#but I liked how it indicates the sections of the team as well as the member titles

[mockerycrow]

Emergency Contact (1/2) (Ghost x GN!Reader)

>> emergency contact concept here << PART TWO HERE!!

Summary: Simon is your roommate, and you haven’t seen each other in months, considering Simon’s job. An unfamiliar number pops up on Simon’s phone, and answering it makes his world turn upside down.

A/N: How you two moved in together is very vaguely inspired this ghost fic right here. please give it a read! If you finish the song above, I highly recommend listening to the entire album while reading. i’m not the happiest with this, but i’m happy enough to post!

[WARNINGS: Blood and injury, traumatic events/trauma brought up, gore, little comfort, medical inaccuracies, tbh ooc simon but it’s ok.]

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since he’s been home, since he’s seen you. That’s how long he’s been stuck on base, or thrown into a foreign country to complete some mission, or to gather some intel, or to kill someone, just somewhere, anywhere but with you.

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since you softly asked him to stay as safe as he can, and to come back alive, and to come back with at least eight fingers. It was a running joke between you two, a way to relieve the terrifying reality of his job; as long as Simon came home alive and with majority of his fingers, he could consider it a job well done. You didn’t know much of his job, of course—only that he’s military, and he’s gone a lot. You already guessed it was a lot of classified stuff, probably down top secret government type of things. That did make you scared, though. You didn’t want the day to come, the day where people in fancy uniforms show up at your doorstep like you’re some widow. The thought of someone informing you of Simon’s death makes your stomach twist.

Eight months is admittedly a long time. Simon.. he missed you, but he’s rather die that verbally admit it, but he sure as hell felt it. He missed the way he could hear you walk through the house, the weight of the floorboards creaking up your feet. Simon missed walking by the bathroom and the air vaguely smelled your shampoo and body wash, a clear indicator you had just taken a shower. Simon missed the way you carelessly have your shoes next to the shoe rack, not even on it, and despite his annoyance of your laziness? He misses it every single time he’s away. He never really realizes the difference of living on base versus being home with you, and he’s comfortable in both environments for completely different reasons. Simon is comfortable with you because you’re safe, you aren’t associated with anyone he has to deal with on a near daily basis. You don’t scan the kitchen to see which household items could be potential bombs in the vicinity like he does. On base, Simon finds comfort in the familiarity of being constantly on alert, the need for a gun to be against his hip—it’s not the best, considering he’s in fight mode majority of the time, but it’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s.. home, in a way.

You and Simon call at least once every three weeks—it’s not more because you’re both busy, you have your life to tend to while he has to do something like protecting an American Embassy, or sneaking into a compound to retrieve some vital information. You two talk about all kinds of things; you complain about the neighbors for the nth time, or you talk about your job, just something that he hasn’t heard about in a while. Simon.. he’s limited on what he can talk about—what he wants to talk about. It’s a bit difficult, keeping details of his job hidden away from you. He also keeps you hidden away from them; his team. Price vaguely is aware of your existence, but all he knows is your name and your phone number—someone to alert when he eventually would pass away.

It surprised Price when he requested access to his own file to make a change. Simon went for years without anyone in that section, leaving it blank—and then suddenly ‘[Name] [Last Name]’ is written down, along with your phone number. Simon doesn’t want to die somewhere and then you sit at home, dreading the fact that you haven’t received a call from him for over six months. Other than that, no one is aware of your existence and he wants to keep it that way. It keeps you safe, and he doesn’t want the one thing he has going in his life to be taken away from him—not like everything else has been.

No, you and Simon aren’t together. You just are the one constant he cannot allow to die. How you and Simon became close was rather funny, really—before you were roommates, you bumped into each other at the local stores, the bank, even several public spaces like parks and such. You didn’t see him too often and you weren’t aware on why, but you didn’t really wonder why either. By this point, you knew each other for a couple of months. He introduced himself as SR—not Ghost or Simon, but as SR. You didn’t bother to question it because this tall, bulky man seemed like he was trying keep himself as anonymous as possible. Without fail, you always saw him wear dark colored clothing that hid any identifiable markings—tattoos and scars, that kind of thing. He usually has his hood up with a black face mask covering his nose down, but you do know one thing—he has to have bright blonde hair. Why else would his beautiful eyelashes and eyebrows be that bright? It would catch your eye every time you’d see them. Sometimes you would see him with a beanie on and the mask, with his hood down. This wasn’t too often, as it exposed some scarring he has on the back of his neck, as well as his forehead. This also silently lead you to believe he has a tough past of some sort, which is confirmed when you run into him somewhere you never expected to—your therapist’s building. You bumped into him right outside, and you apologized profusely before looking and going silent as you made eye contact.

A silent agreement was made between you two that day, one that you could never put into words. Something in that moment that dragged you two closer together. You had been through some shit in your life, shit that had permanent effect on you, shit that you wanted to work through. It was horribly tiring, but you knew you needed to work through it—so you could live a life you felt was worth living. Simon, was on the other side of the spectrum. He didn’t want this. He never wanted to tell anyone about anything, but Price, Price fucking made him. Simon spends his days and nights plagued with nightmares and memories—he’s woken up in the middle of the night enough times to know that he needs help, but he was so adamant about not talking to anyone about it. But seeing you there? Someone who he hasn’t known for long, someone who had always greeted him with a smile on your face, laughter spilling from your beautiful vocal cords, and someone who doesn’t touch him without permission? It made him so angry and hopeless about this world. Not even you, a stranger who he sees as the best human being he’s known in a while—despite not knowing you for long—could escape from the cruel and sharp jaws of the world. You found out you two accidentally scheduled the same days, so it became an unspoken agreement to wait for the other outside of the building so you can both go in. Even when you weren’t sure when his next appointment would be, you’d be right outside of that building, waiting for him. You would always be right there, and that’s something he quickly learned.

You lost your house to a fire, everything went with the burning embers that raged inside of the 4 walls of your previous home, the structure collapsing in on itself. You had gotten out in time, and you numbly watched the fire roar, the crackling burning it’s memory in your ears. The piercing sound of different sirens were approaching, but all you could do is stand there with your phone in your hand, watching the home you worked so hard for burn to the foundation built years ago. You felt a hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t bother to turn to see who it was. Everything was going so slow, almost like a movie scene in the worst way possible. Your nostrils burned from the smell of burning wood, drywall, and installation. The hand squeezed your shoulder and you slowly looked at who it was—and was him. Simon. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes ever so slightly panicked and it was obvious he was asking you something, but you didn’t hear him. All you could focus on was that he was here. You blinked rapidly as your eyes began to burn from the smoke and from that choked feeling going from your chest to your throat. “I..” You croak ever so slightly. You couldn’t hold it back—you quickly grabbed onto Simon desperately, letting out a heart-wrenching sob because you just lost everything you owned, every memory, every piece of furniture, everything.. but he was here. He was the only thing was wasn’t crumbling away from your grasp, the only constant. Once you clung to him, Simon’s senses were flooded with you. Fuck, your touch burned, just like everyone’s else’s but he liked—no, loved how it felt. Despite the image of a burning house in his wake making dread bubble in his gut, your sobs and touch were the only thing he could focus on. Simon hesitates for only a second before pulling you into his personal space, his arms wrapping around you and weighing heavily on your body. Neither of you spoke, he just let you scream into his chest and sob, your fists gently banging against his chest—the anger, the sadness, everything was too much. Simon knew exactly how you were feeling, so he didn’t mind the twinges of pain your hands produced. Simon was the one who helped you while you chatted with the paramedics and the police. He was the one who helped you find your words when you had none left to share, the smell of the smoke imprinted on your clothes.

Without question, Simon took you to his house. He did not have another bed set up, so he had you sleep in his room while he slept on his couch. He hated the hollow look your eyes held, the way you were delayed with your answers, the ways your hands shook. Your everlasting smile had dissipated into a wobbly frown and he.. Simon couldn’t handle it. He grabbed you some of his clothes and helped you into his bathroom, quietly telling you to take a shower. He’ll take care of your clothes. Simon left you alone, and you showered for a long time. He didn’t count, but it was over an hour and a half. Simon didn’t say anything about you possibly racking up his bill, how could he when you had just lost everything? He wanted to.. to help you, and he wasn’t sure why. Even when he found himself scrubbing your smoke and tar covered clothes in his kitchen sink, he couldn’t find an exact reason why he wanted to help you. Maybe it’s because you made him feel human when he needed to be, maybe you were the one thing that kept him coming back to this town, the one thing that kept him from completely pulling away from the civilian world. You had found him in a corner like a dog, lips curled back and snarling—sharp teeth clashing together, and without a word, you gave him reasons to trust you. Although they may not be.. normal reasons to the regular eye, but they were enough for Simon.

You’re enough for Simon. He scrubbed your clothes until his arms burned, and then some.

That’s when he found out that you too, were also someone who could not stay asleep for long. When Simon awoke with his adrenaline pumping from the muffled sound of vomiting, he had to calm himself down because he’s safe, and you’re safe, most of all. Simon isn’t sure when he began to think that way, but it’s one of the many things he’s decided to not question—which also new for him. Simon is man who demands answers, yet with you? it’s like everything naturally falls into place, which is why he doesn’t complain when your stay at his house—which you swore would only be until you gathered enough money for an apartment—turned from a two week stay, to Simon carrying in an IKEA bed frame to put and assemble in one of his empty rooms. Many sleepless nights came and went, and each and every one you spent them with each other, sitting by a windowsill together, other times spending it in the backyard and looking at the sky. Sometimes you would wake up first, sometimes it would be him. You somehow always knew when he had woken up from a nightmare, his heart pounding in his ears—until your hands grab his and squeeze, to ground him. You burn him, and he welcomes the tickle of your ever-glowing flame. A year into this arrangement, Simon finally shows you his face and he appreciates that you don’t look at him any different. He usually hates the searching eyes, trying to memorize every inch of his face—but he’s greedy when you do it. When your eyes roam over every scar and acne scar, when you point out his messily cut hair and half-assed shaven stubble, he doesnt get angry. Simon doesn’t feel suffocated by your glances. He doesn’t wear his mask at home anymore, not when you’re there.

Then Simon gets the notice about his three month leave ending soon; and he knows that you need to know about his job. Or at least, the bare minimum you need to know. In reality, it’s how much he wants you to know, but he doesn’t want to admit that. He sits you down one morning, a cup of tea in his hand and he had a mug of your favorite morning drink on the other side of the table he had bought a few weeks you started staying here. Simon explains that he has a job in the military, that he can’t tell you much, but it means he’s going to be gone for weeks, even months at a time. You’re at a loss at first, because who is going to have an extremely positive reaction to “by the way, I work an extremely dangerous job and I can’t tell you anything and I’ll be gone for a while.. Oh yeah, you likely won’t know if I die!”? Despite your initial reaction, you grow to be okay with this situation. Or, we’ll, as okay as you can be with it. You also find out that he was here for way longer than he originally is, due to his boss demanding him to take a break—AKA, “go to therapy you dafty”.

For a little over two years, you two fell into a good rhythm. A call every three weeks, him coming home and you becoming the safest space he’s ever had in his life.

Which is why when his personal cell phone begins to vibrate in his pocket during some fuck-all meeting, his eyebrows furrow. The number is unfamiliar, but the area code is not. Simon quietly excuses himself from the extended round table, taking his call outside of the meeting room. Price’s eyes follow his figure as he exits, noticing it’s his personal cell phone in his hand. Simon answers the call and presses his phone against his masked ear, muttering a low, “Hello?”

A high-pitched, soft yet serious voice filters through the speaker, a woman. “Hi, is this Mr. Riley?”

Simon pauses, and so does his heart. “Who’s asking?”

He honestly regrets asking that in the moment—one part of him genuinely wishes he never answered this call, and the other part of him is glad he did. “I’m a nurse from Northern Manchester Community Hospital, you’re written down as [Name]’s emergency contact. They’ve been a victim of a hit and run situation, sir. They’re alive, but they’re in the ICU.” The nausea that suddenly bubbles inside of his guys, the stomach acid mixed with whatever he had eaten previously, threatening to travel up his esophagus, burn every inch and then exit with a horrific sound. Simon’s head began to spin—he’s your emergency contact? A hit and run, you were fucking hit?? By what, a car? A pick-up? A semi? God, Simon has seen the most horrible, gruesome, fucked up shit you would ever see in his entire life, yet he isn’t sure if he can handle the image of you spread out in a hospital bed, with one too many tubes circulating around you. His mind plagues him with intrusive images, ones he never wants to actually see played out. Fuck, his head hurts. It feels like someone is physically shoving a knife into his chest and twisting it, like God is laughing at him and playing with Simon’s pain for his own gain. How could he not think that, especially with everything that has happened to him? His friends, his family? His old CO? The fucking abuse he endured??

It’s like Simon lost his hearing for a moment, because he cannot bare fucking losing you, too. There’s a vague ringing in his ears, almost like there was an explosion and he stood too close. And then suddenly every sound comes rushing back to his eardrums, and everything suddenly everything is so fucking overwhelming. “Mr. Riley?” The nurse calls over the phone, her tone laced with worry. He clears his throat and when he speaks, he sounds wrecked, which he fucking hates. “I.. I’ll come as soon as I can.” Simon hangs up, not giving the nurse a moment to speak. He drops his phone and if he doesn’t sit down, he’s going to fall over like a tree that’s been cut down. Simon lets out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way his stomach is screaming and twisting as he puts a hand on the wall, and he crouches down. It’s the first time he doesn’t look around to see if anyone is watching his sudden display of emotion. When he’s suddenly rocked with the feeling of home at work, especially with the news that you’re fucking injured—he’s overwhelmed and twisted all over the place. Simon finds himself stumbling back to his barracks.

Price finds his way to him after Simon never returns to the meeting. He knocks on the door, but his knuckles pause before they can knock against the door for the third time as he discovers the door is open—which is very, very, odd. He slowly opens the door while calling for Ghost, and is met with the sight of Simon shoving some of his clothes and belongings into a duffle bag, as well as his military travel documents. “Ghost?” Price questions, who stopped in his doorway to watch Simon lose his mind while packing. Simon doesn’t respond as he practically rips his phone charger out of the wall and stuffs it into the bag, zipping it up. He slings it over his shoulder and he turns around, pausing when he sees Price. Simon’s eyes tell everything he’s feeling—that something’s happened, something bad, and he needs to leave. Price bites his lip and quietly exhales, his fingers rubbing at his chin. “I’ll approve your leave. Just shoot me a text of how long it needs to be, yeah?”

Simon makes sure to note to send Price a thank you of some sort, because within the next two hours, Simon is boarding a plane, heading for Manchester, wearing some black clothing, a jacket, a black face mask, gloves, and his beanie. The entire time, he could not stop thinking about you—and how you could possibly die before he got there to send off his final goodbyes. Is that something he would actually want to do, though? See you in the hospital, knowing it’ll be the last place you’d ever be alive in? Go home, see how you left the house exactly as you left it? A house, but without his home in it? Simon stares out the airplane window blankly, his hands curled into fists, and his nails would be digging into his palms if he didn’t have gloves on.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

The next part for Simon, it’s a blur again. Got off the plane, got his luggage, provided documentation, blah blah blah—he didn’t give a fuck about any of it. His focus was you. He didn’t bother to stop home to drop his stuff off, he took an Uber straight to the hospital from the airport. It was a fairly expensive Uber too, but he could worry about the costs of everything later. It took another half hour to get there.

His heart began to hammer in his chest as the sight of the hospital’s signs began to pop up on the road, the anxiety taking hold in his stomach and his head begins to hurt again. Simon quietly thanks the driver, tips them, and exits the car with a swiftness once they pull up. Simon walks through the main entrance’s sliding doors, going up to the desk. A woman behind the counter hangs up the phone, murmuring a goodbye, and then she looks at Simon with her pretty blue eyes. “How can I help you, sir?” She murmurs sweetly, noting how anxious he is. She can see the sweat on his brow line. Simon clears his throat, his voice rumbling in his chest when he speaks. It takes everything in him to not yell at this innocent woman and get thrown out. “My.. My name is Mr. Riley, I was called ‘cause my friend is here,” Simon manages to push out. “[Name] [Last Name].” The woman turns to her computer and clicks the couple of buttons and types a couple of words and holy fuck, Simon just wants to go to your wing already—“Ah, yes, I see you’re listed as their emergency contact,” The woman grabs a sticky note and writes with a pink pen your room number and elevator floor, handing it to Simon. He barely gets a “thank you” out before he nearly jogs to the nearby elevator. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283—it’s the longest minute long elevator ride in his entire fucking life.

Simon changes face masks whilst facing the wall, and then he finds your room number—and his heart is beating out of his chest. There’s cops standing outside of your room who stop him from entering. Simon’s anger flares up so quickly, he nearly makes a scene until a doctor exits your room. She’s wearing her usual blue scrubs, her coat, and she’s dawning a N95 and some sterile gloves. She’s holding a clipboard. “Mr. Riley?” She questions, holding the clipboard close to her chest. Simon nods without hesitation, and she responds, “I’m sorry, but due to the nature of this case, you’ll have to provide some identification for me and these officers.”

Usually, Simon would hesitate—he gives anyone outside of his team the bare minimum, hell, he only introduced himself as SR until he knew you for a while. This time, he takes out his military ID and shows it to the officers. He ignores their looks of surprise, and ignores the murmurs that come from them. Simon puts his ID away and he holds back the urge to shove them out of the way as he glares down at the doctor on accident. “Come in,” The doctor opens the sliding door and steps into the hospital ICU room with him. Simon follows behind her and he immediately smells the sickening smell only the ICU gives off. There’s a small wall blocking his view from you that he hasn’t past, and he can already hear the machines working. A heart monitor, a ventilator, combined with other machines he doesn’t know too well. The doctor flips through the papers pinned to her clipboard. “They were hit by a vehicle of some sort, the scene suggested they were walking home from the local corner store. [Name] has multiple broken bones and fractures, a punctured lung, a fractured jaw and internal bleeding. They lost a lot of blood at the scene.” Simon doesn’t respond as he slowly walks forward, and he finally lays his eyes on you. It’s.. traumatizing, to say the least. You were never supposed to be in a hospital bed like this, hooked up to machines he can’t even name. He slowly walks over to you, dropping his duffel bag somewhere on the floor. He doesn’t care to look where. Simon barely pays attention to what the doctor is saying—his hands tremble as he stands by your side, his heart thumping harshly in his chest. Fuck.

He drags over one of the chairs next to your bed. Simon takes off one of his gloves slowly, and then he tears the other one off in a frenzy. He feels so unlike himself, so.. different.. human. He reaches over to your hand and his fingers grab your wrist, so gentle as if you’re glass. Simon presses his fingers against your pulse point, counting your heartbeats despite the monitor. The thumping under your skin makes it more.. real. Feeling you, your heartbeat, your warmth and your skin—it’s comforting. Simon clears his throat and fights the urge to vomit once a gain, watching your chest rise and fall, produced by the ventilator.

He moves his hand to intertwine with your fingers and he uses his other hand to feel your pulse. Simon closes his eyes, muttering the beats per minute under his breath.

At least you’re alive—you’re here, you’re alive, and you’re with him. And that’s all he asks for.

tags;; @alwaystired--neversleeping @handsomeunderwear-art @indefenseofkara @kaysav608 @1-is-loneliest-number @rosee-sensuelle @kitty-satan1 @k4marina @rahmown @royalty-purple @bowtruckleninja — if you are not tagged, it’s not allowing me :-)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #mw2 2022 #mw2022 #cod #modern warfare ii #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x gender neutral reader #ghost x y/n #simon ghost x reader #ghost x gender neutral reader #ghost x gn!reader #mw2 #mwii #mw2 fanfic #cod mw ghost #cod ghost #ghost cod #mw2 x reader #angst #cod angst #cod mwii #call of duty mw2 #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare fanfiction #crowd favorite

[sweetiepoison]

Famous Baby blurb

(The Leafs Game)

A/n: I’m actually really struggling writing the next part so a throwback! Italics indicate a flashback

“Try going up one note” You suggest standing across from Justin at the piano.

Your friend asked you to come over to help out with some new music he was working on. You also were trying to write an album of your own and figured the afternoon spent working would help you as well. Justin sang the previous verse over again but higher like you suggested.

“Yeah I like that.” He commented going straight into the next verse. You hummed along joining in on certain verses creating a harmony.

“How would you feel about this song being the first I release off the new album?” Your jaw dropped at Justin’s question.

“For real?” You gasped. Justin’s return to music had been long anticipated by both fans and the media alike. And for him to want the song you collaborated on to be his intro back into the music industry was appreciated.

“Of course!” Justin exclaimed scooting back from the piano. “(y/n), you are one of the biggest names in the industry right now if not the biggest” he said putting an emphasis on the word the.

You were like a little sister to Justin, originally signing onto the same label when you were 16 and starting your career. Justin knew what it was like to be so young and in the spotlight so he looked out for you. Despite you switching labels and Justin taking a step back from music, you remained close. There was no one else he trusted more to debut his new album with.

“You’re still Justin Bieber.” You reminded him. “You don’t need my name attached for this to be successful.”

You continued practicing until the afternoon slowly turned into the evening and Hailey came downstairs with a leafs jersey on and an extra in her hands.

“Cult meeting tonight?” You asked as she handed the jersey to Justin.

“Yeah, do you want to come?” She offered.

You laughed at the thought, “Hell no.”

“C’mon, (y/n) please.”

“Come support our friend with us.” They both wore the same pouty expression.

“Auston is not my friend.”

“But we are,” Justin cut in before you could go on a rant. “And would you rather hang out with your friends or stay in by yourself tonight?”

“I’m fine with staying in.”

“C’mon everyone’s going, and it’ll be a fun night and we can go out after-“

“Fine.” You give in. “But I’m not wearing a jersey.”

—

It wasn’t enough for you to just not wear a maple leafs jersey. You knew one thing would piss off Auston even more. So once you all settled into your seats you grabbed your best friends hand and dragged her down to the gift shop.

“You don’t even like hockey.” She reminded you as you searched through the jerseys. “Why waste money on something you’re never gonna wear again?”

“Because, Auston will hate it.”

“And why do you care what he thinks?”

“I don’t.” You immediately snapped. “But I definitely don’t want him to think I came willingly. Plus we’re from here so why not support the hometown team.” You shrugged continuing your search.

Once you finally settled on a jersey you liked you didn’t wait for a bag and instead immediately pulled it on over your shirt. The jersey may have been petty, but you knew it would get the job done and that’s what mattered.

Justin groaned and rolled his eyes once he saw you return to your seat, “I’m not even gonna say anything.”

“Good choice.” You said sitting down next to Shawn with a satisfied smirk, actually looking forward to the start of the game.

“The arena is packed tonight. And we are not short of celebrity guests. Up in the stands we have Justin and Hailey Bieber, Shawn Mendes, and (y/f/n) (y/l/n)” The crowd cheered loudly following the announcement and the excitement only grew as your section was featured on the Jumbotron. You waved and smiled for the camera.

“It looks like there’s a rivalry going on up there.” The other announcer commented on the oppsoing jerseys you were wearing. You adjusted in your seat making it very known that you had a Kings jersey on.

“I would love to hear the trash talking that’s going on up there between Justin and (y/n)”

—

Once again the crowd went wild as Auston scored a goal. The group around you excitedly jumped up cheering along with others. You remained stoic looking down at your phone to check the time.

“At least pretend to be happy.” Justin leaned down to whisper his back facing the ice. “The cameras are on us.”

“Excitement for Auston is just something I can’t fake.” You finalized with a shrug of your shoulders, but the pleading look on Justin’s face was too hard to ignore. So you forced a smile throwing in a few claps.

“I’ll take it.” Justin said satisfied.

Once everyone calmed down you went back to your phone showing Shawn pictures from the vacation your family took recently. You were so absorbed in telling various stories from the trip you didn’t notice the time out that was called.

Shawn’s song, Fallin’ All in You began playing. You absentmindedly hummed along and looked up to see the Jumbotron started back up and this time with the kiss cam.

The camera suddenly panned on your section and was featuring Justin and Hailey. All of your friends instantly began cheering the couple on. And when they gave in and the crowd erupted.

Your excitement was fleeting though as the camera moved off of them and onto you and Shawn.

“Oh God.” You mumbled with a smile on your face trying to cover up any discomfort you were feeling.

You thought your immediate hesitation would be enough of an indication that you didn’t want to kiss your ex, but they persisted refusing to move the camera.

“They aren’t going to move on till we kiss.” Shawn whispered.

“Fine.” You conceded leaning back and looking over at him. “You make the first move.”

“Like our first kiss all over again.” He laughed before leaning over and kissing you. It was gentle and sweet, but had the whole arena booming with excitement.

You immediately covered your face laughing along with him as the camera stayed on you two to get the aftermath. Shawn kept his arm wrapped around your shoulders and kissed the side of your head. “Give it a second they’ll move on…And we’re good.”

You were relieved when you looked up and it wasn’t your face you were seeing on the screen. The breakup took place seven years ago and you stayed true to your word remaining friends after the split.

While there were no longer romantic feelings, Shawn was a comforting piece of your foundation. He not only maintained a good relationship with you, but your family as well. You knew he would be a part of your life for the rest of your life.

“Good job guys, no matter what happens with this game, that’s all anyone’s going to be talking about.” Justin reached over to fist bump Shawn.

“So we need to know are you guys back together.” Your best friend held out her water bottle as a fake microphone to you.

“Yeah, that kiss seemed pretty intimate.” Your other friend, Mason joined in also holding out a water bottle.

“Shut up.” You giggled pushing the water bottle away. “If any of you say we’re together I will end you.”

“Not the threats.” Mason joked, “I’m for sure telling TMZ that when they call me.”

Following the kiss cam the intensity seemed to go up for both teams, especially for one player in particular.

Auston wasn’t sure why seeing you on the kiss cam annoyed him so much, but it did. Everyone was supposed to be here to watch a hockey game and you turned it into a joke.

“Fuck.” He angrily slammed his stick against the boards breaking it before taking a seat on the bench.

“Dude, take a breather.” Mitch encouraged sitting down next to him.

“I’m fine.” Auston insisted taking a long swig from his water bottle.

“You sure because you’ve seemed tense?”

“Yeah I just want to win.” Mitch knew that wasn’t the reason, but he also knew not to push so he let it go.

Following your kiss he began playing harder. His hits were more forceful, his trash talking more heated, and his need to score at an all time. The intensity in the arena extended beyond the ice. As the game drew closer to ending fans of both teams started getting more aggressive.

“Matthews sucks. Anytime anyone gets near him he’s crying and acting like a little bitch.” A man sitting in front of you screamed at the glass. You had watched him down four beers already and become progressively drunk as the game went on.

“He’s talented, but selfish with the puck and a show off. The talent won’t last forever.” His friend next to him chimed in. They were both wearing Kings jerseys similar to the one you had on.

The way they were talking about Auston didn’t sit right with you. Any other day you would agree and probably even say those things yourself, but today was not that day.

You may have not known much about hockey, but you knew Auston was good (you would never admit that to him). And two middle aged men saying otherwise annoyed you.

“(Y/n), don’t.” Your best friend wrapped her hand around your wrist. You looked down now noticing that your hands were clenched and tapping against your leg.

“I’m not going to do anything.” You reassured her, trying to take deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth.

“Are you sure? Because you have this crazy look in your eye and your extremely stiff right now.”

“I’m fine.” You seethed through clenched teeth.

“He’s overrated and overpaid.”

You took it upon yourself to tap on one of the men’s shoulder. As they turned around you cleared your throat and plastered on a tight smile. “Don’t you think this is the type of conversation you can have in your car on the ride home or maybe not even at all?”

“I can talk about whatever and whoever I want, when I want to.” The man on the right replied his beer sloshing around in his glass.

“You are two grown men talking about another grown man, be realistic.” You bit back, your attempt at being nice slowly fading away.

“You’re right we are grown men and allowed to have whatever opinion we want.” The second man replied raising his voice.

“Yeah maybe just don’t have it so loudly.” You suggested shrugging your shoulders and leaning back in your seat.

“You don’t know anything about hockey.”

“I know that right now the leafs are beating the kings.”

“Games not over yet.”

“And Matthews has scored two of their four goals.”

Despite your best attempts to keep the conversation cordial. The raised voices started gaining the attention of others around you. You knew a disagreement was one thing, but a full blown fight wouldn’t be a good look for you. As far as the public were concerned you weren’t the type of girl to be aggressive. And you would have maintained that look had one of the men not stood up so he was towering over you.

“He sucks the same way you probably get on your knees every night and suck his dick.” Any thought of being passive for your public image was out the window as you also stood not backing down.

“Excuse me.”

“You heard me.”

“No say it again I want you to hear yourself and how stupid you sound.” Image be damned. You didn’t want someone talking about Auston like that and you definitely weren’t going to allow them to talk about you like that.

“You’re nothing more than one of his sluts.” He threw his arms in the air, but before anything further could happen security was closing in on you quickly. You realized you hadn’t only caught the attention of the people around you but the whole arena as you looked up and could see yourself on the Jumbotron.

“And you’re a pathetic excuse of a human being. People pay to watch him, you’re running your mouth for free.” You had the final say as security pulled him away kicking both man out of the game. The crowd cheered watching them get escorted out, still fighting with anyone they could.

Watching them leave, however didn’t make you feel any better. You quickly picked up your bag and began climbing up the stairs before anyone could stop you. You were embarrassed that someone spoke to you like that especially in front of a crowd. You ran into the nearest bathroom locking yourself in a stall. You cursed yourself for letting your anger get the best of you. You knew this was going to be everywhere in a matter of hours. The string of texts coming into your phone from your publicist let you know that word already got to her.

“Fuck.” You groaned letting your head fall against the stall wall.

“(Y/n)?” You knew your best friend would find you. She stopped in front of the stall you were in, “I know you’re in there. I can see your feet.”

You groaned stomping your foot on the ground,“Go away.” There was no way you were opening the door.

“A security guard came over to us, Auston’s asking to see you.”

“No.” You flat out refused.

“Please.” You didn’t need to open the door to know she was biting down on her lip, a nervous habit she picked up from you. “He’s refusing to go back on the ice until he talks to you and they kinda need him.”

“Oh my god, he’s so dramatic.” You exclaimed opening the door. You usually were against giving into tantrums, but this needed to be resolved.

You begrudgingly followed security as they took you down to the tunnel where Auston was waiting.

“Are you crazy?” Auston screamed as soon as he saw you walking towards him.

Auston was confused as both teams were forced back to their benches in the middle of the game. Nothing happened on the ice to justify this, but as the crowd started to get loud and the Jumbotron featured the stands he realized it wasn’t because of what was happening on the ice, but rather off of it.

He watched as two people stood toe to toe yelling back and forth, neither backing down. But once he looked closer he realized he recognized the people around the two and then realized one of the people standing was you.

“So fucking stupid.” He mumbled, anger starting to flare up in his eyes. He continued to watch until the man raised his arm and that’s when Auston started moving before he could think. He didn’t get very far though, before multiple people were holding him back.

“Get off me.” He growled fighting against Mo, John, and Willy.

“You’re not going over there, this isn’t our arena and those aren’t our fans.” John kept his arms on Auston’s shoulders.

He continued watching as security closed in on the altercation separating you two, “fuck this.” He snapped breaking free from the hold on himself and moving towards the tunnel. “Someone get her down here.”

“Are you?” You shot back, “your holding up a whole game for this!” You motioned your hand between the two of you.

“I wouldn’t have to if you would’ve just sat down and stayed quiet!” He was pissed and didn’t care about who could possibly hear him.

“Oh yeah because I wanted a grown man yelling in my face.” You sarcastically let out, your voice going up an octave as you also got louder.

You watched as Auston shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. He had a concentrated look on his face, a look you’d seen before. This was the look Auston wore when he was trying to figure something out. But unlike before, the look didn’t go away, he was still frustrated.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He huffed pacing back and forth.

“I wasn’t, I was defending you!” You flung your arms in the air voice strained. “And based on how you’re treating me right now, I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t need you to defend me.” Auston didn’t hold back, “people say shit all the time. You included.”

“But they weren’t me and no one besides me should say those things about you.” Your pulse was racing and it took a generous amount of self control to bring your voice back down to a reasonable level.

It felt like an eternity of silence before Auston finally replied, his voice much softer and more worn out, “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“But I didn’t.” You watched as he leaned against the the wall hunched over. You realized that this was effecting him more than you. You were worried about your image, but Auston was worried about you. If anything would’ve happened to you, he would’ve never forgave himself. That’s not because he had any feelings for you, but because his parents raised him right (or at least that’s what he told himself when he flew off the ice and down the tunnel demanding to see you.)

“Hey, Auston.” You timidly touched his cheek forcing him to look at you. “I’m fine. Okay?” You searched his eyes for any confirmation that your words were getting through. “Plus I didn’t totally disagree with them, they did call you a little bitch.” The smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth and the deep chuckle confirmed that he was fine.

“A little bitch, huh? Not very original.”

“They also called me a dumb bitch so we have that in common.” You shrugged taking a step back.

Auston was amused, “Who would’ve thought that would be what we have in common.”

You smiled crossing your arms over your chest. You both took a second to really look at each other. You may have disliked each other, but you shared common ground when it came to dealing with hate. Auston didn’t deserve it any more than you did.

“This color looks terrible on you by the way.” Auston broke the silence lightly tugging at the jersey you wore.

“Really? You looked down at your outfit, “I think it’s sleek and flattering.”

“You’d look better in blue.” Auston stood to his full height.

“Win this game and I might consider it.” You offered side stepping to allow him to get closer to the entrance.

“Really?”

“No.” You shook your head, “but I do actually need you to win now. That fight can’t be for nothing.”

“This next goals for you, then.” He smirked.

“Don’t miss it like the last one.” You teased.

“Don’t get into anymore fights.” He retorted walking away and you watched as he returned from where he came.

#famous reader #hockey #maple leafs #nhl #nhl blurb #toronto maple leafs #celebrity reader #justin bieber #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews #la kings #hockey game #shawn mendes

[uhmprobablynot]

Sorry I’m a little late but I would love to see a part 2 to the bully fic, part 1 was awesome.

love your writing<3

The moment we have all been waiting for.... Bully/Jock!Schlatt part 2, the squeakual, hope you guys enjoy this one as much as the last one. I have a third part 2/3rds of the way written with a full full smut scene and minor angst teehee but I wanted to get this out to y'all asap,,, anyway enjoy!!

my friend who wanted to be tagged: @toesforhoesbros

Part One > Part Two > Part Three

The following afternoon came slowly, your nerves making the time seem to drag. You put on the jersey Schlatt gave you and left for the field. When you got there, you told the ticketer your name, and he handed you a pass. “Show this to the security guard inside. He’ll walk you to where you need to go.” You thank him and move into the arena. You find a security guard rather quickly and he walks you down the stairs to some reserved sears behind the dugout. 

“Hi!” a perky voice says from beside you. The voice comes from a pretty blonde girl who is wearing a similar jersey to the one you are wearing. “My name is Ash. I’ve never seen you here before.” You shake your head. 

“Nope, first time here.” Ash just laughs and gestures for you to sit next to her. You do. 

“My boyfriend is number 22, his name is Zach.” She leans so you can see the 22 and Carlton across the back. “Which one is yours?” You laugh nervously. “None of them?” Ash gives you a confused look.

“What do you mean ‘none of them’,” she air quotes. “You’re on girlfriend row. One’s gotta be yours.” You blush as you remember Schlatt’s hesitation when he mentioned the section you would sit in. “Who’s on your jersey then?” Ash touches your shoulder to get a look at your back. She laughs, and doesn’t stop. “The baby of the team, how cute.” She stands up and bangs on the dugout. This causes Zach to look up towards her. He runs to meet her at the net. 

“This is Schlatt’s ‘not-girlfriend-even-though-she’s-sitting-here-wearing-his-jersey-girlfriend’!” You blush as she introduces you. 

“No, no. It’s not like that. The guy barley put up with me!” You try to defend. Zach only laughs. 

“Well, not girlfriend,” he starts. “Looks like he has some explaining to do, then.” He smiles and blows a kiss towards Ash before going into the dugout. Ash looks at your dumbfounded face and cackles. She pulls you into her side. “I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing a lot more of you.” She giggles, then points out into the field. “Schlatt is in the outfield, warming up.” Your cheeks get warm as you look towards him. 

He’s far out, but you can see how the uniform fits him perfectly; the pants tight against his thighs, his short sleeve jersey showing how his biceps as he throws the ball. 

“Yeah,” Ash starts. “The uniform does wonders for the boys.” She leans in closer. “Especially their asses, I mean whew.” Suddenly, the cement under your feet is way more interesting than the field in front of you. Ash just cackles again. 

You hear a yell from the dugout and all the players from your school move back in towards it. Schlatt runs in field and spots you. He smiles, then sees Ash and it drops as his cheeks go pink. Ash nudges you and indicator that she saw what just happened. You went to say a smart remark but as you started too, the announcer started calling out the lineups. The game was starting. 

As the ninth inning winds down, your school’s team is one behind. Schlatt is up to bat. If he doesn’t hit the ball enough for at least the man on third base to get it home, the game is over. The pitcher opposite of Schlatt wipes the sweat off of his forehead, and Schlatt grips the bat harder. The pitcher winds. A clank echoes through the stadium. Schlatt hit the baseball and its moving high and fast towards the outfield. Ash and you grab each other’s arm, the tension in the stadium is thick. Schlatt runs and all the other men on the field do, too. Then the ball goes over the fence and the entire stadium erupts. The first home run of the season. Four full points to your school’s team, four winning points to your school’s team. 

Ash and you yell as the announcers yell home run and all the boys make it to home plate. Schlatt looks up at you as you pass it and you and Ash cheer louder. 

“Come on!” Ash says, grabbing your hand and begins leading you. 

“Where are we going?” You ask as she weaves you in and out of leaving guests. 

“The lobby.” She answers plainly, as if that would answer your question. Ash opened a door to a quiet hallway with seats that lined the walls. “The players come out of that door after they shower and get changed.” You looked at the door. She took your hand and pulled you down to a seat next to her. 

“Look, obviously there is something between you and Schlatt. I’ve known him for almost three years now. And he’s never brought a girl here.” You felt embarrassment flood your veins. You went to say something as you heard footsteps from the other side of the door. The door opened and a few of the guys from the team, including Zach, walked out. Ash stood up and ran into his arms. 

“Hey,” he said, wobbling to you as Ash hadn’t let go yet. “Nice to see you on the other side of the net.” You waved and congratulated him on the game. “Not me,” he laughed. “That was your not-boyfriend who won.” The wave of embarrassment came back again. Schlatt walked in at that same moment. “Speak of the devil!” Zach yelled. 

“We should leave,” Ash said as you and Schlatt looked at each other. Zach nodded.

“Hi,” Schlatt said. 

“Hi,” you responded. “That last swing was great. Congrats.” Schlatt blushed and chuckled. 

“Thank you.” You both just stood in the hallway, looking at each other. “Thank you for coming, by the way.” His voice was quiet and genuine. You smiled at his sudden timidness. 

“Well, you gave me a jersey and a free ticket. I couldn’t have not.” You smile up at him.

“Uh,” He stutters. “Do you need a ride?” 

“Yeah,” You hesitate. “If that’s alright with you.” “I asked dumbass, come on.” Schlatt and you began walking out to his car. He unlocks the car, putting his stuff in the back seat. You reach to open your door and he yells. “What are you doing?” You say, startled by his sudden yelling. He runs to the passenger side of the door and opens it for you. 

“I might be an asshole.” He leans on the door as you get in. “But I am a gentleman.” He closes the door after winking at you, then begins his walk to the driver’s side. While he can’t see it, you take a shaky breath. You quickly realized the mistake as the car smells just like him, and it makes you dizzy with a feeling you can’t label. Schlatt opens the driver's door and climbs in. He starts up his car but stops before he puts it in reverse. 

“Do you want to get dinner with me?” His gaze is pleading, the same as when the professor asked you to tutor him. Except now, it was hopeful too. 

“I’d love to.” 

“You’d love to?” His voice is soft, but his gaze is intense. You nod, not confident your voice would be anything but a breathy agreement. He smiles wide and genuine, and your heart soars. You’ve never seen a smile like that from Schlatt, but you would do anything to make him do it over and over again. 

Schlatt takes you to his favorite restaurant near campus, a small chicken wing place. He swore by the food. By the time the waiter had come with the check, both of your plates were entirely clean. You offered to help with the check, but he simply called you an idiot and handed the waiter his card. Dinner was full of laughs and Schlatt’s wide and full smile. The walk back to his car was slow, both of you wanting to put off the inevitable end of the night. When you get to the car, Schlatt once again opens the door for you, but this time offers you his hand as you step into the car. For balance. You try to rationalize with yourself. 

Schlatt closes the door behind you and enters his side. He starts the car and his music floods the car. You can see the lights of the city shimmer through his windshield. The entire feels like magic. 

“Do you want to get together tomorrow?” Schlatt asks you breaking the soft quiet and you feel your insides flutter. You look over towards him. He is watching his hands grip the steering wheel. 

“You really can’t get rid of me.” You say smirking. Schlatt chuckles. 

“As much as that is the truth, I also have some ideas for the professor’s project.” He looks over at you and leans on the middle console, his face coming within inches of yours. “And I would enjoy my tutors’ professional opinions.” He whispers. You glance down at his lips, unable to stop yourself as he speaks. When he finishes speaking, you look at his eyes, which are now watching your lips.

 “That, uh,” You clear your throat and look through the windshield. “That sounds great.” Schlatt sighs lightly before shifting in his seat. He asks where you live and you tell him. You feel yourself cringe at how awkward the atmosphere has become. You try to talk a few times, but it never feels like the right moment or the right thing to say. He pulls in front of your place. You get out of the car and Schlatt does too. You look at him confused, and he smirks. 

“I’m walking you to your door, least I can do for keeping you so late.” You smile and begin the walk towards your door. 

When you finally get there, you hesitate before putting your key in the door, and turn to face Schlatt. 

“Thank you again for tonight, today really. Iit’s been so,” You breathe in. “So wonderful.” Schlatt smiles at you but says nothing. “The game invite was more than enough, but then the jersey.” You continue needing to fill the silence. “Then you winning the game, which was amazing, and dinner and-” His lips on yours cut you off. The softness of his lips is contradicted by the slight scratch of his scruff against your face. You kiss back as soon as you understand what is happening, but he still pulls away too quickly. 

“Sorry,” He licks his lips. “I just really, really wanted to kiss you.” You smile and pull him back to your lips. He kisses you back. This time, though, the both of you are confident. He grabs your waist and uses your gasp to let his tongue enter your mouth. The kiss becomes a fight for dominance mixed with clashing teeth. Your screaming lungs force you to pull away, and the both of you pant, catching your breaths. 

“Do you want to come in?” You ask and he takes a sharp breath. 

“That-” He kisses you again, gentler but still passionate. “That’s’ not why I kissed you.” You glanced up at him and smiled. 

“I know.” He kisses you again, weighing his options. 

“As much as I want to,” He said, grabbing the side of your face, forcing you to look at him. “I want to take you on a proper date. I told you; I’m a gentleman.” 

“Well gentleman Schlatt,” He laughs at the name. “I will see you tomorrow.” You turned to put the key into the door, but he stopped you. 

“Do you think I could have your number? That way we can actually plan tomorrow, and that date?” It was your turn to laugh, but you gave him your number and finally opened your door. As you entered, he turned away, but you called out to him. 

“Will you text when you get home?” He smiles and nods and says goodnight before walking to his car. 

You lean against the door and touch your lips that are swollen from Schlatt’s own. As you get ready for bed, your phone beeps. 

Unknown Number: It’s Schlatt, I just got home. 

You smile and type your reply

You: Thanks for letting me know. Thank you again for tonight. 

Schlatt: It’s really not a problem, I enjoyed myself too, a lot. 

Schlatt: As for tomorrow, the library is open on Sunday and it’s usually empty. We could meet there like usual?

You: That sounds like a plan, same time as usual? 

Schlatt: Would noon work? I want to spend more than just an hour with you… Even if it is just doing history.

You: Noon sounds perfect. I’ll see you then. Goodnight :)

Schlatt: Goodnight Y/n 

You’re in bed by the time Schlatt sends his last message and you can’t help but laugh and smile widely as your heart flutters. 

The next morning, as you get ready, you can’t help but get a little more done up than you usually would. Figuring a skirt would help you look cute while also combatting the heat, nothing if not at least practical. 

As you walked into the library, Schlatt was nowhere to be seen. You texted him, wondering where he was. 

Schlatt: Walk towards the study rooms. I’m back in a corner. Was weirdly crowded earlier, the only seat I could find. 

You followed Schlatt’s instructions, and you spotted him in a back corner hidden by bookshelves. He saw you at the same time and his eyes drifted down towards the skirt, watching your legs as you moved towards him. Maybe a valid third reason for the skirt, you thought to yourself. 

“Dressed to impress, are we?” He asks as you sit across from him.

“Don’t know. Are you impressed?” Schlatt seems awestruck at your comment, flushing before nodding. You smirk. “What’s your project ideas?” Schlatt clears his throat. 

“I was thinking I would do it on the effects of computer history both when they first came around and now.” His voice was soft, shy almost. 

“I think,” you started. “That is a fantastic idea!” “Really?” “I was half expecting you to do something about baseball.” You admitted, and Schlatt laughed lightly. 

“I thought about it, but I hate being predicable.” He smiled, and you reflected the look. “Do you want to come look?” You nodded and moved next to him to see his laptop. Schlatt lightly groaned as you sat next to him. You looked at him, worried. 

“Everything okay?” He nods, embarrassed that the noise actually came out of him. 

“Yeah, you just smell really nice.” It was now your turn to be embarrassed.

“Thank you,” you squeaked, putting your focus on the screen in front of you. Schlatt, however, grabbed your jaw, turning you to face him and kissed you. As he pulled away, he smirked at your fluttering eyelashes. 

“Now,” he said, pulling up his presentation. “Time for history.” You nodded and focused in on his presentation. You started reading what he had done. And you felt his breath close to your neck. 

“Schlatt,” you stuttered. “What are you doing?” he shushed you. 

“Focus on history, sweetheart.” You took in a shaky breath as you tried to force yourself to focus back on his presentation. He kissed your neck and you couldn’t help the light whimper that left your throat. You could feel his smirk against your neck. 

“When did you do all of this?” he kissed your neck again before moving back slightly. 

“Last night when I got home.” His whispered words fanned across the skin of your neck. “I had to distract myself from thinking of certain propositions given to me last night.” You felt your neck get hot as the thought of your door way flashed in your mind.

“And here I thought I pushed too far.” You whispered. Schlatt shook his head. His hand fell to your knee, and you took a sharp breath in. 

“Is this okay?”

 “Schlatt, we’re in a library.”

 “Y/n,” he said lowly, and a shiver went down your spine as he said your name. “I asked if this was okay, not where we are, my pretty thing.” The nickname made you close your eyes and subconsciously your thighs tightened together. Schlatt chuckled and his hand gripped your knee a little tighter. “As much as I take that as a good sign,” he moves up towards your ear before whispering. “I want to hear you say it.” You swallow even though your throat is dry. 

“Yes,” you whisper after scanning the area around you for people. His hand moves further up your thigh.

 “There’s no one back here.” His hand moves under your thigh before picking it up and draping it over his. “As long as you stay quiet.” He continues. With your thigh draped over his, he has better access further up your leg. “Come on, baby, keep reading.” His fingers trace circles on the inside of your thigh. Close enough to your heat that you're sure he can feel in on his hand. His hand grazes over your underwear and your breath hitches and your eyes close. “Sweetheart focus, I would hate to have to stop now.” You whimper and he shushes you lightly. “Maybe reading at loud would help keep your focus.” You inhale deeply.

“S-since the 1940s, computer engineers have followed.” His finger tips grazed over your clit through your underwear and you stuttered. 

“F-f-followed,” Schlatt mocked, “I know you can read better than that.” Clenched around nothing at his mean words, and he pressed his fingertips harder into you. “Keep going.” 

“Followed Moore’s law, which is the theory that computer switches halve in size every two years.” His fingers pushed your underwear to one side, feeling the wet that has pooled there and dragging his finger from your slit before lightly circling your clit. 

“Take them off.” He whispered as you finished the slide. You stared at him wide eyed. He dragged his finger down, then up again to emphasise his point. “Stop being dumb. Take them off.” You nodded, removing your thigh from his, and moving your shaky hands up under your skirt before pulling down your underwear. He held out his hand, and you gave them to him, and he smirked before whispering, “Good girl.” Schlatt grabbed your thigh, moving it back to where it was before moving his hand back between your thighs. His hand hovered over your heat but not touching it. You looked at him, waiting for him to move, but he didn’t. 

You looked back at his PowerPoint and began reading again. As you read, his hand moved. His finger dipped down before entering slowly. You did your best to keep your voice steady as his finger slowly pushed in and out of you. Each time he did, his finger curled in and out. As you finished another slide with no mistakes, he added another finger. The stretch stinging but was quickly soothed by how good he felt. As another slide finished, he used his thumb to circle your clit. The mix of his finger going in and out of you, matching the pressure against your sweet spot, was almost too much. 

“S-Schlatt-” 

“I know, pretty girl, you can do it.” 

“In the 1920s, Nazi Germany transmitted secret messages.” His thumb sped up as he felt you clench around his fingers. “Alan Turing developed a computer machine to help decipher these messages,” your voice became higher pitched and airy as you got closer and closer to your edge. “This led to the development of the Turing Test, which tests a computer’s intelligence by asking it different question, it passes if the response can’t be distinguished from a human.” As you finished, Schlatt whispered in your ear. 

“Let go, pretty girl.” As the words left his mouth, you felt your orgasim flood your veins. You put your hand over your mouth to stop the loud moan that wanted to escape. Schlatt panted lightly as he watched you fall apart. He pumped his fingers in you a few more times as you came back down. Removing his fingers from you, Schlatt popped them into his mouth, cleaning them off.

“How was it?” He asked, and you took a deep breath. 

“Really good,” he smirked. 

“I mean the PowerPoint.” you give him an embarrassed smile. 

“Still the same answer.” You leaned up and kissed him, using your own hand to slide up his thigh. As you reached to touch his, what you could only assume was a painfully hard cock. Your phone alarm went off. 

His head fell back and he let out a frustrated groan. He sat up and kissed you before standing up. You laughed at the tent in his sweatpants and he flushed, pulling his sweatshirt down as much as he could to cover it. He pulled his backpack on and walked out before coming back to kiss you one more time. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, doll.” You bite your lip and nod. You watch him leave before going to pack up your own things. As your still damp thighs meet, you remember. 

That fucker still has my underwear.

#jschlatt x y/n #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt smut #jschlatt #schlatt #schlatt x reader #schlatt smut #That's all folks - I have spoken

[jellyfishsthings]

Warnings: um smut... wrap it before you tap it, piv, fem!reader, academical rivals to lovers, probably the filthiest thing I have ever written... if you know me, no you don't

Part 1 , Part 3

Things since last week haven't changed much. Remus and I still had our rivalry going stronger than ever. Especially after the hallway incident, which ended up with him having a large red handprint on his cheek, indicating a really strong slap. In my defense, he was getting close. Ever since we haven't stopped arguing with each other, until…

"I can't work with her."

"It's impossible to work with him."

As quickly as the words left our mouths, we sharply turned to glare at each other. Completely missing Professor's McGonagall proud look.

"You are working together on this project. And you will present to me the best project in the class because you are both Perfects and have to give the right example. I don't care about whether you like each other or not."

Seething I exit the room with a newfound speed, and Remus closely follows behind my heels.

"Can you just slow down a bit?" He asks, and I instantly stop walking, turning towards him, waiting impatiently to hear what he has to say. "She's right, you know. We have to make this fucking project as perfect as possible. So I think we should call a truce." He slowly proposes as if this will simply fix our problems. I stare at him blankly, and I see his nostrils flaring. "Look. I don't like this either, ok? But I need the grade, and if it were someone else, I would just make the project myself. But since it's you … if we work together we could… We are at the top of every class for a reason. Just…." His voice eventually gives up.

"Fine," I say, "meet me at the library at 7. We have a lot of research to do"

This was how I found myself meeting with my all-time rival every day in the library for two months. The insults never stopped flying from one to the other, but surprisingly, we made a good team, and the project was almost finished. We are now accustomed to each other and our habits. Like Remus… when he read something for a really long time, he would remove his glasses and rub his eyes and his nose, smoothing it out after being scrunched up. Or when we got tired, he would share his chocolates to boost our morals and energies.

Many comments have been floating around the halls."How long until they fuck it out?", "God, he could eat her alive, for what she said to him.","He must be really smitten with her for putting up with her." ... Well, you got the gist of it.

Now, as I was getting ready for bed, a thought occurred. We never looked in the secluded area for any useful information. So, I put on my slippers and headed towards the library once again.

I slowly walk down the hallways, trying to get past Flinch. The great mahogany walls of the library greet me with a loud groan. I grab one of the oil lanterns that rest on the librarian's desk and head towards the restricted section. I find books related to the project and start reading them. Keeping notes under the candlelit room.

I could be reading for hours or mere minutes when I hear footsteps. I quickly blow out the flame and hide in the darkest spot I can find between the bookcases. As the sound of footsteps comes closer my breathing turns faster and more panicky. Good God I am going to get caught? Am I going to get detention? What am I going to do?

That's when I feel a hand close around my mouth. Silencing me. Wait …what? Silencing me? A familiar scent fills my nostrils.

"Stay quiet or else we are going to get caught." He whispers in my ear. His Welsh accent dripped like honey, his voice raspy and almost deathly quiet. Heat pools in my core as a dream resurfaces in my brain. "Stay quiet or else we are going to get caught." He says as he pounds into me while he has my hips in a tight grip, guiding back and forth.

As I snap out of my trance, I push his hand harshly off me. "What the hell are you doing here?", I whisper-yell at him.

"What the hell are you doing here?", he fires back. We stare at each other with our eyes slitted as we both breath heavily.

"How did you even know I was here?", I ask him accusingly, even though I have been caught in the act.

"The marauders map." He answers back easily as if that answer would ring a bell and not cause more questions.

"The what ?"

"I think he is gone."

"Oh really?"

"Why do you like to test me, woman?"

"Possibly because of your super nice personality or better yet because you're a prick."

He just returned the favor with a wolfish grin, notice the irony.

"Why are you smiling?" I snap at him.

"Oh because you are so nicely close to me and you haven't uttered a word about that." Just as the words leave his mouth I feel my cheeks heat. Jesus why am I blushing? At least he can't see it. "And yes I can see you blushing"

How did he…? Is he a mind reader?

"Also I am no mind reader, i just know you that well." His face is dangerously close now. The empty, now, library is ominously quiet and I can almost feel our breaths echo in the room. There is no escape, is there? His mouth is almost atop of mine, his breath fanning my face.

"Gosh why are you like this? Why must you test me until I snap? Why do I love it so much?" He says as his lips crush into mine in a bruising kiss that steals my breath away. He manhandles me so that our chests are pressed together and I am promptly sitting in his lap, feeling a long hard cock press against my clad yet soaking wet pussy. Insults fly out of our mouths in-between every heated kiss.

"Punk"

"Jerk"

"Dickhead"

"Oh you are going to feel that soon."

"Bite me, Lupin."

"If you insist."

We discard our clothes as fast as possible until he grabs hold of my thighs and he slams me on the flat surface of the bookcase.

Right opposite the window, it's so dark outside that our reflections fill my eyesight. His scarred, white freckled back in contrast with my tanned legs, due to all the sun exposure, that are wrapped around his waist and my arms in his shoulders. One of my hands is buried deep in his brown curled hair that is now buried in my neck leaving bites and hickeys as he bites, laps and sucks, leaving permanent marks behind his trail. While the other scratches his back, as my legs draw back and my back arches.

Horrified gasps sound in the room, mixing with my moans and his groans. My eyes open immediately, leaving their half hooded state, searching the room for intruders but not finding anyone until…. Of course, the portraits. Great I am about to get royally fucked by Remus Lupin and not only will I have to live with the memory of it but now the portraits saw what we were doing, I was catastrophically doomed, I laugh at the thought.

And Remus leaves his task and draws slightly back, enough for him to keep impossibly close but still be able to see my face.

"I love your laugh. And I absolutely hate the fact that I am not the one causing it. But that is going to change. Everything is going to change from now on, you bellend." The breath is being knocked out of my lungs. "And now I am going to fuck you. I reckon you are wet enough so as not to hurt." He says as his fingers play with my clit. "I would say you are quite drenched actually. You know I have been thinking of this, dreaming it even. Fucking you hard and deep, until you are nothing more that a brainless brat." Gasps and moans are his only answers.

"Thank God you seem to like that because I don't think I can hold back any more." He seals these words with a kiss as he enters me in one fluid motion until he is balls deep. Our mouths are open now as we try to catch our breaths and I stare at his eyes, trying to find the familiar mischievous dark green that haunted my every thought. His forehead dropped to mine as he started to move inside me at an insane pace. His balls are slapping against my clit as he hits all the right spots.

My back arches and my head falls back as my eyes close. I feel one of his hands slide up my back and rest somewhere between my ribs, commanding me to stay in place as I feel…. No this can't be right. My gaze moves to the window and what I see almost brings me right over the edge right there and then. His head is buried in my chest hiding all the toying he is doing at my breasts, paying extra attention to my nipples. Marking them up too.

"God I wish I could mark up our thighs and pussy too but that will have to wait."

"Remus, you prick, how dare you…" I say in a breathless voice my insult is lost in all the pleasure I am feeling.

"Yes, how dare I make you feel all this pleasure. Huh?" He mouths in my chest as he has his lips wrapped around one of my tits.

"I am close" I whimper

"I know, sweetheart. Let go for me. I've gotcha."

I don't know what actually sent me over the edge. The nickname, the command, reassurance, a mixture of all of them? Well whatever it was it rocked my world. I never thought an orgasm could last that long or be so powerful. It was literally dripping down my thighs to his and then falling to the ground. Embarrassingly so. He had finished too. His face was buried in my chest trying to catch our breaths.

He turns to look at me, smirking. Oh no. I already know what he is going to say. And I won't be able to say no.

"Ready for round two?"

words: 1.741

#remus lupin #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus x you #remus lupin smut #remus lupin fluff

[omorimodreverie]

Reverie Dev Log - 2024 January + February

Overview

January and February saw ups and downs in activity, but overall significant progress was made. The start of the year was initially slow due to breaks, but activity picked up slowly. You may have noticed that there were less promotional posts or updates in general during this time, as we were focused on development. Thanks to these efforts, though, we’re fairly optimistic that this will be the final dev log for Chapter 3.

As for me (Stahl) personally, I have not been able to do much this time round as I have been busy (hence lack of public updates), but this time round invaluable progress was made by others in the team.

Quick rundown:

First round of playtesting has been done - This was a very rudimentary one aimed at finding basic bugs

NPCs are now mostly finished, and our writers are now working on flavor text and side writings

Portraits are all done and implemented

Battles have been planned out in more detail

Various organizational changes

Extra writers and RPGMV members have been recruited

Updates

The first round of playtesting is complete! This one was rather rudimentary, containing only basic story points. The aim was to test progression and to fix major bugs, both of which we’ve now finished. There are still some major aspects missing, like flavor texts and quests but vital components to main progression like cutscenes and maps are completed and being tested. Hopefully, this round of playtesting should wrap up soon, and more will follow. 

Minor and Side contents

There’s still a lot of design decisions to make, mostly regarding seemingly minor aspects of the game that actually take large amounts of resources. A lot of thought must be put into whether these features, like flavor text and shops, are worth the amount of time needed to make them, and if so how much. 

Due to this chapter being a real world section and story centric, the remaining gameplay would be left to mostly side quests. This is an interesting challenge, as unlike base Omori, Sunny is not familiar with the city like back in Faraway town, meaning it’s more challenging to find opportunities to give him quests. 

As for Reverie specific side content, battles won’t completely be abandoned in the real world. They’ll be taking forms in various challenge battles found throughout the city. For a rough idea, think of the Jackson poster found in Hobbeez from the base game.

Miscellaneous Changes

Another thing yet to be done are tweaks to previous chapter content. They will mostly affect quality of life, but some will also be major gameplay changes. Here’s some examples of planned changes (not exhaustive):

Picnic allows the player to change difficulty mid game (Trust me, later dream world chapters will feature major difficulty spikes and players may get stuck)

Hit Rates on equipment changed, mostly heavily nerfed. This makes evasion buffs actually relevant (and also, 300% hit rate is just silly).

Some skills entirely changed (e.g. Spaceboy Preserve will change into another Attack skill instead).

In game info to indicate that emotion influences Enemy AI very strongly in reverie compared to base game.

Conclusion

Overall, development on chapter 3 is reaching its later stages, reaching the first round of playtesting. This should hopefully be the last dev log in relation to Chapter 3 development.

As thanks for reading this far, here is a remade portrait of real world Sunny! It’s a bit more softer than the previous one, and the proportion has been improved as well.

#omori #omori mod #mod #omorimodreverie #reverie #omori reverie #devlog

[tmntxthings]

∑一Heart to Heart Pt. 2。・゜・

author’s note: it was a close race in the polls but here we are ladies and gents! the sequel :D it has been awhile so i suggest rereading the first part if anyone’s confused, alsoooo i feel like this chapter is kinda all over the place but we posting it anywayssss here’s to hoping y’all enjoy xD

warnings: impending angst, multiple povs, fluff, female reader, cloaking brooch au, unedited, cursing

previous - next?

—————————————————————————

Previously. . .

“Now give me back my cloaking brooch!! NOW!!” Missiles were firing as Leo finally undid the necklace. It was a miracle he could do so while in a full on sprint. His true form shifted back into view and Leo clenched the chain in his left fist as he pulled out an odachi with his right, slashing for a portal and shooting a wink at his enraged twin. “Buhbyeee~~” he cackled. Watching as everyone lunged for the portal. He wondered how the turtle pile felt without him as they all fell short to the pavement.

One week and a few days had passed by since then. You had almost forgotten about the encounter entirely. Though dark green eyes like those were hard to dismiss completely from your thoughts. It was your day off, Saturday, and you had plans. These plans had been months in the making. College was hectic, so getting a volleyball intramural team together was pretty tough. Everyone had different class schedules. Everyone worked whether it was internships or part-times. This was one of the first games of the season! It was imperative that all of your teammates showed up. Everyone had said they would. But they said the same thing for all the practices too. And let’s just say there was never a full attendance during any of those.

Your hopes were high despite what the past indicated. You were optimistic! It was two hours ‘til the game and you were out on a quick trip to a sports store. In your experience as captain for the past two years, one thing remained the same. Someone always, always forgot their knee pads. Literally the only thing they needed to remember. It was kind of ridiculous so you made sure to keep a spare. That was one of the reasons you were going, another was because your pair was getting a bit tattered. They had lasted through the practices but with the first game of the season coming up, you rather just get a new set while you were buying the spare anyways. Two birds, one stone.

Keeping your pace as a quickened step, you got off the bus and made your way down the street. It wasn’t that far of a walk, New York was jam-packed with stores. And rats. You thought as one scurried in front of you. Holding back a scream, you continued on your journey. The mental clock in your head ticking as you finally reached your destination. The sliding doors whisked open for you, the cool air from the a/c immediately making your shoulders relax. “Alright, knee pads, knee pads..” you muttered to yourself. Most all-inclusive sport stores had a very small section for volleyball. It just wasn’t as popular. Football/soccer? Rows upon rows. Basketball? Baseball? Same thing. Little space was left for the rest of the odds balls. Including in your humble opinion, volleyball, golf, swimming, rugby, and ping pong! You knew this store well enough so you went for the quickest route. Straight through the four basketball isles and then—

You sped-walked right into someone. With a resounding smack as your nose collided into a chest. “Ow, shitttt! I’m sorry!” You apologized, super embarrassed and already trying to escape the situation. Just get the damn knee pads and get the fuck out! “That’s alright, are you okay? Sounded like you took the brunt of it!” Now you had only sidestepped to move out of the way. So when you heard his voice it was one that you faintly recognized. Which led to you lifting your head, turning it to the side and meeting those deep green eyes. “It’s you!” You stated in shock, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Ahhhh lookie here is this fate or what!”

Two rows deep in the basketball area, the bus stranger you had practically forgotten was here! “Something like that I guess,” you couldn’t help but agree. Out of all the stores in New York. Out of all the people and just the sheer luck of timing!? “Looking for more Hamato gear?” You questioned though you weren’t planning on sticking around for the answer. You didn’t have the time! Though the encounter was neat you had plans and the captain could not be late. “You remembered my favorite too? Have I been occupying your mind?” He sounded like he was following you with a smug expression. You kept your back to him, making your way out of the basketball section and into the small row for volleyball. “Hardly! I just have good memory,”

“Uh huh,” he hummed. Then he was walking right beside you. Stopping when you stopped as you gave him an inquisitive look. “Well I too seem to remember that night and some sort of a deal?? That pertained to..” he pointed a finger out to the sign that hung above them. ‘Volleyball’ That was right, you had said something along the lines of playing a match with him. “I don’t even know your name!” You started with your first excuse. “Easy, Leo’s the name, and you?” You shook your head. Walking ahead to the knee pads and looking at the sizes as you replied. “Pretty,” he said smoothly, continuing by your side and picking out a pair of knee pads. “Ah, look, todays not a good day I’ve-“

Your second excuse was interrupted by a vibration in your pocket. You grabbed for it, answering on the third ring. “Hello?” The phone call was one that you were hoping not to receive. One of your teammates canceling, and apologizing profusely. “It’s alright, thanks for letting me know,” you sighed. It seemed they weren’t feeling good, something about a headache or a stomach ache? You had tuned most of it out because you were watching as the bus stranger kicked off his shoes. He was trying to pull up the knee pads he selected but they were wayyy too small for him. The phone call ended and you couldn’t stop your laugh. “Too small dude,” and you handed him a larger size for him to try. The pair had hardly went up his calves.

“Thanks!” He smiled as he traded you. You put the small pair back on the shelf. Then it struck you. “So as you were saying? Todays..?” You cleared your throat as you kept staring at the pads. “Todays actually perfect, I’m down one player so if you’re free-“ he cut you off excitedly, “Heck yes!!! I’m totally free!! So this is like an official match?!?” He wanted all the details and he forgot all about pulling up the knee pads. You told him about intramurals, how it was a official game, one of the first this season. He was practically buzzing! You grabbed another pair for yourself and headed for the checkout. “But we gotta head there like now if we wanna be on time!” Leo had quickly shucked the pads off, put his shoes back on, and was bounding after you. “Can’t be late to my first game ever!!” He beamed and easily passed you, grabbing your free hand and tugging you along.

He let go once the two of you had reached the registers. He sure was forward, or maybe he was just easygoing? Both of you paid for your gear and then you were back out on the sweltering sidewalks. “Thank god this sport is inside,” Leo spoke up, swinging his bag that contained his purchase to and fro. “Yeah, the college gym has a pretty big facility. They have four courts altogether so we’ll have plenty of room!” The bus ride to said gym was filled with questions. He wanted to know the positions. Which position would he be playing? Who was the enemy team and were they any good? Among many other questions…

[🐢 Leo’s pov.💙 ]

Talk about coincidence! Now this was.. what his sixth time sneaking out with the cloaking chain? Yeah we’ll go with sixth, because honestly he lost count after the second time. Leo had convinced Donnie he had lost the cloaking device, and the purple brother had almost drilled him. Thankfully Raph didn’t condone murder so he was safe for now. Probably until Donnie finally figured out that the cloaking chain wasn’t lost and that it was in fact around Leo’s neck right now as he stretched out around a bunch of other college students. You had introduced him quite quickly before telling everyone to start warmups. Yeah. Donnie would probably choke him with said chain. Oh well, Leo planned on never being found out!

That lasted all but two days if you wanted to count the fact that Mikey knew… BUT he was swore to secrecy. Anddddd Leo was also sharing the chain with him when he wasn’t using it. So there! Anywayyys Leo was chatting it up with his fellow teammates, practicing bumping the ball among other volleyball techniques that he didn’t know the name of. All he knew was that he was good. Damn good. Because everyone caught oohing and ahhing which in turn inflated his ego so much that he could probably float all the way back to the lair later. But the compliments that mattered most came from her. From you. Because as he watched everyone else practice he could tell you were better than them all. Now it was Leo’s first day and all, but he liked to think he was right behind you skill wise.

That may just be his inflated ego talking though. Insert metaphorical shrug here. Now Leo would loveee to go into detail about the game. But let’s just say they won. He won. And sure he got a volleyball to the face more than once, but that didn’t matter! Nope a win is a win in his book. The rest of the team dispersed after celebrating, talks about the next game and when the next practice was. Leo had the dates in his mental calendar. He was totally on the team now. “Hey thanks for filling in!! You were great out there!” Ending your sentence with a smile. Leo beamed back, “No problemo, I’ll be your fill-in anytime!” Giving you a smirk and a quick wink.

Leo watched as you shook your head, completely unfazed by his antics by now. He had upped his game during the actual volleyball game. Once the team had a pretty big lead he had quite blatantly flirted with you. Who could blame him?! You looked absolutely divine with your hair up. Cheeks flushed from doing your best during the game. “I told you they didn’t quit! This was just a one time thing!” Rightttt, Leo wasn’t actually on the team. Though he felt like he fitted right in! Leo made a face, pouting, “So what happens when someone else bails hmmm?” You chose to ignore him, pulling down your knee pads to your ankles. Leo took this opportunity to creep forward silently, and when your frame moved to upright itself he watched as you jolted backwards. He closed the distance again, “C’monnn Captain, you know I’m the best player you got!! My skills slayed on the court, add me to the team! Please? Pretty please??”

Leo wasn’t above begging. And he kept up the charade until he watched your eye twitch, then you blew out a long winded breath before holding out your hand reluctantly. “Alright gimme your-“

Of course Leo wouldn’t let you finish! He grabbed your hand shaking it vigorously whilst saying you wouldn’t regret your decision. And thanking you in abundance. Then going a step further, pulling the hand he held to him, smiling brightly as you stumbled forward into him. Squeezing you into a hug and picking you up off the ground to swiftly twirl you with limitless excitement. “Woah, WOAH! Hold up- Wait- LEO!” He released you seconds later smiling sheepishly. “I was asking for your phone you dummy!!” Your face was a darker flush than before, hand still outstretched for his phone but you were no longer looking at him. Cute. Were you embarrassed? Leo thought so. Hehe. Cute. You were absolutely adorable.

“Ohhhh rightttt my number huh? Couldn’t wait?” He teased further. Enjoying himself throughly as you turned a shade darker. “I swear to god I’ll change my mind rig-“ Leo was quick to place his phone in your hand. Still smiling more to himself but decided he wouldn’t push his luck any further. The game has definitely brought the two of you closer. The whole team had to work together but with Leo’s skill level almost to yours, the two of you played really well with one another. It had bolstered his pride and confidence, making him a bit more insufferable than usual. “Here,” you handed him back his phone. He checked the screen, noting your contact was added with a volleyball emoji. He’d have to change that later. It was fitting but maybe something more blue?

“So what’s the plan now? Wanna go grab something to eat? I know this great pizza place!” You made a face and he almost did a double take. How could someone not like pizza?!? Until he remembered you worked at a pizza place. Rightttttt. “Or you know whatever you feel up to eat!” He amended. He wasn’t a picky eater. You were slipping off your knee pads finally, stuffing them in the bag that carried the spare. “Uhhh yeah I know a place, it’s pretty good do you like Mediterranean?” Leo blinked. That was a big word. A Donnie word. He just nodded along, he’d figure it out eventually! Turns out he did like Medtiranean-whatever-its-called!

From that point on Leo spent more time with you. He messaged you often, and saw you at least twice a week. The perks of looking human were immense. Leo found himself not wanting to share the cloaking chain with Mikey, but he was threatened on more than one occasion that said brother would snitch. Luckily Donnie was building another one, and the nerd definitely made sure it was known that Leo was not allowed to use it. Which was fine since he had his own. Leo felt like he was being conspicuous with how much time he was spending with you. Whether it be checking his phone at random or giving odd excuses to leave the lair. He thought he was being pretty smooth but Mikey had informed him that Raph and Donnie were getting suspicious.

He’d have to get them off his trail somehow. And no, he would not be spilling the beans or telling the truth. That was not an option. Lest he be choked to death remember?? Other than that things were going well for the blue turtle. He enjoyed the competitions and the practices. He enjoyed being able to go out topside and not worry about ninja-stealthing. Or wearing layers upon layers of clothes. Or acting like he was a cosplayer. But what he enjoyed most was you. And he was starting to think you liked him too.

.

#rise leonardo x reader #rise leo x reader #leonardo x reader #leo x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt x reader #tmnt fandom #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo #leo #rise leo #rise leonardo #leonardo hamato #rise x reader #tmnt x y/n #tmnt x reader #cloaking brooch au #rise turtles #rottmnt #turtle bros #mikey #raph #donnie #tmnt leo #michelangelo #raphael #donatello #rottmnt leo

[sequinsmile-x]

I'll Work for Your Love

Emily and Aaron take some time to reconnect and spend some time just two of them when life gets a little busy.

-x-

Hi friends!

This is a birthday present for my dear friend @jetaime-jespere! I love you so much, and meeting you through this fandom will always be one of the best things thats ever happened to me. You're one of my best friends and you deserve the world.

I know this next year will be your best one yet <;3

-x-

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily groans as she sits down on the couch, her exhaustion feeling almost bone deep. Aaron chuckles from his place next to her, and he hands her the glass of wine he’d had waiting for her. 

“Did Mason go down ok?” 

She nods as she takes a sip of her wine, moaning at the taste of it against her tongue, a treat that she desperately needed after a long week at work. 

“Yes,” she says, smiling as she thinks of their three-year-old son and how he’d insisted that she was the one who put him to bed just like he did most nights, “Although, he did scam two stories out of me.” 

Aaron smiles and puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, “He’s got you wrapped around his little finger.”

She scoffs and looks at him with her eyebrow raised, “Says the guy who let our eight-year-old paint his nails last week.” 

He makes a show of being mock offended, well aware from his wife’s demeanour and the way she was holding herself, the tension clear in her shoulders, that she needed cheering up. 

“I’ll have you know that Isabella said that ‘Cotton Candy Pink’ is my colour,” he replies, watching her intently as she smiles, her heart clearly not in it, before she takes another sip of wine, “Are you ok, sweetheart?” 

She blows out a steady breath, cursing him for knowing her so well, for picking up on the mood she’d clearly not covered as well as she’d hoped. 

“I’m fine,” she says, smiling tightly at him, “Just tired I think, it’s been a long week.” 

It had been a long few months if she was honest. Work had been busy and she felt like she had no energy to do anything beyond her job and doing her best to be a good mom.  After she had Mason, she left the BAU. It ended up being good timing more than anything, the Unit Cheif position for the Counterterrorism team became available as she was due back from her maternity leave and her experience with Interpol made her the prime candidate. It was largely office based in comparison to the BAU and it gave her more flexibility, more time with her children, and ultimately led to where she was now - a Section Chief in the FBI. At first, she’d worried that being promoted over Aaron, that becoming his boss, would make things tense, but he’d been nothing but supportive. A proud husband who never once indicated that he didn’t like working for his wife. 

It worked for them. But between their jobs and raising Jack, Isabella and Mason she felt like she barely got any time with her husband. She missed him, and whilst she loved their life, their family, a part of her missed those early days when they still worked on the same team and they spent all their time together. When their relationship was still a secret and they’d sneak into each other's hotel rooms when they were away on cases, nights spent just the two of them as they’d discuss everything from the case to Jack to anything that one of them had on their mind. 

She missed her husband, even though he was right next to her. 

“Sweetheart-” he starts, knowing that this was one of those times when he had to push her, when she’d simply curl back in on herself without his intervention. A defence mechanism she’d never quite been able to fully let go of no matter how long they’d been together. 

“I just…miss you, I guess,” she says, cutting him off because she knows he won’t stop. She shakes her head at herself, the admission sounding as ridiculous as it feels. She looks up at him when he places his hand on her thigh, his palm warm even though the material of her pants, and he frowns in confusion at her. 

“I’m right here, Em.” 

She sighs and places the glass of wine down on the side table next to her before she puts her hand over his on her leg, their fingers automatically linking together. 

“I know,” she says, her smile shaking a little, “I know that but, when was the last time we had any time just the two of us?” She asks, the question followed by a laugh, “Or went on vacation to somewhere that wasn’t DisneyWorld?” She shrugs nonchalantly, her eyes drifting down to their joint hands “I don’t know. Jack starts high school next year and that will come with a whole new load of activities and soccer games, and we’ll have even less time,” she looks back up at him, “I love our family and our life so much, Aaron. More than I can put into words, but...I miss when we had time just for us.” 

Her words hang in the air between them, and she watches as he tries to work out what he can do to make her feel better. He always wanted to fix everything, and it was one of the many reasons she loved him. Whether it was something like this, or Isabella’s bike or Jack’s gaming console, he’d do what he could to mend what was broken. She often liked to say that he’d started with her. He’d helped her put herself back together in the fallout of Paris and Ian Doyle, and he hadn’t stopped since.

“Why don’t we go somewhere, just you and me?” He asks eventually, his hand wrapped tight around hers, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the heel of her hand. 

She smiles at the thought of it, “That would be lovely, honey, but we have the kids and work-” 

“You know Jess wouldn’t mind watching the kids for the weekend. And as for work, my boss really likes me so I know she’ll approve my leave request,” he says, his eyes sparkling as she shakes her head lovingly at him, “Actually, it’s a little inappropriate sometimes. I’ve caught her staring at my ass more than once.” 

She rolls her eyes at him but she can’t fight her laugh, loud and full of love, “You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot,” he says, reaching for her hand and linking their fingers together. “We should do it, sweetheart. We deserve it.” 

She thinks about it, and dozens of reasons why it wouldn’t be practical flood her mind. The kids had soccer games and piano lessons. Mason struggled to settle if she wasn’t around, his separation anxiety worse than it had ever been. Work was busier than ever and it wasn’t slowing down any time soon. Despite all of that, despite everything she’d have to organise, she finds that for once she doesn’t care. 

She wants this. She wants to spend time just with him. To be Emily and Aaron for a few days instead of Hotch and Prentiss or Mom and Dad. 

“Ok,” she says, nodding, her smile widening to match his, “Let's do it.”

___

She almost changes her mind one month later as they leave for their long weekend away, when Mason has to be taken from her arms by Jessica, the little boy’s grip tight on his mother’s blouse when it became clear he wasn’t going where his parents were. The all too familiar mom guilt burning inside her chest as she can still hear him crying through the solid wood of Jessica’s front door. When she turns to look at Aaron, any thought about getting the kids and going home goes away. 

He’s standing a few feet from her, as casually dressed as he ever was in jeans and a black polo shirt that never failed to make her stomach flip, and she’s reminded of why they were doing this in the first place. 

“We should go if we want to avoid traffic,” he says, reaching for her hand and squeezing it, his soft smile letting her know he knows what she’d been thinking. 

“Yeah, let's go,” she replies, letting him lead her back to the car, “If you’re driving, I’m on DJ duties.” 

Aaron chuckles and pulls her in for a kiss before they separate to get into the car, “As long as you play at least some of the music I like I’m sure I can accept that.”

After bickering over The Beatles and Siouxsie and the Banshees, they settle on Bruce Springsteen, both of them singing along as they hold hands over the car’s centre console. ___

Years ago, when they were booking their honeymoon, they decided that she would always be the one to book hotels. It made sense for a lot of reasons, not limited just to the fact she’d travelled more than he had, but it was mostly so she could book somewhere without Aaron asking how much it cost. There were few things that Emily would actually label herself a snob over, but hotels were one of them. During her time at the BAU, they’d stayed in some questionable places, so during her time off she always wanted to ensure they were somewhere nice. And she had the money, they had the money since Aaron had full access to all of it, even if he rarely used it. She wanted to spoil him, to make sure they could fully relax, and this weekend was no different. 

They’d settled on Virginia Beach for their weekend away. It was close enough to home that they could go if they needed to for an emergency, but far enough away that it actually felt like a break from everything. The hotel was beautiful, and the suite Emily had booked was amazing. It had a huge private balcony and a sea view, and they’d slept with the door to the balcony slightly open so they could fall asleep to the sea breeze. 

The weekend goes far too quickly for Emily’s liking. The time melting away as she spends desperately needed alone time with her husband. Good food, great conversation and incredible sex easing the tightness in her chest that she hadn’t realised had been building for weeks. She can see a difference in him too, a lightness that she hadn’t expected, and she wants to talk to him about doing this more often, about making sure that they prioritise them when they can. 

On their last night before they head home, they go to a nice restaurant down the street from their hotel. Emily decides not to have any sides, claiming she’s just content with the meal she’s ordered, and Aaron orders extra because he knows from experience that she’ll always help herself to his. A smile on her face as she claimed that fries tasted better from his plate. 

They walk slowly back to their hotel hand in hand. She has her other hand wrapped around his arm, wanting him as close as possible for as long as she could, well aware that by this time tomorrow, they’d be back home. Whilst he’d still be there next to her they’d have everything from their beautiful ordinary life to take into consideration too, their time alone limited to when the kids had gone to bed and stolen moments around everything they had to do. 

“We should do this more often,” he says out of nowhere, breaking the silence they’d fallen into. It makes her stop, and she turns to look at him, smiling as he puts his arm around her and pulls her close. 

“I was just thinking the same thing,” she replies, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, “It would be nice.” 

“I mean it, Em,” he says, not missing the wistful look on her face, how she was acting like it was nothing short of a pipe dream. He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, smiling as he sees a flash of grey hair at her temple, a sure sign that she’d dye it again soon even though he’d told her a long time ago he didn’t care if she let it grow out. He knew she was considering it, that she spoke of going to the salon every six weeks with nothing short of disdain, but that she’d have to come to the decision herself, “We should.”

She chuckles, “Aaron, we both know it’s not that simple.” 

“It could be if we wanted it to be, sweetheart,” he says, his hand on her lower back, “It could be exactly that simple. I’m retiring next year and that will open up more time. If we wanted to we could.” 

She bites her lower lip, trying and failing to contain her smile, and she nods. She knows once they are home and the vacation high wears off, practically will mean that it won’t be that easy. But right now, standing in the fading sunlight with the man she loves, she lets practicality fall away. 

“Ok,” she replies, kissing him before she pulls away and reaches for his hand, re-starting their journey to the hotel, “We’ll do this more often.” 

When they get back to their hotel room she watches him as he double-checks the lock on the door, a side effect of when he’d walked into his apartment a lifetime ago to find Foyet waiting for him. They exchange a small smile when he turns to look at her, and she places her purse on the table near the door. Aaron walks over and kisses her, crowding her against the wall as he presses his hands into her lower back, pulling her impossibly closer as she kisses him with just as much ferocity, her fingers tight in his short hair. 

He pulls back, ending the kiss as quickly as he’d started it, and he grabs her hand, linking their fingers together as he walks her towards the bedroom of their suite. Somewhere in the short walk the tempo changes, his gaze soft and loving as he turns to look at her, although there is no less fire in his eyes. 

They undress each other, clothes slipping to the ground and left in piles on the carpet. She lays back on the bed, watching him intently as he crawls up over her, his gaze as intense as she’d ever known it. 

She shivers as he runs his hand down her side, his fingers catching on her scars and faded stretch marks that she’d escaped when she had Isabella but had not been able to when she had Mason. Her skin was looser than it used to be, her hips wider from two pregnancies, and at first it had made her more insecure, but these days, so many years later, she never even thought about it. 

Aaron was different too. He was softer, a little thicker than he once was, and she loves it. Loves that it makes his hugs even more all-encompassing, that he makes her and their children feel safe with nothing other than his embrace and soft reassurances. 

She lies there as he maps out her familiar hills and valleys, her breath catching in her throat when he presses his lips to the brand mark on her chest before he leaves a trail of kisses down her chest to the blooming scar under her ribs. It was different now than when they’d first got together, the scar itself faded, silver and pale against her skin, but it had warped when she had Isabella and then Mason, the scar tissue stretched out in a way it had never quite recovered from. There were still moments, even now, when she wishes she’d given into her baser desires long before they got together. That he’d known her body before what it had endured at Ian’s hands, but she also knows if she’d slept with him then, if she’d fucked him in his office as she had so often imagined, it would likely have never turned into anything more than sex. And she wouldn’t have the life she now had, something that seemed impossible to even think about. 

Aaron groans as he presses a kiss just above her pubic bone, the sound muffled by her skin as his fingers drift between her thighs, moving through her slickness as she moans again.

“Always so ready for me, sweetheart,” he says, shifting so he’s laying between her legs, his hands on her inner thighs as he pushes them apart. He presses his lips to a bruise he’d left on her skin on their first night here, and he smiles when she jumps, her thighs tensing around his head in anticipation, and he does it again, “So needy.” 

“I swear to God, Aaron if you ever want me to-”

Her threat is cut off as he licks through her, the words dying in her throat as she whines instead, her hands in tight fists in the soft sheets they were laying on so she can hold onto something. She looks down at him, and her arousal only deepens when their eyes meet, his gaze intense as he watches what he’s doing to her without stopping. It was like he had an instruction book for her body and it always had been. The first time they’d done this explosive in a way she’d always known it would be. She thought she would miss those days, when they were desperate for each other, fucking at every and any opportunity, but she doesn’t. She much prefers this, the gentle intimacy of it, of being with the person she had been with for a decade now, with the man she loves. 

He builds her up slowly, using his tongue and fingers to bring her to the edge, every touch purposeful. 

“Fuck,” she says, the word catching in her chest, her breath stuttering around it, “I’m going to-”

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice thick with his own arousal, the way he was always blown away by the fact he could do this to her. She does as she’s told and she lets go, her elbows giving out from under here where she’d been leaning on them, her head falling back to the pillow beneath her. 

“Holy shit,” she breathes out as her vision clears, every nerve ending tingling as Aaron climbs back up her, stamping kisses on her skin as he goes, making her laugh as he nips at her rib cage. She catches his head in her hands and pulls him upwards, “Come here.” 

He smiles as she kisses him, groaning as she tastes herself on his tongue, her legs falling even wider apart around him, letting him settle in the cradle of her hips. He pulls back and places one of his hands next to her head, picking up one of hers on the way and linking their fingers together, as the other grasps one of her thighs, hiking her leg over his hip. He notches over her, sliding back and forth for a moment in a way that makes them both shiver, her breath catching in her throat as he moves over her clit. She pulls him in for a kiss as he pushes forward, moaning into it at the familiar stretch of him as he enters her slowly, making her feel every inch of him. 

It’s gentle. Slow and loving as they kiss, their hands exploring well-known skin as Aaron sets the rhythm they’d long since established. He hikes her leg up high around his hip, and it makes her gasp, breaking the kiss as she clenches around him, his groan lost against her collarbone as he presses his face into her skin. He never could get used to it, the way she felt around him was still as incredible as it had always been. There were moments even now when he couldn’t believe that she was his, that she was the mother of his children. That out of everyone she could have fallen in love with, she’d fallen for him. 

He feels himself starting to lose control, so he builds her up again, the hand that had been in hers shifting to be in between them, his thumb gentle against her clit as he gives her the push he knows she needs to go over the edge. He follows quickly after, his hips stuttering against hers as he comes, his moan of her name lost as he bites down on her chest, well aware he was leaving a mark she’d wear for days to come. 

He tries to roll off of her but she stops him, her arms tight around his shoulders and one of her legs over his hip. She pulls him in for a kiss, their noses pressing into each other's cheeks as they enjoy each other. 

He moves first, always wary that he could crush her, and he helps her up, smirking proudly as her legs wobble as she stands. She rolls her eyes at him but lets him guide her towards the bathroom anyway, well aware that she was still shaky. They shower together, gently cleaning each other before they climb out and dry off. She stops him from pulling on his pjyamas, and he raises an eyebrow at her, his amusement clear. 

“We literally just showered.” 

She scoffs at him and walks past him to the bed to climb into her side, “I know that you asshole,” she says, her tone letting him know she was joking, “But we never get to sleep naked anymore. I want to take the chance when we have it.” 

He smiles and nods, walking over to the bed to join her. Mason snuck into their room most nights, just as Isabella had done when she was his age but still did occasionally, and it meant they always had to pull clothes back on after sex. The simple pleasure of being pressed up against each other like that was something they had gladly lost, both of them well aware that they’d miss their children seeking them out like they did when they got older. 

Aaron climbs into bed with her and wraps his arm tightly around her, his bare chest against her back. They both sigh, contently and she reaches for his hand, linking their fingers together before she lifts their joint hands to her lips to kiss his knuckles. 

“Maybe next time we should go to Atlantic City,” she says idly, the thought of having this time alone with him more often more appealing than ever. 

“Yeah?” He asks, pressing a kiss to her damp hair, the smell of her shampoo as strong as it ever was.

“Yeah,” she replies, tilting her head back to capture his lips in a kiss, “I could show you what I used to get up to on my sin to win weekends.” 

He furrows his brow and pulls back from her, his confusion making her laugh, “Your what?” 

-x-

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#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss fan fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #emily prentiss smut #hotchniss smut

[strawberry-cowmilk]

top 10 saddest quotes in obey me

a/n: I'm suffering from having 0 idea of what to write next and my previous shitpost like this did surprisingly well, so here we are. (I actually posted this before but it didn't show up on tags??) Again, this post is all jokes. I'm sorry if I accidentally offend anybody.

no image belongs to me, I just filtered and cropped the screenshots from the game.

content warnings: shitpost! everything is all jokes, mild strong language

-----

10

This is a harsh reality many Mammons live in: zero money. You know why? Because they often get hung up upside down, so the cash falls out of their pockets. The Mammons hate it very much, and it's scary for them, but this one is showing his deep fear to the Leviathan to show he really has no money. The fact that the Levi looks like he doesn't believe the other male is truly devastating to look at.

.

9

What we see here, dear people, is a wild Beelzebub who stole a Leviathan's food, and proudly quotes the Joey guy from Friends while doing so. While it is not uncommon for such orange-haired males to steal food, it is sad when it happens to a Levi. Think about it, where do we go to get food when it's all finished? Exactly, the supermarket, which is outside. And what do Leviathans hate? The outside. This poor Levi now has to go outside for food.

.

8

Mammon has returned, this time not sharing his own hardships, but making life hard for another species: Satans. Many people don't know this, but recent studies have shown there are two kinds of Satan, gold and silver. Silver Satans are more emotional than the gold ones, so calling one cheap is very painful for them, dangerous too. Why? All Satans express emotions by throwing destructive tantrums. By the way, our research team couldn't determine what the Simeon is thinking. Hypothesis says he's thinking about an Mc's glutes.

.

7

Speaking of glutes, look at this heartbroken Asmodeus. It's in his name, ASSmodeus. Clearly, this kind of male loves ass as much as he loves the mirror section at IKEA and fake plants bugs won't sit on combined. This Asmo had spotted some potential mate with, in his words, 'a pretty nice derriere.' Imagine the pain he felt when the mate, potentially a Mc dressed as a succubus at a Halloween party, vanished from sight. Scientists were brought to tears by this image. So sad.

.

6

Many of us can relate to this poor Belphegor. It's a sad reality we live in: waking up everyday from precious sleep to go to work, school, or to see your laundry you forgot to fold. As we know, Belphegors enjoy sleep, and are able to sleep in any situation. That is how much they love visiting dreamland. Our team of researchers believe this is due to the fact that Belphegors dream about auditioning for the position of the lead singer of Evanescence, and getting said part. This is their dream they get to live in. Imagine waking up. Ouch.

.

5

Oh my, what a rare sighting! Wild Raphaels don't appear often in front of people. But, think about the reason we found a Raphael. He said it himself, he is missing. The poor thing. Imagine how much he misses his mom. The fact he used the word 'still' indicates he's been lost for a good while. Poor Raphael, we all hope he finds his mom soon.

.

4

When you first look at this, you might think there isn't much sadness to it. But what if I told you our research team found out what the context behind this image is? You see, the Lucifer is talking to an Mc. Said Mc just woke up from a dream and they're still half-sleeping. Sadly the dream was way better than their reality: the Lucifer actually unbuttoned the highest button of his shirt in it. This Mc wishes it was also the case in their reality. One of our researchers quit because this was way too emotional.

.

3

Now, on with the real tear-jerkers. First, I have to point out how sweet it is of the Asmo to try to cheer the Levi up. But, we've all been in this position the Leviathan is in right now. And we sure know how painful it is to relive those memories. Nobody wants to remember the terrible things they did as a young child at 3AM while trying to sleep after all. Just look at this Levi's body language, he's completely shut himself off from the world. I actually cried.

.

2

Oh the pain. The pure emotion packed into this phrase, the hint of sorrow behind his eyes, the blush, indicating the Satan was crying. That's too much, man. Good thing the nearest Mc came running to give this Satan a hug. We have to admit, our team wasn't able to find the context to this image. However, the most popular theory states that the Satan was trying to catch a cat, but it ran away and told him a yo mama joke.

.

1

I needed a moment before even looking at this. Poor Diavolo, getting absolutely clapped in Mario Kart. Everyone hates losing in that game, but it's worse for Diavolos. Mcs rank them not by attractiveness or anything, no, but by skill in Mario Kart. That means this Diavolo's love life got ruined, by his own friend. If that isn't sad, I don't know what is.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me screenshot #obey me screencap #obey me crack #obey me shitpost #obey me memes #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me raphael #obey me diavolo #beelzebub obey me #belphegor obey me

[rekiilysm]

Together? Together. Ch1

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・

⇨ 「pairing— mark watney x fem!reader」

⇨ 「a/n— more than a year later, i’m FINALLY writing something for my favorite nerd. p.s. i’m still upset that there’s not a lot of mark watney stuff on here」

⇨ 「warnings— none i think」

⇨ 「word count— 1.9k」

CHAPTER ONE: THE STORM

“All right, team, stay in sight of each other. Let’s make NASA proud today.”

“How’s it looking over there, Watney and L/n?”

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that in Grid Section 14-28 the particles were predominantly coarse,” Mark explained to the team as him and Y/n crouched down with little clear sample containers in their hands.

“But in 29, they’re much finer and should be ideal for chem analysis,” Y/n added, not looking up from the red sandy ground.

“Wow. Did everybody hear that? Mark and Y/n just discovered dirt. Should we alert the media?” Martinez spoke over the channel sarcastically.

Mark rolled his eyes, “Sorry, what are you doing today Martinez? Making sure the MAV is still upright?” Y/n felt a small smile creep onto her face.

“I’d like you to know that visual inspection of the equipment is imperative to mission success. I also would like to report that the MAV is still upright,” Martinez replied smartly as the two botanists smiled.

“Thank you for your hard work, Martinez,” Y/n said in a joking matter. Mark chuckled as he continued to chip at the rock.

“Watney, L/n, you keep leaving you channel open which leads to Martinez responding, which leads to all of us listening, which leads to me being annoyed,” Commander Lewis spoke.

“Roger that. Martinez, the captain would like you to please shut your smart mouth,” Mark said. Y/n snorted loudly, looking over to her best friend who had a mischievous smirk on his face.

Beck, in the HAB studying samples, shook his head. “We’d prefer to use a different adjective to describe Martinez’s mouth.” Mark and Y/n started laughing with each other, making it hard to focus on their task.

“Did Beck just insult me?” Martinez spoke unbelievably.

Y/n stopped her laughs for a moment, “‘Doctor Beck.’ And yes.” She couldn’t help but send a smart reply right back at the man.

Johanssen, sat at her computer in the HAB alongside Beck, was tired of the four’s bickering. “Happy to turn the radios off from here, Commander. Just say the word.”

Mark stopped from what he was doing and looked back at Lewis, “Wait, Johanssen. Constant communication is the hallmark-“

“Shut ‘em off,” Lewis told Johanssen, interrupting Mark.

“No-“

“Wait!-“

Mark and Y/n tried to get them to stop, but they were interrupted by a small ringing noise, indicating that the radios were turned off. “I apologize for my countrymen, Vogel.” Lewis said as she walked past the two plant nerds.

“Accepted,” Vogel replied.

With a sigh, Y/n looked up at her Commander. “How many samples do we need, Commander?”

“Seven, 100 grams each,” she told the two, who nodded before getting back to work. Lewis walked a little bit away from them before crouching down to collect her own samples.

“Commander, you should come inside. You’re gonna want to see this,” Johanssen said over the radio, her voice slightly panicked.

“What is it?” She asked, continuing her task.

“A storm warning,” Johanssen said, making the astronauts stop their work. Mark and Y/n gave each other a wide-eyed look.

“I saw that in this morning’s briefing. We’ll be inside before it hits,” Commander spoke.

Johanssen continued, “Yeah, they upgraded their estimate. The storm’s gonna be a lot worse.” This caused Lewis to stand up and look around. The wind started to blow stronger, stirring up the sandy ground.

“Martinez, how does it look?” Lewis asked the man at the MAV.

“Not good,” he replied as he stared at the large dusty cloud, the sound of thunder beginning to fill their ears.

———

Not too long after Johanssen’s warning, the four astronauts stood in the HAB staring at a computer. “‘1,200 kilometers in diameter, bearing 24.41 degrees,’” Commander Lewis read off of the screen. Y/n and Mark stood side-by-side still in their suits, their helmets off.

“That’s tracking right towards us,” Beth Johanssen didn’t look away from the computer screen. Y/n’s gloved hand found Mark’s, squeezing it as tightly as she could. Mark gave her a small kiss on her forehead, silently telling her everything would be okay.

“‘Based on current escalation, estimated force of 8,600 newtons,’” Lewis continued to read off.

“What’s the abort force?” Mark asked.

“7,500,” Beck answered.

“Anything more than that and the MAV could tip,” Martinez said over the radio.

“Do we scrub?” Vogel asked the Commander.

She nodded, “Begin abort procedure.” Mark and Y/n look at the screens in disappointment.

“We are estimating with a margin of error. We could wait it out,” Y/n spoke up. Lewis looked over to the her and then the screen again with a sigh.

Mark nodded along with his best friend’s words, “Let’s wait it out.” Everyone looked over to him. “Let’s wait it out,” he repeated.

“Commander?” Beth asked the pondering woman standing over her.

“Prep emergency departure,” she said before walking off quickly.

“Commander,” the two botanists spoke in unison.

“We’re scrubbed. That’s an order,” Lewis told them both. Their shoulders slumped at the order. They didn’t want to go home yet! They still had much more to discover and experiment on! “Martinez, how long before take-off?”

“12 minutes,” the said man replied. The six astronauts in the HAB quickly got their gear back on—well, Mark and Y/n didn’t have to because they didn’t take theirs off, expecting to go back out to get more samples.

Once they got their suits back on, they rushed to exit the building. “Visibility is almost zero. Anyone gets lost, hone in on my suit’s telemetry. You ready?” Commander Lewis said, tapping on the screen by the locked door so they could open it.

“Ready!” Mark exclaimed from the back, Y/n right in front of him—which he insisted on. Then Lewis opened the door, black dust immediately filling the room as well as strong winds. The wind pushed them all back slightly.

“Commander, are you okay?!”

“I’m okay!” She replied back as they all began to fight the winds. Because Mark was the last one, he closed the door behind him before following the lights on his team’s helmets.

“Commander, we’re at 10 degrees, and the MAV is gonna rip at 12.3,” Martinez spoke with a panicked and quick voice.

“Hey! We might be able to keep the MAV from tipping,” Y/n yelled through the wind as she continued to walk.

“How?” Commander Lewis asked.

Mark seemed to catch her idea, so he spoke up for her, “Use the cables from the comms mast as guy-lines, anchor it with the Rover’s!” He exclaimed as something—Y/n couldn’t tell what—flew in their direction.

“Watch out!” Lewis exclaimed, but it was too late. The disk flew into Mark, taking him along with it as it flew through the winds.

“MARK!!” Y/n exclaimed as she stopped. The woman felt her heart drop down to the ground at the emptiness behind her.

“Watney!” Lewis yelled as well. “What happened?”

“He was hit!” Y/n exclaimed through the knot that was forming in her throat.

“Watney, report,” Beth panicked.

“No, no, no, no..” Y/n muttered to herself as she stopped walking completely.

“Before we lost telemetry, his decompression alarm went off,” Beck said.

“Where did you last see him?” Commander asked quickly.

Y/n shook her head, “I don’t know where he is!” She was panicking. Like on-the-brink-of-a-panic-attack panicking. Her best friend, her family, the only one she’s truly ever loved more than anyone in the world, gone.

“What are the vitals on his suit?”

“He’s offline,” Y/n looked down at the screen on the arm of her suit.

“A complete loss of signal on Watney.”

“Beck!” Vogel exclaimed, which the said man replied with a quick ‘yeah’. “How long can he survive decompression?”

“Less than a minute,” he responded. Y/n didn’t know what to do or say, she was still in shock of the whole thing.

Commander Lewis walked over to the rest of the team, “Line up, walk west.” And then they began walking. Y/n was determined to find her best friend, even if that meant she would be left all alone on the red planet. “He may be prone. We don’t wanna step over him.” Commander said as they used their lights to try and find Mark.

“Commander. We’re at 10.5 degrees. Tilting to 11 with a lll the gusts of wind,” Martinez warned the woman.

With a sigh of panic, Lewis stopped and turned back at her team. “Everyone, hone in on Martinez’s suit. It’ll get your to airlock. Get in, prep for launch.”

“What about you, Commander?” Vogel asked unsurely.

“I’m gonna search a little longer. Get moving!” She said, but everyone but Y/n hesitated. “Go!” The other started to move towards the MAV, but Lewis noticed a presence behind her. “L/n, go!”

“I’m not leaving without Mark! I couldn’t live with myself if I left him here,” she told her Commander.

With a sigh, Lewis nodded her head. Another set of eyes would be better to finding Mark. “Fine.” And so they started looking. Y/n tried to go the direction she last saw Mark, but she wasn’t finding anything. “Watney, report!”

“Mark!” The two yelled and searched around to see if the man would respond back, but nothing.

“The MAV’s at 11.6 degrees. One good gust and we’re tipping,” Martinez warned the two.

“If it tips, you launch,” Lewis told him, determined to find her lost crew mate.

“You really think I’m gonna leave you behind?” He asked his Commander.

“That’s an order, Martinez,” she commanded.

Y/n nodded, “Leave us if you have to.” She told him before continuing her search to find her best friend. “Mark! Can you hear me? Mark I swear if you don’t respond-“ She said but was cutoff by the sound of a large object headed her way.

“Martinez, what about the proximity radar? Could that detect Watney’s suit?” Lewis asked the man.

“It’s made to see the Hermes from orbit, not a little piece of metal from a single suit,” he told her, but Y/n wasn’t listening. She didn’t know what direction the large object was coming from, so she hoped that it would miss her.

“Give it a try,” she said.

“Roger.” He replied. A few seconds later he spoke up, “We’ve got negative contact on the proximity radar.”

“Nothing?!” Y/n exclaimed in sadness.

“No. I can barely see the HAB,” Martinez gave them the bad news.

“Commander, Y/n, I know you don’t wanna hear this, but Mark is dead,” Beck’s voice came through the radio. Those three words struck Y/n hard.

Mark is dead.

A sob escaped Y/n’s lips as she continued her search, but the large object was getting louder it seemed.

“Commander, Y/n, you need to get back to the ship, now!”

“13 degrees. If we pass balance, we’ll never rock back!” Vogel said, making Lewis stop.

“I’ve got one more trick left, and then I’m following orders, Commander,” Martinez spoke, but Y/n was partially listening. The object was getting closer, she could feel it.

“Commander! Y/n!” Beth exclaimed.

“On my way,” Lewis said as she started to make her way to the MAV. But what she didn’t notice was that she was walking back alone. “Y/n?” She asked the stopped girl.

“I can’t leave him,” she told her Commander.

“Y/n, I’m sorry but he’s gone. We have to leave. Now!” Lewis ordered her, but before she could say anything, the large object slammed right into Y/n, causing her to scream loudly. It felt like a solar panel? Y/n couldn’t tell as it pushed and dragged her away from her commander, away from the MAV. Away from her chance of getting home alive. It pushed onto her helmet hard, so hard that it knocked her head against it.

“Y/N!!” Was the last thing she heard before she blacked out.

#mark watney x reader #mark watney #the martian #mark #watney #the martian x reader #xreader #mark watney the martian #chris beck #beth johanssen #martinez #commander lewis #space #mars #the martian movie #matt damon #matt damon the martian

[geneeste]

I’ve been ranting about this in the group chat, but the more I think about it, the angrier I get.

So J, our 10yo, took state testing before the break and apparently scored high on one of the reading sections. Now I put almost zero weight on testing like this, but this was a win for J in particular because she’s always struggled mightily with reading. But she did well on the test, and it was a confidence boost for her, but I’m fully aware she managed that because of reading interventions, and not because of “gifted” instruction.

Anyway, we got this email before the winter break:

So this is…weird. Especially this part:

Your child's performance on the CogAT indicates a need to gather more information in order to support the school team in making instructional decisions. Student scores in the 95th percentile or above initiate the Gifted Identification Referral Process, which includes gathering additional achievement, performance, and behavioral data for a comprehensive body of evidence.

All of the other kids save our youngest have been in gifted programs at some point, and in all of the seven school districts we’ve been in so far, I’ve never been asked to justify their selection for the program. Add to that, a 30-minute questionnaire seemed excessive, but I thought, hey, maybe this is just a standard I haven’t run into yet. (Also, neither linked letter elaborated on this; one was related to testing, and the second was this email in PDF form).

And then we got into the survey, y’all. Y’ALL.

I ran into the image limit for this post, so I can’t post the whole questionnaire, so I tried to pick the most egregious parts:

So. We start going through this thing and to say I was (am) livid is an understatement. Just. What the fuck.

Asking me to justify my kid’s specialness

Basing giftedness on totally irrelevant and also classist, ableist bullshit things like vocabulary, how quickly they learn something, attention span I COULD GO ON AND ON

Asking my kid to design instruction?? She’s ten fucking years old?

Asking my struggling reader, whom you’ve already identified as both needing reading intervention and having demonstrated huge growth, to give a fucking reading list to justify access to services?

I’m seriously so mad about the last part because talking about that question made J feel ashamed about how she dreads reading so she doesn’t actually read much, so when she does it’s short books and graphic novels, and we lost a lot of ground we’d gained about how she should be proud of her ability and progress. Fuckers.

So. We were not pleased. Here’s what I wrote back, which was almost certainly not as mean as I should have been:

My husband and I started this survey and although we completed it, I found it frustrating and prejudiced and genuinely insulting.

It is not at all clear what relevance many of the questions have to J’s academic ability and frankly with 4 neurodivergent children, 3 of whom (including J) having been in gifted programs previously, some of these questions were worded in ways that implied that a child had to think in a certain way in order to be gifted. For instance, why would a child needing some repetition to learn something mean that they can't be gifted? It's insulting and neuro-normative, to say the least.

I have never been asked to fill out a survey justifying my child's intellectual ability in order for my child to get access to educational services. I mean, what parent would answer otherwise? And what child wouldn't flourish when given engaging content?

I understand that district resources might be limited, but surely there is a less prejudiced and discriminatory way to screen for access to additional educational resources.

Here’s what the coordinator responded with:

Thank you for filling the survey out and for the feedback. The purpose of the survey is to gain valuable insight from parents about their child's strengths, interests and abilities that may not be evident in a school setting. We are looking to build a comprehensive portfolio of information to be used in the Gifted Identification Process to inform our programming and align it with student needs. The responses on the Gifted ID Referral form are not "weighted" or assigned points or used in any way that might preclude a child from Gifted Identification. They are used for informational purposes to gain a deeper understanding of a child.

Which is, frankly, total bullshit. Remember up there where the initial email where it said the survey was for instructional decisions and gathering a body of evidence? And the survey itself says:

Once this form is complete and submitted, your school's Gifted Education Facilitator will be notified. They will then gather additional necessary evidence/data to complete the process.

The coordinator has been so persistent since this reply - 4 emails asking us to talk about J’a participation when we’ve already made it clear that if the qualification process is any indication of how the gifted program is run, J’s much better off staying in class with her peers.

Anyway. Phew. I’ve been stewing about this and just writing it down has been very cathartic.

#flames #flames on the side of my face #genie’s stuff #gifted programs are largely bullshit anyway! #put any group of kids in a classroom #tell them they’re gifted (because they are!) #and give them engaging stuff to do #of course they’re going to thrive! #aaaaaaaaaaaaggghhhhhhhh

[elmaestrostan]

Not much we don’t know, but still a little treat for a press conference free week!

(As someone who always tends to be running a little bit late - usually because time doesn’t flow how I think it does - his reputation for tardiness makes me love him even more haha)

Article under the cut:

When Unai Emery talks to the media at Aston Villa’s Bodymoor Heath training ground, it offers an insight into his idiosyncrasies.

Emery, the person, is reluctant to be seen, so there’s a tendency for every public-facing action to be football-centric. Lighter comments and questions around off-the-field matters are kept to a minimum and, in some ways, that is telling in itself.

Naturally, a Premier League manager or head coach of Emery’s eminence is not obligated to lower the barriers surrounding his demeanour away from football if that is how he feels most comfortable. That decision is revealing, though, of the 52-year-old’s general character.

Emery is a blinkered personality, focused solely on the next challenge and nothing outside of his immediate football bubble. Such a close level of introspection can leave you unaware of outside perspectives — ultimately contributing to his demise at Arsenal, where he was sacked as Arsene Wenger’s successor after 18 months in November 2019. In the aftermath of that departure, he accepted he had not paid enough attention to matters beyond his immediate sporting concerns, clouded by his obsession with tactical systems and improving players individually.

Emery is immersed in building football structures and watches hours of footage. He carries out analysis while on treadmills, in long team meetings and at home — even after sometimes working 12-hour days. This all indicates a highly focused and singular mindset, something that comes across in his communication style during interviews.

At Villa’s Bodymoor Heath training ground, the press conference suite is separate from the main building, with Emery walking down from his office, situated upstairs and overlooking the gymnasium, and across the car park to reach the room.

It means the written and broadcast media can see him coming by looking out of the window and this often provides some light relief, given timekeeping is not exactly his speciality. Emery likes his press conferences at the same time every week, regardless of when Villa are playing that weekend. Invariably, media members are told to convene for a 1.30pm start on Fridays.

Emery arrives through a side door, accompanied by Villa’s head of communications, Tommy Jordan, and Damian Vidagany, his close aide and Villa’s director of football. Vidagany, at press conferences, serves as Emery’s right-hand man (literally, he always sits to his right) and is there to clarify any questions or answers Emery does not grasp. This ties into the feeling that Villa’s head coach has learned from his errors at Arsenal. Vidagany is personable and well-liked.

Emery has Vidagany as reassurance when speaking to the media but his understanding of English has shown a marked improvement since his first spell in England five years ago. He is accustomed to the Midlands press pack and their accents, having watched BBC crime drama Peaky Blinders, which is set in Birmingham.

Vidagany acts as a safety blanket in areas Emery perhaps feels vulnerable in and helps to deal with those shortcomings. He meets Emery next to the stadium tunnel after games before accompanying him to his media duties. Sources, who remain anonymous to protect relationships, who have been involved in recent transfer dealings speak highly of how clear and purposeful Vidagany’s communication style is.

Emery offers pleasantries, and is often holding a sheet of paper with key lines of messaging or questions from the broadcast section. The embargoed part of the session, where the Villa head coach talks to the written press, comes after he has spoken to broadcasters. Embargoed quotes are not allowed to be published until an agreed time, usually 10.30pm that day.

The Spaniard is often late for his media duties, the delay often due to training sessions overrunning and, subsequently, pushing him back in terms of having lunch and a shower. Despite its derisory usage during his time at Arsenal, strangely mocked on social media and beyond, Emery still says, “Good afternoon” or, “Good evening” at the start of every interview, a preface for his first answer.

Emery answers most questions at length, particularly open-ended ones when he can riff. The first question after a match generally asks for his general assessment and he can go through the 90 minutes chronologically — unless he does not like the question or quite grasp the sentiment, then his retort can be short or, before the start of his answer, he takes a prolonged inhale of breath.

It has become known that Emery usually takes a long time getting to the stadium’s press conference suite following games — it can be well over an hour after the final whistle. This does push journalists’ deadlines, with Emery — once he has completed his initial broadcast-media interviews — taking a post-match break to decompress. The delay means he is measured and reflective when he does eventually arrive, regardless of the result

Emery has a list of buzzwords and repeatable phrases that are delivered in response to run-of-the-mill questions. It is why journalists have to choose their wording and themes carefully to ensure they get as insightful a response as possible.

For example, if a reporter is vague when asking about Villa’s tactical system or changes made during a game, Emery will repeat phrases such as “being demanding in our structure” or expressing how he wants his players to “keep the idea”. Moreover, any mention of Villa Park’s home crowd will frequently end with Emery detailing the importance of “connecting with our supporters”.

When he is — painfully in its predictability at times — asked about the strengths of the upcoming opponents, his response will inevitably centre on Villa having an “organised structure” and him expecting a “very difficult match”.

As for connectives, he uses “more or less” frequently and with his English improving impressively, has started to incorporate British football sayings, such as “bad day at the office”.

Emery is an earnest talker but when the cameras are turned off after the broadcast section, he tends to have a more relaxed demeanour. Questions about fellow managers he rates highly stoke a different fire, however. He is increasingly fervent on the touchline, animated in press conferences, and relishes the process of analysing the game’s best coaches.

Before Villa’s performance for the ages against last season’s treble winners Manchester City in December, it was put to Emery as to how he would finally beat City manager and countryman Pep Guardiola.“Keep trying,” he said with a wry smile.

Emery similarly shared that level of respect with Ange Postecoglou following the win at Tottenham Hotspur 10 days before. After, he explained that he had enjoyed watching and learning the Australian’s tactical nuances in preparation.

When speaking about his squad individually, Emery has stock responses for certain players. The list is as follows:

Emiliano Martinez — “A fantastic goalkeeper”

Douglas Luiz — “You (Douglas Luiz) can do more, you’re so important”

Leon Bailey — “He needs to be more consistent away from home”

John McGinn — “A leader… Super John McGinn”

Ollie Watkins — “He does more than just score

Emery is undoubtedly emboldened by his ‘triangle of power’ comprising of him, Vidagany and Villa’s president of football operations Ramon Rodriguez Verdejo — universally known in football as Monchi.

Monchi accompanies Emery to every game on the team coach. In press conferences taking place abroad — during Villa’s pre-season tour of the United States last summer and before the Conference League fixtures against Legia Warsaw and AZ Alkmaar — Monchi has sat towards the back of the room.

Emery’s press conferences may be often and fairly routine, but they provide an understanding of his character and why, in part, he has been able to fully settle since joining Villa 17 months ago.

#unai emery #Damia is his safety blanket 🥹

[totowlff]

chapter thirty-four — no more secrets

➝ sometimes the fear of losing someone to stupid ideas drives people to do stupid things.

➝ word count: 3,1k

➝ warnings: none

APRIL, 2017

An early spring breeze ruffled Elisabeth’s hair as she walked hand in hand with Toto, across the crosswalk that led to the Mercedes-Benz museum building. It was in front of the company’s headquarters, and was a massive complex with not only offices, a factory, a dealership, and the museum, but also the imposing Mercedes-Benz Arena, where the city’s Bundesliga football team played, though she couldn’t remember the name of it.

In reality, Elisabeth knew very little about football. She had learned the basics from Mathias, who never missed watching FC Barcelona games. He was a fervent supporter of the Catalan team, and had named several of the family’s pets after its players. Mathias’ passion for the sport had certainly not come from Niki, but from Tilman, their uncle, and Mathias was already working to turn his own children into lifelong Barça fans. They’d had Barça clothing from infancy, and both of them learned the team anthem almost as soon as they’d learned to talk.

As Toto and Elisabeth walked toward the large metal-clad building, the man with them made small talk about the club — VfB Stuttgart, apparently — and their difficult season. The man with them was Ola Källenius, a Swede, and part of the board of directors of the Mercedes-Benz group. Toto and Elisabeth had stopped in Stuttgart to meet with him on the way back home from the Bahrain Grand Prix.

— However, I didn’t want to just talk with you about Stuttgart's misfortunes this season, but something else — Ola said, as they approached the entrance to the building — Something of interest to you, or at least, of interest to Toto.

As they all entered the atrium, Elisabeth couldn't help but be impressed by the building’s architecture. It looked large from the outside, but it looked even larger on the inside with the triangular-shaped panes coming together to give the visual impression of the room looking bigger than it was. The elevators stood out against the concrete walls, making them look like silver capsules, waiting for their passengers.

“This place is a work of art”, she thought, as the executive greeted a man warmly.

— Toto, Elisabeth, this is Pádraic, one of the museum guides. He knows everything about everything in here, right?

— I like to think so, Ola — the man replied, his accent indicating he wasn't German — It's nice to meet you.

— The pleasure is ours, isn't it, Liesl?

Elisabeth limited herself to a nod as she shook the man's hand.

— Which route would you like to take?

— We'll have to skip the traditional tour today, Pádraic. Toto and Elisabeth have a flight scheduled for later and they don't have time to see everything. However, they’d like to see the racing car collection — Ola replied, making the guide smile.

— Very well, would you follow me? — he said, gesturing with one hand. Along the way, Pádraic gave a quick explanation of the museum's internal structure, which had been planned to resemble a double helix, like DNA, with the outer section devoted to thematic collections, and the inner section to the history of the brand.

After taking an elevator to the second floor, they headed to a section of the museum that resembled a banked curve. It was built as an homage to ancient European chariot racing tracks, he said, and the steepness of the curve made it more challenging. The banked track in the museum was made to display an array of silver cars, with one or another colored model, corresponding to the most modern cars.

— These are our racing cars. Since 1894 we have records of Mercedes taking part in motor racing for the purpose of proving the reliability of the brand's engines. It was the main form of advertising for cars that existed for motor vehicles. It was how the company built its brand until the birth of the Silver Arrows.

Glancing at Toto out of the corner of her eye, Elisabeth noticed that he looked delighted, like a child let loose in a toy store. There was an undeniable twinkle in his eye and goofy smile on his face. She nodded as the guide talked, listening intently.

— Here we have the four-cylinder, 120-horsepower Benz Grand Prix, which was the first car developed exclusively for racing. There, we have the 1914 version, also with four cylinders but with a 274 cubic inch engine and, in front of it, the W25, which was the car that gave us the nickname “The Silver Arrows”. The mechanics had to strip all of the paint from the body to make it lighter, leaving only exposed aluminum — Pádraic explained, pointing to each of the cars and giving them a brief explanation.

As they walked along the curve, Elisabeth couldn't help but notice something odd about the exhibit. Just ahead, there was a space between two cars that was clearly bigger than the others. It was as if something was missing there, one of the pieces of the museum.

— That one has a funny story. With the dominance of German cars in racing, the Italian motorsport federation decided to restrict racing to only cars with 1.5 liter engines, which were not made by any German manufacturer. So, Mercedes decided to develop a car with these specifications in just eight months. In the end, the W165 was born, which won the Tripoli Grand Prix, in 1939.

— I think you have a little more time than that to develop the car in Formula 1, right Toto? — the brand executive asked, smiling.

— It revolves around this time, Ola. Of course, everything has become easier than before, with technology and all. It doesn't detract from their achievement of making a car in such a short amount of time.

A few steps later, Elisabeth's curiosity won out.

— Why is there such a big space there? — she asked.

— Ah, yes, that is where the 300SL usually is. It was our first car to compete after the Second World War, and it won the Carrera Panamericana in Mexico. But it was pulled from the exhibition at Ola's request for a bit of a… revision.

— Revision? — she asked, raising an eyebrow.

— Yeah, it's going to Italy to participate in the Mille Miglia, in honor of the 65th anniversary of its victory in Mexico — Ola said, smiling — It will be the car that Aldo and Toto will use for the race.

She blinked. Elisabeth had no idea what the Mille Miglia was, or why Toto would be involved in it. However, swallowing the lump in her throat, she just forced a curious smile.

— Use? You mean, race?

— Exactly. We received an invitation from the race organizers, talking to Toto at the beginning of the year, he offered to drive it, along with Aldo.

— I'm really glad you got the car cleared for us — Toto said, looking genuinely pleased about that — It's going to be fantastic driving it around Italy.

— And when will that be? — Elisabeth asked, doing her best to hide her displeasure at only just now finding out that Toto would be driving in a race.

— In May, Liesl — Toto replied immediately, smiling — And I can't wait.

— I can imagine — Elisabeth said, letting go of his hand and putting it in the pocket of the tailored pants she was wearing, something churning in her stomach.

After saying goodbye to Pádraic and Ola, the two went to the car they had rented on arrival in the city and made their way back to the airport, where one of Laudamotion's private jets would take them back to England. During the entire drive to the airport, Elisabeth remained silent, completely immersed in her own thoughts. She only gave Toto monosyllabic responses.

She was trying to remember if he’d told her or not. She thought she would have remembered if Toto had told her that he was going to drive a car that was almost as old as her father, but absolutely couldn’t recall, which could only mean one thing.

Toto had hidden it from her.

After returning the car to the rental lot at the airport, the two of them walked to the private flight boarding terminal in virtual silence. Toto had tried to strike up a conversation with her, but Elisabeth was still so deep in her own thoughts that she practically ignored him.

“Why, Toto?”, she asked herself, as she climbed the stairs up to the jet.

Elisabeth settled into one of the armchairs on the plane and took off her shoes. Toto sat in the seat across from her. She took a few seconds to watch him settle into place, strapping himself in. She arranged the briefcase she’d brought on the seat next to her.

“Why did you hide this from me?”, she wondered.

Even when they reached cruising altitude, Elisabeth didn’t get up or move. She was too distracted by the unanswered questions inside her mind.

— Liesl?

Toto's voice snapped her back to the present. She felt something tightening in her chest.

— Yes?

— Are you okay?

— Yeah — she replied quietly. He looked at her with a skeptical expression on his face.

— It doesn’t look like it.

She blinked.

— What do you mean?

— You've been quiet since the museum visit. Quieter than usual.

— Any problem with my silence? — Elisabeth asked, in a slightly harsher tone than she ‘d intended. And she saw in his expression that she was too harsh.

— No, none… It's just… You're only quiet like that when you're upset.

She pressed her lips together, one hand moving up her arm to the crook of her elbow, pinching the skin there. It was an almost natural reaction of hers to situations that made her anxious or stressed, especially conflict. She could feel that conflict was coming.

— Well, since you asked, I am pretty upset, Toto — Elisabeth replied dryly.

— Upset about what?

— What do you think?

— I don't know, there's so much...

— If you need a tip, think about what you're going to do in Italy in May.

Toto blinked, finally connecting the dots.

— Are you upset about the Mille Miglia?

— No, Toto. I'm… Fuck…

— You are what?

— Sad. Disappointed. Deceived. Betrayed.

The last word made him straighten up suddenly.

— You know I would never betray you...

— Then why did you? — she cut him off.

— Elisabeth…

— Toto, you know my fears about racing, my misgivings. You know that as much as I like racing, competing, winning, above all that, I love you. And you know my biggest fear is losing you.

He continued to stare at her in silence.

— I was honest with you, I told you all about my fears surrounding motorsport and racing. We talked about the Nordschleife, about my fears and about your accident and my father's accident. And I remember exactly what you said to me that night, every word. You promised me that I wouldn't lose you to your stupid ideas.

— I know, Elisabeth...

— Then why did you decide to take part in this race? We agreed that we would talk about anything like this that came up. You promised me this, Toto!

He was silent for a few seconds.

— I forgot.

Elisabeth couldn't resist a sardonic laugh.

— You forgot?

— Yes, Liesl, I forgot and I apologize for…

— Toto, do you really think I'm going to believe that excuse? Do you really think I'm going to believe that you just forgot to tell me you were taking part in a fucking race?

— But that's what happened, I received Ola's invitation just now in...

—  He said you offered yourself at his last visit — she interrupted him — Ola was last at the factory in January, Toto. You've known this since January. You knew and you hid it from me till now. It’s April!

— I didn't hide it, Elisabeth!

— And I even know why — she continued — You did it because you thought I was going to say no, so you thought it was better to hide it from me.

— Fuck, give me a minute to explain — he exclaimed, slapping his legs with his hands. Elisabeth was not at all interested in granting that request.

— And what would be your excuse for spending a week away from home? What would you say to me so I wouldn’t discover your real intentions? — she snarled.

— I was going to tell you, but I...

— “Hey, Liesl, listen, I'm going to Italy to fuck some whore, I'll be back next week” — Elisabeth spoke in a deeper voice, in a crude attempt to imitate him.

That was the last straw for him.

— God damn it, Elisabeth! — Toto yelled, getting up from his seat — Shut the fuck up!

Elisabeth tried to answer, but his expression made her stop. He wasn't just upset with her. There was something else in his eyes than what was on his face.

It was pain. Heartache.

— You can say whatever you want about me, Elisabeth — Toto snarled, one finger raised — You can call me an idiot, an ass, a selfish person, an asshole, anything that crosses your fucking mind. But never, never call me dishonest!

She felt a lump tighten in her throat.

— I was wrong. I was wrong not to tell you about the race. Truthfully, I was a bit afraid that you wouldn't agree to it, but I didn’t hide it from you. I was going to tell you. I brought you here to tell you about the race, the car, everything. I was going to invite you to come with me but… Fuck!

— Toto...

— No. Listen to me, Elisabeth! — he spat — Did I fuck up? Yeah, I did. I've fucked up a lot in my life. Not just with you, but with Stephanie, with the kids, with my mom, with my sister, with a lot of people. But I’ve never been dishonest in anything I do, Elisabeth. Not once in my life. 

— I did not say…

— That I was dishonest? And saying that I'm going to Italy to fuck whores, to cheat on you? Cheating is dishonesty, isn’t it?

She didn't know how to respond.

— I never cheated on you. You're the only woman for me. Even when I was with someone else, all I could think about was you. Even when I was fucking someone else, all I could imagine was being with you. I would never cheat on you, Elisabeth, because that would be dishonest of me.

— Isn't lying a kind of dishonesty too, Toto? You lied to me.

— You've lied to me too, Elisabeth. You lied about your feelings for me on that phone call on Christmas Eve. And I kept believing in you, even though you broke my heart into thousands of pieces. I kept loving you even if you didn't love me back.

— That doesn't count…

— Doesn't it? You’ve hidden plenty of things from me. The fights with Mathias, the things my mother told you? Weren’t those lies by omission?

— Me hiding things so I don't upset you is different from you hiding things because they're stupid! — she argued.

— This race isn't stupid, Elisabeth.

— Is it not? Isn't being away from home for almost a week, stuffed in a tin can with four wheels stupid?

— It might be stupid, but I want to do it! I've always wanted to be in that race, drive that car, and stupid or not, I'm going to go. I'm not going to give up doing this just to satisfy your spoiled little girl ego and, honestly, I don't even know why I'm justifying myself. I don't owe you any satisfaction.

Something inside Elisabeth's chest ached.

— You know what? Go ahead. Go drive that fucking car in Italy. When you get in another accident and end up in the hospital again, you’ll call me. And if you think I'm going to drop everything to run to your side, you're sorely mistaken — she spat.

Toto’s nostrils flared, lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenching. After a few seconds, he settled back into his seat, his eyes fixed on the window beside him. 

It was then that Elisabeth realized that maybe she had gone too far.

The rest of the flight after the fight had been silent. After landing in Oxford, the two drove home in silence. After parking the black Mercedes C-Class in the garage, Elisabeth got out of the car and went to the trunk to get the luggage she had taken for the two weeks she had been away. The suitcase was heavy, but the last thing she wanted was to ask for Toto’s help with it.

She wasn't a spoiled little girl.

— Need help? — Toto murmured beside her.

— No — she said dryly, setting her suitcase on the ground and into the house. Pulling the handle, she dragged the luggage up to the second floor, pausing a few times along the way to catch her breath. She was dropping her suitcase in the closet when Toto arrived in their bedroom with a small bottle of water in his hand. As she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, she felt something tighten in her chest.

— Are you going to shower now?

— You can go if you want — she murmured, as she went to one of the shelves to get something to wear — I'm going to shower in the other bathroom.

— Why?

— As far as I remember, Torger — Elisabeth turned her face to him, staring at him for a few seconds — We don't owe each other satisfaction.

She grabbed her panties and, in complete silence, left the room, heading for the bathroom in the upstairs hallway. After showering and changing into a pair of shorts and an old University of Vienna T-shirt that she liked to use as pajamas, Elisabeth went to the guest bedroom, a room they always left ready to receive a family member or their friends when visiting them in England.

Sitting up in bed, she allowed herself to take everything in. The decor of the room was cold and impersonal. The walls were light, everything was very neutral-looking, and said that it was not a space to be occupied permanently, only for short visits. Not even Benedict and Rosi slept there, but they had their own rooms in the house, arranged and decorated according to their tastes.

Elisabeth shouldn't be there. But at the same time, she needed to be. She couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed as Toto that night, smelling his cologne and feeling the warmth of his skin. Settling down on the mattress, she sighed, trying to shake the tightness she felt in her throat away. But with each breath, she felt the agony rise in her chest and tears fill her eyes.

Finally, she broke down into sobs.

#toto wolff #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fic #formula one fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x oc #formula 1 x oc #wlffog #natsversion #scwlff

[hatchetfieldtheories]

Hatchetfield Theories: Nerdy Prudes Must Die

(As of 12th Jan)

Right all, it is time.

I've been putting this off until the new year due to being extensively ill but I'm now ready to post my - most likely incorrect - theories about Nerdy Prudes Must Die.

Honestly, I'm starting to think its more entertaining when I'm completely wrong.

As a reminder these are all just my theories based on what we have had so far from Starkid and previous HF installments. I'm definitely not considering being accurate and most is just speculative.

I'm splitting this down into sections:

Storyline

Characters

Lore insights

Other

1 - Storyline

When the biggest losers at Hatchetfield High unwittingly complete an ancient, evil ritual, they unleash an all- powerful, angry spirit with a grudge against nerds. That’s when Stephanie Lauter, Grace Chasity, and a cast of social rejects must fight to save themselves and nerdy prudes everywhere. But can any of them survive the fury of a bully from beyond the grave?

I think the biggest question regarding the storyline is how does the angry spirit come into being, and well - ancient, evil ritual is definitely going to be from the Black Book right? We've seen rituals indicated in the book before - notably this one:

That is a ritual if I ever did see one.

With this, there is the implication of who in this group of losers has the Gift. One of them surely must unknowingly have it in order to accidentally activate an ancient ritual. Or maybe they all do? And that is why the evil bully from beyond the grave wants their souls.

In terms of how the ancient ritual is activated, my guess would be that its due to the "losers" wishing for better or to be better in some way. In High School is Killing Me we see in Nick's words 'high schoolers lamenting their miserable existence", and in Cool As I Think I Am, we get Pete's lines:

But what if all my thoughts

Were stronger?

What if my beliefs

Were taller?

What if I were king of the hill?

Captain of the team?

Oooh dear Peter. You're expressing a Want in a Hatchetfield musical - never a great idea. That's how the Monstars get you. (If you get that joke you get a prize!)

2 - Characters

Max:

Literal Monster involves all the nerds of Hatchetfield High singing about Max in a way only equalled by Regina George.

One time, Max stole my soul. It was awesome.

I am assuming Max is the big bully who comes back from beyond the grave - which unless someone can correct me (and please do!!!) - I think is still an assumption at this point, albeit a reasonable one. But if that is the case, then Max must die at some point early in the show, specifically murdered. This would explain why Karen is a "murder suspect". Additionally could be a reason why Max is the "enemy of nerdy prudes" - perhaps it was a nerdy prude who killed him.

Grace:

I think Grace will get a love interest and Best of You will be her song either to or with said person.

I wanted, i needed, the kind of love from someone else

I believe in you, you believe in me

My theory is this is Grace's song because "the kind of love from someone else" feels like a reference to religious, god given love. And the use of the word "believe" also gives me religious connotations.

3 - Lore Insights:

Holloduke:

Yeah, I too think its very possible we get Holloduke in this show. Whether its in crumbs or more fully integrated into the story.

The only counter to this possibility I can think of is whether Starkid would want the same two people playing two different couples in the same show.

But if we get only one of them, its more likely to be Miss H. If I am right that the ancient ritual comes from the Black Book it makes sense for her to be in the show. Plus she could be at the school like she is at the end of Killer Track - Duke feels less likely with this group of teens.

Hatchet Town:

I definitely think we'll get some more lore about Hatchetfield itself and the song Hatchet Town is absolutely boggling my brain. Particularly the following lines:

Before the lockdown

Larry on a murder spree and that changed the town.

who stepped on our hallowed ground

The song demo talks about how great Hatchetfield used to be, sunshine, rainbows, kids safe on the street. And then a change. A lockdown, a murder spree, a dude named Larry.

Do I think we'll get confirmation on the intricacies of why Hatchetfield is such a special town? No. But Nick said a whole verse was cut for the livestream as it contained spoilers so I do think we'll get some more crumbs in this song about Hatchetfield's weirdness.

Suddenly this show is upsetting

Starkid breaking the 4th wall in a Hatchetfield musical - groundbreaking. I jest, but out of context this is definitely a line to add to the "these shows are fictional within universe and the Black and White is the writing on the pages of the script" theories - so I am very curious what the context of this line will be.

Finally, a small hint that we're going to find out more about the town is that we are getting two characters who are a realtor and the mayor. I feel like if anyone would know about the strange goings on in Hatchetfield, it would be the people in charge of and buying/selling the properties.

Lords in Black:

This was the first musical written or at least envisioned, so I think it might be possible that we don't see or get any explicit reference to a Lord in Black. I think we may see evidence of their influence through the angry spirit, kind of like Car!Jane and Evil!Ethan - something that has gone through the Black and White after death. And come back different.

My main resoning here is that I can't really place any of Spooky Spice and the Gang into this based on what we know of them so far, so if we do get any of them explicitly either we will be learning something new about their intentions with Hatchetfield or possibly even a new being all together.

4 - Other Fun Bits:

PEIP:

Fun Fact: I say PEIP in my head the same way the Pen Pineapple Apple Pen fella says PPAP and I can't unhear it.

Back in Jon's TGDLM and Black Friday watch parties he mentioned that Nick said "Theres a PEIP joke for every hatchetfield musical"

It would make sense that PEIP make an appearance in this show, we have seen them face the Extraterrestrial and the Interdimensional. And now we're getting the Paranormal. Surely PEIP will follow.

Does this necessarily mean Mac? No. But it would make sense for Bryce's HFPD officer to have a military counterpart to butt heads with.

Or maybe we'll hear neither head nor tail of them. Not even a peep.

Clivesdale:

Is this wishful thinking? Yes. But I would be OVER THE MOON if we got some hint to what is up with Clivesdale. I have my theories, and I definitely think there is something more to those folks across the bridge.

-

So I think that's it for now. But what do you think? Anything you disagree with? Anything additional you think we may see?

#starkid #team starkid #hatchetfield #nerdy prudes must die #nerdy prudes #npmd #hatchetfield theory #hatchetfield theories

[trashcanfills]

Self Aware Genshin AU - The First Four Chosen (Amber, Lisa, Kaeya)

When the player starts playing genshin impact, they are able to control the Traveller first. Later on, they get three free characters to play as on their team: Amber, Lisa and Kaeya in that order. Naturally, those are the ones who would be the first few who also gain self awareness along with the Traveller.

Amber is surprised at being taken over during fights, but then the shock turns to awe when her and traveller take turns to do fantastic elemental combinations or stunts that she normally would not have thought of. She later does approach the Traveller and Paimon about the odd occurrence and they explain what they know so far.

This makes Amber incredibly appreciative and admiring towards the player, because such a powerful and nice god chosen her as a vessel??? Wow. She feels so honored!

Lisa being controlled would be met with curiosity I feel, since she is someone who is eager to seek knowledge in her books. She is also rather chill and easygoing most of the time, and so would be fine to go along with what the player is making her do. Lisa would grow a fascination with the player existence, esp after clarifying with the traveller and paimon. She then checks the library’s restricted section to see if such a phenomenon has been detailed before.

Unfortunately there is not much stuff regarding the topic, though there are some sources that briefly mention the idea of powerful gods selecting worthy champions to be their vessels. In any case, Lisa is really thankful that player doesn’t have any harmful intentions of the sort and is willing to bless them with power. Def ends up as one of the more laidback acolytes when she starts worshipping you, since well…being formal all the time can be really taxing, you know?

Kaeya would also be curious but with more wariness when he feels his body being taken over by an unknown force. However he does not outright mention it or show any indication that he noticed, as we all know Kaeya is the kind to keep his own secrets and find out others’ secrets as leverage. Being more observant than most, he would quickly put together that it has something to do with the Traveller, and doesnt outright tell them and Paimon about it until a lot later.

In fact, him requesting the Traveller to help him with finding his grandfather’s treasure was a test to see the player’s capabilities and limitations. I believe after that quest Kaeya would confirm his suspicions to the Traveller and Paimon, and be interested in what kind of god the player is. Def keeps his actual opinions of the player to himself and suspicious of them, but over time will gradually grow a fondness for them since they do seem to have a desire to help others and not pose a threat.

With that, the self aware team has gone from 2 members to 5!

Kaeya would def join in trying to subvert the code by pushing a lil bit more on what he can do when being controlled by the player, like adding more variations to his lines in combat. Lisa would research more and maybe even contact other fellow academics to figure out more about the runic scriptures (the code) in general and what they mean. Both Kaeya and Lisa would also be a bit more flirtatious when interacting with the traveller since they are aware that the god is watching them through the traveller’s eyes. I mean, the player has done so much for them and the citizens of Monstadt. Surely they can afford to be more appreciative of their efforts nah yall just wanna hit on the powerful kind god and see the god’s reactions through traveller’s actions lol

Amber meanwhile is just an excitable lil bunny hehe and loves to ramble with Traveller and Paimon on how cool and amazing the player is offscreen. All of them, including traveller and Paimon, would want to interact with the player more however they can, while trying to free the people of Teyvat from the code’s limitations. Aka the start of sagau cult cough

#self aware genshin #self aware genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #genshin self aware #genshin impact self aware #kaeya alberich #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact aether #genshin impact paimon #genshin impact lisa #genshin impact amber #genshin impact x reader #sagau

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 9

Alpha!Damiano x Omega!Reader

Yes twice in a week<3

The sound of three seatbelts being undone rouses you before Dami has the chance. The first thing you do is check if your scarf has stayed in place. It had. Damiano’s over reaction might have been a dead giveaway, so the whole charade could be pointless. It’s not your peers' judgment that worries you. Most of the alpha-omega population was marked for the first time in high school or secondary education. However, the judgmental stares of nosy parents as you pick your way to your seats was slightly unnerving. 

You sat five rows back from where the coaches stood, greeting all of them. How one smile was supposed to smooth over yesterday was beyond you until you saw Dami’s smile. Waving cheerfully, you do your best to emulate everyone’s disposition. 

“You gonna be okay for a minute?” Dami asks, plopping the three blankets you settled on down.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” He nimbly jumps down the bleachers and vaults over the railing onto the sidelines. Although Damiano is out of sight, you can hear when the team sees him from their cheers. The whole amphitheater is loud, especially some screeching coming from the unofficial omega section. Turning to see who’s making all the god damn noise, you realize it's Emmaline trying to get your attention.

“Oh, hi!” you wave. Her and Athena aggressively beckon you over, a request which you only heed to stop bringing attention to yourself.

“Starting early are we?” They burst into giggles as you seat yourself in the middle. Really, you should have been smarter, because a tipsy Emmaline starts pulling down your scarf. You smack her hand away.

“For fuck’s sake,” you hiss, giving her a scorching, dirty look. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she chortles, throwing her hands up like a robber. “I don’t know why you’d want to hide it. Damiano’s gorgeous.” A raging flare of jealousy is your first indicator that the mark is taking effect. Dami’s beauty was an objective fact and Emmaline was mated to Lars. 

“I just don’t want to announce it to everyone all at once. My family doesn’t even know.”

“Then why the hell risk coming here??”

“Em, you know what happened yesterday,” Athena whisper yells. She bends over so she’s not audible to other attendees.

“But he can’t even play! What’s the fucking point of dragging her out here at the ass crack of dawn on a Saturday?”

“I honestly don’t know either,” you pipe up. Emmaline may have been rude, but she alway said exactly what she meant. A whistle indicates the start of the game, and you all take a moment to cheer Romero on. Manchu Sport ran onto the field, from the opposite side, in some offensively neon green uniforms. As soon as her attention isn’t on the field, Athena glances back and forth between the two of you incredulously.

“Because someone started a rumor that she found him! And that, y’know…it wasn’t just a normal fight. Does Lars not tell you anything?”

“I did find him,” you respond. For the first time in possibly their entire lives, Athena and Em are speechless. Someone on the coaching staff or in the collegiate sports office had treated Dami’s full blown health crisis like a fictional tabloid anecdote. It made you murderous.

“He’s not actually dangerous if you don’t threaten him,” you justify. 

“Uh, well not to you because you’re marked,” Athena challenged.

“He marked me after.” Em and Athena are shocked, and maybe even a little impressed. If they had actually seen Dami in an episode, like his team mates, they’d know he wasn’t a violent monster. This fact was evidenced by Romero Soccor’s warm greeting. Of course, it only takes one little lying shit whose inadequacy complex is triggered by Damiano.

“Wait, where are you getting your information? This is supposed to be private.” Athena looks at you with pity.

“There was a basketball tournament this fall. Some error by the referee at the semi-finals. Oceanna was supposed to play Romero in the finals, but they got disqualified super last minute and Dam had to play his old school.” You realize that you don’t even know the name. Asking now would make it seem like Damiano withheld information from you.

“There wasn’t any warning and there was no one to sub in,” Athena continues. “If he didn’t play we’d have to forfeit so –”

“So of course he agreed to play, anyways,” you fill in.

“And we won by a landslide,” Emmaline adds, proudly. “But they were sore losers. Asked for a rematch, but we won the whole tournament.”

“In retribution the couple of seniors that knew Damiano was forced to switch schools started talking to our seniors. Eventually someone, somewhere leaked the why.”

“Sadistic cunts,” Em curses.

“PTA vultures.”

“Sadistic PTA vulture’s cunts,” she compounds.

“So how many people know?” 

“Star was trying to keep it quiet,” Athena sighs.

“But now…” you prompt.

“About a third of the team knows and a few of their omega’s. A lot of people just thought he was upset yesterday. It’s a coveted secret. Knowing is a sign of seniority, so it’s not spreading like wildfire.”

“Yet,” you groan, resting your face in your palms. “He’s not even a threat to betas or omega’s, ever.

“Really?” Emmaline exclaims. “Christ, they made it seem like – ow!” Athena kicks her hard so she stops talking. You’d been so enraptured in conversation that you didn’t notice Damiano’s presence until he was right behind you.

“Hey,” Dami greets you warmly. He sits on the riser above you, arms draped around your neck. You tilt your head back for a kiss. It's just a peck because the position is awkward. He rests his face against your scalp and breathes in deep.

“What's it been? An unbearable 12 minutes without her?”

“Actually I believe it’s been 13 minutes and 5.2 seconds.”

“So basically an entire lifetime.” Em and Athena tease.

“Fuck off,” Dami mutters, lifting his face after a few moments. “I was just checking on you. You looked stressed.” You place one hand on Damiano’s cheek and turn to gaze up at him. His big, soulful eyes stare down at you adoringly and you forget to answer his question. He cradles the base of your skull, fingers threaded in your hair. Dami kisses your forehead and you allow your eyes to fall closed, just focusing on the sensation of his skin on yours. This was your little safe haven, where your mind went quiet and all the complexity of the world fell away. This was simple, animal. 

When Dami pulled away, your fingertips fell to his jawline. He caught your hand in his, kissed it, and placed it in your lap.

“Whatcha talking about?” Lying doesn’t even cross your mind.

“You.”

“Me?” he asks. His infelction and expression are so cheerful that you hope Dami will allow you to elaborate later.

“Yeah, about how it took y/n six days to get your mark. Couldn’t even hold out a full week.” Dami’s eyes don’t move from your face. Instead of being offended by Em or emasculated, he grins.

“I assume they’re not this mean to you?”

“Definitely not, but I can come sit with you if you want?” It was adorable that Dami might miss you from only a few yards away.

“Take your time, I’m just checking.” He gets up and returns to his family. 

“So he’s clingy, '' Em narrates. Damiano settles next to Sandro, pointing at something on the field. You quickly scan the auditorium for what everyone else is doing, and find yourself being watched by half a dozen people. Not glanced at in curiosity, but examined. You check to see if Dami has noticed, but he’s blissfully oblivious. His parents on the other hand, Isabella especially, are hyper-aware. She keeps looking back and forth between you and the spectators. 

At first you wonder if it’s your fresh mark, but that's far from newsworthy.There was an omega at the far end of your section whose mark couldn’t be more than a week old and was being spared no glances. Under Isabella’s strategic gaze, you finally realize your role today.

“Oh my fucking god,” you groan.

“What is it?”

“I’m the evidence. I’m here because I am the evidence that Damiano isn’t vicious and out of control. They’re all fucking looking at me,” you hiss, ducking. Athena and Em glance around themselves.

“I wouldn’t say all –”

“Sadistic PTA vulture’s cunts.” Emmaline announces the words louder than necessary while looking behind her.

“Mm-mm, I am the wrong person for this job.” You put a hand to your chest as it tightens, then lower that hand because people will blame your distress on just speaking to Damiano. “If I have a panic attack they’ll blame it on him.”

“You’re not gonna have a panic attack,” Athena soothes, taking your hand and squeezing it. Emmaline does the same on the other side. 

“Just pretend that you’re sick.”

“They’ll blame that on Damiano too. ‘Did you see his girlfriend? I’ve never seen any omega look so ill after being marked by a normal alpha.’” You impersonate these apparently hobbyless, prying alpha parents in a nasal voice.

“Well, shit,” Em deadpans.

“Am I gonna be in the spotlight forever?” you worry. “People are always gonna be prejudiced. How much of my life is gonna be fighting this bullshit because I love someone with AD2? I am not a shiny person.”

“I’ll pretend to be sick,” Em decides. “Ready, set…” She stands up to cheer like she’s wasted. Nothing has happened on the field. Then she takes a long drink from her suspicious coffee mug, wobbles, and pretends to gag. So you and Athena rush her out of the bleachers and into the first bathroom. Once the door is locked, you sink to the floor, dropping your head between your legs.

“Okay, listen. You only have to control what people think, if you care what they think,” Em points out.

 “There are laws and protocols in place to protect the rights of people with hormonal dysfunction. Just get through the next year and change, then you can do it your own way.” You focus on taking slow, deep breaths, thinking that scenting would be really helpful right now. “And if Dam takes a job where he only interacts with omegas and betas, then the whole thing is mute, anyways.”

“But Damiano is so stuck in this way of being. You have no idea how fucking difficult it can be.” Athena looks at you helplessly.

“That boy would walk on glass for you.” Emmaline declares this as if Dami’s commitment was ever in question.

“But I don’t want him to! I want his life to be easy!” The room falls silent. Never did you imagine that Em and Athena would be your confidants in anything. 

“I used to have playdates with Dam, when we were tiny. Isabella has always had a stick up her ass. She makes things seem harder than they are. Just…look at this again in a couple days.”

“Reevaluate,” Athena agrees. You nod, trying to shake off the anxiety. Now that you’d dodged the panic attack from, everything was uphill. At least that’s the platitude you kept repeating to yourself while walking back to the amphitheater because it had to be true. 

“Very impressive performance by the way Em.”

“Thank you, thank you.” She stops to take a bow and wave at a fake audience. Knowing you’re going to be observed, you school your face into an annoyed friend and go straight to Dami. He’s standing up, back to the field, having a heated conversation with his mother. When Damiano sees you his shoulders relax and his focus shifts.

“See?” Isabella gestures towards your approach. Dami folds you into a tight hug which your return. For a few seconds, you don’t have to think about what your face is doing. Based on how tense he was, Dami probably wanted to go find you and his mother insisted he remain seated. Doing otherwise would be fuel for rumors.

You and Damiano sit on a quilt. It’s a nice alternative to cold, metal bleachers that have made you butt numb. He also threw a blanket across your laps. You could feel his concerned gaze on you. Concealing your distress for his own good had you twisted up inside and he could sense the conflict below the surface.

“Later. We’re good.” He nods, expression unchanged, and pecks your lips. The game drags on, and while being tucked under Damiano’s arm is wonderful, the sensation that you’re being watched prevails. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin. At one point, you throw your legs over Dami’s lap so you can press your face against his coat and pretend to sleep. He can probably feel that you’re faking it right now, just as you could sense last night. He strokes your hair and fiddles with your scarf, attentive in a way that makes your chest feel warm despite everything.

When the crowd is focused on whether or not a goal is about to be made you pull Dami’s jacket aside and press your nose to his scent gland. He smells like the first warm rain of spring, when everything comes alive in the greenest hue of green. He also smells like you. Unfortunately this scent won’t stay on him permanently until you mate. On the other hand, his smell is now gaining prevalence in your pheromones because of the mark. It’s a sweet musk, the perfect encapsulation of Dami’s alpha role within your relationship.

Damiano should pull away from you. Scenting is considered inappropriate behavior for a public setting. This is close enough that if someone in front of you were to turn around they’d think you were rude. Luckily, his giant hood and shoulder pads shield you from the back and side with a modicum of privacy. Instead of stopping you, Damiano sits completely still and allows you to enjoy his pheromones. Rather than just smelling, you breathe in with your mouth open and eyes closed. The subsequent effects are powerful enough that you’re satisfied, slowly pulling back.

“Better?” he murmurs, readjusting his jacket to its normal position.

“Yeah,” you sigh, lacing your hands together under the blanket. You realize that you can figure this out if you’re always on the same team. You’d have to stand by Damiano, even when it challenged you.

Unfortunately, the effects of your little transgression don’t last very long and you’re craving scenting again. You couldn’t do it here. Lord knows, what people would have to say if the both of you disappeared somewhere private. Not in the car, but maybe Damiano could walk you upstairs. It’d have to be really rushed.

“Damiano, is she asleep?” Isabella whispered. When he looks down at you, your eyes flutter open to lovingly meet his gaze.

“I think so,” he responds. 

“When we drop y/n off, we should meet her family officially. I think it's far past time for that, don’t you?” Yep, they knew. Rather than banish you, Isabella had made it public that you were Damiano’s committed girlfriend. Sure, you felt a bit like a prop, but it was weirdly validating.

“Yeah, okay.” Dami looks back down at you, eyes wide open and ready to admire him from any angle you were provided. His hair fell around your face like a curtain. For a brief moment, it was only you two. It seemed that you realized simultaneously that this position was very similar to one you took last night, where Dami had pulled you sideways into his lap and cradled you. Sure it was just your legs across his lap today, but the blankets and shelter of all the layers created intimacy. Dami’s cock twitched against your thigh and he winced. 

“Stop thinking about it,” you whispered.

“I can’t,” Damiano blushed.

“Think about the game.”  He sighs, readjusts uncomfortably, and focuses on the scoreboard. The hand holding Dami’s is toasty and you rub your thumb to and fro. Damiano looks back at you and his expression becomes somewhat pained.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he demands, in a whisper.

“Like what?” 

“Like…how you were.”

“This isn’t how I looked when you knotted me,” you defend. Dami’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head. You’re not sure about what, speaking so softly it's not as if anyone else could hear.

“Why would you bring that up?” he hisses. Damiano’s cock jumps against your thigh again.

“I thought that's what we were talking about.”

“But don’t actually say it. That makes it so much worse.” You shrug and Damiano focuses on the field with a heavy sigh. There probably wasn’t any discernible difference and this was all in his head. Testing your theory, you try to emulate the expression you’d used while play-fighting. Damiano had put you on your back and you’d looked at him like you’d never dream of disobeying him again.

When Dami compulsively went to check on you again he actually froze. You hadn’t thought it would do much at all. Instead, these barely negligible changes in expression had a huge impact. Manipulating Dami with just your eyes was dangerously fun, but he looked like he was about to blow a gasket.

“Christ, really?” You drop the facade and his chest heaves. The smirk that appears on your face might get you in trouble later, but you can’t help it. Dami untangles your hands and turns his attention staunchly forward. He gently pushes your legs off of his lap so you’re sitting upright. His other arm remains around your shoulders, perhaps for appearances. 

Your stomach is sinking at the knowledge you’ve upset him. Dami’s arm pulls back too, but only so he can rub your back. It’s those long, soothing strokes he uses to comfort. He’s not angry. In fact, his hand finds your waist and pulls you closer. At the same time his stoic expression is focused on the field, like he’s refusing to look at your way.

“Love?” you murmur. Damiano turns to you immediately. His face is attentive, nothing else. 

“Hey,” he jostles you, pulling the blanket up on your lap. Out of relief you kiss him, but Damiano doesn’t allow it to be more than a brief peck.

“I’m not mad, but I need to not have a boner when I stand up. Your legs putting pressure on my lap was not helping.” Dami drops his head so he can whisper in your ear.

“Oh.” You wrap both arms around his torso under his unzipped coat. “This okay?” 

“Mhm.” Damiano pecks your forehead, watching the game.

“I promise I won’t do that thing with my eyes again. You can look at me.”

“But staring at these disgusting, sweaty, muddy alphas is much more effective.” You decide not to take it personally.

“When you’re warming up and it’s windy, you all look like blue marshmallows with legs.”

“So the height of masculinity?”

“Exactly.” He squeezes you and leans his head against yours. The gesture roughly translates to thank you for understanding. 

Romero barely loses the game, with both sides yelling at the referee. Dami gets so invested that he spends the last 10 minutes on his feet with Sandro. His profanity laden encouragement, screamed at Star, ended with you covering your ears. Athena was just as into it, but you could see Emmaline rolling her eyes from across the amphitheater. When Manchu is announced as the winner, you do get on your feet because being the only one seated felt strange. Daminao beamed when he saw you heckling beside him.

Filing out of the bleachers, you realized this was going to be Act 3. The Davids greeted the coaches from over the railing while Dami sprinted onto the field, jumping several feet in the air. He greets his teammates: fist bumping, shoulder checking, and straight up shoving each other to the ground in good spirit. There are a couple stragglers who seem too intimidated to partake and stand a couple yards away.

  Leaning against a fence post, you wait at the entrance to the field. You want to be in Dami’s line of sight when he looks for you. As he scans his surroundings, you wait for him to find you. It has become one of your greatest joys, to watch the change in Damiano’s face from searching to locating you. He lights up. 

After exchanging a few more greetings, he heads towards you. A younger player, one of the stragglers. follows behind him. He probably wants to say hi now that Damiano is not surrounded by other loud alphas.

“Ready to go?” Dami calls out.

“I don’t know, are you boys done with that mating dance?” He chuckles, and in the background Lars flaps his arms like wings and hops. Another player follows along, squawking.

“I don’t know them,” Dami jokes, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. Of course, this only encourages the team’s antics. You’re so distracted that you don’t hear the scrawny player that had followed Damiano the first time he speaks.

“Oh shit, hey Mika. What's up?” Dami greets him warmly.

“I said, ‘you seem fine.’” You and Damiano look at eachother, trying to discern what the little shrimp was talking about. “You’re obviously fine, so why didn’t you play?” Dami is wracking his brain for anyone missing at yesterday’s practice, but you both realize that wouldn’t matter. This kid would be informed of the fight as soon as he stepped into the locker room this morning. He was trying to humiliate Dami, when all of Romero Soccer's attention was on him.

“Because the collegiate sports board isn’t a 7/11,” you snap. 

“But Julio was removed from the team. What’s there to evaluate?” Mika was smirking, trying to force Dami to out himself in front of dozens of spectators. Behind you, people were slowing down as they walked by. You scramble for an answer. Just cursing the little shit out was an omission of guilt.

“Nikolai.” You throw Damiano a life line and he takes it.

“I guess no one told you that either,” Damiano cringed. Pitying Mika for not earning inclusion in team conversations was so much more effective than attacking him.

“Nikolai is on probation and the board has to decide what to do with him.”

“Did you try to kill him too?”

“I didn’t try to kill anyone!” Damiano lashes out. You catch him by his wrist and pull him next to you.

“I just don’t understand why Nikolai and Julio aren’t even allowed to be here. Since, you’re obviously a danger to people around you. Everyone who knows agrees with me, but they just too scared –”

“You know I truly cannot imagine being this insecure.” Dami may not be willing to sink to Mika’s level but you’d happily make friendship bracelets with Hades. You’d take pleasure in crushing Dami’s enemies in the process of defending his honor. So he can see the confidence in your face, you look over to him. Damiano is petrified. Are you absolutely ready to go to war right here, right now, in front of god and everybody? Yes, but he’s not.

“Or should I say delusional. Everybody who? You’re the only one standing here. Literally look around yourself.” Mika does in fact, look around himself. “C’mon, let's go,” you pull Dami’s hand towards the parking lot. Before you can turn around, Mika recovers.

“That’s what I’m saying! They’re scared of him.” You force yourself to burst out laughing and look at Star from across the field. He understands that gaslighting is a group effort and starts chuckling, staring at Mika like he’s lost his mind.

“What the fuck are you even talking about? I’m actually so confused.” Acting as though the whole thing’s absurd was a shortcut to ruining Mika’a credibility. There's a place inside your heart where you know a shred of empathy should lay, but all that’s left is anger on your alpha’s behalf.

“I have no idea,” Star agrees. Mika’s head turns back and forth as he realizes the power of a vindictive omega.

“Julio attacked Dami. Dami defended himself. Julio got kicked off the team, but somehow Damiano is the unhinged, violent one? Julio isn’t even allowed to come to games!” People had stopped walking altogether, just to watch the spectacle. 

“Yeah, what are you even mad about?” says a voice you don’t recognize. 

“We lost because we were missing three of our best players and it's his fault! He shouldn’t even be on the team!”

“Thank you.” Damiano finally pipes up next to you. Everyone listening in has confusion on their faces.

“For saying I’m one of the best players on the team. That means a lot, man.” He even claps Mika on the shoulder while smirking. It’s his alpha smirk, his I know I’m the hottest one here smirk, his I have the power smirk. It means all his defenses are up, but also that he’ll be okay.   

Lars matches that expression, and suddenly Mika feels very small. Everyone has forgotten about the second sentence. He shouldn’t even be on the team. They’re all enraptured by this young, egotistical alpha being publicly humbled by his own.

“You should be thanking Dami, since you’re his alternate.”

“I’m not his alternate!” defends Mika.

“Oh, sorry I don’t know a lot about sports. What's it called when someone is only allowed to play if one of the good athletes can’t?” you ask Damiano. He scoffs and puffs his chest out.

“Good game, boys.” He raises his hand in farewell, and walks away, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You decide to keep the charade up as long as you’re being watched.

“That was so random. What is up with that kid?”

“I don’t know, maybe dehydration,” he shrugs, casually. Dami catches on so fast that you wonder if this isn’t the first time he’s had to perform.

“Are they gonna have to get him a doctor?”

“Maybe,” he sighs. “I sure hope not. I think he’ll feel okay after some electrolytes.”

“Is it ‘cause he’s never been on the field for a full game?” Usurping Mika’s last bit of credibility is vindicating. 

“I think…” Damiano squints his eyes while pretending to jog his memory. “Yeah, I think that’s the longest he’s been in a game.” A few seconds later you’re out of the crowd and walking across the parking lot. Sandro and Matteo are standing outside the car and Isabella comes up behind you, breathless.

“Good, that was good!” she assures, always watching. The best way to describe Damiano’s response to her words is that he shuts off. He shuts off his emotions, reactions, opinions, vulnerability, personality, affection. In the process he mutes your connection. The ways you can sense and anticipate each other is severed. When you reach out to understand it's like screaming into the universe’s largest expanse of emptiness. Sure, non-verbal episodes as a stress response weren’t uncommon with alpha-omegas, but this went so far beyond that. There’s no shape or light in the place you used to be connected. He’s not there. He occupies some other space, entirely unreachable.

You’d never appreciated your bond. It grew so gradually and paled in comparison to a mating bond. Now that Damiano had blocked everything out, your tethering point became a bloodied hole.

“Let me in. Let me in,” you whisper in his ear. The car was moving but your whole world felt at a stand still. Damiano hadn’t cared who sat in the middle seat. Now you had to wonder if he’d be compelled to protect you right now. No, you didn’t need his protection,  but after a year with a safety net that yawning chasm of fate feels less like a fact of life and more like inevitability.

 You try to hold Dami’s hand, but he barely responds. Even as you lean your forehead against his temple.

“Just let me in. You don’t have to let anyone else in,” you whisper. “Please, please, please, please.” Blocking someone less than a day after marking them had to be the height of cruelty. “Dami, you’re hurting me.” He doesn’t react. “Love, you’re hurting me.” Tears burn behind your eyes. Would this episode affect your mark? Would it develop normally or would this thrilling new intimacy be warped? 

“Just squeeze my hand.” You wait in rapture, knowing that he won’t punish you in an effort to punish himself. He’ll hold your hand back and you’ll start from there. You wait and you wait and that response never comes. If Dami wasn’t blinking, you’d assume he was unconscious, but even when you woke in the middle of the night it wasn’t like this. He wasn’t exhausted or preoccupied. Damiano was purposefully pushing you away with both hands and every ounce of his monstrous mental fortitude.

“This isn’t fair,” you whisper. “I want you just as you are.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek makes you realize that Damiano always leaned into your touches, ever so slightly. The meeting of your lips and his bare skin always changed his breathing. Now he’s a statue, like you mean nothing to him.

“There's something wrong with Dami.” Your voice shakes and the tears fall. Everyone looks at him. You expected someone to startle, instead it's as if they’ve seen it before. Sandro reaches across and shakes his knee.

“Dam? Damiano, c’mon. Dam?” Nothing. Your stomach turns and suddenly you can’t stand being in the same space as this creature who was once your boyfriend filled with energy and passion for life.

“Pull over.”

“What?” Matteo asks. “Here?” You nod.

“Pull over. Just pull over, it doesn’t matter.” He idles on the shoulder outside an abandoned industrial building. You clamber out of the car. After a few breaths of fresh air the nausea abates, but everytime you look at him it comes back. For the first time, you could describe the exact color and shape of Damiano’s soul. The weight, texture, and the way it shimmered in the sun, or sung with the wind on stormy afternoons. You could do all these things, because you now knew what he looked like without it.

“Can you hand me my backpack?” you cry, covering the ugly noises your mouth is making with one hand. Sandro picks it up and reaches across Dami’s body, handing it over. Damiano’s eyes follow. For a millisecond you can see him, cowering in the farthest corner of his brain. Or maybe you’re imagining it to stay sane.

“Sometimes the stress after an episode makes him non-verbal. We already know that it’s a normal –”

“No! This is not non-verbal. My sister Thalia goes non-verbal when she gets overstimulated. This isn’t – he’s not…” A sob shakes you so completely that you sit down in the grass. Matteo turns off the engine and switches on the hazard lights. Isabella gets out and walks around the car.

“These episodes are usually very short. He’ll probably be fine within the next couple days.”

“Fine?” you seeth. “A person does not go from that to fine in 24 hours, or a week, or probably a fucking month!” Part of you is aware that this isn’t the way to talk to your alpha’s mother, but a significantly larger part doesn’t care.

“I know the catatonia –”

“Catatonia!? He’s not there, Isabella. He’s not fucking there!” You point to your head while tears run down your face. “Do you understand? There’s nothing on the other end. He’s not there!” No beta could begin to comprehend this, but Isabella is an alpha. She takes a deep breath and nods and that's all you can make out between the sobs. Everyone's expressions are blurry, but you don’t care about their condemnation or absolution. Let them think what they want about your reaction.

“That is not stress! He’s – he’s just…he doesn’t want to interact with the world.” you sob, gasping for air. He doesn’t want to be here are the words you can’t bear to say. Isabella places a maternal hand on your back but enrages you rather than comforts. Isabella, who made Dami come to the game where he was ambushed and judged.

“If you knew this could happen, why make him go today?” you demand, furious. “You should have protected him! If he’d stayed at home this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Or something else could have triggered it.”

“And I could hypothetically get hit by a bus at any minute which is why I don’t walk into the street with my eyes closed!!” Outright screaming is a sign this interaction needs to end. “I’m sorry for yelling. I’ll walk home.” The words are mechanical, and you never meet anyone's eyes.

“Honey, that's going to be at least an hour,” Matteo calls. You can’t look back, already crying so hard that walking is difficult. Crying so hard you can’t even hear when the car drives away. Crying so hard that you don’t hear your mother trying to get your attention when she pulls up next to you.

“Y/n? Y/n? Darling, the Davids called me. They explained what’s going on.” You trip on the curb trying to get into the car. Landing on the asphalt reminds you of all the times Dami caught your clumsy ass, which just increases the despair. The ride home is a couple minutes, during which you try to get your shit together.

“Is Clio home?” you sniff.

“Yes, she is,” your mother replies evenly.

“Fuck,” you groan, rubbing your flushed face. 

“I’ll make sure she goes easy on you.” Walking into your house was a mix of emotions. At this moment you’d be dreading the Davids driving away and wishing you had more time with Dami. Right now, you miss Damiano, but can’t stand being around him.

As soon as you get your shit together it all goes to pieces again. First thing you do is take off your coat, Dami’s coat. The memory of how animated he was this morning is torture. After the shoes and the jacket you take off your scarf out of habit, revealing the evidence that you’d been marked. 

Crying some more while mom makes camomile tea only gives you a headache. When Clio walks into the kitchen, you know it’s about to hurt like a brain aneurysm.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re 15!” she exclaims, first thing. “I’m gonna kill him for deceiving you like this. There’s things that you don’t even know about and –”

“I know,” your croak. “I know about all of it and I provided informed, enthusiastic consent, so you can fuck off.” 

“And the fact that you were okay with it is just evidence that you’re not old enough to make this decision, oh shit.” You burst into tears again. Clio takes three steps forward and crushes you in a hug.

“I’m gonna get snot all over you.”

“Don’t care. I’m going to castrate him with a butter knife,” she pledges.

“Please don’t. He’s not the reason I’m crying. I mean, he is, but not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” she questions, harshly. Clio pulls back to look at your face.

“He didn’t hurt me, but he’s in a shitty situation. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him and I just feel so much empathy that I can’t – can’t” you gasp, followed by a sob. Mom hands Clio a paper towel for you to blow your nose. Clio analyzes you for a few moments, gaze scrupulous. 

“Come with me.” Your sister drags you to the bathroom and rips off the bandage. She must examine the bite for a full minute, before stepping back.

“I assume you’re checking y/n’s mark,” mom calls. “How’s it looking?”

“Immaculate,” admits Clio begrudgingly. “There’s nothing left for me to do,” she calls. “No discoloration, no sign of infection, no rash, no irritation, no discharge. I could put a bandage on it, but it’s already scabbed over.”

“Well, that’s excellent!” Mom is trying to interject as much positivity as possible into the conversation via her tone of voice.

“Maybe the bastard does care about you as much as you think he does,” Clio mumbles. This makes you smile, but then your eyes water.

“Sit sideways,” she demands. You sit sideways on the closed toilet lid so she can brush your hair. It's sort of her love language. Clio takes it down out of the jumbo scrunchie pensively. 

“I thought you lost this.”

“Lent it to Dami. There's a picture in the school newsletter. He kept it by his bed all week.”

“Sentimental bastard.” Clio pulls her phone out of her pocket and switches to your email. She stares at the picture in her nondominant hand while brushing with the other.

“Hmm” is the extent of her retort. After detangling she methodically applies hair oil and creates plaits. Mom brings you a cup of tea, communing from a seat on the edge of the bathtub. 

“So, yesterday?” she asks. You nod in return. The way Clio braided was way more complex than you had the patience to learn. Her beautiful, delicate hands worked painstakingly.

“I hope it was…I hope you feel content with it.” Clio radiates disapproval, but she doesn’t speak up.

“He was amazing,” you whisper, staring at the grout. “I wasn’t scared. I felt respected.” Even talking about Damiano in a hoarse murmur was almost too much. “It was my choice, all of it. I picked exactly when I got marked.” Mom nodded, shifting her grip on the tea mug, thoughtfully.

“You picked a good one,” she decided, then dropped the topic. Her and Clio chatted back and forth, just ambient noise. Your neck was stiff by the end of it, but the result was beautifully intricate. You admire how shiny your hair is in the mirror, no longer feeling the urge to blubber.

“Thank you.”

“It’s lovely work Clio.” She gives a tight lipped smile in response, standing with her hands on her hips.

“Stress is such a vague term,” she proclaims. You know it's in reference to the details mom had shared with her. This entire time Clio has been contemplating the situation.

“I think he really loves parts of his life, but sometimes it gets too overwhelming for him to tolerate. Isabella just accepts that, but I don’t.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Clio agrees. “His parents are being irresponsible.”

“I’m sure it's a very complex situation,” added your mother. Such a gentle mannered woman had ended up with three daughters that were all just different brands of incendiary. 

“They’re trying to do the right thing for him, but it feels like they never talk about it. There was just this protocol decided on at some point and they’re gonna stick with that forever.” Your mother nods in agreement and the bathroom is silent for a minute.

“Do you feel like now you could stand to be around him?” Clio asks, folded arms.

“Uh, yeah. Him shutting me out was just…too much.”

“It’s not about you though, he’s shutting everybody out.”

“He could have made an exception!” you snap.

“Or maybe he couldn’t,” Clio countered. “Maybe it was just too hard. Anyways, my point is that he needs you right now because you advocate for him. If that’s too much pressure, fine. That’s fair, you’re only 15.. But if it’s not, we should go.”

***

You call Isabella before leaving, just to make sure you hadn’t offended her to the point of banishment. Surprisingly, you hadn’t offended her at all. She thought your presence may be a great idea, but only as long as it wasn’t detrimental to your own health. You agree, when what you really want to say is that nothing could be worse for my mental health then the haunting void in my mind where Damiano used to be.

His room is dark: lights off, shades drawn. If not for his pheromones, you might not have known Dami was under all those blankets. At least he smelled the same, that was a comfort.

“Hey it’s me, here to ruin your peace and quiet.” He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. “Make any sound if you want me to leave you alone.” Again nothing, but Dami had been absolutely silent since you left the parking lot. Trying to figure out if he’s asleep, you lightly place your hand on his back and can feel his heartbeat racing. He’s probably too anxious to sleep.

“How about, stay in that exact position if you want me to leave.” You brace for it to be like holding his hand earlier, but Damiano pulls up the corner of a quilt, inviting you to lay beside him. You squeal in excitement, crawling over.

He doesn’t pull you against him, but he does hold eye contact, which is his second effort to engage with the world around him.

“Look at you, being a chatty Cathy,” you wink. “Oh shit, was that insensitive? God damn it I never know when to stop talking and, oh no.” The preemptive embarrassment hits you. “Oh, it's just gonna be so much worse now, too,” you groan, before catching yourself. “But, like no pressure! Take all the time you need. In the meantime, I…well, we’re gonna need some sort of signal for you to tell me to shut up. Do you have a bell?” You sit up, evaluating the trinkets in reach for their usefulness. “Hmm, no bell, but maybe something else that makes noise? Oh, I know!” You sink down to the pillow again. “Get one of those spray bottles they use for cats that are misbehaving. Do you have a plant mister? I'm pretty sure they’re – mm!”

Damiano kisses you. He just lurches forward and puts his mouth on yours. Technique wise, it's your worst kiss, but you still throw yourself into it. One hand comes to cup the side of his face and you stroke his cheek. You try to coax him forth, into the kiss, but it doesn’t work. He doesn’t touch you and it wouldn’t matter if he had both arms wrapped around you. It’s sort of like kissing a stranger. It feels like you’re cheating on Dami.

Compared to the normal raging inferno, you’ve got no chemistry. It’s how romantic and sexual interactions were before Dami. This was the part that was so impossible to explain, how being alone in a closed room with the right alpha could be more compelling than actual sex with someone else.

“My love,” you coo, pulling Damiano towards you. Gentle wasn’t working, so your other hand snaked under his waist and around his torso. You throw your leg over his, trying to tangle your bodies together. Dami isn’t registering that the licking and pushing at his lips with your tongue is a request. Once he opens his mouth to take a breath though, you trace the inside of his lip. What a stupid mistake to think that French kissing would work well right now. In any other situation you’d give up, embarrassed. But Damiano was trying to engage after being so completely crushed by stress that he had a trauma reaction. 

“Okay, hey. Why don’t you just lay on top of me?” You flip into missionary position, arms extended. Dami gives you a strange look and awkwardly flops down. You’re hell bent on getting his face by your scent glands. 

“C’mere, baby. Come up here. Mhm.” You cup the base of his head and press Damiano’s face against your mark. He bumps it painfully with his nose and you wince. Physicality wasn’t why this worked well. It worked because underneath it all, you were highly biologically compatible. That was still intact, if you could just get him to open up and feel it.

“Think about how you smell,” you whisper, and wait a full minute. “Now focus on how I smell.” After a few seconds, Dami’s hand crawls up the bed, and laces itself with yours. Somehow, some way, that resonated with him. 

 “That mark is yours.” Your voice wobbles, but you keep the tears at bay. “I’m yours.” Without your explicit permission, your legs have wrapped themselves around Dami. The weight, heat, and smell of his body are all the same. You’re battling primal parts of the brain that interact minimally with your conscious mind. They’re screaming: I know who this is! We know who this is! 

Out of reflex, you internally reach for Damiano’s presence, already anticipating his absence. It still sucks. It feels like Dami is braced with his back to the door and you’re trying to donkey kick it open with both feet. It’s exhausting on both ends. 

“I smell so good because the diversity between our immune systems is compatible. Even in the ways we're different, we’re –” He shakes his head, growling against your neck. Damiano tries to create space, but you end up on your side, noses pressed together.

“You can feel it. I belong to you, so you marked me.” There’s comprehension in Damiano’s eyes. “Which is why you can smell yourself inside me. I’m y/n and I belong to you and I asked you to mark me so you don’t just get to abandon me. No!” you growl in frustration, as Damiano’s eyes switch to looking straight through you. He’s totally checked out in a way so unsettling it makes you nauseous. Mentally, Dami has wedged a chair under the door knob, but you’ve started to work on removing the hinges.

“Do you even care that you made love to me and knotted me and marked me and I liked it so fucking much even though it hurt? It was special! You don’t just get to…Stop pretending I’m not right in front of you!”.

Dami’s face crumples. He looks sickened with guilt, on the verge of tears. His expression breaks your heart, but at the same time you feel elated. This person, however tortured, was Damiano. He wants to run and hide so you use every ounce of your strength to keep him close.

“Stop pushing me away!” You attempt to make your voice commanding instead of petulant and desperate. Damiano tries to wrench himself out of your grip, but you both know it's bullshit. Damiano is incredibly strong. So if he really wanted to be free, he could throw you across the room. Or he could inflict pain to make you let go. He does neither. This is why you decide, possibly against your better judgment, to force the issue. 

“Let me in. You can do it, it’s just me.” Damiano turns his face away, which you use as an opportunity to press your lips to his ear. “Mine. Mine, mine, mine.” The reminder that he belongs to you, just as you belong to him, is too much. Or perhaps claiming him, as he tried to run from himself, was what earned rejection. Either way, Dami flips over and turns his back to you.

“Damiano, I am proud to be your omega. Damiano, you are brave. You are loved. You are in control.” He lashes out and bites your arm. The mark won’t even last until tomorrow. Instead of moving it out of range, you reposition your forearm to the exact spot it rested when Dami nipped you. This upsets him enough to let out a angry whine of betrayal for the apparently unforgivable crime of believing in him.

“Damiano, I’m proud to be your omega.” Now he exerts some strength, pinning you to the bed haphazardly with his chest and both hands. You’re on your side, arm crushed underneath.Using your free hand, you move the braid from covering your neck. Further revealing the most vulnerable place on your body, rather than using this moment to guard it. He growls and yips, like trusting him is even more offensive than providing affirmations. Damiano grabs both your wrists in one hand and painfully wrenches them to the side. Now immobilized, he rests his teeth right on your jugular vein and snarls terrifyingly.

“Bullshit,” you spew, trying to wiggle free. He keeps a tight hold on your wrists and brings his teeth to your trachea. You try not to cower. Instinctually, the response is fear, even though you know it's an empty threat. 

“You’re not even letting yourself go into headspace because you’re too fucking concerned about actually scaring me.” You challenge him right back with a snarl that encompasses all the frustration of today..

With your faces pressed together, you both bare your teeth. It's more exhilarating than anything else. Damiano had never interacted this way, even though you knew it was a side of him that existed. Calling his bluff makes Dami drop the act. In the wake, you catch tenderness in his eyes.

 “This isn’t your fault. None of it is your fault. You are free of blame. You are free of guilt.” He seems to give up on scaring you off. The threat was so empty, that it was more of a test than anything. Would you still want him not pretty and polished for everyone’s consumption? Could he trust that? He rolls over and curls fetal, making himself small in a way you’d never seen an alpha behave before. Gritting your teeth, you persevere.

“Why are you running from how I feel about you? To punish yourself? You’re not allowed to twist up my love for you like that,” you growl. “Stop it. I don’t consent to have my love used that way.” There it was. You’d admitted it. Damiano lets out a choking sob and takes the wall away. It’s like breaking through the surface after a riptide has kept you under water within an inch of your life. He’s everywhere again, in every sense. There's even parts of yourself you get back. Not because he took them, but because the wind blows a flower’s seed across the fence, and upon finding greener pastures the new bloom flourishes. 

In the same way, parts of Damiano that were wrenched away had wallowed in their grief, sickening you. Their sharp, broken corners left stinging cuts on the soft tissue of your insides. It was no longer possible for you to be whole and separate. 

“Hello my love,” you choke. “Thank you for coming back to me, I missed you.” Kiss. So very –” kiss, kiss “much!” He’s still curled up in a defensive position as you kiss his face. Silently, tears are streaming down his cheeks. It’s healthy, even if it's hard to watch.

“I meant what I said about taking your time. Don’t just stuff it all down as soon as it feels manageable. This time things are going to change so you don’t have to keep going back to this place to survive.” Dami flips on his back, face hardened, and pulls you onto his chest. His legs come up and wrap around your thighs too. It's a strange position, but you don’t dislike it. 

His cheek is pressed to your forehead, so Damiano’s tears wet your face as well. This is how you can tell that things aren’t getting better. He’s still crying just as hard 15 minutes later, jaw trembling. Dami is clutching you the way a child clutches a teddy bear. Perhaps you’re not actively doing much, but if he didn’t have a secure hold on you that would make the whole thing too overwhelming to even consider.

“I love being this close to you.” You let those words stand alone for a few seconds. “Is there some way I could make this moment better? I could rub your feet, massage your back, play with your hair, put lotion on. Is there a specific type of touch that’d make you feel better?” Dami shakes his head and squeezes tighter. “Okay,” you agree, content. You’d got him back in the way that matters most. There were far worse things than being Dami’s teddy bear. Plus, this was heaven compared to him not holding your hand in the car.

At some point he realizes your forehead is all wet and releases you. You wipe it off with your hand and attempt to evaluate the situation. This was the second day you’d helped Damiano through a crisis. If he was in crisis, there was nowhere in the world you’d prefer to be than by his side. However, this one could have been avoided. Dami’s hatred and fear of these episodes made much more sense. It was never just a health event. He had to reconcile whatever harm he’d caused, save face, apologize the exact right way, damage control, justify his existence to a board of some sort, pretend he was unaffected, pretend it was insignificant. He had to parade himself around for the judgment of others, making sure it ended up favorably.

Even before that, he had to deal with injuries, public appearances, medical treatment that fucked with his hormones, exhaustion, and nightmares (apparently). Then there were the subsequent doctor’s visits. The following non-verbal episodes were just his mind and body trying to survive all that anxiety and dread. 

“I was just thinking about how this is a proportional reaction to everything you’ve been subjected to.” He’s expressionless. Despite this, within yourself, Damiano feels just as present as usual. 

“Hey, never do that dead eyed, soulless thing with me again, okay?” He nods diligently, visibly burdened with guilt and other crushing emotions. That's not what you wanted at all. You kiss his cheek and pivot to a bright tone.

 “Do you want some water?” He nods, which is encouraging. “Food?” He shakes no. “Okay,” you accept without argument. “I’ll be back.”

Sandro, Isabella, and Matteo are all standing in the kitchen when you walk in. It’s painfully awkward, considering you just had a full blown mental breakdown on the side of the road in front of them.

“Ugh, sorry, excuse me.” You open the cupboard and take a glass out, filling it with water from the sink.

“If he seems thirsty you should give him this.” Anxiously, Isabella takes a bottle out of the fridge. “Electrolytes, some calories.” When she hands it over, you decide to take both. Sandro clears his throat roughly, probably a nervous tick.

“Is everything okay?” Matteo asks, timidly. You’re not sure what to say. Obviously, it is very not okay.

“He’s not getting worse,” you volunteer, to avoid giving anything away. Maybe communicating with you was the only thing that felt manageable. You weren’t about to create expectations that he had to meet. No one pressed you further after this nondescript answer, so you returned to the bedroom. Damiano had opened the furthest shade an inch, just enough light to see. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back turned to the window.

“Hey, your mom gave me this,” you hand over the bottled drink. “But I also got this.” He takes both and drinks the glass of water. Each ends up on the nightstand. 

“So…I want you to know that you can kick me out whenever you want. Don’t feel obligated or like – okay. Okay!” He starts tugging your arms. “Okay, Dami,” you giggle, being lifted you onto his lap. Again, he wraps his arms and legs around you, but this time you come to rest on your side.

“I wasn’t saying right now, but eventually when you want space, Daammm!” This time he rolls so your face is pressed into a pillow and your voice muffled. “So you’re happy I came over, then?”  He nods harshly, rubbing his face along the fabric of your top like a cat, casually dispersing some pheromones as a result. “I’m happy I’m here, too.” Damiano starts nuzzling your neck and you feel like a dumbass for not thinking of it earlier.

“Do you want me to scent you?” He disentangles himself from you and hops out of bed. At first you’re confused, until you hear the door latch. Dami pulls off his sweatshirt and tee then throws himself on the mattress beside you. He’s almost smiling, like he’s holding his mouth in a straight line, rather than having no emotion to move his face. The mock neck of the long sleeve you’re wearing gets in the way before you can even start. While it was a great look for hiding your mark, it’s a real pain in the ass right now.

First, you attempt to roll it down, but that only works if you use your hand constantly. Going shirtless might seem presumptuous and the last thing Dami needs right now is more pressure. So you end up crouched over his chest, biting your lip in thought. 

Damiano raises his hands and rests them on your back. He begins unbuttoning the dress, making the decision for you. While he works, you rest your forehead against his, treasuring this moment. He pushes the right sleeve down, then the left. Finally, he reaches into your dress and grabs the hem of your undershirt. Dami pulls it off your head, catching your hairstyle in the process. After the top is discarded, he examines the braid with a grip on the hair tie. Dami appreciates all angles.

“Since I was little Clio has done my hair when I’m really sad about something.” You wince as soon as the words leave your mouth. Dami’s face changes, but there's no platitude or assurance for this. Devastation wasn’t an overreaction and you both knew it. Instead of trying to fill the space, you lean down and run your right scent gland across his pecs and collarbones, ending by fitting your neck to his. It's a little sore from the bruising. You can’t just haphazardly rub against him and roll around in bed like animals.

Dami notices your limited movement and remembers to check your scent gland. He sits up, examining the mark on your left side carefully.

“It’s healing well,” you assure. He nods, laying down with a sigh. Any stress relief is negated. You try a different tactic, fitting your neck against him against his again. Resting there, you carefully brush back and forth, focusing on being thorough. After a minute you move up to his jaw, then cheek, then hair. His body relaxes underneath yours. His hands on your back grow limp and when you check on his expression, Damiano’s eyes are fluttering.

With both hands, you stroke his head, massage his scalp, play with his hair, run your nails along his undercut. The way he rubbed your ears in the shower yesterday was heavenly so you try to do the same. You start by tracing along the cartilage, rubbing the shell of his ear, pulling the lobe between your fingers. 

When that’s done, you quietly open the drawer in search of lotion. It’s hilarious that sexually liberated Dami still uses lotion to masturabate instead of lube. However, it makes your life easier right now. With a couple pumps in your palm, you run your hands down his chest and abdomen. Starting at the top, you work the meat of your hand into the muscle of his pecs. You’ve never massaged someone's chest, not really sure how to do it. He seems to be enjoying it with little rumbling hums which is all that really matters anyways.

From sternum down you’re at a loss. There’s no muscle on his ribs to massage and having someone press on your stomach sounded unpleasant. Instead, you just rub the cream in. Switching to his forearms comes with new ideas. You apply gentle pressure while running your hand up and down. You use your thumbs to massage Dami’s hand. There's obviously a lot of muscle in the area, but you have no idea how to treat it. Still, he seems to enjoy this most of all so you repeat it on the other side. 

Next your attention is turned to his legs. Paying so much attention to his thighs may result in certain circumstances you were unsure how to navigate. Damiano saves you the worry by flipping over. It was wonderful to see him accept some generous comfort, asking for it without words. He allows himself to relax under your gentle touch like never before. You realize it's probably because he’s not battling impulses. He’d marked you less than a day ago so those demanding, alpha sexual impulses were quieted. For now. There needed to be a system of consent put in place soon.

Damiano whiles beneath you. In a moment of thought, your hands had stilled. You smiled because it was the most he’d communicated with you all day.

“All right, all right,” you respond fondly. “No need to complain about it, geez.” Although it felt counterintuitive, in Dami’s position you’d loath being treated like glass. Maintaining some sense of normalcy was important. As soon as you worried about the teasing being one-sided however, Dami used his hips to knock you off him. You laughed while climbing back to your previous position. Not because it was particularly funny, but because you were relieved. Even within the circumstances, your dynamic was completely preserved. 

“Ingrate,” you muttered, squirting the cold lotion directly onto his back. He let out a sound of displeasure. You leaned forward and kissed the back of his head before continuing. Damiano was so muscular from all the sports he played that your hands grew sore.

“Your shoulders are like massaging concrete by the way.” You sat up and took a break, shaking your hands to stop them from cramping. Dami turned onto his back again and extended his arms towards you, releasing you from the obligation. Happily, you rested under his chin and enjoyed having your hair stroked until his hands were tired as well. Then you just lay in silence and that was okay.

Notes: I’ve noticed in hurt/comfort stories that everyone just moves on and there’s no emotional consequence from traumatic events. That’s not realistic with the amount of pressure alpha Dami has been under so you’re in for a bit more angst

Masterlist

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[descendant-of-truth]

For anyone confused about the canon status of any given Sonic game, I've put together what's hopefully a helpful chart breaking it down! Worth noting is that every single TV and comic series exists in its own canon as well, so they would be in the "AU Territory" section.

Detailed descriptions of the games in each section and how they fit into canon are beneath the cut - but they do contain spoilers if you're concerned about that at all.

Universally Agreed Canon: Sonic 1, CD, 2, 3 & Knuckles, Adventure, Adventure 2, Heroes, Sonic and the Secret Rings, Sonic and the Black Knight, Unleashed, Colors, Generations, Lost World, and Sonic Forces

Pretty straightforward; these are most of the main console releases, and so people treat them as more definitively canon than anything else. I feel like I remember there being a bit of debate about Secret Rings and Black Knight, but with the former being clearly referenced in Generations, it's safe to assume the latter happened as well.

This post is being written before Sonic Frontiers releases, but it's safe to say that'll be in this section, too.

Canon but in a confusing way due to storytelling: Sonic Rush, Rush Adventure, Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic 06, Rivals, Rivals 2, and Sonic Mania

So, this is where it gets weird. Nothing about the Rush games is weird on their own, but them being the origin story for Blaze and Eggman Nega creates major complications for Sonic 06 and the Rivals games. Those two characters are cited as being from an alternate dimension, but in 06, Blaze is simply there in the future with no indication given as to whether this is the same Blaze from Rush or not. And in the Rivals games, Eggman Nega is explicitly said to be from the future instead, now.

However, you can't write the Rivals games off as being non-canon because they're the only instance of Silver being reintroduced to the rest of the cast. And why did he need to be reintroduced? Because of Sonic 06, whose entire plot gets undone at the end of the game.

But you also can't say that 06 isn't canon because it gets undone, because Crisis City - a stage that is dependent on 06 events to exist - is in Sonic Generations, a game all about exploring Sonic's past.

Shadow the Hedgehog is a game with multiple branching paths, but it does have a True Ending that... is basically just the ending and shows none of the steps any of the characters took to get there. So technically, we have no idea what truly happened between the start and end of that game, and so information that was true in one route and not another is made even more ambiguous.

Sonic Mania has to be canon because in the true ending, Sonic is whisked away to be "Classic Sonic" in Forces. However, Tails recognizes Classic Sonic as being "that Sonic from another dimension," which can only refer to his appearance in Generations, but... they were very clearly dealing with time travel in that game, not dimension hopping.

Does this mean all Sonic games pre-Adventure are now retconned into another dimension? Possibly, but fans collectively don't like that which is why I put all those games in the "Universally Agreed Canon" section.

Spinoff, but doesn't contradict canon much: Knuckles' Chaotix, Sonic Blast, 3D Blast, Sonic R, Tails Adventure, Tails' Sky Patrol, Shuffle, Riders, Riders: Zero Gravity, Free Riders, Team Sonic Racing, Spinball, SegaSonic the Hedgehog, Triple Trouble, Labyrinth, Sonic Chaos, and Sonic the Fighters

These are basically "take it or leave it" when it comes to canon. Sometimes the setting seems more obviously different from the mainline games, but not so much that you couldn't justify them being in the same world.

Handheld adaptation that changes the script so we assume the console version is the true canon: Sonic Colors, Generations, and the Mega Drive games

I couldn't actually find the icons for all the Mega Drive games, but this category is pretty much what it sounds like. The handheld versions of Sonic 1, 2, etc. didn't have scripts though, so what changes is more on-screen events and level design.

People still use these titles as reference for characterization, though; especially Colors, which had a much wider cast of characters than its console counterpart.

Wanted to be canon but got rejected: Sonic Chronicles: the Dark Brotherhood, Sonic 4 episodes 1 and 2

Chronicles pulls from a lot of pre-established lore in order to tell its story, so I believe it was written with the intention of being canon. It even ended on a sequel hook, but the game was so poorly received that no mention of its lore additions have come up ever since, and without a conclusion, it's safe to say it's non-canon now.

Sonic 4 was more obviously marketed as a follow-up to Sonic 3 & Knuckles, and its events do work under that premise from what I can tell. It was originally meant to have more episodes, but like Chronicles, its reception led to the project being scrapped and we have no particular reason to assume it's canon anymore.

AU Territory: Dr. Robotnik's Mean Bean Machine, Sonic's Schoolhouse, and the three Sonic Boom games (Rise of Lyric, Shattered Crystal, and Fire & Ice)

You could make the argument that there's nothing saying Sonic didn't run a schoolhouse at some point, but I think it's safe to say they weren't too concerned about this being canon at all.

Mean Bean is a glorified recolor of Puyo Puyo, and it has more in common with the cartoon Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog than anything else.

Sonic Boom is its own thing entirely, but oddly enough the games seem to be AUs of each other as well? Fire & Ice could reasonably be a sequel to either one (Shattered Crystal more likely due to being on the same console), but there's no way the other two can coexist in the same universe together. It's also unclear which, if any, of these games are canon to the TV show.

Genuinely don't know what the consensus on these is: The three Sonic Advance games, and Sonic Battle

I'm personally unfamiliar with the plot of Advance 3 especially, but I do know that it introduces a new(?) character that's related to events in Battle, and they haven't appeared in a game since. No other game references the events of Battle, either.

But it's also the series of games that formally introduced Cream to the other characters, so that means it has to be canon, right? I don't know, but I think 4 out of 53+ games is an alright number to not know how to place.

This ended up being a lot to write, but hopefully it makes sense! I didn't want to go too deep into the stories themselves or the lore details because that would take way too long, and the goal here was to show more how they fit together rather than what specifically happens in them.

#sonic the hedgehog #analysis #meta #I think Sonic can be an intimidating franchise to get into #and this. maybe doesn't help with that considering how many games and categories there are XD #But it should at least be concise and a good reference point for how canon a game you're interested in is!