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pedge-page · 2 months ago

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Dream a Little Dream of Me…Getting Absolutely Railed by My Giant Stuffed Teddy Bear.

Plushies!Joel x F!Reader

Idk if anybody remembers but I had written a blurb about Plushies!Joel dreaming about Giant Teddy coming to life and fucking reader. The post got flagged so I don’t remember exactly what was on it, however I decided to re-write something based on it again.

Warnings: Freaky Shit. Giant Studded Teddy bear comes to life and fucks you. heavy breeding kink. Cuck!Joel. Masturbation. Pregnant sex, riding, doggy and missionary style besties we do it all. sex dream. Daddy kink. dub to non con if you count sleeping Joel fucking awake reader.

18+ ONLY

- - - -

“You ever tried taking melatonin?”

Joel rolled his eyes. Jesus, all he wanted to do was rant to his brother about his sleep problems, not be prescribed some drug—

“—they sell it in gummy form. Aint a drug.”

—Alright fine, some mythical gummy bear, that will help him sleep.

“S’fine.”

“They’re pretty good. Got different flavors—“

“It ain’t the gummy bit I care about. I’m a grown man. Can swallow a regular pill.”

“Then try it.”

So that’s how Joel found himself shrugging down two fairly large sized pills, gulping it down with a glass of water.

You had just finished your shower, your skin glowing with a sheen of moisture. “You ready for bed? I brought kitty back!” You wave the infamous squishmellow out in front of you temptingly, hoping to entice your very grumpy, back-aching boyfriend into a soothing slumber.

Joel snatches Kitty. “I’ll use her again, but I expect that ass up front.” He’d spent the last 10 minutes neatly removing most of your bed plushies and organizing them along the bench, their beady little eyes staring back at him.

With a kiss to his scruffy cheek, you drag him into the now available bed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

So there he is, with a plush shoved under his back, your body curled against his front, facing him.

He breathes heavily, slowly, inhaling your fresh shampoo and body wash. You smelled of vanilla and mint, and it instantly soothed the rough edges of his brain. He didn’t expect the pills to do much, still a little worried that tonight would be yet another restless night.

He’s about to just close his eyes, lie there and will himself to sleep, until he feels your fingertips lightly tracing the outline of his face.

His eyelids flutter open. “Whatchu doin’?”

“Just relax.” You press your soft lips to his nose.

Joel grumbles but closes his eyes again, taking a deep breath.

Your gentle touch strokes along his hair, around his ear, down his jaw, and drawn across his chin before circling round again. It did feel kinda nice. Tickled, but in a soothing way. He cleared his throat, shifting a tad bit.

“Stop squirming and just relax.”

“I am,” he grumbles back, his eyes fluttering open. he’s greeted by your sweet grin coaxing him under your charm.

He loves lookin’ at you.

Quite frankly, he loves living with you. There was something domestic about it he hadn’t experienced in a long time, since he was just a kid. Home. That was where you are. Despite his current sleep troubles, albeit a life of a poor and inconsistent sleep routine now catching up to him in such a newly domesticated, routinely life with you, he loves being able to say 'I’m going home to my girl.'

…And his 200 stuffed animal roommates. But he had already become so intimately familiar with them, they didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Joel can still see Big Brother Teddy slumped in the corner of the room behind you. He chuckles, shaking his head. “Been a minute.” He nods towards the abandoned giant bear.

Your thumb glides over his cheekbone. “Yeah. But I got the next best thing right in front of me.” He smiles with you, pulling you in for an honest kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers, his breath so warm and familiar against your face.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Now close your eyes damnit or I’ll blindfold you next.”

He tuts but obeys. Whatever makes you happy. Who knows, maybe this little face tickling thing will help you fall asleep, and that’s all that truly matters to him—

- - - -

He’s snoring loudly like a grumbling bear, drool trickling out of his mouth and on to his pillow. Nothing is able to stir him awake, not even your little pokes to his puffy cheeks.

Stirring his loins awake, however…

He doesn’t know he’s dreaming, although the site to behold in front of him should be a clear indicator.

Joel stands at the corner of the room, like he always does when he watches you, his little porn star, perform depraved acts on your innocent little plushes. This time was no different.

Except Big Teddy wasn’t under you. He was on top of you.

And he was fucking.

The bear gripped your sides with his rounded arms, his hips pumping wildly between your legs. You were sprawled out, gorgeous, moaning and tossing your head in ecstasy as the bear absolutely railed you with his—his—

His giant teddy bear cock.

It was massive, filled to the brim with what he can only hope is copious amounts of cotton, and yet the fur on it matched that of the rest of him. Curly and short and fluffy, drenched in your fluids as he plunged back inside your sopping cunt.

“J-J-Jooeeellll,” you whine hoarsely.

Joel opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He has no words. Teddy’s beady eyes turn towards him. It would be creepy were it not for the way he starts fucking you harder, pounding that pussy like his teddy life depended on it.

“oH-OH fuck me Teddy that’s it..right there—yeah-yeah—uughhh fuck me Teddyyyyyyy,” you whimpered, grinning up at the bear. You cradled your arms around his thick, stuffed neck, and he embraced you. You body wrapped around him like a mating press, heels thrusting in the air, Teddy working his massive bear cock in and out of you. He can hear the squelching, like you were dripping and his member was soaking it all up.

It was the most confusing boner Joel had ever had in his life.

He was transfixed by the press of his cotton belly rubbing along your stomach, beefy arms engaging you. You looked so helpless under your big and full-of-life Teddy, yet you clung to him like someone safe and comfortable, much like how you hold on to Joel in that very same position.

Joel could even tell when you came: your body seizing up, lips agape as your orgasm tore through you. Teddy slowed his pace, rutting into you deep and pausing there so he could feel that pussy spasm around his dick. You finally let out raspy moans, groaning with a smile, pulling Teddy’s big round ears down. And you kissed him. Tongue and open mouthed on his sewn shut string curved into a simple smile, all while your eyes looking hungrily towards Joel. Slitted and aroused in the same way you always look at him when you’ve just squired on any of your other stuffies that Joel talked you through.

And suddenly, words fall from his mouth like natural. “You ain’t done givin’ it to Teddy, yet, are ya baby?” Joel asks rhetorically. “Show Teddy what you can do.”

“I wanna ride it, Teddy,” you rasp at Joel.

You flip the two of you over, with you now straddling his massive soft tummy. Joel finds himself seated, his cock out and painfully hard in his fist. Teddy lies back, enjoying the view of your sexy body poised above him.

It was so oddly familiar. Joel had definitely been in that position before.

Teddy had also been in this position many times too. He could practically feel the way you ran your palm flat against his fuzzy chest, fingers sifting through the tufts of hair. Teddy rubbed his—and I cannot stress it enough myself—fingerless paws(?) across the expanse of your thighs before trailing up your waist and onto your tits.

You placed your hands over top his, letting him grope your breasts. “Teddy Bear.” You let out little pants and coos, giggling as you began rocking your hips, working him back inside you.

“Yeah, yeah that’s it babygirl. Show Teddy what that pussy can do.” Joel keeps his eyes poised ahead while he started stroking his member. “How does Teddy feel? Tell him. Tell him what you want.”

You let out a hoarse cry, riding the giant stuffed and lively animal faster. “Fuck Teddy, FUck me right there! I wanna show Teddy a good time, show Teddy what a —ugh—a good fuck I am. Mmmm It feels sooooo good inside. He’s so fucking big. I want Teddy to touch me here—“ You squeeze his paws firmly again over your breasts—“right on my tits while I ride you. I feel so safe with you, Teddy. I want you to put a baby right here—“

Teddy’s palm drifts lower until it’s positioned over your belly, and Joel lets out an audible groan.

“Right here Teddy, Wanna be bred with your cubs. Want your cotton filling me up till I’m bursting with your babies—fuck—fuck please—please breed me Teddy!”

Joel pumps his cock faster in the same rhythm that you’re bouncing on top of Teddy. Your thighs strain, tits jumping with each rise and fall of your sweaty body. Eventually you place both arms on Teddy’s chest, trying your best but failing to stay upright as you grind your mound on his fuzzy belly, working yourself tirelessly to release. The fur was sticky and damp with your fluids. Teddy gripped you harder, urging you back and forth, using him to get yourself off.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Joel groans under his breath. The schlick sounds of his fist over his dick can be heard across the room. “Fuck Teddy, FUck your Teddy bear like Daddy fucks you—make him breed you, get ya all round with his cubs—fuck baby you’d look so fucking hot pregnant with Teddy cubs…”

He feels he’s ready to burst any second now. He closes his eyes, leaning back, ready to cum, but when he reopens them, the scene has changed:

It’s like a new day, but Teddy’s fucking you from behind. Your cheeks is pressed into the duvet, ass in the air with Teddy’s paws slapping you, a satisfying smack echoes in time with the way it jiggles. You look a bit—thicker around the hips too. It’s the first thing he noticed, right before you get up on your arms slowly and reveal the very prominent second thing—

Your rounded, pregnant belly settling low. You stare at Joel’s dumbfounded expression, biting your lips with a smirk. “Do you like it, Daddy?”

Teddy wraps a possessive paw around your middle, showcasing your beautiful swollen belly. Your hand reaches behind you to sift through his fuzzy head, his button nose nuzzling your ear as he slowly grinds your ass into him.

“I—I—“ Joel’s panting really hard. He hasn’t blinked in what feels like forever. He may have thought about what you would look pregnant, but he’d never actually been able to put an image to it until he dreamed about Teddy getting you there.

Your tits swayed with each pound too, the weight of your new body forcing each pounce to have a slow reaction.

You looked fucking amazing.

“Teddy filled ya with his cotton, did he?” Joel got up from his chair, his hand never leaving his aching member. “He get ya filled with those cubs?”

You nod with a giggle. “Feel it, baby.” dragging his hand to your belly, Joel instinctually splays his wide palm and fingers over the heft.

“Fuck me,” he hums, amazed. He was expecting a squishy feel to it, genuinely thinking Teddy had just filled you with cotton, but instead it was hard and heavy.

“How many cubs do ya think you got in there?”

You bring your hand down to Joel’s cock, replacing his to start jerking him softly. He lets out an audible whimper.

“I don’t know. Teddy stuffed me so full.”

The Bear continues to pound your ass, but your attention was entirely on Joel Miller’s blazing erection.

“Say it again,” he growls, thrusting into your hands.

“Teddy bred me, Daddy.”

“Again.”

“Filled me with his cotton, knocked me up with his baby cubs—“

“Again!”

“I’m so fucking full of babies, Joel, feels like I’m gonna burst any minute—Teddy filled me with his love, I love Teddy so much daddy fuck—!”

Joel grips the back of your head and pulls you, smashing his lips onto you. He shutters all over before releasing his load, hot, sticky and blindingly good all over your swollen belly and tits. You keep stroking him, forcing him to give it all, making a white ropey mess over your beautiful body. “Fuck-fuck baby you’re so fucking hot, getting bred by Daddy’s Teddy—Daddy gave him to ya, didn’t I? Yeah—fuck babygirl fuck, knew you’d be perfect like this—!“

“JOEL MILLER!!!!”

He lets out a sudden snort, eyes fluttering open. He feels his senses come back to him: your body pressed snugly against his chest, his cock nudged between your thighs, ass hugging his balls. He has his arms wrapped around your front, caging you against him. You’re both sweating, hot and wet especially under the covers. The outline of your shoulder comes into focus, and there’s Teddy sitting lifeless in the corner still.

“W-what…?” He blinks a few times, his hold on you not letting up. He can still feel the aftermath of that glowing orgasm, his dick pulsing against your sopping pussy.

You let out a sigh. So he definitely was sleeping through it all: the humping against your ass, mumbling words and moans, then grasping your body right against him in a frenzied fuck fest. You’d thought he was gonna squeeze the air out of you. No matter what you tried, he wouldn’t get out of this trance, and started sliding his leaking cock between your legs. You were too confused and even more so aroused to be able to really put up a fight. Pumping in and out of your wet folds with desperation. It wasn’t until he was splashing his cum on your thighs, and you falling prey to your own orgasm that you heard him distinctly murmur something about your ‘pregnant Teddy cub belly’ that you had finally given up all decency and screamed, forcing him to wake.

“What…the fuck…were you dreaming about???”

- - - -

Ok found Original content i wrote!:

Based on @survivingandenduring 's wonderful find:

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Taglist:

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hivemuthur · 2 months ago

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To Be Known - Ch.4.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (and I can't stress this enough, kids shoo!) Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 6,8K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: mentions of injections (!) but nothing scary (just routine stuff), domspace, slight subspace, awkward sex talk, throat fucking, masturbation, some d/s etiquette (stoplight system), slight dacryphilia

author’s note: playlist here, @rennethen my beta, massive thank you and artist is @petitesieste ♡ + translations from Czech at the bottom!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

As the door shuts behind you, Viktor both regrets that the kiss wasn’t heated at all and is relieved that you are now gone, leaving him with no need to pretend his leg isn’t suffering the repercussions of last night.

He tightens the brace and retreats to the bedroom to swap the cane for a crutch—it’s going to be one of those days. It’s also going to be a day in which he cannot drive, so soon, he will follow your lead and get himself a cab to carry him from Islington to King’s Cross.

In the mirror, he can see his lips, kissed pinker than usual, his eyes still heavy with sleep, his neck marked in one spot that he hopes will be snugly obscured by his collar. Sharp angles are softened by bliss and warm slumber, subtle, barely noticeable. He can feel his dick faintly sore, his hip aching more than he expected, and he knows instantly��he is elbow-deep in something that will be incredibly hard to keep casual.

Because, impediments aside, his chest is pleasantly swollen with joy—purer than its source would suggest. Recharged, happy even, he does little to obscure the souvenirs of last night. A part of him wants Jayce to ask questions. And even though he won’t be able to tell the truth, he will be able to smile about it.

Someone aware and vacant but not yet shaped appearing at his feet, folded neatly, clean and crisp—that does not happen. Before, it was fleeting. Singulars or doubles with the better specimens, all of them inevitably saying, My ex used to. Interwoven between the plain and the regular when there was nothing else. Never had it left him so full, so calm. Never had it left him simultaneously restless, waiting for the next time. Never in such utter denial that this could be both the first time and the last. Never so hopeful for the endless next times.

Viktor changes into something warmer—August is already autumn here, rain on and off, the air thick with dampness. He wears a coat and scarf, an umbrella hooked over his bag, and the damn crutch keeps him upright as he waits for the cab.

Uncharacteristically for London, he arrives within a blink. Francis Crick greets him with its warehouse-like vastness, people bumping his shoulder and apologising as they move past. Jayce is already inside when Viktor steps into the lab, making coffee, his own neck carrying the marks of last night spent with Mel. Just like Viktor, he has done nothing to hide them.

“Got home safe?” Jayce asks, though the proof is right in front of him—breathing and walking wonkily.

“I was attacked multiple times on the short distance between the driveway and my building,” Viktor replies flatly, swapping his coat for a lab rendition of one. “But I managed to fight them all off.” He gestures toward Jayce’s neck with a smirk. “I see you fought someone too, hmm?”

“Oh.” Jayce’s hand snaps to his throat. “Yeah. Mel, she… she got really drunk,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “But I think she had fun.”

“I bet she had,” Viktor remarks dryly, rolling his eyes as he reaches for a mug, coffee waiting for him.

Jayce groans. “Alright, get off my back. What about you?”

Viktor glances at him, feigning innocence. “What about me?”

Jayce smirks, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “Did you have fun?”

“Absolutely,” Viktor replies smoothly, taking another sip.

“I bet you did.”

“Meaning?” Viktor raises a brow, though he already knows where this is going.

Jayce gestures vaguely at Viktor’s collar. “You call me out all you want, but I have eyes too, you know. Just… please don’t tell me it was with—”

“I got it before yesterday,” Viktor lies smoothly, cutting him off before he can finish that sentence.

Jayce squints at him, suspicion creeping into his expression. “I can’t remember you coming in with a hickey yesterday, Viktor.”

Viktor shrugs, nonchalant. “It’s not my fault your perception was stunted by nerves, Jayce,” he replies, tone clipped. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “Should I keep you informed at all times when I get laid?”

Jayce grins. “I wouldn’t mind.” Then, after a beat, he studies Viktor more carefully. “Something, uh… serious?”

“Ah, no, not at all,” Viktor lies again, answer coming too quickly. Jayce’s frown deepens, knowing. Before he can press further, Viktor nudges the conversation elsewhere, chin gesturing toward the stack of papers before them. “What are we dealing with today?”

Jayce sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Uh, you’re not gonna like it, man,” he warns, flipping through a few pages. “They keep pushing to change the direction.”

Viktor exhales sharply. “Any new ones, or are we still on turning people back to teenagers?”

“I’m afraid we’re still on that.” Jayce grimaces, tapping the folder.

“Ah, I see it’s imperative that the rich stay perpetually young instead of the sick getting aid,” Viktor mutters, voice laced with dry disdain. “Why am I not surprised.”

Jayce leans against the table, arms crossed. “Look, if we do something fast and present results that prove it impossible, maybe they will give it a rest.”

“Jayce, it’s such a waste of time.” Viktor shakes his head, adjusting his stance against the workbench. “Cancer won’t halt to wait for us finding a cure for old age.” He gestures sharply. “But we can find the cure for it. What’s more important?”

“Well, obviously cancer treatment,” Jayce concedes, pushing a hand through his hair. “But we will do nothing without funds.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpens. “Did Mel threaten that she will retreat if we don’t do this?”

Jayce shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he says quickly—then hesitates. “Her mother did, though.”

“Zatraceně,” Viktor mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. Usually, the exchange would go on until it breaks into a bickering fight that dies off because Jayce just can’t stand conflicts. Today though, Viktor manages to play it all out it his head before it happens and settles for a solution that they would arrive at anyway, just after a week. With a sigh, he says, “Fine. What’s your angle?”

Jayce blinks. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Viktor shrugs. “If we can’t convince them, it’s more time wasted.”

Jayce exhales and gathers the documents, flipping to a few key pages. “Okay, uh… I collected everything we did in the past that failed. And here is what we’ve been doing since the beginning of the year,” he explains, dragging a finger down a chart. “So I say… a month? Maybe two, two months of tests on mice, and we can probably call it a fail for, let’s say, another year.”

Viktor frowns, considering. “Any way of just… putting it down. For good?”

Jayce scoffs, shaking his head. “Finding a different investor,” he says, defeated.

“Why don’t we?” Viktor asks, tilting his head. Truly, why don’t they? Ockham’s razor, if the method doesn’t work change the method, all those wisdoms suddenly clear as day and instead of getting angry Viktor is as calm as stagnant water.

Jayce huffs a laugh. “Ah… wait. Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Viktor, but Mel—”

“What? Will break up with you?” Viktor cuts in smoothly.

Jayce frowns. “No. At least I hope not.”

“So?” Viktor challenges, raising a brow.

Jayce exhales, reluctant. “It will take time.”

“So will this,” Viktor counters easily. “If we both look in our free time, maybe we will find someone.”

“We don’t have free time, Viktor,” Jayce groans.

“Eh, don’t be so dramatic, Jayce,” Viktor smirks, leaning on his crutch. “I’m sure someone would be thrilled to have a cancer cure on their hands.”

Jayce considers, rubbing his jaw. “I mean… it’s possible. I guess I can ask Mel if she knows anyone.”

“There you go.” Viktor nods, satisfied.

Jayce narrows his eyes. “What the hell is with you today?”

“In what sense?” Viktor mutters in mock oblivion, his head dips between his shoulders as he is sipping his coffee.

“Why are you so fucking happy?”

Viktor smirks behind the rim of his mug. “I told you. I had fun last night,” he says, and it’s the truth this time.

Jayce rolls his eyes. “Aha, alright then. I will know, sooner or later.” He eyes Viktor’s stance. “How’s your leg?”

Viktor shrugs. “Been better. Nothing too bad, though.” He pick up the folder and turns on his chair. “Alright, I’ll go through it, you prep the lab?” Jayce only nods, still eyeing the crutch.

By lunchtime, Viktor has compiled about a thousand reasons why reversing aging is not only unethical but also impossible.

The telomere theory had long been paraded as the key to immortality—until it wasn’t. Scientists once believed that aging resulted primarily from the shortening of telomeres, the protective caps at the ends of chromosomes. Each time a cell divides, these caps erode, until eventually, the cell can no longer replicate properly. If telomere degradation could be stopped—or reversed—then so, theoretically, could aging itself.

But the reality is far more complex.

Extending telomeres doesn’t simply restore youth; it encourages uncontrolled cell growth—cancer. The body has natural safeguards for a reason, and bypassing them has proven disastrous. Tumours thrive on unchecked replication, turning what is meant to be a fountain of youth into a biological death sentence.

Which is why Viktor and Jayce are attempting to achieve the exact opposite. He taps his pen against the desk, scanning the reports before him. Even if the theory had held more promise, it was still a question of priority. But they have survived and braced through so much bullshit in the past that Viktor manages to settle into something resembling certainty—that whatever this outdated spurt is attempting, it will pass. And with its passage will come the freedom to pursue a goal far more important than a face free of wrinkles.

The rest of his day rolls between countless coffees, snacks that Jayce insists on bringing and, of course, work. By the time the sun sets his thoughts have drifted to you only three times, and only because he’s caught the glimpse of your lips imprinted on his neck each time he goes to the bathroom.

Until Jayce leaves and, inevitably, Viktor is left alone with his thoughts. And with his hands, which suddenly have nothing better to do than reach for his phone. He finds your number there, hastily exchanged right before you left for work. So he sends the text.

Normally, Viktor would put his phone away and check it again when the occasion arises, but now he gapes at it stupidly, waiting. Expecting.

Ignition is instant as three dots begin to jump by your initials, and Viktor hunches over as if that would make you type faster.

I have a thing in the evening, but I should be free at 10, if that’s not too late for you :)

Perfect, he replies—too fast to be dignified, but he cares not.

By the time 10 p.m. Saturday arrives, he is fucking giddy and nearly slaps himself when the buzzer goes off. When he waits for you at the door, crutch already exchanged, cane hanging on the coat rack, he smirks at the sight of you rolling out of the elevator in flat shoes, high heels dangling from your hand.

"Did you walk here?" he asks instead of hello, leaning against the doorframe.

You parrot him, pulling a face that attempts to distort his expression, mocking his tone. "No, genius," you say as you step through the door, tossing your shoes to the floor. "They won’t fit in my bag."

One brat point, Viktor thinks.

The second pair—the ones you’re wearing—you kick off, and as you do, Viktor asks, "How was your thing?"

"Do you really want to know?" you reply, turning—only to be met with him, lurking very, very close.

He smells good. Cheeks red. Shaking his head as he moves toward you, hands slipping under your skirt, sliding past your underwear as promised. Gliding over the round of your ass, lower, between your legs. Viktor can’t decide if this would be more fun with thighs or just as it is.

Your back meets the wall, your mouth meets his, your pussy meets his fingers in a small gathering of breaths and gasps. “Did you miss me?” you tease through exhales he allows, feeling the grin blooming against your lips.

“Are you going to be insufferable?” he hums. There is no answer to this—only a startled moan as two fingers plunge inside you. Viktor purrs, so, so pleased. “Oh, but you’ve missed me too, didn’t you?”

For you are dripping, the needy thing between your hips such a traitor.

You nod, defeated, twisting your fingers into his hair, nipping at his lip, kissing him deeply—tongue out, breathing him in as if you had been gone for a month. He tastes better when you’re sober. He tastes so much better. Feels so much better. His chest flush against yours, one hand on your neck, his forearm squeezed between your buttocks as he fingers you lazily. Your ass sticks out to meet his palm, to take more, to take him deeper.

“Greedy,” Viktor smirks as he pulls his mouth away from yours, a string of wet connecting your lips. You follow the trail, but he retreats further, shaking his head.

“We need to talk first,” he says, still playing inside you as if it’s nothing.

“You said too,” you breathe, ignoring him, pressing yourself into his neck, licking where the ghost of your mark still lingers. “So you have missed me.”

“Brat,” Viktor chuckles, but truth be told, he is utterly smitten. Defeated, too—right there with you, where your entire body begs for him. And you have no idea you’re already on three brat points, nor that he cannot fucking wait to cash them in.

But just to give you something, anything, he plucks your hand off his shoulder and places it on his crotch, whispering, “I have.”

You smile at him so sweetly Viktor would drop to his knees and eat you out if his hip weren’t still slightly busted. So, reluctantly, he pulls his fingers out of you, licks them clean in front of your very eyes—obscenely slow—then kisses you for good measure. Already wanton, you mess the shirt out of his trousers, fingers tugging impatiently, and he tsks, reprimanding,

“I meant it when I said I want to talk.”

“Fine,” you pout, fixing your skirt back in place with an air of put-upon suffering.

“Brat,” Viktor says again, but there’s a smile in it. Then, he reaches behind you, grabs his cane from the coat rack, and walks past you unceremoniously. He stops in the middle of the hallway, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow.

“Well? Are you coming?”

“I could answer that in so many ways, you know,” you reply, exasperated, but you still drag your bare feet across the floor, slinging your bag back over your shoulder.

Viktor’s smile lingers as he sees it. The sight makes him feel oddly warm—because you’ve brought clothes to change into this time.

And he is so unhurried, it drives you insane. Maddening, the way he just makes tea, pours milk into yours without asking, and then sits across from you at the kitchen table as you resume your negotiations. He leans back in his chair, fingers curled loosely around his cup, staring at you as if weighing how to begin.

The silence is unbearable. “Are you always so responsible?” you blurt, unable to sit still, let alone wait patiently. You crack your toes against the floor, pressing them down in a distorted caricature of pointe.

“I like to know where I’m at,” Viktor says, stern but measured, blinking slowly. Then, without preamble, “So. From the start. Protection?”

You blink. “Oh. Straight in?”

A beat, and when Viktor does absolutely nothing to ease your discomfort, you release a breathy chuckle. “Okay, um… I have a patch anyway, and—” You hesitate, shifting in your chair. “Please don’t think I’m a freak, but…” You reach into your bag and pull out your phone. Tugging a strand of hair behind your ear, you fiddle on the screen before placing it in front of him. “I donated blood last month at a charity event, and these are my results.”

His brow quirks.

“So, you can lose the rubber,” you mutter, swallowing. “If you want.”

Viktor says nothing at first, just studies you with that unreadable expression of his. Then, with the same ease as before, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and places it in front of you. The screen is already unlocked, a document open.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice low. “I test regularly. Everything’s negative.”

That catches you by surprise, though you school your face quickly, forcing yourself not to dwell too much on whatever embers of unjustified jealousy try to crack open beneath your feet. Lip caught between your teeth, you glance down—not to check if he’s telling the truth, but to give yourself an extra second to think.

Then, quietly, heat creeping up your ears, you murmur, “No condom then.”

It’s Viktor’s turn to swallow something down. His gaze darkens, as images of what he can do with this newest ruling flash through his mind. His fingers tap once against the side of his cup before he hums, satisfied. “Good.”

His voice is so casual, so certain, it’s infuriating.

“Next… safe word?” Viktor asks. You cringe, a small, involuntary wince that does not go unnoticed. He tilts his head, expression softening, and before you can even muster the courage to tell him you haven’t got the faintest idea, he steps in. “Okay,” he says, tone even, patient. “Are you familiar with the stoplight system?”

“Yes,” you say, relieved at the reprieve.

“Is that better?”

“Yes, I can do that,” you nod, fingers curling into your lap.

“Alright.” Voice still matter-of-fact, eyes stay on you, gauging, reading. “And if you can’t speak, it’s two taps for slow down, and three for stop. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” You barely recognise your own voice. It’s breathless, eager, and a little too quick to comply.

Because God, this is so hot.

Dark blood stumbles slowly through your veins, brain slipping into focus, breaths deepen and all you can hear is his voice. All you can see is his sunken-cheeked face—a map of spectacular junctions you linger on—pools of his eyes, yes, dark, yes, wanting, but above all—kind. Above all, awakened and eager when he reads the answers before you even open your mouth.

Then, his nose, again, the hill of it, the way it slithers into his cheeks. Lower, the crown of his lip, a bud made to be sucked on. It moves when he says, “Brilliant.” The word rolls out, thick and heavy, makes the muscles of his jaw flex underneath the skin and to save yourself from second degree burn on your face, you retreat to the trick of nose staring. Nearly fails you again, when he scratches it and instead of it your mind drifts to where those fingers have been just moments ago.

He leans forward, hand crawling toward you, and you place your palms flat on the table. Not yet touching, but the promise is there.

“Anything you won’t do? Hard limits?” he asks evenly, arrogant smirk impossible to hide. “It can be all sorts of things, even the basics. Like cocksucking.”

At this point it’s inching toward cruel, a praying mantis foreplay, but you suspect you are the one about to end up a meal on his plate. With a deep breath, you manage, “I’m not opposed to it,” your voice steadier than you feel.

Viktor exhales through his nose, something caught between a hum and a chuckle. “That makes me very happy.”

“I bet it does,” you mumble before you can stop yourself, pulse thundering everywhere—in your chest, wrists, pounding between your ears and legs.

The smug smile he gives you in return is positively wicked. Four points.

“So… anything?” He watches you carefully, head tilting. Then, as if making a decision, he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out beneath the table, his feet touch yours. “I’ll tell you what,” he continues. “If anything comes up, tell me. Even if randomly. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” A beat. “And you?” you ask, voice quieter.

A complete change. Viktor feels his chest flooding with warmth, eyes widen when he reaches out for your palms and cradles them in his. “Yes. I will make sure to tell you.” His gaze holds yours, unwavering.

It’s merely a glimpse of something. Then, his expression falls back into the sardonic kind, and after a pause, he asks, “How uncomfortable does this make you feel?”

You shift in your seat, squeezing his palms. “Very.”

His lips curl. “Good.” He tilts his chin, eyes lazily dropping down your frame. “Are you wet?” he asks, so casually it stirs the bottom of your stomach into a tight cramp and your thighs clench.

“Show me,” Viktor says, and you are already standing up, already moving without thought, drawn in by the quiet command.

By the time you reach the other side of the table, his hands are already on you—steady and sure. Your fingers press into his shoulders as his palm sneaks between your legs, testing, feeling, confirming.

“Very good,” he purrs, voice drenched in satisfaction. His teasing fingers stroke over the fabric. Then, with a small tug, arms pull you forward.

“Now, come here,” he murmurs, his grip firm but careful. “One last thing.”

He guides you to straddle his lap, and you settle against him easily, warmth pooling where your bodies meet. The shift makes your skirt roll up, your underwear now completely visible, but Viktor’s eyes don’t drop—they linger on your face, on something softer.

His fingers reach for the high, snug collar of your turtleneck. He peels it back, unrolling the fabric slowly, like unwrapping a gift. Then, as soon as he sees the marks blooming along your throat, his breath catches.

“Oh my,” he muses, and his voice is velvet—rich, low, utterly charmed. His fingers brush over the bruises, ghosting along the evidence of his own mouthwork. “I got you good, haven’t I?”

Your lips twitch, suppressing a smirk. “I suppose you have.”

Viktor hums, tracing absentminded circles against your spine. His other hand rests on the curve of your bum. “Did it get you in trouble?”

“Not yet,” you admit, craning your neck, as he presses a kiss to the unmarked side. His lips are warm, his breath even warmer as he nuzzles into the skin, rubbing his nose over it before pressing another—softer, gentler—kiss.

“And you know… it’s going to be winter soon,” you murmur, fingers playing at the loose strands of his hair. “We can regroup in spring.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, but his arms tighten around you. “No,” he decides. “I’ll be more careful.”

Your hands slide down to cup his jaw, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Please don’t stop, though.”

He looks at you then, properly, and behind his eyes is fondness, undeniable, as his pupils search your face, hands reassure, his lap warms you up.

“I won’t.” His voice is a promise, lips brushing the words against your skin. Then, with a knowing smirk, he whispers, “Besides, there are other places.”

And you have neither the will nor the energy to gather more brat points this evening. So instead of snapping back with something clever, you nuzzle into his neck, pressing your nose against his skin and inhaling deeply—his stupid man-soap, his stupid plain washing powder, his stupid freckled skin.

Mouth open, you drag it up the slope of his throat, unhurried, skin pulling with the friction. He exhales, head tilting back, offering himself to you eagerly. His hips slide down the chair, and you have to hold onto his shoulders when he speaks to the ceiling, “Get on your knees for me.”

He smiles when he sees how snugly you fit there and asks, “Not opposed, hm?” Your palms rest on his thighs, fingers marching toward his belt as you shake your head, a timid smile stretching your lips. Before you can undo it for him, Viktor unbuckles himself. Metal clinks on the floor as he grasps your hands and presses them to his cock, leaning in to whisper, “Not good enough. I want you to love it.”

Your hands turn shaky all of a sudden, hesitating as you unbutton him. He looms over you, already cradling your nape, foreshadowing the moment the spaces between his fingers will be full of your hair. No drunken haze, no fucked-out brain—finally, you get a proper look. And Viktor is pretty, head to toe, you realise. His cock is half-hard, framed by dark hair that meets in a tempting line on his lower belly, rising and falling with each deep breath—just as the crown of his upper lip, it is made to be sucked on.

By the time your mouth reaches him, he’s so deeply blissed out he staggers. Because it’s not just your mouth—it’s your entire face that hugs him, repeating the gesture from the first night, when you simply rested your cheek on his length and breathed him in. His stupid man-smell. Sweet and salty with sweat, and you want to be closer, so you yank his pants down to his ankles. Viktor says nothing about the fact that you’ve done so without permission.

Because you move in, arms wrapping around his waist, your entire face pressed into his groin, mouth agape as you breathe deeply. Tranquillity, absolute and endless, floods you when, instead of yanking your head, he strokes it and sighs, long and heavy.

And then, you kiss him as if his cock were his lips—open-mouthed and with tongue—gliding over every inch in a loving rhythm, from the base to the tip and back down. Pressing him into his own stomach, hands tightening around his hips, you hum into his skin and Viktor shudders. Overwhelmed, he holds your jaw and urges you to stick your tongue out, mimicking the gesture himself. And that’s when you notice—his tongue is pretty too.

Cock lands in your mouth, its flushed head drags across the wet surface, teasing, the heat of your breath enveloping him. He pulls back, letting the tip slip free, and then smears the slickness of your spit along your cheek. The gesture so full of intent, his thumb following to spread it further, tracing the damp streak before he taps your cheek with his cock once—twice—three times, and smiles, grins with teeth and all. You’ve thought it impossible, but he just managed to get prettier even.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, gripping tight. Your eyes flutter shut, waiting.

“Ready?” he murmurs, voice thick.

You nod, anticipation rolling through you, but Viktor is nothing if not careful. His warm palm finds your cheek again, thumb pressing gently at the hinge of your jaw. “Remember about taps,” he reminds you, free hand cradling the back of your head. Then, finally, he pushes forward, slow but insistent, the head of his cock breaching your lips.

“That’s it,” he sighs, his grip tightening as he sinks deeper. “Good girl… You feel so—” He exhales sharply, rocking his hips shallowly. “That’s right. God, you feel good.”

His pace builds, measured at first, the tight ring of your mouth around him making his breath grow heavier. His fingers twitch against your scalp as he mutters, “So fucking pretty like this.”

Each word of praise spurs you on. You moan around his cock, and Viktor grunts with effort, his breath shuddering, brows knitting. He brushes your hair off your face, gathering it carefully in his hand, mindful not to pull. Tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes, but you do not falter. You clutch his legs for support as Viktor shifts to the edge of the chair, caging you between his thighs.

Sweat begins to pearl on his forehead, fingers pressing deeper into muscle. His voice thickens, English fracturing as pleasure takes over.

“Děláš mi to tak dobře,” he groans, voice rough with need. His hips push forward with a little more force, testing. “Podívej se na tebe… tak nádherná s pusou plnou.”

Less air, more heat pooling low in your belly. Drool pooling in your mouth. A tear breaks free, rolling down your cheek, and something shifts in Viktor’s expression—fascinated. Your lashes flutter, eyes hazy as he holds you there, thighs clenching.

He pulls back, letting you gasp, spit clinging between your lips and his skin before he presses in again, deeper this time. His grip tightens at your nape, holding you steady.

“Můj chytrý, drzý, krásný děvče,” he pants, voice hoarse, words spilling from him like a prayer. “Vezmi si mě celého.”

You roll your tongue out and angle your head for him to enter easier. He’s back instantly, you catch only a glimpse of his cock glistening in your drool, and it excites you, boiling over. He slides in, slowly, watches himself disappear between your lips with wide eyes, half of him, and then, oh, all of him, as your throat straightens and becomes full. All falls quiet around you, and you close your eyes, holding him in for four long seconds, before patting his thigh twice.

Viktor retreats immediately, cradles your face and asks, “Colour?” before you are done gulping on air.

“Green,” you rasp, reaching back for his cock, a string of drool hanging from your lip, low, nearly staining your chest.

You flatten your tongue, tilt your head, open up. He’s there in an instant, the blunt, slick head pressing against your lips. A brief glance down—his cock shining, thick with spit, dark hair curling damp at the base. A sharp pulse flares in your loins at the sight, and then he’s sliding back in, slow, watching himself vanish between your lips. Halfway. Then deeper. Your throat takes him, stretches, the press of him filling your mouth, your ribs tightening with the effort of stillness.

Everything stills, quiet in your ears. His hand heavy at the back of your skull, his breath gone shallow. Your lashes flutter, eyes shut. Four long seconds, your lungs burning, and then—two quick taps to his thigh.

He pulls back instantly, his hands gentle when they frame your face. “Colour?” His voice frays at the edges, all rasp and need.

“Green.” Your voice is wrecked, breathless. You reach back for him, spit trailing from your lip, stringing low, silver in the dim light. “Please, again.”

His thumbs stroke across your cheeks, slow, tracing heat beneath the skin. “What have I done to deserve you?” His voice, a rasp of breath and want. He presses a dry kiss to your forehead, something reverent in it, then tilts your face up. “Does it feel good, when you can’t breathe?”

Your breath stutters. “Yes,” barely more than air, forehead pressing to his chin, hands clenching around his wrists. “God, yes.” The words slip free like a confession.

He lets you hold on, lets you bear down as he presses in again. The tension of muscle, the slow give of your throat around him. He watches, eyes dark, intent—reads the flicker of your lashes, the shudder in your ribs, the shine of spit where it slicks him. He sees the way your body makes space for him, the way your throat clenches, the way tears bead and slip from the corners of your eyes.

A long, shuddering breath. He pushes deeper. Watches himself disappear, faster this time. Pulling your hand with him, his fingers skate down, brush the column of your throat, mapping the way it stretches, the pulse leaping beneath his touch. He watches, always watching, eyes heavy-lidded, half-wild, but still careful. His palm flattens, thumb stroking over your skin as he rocks forward, measuring each inch that slides in, each tiny shift of muscle.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice fragmented. “Touch yourself.”

Hand leaves his wrist and finds its place between your legs when you part your thighs and dip into your underwear. It sticks to your skin, drenched, when you part yourself and try to not lose focus. You picture it’s him, somehow, touching you.

His hips roll, slow at first, feeding you the length of him, watching how your lips part wider, how your jaw strains to take him deeper. He feels your fingers flex around his wrist, grip tightening before easing, giving way. The first wet sound pulls a groan from him, rough yet quiet.

“There you go,” he says, as if coaxing something delicate to open. His thumb lingers at your throat, pressing just enough to feel himself inside. His grip at your nape steadies you as he moves again, guiding you, his restraint threadbare.

The wet pull of your mouth drags another guttural sound from his chest, and it sounds so fucking lovely you moan around his cock. His words break into rough blabber, heat-struck and low. “Tak nádherná... tak dokonalá…”

A stutter of hips, breath cuts when he swallows hard and fingers tease at your throat. “Breathe,” he reminds, voice fraying, rasping. “Tap if—” His voice cuts off as you swallow around him, as your tongue presses firm.

His jaw clenches, body tight, but his hand never leaves your throat, never stops searching for your breath, for the shift of muscle as he works himself deeper.

Your eyes flicker up, wet and wide. The sight of you like this undoes him.

His breath stutters out, a ragged curse, his head tipping back. Fingers tightening as heat coils, as his restraint snaps, and with a final shuddering groan, he spills into your mouth. The taste of him, heavy salt, the sight of his stomach hollowing out under the muscle cramp, tips you over and you suck him out, milk him, grunting around his sensitive skin, cunt clenching around nothing as you come.

You swallow around him until there is a vacuum, and Viktor hisses, his grip on your head tightening. He exhales heavily, unsteady, then pulls out with a wet sigh and beckons you up by the neck, guiding you back until your thighs bracket his.

Up there, in his lap, he kisses you—deep, grateful—licking himself from your mouth. A low hum rumbles in his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

“Not opposed, huh?” he teases.

You chuckle, warmth curling at the edges of your voice. “I suppose you can call me a fan,” you admit, sheepish, fingers idly tracing the back of his neck.

Viktor is already elsewhere, mind moving faster than breath, reading you even now. “How are you feeling?”

You exhale, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “So fucking tired. But good. Now good.”

He hums, then urges you to stand. His own movements are slow, careful—he rises with difficulty, a quiet wince caught in his throat. He stretches, rolling his shoulders, then glances at you. “How early do you have to wake up tomorrow?”

You shift on your feet, rubbing your arms. “I don’t… I have to do some things in the evening, but I have Sunday morning free.”

And Viktor tries not to come off as anything, face fully naked when he says, “I implore you to stay, then.”

Spacing out just a bit, not as strongly as the last time, you nod, sling the bag back over your shoulder and let yourself be walked to his bedroom. There, wordlessly, Viktor undresses down to his underwear. You catch the glimpse of a fresh bruise on his stomach, previously hidden beneath his shirt. He sits on the bed, stretching his leg out with a sigh, then looks up at you, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“You can change in the bathroom, you know?” he says, amusement curling at the edges of his lips.

“I know, I just—” you hesitate. “It’s just very domestic,” you say, cringing at your own immaturity.

Viktor exhales a laugh through his nose. “Only because we are at my home.” His gaze lingers, curious. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” you say and the fact that it truly doesn’t—that’s what bothers you. Viktor shifts from acting like he cares beyond measure to as if he would go wherever the wind blows. From being utterly excited about your discontentment to completely unbothered about anything you decide. He sits on the bed in just his boxers, giving you a lopsided smile. “Go change.”

As soon as you do, he falls onto his back and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters quietly to himself. After a long breath, he rolls onto his belly, reaching into the bedside stand. He pulls out a syringe, rolls back, sits up, and gathers a small pinch of skin on his stomach. On the opposite side of the fresh bruise, the needle goes in smoothly, but Viktor hisses at the sensation of fluid expanding the tissues. He massages it out and drops the syringe into the trash bin beside the bed.

By the time you come out of the bathroom, he’s already in bed. His arm is flung over his face, his body slack, only the subtle rise and fall of his chest betraying that he’s still awake. You settle into the farthest edge of the bed—just like last time.

Viktor chuckles when you slide under the covers and yawn. Shifting closer, he reaches for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest. His breath is warm against your temple.

“Why are you all the way over there again?” he murmurs, voice tired.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, arms trapped, fingers tapping his sternum. “I don’t want to invade your space.”

Viktor hums, his lips ghosting over your hair. “You are in my bed,” he points out, his tone dry but fond.

You hesitate, then offer, “I can go if you want me to.”

“Hush now,” he chides softly, arms tightening. A pause, then, quieter, “Do you mind this?”

Your breathe out a quiet groan. Then, “N-no,” you stammer. “But I’m fine today, I don’t need—”

“I do,” he interrupts, his voice lower, steady. His fingers splay against your back, pressing you close. “I need this.” A beat of silence, then, gentler, “Is that okay?”

And even if you were able to say no before, now it’s impossible. Because Viktor sinks, his face brushing against yours in something almost absentmindedly affectionate, his breath warming up your cheek. Being needed overrides the unease of non-sexual closeness.

“It’s okay,” you mutter finally. Then, “Viktor?”

“Hm?” he hums, the sound lazy, content.

“Why a skirt?”

“Ah,” A chuckle. “No reason really, other than that I like your legs. Also, easier access, if you please,” he says, squeezing your butt. “I might have gotten a better use of it, wasn’t my leg not up to it today.” That’s a quiet admission he hasn’t meant to share yet, but it just happens. And it lands softly in your clever brain that connects the dots quickly.

“Is that why your stomach is bruised?”

“Oh.” He shifts slightly, reaching back toward the nightstand. “Partly. It’s the brace,” he explains, retrieving a small syringe and holding it up for you to see. “These prevent blood clotting under the trapped tissue.”

You frown. “It looks painful.” Another piece of Viktor for your collection.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he assures you, setting the syringe aside. His mouth quirks slightly. “But I’m aware it’s not the most aesthetically pleasing sight.”

You scoff. “Your stomach is one of the most aesthetically pleasing sights I’ve had the opportunity to ogle.” You hesitate, then add, softer, “I’m just checking. Just curious.”

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle. “I like your stomach too.”

You snort. “Are you always such a sap after sex?”

“Do you want me to be mean?” he counters, brow quirking.

“No,” you say quickly. “No, please be a sap.”

He hums again, his grip on you tightening briefly. “You are a very strange creature,” he says at last, affection dripping from his tongue, though it seems he hadn’t intended it to. Mercifully, you don’t comment on it. You just nose into his neck, breathing in deeply—the stupid smell of him. —

Translations: Děláš mi to tak dobře – You make me feel so good Podívej se na tebe… tak nádherná s pusou plnou – Look at you… so beautiful with your mouth full Můj chytrý, drzý, krásný děvče – My smart, sassy, beautiful girl Vezmi si mě celého – Take all of me Tak nádherná... tak dokonalá… – So beautiful… so perfect…

#my writing #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x oc #arcane #arcane fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor nation #to be known

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glowettee · 3 months ago

Note

do you have any posts abt decentering your life from men? i think i rely on male validation wayyyyyy too much lol. love your content btw ✨

✧˖° how to stop centering your life around men (because you have way better things to do)

(a guide to decentering men, breaking free from male validation & making yourself the main character for real this time)

so you’ve noticed it... the way your mood shifts depending on whether or not he texts you back, the way your confidence is high when you’re getting attention and low when you’re not. maybe you catch yourself subtly performing when guys are around, or maybe you find yourself molding into the kind of girl you think they’d want.

and honestly? same. we’ve all been there. society trains us to believe that being wanted is the ultimate achievement, that our worth is measured by how desirable we are to men. but that’s a lie. your life was never meant to revolve around them. you were always meant to be the sun, the main event, the entire storyline.

i really hope this post can help you understand you were never meant to revolve around them. love you - mindy

✧˖° step one: start seeing them for what they actually are

listen, it’s time to be so for real with yourself. ask: do I even like this man, or do I just like the attention? do I actually think he’s interesting, or do I just want him to think I’m interesting? do I want him, or do I just want to be chosen?

because half the time? the men we obsess over are painfully mediocre. and yet we assign them so much power. letting them dictate how we feel about ourselves, letting their validation (or lack of it) determine our worth.

take a step back. stop romanticizing them. start seeing them as human beings. flawed, regular, not the prize. the real prize? is you.

✧˖° step two: detox from male validation (yes, a real detox)

you don’t realize how much male validation fuels your self-worth until you cut it off. so let’s go cut. it. off.

for the next month, no:

dressing for male attention (dress for you instead).

posting just to see if he will like it.

checking who watched your stories.

replaying conversations to see if you sounded cool enough.

instead, every time you feel the urge to seek male validation, replace it with self-validation.

take pictures just for yourself.

romanticize your own opinion of you.

remind yourself that your value doesn’t shift based on their perception of you.

✧˖° step three: become the most interesting person you know

a lot of us center men in our lives because we have nothing else filling that space. so fill it. with things that actually excite you.

start a niche hobby that makes you feel alive (pottery, screenwriting, blogging (girlblogging to be exact), literally anything).

go to cafes alone, sit in the prettiest spot, and enjoy your own company.

build your dream life piece by piece, your wardrobe, your routines, your vibe.

when you’re truly obsessed with your own life, the need for male validation just… disappears. because suddenly, you’re so content, so full, that their attention feels like an afterthought.

✧˖° step four: unfollow the pick-me content (yes, even the guilty pleasure stuff)

what you consume matters. if your feed is filled with “how to make him obsessed with you” content, if you’re constantly absorbing media that glorifies male attention, you’re subconsciously reinforcing the idea that men = purpose.

so let’s cleanse. unfollow the pick-me content. mute the male gaze influencers. instead:

fill your feed with confident, self-sufficient women.

read books by powerful women who own their narrative.

watch movies where the female lead’s story isn’t about a man.

you are not the supporting character in a man’s story. start consuming content that reminds you of that. you are a goddess, an angel, the main character of YOUR story! please remember that <3

✧˖° step five: enforce the highest standards (with zero guilt)

decentering men doesn’t mean avoiding relationships, it just means refusing to settle. it means knowing that you don’t need male validation to be worthy. and that means setting real standards:

if he’s inconsistent? he’s gone.

if he makes you question your worth? he’s out.

if he needs you to shrink yourself to fit into his life? bye.

your love life should enhance your life, not become your life. you don’t need to be chosen. you need to be cherished. there’s a difference.

✧˖° mindy’s personal tips ✧˖°

some little things that helped me fully break free from male validation: ➝ talk to yourself like you’re the love of your life - hype yourself up in the mirror, take yourself on cute dates, write love letters to you.➝ wear perfume, do your hair, and put effort into your looks even when you’re alone. let your beauty be for you, not for male approval. ➝ when a guy doesn’t text back, shift your energy immediately. instead of spiraling, get up, put on music, do something fun. do not make him your focus.

✧˖° homework: shift your energy back to you

for the next week, every time you catch yourself seeking male validation, pause. redirect that energy inward. do something for yourself instead. and watch how your entire aura changes.

because when you stop chasing their approval? you start living for real.

love you <333 so sorry this reply was sooo late

xoxo mindy

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fartcloudfartcloud · 9 months ago

Text

Simon Riley x Maid!Reader

based on this text post

Summary: Simon has a house cleaner come clean once a month. What happens when she goes on vacation, and you're her replacement?

warnings: sfw but theres tension 😋, will make an nsfw part two if you guys want it :), Simon being big and scary and offputting per usual, lots of internal dialogue

a/n: loved this concept, and since I actually worked a door to door cleaning job I thought this fit so well and needed to write it. hope u enjoy :)

You took a deep breath.

These were the steps you were to take in this job. You had no reason to feel unsafe or in danger of any sort. Yet, the thought of walking up and knocking on this door had your heart in your stomach.

Simon Riley Is what the work order had listed as the clients name. Ex Military. Large German Shepard named Riley. Liked his wooden floors cleaned with vinegar instead of the regular cleaning solution. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Except for the entry instructions. The small box on the piece of paper that would normally hold a few finely printed words, things such as "Homeowner will be not be home, key is under welcome mat"

or "Homeowner will be home and located in office on second floor, door will be unlocked"

had big, bold font to start. Your manager had to go in and manually change that detail, and knowing her, that must mean this is serious.

The box reads-

"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN DOOR. HOMEOWNER IS EX MILITARY AND EXTREMELY STRICT. RING FRONT DOORBELL ONCE AND WAIT."

Yeah. Very normal and not at all gut-wrenching.

You keep taking deep breaths as you go through your routine. Read the work order thoroughly once more, try not to shit yourself, go and grab your equipment, and follow the instructions.

Easy. Just follow the routine.

Your equipment is as big and clunky as usual. With a vacuum on your back, a bucket full of microfiber towels, a backpack full of chemicals, and knee pads on both knees, you knew for sure you were a sight for sore eyes.

You're not quiet as you walk either, each step making every plastic piece of your puzzle clunk and scrape in a cacophony of reminders of why you were here. You thunk and bang your way up the front porch, eyes everywhere but the front door, still taking deep breaths as you try to just focus on your surroundings, taking note of the nice front garden and walkway as you pass.

You finally settle on the front porch, your arms dropping the bucket and preparing yourself for the big push to start this job.

One ring, you remind yourself. Then wait. Deep breath.

You look up to find the door bell, hand pulling up in a search for the button when you see him.

He must have heard you, you decide as he stands behind the screen door with his arms crossed.

Simon Riley is massive, standing what feels like a clean foot taller than you, big muscled arms bulging from his tight t-shirt. They're as big as your head, his thighs probably twice so. His face was pulled down in a heated gaze, though the bottom half of his face was covered by a black mask. He was scary as he stood there, his aura menacing and doing nothing to sooth your nerves.

Yeah, ex Military makes sense, Jesus christ.

"Ya pissed of my dog, allat noise." You jump, the deep british voice startling you as he begins chastising you. His face frowns down it you, his eyes angry. You're speachless, "Well? Talk."

You stammer as you realize you were just sitting and staring in awe, mind suddenly back on track and then derailing again as you have no idea what to say.

The routine, Jesus christ the routine what's the next step. You scramble for your binder, pulling it open to his work order page and looking up at him as you muster up the courage to speak.

"Um, are you, uh, Simon Riley, sir?" You ask, stuttering and staggering between every word.

He reaches foreword and opens the screen door, getting a good look at you first before he can respond.

"Hm. You the cleaning lady?" He questions, the hand not holding the door open now stuffed in the pocket of his pants.

"Mhm, yeah, im- uh. I'm from Housekeeping Heros, you have an appointment for, um-" you start rustling through more pages of the binder, desperate to find the information, needing to prove to yourself more then him you were in the right place.

"I know i 've an appointment," He holds out his hand and halts your movements. You relax, all the horrible conclusions you were drawing coming to an end. Though, as per usual, they were quickly replaced with new ones, his voice still short and snippy with you.

Deep breaths, girl, we can do this.

He points to your small pile of equipment. "Ya need 'elp?"

You shake your head no, suprised he'd offered. Though he just responds with a head shake, motioning to give it here with his hands. And you do, you don't even second guess it, handing him your bucket and backpack without a second word, something in you submitting to him without a care in the world.

He turns around and walks everything into the kitchen where he gently rests it on the table, softer then you were expecting. You follow him in, feeling like a stray with your legs tucked between your legs as you fet settled. He looks at you expectantly.

Not sure what he's looking for, you start explaining the cleaning process, using your binder as a reference and pointing to each section. He stands behind you, arms crossed again and chin tucked down as he nods along with your words.

He points to the vacuum on your back, "Not round Riley, ya 'ear me?" He scolds. You take note of the large German Shepard snorring lightly on the couch.

"And none o' this shite," He kicks at your knee pads, pointing to a mop he had in the corner. Thank God, cleaning on your knees always sucked, and why your bullshit company made you do it anyways was a marvel.

"Oh, thank you!" You chirped up. He seemed to scowl further when your voice pitched up, so you slink back in on yourself. Understood, point taken, sir.

You still were not feeling great, the pit in your stomach unrelenting as you organize your stuff.

He looms close by. You figured he would, not doubting the "extremely strict" next to "ex military" on your work order at all.

You start with the first step of your process, filling the bucket up in the sink and soaking your towels in the cleaning solution.

"Where's yer boss?" He grumbles from behind you, making you jump.

"Um, Nancy?" Bucket now full, you throw the towels into the warm water with a dash of solution.

"Eh, whatever her name is," He grumbles. How polite.

"Haha, um." You giggle akwardly, "she's with family right now, I think," you stutter, trying to speak loud enough that he could hear you clearly.

He just hmphs in response. As your towels soak in the water, you reach for your extendable feather duster and start wiping the top corners of the room.

"Whats yer name?" He grumbles. It shocks you when he says it. He couldn't seem to care less about the other workers name, but he was interested in yours?

You told him, quiet, "sir," peeping out after. He just hmms again, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed as he watched you work.

It was nerve-wracking, having him over your shoulder. He hadn't said anything yet, but it felt like you could feel the complaints waiting to come. You just kept up the deep breathing, taking the clothes out of the water and dispersing them on the countertops throughout the house.

He had a very large home, no mcmansion that took up half the street, but a pretty place tucked in a nice down town area. Honestly, if the home and neighborhood wasn't so gorgeous, you probably would've turned around and told your supervisor to give the damn house to someone else.

But thankfully, or not, Simon seemed to harbor a certain comfort for his homes presentation. The indoors of his home reflected it as well, the house put together like it was being staged, every inch perfectly in place.

Maybe that's why it's not so surprising when the first complaint does manage to leave his lips in the form of a hiss as you go to open a cabinet door.

"Oi, what do you think yer doing?" He hisses, rushing over to grab your wrist and pull it from the knob. You gasp as he's suddenly in your space and touching you, flinching as he does.

"Um, I just gotta m-make sure the insides don't need to be wiped down, sir," your muscles shake as you speak— him actually coming over and grabbing had you a little shook up.

He waved his hand infront of your face, dismissing whatever you have to say, "None of that. Don't need'a open nothing that ain't yours." you just nod, taking your first breath once he's finally out of your space.

That would've been a very good thing to include in the work order, Nancy.

Well, at least that's a few less things to worry about cleaning, though you may have failed your task of not shitting your pants, because good lord. He's right back to his perch on the wall, observing you carefully now.

You get into your routine, floating room to room and doing each task per the work order. You slowly scrub the slight musky smoke smell that lingers throughout, instead replacing it with the smell of cinnamon and detergent.

He likes watching you work, but he knows he doesn't show it, not a flutter or twitch anywhere to be seen. He growls small, careful, watch it, leave it, keeping you on edge through every movement.

You do move much faster than your college though, much more gracefully. He notices your wandering eyes, lingering on the photos on the wall and the dates on his calender. He let's you get away with it, for now. Figured he'd picked on you enough, should probably just let you finish your work.

That is, until you approach the end of your routine. You'd been scrubbing and whipping and Simon snipping and snyding for almost an hour now, you'd made excellent time and you hope Simon knows that.

It's all you can think about, actually. Him and the way he has you doting on him, some broken part of you combined with the fear his giant stature instills has you easily folding to do whatever he says and respond to his every grunt. It has your mind a little clouded, even more so as you swing through every step of your routine with practiced care.

It was finally time for the last step of the routine, and you shivered out a breath as you unwrapped the vacuum. Simon had sank a little further away, now sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to a newspaper, anxiety settling slightly without his prying eyes.

You get the cord untangled and laid out across the carpet, searching the perimeter of the room for an outlet. You couldn't see any in the open, and not wanting to risk pissing off Simon for moving furniture, you start to round the corner in your search.

Suddenly, you're against the wall, a giant hand against your sternum as the breath is knocked out of your lungs. His face is in yours, eyebrows furrowed and breath hot on your face as he spoke.

"Tha fuck ya think your doin'?" youre confused and breathless, small under him as he leers above.

"I dont- im-" "Been nothing but nice to ya since you clambered yer way up my damn porch, and I gave you one fuckin' rule." His voiced is raised at you now, chastising you in that brazen, gravely tone. "One! and what do you go and try to do?"

You're just confused, what had you done to elicit this response from him? You thought he was complacent and quiet at the table, what of his million little rules could you have broken?

That's when you see it. Her, you should say. Rylie, the big German Shepard he'd warned you to by no means vacuum around, was bundled up on the couch, inches from where you stand.

Fuck. how had you forgotten.

"Sir, i- I didn't realize, I didn't know she was there sir i-" You desperately try to make an excuse for yourself, but he's just shaking his head at you.

"Do ya think flutterin yer eyelashes a little is gonna make everything better?" He mocks you, his big blue eyes locked on you. You shake your head no, half of it to answer him, the other half just you shivering where you stand.

"No sir- I'm sorry sir I didnt- I forgot you told me and-"

He's clicking his tongue at you, a tsk tsk to put you to shame. To your suprise, each click when straight to your core, and suddenly the heat in the room is rising. Your body is flushed and your sure your face matches, if the way his eyes crinkle when he looks up at you says anything.

His hand doesn't leave your sternum, as he speaks, Inches from your face, "too good at this to be forgetting," he shakes his head, the praise a little shocking, and the soft, "too pretty," that follows it hammers the fact.

You breath is caught in your chest again as he leans into your ear, eyes wide and mouth clamped as he murmurs a deep.

"So how do you think I should go bout making sure you remember?"

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x housekeeper!reader #ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfiction #ghost cod fanfic

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live-laugh-lenney · 4 months ago

Text

LOCKED IN | ARTHUR FREDERICK

chapter three is here! i'm so sorry about the wait but i'm hoping to become a lot more regular with my schedule and posting this story. thanks for all the love so far! feedback is always welcomed and my inbox is always open so please, please, please don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts on the story. enjoy! <33

MASTERLIST

- C H A P T E R T H R E E -

“YN, to the Store Room.”

“Are you really going to make me get out of bed to come for a brief chat, Sugarlips?” YN groaned, letting out a disgruntled sound as she rolled over and planted her face into her pillow. She felt Steph rub her shoulder from above the duvet, having perched on the edge of YN’s bed as they said their good morning’s to each other. “I’m so cold. Don’t make me go.”

“Maybe it’s another secret challenge…” Steph wondered, standing from her place and grabbing fistfuls of the duvet with both of her fists, “come on, lazy bones. Up you get.”

“I’m cold,” she reiterated, feeling the chill of the bedroom air hit at her exposed legs, “please. Do not make me get up.”

Her socks felt twisted and uncomfortable on her feet and she guessed it was a good enough reason to sit up on the mattress because she couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling below her ankles. The sleeves of her jumper had risen to her elbows, the cuffs feeling tight around her arm and left crease marks in her skin, which she would use as knowledge that she had slept brilliantly through the night.

Because she was finding it much easier.

Everyone was pretty relaxed around one another now and everyone had adjusted to routines and little habits that needed to be done before ending their day. Snoring became a sound that soothed her to sleep rather than woke her from her slumber. The background chat that came in the mornings became her alarm clock and she didn’t mind waking up to join in with whatever topic they were talking about. Everyone’s mess became everyone’s mess around the house and she found herself busying her mind by tidying the different rooms in the house every so often. Because once she picked a t-shirt up or put a pair of shoes away at the end of someone’s bed, she had to pick the rest up. Time was still a struggle and she was finding it hard to go about her day without reaching for her phone or her laptop, needing some kind of escape from the small bubble, for just a moment but it was a detox that she’d be thankful for once she left the house and went back to the normality of her day-to-day life in London.

She slipped her feet into her slippers, a big and yellow smiley face adorned on the front in a carpet-like material, and scuffed down the alley of the beds and into the hidden room round the corner, opening the door and closing it behind her.

“Good morning, YN.”

“Sugarlips,” she greeted with a soft smile, sitting down and crossing her legs like she was back in a school assembly, hands holding her ankles to keep them in place, “what information can I grace you with this morning? Since you woke me up and had me leave the warmth of my bed.”

“How did you sleep last night?”

YN smiled a genuine smile at the camera.

“I slept brilliantly, thank you,” she nodded, sticking her two thumbs up, “I really did, honestly. It’s becoming so much easier to just fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. No snoring keeps me awake now.”

“That’s good for a light sleeper.”

“I am not a light sleeper, let me tell you, Sugarlips. I just struggle to get to sleep, especially in a place where I’m surrounded by strangers who might look at me weirdly in my sleep,” she took a second to clear her throat into her fist before she continued, “once I’m snoozing and I’m all comfortable and warm, I’m out for the count.”

It sounded like heaven.

Most people could only dream of falling asleep as soon as they clambered under their bedsheets and and as soon as their heads hit the pillow behind them. As soon as their eyes closed and as soon as their brain switched off from the day, into a state where nothing was able to distract them from a much needed slumber after a busy day of working.

YN saw it as a curse.

Where she loved being able to nap anywhere she wanted, loved being able to have a quick ten minute shuteye session on the train or in the back of a taxi cab, there had been many times where she would curse herself for being such a deep sleeper. Many a time where she’d slept through an alarm and had been late for work or for a meeting or for something as important as a video shoot for a channel she had been asked to be a guest on, many a time where she had overslept on a day off and wasted half of her day in bed because she was far too sleepy and far too comfortable to move elsewhere in her house (and why would she need to move if she had no plans?), and there had been many a time where she had overstayed her welcome in hotels because she would work hard for the event she had been invited to and really reap the benefits of being in a five-star bed in a five-star hotel building in a location that she could only dream of working in.

In a house full of people who slept so differently, she felt it was more a blessing than a curse, at that very moment.

“Who do you think is the loudest in the house?”

“Oh god, in what way?” YN sat herself up a little straighter in the chair and clasped her hands together in an excitable way, “because if we’re talking in general, I’d have to say Spuddz. He’s such a loud character who gets passionate and really excited about things that happened in here.”

YN had become used to his antics now.

Spuddz was the prankster of the house who liked to play jokes when there was a tiny lull of boredom; he’d hide and jump out at people when they walked passed him, he’d take away something they would use quite often and pretend he had no idea what they were talking about to only place it somewhere so inconspicuous that they wouldn’t even think to check there, he would jump on someone if they were snoozing under the covers in the bedroom, and he’d tell the wackiest jokes that you’d just have to laugh at because it was his delivery rather than the punchline that made it.

He brought a bit of chaos to the place and he was entertaining, to say the least.

“But if we’re talking about snoring, god, then it has to be Jokeman. Without a doubt. I feel bad for Arthur having to sleep next to him,” YN admitted and shook her head in amusement; there were many times when a group of them would giggle amongst themselves at the sounds escaping his nose and throat, “I think I’ve just learnt to drown everything out now. It’s become such common knowledge in the house that you just learn to live with it, almost like it’s background noise.”

“And who do you think is the messiest in the house?”

“The messiest? Oh god,” she cackled softly and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers, holding them there for a brief moment as she tried to recount everything from the last two days of being in the Locked In house. Her mind raced between everybody; their beds in the bedroom, their section of the bathroom, who left their shoes out and about and how they were when it came to cooking and cleaning after themselves. Including herself in the mix because she knew she wasn’t the cleanest person that entered the house. “I honestly, honestly couldn’t tell you. I feel like we’re all incredibly messy. My clothes are always all over the place. Spuddz always chucks his clothes out of the bathroom when he’s getting ready. All of us girls leave make-up everywhere when we’re getting ready in the mornings,” she tapped her chin in thought, “everyone contributes to the mess without really thinking about it.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, apart from Arthur, I guess. He might leave the odd bowl out from breakfast but he’s pretty neat with everything. His bed is always so pristine in the mornings,” she smiled softly, “he’s a neat freak, I think they call them.”

She remembered just what his bed looked like when she woke up that morning. Not a single trace of him left behind; no dip in the mattress where his body had situated through the night, no dip in his pillow from where he’d laid his head, no crease or lump to signify he was still there. He’d seemingly woken up before everyone that morning, she assumed, because his duvet was pulled up and his pillows were neatly placed at the head of the bed like he was done with it for the day, and YN wondered where he’d gone before Steph had made her way to her bed and flopped herself down.

“I need him to start making mine, I think. Nothing is allowed to touch that bed from the moment it’s made, till the moment he gets in it at nighttime. He hates it.”

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The kitchen, just after lunchtime, was the perfect level of quiet.

With the humming of the kitchen fridge and the whirring of the extractor fan above the oven and the trickling sounds coming from the tap once everything had been washed and left to dry on the drying board, it held a sense of silence that was the complete opposite to how it was just a mere half an hour ago; lunchtime being the time when everyone congregates in the kitchen to decide who wanted what for lunch with the limited items they had left from their big shop down just over two days ago. Shouting over each other as they let everyone know their orders on fried eggs opposed to scrambled, ketchup instead of baked beans and who wanted nuggets instead of sausages. All whilst other conversations were happening between he housemates.

Chaos.

A lovely chaos but pure chaos, none-the-less.

“So, Youtube chat.”

“Yes,” YN grinned, taking her seat on the stool beside the brunette dressed in her peach tracksuit, “the one you wanted to have earlier?”

Anastasia nodded softly, watching as YN opened the pack of digestive biscuits and set them between the two of them.

“Now, I’d say we’re quite similar in what we do on Youtube, wouldn’t you think? I think we’d both fall into the subtopic of Lifestyle,” Anastasia stated, reaching for another chocolate biscuit from the pack that YN had placed on the kitchen island not too long before, pairing nicely with the two cups of tea she had made when Anastasia had asked her if she fancied going for a private chat somewhere - so they could get to know each other in a little bit more of a deeper level than just leaving it at a minor introduction, “I do a little bit of everything and I find I can’t stick to one topic in life. Where most of these guys have make-up or football, I feel like I dabble in a bit of every kind of thing you can show on Youtube.”

“Quite similar? I’d say very similar in terms of what we post,” YN laughed softly, “I just sit and chat. Almost like a vlog-style but not in the format of a vlog. I’m also yet to introduce my family onto my channel, like my parents and my grandparents and whatnot, and I want to make sure they’re comfortable before I bombard them with a camera in their face,” she took a sip from the mug of tea in her hands, “I have no siblings so it’s just me doing my own content. With the occasional pop up from a friend.”

“Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“I don’t,” she shook her head, placing the mug back down on the island top and pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands, “no boyfriends for me currently. I’ve been so thrown into this Youtube thing over the last twelve months that I just don’t find myself looking.”

“Not even just swiping Tinder or?”

YN shakes her head.

Sure, she had the dating apps downloaded on her phone; Tinder, Hinge and Bumble.

But they were only there because her friends had encouraged her to put herself out there in the world of dating and had practically downloaded them to her phone themselves one night when they were together. Insisting that she had something good going for her and that people needed to see the true her and not the girl she portrays herself as online and in her Youtube videos. She found herself using them a couple of times, when curiosity got the better of her and she was in the mood to be nosey, when she was at home by herself and trying to find something to cure her boredom… yet nothing ever came out of swiping right or agreeing to a conversation that would become the driest chat she’d ever had.

“I feel like boyfriends, in this line of work, are something hard to find.”

Boyfriends would come and go in her life.

Where she would love to have someone to settle down with, go on late-night drives with and take romantic walks through London with, her job came first. With her schedule being something that would almost look crazy busy to someone with a normal 9-5 office job and with her job being something out of the ordinary and not a sit-down job, it was something she thought would scare people off; who would want cameras in their face all day? Who would want their life to be broadcast for millions of followers to see? It would be somewhat of a dealbreaker between her and someone she liked to be around so she saved herself the heartache.

“Yeah, I find that everyone feels intimidated by it when I say I’ve got 1.3 million subs. The look of overwhelm on their faces just says it all really.”

“Not that I’m holding back on relationships but,” YN sighed heavily and the feeling of dejection ran through her body, “I guess I’m just waiting for someone worth it. I don’t want to go through heartache after heartache, dealing with break-ups, when I could have saved myself from it from the very start.”

“Youtube is tough of the private life sometimes,” Anastasia agreed, nodding softly and she chewed upon a bite of a digestive biscuit held in her hand, chocolate coating her fingertips, “but once you find someone who loves you for you, who supports you and becomes your number one fan, who cheers you on and agrees to do things you want them to do for content, yeah… it’s the best feeling in the world.”

“When was the first Nike Air Force 1 first released?”

Johnny turned from the screen he read the question from and looked to face his team; Jemel, Jamie, Anastasia and YN, all of them looking at the four answers with puzzled looks on their faces as they thought long and hard about what the correct answer could be. Throwing around different ideas, conferring as a team, looking frantically at the brand-new white shoes on YN’s feet as they searched for any kind of clue that could give away what the answer could be.

“Does it say anything? At all?” Jemel questioned, looking over YN’s shoulder and shaking her head, “nothing at all.”

“Just split the items across the board. At least we win something, if not nothing,” YN suggested, “but put more on what we think may be the correct answer. If we win then there’s a lot of our items to have and, if we lose, then there’s a small minority of our items. A win-win either way.”

Johnny split the luxury items according to how YN stated, confirming with his team what number they were going for, dividing everything up and placing them on the dropboards before him.

“Lock in number 4. 1991,” Johnny confirmed, standing back from the table, “fuck.”

Number 2 dropped before them.

Number 3 dropped before them.

“Look me in the eye,” Johnny stated confidently as he made eye contact with the four players of his team, “this isn’t going anywhere. This,” he waved around the pile of items on number 4’s dropboard, “this isn’t going anywhere. Just look me in the eye and trust me.”

Trusting him is what they did…

… and trusting him is what they wish they didn��t do.

Number 4 dropped before them and they watched as the majority of their luxury items disappeared beneath the table. Sounds of complete shock filled the challenge room as they watched the events happen before them, leaving one tiny luxury left behind on number 1’s dropboard. YN frowned as she watched the collection of Cadbury’s Caramel chocolate bars disappear, her heart instantly dropping with them, and her face dropped to her hands.

“You’re joking,” Jemel groaned behind his hands, hiding his face and dragging his palms down his cheeks, “we were certain.”

“Johnny, we’re not listening to you again,” YN frowned playfully at him as he paced the floor in front of the table, “you were so confident.”

“We’re a team, we all went for it. If you thought differently, you should’ve said,” he bit back in a tone that sent an ache through her chest. Making YN’s fake frown turn into a real frown. The creases on her forehead became more prominent, her eyebrows furrowed closer together, her eyes held a dark look behind them and she chewed her tongue in order not to fight back with him - it was a game after all. “Next question, next question.”

Cashews were on the line.

And the question was to do with the population of London, with answers varying between 2 million and 13 million, yet YN chose to keep herself from inputting an answer, staying put and staying silent.

She watched as they dropped into the table and Johnny slammed his palm upon the tabletop, jumping in her place on the bench beside Anastasia, her cheeks going bright red and she could feel the two men behind her as they hunched over and groaned into their hands, crouching towards the floor.

“They were cashews, the least they owed us was cashews,” Johnny hurled the words into the room, “cashews.”

The blue team thought they’d done the worst out of both teams partaking in the challenge… until the red team took their turn.

As quick as the new piles of luxury items had been placed on the four dropboards, they had quickly disappeared after they gave the wrong answer to their first question. A question on Chunkz and his music. With a musically-inclined person in their team.

The irony couldn’t have been any better.

“Which one of you is doing the secret hiding challenge thing?”

Arthur broke the silence that had fallen amongst the group, all eyes focusing on him as he stood before the group, asking the question that had been brewing in his mind for the most of the afternoon once he realised a piece from his chess set had gone missing. Knowing that Jokeman wouldn’t have done it and that YN wouldn’t have taken it from him because she hadn’t had a reason to mess with him like that, and he hoped she didn’t take his accusation personally, but he had his suspicions on who it could be.

“It’s not me,” he pointed to himself, “and it’s not you,” he pointed to Anastasia, “so who is it? Someone’s taken the rook from the chess set.”

YN gripped hold of the edge of the make-up table with her fingertips and leant back upon the yellow stool she was perched upon and tilted her head back to look at him, genuine concern on his face as he looked around the room and made eye contact to see if anyone was lying to him. His eyes holding more on those he thought could be the culprits.

“It’s not me, I promise,” YN smiled softly, “I’ve barely been down there all day.”

Arthur looked down and nodded, “I know it’s not you.”

“How?” Johnny asked, “it could have been? Just because you fancy her, it doesn’t mean she couldn’t have stolen it as a joke or something.”

YN rolled her eyes.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done to annoy Johnny and it hurt her brain to think about anything she could have said to him, in the three days they’d been there and in the very few conversations they’d had, that would have upset him or given him a reason to treat her poorly with his words.

The words twanged at her insides and she frowned, eyebrows pinching together and her eyes went darker than usual, and she busied herself by cleaning up the make-up table in front of her and organising things into a more structured layout.

And it wasn’t just YN who was upset by his words.

Arthur wanted to bite back. He wanted to defend her but it wasn’t worth the hassle because he would have fought in a game that would have had dangerous consequences on the outside world; he wasn’t a fighter, he wasn’t one for confrontation and he didn’t need to argue back in front of cameras that would have picked up the entire thing. He watched her, eyes flickering back to her every now and then, and he could see YN’s mind thinking the same thing with the way her eyes were dark yet still holding a touch of her usual spark when she made eye contact with him.

“Bold on that one, Arthur,” Jokeman laughed from next to him, in an attempt to lift the mood and nudged him in the arm with his elbow, “although, YN’s far too sweet to even think about making someone so paranoid. This man is going through it right now. Look at him.”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a bright pink.

“I just, I’ve been down playing chess for most of the day and I haven’t really seen YN all day so I didn’t think she’d do it,” he explained, “she might have done it behind my back or when I disappeared for a moment but I don’t think she would have done me over like that. She knows that chess is one massive love of mine.”

YN’s cheeks mirrored Arthur’s and she felt the heat creeping up her neck.

He disappeared from behind her and into the bedroom where she could hear him asking Anisa, Jamie and Spuddz on whether they had taken the rook to his chess set and, once they swore to him that they didn’t, whether they knew who did take it from the board because he was determined to find the one who had done it.

“I think it’s you,” he stated, looking at Steph as she feigned shock, a hand placed over her heart and her eyes widening, “it has to be you. I’ve asked everyone else.”

“It’s not me,” Steph argued, shaking her head and placing her hands on her hips, “Arthur, it’s not me. I didn’t do it.”

“We’ve been upstairs,” Anastasia chimed in, “she wouldn’t have done it. She couldn’t have done it. She’s been with me.”

“I’ve managed to cross everyone else off the list. It’s you,” he frowned, “it has to be you. I’ve asked everyone else and they’ve all got pretty good alibi’s.”

He stood and waited for a reply. His eyes darted between the two girls before him.

“Well, it’s not me,” Steph said, “it’s not, I promise you.”

Getting nowhere close to finding out who took the chess piece, Arthur gave up.

A permanent frown etched on his face for the entire early evening and annoyance written across his body, his body language changing from his usual bouncy self to a more constricted self, because he was being kept away from doing something he enjoyed doing. Something that helped pass the time. Where others had the art of coming up with conversations to help them through the lingering hours, Arthur didn’t and he didn’t excel in conversations with people as well as everyone else so chess was his solace.

Minutes passed by, that turned into hours passing by, and by then, they’d all disappeared and dispersed into another room. YN found comfort on a beanbag with a blanket wrapped around her, to the back of the room where everyone had seemingly congregated so she could still listen to what was going on and she could still be a part of conversations that were happening, and it was the one thing she was thankful people understood about her; how she liked to be by herself, with her own thoughts, without forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do.

And her moment was torn from her when she watched Steph take Arthur aside.

She wasn’t staring, she wasn’t really interested in what they were saying and she didn’t really care for them being sat together and having a chat in the corner, but what seemingly bothered her was how she pulled him into a hug and kept him close, arms wrapping around his neck as his snaked around her waist. And she felt a pang of… dare she say it… she felt a pang of jealousy surge through her chest and she found it hard to take her eyes away from what was happening. She knew the cameras were on her and she knew they were watching her every move, as they were with Arthur and Steph, and deep down she knew she needed to stop feeling that way… yet she couldn’t stop herself.

“I did take your chess piece,” she announced proudly, “it was me. I’ve hidden it in one of the kitchen cupboards.”

And YN was torn from her distant gaze as he let out a blaring ‘I knew it’ into the quiet room and shot up from his seat, chasing Steph from room to room and ending out on the patio of the house where, just for a tiny second and through the gap between the doorframe and stairs, YN saw a second hug happen.

‘Steph, your Shrimp 🍤 crew is absolutely here 💯 goooooo Steeeph 🤩’

“Shrimp crew?” YN laughed and looked across to Steph, “what’s that about?”

“It’s because my posture is always like this,” she hunched over in demonstration and brought her chest to her knees, letting her posture drop compared to the straight back she was sitting with prior and YN cackled softly, “it’s so bad so I just call my little following the Shrimp crew.”

“Do you know that girl?” Arthur questioned and looked at her and everyone snickered around them, even YN had a small smile tickle at the corner of her lips as she looked at his flushing cheeks and clueless look behind his eyes, “what?”

“It’s a comment, bro,” Johnny teased, pushing Arthur’s shoulder in amusement, “just a comment.”

‘Here we go!!!’

“Saffron,” Steph cooed, “that’s so cute.”

“That’s my best friend,” Anastasia grinned, pointing her fingers at the camera and smiling wide, “that’s my best friend. Love you Saff!”

‘I can’t wait, rooting for Jamie!! (LDN movements)’

“Jamie!”

Everyone cried out his name once they read the comment on the screen and he stood to his feet, a bashful look on his face and he played shy for the group and for the cameras, clasping his hands before him and doing a tiny twirl before he sat back down on the sofa.

‘Arthur is too sweet. What a winner’

Everyone clapped for the comment and Arthur blushed a bright pink, Jokeman clapping him on the shoulders and giving him a gentle shake, cheering behind him.

YN blushed when he looked at her after the noise and the commotion had died down, giving him the softest thumbs up and the cheesiest grin she could muster, and he shot her a wink before he turned back around and looked back at the screen.

‘YN all the way! Love you girl! Smash it in there!’

“Yes, girly,” Anisa grinned and wrapped her arm around YN’s shoulder, pulling her into a hug as gave cheers of agreement with the comment before them, “guys, this is my winner right here. Along with me, of course. We can split the prize money.”

Arthur gave her the cheesiest grin he could muster and threw her a thumbs up, in the same fashion that she had done to him, and she giggled to herself and looked to her hands.

The cutest, she thought to herself, absolutely adorable.

The house had finally settled.

And, for YN, it was the first real moment of solitude that she’d felt that day. Night time seemed to be the first time, that day, where she managed to find time to herself, and it was like a breath of fresh air after another day spent navigating through people, friendships, challenges and tasks to win points throughout the show. She didn’t have to convene with anyone, no conversation was needed and she could finally be at peace with her thoughts as she reminisced on what was happening around her.

As her housemates retreated upstairs, either already asleep or engaged in the familiar ritual of preparing themselves for bed, she found herself drawn to the sanctuary of the lounge. She’d said goodnight to everyone as they made their way into the bedroom as she collected her lounge clothes and slippers so she could chill out in the living room, dragging the duvet down the stairs behind her, and saying goodnight to the last few housemates who were trudging themselves up the stairs.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all day,” Arthur hummed quietly, taking the seat beside her on the sofa and pulling some of the blanket from her legs so he could cover his own from the chill in the air, “I definitely haven’t spoken to you all day, I don’t think.”

She smiled softly and shrugged gently, cosying back into the sofa and pulling her legs up to her chest.

“Are you okay?”

He gazed at her face as he waited for an answer, whether it be a change in emotion or verbal, yet nothing seemed to make it obvious to him.

“I’m fine, I’m just…” she watched as Spuddz and Jamie walked through the lounge area and towards the kitchen, saying their goodnights as they were the last two to disappear upstairs and get ready for bed, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” he pointed out, watching as the features of her face contorted into a look that seemingly made her look like she was about to cry, “did I say something?”

“No,” she frowned and she refused to let the tears that had been stinging at her eyelids come to bay, “I’m fine, honestly. I think I’m just overtired and now I’m struggling to feel tired enough to lay down and go to sleep so I just feel all-”

“Emotional?”

She nodded and giggled softly, pulling the blanket up to her chin and focusing her attention on the soft fabric between her fingertips.

“You weren’t upset about what happened earlier, were you?”

He didn’t need to remind her; the situation had sat at the front of her brain for the majority of the evening.

“Not really, it just annoys me that they insinuate things after everything we do together or whenever one of us defends the other,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders and the stinging of tears seemed to subside a little as she spoke about what she had bottled up all day, “I think I just need to stop letting words affect me and grow up a little, I guess.”

“I think it was a valid reason to be upset,” Arthur said, “there’s a lot of loud voices in here that it’s hard not to feel upset when something is said with a little vigour and brashness. If it helps, I was going to bite back but I didn’t think it was worth it… he has a lot more fans than I do. I think, publicly, I’d have been torn to pieces.”

YN smiled softly at him and shook her head, “I think you’d have a lot of defence behind you. I’d be your number one defender, for sure.”

“Likewise,” he jabbed his elbow into her side, “we make a great team.”

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queenothegeeks · 1 month ago

Text

Hello! Sorry for the super long wait! This chapter is the prologue of the awkward creator series, which is based on a previous post I made which you can find Here!! I hope you enjoy!

Blah blah blah regular life with a Genshin obsessed probably neurodivergent gremlin gets hit by a truck blah blah blah Isekai shit happens. Let's skip to the good bit!

You wake up with the most ear splitting headache known to man, feeling groggy and disoriented. Your limbs are hard to move and feel like jello, your ears are ringing, and to top it all off, you're seeing things. I mean, there's no way in hell you could actually be staring up at a 10 foot tall archon statue, right?

Just to be sure, you pinch yourself, hard.

“Ow!”

Yeah, not dreaming then.

You know how in most stories the main character who gets isekaied is super calm, cool-headed, and just accepts their fate? How in most SAGAU fics the main character somehow balances playful banter and manages to not screw up the main timeline and spill everything about everyone? This apparently isn’t most fics, and you apparently are a horrible main character.

“What the FUCK!?” HOW!?!? This can’t be happening ohmygodohmygodohmygod WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!?!?”

After a long while of screaming and hair pulling, you slump against Vanessa’s tree, trying to think of a plan.

“What do I do? I mean, I could stay here and try to wake up from this nightmare. Dream??? I don't know anymore. I can try and find town and pray that all of Mondstat doesn’t try to kill me… Maybe I should go to Springvale first. There's less people there, which means less playable characters, so maybe I can lay low for a bit longer. Then again, there's always the chance that they have no idea they are even in a game, and I'll just be a stranger to them…”

After much time spent thinking, you start to make the trek to Springvale. Taking in the sights and sounds of Mondstat, it’s more beautiful than you could have possibly imagined. No phone or computer could possibly do it justice.

After what feels like forever, you arrive at the small and sleepy town of Springvale. Looking around, everything seems normal. No one is holding pointing swords or aiming bows at you. There's no cult meetings in the townsquare lit by candles, no elaborate summoning rituals, no ones preaching your life's history to the masses, demanding devotion to their “Creator” or “Decider”. It’s just a normal town. The hunters are just coming back from their day at work, Brook is still cooking her dishes, Myweiss is still singing songs of heartbreak by the windmill. It’s like no one cares about your existence.

~~Fast Forward a few weeks~~~

You've been in Genshin for about a month, and you've given up on the idea that you might wake up in your bed back home and realize that this has all been an elaborate fever dream or coma. You managed to secure a low stakes and low skill job in Springvale, working as a meat and fruit vendor in the markets, as well as obtaining a low rent home on the outskirts of town. You've had contact with a few of Mondstats vision holders in the past, but nothing too serious.

A passing glance at Kaeya when he did routine checks around Mondstat.

A sale or two to Amber while she told you about her most recent adventures as an outrider.

Venti dueting with some of the other bards in town.

The distant explosions of Klee fish blasting in the pond.

Despite there being barely any signs that the playable characters have any knowledge of your existence, you can’t help but feel paranoid. The glances feel too long, the conversations feel too friendly and personal , the songs feel directed at you, with messages of reuniting and lyrics about longing.

You try to convince yourself that you're overreacting, and that everythings fine, but you just can’t seem to shake the feeling of being watched.

You realize that you should trust your gut more often when you see a pair of eyes watching you through your window in the dead of night. You grab a sharp knife from the kitchen, but when you look again, there's no one there.

Either they left, you stressed yourself out so much that you've started to see things, or whoever or whatever it was is just laying in wait.

Waiting for the perfect chance to make their next move…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Don’t be afraid to comment your thoughts!

This is my first fic so if you have any suggestions or notice any grammar mistakes please let me know!

#sagau #self aware genshin #self aware genshin impact #sagau brainrot #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact #genshin

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billthedrake · 4 months ago

Text

LINEAGE (PART FIVE)

This chapter riffs on Peterbilt's and A4F's ideas. Here's hoping imitation is the best flattery.

Braden and I never took vacations for just us. It was always family trips with our kids. Two weeks at the beach in summer, and camping trips when the boys got older. Brade and I would each have a trip with Junior for one-on-one time with our eldest, and together we took Evan and Keith on an amusement park trip while Junior was at golf camp.

But it was me and Brade's 15th marriage anniversary, and we realized we'd never done the whole wedding ceremony. For us, incest marriage was a private thing, by necessity but also because my son and I had each other regardless of our love was sanctioned or not.

We were celebrating now with a stay down at a Caribbean resort. The Connors men were looking after our sons, and I told my work that any urgent matters could wait.

I don't think we realized how much we needed this. Time to reconnect, to rekindle that spark in the relationship. Braden and I had a good, healthy marriage, and we made a regular sex life a priority, but it could be tough to keep the romance while raising three boys. Parenting was a full-time job and involved a lot of routine.

I could sense Braden's eyes on me that first day. We'd had a quickie as soon as we'd checked in to our room. A hot missionary fuck. Braden knew I craved variety in bed and loved doing different positions. But Brade craved seeing my face and making out as we mated. So usually it was Brade's way. Not that I was complaining.

As I pulled on my swim trunks over my sated, soft genitals, I could see my son's eyes on me as he stepped back into the room after taking a post-fuck piss.

"Fuck, Dad... you still got it going at 52."

I paused and puffed out my chest a little. I'd been self-conscious about aging and all the gray hairs coming in. But the last few years I'd really hit the gym. I'd never match Braden's muscle perfection, but I wanted to fine tune the middle aged build I had.

"I won't lie, son, sometimes I worry about getting too old for you."

Braden was still naked, his hunky brawn on full display as he stepped up to me. "Jesus, Dad, you know I'm wired for you. For my father."

We'd just gotten off but were still chubbed. I could see my son's thick meat swing stiffly. I loved how he's shaved smooth for the trip, he looked like a porn model. His hands reached forward and felt up my chest. "The silver fur coming in is way fucking hot, sir..."

We kissed, more softly than just now. "Oh buddy..." I muttered.

Braden cocked his sexy grin. He was in his mid-30s now and was all man, but still seemed young to me. "I'm serious, Dad, you're as hot as you've ever been... I can see why Junior's so crushed out on you."

I gulped and pulled back, almost instinctively. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "You got to notice, right? He's as into you as I was at that age. Maybe even more so."

"Brade..." I admonished.

Braden patted my bare arm in an affectionate way. "Come on, Dad, I know you're not gonna do anything inappropriate."

"No, I'm not," I replied curtly. "Besides, I don't think of Junior in that way."

Braden rolled his eyes and stepped away. He dug out the skimpier speedo he had in his suitcase. I wasn't sure if I was actually mad at him, but I knew I couldn't stay mad as I watched his thick muscled body fill out that swimsuit.

"Ready to hit the beach?" I asked in an are-we-OK kind of tone.

"Yep," Braden said.

The water was warm and still refreshing. I slathered sunscreen on Braden's back once we got back to our towel and he returned the favor.

"Feels nice, son," I said, leaning into his strong hands.

I heard a chuckle. "Need to go back to the room, Dad?"

Brade was right, I could go again, already. But I shook my head. "It's tempting, but let's save it, OK?"

"We got all week, Dad, right?"

"That we do."

We each lay on our towel and I dozed a little. I woke to find Braden sitting up, looking out on the water. He looked over at me and smiled. "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Sport," I said. "Sorry if I was short with you earlier."

Braden shrugged. "It's the reaction I expected, honestly."

"Yeah?" I didn't know what he meant by that.

"I know you pretty well, Dad. For what it's worth, I'm glad you're a stand up father... it's just, well, you can be oblivious sometimes. I felt you should know."

"About Junior?"

"The kid fucking idolizes you, Dad. Not that I blame him."

I sighed. "How do we handle this?"

Braden chuckled. "I figured you'd have some experience in that department."

"Please tell me I'm not gonna have a rebellious teen on my hands again," I said with a wink. Braden and I could talk seriously about the bumps in our familial dynamic, but we also joked about it.

That got a real laugh from my son. "Junior's a good kid, Dad. We'll see how the others turn out when they hit adolescence."

I got a little quiet. "I know we said three was enough, Brade... but... you ever think about having more?" I was nervous bringing it up even. But the idea had been in the back of my head for quite a while.

"All the fucking time, Dad," Braden said.

"Damn," I hissed. I was boning up in my swim trunks.

"Dad... you're 52 and in your prime... and I'm still fertile..."

I gulped and turned toward him. Braden could certainly see my hardon now. "How many kids is too many?"

"I dunno, Dad. I know you'll do the budget spreadsheet and be all practical. But I want another son with you. More than one."

I nodded. Then in my parental tone, I said. "Then I want you going off the pills."

"Done," Braden said, and I was rewarded with a huge smile on his face. It made me realize I was doing the right thing. We were doing the right thing.

"Back to the room?" I said, standing up from my towel. My hardon was obscene but I didn't care who on the beach saw it.

"I thought we were waiting," he teased, lazily scratching his pec like he was just relaxing on the beach.

"Fuck that, son. I need inside you."

We raced back to the air-conditioned quiet of our room. I thought nothing could be hotter than Brade in his fucking skimpy speedo, but seeing the lycra slide down his meaty buns and over his thick hamstrings had me leaking in my own trunks. I'd barely started to slide them down when my studly son bent over on the bed, spreading his legs for me. It was Braden in full heat, and I let out a grunt.

"God fucking damn, Sport, you need your daddy?" I fisted my meat to smear the precum on its length. If Round One was Brade's way, Round Two was gonna be Bill's treat.

"Please, sir..." he said, his masculine voice deep as it was needy. "I'm still loaded up from earlier, but I need that potent dad semen inside me. He looked back at me, horny and a little nervous. "Just add extra lube, Dad."

I picked up the bottle where we'd left it from earlier and slathered a good deal on. I got off on seeing my son eye it with awe. I tell ya, if you ever have a son that looks at your cock that way, you'll never get sick of it. "We gonna make another kid, Braden?" I asked. It had been a long while since we'd worked preg talk into sex. It was overdue.

"Uh uh... maybe two. You think your sperm is powerful enough to give me twins."

I was on him now, kicking apart his legs wider and angling my hips down. "Tell me if I got too hard, Sport."

"Fuck me, Dad," came the ready reply. "Put that bare father cock inside me... ooof!"

It was a quick entry, rough, but Brade's hole was loosened from earlier and we were both crazy horned. "Hot fucking fertile, son womb." I was fucking him, fucking Brade. Steady, deliberate thrusts.

"You're the stud, Dad.... first Junior... then Evan, and Keith. Gonna go for number four."

"You've given me amazing kids, Brade... and grandkids. Fuck!" I was glad we'd mated earlier, since no way would I be lasting more than a minute now otherwise.

Braden gripped the sheets and arched his back. Taking me, despite the roughness. "Making incest kids, Dad. Best of our DNA."

I pulled out and actually gave him a smack. OK, I was out of control, but Brade didn't object. "Up on the bed, kiddo," I growled. "All fours." I needed a better angle.

I stepped and back and rather than immediately do as I asked, my son slid down to taste my hard cock, slurping my own earlier seed of it. "Fuck, Dad... I can practically taste my next brother."

He gave my meat one last kiss then rose up.

I took it easier this time, enjoying the extended session. No worrying about our sons knocking on the bedroom door to interrupt us, no time we had to finish by to pick the littlest ones up from school or drive them to some little league game. No need to be quiet.

For the next two hours, Braden and I enjoyed pacing out this incest fuck, going hard then soft, fast and slow, me guiding my hot son in multiple positions on the bed. Until I finally pounded us both off into a simultaneous orgasm as he talked about what our fourth kid was gonna be like.

Everything about it was magical, but the topper was the grateful look on Braden's face as we lay sweaty and naked, side by side on the hotel bed.

"You know it's gonna be two or three weeks before I'm actually fertile," Brade said. He was all grown up and in his 30s, but there was something innocent and youthful in his face just then, like he was 18 all over again and I'd just taken his cherry. My prick jerked at that thought.

"I figured," I said. "Consider that a down payment for the actual conception fuck."

That got a laugh from my son. "Damn, Dad, if that's the down payment, I don't think I can survive the breed session."

"You'll do just great, Brade," I grinned, leaning forward to claim a kiss.

***

Day One was honeymoon style sex, Day Two was a lazy recovery day.

Day Three was a huge surprise though. Braden and I had gone on a snorkeling activity organized by the resort. These things can be awkward but we made small talk with a father and son from the Midwest. At one point Brade pulled me aside and whispered. "You can't keep your eyes of them, can you?" I started to object, but he added," It's OK dad, they're smoking hot, both of them."

That was an understatement. The father had blue eyes that sucked you in and a killer smile. He was maybe five years younger than me an a total DILF. Graying temples, pumped and toned muscle, body hair trimmed to a neat half inch length. And his son was a chip off the old block, a tall, muscled jock looking kid somewhere on the cusp of high school and college. I enjoyed looking at these guys and later, Brade and I enjoyed talking about them as we fucked.

"Who do you think is the top, Dad? Father or son?" Brade asked as I slow pumped him doggy on the hotel bed.

"Oh, Daddy's the top for sure," I hissed.

"Fuck yeah," Brade hissed, getting into the fantasy. "Hope he sends Eric off to college with an incest baby in his belly."

"Fuck, Brade!" I growled. The idea had me cumming inside my son. Braden wasn't far behind, either.

We dressed for dinner, then afterwards decided to enjoy the hotel pool.

"Beats winter back home," Brade said as we lazily swam around and treaded water.

"I'll say."

Braden treaded over and leaned to whisper. "I wish I could kiss you right here, sir."

"Me too, buddy," I croaked.

I had to get out of the water or I really would start making out with my son in public. Since this was not a gay resort, we'd made the decision to travel as father and son rather than as husbands. I was now regretting that decision.

"I'm going to get a drink... want one?"

Braden didn't drink much at home, but we were on vacation. "Oh, yeah, a margarita. Thanks, Dad."

When I got back to the pool area with our drinks, Braden was in the whirlpool area.

"To vacation, Sport," I said clinking his plastic cup with mine.

"Happy anniversary, Dad," Brade whispered.

"Damn," I hissed.

"What?" Braden asked, concerned I was upset he'd said it in public.

I leaned in. "You just gave your dad a boner, that's what."

Braden smiled and leaned back in the bubbles. "You're giving me one now, too."

God, we were going to get in trouble here, for sure.

Only a booming voice interrupted the sexual thoughts getting out of controle. "Bill! Braden!" There was Doug Newcomb, the daddy from the snorkeling outing, in boardshorts, flip flops and a towel over his shoulder. Two paces behind him was his football jock son. "Mind if we join you?"

I had a moment of surprise then recovered my senses. "Please do."

I watched the Newcomb men toss their towels down and kick off their flip flops. "I would say it's a nice night," Doug said, "but who am I kidding? Every night is frickin paradise here."

It was weird to see the son be so quiet when the dad was so talkative, but I enjoyed getting a good view of his muscle... bulky but not overly beefy. Eric Newcomb may be young, but he was jacked, even more than Braden was at that age.

I felt self conscious, but I could see Brade's attention on both these guys as we all made small talk. Turns out Doug was an airline pilot, and Eric was a graduating high school senior who'd committed to play football at Nebraska.

"This is kind of his celebration trip," the father said, playfully mussing his jock son's hair. "I won't like that we wanted him to stay in state, but Nebraska's a better team, and I'm super proud of him."

I wondered if there was a Mrs. Newcomb but didn't see a wedding band on the father's left hand.

Normally quiet Eric spoke up. "The Gophers suck, Dad. You know that."

Doug shrugged, like he was conceding a sore point. He looked at me and Brade. "At least the kid's a Vikings fan."

It felt like we were witnessing a conversation they'd had many times. A ritual to keep from talking about the thing they wanted to talk about. Or maybe my imagination was getting away from me.

After the wine with dinner and the margarita, I was feeling a gentle buzz and maybe my inhibitions were down. I reached my arm across Braden's shoulder and let it rest. Passing it off as a normal paternal gesture, it was still forward. "Brade here's the sports guy in the family. I follow the local teams but don't get passionate about much besides golf."

That got a laugh from my son. I felt Braden's hand rest on my thigh. It was beneath the water and these guys couldn't see, which only added to the naughty thrill. My son was DEFINITELY on the same wavelength as me in being turned on by these guys. I gentled ran my fingers along his delt muscle but kept my attention forward.

Still, Doug could sense something. "So... are you guys actual father and son?" There wasn't disapproval in his tone but something curious and maybe a little freaked out.

I thought of switching our story, but we'd already committed to being on this trip as dad and son, not as partners. But before I could answer Brade piped in.

"Oh yeah... We look a lot alike don't we?"

Now it was the son's turn to react. "Oh yeah, definitely. I mean you have more muscle, Braden, but the face..." He blushed as soon as he said that.

There was something weird going on, but I wanted to see how this played out. I watched Doug slip his own arm around Eric's strong upper body, resting it on the shoulder like I had with Braden.

"That's cool," the father said. "I guess you never know."

I looked eyes with him. Fuck, those steel blue eyes were hypnotic. "I guess not." Then I gulped, trying to act normal, as I took a chance. "You guys, um, actual father and son."

That got a laugh from the dad and a smile from Eric.

"We are," Doug said. He looked over at Eric. They were silently trying to communicate with each other. The father's expression was more serious as he turned back to us. "Listen, I think we're gonna call it a night. Maybe we'll see you around?"

"Um, yeah," Braden said. I could tell he was trying to hide his horniness. "Have a good one, guys."

We watched these Midwestern hunks get out and reach for their towels. Their looser trunks clung to their ass and upper legs and I decided to memorize the view for later.

We were finally alone and Brade whispered. "Fuck, Dad... what just happened?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I mean, I have an instinct, but definitely can't be sure."

That night Braden and I enjoyed sex without cumming. We wanted to save up that load and, well, it was awesome to try something new. All foreplay, lots of making out, lots of naked body contact, until we were too tired.

***

The Newcombs were on our mind the whole next day. I felt guilty, until Braden confessed he couldn't stop thinking about them.

"I just feel bad, Brade," I said. "This trip is supposed to be about us."

He patted my thigh like he had the night before. "It is, Dad. But even the idea of another father-son team.... it brings out the best in our own incest."

I gave my son a soft kiss. "The Connors aren't enough?" I teased. We hooked up with those guys maybe once every three months, enough that we had an easy familiarity as a two-team incest foursome, but not so often that it felt like too much.

"The Connors aren't here, Dad," Braden answered with a smile. "I just love showing off the love and physical intimacy we have. That I have with my own father."

I nodded down at my crotch. "Look what you did, buddy." I had hope to save sex for later that day, but my prick had a mind of its own.

"Show me, Dad," Braden hissed. "Show me the dick that made me 36 years ago."

I undid the draw strings of my trunks and pushed them down over my dad boner.

"Hot," Braden said in awe than got down on the floor, between my spread legs.

I wish I had the willpower around Braden, but as he leaned forward to take me into his mouth, I let him. I let my own son blow me slowly, and lovingly, to completion. And once he'd swallowed most of my sperm I gave him a deep, soulful kiss.

Braden had a proud satisfied smile as he pulled back. This blowjob had been about me and my release. "Damn, Dad, your sex drive is off the charts on this trip," he laughed.

****

I thought that would take the edge off. Maybe Braden did, too. But after dinner we were both a little quiet as we walked back to the room. "Wanna try the whirlpool again?" I asked.

Braden knew what I was thinking. He wasn't upset at the suggestion, just the opposite. "Definitely."

So we change back into fresh swim trunks and grabbed towels on the way out to the pool area. It was dark with the glow of the pool lights making the Caribbean evening more magical. There was a newlywed couple swimming in the larger pool. And in the shallow whirlpool area were the Newcomb men, father and son.

Eric's face lit up when he saw us. "Hey," he said. Maybe the jock would never be the talkative one, but he was in a more social mood for sure.

"Mind if we join?" Braden asked.

"I'd be offended if you didn't, guys," Doug said with his killer smile. He held up his plastic cup. "Eric and I were just enjoying a couple of beers... 18 is the drinking age here, and even if it wasn't, well, like I say this is a celebration."

I set down my towel. "Maybe we'll join you," I said. "Can I get you another?"

Doug held up the cup, which was low. He seemed to be weighing whether he should. "Hell, it's vacation. Yeah, I'll have a beer, whatever's on draft." He turned to Eric. Again the silent communication, leading the son to say, "Yeah, Dad.. if that's OK"

"Two," he said to me.

I felt a strange thrill and naughtiness. I don't even know what I expected to happen. This was a normal resort, a mix of families and young couples. These guys were just being polite, I told myself. Minnesota nice.

When I came back to the pool with four drinks, the small talk was especially small. Talking about possible excursions for the next day, Brade asking Eric all about his football plans at Nebraska. Doug rambling on about the Big Ten.

But a half hour went by and that honeymoon couple left. It was just us in the pool area, and Doug's Minnesota nice shifted to something more direct.

"Sorry if we were rude last night," he said. "I just got a little freaked out."

His eyes were on me, then on Braden.

I knew to be cautious. "No need to be freaked out. And we didn't find you rude."

I could sense Eric nudge his father's arm. It was charming in a way. Doug blushed. "Eric thinks we should have stayed."

Maybe I couldn't read between the lines entirely, but I wanted to see. I placed my arm on Braden's shoulder, like the night before.

"Fuck," Doug swore, then copied me. Eric even scooted into the embrace. "It's nice to see a father and son who are close."

"Dad and I are real close," Brade chimed in.

"We had a sense," Doug said, almost whispered. "Didn't we son?"

"Yeah Dad," Eric said. He was shy but somehow not as embarrassed as his father.

I ran my fingers along Braden's shoulder. Not trying to be surreptitious like the evening before.

I watched and could tell Doug copying me.

"Fuck!" Eric swore softly. That got a chuckle from his father.

Doug gave his son a look, then looked back over at me and Brade. "I don't know about you guys, but this is still new for me and Eric.... we're figuring stuff out."

Goddamn, we were talking about incest as much as we could without outright saying it. I gave an encouraging nod. I didn't want to spook these guys, but I wanted to push the conversation forward. "That's the best part," I said. "Except for the stuff that comes after."

I felt Braden's hand on my thigh once more, only it didn't rest there but slid up to explore the hem of my trunks and paw at my crotch.

Doug gulped. "How much stuff?"

I gave a slight shrug. "The full monte," I said. "As much as you could imagine."

Doug was silent but Eric had a big smile on his face. "We couldn't figure you out," the teen said. Looking at me, he said. "You seem too young to be Braden's dad, Mr. Drake."

"Bill," I corrected. "I had Brade when I was 16."

"And you, um," Doug started to ask. "When did you guys....?"

I looked at Braden. He was horny and very thrilled. "You OK with me talking about it, son?"

"Yeah, Dad," he gave a nod.

I looked back at the Newcombs. "Maybe this would be better to discuss somewhere private?"

I could see Eric nudge his dad again, and Doug let out a small, nervous laugh. "I know, buddy," he whispered. Then looking at me he answered. "Your room work, Bill?"

I was hard when I got out of the pool. We all were. But we toweled off and wrapped the towels around our waists as we made our way to the room.

We were all quiet and there was tension and anticipation in the air. Once we were indoors, I paused. "I guess we should get out of the wet swim suits," I said. "I don't want to make you guys uncomfortable."

Doug looked at his son, who was now noticeably taller than the father by a good inch or two. More silent communication before he answered for both of them. "We're all men, here, Bill."

Braden went first, slipping down his suit. It wasn't his speedos but a lycra square cut suit. My son was somewhere between chubbed and erect, and my own dick was getting more in the hard state as I stripped down.

"Sorry," I said. Wanting these men to be comfortable.

"I'm the same way, Mr. Drake," the jock said. As he pushed down the trunks I saw his rigid erection stick up. His skin was pale, though he had a slight tan line from the time down in the sun.

"Here goes," Doug said, following suit. I took their wet trunks put them all in the bathroom. As I came back in, Braden had taken a seat in one of the chairs, with the father and son on the bed. I smiled because Brade had a good intuition, too. Letting this play out without pushing it more than we already were.

I took the free chair, sitting down and enjoying the thrill of being naked like this. "I need to answer your question, Doug," I said. "Braden and I have a sexual and romantic relationship. We have since he was 18."

The father nodded. But it was Eric's reaction that was amazing. "See, Dad, I told you."

I saw Doug's dick finally rise to full erection, getting past his nerves.

"The full monte?" the man said back, repeating my words back to me.

"The full monte," I said.

Brade chimed in. "We'd love to show you guys... if you're interested."

Doug looked over at Eric. The kid was in full horned mode and his thick tool was actually jerking up and down. "I know Eric is," the pilot said. He seemed emotionally torn as he explained. "We've just been experimenting.... jacking off together, that kind of thing."

"Jacking off is fun, too," I said. Wanting not to push these men too far.

Doug gave me a grateful smile. "Since he was 18 huh? You ever feel guilty?"

"Nope," Braden said with a laugh.

I looked over at my son with a smile. It was true Brade was all in, never looking back. "I felt guilty at first... maybe a couple of months," I explained. "Then I realized it was right for me and Brade. Those guilt days are long behind us."

"Cool," Doug said, in a tone he wished he didn't feel the guilt pangs himself.

I looked at Eric, whose eyes were on me, lusting after me. "If it's not an inappropriate thing to say, Doug, you have a very attractive son." My eyes swept back to meet the father's blue eyes. "No disrespect."

"None taken," Doug said with a smile. "I very much agree with you."

"You attracted to your dad, Eric?" Braden asked. He leaned forward and I could see he was rock hard now, and dripping. But his tone was cautious and respectful.

"Oh yeah," the jock said, with a smile. "Dad's like the hottest guy in the world."

I could see Doug's flattered smile.

"What about him turns you on, bro?" Braden asked. "If you don't mind sharing."

I was watching Doug closely to see if he'd object, but he had a silent, horny expression grow on his face as his son responded.

"I mean, you see it, right? Dad's a total DILF." It was wild seeing the shy kid get talkative all of a sudden. "But it's more than that his body. I don't know, maybe cause he's my idea of what a man should be."

"I hear ya, bro," Braden said. "I'm that way with my dad." It was like they were talking and bonding without me and Doug there.

He gave Eric a wink then turned to the father. "Your son is hot to trot for this, Doug."

I watched the father reach over and place his arm on Eric's bare shoulder, drawing his son closer. Eric complied, and now that both men were nude I could see how hard they were for this, for each other.

"I try to put the breaks on sometimes," Doug said, softly, to Eric as much as to us. "But I'm hot to trot, too."

I watched them lean forward and tilt their heads. Father and son were now kissing, softly but fully, with tongue.

I expected a swear word from Braden. I expected one from myself. But we didn't want to break the spell of the incest kiss.

But once they broke, Braden was getting out of his chair, kneeling down. I kissed him, feeling up his outer arms as we got into it.

"God, Dad," I heard.

Braden pulled off and I gave him a nod. He bent his body down and began taking me into his mouth. My eyes watched him swallow several inches in loving slowness before I looked up at the Newcombs. They were watching and crazy excited.

"You like watching this?" I asked.

"Hell yes." This time it was Doug's turn to show enthusiasm. "How often does he...?"

"Once a week on average," I answered. "But we prefer fucking to just about anything."

"Hot," Eric said.

I expected a response from Doug, but both guys watch as Braden got into it. My son's really good at giving head, but the audience had him making a show of blowing me. Alternating pace and pulling off to lick my nuts some. I loved watching him, but I loved watching the father and son team watch up. Eric's hands were now on his dad's dick, touching it, exploring it, feeling his father's hardness while his own teen dick stood up angry and hard. The jock leaned to whisper in his dad's ear.

"Yeah, buddy," Doug whispered back.

I watched excited as Eric got off the bed and copied the position Braden was in.

"Fuck!" the father hissed as his teenage son began licking his cock. He looked up at me.

"You enjoy watching this?"

I nodded. "You have no idea."

"I do actually."

We both enjoyed our incest blowjobs, alternating where we looked, getting off on our sons but also on having an audience.

Doug's face was getting flush and his upper body was tensing. "Oh damn, Tiger... you're getting your Big Man close." It felt like I was witnessing some private nicknames.

Braden moaned around my cock, suggesting the words were getting to him too.

"Gonna cum in your son's mouth?" I grunted, giving into outright sex talk at last. "Down his throat?"

He looked at me, almost with pleading eyes. "Uh uh. Fuck!"

"My son's gonna get me off," I added. "Any second."

I then watched Doug have an orgasm. Eric choked some on the sperm then gulped.

I held Braden's head down gently as I shot my wad, too. As hot as the fourways were with the Connors, something was special about how spontaneously this evening had developed.

But as Braden licked my dribbles and kissed my dad cock, I saw Doug dart up and run to the bathroom. He stepped back in and tossed Eric his suit. "Let's go buddy," he said curtly, already stepping into his trunks.

Braden wasn't comprehending what was going on. He pulled off. "What?"

I patted his cheek in a signal. "Sorry guys," I said.

"It's OK," Doug said, guilt and anger in his eyes. "Just we better go."

Eric seemed frustrated, sexually but emotionally as he followed his father out. He gave one last look at us. Wistful and grateful at the same time.

Braden sat on the bed now, his hardon long gone. "Is everything gonna be OK, Dad?" he asked, concerned. I couldn't tell if he was concerned for the Newcombs or worried they'd talk about our relationshipt to someone else.

I didn't worry about them making anything public. That was the last thing Doug Newcomb was going to do. "It'll be OK, son," I said. "They just need some time to figure the incest thing out."

I stood up and walked over to pat Braden's head. My son seemed grateful to the gesture and leaned in and nuzzled my soft cock with his face. I ran my fingers through his hair. "Want a little cuddle time, Sport?" I asked. "It's our belated honeymoon, after all."

Braden chuckled against my genitals. But he patted my leg. "Yeah, Dad. Sounds perfect."

#drakestories

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crosshairlovebot · 1 year ago

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you good? / crosshair x gn!reader

pairing: crosshair x gn!reader (no y/n). reader has a nickname.

description: crosshair returns to you on shore leave to find you unwell, so he takes care of you.

word count: 2,521

needed to write a crosshair version of the hunter one i did. i love him so much i can't even talk about it properly. hope this brings comfort to anyone who's reading and sick. you deserve a gentle crosshair looking after you.

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

Crosshair had intended to use his unexpected shore leave to surprise you. To knock on your door and see you light up at the sight of him. That feeling always made him warm inside, to see you happy that he was standing in front of you. He relished in the feel of your arms being thrown around his shoulders and wrapping him tightly. He could live inside your arms if the galaxy let him. His chest would expand with contentment when you would gush about how happy you were to see him, knowing that happiness was not only in response to no longer being alone in your cold, quiet Coruscanti apartment, but also the knowledge that he was okay, and safe, and alive in a war that only seemed to become more endless as the fighting went on.

Crosshair would let you fuss over him, give him real food, let him have a warm shower before you would both fall into bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms – feeling like he had never left. It was easy to pretend he was just a man when he was alone with you. To get lost in the normalcy of sharing a home. You’d both play pretend for as long as you could before the inevitable end of his all too brief shore leave would sneak up on you both, and he would be shipped out again, for who knew how long with only infrequent comms for both your comforts.

He had been looking forward to the familiar routine of his shore leave, to seeing your entire body lift once you opened the door to him, but those hopes were dashed when he knocked on the door and you opened it, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cloak, sniffly and half-closed eyes.

“Crosshair,” you croaked, excitement clear in your voice before you began coughing into your blanket. “You’re home.”

“Ca’tra,” Crosshair breathed as he took in the sight of you, concern immediately spiking inside him. “You’re sick.”

“It’s nothing,” you brushed off, sniffling and stepping aside so Crosshair could enter the apartment. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“It’s not nothing,” Crosshair scolded as he watched you press the close button on the door and shuffle into your tiny living room without even hugging him like you usually do.

You had made a bed on the couch, full of pillows and other blankets. The holo was on and playing some movie he didn’t recognise. You sat down, making a sound that made it sound like walking and standing had been a big effort for you. He shrugged off his pack and placed it by the door before he moved to crouch in front of you, hands on your knees.

“How long?” he asked, looking at you.

You tried breathing in, but your nose was blocked. “Was feeling a little off yesterday but woke up today feeling much worse.”

Crosshair stood up and he watched your neck crane up to follow his gaze. He placed one hand under your chin and the back of the other against your forehead. You were warm, but not feverish. With the coughing and sneezing, it must just be a bad cold. He knew you didn’t take much time to relax, usually opting to keep busy to distract yourself from his absence. He guessed it was all catching up with you, the exhaustion manifesting itself into sickness.

“Have you been to a med droid?” Crosshair smoothed a hand over your hair in a gesture so soft, that on a regular day, he would’ve watched you close your eyes and smile in response. Instead, you barely reacted before pulling away gently.

You were more unwell than you were letting on.

“Too expensive. Too much effort,” you coughed before letting yourself fall on your side, head hitting one of the many pillows as you groaned.

Crosshair watched you, crease in his brow. He sat down on the caf table, elbows on his knees. “Tell me what hurts.”

You huffed and curled yourself into a ball. “Throat. Head. I’m so tired.”

Crosshair looked at an empty plate on the floor next to the couch. “Have you eaten?”

You breathed through your mouth, rubbing your nose. “Small things. Crackers. Bread. Low effort stuff.”

Crosshair let out a breath. He hated seeing you like this. He’d never been sick, since clones had been engineered to be immune to nearly all diseases, but to not feel like yourself didn’t seem like something he would enjoy.

Crosshair pulled a blanket out from the many under your legs, and you frowned at him as you watched him drape it over you wordlessly. He pulled it up to your chin, the way he liked as a cadet before he bent over to tuck you in.

It wasn’t even a decision for him to take care of you during his brief shore leave, more like something he was willing to do simply because he loved you.

When you loved someone, you tried to do anything you could to make their life easier, to release them of their burdens and carry them yourself.

Crosshair would shoulder all your burdens unasked, no matter what they were. The act of caring for you wasn’t and would never be something you had to ask for. He was glad he was here, that way he knew you would be well taken care of under his watchful eyes.

Though he had become better at articulating his love for you with words, the best way for him to show how much he loved you was still with actions.

“What’re you doing?” you croaked, brows furrowed at him as he pushed the blanket around the edges of your body.

“What does it look like?” he replied tersely as he adjusted the pile of pillows you were reclining on, making sure they were supporting your head properly.

“Cross, you don’t have to take care of me,” you told him.

Crosshair only scoffed in response as he took in the rest of the living room.

It was messier than you usually kept it, with several plates and empty cups littering the floor and the caf table he sat on as well as small piles of discarded face napkins.

He started gathering up the dishes before walking them over to the sink. He hated mess, and he knew you did too, so the fact that you hadn’t at least taken the used dishes to the sink told him how sick you really were. He started rinsing them before he placed them in the small bench-top dishwasher he’d helped you pick out a few shore leaves ago.

“Cross,” you said from the couch, having made yourself sit up and ruin his perfect tuck-in job.

He couldn’t be annoyed at you, no matter how hard he tried.

Crosshair ignored you as he made his way back to the couch to gather up all the face napkins and put them in the trash. You said his name again, this time falling into a coughing fit as your breath caught in your sore throat. He grabbed a clean cup from the cupboard and filled it with some water. He came back over to you and sat on the coffee table, holding the cup out.

“Drink,” he ordered softly.

You gave him a look like you weren’t happy with him. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to leave you to fend for yourself, not when he was here. It was his job to look out for the people he loved.

You wordlessly took the cup, and the bottom of it immediately went on your knee, like you lacked the strength to bring it to your lips. Crosshair sighed. You needed some proper food in you. He took the cup from you as he shuffled closer then placed his empty hand behind your head.

“Head back,” he told you. You did what you were told, and he helped you take a few sips of water. After, he ran his thumb across your lip to catch a stray drop. His hand stayed for a moment so his thumb could caress your cheek. He wished he could take this away from you.

“Cross, I’m okay,” you tried to tell him.

“No, you’re not,” he said, placing the cup next to him. “Lie down. Rest.”

“I’m not good at resting,” you grumbled.

“Too bad.”

You groaned and the strain on your throat only made you fall into another coughing fit. Crosshair gave you another sip of water before he tucked you in again, tighter this time so you wouldn’t get up.

Once he was satisfied you weren’t going to move again, he told you he’d be right back before quickly going to your bedroom. He stripped out of his armour and blacks before taking the speediest shower of his life and dressing in the spare clothes he kept here.

Now in loose pants and a threadbare short-sleeved top that smelt faintly like you, Crosshair padded barefoot into the living room again. He was relieved to see you in the same position as before, eyes closed. He watched you from the doorway for a moment and looked at how small you looked on that couch. He didn’t like the thought that if he hadn’t come home when he did, you would be suffering through this by yourself, without him to care for you.

He tried to move quietly, but your eyes cracked open once you heard him enter the room, a small smile on your lips. Crosshair returned it and came and sat back down on the caf table, facing you.

“You good?” he asked, placing the backs of his bare fingers on your cheek. You pulled a hand out from under the blanket and grabbed his, moving the backs of his fingers to your lips, kissing them gently. He smiled, warmth blooming in his chest at the simple gesture of intimacy. It’d been a long time since he felt your lips on his skin.

“Better, now that you’re here,” you told him honestly, your voice scratchy.

Crosshair smiled. He liked being here as much as you liked having him here.

“You’re all warm from the shower,” you smiled, pressing your face against his hand, holding his arm close to you.

“Been a while since I had a decent one.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. You chuckled and kissed his palm. He let you cradle his hand and arm, and he would’ve let you hold onto it forever, but he wanted to make sure you were taken care of before he wrapped himself around you.

“Hungry?” he asked. He frowned when you shook your head, nose rubbing against his wrist. “You should eat something. Even if it’s small.”

He sighed when you wrinkled your nose at the thought. He went through what he remembered from the Kaminoan training module on nat-born illnesses. “Have you taken anything?”

You nodded. “I took something a couple of hours ago when I woke up.”

“Did you eat then?”

You nodded again. He would have to be satisfied with that. Maybe he could get you to eat something when you were due to make more medication, but for now, he just wanted to let you rest. He’d try again later.

He searched your face, his mouth pressed in a line. He wished he could do something more for you, it frustrated him to not be able to fix this easily; that he had to wait it out with you. He was patient when it came to sniping, he could lie in the same position for hours before taking a shot with no difficulty. But he was not so patient when you were in pain or unwell. He felt himself scowl. It was the restless and useless feeling he hated. Crosshair never liked feeling useless.

“I feel bad,” you told him in a small voice.

Crosshair’s spine straightened in alarm. “What can I do?”

“No, I mean, I feel bad about this,” you gestured to yourself lying on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, poorly.

“You?” He couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why?”

He was just silently commiserating about how bad he felt that he couldn’t absorb your pain and experience it just so you wouldn’t have to. Why would you feel bad?

“It’s your time off,” you told him, your hold on his arm tightening. “You barely get any and now it’s ruined because I’m sick.”

Crosshair let out a breath. Is that what you thought? That your being unwell was an inconvenience to him?

He shook his head. “It’s not ruined.”

“We can’t even do anything fun. I’ve been wanting to take you to this new diner that opened a few levels up. I haven’t even been there because I wanted us to go together.”

Crosshair smiled at the thought. “There will be other times, ca'tra.”

You let out a frustrated breath. Crosshair crouched down and smoothed your hair back off your face with his free hand, and you watched him with those eyes of yours that rivalled even the most beautiful of stars. Crosshair leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. When he pulled away, you were looking up at him with slanted brows, like he was the single most amazing thing you’d ever seen, and that made his chest tight with the kind of feeling he’d only ever read about.

Never in the entire galaxy did he think he would ever be loved the way you love him.

You yawned as Crosshair stroked your cheek softly, tenderly. “You should sleep.”

You tugged on the hand you still had gently. “Lay down with me?”

Crosshair stood up and shut the holo off before lifting up the edge of your blanket. You wordlessly shuffled over and when there was enough room, he lay down next to you. His feet dangled off the edge, his frame too long for the piece of furniture.

You wriggled around trying to find a comfortable position in the narrow space of the couch, before you finally settled to lying half on top of him, head on his chest, arm wrapped around his torso, and leg hooked around his hip.

Crosshair grunted as he adjusted his position, he predicted he would not be moving from this spot for some time. He didn’t care. He’d let you lie on him until you were back to normal, and even then.

He let out a breath as he draped the blanket over you both, tucking it around your frames. You relaxed on top of him, and there was something so comforting about having your body right next to him like this. He rubbed a hand gently up and down your back as you sighed, the breath all broken with your sore throat.

“Thanks, Cross,” you whispered. Crosshair smiled and kissed the top of your head. He didn’t need to be thanked. He’d do anything for you.

“Love you,” you murmured as your breathing became deep and even as you fell asleep. Crosshair tightened his hold on you as your heartbeat pressed into his. He loved you more.

banner art by @vimse thank you reading! i love writing soft crosshair so much :') it's literally my mission to fill the crosshair/reader tag with soft crosshair fics

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @fruitsaladtree @literallydontlook @burningfieldof-clover @queencousland101 @clonethirstingisreal @skellymom @hopelessromantic727

TAGLIST FORM

#larissa writes #crosshair x reader #crosshair reader fic #bad batch crosshair x reader #crosshair fluff #crosshair bad batch fluff #soft crosshair #crosshair bad batch #crosshair bad batch fic #the bad batch hunter fic #the bad batch fluff #tbb x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair fic

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myillicitaffair · 1 year ago

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Somethin’ Stupid | Charles Leclerc

Summary: while being interviewed by his former lover, bottled up feelings find their way out.

Warnings: english not being my mother tongue, lots of angst, some swearing, arguments.

Notes: this is the first time i’m ever posting anything on here, i hope you enjoy it xx

1.5k words.

Letting myself fall into his abrasive webs was surprisingly easy. His green orbs, pervasive and curious, piercing my soul.

We had our ups and downs, unbridled passion slowly dying with each tear shed, magnetic attraction burning my lungs.

We found ourselves in a hiatus, which found a way of prolonging itself further than I would have liked to. Perhaps he managed to keep himself occupied with his busy schedule; trainings, special dietary requirements, public relations… as for me, I rather hold my silence.

My routine was overflowed with his voice, with how much I missed his touch on my lower back, guiding me through the crowds, our hands intertwined in a tacit promise.

However, life demanded to continue with apparent normality. Dinner parties surrounded by friends, rounds of drinks avoiding alcohol… The last thing I needed was to degrade myself into a melancholic drunkenness.

Was he also having a hard time with the abysmal coldness on the other side of the bed or the loneliness of not having anyone to dilute your sorrow over morning coffee with?

My days had fallen into a sort of routine; waking up while missing him, showering while missing him, having breakfast while missing him… I think you get how thing are.

This particular morning, Silverstone was extraordinarily cloudy, the mist engulfing my view from the hotel room. How fitting!

Running away from my surreptitious misfortunes, I head downstairs, soaking up the competitive environment prior to every race. Emboldened as an agitated swarm, my colleges and me descended on the designated circuit.

Tedious security controls accompanied the anticipated fun, a hammer already pounding into my head at the thought of seeing him face to face once more.

Walking towards the space where the press was condensed, I check the days schedule for the last time. I am lucky enough to maintain friendly interactions with most drivers, so as to achieve fluid interviews, keeping the audience on the edge of their seats.

The only reason I can find as to why that fateful name is written on my list of drivers to interview was that God and I clearly have some unresolved business… funny timing to make me pay the price though!

A lump gets stuck in my throat just by thinking about it, preventing regular air flow.

The countdown only stuns me, even though my duty doesn’t start until the last lap. The smell of burnt rubber, product of speeding wheels, fills my lungs while intoxicating my nostrils.

The continuous lights turn red with overwhelming precision as seconds go by, lightning up the faces hidden with baklavas and iconic helmets.

Unconsciously (or maybe not so much), my eyes crawl back to the speeding number “16” that, red and furious, slides around the circuit while attempting to memorize every bump and curve along the way.

Chasing the sequence with collective looks of astonishment, a collision comes rushing down, disabling Piastri and Norris by the arrogance that only clear disagreements gives you.

Without further issues, the race concludes with a podium conformed by both Red Bull Racing drivers, trailed by seven time world champion Lewis Hamilton.

As possessed by group madness, the journalists rush into the victors. Microphone in hand, cameras shadowing us, content hunger gushing from our pores.

Driven by a exacerbated sadness, I shift my focus from the winners to him, returning my gaze with clouded tear ducts, bottled up frustration visible in his features.

With a touch on my shoulder, I’m brought back to reality by a co-worker, who, with a subtle shift of her head signals my awaiting obligations.

I head towards my press conference, where I take a seat with my name on it, psyching myself up for what I’m sure will be the most awkward interview of my whole career.

Dressed in Ferrari clothing and constantly stalked by flashes, both pilots near the platform where I await. They settle into their designated spots, holding still until the cameraman says otherwise.

I steal one last glance at my premeditated questions and hide my true feelings behind a focused frown.

“Welcome dear viewers! We find ourselves in the eleventh race of the year, accompanied once more by our friends from Ferrari, Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz.”

I desperately try stabilizing the noticeable shake in my voice.

“Friend”- the Monegasque interrupts my monologue with a mocking remark.

The puzzled look his teammate throws in his direction doesn’t go unnoticed by the former, who insists on jointing his glistening irises with mine.

I decide to ignore the brief impasse in the speech, running away from his calculated sarcasm as I force the corners of my mouth into an attempted smile.

“so, Carlos… do you think driving behind two cars that crushed ruined your performance?”- I question, tripping over my words under Charles´s scrutiny.

“It´s safe to say it wasn’t an unexpected accident”- the Spaniard pronounces, doing his best at minimalizing the awkwardness- “for at least a couple of laps, Oscar and Lando were teasing each other, clearly trying to gain advantage over the other. They were lucky enough neither of them got hurt.”

I nod absent minded, vibrating due to the pounding against my ribcage.

“Charles, what can you tell us about your engineers’ strategy for this race?”- I swallow loudly, praying he can´t notice the mesmerizing effect he has on me.

“I guess you could say I’m not entirely satisfied with my team´s execution this season”- he confesses, minimizing the tingles of frustration running down his spine- “It would also be quite unfair dumping the blame on my team when my failure has more to do with me letting my emotions get the best of me.”

The tension is intercepted by a longing sigh I didn’t know I was withholding. The world seems to stop in its euphoria simply to hang in his every sentence.

“A broken heart is no joke… even less when you have to patiently wait for the piece they decide to donate you”- he reproaches without saying my name but making it perfectly clear that I was indeed the recipient of his raw address.

My anxious movements become motionless, forgetting the when and where, just to focus on the displeasure bubbling in my stomach.

“Guys, I really don´t think it’s appropriate to discuss this now”- intercepts the Madrilenian, proposing a ceasefire.

Mi hand goes up in the air before I can help it, shutting him up mercilessly.

“I wonder where I must´ve learned it…”- I reply, drowning in the unexpected harshness of my tone- “don´t forget who was the one to suggest this ´no strings attached´ bullshit between us.”

The drivers face shines with a scandalous blush in response to my bravado. Right here and there, I comprehend the dept of his anger, making its way through his collarbones, until it climbs up his cheeks.

“Just because I thought that’s what you wanted”- he spits out his resentful response.

From the corner of my vision, I perceive Carlos´s discomfort by reading his body language; the friction of wiping away the sweat stagnant on his hands, his shoulders pouring forward in a clumsy attempt of hiding from the cameras, his chair weakly shaking under the constant bouncing of his extremities.

Madness atrophies my reasoning, blinding me enough as to not have merci on his apprehension. I took this way too far, it would be useless to swallow my feelings.

“how in the world could you think our agreement benefitted me? Really, Charles, you couldn’t be any more stupid!”- I scream back, jumping up from my seat.

The swing of my feet gets ahead of my thoughts, allowing me to run away from the premature conflict before it blows up in the air.

Mi face heats up from the warmth of my own tears, that start rolling down my cheeks. With each involuntary spasm of my jaw, sobs escape my gasps for air. I don’t dare to slow down.

“Can you please just listen to me?”- a voice behind me shouts, trying to stand by my side.

I turn around to face his scrunched up brows.

“you have nothing else left to make up. You may convince somebody with the whole ´heartbreak boy´ façade you’ve got going on, but you have genuinely driven me mad”

“You and I both now that isn’t true! Have you ever wondered why I always seem to take a step back after every show of affection?”- he manages to freeze me to the core- “How come you never noticed my excessive efforts to stay away from you? I can’t even behave like a functional human being if I’m not feeling you, touching you, having you with me.”

In the middle of the paddock, with every pair of eyes set on us, events unfold the way I’ve been dreaming of, however I can´t even react.

“I know I´m not in a position to ask you anything, but please, strip me from the torment that uncertainty means… even if that means to completely destroy me”- he whispers with renewed fragility.

My smirk slowly becomes uncontrollable laughter, reducing me to unbridled chuckles. I shelter the vestiges of my giggling in between his arm, until It ceases in its intensity.

Without noticing, I search for his lips with my own, craving the heat they irradiate.

“I think you know perfectly well how my soul aches for you”- I manage to sneak in between kisses, stumbling across his smile, displayed in all its glory.

#charles leclerc #cl16 #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #ferrari #charles leclerc smut #f1 smut #f1 fic #red bull f1 #red bull racing #imagine #argentina #Spotify

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lil-binuu · 4 months ago

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MORE ELIAS HEADCANONS!!! 😼

- he has a big nose. i know i already made a post about it i’m just a sucker for it FUCK AHAHSHSHDHJF HE’D LOOK SO YUMMY

- he would def be the type to leave post it notes around the house with cute (and also spicy) messages for barista to find EUGHHH HES SO CUTE

- go out of his way to make them blush or smile. it’s a goal for him. a bonus if he get you to laugh, then he’s won at life.

- someone else said it too, he gives latino vibes and he’d flirt with you constantly in spanish especially if you don’t understand a single word. you’re just sitting there dumbfounded as he’s splurting his love for you in spanish and you have no idea

- would get matching tattoos with you

- i think he’d also like those permanent jewellery too and get one with you (hehehehehe you should totally read my fic permanently mine 😻)

- (for female barista) saku confirmed it, elias would be comfortable shopping for period products and wouldn’t think twice to get you what you need

- would do your skincare together, like face masks, it would become a nighttime and morning routine for you two together

- would buy you jewellery and if you bought some for him, you would never catch him without it on

- when you go makeup shopping, he is glad to be your personal palate. please cover him in lipstick stains

- i feel like he would be the type of guy to, with his friends, dress up and wear skirts and crop tops for a joke

- we know he doesn’t care what others think, so he wouldn’t hesitate to put his arm around you or show affection in public

- if you worked at another cafe or restaurant he would def go visit you. he easily becomes your most regular and loyal customer. all your coworkers would be convinced that he just has an unhealthy obsession with their food/drinks (but actually his obsession is just you 😉)

- wrestles you on the daily. and we all know how it ends.

- he’s the type of man to cook for you. if you’re hungry, he’s a michelin chef.

- if you were really bad at a game, maybe maybe he’d go easy on you :))

- i feel like he knows how to calm you down and help you in a time of panic or stress, i feel like he’s probably had a lot of experiences of his own panic attacks (like when he described having a nightmare and running away to a park) he’d hold you tight and whisper all the right things and you’d know that you could just relax into his arms and let him look after you

- i know he likes the danger of speeding down roads on his bike, but i think especially the first couple of times you go on his bike he would make sure to not go too fast or be too risky with you on the back.

- can’t stop his eyes wondering over your body and honestly, he wants you to see how into you he is

- we know he feels negatively about himself for being weak, particularly too weak to save his mother, so i think it’s likely that he might feel embarrassed to cry or like he’s weak for crying. especially because his father would have very rarely cried in front of him, elias wouldn’t have grown up feeling like he could express his emotions very well and so he would bottle it up for when he was alone and could smoke his problems away

- speaking of smoking, i’d like to think that he would try restricting himself from smoking the second he gets even a glimpse of a wrinkled nose from you disliking the smell

- cover him in hickeys. please. he finds it so hot that he’s yours and everyone knows it. wants to parade them around like a medal.

- i feel like he’d take your trust very seriously, especially when he saved you from brewhouse as a complete stranger, he knows that you’re in a foreign world and don’t know who to trust, so he’d value your trust in him a lot.

okie that’s it hehe hope you enjoyed 😻💕

@xzhdjsj @belladonnadawn @meraki-kiera @peppymintdreams @xxminxrq @dollsprincesa @xxluneilaxxaus @penelopesbaby @shelllyy

#i’m not even joking. i made this is JULY. JULYYYYYYYY. and i have been adding to it ever since.#zsakuva #binuu’s silly thoughts #sakuverse #zsakuva elias #elias x reader #zsakuvafandom #elias zsakuva

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haedia · 1 month ago

Note

🎲 and as much as I love your Illario work I am curious as to your Rookanis

Okay. I had to go to my partners' house for a few hours earlier which kind of derailed my progress on this idea. And then it got away from me...and became much longer than I anticipated it to become.

The number I rolled earlier was 23, a kiss influenced by alcohol or other substances. So, below is an evening spent in part between Rook, Lucanis, and Davrin. It takes place after: Weisshaupt, their first three-person hang out, and after the near-kiss scene.

It's also kind of rough still but I wanted to post it sooner rather than later. I expect I'll refine it and post it on ao3 eventually.

Drunk hang out and kiss below the cut.

Following the harrowing experience of Weisshaupt, Rook found a new solace and comfort in her friendship with Davrin and Lucanis.

Everyone had fought valiantly at the Grey Warden fortress that day but the bonds forged between the three of them deepened in a way she didn’t expect would occur.

Ghilan'nain still lived but so did they; and reveling in being alive in the company of those who fought against the elven goddess almost felt like an act of retaliation in itself.

After the shock wore off, after wounds healed, and after the team settled back into the rhythm of life at the Lighthouse, a new routine developed between the three of them. The first time occurred when Rook walked in on Davrin and Lucanis swapping outrageous tales while deep in their cups. It had been a delightful evening of drink and story and food (after Lucanis decided he needed to spoil them with his cooking).

Some “nights” they would meet in the dining hall, move the table away from the fireplace, and scoot the couches closer. They would each bring something to share: be it drink or food or sweets. And the three of them would relax into the company of each other, whiling away the hours as they drifted further into pleasant drunkenness.

One such night, Rook headed to the dining hall, her offering of Dalish sweet cakes in a package under her arm. She opened the door to the sound of Lucanis’ incredulous snort and Davrin’s voice carrying across the room.

“I’m serious!” he retorted, indignant.

“I’m not drunk enough to believe that story, Davrin. Try again.” Lucanis said with a laugh.

“Did you two get started without me?” Rook interrupted whatever reply Davrin was readying as she strode into the room.

“Rook!” the two men called out in unison, glasses raised and clearly pleased to see her.

Davrin already had a bit of a glassy-eyed expression and a reddened warmth colored the peaks of Lucanis’ cheeks. If that wasn’t enough evidence to condemn them, the near-empty bottle of Anderfels spirits told quite a story.

“Before you say anything” Davrin started, noticing Rook’s cocked eyebrow at the state of the bottle “Lucanis made a few drinks for when you got here”

Rook glanced between them and Lucanis crumpled under her scrutiny

“...In case we got too out of hand before you got here” he admitted. His cheeks pinked further as he got up to retrieve the drinks he’d made.

“Lucanis!” Davrin admonished his retreating form but Rook couldn’t help but laugh. She was a touch annoyed, but it had taken her a while to arrive. She didn’t blame them, exactly.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I nearly got sucked into a Veil Jumper thing before I was able to slip away to the eluvian.” Rook said as she set her package down on the table before the couches and took her regular spot in the farther corner of the couch.

Lucanis returned with two frosted glasses of something colorful and delectable-looking. He placed one in front of Rook, handed her the other, and took his spot beside her on the couch.

“Now, when you say ‘sucked into a Veil Jumper thing’, I hope you mean figuratively.” He said, concern clear on his face.

“You never know with them” Davrin echoed as he reached for an unopened bottle of something dark.

“Yes, I was being figurative. They wanted me to stay and, well, basically join in something similar to this but with them” she said as she brought the cold glass to her lips and took her first sip. Bright citrus and berry flavors burst on her tongue as she swallowed.

“Oh, this is a dangerous drink, Lucanis” she laughed and sipped more deeply the second time.

“That’s what I was hoping for” He chuckled in response, and took a swig of his own beverage.

—

Sometime much later, after many drinks, many tasty treats, and many ridiculous tales told, Davrin bid them goodnight. Uncle Eldrin needed his assistance in the morning and so he decided to be at least somewhat responsible and turn in earlier than he usually would.

Rook sat back in the corner of the couch, cushioned by a variety of pillows and drifted in a pleasant haze. Lucanis was similarly relaxed. At some point in the night, he’d kicked off his boots and had stretched out, resting his feet on the coffee table.

She knew that if she brought attention to his posture that he’d immediately snap back into something akin to his normal state: reserved, proper, distant.

Things had been awkward since their near-kiss weeks ago – weeks that felt like a lifetime ago. In battle, all of that fell away and they returned to something similar to how things were before: they fought together seamlessly with an energy that bordered on joyous.

But once they were away from the din and chaos – in the Lighthouse or any other quiet place – the tension returned. Words lodged in her throat, his jaw worked before he’d excuse himself in silence, and she’d wonder if she should have followed him. Back then or at any other time.

Seeing him like this, eyes half-lidded as he nursed his drink and watched the flickering flames, it made her heart ache.

Be it for the drink or some other reason, the tension had yet to reassert itself after Davrin left.

It’s probably the drink, Rook thought sourly as she looked down into her glass. She gently rocked it in her hand to swirl the liquid. It was a deep burgundy color and tasted of currants and other dark berries. Lucanis was quite skilled at crafting such mixed drinks, she’d decided.

“That’s quite an intense look. I hope that drink doesn’t displease you” Rook was startled out of her thoughts by Lucanis’ observation. He’d scootched over beside her while she’d been lost thinking about how things were better between them while they were drunk. He sat there, his elbow propped on the back of the couch, head resting in his hand, and regarded her with his dark, thoughtful gaze.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” his eyebrows went up at that and she continued “The drink is wonderful, Lucanis. Really. They always are”

“Then…something else is bothering you?” He asked slowly. Lucanis’ gaze swept her features – clearly looking for some further sign of distress.

Rook wasn’t going to ruin the mood, though. She drank deep from her glass, set it down on the table then turned to face him, matching his pose and posture.

“Just that we don’t get enough of these evenings. We really need to stop the world from ending so we can spend more time together like this.” Rook flashed him a smile that she didn’t exactly feel but hoped he took as genuine.

“That would, indeed, be ideal” Lucanis returned her smile with one of his own and Rook couldn’t help but feel a flutter inside at just how beautiful he looked in that moment. The firelight softened the shadows under his eyes and the drunk flush gave him a youthful glow he lacked out there in the harsh light of day (or the Fade).

Rook hadn’t meant to stare so long, lost as she was in thoughts of him – of them. She hadn’t even noticed him move until Lucanis’ hand was suddenly cupping the back of her neck as he gently pulled her the rest of the way to him.

His beard was softer than she expected it to be, Rook thought belatedly as their lips touched. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into the kiss. It didn’t penetrate her brain what was happening until his fingers twitched at the nape of her neck. Rook gasped against his lips and shivered at the touch.

Lucanis recoiled suddenly, breaking the kiss. “Rook – I...I’m sorry.” He tried to pull back. “I –”

“I’m not.” Rook followed him, twisting her fingers into the fabric of the front of his shirt to keep him from retreating entirely.

“I shouldn’t have –” he acted like she was a burning ember, pulling his hands away from her – his face flushed from drink and shame.

“Lucanis” Rook leveled what she hoped was an entreating look at him. “I’m not sorry.”

“You – What?” He asked slowly, uncertain.

“I’m not sorry. About kissing. About…this.” Rook spread her fingers on his chest before gripping the fabric again. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please believe me.”

Lucanis’ eyes closed at the sensation of her touch, as he tried to stifle a pleased shudder.

“Rook…” his voice trailed off as she drew her fingers up to his shoulder “It’s…it’s not a good idea”

“Lucanis…” Rook let out a sigh edged with frustration, “Interrupting Solas’ ritual wasn’t a good idea. Fighting blighted gods isn’t a good idea.” Rook leaned closer to him “I can handle whatever could happen here. Surely you know that by now”

Lucanis took a steadying breath and after a long moment, leaned towards her until their foreheads touched.

“...I do.” he breathed out. He took her hand from his shoulder and brought it to his lips to press a kiss against her knuckles. “You can handle anything, Rook.”

“I don’t know about that, but I think I’ll stick to whatever this is” she said with a weak laugh. Rook nosed against him and with a tentative smile, Lucanis pulled her into another gentle kiss.

#haedia writes #kiss tag game #lucanis dellamorte #rook #rook aldwir #lucanis x rook #rookanis #davrin #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #ficlet #writing prompt #drunk kiss #drunk kissing

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sen-ya · 1 year ago

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Life After Info Post

[Click here to access the Life After Digital Comic Book]

Summary: Two years ago, a viral outbreak rose the dead. Considering how his life had gone up to this point, surgeon Trafalgar Law figured this might as well happen too. When a supply run into the nearby city gets intercepted by a seemingly reckless and impulsive former patient, the dependable routine Law had settled into in this new life shatters. He finds himself exposed — his body out in the infected landscape, his conscious clawing to define what he believes is right, his heart begrudgingly deciding to find a new home on his sleeve. Maybe there’s more than a virus roaming the new world that can bring a dead man back to life.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, zombies/body horror (but lbr I am not good at making scary things look scary)

Relationships: Luffy x Law

Update Schedule: New page every Monday/Wednesday/Friday

Page Count: [37 posted | 55 drawn]

Latest Update: [7/21/24] WOWEE did I get myself carried away this morning. I just spent 5 hours organizing my comics and creating the digital comic book pages. I could have spent that time drawing or idk not doing what I do for my job, but I cannot be stopped. Anyway I blocked out 30 pages of this comic last week and they include the most intense action sequence I've ever done in my gotdang life. Wish me luck because I am nervous about tying down all my drawings lmao.

OLD UPDATES:

[6/29/24] HULLO! I'm doing so bad at keeping my masterposts updated lately I am sorry. All pages of life after are tagged life after if you're ever looking between masterpost updates! Also exciting update, I finally have figured out all the different plot points i'm gonna be hitting (yay!). I got hung up on something for awhile that made me not wanna work on this project, but I'm back at it. I think we'll end up with 6-7 parts! I have probably another 80-100 pages to draw lol. Also i got the app Magic Poser and it's AWESOME and I immediately used it to block out sets cuz MAN I hate backgrounds.

[6/10/24] HELLO. I'm sorry I've been shit at updating my masterposts lately. It's easiest to do from my computer, which I rarely use, and life has been happening. I also can't believe I bungled the queue and posted pg19 before pg18 i am very sorry 🤦 Eventually I'll have to turn this into an airtable base I'm sure, but until that day comes where I have like 100 pages of this comic we're stickin to the regular post lmao

[5/26/23] I got real caught up in doing summer of lawlu comics this week and this is the first week since the first week of April I haven't drawn new Life After pages and it feels weird 🙊

[5/19/24] More Luffy backstory comin' this week! :^)

[5/12/24] Updating now so get myself on schedule to update on Sundays like I had been with my other comic master post!

[5/8/24] Thank you to everyone who's liked/reblogged/comment on the first few pages!! It means the world to me that anyone's reading my silly little comics.

[4/28/24] HULLO. It’s happeninnng. I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this comic, and I gotta make this post so I can start queuing pages & link this in them! This is the most like….legit? Comic endeavor I’ve undertaken perhaps….ever. I’m very nervous about committing to how long it will need to be lol. This story is dear to my heart — zombie content is kind of my very favorite. I’ve always found it to be a great backdrop for exploring themes like grief, coping with change, community, and learning to live again. It’ll be a long haul but I hope you’ll ride it out with me!! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the first two pages. After that a page will post every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. As of this post I’ve completed over 20 pages so that I have a good lead on what’s posting and continuing to write, so I’m hopeful that’s a cadence I’ll be able to maintain. I’ll update this post weekly to include the most recent pages the way I do with my main comics master post. All pages will be tagged 'Life After' and I'll tag any pages with zombies in them with 'zombie' for blacklisting etc.

#my art #life after

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ssivinee · 2 years ago

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✧Wounded Heart✧

Part 1 | Part 2

BEBE! Bada Lee x F Reader: You've always been known as the smartest student in school, while Bada was known as the campus heartthrob and player. She decides to take advantage of her situation, but puts your heart on the line along with her passing grade.

Word Count: 9.2k

TW: Slight self harm

Note: This is the longest fic I've written so far😮‍💨. I felt so evil writing this, but I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THE ANGST😈. ALSO, please check out my new rule. If not, it just warns blogs with no pfps and reblogs. I have a high chance of soft-blocking you, as I may get shadowbanned bc Tumblr can't defer you from bots.

Character Vision Board

You were never one to gain any attention from anyone. Frankly, you liked it that way.

Known as the most reserved yet nerdiest student in school, you were never called by your name. How could anyone put a name to your face when no one knew what it was. People had only given you the title of top student in university.

Most people knew of your existence, but by always wearing your oversized hoodie over your head, glasses, and mask, you kept your identity a secret amongst your peers. You survived high school like this, so being in your final year of university and still being able to maintain it was a breeze.

It was a regular Monday morning, and you sat in the library before classes, trying to freshen up on your Physics lesson yesterday. You woke up at 6 a.m. to get ready, showered, and ate breakfast with an energy drink before heading out to the library. That was your daily routine, the loner lifestyle, if you will.

As you typed away on your computer, the buzz of other students started coming in waves at 9 a.m., hitting the clock. That meant it was time to head to your first class. After multiple hours of classes, hand-cramping notes, and sitting in the back of every subject, you headed to your favorite class, computer science. For some reason, your brain was highly advanced in this area, making it enjoyable.

30 minutes go by, and just sitting in the back of the class, a tall, nonchalant figure walks in. You visibly see your teacher's face contort as she rolls her eyes at the student. The notorious Bada Lee came in late once again. You believed she began to do it on purpose at this point, as she stopped giving excuses for her tardiness by the second week.

The thought certainly loitered in the back of your mind. You never understood why Bada was the way she was. This was one of the few classes with several options, so if you wanted to avoid taking it, you had multiple other choices. Yet, even being late every day, she showed up and did the work.

Maybe not to the best of her abilities, but she still did it.

There were a few things to note about Bada. She was captain of the school's basketball team and had a distasting reputation. The campus player and heartbreaker. It felt as though, every week, there was new drama surrounding a girl whose heart got broken by the tall student, and it always made you want to roll your eyes every single time. Never understanding why these girls chased and chased, even when knowing their situationships wouldn't be the way it was from their fantasies.

Nearing the end of the class, everyone was getting ready to leave, but the Professor stopped anyone from going further. "Before you leave, I want to discuss the upcoming midterm project."

She pulls up the presentation on the board and explains, "This project requires you to make an updated website for the school. The requirements will be posted online by the end of the day, and I will assign you a partner for this. The highest grade will have their website be used as the new official website for our school. This will be due a month from now."

Everyone becomes surprised and happy at the prize for their upcoming trials. Your professor begins to list the names, and she gets to you, "Baek Y/n... and Bada Lee." Your heart sank instantly at those words.

You grumble with your head down. Out of all the people in the class, you got stuck with the one who'd rather mess with a girl at any chance she had.

Bada sits in her seat, brows furrowed. Who the fuck was Baek Y/n?

Bada knew almost everyone, but she'd never heard of that name. That's when the Professor lets everyone go, and she sees a girl walk up to the teacher. You wore the gigantic hoodie, and Bada couldn't see your face, but with all the gestures you gave your teacher, you seemed like you weren't pleased about something. When she hears you huff in annoyance, and your eyes meet hers while leaving, she sees anger bubbling behind them.

Bada gets up, confused, and heads over to the teacher. "Professor Min, who was that?"

"That was your partner Baek Y/n. You've heard of the top student before, right?" Her eyes double at the older man's words, and her face becomes extremely happy. She would undoubtedly be using this to her advantage.

"Now, don't think of trying to get the girl to do all the work, Bada. I'm allowing you to bring up your grade with this project." She nods furiously before heading out to tell her friends the news.

She sees them over at their school's common room, and her friends, Aiki, Noze, Lee Jung, and Emma, give her weird looks like Bada grew three heads. "Now, why is she cheesing now?" Aiki asks, and the taller girl replies with a smack to her arm.

"You guys won't believe who my partner is for my computer science project."

The four girls looked at each other and began naming several popular girls. Bada rolls her eyes at her friend's antics. "Well, you wanna tell us? We named like half the girls already." Noze says.

"Baek Y/n."

...

"Baek, who now?" Lee Jung looks at her in amusement, but your title shocks them, "Top Student." Their eyes grow wide. The group looked around the room to see if they could find you. "Her name is Baek Y/n?" Emma confirms, "She's in my class, so I'm pretty sure that's her name."

"Well, if you don't ace that project, she must hate you." Lee Jung jokes, making Bada think, "Truth be told, she didn't seem too happy about being my partner either."

"We wouldn't be happy either." "Can't blame her."

They kid around, but Aiki tells the girl, "You better stay on her good side. I'm sure if you don't do the work, she'll find a way to ensure you don't have a shared grade." "True, she's always been partnered with smarter kids, so she's never had an issue, but knowing you? You’re gonna need to play nice girl this time, Bada."

Bada scoffs at Emma's words, "She'll do the work by herself whether she likes it or not. Besides, I'm on everyone's good side." She shows a cocky grin, but Emma and Lee Jung specifically can't help but doubt her. "I don't know about this one. Doesn't seem like an easy girl to get through."

"Nah, have some faith in our girl," Noze says, patting Bada's hip. "Wanna bet on it?" Bada says, with pure confidence backing her up. "I get her to fall for me, and you owe me a month of doing all my assignments." Lee Jung smirks at the girl, "Deal."

"So when are you gonna start?" Noze asks as she eats her chips. "Not sure. Definitely not tonight, though. I'm seeing Redy after practice." All her friends roll their eyes at the girl's name, finding her ignorance ever so bothersome.

The next morning, you find yourself in the same spot as usual and have begun the project already. Bada finds herself looking for you on campus and figures, where do all nerds hang out?

The library.

She makes her way over, and as she enters, she automatically finds you in the corner of the large hall. "Hey there, partner," She greets, and you look at her dead in the eyes, "What are you doing here?" Your tone ached in annoyance.

"Come on, don't be like that. I want actually to try on this project."

"Fine. Let me ask you this first. Why are you even in computer science?" You were straightforward, your serious demeanor never fading. Bada is surprised by your daring question but never trembles, "I just thought it would be interesting." An irked scoff is heard from behind your mask, "Yeah, right," was said with an eye roll. Well, this is gonna be harder than she thought.

"I'm being serious. I wanna earn the grade as well." She whines slightly, and your eyes cry disgust. "Give me your number, and we can work on the project at my house after basketball practice." You grumble and slouch in your chair, and Bada, unconsciously, finds the position adorable as your oversized hoodie collapses on your body, "Sure," is all you mumble, not wanting any more trouble than there already was.

Bada grins as you write your information down on a purple post-it note and shows her excitement when you hand it over to her. You sat there as she left the library, wondering what she had planned for you. It wasn't like Bada to talk to nobodies to "do work." Yet the sooner you had this project done, the better you took her words with a grain of salt, hoping she was being at least a little truthful with her words.

You weren’t one to trust many people’s words, particularly from individuals like Bada, but you knew it had to be done for the sake of your grade. A hefty sigh leaves your body, and you try to go about your day without going too deep into it. During your last period, you feel your phone buzz and read an unexpected message.

Bada Meet me after practice at 5 PM at the gym. I’ll give you a ride so we can work on the project.

The recurring disdain takes over your face again as you read. You hate that you even had contact with the girl, so you just leave her on read as you remind yourself about the meeting. You would just have to wait for her, deciding to go to the school's garden as you let time pass. On the other end of campus, Bada stares at her phone in dismay, “Did she just leave me on read?” She mumbles to herself, and her fellow co-captain hears the uncommon words from the latter’s mouth. “Someone leaving the queen Bada on read? You don’t hear that every day,” Haechi tells the girl, and Bada sneers at the comment. “She’s just playing hard to get for now. Trust, she’ll fall for me by the end of the week.”

“Who is it anyways?” Haechi questions. “Baek Y/n,” she simply states, and the other’s eyes widen. “Like top student Baek Y/n?” Bada looks at her in confusion, “You know her?”

The latter shrugs, “We went to the same high school. She’s a sweet girl,” she adds, and Bada’s curiosity grows. “Sweet? Do you even know what she looks like?” “Nope, but if you care about your grades, she’ll notice and help you, even if you're struggling.”

Haechi was one of the few popular students in university who focused on her grades, so her statement wasn’t so out of the blue. “Know anything else about her?” Haechi briefly considers the inquiry, “She really likes energy drinks, from what I remember. She always drank the blue Monster cans.” But there was a slight hesitation in the co-captin’s voice.

“I know how you are, Bada, so I’m aware I can’t stop you from your plans, but try not to do too much damage to the girl. She’s too precious to be broken by someone like you,” Haechi tells her, and despite the brutal words, Bada doesn’t take it to heart, almost shoving it out of her mind.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

The practice continues for hours before Bada notices your small figure sitting on the bleachers, waiting for the little time left. She jogs her way over to you with a bashful smile, “Hey, let me just change, and we can head out.” You just nod, wanting to get out fast, but Haechi’s familiar face has your eyes smiling. “Y/n-nie! Long time no see,” she opens her arms, and you gladly hop down to hug her. Bada watched the interaction, not knowing how to react to this side of you. You looked overjoyed to see the girl, and she may not be able to see your face, but the new energy made her feel a sense of loss.

She didn’t understand why you favored Haechi but not her. They were both tall, popular basketball team captains and had similar recognition in school. The only thing Haechi had over Bada was her straight A’s in classes. Was that the thing that would get you to like her? Bada grumbled at the concept. She wasn’t failing or anything, or else she couldn’t play on the team, but ALL her grades were not close to par with Haechi’s, not even a little bit. When her attention returns to the two of you, she sees you handing a new water bottle to Heachi, who thanks you. “You two seem close,” she tells them, and her co-captain looks at you almost with cherishing eyes. “Y/n’s the best man. Helped me a lot throughout high school,” you wave your hands in denial. “Heachi, you did your best in high school with or without my help. You’re hard-working,” your voice appears in a softer tone. Bada wanted to roll her eyes hard, but she left you two to change.

Bada wasn’t jealous, but maybe being narked was the better way to express her feelings. The girl was the type of person to feel better and superior to everyone else, so the fact that Haechi was already on your good side had her deep in her cycling thoughts. She needed to work hard to get this version of you, and not just with the project.

When she finishes, she tells you to go with her, and you hug Haechi before leaving the court and going to the parking lot with Bada. As she drove, she tried to make some conversation. “You started the project, right?” “Yeah.”

“You might have to teach me a few things so I can actually help.” “Sure.”

“You like computer science?” “Yup.”

That. That was the substance you gave Bada after every question. It made her want to jump out of the moving car, her ego bruised by your one-word replies. She stops trying after 10 minutes, letting the silence overwhelm you two, and you couldn’t have been any happier with the lack of sound. The car pulls up to this large mansion, and you try to hide your awe. This house was huge. Probably being able to hold the capacity of 200 students. “Come on in,” she invites with the large open door.

When you entered, your eyes marveled at the marble architecture, the classical aesthetic being the prominent feature of the house. Bada then leads you to the living room, where you sit timidly on her couch. “Do you want anything to drink?” She asks you as your eyes still wander the house. “Um, I’m ok.”

“Well, let me just change before we start,” you nod, taking out your laptop and notebook, trying to get a bit comfortable for your peace of mind. You pull up the empty website domain with only your school's colors and a sleek banner that takes up a decent amount of the screen. After 10 minutes, Bada returns with gray basketball shorts and a tight wife beater as her top. Your eyes go up and down her figure before focusing on the monitor.

You were honest, and as much as you didn’t understand Bada’s playgirl mentality, you did understand her appeal to the female population in school. Her tall figure, the varieties of colors she’d use on her long hair that cascaded all the way down to her waist, and the hats she wore to hold a sense of mystery were the perfect formula for the way to a girl’s heart.

“So what should I do?” Bada says, sitting beside you, which had you scoot in the opposite direction. “We can split the parts. Professor Min already put up the criteria for the website. I can do the harder stuff like navigation, school history, subjects, majors, and minors.” You tell her as you view the recent handout your professor had put up. “That’s too much, no? All I’d have left is the decorating, department information, and help desk information. Why don’t I help you with the major and minors?” You look at her with bewildered eyes, “You sure? A lot of coding and linking goes into that?” The taller one nods confidently, “You just have to teach me, and I’m sure I’ll be able to do it.” You nod with some hesitation.

“How about we start brainstorming the website's theme, and we can start with the project next week?”

“Sure, but why next week? My practices always end at 5-6 PM, so we should have time.” You shake your head, “it’s not because of you. I'm just gonna be busy with the school council this week.” And Bada looks at you in surprise, “Your part of the school council?”

“Yeah, but I’m just the secretary. Since the sports events are around the corner, I have to oversee everybody and their work,” you explain. Bada feels the admiration brewing inside her. She was aware of your hardworking nature, well, everyone was. You were the top student for a reason, but this put you on a different playing field. On top of your multiple studies, you did your due diligence as a prominent figure on their school council.

“Well, why aren’t you the president?” You scoffed, following a pity laugh, “Bada, I can’t lead anyone to save my life.” She stares at you, not understanding your point, and you take notice. “I might be smart, but that doesn’t mean I have leadership skills.”

“Maybe I can help you,” the tall girl shrugs. She thought she was a good captain for her team, so with that credit, she could give you pointers. “It’s fine. I like my position. I get to help everyone.” The two of you let the time pass as you continued to work on the project before ending the night.

The next few days, you had a lot on your plate. You were running around the school, ensuring all the projects and events were being set up properly, writing reports, and then reporting to the president and vice president about overseeing.

During this time, Bada rarely saw you in class, and she thought about how busy you’d be. You weren’t lying, huh.

But on a Thursday afternoon, you watched the gym setup and saw Bada’s little group chilling on the bleachers. Another student, Doyoung, walks in with papers stacked in his hands. It was all the papers you needed to sign and read through, but a basketball flew in his direction before he could reach you. His head throbs as he drops the papers, and you see Bada’s groupies laughing as Bada yells, “Sorry, Do-ah, the ball slipped out my hands,” she says as she collects the ball and returns to the bleachers. You ran over to the boy, helping him get the papers and helping him up. “Doyoung? Are you okay?” You help the boy up, and he stares at you, dizziness coating his face. You glare at Bada, who catches a glimpse of your raging eyes, and she realizes her fuck up in an instant.

“Come on, let me take you to the nurse,” you say as you grab his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Shit,” Bada says as she watches the two of you leave, you having the stacks of heavy paper sticking out of your bag. “Looks like your timing is off this time,” Noze teases, and Bada thinks she has to make it up to you. She ran out of the gym, trying to catch up to you. She found you settling Doyoung on the nurse's bench as you explained what happened, and to avoid punishment, she waited for you to leave the office before she could talk to you.

Walking out, you make eye contact with the basketball player and scoff at the sight. You tried to walk past her, but she stopped you, pulling your arm, “Y/n, wait.” You rip your arm away, feeling grossed out by her touch. “Did you feel cool?” You bluntly ask, and Bada is taken aback at your tone. “No, that’s not it-”

“Then what is it, Bada? It doesn’t take much to be nice, but it sure does take a lot of energy to be as rude as you.” The disappointment felt like knives to Bada’s heart. It felt like the same judgment she got from her parents, and now you were saying it to her? It made her want to suffocate six feet under. “I just wanted to be funny. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I’m sorry,” she mumbles as her head hangs low. “That apology shouldn’t be for me, asshole. Apologize to Doyoung,” you tell her, leaving her where she stands as you are still much to do. “Doyoung-ah, just text me later when you get home,” the younger boy nods, and you return to your busy day.

“Dude, I apologized to Doyoung yesterday, and she still hasn’t texted me anything about the project,” Bada tells her friends as she paced back and forth. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Aiki says, and Bada looks at her in distress. “It’s a big deal 'cause I need that A to play in that prelims.”

“Maybe give her something to make it up to her?” Lee Jung suggests that Bada’s eyes grow at her words, remembering Haechi’s words. “The blue Monster,” she gasps, and her friends look at her weirdly as she runs off campus. Bada went to the convenience store, buying a can of Monster energy drink, some cookies, and an egg sandwich. It was early morning, so she knew she’d find you in the library at your usual spot.

Instead of being on your laptop this time, your eyes never left the papers you read and signed. Not even noticing her presence, Bada drops the bag lightly on the desk and pushes it in your direction. You look up, see the girl’s sorry face, and check the inside of the bag. “What’s this?”

“My apology to you for being a dick. I also apologized to Doyoung yesterday, so I’m in the clear.” You roll your eyes and sigh heavily, “Why are you like this, Bada?” Now she was confused, “What do you mean?”

“You're capable of being nice to people like me, so why can’t you do it to others?” Because other people won't help my grade, Bada thought. “I’m not sure,” Bada acts, trying to look ashamed. “But I know I’ll try my best to change,” she says, that confident smile taking place on her face again.

So, during the next few weeks, you worked with Bada. She did her best to show you the better version of herself. Yes, she was acting initially, but as time passed, she got comfortable with the routines. She attended classes earlier, paid attention, participated, and even studied. The week after the altercation, Bada had asked you to tutor her in certain subjects, and you gladly accepted, liking the direction of her change.

So, the two of you sat in her home on a Friday afternoon after school, and you were working on your chemistry assignments. You had become comfortable in the setting after working at her home a few times. “Y/n-ah, help me with this long-ass formula. It's confusing.” You giggle at the pout on her lips and check the screen. “The prefix is hepta- and check out the periodic table for the names.” You point to the table of chemical symbols, and Bada begins to understand the list of prefixes on the coffee table.

You continued your work and studied the current topic you guys were on. Bada looked at you, wondering, “I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable, but why do you always wear a mask?” You pause, not expecting the surprise question. “It just makes school go by faster. Drama-free too,” you express, and Bada rolls her eyes. “But it’s just you and I here.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it makes my life easy,” you state. “Look, tomorrow, when you come over for the project, come without the mask, please?” You look at her in confusion, wondering why she was pressing on so much. But seeing her giving you puppy eyes, you reluctantly agreed, “Fine.”

“Great! Now help me with this question, please?” You laugh at her struggle.

The next day, you woke up to prepare for the long day. You took a shower, did your everyday skincare, and ensured you looked presentable. You were much more alert about your looks when you didn't wear the mask. You wanted to feel confident and ensured you did when applying the lip oil and putting your hair in a high ponytail.

You took an Uber to Bada’s place and rang the doorbell. When Bada opens the door, she takes in your appearance. You were out of your uniform for once, and the hairstyle displayed your small face clearly. Bada looks at you fondly, not expecting such a pretty girl to hide behind the mask daily. Even with the glasses on, your eyes looked large, and your heart-shaped lips colored bright pink. The tall girl couldn’t pull her eyes away from your lips. They looked too juicy not to kiss.

“Are you gonna let me in, or should I just stay out here?” Bada shakes her thoughts away and moves to the side. “So you were hiding this the entire time?” She asks as she pats your head, and you swat her hand away. “You practically begged for this.”

“And I’m not complaining,” She continues, staring at you, “go to school like this man.” “Okay, it was one thing asking me to come to your house like this, but school? Never happening.” You tell her, settling your bag down on the couch. “Wait, we should work in my room today. My parents are gonna be home today.”

She leads you into her room, the cool gray walls blinding your eyes. You observe your surroundings, surprised to see the clean room. She puts your bag on the office chair and lets you sit on her bed. You began to talk about what you’ve done on the project, but as you talked, Bada wasn’t even concerned about your words, focusing on your body more. Your outfit made Bada want to have you moaning underneath her, chest rising up and down as you begged for more.

“Bada?” You check on her worryingly. “Yes?” She whispers, still not staring at your face. “Have you done the majors and minors?” “I finished the majors, but I’m still working on the minors,” she tells you, clearly still entranced. “Can you show me?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” She shakes her head and takes her laptop out, showing the work she had completed, and you were visibly pleased with the progress. “This is actually really good. Nice job,” your validation had her heart swelling as your grin held a tint of pride. “Maybe you can finish up the minors today? Just so your work goes by faster.” She nods and checks out all the work you’ve done as well. “You finished all of these? That fast?” She stares at the screen, astonished by the amount of stuff you did the past two weeks. “Anything that needs to be done on a computer, I can do in a quick flash,” you joke, but it holds some sincerity. “I’m trying to be like you, girl,” She comments, and you laugh.

“Let’s do this so we don’t have much left to do next week.” With those words, the two of you worked the entire day. By the next time you checked the time, you realized the hours passed quickly. “Damn, it’s already 4 PM?” This also makes Bada check her phone, “Oh, your right. You want something to eat?” “I wouldn’t mind that actually.”

The two of you enter her kitchen, and Bada heated up some leftover Chinese food she had left in the fridge. Once you guys were eating, Bada tried to get to know you more, finding your presence comforting. “So, Y/n, why do you work so hard in school?” Your mind malfunctions at the question, unsure if you should be honest with the girl. “Um~,” you start, slowly picking at your food. “It’s mainly for my mom. My dad left us for his other family when I was five, and she raised me all by herself. This is the only way to give her a good life after everything she has gone through.” Your voice said with a hint of sadness, and Bada watched your pretty face fall. You wiped away the slight tears that formed. “You’re a good person, Y/n. Never forget that,” She tells you, and you find your heart racing at the words. Bada never had this effect on you, but her words of encouragement made your day.

She was about to continue the conversation, but another tall, more mature woman walked in the room, eyes looking cautiously at the sight of you. “Bada,” she called your partner's name, and you look surprised at Bada’s figure. She straightened herself up, fixing her appearance slightly. “Mother.”

“Who is this?” The older woman’s hand points over in your direction, and before Bada can answer, you decide to try and please the stern woman. “My name is Baek Y/n mam. I’m Bada’s partner for our computer science project. It’s nice to meet you.” You bow at the woman, and her eyebrows raise at your politeness. “Good manners, proper style, pretty face, excellent speaker,” her mom states, as her gaze moves around your body. “You should be more like this, Bada.”

“Mom, not in front of her, please,” Bada’s voice goes small, and you regret speaking up. “What? It’s true. Instead of basketball, you should be a model student. I should thank your teacher for partnering you up with this young woman.”

“I don’t know how we failed to raise you. This is how you should’ve turned out,” The older woman goes to your side, using her two hands to present you as if you were a presentation. Bada’s feelings were in a whirlwind. She wasn’t sure if she could be mad at you, her mom, or just the world. Her mom wasn’t even wrong. You were perfect in every way, and she was the disappointment. Two different worlds were crossing paths, and she was beginning to wish she was partnered with another individual instead of you.

Your eyes grow at her mother’s harsh words, and you shake your head, moving away from the woman. She wasn’t even aware of Bada’s new changes and efforts the last few days, but she belittled her daughter. “Madam, with all due respect-”

“Y/n. Don’t,” The tall girl tells you, with a stern voice, her breathing going shaky. “You right, mother. I’ll do better,” Bada says, head hanging low as she walks past the two of you. “What a dramatic girl,” You hear her mom telling herself, and you do your best not to ridicule the woman. “I’ll go check up on her,” you bow and run up to Bada’s room, finding the door shut. When entering, her back was turned to you as she sat on the edge of her bed. You were about to reach out on her shoulder but halted when you heard the sniffles as they gradually grew heart-wrenching. You rush to Bada’s side without any reluctance, pulling her into a hug. The warmth engulfing Bada had her break down instantly, never having anyone hold her as you did. Your eyes teared up at the sounds of her hyperventilating, her grip on your shoulder becoming tighter.

You then thought this was such a common occurrence for Bada. She put up this facade in school, wanting the attention of other women, and finally understood where it all stemmed from. Bada just wanted to feel loved and longed for, but with a household like this, it felt so hard to even ask for. She shouldn’t even have to ask. It was her mother, after all.

“Bada, you’re doing your best. Don’t let your mom’s words take that away from you.” You whisper as you rub her back, “If you ever want to talk, you can always talk to me.”

Bada begins to calm down at your words, the shakiness in her voice fading away. “Thank you, Y/n-ah.” She whispers, leaving her head on your shoulders. She wavers and asks, “Can you come to my game on Friday?”

“Of course. I’ll be your personal cheerleader,” you quip, in a shot to make her feel better, which works when a cheesing smile forms on her face. “You’d only cheer for me?” “Maybe for Haechi as well,” you tease, and she hits your arm with a pout. “Okay, ouch. I’ll cheer for you only, damn. No need to get violent on me.” Bada laughs at your words.

You try to stray from the topic, but you can’t help but ask, “Does she talk to you that way all the time?” Bada sighs, “Yeah, basically every time she’s home.” The lightbulb in your head flickers when she says, “My house may not be as extravagant as yours, but how about we work on the project on my house on Tuesday? I’ll send you my address, and you can come over after practice,” Bada’s eyes shined at the proposal. “I’d be honored.”

So the following Tuesday, you come home and relax on your bed before deciding to take a shower, feeling the stickiness of your sweat getting to you. You changed into a large baby pink shirt and some pajama shorts. Deciding to get a head start, you started your other assignments before Bada could get there. You worked on your easy English paper as you waited for the time to pass and heard the doorbell. Your eyes checked the time, and seeing 6 PM, you already knew who it was. You open the door to find Bada changed into gray sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, and one of her iconic hats covering her head. “Well, Miss Bada, welcome to my humble abode,” you say, welcoming her in. Bada’s eyes roam around, taking in the simplicity of the house, finding it shocking as she took a liking to it. “It feels… homey,” She mumbles, and you pat her shoulder. “I have more space in my room. Let’s work there.”

Bada’s eyes wander to your exposed thighs when going up the stairs. They looked so thick and plump. Bada, never realizing the build of your body, wanted to grip your thighs until they were turning red. Once you let her into your sacred space, Bada sees the tiny potted plants you kept, shelves full of books, your desk looking organized, and your twin-sized bed and pillows wrapped in a light purple set.

“So I have the navigation and research of the school's history. I might leave that research for next week to work on other subjects today.” Bada nods, settling on your bed and opening her laptop, “What other assignments do you have to do?”

“I’m trying to finish my English paper and then study for next week’s Chemistry exam.” “CHEM EXAM?” Bada yells, startling you into a jump. “Yes, Bada, chemistry exam.” Bada rubs the back of her neck, “Can you help me study?” You smile at her, “Of course.” The two of you finished the topics you agreed to do today, and Bada explained that she only had the decorating left. “Y/n?” You hear a voice coming from downstairs, and you smile, “Yes, mom?”

“Did you and your friend eat yet?” Bada is bewildered at the foreign voice. Your mom knew she was here? “We haven’t yet!” You voice out as you put your hair up in a messy bun. “Come down and eat. I made some mandu and kimchi jiigae,” Bada’s eyes brightened at the names of the food. You giggle at her face and pull her into the kitchen with you. Bada makes eye contact with your mom, and the woman gasps. “Y/n, you didn’t tell me how beautiful your friend was.”

“Mom, stop~,” you whine as you give her a welcoming hug. Bada smiles at your relationship with your mom. It is the exact opposite of what she was used to. “Let me help you with setting up the table?” Your mom handed you the plates and utensils, “get comfortable, Bada. You’re about to eat some of the best food ever,” You tell the tall girl, trying to tease your mom, who laughs at your comment. “Come on, sweaty, sit down,” Your mom tells the basketball player as she puts both dishes at the center of your table.

“How was school you two?” Bada almost chokes on her first bite of food as your mom asks, not used to the motherly love. “Oh dear, here, have some water, darling,” Your mom pours a glass as you pat Bada’s back. “I’m sorry. Um, school was alright, thank you for asking,” Bada says, mumbling, and you smile pityingly at your mom. “Same mom, nothing new.”

“That’s good!” She finishes, letting you all eat in peace. “Have you rested this past week, Y/n?” You grin at your mom’s question, “You know I try and stop doing work an hour before I go to bed, Mom.” “That doesn’t count.”

You sigh, “Don’t worry. I plan to go to Bada’s game on Friday, so I’ll take a break then.” Your mom gets excited, “Really? Good luck with your game. I hope you guys win!” Your mom was joyful, even with what had happened in the past, which made her your hero. “I hope we win too, Ms. Baek,” Bada gives an appreciating smile. “Oh, please call me mom. Any friend of Y/n can call me Mom. She rarely has any friends, so,” Your mom whispers her ending statement, and you roll your eyes at her. “Can we not expose Y/n? Thanks,” You say, pointing to yourself. The two smile at your gesture, and Bada teases you, “She’s not wrong.”

“Look at what you started, Mom!”

After you ate and studied with Bada, it was already 9 PM as you walked her out of your house. “You’re mom is the sweetest person on Earth,” Bada says, a sense of peace taking over her as she held the bag of food your mom had packed for her. “I know,” you giggle, knowing how your mom was. She accepted everyone and anyone as long as they treated you and her kindly.

“Thank you, Y/n. You’ve been helping me so much recently, and I don’t know how to pay you back,” she says, bringing you into the tightest hug. Your chest pounded, feeling a new overwhelming feeling of emotions. You knew that you and Bada had become closer in the past few weeks, but now you blushed at her touch, making you nervous.

There was no way you were starting to like her, right? You believed Bada was changing for the better. She had stopped flirting with so many girls, focused more on school, and acted as a more proper captain for her team. That’s what you thought, at least.

It was Thursday morning, before Bada’s game, and she was chilling on her hour break with the rest of her friends. “How has the project been going?” Emma asks with genuine interest. “It’s actually really good,” She simply states, and her friends stare at each other, unsure of how to go about her answer. “You remember our deal, right?” Lee Jung asks the taller, reminding her of her words two weeks ago. “Of course, I do,” Bada’s words felt like a harsh smack to the face. Her statement simmered in her mind like she was lying to herself.

Bada knew she was changing, and whether she would like to admit it or not, the thought scared her. It was because of you and only you. She was never meant to go this deep or even this far with your friendship. She couldn’t help herself, though. She shared tears with you, personal issues her friends didn’t even know about, and even bonding with your own mother. Feeling like a brand new person, Bada felt liberated and accomplished. Lately, she thought she could stick up to her parents, defending herself from their judgmental words. Last night, during their family dinner, Bada’s mother and father had some words for her again. “Bada, your grades better be good this semester, or you’ll be sent to military school.” Her father tells her in an eerie, monotone voice. Bada looks at them, sensing betrayal. “Do you guys even love me?” “What kind of question is that?” Her mom gazes at the girl, the cold look never leaving her gaze. “You haven’t even noticed the effort I’ve been putting in the last few days. Everything I do is never enough for the both of you.” Bada’s parents were taken aback at their daughter's sudden outburst. “Maybe if you were putting this much energy before, we wouldn’t have to say anything to you,” her father points out. “It’s because of that Y/n girl. I should thank her for you.” Bada grumbles at the authority, not wanting to hear the same crap repeatedly. “I understand I may not have been the best child. Trust me, I know. But maybe if you two showed even the tiniest bit of compassion and love, I wouldn’t have turned out this way.” That statement had both her parents shut up, letting her words brew in their minds.

“Bada,” she hears your voice, pulling her out of her thoughts, and everyone looks at you. Your eyes looked at them weirdly as they looked surprised at your presence. “Are you free on Sunday? I have things to do on Saturday, but we can probably finish the project by the end of this week.” She smiles at you, “No problem, we only have a little to go anyways. It shouldn’t take that long.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you wave off, and Bada’s friends sat there, frozen at the exchange. “That might be the first time I’ve ever heard her voice,” Aiki says, hypnotized by your sweet voice. “I might have to snatch her up from you, Bada.” Noze kids, but Bada looks at her with stone-cold eyes, “No.”

Her friends sit there, unknowingly triggering something inside the tall girl. “It was just a joke, Bada, chill.” Lee Jung tells her as she shakes her head.

Emma looks at her, eyes growing at the assumption, “Are you falling for the girl?” Bada instantly looks at her like she’s crazy, “I just want to finish this project before you guys try anything,” she says, saving herself.

Being oblivious to Bada’s words, you were excited about her game tomorrow. Your outfit was planned. You had snacks and a Gatorade for Bada to drink during her match. Since Tuesday night, Bada had been running on your mind constantly, and you weren’t sure how to handle your feelings. It was the first time you were hardcore crushing on someone, and this project made it challenging to contain your emotions. Her presence, attention, and beauty had you fixated. Since this was a first for you, you wanted to slow it down, trying to navigate it as you went.

So when game day finally came, you wore your hair up in a sleek ponytail and wore an extra jersey that Bada had given you with the number 22. You paired it with some simple Air Forces and ripped baggy jeans. Keep up the mysterious facade. You had your black mask covering the lower half of your face. Everyone stared at you as you sat on the court, wondering what your relationship was with their school’s basketball captain. You only kept your eyes down, not enjoying the amount of attention you were getting.

Bada comes out from the locker room in full uniform and her eyes find your body, and an unconscious smile takes over her face. You looked adorable in the oversized jersey, and Bada just wanted to run up and hug you, but the game was starting soon, and the team had to warm up.

You space out, but the loud blaring of the alarm shocks you out of it. As a book-believing student, you weren’t familiar with the rules or how the sport worked, but Bada made it worthwhile. Bada was noticeably agile and had a massive amount of stamina compared to everyone on the court. As you watched and cheered after her every shot, a blonde girl noticed your attire. A scowl and a look of disgust replaced her cheers. You weren’t even aware of her, focusing on the tall girl the entire time.

When half-time took place, you handed Bada the drink you had prepared for her. Smiling at your gesture, she thanked you and sipped as their coach spoke to them.

The game started again, and as the timer was hitting the last few seconds, the score stood at 86-87, the score slim to the tee. Your heart beats anxiously as you watch Bada maneuver through the court. Haechi had passed the ball to her co-captain, and at 5 seconds, Bada had taken her chance at a three-pointer, and everyone held their breath as the ball spun around the rim. So when the ball fell in at the last second, all your school's students jumped and cheered at the epic finale. Bada looks over at you again, seeing your proud eyes on her. She blew a kiss at you, and you giggled as she celebrated with her team.

“Hey,” you hear her voice and turn around to see her sweaty figure, as her cheesing grin never leaves her face. “Wait for me at the parking lot? I’ll give you a ride home.” She offers, and you nod, pulling down your mask, not wanting to hide your thrilled face. “You were amazing out there, Bada.” The sincerity of your voice made Bada weak to her knees, and she felt giddy inside. “Thanks. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?” You nod, leaving the gym to the parking lot, where you wait, sitting on a bench. When Bada watches you go, she feels the butterflies in her stomach and stands there terrified. The girl started falling for you, the feelings piling up since your first study session. This couldn’t be happening. Bada’s pride wouldn’t let it happen, so she had to do something about it fast.

20 minutes had passed, and Bada still hadn’t come out. Worrying began to fill your mind. You kept checking your phone every minute, and the same anxiety overtook you. You decided to look for her, which honestly didn’t take long. You turned the corner of your school's building. You saw two figures holding each other tightly as they enthusiastically made out with each other.

Due to the darkness of the night, you squinted at the sight, but as it became clear, your heart broke into a million pieces, feeling like it was now dust. It was Bada and another girl. They pull away from each other, breathing heavily, and you hide behind the corner you turned from. “What about that other girl?” The unfamiliar voice asks. “What other girl?” “The girl wearing your jersey?” You swallowed lightly, your chest becoming heavy in your current position. “She’s no one, baby. Don’t worry about it. She was just a little bet.” You hear her, and you sob in silence, walking away from the detrimental scene that just occurred right in front of you.

You sit at the curb, staring at the stars, and laugh at yourself, “You’re so stupid, Y/n. So stupid,” you mumble, the tears getting harder to contain as Bada’s words repeat in your mind. Of course, you were just a bet for her. You were just another girl added to her collection, and it made you fall into despair. She cried to you and opened up, yet you were just another girl. You hit your head lightly in frustration with yourself. “Y/n?”

You jolt up from your spot, wiping your staining tears away, and turn around to find Haechi, who looks at you worried. “You okay?” You nod with a deep breath and huff, “Yeah, just feeling down right now. No biggy,” you try saving yourself, but the cracks in your voice tell the girl otherwise. “What are you still doing here-” She was about to ask but realized what may have happened since she saw Bada walking out with some blonde student from her Physics class. Haechi’s face was now painted sorrowfully, engulfing you in a hug. Her touch had triggered the waterworks again, and you were now crying again, breaths getting weaker when each tear dropped. “I’m so fucking stupid, Haechi. I hate her. I hate her so much,” the tall girl rubs your back, letting you release your anger and sadness. “Don’t say that Y/n-nie, you’re the smartest girl in school. Bada is just… ruthless.” Haechi states, some rage hiding under her voice. She had warned Bada, and the captain still went against her word. “I’m like every other girl, Haechi.”

The tall girl pulls away, shaking her head furiously, “No. No, you’re not. Come on, let me take you home.” You nod, too tired to say anything and sit in Haechi’s car, taking a nap on the way home as you wasted so much energy.

Bada was now trying to look for you everywhere, not noticing how long she took, keeping you waiting.

Bada Y/n? Where are you?

She waited for a response, but it never came. She began to worry but let the win of her game control her mind. An hour later, she was home, and you just got back to her.

Y/n-ah😚 My mom wanted me to go home early. Sorry.

Bada sighed in relief. At least you were safe at home. She was about to respond, but you texted her again.

Y/n-ah😚 About the project, don’t worry about it. I’m finishing it tonight and sending it to Professor Min tomorrow morning.

The tall girl furrows her brows.

Bada Are you okay?

Y/n-ah😚 Splendid.

Safe to say, Bada was terrified at your one-word answers. She felt back at square one, but little did she know she wasn’t even close. Not anymore.

The next time Bada saw you, you were both in school, and she approached you with your favorite drink. “My payment for last week,” she says, handing the drink to you, and you dismiss the interaction instantly. “I’m good,” you tell her and just walk away. Bada stares at you in confusion and is about to go after you but sees you standing at Haechi’s locker. From afar, her co-captain seemingly handed you a blue Monster can, and you hug the girl, thankfully. The interaction had Bada bothered and angry. You took Haechi’s drink but not hers?

She would talk to you about it one way or another, but she couldn’t find you the entire day. The fact that you didn’t have computer science today didn’t help the matter. So Bada decided to talk to you at your house. The rain began to pour, but it wasn’t stopping her from finding out what was wrong. She rang the bell at your gate, unsure if you were home, but when you opened the door, a glimmer of hope sparked until you spoke. “Go home, Bada.”

“What?” “I said go home,” your monotone voice made her want to hide. “Y/n, talk to me, please?” “Why should I?” She looks at you in shock. “What happened?”

“You wanna know so bad?” You walk up to the gate, anger fueling your eyes. Not even caring about the pouring weather. “Somehow, me being the smartest girl in school means nothing when it comes to you.”

Bada didn’t say a word, not knowing where this conversation was going. “Congrats, Bada, you made the top student in school look like the most mindless person in the world.” Bada’s eyes widen, “what do you mean-”

“Oh, don’t act stupid.” You groan and look at her with eyes of disgust. Bada sunk into the thought. She was back to square one. “I seriously don’t understand-” “You don’t understand sucking off another girl’s face while I waited for you in the parking lot? God, when I thought there was progress in your thought process these past few weeks, but I guess I was wrong.”

That’s what froze Bada, her heart dropping at the statement. You saw and heard everything. Bada only wanted to beg for forgiveness right then and there, but she knew she had no right to. It's not like you were gonna accept it anyway. “Y/n I-”

“Just save it, Bada. You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it. I’m just another girl, right? Or what was it you told blondie? A bet?” Bada had no words to save herself, wanting the ground to swallow her whole in shame. “Forget about it, Bada, forget we were ever friends.” You left the conversation at that, slamming the front door behind you. That’s when you broke down. The crying just couldn’t stop, kneeling on the floor of your home as the dreadful silence filled your ears as you heard the heavy rain and thunder pouring outside the windows. For once, you hated the silence.

The next day, Bada wanted to try and apologize again. She looked and looked, not finding you anywhere on campus. She then looks for her second-best bet and sees her standing with her friends. “Haechi!” Bada runs up to the girl as she waves her friends off. Her co-captains eyes held frustration, and it told Bada she also knew the situation. “Do you know where Y/n is?” “Why? So you can break her even more?” Bada knew to expect this, but she wasn’t expecting to be cornered by the girl who shoved her into the lockers.

“I fucking told you, Bada, but what Bada wants, Bada gets, right?” Haechi’s pointer finger drilled into her chest, and the captain winced in pain. “I-I wanna make it right.” “Too fucking late.”

Bada’s body ignores the pain at her words, “What do you mean?” Haechi looks at the girl whose eyes began to water slightly. “She’s leaving for the States. The school gave her an internship for 5 months.” Bada’s world crumbles, and she takes out her phone, sending you multiple messages.

Bada Y/n, I’m sorry. Please don’t go. It was a mistake. I was stupid. I was falling for you, and I was scared. Y/n?

Bada’s tears were uncontrollable as they fell, reading how her messages weren’t sending. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Bada was now beating herself up in the middle of the hallway. She was hitting her head hard with her fist, pulling her hair harshly, and everyone who saw looked at her in worry. Haechi was shocked at the girl’s actions, seeing how bad she genuinely felt. She did her best to pull Bada’s arms away, and Bada slid down to the floor, blubbering as Haechi did her best to stop the girl from hurting herself. “I’m so fucking stupid, Haechi.” Her teammate didn’t know how to respond, just holding Bada’s arms down as she cried her pain away.

A/n: SHIT IS INTESNE RN DAM.

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