#not that i care enough to do anything about it

[ham1lton]

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

now part of a trilogy!

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too ��dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

──────────────────────

u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

──────────────────────

‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

──────────────────────

view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘champion’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ daddy playlist (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : f1 gird x leclerc! reader ( platonic )

summary: the leclerc sister causing havoc in the f1 driver’s life

tw : fluff; chaos, VERY SUGGESTIVE

fc : emma chamberlain

a/n : this was requested anonymously by an anon! I hope you like it and thank you so much for supporting me ! lysm 🫶🏻 the reader is gay, so don’t like it, don’t read it 🫶🏻 also, there are a lot of suggestive jokes, so please don’t read if you are uncomfortable

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by norriz, albono, georgey and 78 others

babyn daddy's home chauffeuring these Lil girls

view comments

lordperceval wtf are you driving a Mercedes !?

lordperceval haven't I bought like 10 ferrari's for you ?

lordperceval even Lewis is leaving Mercedes

babyn calm down, brother dearest, it's georgey's

georgey shame on all of you for catfishing in my car

albono I AS WELL also own a Mercedes 🙏

albono norris, you better be careful in track, the fuck are you sending my ugliest pictures on the net

norizz oh come on, if you are ugly, you are going to be ugly

max1 and not like you don't crash every now and then

colawithice it's the Williams' fault

chillijr that's why I am replacing you

colawithice and that's why I am replacing checko ✅

babyn YOU ARE GOING TO REDBULL!?

babyn OH MY GOD

babyn REDBULL WILL HAVE MILFS

babyn BOTH OF THE DRIVERS ARE DATING MILFS

norizz or they just have mummy issues

max1 and you have height issues

colawithice height does not matter, it's the girth

hamsandwich it's the looks 💪🏻

georgey why do you follow yn?

babyn WHY WONT HE!?

kikagnome the whole grid follows her

babyn except the drivers without talent and daddy issues

peirreneedsgas then why is Lando following you ?

norriz mate, last time I checked, I WAS THE ONE COMPETING FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP

babyn and it was all too much for little Lando Norris

pastry we still are winning then constructors💪🏻

chillijr Ferrari will cover up

babyn only if they pass the radio in spanish from now on

georgey 😶

albono 😶

pastry 😶

lilyhye 😶

babyn LILY WHY WERE YOU OFFLINE

carmenvroom 😶

liked by lilyhye, kikagnome, alexmieux and 104 others

babyn the only man I would ever spread my legs for -

view comments

lordperceval you are not getting out of my sight anymore

lordperceval dare you leave the Ferrari garage

babyn I will go the McLaren garage

pastry oh fuck no, BIANCA IS NOT THERE FOR EVERY RACE

babyn 😔

max1 I will join you

babyn turning people gay since 01 💪🏻

babyn but before, give me Kelly

max1 you can very much take toto, thank you

kikagnome yn, babe stick to one person yeah ?

babyn stop flaunting your relationship with pierre

pierreneedsgas SHE DIDNT EVEN SAY ANYTHING !

babyn your existence is enough

kikagnome why do I have you as my best friend again ?

babyn idk, sounds like a you problem

liked by norizz, kikagnome and 84 others

babyn SHE FUCKING LOOKED AT ME !?

view comments

norizz was it necessary to use me ?

babyn well yes, you are confused everytime

max1 thank God you will stay off Kelly now

babyn NEVER FROM MY FAV MILF

ollibear Bianca gave me her number

babyn TO YOU !?

olliebear what's so surprising ?

babyn YOU ARE WHITE AND YOUNG AND WELL A KID

olliebear YOU ARE WHITE TOO !?

babyn I AM MONEGASQUE

kingarthur sorry ollie, she failed her middle school

norizz she just looked

babyn itz the start of our marriage book, I have already made like 10 playlists

colawithice tell me you're gay without telling me you are gay

babyn you are LaTiNa

colawithice I WAS TALKING ABOUT YOU

lordperceval every week, you tell me some other girl is going to my sister in law

babyn I WANT TO BECOME A WAG

kikagnomes ITS FRIENDSHIP GOALS CHARLES

pierreneedsgas wait what

babyn calm down french fry, you both only met because of me

hamsandwich please don't, we don't need another person on the grid with an age gap

chillijr I think being in the f1 world has a mandatory check of having an age gap relationship

albono ME AND LILY are very happy 😊

georgey so are we Carlos

rebecamour Carlos, I AM ONLY ELDER TO YOU BY ONE YEAR

chillijr I didn't mean it about us !!

rebecamour Aren't you an f1 driver !?

babyn he is not, he is unemployed

chillijr I am!! But we love each other and Y/N, STOP

babyn no one tells me to stop, I LOVE BEING IN COMMAND

chillijr Charles, control your sister

lordperceval Arthur, please do

kingarthur only maman can

hamsandwich well you could show this account to her ?

babyn ALL GOOD

babyn NO NEED

babyn I AM GAY AND HAPPY

babyn NOT SHARING ANYMORE

lordperceval I love maman

kingarthur so do I 😊

liked by pierreneedgas, kikagnome and 92 others

babyn Kika, the first girl who I fell in love with, the girl who taught me how to wear heels, the girl who taught me how to make my boobs look big ( you kind of catfished pierre..?) and girl who has been with me since we were thirteen. happy 21 my love 😗😗

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kikagnomes finally I get some appreciation 🫶🏻😊

pierreneedsgas the only post I ever liked on this account

babyn says the man who got catfished

kikagnomes I AM NOT THAT FLAT

babyn OH PLEASE

kikagnomes WELL I HAVE A BOYFRIEND

babyn who will gladly lick the plate

kikagnomes PLATE !?

norizz this is the first time I have seen boobs being compared to plates

pierreneedsgas shut up norris

kikagnomes shut up lando !!

babyn love let's just continue on the gc ?

kikagnomes yes, I need to debrief as well !

pierreneedsgas debrief what ?

babyn how you only last like 3 rounds !?

pierreneedsgas HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW !? FRANSISCA !?

lordperceval 3 rounds is impressive !!

babyn not for an athlete

kingarthur sister, what more do you expect from a human ?

babyn like minimum 5 rounds ?

max1 Y/N, this is not a formula 1 race where you go for rounds with pitstops

babyn y'all are just old

hamsandwich it's not about being old !!!

babyn forgot there were 40 year olds who can't even do one round

colawithice you women don't know how hard is it to keep the hip movements going

georgey EXACLTY, WE HAVE MORE FLEXIBLE HIPS THAN SHAKIRA

carmenvroom ....

lordoerceval the silence says a lot more my mate

babyn Colapinto beans, I am more dominant in bed than you are begging to be rode

lordperceval EVERYONE TAKE THIS ON YOUR CHATS, Y/N, SISTER I HAVE NO INTEREST IN YOUR SEX LIFE

babyn also Charles, work on your stamina mate, can't even go 2 rounds without panting

lordoerceval !? ALEXANDRA !?

alexmieux ... yn, love meet me NOW

liked by kikagnome, norriz, colawithice and 134 others

babyn when mom asks what me and that girl are going to do on a sleepover

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norriz at this point, you should sign up this account for onlyfans

lordperceval Lando, stop giving my BABY SISTER such ideas

babyn what makes you think I am not already there

kingarthur excuse me !?

babyn don't worry, I just sell your feet pics 😺😊

lordperceval the best investment from my money would be getting you a psychiatrist

colawithice give me some tongue tips

babyn milf not getting satisfied ?

colawithice you wish

chillijr telling your mom for future sleepovers

babyn telling reb about your Italy escapade

rebecamour Italy what !?

babyn nothing 🤭

rebecamour Carlos !?!?

chillijr nothing my love, she is just joking

chilijr STOP TRYING TO MAKE ME FIGHT WITH HER !

babyn sorry, I just thought you liked mariella

rebecamour MARIELLA !?

norizz just informing that Carlos won't be online for some time because I saw him run after her in the paddock

pastry why are you so mean yn ?

lilyhye Mena in What?

lilyhye exposing an affair !?

alexmieux as she should !?

babyn loves, there was no affair

kikagnomes you nasty -

lilyhye those are some damn long fingers ...

babyn someone just expressed their desire @ albono

albono thank you very much and I can work on it without your interference

lordperceval why in the world have you put me there !?

babyn Alex is lucky you know ?

lordperceval what did mom even eat before giving birth to you !?

babyn dad

kingarthur Y/N !!!

[jjenthusee]

Delivery

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Lately your grocery list was looking a little small, your cleaning supplies were never running out, and you don’t remember buying these soaps? Who was the one refilling all your stuff?

Word Count: 1.5k

Something was off.

You were writing your list for your weekly shopping errands to refill any soap, groceries, or cleaning supplies running low, but nothing was empty. Half a bottle at best.

It had been bothering you that your large restocks that made you wince at the end of the month looking at the large receipt had minimized to five items at most.

How was this possible?

You didn’t cut down on spending or on using less items, but now that you look at your kitchen, everything was well stocked.

You counted the amount of extra paper towel rolls, the extra unopened cleaning spray that you do not remember buying, and the new bottle of cooking oil in your cabinet.

This was suspicious, very suspicious.

Call yourself the world’s second greatest detective because you narrowed down the culprit restocking your home.

“That red tin man…” You firmly looked over to the window, the shiny, newly replaced lock calling your name. “Let’s see how well your safety measures work.”

You shut the window, doubling the two locks installed by Jason himself, giving you a personal pep talk ensuring that no one is getting in. Not even him, especially him.

With some duct tape, you taped layers over the window seal. As you looked at your work, you thought to yourself…bookcase, yes. A large bookcase.

With heavy breaths, you pushed the bookcase in front of the window.

You were not letting in your not-an-actual-burglar tonight. Now you would wait.

—

Jason was off patrol, his muscles ached, his helmet felt heavy, but he was grappling his way to the small 24-hour mart that he has been cutting the cameras at.

As much as he wouldn’t be shopping with his gear on, the small store was enough for him for a quick shop and the cashier was a tired college student who couldn’t care less about who walked through the sliding doors.

He remembered you were running low on some hand soap in the kitchen and a replacement seasoning salt.

He hummed as he shopped, walking up to the counter to leave extra cash and disappearing before the cashier had time to turn back to give him back his change.

Jason softly landed on the fire escape outside your window. He waited to watch and listen for any movement inside your apartment.

The lights were off and you had to be asleep.

It was perfect for a quick look in, place the items, and go back to his safe house.

He gripped the window, gently trying to lift with the shopping bag on his arm. When it wouldn’t budge, he tried one more time with a little more force.

He put down the plastic bag and noticed you were using the lock he installed. It brought a small smirk to his face at the thought of you utilizing something he made himself.

When he looked closer, he realized the small sliver of light on the edge of the window, blurring from the curtain.

Something was blocking the light, your lights hadn’t been off at all.

As Jason was going to turn on his infrared lenses, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

You: so you were my burglar

Jason held in his laugh, fully piecing the situation together.

Jason: but I haven’t stolen anything

You: so breaking and entering? This is illegal trespassing sir

Jason: glad the lock works, but have to deduct points for the duct tape

You: if it can hold cars together, it can hold my window shut, even better if it keeps vigilantes out of my home

Jason: but I still have your apartment keys

You: yes, jay, you do. So please use my front door cause you are welcome to use it

Jason reread the message. He held his eyes on the word “welcome,” feeling his chest tighten slightly.

Jason: let me change. Be back in 10

Jason felt like an idiot, realizing he had been caught. He pulled an ordinary T-shirt over his head. His matted hair slightly fraying to the movement.

He exhaled in exhaustion as he pulled a jacket over his shoulders and grabbed the plastic bag from earlier.

How was he going to explain?

Hey, sorry, I’ve just been breaking in and refilling your groceries and anything that seems to be running low? I also got you some seasoning salt, you were running out.

Jason smacked the side of his head.

You had to be pissed because you locked the window and clearly barricaded it.

Jason got to your door, somehow, he felt his eye-bags deepen, his frown get stronger, and his hands felt colder.

With reluctance, he knocked three times. You had unlocked the door surprisingly fast, he figured you were waiting right there until he got to your apartment.

“Come in.” You left the door open for Jason, walking back to the kitchen to pour your tea.

Jason noticed how tired you looked. He felt even worse picturing you staying up until he attempted to open your window.

What if he hadn’t come by tonight?

He didn’t move from the door, watching from just outside your apartment.

“I just wanted to bring these over, I’ll leave now.” He tried to run. He needed to leave before you told him to never come back.

“Jay…” You walked over, grabbing onto his sleeve while guiding him inside. He was cold. “Shoes off. Sit on the couch.”

He immediately obeyed not wanting to anger you more.

You followed and sat next to him, your comfy clothes sinking into the cushion.

Jason looked over to the bookcase you clearly moved not long ago.

“I didn’t realize I hired a delivery man. Actually, I’m more embarrassed I finally realized what you’ve been doing.” You sipped at your cup. “How long?”

Jason tilted his head at your question.

“How long, Jay?” You emphasized.

“Five months, 2 weeks.”

“Five months?!”

“I made sure to make it very subtle, but eventually I…got carried away.” Jason admitted, his body stiffening the more honest he became.

“Jay…I’m not mad.” You reached out to grab his hand, kneading warmth into his bruised knuckles. “Really. I just need you to tell me when you do this.”

“But the bookcase and the lock.” Jason subtly relaxed to your touch, but he was far from leaning into the couch comfortably.

“Okay, I was a little mad, but that was because I had only realized that I haven’t properly restocked anything in a while. I looked at my store apps and card history and I had nothing. Just snacks or last-minute purchases.” You sighed, signaling Jason to give you his other hand to warm.

“You were busy…and I thought I could get them for you. I made sure to get the right ones.” Jason watched your hands, refusing to look at you directly.

“I know. You did so well that I took so long to realize. But, I work. I can get these things and you can get me things too, but let me know, please. That would help me out a lot and so I can thank you.”

“But I don’t do it for your words. I like helping you. If it lessens your stress, I’ll do it for you.” Jason reasoned. He was stubbornly defending his actions because you were at the root of his mind.

You were at a loss for words.

“It did help me out a lot, but it also confused me when I had an unlimited bar of soap.” You chuckled.

The sound of your laugh eased Jason. His shoulders sunk a little lower at your tension easing.

“No more frowning.” You rubbed the edges of his mouth and his furrowed brow. “I found out, you owe me dessert tomorrow, and you can get back your window privileges when you let me know when you buy me something.” You yawned.

“I said that I don’t do it to hear you thank me—“ He tried to remind you.

“I know, but I’m tired from trying to catch my burglar and I want to cuddle.” You opened your arms, waiting for Jason to ease into your embrace.

“I’m not a burglar.” Jason argued, taking off his jacket and laying into the couch, grabbing you to lay on top of him. “Did you also take another shift? You look exhausted.”

You rubbed Jason’s eye-bags when you settled comfortably. You were probably matching his raccoon eyes.

“Kiss me and I’ll go to sleep.” You smiled, sleepily touching Jason’s stubble with your hands.

He leaned into your hands, while gripping underneath your chin to bring his face to yours. The sweet touch of your lips was enough to get Jason to fully relax into you, to take in the moment and trust that you weren’t mad at him for what he was doing. It had been with good intentions, but he was just taking a different route.

“Go to bed.” Jason leaned your head onto his chest.

Your eyes got heavy, your breathing was starting to even out, but you had one last idea.

“If you tell me when you buy something, I’ll give you a kiss.” You faded into a deep sleep.

Jason had never forgot to tell you again, he even purposefully bought you extra things you didn’t need to buy.

You eventually had to start setting limits and unlocked your window for your favorite vigilante visits.

[gravegoer]

i humbly suggest pirate sevika in small letters

thank you for your service

Sail the Seven Seas ☠︎︎

i had this in the works ! you read my mind, we have cowboy sevika, but we absolutely need pirate sevika, i did a little "how you met" before the hcs ! also ill greatfully take any other requests for pirate sevika i love her sm (i hope you appreciate the pirate hat i edited on her lol)

She found you when her crew was raiding a ship, you were kept prisoner in the dark dungeons below deck after the pirates robbed a bar.

Sevika was inclined to leave you there, as she was in a rush. But your pleading eyes convinced her.

She told you to back up and pulled the flimsy metal door right off the hinges. Your only experience with pirates was your former kidnappers.

They were ruthless and had not a care in the world. They were greedy enough to pat you down even though you cried and insisted you had no form of money on you other than the jewelry they had ripped from your limbs.

But after she ripped the door off, she simply walked away, not sparing you a second glance. She set you free, but now what? Were you supposed to swim to land?

You hesitated before running up the old wooden stairs, the faint moonlight beamed on your face. It smelled fresh on deck, no longer having the musky odor of mold and wood filling your nose.

You were also greeted with the sight of the woman that freed you, her back facing you and pointing to crew members, yelling orders. She must be the captain, signified by her detailed hat and especially the way the crew listened to her.

People scurried under her gaze almost cowardly. Boxes were being hauled onto a much bigger ship (which you assumed was hers) over a wooden plank.

She was tall and obviously built. You could tell even though she was adorned with many layers, straps, and belts accentuated her curves and edges. She had a metal prosthetic that looked dangerous. Not only that, but a gun and two swords hung from her waist.

You approached her timidly, the floorboards squeaking under your bare feet. When you sat a hand on her arm, urging her to turn around, she put a larger hand on the hilt of her sword defensively and spun to face you.

At just the force of it, you stumbled back. She was strong. Your eyes widened at her hands, hovering over the holster of her weapon. She spoke, "What are you trying to do?"

Her voice was gruff and demanding, leaving no room for questions. "I don't have anywhere to go," you stated honestly.

"And what do you expect me to do about that."

Although she put on the front of a rough demeanor, her eyes scanned your frame in curiosity. Worn clothes hung from your body, hair a mess, and despite it all, you were quite pretty.

She knew she couldn't take you on a ship with a bunch of men. In her eyes, it was almost as dangerous as leaving you on the ship to fend for yourself.

Almost.

She took you onto her ship with the promise that at the next stop they had, she would drop you off there. Whether or not you knew where you were.

Having no better option, you opted to go with her. She didn't shackle you up or restrain you, knowing you could do little to no harm to her or her crew.

She refused to put you in the berth with other pirates. It was stuffy and cramped, and all in all, no place for you.

So you had a room next to her (and an odd blue haired girl). She said it was fine because it's temporary anyway.

She gave you some clothes that fit, and a pair of shoes to put on your feet. And the room was more than you could ask for. It was spacious and contained a lavish bed.

You assumed it was someone else's room previously as it was already decorated. (Plus, she told you not to meddle in any of the stuff)

Sevika didnt expect you to do anything, thinking you werent fit to operate on a ship so, you were not asked to do any work. In all your boredom you found yourself roaming around the ship, looking at the stuff that was collected in each corner. Some trinkets, belts, broken weapons, etc.

Sevika watched you closely, making sure you didn't have any ulterior motives. Eventually, she realized that you were nothing but curious.

Then she watched you closely to make sure you didn't fall overboard.

At meals, you stuck close by her side, not really knowing anyone on board yet. She gave you things off her plate, saying you looked starved. And you didn't complain. You weren't really fed in the dungeons.

She started to show you around the deck, answering your questions about the sea and her ship. When you started to ask too many questions, she sighed and shook her head, wandering off to attend to her duties.

She was truly a mystery to you, not being able to read her gaze or body language. But what you did know is that she was a ruthless captian. Always having something for her crew to do and ordering them around with her loud, booming voice.

She was intimidating in theory, yes. But towards you, she seemed a bit more.. lenient?

Nontheless, in a few days, you finally arrived at their next destination, and you stepped off the ship with everyone. Taking in the way the ground felt against your feet, no longer swaying from side to side.

You had no idea where you were, and even though it didn't seem like a bad place, you couldn't just start anew again. I mean, how were you supposed to rebuild your whole life?

Sevika sensed your anxiety as you wandered through the streets with her crew. She saw your eyes flick side to side, looking at the buildings and people.

She might regret it, but she couldn't just leave you here.

You were growing more worried by the hour, and when night fell and everyone started back to the docks, you felt lost. You stayed behind, watching them load back onto the ship when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder. "You coming?"

Looking up, you locked eyes with Sevika, her brow was cocked and her lips slightly upturned. "You're letting me stay?" You questioned, in shock.

"Well, the ship is leaving soon, so only if you can make it." She teased.

You hugged her tight, wrapping your arms around her large frame. Her eyes widened in shock, not returning the hug before you ran off to the ship.

HC time !!

Now that you were deemed officially a part of the crew you had work to do, scrubbing the deck was a daily task. Even though other crew members seemed to dread it, you enjoyed smelling the fresh ocean air and feeling the wind on your back.

Sometimes you could feel Sevika's eyes on you as you cleaned, she sat at the helm, supposedly watching everyone. But when you turned around you would lock eyes with her and she would smirk.

When she sent the crew out on missions you grew to never be afraid, picking up on how to use weapons easily and fight alongside other people.

She almost admired this about you, it was like you were a natural. Like you belonged on her ship.

You didn't know what was on her mind most of the time. She was always closed off and didn't converse with anyone on ship except for Jinx, who was obviously closer to her than the rest of the crew.

But one fateful night you ran into her when you couldn't seem to get to sleep

You approached the bow of the ship, watching the moonlight reflect off the waves, and the clouds move with the wind. It was quite beautiful at night even though there wasn't much to look at other than water.

Hearing footsteps behind you, you put a hand to your holster but spun around to see Sevika. Seeing her in this light reminded you of the day you met her, but now you were in front of her, compared to the day she found you.

"Up so late?" She questioned, her voice indicated she had waken up recently.

"Yeah, I couldn't fall asleep," You let your guard down again and leaned against the wood, hand cradling your face as you stared back into the sea.

"Y'know.. I didn't think you had it in you." She commented.

"Had what in me?" You chuckled, "The guts to be a pirate?"

You talked for a long while after that, the sun hit the horizon by the time you said your goodbyes. You had a feeling that Sevika wouldn't be a mystery to you for much longer.

Eventually, she would come around to teach you how to fight properly, as you mostly fought based off of what you saw others do. She held your body close to hers, helping you mimic her movements. Feeling the buckles of her belts on your back, the coldness of her metal arm on your waist.

As a matter of fact she taught you a lot of things, like how to steer the ship: putting her hands over yours, pointing in the direction of where to go. Teasing you when your hands got tired, and taking over for you, letting you stand between her and the wheel.

She joined you in the crows nest, sitting beside you on the railing with a hand on your back, making sure you didn't fall. She would direct your telescope to look at nearby land or into the horizon.

You had a lot of talks up there.

Sometimes, the crew wondered what was going on between you two, as you were practically always together. (She denies all allegations.. for now)

She taught you how to wield a sword and fought with you for fun. Letting you win from time-to-time, you knew she let you. I mean, there's no way you'd be able to pin Sevika to the wooden deck without a struggle.

You would catch her sleeping on the helm, her feet kicked up on a chair and her hat on her face. As punishment, you would take her hat and keep it until morning. Then, prancing around the next day with it on, commanding the crew jokingly, pretending to be her.

When she finally caught you, she would sweep you up and take the hat right off your head, chuckling at your mischievousness. Sometimes, she would let you wear her hat, only if you promised not to lose it.

After particularly stressful missions, the crew would throw a small party for their winnings, needing time to wind down. You grew accustomed to the crew, even making a few friends with unlikely people.

You and Jinx drank a bit together and danced around on the table, singing sea shanties loudly. But eventually, Sevika would catch you all. And make you clean up. (But not before having a drink herself)

And it was almost a nightly routine to go up to the deck and talk once everyone was asleep, gazing into the moon with her. It felt natural. You felt like you belonged.

God i love her, i dream about her I swear. I love pirates... and I love sevika, pls send in more pirate sevika asks i wanna do a siren one too ngl maybe how Sevika isnt drawn in by your siren call because the captain is a woman AUGHHHHH

[solxamber]

stay w me in this one, kiss cam w the first years 🙂‍↕

Kiss Cam with: The First Years

a/n; anon you brain is so big!! i got so happy??? when i saw this?? i kinda blacked out for a while and ended up writing it

Ace Trappola

The arena was packed, the air buzzing with energy as the Magift team dominated the field. You were sandwiched between Deuce and Ace, the latter chugging a soda while obnoxiously yelling at the players.

“Ace, they can’t hear you,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as he yelled, “PASS THE DISC, YOU IDIOT!”

“I don’t care! They need to know how bad they’re screwing up!” Ace shot back, waving his drink wildly.

Deuce leaned over, clearly mortified. “Can you not embarrass us in front of the whole school?”

Ace just smirked. “What? Embarrassed to be seen with your cooler, more handsome best friend?”

You snorted. “Handsome? In your dreams, Trappola.”

Ace turned to you, feigning offense. “Oh, so I’m not handsome? Guess I’ll have to let the kiss cam settle this one.”

“What does that even mean?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

As if the universe decided to spite you, the lights dimmed, and a giant heart frame appeared on the jumbotron.

You froze. “No. No way.”

Ace leaned forward, his grin turning devious. “Oh yes.”

Deuce, ever the supportive friend, burst into laughter, slapping his knee. “This is the best day of my life.”

Meanwhile, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “This has to be a mistake.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Come on, lovebirds! Don’t be shy! Show us some NRC spirit!”

“I’m going to die,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“Not without giving the people what they want,” Ace teased, turning to you with an exaggerated smirk. “Come on, for school pride.”

You glared at him, your cheeks burning. “Ace Trappola, I will—”

Before you could finish, Ace leaned in, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. It’s just a little kiss, right?”

Your breath hitched. The crowd was chanting louder now, and your heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the embarrassment.

“Just a little kiss,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then it happened.

When his lips met yours, the crowd erupted into cheers, whistles, and applause. Time seemed to stop as the noise around you faded into a distant hum.

His lips were warm and surprisingly gentle, and the faint taste of soda lingered as he pulled back, his face flushed but grinning like an idiot.

“Well,” he said, his voice slightly breathless, “that wasn’t so bad, huh?”

You blinked at him, your brain short-circuiting. “You… You just kissed me!”

“You kissed me back,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Deuce, still laughing like a lunatic, clapped Ace on the back. “Congratulations, Trappola. You finally grew a pair.”

Ace turned to the jumbotron, where your kiss was being replayed in slow motion. “Man, we look good together,” he said smugly, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You shoved him, your face burning hotter than the sun. “Don’t push your luck.”

The rest of the game passed in a blur. Ace was insufferably smug, Deuce wouldn’t stop teasing you, and your heart refused to calm down.

As the crowd filed out of the arena, Ace caught your hand, stopping you just outside the gates.

“Hey,” he said, his usual grin replaced with something softer. “So, uh… about earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like you. Like, a lot. And this is not just because of the kiss cam thing.”

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Ace…”

“I mean, no pressure or anything!” he added quickly, his face turning red. “But, you know, if you did want to be more than friends, I wouldn’t mind…”

You smiled, stepping closer and leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re such an idiot.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait—does that mean…?”

“It means yes, Ace,” you said, laughing. “But you better not let this go to your head.”

Ace grinned, grabbing your hand. “Too late.”

Spoiler: Ace tells everyone at school, and now half the campus thinks the kiss cam was staged. You’re stuck with him, but honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Deuce Spade

The stadium buzzed with excitement, the crowd alive with cheers as NRC's Magift team scored another point. You sat beside Deuce, who was yelling encouragement so earnestly you swore the players might actually hear him through sheer determination.

“Come on! You’ve got this! Pass it—yes!” he shouted, punching the air.

You couldn’t help but smile. Deuce’s enthusiasm was contagious, even if he had accidentally knocked over your popcorn in his excitement earlier.

“You’re going to lose your voice,” you teased, nudging his arm.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a grin. “This is important!”

What wasn’t important, however, was the dreaded kiss cam that appeared on the giant screen moments later.

The heart-shaped frame zoomed in on various couples, each one receiving cheers as they nervously or enthusiastically complied. You laughed, thinking nothing of it—until your own face appeared on the screen.

You froze. “Oh no.”

Deuce, oblivious, kept clapping until the heart frame zoomed out to reveal him beside you. His face turned crimson so fast you worried he might combust.

“W-What?!” he stammered, pointing at the screen as if denying its existence might make it disappear.

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, the announcer’s voice booming. “Come on, lovebirds! Let’s see some NRC spirit!”

“Deuce, say something,” you hissed, your face burning.

“I—uh—I—” he stuttered, looking everywhere but at you. “They—uh—made a mistake! Right?!”

The announcer wasn’t letting up. “Looks like someone’s shy! Don’t leave us hanging!”

Deuce looked at you helplessly, his face a mix of panic and mortification. “I-I’m so sorry about this!”

You sighed, your own heart racing. “It’s fine, Deuce. Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on.”

He nearly choked. “A kiss?!”

“It’s not a marriage proposal!” you shot back, trying to keep your cool despite your own nerves.

He nodded frantically, visibly psyching himself up. “O-Okay! Let’s do this!”

Deuce leaned in slowly, his eyes shut so tightly you thought he might be praying for divine intervention. His lips brushed your cheek in the softest, most hesitant kiss imaginable before he pulled back like he’d just touched a live wire.

The crowd cheered wildly, but Deuce wasn’t done. In his panic, he’d miscalculated the kiss angle, and his forehead accidentally bumped yours as he pulled away.

“Oh no! Are you okay?” he asked, horrified.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your nervousness melting away at his sheer awkwardness. “I’m fine, Deuce.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, his hands hovering like he wanted to check for injuries.

You smiled and, feeling bold, leaned forward to kiss his cheek in return. The crowd’s cheers doubled, and Deuce looked at you like you’d just announced he’d won the lottery.

“Um,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “That was… uh… nice.”

You laughed. “It’s just a kiss, Deuce.”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a kiss.”

Deuce spent the rest of the game sneaking glances at you, his face perpetually red. By the time the match ended, you were sure he’d worn a hole in the ground with all his nervous foot-tapping.

As the two of you walked back to the dorms, he finally cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I… I really like you.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden confession. “Deuce—”

“I mean it!” he said quickly, his words tumbling out like he’d been holding them back for ages. “I’ve liked you for a while, but I didn’t know how to tell you, and the kiss cam just kind of—”

You cut him off with a quick kiss to his lips, effectively silencing his rambling.

“Does that answer your question?” you asked, smiling at his stunned expression.

Deuce nodded, his face practically glowing. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Spoiler: Ace finds out and teases Deuce relentlessly, but Deuce doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class and holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jack Howl

The stadium was alive with energy, the roar of the crowd reverberating through the stands as NRC's Magift team dominated the field. You sat beside Jack, who had insisted you attend because "It's good to support our school." Truthfully, you didn’t mind—watching the game with Jack was its own kind of fun.

He sat rigidly in his seat, tail swishing lightly as his sharp eyes tracked every play on the field. You chuckled at how serious he looked.

"Jack, relax. It's just a game," you teased.

"It's not just a game," he replied, his ears flicking. "This is about teamwork, discipline, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence when the crowd erupted in cheers. You both looked up to the big screen, only to see a giant pink heart frame around… you and Jack.

Cue Panic.

“Wait, what?!” you exclaimed, your face instantly heating up.

Jack’s ears flattened against his head as his eyes widened in sheer panic. “Oh no.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Looks like we’ve got a shy couple! Let’s hear it for them, folks!”

The crowd cheered louder, and you groaned. “Oh, come on…”

Jack was frozen in place, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. His tail puffed up slightly as he asked, “They’ll move on, right? They’ll pick someone else?”

You glanced at the screen, seeing your own mortified expression reflected back at you. “Not unless we do something.”

Jack’s face turned impossibly red. “You mean…?”

“Yes, Jack,” you said, trying to suppress your own embarrassment. “A kiss. Just a small one! It’s no big deal.”

Jack looked at you like you’d just asked him to leap off a cliff. “I can’t! What if it’s weird? Or awkward? Or—”

“Jack,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s just a game. Let’s get it over with.”

His ears twitched nervously as he nodded. “Okay. But, uh… where?”

“Where?” you repeated, confused.

“I mean, do I… your cheek? Your forehead? I—I don’t want to—”

“Jack!” you laughed, despite your own nerves. “Cheek is fine.”

He nodded again, his tail wagging nervously behind him as he leaned in. Just as his lips barely brushed your cheek, the crowd erupted in cheers—only for Jack to try to jerk back so fast that his forehead bumped yours.

“Ow!” you yelped, rubbing your head.

“Are you okay?!” he asked, panicking.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying not to laugh at his flustered expression. “But you might’ve just knocked me into next week.”

The announcer’s voice interrupted. “Let’s hear it for our lovebirds! What a show!”

You both sank further into your seats, faces burning. Jack mumbled an apology, looking like he wanted to crawl under the stadium.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “You could’ve just kissed me properly.”

Jack froze, his eyes snapping to yours. “What?”

“Yeah,” you teased, grinning. “You’re already on the big screen. Might as well make it count.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his ears flicking nervously. Then, to your surprise, he leaned in again—this time more confidently—and pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips.

The crowd lost it, cheering so loudly you could barely hear yourself think.

When Jack pulled back, his face was crimson, but there was a small, shy smile on his lips. “There. Was… was that okay?”

You smiled back, your heart racing. “More than okay.”

Jack spent the rest of the game sitting a little closer to you, his tail wagging uncontrollably. As you left the stadium, he finally cleared his throat.

“So… does this mean we’re—uh… dating?” he asked awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

You laughed, grabbing his hand. “What do you think?”

Jack’s tail wagged even harder. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Spoiler: Ace, Deuce and Epel find out later and tease Jack mercilessly, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class with his hand in yours.

Epel Felmier

The game was electric, with the crowd roaring as NRC held a narrow lead over RSA. You sat near the bench, cheering loudly for one player in particular. Epel was a blur of determination on the field, his every move brimming with adrenaline and a grit that made your heart race just watching him.

During halftime, the players jogged off the field to hydrate and strategize. Epel wiped the sweat from his brow and spotted you by the bench. You held up an electrolyte drink with a proud smile.

“Here, you earned it!” you said, handing him the bottle.

He accepted it with a quick grin, gulping it down like a man dying of thirst. “Thanks. Didja see that shot I made earlier?”

“I did!” you replied enthusiastically. “You’re playing amazing out there!”

Your encouragement had him standing a little taller, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and affection. “Well, I ain’t done yet. Gotta show those RSA guys what we’re made of.”

But before he could head back to the huddle, the crowd’s noise shifted. You both turned toward the massive screen above the field, where a familiar heart-shaped frame surrounded… the two of you.

Epel froze for a fraction of a second, his flushed face turning an even deeper shade of red. You stared at the screen in surprise, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“Is that… the kiss cam?” you muttered.

Epel glanced back at his team’s huddle, where his teammates were laughing and giving him exaggerated thumbs-ups. The crowd began chanting, egging him on.

In that moment, with the adrenaline from the game still coursing through his veins and the giddy rush of your praise in his chest, Epel made a snap decision.

Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you—hard, fast, and with enough confidence to leave you absolutely stunned.

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles as Epel pulled back, his violet eyes sparkling mischievously. “Thanks for the drink,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just turned your world upside down.

Then, with one last grin, he jogged back to his team, leaving you standing there, breathless and staring after him.

The rest of the game was a blur. Epel was on fire, scoring two more goals and securing the win for NRC. The crowd was ecstatic, the team celebrating wildly, but your mind was stuck on that kiss.

When the post-game frenzy finally settled, Epel approached you by the bleachers. He was still sweaty and flushed, but his usual nervousness was nowhere to be seen. The adrenaline from the game still seemed to fuel him as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Hey,” he started, his accent thick and his voice a little raspy. “About that kiss earlier…”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart pounding. “What about it?”

Epel took a deep breath, his violet eyes locking onto yours. “I ain’t just kissin’ people for fun, ya know? I… I like you. A lot. And I’ve been wantin’ to say somethin’ for ages, but I didn’t know how. Guess the kiss cam kinda forced my hand.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his honesty. “So what are you saying, Epel?”

“I’m sayin’... would ya go out with me?” he asked, his cheeks turning red again.

You pretended to think for a moment, but the truth was, you already knew your answer. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Epel’s face lit up, his grin wide and genuine. “Really?!”

“Really,” you said, laughing.

He fist-pumped the air triumphantly before quickly trying to play it cool. “Well, uh, that’s great. I’ll, uh, plan somethin’ nice, alright?”

“Looking forward to it,” you replied, your smile as wide as his.

The kiss cam video was all over campus the next day, much to Epel’s embarrassment and your amusement. Still, neither of you could deny how it sparked something wonderful between you.

And yet, every time someone teased him about it, Epel would just grin and shrug. “What can I say? I go for what I want.”

Sebek Zigvolt

The Magift stadium was loud and lively, the crowd cheering wildly as NRC battled RSA in a fierce match. You sat next to Sebek, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Not for the game, mind you, but for the honor of cheering for his young master.

“Do you see that?!” Sebek shouted, practically jumping out of his seat. “The precision! The sheer grace! Lord Malleus is unmatched on the field!”

You smiled, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, Sebek, I see it. You’ve mentioned it about... ten times now.”

“Only ten?!” He gasped, scandalized. “I must rectify this immediately—”

Before he could continue his speech, the crowd erupted into cheers. Confused, you looked up at the massive screen, only to freeze.

There, framed in a gigantic pink heart, were you and Sebek.

“What… what is this madness?!” Sebek’s voice boomed over the crowd noise, his face quickly turning beet red.

“It’s the kiss cam,” you explained, already feeling the heat creeping up your neck.

Sebek blinked at you, utterly baffled. “Kiss cam? What nonsense is this?!”

The announcer chimed in cheerfully. “Looks like we’ve got a lively one, folks! Give the crowd what they want!”

The audience clapped and whistled, clearly entertained by Sebek’s outburst. Meanwhile, you wished you could melt into the ground.

“Sebek, we’re on the big screen,” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low. “Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on!”

Sebek recoiled as if you’d suggested dueling Malleus. “What?! A kiss? In public? In front of—of all these people?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“But—! But—!” Sebek sputtered, his hands flailing in an uncharacteristically awkward display. “I cannot—this is—HOW DARE THEY IMPOSE SUCH A THING?"

The crowd was relentless, chanting louder as Sebek grew more flustered.

“Sebek,” you sighed, leaning closer to him. “If you don’t just do it, they’ll keep us up there forever.”

His eyes widened, darting between you and the screen. “I—fine! But only to end this nonsense!”

Sebek sat up stiffly, his face as red as his dorm uniform. Slowly, he leaned toward you… only to stop halfway, completely frozen.

“Sebek,” you whispered, trying not to laugh at his deer-in-headlights expression. “You’re overthinking it. Just a little peck.”

He shut his eyes tightly, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “For the honor of the young master.” Then, with the precision of someone about to execute a high-level spell, he leaned in and pressed the briefest kiss imaginable to your cheek.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Sebek immediately pulled back, clutching his chest like he’d just fought a dragon.

“Well, that was…” You paused, trying to find the right word. “Anticlimactic.”

Sebek glared at you, still blushing furiously. “What more do you want?! I have upheld this ridiculous tradition to the best of my ability!”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Oh, come on. You’re supposed to kiss me on the lips.”

“WHAT?!” Sebek practically shouted, earning another wave of laughter from the crowd.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” you teased, leaning in just a bit more.

Sebek’s brain seemed to short-circuit for a moment, but before you could follow through on your teasing threat, he surprised you by leaning in and kissing you properly.

It was quick and clumsy but sincere, and when he pulled back, the people sitting around you erupted into wild cheers.

Sebek, meanwhile, looked like he was about to faint. “There. Are you satisfied now?!”

You laughed, touching your lips. “Actually, yeah. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

For the rest of the game, Sebek sat ramrod straight, refusing to look at you.

When the match ended and you both walked back to campus, he finally broke the silence. “That… that was purely for practical purposes!”

You grinned. “Sure, Sebek. Whatever you say.”

He glanced at you, his blush returning in full force. “It—it meant nothing!”

But the way his hand brushed against yours—and stayed there—told a very different story.

Masterlist

[queeranarchism]

I think the left completely failed to form an effective covid-safety strategy.

First they failed by putting far too little effort into winning systematic changes (access to health care, access to paid sick leave, ventilation of work- and public spaces, etc) and putting most of the focus on individual behaviors that they could judge individuals for (vaccines and above all masking).

Their second failure was to then primarily rely on punitive pressure and scolding people to achieve that behavior. Which meant that this strategy only kind of worked a little when they had enough people to keep up that pressure. The moment that pressure wasn't enough anymore, most people stopped masking because they'd only even done it because of external pressure.

This left us with nothing. No systematic changes and no group safety.

At that point, the third failure was to change nothing once it became abundantly clear that these tactics weren't working. People wrote comics and long reads and video essays about the lack of solidarity of people who stopped masking, and while there was truth there, that didn't change anything.

Yet at no point did people take stock, re-assess and change strategy. To this day people are just doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. In fact, people seem to just double down. Where they talked about a range of safety measures in the past they've switched to only talking about masking. Where they used a range of tactics in the past, they've switched to only scolding.

And when you challenge them, the response is something like "But I am right, this is unjust, so people should change when I tell them it is unjust". But that's not a strategy. Creating societal change doesn't require being right, it requires having an effective plan on how to actually achieve real change.

And I don't have a full draft of what would make an effective strategy. I think unions could play a big role in achieving things paid sick leave and proper ventilation. But I don't have all the answers either. I think there needs to be an acknowledgement that what's currently happening isn't working, and that a new strategy is long overdue.

[turtle-mama]

I normally don't reblog political issues (or anything in general) But this, right here, is the point of people being upset.

It's not just about individuals being terrified of having their rights taken away. People can lose family members because of hatred. Why should you care? Well. People aren't replaceable. This is not a video game. People's children WILL die because of Bigotry. Because of this idea of ALL HOLIER THAN THOU aditude. Just because it makes someone a little uncomfortable.

GOOD.

It should make you uncomfortable. Math makes me uncomfortable but I still had to learn how to do it. Did I do it well? No. Do I still not like math? Yes. But I understand it's part of every day life and I can't just say WELL I BELIEVE THIS WAY and it's magically fixed.

This is going to be a really controversial statement, but we have to be okay with other people's presences making us feel not okay. Unless you PHYSICALLY see them harming other people, Animals or themselves. DO. NOT. ENGAGE.

I can't stress this enough, LEAVE OTHER PEOPLE ALONE. STAY IN YOUR LANE. WORRY ABOUT YOUR OWN DAMN LIFE AND YOUR OWN FAMILY.

And if they are your own kids, FUCKING COMMUNICATE WITH THEM! They are just as confused if not more than you! Listen to them, talk to them! It's not weak for you to listen to your god damn child and any parent who wishes their child to DIE or any harm comes to them, you didn't love them in the first place!

Ahem. Let me say it louder.

IF YOU HATE YOUR CHILD FOR ANY REASON YOU DIDNT LOVE THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE.

You loved the idea of your children. Not actually being a parent. Grow up. You're lack of empathy for people, especially for your own children is the most vile and disgusting way of life.

Anyway, thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

My dad doesn’t talk about gender with me super often but he was saying that trans rights are the big issue with Trump being elected and I said “For me personally yeah” and he said “No, for all of us. Because you’re a part of this family and you’re a part of our lives.”

And… I don’t really have anything to add to that. I’m just glad my family loves me I suppose even if they do drive me crazy sometimes. Even if some things are looking bleak.

[quarterlifekitty]

I love your weaknesses posts🥹✨do you have any thoughts about the guys and massages (full body, shoulders, hands, etc)? could be receiving or giving them

I personally feel like Kyle would be so into them in general, meanwhile Johnny would try to be handsy or silly with them

Machveil I hope you know that I would blow up a fucking building for you if only you would ask me to

Weaknesses part 7: massages

I think Gaz is super into anything relaxing, aromatic, therapeutic. Loves candles, baths with special scented soaps and salts, massages. Anything that inspires slow, tantric intimacy. And also I think he is the king of treating himself and self care. Generally he’s more into giving, but he likes to trade massages too. He always sets the scene for you, lighting the aforementioned candles, putting on music, dimming the lights. And he’s really good at giving them. Because of course he is.

Soap is the fucking naughty masseuse and we all know it ok. He basically gives massages the way they do in porn where it’s just an extended pretense to sex where he can feel you up. Like he does try to give you a real massage for all of 3 minutes (if I’m being generous) before it’s basically just spanking you and reaching between your thighs. And if you decide to return the favor? He’s not going to shut up about getting a happy ending. Not for the entire time.

Ghost isn’t all the comfortable giving massages because he can see the blood on his hands at the edges of his vision all the time, like a cataract born of sin and violence unbridled n stuff. But he loves receiving them! You know he’s tense as fuck back there man. Doesn’t know how to relax himself, needs someone to force him to relax. You sitting straddled on him while you rub his back does it for him.

Price likes both. Plays a little into the housewife kink. Likes you to rub his shoulders after a long day, kneading into him and just trying to help him unwind like a good, sweet, considerate girl. And in return, this man is rubbing your feet and I’m not gonna apologize for saying it. Especially if you’re pregnant. Then it’s happening like every fuckin day.

While Gaz gives very sensual massages, König is gonna give you a massage that hurts like hell but fixes your entire life. Massages are one of the few things I think he’ll actually indulge in and pay for from a professional. Dude has a lot of muscles that go through a lot of grief. I think his height and his age also make him a little more prone to aches and pains. That said, he will love whatever kind of massage you give him, but it’s more of the thought that counts, cause you’re not hardcore enough to break his back the way he usually gets it done. He will literally lay down and let you walk on him.

Nikolai also loves a massage as an act of service. Just shows you’re thinking about him and his comfort, which he finds to be very sweet. He’s partial to a hand massage— he does a lot of work that strains his grip and fine motor muscles, so it feels good to take off the gloves and have you press between his knuckles and knead the meat of his palms. The massages he gives are a bit between therapeutic and foreplay. He uses the opportunity to edge you, is what I’m saying.

[commic-jester]

maybe i am just a notorious pessimist when it comes to queer rep in media, but ena5 is pretty much exactly what i expected. this event is about ena’s perception of mizuki over everything. the whole point is that ena doesn’t care.

would i have liked for them to outright confirm mizuki as trans? absolutely i would, but i can also understand that they have been confirming it for the past four fucking years and you gotta be either illiterate or outright transphobic not to understand that. and as for the transphobic fans, giving them the time of day is not going to stop them. even if mizuki looked at the camera and said “i am a transgender woman”, we all know they wouldn’t have stopped. it would not have shut them up. the most we can do now is fucking ignore them and stop reposting rage bait that hurts us trans fans.

ena5 is good, at least for me. i’m happy with it. it’s not perfect, they were a little bit of a pussy about it, but it’s what i expected. i have enough faith in this game to know they’re not skirting around the truth or going back on anything.

tl;dr, ena5 is good, mizuki is trans, clpl are a little bit of a pussy, but it’s literally fine. goodnight

[indecisive-gm]

Well, I need to get myself to do some kind of writing. This one'll be in English, the next one in German

Deutsche Übersetzung: Nun, ich muss dazu bringen, ein bisschen zu schreiben. Dieses wird auf Englisch, das Nächste wird auf Deutsch.

Jamie woke up and looked around. The room was dark enough that she couldn't see anything. Her legs were asleep, but she could feel the cold metal of the chair on her arms and the rope tied around her wrists. What had happened? The last thing Jamie could remember, she had been on her way home from a trip to the store. Someone must have snuck up on her and abducted her. Maybe Ryla's advice about walking with other people at night in the city wasn't such a bad idea.

The lights turned on, blinding Jamie for a moment as her eyes adjusted. When she could see again, she recognized the face of the person coming in from the door.

"Roger!" she sighed. "It's you! How did you find me?"

Roger didn't speak. Not too unusual for him. He was polite--even pretty friendly once you got to know him--but he was quieter and often focused on getting to business. He immediately walked around behind Jamie's chair and started fiddling with the rope.

"Sooo, which one of them sent you to come get me?" Jamie jested. Roger glared in response. "Oh, I know you care. I was just messing with you!"

The knot in the rope tightened, and Roger took a step back. This wasn't right. Jamie knew Roger could tie and untie knots; he'd helped her tie her bike with a chain when she forgot the lock for it. It wasn't likely a joke either. Roger never had much of a sense of humor.

That's when another figure entered the room. Jamie didn't know him, and he didn't look friendly. He was followed by two other men, each with a gun visibly holstered. The man looked at Jamie and grinned. "You still got it in ya after all, Tim."

Roger grumbled, "Yes. did you think I didn't?"

"We had to be sure," the man in the suite responded. "What, with this running off and taking on a new name. We needed to be sure you were still part of the family." He stepped forward and put a hand of Roger's cheek. "We are, aren't we?"

Roger met eyes with Jamie. What was he going to do? Jamie had thought he was a nice person--even a good friend--up until now. When Ash's phone got a virus, it was Roger who fixed it and recovered the files. When Jackson fell down the stairs and broke her leg, it was Roger who had made a splint on the spot and instructed everyone on what to do to help her. When boys from one of the fraternities made lewd comments at Ryla, it was Roger who scared them off before things escalated. And when Jamie first came to the city, it was Roger who helped her get settled in in the group's shared apartment. After all this, was this really who he was?

Roger looked back to the man in the suit. "Of course."

The man chuckled and slapped Roger on the back. "Good to hear, my boy. I knew you were a smart one. Let's clean up here and go back home."

The men started to leave, and Roger followed. As the door was closing, Jamie heard the man speak again. "Timmy, you know better than to leave loose ends like this." The door shut, and Jamie couldn't clearly hear the rest of the conversation.

BANG! Gunshots erupted from the other side of the door. Jamie was too scared to scream. Silence followed, and blood pooled under the door.

After a minute or so, the door started to open again. Jamie closed her eyes and prepared herself for it to be over. Maybe Roger had held true for a final standoff, but that was over. And now her life would be over too.

She felt something tug at the rope on her wrists. "They shot my right arm. I'll need you to listen to my instructions to help get this rope off of you." It was Roger's voice!

"Roger! You're-"

"Alive, yes. Let's... not speak of this, ok?"

"But..." Jamie took a moment to think about what had happened. Roger's association with the mob would explain some of his skills, but it opened more questions. Where to even start?

Roger answered, "Ash and Jackson would just be scared if they found out, and Ryla has enough on her plate already. Besides," he gestured to the dead bodies just outside the door. "These guys won't be waking up any time soon, and the rest of the gang will be too shaken by the incident to come after me. There, now pull your left hand out."

Shaking the slight numbness from her left hand from where the ropes had decreased circulation, Jamie shook her head. "Fine, I'll try not to let them know." Looking over at the dead gunmen, Jamie said to Roger, "You're sure we shouldn't at least call the police?"

"And get myself arrested too? I'd rather not. Pull on that loop now. No, the other one."

The rope around Jamie's right hand fell loose to the ground, and she stood up. And immediately fell over. "Ow!"

"Yeah, careful. You've been sitting down for a while, and you took a pretty bad scrape when I knocked you out before."

Waiting a moment as she rubbed her legs and felt the prickle of feeling returning to them, Jamie thought about the situation. "Why wait until now?"

"What?"

"Why wait until now to kill those guys if you knew it was going to happen anyway? You didn't need to kidnap me like that!"

"I... wasn't sure what to do." Roger looked down in shame. "I thought I was free, so I was caught by surprise when they found me. I followed their orders up until now, hoping to avoid the worst." He looked up at Jamie. "But I'm not willing to do the worst to avoid the worst. I want to help people, and I want to be a good friend." They both stood in silence for a moment. "I'm sorry for what happened. It won't happen again."

Jamie looked around the room one last time. With the light and not having to fear for her life about the people in front of her, she could actually get a good look at everything, not that there was much to see. It was a small cellar room, almost like a closet. Just outside the door, she could see a water heater and a washer and drier. Fortunately, this wouldn't be the last room she would see. Roger almost killed her here, but things could have ended worse. Looking back at Roger, no longer entirely sure what to think of him, she offered, "Well, I guess we can go home now?"

"Ah, not just yet." He gestured to his right arm which had been shot and to the blood all over his jacket and pants. He walked past Jamie to the drying machine and took out a clean pair of pants. "If I could borrow that closet for a second."

Jamie waited a moment in the laundry room while Roger changed pants in the cellar closet. This wasn't what she had expected, but how much could she really blame Roger? He was in a bad situation and did what he could. He had been one of the kindest and most helpful people she had known up to now. Was she ready to throw that away?

Roger came out of the cellar closet in a fresh pair of pants and without his jacket. "I found this old gym bag in the corner of the room. It looks like it hasn't been used in a while, so I don't think the owner will miss it too much. It'll help hide the bloody clothes." With a t-shirt and fresh sweat pants, he looked more like himself--though the slightly bloody torn cloth wrapped around his arm was new.

No, Roger had helped everyone else when they needed it, Jamie wouldn't be giving up on her friend now. Roger had clearly been through a lot. He had definitely hurt people, but he was trying so hard to do better, and had become a reliable figure to look up to for others. This was a horrible day, but Roger had done what he could in the end, and Jamie couldn't fault him for that.

"Let's get you to a hospital for your arm."

"No," Roger replied. "I've dealt with this before. I'll survive."

"You've helped us, it's time I do something to return the favor. We can stop at home first to drop off your jacket and pants."

Today you just found out your roommate with strange hobbies, like knowing how to pick a lock, knows how every puzzle and cipher by heart, or how to commit tax fraud, and so many other things, wasn't a guy with ADHD, he was an ex-assassin and now you have a gun pointed at your face

[cherry-zip]

─ • CSC .ᐟ Starlit Rest

› content ┆(sleepy) idol s.coups x fem reader – established relationship, fluff ✎ word-count .ᐟ 1.4k. ⌁ summary ┆ Seungcheol falls asleep on the couch after a long day, and you tenderly take care of him. They share a quiet, loving moment, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated!

It was a quiet night in the apartment you shared with your boyfriend, Choi Seungcheol. The soft hum of the city outside was the only sound that accompanied you as you sat in the dimly lit living room, curled up on the couch with a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your laptop rested on your lap, but you weren’t really watching the drama you had put on. Your mind kept drifting to him.

Seungcheol had been particularly tired these past few days. Between practice, rehearsals, and the long hours of preparing for the group’s upcoming promotions, he was worn thin. Tonight, after a late-night recording session, he had returned to the apartment earlier than usual. But instead of his usual lively self, he had been quiet, almost withdrawn, a far cry from the energetic and playful Seungcheol you were used to.

You had made him a cup of tea, hoping it would help him relax, and he had taken it without a word of complaint. You’d sat beside him on the couch for a while, exchanging only a few words before he had leaned against you, his eyes slowly drifting closed. You didn’t mind the silence. In fact, you cherished it. But tonight, his weariness seemed to hang heavier in the air.

Glancing down at him now, you could see his broad frame slouched against the cushions, his head resting lightly against the armrest. His eyes were barely open, lashes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. You smiled softly, heart aching with affection as you reached over to gently tuck a strand of his tousled hair behind his ear.

“Seungcheol,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur.

“Hmmm…” he hummed in response, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“Are you alright?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. You had always been attuned to his moods, and tonight, his exhaustion seemed to be consuming him more than usual.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, though his words were slurred. “Just tired...”

You raised an eyebrow, though he couldn’t see it. “Tired?” you repeated, your tone teasing. “You look like you're about to fall asleep right now. Don’t you want to move to bed ?”

Seungcheol grunted, his arms tightening around the blanket you had draped over him. He shifted closer to you, his head now leaning onto your shoulder, his breathing slow and steady.

“Maybe... just for a few minutes,” he muttered, his words trailing off into a soft yawn. “Promise... I’ll wake up after...”

You chuckled softly. "You always say that."

“I mean it this time,” he murmured, the weight of his words barely audible as his eyelids fluttered shut, and soon, he was completely still.

You couldn't help but smile at his adorable stubbornness. He was always the kind of person who prided himself on being strong, on pushing through anything. But tonight, it was clear that his body had reached its limit. You brushed your hand gently through his hair again, listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

The warmth of his body against yours, the soft hum of his snores in your ear, and the quiet of the apartment filled you with a sense of peace. You could feel his tension slowly melting away as he succumbed to sleep. It wasn’t often that he let his guard down like this, so vulnerable, so human. You were glad that he felt safe enough with you to do so.

You carefully shifted to pull the blanket more snugly around him, making sure he was comfortable. As you did, your phone buzzed with a notification. You glanced down to see it was a message from one of the other members, asking if you and Seungcheol would be joining them for a late-night hangout at the studio.

You shook your head slightly, setting your phone down without replying. You didn’t mind the occasional night out with the other members, but tonight, it was clear that Seungcheol needed this time to recharge, and you weren’t about to disturb him for anything.

Instead, you ran your fingers through his hair one more time, your lips curving into a soft smile as you kissed the top of his head. He stirred slightly at the contact, but didn’t wake up. You felt the familiar warmth spread through your chest, a deep affection for this man who worked so hard, always putting others before himself.

As the night wore on, you let yourself relax into the calm of the moment. The world outside continued its busy rhythm, but inside your little apartment, it felt like time stood still. The only thing that mattered in this quiet moment was the man beside you, drifting in and out of sleep, his presence a comforting weight against your side.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he ever realized how much you appreciated him—not just for his hard work, but for the way he cared for everyone around him, the way he always made sure that you felt safe and loved, even when the world outside was chaotic. You knew he didn’t always take care of himself, always too focused on the needs of others. But you had come to realize that part of loving him was accepting the small ways he needed care too, the moments when he allowed himself to rest, to lean on you. You didn’t mind being the one to support him.

Soon, Seungcheol’s soft breathing grew steadier, deeper. You glanced down and saw that his face had softened into the most peaceful expression you’d seen all day. You smiled to yourself, knowing that he was finally getting the rest he deserved.

You reached for the remote, turning the volume down on the TV even lower so as not to disturb him, and allowed yourself to settle into the quiet night. The two of you were like this sometimes—silent, content, and wrapped in the shared comfort of each other’s presence.

Your mind wandered, remembering all the moments that had led you to this place. The first time you had met him, the nervous glances exchanged during your first few dates, the way his laugh had always made your heart skip. You had never imagined your life would be this way, with him, in this little apartment, wrapped up in the mundane yet beautiful moments of just being together.

As time passed, you found your own eyelids growing heavy, your body relaxing against the couch. You had originally intended to stay awake and watch the show, but the soothing presence of Seungcheol beside you was more than enough to lull you into a gentle doze. Slowly, you let your head fall against his, the warmth of his body and the rhythmic beat of his heart calming you.

It wasn’t long before you both drifted into a peaceful sleep together, tangled in blankets, resting easy in the quiet sanctuary of each other’s arms.

The next morning, the sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. You stirred first, blinking sleepily as you realized you had fallen asleep on the couch. Your eyes landed on Seungcheol, still nestled against your side, his features relaxed in the peaceful embrace of a deep slumber.

For a moment, you simply watched him, a quiet smile playing on your lips. His messy hair, the way his lips were slightly parted as he breathed, the way his hand rested over yours—these were the little things you loved.

You carefully shifted so as not to wake him, pulling the blanket back up over his shoulders. But just as you were about to move, you felt his hand tighten around yours.

“Mm… stay,” he mumbled sleepily, his voice still thick with drowsiness. His grip on your hand was firm, but gentle, pulling you closer.

You laughed softly, the sound barely escaping your lips. “Seungcheol, you're not even awake.”

“I am now,” he said with a sleepy grin, still half-closed eyes not quite meeting yours. He yawned, stretching against you before burying his face into your neck. “Five more minutes…”

You sighed, but you didn’t argue. You would give him five more minutes. Or ten. Or however long it took for him to rest.

Because, at that moment, you realized something: no matter how tired he was, no matter how busy the world around him seemed, he would always find a way to be there for you.

And that was more than enough.

› anonymous review form

❀ a/n┆I've been so tiring these days teaching the kids that I've been taking naps.. something I've never done before - so I took it as inspiration, I do wish I could come home to someone and just lay down with them like this.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip"🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

[heegyukeluv]

it's okay... (sjy)

pairing: jake x afab!reader

synopsis: Jake's sensitiveness was, ironically enough, a sensitive topic to him. What would you think seeing him getting so desperate over a few gentle touches on his back?

my's note: inspired by ari's talking w me about jake being sensitive lol

warnings: established relationship, jake is very sensitive to readers touches and is shy about it, SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, jake cums untouched, desperate, needy and sensitive jake, dry humping? kinda?, literally reader caressing jake's back and him coming with that lol, he nearly cries. lmk if i missed something!

wc: 4.3k

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers, @ikeuverse

Jake was sensitive. So sensitive. And everywhere.

You and he started dating not so long ago; three months into a beautiful and comfortable relationship, he showed you plenty of possibilities of how to like and eventually love someone. He was steadily and easily climbing to the rank of being the man of your life.

Every nuance of your relationship with Jake was delightful, cozy, gentle. He cared for you with genuine affection and always tried his hardest to give you the best of the best – if felt contrastingly effortless and intentional, offering you a reliable safe haven.

The physical side of your relationship was equally fulfilling. From the start, your boyfriend had been nothing but respectful towards your boundaries, leaving the pace entirely in your hands. Jake let you decide when the touches were just innocent, light ones, and when they started to dive deep into something more profound, more intense, something you eventually named as lust, laced with passion and need.

Jake was fucking hot. He didn’t disappoint – never did. With his skilled tongue and mouth, he made sure to send you to heaven, to hell and back to earth in minutes of work on your pussy, leaving you panting, breathless, aching for more, chanting his name like a messy mantra. And down onto his body he didn’t lack as well, allowing you to see stars with deep and precise thrusts, touching your g-spot as if he knew ever since the beginning.

Jake knew how to please a girl – his girl. 

But there was a constant lingering, unspoken tension whenever you touched him.

Jake was the most sensitive person you ever met. Just the idea of your fingertips grazing his biceps was enough to make him rock hard – an information he for sure didn’t give you and prayed you didn’t notice either.

What would you think if you knew? If you realized how easily and powerful your touch flustered him? How the mere fantasy of your hands roaming his body could make him feel like the world’s most hopelessly horny man?

The thought haunted him and he kept it locked away, terrified of what you might say if you uncovered just how badly he wanted – needed – you.

Jake came to realize that you put his entire being under a specific and delicious spell as soon as he fell for you. Better: as soon as he saw you.

The first encounter was unplanned and with no expectations attached to it, after all, who thinks a party fling could turn into something real? Jake still had a vivid memory of how the curves of your hot body fitted your outfit that night, hugging your figure with care and just the right amount of temptation that got his body weak, pulling close like a magnet.

He paid for your drinks willingly, thinking a pretty woman like you deserved to be treated just how she wanted to; he didn’t ask for anything in return, though – a kiss nor your number. He just cherished your presence, your sweet talk and your way of gesticulating when speaking. 

Jake sat by your side for the rest of that night sharing his interests, genuinely happy with your warm and approachable reception.

He also cheered silently when you pressed your soft lips onto his before heading your way out without faltering or looking back, leaving behind a desperate man missing the touch of your gorgeous fingers on his locks and your tongue against his.

The following encounters happened at a pace you wanted. Yes, you wanted.

When you got home, you couldn’t help but notice how affected you felt by the gentle, caring touch of that respectful guy you had kissed. It wasn’t typical for you to attend parties, let alone kiss strangers – or even recent acquaintances. Your values nudged you towards something more reserved, something more personal.

But Jake awakened a sense of ease in you, offering a space of trust that utterly charmed you. Maybe it was the sweet way he spoke, or the way the corners of his lips curled up into that soft, boyish smile. He was gorgeous – and he seemed so affectionate, not to mention undeniably hot.

You looked Jake up on Instagram and found him effortlessly, and your meetings happened casually, until they culminated in an intimate moment: when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

Not long after, you guided him into the beginning of your shared sexual journey as a couple. And it was so, so good to find someone whose tastes and desires aligned so well with yours.

You felt powerful and confident knowing the effect you had on Jake. It was almost funny to notice how even something as simple as you wearing one of his shirts could leave him hard and needy. 

Alongside that, Jake also shamelessly acted as if you owned him, from casually asking your permission to go out with his friends, to making sure he was never out of your sight for too long. You never asked him to behave that way, but when you questioned his actions, he simply shrugged it off, claiming it was for his own pleasure. He liked the idea of you having control over him.

And you definitely did. 

Yeah, Jake was sensitive with any type of touches, even when his friends hugged him he would squirm if their hands caressed his back in certain places, but you… You got him wrapped around your finger easily.

He never found the right words to describe the amount of pleasure he felt when your fingers grazed his arms, or caressed the back of his neck, or touched his hair, or just got in contact with any other place of his body.

Just you and your beautiful hands traveling through each inch of his skin were more than enough to elicit soft moans, a pathetic roll of eyes and a shiver down his dick. 

You were now sitting on your bed, back lazily resting on the headboard with your legs stretched forward, while Jake napped by your side, lying on his stomach and hugging one of your many pillows; his soft snores getting lost in between the sounds of war coming from the TV, proving he was getting deep into his sleep little by little.

The agreement between you both involved Jake watching the movie with you, but he was so, so exhausted from work that you didn’t even consider starting an argument – though, honestly, you probably wouldn’t have anyway. Jake was such a sweetheart, and in your opinion, he had already done so much by coming to your place instead of his, even though yours was half an hour farther.

After you demanded him to go to sleep and he demanded you to go watch the movie without him, you found yourself in that exact position; your boyfriend sleeping and your hands wanting to caress his silky strands, as a way to casually fidget with something. 

You didn’t hold yourself and softly placed your fingertips to thread through Jake’s hair, just like you always did when he laid on your lap. 

Jake thought he was dreaming, his mind confused, caught somewhere between reality and sleep, making it difficult for him to figure out why his body was tingling.

But it wasn’t a bad tingling, no. In fact, it was the same sensation he felt whenever you touched him – the pleasant shiver of your fingers tracing warm wonders wherever they wandered, the rush of pleasure melting away the self-control Jake had worked so hard to maintain, just so you wouldn’t see how completely he had fallen apart before your mere touches.

...

Jake’s eyes snapped open, and his body tensed immediately when the realization hit: you were gently stroking his hair with the same affection you always did, that natural, tender gesture of love shared between those who cared deeply for each other. But your daring hands didn’t seem to want to stop there. They trailed down the back of his neck, sending an instant shiver through his body.

You didn’t notice right away, but your boyfriend shifted slightly, fighting the moan that threatened to escape his throat as you obliviously continued your loving touch. It quickly became a difficult task for him to remain silent when you began to play with the small hairs at the back of his neck, absentmindedly pausing and resuming your movements while your attention was entirely on the plot of the movie, as if your touch had become as instinctive as Jake's exaggerated reactions.

He didn’t want to alarm you or draw your attention to the growing – hard – problem beneath his pants, however, with each delicate stroke of your skin against his still covered one, waves of pleasure washed over him, making it nearly impossible for his breath to maintain its stability.

The sensation was intoxicating and desperate, because it fueled the fear of getting caught together with the craving to keep going, to keep driving through that induced high Jake was slowly allowing himself to go.

As your fingers continued their gentle, nonchalant exploration, Jake’s body began to contort a bit more, especially when your fingertips started to softly draw random shapes along the sensitive surface of his back.

His fucking back.

Jake had a certain spot that, when touched just the right way, could completely unravel him. A single, subtle touch there and his body would jolt, almost instinctively trying to pull away, but if the one doing the touching was you, the reaction was entirely different.

The sensation, instead of causing discomfort, flooded his body with warmth, sending a slow, delightful buzz straight to his lower parts, where stood his growing desire mixed with the pleasure that seemed to bloom with every caress. 

Completely unaware of how affected Jake was getting, you continued to calmly trace your fingers along the contours of his spine, leaving trails of warmth on it. Eventually, you felt the hardness of his back underneath your touch tensing, but you didn’t mind, knowing Jake was sensitive and was probably only automatically shifting away, the way he always seemed to do.

The movie drew your concentration intensely enough for you to barely hear when Jake whined, blending almost perfectly with the fight scene unfolding before your eyes on the TV. You took another quick notice of his body writhing with more constancy, nearly matching your movements, yet again, you didn’t give it any proper attention.

Jake was on the verge of crying in despair, whines and moans getting lost amidst the soft pillow and his mouth pressing onto it, aware that he would snap into a complete mess if he lost control over his body – and he felt it slowly slipping through without giving him the chance to fight for it, swelling the urge, the yearn for more.

Instinctively, his eyes shut close and hips started to rut against the mattress, hoping that the sheet covering his body would occult his nasty attempts of getting some relief, knowing that he could cum just by the way you touched his body. 

Jake also silently prayed for the loud scene on the TV to continue on for just a few more minutes, long enough for him to savor the tantalizing sensation coursing through his veins and stifle his sounds. It was as though he were on the edge to melt – a relaxation that wasn’t calming at all but instead left him craving more, his mind hazed in a state of unbearable anticipation, building up something intense and way too addictive. 

Suddenly, his entire body trembled, almost like a spasm, a wave of numbing electricity surging through every inch of him. It pulled a rather loud moan from his previously pursed lips, escaping together with his failed attempt to squirm away.

You had, entirely by accident, let your fingertips graze featherlight over that spot on his back – right in the center, where even the faintest touch, especially one as delicate as yours, had the power to drive him completely insane, unraveling every shred of control he thought he had.

A puzzled expression immediately crossed your face as your gaze fell on your boyfriend, still lying on his stomach but now visibly tense, his breathing uneven. Slowly, the pieces began to fall into place: the way his body wouldn’t stop shifting, the sounds – now unmistakably coming from him, not the movie.

Jake fell nervously silent right after, his dick twitching, already wetting his underwear with the leaking precum; the heat travelled towards his neck and face, leaving his skin flaming hot with embarrassment, because for his misfortune, the scene in the movie was now calm, with no soundtracks or voices to cover his noises. 

You lowered the volume from the TV, so you could be heard by Jake as your quiet voice filled the room. 

“Baby, are you alright?” 

Perhaps Jake was feeling sick with the amount of movements he was doing and the small painful sounds he was letting out when you finally paid attention to. Consequently, you halted your action of brushing your fingers randomly on his back, now resting your palm completely flat on it, oblivious of how hot Jake was feeling under your touch.

“No– D–Don’t stop–” 

His voice was muffled due to his position and the fact that he wanted to actively hide himself from you, ashamed of his pathetic reaction with such innocent touches. Nonetheless, in a twist, he threw all restraint to the wind, fully surrendering to the blissful sensation you were providing him, embracing his embarrassing helpless, meek persona. 

You, however, furrowed your brows, confused. “What?”

“Your hand–” He exasperated the exact moment you hinted to remove your hand away, arching his torso towards where he thought you could be, as if searching for them. “Please, don’t stop…”

Reading through his words and demeanor, you struggled to comprehend entirely what they were about, so you simply stayed there, waiting for further instruction, because the only reasonable conclusion you could draw was that Jake was silently asking you to keep touching his back, in a whimpering voice.

“Jake, love… I don’t think I understand…”

“Just keep going,” he mumbled, now grabbing your wrist without facing you, to place your fingers back on where they should be, forcing the motion you were doing before. “Your fingers on my back. Please, just… Keep going.”

Even without Jake looking at you, you blinked twice and cocked your head to the side, utterly bewildered. 

“You mean…” You trailed off, resuming to trace gentle patterns with your fingertips, still uncertain. “This?”

The answer was immediate. Even without Jake’s verbal response, you knew you got it right because he jolted slightly and moaned under his breath, trembling.

“Fuck– Y–Yes…”

You positioned yourself better to keep drawing random things on his clothed back, just like he solicited. 

Part of you was still a bit confused, but you couldn’t ignore the soft, breathy moans that Jake was starting to let out again. Slowly but surely, you began to piece the puzzle together – the way his hips shifted, grinding ever so slightly into the mattress, his movements gaining a rhythm, a near-thrusting motion, his sudden breathy moans, his needy voice.

Your touch, innocent and unintentional, was being turned into something far from pure under Jake’s judgment; each subtle graze of your fingertips across his skin seemed to push him further into a state of intoxicating desperation. It was ridiculous, lascivious, and utterly delicious to your ears and your growing curiosity.

"Aw, baby," you cooed, your voice dripping with a mix of amusement and teasing affection. "Are you really this sensitive?"

A muffled hum was all he could manage to mumble, his face now buried in the pillow in a feeble attempt to hide the flush spreading across his cheeks. But shame couldn’t hold his need; his pleasure was overwhelming, spilling out in brazen sounds and increasingly shameless movements.

"Or," you taunted again with a smirk, letting your hand glide a little lower, earning another gasp from him, "is it me? Am I the cause of this?"

"You," he murmured, his voice broken but certain. "Always you."

His unwavering answer sent a thrilling shiver down your spine, and though his face was hidden, you could feel how much control he was losing, surrendering entirely to your touch. His hips moved with more purpose now, and his muffled, constant moans were a symphony of surrender and desire, a beautiful melody that let your panties ruined with your growing arousal.

“So dirty, aren’t you?” 

Jake didn’t assign to have you playing with his most sensitive spot while talking in such a velvety voice when he chose you as his girlfriend, but he was definitely happy knowing you were enjoying it as much as him; your low chuckle to his instant, urgent reaction reiterating it. 

“N–No…” He shook his head. “‘M not, it’s just–”

“It’s okay…” A soothing whisper escaped your lips, eyes once full of amusement now dropping to a darker shade, hooded, as the air grew thicker; the necessity of pleasuring your man bubbled within your core with each passing second, an ache you didn’t know existed until now. “Does that feel good, baby?” 

Jake groaned a soft hum, his body betraying him with a wave of desire flushing through it. He squirmed beneath your touch, his shoulders jerking upward involuntarily when your fingers traced a deliberate, lingering line from the base of his spine up to the nape of his neck. The movement was slow, tantalizing, and precisely intoxicating.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten as he whimpered softly, his voice muffled by the pillow. His reaction only spurred you on, your touch becoming a little bolder, savoring the way his body responded so beautifully to every slight motion of your fingers.

“Can you really cum just by this, my love?” Your voice curled through the air, low and calm, yet amused with how responsive Jake’s was being, his shameless impulses of getting himself off untouched eliciting a clench on your pussy.

“I dunno…”

In between Jake’s answer, you propped yourself with a knee on each side of his waist, not completely leaving your full weight to sit on him, but mainly to give a proper access for your fingernails to wander carefree in direct contact with his skin, as they sneaked beneath the soft white fabric of his shirt, meeting the goosebumped flesh that yearned for more of your sweet, slow touches. 

Jake could feel his underwear growing wetter with the steady, uncontrollable leak of precum seeping from the swollen tip of his dick. His damp forehead pressed into the pillow, leaving only a narrow space for him to breathe, his breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps as the heat consumed him.

Was your room always that hot?

“Should we try?”

You let only a hand inside his shirt so you would be able to support yourself with the other, as you lowered your torso forward, enough to have your lips finding a place on his sensitive neck, your warm muscle dancing deliberately against the flesh that reacted instantly to your stimulus.

Jake was far from thinking straight, aligning his body to settle you more comfortably, though his true intention was to drive through the delicious high that was building up in his lower stomach, his abdomen tightening within each subtle draw you were tracing, teetering towards the dangerous edge of coming undone and untouched before your caress.

“Shit–” 

The curse spilled past his parted lips amidst a sequence of messy moans due to the overwhelmness of your presence over his whole body, leaving him writhing, wincing, trembling with need. His hips moved slightly frantic with the crescent blazing necessity of releasing his orgasm, grinding against the mattress as he desperately chased relief.

“Feels good, Jakey?” You murmured, lips brushing against the top of his ear, tickling the sensitive area, causing more shivers to run his body.

“Yes, fuck– Yes– Mhm–” His stuttered words were music to your ears, loving how he was melting, falling, dissolving under your control. 

However, deep down Jake felt a sudden wave of despair and remorse mingling with the lustful desire that had been fueled by your constancy. His thoughts spiraled, and for a moment, he felt utterly pathetic, questioning how he could be so stupid, acting like a desperate fool just from a few gentle and innocent caresses.

It was like his mind got so lost in pleasure, that it dived too deep into his past and consequently revisited those reminiscences that once was his biggest fear. Panic seized him, his thoughts racing in horror at what you might be thinking, terrified of how vulnerable and broken he must look in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry...” Jake whispered, his voice thick with emotion, almost breaking into a sob, his back arching within a wave because, even apologetical, he kept on drifting through the amazing feel of getting closer to his climax.

Aware of the possible overthinking nature of your boyfriend threatening to bloom, you shook your head softly, the tip of your nose grazing sweetly against his neck. 

“Shh, it’s okay, Jakey,” you reassured in a quiet whisper. “This is completely normal, my love. You look so beautiful falling apart for me.”

You dared to lower your fingernails to his sides, tickling the area ever so slightly before dragging them out of his shirt to play with the inner part of his exposed biceps, as he laid with his arms tucked under the pillow and gave you easy access.

Your eyes tried to search for him, but Jake was actively avoiding his pathetically broken expression to be read by your curious gaze, especially as he felt his release getting extremely near to snapping into a complete wet mess.

“‘M so close…”

It was clear by the way he sounded – shaky – and how his crotch area sought for even more friction within his frantic grinds that he wasn’t lying.

Jake’s moans shattered into whimpers that you had never had the special privilege of hearing until now, grateful that your boyfriend had, albeit initially unknowingly, allowed you to witness such a delectable piece of his existence, drenched in rising desire and pleasure.

You found yourself hoping he would feel comfortable enough to show you more, now that you knew just how deeply it affected you to experience this moment with him.

It was a melodic symphony that melted your self-control, pushing you to the edge, to the point where you almost, almost fell into the idea of rubbing yourself against any available part of his body, desperate to join him in his search for release that night.

Jake looked so beautiful, so irresistibly sexy, as he got lost in the vastness of his own sensitivity, surrendering completely to his instincts, to the overwhelming need to come, no longer caring how foolish he might appear to you, driven by pure, raw desire.

“Come for me, baby,” you whispered, your voice inviting, tempting, your hand back to lightly graze the curve of his spine as you guided him towards where he needed the most. “Lemme see your mess, mhm?”

“Fuck–” Jake let out a louder moan, at the same time his fingers grasped the sheet beneath his palms, and his whole body trembled with an unbearable sensation of flood, as though his failed attempts of preventing to burst out embarrassingly  prematurely, untouched, poured through his every pore within an intense force when he let go. “Fuck, fuck, fuck– Cumming–”

You couldn’t deny that Jake’s whole reaction was driving you, yourself, insane. The desperate way he sounded, so vulnerable, helplessly chanting a mix of your name and parted whimpers and groans, as if he got lost into a maze of a lustful bliss he didn’t want to go away from so easily, and let the responsibility on you, you to lead the way.

“I’ve got you, my love,” your hot breath fanned his nape, a small smirk gracing the curve of your lips as you murmured against the shell of his ear, fingers still dancing lightly on his heated, smooth flesh. “My messy, sensitive boy… Yeah?”

Jake rolled his closed eyes in pleasure, because he was still a bit tipsy from your scent, your mild touches, your comfortableness that allowed his particular part to shine without shying away completely.

“Mhm…” He quietly nodded. “Yours.”

Though Jake was the one achieving his climax, you also felt completely satisfied after your not-so-hard work; you enjoyed, no, you loved to explore this new possibility, this new slope of your relationship. It gave you a sense of confidence that flattered your ego in the best way possible, since you managed to make your boyfriend to cum with just soft touches. And he was beautiful while doing it.

“I’m shy.”

Jake’s mumbled voice cut through the heavy air that slowly calmed down, and you chuckled lightly with his choice of words, removing yourself from his back to sit on your knees and playfully nudge his sides.

“Lemme see you. I miss your pretty face.”

Jake shook his head and giggled, the warmth of your naturally cozy and reliable relationship taking place deliberately in between Jake’s rigged breath; he could feel how soaked his underwear and shorts were, and the bedsheet would very much be dampened with his arousal as well.

He was slightly bashful about showing you the obvious – after all, you were fully aware that he had just come in his pants. And while he was drowning in embarrassment, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from screaming about how ridiculously turned on you were by it.

But, as always, knowing your boyfriend's nature, you said the one thing guaranteed to make him hard all over again, something that would not only crush his lingering shame but also ignite his confidence to finally meet your gaze.

“You have no idea how desperate I am to ride you right now.”

[hoshifighting]

hi! i was thinking about svt reaction to situation where they use some degradation towards their so but this time reader is not in the right mood and gets a little bit upset? sensitive? emotional? :’)

seventeen reaction to reader getting sensitive/upset with degradation

seungcheol: “such a good little slut.” at first, you’re quiet, but then your body tenses, and your head turns away from him. “can we stop?” you murmur. he freezes instantly, pulling back. “baby whats wrong? wait, wait—did that make you upset? shit, i didn’t mean it like that.” you shake your head, biting your lip, and he realizes he went too far. he’s gathering you in his arms in seconds, holding you tight and kissing your temple. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean it like that—you’re everything to me. i’ll never say anything that makes you feel like this again. talk to me, okay?”

jeonghan: “tsk, can’t even handle this without whine” he teases, smirking down at you. but the second he sees the way your eyes water, he knows something’s off. “stop it, hannie, i don’t like it tonight.” his smirk fades immediately. “oh shit, baby, i’m so sorry.” he moves off of you, cradling your face in his hands and brushing your tears away. “that was too much, huh? i was being dumb. you know i don’t mean any of it, right?” he spends the rest of the night cuddling you, whispering apologies and until you smile again.

joshua: “oh no, sweetheart, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” he pulls you into his chest, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “we don’t have to do any of that. let’s just stop and focus on what makes you feel good, okay? you tell me what you need, and it’s yours.”

junhui: “why would you say that?” you ask softly, your voice cracking just a bit. his face falls immediately. “oh my god, babe, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean it like that. i thought we were just…you know.” he wraps you in a hug, pressing soft kisses to your forehead. “that was stupid of me. i’d never want to hurt you. i’ll be more careful, i promise.”

hoshi: “what’s the matter, baby? too dumb to keep up with me?” hoshi purrs, grinning like he’s on top of the world. but your face drop, and you go quiet, pulling away from him. “soonyoung, can you not?” you mutter. the second he hears your tone, he stiffs. “oh shit, no, no, no. baby, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it! are you okay?” he’s scrambling to sit beside you, holding your face and peppering you with kisses. “please don’t cry, i didn’t mean it at all. you're my baby, my pretty baby.”

wonwoo: “you love being a little bitch for me, squeezing me so fucking—” you go still, your fingers clewnching into his biceps. “i don’t like that!” he stops immediately, his eyes searching yours. “hey, hey, i’m sorry. are you okay?” when you shake your head, he pulls you into his arms, pressing his cheek to yours. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that.” he spends the rest of the night being extra tender.

woozi: “you’re such a little toy for me,” you stiffen and push at his chest, his heart stops. “jihoon, don’t call me that. i’m not in the mood,” you mumble, looking down. he pulls back immediately, concerned. “shit, i’m sorry. i didn’t think—i was trying to…you know.” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “that was dumb. i’ll never say that again. i’m sorry for not realizing sooner. can i hold you for a while?”

minghao: you dont even have to say anything, minghao catches at the very first frown in your eyebrows.he immediately stops, his brow furrowing in concern. “hey, that didn’t sit right, did it?” when you nod, he’s quick to apologize, his hands gently rubbing your arms. “i’m sorry, baby. i wasn’t paying enough attention to your mood, and that’s on me.” he spends the rest of the night talking it through.

mingyu: panics when he realizes you’re upset. your legs kicking him away, “gyu, stop it, please!” “oh my god, i’m so sorry..” he’s all over you in seconds, wrapping you in the tightest hug and kissing your cheeks. “please don’t be upset. you know i’d never hurt you on purpose, right? i’ll make it up to you, whatever you want”

seokmin: he tends to talk a lot at sex, but this night he didn't measured weel the words, so he freezes the moment he notices your reaction. “wait, did i mess up?” his voice is so soft, it makes your chest ache. when you explain, he nods seriously, pulling you into his arms. “thank you for telling me. i’m so sorry, love. i’ll never do it again.” he spends the night quietly reassuring you, his forehead pressed to yours.

seungkwan: “you’re just a spoiled little brat, hm?” kwan taunts, but the second he sees the hurt flash across your face, he’s panicking. “wait, oh my god, i didn’t mean it like that! are you okay?” he’s immediately scooping you up in his arms, showering your face with kisses. “i’m so sorry, babe. i thought we were having fun, but i went too far. please tell me how to make it better.”

vernon: vernon immediately senses the shift in your mood and pauses everything. “was that not okay?” he asks faintly. when you clear up, he nods and lays by your side, gently holding your hand in his, crossing your fingers together. “i’m sorry. i’ll be more careful next time.” he spends the rest of the night holding you close, trying to distract you, but he would feel very bad about it, ican totally see him even crying quietly when you leave after.

chan: he couldnt even finish the sentence, and you slaped his chest, “what’s wrong?” he asks quickly, his hands hovering, unsure if you want him near. “i don’t like it when you say it like that,” you admit sliding off from him. his face softens immediately, and he’s pulling you close again. “i’m so sorry, baby. i thought you liked it, but i won’t say it again, i promise. you can slap me if you want.”

[luxcuriousao3]

Fevered Mistakes

Summary: Ghost, a formidable Alpha, is captured and dosed with rut inducers. You are the omega he's tossed into a cell with. WC: 3429 Warnings: a/b/o, graphic nonconsensual sex, nonconsensual drugging, unprotected PIV sex, referenced torture/experimentation, blood, vomit, death, hurt no comfort, background ghoap, POV switches denoted by triple asterisks (***) Notes: Based off the first half of this post that I made a bit ago. Ngl, I don't really like how this one turned out, but y'all were begging for it so, so I feel bad just letting it rot in my google docs lol. There are two scrapped versions of a second chapter that would make this fic farrrrr less angsty, but idk if I'm ever gonna continue this, so I'm treating this like it's a one-shot with the warnings. If I ever do post a continuation, it will be linked on my masterlist, so you can check for it there. And hey, maybe if y'all share your thoughts about this in my inbox or whatever, it might entice the brainworms again lol. Taglist: @captainsherlockwinchester110283

There was a girl in the cell.

She was small and soft in the way that almost all omegas were, though it was her scent that really gave her status away. Sweet and alluring but soured by fear, it invaded his nostrils and made him all the more dazed. The blow to his head, the one that had landed him in this situation, would have been hard enough to kill him, had he not been an Alpha.

He’d been sloppy. Let his feelings for Johnny get in the way of procedure. But seeing his beta, laid out on the floor, bleeding from his head, still as a corpse… he couldn’t have controlled himself if he tried. And at that point, he hadn’t wanted to try.

He’d gotten distracted, and he’d paid the price.

It had been three days since he'd been captured, by his best estimate. It was hard to measure, between the head injury and being kept in a room with no windows. All he had to go off of was how often someone came in to torture him for information. He never gave any up, of course. Even compromised, he never would. He'd been trained far better than that.

Still, he wasn’t in very good shape. Beaten to hell and back, his head scrambled… his feet dragged uselessly as he was pressed up against the bars, one of his captors unlocking the cuffs on his wrists while the other two kept him restrained. The fourth jammed a syringe into his neck, injecting him with some unknown substance. Ghost tried to break free, to throw a punch or a kick, anything, but his reflexes were sluggish, his thoughts painfully slow. All he succeeded in doing was annoying them, and he got an elbow to the back of his neck for the trouble.

He was no omega, couldn’t be immobilized by a simple scruffing, but fuck if that shit didn’t still hurt like a bitch. He collapsed to the concrete floor of the cell with an animalistic howl, and the sourness in the omega’s scent spiked, her heart rate speeding up. Ghost couldn’t find it in himself to care—the very last of rational thought was beginning to abandon him as the pain spread from the back of his neck throughout his entire body, growing unbearable as it reached his groin. He felt like there was fire raging just beneath his skin, and his senses sharpened as his dark gaze locked onto the wide-eyed omega curled up in the corner, neck cracking unsettlingly with the speed at which he turned. He had time for only one more thought before instincts took over, his heart dropping out his ass as dread turned the blood in his veins to ice before it began to boil all over again.

Rut inducers.

***

When you woke up, you were escorted to the cell in which you spend your heats. That confused you, since your next heat wasn’t supposed to be for another month at least.

It also terrified you.

Though you didn’t remember much of what happened during your heats, you did remember the pain. The desperate, burning need for an Alpha’s knot, and the aching, gaping emptiness when you were denied it, the only thing that could bring you any relief. This cell held nothing but bad memories, and you didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

But you had no choice. For as long as you could remember, you did as you were told, the way a good omega should. In your sleep, you thought maybe you saw glimpses of a time when things were different, when there were no scientists in white coats and men and women in military uniforms controlling your life. But you knew those were just dreams. None of it was real.

You sat on the thin mattress in the cold, dank cell for hours before something finally happened that could explain why you were there. A man was brought in—massive and with a terrifying skull mask on his face—and you barely had to take a whiff of him as he was shoved into your cell with you to know that he was an Alpha. There was that familiar smell of damp, scorched earth after a lightning strike, and you knew from the intensity of it that he was angry. No, not just angry. Furious. The very air reeked of electricity and burning plastic, overwhelming any hint of his natural scent. This was an Alpha that was ready to rip, rend, tear, kill. And you were stuck alone in a cell with him.

“Не сопротивляйтесь,” one of the uniformed men told you, expression entirely unsympathetic. It was almost worse than the look of sadistic, scientific glee on the face of the white coat next to him. “Ты сделаешь только хуже.”

Don’t fight back. You’ll only make it worse.

Your eyes widened, and you barely had a chance to shake your head before the unfamiliar Alpha was on you, grabbing your ankle in a brutal grip and dragging you away from the corner you’d curled up in. You screamed in pain as you felt the bone snap like a twig under his large palm, instinctively hitting your hands against his broad chest as you tried to fight him off. If you had been in heat, you wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have even felt the pain from him breaking you, would have spread your legs and begged him to knot you. But you weren’t, and so your survival instincts overtook those of your omega. You knew you would be punished later for disobeying, but at the moment, you didn’t care. Anything was better than being knotted by the feral Alpha on top of you. He would maul you to death while he fucked you, you just knew it.

The Alpha grabbed your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. The other ripped your shirt off, causing your back to arch and your tits to spill out of your bra. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply and letting out a satisfied growl. You tried to headbutt him, and he snarled in your face, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing tight enough to make your vision go black around the edges in less than ten seconds. By the time you caught your breath and were able to think again, his hands were busy yanking down your pants and underwear in one harsh tug. You let out a hoarse shriek of fear, flipping onto your belly to try and crawl away, ignoring the searing pain in your shattered ankle. But that was your fatal mistake. His beefy palm met the back of your neck, fingers digging in as he lifted you slightly by it, his other hand coming around to roughly grope your breasts.

And you stopped.

You stopped moving, stopped screaming, you nearly stopped breathing. You were limp as a ragdoll as he scruffed you, utterly and completely paralyzed. You could do nothing but take it as he shoved your face into the dirty concrete, pried your legs apart, and forced himself inside you. You could feel the agonizing pain as his cock practically tore you in half, could feel the ice cold fear freezing every cell of your body, could feel his blunt nails digging into the ultra-sensitive skin of your nape. You could feel everything. But you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

It seemed to go on forever, and yet take no time at all. One second, you were pliant and supine beneath the Alpha as he pounded into you, his weight constricting your lungs and making it difficult to breathe. The next, the restrictive grip on your neck was gone, replaced by a sharp pain at the junction of it and your shoulder as his teeth sunk into your flesh. Into your mating gland. Your own screams were echoing in the tiny cell, now, no longer confined to your head.

“M’sorry, M’sorry, M’sorry,” a rough, wet voice chanted in your ear. It was the Alpha, speaking to you in English. You could understand it, even if you couldn't speak it. He was still on top of you, still inside you, his knot stretching you far beyond your limits. And yet he was… apologizing? You stopped screaming in your confusion, the terrified screeching replaced by the sound of your heaving sobs.

“M’sorry, M’so sorry, they dosed me, M’sorry,” the Alpha continued, voice slurred. You struggled to focus on his words, distracted by the liquid you could feel dripping down your thighs. It was probably blood, you realized distantly. His knot wouldn’t have let any of his seed escape. That’s what it was there for.

That, and to keep you from running.

The Alpha’s voice grew more and more gravelly as his knot began to deflate, his apologies interrupted by grunts as he began to move his hips again, thrusting in and out of you shallowly. You whined, clawing at the floor, trying to wriggle free, but he just settled nearly his entire weight on top of you.

“Don’ fight,” he growled, and you could tell from the strain in his voice that he was at least trying to resist his instincts. It didn’t make you feel any better, especially not when his fingers inched closer and closer to your nape again. “Don’t, or m’gonna have to— fuck, I don’t— fuckin’ be a good omega an’ take it— m’sorry, fuck— don’t fuckin’ fight me—”

You were still sobbing, shrieking like a dying thing with every quick, brutal snap of his hips against yours. Too out of it from being scruffed, you missed the warning in his jumbled plea threat, continuing to struggle underneath him. You felt your ribs crack as he pressed the rest of his considerable weight onto you, and the strangled, stuttering gasp that left your throat was the kind of sound that elongated in a horror film.

The Alpha seemed to think so too, as he moaned in a horrid mixture of pleasure and abject misery before he scruffed you again. You went still, once more trapped in your own body. It was the worst sensation you’d ever felt, worse than the experiments the white coats ran on you, worse than your punishments, worse than your heats spent alone. Worse than the shattered ankle or broken ribs, worse even than the feeling of him ripping you apart from the inside. You were always helpless and vulnerable, being an omega, but this… when you were scruffed, you were no longer a person. You were just an object, to be used as your Alpha saw fit.

Your Alpha.

The man on top of you—who was knotting you for the second time now—was your Alpha. He’d claimed you, the pain in your shoulder was proof of that. You would wear his mark forever, now. You would belong to him for the rest of your life.

You prayed that it was short.

Your Alpha released his painful grip on your nape again, but you didn’t try to get away this time. You were far too disoriented. Being scruffed once was bad enough, but twice in as many minutes? You could easily go into shock from that. You probably were in shock, but you didn't panic, feeling too distant and floaty. The ice in your veins was numbing you from the inside. That was nice… you leaned into it, letting your blankly staring eyes flutter shut—

“Omega!”

Your eyes snapped back open and you whimpered, trying to curl in on yourself. That only caused pain to flare up all over your body, the burning between your legs as you tugged on his knot pulling another scream from you.

“Stay still,” the same harsh voice ordered, and your instincts forced you to obey. The command was a little more collected this time, a little more coherent, even if he was still groaning and slurring.

“Don' move,” your Alpha panted, each word sounding like it was dragged out of him. He started to fuck you once more. “Don’— don’ wanna scruff you ‘gain.”

You didn’t have it in you to be grateful. Didn’t have it in you to be sympathetic to his situation either, not while he was still rutting into you like an animal.

They dosed me, he’d said. You wished they’d dosed you. At least then you wouldn't feel the pain…

***

Simon had never hated being an Alpha more than in that moment.

Bollocks deep in a pretty little omega, one already stuffed full of his come and wearing his mark… he wished fervently that this was just another of his nightmares, the ones that stuck with him like a bad smell even after escaping Roba.

Between the disorientation from his forced rut and the nasty head injury, he almost let himself believe that it was. If it was a dream, he could give in, and he wouldn’t actually be hurting anyone. He could just ride it out, come in trousers wherever he was sleeping, and hopefully, it would end faster.

But her screams were far too real.

She wailed like she was being flayed alive as she struggled underneath him, and his Alpha—after being denied a partner for his ruts for over a decade—was brutal and swift in its response. Scruffing her like a scrappy mutt, growling in pleasure at the way she submitted to him—the way she was forced to submit to him.

It was nearly impossible to think around how fucked his head was—by instinct and injury both—but after he'd knotted her for the second time, he was able to act a little more like the trained soldier he was, and not like a panicked civvie.

He didn’t argue with himself any longer. He accepted the reality of the situation as it was. He was in rut. He was trapped with an omega. He had brutalized and claimed her. If he kept focusing on trying to stop himself altogether, he was going to kill her. He needed to give up on that and instead just try to minimize the damage.

Starting with stopping her from going into shock, and then stopping her from fighting back. It only made his Alpha all the more eager to dominate her—by any means necessary.

It sickened Simon that that part of him existed. Deep down, he feared that it always had. That Roba hadn’t created it, back in the desert. That he’d just unearthed it. All of Simon’s evilness, all his wicked desires…

It was why he’d never taken an omega before. Never even let himself date one, back when that was something he did.

Johnny was perfect, in that way. In many ways, really, but him being a beta—it soothed Simon’s fears. The fears that were being proved true.

He didn’t know how long passed before the rut inducers wore off. It had to have been hours. The omega—his omega—was still facedown on the ground when he pulled out of her for the last time. She was bleeding from where he’d bitten her, and where he’d bred her, his cock drenched in her blood, her own thighs stained with a mix of it and his come.

Simon threw up at the sight. He told himself it was just from the head injury.

He was naked, except for his mask, which was pushed up past his nose. He didn't remember taking off his trousers, though he recalled that his shirt had been cut to shreds the first day of his captivity by his torturer. He didn’t remember a lot of his mini-rut, as was common when it was induced. But the evidence of what he’d done was right in front of him. The omega—not mine, not my omega, not mine—was clad in nothing but the scraps of her clothes. Her side, hips, wrists, and the back of her neck were bruised. Her ankle was bent at a funny angle. A small patch of hair near her nape was missing, leaving her scalp red and raw. Simon looked at his hands, and found the strands woven between his fingers.

She didn’t move.

Simon pulled his mask into position and Ghost took over. He moved towards the girl, feeling for a pulse. She flinched violently when he touched her neck, and he felt relief—and guilt—reverberate through him. Ghost was good at ignoring his feelings, though.

“S’over,” he told her, voice gruff. “S’done now. Promise.”

The omega didn’t acknowledge his words, just kept her shoulders tucked up by her ears, guarding her neck. Ghost didn't protest, simply felt along her spine for any breaks. He didn’t find any, so he carefully rolled her over.

Her breasts were red and raw, nipples bleeding from being scraped back and forth across the floor. There was a hand shaped bruise around her throat, and petechiae in the whites of her glassy eyes. Ghost ignored his horror at the sight, and began to palpate her ribs. She inhaled sharply when he touched the eighth and ninth ones, a pitiful, pained whine escaping her.

The ribs were probably fractured, if not broken. The bruising above them was clue enough. There was another massive bruise low on her belly, and Ghost swore. Internal bleeding. He may have actually fucked this poor omega to death. There was no way she survived the night if she wasn't treated soon.

He got his pants and trousers on, hoping it would help her believe the worst was over, and then got to work doing what he could—wrapping her ribs with the dirty blanket in the corner, and holding the scraps of her shirt between her legs to try and stem the bleeding there. It wasn't enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. He didn’t even know if it was really worth the discomfort it caused her—but he couldn't bring himself to just let her die. She was his omega.

Not mine, not mine, not mine.

He talked to her as she faded. Tried to keep her awake with the sound of his voice, though he knew it was probably the last thing she wanted to hear. He told her stories from his childhood—the few good ones there were—told her the plot of the last film he and Johnny had watched, told her about Johnny. That was the topic he lingered on the longest. It was far easier to talk about his beta than himself. And by the time her eyes slipped closed and her shallow breathing stopped, it was Simon that was holding her, not Ghost, despite the mask on his face.

It was Simon that watched her die.

It was Simon that realized he didn't even know her name.

And it was Simon that howled with grief and rage, clutching the broken body of the omega—my omega, my omega, mine—against his chest.

Footsteps rapidly approached the cell, and Simon snarled like a rabid animal as he turned towards the bars. He barely had a second to pull his omega—dead, dead, dead, she was mine and I killed her, she was innocent and I killed her—behind him before a familiar voice rang out. The only voice that could have possibly reached him in this state, that could stop him from giving into his instincts completely and going feral.

“Simon?”

“Johnny,” Simon growled, sounding desperate and broken. He felt broken. This little omega had managed to do what Roba and a hundred others had failed at. And she hadn't even tried.

“Let us help her, Si,” Johnny coaxed, moving closer while Price and Gaz hung back. Wise, because Simon could barely keep himself from baring his teeth at his own beta. Johnny didn't back down. “Si. Let us help her.”

Simon hesitated for a long moment, fighting his overwhelming instincts, before moving away. Johnny rushed in, immediately checking the omega’s pulse and starting compressions when he couldn’t find it. Simon tried to struggle to his feet, but he nearly fell over, Gaz and Price catching him. He snarled, weakly pulling away from them, but they held fast.

“We got you, soldier,” Price’s deep voice rumbled in his ear. “Stand down.”

Simon slumped, unable to hold himself up anymore, all his injuries catching up to him.

“I killed her,” he whispered raggedly, eyelids falling shut. He felt Gaz shake him to try and keep him awake, but he simply didn't have the willpower, anymore. “She was mine and I killed her.”

The mantra rang in his head even as he lost consciousness, and her screams of pain and the look of fear on her face as she lay dying followed him into his dreams.

[peachdues]

WISH

Compass one-shot • bad boy!Sanemi Shinazugawa x f!Reader

A tooth-rottingly sweet one-shot honoring my sweet boy’s birthday.

This takes place a few months into Sanemi x Reader’s relationship in Compass — the main story is still in the hot, sticky summer. So think of this like a flash-forward. Don’t worry if you’re not fully caught up — no real spoilers here!

CW: 6k • MDNI • the cozy comfort winter oneshot of your dreams • mostly sickeningly sweet fluff but enough allusions/references to these horny idiots’ very active sex life • some references to gang violence (not descriptive) • swearing • abuse of cake

COMPASS MASTERLIST

Good birthday?

The two words sit on his home screen, a notification labeled with Genya’s name.

It takes Sanemi a moment to make sense of his brother’s text, until he spies the date reflected in the upper corner of his phone.

It’s November 29th.

For someone like Sanemi, dates are only important as far as they signal when something is due — and when something is late. The only dates that matter to him are the ones he’s told to care about; those hard deadlines that go unmet and require Sanemi to strap his crowbar to his back and his gun to his hip, so he can pay some poor bastard a visit.

Today is one of those deadlines, and Sanemi has a list of obligations to follow through on. But Genya’s text is a glaring reminder of the other thing today represents.

It’s his birthday.

Every year, his brother asks him the same thing — though, admittedly, Sanemi thinks the text is more a reminder rather than a happy wish of another year’s passing. Without Genya’s annual good birthday? Sanemi is fairly certain he’d forget November 29th held any significance to him at all.

I’ll be damned, Sanemi thinks, walking up the back entrance to an old computer parts shop — his first stop of the morning. Made it another year.

As unenthused Sanemi is about his birthday, he usually answered his brother with some pithy little acknowledgement. A biting Still alive, ain’t I? or, if he was feeling particularly festive, he’d simply send a thumb’s up, one that signaled his brother that Sanemi was working and didn’t want to risk smearing more blood and sweat across his phone screen than absolutely necessary.

This year, though — his twenty-second, he realizes after doing a quick bit of math — Sanemi’s not in any position to reply to his brother. Not yet, at least. So for now, his phone will have to sit in his pocket; his hands are about to be busy.

He’s got debts to collect.

—

Two hours later, Sanemi sits on his bike in an empty alleyway spliced between Market and Eastern Avenue.

In the last week or so, a strong front of arctic air had swept through the City, plunging it deep into the throes of winter. For a moment, Sanemi was grateful for the chill of the air; he always gets worked up after a collection, his limbs abuzz with hot blood and adrenaline. Cold air helped him settle down faster, cleared his mind so he could approach the next job with the same, violent precision.

Except, it’s now colder than he likes, but that itch still burns hot inside him. Hence, why Sanemi remains here, tucked away in this dark, forgotten alley, huddled over his bike. He’s got nothing to keep warm with but his worn leather jacket and the cigarette perched his lips, its end flowing a faint orange.

Tobacco-tinged smoke curls around his head, mixing with condensation of his breath as he exhales long and slow. The rush of nicotine is both a welcome distraction and extra sedative and finally, Sanemi feels his shoulders relax.

He’s only halfway through his cigarette, but he flicks it to the ground anyway. He’s not sure whether the burning in his throat is from the cold air or this particular bad habit of his, but it’s enough to kill his desire for anything more now that his edge has been sufficiently dulled. Still, he considers whittling himself down to the occasional cigarette is a marked improvement from the daily half pack he blazed through in his youth, before he discovered other outlets for his stress. Maybe he’ll be able to kick the habit all together by this time next year.

Assuming he lives long enough to see his next birthday, that is.

Sanemi’s in the middle of stuffing his lighter back inside his jacket pocket when he feels his phone buzz. He shouldn’t check it, not when his to do list still has one more name to cross off, but he’s already indulged in one bad habit this afternoon. Might as well go two-for-two.

And boy, is he glad he does when he spies the notification bearing your name.

Tell me you’re coming over tonight.

Sanemi’s lips twitch up with a smile he hasn’t been able to muster in days. Leave it to you to brighten his day in so few words.

What time you want me, sweetness?

A cutting gust of wind tears down the alley, whipping and tearing through the layers of his clothes. Any other time, Sanemi would simply hunch over the clutch of his bike and speed off, thinking only of someplace that wasn’t outside.

Now, he’s got you to look forward to.

Your reply arrives a few seconds later. Got a few errands to run so I’m closing up early. Owner can suck it. It’s cold.

It is, Sanemi mentally agrees, and he feels a rush of relief that closing nearly means you’ll be home — or close enough to it — before dark. The uptick in violence through the City has crept too close to your neighborhood for his comfort, and Sanemi already fucking hates you walking home in the dark without him as it is. The season’s shortened days only makes that particular anxiety of his worse.

Thank the fucking stars you’re less inclined to weather the arrival of winter than he is.

It’s a date, beautiful. He texts back before pocketing his phone. He cups his hands around his mouth and huffs, willing his breath to unfreeze his fingers enough to grip his bike’s clutch.

Another torrent of wind rips through the alley, but this time, it brings with it the first snow of winter, pelting his face with fat, cold flakes.

Sanemi tilts his face up toward the sky and grins. It is a sharp, feral thing, full of teeth and challenge. Good. Let it snow as hard as it wants; let it suffocate the City under a thick blanket of white. He wouldn’t care; Sanemi can’t think of a way better to warm up than by crawling under the covers with you. Maybe he’ll even treat himself and convince you to sleep in with him tomorrow. It’s been a few days since he last had the chance to see you. While he knows better than to be a betting man, he’d wager his odds of keeping you in bed were pretty good.

Huffing nice, twice more on his hands and Sanemi starts his bike, its motor roaring to life underneath him. His fingers are still stiff, but he can at least grip his clutch enough to steer it. No doubt the icy sting of the wind will freeze his hands in place, but he’ll worry about how to unstick himself later.

For now, he still has work to do.

In the northwest corridor of the City is a port marina that harbors a smattering of small house boats. It’s inside one of these drafty little boats where his next target hides, no doubt relying on the sudden arrival of winter to trick his creditors into looking for him elsewhere.

That ruse might have worked if anyone else other than Sanemi had been tasked with hunting him down. Unfortunately for him, his name fell in Sanemi’s lap, and now he’s going to have to play host to some very unpleasant company.

Slowly, Sanemi treads his bike to the end of the alley, eyes squinted against the wind and the snow, sweeping the street for any unsuspecting travelers. Finding nothing but the odd plastic bag being whipped and tossed down the sidewalk, Sanemi kicks his bike into gear.

As soon as he gets this job over with, he’ll get to see you.

The engine revs, and then Sanemi is thundering down the street, a renewed warmth spreading through his chest that even the biting cold of November can’t dampen.

—

It’s just after dark when Sanemi pulls up to your apartment, quickly killing the motor on his bike. He scans the dark alleyway behind your complex once, twice, before he glances up at the series of windows. Once satisfied that there are no unwanted eyes tracking his movements, Sanemi makes his way to the building’s side entrance, and begins his steady climb up the stairs.

He twirls his key to your place around his finger. God, he can’t wait to get kick his boots off, strip down to his sweater, and climb into bed with you. Maybe you’ll let him poach off your neighbor’s cable satellite again, and that way, he can find you a movie to half-pay attention to. Or, maybe you’ve snuck away another handful of advanced release copies from work, and the two of you can get to work reading and reviewing them. Either way, Sanemi is ready for the calm he only feels when he’s with you; he’s ready to relax.

The first thing he notices when he steps into your apartment is the smell of something burning.

“Motherfucker —“ he hears your vicious snarl from the kitchen right as something clatters to the floor. “One more fucking thing go wrong, I dare you —“

Calm is not on the agenda, it seems.

The air inside your studio is hazy with smoke, enough that it tickles the back of his throat. Hastily, Sanemi pushes your door shut before it can spill into the hallway and tempt one of the building’s ancient fire alarms. The last thing he wants is to summon the City’s finest and tip them off that a high profile gang member likes frequenting this neighborhood. Or the reason why.

“It’s me.” He calls out, crossing through your living room to crank open one of the arched windows behind your bed. Cold air floods your apartment, the winter wind chasing out the thickest of the smoke into night. “Baby?”

No answer; only more furious clanging and a particularly fierce “oh, fuck you.”

Cautious, Sanemi pokes his head into your small kitchenette. “Y/N?”

He’s not sure what he expected, but he can’t say he’s prepared for the sight of you, standing in front of your oven, hands on your hips and your foot tapping irritably on the floor. A cooling tray lays by your feet, and you don’t seem to be in any hurry to collect it; not when you’re too busy glowering down at your stove.

Sanemi’s eyes follow yours, and he finds what he presumes is the source of the stench. The worst of the smoke rolls off something sitting on your stove, though it’s too black for Sanemi to even guess what it’s supposed to be.

You whirl around and Sanemi has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

There’s flour on your cheek and dusted all down your front, along with other smears and stains of beige — batter of some sort, if he had to guess, given the cluttered mess on your counter of used mixing bowls and measuring cups. Your hair is a mess, puffed up and frizzed out from the smoke, framing a face scrunched up in pinched fury.

All things considered, you look pretty damn adorable, but he isn’t about to tell you that. The block of kitchen knives you rarely touch are too close within your reach for his comfort.

So, Sanemi takes the pragmatic approach and casually folds his arms across his chest. He offers with a measured nod of his head toward your oven. “I thought we talked about you cookin’ without supervision.”

For all the grief he’d given you about your inability to make anything more substantive than cereal, Sanemi learned rather quickly it was the most you could be trusted with. Once, you’d tried to show off your culinary skills by making him ramen, only for you to stick the dried noodles in your microwave without water. You hadn’t even noticed the acrid smell of something burning until he pointed it out, and by then, it was too late. It was only after he’d thrown the smoking bowl of scorched, blackened noodles into your sink that he hotly declared you were not to use any appliance in your kitchen while by yourself.

He’d thought you’d agreed to that ban but, as he peers over your shoulder to inspect whatever it is that’s about to set off your fire alarm, Sanemi grimly realizes the two of you are not on the same page.

“I wasn’t cooking, I was baking.” You snap, as though the distinction matters. You yank an oven mitt off one hand and snatch a loose fork from the counter, jamming it right into the smoldering center of whatever the hell it is you’ve tried to make. It pops and sags beneath the stab of the fork, more steam hissing out of the wound you’ve opened in its surface.

You hold the fork up for inspection and your eyes widen with outrage. “How is it burnt on the outside and fucking raw on the inside —?”

Sanemi glances at your oven settings and raises an eyebrow. “‘Cuz you have it set to five hundred — didn’t even know ovens could go that high.”

You chuck the fork into the kitchen sink with more force than necessary. “I was trying to get your stupid cake done before you got here. I wanted you to be surprised!”

He blinks. “What cake?”

“Your birthday cake!” You rip the other oven mitt from your hands scrunching it up before throwing it to the counter in defeat. “It’s your birthday, and I didn’t leave the store ‘til late, so I had to rush to get it done because I couldn’t swing a present other than this stupid cake!” You jab a finger toward the blackened pan still smoking on the stove. “And I couldn’t even do that!”

Sanemi’s eyes widen and for a moment, he can’t remember to blink.

All he can do is stare.

As much as he’s tried to forget them, there were a handful of November 29ths that had stuck with him over the years; a wad of chewing gum cemented to his memory that he couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard he tried scraping it away.

His fifth birthday was spent clinging to his mother’s arm, begging her not to leave him alone in that dinky, unheated shoebox where they lived. His eyes had been teary, and he hated that he was acting like a crybaby, but he didn’t want his Ma to go — didn’t want to be left alone. He wanted her to scoop him up in her arms, to hum fragments of lullabies into his hair as she curled over him beneath their threadbare blankets, desperate for her body heat to sink into her son and keep him warm.

But it was winter, and Sanemi needed something to eat, so Shizu, heavily pregnant, had to go work.

She returned the next day with a lukewarm fast food hamburger Sanemi couldn’t stomach eating. Not when his mother came home sporting a new black eye, so dark and purple that not even her paper thin smile could dull her obvious wince, or the shadowy bruises peppered along her too-thin arms.

He spent his eighth birthday scavenging for spare coins dropped between the sagging, stained cushions of the old man’s broken down furniture.

Genya was nearly three and crying, his belly aching with a hunger he didn’t understand. Their mother was dead, and no one knew how to care for them except for Sanemi, and he’d been desperate; enough so that he’d clawed at the broken wooden couch slats until his numb fingers turned raw; bloody.

Because it was snowing and cold and Kyogo had left his sons at home in the dark, unheated apartment with nothing to eat.

He’d found enough loose change to justify running down to his neighbor’s place, and the old man had been kind enough to give him a packet of stale instant noodles. No seasoning packets, but the Shinazugawa boys had been too hungry to mind.

The only candles he had to mark the day were the mismatched stumps scrounged out of some cluttered drawer. His birthday wish — the very first one he’d ever made — a feeble plea that come December, Kyogo wouldn’t waste the month’s electric bill on booze his sons couldn’t even drink to keep warm. Winter in the Silo was harsh enough.

But December came and went, heralding in harsh winds and thick sheets of ice, and the apartment never once turned warm.

Sanemi never made another birthday wish again.

When he turned ten, Genya brought him home a tiny green race car, no doubt swiped from the basket of loose toys that sat next to the cashier at the nearby corner store. The paint was chipped, and one of the wheels had a tendency to stick whenever Sanemi skated it over the kitchen’s cracked linoleum, but it was a toy, and Sanemi hadn’t had one of those before. So, he ruffled his brother’s hair and the two spent the night rolling the car back and forth to one another across the floor, giddy with that childlike innocence they never got to keep come sunrise.

The corner store it came from closed not long after his birthday, its owner having been dragged out sometime in the night by hooded men, face too swollen and mouth too bloodied to scream.

Not that anyone would’ve helped, anyway. Not here.

Sanemi still has the car, though. It’s since lost a wheel, and the paint has nearly faded away, but it sits in his window sill; a prized token of the boy he’d never been.

For his fifteenth birthday, Sanemi’s lucky ass got not one, but two presents: a broken rib and a black eye. Courtesy of Kyogai, a sleazy had-been in the Corps’ ranks, whose penchant for downers meant he never had enough money to pay his dues to the Corps. Sanemi, a junior at the time, had been sent to collect money Kyogai refused to cough up, and in his youthful arrogance, thought he could simply strong-arm the Corps’ payment back.

That was when he learned never to get between a junkie and their fix — especially once withdrawal set in.

Sanemi returned the birthday generosity on a cold day in January, with his crowbar to Kyogai’s kneecaps. Rumor was he still couldn’t walk without a cane. But he never tried his bullshit with Sanemi again, and he thought that was probably the best gift of all.

So no, Sanemi can’t say he expects much out of his birthdays.

“No one’s ever made me a birthday cake before.”

It’s a breathless sort of admission, one that he’d probably be embarrassed about making if he wasn’t so caught off guard.

His admission monetarily stuns you into silence, and he almost feels ashamed. But you quickly recover and instead offer only a brittle laugh. “Yeah, well. Fucked that up for you, I guess.”

You finally look at him and Sanemi is startled by the tears rapidly lining your eyes.

“It’s just a cake, baby,” Sanemi soothes, hands reaching for you. “And today’s just a day. ‘S no big deal.”

Another great sniff. “It is a big deal!”

Sanemi is all too used to never having and not being allowed to want, so accepting what others want or try to give doesn’t exactly come easy to him. But the sight of you, nearly reduced to tears over the scorched disaster you’d tried desperately to make into something worth marking the day with has him reevaluating twenty-two years’ worth of trained indifference.

Beneath your frustration is clear upset with the situation. Because, you tried.

Sure, Sanemi’s birthdays passed without the usual triumvirate of cake-ice cream-presents he supposes other kids got. Frankly, he didn’t quite see the appeal of it anyway, but that may have been because Sanemi hadn’t known to miss what he never had. November 29th was just a day, after all; the mark of another year gone by without him taking a bullet to the head or having his body dumped in some faraway hole. The watery sun that rose that morning was no different all the others he’d managed to cheat his way into seeing. To him, it’s insignificant.

But not to you. For some reason, you don’t think you’ve given him enough.

Months of being together, and he still hasn’t figured out how to make you understand that he doesn’t need any grand gestures from you. It’s enough that you continue allowing him into your home, your bed, your life; that you soothe his fragmented heart, and chase away the cloud of numbness always lurking over his shoulder with one of your sweet smiles.

He doesn’t want for anything because he already has everything in you.

But you still want to give him more.

God, he doesn’t deserve you. And he certainly doesn’t deserve the tears swimming in your eyes or the frustration that weighs down your shoulders.

Sure, he doesn’t really give a damn about his birthday, but he sure as hell gives several about you, and your defeat is not something he’ll tolerate.

Sanemi fishes his set of keys from his pocket. “C’mon,” he nods toward the door. “We’re going to the store.”

—

“It’s not right,” you sniff an hour later as you hand him an oven mitt. “You shouldn’t be making your own birthday cake.”

“We’re making,” Sanemi corrects, seamlessly pulling the hot pan from your oven and placing it atop your stove to cool. “The present ain’t the cake, anyway.”

He tosses the mitt to your counter and turns to you, eyeing the can of frosting in your hand, one you absently stir a butter knife into, unsure of how else to help.

With a faint smile, Sanemi swipes his finger through the top layer of sprinkled sugar, dolloping it right on the tip of your nose. “You are.”

You roll your eyes, swiping your finger through the small blob of icing and bringing it to your mouth. As you suck the tip of your finger clean, you peer over his arm, nose wrinkling as you as you look down at the golden brown surface of the very much baked-through cake. “Still, box cake mix?”

“A cake’s a cake.”

The kitchen is teeming with the warm, comforting scent of sweet vanilla, one that spreads through the rest of your studio, chasing away the last remnants of burnt confectionary which lingered after your earlier baking fiasco. Boxed mix or not, you have to know that plan b smells leagues better than plan a, even if that means your ego has to take the hit.

“If you say so,” you grumble, shouldering him out of the way as you scoop out a glob of frosting, ready to slap it across the cake’s surface.

“Not yet,” Sanemi corrects, gently catching your wrist before your knife can make contact. “It’s gotta cool first, or else that’s just gonna melt all over the place.”

Your mouth twists into an annoyed grimace. “That seems stupid.” You gripe, stabbing the knife back into the canister of icing, right in its center.

“Chemistry, sweetheart. Didn’t you pay attention?”

“I slept through most of chem back in the day.”

That surprises him. “Weren’t you a goody two shoes?”

You snort. “Not when it came to science. Or math, for that matter. Always got my lowest grades in science and math.”

Sanemi rolls his eyes. “And a low grade for you would’ve been —?”

This time, you drop your head, suddenly sheepish. “Anything below an A.”

Of course. “Damn, wish I’d known.” Sanemi smirks. “Maybe I could’ve made bank tutoring instead of runnin’ around, bein’ a delinquent.” At the skeptical raise of your brow, he scoffs. “What? You think a blossoming criminal couldn’t also score a few As?”

Math had always come easily to him, though that may have been out of necessity than raw talent. Knowing numbers meant he could tally up debts quickly in his head and calculate the exact interest owed, which meant less time wasted wherein his target might be able to get one over on him. Not once had he ever finished a job short-changed. That’s what made him so valuable to the Corps, even back then.

His academic success across the various fields of mathematics and science (which was math with more words thrown in), was just an added bonus.

“Still, though — tutoring?” You laugh. “Sorry — for some reason I can’t picture you meeting some poor kid in the library to go over formulas and equations. I can’t even imagine someone willing to ask you — I mean —“ you gesture to him, and Sanemi knows that’s explanation enough.

“I might’ve. Especially if a certain pretty girl had batted her lashes and asked me all nice and sweet.” Gently, he pushes your hair back over your shoulder, his eyes watching your breath hitch in your throat; the goosebumps that spread over your skin. Smirking, he leans in and presses his lips right below your ear. “Kinda like how you did last week — ‘cept, you were asking me to give you something then, weren’t you?”

The way your cheeks darken tell him you know exactly what he’s talking about.

It was him. Specifically, his cum; you’d begged for it, actually, your recurring chant of fill me up, fill me up, baby, please! sweeter than music to his fucking ears.

You turn to grab the can of icing, defiantly putting your back to him, if only to avoid having to look at the cocky set of his mouth.

Sanemi’s gloating isn’t over. It’s his birthday, after all. “You know I’m right.”

“Oh, shut up before I make you decorate your damn cake.”

Still grinning, he lets you shoo him from the kitchen. Sanemi plops himself onto your sofa and fishes your tv remote from between the cushions. He busies himself flipping through the handful of channels you get, finally landing on some pro baseball game he only watches with half-interest.

“Ready!” You call a few moments later, and Sanemi tosses the remote aside, the game, forgotten.

You hover in front of your counter, hands together twisting nervously. The moment he appears in the kitchen’s small entryway, you step aside, revealing the fruit of your shared labor.

“Happy Birthday, Sanemi.”

The cake is small and its edges are a little lopsided. The icing looks like it was applied the same way as wallpaper paste. A lone, green candle sits lit in the cake’s center, its flame bright and merry.

Sanemi’s never seen anything more appealing in his life.

“You have to make your wish,” you sternly remind him as he leans over the cake, his eyes glued to the candle. “And you can’t say it out loud.”

A birthday cake; his very own birthday cake.

There’s a part of him that hesitates to blow out the candle, too entranced by the way the little flame dances and bends around the wick. After all, the last time he’d made a wish, it hadn’t come true.

And yet, another part of him — that silly, hopelessly optimistic part he knows better than to indulge — wonders if perhaps his eight-year-old self’s wish hadn’t worked because he’d lit the candles for light and feeble warmth. They hadn’t been intended for celebration, and he certainly hadn’t had a cake to hold them.

Maybe that was part of the magic; the spell’s missing ingredients.

This time, maybe things will be different.

His wish is simple, if not a little selfish. But Sanemi thinks that birthdays might be the chance to be selfish, and he’s not making his wish out loud anyways, so maybe he can get away with this.

Sanemi closes his eyes and he wishes for time. Time with you. Time with Genya. As much as the universe will let him have.

That would be enough.

Sanemi blows out the candle.

“C’mere you,” he says roughly, reaching for you. He pulls you into his side and presses a kiss to your temple. “Thank you.”

Your arms wind around his middle. “You did most of the work.”

“You made it a birthday cake, though.” He lays his cheek atop your head. “You turned this whole damn day into somethin’ special. Thank you.”

Without you, Sanemi would never know what it felt like to have his own birthday cake or a candle to wish upon.

Neither of you of bother with plates or cutting slices; instead, you hand him another fork and the two of you dig right in.

At the first bite, Sanemi’s eyes slide shut. Cheap box cake has never tasted so fucking good.

“Not bad,” you say thickly through your own mouthful, leaning over your counter. Another bite is already loaded on your fork. “Wonder what mine would’ve tasted like.”

Sanemi swallows. “Like raw cake batter.”

You turn over your shoulder to stick your tongue out at him, not caring that your mouth is full, or for the crumbs that fall on the counter top.

You’re about to return to the cake when a smear of white catches his eye.

“Hold it.” Sanemi sets his fork down and catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger before you turn away. He tilts your face up, and smirks.

That’s when he leans in, flicks his tongue along your lower lip. He moans at the taste of sugar, the spare bit of icing left on your lip further sweetening the honey of your kiss, his mouth capturing yours.

Your moan rights everything in his world full of wrongs, your fork clattering to the counter.

The hand he keeps on your chin slides to the back of your neck, tilting your head; the other finds purchase at your hip, tugging you closer into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before Sanemi is drunk on your lips, the warmth of the evening liquid honey that pools in his stomach.

Your kiss tastes like cake and home.

He’d stay here all night if he could, but the fervor of your lips moving with his has quickly stolen his breath away. No matter how much he craves your kiss, his body demands air.

With a faint grunt, Sanemi breaks your kiss. The hand on the back of your neck remains firmly in place, keeping you close as Sanemi traces the slope of your nose with the tip of his. “You had icing on your lip. Had to fix it.”

Through his lowered lids, he can see the quickened rise and fall of your chest as you steady your own breathing; the flush in your cheeks. Your eyes are bright, however, illuminated with equal desire and challenge.

Your tongue flicks out to dampen your lower lip and Sanemi’s eyes narrow. “Maybe you should check for more.”

Fuck oxygen. His mouth is back on yours before you can finish your next inhale.

And then, he’s moving.

Though you’re walking backwards, you’re the one guiding him, your fingers hooked through his belt loops as you tug him through your kitchenette and out into the open space of your studio.

His groan vibrates into your mouth. Sanemi doesn’t have to open his eyes to know where you’re leading him; he’s treaded this very path to your bed too many times to count.

Oh, there’s plenty of time for this later, and he’ll happily indulge himself then. Besides, you’re even more sensitive in the mornings, and that means he’s guaranteed to coax two or three orgasms out of you with just his tongue before you both have to go to work in the morning, never mind what he’ll be able to do once he’s actually inside you. It’ll be worth holding off, for now.

But right now, his heart is too full, and tonight has been mending something inside of him he hadn’t known was broken. Something shy and curious, a remnant from the boy who might have secretly longed to know what it felt like to have a birthday mean something; to matter.

Still, he can’t resist fanning the fire a little, the hand on your hip sliding to your ass and squeezing, his fingers dangerously close to the dip in your thighs.

He lets you strip him down to his underwear and you to yours, since that’s how you prefer to sleep when not otherwise naked. Only when he feels your hand sliding down his bare abdomen does he still you, his fingers wrapping delicately around your wrist.

He feels your frown before he sees it. Cautious, your mouth breaks away from his and you lower yourself down from the tips of your toes.

A dent has notched itself between your eyebrows. “You don’t want —?”

Later, he’ll be sure to tell you that he wants you all the time — so much so that it might be a problem. But that’s not what tonight is about — not for him. For now, he can’t risk you discovering that he’s half-hard already; the second your hand finds him, he’ll be too erect to function, let alone think clearly.

He shakes his head. “Actually,” Sanemi hooks his arm around your waist and tugs you back against the bed, falling into your tower of pillows and blankets with you safely encased in his embrace. “I think I just wanna hold you, if that’s cool.”

Confusion flits briefly across your face before your eyes soften. “Of course. Don’t you know that birthdays mean you get whatever you want?”

He didn’t, but that doesn’t matter. Because this is why he loves you: you know, without him ever having to explain. You understand.

With a soft smile, Sanemi rolls to capture you under him, but braces himself above you long enough to allow you to sit up against the headboard. The moment you settle, Sanemi inches up beside you until he can rest his head on your stomach, his arm hugging your waist.

He swears he can hear your smile as you ask, “Happy?”

Exuberantly so; your body is soft in every way his isn’t, and warm. He’s in a heated, dimly lit apartment with no fear of the lights cutting out or the cold outside making his toes turn numb. The girl he loves, loves him back. Everything he hadn’t dared let himself wish for is now his, carding her beautiful fingers through his hair.

it’s almost perfect. Almost.

“Nah, I’ve got one more request.”

He leans over you and pulls a novel from the top of the stack that perpetually sits on your side of the bed, never shrinking. He hands it to you, meeting your inquisitive eyebrow with his smirk. “Read to me.”

He doesn’t care what book it is — whether it’s something he’s read before, or of a genre he isn’t all that into, it doesn’t matter. He just wants to hear you.

“A bedtime story? Really?” You tease, but you’re already flipping to the first page.

Content, Sanemi turns his face further into your stomach, burrowing harder into you. One hand still smoothing through his hair, you begin to read the prologue, pausing for dramatic effect where the passage calls for it. Slowly, the hours unfold as your voice weaves together the story — some high fantasy set in a distant world. Once upon a time, Sanemi would’ve wished he could dive into the pages of his book; anything to escape his reality.

Now, he can’t imagine being any place better than right here, with you.

—

It’s nearly midnight when Sanemi remembers Genya’s unanswered text still sitting in his inbox. Carefully, so as not to disturb you and your faint snoring, he untangles himself from you. One hand pats across the surface of your bedspread, searching for the small rectangle while the other gingerly removes the book still propped between your fingers. You’d made it about five chapters, your thumb still marking the page where you’d dozed off mid-passage.

Book in hand, he turns and tosses it on your threadbare rug, and it lands with a dull thump. He finds his phone near the foot of your bed. His eyes flick to you once to confirm that his gentle movements have not disturbed your well-earned rest.

Your mouth twitches with another light snore, and Sanemi smiles.

He clicks his phone to life, taking care to keep it turned away from you, mindful of the bright little screen. Quietly, he thumbs his answer to his brother. The moment he taps the send arrow, he tosses his phone back to the ground and reaches across the duvet for you once more.

A few hundred miles away inside a sleeping boys’ dormitory, under Zenitsu’s nasally snores and the odd, violent twitch from Inosuke, Genya’s phone buzzes from its place under his pillow.

Yeah. Good birthday.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS APPRECIATED!!

[awwitschuu]

THE SECRET DESIRES OF A HUNTER

☆*:.｡ as a hunter of your caliber, you’ve sworn to serving and protecting your community from the likes of wanderers and those that’s don’t hold Linkon City’s interest at heart… but there are things that you yourself want as well…

note from chuu: i found this in my docs and wanted to rework it and sylus needs to be fucked so! here we are lmaoo!! wc is about 1.1k no minors and no ageless blogs pls n thanks!!

cw: groping (breasts), f! reader, titty sucking, clit pinching, sylus refers to himself as “papa” (twice), calls reader princess, missionary to mating press, hint of oral (f! receiving)

as a hunter, your duty is to protect and serve for the greater good of linkon city. fighting and slaying the likes of corrupted wanderers, going underground and gathering information that could disrupt the fabric of the community you hold dear. as a hunter, you hold a lot of responsibility on your shoulders, you’re to set an example for those looking to fill your shoes once you’re one with the universe. at times you enjoy what you do, but you can’t help but to have certain…needs.

you’re always protecting and defending, but at the end of the day who is going to do the same for you? who’s going to satisfy your wants and desires when you find yourself alone at night, that specific hunger pooling deep in your core as you try to satiate it yourself…that is until you met the annoyingly charming silver haired leader of onychinus with a lust for blood. and you.

he always manages to toy with you at your most vulnerable. sylus has you sat in his lap, broad chest pressing against your back as he snakes his hands under your thin lace camisole. his calloused palms once covered in blood now eclipsing your bra. “you’re squirming, something wrong?” he purs teasingly. “your hands…” you sigh softly, anticipating his touch as he slips the cups of your bra off to reveal your breasts. “what about my hands? you don’t like it when i touch you like this?”

sylus takes his time with you, eating up the way you whine for his touch, the pathetic look in your glazed over eyes begging for him to do something, anything!

he finally makes contact with your supple skin, massaging the softness of your tits meticulously and brushing against your pebbled nipples. “i can stop, just say so”. he nips at the shell of your ear, groaning and whispering his darkest desires for you. you really can’t help but melt into the palms of his hands, your thighs pushing and rubbing together as you try to satiate that need building in your core. you’ve been craving this kind of attention, hungry for his touch and that feeling of pleasure he pulls out of you every time the two of you are alone.

“poor thing, panties probably soaked” he chuckles deeply, continuing his assault groping your tits and tugging at your sensitive nipples. “you just needed papa to take care of you” he whispers before pinching a little harder, smiling devilishly as you writhe in pure ecstasy. “t-took you long enough” you whine, pout melting as you succumb to the pleasure.

he has you on your back now, crowding your space as he slots himself in between your supple thighs. sylus takes a nipple into his mouth, slowly sucking on the sensitive peak as he massages the other in his hand. his tongue is hot and sticky, swirling around the puffy bud until he takes it into his mouth, sucking until he releases with a pop. whines for him leave your pretty lips, your hands gripping at his bicep. he smirks at you as his thumb rubs small circles around your nipple. “tell me what you need, princess.”

you need him where it aches most, you’re tired of being toyed with, tired of waiting. locking your legs around his waist, you stare him in the eyes with a seriousness and hunger he hasn’t seen from you. “s-stop toying with me and fuck me already!” the sexual tension that smothered the atmosphere of the room thickened, so still and quiet you could hear a pin drop.

with a swiftness sylus now has your legs thrown over his shoulders and your hands held over your head. his eyes are a radiant crimson red and his voice is lowered and rasped. “and here i was trying to be a gentleman,” he rips your panties to the side, revealing your soaked cunt. spreading your slick folds, he rubs your clit before pinching it, ripping a squeal from you. “meanwhile you just wanted to be fucked stupid, is that it?” before you can spit back an insult, the tip of his cock pushes through tight rings of muscle until he’s in fully.

you gasp in shock as his hips move at a rapid rhythm, cock pumping in and out of your sloppy cunt as you moan and writhe from the intensity. he pushes your legs back to your chest, large hands gripping your pillowy thighs as he plunges deeper. it doesn’t help that you’re sucking him in, velvety feel of your heat welcoming every inch of him. “mmm she needed this huh?” he groans, bending down to leave pretty blotchy marks on your neck. “you can hear how much she needed papa to take care of her, listen.” he stops talking and slows his thrusts so that the only sound is the lewd squelch every time he pushes in and out. “she’s got so much to say.”

the way he refers to your cunt like you’re not even in the room should have pissed you off… but your mind is clouded with every stroke. his condescending timbre unfortunately excites you, your pussy tightening anytime he teases you. you can feel yourself getting close, each stroke massaging the sensitive bundle of nerves within you. you stammer over your words and whine as your fingers fumble to play with your clit. the added sensation sending you over the edge as you moan louder, the high pitched cry at the end shushed with a sloppy kiss. sylus continues fucking into you, biting at your tongue and puffy lips like a starved animal.

“cum on it, that’s it. fuck!” he groans into your mouth as you mewl into his. euphoria radiates in your core until it finally bursts, shooting waves of pleasure through your body from your toes to your fingertips. you’ve never felt this kind of high, so overwhelming that you can’t help to babble mindlessly. “c-cumming! w-wait!” but it’s fallen on deaf ears, sylus himself lost in pleasure continues thrusting into you until he’s bored with the position. “awn now don’t give me that, i know you have one more in you.” he’s quick, turns you over so that your face is in the sheets and your ass is in the air.

you’d be lying if you told him you didn’t. you wanted more, the adrenaline rush so intoxicating that your fingers spread your slick folds for him without a thought. “d-don’t just gawk at it, either stick it in or eat it…” you weakly demand, whining as you start to play with your buzzy clit. sylus can’t help but laugh, you’re so cute when trying to assert yourself. it’s laughable that you said either, he thinks to himself as he spreads your pussy with his thumbs. he plans on ruining you the entire night, everything from devouring your sweet cunt to fucking you in every position imaginable until sunrise. but you don’t have to know that, before he’s nose deep he bites at your thigh. “yes ma’am.”

☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆thank you for reading! if you enjoyed feel free to like, reblog and or comment! send an ask if you want, i don’t bite :3!