#sorry this is supposed to be a sunday post | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

freyito · 2 months ago

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪᴍᴇʀᴀ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ...

✭ pairing(s): aventurine, dr ratio, boothill, gallagher, sunday, argenti, mr. reca, sampo, jing yuan, blade, luocha, jiaoqiu, moze, mydei, phainon, anaxa (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: you bring home a chimera that looks like them.

✧ a/n: SOMEHOW IT FEELS LIKE ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE IVE POSTED A FIC??? IDK IF THIS IS NORMALLY HOW LONG IT TAKES ME BUT AUGHHH!!!!!!! i got a job again and many more things happening irl but i am FINALLY! FINALLY!!! starting to get back into the groove of writing and drawing and even gaming teehee... sometimes all you need is a change to get out of a slump i guess.

you may also notice that a few characters are missing from this post! thats cause whenever i do one of these big ol posts, a couple of characters really tend to make it feel like it drags on for me. that leads to me really dreading writing the fic and, of course, leads to me taking a month on the fic lol. this will be one of the last posts i do with all the male characters (and female, if i ever decide to write for them in the future), before i move onto writing five characters at most. im sorry if you guys liked these posts and your favorite characters werent written for, i know these are like. my most popular pieces. it just takes so long and by the time i reach certain characters i feel like im all outta juice.

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 4.3k

⎯ Aventurine

“Well… I suppose we’ll see how this goes…”

AVENTURINE isn’t exactly against the idea of a chimera, but with all his catcakes, is it a good idea…? Both of you don’t know, and you feel a little embarrassed to admit that you didn’t think of this before bringing home the chimera. He’s not mad though, he’s quite taken by the little creature. But, with his penchant to collect catcakes, he worries about possible socialization issues.

The chimera, however, fits right in– aside from its striking eyes. Loafing and lounging with the catcakes, day in, day out. With a big ol’ smile on its cute face, happy to be with its kin… You think. Chimeras have the body of lion cubs, right? So aren’t they like… kind of related to catcakes? It’s a question you’d rather not ponder. Still, even so far from home, the chimera seems quite content. Paired with a bunch of companions who are all spoiled equally.

That being said, it seems you have chosen one of the laziest chimeras known to man. Ever since you had brought it home, it had kept Aventurine in bed even later, refusing to get up from his chest, even if the man had a meeting. It seems Aventurine has spoiled it far too much, or it has gotten so used to the comfortable life that it’s gotten quite stubborn…

⎯ Dr. Ratio

“Interesting….”

Most would not take RATIO as any type of pet person. No cats, certainly no dogs, no birds… the list goes on. Even his colleagues would not have guessed he’d take such a shine to such a… cute creature. As far as they know, cute is not a word within Ratio’s vocabulary. So, when his peers and students see a chimera toddling behind him, they can’t help but be interested.

He acts like he isn’t attached to the chimera, treating it more like a specimen than the cute little lion-butterfly-thing it is. When you first brought it to him, he was quite intrigued. A creature from a planet that not even the memokeepers can reach… It's a wonderful research opportunity, and a gift. One he cherishes, despite his logical approach to it.

It seems he has bonded with the chimera on a deeper level than you expected. It just so happens that you have picked up a chimera that not only looks like Veritas, but also one that was just as enlightened as he was. You think. You don’t understand a lick of the chimera’s little chirps, but Ratio seems to understand well enough. Then again, the math that he prattles on about with the chimera, you don’t understand either.

⎯ Boothill

“Awh, who’s this little feller?”

BOOTHILL is actually quite delighted when you bring a chimera home to him, even if your reasoning is a little… odd. Looks like him? Well, there’s only one of him and that means there’s only one look-alike; the man in the mirror. Still, despite this, he’s practically in love with the chimera. It’s been so long since he’s even had a pet– and he’s always missed the dogs and cats on the ranch– so why not indulge in your silly little shenanigans, and appreciate this little critter you’ve taken the time to pick out for him?

The two get along so well. Boothill had always wanted a pet eventually, but with his lifestyle he was afraid to ever adopt. Considering he was running around half the galaxy, he was wanted, and the closest thing to home he knew now was a ship, it was just unfair to subject any sort of animal to that life. Now that he had you and a proper home, however, he had been debating getting a pet for a long, long while.

So imagine his surprise when you had handed off a chimera to him the minute he got home after a particularly rough bounty. Even the most snarkiest, annoying personality would have him charmed. It could constantly choose you over him, and he’d still fawn over the thing. He’s happy you have someone to keep you company when he’s away, but the little kid in him (who remained, despite the fact that everything around him had burned to ash) is much more happy to come home to a pet once more.

⎯ Gallagher

“Another stray, hm?”

Despite the chimera’s protests that it is not a stray, GALLAGHER doesn’t seem to mind a new pet. He’ll just pretend he didn’t hear that comment about the chimera looking like him. You had compared him to a dog so many times before, that he was practically immune. Even if a chimera wasn't a dog, or a cat, or… well, there was no use in wondering what exactly it was. Though, he was quite intrigued that you had brought home something from Amphoreus of all places, it seems that the nameless just keep going for bigger and bigger marks.

The chimera itself is quite happy to get away from its work and laze about. On the days that Gallagher is home, it enjoys curling up on his lap (or his chest, if Gallagher is napping), and bathing in his and your attention. It’s quite domestic really, you have seen Gallagher with his other pets before, but he’s more of a big dog kind of guy. To see something relatively small curled up with him, when he’s watching TV or getting ready for bed, it makes you feel… light.

He’s also quite happy to have a pet that can actually talk back. Gallagher often catches himself muttering to himself because of how much he tends to talk to his pets. So when he gets responses from the chimera, even if it’s asking to go back to bed or telling him that this work is just ‘too much’ (all Gallagher was doing was pouring himself a drink, the chimera simply chose to follow him), it was still wonderful for him to have a buddy. It’s not everyday that you have a pet that can talk back to you, right?

⎯ Sunday

“Ah… you thought of me…?”

Now, SUNDAY isn’t against pets, he’s just a little nervous. The last pet he had… Well, you know what happened to it. But, by all means a chimera is an extraterrestrial. So, naturally, he’s a little shocked. Even if the little chimera is as cute as a button and just so damn happy to be in his lap. While he knew stepping aboard the Astral Express would mean he would see quite a lot– which included different planets, and by proxy, different flora, fauna, people, and what not– he never really expected to be face to face with such a… thing.

Looking into its wide, golden eyes, however, he feels a sense of… kinship. As weird as it is. He does his best to ignore it, not to get too overly attached to the chimera. After all, surely you must bring it back to Amphoreus. Right? He does his best to ignore the papers in your hands, and chooses instead to believe that this ‘adoption’ is more of a ‘foster’ situation.

That worry dissipates with the coming days. He finds himself quite enamored with the chimera, even sneaking it leftovers when he can. He doesn’t mean to, but he ends up reading the creature passages from his books, or from some data entries he borrowed from the archive. In fact, the idea that you would have to bring the chimera back breaks his heart a little. Not that you would, it’s quite cute to watch the chimera follow Sunday around.

⎯ Argenti

“What a stunning creature!”

Isn’t the word ‘cute’ better instead? Nevertheless, ARGENTI is quite enraptured by the chimera. So much so that he doesn’t seem to realize the similarity of the creature. Really, when you saw the sparkle in its eyes, you knew this was perfect for him. The similarity was uncanny, really. With the way the chimera was staring into your very soul, chattering off (which, you could already imagine it was praising the beauty of you), a part of you wanted to get it contacts.

Needless to say, The chimera is glued to Argenti. Or perhaps it's the other way around? The man doesn’t have any traveling companions, and he had preferred for you to stay on his ship whenever he was out on one of his excursions. The chimera, however, seemed to be quite the trusty companion. That little ‘awoo’ must be vicious, given how highly the man spoke of it. ‘It’s like a cry from the very heavens!’

It seems your gift is quite well loved, though. Not that Argenti would ever dislike your gifts. You could give him a rock– one that isn’t even shiny or shaped in an interesting way– and he’d treat it like you’d have proposed to him. The chimera, however, seems to have struck a rather special chord within him. It is hard to know if you’ve truly surprised him, but you can definitely see how attached he is to the chimera. It has been too long since someone gave him something so meaningful. Perhaps even the first time.

⎯ Mr. Reca

“Ah, is this a new crew member…? Or perhaps, a new star?”

Is there a universe where MR. RECA isn’t looking for some scene to capture? ‘Cause it’s definitely not this one. No one has ever had the ability to capture something, anything from Amphoreus, so of course he’s fascinated with the chimera. He glosses over the fact that the critter looks like him. Not enough time to think about that, when this is a star in the making. What shall he come up with this time?

He unknowingly dotes on that poor little Chimera, as well… in his own way. There’s no critiques for the creature's performance (though, you must think that it doesn’t understand exactly what Reca’s goal is.), only dazzling praise, even for something as simple as curling up and taking a nap. Such a tiny little thing, full of all sorts of inspiration! It deserves nothing more than the best of praise!

For at least a month straight, he simply cannot stop thinking of ideas and ways to make the chimera a star. A documentary, perhaps. No, no, that’s too simple. A thriller, maybe? Now, that would be interesting. How could he use such a cute creature for such a medium…? Ah, so many things to work out! This excitement keeps him fueled for days. Oftentimes, he’s writing out scenes at his desk, pacing, or even talking your ear off. All while the chimera is curled up in his lap, content as can be.

⎯Sampo Koski

“And what’s this? A new business venture?”

Of course SAMPO looks at the chimera and sees a business opportunity. Not that he’s planning to sell it, no… this little fella could be the new face of his business. Cold Feet Junior, even. Needless to say, he loves the chimera. Who wouldn’t? Such a precious little treasure from way out there, somewhere not even the great Sampo Koski can get to.

Aside from the chimera now being the face of his business, he brings the thing everywhere like it’s a little chihuahua. It gets pampered to high heaven, with little treats even you have never heard about before. From all sorts of places, from Izumo to Punklorde. You start to wonder if these treats are even good for the chimera, considering just how different these foods must be from the ones back home. The chimera seems fine enough, however.

When he can’t bring the chimera with him, however, he’s the most pathetic man you know. He’ll fake cry, use a voice that is just so tear-jerking, and say a sorrowful goodbye to the chimera. He texts you everyday when he is out, begging for pictures, asking if it's okay, asking if it's eaten… and so on. You, of course, do your best to shower him with pictures of the chimera, assuring him that it’s never been better. To which, he always responds with some sort of keyboard smash (rare for him), and praises going your way, and the chimeras way.

⎯ Jing Yuan

“Hmm…”

JING YUAN could never turn down a gift from you, of course. Especially one so cute. If you hadn’t caught him at such an inopportune time (also known as nap time), perhaps his reaction would be more grand. Or the same, he’s never been one for big expressions. A simple ‘thank you’, a kiss, and something in return has always been his style. However, this seems like a lot more than just a simple gift. A creature from Amphoreus… and a potential playmate for Mimi.

‘Potentially’ becomes a ‘definitely’ after some socializing. Instead of the chimera attaching itself to Jing Yuan, it’s very, very fond of Mimi. The grimalkin is quite well tempered, if not tolerant. The way the Chimera climbs onto him, like he is a mighty steed and not a proud lion… it’s charming in its own way. And yet, all Mimi does is maybe huff a little, and be on his merry way. Most of the time, he’d do the exact opposite the chimera wanted, by the sound of its annoyed chirps. Perhaps this was his way of playing with such a smaller creature…?

The chimera ultimately finds its spot on the bed. When you and Jing Yuan cuddled up, Mimi took his spot at the end of the bed. The chimera, unsure whether to stick themself at the end of the bed, in between you and Jing Yuan, or just sleep on the floor. Before it decides to exclude itself, Mimi makes the decision for it. With another huff (perhaps irritated that he had to leave his warm spot), he hops down from the bed, grabs the chimera by its scruff (not without it complaining, of course), and hops right back up. When you wake up in the morning, you find the chimera, stuck between Mimi’s paws, with the most content, familiar, smile on its face, while Mimi licks up its cheek repeatedly.

⎯ Blade

“...”

How many more times will this happen? First a cat cake, now a chimera. What’s next? A seal? BLADE really doesn’t know how to react. To be thought of is wonderful, but does it really always have to be in this kind of way? How many more creatures out there look like him? He can only hope you don’t find them for your ‘Blade collection’. Those poor, poor souls…

Regardless of his… pondering, the gift doesn’t go unappreciated. The chimera and Blade are like two halves of a whole, really. While Blade is sulking, so is the chimera… right next to him. When you adopted it, you swore it was just full of energy. Chirping and chattering to anyone who would listen, chimera, human, chrysos heir, no one was free from its chattering. In truth, you thought it was silly that something that held such a resemblance to such a broody man had such whimsy.

So, to see the little critter suddenly adapt Blade’s sulking and… edge, it’s a little surprising. Or not, if you understood how this tale has gone before. It’s actually kind of cute in its own odd way. When you point out the similarities in personality, all Blade feels he can do is grumble and huff. He should be used to your penchant for finding things that look and act like him by now, but somehow you always manage to surprise him.

⎯ Luocha

“What an… intriguing gift…”

LUOCHA is never one to turn down your gifts, and he certainly won’t start now. But, despite the worlds he has traveled to and all he’s seen, somehow he’s never seen quite a creature. Perhaps it is the resemblance that throws him off. He doesn’t want to turn down your gift, but where he travels to may not be the safest place for the little Chimera. Very rarely does he stay home long enough to take care of any pet, either. He rationalizes that while it is a little amusing, this must be for you.

And of course he isn’t going to take that kind of companionship from you. It’s actually kind of endearing to him that you went through all this trouble to find a cute little look-alike. He’s more entertained by the way you dote on it, by the way you call it ‘Luo-Luo’ (even though the Chimera seems over it), and he wonders to himself if you truly got this chimera for him, or to have something to coddle while he was away. Not that you coddled him, normally. He isn’t a man to be doted on like that, and you are just too shy to do that to him.

He indulges in the adoption of the chimera, of course. Even when he’s out for months on end, he makes sure to call and check up on the Chimera (and you, but he does that normally). He shouldn’t be so surprised to see all the little outfits you’ve stuck the critter in, from cats (which makes no sense, considering the body of a chimera was a lion), to wolves. He wonders how many people you have commissioned for these little outfits…

⎯ Jiaoqiu

“And this charming little companion is…?”

JIAOQIU truly thought that the Tuskipir would be his only pet. He didn’t really need a service animal outside of the emotional support, considering he had a cane, and he knew the Yaoqing like the back of his hand. You, however, decide that if one critter does well, why won’t two do better? Plus, while the Tuskipir was used for more emotional wellbeing, Chimeras were experienced with work, and when you think about it, they’d make quite the service animals.

What a shame that he can’t see the resemblance clearly. Still, he is quite touched by the thoughtfulness behind your gift. The chimera warms up to him all too easily, immediately taking its place by his side. Jiaoqiu doesn’t verbally admit it, but being thought of in such a way, especially after a trip that took you across the cosmos warms his heart. Even if he is pretty much completely recovered, it was quite nice to be cared for. Even as a healer.

In truth, as endearing as your gift was, he had expected the chimera to get in his way, under his legs, and become annoying in all sorts of ways. Given how happily it yipped and barked when you first arrived with it, he truly assumed it would be an annoyance. He’s pleasantly surprised that once the chimera has acclimated and settled, it becomes a wonderful companion. Chimera’s stomachs are so strong, you think, watching as Jiaoqiu feeds the critter a particular slice of beef that almost looks red, with the amount of spice he has put in the hotpot broth.

⎯ Moze

“I… Hm.”

It is rare for MOZE to talk without thinking. It is even rarer to interrupt his thoughts all together. You should be impressed with yourself. When met with the gloomy demeanor of the Chimera, Moze can only squint, open his mouth to form words, and ultimately lose them. What is he supposed to say? He’s never had a pet before, the strays in the alleyways who liked his scent were the closest thing to having one. All he really can do is hold the Chimera and stare into those oddly familiar eyes.

There is a quiet camaraderie between the two, once the confusion settles from Moze’s mind. When Moze is home (considering his work is too dangerous for any sort of pet), the two have a tacit, quiet understanding that you can’t quite… get. The Chimera follows Moze around, at a distance, and studies him closely, as if trying to commit his movements to memory. You swear, at some point, you heard Moze say ‘this is how you sweep’. When you walked in the room to check, the two were quiet as can be, while Moze was sweeping the kitchen floor, the Chimera perched on the counter.

When Moze is out, the Chimera sits by the door, or in the living room, or sometimes sleeps in his spot on the bed while waiting for him. It’s almost kind of heartbreaking when you think about it, knowing Moze is gone for most of the week. At the very least, it seems the Chimera is much, much more receptive to cuddles than your dear lover is. As much as it seems to miss its twin, it can’t resist curling up in your arms and taking a nap. It seems that the Chimera catches up on sleep in Moze’s place.

⎯ Mydeimos

“Hmph.”

MYDEI refuses to acknowledge the similarity. He pouts, sighs, and does his best to walk off and ignore the furry little companion you had brought home. The chimera trots after Mydei regardless, happy as can be, even if the man was ignoring it. You had to commend him, really. If you had something that cute following you around, you would fold immediately. But Mydei was stronger than you (and much, much more stubborn).

When Mydeimos wasn’t home, the chimera took up all his spots, short of the one in the kitchen. It’d sit in his chair at the table, enjoy the warmth of the private bath, and even take his spot on the bed. Which, Mydei truly doesn’t appreciate. Some days he is out from dawn till dusk, but he has always made it a point to come back home just before you fall asleep, so the two of you could sleep together. So to find you curled up with this little rascal, who was oh so happy to take his place, he doesn’t know what to feel.

He’s not jealous. No, no, he swears he isn’t. Why would he be jealous of a chimera? How silly. Despite that, you notice how he’s suddenly in much more of a rush to see you on the days that he is gone. He tries to beat the chimera to the bed, establishes his dominance in the kitchen (as if anyone could beat him), and makes it known– well.. you don’t know what he’s trying to prove to a chimera of all things. But it’s quite funny watching him try to one-up the creature, who was simply acting oblivious. Everytime you pet the chimera or praise it, you can always hear Mydei sigh. It’s not that he was neglecting the chimera in any way, not, he just had to one-up it. Almost every time he could.

⎯ Phainon

“Aha… Do I really look like this thing…?”

You are the third person to tell PHAINON a certain chimera looks like him. It worries him a little. Does he, a truly fearsome warrior that totally doesn’t have the air of a puppy, look like such a cute little creature? Looking into the chimera’s eyes, which are practically shining, he can’t help but concede… only for you, though.

The very first thing this chimera does is challenge Phainon himself. To his surprise (and dismay), the chimera starts to take all his favorite spots. Right by your legs, on your chest when you're sleeping, or when you're just laying down, and even in the baths. You find it cute, but Phainon… he’s not one to turn down a challenge, even if it’s initiated by a chimera. He takes every chance he can get to sweep you up off your feet and carry you off somewhere the chimera can only watch, like the hot baths.

While you find this kind of charming, if not funny, you can't help but feel bad for the chimera. When you show even the smallest amount of pity for it, however, Phainon decides its time to switch tactics. Instead of taking everything the Chimera did as a challenge, now it was a battle of charm. Anytime the Chimera begs for food (within his proximity), he rests his chin on your shoulder and tries to snatch the food from you. If the Chimera is sleeping on your lap, he makes an effort to also try and lay his head in your lap, and always, always, looks up at you with those pretty blues. You have to admit it's cute, but kind of pathetic. Not that you would ever want him to change.

⎯ Anaxagoras

“Hmph. But it is no Dromas.”

You, of course, know about ANAXA’s love for Dromases more than anything. You were one of the few who were graced by him and his magnificent onesie’s presence, after all. But, still, when you saw the little chimera, with its muted green coat and its missing eye, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Perhaps he is truly amused at the fact that you have found his doppelganger? Or maybe he’s finally figured out where one of his eyepatches has finally gone… either way, his tone is hard to read.

It is not long until you notice how he dotes on the chimera… in his own way, at least. He doesn’t outright ignore the critter when it toddles behind him, and on more than one occasion you have caught him talking to it, prattling on about his theories while he cleans his gun. Despite acting annoyed that you had taken one of his eyepatches for a ‘silly little costume’, he does not attempt to remove it. Not once. You take this as a victory, of course.

The real kicker is when you caught him sewing a Dromas onesie for the Chimera. His hands aren’t the steadiest, but he sits so quietly (for once), all while the Chimera lays curled up right next to his legs. You don’t mean to stare for too long, but he ends up catching you. Instead of acting shy (Which, he never did), and brushing you off, he only huffs softly, and shakes his head, before going back to his sewing. You read this as an invitation to properly watch, and when you step into the room, he doesn’t complain.

2K notes · View notes

depresssant · 8 months ago

Text

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second.

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care.

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air.

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things.

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup.

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY

931 notes · View notes

pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Five

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, detailed meltdown on-page, angst.

Notes — Another double update, go me! PSA: Our Amelia has a bit of a difficult time in this one. Take care of yourselves x

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

WhatsApp Groupchat — The 2019 F1 Grid

Charles L. I have found an iPad in Ferrari hospitality. It is engraved with the initials A.B. Any ideas?

Lewis H. Does it have a bunny sticker on it?

Charles L. Yes!

Lewis H. That’s Amelia’s, then.

Lando N. lol I’ll come get it just gimme 10 mins im in a debrief rn

Charles L. Sure no problem Amelia is Zak Brown’s daughter, yes?

George R. Yeah mate The smart one.

Sebastian V. Haha. She is the one Binotto wants? Brown hair, pretty smile?

Lando N. Bro.

Lewis H. @Sebastian — Mattia has tried to get her to Ferrari?

Sebastian V. Yes. He’s offered her some very lucrative opportunities. She has so far turned all of them down.

Carlos S. She’s loyal to McLaren. Leave her to us, yes?

Valtteri B. But if she ever decided to go elsewhere, Mercedes would make sense.

Lewis H. Yeah obviously 👍🏻

Lando N. ????????????

Lance S. If she was offered a million dollars to fix the Racing Point car, do you think she’d take it? Not a hypothetical. My dad wants to know.

Max V. Money won’t work. You forget she’s already the child of a millionaire.

Lance S. Damn it.

Kimi R. Is this the child always in Norris’ garage?

Lando N. Don’t call her a child we are literally the same age

Kimi R. That does not change the fact

Daniel R. But seriously, why was she even in Ferrari hospitality in the first place?

Max V. Ice cream.

Lando N. Ice cream

Lewis H. Ice cream.

Sebastian V. I can confirm she was here for ice cream. Pistachio, specifically.

Charles L. I cannot believe I’ve still never met her. Is she really so smart?

Lando N. Yes.

Pierre G. Absolutely.

Max V. Smarter than you are capable of comprehending, Charles.

Charles L. Then I suppose I will just have to charm her into accepting Mattia’s offer 😌

Lando N. I will put in the wall, Leclerc.

Charles L. Oh! You are together with her, Lando? I didn’t know!

Lando N. No, we’re not together.

Charles L. Then I am confused.

Max V. Her father has practically forbade them from dating. Total nonsense if you ask me.

Carlos S. They are dating.

Daniel R. @Carlos 😳😳😳

Lando N. @Carlos NO WE ARE NOT STOP SAYING THAT

Sergio P. Mucho defensive…

Carlos S. He wrote his race number on her shoes.

Lando N. So what? That means nothing.

Daniel R. Oh brother….

Max V. Yeah, sorry, I can’t even back you on that one Lando. That’s a lot.

Kimi R. My wife had my number stitched into her shoes. We got married six months later.

George R. So Kimi is saying you’re basically engaged, bro.

Lewis H. Let’s stop talking about this. Before Lando has a full on meltdown.

Charles L. Too late. He has arrived for the iPad with a terrible attitude.

Lando N. I hate all of you.

—

Subject: Workplace Conduct Reminder – Inclusivity & Respect at McLaren

From: HR Department To: All McLaren Racing Staff Date: [Sunday, post-race, 10:42 PM]

Dear Team,

As the season continues and tensions rise both on and off the track, we’d like to take a moment to remind everyone of McLaren’s core values — collaboration, respect, and inclusion.

We are incredibly proud of the diversity across our team, from engineering to strategy, operations to communications. Every person is here because they bring something exceptional to the table — and that includes our colleagues who may experience or perceive the world differently than others.

We ask that all team members remain mindful of the following:

Neurodiversity is not a barrier — it is an asset. Please be conscious of language and behaviour that may unintentionally alienate or diminish the contributions of individuals who may process things differently. This includes members of our extended team, trusted advisors, and collaborators who work closely with us — regardless of job title or official role.

“Vibes” are not a metric — Judging someone’s energy, personality, or communication style is not only unprofessional but also unfair. Everyone representing or contributing to McLaren, formally or informally, deserves respect.

Support one another — Whether someone wears McLaren orange full-time or contributes behind the scenes, everyone here plays a part in our collective success.

Rumours are not culture — Let’s keep paddock gossip out of professional spaces. If you have concerns, we encourage you to speak directly to your manager or HR.

This message is not in response to any one incident but rather a gentle pit stop reminder: our team functions best when everyone feels seen, heard, and safe.

If you have any questions or want to speak to someone in confidence, please feel free to reach out to HR directly. We’re here to help.

Kind regards, The McLaren Racing HR Team [[email protected]]

—

iMessage — 11:40pm

Lando Yo, did you see the email?

Carlos Sí.

Lando Kinda hardcore. Glad Zak did something

Carlos Somebody said something to Amelia?

Lando Yeah someone in PR idk I feel like I should know more about her stuff I feel stupid tho. Like I don’t know anything. Just that she’s Amelia yano

Carlos I did some reading. Come to my hotel room. We eat pizza. I will teach you what I know and we can google the rest.

Lando Legend. Thanks, mate.

—

The course he took her to wasn’t flashy — quiet, tucked away, the kind of place her dad’s friends would never be caught dead in. That was intentional. They weren’t exactly hiding their… friendship, but they weren’t trying to advertise it either.

Amelia stared down at the club he’d handed her like it was a piece of martian debris.

“This is very stupid,” she muttered. “Pointless, really.”

“It is,” Lando agreed, his lips twitching. “Just hit the ball.”

She squinted at the tiny white ball he’d settled on the grass in front of her. “Is it supposed to just… go?”

“Yes.”

“Like in a line?” she clarified, glancing at him.

He shrugged. “In theory.”

She swung. Missed.

Lando clapped anyway. “Incredible form. I’ve never seen such calculated failure.”

“It was bad,” she said seriously. “I didn’t hit the ball. I made a hole in the grass, Lando.” She stared down at the muddy crater with quiet horror.

He just gave her an encouraging nod, gesturing for her to try again.

She sighed, feeling the beginning of a stress rash creep along her neck. But she tried again. And that time, she hit it — not far, just a lazy roll across the grass — but enough to surprise herself. Lando caught the way her eyes widened, saw the exact moment the thrill overtook her frustration.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed her another ball.

They kept going like that for a while — her slowly getting the hang of it, him slipping in dumb jokes and patient explanations between swings. She never asked for help, but he noticed how closely she watched every move he made. Her eyes, always sharp, always calculating.

Eventually, she dropped to the grass with a dramatic sigh and said, “Why do people think this is relaxing? I’m hot and my legs are tired.”

Lando chuckled and sat beside her, kicking his legs out long. “I think it’s relaxing. Your dad likes it.”

“I don’t want to talk about my dad. It makes me stressed.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

She pulled at a blade of grass, rolled it between her fingers. “He told me again that it would be better if I stayed away from you. He said it would make things easier. For me. For you. For the team.” She continued.

Lando let the silence sit for a moment before asking, his voice quiet and slightly unsure. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I want him to not worry. I want him to trust me. I want…” She hesitated, frowning at the grass. “I want to feel like I can make my own choices without feeling like I might wreck everything.”

“You’re not wrecking anything,” Lando said. He tapped the ground next to her leg and she glanced at him, blinking. “I like hanging out with you.” He told her.

She didn’t say anything, just flicked the blade of grass from her fingers and looked at the trees that surrounded the course. “I don’t know what I feel yet,” she said finally. “Toward you, I mean. But I know that I have liked this. Today. Not the golf. Being with you.”

Lando grinned — couldn’t help himself. Probably looked like a right knob, but he didn’t care. “Want to keep playing?” He asked.

She gave him a look. “I might get fined for ruining so much of their grass.”

He handed her another ball. Shrugged. Smirked. “It’s fine. I make a lot of money.”

She rolled her eyes.

—

Amelia shut her bedroom door with more force than she meant to and leaned against it, breath caught high in her chest like she’d just ran a marathon. Her bag hit the floor. Her hands were shaking.

She didn’t know why. Except; she did.

Her body was full of something too big. Too much. A knot of heat and noise and confusion that had no exit. It felt like all the inside parts of her were pressing outward, like she might split open if she didn't stay still.

She pressed her palms hard into her eyes like she could push it all back in. But it was already too late. The thoughts were everywhere; spilled oil, tangled cords, static static static. Her brain wouldn’t quiet down. Wouldn’t give her space to think.

She’d had a good day. That was the worst part.

Lando had been good.

He never looked at her like she was difficult. He didn’t act like she was hard work. When she didn’t catch onto something the first time, he just explained again. No sighing. No staring. No pretending. Things weren’t easy with him, not exactly, but they were lighter. Easier.

She sat hard on her bed and the tears came without warning; fast, silent, relentless.

She didn’t cry often. Usually she just shut down. Usually the wall slammed down before anything could spill out. But this time everything had slipped past it, and now she was sobbing, but it didn’t even feel like crying. It felt like her whole nervous system had shattered.

A knock at the door.

“Amelia?” her mum’s voice, soft. “We just got back. Can I come in?”

She didn’t answer. Just turned her face away and wiped at it, even though the tears kept falling. Her skin was already stinging. Her chest was tight.

The door creaked open.

“I’m not upset,” Amelia said fast, panicked. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why I feel like this. No. I do. I do. I just don’t know what to do with it. And I don’t want to talk about it—except I do. I do, I just—” She broke off, swallowing hard.

Her mum sat on the edge of the bed, calm. Grounding.

“I went out with Lando today,” Amelia said, too fast. “To play golf. His idea. He said we should do something fun. So I did. And it was fun. I didn’t freak out or embarrass myself. I didn’t ruin it. I didn’t ruin it.”

She dug her nails into her palms. Her face was blotchy and sore.

“He makes me feel normal,” she whispered. “Not small. Not like a problem. Just… me. And now I don’t know what I feel. I think I want him to be my friend. Or maybe something else. I don’t know. And I don’t want to know, because it doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Her mum asked calmly.

Amelia blinked at her, and then, like someone flicked a switch, the anger surged. Hot and fast, like a fever.

“Because of Dad,” she spat. “Because he thinks that it would be a distraction. Because he thinks I’ll screw everything up just by being around. Like I’m some walking disease that’s gonna infect Lando’s entire career. I know that’s what he’s worried about the most.”

She was breathing too fast. Her limbs were twitching now, hands clenching and unclenching.

“I don’t have friends,” she said. “You know that. I’ve never had friends. Not ones that stay. I get too intense. Too blunt. Too weird. Too tired. And people always stop trying.”Her voice cracked. Her throat burned. “But Lando didn’t stop. He hasn’t stopped. And it’s still not enough. I still don’t get to have this one good thing without it turning into a problem.”

The sobs came back, messy and loud this time. She stood up too fast, swaying. Her hands started moving uncontrollably at her sides; jerky, uncoordinated. A warning sign. The meltdown was building and she couldn’t stop it, could never stop it.

Her mum stood too, moving slow, blocking her path without touching her.

“Okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to think about any of that right now.” Her mom’s attempts to comfort her were useless against the onslaught of emotions she was feeling.

“I’m so angry,” Amelia choked out. “I finally feel calm, I finally feel seen, and it’s not allowed. I’m not allowed to want something or feel something if it’s inconvenient for anyone else!”

She was trembling now. Her skin felt wrong. Her body wasn’t hers anymore. She wanted to rip it off. She wanted to scream and break things. Instead, she clenched her fists and shook and shook and shook.

“Do you want me to get your things?” her mum asked, voice calm, anchoring.

Amelia nodded hard. “Yes. My weighted blanket. And the golf ball. It’s in my bag. Lando bought it for me and I want to hold it. It’s yellow.”

“I’ll get everything,” her mum said gently.

“I’m not doing this on purpose,” Amelia shouted, the volume jarring even to herself. “I’m trying so hard. All the time. I’m always trying.”

“I know,” her mum said. “And I’m proud of you. Every day.”

Amelia slid to the floor. Her body folded in on itself, hands clawed into her sleeves, breathing uneven.

The noise in her head kept rising.

Usually, this was when she wanted her dad. Wanted him to sit next to her. Watch a race in silence. Be there without asking anything of her.

But not now.

Now, all she wanted was for him to stay far, far away.

—

It was almost midnight.

Her room was quiet now; weighted blanket pulled up to her chest, lights off, only the soft blue glow of her phone screen lighting her face. The golf ball sat in her right hand, warm from where she’d been holding it for hours. She kept rolling it between her fingers, feeling the small ridges, the smoothness. Grounding.

She had stopped shaking, but her body was aching like one big bruised muscle.

She stared at the message thread with Lando, her thumb hovering, retreating, hovering again.

She didn’t know what to say.

Everything in her head still felt too big. Too messy. But the quiet between them was worse. Not bad, not uncomfortable, just... unfamiliar. She wanted to talk to him.

Finally, she started typing.

—

iMessage — 10:11pm

Amelia I didn’t enjoy golf very much. But I liked being with you. Thank you for inviting me.

Lando Norris I’m glad you came anyway We had fun though, right? I had fun :)

Amelia Yes, I had fun. It was confusing. But in a good way. I liked learning something new.

Lando Norris I liked today too You were kind of great We should do more new things together. Just us

Amelia Maybe. I feel strange tonight. My head is a bit loud.

Lando Norris That’s alright

Amelia Do you think if I asked you questions about your Formula Three races… you would answer them?

Lando Norris Absolutely I’d love that Haven’t talked about F3 in ages Might be nice to remember

Amelia Okay. What did it feel like the first time you won?

Lando Norris Like my hands knew before I did Like the whole world stopped for one second so I could catch up It felt… right. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be ya know

Amelia Oh

Lando Norris: You okay?

Amelia: I forgot all the questions I had for you. Sorry.

Lando Norris That’s okay. Don’t worry. Your brain’s probably sleepy. It’s late Are you tired?

Amelia Yes. I got upset earlier for no reason and it’s made me tired I’ll go to sleep now. Thank you for texting me back. Goodnight.

Lando Norris You don’t have to thank me for that I like talking to you Feel better soon, yeah? Goodnight x

—

The house was still, the kind of stillness that only came after a storm.

Tracy sat on the couch in the dark, legs curled beneath her, a half-cold mug of tea resting in her hands. She hadn’t moved since she’d come downstairs after leaving Amelia. The couch blanket was draped over her shoulders, but she still shivered slightly, not from the cold, but from the heavy weight of witnessing her daughter’s pain.

Zak entered quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood in the doorway, tie loose, shoulders slumped, guilt etched deep into the lines around his eyes. After a long moment, he crossed the room and sat down beside her.

Tracy didn’t look at him. Just murmured, “She’s asleep now. I checked a minute ago.”

Zak nodded slowly. “She didn’t ask for me.”

“She didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t want help. Just needed space.” Tracy’s voice cracked, but she kept it steady. “She was barely holding on, Zak. I haven’t seen her like that in a long time.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse,” he said too quickly. “I just… I thought I was protecting her.”

“I know you did,” Tracy replied gently.

Zak stared at the floor. ��I didn’t think it would hurt her like this. I thought—” He faltered. “I thought keeping her away from Lando would keep things simple. Keep her safe. From getting hurt. Or confused. Or from people talking. From getting her hopes up.”

“You didn’t trust her,” Tracy said. Not accusing, just honest.

Zak exhaled hard. “No. I didn’t trust him.”

Tracy finally turned to look at him. “But he’s been good to her. You’ve seen that, surely.”

“I have,” Zak admitted, tersely.

“But it wasn’t on your terms,” Tracy said. “So you didn’t like it.”

Zak didn’t argue.

“She’s not a problem to solve, Zak. She’s our daughter. And she’s doing something incredibly brave. She’s opening up. She’s connecting. That’s huge for her.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “God, I know. I just…” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair. “Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been someone safer?”

“Because love isn’t safe,” Tracy said. “And friendship isn’t simple. And if you’re lucky enough to find someone who makes you feel okay in your skin, even just for a little while, that’s not a risk for someone like her. That’s a lifeline.”

Zak leaned back, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked hollowed out. “I feel like I’ve completely blown it.”

“You haven’t,” Tracy said gently. “But you will if you keep pushing like this. If you keep trying to prevent something that is starting to seem pretty much inevitable.”

Zak was quiet.

“She loves you,” Tracy added. “But she can’t keep fighting you on this. Not when she’s also fighting herself. That kind of pressure… it’ll break her.”

That landed like a stone. He blinked against the sting in his eyes and nodded, slow and tired. “Okay,” he whispered. “Yeah. Okay. Fine.”

Tracy leaned into him and kissed the rough edge of his jaw. “You’re a good father, Zak. She knows that. She’ll forgive you.”

Zak didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the dark hallway.

“She didn’t ask for me,” he said again, softer this time. Raw. Frayed.

Tracy sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “I know, honey.”

—

The flat was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional thump of bass through the wall from the upstairs neighbours. Lando sat cross-legged on the sofa, eyes unfocused on the muted Rally Car stream playing on the TV. Max was in the kitchen, one sock on, microwaving some disastrous smelling leftover curry.

“You ever liked someone,” Lando said suddenly, not looking up, “so much that even the idea of them ruining your life doesn’t sound that bad?”

Max made a noise that landed somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Christ, mate. What brought that on?”

Lando shrugged. “Dunno. I’ve just been thinking.”

“About Amelia?” Max asked, already knowing. He padded over and dropped into the armchair opposite, bowl in his lap.

Lando exhaled slowly. “I really fucking like her. It doesn’t make sense. She’s, I mean— Jesus, I don’t know. Feels like I can breathe right around her, you know?”

Max didn’t answer right away. Just stirred the curry and watched the screen for a second. Then, gently: “Yeah. I get that. But... Come on, mate. You sure this isn’t a bit too much, too fast?”

Lando looked over. Frowned. “What do you mean?”

Max shifted, trying to find words. “It’s not just about liking someone. It’s about who she is. Like, she’s your boss’s daughter. That’s... not insignificant here.”

“I know that.” Lando bit back.

“Okay. But do you really know what it means? If something goes wrong, if it ends, and ends messy, it’s not like you can just walk away. There’s no possibility of a clean break with her.”

Lando was quiet, but his jaw tightened.

“I’m not trying to scare you off,” Max added quickly. “I just... I know how much you’ve worked for this. Since you were, what, six? Your whole life’s been about driving. Being the best. And now you’re closer than ever.”

“I’m not giving up racing,” Lando snapped, defensive before Max even finished.

“I didn’t say you were,” Max snapped right back at him. “I just don’t want you to stop being Lando Norris: F1 driver and become Lando Norris: the guy who fucked around with his boss’ daughter, you know?”

Lando stared down at his hands. He felt like a piece of shit as he said, “Zak’s basically said the same thing. So has my dad.”

Max nodded. “‘Cause we’re all thinking the same thing, mate.”

Lando rubbed his hands over his face and pulled his hood up. “Maybe you’re right,” he mumbled. “Maybe this isn’t... good timing.”

Max didn’t say anything. He just went back to eating, quiet again.

And Lando hated that suddenly it felt like all of their reasons made sense.

—

The air was different now. Cooler. Thinner. The sun still came through her window in the morning, but it didn’t cling to the walls the same way. The trees had started to shift, just barely, into that pre-autumn colour. And Amelia felt like she was holding her breath all the time. For something. For nothing.

She hadn’t spoken to Lando for days. Not since she'd sent him a photo of the coffee shop in town that had spelled her name wrong again, and all she got back was a laughing emoji. No reply. No question. Just that.

It felt like a door closing very slowly.

She was sitting in the bay window of her bedroom, blanket around her shoulders, golf ball in one hand and her phone in the other. It was the fourth time she'd opened their chat and closed it again. The most recent messages sat there like ghosts.

—

iMessage — 9:04am

Amelia Hope you’re not too tired from training.

—

Read. Two days ago. No response.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure what to write that wouldn’t sound… needy. Or hurt. Or desperate. God, she hated the idea of being too much. It made her skin itch. She didn’t want to become exactly what people were always assuming that she’d be.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, her thoughts, her everything. But it hurt in a way she didn’t understand; this slow, quiet loss. It hurt in a way she didn’t have a name for. It felt a lot like emptiness.

“Don’t spiral,” she whispered to herself, rocking gently, rhythmically. “Don’t spiral. Don’t spiral.”

But it felt like she already was.

—

Both McLaren cars DNF’d in Belgium; the first race back after the Summer break.

She’d written it down two hours before lights out — in the margin of an old notebook, under a page of technical notes she hadn’t meant to be looking at anymore. The exact reason. The probable lap. A strange little instinct that curled in her gut and told her today’s not going to go the way they want it to.

She closed the notebook and put it back in the drawer, and told herself it didn’t matter.

Nobody would ever know. Nobody would ever ask. Because she wasn’t in the garage. Wasn’t in the paddock. Wasn’t even watching from the hospitality suite like she always did, like clockwork.

She was in Woking. In her bedroom. As far from Lando’s garage, from the paddock, as she could possibly be.

And on the TV, when the Sky Sports commentator mentioned her absence like it was some small anomaly (“No sign of Amelia Brown in Norris’ McLaren garage today. Odd, considering she rarely misses a weekend”) she didn’t feel flattered or seen or missed.

She felt sick.

Like the air got thinner the second they said her name.

So she turned it off.

Just like that.

The screen went dark. The sound cut out. And for the first time in ten years, she didn’t watch the entire race.

Not because she didn’t want to.

But because it hurt too much.

NEXT CHAPTER

737 notes · View notes

crunchyplastic · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 6

The next morning is quiet, though ‘morning’ itself is just a few settings on the ship. The lights inside dim slowly on, the notices and messages sent in the night chime their arrival like morning birds, and Alex, usually the first awake, steps into the hall.

Except things are just slightly off, and he can't tell exactly what the off feeling is caused by.

He peruses the hallways, the heel of one boot squeaking in the silence. The communal bathrooms are empty, or at least the men's side is. The morning ablutions leave him fresh faced, rubbing the sensitive smooth skin on his jaw and neck Alex's feet lead him to the kitchen. All along the hallway, through the maze of dead ends and corridors every inch is cleaned to a shine, and upon entry even the kitchen glitters in silence.

The coffee pot especially.

Alex stares at the remarkably clear glass for an extra minute, almost doubting reality. The place is somehow erroneously clean. Alex starts the pot, inspecting the inner steeping tray, perfectly clear of the grounds that swam at the bottom of his mug.

He touches the counters, slips a finger along the short lip where the usual grime would collect over time. Nothing. The cabinets are fresh smelling, even their stored goods are lacking the usual layer of dust.

The janitor’s closet down the hall haunts his back and Alex hurries over.

No one cleans around here; not like this.

Inside the closet, every tool and bottle has been arranged neatly. The cleaning solutions shine through their semi-translucent bottles, the bottles themselves free of the forever grease and dirt that built up on their spray nozzles. The floor is clean, a shade of light blue he is wholly unfamiliar with.

Paulina trudges down the hallway, similarly baffled.

“Did you do this? It's nice work Captain,” she compliments him, and then catches his confusion.

“I.. No, it's like this everywhere I've seen.”

“Was it Navi?” Paulina turns to the Turk’s room, but the door is still shut and there's no chance she'd be up this early anyways. Vannturks have a much longer sleep cycle than humans, after all.

“I'll ask Phantom if he saw anything,” Alex decides, ignoring the unimpressed look Paulina sends him.

“Is there coffee?”

“On the pot.”

Phantom’s restrictions haven't lifted, and every night he’s been returned to the brig. They'd refrained from using shackles after removing his arms after the attack, and they skipped using them as long as Alex was around to supervise. Otherwise he bore the shackles in a placid manner, wandering around and watching the three of them go about their ship board duties.

The hallways are short, if gleaming, and clean in shades of paint Alex doesn't remember. And upon arrival Alex squints a little at the man, who sits stiffly on the cot and waits for release. There's an odd sort of tremble to him and Alex wonders if he's still upset about mentioning the Starchesia training back on Perciate Major.

“Are you ready for another session today?” Alex, king of foot in mouth, regrets his word choice immediately.

Phantom jerks to his feet, snapping off a stiff salute that shakes a little. “Yes, sir.”

The sudden formality feels wrong. Alex frowns as he puts in the pin code to open the cell, the translucent door sliding along the wall to lock in the open position. Phantom doesn't immediately leave, however, and Alex tries to smile reassuringly.

“So, I noticed the ship is, um, in an odd condition.” Phantom flinches visibly, salute dropping to curl towards his stomach defensively. “Did you see anyone about the ship last night?”

Phantom’s jaw tightens, muscles twitching in the corners as he grinds his teeth.

“I'm sorry sir,” his voice is hoarse again, and Alex wonders if his throat will ever fully recover.

“I-I…” Phantom’s thin shoulders hunch and he picks at the sockets on his wrist, a nervous habit. “I got out.”

Alex blinks, mildly surprised. “Out? And what did you do that for? I'm shocked you'd break the rules like this; Paulina’s trust is hard enough to keep, much less earn.”

Phantom’s frown deepens and his lip wobbles like he's about to cry. “I broke the rules.. I'm sorry.”

Alex sighs and nods. “So you got out. Then what did you do?”

The picking sound stops and Phantom shrugs, looking sad and sheepish “I just.. there’s.. I wanted to be of use to you. I'm sorry if things are out of place.”

One blonde eyebrow slowly raises, and Alex stares at him in shock. “You cleaned my ship?”

Phantom winces again and the picking resumes. “I wanted to help.. I don't want to go back.”

“You're not going back.” Alex feels like a message stuck on repeat.

But Phantom just shakes his head. “I failed the assessment, I have to go back for training again. I thought that maybe instead I could help by… I don't know.. I don't know.”

“Cleaning?” Alex struggles to keep his amusement down; the situation just seems so ridiculous.

“What? No, I… I'm not sure why I did that. Just.. helps me think?” Phantom whole body seems to pause in thought, his head sagging to one side ever so slightly. The shaking shoulders and his shivering lips continued after a moment, head lowering uncertainly.

“I-I don't remember.”

“Can I come in?”

The question catches Phantom off guard and he nods quickly, “Of course Dash, it's your ship.”

Nickname use, that was good right? He was calming down somewhat.

“Well yes, but this is designated as your space.” Alex remains in the hall, setting his hands on his hips and seeming nearly too wide for the open doorway. “I don't have to enter if you don't want me to.”

Phantom hesitates at his comment, but then nods in the same quick motion as before.

Alex walks slowly up to him and Phantom’s helmet tilts upward to face him, his little lens humming to adjust focus. The trembling stops and his breathing goes shallow, nearly silent, and Alex wonders how best to help. Phantom is dangerous, has spent seven year cycles pitted against other people killing and maiming to survive. Yet he stood there like a lamb waiting for the knife, and Alex's chest aches with pity.

The marks from the shock collar have healed the best they can, leaving dark purple scars in even spaces around his jaw line. Faded marks littered his exposed neck and collarbone and his left arm displayed more of the abuse. The exposed scars were testaments of his endurance, not even counting the punishment of his many amputations or the innumerable old marks hidden under his clothes.

In the man's stillness Alex realizes that Phantom is likely waiting for his verdict. Does he expect Alex to hurt him?

“I'm not mad at you, or even really upset that you broke the rules.” He begins, waiting briefly for a response but Phantom remains unchanged. Alex falters, his will shaking before an indomitable acceptance. As if Phantom had given up entirely, as if he were empty of any ounce of self-will or desire to fight back at all.

His heart breaks for it.

“Have… have you ever heard of a pinky promise?”

He expects the ‘no’ shake of the head and Phantom’s mouth opens slightly to whisper, “No sir.”

He holds out his hands and wiggles his fingers playfully when Phantom seems uncertain. One metal hand reaches out and tentative cold fingertips brush his own. Alex cups the hand between his and manipulates the shaking metal fingers gently.

“Well, a pinky promise is something very serious.” The hand trembles and Phantom’s breathing goes unsteady, wheezing audibly through his clenched teeth.

“When you make a pinky promise, you can't ever break it. It's like a vow based on your own honor, and if you break a pinky promise, you'll never be trusted again.”

Phantom’s lip trembles again and he nods. “I understand sir.”

Alex loops his pinky with Phantom’s metal one and smiles a little. “So I'm making a pinky promise to you.”

“Huh?” Phantom gasps softly.

“I pinky promise to never let you go back to the Orion Games.”

Phantom’s jaw hangs open and he stares in silence.

“I won't take you back, I won't let someone else take you back if they find you, I pinky promise you.” Alex smiles.

“Now you gotta make the thumbs kiss to seal it." He presses their thumb pads together and grins wider at the childish act.

Phantom’s shock doesn't fade, even as he finds his voice enough to speak.

“I thought you were going to break my fingers.”

“What?!” Alex jerks backwards in horror. “No! No no, oh stars no! That's horrible!”

“It is.” Phantom stares at their joined hands and then lets go to stare at his thumb for a long moment.

Alex's stomach lurches at the admittance. “I'm sorry.”

“It was my fault.” Phantom's hand drops to his side and he sighs, visibly relieved.

“Do you remember anything before becoming a Starchesia?” Alex shrugs a little, “You mentioned you weren't allowed to planet watch, but you've got blinders on and I just kinda assumed they… well…”

Phantom shakes his head a little, touching the blinders with one hand, the contact clicking with the sound of metal on metal. “No I.. my head doesn't hurt like my legs do. My arms used to hurt a lot but these new ones don't cause any discomfort.”

He stares at Phantom, processing the new information.

“Masters would sometimes take the helmet off if I did good.” His metal hands reach to the port at the back of his skull where the helmet plugged in. “But I don't remember before the helmet. Just.. if I didn't win the helmet stayed on for a longer time. And when.. well the helmet came off for other tasks too.”

“Okay.” Alex swallows thickly and looks aside.

This is a serious conversation, with every connotation implying years of suffering and abuse. But the way Phantom reaches behind his head with both hands highlights the dips in his collarbone, the swell of muscle growing with every passing month.

“I um- we can see about getting the helmet off next, or-or maybe some better cyberware.” Alex stares at a point just above Phantom’s head on the bare cell wall behind him.

How long has he been abstinent? Now all of a sudden his heart is doing laps around his ribcage while simultaneously sending blood to places it sure as shit doesn't need to be.

“I think legs would be nice.” Phantom’s hands lower and Alex allows himself to focus on the little camera lens again. “The scars ache pretty bad sometimes– but I don't want to bother Miss Paulina.”

Phantom’s shoulders slump suddenly, almost sulking, “I don't think she likes me very much.”

Alex chuckles a little. “She's a tough one. Try not to worry about it. I'll help you with the medical needs, just ask. Are you up for training again? It's not a test, I shouldn't have said it like that yesterday.”

Phantom shakes his head again and sits back down on the thin cot. “If I'm allowed to, I'd like to sleep finally.”

“Finally?” Alex parrots.”You stayed up all night?”

“I.. yes.” Phantom slouches further, deflating almost.

The shivering makes more sense now, his strained responses and limp posture are signs of fatigue, probably combined with an unhealthy dose of stress and anxiety.

“Hmm, I guess it's alright. We're leaving the system later today so you'll have to planet-watch at another stop.”

Phantom’s head lowers a little further, nearly resting on his knees. “I understand.”

Alex can't help but feel guilty as he steps back into the hallway. The cell is small and well-lit at all hours, and while Phantom has certainly been exposed to far harsher conditions, he feels no reason to continue the abuse– as light as the cells’ poor accommodation is by comparison.

“Do you- would you like to be assigned one of the sleeping quarters?” Alex stumbles over the question. “Since you're able to simply leave the cell whenever you'd like, it doesn't seem like a holding cell or a proper room are much different.”

Phantom pauses where he'd been untucking the bed sheet in preparation to lay down. He drops the sheet and looks over, shaking–wavering on his cybernetic legs. “Paulina won't like it though?”

“Ehh, Paulina doesn't like a lot of shit I do, it's part of the reason we're friends.” Alex grins widely. “Come on, it's way nicer than this. And maybe you'll sleep well enough that you wake up before we leave.”

“I'd like that a lot.” Phantom refits the sheet and pats the wrinkles out before following Dash out into the hallway.

Alex's heart pounds again. He can't keep himself from glancing over to see the little smile on Phantom’s face. He's cute, and it makes Alex want to keep putting that smile there.

. ݁₊ ⊹ ݁˖ . ݁⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆˚

A thump in the night tugs Alex from sleep. At first he thinks it's just the ship, where it has been parked securely in the shadow of a meteor crater.

He lies awake for a few minutes, then shuts his eyes again, letting the dark wool of sleep creep back over him.

Another thump and a rustle as well. Alex rises slowly, silently, nerves high as he creeps across his bedroom. A quick look around determines he's alone, though the white and green parti color leaves of a plant loom in the near corner like a nightmarish figure. A knock against the wall again makes him realize it's his new floor mate.

Alex sighs a little, guessing Phantom is somehow nocturnal despite being human. Could somehow survive in space.. despite being human.. and regrow adult teeth..

He’s still scratching his head about that.

Phantom bashes against the wall again, louder and then goes quiet for several breaths.

Alex would normally assume it’s some sort of midnight reorganization of the furniture, but Phantom's room is bare, holding only a bed in a cut out shelf on the wall.

The shuffling resumes a little, but quietly, like he's trying to keep it a secret.

Alex sighs and steps out into the hall in his night clothes, making his way over to Phantom’s door. He knocks, and the unlocked door slides open automatically.

“Phantom? Are you here?”

The room inside is dark and bare, four walls and an empty floor space with only a bed in the wall as furnishing. But the bed is empty and Phantom is on the floor, tucked against their shared wall and curled into a ball. His left arm is higher, curled over his head and eye lens, while the right is pressed against his chest. He jerks suddenly and squirms against the corner harder, the heels of his metal feet sliding across the carpet.

“Phantom?” Alex approaches slowly, crouching in front of him to observe better.

It's hard to tell what Phantom is doing, other than being very obviously afraid, hiding in an empty corner. A thought strikes him and Alex reaches out warily, worried about what's happening on the inside.

“Hey, you in there?” He touches one metal plated knee. “It's Dash.. do you remember me?”

The touch makes Phantom go still. The kicking feet plant into the floor and his breathing becomes raspy, audible.

“Help,” he whimpers between gasps.

The left arm flinches aggressively, reacting twice to some not so imaginary damage. Alex can see in the lowlight the ridges of dark scars along the thin pale limb.

Phantom’s breathing stutters, a loud shuddering sound, like he can't decide whether to breathe in or out and is caught between the two of them.

“Shh hey, Phantom,” Alex touches his knee again, more firmly. “You're asleep, it's just.. it's just a dream.”

Phantom’s mouth draws into a grimace, lips peeled back and shaking until his teeth chatter.

“Help,” he whispers, like he's afraid to ask.

Alex's heart hurts when Phantom's mouth drops open like he's screaming and not a sound comes out. His voice wheezes and creaks into a thin exhale, flinches settling into a constant full-body tremor.

“Hey, wake up, you're okay.” Alex touches his elbow.

Phantom startles explosively, his voice cracking between a whisper and a shriek. Alex catches one metal hand as it swings and Phantom crumbles abruptly after. He doesn't sob exactly, but his breathing is out of control and he looks around in confusion.

“Hey, Hey I'm right here, you're okay.” Alex reassures, but Phantom clearly hasn't grasped reality.

“Let me go, please.” His voice is gravelly, breaking and whispery at the end. “I need.. I need to.. go home..”

Alex's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Where's home, Phantom? Let's go home.”

Alex waits but Phantom’s lens is humming, loud in the silent room, adjusting slowly and he shudders hard before sagging against the wall and breathing in deep exhausted pants.

“Where.. where am I?”

“On the Starmarker. Do you remember me?” Alex asks, tentative.

“I'm … who? You’re.. “ Phantom’s lens adjusts once, twice. He shrugs a little, guessing. “Dash?”

“Yeah,” Alex smiles a little. “You had a nightmare. I came over to wake you up.”

Phantom’s mouth twists in confusion. “I’m.. who am I? Where's this?”

Alex reaches out and Phantom flinches. “You're Phantom, it's the first thing you said to me when I pulled you off the track. This is the Starmarker, and specifically this is your room.”

Phantom is nervous, but sets his hand in Alex's open one. Their fingers move and Phantom’s hand seems to remember where his mind doesn't.

“I promised I wouldn't take you back, you're as safe as can be here.” Alex loops their pinkies and Phantom’s thumb presses against his own.

“Oh.. oh.. yeah. I’m..” Phantom smiles a little, and then nods, “Yeah I think I remember now.”

“Take your time.” Alex pats his forearm and rocks back to sit on his heels. “Do you have nightmares like this often?”

Phantom inhales deep and sighs, settling finally and letting his legs stretch out flat on the floor. “I think so, it's hard to remember.”

Alex nods and looks him over. The night clothes Phantom picked are a thin tank top and short shorts. The sight makes Alex's face burn and he quickly looks up, and then something out of place draws his eyes right back down.

He shuts his eyes for a second, retinas burning with the jut of hip bones and the barest sliver of exposed belly where Phantom’s shirt has ridden up.

Legs. There was something off about them. Alex focuses on the leg caps, the same caps and cyberware Phantom had been given as a Starchesia.

“Does this bother you?” Alex asks, pointing at the red rash lining the cap, where skin and metal are supposed to fuse together.

Phantom looks down, head tilting deeply and lens adjusting. “It's itchy, but it's always itchy.”

“Right.. did-does it need to be cleaned or something? You mentioned wanting to ask Paulina for help earlier.” Alex bites his cheek, “If you remember I mean, you mentioned it earlier.”

Phantom’s head rocks against the wall. “It's coming back, yeah.”

The helmet rolls and Phantom looks to the wall for a minute. “If.. maybe you could? I can't do it very well myself, the ointment kinda drips off my hands.”

Alex's heart launches into his throat and his face burns. “I'm… yeah it's not a big deal.”

Phantom’s blinders cover his face and he looks down at his hands. “Cool. It's on the bed, by the um.. thing.”

“The pillow,” Alex fills the blank for him and Phantom nods a little.

“Pillow, yeah.” Phantom leverages off the wall and ground, the length of his legs unfit for his human body but he rolls onto his long legs with a practiced looking stumble.

“Right now?” Alex remembers the hour and his heart beats hard in his face.

Phantom shrugs a little, “Or not, I don't want to bother you Dash.”

Alex shakes his head quickly. “It's fine, I'm just -uh not used to having anyone on the same floor and it's a little new. And I wasn't sure if you were still tired at all?”

The corner of Phantom’s mouth twitches into a smirk and he shrugs again. “I'd appreciate it, either way.”

Then Phantom’s attitude changes visibly and he draws himself up on the bed. He sits with his knees aligned with the edge of the bed, curling over the line where flesh ended and metal began. “It's kind of gross.”

Alex's eyes widen as Phantom pulls off his left leg. A thin sticky fluid strings between the cap and leg plug, dripping onto his bed sheets.

“Oh shit, do you need a towel?” Alex hovers closer and the sweet smell of lubricant burns his nose.

“I-I uh,” Phantom pants thinly and tugs the detached limb aside. “Probably a good idea, what's a towel again?”

Alex's eyebrows rise a little and as he stands, reevaluates the situation. “How about the showers or something? This is messier than I thought it'd be.”

Phantom’s face flushes and his head swings, looking between the already detached leg and his nub.

“I'll carry you?” Alex offers.

“Let me drop the other first.” Phantom’s second leg comes off in a similar fashion before Alex can stop him.

Alex holds in the groan of frustration, keeps his complaints inside and tries to word his next sentence gently. “You know, this has, um, soiled your bed sheets. Do you know how to wash them?”

Phantom stares at the oozing sockets and shrugs. “Is it necessary?”

“I would honestly advise it.”

“I.. I can guess how it works.” Phantom shrugs and rubs habitually at the red irritation around his left leg cap.

Alex frowns but keeps his mouth shut. The way Paulina called Phantom his pet comes to mind, and Alex feels the application more accurately as he scoops up Phantom and takes him to the communal showers. His cheeks burn red as Phantom's left arm loops over his shoulder for balance and like this Alex can feel the other man's warmth more closely. Every breath brushes the underside of his jaw and Alex adjusts his grip on Phantom’s thighs, noting how light Phantom was without his legs on.

In the bathroom's brighter light, the rash looks to be more like dry, cracked skin, and Alex starts off by setting Phantom on the sink counter. Two trips later and he brings each of Phantom’s prosthetics in as well, examining the odd fluid he'd believed to be lubricant. Instead it seems more like an infection with a build up of clear-yellow pus and coagulated blood.

“How long has this been bothering you?” Alex asks, dreading the idea of waking up Paulina in the middle of the night.

Phantom's face colors pink in shame and he picks at his hands. “A while. I don't remember how long exactly.”

“Do your arms hurt like this at all?” Alex stands Phantom’s prosthetic legs against the wall, hands hovering for a moment just in case they decide to topple over.

“No, my right arm hurts, but it’s… it's different. Older.” Phantom watches Alex move around the room, pulling out small towels and laying some on the counter under the ends of his legs.

“Different how?”

“It hurts, but I know there isn't anything there.” He points to the wrist area of his right prosthetic. “When I had my hands, I broke this one. It didn't heal right and even though I know it's gone now it still hurts very badly sometimes.”

“Oh,” Alex pauses his set up to inspect the metal hand, but it's just that: metal. “Maybe Paulie will know more. We can ask in the morning.”

Phantom's face turns aside and he mumbles something, but Alex is out the door hurrying down the dim orange hallways to the medbay. He collects what he thinks will help, iodine and gauze, long swabs and absorbent pads. He hovers over a spray bottle and then grabs it, some saline solution and a pair of gloves.

The arm-load of supplies clatters messily on the long counter, designed for multiple people to have their own space. A bottle rolls away, nearly going over the counter edge only to be stopped as it twirls, rolling to clink against a blue ceramic pot, the variegated heart shaped leaves on the hair thin vines glisten, fat and full. Phantom shivers on the counter and Alex touches his thigh; it's cold.

“Do you need a blanket? I think a towel would work just as well.”

Phantom's face is red and Alex's hand flinches away, his own face burning.

“I, um, yeah, i-it's cold in here.” Phantom stares at the far wall, at the plant on a high shelf with its draping red leaves.

Alex passes him a folded towel, thick and soft and he waits for Phantom to settle again.

“Sorry, I should have asked.” Alex pulls on the gloves and pops open the iodine, dabbing it on a bit of gauze. “Can I touch you?”

Phantom's face burns harder. “It's fine! I'm just uh n-none of my previous owners took care of me like this and- I- uh..”

His voice trails off and he watches Alex work. The spray bottle comes in handy as Alex flushes out the deep sockets, chunks of coagulated goo draining out in vibrant orange red streams.

“I'm trying not to be your next owner,” Alex says after a while. He scrubs at the line where skin and metal meet, the cracked portions of skin flaking away and curling into little clumps like after a bad sunburn. “But I'm responsible for you until you can take care of yourself.”

Phantom stays quiet and Alex wonders if he's fallen asleep. It's hard to tell when the eye lens doesn't blink and his face is so empty of emotion. When no response comes, Alex continues.

“Paulina says you're a pet, and apparently my old friends think the same way.” Alex sighs, the words coming faster, relieving as he lets it out. “I think it's kind of condescending, you're very obviously a person, not an animal.”

He takes a long swab and carefully pulls a thin strand of slime from the rim of the cap, the grooves having collected a good deal of old pus.

“I don't think I'm a person,” Phantom says quietly, “I don't remember feeling anything other than.. than this, like a monster. It’s.. just dark and empty all the time, and then I have to fight. I just… don't remember anything before this.”

Alex's brows pinch together and he bites his lip, unsure of how to fix Phantom.

“You said you were trying to get home? When I was trying to wake you.”

Phantom looks at him for a moment and the lens adjusts slowly.

“I.. I don't remember that.”

Alex gives the sockets another spray down, but the built up gunk is gone and he wipes the skin around the caps clean.

“I think it's proof enough that you are a person, you just need some time to recover and find yourself again.” Alex smiles softly, realizing he's half quoted Jazz way back when his therapy sessions with her had been weekly rather than monthly, and finally picks up the tube of scar cream.

. ݁₊ ⊹ ݁˖ . ݁⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆˚

The morning after, Paulina gives Phantom's leg caps a once over, complimenting Alex's care for the infection. He's put on antibiotics for the next couple weeks and informed that the pains are likely ‘phantom limb’ pains. To which Phantom sighs, living up to his namesake quite literally with no viable way to stop the hurting.

Given a clean bill of health, they spar daily. Phantom's body shows obvious signs of weakness in different places and Alex gives him a workout regimen to strengthen the lost muscles. Paulina often interrupts them to stop themselves from getting hurt. Her timing is usually good and she saves Phantom from over exerting himself. If on purpose and out of kindness, or simply to rub Phantom's disabilities in his face, Alex is unsure. Her affection is confusing–like a moderately tamed animal. Alex notes the determination in Phantom and after a few days of regular exercise cuts him off for a break.

They cover the distance to their next assignment during this break period, hop-skipping around the usual environment interstellar space offered. Asteroid fields are avoidable and the color splash of nebulae can be flown through with great care and precise direction. Ice proved invisible much of the time and the ship would prickle with white build up if they passed too close to the frozen particles.

Most of the trip is spent on the interstellar highways: enormous metal rings that channeled the distortions of wormholes in a stable direction. Passes were required for these and their ship’s AI system communicated with each ring they passed. Lines and lines of code spilled across one tall screen to the left of the windshield as they talked to one another.

The typical black sparkle of space is distorted into near solid white with rainbow streaks of starlight as they move at an almost uncomfortable speed for several hours at a time.

During the break periods they go over the assignment: a suspected organism trafficking ship.

Their purpose is mainly for security at a major checkpoint in the interstellar travel network. Between two of the great arms of the Andromeda-Milkyway the interstellar highways merge and the rings triple in circumference. A veritable bridge as the galaxy becomes thinner in the space between the arms and the environment bordered on intergalactic conditions: colder, thinner and more prone for lost ships.

There are many galaxies on the round orb of the universe, and like the dangerous depths of the oceanic gaseous giants, the spaces between galaxies and the void ‘under’ the ‘crust’ of the universe is all but an unexplored certain death full of strange endless wormholes and crushing singularities.

They arrive, red-eyed exhausted, not unsimilar to changing sleep settings on a ship or moving across a planet using more rudimentary travel.

An official meets them at the docking station, unscrupulous and disdainful of their company.

Except Paulina of course. She might only be an officer, but her status and renown set her apart from the others of her level.

Alex bites the inside of his cheek as he's passed over with a snobbish dismissal while Paulina walks away to discuss more of the details in private.

Phantom is on his left side with Navi on his right. And Alex admits they do make a bit of a silly looking team, like some lame cartoon from his elementary years.

“Well, I assume we'll be taking ourselves on a tour of the facility,” Alex starts lamely. “Just watch for now and learn how we do our jobs. And remember–”

He looks pointedly down at Navi whose ears flatten.

“No property damage.”

She throws her hands in the air and exclaims, “I blow up room one time and now every property damage is on me? You are hypocrite Captain!”

“Yeah yeah, when you're done paying that off I'll stop bringing it up.” Alex chuckles.

Navi’s boots clack smartly as she storms away and Phantom looks between them for a moment. Then his lens focuses on Alex and he follows.

“Dash? What is an organism?”

“Living creature. Essentially it would be you or me or Navi or any person here. Also including any kinds of animal or plant and most life forms. We restricted it to carbon life forms for a while but there's been a good number of newer, more fluidly structured aliens discovered in the last two or three hundred years. So the definition has expanded and it’s not so concrete.”

“And the trafficking?” Phantom asks after a moment's pause to process.

Alex pauses by the cargo bay doors; a long flight of steps would take them to some of the smaller junkships stored magnetically higher up. Across from those ships are the barge types they would be investigating over the next several weeks.

“I suppose it means.. that they're being stolen and sold illegally.” Alex looks back at him and his heart aches again. “Likely that's how you ended up in the Orion Games. These people we’re trying to find might face a similar fate as you did if the smugglers slip past us.”

Phantom's jaw drops a little. “Why would someone do that? That's -that's so evil.”

Alex nods a little and shrugs before continuing their route. “Some of these people are refugees from warring planets. Some are simply poor and don't know any better; they're gullible and believe the wrong person is trying to help them. They're stolen from the safety of the Galactic Union’s refugee camps and rehabilitation facilities.”

Phantom trembles slightly, his hands clenched into fists.

“Once someone is taken, it's often impossible to get them back.” Alex’s voice feels far away. His heart aches again, more painful this time. “The odds are so slim you'll find the person you're looking for.”

Years. He'd spent years looking, had only found more people in his same position, looking and hoping and waiting without success. There had been a funeral, despite the status frozen on MIA. Alex hadn't been invited, and neither of the Professors Fenton had spoken to him since.

“Dash?”

He blinks and looks down. Phantom is there, that lens spinning slowly to adjust focus. Alex's face itches and he looks aside to wipe at it, his face is wet again and he scrubs at his salt-sore eyes in frustration.

“Ah sorry, I got a little um.. distracted.” He clears his throat when the words come roughly. “Let's continue.”

They practice searching the dry docked ships in port. The models are similar and have a few notable dead spaces between floors and walls that Navi proposes aren't accessible through the maintenance spaces.

Their concerns and evidence are presented to the local enforcement and near wholly dismissed.

“Ah, you misunderstood your place here.” Another human is there, talking down their nose at Alex with clear condescension.

“Your purpose, ‘Captain’ is merely to keep these ships in line while we do the actual investigative work. Don't trouble yourself with the details, it's not your place in the slightest.”

Alex presses his lips into a line and glares over the man's shoulder. “Very well then. We will–”

“Good good, on your way.”

Phantom bristles, joints creaking as he clenches his fists again. But he says nothing and follows Alex when he turns and walks briskly back towards the Starmarker.

“Captain! Where are you going?” Navi objects loudly, making a few of the other customs officers in the hangar turn their heads.

“We're getting on the ship and doing our job.”

“No! You must tell that stupid human to believe you.” Her hands tighten on her tablet, the screen displaying one of the barge ships marked in red where the potential smuggling spaces are. “I am tired of this captain.”

“Well that's too damn bad.”

“Why do they not see this, they are your own kind and yet they despise you every time we must work with them.”

The Starmarker looms ahead of them, its nose pointed down toward the highway in the distance. An elevator shoots them up several floors and the privacy gives Baxter a moment to breathe.

“Navi, you understand what I did. They have enough reasons to hate me.”

“No.” She denies, “You are good person. The law is wrong.. well, in this case at least.”

Phantom, out of the loop and confused by the topic, tugs on Baxter’s coat sleeve. “What?”

Phantom's question is nonspecific and Alex guesses it's partly because Phantom has missed the meaning of some words, as well as for clarification towards the root of the topic.

“It's not important,” he deflects, not wanting to explain the still sensitive story behind everything. “We will follow our duty and orders to the letter and leave it at that. We're not responsible for the ill behavior of a superior officer.”

He cuts a look to Navi who still huffs angrily as they exit the elevator.

Phantom lags behind with her as Dash walks stiffly to the Starmarker. The ship is locked and he fumbles for keys for a moment on the bridge.

“What happened, Navi? I don't understand,” Phantom asks.

Navi shakes her head a little and leads him down towards one of the few offices inside the Starmarker. Her own workspace is littered with devices and repair tools and the tablet is set into a charging panel which transfers the images to a hovering holoscreen.

Phantom bumps into it and backs up, nearly bulling into another device behind him.

“Hold still starboy.” Navi grabs one of his legs to stop its movement and swipes a convoluted block of a device off a chest. “Here, sit.”

Phantom moves carefully, head swinging as he tries to pick out the floor between the clutter.

“The Captain was, in my opinion, very wrongfully banished from his people.” Navi adjusts the screen, pulling up an older news article. “This is all I could find, but the media has likely skewed the facts for attention.”

Phantom stares blankly at the letters and simply scans the article for pictures. There's only one, of some large military vessel wrecked on an ice planet.

“They were fighting rebels, the same kind of people that we are trying to stop in this assignment. And they were ordered to wipe the planet clean to remove the remaining groups hiding here.”

His breathing stops and Navi’s ears flick, “See? Bad orders. I agree. And Captain agree.”

“But, how- how could they want to- everyone?” Phantom stares harder at the words, willing them to make sense.

Navi shrugs and scrolls down the article to another one that seems like an update. “Two year cycles later he was released from prison on bail to here, the Starmarker.”

“This.. This is a prison ship?”

“‘Parole’ I think is better word.” Navi corrects and then has to explain what that means when Phantom stares blankly.

Phantom shakes his head, fingers picking at the sockets on his palm. “That.. how can any of that make sense?”

Navis pats at his knees and pulls the hand away. “I'm sorry Phantom, but I assure you the Captain is a good person.”

“What? No I.. I wasn't angry with Dash.” Phantom pokes one of the pink pads on Navis palm. “I wonder what he's trying to do… this job doesn't make any sense now.”

“Oh! That is easy, Captain is in lots of debt,” Navi brings up the article again and scrolls down to point at a few characters. “The debt of 30.5 mil credits. It will likely take his entire life to pay this back.”

The number is too high and Phantom has to be explained how many tens of hundred thousands that is. He sags back in the seat, head aching in astonishment.

“Yes, it's a lot.” Navi shrugs a little. “But unless the GU decides to lessen or forgive the amount, the Captain must perform.”

Phantom sighs weakly and nods, “I want to stay here for a while and help if I can. I didn't realize I was joining for such a.. a lost cause I guess.”

Navi pushes the screen aside. “It's not so much a lost cause. I am here to do exactly the job we have been assigned.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, see I lost someone too and I am trying to find him. My brother and I were taken and separated many years ago.” Navi hesitates before searching out another article.

The screen changes to depict a planet dusty and scarred with several ships flying in formation. “Thirty years ago this was my home.”

“On Vann?” Phantom's head swivels back and forth, his lens scanning the images.

“Yes, we were pushed to join the GU after another nation decided to take us. Take our resources and my planet. The Altus were a moderate force and we posed as a foothold to step closer to the GU.” Navi picks amongst her tools.

“After the Alt was driven away we were easy pickings for the Games. Or whatever other reasons you need a slave. My brother was taken away and I was sold to a collector.”

“He died, rather untimely. And I took a ship and left.” She plucks out a blade from the heap and shows him the sheath. A crest is carved into the leather, and Phantom stares transfixed. The Victorian letter S stands in a ring with filigree stripes and a shape reminiscent of an alluring red orb.

“The captain was kind enough to take me along after we met in a barfight.” Navis ears flick and she sits down across from Phantom, setting the blade aside.

Her eyes rove him over for an uncomfortable minute and he shifts awkwardly.

“What?”

“I wonder sometimes why Captain kept you.” Her little hands reach for his helmet and he lets her inspect the front. She fiddles with one of the cords and after picking some adhesive off the cluttered countertop, tacks down the loose wires.

“I just got lucky.” He shrugs.

Navi’s thin little teeth bare in a grin. “I know Miss Paulina is less than pleased with you here, but it is curious that the captain hasn't bent to her this time.”

“Just get to the point, riddle cat,” Phantom grabs her hands from his head, fighting with her briefly, but the claws only catch on metal. She scratches at his right arm and he pinches her wrists between his fingers.

Navi’s tail lashes and her ears flatten as she pouts. “I'm thinking Miss Paulina is jealous, she is not normally this stiff around the injured.”

“Well, I might have been ‘freed,’” He lets go of her to air quote, “but the way I see it, Dash is just my new owner. I've had a few and he's just the latest one. Why would she be jealous?”

Navi bats at his shiny metal fingers again. “She's been isolated on this ship with him for many long years. She probably has feelings for him by now.”

Phantom's wiggling fingers stop and his helmet tilts. “They're not together?”

Her tail lashes aggressively and he resumes the game, albeit slower as he processes the conversation

“No, he's not interested in her that I know of.” Navi rubs at her wrists and flexes her claws for another go. “I think she is jealous of Captain’s attention to you.”

Phantom laughs a little and bats at her hands, a kind of swiping slapping game that he'd played with the kittens on Vannturk. Her claws catch and bounce on his cyberware.

“That seems counterproductive.” He catches one of her hands before she can yank it away and she struggles briefly before slipping out of his grip. “If she wants him to focus less on me then she should let me go to her for medical things. But she doesn't like me so she pushes Dash to care for me.”

She yanks her hands away when he tries to catch them both again.

“That is confusing.” Navi rubs her muzzle, whiskers bending forward. “Well, no, maybe.. oh what is the word?”

Phantom shrugs. “I wouldn't know.”

He pokes at her hands, trying to instigate another round, but she puts her hand on his knuckles and pushes him away.

“It is like this, instead of him wanting to kiss Miss Paulina, he would kiss you. It is um… preference thing.” She perks up excitedly. “For breeding purposes, yes?”

Phantom's face burns red, “Navi! You can't just say things like that!”

Her face splits into a Cheshire grin. “Ah but you understand, yes? I think she is jealous like that.”

He laughs awkwardly and shakes his head. “I very seriously doubt that.”

Starfall | DannyPhantom | Explicit | Swaggerbishie | AO3

Prologue

Hours run long and late, time slipping by as the single night turns to days becoming weeks and months; the millenia pass. The concept of time itself is lost, human constructs become meaningless, an endless march without units to quantify the passing. And despite the measurements, the time or distance, depth or density: everything stays exactly the same. Compression, expansion, a dance the cosmos repeats tirelessly. A heartbeat, a breath: elastic. Space does not expand in every direction endlessly. Yet the remains of humanity sit still in this endless place, frail pioneers in interstellar space. Here the dips and heights in density are less to do with the false shape –the saddle– and more to do with the rises and falls akin mountains and valleys on a planet's crust, uncharted and vast. Time distortions settle into the nooks like oxygen covets gravity. Wormholes stripe the vast open plains, an oceanic undercurrent that transports nutrients across vast distances, ever evenly dispersed.

The universe is round.

The universe is massive, where measuring the visible light plane is the same as staring at the ground between your shoes. Once, machinery had spied the ‘horizon line, deeming the universe a flat, ever expanding wealth of nutrients and dust. Perfectly mixed, synthesized so that every corner is exactly the same. Believing the universe is flat is the same as thinking a planet is flat. Seeing the faint curvature at altitude is spying only the first piece of the enormity.

The universe is complex, varied.

Life exists beyond the stars. Far beyond the ones visible from the wandering vessels dormitory windows. Constellations of old are lost in the rhythm, the expansion, contraction. Present becomes history, lost and forgotten, archives discarded, no one left could read them. The languages had been adapted, changed, evolved until what is spoken now, could hardly relate to what was once the ‘original.’

The universe is cruel.

Despite hundreds of years of evolution, exponential advances in science and technology. Everything stays exactly the same.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dash baxter #invisobang 2024 #updates sundays #IM SORRY THIS IS LATE #I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE THIS READY SOONER SO ITD POST HOURS AGO #swaggerbishie #golden twinkie

52 notes · View notes

tthoroughfare · 3 months ago

Text

some random modern!abby headcanons as i Cannot think about anything else. NSFW in the latter half spit kink asf i’m not sorry

she’s chronically offline. has social media but does not use it — her IG has one photo from 3 years ago and the only other social media she has is a facebook account she made when she was 14. her entire page is just shit her dad tags her in; photos of her he’s taken while they’re on vacation, cringey middle aged humor, the Facebook Parent works

90% of the time only uses her phone for what a phone is actually for. probably has a super old one because she doesn’t see the point in replacing it; it’s somehow in like perfect condition though

texts in perfect grammar. before you got used to it you literally thought she was mad at you all the time. hasn’t got it figured out what emojis make sense contextually because she doesn’t really use them and occasionally sends you baffling messages like:

“Got off early. Can’t wait to see you. 😬” (was rushing and thought it was a smile)

but sometimes it’s also very cute, like a grandma who just figured out how to text:

“Do you want to tag along with Manny and Nora to a concert on Saturday? The people they were supposed to go with can’t anymore. 🎶🕺🎸”

the type of gf who will get you doing the most random activities. she’s constantly trying new hobbies and always wants you to be a part of it. she’ll decide on a sunday night she wants to pick up rock climbing, have you both signed up and in the climbing gym monday

or she’ll decide on a whim she wants to take you to a restaurant someone recommended even though it’s an hour and a half drive away

med student abby is canon abby…

she really didn’t want to be a cliche and go into it just because it’s what her dad does, but she was always encouraged to excel academically and found herself naturally drifting in that direction

she makes it look easy, but it’s really not. she gets stressed about everything a lot (particularly wrestling with worries about letting her dad down, which you reiterate she couldn’t do if she tried), but doesn’t really show anyone apart from you. you always make her feel better, though, just as she does for you with your problems

grew up well-off, but isn’t a dick about it. very generous with her money, always buying you little treats and picking up the bill despite your protests. takes you on weekends away wherever possible, or a bigger vacation somewhere tropical during the summer

honestly not the best cook… she’s just used to making food for herself, which tends to be pretty plain. gym bro meals ugh. however, has one or two incredible recipes she can pull out the BAG. makes them for you when she knows you’ve had a long day

would 100% be that post of the guy who set his alarm purposefully earlier so that he could wake up and cuddle his partner before he had to actually get up. she’s normally up before you, regardless of the day or time. abby’s an early riser; she loves the morning. you always stir with a warm drink on the bedside table, and either the sound of her pottering around the apartment or a text saying something along the lines of:

“Heading to the gym. Gave you a kiss before I left but you were still clean out, LOL.”

has extremely random and rogue music taste. same with movies. you figure this out not long into knowing her, when you’re talking about favorite films and she deliberates before carefully stating that her all-time top three are flushed away, interstellar and an old foreign movie you couldn’t pronounce if you tried

speaking of — loves movies! you guys frequent the cinema, but also like to stay in and have movie nights at home. you’ll watch just about anything together, taking it in turns to choose. when you stay in, you make it a Whole Thing. all the bedding gets moved to the living room, you buy snacks, she sits and lets you meticulously paint a face mask on her

sometimes, you’ll attentively watch the whole thing. sometimes, if you get halfway through and it’s not the best, she’ll allow her fingers to trail down from their position atop your upper arm in a manner she knows you’ll pick up on. dipping under your shirt and rubbing loose, gentle circles at your hip for what feels like forever, before nudging at your jaw with her nose and planting a light kiss. you turn to meet her, eyes flitting between hers and her lips; closing the gap and smirking against her mouth, “you’re not subtle.”

blowing air out of her nose and shrugging, she brings her free hand up to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss. it’s slow and deliberate, everything from the way she moves her lips against yours, to how she steadily shifts you on top of her. she likes to take her time with you, gets off when you have to say please

segueing into nsfw… praise kink spit kink gentle domination vers dynamic hey now

loves it when you show her how desperate you are for her, through words or otherwise. while i can’t see her being much of a talker herself (not to say that’s at all), she encourages your blathering about how good she feels, how much you need her. bonus points if you throw her name in there somewhere

should the occasion arise will absolutely put you through the mattress with the strap, but much more so an acoustic girl. two finger tongue combo diva. for her, it’s all about feeling you. how you contract around her, the little signals your body gives her she’s learned so well

to her, that’s the main point of sex. feeling as much of you as she can, feeling close to you, showing you how much she worships you. it’s filthy, yet reverent and devoted. gets a little possessive sometimes, because you’re hers and only she can have you how she does

whether it be arched up, her fingers plowing into you as she kisses her way over your upper back, hand threaded through your hair. stopping to suck a mark where your neck meets your shoulder, murmuring to ask if you can take three (she knows you can, just wants to hear you say it)

or on top of her, legs slotted together and your hand firmly bracing yourself on her knee whilst you rut against her. hearing her get slightly louder and higher pitched, revelling in the way she looks up at you, brows drawn and eyes full. shared wetness pooling and mingling, her hands all over you like she can’t decide which inch of sweat-sheened skin she wants to touch more

or after you’ve eaten her out and she’s still coming down, you running a hand over the outside of her thigh then kissing over her stomach — making your way back up to her lips, allowing her to taste herself through the sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. licking into her dirtily, running a thumb over her lower lip and softly telling her to open. abby doing as you say; always does as you say. a glob of spit falling from your mouth to hers which she accepts gladly, breathing jagged as she swallows. spurred on, dragging you back in with fervor, moving a hand to circle over your sopping clit

she’s never been like this with anyone, never wanted everything of a person so badly. she’d do anything for you, to you, let you do anything to her

while she does like it to be languid, to last, sometimes she can’t help herself. it’ll be the morning and she’ll rouse, tired eyes dragging over your form. abby shifting closer and wrapping an arm around your waist, you’ll stir a little and groan softly, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek and pivoting your head to give her a kiss. both brains still foggy, operating on basic wants, it doesn’t take long for it to turn from an innocent good morning peck to a desperate mess of tongues. then, to her mouthing at your neck, sliding her fingertips over your bare torso to knead at your breast. you’ll tilt your head back, let out a mewl of her name, before remembering it’s a weekday.

“what time is it?” you’ll ask, freezing and subconsciously trying to look at the clock.

“don’t worry, we’ve got time,” she’ll respond against your skin without missing a beat, hand making its way between your legs and coaxing a sharp exhale from you, “i’ll be quick, i promise.”

she knows you well — she certainly can be quick. still has time to make you that coffee she always does, too.

730 notes · View notes

beargirlstink · 5 months ago

Text

"WHAT?!" "...Sorry, yeah. You're not welcome yet. You -" "This is bullshit! Check with St. Peter! Are you telling me I wore this cheap cross and spent my sundays at the church and on my knees for NOTHING?!" "I'm not going to get into that debate, it's somewhat contested, but it's not the important part. The important part is -" "What? What is so important to deny me entrance into the kingdom of the Lord? How can you deny me entrance from the pearly gates?" "...I was getting to that. The important part was that thee early 21st century was a time of hate and judgement, especially focused around things like race, ethnicity, and a whole lot around sexuality. To be clear, "love thy neighbor" means "don't peek through your neighbor's blinds to see what they're doing in their bedroom."" "What, so just because I had opinions on culture and society and - and media and health and CHILDREN means I'm a sinner?" "...Yeah, that's the gist of it. You've kinda got this knot in your head that it's okay to hate people if they deserve it, but that's mostly not the case. The point, like, ideally, is to hate nobody ever, with only a few exceptions." "...Well, then, billions of people are going to Hell. Every single person involved in the culture war... At least those wokists are getting what they belong. Maybe I'll -" "I don't know how to tell you this but... they aren't. A lot of people from there acted on behalf of love and acceptance, and that's a pretty easy in." "Really? Are you telling me every feminist I met online was a kind-hearted angel?" "...Well, not all of them, but... let's get one out for comparison." [Poof!] "This is tigergirl-stretchmarks." "Oh! Hey Zuri!" "Hiiiii! Anyway, you might remember it from-" "Wh- Tiger Girl Stretch Marks is an angel? I refuse to believe that! The Lord didn't send down one of his perfect messengers to post that kind of degeneracy!" "Oh! Oh, this part. So, angels aren't exactly a separate species, it's more of a state of being - you can consider it a job, or maybe a social caste. If you had looked up the original hebrew -" "NO! No, I refuse to believe this! This... FREAK spent every second of their life masturbating, sleeping, eating, ignoring their parents, staying inside, and posting pornographic obsenity! THAT makes them an angel?" "...Yeah. Yeah, actually." "I can back that up. I get to see auras now, and artists who -" "HOW?! How is drawing fat women's engorged stomachs a work of God?" "Well, again, the love-and-equality thing, but, um... I'm not supposed to mention this, but fat fetish pornography boosts your divinity by a LOT. It's considered some kind of saintly material. Jesus personally -" "You're joking me. You're joking me!" "No! No, really. If you'd visit some of our monasteries of -" "Ha. Haha. Hahahahaha! This is a joke. This is an elaborate joke. You almost had me for a second, but did you really expect me to fall for the idea that Heaven is full of stained-glass windows depicting naked obese women holding their stomachs?" "...Hang on, what did YOU think Mary Magdalene looked like?"

677 notes · View notes

linearities · 5 months ago

Text

ᅟᅟᅟᅟ APPLE ౨ৎ CIDER . ｡ .

lazy sundays, matching pj's, cuddles, and an insanely amount of yapping. when your favorite dessert is brought up, your boyfriend is eager to bake you the best apple pie you ever tried! after you tie his hair for him, of course.

this fanfiction is part of my birthday event.

pairing: wooyoung x fem!reader.

genre: fluff.

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, pet names, reader and wooyoung being very much in love, mention of sex scraches yay!

a/n: hi, pookies! sorry i'm late for our event, it was supposed to start on sunday (26th) but i had a few problems and couldn't post it. but here we are, with our first fanfic of the week! we'll have more coming up on the next few days, maybe not on schedule but they'll still come. love you all, stay safe!

masterlist · taglist form.

divider here.

it was a lazy, cold sunday. you and your boyfriend locked in your shared apartment, laughing and watching series, tucked under the covers with fuzzy socks and matching pajamas on. yapping about everything and nothing at the same time. how hungry you were, how cute you both looked, your future plans, your future family, your work, your projects, your cravings, everything.

talking had always been easy with wooyoung. he didn’t hold back, so you didn’t feel like you ever should. he always made you comfortable with being yourself, unapologetically so. do you feel the need to be loud? be loud. need to be vulnerable? be vulnerable. need alone time? have all the time you want, my dear. he’ll be here when you feel better. so, if at almost 9PM you say that you’re craving apple pie, he’ll simply jump off the bed to make it for you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead and smiling sickeningly sweet in your direction, heading to the kitchen without giving you a single chance to protest.

except a few minutes later, when the clanking and clacking of the utensils had stopped, his call was clear for you.

“baby? would you come here for a second?” you jumped out of bed, sliding in the shadow the hedgehog themed slippers he had bought for you before pacing lazily to the kitchen, finding him with his cooking apron on, shirtless and with a knife in his hand as he diced up the apples. ”can you tie my hair for me?”

he requested, earning a giddy giggle out of you, who nodded and looked around for a hair tie, positioning yourself behind him. gathering his hair in a low ponytail, you kissed the nape of his neck before tying it properly, giggling as you watched him shiver. that encouraged you to place another kiss there. and another, and another, hugging his waist from behind and nuzzling your face in between his shoulder blades, laying a soft kiss on the naked, soft skin, still with a few scratch marks from the night before.

“i love you,” you mumbled, deeply inhaling his natural scent, ”so much.”

he smiled, waddling around the kitchen with you glued to him, ”i love you too, baby. so much.”

well that was a short one! thank you all for reading, i'll see you next time !! <33

xoxo, meggie. <3

p.s.: rip wooyoo's long hair. 🕊️

taglist: @parakisss @kyeos4ng @irsmaxle @eixila @atztrsr @innocygnet @juicyjaxxy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @jerseygirlzzzxx @wisejudgedragonhairdo @nanime-roality @yunhoslefto3 @tearsdntfall617 @roxhanah @atztrsr @innocygnet @sasaloveshj @jinternationalplayboy @svzllts @crimsonbubble

431 notes · View notes

ohhiimweird · 7 months ago

Text

Looking out the Window

In which Sunday learns about your favorite view on the express, but he's a little distracted

Character: Sunday

Reader Pronouns: They/them

Other Tags: Sunday is on the express, Post-2.7, 2.7 spoilers, Sunday is hardcore pining and it's kinda cringe

Sunday has never been without the crumbling pressure of responsibility on his shoulders. It's been happening ever since he was a child. That might've been why it's so hard for Sunday to adjust to being aboard the Astral Express. Of course, there were duties the passengers attended to. However, they were more like banal chores than actual duties. Sunday was a family head, though. Perhaps he shouldn't demand much more. He was merely glad that everyone on the express let him join them, even after all that he's done. It's also why Sunday couldn't seem to fall asleep for three days straight.

He wasn't sure why he went to the parlor car tonight. In the back of his mind, there was the thought of needing a change of scenery. That's where he found you staring out the huge window of the astral express. It was about the size of a wall.

The first time he saw you was at the Reverie Hotel. He knew then that you were beautiful. There was a blatant curiosity in your eyes that captivated the man. It as only a look you both shared in that moment. Words were not needed, not to Sunday.

You gave him that same look when you noticed shim in the parlor car. Sunday stopped in his tracks. Your gaze wasn't malicious, yet it felt like he was caught doing something bad.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" you asked. Your smile was so warm and inviting in the low light.

"I-I" Sunday covered up his stutter with a cough. "I suppose so. I thought merely a change of scenery would help me relax."

Sunday kept his distance, merely staring out the window, wondering what in particular you were looking at. There had to be something interesting in this sea of stars before you.

"Come on. Sit," you patted the seat next to you. "I'm not gonna bite."

Sunday hesitated. His heart jumped in his chest. Then, he decided to sit next to you. This is the closest he'd ever gotten to you physically. Wow. He was sitting next to you. It gave his spine chills without even meaning to.

"This is my favorite view on the express," you said. "I always come out here when I can't sleep. There are so many stars, planets, and galaxies out there, and we haven't gone to them yet. It changes with every stop too, so there's always new scenery."

Sunday glanced out the window. Right now, you are looking at Penacony from the outside. It's odd seeing his home planet from this angle. Never in a million years did he think he'd travel outside of Penacony. He wasn't like Robin, who had such a yearning for the stars, wanting to sing her songs for the whole universe. Right now, Sunday was at the threshold of home and something alien to him. He looked away, not wanting to be reminded of the home he lost and the sister he disappointed. Instead, he focuses on your beauty, your eyes lighting up from seeing the stars.

"Yes, it's quite beautiful," Sunday said while looking at you. He didn't want to offend you by saying it, but he was more captivated by your appearance than by the stars. Their radiance could not compare to you.

"Hey, you're not even looking," you huffed.

"I'm sorry. I got a bit distracted," Sunday said. "I found an even better view."

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #sunday #sunday hsr #sunday x reader

428 notes · View notes

bandgie · 2 months ago

Text

Let Me In

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, vampire!chris, voyeurism, blood drinking, drugging (oopsies), hypnosis mentions, bit of manipulation from Chris, PIV, no protection, cumming inside, fingering, chris has weird pillow talk ngl

notes: I have redone this concept so many times and at this point, i just need to say 'fuck it' and hit post. also! this is supposed to take place from the late 80s to early 90s. not super important to the plot but just an fyi

5.3k words

CONGRATULATIONS! You’ve been picked to attend the Alpha Phi Omega ball this weekend in honor of the blood moon! Wear your best dress, your highest heels, and most importantly of all, keep this invitation a secret. We hope to see you soon! Call to RSVP at xxx-xxx-xxxx

The paper is thick between your fingers. It’s not the cheap invitation material you used to send as a child for birthday parties. There’s not even a single crease on it despite being wedged between the front door and the frame of your apartment. It’s handwritten as well. Blank ink stains the paper with the message, a phone number at the end.

No location, though everyone knows where the Alpha Phi Omega frat house is. Everyone also knows about the infamous party that only a select few are chosen to go to. Sure, it’s supposed to be a secret, but you think that’s just a tactic to get people to talk about it on campus.

You never did, however. You focus on your studies, your classes, and you wake up extra early on Sunday mornings to watch the new episode of Dragon Ball. Getting invited to the ball has never even crossed your mind, and in all honesty, you had completely forgotten about it.

Yet, you can't deny the excitement coursing through your veins. You got invited. You. Someone who hardly has any friends and opts to spend time with your dog rather than party on the weekends.

Maybe you should figure out how the frat brothers even knew about you, but you’re too giddy to even think about that. You slam your door shut and run to your shelves where your landline is. Your eagerness is easily sensed by your dog who jumps on the couch and hops from one paw to the other, barking and yipping.

“Berry!” You look at her curly fur and floppy ears. “Shut up!”

But she doesn’t. Berry continues to bark even as you pick up the phone and click on the keys corresponding to the number on the invitation. She’s a good dog, sometimes, but it’s like she’s trying to prevent you from reservering. Her little body jumps from the couch to run to your ankles, biting your slippers.

You hit the green button and soon hear ringing. “Berry! What is wrong with you?! Stop it-

“Hello?”

“Hi!” You try to push Berry away, ignoring her growling. “Hey sorry, um, I got an invitation to the ball and - ouch! - uh, shit, sorry my dog is crazy right now.”

The voice on the other end laughs. It’s contagious, and you can’t help but chuckle with him.

“Ah, that’s cute~,” you notice an accent. There are only two brothers in the fraternities with that Australian tongue. One with a voice so deep it makes your bones shake, and the other with a lighter timbre that makes people trust everything he says. “What was your name?” You tell him and he makes a sound like recognition. “Ahhh, I see your name right here, gorgeous.” A surprised laugh barks out from you. For a brief moment, you’ve forgotten about Berry using your slippers as a chew toy. Now you know which Australian brother this is. His swooning words make your anxious walls slowly break and crumble.

Like he can see your blushing face, Christopher laughs. “You know, I’m not supposed to say anything, but it was me who invited you.”

That adrenaline fills you again, but this time, you feel your stomach swoop. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. You’re so quiet, so kind, and so so pretty. I didn’t think you’d want to come.” Another laugh. “Our ball has quite the…reputation.”

You know what reputation he’s talking about. Even if you don’t involve yourself with many people, you can hear the girls on campus rave about their time at the party. How they went home so fucked out and marked up they couldn’t move for days. It was even rumored that they could hardly remember how much fun they had.

“Oh, yeah, yes. I…I know.” You sound like a damn virgin. Truthfully, you feel like one. Remembering what you’ve heard sends butterflies in your stomach that shoot straight to your cunt. You can feel stickiness beginning to form on your underwear and you can’t help but press your thighs together.

He wants you. Christopher Bahng Chan wants you. It shouldn’t boost your ego or make you feel validated, but god dammit, it does. The oldest from the frat with wide shoulders and plush lips picked you.

“So, that’s okay with you, gorgeous?” His sultry voice brings you back to the phone call. “You wanna keep me company for the night?”

The way he makes it sound almost shameful, but you’ll be damned if you missed this chance in your dull college life. “Yes. I- I want to go.”

You might as well have signed your life away in blood, or at least, that’s how it feels.

Christopher laughs like he’s enjoying your shy, yet forward self. “That’s a good girl. I can’t wait to see you.”

The line goes dead and you’re frozen in place trying to collect yourself. He called you a good girl. A good girl. You’re going to see Chris, going to…do stuff with him at the ball. It’s been so long since you’ve had a human interaction, especially a naked one. Slick has made its way to your panties that your clit throbs against the material to try and get any ounce of friction. Who cares if you come off as desperate? Who cares if people think you’re whoring yourself out for one night. If everything goes well, you can end up not only with actual friends but maybe even a lover.

Standing at the front door of the party feels surreal. You’ve never been inside of a frat house or stood so close to one. Alpha Phi Omega felt like it was appropriate to have the invitees be picked up by a limousine, adding to the effect of an elegant ball. Though, you know that’s the last thing it is.

The chauffeur is already driving off, leaving you and the other girls alone.

“Oh my God,” one of them can’t stop cheesing. You think her lips must hurt from how much she’s been smiling. “I can’t believe we got invited here. With them. I’m so surprised they even knew who I was!”

You’re in the same boat, but you choose to keep that to yourself. More women began chirping about how they were so surprised to get an invitation and just to be known. The brothers typically go for more popular ones. Girls who have the newest phones and prettiest lip gloss. You can’t help but snort to yourself as you think they must be doing charity work.

Not that it bothers you - maybe a little - but you should have some college experience even at the expense of wearing the finest dress you managed to pull from your closet. The material tightens at the back, making your breasts spill over the cups. The cinch at the waist accentuates your figure, widening your hips as the dress flows down. There’s a slit that runs from your ankle to your thigh. Elegant, but not prude. Sexy, but not scandalous. The deep red color matches perfectly with you. Its ruby darkness makes you feel like you’re in a different era.

It only made sense to wear red - it is the blood moon ball. You just hope Christopher doesn’t find it cheesy.

The eight of you only chit-chat for what feels like seconds before the door opens, a soft yellow light emulating from the opening. You soon see the silhouette of a man, his hair that’s normally curly is straightened. Chris greets everyone with his signature dimple and you can practically hear the girls swooning along with you.

He’s saying something - how you all look so beautiful tonight and how lucky the brothers are to have such a gorgeous date. But you’re so distracted by him. You’ve seen Chris on campus, seen the cheerleaders that follow him like a lost puppy, but you’ve never been this close. You’ve never gotten the opportunity to see his thick lips and that broad nose sitting on his face perfectly. And his dimples, the ones he’s smiling at you with, are even cuter this close.

Chris looks flawless under the moonlight. The shine bounces off his pale skin like a doll, almost like something not human. He’s still speaking, still being the perfect host, and you’re drooling over him.

“...and remember the most important rule, everyone.” His accent hangs heavy on each syllable. “What happens here tonight, stays here tonight.”

Then he’s letting the girls in. Everyone’s squealing with excitement and you’re…frozen. No matter how much you will your legs to move, you can’t help but stand still outside, staring at Chris like he’s the only thing you know.

He cocks his head to the side, an amused smile finding those pretty lips. “Do you need to be invited in?”

Distantly, you shake your head. You step inside, hearing your heels click on the marble floor before Chris puts his hand on your waist and pulls you further in.

His grip is firm, but not tight. Fingers dig into your waist like he’s feeling you up but in the most gentlemanly way.

“That dress…” he looks at you up and down, swiping his tongue over his mouth like he’s seen something delicious. “That color suits you well.”

You look at him, this time, focusing on his outfit. Chris wears all-black slacks and a white shirt undone at the top. On the pocket of his dress shirt is a red flower, the color nearly matching your dress. Without thinking, you reach out to touch it, taking the soft petals between your fingers.

“Thank you. I don’t know if it’s… too much.”

“Too much?” Chris sounds baffled. He grabs your hand and presses it against his mouth, planting a gentle kiss to the back of it like he’s done this with you a thousand times. “This is a ball and you’re my date. I need you pretty by my side. And don’t worry about anything other than having a good time, yeah?” When he pulls back his teeth to smile, you can’t help but notice how sharp his canines are. “I’ll make sure you do.”

With his hand around your waist and on your hip, you two walk into the main room to be with everyone. It seems like all the girls have already found their dates, sitting next to them on the couches or standing. You recognize most of the brothers of the frat, but it’s hard to think such attractive men can be in the same room.

One of them, who you think is Jisung, walks around with a tray of shots. Red liquid sloshes in the plastic cups that are distributed to all the ladies. Once he’s before you, you hesitate to take it.

Chris grabs it for you. “A little pre-game. Helps with getting things started.” He’s holding it up for you, but there’s a prickling sensation crawling on your skin that you can’t shake off. You don’t take it from his hands, not before you ask, “What’s in it?”

“Wine.” His answer is immediate. “With a little kick from yours truly.”

The red wine looks at you intimidatingly. As if daring you to sip from it. You take the shot from Chris and look at it again. Should you really trust a drink from a stranger? Even if Chris is well-known among the ladies, and even if everyone always comes home safe after the ball, you can’t drown out your gut feeling.

But when you look amongst the other women, they’ve already drunk it. Their lips are stained with red, their tongues swiping over the flavor before clinging onto their dates.

You sigh and look at Chris. “Bottoms up.”

When you tilt your head back to gulp, you swear Chris smiles so wide it almost looks malicious. His dark eyes watch your throat bob, watch as you scrunch your nose at the unique taste.

He pulls you closer, kissing you on the cheek and laughing like he’s won a game you didn’t know you were playing. “Now let’s fucking party!”

Whatever ‘kick’ Chris put in the drink works like a charm. You’re not thinking about how out of place you feel when you’re dancing with him. You’re not thinking about how nervous you’re supposed to be. With his hands on your hips, his crotch on your arse, all you can focus on is him him him.

Chris pulls you by the wrist to the other part of the room, red solo cups laid out in a triangle on each side of the table. Beer pong. You’ve only played at birthday parties, and even then, you would let other people shoot for you. There’s already a couple waiting at the end, watching as Chris drags you along.

“You can go another round, right Hyunjin?” Chris teases.

“Depends.” Hyunjin has the same smirk. “What’s in it for me?”

You don’t know how they’re carrying a conversation right now. Not when Hyunjin’s date is kissing on his neck. She’s leaving lipstick stains on his throat, hands rubbing over his pelvis before swooping down and gripping him through the pants. Maybe this type of thing is normal for them, but for you, it feels as though you’ve accidentally browsed the adult section of the book shop.

“You get a taste of my date,” Chris says. “And if I win, you have to watch.”

They’re talking about you as if you’re not there. Like they couldn’t care less about your opinion. You should feel some way about it, any type of way, but all you feel is your tummy turning warm and the sudden need to mimic what Hyunjin’s date is doing.

The slender man grins. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Then you’re playing. The white ball feels unsteady in your grip, and when you shoot, your aim is completely off. The other girl isn’t much better, but she manages to score a few cups whereas you’ve made none.

“Come on, pretty.” Chris’s sultry voice makes you shiver. “At least try.”

You grab the ball again, this time, closing one eye. Chris wants to win and you want to give Chris everything he asks for. But still, your vision is hazy and your feet are unsteady. How can you get so drunk off of one shot?

When you miss again, you pout. You turn to Chris, meaning to apologize, but your eyes lock with the couple on the couch. Jisung’s digging his mouth into his companion's neck, her head thrown back with a blissful look on her face. What looks like blood drips down the side of her throat. Jisung pulls away, and then you see it, sharp teeth coated with red.

Hyunjin shoots, you hear the ball hit the plastic cup and splash in the water. He and his date celebrate, but you’re too busy staring at the way Jisung licks the blood from her neck and sucks on the wound.

“What…” you shake your head. “What is he…doing?”

Chris doesn’t ask to specify what you’re talking about. His hand encircles around your waist again, and his other hand swipes the hair from your neck. You let him, unconsciously tilting your head to feel him lean down. The softness of his lips trail over the shell of your ear before descending. Each peck feel makes you feel on fire, the coolness of his body soothing your blazing one.

Was he always this cold?

“He’s feeding,” Chris says casually. So matter-of-factly that you nod. Of course, Jisung is feasting on his date’s neck. Why wouldn’t he? Judging by her closed eyes and parted lips, maybe it’s not that bad.

Although you like Chris’s mouth on you, his attention on you, your common sense is screaming at you to come back to reality. There’s a haze over you, a spell almost, that keeps you pliant in Chris’s hold. You don’t want to fight against this feeling. It’s all too easy to succumb to this fantasy of a regular frat ball with strange fetishes. You can tell yourself that you’re drunk, that it’s not blood dripping from her neck, but simply spilled wine.

You blink once. Twice. A third time before you realize no, you’re not drunk at all. Not after one shot at least.

“My drink…” It's so hard to form words. “What did you do to my drink?” Chris is still kissing your neck, licking just above your erratic pulse. “Nothing you’re thinking.” He’s speaking quietly, just below your ear. “I told you - a kick from yours truly. Just a little something to get the party going. To loosen your nerves.”

You swallow thickly. “A drug?”

“My blood.” He corrects. “All it does is…make you more cooperative.” Another kiss, another soft bite. Chris never bites hard enough to draw any blood, but enough to feel the abnormal sharpness of his teeth.

His blood? Why would his blood work like this? As much as you try to fit the puzzle together, you can’t help but feel like you’re missing a crucial piece. Chris pulls you closer until your side is pressed against him. He feels firm against you. Despite the growing bulge on your hip, he doesn’t rock at all. Chris keeps licking your neck as if prepping the skin.

Nothing makes sense, yet, you still try with your limited speech. “Mind control?”

That makes him laugh. “You won’t let it go, huh? Okay. It’s more like…hypnosis. You won’t do anything you won’t really want to do, but it makes you more open to suggestions. I’m sure you felt nervous coming here. A quiet little thing, hardly talks to anyone, yet, invited to the party everyone wants to go to. If you didn’t have that little kick - my blood - I doubt you’d be having as much fun as you are right now.”

That is…true. You wouldn’t have danced on him like you did. You wouldn’t have played beer pong despite knowing how terrible you are if you were, well, you. His words start to make their way into your head. Whether it’s the blood, the openness to suggestions, or just confusion, it feels easier to believe him.

“Look at everyone here,” Chris grabs a hold of your chin and guides your head to scan the room. Everyone is in their little pairs, hands on their hips, blood seeping from different parts of their body, and they’re not worried in the slightest. You didn’t notice how many girls have replaced their talking with moaning.

“They’re having such a good time. Kissing, biting, drinking,” his voice is like a purr. “Don’t you want that too?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t help that you’re starting to grow slick between your legs watching the scene unfold right before your eyes. Tongues clashing, hands roaming, and mouths gasping. You know what you’re going to say, and yet, you can’t help but try to ask one more question.

“Hurts?”

And like a lion that’s caught its lamb, Chris smiles with all his teeth. He shakes his head, “No, baby, not at all. I’ll make sure you feel nothing but pleasure. Sit on the table for me, yeah?”

The cups fall to the ground, water splashing but no one pays it any mind. You’re too distracted wrapping your legs around Chris’s torso and pulling him in to care about the mess. The kiss isn't soft. It isn't tender. It's hungry. You pay no mind to the coolness of his skin. His lips are consuming, tongue running over yours in a matter of seconds. Chris puts his hands on your hips and pulls you close. The action deepens the kiss. You're humming into his mouth every time you lock lips. Moaning at every caress of his tongue.

His lips work past your mouth. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then down to your neck. You tilt to one side to let him nip at your skin, trembling and breathing hard. He slows when he finds your pulse. His tongue lavashes over it before sucking.

You can feel slick seeping through your folds. Chris's mouth is so good, so practiced, that you could think you could let him mark your throat for as long as he wants. You tangle your fingers through his hair and pull. Not hard at all, but it drags a groan from his swollen lips.

With your legs spread, Chris easily finds your core. His fingers run up your inner thigh before rubbing soft circles over your clit. The sensation makes you gasp and he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue deep in your mouth. There’s people around, perhaps watching, but you can’t find yourself to care. Even as you grind your hips against his palm, it’s only exhilaration that you feel.

Chris finds the side of your underwear and pulls it to the side. Your pussy almost weeps with joy finally being touched, but you jump when his cool fingers come down to rub on it. Thick fingers drag your juices through your slit slowly, making sure to press hard on the bud at the very top.

You keen, back arching until your chest touches his. Chris makes a sound that seems mixed with a laugh and a groan as you rub your breasts on him.

He pulls away from your lips to grunt in your ear. “Let me taste you, yeah? It’ll feel so good. I promise.” Chris is already nipping at your skin, eager to drink from you.

If you’re already feeling this good from his fingers, you can’t imagine how his mouth does. You pull back just enough to look into his eyes and nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you bat your eyelashes at him.

Chris bites you at the same time he sinks two fingers in. The sting of his bite is overshadowed by his knuckles spreading you open. The pace he sets is brutal. Quick pumps of his hand that force your cunt to open for him. You lean to one side to let him bite harder, to feel his teeth blemish your smooth skin. It doesn’t feel like you thought, not like a real bite, but more like two needles quickly replaced harsh sucking. The pressure of his mouth makes you clench on his fingers, pussy gushing so loud you know everyone can hear it.

Footsteps make their way towards you and Chris, and you soon see the familiar buzzcut of a man you had lost to moments ago.

Hyunjin grins, blood lining his lips like a gloss. “Thought I was supposed to have a taste.”

You feel Chris tense next to you. His mouth pulls away with your blood on it, a snarl on his lips as he looks at the man almost threateningly. Your legs are shaking, still being fucked open by Chris’s fingers as Hyunjin watches amused at Chris’s pissed-off reaction. His eyes are ten shades darker and so possessive that you feel another gush of arousal spread onto Chris’s fingers.

“Not now.” There’s absolute authority in his voice. Even you quiet your moaning at his command. “Later.”

Chris doesn't wait for Hyunjin to leave when he slips his fingers out of you. A whine leaves your lips, but you see him fiddle with the confines of his slacks. Excitement fills your core, stomach flipping as you watch Chris under the zipper and pry his cock from his slit.

He’s heavy. Pink tip flushed from arousal with precum dripping along a thick vein. You let out a moan, widening your legs until your dress is touching the ground.

“Yes.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, but you can’t stop. “Gonna fuck me?”

“Yeah.” Chris fists himself at the base, giving shallow strokes to work up his cock. “You want that?”

The words get caught in your throat watching him play with himself, so you nod instead. Chris inches closer until his tip catches your clit, slapping the fat head on you until your stomach caves.

“Mmm, fuck! Put it in. Pleasepleaseplease.” You’re whining, hips lifting to try and have him slip inside you. It seems like Chris enjoys seeing you desperate. The usual quiet girl begging for his cock pathetically. He runs it up and down your folds, reaching below your belly button before going down to prod your entrance with his tip. The way you squirm, how your heels are digging into his hips to try and push him in, it only makes Chris want to see you cry for it.

So much wetness has accumulated on your clit that every drag of his cock sounds with a loud squelch. You’re clenching on nothing, pussy begging to be filled after so long, but pleasure begins to build in your core anyway. The sudden warmness in your stomach makes your hips twitch uncontrollably, chasing the orgasm that seems to climb higher and higher.

Chris doesn’t change his pace. He simply uses his hand to press his tip down on you every time he goes over your clit. Your pussy lips surrounding him is enough to be satisfied for now. It’s only when your first orgasm wrecks through you, mouth singing with moans and eyes pinched together, that Chris finally slides in.

You’re still cumming when he pushes inside. Gummy walls flutter around his size happily, at last having something to ride its orgasm out. A drawled-out moan barely makes it past your mouth before Chris kisses you again, this time, biting hard enough to draw blood from your pretty lips.

His hips are less forgiving than his fingers. You can feel every vein, the curve of his head, and the thickness burying itself deep inside you. It’s hard to catch your breath with Chris’s tongue lavishing on the blood he drew. Moans and whines are eaten up by his greedy, blood-stained mouth. It’s like he can’t get enough - can’t ever be satiated again now knowing your taste. The way your walls open for him, how you scream his name and grip at his hair, Chris thinks he can never get enough.

Now, you’re barely registering the fact that you’re coming down from your high, though with Chris’s bucking hips, it doesn’t feel like that at all. Hot pleasure doesn’t just build, but it stays, forcing you to never feel like you’ve stopped cumming or even begun. Chan’s cock feels past your cervix, fucking your throat so deep that you can’t even moan anymore. His lips finally stop their assault on your mouth before going to the unbitten part of your neck. You feel the pinch again and the taste of fresh blood makes Chris kick up his speed.

“Ngh~!” You can feel yourself starting to slip into unconsciousness. You don’t know how much he’s taken, but even without his thirst for blood, Chris would have made you pass out from his cock alone anyway. Your walls clench around him again, gushing with so much slick you think you’ve cum again.

Chris stops for a moment, moaning against your wounds at the feeling of you pulsing around him. He sucks again on his bite, body trembling as though he’s trying to contain himself.

“So good. Mmm, that’s good pussy. You wanna cum again, huh? I can feel her squeezing me like she loves me.” Then he laughs. “Yeah. Yeah. You love me? Tell me you love me.”

Maybe if you weren’t losing so much blood or being fucking into oblivion, you would think Chris’s idea of pillow talk is strange. Yet, with how you’re clinging onto him with your hands and cunt, you think he’s right. You do love him.

“Love you,” the words come out almost meaningfully. “Love the way you fuck me. Your dick feels so good. More. I wan’ more. I love you. I love you. I love you…” You can’t speak anymore. Not as Chris picks up his pace hearing you. Not when his teeth sink into a new spot and draw red streams from you. It’s a bruising pace, an unforgiving bucking of his hips as he slams into you. You can hear how he slams into you, hitting that sensitive spot just right for another orgasm to build. His slacks manage to rub on your clit with how deep he’s fucking you, and the friction only brings you closer.

“Hnng~! Fuuuck…” Your head lolls back. Chris pulls away from your neck to kiss your jaw, seeming full from his feast. Or, maybe he can feel how much sweeter your pussy has gotten and how your moans have turned into uh-uh-uh’s.

“Yeah. Yeeaahh. Right here, huh? Love it when I fuck you right there? Come on. Cum. You can give me another one, can’t you?” Chris guides your orgasm home with the help of his fingers rubbing at your clit. He pinches it between his fingers and sinks himself as far as you can take it, making you squeal and nearly collapse on the table.

But it’s what you needed to cum, to tip over that edge. Your walls lock Chris into place, violent shudders coursing throughout your orgasm. Warm fluid shoots into your cunt that push past his tip and into the deepest parts of you. Chris cums with a shake, moans going through his swollen lips and bloody teeth.

Then he’s cooing, barely able to rock his hips to come down from his own high as you’re stuffed with his cum. “Mm, good girl. That was a big one, wasn’t it? You did so well~.”

Chris doesn’t pull out, can’t when your pussy so clearly doesn't want to let him go. You’re trying to catch your breath and keep your eyes open when you hear conversing. Chris must be talking to someone. Something about we had a deal and go play with someone else’s meal. The bickering ends in the other person huffing and stomping away, presumably finding someone to find someone else to sink their teeth into.

It's then that Chris slides out of you slowly. He slips out with a wet pop! that makes both of you moan. He fixes your dress, tucks himself back inside his slacks, and loops his arms under your shoulders and thighs so he can pick you up.

Upside down, you can see everyone else in a similar state to you. Some are fully unconscious while others are close to it.

Then your skin pricks. Could it be that they’re “...dead?”

You hadn’t meant to speak out loud. The cloudiness from Chris’s blood effect and the imprint of his cock inside you leaves everything feeling like a dream. Still, he hears you, and like always, he answers.

“No baby, of course not. They’re just tired, but I promise everything will go back to normal in the morning.” Chris walks down the hall with you in his arms. You don’t know where you’re going, but when you hear a door kick open and feel the softness of a bed on your back, you know you’re in his room.

“It’ll be like nothing ever happened. You girls will remember you had a fun night, even if you don’t remember why.”

You won't remember? It has to be his blood and cum that makes you so emotional. Or, perhaps, it's the pure desperate need for companionship that makes your eyes water. Even if he is a monster, it's better than forgetting tonight and returning to your solitary life. Sleep has almost claimed you, but you manage to speak with pouting lips, “But, I don’t want to…to…”

A tear slips past your eye. Chris is the one to wipe it with his thumb, cooing even more than before. “Aww. I like you a lot. You know that? I like good girls like you.” He continues to wipe the stray tears that cascade down your beautiful face. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re mine now, even if I have to remind you in the morning.”

tags: @desirehorizon @skzophreniic

#skz smut #stray kids smut #chan smut #chris skz smut #chan skz smut #bang chan #bang chan smut #skz #stray kids

390 notes · View notes

lewisvinga · 1 year ago

Text

forza madrid | carlos sainz x fem! bellingham! reader

summary;, when posting about being a ferrari fan gets y/n bellingham invited to a grand prix where she meets carlos who is shocked by her last name.

fc; tyla

warnings; cursing

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

notes; requested ! omg i love this sm, real madrid and f1 , ahhhhh, esp carlos and judeeee! and i decided to do a race instead bc of the spanish gp n stuff yk

masterlist !

ynbellingham uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; what i do while getting ready before someone’s… match, forza ferrari ! scuderiaferrari] [caption 2; i know you scored a golazo but put a damn shirt on judebellingham…..]

judebellingham replied to your story !

judebellingham but if i was one of your ferrari boys, you wouldn’t be complaining 🙄🙄🙄🙄

ynbellingham shut the fuck up you will never be carlos sainz.

judebellingham WOMP WOMP i’ll meet him before u #madridprivilege 🤪

ynbellingham yeah OKAY SURE we’ll see

liked by judebellingham, carlossainz55, and others !

ynbellingham: tysm scuderiaferrari for giving me the opportunity to go to the spanish grand prix! 🫶 it’s a dream come true to see a race in person and meet the amazing ferrari drivers 🥹 forza ferrari❤️

tagged; scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc

scuderiaferrari: we loved having the coolest bellingham in our garage !

ynbellingham: YOU HEAR THAT judebellingham jobebellingham ?

jobebellingham: u have admin at gun point stfu

scuderiaferrari: we ❤️ y/n too much sorry😅

judebellingham: so that’s why you didn’t come to your dear little brothers match this sunday 😒😒

ynbellingham: u scored womp womp, ferrari is cooler

judebellingham: wow…. WOWW… ok i see how it is

camavinga: that’s how it always is with you two🙄

username: the bellinghams are all fine asf what the fuck

username: Y/NNNN😍😍

username: omg carlos and charles 😣

vinijr: wow you didn’t take me🙄

ynbellingham: u had goals to score, vinicius.

username: the way she automatically got close w the squad bc of jude and how pretty she is is so funny

charles_leclerc: it was fun to have you visit ! liked by ynbellingham !

carlossainz55: wait, you’re a bellingham? like jude bellingham’s sister??? and no one told me?

ynbellingham: yes unfortunately i’m related to the tap in merchant

judebellingham: FUCK OFF how’d u meet an f1 driver before me

carlossainz55: ferrari admin said she’s the coolest 🥸

judebellingham: carlos sainz….. as a madridista ur supposed to like me more

ynbellingham: go away, pude pellingham

judebellingham: it was one penalty..

username: let carlos shoot his shot w her damn jude liked by carlossainz55 and ynbellingham !

ynbellingham uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; ❤️] [caption 2; red at the beach bc ferrari double podium today 😁]

carlossainz55 replied to your story !

carlossainz55 liking spain ?

ynbellingham is the carlos sainz of ferrari liking and replying to my stories ???🤭🤭🤭 give me a second to fangirl

ynbellingham but yes lol, i’ve been staying w my brother and it’s amazing, i prefer madrid though, i’😁

carlossainz55 madrid’s the best part of spain

ynbellingham says the madrid native

carlossainz55 and why do you prefer madrid ?

ynbellingham touché

ynbellingham my brother plays for real madrid and he’s bugging me to tell u he says hi🙄

carlossainz55 tell him i said hi and thank you for saving us 😁 he’s been amazing it’s crazy! the amount of times he has saved me from going crazy with his goals😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

ynbellingham literally how is my brother saving my sanity when he’s been making me lose it since the day he was born 😀😀

carlossainz55 quick question, have you been to best parts of madrid ?🤨

ynbellingham i go wherever jude goes who goes wherever cama, tchou, rodry, and vini go 😄

carlossainz55 noooo as a madrid native, i know the absolute best parts😌😌

carlossainz55 i’m going to madrid tonight for a few days

ynbellingham and you want to see me🧐

carlossainz55 can you blame me? you are the best bellingham

ynbellingham why thank u carlos

ynbellingham luckily for you, i’m free all week

carlossainz55 q bueno [excellent]

carlossainz55 i’ll see you again soon 😉 liked by ynbellingham !

ynbellingham uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; mornings in madrid ☀️] [caption 2; when bellingol buys u a dress to impress a man 🤎 thank u stupid judebellingham] [caption 3; ‘i’ll show you the best of madrid’…. makes us pasta… 😀😀 ( there were no open spots at the restaurant we were going to)]

judebellingham replied to your story !

judebellingham gross get a room

judebellingham i take it back, DONT GET A ROOM

ynbellingham ur a cock blocker btw

judebellingham Y/N????

carlossainz55 replied to your story !

story one

carlossainz55 hermosa 😍 [beautiful] liked by ynbellingham !

story two

carlossainz55 he has good taste 😉 liked by ynbellingham !

story three

carlossainz55 you liked my pasta !

ynbellingham it was delicious but i was looking forward to getting the best paella 😞

carlossainz55 are you busy tonight ?

ynbellingham are you asking me out 🧐

carlossainz55 you up for date 2 ?😁

ynbellingham give me the time and place 😌

carlossainz55 oh no, i’m picking you up, hermosa. at 5, i’ll make reservations

carlossainz55 you’ll get that paella , trust me liked by yourusername !

carlossainz55 uploaded to his story !

[caption 1; gracias judebellingham !🤍] [caption 2; ferrari red ❤️] [caption 3; the best paella in madrid!]

liked by carlossainz55, judebellingham, and others !

ynbellingham: my month so far; post ucl game win club fit , ferrari garage , taste testing his own lobster carbonara, wearing the dress my stupid brother got me, my stupid brother w my other stupid brother, carlos after i jokingly told him i was gonna turn into a culer

tagged; carlossainz55, judebellingham, jobebellingham

carlossainz55: hermosa😍

yourusername: and you’re guapo 🤭 [handsome]

carlossainz55: it was a pretty good carbonara though

ynbellingham: it was truly amazing

username: OMG??

username: carlos and y/n???

username: carlos already down bad for y/n iktr

username: her body teaaaa😩

username: she got a white man on her rosterrrr

username: AND he feeds her pasta & lobster 😫😫

judebellingham: u jokingly said what now…

carlossainz55: my exact reaction !

ynbellingham: u both are such drama queens I WAS JOKING

carlossainz55: amor, we never joke about liking the rivals.

vinijr: WOW y/n WOWW

camavinga: no me?

ynbellingham: next photo dump promise edu😢

jobebellingham: i don’t live in madrid and don’t see u often so that means jude is automatically the stupid one

ynbellingham: so true bestie so true

judebellingham: reminder that i buy you things all the time. BOTH OF YOU😒

username: bellingham’s and the sainz??? what in the multiverse

username: when i forza ferrari and hala madrid too hard they become forza madrid liked by ynbellingham and carlossainz55!

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #formula one social media au #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz social media au #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #jude bellingham x reader

1K notes · View notes

melanchol1cs · 8 months ago

Text

WHAT GOOD IS SORRY?

ex husband!leon x f!reader

word count: 3.3k summary: why does one wound those they love so deeply? masterlist | taglist | wips

18+ MDNI. mentions of divorce, cheating/infidelity, awkward leon stuff, guilt, yearning, leon and reader have a child together — and i named her denise for whatever reason, getting stood up by a date, drunk texting, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bittersweet ending(?) i guess.

a/n: old wip,, this was supposed to be super gut wrenching and angsty but for some reason, my brain didn’t want to cooperate and decided that this would be the ending. also, i’ve been contemplating whether to address this or not and even tho its not a big issue, PLEASE interact with my posts. it’s the only way i’m able to know that you guys actually like the stuff i write, and ever since i’ve started writing on here 7 months ago, i’ve been noticing a decrease in interactions. im honestly losing motivation to write because i truly don’t know if people actually read my shit and like it. anyway, enjoy my mediocre writing ^___^

leon regrets everything he’s done up to this point. running into ada on a mission, going to the bar with her afterwards, and the kiss. the stupid kiss that eventually led up to this.

the divorce.

it all felt wrong, so wrong. yet here he was, driving his car to your doorstep, his stomach in knots despite having done this several times before.

for the sake of your daughter, the two of you had decided that shared custody would be the best option.

he stands at the door, hesitating before knocking, his knuckles hovering anxiously. clearing his throat, he gently raps his knuckles against the door, hoping for an answer. he's already second-guessing himself, wondering if he should have texted or called first.

your door eventually opens, and he's met with a familiar face. you.

you greet him with a civil smile, pressing a kiss into your daughter’s hair before ushering her inside.

he fidgets, adjusting the brim of his leather jacket nervously as he takes in the sight of you.

you reach to shut the door, catching a glimpse of him awkwardly hovering over you porch.

“you okay?”

he tries to find his voice. "yeah, i just, uh... i was just thinking..”

he looks down at his feet, kicking the ground with the side of his scuffed boot, as if trying to buy some time or maybe just willing the floor to swallow him up. when he speaks, his voice is low and sheepish. “when i was— last night, i thought… uh, do- do you remember when.. shit. are you free this weekend?”

”what?” you muse at his question. “leon, i really don’t wanna have this conversation with you again,”

he winces at the rebuff, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as a defensive measure.

leon’s adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, his ears burning at your words. he looks anywhere but at you, his eyes darting over the porch railing, the foliage, the sky — anywhere but your eyes. oh, those eyes he adored so much.

"no, wait, hear me out,”

"listen..." he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever fallout this might bring, knowing he's already on shaky ground. “i just wanna talk.. to you.”

he shifts his weight, glancing up at the roof of the house as if the heavens themselves could offer a solution. when he does meet your gaze again, his eyes are pleading, his jaw clenched with a mix of anxiety and something akin to desperation.

“i’m sorry, leon. i’m busy,”

he scoffs and his face scrunches up, a pained grimace contorting his features as he cuts you off. “c’mon, please?” he's standing too close now, invading the personal space he once knew so well. “i.. i know it isn’t what we do anymore but—“

“no, seriously. i literally can’t. i have something up.”

“oh.” he deflates slightly at your dismissal, shoulders slumping in defeat. a soft, regretful sigh escapes his parted lips, and his eyes drop, gaze wandering aimlessly. "can- can you can you cancel? is it really important? what about on sunday-? i’m sure we can..“

“leon.” it's not a question this time, you stare at him with the tiniest hint of pity. “i have a date.”

ouch. he freezes, his chest constricting as if he's been punched. a date? the words echo in his mind, each syllable like a dagger to his pride, his ego, his everything. a muscle in his jaw twitches, his hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. leon swallows hard, his throat suddenly parched.

"oh," he repeats, the sound barely above a whisper. he takes a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, jaw working in agitation as he grapples with the blow of your words. a snarky retort rises in his throat, a cutting remark to deflect the sting, but it withers on his tongue, a futile attempt at salvaging pride he knows is misplaced.

leon swallows hard, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice, laced with a wry bitterness. “yeah, no worries.. guess that's that," a bitter, hollow chuckle escapes him as he shifts his weight. his tone is flippant, trying to mask the sting of rejection, but the defeat is palpable as he turns to leave. he starts down the porch steps, his boots thudding against the wooden slats.

you finally close the door on him, standing by the door, hand on the knob, unease prickling along you skin like a thousand tiny needles, each one stinging with the weight of guilt. you sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she tries to process her feelings. guilt, regret, a twinge longing — it's all so confusing, so messy.

the weight of his pleading eyes, the desperation in his tone — he had no right acting like a dejected puppy after he cheated on you.

you shake your head, face between your hands. he made his choices, just as you had, and now it was time to move on. you squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the door, determined to let go of the ghost of what was and focus on the life you were building. for you, and your daughter.

but it’s not really easy.

not when you’re sitting alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date that never bothered to show.

your phone buzzes and you hold your breath. hoping for some sort of confirmation, but it's quickly snuffed out.

‘hey, sorry i couldn’t make it. something important came up’ the simple text reads. the same stupid excuse. every. single. time. your heart sinks, a dull ache forming in the pit of your stomach.

a bitter, derisive chuckle escapes your lips. serves you right. you knew he was trouble from the start. yet, your heart aches, a dull throb of pain and disappointment. you feel so foolish, sitting there, waiting for someone who never shows. though, it isn't really new.

now you lay in your bed, having already kicked off your heels and changed out of the uncomfortably tight dress you wore.

you pull the blankets up to your chin, suddenly feeling cold. you toss and turn, brooding and wallowing in misery, and it seemed like you’ve been doing it for hours till you’re startled out of your fitful doze by the buzz of your phone.

it's a text from leon, of course it is. it’s another one of his ‘where are u? i miss u’ ‘can’t stop thinking about you. please let me c u’ meltdowns.

he's drunk again, you can tell by the sloppy caps and the desperate pleas. every time he has a rough night, he always thinks coming over will magically fix everything. and you always refuse, knowing he’s only drunk and alone. but tonight, you feel particularly lonely.

your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and before you know it, you're typing. ‘come over.’ you hesitate, then send the message.

by then, he’s already halfway out the door, stumbling out and nearly falling as he trips over his own feet in his haste. he takes the stairs two at a time, a goofy, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. when he reaches your door, he pounds on it with a fist. his breath comes out in short puffs as he waits, anticipation making his heart race.

click.

the door creaks open a fraction and his eyes lock onto you, looking all soft and domestic in a robe. leon's breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink you in.

he tumbles in, arms outstretched as if he's about to catch something. he's immediately in your space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, breathless with relief and something else, something suspiciously like love.

“leon—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of beer and regret in his breath. his hands roam, sliding up your back, gripping your hair, fingers splayed wide as if to assure himself you're real. a low, desperate sound escapes him, half-groan, half-moan as his body presses against yours. he's desperate, sloppy, but undeniably passionate. when he finally breaks for air, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes glassy with drink and longing.

“missed you s’ much, baby,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the pulse point with a reverence that borders worship.

“let me make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes, an expression so pathetic it’s comical. yet, the desperation behind them makes it anything but.

his hands skim down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. his face buried in the crook of your neck as his hands knead the meat of your ass, claws digging in through the fabric of your robe. his breath hitches as he nuzzles into you, inhaling deeply as if committing you to memory.

he trails a string of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to nibble on your collarbone before continuing his journey south. his hands never stop moving, roaming over your body with an insatiable hunger.

you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "bedroom," you breathe out, and he happily obliges.

once inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and spins you around, backing you up against the bed. he begins to undo your robe with shaking fingers, your heavy breathing and the rustling of silk the only sounds in the charged silence between you. when the robe falls open, he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet.

the thin, sheer fabric of your nightgown offers little resistance as he practically rips it off you. a shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he reaches for you again, fingers grazing your skin as if he's not quite trusting his own touch.

he guides you to the bed, pushing you to sit on the edge. he immediately drops to his knees before you, face between your legs.

“these ‘re pretty,” he slurs out, before he fucking tears your underwear off.

“leon!”

he chuckles at your reaction, a low, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. “sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. “gonna buy you new ones,”

his stubble scrapes against your sensitive skin as he slowly trails open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, savoring every inch of you that you’re willing to give him.

he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking with a single-minded devotion that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back in your head. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

god, it’s been so long. the feelings practically foreign.

his tongue begins to lash at your slit, long and flat, with a dexterity that belies his level of inebriation.

“you still mine?” he huffs. “‘course you are, ‘m the only one that can get ya this wet,”

slurp, smack, suck, repeat.

his tongue is relentless, probing your entrance, swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. he's sloppy, uncoordinated, but it only serves to heighten the intensity of it all. every time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy breathing, feel the vibrations of his moans against your most intimate flesh. your fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer as your back arches off the bed. a keening whimper escapes you, the sound muffled by your clenched teeth as you struggle to maintain some semblance of control.

“fuck, leon—” your words trail off into incoherent mumbles as he drives you closer to the edge, tongue darting in and out with a pace that’ll make a grown woman go crazy. “d-denise, were gonna wake her up,”

a low growl rumbles in his chest as he responds to your whine. there's a hint of accusation in his gaze, but it quickly morphs into a look of raw, desperate need. “don’t matter,” he's relentless, persistent, refusing to back down even as you tremble and writhe beneath him.

he grunts, his attention snapping back to you, blue eyes squinting as he looks up from between your thighs. his tongue is a damn metronome, lapping and smacking with a relentless rhythm that has you chasing the edge of oblivion.

it's like every drunken fantasy he's ever had is being poured out onto you. messy, uncoordinated, desperate. and you’re eating it up. “gonna make you forget all about that stupid date," he mutters through slurred words. "’m the only man who can make you feel this good,"

he's not wrong. the way he's attacking you with his tongue, it's like he's trying to prove a fucking point.

"leon, please," you gasp out, and he takes it as an invitation to continue. your entire body is wound up tight, a taut string ready to snap. he slips a finger in, then two, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your legs wrap around his head, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him in as close as humanly possible. his name is a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of pleasure. "leon, leon, leon,". denise could come in right now and catch you like this — legs splayed, back arched, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. he's that good. or maybe that bad. you dont know. and you don’t care to find out.

"yeah, just like that," he praises, voice a low, gravelly growl. "love my fingers in this greedy little cunt, don't you?"

your thighs clench around his head, heels digging into his back as you ride out the pleasure. "gonna cum, leon, please—“ yours words trail off into a wail, a keen of pure, unadulterated euphoria.

your back arches, toes curl, and your fingers dig into his hair, holding him to you as the wave crashes over you. he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, practically burying his face in your groin. he laps at your slit, in and out, in and out, until the last bit of resistance melts away.

he lifts his face from between your legs, eyes hazy and unfocused as he fumbles to unbuckle his pants. once he has it off, he's back, pushing your legs apart as he kneels between them. the thick of his length throbs against your lower belly, and you can feel his racing heartbeat through every inch of him that's in contact with you.

he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing in just enough to make you feel the pressure, gathering your juices before giving a long, slow stroke up and down, coating himself in you. he's throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can practically taste the desperation in your mouth.

he presses in, just the tip at first, then a bit more. slow, shallow strokes, in and out. his hips rock against yours, the motion slow and languid. one of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your closed eyelids to check if he was dreaming. the other hand palms the small of your back, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself. your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as he slowly sinks into you.

he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, his heart racing in his chest as if he's trying to communicate something without using words. his hips move, the action slow and lazy, as if he's trying to spoon you into submission.

he pulls out, just to the tip, before pushing back in. the motion is slow, sensual, a deliberate teasing that has you whining and writhing beneath him.

sweat beads on his brow, tracing down the lines of his face, but he doesn't slow. if anything, he's driven by a desperate need to make up for lost time, to prove himself worthy of you. your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he pistons in and out, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. he's not gentle, not soft, but rough and demanding, just like he always used to be when he was trying to stake his claim.

he nips at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before he sooths it with his tongue. “fuck, feels so good,” he gasps out, his words punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. “can't believe i ever let you go.”

"leon," you whimper, the name a plea, a prayer. his lips find yours in a sloppy, frantic kiss. he's drinking you in, devouring your mouth, your moans, your gasps, trying to consume every ounce of you.

he's sweating, hair a mess, face scrunched up in concentration, but those blue eyes remain locked on yours.

you're lost in the sensation, every nerve ending on high alert, screaming for friction, for relief, for release. "leon, leon, gonna cum," you pant, your voice raw, your throat dry. "please, i—" but your pleas are swallowed by his next thrust, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours, noses nearly touching. his hot breath mingles with yours, the scent of his beer-soaked breath and the musk of his arousal mingling together in the most intoxicating way. "love you," he suddenly whispers, the words a quiet, a desperate confession that hangs in the air between you.

“love you, love you, fuck—“

the way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. for a long moment, he stays frozen, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

the heat of your body seeps into his skin, chasing away the chill of the night air. he collapses against you, a boneless heap of satisfied male. his cock throbs, pulses, and drips onto the bed between your legs as he tries to catch his breath. the room is silent, save for your joint heavy breathing, and the occasional groan as his softening length slips out of you. eventually, he rolls off, lying on his back beside you, one big hand coming to rest on your stomach, thumb stroking in a slow, idle pattern. his eyes are hazy, unfocused, but they find yours and hold. a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

"sorry," he slurs out, the word garbled and slightly off-kilter. "i shoulda been better, should’ve tried harder, i... i‘m gonna make things right, i swear,"

he peppers your neck with soft kisses, his stubble rasping against your tender flesh. he's warm, solid, and comforting. gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the desperation that drove him mere moments ago.

he's not reaching for grand gestures or flowery declarations. he's asking for something simple, intimate, and achingly human. a chance to hold you, to sleep beside you, to maybe, begin to rebuild something from the rubble of what once was.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe that he’ll be different this time. that he's not just trying to relive past glories, but genuinely wants to make amends, to start anew.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

864 notes · View notes