#but work and being tired from work has gotten in the way -.-

[retroellie]

Loud

Summary: After being dragged to a small town for a case, spencer found himself littering the town with his moans because he couldn't keep quiet.

A/N: I actually hate this, but i wanted to post something. Work has been killing me (literally) Anyways, miss yall <3

Warnings: NSFW, riding, dirty talk, praise, normal CM stuff

Word count: 3.9K

Spencer Reid was vocal in anything he did whether it be profiling, chess, books, statistics... you name it and he can talk your ear off about it. So this didn't come as a surprise to you when he was extremely vocal and loud in bed. He would whimper and whine until his noises were bouncing off the walls, consuming every single quiet corner. He couldn't help it, it was so hard to focus on anything when his cock was deep inside of you. It did not help that you tried your hardest to get these noises out of him, it fed the huge ego that you had developed since having sex with him.

Spencer had been shamed his entire life for how talkative and loud he was, so he assumed his loud whimpers weren't an exception. He tried so desperately to keep quiet, he would bite his lips till they bled, shove his face into your skin until it turned red, he would strain himself so hard so no noise could sneak past his lips. You hated the fact, that Spencer tried so hard to keep his noises in. You wanted him to enjoy himself, you wanted him to be comfortable with everything you were doing with and to him. You didn't want him to feel like he had to hide, ever.

To be completely honest, you had grown to enjoy his high-pitched whimpers filling the room. It was your favorite song, your favorite melody to play as you rode him into the sun. You would constantly reassure him that you loved those noises, you would even sometimes punish him if he tried to hide them. One time you even got so frustrated with his shyness that you edged him for 2 hours, teasing him with your pussy until all he could do was babble... suddenly a 187 IQ went straight down to 60.

As much as you loved his loud moans and would usually encourage them! This was neither the place nor time to be letting them flow out of his mouth freely...

A case had dragged the team all the way to a small town in Alaska, a population of less than 300 people. It was a quiet town, made on top of hunting and farming. There was only one motel, the townspeople were more than happy for you and the team stayed in it. They were actually more eager to get you checked into the motel, they had all been so tired of this person killing their loved ones.

It was a small motel, with only 4 rooms and 2 shared bathrooms between the team. You couldn't complain though, it was beautiful and quiet... quiet, something Spencer wasn't being at the moment. Something along the long trip here had gotten you excited, basically bursting at the seams as you were immediately on top of Spencer as soon as you stepped foot into the room.

Both of your clothes had been scattered around the small room floor, things knocked over from tables, the bed already looked slept in as you rode Spencer roughly. There was already so much noise that echoed through the room, between Spencer's moans, the sound of slapping skin and the headboard being rocked into the wall. You prayed that the others didn't hear, but it was a small and old motel... The walls were thin. You were going at an animalistic pace, trying to get both of you guys off in a quick round so you wouldn't disturb the rest of the motel for long and hoping it was quick enough to be able to be written off as "old cabin" sounds. You knew Spencer wouldn't last too much longer, due to his high pitched whimpering and beet red face. He started off good, his moans stayed below a whisper but his cock started grazing the spongy part deep inside you... he couldn't hold back.

"Shhh..." You shushed, putting a hand over his mouth as his eyes fluttered closed. "gotta be quiet honey... Morgan and Garcia are quite literally 5 inches away from us."

Spencer moaned into your hand, digging his nails into your thighs. He couldn't make out most of your words, his hearing going in and out as you spoke to him. He threw his head back, your hand falling from his mouth as he obeyed you and quieted his moans.

"72 inches...." Spencer huffed out, squeezing his eyes shut as his cock twitched inside of you. He was so extremely close to the edge that he could taste it.

"What?" You asked. Your words barely above a whisper as your confusion took over your mind.

Spencer let out a few more moans, gripping tightly onto your thighs they started turning red and will probably leave a bruise in the morning. Your confusion led you to slow your movements, causing a whimper from spencer to rise from his chest. He sounded whiney, almost pathetic as he pouted that your movements had slowed. Spencer squirmed underneath you, taking in a breath as he found the words to explain himself.

"Garcia and m-morgan are actually 72 inches from us..." He stuttered, moving his hips up to meet you as your confusion still filled your head.

You didn't really even want to know how he figured that out, especially since the only time you guys had been in this room is now... and Spencer didn't have enough time to scope the room before you were on him. Spencer's mind worked in mysterious ways, it was the main reason why you were riding him now. His mind was amazing to you, his knowledge of literally anything was so impressive that it felt so amazing that only you could make him a dumb, moaning mess. Spencer looked up at you as you furrowed your brows, a face that he saw often because everyone was confused about why he knew anything he knew.

"I took the square footage of the building, divided it into 4 rooms, and then..." Spencer couldn't finish because, with a swift move of your hand, you took your underwear that had been hanging off one of your ankles and showed it in his mouth to silence him.

He looked up at you with big eyes, his surprise taking over his face as you leaned down to be face to face with him. He bit down on your panties as you drove your pussy down on him, a couple of hard thrust almost pushing him over the edge.

"It doesn't matter..." You hissed, watching his eyes snap shut as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. "Either way, they can hear you... the entire cabin can hear you. Do you really want our coworker to know how much of a whiny brat you actually are?"

Spencer whimpered softly, the taste of your juices making his back arch into you and his hips thrust widely. Your dominance leaked from every pore of your body, only causing Spencer to moan louder. You were getting frustrated with him, his moans bouncing off the walls as the sound of your hips hitting his was still echoing through the cabin. However, there was a slight bit of excitement that coursed through your body. Everyone hearing how easily you can break down the boy wonder, everyone knowing that you were the only one who can reduce a 187 iq down to 0 with just one swift move of your hips.

"can't... gonna..." He tried to get his words out through your underwear that was stuffed into his mouth. He was shaking now, frustrated with his inability to speak but also your slowed movements. You chuckled softly, brushing his hair from his face before pecking his cheek.

"Gonna what?" You asked, mocking his inability to form a single sentence. "Gonna cum huh? Gonna cum in me like a good boy?"

Spencer whined softly, your praise ripping his self-control away from him. He could no longer control his loud moans or his hips snapping back into yours. You leaned back from him, sitting straight as you placed your hands on his chest. You prepared yourself to go faster, preparing yourself to push you both off that edge. You lifted yourself and then snapped your hips back down over and over again, watching as Spencer bit harder down on your underwear with each thrust. Your nails dug into his chest, your own moans escaping your mouth as you sloppily thrust into him. It took only seconds for you both to be cumming, your liquids soaking the bed beneath you.

You shoved your face into the sheets next to Spencer, moaning loudly into them as you were too embarrassed for your own moans to be heard. Your body spasmed out, not able to stop your hips from fucking yourself through your orgasm. Spencer had been doing no better than you had. He had left his body and went to cloud nine, your underwear now soaked with his drool as his body tensed. His nails were still dug so deeply into your hips, small moon-shaped crescents were becoming present now. It was a fast but lovely type of pleasure, it was there and then it wasn't.

Your body shook, hands placed into Spencer's hair as you left sloppy kisses on his neck appraisingly. Spencer was coming back into his body as you did so, each kiss sent him further down within himself until he was there and he was present with you.

"Did so good for my love..." You spoke, continuing your kisses on his neck. Spencer and neck kisses were like a puppy to a treat, his favorite way of getting praised. "Always so good for me. How'd I get so lucky huh?"

Spencer couldn't help his blush, he loved the praise and it had caused his cock to twitch once more. You rubbed his cheek softly, leaving a small little love bite down his neck. He definitely was going to scold you for that decision in the morning but as of right now, you did not care. All you cared about was the fact that you were deeply fucked for spencer, you just fucked him in a small town, with a serial killer on the loose, while your coworkers were 72 exact inches away. How fucked can someone be for another person?

"Not lucky..." Spencer whispered out, his voice raspy. Your panties had been taken out of his mouth, laying by his head as he tried to catch his breath. "Just really nice boobs." He joked.

You chuckled softly, pecking his neck one last time before sitting up. You were still straddling him, feeling as his cock was starting to get hard again. The way your sweat-drenched chest looked while on top of him had his cock standing to attention, his exhaustion soon melting away and turning to excitement. You would have loved to go a couple more rounds, fucking spencer till he cried and than passing out in his arms was one of your favorite before-bed activities. However, this was not the time or place to go multiple rounds.

You looked around the room, looking for anything in your close proximity to clean you both up with. Spencer took this time to sit up, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place as he started to work his own soft kisses down your neck. The feeling felt heavenly, his hardening cock beginning to brush against your clit as his mouth worked wonders on your soft spots. You could feel yourself slowly start to melt into his kisses, moaning softly when he nibbled at your collar bone.

Spencer was kind of messy and dumb when he was horny, he didn't have much common sense when it came to it. All he cared about was how good it felt, how the inside of your walls would clench around him until he felt he would go crazy if he didn't cum deep within you. So as of right now, his mind was not in the place yours was. He wasn't thinking about the serial killer on the loose or your team being only inches from you, all he was thinking was you and how he wanted to be inside you once more.

If you weren't in your "FBI profiler" mode then you would have caved in the moment he started kissing your neck, but you were and you knew one round was enough for right now. You didn't want to disturb the motel more than you already had, knowing that Morgan was definitely going to be teasing the both of you in the morning. You just wanted to save you both the embarrassment of it all, even if Spencer was the one making all the noise.

"I gotta take a shower." You said simply, reaching up to grab his face in your hands. He looked up at you, eyes glossed over with lust as he looked at you like you were a goddess. That look alone was going to really make this much more hard than it already was. You left softly little kisses along his face, the only thing you could do without losing complete control over what your vagina did.

"Can I come too?" He said innocently, his lip coming to rest between his teeth.

You wanted to say yes, so desperately wanted to let him come with you. But you knew better. You knew that every time you took a shower with spencer he some how had your face shoved against the cold wall as he fucked you roughly. Spencer didn't like the germs that came with sex, so he let loose when he fucked you in the shower. It was never an innocent "I'm going to help you get clean" shower, it was always a shower that still came out dirty. You sighed softly, brushing your hand through his hair as you knew the one single word that was going to come out of your mouth was going to break his little heart.

"No." You stated simply.

"What! why?" He pouted, looking like a literal child as he did so.

You smirked softly, hoping off his lap as you made your way to your closet. You were still naked, with only a flimsy button-up over your shoulders. Spencer thought you had been teasing him, watching your thighs glisten with his cum as it dripped out of you. He wanted more, he craved more and you were completely denying him of a need. Spencer knew in the morning he was going to regret this entire decision, he wasn't dumb. He knew he would cringe at the fact he was so loud, that Morgan would probably cook him for this one. But he didn't care, all he could focus on was his now very hard cock.

"Because..." You mocked him, bending down to grab your pajama pants that somehow made their way onto the floor when you threw your bags down. You weren't worried about where they would land, you were too worried about the fastest way to get Spencer's cock in you. "Showers always end with sex and since you can't keep quiet... you will not be joining me."

You took a washrag from the desk, assuming that the motel staff put them there for your stay, and wiped his cum off the insides of your thighs. Spencer pouted some more, letting out huffs and promises that he'll be quiet and blah blah blah. You didn't hear much of it though, trying to clean yourself up as best as you could before going over to Spencer and doing the same thing. He was still pouting when you wiped your own juices off his cock, making sure to get his lower stomach as you did so.

This was definitely a punishment, it was so much fun hearing spencer begging to fuck you and get all high-pitched when he didn't get his way. When he was all cleaned up, you quietly collected your things as he listed the reason for you to let him get in the shower with him, your favorite one being "You made a mess out of me! I need to get cleaned up too!". You knew his intention was not to get clean in that shower, you knew he'd somehow end up inside of you. You were stronger-willed than him however, you begged and he would cave almost instantly but it was not the same for you. You couldn't tell if you were good at not giving in or if Spencer was bad at begging.

"You will live my love." You smirked, collecting your things in a small shower bag before making your way to him. You bent down to peck his lips softly, taking his face in your hands as you did so. "One shower without me will not kill you."

Spencer tried to make the kiss deeper, trying to make it so you just couldn't say no to the hard passionate kiss he had created. You again were much stronger than that, pulling away with a smirk as he whimpered at the loss of your lips. Spencer sighed softly, he couldn't stand your self-control sometimes. You grabbed buttoned up the long button up shirt, making your way to the door.

"There's still an unsub on the loose, so it might kill me." He pouted out, watching you walk away. You couldn't help but laugh loudly at his words, shaking your head as you did so.

"Alright well, don't die I guess." You joked back, opening the door to your hotel room. Spencer ripped the sheets over him as he was still sitting on the bed, cock out and everything. "cause then you wouldn't ever get to fuck me ever again."

You fake pouted, watching as he rolled his eyes as you mocked him. You stepped outside the room, closing the door as you did so. You swear he was going to be the death of you, his sassiness and sex drive was going to one day make it impossible for you to even utter the words "no" to him. But for tonight, you were going to take a nice hot shower without your boyfriend's cock deep inside of you... although that did sound nice.

-

You made your way down the steps to the old motel, files in your hand as Spencer followed closely behind you. There was a new break in the case, a new suspect that the town's sheriff had put together with the help of your profile. This caused hotch to call your cell phone at 4 am, telling you that you needed to be at the police station in 20 minutes. You debated on getting up this morning, wanting nothing more than to sleep off the side effects of an overwhelming orgasm. Your thighs were sore and your legs were still slightly shaking. Spencer wasn't doing any better, for he had to go to bed with a hard cock.

He woke up extremely needy this morning, but he couldn't do anything about it due to the fact you both were rushed out of your hotel room to come and once again go over the details of the profile. You found yourself being extremely irritated with the day already, you should've just caved in and let spencer fuck you... maybe this mood you were in could have been avoided if you didn't avoid the orgasm. You debated on if you and spencer could get in a quickie in before you arrived at the station, but most of the drive there was spent going over case details and you actually did care about catching this fucker.

You both arrived a bit late, the team had already begun talking about the suspect and Morgan even went in to interview him. As soon as you two had stepped foot into the room, the team had stopped what they were doing and their eyes landed on you both. Even Hotch had begun looking and if Hotch looks then you know it's bad. Spencer was completely clueless about it, he was never much for picking up on social cues, but you knew. Spencer sat down with a smile, saying "good morning" before digging right into the new case file.

"Good morning indeed, pretty boy." Morgan teased, causing the rest to snicker.

'Oh god, it's already starting' you thought to yourself, hoping that you could at least get a moment of peace before they started throwing their jokes at the two of you. You rolled your eyes, sitting down at a chair next to Spencer as you sat your stuff down on the table. You were not prepared for today, even on 3 cups of coffee you could not handle this. Spencer squinted his eyes at the team, again not really picking up on their reason for laughing.

"Did y'all sleep well?" Morgan added, hoping at least Spencer would fall right into his trap... and he did.

"Yeah, we slept as good as you could in a 60-year-old bed," Spencer said back, his statement not even an overstatement. Those beds were around 60 years old and they sounded like it when you fucked in them.

You just kept your head down, not wanting the attention on you even though it was. Spencer was lucky that he was clueless, not understanding that you are quite literally the butt of the joke. Spencer's words caused a slight reaction in them all, they all knew you did a lot more than sleeping in that 60 year old bed... they all heard it. You could tell they all could, even Rossi who was the very last door in the hall could hear you.

"I know I didn't sleep too well..." Emily added in, looking over at Morgan as she smirked softly. "I kept hearing what sounded like a grunting goat?"

There it was, Spencer's confusion turned to embarrassment as she said those words. He suddenly sunk into his chair, feeling exposed as he now knew he was the butt of the joke.

"No, it was more of an owl who hasn't gone through puberty yet." Garcia joined in, causing everyone to laugh as you and Spencer both grew red.

Hotch was even laughing softly, his eyes peeling away from the file as he looked at you both through his eyebrows. You knew this was going to be a long trip... excruciatingly long and you knew this was only the beginning of the teasing and the jokes. Morgan had now started to make high pitched moaning sounds and Garcia would do it back to him, sounding completely ridiculous but honestly pretty close to what Spencer sounded like... you couldn't hide your laugh as they did them.

"Alright, alright..." You finally said, your face now on fire as you tried to redirect their focus on the case. "I'm sorry you guys are all not getting any... but we really have to focus on the case right now." You joked back, wanting the attention off of you now.

Spencer looked over at you, silently thanking you for attempting to get them to stop. They all continued to laugh, however, laughing even harder at your words. Your embarrassment slightly dissolved as you realized how stupid this entire thing was. You felt stupid for being embarrassed at how good you fuck your boyfriend, how he wasn't able to control his moans when he was with you. Your embarrassment turned to an ego as you looked at it like that.

"Y/N is right..." Hotch joined in, looking back down at his file. "But y/n, If you and Spencer keep me up until 2 am again... you're fired." 

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine

[jealousjersey]

₊⊹ ꕤ˚large and in charge ⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

pairing ★ sub!josh futturman x dom!reader blurb

synopsis ★ yours and josh’s relationship has gotten bland, and when you suggests pegging, it takes a big turn.

warning ★ pegging, cumming, no gender specific reader, mentions of rough patches in relationship, begging, moaning, thrusting, penetration with toy, toy use

dating josh futturman wasn’t the worst thing in the world…you loved him. and he loved you, but your sex life wasn’t ideal, you were ultimately tired of how vanilla things have gotten. so whose gonna blame you if you suggest something…uncomfortable ;)

“baby, i was thinking we could…try something different. you’ll think it’s weird but i’ve looked it up and it’s not! many people do it! and i was thinking that we could…try it and see if it works for us…” you say nervously to your boyfriend, placing kisses on his shoulders, specifically focusing on his freckles

“well what is it” he replies hesitantly, knowing you could say anything

“uhh, have you heard of…pegging? like me fucking you?” you say, almost stuttering.

“uh…yeah i’ve heard of it…is that something you’d want to do?” he asks, completely open to the idea of it. something about you being in charge this time really does it for him. he’s always thought about it this way…him being a sub for you, it’s mainly the theme in his mind when he masturbates.

“yeah..yeah i do. are you up for it?” you ask. he nods his head eagerly, showing you how much he wants this. you never expected him to be so…open to this. it almost made you want to take him right there…but the equipment is needed first.

“okay, do you wanna look for one with me? we can order a strap on from amazon.” you say, motioning him to lay down with you. you hold him close to you as you open amazon on your laptop.

“does this one look good?” you say pointing at the screen, showing a pink translucent dildo with sparkles implanted into the silicone. it’s no huge dildo by any means, maybe a 6 inch. you wanted him to be comfortable his first time, and not just shoving a 12 inch in him.

be nods his head, his arms sill wrapped around you and head buried in your chest. “yes, that one is good” he whispered, looking almost embarrassed by the action of looking for one.

“i’ll order it baby” you place a kiss on his red cheek, flushed with embarrassment. your kiss, this simple soft gesture melts his nerves away.

friday

the day comes, you get a notification that a package is on the front porch. a decently sized white parcel with a sticker showing your address, the sender shows the person you ordered it from. it’s finally here.

you rush inside and go to your bedroom, opening the package, accidentally waking him up. it doesn’t matter how much sleep he gets, he can always manage to get more.

“it’s here? already?” he says, wiping his eyes away from the sleep and yawning. but as he sees it in your hands, the translucent pink dildo, his face turns a deep shade of red.

“mhm…you ready?” you ask, excitedly. you tried to act nonchalant about it but god it was hard when you’ve wanted to do this for so long.

“yeah…i’m ready.” he says, sitting up in bed, his hair messy and his eyes partly closed with sleep apparent in them.

directly on the beat, you get lube from the front drawer and slide it around the dildo, josh can’t help but get hard at the sight of this. he almost wishes you were doing that to him.

“take your pants off and get in doggy style” you say to him, trying to sound as seductive as possible but he can’t help but laugh.

“god don’t say it like that” he chuckles, but he does. his ass looks so good like this. you spread some lube on your fingers and insert them into his hole, something about the way it clenches around your fingers makes you shiver with excitement.

“that feel good?” you ask, pumping another finger inside him, watching his dick gradually get harder as it touches his stomach, still in the same position.

“mm…cold” he whimpers. “getting hard…put the toy in please” he begs, he looks so cute like this. scared and cold just waiting for your next move.

“gonna put it on slowly okay?” you say, reassuring him. all he can do is mumble as you insert the slick toy into his hole, feeling the way he flutters around it. he lets out a soft moan of pleasure.

“more….” he whimpers, and you obey. you push in more, almost filling him up completely, the sensation of being in control makes you so excited for this.

you push in deeper, hearing him grunt, moan, whimper. it all makes you wetter.

“m’gonna cum…please say i can cum please” he whimpers, dick hard against his stomach with precum leaking down his chest.

“just a little more, you’re doing so good josh” you encourage him. “such a good boy, taking my strap so well.” you coo.

your hips rut into his ass, the strap on hitting his walls as they clench around it.

“so tight…so good for me” you say, knees wobbling from the position you stand in.

“good boy, you can cum now josh” you say, pushing further into his hole, and with a loud moan. he cums, and god….youve never seen so much in your life.

his cum squirts out of him, leaking all over the bed, then pooling on the floor as it spills. god, he makes such a mess.

“such a good boy” you say as you pull out, a wet pop filling the room as his hole returns to its normal size.

“sorry…i made a mess…” he says, turning completely into a bottom.

you press a kiss against his lips and get a towel, wiping his chest as he lays on his back, his dick softening.

“don’t worry baby…did you have fun?” you ask. he nods eagerly.

your sex life just got a hell of a lot interesting.

#josh hutcherson #jealousjersey #mike shmidt #fanfic #five nights at freddy's #smut #mike schmidt x reader smut #jersey writes #mike schimdt fanfic #mike schmidt headcanons #josh futterman fluff #josh futterman x reader #josh #josh futterman smut #josh futturman #jfutz #josh futterman #futureman #future man #billy burn 2019 #billy from burn #billy burn #burn 2019 #detention movie 2011 #detention movie #jhutch1992 #clapton davis x reader #clapton davis smut #clapton #clapton x reader

[apatheticlexicographer]

to be completely honest, the stranger things fandom has damn near ruined the show for me lmfao

#and i don't mean in the 'i know too much i can never be satisfied as GA again' way #people are just soooooo fucking petty #and i swear to god nobody in this fandom seems to remember that it's supposed to be... fun??? #for them and for everyone else #like. bro. have u considered sitting down and maybe drinking a glass of *insert preferred juice* #people take the stupidest shit tooooooo seriously #also HEAVILY controversial opinion so i'm banking on nobody seeing this lest i get hashtag cancelled: #the vast majority of the characters are pretty bland and have middling chemistry #yes. this includes mike and will #i enjoy them. i like them. i don't think they're BAD. but sweetheart they are not that deep i'm sorry ToT #truly fascinates me how worked up people get over a handful of fictional pubescent suburbanites #yeah i'm losing followers if anybody sees this but i honestly do not give a shit #it might just be the mental illness but i barely care about any of it anymore even on a perfunctory level #i miss stranger things being a show i really really liked without being muddied by how fucking annoying fandoms are #(just in general but indo tend to fall into obnoxious ones and ST is no exception) #honestly half the entertainment i've gotten here has been from participating and half has been from watching other ppl squabble #i guess we all suck. haha #i'll probably be less of a holier-than-thou jackass in a couple weeks when i maybe get new meds #but til then i am honestly so sick of logging onto tumblr and having my dash at least half full of stranger things #i'm sick and tired and bored. i just wanna enjoy my blorbos in the peace of my own mind and then forget about them for a couple of years #maybe the hyperfixation is finally ending #honestly??? i hope so #lexi stfu challenge

[hobisexually]

x

#hm its time for a rant again <3 #but my roommate has a date again and that makes me feel…….. extra mentally ill snsnsnsn #I’m a little bit upset because I spent this entire year trying to rebuild right. rebuild my social life rebuild the me I used to be #and every time I think I’m almost there shit derails me? #like okay first my dad and I. collide in unprecedented ways #then my back problems got worse than ever before #then I try to recover from not speaking to said dad and work throws a blow in my face that I quite frankly still haven’t really gotten over #then new body problems arise! #then we find out I definitely have pcos and can’t ignore it any longer #then everyone in my life is. moving on to a life phase I can’t follow to #but I had it all under control I was taking it in stride I was Coping #and then ……… I catch covid again #and it really triggered 1) my anxiety again in ways that. Sigh #and 2) im still not okay? it’s been three weeks and I’m still dizzy every day I have a headache all the time I am So tired I can’t focus #and my eyes are being weird #and idk that happened in the last week and also my neck is FUCKED and my shoulders feel like concrete #and last time my eyes were weird and I couldn’t focus and had a headache all the time it was also my neck #but I just…….. am 1) terrified it’s long covid I am so so so scared #2) how can I live life normally if this. keeps happening. #but mostly 3) I am so tired of it being blow after blow after blow #I am too generally busy with work or therapy or physio therapy or FUCKING pelvic floor therapy #which is a whole different kind of hell I can’t even begin to discuss on this website it makes me so uncomfortable #that I. can’t even date. #like where do I have the energy to. #I am about to turn 32 and what the fuck do I have to show for it #and what if this is it #what if? this is it?????!!???! #I don’t know if I can live with that #ugh this doesn’t even touch the root of it but I am Deeply Upset and I don’t like complaining or acting like a victim (im not!) but Jesus #I for once would just like to. be carefree. instead of feeling like I need to fix 29292993 things about myself before I can Live. fuck.

[savrenim]

gods nov 5th is the gift that keeps giving

#I recently have been dragged into I guess sort of the boku no hero academia fandom in the funniest of ways #which is to say I read a crossover fic went 'huh that's good' and decided to read more fic while also deciding to never watch the show #which I've only done for one fandom before and tbh it might legit be a more fun fanfiction reading experience than the normal one #it is WILD trying to reverse-engineer what is simply well-accepted fan theory and what is actual canon #I've definitely gotten a few guesses wrong but the osmosis process is really fun #(esp bc if you want to be a good detective you have to check dates; even people writing very carefully close to canon #might have written a fic before canon came out) #BUT ANYWAYS I guess I read BNHA fic now it's actually pretty good #probably bc there are multiple characters that fit my standard..... not even 'blorbo' preferences #my 'you have a backstory and/or situation that means fanfic written about you is most likely going to hit the spot' preferences #1 defs being Eraserhead bc let's be real 'I am a very tired gruff teacher working two jobs at once who does not get any sleep and has #against my own will adopted all of you why is this happening to me I'm so tired' is The Most Relatable #Hawks bc Crafted Into A Weapon From Childhood is The Weapons Feels^TM #and then Dabi bc that was the crossover that I read that was fun ok it was a silly jjk crossover of 'what if Gojo is reincarnated as Dabi' #that just transferred all my 'HELLO FAVORITE CHARACTER' emotions onto Dabi who then I go and look up and has also the sort of backstory #that makes him fave character material #SO here I am sitting here just generally happy with all of this watching my annual Nov 5th meme compilation #and LO AND BEHOLD there is strong arm 'trending during the us election: destiel/ BNHA' meme #and I'm going 'what the fuuuuuuuck my new favorite fandom aLSO TRENDED IN THE NOV 5TH CHAOS????' #so obviously I had to look up why #WELL THE WHY WAS DABI BACKSTORY REVEAL #anyways my housemate had to check on me as to why I was screaming and it turns out that indeed nov 5th #is the gift that keeps on giving #if you have read this far down in my tags I feel like you now know uncomfortably personal things about me #esp if you know enough about BNHA to understand all of that #so if you have any fic recs About My Favs I'm taking them I esp enjoy canon retellings bc it's REALLY fun to try to figure out #which bits of those are actually canon

[pepprs]

life would be so much better if i wasn’t so absolutely fucking depleted and exhausted all the time lol

#or afraid of getting covid #purrs #like life is passing me by i think. i am very small and i have nothing to say. i cannot sustain all the ways im being stretched. i am #not capable of deep thoughts or lifechanging insights or rocking chair conversations or warm eyes. i will not be getting my learners permit #when i said i would because im just too fucking tired. i will proceed to spend the week sleeping until 1pm and playing video games all day a #and barely moving at all and letting life live me instead of living it myself. i just do not have any energy at all ever. i don’t even have #spoons at this point i have like.. metal scraps. CONSTANTLY. the mortifying ordeal of knowing i am wasting my life and not living to the #fullest or making a meaningful contribution to the world or creating magic and love and change in relationships with other people and the mo #mortifying ordeal of no longer having the bandwith / strength / wherewithal to care much less do anything about it 😍😍😍 #like omg. i have never gotten covid and god fucking willing i never will but the psychological damage this pandemic has had on meeeeee. the #fact that we haven’t taken like a solid week as a society to process it all. the fact that i am socially mentally emotionally stunted in #ways i will never recover from no matter how hard i try. gotta love it 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 #delete later #<- it’s not just bc of covid obviously bc everything at home and at work is in massive transition and i do not do well w instability. i #would like at least one area of my life to be stable please. i don’t think that’s such a big as #*ask lol #im just depressed bc im tired and this week has been insane and my dyshydr*sis is flaring up HORRIBLY rn but also the overwhelming excruciat #excruciating awareness that i am a nothing girl living a nothing life and i did that to myself as a survival mechanism except survijlving = #scraping myself along the ground in every fathomable area of my life. awesome

[pizzapizzadickz]

Hehe! I've had a really good birthday!!!

oh yeah. I need to update my profile!

#diary #personal #i had fun reading and relaxing. ive gotten a lot done lately and have been feeling well thanks to the help of coffee #...honestly i think thats my new miricle drug. #but yknow i feel super okay/good! idk. ive been having a lot of trouble lately but im just really happy today. #idk. i just love who i am i suppose? even with sensory issues pain and everything else going on i suppose. #idk. im excited to try and figure out what to do about it all tbh. havent felt like this for a while #im.still tired. and i really need help. but that coffee has been giving me enough energy to actual DO things #i havent been able to fold my laundry for months #barely able to even put in in the was tbh. #its been really rough. #really really rough. idk. i dont really share that part of things super often. being just exhausted and tired all the time #like. ive just had no energy to do anything. and if i force myself to it typically ends in a breakdown or something... #and if not im terrified ill push myself too far and cause one. haah. its very troublesome. #but. idk. its not something i really share bc i dont know how to explain or how others will.understand #unless its something youve experienced its not relatable. #its not really depression. its just. knowing your just one step away from being unable to do anything at all #and ive been teetering on that more and more lately. haah. this is why i was worried about working. #but. nothing wouldve changed even if i hadnt started. even on my best days ive always been one step away. #and to be honest its terrfying. im.scared in a way of living like this. #i love to learn. i have so much ambition. but it holds me back a lot. #to be honest ive been wondering if i need to get diagnosed with shit and go on disability #...but then i have days like this and its hard. because i know i cannot advocate for myself #haaah. how do you find all the resources for shit. translate your chinese to greek for everyone. and the energy to live? #you dont. thats why ive given up so so so many times before. but idk. i guess ive finally figured out that you can just pay someone #and idk. maybe im too hopeful in thinking that someone can organize my life for me until.i can? #this isnt even a joke. i wish it was. its terribly sad to be honest #i cant ask for help from my parents. and as much as i love my friend they have their own lives to live. #and honestly it really feels impossible to explain the depths of things like this to people sometimes. #thats sorta why i dont spend my money often unless i deem it nessisary. i dont know when i can earn more... haah. oh well.

[chaosnojutsu]

.

#feel free to scroll right past this #she really fucked me up. and it’s turned me into a despicable person. and my loved ones are sick of dealing with me. #they’re starting to take my abuser’s side because of how horrible my mental health has been and how i have expressed that #i’m taking accountability for the unfortunate way my friends have gotten caught up in this #but i’m so lost without being able to vent to them or ask for advice #i’m so tired of having panic attacks every day because of what she did to me and the fact that i have to see her next week. #but i have to go get my stuff out of her house. #so i have to drive back to new york and see her #and i’m going alone because i don’t want to be even shittier to the people who love me as a result of my heightened emotions #i’m so scared and i feel so alone and i can’t stop crying or breathe #and i can’t tell my parents the full story because they dont know i was in love with her because i’m still in the closet. #i legitimately have no coping skills and the ones i’ve tried are not working #i’ve completely exhausted my list of friends and i only get to see my therapist once a week #i hate the person i’ve become and everything i try to do to fix it only makes me worse #i don’t know where to go from here. #delete later

[tonycries]

Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? - G.S.

Synopsis. There were two things missing in the scene in front of you: 1. The aphrodisiac chocolate your friends had given as a gag gift last Christmas that had been hidden away in the back of your refrigerator. 2. Your dear fiancé.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected sex, Satoru’s blindfold gets used, overstimulation (male + female), lots of cum, aphrodisiac sex, multiple rounds, making Gojo Satoru cum in his pants, breaking the bed, mating press, pet names (my girl), swearing.

Word count. 3.0k

A/N. Can you tell it’s ovulation week. PART 2 HERE. Art by @_3aem on x.

Ah~ It’s the 21st century, they should really make these curses self-exorcizing. 

It’s been a long day of dealing with countless curses and five droning clan meetings (all of which he missed, oops). Now, Satoru loiters around your shared penthouse apartment - waiting for you to come back home from work.

Hmm, maybe he’ll quickly drop by and see what the first years are up to? He probably didn’t have a class right now. 

But first, Satoru grins, opening the refrigerator to grab at the secret stash of sweets all the way in the back - something sweet.

---

It was odd to step into a tense silence suffocating your home - usually used to being met with whines of “how dare you take so long!” and “you won’t believe what that emo kid did today.” as soon as you walked in through the door.

Was Satoru running late on a mission today?  

It wasn’t surprising, the man had to be everywhere - it’s not like he always has the time to teleport and welcome you home. Yet, you still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off as you made your way into the kitchen.

Cursing whoever invented the work week, the cold air of the refrigerator hits you as you open it to grab a drink, wondering when your fiancé will be home.

Wait.

Tired brain distinctly noting the lack of that familiar flash of hot pink, you double-take as you glare at the back of the refrigerator - as if willing it to materialize in front of you. Where was that?

“That” being the gag gift your friends had given you last Christmas to playful wolf whistles. Some large slab of “aphrodisiac chocolate” - probably normal chocolate - that you’d skeptically thrown in with your secret candy stash for a rainy day. 

Satoru had ransacked your goods again, you sigh. But if he was home…then where was he?

“Toru? Are you home?” you call out in confusion, only to be met with a deafening silence. 

Concern etched on your face, you set the drink down to look for Satoru, footsteps thumping against the hardwood floors at each tense step. 

Approaching the bedroom, a low, unmistakable moan filters through the heavy door. Satoru.

Heartbeat racing and worry coursing through you, you cautiously push the door open - only to be met with a sight that makes your heart stop.

There, sprawled across your bed in just his boxers, a delicate flush spread enticingly along his sculpted body, was your Satoru. 

Something about this scene felt more than a simple evening nap. The air was heady and thick with something. Maybe it was that familiar hot pink wrapper lying empty at the foot of the bed. Maybe it was the way Satoru’s usually vibrant eyes were half-lidded, curtained by his tousled hair. 

Or maybe it was his hand squeezing the large outline of his achingly hard cock through his boxers. Circling the dark spot around his leaking tip. Massaging his heavy balls. Teasing. 

“You’re home‘ he rasps out, voice strangled and snapping you out of your trance. 

“Wha- yes. Toru, what happened?” you sputter out, eyes locked on the way his cock twitched animalistically at the sound of your voice.

In the blink of an eye, Satoru’s gotten up from the bed, muscled arms caging you against the wall. His rock-hard erection presses into your front, precum smearing through his boxers against your work clothes.

“You’re home.” he repeats, sounding as strained as if he were about to snap any second. Losing his sanity with each breath that fans your hair.

You could feel the pulsing of your cunt as your eyes flit from the sheen of sweat decorating his body to the blindfold haphazardly hanging off his neck. Satoru finally raises his eyes to look at you.

Oh, he’s already lost his sanity.

Pupils blown, those blue eyes you love now a lustful black - a predatory glint in them that made a carnal part of your cunt twitch. His mouth spreads into a wolfish grin, teeth bared as if ready to eat you up. 

A shiver runs down your spine.

“Toru…you okay?”

“You’re home.” he breathes out, as if a prayer. 

“Satoru.”

The simple call of his name sealed your fate.

The buttons hit the ground before you realize what he’s doing. Ripping your shirt off, pulling off your bra, fisting your clothes in his hands as if it killed him to see you clothed. 

Too impatient - too starved - to remove your skirt, he pulls it to shreds off your hips.

“Woah- slow down there.” you squeal as he drops to Satoru knees, biting down on the thin fabric of your soaked panties, tugging with his teeth. You know he’ll buy you ten more to replace what he’s torn, but jeez where was the decorum?

“Can’t” he slurs, peeking up at you with dazed eyes. Was your Satoru even here with you?

“What?” 

“Can’t stop.” he murmurs lowly, voice sending vibrations to your twitching cunt. 

And before you know it, sharp teeth bite around your panties, ripping them to shreds. Looking up at you with hooded eyes, miles away, grinning devilishly around the soaked fabric in his mouth. 

Shit, what have you gotten yourself into.

Despite your thobbing pussy, you soothe “Now, Toru. Why don’t we just-”

“Shut up.” he mutters. And he does - words catching in your throat as Satoru dives nose-deep into your dripping cunt. Hot tongue urgently lapping at your juices, as if a man dying of thirst..

Nose rubbing your pulsing clit in rough circles, he breathes you in so sinfully, letting out a throaty groan as he does. He bullies his tongue past your dripping folds, stretching you, dipping in and out of your quivering entrance. Over and over. In and out.

You were losing your mind with each rough push of Satoru’s warm tongue. Dizzying pace forcing lewd whimpers out of your mouth that mix with the squelches of his mouth on your pussy. 

You buck your hips desperately into his face, and amidst his merciless abuse on your cunt, you barely notice the way he presses his body against yours. 

Shit, so this is why he’s so fucking feral - Satoru’s cock was painfully hard, swollen and throbbing against your leg. Fuck- you weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

He grind his hips into you, precum soaking your bare legs. With a low whimper at the back of his throat, Satoru’s tongue fucks you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting.

Maybe it’s the harsh abuse of his mouth on your swollen lips, nose catching on your clit just right. Or maybe it’s the feeling of your slick dripping down the corners of his mouth, onto your thighs and mixing with the precum of his aching erection. 

Before you can even register it, you’re cumming all over Satoru’s mouth, grip tight on his white locks and hips riding his pretty face.

Greedily lapping at your quivering cunt, he moans as his eyes roll to the back of his head at the sweet juices pooling around his tongue. 

In the back of your mind, you recognize the feeling of Satoru’s warm cum smearing against your leg. Did- Did Gojo Satoru just come in his underwear while eating you out?

Sinfully, he licks at the mixture of your juices dripping down your legs, eyes closed as if tasting a delicacy. He was going to be the death of you.

As soon as your high bates, Satoru stands to his full height. Towering above you with eyes that looked like he wanted to positively eat you alive.

“T-Toru…are you okay?” 

But your fiancé stays silent, throbbing erection still straining painfully against his wet boxers as he shoves you against the cold wall. Rough hands on your hips, presenting your dripping cunt to him and arching you to his will.

A large hand smacks the wall beside your head, plaster crumbling under his strength. Shit, if he keeps going at this pace then nothing in the house will survive Satoru - including you. 

You feel the cum-soaked fabric of his boxers grinding against your ass, his hands pulling and groping every bit of skin he can reach.

“Toru, take it off.” you whine out, words dripping in lust.

You don’t need to tell Satoru twice. With grace that he wouldn’t give your clothes, his boxers are on the ground, painfully hard cock hitting his abs. 

You can feel the slick dripping down your legs as you look behind your shoulder to see one hand wrapped tightly around his large cock. Pulling in slow, languid motions up to the furiously flushed tip. His heavy balls twitch as he thumbs the prominent vein along the side.

“I want-”

You can’t even finish your sentence before Satoru’s bullying his massive cock into your snug cunt. Plush walls desperately trying to adjust to his size as he sheaths himself in your hot core. 

You moan at the delicious stretch of your pussy. It’s not like you haven’t done this before - yet, where Satoru was usually suave in sex, right now it was replaced by pure, feral need. With his tip kissing your cervix as he pushed animalistically into your cunt - you didn’t know if you’d make it out alive. 

“Hah- Toru it’s too big. Ah! I can’t-.”

“You will.” he grits out, teeth clenched and brows furrowed. 

Satoru presses into you inch by fucking inch, groaning at the tight ring of muscles trying to both push him out and suck him in desperately. It was so animalistic.

It seems Satoru’s body moves before his mind, hips fucking into your dripping pussy recklessly. Harsh thrusts, not even pulling all the way out to ram into you as he usually does - as if he can’t bear to part with your wet core. His balls sting your cunt as they smack against you at his unforgiving pace, strings of slick and cum connecting him to you.

“Ah- So good f’me, my girl. Always- so good.” he gasps out at the heavenly feeling of your dripping cunt sucking him back in at each thrust. “Hngh! Mmm more. I need more. Need it so bad.”

Hands arching your back into him now grope the expanse of your skin, before wrapping around your body to lift you off the floor. 

“Ah! Toru, what- hngh-” you choke on your words at the new angle. 

Satoru’s body bows into you, cock still slamming inside you at a feral pace midair. Not even a hair’s breadth between your bodies. 

With one hand he forces you to look up at him, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss. Pretty mouth sucking your tongue as he did with your cunt.

If you were in a better state of mind, you’d notice the slight glow tinging his lustful eyes. The electricity thrumming through his fingers. Yet you already knew - Satoru was absolutely losing it.

Your feet dangle off the ground as he holds you securely, length reaching impossibly deeper inside you. Prominent vein grazing that one spot over and over.

“Hngh- Oh my god, Toru. S’too much!” you pull away to whine. 

“Open your mouth.” he murmurs raspily. As if body on auto-pilot, your mouth opens, tongue lolling out for what he was about to give.

Satoru’s stream of spit is warm on your tongue, making you clench around his merciless cock. He lets out a drawn-out groan, eyes boring down at you, holding a glint of the same insanity he has when he exorcizes curses, “My nasty girl. Can’t get enough of you.”

You moan at his words, hands reaching behind you to grab on the blindfold dangling on his neck. “Toru more-” you gasp out, your tight grip causing him to bow his head with a groan, cock twitching ferally. 

“Fuck! More? You fucking want more?” he groans out, voice wrecked with pleasure. 

You let out a yelp as his teeth dig into your neck - hard enough that you were sure you’d have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow. Like a lamb to slaughter, he was going to eat you up. Yet, your grip on his blindfold never waves, pulling him closer as he fucks roughly into your snug cunt. 

Ass burning at the friction of his pelvis. Pussy dripping onto your bedroom floor. Unforgiving. Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. “Ah! Toru s’good.” 

You both cum with strangled gasps. A low keen at the back of Satoru’s throat, and he’s pumping hot ropes of cum into your awaiting pussy. Tears stinging your eyes at your sensitivity, all you know is a wave of pleasure as you ride out your climax on the ramming of his hips and the how full you are of his seed.

His hand still draws hurried, desperate circles on your clit. You squeal at the overstimulation, tears clinging to yours lashes. “Toru- hngh!” you can barely get out the words, his hips slamming into yours mercilessly as Satoru milks his cock desperately on your quivering pussy. 

“Shut up. You said you wanted more. You’re gonna get more, my little slut.” he mutters carnally.

Ah, you can’t do this. You were going to fucking pass out.

“One- more.” he moans.

Your thighs clench around him, pushing your plush walls deeper as he lets out raspy whimpers with each thrust. “Hah- hngh.” 

“Shit- Toru I’m-” Your climax hits you with a jolt, body twitching in pain and pleasure from the oversensitivity as your cunt flutters around his cock - not even being able to tell when Satoru’s orgasm ends and when yours starts. 

You feel a tear hit your shoulder, overstimulation too much for his poor cock as his seed coats your walls once more. It drips out of you, forming a pool on the floor as he pulls out - for only a second before you’re thrown on the bed. 

Orgasm-hazed brain barely having time to register what is happening before Satoru stalks towards you from the foot of the bed. Unhurriedly approaching you as you scoot towards the headboard.

Your pussy jumps exhaustedly at the sight of him - eyes darkened and narrowed at you like a predator that has spotted his prey. A devilish smirk stretches across his swollen lips, glossed prettily with spit and slick. 

Toru, I-I don’-” you words slur out. 

“One- one more, my girl. Please.” Satoru whimpers, throat shot from what transpired just before. His cock twitches, glistening with cum and slick, dripping onto the fresh bedsheets. 

As he looms closer, you wonder how the fuck Satoru was still holding up - was this all because of the chocolate? You have half the mind to wonder whether he was using reversed cursed technique to keep you both alive.

You mewl deliriously at the feeling of your legs being thrown on his shoulders. Eyes blown and face flushed your favorite shade of pink, he licks a long stripe up your ankles, voice cracking as he moans sinfully. 

Satoru’s flushed tip teases your entrance, dragging along your swollen folds. Fuck. Shit. Maybe you wouldn’t even mind dying if it was with his cock rammed in your snug cunt.

Barely even lucid, he thrusts harshly into you - your tight entrance readily sucking up his flushed tip. You both hiss at the sensitivity. Surely, one of you was going to pass out. 

Hand moving to grasp the blindfold around his neck, you pull him to you. Your hamstrings burn in protest as Satoru bends down to attach his lips with yours, moving down until you were folded in half. 

Tongue tangling with yours, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, fiery with an intensity that made you unsure if either of you would make it out of this alive. 

Heartbeat roaring in your ears, you don’t notice the crack! of the bed and neither does Satoru. Too caught up in desperately reaching whatever number orgasm it was this night. 

Moans incoherent, your body convulses, nails dragging down the expanse of his sculpted back as the bed creaks in protest. A strangled groan leaves his mouth, cock throbbing inside you - or maybe that was your quivering cunt. At this point you really didn’t know anymore. 

“Shit- ah! Fuck. I’m- M’cumming. M’cumming. Hngh- cumming!” he whines out, voice ragged and breathing unstable. Delicate tears streak down his face, dripping onto your quivering body below him. Salty.

You can only let out exhausted whines, too fucked out to form any proper sentences.

Hot seed gushing inside you again, it overflows out of you, cunt dripping and too full to take anymore. Yet, Satoru still fucks into you until he sees stars and his poor cock is cumming dry. You can barely even feel your climax, distant tingles and the only thing on your mind being Satoru Satoru Satoru. 

The air leaves your lungs as he collapses on top of you. Skin flushed and sticking to yours. Body twitching as his poor cock neverendingly shoots blanks inside of you. Which number was this even?

That’s when you black out.

Floating in and out of dreams of blue, blue skies and mini Satorus running around, you wake up with a start. Well, as much of a start as you could with your entire body aching as if you got run over by a truck - and then an entire zoo after.

Bleary eyes taking in your surroundings, you distinctly realize that you’re spread out on the living room couch. 

What happened.

“Hey, you okay?” a hoarse voice sounds from beside you. You could barely recognize it as your fiancé’s, words jagged from…whatever it was before.

“You…are you okay?” you rasp out, raising a brow exhaustedly. Satoru chuckles sheepishly, tenderly smoothing over the blanket placed on top of you. What a change from before - are you sure this is the same guy?

“Well…the wall is crumbling, we broke the bed, and I’m pretty sure my dick won’t work again for the next couple years.” he gets out in one breath. At your silence, he continues “And I think my favorite blindfold is out of commission.”

“...wow.”

“Wow.” 

“You lecher, you ate from my secret stash, didn’t you?”

“...”

A few days later, opening the refrigerator, you’re met with a wall of hot pink. A sticky note on top reading in Satoru’s hasty scrawl, “This time you take one too :D”

A/N. Wrote this while watching The Garfield Show.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk #gojo satoru #tonywrites

[bayjaruchel]

Underneath The Strobe Light

－－－

Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

－－－

You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces. 

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie. 

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined. 

However— needing and wanting are two very different things. 

And you want. So, so much. 

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch. 

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel. 

World News Now? 

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences. 

Yeah, no. 

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way. 

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway. 

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips. 

It couldn't be anyone else. 

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly. 

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest. 

"Hey," you offer. 

"Hi," he obliges. 

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?" 

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes. 

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest." 

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls." 

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously." 

"And yet … " 

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine." 

"Fine?" 

"Fine." 

You don't want to let the silence set in. 

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay." 

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you." 

"Asshole." 

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?" 

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too." 

"Oh, really?" 

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor." 

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later." 

He's almost cheeky when he speaks. 

"It's life-changing." 

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict." 

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?" 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—" 

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—" 

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder." 

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.  

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh. 

"It's getting really late." 

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?" 

"Are you gonna head home?" 

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like— 

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you. 

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—" 

"It's not." 

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city. 

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual." 

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring. 

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual." 

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before: 

"Why don't you stay?"  

Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself. 

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't." 

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—" 

"Why are you here, anyway?" 

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—" 

"It's not!" You exclaim. 

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice. 

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—" 

You stop yourself. 

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently. 

Might as well, huh? 

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead. 

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes. 

Then: 

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense. 

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters. 

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less. 

"Yeah?" You dare to ask. 

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes. 

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him. 

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor. 

You reach out. 

He lets you lace your fingers through his. 

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should. 

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely. 

"... Can I?" 

His reply is almost instantaneous. 

"Please."  

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead. 

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it— and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit! 

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere. 

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you. 

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise. 

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips. 

He moans.  

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part. 

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—" 

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay." 

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more. 

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his. 

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone. 

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans. 

"Should I—" 

"Yeah—" 

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least. 

All you want to do is keep going. 

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt. 

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—" 

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?" 

  "Yes —" 

"You want me to take 'em off?" 

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure. 

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down. 

"Go on," you encourage. 

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—  

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur. 

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you. 

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—   

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you. 

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—" 

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs. 

  "Mike —" 

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position. 

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"  

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—" 

"Oh —" 

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied. 

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you. 

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down. 

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand— 

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist. 

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you. 

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now. 

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck. 

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity. 

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck." 

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut— 

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts—  you swear you hear him whimper .  His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth. 

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him. 

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "  

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum." 

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him. 

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down. 

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face. 

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on." 

"Yeah, okay." 

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail. 

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head. 

"Thank you," he mumbles. 

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet. 

"For what?" 

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess." 

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile. 

"You're welcome." 

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep. 

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut

[s1m0nth3swag]

Francis Mosses x GN!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE; Haven't written in a while, but thanks to Arlo, a friend (Hi Arlo, I know you're reading this), Inspiration about Francis Mosses struck (he bought me That's not my neighbor and then continued to freak out about Francis with me) so I wrote this. I have so many thoughts about Francis, so... tell me if you want more because i will deliver ngl. Enjoy (or don't, I don't dictate your feelings)

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Porn with little to no plot, Submissive Francis, a little non-consensual at the start (but not in a super weird way, imo?), Gender neutral reader (no pronouns used, tried to write as GN as possible with the compliments and thoughts about Readers appearance), not proofread nor have I thought about this much, more a drabble than an actual thoughtful story (not apologising because I had such a long break from writing anything and obviously it's gonna suck a little when I come back)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

The first time Francis had realised that he hadn't gotten any touch from another human being was when someone brushed up against him on his way home from work. He had felt like a creep afterwards because he hadn't stopped thinking about what could've happened if the person hadn't moved away and had just stayed pressed against him. That was a week before you started your job as a doorman.

The second time Francis had noticed was when a friend of his had spoken to him on the phone, talking about his new girlfriend. Said friend gave too much intel on their sex life. Francis had wondered if he could have someone the way his friend explained - he quickly brushed the thought off. That was two days before you started working as a doorman.

The third time, he noticed when you had smiled at him. It was your first day, and he was tired from work. You had repeated his name after reading it off of his ID, and he had looked at you for the first time since his eyes kept falling closed, and you smiled so brightly. You had told him his name was nice, and you said it again. Francis swore that the way his name rolled off your tongue was the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. Not even an angel could sound more wonderful. Suddenly, he was a lot more energised. Totally not thanks to the fact that he had immediately grown hard the second he had seen your smile. He had gone to his apartment that night and had jerked off for the first time in probably months. He had always been too tired to previously, but now he couldn't stop thinking about how you'd sound moaning his name. Maybe you were more of a groaner, or you'd whimper and whine. He came as he imagined how you'd look sucking his dick.

Since then, Francis has always looked forward to entry checks. What had normally kept him away from his bed and a good night's sleep was now the best experience of his day. He loved the way you spoke to him even though he was too nervous to respond. Sometimes, he deliberately didn't show his ID at first, just so you'd ask about it, and he could listen to you talk a little more. He felt guilty about it. He knew you had never agreed to feed into this weird little obsession of his. It was awful of him to do this - have you talk to him enough to give him more scenarios to think about that night.

A few weeks after all this had started, Francis had built up the courage to finally ask you out. Just something simple, dinner at his place. He had to cook for himself all the time. Cooking for you as well wouldn't be too different, right?

Francis was wrong. He was anxious that the food wouldn't taste good and kept tasting it just so he could make sure it hadn't mysteriously switched tastes in the last 20 seconds. When you knocked on his door, he took a minute to make sure he didn't look like a mess - though you wouldn't mind either way since he always looked like a mess when he came through during your shifts.

You looked so good when he opened the door. Your hair fell perfectly, your lips looked a little too kissable, and Francis had to stop his train of thought just so he wouldn't embarrass himself by having yet another boner caused by just the way you looked. You were a little shorter than him, smiling up as he let you inside.

"You look good." He mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He seriously had to lay off thinking like a high-schooler. His nervousness and awkwardness were getting really annoying - to him, at least. You grinned, chuckling softly as you took off your shoes. "Thank you. You do as well." His heart for sure burst at that - he knew something else would burst as well if he didn't stop thinking right this second.

Throughout the evening, ignoring his thoughts came easier and easier. The two of you had eaten, you had told him he was a good cook, he had almost excused himself to the bathroom because of it. Now you were sitting on the couch, drinking wine and talking casually.

"You know, when you first walked through, I swore I would die." You giggled, looking at him with a mischievous look. Francis was confused by that statement. "How come?" He asked, tilting his head at you in question. "I was sure you were a doppelganger. You looked too handsome to be real." You cheekily answered, cheeks slightly flushed as you downed your wine. Francis blushed heavily, looked away from you, and thought about your words for a moment. The silence was loud as he wondered what to answer. "..you think I'm handsome?" He questioned while looking at the floor. If he had looked at you, he'd have seen the way you stared at him, your own cheeks coloured a deep red. "Extremely." You muttered. It took him a minute before he could look at you, but when he did, his lips pressed against yours in a desperate kiss.

When you reciprocated, Francis groaned and pulled you closer until you sat on his lap. He was just a tiny bit embarrassed when you gasped and felt his dick press against you. In all honesty, he had held back the entire night, and he was allowed a little selfishness. "Sorry. Can't help it." He muttered between kisses. You just grinned against his lips before grinding against him. A whimper fell from his lips - that was the moment he was actually embarrassed. "That's cute.." You had mumbled, a cheeky grin on your face as you started placing kisses against his jaw and neck. One of your hands trailed down his body to rest right over his crotch, Francis unconsciously bucked his hips up against your hand, whining. He didn't notice anything else as you caught the skin of his neck with your teeth carefully, leaving the softest bite mark on him. He shuddered at the feeling and gasped before realising that you had meanwhile unzipped his pants. A groan slipped from his lips as you ran a finger over his dick, still hidden from sight by his boxers, but god knows he would cum the second you'd touch it without. "Is this okay?" You asked him, and he nodded faster than he even knew he could. "Yes. God, yes. Please, please continue.." he muttered, his breathing heavy as he watched you slide off his lap, settling in front of him and between his legs. His dick twitched at the sight, and he let out a heavy sigh. Minutes later, his pants and boxers were discarded, and the way you looked up at him, his dick so close to your face, made Francis feel the way his orgasm was approaching way too quick. The second you wrapped your hand around him he whined pathetically, bucked up into your hand and knew that he'd definitely cum too soon. Your hand was so soft, cool against his hot flesh, and you worked his dick so good he almost thought you were a professional. He looked down at you through lidded eyes, watched the way you bit your lip, and grinned knowingly. "Such a pretty boy, huh?" You chuckled, and that definitely sealed the deal for Francis. He came, probably ruining his shirt as he dirtied both it and your hand. His heart stopped for a second when you licked your hand while looking up at him. "You didn't give me enough time to taste you properly. Don't look at me like that." You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. "You should probably take off your shirt so you can clean it later." You then winked. He swiftly shed the piece of clothing, entranced by your voice and the way you looked. "Sorry, didn't mean to cum that fast.." he mutters, his voice out of breath. "Jus'.. unused to... this.." he added, clearing his throat awkwardly. You laughed and shook your head. "Don't worry about it. We have all the time in the world to make you last longer. I'm gonna give you a real reason to be tired tomorrow." You winked.

Francis didn't even mind that he was in for a long night.

Your honour I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #x reader #gn reader #thats not my neighbor #milkman x reader

[camptw1nk]

Im not gonna be doin replies tonight i dont think, may make some gifs?? But just kinda feeling uh. Very Bad so who knows

#things have just felt. wrong at home since getting back from my trip idk #i think im just kinda bummed a bit bc i got back w a bunch of gifts for my roommates and was so excited to see them #and they were. not quite as excited which is fine bc like they just got jobs and had been working they were tired #but i just haven't really gotten to spend any time with them since getting back and they're my entire social circle so its been a lil hard #i think its just come down to like. they have other people in their lives and i dont and they go out of their way for the other people #bc they dont live w them so they have to #but then theres never time for us to hang out #and i think its kinda shifted from being best friends who live together to being roommates #if u get what i mean like. it feels like living together is the only connection we have now #and i know thats not true and i think to some extent my skipped T shot and all the stress has put a lot of emotional strain on me #and its just been a little hard and I've been very exhausted physically and emotionally #and i just feel like im not doing enough but also like im doing too much #and i dont know how to fix any of it #negative cw #ooc.

[alastorss]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You've never seen Alastor sleep before.

He's always lurking around in shadows—here and there and everywhere at once. But you hardly see him and his toothy grin past his working hours.

Yet here he is, head down on the table. The usual crackling static noise that follows him wherever he goes is missing, making the room eerily quiet. It's so horribly silent that you can hear the faintest shaking of the porcelain cup against the plate.

You'd only meant to bring him a coffee. You didn't mean to intrude on his break.

You're part way through deciding if you should turn and escape while you can—god knows what would happen if he found out you were staring at him while he slept. Maybe he would laugh it off and reassure you with that malicious undertone of his, or maybe he would kill you where you stand. You could never tell with him exactly what he was thinking.

"Well, are you just going to stare at me?"

You freeze, porcelain clinking together as you jolt in your spot.

"I brought you a coffee," you manage to stammer out, placing it down beside his head which is still buried in his arms. "Charlie said you might need one."

Static fills the room again as he opens his mouth, your hairs pricking up and standing on end. "How kind of you," he hums, sounding entirely uninterested.

Finally, he raises his head to look at you. He seems bleary still—completely unlike his normal sharp self. The demon tries to blink the sleep from his eyes, but to your annoyance still has that shit-eating grin plastered ear-to-ear.

Against your better judgement, you ask him: "Are you okay? You seem—"

"Tired. I know," Alastor interrupts, eyes narrowing at your inquisition. "You have nothing to worry about, my dear."

You blink at him a few times, watching as his smile slowly shrinks the longer you remain quiet. He hates this, feeling seen and being fretted over. Loathes it more than anything in Hell.

And, well. He was having quite a nice nap until you woke him up with that incessant shaking. Was he really that terrifying even in such a docile state?

He can feel his smile fading faster and faster, hopes dashed of having the chance to fall asleep again lest he end up vulnerable with you knowing he was unguarded. How terrible.

Only one solution, then.

"Why don't you join me for a siesta?"

You gawk at him, looking absolutely bewildered. "Y-You— huh?"

It would put him at ease to know you were asleep before he is; that you aren't poking your nose around in business you shouldn't be. He could keep you asleep with white noise for as long as he pleased.

"Come, sit."

Alastor kicks the chair opposite of him out from the desk, urging you to take a seat across from him. Hesitantly, you do. It fills him with deep satisfaction that you're trembling as you do, probably only obeying him out of fear.

You're quite amusing, really. Charming in a cute way. You were so forgettable when Charlie decided to take you in, but perhaps he should play with you a little.

He has found this place boring lately. You'd be an excellent way to solve all his problems with that nervous, flustered look on your face.

Alastor's smile bounces back to full size, fangs flashy and alluring as he grins at you.

"Go on," he chuckles, voice breaking with static. "I won't bite."

Oh dear. What have you gotten yourself into?

#🍓 faye's thoughts <3 #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fanfiction #alastor fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin x reader #radio demon

[scuderiahoney]

Tangerine

Oscar Piastri x reader

Masterlist // Part 1 // Part 1.5 // Part 2

Summary: You’re definitely not an insomniac. But Oscar keeps finding you awake at all hours, and he’s starting to get worried. Or: I wrote this while actually being unable to sleep, passed out for 3 hours, woke up and finished it. So… here you go, I guess?

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: insomnia, anxiety/mild paranoia?, alcohol, limited knowledge of the actual structure of the MTC and the corporate structure of McLaren in general, a poorly researched night in Tokyo

The MTC lobby is empty, besides you. The lights are half turned off, motion sensors that have gone hours without detecting anything. You’ve stuck to your table in the corner. It’s quiet, just how you like it.

You look up from your notebook after who knows how long, blinking your weary eyes. Outside, the floodlights reflect off the inky black lake. There’s a car, pulling up in the drop off area outside the front doors. It’s Oscar, you think, his car one of a few that are easily recognizable. Sure enough, it’s confirmed when he climbs out of the driver’s side door. He leaves it running as he makes his way up to the door.

Oscar scans his pass and the doors swing open, followed by all of the lights in the lobby flickering on. You squint, fighting the urge to shield your eyes from the harsh lighting. Oscar is rushing through the lobby, a man on a mission, but he skids to a stop about halfway across the shiny tiled floor.

He turns, slowly, and makes eye contact with you. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

You hold back a laugh, thinking that might be a little mean, all things considered. “What are you doing here?”

He sighs, hands hanging at his sides. “I forgot my phone charger, and my laptop, and…” he pauses, frowning at you. “What are you doing here?”

You raise your brows right back. “Working?”

You watch his eyes flicker across your setup. You’re still in the same McLaren sweatshirt you’d been wearing when you saw him that morning. Your hair is piled atop your head. Your laptop sits open in front of you, the only source of light before Oscar burst through the doors. There are papers and notebooks scattered on the tabletop. Your pen is missing- you selfishly hope that as he scours your table, he’ll spot it.

“You got here at 8am,” he says, bewildered. “It’s almost midnight. That’s almost 16 hours.”

He says nothing about the pen. Why would he? He doesn’t know it’s missing. Logically, it must be here somewhere, probably under a paper or clipped to a notebook, but you’ve given up.

“Yes,” you answer, smirking. “You’re great at math, Oscar.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, home? Sleeping?”

You shrug. “I took breaks. It’s not like I’ve been working all day straight.”

You’re not lying. You’d taken a good, long lunch break, and an afternoon walk around the grounds. You’ve gotten up to stretch a couple times, made runs to the break room for coffee. You hope he doesn’t see straight through it, though. Hope he can’t see the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, the exhaustion weighing your shoulders.

It’s not that you weren’t tired. You just knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep. One of those days. So instead, you had decided to be productive. Which had led to this- you in the lobby of your office building, hunched over a laptop. Oscar, the driver whose data you’re scouring, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Go grab your stuff,” you tell him, nodding towards the doors he’d been headed to. “You have an early flight tomorrow.”

He blinks wildly. “We’re on the same flight.”

You nod, because you both know this quite well. There’d been a meeting this morning about who had to be where and at what times. You’re on the first flight out with the main team, headed to Singapore.

“I’m not the one who has to drive the car at very high speeds this weekend,” you remind him, pointing the eraser of your pencil at him. “Or the one who has to be in front of the cameras. You need your beauty sleep.”

Oscar laughs at that, a happy sound that makes you smile, too. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back.”

You think about disappearing to the bathroom or the break room while he’s gone, just to avoid any further questions. You know Oscar relatively well, though, and knowing him, he’d just wait around until you came back. Or worse, come and try to find you. You can picture it- you pouring your third cup of coffee in the last hour, Oscar watching from the doorway with disdain. You stay put, sipping from your mug and scribbling notes.

He’s back within a few minutes, a backpack in hand. His keys dangle from his fingertips. You don’t look up from your laptop as he walks towards you, that is until he’s standing right in front of you. You blink up at him through your lashes. There’s a frown on his face- this close, you know your lack of sleep must be obvious.

He nudges the top panel of your laptop with a single fingertip. “C’mon. Time to go home.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, shaking your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“What, you just gonna stay here until we all meet up in the morning to go to the airport?” He scoffs.

“That would be ridiculous,” you laugh.

“It would,” he agrees. He seems to see straight through you, though. “Come on. Close the laptop, close the notebooks. You can work on this on the flight, like a normal person.”

“I’m trying to improve your car, you know.”

“I’m not leaving until you do,” he finally says, and you scoff with wide eyes. “And remember, I’m the one who has to actually drive the car. And go in front of the cameras. I need my beauty sleep.”

You rear your head back, unsure how to even counter that. He takes the opportunity to close the laptop for you, and you bat at his hands. Then he’s sweeping your papers into piles, stacking your notebooks and gathering them up into his arms.

“That’s my intellectual property, you know,” you scold him, reaching for the papers. He holds them up above your head easily, and you groan. “Okay, okay, I’ll go, just- I lost my pen, earlier. It’s my favorite one. I just have find it and then I promise I’ll go- you can go home, really, I’ll see you-“

He’s reaching for your head, suddenly, and you freeze. When his hand returns to your view, he’d holding the pen between his fingertips. You blink once, twice, then reach for it, but he’s holding it above your head within seconds, too.

“We’re leaving,” he tells you, firmly. “Come on. Up we go.”

You get to your feet reluctantly and pack your things into your bag. Oscar helps, handing you your papers in neat little piles. He keeps you in front of him as you both exit the lobby, like he’s afraid you might take off running further into the office building. His car is still parked out front, still running, and you see him wince.

“Didn’t expect to be inside for so long,” he says sheepishly.

You laugh lightly, starting your walk towards the employee lot. It’s down a well lit path, but every step feels heavy this late at night.

“Wait,” he says, and you pause. “Do you want a ride? You seem tired. You know, sometimes that’s as bad as driving drunk.”

“I’m not gonna fall asleep behind the wheel,” you tell him. You say it with confidence, because it’s pretty likely you’re not going to fall asleep at all tonight.

He cocks his head at you, cast in the bright glow of the floodlights. “At least let me drive you to your car. Otherwise, how do I know you’re not going to just go back inside?”

You roll your eyes. “And how do I know you’re not trying to kidnap me?”

You end up getting in the car, because he makes it pretty clear he’s not leaving until you do. You contemplate just walking to your own car, but honestly your feet feel so heavy it’s just not worth the fight. Oscar, to his credit, doesn’t kidnap you. He also doesn’t comment on your very modest car, the only one left in the parking lot. He does try to offer you a ride home one more time, but he lets it go after your repeat refusal.

You say goodbye, climb into your own car, and start the engine. The heat kicks on quickly, thank god, and you start up a playlist. It’s only when you look up, ready to leave, that you notice his car is still sitting there. You can just barely see Oscar behind the windshield, and he waves at you. He’s waiting for you to leave.

You flip him off as you roll out of the parking lot, and you watch him laugh in response.

…..

You’re one of the first ones at the office the next morning, and therefore one of the first ones on a shuttle to the airport. Oscar’s chronically late, or as he would call it, chronically precisely on time, so you don’t see him until he’s climbing on the plane. McLaren’s rented out a charter plane for this trip, with the double header making it the easiest solution.

You’re already settled into a seat, laptop open on the table in front of you, headphones on. You barely even look up when you feel him looking over you, but then he’s tugging one side of your headphones off your ear.

“Did you even sleep?” He asks, brows furrowed.

“Yes,” you lie, raising your brows at him defensively.

Oscar raises his brows in return. He obviously doesn’t believe you.

Before he can say anything else, Lando’s behind him, leaning up over his shoulder. “Oscar, mate, get a move on.”

Oscar rolls his eyes but does as Lando’s urging. There’s not assigned seats, per say, but the two drivers are headed towards the middle of the plane where their trainers and other senior staff are sitting. That’s how these things normally go- it just makes sense. They’ll have meetings on the plane, talk about meal plans and strategies and get ready for the weekend. You’ll spend your flight going through the data just one more time, trying to unlock all of the secrets to give Oscar the best possible chance on Sunday.

…..

Singapore is good. Not great, not perfect, but good. For Lando’s team, it’s a huge weekend. And honestly, 4th place for Oscar in his rookie year is huge too. He’s thrilled, tells you as much after the race, after the briefing.

“I know you worked hard this weekend, put in a lot of hours,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.

“Right.” He says. “Thanks, though.”

You smile up at him, knowing it’s wobbly and insincere. You don’t take compliments well. “No problem.”

When you get to the hotel that night, you lay down in the bed and try to fall asleep. It’s no use, really, because it’s not your bed, and because your mind is racing. There’s nothing even bothering you, that’s the stupid thing. Just… a billion thoughts flying by all at once. So you wander the hotel, up and down the stairs, down the halls. You make a pit stop in the exercise room, walk on the treadmill, try out the rowing machine. You’ve never been one for working out, but the internet says exercise can help with sleep issues. It’s worth a try, but it doesn’t work.

You contemplate sneaking into the closed hotel pool, but ultimately decide against it. You’d probably get caught, and then you’d get in trouble, and it would somehow make it back to your boss. Then you’d get fired in Singapore, left to find your own way home. So instead, you head for the vending machines on your floor. There’s got to be something in there that’ll cure the racing in your head. Or at least bring you some comfort in the dead of night.

What doesn’t bring you comfort in the dead of night is a face in the reflection on the glass of the vending machine. You nearly scream when you meet someone else’s eyes. You whirl around, arms in a defensive position, and come face to face with Oscar.

“Would’ve pegged you for flight, not fight,” he says drowsily.

“You can’t sneak up on people like that,” you hiss, dropping your hands to your sides.

“Payback,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face clumsily. “B‘sides, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. I was trying to get a snack.”

You blink at him. “Oscar, it’s 3am.”

He nods, blinks slowly. You almost expect his eyes to stay closed, almost expect him to fall asleep standing up.

“I woke up starving,” he says, shuffling towards one of the vending machines. “Promise you won’t tell Kim? I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

He’s cute when he’s sleepy. You want to tuck him into bed and tell him bedtime stories. You want to kiss his forehead. You blink hard, trying to reset your brain. The sleep deprivation is really getting to you. This is your coworker, your teammate.

You shrug and nod in agreement. “Would’ve kept the secret without the bribe, but if you’re offering…”

Oscar laughs, a quiet sound in the empty night air. “What’ll it be, then?”

He’s leaning against the glass heavily. He must still be half asleep. You can’t blame him. You point at the bag of chips you’d been eyeing, and then at the gummy worms in the corner. He nods in approval of both, selects them, feeds the machine his money. Then he’s picking his own snack- a poptart and a bag of Cheetos. He backs away, but you make a noise and point at the drinks machine.

“And a Red Bull?” You ask, pointing at your favorite flavor where it sits, lit up by fluorescent light.

He turns back, almost puts the money in, and then he pauses and looks at you. “It’s 3am.”

“Right, we established that.”

“Why would you drink Red Bull at 3am?” He asks, bewildered.

You shrug. “Because I like Red Bull.”

“Go work for them, then,” he suggests. You laugh. “Actually, I have a feeling that would be severely detrimental to your health. Too many free energy drinks. Do you ever sleep?”

“Those are big words for 3am,” you tease, nudging his shoulder. “Come on. The tangerine one, please.”

“I’m not buying you a Red Bull.” He shakes his head. “I am walking you back to your room and you’re going to bed.”

“I’ll tell Kim about your snacks.”

“No, you won’t.”

You let him walk you back to your room. He stands there as you swipe the key card, as you open the door and shuffle inside. He says goodnight from the doorway. You close the door after you echo the sentiment, lock all the locks, and lay down in your bed. You close your eyes and try to go to sleep. You really, truly try. But when the clock turns over to 4am, and you realize it’s useless, you roll out of bed and head down to the vending machine. You buy the Redbull with your own money, carry it back to your room, turn on the tv, and settle in until the sun comes up.

…..

Tokyo may just be your favorite city in the entire world. Everything is open all the time. You’ve never felt more seen by a city. The days that you and the rest of the team spend there between the two races are heaven. You have meetings during the day, but they’re short and easy. At night, there are plenty of places for you to roam, plenty of things to do and see.

You spend your nights in ramen bars, in arcades, in toy stores that seem to stretch on for miles. You collect so many souvenirs you’re worried you’ll have to buy a second suitcase. Frankly, you’re going on week two of sleeping only in one to two hour stints, and it’s likely you’re beginning to get a little manic. In Tokyo, though, nobody bats an eye.

You join the team for breakfast in the hotel lobby on Thursday. You’ve somehow ended up at a table with Oscar and Lando- you’d gotten here before anyone else, and Oscar had chosen the seat across from you. Lando asks what you’ve been up to. They’ve been busy with promo stuff, you’ve hardly seen the two of them all week.

You regale them with your stories and hand off your phone to Lando so he can scroll through your pictures. Oscar listens with rapt attention, leaning to look at the photos too.

“How do you do all this and find time to sleep?” Lando asks, an amused tone in his voice.

“She doesn’t, mate,” Oscar replies, pointing at your phone. “Look at the time stamps.”

You roll your eyes and snatch the phone away from them. Lando’s looking at you with wide eyes, Oscar is smiling amusedly.

“Sleep is for the weak,” you tell them, and you swear Lando’s eyes are going to bug out of his head. “We’re in Tokyo, I’m making the most of it.”

To Oscar’s credit, he doesn’t bring up the encounter at the MTC, or the run in at the vending machines. Still, this revelation seems to bewilder Lando.

“Sleep is like, the most important thing,” he says, shaking his head. “For your health.”

“Not all of us have to be in tip top shape,” you say, stabbing your fork into a waffle on your plate. “Some of us get to have fun. Exhibit B. Our breakfasts.”

Lando looks at your plate, filled with waffles and bacon and your cup of coffee, next to it. He casts his glance to his sad looking bowl of oatmeal, then, and sighs heavily. Oscar’s laughing at the two of you, though his plate looks just as sad.

“When you pass out halfway through the day,” Lando says, a retaliatory furrow in his brow, “I’m telling Andrea why.”

“That won’t happen,” you reassure him. “And besides, it’s media day. I have it easy.”

…..

Oscar makes it on the podium on Sunday. You scream your lungs out with the rest of the team, run to the pit wall, watch the podium celebrations. He’s wrapping everyone in enthusiastic hugs, slapping everyone’s backs and grinning so, so widely. All the lost sleep feels worth it, just to see him smile like that.

When he makes it to you, he hauls you into his chest, arms around your shoulders, holding you tight. You could stay like that forever, if he’d let you. He tucks his chin atop your head and you think you’d like to make a home right there, in his arms.

The celebrations go late, and so does the debrief. By the time it’s all said and done, everyone looks exhausted, including the drivers. They start shuttling you all back to the hotel for the night, back in Tokyo so you can get on the plane easily tomorrow morning. You’re just glad to be back in the city. On a night like tonight, buzzing with adrenaline and caffeine, there’s no way you’re falling asleep.

You somehow end up in a shuttle with Oscar. He smells like champagne and sweat, and you tease him about it when he sits down in the back row next to you.

He smiled sheepishly. “So I smell like a podium finisher, then.”

You watch as the city goes by out the window and listen to him chat idly with the others in the van. When you get back, you’re the last one out of the car. He’s waiting outside the hotel, leaning on the wall.

“So, what’s your plan for the night?” He asks, cocking a brow.

“No judgement?” You ask.

“No judgement,” he promises.

You shrug. “Not exactly sure. There’s a lot to do. I’ll probably get some ramen, maybe go shopping. Might just take a walk.”

He nods. “Sleep?”

“Not high on the priority list,” you admit.

He nods again. “Can I come with?”

You blank, staring at him. “What?”

“On your adventure,” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can I come along?”

Suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest. He wants to come with? Why? There’s a part of you that doesn’t like the idea, that thinks your sleepless adventures are for you and you alone. The other part of you, the one that wins out, thinks it might not be so bad to have some companionship.

“… sure,” you agree, eyeing him carefully. “But you have to play along. No forcing me to go to sleep.”

“Promise,” he says, holding out his pinky.

You hook yours with his and seal the deal.

…..

You both head up to your hotel rooms to change clothes, and in Oscar’s case, to take a shower. He sends you a text when he’s ready and you meet him in the lobby. He’s in a casual outfit, jeans and a hoodie. You’re dressed similarly, in a pair of black jeans and a crewneck.

“Where to?” He asks, wide grin on his face.

It turns out that Oscar is the ideal late night adventure companion. You start your night out at a sushi conveyor restaurant, both of you joking about how Lando would never dare to eat there. You eat to your heart’s content and make comments about fueling up for the night ahead. He even joins you in having an energy drink, some Japanese brand that you’ve never heard of. Oscar reads part of the label to you, balks at the amount of caffeine in it, and drinks it anyways.

After the restaurant, the two of you climb into a cab and head to the Shibuya district. It’s crawling with people, buzzing with energy, and you feel right at home. Oscar sticks close to your side, hanging onto the back of your sweatshirt as you cross the busy crosswalks in a sea of people. When you turn, though, he’s smiling like he’s having the time of his life. The two of you climb the stairs to an observatory where you can watch the dance of pedestrians and traffic from above. There’s a glow to the city that feels akin to how your brain feels when you can’t sleep- like it never goes out, never turns off.

You tell this to Oscar, who gives you a contemplative look.

“Is it the energy drinks?” He asks. His hand is on your wrist, likely just to keep track of you in the crowds.

You shake your head. “The energy drinks came after the… not sleeping-“

“Insomnia,” he suggests.

“… not sleeping,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes at him. “Anyways. I was like a zombie. The energy drinks make it so I’m functional. I figure if I’m gonna be awake, may as well enjoy it.”

You head back out onto the streets and begin to wander again. Oscar follows along, always holding onto you in some way, always smiling when you look at him. The two of you wander through art galleries and museums lit up with neon lights. Somewhere in the middle of one of them, he slips his fingers between yours. You’re not complaining. There’s something grounding, leveling about his presence.

You stop for drinks at a bar- some sort of local beer that Oscar orders for both of you in Japanese. It’s followed by a vodka Red Bull, at your insistence. Oscar wrinkles his nose but drinks the whole thing, seemingly determined to match you.

Next door, there’s a highly American themed bowling alley. Oscar laughs about how Logan would love it and pulls you inside. It’s the first stop of the night that he’s suggested, so you go along eagerly. He’s snapping pictures, ones to send to Logan, ones for himself, ones of you smiling, renting out bowling shoes. He pays for the game, and you both do terribly. The worker puts the bumper guards up out of pity, because the two of you obviously have no idea what you’re doing. He’s a world renowned athlete, you’re a highly skilled engineer, and yet, you both suck at bowling.

“When did the in-“ you fix him with a glare, and he stops mid sentence. “When did the not sleeping start?”

You look up at the ceiling of the bowling alley and purse your lips, watching the disco ball spin. “Next question.”

He huffs and shrugs, rolling the ball down the lane. “I don’t have a next question.”

“What’s your family like?”’you ask him, and he smiles, softer than you’ve ever seen him smile before.

“Well, I have three sisters,” he starts, eyes lighting up.

Somewhere between the bowling alley, the next bar, and the shopping mall you end up in, you start to really get to know Oscar. It’s funny how the night opens people up. Everything feels safer in the dark, surrounded by other people. It’s creeping up on 1am- in theory, both of you should be sound asleep. The fact that you’re not makes anything okay. You learn about his family, his childhood, his friends back home and in the UK. You tell him about yourself, too. He listens with an eager look on his face, laughing at all the right moments, squeezing your hand at the right ones, too.

You end up in a store that’s packed to the brim with stuffed animals. He lets you drag him around the whole thing, pointing out cute ones and the ones you think are a bit odd. Then you gasp, pointing excitedly, pulling on his hand.

“It’s you,” you squeak, the delirium beginning to set in. It’s a stuffed Kangaroo, and he groans softly. “Look, you’re even making the same face.”

Oscar seems unable to argue with that. Both he and the stuffed kangaroo do seem to be scowling. He smiles instead, picks it up, and takes it to the register. He buys it before you can really even say anything, and the cashier packages it in a bag. The kangaroo’s head sticks out over the paper, your second faithful companion for the night.

By 3am, Oscar is starting to drag. He perks up every time you look at him and smiles brightly, but you can tell. His grip on your hand is looser lately, and his blinks are growing longer and longer. You turn to him, a sympathetic smile on your face.

“We can go back to the hotel, if you want,” you say, poking his cheek lightly.

He smiles. “Are you tired?”

You sigh. “No, but you are.”

“I’m okay,” he insists, shaking his head. “What about the batting cages you mentioned? That sounded fun.”

You pout at him. “Oscar, you’re half asleep. You’d definitely get hit by a ball.”

He nods in agreement. “Maybe I just need another energy drink?”

You cock your head at him, take in his heavy eyelids, his parted lips. “That would be your third one of the night. And that would be very unhealthy.”

He nods again. “Yeah. Okay. Just… I said I’d be along for the ride.”

“We can hang out at the hotel,” you suggest. “The pool area is open all night.”

“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”

“Me neither.”

You somehow end up with a pizza on your way back, and the two of you plant yourselves in the pool area on one of the chaise lounge chairs, the pizza box in front of you. You eat the greasy, cheesy food, and even Oscar indulges in it. He has his hand planted on the chair behind your back. Every so often you lean backs against his arm just to feel his presence. His knee bumps against yours, and you smile.

The pool is clear and blue. Neither of you will be swimming, but this felt like a neutral enough place. You’d thought about inviting him back to your room but had felt weird about it. There’s something calming about the still water and the smell of the chlorine, anyways.

He leans his head on your shoulder. The heavy weight of him is nice. He’s solid, sturdy, grounding. You’re chatting idly about something that happened at the race, something he’d missed while he was driving the car. You break off in the middle of a sentence to yawn, and then you close your eyes for just a moment. Oscar’s breath hitches.

The two of you are silent for a moment. You stare into the clear water, aching to drift and float and fall asleep. You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest.

“It started when I was a kid,” you tell him. “I just… stopped sleeping. It comes and goes in cycles. Sometimes I’m fine, sometimes I just…”

“Can’t sleep,” Oscar finishes for you, his words contradicting the sleepy tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” you say, blinking slowly again.

Your head droops, resting against his. He’s so warm, so comforting. He must feel you drifting, must feel your grip faltering, because then he’s sitting up, tucking you into his chest.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks, drowsily.

“M’so tired,” you admit, curling into him. “Justwannasleep.”

Tears are stinging at your eyes. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been prepared for this part. The moment when your lack of sleep catches up to you, and you become an emotional, distraught mess. You’re seconds away from full on sobbing.

Oscar seems to sense this. “Okay. Okay, how about- I have a pull out couch in my suite. Why don’t you- if you’re comfortable, you could come sleep there. Maybe it would help to know somebody’s there if you need it? Maybe-“

“Okay,” you answer, nodding against his chest. “Okay, yeah.”

He takes care of the empty pizza box and guides you up to his room. You know there’ll be questions to answer if anyone sees you, but you’re comforted by the fact that it’s 4am and nearly every sane person is sound asleep. He scans into the room, and you let out a sigh when he lets go of your hand. He moves quickly, unfolding the pull out couch, grabbing extra blankets from the cabinets. Before you know it, you’re sitting down on the bed, rubbing your eyes.

It’s strange, now that you’re here. You’re in Oscar’s hotel room. You’ve just spent the night wandering Tokyo with him. You’re exhausted, sleep deprived, still on the verge of tears. Everything feels hazy and blurry.

“I can… go, if you want,” he says, and you blink up at him through your blurry vision. “Or I can sit with you till you fall asleep.”

“That might take a while,” you tell him. “Like, you’re more likely to fall asleep. Even… when I finally get to this point, it takes a while.”

He shrugs. “We could put on a movie.”

That’s exactly what you do. He turns on the tv, spots Finding Nemo on the guide, and turns it on. He sinks down on the bed, leaning against the couch back. You crawl up next to him as he turns the volume low. At first, you just sit shoulder to shoulder. Then he reaches out, wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulls you into his side. You sigh against him. Cradled close, you let the exhausted tears flow. He can’t see you, probably, and even if he can, you can’t bring yourself to care. He leans down, brushes his lips against your forehead.

“M’right here,” he says, softly. “I’ve got you.”

You wake up at 8am with your head in his lap. His alarm is blaring from the side table, and you’re both springing apart. He fumbles for his phone, shutting the alarm off with the shaky hands of someone who’s just been woken up from not nearly enough sleep.

You, on the other hand, have gotten the most consecutive sleep of your last two weeks. You stretch, rubbing the blur from your eyes and blinking at him.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“For what?” He asks, voice steady.

“For… I don’t know. Keeping you up so late? Falling asleep on you?” You shrug. “I… that was a lot, for me to put that all on you.”

Oscar shrugs, so nonchalant about it. “It’s what friends are for.”

You nod, though you’re not convinced. You pull away, and Oscar’s soft smile drops to a flat frown. He reaches for you, but you dodge his touch.

“I should go,” you tell him. “We have to leave soon, people are going to be getting up and- if they see me come out of your room-“

“We can be friends,” he says, again, brows furrowing. “We didn’t do anything wrong, everything is okay-“

He doesn’t understand. It’s fine for him, but this is too much for you. He wants to be friends, but you’re looking at him and thinking about how if you could curl up on his chest every night, you might never have trouble sleeping again. He wants friends, you want more. You can’t have more, though, because there’s no way you’ll keep your job. And he doesn’t want that, anyways. Why would he? You’re just his pity project, the poor girl who can’t sleep, who fails at counting sheep.

“I should go,” you repeat, standing up. You can’t look at him, can’t watch him watching you. “Thank you. For everything. I’m sorry.”

He stands up too, and he grabs your hand. You pause, stuck between ripping your hand from his and running, or whirling around and snapping at him. Fight or flight. Instead, you take a deep breath. You’re still sleep deprived, still exhausted. 4 hours doesn’t fix two weeks of little to no sleep.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, shoulders sagging. “I have a hard time letting people take care of me.”

“It’s okay,” Oscar says. “Just- come sit down? Let’s talk, okay?”

You sink down on the bed, rest your elbows on your knees and your face in your hands. “Why do you care?”

Oscar sits down next to you. He reaches out, knits your fingers together. You’re reminded of the art galleries, of the crowds, of the bowling alley. You split yourself open last night, in the safety of the time when you should’ve been sleeping. He saw you and he’s still here, somehow, hanging on. Your bones are tired. Your head is pounding. You need caffeine.

“I care,” he says, gently, “because I care about you. Because I think you’re a good person, and I want to get to know you better. And because this whole thing is not healthy.”

You sigh. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand methodically, back and forth. The funny thing is, you could fall asleep again, just like this. You could lean into his shoulder, let the warmth of him seep into your skin, and fall asleep. You wonder if he knows it.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, rubbing at your face sleepily. “Osc, I’ve been like this for years. It’s not just going to change now.”

“Not overnight,” he says, softly. There’s a callous on his thumb, you can feel the scrape of it over your skin. It’s oddly soothing. “But I can try. I can be here.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because despite all the craziness, last night was the most fun I’ve had in weeks,” he says, and you could cry. “I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you. Take you on dates. The whole nine yards.”

You should’ve expected this. Oscar can be shy, and quiet, but he can be straightforward, too. He’s pretty easy to read. He’s blunt with Lando, almost to the point of contention sometimes. But you’d been so focused on trying to prove to him that you were just fine that you hadn’t considered he was feeling the sparks, too. That maybe he wasn’t holding onto you in the crowd just so he didn’t lose you. That maybe he liked the feeling of your skin on his, too.

“If you want that,” he says, voice low.

You blink blearily, pull away to look up at him. “I do.”

He nods, leans forward, kisses your forehead. The rest of it will come later, you think. You can work all the details out when you’re both more awake. Right now, he pulls you into his chest and flops back onto the bed.

“We have an hour before anyone comes looking for us,” he says, rubbing your back lightly. “Close your eyes? You don’t have to sleep, just-“

You blink once, twice, and then you’re fast asleep before he can get another word out.

…..

Oscar wins the sprint race in Qatar, and then takes second on Sunday. He’s nothing but endless wide grins all weekend, despite the heat and the dehydration and his obvious exhaustion. You laugh when you watch him lay down on the floor in the cool down room and smile when he gets sprayed with champagne on the podium. He chases you through the garage afterwards to give you a hug, despite your screeching about how sticky he is.

He tucks you into his chest. “Couldn’t have done it without you, baby.”

Later, you help corral a very tired Oscar and Lando to the shuttles and back to the hotel. They’re each stumbling over their own feet, giggling and laughing about the race, shoving at each other’s shoulders. For a minute, you’re walking through an empty parking lot, far from any other McLaren staff, and Oscar links his fingers with yours. They fit together like puzzle pieces. His fingers are sticky with champagne, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Lando sees and doesn’t say anything, just smiles.

You’re keeping it quiet for now. Time to figure it out between the two of you before you get your bosses involved. You have a feeling it’ll be mostly okay. You’ll figure it out, one way or another.

You follow Oscar up to his hotel room, saying goodnight to Lando as he heads further down the hall. He knits his fingers with yours again, leads you into his room, and collapses onto the bed.

“I’m exhausted,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you?”

You smile down at him, laid out on the bed. He should probably shower, at the very least change his clothes, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him that.

You sigh. “I mean, yeah, but if you’re asking if I’ll be able to sleep… probably not.”

He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “D’you think… would you just… stay, until I fall asleep?” He asks, blinking up at you. “After that you can take my card and get a Red Bull and go do whatever, just-“

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” you tell him.

It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. He gets ready for bed, and you do the same. You lean against the headboard and he crawls up the bed. He puts his head on a pillow in your lap, curls up into a little c shape. He’s very cat like, you’ve noticed, especially when he’s sleepy. You run your fingers through his hair, the tv playing quietly in the background, and he sighs and closes his eyes.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

He’s out within minutes. Oscar is a sound sleeper. You could move him, could shift his head and get up. You could wander the halls, take his card and buy all the energy drinks you desire. But you look down at him, his brow unfurrowed, lips parted, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You could sit here and watch him breathe all night. It’s a terrifying and comforting thought, all at once.

You don’t sleep. It’s likely you’ll crash on the flight home, or maybe shortly after that. With your luck, you’ll pass out in a meeting when you get back to the MTC. Oscar doesn’t scold you when he wakes up and it’s obvious you’ve been awake all night.

He gets you coffee from the breakfast bar, exactly how you like it. And when he finds you in the backseat of the airport shuttle, he hands you a tangerine Red Bull. It’s early, the sun just peeking up over the horizon, washing the whole city with orange. He’s smiling at you, and you’re smiling right back.

When you fall asleep on his shoulder on the way to the airport, nobody dares to say a word.

…..

“Did you hear we’re gonna be sponsored by Monster next year?” Lando asks, throwing a tennis ball at a wall in the courtyard.

You sit up in the grass nearby, eyes lighting up. “You’re kidding. Free Monster?”

Oscar, whose stomach you’d been laying on, sits up behind you and wraps his arm around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Your consumption will be restricted,” he says, and you laugh.

You suppose that’s fair. Besides, Monster is fine, but nothing will ever top tangerine Red Bull.

check out the companion blurb, Glad You’re Here

thanks for reading, hope you sleep better than me! you can find my other fics here! sweet dreams y’all

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 fanfic #f1 oneshot #f1 fanfic #Oscar piastri oneshot #pls be gentle I am tired #honeywrites #op81 #Oscar piastri #tangerine!verse

[pepprs]

covid is such an evil evil disease and an evil evil thing to live through lol

#purrs #this isn’t prompted by anything im just thinking about it. i hate that thisis what life looks and feels like now and it might always be thi #way. i hate that getting covid feels like an inevitability even though i wear n95s and don’t go anywhere but work and have basically 0 #social life and have put my life plans on hold to wait for this thing to pass when it probably never will. i hate that lockdown was better #and easier than this in some ways because at least back then people were still scared and there still felt like hope and there was clear(is #) guidance and free testing and vax sites and whatever. i hate that free testing and public health dashboards showing covid rates and vax s #sites and all that shit have fucking disappeared even though the variants going around now are more contagious than ever. i hate the #mortifying ordeal of being the only person (or one of the only people) wearing an n95 and sometimes the only person wearing a mask at all. #hate that so many things have been lost and we are not taking time to grieve them or make sure that we are okay and will be okay. i hate #being scared every time i swallow. i hate how there is literally no way to tell if you will get long covid and no way to reduce your chance #of getting long covid or covid at all (aside from masks) just ways to make the symptoms less severe. i hate trying to bring people together #and stay away from people at the same time. i hate all the life that covid has taken out of me and the people i love even though thank god #know more people who haven’t gotten it than who have but actually that may not be true idk. and i HATE that because of covid and how #egregiously badly it has been handled everyone is just like.. perpetually tired and sad and we’ve accepted mass illness and death and #accepted that disabled people (esp those who are marginalized in other ways) are disposable when actually no fucking human being is #disposable and everyone should be able to live happy connected healthy lives and we could’ve ended this shit in EARLY 2020 without having t #deal with any of this absolute fucking NIGHTMARE. like god. i remember sobbing hysterically thinking we would be dealing with covid for 18 #months and now we’re coming on 3 fucking years and lockdown is over but the danger is even worse than it was and like.. no one cares anymor #and it fucking sucks lmfao. i am so tired. i need to move out. and i miss my friends and i miss my life and i miss having fewer things to #constantly worry about and i can’t believe how good and simple life was before this stupid shit. #delete later #i wasn’t planning on going on a huge rant lol sorry it’s just what’s on my mind this morning

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Summary: You're struggling a bit in your adjustment to your new life, and you're finding some of them are easier to get along with than others. Luckily you're not in it alone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I'm so just overwhelmed with the attention this fic has gotten, but not in a bad way I promise! I'm just surprised is all. Thank you everyone that has read and reblogged and commented. I love all of you and so, since I have no self control, here is Chapter 2. Lots more world building and dialogue in this part, but I promise good stuff is coming.

Also I promise Soap will get his time soon. He's just the hardest for me to write, and you'll see why in this chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“She was lying.” 

Price doesn’t bother looking up as a dark figure leans against the wall next to him. He stares out at the empty space between the barracks and the mess hall, not much traffic between the buildings during this time of day. 

“About how she got to the institute.” 

“Or at least not telling the whole truth.” Price says, turning to look at Simon. “Something tells me she’d talk if we asked.” 

“She’s soft.” Simon says, letting his gaze drift off into the distance. 

“She’s a civilian.” Price counters. “The CIA did a little training, but she’ll need some work. We can’t leave her completely defenseless...” 

Simon turns to face him again. “There’s something else.” 

Price pushes himself off the wall, heading back inside. Simon follows, the two of them making their way down the hall to his office. “There’s hundreds of American military bases across the world, thousands of regiments they could have chosen from, and yet, they sent her to us.” 

Simon closes the door behind him as Price sinks into his desk chair. “You think it was deliberate?” 

Price pulls open one of the drawers, pulling out the file Kate had given him. “Laswell said the CIA has had eyes on her for years.” He slides it across his desk to Simon. “There’s a lot of why's in this situation, and a lot of how’s. Like, if what she’s saying is true, how did a Staff Sergeant get his daughter into FIOT practically overnight?” 

Simon glances up at him over the top of the file. “You think there’s something else going on with this Initiative.” 

Price nods. “I do. I think there’s more than one experiment being run, and we’re the guinea pigs.” 

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you run a comb through your damp hair. You look tired, the dark circles that have plagued your face for the last few weeks looking even darker now. It’s been a long day, so long it’s hard to believe it’s only been a matter of hours since you boarded the helicopter in London. 

Your new pack had made themselves scarce after dinner, leaving you to your own devices. You had been left alone after lunch too, and you had spent that time laying in bed, resting after the overwhelming scenting. 

You’d played back the last few hours in your mind. Leaving London in the helicopter, meeting your new Pack Alpha, Laswell leaving, meeting your new pack, the scenting. You had plenty to think about, to stress over, and you had been surprised when the knock came at your door for dinner. You were equally surprised to see Gaz and Soap waiting for you. 

You’d been sandwiched between them again as you walked to the mess. It was busier for dinner, and the eyes weren’t quite so quick to look away with the alphas missing. You know they have to be curious, with an omega on base following around two members of a SpecOps team, smelling like them. You know what they were probably thinking of you, what they were thinking your presence means. 

You’ve begun to understand Price’s rules a bit more. 

Price and Ghost had joined you as Soap said they would, coming in late from whatever they had been busy doing. You had been seated next to Soap, Ghost taking his other side while Price sat next to Gaz. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how close Soap and Ghost sat, and you remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes when Soap had approached to scent you. How his defensive stare had turned icy, threatening even, when he’d gotten close to you as if you were capable of hurting Soap. It had been a silent warning. If you tried anything, you’d have him to contend with. 

Ghost is territorial, more so than most alphas. You had seen it just a bit in Price, but only because you had been watching for it. Ghost was silent in his claim, but his gaze spoke of his territorialism. As you sat at the table with them, you slowly felt the stares lessen, the curious alphas and betas around you slowly turning away from your table until you were left in peace. You knew it was all thanks to a well-pointed glare from the second alpha at the table. 

They’d escorted you back to the barracks before disappearing again, leaving you alone. You’d opted for a shower to try and clear your head, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs but your mind was racing too much to really get any rest. You haven’t been told what their normal schedules entail or even what they look like, but you expect an early morning tomorrow. Since Price had said at least one of them needed to escort you around base, that likely meant you were going to be constrained to their schedules. 

You know even when they’re not away, their days are probably full of training and briefings, much like yours had been for three months. They’re probably up early, earlier than you’d like to be, and then they go non-stop all day. 

You wonder if they ever get a break. 

Maybe this is a break for them. 

You sit on the edge of the bed after you finish your routine, eyeing the pillows and blankets stacked at the end. They’re military issue, not as soft or as plush as you might have preferred. This is your new normal, though. Comfort isn’t exactly going to be a high priority. 

Tears prick your eyes as you run your hand over the comforter. You know it’s the exhaustion, the stress of the day beginning to weigh on you. You’re worn out, and that’s causing a slip in the tight reins you keep on your mood. Omegas and alphas were both prone to being moody, and those who were unrestrained could lose control quickly. Alphas were quick to anger, while omegas could get depressed very easily. Exhaustion drives both to being grumpy, though alphas will descend into irritability and anger, while omegas will get whiny and weepy. 

You hate it, how easily you can be driven to cry. How easily you can lose control. It makes you feel weak and helpless, but that’s partially by design. It was supposed to be your pack’s job to fix that, to give you that support and take care of you. 

Except you don’t know your pack. 

What would they do if you approached them like this, all teary and needy? Would instinct take over and snap them into their roles? Or would they give you an awkward pat on the back and leave you to take care of yourself? Gaz would help you, you think. He had slipped into that role so easily during the scenting. Your fingers twitch on the bedspread, your mind telling you to seek him out, track him down, even if it’s only to catch a whiff of his scent again.  

Your phone screen lights up where it’s sitting on the nightstand, drawing your attention from the door. Kate had given you the phone just this morning before you left the hotel. It had her number on it, as well as your pack’s. You’d half expected to find messages already from them when you’d turned it on, but there had been none. They had kept that boundary of meeting in person first. 

You pick up the phone, checking the message. It’s from Price. 

Breakfast is at 0700. I’ll take you to see the Omega Specialist after. 

Seven o’clock. It’s not terribly early. You’d eaten around the same time at the institute. You’ll get to meet the Omega Specialist as well tomorrow. You’ve met plenty of them in your time as an omega, but something about the idea of having someone there who knows, who understands is comforting to you. 

You send a reply in acknowledgement for tomorrow’s plan before setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. There’s an uneasy feeling under your skin, a tickling in the back of your mind that you can’t seem to relax. Your eyes are drawn to the desk where the shirts still sit, and before you know it you’re moving to the desk, letting your fingers trail over each one. 

You grab Price’s shirt, taking it back to your bed. You curl up with your back facing the door, holding the shirt against your chest, letting the scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey fill your nose. Silent tears slide down your cheeks, your face pressing into the pillow to muffle your sobs. 

As you try to muffle your tears, you miss the sound of boots pausing in front of your door, the person on the other side standing there for a moment before continuing down the hall. 

You let out a groan as your alarm pulls you from sleep. You had drifted in and out for a few hours before finally managing to get a couple precious hours of sleep. You’d woken when the others got up. You knew they were trying to be quiet but you had heard them shuffling around, talking quietly amongst each other. You’re normally a fairly deep sleeper, but in a new place you always struggle. 

A new place surrounded by almost complete strangers. 

You turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. They’re burning a bit, the exhaustion still weighing heavy on your shoulders. You pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to try and make yourself at least look more alive than you feel. The last thing you need is them getting worried about you. That’s attention you’re not sure you want right now. 

You blink sleepily at your closet, trying to decide what to wear. Were you allowed to wear anything? You didn’t have much besides the basics, since the only thing you had been allowed to wear at the institute was its uniform and the clothes they provided. Then when you were with the CIA, they had provided clothes for you to wear as well. The things you have now had been bought by Kate before you left D.C. 

Everyone on base wore similar variants of the same uniform. You’re not military, though, so you don’t think those rules apply to you. No one had said anything about your state of dress yesterday. You opt for comfort, knowing you’d likely find out soon if you were going to be forced to dress differently too. 

You’re tying your shoes when the knock sounds on your door. You had heard the others moving around, footsteps in the hallway, opening and closing doors, quiet voices talking and Soap laughing at something. You know it’s one of them, yet the nervous tickle at the back of your head is back. 

Soap is leaning casually against your doorframe when you open the door. His face lights up in a smile as he sees you. “Morning, bonny. Sleep alright?” 

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Tossed and turned for a while.” 

“We didne keep ye up did we?” He asks, his smile faltering just a bit. 

You shake your head. “No, I never sleep well the first few nights in a new place.” 

“Well, our beds are always open if ye need something more comfortable.” He winks at you playfully. 

Your face warms at his words, the double meaning not lost on you. You were right, Soap was going to be the one to push your boundaries the most. 

Gaz elbows him in the ribs as he passes. “She’s been here a day, mate, don’t go scaring her off now.” He leans on the other side of your doorframe, giving you a smile. “Morning.” 

“Morning.” You say, your face still warm from Soap’s teasing. 

“You hungry?” Gaz asks. 

You nod. You do feel hungry this morning, likely a side effect from your emotional night last night. You step out of your room, the two betas stepping back to give you space as you close the door behind you. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to his door, his eyes watching with the typical cautious disinterest that seemed to be his default setting. 

Gaz and Soap sandwich you between them again, close enough their arms brush yours as you walk. It was almost as if they could sense your inner turmoil, the neediness still tugging at the back of your mind. If Ghost hadn’t been trailing the three of you, you might have been tempted to give in and grip their sleeves, or slip your hands into theirs. How would Ghost respond to such a bold move? The mental image of your body flying through the air as he punted you into next week almost makes you laugh. 

Price is already seated at a table frowning at his phone over a cup of coffee. Gaz and Soap load up your tray for you, something you’re getting used to rather quickly. It was expected from the alphas, or at least Price, to coddle you a bit, but it seemed the betas were more than happy to get in on it as well. 

The thought makes something flutter in your chest. 

You’re seated between Gaz and Price again once you reach the table, Price greeting you with a tired smile. “Morning. Sleep alright?” 

“Not really.” You say honestly. “New place and all. I’ll settle in eventually.” 

“Maybe the Omega Specialist can give you some ideas to help.” He glances at his watch before looking at you as you spoon a heaping spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Take your time. We have until 8.” 

You listen to the conversation at the table as you eat, Gaz and Soap talking about a football game that’s on tonight. You feel eyes on you, your skin prickling a bit. You glance up, half expecting Ghost to be glowering at you again, but his gaze is focused on his eggs. You cast a quick glance around the mess, turning slightly to look behind you. 

Three tables over, you find the gaze of some soldier focused on you. You haven’t paid much attention to anyone else on the base, but then again you haven’t had much time or reason to yet. You can’t read the expression on his face as he stares at you, but you feel a shiver run down your spine as your eyes meet his. 

He stares at you for a few seconds before his gaze moves slightly past you, quickly dropping back to his plate. You turn around, finding Ghost staring just past your head. His eyes are narrowed, his scent coming off stronger than it had been. You can practically see his hackles raised, the warning clear in the air. You feel the urge to curl in on yourself, the threatening aura radiating from him makes you want to cower. 

It doesn't go unnoticed by those at the table either. 

“Easy, Ghost.” Price says calmly, Gaz turning to follow his line of sight. 

“Bloody wanker.” Ghost grumbles before rising from the table. 

You turn back around, but the soldier that had been staring at you is gone. 

You nervously pick at your sweatshirt sleeves as you sit in the plastic chair next to Price. You’re still on edge a bit from what happened at breakfast. It wasn’t so much being stared at that bothered you. After now three meals in the mess, you’ve almost come to expect it. It’s Ghost’s reaction that has your mind still reeling. 

“I’ve always hated the medical center.” Price says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the wall. “It smells too sterile. Makes my nose burn. Reminds me of too many close calls.” 

His words jar you a bit. You hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his job. He’s used to getting shot at, to getting into fights, running head first into danger that would send most running the other way. You wonder how many times he’s been the one with the close call, and how many others he’s had to watch have their own. 

You wonder how many times he’s had to make that trip to tell someone’s family. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the door across from you opens. Price pushes himself to his feet, and you follow as a kind looking woman steps out. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. You don’t have anything against male Omega Specialists, but you were already surrounded by men. Sure you have Kate, but she’s half a world away. 

She’s tall, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite being a doctor she’s dressed casually, no white coat or gloves to be seen. Her eyes are light green and crease in the corners when she smiles. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Keller.” She introduces herself, shaking Price’s hand. 

American. You think, silently breathing another sigh of relief. Kate really had pulled some strings with this one. 

“Captain John Price.” He says. 

You introduce yourself when she turns to you, shaking your hand. Her voice is soft and gentle, the scent of beta coming off her in waves. 

“Come on in,” She says, leading you into the office. “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourselves comfortable.” 

Her office isn’t what you expected either. Instead of the harsh fluorescents, the lighting is softer, warmer. There’s paintings and posters all over the walls, along with several plants. There’s a desk covered in books and paperwork in one corner and a bookshelf with several books packed into it in the other. There’s a couch on one wall, and a couple plush looking chairs on the other. 

You move to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. It envelops you in softness, and you feel as if you might sink into it and never be able to get out. After a day of hard plastic and stiff blankets, it nearly makes you weep. 

Price takes the chair next to you, Dr. Keller sitting on the couch across from you. The office smells good, a light, neutral scent in the air aside from the pure almondy scent of beta. 

“Alright,” She says, holding a tablet and a stack of files in her lap. “I always like to start by introducing myself and telling you a bit about me, then we’ll get into the important stuff.” 

She jumps into telling you about herself. Where she grew up: California. Where she studied: UC Berkeley. What institute she did her residency at: West Coast Training Academy. Where she worked last before Kate called her in: some poor inner city institute in LA. 

“Now, on to the more important stuff.” She says, turning on the tablet. “I got your medical records yesterday. You’re quite the healthy girl.” 

“Yes ma'am. I have good genes. That’s what my mom used to say.” You respond. 

Dr. Keller smiles. “Hardly even been sick. Your heats are all normal, too, correct?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You say. “Except for a three month stretch two years ago.” 

“Yes, the heat sickness epidemic that hit America.” She says. 

You nod. “FIOT locked down completely and everyone was supposed to quarantine, but I heard a rumor that it was one of the beta food workers. She snuck out to see her alpha boyfriend and brought it in with her. We only think it was her because she disappeared not long after the first omega got sick.” 

Dr. Keller hums. “I know not everyone was so willing to take it seriously. You made a full recovery, though. No lasting side effects, I’m sure thanks to the state of the art medical facilities that FIOT keeps.” 

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky it was just a mild case.” 

“That is lucky.” She flips through something on the tablet. “Your lab results all look phenomenal. I like to do checkups monthly, just to ensure everything is working as it should. I know the CIA gave you quite the cocktail of vaccines while you were with them.” She turns her gaze to Price. “Captain Price, I’ve sent in a request for your team’s vaccination records as well. I’m sure you’ve had everything under the sun, but I’d like to ensure there’s no risk of any accidental exposures.” 

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Price says. “If RAMC gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll get them for you myself.” 

“Thank you, Captain.” She says. “One last bit in this part and then we can move on. I see FIOT issued an implant before you left, as is standard practice.” 

You nod. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. You’ve had more than enough time for it to take effect so we won’t have to worry about any accidental slip ups during your next heat.” 

Your cheeks warm at her words a bit. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that inevitable side of things. 

“And your next heat is roughly six weeks away.” She says, looking at the calendar. “Don't be surprised if it comes a little earlier now that you’re being exposed to alphas again.” 

Your stomach twists nervously at that thought. It was common for heats to be triggered early after exposure to alphas, especially after such a prolonged period without exposure to them. It wasn’t likely to start tomorrow, but you knew it could jump a week or two due to the natural pheromones alphas put off, and the instinctual call for the alpha/omega bond. 

“You’re planning for the claiming to take place during the heat?” Dr. Keller asks. 

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Price says. 

“That is the most natural time for it.” Dr. Keller says. “Of course, it is always up to omega preference in the end.” 

You don’t miss the way her eyes dart to you for a second. 

“Now that that’s over with,” She says, putting the tablet to the side. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do this next part with just the two of us.” 

A beat of silence passes before you realize she’s asking you. Her eyes are on you, and so are Price’s. She’s asking you. She’s asking you what you want. 

“I-I guess...yeah.” You stutter over your words, not quite sure how to answer. Is there a wrong answer? Would Price be upset if you said yes? Would Dr. Keller be upset if you said no? Your eyes turn to Price, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“It’s up to you.” He says softly. “We’re here for you.” 

You sit up a little straighter at his words, nodding your head. “Y-Yes. That’s okay.” 

Price pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll be right outside.” 

The air inside the room seems to lighten as he leaves, Dr. Keller reclining back on the couch as the door clicks shut. She pulls out a stack of papers and a pen before she looks at you. Your palms are sweating, and you’re starting to think you’d like the chair to swallow you whole. 

“This next part can feel a bit personal, but I just want you to know that everything you say in here is as confidential as you’d like it to be. Captain Price is right. I am an Omega Specialist, I’m here for you. I’m not just a doctor, I’m here to help you in all aspects of being an omega. I know FIOT teaches a lot, mainly obedience and compliance. I want to make it clear that you can be honest with me.” She holds up the stack of papers. “No one is going to see these papers but me, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” She smiles. “You can call me Dr. Keller, or Doc. You could even call me an evil bitch if you want, it won’t phase me any.” 

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face. 

“I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you. They’re a sort of tracker to measure how well you’re settling in and bonding with your new pack. I’d like to meet once a week until your next heat just to see how well you’re settling in. After that we can meet as often as you’d like. Sound good?” 

You nod in approval. It sounds like a lot, but you also know you’re going to have a lot of downtime, even with your pack on base. 

“Alright, let’s get started. How are you settling in? I know it’s barely been a day, but I want to know how you feel here.” 

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. How do you feel here? How do you feel after being pulled from the institute and taken to a training facility where you found out you’d be moving halfway across the world to be a military pack’s omega. 

This wasn’t what you had expected when you reached the age where you became an available omega. Most omegas at FIOT came from rich, powerful, important families and your purpose there was to be groomed into the perfect omega to return right back to that world. 

You thought you would be chosen quickly. You had expected it. With your scores and your high ratings and your status, you were what most alphas dreamed of. Yet, the years had passed and though there was some interest, nothing had ever come of it. You weren’t alone in it. There were others like you, those who excelled at being an omega, but then seemed to stall in the selection once they came of age. 

Of course, now that you look back on it, you can’t help but think it might have been done on purpose. The Omega Initiative was new, you had been told during your first briefing explaining why you were taken to a remote building somewhere outside of D.C. and greeted not by your new pack, but swathes of CIA agents. Military packs were nothing new, but they wanted to utilize the naturally formed packs and make them stronger and more stable by adding in omegas. 

Only highly skilled omegas were considered for the program, but of course you had no say in whether you were going to partake or not. They chose the omegas and they decided where you would end up. 

It wasn’t that dissimilar from being chosen from an Institute. At FIOT there was a screening process packs had to go through to be determined eligible to have access to omega files. Then the pack would have to send a neutral emissary, usually a beta, to meet the omegas in person and choose on behalf of the alpha. Most institutes don’t have that strenuous of a process, and some don’t have a process at all. In some, alphas themselves could walk in and choose an omega without even so much as a background check. 

Omegas never got a say. As soon as you were handed over to an institute, the ability to choose was taken from you. Whoever your caretakers were as a pup signed over their rights to you and the institute became your legal guardian. They dictated your life up until you joined a new pack. 

You had hoped it would be someone rich. If nothing else, you’d get to live a cushy life and you’d never have to worry about anything. When they told you what was really going to happen to you, you had almost cried. You did cry, late at night curled up in your bunk after hours of training and briefings. 

Kate picked you for this pack specifically because she knew them and she knew you could handle them and their world. 

Maybe if you had been worse at being an omega, things would have been better for you. 

Or maybe they would have been worse. 

“It’s...different.” You finally say, picking at your sleeves again. “But in a lot of ways, it’s similar to The Institute. It always takes me time to settle somewhere new.” 

“Me too.” Dr. Keller says, writing some things down. “And with the time change, it’s just so much harder. I feel like I should be in bed right now, but it’s 8 AM. Have you started nesting?” 

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even feel the urge to.” 

“That’s fine.” She says, writing something else down. “In truth, I’d be more concerned if you were.” 

Your eyebrows raise a bit. “Why?” 

“During an adjustment period for an omega, especially in a new pack, there can be something that happens called false instincts. The sudden urge to nest, a drive to bond with pack members too soon, false heats. It’s usually brought on by a sudden change in environment, like when omegas are taken from a place where they’ve spent sometimes years with no exposure to alphas and are suddenly thrown into a space with a lot of alphas. It’s more common in larger packs where you have alphas, betas, and other omegas.” 

“Could it happen in smaller packs?” You ask. 

“It’s possible, though rare. It can cause some serious issues down the line when those instincts are actually supposed to begin to show up, like adjustment sickness. I’d say if you’re starting to feel the urge to nest or bond before the first week is up, then come talk to me, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod. 

She smiles, turning the page. “How far have you gotten with the bonding process?” 

“Just the scenting yesterday.” You answer. 

“And how did that go?” 

You pick at the loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Fine. It was...overwhelming.” 

“They can be.” Dr. Keller says. “The new members of your pack, how are you getting along with them?” 

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug. “I like Soap and Gaz. Price, he’s...he’s nice, and Ghost...” You trail off, not sure how to answer. If she’d asked before breakfast you might have said he doesn't like you. He doesn’t want you to be part of his pack, but after what happened at breakfast...

You can’t be sure he did it for you. He could have thought that soldier was staring at Soap or Gaz or even Price. He could have thought the soldier was staring at him and was annoyed with it. He had scared off the stares at every meal you’d eaten together, but how often did they get stared at? You couldn’t know if that was a daily occurrence and he was just growing sick of it. 

He could be annoyed with you because you’re drawing in the stares. 

“I don’t know what to think about him yet.” You answer. 

She writes something else down, going through a few more questions with you. How is your appetite? How are you sleeping? Are you taking care of your needs? Do you have any concerns? 

Before you know it the hour has passed and you’re walking out the door into the fluorescent, sterile hallway of the medical center. 

“Remember, you have my number. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Dr. Keller says as you part ways. 

You walk with Price out of the medical center, glad to be out in the fresh air. It’s not particularly warm, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, but it’s better than the medical center. 

“What do you think?” Price asks as you follow him back to the barracks. 

“I think it went well.” You say, mind still reeling from an eventful morning. You’re beginning to feel your restless night. 

“Do you like Dr. Keller?” He asks, probing a bit. 

You nod. “Yes, sir. She’s nice.” 

“Good.” He says, opening the door to the barracks for you. “I have to leave to oversee training for the next few hours.” He glances at his watch. “One of us will come get you for lunch.” 

You nod. Of course you’d find yourself alone again between meals. You’re beginning to notice a pattern. “Yes, sir.” 

His hand is warm as it settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You’re surprised by the touch, as small as it is. Were they too fighting the urge to get close to you, like you had this morning? 

You can still feel the warmth of his hand even after it’s disappeared and he’s gone. You head for the rec room, deciding to avoid the constricting feeling of being shut in your room for the time being. 

The TV is on when you enter, but the room is empty, playing some morning talk show. You move to the bookshelf against the wall, letting your eyes scan the titles. There's a surprising lack of military-based books shoved into the packed shelf. Of course there's a handful of old manuals and handbooks, nothing that you're particularly concerned about needing to read. You let out a sigh, standing on your toes to reach a Brandon Sanderson novel. 

You look around the room but the remote for the TV seems to be missing, and it’s too high on the wall for you to reach the power button, so you leave it on, curling up on one corner of the couch as you begin to read. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed when something moves in your peripheral. The sun has come out briefly, shining in through the windows. You look up from the book, suddenly feeling very small under Ghost’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he stares down at you, a thousand things flashing through your mind. Are you in his spot? Is this his book? Had he come to the rec room hoping to be alone and here you are infringing in his space? 

“Come on.” He says, his voice rougher than it had been this morning. “Lunch.” 

He’s already turned and heading out the door as you scramble up, leaving the book on the coffee table as you hurry to catch up to him. His steps are quick and wide, and you find yourself having to almost speedwalk to keep up with him. 

Your thoughts are jumbled as you follow him out of the barracks and off towards the mess. Why would they send him to get you? Was he the only one available? Yesterday they had time before lunch to return to the barracks, or had that only been because of you? Or were they perhaps hoping this might offer a chance for the two of you to bond a bit? 

Or were they entirely blind to Ghost’s disinterest in your existence? 

Perhaps they were used to it. After so long together, perhaps they just thought it was normal. If you were brave enough to bring it up, would you get a “oh that’s just how he is” in response? 

You can’t see the others as you enter the mess, Ghost leading you to the line. He stands behind you like a hulking shadow, his scent covered by the smell of gunpowder and sweat. You fill your own tray for the first time, grabbing things that look appetizing. You’ll have to get used to it eventually, even though the others insisted on doing it for the time being. When they’re not here, you’ll have to do it yourself. 

Ghost leads you to an empty table, and you opt to sit across from him. You begin to eat, taking big bites to avoid the need for conversation, not that you really thought Ghost would strike up a conversation with you. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously, glancing over the entrances time and time again, waiting for the others to arrive. 

“Stop twitching. They’re on their way.” 

The words cut straight through you and you snap your head around to face Ghost. He’s got his mask pulled up to his nose, your eyes immediately drawn to the exposed pale skin. There’s light stubble on his chin. You remember how that had felt on your own skin when he’d scented you. He’s blonde, you think, or at least has light hair judging by the color of the stubble. There’s a scar on his chin, almost hidden by the stubble. 

Your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught in your nervous fretting. Of course, you should have known he would take notice. There’s not a lot they don’t notice, you think. Though, when your survival depends on noticing even the smallest detail of anything or anyone...

You jump as a tray is set down next to yours, your eyes snapping up to see Gaz with a smile on his face. You turn back to look at Ghost, his mask pulled back down but you see a slight shake to his shoulders for a second.

Was he...laughing at you? 

Your attention is drawn from him as Gaz takes a seat next to you, sitting close enough his arm is almost brushing yours. Price and Soap taking their usual spots as well. You’re beginning to pick up on the patterns that existed around them, and their own patterns. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to fit yourself into their lives. You knew from the start they weren’t going to change to fit you into their lives. They couldn’t. You were going to have to find a way to fit into their lives. 

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, abnormally quiet as he watches you warily. He walks you to your door, leaning on the doorframe as you step inside. 

“You alright?” He asks, big brown eyes shining with worry as he looks you over. 

“Yeah.” You nod, shifting on your feet. “Just tired. I think I might take a nap.” 

He nods, and you’re sure he doesn't quite believe you, but he doesn’t press any. “Alright. Happy napping.” 

You close the door as he leaves, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch. Between the probing questions from Dr. Keller and the few minutes you had spent alone with Ghost you feel exhausted. It was good to know you weren’t entirely broken in your lack of nesting instincts, and perhaps your turmoil with belonging in this place wasn’t quite as abnormal as you thought. 

What to do about Ghost.

He’s said more words to you today than he did in the entirety of the previous day. In fact, you think today might be the first time he’s spoken to you at all. You know he doesn’t approve of you, and you’d go so far as to say he doesn’t like you. You can imagine he fought the hardest against you being added to the pack. They were fine without you. It didn’t take a genius to see that. 

You’re an outsider. A civilian. A risk. 

An unneeded disruption to their lives. 

You pull your phone out of your pocket, staring at the dark screen. You know Ghost might never accept you. He won’t want to claim you, he won’t mate you, but...perhaps you might just get him to tolerate you. 

You unlock your phone, sending a quick text to Kate. 

“Can you get a book for me?”

You regret your decision momentarily as you step into the rec room. Gaz and Soap are lounged on the couch, beer bottles open on the coffee table. The TV is playing ads, their attention on each other. You almost feel as if you’re infringing upon a private moment as they laugh, half tempted to race back to your room and hide until your hunger draws you out or someone breaks down the door to get to you. 

“Hey!” Gaz’s face lights up when he sees you, Soap turning to look at you.

“Hey, bonny!” His face lights up with a smile. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, shifting nervously on your feet. 

“Not at all.” Gaz says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. “You want a beer?” 

You shake your head. “No thank you. Never could get past the taste.” 

Soap throws his head back as he laughs, slapping Gaz’s shoulder. “I keep tellin’ ye!” 

“Yet you keep drinking it!” Gaz attempts to defend himself. 

“Cause it’s th’ only thing we got!” Soap argues, leaning around Gaz to stare at you. “So, ye a football fan, bonny?” 

“Well, I watched the World Cup a couple times as a kid.” You say. “My household was more of an American football and baseball household. Two of my older brothers played soccer, though they never were very serious about it. Mostly just did it to fulfill my dad’s physical activity extracurricular requirement.” 

“What did you do to fulfill that requirement?” Gaz asks as he takes a sip of his beer. 

“Softball. I was...not good at it.” You laugh. “I could catch and throw, but I don’t think I hit the ball a single time I was at bat.” 

Both of them chuckle, turning back to the TV as the ad ends. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a proper football fan yet.” Gaz says. 

You watch the game with them, and it doesn’t take you long to realize they’re rooting for opposing teams. They explain things to you here and there in between yelling at the TV and each other. Despite how loud they are, you find yourself relaxing further and further, the tension from the last two days easing away, even as the two betas yell at each other over a soccer game. 

Gaz tenses for a second as he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, noticing you’ve fallen asleep, your head drooping onto his shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile as he gently nudges Soap. 

“Wha?” Soap asks, turning to look at him. 

He jerks his head to the side, leaning back just slightly so Soap can see. A grin breaks out on the younger man’s face and he pulls out his phone. “Aww, look a’ that. Think we should wake ‘er and get ‘er tae bed?” 

“Nah.” Gaz says. “Let her sleep for now. She probably needs it.” 

You sleep soundly through overtime, Gaz not moving until the post game is over, letting you sleep as long as possible. He knows you have to be tired, after the last few days and the time difference. You looked tired today, with dark circles and droopy eyes. He hates to wake you, but he knows you can’t sleep on the couch. 

He nudges you gently, trying to rouse you. “Hey.” He nudges you again, your head finally lifting off his shoulder. 

You blink sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. You make a quiet sound in protest of being awake, eyes drooping closed again. 

“Come on, love.” He says, keeping you upright. “It’s time for bed.” 

You cover your yawn with your hand, blinking at him sleepily. “Bed?” You murmur sleepily, Gaz smiling softly at how adorable you are in this state. 

“Yeah, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” He pushes himself to stand, hands on your arms to pull you up. 

You make another sound in protest, nearly falling against his chest when he gets you on your feet. He wraps an arm around you, letting you lean on him as he guides you back to bed, Soap cleaning up the mess they had made. 

You’re more awake once you get to your door, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “‘S fun.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Should do that more often.” 

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He says. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Night, love.” 

He waits until your door is closed before heading back down the hallway towards the rec room, a small smile on his face. 

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