#''.......honestly i did not think this through-''

[slutzforbueckers]

Paige x reader go ALL NIGHT. (Literally all night till like the fucking crack of dawn) It starts off with them taking honey packets as jokes but they realize that it hits them harder than they expected and they get rlly sensual qnd horny and it leads to the smut but like they do EVERYTHING in the book (this is actually filth and borderline insanity)

Ex: strap, oral, fingering,(both p&r receiving for all three), 69, scissoring, dirty talk- they go from bedroom, to kitchen, to counter, to living room, to the car, against the wall, to shower (it doesn’t have to be in this order)

all night long

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut smut smut smut

synopsis: you and paige take the viral honey packets—as a joke, of course— and you doubted its authenticity until you both couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

a/n: anon i love you.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

it started as a joke.

you and paige had went to the gas station on a late night snack run. paige had spotted them first, those little golden packets that had everyone in a chokehold. she had looked at you and you had looked at her, both sharing one thought. you grabbed two, quickly paid for your things and left.

now, you were siting in the driveway to your shared house. you sat with your back against the door, your leg pulled into the seat, watching paige watch you. you had taken the packets as soon as you got in the car from the gas station so that it would have kicked in by the time you got back home, and it did. honestly you were skeptical at first, thinking everyone had been exaggerating but you were starting to feel it.

"is it just me or..." you trailed off, shifting in your seat slightly. your body was starting to feel hot with need and paige looked extra good.

"nah, i feel it." she shook her head, her fingers curling into the fabric of her shorts. your eyes followed the movement, watching as the veins in her hand popped. the air was thick as you both waited for the other to make a move. it wasn't long before you did.

"push your seat back."

paige didn't have to be told twice. she pushed her seat back as far as it would go and you climbed into her lap, crashing your lips into hers without a care in the world. her hands found your ass almost immediately, fingers pressing into your flesh like she couldn’t get enough—which, she couldn’t. the way you kissed was nothing short of filthy—tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clashing, hands roaming. your teeth grazed her bottom lip, sucking it into your mouth hard enough to make her moan.

"i want you," you breathed against her mouth, voice low and desperate. "right now, paige."

“take me. right here, right now.” she couldn’t hide her desperation, she couldn't deny you, not when she was already soaked in her boxers. your hands roamed up her hoodie as you moved down, lowering onto your knees in the drivers seat. it was a tight fit but you couldn't care less, you only had one goal in mind and that was tasting her.

you yanked her shorts and boxers down both in one swift motion your hands immediately spread her thighs and you couldn't help but moan looking at how wet she already was. you leaned in without hesitation, dragging your tongue flat through her folds, humming as her slick coated your tongue. paiges head fell back with a soft thud, a breathy whimper escaping her lips as her hips twitched.

her body was on fire, everything seemed ten times more intense, and she was loving every second of it. paige's hands found their way to your head, she looked down at you as she gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail. you wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking just enough to make her hips jerk up.

"holy shit—" she whined. the car was starting to get hot, the windows fogging up slightly. paige tugged your head closer, if that was even possible, her hips starting to grind into your mouth as she chased that high. you focused on her clit, flicking your tongue fast, then slow, then fast again, sucking it into your mouth with just the right amount of pressure.

one of your hands slid down to tease her entrance, fingers slick with her arousal as you circled around before pushing two inside her. the way she gasped made you clench around nothing.

“fuck, baby, i’m gonna—” she didn’t even finish the sentence before her thighs clamped around your head, back arching as she came hard on your mouth, crying out your name.

you didn’t stop until she was twitching and begging—literally begging—for you to slow down. you pulled back with a slick-covered smile, licking her off your lips like you were savoring dessert. paige slumped into the seat, her arm coming up to rest over her eyes, chest rising and falling heavily.

she let out a small moan as looked down at you, a fucked out expression on your face just from eating her out. "in the house. now."

you barely made it inside the front door before she was pushing you against the nearest wall, pressing her body flush against yours as she kissed you like she needed it to breath. your hand rested on the back of her head, fingers curled into her blonde hair.

paige pulled away so she could pull your shirt over your head, then dropped to her knees like a woman possessed. her fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and she yanked them down, your panties going with them. you stepped out of them blindly, chest heaving from the way she looked at you—lips swollen, pupils blown, jaw tight with need.

“you’re so fucking wet already,” she muttered as she lifted your leg and placed it over her shoulder, her eyes zeroing in on your glistening cunt. she dragged her fingers through your folds, spreading you open. “you got this wet just from making me cum?”

you whimpered, nodding your head and pressing yourself against the wall for support. “yes—yes, fuck i love it.”

her mouth was on you in a second— hot, relentless, like her entire purpose in life was to make you cum on her tongue. her tongue slid through your folds with slow, deliberate pressure before she zeroed in on your lit, sucking it into her mouth hard enough to make your thighs shake. you slapped a hand against the wall behind you, the other flying to her hair as your hips jerked forward, desperate to feel more.

"oh my god- fuck baby, you're so good at that, don't stop."

she moaned into you like you were her favorite meal, and in a way you were. her tongue flicked and swirled, lips locking around your clit as two fingers slid into you without earning, deep and fast. you cried out, eyes rolling back as she curled them just right, hitting that spot that made your whole body react, that made your head spin.

"god, you taste so fucking good." her words vibrated against you and your hips jerked forward, fingers tightening in her hair as you gushed around her fingers. the sound your cunt was making as she fucked you with her fingers was obscene, loud and filthy in a way that had your stomach tightening.

you couldn't think, couldn't breathe—all you could do was grind into her mouth, chasing her fingers with reckless abandon. your head fell back against the wall and your stomach tightened. paige ran her hands up your thighs, circling around your hips and grabbing your ass. her fingers pressed into your flesh as she pulled you against her mouth, flattening her tongue on your clit and shaking her head.

“you’re gonna make me cum, paige. don’t stop—yes yes yes—“ you voice went up an octave as you nearly screamed, your back arching off the wall as your thighs shook with the force of your orgasm. paige fucked you through it, moaning against your clit, still curling her fingers against that sweet spot.

“damn,” you exhaled shakily when paige pulled her fingers out, you looked down at her with low eyes. paige chuckled as she lowered your leg from her shoulder, pressing one last kiss to your clit before standing up. her mouth and chin were glistening and she pressed her forehead against yours, letting your rapid breaths mingle.

"didn't think it would really work but..." paige trailed off, her slick fingers grazing your hip. "i really wanna fuck you on every surface of this house."

"so do it." you whispered. paige didn't have to be told twice. her lips were on yours within the second, her hands grasping at your hips as she pulled you off the wall. you wrapped your arm around her neck and kissed her back harder, moaning into her mouth as she slipped her tongue past your lips.

paige walked you towards the living room, bumping into the side table which made you both laugh. paige pulled away so she could direct you to the couch without tripping over anything—you took the chance to litter kisses down her jaw. once you felt the back of your legs hit the cushions you twisted around and pushed her down.

“take your clothes off.” you demanded, reaching behind you to unhook your bra and letting it fall off your shoulders. paige quickly pulled her hoodie off, revealing her bare chest underneath, and pushed her shorts and boxers off in one swift motion. she laid back and you climbed on top, slotting your legs between hers so your cunt pressed against hers.

paige’s hands found your hips as she guided your movements, her lips parting. she couldn’t take her eyes away from where your bodies met, she was entranced. you rolled your hips just right, your clit catching hers perfectly.

“you feel that?” you whispered, your voice low and dark as your hips rolled forward again, dragging your pussy against hers with a sticky, obscene sound. “you’re so wet for me, paige. god.”

her head fell back with a moan, breathless and desperate. “f-fuck. that shit is insane, I—” she grabbed your hips tight, guiding your grind as her voice dropped into a groan. “you’re fucking dripping. keep going, baby. don’t stop.”

you didn’t, you couldn’t, not when it felt that good. you pressed your forehead to hers and started moving harder, faster, rocking your hips in a rhythm that had both of you panting. the slick heat of her cunt against yours, the tension building fast—your thighs were already shaking. paige hips jerked up to meet yours, the added pressure causing moan after moan to fall from your lips.

paiges hands fell to your ass and she began pulling you against her harder, her breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. the house was quiet, the only thing heard was the sound of your moans and the squelch of your cunts pressed against each other. you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked down at her, watching each jab of pleasure shoot across her facial expressions.

pressing your lips against hers, you moaned into her mouth—a high pitched whine that had her slapping your ass. she could tell you were close, the way your hips stuttered and lost their rhythm being a tell sign.

"cum for me, pretty. let me feel it." she muttered against your lips, using her grip on your ass to pick up the slack. you dropped your head onto her shoulder, your breathing hot and heavy.

all you could do was moan, that knot in your stomach slowly starting to unravel. there wasn't a thought in your head, no other than how good she felt. the couch creaked from how hard you were grinding against each other, you wouldn't be surprised if by the end of the night you were searching for a new couch.

you didn't warn her that you were going to cum, there was no need, she could feel it coming. your clits dragged over each other, swollen and slick, wetness coating both of your thighs. you rolled your hips again, harder, and it was over. you kissed her, messy and care free, as your orgasm rocked through your body.

"paige," you mewled, tears welling in your eyes as she kept up the same hard pace. you could feel the pricks of overstimulation settling in your skin and somehow it still wasn't enough.

"i'm almost there—fuck, ma, keep going." her voice cracked and her grip on you tightened, trying to hold you there as her hips bucked up wildly. you kissed her again, moaning because you could feel yourself tumbling into another orgasm.

her back arched, thighs trembling, eyes shutting tight as she came with a loud groan, soaking your thighs as she clung to you. your whole body trembled as your cunt throbbed against hers, soaked and messy. you collapsed on top of her, both of you gasping, legs tangled, sweat-slicked skin sliding together.

“holy fuck,” you heaved.

neither of you spoke for a moment, just trying to catch your breath and come down. one of paiges hands traced lazy circles on your back, the other was tangled in your hair.

a minute passed and paige swallowed, voice hoarse as she finally broke the silence. “is it bad i still want more?”

you laughed, lifting yourself up and planting your hands on her chest.

“would it also be bad if i agreed?”

it was past 5 am now, and you and paige were still going.

your legs were wrapped around her waist, ankles locked behind her back to keep her in place. her hips moved at an impossible pace, hard and fast. your moans flowed straight from your mouth to her ears, the sound a beautiful melody she adored.

paige pressed wet, open-mouthed kissed to your neck down to your shoulder, each one leaving behind a faint sting—the kind that made your toes curl and your walls flutter around the strap she was fucking you with. her hands gripped your thighs tightly, pressing you open as she rocked her hips into yours like she was trying to live inside you.

"you take me so good," she groaned against your skin, her voice low, rough with need. "always so good for me."

you could barely speak—your throat was raw from moaning, begging, crying out her name again and again. every drag of the strap against your walls make your stomach clench and your legs twitch, you clung to her shoulders, nails digging into her back as you buried your face into her neck.

“paige—fuck, i-i can’t—” your hips jerked up to meet her thrusts, a broken sob tearing from your throat. she adjusted her angle, pulled back just enough to slam into you deeper, harder, the base of the strap grinding perfectly against her clit with every thrust. the sound of wet skin slapping filled the room, joined by the thud of the bed frame hitting the wall and the desperate sounds leaving your mouth.

“i’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, voice cracking. “fuck, paige—I’m gonna—”

“cum for me,” she demanded, one hand flying up to press against your throat—not tight, just enough to make your breath hitch. “cum on my cock, baby. let me feel you.”

your back arched as you shattered beneath her, legs locked tight around her waist, eyes rolling back as you came hard, soaking her strap and your thighs all over again. you fell back against the pillows with a loud breath, feeling like the wind had just been knocked from your lungs. you felt paige move off of you and you opened your eyes, blinking up at her in a daze.

"wanna fuck you now." you muttered, sitting up and reaching for the the strap. paige handed over the harness and you fastened it around your hips. once you had it tightened to your fit, paige crawled into your lap, bitting her lip as she hovered over the strap. she wrapped her hand around the strap and cursed under her breath as she could feel your cum still dripping off the silicon.

you leaned back and watched as she slowly lowered herself onto the strap, small whimpers leaving her mouth as she felt the stretch. paige gasped as she bottomed out, her lips parting, hands flying to hold onto your shoulders for stability.

paige started to move, slowly at first, the strap slipping in and out with ease from how wet everything was. your hands found her hips, guiding her movements. her fingers tangled in your hair, her mouth brushing against your cheek, your jaw, your neck. you kissed her shoulder, then down to her collarbone, each press of your lips pulling another soft sound from her.

then, you started to lift your hips in time with hers, thrusting up as she came down—each one sending a sharp bolt of pleasure through her body.

"oh my—fuck, baby. feels so good." she moaned, her head falling onto your shoulder. you responded with a slow thrust upward, and she gasped, her back arching just enough for your hands to trace down her spine and squeeze her ass, guiding her pace. she started to move faster, grinding harder, her thighs flexing around you.

her orgasm was building fast, thanks to all the ones she had before, her body buzzed with overwhelming pleasure. the slick sound of the strap sliding into her filled the room, punctuated by the soft, broken cries she couldn’t hold back anymore. her nails dug into your back—not hard, but enough to ground herself.

you could tell she was close, evident in the way her moans increased, her pace faltering before picking back up faster and messier. she buried her face in your neck, her breath hot and uneven against your skin. “y/n,” she whimpered, voice high and trembling. “i’m—oh my god, i’m gonna—”

“i know, baby. let it go,” you whispered, your voice steady and low, right in her ear. you kept thrusting up into her, matching the roll of her hips. paige cried out, her whole body seizing up as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her. she held onto you like she might float away otherwise, her thighs shaking around your hips as she rode it out. you slowed your thrusts, just enough to keep her whimpering, keep her grounded while her orgasm surged, leaving her gasping against you.

paige lifted herself up, wincing at the feeling of emptiness, and fell onto the bed beside you. you looked over at her and laughed at how fucked out she looked, her hair was a mess, skin flushed red, her chest still rising and falling unevenly.

"bro," she groaned, turning her head to the side to hide her face from you. you got off the bed and started to remove the harness from your hips. the room was thick with the smell of sex and sweat.

you climbed back onto the bed and onto her lap, leaning down and pressing your lips to her jawline then to the spot right under her ear. "still want more, p."

paige hummed and turned her head towards you, her hands finding your ass. "really?"

"mhm, i love getting you off." you muttered against her skin, ghosting your lips over her cheek before settling on her lips. you kissed her. once. twice. "you're so pretty when you cum."

your words made paige groan, her eyes fluttering for a second. she tugged you up her body, your wet cunt sliding across her abs. "i want you to sit on my face. like right now."

you smiled against her lips and lifted yourself up, turning around and carefully moving back until you hovered over her face. paige didn't waste a second, her eyes landed on your pussy and she grabbed your waist, tugging you down until her tongue was flat against you. a soft gasp fell from your lips as she immediately went to work.

your hips grinder down against her mouth and then you were leaning forward, hands separating her thighs so you could taste her. the second your tongue found her clit she jerked under you, her thighs twitching as she drew her legs up and planted her feet on the bed.

at the same time, you felt her tongue flick against you, soft and hot, and you moaned, hips jolting forward instinctively. paige held you steady with both hands on your ass, guiding your hips against her mouth as she licked deeper, messier, somehow hungrier. you moaned into her, the vibrations making her whimper beneath you.

it was electric—somewhat a push and pull between your mouths, the slick, obscene rhythm that built faster each time your tongues stroked and circled and pressed. you rocked against her face with purpose now, matching every pulse of her mouth with a deeper lick of your own, determined to draw every sound out of her you could.

her hips were bucking now, trying to meet your tongue, and you held her steady, fingers digging into her thighs as you flattened your tongue against her, slow then fast then slow again—right until you felt her body start to tremble. she moaned against your pussy, long and guttural, and the sound of it dragged you closer to the edge too.

you felt her body tense beneath you, her thighs trembling, her breaths turning into helpless little whimpers as your tongue never relented. you knew she was close and you didn’t let up for a second. you circled her clit with slow, deliberate pressure, then sucked, and that was it. paige’s cry was muffled beneath you as she came hard, her entire body jolting beneath your mouth. you didn’t stop—kept licking her through it, feeling her hips jerk with every wave crashing over her.

her fingers dug into your ass, holding you in place as her moans vibrated directly against your clit—that alone had you spiraling. your thighs clenched around her head as you let out a strangled moan, hips grinding desperately down onto her mouth. she met you with everything she had—tongue flicking, licking, sucking until your vision blurred. you came with a loud, shaking gasp, your whole body shuddering above her, thighs locking around her head as your orgasm rolled through you in pulsing waves.

your hands gripped her legs for stability, and she kept going, gently this time, easing you down from the peak while you whimpered and panted above her. eventually, you slumped forward, your lips finding the inside of her thigh, pressing slow kisses into her skin as you both tried to breathe again. her hands rubbed soothing circles into the back of your thighs, her touch still tender, even after all that.

you lifted yourself off her with care, then collapsed beside her, your arm and leg draped across her. paiges eyes fluttered open, dazed but glowing. the room fell quiet except for your breathing, both of you tangled in each other. you laid there for a while, fingers tracing lazy shapes along paige’s waist, before you finally whispered, “i need water or i’m gonna die.”

paige let out a quiet laugh, her fingers gliding through your hair once more before she sat up. “go, before you die.”

you shoved her shoulder lightly at the sarcastic edge to her voice and slid off the bed. you picked up one of her t-shirts that laid messily on the floor and pulled it over your head. padding out of the bedroom, you made your way to the kitchen in the soft, low light, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. you grabbed a glass and filled it at the sink, leaning against the counter as you took a long sip.

you hummed in contentment as you took another sip, leaning against the counter. it was quiet until you heard the soft shuffle of feet approaching the kitchen. before you could turn, two arms were wrapping around your waist. paige was there, pressing her front against your back, hands trailing up your thighs and under your shirt.

“you look so good in my shirt,” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “too good.”

a shiver ran through your spine and you called her name with a small groan. “there’s no way that stuff is still working.”

“nah, das all you.” she whispered, her hand reaching up to move your hair aside so she could press kisses down the side of your neck. “i just need to feel you again. that okay, ma?”

you could only nod, hips already tilting back into her touch. she grinned against your skin and ran her hand up to your cunt. she slid two fingers between your folds, groaning when she felt just how soaked you still were. her fingers teased you for a second—gentle, slow—then she slipped them inside with practiced ease, curling just right.

your hand slammed against the counter for balance as your body arched into her. she kept one arm around your waist, holding you in place, as she thrust her fingers steadily—deep and slow, then faster as your moans grew louder. you set the glass of water down with a shaky hand and bent forward over the counter.

your thighs trembled as her pace picked up, the wet, lewd sounds filling the quiet kitchen. her other hand slid up to your breast beneath the shirt, fingers pinching your nipple lightly before rolling it between her fingers, pulling another moan from your throat. then she shifted, adjusting the angle—curling her fingers deeper, her palm dragging slightly over your clit as she moved. you nearly sobbed at the sensation, your knees weakening as her fingers brushed against that spot.

“shit, paige—right there,” you breathed, the words barely making it out before your body was overtaken by another wave of sensation. every little breath you let out—every twitch of your hips, every whimper—only spurred her on. paige kissed along your shoulder blade, trailing her mouth across the back of your neck, her breathing heavy and quick against your skin.

she ran her free hand over your hip, her fingers curling into your skin as she pulled your body back into hers. “let me hear you, baby. let go.”

you cried out—no control left as your orgasm crashed over you, your muscles tensing so hard your knees nearly buckled. paige didn’t stop, just fucked you through it, holding you steady with a hand on your hip. your hips jerked, oversensitive, and she finally slowed—fingers still inside, but easing the rhythm now, drawing out every last pulse until you collapsed forward against the counter, gasping for breath. she kissed the back of your head, then down your spine.

“i’ll meet you in the shower, yeah?”

a moment later, you followed her into the bathroom, steam already clouding in the air. the sound of running water filled the space, and paige stood beneath it, back arched slightly, eyes closed as the water poured over her. you stepped in behind her, the heat wrapping around you instantly.

your hands found her waist, and she let out a soft sigh, leaning back into you. you kissed the slope of her shoulder, trailing your mouth up her neck before whispering, “sit down.”

she dropped onto the built-in bench with no hesitation, legs spreading just enough to let you settle between them. her gaze met yours—half-lidded, already heavy with want. you kissed her thigh first, a gentle kiss before you pressed your lips to her swollen clit. you took your time—a teasing lick, a kiss. paige let out a quiet whimper when you blew on your clit, her hips shifting forward.

you flattened your tongue and licked a long, slow stripe through her folds, groaning against her as the taste of her spread across your tongue. paige gasped, hips twitching beneath your hands, her thighs tightening around your shoulders as you did it again, and again. your tongue circled her clit, then flicked softly, teasing just enough to make her whimper. you moaned into her, the vibrations making her twitch and gasp, her fingers finding your hair.

“fuck— baby, please…” she breathed, voice trembling as she pulled your head further into her cunt. you slipped two fingers inside her at the same time, curling upward slowly until her hips jumped. her walls clenched around you, wet and throbbing, and you fucked her with your fingers as your mouth kept working her clit.

she started falling apart fast, head tilted back against the tile, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. you felt it in her thighs, in the way her hand couldn’t stop trembling in your hair, in the sharp, desperate sounds leaving her lips.

“oh my god—don’t stop, don’t stop—” she cried out, her legs tightening around you, her whole body lifting off the seat as she chased it. you didn’t let up, fingers thrusting deep, your mouth locked around her clit until she broke with a cry, her entire body shuddering with the force of her orgasm. her hips bucked, back arching, voice whiny and ragged as she came hard on your tongue.

you moaned at the taste of her and pulled away from her cunt, a string of both her cum and your saliva keeping your lips connected to her pussy. you slowed your fingers to a stop and placed them in your mouth, holding her gaze the entire time. paige watched with low eyes as you cleaned her off your fingers, a low groan falling from her lips. she pulled you up and kissed you—hard.

“we’re so doing that again.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

[wandanatsgf]

Meeting Fun

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warning this is smut that contains: a little bit of degradation, edging, fingering, public sex, Wanda using magic for sex purposes, oral sex

summary: Wanda decides to have some fun during a meeting

Authors note: I’m back!! I got inspired today and wrote this. Please enjoy

“We need to figure out a way to…” you hear Tony say before you tune him out.

You and your fellow avengers were in a meeting discussing something. You honestly weren’t sure what was being discussed as you weren’t paying attention. You were too distracted by the hand that was resting on your inner thigh to care about what Tony was saying. As the hand starts to slowly move up your thigh you turn towards the culprit, your girlfriend, Wanda Maximoff.

The table you’re sitting at has a long tablecloth that luckily covers what her hands are doing. Your chairs are side by side, as close as they could possibly be. To anyone else they might see a cute moment between girlfriends, but you two know the truth.

“Wanda, What are you doing?” you quietly ask the brunette haired girl next to you, already knowing what she was playing at. She loved playing risky games like this, no matter where you were or who was around.

“Nothing детка (baby),” she responds back, her tone innocent. Her face was anything but as she slowly circles your inner thigh. She moves her hand up higher and higher, until her hand was right above your underwear, lightly playing with the band.

“Wanda please,” you beg in your mind, knowing she was already reading it.

“Please what Принцесса (princess)? What do you want me to do?” Wanda answers back.

“Please just do something, anything.” Wanda’s subtle teasing always works you up. And now you’re desperate for her touch.

Wanda seems to like what you said because she slowly pushes your underwear to the side and lightly teases your folds. It feels so good that you can’t stop the low moan that falls from your lips that thankfully you were able to cover up with a cough. Luckily no one questioned you. Wanda did lift an eyebrow at you, a silent warning to keep quiet. But based on the smirk on her face, she clearly enjoyed the reaction she was able to pull from you.

Wanda continues to play with your folds, rubbing up and down, causing pleasure to run through your body. But she never dips a finger into your center, never gives you what you’re desperately craving. You felt like you were going to explode before she’d ever reach where you needed her most. You were about to just start fingering yourself, damn the consequences and the people around you, when she finally reaches your hole and slips a finger in.

“Be quiet Принцесса (princess). You wouldn’t want anyone to know that I’m sitting here touching your pussy would you?” Wanda says in your mind as she lightly teases your entrance.

“Or maybe you would like that hmm? You’d love for everyone to see how much of a whore you are for me wouldn’t you Дорогая (darling)?” Wanda says as she roughly thrusts two fingers into you. You let out a strangled moan that causes some to look your way, but you just brush off their worry with an excuse, too focused on the pleasure in between your thighs.

Wanda starts to thrust her fingers into you at a subtle pace. It was taking everything in you not to loudly moan out for everyone to see. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer once you felt your walls start to squeeze around her fingers.

“Please Wanda,” you think, begging her to let you cum.

Wanda answers you by removing her fingers and hand from your pussy, causing you to almost let out a whine. Normally you would whine and beg when she would do that, but you knew better than to make too much noise in front of everyone during a meeting. They would surely know what the two of you were doing then, and you did not want that to happen.

After denying you your orgasm, Wanda goes back to what she was doing before she was teasing and fucking you. She acts like you weren’t just about to cum all over her fingers.

You tried to calm yourself down, but it was hard. Your wetness clings to your pussy, leaving a messy feeling in its wake. Your underwear sticks to you, reminding you of how horny you are. You shift uncomfortably in the seat, but it does nothing to alleviate your desire.

You sit back in your seat, determined to ignore the way you’re feeling when you feel a light buzzing against your pussy. You look down, but nothing there. You know this is the work of Wanda’s magic.

“Stay still Принцесса (princess), or I’ll make you,” Wanda says in your mind. A whole new wave of arousal floods you and you’re sure Wanda knows this. You take a glance at her and you see a smirk gracing her face as she stares at you, she’s clearly enjoying this as much as you are. Right as you look her in the eyes the buzzing becomes more intense, making it harder for you to maintain a neutral facial expression.

The buzzing continues for a few minutes, slowly getting more intense as the minutes passed. Your breathing became heavier and your desire grew until you were about to cum.

“Please let me cum,” you silently beg Wanda, but before she can answer you hear Tony speak. You had forgotten he was even speaking still, so you tune in to what he is saying.

“Ok that’s all for today, everyone dismissed,” you hear Tony say. The buzzing stops and you’re left high and dry again. You groan out of frustration, unable to take anymore edging, and stand up.

The only person who looks at you oddly is Natasha, who you’re sure has caught on to what’s going on between you and Wanda by now since she’s a world class spy. But Natasha says nothing, she just laughs to herself as she files out of the room with everyone else. That leaves just you and Wanda in the conference room.

You pout at Wanda for denying your orgasms. Your body is tense and desperate for release and you tell her as much.

“I’ll make it up to you now Принцесса (princess),” Wanda says as she grabs you and lays you across the table. Her magic encases the room briefly, locking the door and preventing anyone from seeing in through the glass walls of the room.

Your body is pressed against the table while your legs hang slightly off. Wanda gets to her knees and slips off your pants and underwear, leaving your lower half bare. She pulls you closer to her, your legs on her shoulders. Suddenly her lips attack your pussy, causing a high pitched moan to leave your lips.

“You like that детка (baby)?” Wanda asks.

“Yes,” you breathily say. Your hands reach down and grab onto Wanda’s hair, pulling her even closer to your core. Wanda moves her mouth up to your clit and starts to suck, almost sending you over the edge immediately.

“Oh god,” you moan out. Pleasure courses through your veins as Wanda’s tongue continues its maneuvers. The pleasure builds higher and higher, until you’re right on the edge of falling over.

“You gonna cum медовый (honey)? You gonna cum like a little slut in this conference room? Gonna cover this table where we all debrief in your juices?”

All you can do is nod. Your head is empty of all thoughts except for Wanda and your desire for her.

Tears stream from your eyes, you’re frustrated from the previous edging and know you can’t take anymore. You need to cum.

“Cum for me, Принцесса (princess). Cum all over my face,” Wanda says into your pussy. After a few more licks and sucks you soak her face in your arousal. Wanda licks her lips, savoring your taste.

Your thighs are still shaking when Wanda detaches herself from your core and moves up to cup your face.

“You did so good for me медовый (honey),” Wanda says as she smooths your hair out. She pulls you close to her, holding you as she kisses your cheek.

“Now let’s go get you cleaned up.” Wanda helps you redress and the two of you walk back to Wanda’s room, you leaning into Wanda the whole time. You pass Natasha on the way. She gives you a look and makes a sly comment, but you ignore her. You’re too content in Wanda’s embrace to care about people knowing about what you just did.

Wanda opens the door for you and walks you to her ensuite bathroom. She cleans you up, gently wiping your slick off your pussy and wipes the tears from your eyes. Next she brushes your hair and pulls it back into a braid, getting your hair out of your face.

“Thank you Wands.”

“Of course детка (baby).” Her lips presses against your temple, leaving a gentle kiss in their wake.

“Now let’s get you in bed.” Wanda scoops you up and deposits you on her bed. She slides in next to you then pulls the blankets up. Her body wraps itself around yours.

“Go to sleep детка (baby). I’ll be here when you wake up,” she gently tells you.

“I love you,” you softly say, the urge to sleep already taking over.

“I love you too.” She gently kisses your lips and that’s the last thing you remember before drifting off into a peaceful slumber with your liver by your side.

[cupofteatoyou2]

Told you I’d survive the wolves.

Jana had been pacing since she got out of the shower. Back and forth across the room, muttering to herself, tugging at the hem of her shirt like she’d forgotten how clothes worked.

You were stretched out on her bed, watching her. One arm folded behind your head, the other resting across your stomach, calm as ever.

“Babe,” she said, whirling around. “Can you at least pretend to be nervous?”

You blinked slowly. “Why?”

“Because I’m bringing you to meet my entire team,” she groaned, collapsing at the edge of the bed dramatically. “They’re loud. Nosy. Half of them are obsessed with me. And Irene and Alexia are going to destroy you if they sense even a crack in your armor.”

You shrugged. “Let them try.”

She groaned again, flopping fully onto her back next to you. “This is a bad idea. You’re too quiet. You don’t do people. You don’t do dinners.”

“I do you,” you said easily, letting the tease hang in the air.

Jana rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing despite herself. “You know what I mean.”

You turned your head toward her, gaze softening. “You want me there?”

“More than anything.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

That shut her up. For a second. Until she muttered, “They’re gonna think you’re, like, my bodyguard or something. The silent type in a suit who probably knows five different ways to kill a man.”

You smirked. “Six, actually.”

“Not helping!”

The restaurant was already packed when you arrived — not with strangers, but with noise, energy, heat from a recent match win that was still vibrating off every player at the table.

Laughter echoed, someone was retelling a foul in way too much detail, a waiter was trying to squeeze past with another round of drinks. It was chaos. Pure, glorious, post-game chaos.

You adjusted your jacket before you stepped inside. Fitted black, open over a plain tee. The rest of you was clean — well-fitted pants, boots, watch. Minimal. Purposeful. You weren’t flashy, but you did turn heads.

And the moment Jana stepped in behind you, slipping her hand into yours, the entire table went silent.

Like, comically so.

You could hear a fork clatter against a plate. Someone coughed. A glass hit the wood with a loud clink.

Twelve world-class footballers froze mid-bite, all eyes on you. You scanned the group once, slow and level. You weren’t being intimidating on purpose — it was just the way you were. Calm. Controlled. Still.

You looked like you were about to audit the restaurant. Or pull Jana away from danger. Definitely not like someone showing up for a date night with her giggly, golden girlfriend.

Mapi’s jaw dropped first. “No way.”

Ona, halfway through sipping her water, choked.

Patri, always the mouthiest, squinted like she was trying to decode a riddle. “She’s real.”

“Wait—this is her?” Pina leaned in.

“She looks like she should be head of security,” vicky added from the middle of the table, half-grinning.

Jana just beamed. Radiant. Unbothered. Proud. “Everyone, this is my girlfriend.”

There was a beat of dead silence again, and then-

Mapi, hand raised like she was pointing out a glitch in the simulation “She looks like she could break my ribs just by looking at me.”

Patri nodded solemnly. “Honestly? Same.”

You didn’t react. Just gave a nod. Calm. Unfazed. You were used to people trying to figure you out in the first five seconds.

No one ever got it right.

You guided Jana to her seat like it was second nature — a hand on her lower back, holding out the chair, waiting until she was settled before taking the one beside her. Your arm brushed hers. You didn’t move away.

Across the table, Alexia sat with her arms crossed, face unreadable. She hadn’t said a word yet.

You noticed. You noticed everything.

“So,” Mapi said slowly, tilting her head toward you. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

You gave a small shrug. “Not unless I need to.”

“Great,” Patri muttered, slapping the table. “We got the strong, silent type. Mystery girlfriend unlocked.”

Jana nudged you gently, like she was trying to remind everyone you were human.

“She’s just quiet around new people,” she said. “She’s actually really sweet. Once you get past the—uh—‘silent and maybe lethal’ vibe.”

You raised a brow. “Maybe?”

That earned a couple chuckles — tentative, curious ones.

“So,” Ona leaned in, chin on her palm, “what do you do, anyway?”

Jana immediately stiffened.

You glanced at her, then back at the group. “Something a little untraditional.”

“Like what? Tech? Security? Mercenary?” Patri was definitely not kidding.

“Something like that.”

“Okay what does that mean,” Mapi asked. “Now I’m invested. You can’t just say you’re a mystery woman and not elaborate.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Still. You look like someone who’s used to saying no comment.”

You took a sip of your drink. “Only when necessary.”

There was a short silence as they all stared at you like you were the main character in a mystery novel.

Jana, clearly trying to save you from further questions and possibly herself from exploding, leaned forward with a quick, “Let’s talk about the game instead!”

But across the table, Alexia finally spoke.

“Huh.”

That was it. One syllable. Loaded.

Jana looked over, instantly on guard. “What?”

Alexia didn’t break eye contact with you. “Nothing. Just didn’t expect this.”

“This?” Jana echoed.

She shrugged. “She’s not what I pictured.”

You didn’t flinch. “Most people don’t picture right.”

Alexia smiled, tight-lipped. “Apparently.”

Jana was fuming now, opening her mouth—but you brushed your fingers lightly over her knee under the table.

Not here. Not yet.

They didn’t know who you were. They didn’t know what you could do.

And that? That was the fun part.

You’d barely made it through the starters when the questions started rolling in.

It began innocently enough—soft curiosity hidden behind polite smiles and wine glasses. You could feel it coming before it even started, the shift in atmosphere, the rising energy across the table as everyone began to relax. Not at you, though. About you.

It was a look you’d gotten before—like someone trying to read a novel without the cover. You looked too composed. Too guarded. Too not what they expected.

Jana had kept her body angled toward you the entire time, her knee brushing yours beneath the table, hand occasionally resting on your thigh like a quiet reassurance. But you knew she was waiting for it too—for someone to break the silence, to ask what they were all clearly thinking.

So when Irene set her fork down and leaned over the table with a sly grin, you didn’t even blink.

“Okay,” she said. “I need to ask. Who are you, really?”

Jana groaned softly beside you. “Irene—”

“No, no, I mean it,” Irene continued, gesturing toward you. “You walk in here like a damn bodyguard, you haven’t said more than five words, and you’ve been scowling at the bread basket like it owes you money. I need context.”

The girls laughed, a few of them chiming in with agreement.

You met Iren’s eyes, calm. “You want my résumé?”

“Absolutely.”

You leaned back a little in your chair, finally speaking with a slow, even tone. “Name’s Y/N. I’m twenty-two. Born and raised in Madrid. I play professionally—different sport. Moved to Barcelona last year.”

“Oh no,” Patri said. “A rival athlete. This is getting spicy.”

“What sport?” Vicky asked.

You paused just long enough to keep them curious, then answered simply, “We’ll get there.”

A wave of mock outrage passed through the table. Kika fake gasped. Ona raised her brows in silent challenge. Jana just buried her face in her hands.

“You’re enjoying this,” she muttered under her breath.

“A little,” you whispered back, the corner of your mouth twitching.

“So how did you two meet, then?” Ona asked, chin propped on her hand as she studied you.

“Friend’s birthday,” you said. “Jana knocked over a tray of drinks. I caught one.”

“I caught two!” Jana corrected indignantly.

“You did,” you agreed, smiling softly. “But mine was tequila, and I hate wasting tequila.”

“Love at first spill,” Mapi nodded dramatically. “Classic.”

“She was so smug about it too,” Jana said, sitting up straighter now. “Didn’t even blink. Just handed it back to me and said I owed her a drink.”

You shrugged. “You did.”

The group collectively cooed and groaned, depending on their wine intake.

“But wait,” Patri said, leaning in now. “How long has this been going on?”

“Almost a six month ,” Jana answered quickly.

Cue another round of chaos.

“A six month ?!” Kika exclaimed.

“You’ve had a secret girlfriend for a whole half year and didn’t say anything?” Vicky gasped.

“She didn’t hide me,” you said calmly. “We just… didn’t want to make things complicated.”

“She wanted to keep you all to herself,” Mapi said, pretending to wipe a tear. “Selfish.”

“You’re all chaos,” Jana muttered.

“True,” said Ona, sipping from her glass. “But chaos knows how to interrogate.”

“Which brings us back to the question,” Patri added. “What do you do?”

You exchanged a glance with Jana. She hesitated. So you answered for her.

“I fight.”

Dead silence.

“I’m sorry, what?” Mapi blinked.

You didn’t raise your voice. Didn’t make a scene. You said it the way someone else might say teacher or accountant.

“I’m an MMA fighter.”

For half a second, the table didn’t register it. Then—

“Like… real fighting?” Kika asked.

“Cage matches,” you confirmed. “Amateur when I was younger. Turned pro two years ago.”

Vicky’s jaw dropped.

Mapi blinked at you like she’d seen a ghost. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope.”

Ona put her fork down. “Oh my god. That explains so much.”

“Wait—so much?” Jana asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Have you seen the way she walks?” Kika said. “Like someone who knows they can win a fight they haven’t even been challenged to yet.”

“And the arms,” Ona added casually. “She looks like she could lift a car.”

You gave a soft chuckle. “Only the small ones.”

Then came Alexia.

She hadn’t said much all night, but the second you said fighter, something behind her eyes sharpened. She set her knife down with purpose, posture stiff, voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Of course you’re a fighter.”

You turned to her slowly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Alexia leaned back in her seat, arms folded. “Nothing. Just… explains the serious face. The whole silent and brooding thing.”

Jana sat straighter, protective now. “Lex—”

“It’s alright,” you said softly, still looking at Alexia. “I get it. I don’t look like the kind of person you pictured her dating.”

“You look like someone who could snap a neck if provoked,” she said bluntly.

A few nervous laughs around the table.

You didn’t blink “I’ve been in cages, rings, and fights with people twice my size,” you said, voice calm, controlled. “None of that scares me. But the idea of hurting Jana? That would.”

It was quiet after that. Even Mapi didn’t know what to say.

Jana reached under the table and slid her hand into yours, threading her fingers between yours without looking.

You didn’t let go for the rest of the night.

You could feel it before you even saw her.

Alexia’s eyes on you. The pressure of her gaze—calculated, cool, and unrelenting. She hadn’t smiled once all night. And every time you so much as shifted in your seat, it was like she was clocking your movements, cataloguing you like a threat in disguise.

The rest of the team had started warming up to you after the “fighter” reveal. Mapi had made at least six jokes about needing you on the defensive line. Vicky had asked how many ribs you’d broken in your life you said "two—mine". Ingrid had tilted her head thoughtfully and gone, “Hmm, I can see it now. The jawline. The silence. The slightly scary aura. You’re her type.”

Even salma—who barely said a word when you walked in—was now animatedly asking about how long you had trained and whether you could flip someone over a table if needed. You said, “Depends on the table.”

Jana, meanwhile, hadn’t stopped beaming. She sat close—hip brushing yours, her hand occasionally resting on your knee under the table. Whenever someone got too loud or made a comment that toed the line, she’d glance up at you, as if checking you were okay. You always were. You were used to scrutiny. What you weren’t used to was someone like her watching your face like it mattered to her what she saw.

But Alexia?

Still cold. Still skeptical. Still looking at you like she couldn’t figure out what the hell her sweet, gentle, starry-eyed teammate was doing with someone like you.

The tension crackled quietly as dessert was cleared. Then, the wine started flowing again, and with it came the pokes—the questions dressed up as jokes, the little digs that weren’t quite playful.

“So…” Alexia spoke up again, swirling her glass slowly. “What happens when you get mad?”

You were in mid-conversation with Mapi, but the whole table turned to you.

You met her gaze evenly. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Who I’m mad at.”

There was a pause. Mapi stifled a smirk. Patri widened her eyes at the table, clearly enjoying the tension. Jana stiffened beside you.

Alexia took another sip. “Right. But say someone pisses you off. What then?”

You blinked, patient. “I don’t lash out. I’ve trained to control myself.”

“That’s good,” she said, deceptively calm. “Because someone with your… background losing control? That could be dangerous.”

You leaned back slightly, voice still even. “I’ve fought people twice my size. I’ve been thrown against cages, taken elbows to the face, trained until my lungs burned. You think I’d lose control in a restaurant because someone made a comment?”

That silenced the table.

Alexia shrugged. “Just saying. People like you are… intense.”

You let the silence settle. Then, voice low and deliberate

“I’ve spent years learning how to be intense without being destructive. That’s the difference between being dangerous and being disciplined. I know exactly how strong I am. And I know what I’m capable of. Which is why I’d never raise my voice, let alone my hand, to someone like Jana.”

Another pause. This one heavier.

You could feel Jana’s fingers sliding over yours under the table. She didn’t speak—but her grip said everything.

“She calms me,” you added. “In ways no one else ever has.”

It wasn’t a speech. It wasn’t some planned defense. Just quiet truth. Your voice wasn’t soft—but it was sure.

And Alexia heard it.

For the first time all evening, something in her shifted. Not trust. Not yet. But a tiny falter in her wall.

“So,” Mapi said quickly, breaking the silence, “who wants to see if she can choke out Patri with a napkin?”

Laughter rippled around the table, easy and warm. Tension diffused.

Patri elbowed Mapi and rolled her eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”

You leaned toward Jana, voice low: “You okay?”

She smiled up at you, warm and bright. “Yeah. Are you?”

You gave the slightest nod. “Always.”

By the time dessert hit the table, your shirt collar was rumpled from where Jana had tugged you close to whisper jokes. Her laughter had only grown brighter the longer the night went on. Around you, the team had settled into a post-meal chaos—spoons scraping the last of chocolate mousse, wine glasses refilled too generously, someone ,you were 90% sure it was Mapi, yelling about arm wrestling.

But even in all the noise, you felt the weight of one gaze.

Alexia was still watching.

Not with the sharpness she’d had earlier, but something more patient now. Like she was waiting for a moment. And when the team got distracted again—Mapi daring Patri to chug a glass of water upside down—Alexia tapped Jana’s shoulder.

“Can I borrow her for a sec?” she asked, nodding at you.

Jana froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Why?”

“I just want to talk.”

“She’s not really the talking type,” Jana said quickly.

You set your hand over hers on the table. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Go defend Mapi’s honor.”

Jana gave Alexia a narrowed look, but let you go.

Outside, the night had cooled, crisp air kissing your cheeks as you stepped onto the quiet street beside her. You tucked your hands in your coat pockets. Alexia stood a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw working.

The silence stretched.

Then finally, “So. You fight.”

You blinked slowly. “Didn’t realize that was still breaking news.”

“I mean… you fight. Cages. Rings. Actual paid violence.”

“I call it controlled discipline, but sure. That too.”

Alexia exhaled like she’d been holding it for hours. “Jana has always been… soft. In a good way. She’s light. She’s—”

“Sunshine,” you offered. “I know.”

“And you…” she trailed off, looking at you from the corner of her eye. “You walk like you expect a bullet.”

You huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

She leaned back against the brick wall of the restaurant, arms still folded. “You terrify them, you know.”

“I know.”

“But that’s not why I had a problem.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t scared of you,” she clarified. “I was scared of what you represented. People like you—people with hard eyes and locked jaws and bruised knuckles—they don’t stay. They burn. And people like Jana?” She tilted her head toward the restaurant. “They get caught in the fire.”

That one… stung.

You stared at her for a long beat. The light above flickered slightly.

“I’ve spent most of my life in places where I couldn’t afford softness,” you said finally, quietly. “But I’ve never once looked at Jana and thought about breaking anything. She’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to protect.”

Alexia didn’t answer, but something in her face shifted.

“You think I’m intense?” you went on. “I’ve seen that girl care so loudly it knocks the wind out of people. She’s a force. Don’t confuse soft with weak.”

Alexia glanced down. “No one who keeps up with me on the pitch is weak. I know that.”

The silence this time felt less strained. Like a storm starting to clear.

“I didn’t want to like you,” Alexia admitted. “And I’m still not sure I do.”

“That’s fair,” you replied.

“But…” She hesitated, watching you. “I believe you love her. That part I see clear.”

You nodded. “With everything I’ve got.”

Another pause. Longer. Quieter.

“If you ever hurt her,” she said softly, not a threat but a promise, “I won’t need a cage.”

You looked her right in the eye. “If I ever hurt her, I’ll let you swing first.”

That was the moment something in her cracked. Not completely, not all the way—but enough.

Alexia straightened. “Come on. You’ve survived dinner. Mapi’s asking questions about who would win in a fight: you or patri.”

You smirked. “Would she be watching or participating?”

Alexia actually laughed, low and reluctant. “She might be proposing.”

Back inside, the mood had only gotten messier. Patri had her face buried in her hands as Mapi tried to demonstrate some sort of “ninja duck roll” using an empty wine bottle. Jana saw you immediately—her eyes lit up, scanning your face like she was looking for signs of damage.

You sat beside her and pulled her close without a word. She pressed a kiss to your jaw.

“She still hates you?” Jana whispered, teasing.

“No,” you murmured back. “She’s just scared I might steal you away for good.”

“You already did.”

Mapi clinked a glass. “Alright! Verdict time!”

Everyone turned to her.

“Our dear silent mystery fighter has survived the wolves. Barely. But she passed. I say she stays.”

Jana cheered softly, pulling your hand onto her lap.

You leaned close, brushed a kiss to the top of her head, and whispered only for her

“Told you I’d survive.”

She smiled at you like you’d just handed her the sun.

And for the first time that night, Alexia watched you—not with judgment, not with challenge.

With respect.

(This is probably shit 😅 )

[lgvalenzuela]

Now that this is making the rounds again I'm gonna spill something on the Veilguard companions because it's the only game in the series where I've been here since the begining and I've played this game so much I might as well be an expert

-Davrin is incredibly smart, he might say he wasn't a smart kid. But writing a book on your expertise because you have beef with a dead author? Straight up nerd behaviour, I haven't seen someone so mad about books since Dorian threw my library books out the balcony

I love his narrative, I love that he didn't become a Warden because he had to but because he wanted to (which like...I'm pretty sure is a first as far as Warden companions?) He wanted a propuse. But becoming a Warden was so ingrained in his brain when you meet him that he's so convinced he's gonna die young he's preparing for his death actively, he's preparing Assan to be able to take care of himself (also if anyone thinks his whole narrative is about Assan I'm gonna start throwing hands)

His narrative can be taken multiple places due to player choice. But personally I'm really into this self sacrificing hero that just... Finds a reason to live.

-Harding's narrative is literally about toxic positivity, Lucanis literally spells it out on the scene where they have coffee together. She's refusing herself very righteus feelings of anger for what's been done to her people, and to her specifically. She's grieving through the whole game and for multiple reasons and she's on the verge of breaking down the whole time. Both her endings need her to accept this part of herself, the part that's mourning and the part that's angry.

Also the dressing down she gives Solas at the end? Mwa! Poetry. Queen shit.

-I don't know how to explain Bellara without going into personal life? But like a grieving neurodivergent asexual woman, kinda feels like they were just writing me at some points.

Her narrative with Cyrian was the first (and not last) time I cried. I love how her and Davrin represent the past and the future of their people. How you sometimes have to look into the past to see a clearer future, how the sins of the past don't define you but it DOES feel too easy to just say: Oh but it wasn't me, and this is not Who my people are now.

Also in general I love their dynamic, I love when I can actually see relationships grow and chance in game. And I can see Davrin and Bellara forming a strong bond and Davrin being that anchor that Bellara needs. Not like Cyrian! But he cares for her! And she needs someone to care for her, to remind her that its okay, and that not everything is her fault.

-Neve is not an ice queen, she just uses ice magic. But take her with you anywhere and she's full of jokes. Damn she even approves of most of Rook's purple dialogues. She loves It when you're a silly goose.

Her entire character revolves around caring. She's there because she cares, because nobody seemed to care so she had to step up, she's willing to sacrifice so much just because she knows people need her. She's righfuly mad if Minrathous is ravaged by the dragon but it's...honestly not that hard to get on her good side again? She seems a little more mad than Lucanis, Lucanis seems more sad. But she honestly doesn't seem to personally blame Rook. None of them do. Because they're smart enough to know it was an imposible choice from the start. And she can see Rook put in the work (well I mean if you as the player care enough)

-Taash is not fucking immature or stupid. Taash has trouble communicating, I think we would all benefict from knowing the difference oh my God. Did we not learn this lesson with Sera? (Stupid question I know)

Honestly it's a thing I've always loved about this franchise and these characters. They all communicate differently, they do depending on their upbringing and just...some people have trouble communicating! It's fine! Just give them a second! Maybe let them write some things down!

-Emmrich🧡 (that's all, send post. I'm gonna have something else to say when I've already post this I can see it)

-My biggest surprise is Lucanis for sure. Fun fact? Wasn't on my radar when the first or second trailer or whatever else material dropped. But my Rook was born as a joke, he wasn't suppoused to even be Rook on the first place, he was meant as a secondary character and shipping him with Lucanis was also a joke.

I love him dude. I have such a thing for characters that have a kind heart, the more surprising that they have it the more I love it. I'm so glad he wasn't a Zevran type (and I LOVE Zevran, but for that we already have him!) He was just a weird little ace that had no fucking idea what was happening most of the time.

This is only when It comes to romantic love because he's really observant. He so quickly realizes what's wrong with every companion, he only really has THAT type of relationship with Davrin because he's matching his energy and honestly I think both of them think it's kind of funny at some point. He's good with people but in such a weird way where he doesnt know he is? He's just... Happy. I think he's truly happy for the first time because he has people that can rely on him and he can fully take care of. And in turn you can show him that he's worth those things too.

Things I never would have guessed from fandom osmosis before actually playing the Dragon Age games:

-Alistair is actually pretty smart, and has a lot of knoweledge to share about the topics he's interested about.

He's also not that shy, and flirts with a warden pretty smoothly, if a bit innocently for his lack of experience and general humorous persona.

And his primary motivator is revenge which is an interesting way to take a character like him.

-Zevran is the only character who actively searches for consent even in simple flirting like calling someone beautiful. If you tell him to stop he never makes a mention again.

He's also one of the most loyal and sentimental companions you can have. He cares a lot, want to admit it or not.

-Merrill is one of the most educated and smart characters on the series, she takes calculated risks based on her own studies and research, and the only reasons she fails is because nobody trusts her and refuses to treat her like an adult.

Part of it is also the game refusing to frame her as anything but a naive child when she's anything but.

-Isabela has the most emotional intelligence out of all the characters in DA2, she knows exactly what they're feeling and what they need to hear at all times. It's clear that she's wise and worldly, and just needs time to build confidence between her and the others because she's been hurt a lot and her respect is gained.

-Fenris has an amazing sense of humor and you can find him consistently laughing at both Hawke's and companions he likes silly jokes. He's just really deadpan when delivering his own jokes.

He's also considerably patient and doesn't lose his temper unless confronted with people who have actively abused him.

-Anders spent SEVEN YEARS protesting peacfully, and it took the risk of genocide on his people to reach the desperation of act 3.

-Dorian is incredibly reserved. He tries to avoid talking about his life with a veil of humor and sarcasm, but he's specially guarded around his sexuality and love life. He only comes out to the Inquisitor in a moment of fury to piss of his father and he may have not done so if not pressed.

If in a romance with Bull the only reason the others find out is because Bull exposes it in front of everyone (I wish they would have find out a better way to let the player find out than Bull ignoring Dorian's wishes of privacy)

If romanced by the Inquisitor he's in his first real relationship and it shows, he's lost most of the time but tries to hide it by acting cocky. It's really funny.

He's also a huge nerd, I wasn't expecting that but I was pleasantly surprised.

-The Iron Bull it's not just smart, he's so caring, he shows you around so you can meet the people, the ones nobody cares about, he introduces you to them.

-Sera also goes to the pile of characters who are really smart and nobody gives them credit for it. She says it herself, she's just really bad with words, but as long as you try to understand her she makes a lot of sense.

The game just gives you no other option than to treat her horribly, which I sense a pattern of framing the neurodivergent coded characters in a certain light with Merrill and Anders.

-Vivienne is the only one (with Dorian) that asks the Inquisitor if they're okay after Haven, and gives beautiful words of afirmation.

She's really affable if you bother to befriend her.

[lukie17]

Another Lover

Xavier

Who would prefer to see you with?

Honestly. No one, he will rather die but if you chose to love someone else then I think he would pick up Zayne. He had seen other man around you, how they made sure to invade your personal space and try to act lovely lovely with you, but not Zayne. Unless you look closely then people would notice that you and Zayne are a couple. That is something that he can live on, he can just ignore and and pretend that his heart is not dying. He knows Zayne would treat you well from what all he had hear from your interactions with him, and Xavier had to admit that the doctor kept his boundaries with you. So, if you ever broken up or you had chose to love another, Zayne would hurt the less.

Who would kill him to see you with?

Caleb. The man is practically all over you, invading every space of you, like a black hole wanting to consume everything about you. Xavier could never allow himself to be in the same room as Caleb and you, if you were a couple, because he could not hide his jealousy. If Caleb and you were a couple then he would ask to be transferred to some other place, hoping that spring will come and kill him.

Zayne

Who would prefer you to see you with?

Caleb. Zayne understands and knows why. He had seen your light go off when Caleb died but when you told him about Caleb being alive, he had seen you light up again. Zayne could see the sparkle in your eyes again, the same sparkle that made him fall in love with you. It's only natural for the two of you being together so he accepts it. At least Zayne can keep your eyes and smile in his life.

Who would kill him to see you with?

Rafayel. Zayne had seen how this man throw a private birthday party just for the two of you. He was taking a stroll on the beach when he saw from a far how he had ravished you with gifts and love. How the man always bragged about you and filled you with kisses. The artist was always open on his affections with you, something Zayne could not do. Zayne could never made your face light like that or be so affectionate, and it kills Zayne. If he had only tried then you will be on his arms.

Sylus

Who would prefer you to see you with?

No one. He would rather die, but if he had to chose then he would prefer the doctor. Zayne is always open and honest with you. Sylus had seen the little act of services he did for you. He had seen the way struggle to show affection bu the doctor found ways to love you in silence. He had seen the way he hold you and watch you through Mephisto. And if he had to admit it, the doctor was a skillful fighter, because why in the world a doctor was able to take down a Level S wanderer? Sylus knew the doctor would bleed to death for you.

Who would kill him to see you with?

I was torn between Zayne and Caleb. Sylus thinks that you deserve to be loved like a parade. To be lavished in affection, but then I thought about Caleb made more sense. You always pointed at Sylus and his morals, his lifestyle and the dangers within in, but you had chosen to be blind when it came to the Colonel? Why him? At least Sylus was upfront with you, Caleb hid things from you and you knew it, yet you always were at his beg and call even if you didn't know it. It was like watching two dogs fighting each other, and Sylus was not willing to see that.

Caleb

Who would prefer you to see you with?

Xavier. I give it a thought and I think Caleb would rather see you with Xavier. The hunter is not involved in something shady, not that you are aware of, and he protects you at all times. Even when you are not looking. Caleb had seen Xavier take a blow and act as if nothing happened when the two of you were on a mission. Prioritizing your safety before his. He had also seen Xavier took down people who were following you or targeting you, and you never knew. Xavier only shows you the good side of him. Something Caleb can relate to. Xavier makes sure to keep you in a shinny world while he takes care of the rest. Though he thinks that Xavier needs cooking lessons or else you would die.

Who would kill him to see you with?

Sylus. Caleb has spend all of his life trying to protect you and shield you from all possible harm and you chose to run to the side of the one of the most wanted man of Linkon? Caleb doesn't care that he treats you well, nor cares for the gifts he gives you. He even gives a damn about how he is powerful to protect you. The only thing Caleb can picture is you with a red ribbon with a target on you. Caleb event went so far to fight Sylus, tried to bargain and get ride of him. There is the artist, there is the hunter and even Zayne! Please chose anyone else but not th one who will give him a heart attack.

[ssorenz]

༯ warnings. mature content, fem!reader + toji fushiguro, unprotected sēx, piv, pwp. minors do not interact, please and thank u.

wc. 1.7k (not proofread 🥸)

toji fushiguro is a nice guy.

not in the annoying “i’m a nice guy why won’t women date me” way, but in the “i’ll fix your sink, walk your dog, and probably kill a man for you if you say please” kinda way.

the ex-assassin (and your next door neighbor) is always doing something for someone— mowing the lawn for mrs. takada across the street, teaching the neighborhood kids how to patch a flat tire like he’s not patched gunshot wounds with duct tape before. probably hand-knits blankets for stray cats behind closed doors too.

so when he sees you wrestling with a massive ikea box on your porch that you honestly never stood a chance against in the first place, he doesn’t even hesitate.

“fuck is in here, a whole corpse or somethin’?” he jokes, like he didn’t just pluck the box from your arms, like it was filled with feathers and not the broken promises of swedish furniture.

you give him an airy laugh, wiping sweat from your brow as you tell him it’s your new bed from ikea.

“ikea?” he repeats, like you just told him it really was a corpse in that god forsaken box. “yeah, nah. you’re not building that.”

you blink. “i’m not?”

“uh, did i not just say no? i’ll handle it. don’t want a pretty lil’ thing like you losing a finger over some overpriced planks and an allen wrench.”

and listen. you could’ve argued. you could’ve said you’re an independent woman, with your crappy youtube tutorials and a rusty ol’ hammer.

but instead you just say,

“. . .do you want water or beer?”

god, you swear your bedroom has never felt this small.

toji’s presence takes up space like he was built for it—one knee down, the other bent, thighs straining against those well-worn jeans like they’re one bad movement from tearing right at the seams. his tank is drenched, clinging like it’s got a personal vendetta, outlining every broad inch of him like a glove.

he’s hunched over the partially assembled bed, brows furrowed, scarred lips parted in quiet concentration like he’s studying scripture, not step six of some swedish-coded nightmare.

and it’s filthy, the way your brain strayed, drinking in the way he moved—tight, efficient, obscene without even trying.

every low grunt, every flex of his arms, every time he shifts and that heavy chain around his neck clinks against sweat-slick skin—it’s like you're watching the start of a bad porno.

your gaze drops, uninvited, right to the swell of his chest—broad and heaving—and lower, past the way his shirt clings to his dreadfully slutty waist, all the way to the waistband of his jeans.

the way they sit, low and loose, slung across those hips like temptation incarnate—

“you good over there, sweetheart?” his voice breaks through the haze, all casual and smug. “been eyein’ me reeaall hard over there.”

you choke.

“oh, uh—i was…” you mutter, blinking like an idiot, “just… making sure you’re not screwing m- it up.”

he hums, not even looking at you, allenkey twisting slow in his grip.

“mm. real thorough inspection you’re doing.”

your a/c is blasting, full arctic tundra, and yet here you are—skin flushed, thighs clenched, your mind absolutely nosediving into the filthiest trenches imaginable.

you open your mouth about to retort back, but he cuts you off with a simple, expectant:

“wrench.”

just that. hand out. palm grasping. not even looking at you.

you pass him the tool, and your fingers brush his. his hand is warm, rough - those thick, ragged fingers that have probably shot bullets into yakuza leaders skulls, probably broken bones, lingering just a beat too long.

and suddenly you’re not thinking about this stupid swedish furniture anymore.

you’re thinking about those same fingers digging into your hips.

gripping the back of your neck.

pressing into your thigh as he—

“you gonna let go, or you just like holdin’ my hand?”

you snap out of your. . trance, retracting your hand like the wrench had transformed into molten lava and burned it. “just um, didn’t wanna drop it. s-safety first, right?”

“riight, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

even though it’s your bed, he hasn’t let you touch a single piece of it. 

not one panel. not one sad screw.

and it’s not like you didn’t offer to help—you did, multiple times!

yet every single time, he just waved you off like you were a gnat.

“jus’ sit n’ look pretty. this ain’t a group project,” he utters, dead serious. you open your mouth once more to argue, and all he sends you is a glare— playful, yet still warning.

and after three long, sweaty hours,

you—

no.

he is finally done.

toji leans back on his heels, wiping beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand “there,” he grunts, satisfied. “all done miss.”

you glance at the bed. it does look good. solid. intimidatingly so. 

“looks sturdy,” you murmur, and toji hums in agreement. thick fingers drag slow over his stubbled chin as he leans back, marveling at his piece of work.“mm. might wanna test it out first, though.”

you blink. “…test it?”

he nods, rolling his shoulders, towering and terrible, that glint in his eye nothing short of criminal.

“how ‘bout i help ya out, yeah? call it uhh, ‘mandatory safety inspection’ .”

ᥫ᭡.

“ngh, to-tojiii,” you mewl, nails grasping helplessly at the cushioned mattress beneath you, your glossed dolly eyes fluttering back with each filthy fuckin’ thrust. his strokes are relentless, sharp, each one leaving a raucous snap from his toned v-line on your poor sore thighs.

for such a ‘sweet’ and ‘beloved’ guy, his dick game sure was mean as hell.

“atta girl, look at that,” he grunts, “takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”

your swollen bottom lip is caught between your teeth, an embarrassingly desperate attempt at concealing these lewd noises toji is managing to string out of your chest.

but with the way he’s fucking into you like this, those calloused, worn palms spreading the fat of your ass to give him a front-row view of how his cock is sinking in and out of you, before raising his hand to give it a nice hefty spank—

it’d be damn near impossible to not stay quiet.

your body feels so hot, practically melting as your spine arches further with each roll of his firm hips. the pads of his fingers are digging into the plush of your waist, burning against your skin like he’s trying to brand you with his hands alone.

toji sloows his pace, not enough to give you a break, but enough to make sure you feel all ten inches of him, that evilly thick stretch making your walls stutter. his chest dips down your spine, peppered stubble scratching at the nape of your neck as his full weight sinks over you.

“uh uh, shhh,” toji croons hotly, his breath warm as he leaves a wet kiss along the shell of your ear, “you hear that?”

“h-huh?” you hiccup, and he’s got you soo dumb off his dick that your surprised your still coherent.

“girl. listen.”

and you do. or try to, atleast.

your breathing slows just enough to catch it, between the wet slaps of skin and your pulse bursting in your ears—

creak… creak… creak….

“looks like she’s startin’ to talk,” he murmurs. “guess i forgot to tighten all the screws. oops.”

haha. you'd roll your eyes if they weren’t already damn near in your skull.

toji’s body shifts, swole chest hefted on your back as his beefy arms cage you in. he’s got one hand curled around your wrist, pinning it to the matress, while the other bruisingly grips your waist.

your plushed thighs quiver, ass rippling back with each fluid snap of his hips. he’s so deep, his entire length bottoming out in your sobbing cunt. landing countless blow after blow on that poor spongy spot of yours.

“f-fuuck,” it slips out breathy, caught between a gasp and a whine, your voice cracking with each draaag of his cock. “s’too much— i can’t—”

“yea you can,” toji huffs. “already are.”

creaking turns into clattering, death rattles now, and he’s still not stopping nor slowing. every hit leaves the mattress screaming, legs of the frame wobbling as it lurches underneath the weight of you both.

and your bed isn’t the only thing ready to give out eithet.

“ ‘m gonna, hnnghh— m’ gonna cumm, toj’ ” you sob, shuddering as your core tightens.

“shiit, thaaat’s it,” he pants as your pussy swallows him oh so snugly, and you can feel him start to throb inside of you. “ let ‘toj’ feel you cum ‘round his cock, baby.”

toji’s strokes sloppen, grinding now, likes he’s trying to engrave each and every inch of his cock into your unforgivingly tight cunt. your hips begin to spasm as your pretty glossed lips sputter out mindless, repetitive catches of his name.

he sends one more thrust, mean and s—

crack!

that poor lil’ ikea bed of yours sinks beneath you with a jarring snap, the headboard dipping rudely as one stubby leg snaps completely off— making you and toji slip forward with it.

you yelp, yet it slips into a broken moan as splotches of white fill your blurred vision, body jerking as your saccharine juices spill out onto him.

you let out a pouty whine, lashes fluttering as toji groans, gutturally, his posture stiffening, jaw hanging slack before you feel him begin to spill into you—sticky hazed shades of white rudely painting your insides like his own personal canvas.

the scent of sweat and sex hangs heavily in the air, the only sounds being you and toji left panting. he stills momentarily, assuring his sticky load is plunged deep enough inside of you before easing out with a sharp hiss.

“guess she, uh, failed the inspection,” clicking his tongue as he breaks the silence, acting all disappointed despite the way he’s grinning like a fucking fool— as if he didn’t just knock all you and your beds screws loose.

“you’re buying me a new bed.” you mutter, voice hoarse as your shooting him a mascara stained glare over your shoulder.

“ ya’ gonna let me break her in too?”

and it’s not like you decline— it’d be rude if you did. .

because toji fushiguro is a nice guy, after all.

@ssorenz™ do not, copy, repost or translate anywhere without my knowledge.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

this vice

part II

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's been six weeks since Sam last touched you. It's starting to hurt. You need it.

Warnings: 18+!, soulless!Sam is his own warning, semi-established Sam x reader, language, smut (dub-con kinda, clitoral stimulation, p in v, restraints, forced orgasms, overstim, dirty talk, coming on stomach), condescension, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 4,366

A/N: I decided to make this one a part two to "strange eyes" so... I hope y'all like it. Felt like the way to go, honestly. I've also found a way to tie it to the first part by making it inspired by another Friday Pilots Club song... so, there's that. The song is so good. Sam is so MEAN!!! My turn, pls. Let me know what you all think please!! <3 Until the next one. All the love.

"Well this vice, this sweet temptation The answer to frustration Put it down on me, put it down Put it down on me

Well my girl, she's bad as hell You know a little fucked up now but oh well"

Bad As Hell - Friday Pilots Club

It didn't happen again.

Not the next night. Not the one after. Not even the one after that.

You waited. You tried.

You wore the pretty things. Spoke softly. Laughed at nothing. Let your hands linger too long on his arm, his shoulder, the nape of his neck when he passed too close. You kissed him once, slow and hopeful, and he let you—

—but he didn't kiss you back.

The memory of that first night haunted you like a bruise in your bloodstream. You could feel it every time you shifted in your seat, every time your thighs pressed together under motel sheets that still smelled like him. You'd touched yourself in the dark more times than you'd admit, and still it wasn't enough. Not after that.

You craved it. You craved him.

But he just looked through you. Past you. Over you.

Sometimes he'd watch. When you thought he was asleep, you'd catch the faint glint of his eyes in the dark. Just watching you sit there, or pace the room, or peel off your clothes with slow, deliberate fingers like he might suddenly want you if you moved just right.

He didn't.

Once, you whispered his name. Just that. Just "Sam."

He turned his head. Glanced at you. Said, "Not tonight."

And that was it. No reason. No cruelty. Just a wall you couldn't scale. It made you worse. It made you try harder. Made you burn.

And you knew he saw it.

He watched you every time you left the shower wrapped in nothing but steam and skin. He watched the way your breath caught when you leaned too close, hoping maybe this time he'd touch. He watched when you sat on the bed in nothing but his shirt, your legs curled up, voice light and meaningless as you said something—anything—to fill the silence.

And then he'd say something like, "You're gonna overheat in that."

Like he hadn't just spent the last hour refusing to touch you. Like he didn't care. And maybe he didn't.

But you did.

And each time he looked at you with those strange, indifferent eyes—eyes that didn't blink, didn't flinch, didn't soften—you felt something in you ache deeper.

Something begging to be broken.

You were already halfway gone by the time he asked if you'd ever been tied down before.

It started differently that night. Not with words. Not with warmth. Just... a shift. A quiet pulse beneath the surface of the motel silence. Like the static before a storm.

He wasn't cold. He wasn't distant. He was something else entirely. Coiled.

You felt it before you saw him. The tension in the air was palpable, electric, like something was waiting to happen—but refusing to name itself.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, his hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, steam ghosted after him like a spectre. His chest bare. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. There was no pretence in him. Just presence. Weighted. Measured.

You were already in bed, curled on top of the sheets in one of his old shirts, bare beneath it. Sleeves loose, neckline stretched, your body too warm, too exposed, but you hadn't dared move. Not when you felt him coming like that—like gravity.

He looked at you. And this time—really looked.

Not with the softness he used to carry. Not with anything familiar. Just the quiet scrutiny of a man who was considering what to do with a thing he'd left untouched for too long.

You sat up too fast. Your breath caught. Hope bloomed too violently in your chest, sharp and stupid.

He didn't speak. Just came to the bed and sat beside you, heavy and slow. His thigh pressed against yours.

You didn't move. Couldn't.

Then his hand reached out—dragged over your skin. First your knee. Then the inside of your thigh. Calloused fingertips brushing like he was testing a fault line.

You nearly cried from the contact. Your thighs instinctively pressed together. He didn't react.

And then, like it was nothing, like he was asking whether you wanted your eggs scrambled or fried, he said:

"Ever been tied down before?"

Your mouth went dry. You blinked. Swallowed. Your voice came out breathy, unsure. "Yeah. I mean. Not like—seriously. Not properly. But if you're asking, then—yes. Please."

That last word tumbled out before you could think. Please.

So soft. So desperate. Your face burned with it. You hated how real it sounded. How much you meant it.

But Sam didn't smirk. Didn't lean in. Didn't touch you again. He just nodded once. Sharp. Final. Like he'd already decided.

And then he stood.

You watched him walk to his bag. Watched the tension in his shoulders, the easy cruelty in his posture. He knelt slowly. Unzipped the duffel.

And pulled out cuffs. Not cheap. Not novelty. These were serious. Silver hardware. Matte black. You stared as he brought them over, as he climbed onto the bed and guided your wrists up above your head.

You didn't resist. You couldn't. Your breath came in shallow, shaking waves as he buckled one, then the other, the cool kiss of leather biting softly into your skin.

He didn't speak. Not once.

Your legs were still free, and that felt intentional. But you were too far gone to question it. Because after nearly six weeks of silence, of being looked through like you didn't exist, of begging with your body for anything—

Sam was finally touching you. And you would've let him ruin you all over again just to feel it.

You didn't know what you expected.

Maybe that he'd kiss you. Maybe that he'd strip the shirt off your body and slide between your legs and whisper things he didn't mean in that voice you still dreamed about.

Maybe—stupidly, naively—you thought this would be the night he touched you the way he used to. That the restraints were a doorway back to something you missed, not the beginning of something else entirely.

He said nothing.

Just fastened the last buckle at your wrist, checked the tension, and leaned back on his haunches to study you like a sculpture he wasn't quite finished with. His eyes dragged across your body with clinical disinterest. Like he wasn't moved by you—just measuring.

You shifted a little, testing the give in the cuffs. They didn't budge.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Then he stood. Walked across the room with slow, quiet purpose. You lifted your head to follow him, confused—but something low in your belly was already starting to stir. That old instinct. That familiar fear that felt like arousal.

He knelt by his bag again. Unzipped it. And pulled out something long. White. Thick.

It took you a second to understand what you were looking at. The cord. The shape. The sound it made when he plugged it into the socket beside him and thumbed the switch.

Your stomach dropped.

A wand. The kind that plugs into the wall. Heavy-duty. No batteries. No escape.

"Sam?" You breathed.

He didn't answer. Just cracked his neck, unplugged it, and stood up. Then plugged the thing into a socket nearer the bed. The cord slithered across the floor like a serpent.

He climbed onto the bed. Settled between your thighs like it was his place. Like he owned the space he hadn't touched in weeks.

The wand was still off. But you felt its promise like a threat. He ran it up your inner thigh. Not pressed—just a ghost of contact. Barely there. Then down. A slow stroke. He traced the curve of your knee. The hollow behind it. Down to your ankle. Then up again. Past your knee. Higher. A glancing drag that made your muscles jump. He tickled your foot with it. Cruel. Teasing.

You shivered.

"Sam," you whispered again. "What are you doing?"

No answer.

You tried again. "Are you gonna...?"

Still nothing.

Just the hum of electricity waiting to be lit. And then—just when you were starting to spiral, starting to plead—you said something. You don't even remember what. A joke. A plea. Something breathless and silly and yours. And that's what grabbed him.

His head tilted.

He looked at you. Really looked. And then—without a word—he leaned in, braced one forearm across your hips, and pressed the wand hard to your clit.

It felt like being hit by lightning. You screamed. He didn't blink. Just watched.

And the wand was still on its lowest setting.

You came too fast. Your body had been wound so tight for so long—starved of touch, of friction, of him—that the first hard press of the wand against your clit was enough to detonate you.

It ripped through you like heat lightning. Blinding. Blistering. Your thighs trembled. Your lungs forgot how to breathe. Your wrists strained against the cuffs until the metal bit into your skin.

And he didn't move. He didn't speak. He just watched. Like it wasn't happening to you at all—just a reaction. Just a hypothesis proven true. An equation balancing itself out.

You sobbed once. Sharp and sudden. And that was the only sound you got out before the wand hit you again.

Because he never lifted it.

You weren't even done shaking, and he never lifted it. There was no break. No breath. No reprieve. Just the relentless, searing vibration pulsing into your nerves, still raw and shattered from the orgasm that hadn't even finished echoing through your limbs.

Your hips jerked. Instinctively. Desperately. Trying to get away, to shift, to slide the wand even half an inch from your clit—but his forearm anchored you to the mattress. Heavy and absolute.

It was like being pinned under time itself.

You gasped. Whimpered. "S-Sam—wait—" Your voice cracked on the second syllable.

Nothing. Just the low, brutal hum of the wand vibrating mercilessly against your most fragile point.

Your back arched. Toes curled. You could feel the second orgasm building impossibly fast, but it didn't feel like pleasure. It felt like pain melting into something sharper. Tears welled. Slipped hot down your cheeks. You didn't know when you started crying. It didn't matter.

"Sam, please—it hurts—"

Still no answer. Still no shift.

But he was watching you. Always watching.

His eyes dragged across your face with unsettling calm. You were a trembling, sweating mess and he looked like he was studying weather patterns. Your flushed cheeks. Your bitten lip. The tears that carved silver streaks through the heat of your face. The war in your pupils between panic and want.

You felt it coming again. That unbearable, crashing wave. And you hated how your body begged for it. How you couldn't stop clenching down. How you couldn't stop needing.

Then, finally—

"Are you gonna beg me?"

His voice didn't sound like it belonged to a man touching you. It was too even. Too distant. A detached curiosity. Like he wasn't participating—just conducting the experiment.

You nodded frantically, blinking through tears.

"Please, Sam, please—I c-can't—just let me—please—"

Words fell apart in your mouth. They came out soft. Wrecked. Sweet like blood on sugar.

And he tilted his head. Considered it. Smirked. Then—

"Nope."

And he turned the power up.

The sound deepened. Louder. Thicker. It shook against your clit, brutal and unrelenting.

Your mouth dropped open in a scream that didn't make it out. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't form words. All that came was sound—broken, high, helpless. You thrashed, tried to close your legs, but he slid his knee between them, kept you open, kept you exposed.

"Careful," he said absently. "I'll tie those down too."

And he would. You knew he would. And still—still—your body was rising again. Not from desire. Not from thought. From conditioning. From the helpless surrender of something completely, irrevocably owned.

You were going to come again. And he wasn't going to stop you.

He smirked. Not like someone enjoying himself. Like someone watching a match catch fire in slow motion.

And then—without a word—he turned the dial. The wand kicked up beneath his hand, the hum deepening, vibrating with cruel, mechanical certainty. You couldn't breathe around it. Couldn't think. Couldn't beg anymore.

You screamed.

Your hips lifted off the bed, thighs trembling violently, but his forearm pressed you back down with practiced, effortless strength. Not straining. Just present. Just unmovable.

Your whole body was shaking now—every nerve singing, cracking, splitting under the pressure. Your wrists jerked against the restraints. Useless. Beautiful. Perfect.

Sam didn't speak.

Just tilted his head again. Watched you like something in a museum. A rare, private performance of ruin he had all to himself. His eyes scanned every inch of you—your breasts heaving, your stomach quaking, the wet mess between your thighs glistening in the dim motel light.

At one point, your moans turned guttural. Animal. You were growling now—deep, primal sounds tearing out of your throat as you thrashed beneath him, desperate and feral.

He didn't even blink. Just quirked an eyebrow. Frowned slightly, like he was considering something.

Maybe it was the tears. Maybe it was the way your legs kept trying to close, spasming around his body.

He shifted his weight slightly. Let the wand ease off for just a second—not mercy, just a pause in the procedure.

Then, quietly:

"You keep kicking like that, I'm gonna tie your legs down." His voice was flat. Low. Not a threat. A guarantee.

You sobbed—half fear, half pleasure, all wreckage.

"Sam—please—I c-can't take it, I can't—"

"Mm," he murmured, like he wasn't listening at all. Like he was just acknowledging the noise.

Then he pressed the wand back down. Hard.

You shattered. It was your third orgasm—or fourth? You didn't know. Couldn't count. Couldn't breathe. All you knew was the white-hot pleasure burning through you like fever, nerves flayed open, clit swollen and screaming, muscles locked in a full-body convulsion.

And still—he watched.

"You look good like this," he murmured, almost to himself.

His eyes dragged down your body again, and something in them changed. Just for a second. Not softness. Not warmth. Something darker. Appreciation.

"Didn't know you could come like that," he added.

Then he reached down with his free hand, dragged two fingers through the slick mess between your thighs, lifted it, and watched it string between them.

You were still twitching. Still sobbing.

He tilted his head.

"Still want me to stop?"

You nodded, breath hitching.

He smiled. "Too bad."

And turned the wand up again.

You stopped fighting. Somewhere between the last orgasm and the silence that came after it, your body just... gave.

You weren't moaning anymore. You weren't pleading. Your legs had stopped twitching, fallen limp against the mattress. Your wrists hung slack in the cuffs, fingers curled in weak, trembling fists. Your jaw had gone slack, mouth wet and open, your breath a ghost barely making it past your lips.

The wand was still buzzing against your clit. The vibrations felt like they were coming from inside your bones. Like you weren't separate from it anymore—just a body wrapped around sensation.

And Sam—

He was still watching. Expression unreadable. Not smirking. Not smiling. Not cruel. Just... aware. Like he was watching a star die. Like he was documenting the end of something.

You blinked through the blur of your own tears. Your mouth parted. You swallowed hard. Licked your lips. Tried to speak.

"Sam," you whispered. It didn't even sound like a word. Just a shape. A sob turned sideways.

His eyes flicked to yours. And you knew you had him.

"Please," you said again. Softer now. Wetter. Your voice cracked in the middle, jaw trembling as you pushed the words out around spit and sobs. "I just want to feel you."

He didn't answer. Just tilted his head. Considered you.

You swallowed hard. Fought against the breath trembling in your lungs. It caught in your throat and broke open like a wound.

"Please fuck me," you whispered. "I need you inside me."

And that—that—was the moment the wand shut off.

The silence felt like a gunshot. Deafening. Immediate. Your whole body flinched like it had been struck.

You sobbed without sound, throat too raw to make more noise, your body folding inward like it didn't know what to do without the pain.

Sam shifted his weight. Reached down. Dragged your legs apart a little wider with rough, patient hands.

Didn't say a word.

He didn't untie your wrists. Didn't lean down to kiss you. Didn't offer comfort or care or anything that resembled the man you used to know.

He just pushed into you. One smooth, slow thrust. Deep. Unstoppable.

You cried out—raw, grateful, broken. You were so tight. So swollen. So soaked.

He groaned, low in his chest. His hips stilled against yours. His cock buried to the base.

You sobbed again. A shudder passed through your whole frame.

"Thank you," you whispered. Voice shredded. Barely a breath.

And finally—finally—he smiled.

You should've been too far gone to feel any of it. You should've been numb. Raw. Burnt-out. But the moment Sam pushed into you—deep, slow, unrelenting—your body betrayed you. You felt it. Every inch of him. Every thick, unforgiving stretch. The way your walls clenched without meaning to, the way your breath caught, the way your ribs shook like they were bracing for collapse.

And Sam—

He groaned. Loud. Low. Like the sound was ripped from the centre of him, like it surprised even him. His voice came thick with it, gravel and heat and the barest echo of awe.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hips pressing forward until he was buried to the hilt. He held there, motionless, like he was savouring the pressure, the heat, the obscene way your cunt wrapped around him like it never wanted to let go.

He moved then, just enough for you to feel it. A subtle drag and push, a slow grind that made you choke on a moan.

He laughed under his breath, not mocking, not amused—just satisfied. Sated. Possessive.

"This what happens when I don't fuck you for a while?" He muttered, the words sliding out like sin. "Get all tight and gummy for me?"

Your legs shook, useless things twitching in time with every slow roll of his hips. You tried to lift them, to wrap them around his waist, to pull him deeper somehow, but you had no strength left. Your limbs were jelly, your body trembling with aftershock and overstimulation.

He noticed, of course. He always noticed.

He grabbed your legs, one in each hand, and bent them to his liking. Spread you wider. Pushed your thighs back until you were completely open to him, nothing hidden, nothing held back. A helpless offering.

"Been dripping for me for weeks," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Didn't think you could get wetter. But look at this—"

He bottomed out again, slow and sure, and you sobbed at the stretch.

"You hear that?"

And you did. That slick, filthy sound of him fucking into you. The wet slap of skin and the obscene suction of your cunt trying to hold him in. That squelch. It echoed, filled the room, drowned you.

"You're fucking soaked," he growled. "Tight little cunt, and so fucking wet—just from begging."

It should've been cruel. Should've been humiliating. But it wasn't. It was worship, in the way only he could give it now—clinical, feral, exacting.

And your body—fragile, shattered thing that it was—reacted.

Somehow, impossibly, you felt it again. A flicker. A spark. A low coil in your gut starting to pull, starting to burn.

A new orgasm. Real. Alive. Building.

You shouldn't have had anything left. You should've been dry and broken and spent. But he was still inside you. Still filling you.

And somehow, you wanted more.

Sam fucked you deep and steady, hips working in patient rhythm, each thrust a study in precision. He moved like a man obsessed with sensation, with friction, with the hot, pulsing clamp of your body trying to pull him deeper. His breath hitched through gritted teeth, short and hot and ragged.

"Still squeezing me," he muttered, voice pitched low with something almost reverent. "Still fucking clenching. Greedy little thing."

You nodded, unable to do anything else. A whimper slipped past your lips, helpless and pleading.

His grip on your thighs tightened.

"Gonna come again, aren't you?"

And god help you—you were.

You couldn't stop nodding. It wasn't deliberate. You weren't even aware you were doing it. Your mouth hung slack, jaw trembling, drool catching on your lips, and your head just bobbed—slow, frantic, helpless—like your body was trying to say yes before your mind could catch up.

Your chest heaved. Every breath came ragged. And your vision—fuck, your vision—kept slipping in and out of focus, blurring at the edges like you were looking through water, like the world was trying to fade into white.

And Sam—

He noticed.

He was watching your face like he always did, like he was measuring something no one else could see. And when he saw your eyes start to roll, to cross from the pressure and the pleasure and the sheer overload of it all, he made a noise low in his throat. Something mean.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, voice dragging rough over your skin. "There it is."

He adjusted his grip on your thighs, spread you even wider. His thrusts stayed steady, deliberate, but now each one came with weight. Purpose. Like he was trying to drag your soul out through your cunt.

"Eyes are going all stupid on me," he murmured, not even breathless. Just observing. "You know they're crossing, right?"

Your mouth opened wider. You couldn't even whimper. Just little gasps. Little sobs.

He leaned in closer. Didn't slow down. His hips snapped harder, deeper, and the sound of him inside you was obscene—wet, relentless, flesh against flesh, the room filled with it.

"Ruined," he said, almost to himself. "Look at you. All wrecked for me."

You blinked slow, barely conscious, and he laughed—low and cruel and fond.

"Think you're gonna come again, baby?" He asked. "Huh?"

You nodded wildly. Couldn't stop. Couldn't breathe.

"You look like you're about to pass out," he said, and there was genuine amusement in his voice now. "Mouth open, eyes crossed, legs shaking—fuck. You're loving this, aren't you?"

You tried to say yes, but all that came out was a wrecked little noise, part sob, part moan, all devotion.

Sam groaned again, deeper this time, hips stuttering.

"So goddamn wet," he said. "So fucking tight."

He looked down between you—watched his cock disappear inside your soaked, trembling body—and exhaled through his teeth.

"Still clenching like you don't plan on letting me go."

Your whole body was tensing now. Coiling. The burn rising again. Higher. Higher. You couldn't believe it. Couldn't survive it. But it was coming.

And Sam knew it. He knew everything.

You came like it was being ripped out of you. No build. No grace. No warning. Just a violent collapse.

It tore through you without permission, without pause, your body locking up tight and trembling like it had been hit with a live wire. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream, your wrists yanked against the restraints, and every muscle in your body seized as wave after wave rolled through you—hot, endless, obscene.

Sam didn't stop.

He fucked you through it. Groaning now. Low, primal. The rhythm of his hips was brutal, unforgiving. Like he wanted to feel every single aftershock drag against his cock.

"There she is," he growled, watching your face contort. "That's the sound I was waiting for."

You sobbed through it, barely able to breathe, your thighs quaking around his waist. He slapped your cheek—not hard, but enough to make your eyes snap open, unfocused and wet.

"Don't you fucking pass out on me," he muttered, panting, sweat dripping from his jaw. "Not yet."

He fucked you harder.

You wailed.

"So squishy," he grunted. "So fucking gummy and tight. Knew I could get you like this if I just left you wanting long enough."

Your entire body jerked with each thrust, overstimulated and undone.

"Sulking around for weeks," he murmured, voice edged in something sharp, amused. "All moody. All needy. Thought I didn't notice?"

His mouth twisted into a mean little grin.

"Didn't really care. Not until now."

Another thrust. Hard. Deep.

"But this?" He breathed. "This made it worth it."

You hiccuped around your own breath, body twitching beneath him.

"I could come wherever I want," he muttered, eyes locked on the mess he was making of you. "Could come inside you, watch it leak out slow—"

Another snap of his hips. You cried out.

"—or maybe push into your ass and shoot there instead."

You choked on a sob. Hiccuped again.

He laughed, breathless and dark.

"Maybe next time."

And then he pulled out.

You didn't even feel the loss—you were too far gone, too wrecked. A moment later, the heat of him painted across your stomach. He groaned, low and rough, as he came—thick and hot over your skin, dripping down your ribs and pooling into the waistband of his shirt still hanging from your shoulders.

He stayed there for a second, cock twitching, breath ragged. Then he looked at you and smiled.

The room was silent except for the hum of the motel's old air conditioner and the soft, broken sound of your own breath.

You couldn't move.

Your wrists still strained in their restraints, numb and tingling from how hard you'd pulled against them. Your legs had fallen open and stayed there, spent and twitching. The cool air licked over your thighs and the warm, wet mess drying across your stomach. Your body didn't feel like yours anymore—it felt like his.

Sam didn't speak at first. He just looked at you.

No tenderness. No apology. Just those soulless, strange eyes studying you like you were something he'd built and finally gotten right.

He leaned forward. His fingers brushed the inside of your thigh, then dragged higher to your stomach, where your skin still gleamed. He wiped it away with the edge of the ruined shirt you were still wearing—his shirt, the one he hadn't bothered to take off you.

Not until he was done.

He didn't look at your face when he cleaned you. Just moved like he was tidying up after himself. Like it was routine.

Then his hands moved to the cuffs.

He unbuckled one wrist, then the other. Slow. Precise. As if the restraint had never been about force—it had always been about control.

You let your arms fall to your sides. Rubbed your wrists gently. Felt the ache bloom.

Sam pulled the hem of the shirt down over your body. It stuck to your skin in places, clinging damply to your ribs, your stomach. He didn't fix it. Just let it settle there.

And then he lay down beside you. He didn't touch you. Didn't hold you. Just laid back, arm tucked under his head, eyes on the ceiling. And finally—quietly—he said it.

"You needed that."

You didn't answer. Not right away.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven waves. You turned your head slowly to look at him. He was already watching you. Always watching. That same unreadable expression. That same stillness. Like nothing in him had changed, even after all he'd done.

Those strange eyes.

They should've scared you. But they didn't.

"Do you regret it?" He asked. His voice was low. Calm. Clinical.

You rubbed your wrists again. Felt the skin there—warm and worn. You thought about everything that had led to this. The waiting. The silence. The ruin. And then you whispered:

"No."

And maybe—just maybe—you really meant it.

Sam taglist: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @angelicjackles @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @xoswiftieprincess @mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @nevercameraready @liiiilsss @mj-102009 @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @deangirlsstuff67 <3

[betty-fran]

SNW is probably the last thing I want to watch, and there are many reasons for that (but, yes, this is the main one).

Commenting on something you haven't watched isn't the best idea, but even from what I've seen, I have a lot of questions for the creators of the series. And probably the most important one, who are these people and how will they become the people we saw in TOS in just a few years? And why do all the actors look like they've stepped out of either a Netflix relationship show you'll never watch, or a passing cop show where everyone's hot, but you don't remember any of the characters?

Spock. Okay, why does this guy keep calling himself that? Why did he take his shirt off? Why did he kiss that blonde? Oh, he screams, and cries, and hugs. He seems more emotional and tactile than I am, and I usually scare introverts...

Chapel. She's really cute, honestly, the only thing I liked about SNW, even though she still has nothing to do with the original Star Trek. And she reminds me of Kirk, especially AOS Kirk, especially AOS Kirk from so many fanfics where he's more funny than an asshole. Honestly, guys, it's the 21st century, but for S and K, the authors are ready to write any love story, even a homosexual one, but they won't be given a chance to be together.

Jim. Oh, I've seen him somewhere before, and no, it wasn't in TOS. And why is he older than Shatner when he played Kirk, if it's a prequel? And I read that this Kirk has a better relationship with salad, is that true?

A pretty woman with a strange name, a relative of Khan, is having an affair with Kirk. Oh, this is starting to sound like The Rings of Power.

Number One. Finally has a name (and it's actually good) and looks like she just returned from a space flight with Katy Perry. I'd rather not think that she's my favorite female TOS character because it makes me sad.

Pike. Well, he's always been a difficult read - he's not talked about much in TOD, and even less so in AOS, and given his history he has this archetypal hero-from-legend vibe, which makes him a little less personal and more like a tapestry of a knight, which isn't great for a series where he's a lead protagonist. I don't know how SNW handles this story-wise, but visually, it doesn't. I'm actually really old-fashioned, but I'm really sad how the idea of ​​true beauty has changed, and how artificial it seems now.

(just bring them back! it was a real cinema!)

Through Star Trek, it's actually good to follow how the world is changing, because each of the Star Trek series actually reflects the time in which it was filmed. I've read the opinion that SNW captured the spirit of the old Star Trek quite and, well, I can only take their word for it. But watching TOS now, I can say that it's unlikely that anyone today can truly capture its spirit, and when someone can, it will be the day of a utopian future for cinema. From what I've seen, SNW really only conveys well the stagnation in which modern cinema finds itself, which has long been trying to please everyone at the same time and is therefore unable to express any specific self-sufficient thought.

star trek used to be about gays in space

now they just make Spock kiss women

[i2sainz]

Secrets unkept

when lando norris hard launches his marriage with the “i’m so hungry” tiktok trend

pairing : lando norris x singer!fem!reader

warnings : brain rot, slight profanity

face claim : annie.shr on ig

yn

tagged @lando

liked by lando, maxfewtrell, kimi.anonelli, _willsmith2 and 5,728,920 more

yn I’m so hungry I can eat my husband 😋

But seriously, these last few years that i’ve spent with lando has been the most astonishing years of my life. We met long before any of the fame, before the money, and before the world tried to shape us into the person they wanted us to be.

At my best, I was his. At my worst, I was his. And forever, he will be mine. There’s no one else i’d rather to spend my life with. Every song, every lyric, every melody, they’re for him. My love for him bleeds through my palms, our love staining everything I’ve ever touched.

I wasn’t just born to love, but to love him. And I will continue to love him even when our forever ends.

comments

📍 pinned

lando I’m so hungry I can eat my wife ❤️

♥️ by author

oscarpiastri Congratulations!

♥️ by author

↳ yn Thank you, Osc 💕

danielricciardo Daniel is a perfect baby name

↳ yn I’m not pregnant, Danny

↳ danielricciardo yn Not yet, but if Lando’s speed this season means anything…

kikagomes the prettiest bride 🥰

♥️ by author

pietra.pilao meu amor💓💓

♥️ by author

↳ yn eu te amo 💓

user1 i can’t believe our yn has been married for a year without us knowing?

↳ user2 bro i didn’t even know she was dating someone? nonetheless childhood lovers

user3 getting threatened on x was worth seeing these photos

↳ user4 tung tung tung sahur 🍽️👩🤤

↳ user3 user4 HOW DID YOU FIND ME

↳ user4 user3 tung tung tung sahur 🫵🏻🫦😍

↳ user3 user4 … that didn’t feel like a threat

user5 wonder how those lando nowins enthusiasts are now? letting everyone think he wasn’t winning when in reality bro was coming home to the biggest dub ever

♥️ by author

user6 lando getting married and winning his first race a week apart has gotta be canon cuz there’s no way

user7 i love when hot people date each other

♥️ by author

user8 i’m smelling a new album

user9 white man did it in 1 week…

user10 WHY WOULD A MAN BE THERE?

↳ user11 brain rot

↳ user10 user11 i’m so hungry I can eat Caelin Jones

↳ user11 user10 my dead mom?

↳ user10 user11 oh…

↳ user12 well now we know how your mom died

user13 honestly it’s on us for not seeing it sooner? like hello? sports car? passenger princess? diet pepsi? she deadass rode a mini lando cart in a photoshoot

user14 honestly think i’d be better dead at this point

user15 please tell me this is ai

user16 NOOOOOOO WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MARRIED

user17 damn so this is why lando wants to win the championship so bad, crodies got a future family to feed. i respect the hustle

user18 Congratulations ynnie!

♥️ by author

used19 first the pope died and now yn is married, the world is ending.

user20 so you’re telling me that lando norris has 100+ love songs about him and i can’t even get a text back? what universe is this

↳ user21 one where lando is her muse

♥️ by author

↳ user20 user21 ANSWER MY DMS, PRETTY😻😻

↳ user21 user20 apologize to lando first.

user20 I’m sincerely sorry to @lando. Respect you man.

♥️ by author

user22 why are half the sharks in the likes

↳ user23 macklin told everyone that yn is will’s celebrity crush

↳ user22 user23 was it true?

↳ user23 user22 well what’s it look like, pipsqueak?

↳ user22 user23 wanna make out?

↳ user23 user22 didn’t we just establish that will is in the likes? not in front of the buzz bro

lando

tagged @yn

liked by yn, maxverstappen1, k.mbappe, martingarrix, and 4,728,169 more.

lando It’s us forever, it always has been.

The day you married me was the second best day of my life, the first forever being the day we met. You’re the best part of my life, you always have been. You love every part of myself that I hate, and I’d never stop thanking the universe for giving me you.

I was born into a world that slows down for anything, my life constantly changing and forcing me into quick decisions that would make or break my career. But you make me want to slow down, to press the break. I want to cherish every moment I have with you. And if I could, i’d stop time and trap us in a universe that allows me to have you forever.

We’ve been creating this perfect world in our heads since we were kids. We planned everything from all the counties we wanted to visit down to our future children’s names. It’s never just been my future, it’s been ours. And we’re finally getting there. So we aren’t just celebrating us. But we’re celebrating every version of us that’s ever existed, and every one that’s yet to come.

I can’t wait to grow old with you, you’re the first and last love of my life. I love you, forever.

comments

📌 pinned

yn It’s only ever been you, my love.

user24 i take everything back, i love them.

user25 i never thought i’d cry ever a lando norris post but here we are

user26 why is LANDO NORRIS winning.

user27 lando haters realizing they’ve been gooning over his wife is something i’m happy to be alive to see

user28 mate might not be leading the championship rn but he’s definitely winning in life

user29 she’s the prettiest person i’ve ever seen.

♥️ by author

user30 my new favourite wag

user31 I KNEW IT

↳ user32 you didn’t know shit

↳ user31 user32 well duh 🙄 there’s a thing called roleplaying

↳ user32 user31 you need to go to jail.

user34 still can’t believe diet pepsi is about him (i didn’t know who he was 3 hours ago)

user35 can i marry your wife?

↳ lando No

user36 i have a crush on your wife

use37 hey lando i hope you don’t mind if i use your face as my facial reconstruction inspiration!!

user38 ts pmo fr

user39 please fumble please fumble please fumble

user40 yet another reason to hate him, he married my wife

↳ user41 well she wouldn’t want you anyways + your boy @user42 looks like the dad from the addams family

↳ @user42 user41 THE HELL DID I CATCH A STRAY FOR😭

user43 milf

↳ user44 she’s not a mom

↳ user45 user44 not yet.

♥️ by author

lando.jpg

tagged @yn

liked by yn, lando, carlossainz55, macklincelebrini, and 628,927 more

lando.jpg recents with the love of my life. ❤️

comments turned off

[lyjen]

Rage | Eddie Diaz

Summary: After a hectic morning, Eddie and (Y/n) are on their way to the firehouse to start their shift. But the drive doesn’t go as planned when Eddie completely misjudges the situation on the freeway and they end up in a car accident.

Trigger warnings: Car accident, blood and graphic injury description, medical trauma, panic attack / anxiety, drunk driving, bit of violence.

Request: @megafandomsxassemble

Request status: OPEN ✨

9-1-1 Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Eddie stood in the kitchen, pouring the dark liquid into two to-go cups. The morning sun peeked in through the blinds, casting soft strips of light across the counter. One hand held a cup steady, while the other reached blindly for a lid.

“Chris! Let’s go, buddy!” Eddie called out, his voice echoing down the hall as he snapped the second lid on the other mug. He didn’t even have to check the clock to know they were running late. At this point he was used to them being late.

From somewhere deeper in the house, (Y/n)’s voice answered, laced with frustration. “I can’t find my other shoe!” Eddie glanced up, amused. He could already picture her, half-dressed, hair still tousled from sleep, scrambling through the house like it was a scavenger hunt.

She came around the corner into the kitchen, hopping slightly as she wore only one sneaker and zipped up her LAFD hoodie. Her hair was wild and soft, and she used one hand to gather it into a quick bun. It wasn’t her usual clean, firehouse-ready one, but the messy kind she did when time was not on her side.

“Lost it again?” Eddie asked, sipping his coffee with a smirk as he leaned his lower back against the kitchen counter.

“I swear I saw it lying right here last night,” (Y/n) muttered, eyes scanning the floor, then opening the pantry like the shoe might’ve magically climbed onto a shelf.

Eddie watched her with a lazy smile. Her sleepy frustration was oddly cute, and he loved this little chaotic piece of their mornings more than he’d ever admit out loud.

Just then, the familiar thud of crutches echoed down the hall. Chris appeared at the edge of the dining room, steady as always, pushing the shoe forward from underneath one of the dining room chairs “You mean this one?” Chris asked. 

(Y/n)’s head popped around the doorframe, and her eyes locked onto the missing sneaker lying on the floor in front of Chris’ crutches. Relief washed over her face. “Chris! You’re a lifesaver.” she said, sounding like the shoe like it was her long-lost soulmate.

She rushed over and took it, dropping down to one knee and started to put the long lost shoe on. Chris raised a brow, curious. “Why were you looking for your shoe in the kitchen?” he asked. 

(Y/n) froze mid-lace. 

She blinked. Good question. A very good question.

Eddie, still in the kitchen, perked up immediately, like he knew this was going to be good. (Y/n) blinked, suddenly very aware that her searching area made no sense. At least, for him.

“Uhh…” she stalled, her voice faltering as her gaze slowly lifted toward Eddie, who was now watching her over the rim of his coffee cup as he leaned against the doorframe from the kitchen, clearly amused. Then she looked back at Chris, and tried to think fast. 

“You know… things happen. Sometimes shoes… travel.” she said as she turned to Eddie for help once more. He offered none. Not at first. Just raised his eyebrows and took another sip.

Chris gave her a look. “And you thought your shoe would be behind the fridge?” he asked, trying to make sense of it. “I don’t know, Chris,” she said, tying her laces faster. “It’s early, my brain’s still warming up.”

Eddie pushed himself off the door frame, sipping his coffee slowly, very amused. “I’m dying to hear this logic, honestly.” Eddie then said. (Y/n) shot him a narrow-eyed look. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like being on time?”

“Nope. Watching this unfold is the highlight of my morning,” he said, handing her the second coffee cup as she stood up.

She snatched it playfully, brushing her fingers against his. “Thank you. For the coffee and your unwavering support.” she said. 

“Always,” he said, leaning in for a quick kiss on her temple. Then he turned towards his son, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, bud.” he continued.

Chris smirked, shaking his head. “You guys are weird.” And sighed like a kid who had already seen too much adult nonsense for a Monday morning.

“We know,” they both answered in unison. “Let’s just go before I lose something else, like my dignity.” she whispered softly at Eddie. 

“Too late,” Eddie muttered under his breath, but the playful glint in his eye gave him away.

With Chris by the door, (Y/n) finally fully dressed, and coffee in hand and duffle bags on the other, the three of them finally tumbled out of the house. 

Eddie eased the car into the disabled parking space near the front of the school. He shifted the car into park, glanced at the clock on the dashboard, and sighed. Barely on time. Not bad, considering the morning shoe crisis.

He popped open his door and stepped out of the driver’s side, the spring air still carrying a hint of coolness. Without missing a beat, he walked around to the backseat and opened it, reaching in to pull out Chris’s crutches.

Inside the car, Chris was already moving like clockwork. He unbuckled his seatbelt with a click, swung his backpack over his shoulder as he put his arm through the other loop and pushed open the door where Eddie stood waiting with his usual, patient smile.

“Here you go, buddy.” Eddie handed him the crutches gently as Chris stepped out of the car. Chris took them without looking up “Thanks.” he said, and slipped his arms through the plastic.

Eddie closed the door behind Chris, the solid thunk of it echoing in the small morning bustle of the parking lot. The noise of students, parents, and teachers swirled around them. Voices calling out, backpacks rustling, cars pulling up and away.

(Y/n) rolled down her window from the passenger seat, watching the moment unfold with a soft smile.

Eddie crouched in front of Chris, one of his hands resting on Chris’ shoulder, and the other one on his knee like he always did when he needed his son to really listen.

“You remembered your math homework, right?” Eddie asked as he tried to make eye contact with him. Chris let out an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Dad.” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Not stuffed in the bottom of your bag? Not forgotten on your desk? Not being used as a bookmark in your comic book?” he asked. Chris’ eyes connected with his dad’s. “Daaaad,” Chris groaned, rolling his eyes. “I got it, okay?” 

(Y/n) had to stifle a laugh from her seat. Eddie smirked but softened as he reached out and let go of Chris’ shoulder.“I know, I know,” he said, ruffling Chris’s hair. “I’m just doing my job. The annoying dad part.” Eddie continued. 

Chris gave him a tired look that said: you’re doing it very well. Eddie leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of Chris’ head. “I love you, okay?” 

“Dad!” Chris hissed in embarrassment, eyes darting toward a group of kids walking by. “You’re embarrassing me in front of people!” he mumbled as a smirk appeared on Eddie’s face. “Good. It’s in the contract,” he grinned, his eyes soft. “Embarrass you now, pay for therapy later.” 

Chris groaned and rolled his eyes as he turned and started toward the school entrance. “Have a good day!” Eddie called after him, “Oh and don’t trade your snacks!” he added. 

“Daaad!” Chris yelled back, not turning around. And then he was gone, just another kid with a backpack vanishing into the group of students.

(Y/n) laughed from inside the car, shaking her head. “You really live to torment that kid.” she said as she looked to the side, watching Eddie getting in the car.

Eddie slipped back into the driver’s seat, his smile lingering. “Gotta enjoy it while I can. In a few years he'll still be embarrassed, but with a deeper voice and probably facial hair.”

“He’ll still be rolling his eyes at your jokes.” she said as she smiled and took a sip from her coffee.

“Absolutely,” Eddie said, starting the car. “Oh—by the way, I told him Tía Rosa’s picking him up today. She said she’d take him for ice cream if he finishes his homework” 

“Did you remind him about that?” She asked as she let the back of her head fall against the headrest and looked at Eddie. “Only six times,” Eddie deadpanned. (Y/n) chuckled as Eddie put the car in reverse.

Eddie pulled away, his fingers tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel. “I always feel like we forgot something.” (Y/n) smiled, as she glanced at Eddie. “You packed his lunch, embarrassed him… That’s everything.” she said and placed her hand onto his, that was resting on the armrest in between the passenger and driver. Eddie smiled as he felt her thumb softly tracing over his hand, his eyes locked on the road. “Yeah. I guess that is everything.”

-

The freeway stretched out in front of them, long and open beneath a soft blue sky. Morning sunlight spilled across the dashboard, painting golden streaks over Eddie’s forearms as he drove. (Y/n) sat beside him, her coffee now half-empty, hair still slightly messy, but that early morning panic had finally faded.

Eddie’s hand rested on the steering wheel, fingers tapping a lazy beat. He glanced over at (Y/n), who was finishing her coffee, hoodie sleeves rolled up, legs curled beneath her in the passenger seat. 

Eddie glanced over at her with a small smirk. He couldn’t help it. “So… the kitchen, huh?”

(Y/n) let out a sigh, already rolling her eyes at the sentence. “You’re really not gonna let that go?” She asked. Eddie chuckled, looking at her for a quick second before focusing back on the road. “You froze like Chris caught you committing a federal crime. No comeback, no lie, just panic.” 

“I was caught off guard!” she said as she tried not to smile when she thought back at the moment of this morning. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You really had nothing. Not even a fake excuse.” 

“I really thought my shoe was in the kitchen,” she mumbled as she took a sip of her coffee. “Well, yeah, because that’s where you launched it. Right after you climbed up on the counter.” he said, while an agreeing look took over his face. 

Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me? I did not climb anything.” she shot back at him. “You totally did,” he teased. “And I blacked out after. I mean, we had just gotten off a 24-hour shift, and then you… you were just standing there. Hoodie, messy hair, tired face. I lost it.” Eddie admitted as he glanced back at her. 

“You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” she accused him. Eddie laughed, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. “You were just as bad. You kept brushing up against me at work, touching my arm and looking at me like that.” he said. 

“I handed you a clipboard, Eddie.” (Y/n) said as her eyebrows furrowed at his words. “And I pinned you against the truck,” he grinned.

“That was a two-second moment!” She said. “Hmm.. for you maybe. It felt like hours to me. Torture.” he said, glancing back at (Y/n). She shook her head, smiling, cheeks a little warmer than a second ago now.

“Oh, and don’t think I forgot about the bathroom,” (Y/n) said, glancing at Eddie with a teasing smirk. Eddie’s brows lifted, already sensing where this was going. “What bathroom?” he asked, trying to act innocent and not knowing. 

“That was all you,” she added, sipping from her coffee with a mocking look on her face, like she’d just presented a final piece of evidence. Eddie let out a half-laugh, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You kissed me first!” he said.

“Because you pulled me in there!” Her eyes widened like she couldn’t believe they were actually arguing about this, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips said otherwise. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, both from laughter and from the memory.

Eddie shook his head as he drove, a grin spread across his face. “Because you were looking at me like you were gonna kiss me in front of Bobby!” he said. She scoffed, shifting in her seat, turning toward him. “I—what?! No I wasn’t!” she stumbled.

“Yes you were,” he said, glancing quickly at her. There was a fire in his eyes now. Not angry kind, just playful and maybe a little smug. “You gave me that look. The firehouse hallway look.” he said then. (Y/n) blinked, then narrowed her eyes, leaning in just slightly. “What look is that?” she asks, confused as she placed the coffee back into the cup holder. 

“The one that says: ‘I’d climb you like a ladder if Buck wasn’t two feet away.’” 

Her jaw dropped and she immediately burst out laughing, one hand flying to cover her face. Her hoodie sleeve slipped slightly down her wrist as she leaned against the door, trying to pull herself together. “You are so dramatic” she managed through her laughter.

“I’m passionate,” Eddie said proudly, placing a dramatic hand over his heart like he was quoting Shakespeare, with his eyes twinkling. “You’re impossible,” she replied, cheeks still flushed as she wiped a tear of laughter away. Her bun had started to come loose from all the movement, stray hairs framing her face. 

“And I was going insane,” Eddie added, his voice serious. “I couldn’t touch you for twenty-four hours except in secret. Do you know what that does to a man?” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.

“You bit my lip, remember?” he added, looking to his right. “That was because someone walked in!” she tried to defend herself, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “I was bleeding,” Eddie said, holding up his finger as if to prove the severity of the wound, but there was barely even a wound there.

“You survived.”

Eddie smiled and reached over, resting his hand gently on her thigh. His thumb rubbed slow circles. His voice softened. “I’d do it all over again, though.” (Y/n) glanced over, her smile quieter now. “Yeah?” 

“Every shift. Every morning. You’re worth it.” he told her as he took a second to look straight into her eyes. 

They sat in that soft silence for a moment. It felt nice. It was almost like a calm before the storm. But then Eddie’s eyes flicked to the road ahead, and that feeling started to slip.

A black car in front of them was swerving across lanes, it was going way too fast and moving way too broad. Eddie frowned, “What the hell is this guy doing?”

(Y/n) sat up straighter. “He’s all over the road. Is he drunk?” she said as she frowned at the image. The warm hand of Eddie let go of (Y/n)’s thigh as he leaned forward and his hands were tightening on the wheel. “Has to be. He’s going, what… ninety? Maybe more.”

The sedan veered again, hard, and nearly clipped the car next to it. Horns blared. It recovered only to accelerate, erratically, like the driver had no idea what they were doing or didn’t care. “I’m not staying behind him,” Eddie muttered, switching lanes. “I’m gonna pass.”

“Just be careful,” she said quietly. “I’ve got it.”

Eddie turned on the turn signal and switched lanes as he stepped on the gas. He tried to pass the black car. But just as they pulled up beside it, the car didn’t make a small swerve like he had before. No, this time he made a much larger one. 

No signal. No warning. Just pure, reckless speed. And it slammed directly into their passenger side.

It all happened so fast. The sound was deafening. 

The sound of shattered glass, screeching metal and tires, airbags burst, white clouds filling the air as screams filled the small, tight space. 

The truck tipped, then flipped. Once. Twice. Suddenly it felt like they were in some kind of fairground attraction they didn’t sign up for. 

They were weightless and heavy all at once. Flung and yanked. Eddie’s head hit the headrest hard, his vision blurring. (Y/n)’s body was thrown to the side, her head snapping back against the window before the seatbelt caught her. 

They landed hard on the passenger’s side, and back onto four wheels again. The car slowly came to a stop, and for a moment there was silence. Silence or a breath, and a heartbeat. 

But then a second car, unable to stop in time, plowed into them from the side. The force sent their (already) destroyed car crashing into the guardrail, before it finally came to a stop. The truck flipped one more time and landed upside down.

Smoke was coming from the hood, and a soft hiss of leaking fluids sounded in the car. The distant honk of other cars skidding to a halt on the freeway they were just on. 

Inside the vehicle, the world was upside down. Blood trickled from Eddie’s brow. His ears were ringing. He gasped for air, body aching in ways he hadn’t yet registered and groaned at the pain. He blinked hard as he tried to get a clearer vision, but he was still disoriented. 

Then his heart dropped. “(Y/n)…?” he choked out, turning his head, even though every muscle in his body protested.

She wasn’t moving.

His eyes locked onto her. Her head hung in an awkward angle against the seatbelt. Her face was pale, blood dripping from her temple. “Hey,” Eddie’s voice cracked. “Come on, baby, wake up.” he continued as he tried to reach for her, while ignoring the pain he felt in his body. 

(Y/n) was pinned in her seat. The metal had crumpled into her side, her hoodie was partly soaked in blood. He didn’t know how deep the metal rod was. He didn’t want to know. But it was enough to make his vision blur.

“No no no no no,” he whispered. “Please, open your eyes.” he begged, his voice was raw and trembling. “You’ve gotta stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” he cried. But she didn’t answer, Eddie felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs all over again when she didn’t answer, or even gave any sign of life. 

He knew he shouldn’t move. He knew staying still was the safest thing after a crash like that. His training screamed at him to wait for help. But that voice, the smart, calm, firefighter one, was nowhere to be found at this moment.

All he could hear was her breathing faltering and that silence between her breaths was louder than any alarm he’d ever heard.

Eddie gritted his teeth and fought with his own seatbelt while the blood was rushing to his head. The seatbelt finally gave way, dropping him hard onto the ceiling, (which was now the floor) of the ruined car. His ribs ached in protest, but he didn't stop. He groaned as he pressed a hand onto the painful spot, and he dragged himself toward the shattered driver’s side. 

He pushed glass out of his way with raw hands. He didn’t care if glass would cut into his hand, it had already cut his knees, but he didn’t feel a single piece of glass in his skin. The adrenaline was rushing through his veins. 

He had to get to her. He had to help her. He couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.

He crawled through the window on the driver’s side, glass cutting into his palms and his legs which were barely working. The morning temperature hit his skin like a slap, but he barely felt it. His entire body was focused on one thing, and that was his girl. 

The air reeked of burning rubber and leaking gasoline. People were shouting nearby, tires screeching in the distance, but it all sounded muffled. It was almost like he was underwater. 

Eddie pushed himself onto his feet, but almost lost his balance. But his hands quickly grabbed the car to keep him on two feet. He walked as fast as he could around the car.

When he reached the passenger side, he could barely recognize the door. It was caved in completely. But he could see her face through the shattered glass, pale and bloody and still not moving.

Eddie's hands were trembling, without a single thought he braced himself against the door and tried to pull it back, muscles screaming with effort. “Come on!” he grunted, chest heaving. “Just- open- damn it- open!” he cried desperately. 

Nothing gave.

He stepped back, his breath stuttering while he blinked through the sting in his eyes. He had to get help. He needed his team here. Now.

He fumbled for his phone, almost dropping it with how slick his fingers were. Blood, sweat, oil, he didn’t even know. His hands were still shaking, panic setting in. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, but somehow he managed to hit Buck’s name in the contact list.

Eddie pressed the phone to his ear, pacing in small, frantic circles like he could outrun the panic crawling up his spine. “Come on, come on, pick up, please.” he whispered. 

First ring. Second ring. Third ring.

He was sure the next thing he was going to hear was the voicemail of Buck. But then he heard his best friend's voice through the phone. “Eddie?” he spoke on the other side of the line, his voice loud compared with the sirens on the background.

Silence. 

“Eddie? Hey, can you hear me?”

Still nothing.

Just static, and something… shallow. Breathing. Shaky. Ragged. Like someone was gasping through tears, like someone was trying not to fall apart. Buck’s stomach dropped.

“Eddie? Talk to me, man. What’s going on?” He knew Eddie was on the other side of the phone. This wasn’t just some butt dial. But the sounds through the phone.. He just knew something wasn’t right. 

More silence. A soft thud. A crackle of air. The faintest sound of someone moving and still no words.

Eddie didn’t know what was happening. He wanted to say so much, but simply couldn’t get the words out. 

“Eddie?”

There was a pause… and then, finally, a single, broken word finally came out of his mouth. “…Buck.” The sound of it… raw and strained.

“Jesus. What happened? Are you okay? Where are you? Is Chris okay?” Buck asked. 

A beat of hesitation.

“Not Chris,” Eddie finally managed to bring out, his voice catching in his throat. “It’s- (Y/n).” The name barely made it out. “We were driving. She…” He choked again.

The words were there, but they just wouldn’t come out. His chest felt too tight, like the panic was caving in from all sides, pressing down until nothing made sense except the urge to do something.

“She’s not moving. Buck, I can’t get the door open. There’s- there’s metal through her side, I think- I think it went all the way through-” he rattled.

“Okay, hey,” Buck cut in, trying to keep his voice steady even though his own heart had started to pound. “You’re doing great. We’re already en route. Bobby said it was a multi-car pileup- are you on the 405?” Buck then asked. 

“Yes- yeah,” Eddie stammered, breath catching again as he glanced back at her. “She’s bleeding. A lot. And I- I can’t get her out. I tried. The door’s stuck. She’s not- she hasn’t opened her eyes.” Eddie continued as he ran a hand through his hair. 

His voice cracked, and for a second, Buck could hear the weight of everything Eddie was holding back. The fear, the helplessness, the sheer horror of watching the person he loved bleed out in front of him. And the worst part? He couldn’t fix it. Not without the right tools. 

“You don’t have to get her out,” Buck said firmly. “You know that, Eddie. We’ve got the jaws. We’ll get her. You just stay with her. Don’t move her. Keep talking to her. Keep her grounded, okay?”

“I can’t lose her.” Eddie’s voice broke entirely now, soft cries sounding through the phone. “Buck, I can’t—she’s all banged up and it’s bad, and she hasn’t said a word-”

“You’re not gonna lose her,” Buck said, instantly cutting off Eddie, his voice direct. “You hear me? You are not losing her. We are minutes out. I just need you to hang on.” Eddie nodded, he needed to keep hope. His jaw clenched as he wiped at his face, smearing blood and tears alike.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Buck said again, steady. They hung up before they could share another word. Eddie swallowed hard and crouched lower to the shattered window, brushing a shaking hand over (Y/n)’s cheek.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You stay with me. Just stay with me.”

Eddie was still crouched at her side, the glass from the passenger side window that had shattered cutting into his knees, his hands covered in blood, sweat and oil. His fingers brushed her cheek again. “Hey... hey, (Y/n) help is on the way..” he whispered, voice shaking. “You’re doing so good. Just keep breathing, okay?”

For the first time she gave some sign of life. (Y/n) let out a weak groan as her lashes slightly stick against the blood on her skin. Her body was limp but trembling. The twisted metal of the car door pressed in cruelly against her torso, and that goddamn jagged piece of steel impaled through her side made Eddie feel like he couldn’t breathe.

His lungs pulled in air, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t reach his chest.

Then the sirens hit the scene, rushing toward them like a wave. But Eddie didn’t feel any relief. His mind was stuck in static. Everything was noise except her.

“Almost there,” he murmured as another groan left (Y/n)’s lips. 

The flashing lights painted his face red and blue as the truck of the 118 came to a stop nearby. He heard Buck’s voice calling out to him but Eddie didn’t respond. He couldn’t pull himself away from her.

“Eddie!” Buck ran to his side. “Hey—Eddie, are you okay?” Buck asked as he saw the status of Eddie. His best friend looked like he came straight from the battlefield. Parts of his body were covered in blood and sweat. 

But Eddie didn’t answer his words. Couldn’t. Eddie’s jaw clenched as he stared down at her. His hands were shaking so badly now he had to clench them into fists just to stop.

“She’s- she’s not responding like before,” he finally stumbled. “She was... I don’t know if it hit an organ- there’s too much blood.” he choked out the sentences. Buck placed a steady hand on Eddie’s shoulder, grounding him. “Hen’s going to check her, Chim is already getting the stabilization.We’ve got it.” But Eddie couldn’t move, it was like his legs were cemented down to this part of the 705. 

It wasn’t until Bobby stepped forward and gently said, “We need to get her out, Eddie. Let them work,” that made him back off. He rose stiffly, his limbs roaring in pain. But he didn’t feel any of it. Not really. His eyes flicked toward the wreckage down the road, and that’s when he saw it.

The other car.

The man inside was still behind the wheel, upright. Still breathing. Not a single drop of blood on him.

Something twisted in Eddie’s gut and it made his blood boil. That was him. The guy who hit them. The guy who almost killed them. The guy who almost killed her. 

His breathing quickened, and his fists clenched. Bobby noticed the shift in Eddie’s posture instantly as he guided him a bit back so Bobby’s team could do their job. “Hey,” Bobby said carefully. “Eddie, don’t. I know what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t,” Eddie said, voice low and still shaking. “You don’t know.” he added. “I do,” Bobby stepped between him and the wreck. “But now is not the time.” he continued, trying to help Eddie take his mind off whatever he was planning on doing. 

“He was drunk.” Eddie’s voice cracked. “He hit her side. He aimed for her, Bobby. He- he almost…” Eddie stopped, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

“I know,” Bobby said gently. “But let the cops handle it. Let the system do what it’s supposed to do.” his captain advised. 

But that wasn’t good enough. Not for Eddie. Not when he could still hear her gasping for air in the background. Not when her blood was drying on his palms.

Bobby turned to give an order to Chim, just for a moment. One small silly second. And that’s all it took. “Eddie!” Bobby called, alarmed, but it was too late.

Eddie broke into a walk straight toward the black car, determined. He didn’t think. Didn’t plan. “Eddie!” Bobby called, alarmed, but it was too late. Eddie was already there. He ripped the car door open and grabbed the man by his jacket, yanking him out of the car. 

“You almost killed her!” Eddie roared, his voice cracking. He slammed the man into the side of his car. The man stammered, but Eddie didn’t hear him. His vision tunneled, fists tightening.

“You ran us off the road like her life meant nothing! Like we meant nothing!” He shoved the guy again, harder this time. 

The drunk man started to mumble something, maybe an apology, maybe just nonsense. But Eddie’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“If she dies,” he snarled, eyes burning with something feral, “if she doesn’t wake up… I swear to God…” he gasped.  “Eddie!” Buck’s voice rang through the tension, closer now.

“-I’ll make sure you never forget what you did.” The man groaned, reeking of alcohol. Eddie raised a fist. Muscles tight, the urge burning in his veins like gasoline ready to ignite.

Buck’s voice hit him like a wave. He was running full speed, eyes wide and panicked. “Eddie, stop!” Buck sounded. But Eddie didn’t stop. Buck lunged and wrapped both arms around his friend, pulling him back with everything he had. “Don’t do this!” Buck shouted as he let go of Eddie when he started to wrestle himself out of Buck’s grip. Buck stood between Eddie and the drunk driver, trying to keep his best friend away from the man. “You lay a hand on him, and you’re the one in cuffs!” he continued as he came closer to Eddie. 

Eddie’s eyes were wild, there was a fire within his eyes. “She could die! He did this! He was drinking-” he choked out the words, stumbling over each one of them. “I know, I know,” Buck said, voice cracking. “But you don’t get to make it right by losing yourself, Eddie.” 

Eddie went still, chest heaving, hands trembling at his sides.

“She needs you, Eddie.” Buck said softer now. “She needs you there. Not behind bars. There. Holding her hand. You think she wants to wake up and not see you?” Buck continued. 

Eddie’s throat burned. He looked back toward the ambulance where Hen was still working on (Y/n), her hand twitching slightly like she was reaching for someone who wasn’t there. The fight drained out of him all at once.

He looked over Buck’s shoulder for a second. “You’re lucky he’s here.” he hissed at the man, disgust curling his lip. And with those words, he walked away from the man. 

- 

The waiting room was too quiet. Not the kind of silence that brought peace. Eddie’s hands were trembling. He had his elbows on his knees, head bowed forward, eyes fixed on the floor tiles like they held answers he craved for so badly. But they didn’t. Nothing did.

Blood had dried on his knuckles, tracing over cuts that still had some slivers of glass in it. His palms were raw, his knees bruised and scraped. There was blood caked on his pants, his arms, and somewhere under all of it, a dull, throbbing pain in his ribs from where the seatbelt had clenched around him. But none of that mattered. 

A gentle voice broke through the silence of the waiting room. “Eddie.” But he didn’t look up. “Hey,” the voice said again, softer now. A second later, a cool plastic bottle of water was pressed lightly into his hand. “Here. Just… take a sip, alright?” Buck’s voice sounded.

Eddie blinked slowly, like the water had just appeared out of nowhere. He looked down at it, then his fingers curled around it. But he didn’t drink the water. He just held it in his hand, letting condensation spread across the small cuts in his hand.

Buck sat down beside him, not saying anything for a moment.

“You need to get checked out,” he finally broke the silence. “You’re still bleeding.” he added as he looked at his broken, best friend. “I’m fine.” Eddie said, not even looking at him. His voice was low, almost toneless. 

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay not to be. But she wouldn't want to see you like this.” Buck said. Making Eddie’s grip tighten on the bottle. He swallowed hard against whatever emotion was creeping up his chest. 

“I keep seeing her…  the way her eyes rolled back, the blood… I didn’t know if—” He finally said, his voice cracked, and he stopped talking.

Buck leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, mirroring Eddie’s posture. “You were in the crash too, man,” Buck said quietly as he kept his eyes locked on the side profile of Eddie. “You’ve got glass in your hands and probably your knees. You’re still bleeding from your eyebrow, and I’m pretty sure your ribs are messed up.”

Eddie didn’t respond, just stared at the water bottle like it was the only thing holding him together.

“She wouldn’t want you sitting here, hurting. Torturing yourself. You know that, right?” Buck continued. “She wants you okay. She wants to wake up and see you okay.”

Eddie exhaled, a sound that was half a sigh, half a choked breath. He brought the water to his lips with a shaky hand and took one slow sip.  “Let the nurses take a look at you,” Buck said gently. “Just a quick check. Get stitched up. Sit down somewhere where they can actually help you, not just... watch you fall apart in a waiting room.” Buck advised him.

Eddie hesitated. Then nodded. Not for himself, but because she would want him to.

Buck stood with him, steadying him as he swayed slightly on his feet, and walked him down the hallway toward an exam room. Eddie didn’t ask questions. Didn’t protest this time. But the whole way down the hall, while he had the water bottle still clutched in his hand. He kept looking over his shoulder… waiting for someone, anyone to come out of those double doors.

The moment one of the nurses came into the room where Eddie was being treated, and told him (Y/n) was out of surgery, he was up and already speed walking through the hallway. He just needed to see her.

Eddie opened the door to the hospital room, and stepped inside. The room was still dim, the blinds drawn to keep the harsh sunlight out. The steady beep of the heart monitor and the hum of the IV were the only sounds aside from the soft conversations of nurses outside the door.

When he stepped into her room, everything else fell away.

His eyes locked onto her. Her nose cannula was gently in place. There were IV lines, bandages, bruises, and her left arm was immobilized, but her chest was rising. Steady.

Eddie’s steps were slow, cautious, like approaching a dream he was terrified might disappear if he touched it. He reached her bedside, eyes locked on her face, pale, a little swollen, but hers.

Her eyes blinked open slowly, heavy from meds but not as foggy as before. She squinted up at him, throat dry as hell when she croaked “Eddie?” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. 

But his whole body sank beside her, one hand carefully finding hers, mindful of her IVs and bruises. “Yeah, baby. I’m here.” he whispered, brushing his thumb over the skin, letting her know he was there. 

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re okay?” He let out a breath, part laugh, part sob. “You’re asking me?” he said as he placed his other hand on top of her head. 

“You were bleeding,” she whispered, eyes already drooping again. Eddie brushed her hair back gently, thumb grazing her temple. “I’m fine,” he said softly. “A few scratches. Nothing like you.”

She tried to smile, but it hurt, and her face tightened. Eddie kissed her knuckles instead. “You look like hell.” She said then, the look in her eyes was more clear and present now. 

Eddie snorted through a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Yeah? You should see the other guy.” he answered as a smile was projected onto his face. 

“I did. They wheeled him past, but I’m pretty sure he threw up on a nurse.” she said. “That’s fair,” Eddie muttered, letting his hand drag down his face for a second, exhausted. “I almost did too. Right before I saw all that blood, the metal rod went through my side and thought my soul was leaving my body.” she admitted. 

Eddie was smiling now. He was tired, relieved, and entirely too in love. “You know,” he said, gently brushing her hand with his thumb, “You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice thick. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to get hit by a car.” she mumbled, words slurred with the meds.

He let out a broken laugh, eyes brimming now. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He bowed his head toward their joined hands, pressing her fingers to his lips like a prayer.

She turned her head slightly, eyes softer now. “You okay?” she asked when she looked him in the eyes for a moment. 

He let out a trembling sigh, but eventually nodded. “I am now.” he said softly. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “But I mean it. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

[namebrandpessimist]

This is so fucking valid. I've had people call me elitist for thinking lower of people who use AI but genuinely I can't respect it at all. Somebody in my college math class the other day was like "how many cm is 6 inches? Nevermind ill ask chatgpt" and it literally made me grimace. A) it gives incorrect information all the time b) I hope your convenience is worth the blood of our society. Like that one tiktok post along the lines of "holy shit how did yall make it through school before ai, yall saying you wrote a 5 page essay by urself?? Fuck that" like sorry I didn't let my fucking brain turn to dust by staring at my iPad too long.

I honestly can't imagine how it would feel to have your likeness attempted to be replicated without your consent. That's such a disgusting thing to do and I'm genuinely so sorry that people are like that.

hey jonny, i just thought you'd want to know that character.ai has an ai-generated imitation of your voice and i'm not sure what other websites might have it or where it originated :(

Yeah, it's a fucking garbage state of affairs but, as a somewhat well-known performer with a pretty distinctive voice it doesn't exactly shock me. Needless to say I think anyone who used this is a mediocre waste of skin and if they ever tell me in person they've used it then 50/50 I punch them in the teeth.

I can't wait for a couple of years when it all collapses just like every other niche-but-interesting-technology-with-limited-use-cases-sold-as-a-universal-panacea-to-gormless-CEOs grift (blockchain being the best example). Because the thing is, none of these things actually make any money and cost a vast amount, so as soon as all the dumb venture capital funding dries up and AI is required to actually start paying for itself, the bubble bursts and the whole industry is fucked.

That said, it's gonna be rough when it happens - a lot of companies have invested very heavily in AI and they're going to be hurting badly. I know of more than one media company whose idiot executives invested ridiculous amounts into NFTs and ended up laying off massive swathes of workers when that obvious fucking scam collapsed. I suspect the AI crash is gonna be even worse than that. And by then it will have drowned the Internet in slop. We'll see, I guess.

Anyway, anyone who uses AI is a soulless fucking husk of a person who cannot tell half-digested vomit from culture, and I would pity them if they weren't making the world such a measurably worse place to exist.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Shelter - 6

Summary: You saved Soap's life. And Simon gains some insight.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader

Warnings For This Chapter: Continued military inaccuracies, mentions of drug abuse, neglectful parents, threats of harm against a child, death, terrible baby daddies, my attempt at accents, and terrible childhood memories, and more Soft!Simon, MDNI

A/N: Again, thank you all so much for your love for this story! Your comments mean the world to me, truly. Please be mindful of the warnings for this chapter. And I hope to keep up with this schedule of posting a chapter every other week!

Previous Chapter

It was honestly impressive how easily Kirby seemed to take to motherhood. It was definitely her own twist on it, but she was a mom. Through and through. Somehow, she’d already mastered holding her little one one-handed while nursing. She’d devoured her double cheeseburger faster than you had ever seen her do before at the same time. But as soon as the burger was demolished (and the fries, too), she was quick to hold the baby closer, glowing with each breath. It might have been sweat, but it didn’t really matter.

You were waffling between embarrassment that Simon had managed to have the food waiting—one for Kirby and another for you—or embarrassment that your heart had leapt and raced from something so inane. But he was kind. Kind to you.

You could try to deal with all that later.

For now, you were happy to just be with Kirby. The time was limited, you knew that, too. Simon had managed to stay out of sight when he’d given you the food and Kirby simply thought you’d had it delivered. Technically, you did.

You gathered up the trash as Kirby fed her daughter and pointedly ignored the look the nurse sent you when she noticed it in the trash can. You listened to them talk, happy to hear that everything seemed to be going smoothly if not ahead of schedule. They’d probably be discharged tomorrow.

Kirby waved off the doctor who came in soon after asking if she wanted anything for the residual pain. That was something she’d picked up alongside you, much to your dismay. But it wasn’t something you would comment on tonight. No. Not right now.

Eventually, Kirby started to doze off and you stayed a little longer, making sure she was okay, before taking the time to just sit and quietly look over your niece in her tiny, hospital-issued bassinet. She was perfect. She let out a little coo as you gently brushed the pad of your thumb against her cheek but didn’t wake up.

You stood after finally pulling yourself away and then kissed Kirby’s cheek, too. It wasn’t as if you knew when you would be able to do it again. You had the distinct feeling that you probably wouldn’t be allowed outside the hotel again any time soon. You really did need to find out a way to pay back the guys for letting you do this.

You stepped out into the hall, intent on hunting down a bathroom, but you were almost immediately stopped by a few familiar faces. Your heart hiccuped as Soap and Gaz each had armfuls of flowers, balloons, gifts. Welcome Baby Girl! was scrawled across a card you spied in Soap’s hand. “What’s all this?”

“When my sister had her wee ones, we always filled her room. Made sure she knew she was loved,” Soap said, keeping his voice low to match the late hour.

“That…that’s really kind. You guys didn’t have to do that.” And it was kind. Heartbreakingly so.

Gaz shrugged, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You didn’t have to be kind to us either. We can do this.” And then they slipped by you and into Kirby’s room, moving without a sound, despite everything in their arms. And soon the hospital room was mostly tastefully decorated with flowers and balloons and care packages. And then they silently left again, both squeezing your hand as they walked back out, probably to join Price downstairs again. Kirby was going to love all of that when she woke up. You’d have to think of a story of who sent it—maybe you could say they were from your “new coworkers” from your “consulting” job.

As you dried your hands and stepped back into the quiet hallway, you noticed Simon once again standing near the door. He had made himself scarce while Gaz and Soap had come up. A tiny, yellow teddy bear looked absolutely miniscule in his large hands and your lungs filled with butterflies as he carefully righted one of its ears. He was so careful with the tiny stuffed animal and your mind quickly conjured a ridiculous thought of him holding a tiny baby, too: careful and wrapped up in his strong arms.

Stop it. Stop.

But the thoughts continued when a nurse walked by him and definitely checked him out. She shouldn’t be looking at him! You should not be looking at him.

His dark eyes dragged up your form as you stepped to his side. “That for the baby?”

He nodded and handed it to you. It was buttery soft and had a delicately stitched smile and eyes in a shade darker. “For you. To give to ‘er. Didn’t think you’d get down to that shop they’ve got downstairs.”

The butterflies in your lungs beat their wings harder and harder.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “That’s really sweet. Thank you.”

“Made sure it was the right color.”

You pressed a thumb into the teddy’s stomach, the softness compressed easily as your eyes stung with tears you didn’t remember forming. It was the perfect shade, actually. Daffodil yellow. “Yeah, you did.” You reached out and squeezed his arm in thanks. The muscle didn’t budge but your stomach did an impressive swoop down your feet. Good god he was massive. “Thank you,” you said again, voice tight.

“The chocolates Soap had were from me. Thought she’d like ‘em.”

You had spotted a small bouquet of chocolate bars that had probably cost an arm and a leg at the hospital gift shop propped up beneath one of the balloons Gaz had carried in. “She will—she’s the only person who has a bigger sweet tooth than mine.” Another kindness you’d need to repay. These were good men. Simon was a good man.

“What’s your favorite?”

You almost smiled at the question. He was going to know more about you than anyone else aside from Kirby…and all he’d asked was your favorite sweet. “I love Kit Kats. And Cadbury Flake.”

Simon made a noise, low in his throat. “Those are rubbish.”

“Wh-no!” You laughed, almost appalled. “They’re good! I love Flake bars.”

He shook his head. “‘s mostly air. Not proper chocolate. And it gets everywhere.”

“They’re good! What’s your favorite—and if you tell me something like Curly Wurly, I’m going to have to fight you.”

Your empty threat coaxed a single “heh” out of him with that one and you smiled up at him, watching the corners of his eyes crease just above the edge of his mask. It was only there for a moment—but you saw it. He’d smiled. “I like dark chocolate.”

“Plain?” It suited him. Something rich and decadent, a little bit of an acquired taste.

“Not fussy.”

“I’ll remember that.” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. How many times had that happened with him? Thankfully, you heard Kirby call for you and you held up the tiny teddy bear with a lopsided smile. “I’ll give this to her. Be right back.” And then you scurried away, metaphorical tail between your legs.

She had left the door cracked. He wasn’t sure if she did that on purpose but he was a bit chuffed to hear Kirby say that the tiny bear was “perfect” and that she liked the rest of the stuff Kyle and Johnny had hauled in. Kirby also giggled a bit when she explained that a lot of it were well wishes from her “new coworkers” in London. “They seem like a good bunch, no?”

“Yeah, I kinda like them so far.” High praise.

The smile he felt growing was squashed as Simon scanned the floor again, noting that the number of nurses hadn’t changed and he recognized each of their faces. Good. That was good. Everything was normal. The others downstairs were watching exits and had managed to get into the hospital’s security office with a bit of persuasion.

But still, when the doors to the labor and delivery department opened and a man in a too-tight suit walked in, Simon distrusted his presence immediately. He watched, unmoving, as he walked up to the desk and the prat fucking snapped his fingers to get the nurse’s attention. And then he said Kirby’s name. The nurse blew a bubble with her gum and gave an noncommittal “huh?” which Simon thought was a well done diversion.

Simon looked back into the room and saw her smiling with Kirby as they split one of the candy bars. But she looked up and he watched her smile slide off her face and her lip start to curl. But the moment she turned back to Kirby and the baby, her smile was back in place. “I just need to step out for a moment, okay? I’ll be right back.”

And then she was marching out of the hall, closing the door behind her. Simon followed without a word, watching as she walked right up to the guy and poked at his fucking pocket square.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Julian?��� She hissed.

“What the fuck happened to you?” The guy retorted, looking her over. His mouth opened with a scoff. Simon hated him already.

“I asked: what the fuck are you doing here?” Her hands curled into fists at her sides and Simon took a single step closer. The way she was moving, he had no doubt she could handle this rich boy. But he wouldn’t let her do it alone.

The guy—Julian—seemed to try to shake himself out of his “Did…did she have the-”

“You don’t get to ask that. Remember? I was there when your daddy dearest made my sister sign an NDA about how you proposed to her and then got cold feet when you knocked her up.”

Simon glanced around to see a handful of nurses looking in their direction but most seemed content to let the scene play out or ignore it completely. It must have been a slow day.

Julian went white before splotches of red started to rush across his face. “That’s not-”

“Oh, right.” Her answering smile was all teeth and Simon felt his mouth fill with saliva. She was a sight to behold, battered and bruised and angry. “He also insinuated she was a low class whore who tricked you into bed when it was you who pursued her for months! And you, you sniveling little cunt, just rolled over. And then he wanted to make sure that any, and I quote, ‘brat that came out of that snatch’ didn’t have a claim to your daddy’s money. So yes, the NDA and then you signed away all your parental rights with a stroke of that stupid, fancy pen. Your overpriced lawyer was so impressed with himself. Everything tied up in a neat little bow. He just forgot about the tiny detail about me being in the room and hearing everything.”

Julian’s face was an impressive shade of red. “Sh-she got money!”

And she took another step forward and Julian took several back. “Oh yes. A tidy sum to become a single mother. Two million dollars is barely a drop in the bucket for your family, Julian. Basically chump change. So no. You have no right to be here. As I said: you signed everything away. My sister doesn’t exist to you. Her child—and let me be crystal clear in this: that baby is only hers—does not exist to you. You might have contributed a pathetic amount of genetic material in an equally pathetic bedroom performance, but that’s it. That’s all you’re reduced to. Kirby wants nothing to do with you. Your lawyer made sure none of this could be undone. You have no say. No right. You have nothing. And if I see you around Kirby or the baby again, I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to make another.”

He seemed to stand a little straighter at that. Perhaps he wasn’t used to someone threatening him so openly. Or maybe he realized he had an audience and felt the need to peacock. Simon thought it was probably a bit of both. “You can’t threaten me! I am-”

“You’re nothing. And you’ll always be nothing. Now leave.” This was the same woman who’d just been cooing over her niece, now spitting mad at a stranger. And that had something stirring behind Simon’s ribs. Hot and hungry.

Julian must've felt brave or extra stupid—Simon was betting he was both—when he stepped toward her, a long finger pointed at her face. “You better shut your fucking mouth-”

“Excuse me, you need to either lower your voice and watch your language or you need to leave.” The nurse at the desk pointed a pen at Julian and Simon smirked beneath his mask. She’d heard everything. It wasn’t until Julian started getting stupid that the nurse said anything. But honestly, what had Kirby seen in this wanker? She seemed to be reasonable and this guy was a tosser.

“She’s keeping me from my kid-”

“You don’t have a kid!”

Julian turned and that stupid finger was in her face again. “If you don’t-”

“Sir. I’ll not ask again: either you lower your voice and-”

“Shut up!” Julian sneered as he rounded on the nurse. The red in his cheeks had bled down his pencil-thin neck. Hilarious.

“Don’t talk to her that way. You shouldn’t even be here.”

And then he turned back to her and pointed that finger at her.

Simon didn’t even really remember moving. But he had Julian’s finger bent backward until it almost hit the back of his hand. “You’re going to leave.”

Julian had tears in his eyes and the red in his cheeks had completely taken over his face now as he howled and yelped, trying to yank his hand free as Simon kept his hold, pulling his finger back, back, back. He tried to struggle but all he did was crumple to his knees—it was a natural reaction, trying to pull away, but Simon wouldn’t let go. “You-”

“You’re going to leave. Understand? Never come back. Never tell your father about this. Never contact Kirby or her kid.” Simon adjusted his grip and didn’t blank as he heard the finger finally pop out of its socket.

Julian gave another yelp but Simon simply adjusted his grip to keep the finger pressed down. “I-”

“You’re done talking. When I let go, you get up and you leave.”

Tears started to slide down Julian’s face and he nodded with a whimper when Simon squeezed.

And then Simon did let go, having made his point. Julian pushed his purpling hand to his chest as he stood and his knees knocked together as he turned and fled back toward the doors without a look back.

The nurse at the desk sighed and pointed her pen at him. “If he raises a stink downstairs, I’m saying I know nothing about it.”

Simon just nodded. Price was probably scrubbing the security footage already anyway.

But then he felt someone step beside him and saw her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He knew he didn’t. But he wanted to and he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he had tried. He knew that now. “You had it ‘andled. I know. I just sped it up.”

She huffed but he still saw how the corners of her mouth tilted up. “Let’s get out of here for a bit just in case he comes back with security.”

Julian wasn’t going to come back with security. Simon knew that. But he still followed where she led.

You didn’t even mean to take him to the hospital roof. You’d accidentally found it when you wandered aimlessly years ago after Kirby’s grandfather lay dying in a room a few floors down and you’d given them space to say goodbye. It was quiet here, aside from the wind rushing by. Almost peaceful as you looked out over the still-sleeping city. You tilted your head, letting the growing sunlight wash over your face. Kirby had her baby. You made it. They were safe. You were alive.

God, that was embarrassing. You hadn’t lost your temper like that in years. Julian had once called you Kirby’s rabid guard dog. The moniker fit, but that didn’t mean you were exactly proud of it. You’d tried so hard, over the years, to not hold onto Kirby so tightly. Not try to push her into a life you knew would keep her safe. She’d once, rightly, raged at you for overstepping when you’d tried to convince her to change her mind when she’d enrolled at Northwestern and wanted to pursue a music major. It had been the first time you had seen how much you had tried to keep her from turning out like your mothers. Or like you. And after not speaking with her for months, and bi-weekly appointments with your therapist, you saw that you needed to let Kirby be Kirby. She forgave you, as her heart was always too big, and you tried to support her in everything else that you could. It seemed to work out well, anyway. She had a cushy job at one of the uppity schools in the city, teaching music and sometimes played at a few jazz clubs on the weekend. She loved it. She was happy. And that was all you wanted. That was why you’d kept your mouth shut when she’d introduced you to Julian. The bad vibes had been instant but you told her, just once, “just make sure you’re happy.” You might have made a snide comment or two when he’d said something about Kirby’s job or your shared upbringing. No one was going to make Kirby less-than. Especially not some son of a billionaire without a single redeeming quality. “I’m sure you pieced together who that was.”

“A prick.”

You snorted and didn’t even care that it hurt your throat. “Yeah. He’s a prick.”

Simon was quiet and you opened your eyes and turned just enough to look at him. Your heart thundered and warmth bloomed in your chest when you realized he was looking at you. “Could make him disappear.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you and couldn’t be stopped. “I think you made your point quite clear. He might run to his dad, but he’d probably tell him that he shouldn’t’ve been here anyway.” You sighed and your throat stung. “Thank you. Again. Not sure if you’re keeping score, but I owe you and the guys quite a bit now.”

He made a noise, not quite like a scoff but something close. “Don’t owe us anything. You saved Soap. And we’re doing our jobs.” And you were sure he didn’t mean for it to sting, but it did. All of this was just him doing his job. He was kind, but it was just a job. You were just a job. And that had to be okay. There were worse things you could be. He was quiet again and then he said, “you said you both had crap mums.”

You sighed but nodded. You hadn’t realized he remembered any of your rambling from last night after your nightmare. And really, what harm would it do to tell him? He deserved something. And, eventually, you would never see him again—even if the thought twisted into thorns behind your ribs. “Her mom was loads better than mine, and better still with just Kirby. I was just sort of,” you waved a hand, trying to find the words your therapist taught you to use but still came up blank, “a very small roommate and then a trial-run kid.”

“How did they know each other?”

You resisted the urge to sigh again. “Chauncey, Kirby’s mom, was my mother’s sponsor for Narcotics Anonymous. Mom lasted two weeks, by the way. Called it a waste of time.” You shook your head. “It all sounds like I pulled my life from Days of Our Lives or something. Some bullshit soap opera.”

“You said it was a long story. Think we’ve got time.”

Simon was right. For now, you had time. “My mom was a junkie. Blamed me for it, by the way. And I realize that addiction is a sickness and everything, but she made no attempt to get better. From what I can remember, I think she was in a car accident as a teenager and liked how the painkillers made her feel and it spiraled from there. She’d leave me at home to go chase another fix and not really care that I needed my diaper changed or that she’d forgotten to feed me at all that day.” You pressed on the end of your nose to keep your familiar feelings of resentment from festering too long. “Sometimes she’d have people over. I just hid in my room, a blanket over my head to pretend I didn’t exist, that the conversations they were having weren’t real. I was six, I shouldn’t’ve been listening to…that. She’s why I wake up if there’s light in the room. Sometimes they’d come in and just look. There were a few who liked to tug on my hair, trying to see if I’d wake up.” You pressed harder on your nose. “I know I’m lucky that is all they did. But I never knew if they would do more. And my mother just let it happen. And then she met a guy, said he had everything she ever wanted. I was just a bit of a roadblock—he didn’t want kids. And that was how I wound up on Chauncey’s doorstep.” The pressing on your nose didn’t help. You couldn’t stop your mind from conjuring the memory of your mother grabbing your tiny, six-year-old shoulders and staring at you with a smile too wide and eyes too blown. “You be good for Chauncey.” She listed all the ways for you to “earn your keep” so you wouldn’t end up on the streets “like a dog.” And that was fine. You already knew how to make breakfast. You knew how to walk to school and look both ways before crossing the street. Never speak unless you were spoken to. Messes meant your mother got angry. Chauncey would be no different, you had been sure of it.

“Why did she pick Chauncey?”

You bit back the wince you felt growing as you dropped your hand back to your side. That had been particularly underhanded on your mother’s part. “I found an old diary of hers after she and that guy got themselves killed trying to hold up a gas station and I’d been the only one they could find to send her belongings to after they identified her.” She’d threatened to tell Chauncey’s boss that she used to pay coworkers to do the mandatory drug tests for her before she got sober.” It had been something Chauncey had said in confidence in a safe place and your mother had ruined it. “I guess she saw it as easier than surrendering me to the state. Or it at least made her feel better about herself. That I wasn’t in the system.”

Simon couldn’t understand how anyone could throw her away like she was nothing. She was… Well, that didn’t need to be said. But he kept listening.

“Chauncey tried. I’ll give her that. But she wasn’t meant to be a mom. She didn’t want to be a mom; she told me that a couple of times, actually. And there I was, in her house, a walking talking thing she couldn’t get rid of in case my mother ever came back and actually ruined her life. She didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. But she never let me go hungry. Made sure I got to school. Had clothes and shoes that fit. I thought I was dreaming the first time she actually cared about the bruise I got at school. She got me arnica cream.”

It was a little thing. Simon knew that. But sometimes the little things were what kept a person’s head above water. He knew that, too. Tommy had sometimes snuck him ice from the kitchen when his ribs hurt from where his father had hit him. He remembered each time he did. His mother had tears in her eyes the first time she made him a birthday cake after she’d kicked out his dad for the final time. The little things.

“And then Paul entered the picture. Kind. Funny. Smart. He didn’t even bat an eye when Chauncey stuttered through her explanation that she was my legal guardian. He showed up to pick her up for her next date with a bouquet for her, and a daisy for me. That was the first time anyone had given me flowers. And he was good. Good to Chauncey. Kind to me. Helped me with my math homework and told me all about his job as a history professor at one of the community colleges in the city.” She moved to tilt her head up again. He watched her close her eyes against the dawn and the purples and pinks of the sunlight. If he could draw like Johnny, he might have wanted to draw her. To remember how she looked like this forever.

“She found out she was pregnant a few months into their relationship. I remember Chauncey trying so hard to be excited about it all. So hard. But she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to be a mother. But, god, she loved Paul. Wanted everything he wanted. Wanted him forever. And maybe she saw a baby as a way to strengthen their relationship? It sounds awful when I say it like that. But she asked him over and over and over if a baby was really what he wanted. And Paul was so excited. Couldn’t wait to be a dad. He did the hand on the belly thing. Got up at three in the morning for her cravings. Built the crib, painted the nursery. All of it. He did all of it. And he was the one who let me think of Kirby as a sister. Let me hold her. Taught me how to change her diaper. Let me read her bedtime stories or sing her to sleep beside him. She was mine just like she was his. I didn’t have a lot, but knowing I could come home to Kirby made everything easier. Made my mother’s terrible choices easier to handle.”

“What happened to ‘im?” Simon already knew he was dead. But this was something else, he could tell by the way she pulled her lips into her mouth for a moment.

“It was Kirby’s seventh birthday. Was going to be a big one. Paul wanted it to be perfect. I was fifteen. It was easy to see that Paul could tell that Chauncey didn’t want to be a mom. He was trying to make it work. Trying and trying and trying for years. They’d go to family therapy. They got a dog. The whole nine yards. And Paul seemed to think that if he showered all of his love on Kirby, she wouldn’t realize her mom didn’t know how to love her like a mother should.” But she knew. That was unspoken. “We were going to pick up the three tier cake Paul had ordered.” Her next breath stuttered and Simon felt his hands curl at his sides, just for a moment. “Some asshole was on his phone and ran the light. The doctors told us that it was quick. He hadn’t been in pain and that I was lucky I’d only broken my arm.” She pressed at her nose again. “I didn’t feel lucky.”

And Simon knew that it wasn’t the end of the story.

“Chauncey spiraled. Tried to hold it together and I have to give it to her, she tried her hardest. But she drank. A lot. I made sure Kirby got to school. Helped her with her homework. Made her meals. Made sure she was dressed in the morning and her teeth were brushed at bedtime. I knew this song and dance. I just had a smaller partner in it now.” She paused and her next breath rattled.

Simon felt the urge to reach out to her, touch her to let her know that he was listening, that he cared. But what if he moved too fast and scared her? What if just touching her made her realize she was telling him everything and she stopped? He couldn’t chance it. Not now. Not when he finally felt like she trusted him.

“I didn’t think Chauncey would start using again. And, to be fair, she only did it once. I think she thought she could handle a bigger dose, or needed something to take the edge off. To make her forget.” She paused. “I got home an hour before Kirby. I opened the front door and Chauncey was just slumped against the coffee table.”

“What did you do?”

“I wasn’t going to let Kirby see her mom like that. See her home like that. I cleaned up the mess and I…” She swallowed. It seemed like it took a concentrated effort. “I-I picked her up and put her in her room. Made it look like she was sleeping.” She paused again and rubbed at her throat, wincing. “Paul’s dad, Rick, came to pick up Kirby and I guess Paul had told him about me. Told him about the girl nobody wanted. He said I could go live with them, too. Some overworked social worker filed something wrong or missed filing anything because I don’t really think anyone cared that I was going away with yet another stranger to a different state.”

And Simon knew what she’d done there. He could see it without her needing to say anything. She stayed out of the way. She made everything easier for Kirby and Rick so she could quietly earn her keep. Kept her head down and mouth shut. Pulled more than her weight. Because that’s what she did. That’s what she’d always done. “Was he good to you?”

“Better than I deserved, I think. Paul must’ve learned how to be kind to unwanted things from him. But I knew I was just a guest in his house. And when I graduated, I stayed close. I couldn’t let go of Kirby. She was…is the best thing that ever happened to me.” And that was the whole of it. He knew what came next. University. Her internship. Her job in the archives. Neat little boxes until the tunnel blew it all to hell.

“She’s lucky to have you.”

She laughed and regretted it. “Doubtful. More trouble than I’m worth. You can attest to that.”

And that crack in Simon’s chest whispered and widened. “I think you’re worth a lot, actually.” He wanted to swallow the words back as soon as they slipped by his lips. It was too much.

Her eyes shot open and widened as she looked at him. Like she couldn’t believe it. Didn’t believe it. “Oh.” She blinked several times in rapid succession before turning back to look over the city. “Thank you.” And then he watched her wince. At least he wasn’t the only one who felt odd up here on the roof. “I think you’re the only one who’s ever said that to me.” And before he could respond to that, she started walking quickly toward the door back inside. “I think we should go back down before someone catches us up here.”

And again, Simon followed where she led.

It shouldn’t have surprised you to see Soap lurking outside Kirby’s door by the time you made it back. He was pretending to read a magazine when you and Simon walked up. He winked at you before Simon stood beside him and you made your way back into Kirby’s room. The baby was fussing and Kirby explained that the doctor had just administered her first vaccine and eye drops.

“My brave little girl,” Kirby said, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“Have you decided on a name? Are you continuing the video game monikers?”

(Paul had managed to convince Chauncey that Kirby was a perfectly acceptable name—not that she fought him much on anything—and had a strong meaning and was definitely not his favorite video game character.)

Kirby giggled. “Maybe.” The baby settled, cherubic cheek pressed against her mother’s chest. “But I’m thinking Pauline for a first name.”

Your heart broke in a good way. A cathartic ache. “It’s perfect.”

“Pauline Zelda.”

You tried to groan but could only laugh. It worked.

But the lights overhead flickered for a moment and you tried to ignore how your entire body reacted, seizing and locking each of your joints. You quickly looked out into the hallway to see Soap and Simon both outside the door, now both pretending to read the magazine while staying within earshot. They didn’t seem fazed so you tried to push out a slow breath, forcing yourself to relax.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Probably just a little jumpy still.”

Kirby just laughed. “Remember a couple of years ago with that blackout that came out of nowhere?”

The subtle gaze Soap sent toward Simon had you frowning. That blackout had been explained as a power surge but there was now something at the back of your head whispering that it wasn’t what you had believed. (It was probably because you and Kirby had seen an explosion and it didn’t look like it was just a converter giving out.) You know what? You weren’t going to ask.

“We spent that whole night sipping on soda and eating your melting ice cream out of the freezer.” Kirby reached out and nudged at your elbow. “Remember?”

You sighed, fighting a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember.” She’d made you laugh until your stomach hurt, regaling you with tales of her classes at Northwestern and the shenanigans she got up to with her ragtag team of friends.

Kirby was quiet for a little longer before shifting and placing little Pauline into your arms. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Other than the obvious?” You asked, pressing a surely crooked smile to your face. “I’ve never been happier.” It was almost true.

Eventually, Kirby settled in to rest, hoping for more than the handful of minutes she’d had earlier, and you excused yourself after apologizing for having to leave so soon. “You aren’t leaving forever, silly.” She mused, a tired smile pressing at her mouth. “I’ll see you soon, yeah? I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you replied, the syllables breaking on your tongue as you kissed her forehead and then did the same to a happily sleeping Pauline. And it was time to go—your time was up. You kept your eyes on your sister as the door closed, trying to press the picture into your mind…just in case.

Simon and Soap quietly led you back downstairs and Gaz and Price wordlessly stepped to your side when you hit the lobby, boxing you in as you walked back out to the SUV. You sagged against the seat. The last handful of hours had been a lot. Beautiful and strange in several different ways.

You needed a nap.

Simon settled in next to you as the engine started and you watched him for a moment, knowing he was well aware of your gaze. You’d poured out your pathetic life story to him. Left your cards out on the proverbial table. He hadn’t seemed at all disturbed or grossly intrigued like a few others had been. He had been quiet. But maybe you should’ve seen that one coming.

Soap filled the quiet of the SUV with stories about him being a doting uncle to his gaggle of nieces and nephews. It was fun to listen to and you might have to take his trick about sneaking Pauline chocolate whenever she ate something she didn’t like; his nieces always needed to be bribed whenever brussel sprouts ended up on their plates. “Gotta balance it out,” he said with a grin.

You were nearly dead on your feet by the time the lock to your room beeped and you slipped inside. Toeing off your shoes, you washed your face and changed back into your pajamas despite it nearing breakfast time now. But you didn’t mind when you heard the wall click.

“Olright?” Simon asked. “Big day.”

Your laugh hurt and was more of a squeak anyway. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He nodded, but still lingered. And you didn’t mind the company. “Where are you from?” It was an innocuous enough question. But you really didn’t know much about him at all. You had just dumped your mess of a life story at his feet and didn’t even know where he was born.

“Manchester.” He gave the answer easily and didn’t move from his place beside you.

And you had to smile. Maybe you should’ve guessed it with the accent, but you were always bad at placing those. “Did you know that the oldest library in the UK is in Manchester? I always wanted to go when I was doing my internship in London, ages ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Never found the time.” You sighed, not brave enough to look at him now. Not brave enough to linger on the thought that you might have met him years ago if you had made a different choice. But Manchester was a big city and you weren’t exactly someone who’d walk up to someone you found attractive and introduce yourself. And Simon didn’t seem the type, either. …not that he thought you were attractive—SHUT UP! “Maybe after all this is over, I’ll go.”

The combined adrenaline and exhaustion from everything was probably making you think you could take on the world, but you did have a list miles-long of places you wanted to see, restaurants you wanted to try, things you wanted to do. If you could survive being on a known terrorist’s hit list, maybe you could actually live your life. Maybe. Maybe you’d start with that bakery down the street in your neighborhood across town (and then work your way back up to international travel; this trip to London was proving to be a lot). It supposedly had good chocolate croissants-

“I could show you.”

Your mouth hung open, dumbly, just for a moment at Simon’s simple sentence. “You would?”

He looked at you, his stare heavy and unblinking. “‘Course.”

That one word felt like a brick to your sternum. “Oh.”

A/N: Sorry this chapter was so "talk-y" but I figured you guys (and Simon) deserved some answers before [redacted redacted redacted]. Please let me know what you think! Your comments really keep me motivated!

[heartsforsav]

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 NECTAR OF THE GODS . . . ! ۶ৎ ⠀ᰋ

𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧 & 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 grayson x cowgirl!reader

cw. . . fluff! (and brief mention of mark getting hard. sorry not sorry.)

synopsis. . . how mark and nolan act when they have a pretty!country thing by their side !

notes . . . my first post!! i couldve added more butttt oh well.

NOLAN GRAYSON

nolan has had plenty of partners in his lifetime. he likes to mix it up, having partners that are similar can be so boring… and when he sees you, clad in your little scuffed cowgirl boots with dainty ribbons hangin’ off the side, he grins.

you are sure as heck pretty, and sure as heck somethin’ he hasn’t experienced before!

he’s got to get to know you.

he doesn’t understand how accents work. especially one so … country. that honey dripped, sweet western accent of yours has him confused.

the silly little metaphors fallin’ from your mouth? has him in a whirlwind. the fuck does “save a horse, ride a cowgirl” mean? is that a thing?

a lot of the time, he doesn’t quite get what you’re trying to say to him, but the look on your cute face just has him going along with it. he’ll figure out what you meant eventually.

you’ve never met a man so intimidating before. big and burly build, salt ‘n pepper hair. what a dilf! he’s definitely like.. double your age (little did you know, he’s 2,000 years old) but you find it endearing, in a way.

once the two of you start dating, it’s sweet. he hasn’t had a relationship like this one before. it’s new, it’s fun.

you teach him new things, new phrases that he never says in the right context, and it doesn’t quite flow of the tongue like yours does. but he’s trying!

one time you even dressed him like a true cowboy. clad in straight jeans, some boots and a cute lil hat!

you pull him in by the jean loop and he’s cheesing. dimpled smile. he definitely does that to you every time you wear jeans around him now. he loves it.

but he doesn’t quite like the hats. they’re big, and weird, and uncomfortable and just a pain! whenever he tries to kiss you, he gets hit in the face with the brim of it. he’ll lift it from your head and throw it across the room like a frisbee.

if you have a farm… omg. cutest thing ever seeing him learn how to take care of your sweet little animals. horses, cattle, maybe even some lamb…cutest thing ever.

he gets used to this life. learns the way of a true country man.

he likes the outfits that come with it. besides those fuck ass hats, he’d never like those. but the small little shorts, the tees, and the pretty lil sundresses.

he’d never dress like that though. never in the thousand more years he’s got left.

honestly… i don’t know how the dynamic would work with his super heroism. i don’t think you’d necessarily like the fact, but it’s got its pros. like the things from all over the world he gets you, oh you love that little deet.

but you miss him too much. you’d spend time with your animals so you don’t seem as lonely, but having him there with you, helping feed the chicken and rowdy up all the animals. it was nice! you’d gotten used to it.

when he gets home, he definitely makes it up to you. makes you forget all about why you were upset in the first place.

MARK GRAYSON

mark probably met you through school or some BS. he doesn’t ever go to the western states… so it’s kinda hard to think of a time where you’d meet besides school.

maybe when he was stopping some big bad villain in your area, and had the pleasure of saving little ole’ you!

then when he saw how pretty the girl he was saving was, he tripped on his own feet.

but then it’d have to be long distance… and boy that would suck. finding time between his home life, school life (before he dropped out of college), being a hero, and traveling to see you. it’d be hard.

sooo maybe it’d be easier if you just went to school together. and he got to see you every day, all dressed up and sticking out like a sore thumb (in the best way possible, he thinks.)

just like nolan, the phrases … uhhh they’d boggle his mind. he thinks they’re silly. hearing it from your mouth just makes sense, as if you took the words right from his mind that he hadn’t yet thought of!

if you were to still have some farm animals he would be the BEST helper!!! seriously, he’s so kind to animals. babying them and smiling all kiddish at them. he helps name them, too. his favorites are probably the lambs since they remind him sooo much of you! can u tell i love lambs or if u had a tiny lil bunny. your twin

when he told his friends about you (more like full on ranted) it was a shock. a western sweetheart in their state? crazy. but they see how mark would like someone like you. as sweet as sugar and as pretty as a flower! william was like “wtf?” when mark started his first outburst about you, confused as to how he even met you, but he gets it when he sees you. definitely someone mark would like, he takes note of.

trying to dress mark like a cowboy would take a lotta convincing. “i dunno, i don’t think i’d look good like that..” “oh, trust me, you would! c’mon, darlin’!” he’s blushing profusely as you top him off with your signature hat. he puts his hands on his face and shakes his head. “this is not my best look.” “nonsense!”

he definitely prefers it on you.

he’s like living his best white picket fence dream with you! with the addition of a whole lotta animals that he didn’t quite expect for him, but he loves it even more

the nicknames have him in a chokehold. they fall off your tongue so easily, so quick, takes him a sec to process it. and when he does he does a little lovestruck cheesy smile.

he loooves the bows! you practically put them on everything (especially his biceps, which makes him sport a chub in his pants) they look so pretty in your styled hair!!

the sundresses are his favorite. taking you on a sweet picnic in some flower filled field, hair curled and makeup done. he packs some strawberries, your favorite, and you bring some iced tea that has way too much sweetener in it than need be. he brings you a bouquet even though you’re surrounded by a plethora of flower buds. the frilly dress you have on with your chestnut brown boots. swooning. drooling. obsessed. loves it.

he just loves to constantly bring you flowers. it’s like, one of his favorite things to do in the whole wide world! seeing your dimpled smile and blushed cheeks! as pretty as a doll.

seeing you do one of those funny mechanical bull rides with a cackling laugh has him achingly hard but that’s a discussion for another day.

he’s def the most likely to have a cowgirl girlfriend. i just envision it for him !

[avagueidea]

Thinking back, I honestly don't think I ever sat through a whole episode of Naruto somehow.

I DID read shitty scanlations of the manga chapters as they came out in the early 2000s. Not sure where that fits into shattering or confirming OPs world view.

I honestly do just presume everyone in the world has watched naruto I just can't comprehend a person that hasn't witnessed rock Lee take off his training weights or seen naruto sit sadly on a swing 50 times so when I see someone say they've never seen naruto I just don't believe them they have definitely watched naruto it is a universal life step

[kingkat12]

pervert, pervert, pervert (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: syntribation/masturbation, voyeurism, reader is a FREAK

summary: working for Mr. Godfrey was making you a nervous wreck-- how were you supposed to deal with it, other than the way you knew a little too well?

word count: 5,613

← previous chapter |

a/n: this one goes out to all the girlies that KNOW. you know the feeling when that part of your jeans rubs up against your clit when you shift in your seat? yes. yes, you know, don't you lie to me xx

I bought the magazine.

I wasn't planning to, I swear.

But there it was, staring at me from the newsstand like a dare; Forbes, special feature, The Man Who Rebuilt an Empire. And right there on the cover, in crisp matte print, was my boss. His sculpted nose, the high curve of his cheekbone, the impossible shadow of his jaw-- Roman Godfrey. Mr. Godfrey. 

I had only worked for him for a week, but I was already spiraling. I thought I'd be able to keep my fascination with him under wraps for at least a month, yet alas; I handed the cashier a crumpled five, grabbed it like it might disappear if I waited too long, and stuffed it in my bag before anyone could see.

I took it home. Ran a bath, lit a candle, and stared at the magazine cover like it might blink first. Honestly, I didn’t even read the article, I just... looked. And it was then that I realized how outright gorgeous Mr. Godfrey's nose truly was, how the sharp angle of it was something so unique that I couldn't take my eyes off it, and I think some broken, wicked part of me liked that it took my breath away, liked how it made me feel-- small, unworthy, aching.

And this morning?

This morning, that nose was five inches from my face.

I stood outside the glass office doors balancing his coffee, trying to breathe through the memory of last night; not too much milk, one cube of brown sugar, stirred exactly three times. Through the glass, I could see Mr. Godfrey seated at the head of the long table, surrounded by advisors and business partners, speaking with the same detached authority he always did. He didn’t need to raise his voice-- he simply existed, and everyone fell in line by birthright.

I stepped inside as quietly as I could. My heels made a soft click against the polished floor, and no one turned their head. That was the way it worked-- I was background. Necessary, but unimportant. And still, as I walked toward him, I felt every molecule of air bend around his presence, like gravity shifted in his direction. Of course the universe would bend to someone so gorgeous.

Mr. Godfrey looked good. Unbearably good. It was undeniable, simple as that. His suit was perfectly tailored, and he sat with the ease of someone who knew he was being watched, but never needed to look back to confirm it. He was of such wealth that his posture alone wasn't even a performance, but nature-- spine straight, one hand resting casually on the table, and the other lifted a document with slow, deliberate precision. It was clear that he was focused, and that the meeting was of importance, meaning I had to act accordingly on my fifth day of work.

But then... he licked his bottom lip.

It was subtle, almost absentminded, but I felt it in my knees. My throat tightened, my grip on the mug stiffened, and suddenly, the heat from the coffee felt like a warning in my palms. 

Get it together, pervert. Why couldn't I be normal about this? I blamed it on Forbes.

I was close to him, now. Close to him and his perfect nose, so close that I could smell the sharpness of his cologne. Then, when I leaned forward, just slightly, to place the cup on the table before him, I caught it-- the upturn of his nose. The Forbes nose.

It was stupid, the way I fixated on it. But there was something about the slope of it, the arch, the way it gave his face that hint of aristocratic cruelty-- I had stared at it for too long on that magazine cover last night, and now here it was again, real and breathtaking.

Stupid little me lingered for three seconds too long.

Maybe four?

Until, like a snap of a band around my wrist, Mr. Godfrey's eyes shot towards me as his face remained turned to his business partners; caught you. 

My breath hitched as he continued to speak like he wasn't glaring at me with the wrath of God, and the break of my fourth wall jolted through my spine. Fuck. My hands, traitorous and clammy, fumbled under the weight of his stare. The coffee sloshed hard against the rim of the cup, a dark arc of heat kissing the lip of the mug, a wave that threatening to spill. I gasped, audibly, stupidly, as the liquid nearly tipped toward the floor, and for one horrific second I thought it would splash right across Mr. Godfrey's papers, his lap, his perfect goddamn suit.

No one moved, but I heard someone gasp across the table, sharp and quiet.

I jerked the cup back just in time, barely keeping the liquid contained by steadying it against the heel of my palm. The saucer clicked, clacked, harder than it should’ve, as I set it down too fast, too loud. My fingers hovered above it like I’d placed down a live grenade.

Mr. Godfrey's eyes dragged over me like a blade, like he could see the heat blooming across my cheeks, the pulse thudding in my neck, and the tiny tremors in my fingertips. His eye didn’t twitch, his lips didn’t part, but he saw... oh, he saw everything.

I mumbled something between a sorry or excuse me, or maybe it was just the sound of my soul fleeing my body? I turned away so fast that I nearly clipped the edge of the conference table with my hip, narrowly avoiding it.

I fled back toward the door, the burn of Mr. Godfrey's green eyes following me all the way through the glass wall. The clack of my heels bounced hard off the walls, and I sat down behind my desk right outside, ready to sink through all the floors of the skyscraper and disappear for all of eternity. 

"Stupid," I hissed, barely above a whisper. "Fucking idiot. Stupid, stupid."

I knew this would happen. Of course it would. The second I took this job, I knew it was a risk. I just thought I’d have a little more time to prove myself before I humiliated myself in front of him, but no. One week in, and I was already the secretary who couldn’t even serve coffee without looking like she’d had a small stroke. Perfect impression. Just perfect.

My heart was pounding too fast-- I couldn't think. My body was on high alert, skin buzzing with residual panic and something darker, warmer. I just needed it to stop.

I shifted in my seat, trying to exhale through the tension. Mortification still gripped me by the throat, but beneath it was that other feeling, the one that made my skin feel too tight, my stomach flutter-- I crossed my legs. The stretch of my pencil skirt whined softly at the motion, and I squeezed my thighs together just enough to send a tiny shiver of release through my core.

Just enough to breathe.

This was what happened when I spiralled, when I got overwhelmed and overstimulated-- I had learned how to self-soothe the odd way. Years of buried anxiety attacks that crept up in school, at family dinners, in public places where I had to keep my composure, I found my own escape, my own... coping method, if I may.

My fingers clicked open the first email in my inbox; it was some logistics guy from the New York office. My nails tapped the keys too quickly, like I was being timed, like I could answer fast enough to undo what just happened, but the friction of the seam of my pantyhose grazing against my underwear made it bearable. 

Made everything bearable.

A sigh escaped before I could stop it, quiet and embarrassed, and I ducked my head to hide it behind the screen. It wasn’t even about pleasure-- not really. It was about calming down, about surviving the fact that I’d just made a complete fool of myself in front of the most terrifyingly beautiful man I’d ever met.

The man whose cologne I could still smell.

The man whose voice still echoed in my skull.

The man I had fantasized about the night before while staring at the cover of a fucking magazine.

It was only last year that I found out what I was doing technically counted as masturbation. I remember blinking at the screen, reading some late-night advice column, and feeling that horrible, guilty heat crawl up my neck. But honestly? I didn’t care. No one ever saw. No one had ever noticed. It was just a small shift in posture, a soft clench of my thighs. I could easily make myself cum without anyone ever noticing, so what was the harm? It was discreet, it was harmless, and most importantly, it worked.

My cheeks burned. I scooted forward in my chair with a sheepish little smile tugging at my lips as I replied to a second email, this one from the Dubai office. My fingers were fast and competent, my face was calm and professional-- I was the image of a well-oiled machine.

... Even as I got off beneath the desk with my thighs.

I even managed to act normal when all of Mr. Godfrey's business associates left his office (see, I was a pro!), and I sent them off with a polite goodbye and a sweet secretary-smile. Nothing out of place, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing suspicious-- just a secretary doing her job.

But then... he stepped out.

Mr. Godfrey.

He didn’t walk past me, didn’t leave-- he simply leaned against the doorframe of his office like a man who knew he didn’t have to say anything to make his presence known.

I didn’t dare to look up, but I could feel his green eyes scour me like x-rays, like spotlights. They drilled into the top of my head, down my neck, across my back; it made my breath catch in my throat. I pressed my thighs together harder, half in panic, half in instinct, as shame flooded me like a second skin; the same shame that made my adrenaline spike. 

He cleared his throat-- "Good morning,"

I nearly jumped in my seat at being addressed, and immediately unfolded my legs before daring to meet his gaze. "Good morning, Mr. Godfrey!" I hoped my cheerful voice would overshadow the nervous twitching of the outer corners of my mouth. It wasn't my favorite thing to know that a telling-off was looming over me, especially from someone with authority-- usually, that ended up with me bursting into tears. 

Mr. Godfrey's green eyes burned themselves into mine, and something told me he was imagining an alternative universe where he could shoot lazers through them and obliterate me in an instant. "The way you dress," he snarled. "It's disgusting."

"... What?"

Narrowing his gaze, he folded his arms over his suit-clad chest, getting his hair out of his eyes with a nod of his head. If this had been a movie, my vision would've gone pink and hazy as time slowed to show the way the softness of his hair flowed with the kick of his neck, falling perfectly into place as he looked at me. "You represent me," Mr. Godfrey threatened. "From the way that you move, to the way that you dress. Let down your hair."

"O-Okay?--"

"And are your hands unsteady, or are you just pathetically clumsy?"

Mr. Godfrey could've squeezed my tongue between the tips of his fingers and dragged it out of my mouth with force, and that would've felt the same as I felt now, trying to speak. "Not usually," I confessed. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't sleep well and... and the cup slipped. It won't happen again, I promise." Please don't fire me, please don't fire me, you gorgeous man. No more studying his side-profile. Please, please. No more getting off to that Forbes magazine. I could be good, please, please.

Rolling his eyes, Mr. Godfrey let out a disappointed groan. It was almost as though he wanted me to snark back at him like I had done in my interview, yet I knew that'd get me kicked out of the company with no less than a dime in compensation. "Why didn't you sleep?"

What? Why he was he making normal conversation with me? This wasn't usually how this worked. He'd come in, tell me what I needed to do for the day, and call me in for his ridiculously specific coffee after a while. This was new. "I got a bit distracted, sir,"

"With what?"

"With... reading," The words on the front page over and over as I scanned the beautiful upturn of his nose? Exactly.

"What do you read?" he asked, now seemingly interested.

Fuck. "Nothing that would interest you, sir,"

There was a sparkle that appeared in his eyes. "Try me," 

Having to rake through my brain for random book-titles was nerve-wracking, especially when Roman Godfrey was staring me down with his green challenge burning a hole through my skull. I decided to be honest; "The last thing I read wasn't very appropriate, sir. I shouldn't say," The last thing I read that wasn't Forbes, that is.

Mr. Godfrey allowed his eyes to widen, just a little. Finally, that seemed to crack through his harsh mood this morning, and he let out a scoff that sounded an awful lot like a pitied laugh. "Lie, then,"

"Pardon?"

"Say the first book that comes to mind. One that seems smart,"

"Well..." This was beyond intimidating, yet I complied. Amusement simmered in my chest, somewhere. "War and peace. Leo Tolstoy."

That seemed to do the trick. With a nod of approval, Mr. Godfrey pushed away from the doorframe with a handsome smirk. "Good," he hummed. "That's a dull one."

"Have you read it, sir?"

"Yes," Tapping his fingers against the wood of the door, he cocked his head to the side, scanning me; "Now, let down your hair."

Rapunzel, Rapunzel? 

Oh. 

Letting my smile falter, I reached for the claw-clip I had in my hair and put it on my desk, looking up at Mr. Godfrey with eyes pleading for approval. I felt pathetic, really, yet there was something satisfactory about his scary tone. Then, without thinking, it fell from between my lips-- "What else disgusts you about me, sir?"

No, no, stupid!

I just felt so eager to fix myself, to comply-- fucking pathetic.

Mr. Godfrey's smirk fell in an instant, like a drop of water hitting the ground.

It felt like I had broken some sort of agreement by opening my mouth like that. Holding back my snark was certainly something I had to work on, especially in front of the most powerful man in Hemlock Grove. 

His eye twitched, barely noticeable. Then, he turned on his heel, imposing the most squeaky, uncomfortable squeak of his shoes on the walls of the office like it'd be punishment enough for my behaviour-- automatically, I pressed my thighs together and shivered. 

Mr. Godfrey slammed the door shut, making me jump in my seat. It felt like I was getting sonically beat black and blue, and I proceeded to cross my legs now that he was out of sight. 

Hopefully, this day would get better soon.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

... It did, but in the most peculiar way. 

Later that day, whilst I rummaged through Mr. Godfrey's spam folder for mails I could've missed, I got a notification from my personal work email, which was was odd-- no one ever sent me mails directly, since they all knew I waded through Mr. Godfrey's inbox and was easier to reach there. Hence, I checked it out the second it ticked onto my screen, and... well.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Disgust And So Forth

Dear secretary,

I trust that you will sleep better tomorrow. Coffee that is stirred correctly is always appreciated, yet coffee that threatens to spill all over my new suit which cost me $5,348 is not. 

And regarding your inquiries about my disgust, I would like to point out that your nails are unkempt and therefore distracting when I pass by your desk and see you type. I suggest you find yourself a manicurist. What is fashionable in nails these days?

I'm happy to answer any other questions you have for me via email, should you so desire. 

With regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

Never had I ever scooted forward on my chair as fast as now. My head snapped to the side, looking directly through Mr. Godfrey's glass office, hoping to catch him looking at me with that boyish smile I'd assume came accompanied with this email, yet-- nothing. He was certainly not looking, nor did he seem like he had just typed out this email. His green eyes were glued to his screen, his long, slender fingers reaching for a marker to circle the paper in front of him as though he was correcting something, deep in work and though.

Was someone in the office pranking the newbie? Then again, who else could've typed out this email? 

Fuck it.

From: You

Subject: Enlightenment And Epiphanies

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I must apologize once more. The incident this morning was utmost unfortunate, and it shall not be repeated. However, I would like to specify that I do not have the funding to dry-clean your suits as compensation if any accidents were to happen. Am I legally bound to do so, sir? I do not believe I saw that in my contract. I could have perhaps afforded that luxury, had I not had the salary of a secretary.

In regards to your observations about my nails, I must say I take offence. Just because they are short, does not mean that they are not looked after. As for styles, I believe French tips are rather in at the moment. What colors are appropriate for the office?

Kind regards,

Your Secretary.

I hit the send button with dread pooling in my stomach. I pulled a face despite knowing he could see me at any moment. Did I take it too far? Why was Mr. Godfrey sending me emails in the first place? This could probably get us both into a long, disciplinary meeting with HR if they found out about our odd emails.

I did my best to sneak another peek at him through the glass walls of his office, yet there were once again no signs of him having seen it or having reacted to anything unusual. Was I maybe overanalyzing this? Was this maybe normal behaviour at an office job? Since this was my first job ever, I decided to give Mr. Godfrey the benefit of the doubt until I saw his next email pop up on my screen unusually fast.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Clearing Up Legalities

Dear secretary,

You are not legally required to pay for my dry-cleaning. Still, I hope there will be no need for any dry-cleaning at all after you get the appropriate amount of rest for the night. And by law, your salary is more than satisfactory for a person with a bachelors degree and no other job references or experience. 

And as for the nails, I had no idea they were called French tips. In my experience, the French are awfully fond of claiming things that are not theirs; I will refer you to the phenomenon of French fries. 

Color?

Lilac.

With regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

I had to bite down on my lip rather harshly to suppress the girly giggle threatening to escape me. I shouldn't be feeling this giddy over an email from my boss-- maybe he was just being friendly? Maybe he was aware that his behaviour and tantrums were odd and sometimes hurtful? It was surely that!

Excited by the sudden rush of energy at work, I crossed my legs; that was when I realized to which depths I was truly excited. It was highly inappropriate to masturbate over mails from my unbelievably attractive boss, yet here I was, shamelessly shifting around on my chair to make sure the seam of my pantyhose scooted to the most pleasurable place between my legs. With a sheepish look of relief spreading across my lips, I typed my answer. 

From: You

Subject: The Spirit Of Napoleon Lives On

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I'm relieved to hear that my duties do not span paying for your dry-cleaning. Thank you for clearing that up, sir.

I will also make sure to be more critical of things that are tied to the French from now on. You certainly have a point. Next time I am in France, I shall make sure to keep it in mind. Anything else I need to be made aware of, sir?

And lilac is a pretty colour. Am I allowed any other designs?

Kind regards,

Your Secretary.

My lower abdomen was pooling with dread, excitement, and oddly profound arousal. Suppressing a choppy exhale, I dared another glance at Mr. Godfrey, once again hoping to catch him looking at me with my heart stuck in my chest-- yet, again, nothing. Now, he had even stood up, pacing back and forth in front of his desk with his long legs, reading the paper he had been marking over and over. Was it maybe a speech he was preparing? I had no idea. As his secretary, I should've probably had some idea, at least. Was I maybe doing a bad job? Perhaps.

In the meantime, I hoped to relieve myself of the way my heart was beating with anticipation. Maybe if I got off, I'd relax? I hadn't managed to, earlier. Maybe then, I'd calm down and treat these emails as what they really were, simply a boss trying to be kind to his new and anxious employee? 

A few more minutes passed by, and I made myself busy by googling nail salons and various nail designs. I even dared to play some snake on my Google browser to pass the time.

Then, finally, when I had built up a nice, steady rhythm with my legs clenching and unclenching, letting the pantyhose stroke up against my clit through my dampening underwear, the anticipated email ticked in. 

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Appropriate Fashion

Dear secretary, 

There are no rules in place about nail designs. Nothing is prohibited, but please make sure to be tasteful. We have some important people coming in next week, and I am not too keen on my secretary not looking the part. 

Actually, I cannot seem to remember who it is we are welcoming; is it some oligarch from Azerbaijan? Cannot find it on the schedule. Need to know.

With regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

Some part of me wanted him to order me to get the French nails, to get them specifically to his liking and taste-- the second my mind got into that mind space, I uncrossed my legs, clearing my throat as I started looking for who next week's guest actually was. I was unraveling. I needed to get myself together.

And just as I was about to read the long name of the rich, lavish business partners from Azerbaijan (Mr. Godfrey had been right after all), someone teasingly knocked on my desk. 

My eyes darted up over the top of my computer, and my smile immediately widened-- "Peter!"

There he stood, the only friend I had made during my time at Godfrey Industries. He worked in the legal department, and was Mr. Godfrey's paralegal that showed up from time to time. He was also one of the few people that dared to pass the threshold of my desk and venture into the dark forest, also known as Mr. Godfrey's office. Here, clad in a suit, staring down at me with a charming grin, Peter Rumancek leaned over my computer as he spoke, his brown hair falling softly over his eyes; "How are you doing? I see that your head's still intact,"

"Barely," I breathed, straightening my skirt-- I was undeniably happy to see Peter. Every time he came around, he either made me laugh or made my day. "I nearly spilled coffee all over Mr. Godfrey at a meeting earlier... It really set him off, so I suppose I'm going to be sent to the Guillotine at the end of the day. You passed by at the right time."

Peter huffed. "Is this goodbye, then?"

"It seems so... Au revoir, Peter,"

"Oh, sweet melancholy," He straightened up with a smirk, trailing his fingers across my computer. "But, uh, is bossman busy?" Nodding toward Mr. Godfrey, Peter made a face-- it was clear that he dreaded going into the office. "Need to go in and ask about the ongoing case."

And with complete certainty that Mr. Godfrey didn't care enough to look my way (as always), to even give me a second of his attention, I turned to look at him with the perfect view I had. Which was why, when I immediately met his striking green eyes, that my breath hitched with horror. Surprisingly, he seemed rather amused by my antics, briefly passing his eyes between Peter and I as if to mock me for flirting with his paralegal-- caught you. But Mr. Godfrey didn't spend much time caring or tending to my life, and he returned to whatever he was doing behind his enormous computer screen in no time.

Something about the way he seemed outright entertained by the fact that I had a life outside of being stepped on made my blood boil and my heart ache. I turned to my friend, the paralegal, and nodded solemnly, not saying a word.

Peter caught what had happened, letting out a breathy oh. He nodded too, mostly to himself, before he retracted his hands into his pockets. "I might meet the Guillotine before you," he joked, hoping to get a reaction out of me before walking into his impending doom.

But I could only stare at my computer, mortified. My right leg gave into a bounce, and some odd feeling I couldn't place kept gnawing at my chest and made me nauseous-- I didn't think before I spoke; "The French are awfully fond of claiming things that are not theirs,"

Peter blinked. "What?" 

"What?" I echoed-- it was as though I hadn't been the one to speak. Had I just quoted my boss's email? Fuck. I was really falling apart, wasn't I? 

In an attempt to save face, I tried to plaster on a smile. A twitchy one, at that. "Sorry, I'm spacing out. Mr. Godfrey is in his office, yes, but what's the case about? Do I have you listed on his schedule for today?" Grabbing the mouse to my right, I clicked back into the schedule, looking for Peter's last name while managing to squeeze in a quick glance into Mr. Godfrey's office again-- he wasn't looking at me anymore. I couldn't help but feel disappointed, despite knowing I shouldn't.

Peter scoffed, tapping his fingers against my desk. "Well, I shouldn't be telling you this actually, but this information might save you down along the road, so..." He lowered his voice, reluctant to tell me; "It's about the last secretary. She's suing him."

My gaze snapped up to meet Peter's.

Shit.

The image of her with the bunched up paper between her teeth, her mascara running down her cheeks, along with the odd tear along her skirt, flashed before my eyes.

What had happened to her?

I couldn't think about this-- not right now, not with the humiliation of Mr. Godfrey's gaze mere meters away. "You're on the schedule," I breathed. "He's probably waiting for you right now."

Peter caught my disturbance, yet decided not to comment. He had already said more than he was legally allowed to say, anyway. "Okay... Will I see you at lunch?"

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Sure,"

Peter gave me a half-hearted salute and walked toward the double doors, probably eager to be done with my odd behaviour for now. I could hear the low click of his shoes against the wood floor as I glued my eyes to the screen, or at least pretended to, hyper-aware of every movement in my periphery.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Peter approach Mr. Godfrey's desk-- it was odd how my boss immediately looked so nice whenever he spoke to anyone that wasn't me.

It was humiliating to think it was funny to him that I could have anyone be interested in me. Everything about it made me want to cry; why did I need Mr. Godfrey to like me so much? It was so obvious that he thought I was a cretin of sorts, so why did I need him to think otherwise so badly?

To distract myself, I finally answered his email. Maybe it was time to stand my ground?

From: You

Subject: Revolution - The French Way

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

You will be welcoming Mr. Aliyev next Thursday at 14:00. He is not an oligarch, but the son of the president of Azerbaijan, and he will be here to discuss a collaboration with Godfrey Industries regarding oil, and our shared ambition to extract profit while spending as little money, or effort, as possible.

I'll draft up talking points, as I did for your last meeting.

Also, I do look like your secretary. You would not have hired me in the first place if I did not. Your remarks about my appearance are unwarranted. Were I shuffling through the building wearing sweatpants, you might have a point. However, I am not. I will change my nails, but I will keep my skirts. They are office-appropriate.

After all, I am not working at Vogue. 

Kind regards,

Your secretary.

I hit send.

And then I immediately wanted to die.

That was it-- my rebellious email had been enough to make my heart patter with excessive force, and the second I hit send, I feared I'd faint from the anxiety. I was okay with possibly saying this out loud to his face, but in an email? That email could get me fired. Blacklisted. Dragged to HR and spat out like gum from beneath someone's shoe.

Mr. Godfrey could ruin me if he wanted to, and that was the part I hated; how badly he could wreck me, and how little it would take. However... that was also the part that made my heart beat faster. Pervert, pervert, pervert.

I started to feel light-headed from all the worrying, and that's when I crossed my legs again-- searched for that sweet, aching pressure. The relief was the only thing that helped, and the only thing that quieted it all down.

Peter passed me by shortly after, but didn't stop to chat. He nodded at me, flashing me a charming, apologetic smile, and I allowed myself to sink into my seat with pleasure as his back turned to me and he disappeared down the hall. 

It felt wrong to do this at the office, perfectly in eye-sight of my boss, yet he had pissed me off to the point where I couldn't care. If he was going to treat me like shit, I had to make myself feel better, right? On top of that, I had an odd feeling I was close-- resting my head in my palm, propping my elbow on my desk, I stirred the mouse across my computer in random motion as I melted.

My thighs clenched tight. The desk shielded me, the chaos around me offered cover, and I let it happen. Again.

Was I sick for doing this? Probably.

Did it matter? Not in this moment. Not when the pleasure bloomed sharp and fast, not when my breath faltered and I shuddered at the ghost of Mr. Godfrey's voice in my head, the threat of him, the humiliation of him. 

I tried not to worry about the lack of following emails from Mr. Godfrey; he was probably not going to respond to it anyway. He had better things to do. Knowing him, he'd ignore me from now on, and maybe even pretend I didn't exist for the rest of the day. The idea that I was figuratively not seen, not cared about, not paid attention to, made me more secure about pulling this off, getting off like this, without being noticed-- not that anyone had ever caught me doing this anyway. They wouldn't know what they were looking at anyway, even if they saw me.

I made a fist in front of my mouth, clenching and unclenching, feeling my clit rub against that perfect spot in the seam of my pantyhose; it felt so unbearably good, and I had done this enough times to know how to cum quickly. 

So finally, when I felt it crash over me, when I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath, I finally felt relief. Relief from the humiliation, from not being respected, from being treated like I was nothing-- at this moment, I felt at peace. Blissful peace. 

I cleared my throat, allowing a cheeky smile to form across my lips. There was a huge thrill in being able to get away with getting off in the office in broad daylight, to be the nasty piece of shit Mr. Godfrey saw me as-- maybe he could see right through me? Maybe that was the real reason he hated me, because he recognized something twisted and depraved inside me that mirrored him?

I couldn't stop myself from smiling, drunk on shame and secrecy. So, with a newfound sense of confidence, I allowed my eyes the victory lap; to look into Mr. Godfrey's office and feel like a God, to know he could never figure me out, that he could never, ever have the fucking brains to know. He thought he was such a fucking big-shot, he thought he could stomp all over me, he thought he could intimidate me into making myself smaller?--

I froze.

Green.

Mr. Godfrey's green eyes were staring right back at me, wide with recognition.

I held my breath. My blood ran cold.

He knew.

He knew. 

Mr. Godfrey didn't blink, didn't look away. 

Leaning forward, refusing to break eye contact, his fingers ghosted over his keyboard...

And then, the notification ticked in on my screen.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Warning #1

Dear secretary,

I rather like your skirts. Keep them.

PS: I saw that.

Kind regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries

(a/n: did I just do that? yes. have I ever seen anyone else write about this? no. did I need to take it into my own hands? YES. MWAH GIRLIESSSSS HOPE U ENJOYED<33333)

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THATS MY GIRL

Loser!Matt X Popular!Reader

—

Matt had heard it a few times already. Whispers from friends, quiet mentions in passing, warnings he didn’t ask for.

“Noah’s been talking shit.”

“He said you’ve been treating Y/N like crap.”

“He’s telling people she deserves better.”

At first, Matt brushed it off. Let people talk. Let Noah talk. He didn’t care. Words were just words — until they weren’t.

He was walking down the hallway after fourth period, heading to his locker when he heard it. Heard him.

Noah was standing just around the corner with two guys from the soccer team, loud enough to be heard, probably on purpose.

“Yeah, I heard he’s been a complete dick to Y/N,” Noah said with a smug little laugh. “Like—switches up on her all the time, can’t make up his mind, playing all these games. Guy’s a walking red flag.”

Matt stopped. Jaw clenched. He didn’t move yet, just stood still, listening, blood starting to heat behind his ears.

“And she still sticks around, man. Like, what the hell is wrong with her? Girl’s either obsessed or just that desperate for attention.”

The guys laughed, but Matt wasn’t frozen anymore.

He turned the corner slowly.

Noah didn’t even look surprised when he saw him.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Matt’s voice was low, sharp.

Noah just smirked. “Relax, bro. Just stating facts. Everyone sees it. You treat her like shit and still expect her to crawl back? Kinda pathetic, honestly.”

Matt’s chest rose and fell faster now. He stepped forward.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about us.”

“I know enough,” Noah said, stepping in too. “I know she cries over you. I know she tells me everything. I know she’s better off without you and deep down—” he leaned in, voice venomous, “—she knows it too.”

That was it.

Matt didn’t even think.

His fist connected with Noah’s jaw before anyone could react.

Then it was a blur—shouting, scrambling. Noah tried to shove him back but Matt was on him again, hands in his hoodie, driving him back into the lockers, a second punch landing square in his cheek.

“You don’t talk about her like that!” Matt snapped, voice cracking with rage. “You don’t fucking talk about her, you piece of shit!”

Teachers started yelling from down the hall. Someone grabbed Matt’s arm, trying to pull him off, but he shoved them back, eyes locked on Noah, blood pumping in his ears.

He didn’t even realize his knuckles were bleeding.

He didn’t care.

Because Noah had crossed a line you don’t cross.

The hallway was chaos.

Phones were out, teachers yelling, students parting like waves around the scene. Noah was slumped slightly against the lockers, face red and already starting to bruise, while Matt stood a few feet away, chest rising and falling, knuckles scraped and bloodied.

And then—

“Matt?!”

Your voice cut through the noise.

His head whipped toward you.

You were standing at the end of the hall, wide-eyed, frozen. Your gaze darted from Noah, wincing and holding his jaw, to Matt, hands still curled in fists.

You rushed forward, eyes flicking over Noah’s face.

“Oh my god—Noah,” you breathed, dropping to your knees beside him. “What the hell happened?!”

Matt stepped forward quickly. “Y/N—wait—he was talking shit about you—about us. I tried to ignore it, I really did—”

But your face dropped, cutting him off with a look.

“Are you serious right now?” your voice cracked. “You beat him up because of what? Gossip?”

“No—it wasn’t just that, he said—he was saying the most fucked up shit about you,” Matt insisted, tone growing desperate. “I lost it, I know, but I swear—”

“No, Matt!” you shouted, standing up. “You think this fixes anything? You think this makes you look like a hero or something? It just makes everything worse!”

Matt’s mouth opened slightly, words failing him.

You turned back to Noah, helping him up slowly, brushing hair from his eyes. He leaned into you just a little, still dazed but watching Matt from over your shoulder.

“I was trying to protect you,” Matt muttered, voice lower now, softer.

But you didn’t look back.

You led Noah into the nearest bathroom, your grip on his sleeve gentle but urgent. The hallway still buzzed with chaos behind you, but your focus was locked on him — his split lip, the purpling bruise forming under his eye, the blood on his cheek.

He sat on the edge of the sink while you grabbed a wad of paper towels and wet them under the faucet, trying to stay calm, trying to make sense of everything.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, dabbing gently at his cheek. He winced a little but didn’t flinch away.

“It’s not your fault,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have said anything about him at all.”

You paused. “So… you did say something?”

Noah sighed and nodded, eyes low. “Yeah. About him. Never about you. I’d never talk about you like that.” His voice was so soft. “I was just venting. He’s always had this attitude, and I… I was annoyed.”

You frowned. “People said you were talking about me too.”

He looked up then, straight into your eyes. “I swear on everything, I’d never disrespect you like that. You know me better than that, don’t you?”

You hesitated… but then gave a quiet nod.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I do.”

Noah exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. “Good. Because you mean a lot to me.”

He reached up, brushing his fingers gently across your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, careful, like you were something delicate. Something worth handling with care.

“I don’t want you thinking I’m like him,” he whispered. “I’d never hurt you.”

Your breath caught a little in your throat, but you didn’t pull away.

You weren’t sure what this was… but it felt safe in the moment.

And for now, that was enough.

Noah’s hand was still cupping your cheek as you finished blotting the last bit of dried blood. His thumb brushed under your eye, and his voice dropped even softer.

“I don’t think you should talk to him anymore,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Matt, I mean.”

You froze for a second, blinking up at him. “Noah…”

“He’s trying to get in between us,” he continued gently. “You see that, right? Every time we get close, he does something—something to make you question me. To make you feel bad.”

You stepped back a little, heart fluttering with conflict. “He’s just… protective. That’s all.”

Noah shook his head slowly. “No. That’s not what this is. It’s not protection, it’s control. He doesn’t like the idea of you choosing someone else.” He looked down for a moment, voice tightening with quiet frustration. “He put his hands on me over nothing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he stepped closer, lowering his voice again — calm, soothing, like he was trying to reason with you.

“I care about you,” he said, staring into your eyes. “I listen to you. I treat you right. I never switch up on you. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You swallowed hard. “It does, but—”

“Then why let him mess that up?” he interrupted softly, brushing your arm with his fingertips. “Don’t let someone toxic keep creeping back in. That’s not what you deserve.”

You hesitated, and in that small pause, he pressed one last button — his voice almost trembling.

“I just don’t wanna lose you because of him.”

That guilt settled heavy in your chest. And even though something inside you wasn’t sure, you nodded slowly.

Noah smiled faintly, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

—

A/N- I’ve written very very much today do you guys prefer me to release my fics tonight or throughout this next week coming up?

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