#so Data waits there to actually meet him for the first time!

[mostly-natm]

Before MerMay ends, does anyone want to admit that The Little Mermaidesque AUs are perfect for Data and his desire to be human?

[luvrxbunny]

little spider

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Prompt: Innocence

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader knows nothing about sex or feelings of arousal, clothed clit-rubbing? cum in pants, small feelings of embarrassment (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 3.3k

A/N: sorry im late but im kinda proud of this one so i hope it was worth the wait! <3

Miguel didn’t think he’d end up in this position, nowhere in his wildest, most perverted fantasies did he think that this would actually be the outcome of him recruiting you but… here we are. 

You were assigned by the higher-ups to learn from him, they thought you had potential, and honestly? Miguel hated you when he met you, he felt like they were punishing him for something, that assigning him this raw recruit was just a flaunt of power. You didn't even have a suit he had to make you one, a trial suit first, to make sure all your vitals were good, to track your movements and decide what suit material would be best- or if you would have a digital one like him. 

During the weeks of his monitoring of your vitals, he began to grow a bit fond of you. You were an adorable recruit and eager to please, you were thoughtful and always gave your all, something he really appreciates. One other thing he noticed about you… your dopamine levels were elevated around him, along with your estradiol and testosterone. He ignores it when he’s writing his reports, he tells himself that he doesn’t report it because the higher-ups don't need to know, not because he knows they’d make you transfer… He should’ve requested it the first time he noticed it but the thought of you, his sweet, innocent spider, all turned on just from being around him? It ignited something in him. 

He updated your suit, saying that the data he was receiving wasn't enough, he made you wear the suit as he replaced the chip and tried to hide the smile in his voice when your spine straightened under his touch. The new chip could give him real-time tracking of all your vitals, but he set his watch to alert him anytime certain hormones spiked… estradiol and testosterone. So he conducted a little experiment over the following weeks, he’d lean into you more when you speak, holding your eye contact, he even broke out the smirk he used to use on girls when he was younger, and it worked on you. 

His watch vibrated every time he was near you, if he walked up to you, it started being an alert to when you were near, it’d go off before you’ve even approached him, he’d walk into a room and it’d go off before he even saw you. It started to have an effect on him, he started to feel a spark in his stomach every time it went off, every time he’d meet your eyes and you’d have that expression he’d grown to know so well. That weak, almost pleading- yet confused look in your eyes and the sheer panic before tearing them away from his. He started having to grip whatever was in his hands as tightly as he could to control himself when you’re breathing would stutter after he complimented you on your work. 

He started getting hard reviewing your logs after spending the day with you, watching your heart rate stay elevated, spiking along with your hormones, he can see your breathing pattern, and how irregular it is compared to when you’re not with him. How high your body temperature was… the main areas of heat. On his more weak days, he’s gotten himself off to the diagram of you, with the burning red spot between your legs as the focus of his fantasies. 

Now you’re here, avoiding his gaze as his watch vibrates like crazy. “Miguel?” He looks at you again, trying to keep his gaze neutral, hopefully, to make this a bit easier on you… and him. “Yes?” 

His voice is smooth as cocoa butter and you can feel his gaze burning into you. He started this heat inside you, one you’d never encountered before. It starts when you see him in the morning and doesn’t stop until you struggle to sleep- or at least it used to. But recently it’s been non-stop, a constant distraction that you can’t pinpoint, it feels like it’s in your hips, stomach, chest, and thighs all at once. It feels like it’s in his breath when it fans over your face, it's in his eyes when they lock with yours, and somehow on his fingertips when they brush over any part of you. You’ve spent hours a night trying to figure out what you can do about it, you’ve thought about even asking Lyla but decided the risk of her telling Miguel was far too great.  

This past week it’s just been building on it’s self, almost unbearable with Miguel’s new immersive training. He takes you away to some deserted, closed-off place and trains you with no distractions, giving you nothing to focus on other than him and forcing him to give all his attention to you. Miguel’s attention, his gaze is what causes the most… pain. That’s what it’s become, a dull, numb, thrumming at the base of your stomach, like an itch you can’t scratch that just becomes a nuisance. You couldn’t handle it anymore and if you asked Lyla she’d just tell Miguel- so why not just ask him directly? 

So here you are, avoiding his gaze because you’ve spent the entire day with him, building enough fire inside you- you don’t need to add any more. “I think…” You take a breath and turn to him a bit before forcing the words out. “There’s something wrong with me.” He puts his clipboard down, his concern, and his thick, veiny hand that comes into view piles onto the heat over-taking your bloodstream. He takes his glasses off and sits back in his chair, reaching his leg out to pull a chair beside you closer to him. You dare a glance at him and try not to collapse at his gaze, at the way his hair moves over his face for a moment as he motions for you to sit in the provided chair.

You sigh and sit down, your legs pressed tightly together, your palms resting on your thighs and your eyes focused on the back of your hands. You stay silent, your mind racing, your body warming further at the feeling of his eyes on you. “What’s wrong, little spider?” You suppress a shiver at the nickname as goosebumps rise over your skin, it’s been a problem since he picked it. “I’m hot.” The words shoot out of your mouth before you can second-guess them again. Miguel chuckles a bit, sending embarrassment through your body, sits back in his chair, and crosses his arms, prompting you to go on. 

“I can’t fix it. There’s… someone.” Miguel pretends he doesn’t notice the way your eyes flicker to him. “For some reason, something about them just- “ You pause for a moment, truly baffled by the way you feel, trying to find some way to explain it. “They just do something to me and it won’t stop.” Your words start to sound frantic, a bit panicked. Miguel leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to examine your expression. “It’s like there's a low- like a low vibration- or a frequency? Like the ones that are so low you can barely hear but you can sorta feel them? It’s like that but- but deep inside me.”

Your eyes close and eyebrows furrow as you describe the feeling to him. He tries to keep his breathing even as he hardens uncontrollably under the suit. You don’t even realize what you’re confessing to him. “Like it’s in my bones, Miguel.” You add emphasis, your hands digging into the material of your suit before raising your head to meet his eyes, hoping he understands the state you’re in. He’s almost dizzy at the way his blood rushes to his cock. He holds your gaze and tries to convey a baffled, thoughtful expression as he tries to calm himself. 

“That’s- That’s odd. Yeah, um.” He takes a few deep breaths before sitting back again, unable to stay in your space any longer. “Do- Can you tell me who’s causing it? Perhaps it’s a side effect of their powers?” Your spine straightens and you shake your head at him gently. You twist your fingers in the fabric of your suit and your feet play with each other on the lab floor. “H-have you heard of any powers like that?” You ask him, a hopeful look in your eyes. 

Clever girl.

“No, I haven't.” He sits back, spreads his legs, and runs his hands down his thighs and back with a sigh. He holds back a smirk when his watch vibrates and he hears you take a sharp breath. “I- I don’t know what to do anymore. It- I can barely sleep.” You sound distraught, broken, and tired. He’d be the messed up one if he didn't help you… Right?

“I mean… I can try running some tests?” He offers, he keeps his tone light, trying to keep his dark desires off your radar. You perk up at his offer, already up and out of your seat, standing in front of him with a smile. He keeps his eyes on you, trying to ignore the way your scent is assaulting his nose, giving away how badly you need him. “You think we could?”

He nods and stands up, walking over to his lab table and clearing a few things. His head is already running wild with fantasies, ideas of what he could do to you, what he could teach you, how good he could make you feel. “Yeah, of course. C’mere, pequeña araña” You were already walking to him but your pace stutters and his watch vibrates when the nickname slips out. He truly didn’t mean to, he had gotten a bit too deep in his fantasies, and when your voice broke through he didn’t get fully pulled out. He’s never called you that in Spanish, not to your face at least, it’s fallen from his lips a few times before though, when he’s alone with his hand wrapped around his cock. But your reaction dissuades any fear that had shot through him before and he can’t help the smirk that makes its way on his face. 

You’re standing silently beside him, wringing your hands together and he doesn’t think you even notice the way your thighs keep clenching together. “Get on the table.” His tone is teasing, a grin on his face as you jump and scramble onto the tabletop. You lay on your back and look over at Miguel, feeling that heat rage through you at the look on his face. It’s dark and- wanting. It’s confusing. 

He takes a deep breath and your fingers try to dig into the metal table top as he walks to you. “Okay. I’m going to examine your body a bit, press into some muscles, some pressure points to see if maybe it’s a physical trigger. Is that okay with you?” Your chest is already rising and falling more rapidly at the thought, the promise of Miguel’s hands on you. You nod at him stiffly, trying to stay normal and calm as he holds your eye contact, nodding along with you. A small smile graces his face before he walks around and presses his palm into your hairline, pushing your head down to rest on the table as he stands north of you. 

His hands press into your shoulders and your eyes shut tight. He can feel all your muscles tense and his watch vibrates, he sneaks a peak at his and sees the huge spike in almost all your vitals. His cock twitches in his suit at your obvious need but he brushes it aside, if he rushes into this he might scare you off and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens. He may lose his mind. He moves his hands to your biceps, massaging them tightly as little whines slip into your breaths, only audible to his ears. 

He walks back to the side of the tables and your eyes stay shut. He massages the softness of your sides and his breathing kicks up a bit once he gets to your hips. He takes his time with them, admiring the way you fit into his hands and how you subconsciously tilt them toward him. His thighs jump as his cock begins to leak, dripping precum down them. He takes a deep, shaky breath and forces himself to move on. He forced himself to move on, he was trying to take it slow, hopefully, you’d realize where you need him and ask for it. But your thighs spread open when he massages the outside and his hands dive for the inner before he can think it through. 

You gasp, you sit up with your eyes wide and your hands gripping his wrists. You don’t do anything though, he expects you to pull his hands away but it feels more like you’re holding him there, stopping- or attempting to stop him from pulling away. So of course he doesn't. He stares into your eyes as you search his, trying to figure out if he realizes the way that made you feel, if your cover was blown, if he wants to stop but he looks expectant, like he’s waiting for something. So you loosen your grip. “That’s- I think that’s- ” You’re nodding at him lightly, hoping he understands what you’re trying to say because for some reason your brain has stopped working. 

“Yeah?” Your heart stutters at his tone and the tilt of his head as he says it. Your thighs tense around his hand for a moment before you try to calm down, un-tense them but they can’t help the way they tremble with anticipation. You’re nodding at him more frantically and his eyelids flutter. “Okay.” He takes one hand out from between your thighs and rests it on your lower back as his other hand keeps massaging, slowly moving up your inner thigh and the sensations grow more intense the higher he gets. 

Your eyes shut and your hands grip his wrists again, not pulling away, just holding him. Your eyes shut and your hips tilt into his hand, getting him so close to your pussy that he can feel the heat radiating off of her. You feel some sort of shame twinge in your belly, dampening the more intense feelings that Miguel was causing. What if this was wrong? What if you aren’t supposed to feel like this with him, without him knowing… Maybe you should stop. 

Miguel moves further up and all those thoughts scatter from your head immediately. His watch vibrates again and a noise shoots out of your mouth- one you’ve never heard before as your body folds over and your head rests on his shoulder. You shut your eyes tight and take a slow, deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry, I-” He cuts you off. “It’s okay. That’s why I’m here, right?” He’s nodding at you, comforting and reassuring as his hand leaves your back to cradle your head. “You’re okay. I wanna help you, cariño.” Another noise leaves you at the nickname and his hand grips into your hair for a moment before sliding down to your neck and pulls your head away from his shoulder. He pushes your head against his for a moment, letting out a soft groan before letting go and pushing his fingers against your plush lips. 

“How’s that, honey?” His hand settles back on your lower back as you whine and your hands move up his arm, gripping his biceps now and pulling yourself closer to him. “Miguel.” His eyes roll back at how you sound, desperate, breathless, and gone. Your hips are grinding into his fingers and they aren’t even on your clit yet. They’re pressing against your hole through your lips and your suit, he’s keeping his fingertips flat against you so he doesn’t slip inside. 

He’s trying to ignore the mess he’s making in his pants, watching your tense face change into a relieved one, your eyebrows pulling inward as your lips part beautifully, releasing a shaky moan as he reangles his fingers to your clit. His hands are shaking as he tries to calm himself down, one of your hands slides up his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake before gripping onto his shoulder and pulling him down, closer to your face. His eyes are fixed on your expression, taking everything in, every twitch and quiver, the way your tongue darts out to lick your lips before a whimper punches out of you. 

You’re ruining him and you’re none the wiser. Your hand slides up to his neck and you push your forehead against his, like he did earlier. His eyes roll back before he forces them to you again, moving his fingers over you clit faster when your thighs begin to shake around his wrist. “I think-” Your voice comes out as a whimper and he groans into you. Your fingers grip into his hair and his cock cries against him. “Something… Miguel.” 

The way you say his name fucks with him. It’s prettier than he ever could’ve imagined, he has to lean forward and press his throbbing cock against the edge of the table for relief. You’ve got him feeling like he could die, like he could implode if he doesn’t have you, if after this you realize what you need but get it somewhere else? It’ll be over for him. Your hand readjusts its grip in his hair, becoming more frantic as your spine straightens and your thighs close on his hands. “Miguel? I-” You cut yourself off with a moan and your head falls to his shoulder again, blocking your face from his view.

“No, no.” He brings his hand to the back of your neck again. “Let me see, amor.” He pulls you away from his shoulder and you moan at the nickname. Once again, it didn’t mean to slip out but you’ve got his head so cloudy he can’t help it. You’re moaning his name on repeat, like a warning and he’s pulsing at the thought, the promise of getting to see you cum, for him. His eyes can’t look away from you, he can’t see anything but your face, the way your brows furrow as you tense, and your nails dig into his arms, leaving reminders for later. He watches how you bite your lip before your jaw drops into an ‘O’ shape and his name falls from your lips one more time as a debauched cry. 

He keeps his eyes open, watching you cum for him, how your lips form around his name again and again. He wants to collapse, fall to his knees with how much you’re turning him on but he needs to watch you. He forces himself to keep his eyes on you, ignoring the way they want to roll back at how he’s flooding his pants. His hips twitch against the edge of the table as he cums for you, with you. His mind zeros into the way he can feel your clit pulsing underneath his finger tips, how breathless you sound, trying to keep up with the noises he’s forcing from you. His stomach tenses painfully as his cock unloads more cum onto himself. You sound like an angel, crying out for him. He can’t help the way he dives for you, pulling you in to kiss him and swallowing every moan you’ll give him. 

You whine into his mouth as his fingers slow down over your clit, your other hand meets the first in his hair and you keep his lips on yours. He keeps kissing you until you calm down and your breathing evens out. His hand comes from between your thighs and rubs your legs until you pull back from his lips. You have a bashful, embarrassed look on your face and it brings the largest smile that you’ve ever seen to his face. “Was that okay, pequeña araña?” You whine and pull him in for a hug, nodding into his shoulder as he chuckles and wraps his arms around you as you begin to giggle against him.      

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[checkeredflagggs]

A Perfect Storm

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: meet dr. alice “barbie” sargaent, professional storm chaser

a/n: so twisters 2024 changed my life (glen powell in wet white T-shirt changed my life) so…here’s this. Also I got conflicting info about instagram so for here - no one but those that follow you can see a private accounts comments (even on a public post). Also plz suspend your disbelief - idk anything about storm chasing or tornadoes

Part 2

drbarbie

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 2,345,239 others

drbarbie: tbt to the very first storm I ‘chased’ and the lifelong obsession that it sparked within me!

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user1: you were so young!

teammember1: nice to know you’ve been crazy for years! 😂❤️

drbarbie: Passionate! The term is passionate 🩵

teammember2: no I think crazy is better

user2: ok but what are Logan Sargeant and Oscar Piastri doing in the likes…

user3: right?

user4: maybe they watch the Storm Wrangler YouTube channel?

user3: that would be the crossover of the century!

teammate3: awwww baby Dr. Barbie…

drbarbie: I think I made my dad drive around for hours trying to find where the rain was actually coming down

user4: ok that’s adorable

user5: newbie here 👋🏻 why the nickname Barbie?

drbarbie: I’m a 5’11” blonde woman with blue eyes who was in like every conceivable sport and after school program. Some butt starting calling me Barbie as a joke and now people forget my real name 😅

user6: wait your name isn’t actually Barbie? What’s real? What’s fake? Who knows? 🤣

drbarbie: yeah you can blame my twin for that…

loganpriv: you begged for weeks to get a cool nickname and were delighted! To tell people to call you Barbie.

alicepriv: shush 🤐

oscarpriv: oh really?

alicepriv: I said shut up?

user7: you have a twin?!

drbarbie: yup! I’m older then him by about 5 minutes - and I’ve never let him forget it 😂

loganpriv: and another lie! What’s up with that?

alicepriv: I’m gonna tell mom you’re bullying me!

loganpriv: do it! And I’ll tell her you’re lying to the internet

logansargeant

liked by alicepriv, oscarpiastri, and 1,023,677 others

logansargeant: traveling means time to catch up with TheStormWranglers

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user8: you’re a buckaroo too?! Love this!

oscarpiastri: watching the back episodes or the live stream?

logansargeant: back episodes first of course!

user9: ok but they’re both buckaroos too

user10: am i dumb? Buckaroos?

user11: kinda a you had to be there moment - during one of their first live streams teammate2 called everyone on the team buckaroos to get them moving and the fans just? kinda adopted the term for ourselves

user10: ohhhh ok. That makes sense and it’s so cute! Proud to be a buckaroo!

user12: this is gonna be your week Logan!

user13: yeah! Austin has always been really good to you! 🩵

alicepriv: so I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this…

loganpriv: what does that mean?

oscarpriv: Alice…

drbarbie

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 3,677,345 others

drbarbie: isn’t she a beaut! One of the biggest this year and I’m very happy to say Dolly (and us!) survived it!!! The opportunity to quite literally drive into the storm started as a fever dream from a few of the team members but we proved that it could be done. And this now allows us to gather even more important data — and as we always say, you can never have too much data!

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user14: Watching that almost gave me a heart attack oh my god

user15: i know! And they didn’t even give us any warning that it was something they could do!!!😡😢

drbarbie: We apologize! The team had been so excited and focused on getting Dolly ready for this that we forgot other people don’t live in our brains

user14: what even prompted this?

drbarbie: we were hitting bumps in the research process and as we were brainstorming ideas on how to fix it someone said that the easiest way was to…just go into the tornado. We said “bet” then figured out a way to allow us to do that safely!

teammember1: so I’m switching vehicles. I’m staying with the weather van from now on

drbarbie: oh it wasn’t that bad!

teammember1: I have about 200 new strands of grey hairs and a sore throat from all the screaming

drbarbie: like I said! Not that bad

user16: oh so you’re crazy crazy

drbarbie: we’re doing important research!

user17: what even was the point of all this?

drbarbie: my team and I are researching for a way that would allow us to stop a tornado in its tracks. We’re at the point where we can almost completely accurately predict when and where a tornado will hit — which is hugely important! Cause that allows us to save lives. But my team wants to take it a step further — to stop the storms when they do hit! To help protect people’s livelihoods

user17: holy shit! That’s huge!

user18: I didn’t even realize that is something that could be possible!

drbarbie: we believe strongly that it’s something that can be done. And we’re trying everything that we can to make it happen!

loganpriv: what the hell is this?!?

alicepriv: i told you you wouldn’t like it

oscarpriv: yes but there’s a huge difference between not liking it and it being completely INSANE

alicepriv: the theory was sound

loganpriv: this time - that’s not good enough

INCOMING CALL

ACCEPT OR DECLINE

ACCEPT

TRANSCRIPT

What the hell Alice? Driving into a tornado?

Oh don’t even Logan! Not when the two of you drive those super speed death traps!

That’s not even remotely the same and you know it!

…I know. Ok I know…

Alice…

Don’t. I know I should have told you before but…

Barbs?

I know you don’t like this answer but the theory was sound. We reached out and talked to like 10 different universities on the best way to modify the car and took all the extra precautions we could. The science-

doesn’t lie…

Haha

…you’re ok?

I think my heart is still racing but yes. And it’s almost done!

What is?

Project Aeolus!

Really?

TRANSCRIPT CONTINUES

logansargeant

liked by alicepriv, alexalbon, oscarpiastri, and 627,933 others

logansargeant: ahhhh Austin, my home away from home. It’s always good to come back to you — and the people that live there 🩵

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user19: IS THAT A GIRL LOGAN HUNTER SARGEANT?

user20: are we soft launching now?

alexalbon: Did you get a puppy?

logansargeant: no 🤣 just pet sitting for the day! This is rascal!

alexalbon: i think it might be criminal if you don’t let me meet rascal!

logansargeant: I’ll ask! But it will probably have to be after COTA!

alexalbon: worth the wait!

user21: rascal? Like drbarbie’s newest puppy?

user22: no but that dog looks just like her new dog and we know that Logan is a buckaroo!

user21: I've connected the two dots

user23: You didn't connect shit

user22: I've connected them

user24: are my 2 fandoms colliding?

alicepriv: rascal!

loganpriv: i see how it is. I come back home and you just want me to watch the little nightmare

alicepriv: rascal is perfectly well behaved! You’re just a bad example

oscarpriv: I’m agreeing with her. We’ve had no problems with him until you came along…

loganpriv: lies and slander. Objection

alicepriv: law and order again logie?

williamsracing

liked by drbarbie, logansargeant, alexalbon, and 4,034,838 others

williamsracing: all smiles here at COTA as we welcome a special guest! Spending the weekend with us is Dr. Barbie, a meteorologist who specializes in tornadoes with a popular YouTube channel The Storm Wranglers!

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user25: DR BARBIE IN THE HOUSE!

user26: this is everything I didn’t know I needed holy crap

drbarbie: it’s always a pleasure to visit COTA! And it’s even better to visit one of my favorite teams!

williamsracing: so glad to have you here!

user27: ok but do you see the look on Logan’s face?

user28: yeah mans in love

user29: or…and hear me out…he could just be happy to meet her? We know he’s a fan of her channel

user28: no one is ever THAT happy to just “meet” a YouTuber, no matter how famous

logansargeant: Glad you could make time in your schedule to visit!

drbarbie: “But it's the Grand Prix!”

logansargeant: “Is it? Who's playing?”

drbarbie: “No one's playing. It's the Grand Prix. I never miss the Grand Prix.”

user28:…ok maybe you guys connected the dots

alexalbon: it was nice to meet you! Didn’t think I’d ever meet someone who had a more dangerous job then race driving though

drbarbie: same! It was such a pleasure — and don’t even. I’ll take my job over yours any day

alexalbon: really? You’d rather drive after and into tornados then drive in circles?

drbarbie: stupid circles! And yes. Yes I would

alexalbon: they’re not stupid!

user29: ok but they’re funny af

drbarbie

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tagged: williamsracing, logansargeant, alexalbon

yourusername: trading in Dolly this weekend for some faster cars! Zoom zoom 🏎️💨

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user30: COTA! I’m at COTA! 🤞🤞 I might get to meet her and get her signature!

user31: oh my god! That would be the coolest thing ever

user32: you’re at a Grand Prix and meeting some stupid blonde is better?

user31: watch yourself! Dr Barbie is about 1000x better then you are you damn mouth breather

user30: mouth breather? 😂😂

user33: cool you’re at COTA but sargeant? You couldn’t pick literally any other driver to support?

drbarbie: and that’s you blocked. I don’t support hate on my page and I definitely don’t support hate against Logan

user31: you said it so well! Supportive queen!

loganpriv: cool your jets Alice. It’s fine

alicepriv: I don’t support hate but I do support bullying your unsupportive twin. Take that attitude and shove it

oscarpriv: sometimes I forget you’re twins and then I see you interact…

alicepriv: you watch yourself too. I’m soon to be in head smacking range…and I’m tall enough to get you

oscarpriv: yes ma'am

loganpriv: whipped

alicepriv: 🤨

loganpriv: 🤷🏼‍♂️

alicepriv: 🖕🏻

user34: ok but why Dolly?

drbarbie: why after the fabulous Dolly Parton of course

user35: you named your truck after Dolly Parton?

drbarbie: she’s had a lot of work done but she’s still the best

user35: 😂😂 icon behavior

logansargeant

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tagged: drbarbie, williamsracing

logansargeant: THANK YOU AUSTIN!! P3 baby! AND SPECIEAL THANKS TO MY YOUNGER TWIN SISTER ALICE drbarbie!!!

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user36: SISTER?

drbarbie: yes! He’s my YOUNGER twin brother!

logansargeant: the hell I am!

drbarbie: I HAVE PICTURE OF THE BIRTH CERTIFICATES YOU WET NOODLE

logansargeant: fake!

user36: ok that’s definitely a sibling relationship 😂

drbarbie: HE DID IT! P3!! CONGRATS LOGIE!

teammate1: woohoo! Go baby sargeant!

teammate2: congrats baby sargeant!

teammate3: could you feel us cheering for you baby sargeant?

teammate4: couldn’t be prouder baby sargeant!

logansargeant: not you guys too…

oscarpiastri: congrats man! A well deserved podium!

logansargeant: thanks brother!

user37: brother?!? dots are connecting again!

user38: oh give it up

alexalbon: great race today dude! Congrats!

logansargeant: thank you! You’ll be next!

williamsracing: Congrats Logan!

user39: he saw us shipping him with his sister and said hell no 😂😂

user40: right? Most definitely had to set the record straight!

danielricciardo: good job man!

charles_leclerc: great to share the podium with you!

maxverstappen1: good race!

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, alicepriv, landonorris, and 2,567,432 others

tagged: mclaren, landonorris

oscarpiastri: not the race we wanted today but we’ll come back stronger next week. Congrats on p4 landonorris and congrats to logansargeant on your first podium!

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user41: don’t worry about it Oscar! You’ll get it next week!

landonorris: thanks man! next week will be our week for sure!! papaya rules!

oscarpiastri: for sure! Papaya rules!

user42: it might not have been your week but that overtake lap 12 was INSANE

user43: right? Pretty sure I woke my dog up screaming

alicepriv: it was a good race babe. Glad to have been there to see it 🧡🧡

oscarpriv: you know I always love it when you can come to a race

alicepriv: and you know I always love watching you working for your dream

oscarpriv: 🧡

loganpriv: cheesy

alicepriv: 🖕🏻

alicepriv: anyway…

alicepriv: maybe I can get you to come to my job next? 😆😘

oscarpriv: your job at the universities? Yes. Your job in the field? No way in hell

logansargeant: great race brother! Taking notes on that overtake man

oscarpiastri: thanks Logan!

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, drbarbie, landonorris, and 3,728,899 others

tagged: drbarbie

oscarpiastri: you are the best thing that’s ever been mine

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Part 2

[cheriladycl01]

Walls are for the Weak - Oscar Piastri x Reader SMUT

Plot: After a particularly challenging race, Oscar meets you in his driver room

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, blowjob, fingering, dirty talk, semi-public sex (in drivers room) 18+ Minors DNI

You watched as Oscars race just kept getting worse and worse. He started P3, but after a failed start, a slow bit stop and a bump with Sainz he was down in P16 towards the end of the race trying to scramble his way back up into the points before the end of the race.

But he ended up in P13, not getting close enough to the points and feeling really shitty as Lando had a P2. Of course he was happy for Lando, but he couldn’t help but feel a little hard done by. Everything that happened felt like it could have been avoided but it just seemed the day was out to get him.

It may as well have been Friday the 13th.

You knew he would go straight to the team briefing after the race and you weren’t allowed there due to all the statistics and data being thrown around so you decided to start to clean up his drivers room.

Oscar was an incredibly messy boyfriend, even around you shared apartment, it wasn’t that you actually minded either because you enjoyed cleaning up with a audio books, a podcast or music playing as you did so.

You started to pick up his clothes that were on the floor and coming out of his duffle bag where he’d been rummaging through it earlier looking for a fresh team top. Then you started to remove the cans of coke and water that were around the room from when he and Lando were preparing together for media duties.

After half an hour it was fully cleaned and ready for McLaren to take apart at the end of the weekend.

You remained on the sofa, laying down on your stomach, legs swinging in the air as you watched TikTok’s on your phone. You waited for what seemed like forever for Oscar to make an appearance, it had been so long that edits from the race had already started to make their way onto your fyp. A lot of Olivia Rodrigo.

The drivers worked hard, but the editors seemed to have unlimited time and resources to get edits out only 45 minutes after the chequered flag was waved, ending the race.

“Come on, we’re leaving” Oscar says bluntly making you turn to look at him.

“Oh, hi hello” you say sarcastically looking up at him.

“Not now Y/N I’m not in the mood” he huffs out grabbing his bag before looking around the room in shock.

“Did you clean?” He asks, still void of any emotions that were letting you in on what he was feeling. It was obvious he was frustrated but there was something else.

“I always clean up the drivers room Oscar” you sigh, knowing most of the time you met him with his bag outside.

“That’s what we hire cleaners for” he says looking down at you as you start to push yourself up so you could see him without straining your neck.

“Mmmmmm the money and fame finally got to that head of yours baby?” You ask knowing he’s only now saying this because he’s moody.

“Y/N will you just shut up!” He says, face like thunder which makes you fully sit up looking over him.

“Oh I just know you aren’t talking to ME that way Oscar Jack Piastri” you say with a frown wondering why he has to be such a massive dickhead.

He comes up to you, his pointer finger and thumb grabbing your chin in between and pulling your face towards him as he crouches down in front of you.

“Now listen here. I’ve had a shit race and you know I have because you watched it and for some reason you’re doing everything possible to get on my last nerve right now. So you my beautiful girlfriend are going to help me out” he says with a gritted sort of expression and a small smiles appears between your slowly squishing cheeks from his rough grip.

“And how am I able to help?” You ask.

“You are going to be quiet and suck my dick, right here right now before we leave” he says taking a seat on the sofa next to you. You’re quick to get on your knees in front of him. This is the first time that you notice the straining in his pants.

“You think its funny you laying there face down ass up in that skirt when I come into the room already frustrated and annoyed. You’ve just made me a whole different kind of frustrated” he says as he grabs your hand pulling it closer to the bulge in his trousers.

A soft groan comes from him as you start to palm him, feeling around and starting to get him a little more worked up before you soon pull down his trousers and pants with the help of him raising his hips closer to your face to help you get them off.

His dick slaps up, already fully hard, hitting his team top that now had a small trail of pre-cum dampening it.

“Awwww baby, why didn’t you tell me sooner” you tease, giving him a quick rub up and down, a soft moan coming from the back of his throat as his head is thrown back.

“Fuck baby, get that mouth around me” he says resting his arm up behind his head that’s still leaning backwards. You raise up on your knees, licking a strip along the underside all the way up before going over the tip that had his hips thrusting up.

“Patience baby” you complain looking up at him.

“Don’t you think I’ve waited long enough Y/N! Come on” he says holding onto your hair to help guid you down. You kitten lick the tip before opening your mouth up your lips encasing around him. You bob your head up and down with the help of Oscars hand in your hair.

“That’s so good Y/N, please” he begs with a whine, his earlier moody and broody persona completely gone.

Your hands reach forward to steady you on the edge of the sofa as Oscar’s hips begin to have a mind of their own and start to thrust up trying to get as deep as possible in your mouth.

“Im close baby, so close” he says and his moans get louder. You pull of his with a popping sound, a string of your saliva mixed with his pre-cum still attaching you together.

“Why’d you stop baby, I was so close” he complains looking at you with those puppy dog eyes.

“Because your being too loud Osc and people are still here packing away” you smile getting up. You straddle him putting pressure on his dick against your lacy panties giving him some relief.

His hand comes down to your waist going under your skirt and playing with the edge of your underwear.

“Can you pull them to the side?” You whisper in his ear. And he immediately groans. He pulls them to the side making sure it wasn’t digging into you. You place a gentle hand over his mouth, before your other hand comes down to help guide him in.

You sink down immediately bottoming out and it’s a good thing you had your hand over his mouth muffling the sounds that were currently coming from the back of his throat.

You started to lightly bounce up and down until you needed the support of both your hands on the back of the sofa to help you move quicker.

“Think you can keep quieter for me baby?” You ask and he nods quicker than you’d ever seen him agree to something in his life.

His hands come down to your waist as you start bouncing quicker with more passion. You’re starting to find it hard to keep your own moans to yourself as his name starts to fall from between your lips as his hands come to your hips to help guide you up and down. He buries his head in your neck kissing along the side.

“Walls are for the weak anyway baby, let them hear just how frustrated I was and how good your making me feel” he moans loudly as his hips start to meet your bounces going at a faster pace and his hands had a bruising grip on the day or your thighs.

“Baby, shut up” you gasp cheeks flushing read at the thought of Lando hearing when he’s next door or Mark coming round to talk him down after today! You’d be mortified. But his dick pushing against your tight walls was the only thing on your mind.

You hug against him as you clench around and he stops thrusting inside of you. All tensions from both your bodies leaves and sighs come from the pair of you. You go weightless against him letting him keep kissing your neck as you both come down from your high.

“Feeling better now?” You ask and all he does it nod, before pulling you back by your hair and kissing your lips.

“You always make me feel better. I love you” he smiles genuinely.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[doumadono]

Katsuki and Reader as Academic rivals/enemies during their college years but is actually messing around behind close doors. For sinful sunday!!<3

Warnings: smut w/o plot, smut, cunnilingus, fem!reader, rough oral (f receiving), fingering, pro hero Bakugo

A/N: this request got the second highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA & MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

"You're late," Bakugo growls, his voice edged with impatience as he glares at you from the doorway.

You smirk, brushing past him. "Didn't know the great Dynamight had a bedtime like a preschooler."

"Shut up," he snaps as he closes the door behind you. "You know I don't like waiting."

"And yet here we are," you retort, throwing your bag on his couch with a casual toss. 

The apartment is spacious, minimalist in its decor, with a few hints of Bakugo's personality — trophies from his hero work, a stack of fitness magazines, and a well-worn punching bag in the corner.

"Still can't believe we're doing this," he mutters, following you into the living room.

"Which part?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "The studying, or the fact that we're doing it together?"

Bakugo's scowl deepens. "Both."

You laugh, settling into the couch and pulling out your notes. "Just like old times, huh? Except now we're not stuck in that cramped library."

He huffs, flopping down beside you. "Yeah, but you still haven't gotten any less annoying."

"And you haven't gotten any less competitive," you shoot back, your eyes meeting his. There's a spark there, the same one that always flared when the two of you clashed in college. 

You and Bakugo had been academic rivals since your first year at UA High School. Both fiercely competitive and driven, you clashed in every class, constantly trying to outdo each other in hero training exercises and exams. The rivalry continued into college, where you found yourselves in the same courses, your mutual determination pushing you to excel. 

Despite the animosity, there was an undeniable chemistry between you, a spark that neither of you acknowledged but both felt deeply. 

Now, years later, with Bakugo as a top Pro Hero and you excelling in your own career, the competitive fire still burns. Especially when the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight fails yet another mandatory training session assigned to him by the Hero Commission.

Bakugo grabs a stack of papers, his fingers brushing against yours accidentally. 

The contact sends a jolt through you, and you pull back, trying to focus on the task at hand. 

"So, where were we?" he asks, his voice a little rougher.

"Here," you say, pointing to a highlighted section. "The analysis of hero efficiency metrics. You were going to show me how you applied it to your latest mission."

He nods, leaning closer. The heat from his body is distracting, and you find it hard to concentrate as he explains the data. His voice is low, the words rolling over you as you watch the way his lips move, the intensity in his eyes.

"...and that's how I optimized the response time," he finishes, looking up at you expectantly.

You blink, realizing you've barely absorbed a word. "Right. Makes sense."

He narrows his eyes. "You're not even listening, are ya, Y/N?"

"I am!" you protest, but he doesn't buy it.

"Prove it," he challenges, leaning even closer. "Explain it back to me."

Your mind races, trying to piece together what he said, but all you can think about is how close he is, the smell of his cologne, the way his breath brushes against your skin. "I, um..."

His smirk is infuriating. "Thought so, smartass."

"You're impossible," you mutter, but there's no heat in your words.

"And you're distracted," he counters. "Wonder why that is."

You glare at him, but he's right. "Maybe it's because you're in my personal space," you say, but even as you say it, you don't move away.

"Maybe you like it," he shoots back, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you close the gap, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that's more a battle than a caress. It's messy, desperate, and full of the same fire that always ignited when you were around each other.

Bakugo responds instantly, his hands tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss. The taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against yours, it's everything you've been denying yourself for years. 

You break apart, both of you breathing hard. "This doesn't change anything," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have…”

He smirks, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips. "No, it doesn't. But it sure as hell makes things more interesting."

You laugh, a breathless sound that turns into a moan as he captures your mouth again. 

This time, there's no hesitation, no holding back. The kiss is fierce, and you can feel the same hunger in him that burns in you.

Bakugo pulls you onto his lap, his hands roaming your back as he presses you closer. The feel of his hard muscles against you, the heat of his skin, it's all intoxicating. 

You grind against him, eliciting a low growl from his throat.

"God, you're so fucking impatient," he mutters against your lips, but his hands are gentle as they slip under your shirt, exploring the skin beneath.

"You love it," you tease, arching into his touch.

"Maybe I do," he admits, his voice rough with desire. "But don't think this means you've won."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you reply, your hands busy unbuttoning his shirt. 

His shirt comes off in a tangle of limbs and fabric, neither of you willing to break the kiss for more than a few seconds.  

You trail kisses down his neck, savoring the way he shudders beneath you.

Bakugo flips you onto your back, his eyes dark and hungry as he looks down at you. "You're still a pain in my ass," he growls. His body presses you into the mattress, the weight of him a delicious reminder of his strength and power. 

You feel his hands slide up your sides, pushing your shirt higher until he pulls it over your head and tosses it aside. His mouth is on you instantly, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and to the swell of your breasts.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. 

You arch into his touch, your fingers threading through his hair as you hold him close. 

He groans in response, the sound vibrating against your skin as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting gently.

You can feel yourself growing wetter.

"Fuck," he mutters, releasing your nipple with a wet pop and moving to the other one. His free hand roams lower, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, until he reaches the waistband of your pants. With a rough tug, he pulls them down.

“Bakugo,” you basically growl at him, demanding his attention.

"Patience," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Good things come to those who wait."

But you're beyond waiting. You need him now. You reach down and grab his hand, guiding it to where you're aching for him - right between the thighs you willingly part just for him.

Bakugo's fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties, watching as your eyes flutter closed in pleasure. He can feel the heat radiating off of you, and he knows you want him just as badly as he wants you.

"Do you like that, baby?" he growls in your ear, his voice low and husky.

You nod, biting your lip as he continues to rub you through the thin fabric. You’re so wet already, he can feel it seeping through your panties and onto his fingers.

Bakugo grins, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down your parted legs. 

You lift your hips to help him, and soon you’re lying naked before him.

He takes a moment to admire the sight of you, spread out on the couch like a feast. Your skin is soft and smooth, your breasts are full and round, and your pussy is glistening with wetness, just for him.

His fingers slip inside you easily. You’re oh so tight, he can feel your muscles clenching around his digits as he moves them in and out. "Fuck, you feel so good," he praises, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles.

"Fuck," you breathe, your hips bucking involuntarily. "Yes, just like that."

Bakugo's fingers curl inside you, hitting all the right spots. 

You can feel yourself already getting closer, your body tensing with each stroke. And then, just as you think you can't take it any longer, he stops.

You whimper in protest, but he just smirks. 

"Not yet," he says. "I want to taste you first."

Before you can react, he's sliding down your body, his mouth hot and wet on your inner thigh. 

You moan as he kisses and licks his way closer to your mound, your whole body trembling with anticipation.

And then, finally, his tongue is on your clit, teasing and flicking in a way that makes your whole body shudder. You can hear the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the slick slide of his tongue. It's obscene and you can't get enough of it. You buck your hips, grinding against his face as he devours you.

"Oh god, Bakugo," you moan, your voice hoarse. "I'm going to come."

He just hums in response, his tongue working harder, faster. He uses his thumb to roll your clitty in a circle, pushing the upper portion of your outer lips aside. As Bakugo plays with your little, swollen pearl, your lower lips begin to glisten, then open, and after a longer moment of playing while your breathing quickens, a thin string of crystalized dew falls from your juicy pink slit.

“Just like that, just like that!” you are a moaning mess beneath him.

“Holy fucking shit,” he growls lowly, watching your body writhe, feeling the intense strain as his sweatpants become painfully tight. Bakugo doesn't stop, though. He keeps licking and sucking. He licks up through your soft folds like a dog, lapping at your cunny juices as if his life depends on it. He then curls and straightens his calloused fingers several times, petting the underside of your mound from within. “Cum for me, I wanna see you cumming hard for me,” Bakugo commands.

Your clit throbs in his mouth as he sucks the little pearl in, finger-fucking your slick, drenched pussy.

A high pitched whimper cuts off your words. Your stomach heaves, your ass shakes, and you feed Bakugo your muff with a sexy, up and down grinding motion that runs your pussy all over his slightly unshaven face. You tighten your grip on his ash-blonde hair and pull him against your pussy, mashing your clit between his tongue and your own pubic bone.

Finally, Katsuki pulls away, his face glistening with your juices.

"Fuck," you breathe, still reeling from the intensity of your orgasm. "That was incredible."

Bakugo just grins, clearly pleased with himself. "You're welcome," he says. Bakugo licks and kisses his way up your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deeply before pulling back. "You know this doesn't mean I'm ever going to go easy on you," he says, grinding his crotch against your slick folds.

The unmistakable hardness pressing against you is making you acutely aware of how hard he is — how hard you've made him just with your moans and pussy.

You wrap your arms around his neck. "Yeah, I know. But quit this shit now and fuck me like I know you've always wanted to."

[puffcap-factory]

Late Night Tea-Time (Wriothesley x reader)

Wriothesley x fem!reader; fluff, established relationship, a teeny-weeny hint of smut. Just the hint, not the real smut.

Basically, it’s you staying up late at night working (and waiting for him) only to see him arriving with another new package of tea collections.

Words: 1.1k

Notes:

Finally! My first genshin fic featuring the spicy Duke of Meropide himself, Wriothesley! It’s kinda short but I’d like to get this one out first as I was thinking of making a short series for him too (no promises, though, I’ll see how it goes hehe)

As always, please enjoy! :D

•~•~•~•

Piles of papers were spread on Wriothesley’s office desk as you carefully analyzed the data regarding the fortress’ logistics, seated on Wriothesley’s chair. The sounds of the piano from the record player filled the air as you took another sip of your tea, hoping it would help you regain the focus that had been faltering.

Suddenly, the creak of the door opening in the room below caught your attention. Wriothesley entered and ascended the stairs, carrying a new box of tea collections in his hands.

“You’re still working on the files? It’s already 11 pm,” he asked, finding you seated on his office chair. 

“Says someone who just returned from a business meeting. And with a fresh stash of tea,” you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you glanced at the box he carried.

It seemed everyone was beginning to catch on to the Duke’s fondness for tea, as most of the gifts he received always seemed to revolve around tea drinking, much to your amusement.

He chuckled softly at your response as he placed the newest tea set onto the tea cabinet, arranging it carefully.

“You won’t be sleeping if you keep drinking your tea, though.”

“It’s Rooibos, don’t worry,” you reassured him, watching as he made his way towards you.

“It’s late, y/n, I want you to rest,” he said softly, standing beside the chair. With a gentle pat on your shoulders, he lowered himself to your seat, planting a tender kiss on your temple. 

“Come now,” he urged gently, carefully removing the documents from your hand and placing them on the table. He offered you his hand, allowing you to stand up from his seat, and led you over to the nearby sofa. You gladly followed him.

He brought your tea cup over and placed it on the low table in front of you before returning to the tea counter. There, he found the pot of tea, still hot from the heater below, the one that you had been drinking from.

“I’ve made that for us. Feel free to pour yourself,” you offered from your seat.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he replied with a warm smile. He poured his own cup of tea before making his way to sit next to you.

After taking a sip of the tea, seemingly content with the brewing, he opened his arm, inviting you to come closer. You understood his gesture and happily nestled into his embrace, feeling his warmth as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

“I’m not quite sleepy yet,” you admitted softly, looking up at him. He chuckled softly, his eyes filled with fondness towards you.

“Why’s that? You’ve been working on the data since this morning as far as I can remember.”

“I have, but all I’ve done today is sit behind the desk and work on the papers,” you explained.

“And you’re not tired from that?”

“I am– well, my mind is. And throughout the day, you were away, too.”

“So, you’re saying you’re just missing me so much that you can’t sleep?” he teased with a playful chuckle.

“Hey, you’ve been helping me spar in these past few weeks. Those physical activities actually helped me sleep, you know,” you countered with a pout.

“Physical activities, huh?” His eyes danced mischievously, a playful grin appearing on his lips.

“But… I don’t think I have the energy to spar right now. My mind is not in the capacity to devise a strategy to defeat you,” you said lazily, snuggling up closer to him. 

“You were actually thinking to spar right here, right now, at my office,” he gently laughed, his hand running soothingly through your hair.

“Well, why not? It’s not like we’re gonna blow this whole place up,” you replied with a playful grin, glancing over at your almost empty tea cup. You stood up and made way to the tea counter to take the tea pot. Wriothesley watched you with amusement from his seat, his eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and... something else.

Switching off the tea pot’s heater, you prepared to return to the sofa with the pot when the new tea set in the nearby cabinet caught your eye. Curiously, you opened the cabinet and examined it.

“You know,” you mused, holding the box in your hand, “I find it rather amusing that somehow, tea and you are never far from each other.”

He watched you with an amused smile, a spark of curiosity in his eyes as he leaned forwards. “And what do you mean by that?” 

“I feel like the scent of tea itself is starting to rub off on your scent. Imagine people catching a whiff of tea and turning to find the Duke of Meropide himself,” you continued, a small laugh escaping you at the image. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you started to taste like one.”

There was a sudden pause in the moment before he answered. “Taste like one… huh?” he stated, his tone lowering as he stood up from the sofa and made his way to you. You suddenly felt his arm, slowly wrapping you from behind, one arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close, while the other rested gently on your shoulder. The atmosphere had shifted, a subtle tension building as you realized the implication of your words. 

“Perhaps, you should find out for yourself,” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. His warm breath trickled against your ear and down to your neck as he nuzzled softly, hinting at the desire simmering beneath the surface. 

Feeling the heat of his body against yours, you set down the box of tea, fully aware of his unspoken invitation. You leaned back into his embrace, a playful spark igniting within you as you decided to tease him a bit further.

“And how would you suggest I do that?” you turned your head, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smirk, your lips mere inches from his.

For a moment, his eyes held yours, tender yet filled with hunger that started to cloud his gaze. “Well, considering your lack of physical activities today, I have a perfect idea to satisfy your curiosity as well as help you sleep.”

You caught the glint of lust in his eyes and understood exactly what was coming.

“Oh? Then what are you waiting for?”

With a smirk, he effortlessly scooped you up into a bridal carry, his arms strong and sure beneath you. Without a word, he carried you towards his bedroom, the tension between you still palpable. The aroma of tea lingered in the air as you two left the office, leaving the tea to grow cold.

・

・

That night, you slept more soundly than you had in weeks, wrapped in the warmth of his love, the taste of tea still lingering on your lips.

[laxxarian]

Dani is trying to convince Bruce that she already has a family but the man was unconvinced.

Being Batman, he patrols at night together with Robin and from time to time, he'd see Dani sleeping at abandoned buildings or under a bridge of some kind.

Each time he sees the girl sleeping here and there, he'd wake the little girl and convince her to at least seek shelter maybe at someone's certain house but that got Dani giving flashbacks of Vlad and his creepy way of talking.

Vlad changed and all but still creepy.

Now Dani is deciding to go back to Amity Park cuz she already has seen the parts of Gotham but before she leaves, she bids farewell to Bruce at first. Going to his mansion and all, saying goodbye and to his kids.

Saying that she's going to Amity Park to be with her family but Bruce wasn't convinced, why? Because in their data, Amity Park doesn't exist.

This whole thing is suspicious so he plans to follow the girl as she goes back home as Batman.

Dani also waited around where Batman usually patrols at night to say goodbye cuz why not? She didn't want to let the guy get worried seeing as how the man would keep trying to help her.

She didn't want him thinking that she might be dead, well, she is, but they don't know that.

So after the goodbyes and all that. Dani waits for a bus, why? She wants to experience using a public transport and because of that, Batman gets to follow the girl easily but little did he know, Dani could actually hear and see perfectly fine because of her ghost powers that Batman was following her. A bit creeped out but she understands.

The bus stopped at nowhere but home was close, Dani just needed to walk, usually she flies but a bat was following her.

Dani contacted Danny to get her and also informed him that a certain dude just won't go away.

And then blah blah blah, Batman was caught by Danny.

Danny: why are you following us?

Batman: !?

Dani: don't worry, Danny, he's a superhero too

Danny: *looks up and down* ....I see...

Batman now gets to see Amity Park and now that he knows where it is and confirmed the girl's safety. He left.

Then researched about Amity Park back at his mancave but bats themed.

Batman found out that the GIW were keeping the place a secret, not that they were doing illegal but to protect the ghosts from any other people.

After the GIW found out about Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom, they started to open their eyes and sees how good can ghosts be and is actively helping Danny now.

But Batman doesn't know such real reason and theorized they were trying to keep a meta human a secret so they could get Phantom without anyone knowing about it.

So, Batman called the young justice team to go out and investigate.

Strange things that the team found out was that Amity Parkers doesn't care about what's going on the outside of their homes and that's mostly due to ghosts and the only hero their is also a ghost. Not wanting for anymore villains, they all decided not to attract anymore people from getting here and give the Parkers more trouble.

What they also found out was that the residents may be clueless and blind at some times, they were all fascinatingly fast learners when it comes to fighting and also fleeing.

The team also gets to meet Phantom, a cheerful guy and Dani (human form) who was talking casually with him.

[thesilmarillionblog]

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

Summary: You need to distract Black Noir during a party in Vought Tower so that your boyfriend Butcher can steal some files from the CEO's room that could be Homelander’s undoing.

Pairing: Black Noir / Female! Reader

Warnings: +18 (Minors DNI), Language, Supe Reader, cheating, reader is a member of the Seven

Word Count: 1203

A/N: English is not my first language.

You adjusted your tight black dress when Butcher told you what to do for the fifth time as you sighed with frustration.

“I got it, fuck, I got it, Butcher. I am no fucking dumb,” you said as you shut your eyes, irritated.

“Just do your best, love, and try not to die. Meet me an hour later in the parking lot,” said Butcher as he gave you an encouraging squeeze on your shoulder. “Cuntlander is not going to survive this if the rumors are fucking true and, of course, if we play our cards well.”

You answered, “Yeah,” sounding pensive and not particularly thrilled. “Hopefully, whatever he has done has been so vile and repulsive that everyone despises him.”

With a sly smile, he continued, “Well, you know, love, try, or fucking die tryin'.”

“I don’t know, Billy,” you sighed. “It’s like, even if he commits mass murder, which he has done many times already, he’ll get away with it again. I just don’t understand.”

“Hey,” he said, lifting your chin. “It will all end soon, I promise. Also, let’s hope everyone is enjoying the party out there, huh?”

He gave you a hard spanking on your ass and a swift kiss on the lips, amused by the crowd at the top of the tower while you two waited patiently in the elevator. “We can enjoy our fun later.”

He gave you one last warning, and when the elevator stopped, you gave him the finger and parted ways. After all that, you two made a great team.

As you greeted the reporters, other members of the Seven, and all the shady old rich folks in the room who seemed to be enjoying themselves with dull conversation, your eyes looked around for Homelander. When you saw Homelander discussing his new spin-off with Ashley and two men from VCU, you sighed with relief.

You panicked and followed Black Noir when you noticed he was moving in the wrong direction. Fuck, you thought.

You followed him for a while, touched his arm just before he went into the room Butcher had just been in, and then you dragged Noir into a dimly lit corner.

You walked up to him and smiled, saying, “Hey, Noir. You seem to be as bored as I am out here, huh?”

It was impossible to get him to talk and start a conversation with Black Noir, even though you tried your best each time. However, he didn’t even nod his head, at least showing that he was actually listening to you.

Not even moving a bit, he made another move to get into the room he shouldn’t, so you grasped his clothed, strong arm tighter, trying to take his attention. You moved closer to him, and you felt the sharpness of his eyes behind his mask. Moving your hand slowly between his legs, your fingers touched the funny piece placed before his dick.

You removed the pointless chunk from his thigh, taking your time so you could measure his response.

You palmed his hard length through his suit and muttered, “We two are bored as fuck out there, Noir. How about we enjoy ourselves together? What do you say?” Fuck, he felt big.

Although this was not part of your evening plans, there was nothing wrong with taking all necessary measures to steal Homelander's data and bring him to an

end. After all, that was a pretty good excuse to finally fuck with Noir. What Butcher didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

You touched your lips to his clothed ones as you began to stroke him through his suit and asked, “Do you want me to jack you off right here? Do you want me to make you cum?”

As you touched him, you heard him gasp and get firmer. He lifted his hand suddenly and gave you a hard shove to get on your knees. Excitedly, you waited for him to remove his tight suit and reveal his length. You were thrilled to finally have another dick because, for the past few months, all you had ever tasted was Butcher's. It didn't even make you feel bad—rather, it only made you more excited.

You cried out, “I want you to fuck my mouth,” as he gave himself a quick pump or two and then tightened his grip on your hair and forced his hardness into your mouth.

If you weren’t a supe, he would have broken your jaw already, but you were a supe and definitely built for this.

He moved quickly and forcefully to fuck your mouth while you moaned all around him, encouraging him to go farther. While trying to control your gag reflexes and take all of him, your spit was flowing around his shaft. Every time his big balls crushed your chin, they made obscene noises. You moaned loudly as someone else fucked your mouth in a dark corner, making you feel so hot and wet.

You stroked his balls with one hand, licked the salty precum, and wrapped your lips around the thick tip of his cock. He tasted even better than Butcher and was twice as big as fuck.

You spit on his cock and kept sucking him off, moaning, “You taste so good. Which would you prefer—to cum on my face or in my mouth?”

You could tell he was having a great time fucking your mouth, even though he was just moaning.

He took a firm hold of your hair and pressed his entire length down to your throat, causing both pleasure and pain to make your eyes water. As he placed your head against his thigh, the scent of his pubic hair filled your nostrils, making you want to savor every square inch of him.

He moaned like a whisper and pushed himself even more as he poured his thick and salty sperm down to your throat while holding your head firmly. You did not waste any of his sperm since you ingested every drop. You kissed the top of his dick after he removed it from your mouth. Then, he began to stroke himself a little harder and spilled on your face as well.

“Fuck, yes,” you moaned as he jerked off against your face. You knew that Butcher could never be like this. He was so soft and nice with you.

He helped you get up after he tucked himself back in his suit and watched you lick your lips with the taste of his cum. You heard him chuckling under his mask.

You would take your time with him for another day.

___________________________________________________________

A/N: I wish there were enough fics about Black Noir because he deserves the best, and I miss him so much. Let me know if you want to be tagged for Black Noir fics.

Taglist: @anundyingfidelity

[wenigstenshabeichesversucht]

A force more powerful than gravity

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: Soulmate AU, where you can feel the pain of your soulmate, and it looks like yours is a reckless idiot.

Warnings: angst, hurt, cliffhanger, english is not my native language

Word Count: 3.3k

taglist: @ettadear, @hakkaishiba91, @more-a-then-i, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @alexis04fangirl, @aislinrayne, @elipsisx, @tessas4, @spicybirdpepper, @wisteriaandauroras, @capailluiscedove, @fearlessmoony, @kurtsmellsliketeenspiritt, @redgummybears, @mackncheese1243, @mrsklockwood

There was nothing but silence as a searing pain pierced your left shoulder. It felt like a small object sought his way through your flesh with force. Before you could realize what was happening, the world around you exploded in pain. Panicking, you tried you gasp for air, but everything hurt so much. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think, all you could do was let out a shrill scream.

Hurried footsteps sounded near you and the next moment someone sank to the ground next to you. You hadn't even noticed that you had fallen to the floor. There was just too much pain.

“Y/N where are you hurt?”, freaking out, your best friend and teammate roamed her hands over your body, searching for a wound, that would explain the pain you felt. But you knew that she wouldn’t find any. It wasn’t physical pain you felt, at least for you.

Things looked completely different for your soulmate. He got hurt, bad like it seems, and it was his pain you felt. You weren’t new to his pain. He got often hurt, and sometimes you asked yourself if he was just reckless or if he hated the idea of soulmates so much, that he intentionally injured himself. This was of course an awful thought, but when you laid in bed, crying silently while trying just to breathe through the pain, you couldn’t help yourself. What if your soulmate hated you even before meeting you? You couldn't blame him, not when you hated him sometimes yourself.

Last year alone, he got shocked with electricity, ghost touched, punched and cut in various body regions and one time it even felt like he survived an explosion. First you thought he was an agent like yourself, but after the last year you weren’t sure that he may have been involved in illegal activities.

“Y/N?”, the urgent voice of your best friend Willa, brought you back to the presence, where nothing more than a sea full of pain was waiting for you. The waves were crashing over you, threatening to pull you down and never let you go, and for a short moment you just wanted to let them take you. But you knew better than this. Sharply breathing in and out, you fought not to lose your consciousness.

“It’s him”, you managed to whisper.

“This asshole”, Willa muttered under her breath, but you heard her nevertheless. If you weren’t in so much pain, you maybe had laughed, an asshole indeed.

“I think he got shot, and then felt from a great height.”

“Fuck, that must hurt like hell.”

Indeed, it did.

“We should get you to safety before your pain attracts any ghosts. Can you stand?”

You felt like dying, but if you wouldn’t move, you could actually die. To avoid situations like this, soulmates at Fittes didn’t work at the same time. But you were pretty sure, that your soulmate didn’t work at Fittes, otherwise you would have found him long ago. Fittes even had a data bank where they could compare the pain you felt with other agents’ injuries. But so far there had been no match. That meant your soulmate was either not an agent or an agent at a small agency without access to the data bank.

“Help me up”, the pain was still pulsing through your body, made it hard to breathe, but with a soulmate like yours, you had learned how to function with pain. Breathing heavily, you let Willa pull you up from the floor. At least your movement didn’t affect the pain because it wasn’t your pain, you just felt it.

You only managed to walk three steps, before a new hot pain shot up your left arm. With an agonizing yell you staggered against the next wall. In a blink of an eye Willa was next to you.

“It’s not your pain, breath through it”, easy to say for someone whose soulmate wasn’t in this line of work and therefore wasn’t often injured. But you held back the cruel worlds, which were already laying on the tip of your tongue. Biting your teeth together, you continued your way to the iron circle your team had set up early this night. You wouldn’t let him wear you down, not today, not tomorrow.

Whatever your soulmate did that night, three days later it still hurt. Not as much as at the beginning, but enough to curse him in silence. Didn’t he know what painkillers were? For the first two days it wasn’t bearable, but tonight you would venture out in the night again to hunt some ghost.

“You will not believe what Christ just told me”, interrupting you in the research for tonight’s case, Willa plopped down next to you. Curious, you tilted your head. Chris was another Fittes agent. He and Willa weren’t soulmates, but that didn't stop them from dating. According to Willa, life was too short to wait for this one special person, who apparently was your perfect match. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Not everyone met his soulmate, some felt the pain of their soulmate their entire life without ever crossing parts, others felt a very strong pain, before they never felt anything again over this connection. You knew a few agents, whose soulmates died before meeting them.

“And?”

“Three nights ago, when you did feel this agonizing pain, Quill was apparently on a mission where an agent was shot before falling down a shaft.”

For a short moment, your heart stopped beating. Could that mean? Without minding your work, you jumped on your feet. You had to find Quill Kipps. Maybe he had the answers you were searching for so long. You didn't even dare to hope, but nevertheless your heart was skipping a beat as you hurried away.     

You didn’t know where to find Quill Kipps, you just started running and to your surprised you found him not long after. Like it was fate. Maybe he was really the missing key to find your soulmate. You didn’t want to get your hopes high, but you couldn’t help yourself. When you came to a stop in front of Quill, you were excited.

“Y/N, is everything ok?”, worried Quill’s soft eyes locked at you and for a moment you hesitated. You and Quill weren’t friends, he was Chris best friend and you Willa’s, therefore you talked a few times. Through Willa, you knew that Quill lost his soulmate a few years ago without ever meeting them. This was a fate you didn’t wish on your worst enemy. Now asking Quill about your soulmate, he might consider as rude. And you didn’t want to be rude, but you had to know!

“Three nights ago, did the agent get shot in his left shoulder?”, you blurred out and for a moment Quill just opened and closed his mouth confused.

“You think he is your soulmate?”, stunned, Quill blinked and didn’t answer your question.

“Three nights ago, I felt a piercing pain in my left shoulder followed by bone crushing pain, like I felt from a very far height”, you explained, and Quill looked dumbfounded at you, like you grew a second head. Unsure if you weren't making a fool of yourself, you closed your mouth. Maybe your theory was too far-fetched. Without realizing it, you started to play nervously with your hair.

With something in his eyes, you could only describe as pity, Quill took a step in your direction. Before he even opened his mouth, you knew what he would say. Nevertheless, it hurt, and that's why you didn't want to get your hopes up.

“I’m sorry Y/N, but he isn’t your soulmate and to be honest you can be glad about it.”

After this event, life went on. And on its way at some point Willa managed to convince you to start dating. You knew that your soulmate was still somewhere out there, on occasion you still felt his pain, but you didn’t meet. A part of you was afraid that you would never meet your soulmate and because you didn’t want to die alone, you let Willa convince you to go on a double date with her, Chris and Quill.

It was a lovely day in the late summer, and the four of you were sitting outside a small café, sipping on your lemonade. It felt strange to be on a date with someone who wasn’t your soulmate. But at least there wasn’t the possibility, that Quill would leave you for his soulmate. That thought made you feel like a bad person.

Taking a big sip from your lemonade to wash down the bitter taste in your mouth, you tried to listen to the story Quill was telling. Something about a case he and his team managed to successfully solve. But you got distracted by the appearance of a tall dark hair boy in a dress shirt. Anthony Lockwood, founder of Lockwood and Co., and a thorn in the side of all other agents in London. You had been lucky enough not to have to work with him so far, but you knew the stories. He was a reckless idiot without any sense of safety. He was also the agent who got himself at Quill’s case shot and fell down the shaft. Noticing your distraction Quill followed your gaze.

“Oh hell no”, he muttered next to you, so quiet that you almost didn’t catch it.

“Just ignore him”, you suggested, but even for you, it was hard to look away from Lockwood. He had something you couldn’t describe that was screaming for your attention.

“You are right, where was I?”, without waiting for an answer, Quill plunged back into the story. Tearing your gaze away from Lockwood, you took another sip from your lemonade.

Five boring minutes passed, Quill was still telling his story, when you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your shin. Interrupting Quill, you let out a surprised yelp.

“Sorry my Soulmate-”, you started, your mouth once again faster than your brain. Then you remembered that you were on a date and shouldn’t mention him. However, before you could apologize, you got interrupted.

“Did you just feel how I hit my shin?”, non-other than Anthony Lockwood nervously asked, after he appeared by your table. Too stunned to speak anyone was just gawking at him. Quill was the first to catch himself.

“Get lost Tony!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, stop interfering”, Lockwood shot back, before his brown eyes found yours.

“You are crashing my date, so it’s my good right to interfere!”, with a red face, Quill pushed his chair back, and it looks like both were ready to fight. But before it could escalate, you did the only thing you could think about, you pinched yourself.

“Ow, what was that for?”, rubbing his arm, Lockwood’s gaze shot to you.

“You felt it?” Slowly Lockwood nodded and you couldn’t believe it. He was your soulmate! You finally found him. But you didn’t feel happy, like you always had imagined. You just felt betrayed and angry. Only seeing red, you whipped your head around to Quill.

“You lied to me! You told me he wasn’t my soulmate.” Fighting back the tears, you slowly stood up. “Just to get me on a date?”

“Of course not, I didn't tell you to protect you. Everybody who gets too close to Tony ends up in a grave.”

Everything next happened way too fast for you to react. Lockwood spun around to punch Quill in the jaw. While Quill stumbled back, your hand burned with pain. You didn’t even know the identity of your soulmate five minutes ago, and he already hurt you again.

Before Quill could get a punch at Lockwood, you pushed between the two boys. You had felt enough pain for a lifetime, you didn’t need to feel them fight.

“Don’t worry Y/N, I will not punch him back, unlike him, I don't want to hurt you”, snarled Quill behind you, but you only had eyes for Lockwood. Under your gaze he seemed to shrink.

“My life would have been so much better, if you weren’t my soulmate”, your voice was laced with poison, and as if he had been burned, Lockwood recoiled. Without waiting for a response, you did the thing you could do best, you started running.  

   

You didn’t know how long you were running. You only stopped when no breath was left in your lungs and your legs were burning. Unknowingly, your legs had brought you to a park. Collapsing on a park bench, you closed your eyes exhausted.

As a kid, you often had imagined how you would meet your soulmate. Never would have you expect a situation like this. You should be happy, but you never felt more lost.

The wind was rustling the leaves about your head, and took a deep breath in.

You had set your trust in the wrong people, again. You had hoped for too much, again. You had been an idiot, again. Your mother always said that everyone got what he deserved. You had always asked yourself what you had done to deserve all this pain. Slowly, one single tear ran down your cheek. You could have just gotten your answers, but you ran away again, like always when things got hard. No backbone, your mother would say, if she could see you now. Lost, you wrapped your arms around your frame. Another tear dropped down your cheek. Sniffing, you wiped it off.

“Are you ok?”, his voice startled you. Surprised, you looked up, to see through your veil of tears Lockwood standing unsure next to your bench. Did you look like you were ok? A mean remark was already on the tip of your tongue, but you had already told him that you were better off without him as a soulmate, there wasn’t much more to say. Therefore, you just shook your head. Nothing was ok, but someday you would be fine with it.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. I was always hoping to meet you, but never taught it would just happen so random”, he rambled on, and your eyes widened in surprise. He had hoped to meet you? After all this pain he put you trough, he wanted you as soulmate? You always thought he hated you.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you. I always welcomed your pain with open arms, because every time I felt your pain I knew, that somewhere out there, there is someone for me, and I’m not alone.”

That was everything you had always wanted to hear from your soulmate. He wanted you. But why weren’t you happy? Why wasn’t this enough?

Standing up, you looked up to him. Although there were dark circles under his eyes, adorning his face, he appeared wide awake, and his eyes sparkled. A sparkle you would probably dim with what you had to say next.

“You hurt me over and over again. And now knowing it was you, I can’t help but think, you could have avoided getting hurt, but you didn’t care. So, tell me, why should I be happy?”

As if you had hit him, Lockwood stumbled back. You had learned long ago that words could hurt just as much as punches. And a small part of you was satisfied to cause him pain.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered and looked at you like a kicked puppy. Of course, looking at him, you couldn’t help but feel bad.

“You are right, I could have been a little bit less reckless, but I never thought about it. Can you give me another chance?”, you couldn’t say no to the look he gave you, and you didn’t want to. The bond that tied you together could only be cut through the dead of one of you. If there was even the slightest chance that this could work with the two of you, you had to try it.

“Yes, but please don’t hurt me again.”

“I will not, I swear!”

You agreed that if Lockwood stopped being so reckless and hurting himself all the time, you would go on a date after a month. He stuck to the agreement exemplary. Of course, you felt his pain every now and then, but that came with the job and was totally ok.

At the end, it was you, who brought both of you agonizing pain. It was a case at a graveyard. Besides your team were two other Fittes teams and, to your surprise, Lockwood and Co. set on this. The fifteen of you should comb the cemetery and look for the source of the spirit that terrorized the resting place and the surrounding houses.

As you discussed the division of the teams, you could feel Lockwood’s gaze burning on your skin, but you didn't dare look over at him. If your supervisor found out he was your soulmate, you would be taken off the case. You couldn't risk that. And it looked like, Lockwood understood it, because he didn’t try to approve you.

It should have been an easy case. The graveyard was, besides this one source, already cleared. It was one ghost against fifteen of you. If it hadn't been for that relic man.

As his knife pierced your skin, your only thought was Lockwood. Hopefully he wasn't fighting the ghost. Hopefully your carelessness wouldn't result in him being ghost touched. Clutching the wound, you sagged to the ground. Only your second thought was about yourself. You would die. Even while you tried to apply pressure to the wound, you could feel the warm blood running through your fingers. It was running away, and you couldn’t hold on to it. You would die before help could arrive. You would die before you could go on a date with Anthony Lockwood.

“Oh shit, Y/N, stay with me”, you’ve never had seen Willa like this in your life. Full on panic mode, she let herself fall next to you on the ground.

“Stay with me!”, without warning, she pressed down on your wound, and it hurt like hell. Yelling, you tried to push her off, but she remained stubborn.

“You will not die on me, I will not let you”, she cried, and her tears were dripping down her face and mixing with your blood. You were also crying. Reaching for her wrist, you left a bloody trail.

“I’m afraid”, you whispered, and it was true. Never in your life you had felt such fear, not the first time Lockwood got seriously hurt, and you didn't understand why everything hurt, not in your childhood when your mother yelled and yelled.

“Help is already on its way, and I will not leave your side. I will stay with you, and you will stay with me. Deal?”

You tried to smile, more for Willa’s sake than yours.

“Deal”, you lied, knowing that this was a promise you couldn’t keep.

But before Willa could say something else, hurried footsteps sounded and then Lockwood stumbled in your direction. His right hand was pressed to his lower abdomen, where you had been stabbed.

“I’m sorry”, you cried as he dropped down next to you. It was never your intention to hurt him. And nothing hurt more than losing a soulmate.

“It will be ok, you will be ok”, softly he caressed your hair, and it sounded like he was telling this more to himself than to you.

“I’m sorry”, you repeated, as you tried to fight the lightheadedness that wanted to take over your body.

“I can't lose you too, please stay with me”, Lockwood begged, and, in the distance, you heard the sirens. Help was really on its way; you just had to hold on a little longer, endure the pain for just a little longer. But you could feel your time running out. Before the darkness could take you, you forced yourself to one last smile.

“If we had more time, I would certainly have loved you”, you whispered, before you welcomed the darkness with open arms.            

To be continued       

[doudouneverte]

Back to Home | Chapter five : Discovery

Pairing this chap: Wanda Maximoff x teen!reader; Avenger(variants)

Summary: Dr.Strange has a plan and Dr.Cho make big discoveries

Tag list: @darkstar225 @g-athenaathens @filmedbyharkness @nylevea @eletricheart @reginassweetheart @jono723 @lizlil

Chapter Four | Serie Masterlist | Chapter Six

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

[Earth 717]

Silence was drowning out the entire complex. Wanda and Natasha didn't leave your bedroom; they spent almost all their time crying. Your aunts were not better. Kate tried to keep the team together while Yelena was pacing on the rooftop.

All the avengers were deadly silent. The only noises that could be heard came from Morgan's lab, where she was trying everything and checking the same data for god knows how long. After your moms and America came back, it was like time had stopped.

Tony was about to see his daughter when a portal in a wall caught his attention. Doctor Strange was finally back, and with him a little hope. It didn't take more than five to gather everyone in the meeting room, where Peter and America explained everything to the sorcerer.

Strange always told you to be careful around people who manipulate the time, and of course, usually, he would be a little angry that you took a big risk like that, but not today.

"How can I help you?" He asked.

"Actually, we don't know. We tried everything, but nothing seemed to work." America said.

The magician was intensely thinking before something came to his mind. "I think I have an idea. I can't promise that it will work, and if so, I don't know if it will help, but at least we will know if something bad happens to little Maximoff." Now every gaze was on him, wating for his idea. "But first we need to go somewhere else." He finished his sentence before opening a portal to Kamar-Taj.

The heroes were following him, a little unsure of what was on his mind. Once they reached a spacious place, he sat down.

"I'll need America, Wanda, and maybe Peter and little Stark." He said while he crossed his legs and waited for them to sit with him. Once everyone was ready, he started to explain his plan. "So, we know how much Y/n is usually connected with Wanda, and we also know that she's not in this universe anymore, which is why I need you," he said, referring to America.

"And why us?" Peter asked.

"You were among the last ones who were the Y/n when she disappeared, so you still have a fresh memory of her. I'll use my power to mentally teleport us back to the accident, and then with Wanda and Y/n's connection and America, we should be able to track her more efficaciously in the multiverse."

Everyone held their breath while a mix of orange and green auras started to cover the group. The memory of the incident started to play in front of everyone. They all looked at that until the moment. You were approaching Khrono after he pinned America against a wall. You lifted your knife, and when you were about to throw it, everything froze.

"Strange, something is wrong with America." Natasha said.

The brunette had her eyes totally shining, but not like when she used her power; it was different. It felt like she didn't control what she was doing. Wanda tried to reach her, but she could not do anything. The younger woman collapsed on the ground.

-------

[Earth 616]

Fury was leaving your room before seeing Maria Hill and Dr. Cho.

"Sir, you made two big discoveries; you need to see that." The doctor said and gave him an iPad while they made their way to his office.

"What is this?" The man asked.

"Scarlet's genetic code." Maria said while they entered the room. "Don't you see something strange?" she asked before showing the same thing on a big screen.

In front of the man's blank face, Cho started to talk. "I analyzed her DNA like you asked. I found two interesting things in her DNA. First the most obvious one," she typed on some bouton on the tablet, and two other genetics were now surrounding yours, "her DNA is the exact same as Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff. It's like…"

"It's like she's their biological mother." Fury said, and Maria nodded.

"But's that not the only weird thing; look at this," the doctor said before showing the genetic code of every Avenger. "Don't you see something different?" she asked him, and when he shook his head, she started again. "I don't know how to say that, it should be impossible, but there is no trace of any male DNA in hers."

"What do you mean?" the man asked, visibly curious and surprised.

"Usally, when two people decide to have a kid, there should be some trace of both genders DNA in their kid's DNA, whatever the gender." Maria said this time. "Even when a couple decides to go through IVF. But she doesn't. At first, we thought that her dad was someone who wasn't registered in the SHIELD or SWORD data base, but even if we compare with the international data bank, we have no match."

"It doesn't look special like that, but it's impossible even for us or any organization to do something like that. So we exclude Hydra and the Red Room from the list of potential places that she's from." Cho said.

"For a moment, we thought that she might be from another planet, but according to the data that Carol Danvers sent us, there is only one type of alien who can reproduce like that, but their DNA is closer to snail than human." Maria explained.

Fury was staring at the screen, totally unsure of what to say.

"Oh, and before we leave, I need to show you that." The doctor changed the screen. "This is a scan of Scarlet's power; at first, it's okay, but if we look closely, we can see some inconsistent gaps in her energy."

"Which means?" Maria asked this time.

"Two option. Option one, and maybe the most accurate, is that she's losing control over her power, which can explain why she almost kills Sam and the others while she seems totally non-aggressive toward them. And two, even if it's maybe the most crazy one, is that she may be slowly losing her power. The spider boy told me that he saw her falling from the sky just after a red aura around her disappeared." The doctor explained.

"Well, that's more than I imagined. Don't let anyone know about that. Not yet." Fury said, and the two women nodded before leaving the room.

~~~~

Peter was on his phone while a portal opened in his apartment. "Hey, America. What are you doing here?" He asked the young brunette.

"Peter, I think I just found something weird." She replied. "I was curious, so I traveled through the multiverse to find this girl; you know, to try to learn more about her. But there is my probleme I--" She couldn't finish before feeling a big headache.

"America!" Peter caught her before her body hit the floor. "Hey, America, wake up! What should I do? I can't go to see the avenger; I can't—Strange, I need to call Doctor Strange." He picked up America's body and gently laid her on his couch before grabbing his phone.

~~~~

You were staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what happened, before you heard the door open again. This time, you sat up immediately and stared at the woman in front of you.

"I bet you didn't see that coming, right?" Wanda said before taking a chair and sitting in front of your bed. She stayed like that, saying nothing, just analizing you. "They didn't lie when they said you looked like me and Natasha."

"What are you doing here?" You asked.

"I can ask you the same question." She shrugged. When you didn't talk, she said. "Actually, I saw your fight; you're pretty good, even if you still have some things to learn."

"What do you want?"

"Me, nothing. But you, what do you want, Scarlet?" She smirked. "That's a pretty good name, no? I love scarlet; it's the same color as our power. And even more crazy, it's sound like Scarlet Witch." Her expression suddenly became more dark, and she stared at you. "Now come on, tell me, who are you, Scarlet?"

[in1-nutshell]

Well first off we now need IDW Steve because you have to pry Ophelia and Steve out of my cold dead hands.

I haven't read anything about IDW Steve (if there is any) so this Steve is my interpretation of the bot.

Will also be referring to this Ophelia and Steve for MTMTE.

Hope you enjoy!

MTMTE Steve meets MTMTE Ophelia

SFW, Platonic, Hinted Romance, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

Like many other Cybertronians, Steve just wanted a fresh start in life.

With the ending of the war, the former con didn’t really know what to do and there was no way he was going to stay on Cybertron as it was.

Either being on the same planet as Prowl or going on a definitely ‘real’ quest to find some mystic knights.

The knights sounded much more pleasant than Prowl.

Steve knew for a fact there were still great prejudices between bots and cons.

He wasn’t blind to the glares and snide remarks behind his back.

Thankfully, Drift helped make settling onto the ship much easier.

Drift and Steve walking down the hall. Steve: “Thanks again for helping me Drift. I can never get directions the first time.” Drift: “No problem. I’m heading to Swerve’s with some of the others, care to join?” Steve: “Maybe next time—” Steve suddenly spots a large bot talking to Rodimus. A very familiar looking bot. The bot momentarily looks up at the pair, smiles, then waves. Steve absent mindedly waves back. The larger bot walks with Rodimus to Swerve’s. Steve: “You know what, Rung did say something about meeting new bots. Count me in Drift!”

Steve didn’t really know why this larger bot seemed to be occupying so much of his thoughts.

It was… strange.

Maybe it was because he met only a few bots that large.

It took a while for him to actually begin to talk to her.

To his surprise, she was a friendly bot.

Soon enough the pair began hanging out around random places in the ship.

From meeting rooms, to Swerve’s, to in between work.

It was nice.

What was not nice was how Steve found out she was a minibot.

Steve opens the medbay carrying a box of medical datapads. Steve: “Ambulon? I brought the extra data pads you asked for.” He stares at Ratchet and First Aid, both with their servos inside a grey frame of ‘Ophelia’. Steve dropped the box and screamed. Ambulon quickly came to the screaming bot. Steve: “AAAAAHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” Ambulon: “Steve! Steve, calm down!” Steve: “CALM DOWN!? CALM DOWN!? WHAT HAPPENED TO HER!? WHAT—” Ophelia walks into the medbay with a couple of energon cubes. Ophelia: “Ratchet they didn’t have your usual. I asked Drift if you liked any other drink, so I…” Ophelia looks at the scene in front of her. Steve was staring at her, wide optic; Ambulon had both his servos holding said bot still; Ratchet had a welder in one servo while First Aid still had his servos in her mech suit. Ophelia: “… Am I missing something?” THUD! Ophelia: “OH SWEET PRIMUS! STEVE!” Ophelia hurries over to the unconscious mech’s side. Ophelia: “What in the Allspark happened?!”

Yeah, it took a bit to explain her mech suit and why she put it on.

At least, what she told most bots.

It was hard being at war and being so small on a team known for taking heavy hits.

The suit helped not only her, but her team.

Steve had to take a few minutes to properly understand that this minibot that barely made it past his knee joint was the same bot who arm wrestled Whirl for a free drink (that she gave to him after she won).

Just wait until he finds out about Minimus Ambus…

Steve often finds himself questioning how the Autobots won the war, seeing how dysfunctional they are.

But then again, the Decepticon’s weren’t better off either.

It takes a bit for Steve to get used to seeing Ophelia outside the suit, that meaning stop looking up but down, but he didn’t mind it too much.

Ophelia was still the nice, friendly, kind, and pretty—

Did he say pretty?

Pretty small!

Yes, she was pretty small…

Ophelia and Steve are walking down the halls when the halls start getting crowded with larger bots. Steve looks down to see Ophelia slowing down a bit from having to weave through the number of bots pedes. Steve: “I can carry you.” Ophelia: “What?” Steve: “I mean, so we don’t have to slow do—OW!” A bot had accidentally pushed Steve back. Steve waited to feel the harsh ground connect to his helm. It never came. Instead, he felt a pair of smaller servos on his back. Ophelia was holding him and walking like he weighed nothing! Ophelia starts walking with the crowd. Ophelia: “Maybe we should get back to the classroom and wait until everyone leaves. That way we don’t have bots trying to step on us or push us out of the way because who-knows-what.” Ophelia notices his stare. Ophelia: “1 percenter. You don’t weigh a thing.” Steve still in awestruck: “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Ophelia laughs at the comment. Ophelia: “Trust me Steve, you haven’t even scratched the surface yet.”

And he believes it.

Steve just knows that there’s something Ophelia isn’t sharing with him.

Something big.

But he’ll wait for the time to come, he isn’t in a hurry after all.

It was a couple of days after the percenter reveal that Steve sat up at three in the morning realizing he did, in fact, had a crush on Ophelia.

He doesn’t know how to properly go through this.

So many ‘what if’ scenarios go through his processor.

What if he confessed?

What if she said no?

What if she said yes?

What if she wanted an Amica instead?

In all his years in the war and now post war, Ophelia, the minibot powerhouse, was the reason his spark started up like a speedster on circuit boosters.

The reason he started getting out of his room earlier.

The reason he ‘borrowed’ Rodimus’s buffer from time to time (He put it back when the captain was training with Drift).

Steve, all buffed and shiny, enters Swerve’s. He spots Ophelia, out of the suit, happily chatting with Chromedome. Steve waving: “Hey—” Whirl suddenly gets in front of him. Whirl: “And where do you think you’re going?” Steve: “I’m just going to Ophelia—” Whirl: “And what?” Steve getting a bit confused and annoyed: “I just want to talk—” WHAM! Steve gets hit in the face and stumbles onto a table, that flipped on top of him. Whirl: “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” Ophelia turns to the sudden sound of glass shattering and screeching metal. Ophelia: “Steve!” A while later… Steve winces a bit as Ratchet fixes his injuries. Ophelia is sitting in a seat next to his medslab with a worried look on her face. Ophelia: “So he just punched you?” Steve: “Essentially… but that’s Whirl.” Whirl on a nearby medslab: “And I’d do it again!” Ratchet: “Both of you hush!” Steve winces again. Ophelia immediately grabs his servo in support. Ophelia: “You’ll be okay Steve. Ratchet’s the best in the business. Just take a nap, I’ll be here when you wake up.” Steve doesn’t hear that last comment, just focuses on his servo slightly dwarfing her servo. He catches from the corner of his optic Whirl glaring at him before... winking? …Maybe Steve could use that nap…

[wethotcrazy]

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE (ii)

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 5650

hii so this is part 2, and as a little heads up this might turn into a slow-burn friends to lovers. please bear with me as the story progresses.

part i part iii part iv

The weeks that followed her crash with Alonso were grueling, but Yn fought through each race, clawing her way back into the points. She returned to form with a quiet, relentless focus, each finish in the top ten a reminder to the critics that she was here to stay. Slowly, the headlines turned from doubt to recognition, her name no longer just a novelty but a force.

And, little by little, Yn’s walls began to come down. It was subtle at first—she’d laugh a little longer when Yuki cracked a joke during briefings, her eyes softening, her defenses slipping just enough for him to see the glint of the Yn he’d known before. There were still days she would pull away, retreat into that place where she kept her hunger and drive guarded, but Yuki noticed that she wasn’t so quick to shut him out anymore.

One night, after a successful P6 finish, Yuki found her in the paddock, lingering with a rare look of satisfaction on her face. He came up beside her, hands in his pockets, offering his usual lopsided grin.

“Sixth place,” he said, nudging her gently. “Not bad for a rookie. People are starting to take you seriously now.”

She let out a short laugh, but it was softer than he’d expected. “Guess they don’t have a choice. I’m not giving them one.”

Yuki nodded, noticing the way her eyes flicked to the ground. There was pride there, but also something else—a quiet acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, she was finally allowing herself to believe in her own success. “You don’t have to prove it to anyone but yourself, you know.”

Yn looked up at him, a glimmer of vulnerability breaking through. “It’s hard not to feel like I have to prove it every day, to everyone.”

“Then let me prove something to you,” he replied, his tone lighter. “Come out for dinner tonight. No data, no analysis, just good food and people who actually like you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “People who actually like me? That’s a stretch.”

“Trust me,” he said, grinning, “there are a few of us.”

That night, she found herself at a small, hidden-away restaurant with Yuki, Pierre Gasly, and Lando Norris, who had tagged along after overhearing Yuki’s invitation in the drivers’ lounge. It was strange at first—Yn felt exposed, like she was stepping into unfamiliar territory, still unsure if this was a step too close, a distraction she couldn’t afford. But as the evening went on, she realized that these were the same people she raced against each weekend, the same people who understood exactly what it meant to stand on that grid and bear the weight of expectations.

Pierre, all charm and laughter, quickly got her talking about her first season in Formula 2, and Lando joined in, teasing her about a race they’d both barely finished after a wild lap one collision. She was surprised to find herself laughing, and even more surprised by the ease with which it happened, the tension ebbing away as the stories flowed. It was different from the camaraderie in the junior leagues, but there was a sense of mutual respect here that she hadn’t allowed herself to see before.

Later in the evening, Yuki caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile. She felt herself relax, realizing that he hadn’t stopped trying to lift her spirits, even when she’d resisted. He’d waited patiently for her to meet him halfway, to let herself enjoy this.

The next race weekend, Yn felt that shift even more. In the drivers’ briefing, Pierre gave her a quick nod, a little smirk that said he hadn’t forgotten the night before, and Lando winked as they settled into their seats, making a quiet comment about "taking it easy on him" this time. Even Fernando Alonso, her nemesis in the notorious clash, gave her a measured glance, his respect clear without needing words. It was unspoken, but the ice had begun to melt.

During the race, Yn battled hard, scraping her way up from a P12 start to a P7 finish, her performance sharp and precise. In the closing laps, Yuki was on her radio, urging her on, and she could hear the pride in his voice when she crossed the line.

Afterward, in the cooldown room, Yuki sidled up to her, an easy grin on his face. “That’s two in a row. Might have to start watching my back soon, huh?”

She chuckled, nudging him. “You’d better. Wouldn’t want you to get too comfortable up there.”

For the first time, the ribbing felt real, like something she could lean into without the fear of letting her guard slip too far. In the post-race interview, she answered questions with a bit more ease, even allowing a genuine smile to show as she spoke about the team’s hard work and how grateful she was to be competing at this level. The harsh scrutiny was still there, of course, but she felt it less sharply, like its blade had dulled, if only slightly.

As they headed back to the garage, Yn lingered for a moment, watching the cars being prepped for the next race, the hum of mechanics and engineers filling the space. Yuki came up beside her, the two standing in companionable silence.

“You know,” he said eventually, keeping his voice low, “you’ve changed since the start of the season.”

She looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And how’s that?”

“You don’t look like you’re trying to outrun everyone else’s expectations anymore,” he said, his gaze warm. “Now it looks like you’re actually racing.”

She felt a small smile tugging at her lips. “Guess I finally realized that I don’t have to do it alone. It doesn’t make me weaker to let people in… as long as they know I’m still here to win.”

He laughed, nudging her shoulder. “I’d expect nothing less. And trust me, nobody’s forgetting that anytime soon.”

For the first time in months, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself to breathe. The hunger was still there, burning stronger than ever, but she was learning to balance it, learning that strength wasn’t something she had to carry alone. For the first time, she felt like she was standing alongside her competitors, not against them—and that they weren’t just rivals, but people who understood the fierce love she had for this sport, and the drive that made her who she was.

But the last few races had been a test of her patience and restraint, but Yn felt the spark beginning to wane as her car lagged just behind where she needed it to be. Every race was the same: a battle fought hard, inching closer, yet never quite close enough. She was slipping down the grid, the points slipping further out of reach. It didn’t matter how much she pushed; her car wasn’t holding up to her demands, but she refused to accept that. She refused to be anything less than perfect.

Determined to prove herself, she started taking risks she wouldn’t have before, squeezing her car into spaces with centimeters to spare, braking later, accelerating earlier, trying to shave any possible millisecond off her time. She was more aggressive, forcing her way through corners, even if it meant clipping a wing or bumping wheels. Yuki noticed it, too—how her eyes blazed with that fierce hunger, how she didn’t back down even when it might cost her. He tried talking to her, reminding her to pace herself, but she just brushed him off, insisting she had to push harder. There was no other option in her mind.

But her relentless drive hit a wall in the form of a brutal, unforgiving engine failure. It was a promising race, and she was within reach of a potential top-five finish when the engine sputtered and cut out entirely, leaving her coasting uselessly on the track. It took her a second to register it before the frustration exploded within her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Ah… this fucking car, it’s a fucking joke right?! shit.” Her voice echoed over the radio, laced with a fury she couldn’t contain. 

Her engineer’s voice crackled through the earpiece, calm and steady as they tried to soothe her. “Yn, please calm down. Bring it back in. We’ll review the data and see what happened.”

She punched the steering wheel in a rare display of emotion, swearing under her breath as she coasted to the side, finally yanking off her helmet in frustration. She could feel the eyes of her team, her fans, the cameras—all of them watching her as she paced by her car, gesturing angrily before finally slamming her helmet down, the taste of defeat bitter on her tongue. All she’d wanted was one shot, and it had been stolen from her, just like that.

The post-race press had a field day with her outburst. Headlines plastered with her image showed her storming away from the car, her helmet clutched tightly in her hands, her face twisted with frustration. Critics didn’t hold back, with articles condemning her demeanor, calling her “hot-headed,” “reckless,” and “immature.” Pundits questioned her character, her “temper,” insinuating that she was cracking under the pressure. The criticisms were brutal and skewed, with some even suggesting that perhaps she didn’t belong in Formula 1 if she couldn’t handle the competition.

“Her behavior’s unbecoming of an F1 driver,” one commentator noted with a sharpness that made her blood boil. “We’ve seen rookies come through and handle their failures with dignity. She should take a page from some of her peers, learn how to be gracious in defeat.”

The comparisons stung the most. They lauded other drivers for their “calm under pressure,” for their “measured responses,” twisting every emotion she showed as a sign of instability or proof that she wasn’t up to the challenge. It wasn’t just a critique of her as a driver; it was a full-blown assault on her as a woman in a sport still dominated by men. Every failure, every mistake, was amplified, dissected, and weaponized.

Yuki saw the articles too, his jaw clenching as he read through the unfair critiques. He knew how hard Yn worked, knew that her frustration was born from the same unrelenting drive he had seen in himself and so many others on the grid. It was just that when she showed it, it became a spectacle, a flaw they couldn’t wait to tear apart.

That evening, he found her sitting in the garage long after the others had left, staring at the empty spot where her car usually sat. She looked exhausted, the fire in her eyes dimmed to a dull, flickering ember.

“Yn.” He approached carefully, taking a seat next to her on the floor. “I saw what they’re saying.”

She scoffed, her voice laced with bitterness. “Let me guess. That I’m too emotional? That I’m a poor sport for being upset when things don’t go my way?”

Yuki didn’t sugarcoat it. “Yeah. They’re being idiots. It’s unfair, and it’s… it’s total bullshit.”

She looked down, fiddling with a loose thread on her racing suit. “You know, if any other driver on the grid got this frustrated, they’d call it passion. But for me, it’s a ‘temper problem.’ I just want to race, Yuki, but it feels like every mistake I make has a thousand people ready to pounce on it. And no matter how hard I work, no matter how much I push, it’s never enough.”

Yn was right. Every other diver on the grid got to be as frustrated or as angry as they wanted over how the race turned out, yet they had never had their character and demeanor be questioned and critiqued like hers. 

Yuki could only nod, understanding how different their situations were. 

They sat there for a while longer, just the two of them in the quiet of the garage, the weight of the situation filled the air thick. Yuki could feel Yn slipping back into herself.

It started with a few stray comments in the press, subtle and insidious. Reporters speculating on whether Yn’s recent guarded demeanor meant she was “cracking” under the pressure, her confidence misread as arrogance, her ambition painted as recklessness. The critiques hit harder as the season continued, comparing her to male drivers who had the luxury of aggressive reputations that only added to their mystique.

“Volatile.” That was the word most often splashed across headlines, capturing every moment she showed emotion, every interview where her frustration broke through the calm she worked so hard to maintain. And the comparison game began—who was she trying to emulate? Was she trying to live up to the male-dominated standards in the sport, or worse, was she letting her temper get in the way of real talent?

What stung most was the constant measuring of her against Yuki. Headlines dissected everything from her lap times to her post-race interviews, comparing her every move against her teammate, as if her accomplishments and setbacks couldn’t stand on their own. “Tsunoda Outshines Teammate’s Volatility,” they read. “Tsunoda the Team Anchor; Yn’s Performance Under Scrutiny.” She was no longer Yn, the rookie with promise and fire, but Yn, the volatile woman—impulsive, reckless, something to be managed, contained, tamed.

It was impossible not to feel every accusation like a weight pressing down, each word digging into her sense of self, twisting her love for the sport into something painful. She began to retreat, putting her walls back up, afraid to let herself be seen beyond the helmet and the points she could score.

The next race weekend, Yn fought her way through the practice sessions, chasing the consistency that critics claimed she lacked. When the car didn’t perform to expectations in qualifying, she threw herself into hours of analysis, barely speaking a word to anyone, keeping herself wrapped in that cold determination that left little room for warmth or laughter.

Yuki tried to get her to relax, but she could sense his hesitation, his silent worry each time he glanced her way, like he was walking on eggshells. His usual, easy jokes only drew a tight-lipped smile from her before she returned to her data, her focus unbreakable but brittle. He was trying to help, but every word, every supportive gesture felt like sympathy, a reminder of how far she’d fallen in everyone’s eyes.

By race day, Yn was in her own world, the world she knew best—her focus sharpened to a blade’s edge, her mind locked on the points, the precision, the hunger for a win that drowned out the noise. The lights went out, and she poured herself into every turn, fighting through the grid with a calculated aggression that sent her up the field, position by position, unwilling to let anything hold her back.

The radio crackled in her ear as she took P10, her engineer’s voice breaking through her concentration. “Nice work, Yn. Let’s keep pushing—we’re on for points.”

But she wanted more. She needed more. She pushed herself harder, forcing past competitors with a focus that bordered on ruthless, aiming for P8, then P7, clawing for every inch of track. Every sharp turn, every daring overtake was her way of silencing the voices that questioned her place on the grid.

She was climbing, closing in on P6 when she went into a corner too hot, her tires locking up briefly. She managed to hold her line, but the slight miscalculation dropped her back, just enough for the car behind to take advantage. The frustration flared, her hands tightening on the wheel as she tried to make up the time.

Yuki’s voice came through her radio, calm but steady. “Yn, don’t overdo it. You’re doing great—just keep it smooth and stay in the points.”

But to her, staying in the points wasn’t enough. She needed to break through, to prove every critic wrong with something impossible to ignore. She pushed even harder, desperate to climb those final few places.

When the race ended, she’d managed to hold onto P9. It was a respectable finish, another points finish to her name. But the adrenaline, the aching hunger for more, gnawed at her, leaving her feeling like she’d failed somehow. In the media pen afterward, reporters crowded in, questions buzzing around her, ready to dissect her every move.

“Yn, do you feel that your performance today was enough to prove your critics wrong?”

“Some say you’re too aggressive on the track—do you think that’s true?”

“What’s it like competing against Tsunoda, a more experienced driver, while you’re still finding your footing?”

The questions stung, thinly veiled accusations that she was still falling short, still not living up to the unspoken standards set for her. She kept her responses curt and focused, deflecting where she could, but the tightness in her chest lingered. Even with points, the narrative felt the same, as if she’d always be fighting an uphill battle to simply be seen for who she was.

Later, in the quiet of the paddock, Yuki found her sitting alone, still in her race suit, staring down at her hands. He sat beside her without a word, just letting the silence settle around them before he spoke.

“You know, you were amazing out there today,” he said softly, a warmth in his voice that she hadn’t let herself hear in days. “P9 is no joke, especially after the weekend you had.”

She kept her gaze on her hands, her fingers curling around the fabric of her gloves. “But it’s not enough, Yuki.” Her voice was tight, strained. “It’s like… no matter what I do, it’s never good enough for them. I feel like I’m being torn apart, analyzed for every mistake, every moment I let myself feel anything.”

Yuki’s hand found hers, a small, grounding gesture. “The public can be ruthless,” he admitted. “But they’re not the one in the car, you are.” a reminder from Yuki of how far Yn has gone from karting and now in F1.

Yn let his words sink in, feeling the weight of them like an anchor in the storm of criticism swirling around her. She looked at him, his expression so unguarded, so full of that familiar, unwavering loyalty he’d carried for her since their days in the Red Bull junior team.

“I’m just… tired, Yuki. I’m tired of being everyone’s spectacle.”

He nodded, squeezing her hand gently. 

A silence stretched between them, but it was different this time—softer, less heavy. She felt the weight in her chest loosen just slightly, a reminder that maybe she didn’t have to carry it all alone, even if the world wanted her to.

She let herself lean into Yuki’s support, into the reminder that her worth went deeper than the headlines, the criticism, the comparisons. She was here for something bigger, something she was still discovering, but something worth fighting for, not in spite of the world, but because of everything she knew she could be.

[janeofcakes]

One Night in Palermo: Chapter 6

Hello, Friends! First, I want to apologize for the extra long wait. I have so many balls in the air right now and more are being added. It's a long chapter, at least. I'll try as hard as I can to post the next one according to schedule, but packing has begun with painting and moving next week. Thanks for your patience and support. 💜

----------

Anthea? Anthea.

Sherlock rolled the name around in his mind, but the confusion did not abate. He was protecting John, saving him, and she put him right back in danger. He wouldn’t put it past Mycroft to carelessly toss John in harm’s way, but not Anthea. Sherlock knew her better than that after the last eighteen months. His brow furrowed before he even finished saying the denial in his head. Anthea was a complicated and very thoughtful woman, and she could be ruthless. Ruthlessly honest was actually how Sherlock thought about it. She was brutally honest with everyone, including herself. If she was really responsible for this, it was for very good reason, and one she believed he would agree with. Sherlock racked his brain for such a motive and could think of nothing. Irked though he was, Sherlock was flummoxed. He needed more data.

“It was all to protect you,” Sherlock said aloud, though more to himself than to John. “Why would she put you in danger? It defeats the whole purpose.”

“Sherlock?” John’s voice was quiet and grave. It caught his attention immediately and he fixed his ever-changing eyes on John with intense focus. “How much do you know about that first year you were gone?”

Sherlock drew up to his full sitting height and considered the specifics of the information he had been given. Mycroft had always said John was “coping”, his word for expressing nearly any sentiment. Sherlock had disregarded it out of course. Anthea had informed on John from almost the beginning. As soon as Sherlock asked after his friend, she made a point of telling him about John each time they spoke. However, she did so in very general terms, which had never struck Sherlock as odd. He knew John had struggled, very much so. He knew he had grossly underestimated the effect his death would have on John, but had never pressed Anthea for details. Perhaps he was afraid of what she would say. He felt like a coward now.

“I knew you were deeply hurt,” Sherlock began uncomfortably, resting his hands on the table and averting his eyes. His shame was evident no matter how hard he tried to hide it and he didn’t want to see what John thought of him. His cheeks burned with the beginnings of anger though, anger at himself. He knew he had to face the judgment. He deserved it. Sherlock had hidden for almost two years and he would do it no more, especially from John. He owed John that much for his cowardice.

Sherlock raised his gaze to meet his friend’s eyes and found an overwhelming tenderness that stole the breath from his lungs. John leaned forward a touch.

“Mycroft told you this?” he asked.

“Anthea,” Sherlock corrected.

John said nothing, but a small smile colored his features and he huffed a nearly imperceptible laugh. His blue eyes shifted to the side as he considered this information. Watching silently, Sherlock felt like he should elaborate, but didn’t know what to say. He had no concrete examples, no test results, no real evidence to speak of, and he hadn’t even asked Anthea for any. He had ignored his own nature and manner of conduct because he wanted to hide the truth from his own mind. Sherlock closed his eyes slowly at the weight of it, regret running hot through his veins.

“She didn’t lie,” John’s voice echoed hollowly in the darkness. “It tore me apart and I didn’t know how to put myself back together. I couldn’t.”

Sherlock heard his words, but wasn’t really listening. The growing anger in his heart had suddenly tipped its blade from himself to point directly at Anthea. She cast aside his efforts so easily, never giving him any reason to doubt her. Meanwhile, she pretended to look for the mystery assassin’s identity when she knew all along. Sherlock’s mind, furious and swift, forced memories of their conversations to the forefront. Her accounts of John went from moderately descriptive and saddening to extremely vague and somewhat positive. By the time John was acting as the assassin, she must’ve thanked her lucky stars that Sherlock didn’t ask for more details.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, sharp and piercing. His chin raised defiantly and he glared across the table at John.

“I gave up everything, risked everything, and she knew it was you,” Sherlock snarled, clenching his fists on the table. “She threw you in the fire and played like you were doing better, that you were safe.”

“I was better,” John replied emphatically.

Sherlock stared at him, fury unrelenting, and breathed heavily. John slid to the edge of his seat and leaned over the table until the tips of his fingers were mere millimeters from Sherlock’s fists.

“Tearing apart Moriarty made me feel alive again,” John continued in a measured tone. “It gave me purpose and direction. Everything was so meaningless until then and I felt…good. Ah god, which is not something I want to examine too closely either.”

“You’re not a murderer, John,” Sherlock assured him solemnly.

“Neither are you,” John said with certainty.

They were quiet for a long time, each man lost in his own thoughts. Before Sherlock knew what happened, John’s words had faded away and the fury was back. It darkened his eyes and clouded his mind, bubbling through his body and blood. He had just opened his mouth to curse Anthea’s name when three points of warmth touched the knuckles of his right hand. So angry and used to being alone, he had forgotten someone was in the room with him and froze at the sudden shock of the touch. Eyes wide, Sherlock shifted his gaze down slowly to see the tips of John’s fingers pressed lightly against his own. He swallowed thickly and blinked back up to look at John.

“She did the only thing she could do, Sherlock,” John told him gently. “You’d have had nothing but a grave to come back to if she hadn’t stepped in.”

Sherlock stared into John’s face as the words sank in and the anger faded away. Simultaneously, every conversation with Anthea came back to him as he threw open the door in his mind palace and drank in all the details he had purposefully ignored. The set of her mouth, tone of voice, the look in her eyes and what she hid behind them; every last one spoke to John’s state of mind and her concern for him. Sherlock had been afraid. He hadn’t wanted to see what was right before his eyes.

His hand turned of its own accord and folded over John’s. It felt warm and welcome under Sherlock’s palm. He never wanted to let go and shuddered at the thought that he may have never felt it had Anthea not taken action. Idiot. He was such an idiot.

“John, I’m sorry,” Sherlock croaked, his voice broken. “If I hadn’t left…If I… She saved you.”

“You both saved me,” John corrected emphatically, turning his hand in Sherlock’s and grasping tightly. He squeezed back just as firmly, but still chastised himself.

“I created the problem,” Sherlock shook his head, eyes glistening.

“You had little choice,” John insisted. “He forced your hand. He is the asshole and you are not to blame.”

His final words were slow and decisive, brooking no argument. Sherlock knew John spoke the truth and vowed to work toward believing it for himself one day. He also noticed John had not said things between them were fine. While that hung heavily on his heart and mind, Sherlock understood. They would revisit the subject in the future, no doubt, but John seemed content to leave it for the time being and Sherlock did not want to press too hard.

John gave Sherlock’s hand one final squeeze before pulling away. He reluctantly let it slip from his fingers and watched John scoot back in his chair.

“We ought to finish before it gets cold,” John said lightly, clearing his throat and nodding down at their plates.

“Right,” Sherlock answered quietly. “Of course.”

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable silence, each man contemplating his own thoughts. Sherlock tried to think about something productive, like how the two of them would get to the next safehouse, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his own long-buried feelings for the man before him. He had never acted upon them, or even let on that he had them. John had always insisted that he was not gay. Didn’t seem much point in trying, but now, with his supposed death behind him and his motivation laid bare, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to come clean.

Sherlock had not realized just how deep in thought he was until John pushed his chair back to rise. Wondering how much time had actually passed, Sherlock cast a look at his plate and found it empty. He cocked a brow. At least he had eaten while his mind was occupied.

“What I can’t figure is, why now?” John said conversationally.

“What?” Sherlock frowned, putting his own thoughts aside. He felt oddly wrong-footed and wondered briefly if he had ignored some previous part of the conversation.

“Why Anthea arranged for us to meet now,” John clarified. “She knew both our assignments. Hell, she probably orchestrated all of our near misses. You can’t tell me it wasn’t all planned down to the letter. The question is why. Why didn’t she just tell me you weren’t dead?”

“Would you have honestly been ready to hear that?” Sherlock asked, already knowing the answer.

“No,” John admitted.

“I wouldn’t have accepted your being in constant danger like this,” Sherlock stated plainly. 

“Oh, so you’re okay with it now, are you?” John inquired with a grin playing at his lips. “Because I was ready to refuse any drinks to keep from being drugged, never to wake until my arrival at 221B.”

“That does sound like me,” Sherlock couldn’t resist a grin of his own, though it didn’t last long before he sobered, “but knowing what you experienced, how you felt…”

“I needed to heal first,” John said quietly.

“We both did,” Sherlock added. They were silent for a moment before he continued: “Anthea is a very clever woman. I’m sure there is a method to all of this.”

“Can’t disagree with that,” John stood, picking up his plate. “Come on, let’s clean this up.”

Sherlock rose, picking up his dishes as well. They walked to the kitchen island together and wordlessly divided the labor. John transferred leftovers to storage containers and placed them in the refrigerator while Sherlock loaded the dishwasher. Sherlock considered his friend as they worked. There must surely be endless thoughts and emotions hidden under the surface. Much as Sherlock had always railed against sentiment, he was full to bursting with it. He tried to push it aside since Costa’s office, but could not seem to escape the need to express his feelings or the desire to know John’s. Mycroft’s insistence that Sherlock tamp down and ignore his emotions had come to naught, just as Sherlock knew it would. In spite of his best efforts, even since he was a boy, he was simply too human to succeed.

Sherlock stood near the dinner table and watched John walk towards the door to the bedroom. A thousand questions consumed him, the dam threatening to break. He knew John had questions too. He could see it in his posture, hear it in his voice; the barely contained desire to know everything. And yet, here they were, dancing around one another after a night spent jumping from roof to roof.

“John,” Sherlock began, stopping as the man turned to face him. He wore the lopsided half smile Sherlock had oft dreamt of, the one that stole his breath away.

“Yeah?” John replied, the smile fading a bit when Sherlock simply stared back contemplatively. John’s brow furrowed with concern after another moment. “What is it?”

“You have questions,” Sherlock answered without hesitation. If John was surprised, he didn’t show it. He watched Sherlock thoughtfully, as if sizing him up, and pulled his shoulders back minutely. Into battle then.

“True,” John nodded sharply. His voice was tight, but good-natured.

“And you’re angry,” Sherlock continued.

“Also true,” John agreed.

They stood facing one another, neither of them saying a word. Sherlock didn’t know where to begin. He had hoped John would ask him something, anything to get the ball rolling. It appeared he had no intention of making any part of this easy.

“John, I…” Sherlock started, but John swiftly thwarted him.

“We need to get some sleep,” he interrupted, his body tense. “I assume we have a big day ahead. You need to be somewhere else to contact Mycroft, yeah?’

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed weakly.

“Right then,” John gestured back to the door behind his back. “You want the shower first?”

“Go ahead,” Sherlock said and then walked toward the man. “I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

He entered the bedroom and approached a chest of drawers. Opening the third drawer, he pulled out a white tee and a pair of light blue pajama pants.

“The trousers will be too long, but they’ll do,” Sherlock remarked, handing the clothes to John. He gestured to the two smaller drawers that were side by side at the top of the chest. “Pants and socks are here.”

John moved forward and opened a drawer when Sherlock side-stepped out of the way. He shuffled around before selecting a pair of pants and sliding the drawer closed. Sherlock tried pointedly not to look at the garment.

“You should find all you need in the bathroom,” Sherlock told him. “Feel free to search any cupboards and drawers.”

“Thanks,” John said, heading for the ensuite. “I won’t be a minute.”

“Take as long as you need,” Sherlock answered with a wave of his hand. “No rush.”

“Ta,” John gave a half smile before closing the door and leaving Sherlock to stand alone in the bedroom.

Feeling a little awkward, Sherlock left the room and walked to the desk in the flat’s other room. His eyes roved over its spartan contents; a small lamp, desk calendar, and two ballpoint pens positioned neatly to the right of the closed laptop in the center. Fixing his gaze on the laptop, Sherlock bent forward and placed a palm on either side of its smooth surface. Leaning over the desk, his elbows straight and supporting his weight, he blew out a long sigh. He was still torn between berating Anthea and thanking her, though he knew the final decision would be the latter. He owed her so much. To have John back in his life, alive and well, meant everything. Her actions had saved John and brought Sherlock back from the brink. He hadn’t even realized how close he had been to losing himself until he saw John’s eyes glaring at him in Costa’s office. He truly did owe Anthea both their lives.

As his thoughts turned away from Anthea and moved toward John again, Sherlock became aware of a pressing problem he must soon deal with. There was only one bed in the flat. He turned his head slightly and slid his eyes to the rather comfortable-looking couch tucked in the corner with a flat screen. He knew how absurd the thought was, even as he considered sleeping on it alone instead of in the bed with John. It was ridiculous, which John would definitely point out. They had slept in the same bed many times before. Always for a case and usually in a king size bed, however. The queen size he recalled seeing in the next room would make it more difficult to keep from bumping into one another in the night. Not that incidental contact had ever been a problem in the past, but everything felt different. Perhaps because Sherlock rather unintentionally allowed his mind to admit that he loved John, he thought with a derisive snort. He had already known his own feelings long ago, but had stored it away in his mind palace where it wouldn’t cause trouble. It resurfaced now and again, but throwing himself into dismantling Moriarty’s network had occupied his mind for the most part. Sherlock had also never formally thought it out loud and, now that he had, it wouldn’t go away. This new state of mind, of being, was going to make a lot of things more difficult for him. He was just worrying his lower lip over his tendency to flail long limbs across the bed when a voice from behind startled him.

“Sherlock,” came a soothing voice that spun him on his heel. Wide, blue-green eyes fixed on a somewhat rumpled John Watson standing only a few feet away. He had not even heard the man enter the room and scolded himself for being so distracted. The corner of John’s mouth was curled up in amusement and his eyes twinkled as he studied Sherlock’s look of surprise.

“Bathroom’s yours,” John said, quiet laughter in his tone. “You, uh, okay then? You seem a little out of sorts.”

“M’fine,” Sherlock said quickly.

The other side of John’s mouth turned up and a knowing look spread across his face. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. Against his better judgment, he let his eyes run the length of John’s body. His blonde hair was combed, but still wet and ever so slightly tousled. Was that something he had started doing since Sherlock had left London? The t-shirt he wore was just a bit small, stretching across his broad shoulders and clinging in all the best places. Conversely, his pajama bottoms were loose and much too long, pooling around his ankles and leaving only his toes visible beneath. Sexy and adorable. As dichotomous as the man himself and Sherlock absolutely loved it. He loved John. Now that it was out of the closet he had shoved it in, the thought obviously planned on popping up at any moment it saw fit, no matter how inconvenient it was for Sherlock.

“Sherlock?” John tested curiously.

“Yes, good,” Sherlock blurted. “Thank you.”

He wove his way around his friend and walked swiftly to the bedroom. He kept glancing at the doorway as he gathered pajamas and pants, expecting John to walk in before he made it to the ensuite. Whether John was giving him some privacy or fetching himself a glass of water, Sherlock did not know. Thankfully, John did not enter until he was safely in the next room.

Sherlock cleaned his teeth first and then stripped down. Reaching past the curtain and flicking on the taps, he glanced in the mirror above the sink and what he saw gave him pause. He looked the same way he had that morning and yet, completely different at the same time. His eyes were brighter and his face less drawn. Everything about his countenance appeared fresher somehow, like someone had given his old black and white a dose of technicolor. John’s influence. It was obvious. His conductor of light. Sherlock had certainly missed him, but had not fully comprehended how much until that moment and he was struck by the enormity of the realization.

Shaking it off, Sherlock stepped into the shower and under its warm spray. The water sluicing down his body felt heavenly, already taking with it the sweat and stress of the day. Sighing deeply, he leaned forward and bent his head directly into its path. He rested both palms on the wall before him, somewhere between the nozzle and taps. With his elbows straight, his body slanted forward, he let the spray pelt his scalp and melt away his thoughts. Warm water ran down the sides of his face and neck. Droplets wound their way down his back and sides, his buttocks and thighs. Their meandering paths almost tickled as they trickled over knees and down his calves.

Sighing, Sherlock turned under the spray and nearly moaned aloud when the force of the water danced along his stiff neck and shoulders. The streams massaged away the tension like skilled fingertips applying delicious pressure to just the right spots. Sherlock tilted his head slightly and allowed his mind to think of John’s clever hands doing the massaging until his cock gave a twitch of interest.

His eyes flew open with a start and Sherlock straightened his spine. He wouldn’t deny that he had touched himself while thinking of John before. He didn’t even feel guilty about it, but he wasn’t about to masturbate to thoughts of John while the man was in the next room.

That firmly decided, Sherlock smoothed back his dark hair and grabbed the shampoo to his left. He lathered and rinsed his hair quickly before applying a thin layer of conditioner to the strands. He ran his fingers over and through it to rinse out the viscous liquid, leaving his wet curls silky and smooth. He picked up a flannel hanging from the rod on the opposite wall of the shower. Obviously built to house a towel while one showered, though he never understood that particular practice. The principle made sense, providing easy access to the towel, but it always got wet when he tried it. Perhaps he was simply too reckless with the water. Wouldn’t be the only situation in which he did not exercise enough caution.

Once the flannel was properly lathered with the sandalwood scented soap, Sherlock washed his body thoroughly and rinsed off the suds. He considered luxuriating under the spray, which was still surprisingly warm after two showers. John’s had been quite fast though, an after-effect of military life. Sherlock himself had no such tendencies. His marathon showers were one of the things John used to tease him about most, in fact, and the memory made Sherlock smile to himself. Despite the temptation to linger, Sherlock turned off the water and pushed the shower curtain aside. If he stayed in much longer with John on his mind, he would risk breaking his earlier resolution not to indulge.

Sherlock reached for a towel as he stepped from the shower and dried himself off quickly. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and blue, striped pajama bottoms in minutes. His did not bunch around his ankles with six inches of extra fabric the way John’s had. A smile unexpectedly spread across his face at the thought of John objecting indignantly to six inches in the legs alone. He laughed quietly to himself and placed his hand on the doorknob, but stopped before turning the cool metal. John was out there in nothing but pajamas, probably in the bed. Sherlock pressed his lips together into a thin line and stared at his hand on the spherical knob. His fingers were wet with condensation from the steam in the air. His eyes widened in anticipation of opening the door and seeing the scene beyond. Maybe he would be lucky and John would be asleep already. It was rather late and they both had a stressful day, especially at its close. Either way, Sherlock couldn’t delay any longer. A wakeful John would seek him out and that would be much worse.

Swallowing first, Sherlock turned the handle and pushed the door open. The room was dim. John had switched off the overhead lights in favor of the two small lamps on either side of the bed. Speaking of which, he was sat on the left side, his legs hidden under the covers. His back and pillow leaned against the headboard, and he looked up from the book in his lap as Sherlock entered.

“Hey,” John greeted softly. “I hope there was enough hot water for you. Forgot you take such long showers.”

“No problem there,” Sherlock shook his head once.

He intended upon moving his feet and approaching the bed, but his legs did not seem willing to lift them. John did not move either, nor did he shift his eyes from Sherlock’s. They simply stared while the air slowly electrified around them. God, Sherlock wanted to touch him. He wanted to press his lips against John’s and sweep his tongue inside when they opened on a moan of his name. John had said his name so many times and in so many ways. How would it sound in a gasp filled with want and need and pleasure?

Sherlock’s crystalline eyes widened and he nearly panicked when his nether regions began to express an interest in his line of thought. He lurched toward the bed suddenly at the first stir and jumped under the duvet, pulling it up to his waist quickly. John almost jumped out of the bed and let out a short laugh at the acrobatic performance. Sherlock stared straight ahead, ignoring him at first, but eventually turned his head to look at the man next to him.

“What?” Sherlock tried to sound irritable in hopes that John would let it go.

“Anxious to get in bed, are we?” John stifled a chuckle without hiding his smile.

Sherlock did not answer. He gave an impatient sigh and rolled his eyes, scooching himself down to lie on his back. He tucked the duvet up under his arms and then bent them to rest his hands on his own chest. He wove his fingers together and cast his eyes to the ceiling. John hadn’t moved and was still looking at him. After a moment, Sherlock turned his head to meet the man’s eyes with an air of annoyance.

“Won’t bother you if I read for a bit, will it?” John lifted the book minutely. He was only a few pages in and must have selected it from the shelves in the next room. “Helps me sleep if I can relax first.”

“Please do,” Sherlock told him. “I go to my mind palace in the same vein.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” John gave a nod and went back to his book.

Sherlock straightened his neck and looked up at the stark, white ceiling once again. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he released it. Entering his planning room, he began to revise the following day’s travel to Rome to adjust for John’s presence. Given the ferry and train system in Sicily and Italy, it wouldn’t be difficult. The two of them being seen together could be risky, however, and created the need for another disguise. Sherlock had only just begun to sort through this when John’s voice echoed through the palace. While he would normally berate his friend for this, John’s precise choice of words eradicated such a notion.

“Don’t ever leave me again.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, his head turning sharply to look at John. His friend still sat beside him, book in his lap, but his knuckles were white where he held it tightly and his blue eyes were closed. As if feeling Sherlock’s eyes, John opened his own and returned the gaze. His face was full of tension and pain, his jaw clenched and working. His eyes were hard as steel and yet, pleading.

“EVER,” John said loudly, angrily. “Especially like that. I can’t… do that again.”

His voice broke in the middle and Sherlock honestly couldn’t tell if it was from anger or desperation. John was torn between the two and his resolve to hide it was cracking. The tether he had so carefully kept on his emotions was fraying and ready to snap.

“Why did you do it?” John’s voice was suddenly deadly quiet and it felt strange in the room after the volume of his previous words. His eyes were closed again and he had turned away as though he would never truly want to look at Sherlock again. “Why did you make me watch?”

Sherlock didn’t know whether John had intended to say fall or not, but he hadn’t needed to. Sherlock heard it anyway and the word echoed through his mind. The pain in John’s voice was unbearable. It broke and shook as he spoke, and he still could not look at the man in the bed next to him. Sherlock felt completely gutted. All the air taken from his lungs and no words to speak. His heart ached for John, his chest clenching painfully around it. He opened his mouth, but his voice died on his lips. How does one explain to the love of his life that he knowingly hurt him deeply without realizing just how deeply the pain would run?

“I… had to,” Sherlock forced the words from his throat. “I’m sorry. I never intended to hurt you so deeply.”

“Had to?” John barked, ignoring the rest. “You had to make me watch you jump off a building?”

John bit out the words, his teeth clicking in fury. His hands closed the book in his lap and placed it on the bedside table, seemingly of their own volition. His eyes had snapped open with his words and he glared at Sherlock coldly.

“You couldn’t just let Greg or some other cop tell me. I had to see it,” John was louder now. The emphasis he put on ‘had to’ spoke of his hatred in the moment. “You fucking called me to say goodbye. Make it worse. Leave a note. God, do you know how long I heard your voice in my dreams? No, not even just then, when I was awake too. I heard it wherever I went. ‘This is what people do’, you said. You listened to me beg.”

“John!” Sherlock pleaded suddenly, grasping the man’s hands. He knew he deserved this. He should have every word hurled right at his head, never to be deleted, but he couldn’t bear even one more. “John, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t touch me!” John jerked his hand away, icy blue eyes boring into Sherlock’s. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re sorry. I want to know why. What twisted reasoning in your mind could possibly justify that?!”

Sherlock stared at him with wide, beseeching eyes. He had recoiled when John tore his hands away and kept his distance, but wanted desperately to take John in his arms and explain. It was all to save their lives; John, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock could not live knowing his actions had killed them.

“Don’t,” John ordered suddenly. 

Sherlock felt his body lurch back, away from the man, but he forced himself back. He could not hide behind cowardice and must face John’s ire head-on.

“I know about the threats,” John muttered angrily. “Anthea told me you had to jump to save the three of us. I get that, I do.”

“It had to be you,” Sherlock interrupted. He had to fix this. John needed to understand, he had to. “You wouldn’t have believed otherwise. If you hadn’t seen me fall, hadn’t checked for a pulse and found none… If you hadn’t heard me say the words, you never would’ve believed and you wouldn’t have let it go.”

John glared, never taking his off Sherlock, but he remained silent. Sherlock took it as permission to continue.

“You would have harassed Mycroft, searched for me as best you could, even told the press you didn’t believe I was dead,” Sherlock told him and John finally tore his eyes away. “Moriarty’s men would have killed you. All three of you. You know it’s true.”

John raised a far different gaze to meet Sherlock’s, one that was soft and wet. Sherlock’s heart squeezed in his chest. John understood. He knew Sherlock’s words were true and, much as he may hate what the man did, he understood his decision to do it. Unable to look at John another minute, Sherlock bowed his head and looked down at the duvet. A tear slipped from each eye as he closed them, running down his face to land dark on the light blue blanket.

“I knew it would hurt you,” Sherlock’s normally polished baritone was rough and broke over the last word. He lifted his head to look at John, “but I had no idea it would be so much.”

John’s eyes widened with incredulity and he let out a disbelieving huff that dislodged pooling tears. Wiping them away quickly, John inhaled sharply and held it a moment. He let the air out slowly, trying to calm himself. Sherlock pushed on, not wanting to lose his nerve.

“We were, are friends,” Sherlock continued.

“Best friends,” John corrected with a mutter.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed with solemn trepidation, “but I had no idea that meant you would… I’ve never had that, John. I thought you’d feel it with the same intensity as Greg or Molly or maybe even Hudders. I thought you’d be sad and then move on.”

John visibly bristled at this and lifted his chin defiantly.

“I am a genius, John, but when it comes to emotions, I am severely lacking,” Sherlock admitted mournfully, ashamed at his ignorance. “I severely underestimated our friendship and what it means to you. I was an idiot. I am an idiot.”

John huffed again as tears trickled down his cheeks. These, he did not stop and his mouth curved slowly into a small smile. He reached for Sherlock with his left hand and placed it on his friend’s larger one. His palm was warm and comforting on the back of Sherlock’s.

“You’re my idiot,” was all John said.

The flat was quiet. They watched one another, studying, taking note of every detail. John’s thumb absently stroked Sherlock’s hand with a feather touch. It felt peaceful and affectionate. Sherlock wasn’t even certain that John realized he was doing it. In spite of the calm in the air around them, it also felt heavy and Sherlock could feel the specter of words unsaid. He swallowed and steeled himself for what was to come. If they were going to do this, they had to do it all.

“You have more questions,” Sherlock said quietly, but without hesitation.

John gasped nearly inaudibly, his eyes widening. He watched Sherlock for what seemed like a long time before giving a single, shallow nod. Sherlock placed his free hand over John’s and waited. He knew what John wanted to ask. It was written all over his face, especially since the previous question was washed away and would give rise to more. How did Sherlock come to follow this plan? Why did he do it the way he did? He had one simple answer.

“It was the only way,” Sherlock said and if he thought he had to explain his words to John, he was sadly mistaken.

John’s eyes lit with anger and his features hardened right before Sherlock’s eyes. He did not move his hand from where it was sandwiched between his friend’s, but it stiffened and felt cold now instead of the warm weight it had been.

“Was it?” John queried sarcastically, his temper biting. “And whose brilliant idea was it, this amazing answer to all our problems? Whose choice was it to leave me in the dark again, hm?

“Surely, not Mycroft,” John answered his own questions without pausing. He pulled his hand away and rose from the bed abruptly, tossing the duvet toward Sherlock. He gestured with his hands as paced next to the bed, acting out mock consideration. “You never listen to Mycroft. Unless…”

John spun on his heel to face Sherlock with an accusatory finger. Sherlock narrowed his eyes minutely, already anticipating John’s words and hating them. The man really was becoming far too clever for his own good. And how many times had John said that about him? He’s learning from the master, Sherlock, Mycroft’s voice chided in his mind before he silently told him to fuck off.

“You were so overwhelmed that you listened to him,” John accused with unmistakable disgust that immediately raised Sherlock’s hackles.

“I wasn’t overwhelmed, John,” he said defiantly in a loud tone before snapping his mouth shut. Swallowing audibly, he continued: “I was fucking terrified.”

John froze. He could probably count the number of times he had heard Sherlock curse on one hand. Admittedly, the naked honesty of his own words surprised Sherlock as well. It was not what he had planned to say, but it was the truth. Now that he’d said it, there was no turning back.

“I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t lose you, not after you swept into my life and changed it in every way,” Sherlock explained unapologetically. “You were everything. I couldn’t think, couldn’t reason. My thoughts were so focused on you and my own fear that I agreed with whatever Mycroft proposed. I couldn’t get my brain to think of another way.”

“No?” John snapped, unaffected by Sherlock’s growing desperation. “Because I can think of a few right now. You couldn’t have let me in on it maybe? Given me a say in my own damn life?”

“You’re a terrible actor and have a dreadfully honest face,” Sherlock said before he could stop himself. “They wouldn’t have believed your reaction was genuine if you had known.”

John stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Right. You’re right. ‘Nevermind poor John. He’s too stupid to join the ranks of genius.’, John replied sardonically. “You know, I thought everything we’d done together, all the cases, meant something. I thought you trusted me, but obviously not.”

“No!” Sherlock denied, but John spoke over him.

“Fine. You know what? I couldn’t know. We’ll go with that. Sure,” he fumed. “What about after, hm? You could have told me after the fact. Sent me a message or a clue. I know how you love those.”

“They would have intercepted it,” Sherlock interjected.

“Just one bloody word, Sherlock, is all I would have needed. Anthea could have said something,” John didn’t stop for breath, “or bloody Mycroft could’ve told me, for Christ sake. He came around often enough.”

“If they had any reason to doubt my death, even the slightest, they would have killed you to draw me out, or they would have tortured the information out of you,” Sherlock shot back, jumping to his feet. John glared at him from across the bed. “Both are unacceptable.” 

“But lying to me is fair game, yeah?” John countered. “Damn it, Sherlock, I could’ve left London. I could’ve helped you all this time. We’re at our best when we’re together. We protect each other, help each other. Side by side, the two of us against everything else.”

Sherlock didn’t say a word when John finally ended the diatribe. Both men were breathing heavily, their chests heaving, blood full of adrenaline. John was clearly gearing up for another round, but Sherlock had no desire to join him. The voice of reason shone through John’s shouted words and filled Sherlock’s mind palace with a whole new understanding. It had been right there from the beginning, but his fear had hidden it and no amount of his own searching could dislodge it. John had found it. John had helped him find it. He should have told John everything the minute he suspected Moriarty’s plan.

“You’re right,” Sherlock admitted calmly.

“We’d be in the same place we are right now, taking down Moriarty’s netwo…”John trailed off, his face veiled in confusion. “What?”

“I should have told you,” Sherlock clarified. He dropped his hands to his sides and looked down at John thoughtfully. “If I had brought you into the fold, told you my suspicions, we would have finished this months ago.”

John straightened his spine and rested his hands on his own hips. His rapid breaths slowed as he watched his friend, seemingly unsure of what to say.

“I hurt you so badly and put you in more danger by keeping the secret,” Sherlock continued remorsefully.

“You didn’t know,” John said after a moment, “and don’t give me that ‘I should’ve known’ rubbish. That big brain of yours can’t know everything, even if it seems like it does.”

Sherlock closed his mouth slowly instead of voicing that exact protestation. Contemplating the man before him, he wondered if he had ever given John the credit he deserved. He was brave, intelligent, and strong. Sherlock had always acknowledged some of those characteristics. He supposed two out of three wasn’t bad, but it was not enough.

“We are at our best when we are together,” Sherlock repeated.

“Yeah,” John replied, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Silence filled the room and the two men stood on either side of the bed, watching one another. After a long moment, Sherlock couldn’t help but notice that John’s pajama pants rode particularly low on his hips after all the pacing and flailing. Grand arm gesturing had drawn his t-shirt in quite the opposite direction and Sherlock could just see a black waistband peeking from beneath the overly long pajamas. Trying desperately to keep his thoughts in check, Sherlock forced his eyes away and concentrated hard on John’s face.

“I am…” Sherlock began, but shut his mouth with a click when John pulled the hem of his shirt down, a sheepish look on his face. He must have seen Sherlock looking and been offended. Sherlock suppressed a frustrated sigh and cursed himself. Goddammit, he would have to lose himself and make a mistake just when he and John were on good terms, fragile though they may be. He briefly wondered if their friendship would ever again be the way it had been. Sherlock sincerely hoped he had not caused irreparable damage, but before getting far in that line of thought, his mind jumped to another topic. 

When they could finally go home, would John return to 221B or find a flat of his own? Would he want to live with Sherlock again or was their friendship ruined? The thought was soul-crushing. Sherlock could not even imagine the flat without John, even though they had only lived together a few short years. He would rather not go back at all than live alone.

“Hey,” John’s voice said from the void.

Sherlock blinked a few times until he came back into focus. He had not meant to slip into his mind palace and the quick descent must have been truly startling, if John’s worried expression was anything to go by.

“What?” Sherlock spluttered inelegantly.

“Are you okay?” John asked with concern. His blue eyes were soft as they studied Sherlock’s face. “You’re white as a sheet.”

John was standing right in front of him. When had he gotten so close? Sherlock quickly took stock of the situation and did not like what he found. Something was wrong. He felt unsettled and nervous. His skin was tacky with a light sheen of sweat and his pulse was accelerated. He nearly flinched away when John’s hand touched his shoulder gently. 

“Hey,” John said again, his brow furrowing. “Why don’t we sit down? Just right here on the bed.”

Head feeling lighter than normal, Sherlock nodded slowly and allowed John to guide him down onto the edge of the mattress. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled from his mouth, just as John instructed. John’s arm wound around his back and one hand rested on each of his biceps. Sherlock would normally shrug off such coddling, but found John’s touch a grounding comfort. So much so, that he felt rather bereft when John let go after a few long minutes. He felt some measure of satisfaction, however, when John rested his right hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Feeling better?” John asked, already sounding relieved. “Got a bit of your color back.”

“Tired,” Sherlock’s mind provided unhelpfully. For god sake, was this what he had been reduced to? One word responses? He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, just tired.”

“Yeah,” John pressed his lips together into a pensive line and exhaled through his nose, “it has been a long day and will be again tomorrow. You said we need to get to Rome by evening, yeah?”

“Yes, we have plenty of time,” Sherlock answered in an even tone, feeling like himself again. “The ferries and trains take time, but are easy enough to use.”

“That’s an understatement,” John laughed and Sherlock’s heart warmed at hearing it. John’s eyes shifted to the bookcase. “Think Anthea will mind if I grab a couple books for the trip?”

“Not at all,” Sherlock answered with a small smile.

John’s hand was still on Sherlock’s shoulder and he seemed to have no desire to move it. Sherlock didn’t mind, not in the slightest. John could keep it there for the rest of their days. Sherlock would never complain about being permanently attached to a John. They would live side by side, inseparable and content, happy. It sounded perfect to him. It wouldn’t be, of course. They would bicker and argue and disagree. He would still do experiments and John would scold him. The microwave would blow up, but they would be happy. They would love every moment. And each other too? Sherlock wanted that. God, he wanted. He looked into John’s eyes, delighted in the smile on his face, and suddenly it became imperative that John knew everything in Sherlock’s heart.

“I will never leave your side again, John,” was the best Sherlock could do. What he wanted to say was ‘I love you’, but still unsure if it would drive the man away, he settled for this. It expressed the same emotion, just in more abstract terms.

John’s eyes, his entire face, softened and filled with fondness. He looked at Sherlock for a long moment and then lifted his hand. He moved the other one from Sherlock’s shoulder in tandem until they both rested on either side of the man’s face, cupping his cheeks. Sherlock gave an involuntary gasp, his eyes widening. John just gazed at him, tilting his own head thoughtfully. His palms were deliciously warm on Sherlock’s cool skin and he could feel a flush spreading over his face.

John blinked slowly and gave Sherlock the barest of smiles. Sherlock was mesmerized. How had he stood to be away from this man for even two minutes, much less eighteen months? Lost in the moment completely, Sherlock would not have noticed that his own lips had parted ever so slightly, except that John’s eyes lowered to track the movement. Sherlock’s heart shuddered to a halt and he could do nothing but stare. They had shared many intense stares in the past, especially on cases. None had ever felt like this one. Any romantic intent was never there, at least not that Sherlock noticed. Looking into John’s face now was a different story. His eyes were black as night, the color nearly overtaken by pupils. He looked wistful, almost dazed, like he was present in the moment and also thinking of something else entirely. 

John’s thumbs were slowly stroking along Sherlock’s cheekbones now and he melted into the touch. His angular brows arched, climbing to his curls as he watched his friend curiously. His hands ached to reach for John and pull him close, but he held back. Hugging was not something they did, even at the worst of times. It was for the better though. Sherlock wasn’t sure he could keep his own emotions separate from affectionate touch and that would not be good for either of them.

They remained frozen in time and quite wordless. John was still gazing at Sherlock warmly, head tilted in thought. Sherlock, on the other hand, held his breath. He had no idea what to do or what would happen next, and he dared not move for fear the spell would break. With a fond smile, John cradled Sherlock’s face gently and shifted the man’s head slightly as he swooped in to press their lips together softly. Sherlock gasped when their lips met, completely undone. Everything was in slow motion. John moved his lips minutely, carefully testing the waters. Sherlock still didn’t know what to do, but found his lips responding of their own volition. It was a sweet, soft kiss, perfect for a first. 

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed when they parted. His mind was utterly blank. All of the languages he spoke failed him, except one. “Je t’aime.”

He whispered the words against John’s lips before he could think better of it. John said nothing as he pulled back only enough to look into Sherlock’s cerulean eyes. Both men remained silent, just looking at one another, searching and asking, finding answers. John leaned in again and Sherlock welcomed him, responding immediately as their lips met. His hands floated up John’s back, stopping somewhere in the middle and pulling him closer. His whole body was alight with sensation and trepidation. He had dreamt of this for so long and it felt absolutely transcendent, and also tentative. Part of him feared that, at any moment, John would push him away and demand to know what he was on about. That moment never came, much to his relief and delight. Instead, John tilted his head more to deepen the kiss. Sherlock parted his lips slightly to sigh into John’s opening mouth. The kiss was still chaste, even as they panted and breathed each other’s air. John’s left hand slid down to Sherlock’s neck and he couldn’t help but angle it further to increase access, shivering when John’s tongue licked wantonly across his jawline.

Abandoning all of his carefully curated control, Sherlock dove in. He pushed his tongue into John’s mouth and twisted it to reach every possible surface. John responded in kind, licking into Sherlock’s mouth and teasing mercilessly. Sherlock’s right hand came to rest on the back of his neck as they pressed into each other, chests touching as much as their seated positions allowed. Long minutes passed and every one of them was incredible. Their kisses were urgent, but not frantic, growing in intensity with each touch. 

John was the one to break off when he pulled away to kiss Sherlock’s left cheekbone and then circle to his earlobe where he nibbled and sucked. Sherlock gasped in surprise and then moaned, deep and throaty. His hands roamed up and down John’s back, fingertips and palms alternating like a dance. He wanted John. Right now and with all his being. He needed him. He needed to feel him.

John mouthed down Sherlock’s neck. His touch was amazing, both firm and gentle. Even in Sherlock’s most erotic fantasy, he would not have imagined such pleasure as this. He let out a disgruntled growl when John stopped where neck met shoulder and lifted his lips off the warm skin. Before Sherlock could voice his objection, however, John licked the spot so obscenely that Sherlock’s toes curled. His whole body shuddered and John smiled against his skin right before he bit it gently. 

“Oh!” Sherlock cried out, his body tense and his mind whiting out.

“You okay?” John panted, a touch of concern to his voice. One hand came back to cradle Sherlock’s cheek with a caress so soft it eradicated any doubts he may have harbored. With that reassurance, Sherlock let go.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, gripping his hips and squeezing. “I need you. I need to feel you.”

He grabbed a handful of John’s t-shirt hem and pulled up, revealing tanned skin and a navel. Sherlock nearly died on the spot under the force of his desire. He wanted to press his lips against every inch, licking and nipping as he went. John, clever John, understood immediately and lifted his arms so Sherlock could pull the shirt up and off. He threw it to the floor and kissed John again, wrapping his arms around bare flesh. A moment later, he felt a tug at the bottom of his own shirt and eagerly threw up his arms for John. The fabric whisked over his head and landed near the foot of the bed. Sherlock’s hands were everywhere while John slid his up Sherlock’s chest, skimming over flat plains and skirting around nipples. Their lips kissed and mouthed at earlobes and necks, anywhere they could reach until John pulled back just enough to look Sherlock in the eye. They both stared from under heavy lids and then John kissed him again, leaning forward as he did, easing Sherlock backwards slowly. Soon he was lying flat on the mattress with John’s body against his from top to bottom.

John pressed his hips hard into Sherlock’s and they both moaned loudly. Sherlock thrust back and John tipped his head back with a gasp on his lips as their cocks touched. That was all it took for their desires to take over. They rutted agaist each other a few more times, quickly finding a rhythm together. The friction was incredible. They were skin to skin from shoulder to waist. Sherlock could feel every muscle, every bead of sweat on John’s body as they moved. 

“Oh god, John,” he gasped, almost unable to believe it was really happening. He had always wanted this and had been certain he would never realize the fantasy, but here they were and nothing could stop them. Heat pooled in his belly and it was so good, just this side of overwhelming and he wanted more. More.

Suddenly, without warning, John stopped. He was still for a moment as though he needed to think. Shit. Shit. John pulled his weight from atop Sherlock, gazing down at him with dark eyes. Sherlock looked at him with lust and worry, holding tightly to his sides, not forcing him to stay, but making it known that he did not want the man to go.

“Wha’s wrong?” The words came out in a rush. Sherlock had to know what was going on. What had stopped John? How could he fix it?

“I jus’ want to…” John didn’t finish, his words cut off by a wanton moan when he aligned their cocks and dropped his hips so they rested on Sherlock’s once more. “Christ.”

“Oh, god,” Sherlock groaned at the same time. “John, you are a goddamn genius.”

His large hands slid to John’s ass, fingers gripping his cheeks firmly. He held fast and thrust up into the man, taking both their breaths away.

“John. John, I need you. Now.”

He was panting and thrusting slowly, torturously. God, it was perfect. Sherlock could already feel his release coiling in his belly, teasing his loins with the most intense pleasure. He would come harder than ever before, he knew, and it was going to happen embarrassingly quickly, but he really didn’t care. He needed this with John, loved him with every fiber. Somewhere in his mind, even in this state, he thanked the fates that John couldn’t speak French because he could not guarantee that he wouldn’t mutter something in the language again.

“John,” he almost pleaded and John nodded his understanding.

“Yes,” the man rasped. “Oh, god.”

Both men thrust at once and paused for just a moment to bask in the spine-tingling pleasure of their groins pressed together. Even the clothing they wore couldn’t dampen the sensation. In an instant, frenzied movement overtook them. John’s hips snapped mercilessly and Sherlock met him thrust for thrust. Their motions soon became erratic, their bodies twitching and lurching as they chased release. Finally, Sherlock could hold back no longer and he jerked up at John, his whole body rigid as wave after wave ripped through him. John’s climax followed as soon as Sherlock’s began, and quite by surprise, if his expression was anything to go by. They both thrust against one another again, but more gently, muttering the other’s name as the ultimate pleasure washed over them. Sherlock’s whole body tingled and his mind went white, floating through every thought and emotion. He cataloged them all.

When the orgasms began to abate, John slowly opened his eyes to look down at Sherlock. He was breathing hard. He wasn’t the only one. John gave the man a smile and collapsed onto his damp chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” John exclaimed, his breaths coming fast on Sherlock’s left pectoral. “That wa… was incredible, Sherlock.”

He lifted his head, a radiant smile on his lips. Sherlock swallowed with difficulty around his own panting and grinned back. He had absolutely no idea what to say, so he kissed John instead, softly and sweetly. It felt like magic. What happened when their lips parted was unreservedly out of his control. The words tumbled out unbidden.

“Ma vie t’appartient. Je suis et demeurerai à jamais ton époux,” Sherlock blinked his eyes wide in panic as soon as his mind caught up to his mouth. What the hell was he thinking?

“What?” John asked with a laugh. “That sounds beautiful, especially from you. God, your voice is criminal. I’ve no idea what it means though.”

“Flannel,” Sherlock rushed to say, already cursing himself. “We need a flannel.”

“We need much more than that,” John couldn’t stop laughing now. “We need all new pajamas.”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and Sherlock’s bare chest felt bereft in the cool air. He kept his hands on the small of John’s back, having no intention of letting him go. Words in English seemed beyond him after this colossal cock-up. Fortunately, his silence didn’t seem to bother John.

“You want a quick shower first?” he asked brightly.

“Go ahead,” Sherlock managed with a nod towards the bathroom.

“Yeah?” John answered and winked. “Won’t be a minute.”

He rolled off Sherlock and headed for the door. A rather large, wet circle that he made no attempt to hide stained the front of his pajama pants. Sherlock looked down at his own once John was ensconced in the ensuite and saw much the same. Unfazed, he relaxed back into the soft mattress, raising his arms to tuck his hands behind his head. He was so very glad John did not speak French. It was the only thing that saved him this time. He really must investigate his propensity to declare his love to John in French before it got him in trouble, but not now. He had more important matters to attend to at the moment. He closed his eyes and entered his mind palace fervently. He wanted to catalog this experience so he would always have it no matter what happened next.

What would happen next? Surely, John would not want a relationship, much as it pained Sherlock to admit. John was not, as he so often pointed out, gay. The question of orientation, however, was unclear. Before disappearing into the bathroom, John did not exhibit any signs of existential crisis of sexual identity. He seemed completely at ease with the situation. Unless, of course, it was happening now behind closed doors. Sherlock huffed in disapproval when he involuntarily hoped that was not the case. Sentiment had begun to weasel its way into his psyche during his absence from John. It was part of him now. He could easily switch it off while on assignment, but was unable to do so reliably when off the clock. He was certain Mycroft knew, though he never said a word. Thank god for small miracles.

What Sherlock found strangest was that sentiment was not the weakness he had been led to believe. In fact, he felt more complete than he had since he was a child. Even when he and John had lived together in 221B, solving crimes and bickering over experiments, Sherlock had not felt at peace with himself. Had something positive actually come out of the fall? Had his brother been wrong all along? The longer he thought, the more he saw no other logical conclusion. Sherlock smirked smugly. He couldn’t wait to share that particular piece of information with Mycroft at their next meeting.

“Hey,” a voice tore Sherlock from his thoughts. His eyes flew open to see John standing next to the bed with his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry! I couldn’t remember the best approach. It’s been a while.”

“The best approach?” Sherlock questioned, raising a brow.

“Yeah. When you’re in your mind palace,” John supplied. “I always used to touch you first, I think. I don’t think you really noticed, but it kept you from getting so startled. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock didn’t move a muscle, save cocking his brow a fraction more at John’s words. After a few minutes, John shifted and brought his left hand to the back of his own neck.

“Well, uh,” he cleared his throat, abashed, “shower’s yours.”

Sherlock blinked.

“Yes,” he agreed, sitting up. “Yes, of course.”

He stood and walked straight to the chest of drawers for new clothes. Once he had them, he crossed to the bathroom.

“Laters,” Sherlock turned to say with false bravado and then closed the door firmly behind him. He leaned his back against it and sighed, wondering what would happen now. Would John choose to ignore what just happened, and if not, how long would it be before he insisted they talk about it? Sherlock tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. He would have known the answers to all his questions with minimal effort before the fall and their time apart, but both he and John were so different now. His past self never would have let this happen no matter how much he wanted it. 

Sherlock didn’t know what to think anymore. He could not discern whether or not his interpretations of John and the situation were leading to the correct deduction or if it was all wrong. Some part of John had honestly, secretly always confounded him and now that part was even larger and harder to deduce. Sherlock certainly knew what he wanted to do in light of this new development, but did John want the same? Would John ever want that? Sherlock just didn’t know.

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

I know what you're thinking: "Well..... we have but one thing to say to that. SMUT, JANE, BLESSED MFING SMUT!! Thank you so much." But will it happen again? Will they talk about it? Will John come out of the bathroom and insist it was all a big mistake? Who's to say??? The Shadow knows, and by The Shadow, I mean me. Mwahahahaha! Love, Jane

[maplleaf]

Two tries, One success

[Gepard Landau x gn!reader]

Working as the manager of Mechanical Fever's famous bassist isn't as bad of a job as many would think. Serval originally wanted an assistant to sort out her workshop's data, but after seeing how you matched energies with her, she offered the position as Mechanical Fever's assistant not long after being hired.

It's good; your pay doubled and your boss is great as a friend and as an employer. It's been a year since working for Serval and you've never looked back in regret. You even got the chance to befriend her younger brother, Gepard.

Although recently, the two siblings have been acting strange.

At first Serval asked about your type, you answered the question by saying blonde, since at the time you find a blonde hair color attractive.

Then only a day later, Serval had to 'take leave' in the middle of the day; saying that Pela asked to meet her regarding some scheduling with rehearsals. Despite you not remembering Pela mentioning anything of the sort when seeing her yesterday...

Since she is your boss, you brushed it off. The workshop doesn't have days where an influx of clients would come in anyway. Additionally, current clients' orders are all finished and it's just a waiting game for any of them to pick their items up.

No Serval, no work, not even cleaning. The only thing moderately interesting is the plant you brought here as decoration for Serval.

In conclusion; you were bored as hell that day.

Which is why when the door opened, your body straightened up as a reflex; thinking it's one of the clients. Surprisingly, you were met with the sight of Serval's younger brother. A rush of excitement and joy hit you, almost subconsciously.

"Gepard? Serval didn't mention you coming here," you pointed out. As captain of the silvermane guards, he's usually busy with work. "Did you left something last week?"

The blonde didn't answer right away, in fact his eyes are looking at everything but you. "No, uhm, Is my sister not here?" Gepard asked, finally turning towards you.

"Nah, she said Pela wanted to talk to her urgently earlier," you answered. "I can tell her you're here though," you raised your phone as a way to tell Gepard how you could tell Serval about his visit.

"That... isn't necessary," he almost stammered, even to the point where you noticed. "Did my sister bring that in?" Gepard pointed to the plant beside you.

"I did actually. This old fella' looks like it fits in this place," your hand grabbed the small plant's pot, shaking it lightly as if it's talking. Using a voice for the plant, you began to talk for it like a puppet. "That's right, it was so cold out there."

Gepard chuckled at your antics, "you must take good care of it." He heard you hum in response, "if your sister did, she might sing it rock music for bedtime."

After you placed the pot back down, Gepard took a deep breath before spilling his true intention. "Are you perhaps busy this Saturday?" The Landau sibling had a light red dusting on his cheek, something blocked by the darker lighting of Nevermore workshop.

You raised an eyebrow at him in interest. Saturday... Mechanical Fever shouldn't be having any performances that day and the workshop is closed; leaving you with an open spot. "I'm not, why'd you ask?"

"I was wondering if we could..." Gepard's word trailed away, his blue eyes looking at yours with a strange gaze. It's beautiful, his eyes, like the carved geomarrow at the Everwinter Monument, but somehow more beautiful. It's mezmerizing, truly.

"...could teach me about plant management. I've been trying to take care of mine as a hobby, but they don't usually end well," Gepard finishes his sentence.

The room stayed quiet for a moment, though in Gepard's mind it's louder than all the concerts he's seen his sister performs. The silence ended when you chuckled, then laughed.

"Sorry sorry," you managed to muffled out. "It's just, Serval's been mentioning your 'hobby' for awhile and I didn't expect you to come to me for help," you leaned back against the chair with your arms crossed, "How about at noon here? I can ask Serval about opening the workshop for the day, sure she wouldn't mind if it's for you."

Gepard straightened his posture as a reflex, though his face does hold a certain embarassment that you didn't pick up. "Sure, I'll be glad," he smiled. "I think I'll have to go now, my break isn't long."

The blonde leaves the workshop in a hurry, not even hearing your words of parting. You found it strange how he behaved that day, and many days after to be exact.

The second time one of the Landau siblings acted weird was when Mechanical Fever's performance had just ended. Many people were asking for a photo or even signatures of the bandmates, especially Serval.

Since it all had technically wrapped up, you sat by the bench nearby to recharge from watching a fun yet exhausting performance. The air of overworld's Belobog is much colder in the evening, even with geomarrow heaters everywhere.

Your hand rubbed against eachother for heat and friction. It'll only be a short while until the band properly wraps up and have a little celebration in Serval's workshop. Though that short while felt like eternity when all you could feel is the eternal winter's air saying 'fuck you warmth!'

"You okay there?"

You looked up to see the familiar charming captain, his face full of worry. The thought of Gepard worrying made you conflicted to wether feel happy or guilty. "Yeah, just chilly," you responded, bringing your heated hands to your face for more warmth.

"You didn't bring a jacket?" Gepard asked, sitting right beside you. "It's usually not this cold at the evening, but winter has its ways."

"Well fuck whoever made this winter," whilst rubbing your hands again, you slipped out a few words of annoyance at the current state of temperature. Realizing the rudeness, you couldn't help but feel guilty, "sorry."

"It's fine but," Gepard looks at your sorry state and thought about it for a moment, leaving you to wonder what's in his pretty little head. Your thoughts stopped when he took off the white and blue scarf of his uniform and slid it around yours.

"Here."

You wanted asked what was he doing before feeling the heat. It's so... warm. Is this what he feels everytime going in the fragmentums filled with cold air? No wonder he could stand in a fight for so long, this thing is comfortable.

"You are an actual lifesaver, Landou," your almost trembling voice muttered, quickly relishing in the warmth that his scarf had given you. Gepard on the other hand felt his eyes being stuck on your figure; the snow of Belobog definitely made you look more ethereal than usual.

Gepard took a few moments before the spur of the moment outweighs his worries. "A new place opened up near Goethia hotel, I was wondering--"

"(y/n)! Hurry up, we're heading to Serval's," the pianist of Mechanical Fever yelled out, uncaring of the other people surprised at his sudden voice.

As the assistant of the band, you were already used to this by now. The blonde beside you is not used to it; and if that pianist is a fragmentum monster, he would've thrown a punch right then and there.

"Sorry, could you say that again?" you tried to ignore the pianist's wails, focusing on Gepard more considering he's not yelling at you.

"Right," Gepard coughed to ease himself back in the moment, "this wednesday, I was wondering if--"

"(y/n)!"

You winced in annoyance as that pianist's voice filled the streets of the district. Seriously, you hope Serval can knock some sense into the guy about the great knowledge that is patience. Seeing as he would probably keep yelling your name until you yield, your priorities had to change.

"Sorry, Gepard, could you continue that another time? I'm afraid a certain someone wouldn't shut their mouth if I don't come," you scoffed, side-eyeing the person in annoyance. Gepard looks at you with disappointment, a face you've never seen before.

"It's fine," the blonde answered, though when he sees you start taking off his scarf, his gloved hand prevented you from properly taking it off. "Just take it, you'll get cold on the way."

You raised an eyebrow at him unsurely, "... won't you get in trouble for giving this to a civilian?"

Gepard shook his head, instead gently tightening the scarf. "I have another at home," he brushed it off before backing away from you. "I'll... see you on another day."

The next day, you overheard a few guards talking about their Captain Landau; and how he seems to be missing a part of his uniform.

The third time is when Serval asked a specific question when you two were working. A client had given her an antique click to fix earlier on, the device taking over Serval's focus for the past two hours. You on the other hand had to sort out this month's profits and data regarding clients and business related items you two bought for the month.

"Say, what do you think of silvermane guards?" the blonde bassist asked you before extending her hand up to you expecting a tool. You naturally took the screwdriver and gave it to her, eyes still focused on the laptop.

"They're... fine," you answered. "What's with the random question?" Serval shrugged her arm, taking off her glasses as she leaned back and rested her eyes. Another fixing job for a complex antique done, it's amazing how someone could keep an object for a long time without realizing the broken gears it has.

"Everytime we go out to buy parts, you always glanced at the silvermane groups when they passed," the flinch coming from you became an answer to her assumption. Serval leaned on the table in front of her, blue eyes scanning you for any hints, "Interested in one of 'em?"

Seeing as lying would get you nowhere with the engineer, you took shaky breath, "just one."

Serval's eyes lit up like stars, "No way! Care to spill?" you averted your eyes from your boss' enthusiasm, finger tapping on the wood as a way to calm yourself. Even if she is your friend, it doesn't ease the nervousness.

"Well..." your voice trailed out.

"And what was the answer?"

Serval sighed, "said I knew the person." Her younger brother slumped down, tapping his feet for every half a second. "C'mon, we narrowed it down to a blonde and a silvermane guard I know! That's a pretty good chance," Serval tried to cheer him up, which sadly didn't do much.

"That doesn't narrow it down to one person," Gepard pointed out. At first, he noticed you sneaking glances when he was ordering guards near Belobog's alleyways. It gave him a hope that maybe this isn't unrequited; a hope that's lost the longer he thought about it.

"Maybe I should cancel it, I can't ruin our friendship because of this."

Serval smacked her brother's head lightly in a scolding manner. "Hey, I thought us Landau are hardworking and determined. You can't just give up now," she reminded him.

Even if Gepard's hesitance did stop for a moment, it didn't stop him from feeling nervous. Serval waited for her brother to speak up, her arm crossed on her chest. Gepard recalled how long he had been trying a confession, four weeks. Four grueling weeks and three tries of trying to ask you out in any way he could think of only to fail each time.

The first time he got too nervous when looking at your eyes gazing at him. The fear of rejection and making that look turn into something bad made him scared.

The second time one of Mechanical Fever's band members interrupted him. Maybe it's The Aeon of Preservation's way of telling him fate doesn't allow this to happen.

It's complicated; so many variables that caused him to worry over what ifs. For starters, his sister is your boss, then he might not even be your type personality wise. Gepard is usually a confident person, but something about you just makes him nervous all the sudden.

"What am I supposed to do?" Gepard asked, wanting some kind of advice from his carefree older sister. Serval sighed, leaning against her table to wrack an idea from her head.

"Tomorrow morning, I asked (y/n) to take care of the workshop since I have plans with some friends," she told him, "Try shooting your shot then, and don't chicken out this time."

Gepard thought about Serval's idea, ultimately considering it a good enough plan. "Sounds great. Thank you, sister," Gepard stood up properly after giving his appreciation to Serval.

A part of him feels guilty for falling with his sister's assistant. He didn't even realize he's falling for someone until he's already too late.

The blonde sighed, he can only pray to Qlipoth that you won't hate him for this.

After Gepard said his goodbyes to Serval, the cold air of Belobog hits him. Thankfully, his uniform made it so he's not feeling cold, but usually geomarrow heaters around the city would lessen the drop in temperature. He should've told his sister to fix the broken heater outside.

Unbeknownst to him, you were just done buying flowers from the shop near Nevermore workshop. Your hand clenched onto the bouquet of flowers hard as you noticed a familiar blonde in front of Serval's workshop.

The dark lighting that roams Belobog's night made it so he probably didn't realize it's you there. Even so, he did hear footsteps approaching him. "Gepard! Didn't expect to run into you," you greeted him.

"Oh, (y/n), hi. I was just visiting my sister," Gepard answered, your voice instantly making him nervous. He noticed the item you're carrying; a bouquet of sunshine flowers. From his hours of studying how to do gardening as a hobby, he also learned some of the meaning of flowers.

Sunshine is a flower that means "warmth and love of light" for the people of Belobog. He doesn't know if you knew what those flowers mean, but something inside his mind is causing him to feel scared.

Though, remembering you were still here, Gepard quickly swallowed that feeling in favor of being your friend. "Are you heading home?" Gepard asked, receiving a nod from you.

"Yeah, gotta take care of the workshop tomorrow," your hand held the bouquet slightly tighter. "Actually, do you mind walking me to my house?" your voice had a hint of hesitance to it. "I... still have your scarf from last time."

Gepard smiled at your worries. Yes, he did get questioned by his superiors about it before being given another scarf, but honestly, he didn't mind it since it results in your comfort. "You don't have to worry about that, I have another one."

"No!"

The sudden change of tone caught Gepard off guard, as you usually never raised a voice unless it's needed. Looking at your regretful expression and the hand nearing your mouth made Gepard think it wasn't fully intentional on your side either.

"Sorry, it's just," your words came into a stutter. "I want to take a walk with you tonight, is that possible?"

Gepard didn't know what to say in an instant, almost stuttering himself. Though, he does answer fast in fear you might think he feels reluctant to. "Of course," he answered, "Shall we go, then?"

"Yeah," you swallowed a lump in your throat and walked closer to the captain.

The walk is a relaxing one. Due to Jarilo-IV's eternal winter, weather at night have always been colder than at day; even with the heaters. Droplets of snow covered the both of you as the walk continued. Gepard is the first to break the silence, bringing up the flowers he noticed.

"Those are sunshine flowers, right?" he asked. "Yeah, I bought it for a friend," your voice almost seemed to hesitate on the last word. "It means love and warmth from what I remember."

Hearing you say that gives the knowledge to Gepard that you know the meaning of it, and if you're giving it to a friend then it means you feel some sort of love or warmth for the friend. That left a bitter taste in his mouth when he thinks about it.

"Warmth and love of light," Gepard added, when he sees your eyes looking at him in curiosity he felt the need to explain. "I've read some additional details when learning how to do gardening."

If it weren't for the barely lit street lamps, he would've been caught with a red face. "Love, huh..." your muttering were loud enough for Gepard to hear. "Have you ever been confessed to?"

Your question made Gepard wonder what to answer. If he were to say yes, does that lower the chances of you accepting his confession. But if he were to say no, would you really believe him?

"A few times, though I never really accepted them," Gepard side-eyed you, trying to pinpoint any kind of reaction. He could see your hand holding onto the bouquet tight, even so he doesn't know if it's due to nervousness or just from the cold.

"I see," your voice trailed out. The walk continued on quietly, but it's not awkward per se.

For Gepard, his mind is clouded with doubt for tomorrow's plan. If he were to be planning a confession, he would ask for some kind of advice from someone he knows well. For him it was Serval, but maybe for you it's him.

Before either of you could realize it, you two are already in front of your home. "Looks like we're here," Gepard said unsurely. He isn't exactly sure if you would give back his scarf or not, considering he rejected the offer earlier.

"Right," you took a deep breath before turning to face the blonde, your movements as stiff as a robot. Your hand held onto the bouquet with shaking fingers, eyes unsure where to look but eventually locking to Gepard's blue ones.

After a moment of silence and you biting your lips to form words, any words, you finally spoke.

"You are a wonderful person to be around, I always enjoy talking to you even if it's just for a few minutes," your voice is low, scared even. The fear of losing someone causing hesitation between each words spoken.

"And you might feel otherwise, but fuck, I want to be selfish just this once." You took in another breath of air to prepare yourself. Your arms extended towards Gepard, offering him the bouquet of flowers. "I like you, like really like you."

Your voice trembled, but not because of the coldness in the air but the warmth that slowly crept up to your head. Heartbeat going louder than any of Serval's performances.

Gepard's own state isn't far different than yours. His mind slowly processed your words as his cheeks is engulfed in a light pink hue. For almost a month he was worried every time he thought about it; head slamming against the wall thinking on what to say and what to do for a confession.

"It seems you did what I was planning to do."

His hand took the flowers, happiness written all over his face expressed by a soft and endearing smile. "I feel the same way, for awhile now to be exact," Gepard took a deep breath before letting out small chuckles of his own.

"Sorry, its just nice to see that I'm not alone," his admittance made you laugh yourself. It's good that your house doesn't have many street lamps in front of it, or else the two of you might've been exposed for the redness in both of your faces.

It's strange. Just a moment ago the cold air of Belobog had started to settle in, but now all you could feel is the wamrth coming from your own face. Though, after properly processing Gepard's reponse you realized the opportunity laid properly at this moment.

"I have a ticket-- sorry, two tickets, to the Golden Theater next week at 12. If you're free, we could go together," your voice came back happily, glee and excitement coming from the tone.

"Like a date?"

Your eyes lit up as Gepard continued it for you, hearing it as a confirmation that he might be okay with the idea. "Yeah, like a date."

"Of course, I would love to," Gepard answers, his beautiful smile still brightly seen even with the dark lighting. Your face mirrored his, still nervous as hell, but happily nervous.

Realizing the time, you felt bad for making Gepard stand in front of your home for so long. "Great! I'll see you another day then," you argued with yourself for a few moments before going with the nervous adrenaline telling you what impulses to do.

Matching yourself to Gepard's height, you dropped a small kiss on his cheek; causing the blonde to be caught off guard as his face heats up more.

"Can't wait for next week," you muttered loud enough for him to hear before bolting to your door to avoid any chances that he'll see your state; an obvious nervous wreck. As you entered your own home, mumbles of questions leaves your mind, all relating to your actions not even a minute ago.

Meanwhile, Gepard is left still in front of your home dumbfounded and processing what had just happened. His eyes darted to the bouquet again; yellow petals looking back at him, giving him hope for what comes in the future.

[agustdiv1ne]

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡🧪⋆°｡2:54 p.m. — kang taehyun

genre: kinda meet cute? idk they're lab partners (as a stem major i am projecting heavily), college au

wc: 998

kang taehyun has terrible luck with lab partners.

he figures it comes with the territory — labs can be stressful, and sometimes the procedures written by the chemistry department are, at best, redundant, and, at worst, practically unintelligible. past partners have royally screwed him over by messing up the experiment halfway through, then banking on him to fix everything with the little time that is remaining. despite his annoyance, taehyun is well aware that he is not perfect; he has messed up experiments before, too, and he can easily admit that. however, unlike some of his peers (see: choi beomgyu, forensic science major), he will always clean up his own mess without anyone else’s help.

after last week’s class that only covered lab safety procedures, the first actual experiment day in his organic chemistry lab brings with it a looming sense of dread. he’s sitting outside the lab and waiting for class to begin, praying that he is not paired up with beomgyu again, not after the fiasco last semester in which he was seconds away from blowing up the science building.

within a few minutes, the lab instructor props open the door, announcing that partner pairings could be found near the fume hoods. once he walks up to the paper, he sighs, crosses his fingers, and searches for his name. directly next to his, he finds a name that he doesn’t recognize. despite this, he mentally fist pumps; anyone is better than beomgyu at this point.

“looks like we’re partners,” he hears from next to him. the finger he was using to search for his name lifts from the paper, and he swivels his head over to find you, donned in similar attire of a white coat and safety goggles, a small smile spread across your lips. you extend your arm, introducing yourself more formally. “i’m looking forward to working with you.”

“same here.” he moves to shake your outstretched hand, though he’s not sure if he means it yet, unsure of how you operate in a lab. really, it all depends on how well you work together.

“what’s your major?” you ask in an attempt to strike up conversation while you grab all of the necessary flasks and beakers and other tools required for this experiment. synthesis of aspirin — should be simple enough.

“biochem, and i’m also pre-med,” he says, before he’s asking for your own. your answer colors him shocked: you’re the same major, and on the same pre-med track? then…

“how come i’ve never seen you before?” he questions as he sets up some of the apparatus. you simply shrug in response while you finish setting up the other half. it’s impressive how quickly, how accurately, you complete it. is his bad luck finally gone? are you the lab partner that he’s been wishing for?

“i tend to keep to myself. ‘m not a fan of most people.” you’re already starting the experiment, scanning over the procedures to ensure that you’re doing everything correctly. “is the steam bath ready? the salicylic acid is all dissolved.”

“yeah, give it here.” you carefully slide it over the benchtop and he places the flask in the bath. as you wait the proper amount of time, he can’t help but ask, “am i most people?”

“i’m not sure yet. we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” and you’re almost smirking, a teasing lilt in your voice. it should be annoying after getting a total of three hours of sleep, and yet it only serves to intrigue him. you say that you don’t like people, and yet you’re basically a master at conversation; you can tease and crack jokes but still keep track of everything that is going on in front of you. it’s impressive. so far, he really likes you — in the most platonic, professional way possible, of course. you just met, and you're only lab partners. nothing more, nothing less.

the two of you work in almost perfect tandem until the experiment is finally complete, all data collected and post-lab questions already answered for the report that’s due next week. relief floods his veins the moment the two of you exit the stuffy, humid lab, stripping yourselves of your coats and groaning at the sensation of the post-experiment grime that clings to the skin of your faces. you haphazardly shove the article of clothing into your backpack, unbothered by potential wrinkles. you give him a playful salute before you’re moving to leave.

“good work, kang,” you comment, grinning tiredly as you walk backwards. you spin to face away from him and call over your shoulder, “see you in lecture!”

“actually,” he starts. you spin on your heel, a curious quirk in your brow as you stare at him. “you wanna grab some food? i’m sure you’re starving, too.”

and you’re smiling wider, and his heart is beating faster and no, he’s absolutely, positively not forming a little crush on you. he just admires your competence, the rational part of his brain supplies. you’re lab partners, completely professional, newly acquainted lab partners that barely even know each other, though he finds himself strongly hoping that you’ll say yes.

your fingers loosely grip the straps of your backpack, eyes lighting up, as you respond. “yeah, i'd like that. wanna get chick-fil-a?”

“it’s like you read my mind,” he quips, celebrating internally. “i’ve been craving that all day.”

as he falls into step next to you — the two of you complaining about the professors that you share and promising to sit next to each other and study together from now on — taehyun begins to think that luck is finally on his side.

“soooo,” he draws out, one eyebrow raised in an inquisitive expression. you glance over at him through the corner of your eye, urging him to continue with an impatient wave of your hand. “am i most people now?”

chuckling, you jostle his arm with your elbow. “nah, i think i might be able to tolerate you.”

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[whxre-bxby]

Im just saying a hate fucking fic where Lyle is jealous that Quaritch is always giving the reader all the attention when he is supposed to be his right hand man wouldn’t be terrible 😏

Wouldn't be terrible at all ( I had to write this, thank you!)

Hate-Fucking with Lyle Wainfleet

Recom Lyle x Recom f. Y/N

Masterlist

Summary: (can be seen in the ask)

WARNINGS: SMUT / NSFW, fighting, swearing, degrading, violence, force, hurt/comfort, spanking, penetration, man-handling

Word Count: 6480

Quaritch stood next to the helicopter with a tablet in his hand. He was flicking through it and then pulled out a paper from his pocket. 

All the recom’s including me were geared up and waiting for orders. 

“Y/N.” Quaritch said and my gaze shot up. “Put these coordinates in.”

“Yes, sir.” I nod, walking over to him and standing next to the Colonel who hands me the tablet. I start clicking from tab to tab and he holds out the paper with all the information. Once I finish I hand it back to him and he gives me a firm yet appreciative nod. I move to the side again, stilling my movements and holding my weapon. 

What I don’t notice is the pair of eyes burning into my skin. They belong to Lyle and he’s seething with jealousy. He was a Corporal and had recently been promoted to Lieutenant for his loyalty to the RDA. Meaning, he was the next highest rank after the Colonel. Which also meant he was meant to be Quaritch’s number two or his so-called right-hand man. 

But for whatever reason, the Colonel seemed to take a liking in you and it annoyed Lyle. A hatred for you was building up in him, even though you hadn’t ever done anything directly to harm him. He knew he was in the wrong for this because you were a nice person but he couldn’t even bring himself to say that about you. 

This wasn’t the first time you had been asked to do something he should have. 

Another time when we were out on a mission, Quaritch needed to send the helicopter our location and additional files of data we collected. Once again, the technology seemed to overwhelm him. He also happened to be tired after the long day in the forest, so without hesitation, he called you to him. 

Quaritch knew he could rely on you and he had great trust in you. 

While you helped him out on the screen he grinned at a few of his soldiers. 

“Good te’ have some young flesh with us.” he chuckled and a few soldiers grinned in response to his comment. I smiled, returning the screen to him after I was done. He liked to joke about how younger generations like myself were more technologically competent. 

Once again, Lyle was pissed off. His ears were strained back and his arms folded as he glared at you while you continued a conversation with one of the soldiers. 

It was true. I was younger than all of them. I was also the last to join the Deja Blu team. While we were all physically the same age now because our avatars were in their twenties, I was roughly that old when I died while the Colonel was over 50 and Lyle had almost reached 40. There was a significant mental age gap between Lyle and me but it wasn’t even noticeable. I subconsciously adapted my behaviour to the others and so did he, which balanced everything out. 

Currently, I was in one of our meeting rooms with Quaritch. The General was there and he was talking to her about the mission. I stood next to the Colonel just as a backup and also to help him beam up the pictures we took of old retrieved machinery in the forest. 

Lyle walked by, glancing through the huge glass windows and stopping in his tracks when he saw the layout of the scene in the room. He growled when he saw you standing next to your superior. Actually, his superior and your double-superior if that made sense. Lyle was also your superior so technically he could order you to do things when the Colonel wasn’t there. 

He was definitely going to take advantage of his rank to get back at you.

Lyle walked inside while the General and Quaritch were talking. Their conversation was coming to an end and she told him to follow her to the aircraft runway to show him relevant equipment for the next mission. He wasn’t necessarily pleased about having to spend more time with her but he didn’t dare show it. He dismissed me, handing over the tablet he was holding to free his hands before following her to the door. The Colonel noticed Lyle and nodded towards him. The gesture was returned to Lyle. They had both gone and now it was just me, Lyle, and a few other humans doing scientific studies. 

I was taking notes of what the Colonel had told me to write down and felt another presence. Turning around I spot Lyle and smile. 

“Hey, don’t you have training?” I ask, putting the tablet down and turning to him. He didn’t smile back or even greet me which both confused and worried me. Lyle was always friendly. 

“What are you doin’ here?” he asked and his voice seemed to be deeper than usual. I don’t take my eyes off him as he approaches me. I just study his movements trying to sense out of his emotions. 

“The Colonel had a meeting, I helped take notes and-” I explain, giving him another friendly smile and motioning to the screen in front of me.

“Did he ask you?” Lyle’s tail swishes in irritation and the sign of body language makes my gently swaying tail freeze. Something is off and I can now tell he is not happy. Instantly, I’m worried I did something wrong even though I know I haven’t. 

“Uhm, I guess so.” I reply, not sure how else to answer. 

“You don’t know?” Lyle asks, his hard gaze meeting mine while his almost mocking tone undermines my words. I nervously look down, turning away from him. His presence suddenly seems so strong it intimidates me. 

“I don’t remember.” I say before turning to the tablet and picking it up. 

Lyle grits his teeth and in the next second his hand rips the tablet from mine. I stare up at him in shock at his rough actions.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not daring to take it back. 

“Stop doin’ my job.” he growls at me, staring me down for a good few seconds before turning to leave with the tablet. Lyle slams the door closed behind him, leaving me standing alone. I flinch at the loud noise, not moving and just processing what happened. 

I scan the room, looking at the humans who were already looking at me. Their curious eyes drank in the dramatic scene. I frown, pinning my ears to the side of my head and once they see I’ve spotted them they quickly turn away. 

Confusion and anger were pumping through my body as I huffed through my nostrils in annoyance before exiting the room. Lyle was already gone. 

That interaction put me in a bad mood and I most definitely expected an apology from him during our next encounter. 

The next day, during a briefing Quaritch was giving the recom’s, he received a phone call. He saw it was someone ranking close to the General and his eyes met mine. He curled his finger, beckoning me to him and without hesitation, I got up from my seat and approached him. 

“Notes.” he murmured before picking up the phone and I quickly unlocked mine, scrolling through files to find what he needed. Once I got it I handed him my phone and he gave me his usual appreciative nod before turning away and talking to the person on the phone. I stand patiently, waiting for him to finish so that I can get my phone back. 

All the recom’s are used to me being called up and when he turns away they use the time as a break and start talking. I intuitively scan the room before my eyes lock with Lyle’s. 

I freeze and my heart drops when I see that he’s staring me down again. He was sitting in the front row of the benches, leaning forwards on his arms which rested on his manspreading thighs. His glare made me stop chewing on my tongue and my ears were flattened back just like his. 

He seemed to notice how I didn’t look away this time and took note of my reacting attitude towards him. The Colonel returned and Lyle looked away. I continued to study him as I sat down, trying to think of an explanation for his behaviour. 

Did that count as taking his job away? But if so, what does he expect? I’m not going to ignore Quaritch’s orders. He asked me to do something, I’m going to do it. If Lyle has a problem with that, then I have a problem with Lyle. 

The next time I spoke to Lyle was when the recom team wasn’t being used for its deemed mission but for chores. With our height and strength, we were a great help and happened to often do a better job than the human soldiers. 

This time we were cleaning and repairing helicopters. There were 4 in total and Brown and I were in charge of one together.

Lyle was walking up and down the runway, keeping an eye on everything because Quaritch was busy. 

Brown knelt down, tightening the screw and pipes of the engine while I held a cloth in my hand and wiped away the grease and ashes. He gave me a thumbs-up and I nodded, trying to start the engine again but once again the helicopter died. Brown groaned in frustration and I chuckled, walking over to him to see what it looked like. 

“Shouldn’t that be screwed on here?” I ask, pointing it out to him. 

“Don’t know, this is how the other guy showed me te’ do it.” he replied, shrugging. I hum, examining the mess.

“Y/N, back to work!” I hear Lyle loudly call from behind us. Both of us turn around to face him and I frown when my eyes meet him. He’s standing with his arms crossed and tail swaying.

“I am working.” I say, leaning on the front of the aircraft and looking at him. 

“She’s helpin’ me out.” Brown said, looking up at Lyle. I smile, thankful for his helpful words. 

Lyle glares at me and I raise an eyebrow, challenging him to complain about me even more. 

“Wearin’ that?” he scoffs and I blink in silence, processing his nerve to even comment on my clothes. It was extremely warm in the garage for all aircraft, especially when we were working on their engines. 

So I had shorts and a sports bra on, instead of my usual tank top. Not a big deal. It wasn’t the first time either. 

“Yeah, you got a problem?” I ask, fully turning around to face him. Brown notices the tension and stands up. He wasn’t used to seeing me mad. 

“I do actually, yes.” Lyle answered, taking an intimidating step forward but it just makes me sneer at him. We’re staring each other down until Brown comes to my rescue. 

“She’s wearin’ more than me.” He says, making it sound like a light joke even though he is trying to scale down the situation. Brown was shirtless with just loose shorts on, so he wasn’t wrong. 

Lyle’s eyes flicker to him, finally breaking the tense and harsh eye contact and I softly sigh. 

“Get back to it then.” Wainfleet sternly says, turning away from us. I roll my eyes, turning back to the engine and Brown scans the two of us before kneeling down again. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, glancing up at me before reaching for the screwdriver. 

“No idea. He’s been like this for the past few days.” I say with a sigh while my tail flicks in irritation. 

“I think he’s into you.” he chuckles and I wheeze. 

“Yeah, right. I’d rather die.” I say, realising I may not even mean that after I said it. Nonetheless, Brown didn’t need to know. 

“I’m serious, he’s been an ass like this once and that was when he was all over some girl.“ Brown adds and I think about it.

“Besides, look at you. I think he’s interested.”

I scoff at his comment, hitting the back of his head which makes him laugh as he readjusts his baseball cap. 

“He’s interested to kill me.” I say and Brown gives me a doubting look, wanting to reply but we’re interrupted. 

“Y/N!” I hear a distant call which makes me turn my attention away from the conversation. I turn around, vaguely noticing that Lyle was still standing behind us and was facing us. He too was looking in the direction the voice came from. 

Quaritch came out from around the corner, seeming rushed as he scanned the room for me. His eyes found me and his tense shoulders slumped in relief. 

“Y/N, sweet’eart. I need you for the meeting.” He called and I nodded. I was completely oblivious to the pet name and it flew right by me. It just so happened to hit Lyle like a brick to the face and Brown noticed it too. 

As I turn to leave I grin at Lyle who looks angry that I’m being called up instead of him. I chuck the dirty cloth at him. 

“You can clean now. I’m needed elsewhere.” I tease him, smiling at Brown who is fighting a grin before jogging to where the Colonel came from. 

Lyle was boiling with anger, gripping the cloth so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Pfft, ‘sweetheart’.” he mumbled in a mocking tone. 

The fact that Quaritch called for you pissed him off even more and he wasn’t sure whether he was jealous of you or him. It seems as though the Colonel and you have become close with all the time you spend working together, so you doing Lyle’s job. He didn’t know whether to be mad at you for taking it away from him or whether to be mad at the Colonel for wanting you instead of him. Somehow, he also felt angry that you allowed Quaritch to call you pet names like that. 

Lyle turned to Brown who avoided eye contact with him and started doing what I was before. 

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type.” Brown joked, glancing up at Lyle before taking cover behind the broken engine again. 

Lyle’s ears tipped back at his words. “What? No! I’m not.” he snarls, aggressively cleaning the side of the aircraft. Brown didn’t say anything else, not wanting to cause a commotion. 

“It’s just- she’s doin’ my job. Ya know? I’m the fuckin’ Lieutenant.” he huffs and Brown’s ears flick up. Lyle was talking to himself mostly, needing to let his frustration out. Brown preferred not to voice his opinion in fear of getting a beating. 

‘You were going to pay for this’ Lyle thought. 

The meeting Quaritch called me in for was similar to most others. It seemed as though the General needed to be re-informed of our mission every few days which was starting to annoy both Quaritch and me. 

Luckily it ended before either of us started giving Ardmore some attitude. 

She walked out of the room with her usual group of soldiers following her and the Colonel watched her leave with a stern look. Once the door closed behind them he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“That woman’s gettin’ on my nerves.” he subtly said and I grinned, shutting down the computer and turning off the beamer. I wanted to comment on her too but I knew better than that.

“Why does she need us doing this every few days?” I ask, putting the remote control back into a drawer before facing the Colonel. 

“Don’t think she trusts us.” Quaritch answers and I hum in reply. 

“Anyway, you’ve been a great help Y/N. You’re dismissed for the rest of the evenin’.” he said, flashing me a smile and I returned it. 

“Thank you, sir.” I say with a nod before walking out the door myself. There were a lot of thoughts going through my head at the moment so I had tunnel vision for the door of my room. I reached it, letting myself in and closing the door behind me, sighing in relief at the silence and privacy. 

What you hadn’t noticed was, of course, Lyle. He refused to finish cleaning the helicopter and was actually planning on just going to wash his hands but he stumbled across the room you were having this ‘meeting’ in and decided to hang around there instead. Since he was a recombinant, no one would question why he isn’t working so he leaned against the wall next to one of the windows in the room and waited. 

Once Ardmore left he turned around and looked inside, watching the interaction between the Colonel and you. You seemed to be having a pleasant conversation which put Lyle in a very non-pleasant mood. 

He saw you start to leave and his eyes flickered to his superior, noticing how the Colonel peered after you. 

Lyle’s ears automatically flattened back without him noticing. Of course, you were still wearing your skimpy outfit. 

He waited for you to see him because he was very close to the door but your eyes didn’t catch him. Instead, you walked away and probably to your room. 

Lyle huffed in annoyance, making sure the Colonel wouldn’t see him through the windows before following you down the long hallways. The third time he turned a corner he stopped and noticed you unlocking your door and walking inside. Now you were alone and he could scold you for all the shit you have done that’s pissed him off. 

He slowly walked up to your door, stopping in front of it before knocking harshly at the wood.

My tired eyes shot open and my ears perked at the noise. I was in the bathroom, cleaning myself off with a wet towel. Droplets of water were running down my neck and chest after I had just rubbed off some of the helicopter's grease. 

I sigh, holding on to the towel before walking to the door. 

I open it, expecting to see Z-Dog asking where I’ve been of Brown trying to figure out more about the drama. But no, to my surprise, Lyle is standing in front of me and once again he doesn’t look happy. 

I raise an eyebrow, wiping my cheek with the towel while waiting for him to say something. 

“You know you’re meant to greet your superiors.” he said and I was already sick of his presence. I groaned, dropping my head because I felt too tired to deal with him and his shit now.

“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t remember that.” I say, purposefully angering him. 

“You do.” 

“Well, maybe it doesn’t apply to me since I might be your superior soon.” I say, smiling slyly at him. 

Lyle growled and tried stepping in but I blocked his way. “Forget it, this is my space.” I snap and he grits his teeth. 

“Too bad, mandatory room inspection.” he says and I know he’s making it up. This was pathetic and immature.

“Yeah right.” I snort and he straightens his posture, peering down at me. 

“Do I have to remind you that I outrank you by two positions?” he said and my ears tip back. This wasn’t fair but he was right. I had to listen so I sighed, moving out of his way and he walks into my room. 

I stand by the open door, following him with my eyes. 

“Close it.” he orders and I stare for a few good seconds before complying. Yep, that’s it. I’m going to die in here on this good day.

I turn to face him while he stands in all his tall glory, frowning at me. 

Lyle’s eyes scan my body and I take note of that, watching how they linger on my chest. 

“Up here.” I say and I can see how he curses himself for having me catch him.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” he asks and his voice sounds strained which makes me think I might get a punch if I answer wrongly. 

“No? I’m doing my job.”

“My job.” he quickly corrects me, spitting his words which makes me feel salty. 

“I’m not going to disobey direct orders from the Colonel.” I hiss. 

“He’s only given’ ‘em to you ‘cause of how you look.” Lyle snarls at me and I’m taken aback by his words.

Now my hands are resting on my hips as I glare up at him. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, clearly voicing my irritation through tone and body language. He shifts his weight onto one leg, looking up and swiping his thumb over his nose while he scoffs in disbelief. 

“He’s checkin’ you out. Don’t think he gives you orders because he thinks you’re competent.” 

My mouth drops open and I am very much offended. “He doesn’t fucking ‘check me out’.” I reply, staring daggers into this menace of a man. 

“I saw him look after you when you left the room just now.” he says and I stay quiet. I don’t know how to respond and I’m confused what we’re even arguing about. 

“Oh, don’t be all surprised now. Look at what you’re fuckin’ wearin’.” Lyle says motioning to my minimally dressed body and that’s all it takes for me to lose it. 

Without hesitation, I slap Lyle across the face and it clearly startles him. 

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that.” I spit my words at him, pointing my finger while he holds his cheek. “I wear this to training and it’s never been a big deal!” I shout and my noise level seems to bother him. He glances at the door before returning his fierce eyes to me. 

“Be quiet.” he mumbles but I shake my head. 

“You don’t even wear a shirt!” 

“Y/N- stop.”

“You know, maybe the Colonel just wants someone mature and professional for once.” I snarl and Lyle stops his movements. 

“What did you just say?” he asks, taking a step forwards. I stand my ground, not looking away. 

“You heard me. The shit you’re doing right now is close to crossing the line.” I snarl and he raises an eyebrow. “I can report you for-” 

My words are cut off when Lyle walks straight up to me and his right-hand wraps around my throat. I go to push him off me but he catches my wrist with his other hand. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ pain in my ass, you know that?” Lyle growls and I frown up at him, trying to desperately pull his hand from my neck but it doesn’t budge. 

“You’re such an asshole, get out of my-”

This time I’m interrupted by something I would have never expected and the action startles me so much that my heart stops beating for a second and I don’t move. 

Lyle pulls me to him with the help of the grip he has around my throat and crashes his lips against mine. He holds me in place and kisses me roughly and after a second I kiss back. Why I do that I have no idea but he’s gotten me so frustrated with everything I can’t think logically around him. 

The kiss turns into a heated make-out session and the hand he had wrapped around my throat was now tightly gripping the base of my queue on the back of my head. He tugged at it, making me tilt my head upwards to him. 

My hands roam up his torso, rearranging the tank top before I close them into fists around the cloth by his neck. He doesn’t pull away and I’m starting to pant every time I can. One of my hands retreats from the deafening grip I had on his shirt to his bicep and I dig my fingernails into his skin. I still hated him and quite frankly didn’t care if I hurt him. He seemed to feel the same because he growled and squeezed my queue in response, making me whimper. 

While some messed up part of me was into the whole thing, that pissed me off and I harshly pushed him in the chest. It broke the kiss and he took a step back to balance himself. 

My chest was heaving, mirroring his own while I breathed heavily. Lyle was watching me intently, still clearly enraged. Both our ears were pinned back flat against our heads, reminding the other of the hatred we felt for each other despite the attraction I refuse to bring up.

“This is why you’re so provoked by me?” I tease him, rolling my shoulders back. His tail furiously flicks behind him. 

“You’re into me and now you wanna get your dick wet?” I joke, trying to demean him. 

He steps forward again, this time harshly gripping my jaw and forcing me to meet his stern glare. 

“I’m not into you.” He snarls. “You just happen to be wearin’ the sluttiest thing they got.” 

“Aww, are you having a hard time controlling yourself?” I coo, trying to baby him and make fun of him before I can’t take his angry face seriously anymore. I break into light laughter and Lyle growls again. I feel the vibrations from his chest. He pushed me back and my back hit the wall with a thud, making my eyes close from the sudden impact. 

He was going to do what he needed to do but you didn’t deserve to get it on the bed. That would be too intimate so you’re getting it against a wall. 

I look up at him with wide eyes and am quick to realise that I am very much not in control of the events that will soon unfold. 

Lyle reaches behind his back, tugging his tank top over his head and discarding it on the ground before coming over to me. I don’t dare move and within seconds one of his hands caught my wrist, holding it above me and firmly pressed against the wall. I let out a faint gasp, following his movements and trying to wriggle it free but I fail.

Before I can try another miserable escape attempt, his other hand wraps around the strap of my sports bra and he tears it apart with ease. My breath catches in my throat and when he does the same to the other strap, a part of it recoils and slingshots back against my skin, making me flinch and cry out but Lyle couldn’t care less. 

He tears apart the remaining cloth until it’s no longer wrapped around my torso and he lets it fall to the floor. 

“You jerk, I liked that one.” I hiss at him, trying to catch his attention but Lyle’s head is elsewhere as he just stares at my now bare chest. 

“Yeah?” He asks and I know he’s about the belittle my petty words. 

“The Colonel did too. He’s never seein’ you in it again.”

I scoff. “Next time, I’ll go to him like this then.” 

I answer, motioning to my bare chest because I knew that would get under his skin. 

“You don’t know when to stop do ya?” he asks before his hand roughly fastens around the back of my neck and he turns me around. My chest and face are pressed against the wall while his other arm tugs my hips towards him, making me arch my back. 

Within seconds my shorts have been pulled down my legs and before I could complain, his large palm delivered a harsh spank to my ass. I flinched away from his touch, pushing up further against the wall while I heard a deep chuckle from behind me. 

“You’re in for it now.” he scowled and I snarled, pressing myself away from the wall and flicking him in the face with my tail. I wanted to turn around but he still held me by the neck and another skin-reddening spank landed on my ass. He gave me about 5 more, making them sting harder each time and I stopped struggling to get him to stop. 

“You deserve more than that, you’re just lucky I’m impatient today.” he said, pulling me back from the wall and spinning me around. 

I was going to get him back for making my ass sting so harshly. 

His hands wrapped around my waist and he hoisted me into the air. Being lifted from my feet distracted me enough to not deliver another slap to his face. 

He moved closer, resting me on his hips while my legs dangled on either side of him. Lyle looked distracted enough by the new position he put us in so I used this opportunity to harm him again. The fight was on and I wasn’t giving up. 

My fingers clawed at his shoulders and then I tried to choke him with both hands but when I looked up at him, he looked completely unfazed by my aggressive antics. 

Lyle’s hands were on my hips, and he was busy looking at my bare body which was shielded with just my panties at this point. He flexed his core abs and forced my hips to roll forwards while he pressed his up against mine. 

I gasped when I felt him grind himself against me and my hands automatically loosened, falling from his neck and resting on his chest. A bolt of electric excitement shot through me and I bit my lip, hating the pleasure I felt. 

He did it again and I tightly held onto his shoulders, pressing my lips together to suppress any noises that might fuel this bad idea. 

Lyle looked up at my face and smirked when he saw my struggle to keep quiet. He decided to just keep repeating his actions until my rebellious acts will finally give out. 

I had to occasionally close my eyes but once I felt his hardening dick twitch beneath me and press right against my clothed core, my sealed lips fell open and I moaned. 

Lyle’s ears perked forwards and his sly smirk turned into a shit-eating grin. 

“Ya feel good?” he asked me in a teasing manner. 

“Shut up.” I answer breathily, not having a snarky remark I can fire back. I was lucky because Lyle wasn’t able to withstand me that long. The teasing ended quickly.

His fingers curled around the side of my underwear and to my displeasure but not a surprise, he tore the cloth apart and it joined the pile on the floor. I was naked now in his hands and he exhaled shakily while his starved eyes drank in all they saw. 

His eyes widened when he noticed my tattoo. It was located above my pussy, close enough to always be covered by any panties I wore. The hand that threw away my panties came up to my lower abdomen and he traced his fingers down it. 

“Fuck- I never knew you had this.” he mumbled, unable to tear his eyes off of the teasing pattern decorating my skin. 

Now it’s my turn to evilly smirk at him. “You like it?” I ask, feigning innocence. 

He scoffs, still staring down at it. “If I knew you had this, I wouldn’t have been able to wait this long.” 

I grin before reaching between us and unbuckling his belt. 

Lyle was brought out of his trance of fantasies and stared down at my hands. 

“Look who’s all needy now.” he cooed, teasing me again and I huffed. 

“Shut up, you did this to me.” 

“Fuck yeah I did.” he replied, interpreting it rather as a compliment than an insult. 

His hands replaced mine and he pushed his pants down, letting them pool around his ankles with his underwear. 

I shudder, letting out a shaky breath as my eyes are met with his throbbing cock. The tip was glistening, already smeared with droplets of pre-cum while I watched the veins on the underside pulse. He was so much bigger than I could have possibly imagined and it looked so inviting. 

I wanted to touch him but Lyle was feeling too restless. 

“When I’m done you won’t be able to walk.” he said and I scoffed. 

“Yeah right, like you’d ever manage that.” 

I knew I could be underestimating him but we weren’t here to fucking make love. I was still mad at him for his behaviour. 

“Quit bein’ a bitch and I might be nice.” he snarled, readjusting me on him while his lust-blown eyes stared into mine. 

“Forget it, you started this.” I hiss and we’re back at the beginning again, arguing back and forth. 

The tension in his body rose and Lyle decided to change my mind with actions instead of words. He didn’t like his odds because he knew you had a big mouth and talking wasn’t his absolute strength. 

His hands held me up by the back of my thighs and he pulled his hips slightly back before moving forwards so that his tip was now pressing against my bare entrance. He had lifted me a little higher to achieve that and I bit my lip in anticipation. 

The pressure of his tip against me had my pussy throbbing and then his fingers came down and he started gliding one through my folds. 

I let my head fall back against the wall while I held onto his arms. He continued his actions, circling my clit and successfully not leaving a single area untouched. 

Lyle started slowly pushing into me while he gently applied pressure on my clit and I was slowly melting into his touch. The pleasure I felt made it easier for him to enter me and soon enough, Lyle was buried hilt-deep in me. 

He groaned, digging his fingers into the plush of my thighs to keep him steadied. “Shit… so tight.” 

“Lyle-” I gasp, relishing in the feeling of being filled by him. I glance down, noticing a faint bump in my belly which made my stomach twist with more excitement. 

Hearing his name did unspeakable things to the marine soldier and he drew his hips back before pushing in a little faster and steadier this time. 

I sighed, relaxing into him and once Lyle noticed I was taking him well he took things up a notch. His hips gliding back and forth turned into unwavering thrusts which sped up as we started to accept each other. Soon I was being shoved against the wall with each stroke and Lyle started rutting into me like this was the last time we would ever get this chance. 

I closed my legs around his waist to ensure I stay on him while we both started getting lost in the feeling of pleasure. My eyes were fluttering closed with occasional whimpers and moans being drawn from my lips. They spurred Lyle on and his head was dropped forward and next to mine. His grunts and pants filled my ears and I loved the noises he made. My stomach tightened each time he groaned in bliss and he felt it when my pussy hugged him tighter. 

We were both so frustrated and wound up from our arguments that we grew desperate for each other without knowing it. Finally, we were being relieved from all the tension and suspense and our senses were more responsive. Meaning, neither of us was going to last very long. 

“Holy shit-” I moan, gasping when the angle he uses to drill into me hits my sweet spot. “I’m so close.” 

Lyle growls into my ear, pressing his face into my neck and deeply inhaling my scent. It drove him feral and he couldn’t wait to cloak it with his musk. That way it would be made clear to the others, that you were his even without you knowing.

“Come on,” he whispered, encouraging me to cum. His words mixed with the next thrust absolutely crash me over the edge and my body trembles in euphoria. 

I moan, arching my back off the wall and holding on to him for dear life while my pussy clenches down on him. 

Lyle moans, knowing he will spill any second. 

My orgasm washes over me and my pussy is throbbing wildly as I regain my breath. 

He thrusts into me a few more times before quickly pulling out. In an instant, his hand closes into a fist around his shaft and he jerks himself until his cum sputters from his tip. 

“Fuckkk-” he curses, throwing his head back before quickly looking down at our bodies again. 

I watch with wide eyes as the thick ropes of white and almost luminescent cum paint my quivering pussy. He’s aiming for my tattoo and manages to almost fully cover it. 

Once he calms down I smile to myself, loving how a small and naughty tattoo like that can make him so weak. 

“Damn, this tat’ has you whipped.” I giggle, looking up at him. Lyle sighs, knowing I’m right. “ I’d say you like it more than me.”

“Fuck’s sake, all of you is so amazing.” he breathily answers, dropping his head into the crook of my neck again. He’s still floating in pleasure and his head isn’t fully back yet. 

I raise an eyebrow. “All of me?”

Lyle pulls away, smirking at me. “We need to work on your attitude a little but otherwise-” 

I pretend to be hurt and give him a light punch in the chest which makes him chuckle.

“My attitude is what got you laid, so play nice.” 

He laughs before gently placing me on the ground. Lyle picks up the ripped clothes which used to be one and cleaned me up. 

“I don’t know if you deserve ‘nice’. ” he replied and I rolled my eyes before walking over to my bed and picking up my large sleeping t-shirt. Lyle watched me not put it on and I smiled at him before leaving the room and going into the bathroom. 

“You not comin’ back outside?” he asked, meaning the base. 

“Nope. Our lovely Colonel dismissed me for the rest of the evening.” I call back to him. Lyle’s ears flick back for a brief moment. 

‘Of course, he fucking did that’ Lyle thought. He looked down at what used to be your bra and felt a sense of pride when he saw how torn it was. 

“Well, your bra’s done for so you ain’t gettin’ any more time off from him.” Lyle jokes. 

“Can’t hear you I’m showering!” I shout and Lyle stands still for a few moments, thinking. 

He glances at the door he came in through, contemplating whether he should get back to work. Then he looked towards you and saw you in the shower. 

Let’s just say that work can wait.

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Y/N:

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