#but then..... feel like it kind of already started
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bi-writes · 11 hours ago
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anatomy of us (2) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader
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type: limited series, part 2 (7.2k) in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.
series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+
PART 1
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Tradition is not something you are fond of.
It’s something forced on you. When you question it, it’s offensive–how dare you question these things, made sacred over time? Why would you want to betray thousands of years of history? Time makes it definitive. Your being makes it natural. You submit because that is the natural thing to do, so in that sense, you submit to it all.
That is your duty. That is your calling. When you are claimed, you belong to them. You are property. Autonomy be damned–your place is on your knees, keeping your mouth shut, and any behavior against that is nothing short of a punishable offense, proper. Disobedient omegas make for troublesome households.
To keep you in line, you must be held at a short length from your alpha. It is what is done. It is what is expected.
Tradition.
Simon keeps a hand on you, curled at the base of your spine as he leads you back to where the sleeping quarters are. You know it’s for your protection, but the better part of you wants to smack him off of you whenever you feel his palm press just slightly against you. When you make it back into your room, Simon pauses in the doorway after he opens it for you. He looks nervous almost, sheepish. You turn to face him, looking him up and down. “You can come in if you want. I’m not gonna carry all my stuff by myself, you could probably carry a fucking tank looking at you.”
Simon finally comes inside, ducking his head a little to make it in. You know this room wasn’t meant to house an alpha, but it’s still startling to see him do it, taking up way too much space to be anything but claustrophobic. He watches as you pack your things, stuffing your clothes into your bags and picking up small trinkets around the bedside table and desk. After the bag starts to get heavy, you shove it into his arms as you look towards the bed. It’s a standard issue twin-sized, with barely enough sheets to keep you warm and a lumpy pillow that you hate. You make a face at it before turning around and putting more things into Simon’s arms as you empty the closet.
“Tha��� it?” Simon mutters, still able to peek over the mountain of items that he holds, and you shrug.
“That’s it.”
Simon’s own room is like a hospital room. It’s too clean–there’s nothing personal anywhere, no pictures or barely any clothes other than military issue fatigues. The only civilian clothes he has wouldn’t even make you think twice if you saw him in a bar–Simon will always look like a soldier, through and through, and his room stinks like it. It smells clinical, and nothing about it is cozy or warm. You stand in the middle of the room as Simon puts your things down. You ring your hands together nervously, eyeing the bed with one single, thin sheet on it. It’s too small of a bed for the both of you. It’s too small of a bed just for Simon–you don’t want to think about the kind of sleeping arrangements you’ll need to fit with him on it.
“Wot’s wrong?” Simon asks lowly. You look over your shoulder at him. He’s putting your things into the closet. He’s divided it in half already, and some of your clothes are already hung up next to his. You look back at the bed, pursing your lips.
“There’s not enough blankets,” you say softly. “A-And…And the pillows, here, I don’t like them.”
Simon turns back to your bag, picking up another shirt to hang. You glare at the back of him. It doesn’t do anything; he doesn’t erupt in flames like you might have hoped, but it does give you a moment to notice how well those jeans fit him.
Fuck. Keep it together.
“I’ll get you more blankets,” he shrugs. “And a different pillow.”
The answer is immediate. No fuss. You want to complain, to bite back at him for it, but you don’t know how you would explain your displeasure. You’re looking for a reason to tell your omega that she’s a scheming, hopeless, naïve little shit.
“...I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” Isn’t that what he had said? Isn’t that what he had said when he gripped you by the throat and made you realize that everything you had thought about alphas was true? Hadn’t he already shown you that none of them are redeemable?
Not Kate. Not John. Certainly not Simon–they’re all scheming, terrible fucking people, and you cannot wait until you can sink your teeth into Simon’s jugular and rip it out.
Belonging to, being one’s own, fuck if you care. Simon can claim ownership all he wants, but he’ll never tame you. Your omega might be pulling the strings at the moment, but you’re going through withdrawals, you think. Your medication was your lifeline. It kept you from falling off the tightrope, and you just need to learn how to stay upright without it. You can. When you get it back, when it’s in your hands again, she’ll understand.
She has to understand that only you know what’s good for you.
Simon places the rest of your things on his desk. A couple personal things, like your jewelry and some knickknacks, and then your bag with the rest of your clothes to be folded and put away. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. At least before, you could pretend like things were still a little normal. You could pretend that in your own room, you were simply waiting for another assignment, that you were just waiting for Kate to give you a call and move you somewhere new, somewhere safer.
“Am I just supposed to stay here and wait for you?” You ask finally. Simon shuffles around the room. He doesn’t look at you; instead, he takes a seat at a desk way too small for him and spreads a few papers around, frowning when he reads something that he doesn’t like. “Is that…is that my job?”
“Dunno.” Simon takes his phone out of his pocket, and he starts typing. “Don’t really feel like babysittin’.”
“I can take care of myself, you know,” you tell him. “I…I have combat experience. I was in training before this.”
Simon snorts, still focused on his phone. He shakes his head a little.
“Cute,” he mutters. “Tha’s cute.”
Patronizing shit.
“I bet I can shoot a target ten times better than you,” you spit at him. His fingers hover over the screen for just a moment, irritated, before he goes back to typing. “And I can hold my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Simon puts his phone back into his pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a deep breath before coming over to stand in front of you. You tip your head back, and he reaches down with a hand to cup under your jaw, holding you there. Just like that–your omega has you. You lean in, just that much. Simon sees it in your eyes, and he sniffs, looking you over.
Maybe he thinks you’re pathetic. In some sense, you agree with him, because what the fuck is wrong with me? You get one look into Simon’s eyes, and something chemical in you fires. You bend, and you relax, and you know if he asked you to open your mouth so he could spit in it, it would take a tremendous amount of effort to tell him no. It angers you and excites you all the same, and the conflicting flashes under your ribs bring tears to your eyes.
You hate yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to say no. You hate yourself for being everything they said you would be. You hate yourself for being nothing like you thought you were.
You’re soft. Sweet. All bark, no bite, a spiteful kitten that deep down, aims to please. The only thing that really baffles you, though, is why you only feel this way with Simon.
Is it because they told you that you were his mate? Is it because he’s done something, that he’s projecting some kind of scent? Has he already unknowingly changed your very makeup so your body knows that you are bound to him? When you look into John’s eyes, you see alpha. You see big, salivating dog, and if you could, you’d rip the hairs of his beard out just to see him in pain.
But Simon–it’s like you can’t move. Every time you look at him, and he looks at you, he holds you there. Just like now, he’s got you, and you feel like he can read everything you’re feeling. He’s being fed your secrets, and you hate him for it, but I can’t look away, please look away, please don’t make me–
“Need to get you somethin’ to eat,” Simon says finally. “And it’s time to meet the rest of the lot.”
Simon is starting to get used to keeping a hand on you. It annoys you a little, to feel his hand at your back, but the annoyance dissolves when you realize this base is filled with sneering alphas. They holler and yell, and they are very large and angry, but they still are small compared to Simon. They quiet whenever they walk past you, and even the whiff of omega doesn’t deter them with Simon behind you.
In the mess hall, you see Captain Price sitting at a table with two others. When you get closer to the table, you cough a little, stumbling back, and Simon catches you around the waist to hold you upright. The stench of alphas hits you like a truck, and Simon grunts as he tells you relax, fuckin’ hell.
You give him a hard stare–how the fuck would he know? There’s four alphas in your close vicinity, and they’re all puffing their chests and smiling, and it stings to smell them all at once. You turn your head a little to shield yourself, and when you filter everything else out but Simon, it frustrates you a little how much of him seems to calm you down.
Smells so good. Get closer. Press your nose to it, I-I want more–
“I see you two are getting along nicely,” John comments, leaning back in his chair. You roll your eyes a little, and when you lock eyes with him, you purse your lips and try to look anything but pleased. Simon guides you to sit down; he motions to the bench, just to the left of where someone else is already sitting–a big, burly soldier with crazy blue eyes. He has a terrible haircut, short along the sides with tufts of curls falling down the middle and over his forehead. He’s wiggling his eyebrows at his lieutenant behind you. Across from him, there’s another alpha with dark eyes and soft skin, and he’s smiling like an idiot around the rim of his plastic cup. You’re a little nervous–you had spent most of your time on your old base surrounded by betas who barely gave you a glance, and now you’re off your meds and being hit with a million different sensations everywhere you go. Simon’s touch on your back eases your shoulders a little.
“Tha’s Johnny,” Simon points to the one next to you. “Tha’s Gaz. ‘n I’m sure ya had the pleasure of our Captain.”
“Yeah, looks like your beard is still in tact, so glad to see it,” you say curtly, crossing your arms over your chest. The two sergeants laugh, ducking their heads, and John raises a brow before looking at Simon with a clenched jaw. Simon just shrugs, stretching his arm out on the back of your chair, and you get the feeling this happens often–John giving Simon that look, and Simon merely brushing it off. You smile to yourself a little, looking at Simon from over your shoulder. When you meet eyes, he stares back, looking over your face. He lingers on your lips for just a second too long before looking back up again.
I bet he tastes good under that mask. Let’s find out.
“Hungry?” He asks, and you blink. Your omega has never been inside of your head like this. You nearly opened your mouth and asked him for it, asked him please, please–let me taste, I won’t look, just let me taste you. You swallow her down a little, and you just nod to keep yourself moving. Simon stands up to make his way towards where the food is, and you watch curiously as instead of standing in line, he pushes open a door into the kitchen and disappears behind it.
“LT’s been gettin’ ye special meals,” Johnny says with a full mouth. You frown a little, and not just cause he’s chewing with his mouth a little too open.
“What do you mean?”
“He has the cooks make you somethin’ special,” Gaz says as he takes a sip of water. He leans back, smiling again, and it irks you a little. Alphas are brutes, disgusting big things with too many hormones, and you hate that this one gets to be pretty, too. Not that John or his sergeant aren’t attractive, but this one definitely enjoys a good mirror selfie, and it shows. “Something not on the menu. He didn’t like that you weren’t eating much, at the beginning. Made a fuss, and now he gets you better food.”
“He can do that?”
“Well, would ye say no to tha’ big man?” Johnny snorts, dipping his crusty bread in sauce. You look back towards the door, and Simon comes out holding a tray. He sets it down in front of you, and you bite your lip looking down at it. It smells so good, and you pick up your fork gently, sticking it into the pasta and twirling it. When you take a bite and sigh, Simon takes a seat next to you, and you can barely hear the sweet rumble in his chest of satisfaction.
Providing for you. Taking care of you. He’s so capable, isn’t he? Look at what he does for you.
If Simon notices you scoot closer to him, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t react either–it wasn’t a conscious choice.
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Simon’s shower has hot water. Not that the showers you’d had were cold, but the communal showers were just that–communal. Shared, and although your escort always made sure you were the only one in there while you showered, it was still feeding off a water heater that always had barely any juice left. Lukewarm showers, so you tried to finish quick.
Simon’s shower turns the water scalding. You giggle with relief when you stand under it, letting it loosen your sore muscles and relieve your aching bones. It feels good, and you take a little longer in there, taking your time and enjoying the heat.
When it’s time to wash your body, you realize you’re missing your own soap. You look around for something else, noticing the unlabeled bottle that rests on a ledge. You squirt a pump of it into your palms, and when you raise it to your nose, your eyes flutter shut.
It’s the eucalyptus you smelled on Simon. A little plastic aftersmell, which you know is from whatever backwater dollar store the military buys it from, but on Simon, it smells so good. You lather it in your hands and hold it up to your nose, and you sigh deeply.
He’s just outside. Why don’t you call for him? I bet he’s listening. I bet he’s waiting for us.
You slide your hands down your arms. With the heat of the water, the whole bathroom starts to smell like it, and you let your hands slide down further, over your waist, between your thighs. When your fingers touch your puffy clit, you’re nearly jolted back into reality.
“Fuck–” You gasp, reaching for the level, shutting the water off. The last of the water curls down the drain, and you cough as you look around. You curl your toes, grounding yourself, and then you get out of the shower and reach for the towel. When you look into the mirror, your pupils are blown wide, and you feel like you don’t recognize yourself. You drop the towel and dress yourself, trying to keep your mind occupied with menial tasks.
Get your shit together.
When you open the bathroom door, Simon is back from his little errand he had run. He’s carrying a few blankets and a thick comforter, and there’s a few new pillows on the bed with it. You use the towel to keep drying the wet strands of your hair, and Simon turns around when he hears you walk in further.
You pass by him wordlessly as you reach the bed. You put your hands on the blankets that he put down, and you close your eyes when you feel how soft they are. Threaded cotton and fleece, lots of thick feathers in the comforter to make it nice and fluffy. When you turn to look over your shoulder, Simon does a terrible job of pretending like he wasn’t just staring at your ass in the little sleep shorts you’re wearing. You want to snap at him, but your omega pinches your tongue.
Take them off. Take them off. Take them off.
“So, what…” You clear your throat. “How are we supposed to sleep in that bed? T-Together?”
Simon tilts his head to the side. You start to despise the mask. You hate that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, not even a little, and after the rather joyous conversations you’ve had with Simon (barf), you can’t say you’re entirely excited to be in this close of a space with him.
“Don’t worry,” Simon murmurs. “I’ll be good.”
Oh, that totally makes you feel better.
Prick.
He makes you get into bed and turn facing the wall as he turns out the lights. He pulls at the edge of his mask uncomfortably, and you realize he doesn’t want you to see his fine. Fine, you think to yourself, throwing the sheets back with a huff, bet you’re fucking ugly mug would blind me anyways.
You cuddle under all the blankets, snuggling into the new pillow that sinks under your head. You hum gently, closing your eyes, and you aren’t able to see Simon rubbing his chest warmly as he watches you. He sucks on his teeth, not truly understanding what he feels, but knowing that it’s soothing the beast in him to take care of you.
It rattles him. Simon isn’t used to this. He’s not used to feeling like he doesn’t have control. He resisted this for so long. He tried so hard to fight, he said no to Kate over and over and over again.
Omegas to Simon were liabilities. To care was to have a target on your back. To be mated meant having something to lose.
Ask Price, is what he told her, ask the fuckin’ sergeants, anyone but me, but she wouldn’t hear it. It had to be him, it had to be, and then she locked him into a room with her, and she leveled with him.
She told him that you are special. That you are precious. That omegas like you don’t exist, that you are one in a single generation, and there isn’t anyone else in the world that will do except for him.
Price, married to the field. The sergeants, immature and might as well be titled barracks bunnies. But Simon–purebred, quiet, controlled. Terrified of himself and what he is. His unofficial pack that he defends with his entire being, that is the only alpha worth giving to you.
Kate had thought about it before. What it might be like to push the hair away from your neck and sink her teeth there. As easy as putting her signature to paper, she could have the CIA running laps to keep you protected, but she knew that wasn’t the life for her. It couldn’t be.
In every situation, Kate would have to choose that lesser evil, and in her world, it would mean her choice would unlikely be you.
Simon? Simon answered to no one. Unlike his sergeants, he cared little for authority; he wouldn’t blink twice saying no to his superior. Unlike his Captain, Simon didn’t mind choosing the bloody way out. He was the first with his finger on the trigger, and the last to sweep a room. Kate knew–if Simon had to choose between the greater good and the omega he claimed?
Fuck the greater good. That, she could count on.
If Kate only asked for one thing, it would be this. She did promise you. She promised she would keep you away from it all. She promised that she would make things right. She promised that she would protect you, but even Kate answers to others, and the reality of this kind of world is that the only way to really protect you was to give you away.
To put you into the same world that you had only begged to be kept away from.
Nobody likes playing matchmaker, but maybe putting together the most stubborn and angry people in the world might save you from yourselves. At least she hoped so.
You’re nearly asleep when you feel Simon come to bed. All the lights are off, and it’s pitch black in the room. There’s some shuffling around the room, and then you feel the blankets move. All of the sudden, a heat stronger than you’ve ever felt takes up the entire bed. Pressed against your back, a solid chest, and then a huge arm falls over your waist.
“We cuddling now?” You mumble sleepily, and Simon breathes out slowly, not responding. When you fall asleep, it’s unnervingly easy. Your omega purrs, digging her nails into you, and when you turn your head in the dark and feel the brush of his unmasked face against yours, she preens.
He’s right there–just a little taste. Just a little. Please, please, please–
Omegas cannot claim, but they can bite. It takes everything inside of you not to sink your teeth into him.
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“You smell that? Smells like fuckin’ sweets, mates.”
You take off your headphones and safety glasses, looking over your shoulder. There’s a few recruits a few lanes down from you, wiggling their eyebrows and licking their lips. One of them crudely grabs his crotch, winking at you. You make a face.
Gross.
“Let me see you, baby. Smell so good.”
You holster the gun you’re holding, leaning against the counter with your hip. You raise a brow, tilting your head to the side.
“Are you done?” You ask, and they take that as their cue to start walking closer. An invitation.
They don’t get very far. You smell him before you see him. On instinct, your shoulders relax with that whiff of charcoal. You push off the counter just in time for him to come up behind you, and you feel the heat of his chest as it presses against your back. The recruits in front of you stop immediately, and you feel a disgusting sense of satisfaction when Simon bends over your shoulder to look at you.
“‘n wot’s this?” Simon growls. You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest.
“I don’t know. They wanna have a dick-measuring contest, but I think they’re afraid they’re gonna lose,” you say. You let out an annoyed sigh, turning again to put your safety glasses on. You put the headphones back over your ears and take the gun out of your holster, turning the safety off as you line it up with the paper targets near the back of the course. “You know. Cause my dick is way bigger.”
You unload the clip just for fun. You’re supposed to be practicing on accuracy, which for you meant slower, spaced-out shots to try and hit the same spot over and over, but the sound of the gun going off again and again helps distract you from the laughing, untrained dogs that are littered across the shooting range.
When you put the gun down after emptying the magazine, Simon is salivating. The paper target head is obliterated, each bullet almost next to its last. When you turn around, Simon tilts his head to the side. You holster the gun, starting to walk, and Simon lets his eyes drop to the sway of your hips as you pass by him. It’s not a conscious decision, the way his fingers curl into fists and squeeze hard.
“Told you,” you say to him. “Huge dick, right, baby?”
Something flares in Simon’s chest when he hears it. Like a switch, his legs start moving, following you, and when he passes by a recruit that is standing much too close to you, Simon shoves the recruit back so hard, they smack their nose against the wall and curses from the impact, blood dripping under their bruised nose.
The rest of the day, you don’t see another rookie walk even five feet into your vicinity. Even without a mark on your neck, you are claimed, and right before you leave your room for dinner, Simon is fitting a dark hoodie over your head. The smell overwhelms you. It’s soaked in his scent, and you turn to face him, looking at him suspiciously. Your omega keeps you from questioning him. She wants you to start walking, because she knows he’ll touch you when you do.
It’s that night that Simon asks John for you to join them. All Simon does is slide the shredded paper target across his desk. John picks it up, tacking it onto the wall. He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s an impressive piece of paper, but being a good shot isn’t the only reason someone is cleared to work with them. Even besides that, it’s forbidden.
“Omegas aren’t allowed in the field, Simon,” John reminds him. “You know that.”
“Think tha’s why we should take her,” Simon mutters. “She’s a distraction. A good one.”
“A weapon,” John frowns. He can already hear Kate screaming into his ear if she ever saw you geared up between them on an op.
“A tool.”
“And what does she think of that, eh?” John slips his hat off, tossing it onto his desk. He sighs, running a hand over his beard, and he shakes his head. “And Kate…Kate would hang my fuckin’ head.”
“Not Kate’s responsibility anymore, she’s mine,” Simon bites back. He knows it’s wrong. In all honesty, the sentiment tasted bad from the moment he said it to you, but it is easier to let you believe that he’s using you then try and make you understand him. You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t get his reasons, and that’s fine, so if he has to be the bad guy, so be it.
The least he could do is make himself useful. Put your skills to work, poke your mind. See what you can really do.
“Don’t let your girl hear you talkin’ like that, Simon,” John says lowly. “Not her, and certainly not Kate.”
“But you agree,” Simon continues, chuckling lowly. “I speak for her. ‘n I think she’d be right in on it, Captain. Wot else is she to do, eh? Sit in my fuckin’ quarters and wait f’me? Wot kind of life is tha’? She needs this. She’s good. I can teach ‘er. She’ll learn. Well and good she will, I know it.”
John sniffs, running a big hand over his short hair before tapping a pen over the target paper on the wall.
“I need her OK,” John relents finally. “I need to hear it from her. I get that, I’m alright with it. But she has to know what she’s getting into, Simon. And no one but you is responsible for her. If she gets into something, I’m not gonna risk Soap or Gaz for it–”
“I know,” Simon mutters. “She’ll be my shadow. I’ll teach ‘er.”
She’ll be good. She’ll be good because she’s mine.
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“Bravo-7, sitrep.”
“Eyes on target. Waiting on confirmation.” Simon looks over his shoulder for a moment, where you’re sitting as his cover. You look cute, he thinks. All geared up. He lets his eyes sweep over the cargo pants that are cinched around your waist. Your nice curves. Thick thighs. Fuck, you smell good, even with all the sand up his nose and the smoke clinging to his mask. You have your rifle tucked into your elbow, and you’ve got it aimed towards the door of the roof.
“Is it always so fucking hot?” You ask, running your wrist over your lip. You’re sweating; you can feel it dripping down the back of your neck and along your back. You’re wearing a lot of gear, but you’ve done this before, and you don’t remember it being so uncomfortable. It must be the climate–you’re not used to this kind of desert, and you need to get it together.
Despite the irritation you feel every time you look at Simon, your omega wants to please him. She wants to show him she can do this, that she’s capable, and you’re starting to not like that she’s behaving as if you and her are one and the same.
I’m in control. Shut the fuck up. Let me focus.
“Just watch the door,” Simon mutters, turning back to focus. He adjusts the scope of his rifle, taking a deep breath as he leans into the stock. He gets his target into his line of sight, and he narrows his eye a little more to watch the group more closely on the ground. It’s hard to ignore you. Normally, the person covering him goes almost unnoticed. Their scent never affects him, not enough to make him look away from his scope, but there’s something in the air way too close to him, and he scrunches his nose a little as he adjusts his position on the ground. “You stink, by the way.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Not my fault.”
“Certainly is y’r fault.”
“You reek, too, you ass,” you mumble, wiping your forehead again. You adjust how you’re sitting, clearing your throat. It’s scratchy, and you’re starting to itch a little all over, too. “Like wet dog.”
Simon smiles under his mask. He keeps his index finger next to the trigger, and you keep yours on it.
“How much longer do we have to do this? I mean…I thought you were SAS. Don’t you guys…get your hands real dirty? I mean, don’t you go tearing doors down? Get a lot of action? I mean, we’re just sitting ducks on a roof here right now.”
“Wot, you wanna go kick some doors down now?” Simon asks. He shakes his head. “The real job is boring. We do things nice and clean, we only get dirty when we ‘ave to. If I can get a target from 1000 yards away, then tha’s wot I’ll do. Besides. This is wot I’m good at.”
“Yeah, you look real good there on your knees, honey.”
Simon blinks hard when something strong hits his nose. It stings, makes his eyes water. He coughs a little, dropping his head for a moment.
“Fuckin’ Christ,” Simon hisses. “Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?”
“I-I don’t know,” you whisper. You take your hand off your rifle for a moment to adjust the collar of your shirt, but it doesn’t help. You shift a little, loosening your tactical vest. You want to take it off, but you know that’s a bad idea out here. It’s hard to think clearly, though, when your brain is cloudy and you’re starting to see things in double every so often. “It’s…it’s too hot.”
Simon huffs, “‘n when was the last time you had a heat?”
“I’ve…I’ve never.” You clear your throat. “I’ve never had one.”
Can you smell him? I can smell him. He smells so good.
Simon nearly leaves his post. He grips his rifle tight, gloved hands squeezing the metal, and he turns to look at you incredulously.
“Fuckin’ repeat tha’?”
“I know you’re blind and dumb, but don’t tell me you’re fucking deaf, too,” you mumble. You swallow, wiping your face again, and Simon presses on the radio on his shoulder.
“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, how long do we got?”
“Just observation on target for now. Why?”
“Need 10 minutes.”
Simon shuts off the radio. You blink, starting to see double pretty consistently now, and you take a shaky breath as you grip your rifle a little tighter. You hear shuffling behind you, and you look back to see Simon moving from his position.
“What are you doing? Simon–”
“Get over ‘ere.” Simon sets his rifle down. “Tha’ wasn’t a fuckin’ suggestion, tha’ was an order!”
There’s something different in his voice at the end. Something more animal that lilts his drawl, and it makes you coherent enough to start moving–like his voice made all the fog clear up for just a few moments, long enough for you to realize you need him.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
You put your rifle down, crawling over to him, and just as you stumble, Simon catches you. You put your hands on his shoulders, falling into his lap, and he hoists you up until you’re straddling him. You feel him starting to tug on your cargos, and even in your daze, you squeeze his shoulders.
“S-Simon? What are you…What are you doing?”
“Y’r gonna go into heat soon,” Simon mutters. Alarm bells go off in your head, and you dig your nails into his shoulders. He can see it clearly–the panic on your face.
“H-Heat? R-Right now?”
“Not right now,” Simon clicks his tongue. “More like a…pre-heat. Get y’r bloody pants off–”
When Simon tugs your cargos down enough, you gasp when you see the mess your panties are in. They’re soaked, drenched until the cotton is a darker color, sticking to your cunt, and you whimper as Simon tugs you back into his lap with your pants around your ankles. It’s awkward and messy, and you’re sweating bullets, hot and bothered, and your chest feels tight. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing sweet about the way Simon turns you in his lap. It’s hurried, but you’re just as desperate, clawing to whatever piece of him you can touch and trying to sink into him. If you could, you’d pry him open and force yourself to tuck yourself inside of him. You want to live there forever. You want to be in his skin, soaking it all in–you want it. You want this, don’t you?
He’s touching us! He’s touching us! Let him in!
“W-What’s happening t-to me?”
“‘s olright,” Simon whispers in your ear. “I’ve got ya. There we are…” He cups your pussy, making you squirm. You jolt in his lap, throwing your head back against his shoulder, and he hums as you sink into his touch. Something inside you curls and lights on fire. Your vision blurs, and his scent surrounds you. “Oh…fuck…tha’ wot ya needed, swee’eart? Yeah…”
Yes! Yes! Yes!
“Simon–” Your back arches, and you push your hips into his hand. When he touches your clit, your omega seizes inside your head, and it’s a feeling like you’ve never felt before.
She takes the reigns; and God, does she fucking pull.
You palm at the zipper of his pants. There’s something there, something you want–and you need it. There’s something in your chest that blinds you, that familiar voice in your head that chants–take it out, take it out, take it out.
“‘m workin’ on it, love,” you hear from behind, and you realize you’re talking. You’re out of your body, you think. You’re not yourself. When you feel him in your daze, big and throbbing under your hand, you whine. It comes from deep within your chest, a bubble of nonsense, and Simon coos. He drags your hips closer, and his cock slips under you, between your folds, and you use your palm to keep him pressed to you. You can’t see him, but you felt him when you first met him, and you’re feeling him now.
If there was any doubt that he was anything but an alpha, that thought disappears when his fat tip kisses your clit. He’s hot and throbbing under your hand, and he is more than enough to appease the voice in your head that’s screaming for some kind of inherent relief that it knows he can give.
“Simon, I need it–I need it–”
“I know, love.”
Fuck, Simon would win any dick-measuring contest, you think. Barely the tip of him, and you’re baring your teeth, gripping his thighs and digging your nails into him as you try and breathe through the stretch. He’s not even fully hard yet; the blood is rushing to his cock, and you moan and cry as he sits you down further and further and further–
“What the fuck–what is it you have in your fucking pants, a-a fucking pipe–?!”
“Y’r so much prettier when y’r mouth ain’t runnin’,” Simon mutters. “Ahh–fuck–’s mine, oll mine–”
You put your hands on his knees and throw it back. You’re feral, brain foggy, and all you can think about is getting yourself off. Your body clings to Simon like a thick, curling vice, pussy clamping around him and taking him to the root. You’re dripping down your thighs, wetting his cargos, and you’re thankful that he’s wearing black, otherwise you can’t think about the mess you’d really be leaving on him. The sounds are lewd. Frantic smack, smack, smack against his thick thighs, and the sound is only making you drool for more. He’s so big. He’s hitting you deep, and you swear your insides have never been stretched this far, but it’s like your body is molding itself to fit him. Like you’re making room for him.
It’s so good. It feels right. Your omega growls like an animal, crying with relief. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted, and she has it in her hands, and she licks at your scent gland until it practically vibrates. Simon’s face is pressed to it, like he can hear her calling. His mask is the only thing separating you, but you can feel his teeth straining against the fabric. They cut over the gland, wet like his tongue is poking against it, too, and your omega screams.
Bite me, bite me, bite me.
“Not yet,” Simon grunts. “Won’t take.”
“You’ll make it take.”
He laughs, and then he punches the air out of you with a nice thrust. Then he’s on you. Suddenly, you’re on your knees, your tummy against the sandy rooftop, with a stallion of a soldier on top of you, taking you like his last meal.
He sounds like more bear than man. Growling, spitting, both hands on either side of your head as he fucks you into the floor. There’s a smile on your face, soft relief that leaves you in your pretty moans and gurgled pleas. It feels so good. The tip of his cock curves and hits against the same place each time, sending pulses that rack your body over and over and over again. Your thighs are shaking, and then Simon slips one hand under you and cups your pussy, fitting it just right until you can grind down on his palm in perfect timing with the way the fat tip of him hits you just well enough. It should hurt. You’ve never taken anything so big–of course you’ve practiced, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing.
This is still practice. You’re not in your heat, not really, and Simon hasn’t lost his fucking mind yet.
Like a fiend, you chase it. The stars, the mountain to climb, the beautiful end. You get up a little more onto your knees and you wrap a hand around his neck, force him against your jaw. You goad him on with pretty words, soft moans–that’s it, right there, please.
It’s not his first time. It’s not his first time relieving an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s not his first time taking an omega by the neck and pounding into her until she can’t speak, but it’s the first time his resolve shatters.
He wants to bite. He’s never felt the urge to bite. If it wasn’t for the mask, his teeth would be an inch deep in your neck, and he’d be memorizing what your blood tasted like for the first time. Your scent is just that much off that he knows it isn’t the right time, but fuck–the need is there. It’s clear.
Special. One of a kind. No one like her. Soft. Sweet. Mine.
His knot swells a little, but it doesn’t lock. You’re not in a proper heat, so it’s not right just yet, but you can feel the edge of it, like the preface to a glorious poem. Thick and spongy, hot, and when he comes, your eyes roll back in your head. It feels like being thirsty for days on end and finally getting that sweet drink of crystal clear water. He pumps you full, creamy and thick and dribbling between your thighs as you squeeze them together. Subconsciously, you’re trying to keep it inside, and Simon groans when as he latches his mouth over your scent gland under the mask and sucks–so hard, it pinches you just right.
The stars align. The tide wanes. You mumble softly, dopey smile on your face, and when your own high hits you, and you’re squirting into his hand, you let his rumbling, low voice pull you back to earth.
“I ‘ave ya, swee’eart,” he says. “Shhh…easy, kitty…Shh…yeah, easy.”
You sigh with relief. Simon handles you with ease. He picks you up, gets you to sit back on your heels. You don’t see it, but Simon fits his wet fingers under the mask, and you keen when you hear him suck on his fingers and hum.
He likes us. Hear that? He likes us.
“Want you to eat me,” you giggle suddenly, and Simon wipes you down, picking your pants back up and zipping them. He pats your ass gently, smoothing a hand over the back of your neck. He knows you’re still in a different headspace. He knows there’s still something else drawing your breath, but he’s trying not to think about it too much. It sounds so much like you.
“Do plenty o’tha’ when we’re in the thick o’it, kitty.”
Back in the humvee, Johnny is smiling like an idiot. He’s sitting next to Kyle, hitting him with his elbow as he wiggles his eyebrows at you and Simon sitting across from them. You tilt your head to the side, glaring.
“What?” You snap, and Johnny cackles. His eyes are flashing, and he reeks like happiness.
“Smells like ye had fun.”
“My gun is loaded, shithead,” you warn him. “And I know how the fucking safety works.”
When Johnny moves to sit in the front near your captain, you try not to think about the sudden warmth over your knee, and the squeeze of Simon’s hand on you.
NEXT
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letteredlettered · 3 days ago
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feedback and fic in fandom (3 f's of our own)
This conversation about feedback on fic says everything I’ve been wanting to say better than I could say it. But I’ll go ahead and try anyway.
Over the last five years or so there have been some great discussions around the rise of commodification of fanworks and decline of fandom community. This commodification looks a bit like enshittification of the internet: a cool site exists; its popularity makes someone realize they can get money from it; it has more and more ads; the site adds features to drive engagement, including The Algorithm; the things that made the site cool start to fall away. The site exists now as a vehicle purely to get clicks, and the people on it are on it solely to get clicks—to make money, to be successful, for some kind of social cachet.
AO3 doesn’t have advertisements. It’s not making money. But what is happening to fandom is proof of concept that enshittification changes the way we as humans engage. A cool website in 2004 was often a community space where you could meet people, have conversations, find cool things, and make cool things. A cool website in 2024 is either a content farm that will continually feed you enough content to hold your attention, or a social media site where your participation will come with stats to show you whether you are holding the attention of others.
AO3 wasn’t built to be a community space. It doesn’t have great functions for meeting people and having conversations. The idea was that, because fandom community spaces already existed, AO3 would serve the part of that community where you can find the cool things and store the cool things you made. It was meant to be a library in a city, not the whole city itself.
But it was also never meant to be a website in 2024, a content farm constantly generating content solely for your clicks and eyeballs and ad revenue, or a social media site where the content creators themselves vie for your clicks and eyeballs.
The most common talking point when people discuss the enshittification of fandom is the folks out there who are treating AO3 as that first kind of enshittified website: the content farm. This discussion is about how people treat fanfic as a product for consumption.
The post that kicked off the discussion on @sitp-recs’s blog was about someone who wasn’t getting very many kudos or comments on their fic, and was feeling pretty demoralized about it, then joined a discord server and found an entire channel dedicated to people loving their fic. But those on that server had never come to share that love with the author, which the author found really discouraging.
There are more and more stories like this. Someone on tiktok pulls a quote from a fic on AO3 and makes a 10-second video with them staring at a wall, the quote pasted at the bottom, music playing over it. It has 100,000 hearts, and 100 comments with people gushing over the fic, which has 80 kudos on AO3. Overall, people notice more and more hits on their fics, but fewer and fewer comments or even kudos. Fewer and fewer people seem to feel the need to interact with the author, instead treating the fic like a product to be used and discarded—which the enshittified internet (a stunning feature of late-stage capitalism!) encourages. The fandom community is dying, these stories conclude.
I agree. 100%. Both of the stories above have happened to me—viral tiktoks about my fic, secret discord channels to follow and discuss my fic—and let me tell you, it fucking sucks.
But from these observations about fandom enshittification, the discussion continues in a very odd direction. The solution to the death of fandom community is our favorite enshittification buzzword: engagement. We should engage the authors. They’re producing these products for free. We consume them at no cost. We must demonstrate our gratitude by paying them back.
It’s as though the capitalist consumption that the enshittified web encourages is so ingrained within us that we must think in terms of payment, in terms of exchange, transaction. Or as though, by forgoing payment, authors are some kind of martyrs defying capitalism, and the only way to honor their great sacrifice is comments and kudos.
Indeed, the discourse around this sometimes does veer away from capitalist rhetoric into something that smells almost religious in desperation. Authors are gods who bestow us mere mortals with the fruits of their labor benevolently, through love; the least we can do is worship them. Meanwhile the authors adopt the groveling sentiment of starving artists: I produce great art; I only humbly ask that you feed me in return.
These kinds of entreaties make my skin crawl for a number of reasons. I’m not a god. I’m not writing because I love you. I don’t expect your worship or even your praise.
I think the thing that disturbs me the most about it is that it suggests that authors (or, if the OP is feeling generous fan work creators) are the most important people in fandom. I’ve even seen posts stating that without creators, fandom wouldn’t exist—as though readers aren’t just as important. As though conversations where people discuss characterizations and plot points and randomly spin out interpretations and ideas and thoughts related to canon are meaningless. I’ve even seen people scramble to include folks having these discussions as “creators,” as though realizing that these people are necessary and integral to fandom communities but unable to drop the idea that the producers are the ones who are important. As though that person who just lurks can never count.
Is this what community is? When you join the queer community, are you expected to produce a product of your queerness? If not, must you actively participate and give back to the queer community in order to be considered a part of it? Or is it enough that you are queer, that you exist as a queer person and want to be around others who are queer, you want to be a part of something? What is community, anyway?
The problem with people raising the authors above everyone else in the community and demanding that tribute be paid is that they are decrying the “content farm” style of 2024 website out of one side of their mouth, but out of the other side are instead demanding that AO3 become a 2024-style social media website. Authors are influencers. “Engagement” and clicks are the things that really matter. They are in fact suggesting that the way to solve the commodification of fanfic is by “paying authors back” with stats.
Before anyone comes at me with the idea that comments aren’t just “stats,” I will clarify what I mean. There are literally hundreds of posts on tumblr alone claiming that any comment “helps” the author. Someone replies that they are shy to comment. Someone else replies that incoherent keyboard smashes, a single emoji, or the comment “kudos” are all that is required to satisfy the author, all that is required as tribute—all that is required as payment to keep this economy healthy.
I’m not condemning the comments that are keyboard smashes or emojis or a single kind word. I receive them. They make me happy. If anyone wants to leave such a comment on my fics, I’m really grateful for it. But this is not community-building. This is a transaction. In @yiiiiiiiikes25’s excellent response in the post linked at the beginning, they point out that “you have a cool hat” is something that is “perfectly nice” to hear from someone—and it is! We all want to be told we have a cool hat! But as they go on to say, what builds community is interactions that are deep and specific, interactions that are rich in quality, not in quantity. A kudos or a comment that says only ❤️are lovely things to receive, but they don’t build community.
My reaction, when I see people begging for kudos and comments as the only means by which to keep fandom community alive, is very close to @eleadore's. I want to say, “No. Readers do not need to comment or kudos. Believe not these hucksters who claim to know the appropriate method of fandom participation. Participate as you feel able, or not at all; nothing is required of you.”
I’ve been told before (several times) that I’m not qualified to participate in such discussions because I am an established author who has some fics with very high stats. It doesn’t matter that I have also been a new writer with almost no one reading my fics. It doesn’t matter that I still write in new fandoms where no one in that fandom knows me. It doesn’t matter that I, like any human being, still care about receiving recognition and attention and praise.
And maybe that’s correct. I personally don’t think that billionaires have a place in deciding the direction of the economy, and--if we're really going to consider fandom an economy--in fandom terms, if I’m not a billionaire, or even a millionaire, I’m definitely in the infamous “one percent.” So, just as no one wants to hear Elon Musk say “money isn’t everything,” maybe it’s not my place to say “kudos isn’t required, actually.”
That said, I’m not the only one who has a problem with the stats-based discourse around fandom community. However, the main counter-response to this discussion I see goes something like this: you shouldn’t be writing fic for validation. If you’re writing for attention, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. Authors should write fic because they love it without any expectation of return.
This is, in my opinion, missing the point of what is meant by fandom community.
I wrote fanfic before I knew that fanfic, as a concept, existed. I read books; I wanted them to be different; I wrote little stories for myself with new endings, with self-inserts, with cross-overs, with alternate universes. I did it for myself in the 90s. It never occurred to me that anyone else would do this, much less that people would share.
As @faiell points out—creating and sharing are two different things. I created fics for myself, but I decided to share them in the early 2000s because other people might like them, too. And of course, I wanted to hear whether other people liked them. How could I not? I might decorate my home just for me and not for anyone else’s preferences, but when people come over and say my house is nice, how can I not enjoy that? And if a lot of people think my house is nice, which encourages me to post pictures of it online, isn’t it understandable I might do so with the hope that more people will say my house is nice? And, honestly, if no one is appreciating my pictures, I probably won’t continue to go through the trouble of taking them and posting them. I’ll just enjoy my house that I decorated without sharing, the end.
When I found out there were whole fannish communities where people discussed canon and tossed ideas around about it, made theories and prompts and insights into the characters, fics they had written and recs for other fics and analyses of fics and art based on fics and fics based on art—I wanted to be a part of that, too. Now, sometimes, I write fic not out of an internal need to do so but out of a desire to participate in that community.
The idea that we write fic only for the love of it, then post it only because we possess it, is a process entirely centered on the self. It’s fandom in a vacuum. The idea that we share this thing, that we feel pleasure if someone likes it but feel nothing at all if no one says anything about it, that it’s completely okay to be ignored and unseen—that’s not what a community is either. That’s some weird sort of self-aggrandizement through self-effacement—because yes, there is often a weird kind of virtue-signaling in this kind of discourse.
I say this as someone who has virtue-signaled in that way: “some people write for stats, but I write for myself.” It’s bullshit. Sure, I write for myself, but why post it on the internet? Honestly, said virtue has a whiff of the capitalist machine, which would like you to produce for the sake of production, work for the sake of work. The noblest among us expect no recompense for that which they give!
The reason that I’m bringing this back around to capitalism is that capitalism actively works to dismantle community. The reason that folks are out here pleading for “engagement” in order to “pay back” authors for the products they give us “for free” is because people no longer even have the language to discuss how to participate in meaningful community. And frankly, how to build back fandom community, in the face of enshittification, is getting harder and harder to see.
But I do think that if we value fanfic and the fanfic community, it’s really, really not constructive to judge whether someone’s reasons for writing fanfic are valid. It’s also weird to me that it would be considered wrong that someone’s reason for sharing fanfic is because they would like to receive some recognition for it, when in fact that seems to be the most natural reason in the world for sharing something so private and vulnerable with the world.
Let’s go back to that idea of how hurtful it is to find out your fanfic is trending on tiktok without anyone from tiktok saying anything to you about your fic, or how it can be painful to find out there’s a secret discord channel dedicated to your fic. The people who respond to that with, “Ah, but you shouldn’t be writing to get attention!” are missing the point. The fic did get attention. It got lots. Attention obviously wasn't why the writer was writing--they were writing to participate, and they didn't get to. At all.
However, if your conclusion is that the author was upset because these particular stats were not accruing under this author’s profile, thereby preventing them from achieving the vaunted status of BNF and influencer—I don’t know, maybe you’re right. But I don’t think that’s why I, personally, have been hurt by these things, and I doubt it’s what hurt the people in these posts either. They’re hurt because they want to participate, and they have been systematically excluded by the very people they thought were part of the community they thought they could participate in.
Sure, if those folks from tiktok and the discord server all came and showered the author with kudos and comments that said “kudos,” the author might have felt satisfied enough with the quantity of this recognition that they would continue writing. But in the end, this still does nothing to address the problem of fandom community, in which the deep, meaningful recognition, interactions, and relationships in fandom are getting harder and harder to have and to build, as a result of how people now expect to engage in online spaces.
So, how to address the problem of fandom community? You probably read this long, long post hoping that I had an answer, and for that I must apologize. I don’t have solutions. My intent was to be descriptive, rather than prescriptive. I wished to outline the problems that I’m seeing in what was hopefully a slightly new or at least thought-provoking way, rather than offer solutions.
But, now that I’m talking about being prescriptive, maybe I can offer one suggestion, which is—maybe the solution to this isn’t about prescribing behavior. I do understand the irony in writing a prescription saying we shouldn’t prescribe people, but I’m going to write it anyway:
Maybe we shouldn’t be telling anyone the appropriate reasons for writing fanfic or for sharing it. Maybe we shouldn’t be telling readers they need to kudos or need to comment. If we’re going to go pointing fingers, we should be pointing at the institutions of capitalism that have made the internet what it is today—but I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem either.
But I do think that describing this problem, understanding what it actually is, not blaming readers for it and not blaming authors for it—I do think that helps. The discussion I linked at the beginning of this post is what I think of as the fandom I miss, the fandom that's now harder and harder to access, the fandom that is dying. That fandom was a social space where people had opinions and disagreed and went back and forth and gazed at their navels and then talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
In the words of @yiiiiiiiikes25, it was a fuckin’ discussion about hats. And we’re hungry for it.
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hanniebaeee · 2 days ago
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Teddy Bear
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Felix x fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MDNI
Genre: established relationship, fluff, smut
Summary: Your boyfriend comes to visit you wearing the cutest bear hoodie and not so innocent intentions.
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You are just out of the shower and pulling on a night dress when you hear the doorbell. Your heart leaps. He’s finally here! Felix is finally back after weeks of tours and performances.
You rush to the door, yanking it open with barely contained excitement, and immediately freeze.
There he stands - Felix. 
Wearing a black, fluffy bear hoodie.
With ears. Fucking bear ears.
He smiles at you like some sinfully cute forest creature that’s just wandered onto your doorstep. The hoodie hugs him snugly, and his blonde hair peeks out messily, enhancing the freckles dusting his sharp cheekbones.
And his eyes. Oh his eyes. The look he is giving you is the exact opposite of his soft, fluffy outfit.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say and Felix’s lips curl into a knowing smirk as he leans casually against the doorframe.
“I-" You choke on your words, taking a moment to point an accusing finger. “How do you do this?”
He chuckles, stepping inside and kicking off his sneakers.
“I'm not doing anything!” he says, his voice so deep and sultry, you have all sorts of thoughts right now.
You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms in front of your chest.
“Lee Felix, you better stop using that voice while wearing those ears, or-” you warn him.
“Or what?” He’s close now, and smells like vanilla and musk, and it’s making your head spin.
You sigh dramatically, already defeated.
“Only you can pull off looking like a teddy bear while making me want to climb you like a tree.” you complain and he laughs, the kind that starts low in his chest and blossoms.
You can’t resist him anymore, and you throw yourself into his arms, wrapping him in a tight hug. His arms go around your waist, and you feel his lips against your neck.
“I missed you,” you mumble against his shoulder.
You pull back to plant kisses all over his face, your lips brushing over his freckles, his soft cheeks, the tip of his nose. He grins as you squish his cheeks with your palms because how could you not? He looks so utterly edible.
“Missed you too, baby,” he replies, his voice low and velvety.
His tugs you closer and says, “So…about climbing me like a tree-”
“Felix!”
“What?” He says, laughing again. “You said it first, love.”
“I can’t with you. Take off that hoodie if you’re gonna be -”
“Not a chance.” His hands settle firmly on your hips now. “You’ll just have to deal with me like this.”
Your brain short-circuits, and all you can do is stare at him, heat crawling up your neck.
“You're crazy,”
“Ah, you love it.” He leans in to kiss you, his lips warm and soft but insistent. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you forget everything else. He hums softly as his tongue brushes against your. 
You're a bit dazed, your cheeks flushed and mind swimming, as you pull back, catching your breath. And Felix is standing there with the most infuriatingly cocky grin, his fluffy bear hood still perched atop his head.
You huff, turning away, only for him to grab your wrist and pull you back against his chest and loops his arms around your waist. His nose brushes your cheek, and then slowly moves down, nuzzling into your neck. His bear ears brush your skin and you try to get away from him, laughing.
“Lix, what are you doing?!” You whine.  
“Using my hoodie against you,” he says, his voice muffled as he continues to rub his face and bear ears against your cheek and neck.
“STOP!!” But then again, you're laughing, and Felix only does it more, tickling your sides with his hands and brushing his fluffy hood against your face like an actual bear cub. 
“You’re evil,” you gasp, trying to shove him away, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he walks you backwards towards the couch.  
“Evil?” he echoes, his eyes sparkling. “I’m adorable. Just look at these ears.”  
Before you can respond, you fall back onto the couch and Felix leans down, so close that his lips hover just above yours.
“Adorable?” you ask, cupping his cheek.
His smirk softens, but his gaze remains dark. 
“Mhm. Irresistible, even”
He plops down on the couch next to you and pats his lap.
“C'mere,”
He lets you straddle him, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his hoodie, and his arms wrap around you, holding you tight.   
“I love you,” He says, giving you a soft smile (which actually goes with his outfit for once).
You press your forehead against his, and press a quick kiss on the tip of his nose, saying. “I love you, you idiot.”
Felix chuckles, kissing you again - deeper, sweeter and a whole lot needier. Your tongues dance together, and you sigh, cupping his cheeks. You can't put into words how much you have missed him. This man means the world to you. He is your everything. Bear ears and all. 
Felix's hands roamed your body, caressing your breasts, and hips and slips lower to cup your ass, before pulling you closer. You can feel his desire growing, his erection pressing against you.
Felix moans softly as you shift, and sit on his hardening length. The sensation of his bulge against your core sends a jolt of pleasure through your body. Locking eyes with Felix, you kiss him, before grinding your hips over his, slowly. Felix groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your thighs, encouraging you to move.
"Fuck, baby, you feel so good," he whispered between kisses. "Please don't stop,”
You don't intend to. And the room is silent except for your ragged breaths and moans. And it doesn't take long for you to feel that knot inside you, and seeing your body tense, Felix holds you tighter, his own hips moving with yours. You shudder as you tip over the edge, and Felix follows, whimpering as he cums.
He blinks up at you, those big eyes looking at you  with an innocence that has you pulling him into a possessive hug. His lips twitch as he smiles, that wicked glint making an appearance again. 
“Look what you did to me,” he says, teasingly.
“Mhm, you poor thing,” You say, your thumb brushing his lower lip. 
His gaze drops to your lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.  
“What?” you ask, your voice barely audible.  
"I'm a teddy bear. A cuddly little thing who just wants affection. And you…you ruined me." He says, eyes twinkling with mischief. 
You sigh, running your fingers over his cute bear ears.
"I knew you loved it." He teases, and you laugh in defeat, your body heating up even more.
"Okay, Mr. Teddy Bear, I do love it.”
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a/n: Short, but I've been craving him since he wore this hoodie. He's so adorable, I can't-
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certaimromance · 2 days ago
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𝜗𝜚 Spooky Call.
Spencer Reid x Hotchner!reader
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Summary: When your boyfriend gets a call from you, the last thing he expects to hear is that you're being held at a police station for decorating your house.
Words: 2,2k.
TW: fem!reader. mention of haley's death, jack, crime, murder, blood (fake). reader was arrested (obviously). implication that the reader is wearing jeans and shirt (not very descriptive). reader is hotch's sister. established relationship. spencer being the standard. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: This was the last fic of my october special, but I had problems and never posted it, so I had to change the plot a bit and here it is.
♡ Enjoy! ♡
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You’ve always hated asking for help. It wasn’t just a matter of pride—it was the belief that you could, and should, handle everything yourself. Life, however, had a cruel way of reminding you that it didn’t always work like that. Everyone needs help sometimes. At least, that’s what people—well-meaning friends, family, even your boyfriend—kept telling you. We live in a society; there are people who love you; they’d want to help, they’d say. Blah, blah, blah. The sentiment was kind, sure, but it never stuck with you. Not really.
Today, though, maybe you should’ve listened.
All you wanted was to throw your nephew a belated Halloween party. It wasn’t like you were planning anything crazy. Just a few decorations, some music, and a bit of creativity—how hard could it be? Nothing about it seemed complicated or dangerous, not at first. You’d seen your brother overwhelmed trying to keep things normal for Jack, and you figured this was something you could handle on your own. Something small but meaningful.
Somehow, things got out of your control, and now you were sitting in your boyfriend's car in the police station parking lot trying to organize your thoughts to explain to him how you had ended up arrested in the first place.
“This has a perfectly reasonable and not at all criminal explanation. I swear.” You began to speak as you noticed by the watch on his wrist that three minutes of complete silence had already passed.
It had only been a year since you started dating officially, and there were still some things you were afraid Spencer would see, especially the things that got you in trouble for doing stupid things. You'd liked him for a long time, even before he realized you could be more than just his friend and his boss's sister. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin everything and make him run away in terror, even though that didn't sound very much like him or his values.
“This better be a good explanation,” Reid finally said, his voice calm but tinged with confusion. He placed the car keys down in the cupholder and turned to look at you fully. “Because right now, I’m struggling to understand how decorating your house could get you arrested.”
You squirmed in your seat, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter. “It’s…complicated,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.
Please don't think I'm weird. Please don't think I'm weird. Please don't think I'm weird. That was the only thing that kept repeating in your mind.
“I’m sure it is,” he finally said, his tone dry but still patient, his gaze never wavering.
You exhaled sharply, dragging your hands down your face. “Okay. So, I started with simple decorations—some cobwebs, pumpkins, and all the usual stuff. But it just…it wasn’t enough. I wanted to do something big. Something really cool.”
He raised an eyebrow, silently urging you to continue.
“So, I got this idea,” you said, hesitating. You could already feel the heat rising in your face. “I took a garbage bag, stuffed it with paper to make it look like a body, and then—” You paused, your voice dropping slightly. “Then I added some fake blood. A lot of fake blood.”
His eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying to hold back a laugh. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” you admitted, wincing. “But it looked amazing! For like…five minutes.” You gestured vaguely toward the dashboard, trying to find the words to defend yourself. “I might have spilled some of the fake blood on the lawn. And…it might’ve looked a little too real.”
Too real, extra real.
“A little?” Spencer asked, incredulous. “You mean realistic enough to make the neighbors call the cops?”
You winced, expecting him to think you were ridiculous—or worse, stupid. But then, to your surprise, his lips quirked into a soft laugh.
“Hey, don’t laugh at me!” You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest when you saw the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
Yeah, maybe you didn't want him to think you were weird, but you didn't like being laughed at either.
“I’m not laughing,” he said, though the hint of amusement in his voice betrayed him.
“You are absolutely laughing,” you huffed, your pout deepening. “It’s not funny, Spencer.”
He took a deep breath, finally managing to suppress his laughter—mostly. His hand reached out to tilt your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. The warmth in his hazel eyes softened the sting of your embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, though his lips still twitched with the ghost of a smile. “I really am, angel. But you have to admit, you went a little overboard with the ‘terrifying’ concept.”
And there it was, the kind of sweetness that had made you fall for him so hard. The kind you'd expect to receive without question after spending at least half an hour locked in a filthy cell.
You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Okay, maybe. But in my head, it wasn’t that bad,” you said weakly. “It just…went a little wrong.”
“A little?” he repeated, his eyebrows raising again. “You got arrested. You scared half the neighborhood into thinking they’d stumbled onto a crime scene.”
“At least it wasn’t illegal!” You shot back, crossing your arms defensively. “I didn’t actually hurt anyone. I just made a mess. With fake blood.”
Spencer’s gaze dropped to your hands, where smears of red clung stubbornly to your skin. His eyes flicked to your clothes—your jeans, your shirt, both stained with dried streaks of crimson. A slow grin spread across his face.
“It wasn’t illegal, but now you look like you walked off the set of a slasher movie,” he said, his voice filled with teasing affection. “Here—and here.” He gestured to a streak of red on your shoulder, then another on your cheek.
You were about to protest when he suddenly leaned in. His face was so close now, his breath warm against your skin. Before you could say another word, his lips brushed softly against yours—a brief, gentle kiss that caught you off guard. You froze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat. Then, as if it had all been a slow, perfect dance, you melted into him. His lips were warm and tender, the kiss slow and sweet, like a quiet promise that everything, even in the chaos of your night, was going to be okay.
When he pulled back, your breath caught, your chest fluttering in that way only he could make you feel. His grin was wide, playful, but there was something else in his eyes—a depth, a tenderness that made your heart thud. You blinked up at him, still dazed from the warmth of his kiss.
“For the record,” he murmured, his voice soft, his lips still dangerously close to yours, “I never thought you were a criminal. Just a little…overly enthusiastic.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, warm sound bubbling out of you. “Overly enthusiastic,” you echoed, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”
“And messy,” he added, his eyes twinkling as they lingered on the fake blood smeared across your face.
“Don’t push your luck, Dr. Reid,” you warned, though the smile on your face betrayed you.
Spencer chuckled softly, the sound melting into the quiet of the car. He leaned in then, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss that felt like a promise—quiet, tender, and full of unspoken reassurance. The warmth of his touch seeped into you, and you closed your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the comfort of his presence.
As he pulled back, he studied you with that signature look—the one that always made you feel like he could see straight into your soul. His brow furrowed slightly, and you recognized that expression well: the one he wore when he was about to ask something important, when he wanted to understand you better. It was a look that never failed to make your heart flutter, even if it made you feel vulnerable.
“Okay,” he said slowly, his tone gentler now. “I get wanting to make the decorations amazing, but why was it so important? Why go all out to the point of, well…” He gestured vaguely toward you, his lips twitching again. “Fake crime scene levels of effort?”
You hesitated, his question hitting you like a wave. You knew the answer, but speaking it aloud felt heavier than you had anticipated. It was as though the words themselves had a weight you hadn’t been prepared to carry. You lowered your gaze, absently picking at the hem of your shirt as you fought to find the right words, your mind tangled in emotions that were hard to articulate.
Reid didn’t push, though. His silence was patient, waiting for you to open up at your own pace. It was one of the things you adored about him—the way he didn’t rush, didn’t demand. He just let you be, trusting you would share when you were ready.
Finally, you exhaled a shaky breath and met his eyes, the vulnerability in your voice clear as you spoke. “It’s not just about the decorations,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about Jack.”
His expression shifted immediately, his eyes softening with understanding but remaining focused as you continued.
“I just…” You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I want to be the perfect aunt for him, you know? Someone who makes things better, even if just for a little while. He’s been through so much—losing Hayley, seeing my brother juggle everything just to make sure Jack’s okay…” Your voice wavered, and you clenched your hands to steady yourself. “He’s only a kid. He deserves to feel happy and safe and…loved.”
Maybe that last word was too personal, and maybe your boyfriend noticed.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent offer of comfort. You took his hand, the warmth of his touch grounding you enough to keep going.
“I know I can’t replace his mom, and I’d never try to,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought maybe, just maybe, if I did this party right—if I made it something really special—it could be a distraction. Something fun. Something he could look back on and smile about instead of just…” You trailed off, biting your lip as the words lodged in your throat.
He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “Instead of just remembering what he’s lost,” he finished for you, his voice soft and understanding.
You nodded, blinking back the sting of tears. “Yeah.”
The car was quiet for a moment, the weight of your confession settling between you. Then Spencer shifted closer, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray tear from your cheek. The tenderness in his touch made your chest ache in a way that was both painful and comforting.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” he said gently, his voice steady and sure. “You’re already doing more for him than you realize. Just by being there, by loving him the way you do…that’s what matters. Not decorations or parties or anything else.”
His words hit you squarely in the heart, and you let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a fraction. “I just wanted it to be perfect,” you admitted, leaning into his touch. “I didn’t want to mess it up and end up in a cell.”
Reid smiled softly, his fingers brushing lightly against your jaw as he held your gaze. “You didn’t mess it up,” he said firmly. “Okay, maybe the decorations were a little unconventional,” he added with a playful glint in his eye. “But your heart was in the right place. And Jack knows that. He loves you and thinks you’re wonderful, just like I do.”
You felt your breath catch at his words, the warmth in his eyes making your cheeks flush despite everything. “You’ve really become good at this, you know,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “The whole comforting and making me blushing thing.”
He let out a soft chuckle, giving your cheek a gentle tap with his thumb before pulling back slightly. “I might have read eleven books to brush up on a few things and be better,” he said, his tone light but not dismissive.
You chuckled, the sound lifting the tension that had been pulling at your chest. “Eleven books? You really went all in on this, huh?”
His arm slipped around your shoulders, drawing you closer, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against you grounding and reassuring. “When it’s you,” he said softly, “I’d go even further than that.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the world ease off your shoulders. A quiet thought lingered in your mind, one you hadn’t been able to put into words until now. “But…sometimes, don’t you think I’m weird?” you asked, the vulnerability creeping in despite yourself.
Please say no.
“Weird? No,” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “I think you’re perfect.” He paused for a moment, then added with a soft laugh, “And every day, I’m grateful you don’t think I’m weird either.”
You smiled, the knot in your chest loosening, the weight of uncertainty fading as his words settled in. “Guess we both can be a little weird then,” you said, the truth of it comforting you more than you expected.
He chuckled, the sound easy and light, as he pulled you a little closer, holding you in a way that spoke of quiet promises. “It’s perfect for me.”
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shysuccubusstuff · 3 days ago
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Yandere! Mr. Crawling
Content: SFW hcs + Established relationship + Overprotection + Manipulation + Baby trapping + clingy! Mr. Crawling + Gaslighting + Somnophilia + Stalking + Death + Breeding kink + Slight size difference.
Summary: Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to keep his deep love secret from you
Note: I hope all of you are having a good day!! I'm trying to do my essays but they're so boring... Let me know if you have any suggestions/things you want to say to me, I love answering to people!!
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SFW:
Human! Mr. Crawling who falls in love as soon as he sees your face.
Human! Mr. Crawling who decides to try and keep you safe and protect you from all possible dangers. This ranges from leaving small gifts for you, buying you something to eat when he hears a rumble close to him, or buying you a drink if he has seen you working so hard on keeping up with all the classes, to sometimes intimidating the other guys that kept trying to get closer to you.
Human! Mr. Crawling who tries his hardest to speak to you, even if it's just a few words to make sure you know he's listening to you. Nodding his head and keeping his eyes completely focused on your face.
Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to make himself look smaller, crunching a bit and walking with his back a bit arched, not something that can be easily noticeable for others, but just enough to reduce the height difference between the two of you.
Human! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to make you feel safe with him, allowing him to get into your bedroom, even to the point of making a sleepover. He just had to try his hardest not to act in any weird manner.
Human! Mr. Crawling who keeps following you like a lost puppy. You can almost see two ears and a tail appear when he acts like a small puppy, being easily excited when you compliment him, even if it's for the smallest things.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who begins to feel how his pure love becomes something more twisted the moment he realises more people keep getitng interested in you. He looks so kind when you look at him, but as soon as you turn your head, his gaze becomes much darker, his expression is always serious, his brows slightly furrowed as he tries to keep himself restrained.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of you great "friendship" and starts to try and get rid of your friends. He keeps on interrupting when you meet with your other friends, creating different reasons why he just couldn't wait to meet you, as he truly needed you.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of his sickly aspect to make you worry about him, calling you to ask you for small gestures, making sure that they are small enough to avoid you from refusing him.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to ask you out. He made sure to get rid of each and all your friends who could get in the way of your relationships, after all, he is everything you need, right?
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NSFW:
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who had already seen you way before both of you met each other in class, his phone filled to the brim with pictures of you. The fact that most of them involve you in embarrasing positions while the rest are of your sleeping face. They definitely have no effect on him, hell no (just ignore the raging bulge he gets from seeing your lips slightly parted, totally normal reaction).
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who put a small chip on your phone while you were sleeping. How was he supposed to keep you safe if he didn't know where you were the whole day? Don't be so dramatic, he was just doing it for your sake :((
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who killed someone in front of you. He was stalking you around town when he saw that strange man grabbing you by your wrist and taking you to the closest dark alley. Before he could think, his hands were already gripping his throat, his face turning blue as his grasp got even stronger. When he finally was sure that man was no longer alive, he turned around, a happy smile on his lips as he waited for your compliments. He was now on his real height, allowing you to notice how he was over one head and a half taller than you, despite that, he made you pet his hair, forcing you to smile as the body of the strange man got colder.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling whose obsession only increases the moment the two of you decide to date. His arms are now always around your waist, his hands always touching you, no matter if you are alone or in front of other people. He just loves hugging you from behind, his dick rubbing against your ass, grinding against you as soon as he saw you do something he didn't like.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who forces his cock inside you, filling you load after load just to prove that you're truly his one and only. He doesn't stop until he sees his seed dripping from your hole, your eyes rolling to your skull with fat tears rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who keeps blabbering about impregnating you during sex, he doesn't even care about your gender, he WILL impregnate you. He will defy Mother Nature for you, filling you one after the other and not pulling out until the next morning.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates with your clothes the moment he misses you, he doesn't care if you have been away for barely a few hours, he just misses his sweet darling so much :(( Not his fault that your clothes are filled with your sweet scent...
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates to your sleeping face while the both of you sleep together. He loves feeling you close to him, all relaxed as your expressions sometimes change to one of pure bliss... He hugs you from behind, beginning to grind against your ass as an attempt to keep himself in check. This of course doesn't work, which forces him to use his own hand to masturbate, slowly getting on top of you so he can get an extremely detailed view of your sleeping face.
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pucksandpower · 1 day ago
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Your Love Is My Drug
Oscar Piastri x Norris!Reader
Summary: Lando’s teammate is behaving strangely, so of course the logical assumption is that Oscar must be on drugs (the truth ends up being so much worse … for Lando)
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The McLaren garage buzzes with activity as mechanics scurry about, preparing for the upcoming race weekend. Lando leans against the wall, his brow furrowed in concentration as he observes his teammate from across the room.
Something’s off about Oscar today. Actually, if Lando’s being honest with himself, something’s been off about Oscar for weeks now. The usually composed Aussie seems ... different.
Fidgety.
Distracted.
As if on cue, Oscar lets out another of those odd little giggles he’s been prone to lately. Lando’s eyes narrow.
“Oi, Piastri!” He calls out, striding over to where Oscar is hunched over his phone. “What’s so funny, mate?”
Oscar’s head snaps up, his cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Oh, uh, nothing,” he stammers, hastily shoving his phone into his pocket. “Just ... just a meme.”
Lando raises an eyebrow. “A meme? Since when are you so into memes?”
“I’ve always liked memes,” Oscar protests weakly.
“Right,” Lando drawls, unconvinced. He watches as Oscar shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.
A sudden, horrifying thought strikes Lando. No ... it couldn’t be. Could it?
“Hey, Oscar,” he says slowly, trying to keep his tone casual. “You feeling alright? You’ve seemed a bit ... off lately.”
Oscar’s eyes widen slightly. “Off? What do you mean?”
Lando shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. “I dunno, just ... different. Distracted. You keep laughing at nothing and your face is all red.”
“Oh, that’s ... that’s nothing,” Oscar says, waving a hand dismissively. “Just, uh, excited about the race, I guess.”
Lando’s not buying it. “Excited, huh? Is that why you keep fidgeting with your pants, too?”
Oscar freezes, his hand stilling where it had been absently adjusting his waistband. “I ... what?”
“Your jeans,” Lando repeats, gesturing towards Oscar’s lower half. “You keep messing with them. What’s that about?”
“Nothing!” Oscar yelps, a bit too quickly. “They’re just ... new. Still breaking them in.”
Lando’s eyes narrow further. He remembers something, vaguely, from one of the few health lessons he’d managed to stay awake for back in school. Something about drug users and fidgeting ...
No. Surely not. Not Oscar.
But the more Lando thinks about it, the more it starts to make a twisted kind of sense. The secrecy, the mood swings, the constant flush on Oscar’s cheeks ...
“Oscar,” Lando says, his voice low and serious. “I need you to be honest with me. Are you ... are you on something?”
Oscar’s jaw drops. “What? No! Of course not!”
“Because if you are,” Lando presses on, ignoring Oscar’s protests, “I need to know. As your teammate. As your friend. This isn’t just about you, mate. It’s about the whole team.”
“Lando, I swear, I’m not on anything,” Oscar insists, his voice taking on a pleading edge. “I don’t know where you’re getting this idea from, but-”
“Then explain the giggling!” Lando demands, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And the blushing! And the fidgeting! Something’s clearly going on with you, and if you’re not gonna be straight with me-”
“I can’t!” Oscar bursts out, then immediately claps a hand over his mouth, looking stricken.
Lando’s eyes widen. “Can’t what?”
Oscar shakes his head, looking miserable. “I can’t ... I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Lando. I know I’ve been acting weird, but I promise it’s nothing bad. I’m not on drugs or anything like that. I just ... I can’t explain right now.”
Lando stares at his teammate, torn between frustration and concern. “Oscar, come on. We’re supposed to be friends. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Oscar’s phone chimes, and he jumps, fumbling to pull it out of his pocket. His eyes widen as he reads whatever message has just come through, and a small, dopey smile spreads across his face.
“Sorry,” he says distractedly, already typing out a response. “I’ve gotta go. We’ll talk later, yeah?”
Before Lando can protest, Oscar is hurrying out of the garage, leaving Lando staring after him in bewilderment.
“What the hell was that about?” Lando mutters to himself.
He’s still pondering Oscar’s strange behavior when his own phone buzzes. It’s a message from you.
Hey! Surprise — I’m at the track! Want to grab dinner?
Lando grins, momentarily distracted from his worries about Oscar. Absolutely, he types back. Meet you at the hotel in a few hours?
Later that evening, Lando’s sitting in the hotel restaurant, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table as he waits for you to arrive. His mind keeps drifting back to Oscar’s odd behavior, and he’s half-tempted to text you and ask if you’ve noticed anything strange about his teammate lately.
Before he can act on the impulse, you breeze into the restaurant, a bright smile on your face. “Lando!” You exclaim, rushing over to give him a hug.
“Hey, trouble,” Lando says fondly, returning the embrace. “What brings you to the race? I thought you were busy with work.”
You shrug, sliding into the seat across from him. “Oh, you know, just missed my second favorite brother. Thought I’d surprise you.”
Lando narrows his eyes playfully. “I finally won a race and I’m still not your favorite?”
“You can’t win everything,” you say with a grin. “Wouldn’t want your head getting any bigger than it already is.”
As you settle in and start perusing the menu, Lando can’t help but notice that you seem ... different. There’s a certain glow about you, a sparkle in your eye that he hasn’t seen before.
“You look happy,” he observes. “Something good happen at work?”
You bite your lip, looking suddenly nervous. “Oh, um, not really. Just ... life in general, I guess.”
Lando’s about to press further when his phone buzzes. He glances down to see a message from Oscar.
Hey, mate. Sorry about earlier. Can we talk?
Lando frowns, torn between his curiosity about Oscar’s situation and his desire to spend time with you.
“Everything okay?” You ask, noticing his expression.
Lando sighs. “I don’t know. It’s Oscar. He’s been acting really weird lately, and I’m worried about him.”
Your eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Weird how?”
“Just ... off,” Lando says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s all giggly and distracted, his face is constantly red, and he keeps fidgeting with his clothes. I’m worried he might be ... you know ...”
You lean forward, your brow furrowed in concern. “Might be what?”
Lando lowers his voice, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “On drugs,” he whispers.
To his surprise, you burst out laughing. “Oscar? On drugs? Are you serious?”
“It’s not funny!” Lando hisses, feeling defensive. “I’m really worried about him. He won’t tell me what’s going on, but something clearly is.”
You sober quickly, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s not funny. But Lando, I really don’t think Oscar’s on drugs. Maybe there’s another explanation?”
“Like what?” Lando demands.
You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, Lando’s phone buzzes again. Another message from Oscar.
I’m in the lobby. Can we talk now? It’s important.
Lando looks up at you apologetically. “It’s Oscar again. He says he needs to talk. Do you mind if I ...”
You wave a hand, looking strangely nervous. “No, no, go ahead. I’ll wait here.”
Lando nods gratefully and heads for the lobby, his mind racing. What could be so important that Oscar needs to talk right now?
He spots his teammate pacing near the elevators, looking agitated. “Oscar?” He calls out.
Oscar’s head snaps up, and Lando is struck again by the flush on his cheeks. “Lando! Thanks for coming. I ... I need to tell you something.”
Lando crosses his arms, trying to look stern despite his worry. “Yeah, I’d say you do. What’s going on with you, mate? And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing, because-”
“I’m dating your sister!” Oscar blurts out.
Lando blinks, certain he must have misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”
Oscar takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “I’m dating your sister,” he repeats, more slowly this time. “Y/N. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now.”
Lando’s mind goes blank. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. No sound comes out.
“I know it’s a shock,” Oscar continues, words tumbling out in a rush. “And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We wanted to make sure it was serious before we said anything. But I really care about her, Lando. And I hope ... I hope you can be okay with this.”
Lando’s brain is still struggling to process this information. “But ... but the giggling,” he manages to stammer out. “And the blushing. And the fidgeting.”
Oscar’s blush deepens. “Ah, yeah. That’s ... that’s because of Y/N. She’s been sending me these ... messages. And pictures. Really cute ones!” He adds hastily, seeing Lando’s eyes widen in horror. “Nothing inappropriate! Just ... you know. Flirty.”
Lando holds up a hand, feeling slightly nauseous. “Please, I really don’t need details.”
“Right, sorry,” Oscar says sheepishly. “Anyway, that’s why I’ve been acting weird. I was trying to keep it a secret, but I guess I’m not very good at hiding how I feel.”
Lando’s head is spinning. His teammate and his little sister. Dating. It’s too much to process.
“Lando?” Oscar’s voice sounds concerned. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”
Lando opens his mouth to respond, but the world suddenly tilts sideways. The last thing he hears before everything goes black is Oscar’s panicked voice calling his name.
When Lando comes to, he’s lying on a couch in the hotel lobby, with you and Oscar hovering anxiously over him.
“Oh thank god,” you breathe as his eyes flutter open. “Lando, are you okay?”
Lando groans, pushing himself into a sitting position. “What happened?”
“You fainted,” Oscar supplies helpfully. “Right after I told you about ... you know.”
The memory comes flooding back, and Lando groans again, this time for an entirely different reason. “So it wasn’t a dream, then? You two are really ...”
You nod, looking nervous but determined. “We are. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We wanted to make sure it was, you know, real first.”
Lando looks between the two of you, taking in Oscar’s anxious expression and the way your hand is clasped tightly in his. Despite his shock, he can’t deny the genuine affection he sees there.
“Well,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I suppose this is better than you being on drugs.”
Oscar lets out a startled laugh. “You really thought I was on drugs?”
Lando shrugs defensively. “What was I supposed to think? You were acting so weird!”
“That’s just because he’s head over heels for me,” you say teasingly, bumping Oscar’s shoulder with your own.
Oscar grins dopily, and Lando has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Clearly,” he mutters.
There’s a moment of awkward silence before you speak up again. “So ... are you okay with this? Us being together?”
Lando looks at you, his beloved little sister, then at Oscar, his teammate and friend. He sees the happiness radiating from both of you, the way you lean into each other unconsciously.
He sighs dramatically. “I suppose I’ll have to be,” he says, unable to keep a small smile from tugging at his lips. “But I swear, Piastri, if you hurt her-”
“I won’t,” Oscar interrupts, his voice firm and sincere. “I promise, Lando. I’ll take good care of her.”
Lando nods, satisfied for now. “Good. And for the love of all that is holy, please keep the flirting to a minimum around me. I really don’t need to see that.”
You and Oscar laugh, the tension finally breaking. As Lando watches the two of you together, he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this might not be such a bad thing after all.
But he’s definitely going to need some time to get used to it. And possibly some therapy.
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nightingale-prompts · 2 days ago
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Do NOT Touch a God- DC x DP Prompt (Tim x Danny)
Correction: don't touch Danny.
A rule has been added to the house rules of Titans Tower. It started after the arrival of the summoning of the interdimensional teen that takes residence there.
Despite being only a teenager the power he held was at the level of a god. He causally reshaped reality around him to his liking. Rooms are made bigger on the inside but remain the same outside. Danny's hate for things getting too dirty made all clothes left on the floor for too long disappear into the laundry room and spilled drinks evaporate. The tower became self-cleaning as everything found its place on its own. Danny said it was just what he prefers, lab safety and all that. Sometimes Danny would turn off gravity, no reason be just likes it like that.
Unfortunately, he doesn't go on missions except for extreme situations where he is needed. He is content to spend his time in the med bay as the resident healer. He is also one of the few that can fix up Cyborg. Danny doesn't get involved unnecessarily. This has led to a few arguments in the past over how unhelpful he can be despite being able to help them. Danny shrugs it off and disappears when it happens. It was not fair on him, if he didn't want to fight he shouldn't have to. He was an asset and he offered his help freely.
So why does the No Touch rule exist? Well, Danny doesn't like touching people. He wears gloves for a reason especially when he is working in the bay fixing up everyone after a mission. He also avoids others touching him, shrinking away when someone tried.
Everyone respected that boundary but after a rough mission in particular Kon started an argument with him. The injuries were severe and he was just mad that M'gann was hurt. Danny was already overwhelmed with healing everyone and Kon seemed to strike a nerve. When Kon almost made contact with him Danny flickered out of existence and reappeared further away.
After several hours of fixing broken bones and open wounds Danny retreated.
Tim decided to check on him later. Kon was sorry for overreacting and blaming Danny for something he couldn't control but Danny probably didn't want to see him right now.
Danny looked worse for wear when he opened the door. He looked tired, weary from using his energy. He wrapped a blanket around himself.
They talked for a while. Mostly about nothing important, other times about how stressful things were right now.
Tim often found it hard to believe that Danny wasn't just a normal teen. Then again, what did he know about normal?
But he had wondered something.
He reached out and tried to hold Danny's hand but Danny moved away quickly noticing.
"You shouldn't do that." He said simply.
Had he been Dick he would repect the boundaries and if he was Jason he'd probably agree. But he was Tim and Tim was very bad at boundaries. That's kind of how he got here.
"Why not?" Tim asked.
"It might be too much," Danny said cautiously eyeing Tim who held his hands up.
"Try me."
Danny sighed and removed one of his gloves and touched his hand to Tim's shoulder.
All at once different sensations filled his senses. A comforting touch of a friend, a light fluttering of a passing stranger on the street, a strike of a hated rival, the steady hand of a family member, the playful tap of a classmate, the caress of a lover...all at once. Each feeling is defined but also blurred. It was almost like being pulled in thousands of directions as they tried to claim a part of Tim into their reality.
A single touch sent him into a trace. When Danny pulled away he expected to have broken Tim like how a child accidentally snaps their toys when playing. He knew his touch could overwhelm people almost to death. Clockwork said he'd be able to control it some day but Danny didn't even want to test it. Being able to fracture someone's mind was scary. Seeing it happen once was enough. So why did he try it on Tim? Did he not care what happened to him?
It's a bit selfish and embarrassing to admit but...not being able to touch another person was awful. He's not clingy but it feels like he has lacked sensation for a long time. Tim willingly asked for this and Danny wanted this as well.
Tim wasn't broken. Infact he had never felt more alive. When Danny removed his hand he found himself pulling it back to him. He couldn't explain it but it felt like...everything. Indescribable but amazing. It was contradictory but all of it made sense.
"Do it again!"
Things kind of escalated from there. It would probably be crass to even say it but let's just say that neither was lacking sensation. It was profound, not purely physical nor emotional, something else entirely. The religious sort would call it divine or a blessing, perhaps it was what heaven feels like. Others would call it sinful, partaking in things no human was meant to know or experience. The folly of humanity.
It was certainly addictive though. Whispered words echoed in every tongue. With every contact a new chorus created. The memories of long dead god flashed and worlds yet unawakened showed themselves. And just when it seemed like everything in the universe had collided and finally made sense...it was over.
There was a knock on the door.
Danny managed to roll the breathless, Tim off with a groan. He stretched feeling a bit locked up. He had been holding each other for a while now.
He opened the door and saw Kon standing there nervously.
"Look, Im sorr-"
"Danny?" Tim called out groggily interrupting whatever Kon was saying.
"I'm busy," Danny said quickly closing the door to go back to...you know.
(So were they having sex or just cuddling? I have no fucking idea and I wrote this. I feel like it's a secret third that is somehow worse.)
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hoffmansgirl · 3 days ago
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❛ 𝙃𝙊𝙇𝘿 𝙈𝙀 & 𝙀𝙓𝙋𝙇𝙊𝙍𝙀 𝙈𝙀. ⎯ nicholas a. chavez
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₊˚⊹౨ৎ 𝓐'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: based on this request !! hope you enjoy! writing this was so much fun xx 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. smoking (weed) ‧ sexual tension ‧ oral (f!receiving) ‧ unprotected piv ‧ size difference ‧ best friends to lovers trope ‧ this one's soft & sweet tbh <3 𝘄𝗰. 4318
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"𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗦𝗧 fucking movie I've ever seen", you groaned, squinting your eyes before taking a puff of your shared joint. You heard Nicholas hum in agreement as he reached for the remote to shut the TV down. You let your head fall back against the couch, handing the joint to the man next to you blindly.
"Waste of time", Nick commented, deep groan of satisfaction leaving his throat at the burning sensation in his lungs. "But this... This is some real good shit". Your eyes snapped open at the remark, and you smirked, nodding. "Yeah. It is. Fuck". You let your body relax against the couch, before you heard Nicholas speak again.
"Let's...", You could hear the playful smirk on his lips while not even looking at him ⎯ at which you turned your head to watch him. "Let's play a game".
He threw his arm around the backrest of the couch nonchalantly, tilting his head, as if he was challenging you.
His hair was a mess, eyes glistening and slightly red from the joint. Nicholas' pearly smile seemed to light the whole room up, and you could see the outline of his muscles through the white, tight t-shirt he was wearing. He undeniably looked good ⎯ and if he wasn't your best friend, you'd say he looked like the most dreamy man ever.
"A game? What are we, twelve?", you huffed, rolling your eyes before stealing the joint from between his fingers. Nicholas sent you a glare, though his smirk never flattered, as he moved to take a sip of his Pepsi. "What kind of a game?".
"Truth or dare", he shrugged playfully, and you stubbed out the joint. You already began to roll a new one ⎯ you had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
"But it's just us two", you remarked, putting a strand of hair behind your ear, stealing him a glance.
"And that is what makes it even more fun", Nicholas smirked, and you silently agreed. You huffed, lighting the joint and putting some music on in the background ⎯ a playlist you and Nicholas made of your favourite songs.
"Okay. Let's do this, then". You rested your back against the armrest of the couch, playing with the hem of your shorts mindlessly. Mischievous smirk made its way onto Nick's face as he got comfortable.
"So, Y/N... Truth or dare?", he sipped on his drink, looking up at you challengingly. "Truth".
Nick rolled his eyes. "You're no fun".
"Shut up. We're only getting started", you groaned, hitting him with a pillow ⎯ soft enough not to spill his drink. "Ask away".
He seemed to think for a second, and you blew the smoke from your mouth, getting more and more comfortable against the couch. You drummed your fingers against the backrest, watching your friend with hooded eyes.
"The worst date you've been on", he smirked, leaning down and taking the joint from between your fingers. You huffed, throwing your heavy head back.
"Alan took me to this party once", Nicholas groaned at the name of your ex boyfriend, at which you laughed softly. "He called it a date, but he ended up ignoring me the whole night, getting wasted with his friends. Then he threw up in my car", you winced at the memory, and Nicholas did, too ⎯ the disgust evident on his face, and he didn't even try to hide it.
"He was such a dickhead", Nick laughed, and you couldn't help but stare at his perfect lips while he did so. "Yeah, he was. Truth or dare?".
Nicholas seemed to think for a second, and he hesitatingly replied: "Truth".
"You are such a pussy", you laughed teasingly, deciding to take things a little further. "When was the last time you masturbated?".
Nicholas' eyes widened, and so did yours ⎯ boldness wasn't exactly one of your strongest qualities, but the hazy atmosphere in the room seemed to have awakened something in you.
The air thickened with tension, and you caught a glimpse of Nicholas' stupid smirk ⎯ his confidence never flattering, even though he seemed to hesitate for a second. "Yesterday".
You didn't expect him to answer ⎯ not so directly, at least. You couldn't help but let out a quiet gasp, covering it with yet another puff of your joint. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping Nicholas didn't notice how flustered you suddenly became.
"To what?", you couldn't help but ask, but Nicholas tutted, spreading his legs and resting his hand on his thigh nonchalantly. Your eyes lingered on the veins that popped up on his arms. You always noticed how attractive he was. God, how couldn't you? He was charming, funny, and really fucking hot ⎯ but he was also your best friend. Yet you couldn't help but stare ⎯ the way his hair fell on his forehead messily, dark eyes looking deep into your soul, lips twisted into a little smirk.
Your head suddenly felt very heavy; you grew more and more relaxed with each passing second, yet your newfound confidence only seemed to get stronger.
"Not so fast", Nicholas winked at you, tilting his head. "Your turn. Truth or dare?".
Before you could think it through, you were already replying. "Dare".
You bit your lip, lowering your gaze to rest on your thighs ⎯ the shorts you were seemed to be ridiculously exposing now, every inch of your skin burning with something you couldn't quite name.
"Bold, aren't you?", Nicholas chuckled lowly; his low, teasing voice making your whole body shake. "Hmm. Exchange smoke with me".
You lifted your head from the couch ⎯ it wasn't unusual for the two of you to do it, so you felt pretty confident as you instantly moved closer towards Nick. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and you suddenly felt breathless, as he twisted his body to sit perfectly across from you. You took the joint from between Nicholas' fingers, brushing over his hand in the process. Spark of electricity run through you ⎯ you could barely hear the music playing in the background anymore, Nick's smile consuming every part of your body. It was the first time you felt this type of tension lingering in the air ⎯ the one that made it hard to breathe, the smell of your best friend's cologne invading your senses.
You let out a shaky breath before lifting the joint to your lips, taking a deep puff, putting your other hand on Nicholas' cheek to get him closer. You were hypnotised by the look in his eyes; predatory, as if he was seeing right through you, hearing your thoughts.
Nicholas' lips opened, and you leaned down to blow the smoke into his mouth. Your lips brushed in the process, just slightly, but enough to make your heart race. Nicholas' left hand landed on your side, travelling up to brush over your back softly.
You pulled back and he inhaled, closing his eyes for a second before breathing the smoke out. His eyes were dazed, playful smirk playing on his lips; you traced his defined jaw with your pointer finger lightly, feeling his muscles clench under your touch.
You stubbed out whatever was left of the joint, squealing in surprise when you were pulled on Nicholas' lap in one, swift movement. He hid his face in your neck, both of his hands travelling up your body to rest on your hips. You should be surprised, pull him away and ask him what he was doing ⎯ yet, due to the buzzing in your head, how tired you suddenly became, all you could do was press your back against his chest and get comfortable.
"New perfume?", his voice came out low, raspy, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. You shifted on his lap, causing the bulge in his pants to press against your ass tightly. "I like it".
A part of you knew it was wrong ⎯ he was your best friend, you knew each other since forever ⎯ but his touch on your bare skin, the heat radiating off him; all of it was intoxicating, way too good to just let it go.
"Yeah. Cherry⎯ Cherry and almond", you whispered, and Nicholas hummed, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder blade. "But it's your turn now. Truth or dare?".
"Dare", he didn't even hesitate, and you shifted again, earning a soft groan from him ⎯ you bit back a moan at the vibration of his voice against your sensitive skin. His soft, big hands travelled up your rib cage, stopping just below the hem of your top.
"Kiss me, Nicholas", you managed to get out, squeezing your eyes shut, your whole body on fire, and your friend froze behind you.
"I⎯ Are you sure?", he asked, and you rolled your eyes, twisting your body so that you could straddle his lap properly. "Only if you are".
You smiled fondly before pressing a soft, sweet kiss on Nicholas' lips. Your hands found their place on his broad shoulders; his muscles twitching under your touch.
"I don't want to ruin our friendship", he whispered softly, and you hummed, eyes half-closed as you lowered your head to brush your lips against the side of his neck teasingly. Nicholas gripped your hips, grounding you on top of him, his erection now brushing against your inner thighs.
"You drive me crazy", he mumbled, transfixed on the way your soft breath tickled his skin, his eyes threatening to close from the sensation. "Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?".
You couldn't help but laugh at the stupid question; Nicholas' chest vibrated against yours, sweet giggle leaving his mouth, and the atmosphere seemed to lighten just for a second.
"You're talking too much", you grinned, meeting his dark, chocolate eyes, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Nicholas' demeanour switched as he took you in, and, unable to control himself anymore, he pulled you towards him in a soft kiss.
The feeling of his lips, soft, warm and delicate against yours ⎯ it was everything you never thought you needed. Everything you did was in sync, the prolonged, shaky breaths leaving your mouths, or the way your hands tightened on the other's skin ⎯ pulling each other closer as your lips brushed against each other in a slow dance.
Soon enough, you grounded yourself against the tent in his grey sweatpants, inaudibly begging for more. Nicholas' hands travelled down your back, testing the waters as his fingertips grazed over your ass teasingly. You grinded your hips down, causing him to moan; allowing your tongue to enter his mouth swiftly. There was no more softness in the way you moved anymore ⎯ you grew bolder, your tongue rolling over his' with passion, as you tugged on his soft hair playfully.
"I've always wanted to do this", Nicholas whispered, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes ⎯ making sure you knew he was being honest. You smiled, breathing heavily, your heart swelling at the words.
"Only this?", you chuckled, kissing the tip of his nose softly. Your friend bit his lip at the words, his cheeks and neck slightly flushed, at which you smiled softly.
"No. Not only this. I just⎯ I never thought you'd want it, too", he admitted, his fingers tracing circles on your lower back.
"And what if I tell you...", you lowered your voice, brushing your lips against Nicholas' ear teasingly. "I want it just as much as you do? And I don't want you to hold back on me".
Nicholas' hands on your back tightened, and he seemed to hesitate for a second, before he caught your lips with his' again. His demeanour seemed to switch again, as he bit on your lower lip roughly, tugging on it with his teeth before soothing the pain with a bruising kiss. You squealed in surprise when suddenly you were lifted from the couch, Nicholas' hands on your thighs as he walked you both to your bedroom. You giggled into the kiss as he stumbled, causing you to tighten your legs around his hips.
The second you stepped into your bedroom, Nicholas' used his foot to shut the door behind you both, pressing you tightly against the cold surface.
His lips were back on yours in an instant, and he pressed his lower body tightly against yours.
You tugged on his shirt, inaudibly begging him to take it off, and he obeyed. Nicholas dropped you to the floor carefully ⎯ your knees were shaking terribly, and your breath hitched when he took his shirt off.
With all strength you had left, you pushed Nicholas to the bed, and he grinned, moving up until he was resting on your sheets comfortably. You straddled his lap again, licking your lips as you took him in.
It wasn't the first time you saw Nicholas' chest ⎯ he often took his shirt off when the two of you were together, but this time it was different. You run your hands down his abdomen, feeling the strong muscles under your fingertips. The urge to worship every part of him was too strong, now ⎯ you lowered your head, sucking on the soft skin of his collarbone, running your hot tongue over his soft skin. Nicholas' let out a shaky breath as you marked him, and he didn't protest when you left bruises everywhere you could reach.
"You're so hot, Nick", you mumbled, your hands travelling down his abs as you looked up at him, circling your tongue around his nipple teasingly. Nicholas' lips opened in a silent moan, his hands tugging on the sheets tightly. "A fucking work of art".
Your lips closed around the pink nub, and you grazed your teeth over it experimentally, watching as Nicholas' head fell back against the pillows, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
You teased his sensitive nipples for a while, before moving down his body, brushing your lips against his hard stomach insatiably. A breathless moan left Nicholas, and his hand was in your hair, pulling you off him as you reached the waistband of his sweatpants.
You were on your back in a second, Nicholas' hands tugging on your shirt greedily. You obeyed, taking the excess material off your body, exposing your bare chest to him.
His eyes widened ⎯ he didn't expect you to not wear a bra; his mouth was slightly agape as he stared at your exposed chest. A small, shy smile appeared on your face as you watched the admiration filling Nicholas' features. "You're so beautiful, baby", he rasped, moving to kneel in between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs as he latched his mouth on your breasts greedily. He licked, bit and kissed your soft skin, and your back arched off the bed at the feeling. You could feel his hardness press against your clothed centre, and a breathless moan left both of you when Nicholas pressed his hips against yours tightly. You tugged on his hair, and he bit on your nipple softly, sucking the nub in between his teeth before pulling away with a pop.
He rutted his hips against yours experimentally, causing a loud, choked sound to leave your mouth.
"You sound so pretty", he groaned hungrily, pressing a wet, bruising kiss on your lips before pulling away.
His hot hands travelled down your chest, roaming over your stomach before lingering just above the waistband of your shorts.
"Are you...", he began, but you were already rolling your eyes before he could finish.
"Fuck, yes, I'm sure. Stop holding back. Please".
His eyes darkened, and you bit back a moan as he practically ripped the shorts off your body, along with your lacy, black thong. He cursed under his breath, before spreading your thighs wide, admiring the sight of your wet, exposed pussy. You clenched around nothing, his gaze so intense, so greedy, it almost had you closing your legs.
"Such a pretty fucking pussy", he groaned, laying down between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs tightly. "Bet she tastes sweet, too".
With these words, he dived in, lapping at your cunt as if he hasn't ate in days. You let out a high-pitched moan, your hands finding place on his hair, tugging tightly with every stroke of his tongue. He sucked on your little clit, his eyes falling open to watch your face confront in pleasure. Groans left his mouth at the taste of your sweet juices coating his tongue, his hips rutting against the bed ⎯ his own need evident in every movement.
You cried out when you felt his tongue circling your sensitive nub tirelessly, your legs beginning to shake, signalling your orgasm was near.
"Nicholas, oh my God", you whined, throwing your head back, hips beginning to move in sync with his tongue. "I'm so close, baby⎯ Don't stop".
He chuckled lowly, the sound sending vibrations right through your core, and in an instant you were coming all over him, your juices creating a wet puddle under your ass.
"Tastes so good", he groaned, continuing his assault on your pussy even when you shook in overstimulation. Tears blurred your vision, but you had no energy to stop him, not when it felt so good.
He was being overly messy, swirling his tongue around your heat in a way that had you breathless ⎯ his groans vibrating against you, his eyes following your every reaction. He teased your entrance with his tongue, before dipping into it experimentally, smirking when your legs shook around his head.
"Nick, oh my God⎯ 's too much", you cried out, and he doubled his efforts, his arms pinning your legs to the bed, leaving you completely at his mercy.
"I love this sweet fucking pussy", he whined, licking a stripe up to your clit, before his mouth closed around it again. He sucked, hard, and you were seeing white, sweating all over your satin sheets, barely able to breathe, tears blurring your vision. "I can't wait to see you cum again".
Two of his thick, long fingers circled your entrance before he pushed them into you in one, swift movement. He sighed at the feeling of your tight walls gripping him like a vice, and he curled them upwards experimentally, having you see stars with a little to no effort.
You let out a shallow breath as Nicholas' lips moved up your body, his fingers plunging into you again and again. The pressure in your stomach was ready to snap any second now, and when he grabbed your neck tightly, staring down at you with hooded eyes, you swore you could cum from the sight alone.
"You're so filthy. I love it", he smirked, cutting your airflow with a squeeze of his hand. You grabbed his forearm tightly, your eyes rolling back into your head as you felt his thumb press tight circles into your clit.
With a choked scream, you squirted all over his hand and your own sheets, and Nicholas pulled back to watch the transparent fluid escape your cunt with every withdraw of his fingers.
"Good fucking girl. Let it all out", he cooed softly, helping you ride out your orgasm. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and Nicholas removed his hand from your neck, allowing you to take deep breaths. "Holy shit, Nick", you managed to choke out, your legs shaky from the overwhelming pleasure.
Nicholas' gaze on you was hard, demanding, as he brought his drenched fingers to your mouth. "Suck".
You didn't hesitate for a second, opening your mouth and letting him press his fingers down against your tongue. You lapped on your own juices covering his long fingers, holding onto his forearm for dear life, moaning at the taste of yourself. Nicholas' other hand found place on your head, as he caressed your hair softly, almost lovingly, thrusting his fingers down your throat experimentally. You gagged, hollowing your cheeks while looking up at him, battling your lashes. Nicholas let out a strangled groan, pushing his fingers as far as they could go, watching you struggle. "I can't wait to see these pretty lips wrapped around my dick", he rasped, and you moaned when he finally freed your mouth.
With the little strength you had left, you pushed yourself up, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants greedily. Nicholas obeyed, too horny to ask you if you were sure ⎯ his pants and boxers were on the floor in an instant, and he was already kissing you with urgency that left you breathless.
You felt his dick press against your thigh, heavy, long and thick ⎯ and you started to worry about if he was going to fit at all.
Nicholas could almost feel your sudden uncertainty, as he pulled away, towering over your much smaller form ⎯ the size difference never really mattered that much, until now. You stared at his cock, wide eyed. His size made your mouth water, the glistening, angry red tip almost too tempting.
"You⎯ You're so fucking big", you sighed, reaching down to wrap your hand around him. Nicholas' head fell down when he finally felt your touch on his painfully hard cock, his cross necklace swinging just above your face as he pressed both of his hands on the sides of your head, pinning you under him. Soft grunts left his mouth, and when you teased his tip with your thumb lightly ⎯ you felt his whole body clench above you.
"As much as I⎯ Fuck⎯ As much as I'd like to cum in your mouth or in your hand, I need to be inside you. Now".
His voice was rough, leaving you no room to protest as he leaned back, his hand replacing your own on his length. He pumped himself a few times, his dark eyes roaming over your form greedily, before he run his tip over your clit lightly. Your eyes rolled back into your head at the pressure, and Nicholas grunted when your wetness covered his aching cock. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed the tip into your tight, weeping hole.
Your eyes snapped open, and you felt yourself clench around his thick tip ⎯ Nicholas let out a strangled pant at the feeling of your warm, inviting cunt.
"Oh, fuck. I thought I prepped you well", he managed to let out, drunk on the way your cunt took him in.
He slowly sank deeper into you, letting you adjust to the painful stretch, running his hands over your thighs to help you relax. "Almost all the way in. I'm so proud of you", he cooed softly, at which you clenched again, nodding your head to signal you were ready for more.
When he finally bottomed out, you cried out, feeling as if he was ripping your insides apart. Nicholas' eyes fell closed as you kept on clenching around him, and he swore he could cum from the feeling alone.
"Ba⎯baby, you need to relax. Fuck. Just relax", he groaned, and you tried to do exactly what he had told.
After a few seconds, you finally managed to get used to the stretch ⎯ now feeling so incredibly full, so deeply connected to him, but you needed more.
"Nicholas, move, please", you begged, and he was more than happy to obey.
He pulled out almost all the way, before snapping his hips into yours, watching the way your tits bounced with the movement. He pressed your legs flat against the mattress, and you cried out when he leaned down to tower over you again. His thrusts were slow but deep, the angle making him hit that spongy spot inside of you, and you were shaking, completely at his mercy.
"You're taking me so well", Nicholas praised, kissing the corner of your mouth sweetly. "My good little girl. So tight, so warm".
You swore you could cum from his words alone, and when his fingers moved up from your thigh to press soft circles on your stiff, overstimulated clit, you were on the edge immediately.
"You feel so good, baby", he continued, speeding up, the sounds of his skin meeting yours filling the air. "I know you want to cum for me. Go on baby, let go for me".
Tears were rolling down your cheeks, and you nodded mindlessly, digging your nails into Nicholas' strong shoulders, drawing blood in the process.
Nicholas' tip kissed ⎯ no, fucked ⎯ your cervix repeatedly, as he buried himself in you over and over again, holding his own orgasm off.
When you finally let go, you felt as if your orgasm lasted a lifetime ⎯ you clenched around him so hard it was nearly impossible for him to keep his steady movements, your hips lifting off the mattress, grinding against his own as your orgasm washed over you.
"Fuck, I love you", Nicholas cried out, letting go of your legs only to stroke your cheeks in his big hands. He kissed you softly, groaning into your mouth as he painted your walls white, filling you with his cum.
At first, you didn't even comprehend his words ⎯ it took you a second after the earth shattering orgasm you had just experienced. Nicholas pulled away from your lips, letting you breathe, his forehead pressed against yours as he caught his own breath.
After a few seconds, he carefully removed his cock from you, laying down on his back, and you cuddled into his side. You traced soft circles on his chest as he covered the two of you with a blanket, kissing your forehead lovingly.
"Did you mean it?", you whispered, looking up at him, and he smiled softly. "Yes. I meant it".
"I love you too, Nick", your heart swelled as he pulled you closer, big smiles adoring both of your faces as you fell asleep in each other's warm embrace.
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hoffmansgirl © 2024 | do not copy, translate, recreate or plagiarise my content. nicholas chavez masterlist ☆
tags: @darlingnikkisixx @titsout4nicholas @brlwla @blackynsupremacy @mrs-riddlexo @essentialwriter @nicholaschavezslut69 @niteskysx @millietozier
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lovedrruunk · 2 days ago
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'A Fresh Start 𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐[part ii]
When the mysterious new girl in town makes a lasting first impression, you make it your goal to befriend and welcome her to the town. [Part i] playlist!!!
self deprecating stalker jinx ill luv u 4eva & eva & eva...
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"Hey."
"Hi!"
“. . .”
“. . . ?”
“. . .”
“. . . ???”
You blinked, waiting for her to say literally anything else, but nope. Just “hey.” and now she was standing there, looking like she was on the verge of shitting her pants while you wondered if this was how all her conversations went.
Surprisingly you didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable, more so confused. Looking around, your eyes landed on your old neighbor who’s own eyes were on the girl in front of you. He was giving her this look of judgment. It wasn’t obvious or harsh but it was still there. And then it clicked.
This was her.
The newcomer who moved into that old cottage on the outskirts of town. The one Mrs. Van Dee Kamp couldn’t stop speculating about, the one Mr. Gallagher said “looked like trouble”, and the same one you were so curious about. 
It wasn’t long before your group started to shuffle awkwardly, clearly ready to move on. They glanced at her, the kind of quick, hesitant looks people gave when they didn’t want to seem rude but also didn’t want to linger. One by one, they made their excuses, mumbling something about needing to get back to their stalls. They took a couple of steps away, looking back once they realized you weren’t following.
“I’ll catch up with you guys later!” you called, waving them off.
Turning back, you realized she was already staring at you, her wide pink eyes locked onto yours like you’d just caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to.
“Hi!” you started... for the second time now.
“Uh… yeah.” she said, her voice flat as if responding to a completely different conversation.
Not exactly the warmest start, but you continued. “You’re new in town right? People have been talking, but you know, nothing bad! They’re just curious.”
Her eyes glanced left then right as you were talking, like she was scanning for an exit. “Yeah. New.”
You tilted your head. “Well, welcome. I’m–”
“Okay.” she cut you off, her tone abrupt.
“...Okay?” you repeated, blinking.
“Yeah. Thanks. Bye.”
Before you could say another word, she spun on her heel and started walking… no, speed-walking, towards the dirt path that lead into the forest.
You stood there, frozen, your brain scrambling to process what had just happened. Did she seriously just… run away? Mid-conversation?
It took you a solid few seconds to realize your jaw was hanging open. Shutting it quickly, you looked around, half expecting someone to jump out with a camera and tell you that you that it was a prank.
But no. The mysterious girl who had everyone talking had just bolted, leaving you standing there like an idiot.
And for some reason, instead of being offended, you couldn’t help but laugh.
Who was she? And what kind of person walked away from a perfectly normal greeting? Mind you, a greeting she had started. You didn’t know why, but suddenly, you were dying to find out.
. . .
This feeling wasn’t technically new.
For weeks, you’d felt it, that weird sensation on the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. At first, it had been easy to ignore. You told yourself it was just your brain playing tricks. It was harmless. Whatever.
But now? Not so much.
The feeling wasn’t just there when you stood still like it was before, it followed you now. Around the market, down quiet streets, even when you stopped to chat with neighbors. You’d catch glimpses, a blur of blue hair disappearing behind a corner, the faintest sound of boots on the gravel.
More than once, you were so sure you’d catch them. You’d spin around at the sound of a shuffle or a shadow that felt too close. But by the time you looked? Nothing. Just an empty alley or a completely innocent looking street lamp.
It was driving you nuts.
You didn’t have to guess who it was either. You knew it was her. The girl from the square, Powder, or whatever her name really was. The way she’d bolted last time you tried to talk to her? That had to mean something.
Now it wasn’t just about being watched. It was about her. What was her deal? Why was she sneaking around? Why couldn’t she just talk to you?
You're own feelings about the situation were confusing you. You didn't necessarily... mind it. Unlike the other townsfolk, you didn't see her as a threat. She didn't seem like the type who would go out of her way to harm you. So 'why' was the question, and you were determined to figure it out.
Every time you caught a glimpse of her, something tugged at you. It wasn’t just the mystery of it all, though that was definitely part of it. There was something about her, it's like she didn't want to be seen yet wanted all of your attention.
And you wanted to know why. Why so secluded? Why so interested in your mundane countryside life?
It wasn’t like the townsfolk were any help either. They whispered about her, sure, 'the new girl with the blue hair and the weird vibes' but that’s all they did. Whispers. Speculation. None of them had actually tried to get to know her as far as you could tell.
Which left it to you.
The more you thought about it, the more determined you got. You didn’t want to believe she was some big, bad menace just because she didn’t fit into their little box of what people here were 'supposed' to be like. She was human, and just as deserving of a community as anyone else. So, yeah, you had questions.
And, apparently, she had no intention of giving you any answers.
It was almost funny how good she was at avoiding you. You’d be walking down the street, sure you'd spotted her near the bakery, and then poof. Gone. Like she had been a figment of your imagination. It was starting to feel like a game, except you knew something she didn't. How to cheat.
. . .
“Alright, I know you’re in there!” you yelled, leaning closer to the door as your fist continued to bang on the wood. “You can’t hide forever!”
Silence.
You squinted at the cottage, the place looked... interesting. It was still that run down creepy cottage you remembered always seeing whenever you passed by, but it was strangely... lively. Big scraps of metal and parts outside, colorful flowers (although wilted), and colorful graffiti that seemed to cover every side.
Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you knocked again harder, this time raising your voice. “I’m not leaving until you open this door!”
Still nothing.
“Powder! Or... whatever your name is!” you shouted, hoping the use of her name might get a reaction.
From inside, you swore you heard a faint creak. A floorboard, maybe? It was hard to tell over the sound of your heart hammering in your ears. You leaned forward, pressing your ear to the door.
“I can hear you in there, you know.” you tried, softening your tone just a bit, stepping back from the door. “I’m not mad or anything. I just want to talk! That’s all.”
The silence that followed felt even more deafening than before. For a second, you wondered if you’d imagined the sound altogether.
And then, just as you were about to knock again, the door creaked open.
Barely.
A narrow space, enough for one pink eye to peek through.
“What do you want?” came a voice.
It wasn’t hostile exactly, but it wasn’t friendly either. Cautious. Suspicious.
You blinked, caught off guard by just how intense her gaze was up close.
“Uh, hi?” you started, scrambling for words that didn’t sound totally ridiculous. “We’ve been running into each other a lot lately- well, okay, more like you’ve been running away- but I just wanted to…” You trailed off, realizing you hadn’t actually planned this far ahead.
Her eye narrowed slightly, not moving to open the door any wider.
“...check in?” you finally finished, wincing at your own words.
The door inched shut a little more.
“Wait, wait!” you said frantically as you held up your hands.
“I mean it! No tricks, no weird town gossip or whatever. I just… I think we got off on the wrong foot. Can we maybe start over? I'd love to be friends.”
Her eye flicked to your hands, then back to your face. For a moment, you thought she was actually gonna let you in.
Instead, she sighed. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
Her voice was quieter now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Fear?
“Why not?” you asked gently, lowering your hands.
But she didn’t answer, instead she gave you this long silent look. And just as you were about to speak up again, the door shut and the bolt slid into place.
“Well, okay then.”
. . .
when i talk abt the town pls imagine a Minecraft village or something of the sort ...
this chapter was SOOOO SELF DIVULGENT btw lololol was totally laughing my ass off writing it. I hope the difference in the way i write their povs is noticeable!!! also its 2am rn ill make sure to proof read in the morning... maybe...
part 3 sometime this week probs! it'll go back to being in pows pov ≽^•⩊•^≼˚
notes r appreciated & thx 4 reading as aaalways XOXOXOXO
[Teensy taglist (ˊᗜˋ)]
@cattjull @kenqki @powderbomb-jinxed
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beautifullilacsky · 2 days ago
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"Will you overthinking this?" He asked as we were walking hand in hand in the park.
Me, fully aware I have already started overthinking the moment he mentioned that her friend broke off her relationship: "....... juuup"
"What are you overthinking about? Lets discuss it together, let me help"... I explained how, maybe, now that she is single, she might try to get over a guy by getting under another one. Or maybe, since you guys tall about problems and are pretty close, she turns to flirting now that she is single. "Okay and? Why would I get into that while I have my girlfriend at home? I would say no thank you. Also, I don't think she is the person to do that. I have met her before she was in a relationship, and she also wasn't like this then". Okay, well, .. maybe she will have heard bad things about me and will not like me or she will think I am not good enough for you, or too much, and tell you to break up with me. I mean, I'm in a relationship with you, not with her, but ja, well... He put his arms around me and stopped us from walking on, hugging me from behind. "Sometimes I forget how insecure you can be. Do you really think I'll just break up with you because someone tells me to? And besides, I think you should meet her. She is really kind and everytime I mentioned something, she was always more on the reassuring side." Well, I also thought your other friend was kind.. "..... true. ..... I don't have an argument against that."
"So... if she were to still be in a relationship, would it be okay? .. meh, I feel like that's a bad excuse. "Yeah she is in a relationship anyway" , as if that changes anything. Doesn't that sound like a bad thing to you?" Hmm. Well. Honestly, I felt better when she was in a relationship, assuming it wasn't an u know who typa relationship. It's always a 2 people's decision. And that way, I am at least sure that one side is on the no side (as I said it out loud, I realized how fuckedup it sounded.) "Shouldn't you trust me to already be on the no side?" .... I should, yes. I just don't know what to make of the fact that you told me that you can't promise me that it won't happen again. "That was a year ago" .... "back then I wasn't super sure, and before that I was def not sure. Also, I did not want to force you to trust me (def different exact words from his, buthey, u get the point.). It's been a year." Would you get back to it and say something different now then? "Yes. I am sure that it will never happen again".
And there it was. I know he is a firm believer in actions over words, but sometimes I need words to be sure. He told me that he tells me the truth, and I know he does. Thus, if he tells me, I believe him. So. Maybe this is what I needed to truly get to trusting him again. His word. It's not a signed contract, I know. I can't sue him if his words turn out to be false. Though, I needed this. I needed his faith in himself to make sure it won't happen again. Fuck damn hey. I needed him to believe in himself. If he doesn't believe he will stop it the next time, who am I to believe so? Well well well. Before he left, if our roommate wasn't sitting right next to me, I would've said after he asked me if I'm still okay (for like, the 3th time): "if you say it won't happen again, I trust you." Fuck. And I'd mean it. I feel like I have entered a new reality. One in which it is safe for me to have faith in him. In which, sure, maybe a girl will flirt with him, but I can laugh about it. I can be proud to be with that hotstuff that she can't help but talk to. I can make jokes about it and raise my eyebrows up and down. I can do it all, and enjoy the situation, knowing. Truly knowing. That it doesn't matter at all if the other party is on the "yes-boat". He isn't, and he won't get onto it either. Even if a chance presents itself, he won't even see it as one. He has the set in stone plan to come back home to me. Even if she would get him drunk and touch him all over, ... he will say no. Even if it scares me more with booze, he is still himself. He doesn't get into a crazy trans and turns into a different person with different values. He is still the same person who held my hand as we walked in the autumn colored park, and said that it would never happen again.
It feels like something in me has been freed. As if trust was a fluffy creature within me, which was tied down. His words freed it. It still can't believe that the tiny trust guy is free. That it's safe to stand up now and run and smile and truly trust. It's astonished, grasping for those words that set it free. Wanting to hold them and craving for them to invade its veins with its lightning energy and brightness. May it no longer feel the need to stay on the ground; the ties have been undone. Fuck.
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cheeseceli · 2 days ago
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Skz meeting a pretty fan
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Pairing: Ot8!skz × Gn!reader (individually)
Genre: fluff, just a tiny little bit of angst, headcanons
Description: their reaction to meeting a pretty fan during a fan meeting
Warnings: kind of love at first sight trope, delusional, some of them are dramatic, they are all idols, not proofread
A/n: the way it's been over a year that this has been in my drafts | daily click
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Bang Chan
He was kinda of tired already so he was zoning out
When he sees you he is like "...oh"
He is so invested in your conversation
If you comment about the production behind the music he will be so happy
Genuinely loves when someone acknowledges his work so his eyes will shine and he will smile so hard while explaining everything to you
He is upset when you need to move on to the next member
Sees you laughing with the other members and he's like 🤨
Wonders what they did that managed to make you laugh that much
Lee Know
He would stare at you
You know when his mouth is open and you can see his eyes shining?
Yeah, that's him right now
You say hello and he would give you his nervous laugh before looking at you again with those stary eyes
I swear he is such a softie
Would listen to every single word that you say, you can tell he is paying so much attention
Autographs something for you and makes a funny drawing as well hoping you'd laugh
Side eyes the staff when they say the time is up
Even when you move to the next member and other fan is talking to him, he would still look at your direction sometimes and get so flustered if you catch him looking at you
Changbin
Starts small talk right away
Will 100% compliment you
You ask him an autograph and he wonders how bad would it be if he gave you his number instead
Like he knows he cannot do that
But maybe if he was sneaky enough...
Doesn't do it by the end but he low-key regrets it for the rest of his life
He will wake up one day after five years and be like "damn I should've given them my number"
And he will make that everyone's problem
The boys can't stand it anymore because they've heard enough about you by now 😭
Convinces himself that he will see you again one day
Hyunjin
He sees you before you see him, so he is panicking
Is looking at the line all the time wondering if you will want to talk to him
Asks han if his hair looks good before it's your turn to talk to him
No but fr, he can't take his eyes off you
When you start talking he is like 😯
You look and sound like an angel, he must be in heaven
Even after the fan meeting he can't stop thinking about you
If he's feeling bold enough, he will definitely flirt with you
Low-key forgot he was an idol and was ready to risk it all for you
Han
Might believe in love at first sight after your meeting
Compliment him once and he will get so shy
Like sir, weren't you the one flirting like two seconds ago🤨
Would feel so betrayed if he isn't your bias LMAO
He has like a minute and a half to convince you he's the best stray kids member and he WILL try that
And he hopes that someone will record his flirty antics and post it on tiktok just so he can find your socials
He will make all the boys stalk the internet to try to find you
"but you can't contact them even if you find their account, so what's the point?" idk bro but he wants to see you again somehow
Felix
SUCH A FLIRT
The moment he looks at you he is already trying to win your heart
Kinda forgot he was an idol pt.2
Except he didn't forget
He just doesn't care
He wants to flirt with you and that's precisely what he will do
Will even flirt through his autograph if he can
Uses any kind of excuse to make physical contact with you ✨
And side eyes the staff when they tell him it's time to move on
Like no it's not??
Seungmin
Actually pretty good at hiding his new crush??
The most normal one out here surprisingly lol
He will be able to cover it up as just "good mood" but let's be for real
It's because of you
Anyways
Will smile so much
If you compliment his smile (please do!) he will get shy but so so happy
Also steals glances when you go to the next member
He'll be talking to the next fan but ends up laughing because of something he heard you say to another one of the boys
The fan is like ?? but Seungmin is able to play it off
I.N
So dedicated to give you a good impression
If you tell him your favourite skz song is one of his solos (or that your favourite has that title because of his vocals) this man is in heaven
Forgot he was an idol pt.3 except he didn't forget
He just lowkey very lowkey didn't want to be an idol in that exact moment
Had it been on any normal occasion he would probably try to charm you over
But this was his job
He couldn't possibly get delulu over a fan 😭 although he was already midway to that
Ends up covering a song you said you thought would fit his voice
Sees the comments of the cover wondering each one of those were yours
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Masterlist | you'll probably like: unrequited love
Reminder that this is all fiction, this does not represent the members in real life!
Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143 @sleepyleeji @jinnie-ret @sheraayasherrecs
Dividers by @thecutestgrotto | Images 1, 2 and 3
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essektheylyss · 2 days ago
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My thing about Veth potentially venturing into polyamory is that I do think everyone involved would be perfectly fine with it and happy to help her experiment, and I think that no matter how they do it, it would not fix her. This isn't to say that she wouldn't get any benefit out of trying! It's just to say that it's not a solution to her actual problem, because I genuinely don't think the problem is that she's lacking any one thing that would make her life complete.
Fundamentally, I think Veth struggles with the idea that there will come a point at which she has to settle. Not in a bad way, just in the sense that she is one person with one life and she will have to live within those bounds. Because the thing is, I don't really think her issue ends at struggling to "have it all"; to an extent she does! She is a good parent, even if her kid is a little rebellious; her marriage is supportive (and has fun sex); she gets to go off to save the world with Yeza's blessing on occasion, when the world needs saving. She doesn't have all of these things all the time, but... that's not really a flaw, that's just a fact of life.
But she started out her adult life settling to an extent—even if she loved Yeza and loved being Luc's mom, she did the safe thing that was expected of her. The goblin attack and everything that transpired after shoved her out of that life, but in retrospect, to an extent it likely feels that that pushed her to find something more that she wouldn't have had otherwise. Being pushed to her limit under the worst conditions made her better, stronger, braver, and at the end of it she found that she could have both her original life and much of her new life—so why wouldn't she then wonder if further experiences of that ilk could do the same?
Crucially, she has not actually run up against a hard limit yet, and as such she hasn't had reason to believe that there is a point at which she has to stop and recognize that there isn't more for her to find. When she was drinking more heavily during missions, even when it caused the death of herself or others, there were no long-term consequences. And the thing is, I'm not saying that she should face that kind of major consequence, but she seems as though she is scared to accept that maybe she could be happy if she stopped before she does.
I'm also not suggesting that she should stop experimenting or trying new things—the Luxon knows I am not one to talk in that realm—but I do think she is searching for novelty not because that would make her happy, but because she doesn't believe that she has the capacity to know what would make her happy. She was unaware that polyamory was even an option, so think of what else she might not be aware of! She doesn't have perfect knowledge of the world, after all, so how can she trust that she's found what she really wants? So yeah, she could fuck someone else, and it might even be an enjoyable experience that she didn't know was missing! But that only prolongs the question of what else she might be missing.
I think that deep down, she's terrified that if she doesn't keep pushing until that external hard limit, she will end up with regrets later, and simultaneously she is resentful that her friends all seem to have reached a point where they are largely content with what they have, because she wants them to have everything. She wants herself to have everything. And she has not yet allowed herself to come to terms with the fact that only she can determine when the everything of what she already has is enough, and anything else is the cherry on top.
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salty-autistic-writer · 20 hours ago
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Buck sits on a hospital bed and looks down at his bandaged hands. Mild burns. They add to the considerable amount of smoke inhalation that makes his throat feel as dry as sandpaper. At least his coughing already got better. Buck's doctor assured him he would be able to leave soon. Too bad there's no home he can return to. 
He stares at his hands and feels … numb. It happened so fast. So fast, it almost seems like a dream. But it’s real. And everything still smells like smoke.
His loft. It’s gone.
In the middle of the night, flames consumed the walls in that scary astonishing speed he’s so well familiar with. And he couldn't stop it.
So many memories. Burnt down to ash. Buried underneath rubble. Gone.
A light knock at the doorframe makes him perk up. Buck expects to see Maddie who left to get some water and a snack. Or Chimney. Or Hen. Or Bobby. But it’s neither one of them.
“Tommy?” Buck looks up, too surprised to prepare himself for the pain he feels when he actually sees Tommy. For the first time in weeks. “What … what are you doing here?”
“I … Howie called me,” Tommy says, avoiding direct eye contact.
“Of course he did,” Buck mutters, looking back down at his hands, picking at a loose thread. Chimney. The ever-hopeful matchmaker.
Tommy clears his throat. “Are you okay?”
Buck flinches. The soft tone with which those words are spoken feels like a punch to his gut.
Are you okay? 
Okay. 
Anger wells up inside Buck’s tight chest like dark ice water, rising to the surface of his mind and fading out all the sadness. Buck glares up at Tommy. “Seriously? That’s what you’re asking about? After weeks of silence. Of nothing. You dare to show up here just like that and ask if I’m okay?!”
It’s Tommy’s turn to wince, his eyes widening slightly. “I’m sorry.”
Somehow, that only makes Buck even angrier. He knows it’s true. Honest. He knows that Tommy cares. And he kind of wishes Tommy wouldn’t. But here they are. Still care about each other way too much.
Tiredness creeps into the murky combination of anger and sadness.
“It burnt,” Buck says quietly.
“What?” Tommy asks.
“My scrapbook. It burnt. All the pictures too. The pictures I put on the fridge. And now I have nothing left.” Buck can feel the tears coming. He doesn’t want them. Doesn’t want to cry in front of Tommy. “All the memories I started to collect. They’re gone.”
I used to look at them. I used to remember the time when I thought I was finally on my way to happiness.  
“It’s all gone,” Buck breathes. And then he really cries.
An ugly sob that escapes his lips. And he hates it. Hates it so much. But he has no energy left to hide.
“Evan,” Tommy says, barely audible. And even though the sadness is suffocating him, Buck has the space for a relieved sigh. Not Buck. Still Even. And it still sounds so right … How does it sound so right after all the wrong directions their path took?
The bed dips as Tommy sits down beside Buck, hesitantly putting a hand on his heaving back. “It’s not all gone,” Tommy says.
Buck wipes at his burning eyes. “It’s not?” He asks, doubtfully.
“No. I … I’ve been collecting memories too. I can share them with you. If you want them,” Tommy says.
“That would be great,” Buck admits, trying to take a deep breath through his stuffed nose with a grimace. “Because … Because they really make me happy. The memories.”
“They do?” Tommy asks, his hand still on Buck’s back, but apparently not daring to move. “Don’t they make you … angry?”
“Not really. Sometimes they make me a little sad. Because I start to think of what could have been,” Buck says. “I start to picture all the happy memories the future might have given me.”
“But you don’t know if those memories would have been happy. What if … What if that future turns out to be so painful that you end up wishing you wouldn’t have lived through it in the first place?” Tommy asks, his voice strained. “Aren’t you scared of what you can’t know?”
Buck shakes his head. “No. I can’t live like that. The future isn’t set in stone. And as long as I think the memories I want to make are worth fighting for … Things will be alright.”
We would have been alright.  
Tommy’s hand is burning him. But when it retreats, Buck almost tells him to put it back. Maybe that’s pathetic. But he can’t find the energy to care.
Tommy is silent for a long moment. He seems lost in his own thoughts, his fingers rubbing over his jean-cladded knees in rhythmic movements.
Buck glances at him. Through a blur of his lingering tears, he suddenly realizes that Tommy looks … rough. 
His edges are sharper. The lines on his face seem deeper. There are shadows under his eyes and he’s close to growing a beard. 
And maybe that’s pathetic too, but Buck suddenly wants to hope that Tommy is feeling that same ache Buck has been feeling for such a long time now. The ache that forces him to bake. To keep his hands busy and his mind empty.
He wonders. What is Tommy doing to soothe his ache?
Buck almost asks.
But before he can, Tommy gets up. He clears his throat. “Are you staying with Maddie and Howie?”
“Yeah,” Buck says quietly. “For now. I guess.”
Tommy nods. He’s chewing on his lower lip. Lingers. Seems like there’s something else he wants to say.
And the silence stretches like a rubber band. The tension is almost palpable in the room.
Finally, Tommy says, “If I would text you in a few days. Would you read it? Would you read it all?”
“I would,” Buck says, remembering the bubbles. “I promise,” he adds.
Tommy exhales shakily. “Okay. Alright. I’m truly sorry, Evan. For the loft. And for what you lost. I can't change what happened. I can’t give the past back to you. But whatever happens, whatever you do after you read what I am going to write, I will give you everything I have. So that you can start a new collection.”
“Thank you,” Buck says, his throat tightening.
Tommy nods. He starts to walk out of the room with slow heavy steps.
Before he can disappear, Buck works up the courage to say, “Tommy. Wait.”
Tommy stops, glancing back at Buck.
“Are … are you okay?” Buck asks.
Tommy’s brows furrow with surprise, but then his eyes soften. “Honestly? No. And I haven’t been in a long time. But I am finding ways to keep the hope alive,” he says. “Goodbye, Evan. Rest well.”
And then he really leaves.
Buck stares into the void and the ache is back. But the pain has a note of hope in its bite. Maybe it’s the same kind of hope Tommy was talking about. And maybe he shouldn’t allow himself to feel it. But he can’t help it.
Apparently, his heart, even though covered in the ash the night left behind, is still convinced that the future he pictured is worth fighting for.
(AO3 Link)
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adrianastrix · 1 day ago
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Another thing I'll add here is something that I was coincidentally discussing with a friend yesterday: this kind of issue can only be solved if our science education (and I'm talking BOTH Natural Sciences and Humanities) doesn't rely on teachers being simply a source of "correct" information.
I put "correct" in quotes because guys. GUYS. I was in a comitee for quality control of kids science textbooks (ages 11-14), and Jesus Christ. It was a book written in the Year of Our Lord 2022 and it had a SLUR as an "alternative name" to Down Syndrome. Not to mention information that was BLATANT WRONG when you as much as googled the legal definition of a certain thing, and much much more. We obviously bombed it, but there's the kicker: the only thing our ban ensured is that this textbook collection is out of question for Brazilian public schools. Private schools can use it, if they want to.
Which means that even schools can and, as much as we try, will spread misinformation, even if it's in a small scale. The teacher in the Twitter thread very astutely identified it as a crisis of authority. If education is just a matter of relaying "correct facts", it all comes down to a matter of authority. And the poor teacher feels hopeless because she can't even say, in good faith, that her word is inherently better than ChatGPT or Wikipedia or TikTok because, guess what, she could be wrong. There's no such thing as infallible authority.
There's only one solution, one that Education Scientists (which ARE a thing, I'm one of them!) have been saying since, I dunno, THE 18TH CENTURY: giving kids an education centered in DOING science, not memorizing its products. The teacher started amazingly by asking the kid to "look it up" in front of her. But what she COULD have done, if prepared for this kind of challenge (I obviously don't fault her for freezing when confronted by something for the first time) was to ask for the notebook or cellphone and show the student what she meant by "look it up" and how the results vary. And tell him that NO single source should be trusted, either her or ChatGPT, and when sources disagree, what should be the tiebreaker?
In other words, the only antidote is showing the kids HOW science is done, HOW you arrive at conclusions, and HOW documental research is done. Science isn't something that Very Smart Geniuses do in their ivory towers to create The Truth. It's science, not a sacred religious ministery. Science is mundane, messy, controversial, and everyone* can do it with a bit of training, just like everyone* can cook or sing or draw with the proper training. [*"everyone", of course, being a rethorical generalization; obviously there are circunstances in which people might NOT be able to do it, or might need especialized assistance that others don't need, but those are the exceptions, not the rule.]
The main reason why our education is stuck in memorization and trying to out-authority the internet has a name: Standard Testing.
It's LEAGUES easier to test for how many facts someone can spew exclusively from memory (you just need a multiple choice test that can be graded by a machine) than it is to test students for their ability of create, research and communicate knowledge (the current optimal way to do it is the whole process of writing a monography/dissertation/thesis).
The whole EVALUATION system holds us down WAY more than the teaching methods themselves, because when you are teaching scientific abilities, you WON'T be sparing time to ensure that all your students are commiting definitions and formulas to mind. At the VERY least, tests should allow students to search for the info they need: this alone already demonstrate that student's ability to research, compare and choose correct information.
The idea that you can compare kids by a test that quantifies the amount of information they have on their heads, and that once they perform well on a test, that info is certified as correct and true is RIDICULOUS. Information on the brain degrades with time, unless you need it constantly. And people who grade tests are human, humans can be wrong. The accepted answer in a test can be wrong.
But we have to maintain the illusion that we can OBJECTIVELY rank students, schools, school systems and nations on how much knowledge they have. Otherwise, how investors will be reassured that they are "top quality"? How private education businesses can boast that they are "the best", thus justifying their price tag? How international banks will "ensure" that the amount of money countries are investing in education are being "correctly spent" (instead of being used to repay them)?
Soooo... ChatGPT is only the tip of the iceberg. There ARE ways for us to solve that problem, there HAS been ways for it since the 18th FREAKING century. But as long as they don't make the money people happy, as long as we expect school knowledge to take the form of a standard list of memorized correct info, we will still be ineffectively fighting the robots.
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xoxochb · 2 days ago
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percy dry humping aphrodite!reader??
hriejdbkxdjnfbdbd deceased!!!!! need this so bad :(
——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
“perce, we shouldn’t—” your sentence is cut short by a strangled moan, the friction between your soaked panties and percy’s boxers sending your head into a spiral.
it’s not that you want him to stop, but at the same time he kind of has to stop for the sake of both of your reputations. your siblings were only out of cabin ten for lunch, you knew they’d be back right after, but somehow percy had managed to get to you clothed at the very least. turns out he’s more persuasive than you think because you gave into him unfortunately.
“jus’ lemme take care of you, sweet girl. you gonna let me do that?”
obediently, you nod. though at the moment you can’t seem to find it in yourself to disagree— or as a matter of fact, you can’t do much as you feel his hardness rubbing against your clothed clit, it has you dizzy and in an almost limp state. you tear between stopping him and telling him to continue. in fact, in mentions of that, his pace along you quickens, perhaps he has taken your thoughts into his own brain and realized that shit your siblings will be back soon, you were right.
and you know for a fact that there’s no way in hell percy would simply stop everything right now just because of a possibility, no, what kind of boyfriend would he be then? in his opinion, a pretty shitty one. even through your soft whimper when his hips roll firmly against yours, this only makes him want to keep going further.
“please, we- can’t- we have to-”
you don’t even know what you’re saying. or thinking. your mind is too fuzzy to concentrate on anything at this point. but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to beg percy to stop, you have to before your siblings—
shit. holy fucking shit.
if your poor panties weren’t already drenched to the brim they sure as hell were now! you’re hit with the sudden pleasurable sensation like a freight train. and you thank the gods you came quick within these few minutes because sooner or later you would’ve forgotten how to speak entirely. then you would’ve have been entirely done for.
though you’re starting to think, with the at you feel now, that you already are.
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magics-neptunes-things · 22 hours ago
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Love Me Harder
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Hi guys :)
Still working on my WIP! This is a request I got here, so I hope the person asking for it will be happy with what I wrote :)
I'm sorry for the delay by the way.
But please enjoy ♥
TW : Head injury, concussion, jealousy, angst with happy ending.
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Leah and you have been a couple for almost two years now, even if you managed to get it hidden for now. You always had something for the girl to be honest, but when you met Leah, she was already with Jordan and you weren’t really a couple breaker. Sure, it hurts sometimes to see her happy with someone else, but at least she was happy and that’s all that matters for you.
You tried to forget her by sleeping around or having a girlfriend yourself, but nothing really worked. You usually dated people away from the football world, not wanting to mix your professional life with your private life. It happened that you slept with other players though, but never in your team or with them being friends with one of your friends.
With that state of mind, it was hard to find someone to sleep with, but at least you were out of trouble.
Well, that’s what you thought until today.
Leah and you aren’t playing for the same team, she was born at Arsenal while you travel a lot during your career. You started in Manchester City, then you went to Lyon, then to Bayern and since last season you have been back in Manchester City. You like it here and it was easier to live your relationship with Leah that way.
You are together when you are playing for your national team though, you have been the number one goalkeeper of the team for years now. Leah is back from her injury and is now back in national camp too.
Sarina knows that you are together, like all your teammates. The only people who don’t know are the public. You are friends with a lot of Lionesses, so when you are spotted with Leah and some of your friends, no one really puts two and two together. Meado tease you a lot about it, but in reality, you aren’t fan of PDA anyway and so is Leah. Maybe not like you are with your friends, but it’s another discussion.
Back to today, you are playing against Italy for the qualification of the next international championship. After your World Cup and the fact that you weren’t qualified for the Olympics Games, all your team wants to show that you are still here and deserve to win the Euro back in 2022.
You were doing the pitch inspection, casually talking with Lucy and LJ when you heard someone calling your name. Leah, as always, wasn’t far away from you with Keira and Georgia.
“Y/N?”
You turn without really thinking in the direction of the voice, just to be faced with a girl that you actually slept with several months ago. To be honest, it was just before you got in a relationship with Leah. You hate to admit it, but you kind of ghost that poor girl after that, way too happy to finally be with the girl you were in love with.
“Oh, hi Milena” you say nervously.
You even have forgotten that she’s in fact from Italy and you will be facing her today. You can see Lucy exchanging an intrigued look with LJ next to you while the girl keeps walking in your direction.
“I’m happy to see you” she says when she’s in front of you.
You don’t have time to answer before she hugs you and your arms automatically surround her waist to give her back her embrace. If your arms very quickly drop from her body, one of her hands stays in your arm.
You probably never have been so uncomfortable during the rest of your life. You can feel Leah burning gaze on your back.
“How are you? I think we haven't talked for like two years” she laughs.
“Oh, uh. I’m good thanks” you mumble.
“You look good indeed” she smirks.
You deal very badly with cringe, to be honest. So, you are particularly relieved when Lucy passes her arm around your shoulders before talking.
“We have to go back inside” Lucy says, nodding towards the locker room.
In fact, when you look around, you realise that almost all your teammates are already inside. That excuse is perfect after all. You mumble a “See you later” before letting Lucy take you out of the pitch.
Lucy and LJ manage to wait to be out of your ex’s ear before bursting into laughter. You suppose you must be grateful to them for that.
“What was that?” Lauren asks while Lucy is still laughing like crazy.
“Nothing” you roll your eyes.
“She doesn’t look like nothing” Lucy smirks when she can breathe again.
“Be careful with what you say, or Ona will receive a strange text from me, explaining how you find other girls not nothing” you frown.
She suddenly shuts up, her face becoming way more serious. It makes you smile. You never saw Lucy so whipped for a girl before. But you know that your friends deserve an explanation. You sigh softly before starting your explanation.
“It’s a girl I slept with before Leah kissed me at that party, and we got together. I was still in the process of forgetting her. I met that girl before the Euro and well… You know” you shrug. “But then after the semi-finales we got together with Leah, after that she hurt her ACL and I kind of totally forgot that girl.”
LJ hums after your explanation, nodding softly. You can see that your explanation makes sense for both of them which is great because it’s nothing but the truth.
“Leah was boiling” Lucy informs you.
You grimace at this. You were pretty sure that she would react that way. You never realise how Leah can be jealous before being with her. You like it actually, fond of the way she wants to be sure that you are hers and no one can take you away from her.
But here and now aren’t exactly the right place to show her that she is your only one.
You are nervous when you enter the changing room, looking for your girlfriend. You finally see her sitting in Georgia’s cubby. Her eyes are burning when she crosses your gaze after you enter the locker room.
Lucy goes sit on her cubby, just next to yours, while LJ goes on hers too. You want to talk to Leah, but Georgia’s non-verbal language makes you think that you better not approach Leah for now.
That girl is really scary when she wants to.
Keira’s gaze is softer and it’s what makes you walk in their direction. Lucy was right, Leah seems furious.
“Can we talk?” you ask softly when you reach them.
“No” Georgia answers harshly.
“Georgia” Keira sighs.
“Leah?” you try again, trying to cross your girlfriend’s gaze. “Please?”
She sighs and throws the towel she was holding in the cubby while standing up. She doesn’t answer really, but you follow her anyway when she walks to leave the room. You don’t really know where you are going at first, until she turns to enter in a closet.
“What do you want to talk about?” Leah asks harshly just after you close the door.
You are a little bit taken aback. You know what you want to talk about of course, but you don’t know how to start. You are sure that if you say that you know she’s jealous, she will deny it and that it will be the end of the conversation. This is not what you want.
“I just wanted to know if you are okay” you tentatively say.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She has now her arms crossed and her famous frown on her face. You know how hard it would be to have something from this conversation.
“Because you seem angry”
Leah snorts and looks at the handle of the door. She putted her hands on her hips now and is shaking her head.
“Am I supposed to be happy when my girlfriend is getting flirted with by someone else?”
“No, that is why I wanted to talk to you too. I just…”
“Do you know her?” Leah cuts you.
This time her eyes are deep inside yours and you know that you can’t lie to her. It wasn’t something you wanted to do anyway, but with her eyes scanning your soul, it would have been impossible.
“I… We slept together some time ago” you finally sigh.
“When?”
“Just before the Euros”
You know that Leah knows perfectly that your first kiss happened after the semi-finals against Sweden and the happiness of the victory. You were the first shocked when she kissed you after some naughty dancing, but you kissed her back and the rest of the night probably made her understand very much how much you were fancying her already.
It’s even stronger now, of course.
But Leah is looking at you like she’s going to kill you.
“Don’t look at me like that, Le. I didn't know that several weeks later you would kiss me. I didn’t know you were interested in me at this point.”
You try to take her hand with yours, but she takes it away from you, before opening the door again.
“Well you can go back fucking her in that case”
“Leah!”
She slams the door, almost pinning your fingers inside. When you manage to get outside too, Leah isn’t here anymore. You decide to go back to the training room and try to talk to her again, but when you arrive, Sarina is right behind you, asking you to go training.
You aren’t really concentrating during the training to be honest; you keep looking at Leah, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t even share a look with you when you are right behind her at the beginning of the game.
You really hope that a win will ease her mood and help you to reconcile with Leah. You turn when you feel a tap on your shoulder, turning your bigger frame towards Keira. She just smiles at you, and you nod only. You are too nervous to smile, but you are glad to know that you have at least one of Leah’s friends on your side. You are sure that Leah explained everything to them.
You take a deep breath when it’s time to go on the pitch, trying to focus on the game. The national anthems help you and you keep a straight face when you check all the Italian players, even Milena.
You do your usual check with Lucy too, looking for good luck before starting the game. England is supposed to be the favourites, but Italy is fighting with all their strength. Your forwards manage to have good opportunities, but without being able to score for now.
After the first half, no one scored, and you had to use some of your best moves to avoid taking a goal or two.
You just nod when Sarina congratulates you in the locker room. Leah is still not looking at you, as if you weren’t even here. It creates a strange feeling in your throat. You are happy that Lucy is just next to you, even if she’s not talking, your friend’s presence is good for you.
When the game starts again, you realise with anxiety that Milena and her other teammates change their side, meaning that Leah is the one marking Milena from now.
But Leah manages to take the upper hand on Milena every single time, using with ability her slide tackles. You are happy when Alessia finally manages to score around the seventy minutes.
Five minutes later, Sarina made all the different changes she was planning to, leaving Lucy and Leah in the defence but changing Millie and Maya in the same move. You don’t have a lot of time to get used to that though, because soon Italy won a corner, and you have to focus again on the game.
You can’t really explain what happened. Your eyes were on the ball when the Italian player shot it in the middle of the surface. But the knock you received on your head suddenly makes everything dizzy and you fall on the ground without really realising it.
There is a wheezing and everything else sounds like you were underwater. You feel hands on you, someone slapping your cheek, two fingers looking for your pulse in your neck.
You don’t know if it’s because it’s Leah or if it’s because she’s screaming right above your head, but you hear her distinctly shout
“Don’t fucking touch her! Let her breathe!”
And the panic in her voice finally makes you open your eyes. It’s the same feeling when you are sleepy, and Leah wakes you after you fall asleep in front of a movie to go to bed. Your eyes are heavy, the light is too bright too. You wince and close your eyes almost as soon as you open them, pressing your hand on your head.
“Y/N? Hey Baby, can you hear me?”
Leah’s voice is softer than you ever heard it, and you groan for only an answer. Your head is pounding.
“Can you roll on your back?”
You recognize the voice of one of the people from the medical team. You groan once more and roll on the ground, lying now on your back. You warily open your eyes, thankful that someone is hiding the lights of the pitch with their frame. You frown softly when you realise that it’s Milena
“I’m sorry Y/N, I wasn’t looking where I was going and…”
“It’s okay” Leah cuts her harshly. “She needs to get looked at; can you leave?”
You perfectly see the staff member smile at each other before turning their attention to you again.
They ask you several questions, make you sit, look at their fingers and look at a light too. It’s not an enjoyable experience to be honest, it hurts, and you have trouble staying focused.
“I think it’s a concussion” one of them finally says. “It would be better for you to get out of the pitch.”
“No” you frown. “Sarina made all the substitutions already. I can’t leave.”
“Of course you can” Leah interjects. “No one would blame you. It’s safer like th– “
“Leah. I’m playing.”
Her light blue eyes went right into your eyes. You don’t look away, Leah might be stubborn, but you are too when you really want something. And you want to play, you want to prove to her that she can count on you no matter what. You know you have hurt her and maybe bummed after your revelation earlier. You want to take amend of that.
When she opens her mouth to answer, you look at the medical staff.
“Am I allowed to play?”
They hesitate for several seconds, looking at you silently.
“If I let you play, you have to swear that if you don’t feel good, or dizzy, or tired, you will stop the game and get out of the pitch. Can we make this deal?”
You nod and he nods back, before helping you to get up. You take some water from the bottle he gave you, splashing some of it on your face too. You feel tired to be honest and the lights are killing you. But you are determined to end this game.
“Y/N.”
You turn in Leah’s direction and it’s easy to see the concern in her eyes. You smile softly at her while your teammates and the opposite team are coming back on the pitch.
“I’ll be fine, Leah”
She sighs and you feel her gaze on you when you go back to the goal. You don’t see her or hear her turning to the players around her, telling them not to let anyone come near your goal.
They manage to do it greatly to be honest, and you are glad for it. You have to make some intervention, like grabbing the ball in the air for example. Jumping was fine, but the shock when you fall on the ground is harsh.
When the whistle of the referee finally sounds, signalling the end of the game, you are more relieved than ever. Closing your eyes, you let your tired body sliding along one of the two posts on your goal.
“You’re alright mate?”
You don’t open your eyes but nod at Lucy’s question, feeling her hand on your shoulder without seeing it.
“Do you need help to get up?”
“Please” you mumble.
She makes you stand as easily as you were a 5-year-old child, making you smile softly. You thank Maya with gratefulness when she gives you your things waiting behind the goal and slowly make your way to the locker room.
You look around to see where Leah is, which isn’t missed by Beth who is walking on your other side.
“She’s answering some questions for the TV” the blonde informs you.
You groan and drink more water, still walking. Pretty slowly, you must admit. But you feel dizzy, and you sigh internally when you see Milena running in your direction.
“Hey” she says, with her Italian accent. “Look, I'm very sorry. How are you feeling?”
“I’ll be okay, don’t worry” you answer with a soft smile. “I’ll need some rest tonight and maybe tomorrow, but other than that it’s okay.”
You watch her bite her lips, like if she’s thinking about something to say. And how to say it. You really hope that she won’t ask you out now, because you don’t have the energy to deal with it right now.
“Can I write to you tomorrow? To know how you are feeling. I really feel very guilty”
You were going to answer something, but you were interrupted by an arm sneaking around your waist and a body suddenly pressed against yours.
“She will post an update on her Instagram tomorrow. And don’t worry for her, she’s between great hands” Leah says, before looking at you. “Are you okay to leave, Babe?”
You repress a smile and take a small breath.
“Yeah, let’s go. See you”
You give a smile to Milena, who you feel sorry for. You know that she never meant to hurt you, but Leah seems to take her for the only responsible of the accident.
“You know that I wasn’t looking either?” you mumble to Leah.
“It doesn’t matter. Sarina told me we can leave now; the staff asked for a taxi so we don’t have to wait on anyone. Would you like to shower in your hotel room rather than here?”
“Sounds good” you mumble again.
In a record time, Leah manages to take all your things and put them in your two bags, change herself in a training suit and help you to do the same. You are starting to feel tired and dozens in the cab on Leah’s shoulder.
“Baby you have to wake up. I can’t carry you in your room” Leah whispers when you are in front of the hotel, gently kissing your temple.
Usually, you love the fact that you are higher than Leah. You love how she easily fits in your arms, how you can hold her and feel like you are protecting her from everything and everyone.
But right now, you really would love for her to be able to carry you.
She does a bit though, holding you firmly against her while you are going to the lift and then to your room. You let yourself fall on the bed when you arrive inside your room, letting Leah deal with your bags and everything else.
“Come on Baby, we have to wash the game out of you. Then you can go in bed until the staff members come again”
“I just want to sleep” you groan.
“I know. But you will feel better.”
You do feel better, Leah is right. She helps you to take your shower, affectionately dry you with a towel after, help you to put fresh pajamas on and then even brush your teeth and your hair.
She then takes a quick shower too and it’s with wet hair and in one of your t-shirts that she opens the door of your room for the staff. The t-shirt easily covers her smaller frame, the tissue going until her knees.
They make some more tests on you, asking several questions to Leah too. You have trouble staying focused, but only because you are very tired. You don’t hear them leaving, opening your eyes again when you feel the bed move when Leah crawls on it.
“Are you sure you’re not in pain?”
You hum, snuggling against her warm body. They gave you some morphine earlier anyway. Leah lets you do it and you sigh happily when she starts to stroke your neck with her fingers.
“I’m sorry for the way I reacted because of your ex”
Leah’s whisper takes you by surprise. You probably almost never heard Leah saying that she was sorry for something so serious. Opening your eyes again, you search hers.
“I’m sorry for the way you learned it” you whisper back. “But it has nothing to do with you. It was before knowing you could be in any way interested in me. I was still in my “Forgetting Leah” era”
Leah chuckles and you smile hearing that sound. You close your eyes again, the tiredness being more and more hard to fight against.
“I’m glad you never managed to get over me” Leah says after some silence, playing with your hair.
“I will never be able to get over you”
You feel like your voice is low and your words aren’t very well articulated, but Leah seems to understand very easily what you are saying.
“I was hoping to” Leah mumbles too. “Now sleep, you little menace.”
You groan softly once again, making Leah smile. You happily let her kiss your face several times, finishing with your lips. You manage to whisper that you love her and it seems to you that Leah say it back, but you are not really sure. Because you are already asleep then.
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