ever get a number on them?"

"No."

Tim nods at the police as they arrive, grappling away.

Maybe he's committing a sin by letting the shadow get away with the murders. It would be impossible to hold them down, but he wonders if he should ever shine a light on them when they kill.

Back at the cave, the young girl emerges again, smiling at Tim as he raises a brow.

"What?"

"Twenty." The voice speaks, much younger this time.

"Are you all children?"

The widening of the smile indicates a yes.

"How old were you?" He holds his hand out for the shadow.

His question goes ignored, the shadow disappearing as B returns to the cave.

"The number of shadows decreased again." Tim stares at B as he undresses.

"How do you know the shadows aren't lying?"

"Here." Tim shows B the newest scan of the souls, and the number has shrunk.

"How did you scan it?"

"I do not know. We hadn't been able to scan based on soul previously."

Bruce clicks on the computer, eyes focusing on the application, taking over as Tim sits to the side. He looks further, digging into the code as he pauses and points at a line.

"Moonknight."

"The racer?"

Bruce reads the code, and Tim follows, pausing.

"She's a computer system?"

"No, but you probably scanned some system in when you ran her through the system the first time."

"Just what is she?"

"I don't ask questions, and neither does she. Just a worker."

"Alright." Tim mumbles. But the issue was you do ask questions. You ask plenty of questions and each one brings you closer than the last. He had already lost his identity to you because of your charm. Perhaps Bruce was not far off. Though, if Tim could not find you, then Bruce probably could not either.

The next time he meets up with you, you finally let him into your apartment.

"Oh, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you love me." Tim hums. "What brings you to invite me here?"

"No, I didn't feel like going out today." You shut the door behind him. "Pizza's on the counter."

"Where are the others?"

"Racing." You hum.

"I thought you said there weren't any races?"

Tim finds that you're a liar.

Somewhere down in the place he's been pulled to, he finds that there is endless amounts of darkness, something brooding behind your soul as you talk to him, smile on your face. You called him the one, but if you were the one, he wouldn't feel so turbulent. Shaking waters. The water he's been pulled under is unmoving and serene, only in the middle of the sea, making the peace eerie rather than soothing. Rather than the liquid moving, he finds that he's spinning further and further down.

"I'm not racing for the time being." You hum. "The others are racing with their own bikes."

"Do you not own one?"

You shake your head. "I prefer other forms of transportation."

Tim raises a brow but doesn't question it.

Even when the two of you are tangled under your sheets and he listens to your heartbeat, the sense of uneasiness doesn't leave. You are too perfect. Even if you were to drag him down with you, he would only know how to hold onto you and not swim. Maybe this is his end. Unless you free him, he fears he will be stuck with you forever. Drawn to the beating of your heart, Tim is stuck being in love with you for the rest of his life. If you would drag him into the depths of your world and ruin his life, then so be it. As long as neither of you cross the line, neither of you would be hurt.

"Would you like to race?"

You raise a brow at Tim.

"Once in a lifetime." He offers.

"On the track?"

"We can race during the day." He hums.

"Not a day person."

"Then at sunrise."

You pause to think about it.

"If that's what you want."

"You make it sound like it's something I want to do." Tim whispers, chin resting on your chest as it rises and falls.

"Is it not?" You run your fingers through his hair, vibrations of your voice making him purr.

When Tim wakes in the morning, Oracle sends him a news article. Ten men found dead at the docks. Ten men were killed, and Tim can only wonder how many of the shadows found peace from their deaths. Though, as your fingers scratch at his scalp again, he could worry about it later. He'd rather not stir up deep waters.

"Ten died?"

"Mhm." Tim closes his eyes, mumbling. "Ten men."

"From the same organization?"

Tim is too tired to consider how you would know all the men are from the same organization when it has not been disclosed to the public.

"You seem to know much more than you let on."

"Of course I do." You hum. "But I won't race you until you find out."

"Then give me a month." He mumbles, eyes closing as he drifts back to sleep. You're warm, and for the first time in a while, he gets some rest.

The next race Tim goes to, he notices Spitfire and Lightwing are missing.

You tilt your head at Tim from the track, waving as he waves back, lips curled upwards in a gentle smile.

He refuses to meet the truth.

There is some sense of security that lies in playing stupid, eyes closed and fingers reaching out into a void of nothingness, knowing that as long as he did not know, he would be safe. Yet, there is always the nagging in the back of his mind, uncertain about his future, uncertain about what would happen if he continued to play dumb. He knows he'll get called out for it by Steph soon, but it really... he was only a fool in love. He can not do something so terrible to his heart.

Even as you bring back the trophy and greet Tim with a thrashing kiss against his lips, breath hot against his as he tries to ignore the truth of the world beneath his feet embedded into the shadows, he knows that he can only play stupid for so long. Soon, this racetrack will become empty, and one day, you too will leave him for the world that he refuses to uncover for his own safety. He loves you, but he can only do so much when he's young and stupid.

"Can I take you back to mine?" Tim whispers, eyes begging quietly as you lick your lips, helmet in your hand as you confirm with a kiss.

The gentle rocking of Tim's place is peaceful in the Gotham waters, port comfortable as he pushes back all of his knowledge. It is a curse to be wise, yet Tim finds that there is nothing he can do when he just refuses to. He would choose you even if it meant laying what he had known before down. It pains him to know that he should not, and you would not let him, but he is foolish and young, eyes gentle as he drinks up the way you lay beneath him, the moon coating you in a lovely white as he furrows his brows to forget about it all.

Your skin is soft against Tim's hands, plush of your waist filling the spaces between his fingers as you stretch your arms above your head, eyes half-lidded as he pleases you — himself. It makes no difference. Turbulent waters have long become the place where he finds his rest, eyes half-lidded as he listens to the way you breathe, both beneath him and in the dead of the night. Life becomes slightly more bearable with you around, exhaustion no longer as suffocating as he's used to. Perhaps he loves you or such. Perhaps he does not. Most certainly, he knows he cares.

In the afterglow of sweat and skin, Tim finds that you are no different from him.

"How many of them are left?"

Tim stares outside the window, recalling the last murder in Gotham.

"They're almost gone."

"That's good."

You close your eyes, lashes brushing Tim's neck as you rest your neck over his arm.

"When will we race?"

"I told you. When you find out."

"Find what, exactly?"

You do not answer, closing your eyes and succumbing to exhaustion instead.

Ultimately, Tim knows.

He knows what he's to look for, and he knows just what you might be. It scares him that you might have lied to him for so long, the shadows and souls lurking beneath the surface of the water finally snaking around his ankle and pulling. The big screen in the Batcave is of no help either, only a single person with an obscured soul, and Tim knows deep down that it is yours. You are a victim of the same organization, an amalgamation of vengeful souls all combined together for the sole purpose of seeking vengeance.

Tim stares at the shadow forming behind him, digits dropping by the day as he reports to Bruce about just what was happening in Gotham. The moral code to prevent murder is strong, but the understanding that a few lives of a few criminals for the cost of a safer Gotham was not a world-ending trade-off. Tim understands that much, at the very least. He knows Bruce does too. In a world where neither of them have to work against human trafficking as hard as previously, Tim finds that the waters are both comforting and vicious. He can not be touched in the warmth of your skin, but others will die from the toxin that he is immune to.

So, as Tim crosses off the final ones in the list of souls, he texts to let you know that the organization has been wiped, asking you which sunrise would work best for you.

You refuse to pick a time during the day because you are afraid of being burnt.

You do not exist in the database because you are not quite human.

You exist because you are someone's hatred and memories, manifesting in the form of the shadows and risking a life you do not have in order to see what is worth living for, vehicles meaning nothing to you as you speed through the racetrack at night, only Aquastar left next to you as she too disappears into the shadows after all the guests leave. There are barely any guests now that Tim looks. Perhaps more than half of them had been tired souls, begging for some sort of help, seeking refuge in the way you would risk your life for some sort of power above the law.

You are home to the souls, regardless of whether they are alive or dead. If someone seeks death, they reach for your arms, holding their hands around your shoulders as you stare past their skin, into the depths of the darkness beyond — something Tim is terrified of touching, Yet, with the feeling of your skin memorized between his fingers, he knows why people go to you to look for something.

You are so living yet so dead.

There is comfort only you can provide.

You meet Tim at the racetrack, sitting on your bike as Tim drives in past the gates. The darkness in your soul has grown lighter. Something has changed from when he first met you. You are still so lovely in his eyes, yet it seems that you can not be together in a case like this. It is a shame. At least he gets to race you, popping off his helmet as he notices how empty the stands are compared to when you used to race. The end of your need in Gotham has arrived, and the end of your services to WE has ended as well. There will be no more of you one day in the future, and Tim knows that one day, he too will be cursed to forget everything about you.

The people are gone.

The racers are gone.

And perhaps after this race, you will be too.

You enable the speaker, fingers clicking on the screen at the podium, giving the two of you a twenty-minute warmup.

Tim wonders just how fast he can go. He watches you from the side as you warm up your bike and drive, speeding around the track with practice that can only come from muscle memory. Yet, he drives around the track and gradually speeds up, trying to get a hand on how to race around. Tim finds that he's a little rusty, making several more rounds around the track as you sit on the side, clicking on your phone and scrolling through. Tim does not know how to bring it up.

"What does the winner get?" You look up from your phone, hopping on your bike as you wait for the countdown.

"Whatever the winner wishes."

"That's quite the bet." You hum, staring up at the light as Tim gets ready.

"Of course."

You start your bike, speeding past Tim as the light shows green, Tim tight behind you as he catches up to you. You wonder and think, leaning to the side as the bike follows, letting Tim pass you as you trail behind him. Tim finishes the first lap relatively quickly, and he realizes that you've fallen back a significant amount. He's unsure whether or not to speed up, but as he finishes his second lap, he finds that you're still far behind.

You cut him from the left, successfully stopping Tim from hitting a wall.

Tim speeds up to chase after you, wondering when you had the time to cut him off.

Yet, the end is evident, your bike parked at the end after your third lap, a grin on your face as he stares at you.

The souls are gone, and you look so, so lonely.

The lights shut as the two of you sit by the podium, tablet in your hand as you kick your legs, and you finally speak up.

"I know you found out."

Tim grimaces. "...why?"

You stare at Tim, peeling back your jacket, throwing it at him as he stares at you, watching as your eyes turn pitch black, shadows forming underneath your skin and turning the entire podium dark, some sort of ancient power creeping up your hands to your forearms, darkness evident in every blink at him, lips curled up into an apologetic smile, and Tim feels the water surrounding him drain all at once. If he would not leave you, then you would leave him. You would force him out of the comfort of your waters, knowing that it would drown him one day.

"The shadow moves with you." Tim stares at you, swallowing thickly. "There is only one victim left. We both know who it is."

You stare at Tim, lips curling upwards as he remembers why your smile started looking so familiar at one point.

"You are the last." Tim picks his words carefully. "Are you a shadow?"

"No. Just a medium. I am very much alive." You smile.

"Who are you waiting to kill?"

"No one." You hum. "I am alive because I must hold onto the shadows for the next ones seeking vengeance."

"You are the source."

You ignore him.

"Are you human?"

You blink at him again, ignoring him once more. "Luckily, it seems the victims have lessened lately."

"Why had there been so many at once?"

"There was an organization." You rock on your heels, lips curled upwards. "Everyone in the organization has been wiped. No fret. They alone resulted in over fifty deaths of women after they reached the age threshold."

"The youngest was ten."

"Yes."

"And the oldest?"

"Most of them were killed once they turned 21." You hum. "Occasionally, if someone looked young enough, they would be killed later, but the majority of them were killed at 21."

"How many souls were there initially?"

"Well over a thousand." You hum.

"And only you are left."

"Yes."

"Why play savior?"

"Why not?" You grin. "I have done nothing but host the poor souls. That does not warrant for my arrest."

Tim knows there is an argument against it, but he does not think too hard.

"Next time a soul finds you, notify me. Send me an invite to your race."

"You know, Tim." You hum. "B no longer needs me."

Ah.

"Will you be gone?"

"Very much so."

"To where?"

You do not tell him.

"Write to me." He speaks again.

You shake your head.

"I can not."

"Why not?"

"Send me some flowers when you see me on the news. That is my wish."

Tim tries to not think too much about your final words to him. You left the next morning, morphed shadows in the city leaving with you, and Tim finds that soon, almost everyone forgets you had ever existed. You had come and gone, shadow of death leaving with you, but he finds that occasionally on the news, he hears word about a new racer, gender unidentifiable, face consistently hidden, only known by their speed. You have become a criminal under the law, racing between the crevices of cities, fake trophy after fake trophy taken home, death following wherever you went, sex trafficking decreasing whenever you rested at night.

Tim tries not to follow you all that much, but when you show up on camera on accident, your home is raided and you are killed on sight by the same men who had killed so many others.

It hurts Tim in the head, eyes closed as he tries his best to not think too much about your death and how you had known all this time, but it would forever haunt him. He still remembers the way the waves would rock gently underneath the moonlight when he was engulfed by you, eyes always tired but comfort always found, knowing that you would be his rest when he needed it. So, for him to see you dead on the news, he finds that perhaps he was just cursed to not be able to hold onto you — that he was destined to be stuck in place and watch as you died because you had made a minor mistake. A mistake that would not have cost his life, but cost yours instead.

Yet, he honors your promise, white chrysanthemums placed at your grave as he holds onto the umbrella, humming quietly. The rain splatters gently against the plastic, quiet drumming calming him as he stares at the carving on the grave. The media had reported this was your place of burial, though Tim did not know if it really was you. He could have only assumed off of the information given, matching your age slightly, and he wonders if there is some sort of universe out there where he would be able to just stay with you.

"Here to see her too?" A masked woman steps next to Tim.

"Yes. I promised I would send flowers once she showed up on the news."

"How lovely of you." The woman hums, placing down a blue lotus.

"Did... you know her?"

"I knew her quite well."

Tim stares down at his flowers, finally looking up at the woman.

"It's such a shame, huh? That she would die to the very organization that she had been working to take care of."

"Well, perhaps she had just understood what it meant to live when she died." You turn to Tim, pulling down your mask as you wait for it to register in his head. "What do you think, Ca—"

You don't get to finish your words before Tim wraps his arms around you with closed eyes.

"I love you too, boy wonder."

#good morning tim drake tag did you miss me? no? GOOD.#tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #timothy drake x reader #tim x reader #☾.fics #☾.suggestive #contemplated not posting this but like. 10k words r NOT about to go to waste when my queue is empty

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lixzey · 2 days

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SERENDIPITY

a/n: so sorry for the wait, but anyway, here it is! we are now at the official start of luke and maya's relationship! 💘 to everyone that helped me with this chapter, thank you! wouldn't have done this without you guys!

If you guys wanna be added to the SERENDIPITY taglist, just ask!

luke and maya masterlist

Anyway, onto the story!

word count: 8,719

CHAPTER TWO: NEWBIE

June 15th, 2016

In the depths of the night, Luke Castellan lay beside his little sister, staring outside into the darkened velvet sky. Hours had passed since he and Annabeth stepped inside the camp’s borders, but the memory of what had just happened was still fresh, flashing in his mind again and again, haunting him.

June 14th

“Luke, I’m tired,” Annabeth whined, tugging on the hem of his shirt. They had been walking for hours, unable to find a place to stay for the night without monsters finding them.

Luke sighed. Despite being tired as well, he knew stopping wouldn’t do them any good. “We’ll stop soon, I promise,” he managed to say, giving the girl a small smile. “Just hold on, okay?”

“But I’m so tired,” Annabeth whined once more. “My feet hurt from all the walking!”

Thalia stopped in her tracks, hearing the younger girl. “I’m sorry, Annie, but we have to get going or those bad monsters will catch up on us.”

Annabeth looked up at the older girl, electric blue, meeting hers. “But, I’m so tired….”

“I know we all are, kid. But stopping won’t do us any good, the monsters we faced just hours ago? They’ll find us, and we’ll be too weak to fight. Grover said we’re almost there, so we need to get going,” Thalia explained, hoping to convince the little girl to tread just a little further.

“Thalia’s right, Annabeth,” Luke said, backing up the raven-haired girl. “Come on, you can ride on my shoulders for a few hours.”

Annabeth stared at the ground, and eventually, after a few seconds, she nodded. “Okay.”

Thalia patted her on the shoulder before ruffling in the back pack she had in her arms. “Here you go,” she said, passing Annabeth their last granola bar. “Eat up; you’ll need it, kid.”

Luke smiled at the sight of Annabeth taking the granola bar from Thalia, relieved that she wouldn’t be whining again anytime soon and they could resume their journey. “Come on, let’s get going.” Luke chuckled. Despite being so drained and worn out, he picked up Annabeth and placed her up on his shoulders.

If Luke had anything he was thankful for, it was the fact that he found family regardless of the circumstances.

“No, no, no!” Annabeth screamed, snapping Luke out of his trance. “Monsters!”

Luke whips his head around almost immediately, reaching for the little girl and wrapping his arm around her, pulling the screaming child close to his chest. “Shh, Annie, it’s okay,” Luke whispered, hoping to soothe the younger girl. “I’m,” he said, taking a deep breath. “...here.”

Annabeth buried her face in her older brother’s chest, sobbing. “Thalia…” she murmured, tears absorbing into Luke’s tattered shirt.

“It’s okay, shh,” Luke whispered, rubbing circles on her back in an attempt to calm her down. “There aren’t any monsters anymore; we’re safe, you’re safe….”

Luke choked back his tears as he comforted his sister back to sleep. He was hurting too; he had lost Thalia too.

“Don’t, don’t be stupid, Thalia!”

“No time! Run!” Thalia screamed, hoping to buy Luke and Annabeth some time to get to camp unharmed. “Don’t stop until you’re inside the border!”

“But-”

“Luke, think of Annabeth! Go!”

Luke placed Annabeth on his hip, turning to run despite wanting to stay with Thalia and help fight off the monsters attacking them.

“Run!” Thalia screamed once more, her voice cracking. “Run!”

The monsters roared, ringing in Luke’s ears, not daring to look back as he knew what was going to happen.

Annabeth cried, clinging to Luke tighter. “No more, no more!”

“I-It’s okay..it’s okay, don’t worry, we’ll be safe soon,” Luke whispered, fighting back his tears as they approached the borders with Grover running closely behind.

As soon as Luke crossed the barrier, he finally looked back. He saw Thalia fighting off as much as she could when one of the cyclopes grabbed her, throwing her hard against the ground with a loud thud.

Thalia lay on the ground, gasping for air, slowly dying. Before Luke could react, there was a loud boom of thunder, scattering the monsters away from Thalia’s body.

And right before Luke’s eyes, Thalia’s body turned into a large pine tree.

“We’ll be alright,” Luke whispered to Annabeth’s now-sleeping form. “I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you ever again.”

June 16th, 2016

Maya Williams has lived a relatively normal life as a demigod.

Maya was eight when she arrived at Camp Half Blood. She had run away when she was six years old, a scared little girl who didn’t have a clue why her mother abandoned her as a baby or why her father hated her so badly. Maya had been on her own for almost two years, fighting her hardest to survive in a world not fit for a child, let alone a child of the goddess of love and beauty.

Unlike other demigods, Maya was technically safe from monsters. Her scent was significantly sweeter than that of the average child of the gods, making her—or any other child of Aphrodite, really—safe from monsters. Still, Maya wasn’t safe from the monsters of the mortal world.

Children of Aphrodite radiate beauty, some more than others. Some would think it’s a blessing, but for the children of the goddess of beauty—at least for Maya—it’s a curse more than it is a blessing. While on the run, Maya had not-so-good encounters with older men—or, as she called them, monsters.

Maya tried to avoid men as much as she could, mostly hiding behind large garbage cans or running as fast as her little legs could carry her. One time, she resorted to biting and kicking, which ended up leaving her with a large scar down her arm because the man used a pocket knife on her arm an effort to pry her teeth off of his arm.

And then Ferdinand came into the picture.

At first, Maya was skeptical. Ferdinand had the legs and horns of a goat, and that isn’t something she’s seen in her life before. And then he told her there was a safe haven for children like her. A place where she’d never get hurt again. She’d have someone—her half siblings—to guide her in the world she had no clue how to live in.

It was a splash of color in Maya’s young life, solace in a world full of terrors. She finally had a place where she belonged.

Now, Maya is four months away from being fourteen years old. The eldest out of fifteen kids residing in cabin ten, which she was made head of when the former head went off to college when she was twelve years old.

Throughout the years, Maya has learned to be the perfect child of Aphrodite. The scared little girl who arrived at camp six years ago was long gone and replaced by a beautiful, smart, strong, and independent young woman who is the epitome of perfection by camp half blood’s standards.

At nine years old, Maya understood that beauty is a weapon—for children of Aphrodite, at least. Children of the goddess of love are most known in camp for breaking hearts, as a rite of passage for a child of the goddess to prove themselves to their mother, like how her sisters and brothers had done before Maya had even arrived in the camp built for the children of the gods.

“Yeah, sorry, this isn’t working out,” Maya sighed dramatically, her French-tipped manicured hand against another one of her conquests’ cheeks.

The son of Apollo smiled, the look in his eyes saying otherwise. He’d been in a relationship with Maya for less than a week, and she’s already breaking up with him. He should’ve expected it. After all, Maya had a reputation for the last two years—breaking hearts like it’s nobody’s business. It didn’t help that she had charm speak, easily luring boys into her game.

“Can…can we still be friends, Maya?” He looked up, meeting her kaleidoscope eyes.

“Hun, I think it’s better if we don’t.” Maya looked at him with a faux apologetic look in her eyes. “It’s for the better.”

The boy sighed, giving Maya one last smile before turning away—another heart broken by the vixen of cabin ten.

“Maya, that’s the sixth one this month.” Nine-year-old Silena sighed, watching another Apollo kid walk away, devastated after trying his luck with her sister and failing. “Poor guy.”

“Not my fault he wanted me,” Maya rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she started to walk in the direction of the Big House. “I really don’t know why it’s such a big deal.”

“He’s what? Guy number fifty? Sixty? I lost count,” Silena muttered, counting on her fingers.

There were the sons of Ares—who claimed that Maya should be theirs as her mother was their father’s partner—who would woo her with their fighting skills. There were a few sons of Demeter who’d give her an assortment of flowers—from roses to sunflowers, to tulips. A lot of sons of Apollo—just like the one Maya recently dumped—tried wooing her with haikus, poems, and musical numbers—a trick their father Apollo did to win over people he liked, which never worked on her because, in her opinion, they were annoying. A few of Hephaestus’ sons would give her contraptions, like that magical hair dryer that could dry her hair in five seconds or that vanity table she had in the Aphrodite cabin, which had a lot of drawers and lights easily changed by a click of a button. And finally, some of Athena’s sons—which was funny considering they were supposed to be the logical ones yet they fell for Maya’s charm. It was terrifying how her sister could smile and boys would just fall at her feet, like idiots, despite knowing what their fate would be.

“Sixty-five, Silena, keep up.” Maya chuckled, turning to face her sister and reaching to flick her long hair back.

“You’re hopeless,” Silena said, shaking her head. “You’ve proved yourself to Mom two years ago, and you’re still at the game.”

“You have to understand that it isn’t my fault, little sister,” Maya said, eyeing a son of Ares who was sparring with his siblings. “It’s mom’s blessing’s fault.”

Silena rolled her eyes at her older sister. “You keep on blaming Mom’s blessing.”

“You’re too young to understand, darlin’,” Maya cooed, patting Silena on the cheek. “I’m going to go and ask Chiron about that fashion show,” she said, turning her heel and colliding with someone else—a boy.

“What the-!” Maya almost shrieked, trying to regain her balance. Maya looked up, emerald green meeting chocolate brown.

“Sorry.” The boy apologized, his hand on Maya’s arm.

“Let go of me!” Maya snarled, yanking her arm away. “Next time, watch where you’re going, dummy!”

The boy scowled. “No need to be rude, princess.”

Maya scowled, looking him up and down. He had dark, curly hair and a mischievous look in his chocolate brown eyes that held pain and misery at the same time, paired with a cocky smile. Maya had to admit that the boy in front of her was handsome.

“Are you done staring?” The boy teased, a smirk etched on his lips. “I’m Luke, by the way; we’re new.”

“Do I look like I care?” Maya snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I’m Silena!” Silena piped up from behind Maya, a wide smile on her pink lips. The boy—Luke—smiled at Silena, and Maya was sure she’d be hearing about him for the rest of the day. She didn’t need her sister babbling about this person.

“Luke?” A little voice asked. Maya’s eyes darted down to a little girl with striking gray eyes—a clear sign that she was an Athena kid (Maya dated a few Athena kids, so she’d know). She couldn’t be older than seven—a little younger than Maya when she first arrived.

Luke smiled at the little girl, patting her on the shoulder. “Go on, Annie, introduce yourself to our new friends.”

“I’m Annabeth, daughter of Athena,” she mumbled, shuffling her feet, not daring to make eye contact with the older girls in front of her.

Maya had a soft spot for little kids, especially those who were the same age as her when she arrived at camp. She had a feeling that little Annabeth had the same childhood as her; the same pain she had was evident in her eyes.

Maya kneeled down to Annabeth’s height. “Hi Annabeth, I’m Maya. It’s an honor meeting you, little one,” she smiled, her whole attitude just minutes ago fading—much to Luke’s surprise.

“Hi,” Annabeth said, giving Maya a tight smile.

“Wow, one minute she was rude, and the next she’s a saint,” Luke muttered, earning a glare from Maya. Gods, he’s annoying.

Maya stood up, the smile still on her lips—although this time, it’s fake. A talent she’s mastered for the past five years. “Welcome to camp! Like I said, I’m Maya, and I’m one of the camp counselors-”

“You’re a counselor?” Luke asked, cutting her off, his lips curled into a teasing smirk. “You’re the same age as me, aren’t you, princess?”

Maya glared at him, like it was the most natural thing that she was born to do. Who does he think he is? To talk to me like that. “As I was saying, I’m one of the camp counselors, being the head of cabin ten—the Aphrodite cabin. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to come to me.”

Luke flashed her a boyish grin. “Oh, I won’t.”

This guy was really pushing Maya’s buttons. Normally, someone would never speak to her unless they were from cabin ten, or she’d be the first one to initiate—which was flirting, most of the time. “All right,” Maya said through gritted teeth before turning to her sister. “I’m going to go find Chiron. My sister here would be glad to tour you guys around camp. How does that sound?”

Annabeth’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, can we, Luke? Can we?” She pleaded, tugging on Luke’s shirt, her big gray eyes pleading with him.

Luke chuckled, patting Annabeth on the head lightly. “Alright, alright, we’ll take that tour.”

“That settles it!” Maya clapped her hands, pushing Silena forward slightly, eager to get away as soon as possible. “I’ll leave you to it, sis.”

Silena rolled her eyes at her sister. At nine years old, she already has an attitude—much like Maya’s, although tamer than hers. “Alright. But you better get Chiron on the idea, Maya! Everyone’s counting on you!”

Maya grinned, tucking a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. “I know, I know, I’m on it.”

“On what?” Luke asked, genuinely curious about what the Aphrodite kids were planning.

“None of your business, newbie,” Maya said, a little harsher than she intended in the presence of a kid. Maya sighed. He’s getting on my nerves. “It’s for our cabin, a little event for us.”

“Can we join?” Little Annabeth asked, big gray eyes looking up at Maya. Gods. Who was Maya to deny a little girl who’s reminding her of her when she was a little girl—alone and scared, just wanting to be loved and to belong.

“Tell you what, kid,” Maya chuckled. “I’ll try to get the idea approved. And when Chiron does, you’ll be the first one to know. How does that sound?”

Annabeth smiled up at Maya. “Thank you,”

Maya clapped her hands. “Alright, I’ll leave you guys with the tour.” She cast a look at Luke, rolling her eyes at him, before turning to leave—finally, getting away from him.

“What’s got her panties in a twist?” Luke asked as Maya’s flaming locks faded into view.

Silena groaned, shaking her head at the thought of explaining her sister. “She’s, well, you know…”

Luke looked at her, his brow raised. “What?”

“She’s a good person, alright?” Silena sighed, starting to walk opposite of the direction her sister went.

“Doesn’t seem like it. She’s snappy,” Luke muttered, the scene of her snapping at him replaying in his head. “Is she always like that?”

“Actually, she’s the opposite,” Silena muttered. “She’s the best sister anyone could ever ask for. She always makes sure we have everything we need. But yeah, Maya has an attitude sometimes. Anyways, this is the dining area.” Silena pointed to a pavilion framed by large Greek columns overlooking the sea.

Luke scanned the pavilion in awe. He’d never seen a place so sophisticated, just as a place to eat. Luke’s eyes darted to Annabeth, whose eyes were as big as saucers as she looked around. Silena led the two inside, pausing abruptly in the middle.

“There are twelve tables corresponding to each cabin, meaning each cabin is supposed to sit at their designated tables. Athena kids with Athena kids,” Silena looked at Annabeth apologetically, who was gripping Luke’s arm, not wanting to be separated.

Luke kneeled down to Annabeth’s level, his hands holding hers. “Don’t worry, you’ll be alright with your brothers and sisters there. They’ll take care of you. And besides, I think they love architecture, like you! It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

“But you’re my brother,” Annabeth murmured. Luke sighed, his heart aching for his adoptive little sister. They were family, but Annabeth had siblings of her own that she had to at least try to get along with.

“I know, but you can have lots of brothers and sisters too, you know? Just like me and Thalia,” Luke explained gently. “And it’s not like I’m going to forget you while you’re with them. You’re my little sister; I’ll always be by your side, no matter what.”

Annabeth’s lower lip trembled, still wary of being with others and the possibility of Luke leaving her. “You promise?”

Luke chuckled, ruffling her hair. “I promise. It’s me and you against the world.”

Annabeth seemed to relax a bit, her eyes darting to the sixth table with twelve other kids already sitting at it.

Silena smiled at Annabeth. “You want me to lead you to your table?”

Annabeth shook her head, making Luke laugh at her stubbornness. “I got it, thank you.”

Luke watched as Annabeth trudged forward to the Athena table, where her siblings were waiting for her with big smiles. Annabeth so far was the youngest; judging from the smiles the older Athena kids gave her, Luke knew she was in good hands.

“Don’t worry ‘bout her; she’s going to be okay. You see that girl with blonde hair?” Silena pointed to the girl at the Athena table, welcoming Annabeth. “She’s the head of the Athena cabin; she’s going to take care of little Annabeth.”

Luke smiled, his eyes still glued to Annabeth, who was already smiling and talking to her older siblings. “She’s gonna be alright; I know she will—she’s a fighter, you know?”

“I bet she is.” Silena chuckled. “So, who’s your parent?”

Luke turned to face her, his face turning sour for a split seconf at the question. “Hermes.”

“There,” Silena pointed to a table with kids with the same mischievous look as him. “Just ‘cross ours,” Luke said, turning to table ten, across cabin eleven’s. There were very beautiful girls and very good-looking, handsome boys laughing together.

“Wow,” Luke muttered, his eyes still on the Aphrodite table.

Silena waved at her siblings. “Hey guys!”

The group of good-looking kids waved back, one of them beckoning Silena to come over.

“Did Maya get it approved?” One of the girls asked as Silena walked forward, Luke following behind.

“Not yet,” Silena answered, sitting beside a blonde boy around her age. “She’s getting it approved right now, I think. She just went to the Big House.”

“I hope it gets approved; I’ve been dying to show off my new Chanel dress!” A brunette girl squealed.

Silena laughed, absentmindedly forgetting Luke was standing behind her. “Oh, I almost forgot! Guys, this is Luke.”

Silena’s siblings turned to face Luke, and suddenly he felt his cheeks grow hot. Who wouldn’t when attractive girls were staring at you? Luke awkwardly waved at them. “Hi,”

The girls smiled at him, batting their eyelashes at him. “Hi, Luke!” They squealed, earning the looks of everyone else in the pavilion.

“Easy, guys, he’s new.” Silena laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t overwhelm him.”

“I’m okay,” Luke smiled, causing the girls—minus Silena—to squeal. Luke was sure he had popped an eardrum at how loud a girl’s squeal could be. He was glad Thalia and Annabeth never did, or he would've gone deaf earlier in his life.

Luke turned to face the eleventh table, where he was supposed to be. Cabin eleven, the cabin of his father. Luke took a deep breath before making his way to the table.

“Hi, I’m Luke.” The son of Hermes introduced himself to the oldest kid at the table, who looked around seventeen or eighteen. “Your brother, apparently.”

The older boy smiled, rising to his feet. “Welcome, newbie,” he greeted Luke, reaching out a hand for a handshake, which Luke took. “I’m Matt, head of eleven. Come on in, take a seat.”

Luke gave the older boy a nod, taking a seat beside a dark-haired boy around Silena’s age at the other end of the table.

“Hi, I’m Chris, Chris Rodriguez!” The younger boy introduced himself. “I just got here too!”

Matt chuckled, reaching for the goblet in front of him. “Chris, he got here two weeks ago.”

“I’m nine!” Chris raised up nine fingers, wiggling them in the air, making Luke laugh slightly. Chris was very different from Annabeth; he seemed like a normal kid, unlike Annabeth, who had been forced to grow up so early in her life, fighting for her life at only seven years old.

Judging from how cheery Chris was, Luke thinks he had a good childhood, perhaps a stable mother.

“Have you gotten a tour yet?” Matt asks, taking a sip from the goblet with orange fizzy liquid.

Luke shook his head. “Silena’s only brought me here, so far.”

“I’ll continue that tour for you,” Matt offered. “That is, if you’d like?”

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got nothing to do anyway.”

“Oh, there’s a lot to do around here,” Matt smiles, his eyes shining with a familiar mischief. “But of course, we have to get you settled at eleven. It’s a little bit crowded, but it’s home.”

Luke raised a brow. “Crowded?”

Matt gave him an apologetic smile. “Undetermined kids stay at our cabin. That’s why it's often crowded. But don’t worry, I think we have a sleeping bag to spare.”

Before Luke could utter a reply, a loud squeal—which Luke was starting to hate—echoed throughout the pavilion.

Luke whips his head around, only to see the girl who he was sure had called him stupid just earlier.

The girl—Luke thinks her name was Maya—ran forward to table ten, her hair dancing like fire in the wind. She had a huge grin plastered on her pretty face, her green eyes sparkling with excitement, making them shine like emeralds in the sun.

As soon as the girl was in earshot of her siblings, she started squealing again.

“Typical,” Matt says, rolling his eyes at the table next to them.

Luke keeps his attention on the fiery girl, absentmindedly smiling in her direction.

“Chiron approved the fashion show!” Maya happily announced, smiling from ear to ear. “He says we can start planning!”

Cheers erupted from the table, earning groans from some of the other campers. “I knew you could do it!” Silena beamed, mirroring her sister’s excitement.

Maya sat down beside Silena, pushing strands of her out of her face. “I always get what I want,” she chuckled, reaching for a strawberry from the plate in front of her and popping it in her mouth.

“Don’t get fooled by that pretty face,” Matt warned.

Luke turned his attention back to Matt, brow raised. “Why’s that?”

“That girl is heartless,” Matt simply answered.

Luke furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean? She looks sweet.”

“Sweet?” Matt snorts, rolling his eyes at table ten. “That girl is the devil.”

“Care to explain?” Luke asks, his gaze momentarily moving to the said devil.

“Aphrodite is known for breaking hearts,” Matt explained, glancing at the children of the goddess. “And it’s said that to prove themselves to their mother, they have to make someone fall in love with them and break that someone’s heart.”

“Break their heart?”

Matt nodded. “And that girl, Maya,” He jerked his head in her direction. “She has held the record for the most heartbreaks since she was twelve.”

“T-Twelve?” Luke choked on his own saliva. “Twelve years old?”

Everyone around the table nodded.

Luke turned to look at Maya again. She was talking to her sister when the son of Hermes noticed some boys looking at her like she was the only girl in the world.

Luke had to admit it; Maya was pretty—stunning, even. Beautiful like a rose forever in bloom, gorgeous like a summer sunset.

“I think I can handle her.”

Matt choked on his drink. “What?”

“Two can play the heartbreak game,” Luke smirked, turning to look at Maya, who coincidentally turned his way and rolled her eyes at him.

“Are you crazy?”

“Are you stupid?”

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?”

Luke turned his attention back to the table, a lopsided grin on his lips. “I can do this; don’t worry.”

Matt shook his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, brother.”

“How hard can it be?” Luke mused, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve got nothing to do anyway.”

Matt groaned, shaking his head. “It’s your funeral, man.”

"C'mon, let me prove myself,” Luke smirks at his older brother, adjusting his shirt and moving a bit too confidently to the girl with an attitude as ablaze as her hair.

“She’s gonna kill him, I know it,” Chris mutters, watching as Luke makes his way to the girl in question. “Never thought we would lose someone this early like this.”

“No, no, it's okay, Chris,” Matt replies, eyes narrowing and arms now crossed. “Guess he had to see it for himself. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson.”

As Luke reached the table, he directed his eyes to the girl with flaming hair, earning all of the members of cabin ten’s attention on him, a few girls smiling at his return, others snickering anticipating his next move.

“Hey,” Luke says coolly, only now earning a side glance from the head of their cabin, a quirk in her features suggesting he continue. Oh shit, Luke thought, mildly intimidated by the girl. “Uh, why don't you show me around?” He asked, softly smiling, trying his best to feign confidence.

Maya, now annoyed, sensing his intentions. “Didn’t Silena show you around?”

Silena shook her head beside her sister. “Only got to bring him and Annabeth here, sorry. ”

Maya sighed, tilting her head to the side. “I’ll be busy,” she said, then turned her attention to another one of her sisters—the ones who have been smiling from ear to ear at the sight of Luke. “Maybe Lou can show you around?”

“Oh, but princess,” Luke drawls, a cocky smile forming on his lips. “I want you to show me what this place is all about.”

That shows her.

“Wrong move,” Matt mutters from table eleven, shaking his head, knowing what will happen next.

Maya stood up, smiling sweetly at Luke, which was never a good sign to anyone else. He was sure her eyes changed colors in a split second. “You want me to show you around?” She asked, her voice as sickeningly sweet as honey.

Luke nodded, looking a little arrogant as he leaned forward. “What do you say, princess? Are you up for the challenge?”

Maya’s expression turned sour, and before Luke could comprehend what was happening, the daughter of Aphrodite’s fist collided with his nose, causing him to stumble back as gasps filled the pavilion.

“Never ever call me princess again, yeah?” Maya smiled sweetly at Luke, her green eyes shining mischief like dazzling emeralds. "Because, baby, I can hit so much harder than that. Got me?”

Luke groaned as he clutched his nose. Maya knew how to punch; he was sure that she had broken his nose at how hard her fist collided with his nose. But she didn’t seem bothered by the impact, as she didn’t even check her knuckles to see if they were bleeding like Luke’s nose was. The way she threatened him? It was enticing, as if her voice had power over him.

“Aren’t you just a little vixen?” Luke spluttered, blood still dripping from his nose.

Everyone around them started whispering. It was like Luke was in one of those movies he once watched as a child. He glanced at table eleven; Matt was groaning, Chris had his eyes closed shut, and the others were shaking their heads as they suppressed their laughter.

Luke faced Maya again, although he moved two steps back just in case. “Princess,” he bent his head down, slowly looking up at her, still as arrogant as ever.

“You’ve got three seconds to run before I-” Before Luke could finish hearing Maya speak, someone pulled him from behind, dragging him away.

“Are you insane?” Matt hissed, pushing Luke to sit down. “We told you not to mess with her! Look what it got you!”

“What? I made progress,” Luke grinned, wiping off the blood oozing out of his currently broken nose and making a mental note to go back to the infirmary for maybe some ambrosia or nectar.

“P-Progress?” Matt says incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief at the new member of his cabin, who was just as annoying as their father. “You call that bloody nose fucking progress!?”

“I mean, I think she likes me,”

Chris snorts from beside Matt. “I think she knocked his head hard,”

Everyone around table eleven started laughing at poor Luke’s misery, making him scowl. “What’s so funny?”He grumbles, wiping his nose once more.

“You,” one of the younger kids chuckled. “Maya did rock your world.”

Fits of laughter broke out, as if they had just played off the greatest prank of all time. Luke sighed, taking another glance at table ten.

Maya was smiling and talking to her siblings as if she hadn’t punched him just a minute ago. The audacity of this girl, Luke thought. Being pretty and all that, who does she think she is?

Matt, as if sensing his thoughts, gave Luke a pat on the shoulder. “Come on, brother, let’s get that nose of yours fixed.”

Luke gave him a small nod before rising to his feet, feeling a little light-headed but managing to walk nonetheless. The son of Hermes took one final glance at table ten before Matt pulled him out, Chris following closely behind.

As soon as the trio were out of earshot of the pavilion, Matt stopped in his tracks, causing Luke to almost trip on a rock. “Hey! What was that for?”

“First thing’s first,” Matt started, taking a look around to see if there was anyone else nearby. “Amaya Williams is never a good idea.”

“Yeah, you told me the first time.” Luke rolled his eyes, mildly getting annoyed at his older brother. “Anything else?” He asked with a sarcastic tone.

“As I was saying,” Matt continued, grabbing Luke by the shoulders. “She is the devil reincarnate. I swear to the gods, Luke, that girl is more terrifying than Zeus.”

“You’re terrified by a girl four years younger than you?” Luke snorts, raising a brow teasingly.

Matt glared at him, letting go of his shoulders. “Yes, I am; as a matter of fact, I’ve been one of her victims.”

“Wait, isn’t that illegal?”

“Yeah, well, nothing’s stopping that girl when she’s set her eye on something,” Matt sighs. “She was thirteen; I was seventeen. I know, I know, it sounds wrong, but she managed to break my heart in a week.”

“A week?” Luke chuckles, impressed by how quickly Matt got his heart broken. “Wow, that might just be a world record.”

Matt smirked, turning to walk forward. “Her record is three days.”

“Three days!?”

“Come on, lover boy, keep up,” Matt called over his shoulder, laughing slightly. “We gotta get that nose fixed!”

“Yeah, keep up, Luke!” Chris grinned, walking backwards along Matt.

Luke watches his brother’s figure slowly fade from view as he stands there, dumbfounded.

Three days. Maya Williams’ record is three goddamn days.

This is going to be harder than I thought. Luke wasn’t one to be like her, breaking hearts and all that. He was rethinking his decision; he wasn’t sure if he could handle the girl—she was a hurricane of sugar and spice, and it was enough to lure Luke into her blazing winds like an idiot. Who on earth would get into a hurricane for fun.

Sure, Matt and the others have warned him about her, but when has Luke ever listened? He’s lost count of the number of times Thalia has called him a stubborn little shit.

Luke thought back to Maya, her pretty emerald eyes, and how they sparkled with the same mischief he’s seen in his own eyes. He was sure her irises changed into blue, brown, green, and even pink, like a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors. If Luke had stared at her eyes longer, he was sure that he’d be a. hypnotized, and b. attacked for staring at her for a long period of time.

"Luke, are you coming?” Chris’ voice snaps him out of his thoughts, remembering his broken nose.

Instinctively, his fingers touch his nose. It was crooked from Maya’s punch; the blood that spilled a few minutes ago was already dry from the summer afternoon breeze. “Yeah, coming!” Luke calls back, running towards his younger brother. “Where’s Matt?”

“Matt went to the cabin, he says he’s gonna go fix a place for you so it’s ready after your nose gets fixed,” Chris explains, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Let’s go, I think Sofia’s still at the Infirmary.”

“Who?”

“Sofia, camp’s head healer. Don’t worry, she’s good! She’s healed me too, twice, I think?” Chris raised his arm up, revealing a long scar. “I got this yesterday when we were training with swords with Marco Leon.”

“You good with a sword now, Chris?” Luke asks, smiling at him as the Big House comes into view.

“I think,” Chris says, unsure. “I’m still getting the hang of it.”

“I can help you, if you’d like?”

Chris’ eyes light up at the offer. “Really?”

Luke nods, remembering the times he fought monsters with the sword he and Thalia came upon months ago. “I’ve gotten good with a sword, I guess.”

“Teach me, teach me, teach me!” Chris begs, causing Luke to chuckle.

“Of course,” Luke agrees, still chuckling. “Tomorrow, then?”

Chris smiles at his older brother, wrapping his arms around Luke, causing him to stumble back. “Thank you!”

Luke smiles back, patting the boy awkwardly on the back. He’s never had anyone else hug him like this other than Annabeth. For a moment, Luke thought about his little sister. Would she be jealous that he has another sibling? It was nice to have someone rely on him as an older figure. He felt that for the first time, when he and Thalia first found Annabeth, Luke felt responsible for the first time in his life—he had a family, one he didn’t have growing up.

“You’re welcome, kid,” Luke chuckles as Chris pulls away. “Now come on, let’s get my nose fixed.”

The two stepped inside the Big House, Chris leading Luke to the infirmary.

As soon as the duo entered, Luke was engulfed with the smell of freshly baked cookies. It must be the ambrosia. There were cabinets—a lot of them—lining the walls; they were filled with jars of nectar and cubes of ambrosia wrapped individually and sitting in baskets. There were also tables with medical equipment—like bandages, gauze, antiseptics, and more. Luke wondered why he and Annabeth hadn’t noticed the contents of the room earlier; maybe they were just too tired to even notice.

“I see you have a broken nose.” A voice spoke, startling Luke. The girl looked around Matt’s age; she had short blonde hair with pink ends and was wearing scrubs. She reminded Luke of the nurse in the show Thalia showed him once. “Hi, I’m Sofia.” she smiled, reaching out a hand for him to shake.

“Luke,” Luke smiles back, taking her hand. Sofia seemed kind; that was good. Luke had a fear of nurses before; when he was in kindergarten, he needed a flu shot, and the nurse who gave him the vaccine was not very nice.

“Let me guess, a certain Aphrodite kid?” Sofia asked, pulling her hand away with a knowing smile.

“How’d you know?”

“Well, with the number of kids I had to fix up in the past two years, I’d say I know who the culprit is. A pretty little devil, she is.”

Chris sat down on one of the beds, his feet swaying back and forth. “Maya punched him super hard, and it’s his first day,”

“And on your first day?” Sofia chuckles, making her way towards one of the cabinets, grabbing a basket full of ambrosia and a few jars of nectar. She placed them on one of the tables; maybe it was a refill of stocks, but Luke wasn’t sure. “You’ve got guts, huh?”

“You could say that,” Luke laughed sheepishly. “I just tried to be friends with her.”

“Yeah, right,” Sofia laughs, not believing Luke in the slightest. “Sit beside Chris, I’ll clean that blood off,” she says, jerking her head in Chris’ direction.

Luke nods, making his way to sit beside his brother as he watches Sofia get some cotton balls and alcohol from the tables around the room.

“Here, eat this,” Sofia gave him half a square of ambrosia. It smelled like the cookies his mother used to bake—the good ones that weren’t burned to a crisp. Luke muttered a quick thank you before taking a bite.

Sofia poured alcohol onto the cotton ball. "Okay, so what did you do to earn a broken nose?”

“He tried flirting with Maya,” Chris answers with a grin. “We tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“You should’ve listened,” Sofia hummed, cleaning the blood off Luke's skin. “That girl? She’s a feisty one.”

“Yeah, a real spitfire.” Luke snorts, shaking his head slightly. His thoughts went back to the girl in question, her voice as sweet as honey replaying in his head. Luke wondered if every child of Aphrodite was like her, with a voice so enticing.

“There,” Sofia says, putting the used cotton ball to the side. “All clean! Just finish up the ambrosia, and you’ll be good, unless you get acquainted with Maya’s fist again.”

Probably will. “I won’t, thanks.” Luke hopped off the table, Chris following suit.

“Thanks, Sofia!” Chris waves before getting out the door with Luke.

“Don’t get into trouble!” Luke hears Sofia call out, making him chuckle. Trouble, what a strange concept for a runaway son of Hermes.

“Come on, let’s go to our cabin. I bet Matt’s already got you somewhere to sleep.”

“Why is everything so far apart?” Luke mutters as the two walk out of the Big House.

“Dunno,” Chris shrugs. “I think everyone’s just gotten used to it.”

“You’re used to it?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, but I try to. I mean, I’m not gonna get anywhere if I don’t walk.”

“Fair point,”

The two continued to walk, passing by the volleyball pit with high school age kids playing a heated match and then the canoe lake, where a few kids were chatting and others were paddling on boats.

Finally, they arrived at the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. Each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), and they looked absolutely nothing like Luke expected.

Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight that it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a common area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops. In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined fire pit.

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old camp cabin, with an emphasis on Old. The threshold was worn down, and the brown paint was peeling. Over the doorway was a caduceus. Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls—way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over the floor. Luke thought Hermes was the god of money, and he can’t even afford a bigger cabin?

“Luke, over here! ” Luke heard Matt’s voice calling him over. He made his way towards Matt while Chris sped off to some of the other campers who were all hunched over something Luke thought to be interesting to a nine-year-old.

“I got you a sleeping bag.” Matt jerked his head towards the sleeping bag on the floor. “And some toiletries from the camp store. Grover brought over your things too.”

“Thanks, Matt,”

“No problem.” Matt smiles, giving him a pat on the arm.

Luke took a look around the worn-out cabin. All the campers were younger than him, even the ones during lunch were significantly younger too. He wonders how on earth Matt managed to look after a cabin full of kids. Since with Thalia and Annabeth, Luke was on the verge of pulling his own hair out.

“Hey, Luke?”

“Yeah?” Luke hums, his attention going back to Matt.

“I’m going off to college by the end of August,”

“Oh,” Luke murmured, wondering why he’s telling him that he’s going to college in two months. “Good for you.”

“You’re the oldest, after me,” Matt explains. “I think you’d be a great head counselor for eleven.”

“Me?” Luke asks, confused as to why Matt thinks he’d be a great counselor.

“Yeah, you’re the best candidate, since you’re fourteen and quite responsible.”

Luke sighs, shaking his head. “I’m honored, Matt, really, but I don’t think I can handle it.”

“Of course, you can! You’ve taken care of a kid before, right? Annabeth? It’ll be fine, trust me. And besides, you’ll get my bunk!”

Luke raises a brow at him. “That’s comforting, how?”

“Come on, it’s a good deal. I mean, you get a comfy bed.” Matt pushed, hoping Luke would agree.

“Again, how?”

“You’d have a few benefits, like staying out late, chaperoning trips to Olympus, and giving out orders and punishments.”

Luke thought about it. Staying out late did sound nice, especially when he wanted to get some time alone. Chaperoning seems a little overwhelming, but giving out orders and punishments is tempting. “Alright, I agree.”

Matt clapped his hands together. “Great! I’ll tell Chiron by the end of next month. But you’ve got to keep it a secret, alright? We don’t need people getting mad about the decision.”

“My lips are sealed,” Luke chuckles, running a finger over his lips, as if he were zipping them.

“Now, come on, let’s get you toured!”

Luke stumbles into the dining pavilion with Matt and Chris, laughing heartily. The boys, sweaty and hungry, made their way to their table for dinner—barbeque brisket and mac and cheese, which made Luke’s stomach grumble at the smell alone.

“I’m starving!” Chris says, plopping onto one of the seats of eleven. “I think I can eat a whole bowl of food!”

Luke sat beside him, grinning from ear to ear. “Me too; I think I could eat a whole pegasus,” he laughs, reaching for a grape from the bowl in the middle of their table as he takes a look around the pavilion in search of Annabeth.

He spots Annabeth, smiling happily at one of her sisters, as she explains something—about architecture, Luke assumed, since Annabeth babbles about it most of the time—to her. Luke waves at his little sister, who beams at him and waves back before turning back to face her sister.

Luke's gaze then fell on the table right across his, flaming red hair settling into his view. Maya had her hair done in some sort of braid, Luke didn’t know what it was called, but it was pretty. It made her look like a Greek princess—duh—as she talked to one of her brothers, a strawberry blush on her cheeks and lips matching her locks.

“You’re staring at her,” Matt whispers in his ear with a chuckle. “Careful, you don’t want another broken nose.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Luke scowls at his brother, rolling his eyes. “I was thinking of how to make her fall in love with me.”

“Tough luck, kid!” Matt laughs, shaking his head. “She’s a hard one; as I’ve told you, she’s the–”

“I know, she’s the devil reincarnate, you’ve been telling me the whole day.”

Matt sighs, taking a sip of his drink. “So, stop trying your luck, it’s not worth any of the trouble.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to admit that it’s fun.” Luke chuckles, reaching for the goblet in front of him. “What do I do again with this?”

“Ask it for whatever you want to drink, non-alcoholic, of course,” Matt answers before chugging his own drink. “Like so, raspberry lemonade.”

Luke watches as the cup fills on its own with pink liquid. “Woah,” he mumbles, before turning to his own. “Cherry coke.” The goblet in his hands filled as quickly as Matt’s did, fizzy dark liquid right in front of his eyes. “So cool!”

Luke wonders what Annabeth asked for in the goblet. His little sister never liked fizzy drinks; she says it makes her tummy feel funny. Maybe she went for a lemonade, like Matt, or an orange or pineapple juice because of its benefits, as she’s told him and Thalia so many times to even count. Thalia would prefer a crisp root beer. No more questions with that; Luke’s learned that the hard way.

Luke’s eyes landed again on Maya, making him wonder what her favorite drink is too. Maybe strawberry soda? Or maybe she doesn’t like soda? Maybe she prefers juice, like Annabeth does. Whatever she preferred, Luke was sure it was delicious, like his cherry coke.

“You coming to the bonfire later or are you heading straight to bed?” Chris asks through bites of food, sounding a little unintelligible, but Luke manages to understand.

“What do you guys even do at bonfires?”

"Well, for starters, we sing,” Matt chuckles. “But usually, the Aphrodite kids request songs that are, in my opinion, better than what we got used to singing. Down by the Aegean? Hell no, Uptown Girl is better.”

“I heard Chiron’s going to announce whether we have Capture the Flag next week.” One of the campers in table eleven piped up.

“Capture the flag?”

“It’s a camp tradition, kind of like War Games,” Matt answers, seeming a little excited. “It’s a weekly game, although it’s been canceled for the last two weeks because of a flu outbreak. It’s where two teams are given a flag each to protect. To win, one team must capture the opponent’s flag and bring it over the creek, which is the border.”

“Sounds fun,” Luke comments. “Which team are we on?”

“Blue,” Matt grumbles, turning to look at the Ares table. “With cabins six and seven.”

“Athena and Apollo, right?”

“Yeah,” Matt nods, sighing softly. “The losing team.”

“Red always wins,” Chris says, a frown making its way onto his lips. “Ares, Aphrodite, Demeter, Dionysus, and Hephaestus. Matt says it’s been years since Blue won a match.”

“Aphrodite plays in the games?” Luke snorts. “Aren’t they supposed to be prissy princes and princesses?”

“Wish they were,”

Luke turned to look back at table ten. Maya was sitting on the table, legs crossed over each other, as she laughed with a boy around their age. Luke was sure that the boy wasn’t her sibling—judging by the way he looked at her, that weasel of a boy had intentions. Luke wasn’t that worried, since Maya looked like she knew what she was doing. Another notch on her belt, perhaps, that boy.

All of a sudden, an idea came into Luke’s mind. The son of Hermes stood up from his seat, fixing his shirt (as if that would help) and messing his hair up slightly.

“Where are you going?” Matt asks, eyes narrowed at Luke. “Don’t you think about it, Luke,” he warned, despite knowing that Luke would.

“Watch me get the girl,” Luke smirks at his brother, before sauntering over to the table right across eleven’s.

Matt groaned, shaking his head. “Why must you give me stubborn siblings, Dad?” He mutters, running a hand over his face in frustration.

As soon as Luke arrives at table ten, he smiles at the daughters of Aphrodite before slinging his arm over Maya’s shoulder—who didn’t seem to notice his presence until now.

The head counselor of cabin ten glares at him, but before she could utter a word, Luke turned his attention to the confused boy in front of them. “Hey man, what are you doing talking to my girl?” Luke asks, raising a brow at the boy standing just a few inches away.

Maya scoffs, pushing Luke’s arm off of her. “I am not-”

“You can go now,” Luke tells the boy, waving his hand and dismissing him like a servant he’s seen in shows before. The boy glares at Luke before making his way back to his own table, which was Hephaestus’.

“You son of a bitch!” Maya hisses, pushing him away from her. Her eyes turned an angry shade of black, and she glared at him intensely. “Do you have any fucking idea who you’re messing with!?”

“My, my, princess, such vulgar language,” Luke grins, leaning forward, leaving little over an inch of space between him and the devil.

“Let's not repeat lunch, shall we?” Maya says through gritted teeth, her eyes shifting back to emerald green as she takes three steps away from Luke.

"Oh, but princess, I don't think you'd want to hit me with Chiron around, do you?” Luke smirks, leaning against the table slightly, looking a little arrogant for Maya’s liking.

“You think I won’t, newbie?”

“I think,” Luke starts, rubbing his chin dramatically, like he’s seen Thalia do before when they acted out shows for Annabeth. “You’re pretty hot when you’re mad.”

“You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?” Maya scowls at Luke, folding her arms over her chest.

“What? I’m just trying to be nice, princess.”

“I swear to the gods, if you call me that one more time, newbie,”

“You’ll what?” Luke taunts, taking a step forward, a smirk on his annoying face.

“You’re fucking asking for it.” Maya growls, grabbing his arm and twisting it over his back with a hard thrust. Everyone was looking at them, and it got Luke wondering why anyone hasn’t stopped her yet.

“Ouch, woman! Violence is never the answer!” Luke struggled in her grasp; for a girl, the son of Hermes had to admit that she was strong—stronger than Thalia, perhaps? Maybe Luke could beat the daughter of Aphrodite in a sword fight, though.

Maya let go of his arm, pushing him slightly away. “That should teach you,” she smiled, that sickeningly sweet smile of hers that was beginning to grow on him. The head of cabin ten turned around, making her way back to her seat, her long hair dancing like flames in the evening light.

“Damn, princess, you’re making this harder for me than it is for you,” Luke smirks, shaking his arm to make sure he can still move it after Maya’s attempt to break it.

Maya stopped in her tracks, just barely an inch from her seat beside Silena, and before Luke Castellan could avoid it, Amaya Williams charged at him, her fist colliding with his face, again.

taglist: @lilmaymayy @mxtokko @ma1dita @jennapancake @sc4rl3ttdafoxx

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ohblimeygeorge · 3 days

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I saw an anon ask to @russilton about pregnant George learning to crochet and this just instantly came to me and I had to get it down.

I’ve never written gewis before so this was fun!

✨✨✨

George is nothing if not an over thinker. Lewis knows that much.

So it’s not a total surprise to find an empty spot next to him in bed at 2:36am.

George does this sometimes, when his mind is working overtime and he has so many thoughts going through his brain that he finds himself getting restless and feeling smothered by the rumpled bedsheets and another warm body snoring next to him, so takes himself off to make a cuppa in the kitchen where he can take a moment to breathe and focus his mind into the night sky past the kitchen window and on the life still bustling about below. He’ll spend half an hour or so there before feeling calmer and able to slip back in beside Lewis, no longer feeling overwhelmed and instead snuggling back under Lewis’ arm to cuddle in close. Lewis panicked the first few times it happened, demanding to know what was wrong and wanting to help but now he realises that sometimes George just needs that space and he’ll come back when he’s ready.

So he dozes off again, fully expecting the next time he wakes to find his missing boyfriend back where belongs.

It’s 4:24am and George is still missing.

This starts setting alarms bells ringing in Lewis’ head because this is unusual. It’s been almost 2 hours and he’s still not come back. Lewis knows George has been doing his disappearing act a little more lately, knows the kind of thoughts he’s having and knows now more than ever George has been feeling especially claustrophobic when he gets like this.. but Lewis can’t help but worry. Even if George waves him off to go back to bed, he needs to find him.

So he shoves his slippers on and stumbles into the kitchen, expecting to find him there sipping on his camomile tea, sleep creases on his face, hair wild. But he’s not.

He checks the living room - not there. Bathroom? George has been known to spend quite a bit of time in there as of late so it’s not unreasonable Lewis thinks. Not in there either.

Then he realises there’s only one room really left to check.

Walking back down the hall, he notices the door slightly ajar so knows he’s right. Pushing it open more, he’s immediately hit with the soft glow of the lamp on the dresser and the comfy armchair in the corner is filled with George’s lanky limbs and rounded belly. And he’s - knitting?

“George?”

Jumping at the voice, George looks up and freezes mid stitch, cheeks blushing red at being caught. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Lewis replies dumbly, moving into the room and leaning up against the changing table. “You’ve been gone ages.”

“Oh, sorry..” George apologises, just now spotting what the time is by the clock on the dresser, “lost track of time.”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“Ok… why are you knitting at four in the morning?”

With an exasperated sigh, George lays his craft on his belly, “it’s not knitting, Lew, I’ve told you, it’s crochet.” He explains, as if Lewis is the dumbest guy ever to not know the difference no matter how many times George has told him now, “and I just thought I should carry on making some cute things for her.”

After not being allowed to race anymore, George had to find something else to occupy his time. Lewis genuinely thought he’d just stay at the pit wall or hang around the garage, not being able to stay away but no. He went into full on nesting mode and decided he wanted to learn a new hobby that would benefit the baby so crochet it was. He was actually pretty good - although Lewis knew George was great at anything he put his mind to - and had already made a few hats and a blanket for her and made Lewis a scarf which he wore at the very next race, showing off George’s accomplishments.

“Right…” Lewis is still confused at the explanation but thinks there’s a little something more to it. “And you thought this time of morning was the ideal time to start?”

“Mhm.”

Lewis watches him for a moment, his concentration fixed as he methodically follows the YouTube tutorial which he’s only just now noticed George has up on his phone perched on the arm. It’s suppose to be a cardigan apparently, looks like it’ll turn out super cute with the colour matching the already made blanket and Lewis would be lying if he said he couldn’t imagine how adorable their daughter would look in it. But so far George had only made the back and half an arm so there was still some way to go. He’s impressed with how good it looks already. He watches him a little while longer, noting the characteristic crease between his brows and knows he’s trying his hardest to quiet his brain. Bending down to be level with him and earning a quiet snort from George as his knees creak with the effort, Lewis places his hand on George’s knee, gaining his full attention once more. “Babe, talk to me.”

He doesn’t expect it, but George suddenly tears up and it’s like once he’s started, he can’t stop. Startled, Lewis pauses his video for him and gently takes the half made cardigan and crochet hooks out of George’s hands and places it down on the floor carefully before pulling him in for a hug. He lets George cry it out before he feels ready to talk, running a soothing hand up and down his back, letting his nails lightly scratch at the same time the way he knows George likes. It’s a little awkward of an angle especially with the bump but Lewis doesn’t care. “Talk to me.” He repeats softly.

Letting out a choked breath as he stems his tears, George sits back and places his hands around his bump protectively, rubbing his thumbs on the skin where he can feel her wiggling about. “I just.. I just want things to go right.”

“What do you mean?” Lewis asks

“Well, like, what if something goes wrong with the birth? What if I do something wrong and it hurts her? I haven’t even packed a bag yet and there’s only a few weeks left to go and there’s so much to do in here still! And what if when she is here we don’t know what to do with her? Like how will we know what her cries mean? Or what time to put her to bed and wake her up? How will we know when to start helping her to roll over or crawl or walk? Or what if she doesn’t like us? Doesn’t like me?” He finished his ramble with a big stuttering inhale, blue eyes wide and watery.

Lewis knew George was a pretty emotional person anyway but pregnancy hormones had amplified that. So he knew not to react unkindly despite how silly some of the things he was worried over sounded. “George, babe, listen to me okay? You have nothing to be worried about. The bag thing, we’ll sort tomorrow yeah? Get it sorted, no problem. The room can wait because she’ll be sleeping in with us for at least the next 6 months anyway.” He soothed, “You won’t do anything to hurt her because I know you would do anything to make sure she’s safe. And no parent knows what they’re doing first time round yeah? It’s all learning and trial and error and learning what works for us as a family. And things like walking, we really don’t need to worry about that just yet.” He chuckled, “and of course she’ll like you. She’ll adore you. Just like I do.”

George just gave a pathetic little sniffle as he listened to what his boyfriend had to say. “I’m sorry for being so stupid.” He mumbled, looking down at his hands still rubbing patterns on his skin.

Lewis looked personally offended at that and placed his hands on George’s cheeks getting him to focus fully on him. “Don’t ever apologise for being worried ok? And you are not stupid. This whole becoming a parent thing is really scary for me too, so I’m right there with you but all we need to focus on is not things going right but just doing this together and loving her. That’s all we can do and the rest will follow, yeah?”

George nodded as best he could with his face being held in the protective grip of Lewis.

Feeling satisfied that he understood, Lewis let go and bent down to pick up the forgotten item on the floor. “Now, why don’t you carry on with this for a bit longer? Then we can come back to bed and get some sleep.” Lewis suggested, handing back the little pink half-cardigan.

“We?” George asked, confused, “Lew, it’s okay, you can go back to bed. It’ll be boring just watching me.”

“Nah, I want to.” Lewis answered, sitting back on the floor to lean his back against the dresser and getting comfy. “Besides, I can watch you and maybe pick up a few tips and then we can make a whole wardrobe for her!”

George just let out a snort as he saw Lewis’ cheeky smirk, settling himself to get cosy in the chair again before pressing play on his phone to resume the video.

After half an hour of comfortable, peaceful silence, both men were asleep, letting out soft snores in their soon-to-be daughter’s room.

#gewis #my brain decided to work and I just went with it #everybody say thank you brain #just a lil drabbly thing #lemme know what you think!!#f1 fics #gr63 #lh44

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seaglassdinosaur · 1 year

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Ron said there was a sixty second window of suggestibility, yes?

That’s the exact amount of time it takes for Reagan to read the script and give her heartfelt emotional speech about how much she loves him.

Who’s to say that second part doesn’t stick with him same as the Martin Higgins identity?

#Reagan/Ron shippers this is how we can still win #I’m thinking end of season three or through season four we introduce the idea that someone is kinda. looking into Reagan.#and Reagan - she’s got her team life is how it is at Cognito #but this new implied threat - it’s weird because they don’t actually exist? it’s hard to track them down #it’s like they’ve done this paranoid conspiracy work before #it’s Ron we all know it’s Ron - but he’s Martin now #that’s who he is but he just has the faintest echos of memories bc of what he heard Reagan say #and it wasn’t a big deal but it’s like a little lapse of memory. a lyric you can’t place to a song.#Martin wasn’t gonna care or think of it much but then he sees Reagan… maybe on the news? something?#and he goes ‘oh. that’s her. she’s the person.’#what happens next? for the sake of his arc I think he and Reagan talk. and she tells him just enough.#she explains ‘you worked somewhere like here. and you weren’t happy. you wanted to leave #I cared - care - about you and so I helped you set up a new life.’#and through this Martin recognizes he wouldn’t be happy going back. and he wouldn’t be happy as Ron again. He has what he came for #he knows who Reagan is and he sees her as a good person to leave the world to.#and he doesn’t need much more than that.#it’s probably bittersweet parting. Reagan probably asks him if he sleeps well at night (he does)#and they part ways #the other ending is where he and regan start dating again - he’s just a normal dude boyfriend but #I don’t think that fits his arc #look. look. I just want a little more Ron content: Please.#that’s it the end #inside job #inside job netflix #my post #reagan ridley #ron staedtler

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.”

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?”

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care.

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack.

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head.

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-”

“Classified?” You finish for her.

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...”

The less there is to make you a target.

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time.

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.”

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.

That, and the excuse for violence.

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together.

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face.

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.”

You look nervous.

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega.

His omega.

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.

He doesn’t even want to think about that.

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand.

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.”

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit.

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?”

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.”

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.”

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks.

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.”

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.”

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says.

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.”

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

He hasn’t failed her yet.

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.

One more to go.

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.

He’s going to be a problem.

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.

“Coming, Si?”

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared.

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack?

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door.

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no.

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.”

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.

You can hold power over them.

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell.

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already.

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in.

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.”

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You lived on base?” He asks.

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.”

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it.

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say.

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.”

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.”

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks.

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.”

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks.

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.”

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks.

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails.

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.

He’s going to be a problem.

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either.

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.”

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell?

What if they don’t like the way you smell?

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you.

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.”

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully.

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen.

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.

“Ready?”

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you.

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.

He’s testing you.

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting.

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached.

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place.

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?”

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.”

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them.

They could if they wanted to.

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you.

“You hungry, pup?”

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.

Pup. Price called you Pup.

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again.

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.”

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear.

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing.

He’s proving his ability as a provider.

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can.

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you.

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult.

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #a/b/o

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forhappysake · 3 months

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We're Okay

A/N - Guys idk where this came from. I guess I'm just feeling emotional and inspired.

Content - After JJ admits her decade-long love for Spencer, you and your boyfriend have to have a conversation to calm both of your doubts and fears.

Warnings: spencer reid x fem!reader, season 14 spoilers, anxiety, mentions of typical BAU-level crime stuff, fluff at the end

You walked in the door slowly, cautionary even; afraid the smallest noise would bring reality crashing down on you. The car ride home had been completely silent, as neither of you bothered to turn on the radio. Spencer shuffled in behind you, the click of the lock making you wince as you did your best to avoid his gaze. You stripped off your coat, throwing it over the couch before walking straight into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind you.

As you started the shower and stripped off your clothes, the evening’s events rushed back into your mind. Being involved in a hostage situation with an unstable unsub was one thing. JJ being held at gunpoint was worse. However, as if all that wasn’t enough, JJ admitting her decade-long hidden love for Spencer was the final nail in the coffin. As you climbed into the shower, you did your best to let the water wash away the thoughts running through your head.

Unfortunately, your attempt was unsuccessful. As you dried off and wrapped yourself in a towel, your mind raced. You’d been dating Spencer for nearly a year and a half. The two of you had just recently moved in together. Having known him and JJ for at least half a decade, you knew they were close, but you never would have guessed this was coming. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way she did. If so, what did this mean for your relationship?

After stalling in the bathroom for so long that goosebumps dotted your freshly dried body, you mustered up the courage to slip out of the bathroom and into the bedroom that you shared with Spencer. As you walked across the hallway, you could see his silhouette sitting on the living room couch, head bent forward. You couldn’t tell if he was reading or in deep thought, but you decided that either option was better than the alternative: trying to have a conversation.

You snuck into the bedroom, gently turning on the bedroom light and letting your eyes adjust to the warm glow of your room. You meandered to the closet, pulling out a simple t-shirt and shorts to sleep in. Slipping into your pajamas and stealing a glance at yourself in the vanity mirror, you noticed one of the many images covering the tabletop.

A framed photograph from less than a year ago of JJ, Will, Spencer, and yourself with the boys on a weekend hiking trip. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest and wondered if Will had any idea what was going on in JJ’s head. You shook the thought away, reminding yourself that you had bigger problems of your own to deal with. You turned back to the bed, sliding under the covers and turning off the light. Despite your distress, you were exhausted and you found yourself losing track of time and drifting off to sleep in mere minutes.

* * *

You awoke to the sound of the bedroom door latching shut. You rolled over, blinking your eyes open in an attempt to sneak a peak at your bedside alarm clock. You’d already been asleep for three hours and Spencer was just now coming to bed. It was well after midnight, and you knew that meant he had been up thinking about something. You figured it would be best not to push the subject after everything that had happened.

With your eyes shut, you waited to feel the familiar sensation of Spencer climbing into bed. Instead, you felt his weight at the foot of the bed, as if he had perched himself on the end. You tried not to think much of this and did your best to fake sleep. However, it soon became apparent that Spencer was on to you.

“I know you’re awake,” he said gently. His voice was gruff from the hours he’d spent in silence. Spencer waited before speaking again, “I think we should talk about what happened.”

There it is, you thought. Your stomach sank as your eyes fluttered open. You rolled over to face him, leaning up on your arms. It was then you noticed that he was still in his suit. His unkempt hair fell over his eyes and you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the disheveled man in front of you. “Alright,” you relented, still refusing to meet his eyes, “what do you want to talk about?”

Spencer rolled his neck, tension evident in his movements. “I want to know how you feel about what was said earlier,” he said. For the first time in hours, you met his eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. You found no signs of dishonesty, so you fell back on the bed, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you groaned. “I definitely was surprised. I definitely wasn’t thrilled.” Spencer nodded, moving some hair away from his eyes as you spoke. “But,” you started again, “it’s not like we can go back and change it now.”

He reached an arm out, putting a hand over the covers on top of your knee. “I know,” he whispered, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You scoffed a bit at his sincerity and his innocence, meeting his eyes once more. “And how do you feel about it?” you asked.

Spencer bit his lip in thought. You could tell you had caught him off guard with the question, and he seemed to be calculating his response. “Can I be honest with you?” he said.

You raised your eyebrows, the nervous feeling in your stomach intensifying. Is this where he tells you he feels the same way and leaves for good? You pushed your thoughts to the side. “Always,” you whispered.

He sighed, laying back on the bed so he was next to you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you wanted nothing more than to curl into his warmth. You knew this wasn’t the time, so you held yourself back and held your breath, awaiting his response.

“First, I was confused,” Spencer explained, eyes locked on the ceiling. “I haven’t thought about JJ like that in over ten years. Frankly, I never knew she thought of me that way, so I was caught off-guard.”

So he did have a crush on her at one time, you thought. You were ready to close your eyes in defeat, to slip off the bed and out of the apartment and never come back when he cleared his throat.

“But then,” he started once more, “I had a quick epiphany of all the moments she’d gone out of her way for me, and I could understand where she was coming from.” You turned to look at him, watching his eyes scan the ceiling as he tried to come up with his next statements.

“And?” you asked, prompting him to continue.

“And then,” he continued your previous statement, “I was terribly appalled.”

Your head, which had turned to the ceiling, snapped back in his direction. You felt your eyebrows raise and your jaw drop open a bit in surprise. “Appalled?” you asked, confusion evident in your expression.

“Appalled,” Spencer echoed, sitting up on the edge of the bed once more and looking back at you.

“Why?” you asked.

Spencer shook his head, looking around the room. “I’ve been thinking about that for the last couple hours, and I’ve come up with a lot of reasons,” he mused. “I know she was in a tight place, but Will deserves better than that. The boys deserve better than that. But aside from them,” he leaned over on the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you must have thought. I was so afraid of your reaction and of losing you.”

Despite your evident emotional state as tears pooled in your eyes, you tried to play it off. “Spencer, this isn’t about me,” you reminded him.

“Yes,” he said, lying next to you, “it is.” Spencer ran a hand through his hair, pulling some curls out of his eyes. “Everyone knows how much I love you. I know how scary something like this can be. But you have to know that I have no idea where this came from and that anything JJ and I had died, on my end, long before I ever met you.”

You glanced over at him, the sincerity in his voice had moved you to believe him. For a moment, you forgot about JJ and Will, the boys, and the implications of her words. You offered his fingers a small squeeze. “So we’re okay?” you asked in a tiny voice.

“More than,” Spencer whispered.

He rolled on his side to face you and you mirrored his actions. He wrapped his arms tight around your body, the textured material of his suit jacket pressed against your cheek. A gentle kiss was pressed to your forehead and you found yourself falling back into sleep. After several minutes passed, you felt Spencer’s voice rumble through his chest for a final time before he succumbed to sleep: “Ever since I met you,” he mumbled, smoothing some stray hairs away from your face, “it’s always been you.”

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darkbluekies · 5 months

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Talking to the dead

Mafia!yandere x reader

Warnings: dead sibling, mentions of digging up the grave

He's furious that you've escaped. Infuriated that you managed to slip past the guards again. He wants to put a bullet through their chests. They've tracked you down to the cemetery, a weird place, Silas thinks.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you sit by a tombstone, talking. There's no one around, who are you holding conversation with? He tells his men to stand by while he sneaks over.

"I'm in danger", you sob and chuckle slightly. "I've put myself in a dangerous situation, you know. I wish you were here. I could need a big sister/brother now. I need guidance. I don't know what to do, I'm so scared. Everything is terrifying." You sigh. "Well, now I've told you everything that has happened since you passed away. Quite the story, isn't it? Yeah ... I really miss you."

Silas sighs and scratches his neck, looking back at his guards, thinking. He knew that your sibling was dead, but he never imagined that he would find you like this.

"Y/N", he says carefully, wanting to catch you attention.

You gasp and hug the stone for dear life.

"Don't take him/her!" you scream in a heartbreaking tone.

Silas walks over to you, sinking down beside you. His heart breaks.

"I'm not going to take them", he reassures you. "Why don't you introduce me? Or have you already done that? I heard you told everything."

You still hug the stone tightly. Silas puts his hand on your shoulder, reassuring you that he won't dig up the grave and steal your sibling. He brings you back and takes a look at the name on the stone before placing his hand on it. I'll protect them, he thinks and hopes that your big brother/sister will hear him, I will die for them.

Silas brings your shaking, sobbing body into his arms and kisses the top of your head. He won't punish you for this, his heart can't allow it.

While taking your defeated form to the car, he turns to his men and tells them to visit the grave every week to plant new flowers, water them, light candles, and clean the stone. And if they ever miss a week, he will kill them.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere fics #yandere oc x reader #yandere stories #yandere angst #yandere drabble #yandere short stories

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total-dxmure · 4 months

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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

“The fact that she’s military is the only thing saving her ass right now.”

Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long she’d probably have an episode. Either that or she’d throw up all over the sheriff’s office.

“Boss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that she’s in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?” Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.

“Technically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt he’s gonna go forward with any sort’a legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-” The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesse’s chair creak as he leaned forward. “His damn tooth was knocked out.” The sheriff whispered.

She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldn’t look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.

Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dina’s for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.

A pack of beer. That’s what she’d pummeled the boy over.

He couldn’t have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldn’t have stopped the meltdown even if she’d wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.

Her therapist called them “PTSD episodes”. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. She’d lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellie’s walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next she’d be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.

She didn’t want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.

“Yeah, I’m doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.”

“Come on, rambo. Let’s get you to bed.” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.

Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t thank him or- or anything.

But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.

Ellie didn’t give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didn’t want pity or thanks simply because she didn’t deserve it.

“Thank you for your service, Williams.” The sheriff’s voice reminded her of Joel’s. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.

Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.

“It was my privilege.” It was a well rehearsed response. It didn’t even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.

As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.

She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasn’t just “late” anymore, but “morning” now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.

“Fuck.” She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.

She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. There’s no way any of this was normal.

“Have you eaten?” Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.

Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasn’t a very touchy person these days (and it’s not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.

“Not in a couple of hours.” Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.

He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldn’t be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.

It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. She’d much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didn’t work right anymore.

“How about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dina’s probably worried sick about the both of us. Let’s. . . let’s spend the day together. Yeah?” It sounded like he was pleading with her.

There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldn’t stop pushing everyone away. It’s almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that.

“She’s going to kill me.” Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.

Jesse’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. “Nah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.” His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.

Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why she’d been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and she’d actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe that’s why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.

Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldn’t wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the female’s crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.

“Do you know what time it is?” Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.

Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. She’d lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? ‘A pack of beer’, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckin’ beer.

Ellie’s mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since she’d gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friend’s anger was better than Jesse’s pity. The sleeves of Ellie’s flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dina’s posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.

“I’m getting better, D. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-” Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.

What she was doing couldn’t be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldn’t be sure that she’d be able to stop.

Jesse and Dina’s shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJ’s baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJ’s highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.

Guilt and jealousy.

Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadn’t ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.

“No, you’re not.” Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “Ellie, look at me.” Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.

Ellie’s eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.

“You’re not getting better.” She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.

Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?

“I’m getting better.” “I actually feel a bit better today.” “You don’t have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.” Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellie’s face crumpled.

“Fuck.” Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.

Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellie’s chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldn’t lose it. She couldn’t let her shoulders sag, couldn’t allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.

“I called Joel,” Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. “And he bought you a plane ticket. You’re flying out tomorrow.”

“No,” Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. “How could you do this?” She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.

Please let this be a nightmare.

Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didn’t fall out from under her. She didn’t sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.

“You’re flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually you’d level out,” Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. “But you’re only getting worse.”

“I’m getting better.” The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.

“When was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you aren’t eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.” Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didn’t see them all herself.

A full stomach meant nausea.

“When was the last time you showered?” The dark haired girl questioned.

Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.

“We know how this will end, Ellie. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.” Dina’s voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.

Jesse’s arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.

“I can’t breathe.” Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.

She was a failure. She’d failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldn’t she just be normal again? Why couldn’t she just fucking breathe.

Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldn’t turn it off. Couldn’t turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.

She’d killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.

“D, get the medication that’s in the cabinet and a glass of water.” Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.

“She’s ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.” Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.

JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.

Blood. So much blood. It’s coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasn’t I trained for this? Breathe. She’s not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?

“Swallow, Ellie.” Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.

“It was my fault. I-I fucking,” She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. “I led them out there. Oh, fuck.”

Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellie’s mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellie’s lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.

“No. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? I’ve got her.” Jesse told her, letting go of Ellie’s hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldn’t stand up.

Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.

“Joel isn’t going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?” She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.

Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joel’s too-big ranch home.

“Okay.” Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.

“Okay?” Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasn’t entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.

“Okay.”

Grief was an uphill battle. One minute you’re laughing with your friends and then the next you’re laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.

You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldn’t bring yourself to visit. Life doesn’t stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.

So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.

Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.

One step at a time, one day at a time.

You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.

For now, at least.

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tojirights · 2 months

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❛ you taste like heaven. ❜

Alastor with angel!reader omg. I imagine that reader was Alastor's wife back when they were alive, but didn't see eachother again after death because Alastor is in hell and reader is in heaven. I imagine that after Sir Pentious got redeemed, Sera sent reader (because she has experience with demons(? Ur choice) and Sera trusts her a lot) down to hell to investigate this 'hazbin hotel'.

a/n: AHHHH i almost didnt want to write smut into this because it was so precious 😭 ooc alastor again but its so CUTE. i added my "alastor speaks french" agenda to this as well lol.

buy me a coffee? 😇

tags: 18+ smut nsfw, fem! receiving oral

heaven was in shambles after the last extermination, no one knew what would happen next now that souls could be redeemed from hell. it was then that sera approached you in private, all but begging you to go be an "ambassador." you were hesistant at first, not only thinking that this was a lot of responsibility, but also that your... husband had to be down there. he wasn't a "good man" after all, but your heart still fluttered at the thought of seeing him once more. with a sigh, you accept sera's plea and prepare for your trip down to the hazbin hotel.

there to greet you, was charlie morningstar herself, bright eyed and bubbly just like you heard all about. she leads you into the foyer of the hotel before you stop dead in your tracks. charlie is still speaking a mile a minute in your ear, trying to welcome you as best she can, but you're not listening. your eyes meet alastor's, immediately recognizing him even in this new form of his. and when his smile almost fades, you know he recognizes you too.

there's another brief pause before you're running towards him, your wings unfurling on their own as you're quickly wrapped up in his embrace. the other inhabitants of the hotel watch, confused, seeing as alastor hasn't really let anyone but niffty get close enough to touch him, let alone embrace him. your wings fluff up and cover your faces as you lean up to kiss your estranged partner. "oohh, sweetheart.." he sighs against your lips. "its been..."

you smile between kisses, your heart racing in your chest. "too long." you finish his sentence, earning a chuckle from the demon. his lips kiss a trail to your ear, a low growl to his voice as he whispers to you. "you taste like heaven, darling." your cheeks go red, not quite prepared for such a comment, especially in front of company. "alastor!" you hiss, hitting his chest gently but he just pulls you closer in response.

finally, he addresses the group behind you who are all standing with their jaws hanging open. "now, if you're all done gawking, i believe my wife needs to be shown around..."

husk spits out his drink as alastor speaks, covering angel in alcohol. "your WHAT!?" you hide your face as calamity ensues, everyone trying to speak over eachother at the insane news. "your wife... is an angel?" charlie asks gently, trying to get to the bottom of this. "well, i couldn't have known for sure but she was always more a saint than i." alastor hums, running his hand down your back. you shudder when he touches your wings, to which he notes in his head for later.

"o-oh! well then! i guess you should show her around, yeah?" she smiles bashfully, still taken aback by everything happening since your arrival just a few minutes ago. you look up at alastor, your cheeks aching from smiling so wide. "i think i'd like that." you whisper to him, enjoying the way he pulls you closer to him. "hold on tight then, my love."

you're not sure what he means by that until you're slipping into the shadows with him. its an odd feeling, but you don't think much of it until you're reappearing in what you assume is his bedroom. alastor is careful with you, like he's afraid the wrong touch will burn you, but he craves the feeling of your bare skin against his hands more than he can admit. you smile, reaching your hands up to cup his face. "touch me, al. i'm not fragile..."

your words light a spark deep within him, forcing him to restrain himself from ripping your pretty clothes into tatters. he groans inwardly, large hands reaching around to pick you up before fumbling his way to the bed. "corrupting an angel wasn't on my bucket list until seeing you again, my dear." his tone, its not what you're used to hearing, but that gravelly undertone shoots straight through you. "oh please, you can't corrupt me more than you already have." alastor's lips find the sensitive skin of your neck and you feel him smirk.

"i hope that's not a challenge." he tests, tugging at the hem of your dress. you all but giggle, lifting up so alastor can free your body of clothes. "and what if is it?" you challenge, knowing full well that alastor wouldn't let your teasing continue without proper punishment. his eyes darken red, and there's a tinge of fear in your gut. because this may still be alastor, but its been quite a while, you don't know how he's changed.

but as he kisses down your stomach, you're reassured that the man you married is still there somewhere, underneath this 'radio demon' persona. "your lips tasted of heaven, mon amour, does this taste so sweet as well?" alastor's words alone are enough are enough to make you whimper, then the feeling of his hot breath against your clothed cunt makes your core pulse.

your hands naturally fall to the top of his head, feeling the softness of his ears and the rough points of his antlers. "c-can i..?" you start, timidly holding onto the horns. alastor's body shudders as he shoves his face into your thigh. "yes, ma chérie. please do." he breathes, tugging on the thin fabric of your panties until they rip in half.

alastor wants to be patient, wants to treat you like the angel you are, but he is a demon after all. and he hasn't gotten such a delicious meal in far too long. after he feels your grip tighten on his antlers, he lets loose his self control. his first taste of your sweet pussy sends him into a frenzy, eating you like a man starving. his tongue swipes up your slit before circling your clit in quick flicks. your legs are shaking already, breathy moans leaving your lips with reckless abandon.

there's a part of you that is concerned to be getting your cunt ate by a demon, but this demon was your husband, after all. sera made you come down here and you might as well enjoy yourself, right?

your hips arch up, craving more and more, and alastor is happy to oblige. "this is heaven, my dear. not some palace in the sky, but here, between your legs." your eyes well with tears, overwhelmed in more ways than one. every pass of his tongue has your release teetering on the edge while his sweet words make your heart flutter. its almost too much, and when alastor sucks on your clit, your walls burst.

"a-alastor i'm..." you mewl, every nerve on your body screaming as your orgasm rolls over you. you're almost sure you're hurting him by how hard you tug at his hair, but alastor doesn't stop. the intensity is something you've not experienced in many, many years, and the tears stream down your cheeks. alastor coaxes you through it, licking slow and soft circles around your sensitive bud until your shaking stops.

he's quick to climb up, wiping the tears from your puffy eyes. "such a good girl, mon amour. there's plenty more where that came from."

#alastor x reader #alastor hazbin #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel smut #alastor x you smut #alastor x reader smut #alastor x reader imagines #hazbin alastor imagines #hazbin alastor smut #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor imagines

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saetoru · 9 months

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ STRAWBERRY FLAVORED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. here is a lil prequel to this btw, basically this is suguru’s shower scene but if he actually had someone to take care of him, reverse comfort, aka my extremely self indulgent drabble of fixing suguru before he turns into a mass murderer <3

it’s been a while—suguru has been in that shower for long enough that you’re starting to grow concerned. you contemplate for a bit, whether it’s a good idea or not to enter the boys shower, weighing the possibilities of being caught.

satoru’s not here, you reason, nanami and haibara are gone too, and yaga shouldn’t notice either—so, with a heavy sigh, you walk up to the door, opening it slowly. you can see him, standing as the water pours over his body, not even moving a little when you enter.

suguru is not the same—not after everything that’s happened. you can tell, you can see it under his eyes from the lack of sleep, you can see it in his cheekbones as they show a bit more from the lost weight, you can see it in the stiffness of his body when you’re around him. he’s not the same, and no one’s seem to have noticed, but you have. you always have.

you slowly strip from your clothing, walking up to him quietly until your arms circle his waist and your cheek rests against his bare back.

“baby,” you hum, “you’re turning into a prune. look at your skin,” you grab his hand, running a thumb over the tips of his fingers, wrinkly from the water.

he gives you an empty chuckle—you don’t think you’ve heard a real laugh from suguru since that day. “but aren’t i a handsome prune?” he mumbles.

“of course,” you kiss his shoulder, “the handsomest.”

“that’s a relief,” he says playfully—there’s nothing playful about his tone, though. it’s numb, automatic, like he’s trained himself to respond to you the way he always does. but you can feel it. he’s not the same.

“you’ve been in here a while. i got tired of waiting.”

“sorry,” he drops his hand from yours, falling limply to his side, “lost track of time, i guess.”

“suguru,” you say softly, “what’s wrong?”

he’s quiet, probably contemplating his answer. no one else might’ve noticed, but you have. you always do—he knows you always will. finally, he decides to answer, “are you really asking me that?”

“yes,” you say firmly, “i want to hear it. i want you to hear it. stop pushing it down.”

“i’m fine,” he mutters, “just tired.”

“i know,” you say softly, “i know you’re tired. what’s got you so tired?”

gently, your arms twist his body—he doesn’t put up a fight, just spins to face you until his face is digging into your neck on instinct. he can smell your body wash, can inhale the familiar scent of you from here. there are no curses to consume and no people to save at the risk of himself here, just the soft feeling of your skin and the warm press of your lips on his head.

riko would’ve liked you, he thinks. he can’t help it.

for a fleeting moment, when his hand was outstretched to her, he’d wondered if you’d like her too. he’d decided you would—you’re kind, you always have enough love for one more person. you’ll like riko, he’d thought. and then just like that, she’d been on the floor, dark pool of blood under her head.

you never got to meet her, and he never got to introduce you.

“what’s wrong, sugu?” you ask again, voice more delicate this time.

“everything,” he whispers.

he’s tired, so incredibly tired. suguru is exhausted. so for today, he’ll let you pick up the pieces. he doesn’t want to worry about you right now, doesn’t want to think about whether or not the edges will be sharp enough to slice your fingertips. suguru is exhausted—so for once, he lets you worry about him instead.

“i see,” you nod, letting your fingers trail to his head, stroking the wet strands gently as he trembles against your body, “everything is a lot. let’s start with just one, yeah?”

“i hate the taste of curses,” he spits, “it tastes like vomit.”

“that’s no good,” you agree, and then you’re pulling his head out of your neck—he wants to protest, wants to stay right where he is so he doesn’t have to face you, or anything. but you’re insistent, gentle as you are firm, cupping his cheeks as you force him to look at you. “can you still taste it?”

“yeah,” he nods. it’s true, he can’t forget the taste even if he tries. it’s like a phantom pain—but it resides on his tongue, haunting him long after it’s gone, even as he breathes and swallows and talks. “i hate it.”

your lips are on his after that, soft and sweet against his mouth. he can taste the strawberry of your chapstick, the familiar taste of you that he also could never forget. it washes down the vile taste of curses easily, so he leans in for more. and more. and more. he needs more.

“what about that?” you ask, stroking his cheek when you pull away, “how does that taste?”

“good,” he says shakily, “i…i like that.”

“i know you do,” you smile, pecking the corner of his mouth, “i can’t change how curses taste. but if i could, i’d make them strawberry flavored for you.”

he chuckles at that—it’s small, but it’s real. for the first time in a long time. it’s real.

suguru hates how curses taste, and you can’t change that, but you can help make swallowing become easier. he’ll take it—he’ll take anything you give.

“that might make the job easier,” he says, burying his face back into your neck, “they’d taste like you.”

“i’ll kiss you then,” you stroke his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head. his lips wobble, vision turning blurry. suguru is tired—he doesn’t want to hold it in anymore. “after every curse you swallow, i’ll kiss you. it’ll make it easier.”

“i don’t know if it will,” he admits, “this….what do we do it for? none of it is easy.”

he used to think it was. fighting curses was easy—satoru and him were the strongest. fighting curses was like stepping on ants as they walk on the concrete, crushing them before they can bite anyone. but he starts to wonder if people deserve to be bitten, if the people who kick at ant piles mindlessly for fun deserve to be saved from themselves.

you think for a bit, contemplating his question as the water runs over both of your bodies, slipping into the thin crevices between your skin and his.

“it’s not,” you agree, “it’s not easy. i would’ve loved to meet riko. i know you wanted me to. i’m sorry, suguru.”

somewhere along with the water on your shoulder mixes his tears, and his body shakes against yours. suguru is tired. he’s tired of swallowing curses and tasting bile. he’s tired of pretending the weak are innocent. he’s tired of carrying so much weight on his young, innocent shoulders. they deserve to be free.

“is it worth saving them?” he asks as he sniffles, “if they clap over people like us dying?”

“people like us aren’t always so different,” you point out.

people like us don’t need saving, he wants to argue—but you don’t give him a chance to, turning the water off behind him as you stand there holding him as he leans into you.

“there will always be someone who needs to be saved,” you murmur, “and there will always be something they need to be saved from. it’s not always as simple as curses and exorcisms, though.”

“that doesn’t make any sense,” he frowns, “that’s the whole point of jujutsu. to exorcise curses.”

“and if we exorcised them all? would that make everyone safe?”

“maybe not,” he furrows his eyebrows, “but at least we wouldn’t be dying for them.”

“you never know,” you reach for the towel, slowly pulling away and patting his skin gently as you dry his dripping skin, “maybe you’d die from something worse.”

“what could be worse?” he asks bitterly. he doesn’t understand. but you smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you brush his bangs from his face.

“i don’t know,” you shrug, “but i’m sure there’s something. there’s always something worse. but there’s always something better too.”

he still doesn’t completely understand. but the weight on his shoulder doesn’t feel as heavy when you lean and kiss it again—he feels like at least some of his youth is still his, still yours.

“you make no sense,” he grunts, scowling when you ruffle his hair obnoxiously with a giggle.

“well, maybe you’ll make sense of things after a nap,” you poke his chest accusingly, “you really need one. and then you’ll eat something. c’mon.”

“i don’t sleep with wet hair,” he reminds you as you tug him along, stopping where his clothes hang. you gesture at him to hold his arms up, grabbing his shirt. he rolls his eyes and indulges you, letting you dress him.

“i’ll dry it for you,” you chuckle, “my sugu is so high maintenance.”

and then, before you can turn to grab your own clothes, he tugs your wrist and pulls you in, kissing you hard, kissing you hungrily, kissing you like you’re all he has. just because he can. he can taste the last bits of your chapstick—he wants to keep tasting it forever. it’s strawberry, his favorite.

“i like strawberries,” he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, “so don’t change the flavor.”

“okay,” you grin, cupping his cheeks, “i’ll always get strawberry for my sugu.”

he just needed a few kissies and he would’ve been fine. i guess i’ll take one for the team and kiss him a few times 😔 i guess i can take the responsibility of loving him 😔 i’ll be fine guys no need to worry about me 😔

#operation: heal suguru!#teepods.writings #drabbles.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto angst #geto fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru fluff #geto suguru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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fawnindawn · 22 days

Text

even at our worst, we know we'll still be okay (luke castellan x apollo fem! reader)

summary: Where Percy's insistent pestering forces Luke to rethink on his possibly not platonic feelings for you, his best friend, and Percy's questions are answered for him with Luke's reaction to you being heavily injured on your return from your quest.

pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem! reader

a/n: i'm actually in love with this, maybe it's just the friends-to-lovers in me (where a love confession happens because one of them was near death's door-) but man.. also, i love including percy so much he's such a kid.

masterlist for this series

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Face it, man. You're whipped."

Percy watched Luke choke on his water, coughing as he tried to swallow past the sudden accusation. Wiping at the excess that dripped past his chin, Luke raised a brow at Percy.

"Whipped? For who?" Luke questioned, eyes averting and staring straight ahead, beyond the training grounds towards the meadows in the distance, seemingly searching for something or just doing a poor job at avoiding Percy’s unimpressed stare.

“I’m not blind, as much as Annabeth claims, to this...love stuff.” Percy huffed, half in exasperation and half in exhaustion as he leaned forward using his sword to balance himself. “You’ve been depressed ever since she left for her quest.”

Luke doesn’t need to hear your name to know who Percy was referring to. It’s been weeks since you were chosen by your father, Apollo, to descend on some mighty quest to fetch back his lyre that had been stolen. It wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous quest, but Luke had felt his gut sinking when he first heard the news from you.

“Why does he need to send you out there, where you could possibly be tracked down by monsters to get back a musical instrument of all things?” Luke snapped, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his curls, pacing back and forth in the Hermes Cabin, while you laid on his mattress looking undeniably calmer than he was.

“Luke, my dad won’t purposely send me on some death trap. I'll be fine.” You tried to reassure him, waiting for him to calm down in his pacing before you extended your hands in his direction right as he turned to make another round through the cabin for the seventh time. “Hey, come here.” You gestured. “Sit with me.”

He hesitated, stopping in his tracks as he finally took the time to look at you, noting your concerned expression at him. As if you weren’t about to descend on some ridiculous quest to god knows where all because your father couldn’t pluck up the effort to collect the instrument himself.

The longer your hands stayed outstretched for him, the more his anger and frustration dissolved into the overwhelming need to be near you. One second, he’s standing and the next, he’s laying in bed with you, your arms wrapped around him to stabilise him even though he should be the stronger one. The one to look out for you.

Laying his head on your shoulder as he wrapped one of his fingers around your hair, curling it in his palms, he spoke again in a soft whisper only for you to hear. “I’m worried.”

“I know.” You responded, your hands tracing at the curve of his shoulder, stopping at his collarbone, before your finger moved to tilt his face by the chin to look at you. “You trust me, right?” You ask, knowing his answer but wanting to hear the reassurance all the same.

“Course' I do.” He replied immediately, his eyes intense as he made eye contact with you. That was without question. You could ask him to walk into blazing flames, and he'd trust you would ask for good reason.

“Then you can trust that I’ll make it back alive.”

“Alive can mean lots of things.” He muttered, his eyes growing distant, the ghost of blood and a stinging burn running down the half of his face appearing uninvited in his mind.

“I’ll make it back alive and unharmed.” You reiterated, a knowing look in your eyes as you unconsciously traced at his scar, leaving warmth where it resides, making him shiver instinctively. “It’s a promise, Luke.”

He stayed silent, before slowly moving his hand to cup yours that rested over his scar. “I’m counting on it, sunshine.”

That promise rested over Luke’s conscience, gnawing at the back of his heels, chasing him daily from the early hours as he forced himself not to break over the stress and anxiety before putting on his golden boy facade, to pretend that he wasn't constantly distracted and nauseous over the thought of something happening to you without him being there to protect you.

He would've snuck out of camp if he could, just to find you, but Chiron had been tight-lipped on your destination, his all-knowing gaze piercing right through Luke when he had tried to nonchalantly ask about your whereabouts.

"I wish I could help you, Luke." Chiron had told Luke a few days after you had gone. "However, Apollo's request was clear. Only she shall take on this quest. No one else." The pin-point gaze Chiron had locked onto Luke made it clear he was talking about him.

"I am not whipped." Luke denied. "She's my friend. Like how you're my friend."

"I don't think your friendship with her is normal though." Percy fired back quickly, sipping on his own water as if he didn't casually demolish the older boy. "I swear I caught you bringing her back after curfew to your cabin, a few times in fact."

Luke felt his cheeks flush at Percy's sudden interrogation, smashing facts after facts on an early Tuesday morning. "I've been having.. nightmares lately. She's the only one who keeps them away." He didn't know why he felt like he had to explain himself to the kid, but the longer his friendship with you went under fire, the faster he wanted to get out of this conversation.

"You don't think that's something you should think deeper about?" Percy muttered with a shrug.

Luke is left speechless, his mind short-cutting at the sudden implication of.. him feeling something more for you? His most recent memories flashed through his mind. You tucked under his blanket as you laid beside him for the last night before your quest, a sleepy smile etched on your lips before you whispered him goodnight and he pulled you into his chest so he could feel your heart beating against his to push away any tricks currently playing on his mind, bringing light to how you're the only person he believes could calm him down and bring him peace-

"She's my best friend." Luke replied, more to himself than to Percy. "I'm just worried for her. A quest like that shouldn't take so long, and I keep imagining-"

He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to say his fears out in the open in fear that his words would jinx it, but Percy knew where he was getting at. Percy inched closer to Luke, moving to pat him awkwardly on the back in an effort to comfort him. "It's normal to be worried. From what I heard from Annabeth, you two are really close. I didn't have much conversations with her before she left, but she seems brave, and smart too. I have no doubts she'll make it back. If she's half as good as you, there's no way she wouldn't."

Luke felt a real smile crossing his face, the corners of his lips quirked up at Percy's words. "She's not half as good- she is better than me." He turned to look at Percy, that shine in his eyes noticeable as he talked about you. "Don't let her hear that when she gets back though, she'll talk my ear off for ages."

Percy returned his own smile, elated to see Luke have some improvement in his mood, proof being the first genuine smile Percy's seen in weeks coming from him.

"So.. do you want to stop for today?" Percy attempted with a casual tone.

"Why? Backing out already?" Luke teased, a smirk playing on his lips as he inched towards the kid jokingly with his sword raised.

"No!" Percy denied frantically. "I swear I'm not using the sympathy card as an excuse to get out of training-"

The sounds of a horn cut off his words, groaning across the camp, reaching the training grounds in record time. Luke felt his heart palpitate, nearly crashing into his rib cage.

He barely had time to think, yelling to Percy with urgency flying off his tongue. "Catch you later, Perce!" Then, he was off, his legs carrying him up the hills and back towards the camp entrance.

He heard Percy yell his name in confusion, but he could apologise later for his sudden departure.

You had come back to him.

The journey seemed too long, his shoes scrambling for ground, barely scraping the dirt as he ran towards the front of camp. He didn't know what to expect, a celebration with cheers from the other campers on your arrival, a glimpse of your face with that smile he loves. What he didn't expect was the silence as he came towards a slow jog before ultimately stopping at what seemed to be a crowd gathering around something- or someone.

He pushed his way through, barely making the effort to apologise over the thought of seeing you. His eyes finally caught onto what the onlookers were staring at, and his heart dropped.

You laid on the ground, passed out with what seemed to be dark, angry coils covering your skin, ranging from your neck to the outstretch of your back that was exposed from the gash in your shirt. That stupid lyre laid not too far from you, its golden strings ripped apart.

The sound that tore from his throat barely sounded like his voice, yelling out your name as he pushed through the final barrier in the crowd before reaching for you. He nearly made it before someone dragged him back, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

The curses that left Luke's mouth would make anyone wince, and he had to resist the urge to punch whoever was holding him back as he twisted his head to face his repressor. "Chris! Get out of my way." Luke hissed, still trying to make his way to you, fury twisting in his gut as he couldn't fathom why no one's helped you yet.

"Calm down, Luke!" Chris pleaded, desperation in his eyes forcing Luke to falter. "I know you want to help her but you have to listen to me. Whatever attacked her left something contagious on her body. Someone already tried helping her but it spread to their skin too!"

Wait? While whatever was attacking your body seemed to grow more intense by the minute, as Luke's gaze locked onto your form and watched the sickening, black coils spread further and further up your neck.

"Rodriguez, does it look like I care if it spreads to me?" Luke spat out, giving his friend a final push. "If she dies, I won't ever forgive myself for standing on the sidelines. Let me go now."

The cold venom in his tone made his friend loosen his hold just enough for Luke to rip himself out of his arms to drop his knees beside you. He grabbed hold of your shoulder, which still had shreds of your shirt to prevent him from being stung by whatever was infecting you, but his other hand which grabbed hold of your back did not face the same fate. The coils snaked onto his palm, and he gritted his teeth at the burning sensation.

Just as he turned you around so he could lift you up, he heard the familiar sound of hooves stamping against the soil and he looked up to see Chiron approaching with a grim expression. No words needed to be said as Luke met eyes with the centaur, a mutual understanding as Luke wrapped his arms around your torso and legs.

He pushed through to help carry you up, barking orders for the crowd to part way as he made his way to the infirmary. The longer he held onto you, the more every bone in his body seemed to scream to let you go, but he only focused on every step it took to get you closer to help, his eyes unable to look away from the paleness of your skin, the blue to your lips.

It seemed unfit for a child of Apollo, a child of the sun, to be dull and lifeless. You looked dead, and if it wasn't for the faint drumming of your pulse he could sense from your wrist, he would've struck the name of your father with such unbridled hatred, Apollo himself would descend from the heavens to condemn him.

"Please." He begged, holding onto you tighter despite his body's cries not to. Begging to who, he did not know, but if any being could save you from the fate you did not deserve, and pass it to him instead, he would gladly offer his prayers and worship. If it meant saving you, he would take your pain and suffer it tenfold just to see you open your eyes again.

It took you five days to recover. The infirmary had been quarantined and no one save for Chiron and Will, the main healer from the Apollo cabin, was allowed in. In those five days, no one dared approach Luke, who seemed near death's door despite having received his own small dosage of ambrosia to heal the coils that had managed to sink into his skin. He had begged Chiron to let him visit you, but Chiron deemed him too unstable to be near you, your recovery process a fragile thing that required tentative hands and patience.

Waiting to see you was a torture not even he could have envisioned for himself. He had been torn apart at the seams, of his belief in the gods and the scars that were immortalized onto his body. He had lived through days of water and nothing but false hope, hiding from monsters and other horrors before he made it to camp, arriving as a scrawny boy with eyes having witnessed events no kid his age should have to go through. Yet, no pain he had experienced could compare to his fears of losing you. If he-

He couldn't think of it without wanting to puke, but if he lost you somehow, he would lose his faith in this world. There would be no one to hold him back, no you, to stop him from letting go of the world that failed him and tearing it down.

It didn't help that in those five days, he had dreams. Of a different world, of salvation. A dark, ancient voice called to him, older than time, with whispers of promised glory and revenge. There was no you, none of your soothing touches or voice to wake him. In those five days, his strength faltered and he made a deal.

On the sixth day, he was woken frantically by a shake on the shoulder from his sleep. He roused awake, dizzy and still-half asleep to see Chris talking to him in rushed incoherent words.

"Awake- She's awake, sleepy-head!"

Luke was half-dressed, still fighting off sleep with aggressive rubbing to his eyes as he tugged on his t-shirt, rushing towards the infirmary with Chris hot on his heels.

He burst through the front door, holding his breath when he finally saw you, propped up on two pillows talking to Will. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as he rushed over to you.

You turned to him then, just in time to see him blink his tears away. "Luke." You called to him softly, and time seemed to stop just for the two of you, and he could only see you in his vision.

"Can you guys give us some privacy?" You asked politely, eyeing Will and Chris, but your eyes never drifted far before moving back to him.

"Of course." Will responded, quickly getting up from his chair towards the exit, dragging a confounded Chris with him with a tug on the back of his shirt. "Hey! I wanted to see her too-" "Give the two lovebirds some time alone, you idiot."

Luke inched closer to you, his heart beating so loudly in his eardrums he swears you could hear it too. You lifted your arms to him and he didn't waste time, taking you in his arms and embracing you so tight, and yet he felt he couldn't be close enough.

"You were dying. In my arms. I felt it when I carried you in here." He muttered into your shoulder, shaking as he finally let out the exhaustion and pain he had been feeling since the day you left.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." You apologised, rocking him back and forth as your voice croaked up. "All I thought of was you. When I fought against that beast, I kept repeating my promise to you. That I would come back to you. You saved me."

He shook his head, feeling his tears wet his cheeks as he pulled back to grab you by the chin, a gentle touch like he was afraid you would disappear if he couldn't see you talking to him, that your voice would be a hallucination he concocted. "I should've stopped you from going. I had a bad feeling since I heard about it. I should've protected you- prevented you from getting hurt in the first place-"

You stopped him with a kiss, desperate yet shy, before pulling away and pressing your forehead to his. "I love you, Luke. I was so scared I would never get to tell you and it would've been my biggest regret. I love you so much, Luke, and I'm sorry if this ruins anything between us but I can't hide it anymore-"

Luke cut you off the very same way you did, but with such intense hunger you gasped when he kissed you, sloppy and with even more desperation, tugging at your bottom lip and pulling you closer with his hand at nape of your neck. "I love you." He muttered through quick breaths. "I love you, it actually hurts because of how much I do." He admitted, grabbing your hand to place right above his heart, which is owned completely and only by you.

He leaned in once more, addicted to the taste of you, kissing you with one hand holding yours to his heart, the other pulling you close so that there was no space between the two of you. When he had to stop so you both could gasp for air, he pressed his forehead back to yours, the first smile stretching at his lips in days. "I never want to be apart from you ever again, you hear me, sunshine?"

You giggled at his words, nodding slightly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Extra: Luke reappears with you the next day when you insisted on wanting to get out of the infirmary after being cooped up away from the sun for so long. ("You're such an Apollo kid." Luke teases, which you ignore with a roll of your eyes.) He's with you every step of the way, and now that your feelings are out for each other in the open, he doesn't hesitate to kiss you on the cheek or fawn over you without hiding his intensity.

When he makes eye contact with Percy over the room, the damn kid gives him a wink and a thumbs-up.

a/n: i want to expand so much more on this, with kronos taking advantage of luke's weak mind during your recovery and more, OMGGGGGGG. tell me if you guys want more pls and i'll make more parts. thank you for reading if you made it this far <3

update: I am officially making this into a series called ‘everything in between’. To those who want to follow more on their story, you can comment on whether you want to be added to the tag list for this series or check the masterlist!

#luke castellan #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x apollo!reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #pjo #luke castellan fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #im actually dying inside #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan angst

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