#you don't like when things make you think?

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

we cannot change who we are at our core.

type: limited series, part 1 (6.4k) in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

Whenever she woke up marked the last day of the rest of your life. One moment, the world inside of your head was unnervingly quiet. The next, someone else was there, whispering in the dark, taking over.

You aren't proud of her. No, you hate her. There is no one you hate more, you don't think, because she lets the direction of the fucking wind distract her from what really matters. She paints her environment in a soft, glazed picture, and she tries to hold up her canvas and convince you that her reality is real. But then you blink, and you get flashes of how dull the sky really is and the dirt that stains your shoes, and you know that she's just a liar.

A controlling, desperate thief.

When you heard her voice for the first time, you begged your reflection in the mirror to just kill you already.

If you were an alpha, maybe you could've just drawn away into yourself and lived a quiet life in the middle of nowhere. If you were a beta, perhaps the weight of nothing would've given you a little more freedom to do the things you wanted to do.

But no. You're an omega. Nature's servant. A natural follower. Destined for nothing except to open your legs and say, "yes, alpha, all for you," because if you are anything but complacent, you're unwanted and a waste of your very being.

Your eyes stung when you took your first little pill. They rattled in different colors in a little orange bottle, and it felt like sand as it dissolved under your tongue. Even though it makes you sick, you take them anyways. Even though the pills change colors and shape and efficacy because you buy them from someone different every time, you take them because it makes your omega shut the fuck up finally.

You bury her. And you won't let her out.

The truth of it is that you're only fighting yourself. Your omega, she is you, isn't she? She's a part of you, she makes up your very genetic makeup, and to hate her is to hate yourself. But nature is cruel–it gave you years of freedom. Years to know what life was like without her, when she was dormant, asleep, just waiting for you to finally wake up.

Then your very self locked the cage. Your fingers claw at the bars, but it's no use. It's your very own punishment. So in turn, you bury her, too, silencing her cries, quieting what she wants most in the world, because it isn't fair, fuck you, you whiny bitch.

She's a pathetic puppy; and you are more than happy to step on her fucking neck.

Your aim is off today. The sound is muffled through the earphones you wear, but they've never thrown off your balance before. When you lean over the railing and squint at the target papers towards the back, you can see the bullet holes just a few inches off center.

You're never off-center.

"Getting rusty on me, Kit?"

You turn around, setting the gun down, and you smile wide when you see a familiar face. You pull the headphones off, putting them aside before making your way towards her.

Kate Laswell is surprised when you throw your arms around her and hug her tight. She smells good; she smells like chocolate, dark chocolate, something bittersweet. She's got that edge to it that they all do, something a little heady and all-encompassing, but she's the only alpha that you've ever found comfort being near. You see her nose scrunch a little when she embraces you back.

You must stink like synthetics. You care, only because you hate to make her nose sting this way. It's never been meant for her. At times, you thought maybe you could do a little convincing; maybe if you batted your lashes enough, she’d take pity on you, hide you away in some CIA shack with her deep on a Montana farm and play house. You’d cook, and she’d protect, and you’d be perfect little alpha and omega until the end of your days.

But Kate doesn’t like baggage. Not even the sweet kind, and especially not the kind that makes it even more difficult to make the hard decisions.

Kate isn’t a soldier. She makes choices based on the greater good, the lesser evil. She doesn’t get to be selfish. She doesn’t have that luxury.

When you pull away, she looks down at you strangely. She looks tired. Her dark hair is in a mess of a braid tucked under a cap, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her attempt of a smile emphasizes the lines around her eyes. You open your mouth to tell her something, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not here as a friend," she says softly, and you frown a little.

"Aren't...haven't we always been friends?" You ask, and Kate lets out a shaky sigh, nodding her head behind her.

"We need to talk. C'mon."

You retrieve the gun and holster it, fastening it into your thigh holster before you follow her. She has a car waiting outside, a big, black SUV with the door already open for her. When you get inside, she knocks on the divider, and the car immediately starts moving. You brace yourself against the side of the car as it speeds off, reaching for a seatbelt.

"Jesus, Kate, what's going on? I-I have training later, I can't–"

"You're not...going back to base," she says evenly. You frown a little, leaning back in your seat, and you put your hands in your lap as you try and get a read on her. Even exhausted, Kate is hard to decipher. She has a stone-cold expression, calm and unbothered, and you curse her CIA training for making her impossible to understand, to even get a glimpse of what she might say next. Her face makes you anxious, and the scent in the car that changes puts you on edge.

"Okay," you scoff a little. "Then where am I going?"

Kate sniffs a little, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't break eye contact with you when she says, "Wheels up in 30. I have an assignment for you." She reaches under the seat, pulling out a manila folder, setting it down beside you. When you pick it up and flip it open, you narrow your eyes.

"I'm..." You shrug your shoulders, "I'm not really CIA. You don't give me orders."

"As of one hour ago, you're mine. And this...this is your duty."

Your eyes blur as you skim the text on the pages. You flip through the papers flimsily, getting more and more irritated until you throw it at her, your chest rising and falling fast as you pant, barely able to see her through your tears.

Program. UK. Field assignment. Mate. All the keywords to make your stomach curl and your autonomy shrink in front of your very eyes.

"Kate, don't do this," you beg her softly. You soften your voice, and you let your omega drip syrup into it. You want to see her eyes dilate–you want to make her protectiveness kick in just enough that she might just appease you. It’s desperate, and you know it’s wrong, but you do it anyways, you have to. "Please don't do this. Please. You fucking promised me, you promised–"

"You need to understand that I don't have a lot of fucking choices," she says sharply. She pities you, that much you can tell. She looks pained, but it doesn’t matter how pained she might feel because it isn’t happening to her. It’s happening to you, and she put you on that base so that it wouldn’t happen to you, and she tricked you into getting into this car, and now it’s her–

"Kate, I'll do anything, please," you gasp. You reach over and grab her hands, tugging her towards you. "You know. You know what...w-what I've been through, what this all is, you know...please. Please..."

You promised me. You gave me your word.

"I can't–"

But the CIA can’t be trusted for shit.

"I'll be yours," you try, squeezing her palms. Appease. Beg. Bare your neck. Give her what she really craves. "Just claim me yourself, a-and...and we don't have to do this, w-we can...I-I can go back to–"

Her face contorts, offended, disgusted. You try and swallow down the sting of her rejection, but you cannot help yourself. You would do anything to not be subjected to this fate, to the fate she promised she'd save you from. The only alpha you have ever trusted, and she's pulling away from you, bit by bit.

"I could never do that to you," she interrupts, shaking her head. "I couldn't."

"But you'll do this instead?"

"It's the lesser evil," she says finally, pushing your hands back. It aches. Despite you never leaning towards her, it is still an alpha turning their nose up at you, and the thing inside of you cries at the feeling; she begs you to do more, but you swallow her down, fingers itching for another pill just so you can really squash her singing. "And in my world, that is the best I can hope for."

"It's punishment!" You cry, and she reaches over, cupping your cheeks, pulling you close. You scrunch your face at her touch. Her hands are cold, and they do not welcome you. "A-And for what? For being something that I can't change?!"

"It's mercy," she whispers. Her thumbs stroke your cheeks in soft circles. "I can't protect you anymore, do you understand? They don't want you there, and I can’t take you with me. Even taking meds, even spraying yourself to shit, they don't want you, and I can't protect you if they send you away, do you understand me?" You start to cry, closing your eyes, and you hear the familiar voice in your head preening. She's desperate, slipping through the cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try and force her backwards. You’re panicking, and maybe she’s trying to help, but you hate her. "I have to get you out of there, and this is the only way."

"Please..."

"I can't protect you," she says gently. "But he can. And he'll be good to you. I promise, this...this I can promise."

You rip yourself away from her, curling into yourself as you scoot away from her as far as possible. You press yourself against the door, tucking your knees into your chest. Whatever passes by outside is a blur, and your brain doesn’t register any of it. The only thing in your head is betrayal, traitor, those sick, stupid bastard alphas, all of them–

"Fuck your promises," you whimper, and when she reaches out for you again, you flinch, burying your face into your hands.

Kate is a liar. She never keeps her promises; that’s her job, it is what she does. The CIA is nothing if they aren’t incredible liars–it’s what they’re known for, and Kate takes to it like a fish to water. As far as you are concerned, she lured you in with bait, and now she's shut the door on a trap. It is lined with padding, soft, delicate, but it still holds you back, it still keeps you still and stagnant and forever chained to an existence that you detest more than anything. She used you; it was in her best interest to keep an omega under her thumb, to do with you as she pleased when she needed one, and you suppose once you are taken, she will find another to do the same with. She will give another desperate one like you false hope, and when she needs another omega to keep someone else complacent and willing, she will offer them up with her signature on paper–just like that.

She tries to touch your hand before you board the plane. She tries to meet your eyes, get your attention, anything. You cower when she reaches out, and when she steps backwards, you walk on.

You never look behind yourself. Not even when you sit, and not even as the ramp closes shut.

Fighting is futile when you are who you are. It's unexpected. It's frowned upon. You are made up of something that is intended to be docile, to be big-eyed and soft. If you were a dog, they would want you to roll over and bare your belly and forget how to do anything but obey, but that is not the kind of thing that you ever wanted to be, even when you were small, even before you knew what you really were.

You hate what you are. You medicate yourself to the point of being incoherent, you bare your teeth and aggravate the submissive nature you inherit to deter any kind of match. You make yourself undesirable, not just in your physical nature but in the very essence of yourself.

You want to start over, as something else, or you want to never have been at all. You hate this place, you want them to cast you out, you want to be left to your own devices because dying alone and unwanted is better than submission; it;s better than the imprisonment that your kind subjects themselves to, willing or not.

It sickens you. You watch your own kind fall to their knees, close their mouths, and allow their very being to disappear just to make another satiated. Happy. Their entire lives, reduced to being someone else's waiting hand, someone else's property. It's sad, it's pathetic, it rocks you to the very center of yourself, and you demand more of it, you reject this life and the voice in your head that fights with you every single day of it.

She hates you, too, your omega. She claws at your insides and begs for something to drink, but you dry her out. You don't allow her to even breach the surface of the wasteland you've suffocated her with. She is naïve; she doesn't know what is good for her, she doesn't know that you are saving her from a life of constant torture. She screams for you to let her out, but you take another pill and force her back into the dark.

Or at least you did. You haven't taken a pill in days. They won't let you, even when you asked, even when you began to beg. You promised to be good if they just appeased you. You promised to be quiet if they just slipped it under your tongue, even if they injected it into your very veins, anything, just please, please, I don't want to–

Everything is surreal. You feel like you're seeing everything in color. What used to be dull and uninteresting now sparkles in your very eyes, it glows under the sun. Everything is sharper and less blurry. Sounds are clearer. You can hear the wind more loudly in your ears and feel it under the soles of your shoes. But what dizzies you the most is your sense of smell.

Everything before had been so bland. You have been under the effects of suppressors for so long that you don't think food has ever smelled so bad and so good (eggs make you gag now, and the crisps they give you make your mouth water).

They keep you confined in a small room. You are not allowed in the presence of any alphas; you can smell them passing by the door, but whenever the stink of one of them lingers, there's loud voices, lots of heavy boots. A beta comes to collect you to do a daily workout and to shower, and then you are back in your room, your meals delivered on a tight schedule (and the food, after a few days of your tray being barely picked at, gets so much better–it's better quality than you've seen on any military base, and when you asked, all they said was "lieutenant's orders").

Today is different. Today, along with your breakfast, a large black hoodie is folded underneath the tray that they leave on the end of your bed. You set the food aside, picking up the hoodie, and when you unravel it, you spread it out, gawking at the size of it. Whoever this hoodie belongs to is more bear, more beast, than human. An enormous thing, but when you pick it up, you immediately pick up on its strong scent.

You press the front of it to your nose. Your eyes flutter shut, and you sink into the bed a little as you take a deep breath of it. Warm, but gritty, like charcoal. Cigarettes. Military-issue soap. Clean. Eucalyptus. Fire. Something with depth, something with teeth. You don't realize what's happening to you until it's too late.

Alpha. It smells undoubtedly like alpha, and you're certain by the size of it that it belongs to one. You nuzzle your face into it a little, instinctively, and you don't even register your omega knocking, peering through the door that's been cracked open for her.

She squeals with delight. She's getting dizzy, drunk, and you feel a soft noise in your chest bubble as she pets the back of your mind, keening at the introduction of it. She’s giggling. You can feel her tugging at your insides, whispering in your ear–See? I told you. I told you that you’d like it.

They smell strong. They smell capable. They smell pure.

When you put the hoodie down, your legs are pressed together, shaking from how hard your thighs are squeezed. When you relax, you refrain from the need to touch yourself, but you failed before you even started. You can feel how wet you are; your panties must be soaked, and you feel yourself pulsing with some sort of distinct urge to give in, give in, give in.

It's unnerving, the lack of control you have. Your omega has always been a few feet underwater, but she's breaching the surface now, her lips gasping for air.

You try to push her back.

Stay down.

When the clock strikes for dinner, you aren't surprised by the knock. But you are surprised that when the door opens, there isn't a beta in uniform holding your tray. Instead, you cover your nose a little, blinking harshly as a large man comes into the room. He's got a strange beard and a floppy hat, and when he smiles, he reminds you of a teddy bear. You can tell just by his physique what he is, but his eyes are kinder than you're used to.

You will yourself not to trust them. You trusted kind eyes before, and now you’re locked in a prison of your own making.

"'ello," he introduces himself, holding out his hand. "'m Captain John Price. 's nice to meet you."

You glare at him, not saying a word. When he figures you won't shake his hand, he just nods. He lets his hand drop, hooking his thumbs into his tact vest, and he rests at ease.

"I've come to collect you," he says lowly. "It's time."

You pick up your tray of food from behind you and hurl it towards him. He ducks just in time, moving one shoulder backwards as the metal hits the wall behind him and clatters to the floor in a splattered mess. John shakes his head a little, scratching the back of his neck, and he clicks his tongue. You’re unnerved and a little pissed off when a hint of a grin flickers over his face.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes. "Yeah...you'll do."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Let's go," John snaps. "Won't ask again."

When he reaches for you, you swipe the fork from the bed, stepping close and sticking the little prongs up against his chin. You aren’t satisfied until you can feel his scratchy beard against it, piercing the skin just enough.

"If you touch me, I'll shove this right up your chin through your goddamn nose," you threaten, and John’s nostrils flare, his hands going up flat beside his head.

"Easy," he murmurs, and you feel like he’s talking to a skittish mare. "Just need to guide you, that's all."

"Well, I don't want to go anywhere."

"If you don't do this, I have to send you back," John explains. "And Kate made it very clear that is supposed to be my last resort. And you don't want to go back."

"Anything is better than this," you hiss, and he narrows his eyes.

"Not this. What they do to unruly omegas..." He leans forward, snarling a little. "Ones like you. Ones that bite. And scratch. They don't deal with them. They'll sedate you and use you as training practice. And while Kate might have a heart big enough to keep you outta that place, I don't have it. So get your arse moving. Now."

You put your hand down, dropping the fork, letting it clatter to the floor. He grips you by the collar of your shirt, urging you forward, and all the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as he gets dangerously close to scruffing you. It's enough of a threat that you immediately relax, your own body betraying your emotions as it tries to make itself smaller. To appease. To submit.

"This can't wait any longer," John mutters. "Has to happen today."

Your lip trembles.

"What has to happen today?" You ask.

"You're meeting your mate," he says. You know that was the answer, but you had to ask it anyways. You think of the hoodie you received all those hours ago. The smell of him, complete intoxication. "Simon."

Simon.

"Sounds like an asshole," you snap, irritated, and John chuckles a little.

"Mmm. He is. You'll adore 'im."

You flinch at the flickering fluorescent lights as he leads you down a narrow hallway. When you pass other soldiers, John puts you in front of him, glaring and baring his teeth a little. You're confused by this sudden display of aggression on your behalf, but when you spot the looks in others’ eyes, you're grateful for it nonetheless.

You know your scent is strong; piercing the walls around you, displaying your displeasure, discomfort, fear so plainly. It's an awful thing to not be able to hide how you feel, to not feel like you have any control over how you present to others, but you have no practice masking any of it. You have been drowning your omega for so long that you didn't realize the strength of her building up behind the synthetic walls you had built. She's livid, angry, permeating the spaces in your mind that you thought were solid and now are broken and hollow inside.

You stop in front of an unmarked door. John looks over you, eyeing the jacket you wear.

"Take tha' off," he says lowly. You frown, stepping back, but he nods again. "Take it off. You'll get it back, just give it to me."

You shrug your jacket off gently, handing it to him. John holds out his hand for yours, and when you cautiously give it to him, he rubs the fabric against your wrists to soak it in your scent before disappearing behind the door. You wait outside, pressing your ear to the metal, but you hear nothing but low mumbles. You do hear a heavy gait, big feet moving around that don't belong to Captain Price, and you close your eyes as you try and see if you can hear his voice.

You don't.

The door is opened just slightly, John cocking his head to the side.

"He wants to see you."

You raise a brow.

"Your mutt?" You ask smartly, and John scoffs a little, kicking the door open wide finally. Behind it, you can see a small little office situated. Dozens of file cabinets, a stained wooden desk, a peeling leather chair. There are papers everywhere, a disorganized mess and walls filled with medals, plaques, letters, pictures of faceless men. And standing beside the desk, towering over it with his head nearly hitting the ceiling is a bear.

A fucking bear.

He's so tall. Over six feet of hulking man, big shoulders taking up too much space. You can tell just by looking at him that he has to duck his head and move his body sideways to get through the doorway you're standing in. He has big hands and thick thighs, and your lips part when you realize his thigh holster has been released as much as possible just to still fit snugly around him. He's wearing dark jeans and a thick black hoodie, and he looks even bigger with a strapped tact vest that holds numerous little gadgets, weapons (fuck, he looks like he can kill you with the pencil laying haphazard beside him).

You can't see his face. He covers it with a mask, a snug covering tucked under his hoodie with the plastic front plate of a skull sewn to its front. He's holding your jacket in one hand, the other clenched in a tight fist as you step through the door.

"Is this your dog, Captain?" You ask finally. Simon doesn't speak. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you, taking in the way you look from the tips of your combat boots all the way up over your head. His gaze lingers on your middle, the wideness of your hips and the curve of your body.

John crosses his arms over his chest.

"Suppose so," John shrugs, rolling his eyes a little. You blink, finally making eye contact with Simon. His eyes are dark and beady. He's intense, just as his scent had been. Your omega warms your throat and screams in your ear.

Grab him. Latch onto him. Don’t let him go. Do you see him? Look at him–

"Does it bark?" You wonder, glaring. Simon unclenches his fist, rolling his fingers out a little. They twitch beside his leg. His face twitches a little, too, you can see the mask move just slightly.

"When he wants to."

"Does it bite?"

John snorts. "Mmm. Afraid so." He opens the door behind him. "Don't kill each other. If I don't see her for supper, Simon, I'll hold you to it."

When you are alone, Simon still remains silent. He hasn't moved from his spot by the desk, still in a strange staring contest with you as you stand there trying to read him. Like Kate, he's impossible; this time, you don't even have the luxury of looking over his face, although you suspect even without the mask, he must have mastered some kind of expression of nothingness. He seems like the kind of brute to give nothing away. Not even his displeasure.

"Hope you're good on a leash," you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest. "I like to go on walks."

His face moves under the mask again. Finally, he moves. He unravels your jacket in his hand, holding it open for you to put on again. You eye him strangely before coming closer to fit your arms into it.

When you turn your back to him, you realize how much of his shadow you're tucked under. When he drops the fabric back on your shoulders, you still as he leans over one side of you, bending. Without thinking, your head tilts to the side, giving him more space into the side of your neck. You do it without even thinking. Your omega bleeds through you, and you feel her warmth everywhere now, making you move, but you let her this time.

Your scent gland pulses there under your ear. He can see it, hear it practically, rushing like the blood in his ears. You close your eyes when you feel him come closer, the cotton of his mask just barely grazing your neck as he takes a deep breath.

The growl he lets out shakes you to your core. Your pupils get blown wide at the sound, and your head flops back slow, exposing more of your neck. He uses the opportunity to bend just that much more, until the front of his mask is pressed against the gland, and he can breathe you in, right at the source.

He's snarling under the mask. You can hear his teeth knock together, his tongue wetting his lips. You shiver, leaning into him, your hand raising up to caress the back of his neck as he nuzzles his nose there, taking another deep breath. You step back enough that he presses up against you from behind. You can feel his pelvis right against your ass, and you arch your back just enough to fit him right where he belongs. A gloved hand catches you at your waist, and you put your free hand on the desk in front of you until his cock is right there between your ass.

Your omega is panting. She's clawing, right there at the edge, fighting against quicksand as she's desperate to meet him. The feeling of him, the scent of him so close, it's an aphrodisiac, potent, suffocating. Something warm is wrapping around you, sliding along your skin, tickling your toes. It's between your thighs, in your mouth, wetting your tongue. You're not sure what this feeling is, but it's thrilling.

He's purring. Big, rumbling sounds coming from deep in his chest. More animal than man as his tongue comes out under the mask, and you can feel him lick a nice stripe over the raised, warm skin under your ear. Your omega is being pulled to the forefront. She’s like a magnet to him. The closer he gets, the stronger she bites into you. Your mouth drops open when his hand falls between your thighs, gripping onto you and pulling you up against him in one, slow grind. You can feel the length of him, fucking enormous, and you’re leaking into your cargos as his fingers squeeze the fat of your thigh.

"Fuck–okay!" You pull away abruptly, turning to face him. You put your hands on his chest and push him back a little. He doesn’t move at your touch, but your voice startles him enough that he moves his hands up and away from you. He straightens up, blinking away the haze in his eyes, and you swallow hard. "T-Too much..."

He huffs, moving forward to bury his face into your neck again, but you step back, putting a hand on his chest firmer this time. You have stepped out of the cloud that surrounds him, but you can still taste it, and it’s pulling you back, and you’re losing control.

"Simon," you say his name gently, and he stops, his face scrunching a little under the mask before he stands back up again. "If I have to be your mate...we need to set some boundaries." He blinks, saying nothing. "Like...a-asking for permission."

You can tell by the way his mask twitches that he doesn't usually ask for permission. He wants, and he receives.

Typical.

“What?” You ask, scoffing. “You don’t talk?”

He doesn’t move. You crane your neck to look up at him a little better, and you smooth your hands lower on his chest. You can’t help but appreciate what you feel. He’s wearing a tactical vest, but you can still feel the deep breaths he’s taking, the strong, fatty muscle under your palms. He is the epitome of sheer strength and undeniable ability. Your omega draws your hands back up his chest, over his pecs that pull taut, and they wind up around his neck as you stand up on your toes and lean into the curve of his jaw. You put your nose to it, barely. Simon moves his hands down, cupping you under your ass and picking up your weight with not even a grunt until you can press your face deep into him.

Fuck, it’s like a drug. It’s addictive. His scent impales you. He smells like war. Like chaos and smoke, and your mouth starts to water as you keep breathing him in. You pull back just enough, blinking up at him. You look a little dizzy and intoxicated, and he squeezes your ass to hold you steady as he puts you back onto your feet.

“Uhm…” You sniffle a little, holding onto him. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you keep yourself upright like this. “I didn’t wanna be here. I don’t…I don’t want this. I never did.” You blink away tears, but he sees them when you draw your eyes back up to his. “T-They made me. It hurts.”

“Wot hurts?”

His voice scares you when you finally hear it. Your lip shakes, and when you blink again, your tears fall down your face. Simon snarls when he sees them, reaching up with hands too rough and wiping them off your face, but they keep coming.

“I’ve never been o-off my meds–” You gasp, and your breaths start to come in panicked and too fast. “Everything hurts. T-The lights are too bright, everything hurts my nose, the sheets are too itchy, and I-I can’t breathe–”

Simon moves away from you immediately. He closes a fist and pounds the lightswitch, and only the yellow glow of the lamp on his desk illuminates the room. You curl into yourself, hugging your own arms, and Simon comes back to stand in front of you, narrowing his eyes.

“I did not want you either.”

“That’s just grand, this is perfect,” you hiccup, and Simon grunts.

“But I have orders.”

“You act like your Captain is just debriefing you for a fucking mission,” You snap, glaring at him. “I’m a fucking person. I know your kind may not see us that way, but I am. I’m not a mission. I’m not something for you to win or to conquer, you fucking asshole!”

When you raise a hand to hit him, he catches your wrist before it lands. He squeezes just enough to hold you at arm’s length, and you lean forward and spit on him instead. It wets the mouth of his mask, and he nearly loses himself as his eyes flash with something dark. He looks away from you for a moment to collect himself. When he turns back, he uses his other hand to cup the back of your head, silencing you.

“You listen ‘ere, omega–” The way he says your title makes the fight in you shrink. Your omega squeaks, ducking her head, that bubble of submission pilling in your throat as he holds you so close to your naked scent gland. “Dunno wot anyone told you, but I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” He ducks his head, pulling you closer, and you freeze when he presses his masked mouth at the base of your pulsing scent gland. It wafts into his nose, dilating his pupils, and he snarls. “And when you inevitably lose control of yourself–you already fuckin’ are, you reek of it–I’m goin’ to sink my teeth right ‘ere, and then it won’t fuckin’ matter ‘ow you feel.”

Your eyes blur with angry tears. You gasp, your breaths hitching, and Simon seems to feed off of your fear, your misery. If he wasn’t wearing a mask, you imagine he’d be licking your tears for a chance to taste your sadness. The worst part of it all is that your omega adores it. She’s been aching for so long for this kind of authority. For that edge to tickle her right under her chin where she likes it. The whiff of alpha that she’s getting is driving her out of control, and you don’t know how make her quiet down. She’s so loud in your head, banging against the walls–give it to him, give it to him, give it to him.

“You’re a fucking monster,” you whisper, glaring up at him. It’s no use–you will never scare him. Simon is what scares other alphas into submission. In one paw, he could crush your windpipe if he wanted to, with just a squeeze. Simon hums, and you imagine him smiling under that mask, some kind of vicious grin that you would love to smack off of him.

“Tha’s right, swee’eart,” Simon mutters. “I am. ‘n now you belong t’me. Everything that you are–” He smooths his hand down your neck. You seize when his hand slides over the curve of your waist until it cups under your ass and forces you up against him. “‘s mine. Your omega–’s mine. Your mouth–mine. Your arse–mine. That cunt that’s going to take my knot like a good little omega should–mine. So y’r gonna get y’r things, and y’r gonna move them into my quarters, and then we’re gonna go get supper, and y’r gonna shut y’r fuckin’ mouth.”

“I hate you. You’re the biggest son of a bitch I have ever met in my entire life, you are exactly the kind of asshole I knew you would be, you are no different than I thought. You’re a terrible, awful, horrible–”

“I can smell you,” Simon snaps. “Don’t try to be fuckin’ smart with me, I can smell how wet your cunt is, so why don’t you just be a good girl and do as I say?”

You bare your teeth a little, and Simon sticks a gloved thumb into your mouth. Without thinking, you relax. You suck it into your mouth and sigh, and Simon rubs his thumb against your tongue, shutting you up nice and well. He traces your teeth with it, and you start to cry. You cry because you don’t know why you can’t fight. Your grip his forearm, but your nails won’t dig. Your feet are planted to the ground, and you can’t move. Your mouth sucks, and he pushes, and you’re frozen here.

He knows what to do. Doesn’t he taste so good?

He seems to like your teary eyes. The big, fat tears. His eyes crinkle, and you know he’s smiling, and you wish you could rip that expression off his face, but all that stares back at you is death. Simon growls, and every bit of resistance in you fails. Slow, like molasses, your knees buckle, and he catches you. He pets your mouth, and when he leans in and presses his mouth to your ear, all you can do is cry.

“That’s it. Good kitty.”

NEXT

[amaranthinespirit]

listening to simon riley talk for hours about his silly little interests

simon isn't really a talkative guy. he's tall and brooding, silent and observant, but once he's got a pretty little thing that'll let him talk for as long as he wants, it's like he never shuts up.

he'll sit next to you on the couch, creaking under his heavy weight as he settles his arm around the back of the couch. he pulls you closer, and you just know he's going to talk. you can tell.

simon is a hand talker. he uses his hands to express himself during his speech, whether it be a simple gesture, or a whole reenactment. his hand against your shoulder, arm wrapped around your back, will occasionally lift up with the movement of his fingers to accentuate his point.

and don't get me started when he talks about his interests. by his tone, you'd think you're holding a gun to his head, deep and gruff, the same monotonous way he speaks about everything.

but the more you ask questions, nodding your head along, he gets more animated, his voice chiming and eyes crinkling with every interested and genuine question from you.

it's hot, watching him talk about the things he likes in such a high manner. before you know it, he's buried knuckle deep in your cunt, thick fingers curling against your gummy walls.

his pace is slow, pumping his wrist in and out of your drooling cunt, feeling the coolness from your drenched panties that he pushed to the side.

he'll reward you with every question asked, speeding up the pace, digging his fingers deeply as your walls constrict around him, swallowing him in. if you remember a bit of information, he'll have your eyes rolling back and toes curling.

and he'll do this all without stuttering, continue rambling on as if he's not fingering your sweet pussy, making you feel good as you soak the cushions under you, nipples pebbled under his fingetips through your thin shirt.

simon riley remains unphased, pulling his fingers from between your legs, having to pry them apart as he watches the sticky release that coats his fingers string back to your slit. the only time this man shuts his mouth, is to taste your sweet cum on his fingers, smirking as he teases your clit with his other hand before snapping your panties back in place. where was he again?

[ddejavvu]

omg pls pls pls hotch x nerdy reader like everyone would think you’d be the perfect match with spencer, having the biggest love of reading and all things art, literature, sci-fi and all things nerdy but NOPE it’s hotch who catches your clumsy eyes and he wouldn’t have it any other way!

You're right in the middle of reading about the USS Enterprise's next big adventure when your novel is rudely whisked from your hands, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you back into a firm chest.

"You were going to fall down the stairs," A deep timbre comes from behind you, and you glance around bewilderedly to find yourself, in fact, at the entrance to the stairwell instead of the elevator. Evidently you'd been too engrossed in your reading to realize you'd gone past the elevator bay and into the stairwell, and you'd have fallen right down the concrete steps if it weren't for Aaron's help.

"Thanks." You stammer, struggling to free yourself from his tight grip, "Aaron- Hotch, lemme go. I'll pay attention from now on, just- don't let anyone see us."

"I don't care if anyone sees us right now. I care that you were so distracted that you almost fell blind down at least one set of stairs, if not seven." His eyes are stern as they regard you, but loving as the reason.

"I know! I know, I get too into it." You try prying your book from his hands but he flips your bookmark into place and tucks the pocket sized novel into his suit jacket lining, "Hey!"

"I'm confiscating this until you're back from the deli. You can have it back when you're sitting down at your desk."

"Agent Hotchner, that's hardly your right to take away a subordinate's property."

"It's my boyfriendly duty to make sure that my girlfriend doesn't plummet to her death with her nose in a book."

You're definitely stable on your feet now, and you try one more time to shimmy out of his hold to no avail, "Aaron! Someone's really going to see, come on."

"Promise me." He glares at you, a slight squinting of his eyes that makes you understand every single squirming unsub for their fear of him.

"Okay, okay! I promise." You nod vehemently, and he lets your waist go. You straighten your blazer, smoothing a hand down your trousers, "Now, can I please have my book back? I promise I won't read while walking anymore."

"You can have it back when you get back from the deli." He repeats, "You can pick it up from my office when you bring me a pastrami sandwich on rye."

"Pickles?"

"Extra. Here." Aaron fishes his wallet out of his pocket, handing you his card, "Get something we can split for dessert. And you'd better not have a backup novel hidden in your purse for the walk there."

For the record, you do, but Aaron's firm glare is enough to dissuade you from using it.

"I don't! I'll be back in twenty minutes." You promise Aaron, tucking his card into your pocket and entering the stairwell on purpose this time, "Be careful with my book!"

[xinganhao]

✏️ scared freshmen chan x reader.

prompt: "helping a scared freshman despite also being a scared freshman." ✶ part of my svt university milestone event

⤿ fluff, cute & clingy!chan, slice-of-life. more content under the cut. ♡⸝⸝ prompt from @wollycobbl3-blr!

dino's declassified uni survival guide .ᐟ

survival guide to: making friends

attend the freshman year orientation event, no matter how lame you think it may be. sit through the whole thing. make small talk with your seatmate. when they assign you a 'buddy', jump at the chance of morally obligated friendship.

fuck trying to be cool and chill. 'be yourself' is painfully cliche advice, but they were on to something. what's the point of trying to act nonchalant or putting your best foot forward? be yourself, and you'll find the people who can appreciate that.

go to the school events. recruitment week? check. pep rally? check. going alone is alright. going with your orientation-sanctioned friend is preferable. the two of you can sit through the whole thing judging other students and making comments about the performances. maybe you can make more friends by chatting up the other students around you, but, honestly? each other is plenty fine.

survival guide to: getting around

have a copy of the school map saved on your phone. keep it in your favorites folder. that way, you don't have to stop at those blown-up maps at every corner or so.

test out the advice of your peers. sometimes, their advice is just a little more reliable— they're coming from places of experience, after all. take, for example, the recommendations from your orientation buddy. take their suggestions to heart. the cafeteria they think is best, the coffee order they swear by. very serious business.

you'll eventually get a little more familiar with the ins and outs of campus. you'll carve out your own spaces and make your own set of friends. if some people eventually fall out with you, that's fine. if you still take a wrong turn every so often, that's fine, too. keep in touch with the people that you really do like. and don't panic about getting lost. sometimes, taking the wrong turn can lead to some pretty exciting stuff.

survival guide to: ... falling in love?

the turn of feeling something for your first friend at uni isn't exactly what i was referring to, but it is what it is. my initial advice still stands: come as you are. if you've always been a little annoying, if you don't know how to shut up and you're shameless in your affections, then keep that up. why be someone who you're not? what if they fall in love with that charade instead of who you really are?

some differences may be warranted, especially if you want to progress the relationship further. friends to lovers is a little complicated; the lines, tending to blur. flirt. or: attempt to flirt. remind them of how attractive you are. find ways to be around them, whether it's heading out for a beer or 'running' into them after their last class of the day. gifts are okay, but don't overdo it. maybe find some occasion for it, in case they ask why.

it's terrifying. being a freshman. making friends. falling in love [with a friend]. and yet i keep going back to yet another cliché: just because you feel fear, doesn't mean you can't do it. do it afraid. do it scared shitless. walk them home. give them the flowers. package the confession in a joke, if you must, but confess. put your heart in their hands and trust that it will be safe, there. that the gamble will pay off. that you— maybe, just maybe— will be loved right back.

survival guide to: dating

tba. i'm still figuring this one out. :-)

written by lee chan (2024).

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

I know plenty of people have already made a version of the "Jinx is alive" theory post but I've also seen so many of you mourn her death that I decided to gather all the evidence and make another post, turning this theory into a fact.

Because Jinx is alive. It's not a speculation. It's literally there.

The first thing I'm going to mention are the context clues Jinx gives herself. First, the last thing the ghost of Silco tells her. I think the cycle only ends when you find the will to walk away. Then, the realization she comes to when Vi hugs her in the cell. You're never gonna give up on me, are you? What she tells Vi after she leaves her in that cell. You don't need to worry about me anymore. [...] And yes, her initial plan is to kill herself, because she thinks the only way for Vi to move on is for her to be gone. And Ekko gets there just in time to stop her but it looks like he doesn't convince her to abandon her plan, just change it.

And later, when she joins Vi in the final fight. What does she tell her? Still don't get it, huh, sis? I'm always with you. Even when we're worlds apart.

Everything that happens after is constructed specifically to let us and Vi believe that Jinx died. Until we get to this scene:

Caitlyn is studying the Hexgates designs.

She's looking through the pages depicting the place where the final fight happened, specifically focusing on the air vent shafts, while toying with a monkey bomb head - the same monkey bomb that Jinx used in her supposed last monents.

She looks down at the monkey...

Watch the eyes. The realization hits her...

And she smirks, knowing. Jinx used one of the air vents to escape before the explosion.

I've studied the explosion frame by frame. First, a small yellow explosion goes off - Jinx sets off the monkey bomb.

As it becomes bigger, she shoots out of there

this is still the beginning of the blast when we can still see her, and the big boom that destroys everything starts 10 frames later

Last context clue is a reference to the very first episode, which is clearly depicted in this gifset here, so instead of explaining, I'll just send you there to check for yourselves.

One thing that is speculation here is, how exactly did Caitlyn come into possession of the monkey bomb head? I doubt she found it there because it would have been turned to dust. And I'm thinking, Jinx took it with her and left it for Cait to find as a clue. She didn't want Vi to know but maybe she wanted Cait to figure it out. I imagine her sneaking into her house and maybe leaving it somewhere for Cait to find, like her desk or something. It gives Cait an idea, a gut feeling she needs to check, and that allows her to figure it out. Just like we are supposed to figure it out on our own.

Bottom line, Jinx is alive. She escaped the explosion through the air vents, then boarded the airship and left the city, convinced that the only way to give her sister a happy ending is to take herself out of the equation. The glitching closing shot saying The End in Jinx's colorful handwriting is a sign that she is telling us that this is where this story ends, like she's saying "don't look for me. It's over." That's also probably why we aren't shown what Caitlyn does with the information she now possesses.

I hope this helps take away from the grief 💙

[woso-dreamzzz]

Teenage Dirtbag III

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Teen!Reader

Summary: You get a job

The mural appears on the building in the middle of the night but it's on the morning news show that moment the sun comes up.

You stubbornly ignore the screen as you stare down at your bowl of cereal, the smallest of smiles on your face as you offer a dry cornflake to little Vince, who takes it and scampers off to eat it at the other end of the table.

"I wish you wouldn't let him up there," Mapi says and you roll your eyes.

"You let Bagheera up here."

"That's different."

"Is it because he's a boy? Is that it?"

Mapi lets out a little bark of laughter for a moment before flicking you in the ear. "I'm worried he's going to fall and hurt himself."

Your kitten peers over the edge of the table after eating his cereal, little legs wiggling in preparation to leap as his half ear flicks happily.

"I think he's survived worse."

Mapi rolls her eyes, plucking Vince off the table and placing him on the floor before she makes her morning coffee.

Ingrid's the one watching the news, her brow furrowed as she listens to the report.

"Well," You say, pushing out and up from the table," I'm going to head to school. I'll see you later."

Ingrid's eyes narrow at your abrupt exit and you don't slow down enough for her to open her mouth.

The path to your school is a familiar one, a fancy private school that Ingrid probably pays an extortionate fee to send you to but is still leagues above the boarding school you used to attend in Norway.

But you've still got a blazer to wear and a shirt and tie - not even one of those clip on ones. It's a proper tie that you've got to tie everyday.

Your skateboard wheels roll over the pavement, earphones thumping with music, as you approach the building. There's a teacher at the gate and they give you a look of disapproval as you come rolling past.

"Hoodie off, Engen," They say," You know the rules."

You roll your eyes as you continue on your way, making a show of stripping off the hoodie you've got on under your blazer just as you make it through the double doors - where it goes straight back on again.

School in Spain isn't really that different to school in Norway apart from the fact that everyone's speaking Spanish.

That's not really difficult either - Spanish that is. You've already got Norwegian and English, and Spanish wasn't really too complex of a language to learn either.

Sure, you've got a bit of an accent and sometimes have to take a moment to think through your grammar but it's nothing that makes it impossible to communicate.

"Off the skateboard, Engen," Another teacher says as you ride down the corridor on your board.

"Will do," You lie through your teeth.

The speed of your skateboard is the only thing keeping you away from the gaggle of girls that follow your every move.

Back at home, Mapi thinks it's hilarious. Ingrid says it's sweet.

You think it's annoying. It's bad enough to appear in the middle of the school year and have everyone automatically know who you are. It's worse when a group of giggling girls try to follow you around all the time. You kind of just want to fade into the background.

"I thought the teacher just asked you to get off that skateboard?"

You roll to a stop in front of one of the prefects.

"I mean...they didn't exactly say when I was meant to get off the skateboard? Just that I should get off it?"

She rolls her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. "You know what they meant."

"Do you ever get tired of being so stuck up?" You ask with a cheeky grin.

"Do you ever get tired of pushing boundaries?"

You shrug. "It's part of my charm."

"Yeah, charm," She scoffs," Let's call it that. You know, I should write you up for dress code. You know you're not meant to wear hoodies to school."

"So I've been told."

"Or trainers."

"They're comfortable."

"Or leave your tie undone."

"I don't like the feeling on my neck."

"And that hairband? Black only."

"What? So I can't wear a red hair tie but you can wear pink ribbons? How's that fair?!"

"So now you're trying to fight with me about it?" She asks, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards," I really should write you up."

Your eyes narrow, nose scrunching up. "You're teasing me."

"What gave it away?"

"I hate you."

"No you don't, Engen. But I do have a note that I was meant to give you during registration. Here, you're excused after lunch. Your sisters are picking you up."

You stare down at the note from the office in your hand as she walks off with her stupid pastel pink hair ribbons.

"Hey! Mapi's not my sister!" You yell after her but she doesn't stop to argue with you about it.

You kind of wish she did.

You shake that thought away though, tucking your skateboard safely under your arm as you make your way over to registration.

School is boring like it always is, even though Ingrid's insisted on them giving you challenging work in the hope of keeping you engaged. She doesn't need to know that you're still skipping classes to hang out in the art rooms with that one eccentric art teacher that can't remember your name but does know the exact brand of spray paint that you love.

You're more than happy to sign yourself out for the day with your hood flipped up as you make your way over to Ingrid's car.

You take a glance back at the building, up to the second floor where that girl is sitting with her stupid pink ribbons, staring bored outside of the History class window.

You know she sees you and you know she sees you put your middle fingers up at her.

"Do you have to do that?" Ingrid asks as you slide into the back seat, slamming the door closed behind you. "You're going to ruin my doors."

"The club will just give you a new car," You say dismissively, plugging your phone into one of Mapi's many chargers. "So...Why am I being let out early?"

"We can't want to do something nice for you?" Ingrid hums, pulling out of the school gates and onto the road.

"Not at lunchtime on a Tuesday," You reply and Mapi snickers in the passenger seat," Don't you guys have training or something?"

"It's almost like you want to be in school," Mapi teases," We can always turn around and drive you back."

"I'm good," You say," But, you know, I haven't eaten yet. Can we grab something first?"

It's hours (and one burger) later that has Ingrid watching you from her passing exercise with Esmee.

Your white school shirt is stained with spray paint and she's ninety percent sure that it's never going to be white again. Your blazer is a heap on the floor and your hoodie sleeves are pushed up to reveal a pastel pink ribbon tied around one of your wrists.

You're totally in the zone though as you adjust your hastily made stencils and step back to review your work.

Ingrid's pretty sure someone could scream your name and you wouldn't even notice, too preoccupied with setting up base layers and a few shapes.

"How it's going?" Mapi asks," It looks..."

Well Mapi can't quite tell how it looks because it's just a bunch of colours and vague shape blobs to her.

"I think I'm going to make the focal point the Champion's League trophy," You say," And then everyone spread out around it."

Mapi tries to picture it but the vague blobs and splashes of colour look just like that to her, no hint of what you can clearly see within it. "Cool," Is all she can say in response.

"It'll look good," You reply," I promise."

"I trust you," Mapi says," I'm just a little sad that I'm clearly not seeing what you're seeing."

"Give it a few days," You promise," And it'll come together."

"I look forward to seeing it," Ingrid says as she approaches.

She's with Mapi, unable to see what you can in the splash of colour and swirls but she's seen enough of your work to know that it all starts off like this.

"Besides," Ingrid says, slipping her hand into yours," Maybe with this to work on, you won't go around tagging random buildings that make it on the news."

"You can't prove that was me," You reply, not taking your eyes off the wall in front of you," They were saying it could be Banksy or someone else trying to make a statement."

"Don't be stupid," You sister says," I can recognise your work anywhere."

[dark-and-kawaii]

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Summary: Gojo Satoru fucks you at a punishing pace deep within the public restrooms. You poor thing~ ♡

Gojo knew how to bully that sweet body of yours, knew how to make your eyes roll back as you begged for him to slow down. He had you in such a mean mating press, your legs swung over his shoulders, dangling helplessly in the air. Your body folded as he pressed his muscular frame against yours, roughly fucking his fat cock into that tight little cunny of yours, stretching you out so beautifully.

“S’too~, Satoooru~ f’wlease~...Mn’hurts~ Slo’w d-dooown!!~”

But your body was so honest, your face giving you away as you made the sluttiest moans while looking at him- your tongue lolling from the side of your mouth. You were drooling all over yourself, you poor thing…

The sorcerer smirked, his hand tangling in your hair tighter, making your scalp ache before slamming his hips forward… His other hand going for your throat as his pace grew more brutal, more savage. The way he was using you was nothing short of animalistic- fucking you as if you were nothing more than a mere glory hole, his cock reaching all the way into your womb as his heavy balls slapped against your ass.

“Y’er body has gotten quite honest, hasn’t it? Begging me to slow down while that cute pussy tries and milks me for all I am worth… I can feel ya tightening around me, you know?” He gives a light chuckle, “Y’er strangling my cock so nicely, Princess.” he gives a grunt, hips jerking up into your fluttering cunt, “and making such a mess- squirting everywhere like the little slut you are for me.”

“Ny-noooo, S-sayoruu~ m-my puss-ssy cannn-nnnt, c-cannnn~t take anym-mooorre~, pleeease!!~” you sobbed as tears fell down your rosy cheeks.

As his thick cock split you open further, churning up your insides while rearranging your guts, his winter like eyes darkened, “Ya can and ya will, because I said so. Because I know ya can handle it, baby girl~ so don't lie to me, hm? Not when your body is already screaming how much it loves this.”

Your fingernails bit into his arms, “Toooru~, mn’ ph’wease- pleaseeee~!!! M-my tummy- i-it feels like yet turning my insides sh’out-~! S’too deep~!!!”

You were shaking your head side to side, begging and pleading him with all your might but your deliciously stupid pussy was practically devouring his cock.

How adorable you looked.

Gojo knew, oh he knew well that you were getting off on being used, getting off on being put in your place, getting off on his words alone. Getting off to him filling your abused pussy repeatedly deep within this public restroom. The sound of your lewd body being clapped echoing off the stall walls, knowing full well anyone in the near vicinity could hear how you fell apart on his cock.

You loved this. Loved his cock. Loved being here for his pleasure~ Loved crying out for him as he spilled himself into you? His hot cum flooding your insides- painting your insides the prettiest of white as you made a mess everywhere with your womanly juices~

And he just adored watching his cum spill from your gapping cunt. How his very own seed made a mess between your thighs, trickling onto the public floor for some poor soul to stumble upon.

He smirked, “What a naughty girl you are, making a mess in public like this~.”

You were too fucked out, too exhausted, to do much of anything as you laid there limply. All you could do was give a tired, pitiful moan as his large hands spread your legs wider, exposing that used up pussy of yours even more.

You were going to make him hard all over again. Seeing you so fuckrf out, seeing the mess you made because of him…

Leaning in closer, whispering huskily into your ear, “I don’t think we’re finished here yet-“ he licked your ear, making you whine pathetically, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your inner thighs.

His cock was already twitching to life again, ready for round two.

Oh and what a fun, pleasurable round two it was going to be~

[wttcsms]

sorry but im just thinking about best friend's older brother!character and you. you and your bestie got totally screwed over by your college apartments bc they found black mold in the complex & it's basically uninhabitable. however, this is the second week of the semester + every other viable housing option is taken. luckily enough, her older brother is successful and rich — his luxury apartment is way too big for just himself. he has spare rooms. so now you're living with your best friend's older brother, and you always knew he was cute growing up, but he's older than the two of you; you knew your crush on him was unrealistic. it's like crushing on a celebrity, really. except... people don't normally end up sleeping in the room down the hall from their celeb crush, do they?

he's fun to be around, but when your best friend is gone for periods of time (she'd rather spend her nights at her boyfriend's place), and it's just the two of you alone... things feel tense. like every otherwise innocent action is suddenly charged with some weird electricity. you're messing with the coffee maker and he comes up behind you to open up the cabinet overhead, effectively sandwiching you between the hard counter top and his muscular build (since when did he have the time to get so jacked?) he sleeps shirtless, and when it's nighttime, he'll walk around in just his gray sweats or plaid pj pants, abs on full display, making casual conversation with you like he doesn't look like a greek god coming down to earth. but as much as he's unknowingly taunting you, you're unknowingly taunting him.

since when did his little sister's best friend grow up? why are you walking around in cropped cami tops that are thin enough to wear he can see the buds of your nipples poking through the fabric? why does the scent of your body lotion drive him insane? why does the fact that you're facetiming his sister and interrupting her alone time w her boyfriend just so you can ask for advice on what to wear to a date bother him so much? when you hang up, he conveniently passes by your bedroom door to see what's going on.

you're wearing a tight, black mini dress and you're spraying on perfume — the perfume he gifted you a few chrismas'es ago. he thinks it's cute that you still use it; he finds it less cute when he realizes you'll waste the sweet scent on someone who isn't him.

"you could've asked me for help on deciding what to wear. my sister acts like she knows it all, but she doesn't know how men think."

you're caught off guard, embarrassed that he overheard your conversation. "i- i wouldn't bother you with something stupid like this. i asked her because i don't have any guy friends and-"

he's fully in your room now, a look on his face you've only ever seen in your wet dreams. "i'm a man. do you really not see me that way?"

right now, he's all you can see.

[shysuccubusstuff]

Yandere! Mr. Crawling

Content: SFW hcs + Established relationship + Overprotection + Manipulation + Baby trapping + clingy! Mr. Crawling + Gaslighting + Somnophilia + Stalking + Death + Breeding kink + Slight size difference.

Summary: Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to keep his deep love secret from you

Note: I hope all of you are having a good day!! I'm trying to do my essays but they're so boring... Let me know if you have any suggestions/things you want to say to me, I love answering to people!!

SFW:

Human! Mr. Crawling who falls in love as soon as he sees your face.

Human! Mr. Crawling who decides to try and keep you safe and protect you from all possible dangers. This ranges from leaving small gifts for you, buying you something to eat when he hears a rumble close to him, or buying you a drink if he has seen you working so hard on keeping up with all the classes, to sometimes intimidating the other guys that kept trying to get closer to you.

Human! Mr. Crawling who tries his hardest to speak to you, even if it's just a few words to make sure you know he's listening to you. Nodding his head and keeping his eyes completely focused on your face.

Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to make himself look smaller, crunching a bit and walking with his back a bit arched, not something that can be easily noticeable for others, but just enough to reduce the height difference between the two of you.

Human! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to make you feel safe with him, allowing him to get into your bedroom, even to the point of making a sleepover. He just had to try his hardest not to act in any weird manner.

Human! Mr. Crawling who keeps following you like a lost puppy. You can almost see two ears and a tail appear when he acts like a small puppy, being easily excited when you compliment him, even if it's for the smallest things.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who begins to feel how his pure love becomes something more twisted the moment he realises more people keep getitng interested in you. He looks so kind when you look at him, but as soon as you turn your head, his gaze becomes much darker, his expression is always serious, his brows slightly furrowed as he tries to keep himself restrained.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of you great "friendship" and starts to try and get rid of your friends. He keeps on interrupting when you meet with your other friends, creating different reasons why he just couldn't wait to meet you, as he truly needed you.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of his sickly aspect to make you worry about him, calling you to ask you for small gestures, making sure that they are small enough to avoid you from refusing him.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to ask you out. He made sure to get rid of each and all your friends who could get in the way of your relationships, after all, he is everything you need, right?

NSFW:

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who had already seen you way before both of you met each other in class, his phone filled to the brim with pictures of you. The fact that most of them involve you in embarrasing positions while the rest are of your sleeping face. They definitely have no effect on him, hell no (just ignore the raging bulge he gets from seeing your lips slightly parted, totally normal reaction).

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who put a small chip on your phone while you were sleeping. How was he supposed to keep you safe if he didn't know where you were the whole day? Don't be so dramatic, he was just doing it for your sake :((

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who killed someone in front of you. He was stalking you around town when he saw that strange man grabbing you by your wrist and taking you to the closest dark alley. Before he could think, his hands were already gripping his throat, his face turning blue as his grasp got even stronger. When he finally was sure that man was no longer alive, he turned around, a happy smile on his lips as he waited for your compliments. He was now on his real height, allowing you to notice how he was over one head and a half taller than you, despite that, he made you pet his hair, forcing you to smile as the body of the strange man got colder.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling whose obsession only increases the moment the two of you decide to date. His arms are now always around your waist, his hands always touching you, no matter if you are alone or in front of other people. He just loves hugging you from behind, his dick rubbing against your ass, grinding against you as soon as he saw you do something he didn't like.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who forces his cock inside you, filling you load after load just to prove that you're truly his one and only. He doesn't stop until he sees his seed dripping from your hole, your eyes rolling to your skull with fat tears rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who keeps blabbering about impregnating you during sex, he doesn't even care about your gender, he WILL impregnate you. He will defy Mother Nature for you, filling you one after the other and not pulling out until the next morning.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates with your clothes the moment he misses you, he doesn't care if you have been away for barely a few hours, he just misses his sweet darling so much :(( Not his fault that your clothes are filled with your sweet scent...

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates to your sleeping face while the both of you sleep together. He loves feeling you close to him, all relaxed as your expressions sometimes change to one of pure bliss... He hugs you from behind, beginning to grind against your ass as an attempt to keep himself in check. This of course doesn't work, which forces him to use his own hand to masturbate, slowly getting on top of you so he can get an extremely detailed view of your sleeping face.

[thrfted]

꩜ DATING MR. CRAWLING .ᐟ

SFW GN!Reader HCS after the blissful love life ending.

Italics is in the other world’s language! Sometimes more the implied message rather than a direct translation. I'll probably do Mr. Hood later too :3 !

Your bed is much more comfortable than anything in the other world, and it only makes it better that mr. Crawling gets to be in it with you. He grows accustomed to your nightly routine and is always excited to cuddle up. Big spoon, little spoon, facing each other—all of it makes him as happy as can be!

(^ As someone who still has a twin size, some of us have to invest in a much bigger one lol)

Generally so so affectionate and loves when you’re physically affectionate !! You can kiss his head and he’ll giggle, maybe point at his face and ask “Again!” You leave kisses all over his face, and his hands pull you in close when you finally kiss his lips.

One of Mr. Crawling's strongest traits is his patience—especially when it comes to you. The first day you come home without him trailing behind (much to his dismay, and honestly yours), he’s at the door to greet you, smiling and giggling as you wrap your arms around him. You find out he hadn’t done much but wait for you to come home. (With no complaints of boredom on his part, and all the worry on yours.)

He'll sit as you play with his hair, trying out new hairstyles or putting in clips. “Me cute? Pretty?” he asks. And if you let him do the same in return, he'll giggle and compliment you too.

I think he’d look through your closet and enjoy watching you try on clothes too. He compliments you and feels each of the fabrics, liking the ones that feel softest. He might try on some of the accessories if none of the actual clothes (sort of…) fit, and is really happy when you match!

Mr. Crawling is a fast learner. You worry he'll feel overwhelmed with all the new technology and words and whatever else, so you focus on making sure he’s comfortable. But he points at things and ask what they are, repeating after you. “You teach me language?” he asks and you laugh softly before nodding. “I teach you language.”

He will accidentally touch a hot stove top or pot if you don't remember to warn him beforehand. Then whenever you cook he gets worried you'll hurt yourself, watching to make sure you're alright (forgive him if he pulls your hand away and says “Danger! Don't touch!”)

Since he doesn't know his birthday, you make the day you returned special instead! He's happy to just stay in with you, eating a good meal and watching or learning something new.

Mr. Crawling also learns when yours is and does his best to make it a good day for you too. He tries singing happy birthday and makes food with what you have at home, mimicking the meals he's seen you prepare.

You teach him how to call your phone while you're away. It's supposed to “be for emergencies,” but you both know he's going to call just to hear your voice, and who are you to complain?

I think he gets sad sometimes when he sees or hears you talking to friends—the way you communicate and laugh so easily compared to conversations with him. The other world's language itself is limited, and he hasn't learned enough of your own. You spend some evenings reassuring him, reminding him learning is a process, and it doesn't change your feelings!!

He does his best to learn on his own. You buy (exercise) books and show him shows for younger kids and he spends a lot of time alone with them, both to surprise you, and also just because he loves talking with you and wants to talk more and more.

The first time he speaks your language is a special day. After many days of calling out that you’re back, he decides to say it himself. “You home!” You almost drop everything in your hands, and that’s when he continues, “Miss you.” It feels odd hearing it in his voice, but he’s grinning so wide, and you won’t find out for a while just how excited and nervous he was waiting for you to get home.

One of Mr. Crawling’s favourite things to say and hear is “I love you.” Every time you say it, he gets all giddy and tries to get closer to you (as if that’s possible while already cuddling in bed). He says it a lot while you’re doing chores or really nothing, just to remind you and see you smile. There’s no way in his mind for those 3 words to lose their meaning, or become any less special.

[mrsshabana]

𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐫. 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡 :･ﾟ✧

꒦꒷‧₊ Content Mr. Crawling x gender!neutral!reader, MDNI, nudity, fluff, suggestive but no smut ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.5k words. Mr. Crawling is so cute, I just had to write a fic where we take care of him. He deserves it (╥ ‸ ╥)

He followed you like a lost puppy.

The entity that clung to you like his life depended on it, refusing to return to the world in which he came from. His intentions aren't clear, but he isn't causing any harm so you had no issue with him sticking around.

Mr. Crawling was what you called him. He spoke a strange language you couldn't understand at first, but after spending so much time with him you picked it up after a while.

When you get home from work he's always so excited to see you, chirping excitedly and grinning widely at the sight of his favorite human.

As soon as you arrive he sticks to you like glue, watching you as you do mundane tasks or relax around the house.

Tonight you were making spaghetti, and Mr. Crawling seemed extra intrigued by you cooking the dish.

He peers up at the stovetop, watching as you heat up the tomato sauce. His curiosity gets the best of him as he tries to get a better view, he bumps into you. Causing the red sauce to topple over and spill all over him.

"Mr.Crawling!" you shout, "I'm so sorry!"

He just smiles and licks the sauce off of his face. Seemingly not affected by the hot temperature or the fact that it has splattered all over his clothes.

"You ok?" you ask in his language.

"Me surprise! Saturate clothes, hair, body!" he says between giggles.

You're glad he finds it funny and he's not upset. You don't know what you'd do if you ever saw Mr. Crawling cry.

But he's right, he's completely covered in sauce and his clothes will need to be washed right away.

You kneel down to his level and wipe away the excess sauce with a paper towel, "Me take care of you."

"Me grateful," he smiles wide, leaning into your touch as you clean him off.

You know this won't be enough though, he needs a bath. But you feel slightly awkward giving him one. Not that you mind caring for him, but as far as you know there isn't a word for bath or clean in his language so you don't know how to ask him if he's okay with it. And the thought of seeing Mr. Crawling naked... well you've never really considered it before. But thinking about it makes your cheeks redden and your body heat up.

First things first, after cleaning the chunks of tomato you take his hand and lead him into the bathroom before you try explaining to him.

"Um... Mr. Crawling," you mumble, "Me change you clothes. Water container. You give clothes?" You try to explain it to the best of your ability as you hold out your hand.

"Saturate clothes, water correct! Me give," he nods and takes off his clothes.

There's no embarrassment or shyness evident as he removes his clothes. Mr. Crawling is either just too innocent, or he's just so comfortable around you that he knows he has nothing to be shy or embarrassed about.

You try not to look at his body as you take his clothes. Hurried walking to the laundry room and shoving them into the machine at a rushed pace.

You know he's waiting patiently for you to return and give him his bath but you have to try to calm down first! Your creepy cute ghostly roommate is naked in your bathroom right now and you're freaking out!

Mr. Crawling may act like a pet, but this isn't like giving your dog a bath or something! Maybe it feels so strange because your relationship with Mr. Crawling isn't well-defined.

He's obviously obsessed with you and adores you in every way, but is it romantic? You aren't sure...

However, you do feel confident that Mr. Crawling wouldn't say no to being in a romantic relationship with you if you asked. Judging by how he constantly craves your affection, touch, and attention - he'd probably love it.

And you'd be lying to yourself if you ignored the feelings you had for him. Sure he's not human, but he's so sweet and genuinely cares about you.

Before you met him sometimes you felt like if you disappeared no one would care. You felt insignificant in the grand scheme of things. On lonely nights you'd question why you're even here at all. Is there even a point?

But Mr. Crawling changed all of that.

When you leave, you know Mr. Crawling is always waiting in front of the door for you to return. No matter how long it took, even if it was 100 years, he would still wait for you.

He makes you feel important for the first time in your life. Like if something happened to you he wouldn't rest until he was able to have you again - even if he spent eternity searching for you. He wouldn't stop looking for his favorite human. That's how much you mean to him.

And if that's not the definition of love then you don't know what is. Because it's obvious that Mr. Crawling loves you, and honestly you love him too.

"Mr. Crawling..." you whisper as you walk into the bathroom again.

He turns and makes that high-pitched sound he makes when he's happy.

"Water container, correct," you say, patting his head as you start the faucet.

"Me go into?" he tilts his head to the side, not sure what to do. The gesture is cute and makes you smile.

You nod, "You go into container."

Even though he's never had a bath before, he trusts you and gets into the tub. Watching in awe as his long hair floats to the surface, creating long black streaks within the water.

You can't help but blush as you look at his body. Never had you expected him to be so toned under his loose-fitting clothes. Especially his chest and arms. But it makes sense, he crawls around all day so his upper body strength has to be good, right?

Now that you're seeing him like this, you can't help but notice how long his legs are too. You've never actually seen him stand so it never occurred to you how tall he could be. Judging by how he fits into the tub, he must be taller than any person you've ever met before.

Imagine if he stood up like this...

Your thoughts drift and you get distracted, accidentally pouring loads of bubble bath into the tub instead of just a tad to keep him occupied.

"Fun! Fun!" He shouts excitedly as the tub fills with foaming bubbles, completely covering his body and overflowing from the tub.

"Shit!" you say under your breath, cursing yourself for letting those perverted thoughts sneak into your head. You can't stay mad though as you watch him giggle and play with the bubbles. Why does he have to be so freaking cute?

As he has the time of his life, you dig through the bubbles to clean him. Starting with his body and finishing with his hair. Taking over an hour to wash his hair alone.

As you clean his hair he experiments with these fluffy white things he's never seen before. Curiously eating them, sculpting them with his hands, and even putting them on you. He takes a clump of bubbles and forms them into cat ears on the top of your head.

"You cute!" he shouts excitedly.

You smile and do the same for him, "You cute!"

"We cute together!!" he smiles, having the funnest time with you.

Finally, once he's been all cleaned you help him dry off as he sits on your bathroom floor, watching curiously as the bubbles get sucked down the drain.

His clothes aren't quite done yet so in the meantime you let him wear an old pair of pajamas. They're pink Hello Kitty pajamas to be exact. Sure you had a plain black set that would do as well, but you just couldn't resist putting him in this. He looks so adorable as he crawls into the bed with you, laying on your lap as you brush his hair.

"Water container fun..." he mumbles on the edge of falling asleep, "Again again."

"Fun again," you smile, promising to give him another bath someday.

"Thank you," he nuzzles into you, "Me like you. Like you much..."

"Me like you much," you kiss the top of his head, "Me take care of you, you rest."

He doesn't want to sleep, he wants to stay up with you all night taking baths and playing with bubbles. But being in your embrace as you take care of him is just too much to resist. He hopes you'll do this again soon, or maybe you'll let him give you a bath and brush your hair next time.

He quickly drifts off to sleep, thinking about all of the fun things he wants to do with you. Meanwhile, you sit there and brush his long hair for another hour. Though you don't mind. Sitting here with him, brushing his hair as he sleeps on your lap, it doesn't get any better than this.

[caitlinsnicket]

jinx relationship headcanons

warnings: there's some nfsw but it's almost clinical, the usual dark-ish jinx stuff that always comes with her

a/n: guys don't worry she's alive and well here in my house she's actually taking a nap, we're gonna have dinner later

masterlist | 🍉 | ko-fi

She often forgets to take care of herself: makeup stays on her face for days, her hair becomes matted and dirty at the ends, and her hands are dusty with chipped nail polish.

So you like to take care of her—helping her wash her hair (it really is a two-person job these days), gently washing her face, and making sure she's thoroughly clean before letting her go to bed or even hug you.

And in these moments, when she smells cleaner than she has in years and her hair feels so light she could fly, there are no voices, no buzzing, no sound. There’s just peace and this sense that she could actually have things like these—normal moments and casual actions with you. Most importantly, that she deserves them.

She's sitting in a loose white shirt, eyes closed, humming a song that's been stuck in her head for days. You're behind her, humming along as you brush her long locks. When you're done, you inch closer, placing your hands on her shoulders and start kissing her: first the top of her head, then her forehead when she leans to look at you, followed by her nose. Finally, you pepper kisses across her whole face before pulling back to grab something else for her hair.

She turns to look at you, her eyes dreamy and shiny, her heart beating fast. There’s a small smile on her face.

After that, you both cling to each other on her enormous bed. She switches positions every few moments—from laying her head on your chest, to being the small spoon, to the big spoon, to just fully lying on top of you and burying her face in your neck. She's unusually quiet in those moments, as if she's recharging.

Sometimes, she might talk about her feelings—the ones she doesn’t understand yet and the ones she knows are bad—and she’s thankful you don’t judge her.

Other times, she might just want to jump your bones, thinking it’s an equivalent “thank you” for taking care of her. It takes her a while to understand that she doesn’t have to pay you back for your affection.

There are also moments when you help build her back up: putting makeup on her face again or braiding her hair, carefully working through knots to avoid pulling too hard.

The biggest problem is her staring. You've tried talking her out of it so many times, but while you paint her face or fix her hair, she just stares at you, unblinking.

Sometimes, she starts frowning, taking all of you in. Occasionally, she'll pull back unintentionally, her chest too full of feelings she doesn’t yet understand.

You ask if she's okay, and she responds with a snarky comment, building up her walls again. But eventually, she relaxes into your touch, letting you continue.

It’s actually really hard for her to relax most of the time.

For example, she never fully lets go when the two of you are intimate. Sometimes, while you're eating her out, you catch her staring at you, laser-focused, as if waiting for you to hurt her. “Sorry, toots. Got lost again. But that feels good, so keep going,” she’ll say, laying back against the pillows as if nothing happened.

You used to get really worried and stop altogether, but those dissociative episodes have become fewer and fewer as she gets healthier.

Dancing is something you do almost daily, though it’s not really dancing at this point—it’s just rocking heads, jumping around, and holding each other while spinning.

On rare occasions, you’ll slow dance. She’ll put her feet on top of yours, and the two of you will barely move in circles in the middle of the bedroom. In those moments, she’s as happy as she can be, just existing with you.

You also love annoying her by whispering bad jokes in her ear until she stops whatever tinkering she’s doing because she’s too busy laughing.

Then, she’ll tickle you until you’re crying, cussing you out for saying all that nonsense to her.

[bunnys-kisses]

viva las vegas

max verstappen - team principal au

tags: smut/pwp, team principal au, tp!max, driver!reader, age gap (20s/40s), massages, vaginal fingering, intimacy & affection, doggy style

a/n: happy las vegas gp weekend!

max remembered vegas not-so kindly. or rather he remembered the hangovers of las vegas not-so kindly. it was where things heated up depending on a driver's standing. for many years max simply smiled and waved through another race, he always kept a heavy margin between him and other drivers in the points department.

plus he had to give it to the americans, they really knew how to make their races quite the spectacle. and las vegas was no different than miami at the start of the season and austin only a little while earlier. even now as a team principal, he enjoyed the occasional cigarette on a balcony of a hotel room. except this year his head was flooded with less technical information and more the sight of his beloved star driver.

you.

you huffed with your arms crossed after media day. you wore a pout so prettily, it was real princess behavior. and where you were standing right now, you were on your rightful throne at the top of the leader board.

"i don't get why we have to do these last three races. i have this in the bag, i am over a hundred points ahead of the next driver." you pointed in a general direction as you complained to your boss, "this is stupid, give me the wdc and we can all go home."

you were tired. of course you were, he was tired too. the entire team was tired. hell, everyone from top to bottom was tired.

max put his hands on his hips. he tilted his head to the side and exhaled, "treasure." he was a little sympathetic. he remembered being ragged by mid-october, the fact you were only falling apart at the last few races was impressive, "i know, it feels like the victory is being dragged on. that we are just wasting time." he reached out for you and cupped your face with such affection, "but, think about how much you could make that margin grow.' he had both hands on your face. you were in private so he could be a little closer.

you looked up at him with such sad eyes, "it feels anti-climatic."

max smiled, "that's the price you pay you when you're just leagues ahead of them. if you don't race for the points this weekend. then race for home, race for your family... and race for me." his smile grew, "i want to watch the shock on mclaren's face when they see what they missed out on." he chuckled lightly, "the offers you would get from everyone."

you said, "don't think i'm trying to leave verstappen racing." you pouted a little more.

max felt something tug in his chest but he kept his smile, it was endearing to hear those words. that you weren't going to up and leave him. even if your contract was three years, teams had lawyers to the teeth that could easily wrangle you into their grasp. but you had no interest in that. he kissed your forehead, "how about you come to my hotel room tonight, i'll help you relax. make the weekend a little more fun."

it wasn't burdensome to go to max's room. it was often right beside yours. even if the rest of the team were on the other side of the floor. you nodded and let max kiss you in the privacy of the little corner you found yourself in.

max watched you walk through his hotel room, in nothing but an over-sized garishly pink dolly parton shirt. you were bent over at the bar fridge to take a healthy shot of gin and let the shiver run through you. he chuckled into his drink and said, "let's get you a glass for that, treasure." before he got up from the couch, "oh better yet, let's take it easy on the alcohol. you're driving tomorrow." then crossed the room to take the bottle from your hand. he dipped his nose into the back of your neck and said, "how about we find other ways to relax tonight. something that won't kill you come morning"

you looked over at him and frowned, "i could not race tomorrow and i'd still win it all" and leaned into max's touch as he took you by the chin. you turned to look at him fully and crossed your arms.

"i know, being on top does get boring. but why don't i help. after all, that is my job." he held you in his arms and admired you the way someone would admire a beautiful piece of art. you were inclined to melt into his touch. uncrossed your arms and hugged him when your head against his chest.

"i wish there was more a chase for this victory." you huffed. the perfect driver, the perfect car, the perfect team and the perfect boss. it was all to easy.

he chuckled and kissed you, "please, don't get hung up on that. think about what it would mean to have a woman have such a clear victory." he held you, "no splitting hairs with your victory. think about what you could do." he smiled at you.

you held onto the front of his t-shirt and sighed, "i know, i know. first woman and all, but... i wish there was more of a fight."

max smiled, he knew the feeling well as he tenderly held you. he kissed your forehead lovingly before he said, "why don't we forget about that. and no more alcohol." then led you to the grand bedroom of the room. he sat on the bed and admired you.

in the over sized shirt and cotton panties. nothing special, but max ate up every last bit of it. the idea that he got the see you like this. he knew that men thirsted over you. fans that couldn't get it through their head that you'd never be with them.

you were just voted the more eligible bachelor(ette) of formula one. max got a kick out of seeing that when he read in on the way to the track. single, huh? that was news to him. not while you were tangled up in max's love like a spiderweb.

"do you want it off, sir?" you asked as you played with the hem. he had to admit, but up close, he sort of liked the t-shirt. the pink looked good on you. but he liked what was under it even more. men could thirst all they want, but none of them could have you.

not while max was still breathing. he pressed his face up against your middle, he sighed, "yeah, take it off. i want to see everything." everything that belongs to me. the unspoken words. he helped you get the shirt off.

he admired your body, dressed in cotton panties and a sports bra with thick straps. he licked his lips as he went back to kissing your stomach before you ended up on the bed next to him. you helped him out of his clothes just as he did for you. his lips found your heated skin and you arched your back a little at the feeling. it excited you.

"please, sir." you said as his large hands roamed your body, it left you feeling excited all over and touched you. you felt like heaven under his palms you moaned into another heated kiss and let him touch you as he so desired.

"you're perfect for me." he said as he kissed your neck, "perfect in ways i can't even put words to. you remind me of such beauty that it would be a crime for me to deny myself your warmth." he looked at you with those blue eyes, they read so much as he held you tightly, "that's why i want you to win, win, win. when they doubted you, i never did. and i'll continue to never doubt you. i want them to wipe those grins off their faces and see what you are a threat on the track."

you felt your heart flutter as you said, "oh max." before you pulled him into another hot kiss. when he pulled away, he got you onto your back and admired the strength in your back. he licked his lips and you could feel his hot gaze.

"quite the beauty." he said softly before he started to put those strong hands to work. you moaned into the covers and arched your back when he rubbed the skin. he groaned a little bit, his cock twitched at full attention as he massaged your body, "but you need to relax. i know, i want you at your best. but you can't be so wound up. it'll only make you a worse driver." he leaned into your and whispered in your ears, "i know you want to defeat them, make them whimper." his voice hot against your ear.

you whined, "please, max. sir!" you arched your back a little bit, or at least tried to. but he kept you pinned to the bed and continued to rub at your skin.

"i'd do anything to make you win." he said quietly, "i know you're my champion." he moved down your back and you whimpered when he hit spots that made your eyes roll back a little. you looked cute squirming like that. under him beautifully.'

you gasped when he eventually slipped two fingers inside of your soaked pussy and thrusted them slowly as he held you by the small of your back onto the bed. you gasped and arched your back with sexual want as he fingered you. you buried your face into the covers and whined, "max!"

it was music to his ears, he loved it. he loved you. you didn't know how many rules max had to bend for you. he was painfully committed to you, he adored you in ways that he could never say with words. you whined a little bit as he fingered you and he felt the heat in his belly as he played with your pussy.

"there we go. nice and relaxed, perfect for the upcoming race. i know you'll be a good girl for me. right? you'll race perfectly and then we'll come back to this hotel room with more points under your belt and i'll fuck you right up against the window. let all of las vegas see their weekend's star." his voice was filthy, tinged with a heated want. his cock was painfully hard.

he fingered you for a little while long before he pulled out the digits and licked the wetness off of them. but you weren't going to go without for long, not on max's watch. soon he was behind you, with your hips raised as he sank his cock into you.

the future champion felt good around his cock, beautiful in a way that he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. you felt like heaven as he started to rock his hips against you.

he knew you were the best, you were always the best. almost a perfect season, except for a few hiccups here and there. but, those were all ironed out. now he had big hopes for your future racing. racing with his team. he wanted to see you in the lion logo for years to come. and when your eventual retirement came, you'd be working alongside him as his wife. even carrying his last name couldn't keep you away from the track and max would be a fool to force you away from it (except for maybe nine months). he continued to move against you, he watched your ass bounce from his movements as he fucked you.

"shit, max." you whined. you wanted to win so badly, you wanted to be the world champion. you wanted to stick it in the faces of those who doubted you. other drivers, other teams, even your own father. who would have preferred you married a driver rather than be on. but max saw the future in your eyes, you'd be the world champion. and you believed in max. even when he was fucking you with a feverish pace that left you seeing stars and panting into the covers.

max kissed your back as he moved against you. he felt the heat through his body as he worked his cock inside of you. he felt the swell of affection towards you, he felt the heat course through his body. he needed you deeply, he needed you in ways that he never needed another.

"you're insatiable." you sighed as you felt yourself get fucked further into the bed. you gasped a little deeper into the covers as the two of you moved together. you felt the hammering in your chest.

"you feel amazing. i can't help myself." max groaned as he battered your sweet pussy with an insatiable want. he couldn't help himself, that was the god's honest truth. he yearned for you in deeper ways, he wanted to be connected to you in every way he could.

"please, max. i can't get enough of this. you feel so good, you know how to make me good." you groaned through the heat through your body. you pleasure coursed through your body, this was amazing. it was always amazing to be with him. especially when max combed his fingers through your hair and he continued to move against you with a heated want.

"you feel amazing in return, beautiful. my treasure. something i got out of the rough, shined you to your full potential." he hissed through a tense jaw as he continued to fuck you. you moved against him quickly and it made him gasp for more.

max licked his dry lips. the pleasure coursed through his body, it was a throb in his head as he thrusted up against you. he tensed up for a moment when he felt the heat only grow in his core. he really couldn't help himself. he knew that this wasn't exactly the sanest thing to do, fuck a his driver. but when a figure like yours and a winning streak that left him hot and bothered. it would a crime not to claim you as his. you wore his hickies under your collar and his logo over your heart. you were undeniable. you made racing fun for him.

he kissed you back once more, his pace started to stagger. the heat continued to fuel his body. he could hear your heated pants as you felt close to your orgasm. he held onto you tightly and fucked you through a powerful climax.

"i don't want anyone else." you panted in the heat of pleasure. you tensed up for a moment before you relaxed, your hands curled in the sheets as you muttered curses under your breath in your mother tongue.

max continued his heavy thrusts and came inside of you. he slowed his pace to a stop and kissed your back. he whispered sweet nothings against you before he pulled out slowly. you both laid out beside one another and he pulled you into his grasp.

he kissed your heated cheeks and sighed contently against your skin, "there, ready for the weekend?" he asked.

you pulled away to look at his flushed expression. blissed out from sexual heat, you gave him a small smile as you said, "well, if you keep the orgasms coming. i'll be more than happy to widen the points gap." then yelped when he got you onto your back. his heavy kisses soon trailed down heated skin.

you decided right then and there that you got very lucky in vegas.

-

a few weeks later in abu dhabi, you hoisted your final trophy of the season over your head. you were damn near tears as you claimed another victory. like you did in las vegas, then qatar and finally abu dhabi. max felt tears in his eyes as if he was winning the victory too.

you became the best, just like max promised. his driver, his star, his champion.... his future wife. <3

[vampiresbloodx]

She tastes so sweet.

Pitfighter!vi going down on you for the first time and becoming addicted.

warnings: smut 18+ ONLY, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, bathroom sex, hook ups, clubs, alcohol, kissing, marking, service top!vi, reader has no confirmed gender but they're wearing a dress in this for the scenario reasons, vi is quiet a fuckboy, oral sex (reader receiving)

Vi has always had her fair sure of fun over the years, she wasn't new to this, after she wins a match she just really wants to fuck someone.

She goes to a club where she'll know exactly who to find, she's scanning the room where her eyes land on you, who happen to be dancing with their friends, enjoying yourself as you look so pretty.

Vi smirks.

That's the one.

You just looked so nice in that dress you were wearing, she just wanted to rip it off and see whats underneath, your smile is enough to make anyone swoon, she wonders if you even know those that eye you in the dark from afar when you aren't watching.

The loud music blasts in her ears as she takes a sip of her beer, everything was loud, but she liked it, she needed it.

She felt good and she wanted to make someone else feel good.

It's not the first time she's seen you around, she's spotted you before, she's just been watching you, keeping her eye on you, making sure you're okay, while your friends get shit faced drunk, you don't seem like the type to get drunk easily, maybe a little tipsy, but that happens with everyone after a few cups.

When she sees your friend whisper something in your ear she knew she was going to leave you alone, she didn't like that, not when she spotted a guy checking you out, was she doing the same thing? Yes, but that guy had red flags all over him, he was bad news.

Vi didn't trust him.

As soon as you were left alone, seemingly in your own world, enjoying the music, the guy makes his way to you, taking advantage of it. Immediately, vi places her drink back down as she walks through the crowd of drunk people.

Before the guy could even say anything to you, she grabbed a drink already and purposely bumped into him, spilling it all over him, he swore under his breath.

"damn, you should probably go clean that up" Vi said, staring him down, he should know vi wasn't playing around with you and he scoffed, cursing more as he stormed off.

Then there was you, still oblivious to the whole thing.

She taps you on the shoulder, causing you to jump slightly as you turned around, probably expecting your friend.

"hi?" You slurred, she smiled, thinking it was cute. "Have you seen Hannah? Is she back yet?" You ask.

Vi shakes her head, "sorry, dunno Hannah is."

"fuckin' bitch probably left me with some dick" you groaned in annoyance, she couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"I could accompany you, if you want", vi offered, she wanted to be smooth about this, not being to obvious that she wanted to get in your pants, but the way you raised your eyebrows at her and checked her out, your eyes roaming her entire body which made her heart flutter, she knew what you wanted.

Before she knows it, she's pushing you against the wall of the bathroom that smells like shit but she couldn't care less, all she focused on was the taste of your lips and how soft they felt against hers. She heard you chuckle, as she pushed your dress up, you held it up for her as she kissed her way down, leaving her marks, enjoying the way you squirmed for her and moaned, fuck, she needed you.

She places her fingers inside your panties to tease you, she moans at how wet you already were, you let out a moan as she dipped her finger easily inside your wet folds, you felt so good, she pumped her finger in and out of you slowly at first, you were a whining mess, your hands gripping her shoulders.

She watched you in awe, as she felt you clench around her, it was making her dizzy, she's never fucked someone this wet before, well, not in a long time.

She pulls her fingers out hearing you whine, she doesn't say anything but grins, bending down on her knees as she kisses down your stomach, just above your waist, you body was begging for it and so was you, she loved the way noises you made, it drove her insane.

Once she pulled off your underwear fully, it was soaked, she moaned at the sight of your pussy, how pretty it looked, how much it needed her. Her own core throbbed, as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to it as she licks up your slit, hearing you moan louder and grip her hair harder, she smirks.

Vi dips her tongue in between your folds, twirling it around and making you squeal and squirm, she was showing just how fucking good she was with her mouth and she wanted to make you come on her tongue. She knew you were close with how she purposely didn't let you come before on her fingers, she wanted to taste you instead, and my god, you taste wonderful.

She couldn't get enough.

She keeps going, her hands on your thighs to hold them up as she watches you, your head against the wall, your eyes closed, getting lost in the feeling as she can't help but feel cocky about it.

Her tongue goes to tease circles at your clit, you whined, pushing your face into her, you looked so pretty like this, looking like a complete mess, moaning and whining for her while she eats you out.

She knows how much you like it too.

Your grip gets tighter as she knows you're close, she just wanted to relish in this feeling, she finally got you where she always wanted. She couldn't help but feel more smug, knowing how easy she can make you cum, make you a crying mess for her, she's obsessed, really. She wants more. She pushes her tongue into you, hearing you gasp as she fucks you with her tongue, moaning at the taste, you whimper above her, riding her face as she's in heaven.

She watches you come with a cry of her name, not even caring how loud you are in the moment, she loves it, she loves every bit of it, she leans away, licking her lips as you stared at her in a daze with a smile, your hand still in her hair.

"you wanna come to mine, sweetheart?" She asks, you've never agreed to something so fast in your life.

[mintmatcha]

You fling yourself around the corner, catching the door frame with your hand to stay upright. Shinso doesn't jump; he heard you stomping from all the way down the hall.

"I'm late."

He doesn't look up from his duffle bag. He's arranging the clothes carefully, placing each rolled sock in a row. "How late?"

"No, like-" You roll your hands in the air expectantly. "Period late."

Shinso glances at your feet and watches how you bounce on your toes with excitement. With a sigh. he looks up at you, expression set.

"How late are you?"

You stop bouncing. "It was supposed to come last night."

Shinso groans as he stands, pushing off of his knee for support.

"But, it's different this time!" you insist before he can say anything. "I feel different."

He sucks on one side of his cheek, pulling a dimple into his skin. He's still boyish in his features, even after all these years. Carefully, he measures his words, saying your name ever so gently.

"I just don't want you to get your hopes up again just for it to be negative." He taps his house slipper against his bag. "Because you'll end up testing again the next day, then the next day, just make sure it's really negative-"

"Hitoshi-"

"I just don't want you to break your heart again."

This song and dance must be getting old for him. Every month, you get excited, only to see that little line once again. Hitoshi's right: it always breaks your heart.

You think, maybe, he mourns it too. Silently. Privately. It's hard to tell. He's not like you. He's not expressive or outspoken, but je's always there to hold your hand and try again.

"Let's just wait a couple days." Hitoshi, as if he knows what you're thinking, reaching up and takes your hand. "If you're still late, I'll buy you as many tests as you want."

You swallow down your disappointment.

"How many days?"

"When I come back from this mission." He counts on his fingers. "Three days?"

"Three days? I'm supposed to not know if I'm pregnant for three days?"

Hitoshi shrugs and kneels back down, tending to his things. "Some people don't know they're pregnant the whole pregnancy."

"That's different and you know it."

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]