#I am trying to be positive about everything.

[honeyatsu]

Last Thing Remembered | Bob Reynolds

Bob Reynolds x f!reader

Synopsis: After a mission leaves you tipsy and forgetful, Bob takes it upon himself to take care of you. And he remembers everything.

Warnings: MINORS DNI. 18+. Smut.

stand alone. one-shot.

(a/n: another fic dedicated to my bby Bob. I am obsesseddddd. I can’t get enough. He’s literally rotting my brain rn.)

drunk in loveeee ~* (everyone say thank u Beyonce for inspiring me hehe)

masterlist | ao3

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The elevator feels smaller than usual — a tiny space with too many walls, too many buttons. You’re not sure how you got to where you were, you weren’t even sure you wanted to be home. You remember laughter, a little bit of teasing and touching, soft music, great champagne, a usb. 

You smelled faintly of expensive champagne and sultry perfume, a reminder of the gala you were sent to, arm-in-arm with some sleazy tech bro who laughed a little hard at his own jokes. A few drinks in and he almost became charming, even a little cute. 

The mission itself was simple: charm the bad guys, blend in, gather intel. You did your job, maybe a little too enthusiastically. No one said it was a crime to add a little leisure to your mission, especially when it was complete. 

The elevator door slid open with a soft hiss, the ‘ding’ being a little too loud for comfort. Your lipstick is smudged at one corner, your dress scrunched from the bottom and a strap hanging loose, and your heels slap against the ground as you stumble into the common area. 

The area was calm but full, you try to focus your hazy vision on the team lounging about. Ava and John were lounging on the couch, Yelena tossed a stress ball from one hand to the other, Bucky leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed with an expression halfway between amused and disappointed. They’ve been waiting for you to return. 

“You’re late,” Yelena points out, looking at you suspiciously. 

The only response you’re able to offer is a giggle as you kick your heels off your feet, kicking them off to the side. 

“She’s drunk,” John added, with a sour laugh. “Figured they’d send our social butterfly to seduce the mark.” 

“I wasn’t seducing him,” you slurred out, shooting a glare and pointing a finger at no one in particular. You begin to wobble where you stood as you try to find your balance. “I was infiltrating. That’s different.” 

“Sure,” Ava snickers. “Infiltrated real well. Just look at your dress.” 

You open your mouth for a rebuttal, but instead a small hiccup sound escapes. It was followed  by you clutching the counter for support, and you pulling out the USB from inside the chest part of your dress, slamming it down on the counter. 

“See? Job done.”

 You hear the disoriented sound of laughter surrounding you as you try to stand on your own. 

That’s when you feel it — the gentle brush of fingers against your elbows, warm and grounding. 

“Easy,” a soft voice said behind you. As steady and safe as the grip held onto you. It’s Bob. 

He hadn’t laughed, not once since you wobbled back into the tower. Instead he looked at you as if you were the most fragile thing in the room, wondering how no one else managed to be as concerned for your state as he was. 

His hands lay firmly on your back as he positions you to stand for yourself. 

“c’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

No one protests when he begins to gently steer you towards the elevator. Bob ignores the eye rolls and snickers he hears as he allows you to use his body for support. 

It’s almost endearing, how it feels to have you use his body to help stabilize yours. The smell of alcohol and the state of your dress leaves him worried, but he tries to push any ideas he has aside to focus on you. To focus on how your holding onto him, mumbling to yourself, “standing s’hard” or telling Bob he’s “being too loud” even though he hasn’t been saying anything. 

Once you get to your room, he lets you lean against your bathroom door frame as he starts your shower. He looks back at you after he checks the water temperature, seeing you half-awake, fighting yourself not to drop to the ground. 

Bob quickly rushes to your side, lifting you up and walking you towards the shower. He lightly shakes you, trying to prevent your eyes dropping more than they have. 

“c’mon, don’t fall asleep in the shower now” he tells you in a hushed tone. You blink up at him with heavy lashes, mumbling out incoherent words. “hm?” 

“Help…” you hiccup, “Need help with my dress…you help.” 

Bob's eyes widen when he sees you trying to lift up your dress, taking your free hand to grab his and pull it to the bottom to help you lift it. Luckily for him, you’re not able to use your full strength right now, and he notices the zipper at the back of your dress. 

“No, I don’t have to do that,” he quickly slips his hand away from yours, and slowly helps you turn your body. “I’ll just help you with your zipper here.” He tries to ignore the heat forming behind his ears, his shaky hands as the zipper slowly exposes your back. The more your skin starts to show, he looks away. Letting out an awkward cough and taking a step back. 

“I left a towel for you.” He begins to step out, slowly shutting the door. “Be..be safe.” 

When you step in, the steam curls around your skin, the hot water hitting you and striping away the scent of the evening. The cologne, cigarette smoke, the citrusy champagne — any evidence of the night has been washed away. You learn your forehead against the shower wall, closing your eyes, allowing yourself to find peace in the sanctuary of silence.

The rest of your shower passed by in flashes, a soft knock at your bathroom door bringing you back from your haze. Your hand was heavy, nearly weighing itself down as you took multiple attempts to turn your shower rod to stop the water from hitting your skin. You grab the closest towel and use it to start drying yourself, but still struggling to be completely mobile. 

Another faint knock at the door caused you to pause, wrapping yourself in the towel and opening the door. 

There stood Bob, still waiting. He hadn’t left, making sure to listen in case you fell, or preparing to be ready to get one of the girls in case you fell asleep. He stutters a bunch of nothings, seeing you in just a towel, still having water droplets dancing around your shoulders. 

You let out a soft yawn, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. You don’t care who’s around, what you’re wearing, or where you are…you just want to sleep. You turn your head seeing your bed calling out for you. 

You couldn’t stop your hands from starting to unwrap the towel around your body, but luckily, Bob was able to catch you quickly, stopping you from exposing yourself to him. 

“Wanna sleep,” you whine out, a pout forming on your face. You look up at Bob, doe-eyed and desperate. 

“D-don’t do that…” he stutters out, still holding on to your hands. While he is concerned for your well-being, he is also grateful you’re too wasted to notice the redness in his cheeks. 

He looks around everywhere but you, trying to think of a solution fast. He didn’t think to lay out sleep-wear for you, and truthfully, it didn’t feel right to go through any of your things. Bob resorted to taking off his sweater, and passing it to you. He tried to ignore how you eye his naked chest up and down, or how you breathe in the sweater he handed to you. 

He took it upon himself to turn his body away from you as you put it on. You drop your towel to the ground carelessly as you begin to sway yourself to bed, luckily his sweater was able to cover all of you. 

As you tuck yourself in, Bob brings it upon himself to put your towel away and turn off your bathroom light. He turns to you, and smiles as he sees you comfortable, hugging the blanket into yourself. 

He sits himself next to you at the edge of your bed, placing a mini-water bottle from his pocket to your nightstand.

“You good?” he asked gently. 

You nodded, pressing yourself into the cold pillow. 

“I..I got the data,” you hiccup, turning your face just enough to look at Bob. “The bad guy was…kinda cute. ‘Nother drink and I might’ve forgot I was working.” 

You laugh at your own joke, light and careless, not oblivious to the things people say about you. You’re a flirt, unprofessional, and can't separate work from fun. But you don’t care, because you always get the job done. 

Bob seems to care though, his smile fading just a tough, a muscle twitching in his jaw before he attempts to smooth it away. 

You don’t miss this, squinting at him, catching the shift in his expression. You can read people like a map, especially Bob. There was no hiding from you. 

“Are you…jealous?”

“I’m not —“ he clears his throat, averting his gaze from yours. “You were drunk. I was worried. Anything could happen to you.” 

You sit up quickly, dizzy but determined. You reach out, poking his chest trying to get his attention back. You wanted him to look at you. 

“Ya don’t gotta worry. I’m a professional,” you’re giggle, looking up at him, fluttering your lashes. “Plus…don’t tell anyone. You’re my favorite person. The cutest.”  

Bob looks at you, jaw slightly dropped. It’s as if you just struck him, you don’t know what you’re doing to him. 

“Can I try something?” You ask, not waiting for a response. 

You cup his face with both hands, his breath hitching at your touch. His eyes locked into yours like he was terrified you would disappear if he blinked. 

You kiss him, a soft press to his lips. Gentle and searching for a response. He melts into you as you deepen it, pushing your body closer, your hands slowly beginning to tangle his hair. 

But Bob gently pulls away with a quiet breath, trying to ignore the look of disappointment on your face. 

“I can’t,” he whispered, forehead now resting against yours. “Not like this. You’re drunk. This isn’t..this isn’t right. I’m not going to take advantage of you.” 

“i’m not…okay, maybe a little,” you admitted. “But my feelings…they’re real.” 

“You’re not going to remember this…” Bob sighs out, as if he’s convincing himself more than he’s convincing you. He pulls his head away, giving you space to lay back down. 

Neither of you break the silence. He just stares at you as if you were the sun, bringing more light into his life as things were. 

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The morning after felt as if you got struck by a truck. Even trying to think through the fog and static felt like using more of your brain than what was available. Your mouth taste like stale liquor and cotton, every breath you take feels like a punishment. 

You woke up curled sideways on your bed, expecting to still be in the dress you wore last night. To your surprise, you’re wearing Bob’s oversized shirt and nothing else. You don’t have the energy to even wonder how or why — your skill pulsing in sync with your heart beat. Each throb is a punishing reminder of bad decisions and fake flattery. You groan as you flop your arms over your eyes, the thin sunlight from the blinds behaving as a torture tool for your brain.  

The tiny bottle of water on your nightstand is warm and now accompanied by a small bottle of painkillers. There’s a small note placed next to them, in messy handwriting reading: Drink this. and Rest. 

You squint at it, recognizing it to be Bob’s handwriting, his gesture not becoming lost on you. He has always had the habit to be quiet and thoughtful, trying to make everyone’s lives easier by doing something as convenient as washing dishes. He had the kindness you couldn’t help but be grateful for. 

But this time, he left no space to say thank you because he was already halfway down the hall before you were able to notice. 

Downstairs, the Tower was alive with noise. A little too alive for your taste, feeling as if you are a live example of the walking dead. There’s loud blasting music echoing from the gym, bright and shameless laughter bouncing off of the walls. It was unfair. 

After taking a few painkillers and gulping water, you shuffle towards the kitchen. You feel as if you are floating by, like a hungover ghost being forced to haunt the too lively tower. Your socks skid slightly across the polished floor, regretting every step you take away from the safe haven that is your room.

“Sleeping beauty rises,” Bucky calls out with a teasing lift from his coffee mug, Ava smirking behind her own. 

Yelena leans across the counter, fighting the playful smirk forming on her face. “I still can’t believe you were our best option for the mission. Did intel come with a side of cocktails and a visit to a suit?” 

You groan, you’re not mentally prepared to go through this show. “I did the job, didn’t I? And gross, I didn’t go to anyone’s suit. I was just doing my job.” 

“Sure you did,” Ava teases, her eyes glinting. “…But only after dancing on a table.” 

You blink in response, unable to say anything. You don’t remember dancing on a table. Did you? You really hope you didn’t. 

Everyone was pitching in their teases, anything to get a subtle reaction out of you. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, because you always did what needed to be done regardless. 

Bob was the only one who said nothing. He was leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely over his chest, watching you. It was a look close to concern, tempered and quiet. It’s almost as if he was trying to not show it. 

When you meet his gaze, he blinks and looks away before you’re even able to offer him a weak smile. Out of nowhere, he is deeply interested in his coffee mug. 

You found yourself spending most of the day in your room trying to recover from your hangover. It wasn’t until you woke up from (another) nap where you woke up groggy and incredibly hungry that you found yourself in the kitchen again, preparing food for your personal dinner.

To your surprise you found Bob there already, you offer to make something together as opposed to him just settling for cereal. 

You’re peeling carrots as Bob stands besides you, sleeves pushed up cutting potatoes with careful precision. It was silent at first when you first started — just the sounds of knives and clinking of the cutting board. 

“You feeling better?” he finally asks, voice low and gentle. 

“Yeah. Just…hungry. and embarrassed.” 

He gave a soft hum in response, now looking at you with soft eyes. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.” 

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes. His brown hair is a little shaggy and eyes follow your subtle movements. The edge of his sleeve brushes your arm as he unconsciously scoots a little closer, looking at you as if he’s studying you. 

“You’re staring,” you call out with a small grin. 

He freezes, just for a second, knife hovering above the board. “I wasn’t.” 

“You were,” you sang out, nudging his elbow playfully. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“No,” he said, eyes flicking to your lips and then away again too quickly. “Just…making sure you’re okay.” 

You tilt your head, offering a soft smile. “Thank you, Bob. Always looking out for me.” 

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, as if there was something tugging at his chest. But the clatter of footsteps approaching called for an end of the moment. Bob scoots away, causing a short distance between the two of you. 

The tension between the two of you was indescribable, something unspoken and unnamed. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you decide you’re overthinking. You’re probably just still embarrassed. 

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The team debrief was just like any other, lazily sprawled around the Tower’s coming area. There’s a little bit of laughter from Yelena, there’s side conversations and some disinterest in the other members' own side conversation

You’re leaning into the couch cushions, holding your legs into yourself, half-listening as Walker and Ava argue who would be the one to take the next assignment.

“It’s another social infiltration job,” Bucky cuts in, bringing everyone’s attention back to him. “Lots of eyes, charming handshakes…winning folks over for a little information. A dinner party this time.”  

Yelena snickers and nudges you with her foot. “Your specialty, no?” 

The comment was light-hearted, making the group around you chuckle while sharing knowing looks at each other. 

Bucky doesn’t join in. He crosses his arms, looking across the room like the idea itself was wrong. 

He clears his throat, “We were actually thinking of someone else…this time” he drags out. 

You sit up straight, “What?” 

“There’s…concern,” Bucky quickly states, his eyes quickly flicking to Bob. “Last time was a little messy. This mission can’t afford to be a little messy.” 

The words landed heavy and cold, insulting at very best. Your stomach twisted; a frown begins to form on your face. 

“I got the intel,” you spat. “I did my job.” 

“No one’s saying you didn’t” Bucky responds calmly, hands up. “But we can’t afford someone being one drink away from forgetting they’re on a mission.” 

The room is watching the two of you in silence, and you have to pretend not to notice their eyes on you now — waiting for your response. You can only bite your lip, trying to find a way to respond without letting the lump in your throat take over. 

“I’ll do it,” Yelena cuts in, not unkindly. “I clean myself up well enough.” 

“Great,” Bucky drags out, quickly moving on to the rest of the details . 

You barely nod, swallowing the hot lump that has forced its way on your throat. The conversation moved on without a second thought for you, and it all became white noise after that. All those insecure thoughts you’ve had about yourself and how you do your job slowly begin to arise. 

It’s not the first time you’ve been second guessed when it comes to your job. You’ve dealt with that since you first started your career. You’ve always been too much. 

You just didn’t think they would think so too. 

Before thinking you stand up, muttering quietly about needing air. Walking off before anyone could think of stopping you.

You couldn’t even make it to the rooftop, opting to just head straight to your room. You shut the door behind you, letting your spine rest against it. You don’t even notice the pressure in your palms due to your hands forming a fist.

You could’ve done the mission. You could’ve done it well, you always do. But everyone (as always) thinks you can't handle yourself. And worst of all, you wonder if they aren’t even wrong about it. 

The memories of the last mission come out in fragments, like stilled pictures flashing through your mind. After receiving what you needed, instead of leaving, you lost control. You can’t even remember how you got back to the Tower. 

Your eyes burn as your tears finally begin to fall, now sitting at the edge of your bed. Your fingers tap against your bedsheets, trying to calm yourself. 

They were right. You can’t handle yourself. You’re nothing like them, too social, unserious, why were you even here? 

A soft knock at your door breaks you away from your thoughts. 

You don’t answer right away. You want to be alone, you want to wallow in self pity and debate on whether or not you should even be here. 

But after a moment, it opens gently, and Bob steps in. He hovers near your door, hesitant. 

“Can I come in?” 

You give a small nod, sniffling to yourself and wiping the tears from your eyes.

He closed it behind him and waited a few seconds, unsure of where to begin. After gathering his thoughts he slowly begins to step towards you, sitting at the empty spot next to you. 

“I didn’t want them to say it like that,” he said. “I would’ve told you myself.” 

“Told me what?” you sniffle. 

Bob's hands wrung together, thumbs playing against one another. “What you said that night you came back. What you did.” 

Your chest becomes tight, you have to remind yourself to breathe. You don’t remember much of anything, and the endless possibilities of what you could’ve done flashed through your mind. You're silent, not even sure if you want to know at this point. 

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” he whispers. “But I think…maybe you should know.” 

Bob stares at you, waiting for a response, waiting for any sign that he should proceed. You nod, barley, your heart thudding against your chest like a drum. 

“Well, you came back super late. Drunk. You were stumbling, everyone kind of teased you a bit. I just helped you upstairs.” 

It dawns at you that you don’t remember any of this. 

“You said the target was….cute. Said something about almost forgetting it was a mission.” He takes a deep breath, “That’s…scary. Anything could happen to you if you went on a mission like that again.” 

You don’t say anything, feeling a little bit ashamed. That’s why Bucky said what he said, because you made a fool of yourself and proved yourself a liability more than anything. 

Bob glances at you, then quickly looks away before confessing the next part. “And then, you…kissed me.” 

Your heart drops to your stomach. Any color from your face has been drained. It’s silent as you process what he’s said. 

“I—I don’t rem— I kissed you?” you reply with a dry throat. 

Bob hums in response, now looking back at you. “It was just a peck at first. But then…you tried to do it again. More. I stopped you. I told you it wasn’t right, not like that.” 

Embarrassment coiled hot in your stomach, trying not to believe the mess you’ve made of yourself. 

Bob reaches out, slowly brushing his fingers against yours, careful not to scare you away. “I said you were just drunk. But then…you said your feelings were real.” 

Your body goes still, your brain short circuits in place. You can’t say anything, your tongue is stuck, twisted in your mouth. Technically, it isn’t a lie. You have had a small crush on the guy for some time, how could you not? 

But that was between you and yourself. It wasn’t something that was ever supposed to be out. Especially not to him. 

“I-I don’t know if you meant it,” he added. “I’ve been trying not to think about it. Because if you didn’t, it’s mean. And if you did…” 

“I did,” you interrupt. The words slipped out fast and breathless, trembling at the edges. Fuck it, you decide. What’s the point in keeping it a secret now? 

Bob's eyes widen slightly, mouth agape as he becomes at a loss for words.

“I understand i’m very…friendly,” you say, your cheeks begin to burn up, you let your eyes fall to the closest thing in front of you. “But what I said…or did. I mean I was drunk. I don’t remember. But I’ve had feelings for you for a while. I just..” 

“I have to,” he interrupts shamelessly, like he can’t contain it.  “For a while now..” He says the second part quietly, with a slight tremble to his voice. 

Neither of you said a word, silence blooming between the two of you. Neither of you are looking at each other either, both finding sudden interest in your comforter, until you spoke up again. 

“I’m not drunk now…” You whisper, slowly lifting your head to look at him. You see his Bob freeze, his finger twitching against your comforter. You scoot yourself a little closer, grazing your pinky on top of his. He lets you. 

You lean more forward, softly lifting his chin with your free hand so he can face you. You brush your mouth against his in a whisper of a kiss, gentle and experimental. Bob didn’t move, his breath hitching as he let you lay soft pecks on his lips. 

“Can I…?” Bob whispers between your lips. You nod once, allowing him to plant a kiss on you, pulling you against him tightly, as if he was holding his breath. 

It’s careful; his lips fully taking in yours, savoring every second like he’d dream of this. He’s touching you where he can, a light squeeze to your thigh, a soft caress to your jaw, his fingers tracing your waist as if to memorize it. It was gentle, like you’d dissolve between his fingers if he did too much. 

Neither of you want to break apart, finally being able to taste one another, being as close as you’ve only imagined. It becomes sloppy, the breathing and physical declarations of want. Need. 

You lean into him more, your fingers slip into his strands at the nape of his neck, your want increasing as you feel him melt into you. Every soft exhale he gave when your mouth parted against his was swallowed like oxygen. Pulling him closer, just so your thighs brush outside of his, Bob doesn’t resist. He jolts in response, as if he needs permission to get closer. 

Brushing your lips against his, you whisper, “Tell me to stop.” 

“I won’t,” he confesses

You bring it upon yourself to remove his shirt in one smooth motion. Your eyes begin to trace every inch of skin, every defined muscle Bob hides under his baggy wear. It was almost devastating, realizing what he’s been hiding from you all along. 

Bob is watching you with a hazed expression, as if you admiring him is unreal. 

“You can touch me,” you say in-between kisses. 

He palms your thighs, letting his hands slide up and down them, giving you a soft squeeze. His hands slightly tremble as they brush your arms, then at your waist; feeling the shape of you. He looks you in the eye when gets to the hem of your shirt, only lifting it gently once you nodded in approval. 

He admires you, your bare skin in front of him. Vulnerable and trusting. He tilts you back slightly, experimentally, then softly palms over your breast. His eyes don't leave your chest as he begins to thumb over your nipple, causing you to let out a soft moan. 

The soft sound from your lips causes Bob to go primal, his dark eager eyes watching you make a face he hasn’t seen on you before. He lowers his head, kissing along your collarbone, then each kiss after that going lower; his hands following the direction of his mouth, mapping your body like he had to memorize it. 

Each breath came out more desperate than the last, every second his lips parting making you want more. You gasp as his mouth reaches your breast, followed by his hands fondling them, grazing your nipple with his tongue before he takes it between his lips. 

“Bob,” you whine, tanging his hair between your fingers, subconsciously arching into him. 

His name sounds different coming from your mouth now. You say his name like it’s a desire, like he’s something you want to ruin you. It belongs in a bedroom between sheets, his name is no longer platonic. 

Bob pushes you back against the mattress, looking down at you in disbelief and awe. He places a peck on your forehead before settling between your thighs. You open them for him without a second thought, you’re aching for him. 

He breathes out your name as he presses a palm against your most sensitive area, your hips jerking in response; looking for any form of friction. He could feel you dripping through the thin cotton of your shorts. 

“Can I..?” he whispers, his eyes searching yours. 

You slightly raise your hips, giving him the freedom to do whatever he pleases with you. 

“Yes. Please.” Your response is instant. 

He slips your shorts off slowly, kissing every inch of exposed skin he begins to uncover. He doesn’t miss any; from your thighs, your hips, all the way to every soft dip you have. Bob was going to make sure there was not one part of your skin his lips would not touch. 

You inhale sharply when he finally touches you, his fingers gently slipping inside of you. He trails along the wetness carefully, as if he was afraid to break you too fast. You thrust up, desiring more; instead he takes his thumb and slowly begins to circle your clit. 

He’s teasing, you think. Groaning at his slow movements. Your head drops back as he takes his time exploring you, finally allowing two fingers to dip between your folds, dragging through the slick warmth. 

“Bob,” you groan, digging your nails through his shoulders, rolling your hips greedily. 

He lets his mouth follow his fingers, a quick kiss and then a slow teasing lick. You cry out at the sudden contact, your hair now buried in his hair, the other fisting the sheet. 

“Fuck, Bob — Oh fuck!” 

Bob groans against your heat as he buries his face into you. Your reaction to the wet glide of his tongue exploring you, bucking your hips into him and moaning his name drives him insane. 

He loses himself in your pleasure. 

He listens to every sound, every whimper to see how he could get more out of you. He works you open with long patient strokes, letting his fingers slip inside you as his tongue teases circles over your clit. Your hips stuttering causes him to get sloppier, wanting to completely wreck you. 

“I’m. — fuck,” You breathe. “I’m so close. So close.” 

He raises your hips slightly, thrusting his fingers into you in a new angle. He watches how your face contours in pleasure through his wet lashes. The faces and sounds you're making have Bob desperate. He begins to rut against the mattress as he pleasures you, desperate for any form of friction. 

You come like this, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he helps you ride out your release. He remerges, shiny and determined to feel more of you. To please more of you. After he kicks off his pants he moves you over again, pressing your thighs apart. He looks at you, waiting for permission, looking for any signs of hesitation or doubt. 

The sight of him causes you to gasp, he’s thick and hard. His tip is oozing with precum, swollen, waiting to be catered to. Licking your lips you guide him in by his base, lining him up with a breathless moan. The stretch causes you to whimper, but it doesnt stop you from tilting your hips to him. He kisses you through your broken moans, his arms hovering over both your sides, and forehead pressed against yours. Inch by inch he fills you, enoying the taste of you as your bodies find a rhythm.

“You feel..” he gasps out, his voice breaking. “God, you feel so good.”

It’s too much, he kisses you as you continue to moan into his mouth. He thrusts into you deep,each stroke heavy, memorizing how he is able to get your reaction. You wrap your legs around his waist, anchoring him to get closer, deeper – he buries his face into you. Your nails rake lightly down his back, he groans into your skin. 

“I’ve wanted you,” he pants above you. “So bad, always wanted you..” His thrusts begin to get sloppier, his breath heavier than before. “Think about you all the time..” 

You groan, imagining Bob fantasizing about you in his free time. You think about those nights where you just couldn’t fall asleep, thoughts of him flooded your mind when your fingers would find their way down your pants.

You let out a choked cry, your body trembling as you cum around him. Bob groans, his rhythm alternates as he feels you cumming while he’s still inside you. He does one soft roll of the hips before he begins to move fast, harder as he begins to chase his own high. He places sloppy kisses around your throat as he comes, groaning your name against your skin as if it was the last word he knew how to say. 

You feel him collapse on you, your bodies tangled into one another. Skin slick with sweat and your natural juices, each of your lungs heaving for any source of air around. It takes a while before either of you decide to move. 

Bob finally shifts to lift himself, a small smile forms when he see’s you under him; heavy-eyed and body limp. He lets his lips touch yours as you release a small stretch of your body. He gently pulls the blanket over the two of you, once again holding you like he was too afraid to let go, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers against you, and you hum in response. You’re exhausted, sticky, and sluggish. But the skin to skin is comforting, Bob holding onto you is tight. You can’t help but curl into him. 

“So..Does this mean I can ask you to stop going on dates? Even mission ones?” he murmured against your hair. 

You let out an exhausted laugh. “Yeah,” You whispered. “You can ask whatever.” 

You let out a yawn before pressing your cheek against his chest, finding comfort in his hold on you. He presses one final kiss on your head, the two of you falling asleep in one anothers arms. 

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

A significant amount of time has passed since you woke up against Bob for the first time. That morning began with you placing kisses along Bob’s jaw, your hands finding where he is hot and hard. The two of you exploring each other’s bodies for a second time. It was natural, the two of you allowing yourselves to become one in the most intimate of ways. 

Other than that, the days would blur together with regular mission boards, briefings, caffeine-fueled mornings and bruised bodies throughout the week. Life didn’t stop – the world's chaos continued, there was always a new crisis, and “heros” were expected to do their job. No matter what. 

No, nothing’s really changed. At least not in a grand, cinematic way. It wasn’t like everyone knew, it wasn’t like anything was actually confirmed. Bucky gave Bob a few suspicious once-overs when you would sit besides him, a secretive smile and small touches that would linger a little too long. 

Yelena, as observant as she is, being the only one in the tower to confront you. Something about “Finally climbing the golden retriever.” Whatever that meant. 

The two of you weren’t exactly a secret, but it wasn’t some kind of headline either. It didn’t need to be. The days didn’t need to change. Everything could go on as before. Even with the slight differences.

Like Bob always finding your eyes first when he walks into the room. Or the way your hand would linger a second too long when you would pass him. In the unspoken gravity that would pull the two of you towards each other in the quiet hours of the night, and somehow this pattern repeating in the morning. 

The two of you didn’t need a label. What you guys were exploring is still too new. Too delicate. The two of you now only don’t have to learn each other as teammates or friends, but as something closer. Softer. 

He’s in the common room when you find him, half-lit by the screen glow, flipping lazily through the endless options of movies at the tip of his fingers. He was in his blue sweater, and you can only imagine his golden skin and muscles hiding under the fabric. 

You grin, delighted as you make your way towards him. Your heart trips over itself everytime you manage to look at him. 

“Somehow you’re always where I need to be.” You tease, curling beside him on the couch and stealing one of the throw blankets over your lap. 

Bob smiles in response, a light pink hue forming on his face. “You’re the one who keeps finding me.” He squeezes your closest hand to him. 

You shrug in response, “I like looking at you. You’re my favorite view in the Tower.” 

Bob pauses, he looks at you, his fingers fidgeting into your palms. 

“I’m falling for you.” He says, his eye contact not breaking yours. It’s your turn to blush, speechless. Your mouth slightly opens with no coherent words coming out. He lets out a soft chuckle, placing a kiss on your cheek. “I love you.” 

You throw yourself into his chest, hiding your face with his body. You have a stupid smile on your face, like some love struck teenager who’s crush finally noticed her. 

“...Yeah, I love you too.” 

He laces his fingers through your hair, it was a quiet truth you’ve been carrying in your pocket. You didn’t think there’d ever be a right time to tell him. 

“You remember what you said?” You ask him, finally lifting your head from his chest, no longer caring that your face is heated up and flustered. “About me not going on mission dates?” 

“Mhhmmmm,” he replies half-playful, half possessive. “Still stands.”

“Well..” You chuckle awkwardly, almost struggling to get the next part out. “I think you should take me on one.”

“A fake date?” He asks.

“Yeah, but except it’s a real one,” You shyly state, trying to make space between the two of you, causing Bob to pull you into him. 

It’s a privilege, being able to place a kiss on you whenever he feels like it. He cups your face, peppering your face with kisses. You pretend to be annoyed by his antics, but they cause you to laugh softly. You kiss his lips in return, causing him to fully embrace you on top of him. 

The other members who lived in the Tower were not pleased with what they walked into.

[trashytracktales]

Miami heat | OP⁸¹

🟤 summary ──── Winning the Miami Grand Prix was the second-best thing that happened to Oscar. The first? Saying yes to Logan’s invitation to celebrate.

🟤 pairing ──── Oscar Piastri x she/her reader

🟤 rating ──── explicit

🟤 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, drinking, smut, swearing, public setting, thigh riding, unprotected sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, light dominance, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, mirror play, possessiveness and marking, Logan cameo.

🟤 word count ──── 5.6k

🟤 date ──── May 21, 2025

🟤 a/n ──── Hi lovelies! Since it was my birthday today (surprise 🥳🥳) I HAD to treat myself with this one. If you know me, you know I am absolutely obsessed with Oscar’s thighs [exhibit ONE, TWO, THREE...]. I fear it’s not just a phase, mom, this is who I am. I’ll go back to your requests now & we’ll read each other soon ♥︎

“JUST A COUPLE of drinks,” said Logan and, apparently, that’s all it took for Oscar to postpone a date with his hotel bed.

It would’ve been quite lame, he thought, to go to sleep after winning a Grand Prix on American soil.

With that in mind, half an hour after he finished all his duties at the track, the aussie sat nestled into a booth, shoulders relaxed and fingers curled around a chilled glass of something sweet and citrusy.

Logan had gathered a group of friends, already half-tipsy by the time Oscar arrived. As usual, he was quieter than the rest, laughing when he should, content to let the buzz of conversation pass over him.

Until she caught his eye.

He watched her slipping into the booth, sitting next to Logan with such an ease that made it feel like the night had been waiting for her to actually start. His first impression was that she is stunning, and not just physically speaking, though that alone made Oscar forget how to sit properly. There was more to it, something about her presence that made everything else fade. Because from the moment she turned her eyes on him and smiled, everybody else simply blurred into the background.

And now, Oscar can’t stop looking at her.

Not even when someone at the table congratulates him on tonight’s win.

Not even when Logan throws an arm around his shoulders and asks for more drinks.

There’s an undeniable glow to her that has him in complete trance, some effortless kind of beauty wrapped in softness and pure femininity. It hits him all at once, starting with the irrational need to know her, and the urge to keep her attention, to make sure he’s the one she remembers when they’ll part at the end of the night.

When the next round of drinks lands, she slips in beside Oscar to congratulate him in a whisper, which draws his attention to her full lips. But that doesn’t last long. The heat of her thigh presses now flush against his, bare skin to bare skin, and that almost terminates him. The girl doesn’t wait for him to thank her, instead, her palm brushes over his arm, a small touch that lasts no more than a second.

For that one second, Oscar’s lounging casually with his drink in hand, but the next, he’s shifting in his seat like the air’s gone too hot around him. He downs the rest of his drink in order to cool himself from the inside out, then tugs nervously at the hem of his shorts, while trying to adjust himself discreetly under the table. Still, she notices, and it makes her lips twitch, like she’s hiding a secret only they know about.

What is certain is that his pulse blooms in his chest, and without thinking, Oscar drapes his arm over the back of the booth, claiming the space behind her. It makes his heart race, even though he knows how silly it is to get protective over someone he just met.

His fingers lightly brush her shoulder, and though he’s still, in theory, paying attention to the others, the gesture catches her attention, and she understands what it means in no time: mine, for now.

In this new position, they’re close enough to feel each other’s scent, and her perfume coils into his senses. A sweet smell that reminds him of Fantales, some caramel candies Oscar used to sneak from the kitchen cupboard as a kid. The memory makes him smile, taken aback by the unexpected trip to the past.

Her fingers skim the base of her glass.

His leg starts bouncing slightly.

Her laugh curls warm around his ribs when someone makes a joke.

And when his knee bumps hers under the table, they both go still.

Oscar looks at her, happy to find out that she’s already looking at him. Their eyes lock, and everything else falls away.

Until Logan decides to get up like a whirlwind of noise and glittering eyes, drunk enough to grab Oscar by the wrist and her by the hand, dragging both of them after him.

“Come on,” he slurs, “Let’s shake our asses.”

They follow him, laughing, weaving through the crowd, with the bass vibrating beneath their feet and neon lights spinning lazy halos above their heads. The music is loud, atmosphere inviting, making it impossible not to move.

Somewhere between the second and the third song, Logan disappears from their sight into the mass of bodies, and they’re left behind in the middle of the dance floor. They don’t even notice until they start to dance side by side. Separate at first. Just enough space to feel like they aren’t doing anything dangerous.

But the crowd pushes closer, the bass gets heavier, and with each second, the gap between them evaporates. With that, eyes find each other in the dark and smiles linger a second longer than they should.

At this point, it’s only natural to let it happen.

They collide, soft but inevitable, and Oscar’s hands go to her waist like it’s instinct. His grip is firm, and it pulls a gasp from her lips before she can catch it.

The girl doesn’t pull away. She likes the way she fits there, right against him, as if it’s something her body already knew. Her hands drift without conscious thought, her palms pressing flat against his abdomen, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of his shirt. Then higher, across his chest, up to his shoulders, and finally down his arms.

Oscar’s biceps flex under her touch, strong and taut, and his grip on her tightens in response.

Before they realize, she’s wrapped around him entirely, her body molded to his, moving with him to the music. Her scent is dizzying, driving Oscar straight out of his mind. As if he’s controlled by some external force, he ducks his head without thinking, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like he needs it to survive.

She shudders, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against her skin. It drives her mad that she can’t hear him properly because of the music, but she feels the low vibration, and something inside her snaps.

Or maybe it finally clicks.

Oscar’s hands slide lower, down her sides, around her hips, then firmly palm her ass, pulling her with him in his inviting, heated personal space. The sudden pressure draws another moan from her, right into his ear, and her reaction lights him up from the inside out. It also encourages Oscar to keep his hands on her, shamelessly, their faces so close they’re basically breathing each other in. Her lips are slightly parted and her eyes flick to his mouth, lingering for just a fraction, then dart back up.

She wants to kiss him.

He looks like he wants it, too.

But slowly, the girl ends up shaking her head. It’s not a no per se. It’s rather a we shouldn’t.

Luckily, Oscar couldn’t care less. His eyes are already begging, full of lust and that want she saw in him earlier. He’s not pushing, but he’s insistent, asking a stupid question without words: why not?

As expected, she doesn’t have an answer, yet she’s looking at his lips again like they’re already hers. She could die in order to find out how he kisses. Where his hands go when he’s not holding back. What kind of sounds he makes when he’s diving all in. How long it lasts. How deep. How wet.

It doesn’t take her long to glance around the club, just enough to think. Then, without a word, she laces her fingers through his and tugs him behind her as if she’s on a mission.

Oscar follows like he’s still in a trance, heart pounding in his ears with every step he takes behind her.

The bathrooms are hidden near the back, sleek and modern, far quieter than the rest of the place. The lighting here is cooler, silvery, and the stalls are private, each one with a full mirror and its own sink, separated by thick doors and expensive privacy.

She pulls him into the last one, the lock clicks and, in a blink of an eye, he’s on her.

Oscar presses her back against the door with a firm heat, hands braced on either side of her face as his mouth crashes onto hers. The kiss is hungry, open-mouthed and curious, all tongue and breath and need. She tastes like everything he imagined she would: sweet and impossibly addictive.

Her hands are already under his shirt, palms exploring the planes of his stomach, the rise of muscle, and everything she can reach, really.

His knee wedges between her legs for support, and she arches into him with a quiet whimper, mouth breaking from his for long enough to breathe it out. At that, Oscar groans low in his throat, a delicious sound that will haunt her dreams from now on. His hands slide down to her waist, holding her in place while he’s studying her face, searching for any trace of hesitation. There’s none.

Because he’s a tall man, she’s forced onto her tiptoes just to stay with him at the same level as they kiss, but the strain catches up quickly, and when she finally lowers herself, her hips settle onto the firm pressure of his thigh.

Oscar freezes for a beat, then leans in close, “You smell so good,” he says dumbly, just as his body presses more into hers in order to make her whimper again, only for him.

As if he’s done this so many times before, his fingers trail down her side, tracing the curve of her waist with so much intent that makes her shiver. When his hands dip lower, ghosting over the hem of her skirt, she catches his arms lightly, but doesn’t stop him.

Oscar pauses, eyes flicking up to meet hers, asking a silent question and thinking already that this became quickly their way of communicating. Her response is equally quiet, but clear: she shifts nervously, spreading her legs just enough for him to access her with ease.

The girl braces herself against the door, knuckles white as she fists the front of his shirt, breath stuttering out of her lungs. And it doesn’t last long. Not when she’s perched on his thigh, the thin fabric of her underwear barely a barrier between them.

She closes her eyes as she moves slightly, testing the limits of what she can do in a position that doesn’t help her height. And without a doubt, the press of muscle beneath her is firm, and the sensation ripples through her, forcing her to continue her seductive dance, without assistance.

“Oscar,” her voice is just a whispered plea.

He gets the memo, his hand slipping instinctively from her waist, brushing down to her hip. His fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and tug them gently down her thighs, making her gasp in anticipation. The cool air against her skin gives her chills and, suddenly, Oscar is all heat.

“You’re okay?” he asks curiously, breathing against her temple.

She nods, pressing in closer. “Yes. Just…” her voice trails off, brain shutting down as her bare skin drags against his thigh, core aching, her fingers curling into his shirt.

She barely manages a desperate roll of her hips, when her hesitation makes Oscar chuckle gently.

“Are you okay?” he repeats the question more demanding.

She nods against his neck, but she doesn’t say anything. Her hips twitch in response, like her body wants it more than she’s willing to admit out loud.

“What is it?” Oscar insists, lips curving into a smirk; he knows what it is, just wants to hear her speaking her mind.

She bites her lip, both embarrassed and frustrated, still grinding against him as if she has no willpower to stop. Shaking her head in disbelief at how her own body betrays her, she whispers, “I don’t know.”

“Then show me,” he says softly, his accent dripping like honey from her ears. “Let me help. We can stop if it doesn’t feel right.”

The girl hesitates only for half a second before moving again, the friction sending a rush of heat up her spine. She realizes, somewhere between the heat rising in her cheeks and the wet slide against his thigh, how right it feels to be so close to him, to let him guide her. It’s ridiculous how easily her body responds, how quickly she’s sweating, flushed, soaked, and yet it doesn’t matter. Not when his hands are steady on her hips, not when he’s humming in unison with her sharp breathing, shutting down every rational thought in her head.

“That’s it,” Oscar encourages her, “Use me. Take what you need.”

She lets out a soft whimper, eyes fluttering shut as the words melt straight into her stomach.

“You’re doing so well,” he adds, continuing to guide her. “Feels food, doesn’t it?”

“So…” she tries to reply, but she has to swallow the moan that threatens to spill out, her whole body trembling with how turned on she is.

The thickness of Oscar’s thigh fits perfectly between her legs, parting her folds with every slow grind, the pressure against her clit maddeningly good and so, so right, like he was made for her to ride it. Every movement lights up the atoms in her body, and it takes everything in her not to fall apart from how deliciously he fills the space between her thighs.

All this time, Oscar watches her face closely, feeding off her expressions. He flexes his thigh beneath her, just to see the reaction, and when she gasps, he starts moving, lifting and shifting to meet her grind.

He can feel the subtle, desperate throb of her clit through the damp heat between them, and his voice drops low. “Ride it harder, sweetheart,” he says, fingers digging into her hips. “Like that, don’t stop.”

Her senses explode all at once, like someone struck a match inside her. The fabric of his shorts rides up with her, the heat of his skin burning on hers. Every nerve buzzes, overwhelmed by the drag of her slick folds against the muscle of his thigh. The speed at which she loses herself is almost embarrassing, her rhythm faltering already, breath catching in her throat; she would be mortified if it didn’t feel this goddamn good.

Oscar’s thigh itself is a sin: thick and solid beneath her, strong from years of training, and just soft enough in the right places. It might be the euphoria talking, but she wishes that she could use him like this whenever she wants, ride his body until she forgets her own name. And the way he flexes beneath her, patient and ready to take the lead if necesarry, makes it all too easy to imagine just that.

His jaw clenches as he feels her losing it. Her slick heat leaves a trail on his thigh with every slow grind, and the sensation shoots straight to his gut. His mind races, wild with thoughts of what it would feel like to sink his fingers into her, to taste her desperation on his tongue, to bury himself deep in that warmth she’s giving so freely now. He squeezes her harder without realizing, fingers digging in, lifting her just slightly off the ground as he rocks her against him.

“See how perfect you are?” he asks, feeling the way her hips stutter. “Come on, baby, soak me. Show me what I do to you.”

“Osc…ar,” she pants, clinging to him, hands fisting into the back of his shirt, face buried in the crook of his neck. His scent envelops her, clean and dizzying, and her breath comes fast and wet against his skin.

The friction, the rhythm, the pressure, it’s all too much.

Oscar watches her, mesmerized. “Right here, beautiful,” he assures her softly, but the tension in his voice betrays how affected he is only from seeing her losing it.

“I’m…”

Oscar’s hand goes up her thigh, his thumb finding the sensitive spot at the apex with practiced ease. She jolts when he touches her there, the motion instinctive. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the rhythm steady and precise, and it sends a rush of heat spiraling through her spine. She sees stars behind her eyes, every nerve ending sparking as pleasure builds too fast for her mind to catch up.

“There you go,” he breathes against her ear. “I feel you.”

He does. The way her hips start to tremble, the small stuttering jerks of movement that speak louder than words. Oscar’s hands tighten on her waist, not to control anymore, but to keep himself anchored as she grinds down harder, needier with each passing second. She’s a mess, pulsing under his fingertips, and the way she grips with every wave of pleasure makes him nearly lose it, too. His fingers hover just shy of slipping inside her pussy, and the thought alone, that all it would take is one tiny push to fill her, to ease that aching need, drives him insane.

“Fuck, you’re so desperate,” he points out in awe. “You need more, don’t you?”

She whimpers in response, hips faltering, and he feels her heat start to coat him, warm, all over his thigh. His jaw goes slack for a second, mind spiraling with the image of what it would feel like to actually slide his fingers into her, his tongue, his cock — anything, everything — just to feel that perfect pull around him.

Her hips stutter again, bringing him back to the present moment, and Oscar swears under his breath as he feels the shiver roll through her body. All around him, her body tenses, clings, and the only thing she can do is hold on, lost in the mess of a sensation so superficial, and the sound of his voice, his scent, him. Just him.

“I’ve never…,” she begins, trying her best to catch her breath. “Never did that before,” she ends up, a small laugh escaping her lips.

She surges up to kiss him as a thank you, messy and breathless, her lips trembling as the aftershocks roll through her. His hands fly everywhere, until she finally slows, head resting against his chest.

When she looks up again, Oscar is watching her with the same fire in his eyes. Holding his piercing gaze, her hand darts down to the waistband of his shorts, intent yet impulsive.

But he catches her wrist, stopping her.

“You don’t have to,” he says, voice low but conflicted.

She smirks. “Why not? You look like a guy with good reflexes,” the girl purrs, leaning in.

Oscar’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. “I am,” he agrees, smiling politely. “But you don’t have to,” he repeats, thumb brushing over her soft skin.

“No, I know,” she insists. “I mean, it’s fine. Unless you talked to Logan—”

In one smooth motion, Oscar spins her around and bends her over the marble sink, the cool surface biting into her skin. She whimpers at the sudden position change, lifting her gaze to the mirror, only to catch the reflection of them both: her flushed and excited, him looming behind her, all heat and tension.

Oscar’s eyes meet hers in the mirror, unreadable for a moment, but his voice is calm. “Did anything ever happen? With you and Logan, I mean.”

She shakes her head, not trusting her voice.

Oscar watches everything from the way her lashes flutter to how her body reacts to his question. Pleased with her answer, his palm skims slowly down the curve of her back, then to her hips, where his touch grows firmer.

“Good,” he nods, his knee pressing between hers, nudging her legs apart.

Moments later, her hands grip the edge of the sink, her skirt hiked up. She arches her back slightly, giving him a clear invitation with the way she rolls her hips, a playful gleam in her eyes. Behind her, Oscar moves like a man possessed, pushing down his shorts, enough to pull himself out. Calculated, he fits himself against her, one hand braced on her lower back, the other guiding himself. And when he’s inside, they both breathe out in relief: her at the fullness, him at the slick heat that welcomes him like she was meant for this.

She starts meeting him thrust for thrust once he begins to move, her moans echoing against the cold tile, the mirror fogging up as the air thickens with heat and desire.

“Good, you have his permission to fuck me,” she breathes heavily, “Or good, you’ll fuck me without even telling him?”

Oscar chuckles, pace deepening. “Good, I only need your permission,” he clarifies. “And I’m pretty sure I got it the second you dragged me in here.”

At that, her head dips forward, between her shoulders, overwhelmed by the stretch, the sound of their bodies moving together, and the raw heat that surrounds them. But Oscar isn’t letting her disappear into sensation. Not this fast.

His fingers wind gently through her hair, a firm but tender hold as he pulls her head up. “Up,” he orders in a gentle voice. “Let me see you, yeah?”

Their eyes meet again in the mirror as she tries to nod, but she can’t, thanks to his strong grip.

“Yes,” she says instead, without looking away.

She can see the flex of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches with restraint, the way his eyes lock on hers like he has something to prove to her.

With that thought in mind, Oscar lets go of her hair only to grip her hips with renewed purpose, fingers digging in with hungry urgency. She feels his desire and need for control in every part of her body, and she likes it. It makes her push back into him, begging for more, meeting him with equal intensity.

Oscar’s chest rises with every breath, sweat beading at his temple, muscles flexing as he moves inside her. He looks like he is restraint personified, where every ounce of him is burning, yet held just barely in check for her.

It becomes messier in no time, the rhythm unraveling as control gives way to need. He spreads her wider with a low groan, and the sound alone sends another pulse of fire through her. But instead of protesting, she moans his name again, voice breaking, her body pushing against the pressure. Again and again.

“Fuck, Oscar,” she whimpers, closing her eyes just to focus on the way he fucks into her from behind. “That’s so good, please. Please, don’t stop.”

Exhaling in spasms, Oscar is able to find that spot inside her again — the one that makes everything tilt sideways. The one that breaks her piece by piece, and puts it together the same exact way. He’s not just ruthless in his movements. He’s precise, and every snap of his hips is a calculated promise.

“Yes,” she keeps echoing, her voice going higher only to crack at the intensity.

“Keep going, you sound unreal,” he leans in, brushing his lips to the shell of her ear.

She pushes back into him, needing much more. “Harder,” she breathes.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, the word punched out of him like her command knocked the air from his lungs. “Since you asked so fucking nicely,” he adds sarcastically, but he gives it to her almost instinctively.

After that, Oscar’s movements grow more unrelenting, until every thrust seems to echo with the tension built up all night. His hands smooth up her back, then down again, gripping her like he’s terrified she’ll break under his force.

“You feel…” he groans, watching the way he sinks into her, “Ah, heavenly,” Oscar continues. “Wanna see what you do to me?”

She gasps, and he presses in deeper, then slows while dragging his cock out, letting her feel every inch of him before snapping his hips forward again.

“Oscar—” she chokes out.

“Yeah, baby. Tell me,” he whispers, “Tell me what you need.”

Truth is, she doesn’t even know anymore. She just knows it’s him. All of him. Everywhere. All the time.

She looks at him through the mirror, eyes glassy, lips trembling, and thinks she’s never seen anything as heartbreakingly hot as Oscar in this exact moment.

His hands trail up her spine again as if it’s already muscle memory, wanting to feel the way she shivers under him. Then he slides them beneath her shirt, palms gliding along her stomach before cupping her breasts through the lace of her bra. The soft fabric does nothing to dull the pressure of his grip, his thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks that make her gasp and arch into his touch with her entire body.

The slip takes both of them by surprise, his cock sliding free of her slick heat, making them groan in disagreement at the sudden emptiness.

“Hold on,” Oscar instructs, already grabbing her.

She barely has time to blink before he’s spun her around, back hitting the cool tile wall, his hands under her thighs. He lifted her so effortlessly, and now her legs lock around his waist just as he thrusts back into her. The new angle’s different, way deeper, and her head falls back with a loud moan.

“God, Oscar,” she gasps, fingers digging into his shoulders, then burying into the hair at the back of his head. “I feel you in my fucking throat.”

He groans against her neck, lips brushing her jaw. “‘Cause you’re so fucking tight,” he fires back proudly, and she smiles back at him. “Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you like this.”

In her defense, she can’t either. Can’t even come up with a lie, let alone a good excuse. But her body does it for her anyway: convulsing in pleasure, fluttering around his thickness as her climax crashes over her. She clutches at him, lips parted in a silent cry, lost to everything but the sound of his voice praising her, pleasing her, and the way he fills her completely. Her entire body is clenching as the orgasm rips through her, hot and blinding. She shudders, hips rolling without rhythm, unable to stop herself from grinding into every inch of him as she comes.

Oscar is so close, and he has to still deep inside her, a strained moan escaping his throat as he feels her grip his length repeatedly. She’s swollen, sensitive in all the right places, and he swears he can feel her pulse around him, velvet heat dragging him to the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, his voice wrecked.

She feels him throb against her walls, hard, the tension in his body barely restrained. And just as her legs begin to tremble and the aftershocks ripple through her, Oscar pulls out in a desperate motion. He doesn’t trust himself to stay inside longer than that. Not when she feels that good. Not when she just coated him in the pleasure that he gave her and made it nearly impossible to think.

Dizzy, the girl slides down his body to her feet, barely steady, but her hand finds him easily. He’s hot, slick, straining. Without even thinking, she wraps her fingers around his cock, firm but tender, her thumb pressing to his tip and circling through the wetness gathered there.

His breath shudders out of him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears, forehead dropping on hers, hips twitching against her palm.

Somehow, she’s stroking him with just the right pressure, enough to make Oscar whimper as if he’s in pain.

Their mouths find their way back to each other, parted but not kissing, breath blending in that hazy space they’ve built. He thrusts into her palm, muscles pulled taut, chasing the edge she’s holding him on with such frustrating, perfect control.

In no time, his body goes rigid and then Oscar exhales a delicious sound that’s barely audible, but full of release, white heat spilling over her fingers and dripping down her hand. His own moves to gently push hers away, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she kisses him, her lips finally catching his with a lazy kind of gesture.

“Let me,” she whispers, brushing her thumb along his skin. “That’s so hot.”

“You’re hot,” Oscar shoots back, as if it’s just a silly game for kids.

Looking for some support, he leans in, bracing one palm against the wall beside her head, while his other hand slides down her stomach with purpose. She’s taken aback when his fingers find her hole again, still aching, still swollen with need.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate. Two fingers sink into her, curling in just the right way that makes her eyes roll back and her knees nearly buckle.

“I love odd numbers,” he explains, breathing hoarsely into her skin. “Come on, one more.”

“Oh, shi—” she whimpers, clutching at his shoulders for balance.

She cries out, the sensitivity making her jolt, but she doesn’t pull away — wouldn’t ever dream of it. Not when Oscar holds her steady with one arm around her waist, the other working between her thighs, patient but purposeful. She buries her face in his neck, breathing fast, tasting salt and skin and something that feels dangerously close to a tenderness she won’t be introduced to.

Not tonight, at least.

In the mirror across from them, she catches a glimpse of their reflection, and she loves the image: the broad muscles of his back shifting beneath his shirt, arms braced to keep her upright, his body completely encompassing hers. The sight of it and how small she looks in his hold, how thoroughly he’s taken over every inch of her, sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through her.

His shirt is damp against his chest, biceps flexing with every motion of his hand. He’s methodical, and the control in Oscar is intoxicating, all steady strength and relentless focus on her.

“Is there something you can’t do?” she jokes.

His eyes close for a moment, playful yet annoyed, in a way. “Yeah,” he replies. “I can’t take you home and fuck you properly.”

Her back arches against the wall, mouth open in a silent cry as she comes for the third time. Her pussy clenches around his fingers, thighs trembling, heart pounding. And he holds her steady, breathing calmly while he helps her riding it out her third orgasm.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple.

When her breathing steadies too, he gently withdraws his fingers, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist. She’s still reeling when he brushes a strand of hair off her face, and then lowers to a crouch.

Without breaking eye contact, Oscar picks up her panties from the floor, the damp lace curled in his palm. Initially, she reaches for them, but he pulls back at the last moment, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Oscar,” she warns.

He smirks and tucks them into his pocket, pulling his shorts up from where they were hanging around his thighs. “Mine.”

She frowns. “Not fair. I have nothing to keep from you.”

“Nonsense,” he leans in, presses his lips just below her jaw, and sucks gently, until her skin blooms under his mouth. “That count?”

She sighes, eyes bright. “Maybe a—”

But before she can finish, a toilet flushes in a nearby stall, and the sound freezes them both. Their eyes meet instantly, making them laugh at the timing, the kind of laughter that shakes their shoulders.

Cloding his eyes, Oscar let’s his head fall against hers, grinning like a fool. “Fuck,” he whispers, “Thank you for… this.”

“Team effort,” she says, placing a tiny kiss in the corner of his mouth, sweet like a promise. “When do you leave?”

Oscar lifts a brow. “Why? Miss me already?”

The girl rolls her eyes with a small snort. “Just… curious.”

He looks in her direction suspiciously as they try to fix their clothes in silence, still buzzing with the weight of everything that just happened inside the small space. Her fingers tremble slightly as she smooths her skirt, and Oscar’s watching her in the mirror, eyes soft but studying.

Maybe she does. Maybe it’s stupid, but the thought of waking up tomorrow and not having this gnaws at her more than she wants to admit. Because suddenly, the night feels like it’s slipping away too fast, and she doesn’t know how to ask for more without sounding like she’s asking for too much.

Oscar can feel the switch in her behavior, and before she can reach for the door handle, he steps closer, stopping her.

“Hey,” he says softly, almost like he’s trying not to scare the thought from her mind.

She looks up, and before she can say anything, he kisses her. Gentle and lazy and sweet and with no rush. Nothing like before. His lips move slowly over hers, and he exhales into her mouth like he’s been holding his breath. His tongue brushes hers with such delicate care that makes her knees weak all over again.

When they finally part, she’s breathless in a whole new way.

“If, God forbid, you do end up missing me,” he teases lightly, but he sounds so honest, “I’d like to see you again.” He hesitates, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to hers. “Not just for… you know,” he says, heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, that was woah! But, you know.”

She smiles, nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’d like that, too,” she agrees. “Now let’s go back. Logan probably thinks we’re fucking in here.”

Oscar looks at her, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Probably?” he repeats.

“Well,” she shrugs, eyes flicking up to meet his, “He’s a smart cookie, and Miami heat does tend to enhance the senses.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[lateiii]

Some reasons I absolutely hated gym class:

Reasons related to autism, transness & other stuff:

I am not a motorically talented person, and I was made feel like a failure because of this. I have quite a good balance, but that's about it.

Playing group sports was my personal hell. I never got the rules because of the stupid ass idea to "explain it as we play", and then there's 20 kids yelling at me because I didn’t know what to do. Baseball especially was horrible, because ppl kept yelling at you, the sun was always shining, it was hot and bright, and everyone was staring at you.

I can't dive without holding my nose. This made like half of the swimming techniques impossible, and again I was made feel like a failure. (I also couldn't swim symmetrically because of a thing I have, and this bothered the swimming teacher A LOT. Especially when I was swimming frog.)

I couldn't see shit without my glasses, so diving to find something from the bottom of the pool wasn’t really that fun. Especially when it was a relay race (is that the correct term, I mean viesti).

I never got good at skiing. Either because I'm not that good motorically, or because when I learned to ski, I had these old ass skis from a flea market, that weighted too much, and I ended up hating skiing. (Was also made fun for having old ski shoes, that connected to the skis in a "weird way".)

As a teenager - not yet understanding I was trans, but positively sure I hated many things in my body - it was awkward and uncomfortable to be in an environment that highlighted gender in such a manner. When you went swimming or skating, you wore gendered equipment. I was always scolded for not showering with "the other girls", either waiting for everyone else to have left or not showering at all. I hated periods so bad I cannot even describe it, but even more I hated wearing a tampon. Made me legit feel like throwing up and wanting to jump off a bridge. And that is what one swimming teacher would have very badly wanted me to do, when I didn’t go swimming during my periods.

I absolutely hated the smell of a bus full of children, who smelled like chlorine, wet (sometimes dirty) towels, and those (too) sweet perfumes that were the first ones some girls tried on. Some of the towels were the same ones the kids had with them the last time, and clearly smelled like they left them in the bags. And then, because it was a bus, someone barfed. It was way too overwhelming.

Related to other stuff:

Because some kids had sport hobbies and tended to be friends with each other, the teams were usually team 1) full of talented, rich and / or popular kids, and team 2) all the other losers.

It seemed there was almost always something wrong with my equipment. Too big, too old, suddenly the skates were too small and pinched my toes into a numb ball of ice, when the weather wasn’t *technically* cold or bad enough for us to not go out.

Too many team sports. They were all just yelling and failing and bullying.

You didn’t get to choose what to do, or try to have fun. It wasn’t fun. You had to perform.

There was a lot of sexism in the way gym class was taught in my days. (Boys played hockey, girls played ringette. Girls had to at least try to do pretty things with skates, boys got to do whatever.)

The fitness test was really weird and annoying, and it seemed from like the 60's or something. Trying to bend when we hadn't streched in the way we were asked to in the test?

The fucking Cooper test? When we had never ran habitually during the classes?

Everything was always an excuse to the teachers. "Oh, you can't because you get dizzy / you have periods / you have bad allegies, and are afraid of those bees / feel weak? Too bad." Guess how fun it was having anemia and scholiosis in such an environment? Because if you couldn't see the issue, there wasn’t an issue. If your back hurt or you felt unwell, but you didn’t have a paper from a nurse or a doctor, you were faking it.

And more than anything: gym teachers - and craft teachers - are among the people who MOST CLEARLY have favourites. They don’t even try to hide it.

Good things:

I was really good at throwing those small sacks with peas in them. Maybe threw some of them deliberatelly hard towards kids I didn’t like when playing kaupunkisota.

Seeing that swimming teachers exression when I swam a fairly good length in a test, when we were only measuring how far you could swim in X time, not which techique you used, and how symmetrical your legs and shoulders looked!

I liked it when we had orienteering with enough time (= when we didn’t have to run 4+ km, but got to walk around to find the places, and point out some ant nests etc.)

I remember skipping my 4th hour class nearly every day for the second semester one year because my 4th hour was gym first semester and I could go there and play and run and have fun because the teachers thought I was still in the class.

I loved gym class so much, more than any other class, including art class.

[jsooly]

death in the family (7) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, you try and fail to intervene with spider and the recoms, much to the chagrin of a certain clan leader.

note, sorry i was away for so long

(MASTERLIST)

when lo'ak returned, he expected to get chewed out. jake and neytiri didn't disappoint, scolding him in front of everyone. normally he wouldn't be too keen on forgiving aonung, but it seemed easier.

as jake and neytiri squabbled amongst themselves, they sent lo'ak back to the marui. his siblings trailed beside him, excited and curious despite the gravity of the situation.

"brother, you were out there all alone?" tuk's eyes shone, her expression unreadable as if she couldn't decide between being concerned and amazed.

lo'ak's eyes creased as he smiled. "not alone."

"your ilu stayed with you?" kiri tilted her head, her voice soft. neteyam's eyes narrowed behind her, still annoyed that lo'ak was led astray by those other kids.

they all sat in their little corner, as if holding town hall.

"no. it was tulkun," lo'ak grinned. "and y/n."

tuk screamed and kiri hurriedly shushed her, positively shocked herself. neteyam gaped at his brother, leaning closer.

"are you joking with us, lo'ak?" he hissed. "this is not a funny joke."

"no, no, i'm serious!" lo'ak held his hands up in surrender. "you cannot tell mom and dad."

"how did she find you?" kiri asked urgently. "why was she out here?"

lo'ak shook his head, scooting closer to them and closing off the circle further. "she was riding. a stormglider."

neteyam shook his head, rolling his eyes. "you're lying."

lo'ak glared at him, swatting his shoulder. "no, i am not. she really was riding! they bonded without tsaheylu, just mutual need for each other. i swear on my life."

neteyam wanted to believe you were capable of something like that, yet he couldn’t bring himself to. not when he hasn’t seen you himself. “that’s…”

"where is she now?" tuk whined.

lo'ak turned his stern look to her. "probably back home by now. it was hours ago. you can’t tell anyone, okay, tuk?”

tuk launched herself at him, her grubby hands viciously tangling in his braids and pulling. “jerk! why didn’t you let us see her?!”

“tuk!? get off!”

kiri pulled her little sister off, hissing at her to quell her explosive anger. she then looked at lo’ak and sighed. “tell us everything.”

/

your knife chipped at the spare gas masks at the recoms' temporary base, searching and searching for the tracker. nothing. there was nothing. driving your knife further for the sake of releasing your frustration more than anything, you were uncaring as the clunk ... clunk ... clunk ... sounds echoed through the forest.

could nothing work out for you when it really mattered?

you groaned and settled for frying the circuits so nothing would work, tracker included. it wouldn't matter if one or two masks couldn't filter properly if you were switching them out anyway.

you knelt to the ground, rifling through your duffel bag for the masks you swiped from the RDA. you were about to switch them out when—

a undulating cry from the distance made your head snap up, the hairs on your skin raising. within the next second, an arm molded against your stomach, collecting you in their arms as they pulled higher into the air on their ikran.

"hey—!" you screamed, gripping the na'vi arm pressing into the plush of your stomach. you watched the ground and your plan drift further away from your grasp as the banshee soared higher.

you were wrestled up onto the saddle like a ragdoll, sitting behind the rider. you recognized his markings and beads, your annoyance spreading through your limbs as you held onto his waist a bit too tightly.

"tarsem..." you hissed lowly.

"tell me my eyes deceive me." he snapped back over the wind. "tell me that wasn't you at a devil camp."

you grit your teeth, your initial panic calming. despite the exhausted irritation you felt towards him, tarsem was still a familiar face. "relax, you don't know the whole story."

"you put yourself in danger!" he growled, momentarily turning back to give you an incredulous expression.

put off by his audacity, you refused to drop your glare. danger? at an unaccompanied camp? "look at who you're talking to!" you shot back, ire bubbling over.

"oh, i'm about to," he grumbled, communicating to his ikran to land. your grip tightened when you took a dip through the sky, skidding onto the nearby cliffs. you swiftly dismounted his banshee, storming off to survey the surroundings.

"don't walk away from me." tarsem sneered behind you, to no avail. "you cannot leave here without my help."

you scoffed at the blatant power trip. "i suppose that makes you happy?"

"no—" he cleared his throat, running after you and hovering at a respectable distance. "i do not mean to corner you. i meant you shouldn't try to climb down on your own."

you waved him off, covering your eyes to peer into the distance. would katir hear you from all the way out here? you stationed him an area where he would be safe from the omaticaya's hunt, but you were dubious your call would travel from the cliffside. another problem.

as if sensing your growing burn-out, tarsem placed a cool hand onto your shoulder. "y/n—"

you shrugged him off, "not now, tarsem." you mumbled, massaging your temples. how would you manage to pull of your plan now?

tarsem's mouth twisted, eyes set in angles. he clicked his tongue in distaste. "watch yourself, tawtute. your father is not here. i am your olo'eyktan."

you turned slowly, your last nerve snapping; an unnerving smile spread on your face in sharp contrast to the thoughts swirling in your head. "did you just pull rank on me?"

he stood tall against your quiet animosity, but your careful eye noticed the way he shifted on the balls of his feet. "you are part of my clan, and so it is my responsibility to look after you. prevent you from your... reckless curiosity."

you didn't have the energy to be offended. "you don't have to look after me, tarsem. if my weeks of absence weren't an indication, i'm not the clan's problem anymore."

he nodded slowly. "that... is actually why i came looking for you." he stepped forward. "i told you a half-truth yesterday. i do not wish for you to visit; i want you to return to high camp."

"i'm not going back," you answer instinctively, a dry laugh on your lips. "the people do not want me there."

"ah." he scoffed, shaking his head vigorously. "those are adults aging out of their influence. there is a new generation who would benefit from your example. they already look up to you against their parents' wishes—you shine too bright for them to ignore you. teach them your skill."

his praise wormed its way under your skin, making you more cautious of your words. "that's... a nice idea, but i'm more than content to keep my distance—"

"i'm not." tarsem cut in firmly, a deep frown on his face as he stepped into your space. then, softer, "i'm not content with you being away. i am clan leader now, and i will run my people as i please. come home. it is where you belong."

he was closer now, blocking the sun with his tall, lean figure. his shadow was a relief against the heat, but that was the only calming thing about his presence. his tone left no room for negotiation, and the finality of his voice riled up the annoyance that his compliments dulled earlier.

"i was doing something down there, you know." you pointed angrily to the camp below. "i was trying to save a friend. should i inform him he remains in the RDA's clutches because you wanted to goad me with your new title and status?"

he bared his teeth, circling you like a predator playing with his food. "i said watch yourself, tawtute."

"nearly two decades of wishing me gone, and when it finally happened, it's another issue?"

"srane. yes, exactly!" tarsem retorted matter-of-factly. "i mean—no, you are not a problem—"

you sighed. "i appreciate the offer, but i have every reason to avoid high camp." you rolled your eyes, turning from him and pressing your fingers to your comm. "spider—"

"don't walk away from me." tarsem interrupted, gripping your shoulder and spinning you back around.

"tarsem—"

whatever words came next were swallowed by katir's ear-shattering cry, his shadow drowning the cliff in darkness. tarsem's grip around you tightened, his free hand curling around his bow. your stormglider soared over the clifftop, descending to see you in his range of vision. you could see his eyes dart between you and tarsem. to be fair, it didn't look good—tarsem's hand around his weapon, imposing himself into your body, both of you having combative body language...

katir took tarsem as a threat, circling back around with his barbed tail poised for attack.

"run!" tarsem grabbed your bicep, yanking you to his ikran.

"wait, he's—" you grunted as he no less than chucked you on top his saddle, jumping on behind you and yipping his command to his ikran. "tarsem!" you yelled indignantly. why does he insist on disregarding you?

your protests fell upon deaf ears as tarsem maneuvered his banshee through hallelujah mountains. you attempted to squirm out of his arms.

"are you so stubborn that you would sooner die than accept my help?" he wrestled with you while trying to maintain tsaheylu with his ikran. "stay—would you just stay still—"

you whistled, waiting for katir to fall from his vantage point and rest at an altitude just below tarsem. finally worming yourself out of his grip, you leaped from his ikran. your stomach flipped as you dove through the air.

katir churred as he rose to meet you. you grunted when you landed on him, relief washing over you as you breathing in... and out... you smiled against katir's skin, rubbing his neck appreciatively.

"good boy, kitkat." you hummed, beaming when you felt him purr underneath your palm. "good boy!"

you and katir climbed to tarsem's height, flying comfortably beside him. a triumphant smile slowly spread on your lips upon seeing his shock.

his eyes trailed over you, then the stormglider you tamed. "...when i warned you about the slotsyal yesterday, did you already bond with it?"

"yeah." you grinned.

despite it all, he smiled too.

/

spider didn't respond to any of your calls, making your gut churn with unease. you knew he knew how to handle himself, but this was the longest you've gone without checking in with each other. how would you tell him that your plan fell through, and you had no answers for the next step?

the sun yawned and started to droop, bathing the forest in its orange-pink glow, the cool night breeze starting to overcome the heat of day. for the last few hours, you and tarsem talked about your plan for spider since your family left.

"it is admirable you would go out of your way for him," tarsem fiddled with the stem of a flower, his long legs folded and his torso reclined against the soft grass of a mountain top beside you. high camp was minutes away, far enough that no one would see you but close enough to zip back home before it gets too late. "and i know you are very skilled. i just fear for my life should i let you continue your pursuits and your father hears you've been injured. or worse."

"didn't you say my father isn't here?" you tease, casting him an amused look. "suddenly you are not olo'eyktan anymore?"

he whacked your shoulder with the flower with a playful glare. "i am olo'eyktan. but concerning you, jake sully has higher authority than me."

you rolled your eyes, your smile dropping. "not anymore."

tarsem's hands returned to his lap. he heard of the rift between you and your parents through rumor and gossip alone, but the effects of their departure on you were true across all accounts. "i'm sorry for... how everything happened."

you waved him off. "it's not your fault, just... circumstances and stuff."

"do you forgive him?"

"huh?" your head whipped to face tarsem, caught off-guard by the question.

forgiveness? you hadn't considered whether you'd grant it to or withhold it from your father in the slightest. the pain of abandonment stung, yes, but like the last 19 years of your life, you were expected to shoulder all your angst with a polite smile. from small things like every older sibling's experiences of tolerating the pests they call their younger brothers and sisters, to big things like honoring elders even though every other breath was spent trying to get rid of you.

it's why you were able to sit through that stupid medical checkup call with them without airing out your grievances, or breaking down from how happy and ... normal they seem without you.

so, no, forgiveness wasn't on your mind at all. you'd continue to play the part of responsible, strong, older sister as long as you live, but you figured for once in your life, you could allow yourself to feel this all-consuming whirlwind of emotion after your family left you behind.

"i don't know." you settled for an answer, avoiding his gaze.

tarsem's expression was neutral with a softness you remember from your childhood. he sighed, leaning over and slipping the flower into your hair.

"i will not force you to do anything," he began. "but i will ask you once again to come home."

"tarsem..." you mumbled, shaking your head gently, the warmth of his fingers lingering on your cheek long after he had pulled away.

"i know, i know. you don't think you should." he stood, stretching his arms over his head. "i'll keep asking. but you know how to find me if you do choose to return on your own." he adjusted his garments, fastening his knives back into their pockets. "you need people now more than ever, tawtute. and if the clan won't hold you in their hearts, i will."

you simply stared at him, returning his parting smile with one of your own and watching him mount his banshee and fly off into the night. what a way to reenter your life—with words soaked in charm that gained favor with the clan to begin with; with a heartfelt and stubborn sincerity that made him olo'ekytan.

you shook your head to yourself, the smile he left you with refusing to leave your lips. the sounds of the night comforted you as you snuggled into katir's side, his throaty chirp joining pandora's symphony. you climbed onto his back and flew to norm's base for the night, having a feeling that it might be your last.

…

thanks for reading! <3 IT'S BEEN SO LONG so lmk if you wanted to be removed from the taglist :)

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce@strawbaerriesvt@avatar-lover@ryiana@lxon-kxnnedy@zukki33@chalahyung01@ssc7514@shmaptainbonky@aureolinb@whosbibi2000@childishname@nen-nyy@moonchildxoxx @hdjfvnd @spqrkles @bigchungusdrinksspritecranberry @avatar4eva @sleepykittycx @jackiehollanderr @lovelygirl8 @akiraxmoon @thebipi @ghouliazinterlude @just-pure-trash @krys0210

© jsooly ‘25

[s0s1mple]

Hello love!!! I'm here to request an enhypen imagine where Reader and Jake are roommates and they've had feelings for each other for a while and Jake gets jealous so he confess to reader in the heat of a moment. Idc if it's fluff or angsty. Take your time, looking forward to your works♥️♥️♥️

Hello hello! My first non-Yandere req! We’ll see how good I am at this, but this sounds so cute ;_;

And They Were Roommates! - Sim Jaeyun

No TW, just fluff :))

Masterlist

———————

You and Jake came into this living situation by happenstance. In your junior year of college, the college decided it wanted to raise dorm living prices. They gave some bullshit reason for it, something about raising money for a new building or something, but everyone knew it was just greed. As consequence, you couldn’t afford it any more. So you needed an apartment, but the problem just so happened to be that paying for an apartment of your own accord was also not very viable. Cue looking for a roommate.

As it turns out, other students who were similarly out of housing ended up making a forum for roommate requests. You filtered through them, looking for someone you could work with. Nope, nope, nope, they rejected you, rejected again, and then someone finally said yes.

Sim Jaeyun, apparently. Jake, as he told you to call him through text. You didn’t really know what to expect with Jake, and to be honest you were a bit nervous. He had a major in the science department, had a dog back home, and… that was about all you knew. His Instagram, currently private, didn’t offer any help either. So as you knocked on the door, you were pretty pleasantly surprised to have an attractive face grinning back at you.

If anyone asked, no you did not instantly fall head over heels for his wide smile and crinkled eyes. Not at all.

No, that came later, when you realized exactly how sweet Jake was. Within the first day, he’d proven himself to you on a surface level. He’d helped you move in, asked tons of questions to get to know you, and even asked if you had allergies he needed to worry about. You told him accordingly, and he set out to make everything as welcoming as possible. And it really didn’t look like he was trying to impress either, more like it was just in his nature to be accommodating.

From there, you really got to know him. Jake was excitable, always finding something to be positive over or something interesting he wanted to share with you. He’d bound up to you as you rested on the couch, showing you some cute tik tok, but all you could focus on was the gleam in his eye and his cute little habit of vibrating around when he was pleased. Like his body was just so full of joy it had nowhere else to go.

Jake was also dependable. When you had issues with your projects, even if he didn’t understand it he was always quick to offer help. If you needed groceries you forgot? He was happy to keep you company. If you cried over some event in your life? He didn’t force his hugs on you, but he certainly opened his arms wide for you.

Really, as your five month room-iversary crept up all of a sudden, you realized you couldn’t really imagine life without the male. You also realized that you couldn’t stop your heart from thumping seventy miles an hour whenever he ran up on you at campus, casually throwing an arm around your shoulder and grinning that grin that had him sticking his tongue out just slightly. You’d roll your eyes, slapping at his arm and telling him some teasing joke, but really you just felt so warm in his presence.

It seemed like everyone knew how you felt about Jake but Jake. Your friends teased you about him, asking where ‘puppy-boy’ was when he wasn’t attached at your hip. Your parents constantly asked when you two would be getting together over the phone. Your professors, even, assumed the two of you were together when Jake took the time to drop off your bag because you’d rushed out the door.

But Jake never seemed to act any different from the first day you met. He was always friendly, always cuddly, always happy to be by anyone’s side… truthfully, you felt no different from anyone else. It was just through living condition that you happened to interact with him more than others, that was all.

That feeling crushed you, even if you pretended everything was alright. How awkward would it be if you let it get to you, right? If he found out you liked him and he didn’t like you back? You two were living together, after all.

So that’s why you went on a date. You had to get over this stupid crush. You downloaded a dating app, swiped right on a couple of people who looked like they probably didn’t kill their dates, and set a time and place. You put on your nicest, yet most casual clothes, fixed your hair, made sure you looked as attractive without looking like you tried as possible. It must have worked, because Jake did a slight double take when you entered the living room. He whistled, grinning and giving you a thumbs up. The attention might have usually made your stomach flutter, but with the circumstance of going on a date it just made you feel worse.

“Going to an interview?” Jake asked, lowering the volume on the television for a moment. You avoided his eyes and shrugged on a coat

“Mm, no. A date.” There was a small pause, a silence that went on just slightly too long. Your brows furrowed and you glanced Jake’s way as he began to talk again.

“Oh! A date. With who?” Jake was still smiling, sure, but for once his smile pulled strangely at the edges. His eyes weren’t crinkling.

“Um, just some guy… Tinder, you know…” You awkwardly chuckled, waving your phone slightly.

“Cool…” The silence felt oppressive. And yet you two just kept staring at each other. Jake finally cleared his throat and motioned at your hair. “Uh, you got something there…” His voice was just a tad too quiet, unlike him. You brushed your hand through it to try and fix it, but he shook his head. He bit his lip, looking awkward, and stood up.

“Here, let me? It’s just right- yeah, right here-” Your heart beat just a little faster as he approached, and even faster as he corded few fingers through your hair. He pulled out a stray string to show you, and looked for a moment for somewhere to throw it away before just clutching it in his fist and shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.

“Thanks.” You managed. You checked your phone. There was a text from your date. Apparently they were outside. You looked back up to see Jake also staring at your phone. “I gotta go then-“

“Don’t go.” Jake said at the exact same time. Another stretch of silence, your eyes meeting. Jake’s were wide, lips pressed thin, a displeased yet desperate shine in his gaze.

“What?”

“Don’t go on the date.” Then, a flicker of nervousness darted over his expression. “U-Um, you don’t know this guy, right? Dating apps aren’t the safest.” He trailed off, as if unsure. You studied him for a moment, feeling just as unsure.

“I mean, I guess, but I already agreed. I can’t just stand him up.” You really, really wanted to though. Even still, you took a step back, and then Jake was gingerly grabbing your wrist.

“Look just- just don’t go on some dumb date that doesn’t even matter to you. Ok?” This time his voice was firmer, a note of something I couldn’t decipher underneath it. Your eyes drifted between his and the fingers around your wrist.

“Why?” You stared at him expectantly, hoping for something, anything in return. Jake swallowed thickly.

“You deserve better than that.” He said the words cautiously. Then his eyes flickered to your lips and you finally, finally, knew what was really up. Hope swelled in your chest.

“Like you?” You asked just as cautiously. Jake’s brows lifted in surprise. A tentative, shaky smile appeared.

“Maybe.” The words were a little shy, and you felt like you could hug the male to death, overwhelmed with joy. Instead, you settled on sending a quick text to your date and finally leaning in to kiss Jake. You both smiled into it, the feeling of his lips against yours nearly euphoric, and Jake wrapped his arms securely around you like he had many times before. He pulled back and pressed his forehead to yours with a goofy smile. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re the best roommate ever?”

[gatheringbones]

being non-judgmental isn’t the same as refusing to take up a position or passively accepting everything that comes your way, if my position is that I care about you and I want to encourage your ability to make choices that safeguard your autonomy and well-being I will just keep asking more and more specifically targeted questions that move the conversation towards what does and doesn’t seem to serve those values: I am not a cop or a priest or your mother, I’m trying to be your friend.

[gloombat3]

My reasons/motivations to ☆ve <3

1. To wear anything I want and feel confident and pretty, not having to worry about how my outfits gonna look because sk1nny IS the outfit, even wearing the ugliest clothes.

2. To be able to tell I’m sk1nny even with baggy clothes.

3. To dress up for fun, to wear a cute outfit do my makeup and hair and everything for no reason, just because I know I look good and to feel genuinely confident. And take pictures!

4. This goes with the one above, taking pictures!! Taking pictures and actually liking them, feeling pretty in them, and to feel confident posting them since I look good.

5. To post myself and feel pretty in them and not delete it right after.

6. To go out wearing anything I want because I don’t want to hide my b0dy anymore I want to show it off! To want to show off how sk1nny I am.

7. To sit, stand, lay, or be in any position but not cover my tummy with my arms because in any angle I look sk1nny and pretty, to be confident in any way I move I still look th1n.

8. To not be afraid or embarrassed of myself, going out or hanging out with people. To not cancel on them because I don’t want anyone to perceive me, quite the opposite to WANT to go out because I WANT people to perceive me and how sk1nny I am.

9. For people to compliment me. For people to tell me how pretty I am and I know the reason why. For people to compliment my b0dy for example “your b0dy is tea!”

10. For people to ask if I’m okay, for them to worry. For people to ask me if I’ve e4t3n or to tell me I should e4t something.

11. For people to be jealous of how sk1nny and pretty I am.

12. To be the th1nn3st sk1nn13st person in the room or pictures. But VISIBLY. Not averagely th1n, to not be average or unnoticeable. To be NOTICEABLY sk1nny in any room that I’m the first person people look at.

13. Not only to be sk1nn13r than everyone else but to also have the most self control. In a setting where everyone’s e4t1ng, I’m the only one who isn’t or if anything I’ll only take a small bite because I have the discipline and control, and it makes me look delicate and petite.

14. The control, the discipline. To be able to resist and never regret.

15. If people insult how I look and they try to sk1nny shame me it’ll be a compliment, for example “you’re sk1n and b0n3s!” Is so validating and fueling.

16. People treating me nicer because I’m so delicate and fragile, doing things for me, pretty (in other words sk1nny privilege).

17. If I get rejected, I won’t be as hurt because I’ll be confident enough and know it’s not because of my looks because I’m sk1nny, I won’t worry about “they don’t like me because I’m f4t :(“ It’s their loss.

18. To feel cold all the time, it’s like feeling fragile, maybe even be offered a jacket. In a setting where everyone is hot and sweating but I’m shivering cold and they’ll be all confused and I’ll still look pretty from not sweating.

19. To want to look in the mirror and liking what I see. To not be afraid of showering or even changing clothes because I’m okay with myself being n4k3d, whether it be alone or with a partner, no shame or embarrassment. Instead, pride.

20. To regain my spark, being sk1nny makes me so happy and euphoric (especially while 🌟ving) I get more energized and have more personality since I’m not so depressed and h8 myself so much. Being sk1nny makes me less afraid to be myself because sk1nny people are always less judged.

21. To take a bite in front of other people and not feel gross and disgusting, big backed, because I’m still the sk1nn13st and it doesn’t make a difference, not feeling ashamed to e4t in front of people.

22. For people to question if I just have a really fast metabolism and maybe even ask, but it’s a secret 🤫

23. For people to question how I lost w8, or for them to simply comment “you look different.” Comments like “you look sl1mm3r.”

24. To be different than the rest since no one is as sk1nny as I am, and that gives me more attention, people are willing to listen more and to acknowledge you more.

25. For life to genuinely feel good. To feel good waking up knowing I have the b0dy I’ve yearned for and worked for. To have motivation to go through the day, not dreading the next.

26. To not only see myself look good in the mirror but from a first hand perspective, to look down and see my fl4t even c0nc4v3 tummy and overall th1n figure.

27. Having visible b0n3s. Even if I’m wearing a shirt or top, to have my r1bs still be visible.

28. To wear low waist pants or bottoms and look good and feel good, h1pb0n3s are the outfit. Even just by wearing fitting bottoms they’re still poking out.

29. To have visible ch3st b0n3s

30. To have visible shoulder b0n3s, this!!! It’s so pretty, wearing a tank top or any shoulder revealing top and they stick up.

31. To have protruding shoulder bl4d3s, any open back dress/top looks so good with them sticking out.

32. F4T FR33 T0RS0!!! Imagine!!! A fl4t tvmmy, c1nch3d w41st, no mvff1n t0p or anything, being confident wearing anything revealing/fitting, even crop tops or a bathing suit.

33. To go to the beach or pool! To be confident and sk1nny in a bathing suit and look so good, not being embarrassed and ashamed of my b0dy and comparing to other people.

34. IRL TH1NSP0!!! Anywhere you go being the sk1nn13st person is being irl th1nsp0, other people look and wish they looked like you.

35. Being my own th1nsp0!!

36. To not be scared of getting wayed at the doctors office/in general and feeling embarrassed.

37. Being the IT girl (or boy).

38. To have sl1m hands/fingers, any nail shape looks good even when it’s cut down to it’s shortest. Acrylics or fake nails look even better because having sk1nny hands only enhances it.

39. Th1gh g4p!!! To not have to stand a certain way so that it’ll be visible or show at all, at any angle it’s always seperated.

40. Th1n th1ghs, even sitting down they look sl3nd3r and not feeling self conscious about sitting and them getting huge.

41. Sl1m c4lv3s!!! At any angle they look th1n and not having bulky l3gs.

42. To not be bl04t3d.

43. To feel like I’m in an 4n4 film, pretending I’m the star who’s super sk1nny and it’s a doc about my life with it.

44. To be aesthetic no matter what.

45. Some people can be touchy, but not fearing they’ll be that way towards me, like a nudge or even accidentally touching my b3lly or w41st for example because if anything I’ll want them to feel my b0n3s and how sk1nny I am and hope that they even comment about it like “woah!”

46. To be picked up and not feel self conscious about what if they think I’m h34vy but instead be confident and enjoy it because I’ll know that they’ll feel how light I am, light as a feather.

47. Like above, but sitting in a crowded car/seat or a setting where everyone is shoulder to shoulder and not worrying they’ll feel my f4t, instead I can feel them bumping into my b0n3s and it feels validating.

48. To FEEL light, to walk with silent steps because my b0dy isn’t heavy enough for my feet to stomp loudly, to feel like I’m floating on a cloud all the time. Even while wearing heavy clothes or heavy shoes.

49. To feel my b0dy e4t1ng away at itself, to feel empty and petite, a growling b3lly is an applause rather than discomfort.

50. Simply to be sk1nny. Would solve 999 of my problems. To be happy. To be confident. To like myself. To like looking in the mirror. Not live in shame and guilt of over e4t1ng or b1ng1ng, to not repeat the cycle that leads me to the same dark place as always. To not feel pathetic and gross. To not h8 myself. To feel comfortable in my b0dy.

Don’t just imagine. Do it, live it.

“Nothing tastes as good as sk1nny feels” <3

[wormholxtreme]

Warm and comfortable, like the soft summer rain back in twelve. It wasn't just the water though, it was her. Her presence. Her aura. Everything about her screamed home. The hole in his chest that he kept trying to fill the last six years, fill with books, with baking, with doctor approved coping mechanisms, all of it felt like trying to shove gauze squares in a bullet wound. Yeah, it technically helped staunch the bleeding, but it wasn't effective, not really, not like being with her did.

Peeta brushed her hair back behind her shoulder, gently raking through the tangled braid with his fingers until he was satisfied it was undone. He listened as she described the way things had changed. The efforts they had done to make it a home again. He'd catch her eye when she smiled before keeping his attention at the task at hand.

"I bet you still hunt and keep the whole district alive with game." he said pointedly, knowing how easily Katniss was to brush off her integral position in twelve. She would never be a leader per se, that wasn't her speed. But she was a pillar. A foundation for everyone to lean on, to build on. Without her there wouldn't be a twelve to go back to, not just because his heart lied with her, but because so did so many others.

His head cocked to the side curiously. "My house?" it surprised him. There were so little homes in twelve to begin with, even less after the bombing. The idea of all those houses being left bare when so many people could have used them left something twisting hard in his gut. Then again, he knew they probably wouldn't have taken Katniss and Haymitch up on the offer even if they allowed the other homes to be used. Victor's Village was a curse as much as an honor and the people of twelve had reverence for that.

Instead, he focused on her question, a sly smile and his voice smooth as silk as he twisted his torso away from her.

"Katniss, how am I supposed to spend the rest of my life with you living next door? Seems counterproductive."

Katniss stiffened, just a little. It wasn’t that he was wrong. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel it too, that strange pull in her gut when the word pearl came up, like something important was brushing just beyond her reach. She hated that feeling. Like her own life was a half-finished puzzle. She glanced up at him through her lashes, "I can show you better than I can explain it...Its back in twelve" It wasn’t shy, exactly. Just... hers. Guarded, like most things in her heart.

Peeta made quick work of getting into the shower, letting Katniss have about two seconds of internal panic once he was fully situated inside. She felt overly exposed, nervous, like he was seeing too much for the first time. He wasn't and she really had no reason to ever be shy in front of Peeta, but she was.

Her shower at home didn't have all this, which meant that Peeta would likely want to stay at his house. Actually, they hadn't even discussed that yet. If he'd stay with her, or vice versa. The thought of seperate homes made her stomach drop, sudden and without warning. She had assumed so much of what their life would be like back in twelve...and it dawned on her that Peeta might not have the same wants or needs. Katniss settled next to him, letting the water now rain on them both.

"Everything" She answered softly, a hint of a smile. "Everything is....rebuilt. There's a town square now, more official than before" Where Gale had been tied to a post, where so much blood had been spilt. Katniss swallowed, forcing her smile to stay. "There is even a small park...it's nothing like the woods, no one still goes in them but...there's community. The hob, is, nicer but still" She didn't know how to explain it, "It still feels like home"

Katniss reached for the soap, needing something to distract herself as she felt the words on the tip of her tongue. Once it was in her hands, she motioned for him to turn slightly so she could wash his back. "I uh, kept your house....clean" She mumbled, her cheeks flushing. "...Are you...going to live there?" Her heart was hammering away in her chest, hard enough she was sure it might burst from her chest.

[ludolka]

“So what happens now?” An Activity detected gribeans fanfic

I’m going insane over @wren-kitchens ‘s fanfic based on my previous comic (it’s so good, everyone go read it now !! ) I had to write a continuation to it and finally give these two a happy ending. I hope it’s alright that I wrote this with your fic in mind, Wren 👉🏻👈🏻

Summary; Joel has a “talk” with Birdie then he gets his shit together to finally actually talk to Grian about his feelings, their situation and how to go forward

Word count; 3722

It took a while for Joel to be able to fall asleep. His eyes strung from crying and his head hurt like he was hungover. The constant dull burning ache on his chest ever since he “ended” things with Grian wasn’t helping. He briefly wondered if Grian’s symbol burnt like that too, if that was something that connected them. Before falling asleep he thought of Birdie, how this would change what was going on between them. A part of him just assumed he’d never see him again, that’d make sense with how closely Birdie and Grian were connected. He knew that if he did end up meeting Birdie again, he’d have to “break up” with him as well, he couldn’t continue having a relationship in his dreams with the man he just ended things with in real life. That’d hurt too much and wouldn’t help him move on. He just wasn’t sure how ready he was for a second heartbreak in the matter of a single night. He wasn’t sure how Birdie would take the news or if he had already known and how the whole symbol thing was going to play out moving forward. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to see Birdie for a while, he didn’t know if he had enough willpower to reject him as well, someone who was always so open about loving him back

He opened his eyes in the white void and sighed, collecting himself mentally before looking around for Birdie. And when he saw Birdie he knew this would go down a lot messier and more complicated than it did with Grian. Birdie was fuming, Joel hadn’t seen such raw fury on someone before. His eyes looked like they were actually glowing and his piercing stare felt like daggers. His usually light purple wings were a different shade of purple now as well, darker and more blue. Joel’s symbol burnt under his shirt

“You are an idiot! A cowardly idiot!”

He yelled and Joel flinched at the volume, the words were making his head hurt and spin. And seeing Birdie be so offensive instead of how passively defensive Grian was, it made Joel angry once again and get into an equally offensive position

“Cowardly? Me? Do you even hear yourself?! Tell that to him, he was being a fucking coward! I did what I had to do!”

Joel yelled back and took some steps closer, subconsciously trying to appear more intimidating by towering over Birdie. Grian looked so small and fragile earlier that night as he basically collapsed onto himself, but no matter how the two had the same height and build, Birdie looked anything, but small and fragile. He looked like he could take on a man double his size and win without breaking a sweat

“You didn’t have to do any of that! What the fuck was even your problem? Wanting your life back? Don’t make me laugh, how could you want honesty from him when you can’t even be honest yourself?!”

Joel’s eye twitched and he felt like punching him. Birdie’s condescending tone and intense eye contact sure felt like he was challenging Joel to punch him

“Yes, I want my life back! I can’t forever just be a fucking puppy, following him around everywhere! Where am I in all of this?! I don’t want to always push myself to the side and only take his feelings into consideration! I wanted to have an honest conversation with him, but he’s too much of a coward to even do that!”

Joel’s anger was rising with each word and he felt good letting everything out that he has been holding in for so long. Birdie’s wings were spread out and puffed up and he glared up at Joel

“Why are you telling me this?! Tell him! You want a conversation, but all you managed to tell him was that “you couldn’t do this anymore” and “it had to end”? Where’s the honesty in that?! You haven’t even tried to tell him about your dreams or your symbol or you going behind my back to get information on me from a stranger! You’re just as much of a coward as he is! I’m asking you once again, how can you expect honesty from him when you can’t be honest in return?”

Joel stopped for a moment, his mind freezing up. So Birdie knew about his conversation with Cleo, but hasn’t brought it up since then. And even in his anger, he had to accept Birdie had a point. It was like his words were directly put in Joel’s mind as they were, leaving no room for misinterpretation. But before he could make a rebuttal, Birdie continued, getting closer and jamming a finger into Joel’s chest

“You know he can’t be honest because of his shame for who he is. But you already fucking know who he is, who I am. Maybe you should have started with that instead of throwing a temper tantrum if you wanted a conversation”

Birdie wasn’t yelling anymore, but his unsettlingly calm and icy tone was somehow worse. Admittedly Joel hasn’t realized the thing that held Grian back was something he already knew and accepted. It just never clicked for him. And he wanted to yell something back, he wasn’t even sure what, just to get his anger out, but the next thing he knew he opened his eyes in his bedroom

He briefly thought about how this was the first time Birdie just kicked him out of his own dream, but his mind was too focused on what was going on in his body. He could barely breathe, he felt like he was suffocating as he sat up and hyperventilated while clutching his shirt. He has never had a panic attack before, but this was what one must have felt like. He genuinely thought he was having a heart attack and dying. His symbol burnt under his shirt

He let out a bitter, miserable laugh while still trying to even out his breathing, thinking about Cleo’s words of gods not taking breakups well and how this all felt like petty punishment for him choosing himself for once

Even after calming down and the suffocating feeling going away, this sinking feeling of dread didn’t leave him and the burning didn’t subside either. He felt awful, much worse than before he fell asleep. He was sitting outside on his balcony and picked up his phone to look at the time. It was 4:13 am. He wasn’t sure how long he’s been awake or sitting outside, just smoking one cigarette after another, but he still felt like exploding. He felt like he needed to do something, anything. Maybe go on a run or drive wherever the fastest he could before he ran out of gas or got pulled over for speeding

He kept looking back at his phone, his lockscreen being a stupid picture he took of Grian really not helping how he was feeling. He felt guilty, oh so guilty, but also completely justified. He was also very much missing Grian, regardless of how their last fight or his meeting with Birdie went. If they wanted to continue being friends or at least be on friendly terms, he should maybe at least apologize. Birdie’s words continued to ring in his head and he couldn’t help, but feel like he didn’t even give Grian a chance at a honest conversation, which he still wanted to have despite everything. The part of him that was still very much in love with Grian still held out hope that they could fix this. The other part of him hated himself for this

It took another half an hour before he called Grian. He didn’t just want to send him a text, that would have felt too impersonal. He wasn’t sure if Grian would even pick up so early in the morning, but his phone beeped after the fourth ring

“Yes?”

Joel bit his lip at how Grian sounded, so exhausted and emotionless. He was already regretting calling Grian, but he couldn’t just turn back now

“Hey. I wanted to talk”

He looked at the cigarette in his hand, the ash burning and dropping at its end while he waited for Grian to reply

“Alright”

Joel could feel his temper rising again, he hated how he was expected to do all the talking and explaining because Grian was upset and that made him not want to give more than one or two worded answers

“I wanted to apologize for yelling at you, but I stand by what I said. As much as I love you, I don’t like feeling like a side character in my own life. I can’t wait forever for you to make up your mind about what you want. I shouldn’t have yelled, but feeling so out of control over my own life made me explode”

“I’m sorry. I understand what having no control over your own life feels like, it makes one act out”

Joel hummed and he felt a bit surprised that Grian was willing to talk a bit more openly than before. Maybe Birdie was right about openly talking instead of yelling. He couldn’t help, but feel a bit annoyed at what Grian said though, Grian seemingly had perfect control over his life and everything went according to how he wanted it to

“I want you to be honest with me, but I’ve realized I need to be completely honest with you for that as well”

Joel could feel Grian’s nervousness over the phone, but he just gave an affirmative hum, signing to Joel to continue. Joel took a long puff of his cigarette before talking again, metaphorically ripping off the bandaid

“I know who you are. Or well not exactly, I don’t know details about who exactly you are, but I know enough. I know that you’re a vessel or a god, whichever, doesn’t matter, I know about the symbol on your thigh and I have the same symbol on my chest. It’s been burning all night. This is why you can’t be honest and open with me, right? Because of this?”

Joel tried to keep his voice as steady as he could. He wanted to go on and tell Grian about his dreams and Birdie and the kind of relationship they had, but he waited for Grian’s response first. Grian went silent for a while and Joel had to check he didn’t just hang up, but after a while he heard quick breathing. Joel briefly thought about maybe ripping the bandaid off wasn’t the best way to go about this, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much. If Grian still ran, then he’d let him and wouldn’t chase after him. He however felt some gratitude when the burning subsided a bit. He had to remind himself that while Birdie couldn’t necessarily talk, he was still always listening

“I- how- how do you know that?”

Grian’s voice cracked and it was now filled with a lot more emotion than before. Joel thought he sounded panicked and he had to hold his phone away from his ear a bit when the line loudly crackled

“You uh.. or well your god has been visiting me in my dreams for some months now. He told me who he was and gave me this symbol. I didn’t believe him until I woke up with it. He visited me tonight to yell at me then gave me a panic attack when I woke up”

Joel had an emotionless smile as he said that last sentence. He took a puff of his cigarette again as he waited for Grian to respond again. The whole situation seemed so absurd to him, with how casually he was talking about this. He really has come a long way, he really now thought of Birdie being a god as something completely normal and mundane

“I.. I can’t have this conversation over the phone. Could you come over?”

Joel noted how out of his element Grian sounded. He sounded so powerless and uncertain. This was also the first time Grian has asked Joel to come over to his place. They never went there, only to Joel’s. Joel has only ever been inside Grian’s place once and that was only for a short time with other people present. He thought for a bit, knowing this would only turn out bad with him going back on his word because Grian looked at him a certain way that made him feel bad, but he agreed in the end

In half an hour Joel was outside Grian’s door, knocking. He didn’t even bother to get changed from how he slept, he was in his boxers and just threw on a hoodie he found on the ground to not be shirtless at least. Grian opened the door and let him in, leading him in his room after he took his shoes off. Once sitting on his bed, Joel tried his hardest not to stare at Grian’s face, whose eyes were on the floor and who looked like he was grieving with puffy eyes and cheeks. And for once Joel didn’t want to be the one to start the conversation, so he waited until Grian spoke

“So.. you know. How long?”

His voice was still quiet and raspy and he refused to look at Joel

“Some months. But I’ve only known for sure for two weeks”

Joel felt so tired and powerless by that point, this night really has taken the fight out of him. But by the looks of it, Grian was feeling the same

“Why haven’t you told me?”

There was no accusation or emotion behind his question, but Joel could see his expression shift as he most likely tried to keep his feelings under control. Joel could even swear he saw Grian’s eye color change to purple for a second or two

“I wanted to wait until you told me. But I feel like that would have meant I would have had to wait until I died”

“He has been visiting you in your dreams? What is he like?”

Joel decided to ignore how Grian ignored what he said. He thought for a moment on how to answer that question

“He’s a lot like you, but more open and expressive. He looks like you too, just with wings and purple eyes. He loves me or well loved me, I don’t know anymore. I love him too”

Joel bitterly thought about that last part and sighed. He couldn’t just be expected to get over his feelings in a couple of hours, he knew how that took at least months. He slightly raised an eyebrow at the change in Grian at that. He finally looked up at Joel and furrowed his brows

“You love him”

Now that sounded accusing and Joel heard a hint of concealed anger behind it. He felt a bit confused why this part was upsetting Grian

“I do”

Joel kept the eye contact and Grian’s expression darkened. He got reminded of Birdie with the way Grian was staring at him, piercing eyes regardless of color

“Why? Why do you love him?”

Grian bit his lip to stop himself from saying more, but there was such anger and hatred when he referred to Birdie that confused Joel. Birdie always talked either in a neutral or positive way about Grian, always talking like while they were in different bodies, they were still one team. Grian sounded like even the thought of Birdie was venomous, like he was someone completely different and separate from himself

“Why, are you jealous?”

Grian glared at Joel before turning away again. He didn’t even need to say anything for Joel to know that was indeed the case. He found this rather amusing, he has had a conversation with Birdie before about cheating and boundaries and Birdie laughed at the concept of him being jealous of Joel kissing or doing more with Grian. Birdie asked Joel how could he possibly be jealous of himself, how silly that would be. So he took Grian’s chin in his hand and turned him to face him again

“Why are you jealous of yourself? He sees himself as an extension of you. I love him because he’s you. Besides, you can’t be jealous of who I love when you won’t even have me”

The irony of Grian being jealous while not even willing to kiss Joel when they are sober wasn’t lost on him. Not that he could blame him for being jealous like this, he himself would freak out if Grian told him he loved someone else. Grian glared at him for a bit longer before he sprung to action. He got his head out of Joel’s hold and leaned over to Joel, smashing their lips together. Joel was so surprised he didn’t even react, he just blinked. Grian pulled back after a couple of seconds and stared up at Joel with the same intense, angry eyes he saw on Birdie

“We aren’t drunk”

Joel breathed out the same thing Grian told him before. He was pretty sure Grian was sober at least and he himself had nothing to drink. The whiplash was strong with Grian’s actions and behavior. Maybe Birdie was right about this being the thing that held Grian back and now that dam is broken, the floodgates are open

“I don’t care”

Grian pulled Joel back, kissing him again and this time Joel kissed back. The kiss was full of hunger and raw emotion and Joel noted how much better it felt sober than drunk. His hands quickly found Grian’s sides, sliding his hands under his shirt to hold his skin and Grian’s arms were wrapped around Joel’s shoulders with his hands in his hair. They pulled away after a while for air, but didn’t move from their position

“I should make you jealous more often”

Joel laughed after his panting died down and Grian kissed him again

“Don’t you dare”

Was said between kisses and Joel was so caught up in the feeling and the sensation of the situation that he didn’t even realize his symbol has completely stopped burning

-

He woke up some hours later in Grian’s bed with Grian’s body pressed close to his. He yawned and when he looked over, he saw Grian was already awake and looking at him

“Mornin’, princess”

He gave a light squeeze to Grian’s waist where one of his arms were and he looked back up at the ceiling, his head resting comfortably on the pillow. He felt a bit awkward and uncertain, he wasn’t sure how this morning would play out after the rollercoaster ride last night was. He was half expecting Grian to go back to their old dynamic and pretend like nothing happened. He felt like he could cry at that very real possibility. He wasn’t sure how he could go through with breaking things off again after everything that was said and done last night, he wasn’t sure if he had the willpower for that, but he knew he wouldn’t survive going back to only drunk kissing when he now knew what the real deal was like

But before he got too deep into his head, he felt Grian nuzzle his face against his neck

“I can hear you think, stop it. It’s too early for that”

Grian’s muffled voice sounded much more like his usual voice than last night’s. Joel slightly smiled at the teasing before he furrowed his eyebrows and turned his head in Grian’s direction. But before he could say anything, Grian beat him to it

“No, I can’t actually hear your thoughts. I’m not a mind reader, you know”

That wasn’t exactly convincing and Joel furrowed his eyebrows more when Grian lifted his head and giggled at him. He relaxed a bit and just stared at Grian for a bit, whose giggling has died down and he tilted his head to the side. Things felt so familiar and comfortable like before, but now without that dull suffocating feeling that always followed. It felt like the veil was lifted

“So what now? How do we go forward?”

Joel didn’t feel like having a repeat of last night’s conversation with Grian playing dumb and oblivious. He desperately hoped Grian was willing to openly answer this question now without the games

“Well, how do you want to go forward? I’ll have you if you’ll have me. If that’s still what you want. You matter in this equation too, I shouldn’t make this decision myself”

Joel felt like he could cry happy tears at that answer. Not only was Grian finally being direct for once in his fucking life, Joel also felt like he had a say in what happened. He felt like he could get on his knees to thank both his past self for that initial phone call at 5 am and Birdie for yelling some sense into him

“I want an actual relationship”

Grian nodded, but he seemed a little uncertain, his previous confidence flailing a bit. He bit his lip as looked at Joel. But for once Joel didn’t take this uncertainty as a sign for rejection, he thought they were past that

“I haven’t been in a relationship before”

Joel couldn’t help, but laugh and Grian looked away, flustered and clearly embarrassed. He pulled Grian closer. He wouldn’t have known how inexperienced Grian was in relationships based on how Birdie acted, Birdie’s nature seemed to be of a spoiled needy boyfriend’s

“That’s alright, baby, I have. I’ll show you how to do it”

He teased and laughed again at Grian getting redder at the nickname. Grian just watched Joel calm down from laughing and he had such a soft expression that Joel felt like he was falling in love all over again

“Alright, then boyfriends it is. But don’t expect me to be all lovey dovey and romantic”

And with that Grian leaned in and kissed Joel. It wasn’t like the ones from last night or when they were drunk. It was gentle and simple. Joel couldn’t understand how they had to make things so difficult for themselves for months, dancing around each other when it could have been this simple the whole time

“Boyfriends it is”

[darkwitchoferie]

Roommate Chan

Summary: You and your best friend/roommate Chan have a close relationship. The kind that your other friends think is weird and chases off potential romantic partners. You share a bed when one of you can’t sleep, which is often, but one night, you think he kisses you. When he denies it, you decide it’s time to pull away for your own mental health.

Cw/tw: non-idol!au, hurt/comfort, heavy on the comfort, a little miscommunication (sort of), gn!reader

WC: 1.3k

A/N: I am a little sleep deprived myself, so apologies for anything that doesn’t make sense.

You’d been roommates with Chan for the better part of the past year, though you’d been friends for longer. Your relationship with each other was interesting, at least your other friends thought it was. For you, it was just the way it was. You were both affectionate people and that spilled over onto each other often. You’d cuddle during movie nights, share long hugs when you both got home from work, it wasn’t uncommon for one of you to walk past the other and run your fingers through the other’s hair. It had, unfortunately, chased off more than one relationship.

The one thing your other friends didn’t know, because it never came up not because you were actively hiding it from anyone, was that the two of you often shared a bed. You were both horrible insomniacs and had learned within the first week of living together that you were both able to easily fall asleep in the same bed. It wasn’t every night, but more often than not, one of you would wander into the other’s room and climb in bed. There was no hesitation anymore and neither of you bothered to ask permission anymore either.

Which is what was going on on a stormy Tuesday night. Storms made it easier for Chan to sleep, but not you, so you were half expecting him to be asleep already when you shuffled into his room.

“Hey, sweets,” he smiled up at you, lifting his blanket for you to climb in beside him.

“Hey Channie,” you returned his smile, snuggling close to him, feeling the heat from his bare chest. You laid on your side, nearly pressed chest to chest, arms over each others’ middles, your knee slipped slightly between his thighs. You were both quiet, comfortably so, not feeling the need to talk.

Just as you drifted off, you swore you felt him press his lips to your forehead.

When you woke the next morning, silencing your phone alarm, Chan was already out of bed. That wasn’t unusual – he was often out of bed before you. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, fingertips pressed to the top of your forehead where you were sure you felt him press his lips. He’d never done that. That was the one line neither of you crossed – no kisses, not even on the cheek. You didn’t know why. You’d have been okay with it. It was just not part of your relationship, you supposed.

In the kitchen, you found Chan preparing breakfast for you both, whisking eggs together for omelets.

Quietly, you stood in the archway to the kitchen, just watching him and trying to decide if you should bring it up.

“Everything okay, Y/N?” he asked without turning to look at you.

“Can we talk about you kissing my forehead?”

“Excuse me?” Chan glanced at you, confused.

“Just before I fell asleep – you kissed my forehead. I felt it.”

“Mm, no I didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Think I’d remember doing that. You must’ve dreamed it,” Chan didn’t look at you, continuing to prepare breakfast as if everything was normal. There was nothing in his voice or posture to suggest he was lying.

You let it go. Maybe he was right. Maybe you had imagined it. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d fantasized about having more with your best friend. Though you’d never admit it to your other friends, that was the actual problem with how close of a friendship you had with Chan. You’d already had a crush on him before moving in together and being that close made it worse.

You were preoccupied all through your morning routine and your work day. You weren’t sure what to do. If Chan was right – and you had no reason to think he’d lie to you – then your fantasies had gone too far. You had to reign yourself in before you made a fool of yourself and wrecked one of the best friendships you’d ever known. By the time you arrived back at your shared apartment, you’d resolved to put a little distance between the two of you, bring your relationship down to a more ‘normal’ level of closeness.

You went straight to your room after work, not waiting in the living room for him like you normally would. When he came home, half an hour later, he found you on your bed reading a book. You were friendly, asked about his day, shared about yours, but you didn’t move in for a hug like usual. You had dinner together, takeout that you’d ordered. You sat across from each other at the kitchen table, talking about mutual friends and tentative plans for the weekend. When you passed behind him, taking your utensils to the sink, you didn’t comb your fingers through his hair.

That night you slept fitfully, the way you had before discovering a full night’s sleep was possible in Chan’s bed. But you’d done it for years before moving in together and you’d been fine. You could survive this.

~*~*~

You were dying. Probably. No, definitely. Death imminent. It had been a full week since you’d pulled back from Chan. A full week of not sleeping well, of the barest physical contact between you both, of the hurt look in his eyes when you pulled away from him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why, just looked sad. Sometimes he looked at you like he missed you, despite you being right there.

But you understood the feeling. You missed him terribly. Your body ached for him in a way you didn’t fully understand. You’d never been that physically affectionate with a friend before moving in with Chan, you should have been able to go back to normal. Instead you felt like hell. Like you had the flu but without the cough or stuffed nose. Your head ached, your body ached, you felt miserable. You were scheduled for a doctor’s appointment in two days to get sleeping meds again, despite the way they left you feeling throughout the day.

You lay on your back in bed, staring at your ceiling, tears leaking down your temples. You hated this, but what else could you do? Your fantasies had gotten too far, obviously, you had to do something to make it stop.

Your door creaked open as a soft knock sounded against the door frame. Chan stood framed against the dimness of the dark hallway for a moment before stepping in.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, moving closer to you. “I didn’t mean to do it. I mean, I wanted to, I just didn’t really decide to do it. It just sorta… happened.”

You blinked rapidly at him, adjusting to what he was telling you. “You did kiss my forehead?” He nodded. “So… you lied to me?”

“Yes. But more because I was lying to myself and hoping not to ruin our friendship at the same time. Which I guess I did anyway.” You could see tears building in his eyes. “I knew if I kissed you once, I’d be lost,” he confessed softly, twisting his fingers in the fabric of his boxers.

“Come here, you idiot,” you held out your hand, tugging him into your bed when he got close enough. “Kiss me for real. Then we'll get some sleep and talk more in the morning.”

“You... you want me to kiss you?” he tilted his head, adorably confused.

“I always want you to kiss me,” you said softly. “I thought I’d fantasized too hard, Channie. Wanted more too much.”

“Oh,” he breathed out. He shifted, making himself comfortable on his side, before a hand came up and cupped your cheek. For just a moment, he stared at you, wonder in his eyes. Then he leaned in slowly, eyes fluttering shut just before his lips found yours. You sighed into the kiss, your own hand sliding up his chest and resting over his heart.

[procrastinating-story-writer]

Crashlanding Hedgehogs

Chapter Two

Chapter One

Credit for image: Link

Dividers by @jays-cave-of-rp-memes

Chapter summary: Doing a nice deed should not have come with you nearly losing your life. Hedgehogs are assholes.

Warnings: Reader curses when under stress.

Who knew acting like a Samaritan would result in you having a busted lip, aching ribs, and singed hair.

Stupid, fucking, anthropomorphic hedgehog and dam you're bleeding heart. When you brought him into your home last night, he was out cold. You managed to carefully take the debris out his quills and set him up in the guest room.

Throughout the night you made sure to check in, yet he never moved from where he was placed.

The shock of your life came the following morning, whilst brewing a cup of coffee; a beam of red light hit the window in front of you. This caused the singed hair, the glass to shatter, and your kitchen blinds to catch on fire.

You quickly ripped them down. There is no way you'll allow your house to go up in flames.

The morning was turning into a clusterfuck of events that you were not ready for.

You, like any rational person, thought to be under attack, grabbed the first thing to protect yourself - a frying pan.

Another beam shot at you as you turned. Again, like a miracle or just good reflexes, dodged and dived for cover.

"Stop attacking me!"

Off goes another beam, more shattered glass. The busted lip came as a foot connected to your face when you turned the corner of your island.

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

Having enough of being attacked, you started throwing every pot, pan, utensil you could get your hands on and at the same time trying to find a way outside.

The opportunity presented itself after the hedgehog who could teleport appeared behind you, sending you flying towards the backdoor, after a hard kick.

You have never exited a door so fast in your life, the frying pan clutched tightly in hand. Every curse word known to man left your lips, annoyed about everything.

"I SHOULD HAVE LEFT YOUR UNCONCIOUS ASS OUTSIDE! I WAS ONLY TRYING TO HELP. IS THIS HOW YOU REPAY A GOOD DEED!? YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE!"

The dive off the back porch would have made any athlete swimmer jealous as you dodge another beam.

You painfully landed on your stomach, wind knocked out of you.

Sadly, the chase came to an end when a foot pressed down on your back, pinning you to the ground. How can he be so blasted heavy? Your lungs hurt... it was hard to breathe.

"Who are you?"

The deep, cold voice above you caused your brain to glitch a bit before you remembered this was the enemy.

"Get off me!"

the foot pressed down further "You're not in a position to make demands."

You whimpered out your name.

"Where am I and how did I get here?"

"You're on the planet Mars and you so happened to crash land in my backyard."

"This is not Mars and continue to piss me off and I'll paint the grass red with your blood."

Well fuck and he meant it too.

"Look, all I know is that you fell from the sky last night, crash landed in my yard, and I took you inside and cleaned you up. You're in London, on Earth, and I seriously mean you no harm."

Silence passed "yet you've armed yourself with a weapon."

You groaned at the sheer stupidity of it all "buddy! you attacked me first and if you must know this is a frying pan, a cooking tool. It is not a weapon."

It felt like forever, but the foot finally came off your back. Rolling over, you took in a gulp of air, praying that he would go away and leave you alone.

A shadow hahaha appeared over your face. Oh great!

Opening your eyes, red orbs looked into yours. He looked kind of adorable if it wasn't for the scowl on his face nor the attack on your life.

Before you could say anything else, he teleported away. It left you dumbfounded. Was it safe for you to move? Will he return? Well, now what?

It took some time for you to move but when you did and the adrenaline leaving your system, all the aches and pains appeared.

Standing to your feet left you wheezing, head and side throbbing and vision spotted. The walk inside slow and painstaking.

The frying pan was left abandoned in the sand. You didn't see the pair of eyes that observed your sorry state.

"Time to check on the damage to my kitchen and cancel that project. There is no way in hell I'm getting that done in time. Stupid fucking hedgehog."

[in-silver-lake]

HIII ELLIE. OKAY SO HERES MY MESSY BRAIN BLURTING OUT A POSSIBLE VERY BAD REQUEST IM SORRY BEFORE HAD ILY. OKAY SO A VERY SAD ANGSTY DEPRESSING FIC WHERE LIKE BILLIE FINDS OUT ABOUT WHATEVER WITH READER ON A RANDOM DAY BY ACCIDENT WHEN READER TRIED TO HIDE IT AND COMFORTS. VERY VERY DEPRESSING, OKAY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU TALENTED BEAST

the world's a little blurry

cw: okay this one's heavy, mentions of sh (nothing graphic, just heavily alluded to), self hatred, just bad thoughts, billie does her best and is just sweet and loving.

a/n: okay, please please please do not read if it's going to harm your mental health, remember that sometimes all it takes is a reminder of that headspace to trigger you. i've been on this tumblr community for a while now, and you are all such sweet sweet people, so please take care of yourselves. people fall to sh for so many different reasons, and it can come in so many different forms. remember that anything you are feeling or experiencing is always valid and always important. also, alice - you're the sweetest, tysm for your support ❤️

i tried so hard to hold out, i really did. when the creeping weight started to settle on my chest again, slowly but surely crushing me with a quiet sort of cruelty, making my feet drag with every step, i tried to fight it. but soon even simple things, like getting myself out of bed in the mornings, like washing my hair, felt much too difficult. when i felt my mind grow heavy and my chest tighten, i tried to command myself to breathe. when i talked to people, it felt mechanical, detached, as if i was pretending to be myself, going through the motions and checking off tick-boxes to make sure i was scoring well on the i am okay scale. on the nights i couldn’t summon the energy to pretend anymore, i made sure to stay with billie, clinging to her on the couch, standing with her in the kitchen while she cooked, never letting myself be in the house alone.

i tried, so desperately, not to succumb to nagging voice in the back of my head that grew louder and louder as the days dragged on: you have no right to feel like this, it sneered, this is pathetic. you’re such a burden. my weak attempts to chant back the positive affirmations my therapist had taught me as a teen - i am good enough, i am allowed to feel this way - were pitiful, laughable.

it was a completely normal day when i finally caved. billie had left for some shoot, telling me about it excitedly as she got dressed, but i couldn’t seem to hear her. everything around me was out of focus, hazy, and so very far away. it all seemed to press in on me at once, leaving me no room to breathe, and i craved the sharp, familiar clarity. so, overwhelmed with hatred for myself with what i was about to ruin, with the way i was about to throw out years of hard work and healing, i gave in.

i didn’t hear billie come home, didn’t hear her call out my name as she walked up the stairs to our bedroom. i was sitting on the cool tile of the adjoining bathroom floor, leant against the white cabinets, stuck in a sort of daze, focused on the feeling of the smooth white bandage wrapped tightly around my thigh. 

too late, her excited chatter reached my ears as she walked into the bedroom, “you’re not gonna believe who i saw today-”

she abruptly cut off, and i looked up to see her staring at me with wide eyes, her lips slightly open, breath stolen from her lungs, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“...baby?” she asked, her voice shaking, uncertain and unsettled.

i had no energy left to try and scramble to hide, to pretend for any longer that the blackness i felt coating my insides wasn’t slowly poisoning me. tears sprung to my eyes, shameful and disappointed.

“i’m sorry,” i choked out, breath hitching in my throat, “i’m sorry billie, i’m so, so sorry-”

she was immediately next to me, arms around me and gripping me tight, hugging me fiercely as if she was scared i would fade away and disappear otherwise. her lips pressed a long, shaky kiss to my temple, and i felt my skin dampen with her warm tears. my hands laid at my sides, no longer sure how to accept her affection.

“i love you so much, baby,” she spoke into my skin, and all of a sudden i couldn’t take it anymore. i couldn’t take feeling like this alone, and so i broke down. everything hit me as i sobbed into her shoulder, and my arms finally reached up to grasp desperately to the back of her hoodie. i struggled to breathe through the suffocating weight on my chest, on my heart, through the crushing disappointment i felt in myself, through the voice in the back of my head telling me even then that i didn’t deserve her love. 

she only gripped me tighter, holding me as i cried. she didn’t try to move once, not even to alleviate the discomfort kneeling on the cold, hard tile was surely causing her. eventually, she lifted her head to look at me and brought a hand up to gently rest against my face, stroking her thumb back and forth along my reddened cheeks, making no attempt to wipe away my tears. she clasped my hand, holding it against her chest tightly. 

her eyes were glassy, pleading with me as she whispered, “baby, please. let me in, let me help you. i can’t watch you struggle alone in this anymore.”

“i’m - i’m not even sure how i got here. nothing happened, y’know?” i started. my words scratched my throat as they came out raspy, tired, “i just - lately everything’s been too much to deal with, and i could feel myself shutting down, but i couldn’t stop it no matter how hard i tried. and i tried, please, i promise i tried.” fresh tears pricked at my eyes, the shame and disappointment i felt in myself overwhelming, crippling.

“i couldn’t handle it anymore, so i…i did the only thing that i thought would bring me a moment of peace.”

i heard her draw in a sharp breath as she raised our clasped hands to press a lingering kiss into my skin, her hand trembling slightly. she closed her eyes for just a moment, as if to process what i had said, before she lifted her lips from my skin, opening her eyes again to search mine. 

“but - billie, it’s just made me feel worse than before,” i breathed, breath hitching in my throat. 

“oh, baby, c’mere,” she beckoned, her voice breaking as she spoke. she drew me into her chest as i continued to sob, unsure of everything around me, of my own mind, but desperately clinging to billie’s familiarity, her warmth, her love. 

i eventually pulled away, meeting her teary eyes with my own.

“don’t say sorry,” she said, her voice soft, but firm, and only shaking slightly. She brought her hand to the back of my neck, leaning her forehead down to touch mine. 

“i love you, i love every part of you. i never want you to hide this from me, to feel alone in it.”

we stayed like that for a few moments before she pulled away and reached out to help me stand. wordlessly, she began to undress me, tugging my shorts down so, so slowly, giving me time to move away if i felt uncomfortable. she grasped the hem of my shirt and raised it above my head, her eyes never straying from my face. she reached over to turn the shower on, letting the steam fill the room as she undressed herself and led me under the warm stream. 

she reached for the shampoo, pouring a little onto her hand before she started to massage it into my scalp. my eyes began to close as i gave into exhaustion, and the emotional toll of the last half hour, of the last month, caught up with me. i let her take care of me as she rinsed the shampoo from my hair, let myself breathe as her hands gently brushed my neck as she did so, sighed with every soft kiss she pressed onto my temple and every delicate swipe of her fingertips against my face. not once did she glance down at my bandaged thigh, and for that i felt so incredibly grateful. 

eventually, we stepped out, and she carefully dried me with one of our softer towels before she pulled a clean, warm hoodie over my head and thick sweatpants over my hips. she walked me over to our bed and laid me down, pulling me into her chest and wrapping her arms securely around me as she held me close. 

“we’re going to figure this out. i’m here for you always, baby,” she said, her words tight with worry but thick with love. i just laid there as i breathed in her scent and absorbed her touch. the heaviness was still in my chest, but with it sat the warmth of her care, of her love. a sense of peace that i hadn’t felt in days settled over me, her hand gently stroking my hair the last thing i felt before i fell into a dreamless sleep.

[quinloki]

For the asks for fic writer's if it's okay I'd like to know

Where do you get your inspiration from?

And what is the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic?

Please 😁

Where do I get my inspiration from?

Gods, this is going to sound so fucking corny, but I honestly get it from the community more than anything else.

They'll just have to forgive me for the tags, but @lyndsyh24 was the first person I really connected with. Her Government Mandated AU set up grabbed me by the throat and I'm still in her debt for letting me play in it. Her writing has such emotion in it too, and it's soft - it helps keep me balanced in all my messy kinky glory XD

@hannahbarberra162 is an amazing writer, who has also inspired me, incidentally or otherwise, and Solicitude wouldn't exist without her. Often intense, her stuff just kind of forces you to pay attention, I love all of it!

@standfucker is another incredible talent and we're close friends. I have the massive benefit of their thoughts and support (and I owe a commission to them, too, but we're getting there XD ) Zen gets elbow deep in the muck and guides you through it so well, I can't get enough of it.

@kazieai doesn't write, but she's been an amazing friend and as much as I've pulled her down into Marco Land XD she's inspired me as well. A lot of stuff Kaz and I talk about ends up shaping stories I write and stories I have planned.

@swampstew-stories and @icy-spicy are feral, talented, high-energy people who pulled me up into their energy and I love their writing lots, but it's their PASSION that always keeps me rolling.

Gods, there's just so many people, some I don't even really talk to anymore because it's impossible to vibe with everyone, but I still appreciate the things they did that helped inspire me.

@mandiemegatron's self shipping gives me courage to explore that which opens more avenues in my x reader work.

@mew-ya's incredible OC Maren and just Everything About Them As a Person leaves me blessed to know them - but I'm also constantly inspired by them too.

I cannot tag the like 300 other people, but honestly, it's this community - here on tumblr, in a handful of discords, over Wattpad and Ao3 - I am driven to try and inspire people because it's the absolute least I can do to give back to so many wonderful people.

@fanaticsnail, @sheerxfiction, -- Hell, @nagumoan and I aren't even in the same fandoms and she's an incredible inspiration to me.

I CANNOT LIST YOU ALL BUT OMFG I AM SO GRATEFUL FOR THIS COMMUNITY YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

And what is the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic?

^^; I mean, I'm pretty constantly researching sex toys and positions to make sure that what's in my head is either feasible or at least mostly possible.

Outside of that I can't really say I even research much... I did make sure I read up on boats so I got the starboard, aft, keel stuff the right way. But mostly I'm just kind of out here winging it ^^;

Asks for fic writers.

[doumidas-whumps]

a particularly hot august afternoon

Port weeds the yard.

cw: heat exhaustion, pet whump, small warning for emeto

solitaire masterlist

---

“Port.”

He plunged his spade into the earth, feeling for the roots.

“Port!”

Porter shut his eyes. Let the frustration pass. Deep breath. “What is it, Sonny?” he asked in his most even voice. This was probably the third time Sonny had called to him, standing cautiously in the doorway like there was an invisible wall preventing him from stepping into the sun. There might as well be.

“You should really get inside. The thermostat says 98.”

“I’ll come in once I finish.”

“At least grab a drink of water?”

“I’m alright,” Port dismissed. “I had some earlier.”

Port was no longer looking in Sonny’s direction. He only heard the door shut.

He tore the dandelion out of the ground and threw it with the others, mud still clinging to its spindly roots. Port tugged at the glove on his hand, adjusting it. Damn thing didn’t fit right, with his missing finger and all. The flopping rubber drove him crazy.

He wiped at his brow with the back of his forearm, hand occupied with the spade. Didn’t help much, considering every inch of skin was just as moist with sweat. Probably just rubbed grit around.

Mr. Oz had told him to get rid of the weeds, so that was what he was doing— and by God would he get all of them. He’d scorch them off the face of the Earth if he could, but in lieu of that, he’d dig each one up one-by-one like any normal person. 

It was really, really hot out. The Texas sun was unforgiving, prickling the back of his neck. A slick layer of sweat had long since formed under his collar. His shirt stuck to his back. His socks were soaked inside his shoes.

He stood to make for the next patch of dandelions when the world seemed to turn around him. He blinked for a moment, trying to be rid of the spinning. His head pulsed, and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. The idea of a cold drink sounded real appealing, now.

I’ll get this next patch, then I’ll take a break, he decided. He knelt by the flowers and carved around each one, ripping them up and throwing them onto the pile. Their yellow heads flopped haphazardly on the ground.

He heard Sonny call again just as he pulled up the last one.

“I know, I’m coming,” said Port.

He stood, clumsily, legs like jelly. He let the spade fall from his fingers, burrowing upright into the soft dirt. He would get it later. He took an unsteady step, feeling uncomfortably aware of how precarious it was to keep balance on two feet. His head swam at the motion. He could see Sonny’s relieved face through the black spots in his vision. He made to step over the pile of dandelions—

He needed to sit down.

His legs folded under him, settling into a kneeling position almost as familiar as breathing. He was on the ground, he was safe, he

He was

He was squinting into the sun when something eclipsed his vision. Sonny’s tan face, his furrowed brow. His mouth was moving, voice like it was underwater. “Christ, are you okay?” Sonny asked, frantic. “You need to get inside, now.”

“I am,” he mumbled.

“Get up!” The sun was back in Port’s eyes and Sonny was tugging at his arm. The idea of standing was too intimidating, and his stomach was flipping over itself, so Port decided to crawl on his hands and knees towards the front door, far beyond caring about the cleanliness of his ratty jeans.

“Whatever gets you inside, man,” Sonny said above him. He went ahead of Port, nudging the door open for him. Port crawled onto the doormat, onto the hardwood, and all the way to the kitchen.

When he got to the sink he reached up and grabbed the edge of the counter to hoist himself up. He realized how sore he was. Everything ached, beginning with his stiff fingers. His muscles pulled tight as he stood. Leaning heavily against the counter, he cranked the handle of the faucet and stuck his head under without a second thought. 

It sort of felt like he was being waterboarded, but the water was blissfully cool as he drank from it. He gulped as much as he could before too much water ran into his nose and he had to come out for air, coughing. The water sloshed and settled uncomfortably inside of him. His stomach clenched.

He doubled back over the sink and threw it all up. It was entirely liquid. He spit into the basin. 

Port jumped as something wet touched the back of neck, below his collar. He turned and realized it was Sonny, who had given him a soaked paper towel. It dripped down the back of his shirt along with the water off his hair.

Sonny disappeared for a second to pull a chair over. He put it behind Port.

“Sit down,” he said.

Port sat. He breathed heavily, head low, as he watched water drip off the hair hanging in front of his eyes. He realized he was still wearing his gardening gloves and slowly peeled them off.

He saw Sonny turn the faucet on to wash the sick down the drain and felt the back of the chair shift minutely as Sonny braced himself against it. “What in the actual hell is wrong with you?” 

“Wh… What do you mean?” Speaking was a chore. He let the gloves drop to the floor. The tile was already littered with mud and water.

“It’s a hundred degrees out there, man!”

Port blinked water out of his eyes. A drop broke and ran down the bridge of his nose. “He told me to get rid of the weeds.”

“So you’ll do whatever he says, even if it kills you?”

“I guess so.” 

Sonny had nothing to say to that.

Port was feeling slightly revitalized by the coolness on his neck. “That’s what we’re here for. To do what he says.”

“Yeah, well. You can’t do what he says passed out in the dirt, now can ya?”

Port pushed away the wet hair plastered to his forehead. “Could I get some water?”

“I’ll fill a glass. You don’t feel like you’re gonna hurl again, do you? Or... or seize, or anything?”

“No, no.” He took the glass gratefully. “Thank you.” He sipped from it, slower this time. It was delicious.

“You look like you’ve got some color back,” Sonny commented.

Port felt something tickle on his arm. He thought it was more water, until he felt it tickle more persistently. He looked down and realized a snail was crawling down his bicep. He put his finger in front of it, coaxing it to climb on.

He lifted the tiny snail for Sonny to see. “Look. I brought a snail in.” 

Sonny’s eyes brightened. “Can I hold it?”

Port deposited the snail onto Sonny’s open palm. 

“Snails are cute,” Sonny said.

“They’re little bastards, is what they are. They like to eat holes in the tomato plants.”

Sonny seemed scandalized at this. “It’s just the ecosystem,” he defended.

“It’s—“ Port had a realization. “You… you went outside.” Their master had forbidden him from stepping out of the house, and yet…

Sonny rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Under shitty circumstances.” He fidgeted with his shirt. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think about it. You won’t tell him, right?”

“Of course not,” Port assured.

“My socks…” Sonny lifted his foot to look at the bottom of it. Soil and mulch had turned the white sock to brown. “He’ll know I went out.”

“Change them and he’ll have no idea,” Port said. “You know he doesn’t touch the laundry. Just don’t track that on the carpet.”

“I feel like he’ll know somehow.” Sonny ran a hand through his hair, halfway tugging at it. “What if he has cameras out there? Oh, God. I’m gonna freak out.”

Port repressed a sigh and rubbed at his face. “Don’t freak out. Pet the snail if it makes you feel better.” 

Sonny shot him a well-worn dirty look. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m completely serious.”

Sonny kept the sour look on his face. “I’m gonna put this thing outside. On your tomato plant.”

“Please, don’t.” He watched Sonny march off towards the foyer, hoping he was joking. Port released a breath and allowed his head to rest on the back of the chair. Like a baby, he could barely support it. He stared at the popcorn ceiling, weak and dizzy. 

Those damn dandelions were still in the yard.

---

taglist: @arobear @paingoes @pumpkin-spice-whump @string-of-broken-hearts @technicallydeliciousdeer @ziptiesnfries

[wouldntyouliketoknowweatherb0y]

cisNPD here, saw ur post about transNPD tips and I love talking about myself/my experience so I'm taking this chance to do a bit of yapping at you and I hope literally any of this helps you

First thing for me: most people are completely irrelevant, I don't care about them, their acceptance is unnecessary but their praise is always nice (ego supply). So you could try telling yourself others are less, or don't matter, or are irrelevant while you're alone, if you can get yourself going on a rant about it that's better; the more you consciously think something the more you'll begin to subconsciously think it!

Second, I have a couple kinds of person that aren't irrelevant, I know there are words for them but I don't care to search for that right now.

Person 1: Equal, they are on my level. While I may see areas they are better or I am better, they and I are generally equal, and I am semi-open to advice or criticism from them in the sense that I will actually take it. If they think highly of me that boosts my supply a lot more than when random/irrelevants do.

For this you can pick out a person, perhaps a close friend whose opinion you already value, you can try exaggerating your value of their opinion a bit; if they recommend something try that thing once you get the chance, and don't be afraid to ask them for advice from time to time (still try not to ask often, but they should be someone you can get advice from if you decide you need it)

Person 2: Student, they are someone who is more tolerable than irrelevants, they are someone who you may feel the need to teach and guide or to shelter/protect, this in my case is most often out of pity though can be for other reasons

If you're going to pick out someone for this one try to pick out someone inexperienced or who doesn't know much within a community you're in, or pick someone younger than you. Give them advice when they do something wrong or don't understand something, when they get it right/understand that's because of you, you provided guidance so their success is yours, be proud of them because that's your work too

Person 3: Angel??? This person is the only person better than me, very similar to an FP, their opinion and praise (or lack thereof) can massively boost or drain my supply. They are someone I actively seek advice from, though I will not take strong criticism from them well. (Constructive criticism is fine, but it must be constructive)

This isn't one a lot of pwNPD have so you can go with or without it, but if you want to pick someone for it the safest bet would be a very close friend or partner, take their opinion very strongly, I have a habit of repeating opinions mine has of me; so you could try repeating any positive opinion/praise they provide, or the opposite; if they provide a negative opinion you could try to rant and justify otherwise while you're alone, perhaps they made a mistake or their mind was clouded when they spoke, or perhaps it was because of a way you acted

That was very long so I'll list a couple other quick things here

- tend to be bored/uninterested in many conversations / activities with people (other than the three)

- tend to get snappy/short tempered with irrelevants

- does not shut up about myself ever

- tend to avoid prolonged interaction with irrelevants

- internet stalk my 3 people because I have a 'right to know' about essentially everything

- go out of my way to learn/excerise/etc because I am better than most people and the only way their 'small minds' can comprehend that is if I hit all of their goals before them

DUDE YOU ARE AWESOME. this is amazing

[namimikan]

Hmm, I see what you mean.

I do wonder if Odo/Quark would work as a couple too! Like you, I’m unsure. I do know I love Quark’s line that he knows Odo loves him, it’s written on his back. It’s very good!

Fair point. I do remember feeling disappointed when Kira/Odo fell out, and just talked everything out offstage and resolved things between them. It was such a cop out. That should have been the deal breaker, and it wasn’t treated as such, and I think I would have been interested in seeing a Kira&Odo who were never that close again, but I am also a sap for them who is glad that the issue got resolved, even if it was unsatisfactory.

On paper, that should work! I love opposites attracting, and someone like Jadzia should theoretically lighten him up, when he’s so serious! But instead, I just… I felt like they brought out the worst of each other, the majority of their romantic episodes were just… Not Good, Not Fun. Worf/K’ehlyr and Worf/Troi were much more enjoyable to me, tbh, because Worf seemed more amenable to trying non-Klingon things, or, well: I would have been curious to see married!Worf/K’ehlyr raising Alexander, and K’ehlyr being less traditional-enforced than Worf, tbh. I don’t really think I see Worf as being that dominant to K’ehlyr or Troi, tbh? (Alas, K’ehlyr is gone too soon to see how that could have really gone, and I might have enjoyed seeing them navigate that conflict of child rearing styles tbh.) Whereas I really felt like he wanted things to go his way with Jadzia, or he’d sulk, and the resolutions were always kinda underwhelming. (He did sulk with K’ehlyr, but I thought her snark suited Worf much better tbh.)

But admittedly, I struggle a lot with Worf in DS9. I don’t like Klingon episodes for most part, with occasional exceptions, including TNG ones. And it just gets so ramped up in DS9, I cannot stand it—I genuinely don’t care about their subplot. Worf feels like a different character to me in DS9, sure, he became badass, but. He wasn’t the same character from TNG, where he would genuinely shine in episodes that didn’t focus on him. Which does make me feel bad, but… unfortunately, the farcical comedy of TNG suited him more IMO. DS9, he was someone else, sharing the name and actor only.

We’re free to disagree, I do want to rewatch DS9 more positively, (there’s really good content in the show that I adore!) and keep your opinion in mind when they fall in love, but my impression for them the first time around was that they weren’t a good match for each other, and their conflicts weren’t interesting to watch, and they weren’t particularly interested in compromise or meeting halfway.

Hopefully this doesn’t come across as rude? I respect your opinion, it’s something I would like to revisit. I just wanted to explain how I saw them, from my recollections. I’m never sure if I overdo it though, so if I overstepped, I apologise.

M&F edition!

(Probably should have done this one before the captain’s edition but it was easier to think of the captains and their old friends over the non-captain friendships.)

(Didn’t include TOS, even tho I was v. tempted to include Sulu&Rand, but if I didn’t include TOS in the previous fave friendship polls, it didn’t feel fair to include them in this one. Maybe a future poll then? Enterprise and future shows not included because I haven’t seen them.)

My criteria for this one was just… men and women being friends with no attraction to each other at any point of the show. (In my defence for DS9, I have only watched it once, years ago, really liked Jadzia’s line that she couldn’t help but like Quark, and I… IDK. didn’t actually feel that Quark liked Dax romantically until Ezri appeared. ((Any flirting was just… idk. bartender talk. rather than sincerity.)) But when I rewatch it, I’ll be more on the lookout for platonic relationships, in the event I make a poll similar to this one, maybe?) Hard to pick but this is what I came up with in the end!

Anyway, I liked these interactions a lot! It might not have happened that frequently but I enjoyed it when these characters did have scenes together and talked to each other.