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esotericbluntbaby · 4 months ago

Text

compensation

hamzahthefantastic x reader

description: going against your wishes, your boyfriend decides to fight another match after spraining his wrist the last time he boxed. injured, he returns home to his girlfriend, who can't help but feel more than just "angry."

mentions: boxer!hamzah, bf!hamzah, angsttt, female reader, sub! hamzah, blood, bruises, nsfw!

GUYS IM SORRY I FORGOT TO POST THIS PLS DONT KILL ME

this was the first time that hamzah kept you in the dark, betraying your trust in him.

he was always a strong-willed, passionate boy; in fact, it was one of the things you found attractive in him. he kickstarted his youtube with his resilience and determination. giving up was simply not an option for him; one way or another, plan after plan, he'd get his goal even if it meant he had to cut off his limbs and sell them. if hamzah wanted something, he would get it, similar to a horse kicking whenever it's being restrained. though, normally, he knew when to stop pushing, especially when the cost was more than the benefit.

the last time hamzah boxed, his wrist fractured like a 6 year old cracks a wishbone. you, obviously, knew that getting hurt was apart of his hobby; you didn't like it, but you accepted that it was inevitable for some part of him to be banged up and broken. he allowed you to stay in the hospital with him during the time he was getting monitored, meaning that you were allowed to hear the doctor tell him that he had to wait 6 weeks to box again.

during the hospital visit, hamzah realized he had a match in exactly 5 weeks. you argued with him, telling him that there would be no way in hell that he'd be able to box until his wrist is fixed. of course, being as stubborn as a mule, hamzah argued back that he had to fight if his life depended on it. eventually, the night settled in as you laid in bed together that night, cuddling; he told you that you were right. reassuring you that he wouldn't be fighting, he kissed you goodnight. you thought you wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

that was, until tonight, an hour after the match: when hamzah walked in the front door, bloody and bruised.

his eye began to swell, darkening around the indents of his skull. the black eye that adorned his face was accompanied by a deep gash that exposed the layer beneath his skin. he looked at you with guilt plastered in his banged up face, furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips being muted by the extent of his injuries. you didn't have to guess where he was: you felt betrayed by the fact that you knew exactly what he went out to do. alongside his injuries and deception, came a girlfriend who wasn't going to speak to him.

not a single word was said when you grabbed his other wrist and walked to the bathroom with him; the room was filled with silence and guilt radiating off of him. he was currently sitting on the toilet seat as you rummaged around the medicine cabinet for materials that would help you fix his wounds. though you were upset, you weren't going to leave him to tend to his own injuries; you were still his girlfriend, after all. sitting on the floor, you grabbed his wrist to check how worsened it became.

"baby-"

"no, hamzah."

from your previous arguments, you knew that hamzah has a habit of overloading you with pet names. he knew he fucked up; you know he fucked up. him starting his sentence with "baby" helped you realize that he knew he's in the doghouse.

taking the textured, cotton gauze, you began to wrap his wrist with a softness that foiled your emotions towards him. you felt his eyes trained on you like the aimbot of a video game; his gazed fixated on every single movement you made. he noticed the way that you still looked so pretty even when you were mad at him. the way your face looked, tensed and full of agitation, created a pool of guilt that he swam in. he hated making you upset, but he simply needed to box. it was passion. it was commitment. he had to do it; at least, that's what he was telling himself. however, no matter how much he told himself that he had to fight, he knew it was wrong of him to go against your wishes and back. he knew you wanted the best for him and his physical being.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have gone tonight. i was being stupid and i shouldn't have went behind your back like that."

you listened to him apologize, yet, didn't respond. in fact, you didn't even look at him. there was no acknowledgement of his apology; it was almost like it never even happened in the first place. he needed to know how truly upset you were. instead, you focused on wrapping his wrist with a second layer of gauze, to keep everything in place.

"baby, please. just talk to me- i don't care if you cuss me out or give me hell for betraying you like that, just- please talk to me," his mannerisms were tense and rushed, "how do i fix this? how do i get you to speak to me? i'll do anything- i swear- you want me to quit boxing completely? i will. you want me to do all the housework in this house? i will- i'll do every single chore. shit, if even just sitting in a corner for days with no food or water would get you to speak to me, i'd do that. please, baby- please."

you finished wrapping the gauze by the time he finished his speech about what he'd do to get you to speak to him. you began to touch his face, examining the bruise on his eye and cheekbone like a scientist looking through a microscope. suddenly, he grabbed you by the cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

"i'm sorry. please, just speak to me. i'll do anything. talk to me. i just wanna hear your voice."

listening to him yearn for your voice made you feel a certain type of way. yes, you were mad. however, in a way, this whole situation was turning you on. you hated to admit it, but your boyfriend looked attractive with a black eye and bruised cheekbone. the fact that he was begging for you to speak to him made the sexual tension you were feeling within you even worse. his submissive side was creating a potion of ecstasy in your stomach; you wanted to see how far he'd go.

you sighed, "i don't know anymore, hamzah. you told me you wouldn't. i trust you less."

"i know, pretty, i'm sorry. i'll earn it back, i promise. i shouldn't have gone tonight. i was being an idiot."

standing up as his face followed where your eyes were, you rubbed it against his open wound, earning a wince from him as he gripped onto your waist. butterflies emerged in your stomach, causing you to feel similar to how light a fairy is.

"thanks for the warning," he said with sarcasm and irritation laced in his voice, opening his eyes from the hard shut he indulged in

"you don't deserve one."

he pulled you onto his lap, causing you to straddle him on the toilet seat. taking your cheeks, he cupped your face in his hands and sighed. he looked at you with a level of submissiveness you haven't seen in him. normally, hamzah was the dominant one; yet, you didn't mind that the roles switched.

"what can i do to get you to not be mad at me?"

"i dunno. you're a smart boy," you grabbed his cheek and stroked it with your thumb, "figure it out, baby."

you saw a lightbulb flicker on in his eyes. he sensed the tension in the room wasn't only angry, but there was also sexual tension in its silver lining.

"you want me to make it up to you?"

you leaned towards his ear, now whispering, "how are you gonna do that, hamzah?"

you felt something poke at your ass from beneath you, a slight twitch emerging from it too. your words made him as hard as a rock.

that's so fucking hot.

"baby, i thought you were mad at me."

"oh, i am. trust me, i'm fucking pissed."

he kissed you on the cheek, "i'm sorry."

he kissed you on the jawline, "i'm sorry."

he kissed you on the lips, "i'm sorry."

moving down to your neck, he kissed it longer than the pecks he gave you previously. you felt a sucking motion, as well as his tongue swirling on your sweet spot, shortly after. your breath got heavier, almost as if your lungs were being weighed down by hot air. your lips parted as he sucked a dark spot onto your neck.

"i'm sorry, pretty girl. forgive me?"

"not yet."

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "why not?"

"i need more than that."

"tell me what you need, pretty. i'll do it."

you leaned closer to his ear, kissing his neck and the area between, "you know what i want from you."

standing up from the toilet seat, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to your bedroom. your lips began to intertwine with his as he walked through the hallway, your tongues melting together like two lollipops on a hot day. he laid you down on the bed, still kissing you with everything he had; he needs you to forgive him.

letting go of your lips, he moved closer to the edge of the bed, taking off your shorts and leaving you in your underwear. feeling exposed in front of hamzah was always nerveracking in your own way; however, this time it was different. you knew hamzah had to please you, leaving you with a newfound confidence.

"are you okay with this?" he asked, exhibiting a level of care that you were all too familiar with.

"do whatever you want to me, hamzah."

taking your underwear off, you were left laying on top of your sheets in a tank top. his arms wrapped around your legs like a snake to its prey, prying your legs apart with a sense of desperation.

"you're so pretty like this baby," he kissed the inner part of your thigh, "you're so fucking pretty."

he spit on the area between your legs, earning a subtle gasp from you. his tongue began to lap on you, dropping saliva on the area of you that was already wet. between your legs, you felt the roughness and neediness of his tongue. his hands squeezed your inner thighs as pleasure began to unravel the metaphoric yarn located in your stomach. hamzah was eating the fuck out of you, leading to your moans getting louder and louder with each and every movement his tongue created against you.

his tongue produced a dance that only the both of you would know. some parts were as fast as light, while other ones were full of yearning and slowness; he knew exactly how to balance it for you to feel the best that you could feel.

your hands made its way to his hair, "you're so pretty like this, hamzah. my boy- my pretty boy."

his movements got faster as his grip against your thighs tightened even more, as if you were going to fly away if he let go. similar to his hands, you squeezed his hair as his movements quickened in pace; you could feel the yarn unraveling like a rubber band about to snap.

"f-fuck- hamzah, i'm close-"

he kissed your core, before his tongue sped to a pace you haven't felt before. you watched him eat you out like there was no tomorrow, leaving loud moans echoing the room, before he felt you release into his mouth. kissing it once again, he looked up at you as his hands massaged the pillows that he was in between. you looked at each other with love while he watched your heavy breathing and fucked-out expression.

"forgive me?"

"i forgive you. please go box someone else, baby."

confusion was apparent in his face, "what?"

"you're so fucking hot when you're bruised and yearning."

author's note!

this is so short omfg i hate using anatomical words for smut LOL more coming soon!

#hamzah fic #hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x y/n #hamzah fluff #slushy noobz #hamzah angst #hamzah smut #hamzahthefantasticxreader

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pedgito · 2 months ago

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𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Tommy Miller x reader x Joel Miller

summary | You need something to ease the pain, but Joel and Tommy aren't very generous.

author's note | this isn't for everyone, please read the tags. i'm already working for a follow-up on this, but if you decide to read this - thank you!! <3 also ily and thank you for the betas @gracieheartspedro @amanitacowboy

content warning | DDDNE — noncon & dubcon, there's not defined consent, reader is both drugged and has a head injury that is blurring the lines of reality, early outbreak days, dark!tommy, dark!joel, unprotected piv, restraints, degrading, deepthroating, creampies, this is literally them fighting over a shiny new toy, joel spitting on reader, marking/claiming, very little aftercare. this is dark fic, don't engage if you don't like.

word count — 5.3k

You had struck gold.

On, well, drugs.

There was the saying—only the strongest will survive. But, you’ve seen a clicker take down a man double its size without an ounce of struggle.

Then again, they were literal killing machines.

You’ve learned that sanity is what has kept you alive.

And lately, yours had been slipping.

It was the anxiety, the lack of food and water, the seventh group you’ve filtered into torn to bits overnight and because you were so weary – always sleeping above ground level and never really letting yourself succumb to deep sleep – had managed to slip away in the knick of time.

Regardless, you needed the drugs.

You’ve been on the run for two weeks, completely alone, raiding every hospital and pharmacy you’ve come across with no luck, all wiped clean.

Sometimes, the anxiety made your chest hurt — blood pumping into your ears so loud you couldn’t hear anything else, too aware of the functions within your own body.

It has gotten explicitly worse the past couple days and when you finally find some luck, therein follows the immediate feeling that it was too good to be true.

There was a catch.

This was a trap.

Well, fuck it.

What did you have to lose anyways?

You’ve been in this dilapidated house before, months ago when you were passing through with another group. So, when you find the bags, you’re wondering if this was just a mistake.

Someone had left these behind, surely.

There wasn’t anyone in the nearest vicinity, not a speckle of life anywhere to be found.

So, you dig.

There’s a treasure trove of bottles all half full or almost empty, scanning through the names until you find something worth taking.

Diazepam.

It could work, it would work.

By the looks of it, there’s only ten pills left and if you used them sparingly enough, you could stretch it out for a couple months, long enough to continue your search.

The end goal was always civilization, hopeful that you could stumble upon a well-established group that would be kind enough to take you in.

Though, the outlook was grim.

You stuff the bottles of pills into your coat pocket and continue to dig, unsure why you’re feeling so greedy. Some of the labels are ripped and unintelligible, some of the bottles simply don’t pique your interest, crouched on the floor and burrowing through someone else's belongings like a rat.

You’re so focused that you don’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late.

“Don’t move.”

The voice is sharp, cuts through the silence like a knife and you freeze, hunched over and caught red-handed.

“Turn around slowly.”

You comply, unwinding yourself carefully, heart pounding in your chest.

There’s one man standing in the doorway, another a few steps ahead.

They share a similar build and face, undoubtedly related.

You raise your hands to show no threat, hands shaking slightly. “I’m just passing through,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”

The closer man takes a step forward, but the gun doesn’t waver. “You with anyone?”

“No.” You hate how weak you sound, “No—just….just me,”

Dumbass. You should have lied.

Your hands are shaking noticeably and you’re not sure if it’s from fear or adrenaline or relief that you’ve scored something.

It doesn’t matter.

“Empty your pockets,” his voice is indescribable, but demanding, eyes lingering briefly to the quieter man behind him that lingered like a shadow, as you hesitate, the gun clicks, “I’m not askin’.”

“I didn’t—take,” you panic, licking nervously at your lips, “I—you don’t understand,” you know they can hear the shuffle of the half-empty pillow bottle in your coat pocket, clear as day, “please don’t kill me, god—”

The idea seemed more intriguing now than it ever has.

The two men share a look, clearly one they have passed along a million times before.

“Turn around,” the man demands, “keep your hands up,”

You follow instructions with minor hesitancy, hearing the footsteps grow closer before the hands spread around your waist and up your ribs and you catch the gentle woosh of longer hair against your cheek that ultimately belonged to the other man.

You’re not sure whyor where the courage takes hold – it was stupid, outnumbered and unskilled when it came to combat, you were fighting a losing battle.

Your elbow swings back into the other man’s ribs and he grunts, roughly grabbing you by the back of your neck before shoving you at the one wielding the revolver, “Screw this, I’ll just fuckin’ shoot ‘er,” the voice belonging to the one with the menacing scowl and hard gaze.

“Joel, slow your goddamn roll,” it was a tidbit of information that he shouldn’t have let slip, feeling the hand at your bicep as it twisted behind your back tightly, gasping at the sharp sting of pain.

“Kill first, take later,” Joel reminds the other man, “we’ve been over this, Tommy.”

Joel. Tommy.

Brothers, clearly.

The outbreak was still fresh in hindsight, only two years since the attacks on the city started. It was clear that some people thrived in environments like this, feeding off violence to achieve their goal.

You’d stumbled into the wrong hands, all of your luck having officially ran out.

You’re not sure why they decide to spare you, but they do.

Time passes — seconds that feel like hours, before the butt of a gun is making contact with the side of your head.

You’re out like a light, meeting the floor with an unkind thump that splits open the skin near your temple, blood pooling around the wound and along the dilapidated hardwood.

“She’s your responsibility,” Joel tells his brother, shoving the gun into his chest, “take care of it.”

—

There was no expectation of waking until it happened.

Everything felt fuzzy, light, more welcoming than you expected. You could feel the cool sheets under your skin, a hastily applied bandage to your head, but your hands were bound.

There was an uneasy feeling to the picture painted before you, the usual diluted blues and green and greys of the apocalypse replaced with something warm.

You moan slightly, shifting as you blink to collect yourself, immediately faced with one of the men from earlier with a different kind of concern etched on his face.

As far as you could tell, he was alone.

And much more docile.

“Oh, woah, little lady,” he says, all charm in his thick southern twang, “you took quite a spill earlier.”

You moan again, this time in response, “You—he…hit me.”

“Joel? Yeah, he ain’t much of a people person,” Tommy explains, “he left for a bit, though. I patched ‘ya up, gave you some meds to help with the pain,”

He notices your gaze drifting, like it was too hard to keep focus despite your valiant effort.

You nod in compliance.

You can feel the hand that settles between your thighs, a soft caress as Tommy checks gingerly at your wound, the press of his fingers digging into the supple flesh at the inside of your leg.

“I think you’ll be right as rain, probably best to keep you here for a couple days until we can let you go,” he admits, “seems a little negligent and unfair to force you outside to deal with infected in your condition.”

Tommy liked his trinkets, though.

Sweet, shiny things that peaked his interest.

There’s a softness to your features that has been long lost on many, just the subtle glint of weakness he needs.

“I’m so sleepy,” you slur tiredly, groaning softly as you turn to your side, feeling the hand shift from between your legs to graze up the curve of your ass and against your back.

It was a nice touch, comforting — warm, safe.

No part of you can recognize who the hand belongs to, not in this state of mind, the room swirling with faint orange from the setting sun — was it a bedroom?

Living room?

Or, it was a dream. The afterlife, even.

Maybe you had died and this was the sick way your body was deciding to cope, cared for by your captors.

But, nothing about Tommy outwardly screamed danger.

Not like the way Joel's bared teeth, scruffy beard and stench of blood had.

No, Tommy was sanitary, preened and clean; a wolf dressed up in sheep’s clothing.

You can’t muster the care to worry about this now.

“Get some rest, darlin’,” he encourages, the touch moving to your hair now, curling the strands around his fingers gently.

You give into the medicine slowly creeping through your veins. Sleep overtakes you with little resistance. There is only darkness for a while, the absence of thought or feeling, until there’s the strange sensation you are being moved and manhandled.

Your limp body in someone’s arms, then in their lap, against their chest before you’re pressed into the mattress again but on your stomach, head carefully angled to avoid injury or irritation. Not that it mattered, your entire body was numb now.

It is a new kind of warmth that blankets you.

You can distantly hear a voice before you slip back into unconsciousness.

“... sweet little thing,” he says.

The passage of time feels endless.

The weight in the bed beside you comes and goes, the room filtering between light and dark, unsure how many days have passed. Occasionally you wake to drink water or take a few sparing bites of food, just enough to placate your angry stomach as you’re continuously fed meds to remain complacent.

It isn’t that you mind—you don’t. It was the best care you’ve had in months.

Actually, you don't ever remember being cared for like this.

There’s only ever one set of footsteps, no voices aside from one, and the constant looming feeling that he was around. You weren’t unsettled by it, rather comforted.

Tommy was being unbelievably kind despite your actions—he could have killed you outright, but instead, he was caring for you. You weren’t sure if his brother would be delighted at the idea, but he wasn’t here right now.

You can hear the faint chirp of crickets and a room blanketed in blue when the bed dips under the weight of someone sitting down again, and warm fingers brush across your cheek.

“Hey there,” Tommy’s voice sounds from behind you. “glad to see you awake.”

He sounds genuine.

You turn slightly to peer up at him, vision still hazy.

His eyes are crinkled with a slight smile, a thick mustache covering his upper lip. He’s stripped out of his jacket, clad in a shirt and jeans, and his touch still hasn't left you. Instead, it grows.

Explorative, you lie still.

There’s a wondrous edge to his gaze, his touch roaming the expanse of your body, clean of dirt and grime and suddenly you realize you’re dressed in fresh clothes, pants folded at the end of the bed. There was only a shirt and a thin pair of underwearing covering your body.

He had bathed you? Changed you?

Tommy notices the panic of the realization but soothes your worry with a touch that is gentle against your forehead, a much smaller bandage covering your head injury.

It’s weird, the faint glow that surrounds him.

Part of you wonders if this is still just a dream—maybe you’ve been dead for days.

His touch is so warm, guiding your legs apart as you gasp, his fingers resting over your core like they weren’t meant to be there.

“Wait,” you breath, thighs closing instinctively, “don’t—”

“Shhh,” Tommy soothes, the fingers of his opposite hand running along the side of your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he traces the flesh, “s’alright, you’re still lookin’ a little sleepy, sugar. Go on, you can rest,”

You’re only vaguely aware of how your bindings have changed, spread out at either end of the bedpost rather than bunched over your head, somehow feeling more restrictive than the latter.

Sleep was incredibly hard to fight, eyes fluttering through the growing curiosity of his touches, eventually slipping under the fabric of your panties.

“....well, look at that,” his voice is distant, but he’s met with a wet, warm heat as his fingers slide between your folds, watching as your lips part with the touch, “she loves me, don’t she?”

A soft mumble of a response in protest because it shouldn’t feel this good.

Tommy takes it in stride, the swift whip of his belt as it comes undone.

“Think I can make it quick,” Tommy says mutedly, feeling like you were underwater, “Joel should be back later, but I’ll treat your right, don’t worry,”

As the fabric goes, you come to, eyes widening as Tommy was already stripped of his jeans and underwear, cock hard and proud in his hand as he positioned himself between your legs, a gentle touch of his finger pressing inside of you.

The stretch makes you gasp, the fullness even more apparent as he adds another finger, pushing deep. It’s too much, the intensity of it all as you gasp and squirm against the bed. It was akin to something your body craved but your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

It’s good, though—almost dizzyingly so. Tommy smirks; he knows it.

There’s a tightness in your chest that screams danger, but every time you open your mouth to protest, only a moan comes out.

“Fuck,” Tommy groans as he watches your eyes fall shut, finger working loudly inside of you against your squelching heat, “how am I supposed to wait with you so ready for me?”

He wasn’t. You could feel him shifting instead, hands spread out over your thighs as the head of his cock pushed between your folds—up, down, his face tilted to examine the sight before him, neglecting the tugs against your bindings in protest.

“Just watch,” he murmurs with a nod, barely above a whisper, “you’re gonna come on my cock before you even realize what’s happenin’, darlin’.”

“Tommy, please—” you choke, but everything else is a soft cry as he pushes inside of you.

His hips snap forward, filling you in one swift motion.

The stretch is intense and overwhelming, a gasp of pain ripping from your throat.

You nearly whimper at the sensation after, his hand twisting around to your back to push up, arching you off the mattress as he rocks his hips in a steady timing—so tender in his affections, now languid thrusts drawing out a heat in your core that you didn’t ask for but can’t fight against.

The fight was useless, no give to the fabric tied around your wrist, the weight of his body against you as his hands spread out on the sheets beside the pillow under your head, his head level with your own but his eyes focused on the way your cunt sucked his cock up to the base.

He looks up briefly, tears in your eyes as they flutter shut in continued exhaustion.

“Don’t pass out on me now,” he teases when your eyes threaten to close, hips snapping forward to knock you back into the waking world, “I want you here for this, darlin’.”

He shifts slightly and your head is thrown back with an involuntary moan, every thrust dragging against that sweet spot inside of you that makes the world go white around the edges.

He was right—he’s fucking right—and there’s no saving you from his cock as a full-body shiver invades you. You mumble something unintelligible, head throbbing with a dull pain.

“Look at you,” Tommy breathes and you force yourself to focus, unable to look away as his thumb dips between you both, teasing your clit with feather-light circles that make you tremble.

His touch is surprisingly kind, not indicative of his intentions or actions. He wants to make you feel good, he’s relying on it, actually. And you hate how it was working. Your walls clamp down tight on his cock as he grunts deep in his chest, pace increasing to an unrelenting speed that echoes through the room, skin on skin.

“God, please,” you moan, praying to an unknown, barely recognizing the needy pitch of your own voice. You tug at the fabric binding once more out of reflex, not even sure what you’d do if your hands were free.

He grins, low and predatory. “That’s it,” he says with a punctuating thrust, “Take it. All of it.”

His name is the only word left in your vocabulary for a moment, over and over and over again until he’s pulling out of you suddenly, hot streams of cum spreading out of your stomach and chest as he shoves your shirt up, the loss sudden and devastating despite your mind telling you otherwise.

Tommy slumps to your side after a moment, catching his own breath with a hand over his chest and his erection flagging between his thighs, biting your lip to stifle the quiet sobs as the realization of your situation had come into full-view.

No haze, no confusion, the medication wearing off. You were left with nothing but pain.

–

He’s sleeping beside you, has been for a while.

He redressed eventually, unsure as you had closed your eyes to feign sleep.

But, he looked so fucking peaceful.

He hadn’t bothered helping you much either, only slipping your underwear back on and shifting up the flimsy blanket to cover your shivering body, the cold biting at your skin—and you can feel the dried cum against your belly, the fabric of your shirt sticking to your skin.

You swallow the dryness in your mouth as you study him, the shadows under his eyes, the flutter of his lashes against his skin. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse on his face.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the creak of floorboards outside the room, and you freeze.

It could only be one person.

“Tommy,” A voice booms in the distance, “Tommy!”

Tommy stirs beside you, groggy and unfocused, a slow realization dawning as he registers the call. It was Joel’s voice.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pushing up from the mattress.

By the panic on his face and the minimal calculation in your head—you should be dead.

He was supposed to take care of the problem.

Instead, he’s treated you like a plaything. A toy.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch him. He puts on his boots with haphazard urgency, more worried about Joel finding him beside you rather than your obvious state of living.

He meets your eyes for half a second, but there’s nothing there—not pity, not guilt, nothing.

A coward, through and through.

He ducks out the door before you can respond, leaving it ajar enough that you hear Joel’s accusation cut through the silence.

“...always makin’ me clean up your fuckin’ mess,” He argues, “if you hadn’t left those bags out and let me shoot her then—”

“I know, I know,” comes Tommy’s reply, more distant now, but you can still hear him scrambling for an excuse. “Just hold on a sec!”

You can hear the heavy footsteps approach, “Just get the fuck outta here for a few hours before I kill you too,” he threatens, though it sounded empty.

A creeping fear begins to settle in as you realize this is it—this time, there’ll be no reprieve.

When he approaches, his shadow creeping through the door, you have no choice but to face him. Hands still bound, you were helpless.

“Rise and shine, little thief,” his voice carries.

Joel examines the room with careful eyes, taking note of the half-eaten food and dirtied rags. It doesn’t take a genius for him to realize his brother had dragged this out for a while. Joel was only gone a few days, but he’d been keeping you sustained and alive without needing to.

And against Joel’s instruction.

Joel shakes his head in silence before he’s pulling the gun out of his jeans, finger on the trigger and you don’t know why—but you beg.

“I–please, please,” you begin, your voice raw, “I don’t wanna die. Joel, please.”

He flinches at you using his name, stepping closer as he presses the barrel into your forehead and cocks the lever back, “I’ll do anything. I’ll help—I’ll be…be good. Tommy kept me alive for a reason, r—right? He could have killed me too.”

“He can’t,” Joel tells you, “my mistake for thinkin’ he could.”

You struggled against the bindings as you kick your feet, shoving the sheet away to reveal your state of undress, “He did a lot worse,” you snap at him, “you—your brother, you’re fucking monsters, no real men would do what he did.”

That has him lowering the gun just a fraction, like he’s considering it.

The shadows of doubt flicker over his eyes, and in that moment you see your chance.

“I can help. Steal—lay low,” you attempt to convince him, helplessness thick in your voice. “You don’t gotta kill me. I’ve just been trying to survive.”

“You think I believe a word comin’ outta your mouth?” Joel says, but now it feels more like he’s trying to convince himself, “Why were you stealin’ our meds? You got some camp you were takin’ ‘em back to?”

“No,” you reply quickly, insistent, “no—it was just me. I just—I needed something, anything to get rid of this feeling that I have all the time. It’s constant panic.”

Joel seems to pause, a silent deliberation. He eyes your figure, strung up and helpless. It was worse than just killing you outright.

“Or, let me go,” you plead, hoping desperation might unearth some small fragment of mercy. “I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. I swear.”

His jaw tightens, and you think he’s about to pull the trigger. Instead, he curses under his breath and lowers the gun entirely.

“You’re pathetic,” he spits, tossing the gun aside and opening his knife to cut at your bindings, “Get up.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hugging your arms over yourself for some semblance of modesty, unmoving on the bed.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “I don’t trust you. You’re gonna prove yourself or die tryin’ to.”

He throws you your old pile of clothes folding on the table beside your bed, reeking up mildew.

“Get changed, now,” He demands, but doesn’t leave,

Fine. Whatever.

You shift to your knees and strip the top over your head, wincing at the throb of pain between your legs as Joel seems to freeze, spotting the mess dried on your stomach.

“You ain’t never shot a gun, have you?” Joel asks suddenly, “Killed anyone?”

You shake your head impishly.

“I’m good at being quiet, sneaking around,” you admit, aware of the way his eyes examine your breasts, the gentle curve as you pull the shirt over your head and toss it aside, “At least—I was.”

Letting you go was risky, but shooting you now seemed like a waste.

You had nothing to offer and Joel didn’t need that on his conscience.

Not that he really cared, but disposing of your body was more trouble than it was worth.

You recognize that same flicker of greed in Joel’s eyes that was prevalent in Tommy’s.

For Joel, it was more subdued and brought out by the sight that his brother had already staked a claim over you when he shouldn’t have, leaving Joel to clean up his mess.

He really didn’t appreciate that.

Luckily, Joel knew just how to fuck with Tommy; stealing his favorite toy.

He steps closer, a dangerous grin spreading across his face as you freeze, pausing your movements as you sit stripped down to your underwear before him.

“Didn’t even clean ya up, did he?” Joel mocks using the barrel of his revolver to motion at your chest, growing increasingly irritated at the situation before him.

“No, he didn’t,” you admit sheepishly, watching Joel’s free hand disappear behind your head until he could tip your neck back, exposing your bare chest as he gathered saliva in his mouth to dribble the spit over your chest.

You hated to admit it, but you were pliant.

Like putty in his hands.

“Clean it up,” he demanded.

Your eyes searched for mercy that would never come before dropping to your chest, the glistening mess trickling down to the waistband of your underwear. You stare back up at him nervously, but his face is stoic, unwavering.

You clear your throat softly and trial your fingers through the spit and drag it back up your chest, cleaning away the mess that Tommy had left, using the dirtied shirt to wipe yourself clean.

Before you can muster a response, he’s shoving two fingers past your lips, pressing against the back of your throat so hard that you choke, “He use this too?”

You shake your head impishly, lashes fluttering as he presses his fingers down against your tongue, eyes watering at the sudden intrusion. You sputter around his digits, tasting him and the salt of his palm.

Leaving his fingers in your mouth, he pulls you up to your feet with a matching furiosity to his previous actions that has you paw at his wrist for leverage, eventually releasing his fingers from your mouth with a pop and leaving you slack jawed and breathless.

You don’t have time to recover, though, before he’s pulling his knife out and slicing clean through the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Joel,” it’s a moan this time, breathless.

He ignores you.

“Gonna show you what a real man does,” Joel says ominously.

His rough hands push you to the floor, knees hitting the wood with a painful thud as they knock against each other.

“I’ll let you live,” he says gruffly, his own pants unfastened until he can shove them down enough to free his cock, precome already beading at the tip and dripping down his shaft.

He’s hard—so fucking hard—and just the sight of him makes your stomach churn in anticipation and fear, made worse by the hand that grips into your hair, forcing your mouth open as he pushes past your lips with the head of his cock.

“But, it ain’t without you provin’ how much you wanna,”

You gag instantly and Joel tightens his grip against the back of your head. There’s little to no fight in you after the display of power, your breath hitching as he pulls his cock out suddenly, gasping for air before he’s guiding himself back into your mouth, a rough but steady rock of his hips as he holds your head between his palms, fearful that he could kill you like this.

A simple snap of your neck and it would be over.

You were a fool for thinking this would be an easy end for you.

But, at least Joel was upfront about his fucking intentions.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Joel seethes, snapping his hips twice and rough as you sputter around his cock, chin slick with your drool, “want you to remember this,”

There’s no choice other than to comply, quick and shallow breaths through your nose as Joel fucks your mouth with little care, the taste of him heady on your tongue as his cock forces down the cries in your throat.

He was making you earn this.

Making you work for the trust, freedom—your life.

He’s relentless, a predator through and through.

There was no haze keeping you compliant, only a faint throbbing at your head and the sight of a powerful man standing over you, fist in your hair as stared up the line of buttons that led to his face, a soft growl in his throat at the sight of his cock disappearing into your mouth, eyes rolling back slightly when he pressed too hard.

You knew there wasn’t much choice in the matter, but you weren’t sure how defiant you would be if things were different—it was clear that Joel and Tommy could survive, and in turn, they could keep you alive too—couldn’t they?

You nod gently to his earlier statement, focusing on him as your now free hands roam up under the fabric of his clothes and squeeze, thankful for the brief reprieve as his cock slide back toward the tip of your tongue and rests there, watching his face scrunch and contort as he comes without warning.

It’s thick spurts against your tongue that are blended with his low, guttural groans as he slowly loosens the grip on your hair and offers a low, “Know damn well what’s good for you—like that,” he notes casually.

You wipe hastily at your mouth with your open palm as your rise on shaky legs, eyeing him cautiously before he tuts with his tongue, pushing your hand away, “Ain’t done with you quite yet,”

There’s a split second where you think about making a break for it, eyeing the door with a flicker of hope, but Joel’s grip is tight and forceful, feeling the sharp tug as he pulls you into his lap, facing you toward the bar at the end of the bed, gripping it as he silently guides your hands there—for a moment, you think he’s going to tie you back up like Tommy had, but he doesn’t.

He takes a seat on the center of the mattress and shifts his jeans down and off, your back to him as he settles you between his legs, watching the discarded clothing fall to the floor as you hold your breath.

You can feel the hot press of a palm flat against your back, up your spine as it curves around your shoulder, “You’re gonna go to Tommy after I fuck you,” Joel explains, gripping his cock as he slides it between your folds and presses in slow, gasping at the thickness as it spreads you open, “and tell him how this is all mine,” his hand squeezes at your hip, guiding your back against his cock as you grip at the metal frame, feeling him shift slightly until he’s on his shins, pistoning his hips into you with fervor, “and I don’t,” thrust, a rough grunt following, “fuckin’—” you moan shakily, biting at the skin on your bicep to muffle the noise, “share.”

He’s relentless, really.

His grip is bruising, not holding back in his strength as he guides your hips down against his cock, feeling the sweat in his palms as he breathes heavily behind you.

“Maybe you were a damn blessing,” Joel says softly, maybe not even aware he’s said it aloud until he continues, “been prayin’ for one for a while,”

“I’m—” You croak, speaking weakly, “I’m not,”

“Dunno,” Joel argues, “ain’t religious either, to be honest,”

You laugh at that, though it was mostly just a soft noise that filters out of your nose as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, frustrated with how much pleasure he was bringing you despite his nature and intention, using you for whatever means he felt was necessary.

“Pussy like this,” He notes with amusement and a tinge of fondness, “goddamn miracle if you ask me.”

Then suddenly, his chest is at your back, hand wrapping around your neck as he pulls you back.

His other hand curls around the inside of your thigh, drifting close to your dripping, swollen cunt.

There isn’t much expectation in a return of pleasure until his fingers are moving against your clit in tandem with his quick thrusts, a begrudgingly welcomed touch as he groans against your shoulder, his teeth biting into the skin until you cry out.

“Difference between Tommy and I,” he states, guiding you over the edge of your orgasm as you shake, head falling back against his shoulder helplessly before he groans low, animalistic in your ear before you feel his grip tighten, hips stuttering as he came deep inside your cunt, “I claim what’s mine.”

Joel didn’t need your response—he just held you tighter, like something earned, a prize won, something no one else would touch again.

When the silence settles around you and you’ve dressed obediently under his command, the only thing stronger than his words was the way your body still remembered both of their touches.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal #tommy miller x reader #gabriel luna #tommy miller #tommy miller x you #x reader #reader #the last of us fic #tlou fic #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #tw dark fic #my writing

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stychu-stych · 7 months ago

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Could we have some of your Lamb head canons please?

I'm going with my modern au because it's my little obsession right now sijssj

I'm cutting the post so it wouldn't be so long. The whole description is below

So the whole thing with Old Faith as the most powerful religion and Bishops is mostly the same like in the game. The world looks similar to our in 1700s, sheep was hunted down over the decades and Lambert was in the group of the last ones. That group was caught and killed, Lamb was lucky enough to be outside the camp at this time but they didn't enjoy their freedom for so long. As a single sheep it was hard to survive on their own

Lamb seeing their wife for the first time sjsbsjsh

Lamber was caught some time later by bounty hunters. However, an accident happened when Lamb tried to escape one night - there were shot in the stomach badly enough that further travel was impossible without them bleeding out. So since Lamb was going to die anyway, the bounty hunters figured out they'd at least bring Old Faith their head. They didn't wait for Lamb to bleed out first, so that death wasn't fast or easy.

First years as a cult leader weren't easy. Taking care of the flock, learning how to fight, figuring out how rituals work, it was a lot for young Death's vessel. Lamb couldn't get used to their new role for some time. But Ratau was a huge help, beloved rat-dad was as much supportive as he could

After their first century as cult leader, Lamb began to feel comfortable in their role, perhaps a little to much I would say. Their grow their wool and started to pay more attention to their appearance and to the things that brought them pleasure. They started to fully enjoy their immortal life, to be too self-confident focused too much on themselves. They liked being in the center of attention, with the flock fully devoted to them. They even started to add a new tattoo with every kill of a Bishop or their the most devoted followers (as a trophy)

Beginning of XX century, Lamb become TOWW's little killing machine, no fear of death or pain. Ready to die, just to stand up and go killing again. They were fully devoted to Narinder in the most toxic way, ready to do absolutely everything just to make their god satisfied. Lamb didn't even realize how obsessed they were with Narinder at that time

Modern times, with Narinder already indoctrinated into the cult. Lamb as a selfish, egocentric, ready to do everything to achieve their goals bastard. Still unhealthy devoted to Narinder but this time in a different way - on one hand madly in love with him, on the other hating him with all their heart because of he did to them. Either way both of those strong feelings keep them close to him

Jeez this post took me more time to write than to draw djdbdjdj I'm soooo bad at writing

#ask stychu #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl art #cotl fanart #stychu's hcs #cotl modern au

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astrofaeology · 16 days ago

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Mars in the Signs

paid readings | Masterlist

ᡣ𐭩 Please support me by reposting, liking, following me and commenting your placement. Mars is one of the malefic planets in astrology it represents inplusivity and recklessness, however in modern astrology it also represents action and desire.

0º is the degree which doesn't have a coresponding sign assigned to it. It's a fresh new degree and will amplify the themes of the sign that it's in

Aries (1,13,25º) With Mars in its home sign, the impulse to act is immediate and powerful. These individuals possess a raw, untamed energy. They are often the first to volunteer, to start a new project, or to forge a path where none existed. Their anger, when triggered, is usually explosive but short-lived, like a wildfire that quickly burns out. They thrive on competition and personal challenges, seeing life as a series of quests to conquer. Their drive is intensely self-focused, which can make them seem selfish at times, but it's often more about initiating than about hoarding. They are naturally competitive and often excel in sports or any field requiring quick reflexes and courage.

Taurus (2, 14, 26°) When Mars resides in the earthy and fixed sign of Taurus, its fiery energy transforms into a powerful, persistent, and methodical drive. These individuals are motivated by a deep desire for stability, security, and tangible results, approaching their goals with unwavering endurance and a remarkable capacity for sustained effort. They are not easily rushed or swayed, building their lives and projects with deliberate care and meticulous attention to detail. While slow to anger, once provoked, their resolve is unshakeable, and their resistance to change can manifest as profound stubbornness. Their assertiveness is often expressed through their ability to acquire and maintain resources, focusing on creating comfort and material well-being.

Gemini (3, 15, 27°) Mars in Gemini channels its assertive energy into the realm of communication and intellect, making individuals quick-witted and highly adaptable. Their drive is fueled by an insatiable curiosity and a need for mental stimulation, leading them to constantly seek new information, ideas, and connections. They excel in debates, enjoy verbal sparring, and can effortlessly juggle multiple interests or projects simultaneously. However, this versatility can sometimes lead to scattered energy or restlessness if they lack sufficient mental engagement. Their anger often manifests through sharp words, cutting wit, or intellectual arguments, as they prefer to fight battles with their minds rather than through direct physical confrontation.

Cancer (4, 16, 28°) With Mars in the sensitive and emotional sign of Cancer, the planet's typically outward and assertive energy often becomes internalized or expressed through protective instincts. These individuals are deeply motivated by the need for emotional security and fiercely defend their loved ones and home. Their assertiveness can be indirect or passive-aggressive, as they may struggle with direct confrontation, preferring to retreat or use subtle emotional cues. When their boundaries are crossed, their protective nature can emerge with surprising force, similar to a crab snapping its claws. Their drive is profoundly linked to nurturing, belonging, and creating a safe haven, making them highly attuned to the emotional atmosphere around them.

Leo (5, 17, 29°) Mars in Leo ignites a bold, expressive, and confident drive, propelling individuals to take center stage and pursue their passions with dramatic flair. They are natural leaders who inspire others through their enthusiasm and unwavering belief in themselves. Their motivation stems from a powerful need for recognition, creative self-expression, and admiration for their unique talents. When angered, their reactions can be theatrical, loud, and demanding of attention, as they feel a strong sense of personal honor and pride that must be defended. This placement suggests a vibrant physical presence and a strong desire to leave a memorable mark through their actions and creative endeavors.

Virgo (6, 18° ) When Mars resides in the analytical and meticulous sign of Virgo, its energy is channeled into practical, efficient, and highly organized action. These individuals are driven by a powerful need for perfection, order, and improvement in all aspects of their lives. They are often highly skilled and precise in their work, focusing on details and striving for optimal functionality. Their assertiveness is expressed through diligent service, critical analysis, and problem-solving, as they are constantly seeking ways to refine and optimize. While they work tirelessly and effectively, their critical eye can sometimes turn inward, leading to self-criticism or anxiety if their high standards are not met.

Libra (7, 19°) Mars in Libra fosters a drive centered on balance, fairness, and the pursuit of harmonious relationships. These individuals are motivated by a deep desire for justice and equity, often acting as mediators or advocates for others. They prefer to achieve their goals through diplomacy, negotiation, and cooperation, instinctively seeking compromise rather than direct conflict. However, when pushed to their limits, especially regarding perceived injustices, they can become surprisingly fierce in their defense of principles. Their assertiveness may manifest as a strong commitment to partnerships or a drive to create beauty and equilibrium in their environment, though they might struggle with indecisiveness when personal desires conflict with the need for harmony.

Scorpio( 8, 20°) With Mars in its co-ruling sign of Scorpio, this placement imbues an incredibly intense, powerful, and strategic drive. These individuals are motivated by a profound need for transformation, uncovering secrets, and exerting deep influence. They possess immense willpower, unwavering determination, and the ability to endure incredible challenges to achieve their goals. Their anger is deep, brooding, and can be long-lasting, often manifesting as calculated revenge or an obsessive pursuit of what they desire. They are highly resourceful, passionate, and will commit fully to their chosen path, driven by an inner force that allows them to navigate profound emotional and psychological depths.

Sagittarius (9, 21°) Mars in Sagittarius ignites a boundless drive for exploration, freedom, and personal growth, propelling individuals towards new horizons and philosophical insights. They are optimistic, enthusiastic, and possess a strong desire to understand the larger meaning of life, whether through physical travel, academic pursuits, or spiritual quests. Their assertiveness is often expressed through direct, sometimes blunt, communication and a fiery conviction in their beliefs. While they are naturally adventurous and embrace change, their impulsive nature can lead to restlessness or a tendency to over-commit, constantly seeking the next great adventure or profound truth.

Capricorn (10, 22º) When Mars is in Capricorn, it operates with exceptional discipline, ambition, and a pragmatic focus on long-term achievement. This is an exalted placement, signifying that Mars's energy is channeled into highly effective and responsible action. These individuals are driven by a powerful desire for success, status, and material security, approaching their goals with unwavering determination and a strong work ethic. Their assertiveness is expressed in a controlled, authoritative manner, as they patiently strategize and overcome obstacles through sheer perseverance. They are motivated by a sense of duty and a need to build lasting structures, often excelling in leadership roles that require stability and strong organizational skills.

Aquarius (11, 23°) Mars in Aquarius fuels an independent, innovative, and often unconventional drive, pushing individuals to challenge the status quo and contribute to collective progress. Their energy is expressed through intellectual pursuits, group activities, and a passion for social reform, as they are motivated by a desire to create a more equitable and forward-thinking future. Their assertiveness can manifest as a detached rebellion against traditional norms or a sudden, unexpected outburst when their freedom or ideals are threatened. They are future-oriented thinkers who prefer to solve problems through logic and ingenuity, often finding unique and humanitarian approaches to their goals.

Pisces (12, 24°) With Mars in the compassionate and ethereal sign of Pisces, the assertive drive becomes more subtle, intuitive, and often indirect. These individuals are motivated by empathy, spiritual connection, and a deep desire to help others or express themselves through creative endeavors. They may struggle with direct confrontation, often preferring to avoid conflict or channel their assertiveness into artistic pursuits, healing modalities, or acts of quiet service. Their energy can be highly adaptive and chameleon-like, easily influenced by their environment. While they possess a gentle spirit, their drive is often fueled by a profound sense of compassion and a desire to bring peace and understanding to the world around them.

DISCLAIMER: None of my posts are intended to cause strife and if it doesn't resonate leave it. This post is a generalisation and may not resonate. I recommend you get a reading from an astrologer (me). If you want a reading from me check out my sales page.

#astr #astro community #astro notes #astro observations #astrology #beauty astrology #venus #venus astrology #venus in the houses #venus signs #love #romance

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juyeoz · 5 months ago

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LIKE ME! (LIKE ME!) — KIM LEEHAN

★ — As best friends, you wanted the best for each other. Kim Leehan believed that you should be with a guy with similar qualities to him. You, on the other hand, believed that he should be with a girl that had similar traits to you. With the goal between your friendship being to find the one for one another, what if that perfect match was you two together all along?

PAIRING — best-friend!leehan x fem!reader (ft. boynextdoor, sohyun from tripleS, dohoon from tws, yunah from illit, and haknyeon from the boyz)

GENRE(S) — smau + written, friends to lovers, nonidol au, surfboard shop au, motorcycle maintenance shop au, inspired by teen beach, fluff, and crack.

WARNING(S) — swearing, random timestamps, random usage of mandarin (pov: insights on pftbz convos), kys/kms jokes, joking threats (friendly fire), more will be added.

SCHEDULE — on hold

NOTE — like me from teen beach Best song ever . okay that’s it enjoy this wholesome smau 😁 (ignore how im doing a summer smau in winter) also 4 my beloved @miumura

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

PROFILES › ONE AND TWO

CHAPTER ONE — 你是 EVIL

CHAPTER TWO — peace and prosperity ❤️

CHAPTER THREE — how you get the one!

CHAPTER FOUR — Gorgeous! 😆

CHAPTER FIVE — rfauc (0.3k words)

CHAPTER SIX — the blind leading the blind

CHAPTER SEVEN — Yo fight me .

CHAPTER EIGHT — opp territory (0.5k words)

CHAPTER NINE — want me dead

CHAPTER TEN — hey!🧌

CHAPTER ELEVEN — left on seen 💀

CHAPTER TWELVE — ?)2$??3

CHAPTER THIRTEEN — FIVE BIG BOOMS‼️💥

CHAPTER FOURTEEN — i bit my fist .

CHAPTER FIFTEEN — hope this helps ❤️

CHAPTER SIXTEEN — Live Laugh Love

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN —

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN —

MORE TO COME!

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melk-maid · 3 months ago

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warnings: everyone is aged up 21+, afab/fem reader, reader is nagi's girlfriend, cheating, weed smoking, piv sex, degradation kink, spit kink, begging, drugged sex, creampie, couch sex, guilty confessions synopsis: You show up at Reo's front door soaked from the rain and sobbing into his chest. After a fight with your boyfriend, you run into the arms of his best friend and quickly get over one man for another.

note: this is a commission for the darling @antique-remains!! thank you again for commissioning me and trusting me with this idea, and it being my first time writing reo/bllk!! i did have so much fun with this i love this downbad loser hehe enjoy~♡ minors & ageless blogs dni - you will be blocked

Reo shares everything with Nagi.

They share similar interests, goals and ideals. Shared living spaces, bathrooms, toothbrushes. On occasion they've shared a bed, shared food with one another, shared dark secrets no one else knows about.

So why does he feel an intense bout of guilt when Nagi's girlfriend is riding his cock?

Paper splits against Reo's fingers for the fourth time and he growls in frustration, clenching his jaw to stop a childish temper tantrum. He's one of the best, most sought after soccer players in the world, and yet he can't seem to effectively roll his own joints. Something that was supposed to relax him during the off season is becoming another pain in his ass. Nagi's words ring around in his head mockingly, grimacing at the fact he turned down having them rolled for him because he thought he could do it himself.

Unfolding the destroyed craft and spilling the ground nuggets onto a fresh roll of paper, Reo is soon distracted by the doorbell notification on his phone. It's a weekday evening and he planned to spend it alone — that plan turned around pretty quickly when he saw you on the other side of the camera.

After ogling at your pretty face — entirely ignoring the way your lips are drawn into a frown, arms wrapped around yourself in rain-drenched clothes — Reo realises you're on your own.

It's rare to see Nagi without you since you're often his point of authority, encouraging and babysitting him into training and attending other events. It's even rarer to see you without Nagi.

Reo is eager to open the door, catching you easily in his arms when you throw yourself at him. His heart races, thumping wildly in his chest. You've never been this close to him before and despite soaking his clothes, he couldn't be happier for the contact.

"Where's Nagi?" He asks before anything else.

It's then he realises you're sobbing into his chest. Words muffled by his shirt as he catches "Sei" "fight" and "kicked me out" between jumbled cries. While he often tries to stay out of his best friend's private life, Reo can't help but feel sorry for you; a damsel in distress in need of being saved. This will gain him favour with both you and Nagi.

The cold rain transfers from your clothes to his but he wraps both his arms around you anyway, pulling you inside and pushing the door closed. Each of your sobs echoed throughout the near empty mansion, bouncing off of white marble walls and back to Reo. Of course seeing you upset tugs at his heartstrings, but he can't help himself from being entranced with the way your chest is pressed against him.

While you're in his guest room changing into some dry clothes, Reo returns to the living room and contemplates texting Nagi about your whereabouts. He knows his best friend well, and even if he doesn't show care or worry outwardly, it's likely that Nagi will begin to wonder and worry where you've gone — especially if all your friends report back that you aren't with them. The idea is tossed out of the window and subsequently blasted into space when you walk into the living room. Hair still a little damp from rain, your make-up cleaned up, you fit into one of Reo's old football kits a little too well.

"Thanks for letting me borrow these." You say with a grateful smile, making yourself comfortable on the couch. The shorts ride up your thighs when you pull your legs onto the couch to sit sideways, nylon tightening around supple flesh and Reo can't help but stare.

Snapping out of his trance, Reo beams. "It's okay, anything for my best friend's girlfriend." It was a vocal reminder to himself.

Looking down at the egregiously expensive coffee table that houses his failed craft, Reo sighs short through his nose and drops to the floor to return to rolling. The mansion is silent and empty — no music, no TV playing in the background, no one else roaming around fulfilling their paid duties. It gave you an opportunity to watch, crawling onto the floor next to him; not close enough to touch him but not too far away either.

"What're you doing?"

Looking up he catches your gaze, heart fluttering as he wonders if you're looking at him like that on purpose. A sultry smile, curious eyes, your body leaning towards him ever so slightly. Every night he thinks about you; the way you look at him compared to anyone else, how your hands feel on his arms when you laugh a little too loud at something he's said. Sometimes it's hard to remember you're Nagi's girl and not his — unavailable, off limits, out of bounds.

Yet you allow him to do and say certain things to you that would earn him a fist to the jaw if it were anyone else.

His hands would find their way onto your hips if he passes behind you at the club or an event, the same hands resting low on your back when he hugs you. He compliments your outfits in a way only your lover would — Reo pushes the boundaries every day. By now Nagi should've said something — or you — but to maintain favour with his best friend especially and keep his football career, Reo tries to hold himself back on a tight leash.

The paper tears in his hands again, though this time he had hardly begun to roll. Instead, he was lost in his racing thoughts and battling a dry mouth after locking eyes with you, a little too rough with the delicate material. There's a furrow of his brows as he looks down in frustration, threading fingers through his long fringe and tossing his loose hair back. "I'm trying to roll but I keep breaking it. I should've asked Nagi to help."

There was an apology on the tip of his tongue at mentioning your boyfriend who you're upset with, but when he looks up, you seem entirely unfazed. Instead, you reach out and slide the broken paper towards yourself, taking control of the task and rolling with ease. Reo watches the way your fingers move so nimbly. It was like watching a professional at work. Sweat begins to build across his forehead seeing the peek of your tongue wet the paper. You smile as you hold the joint out towards him by the tip; easy work when he'd been trying and failing for the past half hour.

"Thanks," He says almost breathless as he tries to ease his aching heart. "I didn't know you knew how to roll."

You shrug. Careless, casual and cool. Reo can't look at you. Rather, he tries to find his lighter and remind himself you are not available, you are not single.

But the challenge makes you all the more tempting.

"Sei taught me when we first started dating." The way you say his name shouldn't be a stab in Reo's gut like it is. "Are you planning on sharing?"

Your smile was so sweet and mischievous as you looked from the joint to Reo — as though he would ever say no.

He lights up and draws a couple of breaths, passing the joint to you. When your fingers brush against one another, he inhales a little too fast, causing him to cough uncontrollably. You giggle and take your own drag, inhaling and exhaling with ease before checking if he's okay.

"Yeah," Reo gasps out as he nods, "Bad take."

Passing the joint back and forth, you each take your turn until Reo hit the filter, stubbing out the last of the flames in the ashtray. He felt a little more at ease, though expected the effects to keep kicking in. When your eyes meet — because you had been staring at him for his attention and Reo was trying not to indulge in his fantasies — you giggle and lean forward.

"Reo~" You sing, face so close to his he can feel your breath on his lips. It feels shameful to smile at your proximity but he couldn't help it.

"Yeah?"

"Why are we sitting on the floor? Are we teenagers?"

He licks his lips and balls his hands into fists at his sides, screaming internally not to reach out and lick your lips. Instead, Reo huffs out a laugh, responding in a low voice. "I was hoping to channel my inner teenager when rolling."

You hum and lose your balance, leaning forward with your legs at an awkward angle from being sat down, but your hands planted on the floor between you both. Whether you lost it purposely or not is unclear, but it results in your nose brushing against his and your lips barely missing each other. With a squeal and laugh you fall into Reo, head landing on his chest while he throws his back, mouthing a curse into the high ceiling of his mansion.

"Whoops! Sorry Reo," You giggle and crawl off of his lap, your hands a little too nice on his thighs. "I forget smoking hits me pretty fast."

Every moment becomes harder to tame himself. This is probably one of the first times you've been alone together — without Nagi, any other friends, paparazzi. It's the perfect opportunity to take what he wants, to indulge in this year's long challenge, but Reo cares about his friend. And he also cares about your relationship with his friend, of course.

Before he possibly gets too high and melts into the floor, Reo stands and reaches out to offer a helping hand. "Let's sit on the couch."

You look so angelic underneath him, even so far away. Hair splayed out across his floor, a wide smile on your face, vulnerable. Giggling, you reach out and let him help you up and throw yourself onto the couch. Reo is quick to follow, placing himself a comfortable distance from you — though that doesn't last long when you immediately shuffle closer to his side. Your bent knees on the couch are pressing into his thigh, resting your head against the back of the couch, he turns on the TV as a distraction for himself.

A random show plays, one neither of you recognise nor do you care about, honestly. Reo was more focused on keeping his hands to himself, sinking back into the couch and letting his high take effect. It felt like time was moving slow when all he could think about was you. Shuffling in his seat and repositioning his arms a hundred times a minute, he couldn't find a comfortable position that didn't involve his hands spread across your thighs.

When you giggle it pulls him from his thoughts. Turning towards you feels like he's moving in slow motion, as though his eyes are lagging. It takes his brain just as long to process you, realising you're looking at him and just how close you are. He smiles at your presence, laughter bubbling in his chest before sticking his tongue out at you.

Reo doesn't hear his own moan when your lips wrap around his tongue. He barely registers the delicate way your hand cups his face. Eyes falling closed instinctually, he leans in to you, chasing as you pull away. Your lips release him with a suckle, giggling at his flushed features. It doesn't feel real. Did you actually just do that? The sparks that linger on the tip of his tongue tell him it was real, especially the way he tastes you when returning.

Nagi's name is caught in his throat. Swallowed like venomous bile, he tries to convince himself you're not in a relationship with his best friend.

Instead, he mutters, "We shouldn't do that."

You laugh and he feels like a child who said something so naive to an adult. It wasn't your intention but he feels small under your gaze. His high is hitting him so fast — or maybe he lost track of time when telling himself not to give in to impulses.

"Why not?" You play dumb and Reo bites his tongue watching you tilt your head. Acting so cute and innocent, as though you didn't just suck on his tongue like a harlot.

There's a war that rages inside of him; one side fights for his best friend, his teammate who he deeply cares for. The other side fights for his personal desires, arguing that what Nagi doesn't know won't hurt him. You made a move first, not him — though he wouldn't be any better if he didn't stop you.

Reo is an international footballer, he can have anyone he wants. Women fall at his feet all the time. Super models approach him at events and galas for a chance to be with him, the most beautiful women in the world throw themselves at him, he's blessed to have the pick of the litter when it comes to relationships and sex.

Except they're all too easy. Boring and uninteresting. None of them provide a challenge or sense of danger like you do. As gorgeous and ethereal as you are, there's an added layer of risk. It's not so easy to have you. Reo can't have you eating out of the palm of his hand without severe consequences that follow. Although before tonight, you hadn't been handing yourself out on a silver platter for him.

His response is just as childish as he feels. "You know why."

Your grin widens and Reo can't be sure if you're closing in on him again, it feels like his brain is so slow but his heart is so full of excitement and desire. The sparks of your touch still burst like tiny explosions against his cheek and the taste of you lingers as a delicious treat.

"Don't you want to kiss me?"

It's whispered against his lips, a hum of temptation following it. Reo can practically see the words behind his half closed eyelids, it feels like he's going to start drooling if you don't stop him, but there's still a small part of his brain working hard to keep him back. Your nose bumps into his face next to his own and you giggle, a soft and delicate hand finding a place high on his inner thigh — he can't hold back any longer.

Reo kisses you like a man starved. It's aggressive, hungry and desperate. He would devour you right here and now if he could. Your lips are soft and wet against his own, tongues immediately mingling with one another like long lost friends. The way his hands grab onto you and pull you closer is a little more forceful than he intended, causing you to moan in response, noises that Reo swallowed eagerly.

All of this feels like a dream; the hungry kisses, fingers threaded through your hair, the weight of your chest pressed against his as he pulls you closer, your hand palming his half-hard cock through his pants. If he didn't think about it too hard, Reo would convince himself that none of this is real. A wet dream he had one night. He would wake up full of shame covered in his own cum, forced to clean his own bed sheets and shower away the guilt, vowing never to speak of it to anyone.

Except it's real.

Much like he swallowed all your moans, you happily accept all of his noises. The curse that's croaked out against your lips in a brief moment of respite causes you to smile, dragging your thumb along the underside of his cock that stands from your attention, sucking on his bottom lip with a hum.

"Still don't think we should do this?" You ask and it momentarily sobers Reo. He blinks and sees you so clearly, thinking about Nagi and all the times he's seen you both share a kiss. It must have shown on his face because you laugh, pulling back to lie across the couch, thumbs hooked under the elastic waistband of his shorts you're wearing. "What's the matter? Don't want to fuck your best friends girlfriend?"

You shouldn't say it — it only makes his cock harder. Twitching against the fabric of his pants, hot and heavy, Reo groans and pants like a dog. His eyes grow hazy as his mind begins to lag again, wiping his mouth where it feels like he's drooling. Your giggle bounces around the walls of his skull like a pleasant symphony. Even your foot on his chest that's keeping him from closing in on you feels like heaven. Reo wraps his fingers around your ankle, pulling your foot up towards his face. It feels right when his lips find your delicate skin, missing the way you pull down his shorts with underwear in tow, dragging his tongue and teeth along flesh.

"I didn't know you were into feet, Reo." You tease and Reo feels the heat on his cheeks. Fire on his face, it burns and grows when you hook your leg over his to straddle his lap. It's instinctual the way his hands grab your hips. "You're a little freak, aren't you?"

Talking feels impossible because none of this feels real. Mouth dry and at the same time oozing with saliva, Reo's mind roaming a mile a minute yet he lags in processing what's happening. Every few seconds it feels as though he's forgotten it's you in front of him. Hazy and angelic, he's living through a dream.

And at the same time, everything feels so very real. Your skin under his fingertips is like touching silk. The weight of you in his lap brings about a sense of comfort he hasn't felt since he was a child. Every slight motion of your hips against his cock is like fireworks.

Reo can and can't believe this is happening.

"I'm into anything you want, baby." He says, the words forcefully pushed out between the invisible cloth pressed against his tongue.

A collective gasp fills the room when his cock is freed from his pants. You were surprised and excited at just how thick and hard he was, while he drew breath between his teeth from the relief. Stroking him in a languid motion pulls out a long moan deep within his chest.

"Tell me what you want." You tease, still sitting in his lap with his cock in your hand, so close to your exposed cunt. "Tell me you want to fuck me. Say how much you want to fuck Sei's girlfriend." There's a curse that falls off of Reo's lips when you squeeze his sensitive head — he's forced to hold his breath to keep a squeak from following. "Come on, say it. You wanna fuck your best friends girl."

His head spins, flashes of Nagi swirling through his mind, an attempt to connect to his consciousness. The horny part of his brain is too much, though it still proves difficult for him to say it.

"Please…" Reo murmurs, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, as though it will keep him safe from judgement.

"Not what I asked." You squeeze his tip again, leaning in to bite his bottom lip. "How bad do you want it?"

"…Bad, really bad."

Reo's hands on your hips tighten, pulling you closer with a whine. "Then say it."

Never has a handjob felt so good and Reo fears he might cum already if you keep stroking him like this. Each swipe is an adrenaline rush, a pleasant punch to his gut. Grinding his teeth, he leans into you, face buried in the crook of your neck.

"I want…I wanna fuck you."

"You wanna fuck who?" Your free hand laces through his hair and Reo feels like he could cry.

"You, please."

"Who am I to you?"

His balls tighten and he's forced to take a breath and focus on not cumming and speaking.

"Nagi's girlfriend."

You hum. "Good boy."

How Reo didn't cum as soon as you began to sink down on his cock, he may never know. Teeth clenched, body taut beneath you, he closes his eyes and breathes deep through his nose. You're so warm and tight and wet, it's everything and more than he ever imagined. Everything has been amplified to the max; his cock hypersensitive to every little move you make, feeling the way your walls flutter ever so slightly as you begin moving, hearing each tiny pitch change as you breathe.

Of course he enjoys sex but this was different. Whether it's because it was with you or because he was high, Reo felt like he was in the clouds.

You bounce on his cock so easy, finding a solid rhythm fast and sticking to it as your thighs meet in the steady pattern. He didn't even have to do anything — just enjoy the sight before him, watch the way your tits bounce beneath one of his old football shirts. Reo's eyes were glazed over as he held onto your hips, convinced he was drooling like an animal despite his arm remaining dry whenever he wiped his lips.

It's sickening what you're doing. Cheating on a good man like Nagi. Having a fight and being kicked out for the evening isn't an excuse to fuck your boyfriends best friend. Reo wonders if you did this on purpose. Was your intention to come over and seduce him this whole time? Sure, he's been caught by you with wandering eyes and overly friendly hands but that's innocent. Never did it lead to this.

At the same time, Reo can't deny how his cock drooled over your hand when you forced him to tell you how much he wants to fuck you.

Even your moans are more heavenly than he ever expected. It's shameful the thoughts he's had about it, replaying everything you've ever said, every noise he's heard you make in an attempt to imagine what you'd sound like in this position. It's better than any music. Like a blessing, he needs to hear it over and over again.

You smile at Reo as you bounce in his lap, kissing him with hunger akin to a starving beast. It feels like you'd eat him alive if you could — shamefully, he'd let you.

Reo follows the kiss when you pull back, unwilling to let you escape him just yet. Your hips had stopped moving and he was left buried deep in your pussy, helplessly twitching against your warm walls, he leaks against your cervix. Wrapping his arms around you, Reo moans into your mouth, head tilted all the way back. When you finally pull away, you hold his mouth open with a thumb on his chin. The lavender of his eyes is almost entirely overshadowed by the size of his pupils, watching as you purse your lips and roll your tongue. Reo happily accepts the spit that's slowly hanging from your mouth into his, groaning when it hits his tongue. The taste of you is delectable. You giggle and follow your saliva, tracing your tongue along his to spread yourself all over his mouth.

Disgusting, immoral, so fucking good.

His hips begin to move into you, thrusting in the non-existent space he occupies between you and the couch. More, more, more. He can do this all day but he needs to feel you moving, to memorise the way your walls clench around him, permanently etch your moans of his name into his memories.

In a flurry of motion, you're flipped onto your back. Reo is quick to follow, not for a moment did he let you detach from his cock or his mouth when he moves you. The thump of your head hitting the arm of the couch rattles your brain but the pleasant high that fogs your mind blurs the pain. It's exciting when Reo takes over and fucks you how he wants, because he's relentless.

Much faster than when you were riding him, Reo fucks you like winning the world cup is on the line. He pulls out until just the tip is still inside of you, quickly and forcefully burying himself back into your heat, his pubes flush against your clit. Panting into your open mouth like a dog, Reo is at your mercy.

You cry out in pleasure, moaning his name like it's the only word you've ever known. It makes his eyes roll, balls tightening in his sack, his hands gripping onto your hips so hard you're bound to bruise. Reo has wanted this for years. Ever since he first laid eyes on you, he knew he wanted you sheathed on his cock.

When you wrap your arms around his neck and throw your head back, he honestly believes he's in love.

Your walls pulse around him violently, clenching and releasing, daring to milk him for all he's worth. He's on the edge and he's been staving it off this entire time. Never does he want this to end but seeing you finish like this was all worth it. His teeth drag against your throat, feeling you flex underneath him, you tighten around his cock as you whimper. He doesn't relent — all he wants is to fill you to the brim with his seed.

Licking, biting, kissing. Reo tries desperately to remind himself that he can't mark you. You're not his and the fact only makes his cock throb. Each stroke along your walls makes him dizzier, losing his grip on you and reality itself. Finally, he lets go, burying himself deep as he cums inside you.

Half expecting the post-nut clarity to hit, Reo is elated to find the haze still clouding his mind. Never has he experienced such elation. His mouth finds yours again in a lazy, hungry kiss and you moan into his touch. If he could remain like this forever, then Reo might never have any problems ever again.

Reo has a problem and it won't leave him alone.

Every night he struggles to sleep. His training coach has begun to point out the bags that rest under his eyes, scolding him for sloppy footwork and lack of speed. All his moves are sluggish and no amount of berating is helping him get his act together. When he's forced to sit on the sides and watch the rest of his team practise, he's left stewing on his own thoughts.

It was the best and worst night of his life. He thinks about it constantly, stroking himself to completion over and over again to the thought of you on top of him, remembering how you felt around his cock. The way you say his name, how sweet your moans are.

Then he remembers Nagi.

No one has mentioned it since. You haven't brought it up or tried to contact him about the night, not even to tell him to keep it a secret. That much was obvious but he thought you'd say something. He's seen Nagi numerous times since the incident and he seems none the wiser. Treating Reo like he normally does with a lazy attitude and disinterest. The normalcy puts him on edge more than ease his worries.

"You look tired."

It's embarrassing the way Reo jumps out of his skin upon hearing Nagi. Hoping that he didn't notice, Reo chuckles and offers a light "Yeah," in response, returning to changing into his regular clothes.

"Being tired is such a hassle."

With his back to Nagi, Reo rolls his eyes and grits his teeth. It's hard to look at his best friend these days — for obvious reasons — nevermind talk to him. He was hoping Nagi would take the subtle hint that he's too tired to talk.

"Yeah," Reo repeats, "It's hard sleeping with the season coming up."

There's a hum and for a moment, Reo believes Nagi has realised he doesn't want to talk.

"Normally you're excited."

Reo stuffs his sweaty kit into his locker; a worry for another day. Right now he needs to get out of the locker room and away from Nagi.

It feels like his chest is being torn apart. Hands clawing at his ribs, breaking one at a time, clambering to extract his organs so the guilt he feels can make a comfortable home. It's hard to breathe, hard to think of anything but Nagi's girlfriend moaning in his mouth. You were so beautiful. How can something so perfect cause him such guilt?

"Mikage?"

Finally, Reo turns and looks at Nagi.

He's laid across the benches in the changing room, shirtless with a sweat towel that once hung around his neck. As usual, his phone was settled between his hands, pointed at him but it's likely he's in between games. Nagi's face doesn't move while looking at Reo. There's no sign of life when his best friend's heart is painfully shown on his sleeve.

Reo slams his locker door shut, head hung low as he gasps for air. He can't say it. There's no way. Nagi will abandon him — as he deserves. The scandal will be blasted all over the media. He'll become public enemy number one and forcibly removed from his team. His football career will be over already and Reo will never know happiness ever again.

But he can't keep feeling like this for the rest of his life. It will kill him eventually.

Swallowing thick, he inhales and lets loose.

"I fucked your girlfriend!"

The changing room is painfully silent. Reo shouted the words with his eyes firmly shut. There's no way he'd be able to look at Nagi as he said it. His head hangs low again, staring at his feet and awaiting the barrage of consequences that he should face. There's immediate relief in his chest after the confession, but the longer the silence draws out, the more nauseous Reo becomes.

When Nagi still doesn't respond, Reo is forced to look up. It's hard — harder than looking at him with his secret — but Reo looks at his best friend. His face is unchanged; the same lidded eyes staring back at him, mouth pressed in a neutral and relaxed pose, staring blankly at Reo.

"I know."

Reo isn't sure how his legs are keeping him upright. His whole body feels like it's collapsing and he can't pinpoint any of what he's feeling. Relief? Regret? Confusion? Speechless. Baulking at his best friend, any and all words are stuck in his throat.

Eventually, he croaks out, "You know?"

Nagi hums, returning to his game and tapping away with his thumbs; as though Reo hadn't just confessed an affair with his girlfriend.

"What does that mean?" Reo asks breathlessly, watching as Nagi sits up, still focused on his game.

"It was my idea." He answers easily before standing and approaching the washroom. "Going for a soak. Bye. Peace."

Two fingers are thrown Reo's way, a friendly gesture before he disappears down the hall. Reo is left by himself in the changing rooms to process the information, tormented by a new slough of emotions that he's going to have a hard time processing by himself.

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demilypyro · 5 months ago

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Ok so as someone who knows very little about sonic characters that aren't the main cast. Can you explain to me who Surge is? (I am asking you to infodump. I understand I could just check the wiki but then you wouldn't get to talk about a character you like)

Alright you asked for it. Long post attack.

So Eggman had this protege named Doctor Starline, who had a falling out with his mentor and hatched a plan to kill Sonic and replace him with a new hero, one who would take Sonic's place in the eyes of the people but be under his control.

So he kidnapped a random girl off the street (no name or history known at this point), filled her with a bunch of cybernetics to give her superpowers, and slowly brainwashed and trained her into becoming essentially Sonic's equivalent of Wario.

This was Surge the Tenrec.

As Sonic's so-called "imposter," Surge is like an exaggerated version of Sonic. She has his heroic heart, but also his temper, his pride, his irresponsibility, his rudeness, all turned up to 11. She's got the standard super speed, as well as electrokinesis - lightning powers. She's accompanied by Kitsunami, or just Kit, a blue fennec with water powers and a similar background, but who was based on Tails instead.

As part of their brainwashing, Surge was conditioned to hate Sonic. As Surge's backup, Kit was conditioned to want to support Surge in any way he can.

Surge and Kit eventually found out what had happened to them, how Starline had kidnapped and brainwashed them, and were planning to betray him. Before they could, however, Starline was killed, after being thoroughly trounced by Eggman, leaving Surge and Kit free to do whatever they want.

When Surge finally encountered Sonic, she blamed him for what had happened to her. She holds him responsible for always letting Eggman survive to come back another day, leading to ever-escalating conflict. While before she had no real reason to hate him beyond her brainwashing, all that baseless animosity now had a foundation, and she's wanted to take him down since. Surge and Kit have had several fights with Sonic and Tails already, and while they were defeated each time, it's clear they pose a real threat.

Left with only each other, and having no real goals beyond taking down Sonic and Tails, and no hints to their past, Surge and Kit became a neutral force of chaos, not affiliated with either Sonic or Eggman. While Surge has the desire to be a hero, she can't let go of her grudge toward Sonic, and Kit's obsession with helping Surge regularly shows itself to be unhealthy, which may lead to a falling out between them in the future.

Since their first appearance in the Impostor Syndrome mini-series, they've made regular appearances in the main comic starting with issue #50. They've been making waves, establishing new rivalries and inciting new conflicts. Sonic wants to believe there's good in Surge, but she's a tough nut for him to crack.

Surge is one of the series' best original characters. Surge is cool, has an interesting origin, and she contrasts Sonic in a way that gives ample opportunities for new stories. She's got a good heart, but she's carrying around a ton of trauma and animosity she doesn't know what to do with. She's scrappy, resourceful, and more introspective than you might expect. And by often being positioned as the underdog, she's very easy to root for.

I was always a bit uninterested in the Sonic series at large, but Surge really got me on board. She really made me a fan.

She's my favorite Sonic character.

If you're interested, look into the Imposter Syndrome mini-series, which leads right into Sonic IDW issue #50, or you can just read Sonic IDW from the start.

Okay bye

#surge the tenrec #sonic idw #sonic the hedgehog #surge and kit #kitsunami the fennec #dr starline #imposter syndrome

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enwoso · 2 months ago

Text

first of many, forever | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request:)

grumpy masterlist

the final whistle had barely blown before the away section at crystal palace’s home stadium. the arsenal fans the ones who were celebrating, a four-nil win against palace. bagging the three points in the all important race for the title and a performance to be proud of.

alessia breathless but beaming after a long ninety minutes, exchanging hugs with her teammates before her eyes instinctively searched for the stands.

she didn’t have to look far.

standing by the barrier, you bouncing on your tiptoes with excitement flanked beside her mum and dad. your tiny hands brushing against a bouquet almost half your size - alessia knowing her mum will of let you pick the biggest and brightest one in the shop as a homemade card hung under your arm which looked like it had been crafted with all the enthusiasm in the world.

alessias face lit up at the scene and with a final clap to the fans, she jogged over.

“mummy!” you squealed, practically vibrating with excitement. “mummy, your goal was soooo good!”

alessia laughed as she crouched down, opening her arms just in time for you to throw yourself into, “yeah? you think so?”

“yep!” you nodded so fast your curls bounced, “it was the best goal ever! you kick it so hard and it went whoosh past the goalie! i told nonno it was goin’ in cause you always score when i here!”

alessia’s dad, mario chuckled beside you, “she really did,” he confirmed, “said there was no way you’d ever miss that one.”

alessia grinned, squeezing you tightly, “well, if my little lucky charm says it, then it must be true!”

you beamed, then suddenly remembered what was beside you, pulling back just enough to pick up the bouquet and shove it towards your mummy, “happy mother’s day, mummy!”

alessia took the bouquet with one hand with a pout as she pulled up into a hug with the other, “thank you, lovie.” she murmured into your curls, kissing the top of your head. “these are so pretty.”

the card, through was what really caught her eye. glitter felt too scribbles and a charmingly wonky drawing of the three of them - alessia, you and…

alessias gaze flickered up, her chest squeezing with something warm and overwhelming.

leah was nearby, lingering by the fans, chatting, signing items and taking photos but also keeping an eye on them. the way she always did. the way she always would.

you were still bouncing with excitement, turned towards leah and waved her over. “mama! c’mere!"

leah blinked, eyebrows raising slightly as she pointed to herself. “me?”

“yes, you!” you sassed as you let out a huff as if leah was being entirely too slow about the whole thing, “come on!”

leah, confused but already smiling and excusing herself from the conversation. dropping anything and everything the moment you called as she always would as she walked over. “what’s all this about then?”

you then picked up another bouquet, it being similar to the one you have your mummy but filled with leah’s favourite colours as you held it up to leah, a big grin on your lips “happy mother’s day, mama!”

leah froze.

her mouth opened, then closed again, her blue eyes darting between the flowers, the card, and your excited little face. slowly, as if afraid to break the moment, she took them. "for me?" she asked, voice soft, almost uncertain.

you nodded eagerly. "mhm! open the card!" leah did as instructed, and her breath hitched.

there it was—another drawing, just like the one on you’d did on your mummy’s card. Three stick figures, labeled in your wobbly handwriting: mummy, me, mama. above them, in bright, bold letters, was: ‘happy mama’s day!’

alessia watched as leah swallowed hard, blinking rapidly like she was fighting off tears. "you—you made this for me?" she asked, voice just slightly unsteady.

"yes!" you said proudly. "cause you're my mama too!"

alessia swore she could see the exact second leah’s heart shattered and reassembled into something even softer.

you weren’t done, though. you turned back to your mummy with the same dazzling grin. "mummy said it's your first proper mama’s day — so i made sure to make your picture extra special."

alessia, feeling her own throat tighten with emotion, reached out to squeeze leah’s wrist. "first of many," she murmured, her eyes shining.

you nodded, as serious as a five-year-old could be. "first of many, forever."

leah let out a choked laugh, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes for a second. "bloody hell," she muttered, exhaling shakily. "you two are gonna ruin me."

alessia just smiled, watching as leah crouched down and pulled you into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"love you, my little angel," leah whispered, voice thick with emotion.

you giggled, wrapping her arms around leah’s neck. "love you too, mama."

and just like that, they were in their own little world— leah holding you close, while alessia watching the two of you with all the love in her heart, entirely oblivious to the fans still watching and screaming their names, still snapping photos, still melting over the scene.

because at the end of the day, nothing else mattered. this was home.

this was forever.

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planetpiastri · 2 years ago

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pairing: lando norris x fem!reader [no faceclaim, reader is faceless] summary: yn and lando are couple goals around the mclaren garage, but they don't want oscar to feel left out. the problem? oscar would very much like to be left out. notes: school has finally released me from its chokehold so i'm doing my part in filling the winter break void. part 2 of my logan smau is in the works, but in the meantime, here's this<3 enjoy!

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and others

ynusername recent stuff (following my two favorite boys around like a stray puppy)

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mclaren Always a pleasure to have you in the garage! 🧡

landonorris nyoom

ynusername vroom, even

username1 always a good day when yn refers to lando and oscar as her favorite boys

oscarpiastri Thanks for buying me dinner 👍🏻

ynusername you're welcome kiddo 🫶 oscarpiastri Please don't call me that

mclaren

liked by landonorris, ynusername, and 211,329 others

mclaren pookie #1 and pookie #2 dump (📸 - ynusername)

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username2 WHO PUT THE ADMIN UP TO THIS

oscarpiastri Why would you say that

username3 im cackling this had to be yn's idea

landonorris pookie and proud 💪

username4 everyone say thank you yn for taking cute pics of our boys

ynusername you're welcome 😁

ynusername

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ynusername let! him! cook!!!!!

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username5 oh my god that is so much fire

oscarpiastri Do NOT let him cook I repeat do NOT let him cook

landonorris it was fine you big baby nobody got hurt 🙄 oscarpiastri I'd sure hope so??

username6 yn and lando are kind of unhinged together omg

username7 and that's why we love them 😌

mclaren Please bring our driver back to the paddock in one piece! 😬

landonorris all that fire and you were still the hottest thing in the kitchen 🥵🥵

ynusername 🤭🤭

landonorris

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landonorris actually can't think of a better way to spend this life 🤍

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username8 CAPTION IM IN TEARS 😭😭

username9 where's my credit for sending you the video lando

landonorris how many times do i have to teach you this lesson old man?? 👊💪

maxverstappen1 Too sweet

ynusername you're my everything 💌

landonorris you ARE everything oscarpiastri And Lando's just Ken landonorris this guy gets it

maxfewtrell Happy for you or whatever

username10 glad to know i'm not the only one crying over that video of lando and yn

georgerussell63 Don't worry I am too alex_albon me too carlossainz55 Me three username11 yo??

username12 help there are so many drivers in the comments 💀

oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri Hanging out with Mum and Dad 👍🏻

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landonorris she started crying when she saw this btw

oscarpiastri Sorry? landonorris don't be, it's the pregnancy hormones ynusername I AM NOT PREGNANT DELETE THIS BEFORE THE WAG PAGES START POSTING

username13 ok but does oscar need a step-sister i wanna be part of this family

ynusername love u kiddo 🥹🧡

username14 oscar liking this comment oh we've come so far from when he used to tell her to stop calling him that oscarpiastri I've stopped fighting it

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request: hiii, could you do a smau similar to ‘heart eyes’ but with lando and oscar is the suffering third wheel? -from anon

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thatonebirdwrites · 5 months ago

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(I wrote this article to help remind myself that even small actions like maintaining my microlibrary matters. I've included my methodology below and why I do it. I also includes some resources that go into further depth).

Archiving Our Works Offline

Since we are entering a fascist era where I live, archiving literature of all types becomes more pertinent. Especially with the current rise in book-banning and censorship (much of that focusing on marginalized groups like LGBTQIA people and Black and Indigenous people).

So how do we archive literature and keep knowledge safe from censorship or destruction by authoritarian regimes? There’s various methods, but I’ll speak of a way one can do this without a degree or beforehand knowledge of archival practices.

I’ve been archiving my eBooks and the studies I’ve read for a long time now, but it’s only recently I’ve been working on transferring them to a safer, offline drive. I also have a large physical library of books from various genres and covering many different topics. I collect books and can often find them cheap at book sale fundraisers, estate sales, sales in book stories, discounts in online stores, etc.

Due to how extensive my library is, it’s inspired my friends to read new authors or genres or to tackle new topics; the archive gave us room for discussion. It also helped friends or community members who don’t have access to a library still access a digital copy by checking-out a copy from me. Now, one doesn’t have to share their archive with anyone, but I find it helpful to do so.

The goal however should not be to archive the most famous books — as if everyone did that we wouldn’t preserve much knowledge, so focus on unique and lesser known literature and media to preserve those too. This is why I focus so much on marginalized authors, who are not well known.

Archiving knowledge is why physical libraries in a town is so crucial. They are bastions of knowledge and archived books, media, and documents. Supporting your local library and fighting with your library to keep them open is crucial. This also requires fighting against book bans that would censor/restrict what a library is allowed to put on their shelves and archives.

What I’m suggesting here isn’t to replace libraries. It’s to augment the community’s archives of knowledge, media, documents, and books. Since Public Libraries are the forefront of the fight against banned books, it can be crucial to make sure the banned or censored books are preserved somehow.

While the authoritarian state may easily target Public Libraries, they can’t so easily target civilians, especially if the archival project is done quietly among small groups of people. These smaller projects are how some of the lost knowledge from before the 1930s Nazi book-burnings were salvaged; everyday people like you and me archived books and documents and kept them safe.

Experts often discuss four stages to censorship:

Stage one: Not allowing certain topics to be discussed. This is similar to laws in Florida, where speaking of LGBTQIA folks (trans in particular) can be penalized. This primarily impacts schools, but not necessarily the publishing industry as a whole.

Stage two: Bills that censor the Internet. The terrible KOSA bill (Kids Online Safety Act) is an example, where it sought to censor the existence of LGBTQIA and/or Black and Indigenous literature, media, and documents on the Internet. This is where sites that carry these media may start to go dark digitally.

Stage three: Penalizing anyone who sells, disseminates, or produces censored materials. This is when authors, publishers, bookstore owners, libraries, and others are attacked directly and penalized for having any literature or media the state deems ‘bad.’ The penalty can range from fines to jail time to death.

Stage four: book burnings. This is full-on blatant Nazi-esque book burnings and trashing of any institution or public archive of knowledge and media that holds the censored materials. For example, the Sex and Gender Institute in Germany in 1930s was the first targeted institution for book burnings by Nazis. A century worth of data on LGBTQIA (and specifically trans and intersex individuals) were lost. The only remnants that survived was documents smuggled out before the book burnings.

For the country in which I reside, we are hovering between stage one and two. I suspect by the end of these four years, we’ll be closer to stage three. This is why it’s crucial to keep an archive of knowledge, and if many people are doing this, the higher likelihood that more data can be preserved. It may seem daunting, but that’s why it’s helpful to work with other people and focus on a specific genre or topic for the archival project you start.

I personally started with Leftist books focused on anti-capitalism, anti-racism, building communes, and science fiction and fantasy by marginalized authors. I was a little broad in my choice of topics, but there’s no need to be this broad.

For example, one could pick to archive only trans literature or only literature by Indigenous authors. Also remember, you cannot archive every book in your chosen topic. You will be curating these archives to some degree because that’s inescapable. Do not fret over this or agonize over being unable to archive all the books.

Preserving some knowledge is better than losing it all. That’s the goal. Take it a step at a time. For me, I’ve been adding to my archive for over four years. It’s sitting at around 25 gigabytes, and it’s something I added to slowly over that time. I took breaks. I set aside time each month to update the archive, and I asked others for help during high pain times. (This was helpful during the start of Covid, where I started up a digital archive of studies. Friends helped catalog them.)

Preserving knowledge and literature is crucial in times where censorship and book bans are on the rise. There’s a lot of great knowledge, literature, and media out there that should be preserved for future people to read or watch.

When an authoritarian regime starts to censor the sharing of knowledge, data, and stories, this is when archival practices become crucial for the survival of people’s history, culture, and stories. Anyone can work on an archival project, though I recommend building up a group to help make it easier in the long run.

1. Hardware.

Obtain a large storage drive, as in a 1 or more terabyte SSD drive. This will serve as the data repository for the digital portion of the archive. This drive must not be used regularly. It’s meant to store the data, then be placed in a safe storage area (at just the right temperature to avoid degradation of the drive).

Since books can range in size, multiple storage drives may be needed. If one is seeking to also rescue/archive media such as photographs, videos, music, podcasts, etc — then you’ll need larger storage drives. This storage drive should not be connected to the Internet in any way. It’s meant as an offline archival device.

Servers can also be used as archives, where the data is stored on the server, but a server is connected to the Internet. Depending on the circumstances, it may not be wise to have the back-up archive in the cloud. A back-up should be stored offline for any archive security.

Try to avoid cloud storage, especially if based in the USA. Do not use googledrive or dropbox or any similar cloud storage. If you must use cloud storage, always have an offline backup on your own SSD drives, and seek out a storage service that is based in a country with good privacy laws that has encryption embedded in it such as cryptpad.org.

Next make sure the computer hardware needed to open those drives are kept in top-notch shape. The digital archive will end up useless if there isn’t a device capable of connecting with the storage drive. Most devices with USB ports have the capability to connect to a storage drive.

2. File types.

You need to make sure the file types used in digital storage can be easily accessed by the majority of devices currently in existence. At this time of writing in January 2025, PDFs, ePub, .Doc, .mp3, .mp4, .wave, and .zip are the most common file types and the most accessible. Could this change in the next decade? Maybe, but for now, focus on the most common file types that are accessible by the majority of systems.

3. Avenues of procuring the literature for archiving.

There’s two forms of archival data: Physical form and Digital form.

For the physical form, that consists of print books, magazines, newspapers, photos, etc. These can be purchased online or in physical stores. They also can be traded for using a grey market system. (Grey market is where the item is obtained legally but then sold by someone who may not have a license to sell. Black market is when item is obtained illegally.) Physical forms of literature are the superior archival forms. Books can easily outlast our lifetimes if stored in a dry, lukewarm temperature storage space.

Digital forms do not have a physical version of the data. The storage device or server is the only sign it exists in the physical realm. Digital forms can be compressed into smaller file sizes for long-term storage. Buying eBooks is also cheaper than a print physical copy. There is also online PDF/eBook libraries where one can download the book for free (for legal reasons, I cannot recommend. For ethical reasons, I maintain archiving literature to make sure it doesn’t disappear or is destroyed by censorship is important in the long-term).

Once the item is procuring (in hopefully legal way as I in no way suggest breaking the law), then it becomes important to store it appropriately.

4. Storage of archival data and literature.

The storage drives in point 1 become crucial for the digital forms of literature and other data. Storage drives need to be kept in a relatively dry, cool space and kept offline. When I saw cool, I’m speaking of between 50 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Best to keep it at a steady temperature. I prefer 70 to 75 degrees Fahrenheit. This prolongs the shelf-life of your drive. To avoid stressing the drive by using it often, try to time the storage so that you store as many files as you can in one boot-up.

Another important component to using storage drives is the power of encryption. A drive can be encrypted, and the key needed to use it safely guarded. I’d recommend this only if there are concerns of increased scrutiny to penalize the possession of certain types of literature and archival documents and media.

For example, if a law is passed to ban trans or queer literature, there’s a few ways the law could be written: it can focus on who sells or prints this literature, which means possession of it is not part of the law. A second way is to penalize both selling, printing, and possession. It’s this latter form of law that needs to be watched out for, and if it comes to be, that’s when encrypting the drives and keeping that key safe is crucial.

I am not an encryption expert, however. So be sure to research encryption to determine the best way to build up this security.

For physical storage, the area needs to also be dry and in that same temperature range. Storage in bins such as metal or plastic bins can also help preserve the books and magazines. Finding a space big enough can be difficult. Sure, a storage center could be used, but if you lose access to it or one is raided, you’d have no control over rescuing your archive. Better to work with your community (and friends) to store it yourself, so you have control over who has access to it.

5. Building up these archival Libraries in your communities.

If this feels daunting, then take a step back and think about who you know that may be interested in assisting. You can then talk with those people and work out a system to spread the tasks and make the project less intense. By working together in community, you will lessen the risk of burnout, which is crucial since it can take anywhere from weeks to years to recover from burnout.

What is burnout? It’s when stress on the body and mind pushes one past their limits and causes illness — physical or mental illness. The body and mind are exhausted, and so activities becomes increasingly hard to do. The best way to avoid this is to share the burden in projects like these. Take breaks often to give your body and mind rest. Spend time with family and/or friends and/or pets to help recharge. Take some solitary time too.

Working with other people in community is crucial for surviving fascist regimes. We are not islands, as that saying goes, and even islands are not isolated and independent. For the island relies on the larger, interconnected ecosystems of earth to exist.

Mariame Kaba, who wrote ‘We Do This Till We Free Us,’ wrote about her father and something her father shared with her: “You have a responsibility to live in this world. Your responsibility is not just to yourself. You are connected to everyone…. because the world doesn’t work without everyone.”

We are interconnected with other people and the environment as a whole. No one is “self-made” as that is individualistic capitalist propaganda; all of us had people throughout our lives that taught us what we know, socialized us into society’s norms (or out of those norms), assisted us in hard times, and so forth. Humanity are inherently social creatures, so do not discount the power of community.

Resources

For ways to build up your own groups and communities, I recommend starting with Surviving the Future edited by Branson, Hudsen, and Reed and How We Show Up by Mia Birdsong. Group-building can be as simple as a book club, who meets monthly, deciding to take on archiving the books they read.

For further reading, the following article discusses archiving and rescuing trans literature, but it’s tips apply to everything I’ve discussed above and to many other types of literature: A Practical Guide To Resisting Censorship. It includes tips for ways people can work together to safeguard knowledge and literature, which is nicely organized based on your role in the literature ecosystem.

Feel free to share thoughts and tips below. :)

#archiving #archival #archives #knowledge #books #literature #organizing #microlibraries #micro-library #building community #building community knowledge

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