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vixstarria · 4 months

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Missionary with the lights off

We're back in Act 1 again! I swear I'll start moving forward now that I'm playing the game again, after this.

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x F!Reader

18+, blood drinking, fluff to smut, porn with plot, PIV

Pst, don't let the title mislead you too much

Approx. 1,800 words

You woke up in Astarion's tent.

Last night had been… unusual. Something you said had soured the mood for anything sexual. Instead you stayed up talking late into the night. You hadn't even taken your clothes off.

You'd never spent the whole night together before, always opting to make your way back to your respective tents eventually, after your nocturnal activities, but then again you’d spent those previous nights opening your legs more so than your heart. Something had now shifted a little.

The last thing you remembered was drifting off with your face nuzzled into his neck as he draped an arm over you, having hugged him on a whim and finding yourself not wanting to let go. What you saw now was completely contrary to that memory, as you found yourself lying on your side, with Astarion's head pressed against your chest, right over your heart, both arms holding you close. He must have moved himself while you were asleep.

He looked perfectly at peace. It was actually adorable, seeing the prickly rogue like this.

You reached out to softly run your hand over his disarrayed curls, when he also stirred.

“Hello, darling,” you purred, copying his habitual greeting for you.

Astarion was startled, suddenly jolting up. He seemed momentarily disoriented, taking in you and his surroundings for a few moments before comprehension returned to his eyes.

“Are you alright..?” you asked. “I know it's first thing in the morning, but surely I don't look that disturbing.”

“Yes, sorry… I just… I can’t remember the last time I woke up next to someone,” he said finally.

“The night at the clearing..?” you offered.

“I didn’t sleep that night,” he admitted. “And now there's a woman in my tent and I don't know what to do. ...Ahah..! Refresh my memory, what is the protocol? Do I need to make you breakfast?” he joked.

“I’m sure Gale’s already working on that,” you grinned.

Astarion laid back down next to you, propped up on an elbow. He gave you an odd half-smile with a slight frown, his eyes narrowed. Not unkindly, but rather a bit… awkwardly. You wondered what he was thinking.

You ignored the odd look, and instead your eyes wandered up to survey his bedhead. No trace of pomade was left in his hair, instead some of it was standing on end, while other, longer strands started to fall over his eyes as he leaned on his hand, watching you.

“What is going on here..?” you laughed, reaching out to brush his hair out of his eyes. He leaned into your hand as you ran your fingers through his hair, shutting his eyes, his lips widening into a genuine smile. He reminded you of a cat that was enjoying a head scratch.

“I don't have the slightest idea, darling,” he drawled. “But I guess you have to die after all, now that you've seen it.”

“You are a horrible flirt, you know, and I don't mean that in a good way."

“It works on you, doesn't it?” he shrugged, grinning and leaning in for a kiss.

“Hmm, but returning to breakfast,” you said, breaking the kiss as his lips slowly made their way down to your neck. “What about you? Fancy a nibble?”

“If it's on offer…” Astarion purred, continuing his way down. He knew your body entirely too well at this point. His lips lingered on the exact spot that made your breath shudder, sending a wave of shivers all through you. “Where..?”

“Right there,” you breathed.

“Oh? You want me to leave my mark on you, right where everyone can see..?” he murmured, continuing to kiss your neck. You usually offered him your wrist.

“It’s not like they don’t already know what we’ve been doing, so sure, mark me...” you replied. “Mark me as yours,” you added in a hoarse whisper.

Once the words were out you wondered if it was too much, but Astarion clearly liked the idea. He liked it a lot, judging by the soft growl he let out, as he continued to trail his lips along your neck, searching for just the right spot. You knew he'd found it, you remembered where he's bitten you before, but instead of going in for a bite he toyed with you, leaving slow, deliberate licks, until you released a small moan, and only then sank his fangs in you, lightly grinding his hips into yours as he did.

Something about a vampire's bite made it quite unlike anything else. It started off as a sharp, icy chill, gradually spreading and melting into something that stung the way an itch strings right before you scratch it, multiplied tenfold. The only way to relieve that stinging sensation was to give into it, more and more. The area bitten remained tender and sensitive in the most erogenous way for a long time after the bite itself. The whole experience was inherently erotic, no matter where the bite was.

You understood why this was fetishised. You also understood how people happily allowed themselves to be bled dry.

Astarion continued to grind against you, slowly, his erection evident. This was nothing new and didn't necessarily mean anything - you’ve joked before that any blood he drank went straight to his dick before going anywhere else – which is why you usually did this privately, even when he drank from your wrist.

However, this time, you really didn't want it to just be casual. You didn't think he did either, the way he was breathing. One of your hands was caught in his hair at the back of his head, the other trailed down to his hips, squeezing, as he grinded into you harder, making you crave more.

And then it was over and you felt a profound sense of disappointment and loss, as Astarion gave your neck a few final licks and broke away from you, lifting his body from yours. The only contact that remained between you two was your eyes, as he gave you an unwavering look of barely contained lust.

The aching need between your legs had become unbearable.

One heartbeat... Two... Three...

Astarion’s lips crashed into yours.

Suddenly, without a single word, you found yourselves tearing at each other’s pants in an urgent rush to remove them.

Curse them, you thought. You would start sleeping in a nightgown, if you managed to find one. Or naked. Or steal Astarion’s shirt.

You thought you recognised some elvish curses as Astarion snarled, struggling to pull your pants off without lifting his body from you, biting your lip as you managed to twist and free one leg, the other pant leg left danging at your knee.

All the while, you’d been tearing at the lacing on Astarion’s pants, managing to undo it just enough to slide them low enough to release his pulsing cock.

You didn’t even bother with your shirts. You had a burning, ravenous hunger, and it had to be sated. Immediately.

You tugged on Astarion’s cock, impatiently guiding it towards your throbbing pussy. You had no time or eagerness or wish for any teasing or foreplay, only a carnal, animalistic need. You’d barely aligned Astarion’s dick with your entrance when he plunged himself into you, fully, with another swear through gritted teeth.

Finally, you felt complete.

There was no rhythm, decency or finesse to what followed, the only way you could describe it was mindless, feral rutting. You dug your fingers into his hips, trying to bring him closer, deeper, moaning as his tongue writhed against yours. He couldn’t be close enough - even had you melded into one you would still want more of him.

You spread your legs wide, angling your hips so his body hit your exposed clit with every thrust, and bucked into him, desperately. He changed his thrusts to a more rolling motion, rubbing into you.

“Yes... Like that...” you barely managed.

There was a commotion, a loud clanking, crashing sound and some yelling outside.

“Astarion!” you heard Wyll’s voice just outside the tent, shortly after.

"Fuck,” Astarion growled under his breath. “Three minutes!” he shouted.

Three minutes? Then again, you didn’t think you were going to last even another minute.

Astarion covered your mouth with his hand as his hips continued to relentlessly grind you into the floor of his tent. Your whimpers grew more drawn out until your body stilled before breaking into tremors emanating from your hips, as he continued to fuck you. You were holding on to his back for dear life, bringing your legs up to wrap tightly around his hips, moaning into his hand as you came.

Immediately, he changed his rolling thrusts to something frantic, grabbing your hand and bringing it over your head, and catching your knee at his elbow and bringing it up with his other arm. He buried his face in your neck, moaning, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, until he slammed his hips into you with a final groan, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you.

“Astarion! This is urgent!” you heard Wyll again.

“He’s coming!” you yelled, exasperated, before you realised what you’d said.

Your words were greeted with a momentary silence, then the sound of Karlach laughing somewhat off in the distance.

Astarion was also laughing into your neck, his shoulders shaking even as he delivered his final thrusts.

“That was-” he panted between laughter, “the sloppiest... most unimaginative... objectively worst sex I've ever had.”

“And subjectively..?” you asked, also starting to laugh as you came off the sudden high that had overtaken you.

“I wouldn’t mind waking up to something like that every day for the rest of my life,” he said, lifting his head and looking at you.

“That can be arranged,” you purred.

There was that little frown again, as he cocked an eyebrow at you.

“We could always die today,” you shrugged.

“Funny...” he said. “Anyway... Good luck with this giant mess I left between your legs. I better go see what is so godsdamn important.”

Bonus scene:

“What do you mean, I’m the only adult here that knows how to manage a needle and thread?! And how do you even rip a bag of holding..?!”

“Astarion, our fate is in your hands.”

“No, you can carry your own shit from here on. I’m fine with just my weapons and the clothes on my back.”

“We need you, Astarion!”

“At least get rid of all the junk, what do we need a dozen goblin scimitars for, they’re not even worth anything!”

“Save us, Astarion!”

“Rotten carrots, rusty tongs... Is that literally just a rock?”

“Save us, 239-year-old vampire that can sew!”

Sigh... Astarion observed the torn bag with a resigned look.

“...Would you mind mending Clive as well, while you’ve got the kit out..? He’s been through hell and back. And looks it.”

“Yes, Karlach, I’ll fix up your teddy bear too...”

~~~~~

Mark me as yours - fic re the following day

I have a whole series with these two, check it out

AO3

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 smut #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion romance

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secretlovezz · 3 months

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First kiss with Tf-141 (& König)

♡-Simon "Ghost" Riley

He's so gentle like he's worried the touch of his calloused hands on the skin of your heated cheeks would break you

His face leans towards yours slowly so slowly it makes you want to pull his lips to yours so you can finally feel him but you let him take his time not wanting to push him

His nose is brushing yours and you lean forward on your toes to try and reach him but he he pulls back a little and your eyebrows furrow

"Can I kiss you?" He ask and it almost makes you laugh but instead you smile and beam up at him the corners of your eyes crinkling with happiness

You whisper, "yes," and you swear you've never seen the man move faster; his lips are on yours so quickly you just have to giggle the sound making Simon's heart ache with a force he's never felt before

Your lips interlock and move against each other and your tongue licks into his mouth and he makes a sound that has him pulling away and hiding his face into the crook of your neck

You laugh and he nips at your skin in an act of protest

He lifts his head once more to leave a wet peck against your lips and your already big smile grows impossibly bigger

¤—————————》

♡-John Price

He's also very gentle but he's subconsciously a little more desperate than Simon

He doesn't mean to press his lips to yours as quickly as he does but he has been waiting for this moment

He's been waiting to have you alone like this, been waiting for the affections to fall from your lips to give him a reason to break all protocol

John is prideful in his expertise in being patient but when he's with you he's the most impatient

So when he slotted his lips against yours in the middle of you telling him something after staring at your lips the entire time he surprises himself

But when you kiss him back he's no longer worried about his momentary impulsiveness

He makes haste in grabbing the back of your thighs to lift you onto his desk; your hands are tangling his short hair flipping his hat off of his head

He pulls apart after a few moments letting his forehead rest against your chuckling before placing a few wet peck against your now swollen lips

¤—————————》

♡-Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle kisses you softly oh so softly just to feel you against him

His lips meet yours Once, and twice in fleeting presses before pulling away and looking at you just looking at you

It's his favorite thing to do, to watch his pretty girl

He smiles when your brows furrow and when your lips downturn into a cute pout

You were so cute

Your stare into his silently pleading for another, longer kiss from him

You move onto your tip-toes trying to reach him but he pulls away and you whine loudly in frustration, he lets out a chuckle that's so sweet sounding it almost makes your knees buckle

Please? You whisper

Kyle's moving one of his hands to the back of your neck while his other travels down to your waist

He pulls you into your next kiss, your first real kiss with him

Your lips are so soft against him, so fucking perfect against his harsh ones that it makes him groan into your mouth, hands trying to pull you even closer to him

You just about whimper in response and pull away giggling

He continues to kiss you, his full lips planting themselves against your neck (he leaves a mark or two), a big grin never leaving his face

¤—————————》

♡-John "Soap" McTavish

God Johnny is desperate

He just needs you so bad, needs to finally feel your perfect lips against his, he swears it is all he's been able to think about lately

He tries to be casual, tries to be smooth about his need to kiss you but when you start inching your body closer to him his breath hitches and his heart beats a little faster

He gasps then smirks when you link your fingers into his belt loops and pull him forward letting your bodies collide

Your nose brushes against his and you rub your noses together for a moment just taking in this intimate moment with the man you care deeply about

But his hands are moving fast when they set on either side of your head pulling your lips to his feverishly

Johnny's lips move fast against your own, his tongue licking into your mouth

You try your best to keep up, just as desperate as he is

You laugh against his mouth when one of his large calloused hands gravitate towards your ass

When you separate he rests his head in the crook of your neck mumbling about how beautiful he thinks you are and how perfect you are for him

¤—————————》

♡-König

I like to imagine he'd be soft like Simon in a moment like this

He just wants to be near you just wants to hold you close

Every once in a while he'll press a gentle kiss to the top of your head or temple as the two of you sway to a slow song and mumble a sweet endearment in his native language, something about how lovely he thinks you are

His large hands are holding yours pressing the backs of them against his cheeks -his face is cold, it always is- and he presses a kiss to one of your knuckles

His kiss travels to your wrist them to the inside of your elbow then to your shoulder before he finally makes it to your cheek

He's overwhelmed with love, the way you smile at him makes his heart leap and he can't help but place his lips on yours

It's soft and slow just like the song just like that way the two of you are dancing and it's perfect

He hugs you when you part, still swaying to the beat of the song while he hums against the side of your face, your cheek pressed against his so you could feel the vibration

He places one more kiss on the warmth of your skin

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angelanderson · 29 days

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give you what you need

— w. maximoff �� her girl au

with only one thing that could fix your morning, both you and wanda are desperate. you know your mommy will usually give you what you want… you just have to ask.

first extra for the her girl series!!I while wanda does have mostly unmentioned powers still, it is very much an au. all fluff (this time) MINORS DNI. cw: inherently unhealthy dynamics due to the nature of this series, finger sucking, mention of (past) spanking, soft dark mommy!wanda. mostly comfort!!!! edited-ish. *not an ageplay series. reader is fully an adult and thinks like one*

tapping her freshly manicured nails on the counter, wanda watches you like a hawk as you contemplate your next move. the witch has been dreading your impending meltdown since she woke up her grumpy girl this morning. it took a promise of blueberry pancakes for breakfast for you to verbalize that your issue was a poor night’s worth of sleep. unfortunately for the older woman, pancakes didn’t bring up your mood, nor did an offering of a relaxing bubble bath, one of your favorite times things.

tears threaten to spill down your checks as you try to soothe yourself. no longer wanting to sit by wanda, you’ve found the cool kitchen tiles to be more appealing. usually, you always want your mommy, especially when you’re upset, but the sheer exhaustion you feel has you acting out. no amount of appealing offers from the woman has been enough to placid you.

wanda gives it five more minutes before she steps in again; she can’t bear to see you like this. she approaches you as if you’re some wild animal that’s afraid. “dorogaya, why don’t you come with mommy, hmm? let’s fix those tears”, her voice comes out sweet as honey.

you’ve been so stubborn all morning, but the way wanda is looking at you is making your façade slowly slip. worrying at your bottom lip, you weigh your options— you know from past experience that she is not afraid to make you give in. thirty more seconds pass before you make your way into her arms, giving into her. you can faintly here her whisper how you’re a good girl as your shove your face into her shoulder.

as wanda tries to coax you out of her shoulder, she notices that you’ve shoved some of your fingers past your lips. since the day you met, even in your previous life as equals in a relationship, she has been trying to break you of the habit. “oh dove, what has mommy said about sucking on your fingers?”

“that ‘m not supposed to,” you messily say as you continue to refuse to remove them from your mouth. ever since you could remember, which was not much now, you’ve found comfort in self-soothing by having something in your mouth.

tsking, the witch gently coaxes your fingers out of your mouth. she ignores the cry you let out— how could she be a good mommy if she wasn’t consistent with you? she doesn’t let you pitch the fit she knows is coming. “dorogaya, come upstairs now. maybe mommy will let you get cozy in her bed, hmm?” even with sweetness, her tone leaves no room for argument.

it’s rare for her to go against her usual protocols; it’s how she keeps you in check. unbeknownst to you, wanda is willing to give into what she knows you secretly want if there’s a chance it’ll change your mood. when you’re grumpy, you’re grumpy. however, the almost promise of being able to nap in wanda’s room has your brain spinning enough that you don’t argue as she leads you to the stairs. so busy reeling with excitement, you don’t hear her sighs of relief as you two walk up together.

wanting to show your mommy that you can be her good girl again, you wait by her bedroom door, albeit antsy as you wait for her to catch up. you have quickly learned to mind not entering her bedroom or study without explicit permission. it only took two spankings that ended in loud cries to cement the rule in your brain. wanda clearly notices your commitment to her rules as she reaches the top. proudness fills her chest as she realizes how far you’ve both come from the start of this new life.

the soft smile gracing her lips has you like putty in her hands— you love nothing more than pleasing her. you eagerly let her guide you into her bedroom. you don’t pay much mind as she finds some new clothes for you to wear; she has a rule against dirty clothes in bed. while you haven’t been outside to play yet, your pajama top is tear stained and has a dash of dried pancake batter. you decide on the white chair in the corner as your place to perch until she’s ready for you.

too into your own world, your fingers find their way back into your mouth. your sudden push back into reality is caused by wanda’s grip on your wrist. your head snaps up to meet wanda’s cocked eyebrow; she’s not amused. while you let wanda remove your hand, you still let out a pitiful whine to let her know you’re not happy. wanda chooses to acknowledge it this time.

“less whining, milaya”, she scolds you. her hand reaches up getting ready to pull your top off. instead of letting wanda change your top, you impulsively slap her hand away.

you regret the second your hand makes contact with her hand. a red glow fills her eyes before you can even think about stuttering out an apology. as soon as the glow consumed her, it ends. a feat that has you feeling emotional whipslash. she beats you at another chance to speak first.

“mommy knows you’re only acting out because you’re tired, isn’t that right, milaya?” her grip tightens on your wrist as she speaks lowkey, “so mommy knows that you’re going to act right starting now. isn’t that right?”

that’s when it hits you: you’ve pushed wanda over the edge today. you know just how mean your mommy can be when you don’t listen. you immediately agree with her, “‘m really sorry! promise it!” to prove your point, your arms reach over your shoulders to quickly take off your shirt. wanda’s hum of approval lets you know you’re back in the clear… for now.

you let wanda change you like a doll after that— you’ll do anything to avoid the red glow from coming back. lucky for you, she grabbed the sweater you always nuzzle your face into when she wears it. it’s another not-so-noticeable way she’s helping keep you manageable this late morning. the soft texture keeps you like putty in her hands as she lays you down in her cloud-like bed. you’ve always been a sucker for soft things.

“my sweet girl, doing so good for me now,” the older woman coos out. feeling the bed dip, you move over some so she can rest with you. your haze filled mind has you reeling in the extra praise. when you don’t reply, wanda gets the hint about how floaty you’re feeling, “okay milaya, let’s rest now, hmm? mommy’s here with you.”

you nuzzle your way into her arms, letting her know you’re in agreement with her. you stay that way for a solid five minutes as she rubs your back in gentle circles. the sixth minute is when your need for a specific comfort comes back. you look back and forth between wanda and your fingers. so shyly, you finally speak up, “…mommy? um, i want some fingers?” you add on, “please!”

wanda doesn’t understand at first. she isn’t sure why you’d be horny right now— you never are after being reprimanded where her red glow comes out. she sighs, “not right now. maybe mommy’ll fuck you later tonight if you can be good for me.”

the look on your face let’s her know that is not what you meant. it takes all but two more seconds for it to click: you want something back in your mouth. wanda knows the tears that would come had she said no. the reprimanding is silly anyways, she thinks. while your oral fixation is only a newer appearance, she’s sure it can’t hurt for now. she would much rather save her energy for when truly you’re acting out, anyways. so she agrees, “yes, you may. such a silly rule anyways, hmm? you’re being my good girl.”

the praise has you craving something different: her fingers. it’s not something you’ve shown interest in before. but in your hazy state nothing sounds more comforting. what’s not to like? it’s attention for your mommy and a fix to your need.

the haziness makes it hard for the words to spill out of your lips. the mix of frustration over it and exhaustion have you teetering towards irritation again. wanda can see it in the way you scrunch up your face. always your savior, she steps in. “hush, dove. take a deep breath and try again.”

“i, um— i want your fingers. please!” you rush the words out so quickly that wanda almost doesn’t catch it. you’re still getting used to asking for what you what without being shy about it. while she typically would make you slow down, she can’t deny you any longer.

“well, since you said please”, she teases you. she mentally rolls her eyes at the huff you let out at her teasing.

you don’t have any time to make a quick remark back as two manicured fingers find their way to your bottom lip, slowing tracing it. a full drowsiness takes over your body. you quickly part your lips, welcoming her to stop the teasing. luckily, she gets your hint as she lets her fingers past your cherry lips. a wave of comfort comes over you as you wrap your lips around her fingers.

every sucking motion has you falling deeper and deeper into your cozy headspace. the exhaustion no longer feels world ending; it’s less overwhelming now. the comfort you’ve been craving all morning has finally found its way to you. everything she gives you just makes you feel so good!

being the good girl you are, you decide it’s only polite to thank her. after all, wanda does like it best when you mind your manners. “thank you ‘ommy”, you try to thank her, but the words come out messy due to the fingers in your mouth.

“don’t talk with things in your mouth. it’s not polite,” even with you being sweet, she just can’t help but tease you. she giggles when you whine in response. “okay, okay. i’m sorry, baby. let’s get you to sleep now, hmm?”

she sushes your whine, instead going to play with your hair the way she knows you like. wanda internally cheers as your eyes start to flutter shut. the grip of your lips on her fingers starts to loosen as the next few minutes go on. she can’t get herself to start her other tasks when you just look so adorable for her. she allows herself to stay until your breathing has completely evened.

had you been awake, you would see a flurry of red hair moving as slow as possible in order to not wake you. she can’t help but sneak a kiss on your forehead before she leaves her bedroom in order to go to pick some of the fresh fruit you’re obsessed with from the garden as a snack for later. a whisper fills the air as she slowly closes the door behind her, “silly girl, you just have to ask. you know mommy likes to give you what you want when you’re behaving.”

#her girl au #dark wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #dark wanda x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #mommy!wanda #wanda fanfic #wanda x reader #wandanat x reader #wandanat

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caesium-55 · 1 month

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—seven days. [ vi.ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: guess who's not listening in her calculus lecture rn. also, wifi is acting funny rn.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

2020

There have been a lot of new protocols to follow. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. Races being rescheduled. Australia, China, Netherlands, Monaco, Azerbaijan, Canada, and France are canceled. Vietnam is postponed. The first race of the season takes place in the Red Bull Ring in Austria and Max gets a fucking DNF.

After exchanging Instagram accounts in December, Max has spent a normal amount of time stalking your feed. That's what you do when you’re trapped inside your apartment alone because of a global health crisis, you explore the online world.

It seems like you’ve been operating the account since your university days and a lot of your posts show a side of you that’s different from the manager he knows. He learns that you play billiards competitively. You've even reached an Australian tournament. He learns that you watch NASCAR and motocross and drift racing. He learns that you know how to drive a firetruck. He learns that you like partying in LA and you took up volunteer work in the LA fire brigade around your sophomore year. He learns that you’re particularly fond of taking pictures of the skies at different times of the day and the things you’re studying. He notices that you only post group selfies or low angle blurry selfies of you. You don't take pretty pictures of just you.

The oldest post is a photo of you offering a middle finger while smiling and filling up the gas tank of a truck. You're also wearing a red sweatshirt with the letters USC written at the front and skinny ripped jeans. If you swipe right, the next photo shows a picture of you and your group of friends writing on papers on the hood of the truck. Max sees numbers and scratches and crossed out sketches. Max notices a canned beer on your other hand while you press down on your scientific calculator buttons and shakes his head. You do not change.

The latest post is a photo dump of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in 2019. A picture of the aerial show, grainy zoomed in pictures of the garage, selfies with the mechanics, a bathroom mirror selfie, and a blurry picture of a beer in your hand from the after party. He presses like in every post, latest to the oldest.

you: fucking stalker

max: fuck you

max: *sent a photo*

max: nice teeth by the way

you: i hate you

you: *sent a photo*

you: ya think im the only one who looks ugly with braces?

Since then, Max’s relationship with you has considerably improved. The two of you spend a lot of nights dm-ing each other on Instagram and sending each other reels.

max: SOS

you: ??

max: I THINK THE STOVE IS ON FIRE

you: the stove is supposed to have fire

max: ITS ON FIRE

You and Max sit on the floor, back against the kitchen counter, chest heaving in quick breaths, shoulders bumping against each other. You hold the fire extinguisher close to your chest and your eyes are closed and your lips are parted a little. Max observes your side profile.

You're not a categorically attractive woman. But with the way the sun rays enter Max’s kitchen window and hit your face at all the right angles, you look like someone worth missing a sunset over. Max allows himself to stare and mentally tries to convince himself that this is a very normal amount of staring at one’s manager slash friend.

He’s crossing the line that divides friendship and something unnamed.

“Do you need me to call maintenance so we can get your stove replaced?”

Max nods.

“Yes please.”

You post a new picture on Instagram after a long period of dryness. Max gets a notification. He checks it out.

The caption reads: meet my full time dog and part time boyfriend

The picture is blurry and grainy but Max can make out your face perfectly. There’s a billiard table. Max sees a person in the background. A man. He's wearing a Williams shirt.

Is that a racer? Max immediately thinks of Nicholas Latifi. You and him are around the same age. But the blurry man in the picture doesn't look like Nicholas. The hair color and the build is different. George, maybe? He’s a year younger than Max. Do you prefer your men younger? Scratch that. That’s impossible. Max knows he has a girlfriend named Carmel or Carmen or something.

max: you have a boyfriend

you: youre fast

max: when did this happen?

you: uh

you: earlier?

Max resists the urge to hurl his phone across the room.

max: details [name]

max: i need details

you: nuh uh kid you havent unlocked that level of friendship yet

you: that's friendship level 8 ur still on level 6

max: i will hunt you down and force you to tell me

max: and don't call me kid i'm one year younger than you

you: id like to see you try

max: i think u forgot im the one who gave you the apartment where u live rn

You introduce Leo to Max a month later.

Leo is a British brunette guy with a face that one would consider mid in Europe but a ten in the US. He is one of the Williams mechanics. You mention that he used to do karting as a kid and even went up to F3 but he’s decided to discontinue his racing career because he thinks engineering and the technical aspects of a formula car is far more interesting than racing.

He’s basically the complete opposite of Max.

He’s a good guy, Max can tell. He’s well-mannered, he’s calm, he knows how to treat you right. Above all else, he makes you the happiest. You have the most genuine and beautiful smile on your face when he comes into your view.

He also handles your relationship very maturely. He doesn't demand. He understands that you work for different racing teams with different jobs and that means different priorities.

The weekly IG posts are also too cute. It looks like it came out of a Pinterest board.

Max will never tell you that he spends a good hour every time you post something with Leo in it like an obsessive freak. He tries to make sense of the feeling in his chest. Something green. Something ugly. Something he can't name.

Max should be happy that you found a guy as great as Leo. But he cannot, for the life of him, be fully happy for you. He doesn't know why.

“PR told me that you received a dinner invite from Kelly Piquet,” you state, sitting down on the empty chair across from him and putting your packed lunch on the table. You carefully lay the folded clothes on the other chair. Max deduces they will be the ones he’ll be wearing for the interview scheduled in about two hours. You already sent him the list of questions in his email but he hasn't opened them yet.

“Yeah,” Max says after swallowing. “She’s been sending invites since two months ago.”

“And you left her on seen?”

Max scoffs, “I didn't leave her on seen. I just…well, I saw them late and declined them politely.”

He knows Kelly Piquet. He’s aware of the history she shared with former Red Bull Racing now Toro Rosso driver, Daniil Kvyat. Max also knows she’s the daughter of Nelson Piquet, retired Formula One champion. He thinks it's rude to take the guy’s ex-girlfriend after he’s taken his seat in Red Bull.

“She’s interested in you,” you claim, opening the tupperware and quickly saying grace before digging in.

Max is not good with dealing with women. Twenty-three years old and he’s still girlfriend-less. But he knows how to recognize people who are interested in him. A significant number of women have tried their chances with him since he began racing professionally and he may have used you as some sort of getaway driver to get him out of all the awkward situations where he has to deal with women who are interested in him.

You have a very scary resting bitch face if you try hard enough. Its efficiency in scaring off people is proven to be, well, efficient.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Are you interested in her?” you question.

Max thinks about it. Really thinks about it.

“Do you think it’ll be good if I get a girlfriend?” he throws you a question instead of an answer.

“You're twenty-three, man. It's about time you start doin’ somethin’ about your empty dating history.”

Max nose scrunches but doesn't say anything because it's the truth. His dating history is hilariously empty.

“What’s your opinion of Kelly?”

“Uh, cool pussy, I guess. Don't really care.”

Max rolls his eyes, “You’re so crude.”

You shrug uncaringly.

“But I don't mind who you wanna date, man. I mean, it's your life. Date who you wanna date. Live the life you wanna live. All the jazz and shedazzle.”

Max accepts the dinner invite.

The 2020 season ends with Hamilton standing at the top, officially becoming a seven-time world champion. Bottas is behind him. Verstappen, like 2019, still stands in third place. Max vows 2020 will be the last year Hamilton becomes a world champion. The team doesn't hold a big afterparty like it usually does and Max flies home to Monaco immediately.

It's been months since he's started seeing Kelly and the woman is pleasant company. Her daughter, Penelope, is the most adorable human being that ever stepped on Earth. Max loves the little bean with all his heart and he himself is surprised that he’s capable of loving a little human this much. He’s practically convinced that he’ll be a shitty father one day. He does not have a good model figure to look up to when it comes to fatherhood.

Little P, Max learns, is obsessed with crocheted things. Max sees her little bags and little hats—all crocheted. Kelly says she pays their housekeeper to make things for little Penelope because she likes them so much.

Max decides he wants to learn how to crochet. He buys the material and learns through hundreds of Youtube videos. His first masterpiece is a bag. It's white and light orange. He shows it to his mum, who questions how on Earth did her son take an interest in a hobby other than racing or anything car-related. Despite that, she compliments it and Max feels confident that you’ll like it, too, now that he’s gotten his mother’s approval.

He finishes making it by the eighteenth day of December and he calls you, hoping he has the chance to give it before you fly down to Texas for the off-season. But you already left Monaco, just the day before and are now spending the first few weeks of the break in New Zealand with Leo.

“So it's serious?” Max asks you over the phone. He stares at the dark sky in Belgium. There's no stars tonight. Only the moon and it’s looking down at him like it's mocking him. Max wonders what the sky looks like in New Zealand right now.

“Of course,” you say.

“Well then, enjoy the holidays.”

“You, too, man.”

The call ends.

2021

Max sees you enter the Red Bull hospitality. The first thing he notices is that your shoes are brand new. Same model—the black and gold YSL Opyum heels, yes he knows the name because he searched it on Google—but brand new. Your bag is also brand new and it’s not the old cream-colored tote bag with peach prints. It's a cream-colored tote bag with Van Gogh’s painting—the Starry Night—printed at the front. You show it to Max excitedly and tell him that it's from Leo, the bag and the shoes, and Max fakes a smile the whole time. When he returns to his room in the evening, he throws the crochet bag he made over December in the trash bin. Kelly sees it but she doesn't question it.

“PR suggests that you film a Tiktok.”

Max groans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Tell them no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you encourage him, shaking his shoulders. “There's a lot of dance trends right now.”

“I said no, [Name].”

“Max.”

You throw your hands on your waist, looking at him pointedly with your lips pursed. Max returns the stare.

He gives up after five seconds.

“Fine.”

You huff in triumph.

“But you’re doing it with me,” Max bargains.

“Oh come on,” you throw your hands in the air.

“Now you know how it feels. Tell PR that I’m not going to film a Tiktok unless you film it with me,” Max smiles cheekily.

You're not going to film a Tiktok video with him. He knows you hate filming yourself and posting it for the public. There's a reason why you avoided cameras as if it’s the sun and you're a vampire and had all your social media accounts in private.

You pull an unexpected move and you nod your head.

“Fine.”

Max’s smile drops.

You film a Tiktok using Red Bull Racing’s official Tiktok account. A simple dance. Max does not know the title. The steps are simple and it's easy to memorize. He believes he can do this fairly easily. You don't look like you’re having fun while memorizing the dance steps but you're not overly struggling.

You film the video in three takes. When Max sees the final outcome, he cringes. His long limbs look awkward as he performs the steps despite thinking that he’s doing fine while filming it. You, on the other hand, look fine.

You look good while dancing actually. There’s a certain grace that accompanied your movements.

“You dance good,” Max comments.

“It’s the Latina in me,” you claim, raising your chin a little.

Max snorts.

You show the draft video to the PR team. Without hesitation, they scratched it.

“Why?” Max asks, brows furrowing.

“Apparently, they're too tired releasing statements that we’re not dating. They're afraid that the Tiktok video would bring back our dating rumors,” you roll your eyes. “They’ve decided to just make you do a Tiktok filter game.”

Max does the one filter where he has to solve the simple math equations projected on the screen. He has to tilt his head to the side where the right answer is placed and he needs to do it quickly.

Max is not bad at Mathematics. He’s not good at it either. He’ll say that he’s just average at it like every human being on Earth.

You sit beside him, barking him the answers before his brain can even process and perform the required operations.

“60 points. That's not good enough,” he says.

You nod, “Damn right. You're not tilting your head to the right answer fast enough.”

“Maybe you're not giving the answers quick enough.”

The video gets more than ten takes. The two of you don't stop until you get the perfect score.

Monza is a disaster. To summarize: the 53-lap race is won by Daniel Ricciardo, who has now moved to McLaren. He capitalizes on a good front-row start and the crash between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton to take the race lead. Lando, Daniel’s teammate comes in second with Mercedes' Valtteri Bottas in third. Max and Lewis—DNF.

Max doesn't remember the last time he’s been that angry and the anger doubles when he sees the seven-time world champion celebrate on the tracks. Max then decides that he’s going to be more risky, especially now that he knows how safe the car is. Max is willing to risk his life for number one.

Max lies in the medical bay and he hears voices outside. Too many voices. He’ll appreciate it greatly if the voices disappear. He's too angry right now that the noise of the outside world is too much.

“Max?”

The voices disappear and it's only you he can see, he can hear, he can feel. You're everything.

You said it. His name. It sounds even better than he imagined.

“[Name].”

After making sure he’s okay, you tell Max that you wish to go to Danny and congratulate him for winning. Max grabs your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You're not his manager anymore,” Max reminds you. “You're mine.”

He’s very much aware that he sounds like a child who refuses to let his older brother borrow his favorite toy but he cannot find himself to care. Screw Daniel.

You give him a long look but follows his demands anyway, “We’re gonna congratulate him later whether you like it or not. He’s our friend and he just got P1. We’re gonna be happy for him 'cuz that's what friends do. I’ll drag your ass to his hotel room if I have to.”

Jos Verstappen is not happy. When has he ever been happy with Max anyway? He calls Max after the Monza race and proceeds to yell because that’s all he ever does with Max. He yells. Max is embarrassed that he’s twenty-three and he’s still getting yelled at by his own father.

“Your Dad’s an asshole,” you stated after he ends the call. Max knows you heard his father’s voice even though he has not put the call on loudspeaker.

“Don't talk to my Dad like that,” he reprimands, though not unkindly. “But yeah, he is.”

You snort, “You okay?”

Max lets out a shaky breath, nodding weakly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You would think that after all this time I would get used to it but I don't know. It still makes me feel so uncomfortable and like I'm doing everything wrong even though I've been doing that for such a long time now and I've achieved so many things he asked for."

Your gaze softens and Max mentally begs that you stop looking at him like that. He does not want your pity. Pity is for the weak. Max is not weak.

You open your arms, “Rein it in, big guy.”

“What are you doing?”

“You need a hug.”

Max hesitates but he invites himself to your arms anyway. He allows himself to melt. In your arms, he feels like he's home and that he's good enough.

The breakup happens two race weekends later. Max is not dumb nor is he so emotionally indifferent that he cannot sense if a person is going through a breakup especially if that person is someone so close to him. He already knows there’s something wrong and he knows exactly what’s wrong and yet he still asks, “What's wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you say a little too quickly as if you already know that Max is going to ask the question.

“[Name],” his fingers circle around your wrist. “It's not nothing. Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

He wants you to open up. He wants you to say something. He wants you to share the heartache you carry so it won't feel heavy on your shoulders. He wants to be someone who’ll carry your problems with you when the world feels too big and you too small.

You sigh shakily, forcing a polite smile. Your hand comes up to squish Max’s cheek in between your palms and Max’s brows rise slightly at the action. Your hands feel cold and they’re trembling slightly and Max wants to point it out, but he sees how your lips wobble and his mind just blanks, “It's not important. You only have one thing to think about and that is to win. You hear me?”

Max considers marching to the Williams Racing livery and demanding for Leo Stark but he chooses not to. You won't want him to, anyway.

Max never realizes how horrifying blood is until he sees it dripping down the side of your head. He watches as your face changes from shock to realization to absolute anger. It’s like watching you transform from human to a rabid animal who wants to shed blood. At first, he tries to pull you away and calm you down. When he sees the girl’s boyfriend appear, Max joins the fight. No man is allowed to hit you. Not on his watch.

The higher-ups are not the happiest when they learn of what happened. The PR team is having a field day as well. Someone captured the event in video and posted it online. Max has been given a script for the video he’ll have to do to save his image but it’s written differently. Different in a way that the way the words are arranged feels odd to him unlike the way you write your scripts for Max. You write the scripts as if Max is the one who writes them. You write the script in a way Max will write them. Because you know him enough to know what kind of words he wants to use and how he’ll phrase things. You choose words that are easy on his tongue and you structure the sentences so that he can memorize them easily.

Helmut is the one who says, “She should leave the team.”

“If you fire her, I’m leaving,” Max decides.

Christian narrows his eyes at him, “You won't dare.”

“Try me,” he challenges. “I am willing to pay millions to leave if she leaves.”

The other teams want him, Max knows. They know he’s rising to stardom, a racer who can stand equal to Lewis Hamilton in the right time. Red Bull is too afraid of spitting out their star now. Not when Max is already giving Lewis Hamilton a big run for his money this year. Not when Max just showed the world that he’s capable of more than just being third place.

The wretched Hamilton fan decides to sue and Max calls upon his mother’s help to find the best lawyers to fight for you. Sophie willingly helps him.

Max is going to protect you, like you always do to him.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 x you #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 #mv33

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eufezco · 4 months

Text

❥ kissing them ⸺ coryo, peeta, sejanus, finnick

peacekeeper!coryo is not afraid of taking control. that scrawny boy who was your mentor no longer existed, his head was now shaved, his body had doubled in size and he held a peacekeeper position in your district. who would say huh? who would say that the last thing you'd do before leaving your district was gonna say goodbye to him.

"i'll go with you. meet me in the hanging tree. tomorrow morning." he said and pinched your chin with his fingers so you would look at him.

and so you did, you looked back at him with big eyes. coriolanus turned his head to check that no one was coming and then, with both of his hands holding your head still, he kissed you. his body pressed against yours and you had to take a few steps backward to avoid falling, crashing against the wall, and being trapped between it and corionlanus' body.

his lips were moving with such intensity as if he was trying to devour you, you could even feel your teeth clash. coriolanus squeezed your body even more with his and let out a few grunts straight from his chest when you kissed him back with the same intensity. but then he suddenly broke the kiss trying to catch his breath and looking down. "i'll see you tomorrow." and coriolanus left you there, with you breathing so heavily and having to squeeze your thighs.

mutt!peeta has forgotten what it's like to kiss someone. so one night when you were on watch and peeta couldn't sleep, you decided to go and sit next to him, ignoring the safe distance you were told to keep from him. he would ask you questions to which you would answer real or not to help clear up his confusion.

"we kissed. in the arena. before you shoot your arrow. real or not?"

"real."

peeta slowly nodded, feeling guilty and sorry for not remembering it. you remembered it all too well and you wanted him to do it too. once again ignoring all the security protocols they had prepared for peeta. you moved closer to him and caught his lips with yours. peeta didn't quite know what to do, but your lips felt good, the knot that had formed in his stomach told him. it felt so good that peeta was glad that that memory was no longer in his mind so he could live it for the first time again.

"i'm sorry," you mumbled when you parted ways but peeta shook his hands and went in for another kiss.

mentor!sejanus is desperate. his father had found him a good tribute to mentor but that person was from his own district. was that on purpose? his father always said that sejanus never truly left district 2. was he trying to punish him?

he left the academy room from which you were watching the reaping. he was sitting by your side and you could see the tight grip he had on his own uniform pants, nervous, before his tribute was announced. once the girl from the district you had been assigned was chosen, you walked out of the room after him.

he was mad, pacing back and forth around the hallway, talking to himself and waving his hands in indignation you got in his way and sejanus didn't seem to notice because he was so angry. you stopped him before he bumped into you, placing your hands on both of his cheeks and bringing your lips together. the boy's body seemed to release all the tension it had built up as he melted in your hands.

you broke away when everyone began to applaud for the end of the harvest. "any better?" you asked.

sejanus' cheeks grew hot, my god could you see them turning red? he let out all the air in his lungs and fixed his uniform. "yeah, i think so."

tribute!finnick is dying of nerves and all he can think about is your lips. his name had been picked again after five years. finnick didn't mind going back to the arena, he already won once and he had no doubt he would do it again, what hurt him was to be apart from you.

they let you see him before they took him to the capitol.

you threw yourself into his arms. finnick placed his hands on your cheeks and connected his lips with yours. you dug your fingers into his blonde locks of hair, pushing him as close to you as possible. his hands slid up and down your back, trying to hold you all in his arms. when he was starving in the arena he wanted to remember your lips. finnick's lips moved desperately against yours, knowing that this would be the last time he would have them for a long time. finnick wanted to remember their softness, how your saliva mixed, the way your teeth bit into his lower lip, the soft moans that escaped from your mouth due to the intensity of the kiss...

"and if i die in that arena, my last thought would be of your lips." you heard him say through your tv during his interview with caesar.

701 notes · View notes

sushirrrry · 3 months

Note

protective bodyguard harry blurb with smut please?

order a harry styles one-shot smut blurb; 4.5k words cw: oral sex, dom/sub, control kink, & strong language

The grasp on her arm was tight as he pulled her back away in the small room off to the side; she tried to get out of it before she huffed in his face. He let go for a moment, looking at her before the scowl on his face mirrored hers.

The room full of curtains, all the way up to the ceiling as they coated in the majestical way that the royal setting of the palace provided. The bright colors and the warmth of the light in the room seemed to be opposite to the behavior of which they stood.

As the door shut behind them; they were now alone, awaiting the orders of her officiates before the engagement that they were to be involved. Her royal highness was to be on the grounds today with her father, his royal majesty, to offer a showing of their efforts towards their charity gala that they would showcase that evening.

But her prior, childish behavior had sent her security into a tailwind of nervousness. In the nervousness, sat a deeper feeling that he couldn’t seem to overcome as he stared at the way that the black dress hugged the curves of her shape—the inline of her waist were held tightly with the expensive fabric, the sweet white ribbon held her hair back in a half-up ponytail as the rest wisped against the edges of her shoulders.

Harry couldn’t stand the way she flaunted around in such a manner; he couldn’t stand the way his hands ached to touch her, even if for a rough moment of punishment.

But maybe that was the issue.

“What was that for?” Harry snarled at her, “You think it’s funny to put yourself into those kinds of situations?”

She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked back at him with disgust.

“What do you mean? I was only offering a photo—”

“You cannot send yourself into the crowd like that, especially in the public engagements. He could have grabbed you, or worse. You know the protocol, and you know that you can’t do that. When will you learn?”

His breath was heated as he stared at her, practically backed into the corner as her sweet smiles from before now only replaced with the scathing frown.

“Nothing was going to happen to me,” She explained, “All he did was put his arm around me. It was possibly just out of habit—and you embarrassed me, pulling me away like that.”

Sure, yes, Harry knew that he may have been a bit overprotective in the sense of how he handled the situation, but he wasn’t going to let anyone touch her in a way that was past the protocoled handshake.

The way that her breath inflated had his eyes settled on her chest for a moment; his eyes lifted just slightly at the way that her stealth mirrored him. She wasn’t going to back down this time, and he could see the flames hidden in her hazel eyes.

“Your highness, I will not apologize for putting your safety at my highest concern.” He told her sternly, pushing his feet forward just a bit as he watched her take a step back. “You know that you’re not allowed to step into the crowds, nor are you allowed to insert yourself into them unprovoked, without proper authority to do so,” His hands sat in fists next to the trousers that had started to feel a tightness that he only wished would subside. “That’s an order.”

A sudden hint of a snap hit her below the stomach, like an overturned eighteen-wheeler. Her breath settled on the tip of her tongue as her eyes fluttered at the way that he spoke to her.

The way that his black trousers settled on his hips with the delicate tuck of the white button down that she had seen him wear every day, without fail. She watched the way that his lower arm flexed as his fist clenched and the rolled-up sleeves became tight.

The silence of the room didn’t deafen her, but the annihilation of the thumping of her heartrate could have, easily.

“Do you have any idea how angry it makes me when you don’t listen to me?” He further pushed, but the tone was lowered, almost like he just wanted her to understand that every part of him wanted her to listen—to succumb to the realization that there was security in knowing that she could trust him.

She settled her lips together, nodding a few beats before her chin nodded.

She did understand how angry it made him—she watched the way that his eyes sharpened whenever her hand would linger in the crowds for too long, or when someone would reach out and grab at her. With decorum, she would nicely try to retreat. She was a nice girl, after all, and she would never want to put the royal name in any distress.

But Harry watched her—felt her, knew her intentions were to have him watch her every move. It was almost impossible to ignore the way that his eyes flickered and stayed on her as he tried his best to keep her safe.

With keeping her safe meant having her all to himself. That was the only way that he knew she would be safe—if they were in a room, completely on their lonesome without another being around to possibly put a lingering hand on her.

When his being pushed her against the wall, the twenty-foot ceilings with wall-to-wall wallpaper that had been installed by her family hundreds of years prior, he felt the electricity of her

“You like playing these games because you,” His breath hitched as he watched her eyes focus on the way that his mouth moved around, playing with the words on the tip of his tongue, “You like being punished. Don’t you?”

She gasped as his hand firmly placed itself next to her ear against the wall, almost like he had demanded an answer, without giving her a moment to think. Her eyes were glazed over, as if knowing what was to come, but already knowing the feeling that his hands would have on her in a way that she craved.

She had always craved.

“Tell me.” He moved his face further into her realm, pushing her—coaxing her to do as he told. Somewhere in the line of his need for control lie her need to submit to him; it was a merriment of the two that urged his fingers to pull her to look up at him with a darkness that she ached for.

“I want you to tell me how much you need me under that tight, little dress,” His eyes referenced the dark material that hugged her in the most sensual way, but it was classic and modern and gave her the edge that the modern royals had needed, and what he had so desperately salivated over since he had been told that he was to watch over her.

Her breath came in sharp as he she tried to feel a separation from him, but couldn’t as his foot stood between her legs, his knee nudging her knees to stay apart. She tried to close her thighs but couldn’t. The smirk on his face was apparent as he knew she needed relief and wouldn’t be able to find any.

“I would never wear a dress like this,” She practically stuttered out; a pathetic line, as he knew that she was becoming putty in his hands just at the way her eyes were glass, “Unless I knew someone else would want to take it off, Mr. Styles.”

Harry’s lips parted at the words, watching as she practically fell directly into his trap—placing herself into his atmosphere as he ached for her need, her greediness to be seen.

He knew that they didn’t have much time. Someone would be looking for them, surely. But he didn’t care enough to process what would happen if they were caught in this. His attention firmly stayed on her, and he knew that if he didn’t address now, she would never listen to him again.

He couldn’t have that—he couldn’t have her disobey him. That was pure blasphemy, and he would never allow it.

“Am I to trust that you can watch the door?” The hint of a smirk the only emotion he could muster as he strained to explode in the confines of her gaze, “Can you do at least one thing correctly?”

She cocked her jaw out to the side as she raised a brow at his snarky comment.

“Am I to trust that you will actually be able to make me cum?”

Harry pushes his hips against hers, causing her brows to narrow as a slight reaction. The words that floated off her tongue were filthy, but he knew that he could clean her up in a matter of moments.

“I could make you cum just by my words, love,” His voice like venom, “Making you wait for my cock is just the punishment you need. Always getting what you want—you love playing this game because I’m making you beg for it. And I’ll play along because,” A humorless laugh leaves his lips, “Because you’re going to be a good girl for me now, aren’t you?”

“You,” She swallowed back her bite as she tried her best to study him. “Work for me.”

Harry brushed some of the hair from her face that he knew had fallen from the pretty ribbon that held her hair back in its place.

“Alright,” A broken smile placed on his face as he knew the game she was playing—a good game, at that.

“Walk away, then. Since you’re such a good little Princess, all proper and innocent,” He stared at the way that her lips part as he had moved away just a bit. “But I know that you want my tongue nestled between your thighs so bad, and you’d never give up the opportunity if it were to present itself to you. Trust me,” He said, “I will work for you.”

He watched as she thought for a moment; the tough exterior trying to remain but failing over and over again as her eyes lowered for a moment just at the thought of him moving away. She couldn’t help but think of the scorching hot heat of his tongue pressed into her, lapping up every ounce of wetness she had.

A subtle whimper left her lips as she struggled with the thought, backing against the wall enough that had his knee pressed directly into his cunt—just like he knew she wanted. The smirk that followed stated it all. She riled underneath him, pressing upwards a bit to try to get away from the feeling that elicit her, but knowing that she couldn’t fight it.

Even though she tried to push it away, she needed him in a way that felt almost animalistic. So, she surrendered to his pushback, letting her hands move up to rest on his shoulders as he felt the subtle pull towards her.

“That’s what I thought.” He said, a cocky tone milked from his throat as he won her convictions.

She tilted her head back as she could; the feeling of his hands running down the length of her body was all that she could have asked for in the moment. It was almost like heaven’s gate opened as she pulled her hips towards and into him. Harry’s eyes watched the length of her throat as she arched towards him just a bit.

His lips firmly attached to the skin, letting the softness underneath him feel scathing and almost unattainable. As he kissed down towards her collarbone, he made sure to nuzzle underneath the family heirloom pearls that rested against her skin.

Without another warning, he was on his knees before her—as if a metaphor for the way that he had been begging for this moment for the last three-hundred days that he had been notified he was to care for her; to watch her, to keep her safety as his priority.

All he had ever wanted was to be on his knees in front of her; kissing her, eating her in a way that craved every single moment that his eyes devoured her.

His fingers nudged the black fabric up her thighs, watching as it stretched over the subtly curves and dips of her hips. His knees settled on the ground as he allowed his eyes to stare up at her, watching as she arched against the wall, almost pushing her hips towards him to feel what he had been teasing.

“How long has it been?” His voice was hot on a whisper as he kissed the inside of her thigh, watching her reaction to him practically explode at the heat of his lips.

She swallowed back, “You would know,” She muttered, “You haven’t left my side in a year.”

At her words, he smirked with a knowingness; he knew that she hadn’t left his side. Their tension and weight of this had only been stewing for so long, and he was finally getting the opportunity to show her the way that he had always wanted her.

“You’re going to be fucking tight around my fingers, won’t you?” He spoke, his tongue feeling tingly as he asked the dirty words.

She bit her lip. “I don’t know what gave you the illusion that I was a prim and proper Princess,” She urged, “Surprised you never heard me moaning your name when my bedroom door was closed.”

It was his turn to whimper, just thinking of all the times he had traveled with her, knowing that she was safe behind the shut doors. He had wondered if her time alone was peaceful; knowing that no one else was around to bother her, as her public job was practically a lifestyle.

But now he knew that she thought of him as she fucked herself into oblivion on the cream, silk sheets—spread and open as if telepathically waiting for him to check on her. So fucking prim and so fucking proper.

“Got a mouth on you, hm?” He commented, a roughness to his tone as he held his hands against the skin of her thighs as his own mouth practically watered at the touch, “What would the commonwealth think of their dainty, little Princess with a mouth like that?”

“It’s a fun little act,” She huffed out, a smile on her lips as she bit on her lip at the way that the man’s eyes plead with certainty of need, “Even more fun sneaking around like this, don’t you think?”

“Hm,” Harry hummed, his eyes moving up to catch hers as he shakes his head a little bit, “’S a gift to me.”

His hands caress her thighs, moving the black dress up until he’s reached the periwinkle lace, accented with a baby pink bow right at the top. His eyes guide up to her as he feels the strong connection of their electrical magnetism forcing himself as close as he can; his lips attached to the skin right underneath the slim line where the dress is pushed up.

But, right above the pink bow.

“Even your dripping pussy has a bow for me,” His heated breath was hot on her skin as she whimpers at the feeling of his merciful pout on her delicate skin, “A gift all for me.”

She felt the way her knees wanted to bend inward at the way he made her feel; a horrific shuttering of need coursing through her, watching as his head moved its way further down, attaching itself to the outside lace. As if, to only get a small taste of her. He had been holding himself back to help control his appetite for what was underneath. A teasing approach that left her shuttering out a breath.

But he was starving for the contact in one way or another.

“Watch the fucking door,” He stated, pulling away for a minute. “Don’t you dare let us get fucking caught. You’re going to have an orgasm so fucking strong you aren’t going to know what hit you.”

“Yes—yes, sir.” She blinked a few times; hands wrapped around the longer curls that practically melted between her fingertips as he sat on his knees in front of her.

His eyes moved back up to her as he watched knees as they shook in a height of adrenaline and anticipation.

“So sweet. Such a good girl for me. Doing as I say.” He commented, one of the soft remarks he made as he kissed at her inner thigh knowing that she needed a bit of kindness to overlay with the tough punishment he was going to put her through.

His fingers interlaced with the waistband of the lace panties, the waistband on them laying around his fingertips as he pulled them down with a swoop. He couldn’t believe the way that his eyes attached to the dripping cunt that practically swelled with anticipation for him—watching her writhe as there was now no friction made his cock strain underneath the trousers.

“Touch yourself,” He whispered, “Show me where you need me.”

His head felt dizzy with the starvation of her as he watched her succumb to his order. Her fingers daintily placed along on the swollen bud of her clit, pressing softly as she moaned at the touch she craved for. His eyes dark with a blackness for what occurred in front of his eyes, knowing she rewarded him with every single move.

She wriggled underneath his stare, as he used his own to gently gather the wetness that lie between her thighs. The slickness of her desire coating his fingertips as he gathered them along the length of her swollen cunt, pressing upwards just a bit as he looked up to gauge her reaction to the feeling.

Her mouth opened slightly, a hitched gasp as she practically folded in half; her back arched enough to wanting his touch so bad she couldn’t hardly stand it any longer.

“C’mon, show me more,” He urged, tapping at her leg softly, “Here—put it up here.”

On his knees, he was situated between her legs as he helped her foot urgently rest against his shoulder. He wanted the most access; the most visual for his own selfishness, as he felt his mouth water at the way she opened for him.

“Christ,” He muttered under his breath as his fingers came back up to directly press against her clit, watching as she held onto him for balance now. The soft pump of her heel dug into his shoulder, but he knew the pain was causing the adrenaline to shoot through his body. “Gonna’ fucking devour you.”

It doesn’t take any longer for his tongue to press against the center of her; the way that she falls into his touch only makes sense. The dirty tongue that had been speaking nonsensical words of affection was now tasting her in a way that felt obliged and dutiful.

“Fuck—fuck,” She whined, pulling at the hair to practically push his tongue further into her depths as he lapped up the wetness collecting around her.

“Knew you’d taste like a fucking dream,” He pushed against her thighs to keep her spread for him, his hair falling into his face as he sucked gently on her swollen clit, which led to her shuttering in practical defeat. “Fuck, Princess.”

The small play of a nickname sent her stomach into a fit, letting her hips lead her into the grasp of his tongue as she pulled at the curls that rested in the curls of his hair. She pulled it when she felt the way that he inserts his middle finger, lapping around the entrance as he buried his nose to nudge against her clit.

The small amount of penetration leads her body to need—to swell around him, as he pulls back just a bit as if the sensitivity had gotten the best of her. His tongue lapped at her entrance, spitting directly where she needed him most—as if it wasn’t wet enough; he loved knowing that she could writhe against him and soak him like this.

“I want you to—”

Notably, the sound of heels clicking against the hardwood of the chamber floors seemed to catch their attention. It’s enough that both of their fantasies push away in a moment, almost like their bubbles had burst with knowing that being caught wasn’t an option.

Harry pulls away from her thighs as she fumbles with pulling the black dress down her thighs, down to the knees where the proper length was prior to Harry’s fingers pushing it upwards. Her eyes dash to the ground before kicking the periwinkle lace underneath the sofa that sat directly in front of her.

Harry had managed to pull himself together, throwing a hand through his hair as he used the back of his palm along his mouth, as if finishing the best meal of his life. He had thrown himself down on the sofa, adjusting his belt so that his straining erection would be hidden.

She stayed standing behind the sofa, hands on her hips as she tried to pretend as if the conversation, they were having was routine; like they had planned to be alone for the past few moments, while the door opened to reveal her mother and a few aided members of the house to push past the door then.

“It’s absolutely preposterous—” Her mother stated to the dignitaries that followed in her path, before her eyes fell to her daughter—the Princess—with almost a look of relief, “There you are.”

The Princess reacted, but Harry could see as he sat in front of her with his legs crossed and his arms covering across his chest. He looked up at the woman in the dark green floor length gown, and others who had come in her wake.

“Sorry, I just came to, uh,” She couldn’t wrap her brain around any words that made sense as the slickness between her thighs came back into his thoughts, the way her thighs moved against one another made her entirely too aware of the whiplash that just occurred.

“She was having a bit of a panic. A prick grabbed her out in the garden welcome ceremony, and wouldn’t let go, so we just came to cool off.” Harry stated, looking up at Her Majesty, who happened to be the mother of the woman he had just furiously been giving a pleasureful tongue towards.

The knowingness of it made his heartbeat race; knowing what had happened before the doors of this room should have been felt just by the energy, but the two of them were keeping their lips shut as they tried to remain orderly.

“Oh,” The older woman nodded a few times, looking between Harry and her daughter before she pursed her lips, “Very well, then. Are you feeling a bit better?” She asked.

The girl nodded, giving a tight smile before she came around the other side of the sofa—Harry looked at her now, noticing that her hands were white knuckled as she held them behind her back. He bit the inside of his cheek before rubbing his hands down the thighs of his pants, drying the sweat from his palms.

“Yes, yes, I am, thank you,” She answered, before giving a subtle nod; her eyes made their way back to Harry. Their eye contact clicked immediately before she took in a breath and cleared her throat. The girl looked back to her mother after a moment, “Let’s go back, then. I will meet you there.”

Her Majesty gave a curt nod before she turned back towards the large doors and made her way out of them, back down towards where the gala was being held.

Harry let out a breath as he shut his eyes, almost feeling the weight coming outwardly from his chest.

“That was close.” He muttered.

He stood in his place, pushing off of the sofa before the girl tightened the ribbon on the back of her hair. He noticed that she may have not been able to see it clearly, watching her move towards the large mirror that hung against the wall. Her head tilted to be able to see behind her.

Harry moved to where she stood, his hands placing themselves on top of hers as he fixed the ribbon on the top of her head to let the strands hand down along the length of her hair—the tie now tight to keep her hair in place; the girl smiled at him in the mirror before he noticed the hazel draw of her eyes, aligning with the smirk that she sports now.

A silence fell over them, but it was almost as if they had to just go back to the duties of their dignified jobs, knowing that getting caught in the act wasn’t an option they were both able to handle. Harry grabbed the jacket from the edge of the sofa; readjusting his sleeves to normal down the throw of his arm before moving to follow the girl out of the room.

Her legs move towards the door that had been opened, Harry following hot on her lead as he found the strength of his voice, muttering a few words back at her as they trudged through the palace halls; notable faces in large paintings being the only ones to hear the filth to slide off of his tongue.

“Just know that I’m not finished,” he told her roughly, as she walked in front of him; his voice gathering right behind her as they fled out of the room and towards the main gardens that would hold the charity lunch that had been ignored prior. His hand slipped along the flat of her back as he felt the urge to hold her against him; this time in a much different way, “I want to see you tonight, back in the west wing.”

She held her shoulders back; continuing to feel his lips pressed against the inner thighs that felt bare, but obscenely voracious at the same time. “Is that an order?”

His smirk pressed against his lips as he stayed behind her; knowing that her lead was made to make him feel that she was in charge again. He knew deep down that was surely not the case.

“That is an order.”

Without her smirk seen, she nodded a few times, turning her head just a bit as the smirk wiped away from her face so he didn’t get the satisfaction of knowing he caused it.

“Very well.” She agreed, nodding softly before he stopped to look at her; noticing the way that her eyes fell towards his lips. They stood in the hall for a moment, her back towards him as he stood behind her in protective line as he had been arranged to do.

And in that moment, he urged the scent of her wildflower perfume to push through his equilibrium as he breathed out a subtle word of agreement to hers: “Very well.”

The sound of her heels echoed through his mind as he thought of the next time he’d be able to have her once again. On his terms, nonetheless.

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twistiraki · 4 months

Text

Happy New Year kisses from the Twisted Wonderland Boys

🌹Riddle Rosehearts

The clock struck midnight, and Riddle, a bit flustered, extended a hand. "Would you care to join me for a New Year's celebration, following all the proper protocols, of course?"

You took his hand with a smile, and he led you to a spot where a perfectly arranged display of lights glittered. "I've planned this carefully," he confessed. "For a Happy New Year under the stars."

As the seconds counted down, he looked into your eyes, blushing faintly. "May I?" Riddle asked, seeking permission for a kiss. When you nodded, he closed the gap, his lips soft and warm against yours.

❤️Ace Trappola

As the clock struck twelve, Ace pulled you into a dance with a sly grin. "Why settle for an ordinary New Year's when we can make it extraordinary?" he teased.

In the midst of the lively music, Ace twirled you expertly, creating an atmosphere of playful enchantment. "Hold on, I've got a trick up my sleeve," he chuckled, pulling a coin seemingly out of nowhere and flashing it with a cheeky wink. "Happy New Year, my cherry!"

With a final flourish, he dipped you low, and as the world seemed to freeze, Ace leaned in for a kiss that was as daring and mischievous as the spark in his eyes.

♠️Deuce Spade

Deuce, sporting a faint blush, took your hand and led you away from the bustling crowd. "I, um, thought maybe we could enjoy a quiet moment to welcome the New Year," he stammered.

In a cozy nook, he nervously fiddled with his shirt. "I wanted to express my gratitude for everything," Deuce admitted, his sincerity shining through. "You mean a lot to me."

As the clock ticked down, he mustered the courage to press a soft, heartfelt kiss to your lips. "Happy New Year, Y/N," he whispered. He hesitated for a bit “Can, uhm, can I kiss you again?”.

♣️Trey Clover

Trey found a secluded spot, away from the noise of the festivities. "I've been thinking about this moment all year," he admitted, a shy smile playing on his lips.

He reached for your hand, his touch sending a warm shiver through you. "Thanks for being by my side," Trey said, his gaze softening.

With the first notes of the New Year's song, he pulled you into a slow dance, his lips brushing against your ear. "Here's to more moments like these," Trey whispered before capturing your lips in a lingering kiss.

♦️Cater Diamond

Cater, brimming with energy, handed you a brightly wrapped box. "Open it when the clock strikes twelve, okay?" he chirped, excitement evident in his voice.

As the countdown began, you unwrapped the box to find party poppers. "Surprise incoming!" Cater declared, popping one, creating a burst of confetti around you both.

"Happy New Year, Y/N!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a peppy dance. In the midst of the celebration, Cater whipped out his phone and snapped a selfie of your kiss, capturing the joy of the moment. "Gotta capture the best moments, right?" he grinned, posting the selfie with the caption: "Starting the year right with the best kiss ever! Hashtag #NewYearMagic"

🦁Leona Kingscholar

Leona, with his laid-back demeanor, found a quiet spot away from the hustle. "Another year, huh? You're persistent," he teased, a hint of a smirk on his face.

You chuckled, and he pulled you into a comfortable embrace. "Not a bad way to end the year," Leona remarked. As the clock struck midnight, he pressed a lazy but affectionate kiss on your lips. "Happy New Year. Don't expect me to get all sentimental, though."

🍩Ruggie Bucchi

Amidst the vibrant explosions of fireworks, Ruggie found a quiet spot with you. He smirked, leaning against a fence, watching the colors light up the night sky. "Not bad, huh? Bet you've never seen anything like this back in your world."

You chuckled, appreciating the cheeky grin on Ruggie's face. As the sky burst into another display of lights, he turned to you, his eyes softening. "Happy New Year, Y/N" he said, surprising you with a gentle kiss. "Let’s do this again next year, whataya say?"

🐺Jack Howl

Jack, standing awkwardly at a distance from the fireworks, couldn't hide his unease. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. "Fireworks, huh? Not my thing, but if you like 'em..."

You nudged him gently, and he managed a small smile. As the explosions lit up the sky, his ears perked up, and you noticed his tail wagging slowly. "I guess... Happy New Year," he mumbled, almost shyly, stealing a quick glance at you before daring to plant a sweet, hesitant kiss on your cheek.

🐙Azul Ashengrotto

Azul, surrounded by the grandeur of the Mostro lounge festivities, tried to maintain his usual confident façade. "Quite the display, wouldn't you say?" he remarked, nervously adjusting his tie.

As the clock struck midnight, Azul handed you a glass of sparkling juice with a shy smile. "To... um, good times and prosperity," he stammered, his eyes softening. When the last firework lit up the sky, he leaned in, hesitating before placing a delicate kiss on your cheek. "Happy New Year, my pearl. May our paths continue to intertwine."

🍄Jade Leech

Jade, with his cunning charm, led you to a secluded area. He observed the fireworks with a calculating look. "Aren't the explosions fascinating? It's almost poetic, the way they mirror the unpredictability of life."

As a particularly loud bang echoed, you flinched, and Jade's expression softened instantly. Without a word, he cupped your face gently, kissing away the surprise. "Happy New Year, my dear," he whispered, his eyes revealing the genuine affection beneath his enigmatic exterior.

👟Floyd Leech

Floyd, with his wild enthusiasm, couldn't contain his excitement as he watched the fireworks next to you. "This is amazing! Humans sure know how to party!" he exclaimed.

He grabbed your hand, pulling you closer. "Happy New Year, Shrimpy! Let's celebrate under the sea next time!" Floyd chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a wild excitement that only he could muster. As the fireworks reflected in his eyes, you couldn't help but be swept away by the infectious joy of the unhinged yet lovable merman.

🦦Kalim Al-Asim

With boundless energy, Kalim seized your hand, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. "Hey, friend! This is gonna be the best New Year ever, you'll see!" Leading you into the heart of the celebration, he grinned, "I've got a good feeling about this year, and I'm so grateful to have you with me!"

As the countdown began, Kalim's excitement reached its peak. "Make a wish with me!" he exclaimed, his eyes filled with hope. The moment the clock struck midnight, Kalim's warm smile turned tender. "Here's to you, to us," he said, pulling you into a heartfelt and genuine kiss, the kind that made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

🐍Jamil Viper

Jamil, normally composed, took you aside into the quieter shadows. "The stars are quite beautiful tonight, don't you think?" he remarked, his eyes fixed on the night sky.

His usually stoic expression softened as he admitted, "This year has been...unexpected. I'm glad I had you by my side." The sincerity in his eyes spoke volumes.

When the clock signaled the arrival of the New Year, Jamil leaned in, his lips brushing yours gently. "Here's to more surprises and shared moments," he whispered, a rare smile gracing his face.

🪞Vil Schoenheit

Vil extended his arm with a flourish, his eyes locked onto yours with an unmistakable intensity. "Shall we embrace the beginning of the New Year together?" His voice, silky and confident, hinted at the depth of his admiration.

In a dimly lit corner, Vil's violet eyes bore into yours. "This year has been a canvas of challenges, but your presence has painted it with brilliance," he confessed, a seductive smile gracing his lips.

As the clock ticked down, Vil's fingers delicately traced the contours of your face, his touch leaving a trail of anticipation. He pulled you closer, his lips meeting yours in a sultry and lingering kiss. "To conquering obstacles together," he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper.

🏹Rook Hunt

Rook swept you into a lively dance under the twinkling lights. "Y/N, my heart's greatest treasure, let's waltz through the New Year with joy in our steps!"

In the midst of the celebration, Rook twirled you around, his eyes ablaze with affection. "Each year with you is a masterpiece, and I'm the luckiest artist to have you as my muse."

As the clock struck midnight, Rook recited a poem, his words painting a vivid picture of love and admiration. "To the one who turns life's mundane into magic, Happy New Year, mon Amour!" he declared before sealing the sentiment with a theatrically romantic kiss.

🍎Epel Felmier

Epel grinned with a touch of shyness as he handed you a wildflower bouquet. "I reckon these flowers ain't as pretty as you, but they're tryin' their best."

In a rustic corner, Epel taking you by the hand, a bashful expression on his face. "This year was full of twists, but it made sense with you around. You're my city lights in the quiet night."

As the countdown began, Epel stood a bit taller, puffing out his chest in an attempt to be manly. "Happy New Year, sugarcube," he drawled with a twinkle in his eye, before surprising you with a gentle, sincere kiss that spoke volumes of his affection.

💀Idia Shroud

In the dim glow of the computer screen, Idia and you were engrossed in a virtual world. "This is the best way to spend New Year's," Idia remarked, his eyes focused on the game. You both laughed and chatted as the clock approached midnight.

Suddenly, Idia paused the game, looking a bit flustered. "I, uh, thought maybe we could take a break from gaming for a moment." He hesitated before leaning in, awkwardly pressing his lips to yours. The digital avatars mirrored the real-life sweetness of the gesture. "Happy New Year, Y/N. Thanks for being a part of my world, both online and offline."

🤖Ortho Shroud

Ortho, with his usual excitement, handed you a small handmade gadget. "I thought this could be a New Year's memory storage device! We can store all our happy moments in it!"

As the clock ticked down, Ortho held your hand, his robotic fingers gently intertwined with yours. "Ready for the first memory?" he grinned. A burst of confetti erupted from the gadget, and he giggled, "Happy New Year, Y/N! Let's make countless memories together!"

🐉Malleus Draconia

Malleus observed the festivities with curiosity, his bright green eyes fixed on the couples sharing New Year's kisses. Intrigued by the tradition, he approached you with a soft smile.

"May I join in this tradition, Y/N?" he asked, his demeanor gentle. When you nodded, he cupped your face in his soft hand, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. The touch of his lips conveyed a depth of emotion, and as he pulled away, he admitted, "I find myself quite smitten by this human tradition. Happy New Year, child of man."

🦇Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia, looking elegant as ever, smiled at you. "Ah, another New Year, my dear. It's not often that I partake in these festivities, but tonight is special because I'm spending it with you."

As the clock neared midnight, he raised a glass in a toast. "To many more shared moments, my dear," he said, his eyes sparkling. Lilia leaned in for a kiss, making the night feel even more magical. "Happy New Year, and may our time together be everlasting."

💤Silver

The soft glow of the moon bathed Silver in a gentle light as he slept peacefully. As the clock struck midnight, you leaned down and placed a delicate kiss on his forehead.

Silver's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked in surprise. "Did I miss the countdown?" he mumbled. You shook your head with a smile. He blushed, a genuine sweetness in his voice. "Happy New Year, Y/N. Thank you for being by my side."

⚡Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek, with his boisterous energy, was louder than the fireworks. "Y/N, I'll protect you from anything that comes your way this year!" he declared, standing proudly.

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and, feeling mischievous, leaned in for a quick kiss. Sebek blushed furiously, momentarily flustered. "Human, not in public!" he scolded, but his eyes betrayed a hint of bashful affection. "But, well, Happy New Year, Y/N. Let's make it a great one together."

🔔Rollo Flamme

Rollo, being at the Noble Bell College, found himself longing for your company. He hesitated for a moment before finally deciding to call you.

"Hey, it's me," Rollo mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. "I just wanted to say... Happy New Year, okay? Don't think too much about it!" There was a brief silence before he added, "I'll make sure to spend the next New Year with you, got it?"

As the call ended, you couldn't help but smile at Rollo's charm and the genuine affection in his words.

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echoingspectrum · 4 months

Text

𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒'𝑠 𝐶𝑜𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡: 𝑦𝑒𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑒 ( 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 )

As the head alchemist of the Alchemy Commission, it is your responsibility to oversee all alchemical experiments and research conducted by the commission. This includes ensuring the safety protocols are followed, analyzing the results of experiments, and providing guidance to other alchemists.

In addition to that, you must also welcome your special guest with the utmost importance and provide for any of their needs, no matter how obscene their demand is. However, this rule only applies to one certain individual who happens to visit your work very often.

"Stay silent." A gloved hand firmly pressed against your mouth, muffling any sound that threatened to escape. The intensity in his eyes made it clear that breaking the silence was not an option.

Not that you wanted to, but the thrill of getting caught is what fueled your adrenaline. The suspense hung in the air, making every second feel like an eternity as you wondered what would happen next.

"We wouldn't want anyone from the Alchemy Commission to see their precious head alchemist be seen as so obscene, do you~?" His voice oozed with a mix of menace and amusement, sending shivers down your spine.

You could only imagine the consequences if anyone discovered the head alchemist engaging in such forbidden activities. As you stared into his piercing eyes, you couldn't help but wonder how this would play out.

His hand slowly glides to your clothed breast, fondling it ever so gently, like he were holding a fragile piece of glass that is real and emanating comfort heat. As his other hand descends to your lower flower.

Fiddling with your bottoms till it dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Nimbling fingers went to the wet patch of your inner thighs, tracing delicate patterns that sent electric waves of pleasure through your body.

Muffled moans escaped your lips as he skillfully played with the base of your cunt. Giving your clit a squeeze and caress, he expertly applies just the right amount of pressure, causing a surge of intense pleasure to course through you.

Your body trembles in response as his touch becomes more insistent and his fingers explore every inch of your sensitive folds. Each stroke sends you deeper into a state of bliss, leaving you craving more of his touch.

Especially while wearing his gloves. The rough texture of the material adds an extra layer of sensation, intensifying every touch and stroke.

"Aeons, you're soaked. Have you actually been waiting for this?" he whispers, his voice husky with desire.

You blush, unable to deny the truth, as your body betrays you. Protesting won't help as your overwhelming desires accumulate. Your whole stature is trembling with anticipation, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

"F-Fuck!" You stumble back against his chest, his warm breath tickling your ear as he whispered words of desire.

The anticipation builds as his hands continue their exploration, teasing and tantalizing every part of you.

You can't help but arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him, yearning for the ultimate release that only he can provide.

Teasing it forth and back till it slid inside of you with ease, as if your body complies naturally to his every command. When suddenly he thrust his fingers deeper, hitting that sweet spot that sends an electrifying sensation to your core over and over again before adding an additional digit to add even more pleasure.

"I spend my entire morning in my chambers, only thinking of how your body molds against mine," Dan Feng confessed. Glancing at him, his draconic eyes burned with a mixture of desire and adoration.

"You have bewitched me completely," he whispered, his voice husky with longing.

You would've been replying back to him with the same amount of dulcet tones if it weren't for his digits plunging into your velvety cavern, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Your ears caught the sound of your insides squelch with drips of your juice slipping out to the ground.

"D-Dan Feng⏤we shouldn't be doing this r-right now⏤ Ahh~" Your words faltered as you tried to resist the intoxicating pull between you, but the intense sensations overwhelmed your protests, concealed by the high elder's sudden passionate kiss that silenced any further objections.

Your guys' tongues danced in a wild tango, exploring each other's mouths with fervor and hunger. The taste of him mingled with the sweet sounds of your moans, creating a symphony of desire that echoed through the space.

Your legs are trembling, and your core is nearly bursting, thinking your sweet release is just within reach. The world around you fades away, as the only thing that matters is you and him.

As if pressing against you, aching to be inside. The anticipation builds, fueling the fire of your desire even more. Every touch and every kiss brings you closer to the edge of ecstasy⏤

"H-Hey!" You both suddenly break apart, startled by the unexpected interruption. Your eyes widen as you look at the High Elder himself, looking smug and amused at your half-fucked state.

His eyes were piercing through every inch of your features. The rich hue of redness painted your cheeks, your eyes heaved with desire and frustration that he could clearly see, and your wetness glazed the floor under you.

Disappointment and annoyance immediately went through your mind as you realized that the moment had been ruined. "W-Why did you⏤"

He shoved his gloved digits straight past your lips, which are coated with your sweet moisture.

"Silent," he commanded, his voice low and commanding.

The taste of your own arousal lingered on your tongue as you obediently closed your mouth but moved your tongue to clean off the excess of your wetness from his fingers. The interruption left you frustrated and curious about what he had in store for you next.

"We'll be finishing this at my chambers. You can scream as loud as you wish."

#☆ echoing depths #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr dan heng #honkai star rail dan heng #character x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng #x reader #hsr dan feng #dan feng #dan feng x reader #smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #dan heng x reader smut #dan feng x reader smut

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satorubi · 1 year

Text

NEEDLE N THREAD — FT NANAMI KENTO & FUSHIGURO TOJI

༄ a threesome with your colleagues leads to a very sticky situation.

♱ CW - f! reader, threesomes, big cock nanami and toji, doggy, missionary, double pen, usage of profanity, usage of pet names such as baby/love/sweetheart, use of the word bitch but only once, <> word count - 1.5k <> notes - hi hi, this is a reupload bc there are some opps in the building. pls yall i swear i don’t mean any harm </3 i wrote this in one night & @venusflytrapstar is the one to blame.

toji and nanami were good at their craft.

saving lives daily wasn’t exactly the dream job for some, but to them— it was. there was no better feeling than finishing up a patient, stitching them good as new and seeing them exit the facility with a smile on their face.

and that’s why you adored your colleagues.

toji and nanami had been there since you first began as a pre-med student, already having their lives set at the hospital when you arrived a few years ago. you adored their dedication, work ethic, and abilities just as much as you adored saturday nights.

the nights where not only toji ruptures your insides, but nanami doing the same right after him.

“god-fuckin’ damn, pussy’s so tight. like havin’ both of us fuck you senseless huh?” toji grunts, his cock plummeting into you slowly but deeply as nanami stuck his tongue down your throat.

every time the weekend rolled around, you wondered if it was a dream. to have two handsome men fucking you whenever you asked while also being professional outside of closed doors really got your tummy fluttering. it was something ravenous and exciting about the mischief of it all.

to be such persistent individuals, they were sloppy in bed— fucking you back to back as you mess up the sheets of whoever’s home you’d decided to get pounded at next; this time being nanami’s. the three of you currently having the time of your lives in his living room, ruining his brown leather couch cushions as your pussy contracts around toji’s cock for the second time tonight.

“she’s so pretty— such a slut for us, all for us,” nanami praises, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat making you gag. they were both fucking huge and shoving their cocks into you as if they weren’t was a mix of pleasure and pain, but you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

“nurse y/n, who knew you were such a fuckin’ whore? look at how this pussy’s fuckin’ me back. bet you think about us while you’re with patients, huh?” toji teases, his tip repeatedly hitting your gushy spot. nanami picked up speed while fucking your throat, his hands holding both of your cheeks. the gagging and queefing of your pussy and mouth had them both going insane.

sometimes you wondered if this would ever escalate to more. it was against protocol and way outside of the employee handbook, but the dick was just too good to pass up.

“such a fuckin’ goddess. love fuckin’ you, baby.” nanami says, caressing your cheek when he pushes his cock to the back of your throat— you choke, but you take every inch. with a gag, he pulls out of your mouth completely, leaving a string of saliva connecting from his cock to your bottom lips.

not too much. fuck is he callin’ her that for? he thought. to toji, there was no reason to. you were all just friends who fuck— well, at first.

it was at that moment you could feel toji fucking you harder. his rough hands gripped at your ass and rolls as he fucked you from behind, watching you clap back against his pelvis. he could cum right now, but he couldn’t help but to feel a small bit a jealousy bubbling inside of fim.

after multiple months of getting to know you and stretching you out, both toji and nanami could say that they’d never felt this way with anyone before— no one other than you. but that was the thing, they couldn’t both have you, not unless it was like this.

“i..i’m cumming—fuuuck yes! fuck me like that, oh my god,” you moan, not missing the way toji’s pace went from steady to rough. with a few more thrusts, you began to coat him like glaze on a donut as he guided his dick in and out of your hole.

“good girl. you’re a sexy little bitch aren’t ya’ ?” toji mumbles, his palm meeting your ass cheek leaving a sting. you giggle, averting your attention from nanami’s eyes to looking behind you at toji. you reached back and put a hand on his stomach and clawed at it with your nails.

“c’mon, toji. wanna’ feel it all, daddy,” you encourage, hearing an annoyed sigh come from nanami. you swore they acted like two envious school boys when it came down to you.

“shit, cummin’, i’m cummin’ for you, baby. where do ya’ want it babydoll?” all it took was for you to say the words in me to have toji spurting his cum into your belly. from the corner of your eye, you could see nanami roll his tongue on the inside of his cheek, removing his glasses and making his way behind you.

nanami have toji a tap on the shoulder and uttered, “move,” in a low tone.

“the fuck are you gettin’ mad about?” toji questions, slipping his dick out of your pretty little hole that just aches for more dick. nanami said nothing, he only gave toji a rather unpleasant expression. surprisingly, toji didn’t argue. instead, he moved over to the side and allowed the impatient man to take his position behind you.

“someone’s jealous, eh?”

nanami grunts, flipping you over onto your back so he could see your beautifully fucked out face, “fushiguro don’t start with me—“

“kento, don’t forget who fucked her first,” toji winks, making nanami knit his brows— chest heaving up and down with agitation. before it could get too routty, your soft voice could be heard from under them.

“hello? can you both shut the fuck up and fuck me already? geez, you act like children,” you sigh. nanami sends toji one last glare before readjusting his focus on you— the pretty angel who had no idea she was setting their hearts on fire.

“i’m so sorry, darling. forgive me,” he whispers, kissing at your neck before toji stood before you— cock hovering over your face creating a shadow.

“kiss ass,” toji mutters.

the minor setback only had your attention for a brief moment as nanami entered himself inside you. you loved how different they both felt. toji was on the bigger side, his cock stretching you out in ways you could never imagine, leaving you begging him for more. where as nanami had length. he was able to reach your spot within seconds of thrusting, sending you over the edge rather quickly.

“jesus, you’re so fuckin’ tight sweetheart,” he groans, stray pieces of blond hair sticking to his forehead as he kept a slow and gentle pace. toji on the other hand, gave you a small moment to get use to the feeling between your legs prior to fucking your face.

“open up, sweet thing,” toji says and you oblige. with your mouth stretching as wide as it could, you tried your absolute best to fit him all the way in, gargling on his cock as his balls slapped against your forehead, “aah—shit, love this fuckin’ throat. takin’ us so well, and at the same time too.”

“and this cunt too,” nanami adds, “never get over you. can’t believe you feel this good, love.”

love. you’d be lying if you said their words didn’t make you want to cry and cum all at once but here you were, taking the two men you admired and cherished the most— unable to call them yours. but deep down inside, the three of you knew the connection was endless. no matter how many times they’d remind themselves of the rules created beforehand, the feeling of your pussy around them had the two men drawn to no one other than you.

the familiar sensation in your stomach had you moaning and whimpering as the two men continued to fuck your holes. noticing your change in movement, nanami reached out to intertwine his hand with yours. a few moments after, you could feel toji doing the same, grabbing the hand that nanami hadn’t, both of them holding onto you and letting you know that they were ready for your explosion.

the intimacy and warmth that they were giving you took you there, toji removing his cock from your mouth and nanami picking up speed, “fuck i’m cumming a-again— ooh! please, please, please— it feels so good!”

“you heard the lady nanami, make that pussy cum,” toji chuckles. as if it were on command, you cunt suckled at nanami’s cock, pulling him right along with you as you reach your climax.

“cum baby, cum for me—please, i’m gonna’ cum with you,” he grunts, squeezing your hand a bit tighter. after a few more sloppy thrusts, you and nanami had cum together.

“there you go, good girl,” toji says, kneeling down to kiss your cheeks and neck. your tits jiggled with every breath you took and your mind was fuzzy from the moment. neither of them had let you go yet, both of their hands still holding on to yours and nanami’s cock still keeping warm inside you.

“that was…fuck,” nanami sighs, watching as toji’s thumbs wiped away the tears that’d escaped your eyes earlier tonight.

after cleaning you up and dressing you in one of nanami’s clean shirts, you could be found resting in the bedroom as the two men talked amongst themselves in the kitchen.

“so when are you gonna’ tell her how you feel?” toji asks, breaking the still silence of the room.

“i don’t know…when are you?”

once again, special thank you to the lovely @venusflytrapstar !!!!

#☆彡saturn writes :)#HELLO HELLO AGAIN #sorry for reposting #got flagged the first time #nanami x black!reader #toji x black reader #nanami smut #toji smut #toji x female reader #toji x reader

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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 7 months

Text

You Hurt Me Pt 4 - LN

The Happy Ending

Summary: Lando is going to keep y/n in his life and nothing can stop him.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Lando and y/n didn’t take long to become inseparable and after admittedly after a pregnancy scare that Lando saw as an exciting thought while y/n nearly cried at the idea of being pregnant, Lando decided that he needed to stop wasting time with her.

He already wasted a year without her because of his own mess up. And while a child might be more than a 22 and 23 year old can actually handle, though he did try to argue otherwise, he’s got something else up his sleeve for it.

“So you’re really doing this?” Max sighs as they stand in the store and Lando pays.

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“No. I just didn’t think you’d actually follow through with it when you mentioned it the other day.” Max smiles with a shrug before they take the bag and head out. “You act quickly.”

“I don’t want to risk anything going wrong. For once I actually need to be organised. I can’t fuck this up.” Lando stresses earning a gentle pat on the back.

“Then let’s get moving.” Max states ready to help this day go off without a hitch. “Where is she now?”

“Take a wild guess?” Lando grins while Max sighs.

“You sent her shopping?”

“I had to send her shopping for some things for me to make sure we didn’t cross paths.”

Lando intending to propose after the last race of the season, with them being in Abu Dhabi, he’s making sure both their families are there, the quadrant team are there ready to capture every angle of this moment. The McLaren team know about it all and are just beyond excited to be part of it.

The outcome of the race hardly even matters, though Lando would love a podium or finally a win. Ultimately he knows that after the race is where the best part of his weekend is going to be.

“How are you feeling?” Y/n asks sitting in Lando’s driver room.

“I’m good, sad that the end of the season is here but there’s always next year.” Lando smiles with a shrug then moving towards her while she sits up on the physio bench, pulling her forward to the edge of the bench so she’s flush against him. “Plus I have some plans of us through the break.”

“Oh really?”

“Oh yeah, more pregnancy scares.” Lando jokes while she tsks and swats his arm.

“Behave.”

Lando doesn’t hide his cheeky grin, instead closing the space between them and kissing her a few times before Lando’s called for.

“I’ll get myself to the garage.” Y/n states while he nods helping her get down. “I love you. I’ll be proud whatever the outcome and I can’t wait to see you out there.”

He watches her rush out before following closely but heading off to the starting grid for the national anthem.

Once Lando is in his car he does get into the correct, race-focused mindset.

The race starts and so begins the 58 lap very dramatic race, over takes, a safety car after a three car collision in the midfield. But eventually Lando finishes P2.

And the moment he’s out the car he rushes to find y/n, kissing her multiple times.

“Alright, you have to celebrate with everyone else.” Y/n laughs gently pushing him back.

Lando moves but only to give Max and the McLaren team the signal since they wanted to make sure he didn’t lose his nerve and want to back out, they needed him to give a signal to reassure them that this is happening.

He goes to the cool down room knowing that y/n is probably being moved from the crowd beneath the podium and is very much confused as to why people aren’t letting her see him get his trophy.

The trophy presentation goes on and they follow through with the usual protocol before Max and Oscar step off (idk if that will be the podium but lets just go with it), Oscar is aware of the plans while Max is incredibly confused. Looking just as lost as y/n as she’s forced onto the podium stage by the Quadrant team.

“Lando…What the hell is happening?” Y/n hisses while Lando just takes her hand to pull her front and centre. “Lando, please tell me this is not what I think it is.”

Lando getting down on one knee while she burns red, tears glossing her eyes.

“Y/n, you are the best thing in my life. Above F1. So, I wanted to prove that by bringing you up here and…asking you, if you’d do me the honour of being my wife?” Lando asks pulling the ring out that he’d been handed before the cool down room and opening the box.

Her voice almost fails her before she kneels down with him, tears dripping down her cheeks.

“Yes. Please.” Y/n nods kissing him several times as her hands cup his face while he manages to take the ring from the box and pry her left hand from his face to put the ring on.

He pulls her up since they’d dropped out of sight of the crowd below who were watching in confusion and curiosity.

“She said yes!” He shouts down to their families while pulling her close into hug as she tries to hide herself, not one for so much attention especially when she’s been crying. But Lando is much more one for grand gestures.

The cheers that erupt practically make the floor shake while Max leads the quadrant team into tackling the two in a mass hug.

“You’re such an idiot.” Y/n laughs as Lando tries to paint her face mask onto her. “By the way. I think you’ve cut our lives slightly shorter with that choice of proposal. The stress of that experience definitely took a couple years off my life.”

“Shut up.” Lando grins shaking his hand before finishing the face mask and dumping the tool in the sink to take hold of her hand and admire the ring. “You look good with a ring on that finger by the way.”

“I’m sure my second husband will agree.” Y/n jokes while Lando fake laughs before poking her side to tickle her. “I’m just kidding, I’m far too excited to spend my life with you.”

“Promise to never remarry if I die in some tragic accident?”

“Not very comforting given your increased odds with your career.” Y/n murmurs before sighing. “I couldn’t even move on when I did everything in my power to finally be away from you, I couldn’t do it.”

“And I have never been so grateful for you to have a weakness like that, especially when it was the exact same for me.”

“Alright, your turn for the mask.”

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #lando x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando #norris #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

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astroboots · 9 months

Text

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #14

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You try to move on after the Universe has been saved.

Word count: 4,700

Warning: Angst

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

You're standing in the middle of your old apartment.

The same apartment that had a helicopter crash into it and left nothing but rubble, ash and melted cement in its wake. Except now it's restored, like nothing ever happened.

Your rickety dining table sits in the middle of the room, propped up by a hardcover book to make up for the fact that one leg is crooked. Your tiny double bed with your lumpy mattress is pushed up against the wall. The usual piles of clean and dirty laundry indiscriminately mixed together sits unattended on top of the unmade covers.

You don't understand.

Why is it all back to normal?

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it.

Miguel… You need to get back to him and you don't have time for this right now.

"Lyla," you summon. A warm ping vibrates against your inner wrist as Lyla appears. "Take me back to the void."

Lyla shakes her head firmly. "I'm sorry I can't do that."

"What do you mean? Of course you can, you've brought us there twice. You did it when Miguel commanded you."

She peers up at you through her pink heart-shaped glasses, with a solemn look in her holographic eyes.

"The first time was a miscalculation. The second was to eliminate the continued threat to your life."

Her words stop you cold. 'Continued threat...' Is she referring to Miguel?

"Lyla, please. Stop messing around. Take me back to Miguel."

Lyla's eyes go blank, no longer the flippant expression you are so used to seeing.

"Request denied. My programming does not allow me to expose you to danger."

"He's going to die if we don't do something Lyla!" You shout at her.

There is a tremor in your hand. Your nerves are shot, exhausted and tired from everything that has happened in the last 24 hours and you can feel the tears pushing up against your throat.

"Isn't it part of your protocol to protect him?!"

"I was built to protect you. My primary directive is to make sure you're safe above all else. That is my purpose."

She recites the words as if she's reading from a manual. It's flat and emotionless in a way you've never known Lyla to be before. Like the line is hardwired into the very core of her basic coding. There are no funny jokes. No sass.

"Lyla, please," you beg.

She doesn't answer you. That same impassive expression as before is still on her face.

"Lyla..." you try again.

You scramble to think of your options. To devise a plan B. But to your horror, you can’t think of anything.

What are you meant to do? You’re not a super genius who can build source code out of thin air that can break the laws of physics. You have no superpowers. No magic that allows you to travel to other dimensions.

The only thing you know how to do is file claim insurance applications. You’re useless.

There's nothing to be done.

It's over.

Your legs give in from the oppressive weight of your realization. You slump to the floor, unable to hold yourself together as the hard wooden floor hits your knees. You fold in two, hunched over the floor and you let the ache inside your chest break and pour over and you cry.

When you come to some time later, you find yourself curled up on the floor. You don't know how long you must've been crying for. But it must’ve been long enough for you to have cried yourself to exhaustion and slipped into unconsciousness.

Turning onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling, shivering from the cold breeze of the evening coming through the window.

Your limbs are cramping from exhaustion. You're dehydrated. Mouth dry and eyes crusted with dried tears. There's a deep-seated headache burrowing into your skull. It's a struggle for you to get up from the floor into a seated position, as you properly take in your surroundings.

At first glance, this version of your apartment looks identical to yours, but on closer inspection there are some stark differences.

By the window, there are black out curtains hanging from the ceiling to allow for sleep-ins during daylight hours.

On your bed, amongst the mountain piles of laundry strewn haphazardly, there are items you don’t recognize. Oversized hoodies that are big enough to fit a bear. Male sweatpants. Socks so big they look like they're Christmas stockings.

Walking over to the kitchen area, there's a distinct lack of coffee. It's been replaced by expired Reese's Peanut Butter cups, milk duds, and Hershey bars that fill every corner of your kitchen cupboards to the brim, stuffed haphazardly on the upper shelves that you could never reach. They have even made their way into your nightstand and stuffed and hidden between books on the bookshelf.

Lyla doesn't even have to tell you where you are. You already know.

This is your home. In your other self's dimension. It belongs to Miguel's nena.

Miguel sent you here, the closest universe he knew of that was identical to yours, so that you could live out your days in safety, without him.

Fucking idiot.

This is not what you wanted.

Days pass.

It's an odd and empty existence, you've beaten the impossible odds and won against the universe itself and made it out alive. Yet you're not sure that anything about this truly qualifies as a victory.

For all you know, the world that is your home may have been destroyed.

After all that's what Stark said: there is no guarantee that just because you left, everything would go back to normal.

And who are you to argue with the (second) smartest man on earth?

There's no way of you knowing what the outcome was, and Lyla refuses to transport you out of this current dimension.

You spend most of your days curled into a ball in bed unable to summon the strength to keep yourself upright or awake for more than an hour at a time, haunted by the knowledge that your escape from your death might have doomed trillions to theirs.

In the hours in between, when that inescapable guilt doesn't eat into your mind, the only thing you are left with is replaying the moments of your life in the past three months.

It flits through your closed eyes like an old film reel and in every one of those moments, Miguel is there, reminding you of what you have now lost.

You feel hollowed out, scraped out and empty like there's nothing inside. The only time you manage to feel anything that resembles an emotion is when you clutch onto whatever piece of oversized clothing that once belonged to Miguel. The only physical trace you have to prove to yourself that he existed and it's not just some fantastical made up story in your mind.

Miguel once told you that anyone who gets lost in the void gets erased. Their very existence scrubbed from the records of the world. Does the fact that you can still remember him mean that he's still there? And if so, how much longer will you be able to mourn him before he's faded entirely in that space. Before your very memory of him and the love you have that sits inside you with nowhere to go is gone too?

Nothing about this feels like a happy ending.

In the first few days, you don't leave the house. You tell yourself that it's better that way. Now that Miguel is no longer here, the idea of walking out in into open streets in broad daylight seems strange to you.

Lyla tries to tempt you with exotic holidays.

“Bali, India! The world is your oyster, we can fly out first class tonight and do an Eat Pray Love for as long as you want to!” Lyla’s voice sings in your ear. "Thailand is lovely this time of the year, barely any tycoons."

Most of the time, you ignore her presence, burying your head into the pillow, pathetically hugging onto one of the oversized shirts that’s been left behind.

Everytime you hope to catch a whiff of the remnant traces of Miguel’s presence there. But there’s nothing. It just smells of stale detergent.

After surviving the end of the world, a lot of things that used to be important seems meaningless to you now.

Alive as you may be, there’s no real purpose for you carved out in this dimension. You don't go to work in the mornings, because the you of this universe died years ago. Showing up at your office at the Chrysler building would likely induce heart attacks amongst your old co-workers.

You could scour Careerbuilder for job ads, but there's a sour pit in your stomach that hugs tightly around your guts everytime you think of the prospect of having to speak to job recruiters.

You don't think you have it in you to lie to some stranger at an interview and pretend that being in front of a white screen poring over excel sheets 8 hours a day is the way you want to spend the rest of your life until you hit retirement.

Besides, rent is not an issue anymore. Nor is money when Lyla is there to take care of you and act as your digital sugar momma. A standing order for any and all bills needed to maintain this home had already been set up long before you arrived.

You feel sorry for Lyla. She's been programmed to take care of your mental and physical well being and you know she is at wit's end with your listless behavior.

She pulls out all the stops. Lyla orders take out for you, delivered right to your door to try to get you to eat. If she had a physical body, you think she would hold you down and force feed you.

But something is wrong with you, because even though every dish is your favorite, rounded up from your favorite restaurants in the city, for the first time in your life since you were born, you no longer have much of an appetite.

You usually only manage mouthfuls just to keep Lyla from constantly nagging, before you shove the take-out box back into the fridge and then crawl back into bed.

Everything tastes bland and grey. Everything around you seems to have lost its color and shine. Was the world around you always this dull?

On the fifth day, there is a familiar baby-pink box with Gladis' logo printed on the lid arriving at your doorstep.

“Surprise!” Lyla announces. “It’s your favorite! I ordered the luxury box with the elderflower lemon flavors, as well as the lychee-raspberry jello!”

You sit down by the table, staring at the beautifully adorned cupcakes in the box. Spirals of white and pink frosting with petals of edible flowers. There's freshly cut strawberries and blackberries and chocolate shavings on op.

Picking one up, you cram the whole cupcake into your mouth, trying to cling onto the memory of that first time when the flavor of lemon zest bursting on your tongue had made you squeal with happiness.

That doesn't happen.

This time, as the sugar hits the top of your mouth, all you can think about is how much you miss him. How things will never be the same without him.

How you'll never get to have him sit next to you, smiling softly as he watches you eat. That you'll never get to see him demolish a cupcake in one bite and leave frosting on his nose.

It doesn't feel the same, you just feel hollow. Wetness spills across your cheeks, and snot clogs your nose and throat. You must look like a looney, ugly crying with your mouth stuffed full of cupcake, barely swallowing.

After that Lyla doesn’t order them for you anymore.

It's morning you think, judging from the bright sun pouring in from the blinds.

Lyla is buzzing near your ear where you've taken off the watch and placed it on the pillow next to you for company.

"You need to get out of the house. You're turning into a social recluse. It's not a good look," she says, as she peers down at you over her pink-tinted glasses.

"How about I get a date for you? Have a fab night out on the town? I have a roller-dex of the top bachelors in New York. I'm happy to hack into their calendar!"

You ignore her, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hugging Miguel's worn hoodie tighter to your chest. You pull the cover over your head, but you can still hear her babble on through the thin separation of fabric.

"What's your type? Oscar Isaac? He’s hot– No, no you're right he's happily married and we don’t wanna be homewreckers here. What about Lenny Kravitz? Doesn't get cooler than Kravitz and he’s long divorced."

"Lyla stop," you groan, poking your head back up above the covers. You just want quiet. Just want to stay here cocooned in this space that is the closest you'll ever get to Miguel for as long as you can remember him, until that too is taken away from you.

"I'm fine. I don't need a date."

"You're not fine though. You've only eaten a box of cupcakes in the last week. You haven't showered and you look like a mess. Your hair is greasier than the BP oil spill off the gulf of Mexico. My purpose is to keep you safe, and that includes your mental and emotional levels, which are... " she stops, throwing up some diagnostics boxes in floating holograms, then makes a face. "Yikes."

She’s doing this on purpose. Talking incessantly, so that she can nag you into doing what she wants. Suddenly you gain newfound sympathy for Miguel. You used to think it was funny when she nagged him and got on his nerves, but now that you're on the end of it, you see how he must’ve suffered when Lyla was in one of these moods with him.

"Will you stop if I step out of the house for a walk," you offer as an olive branch, hoping for a little peace and quiet.

"How long of a walk?"

"Five."

"Minutes?!" Lyla screeches with outrage. "The general recommendation is 150 minutes of weekly exercise, I'm going to need at least an hour's walk from you boss-girl."

"Twenty minutes."

"Forty!"

"Half an hour, or I'm going back to bed and wearing earplugs."

Lyla grins. "Deal".

The streets here look the same as the ones in your dimension, down to the Bodega owned by the old Korean couple around the corner. This version of earth is identical to yours in almost every way you know of.

Except in this New York, instead of Matthew Ellis, a man named Biden who is apparently over 100 years old (give or take a few years) is president.

In this reality, Leonardo Di Caprio apparently won an Oscar, while Amy Adams still hasn't, which is nuts to you.

The Avengers also don't seem to exist here. Though Superheroes still seem prevalent. A group of misfits that refers to themselves as the Fantastic Four seems to dominate the news cycle more often than not.

Ahead of you, the street splits into two paths and you take a corner into the smaller street that you know should cut through to a dog park.

But it doesn’t. Instead of green grass fields and park benches, you end up in a small narrow dead end of a street. Somehow you're lost. Shit. You should've paid more attention.

Looking up, you turn your head left and right to try to make sense of where you could be. You’re just about to pull up google maps, when the flickering light of the one sole streetlamp illuminating this alley catches your attention.

You're 12 blocks from Chinatown, but you recognize this alley even though it shouldn't be here.

From a distance, you spot the familiar red stall. The same small rickety table. The same red cloth draped on top. The same old lady with her abnormally large shiny head, comically large sunglasses and white-blue robe. The same giant sign spelling out: Fortune teller.

Only this time, there's only one folding chair set up in front of it.

She takes one look at you, as you sit down with a look of familiarity in her milky-white eyes.

"Your bad luck is gone," she says.

You should be more surprised that the scam fortune teller from another dimension seemingly remembers the conversation you had with her other self. But it doesn't. You've learned by now that nothing is as it seems.

Random near death accidents are not just due to bad luck. A superhero that repeatedly saves you isn’t just doing it out of sheer goodwill and duty. A starmap is not just a starmap, and you’re willing to bet your life that this fortune teller is not just a fortune teller.

“Who are you?” you ask her.

“Is that of importance to you?”

“Yes.”

She takes off her sunglasses and stares directly into your eyes. Without the obstruction of dark tinted lenses, you can see that it's not glaucoma causing the whiteness in her pupils. In her eyes, there are galaxies, millions of tiny dots of glowing stars, endless and mesmerizing as you stare back into them.

"My name is Ulana. I’m a Watcher. My role is to observe the Multiverse from the Nexus of all realities.”

There’s no longer that harmless demeanor and friendly smile that makes you drop your guard. She holds herself with reverence as she speaks, with the aura of the divine.

“Does that mean you are able to observe every reality in this moment?” you ask.

“Yes.”

The image of your New York with its pink cracked sky and the chaos you left it in crowds your vision.

"Can you tell me what happened to my old world after I left? Is it still there?"

"Your old home is intact and safe."

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you had been holding all this time.

Thank god.

Relieved tears spill from your cheeks. Somehow you haven't single-handedly caused the destruction and death of whole worlds and countless lives.

Even if you can never go back there, that place will always be your home, and your chest warms at the thought that even without you it will always still be there.

You take a moment to gather yourself, to wipe the errant tears that are welling up with the back of your hand.

Then you take a deep calming breath before you ask her the question that has been plaguing your mind since you arrived in this reality.

"Is Miguel still alive in the void?" you ask her.

"Your husband is still alive. But he doesn't have much time left. He's fading."

Your fingers curl into fists on top of your knees, "How do I save him?"

"I couldn't tell you.” She shakes her head sadly. "My kind is not allowed to intervene. We are only meant to observe the ongoings of the universes. I've already meddled too much.”

Ducking down, she reaches under her desk, sorting through the pile of junk paper, before she leans back up over the table.

"This is the only help I can give you," she says, reaching over to place something into your hands.

You look down to see a familiar bright yellow Star Map.

"He'll be home this time," she tells you.

You're standing on the doorsteps of the old brownstone on 177A Bleecker Street, staring up at the old ornate wooden front doors.

Unlike last time you were here, there's no hesitation in you anymore. It doesn't matter that you've come alone with no other superhero to validate your mad and fantastical story about the Cosmos that was out to kill you.

You don't care if Strange thinks you're a random crazy from the streets.

If he doesn't believe you, then you'll make him believe you. If he tries to have you hauled out, you'll kick and drag and scream at the top of your lungs, and chain yourself to his front door if that's what it takes.

You bring your hand to the door knocker and tap it three times. Then you wait.

Nothing.

Didn't the fortune teller say he was going to be home this time?

Goddamnit, was she a scam after all? What kind of name is Ulana for a celestial being anyhow? Did you end up wasting another ten dollars?

You grit your teeth and step forward again, grabbing the door knocker to pound it down against the front door, even harder this time and you don’t stop at one or two, you keep slamming it down fervently.

Mid-knock, the door creaks, swinging open, as an exasperated voice greets you.

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm coming. There's no need to knock that aggressively, I'm not going to come to the door any fast–"

He stops mid-sentence as he looks at you. For a man you've never met, Dr. Strange's eyes go wide at the sight of you standing on his doorsteps. His eyes are filled with the disbelief of a man who's seen a ghost.

"You're alive," he says.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Strange says as he hurriedly pulls out a chair by the old oak table in his dining room.

“I’ll make us some tea,” he says.

He waves his cape with a dramatic flare in the empty space, and from a distance you hear a small click, before you realize that he must’ve used magic to put on the kettle.

For someone that’s supposed to be a sorcerer, you don’t know why the hell he bothers having a kettle. Seems a bit redundant, couldn’t he just use magic to instantly heat water?

You sit down as instructed, hands folded in your lap as you try not to fidget.

There’s a prolonged and uncomfortable silence as you both wait for the water to boil.

Strange opens then closes his mouth, as if he’s unsure of who should speak first. In the end though, he doesn’t say anything at all, he just drums his fingers impatiently on the wooden surface as he smiles politely but awkwardly at you. Across the room, the water starts simmering to a boil.

This wasn’t what you had expected. You had counted on him to try to kick you out and you having to make a passionate plea for him to listen to you. Instead he’d opened the door and insisted on inviting you in and now the two of you are drowning in a sea of uncomfortable silence.

There’s a tinny whistle from the kettle, and Strange darts up from the chair, as if the interruption was a godsend. He rushes over to pick it up, before walking back to the table with it at a much slower pace.

Then he stands next to you, tilting the snout of the kettle into your small tea cup.

Strange stares intently at your face as he pours the boiling water into the cup. So focused on you that he doesn't pay any attention to the level of the hot water, until it spills over the rim and onto the table surface below. Then he seemingly snaps himself out of it.

"Shit! Sorry," Strange begins. He wipes up the spillage with his robe, even though there are perfectly good paper towels behind him, even though he could’ve just used magic to make it vanish in the blink of an eye.

"You look exactly like her," he says, then he stops himself.

Strange considers the statement and does a curt little nod at himself as if berating himself for how stupid that comment sounded. "Which of course you do. You are her, just… from another dimension."

From your time with Miguel, you’ve been able to glean from his childish rants about the man’s “ugly” and “useless” and “impractical” cape that there’s a hostility there towards Strange that goes beyond just Miguel being Miguel.

Judging from the guilt in this man’s eyes as he looks at you from across the table, you can guess that there is a complicated history between Strange and Miguel and you.

“Did you know me?” you ask.

“Yeah, we were friends. Good friends,” Strange corrects himself. Then a sadness seeps into his eyes as he stops wiping the table and pulls back his robe close to his body. “Although I supposed I wasn’t a great friend to you near the end of things.”

He places the cup down on the table in front of you, the rising steam wafts through the air, smelling of mint and honey as he drags out the chair and sits himself next to you.

"Why don't you tell me everything from the start," Strange asks you.

So you do. You tell him of that first day when you fell out of the Chrysler building and was saved by Miguel. Tell him about how Miguel saved you again and again and how you tried to trap him with cookies and how you fell out of the Chrysler building a second time on purpose, which makes Strange laugh that sounds fond and warm.

You tell him of the void, the fortune teller, the Avengers and everything in between, and how despite surviving all of that Miguel had exiled himself to the void and sent you here by yourself, with each event you tell him his eyes grow sadder.

When you're done, Strange nods solemnly. He picks up his cup and takes a small sip of his tea to buy himself time to gather his thoughts. Then he finally speaks again. "What can I do to help?"

"Miguel is still in the void. I need your help to send me there so I can get him back."

Strange frowns, then goes entirely quiet as he stares out of the window in deliberation. It takes several moments before he speaks again.

"The void is a dangerous place, stay too long and you will be erased from existence. If you go in you may not be able to find your way out and I wouldn’t be able to help you from here."

“That’s fine, I just need your help to get there” you say.

He sets down his cup as he continues. "I can’t in good conscience send you back out there. I've already broken my promise to keep you safe once."

Frustration brims in your chest. As flattered as you are over Strange’s concern over your safety, you bristle at the fact that there seems to be none extended to Miguel’s. Every second you spend here is another second wasted.

“Miguel is there. If I don’t save him, he’s going to be erased from existence.”

That doesn’t seem to move the doctor in the slightest.

“For Miguel, his own life is a small price to pay in exchange for yours. He’d sacrifice the whole world for you to live.”

“That’s not a choice for him to make.”

Strange scratches his thumb over his bearded jaw, as if he's trying to figure out how to solve a puzzle, before speaking again.

"Right now with Miguel gone, the volatile cosmic energy surrounding you is stabilized. The version of you in this universe died and is viewing your presence as an equivalent exchange. You could stay here. You'd be safe. Miguel would've known that. That's probably why he sent you here.”

"I don't want to stay here if Miguel isn't here," you counter.

Leaning back in his chair, Strange up at the ceiling in deep thought.

"It's risky, if I sent you there, you may not even be able to find him. He might not even have his physical shape anymore, he’s been there too long by now."

His head ducks back down as he looks at your face, observing you for long moments.

You don't know what it is he sees, but a small amused smile quirks at his lip as he shakes his head again.

"But... I think you already know the risks and nothing I can say will dissuade you will it?" he says.

You nod.

It's not that you've stopped being scared of the void. It's not that the very thought of it doesn't fill your stomach with a cold dread. It's that Miguel is there, and there is no risk you're not willing to take to have the chance to see him again.

You square your chest and confidence swells inside you with your answer.

"Send me there."

~ Next Issue

Credit and Dedication: We're almost there guys! Next issue is going to be the final one. Thanks to everyone who has been with me on this ride! I cannot wait to share the final conclusion with you all.

Special thank you (as always) go out to my bestie: @thirstworldproblemss who is a big reason this story even lifted off the ground in the first place.

Big BIG BIGGEST thanks to my muse @guruan who has gifted me with so much inspiration be it thirsty twitter art of our favorite rude spider or her own insanely gorgeous art. Have you seen this heartbreaking beauty?!

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fi #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse #marvel mcu #marvel #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #spiderverse fanfiction

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ctinalk · 2 months

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Is Crowley already the new Supreme Archangel?

A few oversights made millennia ago, and suddenly we have a demon archangel on our hands.

Caution: I came up with and wrote this in the last few hours so potentially crackpot theory ahead. Apologies if this has been proposed before, it’s not one I’ve seen. And I’ve seen A LOT.

So supposedly the miracle Aziraphale and Crowley performed together was something only the mightiest of archangels could have done. Everyone assumes it was Crowley because they think he was a high ranking Angel formerly. Or that it was the two of them together. Or that Jimbriel amplified it. But what if…

“There is always a supreme archangel”

Michael says this in S2E1 when talking with Uriel about who is in charge now that Gabriel was missing. Gabriel was removed from office in the trial we hear, he’s no longer Supreme Archangel. If so, Michael’s statement would imply that as soon as Gabriel’s removal happened, a new archangel already existed. Now obviously the Metatron is making a show of choosing Aziraphale as the new Supreme Archangel. But is that within his power to do so? Or is he suggesting working with Crowley for a different reason, possibly unknown even to him?

“I am the only first-order archangel in the room, or you know, the universe”

During the “2nd Armageddon-that-wasn’t” discussion, Gabriel says these words. As he says them, it cuts (ominously isn’t the right word here, pointedly maybe?) to Crowley leaning against the desk, and lingers there just a bit too long.

“How do you know it wasn’t me?”

Another clue to the powerful angel Crowley was. It was clearly said in a teasing manner throw Shax off. But much like the barrel of red herring in the intro, is it a red herring to something else?

“Can you send lightning bolts and get them to report back to you?”

The only other time we see someone calling lightning or using it is, you guessed it: Gabriel in S1 on the airbase to port in and out. I’ve read the theory that Angel!Crowley was the lord of lightning, which I’m not opposed to, but to me this is another link.

“Never change their passwords”

We have one HUGE instance of Heaven being sloppy in their record keeping (passwords), and lax in their security protocol (Crowley bopping about with Muriel). Whereas Hell is meticulous in their record keeping, as shown by the bills, admissions process, and S1 contract.

So what if: when Gabriel was stripped of the title, a new Supreme Archangel was automatically appointed. Except instead of someone else, because heaven neglected to double-check their logs after The Fall, Crowley was still on the books as next in line? This would absolutely play into “God playing games with the universe” and “just think what would have happened if we’d been at all competent” themes running through both seasons. It would also follow the theory that people noticed Aziraphale and Crowley were on the “wrong” side for much of the season. It would also explain a few continuity errors along the way (how did Crowley know Muriel’s rank? He knows it through the knowledge automatically given to the Supreme Archangel).

“Funny ol’ world, isn’t it?”

Caveats and potential weaknesses:

I have no idea how this fits into the fact that S3 will be the actual continuation the Neil and Terry planned, as to my knowledge S2 was essentially a “Neil’s chaotic angsty ineffable husbands fanfic”. But clearly S2 has to play well into the plan for S3. I also kind of hate my theory because Crowley specifically declined to be an angel again, and his hand has been forced too often already.

Now I am a staunch advocate of the body-swap theory, and I’m not sure how this would play into that. Does Metatron know? Does he think he has the power to appoint? Does he think the title went to Aziraphale because of the miracle? Does he try to get Crowley to come back with Aziraphale to exploit his power? Does he know about the body swap in S1 and if so, was he trying to trigger another one to get the right “soul” to heaven?

There are a few other things I haven’t figured out how to incorporate into this post yet. I’ll try to put them into coherent thoughts in the next few days, but thought I’d throw this to the wolves universe for the time being.

Thought 1: “How have your lot managed to stay in charge all this time?” “I’m not so sure we have.”

Thought 2: I need to do (another) rewatch before I nail this one down (such a sacrifice I tell you), but does Crowley have a visceral reaction like he does in S1 to being called “good” in the current, post Gabriel-removal timeset? Obv in Edinburgh/Job, but that’s in the past. He denies it, sure (with Jim), but he straight up flashes a smile and thanks Mrs. Sandwich when she says “You’re a good lad” (after the denial).

2.1: No one calls him “good” in present day except these two instances. Vast difference in the visceral reactions of season 1 and flashbacks.

Thought 3: Crowley is the only one who can trigger Jimbriel’s recall memory.

#good omens #good omens theories #good omens season 2 #good omens s3 #good omens meta #crowley #angel!crowley #supreme archangel Crowley

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envysparkler · 9 days

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There’s a goddamn reason he wears a full face helmet with the best air filters he can buy.

He gasps for air, choking his breaths and gasping harder because the warehouse is full of fear toxin, he knows it is, and his helmet is lost because they needed an explosive and his backup rebreather was shot out of his hand and he can’t breathe.

He stumbles away from a shadow all in black, looming over him like Death itself, and a hand snags his wrist as the Devil smiles.

“It’s not real,” Batman growls.

“It’s not real,” the Joker croons.

No.

But it’s too late. He can already hear the laughter.

~#~

Hood doesn’t start screaming until they get him in the Batmobile. Dick holds him down, pinning him flat against the backseat, and keeps his fingers interlaced with Jason’s as he murmurs, “It’s not real. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real, okay, you’re safe, you’re safe, it’s not real, Jaybird, you’re safe, you’re safe –”

Standard fear toxin protocol. Restrain and reassure. The effects of each one vary, but sometimes it’s possible to lead someone out of their head with the soothing words.

Hood isn’t calming down. He’s just screaming louder.

~#~

The broken bones, he can feel them, he can feel the agony as they shift underneath his skin, as the Joker nears and he chokes on a sob because please, no, not again, he can’t take this anymore, he wants Bruce, he wants Batman, he wants someone to save him from this monster.

The Joker crouches next to him and watches him, those bright, bright eyes that are sharp like poisoned daggers. He reaches out, and Jason can’t help the tears, but all the Joker does is carefully, gently, curl his fingers between Jason’s, careful not to jostle the broken bones.

“Shh, little Robin,” the Joker says, and Jason stares at him. “It’s not real. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real. You’re safe.”

A curl of hope inside of him – this is a nightmare, it has to be, if he just concentrates, he’ll be back in the Cave and Bruce will be there – of course this isn’t real, this amount of pain isn’t possible, he feels like he’s going to die –

The Joker’s smile widens.

~#~

“No,” is the first thing Jason says, his voice hoarse from screaming, and he says it as they lock him into the restraints. They don’t have a choice, he’s thrashing and screaming but he tugs at the restraints – once, twice, thrice, before going alarmingly limp.

“No, no, it’s real, it’s real,” Jason says, his eyes unfocused, and Steph takes over the reassurances, the steady prattle second nature after how many times she’s done it.

“It’s not real, Jason, whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real,” she says, low and soothing, “You’re safe, you’re in the Cave, you’re home, we’re all here with you, it’s not real.”

“Stop,” Jason says, choked, “Stop – stop saying that – it’s real –”

“No, Jason, it’s not, you got hit with fear toxin, it’s not real, you’re okay.”

“Please,” Jason begs, and she doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

~#~

“It’s not real,” the Joker laughs, and the crowbar comes swinging down. Jason screams at the snap of bone and the hope is dying.

This is real. It’s real, and it’s killing him.

“Fuck you,” Jason snarls, “You think I can’t tell you’re making it up? Fear toxin doesn’t feel like this.”

“It’s not real,” the Joker repeats, laughing as he swings the crowbar down again, “It’s! Not! Real!”

Jason wants to believe it. Jason knows better than to believe it. He’s hurting and screaming and the pain is so vivid it doesn’t feel real.

No.

This is just another one of the Joker’s sick games.

It’s real.

He’s hurt and dying.

It’s real.

Or…is that the joke?

A thumb rubs over his knuckles, “You’re safe, Jaybird.”

The Joker laughs as Jason falls.

~#~

“Jason, please,” Tim says hoarsely, “Please, this is real, you’re safe, please, please hear us, you’re safe.”

Dick had to leave. He couldn’t stay, not with Jason alternating between screams and sobs and begging that made it extremely clear what he’s seeing. They all eyed Bruce, but the man has planted himself in a chair next to Jason’s bed, and refuses to move.

He doesn’t speak either.

They’ve tried everything, the whole protocol for fear toxin, they’ve double-checked that it’s the same standard toxin, they’ve given him the antidote even though it won’t do much good this late after exposure.

It has to wear off at some point.

Right?

~#~

“It’s not real,” the Joker laughs, “It’s not real, it’s not real! Can you tell yet, Boy Blunder? Is this real?” The crowbar swings out, and Jason screams as it crashes into his dislocated shoulder. “Or how about this?” It slams into broken legs, and his breath turns into a wheeze.

It’s not real.

It can’t be real.

The pain is so intense he feels like someone decided to rip his skin off and douse his bones in acid.

It’s not possible.

It can’t be possible.

This can’t be real, because he cannot live with himself if it is.

~#~

“Stop,” Cass says sharply, and pulls Tim away. She was watching all this time, but she only sees it now. The way Jason curls further into himself every time they tell him he’s safe.

It’s not helping. It’s only reinforcing whatever is in his head.

“Don’t,�� she says when Tim tries to start again, “Making it worse.”

“What,” Tim rasps, “Why?”

Cass does not know. Her little brother has many prickly edges, and she has not cut herself on all of them yet.

“Stop,” she pleads, because they are losing him, she can see it, his eyes are unfocused and distant, and he is not getting any closer.

Tim looks at her, and back at Jason, and sighs, slumping back into the chair and burying his head in his hands.

~#~

“Okay, pumpkin, why don’t you close your eyes, and when you open them, you’ll be back safe with Batsy!”

Jason closes his eyes – please, please –

The Joker shrieks with laughter, and hope and dread war in equal measure. He just wants this to be over.

“Sweet dreams, Boy Blunder!” the Joker cackles, and Jason can faintly hear a door shut.

It – it’s ending soon. Right? He’ll wake up and he’ll be fine and it will just be one bad fear toxin nightmare.

He pushes himself up. Onto broken bones. They scream and grind painfully.

This can’t be real. His whole body is broken. He will never be able to fight again. He might never be able to walk again.

He crawls forward. Inch by inch. The door is in front of him.

It’s just a bad trip. Because Batman would’ve come if it was real. Batman would’ve saved the day if it was real. If Batman’s not here, that means it’s fake.

He pulls on the door handle, and it doesn’t turn.

It’s not real, he imagines in Bruce’s voice, you’re safe, Jay-lad.

He hears the ticking.

It’s not real, Dick says, you’re safe, you’re in the Cave, you’re going to be fine, Jaybird.

00:05.

It’s not real, he tries desperately to believe, to wish himself back to the Cave, to watch his surroundings waver and break, to blur out entirely, it’s not real.

00:01.

Jason closes his eyes and lets out one last sob.

It’s not real.

~#~

The Cave has turned into a mausoleum. Damian creeps down the stairs and shivers as he heads to the medbay.

Cain is perched on a free bed, staring intently at Todd as though she can distinguish microexpressions. As though there are any expressions to distinguish. Drake is at the computer, sending frequent glances towards Todd as he attempts to analyze the toxin for the hundredth time.

There is no point. The toxin was standard. The bloodwork came back clean. For all intents and purposes, Todd should be fine. They even removed the restraints.

Todd is not fine. He stopped screaming and thrashing, and now he’s just staring vacantly into empty space. Brown and Damian have been busy keeping Richard and Pennyworth occupied in the Manor so they don’t come back down. So they don’t see the shell that has replaced Todd.

No one has been able to get Father to move. He’s sitting on the bed now, Todd’s head in his lap, carefully stroking the hair away from his face.

Father’s face is wet, but he hasn’t made a single sound.

#my snippets #fear toxin #how many times can someone say “it's not real”#before you believe them?#I was kinda dissatisfied with this one #and now I don't want to write the ending

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hx4x4enthusiast · 2 months

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Papa Prime Headcanons 2

After a tough mission or when Bumblebee gets backlashes from particular disturbing events of the war, Optimus will tell him old stories. And he extend his ERM field to further comfort Bee and only leaves once Bee is in full power down. That is also one of the few moments that Optimus fully relaxes and let's his emotions out.

Whenever Arcee starts to pull back from everyone and her past regrets come back Optimus spaars with her or just silently drives next to her on patrol. He just let's her vent without giving advice if she doesn't ask for it.

After Smokescreens arrival he and Optimus had a long talk about Alpha Trion and Cybertron in its war days. At the end Smokescreen broke down and Optimus hugged him and wrapped him up in his ERM field until he calmed down again.

Knockout and Optimus once got trapped in a mine collaps due to stray blaster fire. Instead of facing of against each other, Optimus witnessed Knockout curled to a ball in a corner hyperventilating. He slowly got closer and gently extended his ERM field to calm Knockout down. He talked to him in hushed tones until they where freed. Knockout never forgot that day and after he joined the autobots he thanked Optimus, who just regarded him with the same gentle smile he held all those years ago on that same day.

Optimus has in his cabin a photo of the entire team that miko took, raf edited and jack printed out to robot size. It is his most treasured possession and his good luck charm. So whenever he feels unsure or doubt he touches his chassis to remind himself who he is fighting for. The team doesn't know that and think he touches his chassis because the matrix lies there.

June once witnessed Optimus reprimanding the children for putting themselves in danger yet again. As she leaned back she commented more to herself. "He is such a dad." To which Ratchet answered. "Oh you have no idea". The entire team except for the children and Optimus himself realized that, Optimus sees the children as his own sparklings. And noone is gonna mentioned it. Mostly because there is an ongoing betting pool for when Optimus is going to realize that his sire protocols are running.

~Hi apparently you all liked the first part I made of this so here is another one. Do let me know if you want more of this, Scenarios, Headcanons with the kids, the bots both just TFP or other contuienies.~

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ginnsbaker · 7 months

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Bulletproof (8/10)

Part Summary: The walls of the hideout, though homely, start to feel like a prison as the days go by. Wanda's presence is omnipresent, and there's a comfort in that, even if the situation is far from ideal.

Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Light Angst, Still unresolved feelings, Still gay, Still sharing a bed, Wanda has a confession to make

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Next Part | Series Masterlist

The soft glow of morning light sneaks through the worn-out curtains, nudging you awake. Blinking slowly, you take a moment to recognize where you are. As you stretch out, you instinctively reach for someone next to you, only to be met with the cold absence of the bed. This feeling of waking up alone, strangely enough, feels like a distant memory.

You push yourself up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. Soft murmurs reach your ears, pulling you out of your disoriented state. You follow the sound and find yourself moving silently toward the kitchen. Before you get there, however, hushed whispers halt your approach. You linger near the entrance, peeking just enough to catch sight of Wanda, her back turned to you, engaged in a quiet but intense conversation with someone.

You lean against the door frame, observing her, wondering who is on the other line. The conversation continues for a minute before she seems to reach a resolution, ending the call swiftly.

Wanda turns around, startled when she sees you standing there, eyes wide with surprise.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you say quickly, “I just woke up and—”

She cuts you off with a sigh of relief, “It's okay. I just... wasn't expecting you to be up so soon.”

You tilt your head at her. “Who was that?”

Wanda hesitates, taking a deep breath before replying, “That was Vision.”

“Vision?” The name sounds familiar, but you can’t quite place it.

She nods slowly, her gaze searching yours for any spark of recognition but there’s none. “He thinks he has an idea about the organization that attacked you. He's already informed Steve. For the time being, I'll be here with you.”

“Steve? As in... Captain America?”

Wanda gives a small nod. “Yes. And about me staying here... technically, he didn’t exactly allow it. I've been suspended for breaking protocol.”

“Suspended? Wanda, what did you do?”

“I shouldn't have intervened when they were relocating you, but I couldn't... I couldn't stay away. Not after everything that happened.”

You step closer to her, feeling your heartbeat pick up. “So you're risking your position, your status, just to be here with me?”

Wanda lifts her head, her eyes filled with a determination and sincerity that leaves you breathless. “In a heartbeat.”

There's no denying the strong connection you and Wanda seem to have; everything in you feels like it naturally gravitates towards her. But you can't just trust your gut on this one. She's kept you out of the loop for quite a while. Jumping in and giving her your full trust might be jumping the gun a bit.

But for now, one question burns in your mind.

“Why are they after me?” you ask.

Wanda grins, her gaze flicking to your tousled hair and the crease marks on your cheeks. “How about some breakfast first? I cooked up some bacon and eggs. And there’s coffee too,” she says.

The mere mention of bacon weakens your resolve, and you find your stomach growling in agreement.

“Yeah, I’d love some, thanks.”

Wanda's face softens into a relieved smile as she moves towards the kitchen. “I thought a hearty breakfast might help,” she mutters over the sizzle of bacon. “You always loved a good meal to start the day.” The comforting aroma fills the space, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels almost... normal.

But as you're settling into the comfort, Wanda's tone changes, becoming more somber. “Look, I'm not entirely sure why they’re after you, but I've got a hunch.” Suddenly, her hand darts out, grabbing a knife from the counter. Alarm surges through you, and you can't help but step back, hands raised defensively.

“Whoa, Wanda!” you exclaim.

“Do you trust me?”

“I... I don't know yet,” you confess.

A flicker of disappointment crosses her face. But then, without warning, she suddenly drives the sharp end of the knife into her palm, drawing blood.

Your eyes go wide and you yell in panic, “What the hell, Wanda?!”

“Heal me,” she states, her voice unwavering.

“Are you out of your mind?” you retort, trying to keep your composure even as you're reeling from the suddenness of it all.

“Trust me, Y/N. Just... heal me,” she pleads.

Your heart races as you process what Wanda has just done. Despite the urgency of the situation, memories you can't quite grasp trickle at the edge of your mind. You know you've done this before—healed someone—but you can't recall when or how. The knowledge is there, like a distant song, but you can't make out the words.

“Y/N, please,” Wanda implores, bringing you back to the present.

Wanda's unwavering faith in you, however, gives you the push you need.

You reach for her bleeding hand, memories or not, driven by the undeniable need to help her. Gently cradling her wounded hand in yours, you close your eyes, reaching deep within to tap into a familiar yet forgotten energy.

It starts as a soft tingle at the base of your spine, traveling upwards, through your heart and then branching out into your arms, pooling at your fingertips. The sensation intensifies, almost as if you're redirecting a current, focusing it all on Wanda's wound. A heat emerges, gentle at first, then building to a searing warmth that you fear might be too much.

“It’s… scorching,” you mumble through gritted teeth. But just when you think you should pull away, the heat starts to wane.

Opening your eyes, you pull your hand back. The wound has completely vanished, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin. The bloodstains, too, are gone, as if they were never there to begin with.

Wanda rotates her hand, marveling at the restoration. Then she smirks and says, “I was right.”

You shouldn't find that smirk on her so attractive, but even though you think it's not really the first time, seeing that look now makes your mouth go dry.

“Do you recall any occasion that you got hurt but the wound healed incredibly fast?” Wanda asks.

You think for a moment, remembering a recent incident. “Well, I got a papercut at work last week.”

“Anyone see it happen?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Louisa and a customer were right there.”

“I already ran a background check on your friend; she’s good. It must be that customer.”

You frown, trying to recall the customer's face. “He was just some random guy, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, sandy blonde hair. He didn't seem all that interesting.”

Wanda's eyes sharpen, “Did he have a particular symbol or tattoo anywhere? Anything you noticed?”

You shake your head, “I don't think so. I wasn't really paying much attention. Why? Do you think he's related to all this?”

Wanda pauses for a moment, “There have been a few... incidents lately. People with abilities are being targeted—mostly former H.Y.D.R.A agents—but we're not entirely sure why or by whom. This guy might just be a scout or someone low on the hierarchy, but we need to be careful.”

You nod. So, this isn't a simple matter to resolve, especially when what they're after seems to be an intrinsic part of you.

“What happens now?”

“I... don't know,” Wanda admits. “Vision advised that we should stay put for now. The others are handling the situation. As much as I dislike it, I think waiting is our best move at the moment.”

A week ago, being stuck under one roof with your crush felt like a fantasy. Now, you're not even sure how to feel about it.

Your life teetering on the edge isn’t exactly how you envisioned yourself getting close to Wanda.

The walls of the hideout, though homely, start to feel like a prison as the days go by. Wanda's presence is omnipresent, and there's a comfort in that, even if the situation is far from ideal.

On the fifth day, as Wanda hums softly to herself and prepares what smells like another delicious breakfast, you can't help but blurt out, “You can’t keep me here forever, you know?”

She stops momentarily, looking over her shoulder with a half-smile. “I know. It's just... safer here. For you.”

Your eyes trace the movements of her hands as she expertly flips pancakes on the stove. That's when you notice it — a faint scar on the back of her left hand. It looks old, but the irregularity of it draws your interest.

“How'd you get that?” you ask, pointing to the mark.

Wanda freezes, seemingly caught off guard by the question. She places the spatula down and turns to you, the smile from earlier fading.

“This?” She touches the scar gently. “It's a reminder.”

“A reminder of?”

She chuckles lightly, but there's no humor in her eyes. “Of my own stubbornness, I suppose.”

“You never were one to elaborate much, huh?”

“A minor accident while preparing dinner for the team. And someone I knew offered to heal it. But I declined.”

“Who?”

She looks away for a brief moment, taking a deep breath before she answers. “You.”

A baffled look crosses your face. “Me?”

“We were having one of our group dinners. I accidentally burned myself while serving. I excused myself and headed to the bathroom. You... you followed me, out of concern.”

Suddenly, the scene plays vividly in your mind: the lively chatter in the dining room, the accidental spill, Wanda's quick exit, and your concern driving you to follow her.

“I think I remember,” you whisper, stunned by the sudden clarity.

Wanda's gaze sharpens. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say, lost in the memory. “I tried to heal the burn. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She sighs, a bittersweet smile forming on her lips. “And in my pride and... well, jealousy, I brushed you off. I was upset about something Daisy mentioned earlier. Took it out on you. Told you that not everything needed your 'magic touch’.”

An old sentiment surfaces, and you repeat words from the past, “...’Let it scar then, see if I care.’”

Wanda looks down, her voice soft, “Yeah, those were your words. I felt horrible right after.”

“So, everything you've told me, everything you've said about us, about me being an Avenger... it's all true?” Other than your powers manifesting a few days ago, it’s only now that you’ve recovered a fragment of your lost history, that you can begin to fully grasp everything Wanda has said in the past few days.

Wanda nods. “Every word.”

You sigh. Wanda never pressed to fill in the gaps of your past, and you've been deeply appreciative of the space she gave you to think and decide whether you wanted to learn more.

Now, you believe you're ready.

“Tell me more?”

Wanda tilts her head, regarding you with that adorable expression. “About...?”

“About me? About them? And,” you clear your throat, “about us.”

Instead of answering immediately, Wanda places some pancakes onto your plate and slides it over to you. She serves herself next. Carrying two steaming cups of coffee to the dining table, she gestures for you to start eating.

“Alright, where to begin?” Wanda starts. “Your introduction to the Avengers wasn't typical. You weren’t recruited or asked to join. It was... well, more complicated.”

You take a big bite of your pancakes, humming in delight at the taste. Wanda's face lights up with a smile as she watches you eat, before she continues, “H.Y.D.R.A had you captive for years. They were relentless in their experiments, pushing the human body and mind beyond its natural limits. It's there you gained your unique abilities, a power to heal, not just yourself but others. When the Avengers conducted a raid on a H.Y.D.R.A base, we found you. Confused, scared, lashing out.”

Pausing to meet your eyes, Wanda’s gaze is soft, filled with empathy. “Steve saw past the brainwashed soldier H.Y.D.R.A had tried to mold. He saw a person in need. And he’s always had a knack for seeing the best in people, even when they couldn’t see it in themselves.”

“He approached me?” you ask, your mind swirling with half-formed images of a shield, and strong, kind eyes filled with determination.

“Yes, and he offered you a choice. Redemption, a chance to do good with the powers that were forced upon you,” Wanda adds.

“And the team...?”

“For a while… you were the only Avenger who slept in a cell.”

She grimaces slightly, “They weren’t all onboard initially. It’s not that they doubted Steve's judgment, but... there were trust issues, understandably. So, for a short period, you were kept in a secure section of the compound. Not as a prisoner, but more of a... precaution.”

You swallow hard, the idea of being confined again hitting a nerve. Yet, you nod for her to continue.

Wanda takes a moment, her cheeks flushing deeply as she remembers, “But... things took a turn one day when... when I was in a tight spot. A mission, it... it didn’t go as planned. They knew we were coming. It was an ambush. We were cornered, completely outnumbered.” She hesitates, recalling the memory painfully but with mild fondness for what she says next, “And then... you were there, seemingly from nowhere. You stepped in, putting yourself directly between me and a sniper's bullet, oblivious to the risk... all to protect me.”

Your eyes soften, trying to picture yourself in that scenario, “I... I did that?”

She nods as her own glistens at the memory. “You did. Your bravery that day changed everything. The team started seeing you differently, not as a potential threat but as one of our own.”

“So, that's how...?”

Wanda sighs, eyes darting everywhere but you. “Yes, that’s how we began...uh, sharing a bed. It wasn't, you know, because you... saved me, that I... sort of, maybe, asked you to my room. I mean, it wasn't an invitation-invitation, or at least not as a... thank-you-for-saving-my-life kind of thing.” She continues to fidget, inadvertently mangling her pancake with her fork. “It just seemed... wrong, having you in a cell when there wasn’t a proper room ready for you. So, um, I might have, you know, kind of offered to... share mine. Just temporarily.”

Your eyebrows rise in amusement, and you can't help but let out a soft laugh. “I was actually asking if that's how we became friends.”

Wanda's face turns a brilliant shade of crimson. “Oh,” she murmurs, wishing the floor would just swallow her whole at that very moment. “I thought... I mean... never mind.”

“I didn't even realize we'd shared a bed before,” you comment, not quite letting her off the hook just yet.

“Uh, about that…” Wanda starts, then hesitates, pushing herself back from the table as she stands up.

You put down your fork, picking up on Wanda's rising anxiety. For a split second, you almost expect things around you to start shaking from the intense vibes she's giving off.

“There was one night. The lines... they were blurred while we were both sleeping,” Wanda says.

“What do you mean ‘lines were blurred’?”

“It's... complicated,” Wanda sighs, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. “You felt so guilty afterward that you went back to your old cell.”

Your mind races, trying to piece together that night and your actions. “Why would I feel guilty?”

Wanda gulps, her voice barely above a whisper. “I trespassed into your mind while I was sleeping. And in doing so, it inadvertently allowed you to see my thoughts about you.”

“And what thoughts would those be?” You press, hanging onto her every word now.

Wanda’s eyes dart to yours, a vulnerable honesty in them. “Thoughts that should’ve stayed inside my head because of their... explicit nature.”

Your eyes widen in realization, feeling the weight of her confession. “You were having… dreams about me?”

She nods, her cheeks flaming red. “Yes. And you saw them, felt them, and that’s why you felt guilty. I shouldn’t have let that happen. It was an intrusion.”

You sit back, processing everything. Every time you slide into your side of the bed at night, the palpable tension, the fleeting glances exchanged between the two of you, and the way Wanda cares for you—unlike anyone ever has—it all seems to have been building to this very moment.

Wanda looks as if she's bracing herself for a storm, her gaze downcast and fearful.

“Look,” you finally say, voice filled with regret. “I'm...I'm sorry, Wanda. I don't know what happened, but I'm so, so sorry.”

She looks taken aback. “Wait, why are you apologizing?”

“Because it seemed like I was the one in control. That I let it all happen,” you say, staring at your unfinished meal. “I deserve to be locked up in a cell… not cooped up in this safe haven.”

Wanda suddenly looks frustrated, shaking her head vehemently. “You've got it all wrong,” she says softly.

“How?” you whisper, feeling completely lost.

“Because,” Wanda's voice trembles, her eyes glassy, “if I weren't asleep, it still would've happened.”

“Oh.”

Wanda looks away and takes a few steps back, trying to create as much distance between the two of you as the confines of the small kitchen permit.

“Listen, I have to leave. Steve, uh, is expecting me today, so—”

You aren't buying her excuse. “Wanda—”

“I'll be back later tonight, alright?” she interrupts, brushing past your objections.

Before you can react, red tendrils envelop her, causing you to halt in place as she swiftly exits the hideout.

You sink into the couch, your thoughts more jumbled than ever. It's evident that there's mutual attraction between you two—perhaps even deeper feelings. But if that's the case, why did Wanda keep you at a distance? Why did she let you forget her?

She makes you feel important right now, but you can’t help but wonder if she merely doesn’t want to hurt your feelings by being truly honest about hers.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #captain america civil war #the avengers

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clusterbuck · 3 months

Text

melt your headaches (call it home)

what do you do when you might have a concussion? sleep in your best friend's bed about it, of course | T, 2k

read it on ao3

Well, Buck thinks, staring at his kitchen ceiling. This is an annoying way to die.

But the ceiling doesn’t go anywhere. He blinks, waiting for his vision to fade to black or maybe a bright light to appear and beckon him closer, but all he sees is the kitchen lamp, one bulb burnt out since before he can remember.

He blinks a couple more times for good measure, and when nothing continues to happen, he carefully eases himself up and takes stock.

His head hurts, but that’s unsurprising. He’s pretty sure he slammed it against the floor. His tailbone is a little sore, probably from being a step on his way down.

His shirt feels sticky against his skin. Buck’s hand flies to the back of his head, feeling for a wound, but his fingers find only hair.

Then he realises his shirt is cold.

He twists around, wincing at the movement, and finds a bright yellow sponge in the middle of a puddle of soapy water. The sponge’s carved face grins at him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Buck mutters.

Now he’s really glad he didn’t die. Death by Scrub Daddy would be sure to make the headlines.

Slowly, carefully, Buck gets to his feet. He cleans up the mess first, drying the floor so he doesn’t end up flat on his back again, then sits down at the table. He probes his head again, more thoroughly now, but he can’t find anything other than soreness to the touch.

He’ll probably get a nice goose egg out of it.

Okay, concussion protocol, Buck thinks, running through the symptoms in his mind. Didn’t black out, my vision is fine, I’m not dizzy, not nauseous… Huh.

Briefly, he entertains the thought of going to the ER to get checked out, but he dismisses it almost immediately. He doesn’t have concussion symptoms, he just hit his head a little. He’s had way worse than this. It’s not worth taking up medical resources over, not when he knows the city’s been stretched thin recently.

He could call Chimney, or Hen, but—

They’d worry about him. And he’s fine. He just needs to rest, and he’ll be good to go for his shift tomorrow.

Buck settles in on his couch for a marathon of bad daytime TV.

—

He spends the rest of the day testing himself. He checks his pupils in the mirror every time he goes to the bathroom, making sure they’re equal and reactive. He closes one eye, then the other, checking for changes in his vision. He does the daily crossword, then looks up an archive of previous crosswords so he can make sure he’s still thinking clearly.

He gets the daily crossword done in less than five minutes. This is good, Buck thinks. Confusion is a concussion symptom. Couldn’t do a sub-five-minute crossword if I had a concussion.

He can barely get a foothold on the next one, and nearly freaks out and dials 9-1-1 until he realises he’d opened a Saturday puzzle.

It’s fine. Saturday puzzles are harder. Everything is fine.

Eventually, though, the day starts turning to night, and a voice in the back of Buck’s mind starts making itself known.

Nagging at him about sleeping and concussions.

It’s fine, Buck tells himself. Everything is fine. I probably don’t even have a concussion.

Probably.

But he’s been on far too many calls where someone hit their head, went to sleep, and never woke up again.

Before he’s fully decided to, Buck has his phone in his hand and open to his text thread with Eddie.

hypothetically, Buck types. if someone hit their head in the morning, they probably shouldn’t go to sleep alone, huh

The phone vibrates in his hand before he can even put it down, Eddie’s face flashing on the screen. Buck sighs and picks it up.

“What did you do?” Eddie asks immediately.

“Hi,” Buck says, pointed, but he can’t quite muster up actual annoyance.

“Hey,” Eddie says, softer. “What did you do?”

“Hypothetically, the Scrub Daddy tried to kill me.”

Eddie laughs. It’s muffled, like he’s trying to smother it, but he definitely laughs. “You slipped on your kitchen sponge?”

“Yeah,” Buck sighs. “I don’t think I have a concussion, but…”

“I’m assuming you didn’t go to the ER?”

“If I did I’d probably still be there, so no,” Buck says. “I didn’t black out, I don’t have any symptoms, but—”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Where’s Chris?”

“He’s here,” Eddie says. “He’ll be fine for half an hour. I’ll come pick you up.”

“I can drive—” Buck starts, and Eddie cuts him off.

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he says again. “Meet you in the parking lot?”

“I—okay,” Buck says. “Okay.”

He tries not to think about how relieved he feels.

—

Eddie pulls into the parking lot twelve minutes later, and Buck tosses his work bag into the footwell and climbs in. They make it three whole blocks before Eddie turns to him, his face tinted orange in the glow of the streetlights, and frowns.

“How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Buck says. Eddie snorts, and Buck could have predicted his timing down to the microsecond.

“That why you texted?” he asks. “Because you’re fine?”

“I’m fine,” Buck says again. “Just… a little bonked.”

“Buck—”

“Eddie,” Buck says. “I’m like—ninety-nine percent sure it’s not a concussion and I’m just overreacting. It’s just—”

“Not something you want to risk,” Eddie says. “I know.” They drive in silence for a couple of blocks, and Eddie turns to look at him again. “I’m still going to check you over when we get home.”

Buck grins. “I’d expect nothing less.”

The house is dark when they pull up, and Buck turns to Eddie. “Thought you said Chris is home?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “He is. He’s just holed up in his room with the computer.”

“Kids these days,” Buck says, mock-disapproving, shaking his head like he hasn’t racked up more than his share of video game hours.

Eddie snorts. “Exactly.”

He leads the way into the house, and points to the sofa as soon as Buck closes the door behind them. “Okay, sit.”

“Yes, doctor,” Buck says, and sees Eddie’s eyebrows fly up in response.

Eddie gets them under control by the time he turns back to Buck, holding his first aid kit and a small penlight. “Okay, so what exactly happened?”

“Why do you need the first aid kit?” Buck asks, instead of answering.

“Seemed like the thing to do,” Eddie says. “What happened?”

“I told you,” Buck says. “The Scrub Daddy tried to kill me.”

Eddie laughs again, fond, and it sparks something deep in Buck’s chest. “Can you elaborate on that?”

“It fell. I slipped.”

“Slipped?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, you know, full cartoon, flat on my back, head hit the ground.”

“Ouch,” Eddie says. “Did you lose consciousness at any point?”

“No,” Buck says. “And I haven’t been dizzy, and I haven’t been sick, and my head doesn’t hurt. Or—the bit I bonked does, but not like concerning concussion symptom hurt.”

“Good,” Eddie says, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him. His knees slot between Buck’s, and he raises a hand in question. “Can I?”

Buck nods, and Eddie presses his fingers to the back of his skull. “Here?” he asks, the word barely a breath between them.

Buck nods again.

Eddie’s fingers move gently across Buck’s scalp, and the moment stretches out like taffy between them . Buck hardly realises he’s holding his breath until Eddie blinks, pulls his hands way, and leans back, and Buck exhales.

“Seems, uh—seems fine,” Eddie says, then takes a breath and reaches for the penlight. “I’m gonna check your pupils, okay?”

“They’ve been equal and reactive every time I’ve checked them,” Buck says, but Eddie rests his hand on his face, thumb carefully holding his eye open, and Buck leans into the touch.

“Just let me check,” Eddie says, holding up the light.

“Satisfied?” Buck asks when Eddie puts the light down.

“For now,” Eddie says. “What do you think, want to watch something, or—”

Buck yawns, cutting him off, and Eddie laughs. “Okay, that answers that. Come on.”

Buck gets off the sofa and reaches for the sheets he normally uses to make up a bed, and Eddie shakes his head.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says. “If I’m gonna be waking you up on concussion watch, I’m not coming all the way out here every time. Just come to bed with me.”

Buck raises his eyebrows, and Eddie flushes, then laughs. “You know what I mean,” he says. “Let’s go.”

—

He expects it to be awkward, the two of them getting ready for bed together, but they move around each other like they’ve been doing it their entire lives. Buck shucks his sweatpants and slips under the covers, settling against the unfamiliar pillows.

Eddie slides in next to him, holding his phone up and squinting at the bright light. “Okay, you think twice will be enough?”

“Twice what?”

“Concussion checks,” Eddie says. “I’ll wake you up twice to check everything is okay.”

“You gonna tell me to count to ten and ask me who the president is?” Buck asks.

“God, no,” Eddie says. “It’s an election year, I don’t even want to think about it.”

Buck snorts. “Fair enough.”

He expects to have a hard time falling asleep, in an unfamiliar bed with Eddie stretched out next to him, but it feels like he’s barely blinked before Eddie’s shaking him awake.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, and Buck mumbles something unintelligible in return.

Eddie’s fingers find Buck’s side, just above his hipbone, and dig in.

“Hey!” Buck mutters, twitching away. “What was that for?”

“I need you awake to check if you’re coherent,” Eddie says. “Okay, what’s seven times nine?”

“You know I don’t have the lightning math superpower anymore, right?”

“Buck,” Eddie says. “It’s times tables.”

Buck groans. “Okay, what did you say?”

“Seven times nine.”

“Ugh,” Buck says. “Sixty-three.”

“What did we watch with Chris last week?”

Buck frowns. “I’m supposed to remember?”

“You remember the magnitude of every earthquake to ever hit Los Angeles, by year, but you can’t remember what we watched last week?”

“They’re different kinds of memory,” Buck says. “Was it Jaws?”

“Jaws was the week before,” Eddie says. “But that’s good enough.”

“Can I go back to sleep now?” Buck asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs. “See you in a couple of hours.”

Buck mumbles a response, but most of it is lost in his pillow.

The second time Eddie’s alarm goes off, Buck blinks his eyes open and finds his face pressed into Eddie’s arm. He’s more awake this time, awake enough to realise how much of his body is pressed against Eddie’s, how their legs are intertwined and Eddie’s arm is thrown over his waist.

“Eddie,” Buck murmurs, and Eddie shifts, groaning. “You need to ask me concussion questions.”

Eddie makes an uninterpretable noise that shifts into a yawn halfway through, then yawns again for good measure.

“Okay,” he mumbles, “Okay. What’s heavier, a pound of bricks or a pound of feathers?”

“They’re both a pound,” Buck says. “You’d need a hell of a lot of feathers, though.”

Eddie snorts. “We should test it. Tomorrow, when I’m more awake.”

“You’re on,” Buck says. “Come on, ask me something else.”

“I said I wouldn’t ask about the president,” Eddie says. “Uh, do you know what year it is?”

Under cover of darkness, Buck rolls his eyes. “It’s 2024,” he says. “Which doesn’t feel real, but I’m pretty sure that’s because it’s January, not because my brain is broken.”

“Pretty sure you’re right, unless my brain is broken, too,” Eddie says.

Buck doesn’t so much decide not to say anything else as they fall into silence, shrouded by the darkness of Eddie’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning. Beside him, Eddie’s breathing slows into the steady rhythm of sleep, and slowly, Buck too starts to drift off.

The last thing he’s aware of before falling asleep is that Eddie is still wrapped around him.

—

When dawn breaks, and Eddie’s alarm goes off for the third time, Buck opens his eyes with Eddie’s back tucked against his chest, his arm around Eddie’s waist and his forehead against the back of Eddie’s neck, Eddie’s leg tucked between his. Eddie’s skin is warm, and Buck can feel the steady thrum of his pulse.

Eddie silences the alarm, but he doesn’t move. Buck shifts, just enough so Eddie knows he’s awake, but neither of them move.

He’ll blame it on the concussion that wasn’t, Buck thinks, if Eddie questions it. He’ll say he wasn’t fully awake yet. He’ll say he dreamt he was wrestling a shark, and didn’t realise the warm mass in his arms was Eddie.

Sharks are cold-blooded, a voice in his head whispers, and Buck pushes it away. That isn’t the point.

The point is that he’ll find some way to explain it away if Eddie ever asks, but for now—

He’s awake, and Eddie’s awake, and neither of them moves.

#911fic #buddie #buddie fic #shush emma #emma writes

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