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nats--sw · 20 hours

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Gold chain (pt1) | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x tennis player!reader For the past year, Leah had been a big fan of yours, and now her mother wasn't missing any opportunity to tease her during Roland Garros. warnings: none, just fluff and slow burn note: this one is long (maybe?), sorry about that. The next part has more Leah and reader interactions, I promise. This was written with an oc, i changed everything at the last minute so sorry if there are any mistakes there,, my masterlist

Leah Williamson, England captain, European champion, Miss Arsenal.

That was how she was publicly recognised within the world of football, a sport that had always been her passion, but lately, or rather, since she had been invited to Wimbledon in 2023, she had begun to share some of that passion with tennis.

She explained to everyone that she fell in love with tennis during a deep conversation with the legendary Billie Jean King. While there was truth to that, tennis didn't captivate her so much because of the sport itself, but rather because of a certain player, who since that Wimbledon semifinal, Leah had watched almost all of her matches.

“Believe me, that girl Y/N is great, don't let this match fool you” Billie had muttered to her after witnessing your unfortunate loss in the last set.

And who was Leah to doubt the words of the greatest tennis player in history?

Since then, Leah has managed to watch as many of your matches as possible. And yes, you were undeniably beautiful, but what truly captivated Leah was the elegance with which you played. Each swing of your racket held a mesmerizing grace that left Leah spellbound every time.

And now, with a break after the final game of the European qualifiers, it was the opportunity for a holiday.

"Hey, Leah!" Georgia barged into her room on the last day of camp, now that they were back in England. "Got any plans for this week?"

"Yeah," Leah replied, without giving any details, more focused on packing her suitcase than engaging in conversation with her friend.

"Where? With who?" Georgia asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively. She knew Leah tended to keep her romantic interactions with girls in private, not just from the public but even from her own friends.

"With my mom, you idiot," Leah replied, rolling her eyes. "We're headed to France."

"Now? What's so interesting about France?" she asked, with a look of disgust on her face. Sure, there were plenty of interesting things to do in France, but Georgia didn't want to hear anything related to that country for a couple of days.

"Roland Garros? Does that ring a bell for you?" Leah retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm.

"Huh? Since when do you go to another country for a tennis match?"

"My mom likes it" Leah lied smoothly, without any hint of shame. If only Georgia knew that Leah had sweetened the deal for her mother with promises of fine wines and breathtaking views post-match.

"Well, that's too bad... but text me if your plans change,"

Leah nodded, though it was in vain because she wouldn't change going to France to see her favorite tennis player.

"Who are we rooting for?" Amanda said, taking a sip of her drink, not really interested in what was happening on the clay.

"Uh, we're impartial," Leah said, settling back in her seat.

Four games had already been played, each player winning their respective games.

"I have a feeling we're rooting for the girl in the white visor," her mother said.

Leah looked at her, pulling her sunglasses down a little. "What?"

"Well, you make a face every time the other player makes a point."

Leah said nothing to that comment, her attention had returned to you, now one point away from managing to break your opponent's serve. It was an important match, a semifinal, so every point would be valuable to put you in the final of the tournament.

Still not saying anything back to her mother, Leah held her breath for a few seconds. The ball was going back and forth across the court, but you, with impressive precision, hit the ball with a spin that made it graze the top of the net. For a moment, it seemed like it might fall short, but the ball dropped just over, catching your opponent off guard.

"Wonderful" muttered Leah, crossing her arms with a smile, ready to enjoy the rest of the match.

There were times when tennis was mentally overwhelming. You felt this every time you played, and it had cost you a lot of matches in the past. A whole court filled with hundreds of people, all watching you, many anxiously waiting for you to make a mistake that could cost you the match. It was more than overwhelming.

That's why, at times, you had to pause your mind and take a deep breath, despite how difficult that was for you.

You only needed one more game to win the set and secure a place in the Roland Garros final. No pressure, of course.

The advantage was that you were serving in this game, but ironically, this often made you even more nervous. The pressure of delivering a strong serve was immense.

The crowd was overwhelming, so many eyes watching you, so many unfamiliar faces focused on you, watching every move, your family and team sitting behind you. In this position you couldn’t look at them to calm down.

You needed to focus your eyes on something, to steady your nerves. As you walked towards your position, after drying your face with the towel, you looked in a diagonal direction, right towards the area where you were supposed to put the ball.

As you raised your gaze slightly, something caught your eye. In the stands, amid a sea of blonde and brown heads, was a woman with striking red hair. The woman stood out, not only because of her hair, but also because she was the only person not looking at you, instead, her attention was elsewhere.

You stole a glance at the red-haired woman as you inhaled deeply, preparing for your serve. With a fluid motion, you raised her arm, tossed the ball into the air and delivered a powerful strike.

Ace!

The ball zipped across the court with velocity, catching your opponent off guard. Convinced it would fly out, your opponent made no attempt to chase after it.

A satisfied smile tugged at your lips.

Once more, your gaze flickered toward the red-haired woman in the stands. Drawing another deep breath, you focused intensely as you prepared to serve again. With a determined flick of your wrist, you sent the ball hurtling across the court, this time, your aim wasn’t for an ace, but rather to set up a play that would complicate the things for your opponent.

Within minutes the score stood at 40-15. Just one more point.

You didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but you craved to close the match with a decisive point, one point to make it clear why you were here.

So, you adjusted your visor, brushed your fingers over the gold chain hanging from your neck and looked up, for the first time looking directly at the woman, not even getting a good look at her, because the woman was quite far away, but the woman's disinterest helped you to clear your head and focus your mind, ignoring the bunch of other faces watching you.

Just one more point.

You lifted the ball, the familiar weight of your racket in your hand, a quiet groan escaping your lips before you swung. Then, the sound of the impact echoed through the entire court and as the ball bounced on the clay.

Ace!

Leah was up from her seat at the same time as you fell backwards onto the clay.

"That was incredible," Leah exclaimed, joining the chorus of applause.

"Incredible?" Amanda asked without understanding that much. However, what truly caught her off guard was the sight of her daughter like that, grinning from ear to ear. It was common to see her like that when it came to football matches, but not usually during tennis.

"Are you kidding? It was phenomenal! If you hadn't been glued to your phone, you’d have felt the same as the rest of us!" Leah retorted.

"So, did we win?" Amanda inquired.

"Well, you have won a few more days in France," Leah replied, attempting to temper her excitement. "The final is in two days."

"Do we have tickets?”

"Of course, I purchased them in advance. I already knew Y/N would make it to the finals."

Amanda regarded her daughter suspiciously. "You're not into gambling, are you?"

"Of course not," Leah replied with a grin. "But if I were to bet on her I'd do pretty well”

As they made their way toward the exit, following the crowd, Amanda broke the silence. "Do you know that player?"

"No… not personally" Leah replied "But I watched her play at Wimbledon last year."

"Did she win?"

"No" Leah shook her head, a hint of disappointment in her expression. "She lost"

"So, she's not that good?"

"Actually, she's quite impressive," Leah defended you. "She went up against the number two player in the world."

"What rank is she?" Amanda inquired.

"Four," Leah answered.

"Then she's not the best," Amanda said confidently.

"Mom!" Leah nudged her playfully while Amanda held back her laughter. "You couldn't even hit the ball."

"Neither could you, I remember your attempts at tennis when you were little," Amanda chuckled. "But what I don't get is why you're defending her so much"

"Because she's great, she’s talented! Look over there!" Leah pointed behind her, where a large screen displayed the game's results alongside your photo.

Amanda's eyes immediately gravitated toward the image, ignoring the points table. "And she's quite pretty," she remarked, studying your face for the first time.

"And she's talented," Leah emphasized, feeling a blush creeping up her ears. Thankfully, her hair concealed it from her mother's curious gaze.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Amanda replied with a smile.

It was a tough match, quite a tough match, but that's what you would expect in a Roland Garros final.

The first set ended 6-4 in favor of Iga Swiatek.

You had faced her numerous times throughout your professional career, but had never managed to defeat her in an official match. Despite your old friendship with Iga, there was an undeniable intensity when you two met on the court, and you were determined to shine this time.

As the first set concluded, you sank into your chair, you had to use the break to ease the tension in your legs. Uncapping your water bottle, your fingers instinctively found the gold chain around your neck, adorned with your initials. It may have seemed superstitious, but wearing it had always brought you luck on the court.

Suddenly, your coach's voice pierced the distance, signaling for you to relax and loosen up your play. You brushed off the advice, as if you hadn't already realized that. Ignoring your coach's guidance was risky, but you already had your own voice in your mind against you.

Taking a long sip of water, you refocused your gaze forward. Then, something caught your attention.

The same woman from the previous match was in the stands again. You hadn't noticed her before, too engrossed in your opponent. Again, that was the key to your game, you needed to block out distractions and focus on yourself and the ball. Just like you had done during the semifinal match, you needed to tune out everything else.

"How many points before your girl loses?" Amanda said, glancing sideways at Leah, who was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and a faint blush on her cheeks. According to Leah it was from the sun hitting her face, but Amanda knew her daughter well enough.

"Don't pester me, now's not the time," Leah replied, sitting up straight in her seat and adjusting her sunglasses.

"I'm not pestering you, but you claimed that girl was fantastic. Yet, from what I've seen today, the other player seems better to me."

"Well, she's number one after all"

"So, you admit she's the best."

Leah rolled her eyes. "Y/N just needs to take a breath. After this break she'll bounce back, you'll see. She'll shut your mouth"

"If you say so."

And so it happened. You had won the second set 4-6, breaking Iga's serve at the crucial moment. The victory was almost surreal, even Leah found it hard to believe.

"Stop biting your nails," her mother said, giving Leah's leg a slap as she saw her nervous habit.

"She's going to win," Leah said without looking at her mother, her gaze fixed on you, as you refreshed yourself by wetting your hair before the final set.

"Leah, you've been saying that since yesterday," Amanda remarked, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in her tone.

"I’m excited," Leah defended.

Amanda shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "If she wins, will you approach her?"

"Are you being serious?" she said, shaking her head "What would I even say?" Leah replied, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"You've been crushing over her for days. I've never seen you like this with someone you don't even know," Amanda teased.

"It's not a crush. I just admire her athletic ability and determination, that's all," Leah insisted.

"Well, then you two have something in common. I don’t see why you don’t talk to her"

"Because... I just don't," Leah stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"What a coward," Amanda teased.

The set stood at 4-5 in your favor, but now it was Iga's turn to serve, and she was already in position. You shifted your weight from side to side, preparing for the shot, a smile gracing your lips as you caught sight of the red-haired woman just above Iga’s head. The woman had become your anchor, helping you refocus on your game.

It was almost amusing, thinking that no one else existed in the crowd, just you and the woman. You could tell the woman wasn’t at all interested in what was going on in the clay. You often caught the woman glancing at her phone during the set. Yet, you found solace in playing as if you were solely performing for the woman.

However, you didn’t forget the game at hand, swiftly responding to each shot with your racket, rallying back and forth several times before you had a moment of brilliance that allowed you to execute a breathtaking drop shot in the opposite direction of Iga's sprint.

It was the highlight of the tournament, perhaps even of your career, your best point. Yet, when you glanced up and noticed the red-haired woman looking away, you couldn't help but chuckle.

With the score now at 40-AD, you needed just one more point to clinch your first grand slam title. As Iga's shot came straight towards your body, you managed to get your racket in position to return the ball. The exchange of the ball was intense, this time you had to sprint to reach a ball you never thought you could. You struck it with the edge of your racket, hoping for the best as the ball sailed toward the line.

As you watched the ball clear the net, you felt the light weight of your gold chain around your neck and remembered that luck was on your side this time.

Everything happened in slow motion as Iga dropped her racket to the ground, and moments later, you found yourself on your knees on the clay court, the crowd erupting into cheers around you.

You didn't know how, but now you were already in the stands, being hugged by your family and your team, with your coach by your side, trying to shake some of the clay off your clothes.

"I need you to do me a favor" you said to him before the tournament staff took you away for the trophy presentation.

As Leah and her mother descended the stairs toward the exit, Leah couldn't contain her excitement. "I told you Y/N would win," she exclaimed, her hand firmly grasping her mother's arm. The trophy presentation had concluded, and the crowd was beginning to disperse.

"It was luck," Amanda teased her daughter, though she couldn't deny her surprise at your remarkable turnaround.

"We should have placed a bet. We would have won"

"At least I won't have to endure your grumpy face during dinner," Amanda said with a playful smirk.

Leah rolled her eyes as they walked through the crowd.

"Excuse me!" A man's voice behind them interrupted their conversation. Leah's eyes widened as she recognized him. "This might sound strange… but Y/N wants to see you," the man explained to Amanda, who didn't understand the situation at all, her daughter didn’t either.

Leah felt a tug on the arm her mother was holding on.

"Uh-"

"It's Y/N's coach," Leah clarified to her mother.

"And she wants to see me?" Amanda asked.

The man nodded awkwardly. "I wish I could offer more explanation, but Y/N is sometimes unpredictable."

After a moment of contemplation, Amanda flashed a mischievous smile and nodded, gripping her daughter's arm even tighter. "Sure, take us to her."

Leah's heart raced. How was it possible that she was going to meet her crush the athlete she admired thanks to her mother?

Your coach, after a few minutes of walking in silence, led them through a door into a room where you were lying on a couch, eyes closed.

"Hey, Y/N. Your guests are here," your coach announced, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

You quickly opened your eyes and stood up, ignoring the fact that you had just played a two-hour match less than half an hour ago.

You were no longer wearing your visor and your shoes, but you were still in your white uniform with lilac accents. Leah couldn't help but notice that your socks were now stained with clay.

"Y/N L/N" you introduced yourself, extending your hand toward Amanda. Your attention seemed focused on Amanda, oblivious to Leah standing behind her. "I'm introducing myself because I have a slight feeling you don't know me," you said with a smile.

"Amanda," she said, shaking your hand. "Don't worry, I know who you are. A little voice hasn't stopped repeating your name since we arrived in France."

Leah blushed and glanced away.

"Oh," you released Amanda's hand and turned to the blonde, whom you hadn't noticed during either match. "Shouldn't I introduce myself then?" you asked, extending your hand toward Leah.

"No need," Leah said, feeling her mother's not-so-subtle nudge as you extended your hand. "My name is Leah, and I'm a big fan of yours."

"Your number one fan," Amanda chimed in with a smile.

"Mom!" Leah protested, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You released Leah's hand and turned to Amanda.

"She brought me all the way from England just to see you," Amanda explained, noticing the way you were looking at her daughter.

"England?" you asked, curious about the mention of England.

"Yes, we're from England," Leah confirmed.

"And my daughter is the captain of—"

"Mom, no!" Leah interjected, her cheeks turning pink as she attempted to silence her mother's impending revelation.

You couldn't help but laugh at Leah's embarrassment, finding the exchange amusing.

"Why are we here?" Leah asked before her mother could continue.

"Oh, right," you replied, regaining your composure. "I wanted to thank you," you said, turning to Amanda and clasping your hands behind your back.

"Me?" "Her?" Amanda and Leah exclaimed simultaneously, surprised by your words.

"Yes," You said softly, your gaze shifting to Leah, a smile returning to your face. "Since the semifinal match, I noticed your mother in the stands. Although, it's hard not to see her," you added, gesturing towards Amanda's red hair. "She was the only person in the whole court who wasn't looking at me. Thanks to her, I was able to concentrate and win. It may sound silly but—"

"Oh, don't worry honey," Amanda interjected. "They usually tell me that I bring good luck in big games," she said, nodding towards Leah with her thumb.

"You're an athlete? Sorry, what was your name again? I don't have a good memory with names," you said, this time blushing slightly.

"Honey, Leah is the captain of the England team," Amanda clarified, speaking on behalf of her daughter.

"Oh... Football? Volleyball?" You inquired.

"Yes, football," Leah replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life, not even as a child.

You glanced Leah up and down once more. You had never imagined a football player could dress so stylishly. You found yourself so engrossed in observing Leah's attire that you only snapped back to reality when your coach cleared his throat.

"Well, I just wanted to make sure to thank you for your help, even if you didn't realize it," you said, pulling an autographed tennis ball out of your pocket. "I'm not sure how valuable this is to you, but perhaps your daughter will appreciate it," you added with a laugh, glancing sideways at Leah. "Well, I must be off now, interviews and all that," you explained, walking away to grab your bag. "Hope to see you two at Wimbledon," you said, winking at Amanda before leaving.

The next day, Leah found herself at the airport, keeping an eye on their suitcases while her mother went to grab something to eat. Suddenly, a notification on her phone caught her off guard.

Y/N_kz started following you

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you #leah williamson imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader

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iholdwhatican · 3 days

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tension

part two to reunions - must read part 1 first!

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

length: 3.2k

author's note: this took wayyyy too long for me to do yall, i'm so sorry. these two have a tight hold on me and i'm in the trenches. i've got some good stuff lined up tho, and i'm super excited to write it heeheehee :) also smut in the future will be much longer and much more detailed, just fyi

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension ; sugar mommy y/n? ; unapologetic flirting with your bff's wife at his birthday party

warnings: sexual content, p in v, not super detailed but still there!

summary: the stressful night of the birthday party continues, and you find yourself pinging between art and patrick like a tennis ball. how the hell did you get yourself into this?

originally posted by iholdwhatican

It took four minutes and 36 seconds of Art and Patrick being alone outside before the anxiety became too much. Your dress was too tight against your skin and the chatter of the guests rattled in your skull. Your mind replayed the anger on Art’s face over and over, convinced that he’d direct it at you the moment he came back in. And if you were being honest, you couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Your blood boiled with the ferocity of it, and an ache in your core begged for another taste.

Another three minutes and 18 seconds passed while you downed half of your second glass of wine. You made conversation with a few people who caught your eye, making sure all the food and drink were up to par. Not that you really could care about that right now. Your mind was a jumble of thoughts about the two men on the balcony.

Art, Patrick, Art, Patrick, Art, Patrick, Art, Patrick

“You look like you’re gonna puke.”

For the second time that night, Patrick Zweig’s voice made you jump.

You looked at him, catching sight of that damned smirk that made your stomach flip, and furrowed your brows. One quick scan of the room came up empty for your husband, forcing the anxiety in your chest to worsen.

“Where’s Art?” You asked, not missing the way your voice wobbled slightly.

“Relax.” Patrick responded, resting a hand on your shoulder, “He went to the kitchen, I think. I didn’t kill him. And he didn’t run for the hills either.”

You decided not to comment on how easily he’d read your worries without you saying anything. For some reason, you were an open book to him.

A deep sigh left you. You licked your lips anxiously- which immediately caused Patrick’s eyes to fall on your mouth.

“What happened out there?”

The man gave you a shrug, letting his hand fall back to his side, “Nothing, really. We just talked for a bit. He told me I could stay, as long as I stopped flirting with you.”

“So does that mean you’re going to stop?” The idea made you slightly unhappy, which in turn filled you with guilt. Why were you so excited by his flirtations when you had a wonderful, loving husband who treated you like a queen?

But then Patrick grinned, and you knew the answer before he said it, “Well, I’ve never been one to do what I’m told.”

A smile grew over your lips, and you tried to hide it with an eye roll, “Why don’t you mingle? Try some food. I’m going to find my husband.”

He didn’t miss the enunciation you put on ‘my husband’, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened as you said it. You didn’t give it time to linger, instead turning away and moving towards the kitchen.

You knew the look Patrick had in his eyes. You’d seen it a dozen times in Art’s. On the court, over a board game, in all sorts of scenarios. And every time, even now, the look sent a chill down your spine.

That expression was clear, resolute competition.

Just as Patrick had said, you found Art in the kitchen. With his back to you, you had a perfect view of his tense shoulders and hanging head as he poured himself a glass of water. He was all wound up, and you knew it was your fault. Now it was your responsibility to fix it.

You stepped up behind him, sliding a hand between his shoulder blades. He didn’t hesitate to lean into the touch, a subconscious reaction. He knew it was you just by the feel of your hand on him. And, even if he might be furious, he still found comfort in it.

“Hey…” You breathed, leaning to the side to meet his gaze. Art looked at you over his shoulder, a half-smile quirking his lips up, “How are you doing?”

“Hey.” He responded, turning and sliding his hands over your hips. Your chest pressed against his as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your hairline. Then he just lingered there, breathing in your smell, “I honestly don’t know. I just- it was so weird to see him.”

“Yeah, of course it was.” Your words reached him in a soft, comforting tone. The guilt of putting your perfect, doting husband in this situation was enough to make you feel like you had barbed wire around your neck. You had to pay penance- somehow. You rubbed your hand in circles over his back, “I’m sorry, sundrop. I don’t know what I was thinking when I invited him.”

Sundrop. A nickname that went way back to the early days of your relationship. Art was an energetic puppy dog with a halo of golden curls and a smile that made your insides feel hot. He was what you pictured a personification of the sun to be, hence the pet name. He pretended not to like it, but his eyes always sparkled a certain way when you said it.

Art pulled his head away to peer down into your eyes, his own pensive and confused, “No, baby, don’t be sorry. It was a great fucking surprise. Just… a surprise.”

You shook your head. He was so fucking good to you, “You’re allowed to be mad at me.”

“Mad? At you?” In one quick motion, he picked you up and set you on the counter. Your legs opened for him without hesitation, allowing him to slot right in between them, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

You fought the blush rising in your cheeks and rolled your eyes, “You think too highly of me.”

“No. Never.” He replied instantly. He kissed your chin. Then your jaw. Then your neck. Then down your throat, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re God.”

“Art-” You argued, though you weren’t sure what for. You tilted your neck back and offered yourself up to him.

“I could spend my life on my knees for you and be happy.” His words were muffled as he mouthed at your neck, sending shivers down your spine. This, combined with the kiss from earlier, was making you ache with need. You were half-tempted to end the party early and take your pretty husband to bed.

You bit your lip when he ran his tongue over a sensitive spot above your collarbone. If he wasn’t in between them, you’d be squeezing your thighs together.

When Art pulled away, his eyes had darkened. Dilated pupils and heavy breaths told you all you needed to know. He was just as fucking horny as you were right now. His hands held your hips tighter.

“Do you think we’d be left alone long enough for me to show you how much I mean it?” He asked. It was almost as if he were begging. As if he couldn’t bear the idea of doing anything other than dropping to his knees and devouring you.

And God, when he looked at you like that, you had no choice but to say yes.

Unfortunately, fate intervened, and you were kept from making a scene at your husband’s birthday party.

“Hey, you two, quit snogging and come entertain us!” One of Art’s tennis friends called, sticking their head into the kitchen. The big grin on their face told you it was just teasing, but you still felt your face burning with embarrassment.

“It’s my birthday, let me do what I want.” Art jeered right back, lifting you off the counter and back onto your own two feet. You laughed airily at the comment, feeling more light-headed than anything.

Before following his friend back into the action, he whispered a quick, “Later, okay?” to you. And then he left you standing in the kitchen- touch-starved, foggy-headed, and excruciatingly aroused.

It was then that you realized you didn’t even get to ask him what happened with Patrick.

Upon re-entering the party, you found yourself taking note of two things- or rather, two people. One, Art- conversing with some friends from the foundation with a big grin on his face. Two, Patrick- having his fill of finger foods from the refreshment table. He was alone. And though you tried to fight it, you found yourself gravitating towards him.

“Do they not have food where you’re from?” You teased, falling into place at his side. Your gaze slid over the spread before flicking up to his face.

You’d caught him mid-bite, and he attempted to swallow quickly and regain his composure. Something warmed slightly in your chest. Endearing.

“Well, I’m kinda… in between places right now.” He explained, tongue stuck in his cheek to clear out residual bits of food, “And there’s never stuff as good as this.”

You let the compliment slide away, instead focusing on his more troubling response, “Are you homeless?”

“What? No.” He chuckled, as if the question were preposterous, “I go all over for tennis. It’s just easier to stay on the move.”

You raised an eyebrow, “And on off-season?”

Something in his expression darkened, only for a moment, and then he was back to cocky smiles and overwhelming confidence, “I’m too busy to care about that. And what’s it matter to you, anyway?”

“I’d like to think I’m a good person.” You said, plucking a snack off the table and popping it into your mouth. You chewed it halfway before continuing, “And a good person worries if they think someone they care about isn’t doing well.”

Patrick grinned at you for five long seconds. And it took him actually saying the words to realize where you’d slipped up.

“You care about me?”

Shit. You had not meant to say that. Why was this man so damn good at getting every little thought in your head to spill out of your mouth?

“If caring about you means I don’t want you sleeping under a bridge somewhere, then sure.”

“Okay, I would never let it get that far-”

“I wanna help.”

He blinked, “Help how?” Briefly, very briefly, you thought of your bed. Your comfortable, spacious bed, perfect for three individuals. You could picture it- you, safe and sound and nestled between the two men. Art, your lovely, obedient husband on one side, letting himself love and be loved. And Patrick on the other side, nice and cozy with a roof over his head and a full belly.

The image flashed in an instant, and you were left with hollow, heavy guilt. You swallowed.

“How much do you need?”

“Huh?” You rolled your eyes at him, “How much money do you need? To keep you afloat for the next little while. And I’ll send you home tonight with leftovers.”

Patrick let the words wash over him, slowly smiling as they did. He took a step towards you, close enough that one tiny shove would have your bodies pressed together. You could smell him, all sweat and cigarettes and woodsy cologne that made your head spin. You’d been wound up all night, and this was absolutely not helping.

“You gonna write me a check? Use your hard-earned money to get a practical stranger a hotel for a couple nights?” He murmured, heavy on the charm, “What would your husband think?”

He knew he’d gotten under your skin. He knew what he was doing. He was fucking enjoying this.

You tried to hold your ground, looking up at him through your lashes, “It’s his money, actually. He makes sure I never have to work unless I want to.”

“Guess he treats you pretty well. And look how you’re taking advantage of it.” His hand lay on the table next to yours, his fingertips nearly brushing the skin of your wrist. How bad would it be if you closed the gap?

You bit your lip, “You’re allowed to turn me down.”

“I don’t think I’d ever turn you down, Mrs. Donaldson.”

Something about that title, something about the way he said it, made your blood run hot and cold at the same time. It reminded you of the myths of sirens. Beautiful monsters of the sea that used their voices to bring others to their demise. Talking to Patrick had that same type of allure, and the sense of danger.

“Then tell me what you need.”

“What do you think I need?”

Oh, you could think of a few things. But you could also feel a pair of eyes on you, and you knew exactly who they belonged to. Part of you wanted to tempt him, see if you could get another reaction like out on the balcony. However, you quickly shot the idea down. Not right now, not in the middle of a crowded party.

Lips curving into an innocent smile, you pushed yourself a step back from him, “I think you need a nice place to sleep. And a few good meals. And maybe a hug.”

The sudden switch-up took Patrick by surprise, but he handled it smoothly and responded only a beat later, “You’re offering?”

“At least for the first two.” You didn’t know what you’d do if you were in his arms. With the way you were feeling now, with two glasses of wine in your system, your boundaries were getting blurrier and blurrier. How humiliating.

His bottom lip jutted out into a pout. Which unfortunately dragged your gaze right down to his mouth. It took you a moment too long to meet his eyes again.

“What, we can’t hug? Don’t you consider me a friend?”

“I do.” You shrugged, tucking loose hair behind your ear, “Maybe I’m just not a touchy person.”

A lie. You knew it, and you could tell by the look on his face that he knew it too.

“Yeah.” He smirked, sounding the opposite of sincere, “Art’s wife isn’t a touchy person. Sure.”

You needed a cold shower. Or to go have some one-on-one time with your vibrator. Or maybe move to the seaside and spend your days going mad in a lighthouse. You weren’t sure. All you knew was how increasingly hot you were feeling.

“Speaking of Art, go talk to him. Try to make amends. Meet some of his friends.” You suggested, glancing over at your husband. He wasn’t watching you anymore, at least not straight on. But he had a radar when it came to you, and he was very diligent in keeping tabs. No matter what.

“You trying to get rid of me?” Patrick asked lightly. No heat behind the words.

“Oh, yes.” You admitted, placing your hands on his shoulders and pointing him towards Art, “Find me again before you leave and I’ll have your check.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at you over his shoulder, sending a wink before sauntering off.

Finally, you felt like you could actually get a breath in your lungs.

The party had ended. Guests went home, Patrick got his check and headed to a hotel you recommended, and you and your partner left all the cleanup for the morning. You barely gave it a second glance as you went up to bed with him, your hand held tightly in his.

Art fucked you like a starving man that night. You barely got into the room before his lips were plastered on your skin, his hands unzipping your dress with quick precision. He was usually much more reserved, but something about tonight had made him ravenous. And he wasn’t the only one.

You ended up on his lap; bare chests pressed together, skin sweaty and breaths heavy as you rolled your hips into him. His hands clutched your thighs, keeping you close, fingers pressing into the flesh. You pulled on his hair and his head immediately fell back. As if he were a puppet for you to position and use however you wanted. His eyes looked up at you with a fire in them you’d never seen before, but the adoration, the reverence, was all too familiar.

Your name fell from his lips over and over again like a prayer. The single word weaved with threads of devotion, possessiveness, desire. A song joined in chorus by whatever nonsensical phrase entered his head. I love you, so perfect, all mine, please, please, please.

He was claiming you. Marking his territory in his own special way. It didn’t matter that Patrick wasn’t here to see it, or that he probably would never even know. As long as Art could tell himself that you were his, he’d be okay. Jealousy was a good look on him.

You could feel your core tighten with each and every movement of his hips against you. You weren’t going to last much longer. But by the look in your husband’s eyes, neither was he.

Parted lips claimed yours in a messy kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth and exploring every open space. Then you were being flipped over; back pressed into the mattress as Art rocked into you with reckless abandon. He intertwined his fingers with yours and pinned your hands above your head without ever breaking the kiss.

You lasted about thirty seconds. Finally, the tension in you snapped and your orgasm washed over you in waves, leaving you limp and trembling. Art finished only a moment later. You could feel him pulsing inside of you as the aftershocks slowly faded away. The room reeked of sweat and sex and your head was spinning.

Art, your precious, dutiful man, rested his head on your chest as he attempted to catch his breath. You could feel the tickle of his lips kissing your skin, the soft squeeze of his hands on your hips. You ran a hand through his damp hair, fingers massaging his scalp.

“I love you.” He murmured against your ribs, right over your thundering heart. He said it like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed, like he didn’t believe you were here, that you were his.

Dark hair and cigarette smoke flashed through your mind. Almost-touching hands and paper checks.

“I love you.” You responded, kissing his hairline, “Happy Birthday, baby.”

The only response you got was a tired, happy sound and another kiss to your collarbone. A quick adjustment later and the two of you were tucked under the blankets, your head on Art’s chest and his arm around you. Neither of you cared enough to clean yourselves up or to put pajamas on. Art was already softly snoring next to you, and you could feel your eyelids getting heavy.

As you listened to the baddump of his heart, a strange thought flitted through your mind. You’d just had the best sex of your life, and it was because of Patrick. You weren’t the only one who’d been thinking of him while in the throes of passion. The notion made something strange twinge in your gut.

And then, like he’d somehow read your mind, your phone lit up with a text.

Patrick Zweig: You free for lunch tomorrow?

***

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#challengers #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #challengers fic #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x patrick zweig #challengers x reader #challengers x you #art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig #tashi duncan #charly writes!!

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bnpd · 2 days

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Golden Boy ! ᡣ𐭩

"so this is gojo satoru."

you first heard of gojo when you were a freshman in high school, you first saw gojo when you were a junior, you first talked to him when you were a senior, and then you disliked him. but he first loved you when he first met you.

basketball player!gojo x photography/journalist!reader DRABBLE WORD COUNT: 3K

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST : ᡣ𐭩 NAVIGATION : ꩜

NOTE: basketball gojo is rotting my brain btw! so here’s another AU of them, enjoy. not a fic, more of a really really long drabble. posting this while you guys wait for long shot part 3! okay sorry too much yap! not proof read sorry chat

high school: 2007

you grew up with a fascination for cameras–photography as a whole–, and the idea of perfectly capturing the moment.

when you first started high school you would bring your camera and a journal everywhere. it was a small camera your parents bought to allow you to explore your life-long interest.

you were very much kept to yourself. if you didn’t have to talk to anyone, you didn’t choose to. you liked being alone, and there’s nothing depressing about that. you only had one friend, and her name was utahime.

you were a geek! not in a bad way, but in a way where you had a passion for books, writing, games, photography, you name it.

if anyone asked about you, no one would know how to answer. no one really knew much about you. with that in mind, you were still approachable, and kind.

if anyone engaged in conversation with you, you didn’t shy away—you politely engaged back.

now, things stayed like that for the entirety of freshman to spring semester of sophomore year because one day your graphics and design teacher, mr. mendez, caught you taking pictures of inanimate objects, offering you a position on the yearbook team.

your high school was huge, and names weren’t frequently known, especially not yours. but those rules didn’t apply to athletes. especially the golden boy—gojo satoru.

gojo satoru was a well-known name—gojo, itself, was a well-known name—his family came from money and they funded the entire school. you never actually met, or saw him, considering your schedules were completely different. but, in your junior year that changed. when your teacher asks you to go to a basketball game to cover the athlete section since the boy who was initially covering it got sick.

you’re frowning to yourself the entire day just thinking about having to stay after school to watch the game.

the time comes and you’re sitting at the back of the stands, holding onto your camera, waiting for the game to start. it’s a packed game. that doesn’t surprise you. what does surprise you, is how crazy everyone is going over a mere game of basketball before it even starts.

you almost jolt out of your seat when you feel someone tap your shoulder, and turn to see someone sweetly smiling at you. a boy. “I think mr. mendez is trying to get your attention,” he extends his finger, pointing, and you follow the direction of it. and, indeed, your teacher was trying to get your attention.

you sweetly mutter a quick ‘thank you’, to the boy before collecting your things, and walking towards mr. mendez.

“so, i figured you’re new to this, but when you take pictures during sports events, you’re usually pretty close to the court, standing,” he motions to the court with his hands, and you give him a confused look even though you understood exactly what he was saying, in hopes of a different alternative. unfortunately he does not give you one.

so, now you’re standing next to the court. camera, in hand, when the lights dim down just a tiny bit and cheerleaders emerge from the sides to begin their routine.

you take this as your opportunity to snap a few pictures. you capture a picture of the captain smiling, a few others of flyers mid-air, and some of the perfect routine moments.

after they finish, you find an empty seat at the very front. you think of all the things that you could’ve been doing at the moment. like reading on your porch swing, watching the sun set.

then the coach blows the whistle and finally the game is about to begin. the faster this goes, the faster you’ll be home, snuggled up in bed with your dog keeping your feet warm.

you stand to take pictures, and watch as the players emerge from the locker room, one after the other, jogging down to their designated seating area. but you don’t have a particular reaction, until you see another figure emerge, and you’re a bit struck at how handsome he is. gorgeous, even.

‘so, this is gojo satoru.’

he’s smiling, and you just know he thinks he’s hot shit with the way he jogs over to the rest of his teammates. ‘we’ll see about that’ you thought to yourself.

and see you did.

he was incredible on the court—professional level good—.

you took a great number of pictures, ones where he’s doing some kind of handshake with another star player, geto suguru, another set of pictures of other players, some of gojo by himself, but your favorite one, by far, had to be the one after he shoots the final shot, and almost as if he sensed the camera, looked your way, and smiled. a cute boyish smile. you looked at your camera in shock and disbelief.

you felt your face heat up by a billion degrees.

it was the most perfect picture you ever captured. and you don’t even think he noticed because he runs back to his teammates, as if nothing had happened.

you went home that night in a bit of a daze. a new crush had developed. a very tiny, atom sized crush, but a crush nonetheless.

the next day mr. mendez asked for the pictures you took at the basketball game, yet you found yourself not uploading the picture of gojo smiling directly at the camera to the USB drive. it felt wrong.

so you kept it to yourself.

you still didn’t see him much after that. he was like an enigma to you. everyone knew so much of him.

senior year rolls around and you’re now the head of the yearbook team. you’re applying to colleges/unis, and you’re really shooting high for this specific ivy league university because of the amazing combined photography–journalism program they offered, praying that they give you the full-ride you applied for.

you’re sitting in the graphic and design room one day, editing some final touches of the yearbook, when mr. mendez calls your name, “we have a yearbook interview for the time capsule and photoshoot for the basketball team today, and i need you to be there to direct both, is that okay?”

you nod and reply with a simple, “sure”.

in reality your heart is pounding because you know you’ll have to see gojo again, and actually talk to him.

it’s finally after school, and you’re setting up the equipment for, not only, the photos, but the interviews as well.

you hear the ruffling of the setup behind you while you try to position the camera for the interviews at the right angle, you let out a small frustrated groan “mahito stop fucking around and help me–”

“mahito?” the voice asks you and you feel yourself still because that voice is not mahitos’s. you get up from your position, and you almost die in your spot when you see gojo standing there with an unreadable look on his face.

an unreadable look that studies you.

“oh, im sorry i thought-”, he cuts you off before you can finish.

“hm,” he lets out in a rude manner and you almost reel back at how condescending he looked. (canon high school gojo i fear).

‘this can’t be the same guy that I had a crush on last year’

but it was.

the worst part is, the entire time you took the team’s photos, he wasn’t outwardly mean. but he had an energy to him that put you off. one that told you he thought he was better than you. his mannerisms screamed arrogance, and carelessness.

you kept to yourself for the majority of the photoshoot, muttering occasional instructions.

the rest of the team were really nice. they’d strike up a conversation, here and there. you, of course, responded politely and engaged in conversation, returning their enthusiasm. but the entire time you felt piercing blue eyes.

you’d catch him whispering to geto, and even though you knew they weren’t talking about you, it left you paranoid.

for the interviews, you kept it polite. until you got to gojo. you hit the record button on the camera, asked him the question, and listened to him as he talked about how great and amazing he was. you found yourself drifting off.

‘there’s no way this guy is that full of himself.’

he was.

you wrap up the interviews and go home. a bit caught off guard by his behavior. it wasn't that he was mean, but why would you willingly be in the presence of someone like this? and from that point on, you disliked gojo satoru.

college: 2013

in the end, you got accepted into the ivy league you had hoped for, got a full ride, and were accepted into the photography and journalist program. you looked completely different than how you did in college (you were grateful for this). things couldn’t get any better, but they could get worse.

you found out you actually went to the same university as gojo. you didn’t realize it until you saw his huge basketball banner in the gymnasium one day. you’re not paranoid of bumping into him here. if you didn’t bump into him in high school, you definitely won’t here.

but perhaps a party.

let’s say, one of your friends invited you, and gojo definitely notices you because he finds you somehow familiar and attractive. still, he hasn’t recognized you because you’re not angled in a manner that he can see you.

so he goes to talk to you, and let’s say you don’t take it lightly. you're not rude or anything, but you reject him, and he’s shocked.

you stare at him before walking away, leaving him standing there in bewilderment.

he watches you leave, and it takes him a while as he’s standing there but it clicks. he can’t be upset that you just rejected him in front of people, nor can he be upset that you walked away from him. he’s just honestly elated to find you here.

the only thought in his head is that you’re here and he finally has a chance again after realizing his attempt in high school was not it. he didn’t know you in high school, nor did he know you now, but he thought you were the most interesting person back then. and it looks to him that you still are.

now’s his chance, and he’d be damned if he passed it up.

so he kind of finds out where you work part-time, and goes to the campus diner around the corner (where you work). it’s a late evening, and the only customers around were the old couple who visited every friday, the frequent patrons (who were college students), were all at a party that’d been advertised all week.

it was only you, the couple, and now gojo.

you don’t look up when you hear the door bells jingle, only gently shouting a “welcome!”, while you’re too busy wiping down the milkshake bottle.

gojo is a bit nervous, but he pushed forward.

he sits on the barstool by the counter you're now wiping down, sensing a presence you look up are surprised to find gojo, “hi,” gojo starts, you narrow your eyes at him a little.

“hello,” you reply back, “what can i get for you?” you ask him before reaching under the counter to grab a menu, placing it in front of him. he doesn’t touch the menu, nor look at it, he stares into you as he says, “i’d like to start off with the sweetest milkshake you have.”

since that night at the diner he would often show up on fridays, sit on the same stool, and order the same thing. if he didn’t order the same thing, he’d ask you for any recommendations. whatever you told him to get, he’d get it and completely finish it.

gradually you began to warm up to him. it blossomed into a sweet genuine friendship. after that checkpoint, he would wait for you to finish your shift, and walk you out.

when your friendship developed into something deeper—something more—he knew he had it good. he was so smitten, anyone who saw you two could tell.

your first date happened after he came to the diner one night.

“what can i get for you?” you asked him with a cheeky smile, leaning over the counter with your elbows on the table. he takes it as his sign to also lean his elbows over the counter, mirroring your stance.

satoru’s head slightly tilts playfully, eyes briefly landing on your lips before landing on your eyes again.

a pause.

“a date.”

it took him only a single date to ask you out because he knew before the first one that you were the one.

now

“daddy was mean to mommy?” your son asked, an extremely worried and shocked look on his face.

you gently laugh before settling into a smile but satoru has a big frown on his face.

satoru puts his hand on top of your son's head, “well, daddy was an idiot, i was just trying to impress your mommy,” he explains.

“daddy is a jerk!” your daughter then speaks, and satoru’s jaw drops. you’re trying to contain your laughter as satoru stands up and grabs both of your kids off the couch, throwing them over his shoulders as they squeal. your daughter lets go of the scrapbook you made, but you catch it just before it hits the ground.

you gently place it over the coffee table as you follow your husband up the stairs to the kids rooms.

they’re both squealing when satoru puts them both in their respective beds.

you watch silently from the door as he kneels between both beds to whisper something to the kids and your heart leaps as you watch their eyes light up. just like their father. he kisses them each on the forehead as he tucks them into their beds.

“mommy! we want your kiss too,” your son says. you walk over and give them both loud forehead pecks.

you’re so incredibly happy with your little family.

satoru stands up from his kneeling position to stand behind you, wrapping an arm around you.

“goodnight my little angels. sleep well, you’ll need energy tomorrow for the aquarium,” he tells them sweetly.

you turn on their night light before turning off the room light, “and don’t forget, mommy and daddy are here if you need anything,” you remind them.

“okay mommy,” you hear your babies say.

you shut the door and head to your room.

satoru is on you in seconds.

his hands move from your waist to your rear as he peppers kisses all over your face, and neck. you sigh happily into him as you wrap your arms around him.

he gives you a squeeze, and he swallows the moan that releases out of you in a passionate, and longing kiss.

“missed you so much,” he admits in between kisses. satoru had been away for two weeks for some out-of-state games, but he would call, text, and facetime you every chance he got. he’d call first thing in the morning as soon as he would wake up, while he was getting ready, during breaks at practice, before a game (always before a game), after a game (you watched every single game), on his way back to his hotel, right before bed, and even in his sleep he’d ask to stay on the phone.

you’re a bit embarrassed to admit to how many times you two had phone sex during the away games that you couldn’t go to.

before you had kids, he would take you everywhere with him, and while that is still somewhat the case. the children have school so it's a bit harder to manage to travel with him.

“me too ‘toru,” you moaned, your tone earning a tiny whine from him.

“don’t do that," he starts "you know what calling me that does to me.”

he leans in to capture your lips again, but you’re leaning away. satoru pulls you closer in an attempt to kiss you again, but you refuse again.

you settle with a quick peck on the lips.

“we need to go to bed too because we have to be up earlier.” you remind him, and he’s smiling at you, “i know what’ll put you to sleep.”

you playfully push him off, “that's what you said right before i got pregnant with our second child,” you joke.

he’s trailing after you like a puppy into the restroom as you ready yourself for bed, “maybe i want a third child,” he challenges and you look at him through the reflection in the mirror.

you take in the serious look on his face, and you stand straighter at his admission.

“'toru–” you start before he cuts in, “i’m retiring,” he starts, “i want to focus on our family. basketball is great, but it’s not my life. you are. after we win finals, im retiring.”

you turn to him completely, and pull him into a strong hug. “I love you,” you gently admit. “I love you so much more, you have no idea,” he tells you, wrapping you in his arms. he engulfed you in his safety.

you share a moment of silence, before satoru ruins the moment.

“I’m telling the kids you stalked me and secretly took pictures of me,” you pinch him.

“Ow!”

BONUS ୭ ˚

your parents had convinced you to try out for the cheerleading team in high school. and you did.

it was on a sunny afternoon, every school sports team imaginable was outside in the field. even the basketball team. they were doing their laps around the track field, which circled the current patch of grass that was hosting the cheerleader tryouts.

“alright everyone, let's get ready for toe touches,” the captain announced enthusiastically. you’re a little distracted when you briefly make eye contact with a certain white-haired boy from across the field then you remember where you are and what was just said. you felt a little out of place, “i’m sorry,” you started, “what are toe tou–”

“ready? okay!” she shouted.

you stand dumbfounded in the middle. however, you soon find out what a toe touch is as the girl beside you launches her foot into your face, knocking your head back from the force and collision. the impact is unexpected and the girls gasp.

you’re too busy on the ground to realize a certain boy also created his own commotion on the track field when he collided with his best friend, sending them both to the ground because of his momentary distraction.

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 ᥫ᭡ join my tag list :

TAGLIST : @luvwithau : @sugacor3 : @bloopsstuff : @fushitoru : @serenityfauna : @luna-v-roiya : @rjswrld : @fartm : @manyno : @altyx : @deluluforcarlos55 : @fangirlingoverfanfic : @gojostit : @jaelahh : @nvmlolo : @lavender-hvze : @um-no-ok : @jotarohat : @plutosgold

gojo and reader loser agenda

#bnpd tumblr #gojo satoru bnpd #gojo x reader #jjk fanfic #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #basketball gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo jjk

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sunshine-on-marz · 2 days

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Cradles

In which you get to see Dean in his TRUE element

Dad! Dean x Mom! Reader

Warnings: none really unless you don’t like kids

I am not a mother but I tried to be accurate lmao

Also I couldn’t remember for the life of me if the bunker had a couch but it does now stfu

You were on the couch folding clothes, baby clothes to be exact, while Dean was holding the baby. It was a miracle to keep her awake for more then 20 minutes at a time so Dean was more than happy to play with her when she was up, not that baby Charlie was all too happy about it most of the time. You and Dean both knew it was expected for newborns to cling to their mother, but you saw the hurt on Dean’s face whenever his daughter cried as soon as her picked her up, so right now, seeing his smile as she squeaks and coos makes your heart smile.

You feel the couch dip next to you and you turn to see Sam who extends his hand “I can take over laundry if you want to go take a nap” he offers, and as much as you could probably use a little break, you shake your head. “Don’t wanna miss this” you smile and nod over to Dean, Sam smiles. “It’s pretty cool to see him being a dad” Sam’s comment makes you laugh softly. “I’ve been watching him be a dad ever since I met you two” you say, leaning you head on Sam’s shoulder. “You were his kid long before Charlie was” you tell him. Sam doesn’t respond, just pulls you into a hug. When you two go back to watching Dean and the baby, you speak again. “I really hope she’s a daddy’s girl”, you say it so quietly you’re positive Dean couldn’t have heard, but Sam did. “I don’t think any mother ever has said that before” he laughs, and so do you. “Yea well, I think he deserves it” you hum, fully content to just watch Dean be a father. In this moment that’s all that matters. Not monsters, not Chuck, nothing but the little family you’ve built.

You hear the bunker door click open, and look up to see Cas holding groceries. He walks over and hands you an energy drink. “Cas you might have just became my favorite person ever” you chuckle as he smiles “Hello to you too”. Sam follows him to the kitchen, which leaves you and Dean alone again. He walks over and sits beside you on the couch.

“She looks just like her mom” he says, kissing you on the cheek, “speaking of her mom, how are you? You can go shower or sleep, or both. I’ve got her” and you realize for a millionth time that you’ve found your person. “I’m shockingly gonna decline that offer” you say, leaning to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “I wanna stay like this for a second” you whisper, and he kisses your temple. “That sounds nice”. So that’s what you do. Sit there and look at the life you brought into the world and realize that everything truly had been worth it. Saving the world was nothing compared to this.

OMGGGGABSJAKAJSKXKDKS DEAN WINCHESTER DESERVED TO BE A FATHER.

Sorry for my disappearance school made me want to die then drivers ed made want to die then life made me want to die and I still want to die but now I want to die AND write about Dean so like

Tagging @canonically-a-genloser bc they’ve been witnessing my crazy and also think dad Dean is amazing

Btw this is one of the good supernaturals I made in my head so this is post season 15 minus all the bad shit okie love you bye

Remember to reblog and tell me what you think!!! Feedback and reblogs make the world go round!! Love you babes!!

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural dean #dean x reader #supernatural x you #spn dean #dean spn #dad!dean #dad dean

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st4rfckerz · 10 hours

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Hitchhiker | Modern!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

word count: 4.7k

warnings: fingering, very brief titty sucking, fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, slow build up (SORRY)

summary: After your friends ditch you at a festival, you find yourself stranded on the highway and a kind stranger picks you up.

Fresh from the festival, the sun beats down on your skin as you squint against the glare. You're a bit disheveled from the wild concert, but you've still got a smile on your face. The highway offered a lonely walk, but the memories of the music still ringing in your ears. Staggering on, the lonesome highway seems to stretch on endlessly, with no escape from the scorching sun. As you continue, you decide it might be wiser to hitch a ride. You stick your thumb out, hoping to catch the attention of any passing cars, although glare from the sun probably isn't helping. After a few cars speed past you, ignoring your plea for a ride, a sleek, red mustang pulls up to the side of the road. It reverses slowly, coming to a stop next to you.

“You need a lift?” The man grins, the words rumble along with the car engine.

“You offering?” you say with a laugh. He's handsome, with a scruffy jaw and light blue eyes that hold an amused glint.

“Maybe.” He speaks again, his eyes searching your face. You approach the car, the gravel crunching under your feet. As you open the door, the scent of leather and clean air wafts over you. You slide into the seat, feeling a bit relieved that someone finally stopped for you. You shift in your seat, feeling the warmth of the day slowly dissipating. The car interior is cool and comfortable, the wind from the air conditioning brushing against your skin. Anakin starts the engine, the car rumbling beneath you.

There's a small awkward silence as the car begins to move, the sound of the tires against the pavement filling the space.

The man breaks the silence, his voice smooth and deep, “You didn't tell me your name.” The question is casual, friendly, and shot through with a sly charm. He steals a glimpse at you, a wry smile playing at the corner of his lips. You tell him your name with a friendly smile, glad that the awkwardness has been lifted.

“And you are…” You let your sentence trail off, gesturing towards him with a tilt of your head.

“Anakin.” he replies, his eyes never leaving the road. As you look at Anakin, the sun casting a warm glow on his fair skin, you can't help but admire his features. His light blue eyes seem to glisten in the fading light, his dark, honey-colored hair tousled softly on his forehead. His strong hands grip the steering wheel with a sense of confidence, his broad yet lean physique and stubble making him all the more ruggedly attractive. As the car smoothly moves along the highway, you can't help but feel a little thrill at being in his company.

You lean back into the seat, feeling the leather comfortably hug your body. “So, Anakin,” you ask with a playful note in your voice. “Where are you heading?” Anakin shoots you a sly grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Just a little town off the highway. Nothing too fancy, but it's home.” He asks, glancing at you again. “What about yourself, where are you off to?”

“I was supposed to go back into town with some friends but they all decided to leave me the show early, so I just left.” you explain in a dull tone. Anakin's brows furrow slightly, a hint of concern etched onto his face.

“Well, that's not very nice of them, is it?” He says disapprovingly. You can see that he was a bit bothered by your situation. “But at least you got a better ride than you bargained for.” He adds with a chuckle.

“You know I really do appreciate the ride.” you say sincerely. Anakin smirks, his eyes still on the road.

“Well it’d be a shame to leave a pretty little thing like yourself out in this heat, wouldn’t it?” He says as he steals another quick glance at you, giving you a short look over before returning his gaze to the road.

You look at Anakin, your eyes lingering on his features for a moment before you look back out of the window, your cheeks flushed. “You can drop me off at the gas station coming up.” You say, trying to change the subject and regain your composure. As much as you’d love to stay in the vintage vehicle and chat with the man you met just a short while ago, you had to get your hands on some food.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a hint of disappointment in his voice. The approaching gas station signals the end of your impromptu road trip, a bittersweet feeling washing over you as you prepare to say your goodbyes.

“Yeah it’s okay, I’ll figure out somethin’.” You respond. You weren’t exactly sure what you’d do after leaving the gas station, but you were sure you’d figure it out.

“I might as well get some gas while I'm here," Anakin says, his tone lighter as he tries to make the best of the situation. “Thanks for the company.” he speaks with a smile, parking his car next to a gas tank in the process. You step out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath your feet once more.

“I’ll see you around Anakin.” With a final smile, you close the door behind you, the metal clanging softly. You move towards the small gas station, the glow from its windows beckoning you. The humidity smacks you in the face once again, the warm air heavy against your skin. Inside the little store, you can't help but steal glances out of the window towards Anakin. He's pumping gas, his broad shoulders and strong hands in full view. You turn your attention to the shelves, filled with a variety of snacks and drinks. You select a few items, the crinkling of the wrappers filling the quiet store, accompanied by the low hum of the shitty air conditioner.

You make your way to the register after grabbing a coke, the cold air from the fridge tickling your back as the door zips shut. The clerk smiles at you as you place your items on the counter, but you can't help but be a bit distracted, still thinking about Anakin.

You reach into your pocket to pull out your wallet, but are met with nothing. Dread prompts your eyebrows to furrow and your heart to miss a beat. You must've lost it back at the concert or maybe left it with a friend. You had to come up with something, and fast.

“$6.66.” The clerk's smile never falters as she informs you of your total. You offer her a weak smile, unsure of what to do about the missing wallet.

“Unlucky number.” you say with a nervous chuckle, gesturing towards the total. You felt stuck like there was absolutely nothing you could do.

The clerk chuckles, perhaps sensing your unease. “Some people believe in that kind of thing. But I think it's just a number. Besides, maybe it'll bring you some good luck instead.” She says, her tone friendly and reassuring. You smile, grateful for her lighthearted demeanor.

“I hope so.” You murmur to yourself, your eyes still locked on Anakin. Just as he finishes pumping gas, you turn and rush out of the store without thinking. The bell above the door jingles as you exit, your heart pounding in your chest. You make your way towards Anakin, the bit of a grin on your face conflicting with the guilt from leaving without paying.

You yell for Anakin while waving your unoccupied hand frantically. “Anakin! Go go go!” You call out, your cheeks flushed. Without waiting for an answer, you jump into his passenger seat, the door slamming shut behind you. Your eyes dart around, realizing the predicament you've just put yourself in. Anakin starts the engine, the car rumbling to life beneath you. You can see the surprise in his eyes when you jump in, but he recovers quickly, shifting the car into gear and speeding off from the gas station.

“Well that was dumb,” Anakin says with a wry smile, his eyes never leaving the road ahead, “What do you plan on doing now.” His tone is lighthearted, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the edge of your seat. “I don't know,” you reply honestly, your cheeks still flushed. “Hopefully nothing bad will come of it.” You can't help but feel a bit nervous about the consequences of your actions.

Anakin chuckles, his grin widening. He reaches over with his large, calloused hand and gives your thigh a consoling rub. “It was practically nothing. Just a few snacks.” He says. His confidence in you is comforting, easing some of the tension that had been building within you.

You look over at Anakin, your curiosity piqued by the events of the night. “So, you always pick up random strangers off the side of the road?” You ask, leaning back in your seat. You're intrigued by the man who's been nothing but kind and charming, making you wonder what drives him to be so generous.

“No, not always,” Anakin shakes his head. “But when I do, I'm glad I did.” As the car continues along the long road, you can't help but feel allured by Anakin. The way he carries himself, the charm in his wit, and the kindness he's shown you have created an indelible impression. His rugged exterior and the way he seems to effortlessly command the road make you feel safe and protected, despite only knowing him for less than a day.

Anakin peeks up at the sky, a hint of melancholy in his voice. “Looks like the sun's startin’ to set,” He muses, his eyes lingering on the horizon for a moment. The sky shimmers in shades of pink and orange as the sun dips below the horizon.

“So,” Anakin begins, his voice soft and curious. “Do your parents know where you are?” He asks, his eyes flicking over to you for a brief moment before returning to the road. The question, while seemingly innocent, carries with it a hint of concern. You can't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness beneath it.

“Kinda,” You hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much to share. “My parents didn't want me going to the show, but I went anyway.” A tinge of guilt lacing your words. The thought of the potential consequences of your actions weighs heavily on your mind.

“You know, they might be worried about you. Maybe you should call them when we stop for a bit. Let them know you're safe.” He suggests. You nod in agreement, knowing he’s right.

After a while, Anakin slows the car and pulls into the parking lot of a vacant auto repair shop. There, next to a broken-down Coke machine, stands an old-fashioned payphone. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of quarters before passing them to you, his eyes meeting yours. “Here, use these,” He says, the kindness in his voice as evident as the kindness in his eyes.

You take the quarters from him, the small gesture filling you with gratitude. You walk over to the old-fashioned payphone, the silver buttons shining in the dingy overhead light. You dial your parents' number, your heart beats faster as the phone rings.

“Whatever.” You mumble to yourself. After slamming the phone back on its cradle, you turn back towards the car. Anakin's eyes meet yours, concern etched into his features. “They didn't answer. Maybe they're asleep.” Anakin nods, recognizing your disappointed tone.

“Well, I'm sure they're just fine. Maybe they'll wake up and find your missed calls,” He says reassuringly. You offer him a weak smile, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “No, not really,” You admit, your voice soft. The truth is, you hadn't thought that far ahead, caught up in the excitement of the concert and the thrill of the unexpected journey. But now, the prospect of finding somewhere to stay in the middle of the night seems daunting.

Anakin considers this for a moment, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Well, if you'd like, you can spend the night at my place. It's not far from here.” He offers, his voice even, unrattled by the potential implications of his words. The proposition is unexpected, yet comforting in its simplicity.

“I could just get a motel room,” You say, feeling a pang of hesitation. The idea of spending the night at a stranger's house, however well-intentioned, is a bit unnerving. But Anakin shakes his head, his expression unwavering.

“The motels nearby aren't the safest, I'd feel better about you staying with me.” Anakin insists firmly. There's a sense of finality to his tone, as if he's made up his mind and won't be dissuaded.

You chew on your lower lip, contemplating the offer. The thought of navigating a potentially shady motel in the middle of the night is enough to make you reconsider. The trust and care Anakin has shown you throughout the night reassures you somewhat, making it easier to see the good intentions behind his words.

You nod, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “Alright then.” You say, grateful for the kindness and the offer of shelter. Anakin puts the car back into gear, the engine purring to life. You lean your head against the cool glass of the window and out at the darkness that surrounds you. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, the events of the night tumbling through your mind in a haphazard rhythm.

As the car hums along, you find yourself dozing off, the motion of the vehicle lulling you into a light, restless sleep. The world outside blurs as your eyes flutter shut.

“Hey sleepy girl,” The sound of Anakin's voice snaps you back to consciousness, your head jerking up from the window. “We’re pulling up now.”

Anakin pulls into a driveway and parks the car and you catch your first glimpse of his home. It's an old little house, nestled within a grove of trees, their branches reaching out like arms, enveloping the house in a natural embrace. The porch light flickers on, casting a warm glow that seems to beckon you.

The house has a charm to it, its weathered wood and stone, layered with a history that speaks of comfort and solace. A hammock swings gently from two trees, the scene reminiscent of quiet afternoons and relaxation. The porch is lined with potted plants, their greenery breathing life into the otherwise still night.

The two of you step out of the car and make your way up the porch steps, the creak of the weathered, wooden planks adding to the tranquil atmosphere. Anakin unlocks the door, the brass handle yielding with a soft turn. He holds it open for you, gesturing for you to enter. The aroma of wood and spice wafts from within, a faint hint of tobacco lingering just beneath the surface.

You step inside, the door closing gently behind you. Anakin follows, the door's latch securing you both in this refuge for the night. The room is cozy, with a worn-in couch and a large armchair by the un-lit fireplace. A wooden table sits in the center, a lamp on its surface casting a warm glow.

“The bathroom's down there,” Anakin gestures to the hall, his voice a soft rumble. “Take your time. I'll bring you some clothes when you’re done.” He informs you, his eyes briefly meeting yours once more.

You smile gratefully, the offer of a shower after your long day feeling like a true blessing. “Thank you.” You say softly. You nod your gratitude and head down the hall, the wooden floor creaking beneath your feet.

The bathroom is clean and simple, with a shower stall and a tub. You turn on the water, the steam rising as the heat envelops you. The sound of the water washes away the residue of the day, the tension slowly draining from your body.

After a while, you turn off the shower, the sound of running water replaced by the gentle drip of water from the tap. You wrap a towel around yourself, your hair hanging in damp ringlets about your face.

You hear a soft knock on the door, followed by Anakin's voice. “I got you some clothes for tonight. I'll just be outside when you’re done.” He says, his tone gentle.

You open the door a crack, revealing just your face behind the barrier of wood. Your hands brush against Anakin's as he gently hands you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. His fingers linger on yours for a moment, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

The pants Anakin left were a little too big for you, so you decide to just wear the shirt. It's a comfortable fit, the fabric soft against your skin. You tuck your hair behind your ears, gathering your things, before making your way down the hall. You make your way through the dark house, your footsteps light on the wooden floor. There, you find Anakin, seated in a long, outstretched lounging chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The faint glow from the tip illuminates his face, casting shadows that play across his features.

He looks up as you approach, his eyes meeting yours before returning to the night. The silence between you is comfortable, the hum of the night insects and the crackle of the fire serving as a soothing soundtrack. You join him on the porch, the chair creaking softly as you settle onto it. The stars above are brilliant, their light casting a dream-like veil over this unexpected sojourn.

The cool night air is punctuated by the sound of his inhale, the smoke curling upward like tendrils of fog.

Anakin glances over at you, his eyes lingering on your bare legs for a moment before he speaks. “The pants didn't fit, did they?” He asks with a smile.

You shake your head, feeling a blush creeping up your neck. “No, they were a bit too big for me,” You reply, your voice light, attempting to brush off the awkwardness. “You’ve got a nice place here,” You say, your words soft, as if to break the ice. You're not sure what else to say, the unfamiliarity of the situation making you feel a bit exposed.

Anakin nods, taking a slow drag from his cigarette before exhaling a plume of smoke. “It was my grandma's house. She moved to a nursing home a few years ago,” He responds, his voice filled with a hint of nostalgia. “I decided to keep it. It's been a good place for me.”

The revelation adds another layer to the enigmatic stranger before you. The house, with its charm and history, now seems like the perfect vessel for his stories. You can't help but feel a bit envious of the heritage and the connection it must provide.

“You got a girlfriend?” You ask. You're not quite sure why you want to know, but the question tumbles from your lips, the night seeming to demand answers.

Anakin pauses for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Not at the moment,” He replies, his voice even. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze for a brief moment before flicking back to the night. “If I did I don’t think she’d like the thought of me picking up pretty girls from the side of the road.” He says with a lopsided grin.

You reach your hand over, your fingers brushing against his as you take the cigarette. He passes it to you without hesitation, the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips. You take a drag, the smoke burning your throat, your eyes watering slightly. You cough, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you pass the cigarette back to him. “I guess I should thank you for that then.” You say, your voice light and teasing.

The two of you lock eyes, the silence between you thick with unspoken thoughts. Anakin's gaze is intense, filled with a desire that is, for the moment, unspoken. He slowly leans in towards you, his nose brushing against yours softly. Your heart races as his lips meet yours, the kiss tender and hesitant at first. But as your lips part, the kiss deepens, the sudden intimacy of the moment overwhelming. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you onto his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping you.

Anakin's hand glide along your thighs, the other coming up to brush across you now hardened nipple, his touch a trail of fire that leaves you shivering. The air between you crackles with electricity, the tension thick as you both surrender to the magnetic pull that has brought you together. As Anakin continues to brush his hands against your body, your hips shift, accidentally grinding down against his. The sudden contact sends a jolt through both of you, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch. Anakin's breath hitches, his eyes widening for a brief moment before he recovers, his hand coming to rest on your hip.

“Fuck- not here.”Anakin stands up from the chair, lifting you into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the solid strength of his body beneath yours. He makes his way inside, the creaking of the floorboards echoing softly as he carries you through the house. His room is cozy, with a large bed dominating the center. He sets you down gently on the mattress, the fabric cool against your skin.

Anakin hovers above you, his body poised over yours as he continues to kiss you, his lips exploring yours with a steadfast passion. His hand reaches between your legs and begins to rub his thumb against your panties, the warmth of his touch making your cunt clench pathetically around nothing. You arch your back, your hands gripping his shirt, the fabric straining under your fingers.

“Please do something.” You whisper, the plea barely audible as your body writhes under his touch.

“Be patient,” He says, his lips barely leaving yours. He slips his hand beneath your panties, his fingers teasing your entrance before slowly sliding inside, his thumb still working against your clit. “You’re so wet.” Anakin groans at the slick warmth that envelops his fingers, his own desire evident in the sound.

Anakin begins to pump his fingers inside you, the steady rhythm of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your hips rising to meet his hand, the hunger for release growing with each passing second. He leans down, his lips trailing kisses down your neck. The sensation of his lips against your skin combined with the rhythm of his hand is almost too much to bear. His other hand cups your soft skin, his thumb brushing over your nipple, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. He slides your shirt up, revealing your breast to his eager gaze. Anakin takes your nipple into his mouth, the sensation of his lips and teeth sending a jet of pleasure through you.

“I'm s-so close, ‘m gonna cum.” You gasp, the words barely audible over your racing heart.

Anakin responds to your plea with unbridled fervor, his fingers digging into you, his mouth working furiously on your nipple.

“Cum on my fingers baby, you got it.” He growls, the command laced with a need that mirrors your own. Your voice rings out in a cry as your orgasm swallows you whole, Anakin's fingers soaked with your wetness.

Anakin pulls his fingers from your pulsating cunt, bringing them to his mouth. He sucks on them hungrily, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans in forward and kisses you again, the taste of you on his lips and tongue as he deepens the kiss.

You reach out, your hand finding the hard bulge in Anakin's pants as you kiss him. He groans into your mouth, the sensation of your touch sending waves of desire through him. Anakin breaks the kiss, his eyes filled with a raw hunger as he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants. His erection springs free, standing tall and proud, the evidence of his intense attraction to you on full display.

He positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. With a slow, deliberate motion, Anakin pushes himself inside you, the sensation of his length filling you causing a gasp to escape your lips. He pauses for a moment, the two of you locked in a heated embrace, the weight of the moment hanging between you.

“Hold on just…give me a second.” Anakin's breath hitches, his head drops to your shoulder as he gathers himself, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

After a second or two, Anakin starts to roll his hips into yours, his rhythm slow and deliberate at first, the sensations building as he moves within you. His voice is heavy with yearning, the words spoken from a place of raw need.

“You’re so tight, clenching around me so good angel.” He murmurs into your ear, his hot breath causing a shiver to race down your spine. Anakin increases the pace of his movements, the new pace causing you to moan louder, the feeling of him inside you becoming more and more intense. Your nails latch onto his shoulder blades, your body arching up to meet his thrusts.

“Need more Anakin, please.” You breathe out between moans. Responding to your plea, Anakin leans back, his arms tightly gripping your waist as he tilts your hips up, driving himself deeper inside you. The new angle sends jolts of pleasure through your body, the intensity building with each subsequent thrust.

“You like that? ‘S that better?” He speaks breathlessly. Words babble from your lips, the coherency of your speech lost to the bliss that courses through you.

“Such a sweet girl getting fucked by a stranger.” Anakin teases you with a grin, aware of the circumstances that have led you here. You haven’t even known him for twenty four hours and you’re already dumb for his cock.

“I’m gettin’ close angel.” he growls, his breathing harsh and erratic as he continues to jackhammer himself into you.

You gasp as the sensation of him within you reaches a fever pitch. “Me too,” You manage to get out between breaths, your eyes locked onto his as you feel the hot coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each thrust.

Anakin eggs you on, his voice a guttural growl as he feels the moment drawing near. “Cum on my cock baby, give it to me.” He demands, the need in his voice only serving to fuel your own. The intensity of the moment becomes almost unbearable, your body convulsing your orgasm washes over you once more. Anakin doesn't hold back, following in your wake as he releases inside you, his body shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm.

Anakin takes a moment before slowly pulling out of your worn pussy, the heady scent of sex hanging heavy in the air. Anakin kneels in front of you, his gaze locked on your throbbing core, savoring its abused form. His tongue darts out, cleaning the swirl of your shared fluids, his tongue lapping gently at your folds.

“T-too sensitive, I can’t-” His thumb rubbing your inner thigh offers a soothing balance to the sensations, the gentle pressure providing a comforting contrast to the lingering pleasure.

“ ‘M almost done.” He says, his tone calm as his tongue continues its delicate motions.

Anakin finishes cleaning you, his tongue retreating, leaving you slick and satisfied. His eyes meet yours as he crawls back up the bed, his lips claiming yours in a tender kiss. The two of you fall into a contented silence, your bodies tangled together. The weight of the day’s wild events fades as exhaustion claims you both, the warmth of the shared intimacy enveloping you as you drift off to sleep. Though the future remains uncertain, the intimacy of the moment lingers.

#nai writes ୨୧ #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin smut #hayden christensen #hayden christensen blurb #hayden christensen drabble #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen smut #st4rfckerz

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honeylations · 3 days

Text

KIM MINJEONG x FEM!READER

Prompt: your usually shy girlfriend wants to ask you to help her but your bad mood scares her off

Warnings/Notes: g!p Minjeong, subby Minjeong, riding, squirting, creampie, handjobs, blow jobs

“H-Hah I’m s-so close…N-Need to cum..” Minjeong growled, stroking her cock faster and shutting her eyes tight when she could feel herself going to the edge.

She wished you were there stroking her instead. Kissing her until she made a mess on your hand.

She needed you.

“Oh my god just fucking kill me, will you!?”

“Wah!” Poor Minjeong jumped from the couch at your sudden dramatic entrance and how the slamming of the door pretty much shook the entire apartment.

You were too pent up with your rant that you didn’t see your girlfriend rushing to pull up her boxers and pants with a red face.

“What’s with the manager being up my ass all the fucking time?! I’m only one person and it’s not my fault other people in my damn group don’t even make up one brain cell! NOT EVEN ONE!”

Minjeong stood in between the gap that separated the living room and kitchen, watching you slam your purse on the counter and pacing back and forth.

Profanity after profanity left your lips and Minjeong could see the steam coming from your ears. Your girlfriend fiddled with the sleeves of her hoodie and cleared her throat to try and get your attention.

“H-Hi babe”

“Ugh and I don’t even get paid extra for doing most of that shitty work! I might as well quit on the spot and see him cry!”

Minjeong sealed her lips and couldn’t ignore the pain in her dick, begging to be touched.

You finished your rant with a click of your tongue and saw your girlfriend standing there in fear. “Shit, I’m sorry Jeongie. I didn’t mean to scream around like that, I’m just really over my shift today”

“It’s okay, babe. Wanna sit down and talk about it?”

Aw your baby was such a sweetheart.

“No no, we can do that later. I think a nap will fix it all”

Minjeong smiled and took your hand to lead you to your shared bedroom. Being in a relationship for so long, you two always slept half naked. You being in your panties and Jeongie in her boxers.

Something about the skin to skin contact was just so comforting.

Only issue is, Minjeong’s boner was still rock hard and you managed to miss it even when you finally got under the covers with her.

But your girlfriend wouldn’t let you cuddle.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” You questioned, making her even more nervous.

“Uh it’s nothing, really..”

“Puppy, whatever it is, spill it right now” You practically ordered, eyebrow twitching.

Minjeong huffed. “ihaveabonerandineedyoutohelpmecum”

“Huh?”

Minjeong spun on her other side away from you and hugged the blanket over her head. “Haha nothing never mind! time to sleep goodnight I love you!”

Ripping the covers off your girlfriend, you made her lie on her back while you sat on her stomach. “Stop shying away pup. Tell me what you want”

“I’m gonna go get a drink of water—WAH!” Minjeong yelped at her wrists being pinned on each side of her head.

“Say it”

Your girlfriend’s pout almost made you fold but you clenched your jaw to not give in so easily.

“M-My dick is…uh very hard..”

“Uh huh…”

“A-And I n-need you to help me..cum”

You kissed her lips and smiled. “Now was that so hard?”

“Well yes! You stormed into the apartment like a mad woman!”

Now it was your turn to pout and huff. “I said I was sorry!”

Your girlfriend looked away. “You seemed really tired too so I didn’t want to bother—“

Kiss

Minjeong went redder at your sudden move. “H-Hey!”

“Don’t you ever believe you’d bother me, okay pup?”

“Yes ma’am”

“Good. Now let me suck your dick”

Minjeong couldn’t even answer since you already yanked her pants and boxers off to start playing with her dick. She watched you with parted lips, panting at the sight of your small hands working itself up and down.

“You alright there, puppy?” You smiled into her neck as her head hung back in pleasure.

“Better than alright”

You kissed her slowly and got your tongue exploring Minjeong’s mouth which she moaned into. She would pause for a moment to watch you jerk her off faster, losing the strength to keep her eyes open.

“C-Can you please suck me off, baby? Pretty please” she whimpered while looking so deep into your eyes, you were able to see Minjeong well up tears.

“Of course, my love”

You lowered your head down and quickly sucked at your girlfriend’s leaking tip before taking her entirely inside. Her hands found comfort on your head that began to move, being one of the lucky people to not have a gag reflex.

You were able to deepthroat her so easily without a problem and Minjeong was in heaven every single time.

“Fuck. Oh fuck, Y/n-ie”

The vibration from your hum triggered your girlfriend’s hips to thrust, shocking her immediately. “N-No I’m sorry! A-Are you okay?”

Keeping her cock deep inside your throat, you gently caressed her hands on your head and she took it as the green light to do as she pleases.

Minjeong relaxes more and resumed her hip movement, tucking your hair behind your ears as she hissed out profanities.

“So so fucking good, Y/n-ie. I want to cum in your mouth. Can I pretty please?”

Another approved hum from you, and your girlfriend reacted with a punched out groan at the same time she fills your mouth with cum.

“Hah…so good…”

You sat up with pride after swallowing your personal favourite liquid snack, cleaning your mouth with a simple swipe from the back of your hand. Minjeong was still catching her breath when you hovered above her lap and held her still hard length at your soaked folds.

Minjeong doesn’t even remember seeing you remove your clothes because now here you were bouncing on her cock with your plush tits in her view. She kissed the flower tattoos across your collarbones before resting her lips on your right nipple, sucking gently as her hands held your hips.

She could almost touch the tips of her fingers together from how small your waist was, her middle fingers resting on your back dimples perfectly.

“Hah fuck! My Minjeongie is so good for letting me use her cock hm?” You managed to word out despite constantly impaling yourself onto her thick and long cock.

Minjeong nodded cutely and almost choked on her saliva when your cunt seemed to tighten around her more. “U-Use me all you want, Y/n-ie”

“Fuck, feels so fucking good, Jeongie! I’m so close, help me cum baby”

Your girlfriend didn’t need to be told twice. She planted her feet on the bed and wrapped you in her arms like a bear before destroying your pussy with repeatedly hard thrusts.

The bed was constantly being driven into the wall from how fast your girlfriend was going but who were you to complain? Her cock was kissing your cervix deliciously and you immediately became mush in Minjeong’s hands, crying and moaning into her neck to the point you even started to drool.

“Oh god yes yes yes that’s it, puppy! Gonna make me cum all over your big hard cock hm?”

Minjeong painted your neck with hickies. “Mhm want to make Y/n-ie cum!”

“Fuck you’re so good to me pup. Give me all of your cum okay? Want you to fill me until my pussy aches. Can you do that?”

Minjeong’s eyes rolled back at your words. “Hah..I’m cumming!”

“That’s it, baby! Fuck I’m gonna squirt!” You bit onto your girlfriend’s broad shoulder and shook in her arms as you sprayed clear liquid all over her cock, pelvis and even the sheets.

Minjeong continued thrusting until she emptied her balls inside your drenched cunt. “Holy shit…”

You pulled your ass up slowly as Minjeong’s cock fell limp and watched thick globs of semen rain from your pussy, moaning at the sight.

After taking a quick taste of her cum, you took the covers that you pushed off earlier and hugged it over you and Minjeong’s bodies, comfortably laying on top of your girlfriend.

Minjeong brushed your hair and was about to ask how you were until she heard slight snoring. You were knocked out quick. Smiling at the sight, your girlfriend sweetly kissed your head and fell asleep with you, reminding herself to give you a good shower once you woke up.

#gxg #wlw #kim minjeong #minjeong smut #minjeong x reader #kpop smut #aespa x fem reader #aespa smut

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pretty-little-mind33 · 2 days

Text

Tom Ryder x fem!actress!reader

Summary: Tom books a role in a musical with the only one goal in mind. He wants to work with an actress he's been crushing on forever—you.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: arrogant/asshole Tom (duh), swearing

~ thank you for requesting this, anon 🫶💖 ~

Tom Ryder doesn't like singing. He doesn't even like musicals! He's an action star, goddamnit! This meant that when his agent came up to him one day and said he'd gotten him an audition for a new musical, Tom laughed at him.

"A musical, Danny, and it's a romance?! What the flying fuck do I even pay you for?" he complains as he lies on the couch of his trailer, his arms flexed behind his head.

"It's good for publicity and it shows you have some range, Ryder!" Danny explains as calmly as he can, already annoyed with Tom's childish behavior.

Tom waves his hand as if to shoo him away.

"I have range. I don't need to prove anything to anyone," he says condescendingly. Danny pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He walks over to Tom and drops a magazine into his lap.

"Y/n Y/l/n already took the part. She's the lead. They're casting her love interest," he says with a knowing smirk as Tom scrambles into a sitting position. He quickly reads the headlines as his eyes roam around your picture.

Tom's crush on you isn't a secret to anyone who works with/for him. He's madly in love with you to the point it's embarrassing because you've spoken maybe twice at an award show and nothing more.

"When's the audition?" he asks Danny immediately.

* * *

Tom is grateful for his naturally decent voice and the year of vocal training he'd taken a few years ago because that means while he doesn't usually sing, he doesn't completely suck.

He's never, in all his years of acting, tried so hard for a role so when Danny tells him he got the part, he makes a very unattractive squeal as he celebrates.

He's over the moon until his first day when he realizes he has to actually work with you now. Color drains from his face and he pushes up his cool-dude pink-tinted sunglasses to hide how anxious he must look.

He sees you sitting in your chair, scrolling your phone. Shit, you're as gorgeous in person as he remembers, he thinks and he internally panics as he feels like he's floating.

"Sup," he says nonchalantly, taking a seat in his chair next to yours.

Sup? What the fuck.

You look up, smiling at him, "Oh, hi," you turn to him and outstretch your hand, "I'm Y/n."

Tom blinks as he stares at your hand.

Do you really think he doesn't know who you are?! Or do you just introduce yourself to everyone you meet?

With a confused expression, he clears his throat and shakes your hand.

"Ryder," he says, "Tom Ryder."

You smile at him. "Okay, James Bond," you joke.

Tom flushes pink, "I was just introducing myself—y'know—being humble and all. I don't know why it's needed though," he sniffs arrogantly, "You obviously know who I am, and I obviously know who you are," he says, his douchiness involuntarily slipping out.

You narrow your eyes at him. "Obviously," you echo, your tone curt as you turn to look down at your phone again.

Tom panics. No girl has ever just ignored him like this. He leans closer, clearing his throat. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?" he asks, pretending your lack of interest in him isn't bruising his enormous ego.

You huff, sending him a look. "No, your lack of self-awareness just rendered me speechless for a moment, Tom Ryder," you say sarcastically and then grin. "But, you'want some friendly advice? Co-star to co-star? Pull your head out of your fucking ass and realize not everyone here worships the ground you walk on because you can learn a few lines."

Tom's entire face burns crimson as his mouth opens in shock. You stand and clap your hands on your thigh as if you'd forgotten something and then you turn to look at him once more. "Oh, and introduce yourself to people around here. It's common courtesy. Toodles," you wave teasingly and spin on your heels to the makeup department.

Tom's never felt more like an idiot in his entire life. Somehow, he managed to make a fool of himself and also make you hate him all in one simple interaction.

Fuck this. He rubs a hand over his jaw and composes himself. At least work will go well—as it usually does.

* * *

He's so so wrong.

Turns out, working on a musical and a romance is much harder than action star Tom Ryder ever imagined. By the end of the day, he's completely embarrassed by not only his table reading but how croaky his voice sounded when in the studio, and he's so so close to calling Danny and begging him to bail him out of this.

He stares at himself in the mirror of his dressing room and he prepares to bang his head on the wall when he hears a knock on his door.

"What?" he mutters, slumping down on his couch as he pops an ibuprofen in his mouth to calm his headache.

When the door opens, you're standing there, holding up two bubble-milk drinks. "I come in peace," you whisper and Tom sits up instantly.

"Y/n," he whispers, blushing.

"Tom Rdyer," you smile and hand him one of the drinks. "Rough day, huh?"

Tom coughs. "Wasn't that bad," he shrugs and sips on the drink, looking up at you behind his silly sunglasses. "Thanks for this," he says, a little confused because he'd definitely gotten the impression you hated him.

You nod and sit next to him, "You'll do fine" you reassure him, looking around his dressing room and then back at him, "you're just not used to this type of movie…yet. But I think it's admirable to change your scene so drastically so if you ever need me, I'm here for you. After all, what are co-stars for?" you smile kindly.

Tom feels his heart leap in his chest as his pupils dilate.

"Thanks," he mumbles again, unsure how to deal with a situation like this. Usually, he'd make a snide comment or even a crude joke to calm his nerves, but he doesn't want to do that with you so he just sits in silence.

He's truly not used to this awkward silence with women. He doesn't have to think very hard to know that by now he'd usually have his tongue shoved down their throats, his hand under their shirts as he whispers meaningless praises in their ears.

But, you're different. Tom doesn't want that with you—not so soon anyway—and he hates this new feeling he has whenever you're around. It makes him feel weak and mushy.

"I saw your last movie," you say, making conversation. "I was really diggin' the gold cowboy outfit," you laugh and if Tom pretends really hard he hears some flirtation in your voice.

His lips curl up into a smirk which eventually morphs into a smile.

"Ah-ha," you grin and playfully poke the soft dimples that appear on his cheeks. "I was wondering when you'd drop that douchey smirk and smile at me."

Tom looks stunned by how easily you read him.

"What douchey smirk? I don't have a douchey smirk," he defends and scrunches his nose in disgust, staring at you like you've gone insane but you just bend your knee on the couch and turn to him.

"You definitely do," you laugh and pull out your phone as you type something.

"What're you doing?" Tom moves closer, suddenly anxious.

You pull your hand away as he leans in and when you muffle a laugh and turn your phone screen to him, you giggle and his face falls.

"Douchey smirk," you say and point at the screen; which displays a random picture of him from Google during some red-carpet event he doesn't even remember.

"Google is absolute shit," Tom exclaims and he debates retaliating with a picture of you, but he knows he wouldn't find one where he would find you ugly.

You're always gorgeous.

"Now you're just being mean, sweetheart," he says and the pet names slip past his lips unconsciously. Luckily, you don't mention it or seem put off. Tom's shoulders relax.

"What? You don't like it?" you turn your phone again and swipe the screen, looking at more pictures. "It's not like you could ever look bad."

Tom bites the inside of his cheek. Again, if this was any other girl, he would take that as an invitation to flirt heavily. With you? He's a blushy mess that doesn't seem to have any smooth moves anymore.

You put your phone away and smile. "No snarky comment, Mister Big-Shot?"

He chuckles and his real smile returns. "Not tonight."

You sit up and look into his eyes. You don't seem by any means nervous when you say, "You're an intriguing character, Tom Ryder. I do like that. How about you take me out to dinner tonight—if you can clear your clearly very busy schedule." You gesture to whatever he had been doing in his dressing room (which had only been some self-loathing).

Tom's never been asked out by a woman. He's usually the one asking them out and he'd assumed he'd hate not being the one to take charge but this feels so natural. "Like a date?"

You laugh and stand up, sipping on your bubble milk. "Like dinner. I'll see if I'll give you an upgrade by the end of the night," you say with a wink and Tom melts right then and there.

He accepts instantly, also liking the challenge, and he takes you to dinner. He takes you to your favorite restaurant, ignoring that he very much dislikes Thai food, and he plays the perfect gentleman—or rather, he doesn't even have to play a gentleman because you seem to bring it out of him naturally.

It's almost midnight as he walks you back to your car, his arm almost touching yours as you both walk side-by-side, stuck in a light-hearted debate about book adaptations turned into movies.

Occasionally, he'll check to make sure his security team is walking behind you but his hand with twitch to steady around your waist in case he also needs to keep you safe from some crazy fans or unsuspected paparazzi.

"You don't seem like the type to read much," you say, feeling content as your heels click against the pavement. You feel safe around him and you smile at the feeling of his fingers sometimes skimming your waist.

"I read," he frowns and then pauses, "I read a lot of scripts."

You laugh, liking his blunt honesty.

Tom's chest swells at the sound of your laugh. He'd managed to bring it out of you on more than one occasion tonight and he wears each time like a badge of honor—even if he's 95% sure you're laughing at him.

When you arrive at your car, you turn to him and Tom opens his mouth to ask the question that has been on his mind all night, "So, was this a date?" but instead, your arms wrap around him and you kiss his lips. It's quick, almost fleeting and he wonders if he'd imagined the entire thing.

"I don't usually kiss anyone on the first date," you say, slightly more nervous now, "so don't make me regret it, Tom Ryder," you whisper and his hand almost clutches at your waist to pull you in for another kiss but instead he holds the door for you to climb into your car.

He sends you a nervous smile and then watches as your car disappear around the corner. "I promise I won't," he whispers into the air knowing he means every word.

He's never taken his time with anyone, but he'll stop time entirely just to spend every second he can with you.

#tom ryder x reader #tom ryder x fem!reader #tom ryder fluff #tom ryder x y/n #tom ryder x you #tom ryder fanfiction #tom ryder smut #tom ryder #tom ryder fic #tom ryder the fall guy #the fall guy aaron taylor johnson #the fall guy #tom ryder imagines #tom ryder imagine #aaron taylor johnson fic #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #aaron taylor johnson #tom 🎬

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stevieschrodinger · 4 hours

Text

“I’m just saying it’s manipulative.”

“Manipulative? Eddie you can’t be serious.”

“I am, now, where’s the dish? It’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“Maybe in this box, clearly labelled ‘kitchen’?” Dustin snarks, “and I don’t see how you can say behaving in a way that’s been dictated by your very biology is...manipulative. That’s not fair, man.”

Eddie digs in the box, bringing out the baking dish he wants, and then heads back into the kitchen, swerving around clutter and open boxes as he goes, “yeah, I get that a lot of Omega act the way they do because of what they are, alright. I get that, I do. But all this...kind of, 'oh my oh my, can’t the big Alpha come and save me...I just need looking after and...and protecting'. And I get that it works, a lot of Alphas eat that shit right up, I’m just not one of them.” Eddie bangs around in the kitchen fixing Wayne’s famous corned beef hash casserole, “it’s just not for me, you know? I don’t want someone who’s just going to do as they’re told and roll over on everything, I want someone who is equal, not someone who wants looking after all the time. I will not be loosing my head over any Omega, no matter how pretty they are.”

“So you...wouldn’t look after your Omega?” Dustin squints at him.

“Firstly, not happening, not ever, I’m sticking to Beta’s and that is final...but, I mean, yeah, of course I’d look after my partner, but I’d do that for anyone. I don’t want this hormone driven need to...to I don’t know. It’s just not for me Henderson, okay? Now help me with the books.”

Dustin whines, “but there’s like, fifty million of them...and I still don’t agree that it’s manipulative. They’re just...playing to their strengths, or whatever.”

“Right, so an Omega bats their eyelashes and every Alpha in sniffing distance is falling over themselves to do whatever the Omega wants, and that’s not manipulative?”

“Welllll…no, especially since it only works because of the Alphas in the first place, if it’s anyone fault, it’s the Alphas, right?”

“Fucking...just shut up Henderson.”

Eddie’s just put their plates on the table when there’s a knock at the door, “I’m not waiting,” Dustin sits down and starts shoveling, and Eddie mutters curses all the way to the door, he’s absolutely starving-

“Hi, I am so sorry,” it’s an Omega. A ridiculously pretty one. A very, very pregnant one. “I’m from next door,” the very very pretty Omega is on tip toes, trying to look over Eddie’s shoulder. He’s clutching a plate to his chest, “I know you’ve just moved in and, again, I am so so sorry about this, but is there any chance I could try what you’re cooking? Please?”

He smells so good. Even better than a regular Omega; Eddie’s sure it’s because he’s pupped, probably some biological bullshit about protecting pups and whatever. But still, he’s...he’s cute, standing there with his plate, sniffing after Eddie’s cooking.

“I could smell it in the hall. It could just be the tiniest bit, but I just would really like to try it, I’m so sorry for interrupting your dinner but-”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Eddie says, taking the guys plate, “just hang there a second.” Eddie goes and...well, if he fills the plate of what was going to be tomorrows dinner, no one needs to know. Eddie might have opinions on gender, but he’s not a dick. The guy is very pregnant, plus he was being super polite about it. He even brought his own plate.

It’s another human being, pregnant and hungry; Eddie would do the same to help anyone out. This is absolutely nothing to do with the guy being the prettiest Omega Eddie’s ever seen in real life.

Eddie delivers the plate back, “oh my goodness,” oh okay, that’s adorable. Eddie’s pretty sure he’s never heard anyone say ‘oh my goodness’ in real life, like, ever. “Thank you so so much, is there anything I can do? I can contribute to the ingredients or-” and that’s when Eddie figures that not only is the guy very pretty, he’s actually a reasonable human being too, lots of people wouldn’t have even thought about that sort of thing.

“No, we’re good just, ah, let me know what you think.”

“I will, I will,” the guy is saying as he turns to leave, carefully carrying his laden plate. He’s big enough that he’s kind of waddling, and Eddie watches him long enough to see him go into the next apartment along the hall.

Eddie shuts the door, turning back to find Dustin watching him, both eyebrows raised, a very accusatory look on his face, “oh shut the fuck up.”

“Just let me know what you think,” Dustin mimics back, like a little bitch.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #pre getting together #pre steddie #dustin henderson #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #ao3 author #ficlet #ao3 writer #mpreg

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the-prettiest-teardrop · 24 hours

Text

It’s On Me

Childhoodbestfriend!Steve x Introvert!Reader

Warning- Shy reader, reader like cotton candy ice cream (sorry if you don’t like it 😭), kissing, tooth rotting fluff

A/N- There was inspiration taken from the Cherry series, and this was also based off an ask.

———

You pick at your nails, the blue polish lifting and peeling up. It was the same color it always was, light turquoise blue, you’d stuck to the same color since middle school. You thought people didn’t notice, I mean, you didn’t really talk much, well, not to anyone but Steve.

The two of you met in primary school, both around 6 years old. Some girl had bumped into you, causing you to spill the soup you brought to school for lunch. He had swooped in to save the day, sharing his lunch with you, and the two of you had been attached at the hip since.

In middle school, you watched as Steve gained popularity, and you stayed behind, your once outgoing personality reduced to a shadow of its former glory. You didn’t have many friends, but time after time, he was there beside you, never leaving. This devotion caused you to become attracted to him, something that wouldn’t leave you.

The same pattern continued in high school, but somehow, you made it through all that, and more, and came out the other side.

Now you were here, walking beside him, Robin and Eddie behind you, and the kids behind them. After all the whining and complaining about the heat, Steve had dragged you all out to get ice cream.

“C’mon, walk faster. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can cool down.” He calls back to the rest of the group picking up the pace a bit, grabbing your hand and bringing you with him.

You had always enjoyed the feeling of his hand grasping yours, the slight roughness of his palm, his thumb absent-mindedly rubbing the back of your hand. It was familiar, something that calmed you in awkward situations. You thought back to all the things he’d done for you over the years, sneaking chapstick into your pocket, replacing your nail polish, all things he thought you never noticed.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He asks, noticing the way you bit your lip and looked off to the side, spaced out in thought.

“Oh, nothin’, just figuring out what I’m gonna get.” You reply quietly, looking him in his big brown eyes. God, you could drown in them, with the way they swallowed you with kindness.

“They’ve got Cotton Candy, your favorite.” He says with a little smile, nudging you with a smile. He remembered your favorite flavor after all the nights the two of you spent together, talking til’ the sun rose.

“Can you two lovebirds pick up the pace? For someone who just told us to stop complaining and walk faster, you’re really slowing us down.” Robin calls out, followed by a chorus of agreement from the kids. Steve groaned and began walking faster, muttering something about how he wished people didn’t say stuff like that to you, that you were just friends.

Although you’d never say it aloud, you kind of liked the teasing, it made you feel like other people would approve if you ever got in a relationship with him that was more than purely platonic.

Once you arrived at the ice cream shop, everyone ordered, and Steve quickly payed. You immediately noticed he got nothing for himself, and you began to get worried. It was easy for you to spiral, something you were used to, the second you got worried, you began to think the worst. As you spiraled, worried about something as small as him not getting ice cream, your eyes drifted to his hands. Before you could think about how nice his hands were, you got distracted by his near-empty wallet. Without another word, you got up from where you were sitting, leaving your ice cream at the table, and pulling out your own wallet. You quickly ordered his favorite, reciting it as if it was something as simple as your own name.

“Here.” You state simply, placing it in front of him before sitting in the chair across from him.

“You didn’t have to do that, I’m fine.” He says apologetically, his face flushing red.

“No, I wanted to.” You reassure, taking his hand in yours, suddenly feeling a little bit bold.

“Honey, you don’t need to worry about me, and don’t tell me you aren’t worried, because we both know that’s a damn lie.” His tone is as sweet as the ice cream the two of you are eating, and it melts your heart. He reaches out, swiping his thumb on your chin to rid the bit of ice cream that had melted onto it. You laugh softly, and when he doesn’t move his hand, you suddenly go quiet. “Y’know I’ve liked you for like, ever, right? Ever since middle school, when you dragged me out to your backyard after my first girlfriend dumped me. I was so upset, but we ended up falling asleep out there, and I forgot all about her.” He admits suddenly, his face still flushed a little red.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve liked you since middle school too.” You say, suddenly less worried about what other people think, I mean, he likes you too, finally.

“I was scared, but c’mon baby, I’ve made it pretty obvious.” He quips with a little grin, and before you can reply, he’s giving you a soft kiss. You can taste ice cream on his lips, and he can taste the same strawberry chapstick he had been slipping into your pocket since 7th grade.

“Love you baby.” He whispers as to pill back.

“Love you too Stevie.” You whisper back. These confessions didn’t go unnoticed on the walk home, with cheers from the rest of the group. You couldn’t be happier, you finally had the boy you’d been wanting for years.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine

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renecdote · 1 day

Note

The prompt "sit still and let me take a look!" spoke to me 😌

hiiii frida this has been in my inbox for so long but I finally figured out how to write again so here you go <3 also sorry. I think. it got angsty oops [Read on AO3]

The problem is that Eddie tries to catch the glass. It slips, and he doesn’t want the shattering sound to wake Buck, so he tries to catch it, and—

“Fuck.”

It slips out louder than he means for it to be, the pain catching him by surprise. It slices through his hand and up his arm, reflexive tears springing to his eyes before he blinks them away. Blood blooms on his palm, just a thin line at first, but spreading rapidly, red running over his fingers, his wrist, dripping onto the floor. In the middle of it all, a jagged piece of glass sparkles in the morning light. Eddie curses again.

Sometimes he feels like he has been dealing with emergencies his whole life. He’s good at it—he has to be—but there’s always a moment of hesitation when it’s himself, a split second or a minute, mind and body frozen even though his survival instinct in any other situation is to fight.

This is hardly an emergency, but Eddie feels frozen anyway, his mind blank even though he’s already moving, reaching for the tap. Water gushes out, tepid for the first few seconds, then cold enough that he has to grit his teeth against the ache. The blood isn’t slowing, but it’s turning pink under the water, washed away before Eddie can think about how much of it there is. Cuts usually look worse than they are, he reminds himself.

“Eddie?” Socks shuffling on the linoleum, half asleep still. Then suddenly much more awake: “Shit, are you okay?”

“Yep. Pass me a tea towel?”

There are two hanging from the oven, but Buck goes for the drawer of clean tea towels instead. He passes over a red one—fire engine red, Eddie’s mind automatically supplies—and it could be a coincidence, or it could be because it won’t stain as easily as the lighter ones. Eddie wraps the material awkwardly around his bleeding hand, trying not to move too much so he doesn’t jar the glass and make the cut worse.

“Here,” Buck says, turning a chair around one-handed, “sit down, let me take a look at it.”

Guilt gnaws at Eddie’s stomach.

“I really don’t—”

“Eds.” Serious. Too serious for a broken glass, but just the right amount of serious for the years of history between them. “Please?”

Eddie sighs, and nods, and sits down. He holds out his hand and Buck takes it carefully, fingers gentle under the back of Eddie’s hand, like what he’s holding is something precious. It makes Eddie’s heart quiver in his chest. He has to bite his cheek hard so he doesn’t do something ridiculous like cry. Or kiss his best friend.

“It doesn’t look too deep, I think it’ll be okay if we pull the glass out,” Buck says, the furrow between his brows deep in concentration as he inspects Eddie’s hand from every angle. “Do you have tweezers?”

“First aid kit,” Eddie answers, gesturing towards the hallway with his good hand. It’s not like he needs to explain where the first aid kit is, Buck already knows. Hell, Buck helped him stock it.

“Don’t move,” Buck tells him, that same flash of seriousness in the look that comes with the words.

“Where am I gonna go?” Eddie asks rhetorically.

Buck rolls his eyes. “Just—hold that towel on your hand. I’ll be back in a second.”

Eddie re-wraps the towel carefully around the glass piece and keeps pressure on his hand, holding it up so it’s above his heart, more out of habit than because he thinks it’s necessary. Without Buck, it’s hard to focus on anything except the pain. It’s nothing compared to getting shot, or broken bones, or a dislocated shoulder, or the whole body ache from being at the bottom of a collapsed well, but pain is pain. Eddie stares at the photos on the fridge and tries to put it out of his mind. There’s Christopher’s latest school photo, a shot of Eddie and Chris in Texas last time they visited, another of Buck and Christopher at the zoo, one of the three of them grinning like maniacs at the go-karting place in the desert.

It means nothing and everything, Eddie thinks, that dozens more photos just like them fill the photo albums lined up neatly on the bookshelf in the living room. Mostly nothing. Mostly everything. Sometimes it feels like they were living their lives with a hole left just for Buck to fill before they even met him. Eddie isn’t sure he believes in things like soulmates, or fate, or divine providence, but if he did, he thinks it would be because of Buck. Because of the way they fit together, a neat little family of three.

Except for how they aren’t. Buck will go home to Tommy in a few hours, and Chris is willing to speak to Eddie on the phone these days but he still isn’t ready to come home, so it will just be Eddie in his lonely house, eating a lonely dinner at the empty kitchen table.

He presses a little too hard against his hand and the pain flares, the hard lump of emotion in his throat numbed for a moment by the sting. Eddie presses down again, breathing through the hurt until he feels like he is in control again. It’s harder and harder to keep hold of these days. His eyes feel permanently gritty with exhaustion, a long shift and a heavier heart weighing him down, but sleep as elusive as it has been for the last two months. This isn’t even the first glass he has broken in the last few weeks, just the first to draw blood.

Eddie doesn’t realise how much he has slumped in his chair until he hears the squeak of the hallway floor under returning footsteps and he straightens back up. The first aid kit clatters when Buck sets it on the table, his fingers already flicking up the latch to open it. It’s more cluttered than Eddie remembers it being, and he makes a half-formed mental note to reorganise it when he has a chance. House upkeep hasn’t been his biggest concern recently. Buck has to push aside band-aids and tape and rolls of bandages before he finds the tweezers at the bottom of the box. He tears open an alcohol wipe and sterilises them, then hesitates.

“Should we—?”

“Sink will be less messy,” Eddie agrees before the question is finished, squashing down the part of him that doesn’t really care if he bleeds all over his kitchen.

He stands up awkwardly, even though it isn’t something he really needs his hands for, and Buck’s hand hovers under his elbow for a second before dropping away. Eddie feels the not-quite-contact like a tingling up and down his arm. It tingles, too, when Buck holds his hand to keep it still, the movement of his thumb over Eddie’s fingers almost a caress before his grip settles. The tweezers hang over the cut and Eddie tenses, instinctively bracing for more pain.

“Careful,” he warns, and Buck glances up at him, eyebrows raised.

“Would you rather do this yourself?”

There’s no judgement in his voice. Well, not real judgement. It’s all teasing fondness, the same kind of tone he uses when he gives Chimney shit about his extravagant coffee orders, or gives Eddie shit about his cooking, still, even though he knows his way around the kitchen at least half as well as Bobby by now.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“I trust you,” he says, just the right amount of serious for the years of history between them. “Go on, do your worst.”

Buck’s hand is steady around the tweezers. The shard comes out easily and he drops it in the sink. He rinses away the freshly welling blood under the tap, then tilts Eddie’s hand under the light to check for the glint of any smaller pieces of glass hiding in the cut. The look of concentration on his face makes Eddie think of burning buildings and tricky extractions from bad accidents. It’s a little overwhelming, having all that Firefighter Buckley energy directed at a comparatively measly cut.

It’s not that he isn’t used to it by now: Buck taking care of him. It might actually be that he’s too used to it. At some point, it stopped being something that surprised him and became something he’s comfortable with, something he expects, something he can ask for, and… It’s dangerous, the way Buck makes him feel safe and comfortable and cared for, because Eddie’s traitorous heart wants to hold onto that feeling forever.

“Looks like that was all the glass,” Buck says. “Can you wash the cut? I’ll grab the gauze to wrap it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, relieved to have some control handed back to him.

The antibacterial soap at the sink is gentle enough, so he presses down the pump and braces himself against the sting as it hits the cut. Reflexive tears spring to his eyes and he blinks them back as he cleans his hand thoroughly. He tears a piece of paper towel off the roll one-handed and pats the area dry, then lets Buck take his hand again to press a piece of gauze over the cut and carefully wind a bandage around on top. That familiar furrow of concentration stays between his brows until he tapes the bandage in place and steps back.

“Thanks,” Eddie says quietly.

Buck shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. Maybe it shouldn’t be.

“Do you want me to…?” he gestures towards the counter, the broken pieces of glass still lying there.

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve got it.”

He half expects Buck to push, but he just nods and turns away to pack up the first aid kit instead. He starts organising it without Eddie saying anything and Eddie’s heart throbs, hit with a wave of love so strong it almost takes his legs out from under him. He forces his attention back to the broken glass before he can let that love carry him to his knees and beg Buck to stay forever. He’s pretty sure that would only make Buck worried. He’s also pretty sure it would be nice, letting go and drowning himself in all the gentle care that would come with that worry.

Eddie turns away from temptation instead. He sweeps up the pieces of glass carefully with the dustpan, then folds a catalogue from yesterday’s junk mail around them before dropping it all in the bin. The first aid kit closes with a snap and Buck squeezes past him to carry it out of the kitchen, his body heat there and gone before Eddie can let his heart take control again and lean into it.

There are a hundred reasons he can’t have Buck any more than he already does.

There are a hundred more for why he wants him, why it makes perfect sense. If Eddie was a little less damaged, he might have realised that early enough to do something about it.

Or maybe he would have just fucked it all up; he seems to be good at that.

Eddie flexes his hand, feeling the cut pull under the bandage. He closes his eyes for one second, two, and his hand is hanging back by his side by the time Buck comes back, yawning, and beelines for the coffee machine. He grabs out two mugs, holding one up in offering, and Eddie nods, feeling guilty all over again about waking Buck up.

“Thanks,” he says again. “Sorry I woke you up.”

He’s not even sure why Buck followed him home after shift, only that he did, and it made sense at the time—still makes sense, which doesn’t really make sense at all—and even though Eddie probably should have suggested he go home and nap before whatever date he has planned with Tommy, he just pulled out a spare pillow and blanket and nudged him towards the couch.

“It’s okay,” Buck says easily. “I’m glad I woke up.”

He smiles, gentle and a little lopsided, and it’s the kind of smile that makes Eddie wonder whether Buck has always smiled at him like that. He wonders if it means anything, or if he just wants it to.

It’s dangerous: wanting.

He steps back, reaching for the bloody tea towel, careful not to use his injured hand. “I’m going to—” He gestures vaguely towards the laundry. “Before it stains.”

“Oh,” Buck says. “Yeah. I can—”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve got it.”

It’s not running from a situation if the situation is entirely inside your own head, he tells himself. It’s just… doing laundry.

And it doesn’t mean anything when Buck’s hand lingers as he passes over a mug of coffee after Eddie drags his feet back to the kitchen. It never means anything, because if it does—

Well.

“Hey,” Buck says, leaning in close before Eddie can pull away again, his arm warm through the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. “We didn’t really get to have breakfast earlier, so I thought we could go out for pancakes? I saw a new place on Instagram that has, like, twenty different flavours.”

Eddie loves him. He shouldn’t, he can’t, but god, he loves his best friend so much it hurts. Why the hell has his heart been hiding that from him for years? He takes a quick sip of coffee and tries to swallow the lump in his throat back down with it.

“Yeah,” he says when he can trust himself to speak. “Sure, pancakes sound good.”

Buck knocks their shoulders gently together, but instead of pulling back he just—stays. He always stays. Eddie closes his eyes, inhaling the steam from his coffee, and carefully, deliberately, he does not think about anything except the bittersweet taste of coffee and creamer on his tongue, and the stinging heat of the mug against his hands.

#Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #911 abc #fic #if this is terrible pls nobody look it's been 84 years since I last had words

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ghouljams · 23 hours

Note

https://www.tiktok.com/@kickupsomedust/video/7374145884403223854?_t=8n2jGA6urd5&_r=1

goose? but i feel like it could fit someone else too just can’t put my finger on it

No that's absolutely Goose coded. I have in fact written fic just for you because of it, so here's Goose being possessive and mildly insane.

You open the trailer door in nothing but a tank top and a pair of panties, still brushing your teeth. You raise a brow looking at the woman with her hand still raised to knock on the door. She smiles sweetly. Phoney fucking bologna. You lean to the side and spit your toothpaste onto the grass, ignoring the face she makes. You get a good view of her nice white boots before you straighten up.

"Can I help you?" You ask because she doesn't seem intent on talking.

"I'm lookin' for Simon Riley?" She coos in a voice that says she's trying to be polite but really sees you as an obstacle more than a person.

"Ain't he comin' off a roping round?" You give your teeth another quick brush just because you don't wanna stand around holding something and because you figure it'll make her realize you're not interested in helping whatever little scheme she's cooked up.

"He offered to help me with my tack," Sounds innocent enough, not exactly your husband's MO though, "he said I could meet him at his camper." Ah. "Didn't mention you." Uh huh. You nod. This is sounding more like him, send the pushy problem to you to deal with.

You tug your toothbrush from your mouth and spit again before smiling at the girl. "Well ain't that sweet of him, bless his heart I'm always tellin' that man he's gotta start being nicer to people." You gesture with your toothbrush, flipping off the men that wander by a little too slowly. It's not your fault this bitch wouldn't stop hammering on your door long enough to let you pull a pair of jeans on.

"Right," the girl pulls the word suspiciously through her lips.

"My brother sure can pick 'em," you see the tension in her shoulders loosen a little, "wait here baby, I'll put some pants on and we can go lookin' for 'im."

You think you know why Simon sent this chick your way. She won't shut the fuck up. You're doing fine keeping up, but you're sure his head was spinning. As it is you're fielding questions about your husband and attempting to give awful but honest answers. When she asks if he's got any neurosis you almost lose it. You cover by telling her he's a veteran and that seems to handle most of her questions from there. It's too bad the woman went after your husband, you might have liked her if she wasn't an attempted homewrecker.

Though that thought is quickly dashed against the rocks when you spot Simon and she goes running over to him. It's then that you get a good look at the rhinestones covering her back pockets. Fucking saddle scratchers, of course she needs help with her tack it's probably torn to shreds. Simon looks straight past her to you, his face going white --well, whiter-- when he sees you smile. He's quick to side step the woman and stalk over to you.

"What're you smiling about?" He asks, his voice rough, you wonder if he had a rough ride for his practice round. You desperately want to ask if he knows the dummies they bring out don't move, that he doesn't have to work so hard roping the suckers. Instead and tip your head to make sure he knows you're looking at him and grin.

"Thinkin' about how sad and sorry you'd be without me."

Simon hums, leaning down to kiss you. The soft press of his lips is made all the sweeter for the gasp that escapes your unwelcome guest. You keep your hands at your side, really drive home that your man wants to kiss you the way his big hands cup your face to keep you in place as his tongue swipes against the seam of your lips. It's really too bad Simon likes putting on a show. You'd stand here and kiss him all day if you could, but you have a fan to deal with. You turn your head on the next kiss so Simon's lips land on your cheek, it doesn't stop him. His lips trail over your cheek, against your jaw, you have to push at him when his stubble scratches at your neck. Too ticklish early in the morning for his nonsense.

His wannabe bunny is paler than a ghost watching you press your hands against Simon's broad chest. She scowls at you, and you stick your tongue out in response.

"You could've told me he was taken," She spits at you, "you're not funny." So weird, you think you're hilarious. Simon let you go to give the girl a confused look. She glares at him as well before turning to leave.

"Oh wait, you got somethin' on your jeans," You tell her, she twists and you step closer, "looks like you sat in something."

You grab the top of one of her pockets and jerk hard, ripping the damn thing from the seat of her pants. She shrieks and Simon's quick enough to make sure she doesn't catch you with that weak ass swing.

"You bitch!" She yells at you. You blow her a little kiss with her stupid bedazzled pocket.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #oc: goose #cowboy au #cowboy!ghost

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tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang · 20 hours

Note

Hello!

How do you think TR boys would react if they accidently hurt their s/o, like, in a fit of anger, or during a couple fight?

Preferably, Baji, Chifuyu, Mikey, and Kazutora? But anybody you want is fine!

Like physically? I don't think any of them would swing on their partner even if they were annoyed so I came up with a scenario I think could happen which results in the reader being accidentally physically hurt!

He was so angry right now, the two of you had been arguing over the same thing for the past hour but nothing was getting better. The two of you were just going round in circles and it was starting to frustrate him further. He punched the wall in anger, momentarily not caring about the sound of a frame smashing to the floor. He didn't even turn around to look at it, not until he heard a different noise.

Baji-

You hissed in pain as the glass cut your finger, you were only trying to clean up the mess but now you were bleeding.

Frowning at the noise, Baji immediately comes rushing over to you, elevating your hand and applying pressure. He can't bear to see you in pain so quickly tries to sort it out himself.

He's still a little mad at you but not enough to ignore you like this. Truthfully he's more mad at himself, cursing his impulsiveness under his breath.

Apologises then tells you to sit down while he cleans his own mess up.

He still intends to discuss the problem with you tomorrow but decides to try and not let his anger get the better of him this time. But for the rest of today he just wants to be close to you.

Chifuyu-

After hearing your sudden hiss in pain, he whips his head around so fast you think he might hurt himself in a second.

Immediately comes over to you, trying to stop the bleeding and profusely apologising.

Feels extremely guilty and is on the verge of tears the whole time, it's his fault you got hurt!

He doesn't do a very good job with your injury because he's panicking so much.

You both end up kinda having to reassure and comfort each other

The problem is entirely forgotten, he doesn't even care anymore.

Becomes even more caring after, he just wants you to know he'd never do that on purpose and he really is sorry.

Mikey-

Doesn't actually undertake what that hiss noise was at first. You have no reason to be in pain so he's sure it isn't you. Looks around with a confused look until he notices you kneeling on the floor, holding your now bleeding hand.

Sucks in sharp breath as his eyes widen, did he do that???

Jumps into action after a moments pause, grabbing as many tissues as he can and running over to you.

Asks you how it happens exactly, like he still can't believe it was a result of his actions.

Get's such a hurt look on his face after you quickly tell him. He feels so guilty, like he just ruined everything. He's the worst.

He continues helping you while apologising in the saddest tone you've ever heard from him. Avoids eye contact with you until you tell him to look at you.

Needs reassurance that you forgive him (if you do).

Promises to never punch the wall again, then runs out to buy a new frame as well as taiyaki for both of you. The argument is completely forgotten.

Kazutora-

Freezes the second he hears the sound come out your mouth, he's heard similar noises enough times to know what they mean.

Turns around immediately, eyes going wide as he sees you.

Panic and dread sets in, he freezes and time feels like it's slowed down for him. He did this, he hurt you. He really is just like his father.

He wants to run away, out of the room and from the situation but he can't, can't just leave you there.

Taking a deep breath, he moves towards you, trying to be as gentle as he can with your injury while he helps you.

You have to say his name a few times before his attention is on your words. It's then that he suddenly realises he was so focused on your injury that he hasn't apologised yet.

A string of sorry's slip out, as he tries to tell you how he never wanted this to happen.

Definitely needs you to communicate your forgiveness and reassure him that it was just an accident (if you do forgive him).

Spends the rest of the day trying to make it up to you in little ways, even after you tell him he doesn't need to.

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev

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yooglefics · 3 days

Text

The casual type: 03 . The past

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader Wordcount: 2,993 words Genre ( for the whole series ): AU. College!verse. Strangers to friends with benefits to ?????. Eventual smut. Hurt / comfort at times. Fluff for cute friends. Summary: ( Ep. 03 ) • Is finally time to talk about how you got here. And of course, you aren't the only one with a past. Warnings under read more.

Includes ( this episode ): There's flirting and progress is made. The squad is cute. Mentions of cheating in the past ( not from main characters ), bad relationship dynamics, fuckboy shenanigans ( say no to fuckboys ), and broken hearts. Author's note: I have a question for you guys: should I start adding the pet names in the warning? Because my thing is that Yoongi has been using them in context of what is happening, like in a banter kind of way, but… should that be a warning in itself? As always, hope you like this one, remember to leave a comment, reblog, send an ask, follow or whatnot. Thank you for reading <3

The motorcycle ride wasn't as scary as you thought it'd be. In fact, it was kind of calming. The streets were mostly empty and Yoongi drove at a decent speed, mainly of course, because you told him you'd kill him if he didn't. But it was nice, a good distraction and an interesting way to end a hectic night.

Monday morning comes around and your stomach hurts with anxiety at the thought of the inevitable. Is even worse than when you have to give a class presentation, at least in those cases your life isn't the subject. And your only hope to get you throughout the day is that everything would feel better after talking with the guys.

“Are you not finishing those?” Jungkook points at the fries on your plate after a while of sitting in the cafeteria. Your group has assigned this time as lunch hour since everyone is free while some of them wait for their next class.

“You can have them if you want.” Everyone's eyes turn to you as if a second head has grown, “I'm not hungry.”

“But… is fries?” Says the soccer player and to his credit, is true that turning down fries is a sign you may be sick, and honestly, it feels a little bit like you are and that's what finally makes you decide is time.

“Let's talk. Outside.”

You can't bear the awkwardness. They tip-toeing around, putting too much thought on your actions. It can't go any longer, but you still take a few minutes to walk them outside the cafeteria and to the back of the building. Away from the protagonist of your story.

“Oh… hi.” Greets Yoongi, his arm mid air as he stops the action of putting a cigarette between his lips. “Walking all together like that, you guys do look like a gang,” he jokes after you and your friends say hello.

“Says the guy smoking,” Jimin’s answer, gaining some laughs.

“Sorry,” he really seems remorseful, “I'll go somewhere else.”

“Actually,” grabbing his forearm, you stop him from leaving. “Can you stay? I think I do need moral support.”

On friday night he told you asking Mai to be there when talking about everything could be a good idea, and with a shake of your head against his back you answered you didn't want to bother her, already feeling bad about worrying her that night. So, he said he would do it. If you needed support he would be there as a payment for saving him at the club the night you met and that you only needed to ask.

Even so, it is surprising to you when he just nods and goes back to his position against the wall. You stay in front of him and your friends gather at your sides in a circle, ready to listen.

“Okay. Well,” you take a deep breath, “first you have to promise to not do anything. Not threatening, not breaking noses. Nothing. You promise?”

They do, with only a “But if it is really bad can I scream at them?” from Jungkook.

“No. I don't want more drama.”

And they nod once more, and again, you breathe.

“So, there's this guy, he is from the basketball team,” Hobi got that right, but it wasn’t surprising after you took a liking for going to the games and then stopped just as suddenly even if Jungkook was still part of the team. “We were talking for a couple months. You know, messaging and… just flirting I guess.”

“You guess?” Taehyun asks to clarify.

“Yes? I… I don't know. Sometimes it would be more obvious than others and we would talk about what we wanted in a relationship as if we were talking about our relationship.” In the moment you thought it was obvious, you were flirting and planning the future; both of you mentioned wanting something beautiful and long lasting. But after everything, you wonder how truthful everything really was. “We even went on a few dates and on Valentine's he got me a necklace and a cute cart saying how much I meant to him.”

“And you didn't tell me?” Jimin argues. The only one that says something even when all your friends at surprised at that.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to, I swear, but I also wanted to enjoy it just myself for a little bit.”

“And what happened? Why did it end?” Tae wonders impatiently.

“Well,” the phantom pain from that day is back on your chest, “sometime at the beginning of April he canceled a date and because I already had told you guys I was staying on campus to study, I ended up going to the movies by myself and…”

“He was there?” You nod. “With… someone… else?”

All your friends react at Tae's guess and you only nod again. Your eyes are fixed on Yoongi, on the half burnt cigarette still in his hand that is now off, to avoid looking at them and the sadness on their faces. You can't handle that. Even when you tell yourself you're over everything, finally telling them about it and knowing how it makes them feel revives how you hurt back then. In a certain way, it gives you the validation you didn't have at the time, and that you didn't know you needed.

Is healing, and you wish a little bit you had told them sooner.

“I bumped into her and at first I didn't see him.” You continue narrating, “Her drink spilled and I was helping dry her hand when I noticed the little smiley on her bracelet and it was the same as mine.”

There are reactions all around the circle once more, Yoongi's “how original” comment makes your lips curve slightly. And it’s surprising, but you’re glad to be able to find the fun in it now.

“I didn't think anything about it, you know, just like, cool, we have the same cute pendant, but then I heard his voice and well… It wasn't cute anymore.”

You remember how shocked you were in the moment and his face as he realized it was you in front of them.

“What did you do?” asks Hobi.

“At least tell us you spilled the drink on him next.” Adds Jungkook.

“I didn't do anything,” and there's a part of you that regrets it. “I was so surprised and confused. I thought that maybe I'd made it all up in my head, that maybe he didn't mean the things he said like that. Because there was no way he could just turn around and be official with another girl by next monday, right?” You pause for a second to take some air, trying to calm down since the tears would be threatening to fall anytime soon. “But he did. And when I texted him and asked to meet up to talk, he replied with just a «thanks for these few months».” A dry laugh leaves your throat, every time you think about that text you find it stupider. “And just like that it was over. And I felt so dumb for letting it happen.”

“Don't say that. Is not on you,” says Hobi immediately.

“He played you. He is an asshole.” Jungkook continues, “C'mon here, so I don't run back in and punch his stupid face,” he says bringing you into a hug.

“So,” Yoongi starts after a few minutes of sitting in silence on the bench outside the cafeteria. Your appetite has come back and your friends are busy with their next class, one you don't share even with the ones in your major since you have stuck to an all-morning schedule, so you're left to share a bag of chips with him. “Can I ask something?”

“Can I refuse to answer?”

“I hope you don't,” that makes you laugh, “because I'm really curious now.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“What happened seems like the perfect reason to avoid casual things, but that's not what I got from our date.”

“That's not a question, Yoongi,” you remark playfully when he doesn't continue, turning to him, bending your leg on the bench. “You want to know why I didn't run the moment you told me you didn't want a relationship?”

“Yes,” he nods, “that's what I meant. What I want to know.”

“Well, because you were honest about it.” Is as simple as that, but he still looks unsure. “I’m pretty sure that Chr– that guy,” remembering Yoongi is trying for the team you decide is best to not give out names to him either, “wasn't looking for something serious when we were talking, but he played into it because I said I was. He built my hopes up of something more and in the end he kind of just admitted that I was someone he was just spending time with. He didn't want something serious with me but he wasn't honest about it.”

“Would you have had something with him if he had been honest? If he asked to be friends with benefits or whatever?”

You chew a chip while thinking, taking some time.

“I don't know,” is your final answer, “I know it hasn't even been a year, but I was different back then, had other expectations and such. But what I'm sure of is that I'd have loved to be able to decide for myself, you know?”

“Of course. Is different when you are the one deciding to put your heart at potential risk.” he steals a chip from your bag, and silence falls once again.

So far Yoongi has proven to be a good person to talk to and to just be around in general, maybe Mai and Hobi were right about you guys being similar and setting up the date last week. Thinking about that and the phrase he just said reminds you of something and is your turn to wonder.

“Did she break your heart?”

“Who?”

“The redhead from the club.”

His expression changes a little bit, but you're getting better at noticing, so you catch it. “Thought you had forgotten about that.”

“Almost did, but you know, I'm curious too.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you complete the idiom, smiling proudly.

“Touché.”

“I'm a smart cat, what can I say.”

That gets you a smile from Yoongi and he changes position, reclining his back against the bench and looking straight ahead he commences. “We met at the beginning of university, had a few classes together and started hanging out, became friends, and then started dating at the start of our second semester. Everything was easy and calm, the change from friends to more didn't even register to me, I… I don't know if it makes sense.”

“Sounds lovely,” you point out.

“It was. I thought it was perfect. And perhaps it was for a while, but after dating for about nine months something changed.” A little wrinkle appears on his forehead as he thinks, “I couldn't point it out and sometimes it felt like it was all in my head. And that made me more nervous because I didn't want to self-sabotage, you know.” You nod, fully facing his side now, sitting indian style and bag of chips on your lap. Paying attention as he did before for you.

“She wasn't big on PDA and I respected that, but when I told Mai we were together and she got mad I kind of realized that we had been secretly dating for almost a year. None of hers, and ours, closest friends knew about us and it felt… it hurt.” He pauses for a moment, bringing his hands to his jacket’s pockets. “So, I wanted to talk to her about it. To try and find a solution, to tell her I was sorry for telling Mai but I wanted to talk to my best friend about my girlfriend and how much I…” another pause, breathing in. “But when I went to her dorm, it was Jay who opened the door.”

You gasp unintentionally, covering your mouth right away. “Where they…?” You don't know what to say. And you don't really need to say anything, everything is pretty clear.

“Turns out they had been together for about three months at that point.”

You gasp again, shocked.

“In and out, kitten, don't die.” He manages to joke and that makes you feel worse about your response.

“Sorry. Is just…”

“A lot?”

“Yeah. And… crazy. How could she cheat on you? I mean, in general, I don't get why people do it, but… on you?”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He chuckles a bit.

“I mean because your relationship sounded lovely. Dating your friend? That's the goal, isn't it?” You correct, “But also, yes. You're good looking and your kissing game is not bad.”

“You're not bad yourself.”

Looking at each other, you both laugh.

“I'm sorry that happened to you,” you offer sincerely on a more serious note, “you know it is not on you, right?”

“I know,” he sighs, Mai had made sure to repeat it to him countless times back when everything happened and the couple months after until he truly believed it, “thank you.”

“And I know is scary and I'm not one to say it but… don't let what happened make you run away from the opportunity of something great.”

Yoongi smiles softly without really reaching his eyes and you completely understand when instead of keeping the conversation serious, he asks “Are you flirting with me?”

“You turned me down, remember? I'm not doing that again,” you answer only half joking.

“C’mon, I told you why I did it”

“You were deciding for me.” He opens and closes his mouth, shaking his head and before he can apologize again, you clarify, “I'm just joking.”

“You're mean. But I forgive because you're cute.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes.” He answers without a beat.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

A pause, contemplating.

“You wish.”

He smirks, “I do.”

And you do too. But your bravery from the other night is not here today and you wonder if it's because you're at the University campus or because all you have done today is talk about your bad luck in relationships and the fear of it all.

What if your friends see?

What if anyone else who knows them sees and tells them?

But what if it is the last chance you get to kiss Yoongi again?

Why are you overthinking it? Wasn't your plan to just go with the flow or whatever cheesy quote you chose?

“Was that too much?” Yoongi asks. The wind has blown a strain of hair into your face and he pulls it back in place behind your ear. “I don't have a problem being the one flirting, but if you really don't want me to do it again I'd completely stop. I promise.”

“Is not that,” you quickly answer. “I–I like it, is just…” some people walk out of the cafeteria, and you follow them with your gaze, is hard for him not to notice.

“Come with me?” Standing up after him, you follow Yoongi across campus and behind the auditorium. He has only been here about a week, that's why you're surprised when he announced not a lot of people come here confidentiality.

“The ones still on campus are busy, either in normal classes or in extracurriculars.”

“You aren't on any extracurriculars?”

A shake of your head, “I live through Jungkook, that kid does everything.”

Yoongi laughs. “That's why everyone knows him?”

“That and those Bambi's eyes,” you nod, laughing with him.

You are calmer now and guess that was Yoongi’s plan for bringing you here. So, when he doesn't say anything else, you decide to continue the other conversation.

“I guess that's why it’s kind of scary to flirt so openly with you. Especially now after finding out about the whole thing with Hobi and the basketball team,” you sigh.

“Do you think someone is going to tell him if they see us?”

“Probably?”

“So are you telling me to stop flirting?”

“No.” You answer too fast and he smirks, making you feel a bit shy, but yet, you continue. “I’m just not sure how they'd take the whole «hey, I'm flirting and kissing this guy. Is nothing serious we are just messing around».”

“«Messing around»? Are you fifty?” Yoongi laughs.

“They are! When is about me they act like everything is so extreme,” you pout a little.

“Poor baby,” he mirrors your pout, hands on your shoulders rubbing them softly.

“And I'm scared they would make everything so dramatic, you know? Like, if we want to kiss or whatever without being so serious about it, then what’s the issue?”

“They worry about you and want to protect you. Don't blame them too much.”

“Don't be on their side,” you shove him a little, “I'm trying to kiss you.”

He laughs, “Sorry. I'm on your side.” Pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around your middle.

“While we both are on the same page about what we want, it shouldn't be an issue. Don't you agree?”

“Totally.”

“So,” you look up at him, “what do you want?”

“I want to kiss you.”

You blush at how direct he is. “Not what I meant.”

“Well, like I said, I'm not really looking for a relationship right now. I don't think I'm ready to put myself at that emotional risk again yet. But I didn’t mind you kissing me, and wouldn't complain if you want to do it again,” he says honestly. “What about you?”

“Also not really looking for a serious relationship. I think I just want to explore life a little, whatever that means. I want to have fun and not get hurt.”

“I'll never hurt you.”

“I'll never hurt you, either,” you promise looking into chocolate eyes, getting on the tip of your toes to peck his lips, sealing it.

A/N: alright, this is officially a friends with benefits fic now, who is excited? asdfg Check this post for the calendar and pinterest board and more yapping that tumblr doesn't let me add here :/

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candysweetposts · 3 days

Text

New Gen Ep 4 Edit (pt 1)

I got inspired by @kaumalade's edit.

This episode was sure something. Because of the illustration, I thought Jason would be absent, but there he was. Also, this episode made me like him a bit more especially, seeing how he slightly went mask off.

The headcanon: I will point out mostly what went different.

In my HC, Castiel (like everyone else from the other game) is significantly older but still has many fans. He's like a rock legend now.

Elizabeth confessed that she hadn't lovers before and that is because she might have a warped image of a perfect man, being surrounded by high-class people all the time. Everyone looked a bit weirded out especially because she said it nonchalantly.

She thinks that relationships are something beautiful that needs to be taken care of and gave her parent's relationship as an example and how perfect it is.

She didn't understand why Roy and Brunde got into a relationship in the first place and that their public breakup seemed boring and didn't deserve to happen there.

Since everyone else from the old cast is... well, older, Thomas didn't have Lynn as a crush when he was little. Also, Lynn called Thomas her nephew.

When Elizabeth heard that Jason seemed to have a lot of girls around him she got jealous but tried to control herself.

She actually defended him when he confronted the Devenementiel team and even apologized, saying "WE are sorry". She tried to look good in front of him but everyone else didn't like that much (Everyone will remember that- meme)

She actually got picked up by Jason on her way home where they sort of talked. She mentioned looking at his Instagram profile but "it was nothing special 💅" to which he said "Really? Then why did you like every single one of them?😏", her answer being "...as a joke". And from there the conversation stopped for some reason. And yes, he has a driver.

Here's the outfit:

#my candy love #amour sucre #amor doce #corazón de melón #mcl new gen #my candy love new gen #jason mendal #elizabeth winter #mcl edit #cdm edit #mcl #cdm

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missmoonfrost · 2 days

Text

Should have known better - a wolfstar short fic

Written for the prompt: Forget by @wolfstarmicrofic Sometimes a supposed-to-be microfic ends up ~ 1500 words. Sue me🤷‍♀️ Warnings: Alcohol, miscommunication

Remus should have known better, he really should. But here he was, unwillingly waking up to painfully sharp sunbeams and jarring whispers. Judging from the conversation none of them were feeling their best. No one else seemed to have a bed that refused to stop spinning, though.

“You ok, Moony?”

Sirius' gentle voice warmed him, but Remus didn’t answer. Chances were, if he had tried it had only been a whimper.

The curtains opened and Remus caught a glimpse of Sirius' ever-flawless black hair. He curled up and covered himself entirely with the blanket. Sirius of anyone could not see him like this.

“Want to join us for breakfast?”

“No.”

“Want me to bring something for you?”

“No, thanks.”

Remus should have known better than to have accepted that glass from Sirius' hand last night. He had been dizzy already from spending the night looking wistfully at Sirius and drinking butterbeer after butterbeer to avoid the dancefloor. But Sirius had smiled at him with that smile and looked at him with those eyes and he hadn’t stood a chance. He remembers the taste herby, slightly bitter and strong. He would have known it was something Sirius had mixed, even if he hadn't told him.

After that things had been going downhill fast. He remembered actually getting on the dancefloor, something he never thought he would dare to do. He remembered people swirling around him. Or was it he who had been swirling? He remembered being on the floor, crawling on all fours. He remembered leaning against a wall. He remembered Sirius had come to sit beside him, at least for a while. He couldn’t quite recall what he had been saying, but Sirius had looked at him, talked to him, laughed at him, and shook his head at him. His face had been so beautiful. So enchanting in the mess of moving people and blinking lights.

With the others gone for breakfast, Remus drifted off into an uneasy sleep. When he woke up again, he was feeling a little bit better. He didn’t dare try eating yet, but unsteadily got up, washed off, brushed his teeth, and put on some clean clothes. He went back to bed and picked up a book, but soon put it down again. His head hurt just from reading. It really was that bad.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he could hear the others stomping up the stairs and speaking loudly. There was the usual shoulder buffing, bragging, and bickering. Remus kept the curtains open, listening. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Against his will, he felt himself smile as he saw James mimicking the silly dance Peter made up yesterday. Sirius sarcastically praised what an excellent dancer James had become as the night moved on, namely tipping over a table in his deed.

“You seem to have cheered up,” James smiled as Remus let out a quiet laugh. “How much of the evening do you even remember?”

“Did I tip over a table too?”

Considering how much he had to drink nothing would surprise him. Truth was the end of the evening was rather blurry.

“Not that I reckon.”

The words didn’t comfort Remus at all as James just grinned bigger. Something ought to have happened. Peter also turned to him with great interest.

“Remember who you danced with?”

“Eh… Mary at the charade game, if that counts. Lily in the beginning.”

“And after that?”

“I don’t know.”

Remus felt his heart pound. He didn’t know. Had he made a complete fool of himself? Probably.

“Stop it, guys.” Sirius came to Remus' rescue, as always.

“No, no.” James continued regardless, “Who did you kiss?”

Kiss? He had kissed someone? All he could muster as an answer was a shaking head and an open mouth.

“You kissed Sirius.” Peter made a show of falling on his bed laughing. James joined in.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry! I’m so sorry! It was just… I was drunk.”

Sirius suddenly sprung to his feet and slammed the door, leaving the room quiet behind him.

Remus covered his face with his hands. This was worse than he’d imagined. A complete fool – yes. And a lovesick idiot who couldn’t hide his feelings. His unreciprocated, unnatural feelings for a friend.

He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let this friendship be over like this. It was the most important part of his life. Not having even a shard of a plan, he rose and ran after Sirius.

Luckily Remus knew Sirius' habits. He found him in the owlery, where he sometimes went when upset. Sirius didn’t turn when Remus approached, just let out a big sigh.

“Leave me alone.”

“Padfoot, please.”

“I can’t… I… Just not right now.”

“Please let me explain. I’m sorry.”

Sirius clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “I just wished you were anything else than sorry!”

“I - What?”

Sirius swiftly turned around, facing Remus.

“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. I know how drunk you were. But… you seemed to enjoy it. And I thought it was a good opportunity to try – that if you didn’t want to it would be easy to dismiss as a drunken mistake. Only… when you actually did, it hurt way more than I thought it would.”

Suddenly Remus felt dizzy again. The world was upside down. Because even the idea of him rejecting Sirius did not exist in this world. It was so absurd it couldn’t be happening.

“Do you mean that you wanted me to kiss you?”

“I know I shouldn’t have even considered it. I shouldn’t have –“

“I never meant to hurt you! Please, let me kiss you now.”

“Just stop! Don’t you dare pity-kiss me! I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll move on.”

As angry as he was, with eyes glaring and jaw tight, Remus didn’t miss the pain lining his voice.

“Please, Sirius”, he whispered softly, “please come here and let me make this right.”

Sirius stood unmoving. Lips slightly parted. Eyes searching Remus for some explanation, though he thought he just said it as clearly as he could.

Remus stepped closer, slowly, giving him time to withdraw if this wasn't the moment that he hoped it would be. If anything, Sirius shifted an inch closer.

Remus put a hand on Sirius' cheek, softly brushing his black curls behind his ear. Even slower, he leaned forward, closing his eyes, and let his lips touch the corner of Sirius' mouth. The air of a quick exhale tickled Remus' lips and he felt Sirius' hands on his back, pulling him closer. Their lips pressed against each other, still soft and tentative, until Sirius' hand found its way to Remus' neck and Sirius let out a moan that asked for more.

Remus just oh so willingly gave him more. He let his tongue lick Sirius' lips, which immediately parted. He sucked in his upper lip, then let his tongue swirl around in Sirius' mouth, then sucked Sirius' tung that was suddenly in his own.

They broke away both gasping for air.

"I don't understand how I could forget anything like this." Remus breathed.

"It wasn't quite like this. This is much better."

"Then I'm counting this as the first time."

"As long as it's not the last." There was a vulnerability to Sirius' voice that Remus had never heard before. A desperate plea he felt a violent urge to answer.

Remus secured Sirius' body against himself with one arm on his back and one on his thighs. He lifted him up to sit on the long wooden bench that ran round the walls of the owlery. With one hand on each side of him, he pressed Sirius to the wall in a kiss. Sirius' hands were in his hair, and Sirius' heels were on the back of his thighs, pressing him even closer. It was wild. It was all he had dreamt it would be and more.

Remus felt a hand slip inside his shirt, moving up and down his back. He was just about to do the same when he heard a gasp behind him and spun around. A wide-eyed first year with a piece of parchment in his hand stuttered:

"S-sorry, I w-was just going to send a letter."

Remus smiled, too in love to be embarrassed. Sirius also looked amused, though his cheeks were flushing pink.

"Maybe we can find a better place?" Remus suggested and held out a hand. Sirius took it and jumped down from the bench.

Sirius' hand already under his shirt again before they reached the stairs told him the speechless first year was probably not the only innocent bystander they were going to intimidate before the day was over.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #sirius × remus #wolfstar first kiss

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