#I’m quitting my job at the end of the month and going back to school

[marvel-ous-m]

After Starcourt, Steve and Robin began a new tradition- 'spa nights'. Robin would make them homemade face masks (“peaches and yogurt? On my face? That’s disgusting Robin.” “Shut up and put it on, dingus.”). They would put in a shitty tape from Family Video and Steve would paint their nails. (“How do you even know how to do this Steve?” “I’m a babysitter, Rob, it’s in the job description.”)

The school year started and Robin got a lot more busy- what with it being her senior year and all- but they still made time for spa nights. They were less frequent (maybe once a month instead of every other week), but they happened.

Vecna came, they killed the bastard, and they all lived- somehow, miraculously, certainly not unscathed, but they’re all alive. They beat him. A few months later, after the almost-end-of-the-world, Robin brought up their spa nights. (“Come on, Steve, it’s been months. My brain needs a vacation, my face needs a vacation, my nails need a vacation.”) Steve agreed, acting reluctant (but was secretly really excited to get back to one-on-one time with his best friend).

Except the kids find out, namely El and Max, and they beg Steve and Robin to join them. The two acquiesce, and then Eddie hears about it and joins the party, too. Uninvited. (But nowadays he doesn’t need an invitation. He shows up, bright personality and even brighter smile, and brings a constant, welcome addition to the party. Along with some… feelings that Steve can’t even start to try and acknowledge.)

The spa night comes and everyone crowds into Steve’s living room. Robin has put together a new face mask recipe (“ugh, what is in this?!” “Just shut your mouth and put it on, Red.”), Eddie brings his braiding skills, and Steve provides the nail polish.

Only now, his hands shake.

It’s something he’s noticed by now. The nerve damage from fighting the bats and Vecna, the 24/7 anxiety, the brain damage, something that they faced over spring break has left him with a tremor that he can’t quite get rid of. Sometimes it’s small, sometimes it’s more noticeable, and tonight… well, it’s not great.

Robin wiggles her fingers at Steve, ready for their tradition of him painting her nails, and Steve hesitates. It’s a small thing, but his shoulders tense. He hasn’t mentioned the shaking to anyone yet, and he knows that he wouldn’t be able to get the crisp, clean paint that he used to. The tremor would make itself obvious, and he just can’t face picking up the nail polish bottle. It’s a sign of the new weakness, one that he can’t admit to others, can barely admit to himself… he can’t face being seen as weak. As flawed. As-

“Hey! Are we painting nails?! Here, lemme have a go. I haven’t done it on anyone else before, always just painted my own.” Eddie interrupts Steve's train of thought in his easy way and grabs the nail polish from just below Steve’s hand. He plops down between Steve and Robin, admiring the color the later had chosen. “Robin’s Egg Blue, very fitting, Birdie.” Eddie winks at her and starts painting, accomplishing a more polished finish than Steve was ever able to get before Spring Break.

And Steve just watches. Quiet, his hands on his knees. He watches as Eddie paints Robin’s fingernails blue, then Max’s a bright red. Eddie paints Eleven’s a deep purple shade, then gives himself a fingernail in each polish that Steve has to create a rainbow of clashing colors. Afterwards, once the paint has dried, the girls all wash their face masks off and curl up to watch the shitty movie Robin had picked.

Eddie turns to Steve then, a bright yellow shade in his hands. “Want a turn, sunshine?” Eddie must’ve seen the look on Steve’s face, the flash of pain, because his voice turns to a whisper before Steve can answer. “I can help you keep your hands steady, Stevie. Don’t worry about that. Just relax and lemme treat you to a manicure.”

Steve startles at that. He thought he'd been better at hiding it. “How did you know?“

“How wouldn’t I know, Steve?” Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, a gentle but firm grip holding his fingers straight and steady. “I paid attention. I noticed. We all came away from that fight with a different scar, and we all need some extra help with different things now.” Eddie speaks as he paints, carefully brushing away any mess with the corner of his thumb. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, but I get it if you can’t tell anyone just yet. I’ll be here to help, though. Just like this. If you want it.”

Steve’s quiet still, but now in an effort to keep his emotions at bay. He’s never had anyone do… anything like this for him before. Eddie moves on to paint his other hand, and they sit in silence while the sound of the shitty rom-com washes over them, joined by the occasional giggle or mocking comment from one of the girls. Eddie does a second coat, brushes any scraps of excess paint away with an alcohol wipe, and caps the nail polish with a gentle smile.

Steve admires his nails, then glances up at Eddie, his eyes welling. “Eddie, thank you-“

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’, it’s just a paint job-“

“No really, Eddie. Thank you. For everything. For noticing. No one’s ever-“

“I’ll always notice, Stevie.” Eddie squeezes Steve’s arm, then turns slightly to watch the movie, his hip pressed against Steve’s.

Years later, in retrospect, Steve realizes that the spa night was the night he fell in love with Eddie Munson.

#my writing #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #domesticity after the vecna fight >>>> #Hope the past tense/present tense shift wasn't too jarring for u guys #my writing style is unique (by unique I mean stupid) #stranger things post s4 #steve harrington/eddie munson

[feeder86]

Selfish

“Why are you arranging to go out with the boys? You know we’re going up to help my parents with redecorating this weekend!” Lucy complained, standing straight up and looking down at Ryan, laid out on the couch.

“We’re doing what?” Ryan asked, completely perplexed. “We were there last weekend!”

“Yeah, and I told my dad you’d give him a hand with the wallpapering this next weekend as well,” Lucy continued in her whining tone.

“Their entire lounge?” Ryan shot back. “Nobody told me!”

“Well…” Lucy mumbled, suddenly realising that Ryan was right. “I’m telling you now.”

Ryan huffed in frustration. He hadn’t had a night out with the boys in months. He’d thought, when he married Lucy, that he was setting himself up for a good life. She didn’t want kids, she wasn’t crazy about him visiting the gym all the time and she was a fully qualified chef! However, two years in and Ryan had never had so little time for himself, endlessly fixing up their apartment just as Lucy wanted it, then constantly heading out to see her parents; always being signed up for some tedious maintenance tasks now that Lucy’s dad was getting on a bit and living off his retirement income. “Fine,” he sighed, deleting his planned message to the group chat with the boys. “I guess I can see my friends when I’ve got a couple of weeks off next month.”

“Oh, yes!” Lucy nodded, making Ryan instantly regret reminding her about his time off. The cogs in her head clearly rolling into action, imagining all of the jobs he could get done in that time.

“Ryan!” cheered his buddies a full nine weeks later, amazed that he had actually made it out. “We haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I’m only here for one of two drinks. I dropped Lucy off in town to do some shopping,” he explained to them, not wanting to get their hopes up.

“You’re not coming to the club?” Adam asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise after giving him the biggest hug.

“No… no. I wish I could, but…” he grumbled, considering the best way to explain how much Lucy was monopolising his time; how frustrating and demanding she had become since they got married. . “...I’ve got commitments,” he simply stated, deciding not to poison his time with his friends by complaining about the person who had kept him away from them for so long. 

“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” Jack jumped in, filling the silent void that was killing the mood. “Life happens.”

“Jack!” Ryan exclaimed, seeing his high school best friend and doing a slight double take. The guy had altered quite a bit since Ryan last saw him. Where had that double chin come from? How was he filling that shirt with all that padding in his stomach? What the hell had happened? “How long has it been, buddy?”

“I saw you at Ginny and Fran’s house warming, about four months ago,” he answered. “I introduced you to my new girlfriend, Michelle.”

“Oh, yeah,” I remember, Ryan nodded, thinking back to how drunk Lucy had been that night, and how early they had had to leave. But Jack hadn’t looked so overweight back then. They’d tried out their friends’ new swimming pool. Jack had been one of the first ones in. He definitely wasn’t out of shape. Not like he appeared to be now.

As luck would have it, when the guys all went to grab seats, Ryan ended up next to Jack, right on the end of a long, rectangular table. Back in their high school days, the pair of them had been the best of friends, and that old rapport immediately came back every time they met; even after months of separation. Jack had always been the bad influence that Ryan’s parents had never approved of. He’d been banned from hanging out with the guy on multiple occasions when he was growing up and, even now, he still felt like he was doing something he shouldn’t, giggling away at the crude jokes that tumbled out of Jack’s mouth with ease. 

“So, things are going well with Michelle?” Ryan asked, spotting that Jack had already referenced her several times in their conversation.

“Things are going great!” Jack beamed. He leaned in a little closer, clearly not wanting the other guys to hear. “We’ve even talked about getting married!”

At this, Ryan’s eyebrows flew up. “Married? After four months?” he whispered back, knowing that Jack didn’t want this broadcasting. He remembered how promiscuous his friend had been during his college days. If Ryan had been asked to pick any one of the guys here who was least likely to ever settle down, he would have chosen Jack without a second thought.

“I know!” Jack beamed, leaning back and placing his hands on the top of his stout little paunch, which jutted out into a proper shelf as they sat down. “I’m so ready for it though,” he smiled, seeming to rub his stomach mindlessly. “I’m actually really excited about the idea.”

Round and round Jack’s hands went, rubbing that tight ball of stomach fat, pulling Ryan’s gaze into it. “I’m happy for you,” he mumbled back.

Jack looked around, checking that no one else was listening in, then he turned himself a little more into Ryan, about to divulge even more private information. “Michelle’s super kinky!” he whispered.

Ryan chuckled and leaned in as well. His own sex life was so monotonous these days, he was actually quite ready to hear about someone else having a good time. “Oh yeah? She certainly looked pretty flexible when I met her that one time,” he grinned, settling into dirty ‘guy talk’ with enthusiasm.

“Oh, buddy!” Jack sighed, rolling his eyes and giving a huge exhale. “You would not believe it. She has me wrapped around her little finger. Absolutely anything she wants, I do for her.”

“That doesn’t sound too dissimilar to me and Lucy,” Ryan quipped, chuckling at his own joke.

“No, I’m not talking about boring shit, like decorating,” Jack shot back, having heard all about Ryan’s grumblings. “I’m talking about really kinky, submissive stuff.”

“Really?” Ryan smirked. “I never thought she’d be the dominant type.”

“No,” Jack agreed enthusiastically. “No one else knows. She hides it really well.”

Ryan had to admit that he was getting a little turned on. “So, what type of stuff does she make you do?” he asked next; his eyes twinkling with boyish interest, just as much as Jack’s were.

“All sorts,” Jack answered, his hands slipping onto his gut again. “When we started going out, I was still trying to act like the playboy I used to be. Michelle was having none of it. She’s put guys like me in their place before. Trust me, I’ve seen the pictures!” he smirked.”But her biggest turn on is making sure I overeat and get bigger.”

“Seriously?” Ryan asked, now understanding why Jack kept on holding his stomach. “I thought girls hated it when guys put on weight?”

“It’s an absolute fucking dream!” Jack replied, lowering his voice even further. Just the fact that he had sworn showed Ryan how turned on his friend was, simply by talking about it. “I get home and she’ll sit me in my gaming chair and set everything up for me. Then she brings me endless snacks and beers; a few sodas, cream cakes. Michelle won’t even let me get up. I do nothing around my apartment at all! No washing, no cleaning and certainly no cooking! She gets off on controlling my entire lifestyle when I’m at home. Then rewarding me for it.”

“Dude, that’s amazing!” Ryan had to agree, feeling surprisingly jealous. He’d been up until almost midnight last night, fixing a new shelf for Lucy’s candles, whilst his buddy Jack had been gaming, eating and getting pleasured the entire time.

“You see why I’m so keen to marry her now?” Jack joked back. “Can you believe it? I’m actually living out our dream that we used to talk about in high school.”

Ryan looked a little perplexed, trying to remember what they used to talk about ten years ago.

In turn, Jack seemed a little surprised that Ryan was struggling to recall. “You remember? Mr Hanson was such a bad gym teacher, we used to joke that we would just find some girls who liked fat guys and never have to put on a pair of itchy gym shorts again.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ryan chuckled. “That worked out well for me,” he sighed sarcastically. “I ended up marrying a professional chef, but I’m now ten pounds lighter than I was when we married.”

“Dude, there are other girls out there,” Jack went on enthusiastically. “Believe me! My eyes have been opened in these last few months! If you want the life that I’ve got…” he proclaimed, rubbing his stomach once more, “trust me, you can have it!”

Ryan nodded. No one else had dared to suggest he thought about a life beyond Lucy. Whenever he raised his concerns or annoyances about their marriage, people were keen to stamp them out, reminding him, in their accusatory tones, that marriage was all about compromising. Now, here was Jack, actively encouraging him to imagine being with someone else instead. It was the reason why Jack was, and always would be, Ryan’s very best friend.

Ryan looked at himself in the mirror a couple of weeks later. It was Sunday night. He should have been well rested, and yet he looked nothing but tired. The dirt under his fingernails from digging up Lucy’s parents’ garden all weekend was still visible in places, despite scrubbing for so long in the shower. His ribs were showing in his chest and, although he was built with plenty of muscle, he’d never looked so lanky and slim in his life. He thought of Jack and his life of pleasure and luxury. This… this tiredness and exhaustion was not what he wanted for himself. He looked almost ill.

Life had to change.

Ryan raised his cell phone to the mirror and took a picture of himself. This would be his lowest point, he decided with determination. From now on, things were going to change. He never wanted to see himself like this ever again.

“What’s all this?” Lucy complained, slipping into Ryan’s truck on their way to the supermarket. She held up several pieces of packaging, wrappers from fast food places and sugary snacks. “Is this what you’ve been eating when you’ve been in work this week?”

Ryan nodded without shame. “I feel like I’m too skinny. I’m trying to put on a few pounds.”

“Since when?” Lucy blasted back indignantly. “I’ve never told you you’re too skinny. I like the way you look.”

“I don’t,” Ryan shrugged. “I’ve never liked being skinny. I was always bigger than this growing up. In fact, I was actually quite chubby when I started high school.”

“Well, no. Sorry,” Lucy stated, without compromise. “I’m your wife, and I say no.”

Ryan looked at her in disbelief. “It’s my body,” he declared. “And I want to feel good about it.”

“I said no!” Lucy spat, brushing all the packaging into the footwell and sitting herself down. “Now, let’s talk about something else.”

Ryan got in, sat down and slammed the door shut, neither of them speaking for the entire ride.

‘Fastest ways to gain weight’ Ryan typed into the internet search that evening after Lucy had gone to bed. He quickly skipped through anything that dealt with muscle gains and focused solely on those that promoted increases in fat. He may have married Lucy, but she didn’t own him. In fact, she was the one who needed to learn that more than anyone. This was one ‘no’ that he wasn’t about to cave into.

“You’re looking well,” cried Ryan’s aunt as he stopped over to fix her leaking tap.

“Thanks,” he smiled back. “I feel quite well,” he agreed. “I’ve been trying to put some weight back on these last few weeks. I was starting to get far too skinny.”

“I was saying that to your mom, but she didn’t agree with me. You had gone dreadfully skinny.”

Ryan nodded in agreement. He had always been much more on his aunt’s wavelength than anyone else in his family. “I found some recipes online and I buy in these little calorie shakes that seem to work well on me. I’ve put on about 20lbs altogether,” he explained, raising his shirt briefly to show that his stomach was indeed a little thicker. “Lucy isn’t too pleased about it. But she’s never happy these days.”

“Well, you were never skinny growing up, were you?” his aunt nodded. “You always had a sweet tooth, I remember. You used to eat me out of house and home when you came over!”

“That’s why I’m so tall,” Ryan laughed. “I was always so well fed growing up.”

The pair of them laughed and Ryan packed up his things. In the old days, he would have headed straight home to his wife, but now he was feeling the need to be much more selfish, heading istead to the fast food place he had grown quite attached to and determined that he would at last defeat the Mega Monster Meal that had, up until now, eluded him.

“Come on, we’ve got to go!” Lucy complained, checking the time as Ryan rushed about after his shower. He’d been late home, getting caught up at a job, sending his wife into a tailspin as she tried to get him ready for her friend’s engagement party. She’d laid his suit out on the bed, his underwear, shoes and socks; knowing exactly how she wanted him to look.

Ryan hated being rushed. So what if they missed the first twenty minutes? Was the world really going to end? It was the side of Lucy he hated most, struggling to pull his socks on as his feet were still so wet.

“Oh,” Ryan mumbled, sucking in his stomach and trying to button up the suit pants. He tugged and pulled, holding his breath as much as he could. “I’m too big for them!” he chuckled with amusement, remembering that he had bought the suit for a wedding less than a year ago, when he was much skinnier. “What a waste of money, these were!” he joked lightheartedly. “I only got to wear them once!”

Lucy stared on in horror. She’d told him again and again to cut down on his eating. Couldn’t he see how bad he looked? Wasn’t he ashamed of how his stomach was starting to develop into a little paunch.

“Relax,” he whispered back, trying to calm her down. “I’ll just pair the jacket with my jeans and then we can head straight out.”

However, Lucy’s face had flushed with anger. “No,” she declared, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’m going by myself. I’m not being seen with you, looking like this.”

Ryan stared at her in disbelief. He didn’t have words, listening as she stormed down the stairs and threw the front door closed. He heard her car start and he peeked out the window as that too stormed off down the street; out of view. 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Ryan threw himself down onto the bed; still dressed only in his underwear and socks. How had he married someone so fucking unreasonable? She was just so… 

But then a thought came to Ryan, making his brain tingle into life. Had he actually just been given the night to himself? The whole house? Just him? All evening?

He looked down at his thicker stomach and smiled with delight at it. “Thank you!” he laughed aloud, managing to pinch a little and jiggle it in happiness. He felt a twitch in his groin, realising that with the night to himself, he could watch porn or do anything that he wanted. He could order food in. Lots of it! “Yes!”, he nodded, getting more excited and turned on now. This was his night. Free reign to be as selfish as he liked.

Ryan proceeded to indulge himself in every way possible, looking down at his bloated stomach a couple of hours later. Maybe this was it, he thought to himself. Maybe this was the way out of his miserable life with Lucy. He could seize upon her dislike of his weight gain and run with it. Why stop? He’d certainly gone beyond the point of denying himself for the sake of her ideals. There was a path in front of him, the exit sign shining brightly and a new life within his reach. He just needed to have the courage to reach for it.

“A Saturday night to yourself?” Jack laughed, surprised that Ryan had actually followed up on his promises and made it out for a drink. “You must have been a very good boy!” he teased.

Ryan hugged his friend and stood back to admire him slightly. Jack had grown wider since he’d seen him last, his hips and love handles spreading. Teh guy’s face was bigger, cheeks blooming large. And underneath his t-shirt, Ryan could see that the man’s nipples had become pointed, pressing outwards from his puffy former pecs. “I can see that you’ve been having a very good time of things!” he joked, being in the know about how Jack’s kinky sex life worked with his girlfriend.

“I could say the same about you!” Jack smirked back, poking Ryan in his tight little paunch. “Have you and Lucy been having your own kinky fun?” he teased.

“We’re not really talking at the moment, dude,” Ryan explained straight away; keen that he didn’t have to spend the entire night talking about her. “I want out. I’ve reached the end.”

Jack winced sympathetically. “I can’t say that I’m all that surprised after the way you were talking last time. But that still doesn’t explain this,” he pointed back at Ryan’s middle, smirking.

Ryan laughed, having forgottem how quickly Jack could lift his spirits with his cheeky humour. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied coyly, smiling with just as much mischief.

“Yes you do!” Jack laughed back, patting Ryan’s paunch properly now. “Did you do it on purpose? Is this to piss Lucy off?”

Again, Ryan laughed. He shruged his shoulders. “Yeah,” he nodded in surprise at Jack’s bluntness. There wasn’t anyone else in the world he could imagine himself admitting this to. “I guess I did,” he smiled, resting his hand over his thicker middle like it was his new prized pet.

“Dude, that’s so awesome!” Jack blasted; his face lighting up with all the enthusiasm Ryan remembered when the pair of them used to get up to mischief in high school. “You love it, don’t you?”

Ryan felt like he was dealing with an excitable puppy, but the interest was infectious. “Well, I can’t say I’m against it,” he replied diplomatically.

“Michelle is going to love this when I tell her,” Jack pressed on, ordering them both a couple of beers. “She said at the pool party that you would make a good fatty.”

“She did?” Ryan asked, surprised that Michelle would talk about other guys in that way.

“Absolutely,” Jack nodded. “She said you’re like me; a similar build; perfect for fattening up, apparently.”

“She really is a kinky one, your Michelle, isn’t she?” Ryan chuckled, feeling strangely aroused by the idea of her talking about him like this.

“How far are you planning on taking it?” Jack pressed him.

“The weight gain? Um, well. I’m not really thinking about anything really. I’m just having some fun,” he answered honestly.

“Dude, if you’re ever going to grow a gut in your lifetime, getting a divorce is one of them.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ryan asked, only half listening now as he tried to work out why there was so much blood pumping into his groin.

“A divorce is like a free pass for so many things. No one will bat an eyelid if you start getting properly fat once you two separate.”

“Well, we’re not quite there yet,” Ryan backtracked, wincing slightly as the word ‘divorce’ came up so casually in their conversation. Lucy hadn’t mentioned it to him yet, and neither had he to her. 

“Just imagine it though,” Jack encouraged him. “You, sitting in your own apartment somewhere, drinking as much beer and eating as much pizza as you want after work. No Lucy complaining in the background and telling you off. No massive list of jobs to be completed at the weekend.”

“That does sound pretty sweet,” Ryan admitted; his dick now inexplicably full of blood.

“I just can’t wait to tell Michelle,” Jack said again, more delighted than ever as the pair of them settled in to watch the football game on the big screen.

The realities of splitting from his wife were somewhat different from the fantasies that Jack tried to portray, Ryan soon realised. Divorce was quickly turning into the most expensive thing he had ever done. Lucy’s parents, who had been too impoverished to hire a gardener, or a decorator, or a maintenance guy the entire time he had been married to Lucy, suddenly stumped up the cash to pay for the most cut-throat, killer lawyer for their daughter. With his head in his hands, Ryan soon realised that he was going to have to start from scratch: no home, no pensions, not even his truck for work. The only place that he could afford to live was a room in an apartment downtown, sharing with two students from the local college. Twenty nine years old and here he was, right back at the starting line.

Of the two guys he now lived with, Ryan didn’t see much of Paul, the computer science major. He was often out in the library, or hiding out in his bedroom. That worked fine. With his life turned so upside down, Ryan wasn’t exactly wanting to be dragged out to parties midweek when he had work the next morning. No, the only real pain in Ryan’s ass was Ash; the smart-mouthed literature student with a carefree attitude to life that frustrated Ryan to no end.

“You know, when you get a real job, you’re not going to be able to sit up until 3am watching a movie marathon with your waste of space boyfriend,” he complained at the guy one evening, tired from an exhausting day in work, having been constantly woken by the pair of young lovers laughing so hard at the screen.

“Fine. Whatever,” Ash huffed. “I’ve had a stressful day, okay. I don’t need this.”

“Stressful?” Ryan parroted, feeling the rage bubbling up inside him. “You want to know about stress?” he growled. “You’ve been sitting inside all day typing up an assignment on a computer screen. That’s not what real stress looks like. You’re in college - you have absolutely no idea about the real world; about trying to actually earn a living!”

Ash rolled his eyes. He’d heard it all before. 

Sure, Lucy knew how to press Ryan’s buttons, but this boy was on a whole other level. “You graduate with your masters in nine months!” he blasted. “What the hell do you expect to do then? You’ve got no idea, have you? How can you just wander so aimlessly through life?”

“What does it matter?” Ash sighed. “Things always work out in the end.”

“It matters because, trust me, your twenties will be over in a flash and you need to start getting somewhere in life. Not just watching movies until 3am! And certainly not with someone like Ben! You’re just setting yourself up for failure, and it pisses me off!”

“Like you, you mean?” Ash shot back, visibly annoyed. “You’ve done the whole marriage thing, the house, the cars. Yet, you're back here, sharing a shitty apartment with a couple of students. You did everything right, everything the grown-ups told you, and now look at you! Sometimes life is just like that. So stop taking out your frustrations on me and start focusing on yourself instead!”

Ryan didn’t respond. He stormed off to his room and threw himself onto the bed. Then he took a few breaths and considered what Ash had actually said to him. The guy had been right: he was taking his anger out on him. Ash was young, more academically bright than Ryan had ever been, good looking and full of personality. He had his whole life in front of him without any major mistakes under his belt yet. So why did Ryan feel the need to be such an asshole to him?

Despite not officially apologising, Ryan did make an effort to be nicer to Ash over the coming days. He still didn’t care for Ben, the guy's boyfriend, feeling that Ash could do much better. But he was polite and courteous, never failing to put in his earplugs when he knew they were going to be watching TV until late.

Ryan’s weight had not been a priority for him since he’d moved in. Any erotic fantasies he’d indulged himself in last year were thoroughly dampened by the divorce. Yet, his weight continued to climb, spurred on by the cheap, high carbohydrate diet he fell into whilst living in the apartment.

When he was with Lucy, Ryan had indulged himself in sugary treats and even high calorie supplements that he would now consider an eyewatering drain on his monthly budget. He was having to to work harder than ever to bring in the money and his paunch seemed to lose that fluffy softness of his early gains, solidifying into something firmer and more rounded as it continued to push itself out from under his chest.

New clothes were also a luxury that Ryan could ill-afford. His t-shirts fitted awkwardly around the swell of his stomach and there were many times in work when he felt a cool breeze on his butt crack. Beer was the only luxury he allowed himself in those early days, especially on the weekends, when Paul usually went back to visit his family and Ash was generally out partying with his boyfriend. In those few, blissful hours, he could guzzle down his beers whilst sitting in his underwear in front of the shared TV screen, appreciating exactly why he had given up his marriage. Life was hard, but it wasn’t always awful.

Through word of mouth, Ryan had started picking up more work on some of the other rental properties for students that littered this area of town. Desperate for the work, Ryan had been undercutting people quite dramatically in order to guarantee an income for himself. However, trying to get an early start on these types of properties was never as easy. Students were inherently lazy, he decided, whilst banging on the door of one apartment, trying to get someone to let him in. After a full five minutes, a groggy looking guy crawled to the door wearing only his underwear and a t-shirt that was back to front.

“Your landlord sent me to see your air con,” Ryan eventually explained.

Without a word, the exhausted guy simply opened the door further and let Ryan get by. “You’re not going to be noisy are you?” he eventually asked. “My boyfriend is still asleep.”

Ryan looked at his watch. It was almost 10.30 in the morning. Why would anyone still be asleep now?

“It’s okay. I’m getting up anyway,” yawned another guy, waddling sleepily from the bedroom and giving his boyfriend a quick peck on the cheek. It was only then that Ryan clocked him. It was Ben, Ash’s obviously cheating boyfriend; the guy’s face suddenly looking considerably more alert as he too recognised Ryan.

“You’re not going to tell Ash, are you?” Ben shouted, having followed Ryan out of the apartment the second he had finished up; safely out of earshot of his second boyfriend.

“Of course I am,” Ryan replied simply, continuing to walk away, without stopping.

“You’re just going to make him miserable,” the guy shot back. “Is that what you want?”

At this, Ryan laughed. Guilty people always seemed to have such a terrific way of turning things back around on the other person. “Trust me,” he sniggered. “He’ll be way better off without someone like you in his life.”

“Do you think it was easy for me with Ash?” Ben started next; his tone shifting to something nastier. “It’s not exactly easy trying to feel special when your boyfriend has a massive crush on the pot-bellied daddy bear he shares an apartment with. How do you think that made me feel?”

“What are you even talking about?” Ryan laughed, surprised at how far Ben was going with his bullshit. A daddy bear? He was only six years older than Ash.

“Oh, come on. You know exactly what you’re doing,” Ben snapped back, getting more viscious as he realised that Ryan wasn’t willing to compromise with him. “You’re always there, or strutting about in just your underwear, drinking your beers in the living area and being overly friendly. You’ve been trying to fuck things up for the two of us for ages.”

Now Ryan did stop, turning to face Ben properly. “What planet are you living on?” he asked, completely flabbergasted. “I just try to be pleasant. I’m not trying to do anything.”

“Prove it then,” Ben shot back, seizing upon an opportunity. “If you’re really not trying to fuck things up between us, you’ll let this one little indiscretion slide.”

If Ryan hadn’t just had the hardest year of his life, dealing with some of the most despicable, bullying lawyers out there, he may have fallen for Ben’s game. As it was, he wasn’t afraid of standing his ground. “Tell him by the time I get home later. Or I will.”

Ryan crept into the apartment later that evening, finding Paul in the kitchen. “You missed some drama today,” he sighed. “Ash and Ben broke up. I walked in on it all before. It was so awkward.”

“Is Ash okay?” Ryan asked, relieved that Ben had listened to his ultimatum and done the deed himself.

“He’s in his room,” Paul nodded over to the bedroom door. “We’d best leave him be.”

Ryan nodded in complete agreement, deciding to hide out in his room that evening so that Ash didn’t need to see anyone when he would inevitably have to come out for a glass of water, or to use the bathroom.

The evening was slipping away and Ryan had just finished a TV series that he had been charging through for the last two weeks. There was still an hour until he would need to get to sleep; enough time for one last beer, before the inevitable daily grind would start all over again. He strutted out of his bedroom and made for the refrigerator, pausing only briefly to crack the can open and chug a little of it. He burped quietly, finding that the first few mouthfuls of fresh beer always made him the most gassy. Then, suddenly, he heard the door to Ash’s room opening and he stood there, feeling completely caught out.

“Hi,” Ash whispered, not making any pretenses that he was here for any other reason than to see Ryan.

Feeling incredibly awkward, Ryan now regretted coming out of his room without a shirt on; his bloated pot belly on full display. Before today, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but Ben’s words had planted an unpleasant seed in his mind that made him question everything he did a little bit more. “I’m sorry to hear about Ben,” he stated straight away. “How are you doing?”

Ash sighed and began to pour his heart out. He knew all about Ryan’s discovery earlier that day and he thanked the guy for doing the right thing.

“I’m just looking out for you,” Ryan nodded, swigging the last of his beer and crushing the can for recycling. He shouldn’t have really had another one. His stomach felt quite painfully bloated and tight after it.

“Oh, and about those things that Ben said to you,” Ash quickly jumped in, seeing that Ryan was heading back to his room. “I hope it’s not going to make things awkward between us.”

Ryan had to think for a second about what Ash was getting at. The crush? Was Ben actually telling the truth about that? “Um, no. Not at all,” he mumbled back, rubbing his hair with a little embarrassment. “Don’t worry about it,” he smiled, finally making his escape.

An evening out with Jack was exactly what Ryan needed a couple of weekends later, as Ryan’s divorce was at last finalised. Unlike Ryan’s months of hell, Jack’s appearance was symbolic of a life of sheer indulgence and pleasure. Unlike Ryan, his body was pure softness, with blubber beginning to creep its way into the guy’s neck and upper arms. His stomach had swollen quite considerably and his butt had a surprising width to it that Ryan had not expected.

“Listen, I didn’t want to message you about this. I kind of feel pretty bad asking you in some ways, knowing what you’re going through,” Jack started after Ryan had finished explaining how the divorce had eventually played out. “I wanted you to be my best man.”

Ryan smiled brightly. “Of course I will,” he beamed, getting up to hug his old friend warmly as he stayed sitting in his chair.

“Thanks,” Jack smiled. “It’s not going to be a huge wedding. Not everyone approves,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“How do you mean?” Ryan asked, sensing that Jack needed to offload.

“Well, Michelle’s parents aren’t coming,” he huffed. “They’d watched Michelle do this to her old boyfriend,” he explained, rubbing the quite substantial shelf of belly fat under his sagging nipples. “So when the same thing started happening to me, they told her they wanted no part in it.”

“Bonus!” Ryan joked, trying to remain upbeat. “My marriage certainly would have gone a lot smoother without the in-laws.”

Jack nodded, seeming to be somewhat in agreement. “Michelle’s not too cut up about it,” he whispered. “Then, well, you remember my dad. He still goes out running three times a week. So he’s not been all that in favour of Michelle and her wholesome home cooking..”

“You can’t live your life for your parents,” Ryan jumped in. It was a lesson he had learned somewhat bitterly when his own church-goin parents had taken Lucy’s side in the divorce. It made him think back to how much they had pushed him to get married in the first place, and he began to resent them, quite justifiably in his opinion.

“I know, I know…” Jack nodded. “And I wouldn’t change a thing. She’s it for me, y’know?”

Ryan raised his beer and they drank to that sentiment.

“What about you?” Jack asked next. “Is there someone new you’ve been holding back from me?”

Ryan shook his head. “No, not at all,” he stated. “Well… I mean…” he hesitated for a moment. “No. No one.”

But Jack’s interest had already been piqued. “Oh, come on. You can’t give me that and then say nothing!” he teased.

Ryan sighed, realising that he had dug himself into a bit of a hole. “It’s nothing,” he huffed at his own stupidity. “It’s just, one of the guys I live with has a bit of a crush on me.”

“Your first chubby chaser!” Jack laughed wickedly.

“Well…” Ryan conceded. “It looks that way, yes. His ex-boyfriend told me off for strutting around the place in just my underwear. He said I had a pot-belly and told me his boyfriend thinks of me as a hot daddy bear!”

Jack chuckled again. “Well, he’s not wrong. You do have quite the pot-belly!”

“Isn’t it a bit weird though?” Ryan asked his friend.

“Being referred to as a daddy bear when you’re only twenty nine?” Jack asked, simultaneously nodding in agreement. “But once you put on a bit of extra meat, that’s just the way people see you. It’s much more arousing to lean into it, rather than try to fight it.”

“Lean into it?” Ryan asked. “That’s your best advice?”

“Just enjoy the attention,” Jack smirked. “So what if he’s a twenty-four year old gay guy? You don’t have to be into someone to appreciate their admiration,” he nodded knowingly. “Trust me on this one. You’ll come to see that I’m right.”

With the divorce at last over with and all lawyers paid off, Ryan began to feel the financial strain starting to ease. Lucy hadn’t been quite as successful in getting all that she wanted from him. The worst case scenario was, thankfully, avoided. A few more months of living with the boys and Ryan would soon have saved enough money to rent his own place instead. With the ties that bound him to his ex-wife now finally disappearing, Ryan began to remember why he had fought so long for this freedom.

“I’ll have the Monster Meat bucket,” he declared, walking into a fast food place and not feeling guilty about the cost for the first time in months. He sucked in the smell of all the greasy goodness and knew that this was a freedom he would never again take for granted. Now he could gorge on as much as he desired and never have to explain himself to anyone. He could literally get as fat as he wanted now he was divorced and single, with no one to please but himself.

As he settled down into a seat, Ryan felt the bliss of devoting all his attention just to his epic meal for a full 20 minutes. It was all the stress relief he had ever needed. No one in here was particularly slim and it seemed, in those moments, that he had taken himself out of a world that so frustrated him, and into one that he felt comfortable in. Sure, he could probably join a gym and drop this weight in a relatively short amount of time. He could train his body hard and attract some beautiful girl to make his ex jealous. But Ryan knew that he had moved beyond that now. He didn’t care what his ex thought of him, or anyone else for that matter.

Or was Ryan just kidding himself? Was this really a moment of clarity? Or would he soon go crawling back to a diet plan the second things started getting rough? He was desperate to believe that wouldn’t be the case, but no one could ever be totally certain when it came to the future. It was only the present he could master. And so, armed with that knowledge, he went back to the counter, even though he felt almost too stuffed to even think about food.

“I’ll have the triple burger, please,” he stated, adding another milkshake to go with it. “He felt his hardess start to tingle, like the old days when he used to do this. Back then, he’d assumed it to be some twisted excitement about pissing Lucy off. Now he realised that this was so much more. This was about taking himself to somewhere he had never allowed himself to imagine going..

“Is this for you?” Ash asked, handing Ryan two boxes of pizza. “The delivery guy was coming up the stairs as I got home.”

“About time!” Ryan sighed, taking the boxes from him and settling back into the chair in front of the sofa. Two pizzas were a necessity for the Friday night baseball game and he was already four beers down. It would have been a perfect night but for the sticky humidity that had loomed over the city for the last few days; making him strip to his boxers as soon as he got home. “Do you follow baseball?” he asked Ash politely, nodding to the couch to see if he wanted to join him; knowing that, with Paul gone for the weekend, Ash would be on his own otherwise.

“No. Watching sports is not really my thing,” Ash replied unenthusiastically, despite continuing to linger around.

“Do you mind getting me another beer then?” Ryan asked,deciding to put the guy to work if he was so free to just stand about like this. 

Ash hopped to his task with remarkable speed. “Here you go,” he smiled delightedly, heading straight over and handing it over to him, not seeming to realise that he was blcoking part of the TV screen. “I’ve got some chips and dip if you want some?” he asked next.

“Sure,” Ryan nodded, hoping that the guy would at least sit down then and stop getting in the way.

Once again, Ash went to his task, presenting the chips and dip much better than Ryan ever would have. He placed them on the coffee table and then finally sat himself down on the couch. 

“You not having any?” Ryan asked five minutes later, noticing that it was only him actually eating.

“No, thanks,” Ash simply replied, pretending to be interested in the game. “They’re for you. Do you want another beer?”

Ryan felt the remaining liquid in his beer can and nodded, surprised by how diligently he was being looked after. Even when he asked Ash to fetch him the ice cream from the freezer later on, he was surprised that the young guy hopped to it, bouncing off the couch with an enthusiasm he had never seen before.

At the end of the game, Ryan took himself to the bathroom to relieve himself after the seven cans of beer he had ended up consuming. He looked in the mirror and marveled at the reflection he saw within it. Bloated and stuffed, Ryan had never seen his stomach looking so round and tight. Although he had upgraded his underwear a little while back, already these were looking worn and stretched, pulling the waistband down so that a good couple of inches of butt crack were on show. His muscular chest had started to build up with fleshiness in recent weeks and he placed his hand there to feel just how soft it was starting to get under his arms. He pulled the scales out with his foot and wondered just how much he weighed in this overfed state. He stepped on, waiting for the numbers to settle: 256lbs; the biggest number he had ever seen by quite some margin. It was, quite frankly, the cause of an almost instantaneous erection.

“I was wondering, if you’re still hungry, I could make you some pancakes?” Ash asked next as Ryan finally made it out of the bathroom. “I’ve got all the ingredients in.”

Ryan sat himself back down with a grunt and rubbed the shelf of his tight stomach, surprised that Ash was still hanging about the living area. Couldn’t he see how full Ryan was? Was he completely obvious to the heavy breathing and occasional grunt when he had to move, even slightly. He knew that the guy had a little crush, but what on earth was he possibly getting out of all this?

“Go on,” Ash pressed, actually trying to persuade him now. “Just a couple of them; nothing too big.”

Ryan looked up at the guy, already making his way to the kitchen and just waiting for that final nod of approval from him. Out of little more than curiosity, he agreed; watching with interest as he spied Ash settling to his task. Was he really using that much oil to fry the batter mix up? Was he actually rubbing butter into them? Did he really need to pour on that much syrup?

Despite tasting amazing, Ryan knew that every mouthful he was taking was completely and utterly packed full of calories and fat. As if desperate for his approval, Ash had watched him consume every bite of them. A sweat had begun to pour off Ryan’s forehead, but he wasn’t entirely sure that this one was caused by the humidity. “I am absolutely stuffed!” Ryan declared, grunting and rubbing the stretched out ball of stomach fat. “I haven’t eaten this much in ages,” he chuckled. “Not since I was trying to piss off my ex-wife after she told me she liked me being skinny.” “You were putting on weight on purpose?” Ash asked, quite startled by the comment.

“I was going for it, like you wouldn’t believe!” Ryan nodded. “Unless you’ve been through it, it’s hard to comprehend how petty you can be towards the end of a bad marriage,” he grinned, suddenly noticing that his hands were all over his own rounded stomach. “I was even taking this special calorie supplement shake you can buy, just to speed things up,” he laughed, thinking back.

“Oh!” Ash exclaimed knowledgeably, suddenly naming the exact brand .

They both went quiet. What a strange piece of trivia for Ash to just know, thought Ryan. The guy seemed to sense that too, suddenly looking a little sheepish. 

“Do you still take them?” Ash asked next, trying to look a little less interested than his excitable voice made him sound.

“I don’t need to,” Ryan grinned, tapping his fully grown pot belly. I just weighed myself twenty minutes ago. I’ve put on another 40lbs since I moved in here. It seems that I just can’t stop these days!” He yawned, standing up and stretching. “Anyway, buddy. I need to head to sleep,” he declared, seizing upon the fact that his erection from the overeating had at last subsided.

“Do you think there is a way to tell if someone is like your Michelle?” Ryan asked the next time he caught up with Jack at the very hastily organised stag party.

“How do you mean?” Jack asked, only a little worse for wear as he and Ryan gradually fell to the back of the crowd of friends taking them to the next bar.

“You know… Someone who is into the idea of helping someone else gain weight,” Ryan explained, trying to keep his voice fairly low.

Jack chuckled. “Oh, trust me, you’ll spot them!” he nodded. They’re not exactly subtle. “They’ll find ways to ensure you’re eating and they’ll probably want to watch too. If they’re anything like Michelle, they’ll probably try to keep your activity levels low and complement you at the weirdest times; like when you’re bloated from overeating.”

Ryan nodded, taking it all in and finding a striking resemblences to Ash’s more recent behaviours. “Anything else?” he asked.

Jack considered for a moment. “The compliments,” he added next. “They’re totally bizarre. If they’re praising you for overeating, that’s a pretty sure sign. But sometimes they may try to convince you that you look better, or more masculine, or whatever it is they think you want to hear. When the reality is, you just look fat.”

Again, Ryan nodded, keen to match Jack’s thoughts to his own observations of Ash. “You see, I think I might have…”

“Come on!” shouted their drunk friends up ahead. “The night is still young. Stop waddling behind and get your big butts up here!”

Jack and Ryan smirked at each other. Despite Jack’s rather considerable extra weight, Ryan had been lumbered in exactly the same category. The pair of them were, for better or worse, the fat guys on this trip.

“You’re back!” Ash smiled late the next day as an exhausted Ryan made it home. “Did you have a nice time? Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat?”

Ryan looked again at the time. “You’re still up!” he asked with surprise, knowing that Ash always had an early class on Monday mornings.

“Well, I wanted to check that you got home okay,”Ash replied, heading to the kitchen and renewing his offer to make something for his roommate.

Smirking at the fact that he was being fussed over and mothered by a good-looking twenty-four year old, Ryan had been disappointed that he hadn’t had more alone time to discuss this situation he was in, with his buddy, Jack. “Okay,” he nodded, deciding to just let Ash do his thing. “Sure, that would be nice.” He headed for a shower, returning to find an enormous, steaming hot lasagne, glistening with grease and cheese, sitting there on a plate, ready to be eaten. “Did you make this from scratch?” he asked Ash.

Ash nodded. “I remembered you saying that lasagne used to be your favourite dish growing up. I’ve never made it before, but I made a whole bunch of them and portioned them up in the refrigerator for when you get hungry.

Ryan smiled at the effort Ash had clearly gone to for him; a whole new level of care and attention. He opened his mouth to try some and nodded in approval. The lasagne really was delicious, although it was more than obvious just how much oil, cream and several different types of cheeses had gone into it to make it really quite extremely high in calories. If all the beer and fast food hadn’t ensured his pants would be tighter tomorrow, this little calorie bomb sure would.

“How was the weekend, anyway?” Ash asked, sticking around for the show and watching Ryan devour every bite.

“Pretty good,” Ryan nodded. “I had a couple of jibes from some of my old school friends about my weight. But we all turn thirty this year, so the dad-bod is definitely where most of them are at now anyway. I’m just the one who has already graduated from that stage,” he winked at Ash, tapping his gut.

“What did they say?” Ash asked with surprising interest, placing a cushion over his crotch.

“Oh, you know,” Ryan went on, deciding to play up to whatever kinky fantasies he thought his roomate may be having. “Just pointing stuff out to me: telling me how tight my clothes are, how slow I was when we were walking to different places and calling me out on how much I was eating when we went for food.”

“They’re probably just jealous,” Ash shot back straight away.

Ryan smirked. There was no way any of the guys were in the least bit jealous of his sprouting pot belly, making him all but invisible to the many hot girls they bumped into that weekend. This was clearly just another one of those bizarre compliments that Jack had told him to look out for. “Yeah, you’re right,” he lied to Ash, rubbing his bloating gut as he chugged down a few of the sodas Ash had supplied with his late night meal. “I’m sure they are jealous, deep down.”

Stepping on the scale was not something that Ryan did all that often. He could feel his stomach’s rounded shape starting to swell even larger, and he knew, from the fit of his underwear and pants, that his thighs and butt were also bearing the brunt of all that he was consuming each day. Still, as he stepped up, early one Sunday morning, after a particularly gluttonous take-out weekend of having the apartment to himself, Ryan’s eyes widened in shock: 278lbs! “Fuck!” he blasted in shock, before laughing to himself at how fast the latest few pounds had slipped on. He really weighed that much? He didn’t feel that heavy! He strolled over to the mirror inspecting his shape. Sure, his gut was pretty well developed by now and all the extra eating had sure softened his chest up rather a lot. He spun, noting that his butt’s width was quite considerable now, with back fat bulding at his sides and folding under his shoulder blades. Yet, he still didn’t feel like he should weigh 278lbs! Somehow, he had always imagined a guy that size being much bigger than this. What Ryan actually felt as he saw himself there, was very small still; acting as a licence for him to continue to indulge.

Jack’s wedding was fast approaching as the weeks rolled by. After being fitted for their suits, Ryan and Jack headed out for something to eat.

“That tailor seemed pretty pissed off that we left it this late to get ourselves measured for the wedding outfits,” Ryan noted as they sat down and grabbed the menus. “I guess we’ll have to cross our fingers that they can get those pants in for you in time.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jack shrugged. “I put on weight every week, so there would have been no point in going any earlier. I would just have outgrown them. “I’m almost 350lbs these days.”

Ryan nodded. Jack did indeed look impressively large, yet he was only 60lbs or so bigger than he was. And Ryan still felt tiny in comparison. “I know what you mean,” Ryan agreed. “I split some pants the other day. I’d only bought them four weeks before.”

“It’s weird, isnt it. When you’re gaining weight, you’re so tuned into how your body feels and looks. Yet, at the same time, you’re completely oblivious to it as well; how tight your clothes are getting, or how large you seem to other people.”

Ryan nodded enthusiastically. He felt so glad that Jack noticed this as well, sparking a lively conversation between the pair.

“You’ll be getting your own place soon, I take it?” Jack asked. “The two students you're sharing with must be graduating soon?”

“A couple of months,” Ryan nodded, suddenly realising that he had been a little lazy in his hunt for a new apartment. 

“That’ll be nice!” Jack smiled. “Your own space at last!”

“Well, it’s not too bad as it is,” Ryan explained. “Paul is never there at weekends. And now he’s got himself a girlfriend, he’s not there much in the week either.”

“And what about the other one? The one you used to fight with loads?”

“Yeah, he’s there a lot, but… we don’t argue so much these days,” he admitted; suddenly feeling the desire to say so much more about kinky little Ash.

“Before I foget,” Jack jumped in. “Michelle wants to know who you’re bringing as your ‘plus one’ to the wedding next week.

“I’ve got a ‘plus one’?” Ryan asked, genuinely surprised.

“Dude!” Jack grumbled. “Seriously?”

“I’ll find someone,” Ryan replied hastily, seeing how stressed Jack was getting.

“What about that girl you were hinting at when we briefly chatted during my stag party?” Jack asked, clearly keen to get a name locked in.

Ryan thought for a moment. Had Jack assumed he had some potential hot chubby chaser girl on the go? He pondered the idea, realising, quite suddenly, that he didn’t really need one. In the most unexpected way, everything that he had yearned for in life had already arrived. “Hey, Jack,” he asked thoughtfully. “How did you know that Michelle was the one for you?”

“She’s gorgeous,” Jack shot back with a sly grin.

“Besides that,” Ryan insisted. “How did you know that you guys were meant to be together?”

Jack sighed. “I guess…” he began softly, “...it was the way she made me feel: so loved and cared for; admired and adored. I’ve never felt that from anyone before.” He seemed moved, just by talking about her. “Plus she dominated me and forced me to pack on over 150lbs of pure fat; which is one of the kinkiest fucking things I could ever have imagined!” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Ryan laughed and nodded. He made a crack about how much fatter Jack might be after he got home from his honeymoon, but, really, his mind was elsewhere; with someone else entirely.

Ryan arrived home to see a large crate of beers resting on the kitchen counter tied up with a ginormous red bow. He laughed, seeing that it was his favourite brand and noticing that a large tray of assorted doughnuts lay beside it.

“Do you like your present?” Ash asked, coming out of his bedroom with a huge smile on his face.

“You bought these for me?” Ryan asked, feeling his mouth watering at the sight of the doughnuts, even after how much he had eaten with Jack that afternoon.

As if psychically linked, Ash began unpackaging the doughnuts for him, leaving them open for him to stuff one into his mouth. “They’re to say thank you. I just had my novel manuscript accepted for publishing.”

Ryan nearly spat out his doughnut. “You’ve been writing a novel?” he blasted in shock. “Since when?”

“Since you kept reminding me that I need to do something with my life; back when you first moved in.”

“I was being an asshole,” Ryan confessed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel…”

“You gave me the kick up the ass that I needed,” Ash threw back with a smile. “You always told me how clever I was and that I could do anything.”

“You’re an amazing person,” Ryan marvelled. “In fact, you’re the best person I’ve ever met in my life!” For weeks now, he had worried that his behavious around Ash, indulging his little feeder tendencies in subtle ways, had only brought the guy to fetishize him. Their relationship was merely one of a simple exchange: Ryan would enjoy being overfed and catered for by his roommate, and Ash would get to enjoy the subtle art of ensuring a guy that he found attractive, continued to pile on a few pounds. Now, however, every sense felt strangetly heightened in this moment of celebration. He couldn’t believe that Ash had been secretly writing away for months when Ryan had assumed the guy to be inside his bedroom, playing games. Just how blind had he been this entire time?

Ryan took a step forward and Ash did not retreat. He grabbed the much smaller guy’s shoulders and held them firmly. Again, Ash did not stop him. Then, seeing the inviting, warm look on Ash’s face, Ryan took the biggest risk of his life, going in for a kiss and desperately hoping that Ash’s lips would move to meet his.

Unbelievably, Ash was kissing him back, moaning gently, as if luxuriating in something he had never wanted more in his life. The kiss became intense, very quickly. With his shirt lifted off him, Ryan felt the handsome guy’s hands rubbing all over his stomach. Before he knew it, Ryan was being guided into the living space, his sweatpants ripped down and then his body pushed with surprisingly kinky force, back into his usual chair in front of the TV. 

Ryan looked up at Ash with startled arousal. The guy seemed so naturally suited to taking charge. He would have known that this was Ryan’s first gay experience and he led the way with ease, erasing any opportunity for awkward fumblings to slip in. He cracked open one of the chilled beers and fetched the tray of doughnuts from the kitchen counter. Then, when he was sure that Ryan was settled, he plunged his whole mouth down onto the fat guy’s crotch.

Ryan’s whole body twitched.This wasn’t a blow job, he thought to himself, feeling the intense stimulation straight away. He found himself moaning, even when he was trying not to. Was this intense pleasure what it was supposed to have been like all along? Lucy had never made much of an effort with anything in the bedroom, but Ash’s mouth was doing things to him that Ryan could never have dreamed of. He supped on his beer and ate a doughnut, feeling Ash’s hands rubbing the spherical shape of his stomach, clearly getting off on making this moment all about him.

Barely two doughnuts in and Ryan felt his body lurching as it wanted to climax. Ash worked his pace even more, feeling the throbbing in his mouth. Then, when the moment came, he pushed his mouth even deeper, sending Ryan’s hardness all the way down his throat. The pleasure; the orgasm; that intensity. It was unlike anything Ryan had ever experienced in his life. 

There was no going back.

Over the following week, Ryan discovered that Ash had a whole arsenal of tactics to please him. Not only did the guy continue to fuss over him with his cooking and snack deliveries, but his tight, energetic little butt seemed determined to outdo every single previous sexual experience that Ryan had ever had. They spoke at length about their attraction to each other and how smitten they both had become. Ryan had no hesitation in inviting Ash to be his date for Jack’s wedding. And, in fact, spending so much time with a now professional writer, really helped Ryan to produce the best speech he could have wished for. Rather than feeling sick with nerves as the big day arrived, he felt excited and pumped, heartily stuffing himself on the big breakfast Ash had so lovingly prepared for him.

“Your friends really aren’t keen on Michelle, are they?” Ash commented later that evening, as the pair of them were reunited after Ryan’s time sitting at the top table and the endless photographs that needed taking.

“Um, no,” Ryan nodded. “Not so much.”

“I had no idea that your friend, Jack, used to be so slim before he met her,” he whispered, fearing that one of their families might overhear. “Your buddies seem to think she’s the devil incarnate!”

Ryan chuckled. He’d heard it all before. “She’s lovely really,” he tried, looking over at the pair of them as Michelle spoonfed her 350lb husband a large piece of their wedding cake. “She just… knows what she wants.”

“I think everyone here can see exactly what it is she wants,” Ash joked back as Jack’s full, swollen belly was patted with approval by his new wife. “It makes me wonder what your friends are going to say about me eventually.”

Ryan pulled Ash into him by holding his slim hips in his chubby hands. They had decided that it was best to go easy on the public displays of affection, considering that this was their first time out together as a couple. However, Ryan simply could not help himself.  “Oh, yes?” he asked keenly.

“I certainly don’t have any plans to put you on a diet,” Ash grinned, fingering the skin between the stretched buttons of Ryan’s beer swollen gut.

Ryan growled in lustful approval. His hands slipped onto Ash’stight, toned butt and pulled the guy in even closer.

“In fact, how come you’re not eating a big slice of wedding cake for me right now?” Ash teased.

Ryan moaned lightly. This was exactly what he wanted. He knew how much scrutiny he was under today. He could feel the judgemental eyes upon him, for his shocking weight gain, the fit of his tight shirt, and the fact that he was dating someone none of them had ever expected. He should have been nervous or self conscious. However, with Ash in his arms, Ryan had never felt more free to be himself. “But won’t that make me even fatter?” he teased back.

Ash smiled. “Oh… I hadn’t thought of that,” he joked, accepting the kiss that Ryan soon bestowed upon him.

Ryan felt Ash’s hands feeling his big, broad butt as they kissed; the pants he had been measured for only a week ago, starting to feel rather uncomfortable after only a week of dating the handsome twenty-four year old. The kiss ended and both of them laughed, realising how ridiculously long it had taken to get to this point. 

“Is this along the lines of what you had in mind for me?” Ryan asked moments later, pushing out his stomach as far as it would go and stretching those buttons even more.

Ash seemed thrilled, looking around the room in surprise that Ryan was making himself look so large in front of everyone that he knew at the wedding. He smiled, rubbing the underside of Ryan’s ball-like gut and then leaned in to whisper. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he teased.

Ryan growled in lustful appreciation, then took his boyfriend’s hand and led the way to the wedding cake.

Exactly one year to the day, Ryan and Ash were sitting in that same room, together with Jack and Michelle, celebrating a year since the wedding. They reminisced fondly, thinking about the perfect day it had been and laughing about how shocked everyone had been after Jack came back 30lbs heavier from his two week honeymoon. 

“You can’t be far off the weight I was this time last year,” Jack noted, surveying his buddy’s hefty appearance.

“Possibly,” Ryan nodded, rubbing his large stomach. “I still  don’t feel big yet though,” he replied, as if he was oblivious to the enormous ball-shaped gut and the groaning of the chair, supporting his wide butt and mostrous 347lb body.

“Unless I ask him to do something,” Ash jumped in comically. “Then he always says he’s too fat to do anything!” he joked, making everyone chuckle.

“I’m actually going to be pushing Jack to five hundred pounds this year,” Michelle explained, taking her morbidly obese husband’s hand as if this was an announcement that thay had been planning for some time.

Ryan noticed Jack staring at his face for a reaction; perhaps some surprise that his old school buddy was so ensnared by his beautiful wife that he was willing to take his weight gain to such extremes for her.

“He’s going to be a lot of work for you at that size!” Ash grinned conspiratorily at Michelle. “I hope you’re ready for that?” he laughed.

“Oh, I’m counting on it!” Michelle smirked, rubbing the 430lb man’s knee under the table.

“You’re a very lucky guy,” Ryan nodded at his friend in approval.

“There you go, Ash,” Michelle smirked. “It sounds like we may have another willing volunteer to join the five hundred pound club,” she nodded towards a jealous looking Ryan.

“You’re joking aren’t you?” Ryan laughed. “Ash is heading off on his second book tour in March. “I won’t be gaining anything for almost two months whilst he’s gone. I’ll probably just wate away!”

“You liar!” Ash teased him back. “Last time I was away, you pretty much lived on takeout and put on almost twenty pounds in a month,” he chuckled.

“I don’t remember you complaining,” Ryan smiled back; his voice dripping with affection and lust.

Michelle looked at them both, clearly wanting to cut through their mushy meanderings. “So, five hundred pounds?” she asked again, trying to circle the conversation back. “I’m getting the impression that you boys are kinky enough to enjoy seeing that on Ryan,” she pressed; ever the bad influence.

Ryan and Ash looked at each other with a wicked excitement in their eyes.

“We’ll talk about it when we get home,” Ash stated diplomatically. Unlike Michelle, he liked to be a little more discreet about his kinks and fantasies when it came to enjoying Ryan’s large body.

Ryan smirked and winked at his old buddy Jack. He knew exactly how to read between the lines of whatever Ash said. There was no way he was going to pass up the opportunity to get Ryan to that size. And so, just like his high school best pal, Ryan was as good as setting sail for five hundred pounds. How insanely arousing was that?

“Eat up, my friend,” Ryan smiled competitively at Jack. “I’m coming for you, Fat Boy!” 

#gainer fiction #gainer stories #gay feedee #gainerstory #gayfeeder #gayfeedee #gainerfic #gainer story #gainerstories #gainer fic

[y3ager]

STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!

— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵‍💫’

eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.

my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭

YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.

but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.

you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.

for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.

you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.

until today.

“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”

“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”

“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.

“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”

“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”

“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”

“they are your bosses, without them-”

“they need me way more than i need them-!”

“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”

“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.

your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.

“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”

the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.

“i hate you, eren.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”

“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”

there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.

eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”

oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.

“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”

“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”

you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.

eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.

your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.

with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.

“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.

“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”

you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…”

“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.

you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.

eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”

his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.

“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”

the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”

“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”

“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”

#eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x black reader #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager x black reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x reader #eren x black reader #🏙.aotmodern #❤️‍🔥.aotsmut #kishibyesredditcollab

[b0ther]

ain't even jealousy

you fucking hate the basketball team, but there's no one you hate more than aomine.

pairing : aomine daiki x reader (feminine pronouns. afab) rating : explicit, not safe for work (sexual content) type : chaptered tags : aomine is a bully im not even kidding he is quite cruel, porn with PLOT, reader is besties with satsuki, reader also has a crush on imayoshi, reader also was wakamatsu's ex, hate sex, semi-public sex, manhandling, vaginal penetration, thigh fucking, semi-clothed sex, some slutshaming going on here, reader has big tits, slight dubcon. word count : 4,323

author's note : title from 'want u back' by cher lloyd. this is comissioned by a dear friend. hope you enjoy mwah. this first chapter (and whole fic im ngl) is centered around the onsen episode.

( masterlist │ ask/request │ ao3 )

After a long and hard day at school, all that you ever really want to do is to quickly get to your part-time job and finish up your shift. Perhaps you can get some convenient store food after that, or go straight home to shower and rest.

Whatever it is that you daydreamed of, it wasn't this.

Satsuki calls out to you, her voice soft against the bristling wind with her lithe arms circle around yours as you try to walk away, dragging her body forcefully with you. She whines your name over and over again, over the beating speaker against your ears before you finally had enough, ripping your headphones off your head, turning to face her.

“Satsuki!” You try to sound stern, but you end up whining in the same tone that she used. You can only be so serious as a high school girl, after all.

Her pink strands fall against her face messily; you use your other hand to tuck them behind her ear as she elongates the way she enunciates your name and begs, begs, begs you to listen to her. “Please! Just—”

“Satsuki!” You groan, shaking her off your body. “I’m busy. I have a part-time job, I’m failing maths, I have club activities. I can’t just… ditch everything and go !”

“You can!” It’s like she was not listening to a single word that you uttered. “It’s a month away and on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—which you can begin asking for a leave day starting today , they will definitely let you if you do it a month in advance!—and maths!? That’s easy! I’ll teach you!”

You slant your eyes at her, arms crossing on your chest. “Alright. What about my club activities?”

“You mean your journalist club? One that encourages their members to leave their comfort zone in order to bring back interesting stories? One that basically has a crush on the basketball team?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”

She gasps. “Don’t you love me!?”

“Don’t do this to me…”

“If you love me at all, you wouldn’t even think twice about going with me. Imagine me, a girl, going alone on an all-boys’ trip to some secluded place—”

“You’re being dramatic—” You tried reiterating your point.

“I’m not!” She whines, even louder this time, attracting attention from all the other Touou students around you. “You literally have nothing to lose by coming along! Give me five reasons—five good reasons—and I will literally stop bothering you.”

You shake her off again, and this time, Satsuki lets go and stumbles back a couple of steps as the mischief on her eye continues to shimmer. You have never lost an argument to Satsuki—but there is a first for everything, and you have a feeling that you are going to break some personal records today.

“First,” you take a deep breath as you hold up a finger. “Aomine’s gonna be there—”

“Perfect!” Not giving you a chance to speak, she cuts you off, eyes glimmering like starlight. “You like him!”

She strikes a nerve with this one.

One of your eyes twitches as you cross your arms under your chest. The excited smile on her face fades in an instant, recognizing in an instant that something is wrong.

Recognizing in an instant that something she should have known about is wrong.

She blinks a couple of times, trying to use all that intelligence in her head to analyse the error in what she said (which turns out pretty useless—guess all that she is good for is basketball).

“Have you been paying attention at all?” You begin to blabber after letting out a huge gasp, arms waving around in the air. “We’ve been friends for years— years ! Since the first year of middle school, and you know nothing of  my strong, burning opinion of Aomine!? Flash news, Satsuki, it’s not love!”

“You—” She stammers, “You talk about him a lot!”

“I complain about him a lot!” You correct her, blowing out air in frustration, feeling somewhat betrayed that your best friend had just accused you of liking your archnemesis… your enemy… your… your rival.

The point is! You hate him!

You would rather live in a world without television and the internet and good music if it means that you will have to never hear him say another word.

Aomine.

You shiver in annoyance.

Just saying his name irks the hell out of you. Imagining his face causes a feeling close to that of an explosion in your chest. You just wanna grab him by his face and shove him down a flight of stairs.

You cannot even count all the shitty things he did to you in high school: revealing your crush on Nijimura Shuuzou not just to the then-basketball team captain, but the entire student body; tripping you in the cafeteria multiple times; stealing your undergarments during P.E. and commenting crassly about how you were two sizes under his favourite adult model. Granted, you never told Satsuki about the last thing. That shit was just too embarrassing—you were glad that no one else was in the room when he threw your bra back at you.

Still, your frustration remains at her. Jogging down memory lane boils your wrath, and you close your eyes to calm yourself down.

He’s just a bully.

A damned bully.

And you would be damned if you are going to willingly spend your weekends in the same vicinity as him.

“Well… Dai-chan likes you!”

You roll your eyes.

Yeah, right.

You would agree if she had claimed that he found you attractive, or he thinks you’re hot. But liking you? Highly improbable—impossible, even.

Aomine Daiki does not seem like he is capable of feeling any emotion aside from boredom and mischief. The only thing he loves, or even likes, is probably his beloved Aya-chan from his gravure magazines.

You’re not even sure if he still likes basketball.

Which is a shame—seeing someone so tall gradually shrinking to the size of nothing, even if you despise the guy, the whole ordeal with whatever-the-fuck Satsuki’s basketball team went through still managed to extract some sympathy from the bottom of your heart. You’ve been paying attention to Aomine, after all, albeit not under any positive light.

“Whatever,” from past experiences, you know better than to argue against Satsuki. “I don’t care anymore. And you know what? Aomine himself and your blatant disregard of your best friend’s feelings—me!—should be enough to fit all five criterias!”

You know that look in her eyes, the way her lips press against each other and how one of her hands is clenched into a fist. 

“I’ve been friends with him for 16 years, (Y/N),” she bumps her fist against her chest in pride. “Best friends, even! I know him better than you do!”

You scoff. “People who like someone don’t bully them, Satsuki. Open your eyes.”

“He isn’t bullying you!” She groans.

“Oh, so now not only are you attempting to kidnap me, but you’re also defending my bully?”

“Argh!” Satsuki hugs your arm again, earning her a groan from you. She calls out your name again, enunciating each and every syllable. “ Pleeeaaaaseeee? You don’t have to pay a single dime! You don’t even have to see Dai-chan if you want to. Imayoshi-san will be there—you like him, right?”

You slant your eyes at her in suspicion, not buying anything she just told you. You just know that you will have to see Aomine sooner or later if you come with her to the onsen. 

“No man is ever worth that much headache, Satsuki.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, still shaking you ferociously. “But it’s Imayoshi-san!”

You decided to come along. Because of course you did.

It’s either that, or Satsuki pestering you for the rest of the month, bringing either Imayoshi or Aomine or whoever she thinks will get your attention.

And Imayoshi Shouichi? Sure. He’s hot as hell.

But is he worth dealing with Aomine?

You like to think not.

Satsuki dragged you along to a basketball team meeting—the one that would be discussing the practice trip and the whole onsen ordeal.

It wasn’t like you needed to be there at all. You know just a little more than the average person about basketball. All that you were preparing for the onsen was your clothes and deciding whether it’s you or Satsuki who should be bringing her hairdryer.

“Why me?” You said, crossing your arms when the attention of the entire basketball team was redirected towards you, and Imayoshi laughed. The only problem they were facing was convincing Aomine to come along.

And you were happy with not being the babysitter. You were happy with twiddling your skirt as you sat on the edge of the stage of the hall, scrolling down your social media timeline as the team argued on how to get that blue-haired freak into coming.

That was until Satsuki ruined your afternoon by offering up your name.

To your surprise, everyone in the team seemingly agreed almost immediately to offer you as a sacrificial lamb to feed Aomine’s ego and coax him to at least come to the trip.

“He likes you,” Wakamatsu scoffed when you asked why, and you glared at him, but said nothing. Out of respect, you guess, to the upperclassman. It’s not like you respect him, though. You’re on bad terms with a lot of the basketball team, but no matter your disagreements with Wakamatsu, you will never dislike him the way you loathe Aomine.

“He does have a soft spot for you,” Imaoyshi mused as he flashed you a smile—and lord , you cannot say no to Imayoshi. Especially when he’s being so nice.

You saw Satsuki smirking from the corner of your eyes and internally cursed her.

That was how you found yourself climbing the ladder leading to the rooftop. 

And that was how you found Aomine with one hand between his backpack and head, and the other holding an obscene magazine.

He doesn’t even spare you a single glance—probably thought you were another manager or even worse: Satsuki again. But the moment you open your mouth to call out to him, his head snaps in your direction, an eyebrow raised in amusement as he pushes himself to rest his body against his elbows.

“What are you doing here?”

You try not to let your rage spill. You try to keep the boiling water down. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and continue to climb the ladder before approaching him.

Think rational, you think to yourself, he hadn’t even said anything yet.

“The Captain wants to see you,” you manage to say between your gritted teeth, staring down at him before looking away. Imayoshi didn’t ask you to make Aomine see him, but Aomine probably respects Imayoshi more than you, so you try to throw him under the bus just to get out of the situation quicker.

“Imayoshi-san?” He frowns before repeating his initial question: “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I want to punch him.

“You own this roof or something?”

“Calm down,” he scoffs, tilting his head before eyeing your body up and down. You shift your weight into your other leg, ignoring the uneasy feeling on the pit of your stomach. “I just wanted to know.”

Sighing, you glance up at the sunny sky, sweat starting to form on the base of your neck and you are dying to leave at that very moment. You shelter your eyes from the sunlight, despite finding it more appealing than Aomine’s face.

“We’re discussing the practice trip thing—whatever, and also the onsen trip,” you lazily explain, not bothering to hide your disinterest. “Imayoshi-senpai wants you to be present for the meeting. Obviously.”

You cannot fathom the fact that you were explaining his basic responsibilities as a club member to him. What a fucking child.

“You coming with us?”

His focus seems to be misplaced, and you glare at the sky, imagining it was his stupid face.

“I’m going with Satsuki,” you correct, still not willing to look at him. “I don’t give two shits about you or the basketball team.”

“Hey,” he sits up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist before tugging your body towards him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You scoff, finally letting your gazes meet before pulling your hand away. “Fuck off.”

He, in fact, does not fuck off.

Aomine pulls on your wrist again, this time hard enough for you to lose your balance and fall, your knees landing on the coarse floor as the bottom of your skirt rides up your thighs. The skin of your knees scraping against the gravelled surface and you curse, jerking your hand away only to immediately shove his shoulder.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You shriek, annoyed at how he remains unmoving even as you push him again.

He towers you, even when sitting, and keeps his eyes peering down at you.

Maybe it’s the heat that day; summer has just ended, but even the soft Autumn breeze cannot conceal the searing flare creeping up the skin of your cheeks. Aomine slants his eyes and grabs your wrist yet again—you weren’t quick enough to retract away from his athletic instincts, and so, you fall again when he pulls you in closer.

You hiss in pain as your knees drag more against the floor, desperate to find your balance only to grab on his shoulders.

“Hey,” He calls out to you, a lame attempt for your attention. “Look,” he says again, and your dumb ass looks.

He grabs the magazine on his lap and tautens the pages together, showing you the spread where he left off before you interrupted his peaceful afternoon. “(Y/N), remember Aya-chan?”

The girl that ruined your life?

How can you forget?

You cannot hide the distaste in your eyes as your eyes scan her beautiful, black hair falling against the sheer material of her white uniform top. The black lace bra she was wearing underneath is apparent as she pushes her two tits against each other, legs spread to reveal an equally seductive pattern on her panties.

Before you even realise, Aomine’s arm begins to wrap itself around your waist as he holds you up, fingers creeping up the side of your torso, tracing invisible lines before resting on one of your breasts. Your stomach begins to churn in excitement, embarrassingly enough, and you press your legs instinctively when the muscle between your thighs tighten as he continues fondling you.

You circle your arm around his neck under the pretence of keeping your balance.

“Mhmm…” He clicks his tongue, resting his face on the side of your upper arm—his nose touching the side of your tit as his hand palms your other one. “I feel like you’re no longer two sizes under Aya-chan. Maybe a size under? Maybe the same size?”

You grit your teeth. “You talk big. Have you ever seen her outside your magazine? She probably edits her photos.”

He grins, gaze shifting to drink in your frustration. “No, but you’re real, and I’m groping you right now. Isn’t that better?”

“Better than your pretty Aya-chan?”

Aomine raises an eyebrow, humming knowingly. You can’t even believe the word escaping your mouth.

“You have a cute side to you after all,” He muses after a short, mocking whistle. “What do you want me to say? Want me to tell you how much better you are than her?”

“Want you to shut the fuck up.”

“Calm down, tiger.” He laughs, pulling away from your arm. He tosses the magazine to the side, straightening his back to press a short kiss to the peak of your cheekbone. His hand begins to work; he slowly kneads your breast while continuously trailing kisses down to your ears. Your nipples brush against the fabric of your damned lace bra, and he stops for a moment only to tug on where your bud is protruding.

A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Excited are we?” He whispers, voice dropping lower as he presses his lips against your ears. “I like hearing you like that.”

“Shut up,” you run out of words, turning your head to the other side, exposing your neck to him. Which turns out to be a bad idea, as he takes it as a sign to sweep his tongue over the skin of your neck.

“A–Aomine—”

“God,” he chuckles. “Who would’ve guessed that you can be this sexy?”

He pulls away from your neck, and drags his hand from your tits to rub against your torso, feeling the material of your uniform. He presses one hand on the small of your back, pressing his forehead against yours. In a swift motion, he pulls on your body, drawing out a squeak as he lays you down against the concrete floor.

“What if…” he trails, rubbing a thumb under your eye as he hovers over rested body. Your cheeks sear with heat, alongside your chest and the pulsating on your cunt. “...I just fuck you right here?”

“W-what?” You whimper.

He laughs. “I’m hard as hell. You made me this way.”

“You were the one groping my tits!”

“You liked it,” he shrugs, pushing himself off of you, forcing both your legs open as he moves between them. His fingers begin to unbutton your uniform, unravelling the bra you are wearing underneath. Sucking in a deep breath, he stops midway down your torso, and without taking his eyes off your chest, he asks, “Want me to stop?”

Your cheeks flare, and you don’t answer him. You don;t even look at him.

He takes a quick glance at your expression.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

“...Whatever.”

A wide smirk forms on his face, fingers continuing to unbutton your uniform all the way down.

“Do me a favour and get up for a bit,” he murmurs, pressing one of his hands against your back once again to get you to sit up. The feeling of his palm against your bare skin sends you to shivers, coupled with the soft wind whistling between the two of you.

“What’re you—”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his fingers fumble with the hook of your bra. It took him two wrong moves before getting it right with the third—the fabric loosens around your body, and you pull him closer to conceal your humiliated expression.

“See,” Aomine chuckles after some awkward motion, tossing your stupid bra to the side when he finally gets it off. “You’re so pretty like this.”

“Shut up,” you groan, nails digging into his skin deeper and deeper.

He pulls himself away from your grip, taking a nice hold on your torso to pull your ass up his lap, letting you fall against the hard floor again.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, roaming his touches against your legs. His eyes cannot leave the heaves of your jugs.

“Stop fucking staring,” your hiss, trying to pull your uniform together, hiding your chest away from him.

Aomine scoffs, using one hand to unbuckle his pants. Your eyes travelled from his face to the loose button on his collar to the wet stain on the grey briefs around his hips to the bulge underneath them.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He tilts his head at your question, furrowing his eyebrows as he takes his cock out from under his briefs. “Fucking you?”

The precum leaks from the tip of his cock, little drops of white strings rolling down his length. He pulls your hips closer to his body and presses it flat against your soaked panties.

He groans at the contact. Your warm slick welcomes him entirely as he presses more against the fabric, rubbing his tip along the length of your pussy.

“S’that feel good?” He whispers, hastily hooking his fingers on your panties, pulling it up your legs, then tossing it to go with your bra. He presses his arm on the side of your head, leaning into you again.

“Don’t put it in,” you whine, trying to hold back your hips from rolling. “You’re gonna get me pregnant.”

“You can’t say shit like that,” he groans against your neck. He positions the tip of his cock against your cunt, and even with your sopping lips, you aren’t sure if you are ready to accommodate his size at all. 

“You don’t want to be a teen dad,” you bite your lower lip, hand going to rub his neck.

“I wanna fuck you, though,” he breathes, using his thumb to run along your wet slit. “Wanna fuck you raw, wanna cum inside’a you.”

You tremble with his words, feeling two of his fingers now circling your pussy. “D— don’t be stupid.”

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, making your cunt wish it has something to tighten around. “D’you know how long I’ve been wanting to get you like this?”

He pushes himself off of you, and holds your wounded knees as he watches your chest heaves, heavy tits rolling with every staggered breath. He flips your skirt over, exposing even more of your cunt to the chill.

He rubs his length against your slick, his tip now pushing against your swelling clit. “I’d jack off and wonder if you were tighter than my fist,” he wraps his cock with his hand and places it again on your entrance, pushing in a slow, deliberate motion.

Between your drooping eyelids, you saw him inaudibly mutter a curse.

“Used to wanna fight Wakamatsu ‘cus he’d stuff this pussy all he wanted. Right?” He scoffs with a stupid, satisfied smile that you wish you could wipe off his face. “Shame that you broke it off, huh? Did he dump you when he realised how much of a whore you are?”

“Shut up…”

“Well, I don’t care. More fun for me.”

“Aomine—“

“Who else have you fucked in the basketball team?” He grunts. “In Touou?”

“Shut— shut the…”

You slap the back of your hand against your mouth—not willing at all to let him hear you be satisfied with his size—biting down on the flesh as he pushes his cock in. All of his cock in.

“Aomine—”

His cock is dragging against your wall, kissing every possible inch of your insides. Your hole continues to burn as he stretches you wide open, draining every last bit of energy from inside of you.

“ F-fuck…”

Your hand goes to fondle your own tit, rolling your hard nipple between your fingers, sloppily trying to garner more and more pleasure. His dick fills you more and more, stuffing you full, before finally stopping.

“Don’t act all reserved now,” he raises an eyebrow as you mewl out his name. He stays still for a moment, a bud of sweat rolling down his temple before pulling out of your homey cunt. “You don’t have to lie.”

Aomine bites his lips, letting his cock rest between your pussy lips. He sees the way they engulf his dick, moving his hips to rub against your core.

“Letting me fuck you on the school rooftop,” he murmurs, “where’s your fucking self-respect? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t your first time getting dicked down up here.”

Your eyes slant up at him, but he quickly shuts down any of your retaliation by pressing his thumb flat against your clit, slowly circling the nub. Your teeth press down hard on your bottom lips.

“We aren’t— we are not …” You babble, putting a thumb between your teeth to stop yourself from moaning, “...having sex.”

He scoffs, drinking in how your eyes roll with your head turned to the side.

“I was inside you just a moment ago.”

Filthy noise of his cock squelching against your cunt filled the air—if someone were to come after you, they would hear Aomine’s dick fucking your pussy lips.

“Fuck,”Aomine spits, pressing your legs tightly against each other then down on your lips.

“A-ah,” You gasp as he drills into your thighs, the tip of his cock rubbing quick and hard against your swollen clit. “Oh my God—”

“Are you cummin’?” He breathes, one hand reaching to roll your tit on his hand. “Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, and you whine at the nickname. He snickers, “You’re so sexy like this, y’know that?”

Your back arches, little whimpers of encouragement swallow your pride whole as you fall completely into him. Aomine grunts at the expression, seeing the lewd expression on your face. He picks up the pace, slamming his hips against your ass.

“M’gonna cum,” he hisses. “Fuck. Wish I could shoot my load into your tight little cunt.”

“Fuck it,” you manage to spit between your groans, “F-fuck it. Just— oh God, just don’t stop—”

Your words rile him up even more—he tightens his grip on your leg, his fingers bruising your fragile skin. Your head begins to spin. Your slam your fists against the ground and your mind numbing orgasm comes the moment strings of Aomine’s thick, white cum comes flying down your skirt and stomach.

“Shit,” he loosens the grip on your legs, letting them fall even with your still convulsing ass and core. His gaze stays on the tip of his dick, the white cum oozing from it, then to your face—your parted lips, dumb eyes, and the sweat dripping down the side of your head down your neck.

He feels himself getting harder as he watches your plump lips whine, wondering how they would wrap around his thick length, if the colour of your lipstick would stain the veins of his cock.

“You coming to the onsen trip?” Aomine tries to distract himself.

You roll over, blindly reaching out for the bra that he tossed God knows where.

“Fuck you.”

#knb #one-shot #chaptered: ain't even jealousy #commissioned #aomine #aomine daiki #kuroko no basuke #kuroko no basket #kuroko's basketball #smut #aomine smut #aomine x reader #aomine x you #knb smut #aomine x reader smut

[randombush3]

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken? 

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible. 

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier. 

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.” 

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.” 

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.” 

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?” 

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.” 

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.”  You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.” 

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to. 

“I am always on your side.” 

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be. 

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase. 

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

… 

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted. 

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you. 

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad. 

And… you, apparently. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door. 

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.” 

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously. 

“Of course.” 

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence. 

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft. 

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.” 

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?” 

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this. 

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration. 

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection? 

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor? 

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility. 

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.” 

“Maybe she only likes men.” 

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.” 

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.” 

…

You are more than a little confused. 

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend. 

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much. 

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you? 

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world. 

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar. 

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?” 

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.” 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.” 

“I cried for months.” 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.” 

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes. 

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself. 

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.” 

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving. 

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said. 

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone. 

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.” 

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.” 

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy. 

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more. 

Do you regret it? 

It’s unclear. 

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here. 

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become. 

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date. 

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official. 

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face. 

There are many reasons why you go out with him. 

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied. 

He’s not Ona. You know that. 

That's the whole point. 

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care. 

But you just… don’t. 

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head. 

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself. 

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago. 

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them. 

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.” 

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday. 

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona. 

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger. 

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?” 

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country. 

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.” 

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen. 

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited. 

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially. 

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming. 

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it. 

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun. 

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced. 

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything. 

It won’t. (It does.) 

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight. 

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden. 

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun. 

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible. 

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk. 

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up. 

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore. 

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit. 

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom. 

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’. 

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right. 

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier. 

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.” 

It’s not true. 

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again. 

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done. 

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit. 

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill. 

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents. 

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again. 

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam. 

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off. 

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams. 

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.” 

“Why?” 

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.” 

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona. 

She picks up. 

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.” 

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.” 

“Are you back at home?” 

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.” 

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles. 

“Need me to show you around the city?” 

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no? 

…

Your visit goes very well. 

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend. 

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life. 

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery. 

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.   

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement. 

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?” 

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa. 

“Who do you care about, then?” 

“You.” 

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day. 

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend. 

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter. 

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before. 

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back. 

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly. 

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.” 

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers. 

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her. 

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh. 

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs. 

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?” 

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly. 

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.” 

Ona blushes. 

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless. 

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on. 

And that’s when she whispers it. 

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering. 

It has taken years but it does not matter. 

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home. 

#woso x reader #woso #randombush3 #barca femeni #woso imagines #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #ona batlle smut

[thoughtfulbearpanda]

February 2024 Pick a Card

Piles 1 -> 2 -> 3

Hi there! This is a timeless reading, so remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. Remember that you have free will and nothing is set in stone. Yes, this is intended for entertainment purposes but if any serious topics that come up in these readings that you find yourself resonating with, please seek aid or professional help if you are inclined to do so. Also, if anything in this reading is triggering for you don't feel the need to continue reading; please prioritize your mental and emotional health.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

PILE I

Okana Oracle: Reconcile, Grandma's Baby Lenormand: Whip & Heart, Tarot: 6 of cups rx, 2 of wands, 4 of cups, the Tower rx, 9 of cup rx

What I see you going through in the month of February pile 1 is you walking away from something. With the 6oc rx coupled with the 2ow there may be a decision you will have to make, and this decision could lead to you letting go of past connections, I’m getting ‘leaving the nest' for some of you. Some of you could be moving away, beginning your own chapter of life solo; some of you could be traveling overseas in the month of February, or just simply moving out of house and getting your own place. 

There is also this aspect of fear, not really knowing what you’re getting into, there is the sense of naivety. This could be towards a new job, maybe a change of career path or change in career studies for those who are still in school. This could be a small few of you but some of you may be weighing the decision to drop out of college or school. College/school/work may no longer be as exciting for as when you first started and you may be thinking about just calling it quits, but are delaying this decision because you may not have a backup plan and/or you don’t want to disappoint your loved ones. It’s like ‘I no longer enjoy this.’; ‘What if there is more for me out there?’; ‘What will my loved ones think?’; ‘What if I don’t have a back up plan and this ends being a mistake?’

Life is not full of easy choices. Every day we are proven that life is short. For those who resonate with the school/college message, I am not here to tell you what you should do BUT do what you believe is best for you. College is not for every one, but if dropping out is an option you are considering than have a back up plan ready for when you do. Figure out what you are going to do afterwards. Don’t just dive into this particular decision blindly.

I see you going through transformation pile 1. Some of you may have felt like you lost your spark, your joy, your purpose in life. I see you gaining that back in the month of February. You are going to start making decisions that make YOU happy, that bring YOU joy. February is the month where you consider how to get closer to your ultimate goal in life, and how you can rediscover your sense of purpose.

Shadow Message: Reconcile - “love yourself for only then can you love others” -> What is something that you find yourself struggling to let go of? What is this thing that is depleting you? Is it a job? Is is friends? Family? A partner, past or present? Do you find yourself pouring so much of yourself into this thing and/or person (people) that you barely have enough to pour into yourself? To whomever this resonates, it is time to take a look at your current attachments and come to terms with whether it is healthy or if you are simply a victim of codependency. Is this thing or person feeding off of you? If so, then it is time to cut the cord on that. Do some 'spring cleaning'. For some, it may not even a person or a job. Sometimes it just simply clearing out the old within your space, getting rid of old clothes, trinkets, furniture etc., to make room for the new. Find what is weighing you down emotionally, spiritually, mentally; find what is depleting your happiness and take the necessary steps to rid yourself of it.

Message(s) from the Ancestors: Whip & Heart - 'Sacrifice' & 'Love' -> Whip: "Everyone must pay. Nothing worthwhile or lasting was ever achieved by simply wanting it to be ours...sacrifice and work move things further than desire alone." Love: "There is an infinite supply of love for us to draw on, whether from platonic or romantic relationships, living or dead...but if we often lose ourselves in the need to nurture others, hiding in them to avoid being in ourselves...we must learn to love ourselves so deeply we find joy in solitude instead of heartbreak."

Final Messages:

"What is past is gone, what is hoped for is absent, for you is the hour for which you are."

"Wisdom outweighs strength."

"A snake that you can see does not bite."

"You cannot blindfold a man and expect him to ferry you across the river."

"Whoever stands in the need of honey should not be afraid of bees."

~additional messages: unexpected good fortune, generosity, possible travel, changes, postponement, disappointment and opposition

**PROVERBS 15:13 and DANIEL 10:6 for some of you**

PILE II

Okana Oracle: Grit & Confide, Grandma's Baby Lenormand: Rider rx & Clouds, Tarot; Page of swords, Queen of wands, 9 of cups, 7 of swords rx, & ace of wands Rx

The month of February is going to be very abundant for you pile 2. I see you socializing and being so vibrant and free, being the talk of the town. I'm getting 'social butterfly'. This month is going to be raining down blessings for you with the 9oc here. I see you filled with so much gratitude and happiness. Wishes will be coming true for you in the month of February; whatever you have been wishing for, praying for, hoping for, it will come true. I see you getting that dream job, dream car, dream house. Whatever you've been wishing for, you will be receiving it this month. Some of you could be starting a new project or job, and I see you being so excited about it. You have this eager, 'go getter' energy.

With the QoW here, a feminine figure could be significant for some you. This person could be mature, or just has a lot experience and wisdom under their belt. Who knows how to work a room, use their charm and charisma to achieve their goals. I see this person being some sort of a mentor figure to you this month. Someone that will help you harness this vibrant, off the walls energy that you may have. I see you shadowing this person, soaking up all the knowledge that she has to offer. *Be sure to take head from whatever advice this person gives you*

For some of you, there could be some snakes in your mists. In the month of February you may find yourself being on the receiving end of a lot of 'evil eye'. I see you being highly favored in the month of February, and with that comes with a lot of jealousy and attempts at sabotage. You may end up encountering a lot two-faced people; those who smile in your face but are quick to pray and revel in your downfall. Some of you may be up for promotion or have been promoted - BE CAREFUL. Be wary of those who are quick to befriend and try to get into your circle. It's like that saying 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer' - that is the mentality of these haters toward you. Just know that secrets don't stay buried and will eventually come to light. Karma never misses, so whatever these potential sabotagers have planned will back fire. You are protected by the Divine and your Ancestors.

The month of February, some of you may find yourself consumed with the drive to get something started. There may be an idea/project that you are trying to get off the ground to this point where you are obsessing over it. You are trying and trying and becoming more and more frustrated because it's not going the way you planned. With the ace of wands rx, you are being called to take a break. Step away from the idea/project and allow yourself to breathe. When we are so hyper focused on something, it can become easy for use to become consumed by to the point where we forget why we started said project/idea; and in some instances lose our passion fro what we do. That's why in moments of frustration we need to take a step back, put on pause on things. If this resonates, Spirit is prompting you to take a look out where you are, how far you've come, and remember why you started. Stop and smell the roses. Allow yourself to look at it from a different perspective.

For others, there could be a whole idea that you abandoned completely because it never got off the ground, someone may have told you that idea is not good, or maybe you felt like it could never be. Maybe it's time to revisit that project/idea from a new, fresher lens.

Shadow Message: Grit & Confide - Grit: "when a needle falls into a well many people will look into the well, but very few will go down after it" -> Take a look at yourself this month and ask yourself 'Am I biting off more than I can chew?', 'Am I involving myself in projects or places that do not pertain to me?', 'If I am doing all these things: why?' If you find yourself spiraling or just taking on so much, unnecessarily, maybe it's time to take a step back from it. It's good to have drive to have that grit/conviction but not to the point where it is at your own detriment. It can be easy, being caught up in 'the grind' and all but we also have to remember to take breaks; Confide: "all things are good to eat, but not all things are good to say" -> February is looking to be an abundant month for you, but remember to not get caught up in the high. You may be on the receiving end gossip, but try not to perpetuate the same behaviors as your haters. If find yourself engaging gossip with others ask yourself 'Is it true?', 'Is it kind?', 'Are these people doing the same thing to me behind my back?', 'Will they go back an twist my words to said person?', 'Why are they trying to get me involved gossip to begin with?'. Remember: Karma. Never. Misses.

Message(s) from the Ancestors: Rider rx & Clouds - 'Intention' & 'Denial' -> Rider rx: "Don't be hasty, Baby. Before taking action, we must be clear on our intention. And be certain our actions align with that intention." Clouds: "Clouds can be information that is hidden and outcomes that are uncertain...we must know truth before we know miracles, and what is before we know what can be."

Final Messages:

"Not to know is bad, to not wish to know is worse."

"Fire surrounded by elders cannot burn you."

"Luck at times will visit a fool, but it never sits down with him."

"Truth cannot be hidden forever beneath evil."

"He who wakes up early in the morning receives bundle of blessings."

~additional messages: good luck coming to you, harmony, property, achievement, love, dark-haired woman who is strong, helpful and attractive, warning of loss of friendship

**EXODUS 24:15 for some of you**

PILE III

Okana Oracle: Harmony & Reconcile, Grandma Baby Lenormand: Fish & Mice, Tarot: 10 of swords, 2 of cups, Knight of wands, 5 of pentacles rx, ace of swords rx

Are some of you in a relationship, pile 3? Or is there someone on your mind? Cause with the 2oc here there is a potential for love to blossom for you in the month of February. You could have met this person or will meet this person and you guys hit right off the bat. The knight of wands indicates that you and this person will 'click' so fast, and so unexpectedly. This person could be a fire sign; they could be someone who is vibrant, and has a lot of energy and passion to them. They could be 'go-getter', someone who acts before they thinks, who likes to dive into things head-first. And it doesn't necessarily have to be a romance either. This could be someone who you will end up having a genuine bond and connection with. This person could be a bit of foil to you if you are more on the shy side, or this is someone who will match your energy.

Some of you may have dealt with betrayal in the past, like been backstabbed by a person/people that you've trusted. This has possibly resulted you in having trust issues, you questioning the motives of those who try to get close to you. This connection coming in is going to help you heal those wounds. This connection coming is someone you can trust and they are going to prove that to you. They will be patient with you. Maybe this person coming in has probably dealt with same thing, and this connection will be healing for both of you.

For others of you, you may have fallen on hard times in the past pile 3. Some of you may have dealt with a lot of spiritual warfare. What I mean by that, is that you may have been feeling empty spiritually. Doubting your religion, your ancestors, spirit guides, or even the concept of spirituality itself. *With everything that has been going on in the world, I can understand* Maybe you've hanging on to this concept of religion or spirituality in hopes it will make your life better because that's what you've been told, only to be met with disappointment after disappointment. Maybe recently you've had one too many disappointments and began to question yourself: 'Am I doing something wrong?' 'Why isn't working?' 'Am I just playing myself for a fool?'

I see you starting to come back to that pile 3, because you can't ignore the call forever. I see rekindling your relationship with the Divine, with God, your Ancestors, whomever you believe in. That tarot deck that you've put away? You're dusting off and getting back into the swing of things. That altar that you abandoned, walked away from? I see resetting it and familiarizing yourself with your guides, with your gifts. And honestly, sometimes walking away is needed pile 3. It's okay to take a break for a while, reconnect with yourself, ground yourself, and find your way back to it eventually.

Shadow Message: Harmony & Reconcile - Harmony: "where there is life, there is always hope" -> You could be dealing with bouts of loss or despair in February. Have you lost all hope of being happy? Content? Have you lost hope in ever being able to trust again? Have you become a glass half-empty, glass half-full kind of person? It's time to confront those doubts, pile 3. Time to challenge those negative beliefs you've become accustomed to. Make the effort of bringing harmony and positivity back into your life; Reconcile: "love yourself for only then can you love others" -> It is time to heal pile 3. Heal those wounds. Hanging onto that hurt is giving the person who hurt you more power over you. What is something you have trouble letting go of? Is it the betrayal? The backstabbing? Is it becomes you should have saw it coming? Are you ready to let it go? Are you ready to move on?

Message(s) from the Ancestors: Fish & Mice - 'Gifts' & 'Fear' -> Fish: "If we give birth to what is within us, what is within us will save us. If we do not give birth to what is within us, what is within us will destroy us." Mice: "If we feed fear, we will be eaten alive."

Final Messages:

"You can kill the identity of a man on earth, but you cannot kill his spirit."

"Respect begets respect."

"Even as the archer loves the arrow that flies, so too he loves the bow that remains in his hands."

"The path to wisdom is a lifelong commitment."

"It is the one who lives in the house that knows where the roof leaks."

~additional messages: friendship, success, business meetings, reliable friend, conflict, love, affair, worry and fear

**JONAH 1:17 for some of you**

That's all I have for you! Thanks for reading! Stay safe, stay blessed!

Asé

#tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot #pick a card #black tarot reader

[shawnxstyles]

free session

DATE: AUGUST 8, 2023

summary: tom hurts himself a little at the gym, but luckily, you’re there to reassure him that everything’s fine. when he finally comes back, you decide to show him what a free session is all about.

request: yup!!

words: 7k

warnings: SMUT (slight praise kink, protected sex, dirty talking), language. this was a quick one

note: okay so i don’t do threesomes lmao, but i didn’t state that until after i got this request (this request is 8 months old i’m sorry). i chose to do tom, but i changed a lot, so i’m sorry if this isn’t even what you asked for at all… i hope someone likes it | NOT EDITED

gym!tom x trainer!reader

—

Tom had a steady routine; he went to the gym in the morning, ate, did his day plans or work, ate again, and then went to the gym at night again. Some people thought he was insane for going to the gym so much, but it felt like his second home. Mainly because the gym was his brother’s, Harry.

Harry and Tom were unbelievably close; out of all their siblings, they were definitely the tightest. Tom assisted Harry with renting, paperwork, and anything he needed for his little business, which wasn’t so little anymore. Once he got popular in town, Tom let his brother handle himself after all his constant nagging. Then Tom was off doing his own thing, worrying about his own life and job. It got consistent, tedious, and boring to say the least.

But on a random summer day when Harry called Tom to deliver the bad news, Tom regrets ever thinking that his simple routine was boring.

“Tom, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find a new gym.”

“What? Harry, what are you talking about?” Tom drops his gym bag on the floor of his apartment, stopping short with Harry’s words. He presses the phone up to his ear, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip.

“I didn’t tell you before, but all my “loyal” customers have fled to the new fitness center down the street. You know, the one by the café?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s only temporary. I need to refurbish and find some more sponsors, and then hopefully, I can reopen.”

Tom sighs slowly into the empty air of his home, looking up at the ceiling in distress.

“I was trying to figure out how to tell you—”

“It’s alright, Harry. I’m glad you told me now. I’ll just… find a new gym.”

“If you go to my competitor, I won’t blame you.”

Tom replies with a hefty laugh.

“It’ll only be temporary.”

So, that’s what Tom has been doing—going to his brother's competitor. However, it was only supposed to be for a few weeks. But it ended up being a few months. Tom’s adjusted to the new gym quite nicely. He likes the wide variety of machinery and how many options he has. When he first came in, he was using machines he’d never even seen before.

Even though his gym was switched up on him, Tom is a routine kind of guy. It only took him a week to adapt to his new environment and get comfortable with everything. He developed a new schedule for his morning workouts since he can no longer go to the gym in the evening. He wasn’t necessarily a morning person, but for the gym-induced high, he would do it.

He had a specific day for arms, legs, chest, back, shoulders—everything. Over the years, he’s done his research on the body, and even took anatomy in high school.

Did that even help him?

To say he’s gym-obsessed isn’t too much of an overstatement, even if Tom disagrees. He would say he’s obsessed with his dog, but not the gym. He refuses to put himself in the category of “gym-bros” and dumbasses that live off protein shakes. Yeah, he likes those shakes too, but he wouldn’t die if he had more than one cheat day in a week. Tom likes to live his life outside of the gym, unlike those people.

Tom worked an average job with a good salary, and relatively lived an average life with good people. He didn’t go out much because he didn’t have many people to hang out with besides his brothers. Harrison has been his best mate since high school, but with both of their work schedules colliding, it’s hard to find the time. Plus, he’s been way too busy planning his wedding.

Yeah, a wedding.

Tom’s not surprised by the fact that Harrison’s getting married. In fact, he’s not surprised at all. Of course he’s happy for his best friend. He’s just… envious in a subtle way. Both Tom and him are 28 years old, and while Harrison met the love of his life and is starting a future with her, Tom is yet to even date a girl for longer than a few weeks.

He’s been on dates here and there, even had a few one-night stands in the past year, but after some time, he just gave up completely. Sometimes, a girl will smile at him or look him up and down, but he doesn’t even try to pursue them like he used to. For the few times that he is out with his friends or brothers and a girl is all over him, he’ll take the opportunity and bring her home.

But it never goes farther than that. And Tom is afraid he’ll never have more than that.

Shaking off the terrible thoughts to start his morning, Tom walks through the glass doors of the gym. He passes the front desk and towards the clean machines that are practically calling his name. The barely rising sun can be seen through the huge window panes along the entire building, making the scene look peaceful.

There were a couple of bodies in the area, but besides the delicate music seeping through the speakers, it was quiet. To Tom, this was tranquil.

After a few simple stretches, Tom snatches the jump ropes. He jumps until his muscles are loose and warm and they’re just itching to be challenged. Today, he decided to do legs with an additional ab workout just because. He was a little extra energized, and he craved for his body to be sore. He doesn’t do this often, but he needs to change it up once in a while, right?

Tom goes straight towards the leg press, knowing that that machine will fire his legs up immediately. When he starts his reps, he already feels the burn. He knows today is going to push his limits, but he’s ready.

—

About halfway through his workout, he wants to give up. But he knows that’s exactly when you need to keep going.

He’s struggling with his squats, really trying to lift these three plates that are taunting him. He can do two easily, which means he has to add weight if he wants to actually gain and keep his muscles. He takes a deep breath before trying to squat for the second time. He slides the padded bar over his ready shoulders. The weight is dawning and plummeting his own body to the ground.

As he lowers his legs, squatting with the best of his abilities, his lower back aches immensely before he drops the bar onto the matted floor. The plates clang against each other in the relatively quiet gym

“Fuck,” he groans and chucks off his headphones, clutching his lower back near his tailbone. This is now the second time he’s failed, but the first time he’s felt this pain. It wasn’t a shooting, sharp pain, but it was aching enough to warn him that he was positioning himself wrongly.

“Are you okay?” A woman’s voice asks concerningly a few feet behind him. Tom turns around too quickly, making his back hurt a little more. He tries to hide his hiss behind clenched teeth when he sees you.

Your eyes were wide with worry and your head was slightly tilted. You were sporting a tight sports bra with matching shapely leggings. You had a towel dangling in your hand and a black shirt in the other. Maybe it was because of his small pain, but Tom couldn’t help dragging his eyes down your body in awe. He hisses at the sight unconsciously.

“I’m assuming that’s a no,” You squint your eyes with a slight tease as you walk up to him. Tom nods while also fixating in the present. He had a tendency to drift off into his head if his imagination wandered enough.

“Yeah, I think I hurt my bad a bit,” he smiles while trying to stretch by twisting left and right.

“Maybe I can help? If you’d like me to,” You offer as Tom stares at you. Your eyelashes are fluttering almost innocently, and Tom is beyond intrigued. He nods with a charming smile, one that you just had to reflect back. It was easily one of the most gorgeous smiles Tom has ever seen.

“Just so you know, I kind of work here. Well—I mean—I do work here. I’m just new,” You rambled. You were a bit nervous. You were a certified trainer, but you’ve never trained someone outside of your schooling. Yes, you’ve done family and friends, but not a stranger. A random stranger who actually needs your experience. You’re not sure how you landed a job at this seemingly high-end gym, but you never question the good things that happen anymore; you just let them happen.

“Good to know. Since you offered, I assume you know what you’re doing,” Tom teases and you roll your eyes playfully. He eased some of your nerves.

When you ask how he was squatting, he explains what he was doing and when and where the pain was occurring. You nodded along to his words, collecting all of it and connecting it to your knowledge. You come to a conclusion long before he’s done and gaze at his body. You know a lot about anatomy and you’ve seen a bunch of bodies throughout your life.

But staring at his ripped and sweaty body has you feeling all warm and tingly. The morning sunlight seems to shine perfectly over his perspiration, twinkling as a few drops slide between his rigid muscles.

“I think you strained your back,” You say simply without blinking right as he finished talking. You shake your head as if you weren’t just ogling his muscles. What is wrong with you? You were supposed to be a professional.

“Oh,” Tom finally says with a slight frown to his face.

“Does it hurt when you turn as well or just when squatting?”

“Mainly just squatting,” he answers.

“Okay,” You give him a once-over as if analyzing him. You were analyzing him, just not in a very professional way. There was nothing professional about how your eyes turned hungry as they gazed at his blessed figure. “The best thing to do is to not sit. Or stop what you’re doing basically. I would say no more squats for a while or anything that strikes pain. But don’t terminate all your exercise. That will actually make it worse.”

Tom nods along to all that you’re saying with understanding. Everything that you’re telling him makes perfect sense, so there was a good minute where he zoned out and just stared at you. Your matching set makes your skin look smooth and defines every curve of your body. The way your hands moved as you spoke had him mesmerized like he was under hypnosis.

“Got it?” You ask as a heat floods up your neck. Tom blinks rapidly and mumbles a yes, but he looks all too distracted. He didn’t hide well that he was staring at you, but he didn’t seem like he was trying to either.

“Is there anything else?” Tom questions as the air between you two gets tense, voice lower than before. Panting and echoing machines are all that are heard in the space around you. You swallow your sudden nervousness that was about to cough up a whine. You wondered if he wanted you to say something else.

Maybe he wanted you to confess. Confess something that you were both thinking, but you both didn’t know.

“N-No,” You slightly stutter out when you answer, smiling to try to cover this feeling that’s bubbling up inside of you.

“Well, I guess I’ll just do the treadmill before I head out.”

“Right. Sounds good. Have fun!” You ramble as he walks away, chuckling with each step he takes. You turn away and your smile instantly falls as you groan to yourself, “Have fun? Why did I say that?”

You run your hand over your face as you try to regain your lost pride. When you walk back into the coach’s area, you slip on your uniform shirt, so people are aware you actually work there. You take a deep breath and mentally slap yourself in the head for being so unprofessional. You barely just started working here and you’re already breaking rules! You’re not allowed to have relationships with your clients. Wait, that’s a rule, right? Now, that doesn’t make much sense…

But you know for certain that thinking about someone sexually after just meeting them, rule or not, client or not, it’s inappropriate. You’ve never looked at someone and just completely melted at the sight of them. You can’t stop picturing the way his leg muscles flexed as he carried the heavy weight of the squat bar. Or the way his cheeks reddened and hollowed out air as he pushed himself to stand up straight.

Although you watch and help people work out for a living, you’ve never found it entertaining. But for some reason, your mind is just so utterly fucked over by this random guy that you’ve never seen before. He looks like he’s been doing it a long time, especially with that figure. Has he been at this gym for a long time? He seems like he has.

Your mind likes to wander and wander as you do busy work and wait for the day to end. From your area, you weren’t able to see the front doors, so you never saw the stranger again that day. You assume he left soon after your departure, but you wish that you saw him just once more. Maybe you’d get the confidence to catch his name and even offer a session. Free of charge, you imagine yourself saying accidentally because you’d be so distracted.

Throughout your shift you helped a few people and even assisted in the group exercise class. Though, you loved when you had one on one trainings the most because you got to see your client grow their strengths and their weaknesses.

As your shift came to an end, you collected your bag with a heavy sigh. It was only the afternoon, but of course you didn’t have any plans. You had spent a year working to become a certified trainer, but brought no one with you along the way. You took a gap year when high school ended to try to figure out what you wanted to do, and then you discovered training and you felt comfortable. You had some friends, but none were strong enough to stay with you. It was really just you, with the occasional hangout with your older sister who lectured you sometimes.

You felt lonely sometimes, but it’s not like you really tried to fix it either. You went out every blue moon, waiting for some magical miracle to occur. Nothing sprouts; no love, sex, relationship, or friendship spawned at your feet when you’re out late at night in a bar or club. So, you kind of just stopped going. Was it sad to say you kind of lost hope in dating and sex?

Besides the point, when you entered your apartment, you were alone. Just like most days when you weren’t busy researching ways to start a business.

Oh, was that mentioned?

You wanted to start your own business with your certification. However, it was hard because you had little to no experience in business. Your dad knew good tips and tricks, but he wasn’t experienced enough either. And since you were quite lonely, you hadn’t made many connections to people that might have loads of talent in the field.

One day, you would actually talk to someone, you swore. And they would help make your dreams of a business come to life. It’s not that you didn’t believe in yourself to make it happen; it was more than a reasonable goal. It’s just that you’re so unmotivated right now because of your lack of connections.

Ugh, why does life have to be so difficult?

—

Tom wakes up early with groggy eyes and a sore back. He had done some research online last night on how to sleep with a strained back. He was told to lay on his side with a pillow stuffed between his knees. But of course when he woke up in the morning, his body was flailed across his mattress like an eagle, pillows completely disregarded from him.

When he tried to sit up too quickly, a sharp pain erupted in his back, making him sit right back in the bed. Maybe he should just take his time like the woman at the gym said…

You were slightly disappointed you didn’t see the good-looking stranger again on your shift. You shamelessly glanced around the machinery, hoping to recognize his bulky shoulders and defined muscles, but they were nowhere to be found.

You got to see a few good bodies, but there was something about that stranger that just made your insides tingle.

Again, so unprofessional. This is why you can’t start a damn business!

—

Tom didn’t go to the gym for a week. A week!

His back was just in too much pain and lifting heavy weights sounded tortuous. He still went to work and went on evening walks with his dog, but he felt pretty lazy. He forced himself to take a week off of the gym to heal, and thankfully it worked. His mind kept lingering to the pretty woman who talked to him, but he kept excusing it with his pain. He must only be thinking of you because you gave advice he needs to remember, right?

By the next week, Tom was already back in the gym. He walked through those glass doors again, quickly checked in, and headed towards the machinery. He moved slowly as his eyes subconsciously tried to find you again. Tom had this… need to tell you that he’s okay and that your advice worked. Again, it was just an excuse, so he could talk to you again. Maybe he would see your name tag this time, or just ask for it blatantly.

He makes a quick once-over of the area, and is a bit disappointed when he doesn’t see you lingering. He goes straight towards the jump rope to refresh his muscles that have been resting for one of the longest times since high school.

Tom jumps and jumps and jumps… and then nearly falls over when he sees you turn around after doing a squat. The curve of your ass in those leggings made his mouth water and your charming smile made him crazy.

Before he knows it, you’re approaching him while he’s completely phased.

“Hey, I see that you made it back. How is your… back?” You ask, squeezing the towel in your hand with an intense grip. Your heart started fluttering a little from just the sight of him, and you wondered why you were getting so worked up over a stranger.

“It’s all good now! I think,” Tom chuckles while rubbing his neck. He nervously twists the rope between his fingers, trying to think of a way to keep the conversation going. “I, uh, never caught your name.”

Your heart skips a beat and a smile threatens to take over your face. It was such a little thing, but you’ve been wondering what his name was for the past week. A name to a face to fit your fantasies.

“Y/N,” You smile, but your eyes struggle to meet his face. He was just so gorgeous you felt like you might be blinded if you looked too long. “And you?”

“Tom,” he surely answered with a nod.

“That fits you very well.”

“What do you mean?” he questions and your eyes go a little wide. You hadn’t meant to say that. It sounds creepy and weird; to say that his name fits him… as if you were thinking about him.

“Well—like—I was wondering what your name was when I first talked to you and now that you said it, it makes sense. Not that I was thinking about you all week or something… that’s just creepy!” You awkwardly laugh after your ramble, thinking of the fastest way to leave this conversation so you can regroup. This is why your dating life is so shallow. You can’t hold a conversation for a second without rambling out nonsense or making a fool of yourself. It’s typical, really.

You thought he was going to laugh at you like a bully and walk away from your weirdness. But instead, he softly chuckles at your antics while staring at your face. Noticing that he’s still standing in front of you, you slowly drag your eyes up his body until you finally meet his eyes.

They’re that perfectly golden brown color that looks like oozing honey when reflected off the sun. Since you were only a foot away, you could see his nose was a little crooked and he had an uneven eyebrow. His hair seemed a bit unruly, but all you wanted to do was run your hands through it.

“I’ve been wondering what your name was, too,” he finally admits when the air around you feels like it’s closing in. Your heart was beating as if something was going to happen, but you knew nothing would. Nothing was going to happen in front of all of these people.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Tom hums as he watches your pupils dilate and eyes struggle to look at him. He’s been thinking about you all week, he can admit that, but now you can’t even look at him? He wanted to see your pretty eyes. “I’ve been wondering about a few other things as well.”

“Oh? Like what?” Your voice was slightly breathless and you felt the need to check over your shoulder every second. You felt like you were breaking some rule and you were able to be fired on the spot. It felt so wrong, but you wanted to see where this goes. You were all too intrigued by this glorious man before you.

“Like why you can’t look at me.”

“What? I’m looking at you!”

“Not longer than a blink.”

“S-So? Do you want to have a staring contest or something?” You bite your tongue when you stutter.

“Maybe. I just want to see your pretty eyes,” Tom didn’t plan on calling your eyes pretty right off the bat, but his bluntness is what made you finally look up at him. He saw innocence as well as desire laced within your irises. And he wondered if you really had been thinking about him all week. If you had, that would confirm that you want more. It would confirm that Tom isn’t crazy, and that there is some type of spark in between you too.

Will a one-time thing, like sex, dull the craving spark, or ignite it?

“We can’t here,” You say barely above a whisper.

“Do what? A staring contest?” Tom begins to smirk causing you to groan. He’s got to be one of the cockiest people you’ve ever met, but he has every right to be. Usually, you hate men that know they’re attractive because their cockiness just makes them an asshole. But Tom is the funny type, who pretends to be cocky, but he’s actually really humble.

How did you get all of that from only two conversations with him? And they were barely conversations!

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually. Care to tell?”

“You want…” You can see the way he tries to hide his growing smirk and it tells you all you needed to know. The air thickened between you both, heavy with tension and heat. Your heart was racing and your stomach burned in a way that pushed your courage over the edge. You’ve needed something like this for a long time, you just never knew how long you actually needed it. “You want me to give you a session!”

Tom clicked his tongue at your teasing, slightly chuckling. You blinked your eyes as you flashed your fraud innocence at him.

“What does the session include?” His voice was low and deep. There was a certain rumble in his tone that made your legs feel like jelly and your mind go blank.

“I-I can show you. Let’s go in the back,” You try to remain as playful as possible, but you were absolutely losing it. You just wanted him to take control and kiss you as hard as possible; to do the unimaginable. Of course, the horniest you’ve ever been in your whole life is at work of all places. There’s no way there isn’t a rule about having sex in the gym. You’re sure people have done it before, but never employees. That had to have been prohibited.

But your desire is taking control of all your actions right now as you lead Tom through the gym and into your miniature office. Since you were relatively new, your office was in the back of the gym in a little room. The other offices for the more experienced trainers were near the front and were wide open to the public. You didn’t like how your space was so far away from everything because it made you feel disconnected, but right now, you’ve never been more grateful.

As you guide him into your office, you shut the door and push in the lock. You had a small wooden desk with a single picture frame and a laptop. A few different papers lie across, but you’re quick to stack them and slot them in the first drawer. When you stand back up, Tom is closer to you than ever, hovering right over you.

Your heart rate increases exponentially as his hungry eyes pierce your soul. Your impulses want to rip his shirt dramatically off of his torso, so you can run your hands all along his sweaty, ripped stomach. You’d make sure to kiss every centimeter of skin before landing on your knees for him. You’re almost positive you’d do anything he’d ask. Before you can even blink, he’s leaning in, cutting the distance and inching closer to your weekly fantasy.

“So what do I get?” His voice was breathy as his eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips. You couldn’t help but do the same.

“Anything. Anything you want,” You respond way too quickly, your desperation spilling out from you. Out of instinct, you took a step back from him, making your back bump into the wall. He was crowding your space as much as he could without actually touching you. And it was utterly killing you.

“What a generous trainer,” he placed his hand delicately on the wall next to your head. “Do you do this with all of your clients?”

“Only the fittest,” Your lustfulness made you brutally honest as if you had chugged truth serum. “But no, I’ve never… brought anyone back here before.”

“The first and the fittest. I might just have to book a session.”

“Luckily, a spot just opened. You can have it,” Your eyes meet him again. The second he sees your eyelashes flutter up, there’s nothing stopping him from kissing you. Not the tension, not the voices in his head, not the fear of someone knocking on the door asking for you.

Tom’s lips crash against yours in an eager kiss, lips melting together from the heat you’ve built up. It’s sweet and it’s salty, but it’s fulfilling that nagging ache you’ve wanted cured all week long. Your hands immediately find their way to his luscious curls, lacing your fingers through them just like you imagined. His rough-textured hand cups your jaw, angling you directing into his mouth when he slots a bit of his tongue inside.

His body presses forward against yours, rock-hard, stiff, and hot. The feeling of his heaviness and warmth was even better than you had conjured up in your crazy, little head. His rhythm was easy to rock with, and your body gravitated towards his. You whimpered into his mouth when his growing bulge poked the bottom of your tummy. Tom took that as a sign and popped off of your mouth. He trailed his wondrous mouth down your pulsing neck, causing you to stab your teeth into your lip to keep quiet.

Tom kissed and nibbled your skin without a care of who might see the marks. He didn’t know what would happen after all of this, but he wanted you to have at least one memory when it was all over. When reached your collarbone, he forced himself off of you.

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

“W-What? I don’t know! Anything, just do something, please.”

“You’re the trainer. You’re supposed to tell me what to do, no?” Tom’s teasing sends a tingle down your stomach that hits you straight in between your legs. “Do y’want me to fuck–”

“God, yes. Do anything, please,” You groaned, trying not to sound too desperate, but it was difficult when that’s all you were.

“Alright, alright, don’t worry.”

Tom pushed himself off of your body to remove his shirt. His glorious body was perfectly defined by his packed muscles wrapped in his tan skin. His skin looked so smooth, like a silky blanket. Your impulses got the best of you and before you could even think, they were roaming his god-like figure with curiosity.

“How are you so fit? Who is your trainer and how can I learn from them?” You question both jokingly and seriously. When he laughs, you can feel it vibrate through your fingertips and it makes you feel all fuzzy.

“I train myself, but I know some great cardio exercises I’d be willin’ to show you,” he winks as his hand lands on your hip. It was your turn to laugh now, your voice breaking the tight tension.

“Please,” You begged, tugging both of his hands toward you. It was your way of saying that he could do whatever he wanted now. “Go ahead.”

So he did. You removed your tennis shoes and then he yanked down your leggings. You were so needy at this point you didn’t even bother to discard your snug bra. If anything, you’re going to need its security with all the movement you’re about to do (hopefully).

His hands grabbed the hem of your leggings until they were completely off of your legs. You’re left in your soaking thong while he’s still in his loose gym shorts. Tom doesn’t waste another second because he’s growing just as impatient as you. He can feel himself twitching in his briefs, craving for a satisfaction that only you can seem to sedate.

Without a warning, Tom cups your mound with delicacy, fingers pressing against your aching hole. The gasp you let out is unwavering as your cunt clenches around nothing but your own desperation. He scrunches his palm, rubbing your underwear as you soaked through the fabric.

“Can feel that you’re soaking, darling,” Tom husks beside your ear, sending shocks of heat down your spine. You’ve never been so turned on in your life from someone, especially because of a deep, sensual accent like his. “Did I do this?”

“Yes, yes. All for you,” You nearly whined, but you withheld it with a strain. “Please just fuck me already.”

“What’s the rush, love? Got somewhere to be?” he taunted. You didn’t have anywhere to be and he seemed to know that. He was lucky you didn’t have any clients today or have any appointments. It was like the perfect coincidence that this occurred on this day. You’re grateful for the fate of the universe as he slips his hand into your panties to lace his fingers within your wetness.

“So fucking wet, love,” he grumbled so low you could barley hear it.

“I need it, please,” This is the most submissive you’ve ever been. You can’t recall a time where you have ever been this wet or needy for another man. There’s just something incredibly alluring about the man about you, rock-hard body and all.

“What do you need? Do you need me to put my finger in your tight, little hole? I bet it would just slide right in.”

“Fuck, Tom,” You growled in sexual frustration. His mouth spilled utter filth, but you were loving it. You felt the very tip of his finger nudging inside of you, causing your walls to clutch tightly. “I need you to fuck me. Please. No teasing.”

With an ever-growing smirk, Tom slips his hand out of your underwear and glides the material down your jelly-like legs. Your eyes never leave his hands, too scared to meet his intimidating eyes. You watch him with curiosity and desire as he tucks his thumbs in the waistband. His briefs come into your view and your eyes widen when you see the impressive bulge outline.

You swallow, intimidated by his size, especially since you haven’t had sex in a decent amount of time. He hasn’t even pulled down his underwear yet and you’re already frothing at the mouth.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I, um,” Your eyes wander around to your purse on the floor by your desk and you quickly bend down to pop it open. In one of your secret pockets, there is a nicely wrapped condom. “Here. I hope it fits.”

Tom laughs as he tugs his briefs down with ease. “You’re not good for my ego.”

You wanted to laugh in response, but you were too distracted by his cock. Mesmerizingly, you gaze at his hand stroking his veiny length, seemingly as desperate as you with pre-cum leaking at the tip.

Instead of grabbing the condom from your hand, Tom says, way too gravelly, “I want you to do it.”

So, with shaky hands and doe-eyes, you rip open the package and slide on the latex. The look on your face can easily make it seem like you’ve never even seen a dick before. But now looking at Tom’s, it feels like all the others are down the drain.

Within seconds, Tom has you back against the wall, one hand resuming beside your head and the other on your hip. Your heart jumped and pussy throbbed, waiting for him to break the lustful barrier in between you two.

“Ready?”

“Y-Yes,” You whimper as the head of his cock glides along your thighs before sliding in between them. Your arousal soaks the condom as he grips one of your legs, hoisting you up and around his waist. Your arms instantly wrap around his neck for security as your leg connects to him like a koala.

With one leg on the floor, you try to maintain your balance as he finally thrusts into you. You both collectively groan in sexual satisfaction, finally having your craving fulfilled. When you thought he had pushed all the way in, Tom pumps deeper inside of you, causing you to squeal.

“Shh, darling. Don’t want anyone to hear us fucking in your office, do you?” Your moans contradict his request, but you can’t help it. His hips were flicking up into you so fucking deliciously, and you couldn’t stop yourself from bucking right back into him. “Or maybe you do. You want someone to walk in and see one of their trainers getting their brains fucked out?”

“M-Maybe,” You couldn’t lie, the idea was enthralling. The idea and his dirty words made your toes curl and eyes roll to the back of your head. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it, almost as if he’d studied this.

“But I don’t want to get fired,” You whined a little too loudly.

“Well, then you better be a good girl and quiet down.”

In order to obey his demand, you brought one of your hands to cover your mouth. You allowed yourself to moan in your palm when his pace increased and he bottomed out completely. You could feel yourself fluttering around his cock as he rammed into you like no tomorrow.

His free hand traveled down to your clit and circled the throbbing bud with roughness. You shrieked against yourself, clenching tightly around his thick cock to compensate. Blindly, you are clawing at the skin on his neck and chest. Still, even when he was deep inside of you, you were terrified to look into his dark eyes.

With every thrust, you felt the way his muscles contracted against you. You felt and heard the way you drenched his cock even more with the sight. His muscles and body were the first thing that caught your eye about him to begin with, so you’re not totally surprised that you’re dripping from that.

He looks like a model. A statue. A god.

Small beads of sweat began to form on his abdomen, glazing down his chunks of muscle as he jammed harder into you. Your head hit the wall hard in ecstasy when he lowered himself to your neck and nibbled right below your ear. Every breath and groan that slipped from his mouth just sent you into overdrive and made you insane.

“I’m close,” You breathily warned, squeezing your leg tightly around him to push him even deeper. Tom groaned loudly on accident, too overpowered by the feeling of you.

“Wish I could hear your sweet sounds,” Tom mumbles as he pinches the top of your thighs to make you squeal. He resumes his attention on your clit, so he can distract himself from coming, because he knows he’s milliseconds away from absolutely losing it. “I know you’d sound so pretty screaming my name.”

“Tom,” You whimpered instead, eyes screwing closed. Your back began arching towards his buff chest and your breathing was becoming more rapid, indicating that your release was right around the corner. “I’m coming, shit.”

“Let go, love. C’mon, know you need it,” his lovely accent guided you through it with gravel encouragement. With another skillful rock of his cock, you were coming until you saw stars. Literally. Your eyes were closed so tightly that you saw little white specks in your vision. “There you go.”

Tom took that as his sign to finally relieve himself. As his thrust got sloppier, he helped you through it. With a fist to the wall and head in your shoulder, he came harshly in the condom.

Your body squirmed in his hold, already too sensitive. He gently let you stand on both feet, keeping you steady as you regained your balance. He removed the condom, tied it, and tossed it in the garbage.

“I can take out y’trash if you want me to,” Tom offered as you both slipped on your clothes. The humidity in the room seemed higher than ever, and then to put your clothes back on was just torturous.

“It’s alright, it’s not like anyone will go through it,” You reassured as you struggled to pull up your sticky leggings.

There was a moment of silence that made your heart rate pick up.You were both fully dressed and there was nothing stopping him from walking out. What was he thinking? Was he trying to find the best way to leave without being mean?

“I—” You both spoke at the same time, a flush burning your skins.

“Go ahead,” You insisted, too nervous and impatient for his response. He probably never wanted to see you again and that was fine, this was just a one-time thing that you will be thinking about occasionally. Or every day.

“Okay,” Now, Tom couldn’t seem to meet your eyes. He felt a tad nervous all of sudden as if he’d never talked to a girl before. He’s done this stuff loads of times, but he can’t help but get flustered like a school boy. “Can I… have your number? You can totally say no—”

“Yes,” You probably responded way too quickly, but you didn’t care. He wanted your number and you weren’t going to waste a second pretending to think about it. A smile grows on his face that was even bigger than his devilish smirk from earlier. “What does this mean?”

If you didn’t ask him, you would’ve been regretting it forever. You knew you wouldn't have had the courage to text him that question. What if he never even texted you, and he was just asking for your number to be nice?

“It means I’m going to text you.”

“Okay, well, thanks for clearing that up for me,” You rolled your eyes, but at least he was honest.

“Maybe ask you out too.”

“Really?” Your heart jumped on a trampoline in your chest, excitement bubbling up within you. You have been on a date in about a year, and Tom seems like a wet dream come true. You thought that maybe he wanted a friends with benefits arrangement, but a date? Is this real life?

“Yeah, if that’s something you want—”

“Yes,” You probably responded way too quickly, but you didn’t care. He wanted to take you on a freaking date and you weren’t going to waste a second pretending to think about it.

You did give him a free cardio session. The least he can do is take you out, right? What’s better than a free cardio session? Free food!

—

thanks for reading, this isn’t my favorite thing i’ve ever written because it felt a bit forced… so sorry about that 😭

tags: @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3 @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @theslayerofthevampires @breaxthing @eatshitanddiee

crossed out= not able to tag

#shawnxstyles #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fics #tom holland fan fics #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fan fic #tom holland gifs

[its-time-to-write]

i think we could do it if we tried

So I misread a prompt, and didn’t realize until halfway through the fic. This was the result and it ended up being weirdly personal? If you hate it or think it’s unrealistic, I know, it’s just wishful thinking, ok?😭

i think we could do it if we tried

You’re sure Jamie’s expression will be burned into your mind forever. After all, you’re the one who put it there. 

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” you say, tears streaming down your face, “I’m the one who’s breaking up with you.”

Jamie just laughs wetly. “Not your fault, though, is it?”

That just makes you cry harder. 

You and Jamie had been friends for a long time, and he’d been in love with you forever. You didn’t return the feeling until you turned eighteen. It was on your birthday, actually. He had insisted on wearing a birthday hat all day, despite that fact that he was at training and you were at home, so you didn’t see each other until the end of the day. Something about seeing the sparkly cone on his head did something to your heart, and there it was; you loved him. 

You suppose the love was always there, lying dormant, but now it had arisen. It took you a week to muster up the courage to tell him, but you did and now it felt like the world made sense. 

Now, a month later, you’re breaking up with him. 

Jamie had been playing football for a while now, and he was really, really good. You were beginning your studies as an undergrad and had your life mapped out until grad school. He was moving away soon and you were leaving tomorrow, but that wasn’t the reason you were breaking up. 

It’s because your parents didn’t approve. 

“I can’t make them understand,” you tell Jamie, willing yourself not to cry. “And… I know I’m eighteen, but they’re paying for university. They said they’d pay all the way through grad school, and I can’t afford it on my own.”

Jamie nods and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“God, it’s fuckin’ shitty, ain’t it?” he says. “Me ‘n you, finally figuring it out too late.”

You can only nod and sniff. Your parents told you that Jamie was a good friend, but nothing more. 

“You’re only projecting feelings onto him because you know he likes you,” your mum had said. “And besides, he plays football. Can’t support a family on that, can you?”

Any protests you made fell on deaf ears. Your parents never explicitly said they’d pull their financial support, but it was hinted. It hung in the air, poisoning the atmosphere in the house. Your mother’s displeasure saturated the building, affecting everyone inside. 

So here you are, standing in the dim light of Jamie’s mum’s porch, breaking up with him at 10pm. 

He knew it was coming, too. 

“Y’know I’d never want you to put your life on hold for me, yeah?” he’d said two days earlier. 

You just nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting football,” he continued, “Get a real job, stay closer.”

You had protested vehemently. He loved football, and he was good, like really good, and how could you ask him to give it up?

So yeah, it wasn’t a total blindside. 

Still hurt, though. 

You stood there, a long time, without speaking. You were memorizing each other’s faces and the way it felt being together for the last time. 

There’s a light on in Georgie’s room, and you wonder if she’ll still love you despite the fact you broke her baby’s heart. 

Jamie finally breaks the silence. “You should go,” he says, “before your parents figure out you’re gone.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just reach out and squeeze his hand. He pulls you in for a hug, the tightest one you’ve ever received, and you never want to let go. But you do. 

You fight the urge to say I’ll wait for you. I’ll find you when I’m done with school. We’ll make it work. But you don’t want to give him false hope. You don’t want to hurt him more than you already have. 

So instead, you whisper “I love you, Jamie Tartt,” and force yourself to walk away. 

— 

That was six years ago. You pushed yourself through school, got out with your BA in three and a half years, and scraped through your MA in two. There were times it felt a little like hell, but you persevered. 

You’re pretty sure the worst moment was during your third year, when your roommate, a football aficionado, started talking about Man City’s hotshot new player.  

“Oh my god, he’s like, so fucking sexy. The things he does on the pitch… he’s like, revolutionized the game.”

“Hm,” you say noncommittally, lost in a textbook. 

“Yeah, heard he’s a bit of a prick though. Grew up in Manchester, and he’s about our age. D’you reckon you knew him?”

“What?” you say, finally lifting your eyes from the page. “I didn’t grow up in Manchester, just lived there when I was a teenager.”

Your roommate shrugs. “Did you know a ‘Jamie Tartt?’ Dating Keeley Jones?”

And there it was. The worst moment of your whole university career. 

You turn back to your book in order to hide your face. “Doesn’t sound familiar,” you say, and your roommate doesn’t push it. She’s too busy telling you how Jamie and Keeley are the hottest, most perfect couple she’s ever seen. 

You’re past that now. It still feels like a stabbing pain every time you hear his name or see his face on a screen, but for the most part, you’ve shut down that part of your brain. 

You might have shut it down a little too successfully. 

In the last six years, you’ve been in exactly two relationships. Both short-lived, both leaving you with a sense of apathy. 

But, your parents approved of both of them. Didn’t matter that they were shallow, self-absorbed dickheads; “He’s cute and has a good job!” your mum had said, oblivious to the fact that she was replaying the exact same pitch to you from before. 

You had felt a rush of relief when the news hit that Jamie and Keeley had broken up. You hated hearing about all his escapades, and how much he hurt her. It made your heart ache, knowing he was burying himself in his prickish attitude the same way you were burying yourself in yours. 

Well, maybe that’s too harsh. You aren’t a prick per se, you’re just… cold. Emotionless. You felt very little this days, because every time you felt the tiniest bit of anything, everything threatened to overwhelm you. 

After school, you just… kept moving. No sense in going home, you loved your family but they made you feel like you were drowning. And you couldn’t make yourself go back to Manchester. 

Georgie called you from time to time, checking up on you. Turns out she didn’t hate you. She was actually rather worried. She never, ever mentioned Jamie. 

“You can’t just stop living life, love,” she had said one time. “That’s all it is: love and loss. You just keep moving forward.”

You took her advice literally, securing a good job that allowed you to work remotely. You moved to the east side of London, West Ham, but were never at your flat longer than a week. After all, you were hot and had a good job. Why not travel? You had no strings keeping you anywhere. 

Now you’re back in West Ham for two weeks, getting ready to go to Barcelona. A friend has a timeshare that she can’t make it to, so you volunteered to go. After all, it’s better to be apathetic in Barcelona than it is in West Ham, right?

Whatever the case, you’re here for much longer than you’d like to be, but you’re going to make the best of it. You have a friend from uni who lives near you, so you’re going out tonight. She wants to go to some upscale restaurant a couple minutes from your flat with a few other girls, and you decide that you’d rather not be alone tonight.

You don’t mention that it’s your birthday. You stopped celebrating them at nineteen.

Your hair and makeup are done, you’ve put together an appropriate fancy-dinner outfit, and you’d say you’re looking classy. You grab your bag and head out the door.

It’s only a ten-minute walk, and there are all kinds of people out. You wonder why, then remember it’s Saturday. That explains it. 

There’s an especially rowdy bunch of guys up ahead, seemingly corralled by a middle-aged man with a mustache. As you draw closer, you hear his accent. American, specifically mid-Western. You breeze by them, catching snatches of their conversations and a mix of accents.

Your ear tunes into someone saying, “…not what really happened,” with an accent that reminds you so much of Jamie’s, you find yourself rooted to your spot in the sidewalk, turning around to confirm that it is not, in fact, him.

You make eye contact with the middle-aged mustached man, who smiles at you and shrugs. “Footballers. What a rowdy bunch,” he says, “Wonder where their coach’s at?”

You surmise by his jocular tone that he’s their coach.

You give him a small smile and he comes over to you. Your feet still won’t move, because you haven’t confirmed that the voice was not Jamie. Or maybe because this man is a gaffer, and you want him to say something, anything about possibly knowing Jamie Tartt.

“I’m Ted,” he says, sticking out his hand.

You shake it and give him your name. At this point, his team have noticed that their coach is talking to someone new, and they descend like a flock of curious children.

There’s a chorus of hellos and one hola, but it’s all a little lost because all you can hear is one soft, “hey.”

“Hi,” you breathe. 

One look into Jamie Tartt’s blue eyes and you’re a goner, even after six years.

Ted looks from you to Jamie. “Oh, do y’all know each other? Jamie, why didn’t you say something?”

“Dunno,” Jamie says, keeping his eyes on you.

Ted, great man that he is, assesses the situation with alarming perception.

“Alright boys, why don’t we let Jamie catch up with his lady-friend, and we’ll just text him where we end up, sound good?” 

It does not sound good to them, because they can tell something interesting is about to happen, but Ted and another bearded American herd them away and down the street, leaving you and Jamie alone on the sidewalk.

“How you been?” he asks, looking awkward as you feel.

“I’ve been…” what word is there to describe how you’ve been? You settle for a shrug.

He nods and huffs out a single chuckle. “Yeah, that about sums it up, don’t it?”

“What about you?” you ask, reaching out to lightly tap his arm. “Heard you were some hotshot footballer.”

Jamie imitates your shrug. “Heard you were some hotshot something or the other.”

You crack a small smile at that. “Georgie tell you?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, “Felt the need to keep me updated. Don’t fuckin’ know why though.”

That hurts a little bit. This is a mistake, you think. You begin to realize, perhaps for the first time, that your pining after him was pointless. And one-sided.

That is, until Jamie says so softly you almost miss it, “Happy birthday, by the way.”

There it is. 

You open your mouth to say, I love you, but what comes out instead is, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Jamie asks in surprise.

“I’m just… sorry. For everything. For walking away. I don’t know, I feel like I should have fought it or something… I think about you all the time. I wish that I would’ve done something different, I guess. I know I can’t change it, but…” you shrug helplessly. 

Jamie just looks at you, head tilted. 

You huff out an awkward laugh. “Anyway. I should probably go. Meeting a bunch of girls for drinks and dinner.”

“You hate that shit,” Jamie says, and it comes out the exact same way he would have said it six years ago. Like he’s comfortable with you, like he knows every single tick in your brain.

“I do,” you agree ruefully. “Just couldn’t get out of it, I guess. Didn’t have a good excuse.”

“Go out with me,” Jamie suggests, impulsively. But then, he was never one for forethought. 

Your mouth opens to decline, then shuts.

“You’re done with school, yeah?” Jamie continues, “Mum said you haven’t been home in ages. Said she knows more about you than your parents. What if… what if we gave it another go? We’re fuckin’ adults, ain’t we? Let’s just fucking try.”

He’s looking at you, so full of anxious hope that it makes you want to cry. You can feel a few tears fighting their way forward.

“Jamie,” you say, “Jamie I don’t know. I mean- I hurt you. I knew what I was doing would hurt you and I did it anyway. I could hurt you again.”

Jamie replies, “Weren’t your fault though, was it?” and you’re taken back so vividly to that front porch.

You look at him, really look at him for the first time in six years. He’s older, you realize, and you think that he must think something similar about you. He’s calmer, almost- gentler? Still the same Jamie though, with the blonde highlights and the slit in his eyebrow. Outrageous sense of fashion, one that is no longer dulled by the ominous presence of his father. He’s more sure of himself, you think, and you realize you’re more sure too.

There isn’t anything hanging over your head threatening to take your livelihood away.

It’s poetic, really. You, him, in the dim streetlight. Deciding to begin again exactly six years after it ended.

“Jamie,” you say again, because you love the way his name feels on your lips, “I didn’t ever stop loving you. I don’t ever want to stop loving you.”

He’s taken a step closer, and there’s mere centimeters between you. 

“Y’know I’d never want you to put your life on hold for me, right?” you whisper, “Been thinking about stopping traveling. Maybe settle down closer, focus on my job more.”

Jamie smiles. “Go out with me,” he says. “Skip your dinner. You’d have a shit time, anyway.”

You smile back and reach out for his hand. It still fits perfectly in yours. Maybe even better.

“I would love to.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[ghostiexe]

Teacher!Wilbur x Teacher!Reader Part 2

hello friends & merry christmas to those who celebrate! my gift is chapter two of this haha. i might start doing a taglist, so please let me know if you want added!! cw: lots of awkward conversation (not uncomfortable topics wilbur is just shy), wilbur spills boiling hot coffee on his hand, i think that's it!

words: 3,831

also, welcome tommy to the stage everybody :)

part one here

On Monday, you find yourself waking up to the realization that your alarm never went off. A panicked sound slips past your lips, and you practically throw yourself out of bed. 

Okay, yes, a bit dramatic. However, you really don’t want to have to rush to get ready. You ended up having to go home before you were able to finish decorating your room, so you had been hoping to get to the school as early as possible and get it done. 

You start to root through all your clothes, still mildly panicked. You finally find something suitable to wear, shoving it on and glancing yourself up and down in your full length mirror on your closet door. You sigh softly and nod at yourself, a weak attempt to hype yourself up. Then you drag yourself to the bathroom and start to brush your teeth, staring at yourself blankly in the mirror before you lean down, spit out the toothpaste, and hurry to finish the rest of your routine. 

On your way out the front door several minutes later, you adjust your shoulder bag and sigh as you check the time on your phone. You don’t live too far away from the school, only a couple blocks, so you opt to walk. You don’t have a car, anyway– it had broken months ago, and you didn’t have the energy or money to get it looked at. 

So, walking it is. 

It only takes you about five minutes to get to the school, and when you arrive, you rush through the building to your room, shivering slightly from the walk. The school was mostly barren outside of a couple kids who were waiting outside and a few teachers you passed, though you didn’t know them. As you finally make it to your room, you reach for the door until you notice the sound of arguing a couple doors down. 

You probably shouldnt pry, but your curiosity gets the better of you and you slip down to the door, peeking inside to discover Wilbur bickering with some tall blonde kid with curly hair and bright blue eyes. Wilbur is standing with his back turned to the door, trying to hang up a map, while the (presumably) teen boy sits on his dark oak desk and chastises Wilbur on his “horrible placement skills”. You clear your throat and they both turn their attention to you.

The blonde kid just stares at you, but Wilbur smiles. “Oh, hello!” He greets you. You nod, eyes slightly furrowed as you take in his outfit. It’s quite old looking, but it goes perfectly well with his large glasses. 

“You look like you came straight out of the ‘90s.” You say instead of greeting him back, leaning on his doorframe. His face goes a bit pink and the blonde kid laughs loudly. 

“That’s what I told him!” He says gleefully, like he’s just won an argument. Maybe he has. 

Wilbur groans. “Tommy, go find your classes or something.” He grumbles, and you feel a flicker of confusion at the way the two of them interact. “Uh, and who is this, again, Wilbur?” You ask, pushing yourself upright instead of leaning and wandering further into his room. It’s a bit dark, the overhead lights are turned off. Instead, the room is lit by several lamps. You quite like it. 

“Oh.” Wilbur says, gesturing to the blonde kid. “This is my brother, Tommy. He’s 17, I’m technically his legal guardian.” He says, and you nod, not pressing for further information. Tommy chimes in. “I’m actually a very strong man.” He informs you. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” You say with a laugh, starting to take in the rest of Wilbur’s classroom. “It looks nice in here, you’ve done a nice job.” You say, looking over at him. A playful grin spreads across your face. “Mr. Soot.” You add. Wilbur smiles bashfully. 

“Thank you. Tommy hates it.” He says, running a hand through his brown curls. You laugh. 

“Well, I don’t. It’s very cozy.” You say. Tommy groans. “Ugh, who cares about cozy? It needs some spice. Some danger.” Tommy insists, hopping off of Wilbur’s desk and sauntering towards the door. He salutes lazily to the two of you. “Anyway, have fun talking about boring teacher stuff, I’m going to go see if they have breakfast yet.” He says, then promptly walks away, sneakers squeaking as he goes. You and WIlbur both wince at the noise. 

“He does it just to annoy me.” Wilbur informs you as the two of you both stare at where he just walked away. Wilbur’s gaze flickers over to you, and you nod. 

“Little brothers.” You say, looking over and meeting his gaze. Wilbur cracks a small smile. 

“Little brothers.” He agrees. 

– 

Four short (or painfully long, you can’t decide) hours later, it’s finally lunch break, and you immediately slump down onto your desk, groaning as you rest your head against it. Your kids were pretty good, and it was pretty relaxed since it was only the first day, but you’ve already got an itch on which kids will be causing trouble. 

Tommy had ended up in your second period, and to your pleasant surprise, he was actually very enthusiastic about the topics you discussed teaching that year when you went through the class modules and he had very smugly told you to watch out for when he came back for your creative writing class later today. 

You actually quite like Tommy, and his friends. He told you he’s friends with everybody, but you can tell by the way that most kids avoid him that he was just saying that. He does have these two kids that he was talking to, though, a short brown-haired boy and a really (ridiculously) tall boy with a mask. You don’t remember most of the names of the kids in your class, which– yeah, you should probably work on that– but Tommy’s group seemed mostly pleasant, if a bit chaotic. 

Back to the present, you lift your head off of your desk and sigh as you reach for your tupperware with your lunch in it, dragging yourself to the teacher’s lounge to heat up your leftovers from dinner last night. When you get there, you see Wilbur hovering awkwardly by the microwave, posture a bit hunched as a small group of random teachers talk on the other side of the room. 

You walk up to Wilbur and almost tap on his shoulder, but you refrain. You don’t know much about him, after all, he might not be okay with casual touch. Instead, you stand next to him. 

“Hey.” You greet him, and he startles slightly, then his body languish shifts into something softer and less tense when he sees you. He offers you a stilted smile. 

“Oh, hello.” He says, reaching to open the microwave when it beeps. “How has your first day been so far?” He asks, pulling his food out and pushing his glasses up with his opposite hand. You hum as you think of how to word your answer. 

“Good, but exhausting.” You say after a moment, and he laughs softly, looking down at his food. 

“That’s fair. At least you’ve got the upperclassman, yeah?” He asks, stepping away from the microwave and gesturing for you to go ahead. You pop your food in and start it, then turn back to him, clearing your throat. 

“You’re right. Uh, how’s your day going?” You ask, and he cringes. 

“Uhh, I think okay? The kids certainly haven’t forgotten that I’m the boring teacher, though. Um, hopefully I’ll be able to get them interested, though.” He says, tapping his fingers against his food container. Your eyes drift down to them and you notice how calloused they are, but don’t mention it. 

“I’ll manifest it for you.” You say, smiling a little bit, and he laughs a bit breathlessly. 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” He says, shaking his head and shuffling awkwardly. 

The microwave beeps and you pull your food out, looking up at Wilbur, who’s staring down at his shoes. 

“...Do you want to eat with me?” You ask, breaking the awkward silence. “Okay.” He agrees, looking back at you, then glancing around the teacher’s lounge. “Um, we can eat in my room.” He decides, then his gaze flickers back to you. “If that’s okay.” 

You nod, cracking a smile. “That sounds nice. Thank you.” You tell him, holding your food close to your chest. He smiles back, this time a little less awkwardly, and nods. 

“Okay, then. Um, it should be pretty quiet there. The only kid that really drops by is one of my brother’s friends, but I don’t know if he’ll be doing that a bunch this year.” He explains, and the two of you start the walk to his classroom, holding your respective tupperware containers. 

“Oh? The tall one with the mask, or the really short one? Or are there some other secret friends hiding around the school somewhere?” You ask, since it’s wholly possible that Tommy has more than just two friends. 

“Ah, the tall one.” Wilbur tells you, unlocking his door and holding it open for you. “Thank you.” You say, stepping inside and then letting him usher you over to his desk. He pulls over a comfy looking chair for you and gestures for you to sit, pulling over his own spinny chair to face you. 

The two of you sit, and you tap your fingers awkwardly on the lid of your container. He looks at you, then down to your hands, then he clears his throat and starts to tap his blunt nails against his desk. 

“Well.” He says, like he has something to say, but he doesn’t add anything after that, looking up to stare at you blankly. 

You blink slowly. “Well…” You agree, sitting back in the chair and crossing your legs. 

Wilbur takes the lid off his food and starts to poke at it with a black plastic fork. You set your food down in your lap. 

“The Front Bottoms.” You say, trying to break the silence. He looks up at you, looking mildly bewildered, then huffs out a breathless laugh. 

“What?” He asks, a bit of the tension melting away. You laugh too. 

“Sorry. I just meant… Um, you like The Front Bottoms. What else do you listen to?” You ask, and he smiles shyly, looking down at his food. 

“Oh, well, I like a little bit of everything.” He says, sounding a bit bashful. 

“Come on, lay it on me.” You say, waving your hand as if to brush off his shyness. “Okay…” He says slowly, clearly trying to think. “Well… My favorite band is called Los Campesinos!, they’re a seven piece Welsh band.” He explains, pushing his glasses up with one finger. You think it’s adorable. “But I also like Crywank, Arctic Monkeys, um… The Strokes, american poetry club, Modern Baseball…” He cuts himself off. “Sorry, I’m talking a lot.” He apologizes. 

“No, no, it’s okay! I asked, after all.” You reassure him, reaching over to pat his hand before pulling away and starting to poke at your food with your fork. “I know a couple of those bands, we have similar music tastes.” You say, lifting your fork and covering your mouth with your hand as you chew. 

He smiles at that. “Oh, yay!” He says, clapping his hands lightly. You swallow and smile. “What music do you listen to?” He asks, looking genuinely intrigued. You think for a moment, genuinely drawing a blank. 

“Oh, well, um…” You say, furrowing your eyebrows. He takes a bite of his food. “I- Uh, sorry, I’m not good on the spot.” You apologize, and he shakes his head. 

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about music another time.” He says, leaning back in his chair. “You’re right.” You agree, setting your food down again in your lap. “By the way, what’s with the outfit?” You ask, immediately regretting the way you worded it when he frowns. “I love it! Seriously.” You add hurriedly, reaching over and patting his knee. “Just curious.” 

He shifts slightly when you pat his knee and he crosses his legs, scratching his jaw as he thinks. “Uh, well… I’m not sure, I just like how it looks.” He says, gesturing to his outfit. “It reminds me of my favorite teacher from when I was in middle school. He was quite old, honestly, but he’s sort of my inspiration for becoming a teacher.” Wilbur explains, a light blush on his face. The soft ‘awww’ slips past your lips before you can stop yourself. “That’s… actually really sweet.” You say, smiling at him gently. “I kinda just assumed you were into the vintage fashion scene.” You say with a soft giggle. 

“Well,” he says with a short laugh, “that’s also true. I mean, the glasses should make that obvious.” He says, gesturing to his face. 

“Well, it suits you!” You say, smiling. “Seriously, I think you look very handsome.” You tell him, taking another few bites of your food before closing the tupperware and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He smiles. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it, usually the students just make fun of me and call me old.” He says with a soft laugh. “Well, clearly they have no culture.” You joke, gaze wandering from him to the bookshelf in the corner of his room. “Oh, do you mind if I take a look?” You ask, pointing at it. 

“No, of course I don’t mind.” He says, putting his hands on his knees and standing up. You follow the action, walking with him to the back of the room. “This side is all textbooks,” he explains, gesturing to the right side, “but the other is all books I’ve brought from home for students to borrow.” He says. You nod and trace your finger over the spines of some of the books, glancing across them. 

“I should do that, too.” You say, tilting your head to the side to read some of the titles. He hums. 

“Yeah, you are the English teacher after all. Don’t want to get caught lacking.” He says, and you roll your eyes fondly. 

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he speaks again. “You look nice, too, by the way.” He says. 

You’re confused for a moment. “Huh?” His face goes a bit pink. “You said I look handsome. Um, you look great too. Your style suits you well.” He explains, and it’s suddenly your turn to blush. “Thank you.” You say bashfully, brushing a bit of hair out of your face. “Yeah, of course.” He tells you, reaching to pull a book out of the shelf, but suddenly the bell is ringing. You jump slightly and huff, placing a hand on your chest as your heart races. 

“Fuck, I need to get used to the bell.” You complain under your breath, standing up straight. “Thanks for letting me eat with you, Wilbur, I seriously appreciate it.” You tell him. He nods. “No problem. I wouldn’t mind making it a habit.” He says, smiling at you. “Let me walk you to your classroom.” He tells you.

“And I wouldn’t mind that either.” You agree. “It’s only a few doors down.” You remind him. A couple kids start filing into his class. 

“I know.” He says. “Please?” He gives you his best puppydog eyes and you roll your eyes. 

“Okay, fine.” You relent, and he beams. 

The two of you walk out of his room and he walks on the left side of you as you make your way down the hallway. Once you make it to your door, he opens it for you and you shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Why, thank you, Mr. Soot.” You say, bowing clumsily at him. He giggles. 

“Yeah, yeah. See you later.” He says. 

“See you later.” You agree, nodding and stepping into your class. You sigh as you walk over to your desk, watching the student pile inside. 

Time for your first creative writing class of the semester. 

– 

By the end of the day, you’re absolutely exhausted, and you feel like a mess. You probably look the part, too, seeing as Tommy gives you a weird look when he walks past you later in the hallway on your way to the teacher’s lounge on your prep period. You’ve been in there for probably twenty minutes now, just holding a mug of herbal tea and staring blankly at the floor. The ceramic mug is hot under your hands, a pleasant burn on the pads of your fingers as you space out. 

All in all, not an awful first day, just… wow, you need to decompress. You’re so thankful that you didn’t assign anything for the first day, God knows you can’t grade right now. You’re mostly alone there until about fifteen minutes until school ends, when Wilbur happens to walk in, bee-lining toward the coffee machine. His sudden entrance makes you snap out of it, and you look up at him, walking as he sighs and waits for the coffee, having not yet noticed you. 

After a minute of watching him in silence, he finally turns, holding his mug of coffee in his hands. Apparently he was not at all expecting anyone else to be in here, because he jolts slightly and a bit of coffee splashes out and all over his hand. He hisses in pain and sets the mug down, and you stand up. 

“Oh, shit.” You say, setting down your own mug and walking over to him, lifting his hand and examining it. You drag him over to the sink and turn on the cold water, guiding his hand under it and holding it there, your own hand also under the water. 

“This is embarrassing.” He mumbles after a moment, then laughs softly. “It’s fine. I’ve spilt boiling water on myself too many times.” You say, trying to console him. He hums in acknowledgement and you blink when you realize that you don’t need to be holding his hand anymore, pulling it away and wiping it off on your shirt. “Uh, you can take your hand out when it feels a bit better.” You tell him, walking over to the small table and grabbing some napkins. After a moment, the water turns off and you turn to hand the napkins to him. He dries off his hand and looks down, crumpling the napkins and tossing them into the trash. “Kobe!” You whisper shout, a habit ingrained into you from hearing teen boys do the exact same thing for years. He giggles and shakes his head, and you gesture for him to show you his hand. He lifts it obediently for you and you examine it before humming thoughtfully to yourself. “It doesn’t look bad, it’s only a first degree burn.” You tell him, letting go of his hand. “I have some lotion, it’ll help.” You say, looking up into his eyes. He nods, smiling shyly. 

“It’s okay, you don’t need to.” He says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Are you sure? It’ll soothe the burn.” You insist. He relents after a moment. 

“Okay. Thank you, I appreciate it.” He tells you, letting you lead him back to your classroom. You hum as you unlock the door and beckon him inside, taking his hand again as you lift your lotion from your desk and take a little bit of it, spreading it gently across his hand. He hums softly as you do so, and after a moment, you let go of his hand and spread the remaining lotion across your own hands. 

“Does that feel any better?” You ask him, and he just looks down at his hand before glancing at you again. “Um, yes, thank you.” He says, smiling shyly. “You’re too kind, really.” 

You both laugh softly and then you brush a bit of hair out of your face. “It’s no problem, Wilbur.” You assure him, smiling softly. “...we’re friends, right?” You ask, a little bit cautious now.

He seems surprised, but nods eagerly. “Yes! Yes, we’re friends.” He says, reaching a hand out to awkwardly pat your shoulder, but it is a bit comforting. You relax. “Okay, cool.” You say. “Cool.” He mimics. “Coooool.” You say, leaning forward slightly and smiling up at him. 

He giggles and tentatively pushes your face away. “No more cool.” He says, trying to sound firm, and you return his giggle. 

“Sorry.” You apologize, straightening up. “I’m glad that you’re my friend.” You say. “You’re pretty cool.” 

“I’m hardly cool.” He scoffs, but he’s smiling widely. “I’m glad you’re my friend, too.” He agrees. 

After you lock up your classroom and the two of you start going back to the teacher’s lounge to take care of both of your mugs. You both work in relative silence, only speaking again once both of you have finished. 

“I hope you don’t mind…” Wilbur says, breaking the silence and glancing over at you. “But is it okay if I could get your phone number or something? Just so we don’t have to only talk at lunch and during our prep periods.” He explains, running a hand through his messy curls. 

You ignore the way you have instant butterflies in your stomach, nodding. “Yeah! Yeah, of course, here, let me get my information pulled up.” You agree, pulling out your phone and smiling giddily to yourself before handing your phone to him. 

“Thank you.” He says, looking a bit flustered as he puts your contact in his phone, then hands your phone back. “Text me so I can save your number, too.” You instruct him, looking down at your phone expectantly. After a moment, a text comes in that simply says ‘hi :)’. 

You smile and send back an enthusiastic ‘hi!!!’ before saving his number as “Mr Soot >:)” 

He giggles when he gets your text, shutting his phone off and putting it in his pocket. The bell rings, and you both look at the door. 

“Well…” WIlbur says. “I look forward to talking to you.” He says, awkwardly extending his arm for a fist bump. You smack your fist against his and then unfurl your fingers as you 

pull your arm away, making an attempt at an exploding sound as you do so. 

“Text me whenever you want.” You tell him with a soft smile as you look up into his eyes. He nods and stuffs his hands into his pockets, smiling back at you. 

“Okay, I will. Thank you again.” He says. “You seem very nice, I’m glad that our rooms are so close.” He says, face tinged a bit pink. 

“I’m glad, too.” You say. 

You definitely don’t spend the rest of your evening at home waiting (im)patiently for him to text you, and you definitely don’t kick your feet and shove your face in a pillow when he finally does.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x you #wilbur soot fanfic

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

I'm going to say this on every chapter i post here LOL, but GO TO CHAPTER 1 AND READ!!!!! MY!!!!!!! WARNINGS!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 3

[Prev] [Next]

You loved your office, you really did.  Two of your coworkers were your best friends from high school, the work-life balance was ideal, your bosses were super understanding and encouraging of all their employees endeavors, and the weekly catered lunches truly felt like a luxury.

The only qualm was the noise.

The office had an open layout, and while everyone had their own desk, it was very easy to move around the space and talk to everyone while on and off the job.  This meant any personal phone calls had to be taken out of the entire vicinity.  And in your case, into an unlocked broom closet across the industrial building’s hallway, in front of another agency’s door.

You were sitting on a plastic box containing something you weren’t sure of, anxiously bouncing your feet as your heart hammered in your chest.  Each time the ringback tone exited your speakers caused another cold wave of anxiety to flood from your head to the soles of your feet.  You swallowed a thick glob of spit as you struggled to maintain your breathing.  You were sure your blouse was going to have armpit stains when you returned to your desk.

Finally, a voice picked up the other line.

[Thank you for calling Grand Line Gynecology and Obstetrics, how can I help you today?]

The sweet, welcoming voice of the receptionist on the other end of the line made you breathe a sigh of relief, though you weren’t out of the woods just yet.  Far from it.  “Hi, uhm, I’m a patient with Dr. Robin, and I was wondering if I would be able to get an appointment as soon as possible.”

A few keyboard clicking noises followed your request.

[Can I have your name and date of birth?]

You quietly relayed your information, biting your lip impatiently.  More typing sounds could be heard.

[Alright, Mrs. Trafalgar, and do you mind if I ask the purpose of your visit?]

You knew it was important information for your doctor to know prior to seeing you, but the thought still made a heavy pit develop in your stomach.  “Uhm… f-fertility consultation…?  I guess.”

More clicking.

[Of course, I’m looking up Dr. Robin’s availability right now, hold on just a moment, please!]

You’ve dealt with crappy phone receptionists in the past, but whoever was usually on the receiving end of your calls to your gynecologist was always so pleasant.  You could never quite recognise her voice in person, but her bubbly and patient speech was always greatly appreciated during your otherwise anxious phone calls.  Finally, she came back onto the line.

[Dr. Robin’s next available appointment isn’t for three months, unfortunately, but I can still fit you into that time slot if you would like!  I can also write your name down, so if any appointments open up sooner, we will give you a call.]

You breathed another sigh of relief.  “That would be amazing, thank you.”

[Alright, Mrs. Trafalgar, I have you marked down for Thursday, May 1st at 10:00 AM.  We’ll give you a call if anything changes and you can always call us if you develop other concerns, okay?]

You smiled at the broom closet floor.  “I appreciate it, thank you very much.”  The phone clicked off after trading goodbyes, your arm falling onto your lap.  You hadn’t realized how tight you were gripping your phone until then, your hand trembling with how harsh your hold was on the device.  With a sigh, you opened your text conversation with Law.

Hi baby, I just called the obgyn, they cant fit me in until may 1st but she said if anything opens up theyll call me back.  Fingers crossed something opens up sooner, hopefully you dont have to wait as long!  I’ll see you later, i love youuuuu ^3^

You put your phone to sleep and stuffed it into the pocket of your trousers as you finally exited the broom closet.  An employee of the agency across from yours was entering his office and tossed you a very confused glance at you leaving the innocuous room, but you paid him no mind as you walked back into your office to continue your work.

“There you are, I was wondering where you went!”  Ikkaku was waiting for you at your desk with her work laptop in hand.  “I wanted to go over a few designs with you, but when I went to find you, you were just, POOF!  Gone like the wind!”

You laughed at her excited talking, finally sitting at your desk again and grabbing an unoccupied chair for your friend to sit in.  “Sorry to make you wait, I had to take a phone call.”

Ikkaku brushed off having to wait with a cheery, “It’s fine!  No biggie!” before opening her laptop and inputting her passcode.  You felt your phone buzz in your pocket.  While Ikkaku was opening her files, you slipped out your device and tapped the screen.

Baby~~<3

Hopefully something opens up, but it’s good that you at least got an appointment.  I got my appointment with urology on my lunch break today.  We’re making steps.  I love you, see you later.

You smiled at the text.

“Why does Law need to see a urologist?” Ikkaku whispered beside you, making you jump and hide your screen.  She was looking at you with curiosity in her big, brown eyes.

“It’s nothing, really.”  You quickly shoved your phone back into your pocket.  Ikkaku was your best friend, she really was, but the last thing you wanted to do was bring up your potential infertility issues while on the clock, and especially while your anxieties were still fresh and raw at the forefront of your brain.

Ikkaku must have sensed your profound fear, as she shrugged and turned her attention back to her laptop.  “So here’s what I was drafting…”

—

While you had to wait around three months for your appointment, Law’s was scheduled shockingly quick.  Almost too quick for his liking.  The following week.  Which, to Law’s mutual discomfort and relief, came much quicker than he thought it would.  

He was thanking the heavens above that he had the day off for once.

Law followed all the rules to a T before the appointment.  No ejaculation 2-3 days prior, but no longer than 5.  He’d jerk off into a sterile cup in the clinic, hand that to the doctor, and wait a few hours.  While waiting, he’d get his hormone blood work collected.  Easy as pie.  He walked into the clinic feeling oddly confident in himself and his abilities to follow pre-procedure protocol, as a doctor himself.  The brief moment of cocky joy was interrupted as soon as the fertility doctor entered the examination room Law was sitting in.

“Alriiiight!  Mr. Trafalgar Law!”  The doctor was shouting his name before even closing the door, making the black-haired man cringe.  The nametag on the open laboratory-style coat he wore read ‘Dr. Franky.’  Next to the name tag was a little enamel pin of a robot.  The door was closed with a moderate slam.  “You’re that cardiologist from New World Hospital, right?  You’re crazy popular, so cool to see you in the clinic!  So we’re here to check on your little swimmers, huh?”  Dr. Franky, who was shockingly tall and very broad in the shoulders, plopped into his seat and placed his laptop on the counter in front of him.  

The force of him sitting on the stool caused the pneumatic tube to compress forcefully downwards.  Law had a mental image in his head of the tube exploding and propelling the spring upward into the doctor’s ass.  He barely even registered the fact that his reputation as the city’s leading cardiothoracic surgeon seemed to have followed him to his semen analysis appointment.  He shook his head quickly before nodding.  “Uh, yeah, semen analysis.”

Dr. Franky was rapidly typing in whatever patient portal he was using.  “Semen analysis is such an uppity thing to call it, I personally like calling it the Super Swimming Meet!”  He laughed, the voice echoing around the small room and making Law wince.  He finally finished typing, slamming his laptop closed.  It was then Law noticed a few pieces of scotch tape holding the laptop’s hinges together.  (What kind of clinic is this?)  Franky’s booming voice interrupted Law’s thoughts.  “All you have to do is wank off into this cup here.  Cap it tightly and bring it to the nurse’s station when you’re done and it’ll get sent off into the lab!”

Law carefully took the cup from the doctor, his face heating up in embarrassment.  “Uhm… thank you.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with before I leave you to it?”

Law wanted to ask if there was a different room he should be doing this in, or if handing the cup to a random nurse was proper protocol, but he honestly wanted nothing more than to get out of there as quickly as possible.  He was starting to regret his colleagues at the hospital giving him clinic recommendations.  “Uhh… no thank you, I think that’s everything.”

“Alright, Mr. Trafalgar, I’ll let you get to it!”  Dr. Franky left fairly quickly, much to Law’s relief.  His ears were still ringing with the volume of the doctor’s voice.

Law was now left alone, sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair, holding the empty sterile plastic cup.  After that interaction, the last thing he was thinking of doing was masturbating, but he needed to get it over with.  For your sake, and his.

He awkwardly stood and undid his belt, letting his pants and boxers fall to the floor before placing a few napkins onto the plastic chair and sitting back down.  He shivered at the cold feeling of the napkin-covered chair against his bare ass.  This was the least erotic situation he could’ve ever experienced.  He figured it would be far from the norm, but this was beyond any expectation he could’ve developed.  He shivered.

Grabbing the cup again, Law unscrewed the cap just enough so that he’d be able to pop it open as soon as he needed to.  When he stared at his flaccid dick, however, he uttered a defeated sigh.

‘Think of something to get you hard, man, think of your wife,’ he told himself.  Even his inner voice was desperate.

The sterile doctor’s office was completely inhibiting any thoughts of you to remain permanent in his head.  Every time he tried to think of your smell, your taste, the feeling of your bare flesh against his fingers, he would inhale and take in the bland stench of sterile alcohol and plastic.  He groaned.

Reaching into his pants pocket on the floor, he procured his phone.  Opening an incognito window on his web browser, he inwardly apologized to you (and double checked that the door was locked) before opening up a porn website for the first time since he was an undergrad in college.

—

Law came home a few hours after you.  You were standing at the stove setting the oven preheat temperature, a loaf pan of uncooked banana bread sitting on the stove top waiting to bake.  You turned to ask how his appointments went, but kept your mouth shut when you saw Law kick his shoes off and sit at the bar counter in your kitchen, placing his head in his hands.

“What happened?” you hurried over to him, immediately growing anxious that he had received bad news.  Your stomach turned.

He lifted his head.  “I… I had to watch porn today.”

#trafalgar law x reader #fem reader #law x reader #reader insert #x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece x reader #op x reader #im losing you

[vintagetimetarot]

What will your December be like? ❄️☃️ (Christmas themed) + love messages ♡︎

Hello everyone! Before I take my hiatus, I wanted to give y’all a reading to make up for not answering asks, or them being put on hold. Today I decided to make a monthly reading, and I added some love messages as well if you are interested, and to again make up for the lack of asks answered. Let’s get to it! (Also, I know this is Christmas themed, but you don’t have to be a certain religion for this reading at all, I’m not even Christian myself.) take what resonates and simply disregard what doesn’t. Pick a vintage Christmas album below!

Pile 1: I feel like the overall theme for your month is that you need to let go of the negatives currently going on in your life and what is making you dissatisfied. I see you guys might also have seasonal depression? But anyways. You’re gonna have to work very hard to make this a good month. I feel like you are struggling to stay positive or be happy right now, and if you don’t fix this it’ll just carry on into the next month. The cards suggest you can have a great month by putting yourself out there more in all aspects of your life. Go for that job you want! Kiss that guy/girl you like! Follow your dreams! But also be realistic with yourself and revaluate what you want first for this month, before you plan to pursue. You still have a couple weeks! I see this being a balanced month for you when you work hard. I think you’ll be improving in your job/school studies this month, regardless of what happens. I also think your personal relationships will be growing more this month, I think new people are going to enter your life. But I’m getting that you guys are guarded, but let these people in! They aren’t here to sabotage you. This will be a month of personal growth and divine timing and retribution for you, take it how it resonates. In terms of love this month, I see you exploring your romantic feelings, but this mainly will be about staying optimistic about your love life and working on self love this month. Love can’t fully come into your life if you can’t love yourself first for right now! Sorry if this was quite short, but this is all I got, I hope this resonated.

Pile 2: I think December is going to a very happy and successful mont for you. You may find yourself spending time and improving relationships with your family and friends. I also see your manifestations coming to fruition, whatever they are, this is your message that it’s coming this month! Things are being worked on behind the scenes. But these could be delayed if you keep up a lack of faith, which I see most of you guys have right now. Just because your manifestations don’t come ASAP doesn’t mean they aren’t coming. I see you making new friends this month, your social circle is going to expand greatly. I think you’ve been not your best lately, and that cycle is going to come to an end this month. I think this is mainly because you are learning to accept help from others. Things overall are just going to go smoothly this month, especially the holidays will be a healing time for you. In terms of love, I see that you make be deceived on what you have convinced yourself is happening right now, very specific message, but if you have an ex, they may be trying to win you back this month, but don’t fall for it. You two broke up for a reason. For those who are single, I think someone in your life currently is going to want to take things to a serious level with you. This is the time to express your love and not hold back, so things work out. I honestly feel like this is more casual and more familial like love, I’m not getting the vibe of a HUGE romantic month honestly. But it’s still gonna be great. That’s all I got, I hope this resonated!

Pile 3: This month is going to be go fast, and major change is going to happen. This is change you’ve been waiting for, but it won’t happen out of nowhere, YOU are gonna make the changes yourself believe it or not this month. Whatever you’ve been waiting for this what this is. You may find people being kinder to you and more generous this month. I think you are going to be extremely productive in terms of work/school. I think you are also going to make a significant connection while you’re at it in this area of life while you increase in productivity. I see you turning your back on things that don’t serve you anymore and finally taking the lead. This could be unhealthy relationships, stepping up your game in work/school, leaving a home environment or area that caused you turmoil, and more. You’ll be faced to make big choices this month as well, which will have large effects. In regards to love, I think you still need to wait or put a pause on that. Good things are coming, but not this month in love. You’ll be very focused on material things for now. The universe is just taking its time to make sure it all works out, and give you the best romantic situation possible. In terms of romance, you could be thinking about past relationships and exes, which is why you aren’t ready for something new yet. I think you are still inexperienced when it comes to love. Your reading is quite short, this month won’t be too eventful, but things will still change. That’s all I got, hope it resonates.

Pile 4: I think you guys are suffering right now. A lot. The past year or months might have been really rough on you. But this month, things will change, I promise. I think you may take a trip this month and that is going to be very healing for you. Or your travel life (small or big) will help you a lot this month. Your relationships will be crucial this month, all around. I think your messages will improve this month drastically, especially if they were previously causing you turmoil. I think many problems are going to get resolved this month, but with time more than anything. I see your mental state improving and getting out of this self deprecating mindset. I think with your relationships, you’ll become better at resolving conflict this you. In terms of romance, it’s safe for you to love. I think you’ll actually have people admiring you and pursuing you romantically more this month. For example, you may notice people flirting with you more. I don’t see this as straight up relationships left and right, but you’ll be discovering and exploring more of your romantic feelings this month. You’ll decide what you really want or will be, and that’s why you probably won’t be pursuing a relationship. I didn’t get much for this pile, so I advise you to go to another pile you were drawn to for more information on this month. That’s all I got, I hope this resonates.

#tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot

[novacorpsrecruit]

I’m With You

@steddielovemonth prompt: love is protection

wc: 1,061 | Rating T | cw: brief homophobia, fighting, wild Tommy Hagan appearance

Steve didn’t know he was in love until it happened.

After the events of Vecna, Eddie’s near death experience and Steve’s matching infected bat bites, the two grew closer. They shared a hospital room, pumped full of morphine and antibiotics as they healed.

Eddie’s name was cleared, thanks to the shady government, but Eddie wasn’t sure if that was enough. Most of Hawkins had already looked at him funny. He wasn’t sure if the cover story of almost dying by the hands of Victor Creel like Chrissy, Freddie, Patrick and Jason would be enough to save his name. Steve’s told him plenty of times to not to worry about other people. If anyone bothers Eddie, Steve will protect him.

They made plans, lying in the hospital beds covered in bandages to move out of Hawkins before the end of the year.

And maybe morphine promises are all what they’re worth.

Two months have gone by, summer coming in full force. The two were near inseparable. Spending late nights in Eddie’s new trailer or in the Harrington home. Sharing a bed, maybe a little too close for just friends. Waking up to share breakfast or maybe lunch. Dinners with Wayne. Nights at the drive in. Steve wouldn’t trade this friendship for the world.

Steve was back working at Family Video, picking up extra shifts to get a little extra money stuffed away for their escape. They talked about moving out of Hawkins sooner. Eddie’s had a hard time finding work after graduating. Not many people wanted to be associated with him. He was lucky that he didn’t cause Wayne to be fired.

So often, he spends his time with Steve at work. Steve didn’t mind at all. It made the day go faster. He brightened up every time Eddie walks in, ready to bug Steve and Robin. Plus, if anyone gave Eddie any shit, Steve would be right there to help him.

Robin told him he’s hopeless. Steve didn’t quite understand that.

Not until now.

They were around the corner, taking their smoke break. They passed a single cigarette, something they do now, while they shoot the shit. Talking about nothing felt like talking about everything. Sometimes about the latest campaign Eddie’s planned. Or if they should look into a place at Indy or a place in Chicago. Or what they were going to do when Steve closed up for the night.”

“Gareth’s brother’s got a place in Chicago,” Eddie said, exhaling smoke. “He said we could stay with him for a few weeks while we look for a place.

“We could get jobs there,” Steve offered. “Earn a little more to get a place.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “You want to do it?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, taking the cigarette from Eddie’s hands and putting it to his lips. “Let’s do it.”

Eddie’s smile, big and wide with excitement, faded quickly as his eyes darted to the side. They weren’t alone.

“Harrington,” a familiar voice sneered. Steve turned to glare at Tommy, back from college. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“At my place of employment?” Steve deadpanned.

“With him,” Tommy corrected. “I figured you’d still be chasing after Wheeler.”

Something in Tommy’s tone boiled Steve’s blood. “I’m on break, Tommy,” Steve said, inhaling on the cigarette, letting the smoke fall from his lips. “Go inside if you want something.”

“I want to know why you’re with him,” Tommy said, venom on his tongue. He took a step forward, into Steve’s space. “You’ve heard the rumors.”

“Steve,” Eddie said. “Let’s go inside.”

“Eddie was a victim of Creel,” Steve said, not stepping down from Tommy. “He didn’t do shit.”

“Not those rumors,” Tommy said. “The ones from school. Five dollar handy, ten for a blowjob, twenty for a — you get the picture.”

“Shut the hell up, Hagan,” Steve warned.

“How much you paying him?” Tommy asked, gesturing to Eddie. Then, something clicked in Tommy’s head as a smirk grew across his face. “I heard your dad cut you off. You making money from him?” Tommy shoved Steve’s shoulders, pushing him back against the wall. Hard. Steve felt his head hit the back of the brick building. Steve let out a gasp in pain. “You sucking his —“

Eddie had lunged forward, swinging his fist across Tommy’s face. His rings dug into his cheek, breaking skin. Tommy stumbled back. Eddie swung again. Tommy fell to the ground.

“Touch him again, Hagan,” Eddie spat. “I dare you.”

Tommy tried to stand up, Eddie shoved him back down. He wasn’t done.

“You lost him, Hagan,” Eddie snapped. “He’s never gonna like you like that. Go fuck yourself.”

Then, there were gentle hands on Steve.

“C’mon,” Eddie said softly, picking Steve up off the ground … When did he fall? The world felt like it was spinning and his only grounding touch was Eddie’s hand on his arm, guiding him in through the back door. A gentle hand came to the back of his head, with a slight hiss. “Shit.”

Steve was sat down at the breakroom, while Eddie grabbed paper towels from the bathroom. He pressed it against the back of Steve’s head, a slight sting was all Steve needed to know that Tommy broke skin.

“You with me, Stevie?” Eddie asked gently, kneeling down next to Eddie. His big brown eyes looking up at him with a look that made Steve feel whole.

“I’m with you,” Steve nodded, feeling Eddie keep pressure on the back of his head. “You’re with me.”

“I’m with you,” Eddie repeated gently. He brought his free hand to gently squeeze Steve’s thigh. “I’m with you for as long as you’ll let me.”

Then it hit him.

Steve loved Eddie.

He wanted to do everything he could do to protect Eddie. Fight off those who still believed in the rumors surrounding spring break, those who bullied him for being different, for being himself. Hell, Steve would fight a demogorgon for Eddie. He carried him through hell and back.

Eddie stood up for him. Eddie protected him from Tommy. Eddie fought back and won.

Maybe Eddie loved him, too.

Steve let himself fall into a carefree smile. He leaned his head, ever so gently until his and Eddie’s foreheads met. “For the record,” Steve said softly. “I’m never letting go.”

Eddie broke out into a grin. “That’s what I hoped for.”

#steddie #steddie ficlet #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #//myfics #steddielovemonth #I love the idea of Steve fighting for Eddie but I feel like Eddie should be allowed to throw a punch or two

[shinhoebakuhoekitten]

Shinso as a roommate w spice 👀

I can talk about this guy for hours. 🥵

Also send me an ask with a person from MHA and I will say how they are as a roommate. Please advise if you want some spice

I know that some people are sick of the cat and Shinso comparison but I think it is the perfect comparison for him when it comes to being a roommate.

You do not see him often when you first become roommates (and honestly unless you heard him leave his room to go to the bathroom or kitchen you were sure that he just wasn’t there) and it wasn’t uncommon to just say hi in passing once a week or so.

Something changed though once you had been roommates for around 6 months and he was more comfortable around you.

You started seeing him more and more but he did it pretty subtly. It started with him joining you for whatever tv show you were watching- and it rally did not matter what. He watched your (in his words) “pointless reality trash” or “tame horror films” and though he wouldn’t admit he liked them he also watched your “over dramatic teenage shows”.

It got to the point that it was common for you to knock on his bedroom door with a “take out will be here in thirty, I ordered your favorite ramen. Hurry up so we can finish the series tonight.”

What you weren’t expecting was for him to open his door clad in only a towel that was tied lowely on his lean hips as he ran another towel through his shoulder length hair.

“You’re home a bit earlier then usual” he stated, his voice low in a way that you knew he had just been smoking a joint. Just as you thought that you were hit with the smell, making your nose scrunch slightly.

You weren’t against weed but your job did randomly drug test throughout the year so you had not partaken since your first year of college.

“Oh shit, sorry I forgot to spray something before opening the door. I wasn’t quite expecting you home so early.”

“Oh, no worries. I get it.” You felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed with heat. You had seen Shinso shirtless. It actually wasn’t uncommon to see him that way when you two were watching TV or when he was cooking throughout the week.

He said it was because he ran hot, but you swear he continued to do it only after he saw you no so subtly check him out the first time you had seen him shirtless.

“Extra spicy?” He questioned as he back into his room, spraying an air freshener to help combat the smell. It never quite worked but it was nice that he tried.

“What?” You questioned, completely caught off guard as he turned around to look at you, his signature soft smirk pulling at the corner of his pink lips before he bit his bottom lip to try and make it go away. You couldn’t help but notice the blood rush to his bottom lip, making it a bit redder.

“My ramen, did you by chance get it extra spicy?”

“Oh yeah, yes I did. No worries, I know how you like it.”

You could feel the air continue to thicken as your tried to stare anywhere but him but you couldn’t quite take your eyes off of him.

While you had been attracted to Shinso the second you saw him (you mean, you weren’t blind) it had really been the past few months that your crush had gone from a small school yard crush to a full fledged stomach lurching infatuation.

You had honestly couldn’t remember the amount of times that you had spaced out thinking about the indigo haired man and you had definitely lost count of the nights that had ended with your hand down your panties getting off to the thought to him.

“Um, I’m going to get the show ready and listen for the takeout person. I’ll see you when you are ready.” You said quickly, embarrassment an understatement at this point as you got out of his room as quick as possible and walked to the couch.

It wasn’t long before you heard the trill of your doorbell, signaling the delivery guy. As you got up from the couch to get the food you saw Shinso emerge from the small hallway.

“I got it.” He said as he walked passed you quickly, your living room wasn’t very big.

“Oh I haven’t paid the guy yet, let me get it.” You insisted as you stood at the edge of the couch.

“I got it this time, you can get it next week.” Shinso reasoned as he opened the door while also digging into his black sweats for his wallet. He pulled out enough yen to cover the meal with a generous tip before grabbing the bag of takeout and muttering a thanks as he shut the door.

“You know, you said the same thing last week about me paying this week.” You said softly after Shinso had untied the bag and handed you your cup of ramen.

“Did I?” He muttered “must have slipped my mind. No worries, I’ll make sure you don’t get out of it again.” He said with a wink as he handed you your chopsticks.

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread across your chest and neck at the wink, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you thanked him while taking the lid off your food before placing it on the coffee table in front of you as you grabbed the remote to put on the last few episodes of the show that you two had been watching.

Dinner was quite as you tried to pay attention to the show you were watching but try as you might, you couldn’t get your brain to shut off. You made a mental note of needing to watch these episodes alone sometime soon because before this you had been wrapped into the story.

It wasn’t until the finale, the fourth episode you both had watched tonight, that you were able to pay attention. You were completely lost at this point, confused why the main character was in an abandoned farm but you tried to catch up as you watched.

A particularly frightening scene involving a chainsaw man that was wearing body parts of his most recent victims made you a bit jumpy and of course Shinso noticed right away.

“Come here” he whispered as he opened his arms while also putting his feet on the coffee table. It wasn’t completely uncommon for you two to cuddle but it was usually reserved for nights that one you have had a awful day and it never happened after so much sexual tension had been prevalent just hours earlier.

But you also knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth and you were basically crawling to his side without a second thought as you made yourself comfortable by placing your face onto to the chest of his white plain t shirt as he wrapped a long arm around you.

“No scary chainsaw man can get you know” he whispered into your hair. You could hear the grin in his voice as you slapped a hand onto his chest before moving to get up.

“Oh where do you think you’re going? I finally get you in my arms and you think you can leave?” As Shinso said this his arm tightened around you as the other one grabbed onto himself, effectively cocooning you into his side. You couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from your lips as you looked up to his face.

What you weren’t expecting was for his face to be so close to yours. Frozen from shock you continued to stare at him as he stared down at you.

Shinso couldn’t help but look from your eyes to your lips and quickly back to your eyes.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He whispered as his head began to lean down towards you, his lips quickly capturing yours.

You could feel as he undid his embrace on you while also placing both of his hands on either side of your cheeks.

It didn’t take long before he was deepening the kiss and placing one hand on your hip as his skilled fingers drew random small shapes on your hip.

You broke the kiss, needing to breath. As you stared at him for a second you noticed that your hands had had a mind of their own and we’re both at the edge of his skull, pulling gently on his purple locks.

“Woah” you exhaled.

“Good woah, or ‘oh shit what the fuck did we just do’ kind of Woah” Shinso questioned with a quirk of his eyebrows. You noticed that when Shinso got nervous he talked a lot more the he normally would.

“More like ‘why the hell have we not done that sooner’ kind of Woah” you corrected with a smile.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you became my roommate, but I also didn’t want to fuck anything up.” Shinso confessed.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Sure there had been some sexual tension, but he had thought you were attractive since you had two met? Why the hell did it take so long then?

“Maybe we shouldn’t waste anymore time then” you said, trying to sound very nonchalant but you could hear the tremor in your voice.

Shinso didn’t need to hear anything else as he grabbed you by your hips and placed you onto his lap.

Where the hell did he get so strong? You wondered as you widened your stance to allow both of your legs be flush with his hips as you straddled him.

Shinso placed a hand behind your head as he guided you back to him while whispering “if you want to stop at any point, tell me and I will. I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to.”

You couldn’t help but feel your heart melt at the words. There was just something about your roommate that made him very different then most guys your age.

“Same goes for you” you whispered back before kissing him.

It wasn’t long of him kissing you that he began testing the waters by allowing his fingers to inch up a few inches up your shirt as he felt the skin beneath. You gave him permission to do whatever he wanted by tugging harshly onto his hair and moaning.

He quickly made work of taking off your oversized shirt, a twing of a smirk gracing his lips as he realizes it’s one of his black shirts that you must have stole at some point. He made a mental note to tease you a bit later, but for now he had way more important things to do.

As the shirt fell to the floor he couldn’t help but grown at the sight in front of him. He hadn’t realized due to the bagginess of the shirt but you were wearing a bra and damn if you didn’t have the pretties tits he had ever seen.

“No bra” he quipped as he cupped them in his large pale hands, loving the way your soft supple skin felt in them as your back arched a bit at the sensation of him kneading them softly, testing the waters to see what kind of pressure you wanted.

“Almost never when I’m in a baggie top.” You admitted with a flush.

“I’ll have to remember that for the future” he said with a shit eating grin before he latched onto your left nipple, rolling a very expert tongue around it.

You let out a louder moan then you meant to but this only seemed to spur Shinso on as he suckled harder.

“Shin, fuck, Shin, can we take this to one of our bedrooms? Not that fucking on the couch doesn’t sound fun, I just think I would rather be in a bed.”

“So demanding” he teased as his lips popped off of your bud, but in that same breath he grabbed you and hoisted both of you up off of the couch, his hands digging into the fat of your thighs. “My room? I just washed my sheets today.”

“We’re you hoping something was going to happen, Hitoshi?” You teased as you kissed his nose.

“Only every fucking day, also please continue to call me that. It sounds so fucking sexy coming from you and I can’t wait to hear you moan my name.”

“Well, just know I don’t just moan to inflate a persons ego, I have to mean it.” You quipped back.

“Don’t worry, you will.” Shinso said with a wink as he slapped your ass, making you giggle before attaching his lips to your neck and walking you to his bedroom.

Also, don’t worry. You moaned his name all night long.

#this was supposed to be quick #but fuck this man #the things I would do to him #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #my hero acedamia #hitoshi shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso smut #shinsou smut #shinso x y/n #roomatesAU

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

are these your teeth or mine? the only language i speak is blood; it’s all red to me, it’s all yours to me.

ax72 x reader: this definitely wasn’t in the job description.

(warnings: blasphemous filth (i’m serious this time, guys), fingering (f on m), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), choking (back to business), hair pulling (double back to business), biting and lots of teeth (chomp), praise, dirty talk, inappropriate workplace relationship, lots of leg stuff, just be warned.  don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.) gif is not mine.

(a/n: whorenation, if you’re not an arber xhekaj fan, boy are you about to be.  qh43 is and always will be my guy, but i know in my heart of hearts that ax72 is the hottest player in the nhl.  end of story.  and this is an ode of sorts to him, his hands (look it up), his legs, that tiger tat on his thigh (cringe in the absolute best of ways), his mullet, and his mustache (i’m drooling).  he is absolutely wicked, and he is the best fighter in the league (the antithesis of sin-bin princess tz11).  sorry for all the classical references, but i was a classics major before law school, so i have to assert my specialized knowledge.  no, he wouldn’t say darling, and no, i don’t care.  as much as this is an ode to ax72, it is also an ode to the feminine desire to take what you want by the teeth and make it yours.  to that.  to the power we have in our teeth, in the most surprising of places.  the pace of my posting will be easing up, as i have a lot of exams coming up, but i’ve got stuff in the works.  go canucks.  see you soon.  sink your teeth into life.

you didn’t expect him back so early.  usually, on game nights, he would be out until the early hours of the morning, when the darkness grew on the windows like forest moss.

not that you minded, it was your job to watch the house when it was empty.  your title was technically something like personal assistant, but really, you just did whatever you could to make arber’s life easier.  and that’s what you had been doing for the last two months.

tonight, though, he threw off the routine.  you had been in the kitchen, putting dishes away, when you heard the door open, followed by his typical “darling?” and the thud of his things on the floor.

the term of endearment still made you blush, though he rarely called you anything else.  “one sec,” you called out, finished what you were doing, wiped you hands on a rag.

you had gotten quite good, at least you thought, at hiding the effect he had on you.  it was worth it, for the money, for the flexibility, the way the whole situation felt too good to be true.  you knew that if you overstepped, you would be messing up a good thing.  

you just couldn’t help but think that maybe this good thing could be even better.  you pushed away the thoughts that had been plaguing you, walked to the living room, found the air rippling like a frayed wire.

and immediately, the thoughts, the images in your mind were back.  it wasn’t fair.  you could never quite get used to the sight of him after a game.  the way he sat without tension or worry, letting you fully appreciate just how massive he was.  you’d had practice in keeping your eyes locked on his, not letting your gaze stray to his thighs, the expanse of his chest, his hands-

but your mind hummed as he reached an arm up to scratch the back of his neck, defining his bicep and forearm.  you licked your lips, his eyes followed the movement.

“you watch the game?” he asked, nodding towards the tv, playing the post game show.  his voice was gravelly.  you made a sound of affirmation, scolded yourself in your head, reminded yourself that he was your employer.  technically.

“congratulations,” you said, willing the squeak out of your voice.  “it was fun to watch.”  you took a breath, your brow furrowed as you noticed the new shadows that painted his face.  the black eye was old, from last game, but the deep bruise on the jaw, the cut across the nose, those were new.

you frowned.  “i thought the refs broke you up before you could fight,” you said, shifting your weight on your feet.

“they did.” his lip quirked.  “why? you worried about me, darling?” 

you flushed a deep pink, tried to mask it by rolling your eyes.  his smirk deepened as he leaned back into the chair, spreading his legs apart further.  your gaze shot down, eyes wide, before your brought it back up, cleared your throat.  “well,” you began, “since you’re back early, i’ll probably head out-”

“what?” his brow scrunched in concern.  “no, stay for a bit.  watch a movie with me.”

you bit your lip, weighed your options.  his eyes lit up with amusement at your obvious indecision.  he stretched upwards, arms towards the ceiling, a sliver of his stomach exposed, making your choice a little harder.

“c’mon darling, sit with me,” he drawled, smile lazy as he patted his thigh.  he knew he had won.  you could never say no to him, looking like that.  how long could you possibly be expected to keep your distance?  would looking ever be enough?

“okay, just for a little,” you conceded, walking over to the spacious chair on which he sat.  “move over.”

he draped his arm over the back of the seat, put something on the tv.  “can’t we just share?” his glance was telling.  “know how cold you get.”

your throat constricted as you tried not to imagine what he felt like, what it would feel like to have him under you, his warmth radiating through you.  maybe a professional would have refused.

“fine,” you said instead, lowering yourself down so that you balanced precariously between one of his thighs and the arm of the chair.  he just let out a low laugh before tugging you so that you were entirely on his lap.

he was inescapable; his chest a wall behind you, an arm on each side of you, his legs underneath.  he was so warm, so everywhere, it clouded your judgement.  your mind felt as if it had been dipped in honey.

you blamed it on that, how you picked up one of his hands, easily the size of his face, and began to play with his fingers as you both watched the screen.  “’m glad they didn’t let you fight today,” you admitted after moments in silence, gaze forward.  

“yeah?” arber rasped.  “i’m not.”  he shifted his weight under you.  “got me all worked up for nothing.”

your mouth went dry.  you squirmed, to which he groaned, a deep rumble that vibrated through his chest and into your back.  you twisted to look at him, felt the heat in his gaze melt your own, hot and heavy like liquid mercury.

“hm, love it when you look at me like that, darling.” he reached his free hand up to your face, held the side of it in his rough palm.  

your resistance had long worn out.  had it ever truly been there?  each breath you took flickered.  “like what?”

his mouth twitched smugly.  “like you want to take a bite out of me.”  you eyes must have glossed over at his words, because he let out a low chuckle.  his fingers teased your jawline.  you whimpered.  “oh, pretty baby,” he whispered.  “it’s okay.  you can.”

your eyelashes fluttered.  “i can?”  you shifted, relished in the hardness you found beneath you.

he nodded, dragged a thumb along your cheekbone.  “go on, darling,” he mused, hooking an arm under your thigh and moving you so that you faced him, your thighs straddling his hips.  “sink your teeth into me.  know you want to.”

you felt as if you were in some sort of trance, like he was a siren and you a sailor, drowning in your own desire.  so there you were, drowning, as you gently lifted his arm to your mouth, bit down on his bicep just forcefully enough to leave a mark, just barely rolling your hips back and forth on his lap when a guttural growl escaped him.  he was soft beneath the edges of your teeth - he was yours, then.  you looked up at him through your lashes, left a breath of a kiss where your teeth had been.

you looped your arms around his neck, couldn’t help but slowly continue to move your hips, found his scorching gaze a sedative for your mind and an exhilarator for your body.  “that feel good, darling?” he asked, one hand coming down to control the rhythm of your hips, the other wrapping around your throat.  “know you’ve wanted me for so long, mhm?  gonna let me use you?” you whimpered as he tightened his grip on your neck.

“please,” you mustered, barely recognizing your own voice.  his eyes crinkled at the corners as he lifted your face to his in a kiss that made you question how you had lasted this long.  you had never felt so out of your body, never so self aware.  his hand around your throat forced you closer, his brace on your hip set the perfect pace, made you realize how wet you already were, that beautiful friction between your core and his mass of a thigh.

he urged a moan from your mouth, deepened the kiss, made you feel every satisfied rumble of his in your teeth.  he slid his hand to the back of your neck, rooted it in your hair, moved his lips down to your jaw, then your neck and collarbone, making you shiver, the weight of your head resting in one hand while the other came down to tease you.

he tugged your shorts aside, dragged two fingers through your folds, groaned at the wetness he found there.  “so wet for me, darling,” he cooed, “been wanting me, yeah? know you wear these just for me, hm?” 

he thumbed your clit.  you threaded a hand in his hair for support.  “tell me, darling.  tell me what goes on in that pretty head of yours.”  he thrust a finger into you, making it that much harder to focus.  he smiled at the strangled sound that you made.

“wanted you since the first day,” you whimpered, squinted when he added another finger, moved in and out of you.  “can’t help it,” you tried, “just so much of you, everywhere.”

he smirked, picked up his pace on your clit.  “yeah?  that why you stare at my hands?  at my lap?”

you squeezed your eyes shut, nodded.  “’m sorry, not my fault.”  you felt yourself grow dangerously close.

“don’t be sorry darling.  love when you look.”  he groaned as you clenched around his fingers.  “gonna cum?  already?”  you could hear his cocky smile.  “hm, pretty baby, always so good for me.”

his words had your vision blurring, able to focus on nothing but his hardness beneath you, his breath on your neck, his fingers stilling inside of you.  when you opened your eyes, drifting down from your high, you were met with his gaze, fizzling with fire.

he pulled his fingers out of you, brought them to his mouth and sucked, before pulling you forward onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you.  like this, his cock was impossible to ignore.

“feel what you do to me, darling?” he asked, tracing down your spine with his fingers.  “gonna let me fuck you like you’ve been dreaming of?”

your stomach fluttered at the idea.  “please, arber,” you begged.  at this point, you would have done anything he asked.  such was the plight of the sailor and the siren.  “please fill me up.”  you lifted your hips up and off of him, reached down to feel his cock under your hand.  “need to feel you inside of me.  needed you for so long.”

he groaned as you took his cock out, began to pump him up and down.  “yeah?  my fingers not enough for you?”  you shook your head, to which he tsked.  “greedy, greedy, girl,” he muttered before reaching an arm around your middle, shifting you until you were bent over the arm of the chair, your hips lifted up towards him.  

he dragged his cock through your folds, wet from your first orgasm.  “lucky i need you so bad, darling,” he said before sinking deep into you, making your head fall slack and your chest drape over the chair.

he moaned, brought one hand to snake into your hair, pull you up, the other taking a bruising grip on your hip.  “always feel this good?” he bit out, “or only for me?”  you felt his rhythm of thrusts through your body, all the way to your fingertips.

“just for you,” you breathed, and it was probably true - never before had you felt so genuinely needy, so desperate for someone, such a desire to simply be good.  

“i know, darling,” he whispered with an especially deep thrust that had you questioning when he ended and you began.  “known you’re all for me since i met you.”  he angled his hips up, hitting a new spot, making your back arch.  “pretty baby, blushing, biting that lip, staring at my legs,” he groaned, “always been mine.  made for me.”

he loosened his grip on your hip, moved his hand down to your clit, rubbed circles that had your moans coming out like whines.  he growled.  “squeezing me so pretty, darling.  gonna cum again for me?”

you nodded, arched further, felt him pull your head back to look at him.  “need to cum, arber,” you said like a wince, “please make me cum, want to feel you cum in me, please.”

he rubbed you faster, hips stuttering in a tell.  “pretty baby wants to cum, hm?”  you whimpered, nodded, clenched harder, felt his stomach flex.  “be good for me and cum, then.”

you obeyed, gushing around him and triggering his own orgasm, felt him fill up your senses from the inside out.  his warmth inside of you, the smell of him a mist around you, the intimate sound of his that rattled around your head, everything: it coated you like some indeterminant shield - was this how achilles felt?

arber leaned forward, rested his weight on your back, gently bit into your shoulder, left a kiss in its place before lifting you up, around, back into his lap and arms.  you felt the gravity of his breathing in your bones, felt the peace of the room in your teeth.

you twisted again to look at him, leaned back into his embrace, sighed out a breath.  your gaze met his, different than every time such a meeting had happened before.

his chest shook in a light laugh as he gave his head a single shake.  “better be careful with those eyes, darling,” he rasped into your neck.  at your furrowed brow, his lips quirked.  “they’ve given you away since the beginning.”

and you thought that perhaps there were worse things than to have the truth in your eyes.

fin.

#hockey #hockey smut #nhl #nhl smut #arber xhekaj #arber xhekaj smut #arber xhekaj x reader #montreal canadiens #montreal habs #habs #smut #dirty imagine #trevor zegras #jack hughes #quinn hughes #trevor zegras smut #jack hughes smut #auston matthews #toronto maple leafs #trevor zegras x reader #jack hughes x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 smut #charles leclerc smut

[sgrdoll]

hotel harrington

synopsis - some friends from steve's past show up on his doorstep looking for a place to stay. unfortunately for them, he has an insatiable girlfriend.

warnings - smut, fluff, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, pet names, shy reader

a/n - my first stranger things fic!!! i hope you all enjoy :)

masterlist navigation

wc: 2k

When Steve met his girl at the library it was practically love at first sight. He came in to print out some resumes for a job he was applying for at the bank. He quite literally stopped in his tracks when he saw the dark-haired girl shelving books in a short black skirt and an oversized sweater. 

Steve had flirted with girls before with no problem. He was a little bit of a player during his high school days. But the thought of going up to what seemed to be the most perfect girl in the world was terrifying. 

Steve pushed through his fears and eventually asked her out on a date. That’s how the pair ended up here, six months later. Her head was tucked into his side and she was sound asleep. 

Steve had saved up for an apartment without his parent’s help. It was only a two-bedroom apartment, but it was something that was just his. He shared it with the perfect angel asleep next to him of course. 

This was how most of their nights ended. She came home from her job at the library before Steve and typically she had dinner on the table. Steve would loosen his tie and eat, then they would go to bed. Simple. Perfect. Exactly what Steve had wanted his entire life. 

The knock on his door was very unwelcomed. It was ten p.m., no one on Earth could possibly need him right now.

He opened the door to find four people he hadn’t seen in eight months. Four people he honestly never thought he would see again. 

Jonathan, Nancy, Robin, and Eddie all stood in front of him, clearly disheveled. Steve had half a mind to just slam a door in their face and go back to cuddling with his girl. 

“Why the fuck on are you on my doorstep,” Steve deadpanned. 

“Well, we needed some help and you’re the first person we thought of. Surprise!” Robin smiled nervously while adding jazz hands around the word ‘surprise’.

“No. Absolutely not. I thought I was clear the last time I saw you. I’m done with all the supernatural shit. I’m ready to be a normal person and settle down.”

“Wait!” Nancy put her mary jane’s between the door and the wall before Steve could slam it in their faces, “We just need a place to stay tonight. The cops are after us. We aren’t asking for you to do anything other than that. Please.” 

Before Steve had a chance to say no he turned his head towards the stairs where he heard faint footsteps making their way down. 

Shit

He did not want his petal to have to deal with his past right now. She knew some of what happened to him, but not all of it. He also did not want any of his old friends corrupting his sweet angel. 

She walked next to him and tugged on his shirt while rubbing her sleepy eyes, “Where did you go?” 

Her pout melted Steve’s heart and momentarily took his focus away from the problem standing on his front porch, “I’m sorry, baby. Go back to bed and I’ll be right up. I just have to deal with this really quickly.” 

His girl nodded her head and retreated back up the stairs, ever the obedient angel. 

Steve turned his attention back to the four people begging to sleep in his house, “I really don’t have time to deal with this.” 

“You won’t even know we’re here. We promise we won’t bother you or your really hot girlfriend,” Eddie joked flirtatiously. 

“Calling my girlfriend hot is definitely not the way to sleep in my fucking house,” Steve all but growled out. 

Eddie put his hands up as if to say he was innocent. Steve tried his hardest not to make eye contact with Robin. She was probably the one person that could break his resolve. He loved her and they were best friends once upon a time. 

“It’s just one night, Steve. We’re in trouble, if you don’t help us we don’t know what could happen,” Robin pleaded. 

He knew as soon as she opened her mouth and asked him for help he wouldn’t be able to say no. Just because they stopped hanging out didn’t mean he loved her and the friendship they once had any less. 

Steve sighed and opened the door wide enough for them to step inside, “Fine. But if my girl isn’t okay with it, you can’t stay.” 

They nodded in agreement as he led the four of them to his couch. Steve jogged up the stairs to go to his angel. 

He opened the door to find her sitting up on their bed in fuzzy socks and one of his sweatshirts. He had to resist the urge to coo at how adorable she was. 

“Hey, doll,” he stated, “Some of my old friends are downstairs and I was wondering if you were okay with them staying here tonight? If you aren’t comfortable with that I can tell them to leave.” 

“No, they can stay,” she said softly, “It’s just our spare room isn’t set up so they’ll all have to sleep on the pullout.” 

Steve was relieved that his girlfriend was okay with his friends and their intrusion, “I’ll go tell them they can stay.”

His petal followed him down the stairs. Steve felt her small hand wrap around the back of his shirt as she found her place behind him. His petal was never good at meeting new people, he could especially understand her anxiety now seeing as it was late at night in her own home and random people were occupying her living room. 

He could tell his old friends were curious about the pretty girl hiding behind Steve but chose not to introduce them to one another. 

“Our guest room isn’t ready for the company so you’re all going to have to sleep on the pullout. Also, we only have two extra blankets so you’ll have to share those too.”

Petal almost gasped at how unaccommodating her boyfriend was to his friends. She lightly slapped his back and gave him a scolding look when he turned around to glance at her. Steve stifled a smile at how cute his bossy little girlfriend was. 

“Does anyone need anything before bed? Some water? Maybe a hot shower? I’m sorry we aren’t more prepared,” Petal apologized shyly. 

“It’s fine. We’re just grateful to have a place to sleep tonight,” Jonathan said honestly with a smile on his face. 

“How about some tea before bed? I have peppermint, chamomile, and green tea if anyone would like some,” Petal offered, trying to make her guests feel more comfortable since Steve didn’t. 

“I’ll take some chamomile,” Nancy smiled and everyone else chimed in with what they wanted. 

Steve’s girlfriend walked into the kitchen to go prepare everyone’s tea. Once she was comfortable out of earshot the gang started interrogating Steve.

‘What’s her name?’

“How long have you two been together?”

“Where did you meet?’ 

“You know she’s way out of your league, right?” 

The last one came from Eddie which earned him a thump on the forehead from Steve. 

“Her name is y/n, we’ve been together for six months, we met at the library, and she’s much more out of your league than mine, Munson,” Steve answered all of their questions rapid-fire. 

“She seems nice,” Nancy commented while leaning back into the couch cushion. 

“She is nice. She’s actually perfect,” Steve rambled about his gorgeous girlfriend. 

“Okay, loverboy,” Robin stopped him, “We get it you’re in love with her.” 

The goofy smile never left Steve’s face when he was talking about y/n.

“So,” Steve started after finishing his rant about his gorgeous girlfriend, “Are you guys gonna tell me why you all demanded to sleep in my house tonight?” 

“We’re all being framed for the murder of Chrissy Cunningham. We were all in Eddie’s trailer where she died the same day she was found dead,” Nancy explained. 

“Well, did you kill her?” 

“What the hell! Obviously, we didn’t kill her,” Robin whisper-shouted at him. 

“I have to make sure. I never know with you assholes,” Steve rolled his eyes. 

Petal comes in with a tray of snacks and tea as the group is arguing with one another. Her presence snaps them all out of their fighting. 

“Thank you, angel,” Steve says while pulling her frame down on top of his lap and kissing her temple, “Did you make yourself some peppermint tea?” he asked while eyeing the array of food on the tray she brought in. 

She simply nodded her head and leaned in to grab one of the floral mugs. 

“Thank you so much,” Robin smiled at y/n while eating a piece of fruit that was sat out.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more, I wish I could’ve been a bit more prepared,” She pouted while pressing her head against Steve’s chest. 

“No, this is perfect,” Eddie said through a mouth full of cheese, “You have no idea how hungry we were on the road.”

They sat like that for a bit. Steve caught up with his friends and petal just listened intently while they reminisced on their old adventures. 

Steve felt his angel yawn against his chest and decided to call it a night with his friends. He pulled the couch out and supplied them with all the blankets and pillows he could find. 

Steve took his petal upstairs and they listened to the quiet murmurs of the people downstairs.

Somehow, Steve and his girl went from making small conversation to his body being on top of her own. 

He kissed down her neck, “You have to be quiet for me, baby. You don’t want my friends to hear how much of a slut you are, do you?” 

She whimpered out and shook her head as his fingers snaked between her legs. She ground against his hand and he tsked at her, “So fucking desperate.” 

When the headboard started to bang against the wall rhythmically all thoughts of being quiet disappeared from both of them. 

Her mewls and Steve’s breathy ‘good girl’ and ‘cockdrunk slut’ were the only things either of them could focus on. 

Unfortunately for the group downstairs, they weren’t as oblivious as Steve and his girlfriend. They all groaned in misery when the girl’s small squeals could be heard. Nancy put a pillow over her head.

“Christ, do they have to be that loud?” Robin complained. 

“There’s no way Harrington’s dick is good enough for a girl to call him ‘daddy’”, Eddie rolled his eyes and continued eating the cheese from the tray left out. 

“He was nice enough to let us stay at his house. We really aren’t in the position to complain,” Jonathan pointed out while snuggling further into the pullout couch. 

Just as he said that they all could hear an animalistic growl and the headboard banging slow to a stop. 

“Thank fucking Christ,” Eddie mumbled out. 

They all sighed in relief and slowly drifted back into sleep. As soon as they all found peace, the headboard began banging against the wall again. It was going to be a long night for the four of them.

#stranger things smut #stranger things fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #fluff #au #stranger things #dom!steve harrington #sub!reader

[incorrectbatfam]

Okay, so I want a little angst fic where Robs twins and Milo get kidnapped, and the kidnapper is doing the whole cliche thing with ‘cHoOsE oNe, will your twins or Milo live??’ and, Rob thinks, it should be obvious, right? Pick ur twins! But, it’s a difficult decision, he can’t let any of them die, and he’s stressing Tf out. Like, Milo is fourteen! And the twins love him! (Kinds? He bullies them sometimes but it’s fineee)

At the end, the bats come and save them, but it’s still an eye opening experience.

The Gooners Christmas kidnapping fic that exactly one (1) person asked for

Word count: 3,375

———————

“What’s the password?”

Milo chuckled. “Jackie, you’re only supposed to do that when you get picked up from school.”

“Dad said to always ask before getting in the car with anyone,” the six-year-old replied. 

“But you know me.”

“What if you’re a shapeshifting alien trying to abduct us? Or an evil robot clone?” 

He sighed. “Unicorn ice cream. Now are we going Christmas shopping or not?”

“Sure,” she said, “when Gunner quits being a slowpoke.”

As if on cue, the other boy stumbled out of the three’s shared bedroom, tugging his blue snow boots on. Since he didn’t know how to tie the laces yet, Milo kneeled down and helped him.

“Now remember, the mall’s gonna be really busy, so what do we do if we get separated?”

“Meet at the food court,” they say in unison.

“And what do we not do?”

“Go to a security guard.”

“And why don’t we do that?”

“Because they don’t work for people like us.”

“Good job.” He patted the pom-poms topping their matching hats. 

Once Milo buckled the twins in and put his favorite rock album on, they set off. There was a light dusting of snow on top of the salt laid down earlier that morning, but the fifteen-year-old managed to weave through the holiday traffic and beat the lights in time to snag the last parking spot at Gotham City’s shopping hotspot. 

“Any idea what you’re gonna get your dad?” he asked as they walked into the bustling shopping mall. 

“How about a watch?” said Jackie. “I saw a really cool gold one last week.”

“Hm… maybe,” he said. “Gunner, what about you? Any thoughts?”

Gunner stifled a laugh. “Pants.”

Milo rolled his eyes playfully. The kid was in that phase where pants were the funniest thing in the world. But in the nine months since he started living with the Steelers, Milo hadn’t seen Rob get anything—buying or stealing—for himself. It was always for the kids or to sell on the internet. And, frankly, the man looked like he spent a year on a deserted island. 

“We’ll start with pants,” he said.

“What about you?” Jackie asked. “What are you gonna get him?”

“I’m not sure.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Probably something as a thanks for, you know, not leaving me to the wolves.”

“Like what?”

Gunner said, “How about a World’s Best Dad mug?”

“That might work for you, but he’s not my dad,” said Milo. He shrugged. “Eh, I’ll figure it out.” 

They perused a few clothing stores, the twins pointing out pieces of clothing their dad might like. Milo kept a mental inventory as he fiddled with the magnet in his coat pocket. He also made notes about where the cameras and security guards were placed. 

After about an hour, the kids were whining about being hungry (breakfast wasn’t exactly filling—they shared an egg and a slice of toast between them). Milo took them to the food court and used some cash he pickpocketed the other day to buy them both kids’ meals from the Batburger pop-up stall. 

Once they sat down, he said, “I’m gonna go get the gifts for your dad. Do you guys have your phone?”

Jackie and Gunner nodded and pulled out matching rose gold and black smartphones, respectively, that totally weren’t stolen and jailbroken. 

“Good. Stay here and don’t move. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. Call me if you need anything.”

Milo still had a thing or two to learn before he could begin swiping electronics and jewelry, but shoplifting clothing was easy. He grabbed a shopping bag from behind an unoccupied register and wove through the aisles for the list of things from earlier. He took them to the dressing room and removed the security tags with his trusty magnet before putting the clothes in the bag. Then, for good measure, he stuck them back onto random clothes throughout the store before walking out while using his phone like any other teenager. 

When he didn’t see the twins at the food court, there was a small spark of panic. He called Jackie and it rang three times before she answered. 

“We’re in the bathroom,” she said. 

He should’ve noticed the quiver in her voice. When he stepped into the all-gender restroom, he was met by the kids pressed against the wall with a haggard middle-aged man towering over them. 

Gunner cried out, “Milo!”

As the door fell shut, the stranger whirled around, pointing a sawed-off shotgun at Milo. “You with them?”

Stunned, Milo nodded numbly. He wasn’t sure if that was the right move or not. 

The man’s hands trembled. “Do as I say or I shoot.”

Milo reached for his batarang—the one he found on the street—inside his jacket, but before he could grab it, the man walked around him and prodded Milo in the back with the barrel. 

“I know you heard me. Now all three of you move it.” 

The bathroom was five steps from the exit, so there wasn’t any chance to make a getaway without putting Jackie and Gunner at risk. They were ushered roughly into a white van with the peeling logo of an electric company. A second person was in the driver’s seat so the guy with the gun got into the seatless back with them. He slammed the door shut. Milo motioned for the twins to get behind him. 

The driver turned the radio up as they made their way onto the road. 

Smart. Milo thought. Mask any calls for help. This obviously wasn’t the kidnappers’ first rodeo. 

But neither was it Milo’s. Being a runaway street kid, he had his fair share of close calls with bastard adults who tried to manipulate him because of his age. While he couldn’t call himself an expert, he had a general gist of how these situations went. 

Traveling at sixty miles per hour in a windowless van with no clue where they were headed, Milo didn’t have an upper hand. He needed information. Something was better than nothing. 

He studied the man with them, who had tucked the gun away. Even in the dark, he could see the man wasn’t doing well for himself. The worn-out clothes plus the crudeness of his weapon ruled out the mafia. What would Falcone or Maroni want with some random kids from Burnside, anyway? Milo could also rule out some of the major Rogues—Riddler, Two-Face, and Mr. Freeze all had standards. 

The man’s graying blonde hair and beard were both overgrown. His face was hollow and his breath smelled like spoiled leftovers. Clearly, he hadn’t taken care of himself in a long time. Mental break? But unless it was a case of folie a deux, there’s no way he could’ve gotten a second person to be his getaway driver. More likely than not, he was on his last legs and holding people for ransom was his Hail Mary. 

Milo also tried to analyze the man’s body language, but the low light and the moving van made it difficult. Kellin would’ve probably deduced everything with their assassin training by now. 

He glanced over his shoulder at Jackie and Gunner. Gunner always had more braggadocio, but underneath he got more scared easily, and Milo saw it in the way the kid clung to his sister’s arm with tears running down his cherubic face. Jackie appeared calmer, but her big brown eyes looked up at Milo, silently begging him to do something.

Milo took a deep breath and turned to their kidnapper. “You mind telling me what you want with us?”

“We don’t want anything from you,” the man replied. 

“Then what? You gonna sell us? Because we’re pretty unmarketable.” 

“No,” he said. “This isn’t about you. It’s about your father.”

“Axel Carr? Good luck with that. I’m as dead to him as he is to me.”

The man pointed to the twins. “I meant theirs.”

“How do you know their dad?” Milo asked slowly, careful not to let a name slip in case the man was bluffing. 

“I worked with Rob Steeler under Scarecrow. When he left, instead of getting promoted, they let our entire crew go since we lost our key player.”

The man was clearly getting started and Milo hoped he’d keep going until the boy could formulate a plan. 

“My whole life torpedoed after that. No gigs meant no income. No income plus a disabled kid meant I had to give up custody.”

While unfortunate, Milo was more focused on the clock and speedometer up front. Eight minutes had passed since they started driving and the speed had stayed consistent. The hum underneath the wheels told him they were still on the highway. 

“Without that money, I can’t get my kid back. So here’s what’s gonna happen.”

They came to a stop and there was the sound of a garage door opening and closing. Gun back in hand, the man prodded them out. 

“I’m gonna make Steeler pay,” he said. “He gives me cash for his little tikes. Otherwise, if I can’t have my family, then neither can he.” He turned to Milo and cocked the gun. “As for you, I’m afraid I can’t have any witnesses.”

“Wait!” Milo exclaimed before the man put his finger on the trigger. “Don’t you think killing me right away will cause a huge scene? You’ll end up with cops at the doorstep before you can even ask for the money.”

The driver muttered something to the gunman.

“True,” the gunman said.

The driver whispered something else. The gunman’s face lit up and he nodded. 

“Better idea,” he said. “I was going for around thirty grand. That’s ten grand for each of you. For each one he can bring me, I’ll let you go home.”

Jackie piped up. “What if he can’t?”

The man smiled. “For your sake, little girl, you better hope he does.” 

The gunman forced the three to surrender their phones while the driver bound them with rope to a water pipe against the wall. The windowless garage offered no clues to the outside, but the fishy smell in the air meant they were close to the harbor. It hadn’t been used in a long time because every step someone took left a footprint in the dust. Off to one side, underneath a mountain of scrap wood and netting, was a speedboat with a gaping hole in the hull. On the other side was a small, messy work table where the driver and gunman were making the ransom call. 

“Milo, what do we do?” Gunner whispered. 

“Just stay here and don’t move unless I tell you to,” he replied. “I’m gonna get us out of this.”

“What if you get hurt?” Jackie asked. 

He smiled. “Remember when I did a cartwheel with a twisted ankle? A little hurt doesn’t bother me.”

His arms were pinned to his side, but he managed to maneuver them enough to grab his magnet and batarang. Normally he would have had a trunk full of inventory to work with but this was going to have to do. 

While the kidnappers were on the call, he sliced himself out of the ropes with the batarang. He also loosened Jackie and Gunner’s restraints to prepare for a quick escape. 

The only exit was the garage door, controlled by a red button on the wall. If he was one of the bat-people, he could easily throw the batarang and hit the tiny target far away, but as just Milo, the risks far outweighed his chance of success. Normally he would have tried anyway, but he had the kids with him. 

He gestured to Gunner’s boots. “I need to borrow something real quick.”

The boy nodded. Milo undid the laces, resulting in two long strings in his hands. He tied them together to create a single, even longer cord, which he then put the batarang on one end of. 

The kidnappers turned toward them and the gunman shouted, “Hey!”

Milo muttered a prayer to Wonder Woman on the off chance that’s her thing. 

He twirled the string and released it. It wrapped around the driver’s knee, causing the man to stumble and fall. His joint cracking echoed through the garage and a red stain grew on his cargo pants. 

He reeled it in before throwing it at the gunman’s face. The tip grazed the man’s cheek, drawing a thin trickle of blood, before spinning back around into Milo’s hand. Milo threw a punch, but the man caught it. The gunman twisted before shoving Milo to the ground and pointing the shotgun at him. 

“Had fun playing Robin?” the man asked, finger nearing the trigger. 

Stall. That was all there was left to do. 

“Heroes are overrated. They always have to follow some stupid code,” Milo said, doing all he could to keep his voice steady. “You and I have more in common than you think.”

“Whatever deal you’re trying to cut won’t work,” the gunman replied. “Steeler’s already on his way and he accepted all my terms.” 

“What if I tell everyone what you did? Then what?”

The gunman laughed. “Tell who? The same cops you’re always running from? Don’t think I didn’t do my homework on your little posse.”

The driver was pretty much down for the count because he was still on the floor with the pool of blood slowly growing. Plus, he didn’t seem like the fighting type to begin with. Unless there were more kidnappers lurking, Milo just had to make sure the gunman stayed focused on him. 

“Your kid. How old are they?” Milo asked. 

“He’s ten, and unlike you, he’s actually suffering. He didn’t bring it on himself after a fight with daddy.” 

That plucked a nerve. For a disheveled ex-henchman, the man knew a lot. 

Milo clenched his jaw. “And what would he say if he knew about this? Even if you get the money, what makes you think he’d want anything to do with you?”

Smack. 

Milo fell back as the gun met his temple. His head throbbed and black speckles swam in front of his eyes. His fingers traced over the spot and came back red. Through the dull ringing in his right ear, he heard the twins cry out his name. 

He turned back to the gunman, still kneeling. “If you’d do this to us, what’s stopping you from doing it to him?”

This time, a kick to the stomach forced the wind out of him. He doubled over, gasping. He reached for the batarang but the gunman kicked it away. 

The man raised his gun for another strike but the garage door interrupted him. 

“Step away from the kids.”

The twins exclaimed, “Dad!”

Rob made brief but reassuring eye contact with them before turning to the kidnapper. 

“I got as much as I could, Frederickson. Now let go of my kids.” 

The kidnapper walked over and snatched the water-stained blue duffel bag out of Rob’s hand. He opened it and counted through the banded bills before turning back to Rob. 

“I said thirty grand. This is only twenty-five.”

“That's all I got, I’m telling you! Just take it and let my kids and I go home.” 

“We had a deal.”

While the two men went back and forth, Milo crawled over to the batarang. The open garage door meant the bright lights inside flooded the harbor with nothing blocking the way. The bright lightbulbs dangled from the ceiling. 

It was sheer luck the batarang flew over the adults’ heads and wrapped around the base of the brightest light bulb before dangling in front of it. It wasn’t very distinct, but his makeshift Bat-Signal would have to do. 

The man cocked the gun. “Now you gotta pick. It’s them…” He pointed it at the twins. “Or him.” He pointed at Milo.

What kind of choice is that? Milo thought. Of course pick them.

Rob stood there as if nailed to the spot, fists clenched. 

“Fredrickson, think about this,” he said, his normally firm voice edging on pleading. “Is five thousand dollars worth having this on your conscience?”

“You were always the soft one,” the man sneered. “You never let it on around the boss until our last sting.”

“There’s ransom and then there’s this,” Rob said. “Fredrickson. Darren. You’re not okay.” 

“Rob,” Milo said. 

The men’s heads both swiveled around. 

Milo swallowed. “Give him what he wants and he’ll be out of your hair. It’s obvious. Pick the twins.”

Rob sputtered, eyes wide. “I-I…” 

“You trust me on the field all the time,” he said. “So do it again.”

“I can’t.”

The gunman said, “So the little ones go.”

“No!” Rob yelled. “I just—I just need…”

“Take. Your. Pick.” 

His eyes darted between Milo and the twins. Milo knew his boss was an idiot at times and the proof was right here. The twins were younger. There were two of them as opposed to one of him. They were actually Rob’s. 

Before the gunman could repeat himself again, a brand new voice chimed in. 

“I’ve seen this trope before. Spoiler alert: the good guys win.”

With a swish of her purple cape, Spoiler released her grapple and knocked the shotgun away. She coiled the rope around the gunman before kneeing him in the ribs. Milo didn’t think much of heroes given how they beat up people like him and Rob, but he couldn’t help but marvel at each fluid strike. As easy as one, two, three, four, and five. 

The gunman hit the ground and she clasped a pair of handcuffs on him. Nearby, Orphan collected the driver. 

Spoiler crouched beside the twins and freed them. “Are you guys alright?”

They nodded. Gunner said, “Is the supervillain defeated?”

“I’d hardly call him super, but yes,” she said. “He’s not gonna bother you anymore.” 

As red and blue lights flooded the room, Milo’s head pulsed even harder like a kick drum at a rock show. Some of the blood from his temple dripped onto the floor. His stomach rolled. 

Rob answered some of Spoiler’s questions before she set them loose. Of course cops would be at the scene. Why didn’t Milo think of that?

The twins ran into their dad’s arms and he scooped them up. Milo had never seen his boss so relieved or so scared. He staggered to his feet, one hand in the brick wall for balance. His head spun and a sharp pain was finally sinking in. 

Rob put the kids down and turned toward Milo. 

“I’m sorry,” Milo said. “It’s my fault we got into this mess and—”

He was cut off by a pair of arms wrapping around him. 

“Rob, what—”

“Just shut up and take it.” 

The hug ended before Milo could fully register it. After one of the medics patched his wound, all they had left to do was go home and pretend this never happened. Business as usual. 

“The car’s still at the mall,” he said. 

“I borrowed one from Otto,” Rob replied. “I’ll get ours in the morning.”

Once they were back at the apartment, Rob tucked the twins into bed with an extra-long story. Meanwhile, Milo cleaned himself up in the cubicle-sized bathroom and changed into something more comfortable. 

He tried to sleep after that but wound up tossing and turning for hours, replaying the night’s events in his head. What if he hadn’t left the twins alone? What if he’d brought a better weapon? The Steelers were already hanging by a thread and he just cost them twenty-five grand. If one of the others was in his position, they could’ve figured a way out by themselves. Blaise would’ve siphoned the gas from the van and turned it into a flamethrower. Booker and Molly would’ve been better negotiators. Kellin would’ve fought their way through.

The door opened. The thin bar of light cut between his side of the room and the sleeping twins’ bunk bed. 

“It’s two o’clock,” Rob said. 

Milo propped himself up on his elbow. “And?”

“I could hear you down the hall. You’re gonna wake the twins up at this rate.”

“Not on the clock, not my boss.”

Rob quietly chuckled. “Get some sleep. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

#see previous posts #milo carr #jackie steeler #gunner steeler #rob steeler #gotham gooners #original character #stephanie brown #spoiler #cassandra cain #orphan #batman #batfamily #batfam #batgirls #batkids #batsiblings #batman family #dc villains #gotham rogues #dc comics #dc fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #tw kidnapping #tw violence #tw angst #tw swearing #tw christmas