#<-- what tags do people use for this guy...

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY SEE F!STREAMER!READER PLAYING SMASH OR PASS WITH THEIR HERO PERSONAS WHILE COSPLAYING AS THEM ON STREAM.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, did someone ask for some crack?, suggestive content (it's smash or pass, people), dirty talk, surprise surprise those boys remain majorly obsessed with you, mention of the boys getting boners, yeah... this one's not for minors, duke glows when he's flustered and it's so cute

★ A/N: this one was requested! and omg, the hero that slid into my inbox sure has one hell of a creative mind. srsly, this was such a good idea, i had to add it to the main timeline 🤭 just a heads up though, because this is suggestive content, i will not be using the taglist. i don't tag for suggestive content as i have no way of checking if you are acc an appropriate age for it or not. oh and as always, you do not need to have read the other parts of this series to get this one!!

★ F!STREAMER!READER MASTERLIST ★

Jason's mouth is dry, tongue like sandpaper as he stares at the title of your stream displayed clearly on his phone: Cosplaying as Gotham's vigilantes!

It takes no less than five seconds for Tim to come stumbling into the room.

"Did you see the stream name?!"

Jason doesn't answer, doesn't think he can. He's too busy staring at his screen in bewilderment to even begin to formulate words at the moment.

But he doesn't need to honestly, something else responds to Tim instead.

A low whistle.

Dick strides into the room. "Forget the name, did you see the thumbnail?"

As though summoned by just the mention of you (or rather, the thought of someone thirsting over you) Damian pops in not a moment after, lips pulled down into a scowl.

"Use those eyes of yours to prey on her, and I will make sure you lose them."

And then, as if to put the final cherry on top of the Wayne family cake gathered in the living room, Duke enters, all but ignoring his brothers in favour of grabbing the remote and using their amazon stick to navigate the TV to Twitch, immediately clicking onto your stream.

All of their eyes dart to the screen.

"That's right, guys! You read the stream name. Your girl's gonna cosplay everyone's favourite group of Gotham vigilantes!"

There you stand, a smile on your face and your eyes crinkled at the corners, looking just as pretty as the week before, and the week before that, and the week before that—

God, you're so pretty.

"Now, you might be wondering: say [Name], how come you're suddenly cosplaying when your channel is usually about playing video games?"

You disappear off-screen, the sound of shuffling causing the boys' saliva to roll down their throat.

"Well, my friends, to put it simply—your girl is about to head to Gotham for a Meet-N-Greet, and is hoping this stream will catch the eyes of the vigilantes there so I can gift you guys with a very special collaboration stream."

The room was already silent before, but after your words, it somehow seemed to double, the boys all staring at the screen with wide, dilated eyes.

You want to catch their attention. Beautiful, perfect you wants to collab with them. Them.

"Holy shit," Tim whispers, breathless and in that familiar daze only you can put him in.

"Fuck me." Jason runs a hand through his hair.

The stream chimes with a donation.

@/therealdamianwayne donated $15,000! They would be lucky to even be in your presence, Beloved.

You giggle, the lower half of your face hiding behind your hands as you bashfully look away from the camera. "Thanks, Damian."

The demon head's lips only quirk up even further at his brother's scalding glares.

The static sound of you clearing your throat reverts their attention back to you though.

"Anyway, does anyone have a suggestion on who I should start with?"

@/dukethomas donated $1,000! what about the signal?

The bats turn to send their daggered eyes to Duke, but he doesn't even spare them a glance, his own eyes too wide with hope as he stares at the screen of the TV.

"Oh! So glad you suggested him actually—"

Woah, woah, woah, what? You're glad he suggested himself? Holy shit, Duke thinks his heart just tried to lunge out of his chest.

In fact, he's so focused on the pink feeling that just engulfed him, that he misses the rest of what you say, and in a blink, is faced with your empty room as you disappear somewhere to change into the outfit.

And when you come back on screen? All dressed up in his metal-plated armour? With his name practically written all over you?

Well... Duke doesn't think he's ever seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

"Thomas, quit blinding me."

Duke blinks, glancing around to see his brothers squinting in his direction, faces scrunched up and mouths pulled into scowls as they regard the light with disdain like the bats that they are.

"Sorry guys." He chuckles awkwardly.

But before he can dim the glow surrounding him, your voice catches his ears.

"'Smash or pass The Signal?' Oh, hard smash."

The way he brightens next is half intentional, and half not. Half intentional because he can feel the way his pants strain against his crotch. And half not because, holy fucking shit, you said you'd smash him.

Before Damian can hiss again at his light, Duke already rushes straight out of the room.

The Wayne heir's lips pull down. "Disgusting."

@/greatestdetective donated $1,000! can you do red robin next?

In an instant, the remaining brothers turn to send the resident sleep-deprived detective very pointed glares, green radiating off them in waves as he shamelessly stares at the screen with dilated pupils.

"Sure thing!"

"You are utterly perverse." Damian points at Tim, brows furrowed and tone screaming judgement.

Tim only scoffs in response. "Oh please, like you aren't waiting just as much to see if she'd smash you."

He catches a batarang right before it hits his face.

"What the fuck?!"

Damian's teeth grind over each other. "Do not accuse me of such shallow thoughts towards my beloved."

"You almost killed me, dude!"

"And I would do it again."

"So? How do I look?"

Instantly, Tim's anger flushes straight out of his system, gaze darting to the screen as he mindlessly catches yet another batarang aiming straight between his eyes.

"Oh fuck..."

You're stood there, hands resting on your hips as you adorn his suit like it belongs on you, like he belongs on you.

His fingers move before his mind can.

@/greatestdetective donated $5,000! smash or pass?

"Geez, again?" You sweatdrop, reaching your hand behind his cowl much like he does when he's nervous. You two share nervous habits, holy shit. "Y'all will think I'm a slut for this but, I don't care. Smash."

With that, you've reduced Tim to a curled up ball, blush heavy on his face, pupils dilated to the sun and back, and mouth muttering obsessively about his love for you.

"Alright, since we're doing the boys, I might as well go through all of them before getting to the girls, hm?" You smile at the camera before sending it a little wink. "Anyone else wanna suggest who I should change into next?"

@/jaybird donated $10! red hood

Dick curses, his phone just short of in his hands as he sends a glare to a very smug-looking Jason stood with his arms crossed and his gaze trained onto the TV.

"Oh? The bad boy?" You giggle from the other side of the screen, hand cupping your mouth much like it did when Damian sent in a donation earlier, that same way the boys recognise as your signature move when you're flustered. "Sure thing!"

Needless to say, the two remaining brothers that have yet to be brought up on your stream are very much boiling beneath the skin.

Something which, is only furthered by the next thing you say.

"I don't quite have his build—which, by the way, is insane. I mean, have you guys seen the muscles on that man? Hot damn. I'd love for him to throw me around."

"Beloved...?" Damian mutters, voice wavering and pupils shaking.

Dick follows after by falling to his knees all dramatic-like, and if Tim hadn't been in a trance, and Duke was in the room rather than who-knows-where to take care of that little problem of his, those two would probably also react with just as much as despair at your words.

Jason, however, lets his jaw drop so low, flies could probably enter his mouth and choke him to death—assuming he hasn't already died from your audacious words, that is.

He's seen people thirst over him online before, of course. But for that to be you? For you to find him—scar-filled, ugly-hearted him—attractive?

Someone better pinch him 'cause he must be dreaming.

"Here I come!"

You stroll in, hands in the pockets of his jacket—his jacket—and face completely out of view, completely engulfed by his mask.

Oh yeah, he's definitely dreaming.

He blinks, watching with a dry mouth as you strike a pose.

"Well? Badass, huh?"

Badass, but, missing something.

It's okay to be a little selfish and ask for more, right?

@/jaybird donated $15! you're missing the guns sweetheart

"Oh! Right you are, Jaybird." You perk up, and the tone of your voice is enough for Jason to tell you're flashing him a smile beneath his mask. "Hope I don't get banned for this."

You disappear off-screen and reappear not a moment later dual-wielding pistols. Dual-wielding. pistols.

Holy shit, that's hot.

So hot, in fact, that Jason can feel the room getting warmer, warm enough to shrink his pants actually.

...

Oh shit.

"Barbarians," Damian starts, his tone screaming all the disgust written over his face, "I live in a house surrounded by barbarians."

Jason narrows his eyes right back at the man, but his eye-contact is swiftly broken the second he hears a—"Smash,"—coming from the TV, and his pants tighten even further.

Damian scowls in disgust.

"Right. I think only Robin's left of all the boys? Not including Batman of course."

Dick's scream breaks the other two brother's out of their staring contest.

@/sweetestassingotham donated $5,000! what about nightwing babe???

You frown at the camera, Jason's helmet now off and placed to the side, tilting your head all cutely. "Isn't Nightwing a Blüdhaven vigilante?"

@/sweetestassingotham donated $5,000! hes sometimes in gotham too :((((

You place a hand beneath your chin, gaze far-off, thinking, before you lift a finger and flash the screen a smile. "Right you are! I think I have a cosplay of him lying around here somewhere? Might be a bit small though, I remember wearing it to a costume party a few years back."

And just like that, Dick's earlier scream of dismay turns into one of delight.

"I gotta say though, sweetest ass in Gotham"—you giggle off-screen—"if we're counting Nightwing as a resident of Gotham, you've got some competition. Have you seen the cake on that guy? Ugh. Another huge smash."

Dick collapses to his knees, thanking everything that he was blessed with such a sweet ass and chose to flaunt it so that you would be able to see and notice that he is very smash-able and that you should indeed, 100% hook up with him when you come to Gotham.

Jason seems to beg to differ however, lips shifting into a scowl before a bang resounds through the room, and Dick is up on his feet in an instant.

"You just shot at me!" He points straight at the younger man, who all but shrugs in response.

"No I didn't. You were just in the way of my bullet."

Dick gawks.

Your voice sounds from the screen.

"Okay, uh, it fits, but it's a little tight, so don't make fun of me, okay guys?"

Dick's, Jason's, and Damian's eyes all instantly shoot to the screen.

You enter, hands running down the skin-tight suit on your body with your lips pulled into an unsure smile.

And as if that sight wasn't enough to bless the boys, you proceed to turn around, head tilting over your shoulder as you use the lens of the camera to check yourself out in Dick's clothes.

To check your ass out in Dick's clothes.

The sound of a camera shutter echoes through the room.

Then another. And another. And another—

Both Jason and Damian turn to see Dick with his eyes trained onto you, entirely in a trance as he repeatedly presses his thumb against the screen of his phone, each time causing the device to echo the sound of a camera shutter.

It takes only a second for Damian to lunge.

"You perverted piece of—"

Dick books it straight out of the room, and Damian goes to follow, ready to use every single technique his grandfather taught him to rain hell on his father's ward for daring to look at you in such a way, when, just like how it always does with all his other brothers, the sound of your voice brings him to an abrupt halt.

"Alright, now it's just Robin left, right?"

His eyes slowly drag themselves to the screen.

"Alright, little confession time, I've always kind of imagined how romantic it would be to have Robin swing into my room just before bed to wish me a good night," you say, and in it's in a voice that's bashful, nervous, maybe even a little embarrassed.

Oh, Beloved, you have nothing to be embarrassed of.

God, if Damian only knew of this before, he would've taken the trip all the way to your city just to swing into your window and wish you good night a long time ago.

"I don't know, I guess he's just got this charm to him."

Be still, his heart.

But how could it?

"Alright, here goes nothing. Final boy vigilante of Gotham."

Damian watches, breathless, as you step into the light like a moonbeam peeking through clouds.

You stand there, hands wound around his hood as you pull it over your head, your smile as radiant as ever and his clothes fitting you so perfectly, they might as well be yours over his.

And as you send another wink at the camera with another, simple but effective—"Smash,"—Damian's brain turns to static.

You have now simply and effectively reduced all the batboys into putty with just one stream.

And you don't even know it.

COMING NEXT -> BATBOYS BUT THEY ATTEND F!STREAMER!READER'S MEET-N-GREET.

[lvrspiastri]

PILLOWTALK. LS2. OP81.

PAIRING: Oscar Piastri x Logan Sargeant x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You celebrate a good race result with your boyfriend and his best friend. (NO USE OF Y/N)

WORDS: 4k

TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+, sex, smut, oral sex, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, threesome-f/m/m, lovebites, orgasm denial, blow jobs, hand jobs. FILTH. PURE FILTH. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Logan wraps Oscar in a hug, patting his back. “A win, mate,” he beams, pulling away and ruffling his hair. “What an amazing result.” 

Oscar returns his smile with a calm one. “Great, indeed. I mean, you did out-qualify a Red Bull several times…” 

Logan shrugs. “Overall a pretty successful weekend.” He wraps his arm around your waist almost involuntarily, which causes Oscar’s eyes to flicker over to you. 

You embrace Oscar, moving to your tiptoes to fit in his arms. “You two were so busy gazing at each other, I was starting to think you didn’t notice me.” 

He crosses his arms after you pull away, his tone teasing. “You really think my eyes would scan the room and not linger on the prettiest girl to exist?” Your cheeks turn a red hue, partly from the compliment, partly from Oscar’s biceps stretching through his sleeves. Logan pulls you into his side tightly at the observation.

You started dating Logan before he went into F1, having supported him through his Prema days when the two of you were in your late teens, with your friendship starting out in your childhood. Naturally, with Logan, comes Oscar since the two have been inseparable after karting together, practically joined at the hip. 

Having been with him for over 5 years, you loved Logan more than life itself. He was the sweetest, kindest and most down-to-earth boy you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. You loved his American accent, messy hair, killer jawline, cute dimples and the crinkles by his eyes when he smiles. You loved him. 

But you found your gaze wandering to Oscar more than you’d ever admit. After a race, when he’d peel off his shirt and reveal his sweaty body, or when he’d hop out of the ice bath, dripping and soaked. There was no denying Oscar Piastri was an attractive man. But this’d be a secret not even a spirited game of truth or dare could pull out of you. 

You loosen Logan’s bruising hold and chirp. “Let’s celebrate!” Logan sighs, biting his lip. 

“Love, I’m not a party kind of guy. You know that.” 

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “That’s not what I meant. Why don’t the three of us go out for drinks? A beer and fries.” 

Running a hand through his sweaty hair, Oscar grins. “Sounds good.” Logan nods along, smiling at the idea of spending a quiet night with his two favourite people. “Although, we call ‘em chips.”

“That’s stupid.” Logan snorts. “Chips are chips. How can fries be chips?” 

“I dunno. That’s just how it is. Hot chips.” 

“Then what do you call actual chips?” 

“Chips.” There’s a brief silence before Logan mutters.

“Australians have no idea what they’re doing, do they?” 

Oscar scoffs. “We’re not the ones spelling ‘colour’ wrong.” 

“Well-” you drag Logan away before the two can wage a war between Australia and America. 

Come pub time, Logan cannot take his hands off you. He trails kisses all over your exposed shoulder and neck, biting occasionally as you get ready. You’re wearing a plain black top and skirt—an outfit you’ve worn many times before in front of the two but you’re not wasting good outfits on these buffoons. 

“Baby,” he whispers hotly against your skin, drawing circles with his tongue. “Let’s ditch Oscar. Come on, let me have you.” He’s making your mascara application increasingly hard, one hand wrapped around your hip, the other squeezing your ass. 

“No, you can’t ditch your friend after a maiden win.” He groans, mumbling incoherent curses. He settles for feasting on your shoulder, leaving hickeys every now and then. Nothing Oscar hasn’t seen before, though. Sometimes you wonder if he even notices. 

“You’re my favourite thing to taste,” he bites your neck gently. “So pretty. So gorgeous.” 

You snort. “That is such a lie. You once cried over a turkey.” 

“Fine, second favourite.” He chuckles low, spinning you around to face him. He leans in for a kiss on the lips, blocked by your hand. 

“Lipstick.” He shrugs and moves to your nose, blocked by a hand again. “Highlighter.” He sighs, ghosting your cheek. “Blush.”

With an overdramatised groan, he rests his head against your collarbone. “You’re killing me, baby.” He finds solace in running his lips over your neck. You swat off his pouty face, earning some freedom to reach the door before he slams your back against the wall. Smirking at your gasp, he gets on his knees, pushing up the hem of your skirt and kissing your thighs. “You think he can get rid of me that easily?”

You chuckle, resting your head against the wall. “And people say Oscar’s a koala.”

He stops his momentary assault, frowning. “Are you insinuating I’m clingy?”

“No.” You say simply.

“Good.”

“I’m downright saying it.” With a growl, he bites your inner thigh hard enough to leave a red mark, soothing with his tongue after. You stare at the new addition to bruises and marks on your skin. You sigh, tugging the blonde’s hair. “Alright, Lo, we’re gonna be late.”

He mutters a ‘stupid Oscar’ before standing up and offering you a hand, going from whore to gentleman really quick. “Shall we, m’lady?” You smile, slipping your hand in his. 

Oscar waits with a beer in his hand, seated at a table in the corner of the bar, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. “What took you so long?” The Aussie questions, putting his phone away. 

With a click of your tongue, you sit opposite him, with Logan taking his place next to you. “Someone here got distracted.” You shoot a glare at the Williams driver giving you a sheepish smile.  

“Ah.” Oscar remarks, his eyes flicking over your bare shoulders, assessing the hickeys that decorate the skin. “I can see that.” He licks his lips quickly enough to be mistaken for a trick of the light before initiating conversation with his best friend. An hour or two in, you feel Logan’s hand settle on your knee, gently drawing circles. You dismiss the action as affectionate until he trails it up slowly, reaching your inner thigh. The smallest hint of a smirk crosses his lips as his eyes are locked on Oscar yapping. 

You shift his fingers away, pushing them back down to your knee. He listens and manages to keep it there for a solid 10 seconds before he inches up again. He doesn’t have to even look at you to see your reaction. When Oscar gets distracted by his mum’s text message, you lean over to him and whisper. “Logan. No.”

He whines, giving you his brightest smile. “Pleeeaaaasseee? I’ll be gentle.” 

“No. Not in public.” 

“We did it in the driver's room on Friday and you didn’t seem to mind.”

“Well people are actively watching here.” 

“Relax,” he chuckles softly. “No one’s looking.” Your gesture to the McLaren driver seated before you two. “Then be quiet,” Logan dismisses, rolling his eyes. He moves his fingers a little too close to your centre, eyes fixed on you. “If you don’t want it, just say the word.” 

You swallow thickly. Sure, it was risky. You were more concerned about Oscar than any of the other patrons, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of him. But the heat of Logan’s hand had you clenching and aching. You nod, granting him consent. The boy beams, turning back to Oscar as he finishes responding to his supportive mum’s texts. 

Oscar’s eyes fly to you again, and his throat bobs for a split second before he registers Logan’s question and proceeds to answer. You’d known Oscar as long as you had Logan. Not to mention, you had the biggest crush on him growing up before realising Logan was the one. He took care of you and treated you with the utmost respect, even punched a boy in the stomach due to a distasteful nickname. Oscar wasn’t proud of acting violently but doesn’t regret standing up for you. You were his best friend too, after all. 

Too busy eyeing Oscar, you’re not prepared as Logan shoves his fingers inside your underwear and teases your clit with his middle and ring finger. You gasp a little, your body shivering, which catches Oscar’s attention. “You good? You can take my jumper if  you’re cold.” You clear your throat and shake your head to decline his sweet offer. You look at your boyfriend’s stupid face, seeing a full smirk adorning it.

His fingers slip lower, pushing his fingertips just inside your entrance. Your hips squirm beneath him but you bring your beer bottle to your mouth to silence your moan. With a fake cough, he fully rams his fingers inside you, making your eyes shut tight. You immediately compose yourself before Oscar has the chance to deduce what’s going on. 

Logan works with a steady pace, his fingers scissoring, his thumb brushing against your clit every now and then. A tear rolls down your eye from the toe-curling pleasure and the pressure of keeping it silent. You’re playing fairly well until Logan curls his fingers inside you and hits a spot that makes you see white. You let out a soft groan and Oscar’s smile disappears. 

“Quiet.” Logan’s whispered yet hostile voice addresses you. He curls them again, emanating an erotic moan. Oscar blushes violently, but his gaze doesn’t waver. He knows what’s going on and he wants more. 

“It’s getting pretty late. We should head to our rooms.” Logan states monotonously like everything was perfectly fine. 

Oscar nods, swallowing thickly and regaining his voice. “You’re right. It’s been a long day. I'll sort the bill out.” Logan winks at him in thanks before turning to you as Oscar leaves. He can tell you’re seconds away from falling apart and being the kind boyfriend that he is, he pulls out his fingers, denying you release. His tongue darts out to clean his fingers, groaning when he tastes your arousal. “Fuck. How sweet.” He sees your frown and pecks your lips. “You fail to be quiet…you don’t get to come” With that, he walks off, joining Oscar without even bothering to help you for your shaky knees. He glances back at you, smirking devilishly when you wobble over to the pair. 

Logan was the sweetest, kindest and most down-to-earth boy you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. But when he sexually frustrates you like this, you feel like throttling him. 

Oscar’s insistence to watch a movie before bed wears the two of you down and you reluctantly give in, following the boy to watch ‘Love Actually.’ To no one’s surprise, his hotel room is twice as messy as yours and Logan’s. Which is saying something. Clothes are scattered all over the floor and furniture, the sheets are ruffled, and cups make an alarming appearance on the tables. Oscar offers you two a seat on the bed but you opt for the couch instead. 

You catch a glimpse of a look shared between Oscar and Logan before you find yourself pinned to the couch by your boyfriend. “Logan!” You exclaim, about to tell him off before he roughly kisses you, hands firmly holding your arms in place on the couch. He starts attacking your neck, biting and nipping the spots he knew would have you screaming the loudest. You breathe out, “Logan, what the hell?! Oscar’s right there!” Logan pulls away with wet lips and flushed cheeks. 

“Oscar doesn’t mind.” He turns to the Australian. “Do you, Osc?” Oscar simply shakes his head, his eyes locked on your body as he gets comfy on the bed. He shamelessly takes in the scene before him like it’s some form of entertainment. “Come on, baby.” Logan whispers in your mouth. He peels off his shirt and strips off his pants until he’s left in boxers. You’ve seen him in all his glory countless times before but it’s always like the first. No one could compare to him.

His hands frantically tug on your top, nearly ripping it off your body and throwing it to the side before giving the same treatment to your skirt. His torso is hot against yours as he seals your lips in for another kiss- passionate, hot, and heavy. Although, you cannot give your best to the kiss, painfully aware of Oscar’s gaze. Meanwhile, his hand moves up to your inner thigh, then gradually ascends. He smirks when he hears your gasp. “You like that pretty girl?” He breathes in your neck, his thumb brushing over the waistline of your panties. The cool metal of his silver chain against your hot body makes you shudder. You nod simply and he runs his thumb back and forth across the hem. “Say it.” He knows he’s torturing you with all this teasing and he feels himself grow harder in response. 

“I want you.” He lets out a soft groan of arousal and slowly drags his finger up the front of your underwear, feeling the damp cloth. Oscar shifts a little closer on the bed. The ruffle of the sheets catches Logan’s attention. He lifts you up and throws you on the bed, right by Oscar. Logan slides his hand under the fabric of your panties and circles your clit before dipping his fingers in, moving them with purpose. “Oh, Lo!” you cry out, your hips squirming beneath him. 

Oscar’s breathing is stolen from him, his eyes laser-trained on your reactions as Logan thrusts his fingers into you. “Go, Logan,” Oscar’s voice comes out airy. “Show her how it’s done.” Knowing he's got a viewer, Logan moves his fingers even faster, making sure you feel it more now. You feel his ring nipping at your entrance as he shoves his fingers deeper, the coolness of the metal adding another layer of pleasure.

The pair hear your whimpers and moans as Logan curls up his fingers every now and then, fingering you just the way you like it. When your back arches and you announce you’re close, Logan moves the fastest he can go. “You like that?” His voice is throaty, full of need.

Oscar watches from the corner, looking turned on as well. You give him a curt nod. His voice gets rougher. “Beg.” He presses a thumb to your clit. “I’m close!” You almost scream.  That's enough for Logan to pull his hand away in an instant. He grins, hovering his fingers just above your center as he watches your reaction.

 “You didn't say the words I wanted to hear. Beg. Or the game stops here.” He smirks. Your eyebrows furrow, your heaving chest showing your obvious frustration. “You heard me. Beg, pretty girl.” 

You let out a quiet sigh. “Please, baby.”

“Louder. Say it louder. I want to hear it.” His hand rests right above you, his fingers just barely rubbing through the fabric of your underwear. He looks ready to tease, but not to stop. 

You speak louder, with a palpable desperation this time. “Please, baby. Please!”

“Please what?” His hand continues to move as he watches you. Oscar looks just as turned on as you are, leaning in closer to see you. Hearing your quiet whisper of ‘take me,’ Logan chuckles, sliding his hand away again. “How badly do you want it?” He begins to pull away. Oscar almost falls off the bed trying to get closer to you. 

“Really, really bad…” “Then you know what to do, my love.” Logan’s heart races faster as he sees your head spin to Oscar. “Please…” you whisper to Oscar, causing his eyes to widen as he turns and meets Logan’s gaze, unsure. “I need you.”

“You want him too?” Logan inquires as Oscar’s fingertips just graze up your side. You shudder and nod. “I don’t think that means anything, pretty girl. Ask him nicely.” Oscar slides a hand up to your chest, lightly squeezing but doesn’t say anything. 

You whisper to him, hand coming up to trail up his leg. “I want you, Osc. Please.” He registers your needy expression before nodding and sealing your lips in a kiss as Logan kisses from your clavicle to your hips, biting and sucking as he pleases. Oscar’s kiss is laced with care and precision, like you’re something to be savoured, something to be protected— a stark contrast to Logan’s passionate, sloppy ones. You gasp as Oscar pulls away and wraps his tongue around your nipple, sucking on the bud tenderly. Feeling left out, Logan decides to mirror his best friend’s actions, sucking on your other tit. You tangle each of your hands in the boys’ hair, tugging gently as you writhe beneath them. You feel like you could come right there and then at the feel of their warm, wet mouths on you. 

Oscar takes the initiative and begins to kiss down your stomach, his tongue flicking to tease you as he gets lower. “Like this, huh?” He whispers, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it. He slides further down when you nod, moving to your thigh, peppering chaste kisses on the flesh. He then shifts so he’s resting comfortably in between your thighs, his head hovering right above your stomach. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sticky panties and pulls them down, taking in the wonderful smell of sex. Oscar smirks up at you and presses a tender kiss to your centre. 

Examining the look of pleasure on your face, he dips his head, placing more kisses, using his mouth to engulf your clit. Logan watches on, enjoying how hot it is to see you two like that. He finally tugs his boxers off, moving to his knees right by your face. He grabs your hair, stroking it softly as you whimper. “You’re doing good, Osc,” he whispers. “She fucking loves it.” Oscar hums against your clit, smirking when you whine. “Take my cock, pretty girl.” You oblige your boyfriend’s command and open wide, letting him shove his hard length into your salivating mouth. 

Logan’s grip on your hair tightens as he begins to thrust his hips into your mouth. This gets Oscar harder and his mouth to work faster, flicking his tongue every now and then before moving in circles. You pull your mouth away, using your hands on Logan. 

“Oscar, I’m gonna-” you’re cut off by Logan ramming into your mouth, making sure you feel it.

“Didn’t quite hear you there,” chuckles Oscar slowly. His lips wrap around your bud and suck, causing your back to arch off the bed and you to orgasm for the first time that night. You shut your eyes tight, groaning into Logan. The vibrations send him over the edge too and he releases his seed into your mouth. He pulls out of your mouth, smiling wide as you swallow. Your gaze turns to the brunette raising his head from your thighs, his chin glistening. “Mm, you taste sweet. Can’t believe you’ve been hiding her from me this entire time, Lo.” 

“You never asked.” Logan chuckles, moving to Oscar. You feel a familiar heat pool up in your stomach when Logan’s head dips under Oscar’s jaw, licking your release off his chin. “Gets better every time.” He pulls his lips away with a smack, running his tongue over his lips. The boys turn to your twitching form on the bed. A shared glance is all they need to bend down to you and kiss you. At the same time. Your lips are never left alone as they both kiss hungrily, flicking their tongues out. Although, you can sense a little bit of competition between the two. After a free moment, Oscar pulls back, letting Logan have your mouth. He takes the chance to go to your neck, kissing and sucking the skin there. The minute Logan hears a moan from you, he moves to the bare side of your neck, trying to see who can get you to moan the loudest. Logan’s kisses are passionate and strong, starting to bite on your neck while Oscar’s are playful and loving, gently sucking on your skin. You groan, your hand flying to squeeze your breasts. But you don’t utter a name, frustrating the two boys. 

“You’ll tell us who’s better, right, baby?” Logan whispers in your ear, his hand replacing your own to massage your chest. 

“Yeah, you can’t stay neutral forever…” Oscar playfully bites your nipple, making you cry out his name. “Heard that, Logan?” He smirks. “She wants me.” 

Logan’s jaw clenches and he decides to run two of his fingers down your core teasingly, gathering the slick and rubbing it on one of your nipples. You whine, your hips squirming. 

“Not fair, man,” scoffs Oscar, leaning back and crossing his arms. 

Continuing his ministrations on your peak, Logan breathlessly teases the Australian. “I’m her boyfriend. She chose me. Of course she wants me more.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Oscar throws up his hands. “She only chose you because you asked her out first, even though you knew how I felt about her.” 

Logan stops, huffing. “You never had the balls to ask her out. I met her first, she was mine!” You look between the two boys, the tension in the air palpable. 

“Please…We all know she would’ve picked me if it were fair.” At his comment, Logan’s eyes widen and Oscar’s on his back on the bed in a flash. 

“Maybe,” Logan leans down, whispering huskily. “But it wasn’t. And she’s with me. And you…?” He runs his hands over Oscar’s shorts, sliding them down gently with the boxers. “Need to shut up.” To prove his point, Logan begins to work on Oscar with his hands, earning a sharp inhale from him. 

You just came but felt yourself growing slicker at the sight, Oscar’s delicious mounds teasing your ears in the right way. You crawl over to him on the bed, placing your knees on either side of his face, your behind facing Logan. Oscar takes in the sight of you above him, drawing in a deep breath as his hands hold your thighs firmly in place. You smile softly at him, stroking his hair gently. “You’re so pretty,” you whisper. 

Oscar grows bashful, groaning every now and then due to Logan as he leans in to your touch. He takes a deep breath of your skin, your scent filling his senses. “I always thought you were pretty…” Oscar breathes out, looking into your eyes with lust-hazed ones, like he’d never seen a sight more beautiful in his life. “But from underneath you like this…”

“Fantasised about your best friend’s girlfriend often, did you?” You chuckle lightly. 

“Hey, in my defence, I liked you before you were together.” He bites his lip to stifle a groan as Logan keeps working. His hands grip your thighs, pulling your core down to his mouth, hissing. “Oh….mmm…fuck.” He shuts his eyes as your taste fills his mouth again. His hands moving up and down your thighs, squeezing when Logan makes the boy feel good. He moans as he eagerly flicks his tongue against your core. You rock your hips into his mouth gently, careful not to hurt him. Meanwhile, Logan’s hand pumps Oscar in a languid movement, a technique he picked up from you during your adventures. Oscar’s licks eventually become inconsistent and light, his fingers digging hard into your thighs and judging by the boy’s breathing, he’s almost over the edge. You couldn’t miss the sight. You hop off Oscar, spreading yourself next to him, lazily tracing circles around your clit as Logan leans over Oscar, using both his hands to pleasure him. 

Oscar turns his head to see you touching yourself and his expression falters, his voice croaking out Logan’s name as he comes, his orgasm coating the blonde’s fingers. You don’t have to be asked twice when Logan brings his fingers to your mouth, eagerly licking Oscar’s release clean as he lies exhausted on the bed. 

Logan falls on the other side of Oscar, chuckling softly as he pulls you to be cradled in his arms. “That felt illegal.” 

“But good?” Oscar questions, his voice hoarse. 

“But good.” 

[checkeredflagggs]

Taken From Me

Pairing: pierre gasly x girlfriend!reader

summary: while traveling with pierre, your childhood pet is put down

a/n: anon requested pierre comforting reader and it’s coming up on the anniversary of my childhood dog’s passing — I didn’t know until it afterwards

WARNINGS: pet death

Masterlist | Taglist

y/n

liked by pierregasly, mom, charles_leclerc, and 738,823 others

y/n: Happy birthday to my bestest girl, Nala!

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mom: We gave her an extra big bowl for breakfast and one of those special treats she loves

↳y/n: Thank youuuuuuu!! And could you give her an extra big kiss from me! And let her know I’ll be home soon?

↳mom: Of course dear

pierregasly: Happy Birthday Nala!

↳y/n: Oh you’re gonna love her Pierre!

↳pierregasly: I’m sure I will — she looks like a good dog

↳y/n: the best!

user1: the bond between a girl and her dog is not to be underestimated

↳y/n: Nala is my best girl!!

user2: petition for a Nala paddock visit!

↳y/n: Potentially! Nala is getting up there in age though and her comfort comes first!

↳user3: Understandable

user4: Best dog mom?

↳user5: best dog mom!

charles_leclerc: Leo says he’d like to meet this Nala!

↳y/n: Well I can’t disappoint Leo can I?

↳charles_leclerc: you can’t!

f1wagwatch

liked by user, user, user and 628,833 others

f1wagwatch: Alpine’s Pierre Gasly and his new girlfriend, y/n l/n, arrive at the Miami Grand Prix!

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user6: she’s so gorgeous!

user7: love her style

user8: literal perfection…and Pierre

↳user9: ok but Pierre is fine af

↳user8: you’re right — he just gets outshined by y/n

↳user9: everyone does

y/n

liked by pierregasly, alexandrasaintmleux, lilymhe, and 928,824 others

tagged: pieregasly

y/n: A small break before we got back to the grind

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user10: Do you guys need a third? A maid? A dog?

↳user11: are applications open?

↳user12: where do we apply?

alexandrasaintmleux: without me?

↳y/n: shush baby I just have to get Pierre off my back and then we can run away

↳lilymhe: my bags are already packed

↳alexandrasaintmleux: let me grab Leo and I’m ready

↳charles_leclerc: what?

↳alex_albon: no?

↳pierregasly: babe please stop threatening to run away with Alex and Lily

↳lilymhe: ummm it’s not a threat it’s a promise?

pierregasly: Can I go where you go?

↳y/n: can we always be this close?

↳user13: honestly goals

flavy.barla: you’re coming to the triple header right?

↳y/n: nothing could keep me away!

↳flavy.barla: good!

mom: have fun dear!

↳y/n: will do mom!

Private Messages, Mom and y/n

Private Messages, Pierre and y/n

f1wagwatch

liked by user, user, user, and 572,284 others

tagged: y/n

f1wagwatch: Is y/n absent? Despite previous claiming attendance to Imola, she doesn’t seem to be coming this weekend!

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user14: No! My wife is missing!

user15: god they look good

user16: I wonder what happened with y/n…

↳user17: Right?

↳user18: I hope it’s nothing bad…she was really excited to come!

user19: If I may? Dream threesome

↳user20: while there is quite few pairings I’d prefer more I see the vision

user21: did you guys see the rudegossip page?? Something is definitely wrong

↳user22: what the fuck is wrong with people?!?

↳user23: god why would they post that…

rudegossip

liked by user, user, user, and 638,924 others

tagged: y/n

rudegossip: Trouble in paradise? F1 wag y/n l/n seen crying and eating a burrito in her hometown while new boyfriend Pierre Gasly races in Italy this weekend

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user24: what the fuck is this??

user25: leave her alone??

user26: such an ugly crier 🤢

↳user27: alright you basement dweller

↳user27: obviously something is wrong so like leave her alone

user28: oh no! I hope everything is alright…

↳user29: I mean obviously not??

user30: god Pierre could do so much better…

↳user31: right? Like shut up bitch and get to Italy

↳user32: don’t you have literally anything better to do than mock people?

user33: lol does she actually do anything but cry and mooch off her significantly BETTER half??

↳user34: probably not

↳user35: fuck off! Leave her alone!

Private Messages, Pierre and y/n

pierregasly

liked by flavy.barla, alexandrasaintmleux, lilymhe, and 1,723,823 others

tagged: y/n

pierregasly: taking a comfort day with my girl

comments have been limited on this post

alexandrasaintmleux: sending all my love to her

↳pierregasly: she’s demanding a girls day with dogs present please

↳alexandrasaintmleux: packing up my things as we speak

charles_leclerc: sending some wine and chocolate with Alex

↳pierregasly: it will be appreciated

alex_albon: Lily and I are on the way with the albon zoo

↳pierregasly: she smiled when I told her horsey was on his way

↳lilymhe: give her an extra tight hug from me

↳charles_leclerc: wait we can come too? alexandrasaintmleux wait for me!

estebanocon: Flavy and I are coming up the stairs right now

↳pierregasly: she is literally waiting at the door for her

↳estebanocon: glad to know where we rate…

↳pierregasly: whatever makes her smile right now

y/n (2 months later)

liked by pierregasly, alex_albon, charles_leclerc, and 924,023 others

tagged: pierregasly

y/n: 2 months ago, a personal tragedy struck me — my dog Nala passed away. It was unexpected and completely devastating to me — she was a cornerstone of my universe and I couldn't imagine a life without her.

In the days and weeks since, Pierre has been a rock, a safe harbor, pretty much the only place I’ve felt safe to express my feelings about it. He’s dealt with my crying and depression, the silence and the days where I wouldn’t say anything.

I couldn’t have asked for a better partner or friend. There’s so much more I’d like to say but for now I’d just like to say thank you, for everything. I don’t think I would have made it through these last few months as well as I have without your love and support.

And today we’re welcoming a new member or our family — meet Simba! He’s been a light in our lives since we got him last week.

Pierre and Simba — I love you both so much

comments have been limited on this post

pierregasly: Oh mon amour, il n'y avait aucun autre endroit où je préférerais être à tes côtés pendant que tu traversais cela. Oh my love, there was nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side as you went through this.

↳y/n: Merci pour tout Pierre. Thank you for everything Pierre

↳pierregasly: Et maintenant, nous avons notre Simba! And now we have our Simba

charles_leclerc: Simba better be making an appearance soon!

↳y/n: he literally never leaves my side so yes, he will

↳alexandrasaintmleux: Leo and I are so ready

lilymhe: Suddenly, I’ll be free to come this weekend

↳alex_albon: really?

↳y/n: I am so ready to see you again!

↳lilymhe: it’s definitely been too long

flavy.barla: so ready to spend the weekend with you!

↳y/n: I’ll bring Simba and snacks if you bring the tea!

↳flavy.barla: I have tea so good you won’t believe it

Taglist

Please interact with my taglist post if you want to join — I don’t always check the notes on the individual posts

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @il0vereadingstuff @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @teti-menchon0604 @galaxygurlll @star73807-blog @shelbyteller @ihaveitprinteddout @allthings-fandom @hannahmotors10 @moonypixel @nikfigueiredo @daisydaze111 @deephideoutmilkshake @mimisweetz @books-fangirl-books @fastandcurious16 @lilyofthevalley-09 @rexit-mo @alessa-the-enchantress @1800-love-me @vhkdncu2ei8997 @toodeepintofandoms @tukes @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @lecfosimaxbull @dramaticpiratellamas @devilacot @supernatural-harrypotter7 @nightrose-18 @alexxavicry @vhkdncu2ei8997 @purplephantomwolf

[loneworldgazer]

Hentai tropes that makes you go Incognito type shit

cont: jjk men as weird hentai tropes but I get a little creative instead of them being corny and noncon

pairings: Toji x reader, Choso x reader, Gojo x reader

a/n: this isnt depressed reader x anybody guys I was bored so this is what came out. Minors, be careful what you read online. I am NOT responsible if you fucked yourself over because whatever you read from me. Also I don't condone any bad actions okay, I'm a weirdo with morals guys

Writing has gotten tiring tbh because I can't sit up for many hours because of college so I'll take my sweet ass time making fics this sem break

tags: pervy, cheating in toji's (on the reader's side), onahole use for Choso, Choso and Gojo's are low-key pervy, small descriptions of smut or just nsfw drabbles and just like hentai, all scenarios end after three minutes

Toji: the debt collector/NTR

Your poor, stupid s/o had gambled away their money in secret and Toji was the man they sent out for these types of things. Threatening life, torture was too overrated anyways to make clients cough up cash so loan sharks get a little more creative when collecting pocket money.

"'Scuse me, are you Shinji's?"

A broad man who wore a hoodie had approached you unceremoniously but you knew was sleazy from the way he held that letter in his hand. You had your fair share of odd people coming to you whether it was to serenade or some freak you didn't know that sits at the back at your work.

Crunching down on the candy you were eating, it slowly turned bitter with the zeros you were seeing on the paper. The cold autumn air swept through your face and that cold eyes of yours glaze over but you barely reacted.

"Again?"

Who knew he would be sitting with the spouse of his client over hot tea and little cakes you can pop into your mouth. The ring on your finger does not hold any meaning anymore with what you've heard.

He seen countless of tired eyes staring at him but yours burnt through his skull. It wasn't just a challenge, it was like you were trying to eat him alive; the eyebags added onto that look. It was urging him to spill over quickly.

He explained the details, money and whatnot that you had to earn by the end of the month which made your eyes begin to linger anywhere else but the letter he placed down. You were obviously disconnected from his words that he kept quiet to make sure you were listening but alas, you were lost in the clouds. He reached out for the cake you were currently eating and you poke at his fingers with your fork.

"You know what I should do for revenge, Fushiguro?"

He blinks, reaching over for a different pastry. The flaky crust crumbles under his rough fingers.

"You."

He crushes the puff pastry, white cream dripping down his thumb as he looked at your fiery gaze and lick up the sweetness with a teasing grin.

---

Your partner should be worried that you weren't home and they get more worried when a file is sent to them by you at the crack of dawn. It was unnamed and the cold side of your bed gets colder, clicking on it with a gulp.

What they didn't expect was you covering the camera while this strange man.. wait, it can't be. Toji had you bent over, clasping the camera and letting your fingers brush over it so Shinji could get confused as to what was being shown. That diamond ring of yours shone bright in this specific angle and once your hand was peeled back by Toji, Shinji had this bad headache immediately.

Your slutty face was on camera, tongue out and sweaty like this wasn't the first round you were on. Reaching a high fever pitch scream, the man from behind had pressed your face down on the table so that shit eating grin could be seen when you had creamed all over the man they thought they wouldn't have to worry about ever.

Little huffs of "..faster, faster" were burnt into that tiny brain of his when Toji pounded you to hell and focused on deepening his thrusts into your wetness. He pulled off the rubber that was filled with semen, showing Shinji the multiple used up ones tied salaciously around your thighs. The ravenette reach for god knows what number condom he ripped off to put around that mushroom tip of his.

His thick cock kept on abusing your hole, picking up your head from the wood so you could say a few words to Shinji.

However, there was no words exchanged instead a text that made their face go pale and the expression of pure pleasure had fucked them up.

"Watch from the very top of the file."

Choso: Magical onahole

All Choso had was five bucks and a dream ever since attending college, all because of his extracurricular activities but nonetheless, this sketchy website was one of the things where he (half) shamelessly filled in.

"What's their last name?" "Picture?" "What colour is their pubic hair?"

These questions get uncomfortable to answer and even if he doesn't know he used his common sense but that only made him blush even harder. He hadn't done much pervy things in the past and now anyways but this might be the most horrid thing he's ever done. He assumed his friend must be pranking him because this was too good to be true but what made it worst was the review pictures.

They look so authentic and erotic, there's no way this would be edited to the max with 72 reviews for this type of website. Hell, he shouldn't get so hard when his mouse hovered over the Finish option and groaning when the website informs him that his order will arrive in three days.

You were his longtime crush and he was a tad shy to approach you properly. It's just so hard to socialize without popping a boner when you speak to him. He has auralism just because of you and he was deep into asmrs but he'd never find a voice like yours ever. He'd lose his mind more if this supposed onahole could speak, he'd cum from that alone.

---

After three days, he had gotten a heart attack. You had approached him when he was about to open his locker. He can't help but stare at you, fixing you with a steely look when he's nervous. Thankfully, you don't take notice and held out his pencil case, He left it in the lecture hall and you came rushing to give it to him. It was so caring of you that it didn't register to him that as he opened the locker, a blatant box of the onahole that he ordered was winking up at him.

He quickly slammed his locker, sweat slipping down his forehead.

"Are you okay?"

No, he might bust if you get worried about him and he shakes his head. He assures you he's okay, with that he also convinced himself that he was okay and swallowed. You giggle, pointing to the library and saying you had to go to your friends now.

In a daze, he nods and you hurry away for your session.

He was so gonna kill his friend.

---

He sat in his usual spot in the library, obscured by the shadows and out of the range of the camera. Around this time, couples would be here to hook up but luckily none decided to fuck here and he sits. With his luck, you were directly sitting in front of him miles away but he could clearly see your smiling face.

Now, this was the next craziest thing he's going to do and he undo his trousers and peeled open the box.

The onahole he was looking at was your exact body type and was this how you look like underneath? He brushed his thumb over your tummy and you flinched. He gulps, that was a coincidence, right? The girl you were with was probably playing footsies and his thumb trails lower. Boldly, he rubs at your hole. This was you but it wasn't you but it was you, his cock twitches. He looks up and you were covering your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater and he couldn't mess around anymore.

Gently, he preps the onahole since the website did explain its terms and conditions but it's not like he read everything; his brain short circuited when it mentioned some sort of transmission waves in the toy. He lewdly slid his tongue in, rubbing it in the toy's walls and was surprised when it starts slicking up. He ate this toy out even though it looked ridiculous that he was suckling off silicone in the library at 2p.m. in the afternoon.

Your friends slipped away to buy pop and when you're all alone, you shakily rested yourself against the table.

What he didn't know was how you were in bliss. What was this mystery sensation you were feeling, some slithery mystery tongue deep in your hole? Did you picked a good spot in the library? You didn't move from this specific spot at all and this phantom thing playing with you gets bolder. Tears form at your eyes when you felt two fingers deep in, resisting the urge to moan out in the library and you were soaked.

When something bigger starts to poke at your hole, you knew this seat was the luckiest place you planted your ass on.

Gojo: Invisible Man

The powers of nerdery had blessed him because of his infatuation with hentai he picked up after a rough day of work. He found some odd object on the way home and he was suddenly invisible. He tested a lottttt of freaky stuff when he puts this power on but this time he's going to test it on you.

Fridays were dinner dates he self proclaimed between you and him and his place was next. He felt so fidgety and excited, he was gonna suprise you with this and freak you out. That mischief of his made him rub his hands together.

He puts the trinket in his pocket and watches himself vanish to the environment. Proudly staring into the mirror, he sits on the couch and waits for you to come home. On time, you had made it unlocking the door to his place and calling out for him.

He wanted to giggle like a little Japanese schoolgirl (get the ref) when you were searching for him throughout the house and he slowly stood up from the couch when you stood in front of the TV. He licked his lips, seeing that relaxed face of yours when you stare into nothing. He gets up in front of you, holding his breath. Gojo didn't know that being invisible comes with staring at your pretty face as it blinked away at the sleepiness that dared cross your expression the more he didn't appear right around the corner.

Gojo holds your face and you freak out, lurching back to whatever sensation holds you. It snapped you out of your daze when his hand tickles at your chest.

Oddly silent at this ghost who was feeling up on you, he took it as a sign and brushes down your body. Man if you ever did face a ghost with him around, he wouldn't even let that ghost touch your skin this close but thankfully, it's him being the ghost.

His warm hands go down into your shirt and rubs at your skin, he couldn't resist hugging you and lifting you up to try to make you panic. Surprisingly, a giggle fell from your lips.

"Being invisible doesn't make your shadow go away... Satoru?"

He stopped, plopping you down and looking at the wall behind him and his lanky self was plastered into the wall and he covered his lips almost dramatically.

"Oh my, who would know I'd be caught so early?"

He wasn't even shameful in the very least, disappointed that a pervy phantom groping you after work wasn't a tale you would tell him at dinner. A small grin curves your mouth and you fell back on the couch and his dick jumped when you spread those legs of yours.

You urge him to continue his ghost activities with your feet trailing his invisible leg, wanting the adventurous feel of not knowing where he's touching you once you look away from the wall.

He was given the biggest opportunity of fun.

[willowmaidsworld]

i bring heartbreak to you, may you enjoy it (details and some transcribed text under the cut)

it all started with this

it is also like my graduation gift to you, this took so long because of my graduation and it is finally over (succesfully), so i can draw old men yaoi (also it took so long because my whole surroundings decided that the essay "room of one's own" by viginia woolf isn't a significant piece of literature)

I'm still polishing my designs for them, mainly for Watson. For some reason i can't figure out a way to draw him in more simplified style. (Although I like how i drew him on the couch). Just so you know, Mycroft knew everything (not sure if that's canon) and I headcanon Mary Morstan's and Watson's wedding as lavender, Mary as a lesbian.

by no means do i want to steal or copy @/contact-guy 's style, idea or anything, i just like drawing these two and thought this would be a nice visual

The condolences are people from my favourite cases (that happened before The Final Problem according to @/contact-guy cause her order makes the most sense) and there is one imposter among them.

The quote on the grave is "No longer mourn for me when I am dead" from Shakespeare's sonnet 71. For me it reads as a nice yearning and the "And mock you with me after I am gone" at the end of the poem comes to me as nice metaphor for victorian society, its prejudices and taboos. Sonnet 87 was a strong contender, but not so much funeral like. I really really tried to pick some homoerotic victorian poem, but for the love of me i couldn't find anything published before holmes' death that could be cited on a grave. I wanted to include a verse from the poem "An Arundel tomb" ("What will survive of us is love", but not this one… you know, that wouldn't be put on a grave for a man by a man in victorian era), but that would be anachronistic and I decided against it. "Bright star" by John Keats was also considered (bright as intelligent and magnifficent, haha get it? that's a stupid joke), but nothing to put on a grave. Thought of Rimbaud or Verlaine (famously gay lovers and poets), but the vibe was off.

Text of the letter Mrs Hudson wrote as a condolence (look, this is only an excrept and nothing to be taken too seriously, i whipped it out in a minute): The rooms now belong to Mycroft, but you are welcome at any moment, just like he would have wanted. Mrs Hudson

Text of the Irregulars: We liked him. Irregulars (i wrote this with the pencil in my fist like an uneducated homeless victorian child to achieve the effect)

You can use my art in edits, as wallpapers and so on, but please keep my signature there and/or tag me if you do

Seriously i kinda love these two images

[oscopastry101]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗TROPHY

lando norris x actor!male reader

synopsis: little lando norris is in love and has fully soft launched. too bad the internet doesn't believe he's in a relationship

smau, fluff, honestly no clue what else!

warnings: pinterest guys as fc.. was going to do more andrew garfield but forgot as soon as i started, lando kinda being shit on tbh

REQUESTED!!! request is here

author's note: uhmmm yay, idk if i did the request totally right but i have major headache! soz guys, and i would've done football player reader if i knew shit about it but i dont so!

1hr lando posted a story ! 10m oscarpiastri posted a story !

[caption: hehe yum] [caption: lando was the one who invited me btw]

user1 replied: now hold on! thats yn ln.

carlossainz55 replied: i'm surprised people believe this one ↳ lando replied: me too, i think ive posted enough they finally believe it! ↳ carlossainz55 replied: i doubt it, amigo

user2 replied: that hoodie has been in landos vlogs before?

charles_leclerc replied: HES ACTUALLY WITH YOU?

user3 replied: everytime u post one of these i just assume u pretending to have a man 😭

user4 commented: WHY IS IT ALWAYS A HOODIE?? WE NEED FACE PROOF LANDO

user5 replied: he invited you and hes asleep first?? 😭

georgerussell63 replied: holy, is he actually dating him

user6 replied: IS THAT NOT YN LN??? LANDO WAS TELLING THE TRUTH?????

user7 commented: this guy could always be oscars cousin

user8 commented: lando could have a whole husband and u guys still wouldn't believe him 😭

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 492,145 others lando.jpg long night before he goes ;(

user9: oh we're making men up again and using pinterest pictures huh

user10: u got separation anxiety from an imaginary bf??

user11: he's real guys that arm IS yn lns??? LIKE SPIDERMAN?

oscarpaistri: this is my roman empire 😂 ❤︎ by author

comments are limited

3m lando posted a story!

[caption: he bought ice cream :(]

user12 commented: do you guys actually believe oscar would do ts with him??

user13 replied: LANDO WHOOOOOOOOO

oscarpiastri replied: mcdonalds ice cream is goated, good choice ↳ lando replied: thank you mate, i agree, so does yn

carlossainz55 replied: why is he driving? ↳ lando replied: he likes driving, always makes me be passenger

georgerussell63 replied: wow so he actually is ln 😲 ↳ georgerussell63 replied: happy for you mate

user14 commented: i still don't believe it

user3: STOP PLAYING W US.

user8: IS THAT THE BF???

justaninchident: ik they were giggling under there

smoothoperator: this is a good angle hahah

user15: TELL ME THAT IS NOT YN LN. ↳ user11: I BEEN SAYING?? ↳ user16: and so has lando, maybe we have to stop thinking everything lando says is fake...

8m oscarpiastri posted a story ! 3m oscarpiastri posted a story!

[caption: they did it again :(] [caption: uhm you didnt see that]

user17 replied: WAS THAT THE BF

user18 replied: WE SAW THAT OSCAR U HARDLAUNCHED THEM!!

user11 commented: OHHH THATS YN LN WHO TOLD U SO!!! ↳ user20 replied: u did... ↳ user11 replied: EXACTLY! never doubt me, i told u ↳ user21 replied: but lando also told us?? like ages ago, nobody believed him because its YN LN? ↳ user11 replied: details

user1 replied: are we in the wrong..

user22 commented: its yn ln, i went back and matched the ears!! ↳ user1 replied: pardon..? ↳ lando.jpg replied: oh...😥

charles_leclerc replied: i thought we were SOFT launching? ↳ oscarpiastri replied: i panicked okay? ↳ charles_leclerc replied: YOU panicked??

user6: this is so insane

user23: lando norris and a spiderman varient.. is this even real.?

user24: i like how lando said this all the time in the beginning and nobody believed him but now yall do??

smoothoperator:🤦🏻

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။ lover - live from paris taylor swift

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 1m others

ynlnofficial✓ you guys always need so much proof.. 😓

tagged: lando

lando: and even now i bet they won't believe me ❤︎ by author

carlossainz55: tell them your favorite color next lando ↳ lando: it's actually brown lol ↳ oscarpiastri: NO ITS BLUE ↳ ynlnofficial: its both, depending on the day

user4: ARE YOU GUYS.. RESPONDING TOGETHER?

user25: THE HOLD, THE HANDS, IM SICK. VOMITING, DYING.

user9: it's all real.. 😲

maxverstappen1: i've been knowing but cute ig. ❤︎ by author

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။ till forever falls apart ashe, FINNEAS

liked by ynlnofficial, lando and 921,322 others

oscarpiastri sorry guys! at least i can post all this now

tagged: ynlnofficial, lando

ynlnofficial: oh this is cute :( ur forgiven ❤︎ by author ↳ lando: UHM NUH UH ↳ oscarpiastri: papa y papa? ❤︎ by ynlnofficial ↳ lando: uh no but funny

lando: yn is right this is adorbs osco ❤︎ by author ↳ oscarpiastri: i am sorry but about time

georgerussell63: best trio ig. ❤︎ by author, ynlnofficial and lando ↳ oscarpiastri: thank you george 😂

BONUS 1!!

MCLAREN BOYS QNA (FT. surprise guest!!)

Q: who is the better driver? oscar: me. lando: absolutely not! oscar: statistically lando: only barely for this year! lando: besides i win vibes wise, always yn (in background): he got lost on a track once oscar: SEE lando: WHY IS HE HERE?

Q: who takes longer to get ready? oscar: lando lando: me, but only because im in love and want to look nice oscar: oh my god. yn(in background): thats kinda cute oscar: i hate this

Q: are you guys roomates?? oscar: no. lando: basically, he sleeps over all the time yn: he invites himself over, actually oscar: because you guys forget to feed yourselves and im SCARED youll die? lando: thats love oscar: how are you a driver

Q: who's the messiest roommate? oscar: lando lando: me yn: him lando: OSCAR YOU'RE NOT EVEN MY ROOMATE? oscar: and yet we agree

Q: icks? oscar: probably people who swallow their water super loud lando: people who don't like oat milk yn: you've actually called it "nut water". oscar: he did. i have it on video

Q: is yn dating lando or both of you oscar: i WISH it was both lando: hey! oscar: shut up yn: im legally obligated to say lando. emotionally, its complicated??

Q: do you all sleep in the same bed? oscar: not by choice yn: he tucks himself in like a victorian child and sleeps against the wall lando: hes warm though :( oscar: IM LEAVING

BONUS 2!!

groupchat: nut water lovers😽

1:16 am lando: i miss him he's only been gone 3 days this is hell

oscar: what the hell its 1am and he's literally filming, not dead and you facetimed like twice yesterday

lando: HE LOOKED SO HANDSOME im spiraling

oscar: he said "be back on monday" and you said "ok" and now you're laying on the floor and listening to taylor swift

lando: how do you know that...

oscar: i can hear it through the walls, mate

5:34am yn: hello. hi. im alive

lando: DO YOU MISS ME?😭😭😭😭

yn: i miss you like a fork misses soup

5:41am oscar: that's beautiful write that in the vows

lando: what are you doing :(

5:46am yn: filming a stunt they said "do not text while hooked up" so naturally, i texted you guys!

oscar: I SWEAR TO GOD

yn: also one of the stunt guys said i "looked familiar" so i think he knows we're dating or he just watches a lot of f1 either way i panicked and said im oscar

oscar: IM SORRY YOU WHAT 😕😕

lando: NO THATS SO FUNNY you're gunna ruin his PR rep 😭 👎by oscar

yn: anyways im safe and good they're feeding me snacks and letting me nap lots im basically a dog

oscar: you've always been one

lando: pls take a picture, i miss your stupid little face

yn: stupid and little?? do i look like a lego man to you??

lando: a really hot lego man🙂

oscar: okay im gone. this relationship is giving me a headache 👎by lando and yn

lando: hey wait oscar

oscar: what

lando: if yn was a lego man would you build him a house

oscar: im going to bed

yn: he didn't say no! ❤︎ by oscar

lando: HAHA I WIN 👎by oscar

authors note!! that's a wrap! second time around i think i like it more, idk if i really displayed trophy husband well but i still think its cute guys, and dont mind the random oscar addon in the end, in my heart they're roomates.. or worse! thanks for sticking around :)

to everyone who will like, comment, or just read quietly: thank you!!

[lazysoulwriter]

it's not silly. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: angst with comfort, jealousy/insecurity, touchiness with others, emotional honesty, gentle reassurance, crying, established relationship, happy ending

---

you always knew how touchy he was.

he was warm. kind. affectionate. the kind of man who touched arms when he laughed, who wrapped people in bear hugs, who kissed cheeks like it was instinct.

you saw it on red carpets. in behind-the-scenes clips. in interviews where his hands would rest gently on a co-star’s back, or he’d lean in close to whisper something that made her laugh.

and the thing is… you knew it was innocent.

you knew pedro. he was all softness and good intentions. he made people feel safe. seen.

but knowing that didn’t make the jealousy sting any less.

and that’s what made it worse.

you never told him.

how sometimes your stomach dropped watching videos of him laughing with other actresses, his hand on their shoulder like he’d done with you in the early days.

how sometimes you scrolled through tagged photos on twitter and saw comments like “the chemistry???” or “she better be careful omg” and had to shut your phone off.

how sometimes you caught yourself wondering, am i just not built for this?

you weren’t proud of those thoughts. you hated feeling that way. it wasn’t who you were. and you never wanted to make him feel like he had to change — not for you. not for anyone.

so instead, you just… pulled away.

a little at a time.

he noticed. of course he did.

you stopped reaching for him when he got home. stopped sending good luck texts before press events. stopped sitting close to him on the couch. said you were tired. said you had work. said nothing at all.

and he tried to give you space. until he couldn’t anymore.

you didn’t hear him come in that night — the door opening quietly, his voice calling out soft and hopeful, “baby? i’m home.”

you were curled up on the edge of the bed, his hoodie pulled over your knees, chest tight. you weren’t sobbing. just crying in that quiet, exhausted way, where everything feels full and fragile.

“oh, baby—” his voice dropped when he saw you. “what happened?”

you shook your head. tried to wipe your face.

he crossed the room in seconds, kneeling beside you. “talk to me.”

“it’s stupid.”

“it’s not.”

a beat.

and then, finally, it cracked out of you.

“i just… i see how affectionate you are with them. your costars. and i know it’s innocent, pedro, i do. but it still hurts. and it makes me feel like i’m being crazy or insecure or not strong enough to handle dating someone like you. and i don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend, i hate that person, and—” your voice broke, “i don’t want you to change. i just… i don’t know if i can change either.”

his face fell.

not angry. not hurt. just heartbroken that you’d been carrying this alone.

“sweetheart,” he whispered, climbing onto the bed to hold you, “why didn’t you tell me?”

you shook your head against his chest. “because it’s not fair. you’re just being you. and i love who you are, i really do. i just don’t know if i’m enough for that kind of life.”

his arms tightened around you. “hey. hey—look at me.”

you did, reluctantly.

his voice was steady. low. honest.

“i love you. you. not the public version of me. not the charming guy everyone sees. i come home to you. i want to come home to you. you’re not weak for feeling this way. you’re not dramatic. and i never, never want you to feel like you have to shrink your feelings to keep me happy.”

you exhaled, shaky and still unsure. “but… you’re so used to giving people that warmth. what if i can’t keep up?”

“then we adjust,” he said simply. “we talk. we make space for both of us. i’ll be more aware, baby. i’ll check in more. i don’t want to accidentally make you feel like you’re not enough, because you are. you’re everything.”

you blinked back fresh tears. “so… you’re not mad?”

he smiled softly. “for what? you told me the truth. you trusted me. that’s the bravest thing you could’ve done.”

you melted into his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne and warmth.

“and for the record,” he murmured into your hair, “none of them get this part of me. this.”

“the emotional mess?”

“the man who holds you this close when you cry.”

you laughed, watery and small. “you’re annoying.”

“you love me.”

“i do.”

“then let’s talk more. and love harder.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

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[gracieheartspedro]

Lotus Eater | chapter 2- 3.2k words

my main masterlist - eddie masterlist - series masterlist

previous chapter - next chapter

summary: eddie's your ride to school. life can't get any worse.... can it?

warnings: slow burn, 18+ mdni, mentions of bullying, abusive parents, food aversion, eating food in general, playing the lottery, reader has hair but not specified style, eddie drives fast, reader is constantly annoyed by him, nicknames (sunshine, he loves sunshine, sweetheart, etc).

a/n: hiii friends. chapter 2 is here. i'm working through this fic pretty steadily. let me know your thoughts! if you want to be added to the tag list, just let me know! <3

A routine settles in rather quickly. 

After you and Eddie realize that the battery needs to be replaced in your piece of shit car, you call your mom at the diner and had her add you on for some evening shifts. You would be helping with dinner rushes on Fridays and working doubles on the weekends, if the hours allowed it. 

This meant that without a car, you were now relying on Eddie to take you to and from school. And you disliked almost every second spent with him. Every morning it was the same conversation. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” He would say. 

“Don’t call me that,” you would respond. 

“Why?” He would ask. 

“Because I’m not… that,” you would retort.

“Right… okay. Remind me not to speak to Miss Cranky-Pants in the mornings.”

And then the morning would be tuned out to some metal tape he had inserted into his radio. 

After a week, he started stopping by the mini-mart right down the street from school and would pick himself up some mini chocolate donuts. And for some reason, he was adamant about buying you something to eat. The first time he tried, you told him you already ate, which was a bald-faced lie. He saw straight through you and brought you a pack of the same donuts he liked. You confessed you were not into chocolate donuts, you much preferred the powdered ones. 

So every morning now, he would come out with a plastic bag with a new pack of cigarettes, two sleeves of mini donuts, and a Yoohoo. You absolutely refused to drink one of those things, much to Eddie’s dismay.

You would accept the donuts, never opening them. You just threw them into your backpack, letting them pile up in the front pocket.

During school hours, you began your journey as being completely friendless. Kacey has completely iced you out, even making jokes about you as you pass her locker. Gabe has her wrapped around his finger and all of his stupid jock friends used you as their newest target. You had paper thrown at you in math, people asking you jokingly where you bought your stained jeans from, and one guy even tripped you when trying to leave for the parking lot after school. 

You do not understand where you went wrong. The only thing that could have triggered all of this is you asking Kacey what drugs she was taking during class. But now you are the butt of everyone’s joke. 

You started to just keep your head down, avoiding the cafeteria, and biting your tongue when you heard snarky remarks about you in hushed tones. 

Eddie noticed something was awry after a couple of weeks. 

You do not know how, but one ride home in the afternoon he breaks the silence by pestering you about where you sat at lunch. 

“I don’t see you hanging out with that girl you usually hang out with.”

You swallow your pride. 

Only because you honestly wanted to talk about it with someone. Your pent-up anger was silently bridled deep within the pits of your stomach, waiting to explode. You could not talk to your parents and having no siblings gave you no outlet to just vent about it all. While you did not consider Eddie much of anything, besides maybe an acquaintance, he was now a listening ear for 20 minutes of the day when he took you to and from school. 

“She’s not really my friend anymore.”

You can taste the bile in the back of your throat. It still tears you up inside that you did not have the Kacey you once knew and adored. She was lost, straying too far from where she once was.

His eyes glance over at you and then back at the back road that leads directly to your shared neighborhood. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

Hearing him pose the question causes you to retract back into yourself. You were not sure you were able to formulate the emotions into words quite yet. You thought the feelings all the time, but you were never good at putting them into a cohesive string of words. 

You study Eddie’s side profile for a moment, trying to muster up enough confidence to express yourself genuinely. 

The courage falters as soon as his brown eyes meet yours. 

“I don’t think so.”

And the conversation ends there.

-

When Friday evening rolled around, you got dressed for work and piled into your Mom’s old Chevy to head for a night shift at the diner.

Arriving there felt like a judge reading you your death sentence. The place was packed already at 4:30. You wrap a partially stained apron around your waist and get to taking tables. Most of the older folks were kind, tipping you extra when you told them you were just getting back into the swing of working again. 

But once 8:00 hit, the kids spilling out from the Hawkins High football game started piling into your booths. You were very overwhelmed when you got the 10 top and everyone wanted something different to drink. You stood at the soda fountain for 5 minutes, trying to not give yourself a headache remembering what every kid wanted. 

When you deliver everyone their drinks, you jot down their food orders. Luckily everyone pretty much wanted burgers and chicken tenders, which would save you and the cooks more stress. When you ring in everyone’s desired meals, you go to the back door and stand outside for a moment, trying to rake in the fresh air. 

You were drowning. 

Everything literally went wrong in less than a week. You had no car, no friends, had to return to the job you despised, and there was no end in sight. 

You try to take some deep breaths, closing your eyes to recenter yourself. You needed to get a grip. You did not have time to mope and freak out. You had to deal with it.

You walk back inside, your jaw tightened with tension. When the bell dings that your food is ready to be run, you do just that. 

-

You worked a double on Saturday and Sunday, occupying your entire weekend with annoying customers and your nagging mother. 

She was now requiring you to pay her $10 every time she drove you somewhere, including the diner. It was just another way for her to manipulate and take advantage of your hard work which is something she’s always done. You had no choice, forking out $40 by the end of the two days. 

You knew that this was the way things would always be with your parents. No give, all take. You had spent most of your life being the person they needed you to be. They did not care about your grades, no, they cared if you cleaned the house. Did their laundry. Made sure the lawn was mowed. You could swear to whatever God that they only had you to have their own personal housekeeper. 

Your mom was particularly vicious. She has never said one nice thing to you, always reminding you that you would just be stuck in the same awful cycle she was in. Poverty. Having kids young. Dead-end jobs. 

You were set up to fail by your parents, and that’s why you wanted to get out so badly. 

Your college applications will be hand-delivered to the post office the moment you finish them. You needed out. You would get out. 

On Monday morning, you wake up early to take a long shower in the morning. You could still smell the fryer’s grease on your body and it made you feel disgusting. You practically scrub your skin raw trying to rid the fried scent for a vanilla lavender smell. 

You get dressed, not even bothering to dry your hair. Your hair dryer was partially broken anyway. You needed to get outside before Eddie, wanting to give your hair some time to dry in the chilly morning breeze. You step out the door, you instantly curl your arms around yourself. The wind was sharper, more crisp than the morning before. Dead winter would be here in no time.

You shoot a glance over to Eddie’s trailer, seeing his uncle occupying the front porch. 

Wayne was a nice guy. Kind of standoffish, but every conversation you have ever had with the man was always pleasant. 

You do not know why, but you start walking across the street, gravel crunching under your sneakers.

“Mornin’, Mr. Munson,” You croak, clearing your throat as he puffs his cigarette.

“Hey there,” He blows some smoke out of the side of his lip, “Heard Eddie’s been takin’ you to school.”

You nod, eyes flickering between him and the makeshift ashtray on a cardboard box to his left, “Yeah, he’s been kind enough to take me since my car’s not running.”

He furrows his graying eyebrows, “Battery bad?”

“Yeah, and I think something with the alternator. Or somethin’. I’m not 100% sure.”

His face relaxes a bit as he leans back in the plastic chair. He takes a breath, about to say something, but the front door opens and Eddie walks out. His eyes lock onto yours in an instant, smirking a bit at your appearance.

“No time to dry your hair, sunshine?” He taunts, tossing his backpack over his shoulder. You want to laugh at his bold assumption, but instead, you just roll your eyes, looking at Wayne. 

“Good mornin’ to you, too, Eddie.”

Wayne chuckles a bit at your response, ashing out his cigarette. “You always have a way with words, son.”

Eddie pats his shoulder, a shit-eating grin taking up most of his face. 

“Thanks, man. I learned from the best.”

“Wasn’t me,” He grumbles, standing up with a grunt, “Don’t let him make you believe that, girl.”

Your face twists into a sly smirk, “No need to worry, Mr. Munson.”

Wayne wishes you two a good day and heads back into the confines of his trailer. You look at Eddie as he leans against the banister of the small front porch. He drops down a step, giggling like a little kid. You get a whiff of his cologne as soon as the wind picks up. It’s strong but the masculine scent is unobjectionable. Eddie never particularly smelled bad, just sometimes the cologne mixed with the smell of marijuana and made his jean jacket smell stale. 

Why were you analyzing his fragrance anyway?

“I didn’t mean to take a jab at you, by the way. Your hair looks good,” He swallows his Adam’s apple bobbing. He brings you out of your own thoughts as his brows drop, his expressive face now stern, “I mean y-you look good-”

“Save it. It’s fine, Eddie.”

But his compliment makes goosebumps crawl across your skin. The way he’s looking at you, almost admiringly, is disabling your ability to swallow. You have never felt your face flush before, but the burning of your cheeks gives you away rather quickly. You turn away from him, your feet crushing the broken concrete under your shoes. 

“We can’t be late, let’s get a move on.”

-

Eddie stops for his YooHoo and donuts, but this time he does not bring you powder donuts. He hands you a lotto scratcher and some fruit snacks. When he drops it in your lap, your first instinct is to gasp. 

“Saw you eating those suckers in the hall last week,” He mumbles, shoving his glass bottle of chocolate ‘drink’ in his cup holder. He slams his door before he starts up the engine again. 

It makes you smile to think that he watched you munching on your favorite snack in between classes. It is weirdly thoughtful, something you do not really expect from him. You grab the lotto ticket, holding it up. 

“And this?”

He chuckles, ripping open his pack of donuts with his teeth, animalistically. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and not have to work at the diner.”

Another randomly thoughtful thing. 

Instead of reading into the intentions of the gesture, you grab a penny from his tray of change and start to follow the instructions on the scratcher. 5 even numbers in a row and you win $500. You start randomly scratching the rows of numbers, knowing that you will not win much if anything. These things were one in a million chances. 

You start to get hope when you get 22, 34, 12, and 6. One more even number and you would not have to work at the diner anymore. To think that Eddie would have solved all your issues with a $2 lottery ticket. 

7. 

“Fuck!” You groan, slamming the penny back into the pile of miscellaneous change. 

“Not a winner?” He giggles, pushing his second donut in 5 seconds into his mouth. Some crumbles of chocolate fall from his lips, which makes you cringe. 

“First, chew with your mouth closed,” You wave at him with your pointer finger, “And second, yeah. Only four even numbers and not five like it wants.”

He covers his mouth with his ring-clad hand, chewing obnoxiously loudly. He swallows his sweet breakfast before he speaks, “I’m sorry, sunshine. There’s always next time!”

“I am not playing ‘til I win.”

He licks the tips of his fingers, ridding them of the chocolate layer. You don’t know why, but the way his rings catch the light, you find yourself almost hypnotized by the way his fingers move toward his lips. 

He snatches the ticket from you, looking at the bold font and scrunching his nose. “Well, I am.”

-

You kept your head down all day. You skipped lunch and decided that time at the library would be a better option. When you sit down at a table, you notice the crew of kids beside you get up and snicker something about you. You eye them carefully and realize one of the girls is friends with Gabe. He really had everyone believing you were the worst person to ever exist. At this rate, you were going to beat out Eddie on being the biggest loser in school. 

You get to his van later than usual, getting caught up in last period and ensuring your microscope was put away correctly. You are practically sprinting across the parking lot, nervous that he may just leave without you. 

He’s chainsmoking a cigarette, leaning up against his hunk of metal. He does not catch your eye immediately, as he’s chatting to Gareth and waving his arms around like a madman. Eddie’s very animated, especially when he has the space to flail his arms around. He’s pretty good about keeping his hands near himself when you are in the car with him. 

You exhale a loud sigh as you arrive at his side, your hands pressing into your hips. 

“Did you run here?” Eddie asks as he lets smoke twirl out of his mouth. Gareth must have seen you running and just nods for you. You nod along with him, inhaling a big breath and then releasing it when your lungs stop burning. 

“I didn’t want you to leave without me,” You pant, shifting your gaze away from the two boys. The idea that you relied so heavily on Eddie was making you nervous. If you got stuck here, half the school would refuse to give you a ride and you would have to walk home 5 miles. It would be as equally annoying as it was unsafe. 

Eddie smirks, taking another drag of his cigarette. Gareth grins knowingly, tucking his hands in his dark denim. 

“I ain’t ever gonna leave without you, princess. I can guarantee that.” 

-

“You need to slow down!”

It was the one-millionth time you were yelling at Eddie to manage his speed. He was always flying down the back roads even though he had no reason to be in a rush. He just liked going fast.

His twisted expression throws you off this time. He reaches out, slapping your thigh playfully, “Aw, passenger princess getting nervous going 45 in a 25?”

You instantaneously smack his hand away, much harder than he patted you. You were not getting nervous, you just did not want to run the risk of Eddie getting pulled over and your mom not waiting around for you to arrive home to go to work. You needed the money and the anxiety of missing out because Eddie gets a ticket is stressing you out. 

You tighten your jaw, “Yes! You’re gonna get pulled over!”

Your raised voice makes his face droop a bit in regret. Eddie was pretty good at reading when you were over the teasing. On rare days, he would continue on and mock your projected voice, which would lead to you completely icing him out. And if there’s one thing Eddie hated, it was you completely ignoring him. He thrived on getting a reaction, sure, but he enjoyed casual conversation with you even more than that. 

“Fine,” He raises his foot off the gas, slowing down to a cool 30 miles per hour, “Only because I have sunshine in the car. Don’t want you to get your panties in a twist.”

You huff, trying to not get annoyed by his jab, but it starts to eat at you immediately. His words are like a soundboard of your Dad. Always making you sound more dramatic and obnoxious than what you really were. 

“Stop calling me that. No sweetheart. No sunshine.”

As if to twist the knife, Eddie whispers under his breath, “You need to smoke a joint or something, you’re so tense all the time, sunshine.”

You grit your teeth, eyes darting over to him, “Weed fries your brain.”

He scoffs, smacking his steering wheel as if to take his annoyance out on it. “It does not!”

“You are a classic example. My Dad is an even better example,” You explain, crossing your arms over your stomach. You cock your brow, which Eddie catches the moment he finally looks at you.

He smiles and it makes your skin crawl. It was virtually impossible to get under this man’s skin fully and it bothered you. “You are not giving me any credit, sweets.”

“Do I suddenly need to? All you do is smoke and sit around. A lot like my Dad, except he has a real job.”

That gets him. You watch as he flicks on his turning signal and clears his throat. You render him speechless for a moment as he pulls down the gravel pathway. His eyes slowly blink as he pulls into his driveway and throws the van in park. He huffs, dramatically and pointedly. 

“Jesus, you really know how to knock a guy down a peg.”

You had enough of him at that point. “Just stating the obvious.”

divider: @saradika-graphics <3

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[bumblebeeonthistle]

Truth or dare

Tags: Fluff, crack, shenanigans, reverse-harem, teen romance, secret identity.

Summary: You're a girl disguised as a boy, with the alias ‘Ryo’, in order to join Bofurin. You got hurt after your fight with KEEL, but luckily, no one discovered your secret. Now, however, you're all having a sleepover at Kiryu's and he wants to play truth or dare.

You think you might have a heart attack.

And you’re only in your mid-teens, for God’s sake. Aren’t heart attacks supposed to be something old people get?

But then again, how else would you explain your racing heart and the feeling of your skin being on fire? 

You’re currently siting on Kiryu’s bed, hands slapped over your face and eyes closed so tightly that the muscles around them are beginning to hurt, wishing that you could erase the images burned into your retinas.

But alas, you don’t think that’s possible. Oh gosh, you’re gonna die. Die from embarrassment. 

Because as soon as you had all settled into Kiryu’s room, all the boys had proceeded to strip, right in front of you. 

Forget that thing about not being embarrassed about sleeping in the same room as all your guy friends. You severely underestimated yourself because there’s no denying it: You’re way beyond embarrassed.

“Are you alright, Ryo-san?” Nirei asks anxiously. “Does it hurt somewhere? Should we go back to the hospital?”

“No no,” you reassure him, although your voice still sounds way too high-pitched to be natural. “I’m fine. All good.”

“Are you sure?” Suo asks, voice laced with worry. You dare to peek through your fingers, but regret it immediately afterwards when you see Suo nonchalantly pulling off his shirt, revealing a very…toned stomach.

Seriously, you think you might just die now.

You thought this would be the same as when you have sleepovers with your brother. But no. For some reason, this is very different.

“Ryo-kun, are you sure you’re alright?” Suo places a hand on your shoulder, and you want to slap yourself for not being able to get even a single word out. “Maybe, you’ll feel better after changing into pyjamas and lying down for a bit.”

“Ryo-san, you have to tell us if you’re feeling unwell!” Nirei says sternly.

“Yeah, cut the bullshit,” Sakura – who, bless him, still has his clothes on since he’ll be going home later – growls from beside you.

“Yes, even if your virtue is to be strong for your comrades, it’s also important to admit when you’re hurt!” Tsugeura bellows as he places his hands on his hips, standing before you in nothing but his boxers.

Oh, why can’t he just put on some God damn clothes, you think desperately as you try to control your breathing.

“Oh shit, he’s hyperventilating!”

“Do we have a bag somewhere?”

“What, that’s actually a thing?!”

“Yeah, it’s because you’re exhaling all of your CO2 which causes cerebral vasoconstriction, so if you breathe in a bag, it helps with--”

“Please spare us the lengthy details Nire-kun.”

Shortly after, a plastic bag is shoved into your hands.

Well, might as well give it a try, you think as you begin breathing into the bag.

In, out, in out, in out.

And lo and behold, it does help with the growing dizziness and tingling in your fingertips.

“It’s perfectly normal to feel like this after everything that happened,” Suo tells you as he rubs soothing circles on your back.

You don’t correct the assumption that you’re having a panic attack because of the fight with KEEL, and not because you’re in a room full of half-naked boys.

And just as you’ve finally gotten some control over your breathing, Kiryu just has to ruin it all for you again by coming out of the showers…in nothing but a towel.

Really, what happened to modesty?

But then again, you guess it’s not that uncommon for boys to be able to be naked together without being weird about it. Like, didn’t you do that kind of stuff when you went to onsens and such?

Not that you’ve ever tried it. And you beg to whatever Gods are out there that your friends will never, ever get the idea to organize a hangout at an onsen.

When you’re all in pyjamas (you fled to Kiryu’s bathroom to change once he had finished up), you sit down in a circle, per Kiryu’s request.

“So, what’s the point of this, Kiryu-kun?” Tsugeura asks curiously, looking around the room as if he’s waiting for something to happen.

“Now,” Kiryu says excitedly, clapping his hands together, “we play a game!”

“A game?!”

“Hm,” Kiryu nods confirmatively, “we’re gonna play ‘Truth or dare’!”

“Huh?!”

“Isn’t that a game for kids? Or like, teenage girls?” Suo asks, frowning slightly.

“Who says boys can’t do what girls do? Or vice versa?” Kiryu lifts his eyebrows, challenging someone to disagree with this statement.

Nobody does.

“Well, it’s settled then! I’ll start by spinning this bottle,” he fishes out an empty Ramune glass bottle from his bag and places it in the centre of your circle. “And whoever it lands on must either answer one of my questions truthfully or do a dare that I decide.”

“Alright, that sounds simple enough,” Tsugeura shrugs.

“Sounds stupid,” Sakura mumbles, glaring at the bottle as if it’s containing an explosive instead of the sticky remains of blue soda.

“Can I add a rule?” Nirei says, hand raised. “No unreasonable questions or dares. And if there’s something you reallydon’t want to answer or do, you don’t have to.”

“Hm, I guess that would be fair,” Kiryu admits, although he pouts disappointedly when he says it.

“Is something wrong, Ryo-kun?” Suo asks. He’s noticed that you’ve been awfully quiet ever since Kiryu suggested that you play this game.

“Well, I just don’t really like this game,” you mumble. “Last time I played with some kids from the orphanage, they asked me to eat dirt. And jump out the window from fourth floor. And hold my hand over the stove for as long as--”

“Okay, we promise that we won’t ask you to hurt yourself!” Nirei hurries to reassure you. Your four friends are all looking at each other, then at you, stricken. They didn’t expect you to suddenly trauma dump them.

“Okay, we could also play ‘Never have I ever’?” Kiryu suggests, but you shake your head.

“No no, it’s alright. I want to try this.”

“Okay. But we can stop anytime you want.”

And with that, Kiryu spins the bottle. You all watch, mesmerized, as the bottle spins and spins and spins before finally slowing down and landing on…

“Nire-chan!”

“…oh no.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Uhm, uhm, uhm…”

“No need to overthink it!”

“Right, right…uhm, I’m gonna go with truth.”

“Did you actually think that horrible purple shirt you wore on our first day of school was cool?”

“…”

“Pffft!”

“That’s what you wanted to ask me?” Nirei splutters while the rest you snicker.

“Well, did you?” Kiryu persists. He looks genuinely curious.

“Well, no. Actually, I don’t really like those loud colours…”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Kiryu winks. “Okay, now it’s your turn to spin the bottle, Nire-chan!”

Nirei spins the bottle, and it lands on you.

“T-t-truth or d-dare?” he stutters (it seems like he’s back to his usual self, to your relief).

“Truth?”

“Alright, uhm…right, I need to ask you a question,” Nirei mutters to himself while you patiently wait for him to tear down your dignity with whatever he’s going to ask you next.

“Right, uhm…”

There’re tons of thinks Nirei wants to ask you. He wants to ask you why you wear make-up. He wants to ask what the bandages are for. He wants to ask what it is that you hide – because he knows that you’re hiding something.

But despite the curiosity burning within him, he doesn’t ask you any of those things. All those questions seem too…personal. He knows that that’s what this game is about, but he also wants to respect your privacy.

So, instead, he decides to ask a rather dull, but hopefully safe, question,

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Why’re you so boooring?” Kiryu complains. But you take Nirei’s question seriously and mull over it for a bit before telling him what your favourite colour is.

Then, it’s your turn to spin the bottle.

The game goes on like this for quite some time and you have to admit that you’re having fun learning more about your friends.

You learn that Suo likes teacakes and that he’s wearing an eyepatch because of an accident from when he was a child and not to seal in an ancient Chinese spirit like he claimed the first time you met him. You learn what type of protein powder Tsugeura prefers (Sakas Protein) and that it’s one of his virtues always to let his opponent get the first hit when he’s in a fight. You learn that Kiryu once accidentally dyed his hair orange instead of pink, and that his pet peeve is people who underestimate girls. You learn that Nirei has more clothes than can fit in his closet and that he loves hats and sunglasses, while Sakura only has one type of t-shirt in his closet and that he hates hats and sunglasses. 

The first one to choose “dare” is Kiryu himself, and Suo asks him to show you the most embarrassing photo on his phone.

Reluctantly, Kiryu pulls out his phone and begins flipping through his absurdly many photos. The rest of you can’t see what he’s looking at, but at some point, he turns bright red in the face.

“I think I’m gonna choose truth instead,” he says, hastily turning off his phone.

Or well, he would have turned off his phone if not Sakura had snatched it from right under his nose.

Sakura looks down at the picture Kiryu tried to hide from you and scrunches up his nose.

“What is it, Sakura-kun?” Suo asks. Sakura scoffs and throws the phone to Suo, too high for Kiryu to reach it. Instead, the pink-haired boy opts to hide his face in his hands in embarrassment.

You, Nirei, and Tsugeura look over Suo’s shoulder to get a look at the photo too – because although you do feel a bit guilty for invading Kiryu’s privacy like this, then you also have to admit that you’re rather curious.

Because what could possibly make Kiryu, who usually never gets flustered like this, blush so hard that he could be put in the same league as Sakura?

Well, it turns out that it’s a photo of you. Or well, not only you. It also has Sakura, Suo, and Nirei in it, but you are still the one in focus while the other boys are slightly blurry, half out of the frame. You’re laughing at something, sitting on a table in your classroom at Furin High, and the sun is filtering in through the window, hitting you at an angle that makes it look a bit like you’re glowing.

“What’s embarrassing about that?” Tsugeura asks, bewildered.

“Well, it’s taken from before you even spoke to Ryo-kun the first time,” Suo grits out accusingly, eye darting between the phone and its owner as if he can’t decide which one deserves his ire more at the moment. 

“Creep.” Sakura mumbles, glaring daggers at Kiryu.

“I wasn’t trying to be a pervert or anything!” Kiryu hurries to defend himself. “I was just-- well, it was just-- I mean…”

“I don’t mind,” you reassure him because really, you don’t. You know Kiryu didn’t mean any harm, and besides, it is a rather flattering photo of you.

“You’re too nice, Ryo-kun,” Suo mumbles, features softening as he looks at you.

After Kiryu chose dare, your other friends become more adventurous too. Tsugeura dares Suo to do twenty push-ups, and you have to avert your eyes to stop staring at the way Suo’s arms flex every time he does a push-up. You dare Nirei to shout out the window “I’M NOT LIKE A REGULAR MOM I’M A COOL MOM!!!” and Nirei dares Tsugeura to sing the Japanese national anthem backwards. Suo dares Sakura to say something nice about each of you, which makes Sakura turn red in the face and splutter as if the words are choking him on their way out.

“Y-y-y-y-our…you’re not as annoying when you aren’t shouting,” Sakura tells Tsugeura without looking at him.

“Wow, thanks, Sakura-kun, that’s really nice of you to say!” Tsugeura shouts, making Sakura’s eye twitch. 

“Okay, that was one, Sakura-kun,” Suo says cheerfully, “now, what about me?”

“Uhh…”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Suo pouts.

“Just wait a moment, godammit!”

After a moment, Sakura finally says,

“Nirei isn’t as lame as I thought he’d be when I met him.”

“Well, you already told me that once,” Nirei points out, “but thank you, Sakura-san.”

“A-a-and I guess...” Sakura continues, looking like he’d rather go at it with KEEL again than saying what he’s going to say next, “I guess Kiryu’s got some pretty cool moves when he fights…”

“Awww, thank you!” Kiryu coos, batting his eyelashes at Sakura.

“And, uhh…” Sakura makes eye contact with you, his face going from bright red to burning-hot-red in an instant before averting his gaze again.

“I guess Ryo’s pretty cool too…and strong. And fast. ‘s got good reflexes,” Sakura mumbles to the clenched fists in his lap.

“Sakura-kun, you still haven’t said anything nice about me,” Suo reminds him.

“But Ryo-kun got a whole four compliments, so I think we’re moving on!” Kiryu declares and Sakura doesn’t hesitate to spin the bottle again before Suo can make any more unreasonable demands.

At some point, it’s Kiryu’s turn to spin the bottle, and the flask ends up pointing at you. And because you’re finally feeling safe enough, you choose ‘dare’

…only to immediately regret your decision when you see the smirk on Kiryu’s face. You’re just about to bury yourself underneath the covers when he says,

“Kiss me.”

Chaos ensues.

Nirei lets out a shrill shriek, Tsugeura kicks a chair, making it topple over him, Suo begins shouting profanities at Kiryu (you’ve never, ever heard Suo swear before), while Sakura turns even more red in the face than you do (poor boy’s gotta take care not to get an aneurism). Kiryu just giggles maniacally at their reactions. 

“I thought we agreed on no unreasonable dares,” Suo hisses through gritted teeth.

“You really are a creep,” Sakura scowls.

“Well, he’s free to say no if he doesn’t want to,” Kiryu points out.

“Of course he doesn’t want to!” Suo seethes, eye twitching as he glares at Kiryu.

At this point, you’re not sure if you’re more shocked about Kiryu’s dare or the others’ reactions – especially Suo’s. Maybe, he’s still on edge after the fight with KEEL and that’s why he’s so overprotective of you.

Although, you don’t really see a reason for him to be. This is just Kiryu, after all.

“You don’t mind, do you, Ryo-chan?” Kiryu asks, and suddenly, all attention is on you.

“Well…”

Honestly, you’re a bit unsure of what to say. Because it’s not like you mind kissing Kiryu, but the murderous glare Suo sends him kind of deters you a bit. It’s not like you want to be responsible for one of your friends murdering your other friend.

“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to,” Kiryu says, but you can’t help but notice the slight wavering of his voice. There’s really no way to make all of them happy, is there?

In the end, you make up your mind.

“I’ll just give you a small peck on the cheek, alright?”

Immediately, Kiryu’s eyes lighten up, and he nods enthusiastically at your suggestion. He scoots over to you and you lean in, closing your eyes.

When your lips hit his cheek, you can’t help but think that this isn’t at all what a cheek should feel like. It’s soft and smooth, yes, but also oddly bony and uneven. 

You open your eyes. And are met with the sight of Suo’s fingers.

“Eh?”

It turns out that the moment both you and Kiryu closed your eyes, Suo had placed his hand in between your lips and Kiryu’s cheek.

“What did you do that for?” Kiryu whines, swatting Suo’s hand away from his face.

Suo just looks awfully smug as he cradles the hand you just kissed as if it’s something precious, while he continues to smile sweetly at the extremely disappointed Kiryu.

Sakura also can’t help but feel relieved that you didn’t actually kiss Kiryu, although he isn’t gloating openly the way Suo is. 

“Ehem.” You clear your throat. “It’s my turn to spin the bottle, right?”

You continue your game for a little while longer, although no one chooses ‘dare’ again. Not that you’re complaining – you also prefer ‘truth’ anyways because that way, you get to know your friends better. 

“Alright,” Suo declares, bringing you out of your thoughts, “Ryo-kun, truth or dare?”

You hadn’t even noticed the bottle pointing at you.

“Uhm, truth, I guess.”

“Hm…” Suo hums thoughtfully. He suddenly looks serious – way too serious for a silly game like this.

“Ryo-kun, you know that we’re your friends, right? And that you can tell us everything?”

You freeze.

Your first thought is that somehow, Suo has figured out that you’re a girl. It wouldn’t surprise you if he had – he’s awfully perceptive and it’s just a matter of time before he sees right through you.

But you know you also can’t just jump to conclusions. Because you’re not 100 percent sure that Suo knows yet, and if you barf out your secret now, not only will Suo with 100 percent certainty know, but the rest of your friends will too.

So, you try to play it cool…

“W-w-what d-d-do you mean, S-Suo-kun?” 

…and fail miserably.

“I mean, why didn’t you tell us that you were in a fight this weekend?”

You blink.

“Huh?”

“The marks. On your neck,” Suo clarifies, jaw clenching as he gestures at your bandaged neck.

“We didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Nirei adds, looking crestfallen, “but we…we couldn’t help but overhear the doctor mentioning those marks. Those that looks like strangulation marks.”

Oh.

So that’s what Suo meant.

You can’t say that you’re as relieved as you thought you would be to find out that Suo has not, in fact, figured you out (yet). Because this is just another one of your secrets that has to remain just that – a secret.

But then again, if your friends just think that you were in a fight, which technically isn’t entirely untrue…

“Yeah, I was in a fight,” you shrug. You’ve always been a terrible liar – you don’t believe in lying (except about your gender, but that you deem a necessary evil in the name of the greater good), so you’re trying to mix in a bit of truth in the story you’re about to tell your friends. 

“Just some random thug I bumped into on my way home from work.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sakura asks angrily, although you know that his anger isn’t directed at you.

“Uhm well, it’s just that I didn’t think it was that important.”

Your friends exchange glances for the second time tonight.

“Ryo-kun,” Suo says sternly, “Everything that happens to you is important to us.” The rest of your friends nod in agreement. “And if anyone as much as touches a hair on your head…” The temperature in your apartment suddenly seems to drop several degrees.

“They’ll have us to answer to,” Kiryu finishes for him.

“Did you at least beat the guy to a pulp?” Sakura asks after a moment of silence.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” you wince, “But really, it’s no prob!” 

Suo hums again. He trusts that you can take care of yourself from common thugs and random nobodies but still…he wishes that he knew who had laid his grubby hands on you so that he could make sure that the guy never got the use of them again.

“It’s getting rather late guys, maybe we should just call it a day?” Tsugeura asks because even though he might be a bit dense, even he can sense the tension that has sprouted between his friends.

As if on cue, you yawn.

Sakura immediately gets to his feet, mumbles a half-hearted “G’night,” and unceremoniously proceeds to stomp out of the annex.

“Wait!”

You shoot to your feet to follow Sakura out the door. Your head begins to spin and your vision blackens, but you still tumble out after Sakura, looking like a drunkard while ignoring the cries of alarm from your friends.

“Sakura-kun!”

He turns around just in time to see you stumble over your own feet and, before he can think, he’s at your side, catching you before you fall into the pond or something.

This gives him a strange sense of déjà-vu.

“Watch where you’re going, will ya?” he grumbles as he steadies you. “And what do you want?”

You fiddle a bit with your pyjamas and glance around the garden, gathering your thoughts. You think you catch a glimpse of a girl, observing you from the main house, smiling and winking at you. But she disappears again so suddenly that you think you might have imagined it.

“Well?”

Sakura’s voice snaps you back to the present. You clear your throat.

“Well, I just wanted to say…thank you.”

Sakura’s eyes widen in surprise. You take a deep breath before continuing,

“Thank you, Sakura-kun. For taking care of us, I mean. You only just became Grade Captain, and you’re already leading everyone. And this might sound presumptuous, but I also want to say that…I’m proud of you. Of course, I knew you would make a great leader – ever since I saw how you protected Kotoha-chan that day we met – but still. I’m proud of you.”

To no one’s surprise, Sakura is blushing by the time you’ve finished your little speech and despite himself, he can’t help but feel happy that you think that about him.

But at the same time, he also hates that your words make him happy because he doesn’t deserve your praise. Sakura knows Nirei blames himself for what happened to you, but really, he shouldn’t.

Because if it’s anyone’s fault that you got hurt, it’s Sakura’s.

“As I told the others, I didn’t do shit,” he scowls. “We were losing that brawl big time before the second years showed up, and that was only thanks to you and Nirei…”

“Nire-kun?” you ask, confused.

“Yeah, he wrote to Kaji-san before everything went to shit.”

“Huh. Well, anyways, if it weren’t for you, Sakura-kun, then we probably wouldn’t even have gone to KEEL in the first place, and then, who knows what would have happened to Anzai-kun and Nagato-kun?” you say rhetorically.

“You ran after Anzai when he got that photo too!” Sakura protests, and just then, you’ve just about had enough.

“Why can’t you just take a fucking compliment god dammit?!” you yell.

“…”

Sakura looks taken aback. He’s never heard you raise your voice once, let alone swear before – at least not when speaking to a…friend (for some reason he can’t explain, when that word applies to you, it doesn’t trigger the same warmth spreading in his chest as when Nirei asked him if they were friends earlier today. A bit like food just about to go bad, but not as spoiled yet that his tastebuds can detect it – it just tastes off…).

And then, you do something that makes him yelp in surprise.

The two of you are already standing pretty close, but you just slung your arms around him and are now hugging him, your still damp hair tickling his face.

Now, normally, Sakura’s first instinct would be to push anyone away who tried to initiate intimate contact with him like this. But for some reason, he can’t bring himself to push you away – no, scratch that. He doesn’t want to push you away. Even if he’s just standing there, stiff as a board, heart hammering in his chest and his cheeks so hot that you could fry eggs on them while you have your arms around him in this very one-way hug.

He screams at himself to just return your hug, but when he tries to lift his arms, they won’t move.

Then, after what seems like forever, but still not enough time, you pull away.

“Good night, Sakura-kun.”

And with that, you stumble back into Kiryu’s private shed.

Meanwhile, Sakura just stands there. His heart is racing, and his cheeks are burning, and he’s still just standing there like some God damn idiot.

He wonders what is wrong with him.

Then, he slaps himself, hard.

That finally seems to get his body moving.

Read the rest on ao3: Defy || Various X Reader

[cecilysass]

One Hand Tied (4/13)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Tuesday morning

When Krycek returns, he can barely stand up. He’s been beaten, and badly. One eye is purple and closed tight, and there is blood streaming from his hairline in a quantity that makes Mulder uneasy. He staggers in and the door slams behind him.

“Jesus,” Mulder mutters, as Krycek hobbles across to the cot. “What happened to you?”

“Amateur hour,” sighs Krycek, lowering himself gingerly down on his back. “An overeager employee looking for information and taking advantage of me being restrained. Doing a bad job.”

Mulder shakes his head. “You’ve definitely looked better.”

“Why, thank you,” Krycek says sweetly, wincing as his head makes it to the pillow. “But I couldn’t be happier about how this has turned out, actually. And you should be, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That guy”— Krycek gestures towards the door—“wasn’t acting on the old man’s orders, I can tell you that much. He knows there are some openings in the organization and he’s trying to make a name for himself. So he decided to make a little after hours project of trying to get information from me.” Krycek pauses to cough, gripping his side with his good hand. “I bet that dumbass actually thinks the old man will be impressed.”

Mulder is trying hard not to have empathy for Krycek’s suffering. “What does he think you know?”

“Not relevant,” Krycek says. “What is relevant is that I sent that guy into a trap. I gave him a name, but when he goes to check the name out, he’ll find it surprising.”

“Why?” Mulder frowns. “What will happen?”

“The plan is that the person I sent him to will turn the tables on him, and use him to find this place, which will facilitate my getting out of here.”

“So you gave him the name of one of your people,” Mulder surmises. “Someone dangerous.”

Krycek laughs, then cries out and clutches his abdomen in distress. Mulder wonders if he has broken ribs. “I don’t have people, Mulder. No one cares if I live or die.”

Mulder doesn’t follow. “Then where did you send him?”

“I gave him the name of one of your people,” Krycek says. “Someone who has historically been pretty fucking dangerous, at least when it comes to you.”

“You gave him… Scully’s name?” Mulder rasps, his fists clenching.

Krycek eyes him warily. “Now be reasonable. That guy already beat the shit out of me.”

“He beat the shit out of you,” Mulder chokes, his throat tight with fury, “and you sent him … after Scully?”

“Don’t you trust her to handle herself? She’s a federal agent.”

Mulder leaps to his feet and runs to the door, lifting his palms to begin banging on it. “Hey,” he shouts. “Hey, don’t listen to him. He’s full of shit. He doesn’t know anything.”

“I don’t think that will work,” Krycek calls.

“I can tell you whatever you want!” bellows Mulder. “Come talk to me!”

“Cheer up,” Krycek says. “She may not come after you at all. She may be so furious with you she never wants to see you again.”

“She’ll come after me,” Mulder hisses. “Or she’ll try to, if you haven’t gotten her killed.”

“I don’t know,” Krycek says. “Diana’s whole thing might have worked. It’d be inconvenient.”

“What whole thing?” Mulder walks to sit down on his cot again. “What are you talking about?”

“You know. The idea that Scully would be less likely to come get you if she knew you and Diana spent the night, then skipped town without bothering to say goodbye.”

“But … Diana didn’t spend the night at my place,” Mulder says in frustration. “I mean, she did, but only because we were going over details related to her source and it got late. She stayed on my couch.”

“You’re being awfully dense, Mulder. It doesn’t matter what actually happened. Only what it looks like happened.”

Mulder swallows his anger, forcing himself to adopt a calm exterior.

“Even if she did think Diana and I slept together, Scully isn’t going to react like she’s … Scully’s not…” Mulder stops. “She’s my friend. She’s a fucking F.B.I. agent. Her feelings are … squared away.”

“Squared away, wow,” Krycek says facetiously.

“They’re not romantic,” Mulder says with finality.

“Your feelings on the other hand?” Krycek says with amusement. “They don’t seem quite so squared away.”

“Scully might be angry,” Mulder allows, ignoring Krycek’s bait. “But she’ll come after me.”

“I hope you’re right,” Krycek says, still clutching his side. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”

There’s a break in conversation, then, as Krycek seems to be silently stewing in pain. Mulder is left to ponder what Scully would do or think, if what Krycek said were true.

Oh, she’d definitely not be happy if she thought he slept with Diana, not so soon after the night at the Gunmen’s, not so soon after Fort Marlene and El Rico. She’d take that as him failing to listen to her, as him not taking her warnings seriously.

Which you didn’t, a self-hating voice inside him taunts him, whether you slept with Diana or not. You didn’t take her warnings seriously enough anyway. You still trusted Diana with important information..

He imagines her in his apartment, searching for what happened to him. He tries to guess what expression might be on Scully’s face. There probably would be a look of betrayal, as Krycek says. Anger, of course. Mulder feels a pang considering it.

But his feelings for Scully—these ever- present, dysfunctional feelings—are way more than they should be. They constitute a hole so deep there’s no bottom.

Scully’s feelings, he knows, just aren’t like that. Scully is emotionally squared away, the captain’s daughter. And even if she were upset about him not listening to her warnings, he thinks her loyalty would prevail.

Because that’s who Scully is.

**** Tuesday morning

Scully spends the morning going through Mulder’s desk at work, trying to find any sign of a plan to go out of town. He hasn’t moved everything back into the basement yet, so some of the drawers are empty. She finds a single pad of paper with a cryptic note that says “Neurologist??? 10:30 appt” in one drawer. But that could be from any time, from this week or last year or three years ago, knowing Mulder.

She finds one of his video tapes in the bottom drawer. She immediately closes the drawer like she always does, but then hesitates. Feeling like a guilty adolescent, she opens the drawer up again, pulling out the tape to examine it. On the cover is a trio of buxom women in some kind of outdoorsy adventure wear, if that includes tee shirts that appear to be cut off right under their areolas and very short khaki shorts. One of them holds an ax. Another holds a rifle. Another seems to be nonsensically sucking on a popsicle. The title is Queens of the Hard Wood, and there’s a tagline: “How much wood can they handle?”

Scully shakes her head in disapproval of the tagline; it seems like the same pun twice.

She studies the three women a little too carefully. They are posed so that between the three of them, many alluring female body parts are showcased. Two are artificial-looking blondes and one has darker hair. All have identical bodies: large, very perky, probably augmented breasts, and curvaceous rears. They have that unconvincing, slightly-ill, lips-parted, eyes-narrowed look that the actresses on Mulder’s tapes always have, like they are approaching an orgasm that makes them feel a little nauseous.

Scully wonders if women with that confusing expression is what Mulder daydreams about. If that is what gets him going. Or if, like many people, he fantasizes about the sex he had in previous relationships.

But she doesn’t have to wonder, does she? She knows what he finds attractive. Who he finds attractive. Really she should just stop thinking about this. She should stop thinking about him in this respect at all, because there’s no point in it, and there’s no future in it.

She puts the tape back and shuts the door with too much force.

***

She tries to call Diana. She doesn’t want to, but she knows she has to do it.

She sits behind Mulder’s desk with the number in front of her, clutching the office phone. Just pick it up and dial.

Scully mentally rehearses. If she calls and she hears Diana’s voice, she will gather her nerves and ask in her most disaffected voice: “Hello, Agent Fowley. May I speak to Agent Mulder, please?” If Diana gives Mulder the phone, then Scully will flatly remind him he is missing at work. No emotion. No personal discussion. He doesn’t deserve any of that. Only F.B.I. business.

If Diana says Mulder is there but not available, then Scully will leave an efficient, cool and polite message.

And in either scenario, she will have something concrete to report to Skinner.

Of course it is not that easy. There is no answer, which obviously Scully knew was a possibility.

She gets Diana’s voicemail, but she doesn’t leave a message. God knows she has left enough of them for Mulder.

***

Tuesday afternoon

Scully doesn’t bother to mention it to Skinner or anyone else in the building, but she leaves work and goes home early. She’ll continue to work from there, but she’s finding the basement office oppressive right now. All of his belongings, still in boxes, scattered everywhere. All of his little notes and files tucked away like time bombs waiting to hurt her.

She’s unlocking her apartment door when she becomes aware that someone is watching her at the end of the hall.

A young man in a black jacket, pale with dark hair. He’s gracelessly pretending to look for his keys to open the apartment door by the stairs, but she knows he doesn’t live there. And from all too much experience, she can tell his eyes are on her.

For the first time in days, she feels calm and focused.

She enters her apartment and locks it, then slips out her SIG and takes off the safety. Pressing her ear to the door, she waits a moment, occasionally peering out the peephole.

After a few moments, the man appears in the frame of the peephole, looking furtively from side to side. From what Scully can see, he seems to have some kind of small metal tool he plans to use to try to open her lock.

She frowns, her curiosity piqued. Not an especially sophisticated technique. But she also doesn’t plan to let this go any further. Replacing locks is expensive, and she already had to pay for a new one after the Van Blunt incident.

Gripping her SIG and taking a deep breath, she takes a moment to prepare herself standing at the seam of the door.

In one smooth movement she unlatches and swings it open, drawing her weapon quickly on the man.

“Freeze,” she says flatly, not even bothering to raise her voice. “I’m an FBI agent. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

She’d thought he might bolt, but he doesn’t. He stands stock still, his eyes round, his hands slightly extended to his sides with his strange little lock pick gripped in one hand.

Now that she can see him more closely, she takes in his physical appearance. He’s on the shorter side, slight of build, and she suspects she’d have a decent chance against him in a fight. He’s got closely-cropped brown hair, some scratches on his pale face. His eyes dart anxiously back and forth like a trapped animal.

“You’re an FBI agent?” he says in disbelief.

Scully’s eyes narrow. He could be some random kid looking to attack or rob her, but her instincts tell her to ask more questions.

“Get inside,” she orders, keeping her gun on him as she takes a step back and he walks through the door, which she kicks closed behind him. “Hands above your head.”

He obeys, still looking cowed for the time being. She pats him down quickly and finds a Beretta in his waistband, which she removes and tosses across the room. Then she has him sit across from her in a chair, her gun still on him.

“Don’t arrest me,” he says urgently. “I can … give you information. Just let me go.”

“What kind of information?” Scully tips her head and looks at him sideways.

The young man’s demeanor changes. He seems to relax, stretching his arms over the back of the seat and crossing an ankle comfortably over his knee, smirking a little. “I work for important people. Dangerous people. I’ve seen shit that would blow your mind, baby.”

Scully rolls her eyes heavenward. “You seemed surprised I was an F.B.I. agent. Who did you think I was?” she demands.

“Trouble,” he said, smiling. “I thought you were gonna be trouble.”

“No.” Scully shakes her head grimly. “That’s not going to be enough. And my patience is thin, because I’m having a bad week.” She fixes him with her coldest interrogation glare. “So let’s start again. Who are you?”

“My name is Sergey,” he says. “You’re Dana Scully, right?”

“Sergey,” repeats Scully. “Who do you work for? Why are you here?”

Sergey crosses and uncrosses his leg. “He told me your name. He said you were the contact.” Confusion flickers over his face. “It doesn’t seem right. You don’t seem like the type.”

Scully narrows her eyes. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she says. “Who told you my name?”

“A bad, bad man, baby.” Sergey gives her what he probably considers a cocky smile.

“Sergey,” Scully says, lifting the SIG, “I am mentally composing a report about an accidental death in my apartment. The corpse is an intruder with intent to kill me whom I shot in self defense.”

“All right, all right, look, I’m a guard,” Sergey says, lifting his hands defensively. “A security guard. There’s a prisoner, where I work. He had information my boss wanted, the name of a contact, and I got the information out of him.” He gives her a significant look. “I got it out of him by force. And he said your name.”

“A … prisoner,” Scully repeats slowly. “You work in a prison?”

“Sort of,” Sergey says. “It doesn’t have many prisoners. Just two right now.”

She’s feeling the dread again, coming in overpowering waves. “Who is the man who gave you my name?” she says, her voice practically a whisper. “Did you get his name?”

“I don’t know if I should say,” Sergey drawls. “How do I know that—”

Scully raises the SIG towards his face. “No one in the world would question an F.B.I. agent shooting you.”

“His name was Alex Krycek,” Sergey replies quickly. “He told me you were the one who bought his nanotechnology plans.”

Scully shakes her head. She didn’t think Mulder would give anyone her name, even under physical duress. But this is puzzling. She has no idea why Krycek would name her specifically like that. It seems strange.

“Why is Krycek being imprisoned?” Scully asks.

“Something he did against my boss’s company,” Sergey says. “He sold some secrets. Nanotechnology. My boss doesn’t play around.”

“And what’s your boss’s company?”

“Some kind of global corporation,” Sergey says loftily. “Pretty important. But there was some kind of shake-up recently, because almost everyone in management is out of the company now, except my boss.”

Scully nods grimly. She knew about the mass firing at El Rico. Firing in a very literal sense. “Your boss,” Scully says wearily. “He smokes cigarettes?”

“Yeah, all the time,” Sergey says in amazement. “How did you—”

“You said there were two prisoners,” she interrupts.

“Yeah, there is another man in the same cell as Krycek.”

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know much about him,” Sergey says with a shrug. “He hasn’t been there long, and I haven’t seen him before. I don’t know why he’s there.”

“You don’t know his name?”

“Well, I remember his first name, because it’s stupid.”

“Fox,” whispers Scully.

“That’s right,” Sergey says again in amazement. “You’re a good guesser.”

***

[discodinosaur]

➳ Talk So Sweet (Doin' Bad Things)

↳ the last of us | explicit | manny alvarez/reader | 10.1k | complete

Summary: It was common knowledge that you and Manny did not get on. But, after a run goes awry, you're the one patching him, and if disliked you that much, how come he's told his dad all about you?

--Or-- A slow descent into falling in love with the person you hate the most.

Tags: unprotected piv sex | semi public sex | outdoor sex | fingering | enemies to lovers | secret relationship | near death experience | hurt/comfort | tlou violence | blood/injury | usual apocalypse things | no use of y/n | female reader | either game!Manny or HBO!Manny, whatever takes your fancy - divider by @saradika-graphics ♡ - a massive thank you to @ohhoneypascal for letting me constantly spitball this with you and for naming Manny's dad, you da best ♡ - cross posted on ao3 if that's more your jam.

A lot of people knew that you and Manny did not gel well. It didn’t take a lot to work out between the icy glares, the cold shoulders and, sometimes, going as far as pretending the other didn’t exist.

Which ideally wasn’t the best for the rest of your little group. You hadn’t been part of the Firefly’s when they fell but you had known of Marlene, whisperings about her initiative and what would happen if she set foot in Seattle or even came across the WLF. Yet when the ex-Firefly’s arrived, you had taken them under your wing and in return, you became one with their group, though you figured that sharing a room with Leah had something to do with it.

Which brings you to now, sat in the corner of the mess hall with a greasy rag, absently wiping it over your pistol while Nora and Manny are at each other’s throats for what must be the third time this week.

“—You’re not going to tell Isaac shit,” Nora spits at him, spoon clenched tightly in her fist as she glares daggers at Manny.

Manny leans over the table, leering at her, “Sure, that his senior medic is shirking her duties to what? Bunk off with the armourer?”

Ohh, of course. It would be you that Manny has a problem with. If this was Abby or Mel, you can guarantee he wouldn’t have an issue with it. But you? That man has had it out for you the moment you spoke to him. Besides, you’d had this job cleared for days, a simple supply run and one that would be beneficial to the med-bay too. It’s just Manny being typical Manny that he needs Nora’s help now of all times.

“But it’s fine when you do it to get a piece of skirt, right? Besides, I’m not shirking off any duties.” Nora swings back easily, leaning back on the bench. “Never thought you of all people would be one to tattle to Isaac. Like even has time for you if it’s not Scar related.”

Manny’s jaw ticks and you can feel the anger rolling off him in waves, most of it directed straight at you. 

“Nora, it’s fine. I can ask Owen to come with me,” you try, attempting to placate both of them, but Nora holds up a hand to stop you. 

“No, no. You did get it cleared, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she turns back to Manny with a sickly sweet smile, “so take Mel with you.”

Manny jumps up from the table, jolting it so the cutlery rattles and he swears in Spanish. You glance up as he shoves his hands in his pockets and storms out of the mess hall.

“He really has it out for you, huh?” Nora asks with a shake of her head. 

“Yup, something like that. I’ll meet you down the armoury in ten.”  

You wait for Nora down in the armoury, leaning against the wall with the guns already signed out, while Olive, another armourer who trained under you, talks your ear off about the guy she’s seeing. Eric, you think his name is. 

And then in comes Manny, closely followed by a hesitant looking Mel. She gives you a half smile as Manny struts over towards Olive. He doesn’t even glance in your direction, not when Olive asks you about Manny’s usual, nor when you slip back behind the desk to collect his shotgun and extra ammo. He clenches his jaw, white-knuckling the shotgun and nods his head to Olive in thanks.

Mel, ever the peacekeeper, apologises when Manny’s out of earshot, taking her pistol and rifle with a grateful thanks to you both and hurries after him with Bear in tow, barking excitedly at her heels. 

“You should’ve given him an empty box of ammo,” Olive says quietly to you, eyes on the two of them heading towards a truck.

You snort, “Because that would go down so well when he gets back.”

“He can be so awful sometimes.”

“Dude probably just needs to get laid,” you shrug and then spot Nora making her way towards you and bid Olive a hasty goodbye.

It was late. Later than you usually stayed down in the armoury. But with Danny, Owen and Manny coming back later than predicted from their run, all three looking pissed, you silently took their weapons from them, cleaning them down and letting the three of them cool off in their own way. Owen had tried to help; lingering back and making small talk but you had taken the box of ammo from his hands and sent him on his way towards Abby knowing she’d appreciate his presence more.

You swung the keys to armoury on the keyring around your finger, waiting for whoever was in the shooting range to finish up and leave. But the minutes ticked by, the shots still fired and your eyes were heavy with tiredness.

Six more shots sounded and you gripped the keys tight in your hand, quietly going inside and let out a sigh at the sight of Manny in the end stall. Ear protection forgone and muttering to himself in Spanish as he reloads the pistol. You winced as he emptied it one by one into the target without hesitation.  

“Manny.”

He either ignores you or doesn’t hear you as the gun clicks empty and he mutters again, throwing in another twelve rounds into the pistol and firing them off one by one, you count them as you hear the cartridges clink to the floor.

“¡Déjame en paz!”

You lean against the door, exasperated as he fumbles and picks up the ammo shells on the floor.

“Manny. I need to lock up,” you tell him firmly. The last thing you want is to get into an argument with him now. Both of you obviously exhausted, words would sting a little more and no holds would be barred for the slew of curses that could leave you. 

“Need me to fucking translate for you?”

The frustration rolls off the two of you in waves and you chew on your lip, strutting over and collecting up the pistol and the handful of unused ammo. As you pull back, Manny’s hand wraps around your wrist and your eyes find the smear of dried blood on his knuckles, over his sleeves and up onto his neck. Your lips parting in surprise when you see the slice over his cheek, the split in his lip and the purple undertones of a bruise blossoming on his jaw.

“The fuck happened to you?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Nothing,” he snaps, turning away from you. 

“Bullshit, Manny, look at your face! You should’ve gone to the med—”

“No. I don’t need to go to the med-bay. It’s just a small cut, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He hasn’t let go of your wrist and the longer you stare at him, the more he starts to wilt under your hard gaze. He turns back to you, meeting your eyes and his grip loosens around your wrist. He lets out another sigh, and runs his other hands through his already rumpled hair. “I’m not going to the med-bay because Mel and Nora will just ask questions. I’ve had worse, now stop fussing over me.”

You wretch your wrist out of his grasp. “Suit yourself. But you’re in my shooting range.”

His throat bobs, jaw ticking as he glares at you with unspoken curses. But Manny turns away without so much as a jab, clearing up the mess of ammo spilling onto the bench. He’s silent, and when he speaks you almost miss it. 

“Scars.”

You stop, turning on your heel, keys clenched tightly in your fist. “What about ‘em?” 

Manny continues to hastily put away the ammo, fingers scurrying over the stray bullets, jaw set as he stares at the box. “They jumped us just past the park. We didn’t see them until they had the upper and then you can put together what happened after.” 

“The park? Isn’t that supposed to be–” 

“Exactly,” he nods, eyes flicking to you, dark under the fluorescent lighting. “Which is another reason I can’t go to the med bay. It was Isaac’s idea. If anyone else finds out they’ll be an uproar.” 

“Of course it was Isaac,” you mutter under your breath and you clip the keyring onto your belt loop, stepping forwards towards him. “I have a med-kit down here that Nora restocked the other day. I’m not a doctor but I know how to treat a cut.” 

Manny seems torn, an internal back and forth going on in his head and in the end he shakes his head with a swear in Spanish. “Fine. But make it quick.”

“Wouldn’t want to drag this out, Alvarez,” you sigh and fetch the small first aid kit. Your hand reaches out tentatively, cupping his cheek to turn his head towards you to get a better look at the cut. With an alcohol soaked cloth, you dab at it and Manny hisses at the initial sting.

“Did you kill them?”

“Course. I’m not Isaac’s top Scar killer for nothing.”

You thin your lips and say nothing as you clean up the mess of dried blood on his skin, feeling his quickening pulse as you wipe his neck, thinking nothing more than it being the adrenaline. You take a half step back and assess him quickly for any other injuries, turning him by his shoulders and noticing the wince as he turns to his left. His jacket, half open, does nothing to hide the creeping stain of blood that’s blossoming on his grey shirt. 

“What happened there?”

He looks down, following where you’re looking and has the decency to shrug.

“Knife wound maybe?”

You roll your eyes at his unhelpful replies and pull his shirt where the wound is, scrunching it up just below his ribs. If he would just let you help him without being a pain in the ass then this would go over a lot smoother.

“I have some gauze…”

He says nothing but holds his shirt up as you gather the gauze and medical tape, your hands skating over his warm body as you take your time to make sure he’s not in any pain.

“If that doesn’t heal overnight, go to Mel or Nora, you might need stitches.”

“It’s not a stab would,” he says, smoothing over the gauze. “You’re just stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?” you ask, clicking the kit shut and wiping your hands on your cargos.

“Si.”

You almost smile at him but you remember where you are and who you’re with and the urge to get out overwhelms you so you pick up his discarded gun and med-kit then hurry out of the shooting range.

“Turn the light off when you’re done.” 

After that night in the shooting range, Manny starts to avoid you. To begin with, you hadn’t even noticed it, not with how the two of you skirt around each other, always trying to dodge the other if you can and with Manny spending a lot of mealtimes with his dad, and you down in the workshop, it didn’t even cross your mind. 

It was Owen that noticed it first, the second week in while you were sat in the usual corner of the mess hall, Mel on his left and Leah sandwiched between you.

“You ever see much of Manny nowadays? He’s not joined us as much since we came back from that run the other week.” 

Your head snapped up and you followed Owen’s gaze to the other side of the hall where Manny was sat with his dad, turned towards and gesturing with his hands as he spoke. You kept your mouth shut, let the other three speculate as you turned it over in your head. 

But the more you dwell on it, the more it ate you up. You had been with him last that day, patching him up and he had retaliated with what? Avoiding you? Did he really dislike you that much that he would start ignoring his friends? 

So what you do instead is grab one of the breakfast burritos in the early morning, when barely anyone is around and head to the gym, seeking out Abby. Because if anyone understands him, it’s her. 

To your surprise, she’s not there and you chew your lip as you remember the few spots she has tucked away that she goes to that’s not her room. Finally, you check the library, and on first glance it looks empty. If it weren’t for the collection of ottomans pushed together, you would call it a morning and leave it. 

But you know Abby better than that and beeline for ottoman’s where sure enough she’s sat hunched over, reading one of the old battered books on the shelf. 

“Morning,” you greet her quietly, waving the burrito in her direction. “I thought I’d find you in the gym this morning.” 

She shrugs with one shoulder and marks her page, dog earring the corner and takes the burrito. “Eh, I could do with a rest and Manny asked for the room last night. These ottomans do nothing for your neck.” 

You try not to think about Manny asking for the room to be alone with someone else. You really do, but lately your mind is on him a lot more than usual – probably just something to do with that he’s been avoiding you. 

“Does he seem like he’s avoiding you?”

Abby chews thoughtfully and then shakes her head. “No, he seems the same to me. But Owen did mention it too the other day. He has asked for the room a lot more than usual though.” 

“It was Owen that made me notice it,” you admit, and sit cross legged on the ottoman next to her. “I saw him when he came back from that run with Owen. He spent some time in the shooting range, taking it out on one of the targets.” 

The corner’s of Abby’s lips turn up into a small smile, “Yeah, he did mention that. We haven’t talked a whole lot about it if I’m honest. Owen hasn’t even let up about what the hell happened out there.” 

You don’t bother to let on about patching him up. Both of you keeping it to yourselves but she does ease your mind and you manage not to think about him. You move on to other things, asking her about her workouts are going, being careful to pry too much into the details. 

You leave Abby, heading back down to the mess hall to grab something for yourself before a long day down in the armoury. The amount of people going out on runs today was insane compared to usual, you figure that Isaac must be planning something soon with the amount of intel he’s gathering. 

Just as you find a table for yourself, your eye catches on the shaky wave of José and your expression softens. Manny might be intolerable, but his dad is a sweetheart and always makes an effort with you. You slip into the chair next to him and you can’t help but worry your lip at how bad his hands seem today. 

“How have you been? I haven’t seen much of you recently, I think you’ve been hiding from me,” he asks you, a warm smile on his face and you can’t help but smile back at him.

“Not hiding from you,” you say softly, “just… busy, you know? You seem well, though, how are you hands?” 

“Oh, you know, some days are better than others. I’ve been meaning to thank you, by the way. For patching Manny up the other week.”

You splutter around your bite of food and blink at José, “huh?” you say, rather stupidly. Manny told his dad about you, but not Abby. 

José smiles at you and pats your hand. “He told me about the run in he had and said that you were the one to find him down in the shooting range.” 

“Oh… yeah I did but–” 

“I know he’s not the best with words and can be a stubborn mule sometimes. But thank you, I appreciate you looking out for him.” 

“It was nothing, mister Alvarez,” you say sincerely. “He just looked in a bad way and it was getting late. If I’m honest I just wanted to lock up.” 

He smiles warmly at you again and grasps the top of your hand. “I know my son, and for what it’s worth I’m sorry he can be such a brat around you.” 

You thin your mouth into what you hope passes for a smile, unsure of what to say because Manny can be so much more than a brat to you. 

“Dad, have you—” 

Manny cuts himself off as soon as he sees you and easily ignores you as he passes to sit on the other side of his dad. José gives you a good-natured eye-roll and turns to his son, saying something in quiet Spanish. Manny glances at you, replies back to his dad and turns his body to him. You feel like you’re intruding as Manny takes José’s hands in his own, turning them over and gently massaging his palms. 

“I should go,” you say quietly to José and scrunch the foil from your burrito into a ball. 

“Don’t be a stranger. You should come sit with me more often.” 

You look between him and Manny, who’s not paying you any attention and nod slowly, “Promise, sir.” 

And you meant it. But the whole way down to the armoury, José’s words about that night in the shooting range bounce around in your mind.

Being out in the field was a nice reprieve from being in the armoury. It gave the time to work on your aim and what modifications were working and which one weren’t. Today just happened to be the day that Manny, of all the people, was assigned partner on the run. You had tried to swap with Leah, even Abby but both of them were on higher priority jobs than you.

Just your luck.

When you got a glance at him in the mess hall that morning. He didn’t look particularly thrilled at the idea either and when he caught your eye, he bowed his head to talk with his dad. You had loaded your pistol forcefully and shoved it into your holster, not even giving Manny a second glance while he collected his own weapons later. You signed out a truck and started the ignition, letting it idle while you waited.

“You’ll waste the gas if you keep doing that,” Manny snipes, climbing in beside you and shutting his door with more force than strictly necessary. 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes and the wheels spin as you overdo it on the pull away. Good, let him know he’s already pissed you off. You stop briefly at the gates and then put your foot to the floor on the Seattle roads. Neither of you say a word to each other on the way to the old garment factory, both of you too stubborn to acknowledge the other. Manny is stiff as a board when you glance over, head turned to stare out the window. 

Getting in was easy. Both of you agreeing, without so many words, that stealth was the better option here. It had only just been scouted out earlier in the week – supplies that you could use but also a number of infected roaming the narrow hallways. This had to be a silent in and out job. 

You took down two runners right away, approaching them from behind and forcing your knife into their throat, cutting at the muscle and sinew, letting them fall with a thud to the floor as Manny took out another. His method wasn’t as practised as yours, getting its attention and then jumping it. Even in stealth, he’s attracted to the violence and threat of getting caught. 

Both of you keep your steps light and your flashlights pointing down as you make your way through the hallways, avoiding the factory floor as much as possible. Manny covers you as you pick the lock, crouching down, ear straining to hear the telltale click. 

It’s when you open the door that everything seems to go wrong. The door swings open, knocking into an old, beat up filing cabinet that echoes around the room. Both you and Manny freeze. The second thing you notice is the ear-splitting screech of a clicker that looms out of the darkness. 

Manny grabs your arm, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you out of your stunned silence. “Run, fucking run!” he calls to you and you become aware of your feet, dragging them to a sprint down a different corridor. 

You turn, unloading a clip from your rifle into the nearest oncoming onslaught of infected. Runners fall like dominoes, and a clicker halts, head drooping as you shoot the fungus clean off, giving you both a few seconds to make distance.

The rifle clicks, out of ammo and you turn, sprinting with all you have down the rest of the corridor towards the bolted door. Manny is just two steps ahead, and rams his shoulder against the lock, forcing it open and grunting as he squeezes through the small gap. You see his hands on the door, fingers tense as he tries to hold it open but it’s too heavy and it shuts on you, slamming into place. 

You reach for your handgun, popping two bullets into the stalker that’s crept up on you and you watch as it convulses on the floor before throwing yourself against the door, hand pushing on the handle. But it doesn’t budge. 

“No, no,” you mutter, shouldering it again and clinging onto the handle. “Manny? Manny!” 

“The mechanism is busted,” his voice sounds from the other side, just as panic stricken. “I’m trying.”

“Manny, open the door. Open the fucking door right now!”

Fear seizes you. Your hands trembling as you check the clip in your hand gun and you let out a whimper as you count the measly seven bullets you have left. That’s hardly enough to take out the whole corridor. Maybe this is how it ends for you, at the hands of infected all because a fucking door won’t open. 

“Fuck… fuck!” you mutter, blood rushing in your ears and tears spilling down your cheeks. This is not how it was supposed to go. Not here, not a run with Manny of all people. You flatten yourself against the door and grip your gun with both hands, though it does nothing to stop the sway of the pistol. You count each bullet, chest heaving as you face death head on. 

One. A runner hit in the shoulder, dropping to the floor and using its hands to crawl towards you, gurgling and thrashing on the floor. 

Two. The runner goes silent, one final yelp and it stills. The door up head bursts open with the noise only a shambler could make, lolloping to one side from the weight of the pustules. 

Three and four – both miss. The bloodcurdling, throaty hisses from a clicker and whines from stalkers join the shambler as they barrel down the corridor straight for you. 

Five. Hits one of the stalkers and it lets out a scream, crawling up into the vents out of your sight. 

Six. Another miss and tears blur your vision, your heart hammering in your chest. There’s nothing that can help you now. 

Seven. You close your eyes, not seeing where the bullet lands and slide down the door, trying to make yourself as small as possible. 

Your back gives out, and you fall backwards into nothing. There’s the sound of a slam somewhere in the room and then something is grabbing you under your arms. You thrash, trying to fight it. 

“No!” you sob, pushing yourself against the wall. 

“It’s me, it’s Manny.” 

You breath catches in your throat and you use your sleeve to wipe at your eyes, blinking through the tears. His eyes are wide, cheeks drained of any colour as he raises his hands, palms up. 

“Manny?”

“It’s me. I’ve got you. I need you to breathe.” 

You keep your eyes on his hands as he slowly and carefully brings them down to hold your shoulders. He gives you a pointed look and you follow his lead, a deep breath in and then out. He repeats this until you’ve got it under control. 

Feud, rivalry, some unspoken third thing between you be damned. You breathing catches in your throat and he steps into your space, one arm wrapping around you, placing his palm on the small of your back and you let your head fall into the crook his neck. 

He’s murmuring in Spanish, other hand cupping the nape of your neck and his body swaying gently. You fit against him like he’s been waiting for this moment. 

You want to be embarrassed, and maybe sometime in the future you’ll start to avoid him. But if he had been seconds later, you would’ve died. Right now, all you want is to be held. And Manny does, without any complaint or any offhand comment. He wraps you in his arms and lets you cry. 

“You’re okay,” he murmurs in English. “You’re safe. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Infected throw themselves against the sealed door, muffled screeches and bang echoing around the room but all you can feel right now is Manny. His solid frame, his voice soft as he repeats over and over how sorry he is. You inhale deeply, getting gunpowder and citrus from his jacket and open your eyes and stepping back from him. 

His hands cover yours, his eyes searching your face as you take a few deep, controlled breaths on your own. You’re alive. You weren’t savagely ripped apart and you’ve had much worse than this. You pull one of your hands free from his to wipe over your face. 

“Why are you sorry?” you ask him eventually, your voice croaky and rough from all the tears. 

“Because if I had wasted another minute trying to open that fucking door you wouldn’t be standing right in front of me.”  

“But I’m here,” you tell him and squeeze his hand. “I’m right here.” 

The door bangs again, louder this time and you pull on Manny’s hand. “We need to get to the supply cupboard,” you say, as if the past five minutes didn’t happen. 

He looks at you wildly and shakes his head. “Are you insane? Fuck the supply cupboard!” 

“We came here for a supply run.” 

Manny’s not listening to you, he pushes aside one of the cabinets covering the exit and peers down the short hallway. “We’re getting out of here.” 

“Manny–” 

“No.” 

He grabs your hand again, leading the way down the hallway. You have no idea where you even are, it’s too easy to get turned around in a place like this.

“We’ll go out one of the fire exits, should be easier to find the truck,” he says, walking slightly ahead of you. You nod numbly and follow him. You mind is buzzing with what just happened, between the infected almost getting to you to Manny holding you like you were something precious. 

The sunlight attacks your eyes as soon as you step outside and you use your hand to shield your eyes while Manny barricades the door. You sweep the overgrown parking lot and don’t notice anything out of the ordinary then Manny taps your shoulder, pointing down the side of the building. You nod, and the two of you scurry through the weeds and fallen debris until you see the truck and your heart eases at the sight of it. 

“Keys?” you hear him ask and you fumble the ring on your belt loop, unclipping it and handing it to him, silently getting into the passenger side.

Just like the drive there, neither of you say a word to each other, except the roles seem to have been reversed, and now it’s your turn to stare out the window. You know that you should be keeping an eye out but there’s still a tremor to your hands that you can’t quite shake and you want nothing more than to be back at the stadium, curled up in your bed. You just hope that luck is on your side and Leah doesn’t ask questions or, even better, she’s staying with Jordan for the night. 

Fortunately for you, she’s not there when you get back. You’d dropped off your weapons, feigning a smile and a humourless laugh as Steve tries to joke with you, making a quick getaway with the excuse of needing a shower. But the walk up to your room, the seemingly endless flights of stairs to your level feels never-ending. You’ve never been so glad for the silence that greets you when your door swings open. 

In a daze, you drop your pack off in the small kitchenette and grab your wash bag. You don’t remember the walk to the showers, or the hot water pelting down on your back. Getting back to your room is a blur, but when you crawl under the comforter and your head hits the pillow, you’re out like a light. 

The knocking does not stop, and it worms it’s way into your dream – an incessant rap against wood that sounds like a timer, counting down the amount of ammo you had left in your pistol as the memory plays over and over in your unconsciousness. You wake with a start, sitting up and squeezing your eyes shut, hoping that whoever is on the other side of the door just gets the hint already. 

When they don’t stop, you groan and swing your legs over the side of the bed and pad barefoot over the worn carpet. You grab the key, forcing it into the lock and the door swings open.

Abby, maybe, you expected. Nora, even Mel. But you certainly did not expect Manny to be on the other side of the door. Especially not holding a foil-wrapped dish and with his hair sticking up in disarray as though he’s ran his hand through it one too many times. 

“Manny?” you ask, blinking at him to make sure that you’re definitely not seeing things. 

“I noticed you weren’t at dinner,” he shrugs, looking way out of his depth and avoiding your eyes. “Least I could do is bring you some after today.” 

“Oh, um, sure,” you say, opening the door wider to let him in. “Come in, I guess.” 

Manny hesitates only for a second and then sidesteps past you without another word. He fills the tiny room with his presence alone. You know that it’s not the first time he’s been in here – not when you share with one of your friend group, but he’s not even glancing in the direction of her things. Instead he’s staring at the wall behind you, reading over the posters and prints tacked up haphazardly on the wall.  

You take a seat on your bed, legs hanging off the side as your back hits the wall and Manny steps forward, looming over you, holding out the dish.

“It’s chilli. Muy picante.”

Your lips twitch as you take it – steam rising as soon as you lift the foil life and your stomach groans, you don’t remember if you even ate breakfast, today has been nothing but a rush then a blur for you. 

You notice that Manny moves around the small kitchenette in a familiar way, it’s just a little jarring to see in your room. But you give the faintest of smiles in thanks when he hands you the spoon. What surprises you even more is that he unlaces his boots and sits the other side of your bed, being sure to keep some distance between you. 

You take your first bite of chilli, thinking that the silence between you would be uncomfortable and awkward. But it’s not, though it might have something to do with Manny not speaking, it’s easy. It’s different than being around Owen or Jordan, even Nick.

He lets you eat in silence but something gnaws at you and you feel the need to break the quiet.

“I don’t… these things don’t usually affect me so bad. I’ve killed infected before and been in worse situations,” you tell him, your spoon clinking against the dish. 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t handle yourself.”

“I know. I just, I feel like I overreacted.”

“Overreacted? You were seconds away from being ripped apart from infected. The door wasn’t supposed to get jammed, I don’t know what happened but I wouldn’t live with myself if you died on a run like that because of me.” 

“Is that why you brought me food? Because you felt bad?” you bite out, pushing the dish onto your nightstand, suddenly no longer feeling hungry. 

“No… no. It’s– it doesn’t matter. ” he snaps abruptly, running a hand through his hair and you let out a long breath through your nose. 

“How’s your dad getting on?” you ask instead, figuring that the best thing to do right now is change the subject. It works, taking Manny by surprise that his frown wilts away, replaced by a softer expression only reserved for Jose.

“Bien, though his hands are still seizing up a lot,” he pauses for a moment and then adds, “he asked about you earlier.” 

You give him a quizzical look, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes. Manny shrugs, not quite meeting your gaze. “He knew we were out on a run today. Guess he just wondered how we got on when he didn’t see you in the mess hall.”  

Though his words sound honest enough, you can tell that Manny’s hiding something from you. So you wait him out and he shifts, crossing and uncrossing his ankles before he finally caves. “I told him –just him – that it didn’t go well.” 

“Why? You barely say two words to me any other time so why are you now going to your dad about me?”

“Papá, he cares about you.”

“Right, right. But you? You can’t fucking stand me.”

Manny stiffens, even with the distance between you you can feel how he tenses up. Given the circumstance, you probably should back down, put it one side and curl back up in your comforter. Except, no. You’ve not wronged him, yet he continues to treat you like some nobody. 

“Why is that?” you ask, “What have I ever done to you to make you dislike me so much when the others are so fucking friendly towards me and treat me like an actual human being.”

He clears his throat, and for a second you think he’s going to answer. But the silence just lingers, heavy in the air. You shake your head and get up, taking the dish towards the small kitchenette that Manny had to fit so well into. You run the tap, too many thoughts running through your head and a too heavy silence over the room.

Then he’s behind you, reaching past you to turn the tap off, so close that he’s almost pressing against your back. 

“I don’t hate you.”

He says it too quietly and he sounds too honest for you to doubt him. You turn in the little gap between you and lean back against the sink.

“Then why—”

“Mierda,” he curses, voice strained and brows pinched together. “Because you’re so fucking radiant. You’re lighting up every damn room you’re in and I don’t want to snuff out that light with my past. And today? Fuck, today I could’ve lost you and it would have been my fault.” 

“Your past? Manny, you think my past isn’t as fucked up? But I’ll be damned if it stops me from living.”

You meet his stare, eyes black in the low lighting of your room and so close to you. Just looking at you, his eyes flicking over each inch of your face, your neck and your shoulders. 

“What are you doing?”

“Admiring you. Up close for the first time.”

You don’t know which one of you moves first, but your hands curl into his jacket and his lips are so fucking soft and they’re on yours and you want to drown in this feeling. His hands cup your jaw, tongue running over the seam of your lips desperately seeking more and more of you. 

You let him in. Opening your mouth and hands moving up to twist in the curls at the nape of his neck that has him panting into your mouth. This shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but there’s a small nagging part of you that feels like you’re making up for wasted time.

You pull back, catching the sight of his wet lips and drooping eyes. He leans in, chasing you for another taste and you move your head to the side, his lips catching your cheek.

“Manny,” you murmur, breath fanning into his ear.

“Si, el sol?”

“You couldn’t have done this earlier?”

He chuckles, hands sliding under your shirt to grip your hips and you tilt back to look at him.

“Maybe. But my dad taught me that good things are worth waiting for.”

You pull him in for another kiss and this don’t time, you don’t pull away. 

 That’s how it goes with you and Manny. Like you two could play this game forever, the dancing back and forth, the hate with no heat behind it – it makes sense to you, unravelling since the first kiss you shared. It was always inevitable.

You share stolen moments – when Leah stays out overnight with Jordan, when Abby’s too focused in the gym, straining and overworking herself. Other times are when Manny sneaks into the armoury, pocket full of tin foil wrapped food, perched on the edge of your workbench while you finish up.

Somehow, god only knows how, you manage to keep it quiet. None of your friends seem to catch on. Mainly because Manny still goes out of his way to not be around you or you around him.

But as the days turn into weeks, you feel like Manny starts to know you, really know you. Little things that you didn’t even know about yourself and letting him in to see the deepest parts of you. He eventually tells you about the real reason José kept asking about you, that he could see right through his son, seeing it for what it was. 

Manny, in a surprising turn of events, opened up to you. Outside of his bravado and arrogance, he could be incredibly sweet, spending every night he could with you, if not in your room, he would spend hours down in the armoury with you or up on the roof, out of sight from the patrolling watchmen.

“Abby’s asking questions.”

You adjust the focus on your binoculars and follow the movements of the Scar you’ve been tracking for the last couple of minutes. You’re laying on your front under the canopy of some ferns, damp dirt clinging to your clothes as you and Manny are on lookout. He lays next you, one hand on the small of your back, the other scribbling over a map in red marker. 

“I’m surprised it took her this long,’ you reply, lowering the binoculars. “We’ve been together for what? Just over a month now?” 

Saying it out loud still sends butterflies straight to your gut. Together. You and Manny weren’t just fucking around, he wanted to actually be with you. Though you two of you kept it under wraps, Manny couldn’t keep something like this from his dad. Who knew that José already had an inkling about how Manny really felt about you.

“You might not be keeping track, but my dad sure is,” he says with a huff of laughter right by your ear. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing, if Abby knew.” 

Your mouth drops open in surprise and you turn your head to look at him, “Won’t she tell Owen?” 

Manny shakes his head, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Honestly, she has so much on her mind right now I don’t think she’d even bat an eye to it.” 

The radio clipped to Manny’s vest crackles and he yanks it off and you take the moment to look at him – damp from ever-rainy Seattle, unruly curls sticking to his forehead and the wiry beard that’s starting to get just a little too long. He catches you looking and smirks as answers the radio. 

“Alright,” he says and tosses the radio into the grass. “We’ll watch them, take note of their paths and then I’ll write up the report once we’re done.”

“Ain’t you a gentleman.”

“Only the best for my girl.”

His girl. That gets a smile out of you and you raise the binoculars back to your eyes to hide your expression, biting down on your lip.

“You hiding from me, baby?” he asks, and you can just hear the smug smirk in his tone.

When you say nothing, feeling the heat creep higher into your cheeks, Manny plucks the binoculars from you, and takes your chin to turn your head towards him, pressing his lips to yours. You chase his lips with your own and Manny moves to roll you onto your back hidden with the greenery, letting out a soft gasp as your back hits the dirt. 

“Manny!” you exclaim in a hushed tone, grinning at him. 

“Shh, cariño, you want them to hear us?” he whispers against your lips, trailing a hot path of open-mouthed kisses down your neck. He props himself up on his forearm, hovering over you and the other hand caresses over your shoulder, to your jacket zipper. 

Another gasp leaves you as you feel his warm palm on your stomach, pushing your shirt up and lowering his head to run his tongue on your heated skin. 

“Here?” you whisper to him, pushing a piece of damp curl of hair from his face. “You’re doing this here?” 

“Why not? Not like anything interesting is going on over there,” he replies, deft fingers already working at the button of your pants. “Besides, my girl looks cute when she’s all flustered.”

You tug on his hair, urgently wanting to feel his lips on yours again. He grins and pulls back with heat in eyes and then delicately kisses, you slow and languid, the complete opposite of what you were aiming for. It keeps you distracted enough to not notice his wandering hand, and you sigh when his fingers dip below the waistband of your underwear, trailing along your wet seam. 

“Your hands, Manny,” you groan, “God, I’m obsessed with what your hands can do.” 

“Just my hands, huh?” he teases you, dragging his middle finger down through your folds, gathering your arousal. He keeps his movements slow, deliberate, watching your every move. “And there was me thinking you liked me.” 

He drags his finger, torturously slow, up to your clit and rubs cruel, teasing circles that leave you breathless. His smile widens, and leans down to whisper in your ear. “You do like more than just my fingers, right cariño?” 

You nod, squirming beneath him as he moves his fingers in a tantalising pattern. “Say it,” he murmurs. 

“Yes,” you gasp, “Course I fucking do.” 

Manny smirks, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He pulls his finger back, over your wetness and then slowly pushes the digit inside of you, feeling how your tightness envelopes him. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, stroking your walls and pulling all the way out and back in, stretching you open. 

“Uh-huh,” you whimper, opening your legs wider and arching your back as he curls his finger in just the right way that has you wanting more. 

“God, I wish I could taste you,” he murmurs, pressing you hard against the grass and attaching his lips to your neck. He pulls his finger out, dragging it through your wet folds, teasing and playing with you. Then a second digit joins and your eyes flutter, mouth hanging open as he fucks you open with his fingers. 

“Manny,” you moan as your eyes flutter at the sensation. He knows just how to touch you, what makes you shiver and cry out his name. You curl your fingers into the front of his jacket, the other hand cupping his hard length through his pants and he lets out a raspy groan, hips rocking into your palm. 

“This is about you, baby,” he tells you, though his voice is rough and breathy. “Let me do this for you.”

You realise very quickly that you’re helpless in his hands. His teeth nipping at your neck, sure to leave marks, his eye on you. Every step of the way he keeps fixated on you. His fingers move rhythmically, finding a brutal pace that has you crying out for more. 

It’s his thumb that does you in. Pulling his hand back slightly to get the angle, thumb moving in tight circles on your clit, all the while praising you in whispered Spanish. 

Pressure, hot, tight, coiling pressure builds in your stomach, a feeling that you want to chase and chase as it gets hotter, burning through you and Manny catches on quickly to what’s about to happen as his fingers move faster, with more urgency and his thumb rubs deliciously on your clit – finally letting your bathe in that high as it hits you.

Manny works you through, his dark eyes sparkling in wonder as you come on his fingers, hips rolling to chase the feeling for as long as you can. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he grunts out as you pant and keen, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Look at you.”

He’s beaming down at you, and you smile, eyes half lidded and breaths coming in heavy. He leans down, softly kissing you while pulling his fingers out of you and buttoning up your pants. 

“Alvarez,” the radio thrown in the grass crackles and Manny starts, reaching for it to turn down the crackling static. “Alvarez, this is Boyle, come in.”

“Yeah, I’m here, give me a fucking second,” he mutters, using his clean hand to find the radio. “What?”

“Scars sighted coming your way. Both of you, get out of there while you can. Regroup at the old FEDRA checkpoint.”

 “Copy that.”

He tucks the radio back into his belt and gives you an apologetic kiss to your cheek, “Guess the afterglow was kinda ruined, huh?” he jokes, getting to his feet and wiping his hand on his pants, leaving a glistening trail over his thigh. 

He helps you up as you stare at the patch, and you would kiss him again. If only it weren’t for the whistle of a Scar and the whizz of an arrow that barely misses your left arm.

Getting called up to the FOB was never high up on your to-do list, and lucky for you it was only a rare occurrence that Isaac personally asked for you. You could count the amount of times you’d walked through the door to the once high-rise apartment block, echoes of screams and the smell of rot invading your senses. At least this time you were given some warning, quickly scribbling out a note and passing by Manny’s room, slotting the piece of paper underneath.

Right now, up high in the room that Isaac had relented and given you for the few days, all of that was drowned out – window cracked open to air out the room and a thick layer of dust coating the counter-tops. The only high point was that you weren’t here for long. The FOB was intense, a certain hum in the air of impending doom, so when you got back to your room – three days in, feeling like you couldn’t breathe you almost missed the crumpled slip of paper under your door.

Wiping your hands on an old rag for what must be the hundredth time you picked it up, oil stained fingerprints instantly smearing the paper as you unfold it, turning it right way up.

Hideout at sundown.

Firstly, when the fuck did Manny get called up to the FOB? And Secondly, how haven’t you managed to spot him yet?

You read over the note again, following the loop of his messy handwriting and shove it deep into your pocket. You’ve never been to his hideout before, but he’d told you enough to work out the route to get there – if you weren’t spotted first.

Time ticked by, even slower than usual until the sun started to set. You slipped out of the apartment window, being careful to not let it close all the way and sneaking around to the back of the FOB building. The path was overgrown, but that only meant that you were going in the right direction. You hop, almost losing your balance as the stairs give out under you. Three doors in front of you, and your best guess is the one directly ahead.

Inside, the whole place is aglow with the setting sun and the if the manga on the counter is anything to go by, you’re definitely in the right place. The space he’s created for himself is untidy, just how you pictured it but not messy. Stacks of old comics and card games litter the battered coffee table, mismatched blankets strewn over the couch and empty bottles sit nestled by the door. It’s almost too much pre-outbreak to you, the casual-ness of it all.

“Manny?” you call out softly, running your hand along the old dresser on the side. “You here?”

“Right here, cariño,” he replies, coming out of what must be a bedroom, given that his hair is all mussed and clothes rumpled. He takes your hand, lips against your knuckles. “You find the place okay?”  

“Yeah, you breathe, letting out a long exhale, your eyes on him as he kisses up your wrist. “What are you doing here, at the FOB?” 

“Isaac called us up. Jordan, Abby and me. We’re being sent out on a recon scout tomorrow morning.”

“A recon scout?”

“He wants us to get into a scar camp, take what intel we can, and report back. He thinks they are plotting some big attack on us soon.”

“The guns,” you say softly, “he’s tasked me with upgrading them with silencers and better capacity in the clips.” 

Manny nods, expression sombre and then he swoops in, finally pressing his lips to yours, hands settling on your hips to bring you flush against him. The kiss is consuming, his tongue mapping out your mouth, memorising you in wake of tomorrow.

“This way,” he murmurs, walking you backwards into the room he came from, hands easily flipping the hem of your shirt up, making you shiver as he caresses over your bare hips. “I missed you.”

“Such a sap,” you chide, kicking the door closed with your heel.

“Maybe. Maybe I just can’t get enough of you.”

You paw at his shirt, pulling it over his head and run your hands over his defined chest. His answer to this is to pull off your own shirt, unhooking your bra and throwing it carelessly to the side while he gets a good look at you. His mouth finds your breast, taking the hardened nipple into his mouth and lavishing it with attention.

You let out a string of soft, breathy noises, cupping the back of his head to keep him close and the other hand unbuckling his belt, pulling the coarse canvas away and letting it join the growing pile of clothes.

“Been thinking about you ever since you left me that note,” he murmurs, string of saliva between his lips and your nipple before paying attention to the other, the more sensitive of the two.

A gasp leaves you, head tilting back and you grasp the hair at the nape of his neck, keeping him in place as he lavishes attention on your nipple. His hand skates down your leg, gripping it and moving it to hook around his hip. 

You can’t help but grind yourself against him and he pulls away from your breast to grin at you and then sink his teeth into the heated skin of your neck, hands grabbing whatever they can of you and holding you as close as possible. 

He maneuvers you down onto the bed, pulling off your shirt as you lay back and while you unbutton your pants he pauses for a moment, lips slick and hair mussed just watching you. 

“Fuck me, I’m so lucky,” he murmurs and he unbuckles his belt, shucking off his cargos, revealing the impressive bulge of him tented against his boxers, a dark spot of precum seeping into the fabric. 

The sight of him sends a wave of desire through you and you reach out for him, scratching your nails over his hip and he leans down, claiming your lips with your own once more. You both get caught up in the kiss, both wanting this after days being apart and the impending question mark that hangs over tomorrow. 

He moves you so you’re now on top of him, guiding your knees to either side of his hips and letting you rock down against him. The pull of his clothed cock against your heat is a delicious friction that you can’t seem to get enough of. 

“That’s it,” he grunts, squeezing your hips and trailing his fingers down to the waistband of your panties. You quickly get with the picture, moving away from Manny to take them off, throwing them to join your pile of clothes. 

“Like what you see?” you ask, fully naked in front of him. 

“Very much so.” 

Manny lifts his hips and you pull off his boxers, hard length springing free, precum smearing over his stomach. You bite your lip and climb back over him, taking his length in your hand. 

“Mierda,” he sighs, lifting his hips to fuck your fist. You grin at him, gathering the precum at his tip and coating it over the rest of his cock. “You gonna ride me, baby?” 

“Mhm, that’s the plan.” you whisper and Manny moans, rasping and low, in the back of his throat. 

Manny breathes heavily through his nose, his hands can’t seem to stop touching you. Running over your thighs, your hips and your waist, thumbing circles on your skin that have you shivering with arousal. 

You swing your leg over his hip, back in the same position you were originally in. Manny’s hand drops from your waist to touch himself, jaw slack and eyes stuck on you. He’s beautiful like this, so openly devoted to you and waiting for your next move. 

He lines himself up with you, breathing hard and you duck your head down to kiss him sweetly as you ever so slowly sink down onto his cock. Normally, you’d want to drag this out and he’d get you to least two orgasms before fucking you. 

But you’re pent up and oh so fucking wet and you can’t help yourself. It’s not like Manny seems to mind, guiding your hips down onto him, teeth biting into his bottom lip and his long eyelashes fluttering as you fully seat yourself onto his cock. 

“Take me so well, baby-girl,” he mutters, because Manny does not know when to stop, running his mouth with praise and sweet nothings. 

God, you feel so full when you take him like this. Heat creeping up your spine as you give an experimental rock of your hips. 

“Fuck, Manny,” you moan, finding purchase with your hands on his shoulder. He starts to thrust up into you, changing the pace to something desperate. 

“Again. Say my name again.” 

“Manny.”

He leans up, cupping the back of your neck and kissing you fervently, tongue diving into your mouth, mapping out every inch of you, committing it to memory. It makes you roll your hips slower and he pulls back, dark eyes meeting yours. 

“Tan hermosa,” he mumbles to himself. “Tan buena para mi.”

He pulls out, brows pinched in concentration and grabs your hips, throwing you down onto the bed, switching your position. He puts one of your ankles over his shoulder and fucks into you faster, hips snapping brutally against your own, filling the room with the lewd slap of skin on skin. 

The new angle does something for you. Every thrust of his cock hitting you perfectly, making your eyes roll back and your whimpers become high and raspy in your throat. 

“Oh my– fuck!” you cry out, feeling your orgasm approaching, the familiar pooling in your stomach. “Fuck, keep going.” 

“Yeah, you’re close aren’t you?” he moans, lips against your ankle as he thrusts his hips harder, driving into you with a renewed intensity. “Yeah, you’re fucking close.”

You let yourself go, pleasure tingling through your veins as you spasm around his cock. A whine leaves your throat, eyes screwed up as he fucks you through it, unrelenting pace and lips on your leg, murmuring how good you are. 

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, so fucking pretty when you come.” 

He slows, dropping your ankle from his shoulder and he swiftly pulls out once more. You whimper at the loss, reaching out for him and he links your fingers with one hand while the other strokes himself rapidly, hand flying over his cock. 

Manny throws his head back, hand faltering and you feel him climax, splattering onto your thighs and you let out a breath, watching him reverently. 

“You’re so fucking good for me,” he murmurs, guiding you to lay next to him, eyes heavy and a dopey smile plastered on his face. He rests his head on your shoulder, lips soft against your skin. 

You huff, leaning over him to grab an old shirt of his and as you move to wipe it over him, he takes it from you, hands on yours. 

“Let me,” he says and wipes at your inner thighs, over your stomach and then himself. He tosses it into the corner of the room and presses a faint kiss to your forehead. “Did I tell you that I missed you?” 

“You might’ve mentioned it,” you whisper, smiling at him and settling down, hand playing with his curls, his hand on your thigh and bringing the threadbare blanket up to cover you both. 

You found when you first spent the night with him that Manny’s a cuddler in his sleep. It was cute, finding yourself wrapped around each other, both of you getting as close as you can even unconsciously. This morning was no different – limbs tangled together, an arm slung around your waist, legs entwined with your own and his head in the crook of your neck, soft breaths against your shoulder.

You move your hand over his back, fingertips dancing up over divots in his muscles and you lace your fingers in his hair, letting the curls free in the pale morning light. Sunlight streams in through the gap in the blinds, soft yellow rays catching on the dust and coating the bed in warm haze. You smile against his hair, closing your eyes at how content you feel.

Manny stirs, the watch on his wrist beeping incessantly. The sound too loud and too jarring in the fresh morning peace. He fumbles, hands moving away from you as he struggles to turn it off then he slumps back down onto you, warm hands wrapping back around your waist, pressing against you.

His lips are soft as they place absent kisses along your shoulder, over the dip in your collarbones and to the sensitive juncture of your neck.  

“Morning, querida,” he murmurs, voice thick and raspy with sleep. A sound that you’re more than used too but doesn’t stop the swoop in your stomach.

“Hi,” you grin at him, tilting your head to meet his lips in a soft, lazy kiss. His eyes flutter and he grins into your mouth.

“God, I wish I didn’t have to go out on this recon run. Not now when I know what you sound like.”

You chuckle quietly, his thumb resting on your cheek as he looks at you reverently, like you held the sun for him.

“I can be here when you get back. I’m supposed to be heading back to the stadium later tonight.”

Manny groans and leans in, lips pressing to yours as his eyes close and sighs, breath fanning against your cheek.

“You’ll wait for me?”

“Always.”

[grlcarcass]

Hii im not sure if you’re taking requests rn, but Im going to just in case bc i absolutely love your writing!!

You feel like the kind of author that needs smut to have a backstory or at least a solid dynamic to be established between the characters, which I can absolutely relate to, so I was thinking maybe Izzy and the childhood best friend trope? I’m not sure if that’s your cup of tea but I love it when there’s a certain tenderness to two people having known each other for song long and then discovering this new side to their relationship.

Maybe they knew each other back in Indiana, but then he moved and they didn’t see each other for a couple years, and then they bump into each other in LA? Idk it’s all up to you, you’re fantastic at writing real chemistry and unique tropes so I don’t want to ruin this by babbling too much.

missing stradlin - izzy stradlin fic

taglist: @brokenglassb1tch @californiaahunny @tranquilitybasegrunge @slashes-strings @dazecrea

content: smut (18+), slight angst, mostly romantic

a/n: babe, after all that love for my writing in that ask? HOW COULD I NOT WRITE FOR YOU ASAP?! I’m extremely flattered that you love my chemistry writing, I try so hard T_T I tried extra hard for you here, I can tell we're very alike! Hope you love it anon!

tag an izzy lover <3

It was the kind of night in Los Angeles that felt like it would come undone before you if you just breathed too hard. The air was warm, dizzy air thick with gasoline and jasmine, the infectious air that poured out the nearby incense shop overwhelming her senses each time she passed. 

“You’re in LA, and close to the bar.” it’d tell her, apparently yuppy-filled enough to have a running essential oil/crystal shop on damn near every corner. It was a humbling feeling, the jump from Indiana, where the fanciest joint was the restaurant of the local Inn. At least that was true back then, her little friends used to agree with that exact sentiment. Here she was, where we have enough money to spend on pretty rocks that don’t do jack, that’s what Momma told her about LA at least.

The bar was buried somewhere off Melrose, a place that didn’t advertise, didn’t care to. Its name was half-burned out in neon lights. The lighting was low, the music was loud, and the scent of sweat and old beer didn’t change no matter what state she chased her high. It lived in bars, and that made her feel right at home no matter how far she was from Indiana. At least for a moment. 

She hadn’t expected anything from the night, maybe a cheap whiskey. Maybe a guy who’d nod too hard at anything she played on her acoustic. Physically egging her to finish the song until he’d take off her pants. What did sex mean anymore? What did anything?

She felt like she had missed the Get-Big-And-Out-Of-Indiana bus, ever since high school. Her two best friends weren’t Bill or Jeffrey anymore. With their new shiny titles, she questioned if that part of her– no, their past had existed. Knowing every damn thing about them, knowing them long enough to remember how bad they were at singing or guitar back then? Had that even existed in comparison to what those two became now?

She traveled endlessly, searching for nothing and something all at once. Bars. Sex. Smoke. She wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but to chase a familiar feeling. The comfort of both her Momma’s garage with their ruckus, but aged, grown up to a loud bar. It just wasn’t her guys though, no matter how talented the performing acts were. 

Never admitting that she yearned to find them, outright. Cause she knew the possible rejection of forgetting her would ache like their absence tenfold. Finding the adjacent was fine, she’d convinced herself. 

Karaoke nights at the bar, she’d sing whatever she felt like. Just to feel how she felt when her only friends did, who felt like more of a crowd on their own than a bar full of twits. A few people clapped. A guy in the back whistled. But she wasn’t really singing for them. 

She was trying to shake the feeling that someone was listening.

Watching, even.

When she stepped off the stage, disappointed yet again in the lack of high, her hand around her chipping Yamaha, she saw him.

At first she thought her mind was playing a cruel trick. Reminding her of what she failed to find bar to bar, a flicker of a memory projected onto the crowd by the hum of the audience and stage lights. No. He was real.

Leaning against the far wall in a denim jacket that looked like it’d seen a stage or ten, one foot across the other, a cigarette between his fingers and an unmistakable bore in his eyes. 

Jeffrey. 

Izzy.

He didn’t move. Just looked at her like he was trying to decide if she was a dream or a ghost.

She swallowed. Her body moved before her brain could catch up.

“Jeffrey?” she said quietly, approaching him like he might vanish if she was too loud. “Izzy?” she squinted up at him, the title unfamiliar in her mouth.

His big eyes blinked slowly. “Shit.”

It wasn’t much. But there was something tender behind it, like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“It’s you,” he said after a moment. Voice low. Familiar. 

She half smiled, unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry. “Yeah… whatever though. It’s you, though.” 

“You look…” he trailed off, eyes scanning her like he didn’t know where to start. “Different. But sure as hell not.” That was him alright, he couldn’t muster up something outright sweet to save his life.

Senior prom, he gawked at her all night but all he could choke up was that her hair looked “Bigger than usual.”

“Well, it’s been what? Five years? Six?” 

“Closer to seven,” he murmured confidently, like he’d counted every one. 

They both ended up in a booth in the back. A tiny red candle flickered between them in a cloudy glass holder. She had her guitar case at her feet. Izzy’s beer stood untouched.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she admitted after a while.

“I looked for you,” he said, almost too quickly. Then he cleared his throat. “Both me and Axl, or… Bill? When we first got out here, you were still back at home. I figured you stayed put.”

“I did. For a while.” She toyed with the condensation on her glass. “Then I left. I left state after state actually. Just… needed out.” 

He nodded, like he understood. Like they were still tuned at the same frequency 7 years later.

His eyes were softer than she remembered. Not in a fragile way, just quieter. Like he didn’t have anything to prove, or the world hadn’t gotten to him yet. 

“You’re really doing it,” he said. “Your music thing, that’s cool.”

She looked down bashful. Knowing that he was millions bigger than her. “You’re just being nice.”

“I’m never nice,” he said. “Even back then, you knew that.” he smiled his quiet smile.

She looked up to meet his ever round eyes, there was a nostalgic warmth and familiarity that was better than any adrenaline rush she got from going bar to bar. Something old. Unfinished.

“What about you? Mister Guns N Roses.” she chuckled, swatting at his hand like she was scolding him for not addressing the elephant in the room. What had taken her friends up and out of Indiana in the first place.

“It’s a mess. But yeah. We’re making noise.” He rolled his eyes. 

“For as calm and collected as you are, you’ve always attracted messes haven’t you.” She smiled.

“Maybe you mean Bill.” he chuckled softly. 

They left the bar together. Not because they planned to, just because it didn’t make any sense not to. 

Outside, the air was thick with that night time buzz, full of potential and unfinished business. His car was parked a block down. She hesitated. 

“Wanna drive for a bit?” he asked. “Like before?”

Her heart tripped. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

The city flew past them in a blur of red brake lights and yellow street lamps. Neither of them said much at first. It was the kind of silence that existed back then, feedback whining in Momma’s garage. Herself, Axl, and him laid out on the cheetah printed couch by the minifridge. Filled with jello, cause Momma would be damned if she had a beer. 

“I missed this,” he said eventually, one hand on the wheel, the other on his leg. “You.”

It hit her. She shouldn’t be humbled, it was still her highschool friend. Of course he’d miss her, she couldn’t believe she let his status get to her. Like she was lucky to have him miss her. She was new to experiencing their history, if that made any more sense than this sensation of longing. 

She turned her head slowly. “You both left without saying goodbye.”

“I know.” His voice went quiet. “I was scared if I did, I’d change my mind.”

A beat went by. “We drink to it to this day. I know that when this moment slips by? I’ll drink even harder to this one.” he said. 

She nodded. She understood now. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

They had pulled into a motel off Sunset. One of those old places with buzzing signs and doors that opened to the outside. 

“I can get my own place if this is weird,” he offered.

She looked deeply into him.

And for the first time she saw Izzy Stradlin before her, not grown up Jeffrey. The man he became, faded denim, cigarette roughed voice. Gentle eyes. The same crooked smirk he used to pull when they were caught stealing cassettes. 

“Izzy,” she said softly, “you can stay.”

The room was small. A double bed, floral sheets, a lamp with a crooked shade. Her guitar leaned against the wall in the corner like it was the third of whatever this reunion was to become. 

She kicked off her shoes. He stood near the window.

She didn’t want to say the wrong thing. She didn’t even know what the right thing would be. So she just told the truth.

“I used to think about you. Each time I moved.”

He turned slowly. Like he wasn’t sure he heard her right. His eyes met hers, and something had shifted in them, like the air had changed pressure.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, the words crept somewhere behind her ribs. “Not in some big dramatic way. Just… like a constant in everything I did. You were two… well, you were the first person who just didn’t laugh at me. No matter how bad I was at guitar, no matter what silly guy I cried over, no matter how lame my poetry was? That kinda thing stays with a girl.”

He moved toward her carefully, like she was something sacred. His steps were slow, quiet. But there was something determined and in them too. Like maybe he spent years walking toward.

Izzy knelt in front of her. One knee to the motel carpet. He looked up at her like he didn’t know how to begin.

For a second, that was all. The silence curled around them again, but this time it pulsed. It buzzed into something bigger, something breaking.

Then he leaned in, slow and reverent. He kissed her like it wasn’t new, like it was something they’d been doing in dreams for years. His mouth slowly moved over hers with a softness that stunned her, lips just barely parting until she opened for him and let him in.

He tasted like smoke and beer. Her hand curled into his hair, tugging gently at the strands. He kissed her like he’d never kissed anyone like this before, tentative and tethered, full of feelings he was sure the English language didn’t have words for yet.

He pulled back, her heart was in her throat.

He pressed his forehead into hers. “We don’t have to. If this is too fast–”

She shook her head, breath catching.

“I want to.”

Not because it was overdue, or convenient. But because she had never felt more certain about anything in her life. This wasn’t lust, this wasn’t some hot guy from the bar. This wasn’t even about filling in for lost time.

It was about what was there between them now.

She leaned back against the bed, and he followed her gently, his hand finding her waist, and then the hem of her shirt. Everything he did was slow, like he wanted her to feel every decision he made. He kissed her again as he undressed her, his fingers brushing reverently over skin like he wasn’t just touching her, but remembering it, relearning it, letting it etch into him.

When he peeled off her top and she laid back in her bra, he stared for a moment. Not with hunger, but awe.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re…”

Aging after this long, he didn’t care if she ended up a bit rough and less pretty around the edges, becoming gorgeous wasn’t a grace everyone had. He would’ve been in this position as long as her soul was in her body. But she was absolutely stunning, she was clearly more fortunate in his mind than any Hollywood babe had ever come unto him with. It made her all the more powerful to him, it made her terrifying. 

He never got to finish, he just kissed down her throat with gratitude, like an apology. And she arched into him, fingertips slipping under his T-Shirt, wanting more. Wanting him. 

They undressed each other in pieces. His jeans came off slowly. Her bra, even slower. He kissed her chest like he was memorizing it, like he didn’t want to take anything for granted. When she was finally bare beneath him, she felt more seen than exposed.

“You do this to me.” he shakily whispered. He was never shaken, not Izzy Stradlin, always had a plan. This time around he felt the most careful he’d ever been.

When he slid into her, it wasn’t rushed or ragged like the bastards she agreed to sleep with for a feeling. It was deep, deliberate. His forehead pressed into hers, and he gasped like he hadn’t breathed right without her for years. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in fully, feeling that soft stretch that burned in the best way.

Every thrust was careful, like he didn’t want to hurt her. Like he needed her to feel just how much he meant it.

He kissed her shoulder, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Whispering her name like a vow.

Their rhythm built slowly, sweet and steady. He felt like he had been the most undeserving man in the world as she closed around him, like pleasing her was proof he had done anything right in his life. Fuck Guns N’ Roses, Fuck millions of dollars, Fuck guitar. Pleasing this woman was the only thing he’d live to get right, just right enough to make her cum. 

His breath that’d hitch in the slams against her ass became slightly whiny and desperate, like he’d cry in pleasure. She was already there, tears streaming down her cheeks as she caressed his cheeks, sharing a tender stare, both of them sniffling of pleasure and longing.

She hung her arms around his neck, pulling him into her mouth, both groaning and gasping like something was changing spiritually around them. 

Electricity climbed up and under her belly button, shot up into her mouth in a moan. 

“Izzy…I’m-” she whined, still crying, as was he. 

“Do it. Please.” he whimpered, a trait the world would’ve never expected from the stone cold Izzy Stradlin, a sight for her to see only. 

Both of their moans wound up louder and louder the closer she got, everytime she whined he would. What was happening between them would be more than an orgasm, or two.

When she came they both let out strangled moans, which turned to tears sooner. Their naked bodies holding each other like they needed each other to live. They were both just as raw and exposed, having finally melt past everything in their way.

Distance, time, estranged familiarity.

This was what she searched for, she’ll finally say it.

They hiccuped and wiped each other’s tears, kissing each other’s cheeks.

“You’re gonna make me cry if you keep crying.” she chuckled through her own sniffles. Wiping his cheeks, the slight pout on his lips killing her.

“You gotta stop too then.” He said using his wrists to wipe his own. 

♡

They laid there, naked in the cold air of the AC that stirred in the motel room. Her cheek against his chest.

“You’re not going anywhere, I think I’ll get alcohol poisoning if I let you go after this. I’d want to black out each second.” he demanded.

“So be it.” she smiled warmly, half laughing. “Take me to see Bill one of these days.”

[starset21]

Tagged and Dragged

Pairing: Isack Hadjar x reader

Vibe: Meme chaos → playful banter → lowkey flirting

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

You didn’t mean to tag Isack Hadjar in the meme.

You were just scrolling, sleep-deprived and dangerously confident, deep into a late-night motorsport meme spiral. It was supposed to be a throwaway post for your mutuals to laugh at:

“Bro’s hair looks like he argued with a leaf blower and lost 💀💀💀” (Attached: a wild screencap of Isack post-helmet, mid-interview, curls in disarray.)

It was meant to be private. Funny. Anonymous. What it was not meant to be was tagged directly to @ isackhadjar.

But it was. And the internet, cruel and fast, noticed.

Your heart sinks. Your eyes widen. You click the tweet in panic—yep, that blue tag is real. Verified. Active. Alive.

And worse?

He saw it.

Because within three minutes, you get a DM notification:

@ isackhadjar:

Brutal. At least follow me if you’re gonna roast me. 👀

You do what any reasonable person would do. You scream into your pillow.

Then you type back:

@ Y/Nofftrack:

OH MY GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE A FAN ACCOUNT I’M SO SORRY

Unless… you are a fan of leaf blowers In which case the post was… support?? innovation?? themed content??? okay I’ll delete myself now

He replies faster than expected:

@ isackhadjar:

Nah don’t. That was kinda funny. I respect the commitment. Helmet hair is undefeated. Happens to the best of us. Especially me. But I will be starting a personal war with leaf blowers now. Just FYI.

You blink at your phone. Is he... actually cool about this?

@ Y/Nofftrack:

Honestly? Your curls bounced back by the next frame. Resilience like that deserves a sponsor Dyson better start calling

@ isackhadjar:

Dyson collab where I just stand in front of a wind tunnel with sad music playing Caption: “He trusted the airflow.” 😔

You laugh. This is ridiculous. And somehow... adorable.

@ Y/Nofftrack:

I could make a redemption meme But I feel like I deserve compensation Like a paddock pass. Or pad thai. Or both. You know. For emotional damages.

His reply comes in three parts:

@ isackhadjar:

Deal. Paddock pass, pad thai, and a dramatic hair flip next time I podium. But only if you retire the leaf blower slander And start tagging me in hot pics instead My PR team is starving

You pause. Blink again. That’s flirting. Right?

@ Y/Nofftrack:

“Hot pics” You’re acting like I didn’t just post a cursed screenshot of you mid-blink Be serious I don’t even have Photoshop. I have Canva and chaos…but if you’re volunteering your angles Say less.

@ isackhadjar:

Canva and chaos is honestly my brand We’d be unstoppable

Then:

Also— Are you the type to soft launch me before we’ve even met? Because you give off “cryptic Instagram caption” energy

You’re smiling. Like, actually smiling. It’s 1:37 a.m. and you’re blushing over DMs from a guy who drives 300 km/h for a living and just admitted his hair has its own agenda.

@ Y/Nofftrack:

Look. If you keep sending messages like this, I am going to call you “someone’s son” and post blurry photos with no context. This is your warning.

@ isackhadjar:

Do it. Soft launch me. Just use a good filter Or the worst one Make the curls look like they achieved sentience

The DMs don’t stop.

What begins as memes turns into reactions to each other’s stories. Inside jokes. Middle-of-the-night messages. He teases your sense of humor. You roast his outfits. He sends you a photo of his post-race hair captioned “Today they won.”

And when you casually post a story from the grandstands at Spa, not even tagging him, he messages you in all caps:

@isackhadjar:

YOU’RE HERE?? I DIDN’T EVEN GET MY REDEMPTION MEME HUG THIS IS A SCANDAL I need at least one hug For morale. For the curls. For justice Maybe two

You grin down at your phone like it’s harboring a secret. Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you type:

@ Y/Nofftrack:

One hug Two if your hair behaves Three if you make podium

You can’t believe you’re doing this. Not the going-to-the-race part—you’ve done that before. But this? Walking through the paddock with a digital pass in your email, a Red Bull guest lanyard around your neck, and the knowledge that Isack Hadjar is waiting to meet you? Yeah. That’s new. Your stomach’s a little too aware of it.

He’d messaged you the night before:

If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll assume you ran away from your own meme legacy. Or got lost in merch. I respect both tbh.

Now, you're here. And you're nervous. You scroll your messages, cheeks warm. He sent one 10 minutes ago:

I’m done with media. You around?

You reply:

Yep. Hanging near the sim tent. Not hiding. Definitely not hiding. (okay maybe like 40% hiding)

Your phone buzzes almost instantly.

On my way. Don’t move. Or flinch. I’m hugging you. This has been pending for weeks.

You barely have time to process it before you hear your name.

"Hey!"

You turn—and there he is.

Isack, in his Red Bull team tee and race suit halfway down his waist, arms loose at his sides, curls doing their usual defiant thing. He’s smiling, and it’s so warm, so casual, like this is normal. Like you’re not about to explode from sheer nervous tension.

“Hi,” you say, which is… fine. Not your best work.

He laughs. “Hi? After all that? You meme-bullied me for weeks and you showed up with hi?”

You open your mouth to reply—something witty, something cool—but instead you say, “You look taller in person.”

His smile turns into a smirk. “That’s what the boots are for.”

He steps forward, hesitating for a beat before opening his arms. “C’mon. I’m collecting my race-weekend hug. Don’t make me fight you.” 

Your heart leaps. But you step into it.

The hug is fast at first—quick, friendly—but then he doesn’t let go. Not right away. His arms tighten just slightly. It’s warm. And kind of perfect. You try not to overthink it, but you can feel your heart going wild. When you pull back, you’re smiling like an idiot.

“So,” you say, “Was the hug everything you dreamed?”

Isack grins. “I don’t want to be dramatic but… it might’ve powered the car this weekend.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugs. “You knew what this was.”

There’s a pause.

He looks at you for a second longer than necessary, then lifts a hand toward your face. “Wait—can I?”

You freeze. “Can you…?”

He leans in, gently ruffling your hair like he’s mimicking your cursed meme. “Balance has been restored,” he says, voice soft. “Now we’re even.”

You laugh, a little breathless. “So dramatic.”

He drops his hand but doesn’t step away. His fingers linger at your arm for a beat, just brushing.

Then he says, more seriously, “I’m really glad you came.”

You meet his gaze. “Yeah. Me too.”

And just as you think the moment’s about to end—he dips forward quickly, presses a soft kiss to your cheek, and pulls back like it’s no big deal.

Like it didn’t just short-circuit your brain.

He smirks, already stepping away. “That was for good luck,” he says. “And maybe because I wanted to.”

Before you can answer, he glances over his shoulder with a wink. “Stay close. I might need another hug after quali.”

You stand there, flustered and grinning like a complete fool.

And yeah… you’re absolutely soft launching him now.

[idonotbitemythumbatyou]

Tag game! What are 5 Julian Bashir things you can't write enough of?

@walkingstackofbooks tagged me! This was fun, and forced me to think about what, and how, and why I write this guy!

Single minded determination when he’s convinced that something is the right thing to do, or it’s a problem he’s sure he can solve. This goes hand in hand with his tendency towards defiance even when it’s to an authority figure. Even when it’s just such a bad idea. Even if - oh god. Julian shut up. Julian babe you’re in danger.

So intelligent and yet so so so so dumb. By which I mean I love that he puts his foot in his mouth because he can get caught up in his intellectual understanding of the situation and/or is not always considerate of other people’s feelings.

I love a guy who knows what depression is, recognises that he probably has some glaring symptoms, and then kind of doesn't follow that knowledge with any of the next steps. Very "wow this behaviour would be a red flag if it was anyone else. Good thing I know what I'm doing."

Horny. I love that he's so practical about sexuality (at least as far as I headcanon). He’s down for anything, and pretty enough that he’s never really had to worry about succeeding - even though he’s so awkward and strange. I also love that he uses sex and romance as a(n often unhealthy) coping mechanism.

I love that his story feels unresolved by the end of the show. He’s the most depressed he’s ever been, he’s just crossed a massive ethical line, he’s in an unhealthy (for both of them) relationship, all his friends are leaving, and… ok bye! The end! I haven’t done my post canon fics yet, but all my writing is inspired by that dissonant ending, and a desire to toy with it.

I think everyone I know who writes Ds9 had been tagged!

[cantquitu]

I need to rant about something in order to get it out of my head. When I talk to people about it in IRL we get so consumed with anger and disbelief that the conversation spirals into despair. So I just need to get it down to try and create some order in my head.

Ok, so some of you who have followed this blog for years may have noticed that I rarely, if ever, complain about my job or work anymore. I used to do that a lot (I'm sorry!). The change is mainly because I rarely post much in general, but also because everything got so bad at work that even ranting about it in tags was too much. Suffice to say, the industry I work in tanked, and I've been surrounded by redundancies and unemployment and uncertainty and bad behaviour and a lot of sad, stressed people and terrible, terrible decisions for close to three years now. Somehow, I have remained employed. I have new overlords now and I'm just grateful to be paid.

During all of this I've been dealing with health issues, and the stress and constant work travel exacerbated my ill health and basically it's been BALLS. My health started to turn around about 6 months ago and I'm learning how to breathe again (literally and figuratively). In the face of global meltdown, I am extremely grateful to have a life of privilege and safety.

ANYWAY! Almost exactly two years ago was when things started to go downhill at an alarming rate (this is why my Emotional Support Harry and his Love On Tour will always be so precious to me - happy, happy memories in a tide of shite). I remember getting off a transatlantic flight from a work trip at about 6am and waiting for the doctor's surgery to open and then having to go to the hospital. Shitty shit stuff like that. The purpose of that particular work trip had been to have a few days of focused meetings with an American man - let's call him Adam - who had been hired as a consultant with our company to build a strategy for my department. He's someone I had known professionally for years, he worked for a huge global entertainment corporation, and had recently gone independent. i.e. he had been shit-canned after 20 years. He then bounced around between a few big fancy-sounding consultancy roles for a year, and this was one of them.

It soon became clear that the reason this guy had bounced around since leaving the security of the Big Job was because HE DOES NOT DO ANY WORK. He spent so long as a boss that he hasn't got a fucking clue how to do ANYTHING. His one true skill is in convincing gullible idiots of the opposite. His life's work appears to be the honing of that skill. This man....I can't even describe the blatancy of his opportunism, or just how flagrantly he takes credit for the work of others. It is SHAMELESS. Literally jaw-dropping. For the first time in my life, I was shocked into utter silence on the regular (I'm a talker, in case you hadn't guessed). And yet half the people around me could not see it. It was like living in an alternative reality.

One time, I was having a meeting with him and my then boss (both Americans) at an event thingy in France. They had sort of ambushed me to talk about one of my new projects that he wanted to get in on. I was incredibly busy - they were not - and it was hot and I'd had about 15 meetings already that day and I was just like, "Not now!". But they persisted. Anway, my boss was interrupted by a phonecall and she stepped away to take it. He started interrogating me about how I would set up this project. He did it in a way where I felt like I was being tested - y'know, a senior person, hired by my boss's boss, wanting to know how I handle things. I was exhausted and irritated and felt like, "fuck you, I don't have to prove anything to you", so I said something like, "Well, to get started, we really have to approach the basics in the usual way to set us up, y'know? So I'd just start with the standard steps, we can't skip them".

He said, "Like what? Like... ?", and I thought, "Wtf? Is this a power trip?". I said, "Well, y'know, get the leads in a room, and we'd do x and y and z, y'know, the usual..." - I tailed off cos I didn't want to sound remedial, telling him obvious shit. But he was like, "Uh-huh, right. And then - ?" And I realised - OH SHIT. HE DOESN'T KNOW THE BASIC REMEDIAL STUFF! He's taking mental notes! He literally doesn't have a clue!

So I kinda tested him by saying, "For this project, I think it's important to x and x..." and he nodded, "Right, right, yes that's really smart, good idea, keep going....". We were interrupted by my boss returning and she said, "Sorry, where were we?". I shit you not, this man looked me in the eye, turned to her and said, "Well here's what I think we should do..." and he proceeded to repeat verbatim what I'd told him in the preceeding minutes. VER-FUCKING-BATIM!!!!!!! "That's the plan as I see it - sound good? What do you think?"

I stood there stunned. My boss looked thrilled. "Sounds great! We have a plan! That's so smart!" She turned to me, "Great, right?". I said, "I'm sorry, I have to go or I'll be late for my next meeting". And I turned and walked the fuck out of there. I walked - marched - back to my hotel and I swear to god there were cartoon-style tears of fury popping out of my eyes, blinding my way. THIS MOTHERFUCKER!!!!

That evening I went for dinner with a chill group of amazing women, and some other colleagues went to another dinner, and it turned out that my useless boss and this bozo weren't invited to either and so they went for dinner together. That night everyone congregated at a big party, and my boss had tried a passive aggressive pity party with my other colleagues. "Adam and I just went for a quiet dinner together, but that's ok, it was great, we get on so great, we're so aligned". I arrived late to the party and my colleagues came up to me, shoved a drink in my hand, ready to fight for me, trying to block my boss from coming near me. They didn't even know what had happened earlier, they were just ready to ride at dawn, because two days with my boss and this motherfucker had told them all they needed to know about them.

I had been so upset earlier that I'd been careful not to drink too much at dinner in case I got really messy, but everyone at the party was well-oiled by this stage - including my boss. And she came up to me, "There you are, I missed you, I was wondering if you were even going to come. I had a lovely dinner with Adam though, he's so great" She went on and on and on about how aligned they are, how they were almost finishing each other's sentences. "What did you think of our meeting? Great, right? I love the plan - are you excited?"

I said, "That was an awful meeting. I was extremely upset by it". She stopped dead, sobered up in an instant, and I let her have it. I said, "'The plan' is MY plan. I laid it out for him, and when you returned he repeated it verbatim as if he'd just come up with it on the spot. Right in front of me! I have worked too hard and too long to have MY ideas co-opted by some middle-aged MAN who repeats them as his own! Is he my boss now? Is he YOUR boss? Because I'm telling you now, if that's the case - I'm out! I do not want that job, it's not what I signed up for!" (this might make me sound like a bad-ass and I wish I could say it's how I usually handle things, but sadly it was a one-off and was powered by true fury and desperation).

She was genuinely shocked at how much my opinion of this dude diverged from hers. She was really, really apologetic and insisted on walking me home and talking about it the whole way. She tried to reassert her authority and autonomy as boss but it was too late. She'd been taken in by this conniving chump and I couldn't trust her judgement (which, by the way, had been terrible in other areas in the six months since she'd become my de factor boss when our previous boss got shitcanned. Hence my high levels of stress even before Adam entered the picture).

I would love to say that this was the end of Adam, but tragically I had to endure him for another five months. During that time I had to take five weeks of sick-leave due to the stress and my ill health. It just got worse and worse and worse. His incompetency became clear to everyone other than my boss (who had invested so much of her personality into being "aligned" with him that she couldn't really retreat. She was let go a few months later), and the two most senior leaders in the company who had hired him.

He went on to try and co-opt other people's work time and time again. Things like messaging senior colleagues late at night to ask them to write pages of "his" strategy for him for his deadline the next day. Outrageous. It all culminated in a true car-crash of a meeting with senior leadership in which he unveiled the "strategy" that he had apparently been working on for 9 months (and paid many, many hundreds of thousands of dollars for). I was there, because it related to my division. It was so embarrassingly bad that it was almost painful to witness. Yet to this day he is still held in esteem by the top brass. This was in early December '2023, the final month of his consultancy, and here's the kicker...

A few of us were delegated to bring him for lunch directly after his presentation, before he caught his flight home. Not to London, where he'd been based for years. To Tel Aviv. This dude was in the process of moving to Israel because, post Oct 7th, he "felt safer there".

Since then, he has moved to Israel permanently "to help". He joined the IDF reserves. He posts pictures on social media of himself in army fatigues. He posts about how it's a lie that Palestinians are starving, next to videos of himself casually chilling at a food festival in the sunshine with hundreds of other well-heeled Israelis. And I see the names of other Americans in my business - people I know, people I have worked with and will probably have to work with again - leaving positive comments in agreement.

At work (unless among Irish people) we maintain a complete silence about what Israel is doing to Palestine. I work for an American company. The silence is so LOUD that I'm scared I'm just going to explode some day. This summer I'm going to be at international conferences and festivals and I'm going to be in situations where we're all together, lots of Americans, with alcohol involved, and I don't know how in the living fuck we can keep up this silent facade?? Do we just not speak when Americans enter the chat???? Do we talk about Trump and ignore Netanyahu??

I am going to see Adam and I think it is just beyond my capability to be civil to him. I don't think I can. I'm hoping we can just nod in acknowledgment and ignore each other. I've always been so fuckin' mouthy about what I believe, or open to conversation if I don't have the information to have any opinion, and I feel like I'm living in a twilight zone in my professional life. In my personal life I don't have to think twice about expressing support for Palestine. I have never been faced with this wall of silence before and it has unsettled me completely. I know that anyone who knows me will know where I stand, and even if they don't know me well they know I'm Irish, which is a reasonable indication of where I'm likely to stand. I wouldn't hesitate for a second to tell them if it came up. But I don't know where they stand and as long as they maintain complete silence I will have this awful, disquieting feeling that I'm likely working with people who actively or tacitly support Israel's genocide of Palestinians in Gaza.

[horrorfilmlesbian]

Tag game! What are 5 Julian things you can't write enough of?

Tagged by @lady-lazarus-13 ty ty I love these things

Firstly, gotta give it to the Augment Identity Issues - specifically his feelings of self worth around being better than other people. I think it's so juicy and has a lot to add to his character. Guy who knows he really has it all in some ways but still feels like an imposter in his own life if he's not excelling.

And in second place, we've got his kindness - I think in all things he's just really dedicated to making sure everyone in his care is well, cared for. He's endlessly compassionate and despite his awkwardness in a lot of his social interactions, he's always just wanted to be able to be help people and fix bad situations.

Third, xenophillia. It's just fun to have a character who's enthusiastic about getting down with aliens and has a blast doing it. Being fascinated by the differences in biology and genuinely enjoying exploring the ways in which pleasure can be expressed across species.

Fourth, his stubbornness - for better or worse will absolutely not quite until he either gets what he wants or someone has to physically drag him away from it. That man sinks his teeth into something and will NOT let go. This is great when he's working hard to save a life but bad when it comes to other decisions in his personal life because he thinks if he's not being actively physically hurt it's fine. I could write an essay on how this + heteronormative ideals tangle into his relationship with Ezri lmao

And finally we have autism codes behaviours - look I love bestowing autistics traits on my favourite characters and it really fits so well. Even if it's not explicitly stated in writing, this informs how I think he exists and reacts to things and little things like how unaware of his own feelings he can be because he's so used to Masking the shit out of everything to appear acceptable to other people. Probably everything above kinda boils down to this actually 😂

I think literally everyone I'd know to tag is already doing this but if I'm forgetting anyone please feel free to say I tagged you and I'll edit this post lol