#train test split

[albonium]

wild to me that it takes hours for people in the usa to vote. it's never taken me more than 10 minutes and that's including the inevitable chit chat with the people there because they're either my parents' neighbours or the parents of people i went to school with.

[ramonathinks]

THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS — gojo, geto, toji, higuruma, nanami, choso, sukuna x reader ft brief kusakabe cameo

Summary: in order to become a full fledge succubus, you must have a meeting with the seven deadly sins in the underworld. but you weren't expecting a meeting like this.

Tags: (18+ MDNI), 8some(?)/gangbang/orgy, dirty talk, breeding, squirting, mention of a lot of kinks, anal play, fingering, handjobs, blowjobs/throat fucking, daddy kink, size kink, riding, cunnilingus, overstimulation, exhibitionism, slight impact play, orgasm control, nipple play, breath play, mutual masturbation, snowballing, praise, dumbification, degradation, dominance/submissiveness, cock warming, pet names, finger sucking, dacryphilia, hair pulling, ball stimulation, doggy, slight mlm scenes between Geto and Gojo ofc, full nelson, mating press, double penetration, anal fingering (female), etc.

tagging: @omgeto @screampied (also thank you bae for making the banner 😘🤞🏾) @hoshigray (thanks for beta reading babe!) @kingkonoha @kanekisfavoritegf

A/N: please for the love of god, don’t ask for no part 2. i think a lot of people underestimate how hard smut writing is and especially since this is an eightsome. THANK UUUU FOR 1.6k followers & for waiting as long as you did for this! (5.4k words)

“Well, there’s one last test you have to complete…” Yaga told you, his face was a bit flushed. “It’s rather — er — well… Actually, I’ll just send you to them so that they can explain it to you.” He did an awkward cough and escorted you to the elevator; where he clicked the illuminating number seven. “Just tell them you’re here for your last succubus test.” He gave you a thumbs up and let the doors close behind him.

“Okay, cause that wasn’t totally weird.” You muttered to yourself, watching the elevator’s number increase. Your heart hammering in your chest. You’d been training for this for the past two years, you couldn’t believe you had one last test.

When the door opened, your eyes widened. There were dark velvet color drapes that decorated the entrance of the room as you stepped off the elevator. Every step you took, you felt a deep sense of uneasiness erupt in the pits of your belly. “Hello?” You finally mustered up some courage to speak. “I’m here for the last part of my succubus exam!” You exclaimed, noticing the dimly lit lights above you creating an ominous yet sexual atmosphere around you. Your thighs trembled. 

“Come in, little lady.” A man’s voice said as a door warped in forth of your body and pushed itself open. “Shoes off.” The man said. Hesitantly, you walked inside and slipped off your shoes. Your eyes roamed across the room as you noticed how wide it was – a velvet carpet floor that was soft between your white colored toes. Bits of fog clouded your vision; you could make out bodies but not faces.

“Oh, she’s quite a looker.” Another voice says around you – wrapping around your body like a snake. 

You heard a snicker, “You’re right, and I could smell just how wet she is; that’s the best part. Can’t wait to eat her up.” You could practically hear this person lick their lips. 

“She doesn’t even know what she’s in for… innocent little slut.” Your knees trembled at that. The way these men were speaking had you hot all over, even the air felt different as you stepped forward.

You swallowed, “I can hear you–”

“Oh, believe me… we know.” This time, when this voice spoke, he raised his hand and the fog split down the middle before completely leaving. Then, you were able to truly see the men who sat in front of you, and your body ran cold.

Seven men, who you were able to recognize from the many lessons you had drilled into your brain from your classes. You gulped as most of them chuckle upon seeing your eyes finally take in just who you were looking at. The legends themselves.

The Seven Deadly Sins: Sukuna Ryomen — Pride, Kento Nanami —  Sloth, Suguru Geto — Gluttony, Satoru Gojo — Lust, Choso Kamo — Wrath, Toji Fushiguro — Greed and Higuruma Hiromi — Envy

You swallowed, “So — um— what’s exactly the final part of my exam? Do I have to…like… pretend this is Jeopardy and answer a bunch of questions?” You heard a small scoff. 

“No. This is more the showing part of your exam.” Sukuna told you, his eyes trained on you. “We need to see you score high marks in satisfaction. Do you understand?” 

You bite your lip; it was difficult understanding what he was saying and not be dripping wet. They were all so beautiful, your nipples prodding out of the thin layer of your dress. You’ve had sex before, but that was way before your genes had kicked it. Twenty-one, inexperienced and horny. Now, you’re older and had basically been celibate for two years (excluding your times of pure masturbation). You were convincing yourself this would be a challenge, and it was one that you were intrigued to take.

So, you slipped your dress down, standing out of it completely and stood stark-naked in front of their prying eyes. 

“Yeah, this is going to be fun.” Toji smirked, walking towards you with his unbuttoned pants low on his hips. “The thing about sex is,” he pressed his palms to your shoulders and lowered you down. “It’s degrading. So, I want you to sit here on your knees and to keep your mouth open while I feed you this dick, got that?” 

You nodded and opened your mouth. He was about eight inches and it looked heavy in the palm; he could barely fit it in one hand, so you wondered if it would fit down your throat. But as he put it in, you already knew your answer. He didn’t move, just stood still. It was something about him standing there with his hardening cock in your mouth that turned you on. “Suck,” he told you, and you did just that, like a good girl. Sucking around his cock with a wet mouth, pulling him out to tap his dick right on your tongue before tonguing at his slit. He hissed and pulled back before shoving it deep into your mouth, and your eyes rolled back.

Bubbling spit drips down to his balls and you squeeze them, taking him out of your mouth for a moment before trailing your tongue up and down his entire dick. Reaching his balls, you take one in your mouth and suck one then you trail your tongue back up to his tip. Spitting on his cock, you stroke him. “Damn, girl; you've been waiting for this, huh?” He grabs your head and focuses you to take the entire thing, his hips harshly thrusting in and out of your mouth.. You barely notice that someone’s behind you until they fondle your breast, and you jump a bit before relaxing. They kiss your shoulders and move up to your neck, making you shutter and moan around Toji’s cock. He groans above and snaps his hips against you, pulling you closer to his pelvis, “Fucking, mouth is killing me.” You suck harder when you feel a hand on your clit.

“Pussy’s so damn wet.” You can hear just how wet you are, and it’s embarrassing. The squelching noises fill your head and over makes your legs open more. “You like sucking his cock that bad? That you’re gettin’ this wet over it? Want my cock buried inside of you? Right here?” He taps your cunt and you groan, nodding your head and rocking your hips against his hand. “Can’t even speak with that mouth full and I can still hear you loud and clear, pretty girl.” 

You’re still sucking Toji’s cock, putting your hands on the floor to truly get more around him, pushing your head even deeper into his hips. Pulling him out of your mouth, you press hot kisses on his tip end then place him back on your tongue, now looking him in the eyes. You could tell he was close with his eyes shut and his head pulled back. He was throbbing on your tongue and his hips were moving faster; they swirled a bit before he shook with a deep orgasm. His hot cum rushing down your throat, and he moaned loud, “Ah–fuck, fuck.. fuck***!” You kept sucking, the fingers on your clit moved in achingly slow circles. And when Toji pulled you off his cock, they finally slipped inside. 

“Now gimme a kiss.” You did, with shaking hands and closed eyes. Sloppy and wet, drool dripping down the sides of your mouth before he pulled back and licked his lips. The fingers inside of your greedy pussy rubbed your insides, and you humped against them. 

“Keep going, please.” Your eyes were closed as you rode their fingers, unsure of who it was but knowing that it felt good. A thumb on your clit and kisses on your back before colder hands lifted your breast, kissing and biting them playfully. “Oooh, please.” 

He sucked, “You like that?” You whimpered out something even you couldn’t understand. Your body is simply a toy at that moment. His tongue moves over each nipple and makes delicate swirls around them. Finally, you open your eyes and see a bundle of long black hair – Suguru Geto, who sucks on your breast with his eyes closed and rubs at your other nipple with another. Arching your back into him more but also seeking comfort in the person behind you, who’s using their fingers to scissor your gooey insides. Briefly looking up, Geto pulls away from your breast and kisses the person behind you, only a small kiss but it makes you wetter regardless. 

“Kiss me again, made her little pussy clench.” He kisses him again and your wetness soaks his hand. 

“Satoru, you sure that was for her, not for you?” Geto chuckles, and you can feel a hardness pressing against your back. Geto moves back down to your breast when someone takes your hand and moves their cock inbetween. 

“Thought you were gonna let us have all the fun, Choso.” Gojo snickers behind you, curling his finger enough to make you moan aloud. You see a good amount of precum and your mouth suddenly feels dry. Taking your hand, you jerk him once and he already looks as if he’s going to cum. 

“Her hands are so soft. I..” He’s stammering. “Wait…Need to cum…” A small whimper leaves his lips and he uncontrollably jerks his hips up; fucking your hand. Applying a small bit of pressure to the tip, his eyes shut and he’s jumping back. Sticky wetness drips to the floor and he stands on shaky legs, his eyes pleading with you. Gojo rubs his fingers between your folds; keeping you in the palm of his hands as you play with the others.

“You wanna cum inside of me, hm?” The moment you utter that sentence he bends over, almost sobbing as he nods his head. Twisting your hand around Choso’s red leaky tip, you lick a trail up his frenulum. Winking at him you pull back and kiss Geto, swirling your tongue around in his mouth before Gojo pulls your face to kiss you. Moans take over the room while you roll your hips and move into Gojo’s fingers and Geto takes the opportunity to slip a nipple in his mouth and you try to ignore the feeling to focus on kissing. But you couldn’t focus, when you heard wet noises surrounding the room and you didn’t need to look up to know what it was; everyone was jerking off and it made your body scorching hot.

“Wait,” You whisper, close to Gojo’s mouth and gently pushing Geto’s head away from your breast, standing on trembling legs and walking to Choso. “Thought you wanted me, baby…” A flip switched, no longer at the whim of men. He’s speechless, just nodding his head and swallowing. 

He mutters a quiet, “I do, please…” He kneels, rubs up and down your legs and you place your foot right on top of his sticky boxers.

“Want me to step on it, baby?” Your voice is low and condescending, a smirk tugging on your lips.

He’s gnawing at the skin on his lips and his face is flushed. “Y-yeah?” Your smirk twists into an evil smile before your foot presses down on his leaking tip and his head leans back. His hips raise but you don’t move an inch. He’s whining and sweet small whimpers leave his lips as his hips thrash against your foot.

“Beg for it.” He can only whine, no words to be spoken as he humps your foot with breathy broken moans filled the room.

“Baby—” He’s looking up at you with dark eyes, his confidence shining through, just a bit. Smiling at him you bend your knees and put his cock between your dominant hand.

“Ready?” You ask and he nods. “Need you to speak up...” Hovering your dripping pussy over his upright cock, almost close to entering, slipping the head between your hot folds is what makes him speak up.

“Ye-yeah.” He gulps and pulls his lips to yours, kissing you. Your eyes roll back a bit and you swear you can see stars, sliding the tip of his cock at your aching slit, you both shiver before you finally let his cock slip inside. He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and his thighs clench under you. You pull back from him and salvia breaks apart, which he lips back up with an awkward smile. Putting weight on your knees, you bounced up and down on him, your tits on full display as they bounced with every move you made. The loud sounds of your pornographic moans filled the room along with the wetness noises of slapping skin; taking more of his cock inside of you each time you bounced down.

Turning your head, you look at Gojo and Geto and like a bee to honey they both rush over; Geto rubbing at your clit with a nipple in his mouth and Gojo kissing your lips, drinking your moans up. 

“I think im going to lose my mind, the way she’s riding me… oh fuck, im not going to last.” Choso hisses underneath you and grips your hips, trying to slow your pace. Slowly, he fucks into you, dragging his cock into your inner walls and feeling your pussy squeeze him in a tight hug. 

“You’re such a good boy Choso.” You lean down to kiss him as Gojo focuses on pressing kisses to your spine. Raising your hips and slamming back down you whisper in his ear, “Don’t you want to fill me up? Don’t you want to cum inside me all night like a good boy? Huh?” After that there was no more talking for a while as you fucked him, rolling your hips in circles and moaning in his ear. Choso’s body was wuthering trying to keep up with you; your pussy splattering out white cream as you kept a dangerous pace before his stomach caved in.

“Be gentle with me, please? Please baby or I’m—” he mouths out your name when he comes, thick ropes as his hips jerk, his eyes rolling back. He’s heaving loudly, digging his fingers into your hips as he comes down from his high as his body trembles. 

You barely get a minute to catch your breath before Geto and Gojo slaps their cock on your cheek with dark smiles. You open your mouth, knowing that both can’t fit inside but hoping that the tips can. Their cocks graze each other and you swallow around them. 

“Slutty mouth, taking both of us.” Geto whispers to himself as he shoves more inside, his hand on your head. You gag and they both groan with pleased looks on their faces, Choso’s cock twitches inside of you. 

“Choso, don’t you think you're being greedy? I wanna fuck her too…” Gojo whines, looking down at your puffy wet eyes as you choke more on their dicks; both of them throbbing on your tongue. Lifting your hips, a small pop is heard and bits of cum leak out of you. Looking down at Choso’s half hard cock you grin, he’s breathing so hard with hooded eyes.

“Can’t wait to play with that ass,” Geto tells you and your eyes widen a bit. Slipping their cocks out of your mouth, you take his balls into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks so tight around him that he pulls you off. 

Gojo is quick to turn your attention to him, he ignores Geto’s annoyed stare as he lifts you up. Turning you to the others, he holds your body for everyone to see. Your entire body was being stared at, pussy on full display — soaking wet with cum and your own slick— his cock hard and standing upright, teasing your clit. He grips your thighs and spreads them a bit wider, small strings from sticky folds breaking off as your pussy spreads. 

He enters you, fills you up and your toes curl. “Fucking tiny, aren’t you baby?” His cock angled perfectly at this position, slick running down your thighs as he fucking directly into you. He’s hitting a deep gooey spot inside of you making wetness come out of you in spurts, your moans making Gojo shiver above you. 

“Hold her still for a minute,” Geto whispers, face directly by your pussy, wetness shined on his face and you felt hot. He must’ve been there for a while. Licking up a long stripe from Gojo’s tight balls to his cock before he nuzzles his face into your cunt, pressing his tongue hard on your pulsing clit — your thighs shake when he pressed a small kiss there. He wraps his tongue against the bud and you jump a bit when Gojo does a small thrust, knocking you loose when he hits that spot again. Geto licks and swirls his tongue around before he moves back. “Just wanted a little taste…” He spits on your pussy and watches it slide down Gojo’s cock. “Looking fucking pretty with his cock inside of you, ya know that?”

You whine, barely able to talk at the sensation coming from your body. “Sloppy pussy making all that noise, hear that?” Geto urges you to listen to the plat wet noises that fill the room and once again, you feel something taking over you. 

“Are you gonna let me come inside too? Huh, my little treasure?” Gojo bites your neck playfully, thrusting deeper, a long moan leaving your mouth. You don’t remember Geto pulling himself to stand but when you feel his cock slap right to your clit, you jolt. Running your slick and his precum. 

“Let me stretch this pretty ass out, you think you can take both?” His face is flushed, his fingers circling your asshole before his thumb plays with it, you clench a bit before relaxing. “Oh? Already been played with.” He says, spitting on his hand and rubbing it in before he gently nudges his tip into your tight hole that’s stretching ready to take him. 

Almost too easily, it slips in and he huffs out a laugh, “So proud of you, I knew you could take it both of them.” He’s stretching you open and your eyes are blown wide.

“Ohhhh!” Leaves your mouth as they both thrust inside of you, both holes clenching and unclenching around them. “Ohh, god.” Messy sounds between the three of you and two bodies come to your sides, both placing your hands on their aching cocks. Your eyes are so heavy you can’t tell who they are , but your hands move up and down regardless with their hips meeting every thrust you give them. An unfamiliar hand on your clit makes your back arch and you can hear laughing above you. “Gojo.” Your voice slurs out, his cock coming close to your cervix and twitching inside of your tightness. 

Rough fingers circle your clit again and you gasp, “Please? Please?” You don’t know what you’re begging for until both Gojo and Geto do hard thrusts inside of you, making your thighs almost squeeze together.

“You like it here? Right here?” You can’t tell who’s speaking but Geto grinds his hips in circles, your bodies so close. The amount of wetness leaking out of you, makes you dizzy and now your tongue lolls out of your mouth before Geto kisses you hungrily massaging his tongue against your own, pulling back and spitting in your mouth, watching your throat swallow. 

“Oh you like being full huh? Fucking stuffed…” Your voice is lost, you can only nod with a fucked out smile on your face. “Really gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” The softness of your insides squeezes them both and you can see Geto’s eyes close and you can imagine that Gojo’s is too when Geto throws his head back and both of their cum gushes into you.

“Fuck— fuck,” They say together, both slipping out a bit, panting. Cum splatters out of both your holes as your pussy and ass flexes, you whimper when they both finally slip. Your hands are still jerking the two other cocks as Gojo holds you tightly before one of the men grip your hair and shoves his cock into your mouth, completely to the hilt and your eyes water. You look up to see Nanami’s blonde locks and his deep brown eyes looking at you, Toji’s rubbing big circles on your clit and now squeezing one nipple with his other hand and Higuruma’s cock pulsing between your other hand. 

“C'mon little love, pretty mouth needs to be soaked again, too.” You moan around him as he uses your throat, pulling you by your hair, groaning when he feels  you swallow around him. Your eyes flutter close as you suck with your, pulling him out so that his cock can sit on your face while you catch your breath. You can feel Gojo hand your body to Toji and you feel empty for a second not realizing that Toji’s leading you to a bed. 

He lays you flat on your back and Nanami moves between your thighs, bending over your body. 

“Some men like to see you touch yourself, I'm one of those men. Show me and I’ll reward you like the good little girl you are.” Nanami whispers right next to your ear. “Then I’ll help you, yeah? Would you like that?” You nod quickly and he moves back, sitting to watch. 

“Play with those pretty tits for daddy.” Your hands move faster than your brain and you reach for them, tugging at your nipples then squeezing them while you look at him. Your body is so overstimulated, you feel like you’re going to come any second. “Don’t come until I say so.” He reaches over to slap your clit and your thrash up, wanting him to touch you more. He slaps your pussy again and a wet stream follows down your ass before pulling again to just watch. 

You circle your nipples, looking at your breasts and tempted to reach down to please yourself. “Look at me… look at me while you touch yourself.” You whine and with eyes clouded with tears, you look at him. “Touch your pussy.” He looks directly at your pussy when it clenches around nothing but the air. 

You circle your clit but you ache for his fingers; they’re long and slender. Pressing deep into the bud with your middle and ring fingers, squishy gushing sounds while you work yourself up. Your fingers slipping inside briefly before you let out a frustrating sigh.

“Poor girl can’t even finger herself correctly, want daddy to show you?” You look up at him and he’s replaced your fingers with his and he’s curling them together, your legs quaking as his fingers fucks more squirt out of you. “Gotta get ‘em really deep to stretch this little cunt open.” He tells you, pushing against your g-spot a little, breathy moans leaving your mouth. Pulling his fingers out, he slips them into your mouth, twirling them around so that you can taste Gojo, Choso and yourself all on your tongue. “Your turn, put these fingers in deep.” He helps you put them in and curl them just like he did; he presses kisses to your lips and looks down at the puddle in the sheets. 

Your eyes roll back and you can’t breathe, he pulls back and looks at you. “You’re so pretty like this, you know that? Prettiest girl ever, just for me to see.” But it wasn’t just for him to see. You were putting on a show for all of them. Touching yourself and spreading your lips as their hungry eyes looked over your body.

He moves between your thighs and with a gentle tap to your clit, you both moan. You bite your lip, “Daddy, I—” He ignores you, pushing himself through your soaked and wet lips. He slides up against your slit and you shiver. He gives you a wide smile and kisses your lips; licking against your tongue, shushing you. Pushing forward, he moves your legs up so that your knees are pressed against your chest, once he enters you, cum leaks into the sheet. 

“This is what you want right? To be mine forever, to be ours forever? You don’t want to use your powers on anyone else… just me— just us?” He asks, pushing his cock deeper watching your face morn into a pleasureful expression. His cock has a curve in it and with the angle he has you in, you can feel every inch as he rams into you; fucking you while his cock fucks down and deep inside of your slutty cunt; his balls hitting the rim of your ass the harder he goes. 

Higuruma comes next to you and puts his cock in your mouth, not moving. Gathering spit in your mouth, you swirl your tongue around the head, teeth grazing him a bit and he seems to like it by the way he grips your hair. Choso stands on the other side of you and pushes your head his way, you let his hips thrust harshly and his balls slapping against your chin before Higuruma grabs your face and jerks off with your eyes on him; which Nanami doesn’t like. 

“Keep your eyes on me.” He grabs your face, his hips slamming against yours. “They can do whatever they want but when I'm inside of you, you keep your eyes on me.” That makes your eyes snap to his and even with the cocks in your face or in your mouth, your eyes are locked on his. His hips lose rhythm, stuffing you and he mutters a ‘fuck’, close to coming and you tighten your pussy to milk him dry. When he finally spills inside you get annoyed when you don’t cum. 

“Tell us you want it. Say how bad you need it.” Nanami says, a smirk engraved on his face.

“I… I want it, I need it.” His hands slide up and down your thighs.  “Please let me cum. It’s too much, I don’t think I can take it.” You needed to cum badly, pushing your hips up to his again. He slips out before slipping back inside and doing that over and over again before he slides in deeper, hitting that special spot inside of you harder than Gojo did and you cream around him. 

“Thank you, so—hah— so much, daddy.” Your pussy is flexing open and close as you stare at him, taking Choso’s cock back into your mouth then switching to Higuruma’s and suckling on the head. 

“Such good manners for a slut, don’t you think boys?” He says and you can hear the smiles on all of them as they agree and you feel giddy, almost satisfied. 

Higuruma moves from your mouth and hurries to your pussy, not saying anything as he spreads the lips before diving inside, his tongue licking up every bit of everyone before him and his nose nudging against your clit, you pushed his head deeper, grabbing his hair and grinding your hips so that he nose can hit every nerve in your clit. “Ohhh, sir, please just keep it right there.” Applying the pressure yourself and wiggling your hips, your legs stretched far and your brain turned to mush. “Gonna come, so hard.” You gasp before your legs cramp up slightly when you push him impossibly deeper. 

“How’s she taste?” Toji asks, looking at your face as you groan and squirm. 

“So fucking sweet…” he meets your eyes. “Better than anything I ever had. Don’t think anything could compare.” He nibbles on your clit. “It tastes better than heaven.” That was your breaking point and what made you break, cumming hard and squealing as you did. 

 Toji doesn’t care about you cumming as he digs his face in and sighs at the taste.

Using his fingers to spread you open. “I see what you mean Higuruma, this fucking sweet nectar on my tongue,” Toji uses more of his nose and your hips grind more, trying to feel more of his nose on your clit. 

Nanami’s cock is in your face and your head is upside down on the bed; head on the edge as you lie back and his cock fills up your throat, your eyes closed. He watches and feels you swallow around him and he mutters out a small, “Fuck, you’re killing me dollface,” when he can actually see himself, the outline of his cock inside of your pretty throat. He runs a finger up and down. He does a small squeeze to your throat as you suck, sloppily. But you wanted a bit more, the taste overwhelming your mouth making you move yourself to the edge of the bed, your nose on his pelvis and the small bush of his pelvic hair tickling your jaw. Even upside down, he could see the dazed look in your eyes, blown and bright as he slowly thrust his hips into your mouth. “There she is, there’s my girl.” 

You can hear Gojo laughing when he says, “She’s so far gone, all she knows is that she loves this. Little brain doesn’t work without a cock filling her up.” Agreements are heard all around and you feel so small, but Nanami rubs your head, scolding them with a stare. 

You can feel the presence of Sukuna before you see him; all touch around you disappearing before he bullies his cock inside of you, saying nothing. He just stares at you, your body humming as he rocks inside of you. “You like that? Gonna make a mess outta you.” He says, your mouth in a permanent ‘o’ shape, his heavy cock slamming down and filling your body up as the breath leaves your throat. “Dirty, filthy slut. Aren’t you, woman? All this cum inside of you and still want more, little pussy begging for it.” You clamp down on him and he hisses, still talking to you as he digs deeper inside of you – he probably has the thickest cock of them all, you can feel it in your throat. “You like being paraded around and fucked like a whore, like you’re nothing, you dirty little girl.” 

You’re nodding, gasping for air and nodding as he speaks down to you, getting wetter as he speaks to you. “Mhm. Yes, Oh– I do.” He has a devilish grin and he moves forward to bite your lip and then kisses you deep. 

“Just needed a real man to dig this pussy out the right way, yeah? To stretch you out. They weren’t doing it like me… c’mon, I know you’re close. So sensitive and wet for me. This fucking pussy’s crying for me,” And he was right, it was. It was weeping and with every stroke, more wetness covered his cock, dropping and splattering underneath you both. He licks the tears that fall from your face and asks you, “You like pleasing me? I can see it all over your face whenever I put my dick inside of you.” More tears fall and you can only nod your head at him, sobbing. 

His pace gets faster and more rough, bending your knees so that they touch your ears and your thighs shake move than they have today, thin milk colored cream mixed with wetness and so much overflowing cum leaks out of you but he doesn’t stop, just continues, slows down and then speeds up again. You can’t keep up with him, just lying there as he fucks you; small soft moans still leaving your lips. He coos at you, kissing your forehead. “Gonna fucking, cum inside my pussy, okay? This is my pussy.” He asserts his dominance over you and your body more than any of the others. With a strained moan, he fills you up; just another load inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and eventually they close. 

“Come back to us baby…” You hear murmurs around you, your body hot and flushed all over, your cunt and tits sore. your throat is scratchy. “I think she passed, right boys?” They chuckle and nod before Geto speaks again, “But, let’s try again to make sure she really gets it.”

Just then, the door opens and you can hear a shocked gasp, everyone looks in that direction. 

“Hey, Kusakbe, wanna train to be a sinner today?” Your legs shook and you huffed, looking up at the man who just entered. He smirked at your vulnerable form.

“Well…What the hell, yeah.” He unbuttoned his pants. “Ready for me, pretty?”

[batsandbirdbrains]

Istg if tumblr deletes this one again im actually gonna throw a fit. It’s not as detailed bc im mad and can’t remember a lot of it but here’s the general gist of it:

The one where Dick knew he was supposed to become a Talon

But like imagine if it wasn’t a secret that Haly’s Cricus was a training ground for the Court of Owls, at least among the main troupe. It was a goal, an aspiration, something to achieve. And Dick knew for as long as he could remember that he was training to become a Talon, just like his great-grandfather. His parents trained him, the other members of the circus trained him, it was his biggest goal in life to become the next Talon. He worked at it tirelessly.

Dick couldn’t remember ever being in Gotham, but he knew he’d been there before - when he was a toddler, he’d first met his great-grandfather. That’s what his parents told him. That his great-grandfather called him the prophesied Gray Son. Dick’s father tells him stories of his great-grandfather, the head Talon, and Dick is mesmerized.

And when he was eight, they were going back to Gotham again. It would be his first real test for the Court. If he did well, it would be his first real step to becoming a Talon.

And he was so nervous. He wanted to do well, he wanted to make his parents proud, he wanted to impress his great-grandfather. He was nervous and excited and anxious all at once, but it was exhilarating.

Until his parents were killed, and he was convinced it was part of the test. And in a split second, he decided he no longer wanted anything to do with the Court. He didn’t even mind juvie, even though he knew his social worker’s excuse of there being no available foster homes was bullshit. He figured maybe the detention center was safer than a random foster home.

Then he was taken in by Bruce Wayne, and he was terrified he was about to be handed over to the Court. He didn’t know much about how they worked, but he knew they were made up of Gotham’s elite. How could a billionaire not be part of it?

But a couple weeks later, he finds out Bruce is Batman, and he suddenly feels safer than he had since his parents fell. Batman was safe. Batman was a good guy.

Dick didn’t tell him anything about the Court, though. He was terrified that Bruce wouldn’t want him anymore if he knew what Dick had trained to be, if he knew what Dick had wanted to be for his whole life. He was scared Bruce would hand him back over to the Court, disgusted by what Dick’s life has been up until then.

But it’s why Dick is so well trained, why he’s so capable of being out with Batman after only a few weeks. He becomes Robin. And even though it makes Dick said to think that the nickname his mother gave him no doubt had a connection to the Court, he thinks that this will maybe be a positive thing. Robin can be good now. Robin can do good.

And when Dick tells Bruce he never wants to go back to the circus, he assumes it’s a trauma response. That the circus makes him remember his parents’ fall, that he doesn’t want to be constantly reminded of the family he used to have. Bruce doesn’t fight him or question him when he insists he wants nothing to do with the circus anymore, he just makes sure Dick is alright, that he’s doing everything he can to make sure Dick feels safe and comfortable in his new home.

Years pass, and even though Bruce has since found out about the Court and how Dick and circus were connected to it, he still doesn’t know that Dick already knew. He tries to comfort him once it’s all over, telling him that his parents must not have known, that they wouldn’t have wanted that kind of life for their son. Dick doesn’t correct him.

Then Nightwing gets de-aged by a magician on patrol one night, and he’s suddenly eight years old again, from before his parents died. The others rush him back to the batcave, and once things have settled, Dick just sort of watches them, sitting eerily still.

“You’re in Gotham,” Bruce tells him after explaining what happened with the de-aging.

Dick tilts his head, and they all are a bit surprised at how he perks up.

“Oh! Is this the Court?” He’s looking around the room, taking in every detail. “It doesn’t look like how Pa described it.”

“The Court?” Tim asks.

“The Court of Owls!” Dick nods his head. “I’m gonna be a Talon when I grow up. Just like my great-grandfather!”

No one says anything, all of them baffled, but Dick continues looking around, kicking his feet on the edge of the exam table.

“Pa said my first test would be in Gotham soon, but I won’t leave the circus full time ‘til I’m sixteen. Then I’ll be made a real Talon when I’m eighteen.”

Bruce stands there frozen, the reality hitting him that Dick knew all along that he was supposed to be a Talon. That he never told Bruce. That this little boy who becomes his son was once training to become an assassin, and he seems so excited about it.

“You said I’m s’posed to be older, right?” He holds his hands up to his face, looking at the veins on his wrists. “Am I immortal now like great-grandfather? Pa said my veins would be black, but they still look normal.”

Dick looks up, and he finally notices their horror and shock. And he starts to shrink in on himself, his shoulders hunching, and he looks terrified. Bruce snaps out of his own shock quickly, and he explains as gently as he can that Dick has lived here since he was young, that he’s been a vigilante this whole time. That he doesn’t work for the Court of Owls.

He comforts his son. His son who’s currently a child and scared and anxious and worried and ripped away from everything he thought he knew. He doesn’t tell him that the Court is bad, not yet. He doesn’t tell him the horrible way his great-grandfather treated him once they did eventually meet when Dick was a teenager. He just holds him, and tells him how amazing he was as Robin, how fantastic he is as Nightwing, and how proud he is of him.

And maybe that’s why Dick was so close with Damian, why he sometimes seems like the only person who understands Damian. Because he does understand. He knows ha it’s like to grow up training to be an assassin, what the expectations are like, and how hard it is to turn some of that training off once you’ve decided to be a good guy.

Maybe Damian is extra protective of him while he’s de-aged, because he realizes this quickly. And Dick tells him stories about his own training, and Damian tells him stories back, and Damian lets him know that he understands the way Dick must be feeling so conflicted now.

[starrdream]

Med bay shenanigans

Anakin Sykwaker x nurse!reader summary: Anakin seems to stumble into the med bay way too often.. includes: fluff

Anakin limped into the med bay with a dramatic wince, his right hand holding his left shoulder. You glanced up from your work, already rolling your eyes internally.

“Master Skywalker,” you greeted him, trying to keep a neutral expression. “What’s going on this time?”

Anakin gave you a pained look as he approached. “It’s bad, Y/n.” He said, wincing again for emphasis. “I think I’ve really done it this time. I can barely move it.”

Anakin was so over the top about it, and you’d seen him do the same thing too many times before. He was obviously faking it, but you decided to play along.

“Again? You’ve been here, what, three times this week already?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Alright, let’s take a look then.”

Anakin carefully lowered himself onto one of the beds, his face twisted in discomfort, though it didn’t quite match his easy movements. He started to shrug off his robe, then tried his best to pull his shirt off without blowing his cover.

Nobody asked him to take any of his clothes off. Even if he was injured, he wouldn't need to do that.

He pulled one sleeve out before dragging the piece of clothing down his “injured” arm slowly, almost teasingly. You stared at him patiently, despite having a dozen other things to do instead of entertaining this behaviour.

You forcing your mind back to the task at hand. “Okay, let’s see...” you said, trying to sound professional as you gently guided his arm to examine his shoulder.

As your hands began to move his shoulder shoulder around, Anakin let out another exaggerated wince. “Oh yeah, it really hurts when I try to move it like this.” He said, his voice dripping with seriousness but not quite masking the playfulness.

“Hmm…It does feel a little stiff here.” You were teasing but kept your voice even and serious.

Anakin glanced at you, his eyes a little too bright. He leaned back a little, giving you the chance to examine him further. He lifted his arm slightly and flexed it—just enough for you to feel the raw muscle beneath.

“It hurts right here, too.” He added. “Can you feel that? Right there in my bicep. Maybe from all the training?”

You hummed, allowing him to place your hand over the tender-and completely fine-muscle.

“I see... Does this hurt too?” You squeezed his upper arm gently, pretending to give a massage of some sort.

He hisses dramatically, reaching over with his free hand to place over yours and stop the movement. He looks up at you with a Oscar worthy expression, full of pain and discomfort.

“Yeah..” He sighs defeatedly, shaking his head. “Feels a little hard, doesn't it?” He asks suddenly.

“Oh, yes, of course.” You nod, pretending to roll his shoulder around. You weren't stupid, you knew all he wanted was compliments on his physique. But hey, if that was gonna get him to stop disturbing your work-then so be it.

“Yeah, I'm glad we agree” He nodded again, pretending to think.

“I can't guarantee anything right now. I'll run some test and we'll go from there. You might need to lay off of training for a bit, just to be safe. You don’t want to make it worse.”

His face immediately fell, and you could see the flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.

You nodded, but the tiniest smile tugged at your lips. "Yeah, you should take it easy. It’s better to be safe."

Anakin’s eyes darted around, and for a split second, you saw genuine worry on his face. He shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe some painkillers or-”

You couldn’t help it anymore. You grinned and shook your head. “You were totally faking it, Anakin. I knew it.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and then he deflated, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Wait... you knew?” he asked, clearly caught off guard. “I thought I was being subtle.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Subtle? You’ve been in here more than once this week with a sore back, a bruised knee, and now a shoulder injury. It’s getting a little predictable.”

Anakin groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I wanted to spend time with you.” He muttered, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t think you’d catch on so quickly.”

You gave him a mock-serious look. “Could've just asked me out like a normal person instead of making a fool of yourself”

Anakin’s face flushed slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. For a second, he looked down at the floor, trying to hide the embarrassed smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d say yes.” He muttered. “I thought maybe if I made it a bit… dramatic, you’d notice me more.”

You softened, a little more understanding now. You weren’t entirely surprised that he had trouble just being honest about how he felt. He always came across so confident, but underneath that, he was still figuring out how to navigate real emotions.

You gave him a pointed look. “You should probably start thinking of better ways to get my attention. I’m not exactly sold on your dramatic entrance.”

Anakin grinned, looking a little more like himself. “Yeah, I’ll work on that. How about a simple ‘would you like to go out sometime?’”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart warming at the way he was slowly letting down his guard. “That’s a start,” you said, giving him a playful nudge.

Anakin’s grin widened. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You shook your head, amused by his persistence. “You’re lucky I like you, Skywalker.”

[marauroon]

𝟏 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 — 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃-𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 (𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐭𝐡-𝐬𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐭).

there’s always a few hours where you live in blissful ignorance on your return to hogwarts. it never lasts.

eventual james x fem!reader | 2.7k | series masterlist.

main masterlist.

CW | the marauders suck (it won’t last forever dw) and they bully people bc ofc they do, james is so annoying in this

The Hogwarts Express was packed as always, the air thick with the mingling scents of pasties, fresh parchment, and the damp wool of students’ robes.

You had barely set foot on the train before you were dragged into a compartment with Lily, who was already complaining about the boys.

“They’re insufferable,” she huffed, arms crossed. “I saw them at the station, and James was acting like he’d come back from summer with some grand revelation about himself,”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh no. What is it this time? A new Quidditch move? A newfound respect for the rules?”

Lily snorted. “Worse. He’s taller now,”

You blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she said grimly. “And he won’t shut up about it.”

You shrugged. “How bad can it be?”

Lily gave you a look that told you everything you needed to know.

—

By the time you arrived at the castle and made your way into the Great Hall, it became painfully clear that she hadn’t been exaggerating.

James Potter was tall now, and he was making it everyone’s problem.

From the moment he stepped into the hall, he was on a mission. He strode over to the Gryffindor table like a man on a mission, and before Remus could sit down, James was pressing against him shoulder to shoulder. “Oi, Remus, hang on,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face. “Did you shrink over the summer?”

Remus didn’t even look up as he took his seat. “No, James,”

James leaned in, mock serious. “You sure? Because I swear you were at least this tall last term,” He held his hand up next to Remus’s head, shifting it ever so slightly higher than necessary.

Remus sighed and turned to Sirius. “Are we humouring this?”

Sirius, lounging in his seat, smirked. “Absolutely not. Don’t give him the satisfaction,”

James, undeterred, moved on to Peter. “Pete, my good man,” he said cheerfully, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “How’s the weather down there?”

Peter swatted him off. “You’re barely taller than me!”

“But I am taller,” James pointed out, practically buzzing with energy. “And that’s what matters,”

It didn’t take long for his newfound height to become the central theme of his personality. It was as if, over the course of one summer, he had discovered his life’s purpose: to loom over everyone who was even an inch shorter than him and let them know it.

And it wasn’t just his own friends he tormented. No, James was equal opportunity about it.

Throughout the first week, you saw him standing next to anyone and everyone, sizing them up with exaggerated curiosity. “Ah,” he would announce, stepping back and rubbing his chin as if making a great discovery. “Short. Tragic,”

Some people laughed. Others rolled their eyes. A few, like Severus, scowled and stalked away, though that only seemed to amuse James more.

Sirius, Remus, and Peter suffered the worst of it.

“You know this is just going to encourage him, right?” Remus muttered after Sirius nearly punched James for his latest “short people” joke.

“I don’t care,” Sirius growled, rubbing his temples. “I’ll break his stupid tall nose,”

James, now leaning casually against the Gryffindor table, grinned. “Merlin, it must be so hard being so small,”

Sirius lunged, and James yelped, dodging behind Remus. “James, I swear—”

“—that you’ll thank me one day when you realise you were standing next to greatness this whole time?” James finished smoothly, winking.

Peter groaned. “I hate this. I hate this so much,”

“It’s been five days,” Remus muttered. “How much longer can this possibly last?”

As if to answer that question, James caught sight of you across the room. His eyes lit up.

Uh-oh.

“Ah, excellent,” he said, striding over with purpose. “I haven’t tested my theory yet,”

Your fork was halfway to your mouth. You lowered it slowly. “What theory?”

“The one where you are also, tragically, shorter than me,”

Lily, sitting next to you, let out a long sigh and rubbed her temples.

You stared at James. “Potter, you just had to run from Sirius. Do you really want to start this with me?”

James beamed with all the brightness of the sun. “Absolutely,”

You glanced at Lily, who was already shaking her head.

Then, with all the calmness in the world, you turned back to James and said, “Would you like to be short again?”

James frowned. “What?”

Before he could react, you flicked your wand under the table and whispered a spell so quietly it was almost imperceptible.

James didn’t even have time to register what had happened before his calf seized up violently. His smug expression flickered—then his leg gave out entirely.

With an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp, he keeled over.

A few heads turned. Sirius, seeing his friend crumpled on the floor, burst out laughing. “What the hell was that?”

James, groaning, pushed himself up onto his elbows. “My leg,”

Lily stifled a snicker. “What a tragedy,”

You speared a piece of roasted potato with your fork. “Hm. Not so tall now, are you?”

James glared up at you. “That was rude,”

“Was it?” you asked innocently. “I thought it was a very appropriate reaction.”

Sirius practically howled with laughter.

James groaned again, flopping dramatically onto his back. “This is bullying,”

Lily leaned down with a smug smile. “Welcome to our world, Potter,”

—

After the Great Height Incident—as Sirius had started calling it—James seemed to learn precisely one lesson: messing with you and Lily was fun. Unfortunately, that meant you, Lily, and Severus were now prime targets for the boys’ endless shenanigans.

It started subtly at first. You’d be in the library, peacefully reviewing your notes, and suddenly James would happen to walk by, stretching extravagantly. “Merlin, I keep forgetting how much taller I am than everyone now,” he’d say loudly, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

Sirius would nod solemnly beside him. “It’s tragic, really,”

Peter would sigh dramatically. “So difficult being so much better than everyone else,”

And then Remus, without even looking up from his book, would mutter, “You lot are insufferable,”

But that was only the beginning.

Soon enough, they were showing up everywhere. You, Lily, and Severus had your usual study spot under the large bay window in the library—a quiet, peaceful place where you could actually focus. Or at least, it used to be.

Now, the second you pulled out your books, the four troublemakers of Gryffindor would materialise.

“Alright, what’s on the syllabus today?” James asked one afternoon, plopping himself unceremoniously onto the bench across from you.

You sighed, not looking up from your parchment. “Potter. Go away.”

Sirius slid into the seat beside him. “That’s no way to talk to your study buddies,”

“You’re not our study buddies,” Lily said, exasperated.

James gasped, clutching his chest. “Evans, I’m hurt. You wound me.”

“I can fix that,” Severus muttered, reaching for his wand.

Remus—who, unlike the other three, had actual academic aspirations—had the decency to look somewhat guilty as he pulled up a chair. “I do actually need to study, but, er… I doubt they’ll leave if I don’t come with them,”

“Correct,” Sirius confirmed cheerfully.

You narrowed your eyes. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

Sirius grinned. “Very much,”

They didn’t even pretend to study. James spent ten minutes balancing his quill on the tip of his nose. Sirius kept tossing sugar quills into Peter’s open mouth. Peter missed all of them. And Remus, bless him, tried to read, but his attempts were constantly interrupted by James tapping his shoulder every three minutes just to point out glaringly obvious things around the room.

By the time Lily slammed her book shut in frustration, you were about two seconds away from hexing the whole lot of them. “Honestly, can’t you go bother someone else?” she snapped.

James grinned. “Why would we, when you’re so fun to annoy?”

Severus shot him a glare so venomous it could’ve melted through stone. “You have a death wish.”

Sirius leaned back lazily, propping his feet up on the table. “Nah, we just have excellent taste in entertainment,”

You turned to Remus, the only reasonable one. “Can you control them?”

Remus sighed, rubbing his temple. “No,”

Lily groaned. “This is unbearable.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” James said. “We’re simply enriching your academic experience,”

“I will enrich you straight into the hospital wing,” you muttered.

Sirius cackled. “See? Fun.”

And just like that, your peaceful study sessions were gone.

—

It started, as most things did with James and Sirius, with boredom.

You were vaguely aware of their antics throughout the day—whispered conversations in the corridors, Sirius elbowing James in the ribs while the two of them barely suppressed their grins, Remus sighing deeply whenever they entered a room. The usual signs that something stupid was about to happen.

You just didn’t expect it to happen to Bertram Aubrey.

No one really knew why James and Sirius chose him. Maybe he’d said something mildly irritating in class. Maybe he’d taken the last good seat in the common room. Maybe he’d simply existed in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever the case, Bertram became their next victim.

And unfortunately for him, James and Sirius had decided to test a rather bold hex.

It happened in the courtyard between classes. One moment, Bertram was minding his own business, chatting with a group of Ravenclaws. The next, James had flicked his wand and muttered, Engorgio Skullus!

For a split second, nothing happened.

Then Bertram’s head swelled.

Like a balloon.

A very large balloon.

His eyes widened—quite literally—his glasses stretching to accommodate his rapidly expanding skull. A strangled, horrified yelp escaped him as his head reached twice its original size. His expression twisted somewhere between panic and outrage as the entire courtyard exploded into laughter.

“Oh Merlin,” Peter wheezed, clutching his stomach.

Remus dragged a hand down his face despite being the one who supplied the two with the spell in the first place. “I am not involved in this,”

James, barely holding back his own laughter, clapped Sirius on the back. “Brilliant work,”

Sirius gave an exaggerated bow. “Thank you, thank you,”

Bertram, meanwhile, was screeching. “What have you done?!”

The laughter quickly turned into a scramble for safety as a very large-headed, very furious Bertram Aubrey came charging after James and Sirius.

James yelped. “Run!”

The two of them bolted, Bertram lumbering after them with the grace of an enraged troll. His head made it impossible for him to move properly—his balance was completely thrown off, his steps uneven, his weight shifting dangerously every time he turned a corner.

They didn’t make it far before a thunderous voice rang out across the courtyard.

“Potter! Black! Don’t even think about turning that corner.”

The laughter immediately died.

McGonagall had arrived.

By the time you heard about it, James and Sirius had already been sentenced to double detention.

You were sitting at dinner when the news broke, passed down through whispers and amused glances. James and Sirius trudged into the Great Hall, both looking exceedingly pleased with themselves despite the fact that James’s left hand was now stained entirely black from whatever punishment they’d been assigned.

You sighed, shaking your head as they collapsed onto the bench across from you. “What did you think was going to happen?”

Sirius smirked. “We were hoping for more running time, honestly,”

James flexed his ink-stained fingers with a dramatic wince. “But worth it,”

Lily scoffed. “You permanently traumatised Bertram Aubrey, and for what?”

James grinned. “For science,”

“For chaos,” Remus corrected, still looking exhausted from association alone.

You snorted despite yourself. “You deserve whatever detention McGonagall gave you.”

James shrugged. “Maybe. But admit it—you wish you’d seen it.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

—

A sensible person might have learned their lesson by now.

James Potter, however, was not a sensible person.

It had been a few days since the Aubrey Incident, and though James and Sirius were still suffering through their detentions, neither of them seemed particularly remorseful*.* If anything, they were emboldened*.*

Which was why, despite multiple warnings, despite physical evidence that you were very capable of hexing him, James still thought it was a good idea to try the height joke again.

You were in the common room, comfortably curled up with a book, minding your own business. Lily was beside you, finishing up an essay, while Sirius lounged on the floor, flipping a stolen Chocolate Frog card between his fingers.

James, fresh from another detention and looking far too smug for someone who had just spent two hours scrubbing cauldrons, sauntered in and immediately made a beeline for you.

“Oh, excellent,” he announced dramatically. “My favorite short person,”

You didn’t even glance up. “Potter.”

“Just thought I’d remind you how tragically small you are,” he said, grinning as he loomed over you. “Must be so difficult, looking up at greatness all the time.”

Lily sighed. Sirius smirked.

You, still not looking up from your book, flicked your wand.

There was a sharp crack!—and then a very loud yelp*.*

James immediately stumbled, nearly toppling over as his knee buckled under him. He barely managed to catch himself on the edge of the couch, eyes wide. “Oi!”

Sirius howled with laughter.

“James,” he gasped between laughs, “I swear—you’re going to get hexed every single time you pull that.”

James groaned, rubbing his leg. “That was just plain mean,”

“You deserved it,” Lily said primly, dipping her quill into her inkpot.

James shot her an indignant look, then turned back to you. “You didn’t even look at me!”

You turned a page. “Didn’t have to,”

Sirius collapsed against the couch, still cackling. “Oh, that was beautiful,”

James sighed dramatically, dropping onto the floor beside him. “Still worth it,” he grumbled.

You hummed. “If you say so,”

He stretched his leg out with a wince. “I do,”

Sirius elbowed him. “Tell me, oh mighty tall one, how’s the view from down there?”

James groaned, flopping onto his back. “I hate you,”

Lily snorted. “You should hate yourself.”

James just sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “One day,” he muttered, “you’ll all see how truly tall I am.”

“Not if tour leg cramps permanently,” you replied absently.

Sirius grinned. “Brilliant. I can’t wait for next time,”

—next part.

[reidmotif]

Dialing up for Trouble

Summary: Reader and Spencer were fuck-buddies, until Spencer cuts her off quite suddenly. A party and some risque images may be enough to get them back to their old routine.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: semi-public sex, sexting, mentions of nude images and descriptions of generic lingerie, masturbation (f!receiving), penetrative sex, semi-dom!spencer

Word Count: 3.5 k

Masterlist

Clichés bothered me. There was no other way to put it. I’d grown up hating the likes of love triangles, meet-cutes, chosen ones, and right now, I was being reminded more than ever of that hatred because, what the fuck? 

“Too much of a good thing” was the reasoning Spencer had cited when he proposed we stop sleeping together casually, and return to our previous relationship of  “just coworkers”. I’d let him know how ridiculous I found his sentiment, and attempted every possible method to continue our secret rendezvous, but he was absolutely dead-set on his decision, it seemed.

 No more sex. No more late-night calls. None of it. It was all over. All because of a cliche. 

We seemed to agree on one thing, and that was, yes. The sex was fantastic. It really was that good. While I’d never wish weariness on Spencer Reid, I couldn’t deny that in the aftermath of stress and frustration from whatever life had chosen for him, the way he’d deal with that was absolutely electrifying for me.

I’d find myself constantly breathless, pulled into hotel rooms, storage closets- anything resembling the barest hint of privacy, and allow him to use me as he saw fit. I gave him complete trust and control over my body, and in turn, he rewarded me with some incredibly life-changing orgasms. And for what it’s worth, he seemed to get an equal amount of satisfaction out of our hidden trysts, which only made his recent decision that more devastating.  

It’d been roughly a month since we’d had sex, or anything resembling the sort, and I found myself absolutely deprived. When the FBI gave out invitations to its semi-annual gala, I imagined the festivities would be enough to distract me, but I was completely in error for assuming so. Amidst drinks and conversations, there was the occasional lull where I couldn’t help but absentmindedly imagine the feel of his hands over my skin, squeezing the fat of my hips. His lips trailing up and down my neck, focusing on spots only he knew about. The way his hair would tickle against my thighs when he’d bury his head-

“Hey.” 

The voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and I have to remind myself not to choke on my beverage. There he was. The current subject of my thoughts, standing in front of me, live and in the flesh. Spencer Reid. 

“Hey.” I mirror back, taking a sip of my drink, acting as lax as I could, given the circumstances. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, gesturing to the party in front of us, the general ambience. 

“You know me.” He replies, pausing for a second, keeping his gaze trained on mine. “Not my scene but.. doable.” 

I chuckle for a moment, understanding perfectly. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most social guy out there. I was honestly surprised he’d chosen to come to this thing at all in the first place. 

“You look nice.” He says, suddenly. “Your dress. It’s nice.” He rushes out the words, as if he’s scared to say them in the first place. 

I smooth down the fabric instinctively, nodding. I try not to let the compliment affect me so much, keeping my head down for a split second to hide the creeping heat emanating from my cheeks. 

 “Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

I surprise myself with my own answer. The silence for that tick is horrible. I appreciate it? Jesus. I couldn’t think of the right words anymore. The correct and witty response that would allow this conversation to flow smoothly. 

 I truly wanted to fuck this man so bad, it made me look stupid. 

And stupid I was, because yet again, I attempted to test the current parameters of our relationship he’d put us on. I swallow my pride, lifting my head to meet his eyes with mine. 

“If you like it so much, you could- you know. Take it off.” I say, biting my lip. There’s a light tease in my voice, but it’s obvious I’m being as forthcoming as I possibly could. No games. No jokes. I didn’t want to dance around it, and I hoped my boldness would reward me as it did previously in the past. 

But no, it seems that fortune does not favor the bold, because Spencer’s immediate response was to shake his head, lowering his voice. He pulled on my arm to decrease our proximity, to the point where it was ensured no passer-bys could possibly hear our conversation. 

“Come on.” He pleads, almost looking desperate.  “I told you we should stop- hasn’t that worked out? We can be coworkers. This works.”

I roll my eyes, letting my displeasure show plainly over my face. “This works?” I say, and the sarcasm is clear in my voice. “Sex worked too, you know.” 

“I know it did!” He says, in a hushed whisper. “But- we can’t. No. It’s not right. Too much of a-” 

“If you finish that sentence, I swear to god.” I say, my expression turning much more volatile. I forcibly shrug his arm off me. “This is stupid.” I continue, trying not to let my voice rise. “I see the way you look at me. I know it was good for both of us. I know you’re thinking about it just as much as I am, so why not!” There’s a hint of hurt in my voice as well. Underneath all the sex, I’d grown to miss the interactions after. The giggles under covers and the feel of his hair in my fingers. I missed him. All of him. 

There’s a miserable pause on his end, and I hold my breath waiting for his next words. Spencer sputters, looking absolutely defeated. “Because- because we just can’t, okay?” He replies, helplessly, stepping back from me, as I’d done with him. “Look. I’m just going to enjoy the rest of the party, okay? Take care of yourself, yeah?” 

Before I can get in another word, demanding a real explanation from the man, he leaves me alone, replaying the words of his confusing outburst in my mind. 

I take a short time to myself, electing to go use the restroom and take a breather from the party, a bit on edge after our exchange. Was it possible he was completely fine with what the loss of our arrangement had done to us? Was I the only one absolutely losing my mind? Any attempt to diverge my attention from the topic proved futile, and  I remained in the closed room, mindlessly adjusting myself in the mirror with no real rhyme or reason. There’s an eventual use of my phone, focusing the camera directly on my face to make sure nothing had smudged or looked off on my face in the time I’d last checked my makeup. In the use of the device, I remembered the pictures I’d taken before coming here. 

The pictures weren’t meant to serve any true purpose. I’d bought new lingerie for this dress, as my previous bras weren’t suited to the cut and shape of the specific piece of clothing, and decided to take a few pictures for myself. It was lacy, and pretty, but nothing truly special. The bra had a slight push-up effect, and the panties were a bit cheekier than my normal, day-to-day undergarments.  The actual lingerie was innocent- harmless, even. Looking at the images right now, though, a salacious idea creeped into my head. 

Under the right circumstances, these could be exactly the catalyst to finally receiving what I wanted. 

I open the messaging app on my phone, finding Spencer’s contact, and beginning to type out a simple message. 

hey. 

The response is immediate. 

What’s up? 

You good? 

Where’d you go? 

I laugh a little. I imagined him scanning the crowd for me, trying to figure out where I’d gone off to. 

all good, don’t worry

so we’re still sticking to the no sex thing? 

I see his typing bubble pop up, then pause. Then starts up again. 

Yes. 

Trust me, it’s for the better. 

I groan internally. Of course he thinks that. Always thinks he knows what’s good for everyone. 

trust me 

if you knew what i had planned for us

you wouldn’t say that

I feel my phone vibrate in my hand, indicating he was now calling me? I hadn’t planned for this. 

“Spencer?” I remark, waiting for his voice on the line. 

“What do you mean?” He says, quickly. I can no longer hear the bustle of the party in the background, so it’s only reasonable to assume he’s moved somewhere quieter. Still, I ask. 

“Are you around other people?” I murmur, keeping my voice low. 

“No. Alone. What did you mean by your last message?” He repeats, quickly. 

There’s my in. I respond, feigning an unmistakable innocence in my voice. “Mind if I show you?” 

“Show me?” The confusion in his voice is palpable. 

“Show you.” I reply, more definitively.  “Check your messages.” 

I bring my phone away from my ear, electing to send the first picture I saw in my camera roll,  which prominently featured my breasts- a feature of mine I knew Spencer was quite interested in. I return to the call, my heart pounding wildly. 

“Did you see?” I ask, hesitantly, when all I can hear is his breathing on the other line. 

The response is a choked out, breathy mess of a sentence. “Yeah- I did. Jesus.” 

“Want more?” I murmur, biting my lip as the realization dawned on me that this possibly had a chance of working. 

There’s a delay in his words on the line, before I finally hear:

“Yes. God, yes.” 

I grin ear-to-ear, beginning to send an assortment of pictures I’d taken previously in the day. Knowing this was having an effect on him, that somewhere in this party Spencer was sitting alone, his gaze trained on his phone intently, did something to me. He was behaving this way because of my body, because of what I could do to him. 

It was hard not to get wet at the thought. 

“You look so good.” He breathes out, and the desire in his voice is unmistakable. 

“Yeah?” I mumble to the speaker. “You think so?” 

“Mhm.” He murmurs. “You’re wearing this right now?” He asks, seemingly needing that confirmation at this moment.  

“In all its glory.” I try not to giggle before murmuring teasingly, “What, you wanna see?” 

“Where are you?” He asks, suddenly seeming very determined. I can hear the shuffling on the other line, indicating he was now starting to move from where he was currently situated. He was completely, and utterly serious about this. 

“Bathroom, on the left corridor of the entrance.” I say, feeling exhilarated at the thought of him meeting me here. This was happening. 

Finally. 

“Stay.” He replies, and the call cuts. 

There’s an impatient itch that creeps up on me during the two-minute wait for him, before I hear a solid knock on the door, and my name being whispered through the door, belonging to a voice I’d grown so accustomed to and fond of. 

My fingers undo the lock, opening it just enough so that he could squeeze through without drawing too much attention to ourselves right now. 

And as soon as he’s managed in, he’s practically on me, devouring me with a kiss with a passion I’d never felt from him before. My hands go to wrap around his neck, pressing our bodies flush against each other, every ragged breath of his shooting directly to my core, which was now throbbing with need. 

“Fuck. Missed this so much.” He breathes out, gasping for air in between our kisses. I couldn’t so much as get a whimper out, before he’d dive right in again. It’s like he wanted to eat me alive. 

And I’d let him. 

I moan softly into his mouth, starved for more contact between us. It’s as if he can read my mind, because in an instant,  he guides us from the center of the bathroom, towards a wall, slotting his thigh between my legs. He takes a momentary break from ravishing me with his lips, now adopting a slower, more sensual pace as he works down my neck, each soft kiss leaving me craving him even more.  

His hands drift down to my hips, keeping me pinned against the wall as he murmured soft praises. My legs felt wobbly, absolutely taken aback by how quickly I could go weak for this man. 

“You like this, mm?” He mumbles, letting his teeth nip over the lobe of my ear, before switching to a more neglected side of my neck. “Like me that much, mm?” 

I don’t care about the cockiness in his tone. I don’t care how smug I render him. I just need him to continue this, for as long as I can have him. 

“Yes.” I breathe out, my voice higher-pitched than it normally would be. “God. Love this so much.” 

There’s a flash of hesitance from him, as he pulls his face away from my neck, staring at my eyes with his own. I can’t dwell on the pause, because for once, I’m finally seeing him. His hair was absolutely ruined, sticking up wildly in different directions. His cheeks were a light pink, serving to make his features even prettier and doe-like than before. But what got me were his eyes. His pupils were blown out, the normal honey-hazel I’d seen on a daily basis replaced with an absolute abyss of black. The darkness served to cause a surge within me, practically launching forward to meet his lips with mine. 

There are no words required for what happens next, as I feel his hand creep up my back, pulling me away from the wall and towards the closest surface, which happened to be the sink. He guides me to bend over, and I do so with no resistance.

 He could have me, whichever way he wanted, whenever he wanted. All I needed was his touch. 

I can feel him crouch to his knees, slowly reaching under my dress to hook his fingers around my panties, slowly pulling them down. I can feel a string of my arousal clinging to the fabric, and it seems Spencer can too, because he practically moans as he drags the soiled piece of lingerie down my thighs. I step out of them quickly, and turn my head back, fast enough to see him stuff the proof of our debauchery down his suit pocket. 

“Eyes ahead.” He whispers, leaning down close to my ear to nip at the sensitive flesh again. 

“Okay.” I murmur, slipping into a more submissive version of myself that he seemed to bring out in me. There’s a sense of relaxation and excitement all at the same time, and I’m absolutely wracked with lust for him. 

His fingers stroke my clit for a moment, applying pressure in just the right way. The movements are practiced, precise and guaranteed to hurl me off the edge if he continues this way. 

“You’re soaked, sweetheart.” He murmurs, almost amazed,  letting his fingers slip away. “All this for me?” 

I can barely respond, whimpering and nodding. “Yes. Please- Spencer.” I beg, needily. 

“I know, I know.” He replies, and I can hear how pleased he is. There’s a certain delight he derives from my submission, and while in any other circumstance, the smugness he displays would turn me off, right now it only served to further my hunger. 

I can feel him start to work on his belt, sliding the coarse material of his dress pants just enough, so that his cock could spring free. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, his tip sliding through my folds, and I clench at the thought of him finally being inside of me. 

Just when I believed his teasing to be done, there’s a knock at the door, and we both freeze. Spencer swallows, and quickly raises his voice. “Occupied!” 

There’s silence, and that previous sense of lust and content drifts back into our bodies, Spencer’s fingers trace up to my face, and he lets his finger slip into my mouth. I can taste my arousal on his fingers, and there’s a genuine struggle on my end to stay upright. How could I, when the man behind me rendered me so indisposed? 

He draws his fingers out of my mouth. “Good girl.” He whispers.

It seems the universe has other plans though, because yet again- a knock sounds at the door. I can hear Spencer’s groan, and watch through the mirror as he attempts to come up with a response that would give us the seclusion we required. 

My patience however, had worn thin. His cock was right there, and I’d be damned if I was forced to wait any longer. I turn my head towards the door, complacency and submission gone from my voice. 

“Do you mind? I’m trying to fuck him in here!” I say, snarking out the words. 

There’s a silence, and a murmur of mortification on the other side of the door. Footsteps. And then at last, silence. 

Spencer quickly leans down to kiss my cheek, mumbling out an “I love you.” 

Before I can even comprehend the words, he’s guiding himself into me, sliding his cock through my walls, and I have to bite my lip to keep a scream in. He feels so fucking good inside of me, stretching me out in ways no man ever could. I can feel the underside of his cock hitting that spongy spot deep inside of me, and my breathing turns rapid in mere seconds. 

“There we go, relax for me baby, yeah?” He mumbles. “Nice and slow.” 

I moan out my affirmative, gripping onto the sink as I let my jaw drop, eyes squeezing in absolute ecstasy. “So good for me.” He murmurs. “So warm and wet, Jesus.” 

And with that, he starts a pace that works for both of us. It’s hard and fast, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. The feel of his cock gliding through my puffy walls is intoxicating, and I can only wonder how I went so long without feeling it. 

It seems Spencer’s having similar  thoughts, because through my moans and his occasional groans, I can feel his grip on my hips get more bruising by the second, marking me as his own. I can hear occasional fragments of words through his noises. 

“Never letting you go. Oh fuck. Fuck.” He mumbles, and despite the overwhelming amount of arousal shooting through me, my heart swells. 

“Me too.” I whimper out, gripping the sink even harder. I can feel my wetness seeping all around us, splashing against my thighs with every movement he drives into me. “Need you so badly.” 

“Rub your clit for me.” He demands, whispering out the words. “Need to see you come on my cock first, pretty girl.” The words are strained, and I can tell he’s doing everything to keep from spilling inside of me prematurely. 

There’s no reason to temporize, and my fingers make their way down to the sensitive bundle of nerves, and the effect is almost immediate. It takes roughly a minute of my incessant rubbing and the feel of him inside me before I’m coming with a soft shout, growing limp against the sink as my muscles twitch and fill me with a deep sense of relief and satisfaction. 

Spencer isn’t far behind me, humping into me a few more times before coming inside of me, the release signified with a loud moan and a sense of warmth flooding my deepest point. He slumps against my back, pressing a few, soft kisses to my neck. 

As we both come down from our highs, I recall the words Spencer mumbled in my ear previously. I let out a self-satisfied giggle, which Spencer smiles at. 

“Mm. What’s that about?” He murmurs. 

“You love me?” I ask, softly. 

A pause. 

“A little.” He responds, voice equally as soft. 

“Is that why you stopped having sex with me?” I mumble out, gently. 

He presses another kiss to the nape of my neck. “Mhm. Please don’t be mad.” 

I let out a soft chuckle. “Not mad. The opposite, really.” 

He pulls me up, causing us both to look at each other. “You feel the same way?” 

I nod, biting my lip. “We could try this out, I think. I want to, Spencer.” 

I stop, and decide I do need to tease him a bit, especially after the sex-less agony he put me through for a month. 

“Though, I do recall someone telling me too much of a good thing can go bad..” 

His lips part in confusion, before he picks up the teasing nature of my words and leans in for a soft, simple kiss. He keeps his forehead on mind, his eyes staring into mine with a gentle reverence. 

“Let’s indulge just this once.” 

holy shit has it been a long time since i've written a fic!! i'm so sorry?! i've been dealing with life and other assorted things and writing sort of took a backseat in that period of time <3 i hope this was okay. as usual any feedback, likes, comments, reblogs are so so greatly appreciated. i love writing for spencer, and i hope you guys like that writing too <3 i'm sorry that the two previous fics i promised seem to be delayed, i swear i'm gonna write those next, but inspiration sort of just struck on my end f or this, and i hope it was good <3 but yeah!! thank you so much for reading and interacting with this in any way you choose!! i appreciate it greatly!!

[shurisneakers]

HIII, HOW ARE YOU

I was thinking if you could write Bucky's version of "Who did this to you" 🥰 Also, I love you writing so much! The way you describe things makes it so easy for me to imagine the scenes

a/n: hello my love! thank you for sending this in, I hope you like it<3

this is part of misery loves company but is just a stand alone fic. you don't need to read anything before this

warnings: blood and hurt, implications of violence and killin klg, hurt comfort, swearing

The longer you spend in this business, the more sleep feels like a favor the universe begrudgingly grants. Rest without nightmares is a luxury, and your salary simply did not budget for it.

So when it’s 3 a.m., and someone slips into your room without a word, you’re already awake before the light in your bathroom flickers on.

You hear the faint shuffle of movement, the sound of cabinets opening and closing. His silhouette moves inside, quiet and deliberate.

There’s no urgency to it, no noise loud enough to wake anyone else. He knows better than that. He just doesn’t know better than to pick your bathroom to raid.

Sighing, you push off the bed and head toward the bathroom.

The door creaks when you nudge it open, and he doesn’t even flinch. He’s still bent over the sink, head in your cabinet, his shoulders slumped like he’s half-asleep himself.

“Go to bed,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, not bothering to look at you.

“Sure, right after you get the fuck out of my bathroom," you reply, leaning against the doorframe. “You know there’s one in your room, right? Or did you get lost again?”

“Crazy. Here I was, thinking I’d take the scenic route,” he deadpans, pulling out a bottle and squinting at the label. “Must’ve missed my bathroom. Maybe it’s hiding behind a bookshelf or something.”

You roll your eyes and press a hand to his shoulder, shoving him aside as you rifle through the cabinet yourself. “Move. You’re just making a mess.”

Bucky doesn’t protest, just leans back against the wall with a sigh, watching as you shove aside bottles and boxes. When you finally find the first-aid kit, you shove past him with more force than necessary.

“Sit down.”

To your surprise, he obeys, perching on the edge of the bathtub. His silence almost irritates you more than his usual backtalk.

You crouch in front of him, ignoring the way his gaze follows your every movement as you pull out antiseptic wipes and gauze. You don’t want to look at him yet. You don’t need to see his face to know he looks like hell.

But when you finally glance up, it’s still worse than you expected.

If you hadn’t trained yourself to stay composed in the worst situations, your breath might’ve hitched. His lip is split, an eye swollen shut, cuts scattered across his face, and a dark trail of dried blood streaks from his nose to his jaw. The faintest smudge of crimson still lingers on his temple.

"What?" his voice comes out sharper, like he's testing you to see your reaction.

He sits too stiffly for it to just be his face. There are ribs involved, at the very least.

You don't grace him with a reply.

"I'm fine," he says, as if that’s enough to wave away the mess of him.

“Didn’t ask,” you reply flatly, though your jaw tightens.

“Did someone teach you how to be this kind, or is it a God-given talent?” he mutters dryly.

You don’t respond, ripping open a packet of antiseptic wipes and crouching in front of him.

“How’d your day go?” he drawls, voice flat but testing.

“We don’t have to do this.”

“God, the hospitality,” he drags, voice dry and cracked. "For a second there, I was worried bleeding out in your bathroom might make you care.”

“So fuckin' dramatic,” you breathe, swiping a wipe across his busted lip with a gentleness you hate admitting to. “You’re not bleeding out. And I don’t care."

The silence stretches as you clean him up. He doesn’t flinch-- not at the antiseptic or the sting of your touch-- but you notice his sharp intake of breath when you press a little harder on his ribs.

“Who did this?” you ask lowly, your tone sharp without meaning to be.

He exhales through his nose, something like a grunt. “Why? You plannin' on punching them for me?”

"If that'll keep you out of my damn bathroom at night."

His gaze flickers to you, sharp and unyielding, but you refuse to meet it, focusing instead on wiping the blood crusted beneath his nose.

Finally, he mumbles, “Doesn’t matter. Kids are safe."

“Good,” you say, but the word sticks in your throat like glass.

When you glance up, his good eye is already on you, his gaze sharper than it has any right to be. His breathing is steady, heavier than usual but not alarming. Whatever he’s looking for, you don’t know, but it’s enough to make you shift uncomfortably.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softer this time, almost like he’s trying to convince you.

“Didn’t ask,” you mutter, though your hand slows for a fraction of a second before you move on to the next cut.

His lip quirks at that, the ghost of a smile. “Sure. Noticed."

When you move to dab at the cut above his brow, something in his hair catches your eye. Your fingers brush against it, and you pull the strand closer for inspection

That’s when you notice it.

The small braid in his hair, crooked and messy, like it was done by clumsy hands.

You reach out before you can think better of it, fingers tugging gently at the braid.

"Who did this to you?” you ask again, this time biting back a smile.

“Don’t,” he mutters, ducking his head to pull away, but your hand finds his neck, stilling him. His skin grows warm under your hand.

“One of the kids?” you press, voice softer now.

He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing faintly. “The jet was too dark. They needed a distraction.” He pauses, as though considering how much to share. “Missed that one, I guess.”

Your thumb brushes his jaw as you inspect the braid, lingering a little too long. “Shame. It makes you look less hideous.”

Bucky huffs, more exasperated than offended. “You’re shit out of luck, then. Gotta put up with this mug as it is.”

You realize you’ve been staring too long when his eyes flick to yours. Clearing your throat, you drop your hands and reach for another wipe.

He leans back slightly, his gaze dragging over you. “You look like you’re about to punch someone.”

“Surprised there’s anyone left to punch.”

“There isn’t,” he replies breezily, though the weight of his words hangs in the air.

“Good, I don't have to waste my time cleaning up after you.” You swipe the antiseptic across his lip, slower this time, and your fingers linger a fraction longer than they should.

You don’t miss the way his gaze drops to your hands as you tear off another wipe, the way his jaw tightens when your fingers brush against his skin again.

“You’re happy you don’t get to punch anyone?” he asks, “Careful, or I might start thinking you care.”

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you press the antiseptic down just hard enough to make him wince.

Bucky hisses, but his lips twitch, and you hate how much you want to smile back.

Instead, you pack away the first aid kit and push it into his lap.

“Go to sleep,” you mutter, turning away.

“Sure thing,” he says, but when you glance back, he’s still sitting there, watching you like he’s not quite ready to leave.

Like maybe you don’t want him to.

"C'mon," you say quietly. "It's late."

He finally pushes himself off the tub, and drags himself silently to your bed.

[peachdues]

Dad Sanemi finding out you're expecting again!

done and done! Also requested by @lisa-257

FINDING OUT YOU’RE PREGNANT AGAIN

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA X LUNAR PILLAR!READER!

A/N: a continuation of my Bundle of Joy series, in celebration of one year since its publication!

CW: 1.9k • MDNI • fluff • pregnancy mention • Sanemi and Reader are married • slightly suggestive in parts/references to sex

READ BUNDLE OF JOY HERE

It had been a normal day. You’d awoken well before dawn and departed Sanemi’s estate with a quick kiss for both him and your daughter before returning to your own to prepare your training yard from the group of new Juniors being sent for defensive training — your speciality as the Lunar Pillar.

That training had gone about as well as you’d been warned it would — which was to say, absolutely dreadful. Nearly all lower-ranked Slayers were close to passing out not even an hour into their defensive drills.

The only one who’d stood out was the young, eager Kamado boy, who’d offered to partner with to test his footwork.

“Excellent!” You praised as Kamado manage to parry another one of your attacks with a training blade. “The best I’ve seen today!” You whirled around his attempt at an offensive jab with ease. “In fact, I think —“

A sudden, splitting pain ripped across your head, whiting out your vision. There was a sharp, keening ring in your ears, and all at once, the familiar training yard of your estate faded away with a distant, worried call of your surname.

You did not realize you’d fainted until your eyes flittered open, and you found yourself blearily staring at the blue of the sky above.

In your periphery, you saw the clustered, worried faces of your subordinates, anxiously peering down at you.

Before you could ponder exactly how you’d ended up on your back on the ground, your mouth welled with saliva, hot and bitter, and your stomach lurched.

You’d barely managed to flip over to your knees before you began wretching. Between the great, shudderkng gasps of air you managed to gulp down, you did not see your crow take off from its nearby perch with a hurried beat of its wings.

You’re fighting to rise to your feet when the tension in the air noticeably shifts. A sudden electricity settles over the juniors, a hushed murmur snaking its way through the throng.

The crowd of Slayers swiftly parts around as the Wind Pillar furiously makes his way toward you.

You’re still crouched on one knee, hand pressed to your mouth in some futile effort to keep the contents of your breakfast from making a reappearance splattered across the dirt.

Your husband kneels down next to you, his warm, comforting hand resting between your shoulder blades. You fight the urge to lean into him; the morale of the greater Corps is just as important as their training, and it would only be undermined by the sight of a vulnerable Hashira.

But Sanemi knows how to read you better than anyone, and he must sense your hesitation. “Whoever hasn’t resumed training by the time I stand is being sent to my estate for obedience lessons.” He barks.

There’s a pause before he adds, “And I don’t use training swords.”

Though you’re fighting to keep from dry heaving into the dirt, you can’t help the small smile that forms on the corners of your lips at the flurry of anxious movement and the telltale sound of practice weapons colliding in choreographed defensive maneuvers.

Sanemi’s tone is much softer as he murmurs your name. “Can you stand?”

You manage a stiff nod. The white-knuckled grip on his hand as you rise on shaky legs would crush the fingers of anyone else that wasn’t him.

Sanemi’s hold on you remains steady as you stand, and he is right there when your knees buckle, his body pushed against yours to keep you upright.

Gently, Sanemi eases you back down to your knees. He squats beside you, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist for extra support.

Your eyes lift to his, and with a groan, you know his orders before he speaks them.

“Kocho’s. Now.”

You shake your head. “I have to finish their training —“

The Wind Pillar stands then, and though you cannot see his face, you can imagine the twist of his mouth; the hard look in his eyes.

“All of you!” His raised voice startles several of the junior Corps members, some dropping their training swords as they stand at attention. “Defensive training is finished for the day. Fuck off to the Love Pillar’s estate.“

You flick your eyes up to see the gaggle of young slayers staring wide-eyed and anxious at your husband.

“Now!”

The younger Corps members jolt into action, quickly putting away the tools and props you’d organized for the day and gathering their things.

Sanemi turns his attention back to you. He waits until the last of the trainees departs your Estate with a respectful but hasty bow, before he gathers you up in his arms.

“You must really feel bad if you’re not bitchin’ me out about carrying you.” Sanemi frowns as you loop your arm over his shoulder.

Your eyes remain squeezed shut against your nausea, and you managed nothing more than a grumbled shut up as Sanemi hastily makes his way toward the Butterfly Mansion.

You try and focus on Sanemi’s steady warmth as it bleeds into you; the familiar and comforting scent of sweet matcha that lingers on his skin, a welcome distraction from the way your head spins and aches.

The soothing hallmarks of your husband almost lull you to sleep, when the image of the other half of your heart — of cherub cheeks and a mop of white hair just like her father’s flashes through your mind.

Your eyes suddenly fly open, wide and anxious.

Your daughter. Because you’d been dealing with the bulk of junior slayers, Sanemi had been tasked with keeping your daughter occupied for the day. You’d last seen her earlier that morning at his estate, happily stumbling after a butterfly in her father’s garden.

You stiffen in Sanemi’s arms. “Where is —?”

“She’s with Uzui’s girls,” he’s quick to reassure, and he twists his head to press a soothing kiss to your temple. “I’d brought her with me to discuss training plans when your crow arrived. Hinatsuru offered to take her so I could check on you.”

It does little to soothe the pit in your stomach. “I don’t wish to burden them —“

“They insisted,” Sanemi says simply. “They all jump at the chance to watch her — Uzui, too.”

He wasn’t wrong; your daughter had the entire Uzui family wrapped around her tiny fist.

Sanemi squeezes your waist. “She’s fine — and she’ll be more than happy to see her Mama later. Let’s focus on getting you checked out for now.”

—

You arrive at the Butterfly Mansion in record time. You have to fight the Wind Pillar before he’ll put you down and allow you to walk into the Manor on your own legs.

Sanemi acquiesces, but his arm does not leave its stabling place on your waist.

The Insect Pillar, thankfully, is home and able promptly guide you into a private examination room she reserves for your peers. A quick draw of blood into a glass vial later, and Kocho whisks back to her office to analyze it.

Sanemi sits with you the whole time, chatting with Kocho, his arm around your shoulders, his thumb turning soothing circles into your skin.

But the longer the two of you wait after the petite doctor leaves to run her tests, the more your anxiety mounts.

Your nerves must have begun to sink beneath Sanemi’s skin, for he’d left the examination room a few minutes prior in search of the Insect Pillar, nearly as desperate as you to know what she’d found.

He hadn’t yet returned, leaving you to chew anxiously on your thumbnail, your foot jiggling where it hung over the edge of the table where you sat.

Another minute or two passes, and then the door to the examination room flings open with a start. Faster than you can blink, the Wind Pillar is striding toward you with a broad smile on his face.

“What is —?” Sanemi’s hands — battle-worn and rough — are gentle as they cradle your cheeks, and he silences your question with a sweet but deep kiss.

“You’re pregnant,” he breathes excitedly against your lips, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “You’re pregnant. Kocho confirmed it.”

His eyelashes tickle your cheeks as he kisses you again and again, Sanemi beaming between each eager touch of your lips.

“That didn’t take long, did it?” You tease. “I mentioned wanting another child not even two months ago

“Who am I to deny my wife what she desires?” he grins with equal smugness and elation. “Especially when she asks so sweetly, all bent over for me —“

You clamp your hand over his mouth. “Shush,” you hiss, though you can’t fight your own smile. “Kocho can hear everything —“

“I knew it.” Sanemi boasts, stepping back to bring your knuckles to his lips, his eyes shining. “I knew when you asked for yudofu twice this week that you were pregnant —“

“I’ve always liked yudofu.”

“It was all you ate last time,” and his grin is broad. “Couldn’t get you to choke down anythin’ else for a solid month at one point. Drove me fuckin’ nuts.”

Sanemi’s lips press to your ear as he leans in close, his voice quieting to a sultry whisper. “And you’ve been asking me to take care of those pretty breasts of yours more frequently, haven’t you?”

Your cheeks burn a deep shade of crimson. It was true — they’d been aching and sore. So tender that you’d even contemplated foregoing the sarashi bindings you wore beneath your uniform shirt.

So you had; once, a few weeks earlier.

You hadn’t made it out of your bedroom before you’d been caught by your husband, bug-eyed and blushing as he gaped at your partially-exposed chest. Your uniform shirt had closely resembled his own without the security of your bindings, and yet you’d known, thanks to your skirt, that your attire likely bore a resemblance to that of the Love Pillar’s.

You’d both ended up late to training that day.

Since that day, Sanemi had been more than eager to continue helping after you’d insisted his hot mouth and expert tongue were capable of alleviating some of that tender ache.

You want to groan at yourself. It should have been obvious, once it was clear that your sore chest had not been heralding in your monthly cycle.

But before you can, Sanemi resumes lavishing you with his joyful kisses.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He murmurs against your lips, nuzzling your nose with his. “You’re a goddamn goddess, you know that? So fuckin’ beautiful.“

This time, Sanemi tilts your head so he can deepen his next kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth the moment you open for him.

“Thank you,” he breathes, thumb stroking your cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You did just as much work as I did,” you chuckle between his slow, sensual kisses. “Arguably more.”

He pulls away with a light huff, the hand on your cheek sliding to cup the back of your head and bring you in tight against him.

“I ain’t ever gonna stop thanking you,” Sanemi whispers reverently against your hair, his fingers trailing up and down your spine. “‘M never not gonna worship the ground you walk on for makin’ me a father. Not in a hundred years.”

Whether it’s because your emotions are already high out of elation over your news, or because Sanemi’s words — so earnest and full of love — strike that soft part of your heart reserved for him and him alone, your eyes burn with tears.

And even Sanemi’s voice cracks as he whispers, “Thank you. Thank you for choosing me.”

REBLOGS/COMMENTS/LIKES ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Mice in the Dark (Waiting for the Light)

+/-7500 words - the long story - Alexia Putellasx Reader - one of my more prouder works - Angst and Fluff - Happy ending - Pregnancy - Mentions of school shooting (no injured) - Please read with care.

Writer's note: I know I said I was on a break and I promise you... I am, but I finished this today after a full month of writing it and I just wanted to share it because I'm very proud of this one. Makes me excited to share it with you all. I can't promise you that it has no grammar mistakes x

There was something about the way sunlight slipped through the linen curtains in spring. Soft. Golden. Unapologetically honest. It kissed the edge of your cheek, just enough to pull you out of a dream. The first thing you felt was warmth. Not the sunlight. Not even the blanket tangled around your legs. No… it was her.

Alexia.

Her arm was wrapped around your waist with the same quiet protectiveness she carried on the pitch when someone fouled a teammate. Her breathing was slow, steady, a rhythm you’d memorized before marriage. Before IVF. Before last night changed everything.

You didn’t move. Not yet.

Your hand settled over your belly. A gesture so subtle. So new. It still felt like a secret whispered in a chapel.

You were pregnant.

You blinked against the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. One day ago, you and Alexia were standing barefoot in the kitchen. Your thumb trembling on the test. One line. Then two. Then disbelief. Then the sobs. Then that night. The joy. The nervous laughter. The way she kissed your stomach like it was already her favorite thing in the world.

Now here you were. In bed. Her legs tangled with yours. Her skin still flushed from sleep and love.

She stirred.

"Mm," came her voice, husky and low. She didn’t open her eyes yet but her fingers curled against your stomach, instinctively, protectively. "Still here?"

You smiled, a soft sound leaving your throat. "Where else would I go?"

Her eyes cracked open. Lashes still heavy with sleep. "Just checking," she whispered. Then her hand moved. Barely a few inches. And she cupped the side of your belly. She hadn't stopped doing that since last night. Like maybe touching you made it real.

"Still feels unreal," you admitted.

Alexia leaned in, brushing her lips over your shoulder. "It’s real. I keep waking up to make sure you're still beside me. You always are. Now there’s... someone else, too."

A small silence fell over the room. Not the kind that suffocates. One that breathes. That expands.

You turned to face her, brushing a strand of sunlit hair from her face. "You’re going to be such a good mamá."

A smile cracked across her lips, but it was wobbly. Eyes glistening. She didn’t speak for a moment. Just reached to press her forehead to yours.

"I'm terrified," she whispered.

"Me too."

"But I want this more than anything."

You nodded. "Me too."

The alarm buzzed faintly from her nightstand. A soft, vibrating hum. Alexia groaned and reached over to kill it. "Training. Shit."

You let your head fall back onto the pillow. "Do you have to be a football icon every day?"

She grinned, pulling herself up with a stretch. "Yes. Otherwise the world might collapse."

You reached out and slapped her thigh playfully. "Go save the world, Capitana."

Alexia stood in the doorway a minute later. Pulling her jacket on. Her hair was still damp from the quick shower. Her gym bag slung over one shoulder.

She looked back at you.

And it was the kind of look that meant something. Like maybe she’d already sensed the world was tilting. That time was about to split into before and after.

"I love you," she said. Not in a rushed way. In a way that planted its roots.

"I love you more," you replied, smiling.

She gave you that heart-splitting smirk before closing the door behind her.

And you were alone. For the last time, you’d realize later, in the before.

You moved through the morning in that strange, glowing fog that comes with good news and not enough sleep. Your hand kept brushing over your stomach. Absentmindedly. Protectively. Like your body already knew there was something precious inside.

Shower. Clothes. Hair pulled back. A slice of toast half-eaten on the way out of the kitchen.

You were halfway through pouring your travel mug of coffee when your phone buzzed, screen lighting up with Alexia 💜. Right on time. She always called when she pulled into the training ground. Like clockwork.

You could picture her perfectly. One hand on the wheel. A water bottle tucked between her thighs. That ridiculously big sunglasses collection rotating daily. Today, you guessed the tortoiseshell ones.

You slid your thumb across the screen. “Hey, superstar.”

“Hola, profesora,” came her voice, warm and playful with that familiar Catalan curl. “Did you eat?”

“Part of a toast,” you said, grabbing your bag and swinging it over your shoulder. “Half the peanut butter is on my shirt now, so... yes?”

She laughed. It was soft and breathy and made your chest hurt in that nice stupid way.

“You really need a personal chef. Or a wife who’s home in the mornings.”

You locked the front door behind you. “I’ve heard rumors I have one. But she’s too busy winning Ballon d’Ors to make me eggs.”

Alexia sighed dramatically through the phone. “Such a hard life for you.”

You grinned, walking down the street toward your car. “You’re not wrong. Anyway… how’s your knee?”

“Good. Sore in the right way. I think they’ll let me push a little harder today.”

“Pobrecita,” you said, mock sympathy in your tone. “All that running around for Spain and Barça... and still no gold star sticker from me.”

“You’re lucky you’re pregnant,” she warned, teasing. “Otherwise I’d come over there and…”

“Miss Putellas,” you cut in, unlocking your car with a beep, “there are children present.”

Alexia laughed again, and God, you’d bottle that sound if you could. You slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting your mirror like you hadn’t done it the same way a hundred times before.

“Okay,” she said, and you could hear her engine click off. “I’m parked.”

“Which means you’re about to be ten minutes late, like always.”

“I’m worth the fine,” she replied. “I just wanted to hear your voice. That’s all.”

You paused. Just for a second. Because it was such a her thing to say. Effortless. Sentimental. Quietly intense.

“Well,” you whispered, holding the phone a little closer to your ear. “You’ve got it. Every day.”

Neither of you spoke for a beat.

Then she cleared her throat. “Alright. Go teach small humans. Don’t let them bully you.”

“They’re five, Ale.”

“Even worse. They bite.”

You laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

The call ended with a soft click, and the silence after felt just a little too still. Like the calm before the swell of something coming.

You placed a hand over your belly and closed your eyes.

Just for a second.

Then you turned the key in the ignition and started your drive to school. Completely unaware that those would be the last moments you’d ever know as ordinary.

The locker room was already humming when Alexia walked in. Earbuds still in. Her hoodie sleeves pushd halfway up her forearms. She dropped her bag at her usual spot. Tucked between the rows where the sun hit the floor just right in the late mornings.

Mapi was stretched out on the bench like she owned the place, boot halfway on, phone in hand.

“You’re glowing,” she said without looking up.

Alexia paused, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

Mapi smirked. “You’ve got that look. Like you just committed a murder and got away with it. Or like you’re very in love.”

Alexia rolled her eyes and pulled her hoodie off. “Maybe I just slept for eight hours, por fin.”

“Nope,” Kika said from across the room, tying her hair up. “It’s a suspicious glow. Suspicious and maternal.”

Alexia froze for half a second. Just a flicker. She was careful. Always had been. She recovered quickly, tossing her hoodie into her locker. “What does that even mean?”

Mapi leaned in, eyes narrowing like she was trying to read her captain’s mind. “You tell us, mamá.”

Alexia blinked. “I swear to God…’’

“Okay, okay!” Mapi held her hands up, laughing. “I’m just saying, you’ve had this little... vibe lately. All soft and dreamy. It's giving... lullabies.”

“I will kick your shin,” Alexia warned, but her mouth twitched at the corners.

Kika, now grinning wide, joined the interrogation. “So what are you naming the baby?”

“What baby?!”

“See?” Mapi said, turning to Kika with mock awe. “That’s exactly what someone who’s hiding a baby would say.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Alexia lied, which was technically true. She wasn’t hiding. Just… holding. Holding something delicate and new and way too sacred to throw into the locker room chaos just yet. It was still their secret. Hers and yours. Your tiny miracle.

“I think it should be something regal,” Kika said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Something like… Victoria. Or Reina.”

“You’re out of your minds,” Alexia muttered, tugging on her training shirt.

Mapi tilted her head. “You and the missus doing okay?”

That stopped her, just for a breath. She nodded, a soft smile tugging at her lips without permission. “Yeah. She’s good. Teaching today.”

“Bet she’s got those kids doing Shakespeare and yoga by now,” Mapi joked.

Alexia snorted. “She teaches pre-K, not a spiritual arts retreat.”

“Same thing,” Kika chimed in. “Tiny humans with big feelings.”

Alexia hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the locker door. “Yeah. She said one of them gave her a sticker yesterday for ‘being kind.’ Made her cry.”

“Wait… she cried?” Mapi said. “I thought you were the emotional one.”

Alexia laughed under her breath. “We take turns.”

There was a lull then… just for a moment… where someone cranked up the music and the energy shifted to cleats, water bottles, stretching routines.

But Alexia lingered in that space. That little pause in the noise. Thinking about the sticker. Your laugh through the phone. The way you whispered “we’re really doing this” last night like you were afraid someone would hear and take it back.

She exhaled slowly.

Training waited. Life was rolling on. But beneath her skin, just below the surface, something was shifting.

And she was starting to feel like the world was holding its breath.

The teachers' lounge always smelled faintly like burnt espresso and dry-erase markers. No matter how many air fresheners they plugged into the wall.

You sat at the small round table by the window. A half-full mug warming your hands. Surrounded by the soft murmur of your colleagues’ chatter.

“Another cookie?” Marta asked, holding the plate out with a smile.

You shook your head gently, fingers tightening around your cup. “Thanks, but I’m really not hungry this morning.”

Your voice was soft but firm.

There was a pause.

Then one of them, Lucia, looked at you a little too closely. A flicker of something unspoken passing in her eyes. Maybe she thought you were stressed. Or maybe she was just being a mom and sensing when something was off.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

You smiled carefully. “Just a bit of off this morning, I think. Nothing serious.”

No one asked more. The room went back to light chatter about the school play, PTA meetings, and a funny story about a kid who accidentally glued his shoes to the floor.

You took a small sip of your coffee. Trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

After a few minutes, you stood, stretching out your legs. Time to set up for the day.

The classroom was a riot of color: tiny chairs, alphabet posters, and half-finished crayon drawings pinned to the walls. You arranged the cubbies, lined up the picture books and taped the day’s schedule on the board. Circle time. Story. Snack. Nap. And art.

Everything felt calm. Normal.

Almost too calm.

You glanced out the window near the door.

That’s when you saw him.

A small teenage boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Standing just outside the school gate. He wasn’t moving. Just watching. His hoodie was pulled low. Face shadowed. But his eyes caught the light for just a second. Watching.

You blinked.

He disappeared behind a parked car almost instantly, like he’d never been there.

Your heart ticked a little faster.

But you told yourself it was nothing. Just some kid waiting for a friend or maybe lost on his way home.

You shook your head and turned back to the classroom.

Focus.

Today was supposed to be normal.

The ball skipped off her boot awkwardly. Rolling too far left. Not a complete miss, but enough to break the rhythm of the drill.

She cursed under her breath.

Another pass. Too heavy.

A third… late.

A few glances were cast her way, but no one said anything. This was Alexia Putellas. Off days weren’t her brand.

But she felt it. The dissonance. The way her thoughts wouldn’t stay where they belonged. They kept drifting. To your voice on the phone. To your morning sickness. To the way your voice hesitated before you said you were okay.

She didn’t like that hesitation.

"Hola," Irene said, jogging up beside her after the last sequence. Her tone was light but her eyes were shar. Watching. Knowing. "You’re off today. Want to talk about it?"

Alexia wiped her forehead with her sleeve, exhaling hard. “Just tired.”

Irene tilted her head. “Tired… or thinking?”

Alexia gave a faint smile. “When am I not thinking?”

They started walking toward the sidelines. Irene didn’t push. She never did. That’s what made her good at reading between the lines.

"Mapi and Kika being Mapi and Kika again?" Irene asked casually, a grin playing on her lips.

Alexia huffed a laugh. “They were throwing baby names at me.”

Irene’s brow lifted slightly. “Oh?”

“Total coincidence,” Alexia said quickly, but her voice gave too much away. “They don’t know. I didn’t tell them.”

Irene nodded slowly. “Got it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then… gently… “You’re thinking about the last time, aren’t you?”

Alexia’s breath caught.

The last time. The other times. The quiet, negative tests. The hopes that turned into whispered apologies and late-night tears in her hoodie. You saying, “Next time,” even when your voice trembled. Her nodding, even when it felt like a lie.

“A little,” she admitted.

“It’s okay to still feel it,” Irene said. “That was a lot. For both of you.”

Alexia nodded. “I just… I thought it would go away, you know? The fear. But now that it’s real… this time it’s real… and I still feel like if I breathe too loud, it’ll vanish.”

Irene reached out, gently bumping her arm. “It won’t vanish. You two have fought too hard for this one.”

Alexia looked down at the grass. Then back toward the field. Where the rest of the team was still running through drills.

She swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Irene watched her for a second. “You want to go again or sit one out?”

Alexia clenched her jaw, nodded toward the field. “I’m good.”

She jogged back out, but her steps felt slower, heavier.

In the back of her mind, something was tugging at her. A vague, gnawing unease she couldn’t place.

The drill restarted. Cones. Short passes. One-two touch.

She forced herself into focus. Eyes up, body moving. Trust the muscle memory.

Then… buzz.

Her wrist buzzed faintly beneath the band of her GPS tracker.

Phone in her locker.

A message had come in.

She didn’t think much of it, but when they rotated stations, she cut across the pitch and jogged toward the sideline. Coach was shouting something. Correcting a pass. Waving an arm. But her eyes were already on the edge of her locker.

She unlocked it fast, thumb swiping, screen lighting up.

It was from you.

A photo.

Bathroom mirror. Fluorescent lighting. That soft, faded sweater she always told you looked like a blanket. Your hair was pulled back, face clean, tired in a beautiful way that knocked the air out of her lungs.

Your hand was resting gently over your stomach.

Nothing to show. No change. Just skin and cotton and a look in your eyes that made her whole body ache.

The caption read:

"Still invisible, but ours. First day being her mami at school.❤️"

Alexia didn’t even realize she was smiling until her cheeks hurt.

Her thumb hovered for a second, then tapped back.

She didn’t say anything.

Just sent a heart. Then another. Then the third one turned gold. The only emoji she ever saved for you. One for each of you now.

She stared at the photo a little longer, zoning out. Around her, the locker room sounds filtered in: a dropped cleat, laughter from someone near the showers, the rattle of a water bottle hitting the ground.

The unease was still there, faint. But quieter now.

For a second, she let herself believe that maybe that was all it was.

Maybe her heart was just stretching to make room.

By the time the first little sneakers came padding down the hallway, your classroom was ready. Soft music playing from the corner speaker. Crayons laid out. Books stacked neatly. Sunlight warming the animal rug near the board.

You had exactly four minutes of peace before the chaos began.

“Señorita!” Mateo barreled in first. Backpack half open. Coat trailing behind him like a cape.

“Buenos días, Mateo,” you said, catching the runaway coat mid-air.

More voices echoed behind him. Luna with her braids bouncing, Diego still half-asleep and clutching a juice box. Sofia dragging a stuffed dolphin and a shoebox labeled ‘volcano project’.

It always started like this. Small. Loud bodies. Shoelaces untied. Mismatched socks. Someone already tattling.

But it grounded you. Gave you something solid to hold onto.

You clapped gently. “Circle time, everyone. Come sit. Show me your best criss-cross applesauce!”

There was a bit of squirming. Shuffling. A shoe being removed for no reason at all. But eventually, your class formed its uneven, rainbow-colored circle of small humans. All looking at you with sticky hands and wide eyes.

You smiled, folding your legs beneath you.

“So,” you began, “Who wants to share something from their weekend?”

Sofia’s hand shot up. “I got to feed a goat and it licked my elbow!”

“Ew,” muttered Diego, clearly impressed.

Luna raised her hand politely. “We went to visit my abuela and I made soup. Real soup. With vegetables.”

You nodded. “That sounds amazing. You’re a chef now.”

Then Amelia, your tiniest, most serious child, lifted her hand and waited until you called her name with mock formality.

“Yes, Miss Amelia?”

Her face lit up. “I got surprised! I’m going to have a baby brother! He’s in my mommy’s tummy right now. I don’t know how he got there.”

A few giggles broke out, and you laughed with them. Right before your throat closed up.

Just like that.

You blinked, hard.

It wasn’t even the sentence. It was the way she said it. So proud. So sure. Like the world was good and magic was real and babies just arrived because you hoped hard enough.

And suddenly your chest was aching. Your vision blurred.

You tried to swallow it down, but a single, hot tear slipped out anyway. Then another.

“Oh no!” Mateo gasped. “She’s broken!”

“I think she’s sad about the soup,” Diego whispered to Luna.

“I’m okay,” you said quickly, pressing the heel of your palm to your cheek and forcing a smile. “I’m okay, chicos. Just a little sleepy.”

“Do you miss your mommy?” Amelia asked with wide eyes.

You nodded seriously. “All the time.”

The children leaned in, worried but still entranced. Small hands hovering like they wanted to fix it.

“Don’t cry,” said Sofia, crawling over and gently patting your knee. “We can share our snack with you.”

That almost broke you again.

You sniffed, laughed through it. “Thank you. I think I’ll be alright now.”

And just like that, they moved on. Distracted by a loose crayon or someone’s sparkly shoelaces.

You stood slowly, brushing your hands on your skirt, letting the moment pass.

They couldn’t know yet. It was too soon. Too fragile.

But a part of you wished they could.

Because somehow, their little hearts knew exactly how to hold yours.

The training session ended with sweat on her skin and that familiar burn in her legs.

She showered quickly. Towel slung around her shoulders. Hair damp and curling at the edges. There was a team meeting scheduled in the video room. Something light today. Old match footage. Some laughs. Maybe some lessons buried in the rewind.

The room was already half full when she walked in. The lights dimmed low. Screen paused mid-action on a frame from last season. Mapi and Kika were curled into one chair like teenagers at a sleepover. Whispering something and snorting laughter before looking up and right at her.

Alexia narrowed her eyes instantly. “What.”

Mapi grinned too wide. “Nadaaa.”

Kika held up her phone like it was proof. “Did you see? Sam and Kristie posted… baby incoming.”

Alexia’s heart did a tiny skip.

“Oh,” she said, carefully neutral.

“They look so happy,” Mapi chimed in. “Honestly, goals.”

“They’ve been quiet for a while,” Kika added. “Probably waiting for the first trimester to pass.”

Mapi gave Alexia a not-so-subtle side eye. “Sound familiar?”

Alexia gave her a look, one brow raised. “You two are bored, aren’t you?”

“Painfully,” Kika said, flopping back in her chair. “And you give off such mystery energy. We just want to crack the code.”

Irene slid into the seat beside Alexia with her water bottle and muttered under her breath, “They're relentless today. Should’ve brought holy water.”

Alexia huffed a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

The coaches entered, and the screen resumed with match footage. Barcelona vs Atlético. Midfield control clips, ball recoveries, positioning, angles. Alexia leaned forward, chin in her hand, trying to settle her focus.

She was watching herself, months ago. Moving like she always moved. Fluid. Calculating. Dominant. But now, in this moment, something inside her felt distant from that version. Off-center.

“Alexia,” said one of the assistants, pausing the frame. “See this hold you made here? Can you talk through what you were reading?”

She nodded slowly. “The winger was too wide, their pivot was delayed. I waited for her to commit so I could cut both lanes at once. But I knew if I stepped too early, I’d leave Claudia exposed.”

The coach nodded, pleased. “Exactly.”

Another voice: “God, it’s like your brain is GPS,” someone muttered in admiration.

Kika leaned over and whispered, “Imagine that baby gets your vision. And her eyes.”

Alexia stared at the screen a moment too long before blinking out of it. “You’re worse than the media,” she said, not unkindly.

But inside, something shifted.

That strange tug again.

A thread of unease, like the day was just slightly tilted.

Not wrong.

Not yet.

Just… waiting.

Her phone buzzed quietly in her pocket.

She pulled it out quickly, careful not to interrupt the meeting.

A message from you.

“The small humans arrived safe and sound. Putting my phone away now… no bites yet. ❤️”

She smiled softly, the warmth spreading in her chest like a quiet sunbeam.

Her thumb hovered, then tapped a quick reply: “Good. Hold it down, mami.”

She slipped the phone back into her pocket.

Around her, the discussion continued, but that little message was a momentary anchor.

That strange tug inside her faded… just a little… replaced by the thought of you, in your classroom, steady and brave.

The classroom was buzzing with tiny voices and laughter. Crayons scraping paper. Shoes tapping the floor. When the first sound broke through the hum.

Pop.

At first, you froze.

Pop.

Then…

Pop. Pop.

Shots.

Your heart stopped.

For a second, the world was just a loud, cracking echo, too close, too real.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe.

You looked at the kids. Their faces, innocent and wide, didn’t understand.

“Okay, everyone,” you said, voice calm but low. “We’re going to play a game. It’s called ‘The Quietest Animals.’ Who can be the quietest animal?”

Diego’s eyebrows furrowed. “Like a mouse?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Mice don’t make any noise at all. We’re mice.”

Little hands pressed to their mouths.

You moved quickly, herding them behind the tables, dimming the lights with a flick of the switch.

You crouched low, pulling Sofia close. “We’re going to hide under the tables now, okay?”

The kids obeyed, some giggling nervously, others wide-eyed but silent.

Your fingers trembled as you pulled out your phone.

Hands shaking, you dialed.

No answer.

You tried again.

Your breath caught when you heard the faint crackle of a voice, static, but real.

You whispered, “There’s an emergency at the school. Shots have been fired. We need help immediately.”

You clicked the phone off, heart pounding so hard you feared they’d hear it.

You looked around.

Mateo was clutching his jacket, eyes squeezed shut.

Amelia was frozen, the smallest body shaking.

You swallowed the scream in your throat and smiled at them.

“We’re brave mice,” you said, voice steady. “The bravest.”

But inside, every part of you was terrified.

The room was quiet again after the match footage paused. A pause neither tactical nor deliberate. Just the sort of lull that settled in when the team was waiting for something to shift.

Alexia’s thoughts were miles away, swimming between the soft warmth of your message and the nagging, persistent tug of unease that wouldn’t quite fade.

Suddenly, a sharp tap on her shoulder broke through the fog.

“Alexia? Coach wants to see you outside.”

She blinked, then nodded, following the assistant out of the dim room and into the bright, sterile hallway.

Her phone buzzed again as she walked, but she ignored it.

By the time she reached the exit, her heart was a drum in her chest.

And then…

She froze.

There, standing just beyond the doorway, was her mother.

Her face was pale, eyes wide and glassy.

“Mamá?” Alexia’s voice caught on the question.

Her mother swallowed hard, taking a small step forward.

“Something’s happened at the school.”

Alexia’s breath hitched.

“Is it…?”

Her mother nodded, voice trembling, “There’s been a shooting. They’re saying lockdown. Police are there. We don’t know much, but I thought you should know. I’m so sorry, Alexia.”

Her knees threatened to buckle.

“Where’s… where’s y/n?” Her voice cracked, the fear raw and wild.

“She’s inside. They say the kids are hiding. The teachers too.”

Alexia’s hands curled into fists.

“Can I go? I have to…”

“Wait,” her mother said firmly. “I’ll come with you.”

The urgency in her mother’s voice was a lifeline and a weight.

Alexia grabbed her jacket, heart pounding louder than her footsteps.

Together, they raced through the corridors, her mind spinning faster than her feet.

Every second stretched impossibly long.

Her phone buzzed again… she dared a glance.

Messages, unanswered calls.

She tried calling you.

Her breath hitched.

“Please be okay,” she whispered to herself. Panic squeezing her throat.

Outside, the sky was the soft blue of a peaceful day. Mocking her turmoil.

But the streets were alive with flashing lights, sirens wailing like cries tearing through the calm.

They crossed the last block, and there it was. The school.

The chaos was immediate. Police cars. Paramedics. Frantic parents huddled in small groups. Teachers consoling children. The distant murmur of officials giving instructions.

Alexia’s mother squeezed her arm.

“Stay close,” she said.

Alexia forced herself to steady her breathing.

She pulled her phone out again and sent a quick message.

“I’m coming. Hold on.”

Then she looked up, eyes searching the crowd, searching for you.

Her world was crashing down, but she had to be strong.

For you.

For the children.

For the life you were just beginning to build.

The crowd outside the school was thick with anxiety and murmurs, but Alexia’s sharp eyes caught something that made her heart lurch.

A small group of parents were gathered near the entrance, clustered close around a handful of children. The names on their lips were painfully familiar.

“Mateo?” she heard one parent ask gently.

The boy, cheeks flushed from nerves, nodded eagerly.

“We played mice,” Mateo said, voice small but proud. “We were so quiet. Like real mice.”

Alexia’s breath caught.

She pushed through the crowd. her heart pounding harder with each step.

“Where’s the teacher? Where’s the señorita?”

Mateo looked up, blinking at her like she was a sudden sunbeam.

“Miss y/n?” he answered, voice trembling. “She’s still inside. We were hiding. Luna didn’t want to stop playing the mice game even when they said we could go with help.”

Alexia’s throat tightened.

A sharp sob broke free before she could stop it.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her mother, who held her just as fiercely.

“I have to tell you something,” Alexia whispered through the tears. “… she’s pregnant. We found out yesterday.”

Her mother’s eyes widened, a mixture of awe and heartbreak flooding her expression.

“This can’t be happening.”

Alexia shook her head, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.

“It’s so fragile, mamá. So new. We were just… starting.”

Her sobs shook her body.

The world was breaking apart around her. And all she could do was hold on.

The room was still dim, shadows stretching long across the floor as the small bodies huddled beneath tables.

Luna’s hand found yours, trembling slightly.

Her eyes were wide and glassy, lost in a sea of fear you couldn’t reach with words. Only with the softest touch.

You leaned down, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Luna, remember our game?”

She nodded slowly, squeezing your hand back.

“Mice don’t just stay in one place forever,” you said carefully. “Sometimes, when the place isn’t safe anymore… they move. They find new homes where they can be quiet and safe.”

Luna’s breath hitched.

“Do you think we can be like the mice?”

You smiled gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

“Yes. And right now, the mice need to be brave and move somewhere safe.”

Her small hand squeezed yours again, steadier this time.

"It's time to move, little mouse."

Alexia’s eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding just a few feet away.

A teenage boy, hands cuffed behind his back, was being led past the barricade by a calm but firm emergency responder.

The boy’s face was pale. Eyes downcast. The weight of everything pressing down on him.

Alexia’s breath hitched.

The responder caught her gaze and offered a tired but steady nod.

“No one was hurt,” he said quietly, as if the words needed repeating. “Just holes in the ceiling and scared kids. They’re waiting on two more to come out.”

Alexia swallowed hard, feeling like the air had been knocked from her lungs.

She squeezed her mother’s hand, eyes scanning the doorway, desperate for any sign.

Minutes stretched. Agonizing and endless.

Then, the school doors opened.

You appeared first.

Your face was pale, makeup smudged from tears you didn’t want to show, shoulders tense but trying to hold steady.

Behind you... the last child. Breathless and clutching a small backpack. Ran full tilt toward waiting parents, who swept her up into a trembling embrace.

Alexia’s heart broke at the sight.

You started to move forward but when your eyes met hers across the crowd. Verything crumbled.

The brave facade shattered.

You broke down, sobbing openly now, the weight of the day crashing through every line of your body.

Alexia was there instantly. Closing the distance between you.

Her arms wrapped around you. Fierce and protective.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, voice rough with emotion. “You’re safe now. You’re here.”

You clung to her, letting yourself fall apart in the only place that felt like home.

Around you, the noise of sirens, murmurs, and relief swirled. But all that mattered was the warmth of her hold, the steady beat of her heart against yours.

Together, you let the tears fall.

Because sometimes, even the strongest need to be broken. To be held. And to heal.

Weeks had passed since that day. The day that shattered the fragile bubble you and Alexia had been building together.

Some mornings, the world felt calm, the light spilling through the curtains like a promise.

Other mornings, you woke gasping. Heart pounding like it was still trapped in that classroom. The echo of gunshots ringing sharp behind your closed eyelids.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You woke in a cold sweat. Breath shallow and rapid.

Before panic could fully claim you, you felt it. Warm arms sliding around your waist, pulling you close.

Alexia’s voice was low and steady. A soft anchor in the storm.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. I’m here.”

You curled into her. The steady beat of her heart a balm to your racing mind.

She shifted, settling beside you on the bed. Careful and sure. Fingers tracing slow circles on your back.

“I’m not gone,” she murmured.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Trying to let the fear slip away.

“I’m right here.”

Her hands moved to your belly. Gentle but certain.

You lifted your shirt a little. Showing her the soft small curve that was just beginning to show. The secret growing life inside you.

“Look,” you whispered, voice still shaky. “Our baby’s okay.”

Alexia’s smile was radiant. Her fingers tracing the line of your bump like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“All good so far,” she said softly. “You’ve been amazing.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“We’re going to tell the team tomorrow,” you said.

Alexia’s eyes lit up. “Finally.”

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the lingering shadows.

“They deserve to know.”

Alexia chuckled softly. Brushing a stray hair from your forehead.

“We’ll make it a proper celebration. Maybe Mapi and Kika will start the baby-name guessing games again… only this time, we can join in.”

You smiled, feeling a flicker of lightness.

The fear wasn’t gone. Some nights it still whispered in the dark corners of your mind.

But here, wrapped in Alexia’s arms, you felt something else too.

Hope.

Love.

The quiet certainty that you weren’t alone.

Alexia leaned in. Pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“We’ll get through this. Together.”

And in that moment… it was enough.

The morning sun spilled gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room.

Alexia was already awake, her hands busy but gentl. Brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, tracing lazy circles on your arm.

You smiled, eyes half-closed. Feeling the warmth of her touch like the safest place on earth.

“Trying to spoil me, huh?” you teased, voice still thick with sleep.

She grinned, a playful sparkle lighting her eyes.

“Maybe,” she said, leaning in to press a soft kiss just below your jaw. “You deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugged at your lips.

“Just don’t expect me to return the favor,” you warned.

Alexia laughed. A deep, warm sound that filled the room.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

She helped you sit up slowly, fingers steady as you stretched, the little bump already beginning to show.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, concern threading through her usual lightness.

“Better,” you said. “Thanks to you.”

Alexia’s hand found yours, squeezing it gently.

“We’ve got this. Today’s just another step.”

You squeezed back, teasing now more confident.

“Yeah, but don’t get too cocky... remember who’s carrying the tiny human in there.”

She mock-gasps, placing a hand dramatically over her heart.

“I’m just the supportive one.”

You laughed, feeling the tension of the past weeks loosen just a little.

Breakfast was slow, filled with quiet chatter and soft touches.

Alexia made you your favorite tea, while you caught her stealing bites of your toast when she thought you weren’t looking.

The morning felt like a return to something familiar... a gentle reminder of who you were together, before everything changed.

When it was time to get ready, Alexia kissed your forehead.

“Ready to tell them?”

You nodded, heart fluttering with nerves and hope.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And as she helped you slip into a comfortable sweater that hugged your belly just right. You knew you wouldn’t face the day alone.

Not ever.

The car hummed softly as Alexia drove toward the training ground, the morning light streaming through the windows in gentle streaks.

You settled into the passenger seat, fingers tracing lazy circles on your belly.

“So,” you began, a teasing edge to your voice, “how long do you think it’ll take before Mapi and Kika start pestering us about baby names?”

Alexia chuckled, glancing over with a grin. “Five minutes, tops. Maybe even less.”

You laughed softly. “They’re going to turn the whole locker room into a baby shower planning committee."

“Probably. And you know Kika will have a whole spreadsheet ready.”

You shook your head, amused. “I swear, these footballers plan everything.”

Alexia’s smile softened. “Well, it’s nice to have something fun to look forward to, right?”

You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah. It feels… hopeful.”

She reached over, squeezing your hand gently. “That’s what we need.”

You let your fingers intertwine with hers. Comforted by the familiar touch.

The radio played softly, a song you both loved. Something light. Something simple.

You hummed along quietly.

Alexia smiled, her eyes on the road but her heart clearly with you.

After a pause, you asked, “Are you nervous? About telling them?”

She shrugged, her grin mischievous. “I’m more nervous about whether they’ll start calling me ��baby mama’ right away.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Knowing them? That’ll be immediate.”

Alexia’s eyes sparkled. “Great. Just what I need.”

You smiled. Leaning back. Feeling the steady rhythm of the car and the promise of the day ahead.

Whatever came next, you’d face it together.

As the car came to a gentle stop outside the training ground, you turned toward Alexia, heart pounding a little faster.

The world outside felt heavy with expectation, but in the quiet space between you two, everything slowed.

You reached up. Pressing your forehead gently against hers. Eyes fluttering closed.

Her breath mingled with yours.

Softly. Tenderly, you kissed her.

No words needed. Just the warmth of lips meeting, a promise, a comfort, a shared strength.

When you pulled back, Alexia’s smile was soft and full of love.

“We’ve got this,” she whispered.

You nodded, feeling braver already.

Hand in hand, you stepped out of the car. Together.

The hallway leading into the training center buzzed with soft chatter, the shuffle of cleats, laughter echoing off the walls.

As soon as you and Alexia stepped in, you felt it. That shift in energy, subtle but unmistakable.

A few heads turned.

“Eh! Finally decided to show up!” Mapi called from down the corridor. Leaning lazily against the locker room door. Arms crossed. Grinning like she knew something already.

You smiled, half-hidden behind Alexia.

“She made me toast,” Alexia called back, completely deadpan. “I had no choice.”

Kika popped her head out next, face bright. “You always have a choice. Toast is not an excuse... unless it’s avocado toast with extra drama.”

“I am the drama,” you said dryly.

They laughed, pulling you both into the orbit of their usual teasing whirlwind.

Inside the locker room, Irene greeted you with a soft hug. She had been more quiet lately. Still a little haunted by the day she saw Alexia’s world crack. And now maybe she saw the small pieces being placed gently back together.

You sat carefully on the small bench against the far wall. Letting Alexia take off her jacket for you. The gesture was simple but enough to make Mapi’s eyebrows shoot up.

“What is this?” she said slowly, theatrically. “She undresses her now? Are we in royal court?”

Alexia smirked. “Always have, actually. She just usually yells at me to do it faster.”

The room burst into laughter, but your cheeks flushed with heat. Alexia shot you a wink and leaned down, whispering, “I got you.”

You exhaled softly, heart still a little nervous despite the warmth.

It was Alexia who stood tall, clearing her throat.

“Okay. So... we wanted to tell you something.”

Everyone went still in that split second. Wide-eyed, half-expecting a joke, or maybe not quite believing the shift in tone.

You stood up slowly beside her. Placing one hand instinctively on your growing belly. Now noticeable in the fitted stretch of your sweater.

Kika gasped. “No.”

Mapi’s eyes widened. “NO.”

Alexia beamed. “Yes.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then chaos.

Squeals. Screams. Foot stomps. Someone threw a training bib in the air.

Kika was already crying.

Mapi looked between the two of you like she’d been personally betrayed by not knowing sooner. “Are you kidding me?! I knew something was weird the last few weeks. And when you snapped at me for stealing your fries? I knew it.”

You were laughing and crying now. Wrapped in a blur of hugs and soft hands touching your stomach like it was already sacred.

Irene stepped forward last. Quieter than the rest. She touched Alexia’s shoulder. Then yours.

“I’m really happy for you,” she said sincerely, eyes lingering a moment longer on the way your hand rested over your belly.

The laughter died down into warm chatter. Plans already forming. Baby clothes, names, future birthdays on the pitch.

You sat back down, overwhelmed but glowing, as Alexia slid onto the bench beside you.

She reached for your hand under the fold of your sweater, her thumb brushing gently over your skin.

“You did good,” she whispered.

You smiled, eyes still a little glassy. “We did.”

And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel so far away. It felt right here... growing... steady and surrounded by love.

The room was quiet in that special kind of way hospitals hold.

Not silent, not still... just hushed. Reverent. Alive with the smallest sounds. The slow rhythm of the monitors. The soft rustle of blankets. The quiet breath of a newborn cradled against your chest.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt Alexia’s fingers brush a tear from your cheek.

“You’re doing it again,” she whispered with a small, tired smile. Her voice was raw from joy and worry and no sleep, but softer than anything you’d ever known.

You looked down at the little girl sleeping in your arms. Skin like velvet. A head full of dark wisps. The smallest sigh slipping from her lips.

“I just… can’t believe she’s real,” you murmured, voice trembling. “After everything.”

Alexia leaned in and kissed the top of your head, one hand resting gently on your shoulder. “She’s here. And you were so strong.”

“She has your eyes,” you said.

Alexia looked down and grinned. “She already judges like me too.”

You laughed, exhausted and glowing.

Then came a soft knock at the door.

You sat up a little straighter. Brushing your thumb over your daughter’s cheek as Alexia moved to open it.

The moment the door cracked open, a cluster of tiny voices and footsteps spilled into the room like sunshine.

“Ms.!” one of them squealed.

Your heart swelled.

It was your class. Yur sweet, brave 4- and 5-year-olds—now being carefully herded in by two of your colleagues. Their little faces were a mix of awe and excitement, like they were stepping into a fairy tale.

“Only quiet voices,” one teacher reminded gently, finger to her lips.

Luna was the first to break ranks. Holding something behind her back with a shy smile.

“We brought you something,” she said, inching closer to the bed.

You adjusted the baby slightly and smiled down at her. Heart aching in the best way.

Luna pulled her gift out and held it up proudly.

A small, grey plush mouse.

“Well,” she said with a shrug, “just in case she wants to play mice too.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Alexia turned away for a second. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

You took the mouse and cradled it next to your daughter, who made a tiny sound and blinked once, slowly.

“She’s going to love it,” you whispered.

The kids gathered around the bed, staying back just enough but brimming with curiosity. A few waved shyly. One asked if the baby had a name yet.

“She does,” you said, glancing at Alexia, whose hand found yours again.

“Her name is Elena.”

They all said it like it was magic. Elena.

The room felt so full.

Not just of people, but of something larger. Something that spanned months of fear and pain and healing. Something soft and whole.

Love.

Alexia kissed your temple again and leaned in close.

“See?” she whispered. “Little mice and all.”

You smiled, tears in your eyes. Your daughter pressed against your heartbeat. The tiny mouse plush tucked gently beside her.

It wasn’t the world you imagined before everything changed.

It was better.

Because it was yours.

Together.

Always.

---------------------------------------------------------

Writer's note: I really hope that you liked this one 🥺 please let me know what you think! put a lot of work in it. Right now I won't be able to write for a week because I really need to break and I should hold on to it. But after that I will of course upload again.

[l-egionaire]

My Warrior!Penelope AU: Telemachus

Since Odysseus is home and I don't see the thing with the suitors happening in my version of the au, what ends up going on with Telemachus? Well, with his father being slowly poisoned by treacherous servants, I imagine him taking over as man of the house. His father is becoming so weak and sickly that he starts taking on more and more of his responsibilities, meeting with court, talking with the townspeople, performing diplomatic and so on. It's hard, and stressful. Not only do the more senior members of his father's court look at him like a child trying to play king, but he also has to constantly check in on and try to take care of his ailing father and secretly fearing that he'll lose another parent. It's hard on him and he feels like he doesn't have anyone to help....until one day, while trying to argue a trade negotiation, the members of court around him seem to freeze.

"Wha-whats going on?

"That'd be me."

He turns to see Athena standing next to his chair.

"What's happening? Is time....frozen?"

"Nope. I just sped up your thoughts. Gave you a little extra time to think."

"Whoa....cool!"

Athen chuckles.

"Lets have a little chat..."

Soon, Athena is there acting as both his friend and advisor, teaching him about diplomacy, treaties, negotiation, and politics, as well as training him in the art of battle, now that her warrior of the mind was....unwell. However, she offered him other aid as well. She explained her suspicions about his father being poisoned and suggested Telemachus cook his meals in secret to test it. Sure enough, once he stops eating the food given by the servants, he begins to slowly recover.

Under Telemachus's watch, Ithaca and Odysseus grow stronger. But still his council doubts his abilities, during one meeting even getting into a fiercesome shouting match with him over a deal he made to ask another kingdom for help protecting them with so many of their soldiers gone. It gets to the point that they're shouting him down, and he's about ready to rip his hair out...when once again, time slows down around him. But this felt different than Athena's quick thought. Hers seemed to fill the air with a calm, cooling aura that made his thoughts flow smoother. This was hot, humid and filled his mind with searing rage.

"Are you just going to let them talk to you like that all day?"

He looks to his side, in the opposite spot to where Athena would usually appear, and saw a tall, muscular figure in full armor and blood red cape.

Telemachus's eyes widened.

"Ares...."

The war god looked down at him with blazing red eyes.

"You are the leader. ACT like it. Don't allow them to simply push you around like this."

Telemachus then turned back to his council. He grit his teeth and, as time returned back to its usual pace, slammed both fists against the meeting table.

"ENOUGH! While I understand your concerns, this is MY decision! And I won't have you questioning it!"

That made them quiet down and Telemachus could swear he heard low, rumbling laughter.

After the meeting, Ares appears to him in his room, Athena also there glaring at him.

"Why are you here?"

"To assist the young prince, of course."

"I'm ALREADY helping him!"

"Can a king not have more than one counsel? Can a warrior not have more than one master? Besides, I certainly was more help today than you were."

Athena growls and raises her spear but Telemachus steps between them.

"No! He's right. I think....I think he can help me. In a different way then you, I mean."

Athen grimaces while Ares give her a smug smile.

"Ugh...Fine..."

And from that day, Telemachus splits his time between being trained by the two gods. Athena teaches him battle strategies and techniques, Ares gives him physical training and Exercise. Athena teaches him about reading treaties and Ares takes him to hunt and skin a boar. Athena trains him in the buisness of diplomacy and bridge building and Ares coaches him on the basics of war and battle. Strangely, while both gods talk poorly of the other, it's not uncommon for one of them to watch while he trains with the other.

One day, both watch from a balcony as he works with a spear against a training dummy.

"......He's a good lad.....he'll grow strong. Grow well."

"Yes, I'm sure he will......and I have to imagine he'd grow better with his MOTHER."

"........."

"Ares, it's been TWENTY YEARS. WHERE is Penlope?

".......She......she accured the wrath of two of the gods. And Father, saw fit to...to punish her...."

"What? Punish her how?"

"Well, first he.....he.....you know how father is with women...."

Athena's eyes widen.

". Oh, Odysseus is going to KILL him."

"Father is king of the gods."

"And Odysseus will still find a way to, for putting his hands on his wife."

Ares can't help letting out a chuckle.

"What did he do after that?"

"He....saw fit to banish her to the Land of the Giants."

"The Land of-She could be KILLED! Ares, why haven't you DONE something!? Why haven't you talked to him or tried to help her!?

"YOU THINK I WOULDN'T IF I COULD!? It is because of my blessing alone that Dionysus and Father did not SLAY her! It's the sole reason she still lives! I told her the same. And she.....she asked me to watch over the boy. Make sure HE stays safe."

".....There really isn't ANYTHING you can do?"

"You KNOW how our father is Athena. Besides, this punishment comes from Apollo. His favored son. And I'm.....I'm not......he won't listen to me."

"....But he might listen to US."

Ares looks at her.

"....You really think it would change anything?:

"I think it woud at least show we're serious. We NEVER agree on anything.

"...Why would you help me?"

"Because Telemachus needs his mother, and Odysseus needs his wife back. And i promised them both that if I could, I would do everything in my power to bring her back to them.

"....Very well sister."

[orellazalonia]

I have a Bucky Barnes x reader fic request. Reader is Bucky’s gf in the current timeline and has time travel powers that she’s learning to control. She accidentally time travels back to the 1940s before he went to war, but Bucky doesn’t remember meeting her in the future. He felt like he knew her when he met her for the first time and that she felt familiar to him. He initially thought it was due to his memory loss with Hydra, however, he does finally remember her after he returns to the future. Thank you for always writing these whenever I send one in🤍

Hello there, dear! Sorry for the wait. This one was a bit of a challenge in figuring out how this could work seamlessly. So, I did my best and apologize if it isn’t 100% accurate. Thank you for the request and Happy reading!!!

A Love For All Time

Summary: When you accidentally time-travel to 1943 Brooklyn, you meet a young pre-war Bucky who doesn’t recognize you, but feels an uncanny, unshakable pull toward you. Despite your attempts to stay distant, you grow close again, repeating the love you haven’t technically shared yet until time finally pulls you back to the future. Back in the present, Bucky begins to remember you from the past, and the missing piece of his heart finally clicks into place: it was always you, even across decades. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.6k+

Main Masterlist

You never meant to keep it a secret from Bucky. At least, not for this long.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. Quite the opposite. James Buchanan Barnes had earned your trust with the quiet way he touched your hand when your thoughts got too loud, with how he always remembered to buy your favorite coffee when you ran out, even when he forgot his own. With the way he didn’t flinch when you told him that time sometimes… bent around you.

That it listened. That it responded.

“I think I’m connected to it,” You’d said once, curled up beside him on the couch, your voice muffled into his T-shirt. “Like time isn’t just passing by me, it’s watching me back.”

He hadn’t laughed. Just brushed his fingers along your hairline and said, “Then I guess I better not piss off time.”

It started with little things. Déjà vu that lasted a beat too long. Clocks freezing in front of you, then stuttering to catch up. One time, you blinked and swore the sunrise moved backward for a split second. But you hadn’t lost control before. Not until now.

Bucky had always been more than patient. Maybe it came from having once been fractured himself, dragged through history by a hand not his own. He understood that fear, the fear of yourself.

He’d helped you feel safe enough to test the edges of what you could do. Time manipulation. Not in grand gestures, not like rewinding wars or snapping centuries out of existence. You were still learning. Still training. Mostly with Bruce, sometimes Wanda, occasionally Stephen if he wasn’t off doing something unspeakably cryptic. You could slow things down, speed things up but never too far and never too long.

Until today.

Today, something cracked.

Bucky was the only one who made you feel grounded when time wanted to unravel beneath your feet. He didn’t try to fix you. He simply stood with you and steadied you. Even when the air shimmered around your skin like static. Even when you disappeared from one side of the apartment and reappeared in the hallway a heartbeat later.

You remembered the look he gave you, earlier that afternoon of both pride and half worry as you concentrated on a stopwatch, trying to make it freeze mid-tick. However, it didn’t seem to work so you gave up for now and made yourself a cup of coffee, slightly disappointed.

“You know, you are getting stronger,” He’d said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“Or more dangerous,” You’d whispered.

He tilted his head. “You’re not dangerous to me.”

And that had been the last thing you’d heard before the world turned inside out.

A ripple had passed through you. Some strange pulse just under your skin, something not entirely yours. It felt like being pulled through the surface of a mirror, except there was no reflection. No warning. Just a flash of white heat and the violent sensation of falling through stillness.

And then…

Noise. Sunlight. Horns blaring. You were outside and this was a different Brooklyn.

Your knees nearly buckled when your feet hit the sidewalk. The mug in your hand shattered against the curb. Everything around you smelled wrong. The air was sharp with coal and tobacco, the cars low and gleaming, moving too slow, looked too old.

It wasn’t your Brooklyn. It wasn’t your time.

You stumbled backward into a brick wall, eyes scanning the street with panic blooming in your chest. Men in fedoras and suspenders passed by, glancing at you with curiosity but not concern. The ache of disorientation spread like frost through your limbs.

You wanted to scream, to call out for Bucky, to beg time to take you back.

But then you heard his voice. The voice that could still you like a lullaby, steady even now.

“Hey… Are you alright?”

You turned. And everything else ceased to exist in your mind because there he was.

Bucky Barnes, no metal arm, no scars under his eyes. His dark hair was neatly combed, his smile just a little crooked, and his eyes… God, his eyes looked younger. Untouched by war, by loss, by Hydra. He wore a brown bomber jacket and a look of casual confidence that hadn’t existed in the version of him you knew now.

He hadn’t met you yet. Not the way you’d met him.

But somehow, his steps slowed as he approached. His smile faltered slightly as his gaze landed on you, and for a moment, just a flicker, he looked like someone remembering a dream they couldn’t place.

“Miss?” He asked again, voice gentler this time.

You could barely find your voice. “I… I think I’m lost.”

Not entirely a lie.

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing just a touch. “You from outta town?”

You nodded mutely. Your hands were still shaking, and you tucked them into your coat sleeves to hide it. He glanced at the broken mug on the ground, then back up at you.

“Let me guess,” He said, stepping closer. “You’re not quite sure how you got here?”

Your heart stopped.

You blinked once, slowly. “What makes you say that?”

He tilted his head, eyes studying you. “You’ve got that look in your eye. Like the rest of the world is moving without you.”

You almost laughed, but it would’ve come out as a sob. Instead, you just looked at him.

He smiled, soft this time. “Name’s James. James Barnes.”

The name hit you like a punch to the chest. You already knew that name better than your own heartbeat. You took his hand, and it was warm and real and still whole.

“…Nice to meet you, James.”

His gaze lingered on you, something unreadable flickering there.

“You sure we haven’t met before?” He asked, his tone light, teasing.

But your throat closed around the answer.

“No,” You whispered. “I don’t think so.”

But James Buchanan Barnes didn’t quite believe you.

You told yourself you’d leave. That you'd slip away before anything could change. Before your presence bent history into something unrecognizable. You’d find a way to fix it, to go home, to put time back the way it was before it decided to tangle itself around your feet.

But Bucky kept looking at you like you belonged.

He offered to walk you somewhere, anywhere, but you shook your head and told him you’d figure it out. He didn’t press really. Just stuck his hands in the pockets of that jacket, eyes never quite leaving your face.

“I can stick around,” He said casually. “In case you need help getting your bearings.”

You hesitated. Time had already cracked open beneath you. One more hour wouldn’t change anything… would it?

“I’m okay,” You said.

He gave a slow nod, but something in him didn’t want to move. His weight shifted like he meant to step away, but he didn’t. Just hovered there, glancing toward the street, then back at you.

"You ever been to Brooklyn before?"

You hesitated. "Once. A long time ago."

“Funny,” He said after a beat. “That’s exactly how it feels talking to you.”

That made you look up.

He smiled, a little apologetic. “You’re probably gonna think I’m crazy, but… I swear, there’s something about you. I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Your stomach turned. You couldn’t say anything not the truth, not even half of it. So instead, you looked away. “You probably meet a lot of people.”

“Sure,” He said. “But not like you.”

God, You thought. Why does it always have to be him?

He was younger here, yes, but not shallow. Not thoughtless. He wasn’t trying to charm you. He was trying to understand why you felt like a missing word on the tip of his tongue.

You tried to change the subject, asked what he did. He grinned, said he was about to ship out. “War’s got all of us lining up for something,” He said with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You knew what was coming for him. You knew what would be taken, what he would lose. The thought of saying goodbye to this version of him all whole and bright, still carrying the weight of other people but not yet his own, made something ache in your chest.

“You okay?” He asked softly, and suddenly he was right in front of you.

You nodded too quickly.

“Just tired,” You mumbled.

“You wanna sit for a bit? There’s a bench over there. I can get you a coffee, might not fix much, but it’s good.”

You knew you should leave. Walk away. Fade into the crowd like you were never here. But you were so tired of trying to hold time back, control it, fight with it.

So you said, “Sure.”

And when he smiled at you like he was relieved, not for any reason he could name, just instinct.

You knew some part of him remembered you even if he didn’t know why yet.

It was only supposed to be an hour. Then an afternoon. Then you were sitting across from him in a corner booth at a diner that no longer existed in your timeline, laughing at the way he wrinkled his nose after trying to add sugar to your coffee because “you take two, right?”

You hadn’t told him that. You never told him that. But his hands had moved like they knew.

You didn’t realize how much you'd missed this version of him. The soft edges. The boyish smirk. The way he looked at you without ten years of blood and war clouding the space between his lashes.

You kept trying to build walls in your head: You can't stay. You can’t fall. You already have. And he hasn’t. Not yet.

But walls don’t hold when he laughs like that. When he walks on the outside of the sidewalk. When he offers you his scarf with the easy warmth of someone who doesn’t know he’s offering you your own heart.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” He said one evening, after the third day in a row of walking you nowhere in particular. “You feel like… déjà vu.”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t anyways. Your fingers tightened on the edges of your coat. He was falling for you again, and he didn’t even know it.

“You keep saying you’ll only be in town a little longer,” He added. “But it feels like I’ve known you for years.”

You turned your face away so he wouldn’t see the shimmer in your eyes. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” You whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He hesitated. “Then why do you look like you're already saying goodbye?”

Because you were. Because every day you stayed, time grew thinner, tighter, like a thread ready to snap. Because he was supposed to go off to war soon. Because every choice you made could fracture what came next. The real timeline. The future.

Your Bucky, the one who carried your toothbrush in his go-bag and made late-night pancakes, was waiting. He just didn’t know it yet.

But this Bucky, this one right in front of you, looked at you like the rest of the world blurred when you were near. He reached up, brushed a lock of hair from your face, and the contact made your heart seize.

“I don’t wanna mess this up,” He said softly.

You blinked. “Mess what up?”

He swallowed, then shrugged with a half-smile. “Whatever this is.”

You didn’t know what to say. You never imagined falling in love with the same man twice in one lifetime and feeling him fall for you all over again without knowing why.

That night, as you sat on a rooftop watching the city dim into shadows and neon, Bucky sat beside you, shoulder to shoulder. The quiet between you wasn’t heavy.

And you realized, with a dull ache, that time wasn’t your enemy. It was your prison.

Because no matter how much you loved him here, no matter how much of him remembered in ways that couldn’t be explained, you didn’t belong in this moment.

You were just borrowing it and borrowed time always runs out.

It didn’t feel like falling this time. It felt like grief. You didn’t cry when the world fractured again. You just closed your eyes and let it happen, let time do what it does best: move on without asking.

You woke up on the floor of your apartment. Everything smelled wrong in a different way now. It was too modern, too real, too here. The mug was still broken, your hand still trembling. Only seconds, maybe minutes had passed.

But you had been gone for days. Maybe longer.

“Bucky?”

Your voice cracked into the empty air. No answer.

Panic rose in your throat. You scrambled to your feet and burst into the bedroom. And there he was, sitting on the bed, rubbing a hand down his face. Shirt rumpled. Concern heavy in the lines between his brows.

His head snapped up the second he heard you. “You okay?” He asked, standing in a rush. “You just… disappeared, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” You lied.

He reached for you, hands framing your face, scanning your eyes for any hint of damage. But when your lips parted, he paused.

“…You were gone longer than a blink, weren’t you?”

You nodded, barely.

Something in his jaw twitched. “How long?”

“A few days,” You said quietly. “In the past.”

His arms slowly dropped. His expression unreadable.

“…How far back?”

You met his eyes and whispered, “Brooklyn. 1943.”

He exhaled sharply, taking a step back like your words had physically knocked the wind out of him. His gaze flicked past you for a moment, unfocused. Then back.

“You saw me.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped between his knees. You moved toward him instinctively, but stopped when you saw the look on his face.

That look, like someone remembering a dream too vividly.

“I knew it,” He murmured. “I knew I knew you.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t tell you who I was.”

His lips parted slightly, like he was going to ask why, then didn’t. The silence stretched until it cracked.

“There was this girl,” He said finally, his voice low. “Just showed up outta nowhere one day. Said she was lost. But she had this… this look in her eyes. Like I already knew her.”

Your throat closed.

“I tried to move on after she left,” He said, laughing bitterly. “Told myself it was nothing. That I’d imagined the whole thing. But for weeks after, I kept dreaming about her. About you. And I thought it was just more memory loss from Hydra, another gap I couldn’t explain.”

His eyes met yours. “But it wasn’t, was it?”

“No,” You whispered. “It was real.”

He stood again, slowly. And when he stepped close, there was something different in the way he looked at you. Not new love. Not discovery.

Recognition.

“You wore that coat,” He murmured, fingers brushing your sleeve. “You liked your coffee sweet. You asked me about the war but didn’t flinch when I told you I was going. You looked at me like… like you were already mourning something.”

Tears threatened, but you blinked them back.

“I was.”

He exhaled shakily, cupping your face like it grounded him. Like you grounded him.

“I loved you then,” He said quietly. “I didn’t know your name. But I loved you.”

You didn’t respond with words. You leaned forward and kissed him like time had never taken you from each other at all. And when he pulled you closer, holding you like he’d waited years to do it again, you knew something else, too:

Time may have scattered you through the years, but his love found you every time.

[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt. 6 - australia, march 15 2025

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10

wordcount: 1735

Coming back from the lodge felt like stepping back into the real world. While you settled back in London, splitting your days between work,  catching up with friends and Dylan. Lando’s preseason schedule consumed him completely. Between testing, media obligations, and rigorous training, he barely had time to answer texts. Max was the bridge that kept everyone connected, his group chats filled with memes, updates, and occasional calls to check in.

The first race weekend arrived like a jolt of adrenaline, pulling everyone together again. The paddock was buzzing, cameras flashing, engines roaring, and an unmistakable energy in the air.

You didn’t have to look far to spot the papaya orange of McLaren’s setup. Lando’s teammate for the season, Oscar Piastri, stood just outside, chatting with a group of mechanics. He looked calm, but there was a stiffness in his posture that gave away his nerves.

“Hey, Oscar,” you greeted, stopping by. He turned, offering a polite smile.

“Hey,” he replied. “Excited to be back?”

“Definitely. Though I think you’re the one everyone’s excited for.”

Oscar laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “No pressure, right?”

“You’ll do great,” you assured him. “you’ve got Lando to show you the ropes.”

At that, Oscar chuckled, glancing toward the garage. “Yeah, he’s… helpful. In his own way.”

“Translation: he’s been teasing you nonstop?”

“Pretty much,” Oscar admitted, grinning now.

Before you could continue, Lando emerged from the garage, spotting you immediately. His face lit up with a wide grin, and he jogged over.

“Well, well, look who’s here!” he said, pulling you into a quick hug, keeping his arms casually around you as the conversation continued.

“I’m here to keep you out of trouble,” you teased, putting your head back, resting it on his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I mean, as good as it gets when you’ve been stuck doing PR interviews all morning,” Lando replied, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Oscar cut in. “He loves the attention.”

Lando gasped in offense. “Betrayed by my own teammate. Unreal.”

The paddock was as much about racing as it was about the people who made it feel like a second home since the karting days.

“Finally!” Max called out, spreading his arms, walking over. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to see my twin sister grace us with her presence?”

“Max,” you said dryly, but pulling him in a tight hug. “It’s been what, a month?”

“One and a half, but who’s counting?” he shot back, pulling you into a tighter hug. 

“Feels like we never left, huh?” he smiled nostalgically.

“Speak for yourself,” you replied with a small laugh. “Some of us don’t get paid to stand around looking cool.”

Max smirked. “Someone’s gotta do it. Besides, I had to keep an eye on Lando during preseason. He’s useless without me.”

“Fewtrell,” Lando said, glaring at Max.

“You ready for qualifying?” you interrupted. 

He nodded, his usual confidence tempered by the quiet intensity in his eyes. “Yeah. It feels good to be back. Preseason was… long.” He hinted at his break-up with Magui.

“Tell me about it,” you said with a small laugh, thinking about how busy he’d been. You had barely seen him outside of a few fleeting texts and FaceTimes over the last couple of months. Max had told you not to bring up the break-up too much, but you felt bad not being there for him a lot.

As if reading your thoughts, Lando added, “It’s good to have everyone here, though. Makes it feel normal again.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air. “Ah, there she is!”

You turned to see Christian Horner striding toward you, his usual confident grin firmly in place. Behind him, a few Red Bull team members hovered, chatting among themselves.

“Our favorite Red Bull athlete’s girlfriend,” Christian said warmly, clapping you on the shoulder. “Dylan’s been singing your praises all winter.”

Your smile froze for a second, but you recovered quickly, glancing around to find Lando and Max watching the interaction with identical expressions of barely concealed amusement.

“Well,” you started, “I’m sure Dylan exaggerates.”

Christian chuckled. “I doubt it. I heard you were quite the good luck charm last season. Don’t be a stranger around the Red Bull garage, alright?”

“Don’t worry, Christian,” Lando chimed in before you could reply. “She’s not a stranger.’’ crossing his arms.

Christian turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s with the hostility? Feeling threatened?”

Lando grinned. “Not at all. It’s just worth mentioning—she was a McLaren fan first, you know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Christian shook his head in disappointment. “Well, I suppose no one’s perfect. Don’t let Zak Brown hear that, though.”

Lando smirked, stepping closer. “Zak knows where her loyalties lie. Right?”

“Careful, Norris,” you said, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t test me.”

Christian laughed, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, but his attention was quickly pulled away by someone calling his name from the Red Bull garage. “Alright, I’ll let you lot get back to it. But seriously, swing by later—Red Bull is where it’s at, your boyfriend knows”

As Christian walked away, you turned back to find Max and Lando watching you with matching smirks.

“What?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Favorite Red Bull girlfriend,” Max said, mimicking Christian’s voice. “Hadn’t expected my sister to become that kind of girl”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “At least she knows better than to wear a Red Bull cap in the McLaren garage.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you teased, grinning at his exaggerated look of horror.

-

He won the first race. He actually won the first race of the season. He’d been in F1 for six years but since the wins last year it had been different. You all went out, but Max had to head back early, having an early flight tomorrow for an important meeting. “Didn’t expect you were gonna win” he pestered Lando, hiding his disappointment of having to leave. The club was electric, a blur of flashing lights, pounding bass, and a sea of bodies moving in sync. You nursed your drink at the edge of the dance floor, watching Lando with cautious eyes. Max's voice rang in your head: "Keep an eye on him, alright? He’s been... off since the breakup."

At first, you’d expected to be playing crowd control, pulling Lando out of his usual post-race antics. But to your surprise, he wasn’t bouncing from girl to girl or drowning himself in shots. Instead, he stuck mostly to your side, occasionally wandering off to dance or chat, but always returning.

“You’re not going to drink me under the table tonight, are you?” you teased, leaning closer so he could hear you over the music.

Lando grinned, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the club and the alcohol in his system. “You never know.”

Lando was leaning back, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the room, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“What?” he asked, catching you staring.

You shook your head with a small smile. “Nothing.”

Lando gulped down his drink, his gaze dropping for a moment before he spoke again “So... what about Japan?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a second, you froze. It wasn’t like Lando to address these kinds of things so directly, especially not when he was tipsy, but here he was, his eyes locked on yours.

“What about it?” you asked carefully, buying yourself time. You hadn’t actually told anyone yet.

He gave you a look, his brows drawing together slightly. “You know what I mean. Are you... still thinking of going?”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Actually,” you said, leaning forward a little, “I’m not going to Japan. Not for a long time, at least.”

His eyes widened slightly, the surprise evident in his expression. “Wait, what? Why?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Because I got a bigger promotion. I’m overseeing the Japan project now, which means I’ll still have to go there occasionally, but not for months at a time like we thought.”

The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, and a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

His grin widened. “That’s amazing. I mean, for you. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You sound a little too excited, though. Think you can contain yourself?”

Lando leaned forward, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Not really, no.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned back again, his smile lingering. “I’m just glad you’re not leaving. That’s all.”

Another song started, and before you knew it, he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. You laughed, shaking your head, but didn’t resist. His energy was infectious, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself matching his rhythm, letting the music and the drinks blur the edges of the night.

As the hours wore on, Lando got bolder. His hands rested on your waist a little longer, his fingers brushing your bare skin. He leaned in to shout something in your ear, his breath warm against your neck. Normally, you’d push him away, crack a joke, or remind him to focus on something else. But tonight, you let it happen, trying to ignore the shivers his touches sent up your spine and down to somewhere else.

His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer as the music slowed. You felt his forehead rest against yours, and then his lips brushed yours—soft at first, tentative, testing.

“Lando—” you started, pulling back.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just this once.”

“C’mon, you,” you shot back, trying to laugh it off, but it came out shakier than you intended. “I’m not going to be your rebound kiss. You’re finally free to actually kiss girls at the club.”

His hands tightened slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I don’t want to kiss girls at the club,” he said, his voice steady now, the playful edge gone.

For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hung between you, cutting through the haze of alcohol and music.

“Lando…” you started, but he shook his head, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.

“Forget it,” he muttered, “I’m just drunk.”

You didn’t believe him for a second.

-

WN: Hope you guys still like it! Let me know! Took a bit longer this time, but will try to upload again tomorrow!

tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05@lex2205 @il0vereadingstuff @martygraciesversion381 @joannaln4 @obxstiles@chaoswithus @motorsportloverf1 @therovanperaastonmartini @acesofspadess

[hotwritergf]

Boyfriend!Eddie finds your porn history. Eddie Munson x female reader. Smut. Blurb🍆

Word count- 1.2k

🍆 “Hey baby.. umm I don’t wanna embarrass you..”Eddie was sprawled across the couch, his limbs representing an octopus whilst his curls fell down the arm of the couch. You had let him borrow your laptop, Dustin had split soda over Eddie’s during their latest dnd campaign. He smiles as he notices your wall-paper is a picture of the pair of you, that trip to the forest was one of your favourites.

“Huh?” You spoke, confusion filling the air. You were easily embarrassed so just the thought of being embarrassed made your face flush. “It’s just, I lost my page I was working on so- so I went on the history page to find it again. But I didn’t just find my campaign document, I saw your umm history. Baby I, I don’t want you to be embarrassed I mean we all do it right?” Your face burns under his words, you know exactly what he’s stumbled across.

“Seriously doll, your choices here.. My innocent little girl, isn’t so innocent huh?”He smirks, eyes gazing over your flushed face. You feel stuck to the floor, like any moment now the ground is going to open up and swallow you whole. “Eddie-“ You finally manage to muster up the courage to speak, your words causing your stomach to churn in shyness. “It’s okay. It’s all okay princess. I’m impressed, I mean let’s see here. ‘Blonde babe worships her step-father’s sweaty balls’ Well that’s filthy isn’t it? ‘Anal training’ Oh? You want me to take that other little hole for a test drive? ‘Double penetration mmf threesome.’ Sweet girl I had no idea you could be so kinky! Look at this here. ‘Submissive girl has play time with Daddy.’ Is that me? I’m your daddy?” He teases, his smirk practically audible in his voice as he teases. Your embarrassed self can’t handle much more. He was never meant to see this, these searches they were just late night curiosity. Late night self pleasure when Eddie couldn’t be there with you.

You nod, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Your hands need to be doing something as the anxiety reaches your throat. You swallow it down and gulp in nervousness as Eddie walks towards you. He takes his hand and caresses your face softly. His touch both exhilarating and comforting under the current circumstances. “You weren’t meant to see that.” You swallow the saliva collected in your mouth. “It’s just… porn. For when you’re not here and I- well you know the rest.” You speak so quietly that you could hear a pin drop in the room, the atmosphere was tense but he couldn’t seem more relaxed. Eddie’s smile beams, under the knowledge they were really your searches and you didn’t try and lie your way out of it.

“And are those the sorts of desires my princess has been having on those oh-so-lonely nights where she’s banished to stay in her castle?” He speaks in his dungeon master voice, running his index finger down your throat, smirking as he watches your throat gulp and the goosebumps appearing down your neck and arms. Your feet feel superglued to the floor, stuck in confrontation you can do nothing but stare at the carpet, looking your boyfriend in the eye seems alien in this moment.

“Yes. But don’t think you have to indulge me! If you’re not comfortable we never have to do any of that. I’ll never force you Eds.” You babble, worrying about every word in your speech sounding patronising or rude. You look up to him, doe-eyed with a hint of regret. He smiles, holding the back of your head softly. Cupping your chin with his finger he raises your head to meet him at eye level.

“Oh darling girl. How naive. I would move the heavens and earth for you. You’re asking me to fill both of your holes, let you call me daddy and worship my balls while they’re sweaty? It’s filthy. It’s a little taboo. Perverse maybe. Letting my girl worship me and being able to spoil both of her holes with pleasure? It’s a mere inconvenience, I mean you’re really gonna have to pay me back for this sweetheart you know.” Eddie jokes, speaking in his dungeon master voice again. Knowing that voice always flusters you, as if you needed to be any more flustered.

Staring at the floor, “So you’re okay with it?” You ask earnestly. “More than okay. In fact, come to think of it.. I haven’t showered yet today. Definitely haven’t shaved my balls in ummmm ever? How about you take that pretty face of yours down there and make your daddy feel good?” You needed no further encouragement, you’d already been hiding your arousal from the embarrassment of being found out about your kinks, humiliation being another one.

You unbuckled and shimmied off Eddie’s jeans, palming him through his boxers as he grunts your name and several curse words. He was hard as a rock already, and a small wet patch over his boxers where he’d begun to leak a bead of pre-cum. Instincts took after and you licked up the wet stripe of his underwear, vaguely tasting his salty fluid. With your face so close to his underwear clad genitals, you couldn’t help but breathe in his scent. The odour of sweat and pre-cum mixed together was your perfect aphrodisiac. Nestling your face into his hard on, you inhale all you can of him. Eddie slides off his boxers and takes his cock into his hand, jerking it slowly whilst looking down at you. You look up with ‘fuck me’ eyes and a cheeky smile, removing his hand from his length.

You lean upwards, placing your nose under his cock. His pubes tickle your nose as you lick circles over his fuzzy balls, swallowing the loose hairs that collect on your tongue. “Dirty fucking girl aren’t you? So gross.” Eddie mutters through his teeth biting down on his bottom lip. You smirk, all innocence leaving your body. You steady your hand on the tip of his cock as it begins to leak again, taking one of his balls into your mouth and suckling as if it was a pacifier. You speak as best as you can whilst sucking onto him. The noises you make aren’t translate-able, they’re more-so moans and groans. “Don’t speak with your mouthful angel.” Eddie coos, taking your hair into a ponytail and holding it behind your head. He forces his ball out of your mouth and guides your mouth onto his cock. “M’so close.” He grunts as he fucks your mouth, pulling you backwards and forwards onto his dick so far down your throat that you’re gagging. You slurp up the salvia that begins to dangle from his length. He comes undone in your mouth, emptying the fuzzing balls that were once in your mouth and you taste the liquid that you’ve had a hunger for. A rope of cum hangs from your lip and he wipes it up with his finger, before helping you swallow the last drop from sucking it up off of his finger.

“Thank you daddy.” You look up at Eddie with a shit-eating grin like butter wouldn’t melt. “My good little girl.” He responds, you mentally thank yourself for never clearing your search history. 🍆

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Shelter - 7

Summary: You saved Soap's life. And Laswell has news.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings For This Chapter: Continued military and safehouse inaccuracies, mentions and descriptions of suicide, canon typical violence/gore, guns, attempted accents, and more Soft!Simon

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the latest chapter. I treasure each and every comment and they really keep me motivated! Just three more chapters after this!

Previous Chapter

You spent a strange amount of time just poking at things in your room. There had been a secret door between rooms; surely there were other things for you to find. You’d given up on trying to nap after you stared uselessly at the ceiling for an hour, listening to the muted sounds of the city starting to wake and start the day. You were tired. Exhausted. Had been for weeks.

But you couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t sleep because Simon had kindly offered to show you around a library. What was wrong with you? And how many times have you asked yourself that in the last handful of weeks? And you were so mad at yourself for wanting it. Wanting to see that library with Simon. You knew all of this was temporary. Even if they managed to kill or apprehend Makarov in a timely manner, where did that leave you?

He lived in the UK (when he wasn’t off somewhere around the world doing…whatever it is he does) and you had your life here in Chicago. Sort of. It wasn’t as if you had a job waiting for you. And your lease was nearing its end. And… You really needed to stop this train of thought. It would only hurt you. So, you turned over and shoved your face into the pillow and groaned before getting up and exploring your room a little more.

To your strange comfort, it seemed like your only surprise had been the door connecting your room to Simon’s. There were no secret compartments in your closet or bathroom. The one thing you did find was in the small drawer in the bedside table: a small red button tucked just inside. You knew better than to press it—red buttons usually meant trouble and you weren’t about to test your hypothesis when you finally had a small bit of peace.

Saving you from your boredom for a moment was a new text, chirping on your phone. It was a picture of Kirby and Pauline in the back of a car, bundled up and ready to go, the tiny yellow teddy bear tucked in beside the carrier. “Off on our first adventure!” The picture was probably taken by the post-partum doula or nanny Kirby had hired. Kirby had sent you heaps of potential resumes and then felt content with the two she’d narrowed it down to—and you’d felt a little more secure knowing she had help. She had steadfastly refused any other help you offered, telling you she was determined to do everything on her own. Were you nervous about that? Of course. But she had read every parenting book her doctor recommended, attended every single mothers’ birthing class, researched endlessly about each and every bit of furniture she could buy before purchasing, and went to extra therapy sessions biweekly ever since the situation with Julian blew up.

She’d have help and the money Julian coughed up would probably make everything a little easier. They’d be okay. You could be waiting in the wings if anything came up, and Kirby knew that. Kirby needed to be Kirby. And you needed to be okay with that.

Ugh. You did not need to be having all these emotions before breakfast. You typed out a quick, “love you guys!” message and deleted the perfunctory “stay safe!” you had first added and instead just added a single heart emoji. There. Nailed it.

As if on cue, your stomach rumbled. It had been a while since you’d eaten—a burger and one half of a chocolate bar you split with Kirby before dawn at the hospital hadn’t exactly been a complete breakfast. And thinking of the chocolate had you remembering Simon had been the one to buy it—not that you could ever forget any of this. Or him. And you knew it was stupid. Stupid to hope, to want…but you still found yourself going over to the hidden door and knocking. Maybe he’d get breakfast with you.

But the wall didn’t open and you tried to ignore how something ached in your chest because of it. Well, you could still get breakfast anyway. But first, you decided to give pilates another try, queueing up a workout on youtube and regretting it only a few minutes in. By the time you finished, your arms were shaking and your legs hated you but the shower felt nice. You slathered a bit more arnica cream across your throat when you finished. It would still take time for your neck to look normal, but the red in your eyes had steadily decreased.

You turned your attention to the extensive room service menu that had been tucked beside the sleek bedside table lamp and tapped your finger against the thick cardstock, mulling over your choices. You flipped the menu over, trying to make sure you knew all your options and instead found a small history of the hotel. Apparently it had always been “family owned” since its opening right before World War I. Interesting. Had it always been a safehouse? Either way, the matcha sounded good. Eggs Benedict, too. You ordered, feeling a little ridiculous—you’d never ordered room service before—but the person on the other end of the line was nice enough. It might have been the manager, but you weren’t entirely sure.

Your throat ached as you set the phone back in its cradle. All of the excitement yesterday definitely did a number on it all. Maybe tonight you’d actually sleep well… You weren’t going to hold your breath about that, though.

A knock sounded at your door a few minutes later (after Kirby had texted you back, another picture of Pauline, snuggled in her bassinet), it was probably your breakfast, but you still checked the peephole and felt a small bit of tension leave your shoulders when you recognized the manager on the other side.

She held out the covered tray with a smile. “Excellent choices, if I do say so.”

You returned her smile and took the tray, mouth watering a little at the smell of it. ���I didn’t think you’d be the one to deliver it.”

She shrugged. “We don’t let just anyone up here. And the kitchen was busy anyway, two birds, one stone and all that.”

Briefly, you remembered how breezily she checked you all in, smiling at John the entire time. She really must have seen some stuff to not care that a known terrorist was looking for people who were hiding in her hotel. “Still, that was kind of you.”

She waved that away, too. “I’m sure Laswell said you could ask for anything,” she said, a knowing smile on her face.

“She might have said that to the guys.” Not to you. You were sure the no-nonsense woman you’d met back in the UK didn’t particularly want to think about you at all. You wouldn’t hold it against her; you hadn’t made the best of impressions.

She nudged her arm into yours. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re one of them right now. Maybe it’s just for now, maybe it’s just for a little longer, but for now, you are under my care and the hotel’s protection.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of you. “Sounds like a bit of a steep promise.”

The manager shrugged. “It is. But my family’s been doing this for generations. I know how to keep you safe.” Her watch beeped before you could even attempt to process what she’d told you and she smiled again. “I’ve got to run. Please, enjoy your breakfast.” And then she was gone, disappearing down the hall and into the elevator.

What an enigma of a woman. Again, you thought of Price’s interactions with her. Just what had happened between them? Hmm. Oh well. Probably just another question you’d never get the answer to. You settled onto the overstuffed armchair in front of the giant television and tried not to think about the man on the other side of the wall.

Simon had spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at the hidden door that led to her room. Wondering if she actually fell asleep. Wondering if her short time with her sister and niece was enough to make her happy. Or settled. She’d once asked if he had anyone to get back to after all this was over. He didn’t. And after she had told him about what she had gone through, he thought about his own family. His mum. Tommy. Beth and Joseph. And for a moment, short and aborted, he thought about telling her what had happened to them. She might understand. There could be understanding there, instead of the pity anyone else who knew his story usually met him with. But, again, Simon pushed it away.

Pushed it down, ignoring how the thought echoed and ached.

But it didn’t really matter because Price called them all to his room, telling them that Laswell had called with news. That could have been good. But Simon knew better than to think this all would be over soon. And then a strange, selfish thought struck him, too, as he followed Kyle to Price’s room. This gave him more time with her. She’d been quiet after he offered to show her the library before he watched a small smile push at her perfect mouth. And he thought about it until Price had called them.

But any sort of hope was quietly stuffed away when Price fixed them all with that look that Simon knew well. And maybe he should have been expecting this. Something didn’t feel right. It was too quiet. Simon knew Makarov played the long game. But Laswell had been briefing them about how several more of his caches had been destroyed and more of his men had been killed but Makarov hadn’t been spotted. There was no chatter from him or about him despite Laswell, Farah, and Alex all hunting for him.

Laswell was waiting for them, videoing in on the laptop Price had set up on the small table in his room. Simon stood at the back, letting the others take the chairs closer to the laptop. Price turned toward Laswell, his mouth set in a thin line. “We’re here, Laswell. What do you have for us?”

Laswell sighed. “I found who leaked your location.”

“And?” Johnny said, leaning forward in his seat. He was chomping at the bit to get some sort of revenge. Their families had been targets. No doubt Johnny had wanted to make him feel exactly what his mother had felt. And Simon knew that he hated that she had been hurt. The feeling was mutual.

“He’s dead.”

“What do you mean he’s dead?” The question had an obvious answer but it needed to be asked, if Simon was being honest.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say.” Laswell shook her head. “The man I tracked down when I figured out who leaked where your team was located shot himself.”

Price looked at Simon who looked right back. “Confirmed, then.”

“I was the one who found him, John.” Her breath crackled over the line. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

No. She wouldn’t. But this still all stank of something he didn’t like.

“I’m still tracking down who he sent his intel to, but I hope to have news for you soon.”

It was someone Laswell had worked with, not necessarily trusted, but relied on in some capacity. That was a betrayal. A deep one. Shit.

The video disconnected soon after and they all seemed to just look at each other. Silently processing what they’d just learned, calculating their next move. What options did they have? Moves to be made. Risks assessed. Before any of them could voice their thoughts, the computer beeped again. Simon watched Price type in a code and then sigh.

“I need a bloody drink.” The captain rose, in search of the morning drink he wanted, and Simon slid into the chair he vacated.

Simon didn’t blame him for wanting a drink. That was an appropriate response. Laswell had sent over a batch of pictures from the leak’s apartment. Probably taken when she’d gone to confront him. He clicked through the pictures, trying to tell himself that this was one loose end tied up in a neat bow. But there was a voice at the back of his head that kept whispering that something wasn’t right. There was more to this than one man’s apparent greed and Makarov playing him for a fool. Simon stopped, pausing on one of the photos of the man, his head back against the edge of his computer chair with blood and bone and brain spattered behind him on the white wall.

Everything on the desk was neatly arranged. Stacked. Organized. Now marred by the mess of his death. And yes, Simon knew death was messy. Could be messy. But people sometimes took care to make sure it wasn’t. And the more he looked at the surrounding room, Simon surmised that this man was a person who would take care to make sure his death wasn’t messy.

It didn’t fit.

The bruising, exit wound, and spatter might match all the hallmarks of a man seeing no other way out after committing treason. But it didn’t fit.

Kyle stepped to his side and bent down, just enough to look at the photos and Simon could see him working through it, too. He knew he would. “Staged. Someone else pulled the trigger. Held the gun beneath his chin while he hoped he could talk his way out of it.”

Simon nodded. Kyle had put the pieces faster than he had, but Simon knew he would.

Johnny was quick to take his place on Simon’s other side, reaching over him to click through a few pictures. “Is Makarov in the States?”

Simon glanced back at the picture before shaking his head. “We would have heard. Laswell wouldn’t’ve let ‘im slip by like that.”

Kyle’s mouth pulled into a thin line as he stood straight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then there’s another problem.”

Simon almost hated that he was right. All of this just meant it was even more complicated than they had previously thought. And it already was a fucking nightmare. “There’s another person on the inside.”

Kyle grimaced. “Covering their tracks.”

Price walked in, half-empty glass of whisky in his hand and eyed them all. “So you see it, too?”

“Seems like it. Wasn’t acting alone.”

“I have no doubt Laswell saw it, too.” The glass clinked as Price set it down on the window ledge. “But she’s playing it quietly. No confirmation on anything else until she has answers.”

Simon knew that was the wisest way to do this but it still grated at him.

“How high does this go?” Kyle asked. Simon could feel the rage radiating off of him. But he always kept a tighter leash on it than Simon did. It was something Simon respected about him, one of the many, actually. And it was why he trusted him so implicitly in and out of the field.

Johnny frowned and then turned abruptly toward Kyle. “The lass’ flat was untouched, wasn’t it? When ye went to get her stuff?”

Kyle nodded. “Everything seemed fine. Wasn’t exactly looking for cameras though.”

Simon nodded, too. And everything had been in its place. He wondered how long it had taken her to make it feel comfortable. Not home, exactly. But a place she knew she could rest her head, like his flat in Manchester.

“But that bastard knew her name, no? Nearly killed her at the hospital in London. Why would he leave her flat alone?”

Simon chewed on that thought. He did know her name. And while there might be other people with her name but Makarov—or at least one of his men—knew she was American. If they’d taken her purse, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine they knew where she lived. But why had her flat been untouched? “Laziness, possibly.”

“And he knew we were hiding her. She wasn’t going home.”

But that small fact was still a glaring part of the picture that someone knew they had been moving her.

“Do we move again?” Johnny asked.

“Moving us now would just confirm that we are here. And if it doesn’t, we are out in the open until we get to the next safehouse.”

“What other options do we have, Captain?” Kyle asked. But Simon didn’t miss the way his eyes went to him first. “She is still an asset and a target. We are still targets and Makarov is in the wind.”

Price leaned forward, mouth pulled into a flat line. “Way I see it, we can move and take our chances or we stay put and get ready.”

They didn’t like running. And the plan had always been to lure Makarov into a trap. Why couldn’t they do that here? And the silent looks between the men seemed to show their quiet agreement.

And then something whispered at the back of Simon’s mind. And then he remembered the curve of her lip. Her smile and the way she simply wanted to see her sister and her baby. “We need to tell her. Get ‘er ready for it.”

Price grimaced but didn’t refute Simon’s logic.

“She deserves to know. She’s in this with us.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look pleased about it. “If you think she can handle it.”

“She will.” Simon had watched her outmaneuver Johnny and fight like hell to live against a trained operative. She could handle a bit of book camp. He knew it.

“And the manager might want to know what’s happening. You seem to know her best, Captain. Want to break the news?” Kyle asked, face straight.

Price sighed.

You were on the last dregs of your matcha when you heard a sharp knock…on the wall. You turned and watched the hidden door open. Simon filled the space, broad shoulders brushing the sides—and no, that didn’t make your mouth water. He wasn’t even wearing any sort of gear, just a hoodie and loose joggers, swapping out the jeans he’d worn to the hospital with you and he looked better than ever. (Shut up!)

“C’mere, yeah?”

You frowned, not expecting the invitation, but stood anyway and let him shuffle you into his room.

It wasn’t that much different than yours. Same color scheme. Same layout. There was just one large, glaring difference. The closet door was open and the entirety was filled with weapons. Mostly guns, but you spied a few knives, too. There were also a few vests, that you surmised were kevlar or something along those lines. It really was a mini arsenal. This hotel kept surprising you.

Gaz and Soap were waiting inside as well and you resisted the urge to think the worst and smiled, feeling it twitch on your face. “Everything okay?” The stretched silence that followed only made your nerves start to fray, like overused yarn.

“Everything’s sorted,” Gaz said, arms folded neatly across his chest. And you wanted to believe him. You did. You could trust him and the others to protect you like they’d done before. But something wasn’t right.

You glanced at Simon, and he was already looking at you over the edge of another surgical mask. Your heart did an embarrassing little leap behind your ribs. And then you looked at Soap. There was a bit of calculation behind those unnervingly blue eyes. “C’mon, Soap. Out with it.”

He smiled, a bit of pink touching his cheeks. But the smile didn’t last long. “We’d like ta teach ye a few things.”

“Things?”

He nodded, overgrown mohawk flopping a bit. “Just in case.”

And those three words had your stomach sinking. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

“It’s just a precaution.”

And that was how you found yourself in the hidden firing range behind another false wall down the hall (apparently you had been right about there being more to your floor than a few rooms on this floor). It was entirely soundproof with a small sparring ring tucked behind it and another wall filled with guns and other weapons. No wonder the manager seemed so sure she could protect you. Kyle was patient as he adjusted your grip on the small handgun he said would be a good fit for you and patient still when your arms shook as you focused on the target. You didn’t like guns. But when he pressed, gently and kindly with hints of his megawatt smile, you promised to keep the gun in the drawer beside your bed. They were doing this to protect you. They liked you at least enough to try and give you a fighting chance. This was a kindness.

Soap was next but didn’t last very long. “Would ye like to learn how to make a bomb? Just a wee one.”

“No, thank you.” Jesus Christ.

To your surprise, Price walked into the large room next and then handed you…a crowbar. He taught you a few moves with it, telling you to aim for the neck if need be. “You might lose a gun, miss a moving target. But you can always hit them with that.” Comforting.

Then, to prove his point he turned and waved over Simon, who had been silently watching along the back wall (not that you were always innately aware of where he was in the room).

“Attack her.” The captain waved a hand at you before clapping Simon on the shoulder.

“Let’s not do that,” you said, words falling out of your mouth before you could think of something else to say.

Simon, however, stepped closer and held his hands up a bit, as if he were making sure you knew he was unarmed. That wasn’t exactly comforting. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I’d never ‘urt ya.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and you felt every syllable wash over you. He wouldn’t hurt you but he was trusting you to swing at him with a goddamn crowbar. He trusted you. They trusted you.

Straightening your shoulders, you tightened your grip on the crowbar.

And then he moved. No one that big should be able to move that quickly—it didn’t seem fair—and you were flat on your back. You swallowed the lump in your still sore throat as you looked up at him.

“Try again,” Price called out.

So you did. Again and again. You managed to clock Simon in the arm exactly once and earned a round of applause from the other men, all of them decidedly ignoring that you were supposed to be aiming for the neck. Your arms and legs were screaming at you (again) by the time Price called him off.

“Ye did good, bonnie,” Soap said with another smile. “Proud of ye.”

Oh god, you were going to cry. Tears stung and your battered throat ached with the effort to hold them back as you handed the crowbar back to Price with an uneven smile. “Thanks for keeping me alive.”

“Fair play,” Gaz said, clapping you on the shoulder. “Kept Soap alive. Kept us from eating through the house. You’ve been good to us.”

You cleared your throat, trying to swallow down the emotions. They didn’t need to see all that. “Just trying to-”

“Earn your keep?” Price asked, blue eyes near twinkling. “None of tha’. You’ve done more than enough.”

It wasn’t many words but you didn’t think Price was a man who used flowery prose or words to anyone. But that didn’t stop it from meaning the world to you. How many times has someone said you’d done enough? You could probably count them on one hand. So, you simply nodded and murmured, “yeah, sure. Anytime.”

Gaz, Soap, and Price eventually trickled out, leaving you and Simon alone in the large room. “C’mere.”

You walked to his side, a strange jittery exhaustion pulling at the edges of your mind.

“I want to show ya how to get out of a few ‘olds. Yeah?”

Like the guy who’d try to strangle you back at the safehouse. This training made sense—and no matter how well you (didn’t) shoot or swung a crowbar, you felt like this bit was more practical. And you felt safe with Simon. Simon with his dark, warm eyes and rough hands.

He led you through a few grapples and moves to break a stranglehold—he never aggravated your throat, his grip gentle if not bordering on nonexistent. He even muttered something about getting you more cream when you finished.

As strange as it was—he was pretending to strangle you—you never felt unsafe with him. Not when he came up behind you. Not when he charged forward. Not when he bent you across a bench and coached you through how to maneuver around it while your neck was tucked into the corner of his bent elbow. Never.

“You did good. But I want ya to do better, olright?” He asked as you broke another hold.

You nodded and then the broad expanse of his palm was dragging across your throat and he was pushing you back back back until your spine collided with the padded wall behind you. You tried to ignore how your chest brushed his with every breath you took. The attempt flew right out the window when he wedged a firm thigh between yours.

“Remember whot I told ya.”

Right. Focus. You turned in his loose hold and shot your arm up, remembering the move he’d taught you earlier. But he must’ve moved or you did something incredibly wrong (more likely of the two options) because when you turned to drive your arm down, meaning to break his hold, your finger caught on something and it snapped against your palm.

You watched, a little confused, as Simon’s mask dangled uselessly off one of his ears. A scar, old and jagged, stretched from one corner of his mouth up to his ear. Another bisected it on his cheek. More scars twisted across his mouth and down his chin and-

You smacked a hand over your eyes. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you more masks. I-”

A now-familiar hand, gently pried your hand away from your eyes but you still kept them closed. He wore a mask for a reason. You weren’t about to betray him like that, even if it was an accident. You didn’t mean to. You didn’t!

“You can look. ‘S fine.”

“Not fine.” Eyes still closed.

“I’m saying ‘s fine.” But it was the gentle swipe of his thumb against your cheek that had your eyes slowly opening again. He meant it.

You watched, almost transfixed, as Simon reached up and unhooked the other side of the small mask. The simple act had your heart leaping and racing beneath the cage of your ribs. Your fingers shook with every bit of skin now exposed to you. He had scars. Some big, some small. And you had been correct in thinking his nose had been broken before but you liked how it sat, a little crookedly, on his face. His brown eyes didn’t move away from you as he shoved the small mask into his pocket.

Your hand raised and then froze, uselessly hanging in the air between you. It had been a selfish want to touch him. You hadn’t asked and he hadn’t given permission. Shouldn’t it be enough that he trusted you with this?

Before you could apologize or try to covertly play off why your hand was halfway to his face, Simon reached out and his thick, scarred fingers circled your wrist in a gentle grip and he dragged your hand up up up. The tremor in your hand ceased as soon as your fingers brushed against the warm skin of his cheek. Your thumb traced against the scar that cut from the corner of his mouth and up toward his ear. A cruel slash. And he was so handsome.

Your heart ached when you felt him press a little more into the warmth of your palm. His long blond eyelashes fanned against his cheek as his eyes closed. He was so beautiful.

“Simon.” His name was a prayer. A promise.

He moved closer, the heat of his body bleeding across yours.

And then his mouth brushed yours. It wasn’t a true kiss. Not yet. Just his lips, scarred and cold, against yours. But you kissed him, pressing your lips against his with an embarrassing insistence that you couldn’t stop. But the embarrassment did not get a chance to fester, not with how his large hands framed your face and you could feel him smile.

“Olright?” He murmured as he pulled back the slightest bit, letting his large hands smooth lightly down the sides of your neck to rest over your shoulders, warm and heavy.

Your heart fluttered. He cared. “Yeah. This is good. Y-you’re good.”

His thumb and finger hooked your chin and he tilted your face toward his again.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thanks, again, for reading! Your comments mean the world to me and really keep me motivated.

[ecrivainsolitaire]

Humans have the capability of perceiving when they're being stared at, even if they can't see it.

Dr. T'Chem was staring at Lieutenant /θkɡɾɑːˈŋæ/ (or as his current fling affectionately nicknamed her, "Tucker-Annie"), whose dorsal spikes were still rattling after the incident at the holodeck. It was his first time at the witness stand, and he didn't want to ruin a young star sailor's life.

Lieutenant Tucker-Annie was the combat specialist in charge of the training dojo of Federation Vessel TSN457, named after the Terra-Saturn-Ceres coalition where Dr. T'Chem currently served as the xenoanthropologist charged with facilitating human integration to the local Federation of Fraternal Planets and Satellites. The FFPS had the goal of finding planets with intelligent life to trade resources and technology, and due to their recent incorporation, local research vessels were fitted with diverse crews to acclimate everyone to each other's cultures and biological needs. Dr. T'Chem was the human expert in the ship, and was tasked with helping smooth over interpersonal relations among the crew.

The relations were, at that moment, as bumpy as Lt. Tucker-Annie's dorsal spike line.

An incident had occurred during a training exercise. The squad consisted of a Venusian, two Saturnians, three Ceresians, two monks from the Transcorporeal Temple of Robotic Ascension, and five Terrans (two humans, two dogs and a cybernetically enhanced cat). The exercise consisted of getting through a generic jungle scenario and, unbeknownst to the squad, avoiding a team of ninjas lead by Lt. Tucker-Annie trying to take them out one by one. It was supposed to test the way they would react to a surprise attack.

It was not supposed to reveal that humans could sense when they were being stalked.

Of course, any trained sailor would have an ingrained knowledge of potential threats and how to spot them. Look for the shadows that are too dark, listen for the spot air isn't blowing from, things like that. Basic things most people don't think about but that can be identified if you think about them.

This was not that.

"Something's watching us," said Crew Johnson, in that sloppy way only creatures with lips spoke.

"What do you mean? There's cameras everywhere, of course they're watching us," responded Crew Hessikh, slithering over the vines on a tree branch to cross a river. She grabbed the axe in Crew Johnson's belt with her telekinesis and took down a small tree to serve as a bridge.

"Crew Flufflepaws, could you please take a look?" Asked Crew Johnson, nervously looking around. Crew Flufflepaws got on the tree as well and scanned the terrain from above.

"I can't see anything, or smell anything. And my hearing isn't what it used to be. I'll stay on the lookout for—" a horrendous hiss interrupted the automatic translator's feed. Crew Flufflepaws' comm line cut off.

Hessikh and Johnson looked at each other. That was the strongest fighter of their team, gone. They knew it was a simulation, but it still gave them chills.

The rest of their crew mates were split into two different teams further along the path. Crew Fanning's voice came from the comm line.

"Johnson, Hessikh, are you okay? What happened to Flufflepaws?"

"We don't know, Johnson said something was watching us and it went to check, then we lost comms."

"I felt it too. I know this isn't that kind of exercise but I think— AAAHHH!"

Two blaster shots were heard, then a thud.

Lieutenant Tucker-Annie, who was watching Hessikh and Johnson from the mud pit behind the latter, had her tranquilizer dart ready. She got ready to shoot down Hessikh, but then heard a voice over the comm line.

"Code Lithium, we have a Code Lithium, we have to end the simulation, I just took down- I can't-" the breathing was sounding heavier and faster, too fast for a human.

"Fanning, calm down, remember your sutras. We need you focused, what happened?"

"I felt like I was being watched, so I turned around and saw this thing and it scared me and I jumped and I thought it was on stun mode and-"

"It's alright, we're calling it off. Captain, we have a Code Lithium! End the simulation now or- fuck, there it is again. Hessikh, do you see any heat sources?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary- why haven't they shot it down alre-"

The next thing Lieutenant Tucker-Annie remembered was the sound of a heel turn over the mud, followed by darkness.

Lt. Tucker-Annie woke up in the hospital bay, getting her tail regenerated by a robot nurse. She looked over and found her underling on the next bed, with a huge bandage on the side of his neck and a wing in a cast. Thankfully, he would be alright as soon as the stem cell bank was reprogrammed after her treatment.

The disciplinary board was called, an investigation was open, and both Crew Fanning and their captain were put on paid leave while the investigation was ongoing. Dr. T'Chem was called in as an expert after a review of the holodeck footage revealed there was no way Crew Fanning could have heard, seen or smelled the hidden sailor.

It was the first time in a while he hadn't helped himself to a glass of Venusian whiskey for breakfast. He really didn't want to mess this up.

"And would you care to explain how this is possible, Doctor?" Asked the prosecution, staring him down with an unnerving amount of eyes.

"I am as astounded as this court; our firm has been looking into Terran medical literature and we're still trying to figure out how it works; they don't even know, but they know it does happen, it's been documented for thousands of years. I have a hypothesis, but I don't know if it's even testable."

There was a murmur in the court. The judge asked him to elaborate.

"The way eyesight works is the light bounces off of opaque bodies and in its way it collides with the lenses in our corneas, which send it to the brain as electrical signals to be interpreted. The light that doesn't go into our eyes just bounces off our bodies and other opaque objects as well, the photons go everywhere and anywhere. This is the same for most species in this constellation, including humans. But even other Terran species don't have these abilities, as Crew Flufflepaws has testified."

A begrudging meow was heard from the audience.

"Order in the court, please. Dr. T'Chem, what do you suggest is the origin of this mysterious sense?"

The camera drones all hoovered around him. Dr. T'Chem straightened his fins and got close to the microphone.

"I believe it's possible that humans have a sense of touch so sensitive that they can feel the photons that don't bounce back. The ones that go into an eye instead of an opaque body. I think humans can actually feel in their skin when they are being watched."

There was an uproar in the crowd. His paramour, a dark skinned young human from the human settlement known as "Colombia", grabbed the religious symbol on her necklace and made a gesture with it he hadn't quite figured out yet.

The trial had to go on recess.

The implications were incalculable. Three dozen biologists from six different planets, including Terra, had emailed him before the end of the day to ask him to justify himself. Multiple human religious leaders took the chance to link it to demonic possession or moral evils. By the end of the week, four different labs were trying to figure out a way to double blind test shooting a photon cannon on a human's back and trying to get them to sense it.

But most importantly, the news made it outside of the Federation. The rumours about this new species that couldn't be stalked got so far, it ended up affecting the outcome of a border conflict with the Betelgeuse Libertarian Army on the Federation's favour.

Humans were terrifying.

If this is what they evolved to be, what was their planet like?