#my writing

[buddie-buddie]

“So,” Buck says, blinking up at Tommy. He still hasn’t gotten over how good that feels– looking up at his partner. Being with someone whose warm, protective hand settles on the small of his back and nearly spans the distance between his hips. Someone whose big, strong arms envelop him when they hug, someone who can tuck Buck into his chest almost effortlessly. Someone who makes him feel grounded, protected, safe. In more ways than one.

“So,” Tommy returns the word, accompanying it with a warm smile, the kind that reaches all the way to his eyes and makes them sparkle as he looks down at Buck. 

“You met my parents,” Buck says with a laugh, because really– how could he not? It’s a little ridiculous, now that he’s saying it out loud. “On our third date.”

Tommy nods, leaning against the wall outside of Buck’s front door. “Mhmmm,” he hums, watching Buck with a fond smile as he fumbles for his keys. “Sure did.”

It takes a minute, but Buck finally manages to get his keys out of his pocket and into the lock. Tommy is nothing but patience and fondness, watching him with a sparkle in his eye that makes Buck feel warm all over. When he finally gets the door open, Buck’s chest swells as Tommy’s big hand comes out to hold the door open for him, nodding for him to head inside first. 

That’s a first. Buck’s stomach flips, a warm, pleasant feeling skating across his skin as he pulls his key from the lock and steps inside. It’s the same feeling he had on their first date when Tommy pulled out his chair before he sat down. The same one he had the first time Tommy texted him Be safe at the start of a shift. 

A smile tugs at his lips as Tommy follows him into his apartment and the door clicks shut behind him. There’s something so simple about it, something so mundane and normal and domestic that it makes Buck’s head spin and his heart pound against his ribcage in the very best way. He wants this again. And again, and again, and again. Wants to come home with Tommy. Come home to Tommy. Wants the door to close behind them, wants to leave the world outside and exist only in this world here, in the one with the warm glow of the kitchen lights casting shadows on Tommy’s face as he toes his shoes off beneath the bike that hangs on Buck’s wall. The one where he pulls two beers out of the fridge and sets them on the counter, and Tommy opens them wordlessly, the silence comfortable as it stretches between them. The one where the necks of their bottles clink and their knuckles brush and Buck’s skin hums and his heart sings from just one small taste of Tommy’s skin against his. 

Buck’s the one to break the easy, comfortable silence. He does it with a small laugh, just shy of a giggle, as he thinks back to the look on his mother’s face when he walked into Chim’s hospital room with Tommy by his side and she connected the dots. “You were covered in soot.”

“Wasn’t the only one,” Tommy points out, grinning against the lip of his beer bottle as he takes another sip.

Buck blushes at the memory of Hen whispering in his ear that he needed to find a mirror, and the moment of horror when he did as much. The horror was fleeting, though, quickly chased away by a swell of pride and a round of hugs and shoulder claps from the people he loves most in the world. He smiles, running his finger over his bottom lip. He has a feeling it’ll be one of those moments he doesn’t ever forget. And something about that makes him really, really happy. 

“I’m glad you were there,” Buck says, meeting Tommy’s eyes and hoping that the look in his own is enough to say all the things he can’t quite figure out how to put into words just yet. If the way Tommy’s eyes shine and the way the hint of a smile dances across his face, he hears him loud and clear. “And, uh,” Buck pauses, clearing his throat. “I hope my parents were alright.”

If he thought he knew horror before, it was nothing compared to the moment he turned away from talking to Christopher, only to see his parents talking to Tommy. 

“They were fine,” Tommy assures him. “They seemed… nice,” he says, almost cautiously. 

Buck shrugs, a little unsure of what to say to that. Yeah, his parents are nice. They traumatized him and Maddie both and they’re responsible for tens of thousands of dollars in therapy bills at this point, but they’re nice people. And they’re trying. And Buck’s learned that all of those things can be true at once. He’s just not quite sure how to put any of that into words without unlocking the Pandora’s box that is his childhood and completely killing the mood. But he doesn’t have to, because Tommy speaks again.

“But there’s a story there,” Tommy says, and it’s more of a declaration than a question. There’s no judgment behind it. He says it simply, easily, as if he’s commenting on the stretch of warm weather they’ve been having. 

And maybe it is just that— maybe it is simple. Maybe he’s so tuned into Buck that he noticed the way Buck’s smile faltered when he noticed they were talking to Tommy. Maybe he picked up on the way Buck stood up a little straighter when he came over and spoke with his parents. Maybe he could feel the way Buck’s skin prickled when his mother spoke— maybe he could feel it from where his hand rested easily on the small of Buck’s back, as if it was always meant to be there. 

But now, one look in Tommy’s eyes— just one glance at the protectiveness that flares against familiar, striking blue— erases any doubts Buck may have had. No maybes. Tommy knows. 

And while he may not know the shades and sizes of the bruises Buck’s parents left behind on his soul and he may not know the things they did– and didn’t do– that put them there, Tommy’s attentive enough to pick up on the fact that they exist. And something about that— something about being seen, being known— makes Buck’s chest ache. 

Buck huffs out a laugh, “Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing down at his feet. “Yeah, you could say that.” 

Tommy hums, taking another sip of his beer before setting it down on the counter with a dull clink. “But you’re okay?” he asks, and it takes everything Buck has not to start sobbing. 

Tommy doesn’t push for more details, doesn’t try for platitudes, doesn’t brush past it. None of the things Buck’s used to. None of the things that, despite best intentions, still manage to feel like salt in a wound that’s been healing for three years but isn’t quite closed up yet. Instead, Tommy knows exactly what to say, exactly what to do. 

He checks on him. 

And he does it so easily, so effortlessly, that Buck’s chest squeezes and he feels a tightness behind his eyes, the kind he feels just before the prickle of hot tears he’s rarely ever able to blink back. Tommy is perfect. He’s kind and he’s good and he’s thoughtful. He’s protective without being overbearing. He’s patient and supportive and so honest, so genuine in everything he does. He’s gorgeous and he’s smart and he’s so ridiculously charming, it’s almost infuriating. He makes Buck feel safe and good and wanted. And he can pull off royal blue polyester better than anyone Buck’s ever seen. He’s just…. he’s perfect. 

So much so that Buck is overcome with it, and instead of the affirmative yeah that plays in his head, what he blurts out instead is, “I really, really like you.” 

The words tumble from his lips before he can stop them, rolling off his tongue effortlessly. His hand moves on instinct in an attempt to fly to his mouth, but Tommy intercepts. His fingers curl around Buck’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks with a gentle hold and an amused smile. 

“You better not take that back, Buckley.”

Buck’s cheeks are on fire, his words caught in the back of his throat. “Uh, I—” 

“You better not take that back,” Tommy repeats. “Because I’m not taking mine back.” He lets Buck’s wrist go, and Buck mourns the loss of the warm, grounding feel of Tommy’s skin against his. But only for a moment, because then Tommy is moving forward, stepping around the corner of the island and closing the distance between them effortlessly with one smooth step. He takes Buck’s face in his hands, his fingers splaying out across stubbled skin and fanning the sparks beneath Buck’s skin into an all-out inferno. 

“I really, really like you too, Evan.” 

“You-you do?” Buck is too focused on the way Tommy looks at him— at the fondness in his eyes and the way his lips quirk up into a small, amused smile— to be embarrassed by the way he all but squeaks out his response. 

“Of course I do,” Tommy says, grinning in earnest now. “And,” he murmurs, tipping Buck’s chin up with two fingers, the same way he did the first time they kissed. The thought of it alone has Buck’s stomach doing somersaults. “I think you,” Tommy drops a quick, closed-mouth kiss to Buck’s lips. It’s small and it’s quick and it’s chaste and yet, it still lights Buck up from the inside out, still has his breath catching in his throat and his chest swelling with something that feels warm and safe and good.  

“Are,” Tommy continues, letting his thumb skate over Buck’s bottom lip with what can only be described as reverence. He kisses him again, still quick and still chaste and still more than enough to leave Buck’s heart pounding, his breath hitching, everything inside of him yearning for more, more, more. “Adorable.” Tommy punctuates the word with a third kiss, this one deeper than the previous two. 

Buck relaxes beneath his touch almost instantly, melting into Tommy’s hold. It’s far from their first kiss, and yet, Buck still feels butterflies kicking to life in his gut when Tommy touches him, their wings flapping so furiously it sends a flush crawling up his neck and settling on the apples of his cheeks. 

Tommy so much as looks in his direction and excitement flares in Buck’s gut. Warmth curls around his chest and beats out of his heart, swelling behind his ribs and making each breath come easier. He feels seen and safe and whole in a way he doesn’t think he ever really had. It’s a little dizzying, knowing that Tommy wants him— that Tommy likes him— just as much as Buck does him. 

But all of that is nothing compared to when Tommy kisses him. When Tommy kisses him, Buck feels absolutely giddy. He feels like he did the summer he turned thirteen and Lydia Harris kissed him on the cheek at the Fourth of July fireworks. He feels like his cheeks might go numb from smiling so much, like he might drown in the happiness that’s flooding his veins and thrumming beneath his skin. 

It doesn’t help that Tommy kisses him like he’s drowning and Buck’s the first breath of fresh air, that he kisses Buck like he’s everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s ever needed. And nothing has ever made Buck– who has quite literally come back from the dead– feel so alive. 

Tommy tastes like beer and wedding cake and only a little bit like the soot he showered off when Buck brought him back to Harbor to return his gear and get his car. He has Buck’s face in his hands like he’s something worth holding onto, and Buck has never felt more whole than he does right here, right now. He’s bone tired, still hungover, standing here in his socks and a hoodie that’s been all over LA, and when Tommy pulls back long enough that they can catch their breath, he looks at Buck like he just hung the moon and all the stars. He holds him like he’s precious, like he’s something sacred.

It’s Buck who closes the distance this time, sighing into the kiss and melting into Tommy’s touch. His hand skates up Tommy’s side and settles on his neck, in the same place where it did just a couple of hours earlier in the hospital lobby. Heat zips up his spine as he the memory washes over him, and if the way Tommy’s lips curl into a smile beneath his is any indication, Tommy’s reliving it too. 

When they part, it’s only long enough to draw in a ragged breath and for Tommy to murmur, “I’m happy I could be there today,” into the space between their lips. 

“Me too,” Buck breathes, leaning in to steal another kiss. “I’m always happy when you’re around.”

Tommy grins, and if Buck's not mistaken, there’s a flush creeping its way onto Tommy’s cheeks. Tommy’s blushing and it has absolutely no business being half as cute as it is. “Then maybe I need to be around more often.” 

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. He’s helpless to keep the smile off his face, but he doesn’t try. He’s happy. Maybe more than he’s ever been. And it feels good. Happiness feels good. Being with Tommy feels good. Buck feels good. And he doesn’t want to ever stop. “Maybe you do.”

read on ao3 here

#my writing #7x06 coda #911 spoilers #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #tevan #kinley #kinkley #bucktommy fic #listen #i would like five (5) minutes in the writer's room #just long enough that i can push my hunky 6ft tall barbies together and yell “KISS!" #and then make them talk about it and hold each other like they're precious little things #and then i will be gone like a thief in the night i promise #ryan and tim pls consider tysm

[pierregazly]

shaking for you ꨄ oscar piastri

oscar piastri x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, pussy-drunk oscar, oral (fem!receiving), p in v - no protection, minor overstimulation, oscar is a dirty talker, mention of cockwarming [914 words]

request: can you please do do 28 from the 🌶️ prompt list with oscar 😽 [28. “I love that we both already finished and your legs are still shaking.”]

The grip you had on his hair was unrelenting, his tongue moving in circles as you pushed your core closer to his face, practically begging him for more, begging for him to make you cum for a third time that night.

He had practically bent you over the second he was through the door, having not seen you in weeks, he was insatiable, eager to see you, eager to get the chance to be inside you, to have his tongue pressed to your clit. To have you moaning his name. Shaking for him.

Your clothes lay in tatters on the floor, bruises forming on your hips, your breasts, up the side of your neck. 

Oscar’s skin wasn’t much different. Scratch marks littered his arms, his back, love bites were forming all over his chest and neck. His lips bruised and puffy, practically aching to be kissed again. 

“You gonna be good and cum f’me, baby? Gonna gush all over my lips? Been so good for me all night, know you can give me one more, c’mon,” he taunted you, a finger circling your entrance before pushing inside.

He had stretched you out nicely on his cock earlier in the evening, the finger he had pushed inside of you barely satisfying the ache that was yearning for more, desperate to feel him inside of you again. Mixed with his tongue, though? It was indescribable, it was everything you were craving and more.

And he knew that. Knew what he could do to make you scream for him, to make you soak his face in your juices.

Which was exactly what he was doing. Pushing a second finger inside you alongside his first, his lips and tongue slurping, sucking, and licking at your clit; the whimpers were falling from your lips, your hips unable to keep still as you continuously pushed up into his face.

If there was one thing Oscar was sure of; it was that he could die happy if he got to eat you out for the rest of his life. The sounds you made, the way you gripped his hair, the way you begged him, the way you directed him on what you like, the taste of you… it was everything and more to him.

He loved everything about you, but he especially loved this. Was honoured that you trusted him enough to do this, to make you feel good day-in and day-out.

He could tell you were getting closer as he began lazily flicking his tongue, still pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your core muscles began clenching, the grip on his hair tightening as he groaned into your cunt, the slick of your pussy increasing as the sounds you were making grew louder.

Oscar helped you ride through your orgasm, your thighs tightening around his head as your entire body shook. It felt like you were flying, your third orgasm of the night rushing through your body as moans fell from your lips.

It didn’t take long for the Australian to crawl up your body, his hardened member easily slipping inside your wet core; soft groans falling from both of your lips. He had already cum once tonight, and knew he likely wouldn’t again; but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to feel your tight, wet heat wrapped around him again.

Lazily looking up at him, a soft smile was directed down to you before he was pressing his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on him, on his tongue as he pressed it against yours. You couldn’t help the moan that fell from your lips at the realization. Something about it had you bucking up into him, into his cock that was slowly thrusting in and out of you.

“So pretty f’me, baby. So pretty all fucked out, look at you. God. Bet you’d let m’fuck you all night, wouldn’t you? You’d let me sleep with my cock inside you, y’just wanna be close to me all the time, hm? Gonna warm my cock?”

Pussy-drunk Oscar Piastri was a different type of aroused. He talked like a mad-man, like all he could talk about, all he could think about, was you.

“Mhm, course’ Osc. Would let you fill me up all night long, keep your cock inside me til’ we woke up. Let you fuck me in the morning, too,” you groaned, his legs stuttering at your words.

Bottoming out, Oscar grunted as he watched your lips open in a long-drawn out moan. His own moan followed, as he turned the two of you onto your side, maneuvering both bodies so his member remained sheathed inside you.

“God, baby. I love that we both already finished and your legs are still shaking,” he said.

Practically rolling your eyes, almost four orgasms later, what did he expect? It was hard to even attempt to keep your legs still. 

You slapped at the hand that began slithering towards your clit again. Your hips bucked as he began to rub a gentle circle on the enflamed nub, the sensitivity overtaking you as you shook your head at him.

“N’more, please. I can’t take it.”

Shushing you, Oscar pressed a kiss to the skin behind your ear.

“One more, baby. Y’can do it, promised me you’d be a good girl. One more, then w’can go to bed, hm?”

Mewling at his words, you knew you could give him one more. Could be a good girl for him, like you always were.

i started this?? and then couldn't stop?? the words were being typed before i even had the chance to comprehend them which is why this is so nasty... pls enjoy 🫶🏻

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 smut #oscar piastri smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 smut #oscar piastri imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #smut #f1 one shot #f1 fic #oscar piastri fanfic #writing #my writing

[demigoddessqueens]

Headcanons of how would Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Astarion, Raphael, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his gn s/o telling them how lucky they are to be with him?

- CV-Non

Sounds so sweet!!

Masterlist 10

Gale

Those big brown puppy dog eyes are glistening when you tell him in the most intimate, private setting

Saying something back like “no, it’s I who don’t deserve you”

Raphael

He thinks it’s sweet of you to say, a charming element to the naïveté and devotion you’ve given him

Halsin

Kind of similar reaction to Gale’s but in his own way

Pulls you in for a tight hug/deep kiss, “by the Oakfather, I never would have imagined one such as you in my life”

Rolan

Has a hard time trying to believe you at first (poor dude 💔)

But comes to accept your words, knowing you’re not teasing him or anything, and accepting that you genuinely love and cherish him

Astarion

If he’s trying to be snarky back, he fails immensely! Truth be told, he’s lost in his feelings when you tell him because it’s genuine

Zevlor

Such a softie for you, and saying this is just the cherry on top! He’ll return the sentiment by roping you into him with his tail for a tight hug

Wyll

Like the Disney prince he is, it’s a hand kiss or romantically sweeping you away so he can look you in the eyes

“And I could have never imagined you in my wildest dreams, my love”

#bg3 #inbox requests #bg3 rolan #rolan x reader #astarion bg3 #bg3 gale #astarion x reader #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #headcanons #astarion x tav #my writing #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #tavstarion #gale x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 zevlor #wyll x reader #bg3 astarion #raphael bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael x tav #halsin #halsin baldur's gate 3 #halsin x reader #baldur's gate iii #zevlor #rolan bg3 #zevlor x reader

[cuubism]

(from some unfinished scene that was bouncing around in my head, the premise of which was, "confessing your darkest fantasies to each other") bit nsfw, needless to say

--

"God, I had this one--" Hob scrubs a hand through his hair, torn between embarrassment and a buried longing that's still very real-- "after I met you in 1689. This recurring dream that you would just... take me with you."

"With me," Dream says.

"To faerie land, or wherever it was you came from, as I imagined it. You must've lived in some fantastical place, I thought, and life was hardly treating me well then. Would just be for a few months, mind," he adds, before Dream starts getting the idea that he hadn't wanted to live. Hob had always wanted to live. He just needed a break. "A year, maybe. But just... that you would..." he ducks his head, "take care of me. God, the things I'd do then for a loaf of bread, or a warm bed. Things I did do, for lesser men. Would do lot more for you."

"Like what?" asks Dream. His voice is... considering.

Surely Dream, being, well, Dream, won't find it strange? Hell, he's so damn princely, he'll probably just be vain about it. Still Hob takes a steeling gulp of his wine. "Anything you wanted. You were the only one that was kind to me then."

"Barely kind," says Dream.

"Still. When I was really deep in it I-- I used to imagine you'd just keep me there. Like a pet." It should be more embarrassing to admit, but Dream doesn't seem judgmental. And Hob has often found that confessing deep feelings to him is easier than it would be to any other person. "Figured I was just a curiosity to you anyway. In exchange for your kindness I'd have done anything. Knelt at your feet. Let you use me. Kept your cock warm while you conducted your-- your magical affairs of state, or what have you, God I could only imagine what you did with the rest of your time." It still stirs something in him to think of, even with no starving desperation to spur it.

He's still looking down, and hears rather than sees Dream lean forward in his seat, the shift of fabric, the creak of the table as he leans on it, letting himself have real weight. "This fantasy..." Hob looks up to meet his gaze, and the dark intent he finds there nearly knocks him out of his chair. "Is it one you would still care to indulge in?"

"To-- indulge in?" The words are barely choked out, the heat of Dream's gaze brands his throat shut.

Dream looks him up and down slowly. "If I brought you with me to the heart of the Dreaming for an evening," he purrs, "would you truly kneel at the foot of my throne? Let me show you off to guests? Would you..." he leans in closer, his fingers trip up Hob's throat, "submit, and warm my cock like a good pet, while I presided over my kingdom?"

Hob's never beating the monarchist allegations now. He nearly slides off his chair and kneels at Dream's feet right then. God, but Dream is a king like none the earth's ever seen. He's right out of a story.

Heart pattering in his chest, he says, "Would I?" It sounds less a question, more a plea. "Would you let me?"

"Dear Hob." Dream tips his chin up, studies him from under his lashes, thumbs over the corner of his mouth. An evaluation, and a caress. "You need someone to care for you. In my realm you would want for nothing. You would not need to fight, or worry about your next meal. You need only do as I tell you. And I would not steer you wrong."

Hob swallows hard. Dream is too good at this. Why did Hob think it was a good idea to share a fantasy with the King of Fucking Fantasies again?

It was a terrible idea for his sanity.

And a wonderful one, too. For as Dream spins the tale he can see it in the back of his mind, the vague and changeable sense of a dream, the all-consuming weight of Dream in his mouth, Dream's hands in his hair, his low voice above him, all else faded away as is the nature of dreams.

Dream hums in approval, and Hob remembers quite suddenly that he can sense daydreams, too.

Dream digs his hand into his hair, tips his head back just so. "This isn't fair," Hob croaks. "You didn't even share one of your fantasies yet."

"Perhaps I've adopted this as one of mine," Dream muses. He leans in and claims Hob's mouth, tipping his head further back, rises from his chair to lean over him. Hob barely suppresses a whimper. "In fact, I have a delegation from Hell due to arrive in the Dreaming for a negotiation tonight. It promises to be both dull and incredibly infuriating. Would you care to join me, and comfort your king during this trying time?"

"From Hell?" Hob squeaks. But Dream is looking at him with those dark eyes and Hob is helpless to him. Helpless to the pull of that fantasy.

"I will keep you safe," Dream says, a soothing, easy tone that makes Hob want to bend for him just as much as his intensity does. "You need not worry."

Hob's worried for his sanity more than anything else.

But he says, "Okay. All- alright then." He swallows down the lump in his throat that catches at the gleam in Dream's eye. He steels himself. Takes Dream's hand. Kisses it. "Take me to your realm, then, King of Dreams."

#i'm feeling a lack of dom dream in my life lately. granted i'm contributing to it with my 10k dom hob wip #nsft #dreamling #dom/sub #things i write at 2am #my writing #the initial prompt in my head was 'cursed by desire to have to confess their darkest fantasies' XD sort of fuck or die but lower stakes

[sidekick-hero]

I can't stop thinking of Eddie as Cyrano de Bergerac.

He's in the drama club, he's known for his way with words, his ability to bring whole worlds to life with them. Few people know that he also writes poetry, poems about love and loss, society and justice, whatever comes to his mind. Many of them are about a mysterious person with gold-flecked eyes and autumn hair, constellations on his skin, and the sun in his heart.

Eddie guards his notebook full of poems like a dragon guards his hoard of gold. And yet.

And yet Susie Bowers finds it where it fell out of his pocket when that asshole Tommy Hagan pushed him against the lockers. She reads it and realizes how devastatingly beautiful Eddie's words are.

It makes her think… think about her crush on Steve Harrington, the fallen king who is still the most eligible bachelor at Hawkins High. Especially since he refuses to just take girls home to fuck them. No, he wants to date. He wants to fall in love. It's catnip for everyone, but at the same time so frustrating because no girl has managed to catch his eye yet.

Maybe this little notebook is her ticket to a relationship with Steve Harrington.

She approaches Eddie and shows him the notebook, pulling it out of his reach as he attempts to grab it. She offers him a deal: she won't spread copies of all his cute little writings all over the school, exposing his deepest secrets for everyone to see and ridicule. In exchange, Eddie will help her sweet-talk Steve Harrington.

Eddie agrees and writes love letters to the boy he's been in love with ever since he found him drunk and depressed on the side of the road after his girlfriend dumped him. He had taken him home, listened to him ramble on about what he had done wrong, why no one would want to love him, and then put Steve to bed and watched him sleep until morning to make sure he was okay.

He left before Steve woke up, and the next time they saw each other at school, Steve didn't even look at him. It had broken his heart and inspired most of his poems, because nothing inspires like heartbreak.

And now Eddie can tell Steve all the things he thinks and feels about him - just to make it seem like it's written by Susie.

It seems to work, because Steve replies to her letters. His replies are simpler, less lyrical, but just as earnest. His words are sweet, and he's funny and thoughtful.

He's everything Eddie knew he was going to be. And Susie couldn't care less, she just wants to go out with him, have him take her home, have everyone know that she's Steve Harrington's girlfriend.

They go out. After a dozen letters, he gives in and asks her out.

Eddie cries himself to sleep that night.

Someone knocks on his bedroom window. Confused and a bit nervous, because he doesn't have only friends in this town, far from it, he goes to open it.

And finds Steve Harrington standing right outside his window.

"What -"

"Did you mean them?" Steve asks and he can't tell from his tone what he's thinking.

"What?"

"Your letters, did you mean what you wrote or did you just write down what you thought I wanted to hear so I'd go out with Susie?"

His tone doesn't really change, but Eddie can see his eyes shining in the dim light coming from his bedroom. He looks upset, and Eddie wants to fix it, but he doesn't know what answer would do that.

So he chooses the truth. "Yes. I meant every single word I wrote in those letters."

"Then why didn't you send them under your own name?" When did Steve get so close? And why is the window sill digging into his stomach?

At Steve's question, Eddie can't help but laugh bitterly. "Did you look at me, Steve? I'm the town freak! A fuckup. Trailer trash. A small-time drug dealer who failed his senior year. Why would anybody - why would you want to get love letters from me?"

Steve nods, not saying a word as he turns and walks away. And okay, he deserves it, he guesses. Hanging his head in defeat, he shuffles away from the window and face plants on his bed, letting fresh tears fall from his eyes.

Until there's another knock, this time at his front door.

He's out of bed in record time, almost breaking his neck in his haste to get to the door. It can't be - it's impossible that this is -

Steve is standing on his front porch, looking devastatingly handsome in his light-washed Levi's and red sweater. His date outfit.

He walks up to him before Eddie can say anything and cups his cheek.

"I've been looking at you, Eddie. All I've done since the night you brought me home and listened to me and took care of me, I've been looking at you. Looking and waiting. Hoping. Wanting you to give me a sign, any sign, that it wasn't just chivalry that made you do this, but the fact that you cared. About me. But you never did."

"Steve," Eddie whispers, but Steve isn't finished.

"And then I get these letters, and all the words, they sound like you. I couldn't be sure, not until I read the line, 'You deserve someone who wants to love you, all of you, the good and the bad and everything in between. I want to be that person. I want to love you.' You're the only one I've ever said that to. I knew it had to be you."

"But why? Why go out with Susie?"

"Because I had to be absolutely sure that it wasn't Susie. And after ten minutes with her, I was. I drove around until I couldn't… I had to talk to you. To see if you mean it. If you want to love me."

Eddie kisses him.

There's nothing else on his mind but the need to finally kiss the boy he's been in love with for almost a year.

Steve kisses him back, soft, tender, then deeper, dirtier.

When they pull apart, both gasping, Eddie leans in closer because his next words are meant for him and Steve and no one else.

"I want to love you long after my body crumbles to dust and my soul finds yours in the afterlife. I want to love you as the ocean does the moon, forever bound, forever following its call, until the end of time."

#steddie #steddie au #steddie ficlet #eddie x steve #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things ficlet #my writing #don't ask me where this is coming from but it refused to go away until I wrote this down

[echobx]

JJ Maybank who only feels at home when you're there

JJ Maybank who has mad attachment issues

JJ Maybank who regularly wakes up scared that it had all been a dream, and when you're not in bed to calm him down with your simple presence, he'll run around the house until he's found you and he won't let go of you until you beg him, because if it was possible he'd never let go of you or stop showering you in kisses

JJ Maybank who is allowed to catch up on his childhood with you

JJ Maybank who builds a pillow fort with you and kisses you while inside it, wishing his first kiss had been just like this, who wishes you'd been his first kiss

JJ Maybank who secretly takes basic cooking classes just so he can surprise you with a home cooked meal after a long day at work

JJ Maybank who breaks down crying when you tell him your pregnant

JJ Maybank who would lay out the world for you if he could

JJ Maybank who decides to take over most of the duties once the baby is there (and before) so you can focus on recovery

JJ Maybank who starts talking baby and pretends like it's a secret language between him and his mini-me

JJ Maybank whose no.1 priority is to teach the baby swimming so they can go surf as soon as possible

JJ Maybank who brings you breakfast in bed every possible time, meaning any time he is awake before you (and the baby is sleeping still too)

JJ Maybank who can't picture a better life than with you by his side, growing old together

JJ Maybank who loves the idea of being an embarrassment to his kids once they are old enough to feel embarrassed by their parents, and only in the best way

JJ Maybank who listened to audiobooks about good parenting bc he was scared to make a mistake (and the dyslexia won't let him read)

JJ Maybank who keeps calling you milf no matter how many times you object to it bc you think it's weird, because to you, you are both still teenagers inside

JJ Maybank who stopped smoking, but always has a blunt ready for each of your birthdays to celebrate like the good old times

JJ Maybank who likes being the cool dad out of all his kids friends parents

JJ Maybank who will pick up his kid on his bike, because that's the coolest shit in his eyes

JJ Maybank who will give his kids all they ask for, no matter how much money or time it costs

#jj maybank #obx #my writing #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #~headcanon

[bruciemilf]

About DILF!Clark with Battinson: he takes him to the farm when Bruce has to recover after a bad fight in Gotham that Clark couldn't help with without exposing his identity.

He managed to get Bruce out post fight, and the heat was high and Bruce didnt want to risk Alfred and his new charge at the Mansion, so they managed to get to Kansas on a stiff agreement because the trust wasn't there yet.

Cue Bruce getting some southern healing remedies of home made meals, woven blankets and animal cuddling.

Clark talking to his mom about not being sure about leaving Gotham all for Bruce to take on his shoulders being so "young" and she reminds him he was there at that stage too once. She suggests being a helping hand, and who knew, they may even become friends.

Clark and Bruce bonding on a porch, drinking iced tea, and soaking up sunsets.

(Bruce going back to Gotham when physically able to take down the big bad, and Clark flying in to assist. )

Thinking about Waynes with southern roots.

You wouldn’t figure it out, — Ma and Pa certainly didn’t;

Bruce doesn’t have the tone or vocal accent to indicate any semblance to theirs. His is more tough, even with that snow voice of his, more tight.

But the way he instinctively grabbed white lily flour instead of all purpose for Pa’s buttermilk biscuits, making sweet tea automatically, almost by nature, — Martha is frankly offended his recipe is better than hers, and not sitting down before the hosts do, it’s plenty obvious.

Personally, such a big fan of Clark taking Bruce around town. He thinks there’s many first date attraction spots his Gothamite would like.

Is this a gateway to showing Bruce he’s human even if he isn’t normal? Maybe, possibly, conceivably. Bruce doesn’t need to be convinced— he’s seen plenty of monsters before, and Clark doesn’t look like any of them.

Except Bruce doesn’t realize it’s a date. At all.

“That boy’s cornbread ain’t done in the middle or something.”

“Pa!” Clark frowned. “I agree. But hey!”

#bruce wayne #battinson #clark kent #I love southern Wayne’s a lot I’ll talk more abt them #dc comics #dc #text #superbat #bruce x clark #text post #batman #asks #my writing

[wintrwinchestr]

obedience | part 2

summary: a week ago, you and joel had experimented with a new kink, and it’s been on your mind ever since. you had been too shy to ask to try it out again, but joel always knows exactly what you need.

warnings: 18+, smut, daddy kink, pet play (egregious use of “puppy”, joel teaches you dog commands and refers to your hand as your paw, among other things), d/s and ddlg relationship dynamics, praise kink, degradation/dumbification kink, cockwarming, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampie, pet names (baby, babygirl, sweetheart, etc), talk of reader wearing a collar, joel giving reader a bath/washing her hair, hella aftercare, reader has hair and can be carried by joel, implied age gap but reader is an adult, let me know if i missed anything!!

word count: 5.7k

a/n: literally nobody look at me please. this the most self indulgent self insert shit i’ve ever written in my life and if you get it you get it idk what else to say!!! anyway thank you for being patient with me and reading what i write, my big girl job takes it out of me sometimes but that’s what i write this type of shit to deal with <3 nice comments and reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed or if this awakened something in you :)

(read part 1 here if you missed it)

dividers by @saradika

“You want Daddy to train you, babygirl, you wanna be his pretty lil’ pet?”

It had been a week now since Joel had punished you, denied you for acting out over the phone, for disobeying him and sending him lewd photos of yourself when he had explicitly told you to stop. But you hadn’t listened, he wasn’t having it, and when he had returned home from work late that night, he had called you by a new name. Puppy, he had spat at you several times as he made you chase a ruined orgasm on his steel-toed work boot. 

The pet name hadn’t left your mind since then, repeating itself over and over, along with his question of if you wanted to be trained, if you wanted to be his pet. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself becoming desperate for it. Each day in the office was a struggle to stay focused on even the simplest of tasks, your thoughts overrun with fantasies of Joel getting you on all fours for him, giving you commands and praising you for following them, tugging you towards him by a finger hooked into a collar to tell you what a pretty puppy, what a good girl you’re being for him.

You’d left work every evening for the past several days with a damp spot in the seat of your panties, feeling ashamed by how depraved and inappropriate almost every one of your waking thoughts had become. When you would greet Joel at the door all needy and wanting, he would tease you with a “What’s gotten into you, lately, hm?”, but never push for more than you were willing to reveal to him, though he thought he might have had an idea. He would take you to the bedroom and have his way with you the way you liked, the way you had usually craved, before he had turned your world upside down by deciding on a whim to try somethin’ new that fateful night. 

Joel would be more than willing to try it again, to follow through with that question he’d asked you, but he decided he was content with waiting for you to come to him, for you to decide when you were ready for him to make you his good puppy once more.

–

The weekend begins just like any other. Joel’s internal clock wakes him up no later than seven in the morning, the sun just barely streaming in through the blinds in your shared bedroom. He tries to keep his creaks and groans to a minimum as he rolls out of bed, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead before quietly padding his way into the kitchen to get a sizable pot of coffee brewing. He lets you sleep for another couple of hours, knowing full and well at this point in your relationship that he has the wrath of your grumpy morning attitude to face if he doesn’t. He does think it’s cute, though, how your face twists up into a pout but your eyes stay scrunched closed if he wakes you up at a time you deem too early.

When Joel does decide it’s a sensible time for the two of you to get a proper start on your generous two days off from the slog of your weekday jobs, he cracks the bedroom door open gently, making his way over to your still-sleeping form. He softly brushes some of your knotted hair out of your face as he places your mug of coffee on the nightstand beside your head, prepared just the way you like it. Whatever happened to good ol’ fashioned cream and sugar? Or just plain black, for that matter? Can’t believe you like it with all this cinnamon vanilla whatever you have me dump in it, he had teased, not long after you had first started sleeping over at his place. Can’t believe you drink it without anything in it. It needs at least a lil’ somethin’ sweet in it, you had bantered back to him, to which he was quick to reply with Got my somethin’ sweet right here, don’t I? before pulling you into his lap and kissing you hard until both of your cups ran cold.

You smile at the memory in your half-sleepy state, slowly blinking your eyes open to see Joel’s warm and familiar smile. “Mornin’, sweet girl,” he says, his grin only growing wider when you greet him back with the cute little squeal that comes out when you stretch your arms over your head instead of an actually intelligible word. “Got some emails and borin’ stuff to catch up on this mornin’, why don’t you just stay comfy and sip on your coffee while you wake up for a bit, hm? Probably be done in time to get lunch together somewhere, how’s that sound?”

“Okay, Daddy,” you reply softly, real words this time, as you push yourself up to sitting while Joel props your pillows up behind you for your back to rest against. You don’t put up much of a fight against the yawn that stretches your jaw, rubbing your blurry eyes as it does.

“Alright, gimme a kiss, sleepy girl. Enjoy your creamer with a splash o’ coffee,'' Joel taunts through a chuckle. He presses his lips to yours, and his coarse beard tickles the skin around your mouth, making you giggle. The smile hasn’t completely faded from your face by the time he slips out of the bedroom to head into his office, shutting the door gently behind him.

Extending a hand down to your nightstand, you hook your fingers through the mug’s handle and slowly bring it up to your face, careful not to spill any. He’d chosen your favorite Daddy’s Girl mug, the phrase written in bold pink text curved over a little illustration of two blue daisies. You always thought your coffee tasted a little better from this mug, somehow. Taking your first sugary sweet sip, you think the sentiment is as true this morning as it’s always been.

–

A little while later, when you feel somewhat more awake thanks to plenty of caffeine and sugar working its way through your body, you finally force yourself into comfortable clothes different from the ones you slept in. With your hair sufficiently tamed, face washed, and teeth brushed, you decide now’s as good of a time as any to try and act on the plan you’d been concocting over the past couple of days, waiting for a moment just like this to pounce on.

You still felt too shy to bring it up to Joel, to tell him how badly you’ve been wanting him to treat you like his little pet, and go even further with it this time. You know he’d never judge you for it, and he had seemed to like the experiment just as much as you did. But something about your little fantasy still felt taboo and shameful, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to use your big girl words and ask for it.

Though, you had finally realized, maybe you didn’t have to ask for it. Maybe you could quietly tip toe into his office one lazy Saturday morning and sit at his feet, nuzzle into his thigh until he brings a hand down from his keyboard to scratch behind your ear, asking you What’re you up to down there, babygirl?

And that’s exactly where you’ve found yourself now, answering his question with a dreamy whimper, leaning into his touch as the feeling of his fingers on your skin makes you smile so blissfully, wiggling on your knees.

“What’s got you feelin’ so snuggly this mornin’, hm? Just need some lovin’ from your Daddy?” he asks in his still-rough morning voice, gazing down at you affectionately.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his calf and rubbing your cheek against the soft leg of his sweatpants.

“Alright, lil’ thing. Just got a couple more emails to take care of and then I’m all yours, promise.” He removes his hand from your scalp to start typing again, and you pout in protest. 

Joel shoots a stern look down to you. “Poutin’ don’t typically get us what we want, now does it? Be patient, sweetheart, just a few more minutes.”

You release another upset noise, louder this time, and then he’s pushing his rolling chair back, your grasp around his leg coming apart as he does.

“Came in here actin’ so good and sweet, where’d this bratty girl come from, hm? If there’s somethin’ you want, gotta use your big girl words and ask for it, you know that,” he scolds, his expression becoming more serious.

You hadn’t meant to elicit this reaction from him at all, and it causes your eyes to well up as you stare at the carpet, avoiding his gaze. Opting to answer him with just a shrug, you fidget with your fingers in your lap to distract yourself from the sting behind your eyes. You do attempt to open your mouth and make your desires known to him, but think better of it, and any big girl words you did have swirling around in your brain are replaced by yet another half-hearted little whine.

A whine that sounds… a little familiar to him. 

“Oh, I see…” Joel muses, a little less authority in his voice as he assumes a more relaxed position in his desk chair. “I think I know what’s goin’ on here.”

You look up to meet his eyes, tilting your head in confusion. The action prompts his lips to tug into a knowing smile, and he leans forward in his seat, making a beckoning motion with his hand. “C’mere, baby. Between my legs.”

You obey immediately, crawling towards him to close the small distance between you, settling in a kneeling position between his spread thighs. “Good girl,” he praises, and the words make you beam as he cups your chin, the moisture that had been blooming along your water lines now forgotten.

“Think I know why my sweet girl ain’t usin’ her words with me this mornin’...” Joel says, scratching at the soft skin under your chin with his fingertips. You can’t help but lean into his touch, lashes fluttering, and it’s enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Reckon it’s because puppies don’t know to, hm? They just whimper and whine for attention from their Daddies cause they don’t know how to talk, ain’t that right?”

You let out a pathetic little noise when he finally says the word, the one that’s been dampening every pair of panties you own for the past week, but that you’d been too scared to ask to hear again. But you were right after all, you didn’t have to ask for it, because Joel always knows just what you need, somehow.

He uses his grip on your chin to nod your head up and down for you, and continues talking down to you in that gravelly tone of voice that makes you feel like you’re about to melt straight through the floor. “Yeah… ‘F you wanna be Daddy’s lil’ puppy this mornin’, tha’s alright with him. Figured you oughta be missin’ it by now, seein’ as how you liked it so much the first time around…”

You’re barely processing what he’s saying, your lips slack and eyes unblinking as your cunt releases little pulses of slick into your panties. Something about Joel seeing through you so clearly, calling you out on your newly discovered kink and using it to pull you hard and fast into this familiar saccharine headspace, has your whole body burning hot with arousal. 

“And if I know one thing about puppies, it’s that they need some trainin’, don’t they? ‘Specially impatient ones like the pretty thing I’ve got sittin’ at my feet. Don’t you agree? Don’t speak, just nod, babygirl.”

It’s unusual for him to request a nonverbal response, as opposed to a Yes, Daddy, but you’re grateful for the change as you allow yourself to fall deeper into your role. You give him what he asks for, a couple of eager nods in quick succession, even though you aren’t quite sure where he’s going with this yet.

“Asked you twice to be good and patient for Daddy, and all I got was poutin’ and whinin’ instead, didn’t I? Think my lil’ pet oughta learn her first command today: Wait. Because good puppies know how to wait for their treats, don’t they, sweet girl? Again, just nod for me.”

And you do, slower and with a little more guilt in your expression this time. But despite him making you admit to your disobedience, you’re not sure you’ve ever been more fucking soaked than you are right now. You’re throbbing, aching, shifting on your knees in an effort to get even the smallest bit of relief. You think you might be releasing little whimpers, but you can’t be sure, already feeling so floaty and far away from just his words alone.

Joel spots your desperate movements, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts in his chair, adjusting for his own arousal, and gets an idea.

“On second thought… Got another command I might like to teach you first. Somethin’ a lil easier for that dumb puppy brain of yours to understand, hm?” He tilts his head at you, lips curved into a mocking pout.

Your eyes flutter and roll to the back of your head involuntarily, his degradation prompting the instinctual response from you. Another syrupy slow nod lets him know you’re ready to learn, to obey to the best of your ability.

“Alright, sweet thing. When I say paw, want you to put your hand right on my knee here, ‘kay?” Joel explains, patting his muscled leg for clarity. “Paw, baby, gimme paw,” he coos at you, his tone not dissimilar to the one he uses to speak to actual dogs. 

Forcing your brain to work through the dense cloud of submission that shrouds it, you lift your hand and place it on his knee, just like he had demonstrated. His enthusiastic reaction to your obedience startles you at first, but you break into a beaming grin when you see the proud expression he wears.

“Good girl, tha’s a good girl,” he praises, scratching at the top of your head and ruffling your hair. Using his touch as a distraction, Joel places your paw over his hardening bulge with his unoccupied hand, the thick shape of him prominent through his thin sweatpants. He tightens his hand on top of yours, prompting your fingers to squeeze him. He guides your hand into massaging him for a second or two more, long enough for your melted puddle of a brain to connect with the nerve endings in your fingers. Your breath hitches when you realize what it is you’re feeling, your blissed-out expression morphing into a more desperate, wide-eyed one as you focus your attention to the movement of your hands.

“Yeah, feel that, sweet girl? Feel what you do to Daddy by bein’ so good for him?” He prompts, and your thighs squeeze together as you grope him. You can’t help but draw your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down on it to stifle the needy whimper that threatens to escape.

“You wanna sit on it, pup? Hm? Wanna keep Daddy’s cock nice ‘n warm while he finishes up his work?”

Your aching cunt squeezes around nothing at the premise, and you nod so hard it makes you dizzy. You move to push yourself off the floor and stand up, but a firm hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Ah ah, gotta use your words this time. Speak, baby,” Joel commands, and it takes you a second of searching to find the ability to do so again.

“Y-yes, Daddy, wanna s-sit on it…” you answer softly, and you’ve never heard your own voice sound so wanton. It comes out in a pitch that you almost don’t recognize as your own, featherlight and dreamy and desperate all at once. The need in your voice alone is enough to satisfy him.

“Good girl, just learnin’ all kinds o’ tricks today, aren’t we? Trainin’ you so well… C’mon up here, babygirl,” he permits, and uses his big hands and sturdy forearms to assist you in your awkward and eager climb into his lap. “Take it out, baby, get your treat.”

You whine as you situate yourself atop his thighs, tossing your head back with a dramatic flair, overwhelmed and frustrated by all he’s been asking of you. You just wanted him to turn your brain off, to praise you, to not have to think while he plays with you however he wants, and instead all he’s been doing is asking you to listen, sit, speak, obey. But of course, you should know better by now, that Joel likes making you work for it, to wait for it.

“Hey,” he scolds, grabbing your face and pulling your head forward from where it had flopped between your shoulder blades. “You were doin’ so well, bein’ such a good, obedient girl. Don’t start actin’ up on me now. Could always change my mind, not let you have your treat after all. You want that?”

 “No, Daddy…” you admit, your words distorted through the way your cheeks are squished together. He’s not using much force, just enough to keep your focus on him. 

“‘S what I thought… Go on then, pup,” Joel commands, and you make quick but clumsy work of freeing his already leaking cock from the loose confines of his sweatpants and briefs. He lets go of your face in favor of placing both of his hands on your hips, lifting you up while you pull your loose shorts and panties to the side, maneuvering his length to just barely prod at your wet little entrance. You flit your eyes from where the two of you meet back up to meet his gaze, hesitating while you look to confirm your permission one last time.

“Sit, puppy,” he says through a smirk, and you release a sharp whimper as you sink down onto his cock. 

On instinct, you bury your face in the warm expanse of skin between Joel’s neck and shoulder, rolling your hips back in preparation for a satisfying buck forward. His grip on your skin turns iron, holding you in place and preventing you from chasing after your pleasure.

He cuts off your pout with a strict, “I say you could move?”

“Mmph– No, Daddy,” you mumble into his firm muscle.

He huffs a mocking breath through his nose. “Really are jus’ a dumb lil’ thing for me, ain’t you? You already forget what you’re ‘sposed to be learnin’?” “‘M sorry, Daddy–” the embarrassment from his demeaning words makes you squirm, and his grip on you becomes bruising.

“Don’t need you to be sorry. Jus’ need you to listen. You’re gonna wait like a good girl ‘til I say you can start grindin’ that messy lil’ puppy cunt on me. We clear?” he orders, his deep baritone traveling straight from your ear to your needy core, the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock already damp as a result.

You hug yourself closer to him, little fingers clawing at his t-shirt in an attempt to ground yourself, and nod meekly.

“Speak,” he spits again.

“Y-yes, Daddy, clear…”, you whine, managing to lift your head up just enough for your voice to come out a little more coherently.

“If I let go so I can finish up my work, you gonna behave and hold still for me?” 

You don’t seem to have a choice, but you agree, anyway. “Mhm, yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Now wait,” Joel instructs.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, the incessant clicks and clacks of Joel’s keyboard and mouse becoming more and more irritating with each passing second. Those sharp mechanical sounds, the vibration of his chest against yours whenever he clears his throat, the feeling of his pulsing cock as it splits you in two, it’s all so fucking much. You can’t help but release little whimpers and whines, pathetic pleases and Daddys that he either shushes or chooses to ignore. Any slight movement you make in an attempt to relieve some of the ache, he just responds to with a coo of wait, pup, and the tone of his commands as you twitching, clenching around him, soaking his cock more and more. It has to have been at least fifteen or twenty minutes by now, and at this point you’re sure he must be clicking around his desktop aimlessly just to drag out your training a bit longer.

Eventually, the noises stop, and Joel breathes a sigh as he replaces his large hands on your hips, their touch much more gentle this time. You lift your head from his shoulder to face him, wide and watery doe eyes frantically searching his face for a sign that the wait is over, that you’ve finally earned your treat. 

He grants you a soft smile, lifting a hand and using it to just barely grasp your chin, tilting your head side to side as he admires you.

“Got such a sweet girl in my lap, don’t I? Knew she could be good, just needed a lil trainin’ hm?”

You nod, already feeling so overwhelmed that your mind has started to drift elsewhere, to the relief you’ll hopefully be feeling in just a few minutes, after he’s finished toying with you.

He releases your chin, ghosting his hand downwards along the column of your throat, stopping when his thumb and fingers are resting on the tops of your collarbones. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just admires the placement of his hand for a moment, then hums.

“Neck would look so pretty with a collar wrapped around it, don’t you think, pup? With a lil’ heart-shaped tag danglin’ from it, engraved with my name so everyone knows that you belong to me? That you’re my puppy, hm?”

Fuck.

The sentiment alone, the domination and ownership of it all, has you crying out your most pathetic noise so far this morning, eyebrows peaked with need as you bite down on your lip so hard you think you might’ve drawn blood. Joel predicts your reaction, clamping down on your hip with his other hand to stop you from moving before he’s decided you’re allowed to.

Again, you nod, willing to agree to anything and everything he wants from you if it means you’re getting closer to getting what you want from him, what you need.

“Say it, baby,” Joel demands of you, his voice calm but commanding.

You tilt your head at him, humming a confused little noise, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Say it, c’mon,” he repeats. Your foggy brain is on a second or two delay, but it catches up eventually, and you realize what he wants to hear.

“I’m y-your… ‘m your puppy,” you say, softly, your voice tinted with embarrassment. 

“Wha’s that, sweetheart? Didn’t quite hear you. One more time for Daddy.”

You swallow hard, inhaling a shuddering breath before repeating the phrase a little louder, with a little less control. “I’m your p-puppy, Daddy. I’m your puppy, ‘m Daddy’s–”

“Yeah, y’ are, fuck.”

He moves his hand from the base of your neck back to your hip, and uses his strong grip to hold you still while he begins a series of sharp but rewarding thrusts in and out of your swollen cunt, each one seeming to hit deeper and deeper inside you. Falling against him once more, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face into him while you let him fuck into you like a doll. His movements are quick and desperate as he growls an incoherent string of filthy praises in your ear, his words accompanied by the sloppy wet sounds of skin on skin.

“Perfect girl, Christ, tight lil’ puppy pussy feels so fuckin’ good, always feels so fuckin’ good. Such a good girl, such a good goddamn girl for Daddy.”

The harsh bounce of your body in his lap jostles every last one of your thoughts from your brain, and he relishes in the animalistic cries and yelps you mumble into the flesh of your upper arm, now damp with your drool. He must feel the moisture as it pools underneath your face and wets the thin fabric of his t-shirt, because then he’s laughing at you, spewing more obscene words at you as he spears you up and down on his cock.

“Shit, are you fuckin’ droolin’ on me, sweetheart? Got this messy cunt and that pretty mouth both soakin’ me, Christ. This cock make you that dumb, hm? You Daddy’s dumb puppy?”

You are, you both fucking know you are, so you agree and repeat it back to him to the best of your fucked-out ability because you know it’s what he wants to hear. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to hear it too, the self-degradation lighting your whole body on fire as some of that heat forms itself into a tight ball in your tummy. 

Joel’s hips begin to stutter, his hold on you starting to falter, complete sentences turning into sharply whispered expletives as he nears his orgasm. He can feel you squeezing around him, notices the telltale sign of your muscles tightening and your breathing coming out in short bursts, and uses that four letter word against you one last time.

“Not yet, babygirl, don’t you fuckin’ come for me, not ‘til I say. Wait,” he spits through gritted teeth.

You were so ready, just teetering on the edge of your orgasm, all you needed was a few more jackhammering thrusts and you’d be careening down the steep cliff of it. It takes everything in you to hold it in, to not let go. But you’ve been so good for him, and Joel doesn’t have it in him to torture you much longer, and he permits you to finish just a few minutes later.

“Alright, come, puppy, come for Daddy,” he orders, and you spasm in his lap with a debauched cry, that ball of heat in your tummy dispersing through your bloodstream, igniting every one of your nerves and sending sparks flying behind your eyelids. He reaches his high at the same time, spilling his release inside of you the way you both like.

It takes a few moments for the both of you to come back into yourselves, heaving chests eventually matching each other in a more relaxed rhythm. Joel softly scratches at the back of your head while you place delicate kisses mindlessly along his neck and up behind his ear.

“You were so good, sweetheart. Always take everything I give you so well,” Joel quietly praises next to your ear. He touches his lips to the side of your head, then your temple, then gently maneuvers your face so that he can press a final kiss to your forehead. Your eyelids flutter open in response, and your lips tug into a sleepy grin as you focus on his face. “There she is, my beautiful girl.” He sweeps a few tangled locks of hair away from your face, and even though you know you must look like a mess, you let him admire you anyway.

“Still up to go out for some lunch? After we get ourselves cleaned up ‘n all,” Joel asks, shifting his gaze down to where his spend leaks from you, staining both of your clothes a darker color and dripping onto the fabric of his desk chair.

You pause, chewing on the inside of your cheek for a bit before shaking your head.

“No? Tha’s alright, sweet girl, don’t blame you one bit. You’ll still let Daddy get you cleaned up though, won’t you sweetheart? How’s about I run you a bath with some o’ that new flowery bubble bath you just got, hm?”

You light up at the premise, nodding eagerly, and Joel flashes his handsome smile at you in return. “Alright, hang onto me, baby,” he says, and you wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders as he scoops you up and carries you to the bedroom, his softening cock still nestled inside you. The two of you detach when he sets you down on the small, handmade wooden bench adjacent to the tub, and leaves only for a moment to retrieve your favorite pink blanket from the living room. He wraps it around your shoulders when he returns, and starts the bath for you. He makes sure to squeeze a generous amount of the bubble bath into the roaring stream of water, ensuring that the bath is sufficiently fragrant and relaxing.

When the tub is full, with mounds of white soap bubbles threatening to spill over the smooth porcelain walls, he helps you strip out of your clothes, tugging your bottoms down your legs as you remove your own top over your head. Joel offers you one of his hands to steady yourself with as you step into the bath and lower yourself into the steaming water. It feels perfect, because just like he knows exactly how you take your coffee, how you want to be fucked without you having to ask, he also knows the almost-too-hot temperature of bathwater you prefer. 

He allows you to wash your own body, while he uses the cup you keep by the tub to douse your hair with water, using his rough fingertips to massage your favorite coconut shampoo into your scalp. You’re almost done scrubbing yourself by the time he’s raking conditioner through your damp ringlets, and then he’s rinsing you clean, the humid air in the room now smelling like a dozen different flowers and fruits, all of them mixing together to smell definitively like you. It’s his favorite scent in the whole world.

You don’t exchange many words during your bath, mostly enjoying the intimacy of the activity in silence. The action alone is enough to let you know how deeply the two of you care for each other, how much you trust and love each other.

When the water eventually runs cool, Joel helps you out of the slippery tub, and wraps you in one of your plush bath towels, a lighter shade of pink than your blanket, but just as soft.

“I’ll let you finish up in here, and I’ll see about orderin’ us some delivery, hm? I’ll get you whatever you want, and we can throw on a movie to watch while we eat, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds good, Daddy,” you reply, the bath leaving you feeling refreshed and more like yourself, able to find your voice again.

You settle on ordering your favorite fast food, and it arrives shortly before you tiptoe your way into the living room, your wet hair now pulled up into a clip while the rest of you is dry and comfortable, wrapped in a soft lounge set and your cozy blanket.

“There she is, the Poky Lil’ Puppy,” Joel teases, removing your containers of chicken tenders and fries from the plastic bag they arrived in, setting them on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You giggle at his quip, settling down on the cushion next to him. “I’m not… poky, or whatever,” you reply, in a tone of voice that isn’t sure if you’re supposed to feel complimented or offended.

He looks at you in minor disbelief for a second, then moves his head and brows in a gesture that suggests something like touché. “It’s the name of a kids’ book. Written a lil’ before your time, I guess.”

“Oh… I’ll take it, then.” You settle against Joel’s warm, sturdy form as you munch on a fry, watching the TV screen as he flips through the most promising of the half dozen streaming services he’s subscribed to. “You know…” you start, but let the rest of your sentence drift away, not sure if you want to continue.

“Yeah, babygirl?” he replies, and it encourages you to finish your thought.

“I really liked, um… what we did today. Earlier,” you continue, doing your best to push through your shyness in an effort to get better at communicating your desires with him.

Joel pauses his browsing, putting the TV remote on the table so he can meet your eyes. “In my office, you mean?”

You can’t help but smile cheekily at the memory. “Yeah… I really like being called… that, I think. And if you don’t think it’s too weird–”

“Course I don’t, sweetheart. Would never judge you for likin’ what you like. If it makes you happy, makes you feel good, if it ain’t hurtin’ anyone, then there’s nothin’ wrong with it, baby.” Joel’s turned his upper body to face you now, to make sure you understand the sincerity of his words.

You smile, and his reassurance gives you the confidence to continue. “I really like that… collar idea,” you admit softly. “Maybe we can try that next time.”

He tucks his tongue into the pocket of his cheek, his face forming into a satisfied expression. “Thought you might. Keep bein’ Daddy’s good girl, he just might get you one. Maybe a matchin’ leash, too, somethin’ to tug on when I need you to listen.”

Your eyelids perform their involuntary flutter, a quiet whimper escaping your lungs at the thought. 

“Alright, settle down now, baby,” Joel says through a chuckle, shaking his head before kissing the top of your head affectionately. “Got all the time in the world to try whatever we want. Just focus on eatin’ your lunch for now, sweetheart.”

You snuggle up close to him after he starts the movie you both decided on, happily eating your salty and savory meal as you watch. For the rest of the afternoon, you feel warm and satisfied for a few different reasons, the most important one due to how grateful you are to have Joel.

He takes care of you, understands you, and loves you like nobody else ever could. And it’s mornings like these that make you especially aware of that fact. You’ll be his good girl for as long as he wants you to be–forever, hopefully–and he’ll always give you exactly what you need in exchange for it. 

Even if that something might be a collar with his name on it, fit for his perfect little puppy.

tag list (no pressure if this one isn't your thing!!) @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw (if your name is crossed out it won't let me tag you!!)

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #daddy!joel miller #joel miller smut

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter three

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, light angst

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three]

word count: 8.8k

[1]

Just before you turned thirteen your body, finally, began to change. 

While Alexia’d gone ahead of you a year prior—with her limbs now lanky and sinewy, and her muscles stretched close to the newly grown bones—you were left behind. She’d grown taller, yes; not by much but the two-inch difference (two and a half, as Alexia was always inclined to remind you) felt like a foot to you. So the change was welcome when it finally started, and more importantly, it happened to coincide with something that completely altered the trajectory of your life.

During the spring after your birthday, your father got a promotion at work. To celebrate this milestone, he took you and your mother for a trip around Europe. And as a gift for your hard work and for getting into La Masia with Alexia just a few months before, your parents surprised you with tickets to at least one game in the country, or area, you were visiting. 

In Gelsenkirchen, Germany, you found your destiny. 

Or at least that was how you liked to look at it. 

Before seeing the match between Schalke 04 against Stuttgart, the idea of keeping never entered your mind; you’d played forward your whole life, and you thought that would be the position you’d play in professionally. But as you saw Manuel Neuer controlling the outcome of the game with his hands, a spark ignited within you—this overwhelming surge—and right there and then, you were enlightened to the art of keeping. That spark returned home with you and, playing into the hands of fate, your journey to keeping began.

[2]

The crescendo of the cicadas’ song was this close to lulling you to sleep. It didn’t help that Alexia’d curled herself up beside you in your bed, her head on your lap while her math notebook laid forgotten at the foot of the bed, and her eyes already closed. It was a rare occurrence for the both of you and even more so for Alexia to ‘slack off’—if you were to put it as Alexia had—but this afternoon was a particularly hot one. Summer had practically bled into spring, and even someone like Alexia clearly wasn’t immune to its soporific effect. 

The numbers from the homework you were working on began to blur when you heard a knock downstairs. Out of curiosity or just surprise, you snapped awake. And so did Alexia, apparently.

“You expecting someone?” Alexia yawned, stretching out her long limbs before settling over to her other side. The movement made a lock of hair fall to her cheek which you brushed away with the back of your finger.

“No, it’s probably Mamá’s.” You hummed in answer, relaxing down on your pillow to finally chase that nap that continued to tempt you.

But then came your mother’s voice, “Guille! Hello, my boy! How are you?”

Alexia let out a startled yelp when you jumped out of the bed, now fully awake, tripping on the rug as you rushed into the closet. 

“What the hell? What are you doing?!” Alexia hissed with annoyance but you were too busy trying to get changed to address it. 

You snatched the closest pair of shorts and jersey shirt, and began to shed the ones you had on before you slipped the fresh ones on in quick succession. 

As you did, you began to explain, “I completely forgot! I was supposed to meet up with Guille today!”

When your head popped out of your shirt, you found a deep crease between Alexia’s brows. She was sitting in the middle of your bed, cross-legged, looking very much like a disgruntled cat woken from a nap with the way her hair stuck out in odd places. 

She looked adorable. 

You bit your tongue before you could say it.

Crossing her arms, Alexia retorted, “Why? It’s Saturday.” 

The tone she used made it seem that today being a Saturday was a valid enough reason for you to not go. 

“And it is because it’s Saturday—and no training, Alexia—that I can go with him.” 

At that, her frown only seemed to deepen. You had half a mind to tease her but you knew that’d probably just piss her off even more, although if you were being honest, you didn’t understand just why this seemed to bother Alexia so much.  So instead of teasing, you tried a placating tone, “You could come with if you want?”

Alexia opened her mouth, “I—”

Your mother’s shout cut through the air. 

“Honey? Guille is here for you!” 

You sent Alexia one last apologetic glance. 

“I’m really sorry! Please stay for dinner! I’ll be quick!” 

And with a quick hug goodbye, you rushed out of your room and practically flew down the stairs. At the bottom, you found Guille leaning against the bannister, hands in his short pockets, with a small rucksack on his back who, upon seeing you, gave you a bright smile.

“Hey! You look—” He began but then suddenly, his eyes darkened and the quirk of his lips turned upside down, his tone flattening, “Oh. You’re here.”

In the same second you noticed Alexia beside you, Alexia’d slung an arm over your shoulders.

“Lovely to see you as always, Guille. And I could say the same about you.” Alexia deadpanned, flashing Guille a smile full of teeth, her eyes void of any warmth as she stared at him down her nose. Then she turned to you, her face lighting up as she asked with a little too much excitement, “So, are we going or not?”

“Wait, she’s coming with us?” Guille blurted out, but before you could even answer, Alexia left your side and ran down the steps. 

“Of course, Guille! Come on, keep up!” Alexia exclaimed on her way out of the door, tapping Guille’s stomach as she did—not without force apparently with the way Guille expelled air out harshly. 

When you got to him, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?”

He let out a strained, “Yes.”

You gave Guille an apologetic look, grabbing your ball bag. 

“I’m really sorry for the last minute change. I’ll make it up to you.”

Still clutching his stomach, he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

The three of you got to the field near your place—which you were glad to find empty—without any more incidents. You were faced with another problem as it was only after you’d begun warming up that you realized that in your haste to leave, you forgot to bring water with you. When you told Alexia, she offered to go to the nearest corner store to buy some.

You stretched as you waited for Alexia’s return when Guille suddenly said behind you.

“Here.”

Turning, you found him holding a paper parcel bag. You considered his outstretched hand with curiosity before you met his eyes, taking the bag from him slowly. “What’s this?”

“Just a little something to get you started,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “You said you wanted to keep, so I thought you’d need them.”

Peering into the bag, you gasped at what you found inside. 

A new pair of keeper gloves.

“Guille, you didn’t have to!”

He shrugged, smiling, “Yeah, but I wanted to anyway.”

“Thank you! Come here, you big baby!” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. Unlike Alexia, Guille was only taller than you by mere centimeters so it was relatively easy to ruffle his hair as you pulled away. 

“Mess up my hair again and I won’t teach you anything,” He threatened with a faux glare as he swept his fingers through his curling locks in an attempt to tame them. 

You rolled your eyes, grinning at him. “Okay, Antonio Banderas. So, what are the basics?”

He imitated you, rolling his eyes before he shook his head slightly, his smile never leaving his lips. Then he pointed to a spot by the goal line. “Put your gloves on and stand right there.”

You did, noting the way your new gloves fit perfectly over your hands and fingers. It felt different—stuffy—and you could already feel your palms beginning to sweat from the trapped heat. When you stood where Guille pointed, he walked around you all the while he instructed you to correct your posture: he told you keep your feet shoulder-width apart, to bend your legs slightly so that your chest was just past your knees, and to hold your palms facing out. 

“The main thing to worry about starting out is your stance. It will take time to get the balance right but once you get it down, you’re set.”

“Is this alright?” 

Guille took a step back and he gripped his chin as he hummed. After a moment of scrutiny, he nudged you back suddenly. It wasn’t quite forceful but it made you tumble down on your rear all the same. 

You smiled at him sheepishly, getting up. “I guess that’s a no?”

“Yep. It looks like you keep your weight on your heels too much.” He crouched down at your feet, drawing a square over the front half of your foot. “Keep your weight spread out around here and you should—”

Guille scrambled back suddenly, yelping as a football went flying past where he was just a second ago and into the net. Turning to the direction where the ball came from with your mouth agape, you found Alexia there with water bottles clasped to her chest, an eyebrow raised, while one corner of her mouth was set in a bemused droop, another ball rolling beneath her left foot.

“What the hell was that for, asshole?!” Guille shouted as he stormed his way over to Alexia. He was in front of her now, looking up at her with flame in his eyes but Alexia remained unfazed. She put the water bottles down before she settled her hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly to the side. 

“I’m sorry, Guille. I didn’t see you.” Alexia said flatly, “And aren’t you supposed to be playing keeper?”

“Really. You didn’t see me? Besides—”

“Ale, I asked Guille to teach me.” You huffed, running in between them and separating them with your arms before things got out of hand—again. 

This wasn’t the first time this… row between them happened. In fact, you noticed it’s been occurring more frequently lately. For all their similarities—the main one being their short tempers—the two never got on well together for reasons you never really understood and the only thread that tied them together was you. 

They weren’t always like this though; they were nice with each other the first time they’d met. Guille transferred to your school not long after you’d joined Sabadell, and if you and Alexia were inseparable there, it was always you and Guille at school. And when an opportunity arose for your two favorite persons to meet, you took it. It went well; they were friendly with each other. You only noticed things had changed after you and Guille’s school team started playing against Alexia’s so you were never sure when this all started, and by that point, the friction between them was too great to smoothen out which both saddened and disappointed you.

And it wasn’t like you never tried to get to the bottom of it. You’d asked them what happened, they both gave similar answers. By that, you meant completely avoiding answering. 

Guille’d assured you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re friends? Don’t worry.” 

While Alexia’d said with a confused frown, “What do you mean? Nothing happened.” 

And when you pestered her, asked her if the reason was because she liked Guille as a joke, she looked at you without reply, and when next practice came, she made a nuisance of herself enough to let you know the answer to your question and more. 

And here you were again, with them acting like this–always at each other’s throats. 

At your answer, Alexia looked at you, confused. “Why would you ask him to teach you how to keep?”

Your gaze lanced away as you bit your lip.

Maybe you should’ve told her after all… 

Mustering up the courage to meet her eye again, you replied, low and serious. “I want to start playing keeper, Alexia.” 

Alexia blinked, and then she crossed her arms before she eyed Guille who was scowling at her in return. She looked at you again. 

“Have you told Alejandro about this?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” A pause. “What did he say?”

“I’ll still start as a forward. But he said he’ll put in some extra technical sessions for me starting next week which was why I asked Guille to help me get started. Alejandro said if I get good enough, he’ll see if I can start as keeper for the team.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over you three. 

You caught Guille’s eyes darting from you to Alexia and back again from the corner of your eyes but you remained focused on Alexia’s face. At a glance, Alexia might seem calm—impassive with the way all of her features remained flat. But her eyelids drooped just so they hid more than half of her pupils, how her lower lip was slightly concealed beneath the upper one; she was pissed and even worse, she was hurt. And knowing that you’d hurt her was enough to compel you to reach out and touch her arm, apologetic.

Alexia regarded you for a moment longer. Another word of apology was on the tip of your tongue when she finally sighed, the corner of her lips tilting up to a half-smile as she spoke softly. “Okay. How can I help?”

You couldn’t help yourself. You threw your arms around her and it felt like a weight was lifted from your chest upon hearing the chuckle she let out.

The next couple of hours were spent with the three of you working together: Guille by the goal who continuously gave you notes and instructions, while Alexia—upon Guille’s signal—would send some shots to the net so you could try and stop them. The first… fifty or so shots went right past you—going easy was never exactly Alexia’s strong suit—but the more you focused on getting the timing right and reading the language of Alexia’s body to anticipate the direction of the ball, you ended the session with a few decent saves. 

It was a rough start but you were satisfied with it.

You’d left to use the restroom but upon coming back, the two of them were bickering once more.

Oh, no. What was it now?

You heard more of their words the closer you got, but you didn’t have to move too close with the way they were shouting.

“Come on, dude! Please, don’t tell me you’re still pissed off about that? It was a fair match!”

“How was that fair, Alexia? The two of you playing together is never fair! You’re both in La Masia for crying out loud! And even more importantly, she was supposed to be on my team! That was the original plan, but you went ahead and took her away!”

“What made you think I took her away?” Alexia crossed her arms, scoffing. “Let’s face it. She likes to play with me more than you.”

“You don’t know that!”

That was the moment Alexia spotted you and before you could even get a word in, she said, “Why don’t we just ask her who she’d rather play with?”

Two sets of intense eyes looked your way and without meaning to, you gulped, taking a step back.

“So? Who would you rather play with: me or her?” Guille asked, eyes wide and pleading. 

Suddenly feeling like you were backed into a corner, you stammered in your panic, “Umm, I—”

[3]

Alexia stayed over for dinner that night. That was normal; what was unusual was she left you alone to do the dishes. You had a feeling where she might be, especially since she’d been mostly quiet throughout the whole evening.

After you put away the last dish in the cupboard, and when your arms were finally free from suds, you took a peek into the living room. She wasn’t there—a confirmation of her whereabouts.

Putting on your flip flops, you headed out of the back door. 

The light from the living room casted a faint glow that dissipated the darkness around the garden when you opened the door that led out to it, aiding you just enough to see Alexia on the swing, sitting still with her back hunched forward. Once you were just a few paces behind her, you saw the contours of her headset, but even with them on, there was no way she didn’t know you were there—the fact that your shadow stretched to reach her before you did was a dead give away. Yet still, she made no move to acknowledge your presence.

Okay. That was fair.

“Ale,” you said softly. 

She gave you a glance before she went back to looking down at her clasped hands. 

“Alexia, come on.” 

Still no response. You fiddled with your thumbs as the moment dragged on. 

You sighed, sitting down on your heels next to her.

“I should’ve told you about the keeper thing,” you muttered. “I wanted to get a feel for it first, to get a bit better at it before I told you. But I didn’t consider how that would make you feel… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel that I didn’t want or need you by my side, Alexia. I wanted you to think I was good enough for this.” 

Finally, Alexia turned to you, taking her headset off, the movement barely above a whisper. And softly, she spoke, “What made you think that I’ll think you’re not good enough for anything?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted, pulling at the grass in front of you. Your mother would probably see the hole you’d made on the lawn and berate you for it in the morning but you needed something to keep your hands busy. “I just wanted to go through this without too many expectations. And it’s not like I don’t want to keep our dynamic going. I love playing forward with you, Alexia, but I think keeping is my calling, just like midfield is to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand. You didn’t want any added pressure. I’m not going to hold that against you.” 

“Thank you,” you smiled at her. Then, “So, tell me why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking!” Alexia huffed with indignation. Then she looked away again, working her lower lip between her teeth.

You put a hand on her knee. “Alexia, what is it?”

“I…” Alexia sighed, brushing the bridge of her nose with her thumb. You gave her another moment. She heaved another breath before she began.

“That thing you said… Did you really mean it when you said you’d rather play with him than me?”

Oh. So that was what this was about.

“Of course not. We both know it’s always going to be you, Alexia.”

“Then why did you tell him that?”

“I feel like if I didn’t, I’d lose him as a friend.”

“And you’re not worried about losing me?” Alexia cried out, her tone inflected while her eyes reflected her hurt.

You blinked at her. 

There were moments—just like now—where you’d feel a sudden urge to shake Alexia. For all her sharpness and unmatched awareness, she sometimes failed to see even the most obvious of things. Couldn’t she see that you loved her and that you’d follow her to the edge of the earth if she asked you to?

At the absurdity of her question, you really couldn’t help but laugh. You stood up and shuffled behind her before you threw your arms around Alexia’s neck, draping yourself over her broad back, which made the swing move forward. The dampness of her hair felt cool against your cheek, the scent of your shampoo that clung to them filled your senses as you chuckled into her ear. 

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

“Because, Alexia, do you hear yourself? I love you, you idiot!” You giggled again. “I know our friendship isn’t that shallow that I’d lose you over this. Or am I wrong?”

Alexia turned her head and you saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “No, I suppose not.”

A pleasant silence blanketed you both. And then Alexia hummed.

“But if there was something that could break us, what do you think it would be?”

You stopped to ponder, twirling a lock of Alexia’s hair with your finger, noting her hair was nearly dry now. When your mind drew blank, you replied nonchalantly, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Good.” Alexia leaned away so she could give you a lopsided smile—an earnest one. “Because me neither.”

[4]

“—you okay?”

You blinked and turned to Alexia. “Hmm?”

She glanced at you for a moment before she turned back to what she was doing, sleeves rolled up as she scrubbed a plate in the soapy water in the sink.

“I said, are you okay? Is there something wrong? You’ve been out of it since practice.” When a moment of silence lapsed, Alexia added, “And don’t think I didn’t notice you on your swing the past few days, too, because I did.”

You looked out the window and watched how the rain sluiced down the glass pane. In the darkness behind the window, you saw glimpses of soaked, curly locks and heard the hasty confession all over again.

You sighed, blinking the memory away.

“Guille asked me out.”

The sound of glass shattering and metal clanging made you jump, and you watched as a casserole pot twirled like a top on the hard, kitchen floor, while fragments of a broken plate skittered out to different directions. 

“Oh, shit!” Alexia cursed, looking down at the mess, while a voice called out from the living room. 

“Alexia, is everything alright in there?'' Came Eli’s voice. A few seconds later, Jaume’s head popped into the kitchen. He glanced at you then his eyes settled on Alexia who was crouched down, looking up guiltily at her father.

“Are you okay, girls?”

“Yes, Papá. I just… dropped some stuff.” Alexia said. You crouched down, too, about to pick up a fragment when Jaume spoke.

“Don’t pick that up, love, you might cut yourself. I’ll do it.” 

Jaume shooed the two of you to a corner he deemed safe and the both of you watched as he picked up the pieces, throwing them in the bin by the back door. Afterwards, he gave Alexia a kiss on her temple, and you a hug and a ruffle to your hair, as he retired for the evening, leaving the two of you again in your own company. Alexia went back to the sink to finish up whatever was left, and you returned to your place on the counter beside her. 

The silence that intruded was cut short by Alexia when she cleared her throat, “So… what did you say?” 

“I haven’t said anything, yet,” you sighed again, looking back out the window, the questions coming back full force. In the eight years you’d known Guille, how long had he harbored those feelings for you? When did it happen? What did you do to make him feel that way?

“Do you like him?” Alexia’s question brought you back to the present.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want him?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You laughed slightly, glancing back at Alexia who shrugged her shoulders in answer.

“No, I don’t think so. Desire is a drive, like it makes you want to act. Attraction is just… I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s a weaker feeling. And they complement each other but they’re not the same.”

“And you know this how exactly?” You asked her teasingly, a brow raised.

Alexia averted her eyes, and shrugged your question off with a laugh.

In the moment of silence that followed, you traced Alexia’s profile, and your gaze ended at the elegant curve of the bow of her lips. She looked so pretty casted in the candescent glow of the kitchen light that it made your chest ache just by looking at her. You dropped your eyes to your feet as your mind ran faster than before this entire conversation happened.

Clutching your arms tightly across your chest, you muttered, “I don’t know what I want.” 

[5]

Maybe hoping it would all turn out fine was a bit naive because naturally, Guille didn’t take your rejection well. It was your fault really for expecting otherwise but nevertheless, the inevitable discomfort of disappointment settled like lead in your gut. 

The thing was, you were ready to give Guille the space he needed to accept your boundaries—friends, or nothing at all—and to heal. But accusing Alexia of making you turn against him? Now, that was something you couldn’t let pass. 

He knew he’d crossed a line, too, with the way he kept avoiding you. At first, the silence didn’t bother you; he was hurt, after all. But when the apology never came, you understood that you’d be going through your last year of high school without your closest friend there by your side.

A fortnight passed without any word from him so it surprised you when he showed up at the local meetup that the three of you used to go to. He refused to meet your eyes but he had no problem leveling with the glares Alexia kept giving him. And when you ended up in Alexia’s team, the only sign of his distaste about it was the way his lips flattened to a line. He looked like he was about to say something, but with a slight shake of his head, he turned around and made his way to his teammates.

With one last look at Guille’s retreating back, you tuned back in your team’s conversation.

“—doesn’t need to play keeper. We need her more in the offensive.” Alexia said evenly but when you met her eyes, there was a clear question in them. 

You gave her a slight nod to let her know you were okay. 

She nodded back.

“How will that work? She’s the better keeper.” And then Marco added, “No offense, Julia.” 

Julia only shrugged carelessly, a gesture of nonchalance.

“Julia is perfectly fine and besides, with you, Benji, and Carmen, our backline is already strong. The four of you together lessens our chance of conceding.” Alexia paused, looking over her shoulder to the other team before she faced you all again, continuing, “Our priority is the offensive. What good is a strong backline if we can’t counterattack? That’s why I’m suggesting she play as forward in the meantime, while Martina and I will play as interiors. Does that make sense?”

A collective nodding occurred.

“So just to clarify, we’re playing three–two–one?” Benji asked.

Alexia hummed, nodding her head. “Mostly. If we find the space and some opportunities, we can easily do three–one–two.”

“No pressure on us defenders, right?” Carmen said with a laugh, if not with a hint of nerve. 

Everyone laughed but at the end of it, Alexia placed a hand on Carmen’s shoulder. “No pressure because you guys, as I said, are very strong. You got this.”

Carmen smiled at Alexia at that, nodding before she finally moved to her spot. As you and Alexia moved towards the middle of the pitch, Guille was introduced to your line of sight, and a weight pressed in your gut. Disappointment? Perhaps. Or maybe you just actually missed talking and hanging out with him.

Alexia’s teasing tone pulled away your attention from Guille.  “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to play forward from all the keeping you’ve been doing.”

“Four years of keeping against the five years of playing forward? You need to brush up on your math ‘cause I think you’ve forgotten how to count.” You said dryly, giving her a look so dirty that had her throwing her head back in laughter.

Alexia leveled you with an unimpressed look but her tone remained playful. “You are such a bitch sometimes. You know that, right?”

“Thank you. I do try, you know. It’s my only defense against your smart-mouth.”

“Stop denying you don’t like my teasing.” Alexia waggled her brows as she smirked. The way she looked just then—with both hands on her hips, the ball beneath her left boot—your throat dried, heart racing; a sensation that’d familiarized itself to you during its recurrent visits over the past few weeks. Your mind blanked out, clear as the white of Alexia’s shirt, and when no words came to you to retort back, you shook your head and just laughed. By the time the game started—or maybe it was because it started—the feeling finally went away, replaced by the adrenaline that shot through your veins the moment Alexia kicked the ball to you.

It proved to be a tight game. The main strategy of the opposition seemed to be to mark and shut you and Alexia down whenever the ball so much turned your way. Alexia was right to trust your backline: any counterattack from the other team was dealt with immediately, and Julia only needed to save a handful of shots that passed through your defense, which she handled well.

At last, your team finally made a breakthrough.

Alexia cut a diagonal through the box, taking two of the defenders as she did, freeing up the space just behind her. You knew what she was doing so you faked a sidestep, turning quickly to lose your marker, before you sprinted in towards the middle of the box. And as you anticipated, Alexia sent the ball back to you with a flick of her heel. Now, if you could just—

The ground tilted, and there was a moment where the whole world suspended. It lasted for less than a breath before everything—the sensations and sounds—came rushing back in.

You slammed to the ground. 

Air was squeezed out of your lungs from the impact, while your skull and teeth rattled within the confines of your skin; the taste of green, earth, and copper spread on your tongue. Muffled shouts and grunts filtered past the ringing in your ear but when you cupped a hand over your tender ribs, your resulting groan was all you could hear.

When you finally came to, Alexia’s face was over you, the doubled image of her finally merging into one. Her wide, hazel eyes looked on you with worry and you felt the warmth of her fingers as they grazed over your face: from your temples down to your cheeks which she took in a gentle cradle.

“Alexia?” You let out another groan as you turned on your back while Alexia helped you.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

There was a tension that constricted around the front part of your head, but you could feel the blood pulsing most on the side that collided with the ground. “My head… it hurts.”

“Okay, okay. Just lay down for now, I’ll get you…”

You seemed to have passed out after that because one moment you were lying on the fields, and the next you were beside Alexia on her living room couch. You had a vague recollection of being carried on Alexia’s back, but the feel of the strong plane of her shoulder against your cheek remained there, warm and comforting. 

And only then, after Eli gave you ice for your head, did you see the bruise that bloomed deep in the skin of Alexia’s jaw, just below her left cheek, and the scuffed knuckles of her right hand which were splotched with deep reds and purples.

You took her hand onto your lap, gently running over the ice for your head over her knuckles, while you looked at Eli sitting on the opposite couch with Jaume beside her. Eli’s face burnt redder than you’d ever seen before, while Jaume held onto her hand, circling his thumb over the top of it in an attempt to calm her down.

Alexia remained quiet the whole time, eyes casted down as she took her mother’s reprimanding words. There was the unmistakable shine of shame in them, her guilt, but also an unwavering quality that stood for what she did. At the end of it, Eli and Jaume hugged the both of you before letting you retreat into Alexia’s room as you waited for your parents to arrive.

Instead of getting on her bed with you, Alexia plopped down on the floor just by the foot of the bed, her back against the wooden bedframe. You regarded the back of her head, her neck curved downwards, and you suddenly felt the need to be close to her so you shuffled off her sheets, and got down beside her. 

“Thank you, but your mother was right, you know? You shouldn’t have done it, Alexia.” You mumbled, unfurling her fingers to rest on your knee so you could access more of her knuckles that way. Gently, you placed ice over it, but she still hissed in pain. “You shouldn’t have punched him.”

“Why not? He deserved it.” Alexia said evenly as she stared at the far corner of the room. “And before you start defending him, you didn’t see what I saw—what the rest of us saw. He didn’t even touch the ball—it was all feet. He meant to trip you up.” 

Warmth bloomed in your chest at her words—at how her action showed just how much you meant to her—but the discomfort in your gut marred the surge of your affection for her. 

You took a deep breath, sighed it out, and it tasted like disappointment. 

“Alexia, I appreciate the gesture, I do. But you can’t just hurt people just because they did something to me.” 

Alexia puffed her chest and proclaimed, “I can.”

“Stop that nonsense, Alexia. I mean it.” Firmer now, you said, and there was a hint of desperation in the intonation of your words. There was an urgent need to make Alexia understand the gravity of what she did, what future implications it held if what Eli and you told her didn’t sink in now. “Actions like this can jeopardize you, Alexia, and all the things you worked hard for. Do you understand that? What will Alejandro say when he sees you all bruised up next practice? And if I get tackled dirty during a game and I get hurt, would you risk a red card, or suspension, for behaving like this?”

Alexia became silent, the muscle in her jaw working, and when she turned to you with her mouth open and you spotted a defiant crease in her brows, you were quick to stop her.

“If the answer to that question isn’t no, Ale, I don’t want to hear it.” The sound of teeth clattering filled the air. She casted her gaze aside again, her cheeks growing a shade deeper. “Look at me, Alexia.”

When she kept her eyes glued to the floor, you dropped the ice pack to take her face in your hands. She flinched from the coldness of your fingers but as you looked into her eyes, rimmed with redness and framed by drooping eyelids, you found exhaustion and the shine of apology. You brushed away a matted lock of hair from the tail end of her brow.

“You have a good heart, Alexia, but you have to promise me. Please don’t do something like this again. Ever.” 

Alexia looked into your eyes, deeply as if in contemplation, and then she closed them. A moment later, she sighed, sagging into your touch as if a weight had left her shoulders, before she opened them again. 

“I promise.” 

This time, you believed her.

Smiling softly at her, you whispered, while you placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

Settling into the moment, you rested your head against Alexia’s shoulder, her bruised hand in yours. In the brief silence before your father arrived to pick you up, Alexia spoke in an earnest tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I know you can handle yourself, but that won’t stop me from having your back.”

At her words, your heart felt like it would burst your chest open. And you should’ve known that this was where you’d end up—with her, it seemed inevitable anyway—because the years of you’d known Alexia flashed quickly before your eyes, and the memory stopped to this person beside you, haloed golden by the warm glow of her bedside lamp, and you were hit with a realization that took what little breath you had away.

You liked Alexia.

And, even more importantly, you want her.

[6]

When you got on the field in a Barça jersey for the first time after your return, you didn’t expect to be welcomed like you did. Jona subbed you on after the first half and as you left the tunnel, you heard the crowd chanting your name. The cheers made you feel excited, accepted and seen, but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t pressure you at all.

It was originally intended for you to come on during the last twenty minutes, but seeing as Caro, Patri, and Alexia gave the team a comfortable enough lead, Jona decided to sub you on ahead of schedule. You didn’t see much action on your end though, something that you didn’t mind at all—a quiet defensive-third was the best kind. The midfielders kept the midline high to sustain pressure in the offensive-third, while the defenders maintained such a tight backline that any loose through-balls sent to the opposing runners were called offside. Of course, there were a handful of times when you needed to get out of your box to ping the ball back into the offensive, but other than that, it was quiet. When the match ended, you were satisfied that Barça had another clean sheet and four goals to add to the season tally.

For the celebration, you moved with your teammates around Estadi Johan Cruyff, and during the procession, you spied your parents, Eli, and Alba who was talking to a raven-haired woman you’d never seen before, clapping and cheering. Warmth filled you upon seeing your family in the stands again—such a scene was a luxury when you were in the States because plane tickets weren’t exactly cheap—and when you felt the familiar weight of Alexia’s arm slung over your shoulders, the fabric of her captain armband against the skin of your neck, it felt like a perfect homecoming.

Well, almost.

After you’d showered and changed to your casuals, most of the crowd had gone while some lounged about, one of which was the raven-haired woman Alba was talking to. When Alexia took her hand, you knew instantly, and your heart—damn your heart—dropped.

“This is Diana,” Alexia said after the both of them made their way to you. And if it wasn’t their intertwined hands that revealed what they were to each other, their gaze—saccharine when they met—made it all the more clear the nature of their relationship long before Alexia said the words, “my girlfriend.”

Diana beamed up at Alexia, her cheeks deepening in color before she regarded you again, sticking her hand out towards you to shake. Preceding the intention, you took her hand and when you did, Diana placed her other hand over yours, clasping your hand between her warm palms.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Alexia’s talked so much about you.” 

She did? Your eyes flitted to Alexia but when she shied away from that, you focused back on Diana’s face. She was stunning: with her high cheekbones carved to elegance, her brows following the perfect line of her temple, her full lips painted with a terracotta shade made deeper by the bronze of her skin, while her loose, straight, raven hair framed her face in such a way that accentuated the sharpness of her jaws. Her eyes were dark but still light enough to see the outline of her pupils, and they had an amiable shape that reflected her warm nature. And for some reason, her light brown eyes looked really familiar—

“Ah! My favorite cousin made it, after all! Although I’m not sure it was me you went to the game for!” Tori’s playful voice resonated in the near-barren corridor. Diana’s eyes flicked somewhere behind you—to Tori, you supposed.

“Don’t be like that, Tori, of course I came to see you, too!”

“Lies!”

Diana shook her head, laughing, as she took Tori in her arms. “Come here, you!”

In response, Tori said something in Portuguese that made Diana laugh. When they broke apart, Diana said, “Forget you? Never. Especially when I owe you one.”

“Owe her what?” Alexia asked with her brows creased with curiosity.

Diana took Alexia’s hand and squeezed it, looking up at Alexia with a gentle expression. “For giving us the chance to meet.”

“Damn right!” Tori exclaimed, putting both hands on her hips, as she grinned so wide that her dimple showed. Tori must’ve seen your confusion because she leaned in to whisper, “I brought Diana as my plus one for last year’s Ballon D’Or ceremony.”

You allowed your mouth to drop open before you smiled, letting out a small laugh that made your chest ache. “Ah, I see.”

“She kept complaining about going but now, aren’t you grateful I took you away from your precinct, Detective Beauregard?” Tori teased.

“She’s never going to let us live this down, will she?” Diana muttered dryly to Alexia but it was deliberately loud enough for all of you to hear. In response, Alexia threw her head back laughing. 

“You’re a detective? That’s amazing!” You said, impressed.

“Please, Tori’s exaggerating. I work in forensics. DNA analyst is the correct title.” Diana threw Tori a dirty look to which the other woman raised her shoulders in response. “It’s a whole different world compared to yours so—and please don’t let this get to your head, Tori—I am grateful I was able to step into it.”

Her eyes, still locked with Alexia’s, grew all the more soft.

“Get a room, you guys,” Tori said with a mock sound of disgust, and then she continued to mutter, “And to think that you’ve only been going out for four months… I don’t even want to think about how it will be like in another three months.”

At that, Alexia raised a brow and then, “Want to do some extra laps tomorrow?”

You and Tori knew Alexia was joking, but Tori being Tori, she spluttered, “That would be a hard no, Captain. I’ll just—Have a great night!” 

With that, she ran away, arms flailing behind her in an exaggerated manner as she hastily made her exit. The sight drew laughter from the three of you.

“We’re having dinner at Mamá’s, want to come over?” Alexia asked.

You shook your head, flashing a look at Diana, before you told Alexia,“Not tonight. I’m just about to head over to my parents’ as well.”

“Alright. But Alba’s going to ask about you, you know? I think she wants to hang  out with you.”

You laughed. “Tell her to text me. She’ll know what that means.”

“Is that something I should know about?” Alexia smirked.

Flatly, you retorted, “If it’s something that concerns you, I’d be telling you by now, right?” 

“You see what I have to deal with?” Alexia told Diana, almost whining.

Inching backwards, you said as dry as you could manage, “I’ll take that as my queue to leave, Alexia might start crying. She’s a crybaby, you know?” 

“Hey! I’m not—”

“No need to be embarrassed about it, Alexia. Be proud!”

Diana only laughed, saying, “Alright, kids, I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Nodding, you grinned at Alexia while she mouthed the word ‘bitch’ to you. In kind, you mouthed ‘smartmouth’ back. With a shake of her head and a smile, she gave you one last hug, and after a pleasant goodnight from Diana, the three of you parted ways.

You sent them a look over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the watch around Alexia’s left wrist. It glinted as they walked together down the corridor, hand in hand, looking as in love as any new couple would. 

The sight made you smile, but it felt heavy, and as if the universe wanted to rub salt to the wound, you found Patri outside the locker room when you turned around with a look akin to pity in her eyes.

[7]

The next day, Guille stopped by at your place. He’d given you notice a few days prior but even still, the moment you saw him behind the door, you squealed like you were ten again from your excitement. After you hugged him tight—he made a choking noise when you did to tease you—you held him at arm’s length to see what changes the last few months had done to him.

He looked different. Gone were the long, dark curls; now sheared close to his scalp that left only about an inch of length, his hair retained their luscious shine, their color still as dark as night. 

His scar—the one just by the tail end of his left brow—that used to see little light from the obstruction of his hair, now stood apparent and without meaning to, the day he got it came back to you: the bruised knuckles, ice-cold fingers, and the warm blush of a lamplight.

 And your chest ached a little.

Leading the conversation to the living room, the two of you ended up ordering takeaways—mostly for Guille’s benefit because you weren’t about to subject him to your football diet—and as you ate, the two of you caught up.

Guille was close to finishing his dissertation—the biomechanics of concussion in sport and its neurocognitive implications—and he was both excited and fearful about what would come next. He then talked about his girlfriend, Iris, smittenly if you might add. She was actually with him in the city, but his mother insisted she steal Iris for the day for some quality bonding, and you laughed at the repertoire of stories he’d relayed in great detail about his mother’s teasing of their relationship.

“When am I going to meet Iris?” You asked with a teasing tone.

He rolled his eyes, “Well, since you’re actually staying in Barcelona this time, we can arrange that.”

A pause, and then, “Is Alexia staying here, too, or are you here by yourself?”

“No, it’s just me here.”

“Oh. I thought the two of you’d be rooming again like—” Probably seeing your change in demeanor, Guille cleared his throat as he ate his pasta a bit too eagerly. “Speaking of, how is she?”

The question was casual but you knew it was anything but.

“She’s doing good, if not a little stressed. Our first Champions League game is just around the corner after all and it’s against Chelsea, so.” You shrugged to complete your thought. You knew what he was asking but you’d rather not talk about that.

His eyes could burn a hole on the side of your head by the way he stared at you in the silence that followed. Then he sighed deeply.

“She still doesn’t know.”

Tension filled every inch of your body and you shrank tight as a coiled spring. You stood up as you felt a sudden urge to get away from him, taking the used plates on the coffee table as a pretense to move from the couch to the sink.

“What’s it to you if she doesn’t know, Guille?” You asked flatly, rolling up your sleeves after you turned the tap on.

“I just want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

“And who says I’m not?” Your tone was flat and when you glanced at him over your shoulder, Guille only gave you a pointed look.

Then he said softly, “She could make you happier and you know it.”

And there it was again, that look in his eyes that you just couldn’t stand. Gritting your teeth, you gripped the edge of the sink and your voice quaked when you spoke. “Please stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” you tried to find the words but when they evaded you, you huffed and threw your hands up in the air. “Why are you making it sound like I have a chance?”

“Because you do! You’re the one who’s not giving Alexia a chance by not telling her.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“She loves you.”

A pause.

“That’s bullshit.” You shook your head, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. As much as your heart wanted that to be true, you knew otherwise.

“It’s really fucking not.” Guille countered.

“If she did, she wouldn’t have said what she did.” 

“People say stupid shit when they’re drunk.”

“That can go the other way, too. Alcohol has a way of loosening what’s been bottled.”

“Oh, come on!” Guille scoffed. “You’ve known her since you were eight. You’ve been through thick and thin together! Do you really think she wanted you to leave?”

With the reminder, the memory sprung up on you and you could hear Alexia’s voice, grating and wrenching your heart raw again when you heard the words from her lips. You whirled around to face him, eyes burning.

“You weren’t there when she told me, Guille!” You breathed out sharply and then you continued, in a lower tone filled with resignation, you whispered as you buried your face in your palms. “You didn’t hear the way she said it. You didn’t—”

You choked on your words. 

After all this time, it was still too painful.

Darkness filled your vision but the tears escaped nonetheless, branding tracks down your cheeks. You heard the rustling of clothes followed by soft footsteps. Before you knew it, Guille’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and his familiar, comforting scent made you sink into the embrace.

“You’re right. I wasn’t there. But if you could forgive me for being an asshole and what I did to you, why can’t you do the same with her?”

You didn’t say anything after that, only clutched at his shirt a little tighter.

Guille kept quiet, too.

The both of you knew just the reason why.

[8]

“Did you see the news?” Jona asked as he kept the door open for you to an empty meeting room, closing it as soon as you’d gone in. 

Sitting down on one of the cushioned chairs, you said, “I did.”

You saw it this morning and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t faze you. 

Jona nodded, taking the chair across the table from you. He put his clasped hands on the wooden surface and the way he tapped an erratic rhythm with his thumbs didn’t help your nerves.

“Lyon paid a hefty transfer fee for her and that makes me worried. I don’t know what Bompastor is planning to do with her but her transfer to the European league will be a concern for the club.” With a pensive crease appearing between his brows, he continued. “You probably know why I asked you to come in.”

“You want me to tell you what I know about her.”

He nodded, leaning forward as if to emphasize his point. “She’s a lethal forward and you’re the only one in the club who’s ever played with her. In fact, you two seemed very close during your time in Angel City.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back into your chair, frowning slightly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Jona blinked at you.

Then slowly, “Surely you must’ve trained closely together considering she’s a forward and you’re a keeper? Unless training was vastly different in Angel City, then I’m sorry for the assumption.”

“O–Oh, I thought you were implying—” You shook your head, uncrossing your arms as you waved the rest of your sentence away. “Never mind. But yes, that’s right.”

Jona gave you another questioning look before speaking again. 

“She’s going to be a big problem. And that’s why I’m going to change things up a bit. I want to put you in the starting lineup as soon as possible—put as many games with our current team under your belt. We’ll most likely face Lyon in the Quarters and that’s unfortunate but what is great is that you’re here: the best counter to what Lyon acquired. If we could eliminate Lyon early, we have a higher chance of winning this year’s Champions League. The question is, are you ready for it?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Jona.” You said seriously, ignoring the pressure that pressed in the periphery of your mind.

“Use me.”

#ap11 #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #my writing #a/n: i'm just gonna drop this here lol #im really sorry for the very very very late update #had no time lately and after losing the first draft for this (8k words down the drain) my motivation kind of just fell off the cliff #but ive been rewriting this on the go for the past month or so so please forgive me for more grammar and spelling mistakes than usual #also im kinda jetlagged and sick atm so im planning to get to your messages as soon as i get my bearings back <3 #i hope youre all doing well and thank you for reading <3

[steddiecameraroll]

Robin is gawking at him and he can’t figure out why.

“What??” Steve shrugs.

“Repeat what you just said.”

“What? That I’d kiss Eddie?”

What’s the big deal?

“Yes, yes that.” She narrows her eyes and leans over the counter. “Since when?”

“Since always?” He doesn’t understand what she’s not grasping. “Why are you so surprised? Don’t his lips look super soft?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never once clocked the smoothness of his lips.”

“Oh come on,” Steve scoffs. “You’re telling me after months of hanging out with him, you’ve not once looked at his mouth?”

“Oh I’m sure I’ve looked at his mouth. The man does not shut up, but I can say I’ve never noticed his lips.”

“Whatever, I don’t believe you, but OK.” He shrugs because there’s no point in arguing.

“Steve, I’ve never noticed any man’s lips. Including yours. And the fact that you have is what I’m trying to explore right now.”

“What do you mean?” He feels a weird twinge deep in his gut.

“What do you mean, what do you mean?” Her voice is oozing with disbelief. “How many other men’s lips have you noticed?”

“I don’t know, I don’t keep track.”

Obviously. That would be really hard to do. He’d have to have a notepad or something in his pocket at all times.

“You don’t keep track?” Her eyes look like they’re going to pop out of her head. “Wait, so you’re telling me there’s too many for you to remember?”

“Yes? I mean, even today there was that one customer with that jean jacket and that guy with the colts hat. And it’s only 11.”

“Oh my god.” Her jaw is on the floor.

“What? I don’t get it. We talk about customers we think are hot all the time?”

“OH MY GOD!” She slaps her hand over her mouth.

“What? I seriously don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

“Steve.” She swallows before continuing. “You’re attracted to them?”

“If they’re hot, they’re hot. What’s the big deal?”

“I have NEVER thought a man was hot. I can understand how they’re attractive but me myself and I, doesn’t get it.”

“Never?” That doesn’t make sense.

“Never. I’m a lesbian. That means I’m attracted to women. What you’re telling me, so very nonchalantly, is that you, Steve Harrington, have found men attractive. In fact, you’re telling me you find Eddie Munson attractive. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Not really.” He crosses his arms and cocks his right hip out.

“You’re not as straight as you might think you are, buddy.”

“What?” No.

“You find more than women attractive.”

“But I’d never date a guy?”

“Oh really? Tell me, have you ever thought what Eddie’s like as a boyfriend? Or like maybe how big his dick is?” She sounds frustrated.

“Well…kinda?” He remembers that one weekend he had everyone over to hang out at the pool, and the first time Eddie got out of the water. His swim trunks were wet and clinging to his body, and Steve’s eyes clocked the outline of the man’s dick. He did wonder if the man was a grower as well as a shower. “It was only because it was like right there.”

“You’re a disaster. What about the boyfriend thing?” She tilts her head and shrugs.

“Wait, so you’re telling me you’ve never thought what it might be like if we dated? Not even at Scoops?”

“Oh my god, no! Les-bee-an,” she waves her hands in front of her body.

“Whatever, it’s not like I’ve thought about marrying him or anything. Just kissing and like how sex would work, y’know between us. If he- or if I wanted him to- which doesn’t sound bad, I’ve just never done that so I don’t know if I’d like it. Would he like it?” Steve leans on his elbows over the counter, and almost gets lost in thought over the idea.

“Now you’re having sex with him?” Robin squeals.

“How do I know if I don’t like it if I don’t try it? Maybe I’d love it. This feels like a way for me to find out.”

“I think I need a break. Don’t follow me.” She points at him. “I’m happy you’re exploring this…thing, but I’m not equipped for this. My best friend likes boys.” She shakes her head and walks away murmuring to herself.

“I don’t know that I…,” he trails off when she disappears into the back room.

Steve’s thumbing through one of the movie release magazines on the counter when the bell over the entrance catches his attention.

“Hey, big boy.” Eddie gives Steve a bright smile as he saunters up to the front counter.

“Hey, man.” Steve closes the magazine and stands up straight. Perfect timing. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Oh yeah? Missed me?” He leans over the countertop and looks up at Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes. This goofball. “Yes, I’ve got a question for you. Rob and I were talking earlier and she said she’s never checked out a guy before. That because she’s a lesbian, she’s not attracted to men, at all. But that makes no sense because I’ve found a ton of guys attractive and I’m straight. Maybe I’m not dating these men, but I’d definitely fool around with them. She’s lying right?”

Eddie’s staring at Steve with his mouth slightly agape. The smile is gone and Steve can see more of the whites in Eddie’s eyes, like he’s surprised or something.

“You get it, right? Am I crazy?” Steve’s heart is starting to pick up.

“F-fool around?” Eddie’s voice cracks a little.

“Yeah, like, hand jobs and making out or whatever. Maybe more? I don’t know, I’ve never done more than a blow job but I’ve thought about it.”

Eddie shoots up with a violent cough, like he swallowed wrong. He starts slamming his fist into his chest trying to catch his breath, and Steve stands there watching the guy have a coughing fit.

“You OK?” Should he get Eddie some water?

Eddie raises his finger asking for a second, and keeps slapping his palm against his chest. Steve stands there getting more and more self conscious as each second passes. After a good 20 more seconds Eddie seems to have caught his breath and gives Steve a small smile.

“Just for, uh clarifications sake, did you give the blow job or get the blow job?”

“Both?”

Who only receives and doesn’t pay back? That’s rude.

Eddie huffs and stumbles forward slightly catching his hands on the counter. He nods at Steve, then lets his head dip down, his hair falling down over his face.

“Right, obviously. Did, uh, did you enjoy it?” Eddie’s voice sounds strained.

“Yeah? Who doesn’t like sex? I haven’t done it a lot but yeah. Don’t you like it?” Is he missing something?

“Uh huh,” Eddie flips his head back and looks at Steve. “I like it a lot.”

Steve shrugs, and then watches Eddie drag his eyes slowly up Steve’s body like he’s cataloguing every inch of it. The direct attention catches Steve by surprise, and he can feel a blush spread across his cheeks.

“So, y-you get it, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “I just didn’t know you got it.”

“What? Of course. Doesn’t everybody find all hot people attractive?”

“Some of us,” Eddie’s voice is almost gravelly now, and it’s doing something to Steve’s body.

“Some? What do you mean?”

“Not everyone thinks like we do, Steve. Wow,” he shakes his head. “We. As in, you and I. As in you, Steve Harrington, pretty boy extraordinaire. Ohhh this changes everything.” Eddie murmurs almost to himself. “How did this, uh, topic come up with Robin?”

“We were talking about you, but hold on.” Steve waves his hands around. “Not everyone? You’re telling me that not everyone is attracted to everyone?”

“Me?” Eddie ignores Steve’s question. “What about me? You were talking about me?”

“Yes, I said you had kissable lips but go back. I don’t understand. I can name five guys right now who agree with me. I mean, two of them had girlfriends when we messed around. In fact, Stacy was there one time. She only watched but like, what are you saying?”

“Kissable lips? You think…? Wait, five? You’ve had a threesome?”

“I don’t think it’s a threesome if she didn’t get involved. Right?”

“Riiight, ok wow. So you’re straight, you say?”

“Yes, why is this so hard to explain? I figured if anyone would understand it would be you, because you said you’re bisexual. So you’re actually attracted to men and women as in you’d date them both.”

Eddie blinks at Steve a few times before nodding slowly. “Right, cause that’s what that means. Um, is Robin still here?” Eddie’s looking around the store now trying to find the woman.

“No, she had the early shift.”

“Ok, well, um so I’m gonna go home and blow my brains out, but uh if you want to…,” Eddie taps his fingers on the counter. “If you want to come over later and find out how soft my lips are, let me know.” He slaps his hand in the counter, and turns away heading toward the door without glancing back at Steve.

“Um, OK.”

“See ya, Harrington.” Eddie throws his hand over his head and pushes himself through the exit.

Steve shrugs and scoops the magazine back into his hands. Maybe he’ll get to see how soft Eddie’s lips are around his dick.

#steve harrington is a disaster #steve naked in bed next to Eddie while hes panting and trying to catch his breath: I gotta tell Rob I liked it #Eddie face palm groan #they’re two months deep before steve realizes he’s not straight #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiecameraroll posts #my writing #steddie ficlet

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Thinking about having a secret that no one in the group knows about, but you end up telling Steve when you’re cleaning him up, and all of you are changing into your new clothes for the battle with Vecna.

You really think you’ll be dying and that’s why you say it, fiddling with your fingers. He’s inquisitive, voice a low and quietly calm rasp - just for you.

“Tell me, please?” He’s begging, and underlying need to please, to satiate before this all unfolds tonight. However, still patient with you.

“I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like to have sex. I want to know how it feels to be close to someone, and not when we’re being threatened to die by some monster.” Straight to the point with him, it takes you a few seconds to meet his gaze.

He’s thoughtfully paused, swallows a few times, making the cuts wrapped around his neck and jugular all the more visible. You ache inside, knowing how much it must hurt him. You’re not ready as his thick hand cradles the line of your jaw, thumbpad grazing your temple. It’s an unspoken agreement the moment that his dirt shaded brows raise in question. You’re nodding into his nose as it slides across your lips, two friends meeting mouths.

He kisses you once, twice, testing the waters. And the floodgates release, his spare hand cradling your nape, knees working apart so that you can slide in between. It’s a careful shift to get you onto your back, and he does it so gently that you were barely aware you hit his unmade bed at all.

“Are you sure you feel okay to —“ He breaks your shaky question with a kiss to your neck, a nose bridge to the apple of your cheek. You card a hand through his streaked, dampen tresses, feeling the nod before he speaks his words across your throat.

“ — I really fuckin’ need you tonight. Let me be the one to take care of you?”

Acceptance is given in a settled fervor. He doesn’t rush you, takes his time letting you experience how things feel, how you feel, how you’re making him feel, and what you’re doing together. He kisses your nerves and away, adds his thumb to your clit when you have trouble accepting him into your body. Words of encouragement are bestowed, only for you, shared pleas and whispers. Once he’s fully seated, he grabs your hands, mouths your jaw in a pathway right down to your lips, checking in with you.

His hips stutter a few times the before he starts. Overwhelmed with the situations, but mostly how tight and warm your body feels. He makes it last for you as long as he can, but you know he needs to let go. “Cum in me. Steve, do it inside of me.” You beg, kissing his stubble, mouths panting with need.

It happens moments later and he eases out, lets his hand drift, rubbing you through your own climax, you holding one another after. Until you reluctantly part to prepare to load the RV. He clasps a hand across your shoulder as you wipe your tears, knees still shaking from the changes of letting someone else in your body. You feel different, you want to stay with Steve - safe in his bed.

“You’re gonna be okay, I know so. When it’s all over, we can do this again. I’ll take you to bed every single night… If you’ll have me?”

You accept. And after survival, post-battle, even when everything has gone to shit, defeat present, having sunk through your muscles and settled across your bones - he makes good on his promise from that very first night on.

#kristenwrites #my writing #my work #steve harrington #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things drabble #stranger things blurb #stranger things smut #stranger things fluff #best-friends to lovers

[pierregazly]

a hug from you ꨄ oscar piastri

oscar piastri x afab!reader

warnings: reader dealing with period pain, long-distance relationship, mostly fluff [1022 words]

request: heyyy could you do "you look like you could use a hug" + "it will be better in the morning" from the 💗 list? with oscar piastri please!

The heating pad was pressed against your abdomen, the warmth radiating through your body as you clutched it closer to you. The cramps were heinous, they always were the first two days of your cycle. The headaches and back pain that had started to accompany the cramps just an extra frustration.

The pain had started earlier in the day, after an already-nightmare start to the morning. From the coffee that had slipped off the counter early in the morning, mug shattering across the floor, to the package of paper that had flown off your desk later in the afternoon - it felt like everything was slowly getting worse and piling up as the day progressed.

This agonizing pain radiating from your uterus was simply the icing on the cake. Tears had already been irrationally shed, junk food consumed. All you wanted to do now was curl up on the couch with the heating pad and a blanket, maybe a few snacks, and the television on to whatever sad show you could find.

Physical comfort from your favourite person, would also be a plus. The only thing you actually wanted, too.

Unfortunately, Oscar was still on a plane. He was coming home from London for winter break, the Formula 1 season having finally come to an end.

It was the only thing you were looking forward to now. Even if the pain radiating from your uterus had you clutching the heating pad closer to your abdomen every few moments, a grimace so evident on your features - all you could think about was the fact Oscar would be walking through the apartment door in a few short hours.

Oscar had texted you from his layover in Singapore hours ago, advising he was about to get on the plane and would message you when the plane touched down in Melbourne. Having taken the same flight more times than you can even count, you knew it wouldn’t be much longer til he was back home in his home country.

The ding from your phone minutes later being exactly what you thought, Oscar had landed and was just grabbing his luggage. He’d likely be home in the next hour.

Knowing how late it was, Oscar wasn’t expecting a response from you when he messaged you to let you know he was on his way home. The surprise of receiving a response almost immediately prompted a small smile to curl up on his lips.

He hadn’t seen you in almost a month in a half, both schedules being too hectic to make time for him to fly home, or for you to fly out to a race. He had been dying to see you from the moment he stepped on the plane in London, excited to get the chance to curl up around you and simply sleep after such a long flight. He would be the first one to admit how much he detested sleeping alone.

You were thinking the same thing, except all you wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms, his warm body helping to alleviate the never-ending cramping that felt like it was overtaking your body.

It didn’t take him long to get to your shared apartment once he finally hit the road, the late hour making it a smooth drive; no other cars on the road to impede his heavy foot that was currently pressing down on the gas pedal. 

The click of the lock had your head whipping towards the door from your spot on the couch, your face lighting up as the door swung open. Oscar had bags hanging off all his limbs, a backpack on his back, two suitcases beside his legs, a duffle swung up on his arms. But you could still see the smile on his face once your eyes connected with his.

It took him a moment to register you in the dark of the apartment, the only light being from the hallway and the television. He instantly clocked the heating pad pressed to your abdomen overtop of the blanket, the packages of snacks laid out on the coffee table in front of you, and the show you only ever watched during this time of the month replaying on the television - his own grimace overtook his features once he wrapped his head around everything.

Dragging all his belongings into the room, he made his way over to you. Internally groaning as you sat up, Oscar was quick to place a soft peck to your lips, your cheeks, and then your forehead.

“Hi, baby,” he said, a soft smile etched on his cheeks.

“Hi, Osc. Missed you,” you murmured.

“Missed you more. You look like you could use a hug,” the words left his lips, his eyes following your movements as you shrugged, a small nod following.

He knew you like the back of his hand, knew that all you wanted was affection and cuddles from him when your body was hurting like this. Which, after almost an entire day of flying, he was more than happy to grab your hand and drag you towards the bedroom, his bags a problem for another day as he flopped down on the bed, his jacket, shirt, and pants having already found their way to the floor. 

Eagerly dragging you into bed with him, he was quick to wrap his arms around you, tugging your body into his as he nestled his face into your neck. The exhale that fell from your lips was one of content. Happy to finally be wrapped in Oscar’s arms again, the warmth radiating from his body soothing the ache in yours.

“Missed you so much, Osc. Hate being away you for so long. Hate being alone when my body is trying to kill me.” 

You felt him press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.

“Well, I’m home now. Everything will be better in the morning, my love.”

You hoped he was right. Really, you knew he was right. Your cramps wouldn’t be as bad, everything that had happened today would be yesterday’s problem. You got to wake up next to Oscar, had the opportunity to finally spend another day with him.

It was all you could ask for, really.

i don't love this, but i rewrote it so many times i needed to get it out??? all i want is oscar to comfort me when i'm dealing with this tho sooo

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x you #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri blurb #oscar piastri fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 blurb #blurb #writing #my writing

[hairyjocktf]

A Hairy Remedy

Mark had been pacing back and forth all afternoon, waiting for the mail to arrive. He couldn’t focus on anything else, he’d been waiting weeks for this delivery and it was scheduled to arrive today. Every noise from outside had him rushing to the windows to peek through the blinds. Mark was nearly 30, yet looked barely 20. He’d endured a decade of people making fun of him for having a babyface or being too effeminate, and he’d had enough. After some research online he found some articles and testimonies about Rogaine, a hair growth cream aimed at guys who were balding. While that was the furthest thing from a problem for him, Mark found people on some forums that had used it elsewhere, who wanted to thicken up their beards and more. The before and after pictures he had seen had sold him, and he immediately went and ordered some online. 

He took a break from mindlessly pacing around to use the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror really illustrated how right his bullies had been. His skin was completely smooth, with barely any peach fuzz on his face. That would change soon, he thought, a beard would surely age him up a good bit. Not that he wanted to look old, but not being carded at every bar would be nice. The doorbell rang, and Mark tripped over himself trying to bolt to the front door. Yanking it open, he saw a small package on the mat, with the delivery van already speeding off. He quickly snatched up the box and slammed the door, giddy with excitement. Mark raced to the kitchen to grab the scissors, shredding the cardboard box open to reveal his prize. He held the tube of cream delicately in his palm like it was a newborn. This was it, his saving grace, he thought.

He quickly scanned the pamphlet that came with the cream, notably reading the line, “WARNING: This product has NOT been tested on areas outside of the scalp. We do not recommend usage anywhere besides the scalp, and cannot guarantee results.” Eh, he’d seen it work on guys online, it must be safe enough. Without further thought Mark dashed into the bathroom, staring at his pathetic reflection in the mirror. He felt a sense of power unlike anything before, knowing he held his fate in his hands. He nearly let out a comically evil laugh before realizing he was getting ahead of himself. It was just hair growth medication.

Mark opened the tube and squeezed some of the cream into his palm. Now was time for decisions. He probably should have thought this part through a little more, but no matter, he thought. He began to rub the cream into his face, making sure to stay in the lines of where a beard would grow. Starting with his upper lip, he massaged the cream into his bare skin, working from there down to his chin and then across his cheeks. The ointment was cool and tingled a little as he applied it. Despite his caution, while getting the underside of his jaw he heard a splatter. 

Looking down, he saw a white glob of the cream had fallen directly onto his chest. “Shit, that’s not good,” he cursed to himself. He grabbed a nearby towel before pausing. A smirk spread across Mark’s face as the thought dawned on him. Why not leave it? A little chest hair couldn’t hurt, he thought. The goal was to look a little older anyway. With a devious grin plastered on his face he started to rub the cream into his chest, most of it between his small pecs and spreading it out from there. Satisfied with the treatment he capped the tube and went back to the living room. Now came the hard part: waiting. He went back to check the package to see how long it would take.

“Four to six MONTHS?!” he wailed. He hadn’t bothered to look at a timeline or anything in his research, and this news was devastating to him. He’d expected it to take a while to work, but half a year? That was just too long. With an overwhelming amount of disappointment in his head, Mark collapsed onto the couch and turned on some TV. The rest of the day faded away as he tried to distract himself from how bummed he was. He turned in fairly early, it was Sunday anyway and he had to get up early for work the next morning. With one last glance in the mirror he confirmed that nothing had happened, and went to bed. 

The morning came in an instant, with Mark’s phone alarm wailing into the quiet sunrise until he rolled out of bed. He begrudgingly made his way to the bathroom and started getting his shower ready when he passed by the mirror and did a double take. He stared at his reflection, dropping his towel on the floor in shock. He had stubble. Not just a little peach fuzz, no, a decent layer of it all across his jaw. His hand slowly moved to touch it, to make sure it was real. His fingers grazed over the tips of the scratchy hairs, the prickly feeling sending shivers through his body. It had worked, overnight even! His grin widened as he looked down to see a dusting of hair on his chest where he’d rubbed the cream. He had chest hair! It wasn’t particularly dark or dense but that didn’t matter to him, he actually looked like he’d gone through puberty now. The hairs had sprouted in the center of his chest and spread out towards his nipples, growing long enough to start curling a little. 

With a renewed energy Mark hopped in the shower and continued getting ready for work. He was giddy with excitement, and couldn’t stop feeling the rough stubble on his face. He threw on his slacks and button down shirt and hopped in his car, nearly late from getting distracted so much. Thoughts were racing through his mind on the way to the office; what would people think? He walked in with a swagger he’d never felt at his job before, making his way to his desk and hoping someone would comment. It took until he and some coworkers left to get lunch for anyone to notice, however.

“Hey Mark, growing out a beard are you? I didn’t think you had it in you,” his coworker laughed. “It looks good so far!” he made sure to follow it up with. Mark beamed, someone had noticed! It was really happening. This may have been the best day of his life for all he could care. Anytime he was in private he would have one hand on his cheek and one on his chest, feeling the soft hairs. He could feel his cock jump at the sensation, pushing against his rather tight dress pants. Luckily no one could see that at his desk, he thought, moving one hand to rub down there. A couple other people commented on his new facial hair throughout the day, and Mark was ecstatic. This feeling was electric, addictive almost, he loved the attention and slight amount of respect the stubble seemed to have given him.

Before he knew it the work day was over and Mark scrambled to pack up his belongings to try and beat the rush. In the elevator down he scratched at his face, another grin plastered across his face. He had the classic 5 o’clock shadow for the first time, he thought to himself with a chuckle. A hardworking businessman he was now. He got entirely caught up in the rush hour traffic, but even that couldn’t put a damper on his day. An hour later he was home, walking through the kitchen and dumping his coat and bag. He entered the bathroom to wash his hands and splash some water on his face when he spotted the tube of Rogaine still sitting on the vanity. Mark stared at it, the elated feelings of the day still fresh in his mind. A thought began creeping up from the back of his mind, one that scared him, but also made his cock lurch in his pants.

What if I put on a little more? 

That was the end of it. The idea consumed him, and within seconds he’d torn off his dress shirt and was squeezing more cream into his hands. He spread a thick layer of it across his upper lip, feeling the stubbly hairs that now dotted the area. He then spread more out across his cheeks, which had a decent shadow of stubble across them. Next up was his chest. In the morning he’d been thrilled by the amount of hair now adorning the area, but now he craved more. He pushed more cream from the tube and spread it over a much wider area, from his nipples all the way up to his collarbone, and everything in between. Finishing that up, he realized he’d gotten some extra cream all over his hands, which he rubbed in without a thought. 

The feeling of mania slowly dwindled as he put the cream away and carried on with his night. As he ate dinner he began to worry that he’d gone too far, maybe he should have just waited. It was too late now, though, so he bottled up that worry and watched some TV before getting ready for bed. 

Mark bolted upright when the alarm sounded the next morning. He tore off his sheets and ran to the mirror to take a look at himself.

It had worked again! His stubble was thicker now, with a more pronounced mustache. The hairs on his upper lip were denser and longer, though the rest of his facial hair had also filled in somewhat even if it was still short. But the real showstopper was his chest. The hairs had spread far from the day before, crawling up his pecs all the way where he spread the cream. The hair was thicker, denser, and made him feel exceedingly masculine. He couldn’t believe it. He ran a hand over the more prominent chest hair, the soft hairs tingling under his fingers. His cock rose to attention in his boxers as he lost himself briefly in the moment, unconsciously rubbing his nipple with the other hand. Control slipping away from him, Mark began to moan as he pinched his nipple, feeling the stubble and chest fur that had sprouted. Moments later a rush filled his body, his cock shooting rope after rope of cum onto the mirror. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned, coming back to his senses. What the hell was that? It had felt amazing, but it was as if a primal instinct had taken over him. He watched the cum slide down the mirror for a minute before snapping fully back to reality; he had to get to work! He quickly wiped as much cum off the glass as he could before hopping in the shower and getting dressed. He bolted out the door without eating breakfast, having realized how late he was. Just how long had he been feeling himself in there? 

He parked and scrambled to an elevator inside. In his haste he’d forgotten to button his shirt up all the way, but he noticed in the mirror that some of his new chest hair peeked out of the top. It looked masculine, virile even. He played with a couple of the hairs before the door opened on his floor and he had to act natural. The day was fairly uneventful, other than a couple different coworkers commenting on his stubble and mustache. Mark felt even more confident today than he had yesterday, despite the chaotic morning. As afternoon rolled around, he even unbuttoned his shirt a little more, letting the newly grown hairs breathe. He lounged at his desk getting some of his work done but mostly basking in his newfound masculinity, occasionally sneaking a rub of his chest hair.

Soon enough the day was over again, and Mark made his way home. He was thrilled with how he was looking, but somehow he’d gotten less attention today than before. That didn’t sit right with him. While stuck in traffic he tried to figure it out, going through scenarios and situations from the day. Maybe… he thought he was making progress but in the eyes of others he looked the same. Frustrated, he barged through the door of his house and grabbed a beer from the fridge before landing on the couch. He turned on the TV and cracked it open, slowly sipping away at it as the light outside faded into dusk. Finishing that beer, he went for another, nursing it and watching some mediocre movies. Eventually the beers caught up to him, and having to pee badly he hopped up and went to the bathroom. There, on the counter, was the tube of Rogaine.

It seemed to burn a hole in his vision, everything else fading away. The feelings of the last day flooded back to him; the confidence of being hairy, the frustration of it not being enough, the pleasure of cumming to his own hairy body. Mark felt the same devilish thought clawing back into his head, but no longer as a question. It was a desire.

I need more.

He opened the tube again, squirting the cream directly onto his chest this time, slathering it all across his pecs and down over his stomach. He rubbed the cream deep into his already decently hairy chest, before taking more and coating his face with another layer. Mark was spreading far too much cream on, and from his jaw it began dripping down his neck. He couldn’t care less. His logical self had taken a backseat, his body being driven by a deep seated need, a desire he’d been unaware of. Mark stripped off the rest of his work clothes and kept at it. He continued to smear the cream across his torso, spreading it from his chest up and over his collarbone onto his shoulders. He was so engrossed in rubbing the cream into his skin that he was oblivious to the slight itch that began cropping up under the thick paste.

Mark wiped the excess cream onto his forearms and stared into the mirror, breaths ragged. He’d worked himself into a sweat. The droplets streamed down his skin, pulling the cream with it. His eyes surveyed his wet, ointment covered skin for anything. That was when he noticed the itch. It had grown stronger, more prevalent over his chest as the skin began reacting to the heavy dose of cream laid on. Hairs started to push out of his chest, darker and thicker than the ones before. They grew longer as more and more filled in the spaces between. Mark’s cock grew harder as he watched the hairs sprout, feeling them coming in between his fingers. The hairs thickened into a dark rug, completely coating his chest and crawling upward, thick whorls of hair overtaking his collarbone. His neck, which had been bare until now, began darkening as the shadow of hair crept up over it. Long strands erupted from the base, continuing the chest hair up onto his neck; no collar would ever hide these dark hairs. His stubble crept down from his jaw to meet in the middle, growing darker and pushing out farther from his face. His nicely trimmed stubble was quickly becoming a scruffy mess, with the wiry beard hairs erupting all over his face. Mark used his tongue to feel the longer hairs pushing out of his upper lip, curling over and spreading over his cheeks. He was really tenting his boxers now.

The hairs began moving south, down from his chest in a line towards his navel. The thick line of fur blossomed outward across his belly, darkening the area with long tangled hairs that blotted out the skin. Mark rubbed his hand over the growing fur, groaning from the stimulation of the hairs under his hand. Without thinking he reached back for the tube of Rogaine, pushing more out into his hands before absolutely coating his pits in the stuff. He scratched and scratched as the itch spread from his chest there, looking like a monkey as near instantly thick black hairs shot out of his bare underarms. One after another they pressed out, his fingers clawing through a denser and denser bush. Soon enough they’d overwhelmed the area with a thick tuft of tangled hair, spreading even further to connect with the rug on his chest. Mark was overcome by the tingling feeling of hairs bursting from his skin, surrendering himself even more to what was happening. 

When he finally pulled his hands out of his pits they didn’t escape unscathed. The backs of his hands were coated with thick hairs, and as he pulled one up to his face to look closer he could see more worming their way out of his knuckles. The sight alone was enough for a glob of precum to shoot into his boxers. The hairs didn’t end there, however. They surged up his forearms, a tangled forest of black hairs erupting and growing dense. The same followed on his upper arms, connecting seamlessly to the dense fur coating his shoulders. He felt the signature itch of the hair growth spread from his shoulders down across his back. Turning in the mirror, he saw thousands of dark spots appear across his shoulder blade and race down towards his ass. Seconds later every spot erupted into thick curly hair, follicles pushing them out longer and longer. The mat thickened over his back as hairs curled and tangled together, especially right above his waistband. 

His body wasn’t done yet. Mark felt an intense prickling under his boxers and quickly pulled them down, scratching relentlessly at his inflating ass. He could feel as the prickles turned into wiry hairs, pushing out across his cheeks. He groaned as the feeling of thick hairs growing like fur in his crack was too much, shoving his hands in there to feel the thick pelt erupting from his skin. His eyes nearly rolled back as he felt up his tight hole surrounded by a jungle of hair, his cock harder than he’d ever felt it before and leaking like a faucet. The fog he had felt absorbed in just that morning was returning, his body acting on its own in search of masculinity and pleasure. The hair growth only served to fuel that fire, spreading from his ass down his legs in a thick carpet over his thighs. The curls popped up from the skin, thickening as they pressed out from his skin into a fuzzy coating all the way to his feet.

Mark slid further and further into the recesses of his mind, intoxicated from testosterone as his body continued to change. His self-indulgence reached a crescendo as every other desire slipped away, flushed out of him through the faucet that was his dripping cock. 

More hair.

His hand reached for the tube again, emptying the last of it into his palm before reaching to grasp his rock hard cock. He slid his hand up and down, coating it in the cream and letting the rest drip all over his groin. A moan slipped out as he continued to pump his member, it slowly growing thicker and longer as it absorbed the cream. More drops of cream splattered into his sparse bush, Fertilizing the ground for what was next. Dark hairs began popping out of his skin, dark and thick. They pushed out longer than his old hairs, filling in the space between them rapidly. 

More hair.

His pubes erupted in mere minutes, a dense triangle of fur filling out his crotch, tangling and curling together as the scent of musk and ointment grew stronger. The hairs continued their conquest, reaching up to his stomach and out over his thighs. His balls swelled larger before becoming enshrouded in a carpet of their own. His cock continued pushing out longer as Mark pumped away, groaning as it grew thicker and more sensitive. 

He wasn’t done yet, as more and more hairs filled in all over, rugs connecting into a massive carpet of body hair. The hairs were ever crawling up the shaft of his massive cock thanks to the cream. Mark’s breathing had grown intense, groaning nonstop as instinct took over completely. One hand rubbing through his thick fur and the other edging him closer and closer to climax. He could feel the tingle as the hairs lengthened and thickened, coarse hairs rubbing against each other as they matted together.

He roared as everything finally peaked, his cock erupting with rope after rope of cum. It went everywhere, getting tangled in all his new grown fur. He continued pumping load after load out, an unbelievable amount of cum poured out of him onto his hairy body. He gasped as every pump of his cock sent immense waves of pleasure through him, squeezing every last drop of cum out. He let go of his softening member and moved his hands to his chest, feeling the sticky cum in all the hair. 

“Fuuuuuck yes…” he groaned as he rubbed the cum into his fur just as he’d done with the cream earlier. His bush was completely soaked with cum, and he could feel the hairs thickening as he massaged the area. All over his body, the cum served only to encourage even more growth, and quicker than the Rogaine ever had. Dark hairs pressed out between previous ones, covering him in a dense pelt that hid his skin beneath. Cum slowly dribbled out of his cock as the pleasure swept through his system. The fog in his head slowly dissipated, and Mark was brought back to the forefront of his brain. The primal instincts that had control for the past hour gave up their hold. He stared at himself in the mirror for a minute. Black fur coated his whole body, cum dripped from patches all over him. His cock was now dangling at eight inches soft. He slowly moved his arms to feel the hair growing all over him, trying to process his reality. He only managed to get two words out.

“Oh, fuck.”

#male tf #hairy tf #hair growth #hairy #hairy chest #beard #hairy pits #hairy back #my writing

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog so that the creature will meet up with you and like you. Like to give them little treats.

#196 #my thougts #worldbuilding #writing #my worldbuilding #my writing #urban fantasy #polls #my polls #tumblr polls #vampirism #vampires #vampyr #eldritch #eldrich horror #eldrichcore #fae #cryptids #cryptid #faecore #wizard #demons #angels and demons #demon #angels #angel #fallen angel #enby #transsexual #trans

[demigoddessqueens]

—— —WHAT YOU DO TO ME

A/n - I finally got to see Challengers (GREAT MOVIE!) and ofc Patrick and Art are the whole ass disasters who only made it all the more entertaining

Tags - 18+, smut, nsfw

Masterlist 10

art

Such a service top (or bottom!)

LOVES giving oral, feeling your thighs around his face

Maybe some face riding 👀

Bit of a praise kink going on for him!

Pull his hair to hear him moan

Missionary is his favorite to see your face, your reactions to how he’s making you feel

AFTERCARE KING

patrick

A whole fuckboiy who is super handsy!

Likes when you ride him cowgirl style, front and back.

Doggy-style 👌

Also has a bit of a praise kink too! Let him know he’s doing enough, is enough

Leans more into the dom, but can be a soft dom at times

LOVES when you go down on him, holding your head there

#challengers #challengers x reader #challengers headcanons #challengers x you #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #challengers x y/n #my writing #headcanons #writeblr #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #josh o'connor #mike faist #patrick zweig x you

[ghoulgalore]

mmm can we do: “Open your mouth,” before spitting into it. With ghoul x reader?

18+ ghoul x reader. you have a mighty bounty on your head with an order to be returned alive, but that doesn't mean your captor can't have a little fun with you along the way. kidnapping, deprivation, bribery, folks getting horny over water.

Fucked.

You're so completely fucked.

The worst of it all was that you'd been so close to making it out. You'd gotten far enough that you'd paid you weight in stolen caps to get safe passage away from your dead end life. You didn't have a cent left to your name when he found you.

The Ghoul.

Running didn't get you far. You couldn't bribe him. Begging only made him laugh.

He's got you bound thoroughly in coarse lithe rope. Your hands are clasped over your chest as if in prayer, and your elbows are tucked snugly to your ribs. The rope job makes for an excellent harness, and he hasn't been shy about yanking you by it.

It's been almost two days of this slog back towards the shithole you fled from. You fought hard at first, mouthing off at every opportunity, but the heat has worn you ragged, and this son of a bitch hasn't given you so much as a drop of water.

You collapse to your knees. Your throat is so dry, even breathing hurts.

"Trust me when I say you do not want me t'drag you the rest of the way, darlin'," he tells you, giving the rope a jerk. You barely manage not to fall flat on your face.

"At this rate you'll be dragging a corpse," you hiss, voice hoarse. "I need water."

The earth crunches beneath his boots as he approaches, crouching down near you. Roughly, he grabs hold of your chin, tilting your head up to look you over. He pinches your cheek with a thoughtful hum.

"Yeah, y'might just be right. Awfully dehydrated," he muses. You could swear he's enjoying your slow decline.

"Water," you repeat tersely.

"Y'know, for such a sweet face, you're a real sourpuss," he says, drawing his canteen from his satchel. You swallow dryly, too thirsty to even salivate. "I haven't heard a single 'please' outta that mouth of yours."

"I'm not going to beg for the life you're selling," you spit right back. This is the closest he's been to you since your capture. If you could gather wetness enough on your tongue, you'd be weighing the pros and cons of spitting that in his face instead.

He chuckles, unscrewing the lid. You can already smell the wetness of it. Your jaw aches. "Y'got chutzpah, I'll give y'that."

You lean forward, opening your mouth instinctively when he lifts the canteen. Please, please, please, please...

The Ghoul brings the canteen to his own gnarled lips, holding your gaze as he gulps once, twice, three times before drawing away with a satisfied aahh, humming like it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. Your heart falls into your stomach.

"Oh," he says, looking from your dejected expressing to the canteen and back. "I'm sorry, did you want some?"

"You son of a-" you start, but he interrupts you with a sharp yank of the rope.

"Ah, ah. I've had just about enough of hearin' your gutter mouth," he says, but he doesn't sound it. His smile is downright chuffed. "Now, if you want so much as a drop of this, y'gonna say please."

You grit your teeth. Your pride is all you have left in this world, and apparently this motherfucker is determined to take that away, too. Your gaze drops to his mouth, where a rivulet of water rolls out from the corner. You're so desperate you almost lurch forward to lick the drop before it drips from his chin.

Steeling yourself, you drag your eyes back up to his. "Please," you say tightly.

The corner of his smile tics upwards. "Please what?"

You inhale a steadying breath. "Can I please have water?"

"That's much better," he says, lifting the canteen once more. "Open your mouth."

With a flood of tentative relief, still wary of his sincerity, you tip your head back and do as you're told, ignoring the wicked flicker of pleasure you see light in his black eyes.

"Now, if y'want a sip, keep that mouth open," he says, taking a long swig from the canteen. You stare in disbelief, beginning to protest, but he holds up a single gloved finger to silence you, humming sharply.

He swishes the water loudly in his mouth, and understanding dawns on you. Heat that rivals the arid desert sweeps through you in a hot rush of humiliation, but you refuse to let him see it. You refuse to back down.

Steadily, you open your mouth once again, chin jutting out defiantly.

He quirks a hairless brow beneath his hat, rolling the water from one side of his mouth to the other, as if daring you.

You push your tongue out, expression expectant.

He grabs hold of your chin and yanks you forward, fountaining the water into your open mouth, spitting to finish it off. You choke it down, trying not to cough for the amount of it that hit the back of your throat, your head hanging forward.

It feels like bliss on your tongue, soothing the burning dryness, but the relief of it is gone far too soon. You could easily guzzle a full bottle to yourself.

It's not enough.

After a beat, you lift your head, mouth once again open, tongue pushed forward.

The Ghoul laughs. You can feel his breath on what little moisture is left on your lips.

"Well now, don't you paint a pretty picture," he says, catching your chin in his grip again, pulling you forward. Resolutely, you keep your mouth open, waiting. His eyes flicker down to the sight of it, darkening. He licks his own lips as if he's the one deprived.

"Maybe you're worth the caps they're payin' for you after all," he says, drinking from the canteen. He moves even closer this time, tilting your head all the way back. His lips nearly brush yours while the water spills into your mouth.

You swallow it back greedily, little noises leaving your throat unbidden for the sheer relief of it. You swear you can feel the water rushing to your temples, soothing your pounding headache.

His thumb moves up your chin, collecting water you'd dribbled in your haste. He pushes it up over your bottom lip and into your mouth. Without thinking, you close your lips around the intrusion and suck, greedy for every last drop. His hold on you tenses.

You meet his gaze and in it you see dark prowling hunger. How much of his predator nature is he holding back right now? Would he sacrifice the caps if he thought you looked good enough to eat?

"Thanks," you say, voice little more than a rasp.

His jaw shifts like he's biting his tongue, and then he screws the lid back onto his canteen, hauling you up with him as he stands. He's rough with you, but not overly so.

If beggin' and cussin' don't work on the big bad Ghoul, you suppose you've got nothing to lose in trying to use good ol' fashioned manners to wriggle your way out of this.

Ghoul or not, what you just witnessed was a man's hunger, and that's something you can work with.

#oop this went in a direction i didn't expect #hope you like it! #my writing #prompt #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #x reader #fallout fanfic #cooper howard #the ghoul