#I don’t even care who it’s about anymore | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zyafics-recs · 2 days ago

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reblogging comment review by @zyafics

LITERALLY FINISHED AN ASSIGNMENT AND NOW I CAN TAKE A BREATH LETS GOOOO (long annotations below ⬇️)

Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster.

my psychopath lets gooo

The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor.There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a constant reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue.

ur descriptions paints the scene of s2ep10 when they were on the ship so well, like i remember staring at your words going: wow 😦

"They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me.""Now, what am I going to do with you?"

why r all the crazy ones so fine

“To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

i love LOVE when the reader provokes rafe using his father like bro that's such a trigger for him rein it in 😭

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming. Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue. Ever.”

YOOOOOO 😡

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set.

god, i love ur descriptions so much u don't understand i'm taking notes as i read this 📝

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard by your words, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

i love how much of a psychopath he is in this fic, like yes, this is the crazy man of s2 (i can fix him 🤞🏻)

He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end.

YES, i love maybank!reader's deep analysis of rafe bc we know and that doesn't excuse his behavior but it helps us understand him 🥹

But beneath it all, there was something else. Something you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope.

i love her lore so so much!!

And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for Rafe too.

she's a love not a fighter fr 😩

"Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away.""Family's supposed to be everything, right?"

my daddy issues babies, sometimes i wanna push u two together like barbie and ken during play sessions (am i making sense idk anymore)

The sight of the blood staining your arm made his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

I LOVE LOVE LITTLE DETAILS LIKE THIS

“Shut up. Just… shut up.” He turned back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he took in the sight of your injured arm

he has a heart !!!!

"So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

one of the things i admire so heavily with your writing is ur ability to write tense dialogues, the way they fight back and forth with words!! like i love it so so much!!

"You're impossible," he hissed, his voice a raw whisper."And you’re a coward," you shot back, your voice equally low but no less fierce.The next moment happened in a blur. Rafe’s grip tightened, and before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.

LOVE LOVE A HATE KISS

the poetry!!! shakespeare!!! u can write hamlet but can william write this?!?!?

"You're impossible," he muttered against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing."And you’re an asshole,” you shot back, your voice breathless, your body arching into his touch.He pulled back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

i love when they're making out but they find ways to take shots at each other "I hate you," you panted, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tightened around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you. “Your body doesn’t,” He replies coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat, "“Fucking asshole.”“Fucking brat.”

he's such a prick 😭 i want him in my bed

"Eyes on me,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

one of the hottest things a man can say to me

“Y-You—“ He sighed, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay?

one of my favorite scenes got me kicking my feet like a school girl (dude u CARE stfu 😭)

“We’re getting out.”You wanted to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered, “Yeah?"“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."“Okay.”“Okay.”

I'M OBSESSED WITH YOUR WORDS OH MY GOD

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

FINAL THOUGHTS | okay okay, let me catch my breath because that smut (their banter!!) was so fucking hot 🥵 (why do i use emojis like a middle school boy? anyways) i think what i truly noticed from this fic is how compelling you can make a scene. the way you built transitions so seamlessly through strong descriptions about what's going on (plot wise!) and it's such an admirable skill that i deeply deeply wish i have. especially because the language and vocabulary you use are so clean and expressive without making the audience (like me) feel dumb about not knowing the definition (does that make sense?) also also. as i always point out, i'm obsessed with your build-up dialogues. right before we hit the intense parts, you manage to build up this anticipation and adrenaline from reader and rafe arguing back and forth. and what i appreciate is how you kept the enemies part of enemies to lovers all the way through, only concluding that reader feels complicated near the end. like i love that she didn't fold; she continues to be defiant and her and that brings me to another trait i love about ur writing: ur consistency in your readers. if u plan on making a certain reader rebellious, you keep it to the very end and i love that. oops, this is getting a little too long. anyways, as always, incredible work gigi, i would love to see more of maybank!reader from you especially a second part to their escape (and what it means for them to be back in obx together?? her brother's reaction?? 🫠)

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18)

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛" + "def some little smut during the enemies part and a long story"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; kidnapping; smut!; violence!; rafe is a red flag; guns and blood; p in v; they tell each other to shut the fuck up a lot lmao;

word count: 8k...im sorry

The sun dipped low, painting the Outer Banks marshes in shades of fiery orange. Tensions between the Kooks and the Pogues had hit a fever pitch, and in the middle of it all? Rafe Cameron, the last person you'd want to encounter. Ever.

Every run-in with him left a bitter taste in your mouth, lingering for days. It was like he had a knack for getting under your skin. Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster. Each interaction with him sucked the life out of you. You were convinced that nothing good could ever come from being around him. And yet, there you were, another Maybank, caught in the chaos of the island's most influential family feud.

You knew the risks, but loyalty drove you forward. And now? Well, now you were in deep shit.

Your plan had been reckless, fueled by the desperate need to save Sarah from her deranged family and retrieve Pope's stolen cross. Everything had gone smoothly until chaos erupted, and you found yourself abruptly yanked away from the corridor by a strong grip on your arm, before you could even call out for your brother and Kie. Another hand clamped over your mouth, stifling any attempts to scream. In a blur, you were dragged into a dimly lit cabin, the men's hold on you unyielding. Struggling was futile against his iron grip. He tossed you inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. The gravity of your situation hit hard immediately – you were alone, at the mercy of Ward Cameron. The man who'd silenced anyone who dared oppose him, even going as far as faking his own death, kidnapping his own daughter, and manipulating his son into committing murder.

Because in his twisted world, family trumped everything. Even murder.

Your mind raced as you took in your surroundings. The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor. There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a constant reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue. You quickly assessed your options. The door was solid, and you didn't have anything strong enough to force it open. Fuck, fuck fuck.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Panic wouldn't help; you needed a plan. But then, like a nightmare come to life, the devil himself stepped into the room, his eyes piercing as they landed on you. The man who had captured you stood behind him, a smug grin on his face.

Rafe was visibly surprised to see you, but he quickly concealed it behind a cold, calculating expression. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his temples. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through from the scorching heat, and beads of perspiration trickled down his face. He wiped his brow with a weary hand and his gun gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"Well shit,” Rafe said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. Didn't expect to see ya again so soon pretty Maybank.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing with questions. Where were your friends? Were they safe? Was your brother even alive? Before you could ask, Rafe continued, his tone mocking.

"Your brother really did a number on you, huh? Left you behind without a second thought. Typical Maybank shit, huh? Always knew you were unreliable."

Son of a bitch. You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your composure. "You're lying," you countered, your voice steady despite the fear gnawing at you, "He wouldn't leave me."

Not unless he was forced to.

Rafe chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Believe what you want. They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me."

“You’re lying.”

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as he advanced towards you. You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. The cold, metal wall pressed against your back, mirroring the chill that had settled in your bones.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?" he mused, tilting his head as if genuinely contemplating your fate. The gun in his hand swung lazily at his side, but you knew better than to think it wasn't ready to be used at a moment's notice. You swallowed hard, your mind frantically searching for a way out of this hellhole. He was unpredictable and volatile; years of snorting cocaine and family trauma did that to some people.

But maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him.

“Rafe, listen. You don't have to do this. Let me go and we can both walk away from this. No one has to get hurt."

Again.

His laugh was sharp and bitter. "You think I'm going to let you go just because you asked nicely?" He stepped closer, his breath hot against your face. "Nah. You're going to stay right here until I decide what to do with you.“

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but fear clawed at your chest. The odds were against you, as they had always been your entire life.

"What do you want, Rafe? The cross? We can make a deal."

His eyes narrowed, the amusement fading.

"You think this is about money? About that fucking cross? This is about power. Control. And right now...huh, shit, I control you." He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "The cross is mine now. How do you feel about the Bahamas?”

Your top lip curled in disgust, “I’d rather drown.”

His smile twisted into something even darker. “I think you’re worth more alive, at least for now.”

You refused to show him any more fear. “To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed him too far. He leaned in close, his eyes cold and unforgiving.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Maybank. You don’t know anything about my family.”

You laughed bitterly, unable to stop yourself. “Yeah, no. You're right. Just that you're dad’s little lapdog, doing his dirty work while he pretends to be some upstanding citizen. And where’s your mom in all this? Oh! She left.”

Anger took over you like wildfire, burning hotter than the pain. Your jaw throbbed, but the rage was stronger. You wanted to hit him back, to wipe that smug look off his face, to make him feel the hurt he had inflicted on you. Your fists clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body taut with the desire for retribution. The fury in your eyes matched the darkness in his.

You spat blood at his face, glaring up at him defiantly. “You’re just a puppet. Your sister hates you, your dad uses you, and deep down, you know it. You’ll never be more than his bitch.”

His grip tightened painfully, rough fingers digging into your flesh, lips twitching into a snarl, but you didn’t flinch. If you were going down, you’d go down fighting. His eyes flickered with something you’d never seen in him, before he released you, stepping back. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? So tough.”

“Smarter than you,” you shot back. “At least I know who I am. What are you, Rafe?“

He stared at you, tongue pressed against his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. Then he laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent chills down your spine. His hand reached out, and your breath stilled throat tightening as he fiddled with a lock of your hair. He’d let out another laugh, entirely dismissive of the trepidation you’d felt stuck.

“You’ve got guts, Maybank. It's gonna get you killed.“

You wiped the blood from your mouth, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. “I’ve survived worse than you.”

And you had. If anything prepared you for violence, drugs, and pain, was living with Luke Maybank your entire life. And maybe, if you didn’t hate Rafe with every fiber of your being, after everything he’d done, you’d feel sorry for him. But you didn’t, and he sure as hell didn't feel sorry for you.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the low hum of the ship’s engines. Then Rafe turned on his heel, motioning to the man by the door. “Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Do I look like fucking Michael Phelps? Where the fuck would I go? We’re on a ship you crazy bastar—Hey! Rafe! Open the fucking door!”

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the small, dimly lit cabin. You listened to his footsteps fade away, feeling a sense of relief and dread settle in your chest. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into? They could kill you, dispose your body in the ocean and no would give a single fuck. No one would think you’d gone missing, because you’re a Maybank and that’s what your kind of people did, apparently. Your brother would probably assume you’re dead, he’d try to get justice and fail in the end, because the rich always won.

The musty air of the cabin felt oppressive as you turned away from the small porthole, where the bright sun and endless expanse of blue ocean taunted you from beyond. Days had melded into one another, each marked only by the arrival of meals and the sporadic presence of Rafe. You had hoped for some sense of clarity, some hint of what your future held, but his visits offered nothing but insults and foreboding silence.

You paced the small room, your mind racing with the possibilities of what they had planned for you. The guard remained a silent sentinel, a constant reminder that escape was not an option. But then, the cabin door creaked open again, and you tensed as Ward Cameron stepped in, his presence commanding immediate attention.

He gave a nod to the guard, who stepped out, leaving you alone with the man who held your fate in his hands. A fucking lunatic with enough means to play for all the dramatics he enjoyed. Great.

"Get comfortable," Ward said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge that set your nerves on edge. "We're almost there."

"Almost where?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"The Bahamas," he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A little slice of paradise, if you will."

"And what happens then?" you pressed, needing to know more.

Ward studied you for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal. “Keep out of sight, stay quiet. Rafe and I have some business to attend to, and we can't afford any distractions."

"And if I refuse?" you challenged, though you knew the answer.

Ward's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "Let's not be stupid, sweetheart. You're here because you know too much. Refusing isn't an option. Cooperation, however…”

A chill ran down your spine at his words. The stakes were clear, and you realized that your only chance was to play along, at least until you could figure out a way to escape this nightmare.

The rest of the day passed in a tense haze. Eventually, you felt the ship slow, the engines quieting as you approached your destination. When the door opened again, Rafe was there, his expression unreadable.

"Time to go," he said simply, motioning for you to follow, "Move."

You stepped out onto the deck, the warm, salty breeze hitting your face as you looked around. The sight of the lush, tropical landscape did little to ease your anxiety. You were led to a smaller boat, and soon you were speeding towards a secluded island, the main landmass of the Bahamas visible in the distance. This was a world away from the familiar streets and faces of The Cut. It was straight out of a postcard. Something you and JJ would fantasize about while high of your asses and writing bucklists.

God, JJ. You only hoped he made it. You’d never gone a day without each other before you were dragged into this mess last summer. It wasn’t fair. You only wanted enough money to get by, an easy fix to get everything sorted, finish college, ship your dad somewhere far away from you two. But Ward’s greedy ass had to ruin everything for you.

As the boat neared the shore, you couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. The island loomed closer, its pristine beaches and swaying palm trees offering a stark contrast to the danger that lurked just beneath the surface.

Rafe’s hand gripped your arm, his grasp tight and unyielding as he led you onto the sandy beach. Ward followed close behind, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the scene before him.

"This way," he said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. You followed obediently, your mind racing with possibilities. Escape seemed unlikely, but you clung to the slim hope that you could find a way out of this mess. As you walked, you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you on this remote island.

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set. You could feel the weight of Ward and Rafe's gazes on you, their presence a constant reminder of the mess you were in.

Finally, you reached a clearing, and your heart sank as you saw what awaited you. A small house. In the middle of nowhere. Oh god, you were a dead woman.

“This will be your home for the time being," Ward said, his voice cold and unfeeling, as if he was offering you a vacation rental and not kidnapping you. You wanted to protest, to demand answers, but you knew it was futile, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, it practically swallow you whole.

“My son will be keeping you company, don’t get too excited.”

The way Rafe’s head snapped in his father’s direction told you more than what you needed to know. Once again, daddy dearest was calling the shots without taking his opinion into consideration. Ward’s casual cruelty was suffocating, a stark reminder of the power he wielded over everyone. As he turned to leave, leaving no space of negotiations or pleadings, Rafe’s eyes bored into yours. No questions asked, only blind devotion to his father.

The door slammed shut, leaving you alone with Rafe once more. He looked at you, resentment playing across his face and something inside you urged you to fight.

“I’m not going to make this easy for you," you said, your voice a low growl, “I’m not dying here. Not with you.”

Rafe chuckled, greasy bangs moving as he shook his head, “You really think you have a choice here?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space, “You think you’re special? Nah, Maybank. He’ll get rid of you eventually, don’t worry.”

“Exactly. He will, not you. You don’t have any control either and I think you hate being here as much as I do. That shit makes us both prisoners.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard by your words, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

You were sure he wouldn't, only if Ward asked him to. He’d fucked up enough before, when he accidentally shot Sarah and didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. You know he wouldn’t do it again, not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulder and his trust fund. Ward Cameron hated slips ups, hated even more the monster he raised, but he sure came in handy when he needed him.

Rafe’s words hung in the air like a noose, but you refused to let them tighten around your neck. "Empty threats," you shot back, squaring your shoulders. "I've dealt with bigger monsters than you, Rafe."

For a moment, a flicker of doubt passed through his blue eyes. They were bloodshot red, perhaps from the lack of sleep or maybe because he was high off his mind, you didn’t care to ask. But just as quickly, his usual sneer returned. "Enjoy your stay, Maybank.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Him and the stupid slamming of doors. You were alone again, your pulse racing but your resolve intact. You had to get out of here. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were a Maybank—survival was in your blood. You took stock of your surroundings once more, this time with a sharper eye. The walls were thin, the windows barred, but there had to be some weakness, some way to exploit the situation. You ran your fingers along the seams of the walls, looking for anything that might give. Your mind raced through every piece of advice JJ had ever given you about breaking and entering. You’d done a lot of that over the years, and while most people thought you pogues were simply criminals, they never cared enough to ask why you and your brother spent so much time in and out of the sheriff’s department.

So, what if two dirty, no-good kids were barely hanging on for dear life? No one gave a shit.

Weeks blurred into each other, each one marked by the same routine. Rafe's visits, Ward's looming threats, and the endless search for an opportunity to escape. You watched Rafe carefully, noting his every move, his every interaction with Ward. You noticed the way Ward belittled him, treating him more like a tool than a son. It was a toxic dynamic, one that made you wonder if Rafe was as much a victim as you were. You’d seen bits and pieces before, but Sarah had described Ward as some sort of saint up until recently. Rafe on the other hand? Their dynamic was so different from what you were used to. You and JJ were like two peas in a pod, you’d die for him and you know he would do the same, no questions asked. If there was one good thing in your life, it was your brother.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for Rafe, despite everything he'd done. He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end.

You saw the cracks in his armor, the moments of doubt and vulnerability. The way his hands would shake every time Ward raised his voice, the way he would bite his nails to hide the embarrassment booming in his cheeks. How he never walked into his father’s space or any other room without announcing his presence. It gave you whiplash.

You began to argue less with him, your animosity slowly giving way to a grudging understanding. You hated feeling so…forgiving. This boy had done unspeakable things to you and your friends, to your family…and there you were. Feeling sorry for him like you didn’t know better.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the small house, Rafe brought you dinner. He placed the plate on the table, his movements tense, his expression unusually subdued. Strangely so, you’d memorized that expression. You didn’t even have to ask to understand what had gotten under his skin. You watched him for a moment before speaking.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" you asked, your voice softer than usual. You didn’t understand why you did it. You regretted the words the moment they came out of your lips, but there was something inside itching you to ask.

Rafe's eyes snapped to yours, rage and something else—pain—flashing in them. "What the hell do you know about it?" he snapped, but there was less bite in his words.

At this point he just sounded tired.

"I understand,” you replied, thinking of your own father. "I know what it's like to want to prove yourself, to be more than what they think you are."

Rafe's jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he looked lost, like a boy searching for something he could never find. "You don't know shit," he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.

"I know enough," you said quietly. "You don't have to keep doing this. You don't have to be his puppet."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You think it's that simple?"

"Maybe not. But you can choose to be better than him. You can choose to stop this.”

Rafe looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time. It was borderline unnerving. The weight of his stare. The way your stomach flip-flops under his attention.

“Shut the fuck up and eat, Maybank."

He didn't say anything, just turned and walked out, leaving you alone.

Again.

The days continued to pass, but something had shifted. Rafe was less hostile, more contemplative. He didn't treat you as roughly, didn't hurl as many insults. It was a small change, but it was there. And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for Rafe too. You knew what he did, knew what he was capable of, but no one deserved to rot in hell with someone like Ward. You needed to bide your time, to wait for the right moment. And when that moment came, you had to be ready to act.

Another day began with the same oppressive heat. The sun had just started to rise, casting a golden hue over the island. You were in the small kitchen of the house, preparing a meager breakfast from the limited supplies you had. The routine had become almost mechanical, a way to keep your mind occupied and stave off the rising panic.

Rafe entered the kitchen, eyes barely open as he wiped the sleep away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass breaking the silence. He stood with his back to you, staring out the window.

“What’s Luke like?”

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. It was an unexpected question, one that cut deep and made you want to hurl on the spot even though you hadn’t had anything to eat yet.

“Why do you want to know?" you asked cautiously, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe shrugged, still not turning to face you. "Just curious. You Maybanks are a tight bunch, right? So what's he like?"

Tight bunch…that was one way to put it.

You took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to reveal. "He’s a drunk, a thief. But he's still my dad."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing. "So why do you stick around? Why not just leave him?"

You knew what he was trying to do, giving you a taste of your own medicine. You couldn’t blame him.

You met his gaze, the raw honesty of your answer surprising even you. "Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away."

Rafe seemed to consider this, his expression unreadable. "Family's supposed to be everything, right?" His voice carried a bitter edge, hinting at his own unresolved conflicts.

"That's what they say," you replied quietly.

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. "Must be tough, having a dad like that."

Tough? It’s heartbreaking. Knowing that the one person who was supposed to love you, cherish you and protect you for life never gave a single fuck about his kids? Yeah, sure it’s “tough”

You nodded, a sad smile playing on your lips. "Guess we have that in common.”

Rafe looked away, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, we do." He set his glass down with a heavy thud, the sound resonating in the small kitchen.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, but then he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I get it," he said quietly. "More than you know."

You watched him, the way his fingers ran along the rim of the glass. "Then why do you keep doing this? You don’t have to."

His eyes blazed with anger. “It's not that simple," he snapped. "You think I have a choice? I killed someone. For him.”

It was the first time he had said those words out loud. And it made him sick to his stomach. That he’d been scared and high enough to do something so reckless, just so they wouldn’t take away his dad.

"We always have a choice," you countered, your voice firm. "Maybe not the best ones, but we can always choose to be better."

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression a tumult of emotions. Then he shook his head, turning away. "You don't know anything," he muttered, but there was less conviction in his words than before.

"I know enough," you said softly, watching his retreating back. "And so do you."

He paused at the doorway, his hand gripping the frame tightly. Without turning around, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I'll see you later."

As he left, the kitchen felt colder, but you knew you had reached him, even if just a little. And that gave you hope.

After that, Rafe’s visits were less frequent, and when he did come by, there was an uneasy tension between you both. You couldn't tell if it was the weight of your conversations or the sheer exhaustion of being trapped in this toxic cycle. Still, every interaction chipped away at the walls he'd built around himself, revealing glimpses of the person he might have been, had his life taken a different path.

Tonight, the air was still, the only sound was the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. You had been biding your time, watching for the perfect moment to make your escape. The house was quiet, Ward was gone and you hadn’t seen Rafe in two days. By now, you knew how the guards outside fell asleep before 2am like clockwork.

You could it.

This was your chance, and you couldn't afford to waste it.

You moved silently, slipping out of the small bedroom and into the hallway. Every creak of the wooden floorboards seemed to echo in the stillness, and you held your breath, praying you wouldn't be caught. The front door loomed ahead, your path to freedom. Your heart raced as you slowly turned the handle, wincing at the faint click that accompanied the action.

The night air hit you like a wave as you stepped outside, the cool breeze a stark contrast to the oppressive heat that had been your constant companion. You glanced around, ensuring the coast was clear, then made your way towards the small boat moored at the edge of the beach. The plan was simple: get to the boat, start the engine, and head for the main island where you could find help.

You kept low, moving quickly but cautiously, every step bringing you closer to your goal. The boat was within reach when a noise behind you made your blood run cold.

The crunch of gravel underfoot was unmistakable. You turned sharply, and in the dim moonlight, the silhouette of one of the guards emerged from the shadows. The asshole who’d gotten you here in the first place. He was closer than you had anticipated. Your heart pounded, adrenaline surging through your veins as you broke into a sprint, abandoning stealth for speed.

"Stop!" the guard shouted, his voice carrying across the trees. You didn't dare look back, your eyes locked on the boat. A sharp crack split the night—a gunshot. You felt a searing pain in your arm, but you couldn't stop. You pushed through the pain, your goal now just a few yards away.

Another gunshot rang out, but you were too focused to determine where it landed. You reached the boat, hands trembling as you fumbled with the ropes. The pain in your arm intensified, but you forced yourself to keep moving. Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed your shoulder, spinning you around. You struggled, kicking and thrashing, but he was stronger. He pulled you to the ground, pinning you down as he radioed for backup.

"Got her," he said into the radio, his breath hot against your ear. You tried to wriggle free, but his grip tightened. Moments later, two more guards arrived, hauling you to your feet and dragging you back towards the house.

Your mind raced the sting in your arm a painful reminder of your failed attempt. As they pulled you inside, the walls seemed to close in around you, your brief taste of freedom slipping away.

Moments felt like hours as you sat in the chair, the pain in your arm throbbing with each heartbeat. The quiet murmurs of the guards outside were interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of someone approaching. The door flew open, and there stood Rafe, disheveled and wild-eyed, a gun clutched tightly in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” he barked, his voice a volatile mix of anger and confusion. His gaze scanned the room, landing on you.

The sight of the blood staining your arm made his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

He stormed towards you, his eyes blazing. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous. Before you could answer, he whirled around to face the guards who had re-entered the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Rafe shouted, waving his gun erratically. “She’s bleeding! I try to sleep in peace and this is what I come back to?”

The guards exchanged nervous glances, shifting uncomfortably under Rafe’s glare. “She was trying to escape, Mr. Cameron,” one of them stammered. “We had to stop her.”

His expression twisted with rage. “So you fucking shot her?” His voice dripped with incredulity and disdain. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? My father wants her in once piece.”

The guard who had caught you tried to explain, but Rafe cut him off. “Shut up. Just... shut up.” He turned back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he took in the sight of your injured arm. Or maybe the pain was making you delirious.

“We need to get that cleaned up,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. Without another word, he holstered his gun and gently took your uninjured arm, pulling you to your feet. The guards looked on, unsure of what to do or say.

Rafe shot them a deadly look. “Get out,” he snapped. “Before I shoot you bitches myself.”

Once Ward’s men had left, Rafe's demeanor changed. His concern, which had briefly softened his striking features, hardened back into anger. He ran a hand through his long hair, pacing the small bathroom before finally stopping in front of you. His eyes were intense, burning with frustration.

He sneered at you, his voice dripping with disappointment and exasperation, "I thought you had some brains in that pretty little head of yours," he spat out, his frustration palpable. "What were you even thinking? Do you realize how close you came to getting yourself killed?"

You tried to speak, to defend yourself, but he didn't give you the chance. His words came fast, each one like a dagger aimed at my heart. "You could've died out there! A bullet barely missed you—do you even understand how lucky you are?"

His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning into yours. "I just don't get it. Do you think you're invincible? Because you're not. You're just..." He stopped himself, taking a deep breath as if trying to regain control of his temper. "You're just reckless," he continued, his voice quieter but still seething with anger. "You didn’t think about the consequences, about what it would do to..."

He trailed off, his attention faltering for a moment before snapping back to you. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between knocking you out cold and something else—maybe concern, maybe fear.

"Don't act like you give a shit about me," you called after him, your voice trembling with both pain and defiance.

He stopped in his tracks, his back stiffening for a moment before slowly turning to face you. The fury in his eyes was matched only by the bitterness in your own. "I don't," he retorted, his tone icy. "But my ass is on the line too. You think Ward won't come down on me if something happens to you?"

You stood up, despite the throbbing pain in your arm, facing him head-on. "So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."

Rafe's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

You scoff through your nose "Here we go again. Control? You think dragging me back here, shooting at me, is control? It's chaos, Rafe. You're just as trapped as I am, and you can't stand it."

His face twisted showcasing his wrath, and he took a step towards you, closing the distance. "Shut up!” he growled. "You don’t understand the pressure I'm under. The expectations, the demands. I didn’t ask for any of this."

"And neither did I," you shot back, a strict finger aimed at his face in warning, “So shut the fuck up.”

He took another step towards you, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You think this is just about me? It's about keeping everything from falling apart. It's about—"

Before he could finish, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, your faces almost touching. "I don’t care about your excuses, Rafe. I don’t care about your pressures or your fucking control. All I know is I’m not staying here.”

The look he gave you was filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his classical features twisted into an expression of silent hatred. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. His hands came up, gripping your waist, not gently but not roughly either, as if he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

"You're impossible," he hissed, his voice a raw whisper.

"And you’re a coward," you shot back, your voice equally low but no less fierce.

The next moment happened in a blur. Rafe’s grip tightened, and before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. His mouth was demanding, almost punishing, and you responded, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you wanted to push him away.

The kiss was rough and desperate, fueled by anger and frustration, a collision of two souls too damaged to recognize the depths of their own pain. And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there was a spark—as if you were both too messed up to understand how much you needed each other. Each fingertip left an imprint, a silent declaration of the strength he was restraining. It was like he was fighting to contain this force within him, to keep it from overwhelming you both.

If someone told you you’d be kissing Rafe fucking Cameron of all people just a month ago, you’d think they were crazy. And yet… All you wanted were his hands on your body, his warm skin against your own.

Oh his hands.

They roamed slowly yet purposefully over your lower back, over your waist. You breathed out a sigh of relief, taking the collar of his shirt in both your hands as you pulled him closer, relishing in his warmth. He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes.

He pulled away slowly, your lips the last to part, and blinked down at you. You watched him lick his bottom lip, taking in the sight of you.

“’You’re bleeding—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

His eyes flared with renewed anger, but also with something else—something darker, more primal. Your words were like a match to gasoline. He didn't respond verbally; instead, he took a half step back before swooping you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly.

With a swift, decisive motion, Rafe carried you to the dining table, and you barely had time to register the cool wood against your back before he was on you again, his body pressing down on yours with a desperation that matched your own. There was no tenderness there, only raw need and a desire to consume. He pried your lips apart again, his tongue sweeping in as he kissed you deeply, his mouth moving invasively over yours. His fingers gripped your jaw with a vice-like hold. A strange sensation fluttered beneath your skin, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, closing the distance between your bodies as he pressed flush against your center.

His hands moved with such intent, slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing every curve with a delicious blend of roughness and urgency. You reciprocated eagerly, your own hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer as your kiss deepened. Everything around you blurred as the room spun, his warmth against you making you breathless, his taste lingering on your lips, intoxicating and irresistible.

You tugged at his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons because you just couldn't wait. He let out that deep, sexy growl that made a shiver run down your spine. His hands were all over you, touching your skin and leaving fiery trails wherever they went. It felt like he was trying to memorize every inch of you, wanting to claim you in a way that words could never capture.

"You're impossible," he muttered against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. He leaned down closer to your collarbone, to catch the scent on your skin, and he couldn't tell if you were amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks rounded as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"And you’re an asshole,” you shot back, your voice breathless, your body arching into his touch.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Good," you replied, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him down again. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But you didn't want control. You wanted to lose yourself in this moment, to forget everything you'd been trough and just feel.

Rafe seemed to sense this, his hands becoming more insistent, his touch more possessive. He lifted you slightly, positioning you better on the table, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. The friction was exquisite, a delicious tease that left you craving more.

"Rafe," you breathed, and he almost fell to his knees at the soft whimper that left your lips when he couldn’t help but jerk his hips forward. He responded instantly, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a fervor that left you dizzy. The table creaked under your combined weight, but neither of you cared. Your hand grabbed his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin exposed.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locking with his. There was a wildness there, a reflection of the storm inside you. You reached up, tracing his jaw with your fingers, feeling the stubble beneath your touch as his mouth, hot and demanding, left a trail of fire in its wake on your neck. A noise of pleasure slipped from your mouth as he palmed at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as his teeth grazed your collarbone, kissing down, littering your skin bite marks.

"I hate you," you panted, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tightened around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you.

“Your body doesn’t,” He replies coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat, "

“Fucking asshole.”

“Fucking brat.”

You opened your mouth to hiss something at him, to fight back, show him that you were the one in charge, but the intention died the moment Rafe cupped you through your shorts. A pathetic excuse of shorts due to the heat. Heat bloomed in your stomach, melting into a torrent want that flooded your skin and left you breathless. His determined blue eyes pierced into yours, watching as he pressed the heel of his palm against the apex of your thighs, his middle finger tracing your entrance and applying light pressure to the sensitive dip between your legs.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty?” He asked, lips brushing over your mouth, loose bangs brushing against your brow “Thought you had more fire in you.” he rasped coldly, moving your shorts and underwear out of the way and your lips parted on a sharp inhale as you felt him touch you for the first time, “Yeah, thought so.”

Every nerve ending seemed to come alive under his hands, and the room around you blurred into insignificance. All that mattered was the man in front of you, his relentless grip on your senses, his unwavering control over your body.

"God, I hate you," you whispered again, the words almost a prayer, a futile attempt to cling to the anger that had fueled you for so long. But even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. You hated how much you needed him, how much you craved his touch, his dominance. Perhaps you’d been locked away from society for too long. That was the only plausible reason for you to let Rafe Cameron touch you.

Rafe smirked, a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes. "No, you don’t.”

You did. At least you used to, everything’s confusing now.

He teased you, his touch light and teasing, drawing out your frustration, your need. "Tell me what you want," he murmured against your lips, his voice a seductive growl that made your heart race.

You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. But the need was overwhelming, a fierce ache that demanded release.

“Fuck you," you spat, your defiance crumbling under the weight of your desire.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers finally slipping inside you, curling and stroking in a way that made your hips buck against his hand. "That's right," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me hear you."

A broken moan escaped your lips, and you arched into his touch, your body writhing with need. His fingers moved expertly, finding all the right spots, driving you near the edge with a skill that left you breathless. Every touch, every stroke was designed to push you closer to the brink, to break you down until you were nothing but a trembling, pleading mess.

"Rafe, please," you finally gasped, the words ripped from your throat by the overwhelming pleasure. "Please, I need you."

His smirk widened, and he pulled his fingers away, making you whimper in frustration. He didn't make you wait long, though. With swift, practiced movements, he freed himself from his pants, the sight of him hard and ready making your mouth water.

Without a word, he positioned himself between your legs, the head of his pretty cock teasing your entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked, his voice a rough whisper that made your heart skip a beat.

You nodded, your eyes locking with his, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please, Rafe."

He didn't need any further encouragement. With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that made you cry out. Your back arched involuntarily, your lips parting as he entered you, filling you completely in a way you had never imagined.

He rolled his hips firmly against yours, and your head tipped back as his cock rubs perfectly against you. You’d never felt so full. He didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. After another firm roll of his hips, testing you out, figuring out his rhythm. His movements were hard and relentless, pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs with each forceful thrust, barely giving you time to adjust.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his muscular back, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. The table creaked and groaned beneath you, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the man above you, his relentless drive, his unwavering control. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You could feel him losing control, his need matching your own.

Your eyes squeezed shut, blocking him out so you could pretend you weren’t stupid enough to let the man that ruined your life fuck the living hell out of you.

"Eyes on me,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

Even though you really wanted to shut him out, you just couldn’t fight the crazy pull he had over you. His voice was like a force of nature. You opened your eyes and locked onto his intense gaze. Seeing him above you, his face twisted with raw need and determination sent chills down your spine. His eyes were locked onto yours, filled with this dark, unyielding intensity that left you totally breathless.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval and something deeper, something that made your heart race even more. It made you want to run for the hills, "Fucki—Oh, fuck"

With each thrust, he drove you closer to the edge, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. The pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that left you gasping, moaning, begging for more. His name slipped from your lips in a broken, desperate plea, and he answered with a renewed vigor, his movements becoming more frenzied, more primal.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice rough and strained. "You're so tight... feels so fucking good."

You could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Your entire world had narrowed to this moment, to the feel of him inside you, to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you. Your body arched beneath him, your nails digging into his skin, leaving marks that would undoubtedly linger.

"Rafe," you whimpered, the sound barely more than a breath. "I'm... I can't..."

He understood. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming almost brutal in their intensity. "Come for me," he commanded his voice a raw whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Let go."

His words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a scream, your body convulsing around him. The intensity of your release was like nothing you'd ever felt before, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that left you trembling and breathless.

Rafe followed you over the edge, his own release crashing through him with a force that left him shaking. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rode out his orgasm, his movements slowing until he finally stilled, still buried deep inside you.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the ragged breaths but then Rafe lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there was something almost tender in his gaze.

“Y-You—“ He sighed, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay?

“Rafe...“

Before you could process his words, before you could question or argue, his lips were on yours again. Differently this time. Gentle.

Devastating almost.

“You’re still bleeding Maybank.”

Rafe’s words snapped you back to reality, the pain in your arm a sharp reminder of your injury. The moment of vulnerability between you evaporated, leaving you with the stark realization of your situation. You pushed at his chest, forcing him to back off slightly, and hissed through clenched teeth, "Then do something about it."

He just stood there, staring at you as if he had never seen you before. As if he was truly seeing you for the first time despite having known you since you were seven, despite all the moments marked by violence and terror. And you hated every second of it because your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. No one had ever looked at you like that before.

And then he simply shook his head, drew closer again, resting his forehead against yours, hands back on your thighs, fingers pressing as if he needed to ensure that you were real, that everything was real.

“We’re getting out.”

You wanted to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered, “Yeah?"

“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."

“Okay.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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logansargeantsbabymom · 2 days ago

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I Said Back Off

Franco Colapinto x Fem!Reader, Lando Norris x Fem!Reader, Franco Colapinto x Lando Norris

Angst

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The world only saw Lando Norris, the quick-witted Formula 1 driver. They didn’t know about the side of him I knew—warm, caring, fiercely protective. Our relationship had been a secret for almost a year, something we wanted to keep safe from the prying eyes of the public and the pressures of the racing world. But I never expected someone to test the strength of our hidden romance as Franco Colapinto did.

The paddock was buzzing after Williams announced that Franco would be replacing Logan Sargeant. Franco had a boyish charm, that easygoing confidence that made him instantly likable. I was happy to see him get his shot in Formula 1, and I had no reason to think he’d be anything other than friendly. But from day one, he turned his attention to me in a way that was impossible to ignore. At first, I brushed it off as him trying to make an impression, especially as he didn’t know about Lando and me. But as his flirtation intensified, it became harder to ignore—and harder for Lando to tolerate.

One afternoon, I was in the paddock waiting for Lando to finish a debrief when Franco walked over, wearing his Williams team shirt and a lazy, almost arrogant grin.

“Y/N,” he greeted, giving me a once-over that felt more invasive than flattering. “You look stunning today. I bet you bring good luck to whoever you’re with.”

I laughed politely, shifting uncomfortably. “Thank you, Franco.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I mean it. I’ve noticed you around, and let’s just say… I’m determined to make sure I see a lot more of you. Maybe a date after the race?”

I tried to play it off with a polite smile, but it felt slimy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He laughed, not at all deterred. “Why not? I’ve got plenty to offer, Y/N.”

The unsettling feeling in my stomach grew as Franco took a step closer, his eyes raking over me. I had a sinking feeling he wasn’t used to hearing the word “no.”

I was relieved when Lando finally emerged from his meeting. He took one look at Franco standing so close to me, and his whole expression changed. His jaw clenched, eyes darkening, and he strode over, positioning himself protectively between Franco and me.

“Is there a problem here?” Lando asked, voice tense.

Franco’s smile only widened as he shrugged. “No problem at all, mate. Just getting to know Y/N a bit better. Can’t blame a guy for being interested in a beautiful girl.”

Lando’s hand tightened around my waist, his jaw ticking with restrained anger. “Maybe you should focus on your driving, Franco. Y/N’s not interested.”

Franco gave him a dismissive look, his smirk unwavering. “That’s funny, Norris. Just because you say she’s not interested doesn’t mean it’s true. I think she deserves to make her own choice.”

I could practically feel the fury radiating off Lando as he squared up to Franco, not bothering to hide his protectiveness anymore. “Back off, Colapinto. I’m only going to say this once.”

Franco laughed, clearly amused. “Touchy, aren’t we? I didn’t know she was already spoken for. But tell me, Norris… are you sure you’re giving her everything she needs? Because I’m willing to bet I could do better.”

Lando’s fists balled at his sides, and it took every ounce of restraint I had to pull him away before things got physical. “Lando, it’s not worth it. Let’s go,” I said softly, trying to defuse the tension.

Reluctantly, he let me guide him away, though I could feel his entire body still wound tight with anger. Once we were alone in his driver’s room, he paced back and forth, struggling to calm down.

“Who does he think he is, talking to you like that?” Lando muttered, his voice sharp with frustration. “He’s just a rookie. No one even knows his name, and he thinks he can just�� just take you from me?”

I moved closer, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Lando, he doesn’t know about us. That’s why he’s acting this way. Just ignore him. He’ll get over it.”

But Lando shook his head, his expression hard. “I don’t care. I don’t care if he knows or not. I don’t want him near you.”

-------------------------------------

Race day arrived, and Lando seemed more tense than usual. Even as he prepared to get into the car, his eyes kept flicking over to me, as if making sure I was out of Franco’s reach. I tried to stay out of sight to avoid more confrontation, but Franco didn’t make it easy. Just before the race started, he found me in the garage, that same smirk on his face as he strode over.

“You know, I’m still serious about that date, Y/N,” he said smoothly, grabbing my hand before I could pull it away. He brought it to his lips, holding my gaze in a way that felt more like a challenge than a gesture of admiration. “Imagine the life we could have together. You don’t have to settle for second place.”

“Franco,” I said firmly, pulling my hand back. “I’m not interested.”

But he only chuckled. “That’s not the vibe I’m getting.”

Before I could respond, Lando caught sight of the scene from across the garage. His eyes blazed with fury as he marched over, grabbing Franco by the shoulder and yanking him back.

“I warned you, Franco,” Lando growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Stay. Away. From. Her.”

Franco just laughed, clearly reveling in Lando’s anger. “Calm down, Norris. You’re making a scene. What, scared of a little competition?”

“Competition?” Lando’s voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper. “I’ll show you competition.”

With that, he turned on his heel, stalking off toward his car without another word. I knew he was furious, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the end of it.

The race was brutal. Lando drove with a relentless aggression I hadn’t seen before, overtaking at every opportunity, refusing to yield an inch of space. When he finally closed in to lap Franco, I held my breath, watching as he drew dangerously close, almost forcing Franco off the track. Then, in a split second, Franco’s car veered off-course, spinning out and crashing into the barriers. The gasps around me were drowned out by the sound of metal grinding against concrete.

The cameras caught every second of it, but I knew immediately: it hadn’t been an accident. Lando had pushed him, and Franco’s car was totaled. Word quickly spread that Franco had injured his wrist, an injury that would keep him off the track for weeks.

When I finally found Lando after the race, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Lando, tell me you didn’t do that on purpose.”

He looked at me, eyes still blazing with the same anger I’d seen earlier. “He was asking for it, Y/N. I warned him. He wouldn’t leave you alone, and then he had the nerve to say he could treat you better? I wasn’t going to stand for that.”

I stared at him, torn between anger and an unsettling sense of pride. “But Lando… you could’ve seriously hurt him.”

He pulled me close, his expression softening just slightly. “I’d do anything to protect you, Y/N. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else thinking they have a claim on you. I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

My heart softened, even though I knew he’d crossed a line. “Lando, you can’t just—”

But before I could finish, he kissed me, right there in the open, in front of cameras and crew. Our secret was no longer hidden; he was making it known to everyone, Franco included, that I was his.

As the days passed, Lando’s apology came in small gestures—a handwritten note slipped into my bag, flowers on my doorstep, a quiet apology over dinner. He promised me he’d try to control his temper, and slowly, I forgave him. Because, in the end, there was no denying that he’d done it out of love, fierce and unyielding, a love I couldn’t resist.

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii @Milkyymelanine @ilovsyou3000morgan @styl1shl1v @eddieharrington @hellowgoodbye

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lemotmo · 2 days ago

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911 fandom we need to talk…

Only a few months ago Buck kissed a man for the first time. It was the beginning of his bisexuality journey. Since he started this journey with T*mmy, we all naturally and logically called the ship BuckT*mmy and started calling the people who shipped them BuckT*mmies.

Throughout the months a lot of other shipnames came into use for the ship, but most of them stuck to the name BuckT*mmy.

For a few months now however, it has started to become increasingly obvious that most of these BuckT*mmy shippers aren’t really BuckT*mmies, but just Tommies. They aren’t part of the BuckT*mmy fandom, but the Tommy fandom. They don’t care about Buck. For them it's all about Tommy (and Lou). They have proven that time and time again.

Ever since Thursday we’ve gotten the ultimate proof of this. These people have, once again, resorted to threats, harassment and vile accusations. This time at the address of Oliver, Ryan and even Tim.

They are making vile racist comments about having Ryan deported even when the man is born and raised in Texas. They are accusing Oliver of biphobia and homophobia while Oliver has been nothing but kind and understanding towards the bi community while portraying Buck. They are also talking about deporting Oliver back to the UK and writing him off the show to bring in Lou again to play Tommy. Some of them have talked about figuring out where Oliver lives.

This has gone too far!

These people aren’t BuckT*mmies. They never were. They don't give a sh*t about Buck. So from now on I’ll be calling them Tommies. Instead of talking about the BuckT*mmy fandom, I’ll call them the Tommy fandom. Ali suggested using this name from now on when we talk about these people. These are her words on this:

“We need to stop calling them BuckT*mmy. This has never been about Buck so just call them Tommies because that's all they've even been. I'm going to make it into a new way to call someone racist.

I just don't want Buck associated with it in any way. It has never been about Buck for these people. They are Tommies and that has nothing to do with Buck or Oliver.”

Spread the word by reblogging this post and actively start using the term Tommies and Tommy fandom when you talk about the former BuckT*ommy shippers and their fandom. If you want to tag your posts, start using the tag Tommies and Tommy fandom when you talk about them. Or use the anti-tags if you prefer. They don’t have the right to use Buck’s name anymore after all that has happened.

Actively stop using the (anti) BuckT*mmy, (anti) BuckT*mmies, (anti) Tev*n tag when you do tag something. If people don’t want to read about that fandom, that’s fine. They can just block the tags/words: Tommies, Tommy fandom, anti Tommies and anti Tommy fandom. It takes less than a minute to block them all.

REMEMBER:

BuckT*mmies -> Tommies

BuckT*mmy -> Tommy fandom

anti BuckT*mmies -> anti Tommies

anti BuckT*mmy -> anti Tommy fandom

Personally I will start using the new anti tags from now on when I address or talk about these people.

I am not planning on spending too much energy and time anymore on talking about a part of fandom that has totally lost the plot. I'd much rather talk about the T*mmy-free future of the show.

I will keep addressing some asks about the Tommies topic, but mostly I'll be moving on to brighter and better things. Such as Madney being pregnant again, Eddie's self-discovery journey and where this might lead him (hopefully right into Buck's arms 😉) , Buck's journey to figure out what his bisexuality truly means for him, Henren's happiness with having Mara home where she belongs and last but not least, Bathena building their new house and home.

#buddie #evan buckley #oliver stark #ryan guzman #eddie diaz #911 abc #anti Tommy fandom #anti Tommies

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chewnotchoke · 1 day ago

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only us who knows - leehan

synopsis: you havent seen your boyfriend, leehan, in a while so you decided to surprise him in his fansign and he tries his best not to be obvious infront of everyone else

got inspired from this leehan vid

warnings: secret relationship, fluff, idol!leehan x non-idol!reader

wc: 781

more under the cut!

video calls and late-night messages were never quite enough. nothing could ever be as great as having your boyfriend beside you; it’s been two months since you last saw each other. your heart has been torn between the joy of his success and the loneliness of his absence over the months apart, and the pain has been constant. despite all, your love remained the same.

but tonight, you are now standing in line for their fan sign in japan. you had to fly over for a few hours just to see him again, and leehan knows nothing about it. you’re standing there like everyone else, your hands sweaty, your heart racing, even though you've touched his hand a hundred times. seeing him welcome each fan with that bright smile you know so well makes it feel unreal, like a strange combination of tension and excitement. if feels weird to be here, publicly supporting him like everyone else, even though you've been keeping your relationship with him a secret.

with each step, the line moves closer, and your heart beats more loudly. in the hopes that he won't notice you until the last minute, you keep your head down. you can already imagine his reaction: his breathless laughter, his wide-eyed shock, and his usual way of reaching for your hand, as though he finds it hard to believe you're real.

taesan was seated first, followed by sungho, jaehyun, riwoo, leehan, and then woonhak. right before it was your turn to interact with jaehyun, leehan’s eyes found yours across the room, and his face broke into the most genuine, unguarded smile, the kind he usually saves just for you. you could tell that he could not contain his excitement anymore and he started finding it hard to focus on the fan in front of him. he tried to contain it, molding his features into a more controlled smile, but you could see the sparkle in his eyes, the barely-contained excitement. leehan can’t hide it from you, not even if he tried.

and then, it’s your turn.

leehan’s face breaks into a more radiant smile, and he practically bounces in his chair. you furrow your eyebrows worriedly and your eyes try to tell him not to be so obvious. he clears his throat and says in his usual fan sign tone, “thank you for coming to see me.” but, his voice has a warmth and tenderness meant for you, and his eyes tell a different story, hinting at all the words he can’t say here. the two of you softly chuckles. he squeezes your hand, his thumb grazing your fingers in a way that, after all this time away, feels both exhilarating and natural. “i couldn’t wait any longer.” you said.

he kept squeezing your hand gently, as if to say “i’ve missed you, too.”

but he breathes, almost like a whisper, “i missed you.” and you become wary of your surroundings, worried someone must have heard him because leehan was not bothered to be worrying about anyone hearing what he just said. because to be honest, he will scream how much he misses you in front of everyone else if he could. he then slides his other hand under the table, giving your knee a reassuring squeeze.

his eyes hold yours, and then his look fell into every feature you have on your face, glistening with that comforting warmth, and you know he’s struggling to hold back. “can’t i just stand there and hug you? i don’t think holding hands is enough.”

his eyes lingered on your lips.

one thing about leehan when he’s restrained from doing something he wants, he becomes insufferable. “careful, a lot of people are watching.” you whisper, trying to remind him of where you both are. he tries to regain his composure but can’t help but lean in a little closer than necessary. he laughs softly and shakes his head, his eyes dancing with mischief. "you make it hard for me to be professional."

right when the staff asks you it’s almost time to move, leehan’s touch which was once so subtle now felt like he didn’t want to let go. the warmth in his eyes is becoming unmistakable and the fans are starting to notice. before you’re ushered to move along, he scribbles something on one of the pages in the album. even as you walk away, you feel his gaze following you and then he mouths something only you could understand and feel.

“i love you.”

after you are done with the fan sign, you flip through the pages of the album and see his writing: let’s meet at our hotel later. it’s my turn to surprise you.

#boynextdoor #boynextdoor imagines #leehan #boynextdoor x reader #kim donghyun #leehan x reader #boynextdoor fluff #leehan fluff #bnd leehan #boynextdoor leehan #bnd fluff #kim leehan #leehan scenarios #leehan fic #boynextdoor fic

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anakinstwinklebunny · 2 days ago

Note

Hii this is a bit of a strange ask

Could you make a small Drabble of any Hayden character that you think suits it best, but of that one Wolf on Wall Street scene “nothing but short short skirts around the house” the reader does it for about a week and whatever character you choose goes crazy? :>

Author's note: dear beautiful nonnie, this isn't a strange ask, it was perfect. Although i couldn't decide to chose one particular character, so I most of them :33

DAVID RICE

STEPHEN GLASS

David would be obsessed from the start, instantly giving in with zero resistance. It starts with him just catching glimpses as you walk around the house, his head tilting with every inch you reveal. But by the end of the week, he’s teleporting to meet you in every room you enter, each jump closer than the last. “You know,” his gaze dipping down to trace your curves, “this week has been torture.” He doesn’t even try to hide how much he wants you now, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. With one swift motion, he pins you against the wall, his hands exploring every curve. "Think you can just wander around like that and not expect me to... get ideas?" His fingers slip beneath the fabric, his voice a delicious murmur. "I’ve got a few places in mind I could take you right now.."

Stephen’s flustered from the start. You notice his stammer whenever you walk by him, his eyes flicking up and down as he tries to act casual, but it’s hopeless. By the third day, he can barely keep it together, sneaking glances over the top of his glasses, his fingers nervously tapping on his notebook. “You, um,” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat, “you know, you’ve been, uh… really…distracting.” He stammers, cheeks flushed, his voice dropping. Finally, he gets bold, stepping closer, his fingers grazing your thigh. “This little skirt? It’s not helping me work, you know.” You catch the look in his eyes as his hand starts to travel up, and suddenly, shy Stephen isn’t so shy anymore.

AJ is smooth and knows exactly what he’s doing, but you’ll feel him unravel when you start wearing those short skirts. He’ll try to play it cool, but the moment you cross his line of sight, his jaw clenching, his nostrils fluttering, and he just can’t keep his hands to himself. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, do you?” His voice would be teasing, but his hands would be rough when they grab your plush thighs. You’d give him a little teasing wiggle, just enough for him to feel your body press against his, and the shift of your hips would make him groan low in his throat. “Get up here, now.” He’d lift you up onto his lap, and you’d feel him hard against you instantly. Fingers digging into the flesh of your hips “Don't care about anythin' right now but this damned skirt of yours..who even bought you this, sweetheart?" he rubbed his clothed length against your thin panties "cause it definitely wasn't me, would rail you in it way earlier"

ANAKIN SKYWALKER (AOTC)

AOTC Ani is a mess, completely nervous and flushed at how much he’s enjoying this—he can’t hide it. When you walk into the room, it’s all he can do not to lose it. He’s quiet at first, trying to keep his composure, but your short skirt keeps pulling his focus—especially when you casually bend over, giving him a perfect view of your legs, and a little peek up the hem. You can see him shift, his breath hitching as he fights the flush creeping up his neck. “W-Why are you doing this to me?” His hands shake slightly when he finally touches you, his grip on your hips trembling as he holds you to him. He’s hesitant at first, unsure if he’s allowed to touch you this way, unsure if its even properly to do so, unsure to trust himself to do it. Yet, when you sit down in his lap, that’s it. He can’t hold back anymore. “You— you look so...” He stumbles over his words, a little embarrassed, but the heat in his gaze tells you everything. “You know how hard it is to focus when you're wearing that? Almost made me choke by Master Obi-Wan..”

Anakin Skywalker (ROTS)

VADER

By the time you’re in the ROTS era, Ani’s no longer hesitant—he’s consumed by this dark, obsessive hunger. You in that short skirt? He's about to lose it. As soon as you straddle him, his gaze locks onto your backside, his eyes tracing the curve of your body as you lower yourself onto him. His hands immediately find your waist, squeezing hard as he guides you down. “Look at that ass,” he growls “You’re gonna sit on me and wear that skirt, and tease me like this?” His hands will travel down your back. His lips are bruising, demanding, pulling you closer as his hands tug you down, hard, against him. “Move for me, baby. I want to see that ass bounce on my thick cock”

Vader is possessive, controlling, but so gentle in a way that drives you insane. In the privacy of his chambers, after a week of separation, he doesn’t even wait for you to speak before he’s on you. His voice is commanding, low, but filled with that unwavering affection. "You’ve tested me all week... and now you're here, wearing this." His hands find your waist, dragging you toward him as he presses his lips against your throat. His grip would be firm, unyielding, but his touch is incredibly soft—caressing your skin as if you’re something fragile, something precious. You’d feel his mechanical hand slowly explore your body, just shy of dominance, as if worshipping you. “You look like you’ve been made for me,” he’d whisper into your ear, lips brushing your skin. His gaze would be ravenous, following your every movement as if he can’t get enough of you. "Yet you do something like that.." And when you lay beneath him, he’d take his time (to tease you), slowly pulling the fabric of your skirt up just to see you, to feel every inch of your skin. His hands are everywhere - groping, squeezing, rubbing the flesh of your skin

SAM MONROE

Sam is a bit rougher than the others, especially with the everything he's went through. He’s used to being guarded, but you in that skirt—it's breaking him. After days of watching you in that outfit, teasing him, he’s about to explode. “You think I’m gonna let you walk around the house like that without doing something about it?” His voice is low, rough, almost dangerous as he slams the door shut behind him. His hands are immediately on you—gripping your hips, slamming you against the nearest wall as he kisses you roughly, taking control. “You’re gonna be sorry you wore that skirt,”

JAMES KELLY

James is such a soft dom. The minute you slip into that skirt, he’s hypnotized. He won’t push you too fast, but you can tell he’s fighting the urge to devour you. His hands are light at first, as he lets you control the pace. He’d pull you close, and the soft, gentle way he’d hold you would make your heart race. "You have no idea what you this skirt does to me, do you?" He’d murmur, lips brushing over your neck as his hands slowly explore your body. He’s patient, deliberate, yet so desperate to break you. "Got all night to show you how much I appreciate the view"

LEO

Leo’s flirtatious, cocky, and so confident, but when you wear that skirt, you bring out the feral side of him. He’ll tease at first, pulling you close, hands on your waist as he whispers in your ear. “You wear that skirt to get my attention?” His voice is teasing, but the way he grips your hips shows his true intent. As you sit on his lap, he’s practically grinding into you, unable to hide how much he’s enjoying it. His lips are on yours, desperate and urgent, his hands moving underneath your skirt, claiming you in every way possible, not letting you take off the skirt just yet.

CLAYTON BERESFORD

Clayton is a quiet storm—calm on the surface but with a dark, possessive hunger just below. When you wear that short skirt, he’s trying to keep his cool, but his focus is slipping. His gaze sharpens as he watches you move, and it’s clear he’s imagining everything he wants to do to you. “You think you can tease me like this and expect me not to do something about it?” His voice is low, controlled, but it holds a sharp edge. His hands reach for your waist, pulling you closer, his breath quickening as he feels you against him. You can feel his pulse thrum under his skin, the tension building. “I’ve been patient,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, “but you’re making it very hard to stay in control.” He slowly lifts your skirt, his fingers trailing up your thighs, dangerously close to the heat between your legs. He leans in, his lips barely touching yours. “I’m going to make sure you never wear this again without me getting a taste.” His hands would grip your hips, and he’d pull you closer, urging you to feel him, to let him take what he’s been craving.

LORENZO

KURT

Lorenzo is a bit of a playboy, cocky and charming, but when you wear that skirt, he can’t help but want you in a way he’s not used to. At first, he’s all teasing smirks, playfully checking you out as you walk by, and he’d be very vocal about it. “Damn, that skirt is dangerous, baby.” His gaze is fiery, but his hands would be slow, deliberate, and possessive as they explore your body. “Is this how you get a man’s attention?” He’d tug you toward him, lips trailing down your neck, his hands massaging your back before they slip lower. He’d bring you close enough that you can feel the hardness of him pressing against you. "I’ve been dying to take you, but if you keep wearing things like this, I’ll lose all control." You’d feel the way he grinds against you, his body on fire as he pulls you deeper into him.

Kurt is brooding, intense, and feels the weight of the world on his shoulders—but you? You make him forget everything, especially when you wear that skirt. He’s been trying to keep his distance, trying to keep things slow, but he can’t. Not with you looking like that. When you slip into the room, that skirt barely hanging on, he snaps. “You think this is funny?” he growls, eyes drinking every inch of your exposed skin. His hands move without hesitation, gripping your hips and yanking you against him. His lips crash onto yours—bruising, desperate—as if he's been starved for you. His fingers move up your skirt, rough and unrelenting, slipping under the fabric as he pulls you closer. "I tried to wait... but damn it, you’re making this impossible," he mutters between kisses. His lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he explores your body with intent. He’s not gentle—he’s a man at the edge of his control. “You want this, don’t you? Want me to take you right here, right now baby?” His voice is deep, rasping “cause this is what you wanted, right? For me to lose control?”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddict @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo

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endereies · 2 days ago

Text

FREEDOM OF SPEECH

No Nut November - Day 10

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When Matt sees you with someone else, he couldn't help but admit how he feels

It was obvious that tensions were high. Anyone could see that. After being friends with the triplets for so long, you felt like things couldn’t change, yet you found yourselves proving that wrong. You saw the way he looked at you, only because you were looking at him too.

Everything, down to the way you acted and dressed revolved around him. You just couldn’t help it. You wanted, no, needed him to notice you, to see you.

Yet after what felt like years, his behaviour didn’t seem to change. You tried to convince yourself that he was just excellent at hiding his feelings towards you but if anything, they were on show.

“Yeah, this is y/n! She’s my best friend, the one I told you about.” A shudder crept up your spine as he introduced you. It shouldn’t have bothered you, but you just couldn’t help it. That’s all you were to him, a best friend. You tried to be grateful, after all you were friends with the fucking Sturniolo triplets. And here you were, pitying yourself because you wanted more with one of them.

You just couldn’t get over it, over him. How was it fair that he had total control over your mind. The little moments you used to fawn over just turned into self-deprecation. Any other girl you knew that had caught Matt’s eye wasn’t like you. They were prettier and had mastered the art of make-up. Their hair was styled and flawless even after the hours of a party. It was just something you couldn’t do.

Yet, his hand would still drop over your shoulder, rubbing your skin as you watching a film. He’d insist you borrow his jacket when it got cold, goose bumps rising to your skin. A few of them ended up in your persona collection after he denied the return saying, ‘keep it, they look better on you.’ There had to be something, right?

Months of trying felt pointless, flirting fell flat and as far as you were concerned? Matt still thought of you the same. You weren’t going to sit around anymore just pining over someone who obviously didn’t feel the same.

So, when another guy stood in front of you, a hand stretched out as an invitation for a dance, how could you say no. Gawking at Matt wasn’t going anywhere, and you didn’t want to never endlessly pray that he’ll pull you close. Why get your hopes up when an attractive man is stood in front of you now?

Although, when you placed your hand into his, Matt’s eyes were on you. He liked you, hell that man loved you. He didn’t miss anything you handed out to him. His anxiety just stepped in front whenever he wanted to act upon it. No amount of talks with his brothers fixed that.

He wasn’t dumb, he saw it burn in the man’s eyes. Lust. He only wanted a quick fuck, he wasn’t a newcomer. Unbeknownst to him, you had spent your time staring at Matt rather than scanning the crowd.

He tried to ignore it, he really did. But as much as he shared the feeling, he hears your laugh through the group of people. He heard everything. The flaunting, the flirting, and the way you let yourself giggle at any small thing he did.

After about ten minutes of his eyes tracing where his hands met her body, he’d had enough. He couldn’t believe it took him until you were in the arms of someone else to make him see just how much be didn’t want you to be with anyone else.

Before either of you knew it, his hand was wrapped around your wrist, dragging you away from the man.

“Hey! Matt?! What’s your problem” He didn’t listen, he only waited until you both were secluded.

“don’t go and dance around him, he’s just in it for a fuck.”

“Maybe I wanted that.” You crossed your arms, pouting like a small child.

“As if, you aren’t that type of person.” As much as you wanted to admit it, it felt wrong. You were leaning into another part of yourself. It hurt both of you.

“Oh really? As if you care about what I do.” Every sour thing came up your throat before you could stop it

“Excuse me? “His tone changed significantly as he etched closer, his hands now crossed over his chest.

“You haven’t batted an eye at me in months.”

“I have.” The more he spoke, the more be admitted things he wasn’t proud of.

“Hm. When then, name one time.” You wanted to believe him, but if you did. Could you bring yourself to trust him.

“Literally every night since I realised, I love you.”

Shit. Now he HAD fucked up.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03

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apomaro-mellow · 3 days ago

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Yall said you wanted more of Victorian steddie cucking Jason so here ya go

Read on AO3

Steve had been distracted and it only got worse as his appointment with Doctor Munson got closer. He had never felt that good before. No omega he’d ever talked to had mentioned that an alpha’s touch could feel like that. He didn’t even know using mouths was an option. Was it strictly a medical procedure? Surely he couldn’t expect his husband to perform that for him. Only a licensed expert should….should…

He clenched his legs together and bit his lip, trying to look like he was present as his husband went over the final preparations.

Jason sighed. “I do wish you didn’t have to see the doctor on the same day as the party. What if you fall ill?”

Steve sighed. “It’s for the best. You want a child, don’t you? One of our very own. And Doctor Munson has been recommended by all our friends.”

Of course, Jason had been the one to seek him out, but when Steve mentioned the name Munson to his own circle, Heather and Carol had nothing but praise for the man’s practice. Carol had even confided in her own struggle to conceive before taking him on as a physician and now she was set to pop any day now.

Before, Steve had chalked it up to a pill or tonic, something that made her and her husband’s attempts more fruitful. But…when he remembered how the doctor had helped him. Now Steve was wondering if Carol’s child would be born with hair darker and curlier than it should be. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that but the only way to know more was to get to his appointment.

Jason wouldn’t be joining him for this one, too busy with the last minute details. They were hosting a celebration for Jason’s commendation and Steve hoped he’d be in a jovial mood when it was time to get to bed.

He didn’t even have to spend time in the waiting room when he arrived. Doctor Munson was already in the front room, almost as if he’d been waiting for Steve.

“Mrs. Carver, right on time, follow me.”

Steve did, entering and sitting down on the table as he had the first time. Doctor Munson closed the door behind himself. He started with asking baseline questions. Most of which were easy to answer, as it had only been a week since he had been here last. Nothing much changed except…well…

“And your urges? The ones Mr. Carver was worried about? Did they get any better?”

Steve started to wring his skirt before remembering his manners and straightening it out. “I um, well, yes and uh no?”

Doctor Munson chuckled. “So a solid maybe? Could you elaborate? Are they different from before?”

Steve thought about it. He still felt an ache, a need. But they only came upon him when he thought of-oh.

“The urges used to be directed solely at my husband. But I don’t think about him anymore. Instead I-”

“Instead?”

Steve cleared his throat and turned up his gaze from his lap to the man before. “I’ve been thinking of you.”

The grin that came upon the doctor’s face was both endearing and searing. Steve felt his body get warm and his eyes were drawn to that mouth. He missed entirely what was said next.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said that’s perfectly natural. Your omega desires the one who will care for your needs. Typically it would be your husband. But it’s not uncommon for an omega’s sights to turn to someone else.”

“Oh.” It felt better to hear that it was normal.

“Now, let’s not dither any longer. You have a party to prepare for.”

“Speaking of”, Steve started as the doctor scribbled something down. “I know it’s very last minute, but we would be honored if you attended.”

“Would you now?”

“Of course. If all goes well, we-I’d have you to thank for my child.”

“In that case, I would be honored to attend. Now, onto business. Do you feel that need arising now? When you look at me?”

Steve thought about the times he had admitted to Jason the sort of feelings his husband caused within him; how his husband had recoiled to know his inner thoughts. Steve didn’t want Doctor Munson to be repulsed by him. But if he lied to a physician, what was the point?

So he nodded. “Yes. I am, I mean I do, feel those things.”

Doctor Munson nodded and moved to stand behind Steve. “I’m sure you and Mr. Carver have plans for a more private celebration tonight, yes?”

“Yes. We want to make the most of my appointment today.” He could feel the doctor’s breath against his ear.

“And as I understand it, this will be your first knotting. Being knotted and pupped up, you’re going to experience some changes. It’s time you got acquainted with yourself more than ever before.”

Steve tried to turn to see what he meant but Doctor Munson was already moving, placing a large mirror in front of him. The doctor got behind him again and put his hands on Steve’s waist.

“May you lift your skirts and spread your legs?”

Steve felt his cheeks heat up but obeyed. When all was said and down, his core was exposed to the world. He was only able to glance at his reflection before turning his head away. He was surprised to feel a gentle hand massaging his hip.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of down there.” His hands moved down to Steve’s thighs, slowly making their way inward. “You have a healthy thatch of hairs.”

His hand cupped Steve then, simply holding him. Steve’s breath got short and yet he felt secure, safe. Doctor Munson hummed, sounding observant and pleased.

“Has your husband ever told you how lovely you are down there?”

Steve’s eyes snapped open, though he wasn’t quite sure when they’d closed. ‘Lovely’? Down there? He turned his head to look at the doctor’s face but he wasn’t even looking at Steve. His eyes were on the mirror. Steve turned his gaze to that and found eyes transfixed on their reflection. Specifically on what was happening….down there. Doctor Munson’s finger was stroking up and down.

“I asked you a question Mrs. Carver. Are you still lucid?”

“He’s never-n-never said that about me, um, rather about that part of me.”

Doctor Munson tutted. “Husbands aren’t always the best at expressing themselves, I’m afraid. But I’m sure he must think so. Beautifully pink in color. And the shine.” He took in a deep breath in the same moment that Steve breathed out. He pushed a finger in, a low growl coming from him as he watched it get sucked in.

“All alphas owe their lives to this. It’s a pity they don’t always know how to show appreciation. So allow me to tell you - the way you could take a knot is divine.” He pushed a second finger inside. “And the way this same part can pass through a child, bringing new life into the world, is godly.”

Steve’s hips shifted but he fought to keep them still. In his mind he could hear Jason reprimanding him. And he could also hear his governess telling him that good omegas stayed perfectly still so their alpha could complete the deed without interruption.

“Don’t fight your instincts.”

“B-but I-I was told-”

“Your body knows what it needs. And if your mate hasn’t given it to you right away, use your body to tell him what that is.” To prove his point, Doctor Munson stilled his hand.

Steve couldn’t help the whine from the back of his throat. His hips squirmed without any coordination for a few moments before he was able to find some kind of rhythm and he watched through the mirror. Watched as those deft fingers moved in and out of him.

“That’s it, Mrs. Carver. Just like that.”

“Steve. You can-that is to say-you may call me by my first name.”

“In that case, you may also drop the formalities with me. Those close to me know me by Eddie.”

“Eddie”, Steve sighed, trying it out. It certainly felt more intimate than calling him by ‘Doctor Munson’. And right now, he didn’t want to be known as ‘Mrs. Carver’.

“You’re doing wonderfully Steve. You produce slick like a master and your scent is perfectly enticing. You can take a good stretching”, he said, a third finger slipping inside. “And then there’s this little button.” His other hand pulled at the top of his mound.

After his first appointment, Steve had been curious. He had thought to look but could never quite gather the nerve to look for long or do any true exploration. But he remembered where he had felt Eddie’s tongue that sent jolts of lightning through his body.

“Do you know what this part of you is for?”

Steve shook his head. Hole was for the alpha and then later the pup to come through. Everything else was a mystery that only men in medicine knew. He watched with hungry eyes as Eddie finally touched it, just with the tip of his finger and still he reached up and clung to the sleeve of the doctor’s coat.

“Do you understand now?”

“Wha? Mmn, what?”

“Pay attention, Steve”, Eddie reminded gently. He touched the small nub again and this time Steve paid attention to his own reaction. Not just how it felt good but what his body actually did in response to it. How his hips lifted to meet the touch, how he tightened around Eddie’s fingers, and how more slick came from him.

“Do you see now?”, Eddie asked. “Most will ignore it but this part of you is important too.” He used the hand not currently in Steve to spread his slick around. “It will make you clench around your alpha. That, combined with his knot, will make sure none of his seed leaks out. An evolutionary advantage, back from the days where an omega could be taken by any alpha. It made certain that even if that happened, a bonded omega would already be pupped by the one of their choosing.”

His fingers started to thrust deep into Steve while the ones on his other hand rubbed quick circles. Steve’s head came to rest on his shoulder, mouth agape and eyes rolling back. His husband was most definitely the last thing on his mind right now.

“That’s it Steve, let go. Just feel. An alpha should consider this his honor, his sacred duty.”

Steve found it hard to believe any alpha would feel that way but certainly Eddie must. He was focused on his mission and nothing else. And Steve felt that delicious heat build up in him again just like last time. Then he felt Eddie nuzzle at his neck. His high collar kept from any pure skin contact, but it made him burn all the same. Eddie buried his nose on the side of his mating bite.

A clear challenge to the alpha who had already bitten him.

Steve opened his eyes in time to see himself put Eddie’s fingers in a death grip and watch everything down there pulse in time with the waves of pleasure that crashed through him. This time, instead of washing his hands, Eddie brought his slick-soaked fingers to his mouth and cleaned them off with his tongue.

“What time is that party?”

For the evening’s events, Steve changed his gown to something more celebratory. It showed his neck and parts of his shoulders and collarbone. But of course, his bond bite was hidden under a choker, as was custom. The only omegas who went without were those without a bite to show. Steve had spent the better part of the evening distracting himself with idle talk.

Eddie hadn’t arrived yet and it made Steve’s thoughts wander. Did he help out all omegas the same way? Was Steve just next in a long line of conquests? Eddie had never offered Steve anything but his medicinal techniques and yet he was clearly challenging Jason. And Jason didn’t even know it.

Jason said nothing about Eddie’s scent on him when he returned home, though Steve was sure he must be able to smell it. He washed himself before the party just to be sure.

And speaking of the party, it was going swimmingly, he had to admit. Everyone was enjoying themselves and Jason had his chest puffed out all night. It made Steve anticipate their bed all the more. When it was time to dance, Steve took his husband’s hand and followed his lead. Dancing for him was an excuse to have his alpha’s hands on him in public. Jason always kept a respectable distance though. Sometimes more than respectable.

After one dance, they moved to the side. Steve could have danced more but sometimes it felt like Jason only wanted to touch him when necessary. Jason conversed with some of the other men, Steve loyally at his side when someone tapped his bare shoulder.

“Eddie?”

“Apologies for my late arrival.”

“‘Eddie’?”, Jason echoed.

“I would like to make the most of what time I have left in the party. So if I may impose, may I have the hostess’ for this next dance?”

Steve was tempted to take Eddie’s hand even without his husband’s approval. But he still looked to Jason, hoping he didn’t look too eager.

“You have my permission, doctor.”

Eddie took Steve’s hand and led him to the dance floor. He didn’t wear his white coat and his hair wasn’t pulled up like in his office. Instead, it fell over the shoulders of his dark jacket. Eddie nodded to Carol and Steve was reminded that she was one of his patients. Eddie brought him into a dancer’s hold so close that their chests rose and fell against each other.

“Carol is due any day now”, Steve commented as they swayed to the music.

“And glowing with the pride of it. Mr. Hagan must be proud.”

“I’m sure they appreciated your help. Carol was so worried before conceiving.”

“And that worry was stress that made it all the more difficult for their family to grow. It seems they’re doing quite well now.”

“Do you help all omegas in the same way?”, Steve ventured to ask.

Eddie grinned. “Each person who passes through my practice requires different care. I don’t normally gossip about specifics, but for the Hagans, I simply coached Mr. Hagan through some bedroom techniques. Mr. Wheeler simply needed a tonic for vitality. But you, Steve…”

His gaze got intense and Steve realized he could scent him for the first time. It made sense for doctors to cover their scent, otherwise it could unease a patient. But this was a social event and Eddie had no need to hide his cinnamon and cloves scent.

“Yes?”

“I knew I had to assist you by any means necessary. And if that meant I was allowed to touch…to taste…”

Steve’s body grew warm. “Tonight-”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“But Jason-”

“Will be taken care of. He is still your husband. And I intend to respect his claim over you. But you deserve a pup. You deserve to hear a child’s laughter in your halls and to be someone’s mother.”

“Eddie”, Steve sighed, not even realizing how close their bodies were pressed until the musicians changed the tune.

Their bodies separated and Steve was returned to his husband. Steve fanned himself and used the dance as an excuse as to why he was slightly flushed, not that Jason acknowledged it beyond a sneer. As the party began to wind down, Steve noticed his husband was more intoxicated than usual. He became worried about what this meant for the night and his suspicions were proven correct.

Their guests had gone home and the married couple dressed for bed. Jason needed help getting into his gown and he was in bed while Steve was still sitting at his vanity, brushing his hair.

“Jason? Jason?”, Steve called out, going over to his side of the bed. “Don’t you remember tonight?”

“He’s just about passed out”, Eddie’s voice sounded from the door, causing Steve to whip around.

“You’re here.”

“I said I would be.” Eddie shrugged his coat off.

“Here? Now?”, Steve asked his heart rabbiting.

“Yes”, Eddie nodded. “He won’t wake until morning. But the scent you make and the sounds you produce should reach his subconscious mind and make him more susceptible to you.”

“You’ll give me a pup? Tonight?”, Steve put a hand to his chest, trying to calm his heart.

“I promised it to you and your husband. And I am a man of my word.” Eddie closed the distance between them and cradled Steve’s face, illuminated only by moonlight, then kissed him sweetly.

It was a different kind of kiss than what Steve was used to. Barely there pecks. This was like a thunderstorm after a drought. Eddie’s hands smoothed down Steve’s neck, around his waist, and then settled on his hips. Steve’s hands stayed perfectly still at his side. When Eddie pulled back, he took Steve’s hand and guided him to the other side of the bed where he normally laid. Steve laid down on his back.

His heart had just calmed down but it picked up again as Eddie undressed himself fully. Steve’s legs trembled, fighting between the instinct to spread and show himself and his learned behavior of keeping his legs shut. But he remembered the alpha’s words just that morning. He was allowed to give in to his instincts. So he not only spread, but he pulled the hem of his nightgown up and over his knees, exposing himself to the room.

“There it is, just as gorgeous as always”, Eddie praised, coming onto the bed.

Steve thought he should feel more shame. Or more reservations. He was letting another alpha take him while his real husband and mate slumbered right next to them. But Jason benefited from this too. Eddie started to kiss his thighs and Steve just about forgot the presence of his husband. He felt warm breath on his loins and covered his mouth before he could cry out. Then a hand came up to pull it away.

“Mr. Carver needs to hear you. He needs to associate your sounds with satisfaction.”

“But I’ve never…”

Eddie licked a stripe up his core, eliciting a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp from Steve. “The more you allow yourself to feel, the better chance you have at conceiving.”

Steve’s lips parted and he allowed short breaths. Then Eddie’s tongue started to draw circles and whimpers fell from him. He thought he’d be more scared of Jason waking up. He turned his head to see his husband on his back, appearing almost dead to the world. Then Eddie blew cold air onto his hot flesh and Steve jolted, a sharp cry coming from him. Jason shifted, turning on his side now so that he was face to face with Steve.

That only stoked the flames in Steve’s body and he felt himself get more wet. Eddie hummed, seeming pleased at his reaction.

“You feel good and you want your alpha to know that.” He rose up and kissed Steve’s chest through his gown while rubbing a finger against his slit. He pressed the first one in and released a low rumble, pleased at how easily it slipped in. His lips found Steve’s neck, the unbitten side, and sucked a mark into it.

“Alpha”, Steve moaned softly, arms winding around Eddie.

Eddie got him to three fingers like before and then pulled them out. Steve’s eyes fluttered as he felt the head finally slip in. One hand fell from Eddie, needing to grip something and that ended up being Jason’s nightgown. Steve could feel his husband’s chest rise and fell while Eddie sunk deeper and deeper into him. His mouth fell open and every indecent sound he had held back all these years were set free as Eddie thrust in and out.

Every touch was true to Eddie’s words from earlier. He considered it a privilege and an honor to be allowed to do this. Steve felt something else begin to push up against him and realized in euphoria that it was a knot. He was going to be knotted, he was going to be filled and thoroughly seeded and it would finally take root and turn into a beautiful life.

When it popped into him, he could hear Eddie growl into his ear. Eddie bit into his shoulder and Steve saw stars.

Jason didn’t stir until morning came. He sat up, head still swimming from the previous night. He rubbed his temples and slowly stood up from the bed. It was only then that he noticed Doctor Munson sitting in a chair on the other side of the room.

“What are you-?!”

“Shh”, Eddie put a finger to his lips. “Watch your volume. Your wife is still resting.”

Jason looked down to see that Steve was very much still asleep. “Why are you here?”

“Mr. Carver when a patient puts their trust in me, I see it through to the end. And I must say, you performed quite well last night. As I was able to observe, Mrs. Carver was properly knotted.”

Jason’s brow furrowed. He didn’t want to say that he had no recollection of that. But he truly remembered nothing after collapsing into bed. Eddie stood and walked over to the bed. He was fully clothed, excluding his coat and hat.

“The proof is right here.” Eddie pulled the blanket back and then lifted Steve’s gown. He then very gently spread his legs. “His amount of slick is proof of a coupling. But if you look very closely, not a single drop of your spend is on the outside. I say not even a textbook would have a more perfect illustration.”

Steve shifted and Eddie covered him back up. Jason swallowed, feeling challenged and yet now knowing why.

“So it is done?”

“Conception should be complete, yes. But your journey has only just begun. We can discuss it more later. But I recommend that Steve visits my office regularly from now on. Perhaps every two weeks or so.”

Jason watched as Doctor Munson put his coat back on and then his hat. “Um, yes, very good. Thank you, doctor.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Carver”, Eddie smirked.

tbc?

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #a/b/o #omegaverse

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unhingedangstaddict · 2 days ago

Text

Currently working on my own fix-it fic but man this shit is harder than I thought it'd be- I keep crying and then getting distracted reading other fix-it fics. Thought I'd share this snippet to hopefully motivate myself to keep going???

Hen was starting to wonder if maybe Tommy was out for a run when she heard a faint ‘oh shit’ from inside the house. She banged on the door again. “Come on Kinard! I know you’re in there!” She called out. If Tommy’s neighbors thought she was crazy, oh well, too bad. Hen really didn’t care.

Finally the door was opened by Tommy. His hair was a mess- sticking up as though he’d been running his hands through it far too much-, he had deep dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his eyes were puffy from crying, and frankly, he looked like shit. “What do you want, Hen?” Tommy rasped. Whether his voice was hoarse due to dehydration or yelling and/or crying was unclear.

“To talk about what happened last night.” Hen crossed her arms.

“You mean you’re here to yell at me for what I did?" Tommy guessed. He hadn't forgotten the thinly veiled shovel talk from Hen and Karen months back at the medal ceremony- he wasn't surprised Hen was here now. “Trust me I hate myself for it enough. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already thought about myself.”

“No. I’m here to try and understand what even happened. According to Eddie, Buck wasn’t making very much sense last night. Eddie would’ve come himself to check on you but he’s got Buck right now. Eddie’s worried about you and frankly, I am too.”

Tommy sighed deeply and stepped aside to let Hen into the house.

Soon they were sitting at Tommy’s kitchen table with mugs of coffee in hand.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened or are you just gonna keep having that staring contest with your coffee?” Hen questioned.

“He asked me to move in with him.” Tommy admitted quietly.

“Okay,” Hen said slowly, waiting for Tommy to explain further why he was upset by it. Beyond the obvious matter of Buck leasing his loft apartment and Tommy owning his house, Hen wasn’t sure what the issue was.

“For a split second, I thought about saying yes.” Tommy confessed. “Then I returned to reality and realized I had to end it.”

“But why?” Hen questioned.

“Even if it was only for a second, Hen, I was ready to, what? Sell my house and more than half my stuff to move in with him? I’m not even mad about that part- I’m upset with myself for considering it. I’ve been in Evan’s position before, first gay relationship, lovesick, you think it’s gonna last forever. And I’ve been the first for guys before too. Like I told Evan last night, I know how it ends. And I guess I’d rather break my own heart than wait around for Evan to do it.”

“If you’ve been so sure all this time that it could never work, why did it take until now for you to call things off?” Hen questioned.

“I think from the start I knew I was playing with fire. After the last guy I was a first for, I told myself I wasn’t going to do it anymore. Then I met Evan, and he was just so magnetic, I couldn’t stay away even if I wanted to. I couldn't say no to him. I think I always knew my heart would get broken, and I guess I was okay with that all this time, until last night when I realized I love him, and I knew I had to cut myself off before I reached a point of no return.” Tommy explained. “I mean, I’m a fucking a mess right now and I was the one who called it off. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to survive him ending it.”

“Did you really just figure out last night that you love him?” Hen asked.

“I guess I sorta loved him from the start but last night was different, Hen. I’m in love with him, like well and truly love him, in a way I’ve never felt before, about anyone.” Tears filled Tommy’s eyes. “And I’m just his first. And as badly as I want it, I know I don’t get to be his last.”

“What makes you so sure you can’t be his last?” Hen wondered.

“Because I’m not the forever guy." Tommy shrugged slightly as a tear finally escaped and slid down his cheek. "At best I’m the close-to-but-never-quite-enough guy."

#bucktommy #tevan #fix it fic #tommy kinard #evan buckley #hen wilson #s8e6 fix it #wip

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sunglassesmish · 2 days ago

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It just really seems weird to me that journalists and such (like max gao) are telling us to get over it and move on when… it just happened? We’re not allowed to be upset by tv shows anymore? They wrote a whole episode just to make the breakup hurt more but we’re not allowed to express our hurt?

And these people said nothing when Lou was being harassed endlessly? Or when previously love interests were being harassed? That doesn’t need to be discussed or stopped, but asking questions about a confusing and poorly written break up and being upset about the dismissiveness in interviews afterward is wrong? This is all so weird to me!

i mean first of all, people like him are happy it’s over, they’re happy lou and tommy and bucktommy is gone now. they don’t care what people who actually liked the ship think. imo they likely think people like us ruined the fandom somehow.

it is so funny (not funny haha funny weird) how they can let months and months of constant harassment towards lou and bucktommy go by but as soon as people question oliver for a second it’s like GUYS STOP LEAVE HIM ALONE LOU AND BUCKTOMMY IS GONE SO DEAL WITH IT.

i’m sure there are people who are saying crazy stuff about oliver, and that absolutely should not be happening, but just the way that it’s been happening to that actor (as max likes to call him) for months, yet they stayed silent until now. and the previous love interests were all treated the same, did oliver or anyone stand up for them?

and it’s not like lou isn’t still being attacked, just a few hours ago i saw a reply lizzie responded to ‘omg these people are horrible’ to which lizzie said ‘yeah nobody, like ME or lou even i guess should get death threats and be treated like this’ only for someone to reply with a screenshot of the person she was replying to fullying @ing lou saying ‘your father never loved and you don’t deserve any good things’ quite literally 2 days ago. the hypocrisy and stupidity is WILD.

#anon #ask #911 discourse #fandom wank

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gabessquishytum · 3 days ago

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so I really liked the alpha student dream/omega prof hob 🐺 anon and you did and I accidentally wrote 3k words. very sorry about that?

The thing is, the young man is really very good at this. Hob can feel himself falling for him more each day. Feels his biology work against him every day. That’s the worst thing. Dream is such, such a good alpha: he asks after Hob’s health constantly, brings him his favourite coffee every morning Hob has class, brings him food the day before and after heat leave… and the fact he’s so young and so good at it already makes it all the more impressive! What’s an omega to do?

Stand firm, of course. Hob didn’t get to his age surviving heat after heat on his own or occasionally on beta and omega cock only to succumb to baby’s first attempt at mating. But Dream makes it so hard. He’s so persistent. This habit he has of sticking to Hob right before he takes heat leave is maddening. Pre-heat is on hell of a thing, and Hob’s body can perfectly sense a willing, aroused, fertile alpha right there, and it gets ideas. Hob’s hind brain is compiling a very thorough list of all of Dream’s behaviours that make him a perfect mate, and it’s ruining Hob.

His heats start getting a lot more intense, longer, more painful. He feels empty in ways he never has before during: his hands aren’t enough, his toys, medication… and no one will touch him. Absolutely no one will touch him because Dream’s scent is all over him. Young, strong, possessive alpha. In fact, even Hob’s friends and colleagues don’t touch him anymore. Dream is the only one who still does, and Hob is becoming addicted to it.

Also, has Hob mentioned Dream is gorgeous? A pretty young thing like him, fawning all over an old bastard like Hob… it strokes the ego, it does.

His pre-heats get worse too. His cycle gets shorter, more erratic. He has to ask for more frequent heat leave. Multiple times he gets home from uni on the last day before heat leave with the heavy denim of his jeans soaked through with his own slick. He can only be thankful for Dream’s scent keeping any alphas with bad intentions away while he takes the tube home. He wants to blame his hormonal changes on incoming menopause trying to get him to breed before it’s too late, his brain all too aware of the lack of scent from a pup of his own of any age around him, but he can’t. It’s just Dream. Beautiful, possessive, commanding, fascinating, kind, model alpha Dream.

It gets to the point Hob can barely make it inside his house before collapsing on the floor, hyperventilating and feverish, and getting himself off unable to think about anything but what a knot would feel like… no, what Dream’s knot would feel like. What being pumped full of Dream’s come would feel like. Growing round with Dream’s baby. Letting Dream walk him to the tube the past few months was a mistake.

He’s never seriously wondered about these things before. Of course he’s thought about them, he’s human for fuck’s sake, but he’s never actively wanted them. Needed them. His heats last ages and the faculty is beginning to be unhappy with him, all because his brain is convinced he needs Dream to knot him and fuck him full of pups, and he spends his heats sobbing into the mattress, desperate with unsatisfying orgasm after unsatisfying orgasm.

Dream feels torn about his darling professor, lately. On one hand, he smells almost like he’s his. Dream’s scent on him is so strong that no one will touch him, which pleases Dream to no end. And he smells overwhelmingly of arousal when Dream is around, and Dream likes to think he’s about to break his legendary resolve… But on the other hand Hob looks… worn. Tired. Fatigued. Just, unhealthy despite all the little ways Dream cares for him. And that makes his alpha body itch. He needs his omega (he refuses to think of Prof Gadling as anything else) to be perfectly cared for. But Dream is doing everything he can short of stealing Hob’s keys and letting himself into his house. He follows him around the uni all day short of when Dream has other classes, taking up all his office hours sitting on Hob’s desk, regaling Hob with his best conversation, casually rubbing his own neck and then rubbing that hand on the desk, keeping his scent fresh in Hob’s space while the room gets saturated with aroused omega scent.

Dream flirts his heart out, touches Hob until his hands are batted away and he can almost taste Hob’s slick in his mouth, but Hob never gives in. This only encourages Dream! What kind of alpha would he be if he didn’t love the chase? When he finally gets his professor to beg for his cock (and he will) the victory will be all the sweeter!

So imagine Dream’s delight when, after coming from one of his classes and following a hurried Hob out of his own lecture into Hob’s office, Hob collapses, back to his desk, hands gripping it tight, trembling, shirt spotted with sweat and jeans rapidly going sopping with slick.

Dream just stares in wonder for a good minute, watching Hob with his eyes shut tight, writhing, whimpering and hissing through his teeth as he tries to get himself under control against something that is by definition uncontrollable. Hob puts up a good fight, though.

He’s so strong and proud. Dream loves that about him. Still, he takes the key where Hob left it still in the lock on the hall side and locks the door from the inside. He doesn’t think Hob has even consciously noticed him being there until Dream puts his hands on Hob’s thighs. His thumbs are an inch away from a growing wet spot.

“Are you in heat, professor?” he asks sweetly.

Hob shudders, and shakes his head, and promptly starts hyperventilating. Dream is riveted. Hob feels fever-hot under his palms even through jeans.

“Really?” Dream asks. “Because I think you are.”

He steps fully between Hob’s thighs and bends his head to take a whiff of Hob’s scent. Rich, sweet, fertile and begging for his knot. It’s beginning to affect him, too: he’s already well over half hard, and his mouth is watering. He can’t wait to finally mark his omega.

Hob bares his neck, and whines, and his thighs spasm in such a way it can only mean he’s so wet he wants to hide it but his body knows what’s better for him: the willing alpha between his legs.

“D-Dream. P-please.”

Hob is shaking so bad, but Dream gets the feeling Hob is about to beg him to stop anyway, and he just can’t have that.

He licks a long stripe up Hob’s neck, tasting him ripe with want, and whispers in his ear:

“Please what, professor?”

Hob’s legs give out, but Dream was perfectly ready for that. He grabs him firmly by the thighs and hoists him up on the desk. He lets himself rut against Hob’s soaked trousers just once and Hob’s moan is so so sweet to Dream’s ears.

Dream tuts, and caresses Hob soothingly as Hob half-melts backwards, back on the desk, head lolling off the other side, his throat perfectly on display.

“When is the last time you let a good alpha take care of this, hm?” Dream asks, running one finger at the seam of Hob’s trousers, over his hole and his hard cock.

Hob squirms, and grabs Dream’s wrist, and keeps it there.

“N-Never.”

Dream is struck dumb by that for a second. He’s fully hard so fast he feels lightheaded. Strokes Hob’s cock trough his soaked jeans while his professor sobs in relief under him. He can’t believe his luck, honestly.

“That just won’t do,” he whispers. “A man of your age, with your wealth of knowledge…” He deliberately moves his hand off Hob’s cock and runs both hands under his shirt, rucking it up, revealing a beautiful pelt of silver and brown hair. “…should know the feel of a knot sating one’s heats.” Dream slides four fingers under Hob’s waistbands, trousers and pants at once, and toys with the top button with his thumb. “Why don’t you let your alpha take care of you, professor?”

Hob is crying and bucking up uncontrollably into Dream’s touch, gasping, and looks up at Dream with his eyes glazed over.

“Dream. Please. Please. Touch me.”

Dream preens. Unbuttons and unzips Hob and plays idly with his cock. But nothing else.

Dream smiles.

“I am touching you.”

Hob is writhing and thrashing into it and whimpering and straining his neck, eyes flicking between Dream’s face and all the awards Hob has won for omega excellence in the workplace behind his desk on the windowsill.

“Dream I- I need-“ Hob is so pretty, sniffling and crying and begging. “Please, knot me, Dream, please-“

Dream doesn’t need to be told twice. He bends down to quickly kiss Hob’s temples, presses Hob’s face into his neck and feels him relax under Dream as he takes a lungful.

“I will take care of you now. All will be well,” he tells Hob.

Hob nods tearfully into Dream’s neck and slowly lets him peels his sweaty and slick clothes off of him.

Dream unwraps him like the present he is, calls him beautiful before sliding one-two-three-four fingers inside him, making Hob mewl.

“Shh. You are so wet already. So loose, so ready for my knot.” A gush of slick wets Dream’s hand, and Hob is starting to hyperventilate again “Not to worry. I will please you so well, make you feel so good.”

Hob doesn’t ask him to put on a condom in the brief moments Dream needs to unzip himself, so Dream doesn’t, and sheaths himself inside Hob to the hilt. Hob shouts and Dream groans. It feels so good. Hob is so so loose around his cock, yes, but he’s so hot and slick inside it feels more than perfect to Dream to fuck into him balls-deep. Fast and hard. Hob comes within seconds, and Dream has to put a hand over his mouth so they’re not heard all over the uni any more than they already have been.

“I should think you would like my knot now, yes?” Hob shouts against his hand, still shaking from orgasm while Dream pounds into him, hands fisting Dream’s shirt. Dream smiles. “Would you like that, professor? Being full of my seed? Finally being bred like you deserve?” Hob twitches, raises his head to look between them as he realizes what Dream is saying, then just… drops his head and goes fully boneless under Dream, submitting completely. “Yes. I cannot wait to see you round with my child.”

Dream’s knot swells so fast when Hob comes again around him it makes Dream dizzy. He can see Hob’s mind being blown in real time as Dream’s knot grows and grows until Hob is coming again just from the pressure, screaming his throat raw against Dream’s hand, and then Dream starts coming.

Dream doesn’t think he’s ever come so hard in his life. He can feel pump after pump of seed shoot inside Hob until Hob is whimpering so pretty and holding his belly, just slightly rigid from the fullness. Dream can’t help it, seeing Hob like that, a hint of how he will soon be when he’s full with Dream’s pups.

Dream bites him.

And Hob buries a hand in his hair and keeps Dream there, ankles locked behind his back.

Dream soothes the bite with licks and kisses, the taste of mated omega- his mated omega almost burning on his tongue.

Easily, he lifts Hob and sits them both on Hob’s chair behind his desk. His sweet older omega shouldn’t be forced to spend their whole tie lying on a desk. Dream rolls his hips slightly with Hob in his lap, soothing him as he whimpers incoherently from Dream being lodged so deep inside him.

“Was I not right, professor? Did I not make it all better?”

Hob nods into Dream’s throat, but for twenty good minutes of their tie doesn’t stop fucking himself on Dream’s knot, cock hard between them, giving himself little almost-orgasms. Dream pets him lovingly the whole time. How incredibly lucky he is, to watch his professor learn how good a knot feels!

Soon, though, Hob is exhausted and frustrated.

“Dream. Dream, I- Please. More. Please.”

Dream laughs softly.

“I need just a moment longer.” He lifts Hob slightly, lets him feel how Dream’s still-too-full knot tugs at his rim, lets him gasp with it. Hob clenches even tighter around him, and Dream smiles. “Certainly, this would be easier if your hole were not so greedy for my knot, professor.”

Hob hides his face against Dream’s neck, ruddy in the face, but Dream deflates enough that some of his come and Hob’s slick leak out and make it easy enough to pull out and push back in even with his knot still up. Dream fucks Hob again, long and slow and properly this time and all the way until he knots him again, until Hob winces and whines and grasps at his own painfully-swollen belly.

Hob even takes a nap while they’re tied, and Dream is incredibly proud of having sated the worst of Hob’s heat so quickly. Once Dream’s knot goes down again, Hob gingerly gets up, gasping when Dream’s come runs down his thighs in thick, slow rivulets. Dream watches him experience this for a moment, then pulls him back down onto his still-hard cock.

“Where do you think you are going, professor?”

Hob gasps.

“Dream- how…?”

“Oh, I am so very young after all, as you keep reminding me.”

He fucks up into Hob hard, as if to prove his point.

“That’s not-“

“Possible?” He smiles, teases Hob’s bite with his teeth and revels in the scent of his omega. “How curious. I seem to be in rut.”

Hob can feel it, is the worst thing. Can smell it, now his head has cleared a bit. And with every second that ticks by he feels his body grow laxer, the will to leave to let Dream take care of the rest of Hob’s heat at home get weaker. A rut is a much trickier thing than a heat. Shorter, sure, but with no lulls, no moments of reprieve. His alpha needs him, needs him now, and he wants to please his alpha.

“Dream. You didn’t- you wouldn’t- induce it?”

Dream hums thoughtfully, takes out the empty pill box of rut-inducing drugs he took, holds it up for Hob to see.

“I hoped to appeal to your nurturing side. I doubted my omega would leave me to suffer through a rut all on my own. And I was right, was I not? Already I can feel you relax in my arms, your hole loose and greedy and ready to take my knot and my seed for hours.”

Dream can already feel his knot swell up again. It will hardly go down now for the next many, many hours.

“I wasn’t your- Dream, a rut lasts up to two days, the university closes at-“

“But you were. You have been my omega for a while now, haven’t you, professor?” He grins and kisses Hob’s mating bite. Pity about the drugs, they weren't needed after all. But, Dream was always impatient. And they do have the nice perk of keeping Hob on his cock for so, so long. “And that’s too bad. The cleaners and the custodian are terribly gossipy, are they not? What a shame that everyone should know that you are mine. That the famous Professor Gadling is such a good, nurturing, devoted omega that he tirelessly saw his young alpha student through his rut in the very university he teaches at, right in his office… that he is such a willing, eager, fertile thing that he left the room mated and sweet with the scent of pregnancy.”

Hob can’t put up a fight. He is still in heat, and his alpha needs him, and Dream feels so good inside him. He’s never taken care of anyone’s rut before, of course, but it feels so incredibly good to be constantly knotted and bred. His heat barely bothers him, with how well Dream takes care of it.

Predictably, Dream’s rut lasts well into the next morning. Dream is incredibly pleased to dress him, leaving his shirt open enough to show off his bite, the waistband of Hob’s jeans digging into his distended belly. Dream walks him out of the office with a proprietary hand on his shoulder, Hob with face and neck and ears purple from shame, jeans stiff from his slick of yesterday and now his underwear, jeans and socks getting soaked with Dream’s come leaking out of him. And, surprising no one, with his scent the starkly sweet mark of a pregnant omega. It’s a proper walk of shame, it’s just after noon and the university is wide open and there’s people in the halls getting to and from class.

By the next day, everyone knows what Hob has done. No one blames him, though, which is almost worse. Poor omega, he’s a slave to his biology after all. It’s a miracle he lasted this long. It’s high time a good alpha take proper care of him. And Hob… wants to protest. He does, but… it’s so nice, so freeing being Dream’s kept omega. He can still teach, but he gets constantly spoiled by a pretty young thing, complimented about landing such a nice alpha and about being so fertile and glowing. He gets to carry Dream’s pup. It’s really not as bad and constraining as he thought, and he gets to be knotted as often as he likes… with a caveat.

Dream, of course, is a menace and should not have been trusted with his knot near anyone in a position of authority. Hob is constantly horny because of the pregnancy, and begging for Dream’s knot so often and so desperately it really is too easy for Dream to deny Hob his knot until Hob agrees to change a grade here, a grade there, until Dream is graduating with honours doing none of the work except knotting Hob nice and often. Who knew that trying an alpha’s knot was all it took to break Hob’s famous integrity?

-PA

PA ANON FIC!!! WE GET A PA ANON FIC!!!!

I'm so entirely gleeful about this and I can't thank you enough for sharing this and giving me the honour of sharing it with the community!! I've been travelling all day today and looking forward to the moment where I could sit down and re-read this. There are so many excellent details. Dream being persistent and sneaky and a total dickhead, but also being so caring and giving Hob the knotting he truly needed... perfect. I can't blame Hob for giving up either, and I certainly can't blame him for giving Dream such good grades. Cause if he's being graded on his fucking then he clearly deserves to graduate at the very top of his class 😏

*happy horny noises*

#PA anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw omegaverse #cw breeding #cw mpreg #fic recs #long post

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eternal-love · 2 days ago

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Lover, you’re on your own

Pairings: Austin Butler x Female!Reader

Summary: After years of your divorce, Austin and you get in each other’s way again. Catch up, know what happened in last few years.

Author’s note: I don’t even know what this plot is but I kinda liked the idea of Austin and Reader finding themselves again. I kinda liked it, idk.

Warning: mentions of divorce, unhealthy relationships, children loss, spousal death, the reader’s been through a shit ton of divorces.

You were inside a café in New York City, enjoying being in your own for a while. After another hectic divorce, the choice of going to a bar wasn’t even on your mind anymore.

You started to wonder if you were cursed, you didn’t even care to count how many divorces you’ve had in the last thirteen years. Were you really never good enough to be a long time wife? Or did faith have something else for you in store? Whatever it was, life treated you like trash.

You drank your coffee quietly as she scrolled through your phone, you heard the door of the café open and close. You were very perceptive of who came in, who left, who coughed, who laughed. And once you saw who came in, you had to do a double take.

You knew that guy— man. He wasn’t a young guy anymore but a man. Austin. All those years ago and you still remembered him. Of course you had seen his rapid success these last years, he was everywhere. But you were in his past and you understood it. You didn’t expect anything but you wouldn’t lie if you said you didn’t want him to at least recognize you, wave at you or at least smile and nod his head.

You focused on your overpriced coffee and muffin, stealing gentle glances towards him. Until one time, you both made eye contact, he was going to turn back to his phone but immediately turned back again to see you. Oh, he recognized you!

“Hey.” His deep voice spoke as he reached your small table. You looked up.

“Austin. Wow. Hi!” You said, as if you had just seen him. “Oh my goodness, it’s been so long.” You stood up, greeting him with a hug.

“Look at you. You’re all grown up now.” He smiled at you. Whistling a little.

“I could say the same about you.” You said, sitting down again. Thank God he recognized you.

“Wow. I just can’t believe it. It’s been what… ten years?”

“Thirteen.” You corrected him. His eyes widened.

“Thirteen years? Damn, that long? He chuckled. “What are you doing in New York anyways. You used to tell me how much you hated the city.”

“A girl can change. And I find that bars here serve much better drinks.” You chuckled with him, then there was a calm silence before he spoke up.

“I heard you got married. Who’s the lucky guy?”

You sighed, showing him your empty right hand. Oh, so divorced already?

“How long?” He asked.

“Two years married. It was just a disagreement between us. We weren’t looking for the same shit in the long run anyways.” You sighed. It was better to say that than to reveal that your last husband left you for a barely legal girl.

“Two years. Damn.” Austin pressed his lips together, he looked away as he brought the cup to his lips.

“I heard you’re dating a model. Cindy Crawford’s daughter. That’s nice, it give you some… it factor.” You said, you were being half sarcastic and half truthful.

“Ah. Yes, Kaia.” He said, he really didn’t sound enthusiastic. “Everything is going just fucking peachy.” He said, a smirk on his lips.

You nod. The whole tired voice went over your head. He was dating a model, what else could a man wish for? If not a model with long limbs.

“Listen. I’m filming a movie right not but— I surely can make time to see you again. You said you drink, right?”

Your eyes immediately lit up, of course you could make time for him. Well, you wanted to catch up. That’s all.

“Sure. Yeah, what day?”

It was a cold night. But inside the bar it was cozy. You both had ordered, he ordered an Old-Fashioned and you ordered a Cosmopolitan.

You started drinking the night away, you weren’t outright tipsy, but the alcohol was getting to your head.

“I really, really wanted to ask. What’s the true reason behind your divorce?” He asked as he held his glass on his big hands.

You sighed. You were already here. You had known him forever. Yes, you two might have not seen each other in more than a decade, but beforehand you were husband and wife. You shouldn’t be honest at least.

“He cheated on me. With the neighbor.” You confessed, he gasped softly, his hand going to his mouth. “Yeah. She was nineteen, now he’s dating her.”

“What a motherfucker…” Austin said, rubbing his chin.

“I’m starting to believe I curse every guy that gives me a ring. Seriously, five failed marriages. I must be cursed.” You sighed, his eyes widened even more.

“Five you say?” His voice was incredulous. Five. Five marriages. He was your first, of course. “What about the other three? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“My second husband, Tyler, we weren’t a match made in heaven. I guess he scared me a lot. He would drink his paycheck away. We divorced because his incompetent ass went to rehab.” You sighed as you played with the napkins.

“Then there was Eric, he was boring. He spent more time on his office than he did with me. He wasn’t so bad, he was just distant, very. He loved his job more than he ever loved me. He didn’t even talk to me, he just left the divorce papers in the kitchen. He had left a day prior.”

“Then there was… Nate.” You sighed, looking down again at the napkin you’ve been ripping apart. “He wasn’t perfect. Indeed he could be very moody and he yelled all the time. But I cared for him. I didn’t expect him to be taken from me. No wife does. By I learned to accept it. Now I remember him from time to time. I take flowers to his grave whenever I can.”

Austin’s eyes softened as he reached out his hand and placed it upon your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze. My goodness, where did you find those bastards to marry?

“Got any kids?” He asked you. Softly. Threading carefully.

“I tried. After we lost our boy, I really tried to get pregnant again. I wasn’t able to.” You said softly, you had at least wanted a baby. Not because you thought it would fulfill you. That was crap. But you wanted a kid so that you wouldn’t be so alone. “But I’m also grateful I never had a kid. It wouldn’t have been healthy if I had the kid calling three men daddy.”

“That’s true.” Austin said, taking a sip from his glass and nodding his head. “Listen. I know that you might think that I’ve forgotten about our baby. I haven’t. I visit the grave whenever I can. It’s just hard for me. Still. To believe he would have been thirteen this year.”

Austin looked down again. Taking your hand in his, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

Your baby boy would have been thirteen this year. How time flies.

You and Austin had been eighteen when you had a shotgun wedding because he knocked you up. He had been nervous but so happy. I mean, a tiny baby? He adored tiny babies. It was a happy married albeit you two didn’t know what to do.

But then, it happened, you delivered a beautiful baby boy. A tiny black-haired beauty, he had been a fighter, he had tried to beat the heat stroke that took him. You cried for days, he was there by your side, but he was young too and he was battling with his own demons, he quite literally filled for divorce out of nowhere, when you needed him the most.

You never saw each other again until now.

“I sometimes wonder, how different my life would be if he had lived.” Austin said softly, looking at you.

“Me too.” You wanted to cry, but you held back. You already cried a lot to your first child. You cried in private, like a prayer.

“Maybe we should’ve stayed married.” Austin said, almost with a hint of hopelessness. You stared up at him, a small smile on your lips.

“You were the best of them all.” You said, a smile on your lips. For all his faults, back then he was a kid too, and he mourned in whatever way he found fit.

“What a terrifying thought,” he finished his Old-Fashioned and laughed once again, shaking his head as he licked his lips. “Jesus Christ, don’t say that.”

You laughed together again, as you had done when you were younger. As you used to do late at night. And for some hours, you were happy by his side. He took this as an opportunity to talk about him now.

“You know, my girlfriend and I are having problems. Last thing I knew was that she fucked this comedian guy, from SNL…”

As you waited for a taxi, you smoked together. Maybe this could be the last time you two saw each other. Your lives were the total opposite now. He was a successful actor with a girlfriend and you were an office worker, who spent all her time working or outside.

But you couldn’t deny that when he talked, you stared at his lips, he stared at yours. The way he smoked, the way he held the cigarette.

“Aren’t you lonely now? I mean, you’re all alone.” Austin asked as he threw the ash on the floor.

“I’m trying to learn how to be alone. It will be my next year’s resolution. Stay away from dating.” You chuckled, you then took a drag from your cigarette. “But yes. I can’t get lonely from time to time. I have been someone’s wife for too long, being and living with someone changed the way you feel once they’re gone.”

“I can relate. Kaia and I— we never even got to live together before everything went south. All just because of her stupid parents and her stupid pap walks. It’s exhausting, really.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with this empty hand. “And now that I finally put my limits. She’s all mad at me, with her team sending these ridiculous articles, making me the bad guy.”

“Hey, it’ll get better.” You said, patting his shoulder. “That’s what you get for dating a twenty-something year old.” You patted his shoulder a bit more playfully.

You two started playing with one another, pushing each other playfully, the cigarettes on the floor already. Until he cornered you in the brick wall.

He leaned in and kissed you, you followed the kiss, at first it started slow but it escalated quickly. His tongue entered your mouth, both your tongues danced with one another, his hand went to your neck, pressing it softly. You both could taste the cigarette and liquor on your lips and mouths.

You hadn’t kissed someone in so long, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t. No. Not like this. No, you had promised yourself that you wouldn’t say anymore.

So after a while, you pushed him off you gently. He was out of breath, he kicked his lips, his hand going to the side of your head, he leaned down.

“You could survive another man…” He basically purred out, his lips on a smirk.

“It wouldn’t work between us.” You said. Looking into his eyes.

“Why not?” He asked, his eyes only showed confusion.

He would forget you, and you would forget him. For the love of God, never once in thirteen years did he try to contact you, and viceversa. You both would remember your baby boy, but not one another. You two would disappear into each other’s memory until you were old and wrinkly, telling your grandchildren or whatever young person asked about your youth. Talking about how you had a shotgun wedding. Of how you two lost your baby. About how you two continued each other’s lives like strangers.

“We’re too different now.” You said, it was all you could mutter.

Not all the bottled up pain you had from when he just left you, grieving and alone. Nothing. You just couldn’t even talk about it anymore.

He stared at you and nodded. You know what? He understood. He understood where you came from. He was a dick back then. And he couldn’t expect you to jump into his arms after all the men you went through, after what you went through with him.

“It’s alright.” He said, pulling away from you. “I guess I should go back to my apartment, it’s late.” He cleared his throat and came closer to hug you. “It was great seeing you again. I hope we see each other walking by or something. Goodbye.”

He knew he was lying. He was pleased to see you, but every time he looked at you, he saw your younger self. He saw the baby. He saw all the bad things. He loved you once. Not anymore. He had a special place for you in his memory.

But it would be the last time you two saw each other.

As you watched him walk away, you took deep breaths. That was it. You were alone once again. As you had been before he walked into the café. You had no one to turn to tomorrow.

As a taxi pulled to the side, you got in and told the driver the address of the hotel you were staying at.

You were all on your own.

I won’t have any free time from now on so… I’ll try to really write whenever I have time.

#austin butler #austinbutler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #Austin butler x female!reader

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twipsai · 2 days ago

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omega and silver fic is up! ill put the full thing under the cut yayyy

Days and weeks and months melted together, years going by as his body rusted and decayed, warping itself beyond repair as fewer and fewer people dared to enter the Flame Core, fewer caring to check in on them.

He wasn’t conscious for a large portion of it. How could he be? Why would he be? Any reason to stay present was gone.

So he sat. He waited. For what, he wasn’t sure.

…

And then.

And then one day.

One day, something new. The feeling of something stirring against his chest awoke him from a multi-decade slumber. It took minutes, maybe hours, for all of his systems to come back online. The ones remaining, anyway. Everything hit him like bullets— two lifeforms detected, tactile input detected, loss of ammunition, left shoulder joint disconnected, motor functions offline…

Everything buzzed faintly.

Finally, he could see again.

He shifted his cameras down to see…

“CHILD.”

The kid’s eyes flew open as he stumbled backwards from being curled up against his side. A scream erupted from the child’s body. Analysis showed he was a hedgehog, about six, not matching anyone stored within his database.

Though, there weren’t many people around who did, anymore.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Omega questioned, voice echoing unpleasantly against the cavern’s walls.

The child didn’t answer, his breathing picking up speed as his hands started to tremble. He fell to his knees, eyes wide and unblinkingly staring at Omega.

“I BELIEVE I MAY HAVE FRIGHTENED YOU. THIS WAS NOT MY INTENTION.”

It looked like the child couldn’t breathe, now, as if he was being strangled by an invisible force. He grasped a hand around his neck while tears rolled down his cheeks.

Somewhere in his data storage, something like a memory surfaced. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

At some point, someone he knew had something like this happen to them.

“INITIATING ‘COMFORT’ PROTOCOL.”

Through old, crackling speakers, a song started to play. Even with the terrible audio crunching, the piano still rang out as soft as ever. Slow notes drawled on. The lifeform behind him shifted. The child took about 3.49 seconds to visually indicate he had heard the music. His ears perked up and his terrified eyes softened. Over the course of six minutes and twenty-three seconds, the child’s heart rate decreased from 110 beats per minute to 100.

The first thing that tiny child squeaked out was, “Can you move?”

Omega responded after a moment to check. “NO.”

The child then slowly stood, inching forward on trembling legs to sit closer to the music. He leaned an ear to Omega’s chest where the sound crackled out from. He was way too warm for a tiny child, and if he wasn’t showing no other symptoms, Omega would have thought he was sick.

As the song steadily reached its conclusion, the child seemed about as relaxed as he was going to get.

“What is this?” he asked.

“GYMNOPEDIE NO. 1.”

The child looked up and squinted his eyes, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“IT’S A VERY OLD SONG FROM AN ESTIMATED 400 YEARS AGO.”

“A song? What’s a song?”

Omega was never very good at explaining the more… human aspects of life. The alive parts.

Others would be better suited to explain this.

He knew many that could’ve.

“A SONG IS TYPICALLY A COLLECTION OF NOTES PLAYED IN SUCCESSION TO CREATE A MELODY. WHY WERE YOU SLEEPING ON ME, CHILD?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I DO NOT CARE. YOU HAVE NOT ANSWERED MY QUESTION.”

The child’s grey quills flared out even more than they already had, and he fidgeted with the bandages around his wrists. “Your body is cold. It’s very warm here. I was just trying to cool off…”

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

“I think it’s Silver.”

“YOU ARE NOT SURE?”

“No.”

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

“I’m trying to get to Crisis City.”

That was an unfamiliar location. Omega checked his residual memory, and cross referenced it with previous data he had archived. “THE RUINS OF SOLEANNA.”

“Um. Maybe?”

“THE HEART OF IBLIS. INQUIRY: WHY IS A TINY MEATBAG LIKE YOU MARCHING TO YOUR CERTAIN DEATH?”

Silver sat down in the place where his left arm should have been, under exposed wires sparking threateningly. This close, Omega could see the scabs on his knees, the blood soaking through the messily-wrapped bandages, the cuts littering his arms and legs, his calloused hands and feet— he could see the determination in his eyes as he folded his hands in his lap and furrowed his brows. “I'm going to defeat Iblis.”

If Omega could laugh, he would. “DOES NOT COMPUTE. SILVER THE HEDGEHOG: SMALL, MORTAL, POWERLESS. IBLIS: GIANT, IMMORTAL, POWERFUL. I ASK AGAIN; WHY IS A TINY MEATBAG LIKE YOU MARCHING TO YOUR DEATH?”

“Because I have to! I have powers no one else has, if there's something I can do, then I wanna help!”

“FURTHER DATA NEEDED. WHAT POWERS DO YOU POSSESS, CHILD?”

“Um, someone told me its called psy– psycho— um—”

“PSYCHOKINESIS.”

“Yes! Psychokinesis!”

There was no telling how powerful the child actually was. Omega knew better than to underestimate children at this point, when three had accompanied him on adventure after adventure before the flames had consumed the world.

They were children. Most of his companions were.

His chest suddenly felt strange. Felt. He tried to run a diagnosis on his power core, only to find that it was still destroyed. Nothing had changed about his state. What made that feeling?

“Excuse me, uh… sir?”

“OMEGA.”

“Huh?”

“THAT IS MY NAME. E-123 OMEGA.”

“Oh. Well, your eyes are glowing.”

Strange. Someone once said that he was very expressive— he thought it was what she called “sarcasm”, but then went on to explain all the little things she noticed about him, and how he reacts to things. It seemed that, even with almost all of his functions offline, he was still finding ways to express himself.

“Omega?”

“WHAT.”

Silver looked up at him shyly. “Can I lean on you again? It’s very hot in here, and you’re very cool…”

“I LACK THE PROPER MOTOR FUNCTION TO STOP YOU.”

“That’s why I asked.”

A memory surfaced. Covered in rust and cobwebs and ash.

A very long time ago, he was carrying someone gently, as gently as he could. This person was tired— he had been through a lot that week. He could barely stand. So he carried him to his room quietly, trying his best not to tear the blankets he used to tuck him in. He must not have done a very good job at being quiet, because he woke up to a degree.

“Omega,” he mumbled, eyes still half-closed. “Don’t… don’t let anyone do anything to you. Even though you’re… you’re a robot… you should get to be your own person…”

He quietly took a step back.

“YOUR MUMBLING IS INCOHERENT,” Omega replied. “TELL ME TOMORROW; I WILL STILL BE HERE.”

And he turned.

And left.

Silver, for one reason or another, was dragging up memories that he thought had been trapped in old storage. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had a conversation with another person in over a hundred years. Maybe the long stretches of silence had a way of turning one into a poet.

“YES,” Omega finally replied, “YOU MAY LEAN ON ME.”

Silver crawled over his lap, smushing himself in between Omega’s in-tact arm and torso, forehead leaning against his upper arm. If Omega thought the child would listen, he would warn him about getting tetanus from his rusted fingers.

“I have a question now. Is that okay?”

“YES.”

“How old are you?”

“73,784.8 DAYS HAVE PASSED SINCE MY CREATION.”

“Uhhh… that’s a lot…”

Eggman didn’t program conversion to weeks, months, and years into his internal clock. Eventually it would stop counting up when it hit 999,999.999 days. It also meant that he had to mentally convert it himself. “APPROXIMATELY 200 YEARS.”

“Oh.”

…

The child looked up at him with impossibly large eyes.

“Oh! Were you around before Iblis was, Omega?!”

“YES—”

“Can you tell me about it?! Please! I’ve heard stories but— but not from someone who was there! You gotta tell me!”

Much to his dismay, Omega was finding this child amusing. And familiar. “WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW?”

“Um, um…” When he was in thought, Silver fidgeted with his poncho’s hem. “Tell me about the sky!”

“...THE SKY?”

“Yes!”

Omega hadn’t been outside for most of his lifespan— he had spent it in the Flame Core. But he did remember that— “IT WAS GIANT.”

A massive expanse that blanketed the entire earth. A constant in a chaotic life. No matter where you went, the sky followed.

“IT WOULD CHANGE COLOR. MANY COMPARED IT TO A PAINTING.”

The child looked up at him with wonder in his eyes, absorbing every syllable.

“IT WAS THE ONE THING IN LIFE THAT REMAINED.”

Absolute awe was written on Silver’s face.

Omega could make a well-informed guess of what awaited him outside the cavern if he was ever fixed.

“Can you tell me about the people?”

“YOU ASK MANY QUESTIONS.”

“I haven’t gotten this many answers before.”

They were his companions. Teammates. Friends, though, that was pushing it a little, as one of them would say. After so long to think about it, to put his feelings into words, he came to the conclusion that he must have cared about them. They were almost all gone, now. Almost. But he could remember watching them from afar, completely captivated by how they moved. It was all just play to most of them. They would train against each other, race across continents, get takeout in the middle of a mission… Everything was just another day. They laughed in the face of danger. They stood tall. They cared.

Oh, how they cared.

“I BELIEVE THEY WERE NOT VERY DIFFERENT FROM THE PEOPLE OF THIS TIME.”

“No?”

“NO. THEY WERE ALL JUST PEOPLE. MUNDANE.”

Silver knitted his brows together in thought, then pointed past where Omega’s cameras could reach, behind the two of them. “Was he there?”

But he knew.

He knew.

Knew who he was pointing to.

“YES.”

“What’s his name?”

“SHADOW.”

“Why is he trapped in there?”

While Omega couldn’t see him in his position, he knew exactly how Shadow looked. Arms up and cuffed with giant metal rings, attached to a hexagonal cage that stretched over him in a diamond shape, glowing pink and white. The image was committed to his long-term memory.

Perhaps it was better he couldn’t turn to see.

“HUMANITY THOUGHT HE WAS THE CAUSE OF THE FLAMES OF DISASTER.”

Silver stood and walked behind him. The tingle of apprehensiveness of having his back turned to a sentient being was duller than he remembered. “Was he?”

“NO,” he could say for certain. “NO, HE WASN’T.”

“Then why did they do this to him?”

He could remember his claw gripping Shadow’s neck as he begged and pleaded for mercy. He remembered his body acting without his command as he unfeelingly attacked him. He remembered Shadow going limp on the floor, almost dead. He remembered watching as people crowded around him and quickly put him into stasis.

He remembered standing with him,

for centuries.

Maybe as an apology. Maybe because it was what he was built to do.

He remembered.

“HUMANITY FEARS WHAT THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND, CHILD.”

Quietly, Silver walked back to Omega’s side, leaning on him once again, and a little more curled up in his lap than he was before. “I know,” he said. “I know that.”

Of course he did. Omega could have guessed that, especially in this world; this world that was dominated by terror. After all, Silver was here, alone, at six years old. Whatever reason he had for that couldn't be a pleasant one.

“YOU REMIND ME OF THE PEOPLE I FOUGHT ALONGSIDE BACK THEN.”

“Before Iblis?”

“YES.”

“I do?”

“YOU ARE MARCHING TO FACE IMPOSSIBLE ODDS. YET YOU REMAIN OPTIMISTIC. YOU STRIVE TO PROTECT A BROKEN WORLD THAT HURT YOU.”

Silver fidgeted with the hem of his poncho. His markings pulsed with light. “Even if the whole world was against me,” he whispered, “I'd still protect it.”

“I SEE. INQUIRY;”

“Mhm?”

“HOW CAN YOU FIGHT WHEN YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T WIN?”

For a long time, Silver stayed quiet.

He spoke slowly. “As long as I don't give up… there's hope.”

How optimistic. How cruel, for a child to say those words with a trembling voice. If Omega could, he'd weep.

Then, he returned to his excited demeanor. “Hey, you know what? I could probably get Shadow out of there!”

“YOU COULD NOT.”

“I could try! If I could wake your friend up, then maybe—”

“CHILD.”

He stayed quiet.

“I MADE A VOW TO PROTECT THOSE I HELD DEAR.” He flickered some of the lights on his body on and off. “I BROKE THAT VOW ONCE. NOW, I WILL REMAIN HERE, BY HIS SIDE, UNTIL I AM GONE.”

Silver was practically curled up in his lap, forehead rested on his chest. His body temperature had dropped significantly since he had woken up. “Okay, then. Hey, I have another question.”

“ASK IT.”

“Can you make that ‘song’ again?”

How optimistic.

How cruel.

“YES. I CAN.”

The piano hummed through his broken speakers. It made ear-splitting popping noises occasionally, but Silver didn't seem to mind. He shifted so his ear was right above Omega’s internal speaker.

His companions would have liked Silver. It was obvious— maybe even Shadow would have. But they were separated by eons.

Omega only hoped the next time they met, it was for a kinder reason.

‘Hoped’...

Silver must have been rubbing off on him.

#sth #sonic fic #e-123 omega #silver the hedgehog

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