hello hello!!! after many moons i’m opening my requests for a bit. please remember i only write ftm, male, and gn readers!!! guidelines if you need them :)
•Tw: Reader and Alex do drugs, is mentioned that Reader has scars (not sh)
•Summary: Alex could always convince you to go to places you didn't want to go.
•Note: so today you have Alex x male reader, aaah long chapter todaaaay, actual long chapter, im proud of that. Also im watching EMH, when i finish it i will probably write something about it 😼
•Parts: ɪ ♱ ɪɪ ♱ ɪɪɪ (you are here)
ꜰᴏʀ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴍʙɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴ ᴛᴏ:
🎧ᴘᴏʀᴋ ꜱᴏᴅᴀ - ɢʟᴀꜱꜱ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟꜱ
Your room never had decorations, you never truly felt the need to buy something and put it on your wall. Honestly nothing really stuck with you. You may like some movies but never bought a poster and put it in your room, you liked music and had some cds or cassettes, but even the bands were random and their styles vary so much one from the other.
As bizarre as it looked, the white walls brought nostalgia to your head, you didn't hate nor liked that feeling, but familiarity gave you comfort. As you looked at the plain ceiling, the cold light giving even more hospital vibes, you felt chilly, opposite of how the outside was, with the warm sun touching your window. You sat on your bed and looked around as you sighed, the feeling of ending high school and being a fresh “adult” didn't really feel real yet, but today was another day and Alex was gonna take you to a party in about two hours. You didn't truly leave your bed today, letting your body rot, not having any energy to do anything, but you accepted Alex's invitation because you knew he just wanted you to get out of your house.
Besides, knowing him maybe it wasn't even that big of a party, maybe it was something chill with just a few of his friends.
To keep it short it wasn't, Alex decided to step away and said hi to some people, and you really tried talking to people. Key word tried, the music was making your head hurt as you felt you were the only one hearing static under the loud music, random people that you were sure only wanted to talk then tried to kiss you without even asking. Finally, as you stepped away from all the people and stationed yourself in the kitchen, you wanted to have some kind of drink but after seeing all the different of empty bottles besides a big bowl with almost no color you decided to just stay there while eating some pizza that was there (and also hoped that it didn't had any hidden drug).
After a while Alex appeared and leaned beside you, a slight alcohol stench was stuck to him and stole the slice of pizza you were eating.
-ugh this party is trash-he looked at you while eating-sorry for taking you out of your cave to this shity place-
You sighed as a slight smile appeared in your lips, fatigue appearing in your eyes as you tried not to yawn-i dont mind the action of taking me out of my small jail, but next time i will prefer just something random and easy…-you looked at his lips and noted a pinkish tone in them-besides i think you came here for another reason-
He looked at you confused, then you made small kissing noises while making your hands “kiss” with each other. Alex rolled his eyes as a small pink hue appeared in his cheeks.
-I was just talking with someone but…meh didnt really change anything-he shrugged and cleaned his lips, you forced your eyes to look somewhere else-wanna go to my house and get high?-
You left a deep sight at his boldness and shaked your head, after you guys got out and you drove his car to his house, trying not to punch him every time he tried to screw you over while driving. Finally parking outside his house.
Now, his room was way different than yours, though that's not too hard to achieve if we are being realistic. He had posters, his computers, random shit everywhere as well as dirty clothes, it was more normal than yours. That always made you feel kind of uncomfortable, the bare idea of it made you feel a weird distance between you and him, as if you were so different from him in different ways that you couldn't really recall. Yet, here you both were, 5 years after you guys first met, 2 years after a weird (but known) feeling inside your chest every time you see him. A comfort in being with him, a sense of security you didn't really get with others since your childhood.
You trusted Alex with your life, and part of you liked to think that he felt the same.
-Your parents are gonna kill us-you said, sitting in his bed, your back resting against the headboard-the smoke is pretty much everywhere…-you slurred as your hand was in his hair
It was longer then, your fingers being able to comb him as he held his glasses, his entire body resting besides you, his head in the pillow and his eyes closed.
-nah, besides i am leaving so, they cant really get angry when im about to be gone-he murmured, his hand now also covering his eyes
-that makes no sense at all…dumbass…-you murmured-they still are gonna find us here-
You liked the time alone with him, it was one of the few things you enjoyed this last few days, even when you didn't go out that much he was there with you. But you wouldn't ignore the nervousness in you every time, especially the moments where you felt vulnerable against him, when you were only a step away from spilling the truth inside your head and heart. The walk you did every year, the things you saw even after you took your medication, the things you didn't remember.
-so, what? nervous that we are alone?-
That he could sense whatever you had feeling for him lately, what your mind lagged whenever he was near, how weirdly fascinated you became. Remembering everything, his schedule, his routine, his likes, his dislikes…especially the girls he liked.
-huh?-you answered him-why would i? we are almost alone all the time-you chuckled-im always here in your room with you-
He smiled and moved, your hand falling and him looking at you, sitting besides you, only a shoulder length distance between the two of you-you always try to act like you dont care about anything…-he pointed his fingers to his lips- i was wondering if you would have noticed it before…-
You looked at him shocked, your slightly numbed mind being unable to form a fitting lie, then shaked your head as you looked at anywhere else but him-i dont even know what you are talking about…-you murmured, your posture turning more rigid
He chuckled-dont worry, i like how possessive you get sometimes, makes me feel like im someone interesting-he puts his glasses again and looks at you more directly, his eyes slightly closed but you could see the small glimpse in them
-your high Alex, you are saying dumb shit-you said slightly irritated with his attitude, your sober state appearing because all the stress pretty much eliminated the drug.
What the hell was going on? Was he playing? Was he truly doing this now? God you wanted to run away so fast, your head was hurting. You focused on the poorly made cigarette that was still burning on the tableside.
-no, not that much anymore…-he got closer-you just have to tell me to fuck off and i will…-he whispered
You could hear your own heartbeats, your hands were sweating and your mind was screaming to say yes, to not step away and to let him get closer. Your heart agreed and your pupils were dilating.
-but, i need to hear a yes too-
You answered, maybe too low, maybe too fast, maybe your “yes” sounded almost desperate. And as he got closer, and your lips touched, and your head exploded.
You still felt incomplete..
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈·˖✶𓁺✶˖
Your breathing was rapid when you woke up, hearing your own heartbeats like a constant hit in your head, as if your heart was about to stop. After a few minutes your breath out, calming your nerves and making your body realize that there isn't a lion about to eat you right there. You got up and walked lazily around your house, your feet pushing away any soda can on the floor. When you reached the bathroom and got inside, your eyes looked at themselves in the mirror, looking at yourself. The visual image made you grim, you looked dead, your eyes were tired, your body was hunched, the scars around your torso and arms were a vague memory of something long forgotten. You sighed and just continued with your odd routine.
When you were at your kitchen, hot cup of coffee in your hand to try and pry away the tiredness, you heard your phone ringing. You answered quickly, not really thinking who could it be, hoping to hear another tired and raspy voice, preferably owned by a guy with sideburns
-Hey…-Alex voice wasn't the one you were hoping to hear
Your hand tightens around the phone, the other almost throwing your cup. You weren't expecting him, not after the fight you guys had a few weeks ago, before his production in Marble Hornets stopped (a “break” in his words) In all honesty you really wished it was Tim’s voice, you didn't had any contact with him these days. You liked Tim's attention, you used to like Alex’s too.
-What do you want?-you questioned, leaving your cup on the table and feeling the scars ache.
-uh, i thought you were going to answer more kinder, maybe even worried-his voice talked with a slight humor behind it
A part of you knew he was right, you are supposed to be worried after having no signal from him after five days, but your mind was a mess, you were a mess.
-Well after whatever shit happened the last time we met, I was really trying to not talk to you for a few more days-you finished drinking your coffee-im more worried about the others, do you know anything about them?-about Tim? you wanted to say
You heard him chuckle, you knew that it was sarcastic-no i dont, look, i wanted to fil these past few days and i talked with Tim and he showed me a place…-he sighed-i want to see it with you so we can decide how to film in it-
You laughed slightly, anger slowly appearing at his stupidity, he fucks up, he doesnt say sorry and then he asks for help, he can go a fuck himself.
-Im sorry, Okay? i was being stupid…please help me-
You stayed silent, as your demeanor calmed itself and, out of your control, memories of a past friendship made you want to fix this with Alex.
-Okay, just…tell me where-
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈·˖✶𓁺✶˖
When Alex told you where, your heart stopped. You wished that he was wrong, that your mind was wrong. But as you parked and your hand began shaking, your eyes watered looking at the path. You took a deep breath, many questions appeared in your head, why here? was it here? does Alex know? Tim remembers? God maybe you should stop being so secretive to people you care and love.
-Hey-you looked at Alex as you stepped out of the car, trying to act as you were okay
-Alex…-you whispered, your mind trying to anger itself so maybe you ignore all the instincts to run away from here
-I know, im sorry-he go closer- i just want to make it right, and you are important to me-he looked at you-you are my best friend and the one i trust the most in all of this-
You took a deep breath, this scenery of him asking you something weirdly resembled an old scenario.
-but i want to know that you want this too, and that I didn't made you drop the projet-
Maybe too much, you sighed, putting your hands in your pockets and nodded, your lips moving before your mind did-you know i’ll always follow you Alex…we can talk about the fight later-
He looked at you and smiled, nudging his head towards the path and started walking. You followed him, staying silent most of the time, acting as if you didn't know where he wanted to go, as if the path wasn't engraved in your head. He talked almost all the time, something about filming, something about Tim and how he showed him this place. You asked about Tim, hoping that he knew if something happened to him, Alex just shaked his head and said no, that his calls were also ignored.
You knew that he was hiding something, but in all honesty you didn't know if you could trust your mind when it's in a fight or flight mode. More now, as you stepped closer to the woods, closer to the place. You stopped right in front of it, Alex was already inside, you didn't realize that he stopped talking for a long time now. He was looking at you, as if expecting something.
-Alex, i-i dont want to go there…please just-you took a step away, you were already trembling and you couldn't stop it
-Hey something is wrong?-he asked, the shadows from the trees hiding his face for you to see him.
-Yeah, its fucking creepy Alex! I hate this place, why don't we just choose the other one?!-you voice raised, looking around, your heartbeat was louder this time, you could hear everything, the leaves brushing each other. Branches breaking, and a very low and almost quiet static
-Because this place is better! C’mon don't be a bitch about it-he said louder this time, angry that you weren't stepping in, that you weren’t getting closer.
-NO! Fuck this Alex, at this point i dont even believe you, you dont know where Tim is, even though you where here with him, you talked to me about help about the “filming” in here AFTER WE HAD A FIGHT BECAUSE I TRIED TO HELP YOU-you raised you hand pointing at him, fear clouding your mind and the need to escape bigger-you are hiding something and I DONT LIKE IT!-
You stepped away, giving your back to him, trying to go away. But then you felt someone behind you, an arm around your neck and a piece of paper put in front of your mouth and nose. As a sweet scent started invading you, your hands tried to punch him, causing both of you to fall into the ground, your back on top of him, as tears started dropping and you tried to look at him, your voice trapped, being unable to scream because of his hand.
-This could have been so much easier-you heard as your conscious slowly left
And the static growed everytime more louder, as your limbs went limp and your eyes started closing. You felt its eyes looking at you, your last memory before fading out was its white face.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈·˖✶𓁺✶˖
-> Credits for the first divider: @chrisssiren
-> I made the banner and the other dividers are from a copy and paste page
•Random final note: I'm happy and not happy with this chapter, oh well. Next chapter is going to come out slowly because i need to kind of accommodate the order of each chapter, which entry is in which (it will probably end up being season 3 of Marble Hornets because Tim is mostly there, and I'm kind of finishing season one in this parts)
Liked by hctorforrt_, pablogavi, brianfarinass and 400,543 others
lamineyamal 6am bali, las dos personas más lindas @yourusername81
View comments.
User54: Keyne's chillin
User12: finally a sneak peek at bro's personal life Y/N is winning frfr
User49: Y/N be chillin with his wc champion bf after losing the wc himself😭✌️
yourusername: Lamineeeee
—lamineyamal: 😘
—user43: bros kinda hooked😮💨
...
Lamine emerged from the waves like a gleaming sea god—water dripping off his curly hair, muscles glistening under the Bali sun. He shook his head dramatically, sending droplets flying everywhere.
"Ooh! Cold!" he laughed in that bright, carefree way of his—arms spread wide as if embracing the entire ocean. His eyes were locked on you—sunbathing peacefully with your shades on and that cute little smile playing on your lips.
Without hesitation, he jogged over soaked through… then dropped down right beside you and kissed your cheek. Salty water included.
The sound of your hum—soft, content, like a lazy melody. He loved that you were so calm under his affection.
His little brother squealed again from across the sand, clapping tiny hands and pointing. “Again! Lamiiii again!”
He leaned down over you now, propping himself on one elbow while water still dripped from his curls onto your sun-warmed back. Without asking again, he pressed another kiss—this time to your bare shoulder—and whispered playfully:
“You’re getting really tan.”
You only snort and ask playfully “toasted just right or burnt?”
Lamine’s cheeks flushed—just a little—as you took off your shades, those eyes locking onto him with that warm, amused gaze. He bit his lip for half a second—nervous? Flustered? No one ever saw Lamine Yamal flustered. Except maybe you.
"Burnt," he teased back instantly, voice dropping into that playful-flirty tone. "Like my heart after you kissed me last night."
One of the friends nearby gagged dramatically. "Ugh, not this again!"
The toddler brother just laughed harder at the word grump attitude, clapping like it was the funniest thing ever said in human history.
Lamine ignored them all—too busy memorizing how beautiful you looked right now: sun-kissed skin, messy hair from lying on the towel... perfect.
“You’re getting good at being corny” you smirked lazily.
Lamine pouted—full-on, exaggerated puppy eyes—and flopped dramatically onto his back beside you, sending a little puff of sand up.
"Corny? Me? Never," he said, handing over heart like he was offended. "I'm romantic. There's a difference."
One of their friends snorted from the shade: "Bro says 'cornball' every day and thinks it's poetry."
The toddler brother mimicked him then—tiny arms spread wide—and yelled: “Cornballll"
Lamine sat bolt upright at that, pointing accusingly. "You! You’re supposed to be on my side!"
But when you laughed again—low and rich in that way Lamine loved—the football star melted all over again. He rolled sideways… and kissed you right on the lips. Quick but sweet.
Keyne waddled through the sand like a tiny, determined explorer—bare feet kicking up little clouds.
"Beach! Ball!" he chanted over and over in his baby voice, arms flailing as he tried to grab the ball mid-air during their game.
The friends were used to him now—this sweet chaos gremlin who showed up everywhere. One of them gently tossed him an underhand pass… which Keyne immediately dropped on his face with a giggle.
Lamine burst out laughing from where he was sitting beside you. "Oh my god," he wheezed. "He’s such a pro" he glazed out loud.
A soft breeze rolled in, waves crashed gently; someone blasted music from a speaker nearby... perfect Bali vibes.
Dinner was set up under string lights near the beach—wooden tables, soft music, and the smell of grilled fish and shrimp pasta in the air.
Lamine’s friends had taken full responsibility for Keyne. They were now a team—passing him snacks between bites of their own food, one even played peek-a-boo to keep him entertained. Keyne wasn’t fussy at all—happy as can be with all this attention.
At their table by the ocean’s edge… Lamine finally got to focus on you. He poured you some wine without asking, then leaned back with that easy smile—the one you adore. The world champion footballer looked completely relaxed: barefoot in flip-flops, hair still slightly damp from earlier showers after swimming.
The food was perfect—fresh fish seasoned with lime and chili, rice that melted in your mouth, grilled veggies dripping with garlic butter. But Lamine wasn’t really tasting it. Not fully. Because every time he lifted his gaze from his plate? He’d catch you—the way the soft golden light caught your profile, how you held your fork… even the tiny smile forming after a bite of mango salsa. He swears he’s not glazing you, mentally. He didn’t say anything. Just looked. Admired quietly like this moment was something sacred—his boyfriend glowing under Bali stars while waves hummed behind them.
One of their friends glanced over and smirked. “You’re staring.” Lamine blinked… then shrugged shamelessly without denying it.
The thing made this whole relationship even more surreal: Lamine Yamal—Barcelona’s starboy—dating one of the most handsome players in world football… from Real Madrid. Most fans would lose their minds over it and they did. But right now? None of that mattered. Because here they were—in Bali—under twinkling lights and salty air… two superstars acting like regular guys in love while eating grilled fish like normal people.
Lamine watched with quiet delight as you finished the last bite of your fish—chewing slowly, savoring it like it was a five-star meal which, honestly, in Bali? It kind of was.
He reached over without thinking and gently wiped a tiny smudge of sauce from the corner of your mouth with his thumb—then brought that same thumb to his lips and licked it clean like nothing weird about that.
His friends would’ve lost their minds if they saw him doing something this soft in public. But right now? He didn’t care who saw.
The second the hotel room door clicked shut, Lamine spun—fast—and pulled you into a kiss that had been building all night. His hands found your face instantly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he tilted his head to deepen it. The salty ocean scent still clung to both of you…
Lamine walked you backward gently until your knees hit the edge of the bed—and then he broke away just long enough to whisper against your mouth:
“Missed you.”
Even though they’d been together all day… even though they practically glued together during the world cup seasonl…This? This was different.
“You talk like we didn’t just fuck last monday”
Lamine let out a breathy laugh against your lips—half embarrassed, half turned on by how blunt you were. He pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Okay… rude" he teased, voice low and playful. "But true."
Last Monday? Yeah. Wild night in their homeland before the flight to Bali—hot sheets, tangled limbs under city lights filtering through the curtains…And yet here they were again—the tension between them flaring up like it hadn’t been sated at all.
Instead of answering with words this time? Lamine kissed you again—deeper now—and his hands slid down from your face to grip your shoulders firmly before gently pushing you backward onto the bed.
The hotel room was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the entire wall—crystal clear glass offering an uninterrupted view of the moonlit beach and ocean beyond. The waves glowed softly under moonlight, gentle and rhythmic, like a slow lullaby.
Lamine paused for just a second as he undid another button on your shirt… his eyes flicking toward that panoramic view. And then—a thought sparked. A very sexy idea.
Lamine took his time—like a chef savoring each course. His fingers brushing against warm skin beneath. He wasn’t rushing. This was gourmet—every inch revealed like an unveiling. The soft glow from the soft dim light lit up your torso—the defined muscles, the smooth chest dusted with faint body hair… and Lamine drank it all in silently before leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss just above their collarbone. lips tracing every newly exposed area as more fabric slipped away onto the floor beside them…
The power shift was sudden—and perfect. One second, Lamine was in control—kissing and undressing you like he owned the moment—the next? He got flipped onto his back with a soft thud against the mattress. You hovered over him now, all playful dominance—eyes glinting with mischief under that moonlit glow from the windows. And when they grinned? Lamine couldn’t help it. A burst of giggles escaped him—bright, boyish laughter that rarely came out unless he was truly happy… or caught off guard by someone taking charge so sweetly.
“Hey!—” He tried to push up playfully—to wrestle control back—but you pinned his wrists gently above his head before diving down to kiss him again: deep and teasing at once.
Lamine arched his back instinctively, hips rolling up against yours—searching for that sweet pressure, that delicious friction. Being dominated like this? It wrecked him in the best way. Normally he was the one flirting first, teasing relentlessly… but when you took over—confident and playful—the effect was electric. His breath hitched every time their bodies pressed together through layers of fabric still half-on. A soft groan slipped out as Lamine bit his lip to muffle it… but then gave up trying to stay quiet entirely. He loved how strong you felt above him—not rough or demanding in a harsh way—but just in control, making all the moves while Lamine melted beneath them like warm honey.
You moved with slow, deliberate care—peeling Lamine’s shirt up and off like unwrapping something precious. Each inch of skin revealed was kissed or gently nipped—collarbone, shoulder, chest… you savored every patch like it was the first time you’d touched him. Lamine shivered under the attention—not from cool, but from sensation. The softness of lips here… a teasing bite there… his breath came quicker now, fingers curling into the sheets beneath him.
Lamine’s fingers slid gently into your hair—soft curls between his fingertips—as the kisses traveled lower… down his toned stomach, each one making him tense with anticipation. His breath came in shallow little puffs now. The touch was electric—so light yet so intense—especially when you paused to press an open-mouthed kiss right above the waistband of his pants.
A quiet whimper escaped Lamine this time.
He didn’t push or beg aloud… just tightened his grip slightly in that beautiful hair, silently begging for more.
Lamine’s breath hitched as his boxers were tugged down and off—cool air brushing against warm skin for just a second before you shifted away. He lay there in the unbuttoned shirt, completely exposed—heart pounding, cheeks flushed. When he saw you pull out the condom and lube from their travel bag—the quiet crinkle of packaging—a jolt ran through him. Not nervous… not hesitation… just want. So much want.
He bit his lip again, watching every movement: how you prepared calmly like this was something natural between them, how careful they always were together…And then those eyes met Lamine’s again—dark with affection and desire.
Lamine’s entire body tensed—then melted—the second that first lubed finger pressed gently against him. It was so soft. So careful. You weren't rushing, weren’t rough—just slow circles around his entrance, warm and patient like they had all the time in the world. And then those thigh kisses… soft lips trailing up his inner leg between each teasing touch…The contrast drove Lamine wild—the sheer size of you hovering over him, yet touching him with such tenderness it made his chest ache. He exhaled shakily, hands gripping the sheets again—not from discomfort but from overwhelming sensation: pleasure building low in his belly with every gentle press… every tender kiss along sensitive skin…
Lamine relaxed into the first finger—his body warming up, trusting your touch completely. And then… another. You added the second with that same quiet precision—stretching slowly, patiently, giving Lamine time to adjust. No pressure. Just smooth movement and careful attention to every micro-expression on his face.
It was amazing how good you were at this—not just physically skilled, which you obviously were, but emotionally present too—their eyes never leaving Lamine’s as if checking: You okay? You good?
The dual sensation of two fingers working gently inside him while lips continued trailing soft kisses along his thighs made heat pool in Lamine's belly... a warm, throbbing kind of pleasure that made him sigh deeply.
Your lips traveled upward—slow, warm kisses along Lamine’s stomach, tracing the soft curve of his abs and that delicate happy trail of hair leading up to his navel.
Each kiss sent little tingles through Lamine—not ticklish exactly, but sensitive in the sweetest way. He squirmed slightly beneath you, not to escape… just reacting—to every touch feeling a thousand times more intense now with your fingers inside him like this. The combination was intoxicating: two fingers moving gently in rhythm while those tender mouth kisses mapped higher… higher…
And when you finally reached Lamine’s lower chest—your breath ghosted over bare flesh before you pressed another soft kiss there. Your tongue swirled slowly around Lamine’s nipple—teasing, warm, slightly wet from the kiss that followed. The mouthing was soft at first… then firmer—a gentle suckling. A damp spot formed where you kissed him again and again, lips glistening with a sheen of saliva. Lamine arched subtly into it—a breathy little sound escaping him as sensation sparked through his chest. He loved how you worshipped every part of him—even small details like this—and now he could feel that attention radiating straight to his core…
You carefully withdrew your fingers, then stood up—slow and deliberate. Boxers shoved down over your hips… until they pooled at the floor. Your cock sprang free—half-hard but thickening fast in Lamine’s palm when he stands up. Their eyes meeting again—and for a second? Just looked. Taking him in. All warmth and want building between them without words.
Lamine grabbed a condom from the nightstand—smooth motion, confident now—and slipped it into his palm like he’d done this before because he had. Then, with that sly smirk playing on his lips—he gently nudged you backward… toward the floor-to-ceiling glass wall.
The ocean stretched endlessly beyond—waves shimmering under moonlight—but inside? All attention was on each other. The view didn’t matter anymore. Not when they were about to be close in every way possible.
Lamine tore the condom wrapper with his teeth—quick, smooth, a little messy—but he didn’t care. Then he took the condom in hand and slowly rolled it down your length with gentle precision. His fingers brushed over warm skin as he worked—deliberate touches that weren’t just about getting ready… but savoring this moment.
Once finished? Lamine looked up into your eyes… no smirk this time. Just soft hunger—and then leaned in to kiss you deeply again.
The kiss broke with a soft pop—a thin string of saliva connecting their lips for half a second before snapping. Then you moved fast. Like you already read Lamine’s mind and knew what he wanted.
In one fluid motion, you turned Lamine around and gently pressed him against the glass wall—his palms flattening against the cool surface to brace himself. The ocean stretched endlessly beyond, shimmering like scattered stars on water.
Lamine’s back arched instinctively as you lined up behind him—the heat between them now electric. Every breath fogged slightly on the glass in front of Lamine’s face while his heart hammered… waiting… anticipating…
Lamine’s lips parted—he bit down on them the second he felt the first press of you against him.
The sensation was electric. The risk? Even more so. Anyone looking up from the beach—from a passing boat, or another hotel window—they could’ve seen him like this: pressed to glass, shirt hanging open, palms flat as his body arched into you… completely exposed under moonlight and ocean air.
It turned Lamine on so much. Being this vulnerable in such a public-yet-private moment. And that soft gasp? It slipped out before he could stop it when you pushed just the tip inside—slow… teasing…His breath fogged up a tiny spot on the glass right in front of his face.
His fingers curled against the glass—knuckles whitening slightly—as you began to move. He tried to relax. Tried so hard. Breathed deep, loosened his shoulders… but the steady rhythm of your thrusts? Too much. Too good.
Each smooth push unraveled him further—his body tensing not from discomfort, but from overwhelming pleasure crashing through every nerve. A shaky breath escaped him in little puffs that fogged up the window again and again. His hips rocked back instinctively—not pulling away, just meeting each motion halfway… chasing more without even meaning to.
Your movements grew more eager—less controlled, more feeling. Your hands gripped Lamine’s hips firmly—thumb digging into soft skin just above the bone—and each thrust became a little deeper, a little harder. Not violent or harsh… but passionate. Urgent. The sound of skin meeting echoed quietly in the room, mixed with their breathing and the distant lap of waves against shore. You weren't trying to be rough… it just happened—the heat between them was too intense to stay gentle forever. Lamine gasped again at one particularly strong push—the glass wall cool against his chest while his body burned from within. Every nerve lit up, every breath came quicker than before…
Lamine had dreamed about this—exactly like this. After winning the World Cup, after all the pressure and spotlight…He wanted this: salt in his hair, sand on their feet earlier that day, music humming faintly from a distant hotel party down the beach… and you—his boyfriend—giving him pleasure in the most thrilling way possible. Against glass. Fully exposed to anyone who might look up. Heart pounding not just from sex—but from adrenaline. The risk of being seen? It made every second hotter.
This was his victory: wild love under moonlight with someone who adored him exactly as he was.
The sharp smack of your hand against Lamine’s ass echoed softly in the room. Lamine gasped—more from surprise than pain—and immediately bit down on his lip to stifle any louder sound “mphm—agh!-” . The sting bloomed into a warm tingle, spreading across his skin where the impact landed.
It wasn’t rough… but it was surprising. And sexy as hell. His body tensed for a split second before melting again, hips pushing back slightly like he wanted more without saying it. His palms stayed pressed to the glass—breathing shallow now—as you continued moving behind him with that same eager rhythm… and maybe even adding another playful swat soon.
Lamine’s body reacted instinctively—the spank sending a jolt through him that made his muscles clench around you.
It was involuntary, but so good. The tightness pulled pleasure sharper, deeper—like every nerve lit up at once. He didn’t mean to do it… but his body was singing now, craving more friction after that sweet sting. His breath came in soft hitches—still biting his lip—but the way he subtly rocked back against you showed everything: he loved this. Loved how bold and close they were right now. Just heat… rhythm… and Lamine silently milking every drop of sensation from each movement behind him.
Lamine’s breath came fast and uneven—each exhale fogging the glass right in front of his lips. A quiet curse slipped through—something soft like “Yes right there—!” or “fuck!”—mumbled against the window, barely audible. Not from pain or frustration… but from how intense it all felt.
The pleasure coiled low in his stomach—a hot, tight spiral building with every thrust behind him. His body trembled slightly with restraint, he didn’t want to moan too loud—but god… it was getting hard not to. His fingers curled again on the cool surface as he braced himself—not pulling away, just riding this wave of sensation that kept growing stronger…
Lamine was talking now—soft, breathy Spanish slipping out between gasps.
"Ni se te ocurra parar—!" he murmured against the glass—the words half plea, half demand. Meaning Don’t you dare stop.
And then your hand slid up his side… warm and sure… until it curled gently around Lamine’s neck—not squeezing tight, just a firm hold. A light pressure meant to tease.
It messed with him in the best way—having that strong grip there while everything else felt so intense below. His pulse jumped under your palm, his breathing hitched even more. It was possessive in that quiet, affectionate way only they knew how to do.
Lamine’s whole body locked—A ragged gasp tore from his lips as pleasure crashed over him like a wave—his orgasm hitting hard and sudden, knees buckling for just a second. He had to press harder against the glass to stay upright, arms trembling slightly.
But you didn’t stop. Not even close. Still moving behind him—steady, relentless—the rhythm continued without pause. The sensation was overwhelming now: oversensitivity mixing with the aftershocks of release… every nerve buzzing wildly. Lamine panted heavily through it all—cheek still resting near the window—as tears pricked his eyes from how intense it felt… but he wasn't pulling away. Not at all.
The sound of skin and their shared breathing filled the quiet room now… only broken by Lamine’s soft whimpers each time a particularly deep thrust hit just right. He could do nothing but take it—the pleasure long gone into something more electric and fragile.
You adjusted—your hand slid down from Lamine’s neck to rest firmly on his stomach, warm and grounding. The other stayed at his hip, anchoring him in place with gentle pressure.
It wasn’t restraint like holding someone down… it was caging—soft but possessive.
And then you hit that spot again—that sweet spot—over and over. Each thrust deliberate now, zeroing in on the exact angle that made Lamine’s breath catch even through oversensitivity.
You leaned in—your pace still steady but gentler now—and pressed your lips to Lamine’s shoulder from behind. The kiss was soft at first… then came the gentle scrape of teeth—a teasing bite that didn’t hurt, just marked. A faint hickey began forming on warm skin. You kissed and nibbled along Lamine’s shoulder from behind, each touch leaving a small claim—subtle proof of their intimacy. Quiet affection wrapped around pleasure as you kept moving inside him with slow, deep rolls of your hips.
Your body tensed—breath catching in a low, shuddering groan as the climax crashed over you. Buried completely inside Lamine. Your hips pressed flush against him, muscles tightening with the intensity of it.
The room went quiet except for their breathing—the waves outside continuing their endless rhythm like nothing had changed… even though everything had just shifted between them. You didn’t pull out immediately. Just stay there—forehead resting gently on Lamine’s shoulder—for a few long seconds while your heart pounded and reality slowly crept back in…
You kissed down Lamine’s back—soft, lingering pecks along his spine and over the warm skin where sweat had begun to glisten. Each kiss was small. Gentle. Almost innocent in how tender they were after what just happened.
And oh—Lamine loved this. More than anything right now: the quiet affection, the way you showed care through touch instead of words… these little kisses that felt like a secret language only they understood.
He didn’t say anything—just melted into them, shoulders relaxing completely for the first time since everything started. His breathing slowed… calm now… content…
You carefully slid out—slow and gentle to avoid any discomfort—and Lamine, still catching his breath, reached for you. Without a word, he nudged you backward onto the bed. Not rough—just needing that softness now: lying down together after all that heat.
The moment their bodies touched the mattress again—Lamine curling right into your side—the exhaustion from pleasure hit them both at once. The adrenaline faded, muscles went loose.
Then Lamine sprawled out like a starfish—limbs loose, chest rising and falling steadily as he caught his breath.
A lazy smile curled on his lips before he turned his head toward you. His voice came out soft, slightly hoarse from everything—the Spanish rolling off in that sweet, affectionate tone only he used when completely relaxed.
“Eres tan jodidamente sexy…” just stating something beautiful about you that made him feel dizzy with love and lingering pleasure.
“You remind me that everyday, pulpo” you chuckled softly.
Lamine laughed—a quiet, warm sound—and reached over to pinch your cheek playfully.
“Pulpo…” he repeated with a grin, loving that silly nickname. It had started weeks ago when Lamine admitted—that octopus was his favorite. And right now? The smirk on your face made Lamine feel stupidly adored.
Morning light filtered softly through the glass walls, painting golden streaks across the room. Lamine stirred—groggy and heavy-eyed—as a tiny weight pressed onto his back. He blinked slowly… then realized Keyne was sitting right on him, little hands tugging at his messy curls.
“Lamine… wake up! Wakeup!” Keyne chanted—excited and loud like only a three-year-old could be. Lamine grumbled sleepily into the pillow but didn’t push him off. Instead, he nuzzled deeper for half a second before attempting to roll over—and immediately squished Keyne with an accidental hug that made them both giggle.
You sat quietly beside them against the headboard, phone raised. A quiet smile played on your lips as you snapped photos of this sweet chaos: Lamine half-asleep being attacked by baby brother energy while sunlight spilled over them all…
Lamine turned his head, still half-buried in the pillow, and gave you a sleepy smirk.
“Buenos días, osito…” he mumbled—voice thick with morning warmth. The nickname slipped out naturally: osito— little bear—a term of endearment only for you because you were always so big and soft at the same time.
His curls were a wild mess from Keyne’s playing—and there was probably drool on his cheek too—but Lamine didn’t care. He reached one arm out lazily toward you while keeping Keyne tucked against him with the other. Keyne giggled again and started poking Lamine’s nose like it was a game now.
The little group walked into a cozy beachside restaurant, where the scent of grilled fish and spicy sambal hung in the air. You carried Keyne effortlessly—one strong arm supporting his tiny body while the other held Lamine's hand. The three-year-old wasn’t heavy at all, and you treated him like your own family—no hesitation. You smiled down at every giggle or random comment Keyne made in broken Spanish. Lamine watched them from across their table as they were seated… heart swelling quietly.
Here were you—big football star, man who could’ve demanded peace during meals—but instead? Holding a squirming toddler on his lap like it was nothing. Asking for milk for Keyne before ordering anything else himself.
And Lamine? Got to relax… eat his fried rice without interruption… enjoy vacation time because of this kind, loving boyfriend.
Hihi can I ask of you're still writing for marvel characters? If so is there anyone specific you'd like to write for?
hello!!! i am currently writing for marvel. there's only three characters i am not writing for (bucky, alexei, and bob). pretty much any other character is fair game! as for characters id like to take a crack at, ive been trying think of something to write for john walker for a minute, but i simply can't come up with an idea or plot. peter parker is also p fresh on my mind so i kinda wanna try to write something for him too
Warnings: male reader, Omega male reader, mpreg, pregnant reader, fluff, angst, hurt to comfort
Notes:
Summary:
Tag list: @polluxhasrisen @lazyanimal-things @ilocuras24 @rainglitchblonde
(Name) Didn't mind occasionally covering for someone, an officer for the operating room having come down with a high fever and unable to safely work, the Omega working diligently in his old stomping grounds and then... It happened. He felt the world shake when the meteors hit, only to find out that they weren't meteors but Kaiju, lots and lots of Kaiju...
He watched his mate fight with grace and power, his heart racing and eyes focused at the screen before him.
“Another one...” He mumbled, listening to Kafka's voice as he gave directions that were rather impressive while watching 2016 work, he never bothered to learn her name, she was the director's kid but from what he saw... She was rather cocky but he was curious to see her use the weapon he made.
He worked hard on it after all.
He was curious on what she would do with the final product.
She was wearing his pride and joy and in her hands something he made with love.
And she was working brilliantly.
“Perhaps I will learn her name” he mumbled as the blond planned a rampage, the Omega grinning widely.
But his alpha... He was struggling.
He could barely keep up.
He was scared, he was always scared but this was new.
“Open gate number three, (name).” his voice firm and serious, an edge to it that had never been directed at (name), the Omega a little startled but knew the Alpha was quite literally fighting for his life, He did as he asked and anxiety coursed through him,He didn't want to raise his pup alone... “he removed an arm” (name) mumbled, pleased “sorry for barking at you, baby” he teased and (name) smiled “don't you worry, good plan” he smiled into the mic and the small chuckle made him feel a little more secure.
“Make sure you come back to me, yeah?”
“I always do”
(Name)s eyes widened when everyone arrived, (name) feeling warmth in his chest and watching everyone work as a team, reminded him of his early days.
‘makes me proud...’
He couldn't let his guard down though, turning his attention back to Shinomiya with worried eyes he watched his mate fight, the monster's voice confusing him, it spoke and fought similarly to a human.... What was it...
He wanted to study it.
“And there he goes...” He grinned before his alpha sliced the red creature apart only for it to regenerate, eyes widening as they fought once more, (name) leaning close “beat his ass baby!”
“Not yet!” He barked back and (name) froze, the thing... It was growing, massive and grotesque...
“It's turning into a giant...” (Name) mumbled, unsure what to say as he heard the words “9.0” leave his friends lips.
He couldn't beat that thing.
His weapons weren't equipped for something like this.
HE wasn't equipped for something like this.
(Name) Could only stare at the screen, fear in his veins and hand on his stomach, he didn't want his mate worried about him stressing out and kept it together but his eyes spoke a different story.
‘Please live...’ he begged anything, anyone who could make sure he came back.
He forced himself to watch... “He's overheating” (name) mumbled and he needed to get out, he needed to get him out but he couldn't go into the field and pull him out, he was nowhere near him, why couldn't he fight with him!
Soshiro needed to escape while he was still breathing, he needed to get the fuck out.
Now.
He watched him slumped over “Soshiro! Wake up!” (Name) Cried, looking at the screen and his eyes widened when he saw his mate sit up “‘m not gone yet...” He felt his body shake, he was alive.
He was alive.
“Hows it looking out there?”
“Ecacutis almost complete”
“Then I better finish up here”
“No! You can't!” (Name) Cried out but his alpha did what he wanted and (name) felt his eyes water as he was tossed.
And all he could do was watch.
As he was grabbed.
He was going to die, he was going to be alone and he was going to lose his mate! He was watching the love of his life get killed, nothing he could say or do to change anything as he felt his feet vanish under him, no one could blame him... Many felt for him, Konomi didn't know what to do as (name) prayed to any deities to make sure the Alpha lived.
“Good job handling the fort everyone”
And then a bang, (name) snapped his head up at Mina's voice, body moving fast as her cannon fired at the Kaiju with a sickening blast, his mate getting out with the help of.. “Shinomiya...” He would remember that name, the one of the Alpha who worked beside his mate to make sure he stayed alive.
He was alive.
“Your dad's alive...” He managed to say and he could barely hold back tears, this pregnancy was messing with him.
He looked at the blond girl and smiled, eyes warm and he chuckled to himself ‘Shinomiya...’ He was gonna remember a lot of names it seemed.
He watched his team fight valiantly, warmth in his chest and his mate was so focused.
Slicing and dicing...
“I want to turn that thing into a suit” (name) mumbled as it was blasted to nothing... Just a fine mist of guts.
“It's down!”
(Name) Let out a breath, slouching over and Konomi rested a hand on his shoulder “you aren't raising that pup alone, he's safe” one of the few people who knew of the pregnancy, knew (name) was struggling with it all and (name) let out a wet laugh, he could barely keep himself together.
“What the fuck is that...” A voice on the coms spoke and everyone looked at the screen confused.
And then.
They saw it.
All of them... Clustered in the sky.
“They don't do that...”
“Holy shit is that...”
“A nuke of kaiju...”
And then Kafka ran, not away but towards it, (name)s eyes widening and anger surged through him at the reckless and stupid behaviour “What is he doing?!” (Name) yelled as Kafka... Transformed?”
“He's... Kaiju... Number eight?”
What.
What the fuck.
They had a Kaiju in their space, this soldier who worked alongside them was the Kaiju they had been hunting?! (Name) Could only stare at him, knowing his alpha felt betrayed, he was rooting for the alpha as he wanted him to thrive and succeed in life.
But now, he didn't know what to do.
Everyone was frozen, stunned at this.
‘he saved them...’ the Omega thought, anxiously watching the bomb go off and hoped to god everyone he loved was alive.
And... They were.
And everyone surrounded him, guns up as he was taken into custody.
And (name) felt unease in his heart, he couldn't bring himself to be mad, this alpha saved everyone he loved.
He was a hero, (name) didn't care.
And when he came back, (name) was going to ask so many questions.
$ log - a wendigo leaves you bruised, but it’s dean winchester's surprisingly gentle hands that actually throw you off. he claims he’s just fixing your cuts, but the way he holds you says something entirely different.
$ warn --sfw --gn!reader --soft!dean --crushing!dean --romantic-tension
$ wc -w 1.8k
$ cd masterlist / dean-winchester
# authors-note = poll winner!
The Impala pulls into the lot of a motel you don't catch the name of. Dean is out of the car before the engine even dies; you are still reconciling the fact that he pulled over at all.
He never stops. Two weeks ago, he drove four hours with a dislocated shoulder and a gash held together by butterfly strips he'd applied one-handed at a red light.
Dean does not yield to weakness. He doesn't squander money they don't have on a vacancy sixty miles from the bunker just because somebody caught a few scrapes.
Except, apparently, he does.
Sam gets the card tossed through the window without ceremony. "Get us checked in." Not a question.
Sam looks at you in the rearview, looks at Dean, and says nothing. He takes the card and goes.
You watch him cross the lot with the slow, deliberate stride of someone choosing very carefully not to comment; the absence of a reaction feels louder than any lecture.
Dean opens your door.
You start to swing your legs out — "I'm fine, seriously, they're not even deep"—but his hand is already on your elbow. Gentle enough that you can't call it manhandling, firm enough that arguing feels pointless. When you try to angle toward the motel entrance, he steers you toward the front of the car instead, hoisting you directly onto the hood of the Impala.
The Impala. The car he once made a grown man apologise to for leaning against.
He doesn't seem to register the hypocrisy. He just pops the first aid kit open, arraying supplies across the warm metal beside your thigh with a methodical, clinical focus: alcohol swabs in a row, gauze, butterfly strips. It’s the strict order of someone who has done this a hundred times — mostly on himself, mostly without stopping the car.
He tilts your chin. He doesn't ask first; two fingers hook under your jaw, turning you toward the parking lot light like he's adjusting a lamp. The unstudied ease of it is what catches in your throat. He touches you like he holds an unspoken prerogative he never requested and you never granted, yet it exists anyway.
The gauze is so light on the cut above your eyebrow that you barely feel the sting. You feel his breath, though. The near warmth of him. He is close enough that you could count the stitches on his jacket collar if you needed somewhere to look that wasn't his face.
The silence stretches, filling the void between you with the ticking of the cooling engine and the distant hum of the highway. His jaw is set — has been set since the treeline — and you have spent sixty miles constructing a defence in your head.
"Are you mad?"
"Yes."
Everything in you locks. Your shoulders draw in and your fingers curl against the hood as the apology you've been assembling since the car surges up your throat.
But his hand stops. He freezes with his palm still cradling your jaw, gauze held a half-inch from your skin. He is looking at the cut, but he isn't seeing it anymore. He is seeing whatever just transpired across your face.
You don't know what you look like right now. But whatever it is, the sight pulls him out of his own head with a kind of reluctant gravity — like a man surfacing when he'd rather stay submerged.
His thumb shifts, settling against your jawline instead of just holding it. The difference is imperceptible and enormous.
"Not at you."
He goes back to the cut. You sit in the quiet of that correction and try to find somewhere to put it while his fingers work a butterfly strip along the graze, moving with a steadiness that doesn't match anything else about him right now.
"You read the treeline faster than I did," he says after enough silence that the words feel almost extracted. He doesn't look up. The pad of his thumb stays warm and unhurried against your temple as he presses the strip into place. "Salt line was clean, too."
You don't know what to do with any of this — the softness of his hands, the precision of his focus, the fact that he's treating scrapes you'd have cleaned up in a gas station bathroom like a task requiring his undivided engineering. So you do what you know how to do: you make yourself smaller.
"Dean — the motel, the supplies." You gesture vaguely at the kit, at the parking lot, at all the money evaporating around you because you zigged when you should have zagged. "We're losing time on the case because I —"
"You'll be fine by morning."
"That's not the point —"
"So we pick it back up in the morning."
He states it like simple arithmetic. The budget he guards with his life, the timeline he runs like a drill sergeant, and the medical supplies he rations like wartime currency have all quietly rearranged themselves around you. The math came out fine; he cannot fathom why you're still doing long division on a problem he's already solved.
He moves to the scrape along your collarbone, easing the neckline of your shirt aside to reach it. His knuckles brush your skin. He doesn't pause, but something in his breathing hitches — just a fraction, just enough that you'd never catch it if you weren't sitting this close.
In his head, the equation has nothing to do with money.
A good hunter reads the attack before it lands. A good hunter doesn't let their partner bleed. He is a good hunter — has been since he was sixteen, has built his whole identity on the chassis of it — which means every strip he presses into your skin is penance for the half-second he didn't close. It's a tether against the fraction of a breath between the wendigo's pivot and its reach where he should have already been moving. The supplies aren't a cost to him; they're evidence.
"Dean." Your voice drops softer now, because you're starting to understand that the set of his jaw isn't about budget lines. "You can't predict a wendigo's attack pattern. Nobody can."
He stops what he's doing and looks at you. Not past you, not through you, not at the cut he's supposed to be cleaning. At you. For a moment, the rigid architecture of his composure fractures, revealing that whatever lies underneath is not anger.
"Yeah," he says. "I will."
You almost laugh. The sound gets halfway up your throat before something in his face catches it: the absolute, granite-set certainty of a man who has decided that precognition is just a skill gap he can close with enough effort.
You can already see it: Dean at the bunker table at two a.m., six lore books fanned out like a war room while he maps attack trajectories and pivot speeds because you bled tonight and he has filed it under problems he can brute-force if he just works harder.
It's irrational. It's arrogant. It might be the most tender thing anyone has ever said to you.
He finishes the last scrape, cleans it, covers it, and smooths the edge of the bandage down with his thumb. Then he stops moving. His hand simply stays, resting just below your collarbone—not pressing, not doing anything functional anymore. Just resting there, warm, broad, and still.
You don't move either.
The parking lot hums. A car passes on the highway. Inside the motel lobby, a television plays something with a laugh track—tinny, distant, and belonging to a world that has nothing to do with this one.
"I've got the room!"
The call carries across the lot as Sam raises the keycard, and whatever sanctuary the hood of the Impala had built around you begins to thin at the edges. Dean blinks and drops his hand. The loss of contact registers somewhere below your sternum like a small, surprised ache.
He slides off the hood first and turns back to help you down. His arm slips around your waist — an automatic gesture, like the next mechanical step in a sequence that makes complete sense to him — and the momentum of your weight tipping forward carries you straight into his chest.
Your hands land flat against him, your body tilting flush into his before either of you can correct for it.
Then, neither of you corrects for it.
His arm remains around your waist, though it has forgotten its original purpose. It isn't helping you down anymore; you're already down. It’s just there, fingers spread against the small of your back, holding on without a reason he could justify if asked. Your palms rest flat over his heart, catching a rhythm that is steady, strong, and slightly faster than it should be.
You look up; he looks down.
The parking lot light catches the edge of his jaw and the crease between his brows that hasn't fully loosened all night. Everything running behind his eyes — the replay, the self-prosecution, the furious arithmetic of half-seconds and failure — goes quiet.
Not gone. Just quiet. Like a room that has been emptied of everything except two people standing inside it.
You've been this close to him before. He's hauled you out of the path of things with claws and teeth, caught you mid-stumble on rocky terrain, and thrown you bodily behind cover when a situation collapsed. But those moments were kinetic and functional, already over before your brain could catalogue the contact.
This is pure stillness: your chin tilted up, your hands spread over his chest, your whole body oriented toward him like something botanical. He looks at you like he has never seen you before — except he has, every single day, and that somehow makes it worse.
Did you always look like that, he thinks, unaware that he's thinking it.
Wide-eyed, luminous, and close enough that he could map every fleck in your irises if he allowed himself. He wants to, which presents a problem he lacks the machinery to process right now.
Your lips part as if you're about to speak, but you say nothing. You just wait — and that waiting is the most devastating thing you've ever done to him, because it implies there is something to wait for.
He steps back.
It happens half a beat too late to pass as casual. His arm relinquishes your waist like a reluctant muscle, surrendering territory one deliberate inch at a time, and the cool night air fills the space he occupied so fast it almost stings.
"Grab your stuff." He manages to sound composed, but the strain in his tone gives him away.
He turns toward the motel lobby without waiting for an answer, already pulling his keys from his pocket. You reach into the backseat for your jacket, legs unsteady for reasons that have nothing to do with the wendigo, and follow him across the asphalt.
Behind you, the Impala ticks and cools under the parking lot lights, its hood still warm where you sat.
$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @elaraphoenix @hisokamywaifu @sb-bitch @feralzombae
