#also making up how the muscles work now is the most fun thing ever

[canyourlawnmowerdothis]

new car activity called think about i69. this beast constantly tastes its own blood and it doesn't know if it's a hallucination or a memory

[devotion-disorder]

be careful what you wish for...the village Killian's from is having a bit of a population crisis right now, and having a nice little human come by could be just what they need...

Oh noooo....I'm just a naive human lost in this big forest with no one waiting for me...would be a shame if some beautiful elves whisked me away and brainwashed me into thinking I'm their pet/breeding machine and only need their "love and devotion". That would be terrible /silly

- 🩵

wdym the beautiful elf men do not, in fact, have my best interests in mind and were planning something nefarious from the start </3 I was just gonna write down some quick thoughts but it kinda got out of hand LOL

Content warning for: implied drugging (hypnotics, aphrodisiacs), dubcon/ noncon touching (nothing explicit though), manipulation, slight obsessive/ yandere themes, general elven condescension?

Imagine that you’ve accidentally wandered too deep into the forest and lost your way, your shoes hardly holding up in the rough terrain, and the last remaining rays of the setting sun are snuffed out by the overgrown foliage…

To make things worse, you walk right into some sort of trap - a stumbling step is all it takes to activate the runic trip switch, and a suffocating cloud of purple gas is the last thing you remember before things fade to dark…

How clumsy of you! Good thing Priest Killian happened to be on his evening walks when he spotted your pitiful form twitching and writhing in the hunting trap he’d set up; carefully he scooped you up and went his way back to the village. Only the most observant would be able to discern that the Priests’ unmoving smile seemed a bit wider than usual.

It was a trap the elves set up for hunting animals, he’d explained. The poison was almost enough to be fatal, had he not been there in time to save you. It’ll also take a bit for all the toxins to be out of your system. No worries though, because Killian offers to take care of you in his quarters until you’re up on your feet again. 

You don’t even remember if you’d managed to give a response, what with lead-heavy limbs and relentless migraine pulsing in your head. Luckily, Killian treated you with utmost care. 3 meals a day (along with the antidote treatment) brought to your bed (well, his bed), and spoon-fed to you because you were too weak to even sit up. He massaged your stiff muscles and brushed your hair. He ran warm baths and washed you – and even then he never opened his eyes – so at least there was some comfort in that.

Under Killian’s care you gradually regain your strength, save for the occasional dizzy spell and fatigue. But he saved your life after all! Feeling indebted to him, you offer to stay longer in the village to help around. While Killian’s expression is ever-unreadable, you can’t help but sense a bit of…amusement from him upon your suggestion. Regardless, he agrees – so long as you agree not to wander too far outside the village, because it’s very dangerous out there, he said.

And of course, he maintained a watchful eye over you, shadowing your tottering form as you went around introducing yourself to the other villagers. How cute.

You worked whatever odd jobs the elves had for you. which isn’t much at all. Mostly just menial tasks, or perhaps relaying messages. Things that they could’ve easily done themselves with their magic, but it’s fun watching an over-enthusiastic little human do it instead, so eager to please. You would say they are…endeared, perhaps. Or maybe they’re just looking out for you, what with your unfinished recovery. Anyhow, the elves are charmed by the newfound presence in the village.

Killian gifts you a new set of clothes, made by the local tailor (you don’t remember visiting a tailor for measurements at any point though, strange). To help you feel more at home, he said. It's pretty, a delicate garment that flutters cool against your skin in the warm summer heat, with an unmistakably elven style of elegance. It is a little short but, well, elves are known for being tall so maybe they're not used to human proportions? The white silk is a bit sheer in places, and you tried to ignore how it clung to the contours of your body when you sweat…

You hadn’t expected elves to be so openly affectionate. Being a long-living race known for their high culture and intelligence, it made for the perception that they were maybe a bit prudish, engrossed in their endless pursuit of finer things to care about lowly desires. But you suppose the elves are as curious of you as you are of them. You got to know some of them quite well, and soon it was routine for them to envelop you in their embrace. They pet your hair and nuzzle into your neck (Killian said something about how common skinship is in elven culture), at times slipping their digits beneath your clothes…sometimes you don't really remember, because the medicine still made you a bit sluggish. But it's ok! Their affectionate nature is a surprise but one you welcome. You think. 

During all of which, your treatment continued. Just a little longer, Killian promised. The side-effects seem to show no sign of waning, if not worsening at times. Sometimes you struggle to recall what has happened and what has not. The elves didn’t seem to mind, gladly cradling your tired body when you are overcome with sudden bounds of weakness. You poor little thing, they cooed, one hand combing through your hair to distract you from their other that wandered along your body.

Some days the medicine leaves you feeling more flushed than usual, and a strange feeling you can’t quite place invades your senses; a deep, frustrating kind of yearning that throbbed in your core. You assume it's the side-effects of advanced elf sorcery/ enchantment in your antidote treatment. It’s a tad embarrassing, but you can’t really do anything about it when the elves (if not the Priest himself) check in on you so frequently. 

Your only reprieve comes when Killian slots himself snug against your smaller form at bedtime. Were you always this close? You’re not sure if you recall, trying desperately to suppress the suggestive thoughts flooding your brain. His cool hands trail over your body, and it feels way too good against your overheating skin, so good that you can’t even think about resisting as his lips come crashing on top of yours, when he slips his arm underneath your waist to push you closer, closer against him.

Stumbling out of Killian’s quarters in the dead of night, confused, and your vision blurred by hot tears, all you can think about is getting away from him, from this godforsaken place. The other elves stepped out of their houses from the commotion. It was as if something in the air shifted. Their friendly, curious pretenses have dropped completely, leaving a ravenous hunger and unyielding need in their place. The way they leer at your body, the disheveled elven outfit failing to provide much cover, makes your hair stand on their ends. The elves close in on you, their concerned voices laced with something unmistakably sinister. You’re trapped.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your stupor.

“Now, now, I’m sure we’re all very excited about our little one here, but everyone will have their turn sooner or later.” Killian explains. He leans close to your ear, whispering in a volume only audible to you. “Look at you getting everyone so riled up already. Aren’t you such a needy little pet?” You’re paralyzed in fear, but his husky voice in your ears is still setting your nerves alight. 

“I’ll give you two choices. Either you let me 'take care of you' back at home,” his arms snaked around your body again, lithe fingers fanning across your thighs. “Or we’ll give everyone a show, and maybe let them get...a preemptive taste, as well. What’ll it be?”

[lovscb97]

tags: park sunghoon x fem!reader, established relationship, size kink, strength kink, bulge kink, d/s dynamics, dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, unprotected sex (plz don’t), breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, degradation (slut, whore), praise kink?, nicknames (baby, princess, angel, hoonie, etc), slight fluff, lowkey pwp, reader is described to be shorter than hoon and is easy to pick up/throw around, reader is also very down bad for him (aren’t we all), etc

wc: 2.67k

add. notes: hoon won the poll i put out so i present to u my first ever enha work :3 thank u very much to everyone who voted n this will def not be the last enha fic i put out so do not worry there is much to come for hyung line!!! also icon creds to @/v4mpjay :3

. . . 

sunghoon doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. 

it all started when he began going to the gym regularly, slowly bulking his figure up and feeling himself grow out in his clothes. what used to be his lanky frame that greeted him in the mirror gradually turned into a built man with lean muscles and sharper features, adding to what was already there initially. it wasn’t like this wasn’t what he wanted though, albeit the entire reason why he even started working out in the first place being to improve his health and build better habits for himself, but the outcome wasn’t too bad in itself. he got used to feeling stronger, more lighter on his feet or less out of breath when he climbed the stairs, and it was enjoyable to know that he could lift twice his weight and still feel good as new. in some way, things felt like they were going swell.

that is, until you came into the picture.

now, sunghoon’s always known that you’re small compared to him. even when standing side by side, his height next to yours is a little laughable, though he supposes you’re used to that considering you’ve always been shorter than most of your peers. he’s well aware of how you have to go on your tippy-toes when you guys kiss, and the soft feel of your little hands in his is something that spins in his mind constantly when your fingers lace together. it doesn’t help that you always ask him to fetch your favourite mug from the top cabinet too, his larger physique towering over yours each time he leans over from behind you. he likes to tease you about it, revelling in the way you pout cutely back at him whenever he makes fun of you jokingly despite the small smile playing at your lips, but little do you know about the twisted fantasies breaching his thoughts every moment you spend together. he wonders if you would be disgusted? would you dump him and tell all your friends about what a creepy loser he was? sunghoon can’t help but imagine the worst case scenario, and it would be easy to bury these emotions down the hatchet had it not been for the fact that he’s started to think he is going mad too. 

every time sunghoon comes home from the gym, every time he enters your shared apartment, sweat dripping down his forehead and his water-bottle empty, he swears on his dead grandmother that you start checking him out. it doesn’t help that he's always been attentive either, always needlessly easy at picking up the cues of your discomfort when you're outside in a social space for too long, or being able to tell instantly when you're anything other than the happy go lucky girlfriend he usually sees you as. so, when your lingering gaze begins to trail across his arms a little too long whenever he passes your shared bedroom on his way to the shower, or when your mouth opens and closes to swallow before you're pressing your thighs together subtly each time he moves to wipe himself down each time he’s home— it all sparks something in him. it told him to finally, finally indulge in the nasty thoughts he’s kept tucked away to himself once and for all.

except he doesn’t. because at the end of the day, sunghoon is a gentleman. he pulls open the doors for you with nonchalance written all over him despite his burning ears, and he brings you back your memorised coffee order alongside a few sweet treats when he knows you’re on your period. he holds you close when you’re asleep in bed together, rubbing a gentle thumb against the skin of your cheek because he’s aware that’s what it takes for you to fall asleep, and makes sure you know he’s always going to be there for you in any time of need, even if he’s a thousand miles away. he’s never once made you doubt him, never once given you any reason to suspect he could be anything beyond the perfect, storybook written boyfriend he’s always been. 

until today, at least.

it was a day like any other, a day where you wouldn’t have expected things to take the turn they took at all. you and sunghoon were tangled up in your lavender sheets with your leg thrown over his, the morning sun streaming through the beige curtains you’d picked out on your ikea date together, and no alarms were intact to disturb you as it was the weekend. that’s probably why you both found yourselves in your current situation, your mouths meeting sloppily for short kisses and your boyfriend’s cock buried to the hilt inside you, thrusting ever so gently every other second as he whispered sweet praises to you between the meshing of your lips. the only sounds heard beyond the chirping of the birds outside your window were your soft moans and his low grunts, alongside the quiet noises of your slick dragging against his dick.

“fuck, baby. you feel so good.” sunghoon mumbles, pressing gentle smooches along the skin of your chin and jaw. you reply back something unintelligible, too lost in the euphoria he’s providing you to even form a coherent answer, which only makes him chuckle. he pulls back to admire your figure underneath him, a smile spreading across his lip at the sight of you laid out oh so pretty and pliant just for him. for him. all for his use. his use and his use only. the eventual thought makes his cock twitch inside you, and sunghoon momentarily slows down his movements in fear he’ll accidentally lose control of himself and fuck you into the sheets. his loss of momentum causes you to whine out loud though, large doe eyes blinking up at him in wonder, almost as if asking what happened, which does not make your boyfriend’s job any easier.

“hoonie, faster.” you beg softly, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder as the other bundles up the duvet underneath you. “please, wan’ it so bad.” sunghoon feels like his resolve is on the brink of snapping at your words, and he quickly resumes his previous pace (albeit still slower than what you wanted but better nonetheless) with gritted teeth, trying to think of something, anything that would distract him from the realisation of how fucking small you look under him, or how soft your hand feels resting on his skin. it doesn’t help that the sounds spewing from your lips are so cute, only spurring him on further to do what he longs to. 

“yeah, angel? want it faster? want hoonie to fuck you deeper?” he groans out instead, biting his lip at the sight of you nodding almost instantly to his words. your hole clenches even tighter around him as he speaks to you, and he shudders at the sensation. “shit, don’t do that, princess. might cum too quickly.” he exhales shakily, confused when you shake your head. “don’t care. cum f’me. wanna feel it, please.” you plead almost instantly without thinking, sunghoon’s eyes darkening as the request leaves your mouth. his pace comes to an immediate halt after that, and you make a noise of complaint at the loss of pleasure in your lower region, legs kicking up slightly in protest as you eye your boyfriend who’s currently trying to compose himself above you.

“don’t.. don’t say stuff like that.” sunghoon sighs, eyes closed shut as you cock your head to the side. you’re about to ask him why when he speaks up again. “i won’t be able to hold myself back if you do.” he professes darkly, opening his orbs back up to look deep into yours, his smouldering gaze making you shiver. you involuntary tighten around him at his confession, and he hisses at the feeling, head snapping to look down at you and the blush spreading across your cheeks. 

“i-i don’t.. don’t want you to hold back.” you mutter whilst looking away meekly before he can even comment on your actions. you meet his stare again after a beat of silence, but there’s something dark and sinister swimming in it now, and by the time you can even process what it is, he’s suddenly sheathing himself back into your warm walls, plowing into you with a heightened pace as if this is the last time he’ll ever get to fuck you. your moans tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop them, and you swear you hear sunghoon growl at the way you keen from his movements. 

“yeah? don’t want me to hold back? want me to absolutely destroy this wet cunt with my cock? ruin it for everybody else and mould it to the shape of my dick?” he grunts, a smirk spread across his face as you wildly nod at his words. “what, too fucked out to speak now, baby? where’s that confidence from before, hm?” you whimper at his condescending tone, the noise travelling straight to his core as he curses, continuing to plunge himself deep into you. the tip of his cock brushes against that spongey spot inside you, and you cry out when he angles his thrusts to hit it each time he drives inside your pussy. 

“who knew you were such a slut, huh baby? tell me, how long have you wanted me to spread you open and fuck you like i hated you?” sunghoon pants, tongue lolling out to lick at the sweat gathering on your neck. “s-so long, hoonie!” you mewl in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bites down on your skin. “wanted you to— hnng, wanted you to bend me over and throw me around so bad!” sunghoon laughs breathlessly at your answer. 

“yeah, pretty? want me to use my big arms and toss you onto the bed? you should’ve told me sooner that you were such a whore.” you clench at the degrading name, and sunghoon almost stumbles into you at the sudden jolt of shock. “would’ve done everything you wanted me to. wanted it just as bad as you, did ya know that?” he grits out, pace unrelenting and unforgiving as he proceeds to pound into you. “you’re so fucking small, baby. makes me so goddamn hard every time i think about it. just want to, oh fuck— want to hold you down and make you take it.” 

“do it! do it, hoonie, please do it! make me take it, i wan’ take it for you.” you sob, and sunghoon physically feels the last of his self restrain break in half. he’s far too fucked out now to go back to his old ways, far too gone in the dizziness of making you feel good. his only goal now is to make you cum violently around him, and he’ll stop at nothing to achieve that. “gonna do it, baby. just wait, gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll be begging me to stop.” he pauses momentarily to grab at the plush of your thigh and tosses your leg over his shoulder, resuming his past actions in the blink of an eye as you cry out at the change. he hits deeper, more harsh this way, and you swear you can feel him battering your cervix with each thrust delivered to your abused cunt.

“fuck, look at that.” sunghoon laughs in disbelief, his eyes fixed on the slightly evident bulge of his cock thrusting in and out of you in your stomach. “taking my cock so well, princess. you gonna cum for me soon, yeah? gonna cum for hoonie and make a mess of me?” he coos at the way you’re drooling, swiping a thumb up to wipe at the spit leaking out of your mouth before sucking it off, the visual of it only making you whine even more. by now, the bed is stained with your leaking arousal, but neither of you care, especially not when he involuntarily moves his hand to press down on your stomach. his movements only cause you to double over in pleasure, and before either of you know it, you’re shaking through an orgasm, thrashing and wailing as tears stream down your face.

“shit, shit, shit! that’s so hot, oh fuck.” sunghoon moans. “you did so well, angel. did so fucking good for me, you deserve a reward, don’t you? don’t you, my baby?” he rambles, and you whine in overstimulation as his thrusts grow more frantic and misplaced when he begins chasing his own release. “get ready, princess, ‘m gonna fill you up. gonna breed you so, so good and make you take it, yeah? you’ll take it, won’t you? take it so good for me like you always do.” by this point, you’re both trembling and whining out loud, sunghoon pistoning his hips into you as he desperately fixes to cum. he can feel the pressure building up, his balls tightening with each harsh thrust he delivers inside of you, and you’re more than ready to feel him ooze out of you, encouraging words spilling from your lips.

“do it, hoonie! do it, please! make me full and fuck it back into me. i’ll take it so good, so good, please baby, please.” you’re babbling by now, too fucked out to think let alone speak, but your words seem to send sunghoon over the edge because by the time you’re even halfway through your sentence, he’s shooting ropes inside of you, painting your walls white with his seed. there’s so much of it that it almost leaks out despite his cock keeping you plugged up, and you watch his beautiful face contort in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and eyes clenched shut as he continues filling you up. 

“fuck..” sunghoon sighs out once he’s come down from his high, looking down to grip his cock and pull it out slightly only to push it back in when your cunt gushes with his release, causing him to bite his lip at the sinful sight. you whine when he moves back into you, his large arms caging your smaller frame in as he leans down to pepper salty kisses all over your face. “my good girl.” he whispers, slightly collapsing on top of you to catch his breath. his weight on you feels comforting, almost natural as you wrap your tired arms around his back tightly, pressing your bodies together even more than they already are to feel closer and connected to him.

“i didn’t know you were into that.” sunghoon speaks up after a moment of silence, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. he moves so he’s laying on his side, cock still keeping you plugged up despite the awkward position. “into what?” he deadpans at your reaction, and you giggle. “c’mon, babe. you can’t seriously look like that and expect me to not be feral for you.” you smile, and sunghoon huffs out a laugh, spooning an arm around you as he pulls your body closer to his warm one. “still, who knew my girl was so freaky?” you swat at him, and his chest rumbles with laughter, the sound sending an odd pool of warmth flowing through your chest. you both lay there in silence after that, basking in each other’s presence and enjoying the serenity and afterglow which comes from what was quite literally the best sex of your lives. 

“i love you.” you hear sunghoon mumble suddenly, his voice drowsy as he yawns cutely, a large grin spreading on your face at the simple three words which leave him. you reach out for his hand, lacing your small fingers in it before bringing it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. “love you more, hoonie.” you sigh out in satisfaction, eyes slipping shut slowly as sleep welcomes your tired senses.

you gradually drift off, thoughts filled with sweet dreams of your boyfriend and his precious laughter. 

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[messrmoonyy]

-What they’re like as your bf/gf (Hcs) 18+

Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Sadie Adler, Molly O’Shea

Request- Hi if it’s okay could I ask for some hcs of some of the gang and what they’re like dating with you? NSFW ones toooo🙈🙊 could you include Arthur, John, Dutch, Sadie, Javier and maybe any of the other girls Mary-Beth or Molly or Karen? Thank you 🙏🏻

A/N- I didn’t include Javier cause I like barely speak with him in camp or anything idk I don’t vibe with Javier tbh. And I saw my chance to word vomit my Molly brain rot and ran with it so she’s the girl I picked. Hope this is okay! Enjoy :)

Masterlist - requests are open :)

Arthur Morgan

- We’ve all seen how he was with Mary. He’d be besotted with you

- His journal would be filled with sketches of you, entries talking about how much he adores you, little notes about how you looked that day or musings about his plans for your future together.

- Definitely doodles a little heart with your initials too <3

- He’s touch starved. So he loves physical contact. A hand to your knee, your back, arm around your shoulders or your waist. He likes keeping you close.

- Brings you stuff from his little travels. Picks flowers for you, finds little trinkets for you.

- Keeps a picture of you by his bed.

- Forehead kisses!!!!!

- Kisses your hand. And kisses to your wrist. He loves when you reach up to cup his face and he can turn to press his lips against your wrist.

- He’s so much more than a tough, burly cowboy. He’s quiet, caring, considerate. And he adores you

NSFW

- takes his time. Likes to work at you until not a single tense muscle is left in your body. Worships you.

- Loves any positions where he can see your face, needs to be close enough to constantly kiss you and tell you how good you are for him

- “ there’s my girl, doin so good for me darlin “ “ jus’ like that darlin, let me take good care of ya “

- Not incredibly vocal, but the noises he does make he ensures are right by your ear.

- Refuses to finish before you ever.

- Loves to finish inside tho. He knows it’s risky, but he loves the closeness. And if he’s feeling particularly risky he’ll definitely push his come back into you with his fingers “ don’t waste it now “

- Grips The headboard.

John Marston

- he’s stupid. He really is. He’ll be head over heels for you, with you clearly reciprocating those feelings and he’d still think you didn’t like him like that.

- Like. You could kiss him and he’d still be like ‘ what are we? ‘

- When he does finally put two and two together he’ll have no shame or cautions in showing you off.

- He’s handsy. Likes coming up behind you when you’re washing dishes for Pearson to rub at your shoulders.

- Or pull you down to sit on his lap before you can even think about taking the empty spot on the log next to him by the fire.

- Overprotective. One tiny snide comment from anyone and he’s ready to start swinging.

- Definitely knows how to push your buttons and wind you up, and will do it just for fun and to get a rise outta you.

- And then spend the rest of day grovelling and apologising.

NSFW

- Loves going down on you. Like. Loves it. The man could spend hours there if you’d let him and Lord has he tried.

- Not very serious most of the time.

- Pretty vocal. And doesn’t really care if anyone’s listening either.

- Like i said, he’s handsy. His hands are restless and will grab at whatever part of you they can.

- Loves when you ride him and has absolutely made a cowgirl joke more than once.

- Will grab at your hips and guide your movements as you do. Told you he’s handsy.

- But also isn’t opposed to you on your back, legs over his shoulders. Presses kisses to your ankles and makes jokes about how good the view is.

Dutch Van Der Linde

- he’s not the most attentive of people at times. He’s constantly in his head and constantly thinking about things that aren’t you.

- But when he does allow himself time alone with you he is disgustingly charming.

- He always knows what to say, always knows the right words to have you melting into a puddle at his feet. You could be in the worst mood with him but a few whispers in your ear and it’s all forgotten.

- Has a million terms of endearment for you. My angel, my dear , my darling. He rarely ever uses your actual name, only when he’s mad.

- Loves to give you gifts, the more expensive the better. And he likes you to show them off too. He likes to show you off.

- Reads to you a lot.

- PDA is afraid of him. He doesn’t care where he is or who’s watching him, he’ll loop an arm around your waist to kiss your neck, pull you onto his lap when he’s reading beside his tent and kiss you. No shame.

NSFW

- will take his time with you but in a far different way to, say, Arthur

- He’ll edge you and overstimulate you for hours, because be gets off on the fact that you simply let him. That you obey his every command.

- Degrading and humiliating 🤝🏻 Dutch Van Der Linde

- He’s never too mean. And his degrading comments are more often than not laced with something sweet.

- Dacryphilic. 100000%. He loves watching you cry because he’s worked you into such an overstimulated mess.

- He’ll swipe your tears away or kiss them from your cheeks “ well isn’t that just a pretty sight? “ “ those tears for me, my angel? “

- Definitely has some kind of authority kink. Likes you calling him sir for sure.

- Loves you giving him head. Just loves you on your knees. It’s a power thing. And he’s a cocky son of a bitch.

- Sat back in his chair and won’t lift a damn finger to help you out, won’t even unbuckle his belt. And don’t tell me he doesn’t smoke whilst he watches you.

Sadie Adler

- She is absolutely not shy about her feelings when she finally accepts she has them.

- Shes just so sweet to you.

- Around camp she’s stuck to you like glue. Her arm is permanently around your waist or your shoulders, or her hand laced with yours and is ready to snap at any intrusive questions from anyone else about it at the drop of a hat

- Love language is gift giving. Just taken in a bounty but found a shiny lil necklace in his pocket? Well. It’s hers now. Or should I say, yours.

- If your hairs long enough she’ll braid it like hers, any excuse to be able to sit close to you and whisper sweet things in your ear.

- Would teach you how to shoot better, she wants to make sure you know how to defend yourself. but also wants the excuse to stand behind you and show you how to hold her rifle properly.

- Big spoon.

NSFW

- Sadie’s gained control over literally everything else in life, and it doesn’t change in the bedroom

- She trusts you whole heartedly but she’s not about to give up any sort of control to you for a While

- Makes sure she can see your face at all times, loves watching your face contort and relax in pleasure that she’s giving you

- Full of praise “ ain’t you just the prettiest thing? “ “ oh look at you! D’ya know how pretty you look from here? “ “ always such a good girl for me “

- Has a thing for putting her fingers in your mouth. Especially after she’s just fucked you with them.

- Having you on your knees eating her out drives her crazy. Will pull at your hair a little too hard but will soothe the sting with a thousand words of praise about how good you make her feel.

- And now hear me out. Loves to watch you. Will book you a hotel room together just so she can sit across the room and watch you touch yourself for her, encouraging you the entire time

- It’s never long before she absolutely has to have her hands on you though in the end.

Molly O’Shea

- sheeeee has some trust issues. And abandonment issues. She’s just… she’s a lot at times.

- But she is fiercely loyal and will love you with every fibre of her being

- And she wants to be loved as fiercely in return. She’ll spiral without constant reassurance “ d’you even love me anymore? “ “did I do somethin wrong? Haven’t told me you love me today “

- She knows deep down you do love her. She’s just afraid.

- She is such a romantic. She loves holding your hand, sitting close to you, doing your makeup like hers and stealing kisses in between painting your lips red

- She’ll write you sappy romantic poetry and leave you lil notes

- You’ll often overhear her gushing to other people about how in love she is too. She just loves to talk about you and how deeply she adores you.

- Likes when you give her forehead kisses.

NSFW

- Pillow princess. End of story.

- She’s not completely submissive though. She’ll tell you what she wants and what she likes

- She just wants to be taken care of okay. She needs to be taken care of.

- Makes the softest, sweetest sounds and will tell you she loves you a million times over.

- Enjoys when things just… naturally happen. Cuddling with you at night, but pushing her hips lightly back against you. Which usually ends with your hand slipping past her waistband and making her come on your fingers.

- Likes to be on top of you sometimes, simply so she can show off whilst she strips. Not to really do anything. Shes really not that much of a giver. She likes being watched. She likes to know she’s desired. And usually it ends up with you dragging her to sit on your face.

- You have to shower her with praise. She wants to know she looks beautiful, that she’s doing well, worship her. Which is incredibly easy for you cause like fucking look at her she’s gorgeous.

- Wraps herself around you when you cuddle after, legs intertwined and arms around you, head buried in your chest or neck. Pls my sweet baby needs to be held.

[theonottsbxtch]

99 PROBLEMS | MV1

an: this is literally a crack fic, i had the idea when i was listening to 99 problems by jay-z and i was talking to @iamred-iamyellow please enjoy

summary: max never expected to one day have a 17 year old son. he didn't know he was a father. but now he's got to try and figure out how this nerd is his son. and also teach him how to live a little.

wc: 3.3k

Max never thought he’d be a single dad to a teenage boy, but shit happens.

One minute, he was in Monaco celebrating another podium win, champagne-soaked and grinning for the cameras. The next, there was a seventeen-year-old with his eyes and an attitude to match standing on his doorstep with a duffel bag. His name was Noah—“not ‘Dad,’ just Max”—and he wasn’t here to bond. No, Noah was here because apparently the universe thought karma would be funnier this way.

Max was on the balcony of his Monaco apartment replying to a few emails, the city’s lights flickering like a postcard behind him. He could hear Noah inside, rifling through the fridge, muttering complaints about the lack of “real food.”

“Hey, don’t knock the caviar!” Max called over his shoulder. “It’s got protein!”

“Caviar’s not dinner!” Noah fired back, slamming the fridge door.

Max smirked, chuckling a bit. The kid had a point. The life of a Formula One champion didn’t exactly prepare him for raising a teenager. Most days, it was all jet-setting, high-end sponsorships, and a new girl on his arm by sundown. It was messy, but it was his kind of messy. Now? Now, he had to figure out how to squeeze fatherhood in between the chaos.

“You seriously live like this?” Noah asked, stepping onto the balcony, holding up one of Max’s custom helmets. His tone wasn’t admiration—it was judgement.

“Like what?” Max said, not looking up from his phone.

“You know, like...this. Cars, women, parties. I mean, isn’t it exhausting?”

Max chuckled low, pocketing his phone. “Don’t have time to be tired.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Right. So, uh...where do I fit in this circus?”

Max turned, his smirk fading just enough to let a flicker of honesty show. “Haven’t figured that out yet. But we’ll make it work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Max glanced back at the city below. “Now, go grab a drink or something. Just...not the champagne.”

And that’s how it started: the driver, his kid, and a life moving faster than either of them could control.

Max hadn’t had a conventional childhood and he could tell this kid did, well as conventional as it was to be dropped off at your dad who you’ve never met’s house a few weeks before your 18th birthday.

He thought that maybe while he was here he could teach him a few things, take him to a few races or something. 

Max didn’t really know what to do.

The private gym was tucked into the corner of Max’s penthouse, all sleek machines and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. It was rarely used. Most of Max’s training happened at the Headquarters. or with his team, but Noah had been dragging his feet around the apartment all week, so Max figured a little sweat might do them both some good.

“Alright, kid,” Max said, tossing a pair of dumbbells onto the mat. “Let’s see if you’ve got anything in the tank. Ever lifted before?”

“Sure,” Noah replied, unimpressed. He sat down on the bench press, giving the machine a once-over like he was deciding whether or not to trust it.

Max crossed his arms, watching as Noah pushed through a few hesitant reps. “Not bad. But if that’s your warm-up, we’re in trouble.”

Noah glared, setting the weights down with a clink. “Not all of us need muscles for a living.”

Max laughed. “Touché. So, what do you do for fun then?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah, fun. You know, like hobbies, friends, maybe a girlfriend?”

Noah shrugged, grabbing a water bottle. “Not much. I play some video games, read, I guess. Nothing crazy.”

“Read?” Max frowned. “What, no parties? No sneaking out? You don’t go out?”

“Go out where?” Noah’s voice had that dry teenage edge to it. “I’m seventeen. I lived in America my whole life. You can’t even get into a bar without a fake ID there.”

Max froze mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve never had a drink?”

Noah gave him a look like he’d just asked if the sky was blue. “No?”

Max stared at him, dumbfounded. “God. If only you knew what I was doing at your age when my dad had his back turned.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Oh, let me guess. Clubbing in Paris. Drinking champagne with supermodels. Living the dream?”

“Belgium, but close,” Max said, leaning against the bench press. “Keg parties in the back of some guy’s trailer in Hasselt. Terrible beer, worse decisions, and my trainer yelling at me the next morning. Still, though. I can’t believe you’re seventeen and haven’t even had a sip.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal,” Noah muttered.

“Not a big deal?” Max barked out a laugh. “Mate, by seventeen, I’d already figured out my go-to drink order. Vodka tonic. Not classy, but it got the job done.” He leaned in, his grin borderline mischievous. “We’ve got some work to do.”

Noah held up his hands, shaking his head. “Oh no. You’re not turning this into some wild ‘how to live’ project.”

Max raised his eyebrows, mock-innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying. Gotta live a little.”

“Maybe I don’t want to end up like you,” Noah shot back.

Max laughed again, but this time it came quieter, almost thoughtful. “Trust me, buddy. Nobody ends up like me. Now, come on. Two more sets, and then I’ll show you how to make a proper protein shake. Don’t worry—I won’t spike it.”

Noah snorted, shaking his head as he got back to work. It was just another morning, another disagreement, but Max couldn’t help feeling like they were inching closer to something real. Something like family.

By the end of the week, Noah was starting to think his dad was running some kind of unofficial competition.

On Monday, it was Marie. She was Monegasque, blonde, and talked like she was auditioning for a perfume ad. “Bonjour, mon cher,” she’d purred at Noah, ruffling his hair like he was ten. Max had barely noticed her leave, too busy scrolling his phone for his next big sponsorship deal.

Tuesday brought Yasmin, a Brazilian model who walked around the apartment in Max’s oversized shirt, pretending not to notice Noah glaring at her from the couch. She’d tried to make conversation, something about school and books, but Noah had just shrugged until she gave up.

By Wednesday, it was Clara, who had an annoying laugh and kept calling Max “babe” like they’d been married for years.

Thursday was a whirlwind—two girls, both of whom Max forgot to introduce. One of them waved awkwardly at Noah as they left, heels clicking on the tile floor.

By Friday, Noah wasn’t even fazed. He sat at the kitchen counter, eating cereal while Max brewed coffee, shirtless and looking entirely too smug for a guy running on five hours of sleep.

“How?” Noah finally said, his spoon clinking against the bowl.

Max glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “How what?”

“You know.” Noah waved vaguely toward the hallway where yet another pair of heels had disappeared moments ago. “Them. How do you...?”

Max chuckled, shaking his head as he poured his coffee. “Not that complicated.” He took a sip, leaning against the counter like he was about to deliver some ancient wisdom. “They like fast cars and big dreams. I’ve got both.”

Noah squinted at him. “Yeah, but don’t they know what they’re getting into? Like...you’re not exactly giving ‘dad of the year’ vibes.”

Max laughed, the sound echoing through the kitchen. “Oh, they know. Trust me, they all think they’re the one who’s gonna ‘change me.’” He set his mug down, smirking. “Spoiler alert: they’re not.”

Noah frowned, stirring his cereal. “Doesn’t it get old?”

“What?”

“The whole thing. Girls coming and going. Don’t you ever want...I don’t know, something normal?”

Max tilted his head, studying him for a second. “Normal’s overrated. Besides, why are you so interested? You got someone back in the States?”

Noah snorted. “No. Not unless you count my English teacher who used to give me extra credit just to stop talking in class.”

Max grinned, pushing off the counter. “Smart kid. Learn from me, though—don’t waste your charm on teachers. Save it for someone who can actually keep up.”

Noah rolled his eyes, standing up to put his bowl in the sink. “You’re insane.”

“And yet,” Max said, raising his coffee in a mock toast, “I’m still your dad. Crazy how that works.”

Noah shook his head, walking out of the kitchen. But as he headed toward his room, he caught himself smirking. Max was a mess—there was no denying that. But, annoyingly, there was something kind of fascinating about watching him pull it off.

He had to give him some respect. Three time world champion but he lived his life like an unbothered bachelor that didn’t have a multi-million contract under his belt.

Two days later, Max was standing in front of his wardrobe, trying to decide between a black shirt and a white graphic tee. He ended up tossing the black top onto the bed, shrugging into the white tee. His phone buzzed on the nightstand—a message from the group chat reminding him that their table was already reserved at Jimmy’s.

Max grabbed his watch and headed toward the living room, adjusting it as he walked. Noah was sprawled on the couch, scrolling his phone with the kind of disinterested focus only teenagers could pull off.

“You wanna come?” Max asked casually, pulling his car keys from the counter.

Noah didn’t even look up. “I’m seventeen.”

Max leaned against the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And I’m Max Verstappen.”

Noah gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, that’s not how laws work.”

Max stepped into the room, tossing his keys in the air and catching them with one hand. “Relax, kid. You’re with me. No one’s checking your ID.” He raised an eyebrow, adding, “Unless you want to stay here and eat more cereal while I’m out having the time of my life.”

Noah hesitated, sitting up slightly. “What, and hang out with you and your harem of club girls? Hard pass.”

Max grinned, crossing his arms. “It’s not just girls. My friends will be there. Good music, good drinks, a little chaos. You could use some chaos.”

Noah snorted. “I don’t think I fit your ‘chaos’ aesthetic.”

Max walked over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to fit. You just show up, keep your head up, and let the good times come to you. Trust me, kid—it’s not rocket science.”

Noah looked at him, torn between scepticism and curiosity. “And if I hate it?”

“Then you call it a night, and we’ll come back. No harm, no foul.” Max shrugged. “But at least you’ll know what you’re missing.”

Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if anyone tries to buy me a drink, I’m out.”

“Deal.” Max grinned, slapping him on the back. “Now, go change. You’re not wearing that.” He gestured vaguely at Noah’s hoodie and sweatpants.

“What’s wrong with this?”

“It’s not wrong; it’s tragic. Go put on something that says, ‘I’m seventeen, but I could still be cooler than you.’”

Noah rolled his eyes but got up and headed toward his room. Max leaned back against the couch, chuckling to himself. This was either going to be a disaster or the most fun he’d had in weeks.

Fifteen minutes later, Noah emerged in dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It wasn’t flashy, but it worked.

Max whistled. “There you go. Almost looks like you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t push it,” Noah muttered, grabbing his jacket.

“Alright, kid,” Max said, swinging an arm around his shoulders as they headed for the elevator. “Welcome to the good life. Try to keep up.”

Jimmy’z was everything Noah expected and nothing he was prepared for. The place was loud, packed, and drenched in neon lights that pulsed to the bass of some remix he didn’t recognise. Max walked in like he owned it, breezing past the bouncers and slapping hands with a few familiar faces on his way to their table.

The VIP section was cordoned off with velvet ropes and framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. A couple of Max’s friends were already there, leaning back with drinks in hand, laughing at some story one of them was telling.

Max clapped a hand on Lando's shoulder, said something about ordering another round, and then turned to Noah with a grin. “Alright, kid. First drink’s on me.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to drink?” Noah muttered, looking around nervously.

“You’re not supposed to get caught drinking,” Max corrected, flagging down a waitress. “Two rum and cokes. Easy on the rum for him,” he added with a wink.

Noah sat awkwardly, trying to ignore the curious glances from Max’s friends. When the drinks came, Max slid one across the table. “Here. Cheers.”

Noah picked up the glass and took a cautious sip, immediately grimacing. “This tastes like gasoline.”

Max burst out laughing, nearly spilling his own drink. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a milkshake, but you’ll get used to it.”

Noah frowned but kept sipping, each drink slightly less terrible than the last. By the time the glass was empty, he didn’t hate it—but he definitely wasn’t in a hurry for another.

“Alright,” Max said, leaning back and draping an arm over the back of the booth. “Time for your next lesson.”

“Lesson?”

“Yeah.” Max grinned, nodding toward the dance floor where a group of girls was laughing and swaying to the music. “How to get a girl.”

Noah blinked at him. “I’m seventeen.”

“And you’re eighteen in three weeks,” Max shot back, smirking.

Noah raised an eyebrow. “How do you even know that?”

Max sipped his drink, looking almost offended. “I pay attention. I’m not that bad of a father, you know.”

Noah snorted. “Debatable.”

“Hey, come on,” Max said, leaning forward and pointing at him with his glass. “I’ve got three weeks to turn you into someone who doesn’t spend prom night sitting in the corner playing Angry Birds. Let me work my magic.”

“I didn’t go to prom,” Noah mumbled.

“Exactly my point.” Max gestured to the dance floor. “Now, watch and learn.”

Noah shook his head, but he couldn’t help smirking. Watching Max in his element was like watching a lion stalk the savanna. Ridiculous, over-the-top, and somehow annoyingly effective.

Noah leaned back in the plush booth, his gaze flicking nervously between the drink in his hand and the dance floor. “This feels illegal,” he muttered under his breath.

Max, already halfway through his second rum and coke, let out a loud laugh that turned a few heads. “Illegal? We’re in Monaco.” He gestured broadly at the glittering club around them, as if the name alone erased all laws. “The girls here don’t care how old you are, as long as you’re pretty enough.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “And what if I’m not?”

Max leaned forward, smirking. “You’re my son, so of course you are. Trust me, kid, you’ve got the genes. Now, you just need the confidence to back it up.”

Noah rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, sure. Because confidence is something you can just magically summon.”

“Exactly,” Max said, snapping his fingers like it was that simple. “It’s all in the attitude. Look, you don’t need to be the smartest or the funniest guy in the room. You just need to act like you know something they don’t. Makes them curious. Curiosity’s half the battle.”

Noah stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s the dumbest advice I’ve ever heard.”

Max grinned, sitting back and gesturing to the waitress for another round. “And yet, here I am. Multi-millionaire. World champion. Living proof it works.”

“Yeah, but you’re—” Noah hesitated, then gestured vaguely at Max’s whole presence. “You.”

“Exactly. And you’re half me. Which means you’ve already got a head start.” Max leaned in, lowering his voice like he was letting Noah in on a secret. “Here’s the trick: don’t overthink it. If you go out there looking like you’ve got something to prove, you’ll scare ‘em off. Just...be cool.”

“Cool,” Noah repeated, deadpan. “Got it. Thanks for the groundbreaking advice.”

Max smirked, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Fine. Don’t believe me. But if I come back with two numbers before you even finish that drink, you’re buying me breakfast tomorrow.”

Noah shook his head as Max strolled off toward the dance floor, impossibly confident and infuriatingly charismatic. It was hard not to admire it, even if it made him feel like an awkward kid in comparison.

He stared down at his empty glass, debating whether to order another drink or just leave, when a girl about his age walked past and glanced his way. She gave him a small smile, and Noah froze, his heart racing.

Max’s words echoed in his head. “Just act like you know something they don’t.”

Noah took a deep breath, set his empty glass on the table, and stood up. His palms felt clammy, and every nerve in his body screamed at him to sit back down. But then he caught Max watching from the floor with an infuriating smirk before turning to whichever woman he was talking to this time.

Don’t overthink it, Noah reminded himself. Just be cool.

The girl was standing near the edge of the dance floor with a friend, laughing at something on her phone. She looked up as he approached, her eyes flicking over him in curiosity.

“Hey,” Noah said, trying to sound casual. “You looked like you needed saving from a bad joke.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And you’re the knight in shining armour?”

“Something like that,” Noah said, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Or at least I’m not the guy who made you laugh like that.”

Her smile widened, and her friend nudged her playfully before disappearing toward the bar. “Smooth,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you use that line often?”

“First time, actually,” Noah admitted, his lips twitching into a nervous grin.

The honesty seemed to win her over. They started talking—light, easy banter—and before Noah knew it, she was laughing at something he’d said about his dad being a “professional bad influence.”

From the booth, Max had a clear view of the whole thing. He nudged Lando, grinning like a proud idiot. “Lan, look!” He pointed toward the dance floor. “The son of a bitch did it!”

Lando squinted, then let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Max chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “He’s my kid. Of course he’s got it in him.”

Noah returned to the table a while later, looking flushed and slightly dishevelled. His lips were swollen, and there was a faint lipstick smudge on his cheek.

Max raised his glass in a mock toast. “Atta boy!”

Noah slid into the booth, trying to suppress a grin. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, it’s already a thing,” Max said, slapping him on the back. “You’re officially part of the club now.”

Lando smirked. “Better keep an eye on him, Max. He’s almost got more potential than you.”

“Potential? He’s a damn prodigy,” Max joked, laughing. “First drink, first girl, all in one night. Kid’s got a better batting average than I did at his age.”

Noah rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling. As much as his dad’s teasing drove him crazy, there was something undeniably cool about seeing Max so proud.

“Alright,” Max said, clapping his hands together. “Now that you’ve got your feet wet, let’s see if you can do it again.”

Noah shook his head, laughing. “Not a chance. One’s enough for tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Max said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “But just so you know—you’ve officially graduated from boring.”

For once, Noah didn’t argue.

the end.

[choccy-milky]

LMAOO thank you for your efforts and also for putting this cursed image in my head....between being a beater AND making the trek up to the ravenclaw tower constantly/every morning to pick up clora, seb never skips a workout💪

@myfangirlinessononeblog BAHAHA DONT WORRY ABOUT IT GIRL!! ill admit tho when i got the preview for your ask which just showed me "id like to apologize for my previous ask" i was like oh god...what did she send me that warrants an apology???😰 but this was so funny to me LOOL esp bc i thought everyone already knew that "spoiler" of sebs "death" by now, so its always fun to see when someone hasnt been on my blog for long/reads my fic first and then gets to it HAHA. also i love the manic energy of not being able to wait between chaps and NEEDING to vent to me LOOL relatable... weve all been there girly🤝🤝 (and im glad u liked seb beating himself up over being dead for TOO long BAHAH that really is so him...😭bro needs to relax) BUT THANK YOU ALSO!! IM GLAD YOU'RE ENJOYING IT!!💖💖💖

@nerdycollectionstrawdewfan i want to do this so bad!! i just still havent got around to getting to that quest yet bc ive still barely started my second HL playthru bahha, and i want to experience the quest myself rather than watch it on youtube, BUT TRUST ME ITS DEFS SOMETHING IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT/WANTING TO DO!! and THANK YOUU💖💖

@jax-the-kneecapper BAHAH AWW TYY RIGHT BACK AT YOU🫂💖💖😭 and i mean if its to keep someone alive i guess i have no choice but to continue🫡👩‍⚕️👩‍⚕️thank u for the excuse🥰

BAHA I DO!! idk if you saw my last ask but i have a pregnancy oneshot in the works!! but unlike what i say there, it probs wont be finished by this month at the rate im going😭 BUT IT IS COMING!! and after that i have a really reallllyyy short oneshot (probs like 5k words. short for ME, that is) thats kinda dark/about yandere seb. but also dont worry about pressuring me cuz IM GLAD YOU WANT MORE OF THEM, IT JUST MOTIVATES ME!! SO THANK YOU💖💖💖🥹

and speaking of motivation!! THANK YOUU im glad you liked it and that you not only got attached to my ver of seb but even to clora as well!!😭ill defs keep writing for them as long as the ideas are still there, thank YOU for reading and for the lovely message!!💖💖💖

decided to end this off with the most UNHINGED ask i have EVER RECIEVED LMAOOOOOO GIRLLLLLLLL???? ok a lot to unpack here first of all im OBSESSEDDDD with the fact that after seeing that sight, ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS YOU THOUGHT OF WAS SEB AND CLORA??? LMFAOO AND SEBS REACTION TO IT😭😭😭IM FUCKING CRYINN GGGG LIKE SERIOUSLY....and second clora will ALWAYS be sebs fav cave no matter what (how dare you make me read that with my own eyes) and also THE VAGINA IS A MUSCLE!! IT CAN LOOSEN AND BECOME TIGHT AGAIN!! ✨THE MORE YOU KNOW!! ✨ but also no seb will NOT be traumatized bc he will NOT be seeing that LMAO😇 in the pregnancy oneshot im writing he doesnt look down there😇 he already almost passes out from seeing clora in pain, so i think looking down there and seeing whats happening would actually knock him out/put him in a coma LMFAOOO (also congrats to your sister🥰🥰i hope her cave isnt too wrecked🥰(ok im sorry 💀💀but also YOU started this🫵)

[karlachismylife]

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Frisky Movie Date 💕 | Shoto x Reader

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x AFAB Reader 💋

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance

Summary: You reconnect with Shoto as adults. You start to explore your mutual attraction through a series of basic dates. When Shoto takes you to the movies, the last thing your'e expecting is for things to get spicy off screen! Suddenly Shoto's giving you the star treatment in public. Turns out, he's a credit to heroes everywhere - he's determined to show you that a Pro Hero always gets the job done. TLDR: Shoto fingers you into oblivion while on a movie date and it's HOT AF! 🔥

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, fingering, lemon, Smut, Dirty Talk, All characters are in their mid-twenties!

It's late evening and you're at the movies with Shoto Todoroki.

You've gone on a few dates together since reconnecting at your UA class's 10 year anniversary. You're both successful heroes in your own right - Shoto is consistently on the Top 10 Hero charts, while you prefer to operate in the shadows and off the grid. When you bumped into each other at the reunion party, the attraction between the two of you was undeniable.

Shoto in his mid twenties is...woof. He's handsome as ever - that trademark two toned hair does all the talking when he walks into a room. He's bulkier now than he was in school - he's filled out quite a bit with muscle since you last sparred with him in a UA gym.

He dresses much classier now, too...you recall days in the dorms where he would wander around in joggers and loose sweatpants. He's definitely retained a hero stylist since then. These days he dresses like old money - expensive cable knit sweaters, suit jackets and neutral leather shoes. And he always smells delicious - an interesting combination of fruit and sandalwood.

The first few dates were innocent enough - dinner at a high end restaurant (in a private room, of course. You needed to guard your identity carefully and it was imperative to your underground hero work that you not be spotted with a high profile hero like Shoto). A quiet evening outing to a museum after close. A stroll through a local park at dusk when most people had gone home for dinner.

Each date had been fun and sweet - you and Shoto have caught up and come to better understand one another's lives post graduation. You've asked questions about Shoto's hero agency, his challenges with sidekicks and administrative BS. And in turn, he's asked you to explain how you partner with detectives and the police in order to take down criminal rings throughout the city. You've talked about the state of the hero world, the gossip you've heard about your old classmates, and about your favorite foods (his being Soba).

Despite the sweet and chaste nature of your dates, sexual tension is constantly pulsing between you, staticky and sharp. You can feel it in the way he glances sideways at you when you walk side by side. It's evident in how his hugs linger a moment longer than they should, in the way that his hand brushes yours more than necessary when you sit down for dinner or coffee.

All of your interactions are above board, though. It's too soon to get physical. And you know that Shoto is a little slow on the uptake, so you assume he's going to take his time before trying to do anything *spicy* with you during a date.

Turns out...that assumption was dead wrong.

For your fourth date, Shoto takes you to a new mystery movie that's just hit the theaters. You sneak in during the previews so that no one will notice the two of you. He doesn't want to be swarmed by fangirls and you don't want your underground hero identity compromised. Sneaking around is a necessary evil when you're Pro Heros of this caliber. It also makes everything feel a bit clandestine and sexy.

You breathe in the cool dark air of the theater - there's something magical about going to the movies these days. It's so easy to stream things in your little apartment or at your agency office. There's something so fun and purposeful about setting aside time to go to a physical theater, to grab snacks and just intentionally enjoy a film with another person.

You stumble over an overturned popcorn bucket, your hero senses failing you. Shoto glances back at you and holds out an arm to brace your fall, easily slipping his hand into yours once you steady yourself. He guides you through the dark theater to the reserved seats. His hand is strong, reassuring. Strangely sexy? You wonder what those strong, supple fingers could do to you...

You refocus on the task at hand - finding your seats. Shoto locates them with ease and stows your drinks in the chair cup holders. He drops your hand unceremoniously and waits for you to plop in your seat before taking his own. You're pleased to see that the theater is fairly empty - there's no one sitting in your row and there don't appear to be any rowdy moviegoers in this particular crowd. The audience is mostly comprised of couples in their twenties and thirties. You fit right in.

You settle in, pleased that it's one of those theaters that has the fancy reclining seats. You eagerly hit the buttons and the chair hums faintly as its backrest tilts you into a slightly more comfortable position. Shoto reclines his chair to match yours, gazing up at the pre-film commercials with his usual intensity. His mismatched eyes glimmer in the cinema screen's glow and you can't help but admire how gorgeous he is.

As the previews wrap up, Shoto lifts the armrest up so that he can scooch next to you, his muscular thigh pressing flush against your own leg. You glance up at him in surprise - you definitely were not expecting him to try and cuddle you during this date. He's usually so reserved and shy!

You let yourself lean into him lightly, feeling the coolness of his right side seep through your thick sweatshirt and leggings like a refreshing mint.

"I'm excited." You whisper softly, tilting your head up so you can speak close to his ear. "I've read good reviews of this film!"

His lips ease into a smile and he nods. "I'm excited, too." He reaches down and slides his hand over your own where it rests on your thigh. A shiver runs through you at the touch. If Shoto notices, he doesn't show it.

The movie starts to roll. A half hour goes by - characters are introduced, settings are explored. A ragtag group of misfits is locked in a mansion and challenged to solve a startling mystery. You're both engrossed in the plot line (or, so you think) - when Shoto removes his hand from on top of yours and brings it to rest lightly on your upper thigh. Instantly you freeze, eyes darting down to where his large hand now rests on your leg.

You give him a sidelong look. He feels your eyes on his face and turns ever so slightly towards you, eyes widening questioningly almost as if to say "what?"

You shake your head loosely, unable to come up with a response.

What would you even say? Shoto's hand on your thigh doesn't seem particularly suspicious, and you want to be in constant contact with him anyway. He's cute and you're attracted to him and every touch he lavishes on you feels electric. You shake your head again and refocus your attention on the screen. Shoto smirks as he turns back to watch the movie as well, giving your leg a light squeeze with the pads of his fingers. You can't help the tremor that runs through your body at the delicate touch. For a moment, your brain goes off the deep end - you're craving his fingers everywhere.

You sink your attention back into the movie, interested to see how the film plays out. The plot moves forward - the characters explore the spooky mansion and the mystery deepens. You have a few theories as to how the plot might resolve, but it's still too early to tell.

You almost jump when you feel the Shoto's finger twitch at your thigh. No, not quite a twitch...more like a tap? Shoto starts to lightly tap his finger on your leg. You can't ignore the gentle beat he taps into your leggings - you haven't been touched in that particular spot in a long while. It feels both casual and intimate. You quickly glance down at his strong Pro Hero hands. You wonder if the tapping could be a nervous tic - extra energy flowing out through his finger tip.

You try to refocus on the movie, but when Shoto starts to trace soft circles into your leggings, you realize the touch is purposeful. You're not quite sure what he's trying to do, but he has your full attention as he glides his finger tips in small shapes against your leg.

He slides the finger an inch or two upwards and hits a sensitive spot on your inner thigh. You're instantly turned on - warmth radiating up your legs and straight to your cunt. You don't dare look over at him - it might break the tension. The spell. You can tell through your peripherals that Shoto is still staring straight ahead at the movie screen. There's no note in his expression to indicate that he's trying to silently seduce you.

He continues to run his fingertip featherlight back and forth across your soft leggings, moving slowly upwards. You feel yourself getting wetter with each gentle circle and pattern. It doesn't take him long to crawl his hand up to towards your pussy.

You're craving his touch on your clit now, but he's caressing everywhere but - his fingers slide up your waist, around your hips, down the dip of your the point of your inner thigh that connects to your labia...

You long to buck up your hips or to guide him to your pussy with your own hand. But you don't dare. You want to see how this plays out.

The movie plays on. And Shoto's gentle caresses continue.

After 15 minutes, you can barely sit still. You're soaking wet and your core is absolutely aching. Shoto's fingers swirl and slide down across your hip bone and ghost across the edge of your pussy lips. Tired of his teasing, you lightly shift your hips, desperate to get some friction against your tingling clit. At your sudden movement, his fingers still.

You worry that you've ruined his game, turning your head slightly to the left to gauge his reaction.

He softly turns to look back at you, his gaze locking with your own. His eyes are glazed over, boring into your own as he bites at his perfect mouth. Your eyes dart down to his mouth, drinking in the flash of white teeth sinking into his lower lip. He leans towards you slowly, closing the distance between you so he can whisper in your ear: "Can I touch you, sweetheart?"

You're suddenly intensely aware of where you are - a public place sprinkled with other couples. But the theater is dark and the movie is loud and Shoto's leg and side are pressed so closely to your own that you doubt anyone would notice if you just let him give you what you so desperately need...

You release a breath you didn't even realize you were holding, your vocal chords barely buzzing under the thick film score blasting through the theater speakers: "...yes."

That seems to be exactly what Shoto was waiting to hear. He swirls his fingers quickly to the center of your pussy, drawing the pads of his fingers up and across your cunt in the most delicious way. You try not to grind up into his fingers as he feels around for your sweet spot. When he finally locates your clit, you hiss appreciatively, a short burst of air leaving your lips before you clap your hand over your mouth to shut yourself up. You glance back at Shoto and see that he's grinning at you mischievously. It's an expression you've never seen on his face before. He looks cute and handsome and diabolical.

He pulls his hand away and you keen lowly in the back of your throat at the loss of contact. His face breaks into a grin as you make a noise he's certain only he can hear.

On the large silver screen before you, the protagonist is being chased by some sort of villain character. You're too punch drunk to remember what the movie is about anymore. What's the genre? No clue. The title? Don't care. Your pussy is soaked and throbbing and you're pretty sure you might need to ditch your ruined panties in the cinema's ladies room so you can make it home comfortably.

Your mind zooms in a thousand different directions - You're horny. Shoto is hot. Does he like you? Or does he just want to fuck you? Who cares - get your hands back on me, you Icy Hot freak! Why did he stop? Should you have pretended to ignore him - does he just like the chase? What is this movie called again? Why is the protagonist hiding in the woods? Is her underwear comfortable? Because yours is certainly not right now -

You feel Shoto's large, steady hands wrap around your hips. Before you can fully register what's happening, he's pulling you into his lap.

Jeez. Lord Almighty help me.

He pulls you towards him so that your back is flush against his chest, and his chin rests on your right shoulder. His breath is hot against the bare skin of your neck, causing ripples of goose bumps to prickle to life with each exhale of air. You feel him beneath your butt - he's unmistakably hard in those fancy pants of his. You glitter at the realization - Shoto Todoroki is hard for you. You wonder how big his dick is. You wonder how good it might feel.

Fuck.

No. No! You're in public right now. You need to cool off before someone notices you both and kicks you out of the theater for being too handsy. Or, worse - you need to cut this out before someone snaps a picture of two Pro Heroes are canoodling in a public movie theater. The press would go haywire if they found out about this.

You slowly turn your head around to see if anyone has noticed this sudden...intimate...change in position. But once again, there's no one sitting in your row. The movie theater chair backs are high enough to allot an illusion of privacy, and all of the other couples seem to be staring at the movie screen with rapt attention. The score swells as the protagonist continues to run through the woods in search of cover, and you hear audible gasps from the audience as she trips and falls over a log. People are invested in this movie. Unlike you.

"You're so beautiful, I can't seem to behave myself." Shoto whispers thickly into your ear. "I can't keep my hands off of you for some reason." He breathes in deeply. "Does your quirk have some kind of hormonal side effect?"

You want to burst out laughing - based on his tone of voice, his question is completely earnest, it's not a flirty come on.

"No, that's not how my quirk works at all Shoto. You're just horny." You say quietly, trying to keep the timber of your voice as low as humanly possibly so as not to draw attention to the way your bodies are currently configured.

"Yeah. I definitely am." He says simply, nuzzling lightly into your neck. He slides his hands up and down the sides of your legs as if to warm you up. "Did you enjoy the way I was touching you?" He says, a hint of slyness creeping into his hushed tone.

"I'm soaked through." You say, shifting uncomfortably in his lap. He sucks in a breath at those words, his own body pulsing with need. You feel his cock beneath you, heavy and getting harder by the second. You wish you were anywhere else - you wish you could hop off his lap, unzip his pants and hop on that sweet Pro Hero cock. You'd ride him through the night and well into the morning if you could.

Your mind is now a cloudy haze of hormones and longing.

"If you'd like to...maybe I could finish what I started." He says flatly, turning his head so that his lips ghost the hollow under your ear. You feel your heart beat quicken at the suggestion. Your entire body screams out yes! yes! yes!

"No. Shoto. We're in public." You hiss between your teeth as you feel his fingers dance across your legs and up towards your pussy. "What if we get caught? It's a PR nightmare waiting to happen."

Shoto says nothing. Instead, he reaches behind him and grabs his thick, corduroy jacket from where it hangs on the chair back. He quietly spreads the fabric across your lap, covering you like a blanket.

"Better?" He says softly, his fingers starting to swirl gentle circles into your thighs once more.

"Um." You gulp, taking one more look around at the theater before throwing caution to the wind. "Why the hell not?"

That's all the answer he seems to have needed. He draws a hand delicately up your inner thigh and dips towards your vulva, gently tracing circles into the comfortable fabric of your leggings. When he gets to your clit again, it's feels like magic. You wish you could moan out his name, but you're too nervous to speak. Beneath the jacket on your lap, his right hand is working wonders.

Meanwhile, he brings his left hand to his mouth, slowly sucking on his fingers.

"What are you doing?" You hiss out as he swirls his right fingers around your clothed pussy in a controlled, practiced sort of way. The impact is buttery and pleasurable in all the right ways. Your panties are dripping wet.

"You'll see." He says, distracted. You find out the answer a moment later when his fingers ghost beneath the elastic of your leggings.

"Shoto." You say warningly, still unsure about having a Rated R moment inside of a public theater.

"Trust me." Is all he says before he dips his spit covered fingers underneath the elastic bands of both your leggings and your underwear. You stifle a gasp as he slides his wet digits down, down down...swiping his dexterous fingertips across your swollen clit with practiced skill. Your whole body feels alive and electric at the contact.

He doesn't spend long playing with your clit - he has other plans for you. You feel him explore your pussy, sliding his fingers around your labia before finally dipping into your hot core.

You hear the tiniest gasp of air escape his lips as he realizes how fucking wet you are. He buries his face in the side of your neck and groans softly as he swirls his fingers into you softly. He's curling and scissoring his index and middle fingers lightly to give you a delicious feeling of stretching fullness. He feels so lovely inside of you, stirring your arousal around like thick honey. You grind up into his fingers gently, trying to flex your needy pelvic muscles in a subtle, refined sort of way (aka, you try not to look like a humping maniac in the middle of this public movie theater screening).

Shoto's fingers are the perfect mix of calloused and soft. He's got an amazing dexterity that no doubt comes from years of training in hand to hand combat. Each gentle push and pull of his fingertips makes you see stars.

You feel an orgasm building quickly as your pussy flutters and throbs around his capable digits. And honestly, it doesn't take a lot to bring you to the brink of pleasure.

Shoto continues to play with your pussy with his left hand. He drags his right slowly up your neck, letting his hand linger for a moment at your throat. There's no pressure in his touch - you just feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe. It's almost like a teasing little promise...I could choke you if you wanted me to. Your pussy pulses steadily around his fingers at the implication. After a moment, his palm travels up your throat, dips across the curve of your chin, and comes to rest snuggly across your mouth. He pulls back your face lightly, a silent command to keep quiet. This is something you've always loved about Shoto - the way he's so direct.

Ironically enough, as the film hits its climax you get closer to your own. The protagonist and the villain are having some big CGI battle, and the surround sound is LOUD. The image on the screen blurs as your eyes roll back in your head a bit, blissed out and riding high on Shoto Todoroki's fingertips. You have no fucking clue why there's a swamp monster in this movie and you don't fucking care.

Shoto takes his time working at you - his motions are gentle but precise. You huff lightly into his hand and shift needily in his lap, trying to get some friction going against his cock. You can feel him hard beneath you, his dick a welcome presence against your butt. You want him to fill you up with more than his fingers, and your hazy brain wonders what it would feel like to be stretched out by a top hero's cock. The thought sends your senses spinning.

Holy fuck you're about to cum hard.

Luckily, Shoto has been studying body language for quite some time in his hero work. He dips his lips to the shell of your ear, dragging the very tip of his tongue across the delicate cartilage before he whispers: "Cum for me, pretty girl."

He dips his head lower to plant a deep, wet kiss against the sensitive part of your neck and that's all it takes.

Theater goers and mysterious swamp monster character be damned, you're going to orgasm in the middle of this goddamn CGI fight scene if it kills you.

Your ears are ringing with the anticipation of your high - your blood is pumping through your veins a bit too fast, and you've all but forgotten to breathe. The music coming out of the surround sound speakers swells alongside the pressure in your pussy.

You cum - hard. Shoto's finger pulses in and out of you in time with your orgasm, and you take a short, shuddering breath as you ride out your pleasure. This is the wettest you've been in so long and it makes cumming feel so glorious and comfortable.

You lean your head back into him when you're finished, head falling against the hard muscle of Shoto's chest. Your body feels fizzy and warm - the kind of relaxed feeling you get when you step into a hot bath. He curls his finger inside you one last time as the aftershock of your orgasm dies down before covertly removing his hand from your panties and pants. He releases your mouth from his grasp and you breathe in the cool theater air.

Shoto's mouth finds your ear again, and he whispers one final sexy thing: "A Pro always finishes the job."

Your whole body shivers at the words.

The movie screen goes dark and the credits begin to roll. You turn your head ever so slightly so you can see half of Shoto's face through your hazy eyes. He smiles softly at you as he raises his left hand to his lips and licks your orgasm clean off of his fingers. Holy fucking shit.

Without warning, the lights flicker on and all around you. Couples stand and start to drift towards the theater's exit. You quickly scrabble up and off of Shoto's lap on shaky legs, incredulous. You can't believe you just did that.

You shiver from the shock of it all.

Shoto has managed to scoop his jacket off your lap before you get to your feet. He wraps the thick fabric around you, squeezing his palms lightly against your shivery shoulders. He pulls you in towards him, dipping his head down so that his lips meet yours. It's your first kiss with Shoto, and it's sweet and chaste and the complete opposite of whatever the hell just took place in that pleather theater chair.

You jump when you hear someone from the back of the theater say to their partner: "Is that Pro Hero Shoto!?"

Shoto flashes you a grin before he grabs your hand and you haul ass out of the emergency exit. An alarm blares to life and you cry out in shock as he tugs you along around the side of the building and towards the parking lot.

"Shoto! Shoto that's definitely illegal!" You cry out as your shoes hit the pavement. The air is crisp and chilly.

"So is fingering your girlfriend in public. So we're two for two." He laughs, so much more confident than the Shoto you knew back in school. Where did all of this charm come from?

And...hold on a second!?

"Girlfriend?" You question as a gust of wind nearly blows the corduroy jacket from your shoulders. You grasp at it desperately and manage to hold on with your free hand.

"Well yes. I figured I sealed the deal when I gave you an orgasm back there."

"Wha - ?"

"Denki told me that's how you ask someone to be your girlfriend. You pleasure them." Shoto locates his car and the two of you come to a stop as he fumbles for his keys. And boom goes the dynamite - Shoto is just as clueless as ever. He's being mislead by Denki, who clearly wanted a laugh at yours and Shoto's expense.

"Shoto." You say, pulling your hand away and pushing your arms into the jacket's sleeves to maximize comfort. "Shoto, have you ever had a girlfriend before?"

"Not formally. But I'm excited to be on this journey with you." He finds the right key and clicks open the passenger door to his expensive car. Ever the gentleman, he helps you inside and turns on your heated seat before making his way to the driver's side. He throws his key into the ignition and the engine purrs to life.

"Shoto...Kamanari was messing with you. Usually you have a conversation with someone about your relationship status before you slap a label on it. You don't just...give a girl an orgasm to lock her down."

"Oh." He turns to look at you, face stricken. "Do you not want to be my girlfriend then? Sorry, I just assumed..."

"No, no - Shoto, I want to be your girlfriend! All you had to do is ask."

"Oh thank goodness." Relief washes over his face and he slumps back in his seat. "I am not the best with these kinds of things."

"It's alright." You say, reaching across the center console to cover his hand with your own. "We can figure it all out together. And if you're half as good with your dick as you are with your fingers...well..." You grin up at him and the guy freakin blushes. Oh it is so on.

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

Okayyyyy I hope you enjoyed that little Shoto one shot! We've all been fingered in a movie theater at least once in our lives, right!? So this is a totally relatable tale, right!? Right!

Feel free to check out my other Shoto-centric fics:

Kirishima gives Todoroki S*x Tips | Todoroki x Reader Fic

Shoto Discovers He Has A Daddy Kink | Shoto x Reader

Shoto's First Kiss Series: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

And here's my Masterlist for good measure!

XOXO,

Red Riot Unbreakable Heart ❤️

[struwberrii]

haikyuu!! at an american highschool ⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ

pt.1 here pt.3 here

these are just some of my silly headcannons on how i think hq characters would act and what stereotypes they would be at an american highschool (as an american highschooler ☝️🤓)

characters: kuroo, kenma, bokuto, akaashi, oikawa, iwaizumi

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

kuroo

literally the biggest nerd but sm girls crush on him

the type of guy you gotta hit your friends with the “hear me out” before you say he’s cute

kind of annoying and cocky about his intelligence but ppl still like him

gets real creative about his insults towards ugly people

wears cringey dad graphic tees bc he has no style

crunchy coughs in class a lil too often….

has the oldest most beat up car on the planet like it’s a safety hazard driving that thing

always smells really weird like cigarettes or something despite not smoking a day in his life

debate club.

his note books have like water stains and the covers are like torn apart and look like they were used as a shield during a war

offers all his friends rides but is such a scary driver

makes fun of ppl “lovingly” but he’s lowkey a bully

jokingly owns a minecraft hoodie he bought from the kids section and it’s SO TIGHT it’s a crime to wear that out with his big self

kenma

wears the same clothes multiple days in a row, he don’t gaf he probably slept in ts too 😭

probably doesn’t really smell bad, just kind of…. moist? marinated?

his hair is probably really greasy sometimes

always brings some type of gaming console to school and plays during lunch and during any free time he has

sneaks his phone when he isn’t supposed to and has never been caught

for some reason he sits with cool people despite NEVER talking during class and never going out of his way to make friends (kuroo forces him to hang out with his friends)

raged at his game super loud in class one time and got so embarrassed he begged his counselor to take him out of that class

his grades are ok for someone who never studies or even really pays attention

some of his teachers have gone entire school years without ever remembering his name

has the best comebacks to everyone, he is not afraid to clock you

bokuto

drives the biggest jeep or like ford bronco ever and is actually a decent driver

his parking is TERRIBLE though and he never bothers to fix it

probably would play football (i’m sorry guys) and is constantly at risk of getting kicked off the team for his grades

akaashi helps him study to stay on the team

genuinely the biggest himbo, a bunch of the girls think he’s adorable but he never gets the hint

posts silly gym selfies on his story

book bag has like 1 notebook in it, maybe a pencil if he’s lucky

teachers secretly love him (but not enough to pass him)

i feel like he’d also try and join the swim team for some reason

i feel like he’d eat burger king for lunch :,(

girls confide in him with their drama even though he gives no helpful feedback or advice and just occasionally gasps and goes “no way”

has the most cracked iphone screen on the planet

akaashi

probably taking like half honors classes or AP (idk how it works i’m not at a regular high school sorry guys </3)

gets school iced coffee for breakfast

takes super good and detailed notes and helps bokuto despite being a lower grade

wears the funkiest outfits but girls still think he’s cute

no girls talk to him though because he’s so quiet

always has at least 1 airpod in

sells pics of his notes

sometimes goes off campus for lunch with bokuto, but refuses to eat burger king

other days he probably has salad for lunch

probably in like orchestra but never carries his instrument in the halls bc he thinks it’s embarrassing

bokuto is loud af cheering him on when they have concerts

also sneaks his phone during class but got caught one time and now he’s kind of too scared to use it

iwaizumi

wears those tight work out shirts to show off his muscles

probably drinks like protein drinks in class

has the biggest water bottle ever like bro drinks a gallon of water every period

has a SUPER old iphone or like an android he refuses to upgrade because it gets the job done

always posting about his gains

probably crashed his car and his bumper is like hanging off his car

in like a weight lifting or body building club and is probably the leader of said club

he and oikawa are a very popular duo

occasionally skips class if he ever just doesn’t feel like going

his notes are so vague and short yet he understands and remembers everything he wrote

his grades are insanely good too

literally only wears sports clothing

uses really good smelling cologne but since he’s so active there’s always a hint of must from all the sweat :,(

oikawa

man hoe

he has been in just about every girls dms at some point

his grades are like, okay? he’s not failing

does stuff for female validation, like ik if he had a cat he’d be posting it on his story constantly and like flexing his hand veins

drives a bmw

if he’s actually in a relationship, he’s super loyal tho

his teachers kinda hate him

still uses snapchat and his snap score is like 500k

has decent fashion but dresses mildly gay at the same time

people constantly make jokes abt him and iwa being gay and he gets so mad (maybe he’s projecting idk)

smells a little like vanilla

he and iwa get in n out for lunch and eat in his car

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Collars Of Duty 4

MalinoisHybrid!Simon x reader

- Chapter 3 - (Chapter 5)

Simon's gone and you're left to deal with his sudden absence. But maybe it's not all over yet.

~ 8,3k Words

Content (might contain spoilers): reader being mean to themselves in their thoughts, hybrid AU, mention of past injury, hints at past attack, mentions of therapy, biting, blood

A.N: I messed with the COD timeline here. I know that some of the things I mention don't happen during this time and don't fit with the canon but it's my AU so shush. Curious if you lot catch the cameo. Have fun. Also not my best chapter but I poured a lot of heart, time and effort into it.

It’s been almost a week since Simon’s transport back to England. A week that you’ve spent at home again. The day you arrived at work to find Simon gone you went back to medical leave. Now as you sit on your couch and look out through your living room window you wonder if that was the best decision.

Simon’s sudden absence left you hollower than you anticipated. You spent barely a week by his side, most of which he was unconscious. So how come you care so damn much already?

You go through your usual routine. Making food, going outside, meeting friends, attending therapy, working on your mind and body. You do everything you did the past few weeks that helped you get back to your feet after Phillip but the worry for Simon won’t fade. It’s always there in the back of your head, a nagging feeling that leaves you thinking about him way more than you probably should.

Is he okay? Are they taking good care of him? Do they take it slow and take his trauma and needs into consideration? Does he have a handler that knows how to help him? How are his wounds?

You feel silly for caring so much about the large hybrid but another pitiful part of you whispers that it might prove that you’re a good person. Caring so much about someone you barely know surely proves that you have a good heart.

Then there’s another part that admonishes you for thinking that. No truly good person would think about whether their actions or thoughts make them a good person and you grow ashamed again. You try to shove all those thoughts somewhere in a corner of your mind where you don’t have to hear them constantly. The back and forth driving you insane without coming up with any conclusive answer.

You worry about him. That’s how it is. You care There is nothing you can do to change that except try not to think about him so much. But honestly you don’t want to stop thinking about him. Something about Simon struck your heart and you feel the need to figure out what.

You sigh as you nurse your mug with your favourite hot beverage in it, taking another slow sip savoring the taste. Has Simon ever had a drink like this? You sigh. Here you go again, thinking about the malinois hybrid without pause.

You let your head fall back against the backrest of the couch, staring at the ceiling. When did your home start feeling more like a self inflicted prison? There’s a restlessness growing in you. It’s starting deep in your stomach and spreads its way through your limbs making you bounce your knee until you almost spill your drink jerking your head back up to safe it at the last second.

Why did you go back to medical leave? You had been more than willing to return for Simon’s case. But as soon as he left you went back home like a snail hiding in it’s shell. You rest your elbows on your knees and let your head hang forward the muscles of your neck stretching uncomfortably.

You’re a damn coward. Resting at home. It doesn’t feel like healing anymore it feels like you’re running away. Running from the center and all the hybrids it houses. You hate it, hate Phillip for ruining all dog hybrids with just one attack. Why does he have the power to make you afraid of all of them. It’s not fair.

Do the others think you’re a coward as well? Hiding at home again after you came back for a week. What is management thinking? That you could return for an emergency but not for the relative calmness of every day? What will happen if you don’t come back quick enough for them? Will you lose your job? Would they actually fire you over something like this?

Just like that sitting at home feels like wasted time. Every minute spent on your couch is a minute you could be working and trying to get over your fear. And suddenly your certain that you have to return to work if you want to make further progress.

Additionally to your sudden urgency to just do something instead of sitting at home and licking your wounds the thought of everyone secretly judging your return to absence makes you feel itchy. But it’s your own judgment makes you the most uncomfortable. You can’t escape your own thoughts that remind you how cowardly you’re behaving. How you’re wasting away thinking about a hybrid who never even was your charge.

Thinking about a hybrid who you foolishly put a lot of hope into.

It makes no logical sense that you feel like Simon was your way back to working with hybrids. You had been sure that working with a problem hybrid would be the worst thing that could happen to you. You had been sure it would make you feel worse and undo everything you’ve achieved in therapy so far.

Now it feels like anyone other than the problem hybrid will hinder your recovery.

For a moment you feel selfish for wanting to gain something out of helping a hybrid. How can you think like that? Even if working with one stops your progress it would be worth it if you could help them. It’s not their job to help you. You’re supposed to help them, that’s what you’re being paid for, dammit. Helping them without gaining anything should be all you want.

Still it would be the best case scenario if working with one would also allow you to slowly get used to them again. It would be nice if the hybrid could help you too. And you decide that you can allow yourself that little bit of selfishness.

But even if that best case scenario were to happen. Before you can get anyone elses help you’ll have to want to help yourself.

The days of peacefully sitting on your couch letting the world outside continue to turn while you exist in your own little reality that consists of your home and the doctors office are over. You’ve had enough time off. It’s time to return to work. If you don’t your own thoughts that continue to run in circles will drive you insane.

No matter how often you dissect what happened with Phillip it won’t change what happened and maybe it’s time to accept that.

It’s probably best if you go back to the center today, before you lose your drive. And what better way to return than just going for lunch. Nice and casual. Nothing scary. At least that’s what you’re trying to convince yourself of as your palms immediately begin getting sweaty.

It’s tiring always being scared and even if it scares you more to go back, at least you’re doing something. You can’t take another second of sitting at home waiting to feel better while doing nothing.

A sudden burst of energy has you rushing all over your home while you get ready and sprint out of your front door before your nerves catch up to you.

You try your hardest not to second guess yourself as your unsteady hands hold the access card against the entrance of the compound. It opens with a beep and you rush through. When you stand in front of the main building you freeze. Your hands are shaking and you will yourself to breathe deeply.

There will be a lot of hybrids at the cafeteria, and suddenly your feet wont take another step. Flashes of teeth, dripping with vicious saliva, snapping and tearing at you appear in your mind. You’re certain that there’s an aggressive hybrid growling behind you but when you turn there’s no one there. Wincing you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to make you feel some semblance of safety.

You’ve already managed to come here and turning around to go back home feels like defeat. You can already taste it’s bitter tang just from thinking about not going through with your plan. For a moment you chew on your lower lip, indecisive then you look up at the building. Liz should be working right now. Maybe she’s willing to have her break with you.

Taking two steps at once, you rush up the stairs hoping you don’t meet anyone, especially no hybrid before you reach Liz’ office. Your heart pumps hectically while you strain your ears to make sure you’ll hear approaching steps over your harsh breathing. You’re lucky, getting there without running into anyone and you quickly slip inside without knocking.

Your heart swells at the way Liz positively beams at your appearance. It should not surprise you as much as it does when she immediately takes her break so she can go to the cafeteria with you. The way she links her arm with yours is so easy and natural that it makes you gulp suppressing the strong urge to hide behind her.

You grow more and more tense the closer you get to the cafeteria. Liz chattering fading to the background even if it’s her attempt to distract you. There are two hybrids and their handlers joining your direction. Luckily they’re concentrated on their handlers and the promise of food after training. The two of them don’t even give you any attention besides a quick glance.

When you realize that they won’t attack, you relax minutely. Everything is okay, you’re okay. The hybrids at the center are all friendly. Usually.

Aggressive Hybrids are usually kept on leash. There’s various reasons why a handler might decide to keep their charge on a leash and none of the handlers here would let an aggressive hybrid roam free.

You almost manage to gain some control over your fear until you hear a sudden bark behind you. It’s loud and startling and you can feel your heart jump painfully in your chest.

You rip your arm away from Liz, whipping around. Fear clogs your throat and you can feel your eyes watering in sheer panic.

A golden retriever hybrid is running at you his steps slightly uneven. Where his left leg should be is a prosthetic attached but it does nothing to slow him down. His handler is further down the hallway and from the leash that loosely hangs from the hybrids collar it’s evident that he ripped himself free from his handlers hold.

His ears are perked up and flop with every step, his face lit up with obvious joy but it doesn’t help the terror that floods through you at the sight of him running at you. A very faint voice reminds you that you know this hybrid and he wouldn’t hurt you, but that voice is easily silence by the dread that overpowers everything.

He stretches his arms out to the side and Liz takes a step forward.

Before he reaches you, or Liz can step into his way you thrust out your hand out in front of yourself in sheer desperation.

“STOP!”

Alex skids to a halt like he just ran against a wall, having to shift his weight so he doesn’t fall. The prosthetic makes an awful screeching noise as it scrapes over the floor. His ears droop and his tail halts mid wag, uncertain what just happened. You’d feel bad at the obvious hurt in his expression if you weren’t so desperately harnessing your fear to shove it back into the dark corner it crawled from.

Panic squeezes your lungs and denies you access to your own breaths. You think you hear Liz tell Alex’ handler to wait when he goes to grab Alex’ leash but you concentrate on regulating your wheezing breaths, your hand still outstretched to halt Alex.

The golden hybrid looks at you and takes a few small steps on the spot he’s glued to. His nostrils flare and he cocks his head at you.

“You’re afraid of me?” He half asks half states and the devastation in his voice rips your heart right in two. A whine makes its way from his chest and you shake your head. You panic retreating at the need to reassure and calm the hybrid. He did nothing wrong and here you are, hurting him by panicking.

“No! I’m not scared of you.” You say even if you’re not sure whether that’s true. But you need to say something, anything to stop the hurt in his eyes. He cocks his head at you in question.

“Just got spooked from the way your ran at me.”

He visibly perks back up at that, his tail slowly starting to wag again even if it’s decidedly less enthusiastic than before. Then it slowly gains momentum, getting quicker and stronger until his entire body wriggles with his joy and the sight steals a small smile from you.

“I only wanted to hug you. I haven’t seen you in forever. I promise I won’t rush. May I hug you?” He asks with so much hope in his voice that you can’t say no.

Briefly you scan his body language, finding nothing but excitement and restraint so you nod even if the way your blood rushes through you is almost painful.

Alex stays true to his word, slowly steps forward, opening his arms for you and waits until you mirror the gesture. Then he wraps his bulky frame around you, squeezing you to his chest. Immediately he pushes his face against you and takes a deep breath, smelling you. His mustache tickles you and you squirm giggling inadvertently.

He rumbles deep in his chest, huffs in displeasure at your movements which only makes you giggle and squirm more. Your fear slowly retracts its claws from your chest, hissing in displeasure at your entire being remembering Alex as safe.

You can feel him relax right along with you. Until all that is left is warmth and contentment. The close contact to him after weeks of staying away as far as possible from any and all hybrids fills your chest with warmth choking you up slightly. After you allow yourself to bask in his hug for as long as you deem acceptable and after you swallow your tears back down, you step back and shake your head at him fondly.

“You know that this is exactly why you’re still on leash. Always so easily distracted rushing off to investigate whatever scent you caught. Although I’m honored I’m the distraction this time.”

He folds his ears back and the chuckle of his handler reminds you of his and Liz presence. The man, Chad, steps forward and gently cuffs the back of Alex head. The hybrid playfully snaps in the direction of his fingers. You nearly flinch until you remind yourself that this is Alex and he’s just playing.

“Lucky for him we’re not training right now and you’re a very special distraction. It’s good to see you again.”

You remember the day you left Alex as his charge, a mixture of pride and pain in your chest. You’d worked months with Alex after he lost his leg in an explosion during a mission. You’d helped him regain his agility and confidence and it was only normal that you developed a deep bond with the hybrid.

It was always a happy occasion when a hybrid got to go back to having a work handler and you shake Chads outstretched hand with a warm smile. As you make your way into the cafeteria you try to concentrate on Alex and his handler, who’s taken his leash in hand again.

“We get to go back to the real work next week.” Alex tells you puffing his chest and pride blooms in your own chest. You know how much his work means to him and it will be great to see him leave the center after a year and a half of working hard to get back in shape. Still the thought stings a little.

You’ll miss him. He’s been one of your favorite charges and even after you left him in Chad’s capable hands - so they could work and train to become a team while Alex fully regained his abilities - it was nice to meet him in the hallways and outside on the training grounds.

You try to concentrate on the joy instead. He’ll get to go back to doing what he loves and you wonder when you’ll be able to do the same. With the way you currently need to check every hybrid around you for any sign of aggression you don’t see any possibility of you taking on a new charge soon.

With Simon it had been easy. He’d been an emergency which left not enough time to think, to doubt, to get lost in your fear. Now that he’s gone you have too much time to cook up all the worst case scenarios in your head again.

While you try to have lunch without always looking around like a spooked rabbit you get to watch Chad and Alex interact and their easy camaraderie and banter makes you jealous. It makes you overly aware of the fact that you’re unable to interact with a hybrid like that at the moment.

But you love this job. You love working with them and helping them and developing all these bonds. Harshly you stab your fork into the food. Even if it takes forever, you will be able to do it again.

As if to mock you the scar on your shoulder throbs at the aggressive movement and you subconsciously reach up, pressing against it. Alex turns his head towards you from his place besides you. You give him a small tight lipped smile.

He says nothing, but under the table he moves his leg until his thigh touches you and you stare down at the contact.

The next day you join Alex and Chad while training at their insistence the day before. They’re all too eager to show off their hard work to you and it’s almost mesmerizing the way they clear the obstacle course together.

The centers agility course is a jungle of platforms that are raised over the ground with obstacles in between. The platforms vary from the size of your hand to a square meter and some are slanted to test the balance.

They can be roughly divided into two heights one being a few centimeters above the ground while the second level is mostly at two meters with platforms of varying heights in between. There is no designated path through the course which allows a handler to challenge a hybrid with new angles at already well known obstacles.

The slight tugs Chad gives on the leash help Alex to find the right footing while he concentrates on sniffing out the hidden object. You.

You’re crouched behind an obstacle that’s on the second level, keeping out of sight. You peek at the pair of them moving through the course stopping at a point where you doubled back to confuse Alex.

The single minded focus of the hybrid is admirable but also dangerous out in the field. In the field concentrating on nothing besides what he’s supposed to sniff out means running into the line of fire, stepping onto a contact mine or whatever other horrible things wait for them in the field. That is why he’s connected to Chad with the leash.

You almost shout a warning, your heart leaping into your throat, when Alex lifts his head to track your scent not watching the small platforms under his feet. You can already see his foot miss the next platform but Chad gives a gentle tug and Alex rights his direction without looking down.

His foot finds the platform and you exhale heavily with relief. You can only continue watching in awe. You’d known that Chad was a good handler. While working with Philip you had often seen the two of them train but you always had your own hybrid to concentrate on so you never got to appreciate the incredible team these two make.

Alex finds you easily while Chad watches over him, clearing his path, making sure he doesn’t get hurt while he concentrates on his work and when Alex finds you in record time, you can’t help but clap and holler in excitement.

Chad ruffles Alex hair and the golden retriever hybrid beams with pride. His tail wags a mile a minute and when you’re all back down on the ground he does a few silly circles on the spot giving an excited bark which makes Chad laugh.

A deep feeling of peace settles over you. This is what it’s supposed to be like. A soft smile sneaks onto your lips. Watching Chad and Alex is weirdly healing, reminding you of what a healthy hybrid handler relationship looks like. You have been able to build one with every charge you’ve had besides Phillip. And with him it wasn’t because you didn’t try.

For the first time fear isn’t the first emotion bubbling up when you think about Phillip. This time it’s sadness. In his chase for his independence he sold his soul to someone else. But you don’t think that the proud hybrid realized that. He probably didn’t realize that the gesture of attacking you was empty considering the reasons for it. It proved jack shit. But hey at least he got what he wanted in the end.

Even that thought doesn’t chase the sadness away. So you concentrate back on Chad and Alex and you realize you’re a little less frustrated with yourself when you go to bed that evening. You got to work with a hybrid again and it had went well. Things will get better after all.

After the day you spent with Alex you come back to work for good. You do not have your own charge at the moment but you try to be useful in every way you can. Instead of working with a hybrid you start helping with the equipment, running errands and giving the other handlers advice that you feel not qualified to give considering how long you’ve been absent and the reason for your absence.

The way you try to avoid running into hybrids makes you feel ashamed of yourself once more but you don’t have it in you to just casually cross paths with them. It’s so stupid, the way one hybrid ruined every hybrid for you. You’re determined to change that, to not see a threat in every hybrid but maybe… maybe not today.

You duck around the corner as you spot a hybrid walking down the hallway with her handler and press yourself against the wall counting down from ten to calm yourself. It’s frustrating as hell that interacting with Alex didn’t magically heal you.

Why could one hybrid not heal the wounds of one other hybrid? Your pulse still jumps at every hybrid you see. You still try to hide instead of normally passing them. And you grow frustrated with yourself. Healing sucks. It’s hard to understand why books and movies always seem to picture it as this magical beautiful journey when most of the time it feels like running in circles and standing in your own way.

How would things be if Simon was still here? Would you walk the hallways unafraid with his large form looming next to you? Maybe if he’d become your charge you would feel better already.

You shake your head. Thinking about that doesn’t help you, you try to remind yourself. Simon’s in England and there isn’t anything you can do.

You peek around the corner, seeing that the hybrid is gone you continue on your way, glad that the tiles help you hear when someone’s approaching. You look at the stack of papers in your arms and almost scoff at yourself. Running errands instead of doing what you actually get paid for.

But with Simon gone you don’t know how you’re supposed to jump into the deep end and take the position as a handler again.

You should have known. You should have known it would come back to bite you in the ass that you didn’t sign the handler agreement. Maybe with that you could have been transferred with Simon and stayed by his side for the time it will take for him to be able to go back to active duty.

Apparently the Doc had asked for the papers that prove that Simon is your charge so she could have you called to the center before he left. When she called the office they had to tell her that no such papers were signed.

You’re lucky that the Doc hasn’t told anyone that you lied to gain access to his medical report. At least you don’t think she has or someone would have approached you about it by now. It still might happen and you’re unsure whether you should talk to her about it before you possibly get a lawsuit.

Thinking about that does nothing to calm your racing heart and you almost flee inside Liz’ office when it comes into view as if her presence will shield you from your own thoughts and feelings as well.

You drop the stack of papers on her desk and she sighs, pushing up her glasses and meets you eyes.

“I should probably thank you but honestly, how dare you bring this to me instead of accidentally spilling coffee all over them.”

Hearing Liz who enjoys the office work say something like that startles a laugh out of you and she grins.

“One of those days?” You ask and she nods, stretches her arms over her head and groans when her back audibly pops.

She takes her smoothie and slurps it through her straw. “You know I looked into it for you. But there is no way for us to obtain any information on Simon’s well being. I’m sorry.”

You plop down into the empty chair before her desk and crane your neck until you’re staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. I already expected that. If only I had signed those damned papers.”

You catch Liz shrug out of your peripheral vision. “Well with the English laws being the way they are it’s not certain that would have done anything either.”

Lazily you let your head roll forward. “Hm?”

“Ah, right. You only do the hands on work. The hybrid-handler laws in England demand the hybrid to sign an agreement too for the handler-hybrid relationship to have legal effect. So your signature alone would probably not give you any information on him anyway.”

“Oh.” You think about it. You know the English laws are different but you never looked into it since they don’t concern you, at least they never did until now. Either way you will never know what’s become of Simon and it frustrates you.

“Well, it is what it is.” You say resigned and put your hands on your knees to push yourself up. If only you could mean that. “Back to running errands I go.”

Before you can leave the room Liz’ voice stops you. “You have to take on a charge again at some point.”

You half turn to her smiling, even though you don’t feel like smiling at all. “Exactly. ‘At some point.’ That point is not now. It’s barely been a few days of me being back.”

She shakes her head at you and you’d be embarrassed or angry at her disappointed expression but you know it’s because she cares. “Why are you so damn hesitant? You were fully ready to take Simon as charge?”

You purse your lips in thought, turning to her fully. “With him it was easy. I didn’t have time to imagine all the things that could go wrong. Just ‘bam here’s this hybrid you have to take care of’. Now that he’s gone I have too much time to think about what it means to take on a new charge.”

Liz clicks her tongue. “Maybe I’ll just drop a hybrid at your doorstep so you don’t have time to think.”

You gasp in mock offense. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” She says dryly and you’re not sure if she’s still joking. So you laugh it off while fleeing her office before she decides to make any more valid points.

That better have been a joke or you’d strangle her. And then thank her because thinking about it - dropping a hybrid at your doorstep might actually work. Your close the door, turn to walk back down the hallway and almost walk into Meg from HR.

“Oh good. I was looking for you.”

You gulp. Oh no. Did the Doc rat you out after all? Would they fire you? Shit. You rub your palms against your pants. Did you do anything wrong? What if she knows you lied to get the Doc to talk about Simon? Would they file a lawsuit because of something like that?

“Follow me.” She says curtly and you nod, too startled and scared to get a simple yes out. Walking behind her through the hallway makes you feel like you’re walking to your own execution and you thank whoever is listening that you don’t run into any hybrids. You’re not sure your heart could handle any more anxiety.

The clicking of her door closing while she indicates for you to sit down at her desk sounds like a threat and when you sit you rub your sweaty palms against your thighs.

She sits down on her side of the desk and clicks something on her computer then she looks at you seriously and you feel like you’ll be in serious trouble in a few second. Hopefully you won’t cry, that would be embarrassing.

She sighs. “Do you remember the aggressive hybrid you were called in for from your leave?”

You nod and this time you manage to weakly say: “Yes.” Oh no. Oh no no no no. Pleas no.

She taps a pen against her chin and studies you. “You know we really hoped you could take another charge soon so management isn’t the happiest about it but we were promised a substitute and compensation so we decided to leave it up to you.”

Is she doing this on purpose? Dragging it out? What substitute? What the hell is going on?

“We got a request for you from the center in England he is currently at. They want you to work there with him for however long it takes to get him back on his feet. You’re one of our best even if you’re currently not exactly fitting your job description. I heard you got along well with him.” Something in her gaze softens at her last statement and you release your held breath a heavy weight dropping off your shoulders.

She doesn’t know about the papers. It feels like your heart can finally get a break. But then everything she said hits you and you start nervously bouncing your leg. They requested you? You’re sure they have more than enough handlers at the center he’s currently at. Surely they have competent personnel?

“Why… did they request me?” You carefully ask, not sure you’re allowed to ask any questions. Which is absurd if you think about it because of course you’re allowed to ask questions if she specifically called you to her office to give you a choice.

She purses her lips and twirls the pen in her fingers. “Apparently he’s giving them trouble. They don’t know what to do and found out he was more comfortable with you. Usually they would just give a problematic hybrid like him a medical discharge from his duties but apparently he’s a big enough asset for them to reach out to us.”

You nod trying to understand. What happened? Things hadn’t looked that bad. What had happened that Simon is once again deemed a problematic? Are you willing to go to England for an unknown amount of time because they ask you to? It might be months until he’s rehabilitated.

Your thoughts return to the few moments you had with him. You remember him in the bath, the way he’d let you dry his hair. The way you felt like you might overcome your fear with him. Maybe you don’t have to try with another hybrid. Maybe Simon is meant to be your charge so you can both help each other. This might be what you’ve been waiting for without knowing.

You’re a bit unsettled by how quick you’ve come to your decision. You should probably think this through more but you’d sign the handler papers in a heartbeat. That reminds you…

“What about him? Don’t the laws in England demand that he agrees with me being his handler?”

She nods, rifles through a stack of paper on her table and finally finds what she’s looking for. She folds the stapled stack of papers open on the last page and slides it over her desk towards you. At the bottom two lines for signatures sit.

“He already signed.”

You stare at the line where his name sits in neat block writing. You can’t help yourself but run your finger over it. Your heart thumps hectically in your chest. He already agreed to you being his handler. All you have to do is sign as well. You try to come up with all the logical questions and things that should make you hesitate.

“What about housing and stuff?” You hate how you say ‘stuff’ like you don’t know what you’re talking about. Your thoughts are rushing. You have a hard time getting a hold of them. Taking care of contracts and the whole organizational stuff was never your strong suit. Your strong suit is working with hybrids, at least you thought so until Phillip. But the fact that Simon apparently wants you as his handler makes the smallest bit of confidence grow.

They want you in England because whatever happened makes them think you can help him. Whatever he said makes them think you’re who they have to turn to. You can do this. This is also what the hybrid wants. What will happen to Simon if you refuse?

Meg rips you from your thoughts. “They board and lodge their staff if they chose to live on site.”

You nod and then hold your hand out for the pen.

“Are you sure?” Meg asks and hesitantly gives in to you. You scribble your signature on the line next to Simon’s.

“Yes.” You say. Actually you aren’t sure at all. It’s probably stupid to sign so quickly when you haven’t asked a lot of important questions but if you don’t sign now you’ll think about it and then fear will claw at your chest and prevent you from going for it. Maybe it’s stupid and reckless. But it feels right.

Meg shrugs and takes the paper with your signature back. “Alright. Simon Riley is officially your new charge. They want you over there as quickly as possible so you should take the earliest flight you can. We’ll prepare your papers and request your substitute.”

Liz is gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles are stark white. Your knee is bouncing again and she glances at you from the corner of her eyes every now and then. She insisted on driving you to the airport and you’re very thankful despite arguing at first that she doesn’t have to.

“What is it?” You ask and now both your legs are bouncing.

Her hands shift on the wheel before gripping hard again. “Are you sure about this?”

You sigh and put your face in your hands. “No.” You mumble. She has the audacity to laugh at that. You shoot her a look and then start laughing too. What the hell are you doing? You’re about to fly to a whole other continent for a hybrid you don’t even really know.

She shrugs but her hands relax. “We can still cancel it all. I’ll kidnap you, no one will ever know that you tucked your tail and ran.”

That makes you laugh harder and you shake your head resting it back against the headrest. “I feel insane for this but I couldn’t say no. Maybe I’ll end up regretting this but maybe… Maybe everything will work out? What if this is what I need? A problem hybrid in a whole other country who wants me as his handler.”

Liz purses her lips. “I don’t know. I’ve never known you to be so impulsive but if you feel like you have to do this I won’t stop you. But if I receive word that you want to come back and don’t want to do this after all, I’ll terminate the contract and personally come get your ass back to the US.”

You snort at that but something in you calms down. Despite her joking tone you know that she means every word. You look at her for a while and it hits you that you don’t know how long you’ll be in England. Who knows when you’ll be in the same room as her again.

“Thank you.” You say quietly and Liz just nods.

The rest of the ride is comfortably quiet.

At the airport she squeezes you tightly and helps you with your luggage. Before you know it you’re on the plane and taking off. Your whole body starts getting jittery with nerves. You breathe deeply remembering one of the exercises your therapist gave you. She offered to keep holding your sessions online and you’re incredibly thankful for it.

You manage to calm down during the flight and even sneak in a nap, waking up with a racing heart to the announcement that the plane is on approach. As soon as you touch ground and have permission to use your phone you text Liz to let her know that you landed safely.

Half an hour later you’re in a cab going for the rehabilitation center you’ll stay at for an unknown amount of time. You wipe your hands on your pants thankful that the cab driver doesn’t try to make conversation so you can look out the window at the darkness of the evening.

It’s weird to think about how much more of the day Liz has left while it’s already very late evening here.

The street lights illuminate parts of the road and you feel like you’re dying inside from all the uncertainty of what is to come. You wish the drive would never end so you can’t arrive at the center. Alternatively you’d be happy with a concise list of what exactly will happen and who exactly you’ll meet. You get neither an endless ride nor a list. Sooner than you’d like the cab stops and you’re left with your gigantic luggage on the sidewalk.

You sincerely hope no one watches the awkward waddle you do while dragging your heavy bag with you to the front gate. Your wishes go unnoticed because someone approaches you quickly and you straighten up your heart jumping into your throat.

When the person is finally close enough for you to make them out clearly your breath hitches and you can’t help but look at him with wide eyes. He’s a snake hybrid. You’ve never seen one before and even if you’re aware of how rude it is you can’t stop staring.

“Welcome! You’re the handler from America, right?” He greets you and you gape at him nodding. He has a split tongue. The street lamps illuminate him dimly and if you aren’t mistaken the faint outline of scales is visible at his temples and his jaw.

He waits a moment and then slightly squirms under your scrutiny. “Ah. Am I your first snake hybrid?”

That manages to shake you out of it and you nod mumbling an apology. He easily hoists up your baggage onto his shoulder and opens a door in the gate with a key card.

“Don’t worry. I get that reaction with most people. We’re all really happy that you’re here. Simon has been… difficult to say the least.” The snake hybrid goes on and you can’t help but wonder how he knows so much. Who is he? Is he the companion hybrid of one of the handlers here?

You’re staring again while you follow him and his shoulders tense. “Oh! I forgot to introduce myself. How silly. I’m Nathair but please call me Nate.”

You give him your name in return and he stops for a moment to extend his hand for you to shake before continuing his way towards a large building. Before you can get a good look at the way it’s structured Nate leads you through the entrance door and towards a reception desk.

Smoothly he slides behind it sorting some papers and putting them in a folder then he gets a key card and stands again. He extends the folder to you and you take it before Nathair rounds the desk again, takes up your luggage once more and makes his way down a hallway. You hurry to follow.

“Those are some papers we need signed, some information like a map and the rules of our center. I also included Simon’s file.”

Suddenly your interest is piqued. “Where is he?”

Nate turns down another hallway and you already know it will take a while before you’re comfortable with the layout of the center. Thank god for the map.

“He’s being kept in a safety room where he will stay until he is ready to join you.”

“Join me?” You have to jog a few steps to keep up with Nate’s quick pace and when he notices he slows down. Here in the light of the building you can get a good look at him.

He’s magnificent. Broad shoulders, copper coloured hair and a dusting of dark reddish brows freckles that get denser towards his temples and fade into a few scattered scales. His skin is pale and along his jaw fading down his neck you can make out some more scales.

His eyes are big and round and something about them is slightly off. You can’t say exactly what it is though. The hands which are holding up your luggage are strong but slender and on the back of them you can once again see reddish brown scales disappear under his sleeves.

“Yes. Join you. Hybrids and handlers share their rooms here but with Simon being the way he is we didn’t deem it safe enough to bring him to the general housing wing yet. “

Suddenly you feel stupid again. You really agreed too quickly without enough information. You didn’t even know about the rooming situation. You straighten your shoulders. It’s too late now and it’s not like you would decide differently if you were given the choice again.

“This one’s yours.” Nate finally stops in front of a door. Right on the door, engraved in a small plastic plate, is your name. You swallow nervously as Nate unlocks it and puts your baggage down inside against the wall next to the entrance.

You walk in and a small smile blooms on your face. It’s cosy. Not so small that it feels cramped but not big enough to make you feel lost in it either. The curtains are drawn over the windows and there is even a small kitchenette cramped into the corner next to one of the windows.

On the right side nestled into a corner is a decently sized desk and on the left opposite to it is the bed pushed against the wall.

You walk in looking through an open door on the right side at the end of the room. It’s the bathroom. At the far end of the tiled room you see another door. Once you’ve scanned every corner you turn back to ask Nate about the door and you catch him with his split tongue out. He blushes a brilliant red under his freckles and lifts his hand to rub the back of his head.

“Ah… sorry. I was just smelling the room.” He sheepishly admits and you cock your head at him in curiosity.

“I smell better with my mouth and tongue than I do with my nose and I wanted to get your scent.”

You laugh at the embarrassed expression on his face and he turns even redder which makes you shake your head and put your hands up. “No, no! I’m not laughing at you!”

You take a step in his direction. “Nate, I work with dog hybrids for a living. I’m used to being smelled.”

He seems taken aback by that then he grins. “Do you mind then?”

You shake your head and Nate takes a step closer his split tongue testing the air for a few moments before he steps back and nods. “Thank you. Not knowing how someone smells feels like I don’t fully know who they are. Like I never saw a their face.”

You nod. “If I say I understand that I’d be lying because I obviously do not experience these things like you do. But it makes sense, no need to be embarrassed.”

He seems happy with that and looks around the room. His eyes settle on another door in the middle of the right wall. He steps towards it.

“Through this you’ll get to Simon’s room. It’s exactly the same as yours just mirrored. His room also shares the bathroom with yours.”

Ah that’s the other door you noticed in the bathroom. Curiously you open it and look into Simon’s room. Just like Nate says it’s a perfectly mirrored version of yours. But it’s empty and suddenly you can’t stay a moment longer here without having seen Simon. You need to make sure he’s okay.

“Nate. Where is Simon? Can I see him?”

The snake hybrid once again scratches the back of his head. “It’s already late.”

“Please. I need to know he’s okay. I came all this way specifically for him.”

Nate looks at you for a long moment and whatever he sees in your expression makes him sigh and relent.

Your ribcage hurts from the violent beats of your heart as you follow Nate through the building. He leads you down so many turns that you’re sure you won’t find your way back on your own.

The fact that all the hallways look basically the same doesn’t help your orientation but all you think about is seeing Simon again. He’s probably mostly healed by now. Will he be excited to see you? After all he signed the agreement first.

Nate leads you down the corridor to a seeming dead end but when you get closer you see that there is actually a door at the end. You both stop before it and the snake hybrid gets his key card.

“Would you like me to go in first and make sure he’s calm?” He asks and you immediately shake your head.

“It will be fine.”

Nate presses his lips into a thin line but nods and unlocks the door. You wipe your palms on your pants the excitement of seeing him again almost overwhelming you. You’re here and he is here and everything will be fine.

The door opens and you step into the room. Simon’s on his feet at the other end and oh, he looks spectacular. You’ve been separated long enough that his health noticeably progressed during that time.

His ears perk forward and Nate slips into the room besides you, closing the door.

Seeing Simon standing on his own without any struggle fills you with relief and your eyes with tears. Physically he already looks so much better than you remember him and the joy of that realization almost makes you shake.

“It’s you.” He rumbles and you cannot restrain yourself anymore taking hasty steps in his direction. Giddy that he’s alive and on his feet and looks well. Everything will work out after all. You’ll take care of each other.

You realize your mistake too late, blinded by the happiness. Time seems to almost slow to a halt. For a moment Simon’s eyes widen, then his tail bristles and his ears press against his head, his lips peel back revealing his dangerous canines.

Your heart stops but you’re mere steps from him and before you can stop the malinois hybrid charges the last steps that separate you.

“No!” Nate shouts somewhere behind you but you barely hear it over the ringing in your ears.

Simon barrels into you, throwing you to the floor and your head cracks against the tiles making pain explode all over the back of it. Simon’s honey coloured eyes are narrowed in aggression and his growl rattles your bones. His big body presses you against the cold hard floor uncomfortably. Every bone aching from the fall.

His teeth flash and you barely have the time to throw up your arms, crossing them in front of you to shield your face and neck. His fangs sink into your forearm. The intensity of the pain almost makes you cry out and you grunt.

Your eyes widen as you look up at Simon’s expression, nose scrunched as he grinds his teeth deeper into your arm until you feel like he’ll break right through your bones. He’s growling like he wants to kill you. His broad shoulders block out the room behind him. All you can see is his vicious snarl and angry eyes.

For some reason it’s the trickle of blood running down to your elbow that catches your attention. How funny, you think, that your own blood can tickle you like this.

[mr2swap]

I'm going to stay like Jeremy

-What the fuck is wrong with me?! - I looked down at my big cock now flaccid, I assumed that I would finally lose my virginity at last tonight, but why doesn't it want to work?, I closed my eyes and began to imagine Violet the naked girl who was in the other room, Violet Anderson, the sexiest girl in all of high school, found herself willing to have sex with me, or well at least with my best friend Jeremy.

Jeremy is my best friend, the person to whom I can tell anything, and the biggest stud in all of high school, when I told him that I had a lot of problems losing my virginity, he did not hesitate to help me, we are so confident that I do not hesitate to give me a solution to my problem, swap our bodies.

He found a spell on the internet that when said at the same time by two people would make them switch bodies, so one day after school we went to my house when my mother was at work and in my room we both began to say in unison the strange words of a language that I had never heard. our bodies began to transform.

I continued speaking in that strange language while looking at Jeremy's face, slowly his face became mine as well as the rest of his body and when he finished saying the last sentence in front of me there is an exact copy of my body, look down Jeremy's new look, my Asian features, short stature, even longer messy hair were transferred to him, as was his strong jaw, long legs and thick arms full of protruding veins were transferred to me.

-DUDE! this shit if it worked! you look exactly like me!-he looked up at me surprised to see what the rest of us saw in him, a gigantic muscle, her clothes were too big for her now, while mine was squeezing me a little. -Dude, is that how I sound? - I also said testing Jeremy's voice, I could feel how slowly my tank top was ripping, before it completely ripped I took it off, throwing the stretched piece of clothing into a pile of dirty clothes, although I should probably throw it away in the trash when I return to my body.

Jeremy and I had swapped bodies. We took off our clothes, it was fucking strange to see my body from Jeremy's perspective, my body was quite average, somewhat plump, but I didn't look bad, maybe he was right, and I just need more confidence, now I felt better than I ever felt. Stronger, taller, more hot.

I suddenly felt full of energy, every movement in Jeremy's body was so strong and felt so fast that it was difficult to walk with my powerful legs, we both looked at each other in the mirror that was in front of my room and while Jeremy examined his face With his hands I couldn't avoid doing a push-up with my magnificent biceps - Jesus Christ! a couple of inches more and they are the size of your head! - I said putting one of my mountains next to my old head just to compare the sizes.

Jeremy took off his old shirt that was now too big for him and tossed it to me, his shorts fell off on their own, leaving him in just a pair of boxers that were too big for his new body. We were both fully dressed, we came to an agreement. We would change again after I lost my virginity in his body from him, and he had a little fun with some girl to test how it feels to lose my virginity in my body.

Take his things, the keys to his house, his phone and leave him alone at my house to get used to a bit, I was anxious so, so I wasted no minute and unlocked Jeremy's phone to look at his contact list and to my surprise had been texting Violet the sexiest and most popular girl in high school.

He had only spent 20 minutes in Jeremy's handsome body, and he had already found someone to fuck, Flirting when you are taller, muscular and handsome was really simple … but why DOES NOT GET A FUCKING INCH GET UP THIS DICK?

Everything was going so well until we got to the motel, and she started undressing, when I realized that my little friend was not in the mood to get up at all, I pretended to have diarrhea and ran to the hotel bathroom while the hot girl stayed waiting for me in the bed, all the stress began to affect me and my body began to sweat and get hot from humiliation

-What's wrong with me? - I looked in the mirror, it was the face of my best friend Jeremy, now he was handsome, now he was attractive, now he had huge muscles, now he had a huge cock, why? …

Without realizing it now I had a huge erection as I looked at Jeremy's body, I wanted to stop, go to the side room and fuck the girl who was there, but I couldn't. Flex one of my arms, just to be able to look at him, I put my other hand to my cock and I began to stimulate my cock, I looked at my sweaty armpit and I could not resist dipping my nose into the sweaty dregs of Jeremy, they were so smooth my tongue didn't feel a trace of scratchiness because he used to shave completely for amateur bodybuilding competitions.

It didn't take too long to ejaculate. I was very excited by all the new sensations. I had never felt so good in my whole life even though I just masturbated was the best thing I had ever tried, I fixed my gaze on the mess I had made in the bathroom and at that moment I finally realized -I am… .gay ? - I didn't know what it meant to be gay, but I was sure of one thing. I can't give it back now that I know there's something better than having sex with a hot girl is having sex with your best friend's hot body and loving it properly.

I can't give him back his body from him now that I'm experiencing so much pleasure. I refuse to give up this body and this life, I do n't know how Jeremy will take it but if I can keep his body from him I do n't care, I just hope Jeremy is enjoying being straight, maybe he might like it almost as much as me

Hey folks! if you like bodyswap stories take a look at my Ko-fi, I have a lot of more stories, and you can help me keep creating more stories!

[readychilledwine]

Crush

Summary - Deciding to take a yoga class may have been the best decision you've ever made

Warnings - plus size reader, discussions of gym culture and health

A/n - fic 3 for @cassianappreciationweek day 7! We get NSFW from here 💕

🗡Cassian Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

The clang of weights was almost as annoying as the front desk girl staring at you. You hated gyms, hated the judgment that came with walking into one, hated the way people stared at you as if you weren't the ideal person to actually be at a place for improving yourself. 

“Look,” you interrupted her politely, “I am fully aware I am paying more to take this class because I don't have a membership. Considering I'm just trying out this fitness thing, not really interested in spending $100 a month just then also pay $80 for the one class I'm interested in taking.” Her smiled dropped slightly as she just nodded and took your card, finishing your sign up for the yoga course you and 3 of your closest friends were trying. 

You knew she was just trying to meet her numbers, but it was something from gym culture you hated. The constant pushing to join their cult and have access to “everything” instead of just being able to pay for the classes you were interested in was crazy to you. The way gym culture pushed looking a certain way to be considered healthy and attractive also bothered you greatly. 

Health had to do with more than just the numbers on the scales. It had to do with your mind, your soul, and that was what you were here to work. Your mind and soul, and if you happened to gain some muscle strength from yoga, that was just an added bonus. You were all wanting to try yoga as a form of stress relief, relaxation, and self care.  No pressure, no expectations, just fun. 

The four of you were all laughing as you headed into the gym, not even bothering to stop and look at anyone or anything going on. In your mind, it was just a scene you'd watched hundreds of times. Ripped men showing off their muscles, gym girls vlogging their “workouts” in outfits you never would be caught wearing. You were here for you, not for the show someone thought they could put on for you.

Cassian was in a squat rack, watching you through the mirror as he stood with weights resting on his wide shoulders. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Every curve, every strand of hair. You were perfect in his eyes. Rhys followed his glance before grinning, “That's my assistant. Y/n!” 

You glanced up, instantly waving at Rhys and he waved back. He motioned for you to come over, “Hello, darling. What brings you here?”

“Yoga,” you shrugged. “Trying it for stress relief. Mean boss and all!” 

Rhysand laughed at your response, eyes sparkling, “You brought water?” You nodded to him. “Good, that room gets way too hot. I admire the yoga classes, but I can't do it. Oh! By the way,” he motioned to Cassian, “this is my brother, Cassian. You know Az from security.”

And that's when it began.

Two months. Two long months of you and Cassian trading no more than your names, smiles, and slightly flirtatious banter and digs at each other when you would cross paths at the water fountain. 

Today was his day, though. Today he'd finally ask if you wanted him to help you workout, and if you said no, he'd offer dinner instead. Rhys had been forced into telling him every detail of your life. He knew your favorite color, food, how you took coffee. He felt like he knew about you, but now he truly needed to know you.

He needed more than glances that left you blushing. Needed more than you making him go home and spend his night staring at the ceiling in his empty bed wondering if you liked him the way he liked you.

Today was his day. He knew it as he kept glancing at you.

Two months had sucked you into your own version of gym culture, and while your goal was still more the stress relief, you had to admit it was fun watching your booty get even better. You had to also admit deep down that you had other reasons for coming to the gym outside of yoga class, though. That reason was 6’5”, dark curly hair, swirling tribal tattoos, and looking oh so delicious in his black shorts today.

You reminded yourself you were mainly here to focus on you. To get yourself into your head space and earn the snacks waiting for you at home, and zeroed in on the goal of reaching 10,000 stairs by the end of the week.

You were deep into your workout and in your own world when Cassian approached, admiring each jiggle not so secretly, “So y/n.”

“MOTHER F-” you cover your mouth, slapping the emergency stop button and feeling his hand instantly stabilizing you by touching your back. “You scared me!”

“I can tell,” he chuckled back. “I was just wondering if you wanted to try free weights with me today? I spot you? Teach you some stuff?”

I blinked at him, “Really?” He nodded almost boyishly, a playful grin on his face. “I can't spot you, though.”

He motioned over her shoulder to your boss and Azriel, “They exist still. Unfortunately.”

You bit your lip, knowing you'd look so out of place beside the 3 of them. “Cassian, I don't really work out to be-”

“You work out to take care of stress and eat whatever snacks you want. I know. Rhys told me. You'll get tired of cardio soon, so learning another area wouldn't hurt.”

You glared towards Rhys, “Traitor.”

“Is that a yes?”

You sighed and nodded, wiping down the handles of the machine you were on before letting him pull you over to Rhys and Azriel.

One workout became two. Two became twice a week. Twice a week became him coming over and enjoying snacks and a movie. Snacks and movie became dinner with Cassian at an expensive restaurant with Rhys, his wife, Feyre, Azriel, and his possibly girlfriend, Nesta. 

The table was silent as Cassian ordered a fairly unhealthy pasta, ate bread with you, and then shared dessert. It had been so long since they watched him genuinely enjoy food. “Cheat day,” he said casually as Azriel raised a brow at him. “I'm trying to mix y/n's work out to eat what she wants into my lifestyle once a week.” 

“He seems to like our snack and movie nights,” you glanced up at him, to you just admiring the way he smiled. But to the rest of the table, it was clear the gym crush you two shared was becoming much much more. Azriel slipped Rhys money under the table, conceding that he had won the bet. 

“Y/n told me a lot of research shows a cheat day is actually better for you than 7 hard days,” Cassian took another bite of the melted chocolate fudge brownie. “So we have a cheat day now on Sunday. We call it Sinday.”

“We still do a light walk,” you offered as Rhys looked confused. “But more of a “find some wilderness and explore walk than follow this beaten path one.” That dinner turned into many more. It turned into meeting each other's families. To merging friend groups. 

No activity you two tried topped the gym together. Especially after Cassian built and began running his own. His gym was built to cater to those who'd never felt welcomed. One way windows so the people inside could look out, but no one would see in. A mirror room dedicated to progress selfies to stop people from capturing a stranger in their pictures, a strict no bullying policy. He had made a safe haven for those who were serious about their workouts, and those who were just starting, and you could not have been more proud, especially now that you were teaching yoga and hot yoga classes there.

You two posed in the mirror, sweat dripping down him as he flexed and you kissed his cheek with your leg popped up, waiting for the camera to click breaking the no selfies on the main workout floor rule.

“Gross,” Azriel yelled. “Focus on training you two!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian shot back. “I'm coming. Enjoy yoga, baby.”

“I will. Snacks tonight?”

“Absolutely,” he answered. “Those little no bake cookie balls would be so good."

"Oh, yeah. We'll pick those up!"

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[genderqueerdykes]

I saw your post about AMAB Enbies and how non-binary isn’t a monolith and wanted to say I appreciated seeing it. As a 25-year-old socially anxious, autistic, and ADHD AMAB enby person, it’s hard for me not to feel like a lot of trans and LGBT spaces treat me like a fox in the henhouse, especially when there are physical attributes I can’t change, like my height and build, and how “manly” things like my hands and face are. I can’t exactly change my facial structure, nor do I think it’d be authentic to myself if I did or could. (Apparently, it’s a problem to have a well-kempt and styled beard?)

Unfortunately, when I interact with the local trans community, most conversations circle around whether I’m planning on medically transitioning or “getting some work done.” I don’t feel like I have something to transition to; I just need to work on improving my physical and mental health. They also often ask if I’m happy with my style/aesthetics, which I’m not. But it often feels like a catty jab because, one, who has the money for a professional boy-mode-ish wardrobe, a boy-mode/family-safe wardrobe, AND a gender-affirming wardrobe? There is some overlap between those three concepts, I know, but still… I can’t wear a tank top, fun/crazy button-up, and a pair of khaki booty shorts in an office setting, or god forbid, around parents or certain friends. XwX

A lot of my autistic and ADHD tics were “corrected” in harmful ways that have made me more restrained and subdued to a point where my excitement might seem a bit disconcerting at times. I used to talk with my hands a lot and fidget a lot, but since it wasn’t something “good boys” did, the behavior was “corrected” by my parents and the community I grew up in. I’m always kinda anxious and paranoid now in groups of semi-strangers that I’ll make a major faux pas and everyone will hate me or dogpile in correcting me.

Anyway, thanks for letting me ramble in your asks. I just wanted to say thank you for speaking out because some of us are afraid to. ^^;

hey i just wanted to say thanks for sending this ask! i really appreciate it because it irks me that people just participate in this behavior and act like that's what's to be expected or right. it's not okay, and i'm sorry you have firsthand experience with this, but i absolutely do not blame you at all whatsoever. it's fucked up that a lot of spaces for people who fall outside of the gender binary are beginning to police AGAB which is just. absolutely outrageous behavior from a community that is supposed to embrace and celebrate diversity in identity and how we experience gender outside of the binary...

but instead toxic people become obsessed with the biological sex binary. i don't know how to put it any other way than it is transphobic as fuck to say you don't feel safe around an entire group of people with/born with one specific genitals. their genitals have nothing to do you with you! nothing! those are their genitals, leave them the fuck alone! this is LITERALLY the "we don't give a fuck about AGAB" community and bioessentialists and transphobic queers are loudly and proudly excommunicating anyone from the community who was born assigned male at birth or has a penis in general.

i'm sorry to hear that people are so uptight about your body and physical appearance. the thing is that we are supposed to be embracing diversity in our bodies and appearances and experiences but yet they see someone who is... tall? or has a defined chin? or an adam's apple? or dense muscle tissue? or facial hair, like you mentioned? and suddenly they're... a threat? what the hell is this? it's transphobia, that's what it is!

you shouldn't have to transition if you don't want to. the thing about being non binary is that you presenting that way, especially if it's how you want to present, is literally challenging and stepping outside of the gender binary as we know it today. you are not required to go over the top and be the most femme person to have ever walked the earth. you're not required to have surgeries done or take hormones or dress different or change your voice... you don't have to change anything about you that you don't want to. that's one of the core principles of the trans community and we are letting down such a massive part of our family by behaving this way.

you really hit the nail on the head by bringing up your tics. i am so sorry that you have to deal with that worry- a LOT of people who are hostile toward amab transfems, trans women, and transfemmes in general target them specifically because of their mental health and/or neurodivergence. i've noticed this in person, especially if the amab non binary person in question has a loud voice and doesn't notice or has hearing damage and has to speak loudly, if they have tics as you mentioned, if they talk a lot or enjoy long conversations, if they try to explain... anything, people will target them for being "hostile" or for "arguing" when they're doing nothing wrong

people have gotten too comfortable in calling people with these features, especially people with deep voices, facial/body hair and penises, make someone "scary" or "dangerous". people are literally gladly applying radfem logic to the nonbinary community and not questioning it. radfems are attempting to rope in nonbinary afab people as they view them as "confused women," so the more we support this behavior, the more we lose grasp on our own family and community. we can't allow people to think this is okay behavior

i don't understand why people are okay with cis butch women but not okay with butch or gender non conforming transfems, trans women and amab trans people. i despise the notion that amab and intersex people can't be gender non conforming. why is gender non conformity reserved for afab people? has everyone forgotten (or patently ignored) the rich history of amab non binary and gender non conforming people we've had over the many decades of recorded history throughout our community in this modern era?

amab people should be allowed in these spaces, because there are just as many ways for amab people to step outside of the gender binary as there are afab and intersex people. everyone is capable of stepping outside of the binary for their identity and nobody has the right to police what that looks like. nobody. if one genuinely has trauma being around people of certain body types, seeking some type of therapy is crucial, because this is projecting one person's specific trauma on to an entire group of people, and it's spreading like wildfire and becoming the default in these spaces

this is not an attempt to derail, but rather to point out that this affects ALL trans people: fearing these traits in any person of any agab affects trans men, transmascs, intersex people, and other trans people in general. someone can have these features for a variety of reasons. also, if we're leaving out trans men & mascs, and we're leaving out trans women & femmes, AND we're leaving out AMAB people in general... how the HELL is that a trans community? there's no community to be had there whatsoever! that's an echo chamber! that's a radfeminist belief breeding ground!

we cannot let radfems and transmisogynist let nonbinary spaces become "gender non conforming women, afab trans people and people with a vagina only" spaces, because at what point, why are you calling it the nonbinary community? people need to be brutally honest and call those spaces women's spaces, or EXPLICITLY tell people that they are made only for people assigned female at birth. that wouldn't be ideal but it would at least make this transparent so people would know to avoid that and possibly start up their own safer spaces for ALL trans people

leaving out amab trans people no matter how they identify means your space is not safe for ALL trans people. it needs to be safe for every trans person no matter what they were assigned at birth. we are failing a huge portion of our community for no reason other than for people to project their trauma onto a group of people that haven't hurt them. we can't let down our family like that. it affects us all. we are stronger together and the nonbinary communities become more nuanced and develop better resources and enable all trans voices as opposed to 1 very specific type of trans person

thank you for this ask, sorry for such a long winded reply but i am so sick of people being awful to amab trans people in general. you deserve to be able to be non binary openly and talk about it with other queer people. i hope you're able to find safer spaces to be who you are, you deserve that just like any other queer person. you don't deserve to feel like you're walking on eggshells the entire time you're around other nonbinary people because you were assigned a different sex at birth, and you have different genitals than they do... that's literally antithetical to transness as a concept and queer community on the whole

you don't have to adhere to a strict binary just because you are amab and trans, i hate how people tell you and other folks in your shoes those exact things. you know who you are, you are a non binary person, and i hope more people begin to challenge this behavior and speak up for others, because this is literally not queer community. this is petty infighting being influenced by transmisogynist politics that does not belong. that has nothing to do with queer community, that is an attempt by radfems to disassemble our community at every possible level.

please for the love of god stop giving them that. it's hurting us all

[ihatedtoadmit]

Art study

pairing: Bang Chan x gn! reader

genre: ...suggestive

warnings: nothing actually happens, so none besides teasing

word count: ~1.3k

summary: You're doing an art study on muscles, and who's a better candidate for reference than your wonderful boyfriend who keeps feeding his delulu fanbase with half-naked pictures?

a/n: Well well well, Nat, you don't have to pay to see me write something like this after all (if you will ever see this, because no chance am I tagging you or anyone, dear). Here, have fun, this is the most spice anyone can get out of my asexual ass.

↳ Main Masterlist

All rights reserved. Please do not steal, repost or feed my work into AI. Thank you!

You were a very reserved person, something your partner knew all too well. Every touch the two of you shared throughout the entirety of your relationship had no heat behind it, each one only fueled by pure adoration and love. Never once did a kiss turn hungry, hell, there had barely been any kisses the two of you had shared due to your lack of need for the action. Chan knew it all too well, and while he craved more, he also respected it. The last thing he wanted to do was to make you uncomfortable, and so he’d never stepped over that line.

That was the exact reason for his current shyness, the confusion that wanted to sit onto his face hard to mask. There he stood in your doorway, the desk before your hunched form cluttered with pencils and little crumbs of dirty erasers. You were entirely too focused on the task at hand to notice your boyfriend's presence, the song that flowed through your headphones much too loud to hear any footsteps or even words. And so you continued drawing, clueless about anything as your lover watched you work, eyes flitting between your sketch and the endless reference pictures on your screen.

Pictures about him, his back fully on display and unclothed.

A touch broke you out of your concentration as you erased a line for the fourth time, scaring you into throwing away the pencil in your clutches just so you could tear the headphones off your head.

“Interesting art you have there, love.” - Chan mused, yet his skin was as flushed as ever.

You joined him as you could feel your own skin heating up, ashamed that you’d been caught like this. Eyes looked at everything besides your boyfriend, yet you found comfort in that warm touch of his.

“I was just… doing a study, on muscles.” - the words were but a mere whisper, hand quickly reaching to minimise your browser and just hide it from a certain pair of prying eyes.

Still, there was a feeling clawing at the cage of your soul, ripping at the flesh to be let out and rampage freely. It was feral and vicious, planting a thought into your head that seemed impossible to get out, no matter how alien it felt. You could feel your breath hitch at the image that popped into your head, memories of the images you had been staring at for a while now overlapping.

The hand on your shoulder gently squeezed, breaking you out of your derailing thoughts.

“I don't mind, baby, it just… caught me off guard? Glad you enjoyed my performances though.” - Chan’s voice was light, mixing well with the shyness he was trying to hide.

It only urged that fierceness inside to break free, granting you a surge of confidence you would have never had otherwise.

Without any words you finally glanced up at the man you loved, finding him utterly handsome; you would hone your artistic skills for the rest of your life just to capture a fragment of that beauty. His skin was dusted with a faint red, ears painted by the deepest of shades. Those eyes you loved to get lost in were alight with an emotion you had seen them only hold whenever he looked at the boys, and it took your breath away within a heartbeat.

Your body moved on its own, towering over him as you now stood. His hair was still slightly wet from the shower he must have just taken, and you just knew he had been originally on his way to his room to swap his bathrobe for those comfy, black clothes he loved to don in his free time.

He searched your gaze, unsure, yet trusting. His hands comfortably placed themselves onto your hips; their touch was warm, the man before you always running hot. It was something you loved as he balanced out your always cold hands wonderfully, reaching the perfect temperature you both enjoyed.

“Hey, love. How was work today?” - you asked, leaning closer than usual as you swiped those dark curls out of Chan’s face. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing for a second as he thought about his answer.

“The usual, although Hyunjin managed to piss off Minho again. It was a shoe this time that was the weapon, by the way.” - there was an airiness of joy to his words, yet no laugh accompanied it.

No, Chan was entirely too enamoured with the look you were giving him, as if you were worshipping him with your eyes alone. And maybe you were. With each look you studied the way your lover's skin moved, the shadows conforming accordingly. It lured you in, as if Chan was the siren and you were his prey, fated to be drowned in the vast oceans and seas.

He didn't move as you took him all in, hands eventually unable to keep themselves away. Your fingers were cold against the warmth of his fair skin, and you could hear his breath hitch, the muscles inside his neck moving beautifully.

There was something different in your touch, that much he knew, yet he wouldn't have it any other way.

As if you had never seen anything like it before, your hands glided over any free expanse of skin you could reach, memorising how the muscles hidden beneath curved and jumped at your touch. Never once did your eyes stray, wanting to remember every little detail. You wanted your art to be perfect, after all, to represent the real thing as closely as possible and that meant every little detail in their complete glory.

Your eyebrows furrowed as the white robe blocked you off, and so you slightly slid it off from one of Chan's shoulders. His hold on you tightened and you glanced at him briefly, seeing an intensity burning in those dark eyes, one you had never seen before.

You were playing with fire, and you could feel the heat of the danger.

Despite the clear wanting signs, you ignored them much like Icarus, hands now gliding down your lover's arm. Each touch held meaning, praising him in silence, singing odes about this man’s beauty. There was something so intriguing about watching the muscles connect to skin and bone, oh so perfectly toned and reacting to every touch of yours.

You stepped even closer, breaths mingling together as you reached into his robe, mapping out the vast skin of your partner's back. Every dip, every rise and imperfection was noted inside your head, the scorching star in Chan's eyes only growing in intensity as time passed. Your eyes flitted between those deadly stars and his neck, seeing it strain, muscles so tight that they jumped out of the skin in that lovely V-shape you could never grow bored of.

Then, as if something snapped, he gripped your waist with incredible force, not giving you a chance to escape. Despite that, no fear took residence inside you, your now warm fingers still laid peacefully on his shoulders.

“And what do I owe this extremely special moment to, baby?” - his words were a deep rumble, eyes begging for an answer with desperation.

“For being the most beautiful human to grace this planet, my wonderful love. Be my muse, please. Let me draw you, let me study you.” - you answered, one hand now cupping Chan's cheek tenderly, despite the uniquely heated situation.

As if that was the magic word to undo his binding, your lover moved, hauling your taller form easily onto the bed with him. There you were now, sat on his lap as he looked up at you expectantly, the intensity and love never diminishing in those bright eyes of his. Your sketchbook was still sitting beside you on the bed where you had originally thrown it at, hands itching to take it and immortalise what you had engraved into your mind in the past few minutes.

“I'll be your muse whenever, baby. All you needed to do was ask.”

[daenysx]

begging for a crumb of robb stark content 🧎

haha i've been waiting for this!! <3333

here are some headcanons for modern!robb stark;

you're the first person he talks to every morning and the last person every night

if he can't call he'll definitely text you, no matter what happens he never wants you to be worried

his favorite mornings include having you in his bed

he wakes up an hour earlier than he has to, to see you in his arms and love you right during the first hours of the day

he learned how you like your breakfast and how you take your coffee on your first date.

he likes taking his time during breakfast, he likes sitting you on the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in your hand as he prepares breakfast

modern!robb is MAD for seeing you in his clothes

especially his old college football team t-shirts

and his huge hoodies

he works in their family company with jon

he likes having fun with jon so much in the office, it makes him feel less stressed and more into his job

he's always respectful for everyone who works in the office

but when things don't go the way he wants, he gets nervous

he doesn't like talking about the problem first, he tries to handle things by himself if he can

modern!robb is the type of guy who likes finishing everything off before he leaves the work, he doesn't like seeing unfinished things on his table when he comes back in the morning

no matter how busy he is with work, he'll definitely make time for you

coffee dates, lunch dates, dinner dates, late night drives

you like staying over in his apartment the most

it's so comfy, robb made room for your clothes in his wardrobe and emptied a huge drawer for your skin care essentials in the bathroom

he uses the shampoo and the shower gel you picked for him

he doesn't like using blankets, claiming he's a stark and he never gets cold, but he has a huge fluffy blanket for you in his living room

modern!robb is the definition of big brother, with jon

always looks out for his younger siblings

he likes making fun of sansa's boyfriends to make her smile but if one of them ever upsets his baby sister he'll make them regret

catelyn stark is so proud of his boy

modern!robb has been the perfect son since he was a child, it puts a lot of pressure on him and he still can get afraid sometimes

but he knows how to handle problems better now

(ned stark supports his boys so much and he's really proud even though he likes to keep his emotions subtle)

modern!robb is a deep sleeper

he's the softest when he's asleep

it's hard to wake him up but he can definitely sense when you move too much or leave the bed

he seeks for you in his sleep

he doesn't like too many layers between you, so he sleeps with his chest bare no matter how hot or cold it is

modern!robb likes it very much when you ask for his opinion on something about your make up

he likes picking up the color of your lipstick and kissing your lips after you applied, to annoy you

he likes holding hands under the dinner table

and keeping his hand on your thigh when he drives

he likes when you read him your favorite bits of a book in the quiet moments of midnight

if you're gonna watch a movie, you're the one who picks it, robb will probably fall asleep halfway

he LOVES feeling your fingertips on his scalp

he also loves how you're so good at finding the sore muscles of his back without much effort

he likes every type of kiss because you're the one giving them but

neck kisses!

he likes neck kisses so so so much

and whispers against his ear

kissing the soft skin below his ear as you tell him you love him

he fell first and he fell harder

he feels so lucky to be with you and he makes sure you know how much he cares about your relationship every day

i mean, i don't know how many times i can say that but robb stark is the perfect guy and he literally deserves the world

[jemiswumbo]

you be tails, i’ll be sonic (18+)

twitch streamer!luke x reader

part one

authors note: hi hi i’m back with a highly requested part two!! i loved making the graphics for this chapter lol. hope you all enjoy!!!

title is from you be tails, i’ll be sonic by a day to remember. lyrics have no relation to the fanfic, but it IS an absolute banger. anthem. bop. classic.

tags/warnings: smau elements. nsfw elements - MDNI. not proofread. use of y/n.

Over on the desk, Luke’s phone would not stop vibrating.

For the last hour, you’d managed to ignore it, as you were too preoccupied by Luke fucking you with no remorse. Now, as you lay spent and naked and cuddled together until the blankets, the sound was driving you insane.

“Luke,” you whined, burying your face into the crook of his neck (which was now littered with red and purple hickies). “Please shut your phone off.”

Luke chuckled beside you, running a hand through your messy hair. “I will in a minute, I’ll probably have to tweet an explanation for why I shut off my stream so suddenly.”

“Okay. That’s fair,” You decided. Luke leaned over and stretched out his arm, grasping the phone from his desk. He snuggled back in beside you and you watched as he scrolled through a flood of notifications.

The first app he opened was discord, where his gamer friends were chatting in their private server about Luke’s random disconnection.

“Thank god one of my friends was able to figure it out.” Luke murmured, causing you to giggling. Annabeth was, by far, the smartest of the group. Most days it seemed like she was the only one with a working brain cell. You and her got along great, as you worked to keep the boys and thalia in check. They loved to cause a scene or do some dumb shit no matter where they went. It was tons of fun and always entertaining, but also nerve wracking. If they ever caused too big of a scene, someone could takes pictures or videos, upload them… as some of the most popular twitch streamers, everyone would be recognized instantly.

Except for you.

You (by choice) remained out of the spotlight. You loved Luke dearly and desperately wanted to make your relationship public, but the thought of having hundreds of thousands of eyes watching you, loving you, hating you…. it was scary. And you weren’t delusional — you knew, one day, you’d have to step into the public eye. You just didn’t know when you’d be ready.

Luke wrapped up the Discord conversation with his friends and switched over to Twitter, where tons of his fans were talking about his disconnection. You took a deep breath to clear your head, and read some of the tweets on his phone screen.

“Your fans are so goofy,” You said, pressing a kiss to Luke’s cheek. “So… what’s the move? Wifi crashed? Rage quit? Oh my god, what if you confirm Boner Theory?!”

“Jesus, never in my life,” Luke groaned. “I’ll just say it was my wifi. Unless….”

Your eyes widened. You sat up, not caring that the bed sheet fell to your lap, exposing your naked chest. Your heartbeat was definitely exceeding a normal BPM reading. “Baby.. I love you. So much. And I would love to be public. I would love to be your date to the Streamer Awards, and support you at Twitch Con, and cheer you on during your Fortnite tournaments…. But I just don’t think I’m ready.”

“Hey, hey,” Luke sat up, too, enveloping you in his strong, muscled arms and squeezing you tight. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. But you know I respect your choices and would never pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know,” You sighed, relishing in the warm embrace, and the feeling of your bare chest pressed against his. You swore he could feel how fast your heart was racing. “But also, you can’t say we’re dating now. Boner Theory is a thing, babe. Surely, at least one of your fans would connect the dots.”

Luke laughed and pulled away from the hug, taking a moment to press and long and loving kiss to your head. He smiled at you, his brown eyes sparkling. “You’re so perfect, you know that?”

You shoved him away. “Okay. Tweet something, so we can go watch a movie and smoke and have more sex.”

“Okay, okay,” Luke said, kissing you again and sending some half assed tweet out to his fans. He shut off his phone and grinned. “Let’s order take out, too.”

*************************************

A few weeks later…

*************************************

It was, officially, your one year anniversary of dating Luke Castellan.

You were beyond happy, and over the moon excited for the special dinner you had both planned for the evening. Luke had surprised you with reservations to your all time favourite restaurant. You were going to surprise him afterwards with a brand new lingerie set. It was going to be perfect.

The only, only thing that was making you nervous was the fact that you’d decided today was the day.

You were going to tell Luke, tonight at dinner, that you were ready to go public.

After the whole Boner Theory ordeal, you’d spent countless nights and hours debating your previous decision to keep your relationship private. You knew it was going to have to happen eventually. You also didn’t mind his fan girls; but deep down you got giddy over the thought of showing them all he was taken and he was yours. It would feel so good. And you wouldn’t have to stay out of photos when you hung out with Luke, Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia. You could go to events with him. You could come up behind him while he was streaming to drop off a coffee or food or kiss his cheek without worrying about it.

There were cons, of course. Most of the debating revolved around the cons, and whether or not it was truly worth it. After all these weeks, you decided it was worth it. You were one hundred percent ready.

You spent the few hours before dinner having an everything shower, doing your best makeup, curling your hair, and choosing an outfit. It helped keep your mind occupied and the stress at bay.

Around 7pm, Luke texted saying he was outside of your apartment. You grabbed your purse and slid on a pair of black heels before racing out the door.

Luke’s car was not hard to miss. He had chosen to pick you up in his bright red McLaren, since it was a super special occasion. He typically never took it out of his garage as it was insanely expensive and just downright beautiful.

You gave him a little twirl on your walk over to the passenger seat, not missing the impressed grin he flashed at your from inside. You hopped in the car and didn’t hesitate to lean over and place a kiss to his lips. He presented you a huge bouquet of fresh, dark red roses. You gasped and clutched the bouquet in your arms, kissing his cheek and expressing your gratitude.

“You look stunning,” Luke said, eyeing you up, clearly in awe. You laughed and blushed, enjoying the praise. “Seriously. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” You retorted, besrt racing at the sight of his gorgeous features. He was dressed up, wearing a sharp grey suit with a dark with a black button up beneath. He was so good looking, you simply swooned just from his smile alone. The smell of the roses made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

The drive to the restaurant was quick. The waiter showed you to your table, which was secluded in the back corner and shrouded by a wall and some pretty plants. The lights were dimmed and candles were lit. Luke ordered an expensive bottle of wine, which you both shared and sipped on while waiting for the food to arrive. It was now or never.

“Okay, baby,” You started, dabbing your napkin to your lips. “I’ve thought long and hard about this. But I think I’m ready to go public with our relationship.”

Across the table, Luke’s eyes widened and he spluttered, mid sip. He coughed into the back of his hand and you bit your lip nervously, waiting for his response.

“Are you sure, angel?” Luke asked, reaching out to take your hand in his. He rubbed his thumb against your skin in comfort. “Once we go public we can never go back. My fans will know who you are.”

“I know,” You said, firmly. You offered him a warm smile. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. And I’m ready. Definitely, totally ready.”

“Well in that case, I’ve had an Instagram post drafted for like, the last three months. I can finally post it!” Luke said, picking his phone up from the corner of the table.

You smacked his arm in playful angry, failing to suppress the smile making it way to your cheeks. “You are so dumb. They better be cute pictures, at least.”

“They are, I swear!” Luke laughed. “Cute caption, too. You promise you’re okay with me posting it?”

“Yes, Luke. I promise.” You took his hand again, letting out a shaky breath and trying to muster some courage. “I know it’s only been a year of dating, but I can whole heartedly say you are my best friend in the whole world. I love you. I truly do see us being together forever. So I want to make it public now, on our terms.”

“I love you, too, baby.” Luke said with an attractive grin. You blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear shyly, whilst he set up his Instagram post. After a few silent moments, he flashed you a triumphant thumbs up. “There, it’s posted. I tagged you, too.”

You ignored the buzzing of your own phone, choosing to flip it to silent mode. “Happy Anniversary, my love.”

Luke smiled at you, once again taking your hand in his. With utmost sincerity and his heart of gold, he replied, “Happy Anniversary to you too, angel.”

a/n: thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy!! again this is not proofread. part 3 with the streamer awards??? 👀👀

taglist: @augustiscoquette