cw. sex pollen, rivals to lovers trope, dubcon (bc they are under the influence but both want it) 18+
you, a member of the justice league along with clark, are both invited back to bruce's for a debrief because they're kind of group leaders... but bruce has business to attend to beforehand and wants you and clark to just stay put and behave while you wait in the wayne manor for him to finish up what he's doing.
you and clark have never really gotten along. you're really headstrong and he's so... bossy? patronizing. yes, that's it. he thinks he's so much smarter and more mature than you. it shows whenever you make a tiny mistake or get hurt in battle - he's the first one on your case when you're having a meeting about it later.
anyway, when he tells you to stay put and wait for bruce in the meeting room, you immediately brush him off. you're gonna do exactly the opposite of what clark tells you to do because he's not your dad and has zero authority over you. if you want to explore bruce's shiny manor while he's not there to watch you, you can. all should be fine if you don't break anything expensive.
he follows you like a dog to nag you about not touching anything and to just come back to the main area to wait - to not be so petty. that you could potentially get hurt just because your head's too big to take orders from someone for once in your life. and damn, does that set you off.
you go straight into the area that's clearly most dangerous, it's sectioned off, dark... perfect for you to get under clark's skin. he follows after you annoyingly when you go in and starts snapping at you to grow up, and when you push him and the two of you get into a struggle. he ends up accidentally knocking you back into this very weird looking, funny smelling, colorful plant that puffs purple powder right into your face.
coughing, you shove him off you and the plant's pollen ends up right in his face too once you use his big frame to block you from ingesting any more.
you're still coughing when clark's hand wraps around your forearm firmly, his voice coming out scolding when he says - "i told you not to-" but it cuts off halfway, his face screwing up as if he’s dizzy. meanwhile, your skin feels burning hot and your head is heavy and fogged up. there's an ache settling low in your tummy, and you have a faint idea what's happening to you, and you're going to be stuck on it with the absolute most obnoxious person in the world.
when you whip your head to see if you can get to the door, you see the alarms have already been triggered and the seal has locked the two of you in together to deal with your predicament together. you curse, ready to spin back and find a way to shift the blame back onto him, but when you blink up at clark, he’s staring at you already. hard. too hard. his jaw’s clenched in an attempt to hold something back. his pupils are blown wide and his breath’s coming rough and heavy.
you shove at him again, desperate to put space between you, but he doesn't budge. his chest is a wall, heat radiating off him, and you feel the way his hands twitch, then clench into fists. he's stopping himself from grabbing you. that much is obvious. "you..." you pant, " -you look messed up, kent."
"so do you," he says firmly. his voice has gone super quiet and gravelly, and his eyes keep roaming over your body, from your mouth to your chest to the way you're pushing your body slightly closer to him. and when you grab at his arms...
the wall between irritation and want shatters all at once, and suddenly his mouth is on yours. his tongue is in your mouth, while his mouth pushes hungrily over yours way too forcefully for the puritan clark you knew. this felt long overdue. his tongue rolls over yours as his big hands squeeze at your ass shamelessly, kneading the soft fat before slapping it with a firm hand to make you open your mouth wider for him.
each moan elicits his cock to throb against your thigh, and you can feel him bucking against you eagerly before he crushes you back against the wall, not breaking the kiss. well, damn. is all you can think right now with how fuzzy your head is with the sex pollen. you don't want to know what he's thinking.
he's moaning embarrassingly loud, grinding against your clothed pussy while he tears off the barriers known as clothing.
when you finally feel how big he is pressed against you, your brain short-circuits. it's too late for you to have any second thoughts, (not that you can muster any with how the sex pollen has rewired your brain_ and he tugs down your bottoms, pushing his thick tip in slowly, getting you accommodated to his size. it helps that you're utterly soaked right now.
he starts fucking you like a wild animal within a few minutes. the wall position doesn't last long, and faster than you can register, you're spread open with your back on the floor while he's pounding into you, balls slapping against your ass while he buries his face in your neck, smelling you and biting you and tugging your hair. he is gone. the pollen ripped his self-control to shreds. he keeps slamming into you so deep you’re cockdrunk instantly, clinging to him and whimpering while he holds you in place.
his mouth doesn’t stop - he’s groaning in your ear, kissing you sloppy, whispering things you never thought he would say out loud.
and then... just your luck, the mechanical sound of the seal unlocking resounds through the room, and you see bruce standing outside the door, looking pissed. "…i told you two to behave."
clark doesn’t slow down, let alone stop. he just turns his head slightly, lips swollen from kissing you, "mngh... s-sorry bruce, we'll… be done in a minute."
if a minute meant four or five more rounds, then clark would be telling the truth.
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Synopsis- You are Varang's quiet and sweet mate. When Miles Quaritch comes taking her attention, you develop a distaste for the demon—that is until it becomes glaringly clear they're in competition for you.
Warnings-Smut, dirty old perv Quaritch, toxic!Varang, dubious consent, power-imbalance
A/n- MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! I managed to (barely) make it... At least for my time zone hehe! This was my first time writing smut and omg... I have so much respect for Smut authors... It was so hard???? Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy!
Varang knew exactly what kept her breathing.
Spite.
It sat in her lungs like soot and settled behind her ribs like a coal that refused to die. Every memory she carried tasted of burned soil—blood soaking into blackened ground, screams rising like smoke. Hers. Her clan’s.
“Please, great Mother. Eywa, save us.”
It left her mouth in a whisper. Not a prayer, never a prayer.
She bent over a grove of saplings—young, thin things, barely taller than her waist. Infants compared to the old thunks that once crowned the forest. Their green made her stomach turn.
“Please, great Mother, balance of all. Eywa,” she crooned.
Her hand closed around a thin trunk, green where wood would grow. She drove it into the earth until it snapped with a soft, wet gasp.
She paused.
Do they pray? Did they beg Eywa when the sky-people burned the forest? Did they learn what refusal felt like, too?
“Tsahik.”
The voice came from behind her. Yepa stepped around a bushel of leaves, stripes still damp from the paint he had earned only days ago. A boy-turned-hunter, proud and awkward in the same breath.
Varang turned just enough to meet his eyes. Smiled. “Yes?”
He read the violence in her stance, the splintered tree at her feet, and managed a small, careful grin. “It’s Y/n. She asks for your presence.”
Ah.
Y/n.
Varang’s breath softened, just barely. Yes—spite kept her alive. Spite moved her hands, her teeth, her every step through the burned forest.
But there was something else that pulled herfrom the ruins. Something gentler. Warmer. More dangerous than any hatred she’d survived.
“If she asks for me,” Varang murmured, straightening. “it is only natural I answer.”
She stepped forward, leaving the crushed sapling behind her.
Y/n.
Y/n.
Y/n.
Her name throbbed in Varang’s chest like a second heartbeat.
“Y/n.”
You were crouched beneath a leaning pillar of old wood, shoulders tight, attention fixed on something beyond Varang’s first glance. When she stepped forward, she saw it. Him. Sapok.
The elder’s breaths were slowing, the chest rising more from will than its usual habit. A man held together by tendon, and even those were loosening.
You lifted your gaze to her, a soft frown creasing your features.
“It’s time.”
Those two words carried the finality of the situation. The kind that meant a soul would not return through the roots of the Tree, not tonight, not ever. Time meant the moment Eywa reclaimed what was left—unless, as in Sapok’s case, He refused.
Sapok had been split open long before his body began to fail—grief hollowing him when fire took his children, then his grandchildren, then the home his mothers grandmother had woven and built. Some wounds refused to close.
Grief had rotted him from the inside, until madness carved out his eyes with his own hands.
“I curse Eywa,” he’d spat at Varang once, voice shredded. “Do not let me return. Let my energy be mine, and mine alone.”
And she had promised.
Varang lowered herself beside you, knees against the soft earth. With deliberate care she drew her blades—curved shypers that caught what little light seeped through the smoke. Sapok could not see her, could not know whose hand would free him—but she swore his breath steadied, as if some part of him knew she was there.
She angled the blade.
Then she opened his throat.
With a second practiced motion, she severed his queue. The neural tendrils sparked with a frantic, chaotic flutter before collapsing.
Varang laid the queue against her hip, another to the collection.
“To the fires we will see you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the cooling skin of his brow, “and in the ash of your remains, we will carry you.”
You joined her in the ritual. Together you washed his body in ash, coating every wound, every ridge, every piece of him that grief had kept. You bound the flesh with cloth and quiet hands, sealing him for the journey he had chosen.
Tradition demanded quiet before the flames rose, and so you held your breath. Thinking.
Varang leaned in first (she always did) and brushed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. You shifted, shy. “Not now,” you muttered.
But she only hummed and wrapped an arm around your waist anyway.
“Why not?” she whispered against your skin. “Life should be savored when death sits so close, no?”
You shot her a look. Annoying. So annoying. You gathered your tools, bowls—your things, and packed them into a hollowed gourd. “Do not be like this.”
One ear flicked. “Like what?”
“Crude,” you snapped.
Varang smiled. She always smiled. It never meant anything except whatever she wanted it to.
“You’re angry,” she said. She caught your hand and pressed her mouth to each knuckle, slow, though her eyes never left yours. “Tell me. What have I done?”
Your lips thinned. Your tail gave you away.
“The sky-person,” you grumbled. “The one with the strange voice and the uglier face.”
Varang paused. And for the first time, her smile shifted into something fond. Now that angered you. You pulled your hand away and turned, jaw tight.
“Oh. Him?” she said at last. “Miles Quaritch.”
She reached for you again, palms gliding up your forearms, barely touching. She tried to catch your eye again.
“Him?” you mimicked her airy tone. “Yes. Him.” With a sudden twitch to your tail you groaned. “Eywa preserve me. I will not have a lovers quarrel beside Sapok’s dead body.”
“He would laugh,” she offered lightly.
You hissed and shoved her back with a flat hand. She pouted, and somehow that made it worse. “I need to do some things.”
You slipped out of the hut, brushing past the hanging beads. Of course she followed. Her stride matched yours.
“That is very vague, Y/n,” she said, tone almost sing-song.
You turned your head back, hands failing about. “Oh that's very vague?! You-”
You suddenly hit someone's chest. “Oh!”
Your eyes looked up. Golden eyes, hair along the brows and a meatier, softer impact. Who else other then:
“Miles Quaritch.” You said his name clumsily. It was the demon language, English. But it earned something of a smile from him. Like Varangs, cocky. Unlike Varangs, surprisingly warm.
“Watch where you’re going, cupcake.”
You barely understood him. Varang seemed to, though. Her demeanor changed, she tilted her head. “Demon.” She briefed a nod, and he tilted his head back, gesturing to a nearby Yurt.
“We got some things to discuss.” He grumbled.
Varang soothed a hum, before gently taking a strand of your hair and pinching it. “I’ll see you in the evening.”
You watched as she led him, and glared at Miles Quaritch, who eyed you before following her.
Great.
.
.
.
You had seen death stare at you.
It wore a woman’s face—pleasant, almost gentle. Golden-amber eyes that caught the light, hatred folded neatly behind patient lips. Black against black: wax-dark hair braided with bones of past loves.
Death came as kisses pressed to your cheek, as queues offered in submission, heads bowed. Death had a name here.
Varang.
Quaritch was not death, but the feeling curled similar in your chest. It lodged beneath your ribs and dragged its way down your spine, coiling into your legs until instinct screamed. Move, idiot. Move until he catches you.
You stared at him as he stared at you, the bonfire crackling between. Varang had told you his story: human once, died, reborn na'vi. That's why the pair made sense together, you supposed—he'd crossed the threshold and returned, and if Varang was death itself, then he must be the one who guards her door. Gatekeeper. Guardian. Something worse.
Now the spirit would not stop looking.
You turned away first, fixing your attention anywhere but him. Your mouth pulled into a soft pout as you drank from the skull-cup—nectar cut with water. Too sweet, you felt your teeth ache.
“Your pet has a staring problem.” You grumbled.
Varang lifted an eye, her smile widened, and she played with your beaded top. “He is curious.”
“He should be curious somewhere else.”
“Now, Y/N,” Varang chided softly, “do not be hostile.”
You almost laughed at that. Do not be hostile. When has Varang ever uttered such words?
You flickered back at him, and he winked. His lips quirked up at your sneer, too-perfect-teeth reflecting the orange of the fire. Like stained blood. Then he drank from his cup, and then lifted up.
You had actually flinched at the movement, cocked your head to Varang in slight panic, but she only laughed. He moved, settling heavy beside her. “Evenin’, girls.” He tipped his head in your direction. You scowled back. “Mhm, not so touchy huh?”
“She does not understand you, Quaritch.”
He paused, cup halfway to his mouth. "Huh." A beat, then that grin widened. "Well. Guess I oughta teach her. She'll be talkin' to human grunts soon enough."
Varang's grin widened. She glanced at you, and you felt the weight of her attention like a hand at your throat. "He says he will teach you the demon language, Y/n." You knew that tone. "Take it."
"But Varang—"
And there it was.
The shift. The moment her eyes turned sharp and her smile crooked just enough to bare a hint of fang.
Your ears flattened. You looked at Quaritch—that stupid, shit-eating grin still plastered across his face—and swallowed every word clawing up your throat. Barely managed it.
Varang's fingers—meanwhile, found your hip, she dug in hard enough that tomorrow you'd wear the shape of them in bruises and adorn them like a kiss. That’s all you could do, anyway. She wouldn’t allow for anything else.
You bowed your head before you could stop it, face twisting despite yourself.
"F-Fine."
You turned the glare on Quaritch instead. Poured every drop of frustration and helpless fury into it, let it burn there where Varang couldn't track it. Never at her. Never where she could see. She wouldn't forgive that.
Her grip released. She rose—graceful and already dismissing you. She shoved you toward him with one careless hand. The push sent you stumbling forward before you caught yourself with Quaritch’s bicep.
"She'll do it, Quaritch."
"Atta girl," he drawled around a mouthful of meat.
You hissed at him. “Teylupil,”
.
.
.
Quaritch was everything you'd imagined and worse—arrogant, obtuse, swaggering through life with the blissful ignorance of someone who’d never met a problem his fists couldn’t solve. Worst of all, though? The man was charming, and with the several weeks spent between you two… fond.
You'd never say it aloud. Eywa could strike you down first. His ego needed no more compliments, it was swollen enough to crowd a room. Yet there it was: he made you laugh.
"Aww, c'mon. Like this." His tongue curled with exaggerated precision. "Patient. Pati-eee-nt. Feel that? The tongue goes up, not back."
You mimicked the shape of his mouth, lips pulling awkwardly. "Pati-eee-nt."
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. His palm landed twice against your thigh—approving pats. "That's right. Good job."
Your ears flicked traitorously forward. Heat crept beneath your skin as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Varang had never been this patient, this rewarding. Good things from her meant extra morsels of food. But Quaritch kept a pocket full of those wrapped things—candy, he called them, and handed out those small, colorful spheres when you or another na’vi did something good.
"Patiee-nt. Patiee-nt," you murmured again, testing it.
One brow arched. His mouth quirked. "You're picking up my accent. That's a Kansa's special right there."
"Accent?" The word felt strange on your tongue. Your grasp on this language remained amature at best. You frowned. "Accent... what?"
"What's an accent," he corrected, softening his tone. "What is an accent, you mean, doll."
You tipped your head forward, eyes wide, a question within the angle. Something in that expression pleased him—his thumb caught your chin, tugging playfully. "It's like... hm. Well, not everyone talks the way I do." A laugh escaped him, warm like the sun. "S'funny, actually. You and the other Na'vi pickin’ up my way of speaking. All of you runnin’ around sounding like cowboys. The guys'll lose their minds if they hear you."
"Funny." You paused, tail curling uncertainly behind you. "Not... normal?"
He nodded, something careful entering his expression. "You ever listen to Wainfleet talk?"
"Bald one?"
Quaritch barked a laugh. “Yeah, the bald one. But don't let him hear you say that or he'll yank your tail."
That drew a smile, even if you struggled processing the words.
"Speak—" your tongue was slow and clumsy against the language. "—sloowwwlly." You tapped at your flickering ears. "Hear. Is trying to."
He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. "Yeah, that's right. Alright, I think that's done for the day." He lifted himself up and carefully reached for your hand.
The fourth finger still felt strange against your palm—foreign in the way the knuckle was twice your size. But it was nice, too. Bigger than any of the other males in your clan. No wonder Varang liked holding it. She always liked different.
"You're a quick learner, cupcake. Better than I ever was learnin' Na'vi." His voice carried some old frustration. "My boy, Spider—he tried getting it through my thick skull. An' I could barely string a sentence together."
"Spider. Son." You gave a distant nod. Varang had mentioned him once. He had a son. Wanted him back. No harm to come to him, you remembered that much.
"Mhm." His gaze drifted somewhere past your shoulder, through the woven walls to a place you couldn't follow. For once the mask of bravado slipped, and beneath it was grief of missing someone.
You didn’t really care. That was his business. And yours…
Your lower lip jutted forward in a small pout. Hand reaching out, expectant.
That snapped him back. The grin returned, easier now, and he dug into his cargo pants before pulling out the small bag. "You really like Skittles, huh?" He poured a few into his palm, fingers sorting through the colors before plucking out the red ones. You seemed to really like those. "There you go, little lady."
The taste was different from anything on Pandora, but you liked it. "Mh, good." You nodded. You immediately plopped them into your mouth and chewed. Yum.
He watched you for a long moment—longer than necessary—then bit his lower lip and reached over to tug gently at your cheek. "You're the cutest of the bunch, y'know that? Not so bad when you're like this." His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, voice dropping quieter. "No wonder Varang keeps you around."
"She is, isn't she."
Varang sauntered through. Her body shifted like the dancing of flame, but you knew her enough. You saw her for the fire, not the warmth. You bowed your head and drew your shoulders in. Small gestures for necessary ones.
Varang's mouth was a thin, bloodless line—aimed directly at Quaritch.
She stepped to your side and pressed her hip against yours. You felt the decorative bones pricking your side, stabbing your soft skin. The contact pinned you there while her gaze carved into him. "I told you to teach her."
"And what am I doing?" Quaritch's head canted, dismissive. He wasn't the yielding type.
“Making her weak.”
He scoffed—an amused sound that bubbled into genuine exasperation. His hand found your forearm. “Hm? And how am I makin’ her weak, buttercup?”
Varang hissed.
That surprised you both.
She hauled you back, fingers tight enough to bruise. "You may see. Not touch." Then she stepped closer to him, and the tension in her shoulders melted into something silk-smooth. Run, Quaritch. You tried telling him with your eyes. You are prey. But Varang had a way about her, captivating.
"Besides," Varang murmured, trailing one finger along the freckles of his throat, "you already have me." her lips ghosted over his pulse, and her fingers trailed down to cup the front of his pants. He hissed, a different one—a pleased one. "Do well to remember that."
She turned then, and the sultriness drained from her the moment her back faced him. Her hands found your arm again and you winced as she dragged you forward.
You cast one glance back at Quaritch. His face had gone stony.
Her grip on your arm tightened and you winced, allowed yourself to be turned.
"Varang—" you began, stumbling to keep pace.
She didn’t slow. She dragged you into her yurt, shoving you down onto the woven mat with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. Firelight dnced along the walls, casting her in molten gold as she paced before you.
You breathed slowly, words aching to come, yet withheld under her stare.
She paced forward, steady. You lowered your head, looking anywhere but her—the woven floor, the yurt’s wooden beams, the way ash fell between the light. Her fingers found your chin, and forced your face upward. "See me."
You did. You looked up. "I... I do see you."
That made her calm, just a bit. Her heart gentled and her expression softened into something sweet. She tilted her head, studying you with the intensity of someone memorizing a dying lover, before pressing a kiss against your lips. Her eyes never shut. They watched for your reaction, golden and unblinking, and you knew exactly which one to give.
You closed your own eyes, kissing her back, hands gripping her shoulders. Warmth bloomed where skin met skin—hers fever-hot, yours clammy. "You make me weak," she finally whispered against your mouth.
That gave you pause. She either didn't notice or didn't care.
"Varang." You tilted your head up, felt her lips brush underneath your jaw, trailing heat. Your eyes felt particularly hazy—fatigue, pain, something else entirely. She slowly brought her own queue over her shoulder, and your eyes caught the restrictive tie wrapped around the tendrils.
You glanced, freckles flashing in slight embarrassment. "R-Right now...?"
She gave a nod.
You brought your own queue forward with trembling fingers, a headache already forming. She let the tendrils bond together. The both of you shuddered. Her anger crashed over you first—the frequent memory of the volcano. The screams of her mother, the passive voice of her father: “If it is Eywa’s will, Varang… be like your sister, Varang.” Then her hate followed, the taste of salt and rock.
But underneath it lay something girlishly needy, embarrassingly seeking. A vulnerability she showed no one else. Only you were allowed such a look into her soul.
"Hm."
She walked backward then, pulling you with her until she hit the hammock. It swayed under the combined weight as she settled, then drew you into her lap, tugging at your hair. “Shhh,” She cooed.
Varang pressed a hand underneath the wrapping of your top, lifting it to kiss the skin there. You’d pierce your nipples months ago, and the bone that settled between the nubs made her mouth water. “Such fear,” she whispered against your damp skin. “But you love me. I see it. I know it.”
She licked a broad wet stripe across the sensitive areola, then drew the tight bud between her mouth, swirling her tongue around the piercing and faintly tugged.
You whined, frowning, fingers finding the ridges of her collarbone. "You always question it."
"Naturally." She nuzzled your shoulder, breathing in the ash still clinging to your skin. Her lips switched to its twin, finally fluttering her eyes close to gently suck, saliva coating your breasts. You grinded against her thigh, pressing your face against her shoulder. “Such a needy little thing, come—”
“Tsahik,”
Yepa stood where the privacy cloth was, eyes cast down. He knew better than to interrupt Varang when she kept you to herself. Her eyes sharpened, fingers pausing where they'd been toying with the piercing. Heat crawled up your neck. You looked away, cheeks burning.
"Speak." She said.
Her hand drifted lower, tracing the edge of your loincloth, circling just above your mound while her mouth pressed dizzying kisses along the curve of your cheek. "Forgive me, Tsahìk," Yepa murmured. "We've spotted a new caravan. The windtraders."
Varang exhaled through her nose. Her touch stilled. For one fleeting moment, she looked at you—something almost apologetic flickering behind her eyes.
Then it was gone.
You made a soft, plaintive sound, fingers curling around her wrist. "Stay." The word came out smaller than you meant it to, and you hated yourself for it. Varang despised weakness. You were weakness.
She pushed your hand away with her usual ease. "Others hunt the meat you eat, Y/n." She didn't look at you again, said it in a cooing tone that made it all the worse.
You rewrapped your chest with fumbling hands, tail lashing hard enough snap at the air. You shoved past Yepa without meeting his eyes, head bowed low.
Not fair. The thought curled bitter in your head. She could refuse you. You could never refuse her.
Around you, the clan stirred with new activity. Warriors readied their ikran, voices risingto prepare. Blades were sharpened, the new demon-weapons brandished with eager hands.
You weren't allowed on raids. Varang forbade it.
So instead you sat on the edge of camp and kicked rocks, watching them disappear into the embers of the sun.
"You're not going?"
You froze mid-motion, glancing back.
Quaritch.
Your frown deepened.
"Varang angry," you said quietly. She’s angry, and doesn’t want you near me. Is what you meant to say. But how could you? He was an idiot. Or maybe it was you, for not knowing how to say it.
You moved to walk past him, but his hand caught your shoulder—firm, four fingers pressing and encompassing most of it.
"So?" He snorted. "She throws a hissy fit and what? Law doesn't apply to me."
They do. Your eyes narrowed. You are one of us now. They apply.
But you didn't say it. Instead, you sighed and looked away, fingers tapping absently against the skin where your heart was underneath. "I…" You hesitated. "Weak. Not strong. Varang worry."
A pause.
"Don't tell," you grumbled.
Quaritch gave a slow nod, tail tracing a lazy arc. He leaned forward, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. "You ever use a gun?"
You blinked. "Gun…?"
He lifted one of those compact metal bows from his holster, blocky and compact—nothing like the carved wood your people used. "Yeah. A gun. You've seen Varang use it." He jerked his chin toward the distant yurts. "Come on. I'll show you. Just don't blow my tail off."
Your gaze drifted to Varang's yurt, then skyward where the war party had departed hours ago, her Ska'avum among them. She'd be gone until dusk at least. You pressed your lips together.
"Yes. Okay."
.
.
.
The first shot made you jump, ears pressing flat against your head.
"Yeah! Booyah!" Quaritch's hands landed on your shoulders, shaking hard into your frame. "Clear damn shot. You're a natural at this, kid."
He thrust his palm upward, some human gesture you'd never seen before.
You stared at it, confused.
Then lifted yours suspiciously, mirroring the angle.
His hand met yours with a sharp smack.
"High-five. Well—high-four," he amended, grinning wide enough to show molars. His palm found your spine, a push that was encouraging and commanding. "Come on. Again. Let's see if it was a fluke."
He was close now. Close enough that if Varang were here, if she saw—
You swallowed the thought. No. This isn't about Varang.
You adjusted your stance the way he'd shown you: shoulders angled, weight forward, breath held. The target swam into focus. You squeezed.
Bullseye.
Your tail betrayed you, wagging before you could stop it—then his hand cracked against your ass and you squealed. "Ngh!" The hiss tore from your throat, glaring at him. You almost forgot he was an asshole first, friend second.
He was already moving past you, plucking the gun from your slack grip. "And she calls you weak." A scoff. He studied the target, grinning like some prideful mentor. "Feel pretty powerful, huh?"
You nodded slowly, studying the cluster of holes punched through the painted target. When you glanced back, he was counting the rounds with his usual efficiency.
"Think we'll add firearms to your training rotation." He didn't look up. "No point wasting time on that bow sissy-shit when you've got real stopping power available."
You stepped closer, watching his hands work. "What doing?"
"What are you doing," he corrected. "Grammar, kid. Makes me sound like some kind of assh-shat teacher." He whistled. "Anyway, I’m cleanin’ and reassembling. Maintenance. All this volcanic shit clogs the mechanisms. Messes with the equipment."
This was news to you. You paused. "Varang…knows?"
The question landed betwene you two.
His lips peeled back—too much teeth. "Nah." He didn't look up. "Keep it that way."
A secret. You had a secret now. The thought bloomed warm, and Quaritch must have seen it written plain across your face because he chuckled, low and knowing. "You're a little minx, aren't'cha?"
You didn't know what that was, but nodded anyway.
He dug into his pockets again, fingers closing around the crinkled bag. Your hand shot out before you could think to stop it, palm up, giddy.
He caught your wrist to steady it—the tips of his fingers padded in callouses. “You’re spoiled, you know that?” He shook the bag near your ear, grinning. "Never had much of a sweet tooth myself. Spider did, though." A pause. His jaw worked. "I traded my good socks for this."
The silence came. Then he pressed the entire bag into your palm, closing your fingers around it like it was something precious.
"Just keep it." It came out rough, almost embarrassed. "And don’t let the others see." He looked away.
You stared at the bag. Bright red plastic stamped with the strange alien letters from his world. Red. Yellow. Orange. Green. Purple. You traced each color with your eyes before lifting your gaze back at him.
You didn't know what you were thinking.
You kissed his cheek.
Quaritch actually stumbled back half a step. His ears snapped forward, eyes gone wide and startled as a spooked hexapede's. Before he could recover, you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. You felt reckless, daring. The power that Varang held, you wield it now.
You skittered backward, clutching the candy to your chest, a shy smile blooming despite yourself.
"Thank you, Quaritch," you whispered.
His lips quirked, just a bit. He tilted his head back, pushed air between his teeth in a low whistle that might've been a laugh. "Yeah," he muttered, but you think it was more to himself than you. "Yeah, alright."
You left then, the bag pressed tight against your chest, tail swaying in wide arcs all the way back to the yurt.
Another secret.
.
.
.
Things were different now. You felt different, you supposed.
This shared secret between you and Quaritch had festered into something physical. It lived in the space between breaths, in the pause before he spoke your name.
And Quaritch? Quaritch was all physical.
You couldn't walk past him without a slap to the rear or a pinch to your side, something too boyish for a man his size (and his age, as you liked to remind him). But there it was anyway, that grin splitting his face, the wink that followed. "That's it, baby girl." The words dripped easy, thick as the molasses you once tasted.
The lessons were no different. Or rather—no different in how he touched you now. Instead of sweet candy he'd nudge your lips apart and kiss.
"Say it. Patient."
"Patient."
Quaritch just grinned against your mouth. "Still got that accent. It's cute." Your eyes fluttered shut. You licked away the chapness of his lips, tasted salt and something faintly bitter.
Evening meals were distant, of course. Formal. When Varang sat beside you, eating whatever meal she'd presented—she’d present a kuru, sometimes several, gifts of power and affection—you'd accept with the usual grace. The usual smiles.
And later, after you'd ignored him through dinner and feigned disinterest, Quaritch would return. That all-too-easy smile waiting for you in the dark.
Varang wouldn't know. You were happy with that.
"Stop moving," you grumbled.
You painted the whites and reds against his face in careful strokes, slapping his hands when they wandered.
"It's damn cold," he hissed. But he remained still, huffing through his nose. The pigment was thick, it had to be. Smelling just a bit of crushed minerals, rendered fat, and berries. You had to change the recipe for him, he sweat too much and smeared it everywhere—too impatient to let it dry.
You rolled your eyes. The two of you were tucked beneath the newly constructed yurt. Varang had moved everyone to the RDA base, and Quaritch had been more than eager to accommodate the clan into the facility's sprawling guts. If he wasn't with her, or the strange pink-skins, then he was with you.
"It's cold because you take too long." You swept your thumbs in parallel lines along his cheeks, forming a sharp V that cascaded down the bridge of his nose. The pattern was traditional, though your hand trembled slightly as you worked.
You watched him through your lashes, heat creeping up your neck when you realized he'd been staring back. "What?"
Quaritch clicked his tongue, angling his head low. He pressed his cheek against your palm, the paint smudged just a bit, but you didn’t correct him. "Nothin'... just—sweet is all. You're sweet."
Your fingers drifted to your songcord almost unconsciously, tracing the amber bead you'd added most recently. Inside, suspended in golden resin, a single red skittle.
"I didn't think you'd be so sappy," you murmured, a smile tugging at your mouth.
"Sappy? Now where'd you learn that word?"
"Lyle." You said innocently. “The bald one."
Quaritch grinned, and his hand found your back—thumb pressing the base of your tail. "Course it was. The bastard—"
"Do you think I am a fool?"
Your tail went rigid mid-sway, ears swiveling before the rest of you caught up. You turned, careful, already knowing what you'd find.
Varang stood at the threshold, stripped of her usual paint and accessories. She looked exactly as she had when you were both girls and the forest still held its green—Vulnerable.
"Varang," you started, placating. "We were almost—"
A hiss tore from her throat. Her nose wrinkled, lips peeling back from her teeth. "Do not." She lifted one hand, fingers curling through the air in a white-knuckled clench.
You'd never seen her this furious. Not even since—
Your ears flattened against your skull.
"You do not ask permission, sky-man." She began to circle Quaritch now, and her hands drifted to the twin buugeng blades strapped at her hips.
Quaritch's expression didn't shift. If anything, it settled into something lazier. Bored, almost. He tracked her with his eyes, then let out a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "And when have you?"
He rose slowly, joints popping, and your handprint still blazed red across his cheek.
Varang faltered as she eyed the paint. For just a heartbeat—her brows pinched into something wounded—but then she shook her head, and the mask slammed back into place.
"Seems to me, cupcake," Quaritch drawled, stepping into her space, "that you and I are too similar."
His gaze slid to you.
Then his hands found Varang's shoulders, turning her to face you instead. "She don't seem too concerned." His voice dropped rough, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "And I bet she'd take both of us sweetly. Hm?"
Varang stared. Her expression smoothed into something unreadable, eerily calm, yellow eyes locked on yours.
"Have you two bonded?"
Your stomach dropped. "No. Varang, we—"
"Nah." Quaritch's answer came quicker than yours, easier. "We haven't. You can keep that if you want." His lips grazed the curve of Varang's neck, breath hot against the delicate skin there. His hands slid lower, palms molding to her waist, then dipping to the swell of her hips. "If it makes you feel special."
He grinned.
Varang twisted free in one fluid motion, closing the distance between you in two strides. Her hand fisted in your hair, dragging you close enough that you could see every fleck of amber in her yellow eyes. "You smell like him."
Then she kissed you.
Hard.
Her canines caught your lower lip, tugging until you tasted copper. A sound escaped you, swallowed just before it turned pitiful..
Behind you, Quaritch shifted closer. You couldn't see him, but you felt the heat of him, the broad wall of his chest almost brushing your shoulder blades. His hand came down heavy on the curve of your ass, grabbing an absolute fistful.
And you, you felt multiple hands now. Varang's fingers worked the braided top, peeling it free until your breasts were bare beneath her palms. They bounced just a bit, purple nipples perking. Behind you, Quaritch's thumbs traced the curve of your ass before lifting the weight of each cheek. He let them plop down, and groaned.
"Fuck," he muttered, voice dropping to gravel. "Won't you look at that." His knuckles grazed the stripes that contoured around the flesh, mesmerized.
Miles…" You turned your head, the syllable half-formed. Instinct seeked his face, but Varang's fist caught your braids and wrenched you back.
Her teeth found your lower lip.
"Not at him." The growl rumbled against your mouth. "Me."
Quaritch's laugh was low, almost lazy. "Think she likes me better. I ain't so punishing." His palm cracked against your rear—only once, but something purple was already forming. "Say my name again, doll."
"Miles—" But Varang swallowed it, mouth sealing over yours, and she shot him a look that could've drawn blood.
"You ain't playing fair," He had that smile, you knew he did even if you couldn’t see it.
Both hands rose to cradle your jaw, now. Thumbs stroking the jaw where tension pooled. She pressed kisses all over—the corner of your lips, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder where your scent glands were located. Marking you with her own scent.
"If you can only win by fairness," she whispered, lips brushing your shoulders "you are no true warrior."
Then she kissed you again
Quaritch's mouth twitched. Without warning, he hauled you back against him, fingers sinking into your hips, grinding you into the hard line of his pelvis. "So you wanna play like that?"
Varang pulled back with a hiss, chest rising. She looked at you—just once—then stepped forward. She wore seduction in her hips now, curling her lips, tasting her skin. "Only if you think yourself capable."
"Hm. Challenge accepted." His attention dropped to your chest, dismissive for just a moment before he took another look. He pinched a nub. "Fuck, baby girl. You had these the whole time?"
He flicked the other with his thumb, feeling the bone piercing. Your body jerked, a gasp wriggling out. “O-Oh…” His mouth went lower, descending a hot trail while his hands lazily hooked your loincloth to the side. His calloused fingers found your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling.
"Miles, please…" Your head fell forward, brows pinching together, and the sound that left you was barely coherent.
Before you, Varang sank to her knees.
You'd never seen her like this—all that fierce pride folded into something softer, reflective of her soul. Her palms smoothed up your thighs, reverent. When she looked up at you through dark lashes, blinking slow, you blushed.
“You beg for him,” She undid your loincloth properly now, throwing it over her shoulder to the fire nearby. “Now you will beg for me” She simply lowered her mouth and licked—a long, flat, possessive stripe from your entrance to your clit, pushing Quaritch’s thumb aside with the force of it.
He only grunted. His fingers traced your ribs, mapping each curve, each rise of skin. Up, then down. Feeling. Always feeling. He nudged your legs apart. Varang needed room, afterall.
She took it.
Varang nudged her face, nuzzling the purple flesh and mouthing your pussy. Suckling the flesh. When she looked up, her eyes were hazy with peace—and if you dared to call it—love. You watched her tail sway behind her. A soft huff escaped you.
She spread your pretty pussy lips with her thumbs, then spat. You watched the silver strand descend, sliding down your slit in complete arousal.
“So pretty,” she cooed. “You like this, yes?”
Her finger brisked along the opening, pinching your folds together. They were undeniably swollen, plump. She always liked how engorged they became when you were aroused. Like a dumpling. She thought.
She pressed one fingertip to the left lip, and watched it bounce back. “Varang.” You pushed your hips forward, pouting.
Both chuckled. “What did I say?” Quaritch mused. “Spoiled. Absolutely spoiled.”
He lifted you—just slightly—and chucked his loincloth aside. You glanced down.
Your mind emptied of everything but his cock.
Your hands flew to his forearms, fingers digging into the muscle there just as your legs kicked in a brief instinctive pedal. “Wait—wait!”
He went still, swallowing. “Somethin’ the matter?” He glanced over your shoulder to look at Varang, who now leaned back on her hands, head cocked into something teasing.
He settled you on his thick thigh instead, tracing numbers over your stomach.
You dragged your gaze back down, helpless. It was… big. Long, thick, veined with ridges that made your mouth water and your lips tremble all the same. The head was a broad, blunt crown, flushed a deep, violent purple, and below, his balls were heavy and full.
A low, involuntary sound escaped you as you gave a tiny, shameful shuffle, the slick heat of you grinding against the muscle of his thigh. You bit your lower lip until you tasted the copper hint of blood.
“Well… it’s…”
“She’s never taken a man.” Varang’s murmur was matter-of-fact. Her eyes shifted to you, her smile softening.
For once, he seemed surprised. “What? But you and her have—”
“I have never allowed a man to touch her.” Varang’s scoffed, as if the idea was ridiculous. “Any who’ve tried I’ve killed myself.” She leaned forward now, before going on a crawl. Her eyes, now heavy-lidded, inspected his cock.
She bit her own plump lip, then leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the tip. Her eyes fluttered shut as she did it, and above you, Quaritch hissed—no doubt pleased.
“It doesn’t bite, Y/n.” Varang stroked your trembling thigh, her touch gentling, before she turned back. She opened her mouth, suckling the broad head, wetting it thoroughly, then licked a long, torturous stripe from root to tip. The sound was obscenely wet.
“Ngh, fuck…” The groan was torn from Quaritch’s chest, you never thought you’d hear such a sound from him.
It felt right, strangely.
He buried his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder, his arms locking around you, binding you to the solid wall of his heat. His breaths came in uneven puffs. His large, warm hands splayed across your stomach, fingers pressing in rhythmic, almost absent-minded taps. “Not so much now…” he managed, voice strangled.
Varang only scoffed around him, the vibration earning another jerk of his hips. She bobbed her head, taking him deeper, her cheeks hollowing. “This is not for you,” she shot back, pulling off with a wet sound. “So weak. Cannot even last.”
That earned a guttural grunt. He fluttered his eyes open, the yellow within them hollowed by the black of his pupil.
He turned his head and bit the shell of your ear. “You listenin’ to her?” he hummed. You felt his pout. “So mean to me. But you ain’t, darlin’. You’re good. All good and sweet stuff.” He nuzzled, then placed a softer, startling kiss on your cheek.
You both watched, mesmerized, as Varang returned to her work. Your own hands reached and took what she couldn’t. He groaned then, thighs bouncing, dragging against your clit.
“Ngh,” You whined.
Finally, she withdrew with a slick, echoing pop. She slowly unraveled her tongue, giving one last lon lick from across his shaft.
“There.” Her cooed. “Nice and wet for you to sit on, my beloved. A proper throne.”
“T_Thank you, Varang.”
You thought it was so strange, how someone like Quaritch could be so… gentle at times. His hands found the back of your knees, planting a squeeze against the delicate hinge. Then, he pressed your cheek against his.
“You ready, buttercup?”
You felt the vibration of his voice against your back, rumbling from his chest to your bones. He was like that, of course—all consuming.
Your eyes found themselves downward before you managed the smallest nod. “Y-Yes.”
It was all he needed. “Good girl.” The praise sent warmth all around your body. “Knew you could.” He pat your thighs.
Then he lifted. It was an easy strength he had, lifting as if it were nothing. He shuffled, bringing your knees to your breasts, cocking his head to the side to see. Instinctively, your hands flew behind you, fingers searching for the anchor of his shoulders.
You felt it first, the wet head jutting against your cunt. The broad slick head grazing your slit, parting it just enough to make it audible. Your pussy clenched, and you drew in your breath.
“Shh… relax.” He cooed. “I won’t move until you want to.”
He began the slow work of getting you used to it. His hips rolled in a shallow, circular tease, moving his hips so his dick coated itself with your slick.
Then, with a controlled shift, he gathered both your knees in the vice of one formidable arm, the other hand wrapping around the base of his shaft.
A groan, raw and deep, tore from his chest as he notched himself at your entrance.
Varang watched, transfixed at the sight.
He pushed.
The burn was instant.
Your eyes flew wide, seeing nothing and everything. “Big—it’s big, Miles—” You babbled, already trying to claw away.
He grunted, and his teeth found the end of your flickering ear. “The more you squirm, the more it’ll hurt. Shh… shh, it’ll be okay, sugar.”
You tried to obey—really you did, but you couldn’t help the tears that flowed down in wet fat blobs. “Thats it.” He settled you down slow, inch by inch. “See? Its not so—Fuck!”
Varang pushed your hips down, and naturally you screamed, suddenly impaled. Miles, caught off guard, bucked upward with a startled hiss, his ears pinning flat against his skull. Varang’s giggle was a light, airy thing that quickly boiled over into a full-throated laugh.
“So weak,” she snarled, the sweetness evaporating. She patted your trembling thighs before pushing them wider, folding you open and giving herself a perfect, obscene view of either sex.
“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Miles breathed.
Your belly was full of him. A distinct, visible bulge swelled at your lower tummy. Your cunt was stretched to a painful pink halo around the thick blue of his cock. You just breathed, glancing down—at her, at him.
“Ngh… j-just go…. Please, Miles.”
The words left you in spent sigh, so fragile.
He shuddered where he held you—and nodded. “Alright, buttercup.” He pressed a single fat kiss to the crown of your head, then moved.
Miles Quaritch did nothing by half-measures. His hands locked around the curve of your hips, fingers biting into flesh as he pulled you down and drove himself up. You swore you could feel the tip bristle against your cervix.
“Oh… fuck.” The curse was low, a rumble you absorbed through your spine. “So fuckin’ tight.”
The force of him made your world condense to sensation. To the deep, stretching fullness, the slap of skin, the dizzying bounce of your breasts. One of his palms slid up to capture a peak—holding it to a squeeze.
And then, because he relished in it, he buried his face against your shoulder, his breath coming in delicious puffs. You could feel every stifled groan turn into a grunt, only to dissolve into a moan.
He likes this. He likes me. You blushed.
Varang shifted closer. Her cool fingers traced the sweat-slicked tension of his balls, cupping the heavy weight before her tongue swept over your clit.
You squealed. “Oh!” You pressed both hands over her head, eyes wide.
“You look so pretty, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice a honeyed smoke against your fevered skin. “So perfect, split open like this.” You heard the rustle of her loincloth, the wet sound of her own fingers working between her legs, the slick rhythm of her thumb on her clit.
Her moan was low, and the vibration of it against your most sensitive nerve sent pure pleasure tearing through your core.
“I love you—” The confession was a needy thing, meant for both, owned by neither. But they knew, you were sure they did. “I’m…ah…!”
Miles stole most of your speech, dragging your hips to meet his punishing pace, folding your body to fit him deeper. The angle was brutal, perfect. “Fuck. Gonna cum inside this pussy,” he growled. “Gonna flood you.”
Varang’s mouth left you with a soft pop. “No,” she hissed. “You will not.”
He laughed, somehow teasing and joyful…maybe a bit disbelieving. “Fuck yeah, I will. Gonna pump this tight cunt full. Gonna fuck a baby right into her.” He was sneering at her, a direct challenge even as his hips began to lose their rhythm, succumbing to a ragged, urgent pounding.
“Thrones do not talk, Quaritch.”
“T-This one does.” A stutter from him, a victory for her.
You could feel it. The ache of release. His balls drew up tight against you. Varang felt it too. Her hand tightened around a ball sack, vise-like warning.
He hissed. “Agh—Shit! Woman, don’t you—!”
And then you clenched. Not a voluntary act, your inner muscles clenching around him in a series of frantic, milking pulses.
A broken yelp escaped you as you came, turning liquid and mindless around his huge dick. Now he was trapped: between Varang’s iron hand and your sweet, convulsing vice.
“Ngh—Christ!” His whole body locked, eyes rolling back in a spasm.
Varang moved, she wouldn’t allow him. She hauled you off him, a gasp torn from your lips at the sudden emptiness, and her fist was around him, stroking, pumping, directing. His release shot in thick, pearlescent ropes across her cheek, her chin, the proud arch of her neck.
She blinked slowly, unimpressed. A single, sticky strand dripped onto her collarbone. She caught it on a finger, flicked it away with utter disdain. “You will not get her pregnant,” she stated, and it was final.
Miles was a spent force, chest heaving. He let out a winded puff, then a low, sated laugh. One eye slid open, crinkled with admiration. “You’re evil,” he rasped, pulling your boneless form against his solid thigh. He nuzzled into your hair, both hands coming up to weigh your breasts, holding you to him as if claiming spoils.
You on the other hand were dazed, trying to remember how to breathe.
Varang scoffed. “Well.” In one smooth motion, she took your wrists, pulling you from Mile’s slackened grip toward her. He yielded with a grunt, shifting heavily on the mat, already feeling exhaustion in his bones.
“Our turn,” Varang said. And she smiled, a true sweet thing.
You blinked. “...Uh… What?”
She laid you back on the woven mat, the fibers imprinting on your sweat-slick skin. Her loincloth fell away. “You haven’t made me come yet,” she pouted. “It’s no fair.”
You offered a weak, sheepish smile. “Let me—Oofmp!”
She pushed you flat, and climbed over you. “Shhh…” Her thigh brushed your cheek, then she settled her weight, the hot, musky scent of her arousal enveloping you. She sank down onto your waiting mouth with a soft, shuddering moan.
Then she glanced over at Miles, already snoring softly. She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and her hips began a slow, commanding grind against your lips.
“Weak.”
A/n- I tried challenging myself to 5000... It was not 5000 it was 8000 . I should be called the slow-burn queen. How people write 3000 or less... I wish for their skills. Anyway—have a Merry Christmas everyone! Remember to drink water and eat well!
reader that isn’t a bimbo? Reader that is put together and likes dressing up? Reader that’s older than 18-20? Reader that’s not white-coded??? Reader who doesn’t have daddy issues? Reader who does have daddy issues in a “man hater” way? Reader who’s taller than 4’11-5’0?? Reader who’s quiet and reserved and not in a robotic way or stuttering way? Reader who’s Tina Belcher coded? Reader who gives off the vibe of a creepy barn owl but somehow it’s endearing? Reader who’s charismatic and charming? Reader who’s-
there are actors who bend over backwards to deny the homoerotic undertones that are clearly present between the characters they play with their costar and we have Mads Mikkelsen who told everybody with his full chest that it was hard to not kiss Hugh Dancy because he’s beautiful, and that Hannibal’s last thought was that he’s finally holding the man he loves as they fell off a cliff in an embrace
Pairing: Adrian Chase x bimbo(ish)!reader
Summary: John has to grapple with the fact you've taken a liking to Adrian.
Warnings + notes: Fluff, reader is ditzy but sciency smart (kinda like Elle Woods?), based off this request, Adrian basically falls in love at first sight and lowkey so does reader, reader implied to be shorter than John, contains peacemaker spoilers(vaguely)
John is known to overshare small and insignificant things about his life. He’s never had a girlfriend, he’s had crippling anxiety as a kid, he hasn’t been checked for testicular cancer in a long time, and he doesn’t like it when he has his balls in someones mouth. Some may say it was for safety, to protect his family and loved ones from being targeted- whether from shitty jokes or deadly surveillance. Even with having a job that keeps a low profile, A.R.G.U.S could be unpredictable- it was hard to find trust in that office.
So it was a big surprise when a beautiful, bubbly girl that looked nothing like him strolled right on into Checkmate with balloons, takeout, and flowers, claiming that she was his younger sister.
“Hello! I’m looking for my brother, John Economos- he’s a big guy, very natural beard, probably wearing a graphic t-shirt and a flannel, aviator glasses? We look exactly alike.” Your voice is sincere and cheery, impossibly bright demeanor for someone who’s visiting the office to see Economos of all people.
Harcourt squints her eyes, looking up and down at you in shock before nodding slowly. “He’s stationed right over there.” Her finger points towards the corner, where you can see your brother’s head above the cubicle, snacking on what you assume is Doritos while blissfully unaware of your presence.
You smile with your whole face, thanking her with a chipper tone as you beeline towards him. Harcourt and Adebayo watch as your skirt flounces with each click-clack of your heels echoing throughout the quiet space.
“What the kind of business does a girl like that have to do with John?”
“She said he was her sister- I’ve worked with him for years and he has never mentioned a sister.”
“There’s no way they’re actually related.”
They watch intently as you tap him on the shoulder, startling him as chip crumbs fly across his desk. He turns around, irritated before slipping into a relaxed smile, standing up to give you a… secret handshake??
John Economos has had a sister this whole time and they’re actually close? Close enough to have a fucking handshake? Ads and Harcourt’s faces screw up in confusion as they watch the interaction unfold.
Although you know he isn’t one for physical touch, he still pulls you in for an awkward hug, lightly gripping your shoulder in affection because, yes, while his brain is wired weird, he does still love his sister and it does feel good to be reminded that he is cared for. You know him well enough to appreciate his telltale signs of affection, and the gesture makes you soften as you part from him.
“Congratulations on the new job! I hope this means I can visit regularly.” You place the flowers on his desk and clip the balloon on his hoodie, giggling as it moves slightly with his motions.
“I mean, it’s better than the big A- there’s definitely other things to worry about here though.” His voice trails off, eyeing Ads and Harcourt from across the room, who quickly shuffle to look busy before returning their gaze. “You didn’t have to come, y’know. I could have met with you at, wherever you got this stuff.”
“Well I know that, but it was last minute and I wanted to bring you stuff cause I know your desk would look like-“ You pause, skimming over the cubicle that had a calendar on the side, a photo from what seemed like a post-mission victory with other people, and a flimsy plastic succulent along with the mug you had gifted him for his birthday last year, filled with bic pens and Dixon pencils. “That. I just wanted to liven things up a little. Plus, I haven’t seen you in like a month!”
The corners of his mouth just turn slightly, standing awkwardly as he watches you rummage around his desk. “I am really grateful you came by but I don’t know how to process it without sweating.”
You roll your eyes, unpacking the lunch you brought before handing him his plate. “You can’t process anything without sweating!” The giggle you let out is infectious. Ads and Harcourt can’t help but snicker, not even bothering to turn their heads the second time when John sends them a glare.
“Can you two not?”
Ads shakes her head, putting her hands up in surrender. “Sorry man, it’s just- you never mentioned having a sister before so this is really… surprising.”
John freezes, shifting nervously as you turn around, a frown tugging at your lips. “You’ve never talked about me?”
“I don’t like talking about my personal life and I don’t like it when people make you the butt of the jokes when I finally do mention you.” For a good period of time, John had heard a handful of untasteful jokes about you when he had finally shown someone at his old job a picture of you both during your graduation.
“You told us about your balls when you had basically first met Ads.”
“That was Chris’s fault and it was self defense.”
“Was it about the testicular cancer thing? I told you that you need to get it checked out- I swear it runs in our dads side or something.”
Harcourt is nearly stunned in silence, watching you two interact was like, something totally fake or ai-generated. You were nothing like him. Your hair was perfectly cut and styled, nails painted pretty pink, and your outfits were so… bright. It’s like pink sparkles and rainbows followed you everywhere you went.
“Are you two like, fully related?”
You look at Harcourt like she’d fucking stupid- looking at John and looking at yourself before nodding. “Uh, yeah. Can’t you tell? We literally look exactly alike.”
Ads almost laughed- thinking it was a joke, but the sound never leaves her mouth at the absolute honesty in your voice. Your face was completely serious- as if what you said was complete and utter fact.
Harcourt does nothing but nod. “Right. I guess I wasn’t seeing it before but I am now.” The look she shares with Ads is unsure, but she doesn’t question further.
John lets you rattle on about random things going on. How none of your lab partners can do anything right, how irritating your job is, and how despite working the absolute hardest on everything, no one has been taking you seriously. Sure, you’ll forget what day it is and forget California isn’t a country- but who cares about that?
It clicks in Harcourt’s head that you’re a total ditz, where you excelled in social interaction must mean you lack in basic knowledge. How the hell can someone think of California as a whole fucking state?
As you walk off, waving goodbye to everyone in the office (which was still just Ads and Harcourt) beaming with a cheery smile, Harcourt does exactly what John fears the second you close the door.
“Can’t believe you never talked about your bimbo sister.”
John’s voice is back to it’s cut and dry tone, slightly glaring at Harcourt before he takes one last bite of his lunch. “She may be a little clueless, but she’s not a bimbo. I mean yeah if you consider all the-“ He motions his hand with a wave, pursing his lips as he thinks of a good way to describe it. “The glitter and pink.”
Ads raises a brow. “She thought California was a country, John.”
“Ok yeah. She can be a little clueless but she’s not dumb. She made this weird, exothermic contraption in like eighth grade that set off the fire alarm. She’s always had this insane talent with science. She’s pretty good with tech too, but she just dabbled because I did.”
It’s probably a little misogynistic in the way Harcourt doesn’t believe him at first- but John gives her no probable reason to doubt, and John normally doesn’t defend anyone with such sharpness. “She just, doesn’t really talk like someone who would know that stuff. Not really any need to present smarter when you just are.”
“Why don’t you offer her a position here then? Someone good with that could be really useful here.”
John taps his fingers on the desk, once, twice, before shaking his head. “You guys are too fucked up for her. She deserves to live a normal life and I don’t think she’ll achieve that here.”
“Why not? I mean, she clearly hates her other job and isn’t getting along with people. I need someone here that isn’t such a Debbie downer.” Ads looks at Harcourt apologetically, unsure if she offended her in the process.
“Ads is right- she could be a valuable asset and she’d be treated well here. Adrian has enough blood money to probably keep her employed for the rest of her life too. With health insurance.”
“She’d be valued here.”
The last statement is what has the gears turning in Johns head. You had been complaining about your job for months- disappointed with the fact that even with your multiple degrees and feats within your workplace, everyone treats you condescendingly and you’ve been thinking about finding a different job anyways. All you really wanted was to make enough money and have a space to conduct research- and the lab here is already collecting dust from the lack of use besides Chris and Adrian making a baking soda volcano when they’re bored.
“I’ll think about it.”
Triumphantly, Ads and Harcourt give each other a silent, subtle fist bump. You’ll be Checkmates most valued employee by the end of this month.
-
Adrian doesn’t have the blessing of meeting you until you visit Checkmate again a week later, lunch in hand and same happy smile beaming as you walk through the doors. You greet Harcourt with enthusiasm, hugging her like you’ve known her for years, and she lets you. Your unwavering positivity and sweet perfume leave even her bending to your whims.
“He’s not here right now, he’ll be in a meeting and out and about for a while, but if you have time you can totally hang out at his desk til he gets here.”
“I got time! I quit my job today so I’m actually just… um.” You look down dejectedly. “I don’t know. In need of company I guess.”
The blonde’s face slightly softens. “I’m sorry to hear that. If you want-“ she hesitates, almost considering John’s fears of letting you work here before continuing. “We could really value someone with your skillset. In both science and social.”
As if someone shooed the rain cloud above your head, you brighten instantly. “Really? Could I build things here? We could run assays and thermal tests and solvent profiling-“ You cover your mouth slightly, stopping yourself before you get too excited. “As long as you don’t mind glitter everywhere! It’s actually mica powder, not glittery plastic. My work keeps saying it’s a ‘liability’ but it’s literally a mineral? I don’t think they have any idea what they’re talking about ever. We’re not even dealing with stuff that’ll be effected by a little sparkle.
The longer you talk, the sharper your words get. It’s not a complete turnaround, your bubbly charm still persists as you talk about basal cleavage and thermal stability. “Mica’s cleavage planes make it really hard for it to interfere with any of our labs unless what we’re dealing with is extremely sensitive- which most of the time it’s not. Honestly, their b.o would probably do more damage than mica powder.” You shudder, thinking about your last coworker who probably couldn’t wear deodorant if a gun was pointed to his head.
“It’s totally non-flammable too. Perfect Basal cleavage too- you can split them into thin sheets that are tough and flexible. Overall a great mineral- but nooo glitter and whimsy is too much for the people at my work.”
Harcourt’s face turns from confusion to amusement, just barely keeping up with your words before it morphes into something more akin to respect.
“You talk like glitter, but you think like a textbook.”
Like a flower on a sunny day, your face blooms with gratitude as you smile. “Thank you! That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me!”
Harcourt’s head tilts, lips pursing as she looks at you. “They really didn’t see any of this? You really do talk like you know your shit.”
You shrug, puckering your lips into a pout as you think. “They liked my results, but they didn’t really like me, I guess. I think the pink bothered them”
“Well, people here don’t mind pink.”
A beat passes, you’re standing there looking at Harcourt questioningly, as if she had uttered out hieroglyphs.
“And the lab could really use someone that knows what they’re doing.”
You nearly blind Harcourt with how bright your expression gets, bombarding her with questions at the offer.
“Seriously? You wouldn’t mind it at all? I have a pink lab coat and I have a bedazzled one with rhinestones too! I didn’t even bring any of my stuff- could my office be next to a window?”
Harcourt laughs- your talkative nature and rambling about knowledge is reminiscent of another teammate. Except, compared to Adrian, you actually know what the hell you’re talking about.
The universe must have been listening in on her thoughts, the man stumbles into the office with a box of files, grinning as he places it on the front table with a thud.
“I got the last of the files! Please don’t tell me you’re going to put me in the back alone again- I haven’t eaten anything all day and,” Adrian’s gaze just barely passes over you to look at Harcourt, before whipping his head right back to you and pausing.
Speechless. It’s the first time Harcourt has ever seen Adrian stunned into silence. His mouth opens and closes, mind running a mile a minute as he figures out what to say. You beat him to it sticking out your hand to him while introducing yourself, pink glossy lips hypnotizing him as you talk.
“Hi!”
“Hey. Hi! Hello.” Adrian’s voice squeaks as he clears his throat, voice changing with every greeting. “Are you new?”
“We just offered her a job here. She’s Economos’s younger sister.”
“Economos? Holy shit he’s like my best friend- we used to call everyday, but now we work together so he doesn’t answer them as often.”
Your mind briefly remembers Economos complaining about him- he must’ve been the guy that pestered him about animal facts.
“Oh! I think I remember- you’re the owl expert.”
He nearly melts at the recognition, spurring on with his usual energy.
“Yeah! And also manta rays, and crows, and owls.” He repeats owls again, brain revving too fast to be able to catch himself, finding himself lost in the scent of your perfume and how bright your teeth are.
“You already said-“
“Different types of owls.”
It was a horrible catch, but you didn’t seem to pay any mind as you clasp your hands together in excitement. “That’s so cool! Did you know that they can turn their heads all the way around because their eyes don’t move around like ours? It’s wild”
He nods in agreement. “Yes. Same. So wild- yes.”
You continue with enthusiasm, walking over to in the direction of his office as he trails behind you mindlessly while you ask him questions. “John never told me your name- he didn’t mention you were so handsome either!”
The tips of Adrian’s ears turn pink at the compliment, entirely affected by it despite it being a casual comment for you. You’re nearly skipping along the floor, stopping suddenly before turning around. “I just realized I have no idea where I’m going.”
Adrian’s quick to veer you towards his cubicle, hand settling on the small of your back as he speedwalks. “Lets go to my desk! Or I can show you around since you might be working here- I can show you the lab here. It’s so sick. No one really uses it besides me and Chris when we’re bored.”
“Oh nice! What do you guys normally do in there?”
“Oh- uh tons of science-y things. You’d love it. Chris isn’t in today but I have enough knowledge to be able to cover all the bases. I’m more of an animal science person though. Totally.”
Ads joins Harcourt at her desk once again, a snicker leaving her lips as she watches your conversation between Adrian go on. “He’s about to pass out.”
Harcourt kisses her teeth, shaking her head in response. “He’s about to imprint on her like a baby duck.”
Your conversation with Adrian helps the time go by fast- you’re so caught up in his reciprocated enthusiasm and the way his curls frame his face and how dorky he looks when he pushes his glasses up in the middle that you don’t process the heavy footsteps nearing you both.
John squints, as if he couldn’t believe the sight before him before shaking his head profusely. “No. Hell no.”
At the sound of his voice, you turn around to greet John with a bright smile, which quickly fades at his accusatory finger stabbing into Adrian. “Fuck. No. You need to stay away from her.”
You furrow your brows, putting a hand on his chest to get him to back up. “Why? We’ve become best friends! He’s kept such good company while I was waiting for you.”
Adrian brightens as if he’s been knighted. “Yeah! You never told me your sister was so cool! And smart! She just showed me all of her notes and the things she works on and it’s like- a whole different language.”
Warmth blooms in your chest at the recognition- nobody had really recognized you for your brain first and foremost besides select professors and a few girls you had met in college. As much as you liked being eye-catching for your style, it’s exciting to see someone be as passionate about your work as you are.
It feels nice.
Really, really nice.
John, however, feels like his world is crumbling as he shakes his head in a panic. “She showed you her notes? Her notes notes?”
“Yeah! They had a bunch of sparkles and equations and graphs- I totally couldn’t understand anything but she said she could teach me! And that I could help her in the lab!”
“Absolutely not.”
“John, please. I really like him! He’s so nice and he’s enthusiastic about learning!”
The groan he lets out almost startles you- it’s almost as if his soul left his body.
“You don’t understand, he’s like, a ticking time bomb. He will kill you on accident.”
Adrian’s tone is sharp, cutting through as he stands up.“Hey! I take great offense to that! I’m extremely careful in all my endeavors.”
“You blew up the microwave two days ago.”
Adrian sputters as you look over at him questioningly. “That- that was science!”
Harcourt adds, not looking up from her cubicle. “It was a hot pocket, Adrian.”
It’s hard to bite back a smile, unsure if they were joking or not (they weren’t), the banter between you two only made you want to work at Checkmate more as they argue.
Adrian spins around, pointing a finger at her accusingly as he defends himself. “It said ‘heat thoroughly’ How was I supposed to know that didn’t mean seven minutes on high?”
Ads sighs. “Reading the instructions fully? Common sense?”
Adrian turns back around to you with a pouty look as if knowing you would be the only one to understand him. “It wasn’t my fault! I swear I’m so, so careful.”
You wonder what he’d look like pouting for someone else, and you bite your lip, unable to contain your laugh. Adrian swears he can feel his knees buckle at the sound of it. You swat John’s arm affectionately, “C’mon! What’s the harm? He’s been so nice and he’s so funny! I like him.”
Adrian’s smile is practically taunting John. “She likes me.”
It’s as if you had stabbed him with a million knives, the pained look on his face grows in contempt as he tries to be firm. “No. Nope- no. This is like my nightmare. You-“ he points another finger at Adrian. “Are a hazard.”
“A hazard? I save lives- I have a job! I’m a very capable adult.”
“You set your own sleeve on fire because you forgot you warmed up a mug of tea with the fucking spoon still inside of it.”
You gasp in concern, planting your hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “Oh no! Are you okay?”
“YES! Totally fine- it’s nothing compared to some other stuff I’ve gotten into.”
John scoffs as he snarls at Adrian. “Yeah, at the cost of your stupidity.”
Adrian recoils, the jab hitting a little personally as he looks around at his desk in embarrassment. Your heart tightens. Sure, he might be a little awkward and not all there in the head, but so were you sometimes! At least, that’s what your roommates tell you when you forget your keys for the millionth time. In an instant, your hand moves down to his forearm to ground him. His breathe hitches, staring at your hand and up at you as you stand across from your brother, eyes locked onto his firmly as you quietly contest against him.
John notices. He notices the way you softly look at him, and the way Adrian puffs up his chest in confidence at the sight of it, and he can feel his internal system circuiting.
“No. NO. You do not get to defend this guy- you barely know him! He’s a danger to himself.”
Ads can’t help but agree, crossing her arms as she nods. “He’s right, Adrian.”
“I didn’t know the spoon was metal- it looked neutral!”
Harcourt pinches the bridge of her nose. “The spoon was shiny, Adrian, why would the spoon need to be there in the first place? Who warms up anything with cutlery, metal or not?”
You giggle, thumb rubbing against Adrian’s forearm affectionately as he looks up at you like you hung the stars.
“Of all people, why him? I’d seriously have-“
For the first time in a long time, you interrupt John with a sternness, “John, stop being mean. You’re embarrassing him.”
Like when you were kids, you and John bicker back and forth, spiraling from job safety to Adrian safety, and all Harcourt and Adebayo can do is watch in amusement and Adrian sits silently, watching the retorts bounce between you and your brother. He turns his head over to Harcourt and Ads’s direction , careful to not disturb your argument, quietly mouthing ‘she’s touching me’ with a pumped fist in the air. Adebayo graces him with pursed lips and a thumbs up of encouragement before tuning back into your bickering with John.
Your hand squeezes his forearm again, more for your comfort than his, as you glare at your brother. “You’re being so dramatic! You’ve always been such a diva and I know you’re concerned- but I haven’t found a friend like this since, like-“ your mouth smacks, clicking your tongue at the roof of your mouth, making that noise that John hates. “Like college!”
“Don’t touch him- you’re making it worse!”
Adrian blurts suddenly, “I like it when she touches me.”
Silence fills the room, John looks like he’s about to blow his brains out while Ads and Harcourt watch you three like a nature documentary.
In a panic, Adrian sputters over his words as he continues. “I mean not- not like that- unless you wanted it to mean like that- but I didn’t mean-“
John looks up to the ceiling, dragging a hand down his face as he prays to whatever god might be out there to take him now.
“I just meant that you’re very grounding!”
You look at him quizzically, tilting your head as you look down at him. “Because of the science thing?”
“Yes.” Adrian lies, poorly. “Because of the science thing.”
You don’t seem to mind, in fact, you’re reveling in the way he seems to stutter under your touch, you squeeze his arm again, watching how he freezes up and how his eyes flit nervously between you and John. “I just- I mean like you’re stabilizing. Like how uh- energy?? Like.. what did you say earlier about valent bonds…”
“Valence bonds.”
“Yeah! Like a uh… when you said atoms pair up to make things stable right?
“Are you calling me a perfect ion?”
John’s groan interrupts Adrian before he can respond. “Can you guys quit it? You’re seriously talking about ionic bonds right now?”
You turn around, raising a brow at his interruption. “What’s wrong with ionic bonds?”
“Everything! You really want to end up as this guys babysitter? You could get seriously hurt.”
“Normally, I wouldn’t defend Adrian,” Adebayo sneaks into the conversation, hand lightly touching John’s shoulder to ground him slightly. “But- while Adrian is normally not careful with himself, he’s extremely cautious whenever it comes to others.” Ads looks at Adrian affectionately, “He’s sacrificed himself more times than I can count.”
John closes his eyes, attempting to think for a half-baked retort about Adrian’s impulsiveness, but the image of him throwing a grenade to save him and Chris flashes across his mind, the quickness in which he dove after the White Dragon right as he was about to kill Chris. The shots he would take for Harcourt and Chris when they infiltrated the butterfly farm- and even the stupid “alligators in the sewer system” he thought about instead of flushing his drugs like a normal fucking person.
With a defeated sigh, John relents and sits down at his desk. “Whatever. Fine- just don’t talk flirty with ions in front of me. It makes me want to throw up.”
You nearly jump in glee, throwing your arms around John’s midsection in excitement as he grudgingly pats your back. Adrian seems completely unphased by the glare John gives you behind your back as you rattle on about what your first experiment is going to be to “break in” the lab.
You yank onto Adrian’s sleeve, completely uncaring to the fact that he should be working as you drag him to the lab. “Do you have a favorite color? I can bedazzle you a new lab coat- did you know that rhinestones are heat-resistant to 330 degrees?”
“That’s so sick! You think you could make me a teal one?”
“Duh! It would be so cute! We’d be like Barbie and Ken!" Adrian nearly misses the comment, entranced at the thought of you both blowing up the lab in shiny lab coats.
The conversation dies off in the hallway as you both turn the corner, leaving John exasperated as he rubs his forehead.
Ads snickers, patting his shoulder and shaking him slightly. “I see an new in-law in your future.”
I’ve just watched three thousand years of longing and I’m crying. Like I want a love like that but at the same time he is immortal and im not even sure he loves her or he does over the years he visits her until she dies.
She probably definitely dies of old age, she tells him to leave multiple times but he doesn’t. She even made a new sketchbook thingy like for her imaginary friend at the beginning who probably isn’t imaginary. I thought he wasn’t real at the end until he kicked the soccer ball.
I didn’t know this movie was gonna make me sob. I decided to watch this instead of me before you cause I know I would’ve definitely sobbed
So I’m watching the lord of the rings tv series and I’m felling bad for the orcs like they don’t have anywhere to go besides be henchmen for the one who created them. They are technically a scientifically created species that repopulates on there own considering we’ve heard baby orcs
Whenever I get the idea in my head for a story I can’t get it out until after I write it down, which I do. I don’t rlly have the patience or willpower that writers do (unless it’s like a essay or something)
Feel free to use them, I’d just like to be dm’d or tagged cause I’d love to read them.
Story ideas that I won't write cause I don't have the patience and I want these ideas out of my brain but don't wanna l...
