#and it hot fucking monday like i still do not understand that
I rly like the shawn angsty drabble bc in general i like to read angst fics and it’s cool to see plots that aren’t major angst like cheating or falling out of love, etc. It seems v realistic for someone who’s famous to be paranoid when they want a private relationship but who wouldn’t want pics of their s/o. So when he said that she was just bored, oof that made me sad bc they’re not on the same page:( Do you think you could do a second part?
Babe, thank you so much for this! I got an ask that felt really demanding that I write a second part and it made me a lil uncomfortable but this was so nice and generous of you to give me feedback like this! So thank you!
After walking out of Shawn’s apartment (through the back exit, of course, because you still felt the need to respect his wishes) you made your way to the closest coffee shop to try and relax. Maybe after your favorite cookie and a hot drink, you’d feel better. Maybe then you could try and understand what Shawn meant by the things he said, try and see it as anything but the insult it sounded like.
As you scrolled through your phone, taking big deep breaths in between, you heard the chair in front of you scrap against the floor. Looking up, you saw your boyfriend sitting across from you.
“Hello?” You greeted, scared of what was to come next. Shawn never went out in public with you, not just the two of you. The rule was usually three or more people present.
“Come back, it’s late.”
“Good apology, Shawn,” you concluded, taking another sip of your drink as he sighed to himself.
With a small itch of his brow and after a large exhale of air, he tried again. “I don’t want us to fight.”
“Oh, this isn’t a fight,” you said as plainly as possible, “I was just bored. Wanted to leave the house for a bit.”
“No. I don’t want to hear a fucking word from you, Shawn. Can you take a second to think about what you said? Think about how fucking hurtful that was?”
“Maybe you’re just upset because I’m right,” he tried. Shawn had an ego problem, that much you knew from the moment you met him--and usually his love overcame that. Today was different, you weren’t sure why, and more than anything it scared you.
“If you are right, and all I want is pictures with you, do you actually think I would’ve said yes to you hiding me from everyone? Your own mother doesn’t know about me!” You said, too loudly, as Shawn shushed you--almost instinctively.
“Please, lower your voice,” he begged you--eyes running around the shop to see who heard and how much and if any of them were pulling out their phones.
“Fuck you, if you didn’t want to have this discussion in public you shouldn’t have followed me.” You got up from your chair, threw your now empty cup in the bin and left the coffee shop in a huff, Shawn quick at your heel.
“Yeah, well, if I didn’t come here you’d be up in my face about not running after you,” he scoffed, letting you walk in front of him even though he could’ve easily caught up your pace. He chose not to be seen next to you, you had to assume that much.
“If I’m such a menace, Mendes, why do you even bother?” You let out, stopping in your place as you knew you were heading nowhere. You couldn’t go back to Shawn’s place--you couldn’t even stand the sound of his voice right now--so where were you to go?
“Menace?” The annoyance drained out of his face, replaced suddenly with fear. “Menace?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Then why did you say that?”
“No, I didn’t--”
“Like, I get your life is so much more interesting than mine, and your important moments are in airports and award shows and exclusive VIP shit. But I took that picture because it was an important moment. At least it was to me, and if you don’t think you braiding my hair on a Monday afternoon is important, than maybe this relationship means more to me than it does to you. And if that’s the case, Shawn--”
“It isn’t!” He yelled, closing the gap between you, hands reaching for your shoulders. “It’s important to me. You’re important to me!”
“Not enough, Shawn.” You sighed, brushing his hands off you as you made your way to your best friend’s house, knowing you could crash at theirs at any given time--big breaths needed not to look back at the boy you left behind.
This time, he didn’t run after you. He let you walk away as he knew you needed time to think, and he needed time to realise exactly what his words meant to you,
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Hey guys, hope you are having a good weekend so far. This is such a strange weekend here in that starting yesterday and going through Monday, every day is a holiday essentially. Yesterday was a snow day, which is a holiday that the sky gives you and is always my favorite. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, which depending on your take is a wonderful chance to celebrate love or a burden the greeting card company put on people. The second is a bit cynical for my takes and not a healthy way to look at things if you are in a relationship but I understand the need for cynicism if you're single. Bitterness is a stinky aftershave though, so be careful, it might be why you're single. Monday is Presidents day, which is a deeply silly Holiday because I feel like basically every day is Presidents Day when it comes down to it. You literally already won a giant popularity contest and we gave you a house in one of the most expensive real estate markets in the country. You want what, fucking cards as well? How needy can one person be, get bent. Today though, Today is the most important day of this weekendstravaganza cause guys, it's the day @somuchgayforher was born. Which is crazy important because if she was not born the world would be worse for it. So we should celebrate it. If you don't know her I uh... boy I don't know what to tell you. I have 26 followers and I refuse to believe there are any of you who stumbled upon my blog by accident and have never heard of her. Go follow her. But anyway, if you don't know her I can vouch for the fact that she is a talented and sweet Canadian. A little too obsessed with cute boys but what are you going to do? Girls will be girls. Anyway, Kat is a skilled artist and smart and funny and is a deeply good person. I am extremely thankful for her friendship and this feels like a good place to say it. Now, one of the advantages for Kat's birthday is that usually I have to figure out why whoever I am posting today works as a birthday post for the person I am posting. Luckily, it's easy with Kat cause the thing she is most attracted to is, "girl" and "girl" is the main attribute of basically everyone I post. Still, really lucked out that today I am posting Stefania Ferrario because Kat loves her. She checks all of Kat's boxes in that she is a girl. She also gets bonus points for being extremely attractive and sexy. She's here cause I just happened to see that middle picture of her and using my razor sharp intellect said, "Hey, you know what, this incredibly popular, internationally known model is pretty hot". You heard it here first, Stefania Ferrario is hot and in honor of Kat's birthday I am announcing it here today. She is hot. Today I want to fuck Stefania Ferrario.
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They’re settled, but they’re not settling.
Each day has a routine, determined by their often-conflicting schedules. Mondays are Isak’s favourite: he has one early morning class, then he sets-up in the library to study until Even gets off work around noon. He has class again in the evening, but it grants them a long, lazy afternoon together.
This Monday, Even’s sprawled out in the couch when Isak gets home, sketchbook resting in his lap. There’s a to-go coffee from his work on the counter, which Isak puts in the microwave before greeting Even with a kiss. And because they never kiss only once, that preoccupies them until the microwave’s beep is too persistent to ignore.
“How was class?” Even asks as Isak retrieves his coffee.
“Everyone in that class is a moron. Including the prof.”
“But excluding you, the school’s only genius.”
Isak joins Even on the couch, pushing Even’s legs aside just to pick them back up again and rest them on his lap. “How was work?” he asks. “Good tips?”
“Oh yeah,” Even says. “We can almost afford that toaster you want.”
“All I said was that it would be convenient if we could do four slices at a time.” Even grins, so Isak doubles down. “Fuck, you want it too! You said if we could cut those five minutes out of morning, we could spend them making-out instead.”
“Huh. That was very wise of me.”
Isak peeks at Even’s sketchbook, ignoring his comments about how, “This one’s not finished yet, and I don’t even think it’ll be good—"
Isak points at a panel on the half-finished cartoon. “What are you talking about, it literally says that you’re going to insert brilliant social commentary about mental illness right there.”
Even laughs. “I’m giving my future self a lot of credit.”
“He deserves it.”
This is what Even forgets: his art is what attracted him to Isak. Sure, there was the hot, mysterious stranger thing, but that only would’ve gotten Isak so far. It was going into Even’s apartment, seeing his cartoons and realizing: this guy is smart about things I want to be smart about; he’s open, considerate, and compassionate enough to think about those things; and he’s still hot and mysterious, so I need to know him.
Other people deserve to know him, too.
“Have you ever thought about sharing this stuff?” Isak asks.
Even looks surprised. “What?”
“You know, online or something? Some people start on Instagram and then get like, a fucking publisher reaching out to them to write a graphic novel. And you’re really good, so I don’t know. You could do it. If you wanted to.”
Even gives Isak a slow smile, the kind that still melts him. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
“The determined-to-help look, which I know not to fuck with, but Isak—”
“No, fuck off, that’s just how my face looks around you because I love you.”
Even’s smile rests into something familiar, comfortable. Trusting. “I know. And I have thought about it, but I don’t have the best track record with social media.”
“That was years ago.”
“That doesn’t mean it can’t happen again.”
As much as he wishes he could, Isak can’t fully understand Even’s regret, or how hard he works to avoid collecting anymore. He can just support him through it.
“It’s just an idea, no pressure,” Isak says. “But if you want to do it, I don’t think that should stop you. I think it could help people.”
“Fuck,” Even says, laughing. “How the hell do you do that?”
“I don’t know. Make me believe in parts of myself I’ve given up on?”
Isak smiles. “It’s actually pretty easy. I just love you.”
“I guess it’s working.”
They both have work to do on themselves, they both have new things to learn, and they both have each other to help them through it.
They’re settled, but they are not settling.
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Hey hon could I please request a fluffy Bucky imagine where the reader works at a cafe and Bucky forces Steve to come with him every morning to see her bc he likes her x
I know this took forever and I’m so sorry. I’ve been so out of it and exhausted and not really wanting to do anything that I love to do. But I actually like this so yay! Hope you like this as well! Happy reading!!
Warnings: kinda shitty but oh well, little language, not as fluffy as I wanted but it’s there
It’s been three months. Three long months of Steve beingdragged to this small coffee shop, Café Con Crema, that smelled of bittercoffee grounds and melted butter, just so Bucky could gawk and be an all-outmess around you. But it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Steve got to seeBucky be the happiest he’s been in a long time and he gets a free coffee andpastry out of it too. You made the best Puerto Rican coffee (A/N: hot coffeemade with sweetened condensed milk. It’s fucking delicious. Cubans coin this aswell.) and your cinnamon rolls were to die for. And that’s exactly what theyordered every day for three months straight. You obviously recognized themsince they came into your shop all the time. And you may or may not have a growingcrush on the tall, brooding, dark-headed hunk of a man that comes into your shopon the regular. But, you were beginning to become concerned for their healthwith how they ate but they only seemed to become even more toned day after day.
One Monday morning as you brought over their coffee and food,you decided to strike up a conversation. Heck, it only took you three monthsbut at least you’re doing it. “Two coffees and two cinnamon rolls for twoimpossibly fit men. How in the world do you do it? This is all I ever see youguys eat and yet here you are, still alive and looking better by the day. What’syour secret?” You set down their food and cross your arms, awaiting their long-anticipatedanswer.
“Well, after towing me away from bed every morning to comesee you, I make Buck here run thirteen miles with me when we leave. That andtraining for a few hours a day seems to do the trick,” the blond one chuckled,making the brunet turn a rosy pink in the face, wishing the floor would open upand swallow him right then and there.
“Tha-that’s not true. I don’t make you do anything Steve. Wecome here on mutual agreement. You’re just really beautiful and funny andperfect and your laugh is like music and you make really good cinnamon rolls,that’s all,” Bucky rushes his words out it takes a second to understand him. Realizationhits both of your faces at what just came out of his mouth. Steve just smirks,letting the remarks sink in.
“Well, since you think my cinnamon rolls are so good, maybe youcould come by tomorrow morning and I’ll show you how to make them. And this time,don’t drag Steve away from his sleep,” you wink and walk back towards thecounter to help a new customer.
Bucky looks over at a smug Steve, “What the hell justhappened??”
“Well jerk, looks like you have a date and I can finally getsome restful shuteye,” he replied, silently thanking God above for what has finallyhappened between the two of you. It’s been a long, long time coming.
Permanent tags: @broitsmydick @callmebucky-doll
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Give Me Thunder // 1988
Summary: When you’re part of rival fraternities the last thing you’re supposed to do is fall for the enemy, but then, Patrick’s never known anyone like Jonathan Toews before.
In retrospect, Patrick really should’ve known better.
Homecoming is a huge night for most fraternities, including his own, the Delta Chi house. They’re known for going absolutely balls to wall with the planning, preparation, and execution of their parties. It’s an event. An evening to remember if you will. And where’s Patrick? Wedged in some hallway at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon mansion drinking shitty overpriced beer from a keg, sweating his nuts off, and listening to fucking Chumbawamba playing from their high-priced stereo system.
This disgrace of a party deserves no attendees, and yet, the house is packed, every little inch and every single corner filled with Sigma Alpha brothers, their dates, and friends. A house of garbage monkeys. A house of ill repute.
"It's not that bad," Dayna says, exasperated.
Dayna, the reason he’s in this shithole in the first place.
Patrick narrows his eyes, watching her and the room suspiciously. "Oh, but it is, my friend. It is."
“You’re overreacting,” she says and grins.
Patrick frowns. He’s not usually one to get overheated, but it’s like a sauna in this joint. He pulls at his tie to loosen it, listening to some Billie Eilish song come on next. "I can't believe you made me come here."
"And I can't believe you wore a hot pink tie when I told you specifically I was wearing a royal blue dress, so I guess we're even."
Patrick surveys the slinky strapless number she’s sporting and his own shimmering tie. It’s not...awful. "I think it looks good together,” he shrugs.
She snorts. “You would.”
“I'm taking that as a compliment.”
“It's not one,” she fires back.
Dayna’s fun and gorgeous, wicked smart. They met last spring in Linear Algebra and became fast friends, partly out of necessity because the math department was full of dull assholes, and partly because they got along so easily. There’s this pressure to find dates for every Greek event, someone to hook up with or to show off, and Patrick just wanted - wants - to relax, hang out, have a good time and not be plagued the entire night with what might happen at the end or if his date will be disappointed. It’s why he asked Dayna in the first place - there are no strings.
He hadn’t really counted on her betraying him in this obscene of a manner, however. Sigma Alpha? Really?!
“I'm sorry,” she says, rubbing his shoulder, but she seems distracted. She’s been looking off into the crowd as if she’s trying to find someone, ever since they arrived.
Patrick tickles at her arm to get her attention and when she turns, smiling, he says. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”
“Will you forgive me for ditching you? Because I'm about to do that too.”
Patrick blinks. “What?”
She scrunches her nose, just a little, and takes his wrist as if in apology. “It's not you, it's me.”
Patrick barks out a laugh. “You're not serious. Here? Now?!”
“I know,” she says, and begins patting his hand like she’s his goddamn grandmother or something. “I'm the worst, but it's really not you.”
“It must be a little me.”
“It's mostly Brent.”
Patrick gasps. As far as reactions go, it might be slightly overdone, but still. “Brent Seabrook? A fucking Sigma Alpha. Dayna!”
Dayna manages to at least look contrite. Sort of. She drops his hand gently. “I can see you're mad. Understandable. I'm gonna go...over there. And hopefully, when I see you Monday you'll be less mad. Bye Pat!”
“Bye Traitor!” he yells. He hopes the whole party hears it over the awful music playing in this awful house on this awful night.
Patrick watches her walk over to a table with a group of guys centered around Seabrook. They took up camp there shortly after Patrick and Dayna arrived. And more and more people have gathered around since. People always seem to gravitate to Seabrook, so Patrick really shouldn't be surprised that Dayna is too. The guy is huge in that cuddly bear sort of way, but with perfect hair, and the kind of laid back attitude that most people never really achieve.
Too bad he's a fucking Sigma Alpha.
Patrick hates Sigma Alphas.
He's not joking when he tells this to everyone, and he means everyone: from the freshman rushes to his TA, Marian, from his Tuesday-Thursday biochem lab, to Lee, his favorite delivery guy, to generally anyone who passes him on the street. Sigma Alphas are self-obsessed, shitstain, egomaniacs, that ruin everything and have no concept of fun. They’re the absolute worst.
So, of course, it only makes sense on this wreck of a night that Patrick runs into the very worst one of them all after Dayna abandons him.
“Amazing,” a smug voice says from behind him.
It’s truly unfortunate Patrick recognizes that voice so well seeing how he can’t stand Jonathan Toews. One of life’s evil jokes, apparently, because Toews is the very embodiment of gum under his shoe, or a flat tire on a rainy day, or some other horrible Alanis Morissette analogy.
The point is...he’s terrible.
Patrick turns slowly, already annoyed when he sees the amusement written all over Jonny’s stupid, grinning face.
“It's not you, it's me,” he mocks. “I didn't know that was a thing people actually still said.”
“Well, that’s what happens when no one will go out with you, Toews,” Patrick fires back with a wink. “No one talks to you.”
Jonny’s smile fades. “Says the guy who just got dumped.”
They’re not exactly standing near each other, but the music is loud and to keep from shouting Patrick takes a step closer, having to tilt his head back just a bit when Jonny moves in too.
“At least I had a date.”
“A date that dumped you for one of my friends.”
Patrick clenches his fist at the smug expression on Toews’ stupid face. “What, you think you can do better?”
“I don't think, I know I can do better.”
“Oh really,” Patrick scoffs.
“Absolutely,” he says. “I could get any girl’s number in here before you.”
It’s a ridiculous statement. Inane. Besides the fact that Jonny has a clear advantage since this is his house and he probably knows half of these girls, it’s a dumb bet to make to prove he’s somehow, someway, better at not getting dumped. Which was the original argument? Maybe? Fuck, Patrick isn't even sure any more he’s too pissed off.
But he takes one look at Jonny’s smirking face and knows he’s going to rise to the challenge. He hates himself a little for not being able to just walk away.
“Go ahead then,” Patrick says, sealing his fate. “Show me your moves.”
Jonny eyes him, nonchalant. “You couldn't handle it.”
“Couldn’t handle what? You haven’t even declared a wager yet. That confident in your moves?”
Jonny straightens his back, stands tall, and pauses for a moment like he’s gathering himself, then he looks down at Patrick, down into his goddamn soul and smirks, calm, confident, cocky. “Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Uh,” Patrick says, confused.
Jonny moves in closer, the corners of his mouth curving up and up as he leans in. “I’m here now. What are your other two wishes?”
Did he just…?
Patrick laughs, can’t help himself. “Good god that’s an awful pick-up line. F minus. You’re supposed to be impressing me - I mean her, dude. That just makes you look like a stuck up jackass.”
Jonny’s brow furrows, displeased. “Okay, what about: Does your left eye hurt? Because you've been looking right all day.”
Less awful, but Patrick can do better. “Are you a 90-degree angle? 'Cause you are looking right!”
“Was that a math joke?”
Patrick glares. “Maybe.”
“Don't shit talk math.”
He waits for Jonny to say something else, now that Patrick’s exposed a weakness, but instead he taps a finger against his chin, as if in thought again.
“I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?” he tries.
Patrick shakes his head. “Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material.”
This time Jonny laughs, vivid and real, and it brightens his whole face in a way Patrick’s never seen before, not this close up. His eyes are almost black in this dimmed corner of the house and they sparkle when the light hits them. He takes another step in, closer, so they’re just a foot away from each other. When he catches Patrick’s gaze he says low, voice softer, “I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I wouldn't forget a pretty face like that.”
Patrick swallows and pulls at his collar. It’s really fucking hot in this house. It probably shouldn’t be this hot in September.
“That’s um,” he coughs. “That’s not terrible.”
“It’s the one,” Jonny says, lips curving.
He’s more pleased with himself than he has any right to be, the arrogant dickbag. He thinks he’s already won this thing and they haven’t even ironed out all of the details yet.
Patrick purses his lips. “Anyway, what do I win if I get a number first?”
“You have to win first.”
Patrick steps forward, determined, until they’re only inches apart and whispers, “Watch me.”
Jonny doesn’t cede any ground, tall and looming, too casual. He makes Patrick’s skin itch in the worst way. If he could just get Jonny to break, just a little, it’d be worth all this shitty night has wrought upon him.
He shoulders past Jonny roughly, using his upper body strength to edge Jonny a step back as he passes. It’s a small victory, but he relishes it as he looks around the room for a willing participant. Almost everyone is already clustered in groups or pairs so the pickings are slim. He’s about to turn into the next room when he sees two girls tucked away against a bay window, one texting on her phone and talking, the other, curvy, cute and brunette, looking bored beside her.
She’s wearing one of those side strap dresses that are incredibly sparkly, and her feet are shoeless. When Patrick steps up to her, smiling, she’s still almost as tall as him.
“Hey,” he says, cool, calm.
He’s got this. No problem.
“No,” she says, bored expression unchanging.
“No,” she repeats. She’s not even looking at him, which is a little rude.
Patrick drops the chill guy act and goes for something more sincere, genuine, as he bites his lip.
“Look, you want to maybe-”
“No,” she says again, this time sharper. “No, go away.”
“Well, alrighty then. You have a nice night,” Patrick salutes her, spins on his heel and walks away.
That was a dumpster fire.
He can already see Jonny laughing from across the room. Goddamnit fucking bullshit fuck. A weak-ass effort, and of all the times.
He trudges back to their original spot expecting the gloating of a lifetime, but Jonny has his chin tilted up and is already passing Patrick by, headed for somewhere and someone in particular.
Patrick’s eyes trail him, riveted to the way Jonny moves through the crowd like he owns it, as if the room bends to his will.
There’s a petite strawberry blonde with black gauges in her ears and dark red lipstick painted on her mouth, chatting with some skinny kid that's clearly trying too hard. She turns to Jonny when he steps up, her smile curious, but her arms crossed. Patrick can't look away, watching them talk back and forth, the way her expression shifts from curious to suspicious to amused. He barely says more than a handful of words to her before she’s writing her number on his palm.
And where did he even get a pen? Did he just have the pen on him? Who carries pens on a night like this?!
“How the fuck…,” Patrick murmurs to himself, and receives a weird look from one the Sigma rushes, as they walk by.
Before Patrick can blink Jonny’s returned, standing straight and smug in front of him as he holds his hand up.
“Here ya go, slick.”
Slick? This guy is so lame.
Patrick sighs. “Double or nothing?
“No way,” Jonny says. “Don’t filch on the bet now, Kane.”
It was worth a shot.
“Fine,” he shrugs, mentally preparing himself for whatever humiliation is about to come his way. “What do you want?”
Jonny hums. “Loser gives winner a blowjob?”
Patrick tries to replay the words Jonny just said, again, like it’s a recorded message and if he can listen to it closely enough he’ll understand. They’ll make more sense if he can hear them one more time.
There might be a 404 ERROR message currently running through Patrick’s brain.
He needs a rewind button.
Patrick coughs his way into a laugh. “Uh...what?!
It's not that it's a secret either of them are into guys. Patrick's seen Jonny around campus getting friendly with both men and women more than a few times. Still, it's quite the leap to assume Patrick, a Delta Chi, and therefore a superior species is interested in him, a mere peasant.
“Are you serious?” he asks, still laughing. It might be a bit of a hysterical laugh. It’s pretty high pitched.
Jonny doesn't look insulted, the cocky asshole. His expression is more impatient, if anything, as he steps into Patrick's space and says, “Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”
Not yet, Patrick thinks and feels his dick twitch. Jesus. It's too goddamn hot in this house. Sweat gathering at his temples and his tie too tight around his neck. He pulls it looser and tries to shake off his jitters.
“That's a bold assumption you're making, dude.”
“Are you saying you don't want to?” Jonny asks.
The truly gross part is how Patrick only hesitates a second before looking him over, really takes a moment to let his eyes wander up and down the length of Jonny’s long body, his muscular arms, the broad shoulders, the ruddy tint to his cheeks, the sculpted jaw, his pink lips and dark brown eyes. The kind of eyes that are warm and so so intense, and currently trained all on him.
Patrick’s traitorous dick thickens in his pants, his own body enacting a mutiny upon him.
He swallows roughly. “Uh...no.”
“Let’s go up to my room then,” Jonny says.
Patrick should leave. He should leave.
Instead, he follows.
Walking up the stairs to Jonny's room the only thing Patrick can think about is that he wishes he'd had more to drink. He’s not even buzzed enough to realistically blame this error in judgment on alcohol. But he refuses to blame himself either so it's pretty obviously all Dayna’s fault, and Brent Seabrook’s. Which means it's Sigma Alpha’s fault.
So there, the world makes sense once again.
The upstairs is less crowded than the rest of the house, most of the bedroom doors shut, probably locked to prevent outsiders from fucking on house members beds. Jonny’s room is at the end of the hall, tucked away next to the bathroom. Jonny lets them both in, ushering Patrick inside first and flipping the lock behind them.
It’s a single, which shouldn’t be surprising since Jonny is the Sigma President, but it catches Patrick off guard all the same. He has to take a few beats to gather himself as his gaze travels over the room. It’s every inch what Patrick would’ve expected, from the collection of Apple products scattered over his desk to the trophies and medals pinned to his bookshelf. There’s an econ textbook on his dresser beside his overpriced watch and Armani cologne. Sports gear looks to be thrown in a pile by his closet almost artfully. It’s like his bedroom is a set for a fucking Abercrombie and Fitch ad. Patrick gags a little. Almost.
If that was all there was to Jonny in this room Patrick wouldn’t be surprised one iota. But it’s not.
There’s also framed photos of his family everywhere, pictures of him fishing with his brother, of their family dog, of his grandma knitting him a Christmas sweater. The floor is a mess with socks and crumpled paper, a thousand post-it notes of things he’s written to himself tacked up everywhere. He’s got anatomy posters on his walls and a signed Canadian hockey jersey framed over his bed, the forest green sheets are rumpled and soft to the touch when Patrick takes a seat on his bed. It’s a bit much to take in all at once especially with Jonny’s attention still on him as he removes his tie and unbuttons his shirt at the collar.
“I need a drink,” Patrick says, warm everywhere and restless.
Jonny pulls an unopened Absolut Vodka bottle from his dresser, unscrewing the cap, and handing it over.
“Here,” he says, and begins rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I don’t have any clean cups.”
“Anything to chase it with?” Patrick asks, staring at the veins running along Jonny’s toned forearms, the skin golden and his hands large.
“You need a chaser?” Jonny says like it’s a dare.
“Oh fuck off,” he mumbles, shrugging out of his own jacket. He fists the bottle by the neck, using his free hand to wipe at his sweaty brow, averting his attention. He takes a breath, in and out, feels the way his stomach flutters. “Bottoms up!”
Jonny snorts as Patrick takes a long pull. It tastes horribly bitter and burns all the way down his throat. He takes another drink, and then two more, and then again one last time for good measure.
When he hands the bottle over to Jonny he licks his lips, catching a stray drop of vodka at the corner of his mouth and utterly staggered by the way Jonny’s staring at him, eyelids heavy and pupils blown wide.
The overhead light is turned off, just a small desk lamp left to softly illuminate the room, everything a soft yellow glow.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Patrick mutters, even if the idea of it all seems less crazy now with a glass of vodka in his system and Jonny’s bare forearms in view.
“Or you can’t believe you lost?” Jonny volleys back, taking a few swigs of his own.
“Do I have to choose?”
Patrick reaches for the bottle again, wiggling his fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture. Jonny holds out the bottle for a moment, offering, but the instant Patrick actually touches it Jonny snatches it back, teasing, baiting.
“No,” Jonny says, low. “But you could come closer.” He tilts his chin up, gesturing Patrick to him, movements like dripping honey.
There’s this tension in the air, something that’s always been between them, but it’s different now. No less heavier, but still challenging, still stuck deep underneath his ribcage and tight. It’s sizzling through his skin now, making goosebumps pop up all across his overheated skin. He waits, just long enough to see Jonny shift on his feet before he stands - until they’re both standing. It’s a little victory, but he enjoys it, even more for the way Jonny meets him in the middle, stepping into Patrick’s space again and slotting a leg between both of his.
Jonny’s legs are long, full of thick corded muscle and his thigh hot to the touch. When it presses up against Patrick’s dick he can’t help the way a small gasp escapes his lips.
“This is so stupid,” he says, even as he pushes closer.
“Is it?” Jonny murmurs, rocking forward until they’re chest to chest, faces only a breath away.
“Because I hate you,” Patrick says, huffing out a laugh at the absurdity of the question, of this entire night.
“Well,” Jonny, says, nose barely grazing the edge of Patrick’s jaw and the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I hate you more.”
Patrick shivers. “Impossible.”
“You wanna bet?” he chuckles.
He’s so goddamn annoying Patrick wants to shove him away and storm out. He wants it so bad he can taste it, the tips of his fingers practically tingling. So it makes absolutely zero sense that he fists his hands in Jonny’s dress shirt, yanks him close, and spins them both around to tumble back onto the bed.
“Just,” he groans. “Just shut up and let’s get this over with.”
Jonny stretches his arms wide, crosses them under the back of his head as he spreads his legs. “Pretend all you want, Kane, but I know.”
“Know what?” Patrick asks, settling between Jonny’s tree trunk thighs and unable to keep his eyes off the considerable bulge in Jonny’s pants.
“You’re hard too. You want this too.”
His voice is a deep timber and it slides over Patrick like a silky wave. Almost calming despite Jonny’s provocative words. He wishes he could deny them, flip the script on Jonny and show him he’s not as hot as he clearly believes he is. The truth is he can’t. His own dick is a hard line inside his boxer briefs, the need to rub himself over the bedding becoming a problem he won’t be able to avoid for very long. Especially not with the way Jonny’s stupidly perfect body is right within reach of taking.
“Stop talking,” Patrick snaps, fitting his hands over Jonny’s hips and moving them up. He can feel the buzzed flush at the tips of his ears spreading down his neck. Jonny’s own throat is covered in a glossy sheen of sweat and smooth enough to lick. Fuck.
Jonny mimes zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key. It’s disgustingly endearing and Patrick gives up any pretense right then, gives all the way in.
He reaches for Jonny’s pants, opening them up and then peeling Jonny’s silver-gray boxer briefs over his hips and the plush curve of his ass, his cock slapping back against his stomach. There’s foreskin, which is new. Not much, just enough to cover part of the rosy-colored crown. Patrick's never been with an uncut guy before. That's not what causes him to pause. Jonny’s cock is long too and so so thick, fat enough it’s difficult for Patrick to get his fingers around. The tip is slippery wet and perfectly shaped. It’s an unfairly gorgeous dick, as far as dicks go. Patrick wonders if he can hate a guy for being so well endowed while still wanting to see exactly how far he can deep throat him. It’s not a question he thought he’d be asking himself on Homecoming night.
When he takes Jonny in hand he’s pleasantly surprised to see the way his hips arch up off the bed, just a tiny sign of need. Patrick runs his hand up and down the smooth length of him, dragging up the foreskin and pulling it down as he goes, then thumbs over the slick slit. Jonny hisses, moaning in the back of his throat and Patrick grins to himself evilly.
He could do this all night, he thinks, as he works Jonny up with the twist of his hand and the tongue that’s swiping out over his lips. Leaning down to lick a stripe up the length of him from root to tip he relishes the way Jonny keens, reaching out and then digging at the sheets instead. Patrick does this a few more times, just to see the way he silently begs for more.
All of it has his own dick leaking inside his pants, balls tight and snug. He presses into the mattress for relief as he mouths at the head, breathing over it hotly, but not taking it inside.
“C’mon!” Jonny growls, impatient.
Patrick hums wickedly and doesn’t move. “Ask nicely.”
“Fuck you,” he spits, propping himself up on his elbows.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Patrick sings, biting at his lip. He tries not to imagine another time, another deal, where it could happen, where Jonny could be the one pressing Patrick down into his mattress right now and filling him up.
Jonny whimpers a little, hand coming up like he wants to yank Patrick down on his cock, before falling to his side again. “Will you just...please?”
He says it almost sweetly, his expression shifting into something soft, earnest. It could all be a play to make Patrick do what he wants. It’s embarrassing how well it works.
Sucking Jonny down is overwhelming. He tastes salty and hot and he’s heavy on Patrick’s tongue. He can only take so much inside, working by half inches as he bobs up and down in a continuous rhythm. When he can feel Jonny at the back of his throat he’s still got one hand inelegantly stroking the base where two could fit. He can’t take much more, even with his truly enviable skills.
It doesn’t seem to matter anyway as the movements he’s making are enough to have Jonny arching off the bed and groaning deeply as he comes. There was a half-assed warning in the flapping of Jonny’s hand, but Patrick doesn’t let up, sucking him down until he’s jerking weakly. He's not really sure why he swallows, he certainly doesn't owe it to Jonny after all. That was never part of the bet. But it might be the way his own dick aches when that first splash of come hits his tongue, filthy and tangy, so clearly all of Jonny. Or it might be the way Jonny's eyes roll back in his head when he sees Patrick suck harder on the crown, instead of pulling back, shuddering all over and letting out a breathy punched out ‘fuck’. He’s not sure why and he’s not going to question it further. Instead, he eases back lazily, wiping at the edges of his mouth and watching Jonny stretch out across his bed, murmuring happily.
“You're welcome,” Patrick says, heart pounding and skin prickly.
“Oh yeah, thank you,” Jonny smiles, eyes closed. “That was great.”
“Mmm. Made me all sleepy.”
Patrick watches him settle back into his pillow, body slack, relaxed even with his shirt askew and his pants still unzipped. “Are...are you actually falling asleep?”
“Why?” Jonny asks, breezily. “Did you want something?”
Was this guy for fucking real?
“Nah, man. I'm good. See ya later,” Patrick bites out, twisting to move off the bed. He doesn’t make it far.
“Shut up and c’mere,” Jonny laughs, looping his arms around Patrick's middle and pulling him back down. Then he kisses Patrick long and bruising, stealing all the air from his lungs and licking the taste of himself off of Patrick’s tongue. “Your breath smells like dick.”
“Mmm yeah, it's good,” Jonny says, and sucks on Patrick’s bottom lip for another few long beats.
“You're a weird one, Toews, but you're hot as fuck.” It shouldn’t be said, but Patrick can’t not say it. His buzz is really starting to kick in now.
“Thank you?” Jonny asks like he's unsure if Patrick's insulting him or not.
Patrick nods, dizzy drunk and skin tingling. “You’re welcome.”
A large hand settles hot over his cloth covered dick, rubbing in circles that make Patrick whine with the need for skin on skin. Luckily Jonny doesn’t make him wait, flicking open his pants and shoving his hand inside until he can grasp Patrick good and tight. He’s a sticky, wet mess, precome slick all over his boxers. Jonny uses it to ease the way, grip firm and surprisingly deft. He leans close to bite at Patrick’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth again as Patrick shudders out his release. It’s better than it has any right to be.
When Jonny pulls his hand free he licks some of the come from his palm, lapping at it slowly, making a show. Patrick's so mesmerized he doesn't realize Jonny's wiped the rest of the jizz on his thigh until he feels it start to seep through the material.
“You're fucking rude,” he spits. Or tries to with the way he’s attempting to catch his breath.
“You liked it,” Jonny grins, still smug as ever.
“That second rate handjob? I've done better with a bottle of Jergens on my own, pal.”
Jonny flips over onto his front, throwing an arm over Patrick’s middle as he pushes his face half against his pillow, lips just inches from Patrick’s temple. “You know how I know you’re lying?”
“Mmm?” Patrick mumbles, limbs heavy and the room a little spinny. Maybe he needs a quick nap before he hikes it the fuck out of here. Just a quick catnap.
“Every time I touch you...you tremble,” Jonny whispers.
Patrick doesn’t shiver.
Because if he did that would be embarrassing and this night has already ruined him.
He’s wrecked and he can’t think about it.
Patrick lets his eyes flutter shut, let’s himself float into the hazy warmth of it all and doesn’t think, only murmurs, “You wish.” And then he’s blessedly asleep.
Patrick wakes the next morning to a buzzing in his pocket and a dull headache. Jonny’s knocked out beside him, breathing deep and pressed heavily along Patrick’s side. His face is soft in sleep, all of his edges rounded out, gentle. There’s no conceivable reason why Patrick should spend any time looking at Jonny or even be in Jonny’s bed. He shouldn't have landed himself here in the first place, and yet here he is, still, easing himself out of the enemy’s bed, and his room, and making the walk of shame home stained in disgrace.
It’s lucky Sharpy called him when he did, early enough that Patrick can escape the Sigma house without being detected. He’s not even sure what he’d say if he was caught or what they’d do to him, especially if Backes or Kesler were the ones to cross his path.
There’s other people out walking at this hour too, if only just a few. Patrick passes a couple of them on his way down the block. They look as unkempt as he feels, hair ruffled and clothes out of place. The sun is too cheerful bright the sky too blue for his dehydrated mind to process and he realizes he’s still got a come stain on the side of his pants, chalky and stiff to the touch. Awesome.
The Delta Chi house, when he walks through the lawn to the front door, looks a bit worse for the wear after last night. There are streamers and Solo cups strewn across the yard and trailing inside. Patrick kicks past some glittery confetti shit, pulling his phone from his pocket as it buzzes. It’s Sharpy again. His tenth text since last night and three missed calls. Yikes. Who’s about to get a lecture? Two thumbs for this guy.
Patrick considers trying to evade him for a few hours, maybe take a nap first. Unfortunately, he only makes it to the staircase before he’s caught.
“Where the fuck were you last night?” Sharpy says, face pinched and a mostly empty bag of trash in his hand. “You were supposed to help me with the pledges or did you forget?”
“Oh shit,” Patrick sighs. “Sorry, man. I...yeah. I totally forgot. Dayna dragged me to a Sigma Alpha party and well....”
Sharpy’s eyes go comically wide. “Sigma Alpha?!”
“Yep. And then she sorta bailed”
“The hell?” Sharpy says, stepping up to him.
The house has brothers scattered all over it in various levels of passed out, most of them too drunk to know better because if they did they’d be up safe in their rooms and not out in the open where anyone could mess with them. Shawzy’s plastered on the leather couch in front of the flat screen, some cartoon on that he’s probably seen twenty times before, Chaunette’s head pillowed on his lap. Phil’s smoking a cig by the window, even though he knows he’s likely to incur the wrath of their house mother for it. Buff is spread eagle on the floor, underneath the fancy shag rug that Soupy left them before he graduated last fall, a girl on each side of him. What a pimp. And on the green couch is G-Money, drooling from the corner of his mouth, and a dick in the shape of a J, for his first name, scrawled across his cheek.
Patrick’s going to have to wake him up in a minute. Hopefully, he doesn’t puke everywhere.
“Yeah,” he shrugs in Sharpy’s direction. Then he sighs.
Sharpy chucks him on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. But wait. Why didn't you just come back here then? Did you...you got laid, didn't you? Aww Kaner, good job, buddy.”
His smile is so weirdly proud that Patrick has to shove him away with an eye roll. “Stop acting so surprised, shithead.”
“Was she hot?” Sharpy waggles his eyebrows.
“He was...very,” Patrick admits, even if he’s not sure why.
The thing is Patrick could tell Sharpy, probably. That it was a Sigma, that it was Jonny. He’d catch no small amount of hell for it, but Sharpy wouldn’t actively judge him like the rest of the brothers would, at least not in any real way that would have consequences. The downside of telling Sharpy would come when he inevitably opened his fat mouth and told everyone Patrick’s business, probably by accident, but that would be moot once it slipped out.
So Patrick knows he can tell Sharpy, but he won’t. Instead, he shrugs, mind still too fuzzy sleep worn and foggy from the alcohol.
“Did you at least suit up?” Sharpy asks, like he’s Patrick’s father.
“Umm,” Patrick says, fidgeting under Sharpy’s scrutinizing stare. How's he supposed to tell Sharpy no, they had not, in fact, used a condom, because Patrick didn't want latex between his tongue and that gorgeous cock? But he’s pretty sure if anyone is squeaky clean on this campus it’s definitely Toews' lame ass.
Sharpy frowns and digs in his pocket, pulling out at least five foil packets. He shoves them into Patrick’s hand. “Hey! No glove no love, okay.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Won't happen again.”
They break off after that to begin cleaning, Patrick shuffles to the kitchen to grab a few black garbage bags and collects empty Solo cups and balled up napkins off the floor. Other brothers slowly join in, if a bit reluctantly, grumbly and moaning about headaches and begging to know where the Tylenol is located. Once the majority of the mess is under control Patrick leaves the rest of the pledges to it and escapes upstairs for a long needed nap. On his way he passes a framed picture of the unofficial house rules.
RULES TO NEVER BREAK (EVER!) (unless you’re shawzy and don’t give a fuck)
don’t sleep on the green couch. you’ll wake up with a dick drawn on your face.
never let a Sigma in the house
don’t leave your shoes by the door, they’ll be thrown out.
laundry days are on friday. wash your fucking clothes you, filthy animal!
the strawberry yogurt is kaner’s. don’t touch or he’ll glue your ass to the toilet seat. right, shawzy?
sharpy gets the TV every thursday from 7pm-9pm for The Bachelorette. no, you can’t watch your shitty Cardinals game. DON’T ASK.
I repeat, never let a Sigma Alpha in this, our home and refuge
if reggie is around feed reggie.
stop putting forks in the microwave, you morons.
david backes is satan. never look him directly in the eyes.
312-664-7440 Dominos Pizza - ask for Malynn NOT Bree for the 25% discount
DON’T ASK ABOUT THE GRASS
don’t give carbomb grey goose after midnight. or you’re cleaning the second story bathtub.
Seriously. Under pain of death DO NOT let a Sig into this house or you will forthwith be banished from the kingdom.
He taps his finger against the glass of the frame as he passes it by, a reminder to himself where his priorities lie.
In his room he face plants on his bed and dreams weird dreams of being kicked out of Delta Chi, then college, then his parents' house to live a lonely, shameful life on the streets of Chicago all because he let Jonathan Toews put his dick in his mouth. When he wakes, more clear-headed and less hungover he makes a vow to forget last night and never think of it again, like it never happened.
It’s for the better. It has to be.
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— 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 !
[ custom banner work in progress ]
➜ PAIRING ⋮ cc!dream x fem!reader
➜ WARNINGS ⋮ cursing, dilf dream, Jorge being stupid for five minutes, Sapnap being a hot uncle and a ladies man, Quackity getting yelled at 24/7 for something dumb, Karl being confused every chapter, and Emma being sick and tired of all the men around her.
➜ SUMMARY ⋮ The last thing Dream expected was to find a baby at his front door and his upstairs neighbor to be a hot babysitter who just might make his life a hell of a lot easier.
With the help of his four best friends he’s got this in the bag. Well the baby part not the falling for the girl who babysits his child part.
➜ WORD COUNT ⋮ tbd ..
➜ STATUS ⋮ work in progress
➜ TAGLIST ⋮ o p e n
➜ MOOD BOARDS ⋮ story board
PROLOUGE ; i found a baby on my doorstep
MONDAY ; how to take care of a baby 101
TUESDAY ; damn babysitters kinda hot not gonna lie
WEDNESDAY ; she makes me and my baby happy, seems like a keeper
THURSDAY ; falling for a dilf
FRIDAY ; they’re in loveeeee
Friday night ; would it be weird to kiss you on the first date?
SATURDAY ; the baby mamas back in town
SUNDAY ; tell me the truth so I don’t waste my time
EPILOUGE ; you me and the fat baby make three
꒰₊﹢୨` authors note `୧〃ꜝꜝ៹
before we go any farther. taki my beloved. the person who inspired this series. Ilysm babes and ty for letting me use this layout <3
god one fucking thousand. How’d I get here in the span of a few months? I went from writing because it was a hobby to writing and other people actually enjoying it. this is such a huge milestone and an even bigger accomplishment. I would have never been where I am if it weren’t for all of you. I love you dearly from the bottom of my heart and thank you for liking my works
baby daddy is such a great show and I suggest everyone to watch to get a better understanding of how it was inspired but ofc you do not have to. The series and show aren’t tied together in anyway but I may write a chapter based on an episode for shits and giggles lmao but still don’t feel pressured to watch it <3
( also sundays chapter title is the title to a harry styles fic i read a little while ago but mine is nothing like there’s <3 )
tagging mutuals later aswell for reach <3
@ttakinou @basilly @inniterhq @dysfunctionalcrab @dreamwvrld @strawberrymilkgeorge @dreamcatcherrs @disastrousdream @angeliciiee
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marvel monday request- dating steve rogers headcanon
— dating headcanon
pairing: (steve rogers x fem!reader)
summary: what it would be like to date america’s golden boy
request a fic: here
word count: 315
warnings: cursing, fluff, mentions of being sick
request status: open
nav + taglist + library + marvel
steve rogers sfw list
steve would be shy as fuck at first
he’d be really sweet and he’d probably get flustered every time you’d complement him
you’d always tell him you were proud of him for the type of person he was and how he never let anything change that
“i’m just me, y/n” he’d shake his head at you
“yeah, and i love you”
he had to do a double take
his jaw was slack as he just stared at you, taking a moment to process your words before his lips curled upward
once it finally hit him, his cheeks went bright red and he pulled you into his chest
steve would love cuddling with you, even if you didn’t do anything sexual
he just loved holding you
he especially loved watching your favorite movies because it’d help him understand your references more and more
you eventually got him to watch your favorite show with you and he shed a few tears when some of the best characters died
he’d call you “his girl”
“sorry, sam, i can’t. i got a hot date with my girl”
“bucky, c’mon man, i gotta get back to my girl”
“tony, i already told you; my girl’s sick and i'm not letting her be sick by herself”
he was such a great care-taker when you weren’t feeling well, too
he’d get you anything and everything you asked for
if you wanted soup? his mom taught him this amazing home-made recipe
if you had cramps, he’d get you a heating pad
if you were cold because of the fever, he’d cuddle you and if you got warm he’d tell FRIDAY to turn the air down
steve would listen to your music but would still prefer the music from his time, constantly asking you to go dancing with him
“stevie, it’s three in the morning.”
“so? i can't dance with my best girl?”
steve rogers: @ilovejjmaybank @lilac-s-k-i-e-s @peachyyybabyy @mssteverogers @lxst-sxulss @princessnnylzays @multifandoms1019 @chaoticweasleys @kaatelyyynn @nagygreta @yippikaiyaymotherfucker @vintageobx @kaiparker-avengerssmut @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @amelia-song-pond @infernal-fire @lostaurorax @stefans-wife @lolooo22
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But what if someone else had asked you out and Bucky gets jealous and protective and ends up admitting that he has caught genuine feelings for you in the middle of doing it and He doesn't even realize at first what he just told you 👀 . Btw I love your account , 🥰💕 .
i think it'd happen, as you said, without him realizing so. he's inside of you, fucking you slowly and deeply -- in his bed, nonetheless. you're engulfed by him, drowning in his scent and touches. the chain around his neck brushes against your face, your nails dig half-moon shapes on his back. it's almost sensory overload.
"'m the only one who gets to see you like this, all fucked out, only for me" he whispers against your lips, hot breath fanning your face. bucky's all over you, feeling overwhelmed with the sounds you make for him. "you're all mine, y'hear that? all mine, all mine"
okay, well, maybe he was jealous. maybe he was pissed that a chad or a michael had the guts to ask you out, in front of him. bucky was seeing red, and you couldn't even understand why.
wasn't it obvious?
"can't believe some guy asked my girl out" he starts, rambling. "as if she'd say yes, as if she doesn't know who she belongs to..."
your eyes are almost seeing the back of your skull, and you roll your hips against his. so fucking close.
"are you?" bucky stops in his tracks, holding your hips in place, still inside of you.
"w-what?" you ask, confused as to why he stopped fucking your brains out.
"are you my girl?" his voice is barely above a whisper, blue eyes looking into yours. this time he means it -- and so do you.
"yeah, your girl"
it's best friend's brother monday!
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Away Game - Emily Sonnett x Hockey!Reader
Prompt: Can you do an imagine where the Y/N is with Emily Sonnett and Y/N play hockey as well and she is still in college l. Like where Emily surprise Y/N at one of her games because she could tell that Y/N is super stressed out and just a bunch of fluff and cuteness? But also a little bit of feeling as well?
“Hey babe,” Emily greeted Y/N as she connected the FaceTime call before going back to reading her textbook.
Y/N was hunched over her desk in her apartment, textbook propped up next to laptop. Emily’s face sharing half the screen while Y/N typed notes out at the same time.
“Hey Em,” Y/N mumbled out, glancing up to shoot a quick smile to her girlfriend before going back to reading her textbook.
“Y/N, take a break for a couple minutes, then you can go back to studying,” Sonnett tried to encourage. She could see the bags under girlfriend’s eyes and the coffee cup next to her.
“I can talk and study,” Y/N glanced back to the screen, beginning to type, not even looking to Emilys side of the screen.
“I know you can Y/N, but I wanted to talk to you for a second, then we can just hangout on screen together while you study,” Emily tried to suggest again.
Y/N continued to type, periodically glancing at her textbook, not even acknowledging that Sonnett had said anything.
“Y/N,” Emily attempted again with no response. “Y/N!” She finally raised her voice, frustration evident.
Y/N’s head shot up, looking at Emily.
“What? I really need to study; I don’t have time right now,” Y/N snapped back.
“Don’t have time or won’t make time?” Emily snapped as well this time.
“You know I don’t have time Emily,” Y/N growled, the use of her full name showing how frustrated she was. They hadn’t been on the call for two minutes and were snapping at each other. Y/N knew it was her fault, that she could make time and her snapping was perpetuated by the stress of midterms and what felt like a thousand other things.
“I get you’re stressed, but don’t take it out on me,” Emily did her best to soften her tone, understanding the anger was misdirected to her.
Y/N immediately deflated, crossing her on the desk and resting her forehead on them. Letting a sigh, she looked back to the screen.
“Fuck, I’m sorry Em, I’ve just got so much going on right now,” Y/N shoulders were hunched in. Now facing the computer, Emily could see the exhaustion clearly, the way her brow furrowed when she had a headache. All fight had left the younger woman.
“I understand babe, just take a minute and breath, alright?” Emily tried to sooth the student. “What’s all going on that’s got you like this?”
Y/N groaned, dropping head to the desk against.
“What don’t I have? I have two midterms to write on Thursday before we leave for our away game, an essay due Monday, a lab I need to write up on the bus, plus practice and weights, and I should probably sleep at some point. But I can’t because I still need to study,” Y/N rambled. “Fuck.” She groaned, slammed her forehead on the desk, her hands roughly tugging her hair.
“Babe,” Emily tried to get her her attention, YN’s head remained down. “Y/N/N.”
Y/N rolled her head over, looking at the screen, keeping her head down.
“Hey hot shot, I know you have lots going on. Couple more weeks and the semester is done, then you get a break,” Emily encouraged, she wanted to reach through the screen and tuck the stray hair behind Y/N’s ear. She wanted to pull her stressed girlfriend into her arms, massage the tension out of her shoulders, sooth the crease out of her furrowed brow.
Y/N sat up, running the back of her neck, attempting to work out the knots.
“I’m exhausted Em,” Y/N whispered, lowly like Emily wasn’t supposed to hear it. “We need to win this weekend, and I need to do do well on my midterms, and this essay is kicking my ass.” The hockey player continued to ramble, Emily just nodded along, understanding she just needed to be heard.
“I know babe, but you can do this. You are so smart, you are going to do so well on those midterms, and make that essay your bitch,” that earned a small smile from the younger woman. “Plus, I’ll hand deliver coffee to your hotel this weekend.”
“Hand deliver to my hotel?” Y/N looked confused.
“Yea, our camp is in the same city as your game this weekend. I was thinking I could drop some coffee off in the morning before your game. Maybe sneak a hug in there too,” Sonnett finished with a wink.
“Fuck Em, I totally forgot you are in camp right now,” Y/N sat up completely straight, regret on her face when she realized she forgot about Emily being in camp.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Sonnett said firmly, cutting Y/N off before she could ramble out an apology. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, you have more than enough going on right now. So do not feel bad for forgetting, alright?”
“But that’s something I should remember,” Y/N sounded frustrated, rubbing a palm harshly down her face. “You remembered my game; I should remember your games.”
“No, Y/N, you don’t. You have so much going on already, my camp should be the last thing you need to remember,” Emily watched as her girlfriend chewed her lower lip, contemplating what she said. “Now, I love you and want to keep talking to you, but you need to sleep.”
“I still have this chapter to finish at least before I can go to sleep,” Y/N motioned to the mess of books on her desk, “so I’m definitely not getting to bed anytime soon,” her hand made its way to her face to pinch the bridge of her nose.
“Alright smarty pants, why don’t I hang out for a little until you finish up. We don’t have to talk, we can be together, apart,” the defender suggested with a little giggle at her attempt at a pun.
Y/N just nodded and went back to studying. Typing and the turning of pages the only sounds for the next hour while to just enjoyed the minimal company they could have with each other. Emily finally needed to call it a night when Mal made her way into the room to go to bed.
“Hey hot shot,” Emily softly said, Y/N just grunted in response. “I’m heading to bed, try not to stay up too late.”
Y/N looked at the screen, giving Emily a tired smile.
“Night you goof, no promises though. Have a good sleep.”
Emily rolled her eyes, “goodnight babe.”
The two disconnected the call and Emily got up to start getting ready for bed.
For the rest of the week, Emily and Y/N had hardly had a chance to text, both women so busy. Emily still finding time to send her girlfriend reminders to eat and sleep enough, or just sending her funny memes though out the day to make her smile.
Y/N had spent the team bus trip to Chicago finishing her homework. By the time they arrived at the hotel, she was ready to crawl into her bed and sleep for a week it felt like. Unfortunately, all she could get was a quick nap before evening skate around and team meeting before the game the following day.
The hockey team all made their way through the lobby towards their rooms. Y/N had her headphones in from the bus still, making it clear to everyone she wasn’t in the mood to socialize with anyone, keeping her head down, watching the feet of her teammate to know where to go.
Suddenly Y/N felt a hand firmly push her to the left, she whipped her head to the right, looking for the culprit. Y/N saw a teammate grinning and motioning to her left where she had been pushed to.
Y/N looked to the left to see Emily standing there with a large smile on her face, bouncing on the balls of her feet, doing her best not to pounce on the hockey player.
“Looks like you have a stalker, Y/N/N,” her teammates chuckled, Y/N’s sleep deprived brain slowly caught up with her. She dropped her bag and took the few steps to close the distance between her and her girlfriend, crashing her body in the smaller soccer player.
“What are you doing here?” Y/N mumbled into Sonnetts chest.
“Rumor has is some stud hockey player is staying here the next couple nights; I was hoping to get an autograph,” Emily said casually, lightly pulling away to jokingly glance around the hotel; Y/N tightened her grip on the defenders shirt, tugging her back in.
Emily leaned down and placed a soft kiss to the hockey players head.
“I’m kidding hot shot. I got a room here. I know neither of us can spend the night together, but I figured it would be perfect a nap before your practice, maybe one tomorrow before your game.”
“You rented us a room just to nap?” Y/N looked up incredulously.
“I mean, we could do other things than nap,” Emily said suggestively with a waggle of her eyebrows. “But why don’t we start with taking your bags to your actual room, then go from there.”
Emily stepped away, picking up the discarded bags and making her way to the elevator. Leaving no room for argument that she would be carrying them. Y/N just followed behind, amazed at the consideration her girlfriend had for her.
The two quickly dropped her stuff in the room, before making their way to the room Emily rented a couple floors up.
Y/N had Emily pinned against the wall of the room before the door even closed. Gripping the back of her neck, hand pulling up her shirt. Emily pushed back, taking her own shirt off before reaching for Y/N’s. Both now shirtless, they battled to press the other into the wall. Y/N being stronger, gripped Emily’s hips and guided her to bed, pushing her to sit. Emily immediately slid up the bed, Y/N following with her knees on either side of Emilys hips.
They continued to make out, hips rolling into each other, hands roaming exposed skin. Emily suddenly pulled Y/N flush against, then rolled them so she was on top. She glided her lips down Y/N’s neck and across her collar bones, slowly making her way down when Y/n let out a loud yawn.
Emily paused, glancing up to make eye contact with the younger woman, giggling.
“I know it’s been a while and I might be a little rusty, but I can’t be that bad.”
“I’m sorry Em, you’re amazing,” Y/N started, only to be cut off by another yawn. It seemed now that she was in a bed her body was done fighting the exhaustion she felt, her eyes already beginning to droop.
Emily made her way back up, running her thumb along Y/N’s cheek, leaning down to place a soft kiss on her lips. “Get some sleep babe, I’ll make sure you’re up for practice.”
The soccer player rolled onto her back, pulling Y/N to lay on her chest. The younger woman gave a small nod, already drifting to sleep while she nuzzled her face into Emily’s neck.
Several hours and a refreshing nap later, both athletes made their way to the lobby. They exchanged a quick kiss goodbye before parting, each to their respective practices. Emily promising to be around the next morning with coffee before the team would depart for the rink.
Sitting on the bus, Y/N leaned her had back, feeling better than she had in months. The three hour nap with her girlfriend doing wonders, it had quieted all her anxieties and stresses.
Emily made her way to the hotel the next morning again, coffee in hand as the team left the banquet room after practice. Y/N walked over quickly, ignoring the snickers and joked coming from her teammates, eyes only on the blonde in front of her.
“Hey gorgeous,” Y/N greeted with a kiss. “I only have a minute before I need to get my stuff and be on the bus.”
“Hmm, that’s alright,” Emily hummed with a smile, “I just wanted to see you before the game, maybe get that stud hockey player to sign my shirt.” She winked, motioning to the shirt she was wearing. Y/N rolled her eyes realizing it was her own team shirt.
Y/N laughed when Emily took the coffee back and replaced it with a sharpie.
“Who should I make it out to?” Y/N played along.
“Oh easy, ‘Emily Sonnett, the most amazing girlfriend’!” the blonde enunciated each word with her hands, like she was spelling them out in the air.
Y/N just shook her head, stepping close to her girlfriend before neatly signing her name on the shirt. Right on her chest, just over her heart.
“There you go you goof, now give me my coffee.”
The two made the exchange, both leaning in for a brief kiss before Y/N rushed off to the get her equipment for the game.
After a quick steal by Y/N and a fast break down the ice, leading to an early goal, loud cheers for the away team scoring drew the attention of the entire team. Y/N glanced up from the ice to see a majority of Emily’s teammates in the stands cheering the team on.
Y/N played the rest of the game with a new focus, she always wanted to win, but there was something different about playing in front of her girlfriend, a strong desire to show off and impress her.
Emily and the few players that knew Y/N personally met her outside the change rooms after the game. Each taking turns to pull her into a celebratory hug after the victory, all talking over each other about what part they liked the most. Mal and Rose pretending to recreate a body check against the boards.
Y/N had pulled Sonnett into her side while they all talked, both only half listening, just enjoying being with each other again.
“Feel better?” Emily asked when her friends were distracted. She could feel how much softer her girlfriend felt now that most of the tension left her body.
“A million times better,” Y/N leaned down and caught Emily’s lips in a kiss.
“Glad to hear it hot shot,” Sonnett whispered when they pulled away, both oblivious to their friends gagging at the cheesy interaction.
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Julian and Portia - Cryptids
Warnings: angst, swearing (especially in Julian’s)
Word Count: 850 ish, so about 425 a piece
“I swear to fucking God, Asra, if you don’t stop fucking yelling at me, I’m not coming in on Monday.” The Apprentice yells into the phone, trying to balance the phone and the steering wheel of the car, swearing again when they try to turn their high beams on, “No, Asra, I’m not fucking swearing at you, and I’m sure as hell not going to drop off you and your goddamn ‘associate’ in the middle of who-knows-where. No. No! You are going to either drive yourself or realize that that is a legitimately terrifying deal because that’s -.”
All that follows next is a scream, a terrifying, blood-curdling scream that has Asra yelling into the phone, demanding that they tell him that they’re alright.
It’s over in an instant, as soon as it started, a flurry of black crashing into and onto the hood, resting there like a…
“Asra I’m gonna call you back.” They pant, eyes wide as they try to fathom what the hell just happened, “I just...I just hit a bear.”
They drop their phone, not bothering to hang up, wondering how they, miraculously, didn’t flip and weren’t completely dead.
They could still hear Asra screaming on the other end of the phone, probably on his way to call 911 if they didn’t say something soon...they probably ought to call 911, report this bear on the hood of their car.
They shut their eyes a moment, and then, suddenly terrified that, perhaps, the beat could possibly still be alive.
Obviously the most rational train of thought was to get out of the car and look at it.
“Are, um…” They start, unsure of how to address this bear, and wondering if they have a concussion, “Are you alive?”
It jolts up, as if that were the electric shock it needed to come back to life, and they scream, watching as the mound of...not fur looks at them, looking baffled and terrified and painfully human.
It starts to scream in response, putting its arms against the windshield like it was scared of them, and they throw their phone at it, watching the small item crack against its skull.
“What the fuck!” It - he? - screams, scrambling to catch the phone, in spite of the fact he fails miserably and it cracks on the pavement.
“Don’t talk!” They scream, wishing they didn’t sound so pitiful, “Don’t...don’t say a word! What are you?”
He furrows his brow at them, trying to understand why they asked him a question after telling him to shut up, “What are you?”
They furrow their brow, wondering how he doesn’t know what a human is.
“I didn’t know if you were gonna make it today.” Portia surges forward, capturing the Apprentice’s mouth in a kiss, hands roaming over their chest, their hips, their thighs, anywhere she could find purchase because it had just been too long since she last saw them.
They smile against her mouth, drawing her closer, “I come every day.”
The boat rocks, and Portia grips hold of the Apprentice, and they laugh, holding her tight, “You want in?”
With her face smushed against them, she’s left half in the boat and half out, “Yes please.”
It takes no short amount of tomfoolery and fear that the boat could tip at any moment, but they manage to get her in the boat without any major disaster.
Portia laughs, head tilted to the sky as she rests her elbows on the edge of the hot, metal boat, her beautiful tail resting on the other edge. “You know, I do think this thing’s overrated sometimes.” She shakes her tail, and, as if on cue, a seagull announces its presence in the annoyingly loud manner seagulls have a tendency to do.
“What?” They ask, poking her with their foot, “Would you prefer these gangly things?”
“As a matter of fact,” She sticks her tongue out at them, “I would.”
They smile, trying to keep things light, “And what would you do with them, hm?”
Portia smiles, spreading her arms wide, “I’d go to a theater and I’d watch a movie.”
“Really?” They ask, “Why a movie?”
“You talk about them all the time!” She exclaims, shifting to face them, “I want to try popcorn and straighten my hair and, ooh, I want to wear a cardigan!”
They twine their fingers together, pressing a long kiss to her middle knuckle, “I think that you’re absolutely breathtaking like this.”
Portia rolls her eyes, “Right, just like the rest of the humans think I’m ‘absolutely breathtaking’.” She sighs, “Your people would rather study me than let me watch a movie in peace.”
“If I had my way, we’d watch every movie in every collection ever made.” A particularly large wave crashes on the side of the boat, rocking them.
Portia smiles at them sadly, “Not the sad movies, right?”
They press a kiss to her temple, then to her lips, wondering how things got so sad so quickly, and they mutter against her lips, “Just the ones with the happy endings.”
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Prompt: Gio finds out Marti likes boys
So, since we’ve had the coming out scene yesterday and @erin-leahh was asking something from Gio’s POV… Here you are :) !!
For a moment, he hesitates.
He’s already so fucking glad that Martino finally reached out to him, putting an end to that self-inflicted isolation Gio couldn’t quite understand. He didn’t need him to say that he was sorry for what happened at Covitti’s party, or for shutting him out for ten days… Not when he could see him squirm under his stare and being still so unsure where they stood despite the talk they had on the bus on Monday.
He didn’t expect Martino to open up - he didn’t dare to hope he would - and actually talk to him without hiding behind the same old lies.
He plays along, letting Martino do most of the talking because this moment is about him and not Giovanni. Of course it’s not Emma. Or Sana.
It’s not like he had no clue Marti likes boys: anyone with eyes would have noticed there was something between him and the ‘earphones guy’ (who was pretty good looking, by the way: go big or go home, Martino!).
Gio has been waiting for this moment for months, now and he knows he is not being fair on Martino, who is probably already picturing the worst case scenario, but… It’s a big deal for his best friend and he doesn’t want to make him feel like it isn’t by saying something stupid like “Oh, really? I’ve always know you were gay!”
Because he isn’t, he could very well be bi.
Because it would be lying, since he’s only had an inkling about it for a couple of weeks.
So he mulls over his next words for a second, and then decides to make sure it’s not him who has been inadvertently hurting Martino for so long.
“You? No, no, no… It’s not you.”
He’s half relieved, half disappointed that it’s not him Martino is crushing on.
Unrequited love isn’t pretty, no matter how hard someone tried to work around it - look at him still hung up on Eva, when she has clearly moved on already - but hey, he’s far from repulsive so to have Martino denying having feelings for him so resolutely… It does sting a bit. Nothing compared to seeing Martino finally smiling back, being happy for real, though.
“Well, he’s hot.” Giovanni says, because that’s a fact. He’s lost count of the times he commented on the other guys tastes in women, so why should he hold his tongue now? He’s straight, not blind.
Next thing he does is making sure where Martino stands with this boy… And then he wishes he had his number or something, because no one is allowed to be such a jerk to his best friend and get away with it.
Of course Marti had been devastated that night, at Covitti’s party. It had made sense, now.
Anyway… Judging from the way Martino smiles at whatever he found in his backpack, maybe not all hope is lost that the guy will realize he’s missing out on someone amazing.
“By the way… I really think he should dump the girl.” He tells Martino, and it’s going to be his final comment on the matter.
Whatever happens between those two is none of his business, all he needs is for his friend to stop being so miserable.
To be aware that Giovanni doesn’t find him repulsive, that nothing has changed between the two of them and that there’s no way he’s ever gonna let Martino sleep on the floor again… Unless it’s him who feels uncomfortable sharing a bed with Gio, of course.
He doesn’t say that. He reaches out, instead, grasping him firmly by the shoulder and ruffles his hair before letting go.
He knows Martino got the message.
“Come on, play!”
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