#and we don't have much space in the fridge

[constantvigilante]

Texted my old team a happy Pi Day. I dont miss being at the office or the drive, but I miss having someone to share my baking with. I used to bring multiple pies every year. I worked too hard on it but it was fun to share and be appreciated, and frankly to show off, because you don't voluntarily show up anywhere with five pies unless you're showing off a little.

I said I hadn't baked anything yet but might make a Dutch apple, though I'd have to eat it all myself. Old manager said that sounded like a win but.... it's really not? I don't just want to bake for myself. Something something body image issues, something building community.

It's deeply stupid to feel bummed about this because Ladies Night next week we'll have a belated Pi Day (R2 being off for spring break right now) and if it's about community and sharing the date doesn't matter right? (But it does. Dates matter.) And people had specific requests so that's cool! (But the request was key lime, which is delicious but impossibly boring to make, so there's no showing off involved.)

Pie should not be complicated but apparently I'm craving a very specific experience that for various reasons can't happen today.

[xxlelaxx]

Tomorrow will be hell... I just don't wanna move anymore

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade's life and his mental health issues a lot, and I just thought about this. Not only being abused, but his entire brain being made out of cancer, and the fact that oxygen was physically taken from his brain over the course of 2+ days multiple times?

We see him coloring a lot and claim multiple times that he doesn't/ can't read (this is probably a bit, I guarantee he can read), but it had me thinking what if some days were more childish then others as part of his coping mechanisms?

At first, Logans was really confused about why Althea puts up with it until he realizes that it's extremely good for him to just... be taken care of? Praised and given affection for the bare minimum? He thinks it's weird. This wasn't the same man he was fighting with yesterday.

Coming into the living room, he sees Wade sprawled out with crayons and markers all around him with multiple pictures already coloured, his notebook having pages ripped out of it as he kicks his feet and hums.

On the tv, there are cartoons playing. Once in a while, he'll look up at the tv and then go back to coloring. "What are you doing??"

"Hi wolvie. 'm colouring."

"He's behaving, so don't ruin it." Al says. There's pictures by her, and she is holding a box of cereal.

"O..kay??" Sitting down, he's almost too curious to just walk away, picking up puppins so she doesn't ruin his drawings, petting her confusedly.

Sometimes, Al will hold out some cereal in her hand. "Wade." And he will see him shimmy over and take the cereal. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."

As hes scooting back to his color spot he stops and watches the tv for a bit longer then usual.

"...What.. the fuck." Logan says to her and she gives him a brow raise. "What?"

"What is he doing?"

"He's coloring. And I thought I was the blind one."

"No no I mean.. those aren't murder plans. That's puppins."

"Yes? And?"

"And.. what did you do to him?"

"Treated him like a human being. Give it a try once inawhile." She says, and he comes back with more pictures, climbing in between them with no regard for space as he leans into her.

"Oh thank you. What is it?"

"It's you."

"Oh? How sweet. Do I look good?"

"Mhm!"

"Im glad. How about you show our friend here your amazing pictures. And he better be nice!"

So wade turns and now is leaning on logan as he points to a different picture. One of Logan with Puppins on a leash with a sun in the corner and crappy grass, a hearts all over the place.

At first he wants to tell him to get off of him, but seeing the pictures and how excited his eyes were to show him, it hits him and he understands.

".. uhm.. thank you?" But he puts it back in his hand. "Oh- you want me to keep it?"

Wade nods and starts cleaning up his crayons.

Logan turns to whisper to Al "How long does this go on?"

"About 2 hours or so."

"Why?"

"God only knows, but it helps with his nightmares."

"Colouring helps with his nightmares??"

"Its more then that. Hey sweetheart? Why don't you bring your ponys out."

"Theyre horses."

"Oh im sorry, my mistake. I think logan here wants to play horses."

Logan gives her a look like excuse me? When did I sign up for that? "No.. uhm.. I think im good."

Wade gets this look of sad innocence but goes to get them anyway, beginning to play by himself, brushing them and making them talk to each other quietly. As if he speaks any louder, he would get hit.

Logan groans and is like "Gimme a fucking horse.."

From then on, Logan is quick to understand what's happening and is much nicer to him, starts giving him snacks, buying him actual coloring books, and has pinned his drawings to the fridge each time he's gifted one. His horses name is Buttercup, by the way.

[celestialprincesse]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

"No - Char, we already have cheese at home." You huff exasperatedly, trying to prevent your daughter's little fists from going at the babybel in the supermarket fridge for the third time in the two minutes you've been lingering in the dairy produce aisle.

"Red cheese!" She shrieks in protest, one of her hands clinging to the rumpled fabric of your dress, the other practically clawing at the glass of the fridge for her favourite cheese - cheese which you've got an abundance of at home.

Her little shopping trolley, which she insisted on having, overflows with snacks and the few essentials you'd needed to make dinner tonight, but mostly snacks. You'd only realised this morning that your fridge was almost entirely void of any sort of appropriate, adult dinner ingredients - a realisation you're glad happened this morning and not later, seeing as Simon was coming for dinner this evening for a not date but not not a date. Whatever that means.

You're pretty sure he's just trying his best not to freak you out - to ease you into the feelings blossoming in the space between you like a frightened animal. When you'd invited him for dinner? That had been an attempt at showing him that you wanted him, wanted to see his broad shoulders and messy blond hair in your apartment, as opposed to across the hall from it.

Another petulant little yell forces you from your thoughts, only to realise that Charlotte's petulance is actually excitement, something having caught her attention so much that she goes toddling off as fast as her little legs will carry her. "No - Charlotte!" You plead, trying to scoop her up before two massive, tattooed arms beat you to it.

"Easy, tiger." That deliciously rumbly accent soothes both Charlotte's excitement, and the worry roiling in your stomach. His eyes don't so much as relax you, rather melt you completely, until you're sure to be just a fleshy puddle on the linoleum supermarket floors. "Simon." You state dumbly, voice robotic and slightly detached as you take stock of the past few moments of having been on autopilot.

"Fancy seeing you here." He croons, slinging Charlotte to sit on his hip in such an easy manner - unfairly hot. Although, everything he does is unfairly hot. He's unfairly hot.

You're convinced your brain must've melted and dribbled out of your ears in the few steps from the cheese to the butter section of the fridges, because you're so dumbstruck and stupidly confused by his sudden presence (and how utterly fucking sexy he looks caring for you and your daughter with such instinctive ease) that you can't even seem to find your words.

"Charlotte wanted cheese." Is the first, and obviously the most embarrassing thing that comes out of your mouth, and the wry smirk that pulls at his scarred lips has you kicking yourself. Repeatedly. Hard.

"Mm. Course. Gotta get aaall the calcium in to get big and strong, hey Char?" He coos, and you feel as though you might've just died and gone to heaven, because never on earth did you expect, or hope, to see a six foot, semiretired SAS soldier so casually looking after your child as if she were his own.

After a few moments of gawking, and failing to hide said gawking, you reluctantly part ways with Simon, realising that not only do you need to get Charlotte to bed, clean the house, make dinner and get ready - you realise that you need to look good.

And put on fresh bed linen. With absolutely no ulterior motives in mind at all whatsoever. None.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 7

Part 6

The door Sam knocks on is in a much nicer building than she expected.

She and Tucker are visiting Danny for dinner - and boy did they both nearly burst with excitement when he shyly extended the invitation - and frankly Sam had expected an apartment building in the Narrows or Park Row.

Danny was a teenage runaway less than a decade ago, for God's sake. Forgive her and Tucker for assuming he'd still be getting his feet under him and scraping by.

This? This is not that.

Sam has half a mind to think Danny is sugaring. He certainly wouldn't have any trouble - the Danny that disappeared from Amity was cute, but small and awkward in that teenage way. The grown up Danny they've been reconnecting with? He's tall, lean and positively gorgeous.

She wouldn't have a problem with that, per say. But the Danny they knew was also too nice for his own good and starved for positive attention. If someone was taking advantage of that Sam would kill them. 

Separation did not quell her instinct to wrap Danny up and protect him from the world, it would seem.

There's a slight commotion after the knock before Danny himself is yanking the door open with a grin that's happy and nervous at the same time.

“Guys! Hey! Come in!”

He ushers them inside with all the energy of an overgrown puppy, something that hasn't changed one bit since they were kids.

Sam shivers a little as they enter, assuming there's an AC unit blowing over the entryway at first. She smiles at Danny's back as he babbles at them.

“I kind of lost track of time, so food isn't actually ready yet, but then I thought - hey! Who cares! We can cook together and it'll be fun! I got all vegan stuff too so we can make a meaty pizza for Tuck and a different one for you, Sam-”

The apartment they walk into is a spacious open floor plan, furniture in blacks and grays. She shivers again. Seriously-

“Your AC on the fritz or something?” Tucker asks, rubbing his arms a little. “It's like fifty degrees in here, man.”

Danny freezes for a second on his way to the kitchen space before turning around and beelining for a wall - the thermostat.

“Shit, sorry! Sit, sit! I knew I was forgetting something,” he grumbles as he flaps a hand towards the black bar stools at the kitchen island and fiddles with the thermostat. “I like the cold, I always have it too low for most people in here. Sorry about that, it'll get better soon.”

Sam and Tucker exchange bewildered looks as they sit at the kitchen island. There's liking it cool, and there's fucking freezing.

“Guess I don't have to ask your favorite season,” Tucker jokes, and Danny offers him an apologetic grin as he lopes back over.

“Yeah, probably a safe guess,” he chuckles on his way to the fridge. “You guys want drinks? I have a homemade sangria if you want. Beer, wine, you name it.”

Tucker opts for a beer. Sam asks for the homemade sangria, curious. Danny pours two glasses and takes an ice cube tray out to pop a couple of ice cubes in.

When the glass is set in front of her - “they're the stemless kind you can't knock over. Cool, right? Look at ‘em wobble, they're just little guys.” - she raises an eyebrow.

The ice cubes are in the shape of little ghosts. Tucker snorts when he sees them, taking the bottle opener Danny offers for his beer.

“Ghosts? Really?”

Danny blinks like he'd forgotten he had a novelty ice cube tray, then grins and shrugs.

“I mean. What else is being from Amity good for if not inside jokes?”

He turns away before she can respond with any form of bewilderment - Danny had been known for disappearing during ghost fights, after all. He was terrified of them. She hadn't expected him to want any reminders of ghosts or his ghost hunter parents.

Sorry - Jack and Maddie.

With two resounding thunks, Danny slaps store bought dough onto his nice dark counters. He at least remembered to leave them out to rise. 

“Alright! While I roll this out, it's time to pick your toppings lady and gent - go wild, go ham. Let me show you my selection.”

He opens the fridge again, pulling out meats and veggies and cheeses abound. Sam notes vegan cheese alternatives in the mix with a warm fondness in her chest. She's stricter about being vegetarian than vegan, but the fact that Danny went that extra little mile? 

Yeah. Yeah, this is still her boy. She missed having two of them. She and Tuck were never meant to be without a Danny, and she can see on Tucker's face that he feels the same way.

Smiling and standing to start looking through the options, Sam sips her sangria. 

It’s delicious, and the little ghost ice cubes smile back up at her like they're as glad as she is to be here.

Masterpost

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯  Decorating Sakura’s Room 『 ♡ sakura haruka x reader 』

content // after seeing sakura's empty room for the first time, you're determined to make him feel more at home with a few additions.

note // tumblr decided not to post this yesterday for softie sunday lol so here it is!

Sakura's always deterred you from coming back to his place for your date nights, avoiding the topic altogether by offering to meet up at Pothos or to watch movies at your place instead. For the first month or so of dating, you didn't question it much, but now? It's getting suspicious. What did he have to hide from you?

"C'mon, we always go to my apartment. Why do you never have me over?"

Your demand has Sakura sweating, unable to come up with a logical excuse to keep you away any longer. He knows damn well that you can see right through his lies...and he has a terrible poker face around you.

"Fine, but don't expect much," he mutters, stomping passed you and continuing down the street. When you approach his front door, he takes a deep breath before twisting the handle.

"Do you not lock your door?!" You exclaim, noticing he didn't have a set of keys on him. "Saku, that's dangerous as hell!"

"S'not a big deal," he mumbles before kicking his shoes off into the corner, completely ignoring the shoe rack behind the door. "Don't have anythin' to steal, anyways."

You're confused by his words until you get a decent look at the apartment. It's...bare. Not a single decorative item in sight.

"Did you just move into this place?" you ask, confused. You're slowly making your way back to his bedroom, awestruck by the lack of evidence that anyone lives here.

"Nah, been here since I got to Makochi."

You turn to face him, a sad glint in your eyes before shaking your head. It makes him swallow nervously, the tips of his ears warming by the second. You don't say another word about it for the rest of the day.

A couple days pass until the two of you have plans again. You insist to meet at Sakura's place, and after lots of begging, he begrudgingly agrees. When you finally arrive to his place, you can barely knock on the door with how full your hands are with numerous bags of gifts. He opens the door as your mid-swing with your foot to "knock," immediately overwhelmed by the amount of stuff on your person.

"Th' hell is all this?!" Sakura shouts while attempting to grab a few of the bags from your hands. "Yer like a walkin' target with all this! Get in here already!"

"Sorry, Saku. I couldn't help it."

Sakura places the bags on the floor, slowly peaking through them to investigate just what the hell you've unloaded into his space. There are tons of essential items in neutral tones - a few sets of towels, a bath mat, two pillows and silk cases, a 4 set of plates and bowls, silverware, a pair of black house slippers, a brand new reusable water bottle, a water filter for the fridge, and a picture frame.

"I might've went a little overboard," you say sheepishly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "I felt bad you didn't have anything to make your home feel like your own. So I got you some things to warm it up, make it feel more permanent and a place you like, not just one you sleep in."

Sakura's speechless - devastated, even. He can't comprehend what he did to deserve your sweetness, biting his lip to keep his emotions caged. His cheeks are ablaze as he picks up the picture frame, noticing the plastic film is missing and there's a familiar set of pictures behind the glass.

"I went ahead and put in the pictures we took at the photo booth from the theater on our first date, you don't need to keep⎯ "

Your silenced by Sakura's lips capturing yours, his shaky hands cradling your face. Your squeak of surprise makes his heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," he whispers as you part, moving to wrap you up in a tight hug. "Yer...always so warm, like bein' under the sun on a hot day. I'm still getting used to that feelin', but this helps more than you know."

Your heart swells as you lay your head on his shoulder, absorbing all of his affection in the moment.

"Of course, Sakura. You deserve to be happy and feel like you belong."

His grip tightens on your shirt, a shiver running down his spine at your words. One day, he'll be able to tell you how you've made him feel at home for awhile now, and that the material possession are a nonfactor.

You pull back from his hug and pat him on the shoulders. "I'll help you put everything away and whatnot."

The two of you spend the next hour unpacking all of the goodies you've bought, leaving the picture frame for last. Sakura grabs the frame and paces the apartment a few times, pondering where exactly he wants to put it until the perfect spot pops into his mind.

Right above the shoe rack so you can welcome him home every single day with your bright smile.

『 #reis softie sundays 』

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Maybe I Just Wanna Be Yours

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: oral (f receiving), handjob, sub Loki, edging & overstimulation, forced submission kinda, hair pulling, a lil choking, I hope that's everything lol

Genre: smut and I guess fluff

Summary: You make Loki realize something about himself that he was not expecting to learn.

***

You plop down on the couch with your bowl of chips, getting comfortable to watch TV.

"Are you out here by yourself?" Loki's voice surprises you. You hadn't heard him come down the hall.

"Yeah." You glance at him over your shoulder with a shrug.

"Why?" His eyes narrow.

"I'm watching TV. You are familiar with that particular activity aren't you?"

"Yes I am, but why out here alone?" Loki rolls his eyes before sticking his head into the fridge.

"I wanted to leave my room. You're welcome to join me." You shrug.

"Why would I do that?" He scoffs.

"Believe it or not, some people enjoy doing things with other people in different spaces, you awkward little hermit." You roll your eyes. You walk over to the kitchen for a drink, realizing you forgot one.

"I am not a hermit." Loki crosses his arms. You grab a soda and walk over to Loki, leaning in close enough that he leans back suspiciously.

"This is the first time you've been out your room in like a week." You tell him.

"That is not true!" He steps away from you indignantly.

"It is, and that's fine. If that's how you like to live, I'm not judging you for it. But for me anyway, a change of scenery is good for the mind." You shrug walking back over to the couch.

"That doesn't make an ounce of sense."

"To each their own." You hum.

"You are a strange woman."

"Because I'm watching TV?" You tilt your head curiously.

"You spend your time so differently from everyone else here." He says.

"Yeah believe it or not I am an individual."

"That's not what I meant."

"No?"

"I just meant that most of the tower is left unoccupied from day to day, except you, you seem to- be everywhere." He frowns.

"If you're content never leaving your room that's fine, like I said I prefer a change of scenery. Helps mark the passage of time when we're not off saving the world." You shrug.

"There is next to nothing worth doing on this miserable planet."

"You are ridiculously negative." You chuckle, pressing play on your movie of choice for tonight. Clearly, this conversation with Loki is over, you have no interest in going back and forth about his cynicism. You hear him take a sharp breath, if you had to guess it's like one of those breaths you take before speaking but he doesn't say anything and eventually you hear his shoes along the floor and you smirk as you check that he is indeed gone.

It's not necessarily that you enjoy getting under Loki's skin the way you so obviously do, but it is rather easy and no one else speaks to him, which is kind of sad. To be clear you don't pity him, in fact this back and forth he reluctantly engages in is you refusing to treat him any different than you would anyone else on the team. It just so happens that he's easy to rile up and you find it funny but really this is just you being inclusive.

"You know y/n I don't get how you do it." Tony drunkenly says. It's supposed to be game night but after an hour Tony's of course too drunk to play so now you're all just talking.

"How I do what, Stark?" You ask.

"Deal with reindeer games the way you do."

"Reindeer ga- do you mean Loki?" You blink at him. You're not even sure how the group ended up on the subject, he's not here. How long were you checked out of the conversation?

"Yes obviously." He scoffs.

"It would be obvious if you used his name. Why are we talking about him, anyway?"

"Tony decided the next topic of conversation would be the team and somehow we got to how Loki is pretty much a recluse." Natasha explains to you.

"Exceeeept he talks to you. How does that work?" Tony asks.

"I dunno man I just poke fun at him like I do the rest of you and wait til he gets red in the face." You shrug.

"You mess with him on purpose?" Thor frowns.

"No, no! Not- really? He just, okay I don't try to get under his skin exactly, it's just when he engages with me, it seems like he expects hostility. I just give him back what I get from him and I don't think he knows how to handle that. But he keeps talking to me so I guess something about it gets through to him."

"That's very weird." Tony says.

"You're really in no place to judge Tony, we all know your list of idiosyncrasies is practically never ending." You roll your eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Is idiosyncrasies too big a word for our resident mad scientist?" You ask.

"I know what the word idiotsinkities means." He scoffs.

"Right." You hum. The others burst into laughter at Tony's slurred attempt at defending himself. It seems to be enough to change the subject and the rest of the night proceeds without another weird interrogation- especially once Tony passes out.

You lean against the wall as you listen to this guy, Jack, talk. He's close enough for you to smell his cologne, mostly to be heard over the music and the crowd of partygoers. You laugh at some silly joke of his, because he's cute and you'll probably end up making out with him in a quiet corner of the tower later if he doesn't say something stupid before you make that decision. The sound of someone clearing their throat pulls your attention from your conversation. Loki is standing there with his arms crossed and faced squeezed.

"Oh? Look who's come out to play." You muse.

"Do you know this guy?" Jack frowns.

"Jack, this is Loki, he's on the team. Loki this is my new friend Jack. Don't be rude, say hello." You nod your head towards Jack. Loki narrows his eyes as if sizing Jack up.

"Hey man. Nice to meet you." Jack puts his hand out to Loki.

"I don't shake hands." Loki says.

"Right- did you need something? We were, kind of talking."  Jack says.

"I don't care what you were doing." Loki rolls his eyes.

"Play nice Loki." You say, practically singing the warning.

"I'm not a dog." Loki glares at you.

"Well don't go around snarling like one." You snap.

"Is something- going on between you two?" Jack frowns.

"No." You say firmly.

"Alright well I'm going to get another drink, do you want anything?" He asks.

"Just you back here soon." You wink at him.

"I'll be as quick as I can." Jack kisses your cheek and walks off while Loki breathes incredibly noticeably agitated as he rolls his eyes ago.

"Alright Loki, what is your problem?" You scoff.

"He looks like a jungle cat."

"Really? I don't see jungle cat honestly, he kind of looks like a deer to me." You hum.

"Not in his appearance I mean the way he was closing in on you, like a lion waiting to attack a gazelle." He frowns.

"What? You don't think I can handle the big scary man Loki? Don't insult me, I've killed things that would eat him for an afternoon snack." You scoff.

"It's not that I think you can't handle him. Something about him was just- off. Didn't like his energy."

"Something was off? You didn't like his energy? Really that's what we're going with?" With a hand on his chest you press Loki against the wall.

"What else could I possibly be going with?" Loki tries to keep his voice steady, but with your hand now trailing down his abdomen you can feel muscles tensing under your touch.

"Truthfully I think somebody didn't quite enjoy seeing me pay so much attention to Jack. Don't worry Loki, he couldn't possibly replace you." You hum.

"Don't be ridiculous." He scoffs. You smirk as your hand dances lower and you watch him go stock still when your fingers trace along the waistband of his pants.

"You won't get anywhere by lying to me you know." You say. His mouth drops open slightly as you curl your fingers for your nails to gently caress his skin. "Do you want me to stop Loki?" You whisper in his ear teasingly. As if a bucket of ice water was dumped on him you watch Loki jump back out of your reach and clear his throat before walking off with a glare. You frown as you watch him go, perhaps you pushed too far this time. You think you need to apologize. You start to make your way through the crowd and somehow get caught by Jack.

"Hey, where are you off to?" He asks.

"Looking for you actually, I need a bathroom but I didn't want you to think I was leaving you hanging. If you go back to our little corner I will find you again shortly, alright?" You tap his chest and bat your eyelashes before spinning away from him to continue your task of tracking Loki down. You pop into the nearest empty room.

"Friday, where the hell did Loki go?" You ask her. The tower is huge and since you lost sight of him while talking to Jack it could take you forever to find him on your own.

"He's on the Balcony lounge at the end of the hall upstairs." Friday tells you.

"Thank you!" You tell her, heading for the stairs. Sure enough, there's Loki brooding on the balcony by himself. You slide open the door and Loki's head whips around. When his eyes settle on you, they narrow.

"I've had it with your games tonight." He says.

"No games. I actually wanted to apologize." You say.

"For what?" He regards you suspiciously.

"If I went too far just now. I'm never trying to make you uncomfortable with the teasing. If I crossed a line I want you to know I wasn't trying to and I respect your boundaries." You say gently.

"You think that made me uncomfortable?" He scoffs.

"Well you did quite literally run away."

"You do realize I'm a god, don't you?"

"So what?" You shrug.

"People worship me y/n."

"People worship me too Loki. Shall I start calling myself a goddess?" You cross your arms.

"Of course not." Loki looks at you incredulously.

"Well I'm just saying darling if you're quantifying your power here by being worshiped there are people who would tell you I am the path to heaven. Or, I suppose for you it would be Valhalla, right?" You tilt your head.

"That's rather presumptuous."

"Don't misunderstand here. I never asked them to deify me but who am I to deny those who believe I know the entrance heaven's gate?"

"And where is that?"

"Heaven's gate?" You chuckle, quirking an eyebrow up at him. "I don't think you can handle the answer to that question Loki, truthfully."

"You have no idea what I can handle." He frowns.

"I'm sure you're very capable honey but you've made it clear that you and I have... very different types." You say.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The frown deepens.

"Why did you run off? If you weren't uncomfortable, what made you run and hide?" You ask.

"How does this pertain to my question?" Loki shakes his head.

"My question is the answer to yours."

"I don't follow."

"Answer the question, and I'll offer an explanation." You say. Loki lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

"Your behavior, is disarming."

"And you don't like being disarmed?" You tilt your head.

"It's not something I'm used to."

"Right." You hum.

"So?"

"So?"

"You said if I answered you'd explain the connection." Loki says.

"I like disarming people. It's something I do quite well, and often. You don't seem too fond of that. Which- obviously wouldn't work."

"It's something you do well with mortals. I'll remind you I'm a god."

"So you've said but I did it pretty well to you like five minutes ago." You shrug.

"You caught me off guard." He frowns.

"It's not like I couldn't do it again."

"That's a rather bold assumption. One that I'm inclined to disagree with." His brow furrows.

"That's cute." You chuckle.

"I'm not so easily frazzled as your pathetic midgardian males." Loki insists.

"What just happened does not support that claim, but your insistence is exactly what I'm talking about when I say you're not my type. Putting you in your place would be so much trouble." You shrug.

"Putting me in my place?! On the contrary darling I would have you begging me. You'd call me king."

"What do I care for a king when there people who call me their god?" You scoff tugging at Loki's shirt to bring his face closer to yours. "Do you get it yet Loki? You want control and I'm unwilling to give it. You think too small to ever command me."

"You don't know that." His eyes narrow.

"Your breathing stuttered when I grabbed your shirt. Plus there's not a creature in all the nine realms thinking big enough to command me darling. Don't worry it's not just you." You wink at him pulling back and turning away from him to leave.

"Your attitude is insufferable." Loki growls grabbing your wrist and pinning you against the building with a hand around your throat.

"Is it?" You smile trailing your fingers from his wrist up his arm. You watch his jaw tense as his eyes snap between your face and your hand a couple of times before his gaze settles on you. His grip on your neck tightens as your fingers reach his shoulder. There, you shoot your hand quickly into his hair, fisting a handful of it and yanking, hard. Loki's head snaps back and his knees almost buckle as a strangled moan escapes from him. Your other hand grabs his wrist attached to the hand on your neck, his grip has loosened to practically nothing from your sudden hair pull but this is about power and control and if he's determined to convince you he's got some here you're determined to ensure he knows that's not true. "Let go Loki." You say in that sultry commanding tone you usually reserve for submissives. Slowly, his fingers unfurl until they no longer hold you and you finally release his hair, only to knock his ankle in such a way that he drops to his knees. He snaps his head up towards you with a glare in his eyes but all you do is smirk at him. "Shame you're such a brat, you look so good on your knees for me." You hum tilting his chin slightly. You lean forward, close enough to feel his heavy breaths against your face. "Goodnight Loki." You whisper. You drag your finger from his chin up his cheek and then turn away, leaving him on his knees on the balcony with more questions than he can answer as you return to the party.

The loud knock on your bedroom door pulls your attention from the show you're watching. You almost don't want to get up but whoever is looking for you seems rather incesent so you roll out of bed and swing open the door to find Loki in the hall.

"Loki? What are you doing here?" You cross your arms and lean against your doorframe.

"I need to talk to you about something."

"Look whatever Tony said to upset you, you can always get him back by calling out that he's a spoiled brat with daddy issues and a lack of self control so embarrassingly pathetic it's a miracle Pepper wants to be within 10 feet of him let alone spend the rest of her life with him." You sigh.

"That was- scathing and rather immediate, do you just spend your free time thinking of nasty things to say?" Loki blinks at you.

"No but I do have an arsenal of harsh comments if ever I need to hurt someone's feelings." You shrug.

"I'll- keep that in mind but this isn't about Anthony Stark." He shakes his head.

"Well, what is it then?"

"Could I- do you mind if come in?" He asks. You poke your head into your room checking for anything you don't want him to see.

"Fine." You say after confirming your room is clean. You open the door fully and let him through the doorway. "What's this about Loki?"

"The party the other night. Do you, remember what we talked about?" Loki asks.

"Well yes but you'll need to be more specific on where this is going."

"I just, I've been thinking about it and I think you're wrong and I'd like to prove it to you."

"Oh this should be good. Wrong about what exactly? Because I think I made myself quite clear. You'll never get the control from me that you seem to think you want." You shrug.

"No that much is obvious. But you said I wasn't your type and I think that's- not true." Loki's brow furrows as he speaks.

"What a shocking turn of events." You hum.

"Do not mock me." He sighs.

"I'm not. You were so insistent you couldn't possibly fit the bill I'm surprised by the turn around."

"Believe me so am I but, I haven't been able to stop thinking about that night. Something about you forcing me to my knees I just- something happened."

"Something happened?" You quirk an eyebrow at him.

"You disarmed me again but- I liked it. I think. And I'd like to try and understand that."

"Say it Loki."

"You said your partners worship you, show me how to do the same." Loki says.

"And you're sure you want this? If you misbehave I can be very mean."

"I'm sure." He nods.

"Then we'll have to discuss some things first. I won't touch you until I've asked some questions." You shake your head.

"Ask me anything."

"How do you feel about restraints?"

"No handcuffs. Ropes are fine."

"How are you with pain?"

"I don't know my limits but I'm not- opposed." He says.

"I'm not going to paddle you or anything darling it's much too soon for any of that but we'll use a stoplight system anyway. I'll check in frequently but at any point you can say yellow if you realize you're reaching a limit or red if you need something to stop. You'll also need a safeword."

"I don't need a safewor-"

"I don't know your limits, you don't even know your limits. It's a nonnegotiable Loki, you need a safeword. Pick one." You say.

"If I must, I'll use another color. Gold."

"Gold?"

"It's easy to say, I wear it a lot, do you think it'll get confusing?"

"Nope. As long as it's something you can remember." You shrug.

"I can remember gold." He says.

"Then gold it is. And Loki?"

"Yes?"

"You must promise me you will use it if you need to." You say.

"I won't need to."

"Don't start with that nonsense." You roll your eyes. "I need to know you'll use it if it comes to that."

"Fine. If it comes to that, I'll use it." He nods.

"Good. Couple more components. Overstimulation and or edging. Where do you fall?"

"I think you underestimate my resilience." He frowns.

"These are things I ask all of my submissives Loki you are not exempt. Not everyone likes the same things. You're lucky I'm not making you fill out my entire questionaire right now. You'll have to do that later." You scoff.

"I have homework already?"

"If you want this to continue after today you will. For now, overstimulation and edging."

"That's fine with me."

"Toys?"

"Can we- hold off on those until we have a longer conversation about it?"

"Absolutely. How do you feel about names? Do you like being called mean things? Are there certain pet names you don't like?"

"When you say mean things-" Loki trails.

"Mean names like slut or whore, I might scold you for 'making a mess', or tease you for being responsive."

"If- you say something that strikes a nerve I'll say so. Otherwise proceed whatever way feels natural." He says.

"Do you have any questions?" You ask.

"No." He shakes his head.

"Well that's the end of the preliminaries."

"So we can start now?"

"You think you're ready?"

"Yes."

"Kneel."

Loki drops to his knees hesitently, looking at you with wide eyes.

"From here on you'll address me as mistress, is that understood?"

"Yes... mistress." Loki says. You can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to decide how he feels about it.

"I know I said this the other night but you really do look so perfect on your knees for me." You hum grabbing his chin. You wrap your fingers around his throat and bend over to kiss him. Loki reacts eagerly to your kiss, leaning up into you as much as you'll allow given your hand still holding his neck. When you pull away his mouth tries to follow yours but you hold him in place. Part of you just wants to look at Loki on his knees for a couple of hours, one day you'll tie him up real pretty and take pictures of him kneeling for you. "You want to learn how to worship me do you?"

"Please mistress." Loki breathes out. God that was hot. You're already thinking of ways to make him beg. You pull your shorts off and Loki's gaze falls to the apex of your thighs, still covered by your underwear, but his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

"Take my underwear off, with your teeth. Just your teeth." You tell him. Loki leans forward and latches onto a corner of your panties with his teeth. It takes him a moment to get the hang of it but you watch as Loki works them over your hips slowly. Once they're off, you thread your fingers through his hair, using the leverage to angle his gaze back up to yours. "Let's see if that silver tongue of yours is good for anything other than those silly retorts of yours hm?" You hum shoving Loki's face towards your pussy. He reacts quickly, tongue lapping at your center with fervor. You tug at his hair, arching towards his mouth, as he works you.

"That's it Loki, keep going." You moan. Loki looks up at you while he seemingly tries out a few patterns, trying to work out what you like best. You pull his hair when he does something you like, enjoying the way he groans when you do. "Wrap your lips around my clit and suck." You tell him. Loki is quick to follow your instructions and it doesn't take long for you to coat his mouth in evidence of your orgasm. You pull his head away from you, petting his head affectionately. "That was a good start. Up. Lay on the bed and take off your shirt." You instruct stepping back. Unsteadily, Loki stands up and walks over to your bed, stripping his shirt before he lays down. His body is stiff, probably since your instruction was vauge.

"Relax Loki. You look so- rigid." You chuckle sitting next to him on the bed. You allow yourself to simply admire his exposed chest, using your fingers to trace the plains and valleys of lean muscle that tense up at your touch. Eventually, you drag your hand down, dancing along the edge of his pants allowing the anticipation to build before you slip your hand beneath his jeans. Over his boxers, you stroke his dick, tracing veins and feeling it's size through his underwear.

"Uh... M-mistress?" He says breathily.

"What is it Loki?" You hum, with your free hand you work his jeans down his legs enough to see what you're doing to him. His grey boxers are already a bit darkened from pre-cum.

"If, if you keep doing that I'm- I'm afraid I'll make a mess of myself rather early." Loki frowns.

"So what?"

"W-well it's it's embarrassing mistress." He says, though little grunts interrupt his words.

"Embarrassing? So you don't want me to touch you?" You ask slowing your movements.

"N-no mistress that's not what, I do, want you to touch me. If that's what you want to do." He scrambles.

"See that's what I thought." You say speeding up again. Loki jerks against your hand low moans filling the room as you watch him react to your touch. You continue to stroke him over his boxers, watching the darkened spot of pre-cum grow ever so slightly bigger. You notice immediately when Loki's hands grip your sheets tightly. He must be getting close. It prompts you to increase your ministrations.

"M-mistress wa-wait stop I, I'm too close- I'll ruin my-" Loki doesn't finish his sentence. A shuddering moan accompanies the visual of his orgasm darkening most of the front of his boxers, wet streaks ruining much of the light grey fabric. There's something you quite enjoy about the sight even as Loki's cheeks tinge pink with shame. "I'm sorry." He mutters.

"Don't apologize. I wanted that to happen. As for the rest of your orgasms you'll have to earn them. You must ask for my permission to cum for the rest of the session. If you cum without my permission there will be consequences. Am I understood?" You grab his chin to make him look at you.

"Yes mistress." Loki says, eyes wide, searching your face, for what you're not sure.

"Good." You say pulling his dick out of his soiled boxers. You lick along the length once, reveling in the hiss Loki lets out no doubt from sensitivity. His previous orgasm makes for plenty of lubricant as you begin stroking him again, slowly. Loki's breaths come out in shudders and you lean over to place kisses and hickeys along his throat. Each bloom of red along his neck and chest pulls sweet moans from him until the sensitivity wears off. Soon, surprisingly soon, you see him grab the sheets again.

"Mistress I, I'm close-"

"So soon? Wow." You taunt.

"Can I cum mistress?"

"But before you didn't want to. Remember? You even asked me to stop." You slow down, almost stopping.

"No nonono that was- that was different I didn't mean it that way-" he seems to give up on his defense in favor of a groan at the sudden decrease in stimulation.

"Well, I was so kind in giving you the first one and you didn't even thank me. So you'll have to really convince me you want another." You shrug when his harsh breathing slows a bit you pick up the pace of your strokes again. When Loki grips the sheets you slow down again and when the tension dissipates you pick up. You do this three or four more times before Loki's moans start to transform in to pathetic sounding whines, his chest is red, his knuckles are white, and his dick is throbbing in your hand.

"Please- mistress." Loki pants.

"Please what baby boy?"

"I can't- I can't do it. I need to cum, I need to, please. Please mistress."

"You need to?"

"Please! Please mistress. Please let me cum. Oh god I need you to. Please." Loki's begging is boarderline hysteric, he's trembling and half of his words come out as moans.

"I do love to hear you beg."

"Please!" He whines out.

"Oo that was a good one. Very well, go ahead and let go for me sweetheart." You say sweetly, stroking faster to help him along. A few pumps later and he's spilling onto himself and your hand with a cry that makes your walls clench around nothing. You continue stroking him through it and even after he's coming down. You wonder if you can't pull one more from him. Loki jolts against your touch, scrambling as if to escape it but unable to go anywhere really.

"G-g-gold! Gold. I can't. Please." Loki pants out.

"Hands up." You say as you do exactly that. "Sorry Lo I- guess I got carried away. I'll get a towel for you." You get off the bed and grab a towel, wetting one side to clean him off and using the other to dry him after. You hand him an extra blanket after. "Give yourself some time to recoup okay?"

"You're cruel."

"I wasn't trying to be. You just- fell into your role so well. I told you I'm not easy. But I'll remember you're still new to this and be sure to treat you gently in the future. Mr. you underestimate my resillience."

"I can handle it."

"With time I'm sure. No rush now." You shrug.

"Wait- don't go anywhere please." Loki grabs your wrist.

"You need water honey."

"Later." Loki tugs hard enough to pull you into the bed next to him. You sigh and wrap your arms around him, playing with his hair gently. Loki will make for one interesting submissive if he decides this is something he wants long term. You'll have your work cut out for you, but maybe he's better suited for this than you think. Only time will tell I suppose.

***

[bayjaruchel]

Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

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Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

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It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation. 

You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation. 

Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness. 

Yeah. Heads, plural. 

Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself. 

Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis. 

It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—  

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks. 

"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both. 

"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be." 

Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."

"I wouldn't say shitty."  

"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste." 

You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.  

"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement." 

"Expensive wine?" 

"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it." 

You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?" 

He snorts. "Too classy." 

It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights. 

"Cheap beer it is, then." 

Clapton's grin is back. 

"Unfortunately." 

You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks? 

"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in. 

"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in? 

The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse. 

"Four minutes," he echoes. 

You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead. 

"Yeah." 

You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet. 

"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time." 

When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows—  you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left. 

"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?" 

His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up. 

"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check." 

"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?" 

Clapton raises his eyebrows again. 

There's a shift in the air. 

"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?  

The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though. 

"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do. 

"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it. 

"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?" 

He definitely already knows the answer to that question. 

"Yeah, you don't." 

You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor— 

"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"  

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat. 

The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half— 

"Just do it," you breathe.   

And he does. 

The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient. 

You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower— 

There's a loud series of knocks at the door. 

Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips—  but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet. 

"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open. 

You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s. 

Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper: 

"Wanna go upstairs?" 

You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—

"Okay," you agree. 

The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles. 

It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times. 

"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him. 

"You think?" 

He grins. "Sure do." 

You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in. 

But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough. 

He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted. 

"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—" 

"Go ahead," you interrupt.  

Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time. 

Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.  

Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt. 

"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles. 

You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.  

When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops. 

"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?" 

Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."  

"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna." 

You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.  

You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever. 

"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"  

You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?" 

Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?" 

"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry." 

He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that." 

You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements. 

"In your—?" 

Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"  

You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you. 

"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?" 

You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright." 

Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off. 

"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips. 

You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do — 

"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —" 

He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time. 

Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but— 

He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter: 

"Don't hold back." 

And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard. 

You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — " 

His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this. 

"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— " 

"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"    

"Fuck— "  You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom—  but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes— 

He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato. 

He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh. 

He mimics it, and you glance down at him. 

You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not. 

"We should get cleaned up or something." 

He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something." 

You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine." 

He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states. 

Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway. 

It's silent, before he interjects: 

"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?" 

The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection. 

"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want." 

Clapton visibly swallows. "I … " 

You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds. 

"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you." 

He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause. 

"I liked it too," you reply, softly.

The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind. 

"You wanna get out of here?" 

He beams. 

[letsgetbigger]

My Roommate

Part One

Moving day arrived with the sun shining brightly over the city. I had decided to find a roommate to help pay the mortgage, since my salary at the clothing store wasn't enough. The idea of sharing my space with someone new made me feel both anxious and excited.

Erik arrived early, dressed in a large, comfortable tracksuit. He was a handsome 25-year-old, recently independent, working from home as a programmer. In contrast to my usual work suit and tie, his relaxed style caught my attention immediately.

"Hi, Frank," Erik said with a broad smile, extending his hand.

"Hi, Erik. Let me help you with the boxes," I replied, shaking his hand.

From our first meeting when he came to see the apartment, we got along well. As Erik unpacked his things and arranged them in his new room, I couldn't help but watch him. There was something about his presence that attracted me.

After a few hours of work, we finished settling everything. Erik collapsed onto the sofa, sweating slightly from the effort, and I noticed that his clothes, though large, didn't completely hide a slight roundness in certain areas of his figure. It was then that I understood why he had brought so much food. The fridge, which usually held my fruits and vegetables, was now packed with ready meals, cheese, whole milk, and various sauces. The cabinets were filled with pasta, rice, chips, cookies, and other snacks.

"Wow, you have quite an appetite," I commented, trying to sound casual as I observed his provisions.

Erik laughed. "Yeah, I like to eat."

I couldn't deny it puzzled me, but I decided not to dwell on it and simply accepted that my new roommate had a different lifestyle from mine.

One night, weeks later, I came home after a bad date. I was feeling disappointed and frustrated. To my surprise, I found Erik sitting on the couch with two empty pizza boxes beside him.

"Hey, Frank. How was the date?" he asked with a carefree smile.

"There was no spark," I said, shrugging.

Erik looked at me with interest. "Maybe he wasn't your type," he said, a sympathetic look on his handsome face. "Sometimes it's hard to find someone who we really click with."

I sank into the armchair across from him, feeling a bit better hearing his words. He always had a way of making me feel understood and less alone.

"Maybe you're right," I admitted, letting out a sigh.

As we talked, I noticed something different about Erik. His tracksuit no longer fit as loosely as when he moved in. In fact, his sweatshirt seemed to hide a growing belly. It was clear he was enjoying his food, and his body showed it. He got up and walked to the kitchen. His sweatpants clung to his rounder butt in a way I hadn't seen before. He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a huge tub of protein powder, which surprised me.

"Have you been to the gym?" I asked, trying to understand why he needed a protein shake after two pizzas.

Erik laughed and shook his head. "No, I don't go to the gym," he said as if the idea amused him.

"Oh. Well, I think it's time for me to go to bed."

"Goodnight, Frank."

Maybe he was right. Maybe the slim guy I went out with wasn't simply my type. I'd always been more attracted to burly men, bears.

One hot night in late spring, I woke up thirsty. I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I reached the doorway, I stopped in my tracks. The scene before me left me paralyzed. Erik was standing there, illuminated by the light of the open fridge. He was wearing only a pair of briefs that dug into his skin, highlighting his curves and revealing the increasing roundness of his body. His belly slightly spilled over the elastic waistband, and his thighs looked thicker, but what stood out the most was his butt. That round, prominent ass completely filled the underwear, stretching the fabric to its limit. Erik had a box of donuts on the counter and was eating one after another with insatiable voracity using his left hand. His right hand was inside his briefs, moving rhythmically as he masturbated. The pleasure on his face was undeniable. I couldn't help but stand there, silently watching. The sight of Erik pleasuring himself like that, enjoying the food and his own body, was mesmerizing. I felt my erection grow quickly.

I backed away from the doorway carefully, trying not to make any noise, and returned to my room. The image of Erik lingered in my mind: his increasingly plump body, his hands occupied with the donuts and his cock, the expression on his face. I knew something had changed within me and that my attraction to Erik had grown in a way I couldn't ignore.

Part Two

With the arrival of summer, the heat in our apartment became unbearable. Erik started walking around in just his briefs, and every time I saw him, my heart pounded harder. His physique had changed noticeably. His belly had grown larger and stuck out proudly. His butt had become even bigger and rounder. The briefs barely contained his cheeks, and the integrity of the fabric was tested with every move. Erik seemed comfortable with his body. Seeing him so natural and carefree drove me wild.

One afternoon, as we sat on the couch watching TV, I couldn't contain my curiosity. I looked at him intently and asked:

"Erik, are you... gaining weight on purpose?"

Erik remained silent for a moment, then a mischievous smile spread across his face.

"Yes, Frank, I am doing it on purpose."

"Why?" I asked.

"I've always been excited by the idea of gaining weight, feeling my body grow, my belly expanding, and my butt getting bigger. I love seeing how my clothes get tighter," he explained.

My eyes widened. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and at the same time, I felt incredibly aroused. His confession had only intensified my desire.

The next morning, as I headed to the kitchen to have coffee, I noticed the bathroom door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Erik in the shower. Water cascaded over his naked body, highlighting every curve, every fold of his skin. Watching his hands deliberately move over his fat belly, his chest, and then his enormous buttocks was fascinating. I clung to the door, my erection painfully hard. Unbeknownst to me, a damp spot formed in my briefs, a sign of my extreme arousal. Erik saw me. He didn't say anything, but his smile and the gleam in his eyes said it all. He pulled back the shower curtain and gestured for me to join him. Without thinking twice, I stepped into the bathroom. I quickly dropped my briefs to the floor and approached him. He turned, offering me his back. My eyes were fixed on his round, firm butt, a view I couldn't resist. I began to caress him, and Erik shuddered under my touch. I couldn't wait any longer; my throbbing cock sought its target. I aligned myself with him, and with a slow, deliberate motion, I entered him. The sensation was incredible. A moan escaped my lips. Erik arched back, bracing his hands against the shower wall as I started to move inside him. My hands gripped his love handles, and I increased the pace. The thrusts became stronger, more desperate, and Erik responded to each one with moans of pleasure. I felt his breathing quicken as we neared the climax. Finally, with a muffled cry, I came inside him. Erik shuddered and cried out too, his own orgasm following mine. We stayed like that, connected and panting, as the water continued to fall, washing away the sweat and passion we had shared.

That night, after a long day at work, I couldn't stop thinking about the morning's experience. When I got home, I found Erik relaxing on the sofa. I approached him and sat down beside him.

"Erik, there's something I need to tell you," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "I love how fat you're getting. Especially your butt. It drives me crazy. And I want to see you get even fatter."

Erik smiled, his rounded face filled with satisfaction. "I like what I'm hearing, Frank."

I stood up and went to the kitchen, where I pulled a two-liter tub of ice cream from the freezer. Returning to the sofa, I placed it in front of Erik, who had already eaten two huge plates of pasta for dinner. His eyes lit up at the sight of the ice cream. I sat beside him and started feeding him. The ice cream melted in his mouth, and his lips moved with delight, swallowing each spoonful. My hand slid over his belly, feeling the fullness and warmth of his flesh under my fingers.

"That's it, Erik," I whispered in his ear, leaning in to kiss his neck. "I want you to eat it all. I want to see you grow."

After what seemed like hours, Erik finished the ice cream. He lay back on the sofa, his breathing heavy, his eyes locked on mine.

"Thank you, Frank," he murmured with gratitude and desire.

"This is just the beginning," I said.

I knelt before him, and ran my hands along his thick thighs. My fingers then played with his nipples while I kissed his belly. Erik panted as my mouth traveled down his body. I nibbled his cock through his briefs, feeling his hardness against my teeth. With a swift motion, I slid the garment down, and freed his erection. My tongue traced its length, savoring every inch before taking it into my mouth. My hands continued exploring, caressing his thighs and balls. Erik moaned and writhed. With a cry of pleasure, he came in my mouth. His hot cum filled my throat.

Part Three

A few months had passed, and Erik was incredibly fat. I woke up one morning to the sight of his enormous, round, jiggly butt resting on the bed next to me. I admired its size, along with the cellulite on his thighs and the stretch marks on his love handles. Still groggy, I moved closer and placed my hands on his buttocks, gently shaking them. The flesh wobbled, semthing that excited me like nothing else in the world. I lowered his new XXL briefs and kissed his cheeks with devotion.

"You've gained so much weight, Erik," I murmured against his skin. "And it turns me on so much seeing you like this."

Erik moaned in response, and my hands became bolder. I squeezed and kneaded his butt, feeling the fat beneath my palms as my tongue explored every inch too.

"I love you like this, so big, so sexy," I whispered.

Erik writhed in pleasure.

"Frank, bring me breakfast in bed," he requested. "I want to start the day well-fed."

I got up quickly, my erection throbbing with anticipation, and headed to the kitchen. I prepared a tray with everything I knew Erik loved: plenty of buttered toast, a cheese omelet, two enormous chocolate-filled croissants, and a giant protein shake made with equal parts of milk and cream.

When I returned to the bedroom, Erik was waiting for me, reclined on the bed with a satisfied smile on his face. I placed the tray in front of him and watched as his eyes lit up at the sight of the food.

"Perfect," Erik said.

I sat beside him. He began to eat with enthusiasm. The way he enjoyed each bite, the joy on his face as he ate, filled my heart with deep satisfaction. I thought about how incredible it was to see his body expand, full of fat, more beautiful each day. And I knew Erik loved it too, every bite, every touch, every look of desire.

When he finished breakfast, I stayed in bed watching him get up and walk to the bathroom. His body had changed so much over the past few months; it was an intoxicating spectacle.

"You're such a fat pig, Erik," I said, sliding my hand over my own body. "Look at all that meat moving. Damn, you're so obese."

Erik stopped and turned to me, his eyes shining with excitement. He loved it when I talked to him like that. I started to jerk off, watching every move of his body.

"You love being this fat, don't you?" I continued, my voice husky.

Erik moaned softly, his hands caressing his bloated belly, fingers tracing the stretch marks that adorned it.

"Yes, Frank. Tell me," he begged with desire. "Tell me how fat I am, how much more you're going to make me gain."

"You're insatiable," I whispered lustfully. "I'm going to keep feeding you. I want you to be the fattest man I've ever seen."

My hands moved more urgently, my eyes fixed on Erik's body.

"You look so sexy stuffed with food," I told him, feeling my own excitement reach its peak. "There's nothing I love more than watching you turn into a satisfied, obese pig."

Erik bit his lip, and I saw his own erection grow beneath his belly.

"Yes, Frank, make me fatter," he replied. "I can't wait to see how many more pounds I'll gain for you."

With those final words, I came, my semen shooting across the room.

Final Part

It was Saturday, and I decided we needed to go to a buffet. Erik was sitting on the couch in his now extremely small XXL briefs, his enormous belly resting on his thighs. I watched him for a moment before saying:

"Today we're going to a buffet, and I want you to wear something tight. I want everyone to see how big you've gotten."

Erik nodded, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He went to his room, and I followed, knowing he would choose the tightest clothes he had. He opted for a shirt that clung to his belly, highlighting every roll, and pants that squeezed his thighs and huge butt. I felt instantly aroused seeing him like that.

We arrived at the buffet, a paradise of greasy, abundant food, and we took our seats.

"I want you to eat non-stop. OK? Do not stop until I tell you to."

Erik nodded, stood up, and headed to the buffet tables. He returned with something for me and a plate full of pizza, fries, and fried chicken for himself. I watched him eat, savoring every bite he took. When he finished, I said:

"Go for more."

Erik got up and fetched another plate. This time he returned with burgers, onion rings, and more fries. The obvious pleasure on his face as he filled his body with more and more greasy food was thrilling.

"You're a fat pig," I whispered when he finished. "Eat more; I want to see you get even bigger."

Erik obeyed without question, rising again to get more food. I watched him walk, his huge, round butt bouncing with every step. He came back with a plate of mac and cheese and ribs. His belly was already peeking out from under his shirt.

"More, Erik. Don't stop," I ordered as he took the last bite.

Once again, he obeyed, getting up with difficulty, his tight clothes highlighting every inch of his fat. He returned with several pieces of cake.

We went home hours later. As soon as we got in, Erik collapsed heavily on the couch. I approached him, my excitement palpable.

"You're pure lard, Erik," I whispered, starting to undress him.

First, I removed his shirt, releasing his broad chest and enlarged nipples. My fingers caressed them, and Erik moaned.

"Look at you, with those huge tits and that round belly. You're such a glutton."

I struggled to remove his pants, the fabric clinging to his thick thighs and butt, which looked like two beach balls. He was left in his briefs, which I slowly pulled down, revealing his erect member, partially buried in his pubic fat.

"I love how huge you've gotten."

My hands roamed his body, groping his soft flesh. I caressed his swollen belly, feeling its warmth and smooth texture. Then I directed a hand to his cock and began to stroke it. Every movement made everything jiggle, especially his nipples, which bounced with each thrust.

"You're so sexy, so obese. Tomorrow we'll go back to the buffet," I murmured, increasing the pace of my movements.

Erik moaned louder and climaxed, his hot semen spurting into my hands. I fed it to him, then kissed him, feeling a deep satisfaction knowing I had helped him become the man he so desired to be.

[sorcerous-caress]

I'm so jealous of Daniil. Having only played the Haruspex route so far in both game, each time I'm invited to the Bachelor's place I turn green with envy at how he resides at an actual proper house with a real room and a real bed.

A real bed with a whole bedframe. A pillow with an actual pillowcase!! His bed even has sheets!

He has WINDOWS. His house is in a nice neighbourhood, and his roommate is a very attractive woman. There is actual furniture in his room. Not one hint of fungus growing on the walls or rust!

Can you imagine living there as your lair? Spending the whole game knowing you have a real house with a real bed to go back to at the end of each night? Seeing Eva's face every day before leaving to do quests?

Meanwhile, Artemy is stuck in this dumpster room of an abandoned factory. Cuddling with rats on his makeshift bed, held by nothing but a wooden panel, some boxes and a dream.

A pillow so yellow it has its own ecosystem where bugs established real estate. Is that even a pillow or is it some random rock Artemy found and chucked in there? Is it a stale loaf of bread?? Why is it hard looking?

But no, you don't even get to keep the rock roach pillow because in P2, they take it away.

Fuck you Artemy, you had it good for too long. No pillow now because what are you gonna do about it?. Fold your mattress instead to have a resemblance of a faux sense of protection under your most vital organ during the long hours of death rehearsal that you call sleep.

Somehow, they made the bed even more unstable looking. As if that thin panel in the middle could hold Artemy's weight without caving in. Oh, and apparently, I ran out of boxes to use for furniture because the bed and the table have to share custody of the same box.

We have downgraded into barrels now, as you can see :) No, I don't know what they used to contain inside.

Waking up every day to Sticky's snotty face telling me not to spit in the wind and nagging me about cleaning up the week-old human organs thrown around that are stinking up the place.

THERE IS MOLD GROWING ON MY WALLS. RUST FLAKES FALL FROM THE EXPOSED METAL PIPES DOWN INTO MY CEREAL EACH BREAKFAST.

This single wall holds so much mold and fungus that they started crossbreeding and evolved into new, never seen before types of bacteria. Satan's asscrack is more hygienic than whatever biohazard plagues of Egypt this slab of concrete contains.

I live in the gutters. My only neighbours are an illegal gang of minors with a hatred for furries and another illegal gang but of adults this time who sell me bullets way above the market price. A dangerous neighbourhood where you can't have shit because SOMEONE STOLE MY BULL.

The basement I reside in has no windows, the smell is pungent and fucking vile down here. There isn't even a space for a bathroom.

This is my kitchenette/bathroomette/showerette/cupboardette/surgery tools disinfection stationette/sinkette/watercoolerette/toilette/fridge.

also my buckets yk.

One bucket for the makeshift bathroom, another for holding important organs and loose guts during surgery, a third one as a cooking pot for making tasty meat grub soup and the final one for murky water after sweeping the floor.

What do I use to tell them apart? Oh nothing :) I just mix em up every now and then, oppsie daisy.

Oh and the floors are CONSTANTLY wet for some reason. Yeah sticky slipped and almost broke his neck the other day so watch your steps.

There is also this eerie room with literal garbage and broken furniture right next to the entrance. Don't worry about it, sometimes I hear someone crying and screaming for help when I'm trying to go to sleep but it's just the factory being silly lol.

Now this? This is where the M A G I C happens. This is where Artemy the Menkhu makes his famous herbal remedies and natural mixtures. This is where the Panacea for the infamous sand plague gets made!

In a rusty empty food can.

Falling into a bucket with shit stains.

MEDICINE BABBYYY. GET YOUR WEAK SOFT BONED ASS BACK TO THE CAPITAL BITCH, THIS IS HOW REAL MEN MAKE REAALLL MEDICINE!! RAWRRRRR🦅🦅💥💥

Meanwhile, dickovsky has the view of the cathedral and polyhedron just around the corner from where he resides. He has a backyard with a lake, and all I have is a swamp behind my basement. I trudge through the mud each night, collecting weeds and herbs to mix and trade so I and the two orphans who adopted themselves into my life don't go starving.

Not to mention the gaggles of herb brides loitering outside and giving me a false bad reputation.

That dandy douchbag has a pharmacy, a grocery, and a tailor right next door. The closest establishment to my shrekcore place of resident is a dingy basement bar with shady drinks and no bouncer to check for ID, I saw two kids in there once.

Pov: a qt3.14 surgeon says his dad isn't home and invites you over.

[disneyprincemuke]

oscar's girl * ls2

logan never thought he would meet the girl that broke oscar’s heart

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

notes: guys ive been writing this since 10pm girl it's mf 4am now please sue me i'm sorry this was a long wind up im sorry but dont worry i will be writing a part two HELL YEAHHHH

(logan's girl) // |(f1 masterlist)

oscar and logan, logan and oscar. that's how it's been since they had run into each other during a karting weekend in the uk a couple of years ago. oscar had approached him with a toothy grin and a packet of candy after seeing logan walk around by himself for weekends at a time.

maintaining the friendship isn't the easiest of feats: logan lives in south florida, while oscar lives on the opposite side of the globe in melbourne. they don't see each other for very long, and very often in a year. but, it always feels like no time has passed when they get together after months of separation.

but being apart for the majority of the year means the window they've got to keep an ongoing conversation is small. but their string of texts has always come in consistently every day, responses from the other flooding in the early hours of the morning and sometimes in the dead of the night.

that was, until, logan woke up one warm thursday morning to an empty and dry phone. he brushed it off, taking it that oscar just had a long day at school. perhaps too much had happened in the day to simply text at the end of the day. so he went to school as he usually did with his best friend in the back of his mind.

but one day turned into two, and suddenly he hadn't heard from oscar in almost a week.

logan had sent one follow-up text. a simple 'hey' to nudge oscar into a response. which did help, because him and oscar surprisingly texted for a short thirty-minute window before the australian called it quits on their conversation to get some sleep for the next school day.

until oscar goes radio silent again for the next three days. so, he goes to the one other person in oscar's life that he knows personally.

"hey mum," logan starts, walking into the kitchen hesitantly. he's been dancing around the idea of asking his mum for help to see if oscar's even still alive and has not been replaced by some clone that's somehow less chatty than the one he said goodbye to at the airport four months ago.

"yeah, baby?" his mother stands up from her prior hunched-over position at the fridge to smile at him. she opens her arms as he approaches her hesitantly, fiddling with his thumbs. "what's wrong?"

he hums, second-guessing his decision to bring his mother into the situation. perhaps oscar just no longer wants to be friends with him anymore? but if that were the case, oscar definitely would have said something to his face and he's just been quiet. "um, it's just oscar," he starts softly, dropping his gaze to his feet, "can you ask his mum if he's alright?"

"of course," she smiles, letting go of him. she walks around the kitchen counter to find her phone. "why, did something happen to him recently? break another wrist?"

logan shakes his head, pressing his lips together. "no, we haven't been talking as much as we used to. i'm just worried that something might have happened to him."

a blush creeps up his cheeks when his mother's lips pout as she tries to hide her smile. "aw, logan! that's very cute of you. and very thoughtful," she teases as she starts to type on her phone. "i'm texting his mum right now. you hang tight and i'll tell you when she gets up to text me, okay?"

"okay."

he tries not to linger around his mum's circle of personal space for very long, afraid to let on that he's more concerned than he should be for the status of his friendship. to combat the anxiety of potentially losing one of his best friends, he locks himself in his room and plays video games all afternoon.

he had been in the middle of a game in call of duty when his phone started to ring. he glances at from his position on his bed and perks up with oscar's picture taking over the screen of his phone.

he immediately pauses the game, tossing the controller to the side of his bed. he slides his finger across the screen to pick up the call and oscar, visibly tired, pops up on his screen with a small smile.

"hey! my mum just got off the phone with your mum," oscar whispers with a smile. "said you missed me, mate?"

"no, i was just concerned cause you've been off the grid for a while," logan scoffs with an eye roll. "i never said i missed you."

"well, i'm sorry for disappearing on you, mate," oscar drops his gaze and a small smile creeps up on his face. in the dim orange lighting of his bedroom in melbourne, logan can almost make out the redness coming through on oscar's cheeks. "there's a reason for that. it's not because i don't wanna be friends anymore. i've just been a little... preoccupied."

logan tilts his head. he rolls over to his stomach and holds the phone up to his face. "what do you mean? more preoccupied than usual?"

"yeah," oscar giggles. "i uh... i've got-" he clears his throat, the slight embarrassment getting the better of him. he lifts his eyes from his thighs and moves the phone slightly further away. "i got a girlfriend."

logan furrows his eyebrows, throwing his head back slightly in shock. "what?"

"yeah," oscar repeats with a hint of a giggle in his response. "i've been seeing her for a while. do you mind if i tell you about her a little bit?"

"really?" logan smiles, squinting an eye. truthfully, he's finding it a little bit hard to believe that oscar's suddenly got a girlfriend. they're literally always on the phone with one another, texting and updating one another on things that they've got no idea about in their day-to-day lives.

not once has oscar come up to him about a girl before, much less developing a crush on somebody. "this is a bit sudden, isn't it? like, where did this girl come from?"

"she's new," oscar smiles. "so, do you wanna know about her or not?"

"alright, fire away, lover boy."

they talk - no, oscar talks - for the next hour about the girl that's recently enrolled into his private school. all logan can do is giggle and smile with oscar at how their relationship had gone down.

even after oscar has hung up, logan still doesn't really know much about the girl he's spent the better part of the past hour talking about. oscar simply refers to her as 'my girl'.

the next time oscar and logan reunite in the uk is at the end of the year. their mothers made an effort to get flights close to one another, letting them run into each other at the mcdonald's in the airport unknowingly while getting food before heading to the hotel.

"dude!" logan cheers, smacking oscar on the shoulder roughly.

"huh?" the smaller boy ahead of him looks up from his phone, turning his head to be greeted by a familiar pair of green eyes. he immediately locks his phone and slips it into his back pocket as realisation slowly dawns on him. "logan!"

"too busy texting on your phone to even notice i was behind you the entire time," logan scoffs jokingly as a hand comes up to pat him on the shoulder.

oscar presses his lips together as a blush creeps up on his cheeks. "sorry. i was texting my girl!"

"my girl this, my girl that," logan rolls his eyes with a smile. "did she not come along with you?"

"no, mate. she's off for a holiday with her family," oscar shrugs, biting down on his lip.

for the rest of the trip, logan will often catch Oscar cheesing at his phone. it doesn't matter when or where: they could be in their hotel room watching a movie, on the track waiting for the race to start, or while they're having a casual chat before they go to bed.

one question haunts logan for the rest of their stay in the uk: who is this girl?

though, it seems that logan is never destined to meet this girl that his best friend spent an entire year gushing about. because at three in the morning on a random saturday in may, his phone buzzes with oscar's picture taking over his entire screen again.

"we broke up."

logan would stay up all morning with oscar that day, letting oscar choke back on tears for the next thirty minutes about the girl that simply packed her bags and moved halfway across the world from him. they would never speak of this day again, even after they both relocated to the uk together to start their junior career.

oscar never speaks of the girl he once devoted his entire self to, but logan often finds himself thinking of her whereabouts and how their relationship had changed oscar.

oscar never uttered the phrase ‘my girl’ when he started dating his long-time girlfriend, lily zneimer. now that they’re in f1 together, logan has at least gotten to know this girlfriend.

he is very well aware that she exists: he’s talked to and touched lily. but the question still lingers in the back of his mind about the unnamed girl, even years later.

the thought of her pops up randomly in his mind as he approaches the paddocks for his sophomore year in the sport. that was prompted by the sight of oscar also making his way into the paddocks slightly ahead of him.

“mate, i heard you’ve got a special guest in your side of the garage today,” oscar teases, stepping away from logan as he reaches out to tap his card into the reader.

“what? who told you that?” logan scoffs, passing through the gantries as he throws his head back in disbelief. “ugh, alex needs to shut his trap. i bet he told lando then lando told you.”

“no, your mum told my mum,” oscar laughs. he nudges his friend with his shoulder. “why? are you shy?”

“piss off.” logan giggles as he drops his head, shaking his head as he bites back a smile. “i’ll see you later, mate.”

“oh, i’ll see you later alright. i’ve got to see who’s making you blush like that,” the australian giggles, shoving him in the direction of the williams racing home.

logan chases his shoulder, managing to land a soft smack before he completely walks away. sure, logan had been seeing somebody for a while, and this weekend was the one he had singled out for you to come out and watch his race.

you were scheduled to come in about thirty minutes for now, about twenty minutes before he is supposed to disappear from the garage for an interview panel.

and he’s excited. this is his first time having his personal guest, who isn’t his mother or brother, in his side of the garage. sure, getting halfsies of alex’s girlfriend from the garage next to him is still something, but it’s just not the same.

so, he tries to pass the next thirty minutes as well as he can. and he does everything: he terrorises his team in the garage, then james sitting his office, then alex in his driver’s room.

still ten minutes left on the clock.

kinda early, but i’m here! :)

logan almost jumps out of his skin at the notification that pops up along with your name. he swallows back the excited scream as he runs down the stairs, pushing himself past alex and his girlfriend who were gathered downstairs with james.

logan swings the glass doors open, slumping his shoulders and feeling a wave of happiness in his chest when he sees you standing shyly by the stairs.

you look very cozy: wrapped in a dark puffer jacket and your bag barely hanging onto your shoulder. he almost wants to disappear with you into his driver’s room and cuddle all day. to hell with his commitments, even if it means fighting off his pr officer.

“hey, you!” logan beams, perking up as he jogs down the few steps to where you were. “you should have texted me when you reached the paddocks. i could have picked you up.”

immediately, he bends down to take your bag into his hands and then he pulls you in for a warm hug. “thanks for making it out this weekend.”

“of course. how can i decline a chance to watch you in your element?” you smile, leaning back slightly and wrapping your arms around him. “thank you for reserving a pass for me.”

“absolutely!” logan cheers, pulling away. “let me bring you inside and introduce you to the team. you don’t mind, right?”

“it’s my pleasure,” you smile.

he puts a hand on your back as he guides you up the racing home, pushing the door open and beckons for you to walk in before him.

“ah, lily, you were right! it’s neither his brother nor his mum that’s making a special appearance this weekend!” alex booms from deep inside the hospitality, throwing his arms in the air. “mr american man got a girlfriend over the winter break?”

“shut up, mate,” logan scowls, moving his hand up to hold your shoulder protecticely. “but, yes. this is… my girlfriend.”

he shyly looks down at you, catching your eye as you glance up at him. you’ve only recently gotten into a relationship with logan; fresh, only six weeks into the title.

“oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” lily steps away from alex’s grasp and holds a hand out to you, “i’m lily. welcome to the paddocks.”

“hi, i’m (y/n). it's so nice to finally meet you,” you smile, taking her hand. “and alex! logan talks about you guys really often. i’m a big fan.”

“oh, logan talks about me,” alex teases in a laugh, also extending his hand out to you. “good things only, i hope.”

“hey, i told you not to tell him that,” logan says through his teeth, giving you a warning stare with wide eyes.

“it’s my first time meeting him, babe,” you laugh to logan, taking his hand in yours to shake.

"oh, can i tell you about logan's antics last year in the paddocks?" alex asks you excitedly, hopping one step toward you.

"or," lily laughs, wrapping her arms around her boyfriend to steer him away from you, "let's let her settle down with logan. you can terrorise her after the day has ended, alex."

"aw, but i've got lists of embarrassing things about him," alex sighs with a frown, though he lets lily guide him away from the new couple. he cranes his neck and grins at you. "i will see you later! i'll prepare a list!"

"so we're avoiding him later," logan smiles at you, now guiding you towards the steps that would lead you to some privacy. "have you run into anyone yet? have you seen liam yet?"

you shake your head. "not yet. but i hope you'll bring me to him so that i can get to say hi? i haven't seen him since we bumped into them at disneyland in december."

"yeah, i know. he's been asking about you." he opens the door to his driver's room to let you in. "so, i've got to run for a bit. i've got an interview panel. it really shouldn't take too long. i'm sorry."

"sorry? what are you sorry for?" you giggle, taking a seat in the corner of the room. your eyes scan the small room, taking note of the endless shirts riddled with williams' logo hung in the corner.

"i don't wanna just leave you here by yourself," logan slumps his shoulders with a frown, resting his hands on his knees as he bends over to meet your eyes. "i feel bad."

"oh, i'll be okay." you wave off his concern and lean in, pressing a chase kiss to his lips. "just text me when you're done. i'll go downstairs and find lily and get to know her better."

"that's a good idea! you guys should really go around the paddocks. there's a concert somewhere too, make the best out of my pass, okay?" logan smiles, his hand cupping your chin. he brushes his thumb over your cheek as he towers over you. "text me if you get lost."

"i won't get lost," you smile, standing up from the seat. "i actually haven't had my coffee yet. do you know anywhere i can get a cup of coffee?"

"oh, lily should know where," logan hums, tapping his bottom lip as he heads for his door. "let me get her for you."

"logan." the firmness in your voice stops logan in his tracks, turning around with curious eyes. "i can find lily on my own. i'll be okay - i'll see you later."

"are you sure? i just feel bad that i'll leave you all by yourself," logan whispers, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "i'll miss you."

"i'll miss you too. but you've got a job to do," you giggle, walking out of his room with your hands wrapped around his arm. "i won't disappear. i'll meet you wherever when you're done. just text me."

"fine."

so logan goes and does his media commitments with alex in tow. and lily clearly had the same idea as you, meeting you at the front doors as alex walked away with logan.

"logan mentioned you were looking for coffee?" lily beams, quickly finding herself by your side as she leads you around the paddocks. "i know the best racing home to get a good cup of, but we might have to sneak in."

"sneak in?" you tilt your head. "is that even allowed?"

"yeah, carmen will get us in! mercedes has got the best cup of coffee to offer around here," lily giggles. "and, you should meet the rest of the girls. what are you going to do for the rest of the evening while the boys are out doing their jobs?"

"i suppose you're right," you shrug with a small smile. "but it's my first time here. should i really be caught sneaking into another team's home?"

"ah, you're with me," lily smiles. "i've got you."

so you actually get your cup of coffee in the back of the mercedes' racing home, now finding yourself huddled together with carmen and lily. they had asked you how you had come to meet logan, especially after the driver had spent most of it behind closed doors and rarely showed himself to the cameras.

it was a pretty simple story. you had been on vacation in new york with a group of your friends, minding your business in the corner of a crowded bar. truthfully, you didn't even want to be there, but it was your best friend's birthday trip. you couldn't say no even if you insisted.

logan had caught sight of you pretending to drink shots your friends were handing you towards the end of the night. eventually, you wound up with about six filled shot glasses hiding behind you, desperately hidden from your friend's prying eyes.

he thought it was funny, and had offered to finish them for you. in exchange for a promise that they were not laced with poison.

you had hit it off, and logan asked you out on a date. while you were unfortunately flying off to another state in a week, he had taken up the challenge and took you out on a date the very next night in the heart of new york city.

the rest is history, as they say.

"does logan actually ever say no to free alcohol?" carmen jokes, blowing into her cup of hot coffee. "wait! there's a concert happening not too far from here. do you guys know who's performing?"

"it should be on the race's instagram page," lily sighs, swiftly taking her phone out of her pocket. "but aren't the guys finishing up their interviews by now?"

"it's a long weekend. would they really notice if we weren't here for one break that they have?" carmen points out knowingly with a smile. "and we've got to show her," carmen gestures towards you, "around. is this your first race weekend?"

you nod shyly, taking a sip from your coffee. "but it's okay, really! don't go out of the way for me."

"that's silly." lily runs a hand through her hair and sighs, resting a hand on her hip. "okay, so, let's meet the guys near the pit building. when they're called in for their driver's briefing, we make a run for the concert area, okay?"

"that sounds like a much better compromise." carmen turns to you with a playful smile. "we will teach you how to make the most out of logan's race pass. you're going to have so much fun with us."

"after the concert, we'll head upstairs to the viewing pen and get a couple of drinks," lily smiles. she glances down at her phone. "oh, seems like they're already done. you guys wanna head there together?"

"sure!"

you start backpedalling from your position, ready to follow the two veteran paddock enjoyers. that seemed like a good idea until your back collides with something - someone - and suddenly you've got mildly hot coffee all over your top.

this is the one time you regret unzipping your jacket to let a bit of the cold in.

"i'm so sorry."

"it's fine," you say with a soft whine, turning around before being flashed by a bright orange jacket and a pair of brown eyes. "it's..." you tilt your head. "do i know you from somewhere?"

the shape of his polite smile and the way his brown eyes look into you are all very familiar. but you just can't quite place a finger on it.

perhaps it's because he looks a lot different from the last time you saw him. you were a wee fourteen-year-old the last time you had seen him before you were forced to pack your bags and move away because of your dad's job.

but, as a kid, you generally did a lot of moving around because of that said job. now you're just trying to single him out by geographic location from the many friends you've made and lost contact with over the years.

"(y/n)?" oscar's eyebrows shoot up, your name coated thickly with an australian accent as his hand lingers on your shoulder.

"oh, you two know each other?" lily excitedly asks, looking between the two younger individuals.

who seem to be very caught up in their unexpected reunion. you'd be shocked too if the girl you had thought was the love of your life shows up at your big boy job with your colleagues' girlfriends with a mercerdes coffee cup in hand.

"yeah, we uh," oscar takes a step away from you and puts his hands in the pockets of his team jacket, "we used to go to school together. in melbourne."

"right," you sigh in relief, finally being able to place him in a particular timeline of your life. you finally remember him: oscar piastri, the school heartthrob with a charming smile and friendly eyes. he had even asked you to be his girlfriend at some point, dating for the better part of a year before you had to leave melbourne with your family. "oscar, right? i'm sorry, my memory's a little bit hazy."

"no, yeah," oscar agrees, scanning you head to toe. "it's been... how long has it been since we last saw each other?"

"very long. it's been years since i left melbourne." you lower your cup and readjust your jacket, trying to hide the prominent wet patch of coffee at the collar of your inner shirt.

but the longer you stare at him, the more the memories come rushing back to the time you spent with the best friend you had made in melbourne for those years. you can vividly remember oscar picking you out in pe to be his teammate, sneaking out of homeroom to grab a juice pack together right down the hall.

you had completely forgotten the tears you shed that day you had to leave melbourne. you swore that you would keep in contact with the warmest brown eyes your eyes have ever seen, but you had simply gotten too busy settling into the new environment that had been thrown at you.

before you knew it, you had dropped your phone into the lake when you were out with your friends and you lost oscar's phone number. you never found a way to reconnect with him, and eventually, he had joined the long list of friends that you had forgotten about.

"i," oscar laughs, "what are you doing here in the paddocks? are you friends with them?"

"no," you straighten your back with a polite smile, "i'm with somebody - logan."

and oscar's never wanted to ever tear apart the paddocks' walls with his own hands before. what do you mean his girl is here with his best friend?

[delfiore]

—NOT STRONG ENOUGH.

pairing: leah williamson x fem!reader

synopsis: you spend a few days in london with your daughter as you and your wife leah are filing for divorce.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i don't even want kids why am i getting attached to this nonexistent child

“Mama!!” The sweet sound of your baby’s voice filled your ears the moment you stepped through the door.

You had been dragging your suitcase along the walkway, but dropped it by the door to catch the little girl and lift her into your arms.

“Hi, baby!” You exclaimed and shook her side-to-side. “Oh, I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Mama,” she giggled and writhed her way out of your kisses on the cheek. “I drew a picture for you with your new trophy!”

Without protest, the five-year-old thrust a piece of A4 paper in your face. You let out a quick laugh when you make out the figure in the middle—you—surrounded by bats and the Gotham logo with a golden trophy in your hand.

It was your first season at NY/NJ Gotham, and you managed to win the NWSL Championship for the first time for your club. Instead of returning to New York after the final to celebrate with your teammates, you hopped on the first flight back to London. You needed to see your little girl; after months of constant competitive matches, you were able to finally make time to fly back home.

“You did! Wow, Maevey, this is amazing! You drew this?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow, wow, wow. We’ll have to hang this up by the fridge, right?”

You walked into the kitchen with your daughter in your arms, heading towards the fridge behind the island. You were aware of your wife’s presence in the room by the oven but focused on balancing Maeve in one arm and hanging her drawing on the fridge with the other instead.

“There we go. That looks so good,” you cooed at her. “Thanks, Maevey!”

“You’re welcome, Mama.”

When you set the girl down, like lightning, she was on her feet sprinting towards the living room, no doubt grabbing a toy she had left somewhere on the ground. “Hey, no running, remember?” You called behind her and shook your head.

You glanced back at your wife, who, whilst stirring a pasty white batter in a clear bowl, still hadn’t made the effort to return your gaze.

“Congrats on the Championship,” she said without looking at you.

“Thanks.” And that was the extent of your conversation.

The house you once called home was cold when you left it, now it was even colder. The only warmth left came from a single tiny candle that managed you the smallest relief, and it was Maeve.

“Mama?”

“Yes, bub?”

“Why don’t you sleep in your room anymore? With Mummy?”

You had dreaded the question that had just come out of your daughter’s lips right after you tucked her in. Maeve was a smart kid, and you knew she would have been able to put two and two together when she saw you unpacking your suitcase in the guest room.

“Well, kiddo,” you started, brushing the stray hairs away from Maeve’s eyes. She looked so much like Leah when she pouted. “Mummy’s not too happy with me right now. So I’m giving her some space.”

“Is it because of me?” She said quietly, making your heart squeeze.

“No, of course not. Of course not, bub. How about you go to sleep now, and we will talk about this some other time, hm?” You poked her cheek gently. “Whatever happens, your Mummy and I will never stop loving you, and we will always do what’s best for you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” You leaned over the edge of the bed to kiss your little girl on the forehead. “Now, remember what I always say? ‘You are strong, you are capable, you are loved.’”

“‘I am strong, I am capable, I am loved.’” Maeve repeated your words, almost immediately as you said them.

It was a mantra you repeated to yourself when your doubts started to get in the way of your potential, ever since you were a young girl making your debut for Arsenal until now. Those were the words you echoed to Leah when she had done her ACL, and when she wasn’t strong enough to chase away the clouds one day.

“I’m strong,” Leah had just managed to say through the tears, “I’m capable, I’m loved.”

“That’s right,” you whispered and smiled softly. “Now go to sleep, or I’ll sell all your toys.”

This elicited a giggle from the girl, as you turned off the lights. Making your way back to the guest room, you noticed the light in the living room was on downstairs. The tranquility you felt after spending time reading and talking with your daughter made you feel brave to face Leah, brave that whatever interaction you would have with her would not end in screaming and arguing. The woman was sitting on the couch, scrolling on her phone, a match played on the TV, as it always was.

“Maevey seems used to sleeping on her own now,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Soon enough she’ll be off to college.”

The best you got out of her was a short smile, and you would take it at that point. Your last conversation wasn’t the friendliest, and you had hoped Maeve wasn’t aware.

“She cried for you the night you left,” Leah spoke. “Slept in our bed for two weeks.”

Maybe it was the fact that Leah’s head was pressed against the side of the couch—the way she used to do every time you two had enough time off to sit down on the couch—or the fact that she still referred to the master bedroom as both yours and hers, that made your heart squeeze. For a moment it felt as if you had your family back, and things would eventually go back to the way it was.

“Only two?” You scoffed but smiled.

“Y/N, you know this isn’t a long-term solution. Maeve needs you. You can’t just fuck off to America and come back to visit for a few days every few months.”

“I know,” you said, clenching your jaw. “My agent’s looking at options within Europe. Germany, maybe.”

“Why not in England?”

“That is if any club wants me,” you shrugged. “Frankfurt seems interested, so.”

You’d like to think there would always be a place for you at Arsenal. Growing up, while your peers had posters of Mia Hamm, Kristine Lilly, or Abby Wambach on their walls, you were looking eastwards to the likes of Rachel Yankey and Kelly Smith for inspiration. Your heart was red, white and North London and it broke into pieces the day you had to leave—not because of your performance, but because by then London had started becoming too suffocating. And if you were going to be a good parent to Maeve, you had to put the oxygen mask on yourself first.

“I do want to be close to Maeve,” you said, more to yourself.

Leah hummed. A moment later, she opened the drawer next to the couch and pulled out a thin folder. Placing it on the cushion between you and her, she made the decision to leave the living room to go upstairs.

The respondent line on the first page awaited your name and signature. Hers was already printed on the line above that, the ink was already dry like she had made this decision long ago. You were frozen to the seat with the divorce papers in your hands, and that night you cried yourself to sleep.

You took Maeve to the park the next day. You had extended an invitation to Leah, but she declined, saying she had errands to run. Maeve wanted to go to the playground in the park, so you packed the two of you a small picnic, and a football, in case she was up for a kick-about.

She was telling you about a goal she scored at school the previous Friday when you returned home. Upon entering the two-story house, you heard laughter coming from the kitchen. As much as you wanted to listen to your daughter recount her story, your ears focused in on the conversation and what sounded like two female voices, and laughter . . . Leah’s laugh, something you haven’t heard in a long while. You regretted that that was the case.

“Mummy! I played at the park today, and I scored so many goals against Mama!”

“Is that right?” Leah gasped and picked up Maeve in her arms. “Looks like Mama’s got some competition in the striker position.”

“Hi, Auntie Lia,” Maeve said to the other woman in the room.

You barely managed a smile as you watched your former teammate greet your daughter, trying not to freak out at the fact that she was standing much too close to your wife when you first came in. You couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that harbored in the pit of your stomach seeing it, and, as selfish as it sounded, you couldn’t stomach the thought that Leah might have started to move on.

“Hi, Y/N. It’s good to see you again,” Lia smiled at you.

“Long time no see,” you said.

“Come on, little one. Will you show me how you scored those goals at school?” The Swiss woman extended a hand to Maeve and led her to the backyard.

“Don’t,” Leah said as soon as your daughter was out of sight.

“Don’t what?”

“I know you’re giving me that look.”

“I’m not giving you any looks, Leah,” you smiled sadly, and unpacked your daypack, putting the dirty Tupperware containers into the dishwasher.

“Lia’s been a great help with Maeve. Without her, I don’t think I would have been able to get through the first few months.” Her tone had a slight edge to it, but you understood why.

“I know,” you replied, “I’m not saying anything.”

“That’s the fucking problem, Y/N. You never say anything you’re thinking! You make me do this fucking guessing game with you, and you don’t even bother defending yourself when I assumed the worst about you, and you run away! Do you truly just not give a shit about anything?”

You took a sharp exhale, checking to see if Maeve was looking. Through the sliding door, you could see that wasn’t, she was playing 1v1 against Lia instead.

“Please, Leah. Not now,” you sighed. “I’ll sign the papers, alright? And then I’ll be out of your hair.”

You didn’t see because your back was turned to her, but your wife shook her head, causing a few tears that had collected in the corner of her eyes to fall. Then, you heard her storming past you out to the backyard.

“I do give a shit,” you mumbled to yourself. You did, so much, but maybe your family was better off without you. Watching Maeve kicking her ball into the little goal you got her whilst your wife and Lia pretended to defend her, you wondered if maybe they really were better off.

Your relationship was never perfect. She was Leah, and you were you. You used to love the routine you two shared until it turned sour and you would arrive to training in separate cars. You didn’t know when your marriage crumbled, just that when you looked back to assess the damage, it was already beyond repair. Leah telling you one night that she wished to separate was your wake-up call.

You had seen your friends and colleagues date and break up, and pretend that being in the same room afterward wasn’t the most torturous thing they’d ever had to endure. You never imagined that it would be your turn, and how much it hurt. How does someone be a human being whilst going through a divorce, and be a good parent at the same time?

“Mama, why are you crying?”

You quickly turned away and wiped at your eyes when you heard the tiny voice coming from your bedroom door. You must not have shut it properly. Maeve was standing in front of the door in her adorable dinosaur pajamas, and her favorite plush toy beneath her one arm. You would have given your entire world for that adorable punk right then.

“It’s okay, kiddo. I’m just a bit sad. What are still you doing up?” You gestured for her to come inside. Normally, Maeve would not hesitate to jump into your lap right away, but instead, she climbed onto the bed, and sat next to you like an adult.

“Why are you sad, Mama?” She said quietly, fiddling with her stuffed animal, her round eyes looking up at you with concern. “Everyone is sad.”

“What do you mean, bub?”

“Mummy is sad too. She was crying before you came home,” Maeve said, her bottom lip quivering. “She said it was because she missed you.”

The revelation left you speechless.

Your daughter turned to you. “Should I be sad too? Everyone is so sad.”

“No, baby, come here.” As soon as you pulled her into your lap, she started crying.

“Oh, baby. My little Maevey,” you hated that you made your little girl so upset, arms wrapped around your neck and broken sobs raking from her chest against yours. “Sometimes, people argue, and it’s very sad when they do, but it’s all a part of life, Maevey. Me and Mummy are arguing, but it has never been about you.”

“But I don’t want you and Mummy to argue anymore.”

“I know, baby,” you had nothing else to say that might offer her some comfort. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been around as much. It was my fault, nothing to do with you.”

You held Maeve for another minute or two until her cries subsided into choked sniffles and tearful sighs. “It’s okay,” you would repeat, “I love you so much”, hoping that it might reassure your daughter until she removed her head from your shoulder, wiped her tears away, and through hiccups, said, “You are strong, you are capable, you are loved.”

Letting out the smallest sob, you nodded and pulled her back into your chest. Your little girl, your heir, your legacy, only five years of age, yet she understood the significance of those words. You had won trophies and championships, but nothing compared to the burst of joy in your heart having her echo them back to you. It meant you meant something to her. It meant you were doing something right.

The next morning, after you and Leah had seen Maeve off to kindergarten, you gently placed the divorce papers that Leah had given you a couple of nights ago on the table opposite her. As you sat down by the dining table opposite her, you saw the way she eyed the files like you had just handed her a pack of poison and expected her to swallow it.

“I’ll agree to everything you bring to the table, within reason of course. This needn’t be a whole ruckus for Maeve. Whatever you want,” you started, darting your eyes up to Leah.

She continued to stare at the divorce papers on the table but kept silent.

“But . . . If you still have even just a tiny drop of affection left for me, I’m asking you—begging you—to reconsider this and give me another chance.” You took a deep breath. “This year away from you, from Maeve, made me realize that you two are the most important thing in my life. You make me a better person by just giving me grace and being who you are. And I failed you, I know. I’ve not been the wife and partner you needed, but if you give me one more chance to right my wrongs, I’d give everything to have my family back. I’ll go to therapy, we can go to couples counseling together, whatever you want, just please . . . please give me one more chance to make this right.”

Leah shook her head quietly when you looked up, but then she sunk her head into her palm and you heard a shaky exhale.

“I’ve tried so hard since March to move on from you, eight months since then, and just from one of your little speeches, I’m back to square one,” she laughed bitterly, wiping her eyes of salty tears. “You always give me false hope that it’ll get better, and I hate you for that, because it never does.”

You swallowed and moved to kneel in front of her. Your hands were shaking, but you reached for her hands.

“I know that. I know I’ve been apathetic before. I lost sight of what’s important. I used football as my excuse, and I did it. I won the championship, but there’s still this void in my heart that no trophy can fill,” you squeezed her hand with both of yours. “Please, Lee. I love you, and I need you back in my life. I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you and Maeve, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it. If you’ll let me.”

By then, Leah didn’t bother hiding her sobs. Tears were flowing down the curves of her cheeks like waterfalls, as she leaned forward into your touch, clutching your hands like they might save her. You cursed under your breath. Watching your wife fall apart at the seams when she had been ice-cold with you the past few days broke your heart to pieces, as you pressed soft kisses to her wet cheek and whispered loving words in her ear.

“Okay,” she said quietly and sniffled.

“Yeah?” You smiled hopefully.

Leah nodded tearfully. “Please. This is the last time, Y/N.”

You knew that. You knew if you fucked this up you would lose everything, Maeve might never have a relationship with you again, and you lose the one person that keeps you grounded.

Maybe Leah would be much happier with someone else, someone who treated her well and could fill the co-parenting role for Maeve. You were sure there were others out there who fit the bill, but you were selfish, and you would fight for them because this was your family, your home, your love.

“I’ll tell my agent to work on the move. I’ll try looking in England again, Frankfurt will be the worst-case scenario. Even if the only option is to resign at Gotham, I’ll make it work. I’ll fly home more often, I’ll help you with—”

You were cut off with Leah pressing her lips against yours desperately. You couldn’t restrain the grin that made its way onto your face, as you kissed your wife back.

“God, I got you to talk and now you wouldn’t shut up,” she mumbled, which made you laugh.

“Well, get used to it,” you said. “I’m gonna tell you how much I love you every day, and I’ve got eight months to make up for too, so it’s a lot of talking.”

“How about you show me how much you love me, huh? Actions speak louder than words, right?”

epilogue. A month later.

A blaring alarm awoke you from your warm slumber. It was a Sunday, and you had forgotten you had the alarm switched on. You felt Leah stir next to you, and the corner of your mouth pulled up.

“Christ, what time is it?” She asked, her voice low and cracking. You’d always adored the way her voice becomes raspy in the morning.

“Eight,” you said, combing your fingers through her hair. Leaning in to plant a kiss on your cheeks, you whispered. “We have to get Maeve ready for football.”

“Hmm,” you heard her sigh, and snuggle deeper into your chest. “Five more minutes.”

Your wife opened one eye and grinned. You thanked the Heavens that she granted you another chance.

“Okay,” you kissed her head, “five more minutes.”

Just as soon as you lay back down, and Leah had gotten comfortable again, you heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet, the speed and agility of which you could only attribute to a five-year-old whose enthusiasm for football might be a little too much at 8 o’clock in the morning.

[bunnys-kisses]

werewolf!simon 🐺 (bc happy 3,000 followers to me <3)

you met because you were lost in the woods while camping. it wasn't your fault that all of the trees looked the same! but it led you into simon who led you back to his cabin so you could call the park ranger! simon even made you some tea before he called the land-line.

park ranger johnny or 'soap' said that the truck was out of service so it would have to wait until tomorrow. "you can be a gentleman, right simon?" he laughed over the phone. simon grumbled in response, this wasn't going to be the best idea.

it was the full moon after all.

simon allowed you your personal space as he went about his cabin. he even allowed you to use his bed for the evening. you told him that you were fine on the couch! the issue was that the bedroom could be locked from the outside, usually for his own protection. but tonight it was for yours.

"um... mister simon." you said, "i'm sorry that i'm intruding so much."

"it's alright." he got up from his spot in front of the fireplace. he walked past you and rubbed your hair as he went by, "the woods aren't a safe place."

"i was told only deer hang around here."

he chuckled, "you should be more afraid of men." he went to the nearby kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. he opened it with ease and took a sip, "man destroys."

"well." you stepped forward in a daring move, "you're a man and you're taking good care of this place." you swallowed, "i don't think the entire species is doomed."

he chuckled and took another sip, "i'm not a man."

you stilled, "so like an alien."

he put the beer down and pulled away from the counter, "more beast than man. every full moon, beasts like me roam the woods. sometimes we get a little hungry."

"so you would've eaten me?" you swallowed, you balled your fists just in case you had to make an escape.

he approached you, but you were frozen still. instead of touching you with force, it was so gentle. his thumb was dragged down your cheek, "no. i don't hurt pretty things. but i would've snapped my fangs at anything that tried to come near your tent. so for your sake, stay in my room. so i can't hurt you."

you found the courage to touch him back. your fingers dragged down the scar on his face, "but what if they come too close to your home?"

he smiled a little, "i'll give you my shotgun."

you swallowed, "well.. mister simon. maybe i need your protection?" it was better that you had a familiar face around the cabin instead of leaving it all up to chance.

he cupped your face, "i could hurt you."

you shrugged a little, "i'd rather you hurt me then some other man."

he brushed his thumb across your cheek, "well. then i guess i have to be on good behaviour then." then leaned in to kiss you on your forehead, "but i'll need to cover you with my scent."

you were soon stripped, you realized that simon has no sense of modesty. eventually you were tossed on the bed like you were a bag of potatoes. and simon pressed his weight onto you.

you pressed under a man who could easily snap your bones. but instead, you were doing weird beast-esque skin to skin contact. he rubbed up against you.

"mister simon." you squeaked.

"it's just simon."

"are you sure i can't just wear some of your clothes." they would fit.

"nah. gotta get it right into the skin." he said gruffly as he continued to snuggle against you. you didn't know what scent he was putting on you. all you smelt was old spice and aftershave.

usually for simon, he would've been pent up by now. the day was slowly waning. but he found himself getting tired. the usually sharp werewolf was turning into a metaphorical mush. it was like he felt safe in your arms.

the comfort of simon's bed plus your time hiking left you feeling drowsy too. it wasn't long before you both fell asleep. you didn't even feel the man turn into a wolf.

you simply turned to your side and get comfy against the thick hair that covered you. it was like sleeping under one of those expensive shag rugs that rich people had.

that paired with the weighed allowed you to sleep soundly as the full moon passed the sky. you were a relaxing force to this werewolf and you didn't even know it.

the next morning, johnny came by to pick you up but instead found you under the enormous weight of one simon riley. he was soundly snoring and the ranger just chuckled to himself.

"i'll come back later so you don't ma head off."

(this could be expanded on later. i'm calling it the 'howlin' for you' au aka the werewolf au)

[yorshie]

Hello, fellow raccoon here 🦝 If it’s not too much trouble, could you write about sharing a bed for the first time with the Bay!verse turtles?

Ah! Another raccoon! Thank you for the request, I had a lot of fun writing this one! I went with head canon style.

Bayverse x reader, SFW other than bedshare, set in 2023 so turtles are 24-25

Tags: @jackalope-in-a-storm @tmnt-tychou

MICHELANGELO

This sweet turtle got his nest all ready when he heard you were finally spending the night. Brought in your favorite snacks, hunted down all his extra pillows from around the Lair, and restocked his mini fridge in case you got thirsty.

So when the time finally came and you go drop your bag off in his room, there is not a free spot to be found. His bed is a mountain of pillows and blankets, the small coffee table shoved in front of his tv has everything from pizza, microwavable food, and what looks like three different flavors of cookies piled on top of it.

Not gonna lie, its a bit intimidating. You might even have faltered, if sunshine boi wasn't right behind you with your toiletry bags, happy go lucky energy rubbing off until it felt like the spotlight wasn't directly on you.

the rest of the night is spent in typical Mikey fashion, a.k.a. a game and movie marathon. His brothers occasionally wander past his open door to say hello and to see what the two of you are up to. They might have a bet running on how much Mikey smothers you and how long you'll allow it. Even Splinter is in on it, thought the old rat refrains from making an appearance so his youngest doesn't feel like he's doing something wrong. He wants to marry his sons off eventually, after all.

When you eventually get tired and it's time to delve into the towering abyss of pillows that have taken over his bed, Mikey's territorial side makes an appearance. The door gets shut and locked to avoid anyone that might think it's a good idea to pull a prank (none of his brothers would but Mikey is paranoid because he is the prankster), and he wastes no time diving in after you for some cuddles.

oh. ok, maybe there's too many pillows, because now he can't find you! He's lost his significant other! Cue a mini chase where most of his bounty ends up in the floor in his search. You are not getting out of cuddles. No amount of wiggling or hiding will save you.

the actual cuddling is quite nice. Mikey's warm and his bicep makes for an excellent pillow. He likes to lay face to face, with your head tucked under his chin, limbs entangled and churring up a storm that you knew would have his brothers wincing in second hand embarrassment if they ever heard all the turtley noises he made when it was just the two of you.

He definitely snores, though. And farts in his sleep. Fact of life, don't get mad, because we all do it sometimes, most of us just aren't a mutated turtle man with a noxious gut fueled by pizza and sour patch kids. Dutch oven him with his own farts as payback.

in the morning you'll definitely wake up first, though as soon as you start to move Mikey will be alert. Call it sixth sense, but all the turtles are hyper aware of their own personal spaces and who's in them. I hope you weren't planning on getting an early start that morning, because now that Mikey's awake he's ready to continue the movie that you getting sleepy paused the night before. While getting more cuddles and eating breakfast in bed, of course.

LEONARDO

he internally started creating lists as soon as you accepted his sleepover proposal. Panics a little and moved the date once to make sure his sheets are washed the day before. Everything in his space has to be perfectly so. If someone interupts his cleaning and prepping, they better expect to have their head bitten off. Will have a literal panic attack if you arrived early.

You, of course, notice nothing out of place when he presents his room for your inspection. Yes, you read that right. This turtle will practically sweat as he waits for your verdict on whether the nest is good enough. No, he doesn't realize what he's doing. If you pick up on it don't tell him or else he might start panicking again.

The two of you will actually not spend too much time besides sleeping in his room, most of your time will be hanging out in the main living area. This serves two purposes: as the eldest Leo wants you to get along with all his brothers, and two, the thought of his bothers coming by his room to say hi to you absolutely drives is reptile brain crazy. So you'll eat and hangout with everyone else, and try not to laugh at the subtle teasing you know your turtle is going through with the whispered jokes and laughter that seem to stop every time you turn around.

When it gets late enough and everyone starts peeling off to do their own thing, you'll have to let Leo know you are ready to go lay down. Hilarious if you think He's going to suggest it's time to head to bed to you, he's trying his hardest not to think of the words "you" and "nest - BED! he meant bed!" in the same sentence.

when you finish your nighttime routine and make your way back to Leo's room, don't be surprised to find him on a makeshift pallet on the floor. There is no way you couldn't have seen this coming, but don't worry, there's an easy fix. Simply get in his bed, close to the wall, and start shivering. Loudly. Ham it up. In no time flat you'll have a turtle sneaking up next to you to keep you warm, though at first he will be hesitant. Cuddling you in the privacy of his own room with the expectation of sleep is very different from just chilling with you.

despite Leo trying to be a gentleman during the beginning, leaving you a bit of space and trying his hardest not to crowd you, by an hour in he will be wrapped around you. As he slowly gets tipped closer and closer to the edge of sleep, the more loose he will become. And once he gives in and gets used to the cuddles, he will never want to stop.

He clicks and chirps in his sleep sometimes. You woke up thinking there was a baby bird or something in the room, only to discover the high pitched noises were coming from him, before he transitions into deeper churrs from his chest right in front of your eyes. If you keep very still and quiet he might not wake up, but he will be traumatized if he does and discovers he makes these noises

There is very little chance of you waking in the morning before Leo. This turtle gets up early, but maybe just for today he can slip back next to you, after morning training, just to feel close to you for a bit longer. When you wake up you could just spend the morning talking, he won't mind being lazy as long as it's with you

You'll most likely be the one making breakfast if the other brothers aren't up yet, as Leo is banned from making anything other than tea or using the strict guidelines Mikey placed next to the microwave. But, he is an excellent sous chef, and after you're both fed he will be quick to suggest an activity so the two of you can hang out longer. Just know he's already weighing his chances of getting you to spend the next night as well.

DONATELLO

Dee had about 50 reminders set in the days leading up to your first sleepover, and a mental list he was practically grappling with in between projects. Anytime he'd focus on what was coming up too much, the butterflies would start going haywire in his stomach and he was likely to drop whatever it is he's holding at the time

Needless to say, he was in a bit of a panic by the time you showed up. Technically speaking, logically speaking, he knew his bed and room where both clean. And he knew you liked spending time with him, so why the anxiety? Why the nerves? He's so nervous, he doesn't even realize you've arrived, moved around his habitual pacing to set your bag on his bed, and now you're simply watching him with fond curiosity.

He shrieks when he finally notices you. Practically has a heart attack and knocks over at least four stacks of meticulously arranged cds and various technological components. Eventually joins in your laughter after he's calmed down enough to see the humor in the situation.

Just this once, Donnie has cleared his timetable of various projects to focus soley on you. That isn't to say that before he's blown you off or ignored you, but by now you are well aware how hard he has to work to contain his wandering mind, al lthe little tips and tricks he uses to keep his focus on the here and now and not bouncing from idea to idea.

The two of you will not be spending too much time out in the main area. The time it takes the two of you to procure dinner is more than enough brotherly interaction for the tall turtle. Not to mention, it turns almost awkward as the other's try desperately to not make prolonged eye contact with anyone else. They learned a long time ago not to tease the brother that controls all their devices and the access to the wifi.

Once Donnie and you are comfortable back in his room, the true hang out will begin. You'll play rock-paper-scissors to pick a movie, Donnie always lets you win, but he gets to pick the music that plays in the background. If you want, he'll access his computer and set up the program to make the lights in his room dance to the beat. Curled up in his arms, it is the easiest place to fall asleep, surrounded by fluttering lights that mimic being underwater.

Donnie may not actually sleep, but he stays with you the entire night. If you wake at all it might be to the idle scratching of pen on paper as he writes, his hand moving in your hair or along your back, or to his soft breaths caught in a light doze, a soft churr rumbling in his chest. If you're also the type to burn the midnight oil, you both might stay up talking long enough that the morning slowly creeps up on you before you both pass out.

Splinter often stops by the Lab in the morning on his way to meditate, if only to wrap a blanket over his son's shoulders and move his glasses to a safe spot. It's an ingrained habit, so much so that it doesn't even register that you spent the night until he quietly opens the door. He takes on look at the two of you holding each other close, and turns away with a smile.

Dee can cook, but most likely he'll order from the diner one block above their preferred manhole cover, and the two of you will sneak out for eggs, bacon and pancakes before secreting it away in his room so you don't have to share.

RAPHAEL

If the two of you are close enough for a sleepover, Raph is going to be the calmest of his brothers about you being in his personal space. Sure, he'll clean up, make sure all his dirty clothes are in his hamper and all the drawers actually shut on his dresser, but don't expect much in the way of fanfare.

He doesn't care where you wanna hang out in the evening, as long as you're comfortable. If you're out in the Lair proper however, get ready for some brotherly jockeying. Mikey almost can't help teasing Raph about having a guest over for the night, but the bigger brother will take it in stride as long as its only Mikey. Donnie tends to stay out of the limelight when it comes to teasing, but you better hope Leo doesn't so much as raise an eye ridge in Raph's direction. To be fair, the blue turtle is likely only drawing attention to how soft for you Raph is, but the two of them earning a trip to the Ha'shi might put a bit of a damper on the sleepover.

Leo's right though, Raph is completely soft for you. You want something to eat? He'll go get it for you without even a huff. You want popcorn for the movie? He'll bring back soda as well. You ask how much he can bench? He'll toe the line between showing off and making sure he can actually handle the weight. You neck hurts from having to crane around him to watch the movie? He'll lay on the ground and let you splay across his shell. You blink at him and sleepily ask to be carried? You're already up in his arms before you can even finish the sentence.

When it comes time to sleep, Raph will insist you take the inside of the bed, close to the wall, but he's thought ahead and gotten you your own pillow so you don't have to share with him. Yes, technically its from Mikey's room, but don't worry he disinfected it with a shit-ton of Lysol and Frebreze and washed the cover. This doesn't mean he doesn't want to cuddle, but of all the things Raph understands in his life, the very first few are the difference in size between the two of you, just how much he weighs, and how strong he is. So he'll tuck you against the wall and lay out on his stomach in one of the few positions that makes it hard for him to tip over. There's just enough room between the lip of his shell and the mattress for you to slot yourself against him, and he'll take the opportunity to slide his arm around your waist and bury his snout in your hair.

He'll hold you there throughout the night, breath slow and even. If you wake, be prepared that any movement will rouse him. He can't exactly help it, and he tries not to make you feel guilty over it, but you can always make out the green shine of his eyes peering down to make sure you are ok before he drifts back off again.

This turtle churrs sometimes in his sleep, but it's not the cute or soothing churr of contentment. No, someone parked a diesel engine in his man and is revving it like he's driving up an inclined gravel mountain road. The only way to get him to stop is to poke the thin strip of skin along his side, repeatedly, until he snorts and shifts. 50/50 chance the shifting will stop the churring. If not, you'll have to repeat the process.

In the morning, he'll dip before you wake, and come back to the room with warm pastries and whatever he's seen you drink in the morning. If you want your breakfast right away however, you might have to bribe him with turtle smooches as he tries to steal back his spot and catch up on the cuddles he's missed being a good boyfriend. Yes, he's holding you hostage, unless you want to try climbing over him. You might succeed if you make him laugh.

At some point in the day, after breakfast and whatever morning routine you keep, Raph will ask you what you want to do. If you want to go home, decompress, he'll take you home, but if you want to stay again and hang out some more you'll get to see the sweetest, softest smile break across his face.

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | everybody talks

a/n: don't love this chapter. definitely a filler, but the next chapter is much more fun!

iii. everybody talks by neon trees

series masterlist | previous | next

tagged chrisr0driguez, travisstoll, and connorstoll.

lukecastell4n: little break but we'll be back so soon poisonedmercury

poisonedmercuryfan: new music????????

castell4nsgf: omg im excited

stollsluvr: ME TOO

chrisr0driguez: we miss you guys already!

lukecastell4n: fr, we miss seeing your beautiful faces on tour :(

travisstoll: working hard

lukecastell4n: hardly working 🥱

connorstoll: give me my guitar back

lukecastell4n: no

--

“mornin’ five star,” luke tossed you one of your probiotic drinks from the fridge as you entered the kitchen. 

you caught it seamlessly, mumbling a quick thank you. it wasn’t even seven am, but the two of you were already awake. it became a routine since it seemed like you both had the same idea. your coach told you that you needed to workout, even though you were on probation, in the off-chance that you’ll be allowed to play again when the season starts. you figured that the campers would be enjoying their vacations and sleeping in so you’d have the community gym to yourself. unfortunately for you, luke castellan was an early bird. 

your gym schedules synced up and you often found yourself having to make small talk with him in the kitchen while you filled up your water bottle before you ditched him to head to the gym. he would trail a respectable distance behind you, giving you your space, as he walked to the gym. the two of you did your separate workouts, sneaking glances at one another because it was a little awkward that you lived together, went to the gym at the same time, but didn’t talk to each other. 

it wasn’t for a lack of trying on luke’s part. he’d tried to talk to you a few times, but it seemed to not be a good idea to start a conversation before you had your morning coffee. it was funny for the first few days, but he was afraid that it would quickly cross the boundary of being quirky and cute to being straight-up annoying. he lived with you and he showed mercy to the rest of your cabinmates by not pushing your buttons. too much. 

he still occasionally indulged in bickering with you, which seemed to be all of your conversations. you always found something new to argue with him about. your dad was right about you being hard-headed and stubborn, but for some reason, luke didn’t mind. his days at camp were fun, at least, as fun as a summer camp could be, and your interactions kept him on his toes. the usual schedule of meals, rehearsals, and attempts to write new songs, became repetitive after a few days, but with you in his face, ready to argue at any moment, it felt like there was something to look forward to. 

you took the foil off your drink, downing it in one go. you tossed it in the recycling bin before turning to him, “do you go to the gym at this hour to spite me?”

luke chuckled, cracking open a red bull, “the word doesn’t revolve around you, you know?” 

“i know that,” you rolled your eyes, “but you can go to the gym any time in the day and you choose to go at the ass crack of dawn. why?” 

“it’s peaceful,” he shrugged, “the machines are empty and i don’t have to wait. it’s nice.” 

“that’s why i go this early.” 

“see,” he smiled, tilting his head. “great minds think alike.” 

you grimaced at his comparison, scrunching your face up. the sun was beginning to rise causing an orange glow to cast on your face. despite waking up so early and sleeping so late– he’d heard you come in with clarisse at 3 am this morning after a late-night smoke session, luke couldn’t see a trace of tiredness on your features. luke envied you. he definitely did not look that good after 3 hours of sleep. 

you fixed the zipper of your sweater, adjusting the bottom of it to better fit your hips. you were wearing a tight-fitting workout outfit, black nike pros, and the usual vans you wore when you worked out. your hair was in a high ponytail keeping it out of your face, which was a good thing. he’d seen how intense your workouts were and you definitely didn’t need to have your hair in your face while you leg pressed 275. 

“i just feel like i see you everywhere,” you commented, “and everyone just wants to talk about you.” 

luke’s eyes twinkled, “what do they say?” 

“luke castellan is so talented, luke castellan is so hot, blah, blah, blah,” you imitated the words you’d heard from other campers, sighing in discontent. “like shut up already. i thought that it would die down after the first day of you guys being here, but it’s been a week and it’s the same thing.” 

luke followed you out the cabin door, walking beside you for the first time since you both started going to the gym at the same time, “well, do you agree with them?” 

you stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. your eyes raked over his face and his body, contemplating. you weren’t blind. you understood why people said what they said about him. luke castellan was attractive with his curls and toned arms and his stupid full lips, which seemed to always be in a smirk, but the hype was too much. and poisoned mercury’s music was good– great even, but you needed to hear something other than how muscular luke castellan was or how his scar made him look rugged or how his voice sounded like angels singing. you were at your breaking point.

luke stood there, rocking back and forth on his toes and the balls of his feet, patiently waiting until you made up your mind. your lips formed a tight line, “i don’t see it.” 

“fuck, five star,” luke scoffed, unable to stop the smile on his face. he shook his head, curls bouncing around, “you sure know how to make a guy feel special.” 

“don’t need to fuel your ego any more than everyone else does,” you replied, continuing your walk to the gym. 

you didn’t seem to mind that luke continued to walk beside you, which was progress, in luke’s mind. his bandmates have been on his ass about trying to be friends with you since the rest of them developed friendships with you and clarisse over the week they’d been here. 

he’d seen you on the couch with chris watching tiktok videos on how to properly take care of his curls a few times. (luke was not stealing some of the curl cream that chris bought per your recommendation. his curls just suddenly became a lot more defined recently.) he watched you play darts with travis at the activities center and argued with him about why he didn’t need to buy a dart set for the cabin. (he agreed with you there. there was an incident in atlanta where connor was sent to the er because travis managed to lodge a dart in connor’s calf after losing a game.) he once saw you, clarisse, and connor return from a swim in the lake in the middle of the night when he stayed up trying to write a song. (the song remains unfinished on his notepad, tucked safely away on his bedside table. he had no inspiration to write any music at the moment.) 

again, it wasn’t for his lack of trying. you just didn’t seem interested in forming a relationship with him outside of being roommates. it was getting to him. just a little bit. he found himself thinking of you a lot. the boys started to comment on how he hadn’t gotten with anyone at camp yet, despite getting numerous offers from older campers and head counselors alike, but luke shrugged it off and said that he didn’t want to start drama so early on in the summer. it wasn’t a lie, per se, but it wasn’t the whole truth. for some reason, he just couldn’t get you out of his head. 

“i can’t control what people say,” luke said after a moment. “i’m sure it must be so annoying to hear about how great i am.” 

“you are so full of yourself,” you groaned, shooting daggers in his direction. this made him laugh. “you know what you can control, though?” 

“what?” 

“the mess you make in the cabin,” you replied, “seriously, you guys have been here a week and the cabin already looks like a fucking frat house.” 

luke thought about the state of the common area. you were right. the cabin was a mess, empty cans everywhere, crumbs on every surface, and wires from the playstation scattered across the living room floor. the boys weren’t the neatest, they were teenagers after all, and luke had to clean up after them more times than he could count. having his mom on tour meant that he often got stuck with clean-up duty. 

“hey, don’t blame me,” he raised his hands up in defense. “i recycle.” 

“aren’t you a model citizen?” you remarked sarcastically, opening the door to the gym. you pursed your lips, staring at luke. “yeah, i still don’t get it.” 

luke snorted, smiling at you, “have a good workout, five star. looking forward to walking home in silence with you.” 

when you didn’t say anything else, but threw up the middle finger as you walked away, luke couldn’t help but stare at your figure before you disappeared from his view. what a way to start his day. 

– 

“hi, luke,” two girls called as they passed by the boys, waving flirtily at the lead singer. 

luke sent them a smile back, tossing a wink to them that made them giggle as they walked away. it was a miracle that there were no news leaks about where they were. luke’s mom was happy that this arrangement was working out. 

travis swung an arm around luke, “c’mon castellan, save some girls for the rest of us.” 

luke pushed his arm off, laughing, “trav, didn’t you literally go home with a girl on our first night here?” 

“ah, yes, stacy,” travis sighed, dreamily, smirking to himself as he recalled his first night at camp. he shook his head, facing luke again, “but seriously, castellan, ten girls have said hi to you since we left dinner and you’re flirting with them but not doing anything about it.” 

“i promised my mom i’d be good this summer,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his front pockets as he led the boys into the cabin. “and i told you guys, it’s too early to start shit. we got the whole summer. spread out your escapades, stoll.” 

luke thought that being back at camp half blood would bring back some terrible memories, especially his last summer there. it was the summer right after his dad left and luke was miserable. he was a moody 8-year-old who yelled at everybody who tried to be his friend, which resulted in him being alone all summer. he sat in the back of the room during music lessons, refused to participate in the end-of-summer performance, and on many nights, cried himself to sleep because he missed his dad. he felt pathetic. 

but so far, surprisingly, camp was actually nice. at his core, luke was a music fanatic, so it was energizing for him to get to talk about his music and his journey to stardom. his favorite interaction so far was with two, younger boys, who enthusiastically approached him and said that they were learning how to play guitar and sing because they looked up to the band. it was a little concerning at first, given that the band’s reputation wasn’t necessarily kid-appropriate, but he appreciated the sentiment. grover and percy walked away grinning from ear to ear when luke made them promise that they’d stop by again soon to show him their progress. 

luke sat on the bar chair, watching as connor and chris turned on the playstation, mumbling about a rematch on 2k to prove that one was better than the other. many things changed in all of their lives, but some things stayed the same. they were still just four best friends; the difference was, now, they got to travel the world together doing what they loved. 

chris and luke met in their freshman english class. chris let it slip that he was learning how to play bass because his mom warned him that if he broke another bone trying to skateboard, he’d have to walk to the hospital himself. she was joking, of course, but chris figured that after two years of failed attempts at learning how to skate, he should hang it up. 

he decided to try his hand at music and the bass became his new hyperfixation. they started writing music in luke’s old bedroom in connecticut shortly after. for years, the songs were just for them. they recorded it on shitty equipment and used garageband to fill in the instrumentals until they met the stolls. the stolls, luke’s neighbors who moved into town when luke was 16, heard them trying to figure out a hook for a song they were writing and offered some help. travis, with connor behind him, introduced themselves and the rest is history. 

poisoned mercury was born. travis convinced the other three that their music was good, that they should go out and play at local cafes and bars. at 16, luke became the front man of poisoned mercury. the song the four of them wrote together on their first day as a band, became the lead single of their debut album. kilby girl spent thirteen weeks on billboard top 50 and in less than a year and a half, the boys had a record deal with olympus records and they were heading off to start the north american leg of their world tour. 

you walked into the cabin with clarisse, laughing as she explained the incident that caused her to have glitter all over her face and her hair. one of her campers was having trouble opening the glitter jar and when she came over to help, the top popped off and glitter sprayed all over her. 

“i feel glitter everywhere,” she shuddered, “i need a shower before we help out with concert prep.” 

you looked around the cabin, grimacing, “it smells like boy in here.” 

“it’s our bachelor pad,” travis called out from the kitchen. he walked out into the living room with a fresh hot pocket in his hand, eyes widening at the sight of clarisse, “woah, what happened to you?” 

“arts and crafts day,” clarisse cringed, falling into the couch cushions. “i’m gonna be covered in glitter for days.” 

“hey, watch out,” connor paused the game he was playing with chris, shoving clarisse slightly. “you’re gonna get glitter everywhere.” 

“ah, yes, because having glitter is going to ruin the aesthetic of empty cans and half-eaten chip bags?” clarisse cocked an eyebrow, pointing at the mess the boys made. you and her were engaged in a passionate rant about how much it sucked living with teenage boys before your arrival to the cabin. 

“we’ll clean up,” chris rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly glancing at clarisse. you had a feeling that cleaning was the last thing on their agenda. 

you sat on the bar stool across from luke, “i didn’t expect to live in the mojo dojo casa house this summer.” 

“the what?” 

“from barbie,” you replied, “when the kens take over barbieland?” 

luke shook his head, “haven’t seen it.” 

of course, he hasn’t seen it. clarisse and the boys fell into a conversation about how she accidentally got glitter bombed. luke watched you as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, occasionally letting a chuckle leave your lips when you found something funny. he felt a little creepy staring at you like this, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. 

the sun was shining behind you, a soft glow framing your face and it made your brown eyes look like pools of honey. your nose piercing was iridescent under the light, which made luke’s eyebrows raise in surprise. he thought it was just plain silver, but when you tilted your head in certain directions, he could see sparkles of purple and pink. your long hair was thrown messily over your shoulders, a few tangles here and there, and the god-awful, orange camp half blood shirt you wore actually suited you. luke was a firm believer that nobody looked good in orange until he saw you in it.

“you’re staring,” you mumbled, looking up at him. “don’t tell me i have glitter on my face now too.” 

luke cleared his throat, playing with the chain around his neck, “yeah, like a tiny speck on your cheek.” 

you groaned, rubbing the right side of your face, “is it gone?” 

you didn’t actually have any glitter on your face, but luke figured it would be less awkward to say that you did instead of telling you that he was staring just to stare. he nodded, “you got it.” 

“thanks, i cannot deal with glitter,” you got up, walking over to the group. “hey, we can use some help with prep for next week’s concert if you guys are free.” 

“we’re not doing anything, right?” connor looked around. travis and chris shook their heads. “what about you, castellan?” 

“nah, i can’t,” luke said, “promised mom i’d try to write at least one song this summer and i’ve been in a rut so i think i’ll try to do that. you guys have fun though.” 

“perfect,” you smiled, “we can leave after clar gets out the shower.” 

they sent you a thumbs-up before you walked into your room. clarisse disappeared into the bathroom shortly after. luke took clarisse’s spot once you both left. he propped his feet up on the small table in front of him, leaning back on his seat. he waited patiently for the sound of the showers to turn on before he spoke, “she’s hot.” 

“yeah, she is,” chris said, hitting play on their game. 

“don’t even think about it, castellan. when i said start a relationship with her, this is not what i meant,” connor remarked, shaking his head, “we are not gonna fuck up our relationship with mr. d because you can’t keep it in your pants.” 

“oh, you’re talking about y/n?” the three boys stared at chris, who sunk into his seat, blushing furiously. luke narrowed his eyes at chris, a playful smile on his lips. he’ll have to ask him about that later. 

travis blinked, bringing his attention to his brother, “s’not like castellan has a chance anyway.”

luke’s head snapped to travis, “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“i mean she’s out of your league, big guy,” travis shrugged. 

“well, yeah,” luke rubbed his jaw. he wasn’t that dumb to believe that you were in his league. you were lightyears ahead of him. he’d been rejected before, of course he had, but not since poisoned mercury got big– again, really bad for his ego – but he’d never been counted out before he even threw his hat in the ring. 

“i’m with trav on this one, luke. don’t fuck it up.” 

luke stared at his friends in disbelief, “can’t y’all have a little faith in me?” 

“no,” they said in unison. 

“fuck you guys,” luke flipped them off, ignoring their snickers. “i’m going for a smoke.” 

he really needed to get you out of his head.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ the mood i'm in ❞ ─ an adhd chronicles blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!adhd!reader. summary: sometimes rearranging a whole entire closet is a biological need. content warnings: fluff, adhd antics (i'm diagnosed don't try to come for me) word count: 600+. a/n: this was requested by @ficmeoutofthisworld and i felt the need to make a blurb!verse of it, so expect more fluff for these three 🩵 & the idea of jack calling you honey came from honey is for love by @angellsell

      “Daddy, honey has that weird look again.” Aaron can’t help but smile at his little boy, putting the files he was working on down on his desk, telling him to come closer with his hands. Jack had gotten into the habit of calling you honey very early on in your relationship, that being one of the pet names Aaron used the most when talking to you. It was too endearing to correct him, even after you moved in. You both just let the boy be, knowing that he would call you by name once he got older.

      You didn’t mind him not calling you mom or any of its variants, even if the relationship you shared now was much alike mother and child, Jack didn’t remember a lot of Haley by himself, he was too little, but Aaron always did his best to keep her memory alive in him, so if for his young mind it was easier to call you a pet name, you would take it every single time with a smile. And so would Aaron. 

      “What look, buddy?” He asks even though he’s sure he knows the answer, having been through that a few times over the last two years. 

      “She’s staring at my stuff and sitting on the floor.” Bingo. Every once in a while you would get obsessed with something, it made sense after you were diagnosed with ADHD and he learnt how to accommodate you properly, but for a while it was just a big clash of his organized and controlling nature and your chaotic mind. 

      “Let’s see what she needs, okay?” Jack nods, leading the way with his dad closely behind. They find you exactly as his boy explained to him, sitting with your legs crossed on the floor, staring at his wardrobe so attentively it might scare the unknown eye. 

      “Darling? What’s going on?” He asks without entering the room, not wanting to invade your space before you called him in, instead he decided to lean on the door frame, observing you with his kind eyes.

      “I want to rearrange all of Jack’s clothes but we need more hangers for that and I don’t want to go to the store just to buy hangers, but I also can’t get up to go to the kitchen and check what else we need.” You answered quickly, finishing your ramble with a huff, dropping your shoulders and looking at your fiancé with a pout that made him get closer to you, offering his hands so you could have some support while getting up, you lazily do it, being embraced by him as soon as your feet touch the ground. 

      “Go watch something with Jack, okay?” His tone is always soft, as if your conversations, even the silliest and mundane ones, were secrets for you two to keep. He knew you too well, so he prevented the whine he knew would come–you wanted to get this done, you needed to rearrange Jack’s clothes or the itch in your brain wouldn’t leave–and he did so by holding both of your cheeks with his hands, making you look at him. “I’ll make the shopping list and then you both can go to Target while I get some reports done.” You nod happily, his hands moving with your head. 

      Telling you to watch something with Jack could seem like a mindless choice of words, but it wasn’t, Aaron knew you were feeling stuck and how bad that made you feel, you needed a dopamine kick before you could do something, and no better way for that than colorful silly shows with your favorite boy.

      By the time he’s done with the shopping list, you had already started another important project: Napping on the couch with Jack. So he leaves it attached with a magnet on the fridge, gives you both soft forehead kisses and goes back to work, not minding the fact he did it quickly for no reason, happy you were resting and that it was done for when you decided to shop.