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volot · 2 years

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was going over a conversation i had where i touched upon some of the intricacies of volo’s relationship with violence, and while this post exists, i feel like it’s still worth jotting these down and sharing them here.

so in this post, i brought some of his complicated, messy feelings about violence to light; to summarize, i’d basically detailed how he isn’t inherently violent as a person and dislikes it when it is ‘senseless’ or ‘unjust’, but he has no qualms with it when he views it as righteous / just from his own perspective. and i still stand by that wholeheartedly. i’d mentioned there is a threshold for when he believes a situation calls for it, which i’ll get to later.

this is, sneakily enough, a callback i’d made to giratina. giratina is referred to as a raging being, both in the eng and jpn scripts, which i also associate with volo, who is angry with the world and his situation. but what it is also referred to in the guidebook as is having a ‘gentle temperament.’ from what i’ve been told and read, this means that giratina won’t strike unless it feels threatened / is provoked enough to strike first. it isn’t naturally inclined to it without reason: it has no objections towards doing so, but it is not recklessly destructive just because it can be. there is purpose towards its violence.

...which is what i think is the case for volo, too. he says outright that he’s “not above using force” -- and that’s true! he isn’t at all. he’s not above it, he’s not going to hesitate when he deems it the utmost necessity, there is no problem in sinking to that level. because his ambition, and because of the dehumanization of others - particularly those who stand in his way or have served in some way to earn his ire - doesn’t seem it a problem, only a means to the end; ruthlessness manifests in the want and the will to do anything to reach his goals.

but that also doesn’t mean he’s going to brute force his way through everything. he’s not going to resort to it just because. like i said above and in that post, he isn’t violent without a reason: whether it’s an actual one, or some delusional one he’s made up in his head from how he perceives the situation at hand, because they are a threat to him, because it is his divine justice to do so, because you have wronged him in some way, whatever reason he’s applied to it.

to put it plainly, it’s just not his go-to. it’s not his preferred method of dealing with things. volo is a very methodical and calculated character -- in this post ( tw: mentions of stalking ), i talked about how every time he shows up, he always has an alibi, there is always reason to doubt the idea that he’s purposefully following you around, he does a lot of things to make you toss away all suspicions you might have about his character, including coming to your aid in your most desperate hour. he prefers to manipulate slowly over time to get what he wants -- sure, he can be a little pushy sometimes, but not in a way that is too much: he makes it come off as harmless, giddy and excited badgering, spouting please and almost begging you to indulge him; like he’s trying to wear you down, being endearing almost, gives you reason to cast aside your hesitance. he knows brutality and force won’t get him anywhere unless it is the only option that will viably work, and in that case, he isn’t above going to those means. but people work with you so much better if you are amiable, humble, friendly, charming, etc which is what he presents himself to be.

there were many instances during the story where he had the protagonist completely isolated and in his trust. if he hated them so, if he believed them an obstruction to his plan, then couldn’t he just gotten rid of them earlier on? saved himself the trouble? well... yes and no. yes, he could have -- but no, he wasn’t going to, because he knew they had use to him. he talks about how he’d hate to lose you, how being buddy-buddy with you is a good investment for him in the long-run: and he states that very forthright too, all while sweetening up the words to make them seem completely harmless. he means it.

so it’s only at the temple, at the end of it all, the moment where he believes he is about to meet arceus and everything is falling to place and you’ve run your course of use that he finally, finally resorts to it: and even then, he was still using the threat and idea of force to manipulate in the beginning, rather than immediately jumping to it when he could have. this is again another avenue of his calculation: he’s saying these things to goad you on ( he knows this must be hurting you, freaking you out - you thought you guys were friends, he’s using this shock as an advantage point ), because he doesn’t want you to just give him the plates - the battle atop mt. coronet is purposeful, it serves as a bid to arceus, he’s showing arceus that he’s the chosen, that it’s him, and he’ll beat you and prove he is righteous and the chosen one. he’ll savor the absolute thrill of knowing he could beat you down, you who stole his dream from him and quelled the power of the nobles, as an ultimate show of strength, willpower, and devotion. the ultimate testament that he was right.

so of course when you’ve wiped out his team, when he believes you have arceus’s blessing, he jumps right to it; he doesn’t demand a round 2, he outright tells giratina to strike you down and not your pokemon, and i’m sure the only reason why it became a battle outside of you know, game mechanics and the protagonist having to win in a video game is because you still had pokemon alive to defend and ward off giratina’s attack.

tl;dr: if he’s ever violent towards a muse on this blog... there is definitely a reason for why he’s resorting to that in the first place.

#hc.#study.#ooc.#does this post make sense... idk it made a lot more sense in my head but translating it on paper is ???#then again i've talked about how his thought processes are... meant to be confusing to read / interpret because they legitimately. are. like #some people just have wildly and weirdly working ways of dealing with things and thinking about things #it doesn't make sense to anyone rational because it's not Supposed to. he's not supposed to #love this blog's vibe where i swing between 'aw he's being so funny and charming :] i gotta talk about how much he fucking Sucks' and 'oh #he's Rancid and deplorable he needs to flash the charm and tragic backstory to make it Worse'#violence cw

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caitlinbueckers · 9 days

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baby daddy.

paige bueckers x reader

3.2k

like guys . I don’t even know what to say rn . this is PURE fucking filth like yas there is some exposition in the beginning and its dialogue heavy but like ✋✋ just know this is fucking porn . So sorry for anon if this isn’t up to par but the wormz took over my brain and this is all i have to show for it . Love u so much for the idea tho <3

ANYWAYZZZ !!!! you and paige buy a strap. filth ensues.

MAJOR 18+ WARNING!!!!

“babe.”

it’s deadpan, borderline exasperated as you turn your head, meeting a wildly unimpressed expression from paige that makes you snort out loud, hand coming up to cover your mouth.

in your girlfriends hand, dangling from her fingers, is a dildo of some sorts, shaped horrifically in the form of an anatomically incorrect fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your surprised laughter from bubbling out, taking a step closer with a look of awe.

“dude, you’re kidding,”

“babe, why are we even here? like, deadass i have two hands and ten fingers, this is so extra.”

to be fair, she had a point— those two hands and ten fingers had never done you wrong in the slightest, but this was simply an act of impulse, deciding just that morning after you guys had spent the time with each others hands down each others pants, you’d declared in a sudden rush of post-nut clarity, that you simply had to see paige in a strap.

which, was met with a bit of intrigue and then, obviously, because paige bueckers is competitive in anything she can consider herself good at, couldn’t help but interrogate you in outright disbelief.

‘so, what i’m hearing is that i’m not enough?” it was said in the tone she uses when her sarcasm is over the top, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you, slapping her arm.

‘baby, stop being so dramatic, oh my god.”

you’d kissed her to silence her delusions as to why you’d even brought it up in the first place, before explaining ever so gently that it was never a matter of what paige couldn’t do, and more so about the capabilities of what she could do, and that you promised it would be fun.

truly, she was on board after you’d told her that for some girls it was hard to use, so that, ‘if she couldn’t handle it, she could give up’ — of course paige would never back down from a challenge.

“you do have two hands, and i love them just the same. i just wanna try it, okay? is that okay?” you say it in your quiet, softest voice, and maybe you’re kinda being a brat because you know paige could never say no to you when you talk like that, or when you walk up to her, tracing a thumb against her cheek before pulling her down to peck her nose.

it’s immediate the way she chases your lips, presses a quick one to your mouth before she’s rolling her eyes, “anything for my baby, i guess.” but, she’s smiling, and that feels like more progress than before.

in the end, you guys end up picking something pretty beginner level— it’s only six inches, has a dual ended pleasure vibrator nestled in the crotch for the one wearing it and due to paige’s prompt request, it is in fact purple, which only makes you laugh at the excited shimmy she does as you both walk out, hand in hand, the black privacy sack swinging between her fingers.

“thought you were so against the idea?” you couldn’t help but tease her once you guys are in the car, music already blasting— you know all her music without really knowing it, but it’s definitely something by brent faiyaz.

“yeah,” she shrugs, “until i thought about getting to fuck you with it.” she says coyly, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow before she’s pulling out of the lot, hand secured on your thigh.

you guys don’t really get to it that night, or the next day— instead settling for the slow, tired morning sex that you guys indulge in before her practice and then after, the languid, loving type of sex you both revel in for the evening when she’s back at the dorms.

no, for some reason, it isn’t until a week or so later that it suddenly comes up— and even then, you weren’t necessarily thinking about it too hard, not until the teams all at dinner. you, paige, KK, and aubrey all sit together, and it’s really in moments like these that you love to actually participate in conversations with the team— KK and aubrey had been one of the first to welcome you in with open arms after you and paige had begun dating, so you really felt most at ease with them, even if they could be complete idiots.

not like paige was any better.

it had started with someone making a tiktok, going around asking who they’d never let their son or daughter date— resoundingly, enough people said paige, which was both parts hilarious for you, and astounding for paige.

“bro! literally i’m like, the best girlfriend, that’s some bull.” she couldn’t help but scoff, even if she’s smiling just a little, “baby, i’m a good girlfriend, right?”

you purposely take a minute to answer, pretending to think about it until she grasps your thigh beneath the table, making you snicker as she squeezes, and suddenly, you know exactly the angle she’s playing.

“girl, i don’t trust you,“ KK snorts, making a face, “you’d probably get my kid pregnant or somethin’, like—“

KK’s words make paige snort, shrugging a bit, “shoot, i mean, no wonder they call me baby daddy.” she sticks her tongue out, entirely too immature for the setting of the restaurant, but it makes you warm all over anyway— you love her, even when she’s being childish, which is pretty much most of the time.

the conversation continues after that, and though you pay attention, laugh when it’s funny and answer when you need to, you can’t quite get that out of your head— baby daddy.

it makes you think.

it’s late by the time you guys get home, and true to paige’s fashion, the door is only shut and locked for a second before she’s behind you, pressing kisses to your neck and sliding hands up your shirt, humming quietly— “i’m a good girlfriend, yeah?”

it’s not often that paige asks for reassurance, mostly because she usually already knows, but it’s why it makes it extra special when she does.

“duh.” you whisper out, tilting your head back to grant her more access while she sneaks a hand into your jeans, forgoing the button entirely. her fingers are prodding against your clit when you let out a soft moan, your fluttering eyes only opening for half a second before they spot the black sack from across the room, your own hand gently grasping her wrist to still its movements.

“baby, why don’t we…?” your tilt your head in the direction, leaning your head sideways to try and capture her reaction.

surprisingly, she looks just as interested.

it’s comes out quietly, pressed to your temple, “get on the bed then.”

you don’t waste much time, stepping out of your jeans and your top until there’s nothing left but the black, simple thong that rests against your hips, crawling back against her purple sheets with an inquisitive look on your face while she pulled the thing from its plastic package.

“remember what you said earlier?” you say offhandedly as you watch paige’s muscles flex and tighten, looping the belt around her before she glances up at you, “which part?”

“baby daddy,” you can’t help but grin, tossing your head back against the bed, “just wanted to see how true that is.”

paige scoffs, and it’s obvious she likes that, plays into it even as she crawls onto the bed, looking down at you with a narrowed glance, “how true what is? that i could get you pregnant?”

it’s almost immediate the way your body flushes at that, the subconscious squeeze of your thighs together as you look up at her through lidded eyes, “mhm. is that bad?”

“i mean,” she’s smirking though, and her hand wraps around the strap on slowly, as if simulating it to be an extension of herself— it’s really fucking hot, “it’s sexy that you even thought about it like that,” she whispers, and you can practically see the confidence rising within her at the prospect, before her eyes flicker up at you. “wanna suck me off, ma?”

it makes something within you go haywire, and your mouth practically fills with saliva as if to prepare for it before you nod slowly, propping yourself up on your elbows before you stick your tongue out, paige’s blue orbs never leaving you for one second, before she’s sighing, hard under her breath, “fuuuck.”

she gets up on her knees, running her hands through your hair to gently guide your mouth down to the tip, her teeth teasing the bottom of her lip as you slowly slid the length into your mouth. it felt foreign, heavy on the tongue, but the texture was so lifelike, it almost felt like it was attached to paige.

“shit, baby,” she sounds out of breath as she thumbs your hair from your eyes, wanting to catch every dirty look you send up to her, mouth full and eyes watering, “god, you’re such… a slut.”

it must’ve been the strap or something, that had the endless string of dirty talk spilling from paige’s mouth, not entirely too uncommon and yet it had shifted the atmosphere completely. it felt lavacious, provocative, tantalizing even.

still, it makes the arousal pool between your legs, making you practically squeeze your thighs together again and again, chasing the feeling of some type of friction as paige pushed her hips up slightly, the tip only then touching the back of your throat and eliciting the first drop of a tear from your eye.

she notices, because she doesn’t miss a thing, and is slow as she pulls it from your mouth, eyes lingering on the string of saliva that connected your bottom lip from the tip of the strap.

she’s breathing heavy, blonde strands falling into her face, loose from the usual braid she kept her front pieces in as she grasps your jaw, “does that hurt?”

it doesn’t, but it makes you smirk that she even asks, shaking your head before you lean back now, head hitting the mattress as you open your thighs, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

“you can make it hurt,” you suggest, and paige lets out a slow exhale, a teasing grin on her smile as she grasps it by the hilt, “you’re driving me fucking crazy, y’know that?” the words are hissed down at you, spoken between her lips, chapped from how hard she’d been breathing as she rubs the tip of the now warmed, messily lubricated length against your cunt, eyes narrowed and focused as she drags it up, then down.

“you’re so wet,” it sighs out of paige as if she doesn’t even realize that she’d said it, a whine puffing past your lips involuntarily, ready to spit some type of urgency towards her, until she pushes in, finally, and you fucking gasp.

it was unlike what you’d really ever felt before— especially having never been with men or experimenting with penetration on this degree. it’s thicker than you expect, thicker than paige’s fingers combined, and your back arches upwards off the bed, right as paige grasps your hip to keep you right in place. “shh, shh— fuck, you’re so good, baby.”

“ohhh- oh fuck, paige—“ the words come out in a mess of noises, as you fling an arm over your face to try and focus on the comforting rub of paige’s thumb, the smell of her cologne, instead of the stretching, hot pressure that’s collected between your legs.

it only takes a couple moments before it doesn’t completely hurt, but the second that it does, you can finally blink your watery eyes open, letting out a soft moan at the furrowed eyebrows on paige’s face, her own lips parted as she carefully gives a shallow thrust into you, the subsequent friction of the dull, now audible buzzing of the vibrator on the other end of the dildo against her clit and it’s obvious.

it’s in the way she grunts, tongue darting out to seek attention to her bottom lip. “s’that feel good?” she’s panting already, and it makes your stomach swirl in arousal, nodding quickly as she gives another slow, but shallow thrust that sends immediate shivers up your spine, a rush of rampant pleasure up your stomach as you let out a groan, “more?”

it doesn’t take long for paige to find a rhythm— surprising considering her dancing abilities— and once she does, you can practically sense the confidence that radiates off of her. it’s in the way she wraps an arm around your thigh to hoist your leg up, higher, higher, until your cunt is on full display, and she’s leaning atop you, pressing wet kisses to your breasts as she drags her hips into you, each push making you both shudder out a moan.

“shit, baby— so fucking— so fucking wet. wan’me to fuck a baby into you, huh?” paige always has a habit of going on these fuck-drunk tangents, ones that usually send you careening over the edge in due time, but this— it makes you mewl into her ear, the thick, heavy weight of the strap punching into you, deeper than you or paige could ever reach, and it makes your hips jerk upwards, wanting more of it, all of it.

for half a second, you hoped, by some weird anatomical technique, she could get you pregnant.

“ohhh— fuck! paige, paige— pleasepleaseplease—“ what you’re begging for, even you can’t decipher, but it’s really just to make sure that she rocks into you like that again.

and she does— again and again, drool collecting in the corner of your mouth from how long your lips have been parted, and paige looks at you, delirious and flushed as she drags her thumb over your mouth, wipes away the spit and reaches between you two.

before you can figure it out, you feel her finger tracing the outside of your stretched cunt, the wetness that’s collected there as she lets out a wanton sigh, something more high pitched than what paige usually grunts out, “stretching you s’good, baby— fucking- take it, jus’ like that— fuck, wanna fuck you stupid, baby.”

it’s almost too much. your head presses hard against the comforter as paige’s hips push flush against your own, the final stab of the length being inside of you makes your head swim, your body acting upon it’s own accord as your thighs, shaking, squeeze around paige’s hips, your stomach flexing and jumping as paige gives up whatever bit of composure or control she has left, before she’s quick to fuck into you without a single strand of resistance.

it’s hot, heady, and the sweat that collects on the surface of your skin is almost like a sense of accomplishment as her face falls into your neck, your thighs pushed impossibly high to give her the best angle, as she ruts into you. the slight curve of the dildo somehow gives a direct angle to your g-spot, and it punches a shout out of you, one that’s followed with a crying whine that even you knew was bound to get you both caught.

“fffuck— shhh- shut the fuck up—“ her mouth is on your neck in an instant, other hand quick to clamp over your mouth, but the friction against paige’s clit has her bottom lip quivering, struggling to close as each of her gravelly, breathy moans launch right into your ear, and it’s clear that she’s being greedy, grinding the strap into your cunt for the effort of chasing her own high, and it’s fucking sexy.

this deep, you can almost feel the fucking vibrator, and it reduces you into nothing— fingers twine into paige’s hair, sweaty and sticky, as she fucks into you with reckless abandon, the bed frame squeaking in protest, your cunt wet enough that you can fucking hear it, can feel it drip onto the bed below, feel it coating the sheets and paige’s thighs and you think she’s about to orgasm with how quick her breath has gotten, how shaky her hips are with each incessant thrust, like an earthquake pulsing through your body and it makes you sob, because it feels so fucking good, and paige is so deep, you can feel her everywhere.

“wanna cum inside of’you— ohmyfuck- please, wanna fuck my babies into you— iloveyou, so, fucking- so fu-ucking sexy, baby, fuck.”

it’s all gibberish really, a promise that makes you turn into a pile of mush, because you can feel your cunt tighten around it— delusionally, you imagine paige can feel it too— because even her declaration of love is enough to send you flying over the edge as your legs tighten around her hips, the vibrator nestled deep against paige’s clit until she’s coming too, and it’s a glorious thing to hear— ripping from her throat in a cacophony of throaty groans and whines that mimic yours, only deeper, grittier.

she thrusts into you, sloppy and out of control until you can feel her release on your cunt, spread against your thighs, the dull vibration now pressing hot and wet against you, so much so that it makes your body flood in aftershock, pleasure wracking through you in earnest as your body twitches and jumps, every embarrassingly high pitched noise ripping from your throat, as paige’s go muddled and unintelligible against your neck.

it’s like a cathartic release of sorts, leaving you feeling boneless and jellied in the wake as you slowly return to your senses, fucked out and exhausted as you try to experimentally move your hips, but the soreness between your legs is almost unfathomable.

“shit—“ you hiss as paige finally lifts her head, her own hand slow to guide the strap from your abused cunt, and it’s clear by, not only the tired, almost loopy smirk on her face, but the redness in her eyes, the wetness coating her lashes, that she’d enjoyed herself as much as you had— and while sex between you had always been mutual, it wasn’t often you got to see her fully release like that.

“was that good, hm? did i do okay?” she’s always quick to look for approval, her hand coming up to brush the tears from your face, to pepper a light array of kisses against your lips, chapped and puffy, as you let out a tired laugh, “fucking duh, that shit was… so hot,” you trace her blonde strands, plastered to her forehead, away from her face, “don’t think i’ve ever heard you sound like that.”

it makes her cheeks red, eyes rolling with a scoff, as she lets out a quiet laugh, already trying to play it off as cocky instead of flushed, “well- yeah, ‘cause, i was watching you take my dick.” you slap her arm weakly with a snort, wincing at her usage of words, “ew, you’re so gross.”

“and you’re so pretty,” she counters, before pressing a quick kiss to your mouth.

you both don’t really try to address the fact that there was probably no way you’d both been quiet enough to not at least alert one of the girls, but you ignore it anyway.

besides, it’s only KK that ends up putting you both in a group message the next morning, sending a string of angry emojis and a text that says, ‘bye. im moving rooms’.

you both laugh, because you know she’s not, and more so, you all three know it wasn’t the first time and definitely not the last.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #writing asf #paige bueckers #smut #wlw #still feel like i could get even worse

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capseycartwright · 23 days

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let’s get lost between the lines

ao3 link

“You handled that well,” Tommy said, as they left the restaurant and stepped out into this cool evening air. His words were soft, and gentle – genuine, even. As though he really meant it. Buck was baffled, frankly.

“I handled that with as much grace as an elephant doing ballet,” Buck glared at his - his date? - incredulously. “Tommy, did you hit your head? Are you concussed? Do I need to take you to the emergency room?”

or, after the eddie shaped hiccup of their first date, buck and tommy walk and talk - about coming out and why buck deserves a nice boyfriend.

Buck feels as though he’s swinging wildly between a panic attack and some sort of mental breakdown, heart thundering against his ribcage as he and Tommy finally leave the restaurant. It wasn’t how he’d want their first date - his first date with a man - to go, but then Eddie had appeared with Marisol on his arm and sat down with them, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that he was interrupting a date, and not a just a bro-hang (his words - not Bucks. Because Eddie was nothing if not an embarrassing old man stuck in a thirty-two-year-olds body.)

Tommy hadn’t corrected Eddie about the true nature of their outing, as Eddie had rambled on, hovering over the table, completely oblivious to what he was interrupting. Buck had never been more grateful for the fact that Tommy had already slid his credit card into the folder with the bill, their meal finished before Eddie and Marisol had even gotten seated at their own table. The waitress coming over to return Tommy’s card, and hand him a receipt, had been the perfect excuse for them to leave after fifteen of the worst minutes of Bucks life, making an excuse that he and Tommy had bought tickets to the movies. (“It’s sci-fi,” Buck had shrugged, impressed at the way he was internalising his own panic attack as he managed to splutter a sentence out. Eddie had looked almost hurt, when Buck had blurted that he and Tommy were going to the cinema without him. “You wouldn’t like it.”)

“You handled that well,” Tommy said, as they left the restaurant and stepped out into this cool evening air. His words were soft, and gentle – genuine, even. As though he really meant it.

Buck was baffled, frankly.

Tommy laughed, the sound an utter delight to Buck’s ears. He was quickly learning that he loved the sound of Tommy’s laugh. “No, I’m not concussed,” he rolled his eyes, feigning offence. “It was a genuine compliment. I think you handled that really well, Evan.”

Buck filed the gooey feeling he got in the pit of his stomach he got when Tommy called him ‘Evan’ away to obsess over at another time. “R-really?” he hated the way he sounded so unsure, so uncertain – but he knew he needed to start embracing his own discomfort in the midst of all of this. Being – being newly bisexual was going to be uncomfortable, for a while, but Buck was realising it wasn’t a bad sort of uncomfortable. Weirdly, it was a good uncomfortable – like Buck was growing into his own skin, learning how to feel himself for the first time in his life. It would just take a little while, and it would take a few uncomfortable moments for him to figure out what this new version of Evan Buckley actually looked like.

No - not new. The true version.

“Yes, really,” Tommy nodded. He paused, glancing back at the restaurant. “How about we take a walk?” he suggested, gesturing vaguely at the miles of boardwalk and beach ahead of them. “I’m not in a rush – unless you are.”

“A walk sounds nice,” Buck agreed easily, because he didn’t want to go home just yet – and he didn’t want their date, however awkward and disastrous it had been, to end just yet. He liked spending time with Tommy.

They walked along in silence for a few minutes, Buck blushing like a schoolkid as he and Tommy’s shoulders bumped together.

“Look – coming out isn’t easy. It’s something you have to do over, and over again, for the whole of your life,” Tommy began. “I used to think that you did it once, and that was it, but you come out every time you meet someone new, every time you start a new job. It gets easier, with time, right? At some point – you come out so many times, it feels as familiar as breathing. But those first few times – those are hard.”

“I didn’t even come out,” Buck pointed out.

“You don’t have to,” Tommy shrugged. “And you’re deliberately not listening to my point.”

Buck couldn’t help but grin. “I like to be obtuse sometimes. Explain it to me again?”

“You think you’re cute,” Tommy poked Buck in the side, clearly enjoying the way it made Buck squirm. “My point is, the first time you say those words to someone – your friends, your family – it’s hard. It’s okay to give yourself some time to prepare, to not want to do it right away.”

“Shouldn’t – shouldn’t I want to come out?”

“It’s not an obligation,” Tommy shrugged, gently redirecting Buck to a bench. It was a peaceful spot, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore a peaceful sound as they sat. “Society is like – it’s structured in a way that makes it so if you’re queer, there’s this expectation that you have to divulge these deeply personal things about yourself to everyone you meet. It’s not exactly fair, is it?”

Buck had never thought about it that way before. “No,” his brow furrowed. “It’s not very fair at all.”

“If you don’t want to come out, you don’t have to,” Tommy said. “But it does feel good to come out. If I can give you some like – advice, I guess. It’s a freeing feeling.”

“I’d like to come out,” Buck managed after a minute or two of silence. “I’ve been thinking about it since – since you kissed me,” he paused, feeling heat rise in his cheeks as he looked at Tommy. Tommy, to his credit, tried to swallow his pleased smile. “I feel more like myself than I ever have before. Like – like there was a part of me that was missing, and I didn’t even know it wasn’t there, and now I know it what it is, and what was missing, I feel more like myself than I ever have before in my life.”

Tommy’s smile was bright. “I’m glad to hear that, Buck.”

“I’d like to come out,” Buck repeated, twisting so he could face Tommy. “I just wasn’t prepared to do it on our first date, if I’m honest.”

“And that’s why I’m telling you that you handled it well,” Tommy nudged. “You knew you weren’t ready to have that conversation, there and then, so you came up with an excuse, and got us out of there.”

“You got us out of there,” Buck pointed out. Tommy had been the one to play along and say they’d be late for the movie, if they didn’t leave, there and then. “I didn’t even say thank you for buying dinner. I’m such a bad first date.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re a great first date.”

Buck huffed out a disbelieving breath. “I was basically mid-panic attack the entire time, Tommy, you don’t have to lie to me to save my feelings.”

“I’m not lying,” Tommy shrugged. “If there’s one thing you should know about me, Evan, it’s that I don’t lie. You’ll probably be sick of my honesty, in a few weeks.”

“In a few weeks? You – you want to keep doing this?”

“Why do you sound so unsure? Have I done something to make you think I don’t want to keep doing this?”

“N-no,” Buck paused for a second. “It’s kind of the opposite, actually.”

Tommy was quiet, giving Buck the space – and the silence – he needed to collect his thoughts. Buck was grateful for it.

“I don’t have the best dating history,” Buck admitted. “One day, further down the line, when I’m sure you’re not going to run away, I’ll tell you all the reasons why – but it sort of all boils down to childhood trauma and my deep-rooted abandonment issues,” he tried his best to give Tommy a smile, turn the admission into a joke. “So, I just – I end up picking the wrong people to date. I chase the wrong people. And now – now you’re here, and you’re being so kind, and understanding, I don’t really know what to do with it.”

“You could enjoy it,” Tommy offered, and it sounded so simple, when Tommy put it that way. Buck could just enjoy it. He could enjoy dating a man – a kind, sweet, very handsome man. He could enjoy the way he felt entirely out of his depth when Tommy offered him nothing but kindness, expecting nothing in return.

He could enjoy it.

He wanted to enjoy it.

“How the hell are you real?” Buck couldn’t help but breathe out, shaking his head. Tommy was just – a dream come true, in so many ways, and Buck didn’t know how he got so lucky to have him be interested in Buck. It felt so new, and exciting – none of the existential dread Buck normally felt as he tried to make relationships fit into his life when clearly, they never would.

He could see how Tommy could fit into his life. They worked the same job, so Tommy understood the crazy hours and long shifts. Tommy already knew so many of Buck’s most important people – and liked them – and he liked Buck. He actually liked Buck.

It seemed silly, to keep coming back to that, but Buck hadn’t always felt as though the people he dated him, really liked him. Abby liked the idea of him. Taylor liked the story they made. Natalia liked the fact he had died. Buck didn’t exactly have the best track record of people liking him for who he was, flaws and all – and okay, after one date, Tommy didn’t know his flaws so intimately, but he’d just witnessed Buck having a meltdown in a restaurant and he wasn’t running away.

He was sitting on a bench, listening to Buck.

Buck could definitely enjoy that.

“My mom hasn’t spoken to me since I came out,” Tommy said, after a few more minutes of silence. Buck’s expression must have turned to one of absolute horror, because Tommy gave him a reassuring look. “You told me something about yourself – so I’m telling you something about me.”

“Tommy, that’s horrible – I’m sorry.”

Tommy shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said it was okay,” he hummed thoughtfully. “But one of my very favourite things about being queer is that you find a family for yourself in this community. You know? Well – of course you know. You’ve done that with the 118.”

Buck shuffled a little closer. “I’d like to do that with the queer community too. As long as you don’t mind being my like – gay Yoda.”

Tommy snorted, the sound an utter delight amongst all the background noise of the boardwalk, people going about their Saturday evenings, unaware that Buck was having the most life-changing night of his life. “You’re secretly such a nerd,” he shook his head. “I’m happy to be your gay Yoda, Buck.”

“Yeah, but – what do you get out of it?”

Tommy fixed him with a look. “Buck,” he reached out, hand brushing against Buck’s palm. “I get to have you.”

And –

Oh.

Was that enough?

“It’s enough,” and oh – Buck must have said that part out loud, Tommy’s expression endearingly soft as he nudged Buck. “I promise. You’re more than enough.”

Buck would probably cry, if he spoke there and then, so he settled for doing something he’d been wanting to do since Tommy had knocked on his door at exactly eight pm that evening, and he leaned in and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, soft, and sweet, a brief press of lips that still sent tingles down Buck’s spine as they broke apart.

He’d just kissed a man – in public.

That felt a lot like progress.

“I – I hope I’m not being too forward, when I ask this,” Tommy’s face was flushed in a way that Buck could only be delighted with. He’d made the other man blush. “But do you maybe want to come back to mine? Not – not for anything like that. I just don’t want this date to be over, and we could watch a movie.”

Buck had absolutely zero fucking intentions of watching a movie if he got to go inside of Tommy’s apartment. “Yeah,” he smiled, hooking a pinky finger around Tommy’s, not quite ready to hold his hand just yet. “A movie sounds great.”

#911 on abc #911 #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #anyway. the brain rot continues

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poppy-metal · 5 months

Text

dark content thoughts...thinking of freshmen reader being desperate to please upperclassmen!jordan... them taking advantage of that.... maybe after they've been knocked down in the rankings, in a shit mood, and there you are with your bright sparkling eyes in awe of them n they wouldn't have to put in any effort, to get you under them. n they haven't had pussy like that in a minute, from a cute thing like you.

all it takes is direct eye contact with them and a jerk of their head for you to stumble over yourself to follow them, minutes later with your knees pressed to your chest, one arm wrapped around your own thighs because jordan ordered it, sobbing, whining sniffling as jordan pounds your cunt. one foot propped on the bed to really drill your shit - balls slapping lewd and loud against your ass. raw, no condom, feels so fucking good.

and jordans gritting their teeth like they're angry at you, one hand gripping your jaw firm as you're rattled against the bed with every thrust "some easy fucking pussy, didn't even have to fucking try-" giving you one quick slap, and then another that jerks your head to the side. your eyes roll back at it, and jordans yanking your head back around the next second, leaning over you "you like that shit, huh, freshmen. getting fucked by me? think i didn't notice you eyeing me up like a lovesick little puppy?" their other hand comes to the back of your head, winding a fist in your hair, jerking your head so you're looking between your legs - "look at it - s'this the dick you wanted? see it fucking that sloppy little hole -" they keep your head in place and you gasp at the lewd sight of their cock sawing in and out of your pussy, the wet sheen of your juices gleaming off their dick with every plunge in and out. you whine and clench around them and they hiss. "yeah, that's right. give it up to me-"

they let your head fall back, only to bring their other leg up on the bed, fully hunched over you know and they grip your thighs, yanking your legs higher up your chest as they pound you even harder. the bed slamming into the wall, your body jostling wildly under them like a fucking ragdoll.

"shit - that's good - " they flick their hair out of their eyes, eyes closed in rapture. you cant help but be mesmerized by them above you. looking like some kind of dark angel. almost looking in pain, their necklace swinging as they move inside you. you wana be good for them, wanna give them this feeling all the time. so you squeeze your pussy muscles around them, squeezing their cock. their breath catches and they pull out of you, slick and wet with your juices "fuck - i need to feel-" they cut off and you gasp, empty and clencing around nothing but then jordan shifts, still gripping you by your fucking ankles to keep you spread and you gasp when they lower themselves down hard, cunt meeting yours, not even giving you a second to process before they're fucking you again. "oh fuck! oh fuuuuck - i needed that - you're so. fucking. sloppy." every word emphasized with a rock of their pelvis into yours. fat clit bullying yours, slippery cunt sliding and fucking against yours.

"jordan-" you cry out, you dont know what for. for mercy, for some relief, for them to slow down.

"god, shut up." they snap, eyes rolling back and in their own world fucking you with their cunt. sliding their meaty little clit between your slick folds, humping it against your wet and clenching hole. "just let me use you." they gasp when they're able to dip their nub fully inside you. "fuck, I can feel you on my clit - you're so tight -"

it goes on like that through the night. being their little fleshlight. getting your little pussy beat up by not just their dick but their cunt, coming around them and against them multiple times.

at some point, twitching and near out of your head and delirious you feel their fingers slipping through the slippery mess of your cunt, following the trail of your juices between your cheeks, till you feel their thumb press against the rim of your asshole. clenching and whimpering but not saying no -"i want this ass, freshmen." the tip of their finger dancing and nudging at your hole - "and you're gonna spread that shit and give it to me."

you know they're right.

#poppy speaks #in a mood i apologize #jordan li smut #jordan li x reader #tw: dubcon #a little

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wynnyfryd · 2 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 51

part 1 | part 50 | ao3

Knowing the weirdness is coming doesn't make it less weird.

Steve clings to Jeff's warning like a lifeline in the days after the attack, as Eddie swings wildly from withdrawn and paranoid to brash and itching for a fight. One second he's tackling Steve in a public park, sweeping him off his feet and swinging in a wide, reckless circle, the next he's shooting dodgy glances over his shoulder and suggesting they come up with some kind of tapping code when they want to communicate the urge to kiss or hug in public.

His face is a mess for weeks.

He doesn’t want to talk about it.

Hardly wants to look at it — takes to avoiding mirrors and fucking Steve from behind, or turning off all the lights, or hiding his face behind his hair when he gets between Steve’s legs. Plays it off like he’s just being sexy, trying something new, ‘isn’t this exciting?’ But Steve’s pretty sure he just doesn’t want to see the worry in Steve’s eyes when their kisses hurt his face.

So Valentine's Day comes and goes, and Steve doesn't say it; doesn't say 'I love you,' because he's never sure he's going to get the version of Eddie who’s brave enough to say it back. They don't even do anything for the holiday, really, which kind of kills Steve, even if he won't admit it.

He can't help it; he's a sap.

They do share a heart-shaped box of chocolates in Eddie’s bed the day after, though. Led Zeppelin crooning softly from the record player, and Steve plays it off like he only bought them because they were half off, and Eddie gives him a gooey look and pushes him into the pillows. Blows him within an inch of his young life; smiles up at him at the end, lips slick and full and pretty. Steve thinks, maybe they're okay.

They’ll be okay.

Eddie may still be a little off, a little wobbly, but he’s laughing again, he’s silly and animated again, he’s playing guitar and making jokes, and—

And who is Steve to judge how a person, like, processes or whatever? At least Eddie’s not doing any late night demolition.

They’re gonna be just fine.

The last of the sickly yellow bruising slips away from Eddie's eye as the month comes to a close, so Steve decides to risk it. Asks Eddie out. A movie night, a proper date where Steve can pay for the milkshakes and let their thighs brush against each other when the theater lights go down.

And sure, they'll have to pretend it’s just two straight guys hanging out — do their tapping thing and keep a healthy distance, two bros being pals being buds being dudes — and that shit sucks, but it’s better than nothing.

Steve's never had to worry about PDA before. One more thing he won't admit is kind of slowly killing him; rope burn around his heart when he thinks about it too hard.

"What do you say?" he asks Eddie. They’re lounging on his couch, propped on opposite ends with their legs tangled in the middle. "You want to let me take you out to the city?"

Brookhaven isn't exactly the city so much as the closest suburb whose mall didn't get torpedoed by the commies, but there's a theater and some decent diners, and it's far enough away that they shouldn't run into any classmates looking to cause trouble.

Eddie gives him a wary look. “I don’t know,” he hedges, fingers coming up to worry the thin sliver of a scar under his chin.

Steve swallows the hurt. The twine chafing behind his ribs. "It's okay," he starts to say, but Eddie's eyes flare with defiance.

“Actually, fuck it,” he declares, slapping his knees as he stands up. Gets up onto the couch cushion, spreads his feet wide and puts his hands on his hips; Steve’s little metalhead superhero. Steve can't help his grin when Eddie shakes his hair out big and says, "Take me out and woo me, baby!"

—

part 52

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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red-riding-wood · 3 months

Text

Lost in the Rhythm

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: You convince Tommy to go swing dancing.

Warnings: brief mention of panties, Tommy being a little down bad, slightly suggestive content, other than that just fluff! Or at least my attempt at writing fluff!

WC: 1522

Written for @runnning-outof-time's Caught in 4k Follower Celebration. The idea came to me one night listening to some swing and I thought... shit, I am gonna need to write this. Sorry if it seems a little rushed, kind of smashed this one out when I wasn't feeling like I could write anything.

Tommy’s hand weighed heavy on yours, nearly pulling your arm from its socket as you dragged him onto the dance floor. But you were almost too hopped up on adrenaline to notice, still humming with barely-contained energy you were eager to release from your body, still drunk off his acceptance of your invitation that nothing else really seemed to matter other than that you were going to dance with Thomas Shelby.

Brilliant yellow-white lights seemed to bleed against the dark ceiling as you spun to face him, a cherry blush flushing your cheeks and the breath stripped from your lungs. He was watching you with the hint of a smile on his face, the glint of something warm – dare you say, affectionate – in his piercing blue eyes.

Tommy still couldn’t believe your boldness, the way you had shimmied over to his desk in that little sequined dress, how you’d made him set aside the paperwork and the bottle of whiskey and had more or less told him that you were going dancing. How he couldn’t help but have smiled at the time, only when you turned your back to go fix up your makeup, because God forbid you know he might enjoy the notion of such ridiculous things like dancing. He’d been able to hide the slight heat that had crept to his cheeks, in a way that you weren’t now that was so endearing to him, your whole being seeming to glow, skin shivering under his touch and your eyes gleaming brightly in the lights.

“You sure you don’t want to just go for drinks, eh?” he said, having to raise his voice slightly over the loud crash of cymbals and the yearning cries of the trombones. But you knew from the look in his eyes that he was already sold, if only to watch you all giddy and elated like this in a way he’d never seen of you at the betting shop or even the Garrison.

“C’mon, Tommy, you’ve danced before. Surely,” you said as you pulled him in, fingers lacing through his own and your arm drawing round his back. He began to lead naturally, though his pace was slower than the music and the mad tapping of shoes around you. He pulled you in real close, so close that you could smell the faint trace of the cologne he wore past his usual musk of whiskey and cigarettes and earth, your chest brushing his and your nose nearly pressed to the heat of his neck. Your heart pounded wildly against your ribs, and for a moment you caught your breath.

“Move your feet a little faster,” you instructed him, allowing more space between the two of you with a slight reluctance. You wondered only briefly if people were looking at you, the thought crawling its way beneath your skin like an insect, but such a cruel feeling was banished with a glimpse of those piercing blue eyes, always cold yet so warm for you whenever you caught him looking.

You guided Tommy into more appropriate steps, knocking a few shoulders with other couples that spun and twirled around one another. You noticed his gaze leave yours only to take notice of them for a few moments.

“Good, now just – “ A squeal burst from your lungs with your remaining breath as his hands dug firmly into your lower back, and he dipped you, blood rushing to your skull and lurid lights undulating across your vision. Your bare thigh came up to brush along his waist, attempting to ground yourself, the hem of your dress pooling over the lace of a garter that he couldn’t help but sneak a peek at.

When he brought you back up, his eyes were glittering with mischief.

“That works, too,” you breathed, and Tommy was nearly lost for a moment in the frizzy ringlets of hair that fell across your forehead, in the shock that passed through your bright eyes and the curve of your mouth before you grinned again, beaming.

Your fingers loosened from his as he brought your arm up, and the world spun as you twirled on your heel, nearly tripping over yourself in your own excitement but caught by a warm, sturdy hand against your spine.

“Show-off,” you teased, smacking him lightly against the chest. Of course he was trying to best you in this.

“I’m sorry, you were trying to tell me something?” he jested, a smugness laced thick into his tone and a quirk in his lip that made a competitiveness flare to life inside you.

“I was actually going to demonstrate.” You changed course, your nimble legs pirouetting across the floor to establish distance between the two of you, the crowd spilling around you like a tide peeling back from the shore. You became lost in the music, feeling every snarl of the drums and whinny of the trombones through the deepest fibres of yourself; you twirled and kicked your feet, swaying to the beat of the music and locking your eyes on your blue-eyed partner whenever you could.

You were an image of glorious, unabated joy, grinning so wide and moving with such energy that it was almost infectious. The sequins of your dress caught the light as they swished at your hips, begging for attention, and every so often, he was rewarded by a flash of your panties as you came into a graceful twirl, but the real show was how you moved, how you commanded each limb with such ease and intensity at the same time. Like you loved every second of this, like you were born to dance, and he was born to watch, that despite all the cruelties of this bleak and ruthless life, you were both made special for this moment of cheerful innocence and pure exultation.

And he accepted you, willing, into his arms, as you came tapping and spinning over to him, putting on your little show that he drank in with darkening eyes, hypnotised by every shake of your shoulders and sway of your hips. Almost unable to find his breath, he inhaled the scent of your sweet, honeysuckle perfume and the invigorating trace of your sweat.

And he had no choice but to fall into stride with you now, the two of you side-stepping across the floor as the music halted only to come crashing down around you, the crowd beginning to move as one uniform shape.

Your blood pounded in your veins like hot fire, burning brighter than the thrill of alcohol would ever do for you. Still not entirely believing that this was real, thinking that at one moment maybe you might wake to find it was all a dream, you tried to focus on Tommy; he struggled slightly with some of the footwork, but he made up for it with his usual, normally insufferable confidence that tonight you found endearing, and your careful, gentle guidance that you ensured wasn’t swallowed by your excitement. Each touch placed or pressure applied to his body was a signal to move one way or another, and once you’d fallen into a rhythm both of you could keep up with, it was like you had become one being, that you shared each limb and fervid breath and fierce beat of your heart.

Your body lost to the music but your mind lost to his eyes, the world seemed to melt around you, the lights glittering like stars in the background and the movements of the crowd becoming nothing but a rolling tide. A few wisps of dark brown hair had sprung awry from his usually-tailored cut, clinging to the sheen of his forehead. The baby blue of his eyes twinkled at you with equal parts adoration and joy and lust, and his smile…

You hadn’t seen him smile like that since France.

And you thought, maybe you’d be so privileged to see it again. That maybe this was the beginning to many more nights of unadulterated happiness, an escape from the blood and bullets and smoke and soot of your usual life.

You were unsure of who drew closer to who, but your nose ended up brushing against his shoulder, and as his fingers bunched the fabric of your dress at the base of your hip, you tried to hide your sudden blush by burying your face in the crook of his neck.

A giggle that put the most talented musicians in the room to shame chimed against his skin, and wild strands of your hair brushed his lips as he lowered his head to murmur against your ear,

“If you tell anyone about this, Y/N, I swear I’ll have you fired, yeah?”

Laughing again, you shook your head. “You’re enjoying this too much to make those kind of threats.”

His eyes widened slightly, and you smirked at him, leaning in to place a hastened kiss against a freckled cheek. A smear of red lipstick remained, and you giggled again, your glittering eyes mirroring the mischief of his, your voice lowering as if to whisper something scandalous,

“It’ll be our little secret. I promise.”

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @call-sign-shark @look-at-the-soul @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @minaethrym @purplesnorlaxplush @henrywintersdearestgirl @goblinjnr @mizzbel @forgottenpeakywriter @chris-seb-marvel @muhahaha303 @thatonesinglefriend @s0urmarvel @onasmoko @elenavampire21 @aurorag98

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #cillian murphy #fluff #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby fluff #x reader #s: lost in the rhythm

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fairyhaos · 3 months

Note

uh hi!!

if you could pls rate svt on a scale from 1 to 13 where 1 is husband material, 7/8 is bf material and 13 is bestie material.

purely for research purposes (no seriously im asking all carats i can)

Loads of love!!!

-🍉

hi 🍉, sure! im treating this as an ask rather than a request, because requests aren't open rn :)

husband material ↓

seungcheol - no explanation needed.

woozi - comfortable husband. you get married to him but nothing changes bc everything has always just felt right.

mingyu - he's a new husband kinda feel, the ring shiny on his finger and the bright newness of married life shiny in his eyes

wonwoo - the typa husband to bring you mugs of tea when you're writing something up late, kissing you on the forehead and saying he'll put the kids (the cats) to bed

joshua - toes the line between husband and bf but the husbandness wins by a smol margin bc i can just imagine him going "my wife/husband/spouse is...." with the biggest smile on his face

dokyeom - sorry to everyone saying that he's husband material but this is a bf guy through and through. one hundred percent boyfriendable.

chan - unbelievably boyfriend. very much high school sweethearts typa boyfriend too

minghao - does sassy bf stand for sassy boyfriend or sassy best friend??? unclear.

hoshi - purely bc i just don't see him as my type of bf. im sure he's a bf to some but to me? he's a we-make-out-when-drunk typa best friend

junhui - would he make a good boyfriend? yes. but you've seen this man spit like a camel when he had his braces on so maybe he's not gonna be a good bf for You

vernon - he's just so childhood best friend that he's a brother-type friend rather than a boyfriend-type friend

seungkwan - can he take bf pics??? yes. but he's the kinda guy who'd take them so u can put them on your story to ward off other men. also he's literally The Best chaotic best friend ever so

bestie material ↑

bonus: wildcard

jeonghan - swings wildly between being ur husband and being your best friend, which is honestly the best kind of husband/bff that u can ever ask for

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 8 months

Note

can you write something about this tiktok (https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8jCdyDh/)?? i can see jack or trav doing something like this 😭😭

This has Travis written all over it 😂

"Mama, can I have a snack?", Alex asked as he jumped out of the SUV, dragging his baseball bag behind him.

"Yes, but it has to be a fruit or vegetable", you called after him, "and please pick up your bag, don't drag it on the ground!" He waved back at you, acknowledging that he heard you, but didn't bother to listen.

You had just returned home after a long Sunday morning of little league baseball games while Travis was at practice. You were exhausted from staying up all night making 30 sandwiches for all of the players and chasing after the girls around the baseball field while Alex played.

You groaned as you opened the back door, lifting Savannah out of her booster seat. Somehow in the 20 minute ride back to the house, Laylah and Sav had managed to crush up and drop their goldfish all over the floor, leaving piles of orange dust on the black carpeting.

"Did you guys miss your mouths?" You chuckled, unbuckling Laylah out of her car seat. "Sorry mama", they said in unison before heading inside.

Not wanting to have to deal with the mess during school drop off tomorrow, you grabbed the handheld vacuum out of the garage and began cleaning up the floor.

Travis had gotten home about 30 minutes before you, and when he noticed that you were preoccupied, he realized the perfect opportunity to give you a little scare presented itself.

You didn't hear him sneak up on you, the sound of the vacuum concealing his creeping footsteps.

"Hey!" You jumped as you felt his large hands on your sides, shrieking and swinging your arms wildly because your body thought you were being attacked.

"AHH! Get away from me!" Travis groaned as the plastic vacuum hose connected with the side of his face, falling to the ground when you kicked him in the balls, running away as quickly as you could.

"Oh my god." He gritted out between his teeth, writhing around on the driveway in pain.

Once you realized it was your husband and not a kidnapper, you walked back to the car, a scowl on your face.

"What the hell are you doing, Trav?"

He got up slowly, cupping his crotch, trying to take a few breaths. "I was just trying to have some fun and scare you. Didn't know you'd use your karate moves on me."

"Are you ok, baby? I'm sorry, I went into fight or flight mode."

"Nope, no flight, all fight. I'm glad we've had all of our children, because there is no way my balls work anymore." You giggled, covering your mouth.

"Come on, I'll get you an ice pack."

#travis kelce fanfiction #travis kelce fanfic #travis kelce imagine #traviskelce #travis kelce #nfl fan fic #nfl imagine #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction #travis kelce concepts

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ghxstmxchine · 9 months

Text

ʟɪᴘꜱᴛɪᴄᴋ ꜱᴛᴀɪɴꜱ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: it's almost show time for your band but those minutes seem to be taking forever because of the tension between you and a certain guitarist in the band...

☆ ᴀ/ɴ: in the theme of me being terribly down bad for Hobie I wrote this. band au my beloved,,, and the reader plays bass bc that's the only instrument I'm good at

☆ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟꜱ: SFW // Hobie Brown x male!reader // w.c: 1.6k // warnings: smoking, lots of shameless flirting, not proofread as per usual

“Hobie?” You call over your shoulder, swearing under your breath after your eyeliner pencil broke for what felt like the third time that weekend. That’s what you get for buying the cheapest option at the store.

There’s shuffling outside the dressing room, the door swinging open and Hobie leans against the door frame, eyes narrowed and staring closely at you and arms folded in front of his chest. “You called?”

“Got another eyeliner pencil? Mine keeps breaking.” You huff, knowing full well Hobie wore enough eyeliner on stage to rival a raccoon. He nods and disappears for a moment, returning with a small tube in hand. You breathe a sigh of relief, standing to go grab it from him but he quickly moves his arm out of reach, leaning in close enough that your faces are inches apart.

“Gonna say thank you or anything, luv?” He teases, a smirk playing on his lips painted black with lipstick. He’s so… close. Weirdly so, as if he’s trying to get some sort of reaction out of you. And he does, you can feel a strange warmth coursing through you that makes your knees feel weak.

But you step closer, ignoring the way your stomach twists quickly grabbing it from Hobie’s hand. “Yeah, thanks for recommending me such a shit eyeliner.” You mumble and roll your eyes, slumping back in front of the mirror to finish getting ready.

“Mm, if I recall correctly I told you not to buy it. Someone didn’t want to listen, huh?” Hobie drawls, his hands resting on the back of your chair and watching you through the mirror as you apply the eyeliner, a lazy smile playing on his lips. There’s something about him tonight that you can’t place, the small room feeling stuffier than usual. “Thank god I had an extra, gotta make sure the pretty boy stays pretty.” He hums.

“As if I’m not pretty all the time?” You respond jokingly, trying to keep a steady hand as the pencil runs along your waterline, leaving behind a trail of black.

Hobie leans in closer, the chair groaning with his weight as his eyes meet yours in the mirror, they looked darker but it could’ve been the low light of the room. “Oh luv, you’re so much more than just pretty.” He says lowly, his breath tickling the shell of your ear and making your breath hitch. There was something bordering on dangerous about Hobie’s tone.

You click the cap back on the eyeliner, placing it on the table and not caring to even hand it to Hobie before rising to your feet and grabbing your jacket. “Are you drunk or something?” You ask as you shrug the jacket on, moving quickly to escape the heavy tension shrouding you both in the room.

Hobie holds his hands up in a defensive motion, grinning wildly at you. “Haven’t even touched a drop.” He chuckles without missing a beat. “What makes you think that?”

“Gonna be a big show tonight. We all deal with our anxieties differently.” You mumble, not exactly lying. Hobie shrugs and waves your implication off, stealing your seat to fix his own makeup as you leave the room to go find your bass.

You lug it off of the couch, throwing the strap over your shoulder as your other hand reaches for the cold metal of the pegs. It’s not as painfully out of tune as usual, the sound smooth and full as you pluck the strings, trying to focus on getting the right pitch and not how your brain is swirling with thoughts about Hobie. The way his voice sounds reverberates in your head more than the deep hum of the strings, the sounds mixing together in a strange stomach churning symphony.

It wasn’t exactly new, Hobie tended to be a flirty person and was completely shameless about it. It was almost like it was second nature for suggestive comments to spill from his lips, drinking up the sight of blushing faces and embarrassment like some sort of amorous vampire. You’d almost written it off as some sort of strange hazing when you first joined the band before you learned Hobie was just like that.

Well, he was like that with you specifically, his hand staying the few extra seconds on the small of your back whenever he passed behind you in the dressing room. Or those compliments on how good everyone looked seemingly being directed at you more than anyone else. And how he looked at you on stage, god he looked at you like you were some kind of meal.

Yeah, something was up with Hobie.

You cussed when your sweaty hand slips on the fretboard, messing up the bassline you’d been absentmindedly practicing for the past few minutes. You were nervous, struggling to get your hand back in place to play again, shaking too hard to press the strings down so they don’t rattle against the body.

You clamber to your feet, shoving your hands in your pocket and fishing out the last cigarette you’d managed to save this long. The outside air is cool and you can hear the far away chatter of fans queuing up outside the venue. Leaning against the cold brick of the alley wall, you light your cigarette and breathe out a cloud of smoke into the cold air.

“You got another I could bum off ya?” Hobie’s voice breaks your peace as he approaches, that same smirk on his face.

“This was my last one.”

“I haven’t got anythin’ against sharing.” He chuckles and plucks it from your fingers without asking, slotting the cigarette between lipstick smeared lips and breathing in deeply. His lipstick stains the paper and he breathes the smoke out into your face, making your eyes water. “Y’know staring’s rude.”

“So is taking my cig.” You grunt and take it from his fingers, momentarily brushing against his hand. He’s warm and it makes you suck in a shocked breath, immediately averting your gaze from him. Ignoring the black lipstick stains you slip the cigarette back between your lips.

“And so is not sharing.” Hobie retorts, relaxing against the wall next to you, all his jewelry and pins jingling like a wind chime. He’s watching you and you know it, you can feel his heavy gaze on you and it’s nearly suffocating, watching from your peripheral as his eyes rove over your body. “What’s with the new look, tryin’ to catch someone’s eye?”

“Just felt like changing it up.” You mumble, ignoring the way your face gets hotter. Hobie’s heavy boots drag along the concrete as he steps in front of you, practically boxing you in. You stay cool, breathing smoke back in his face and he rolls his eyes.

“Well I like it, think you look stunnin’ dear.” Hobie drawls, his hand cupping your cheek. His hand is rough against your skin, the calluses from playing guitar are noticeable but something about it feels… good. Familiar in a way. His thumb strokes your cheekbone and your breath stutters, the cigarette falling from your lips to the ground but neither of you pay it any mind. “Mm, I like the eyeliner on you. Fits ya just right.”

“I like the lipstick.” You blurt out suddenly and Hobie chuckles, looming closer to your face. You can feel his breath on your cheek and it tickles but you don’t move, still firmly pressed against the wall.

“Thought you would, too bad it gets messy too easily.”

“Messy, how?”

“Hm? You really don’t know luv?” He says breathlessly. You both are holding your breath, inches away from each other, waiting to see who will move first. Who will break the tension building in the air. His hand is on your hip and you don’t recall when it got there, his touch burning through your clothes and making your skin warm. “You want me to show you how?”

You’re nodding before you even know you are, before you’re even aware of the feeling of Hobie’s lips on yours. It’s quick, barely taking a second before his weight is crushing you against the wall and his lips are pressed firmly against yours. It’s intoxicating, just the simple feeling is enough to make you light headed as he kneads your lips together, his lip ring cold on your skin but making your skin flare up with warmth.

His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, tasting nicotine and the small ball of his tongue piercing feels strange against your own tongue. You let him slip into your mouth, melding together as you move in tandem against each other, kissing shamelessly in the dimly lit alley way. Hobie is good, knowing just what to do to leave you breathless and you follow, turning into a strange tug of war for pleasure.

But before anything else can come from it, before his hand can move and lower on his lip and your head can turn any more cloudy, he pulls away. You both stand there huffing for a moment, bodies tingling and eyes dark with lust. Hobie’s lipstick is smeared on his face, black lines swiping down his chin and on his cheek.

“That’s how.” He hums without skipping a beat, pulling away and fixing his shirt. He steps on the cigarette, stubbing it out before turning on his heel. “Don’t forget that we go on in ten.” He says over his shoulder as he waltzes back towards the door, acting like nothing had happened.

“And wipe the lipstick off your face before everyone starts starin’.” He adds before the door closes behind him, leaving you alone in the alley.

#atsv x reader #across the spiderverse #atsv #hobie brown #male reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x male reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown imagine #spiderpunk

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stvharrngton · 1 year

Text

and when the rain came

a/n: not totally in love with this but i thought i would post it anyway 🤷‍♀️ i’m ill and a sucker for angst so let’s go

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: angst, friends to lovers, fluffy ending

prompt: 28. I hate that you're mad at me, but you look so hot right now.

You hated parties.

Scratch that, you hated parties with Steve. So when Robin invited you to some senior’s party this weekend it was a hard no. And when Steve begged you to go it was an even harder no. But Robin was so persuasive, pleading with you to go because she just couldn’t bare to go to a party alone with Steve.

So when you found yourself stood shoulder to shoulder with Robin, nursing whatever concoction the host had made in a red solo cup, watching Steve get fawned over by some pretty blonde girl against the wall, you really wish you stayed home.

Steve was drunk. The boy giggling wildly as the girl leaned into him to press her lips to his ear to shout something over the music, her dainty hand pressed to his chest. His large palm hovered over her waist, the other holding his drink at his side.

You felt the usual pang of jealousy in your chest, enabled by the alcohol. It was like a sharp knife lunged right into your stomach, a hot sting coursing through your veins. Tears threatened to prick your lashes as Robin shot you a sympathetic look at the scene unfolding before you.

You downed the rest of your drink, letting it sting your throat on the way down. Your eyes never leaving Steve as you shouted, “I need another drink.” over the music.

He met your gaze as Robin was on your tail as you pushed through the crowd, Steve’s giddy smile downturning into a frown, his brows knitting together. He’d stopped listening to whatever nonsense the girl was muttering in his ear when he saw the sad look on your face.

Pouring yourself more of the punch, you sighed. You and Steve had been toeing the line between friendship and… something more for a while now. The constant flirting, how his hands would always linger on your waist for a little longer than they should. He’d always swing by your job with your favourite coffee and pastry order, his lips brushing your cheek every time you said goodbye.

You were just as bad as each other. Both of you too scared to admit your feelings, in fear of how they’d alter your friendship. They wouldn’t. And you knew they wouldn’t, but it’s the lie you told yourself.

The difference in you being you didn’t try to date, didn’t try to meet anyone else. Because there wouldn’t be anyone else. Steve was it for you.

So when Steve stumbled into the kitchen to find you, with a different girl clinging to his chest, his arm slung around her shoulder, you almost spat your drink out.

It was too much. You felt your throat close up as your hands grew clammy, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. The alcohol flowing through your system certainly not helping the situation.

Your gaze bleary as you stormed past them and out through the front door. The cold air pricked your skin as you walked down the street. You didn’t know where you were going, you just knew you needed to get out of there.

“Hey, wait!” Steve shouted after you, tripping over his own feet, “Where are you going?”

“Home!” you called back out to him, never stopping to look behind you at him.

Steve’s long stride allowed him to catch up to you easily, “I thought you were coming back to my place?” he asked, breath panting a little.

“I want to go home, Steve.”

Steve reached his hand out to wrap around your wrist, spinning on your feet to face him, “What’s going on with you?” he asked, concern painting his features.

“Nothing Steve,” you spoke quietly, feeling small under his gaze, “just go back to the party.”

You yanked your wrist from his clutch, spinning back on your heel to continue your walk home. Your arms wrapped around yourself, your heart beating through your chest.

“And let you walk home alone?” Steve guffawed, “No way.”

You didn’t respond. You just kept walking. You hoped he would get the hint but unfortunately, Steve was resilient. Especially when it came to you. Refusing to let it go until he knew what was wrong. And how he could fix it.

Steve walked beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, “So, you gonna tell me what’s wrong now?” he asked, elbow nudging your arm.

You rolled your eyes, trying to pull your arm in closer to your body, “Nothing’s wrong, Steve,” you sighed, “why don’t you go back to those girls at the party? I’m sure they’re missing you.” you spat, a little harsher than intended.

Steve stopped in his tracks, like a deer caught in headlights. Voice stuttering, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “you love it and I just have to stand there and fucking watch!” your voice raised a little higher now, “And pretend like it doesn’t bother me.”

There you stood in the street, cheeks flushed and chest rising slowly. Tears welling in your eyes as realisation hit that you just admitted your feelings for your best friend. Well, sort of.

Steve watched you carefully through his hazy eyes, mind still a little foggy, his heart pounding against his rib cage. He stood as you cussed him out. Words dripping with hurt and heartache, and you were right. He did love it, the attention from girls at parties, it made him feel wanted. But they would never be you.

But Steve was drunk. And drunk Steve didn’t have a filter. No control over his mouth, his brain a second too slow to stop himself from slurring out words he didn’t mean. So when he watched you, face tinted pink, lips red from your lipstick and jungle juice, the dress you wore hugging your figure in all the right places. Your soft hair cascading over your shoulders; Steve’s mind went into overdrive.

“I hate that you’re mad at me, but you look so hot right now.”

You stared at him blankly for a second, trying to process his words, eyes narrowing, “You’re unbelievable, Steve.” you stated, simply.

You did your best to focus on your feet, moving one in front of the other, you were sure you weren’t even walking in the direction of your house anymore. You tried to push that horrible sick feeling back down to the pit of your stomach. You knew it was just the beers Steve had downed speaking, of course, but his words made you feel cheap.

“Fucking idiot.” he groaned to himself, speeding up after you once again, “Beautiful!” he called out after you, “I meant, shit, I meant beautiful, I swear.”

You ignored him, just carried on walking. You almost didn’t realise that you ended up outside Steve’s house, BMW parked in the drive. You heard the boy breathe a sigh of relief as his fingers wrapped around your wrist again, forcing you to look at him.

“What do you want me to say, huh?” he taunted, “That I love you? That I’m in love with you?” Steve’s arms flailed above him, frustration bleeding through to his features, “Is that what you want to hear?”

Your lip quivered as your tears fell freely now, his voice laced with venom, words cutting deep, “What? I-,” you stuttered, “No! I don’t know!” you cried.

But you did. You definitely did.

Steve chuckled softly at your reaction, his features softening, his fingers carding through his hair, “‘Cause I will,” he spoke quieter now, “tell you that, I mean. Because I do.”

He took a step closer to you now, hands cupping your cheeks gently, thumbs wiping away your tears. The gesture was so soft, so heartfelt and so Steve. Your Steve. You sighed, letting your eyelids flutter closed at his touch.

“Steve,” your voice cracked, “you act like we’re together, you treat me as if I’m your girlfriend,” you began, hiccuping as you tried to keep your sobs at bay, “but then we go out, we go to a party and it’s like, like you forget I exist or something! I just don’t get it, Steve.”

Your tears wouldn’t stop, mascara streaking down your cheeks and Steve internally kicked himself, over and over, “I’m sorry, babe,” he started, “shit, I messed up, okay? I messed up.”

Nodding solemnly, you sniffled, wrinkling your nose. “I mean it though,” Steve’s voice was soft, calming almost, “I’m in love with you, always have been.”

Your heart swelled at his admission, your wet eyes boring up into his big, warm brown ones. The soft smile that tugged on his lips, the tip of his nose tinted pink, the way his hands caressed your face; it was home.

“Always just been too scared to do anything about it, always thought you were too good for me,” Steve mumbled, voice a quiet hum, his thumb soothing a fresh tear into the skin of your cheek, “was stupid really.”

You nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips, “Yeah, it was.” you spoke and Steve all but grinned at you in the middle of his driveway.

“I’m sorry,” he cooed, fingers tucking your hair behind your ear, finger and thumb coming to hold your chin, “I really am.”

You let your arms snake around the boy’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer to you, “I’m in love with you too, Steve.”

He rest his forehead against your own, eyes bright and smile wide. You left him wondering why he waited, why he tortured himself all this time, putting off the inevitable.

“Good to know,” he chuckled, lips brushing against your hairline, “let me make it up to you, hm?” Steve asked.

“I suppose,” you teased and then you felt the rain. First a drop or two on your cool pimpled skin but as the seconds went by the harder it lashed against the ground and you.

You squealed as it soaked you both, your dress now sopping and clinging to your skin. Steve’s mused hair flat against his forehead as you clambered into his arms.

Steve laughed a laugh that only you got to hear, something that came from the bottom of his stomach that was made just for you. He spun you around in the rain, setting you back down on the ground before he asked,

“Can I kiss you?” loud enough for you to hear over the rush of water from above.

You rolled your eyes but beamed up at the boy anyway, “You’re such a cliche, Harrington.”

But you pulled him down to you by the collar of his jacket, crashing your lips to his. The kiss was a little messy, you smiling into each other’s mouths, a languid move of your lips.

It was like something out of a movie, you thought, a gentle pinch to your skin to make sure you weren’t dreaming. But no, this was real. Steve was real. And he was yours.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #steve harrington fluff #friends to lovers #k.fic

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suashii · 6 months

Text

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒮𝒞𝒜𝑅𝐸𝒟

info ⭑ itoshi rin x reader. 1k wc sfw ﾉ fluff

note ⭑ repost from last halloween :3

you’re hanging the last bat decoration from your ceiling when the familiar rhythm of rin’s knocking pattern sounds in your entryway. the bat cutout and the others around it swing wildly in the air as you rush down from your place on the arm of the couch to answer the door. your less-than-graceful descent from the furniture nearly results in a sprained ankle but you ignore the dull pain as you reach the door, turning the knob before pulling it towards you.

on the other side, rin stands with his hands stuffed in the pockets of the skeleton-print pajama pants you bought for him.

“hello and welcome to the house of horrors!” you excitedly greet him, wiggling your fingers while you step back to allow him inside.

rin fills the space you once occupied, closing the door behind him as his teal irises scan the changes you’ve made to your living room. fluffy white spiderwebs droop down from the corners where the walls meet and the top of each is lined with LED lights that are set to red. there’s a bowl of candy—way too much for two people—sitting on your coffee table beside an unopened box of pizza and a couple of glasses holding some unknown red liquid. his eyes meet yours and his eyebrows slightly, almost unnoticeably, quirk in astonishment. “you did all this for movie night?”

“hey, you’re the one who didn’t want to go to a party.” you nudge his shoulder in a silent gesture to urge him forward. when he finally begins to make his way to the couch, you follow closely behind him and continue, “so i, being the amazing person i am, decided to pull out all the stops for my horror-loving best friend.”

of course he didn’t want to go to a party; why would he want to spend the night around a bunch of drunk people he didn’t care for when he could hang out with someone he actually enjoys being around? though, he can’t say he was expecting the festive decorations. scary movie nights are a norm for the two of you and he was under the impression that, other than the halloween-themed pajamas you had told him to wear to match yours, everything would operate as it normally did.

knowing you put as much thought and effort into this one night for him fills rin with a strange sense of significance. he has no intention of telling you so though, so instead, he asks, “what are we watching?”

you hum in consideration while you reach out to grab a slice of pizza. after some thought, you turn to rin with a smile. “anything you haven’t already seen. i don’t want to be the only one scared tonight.”

your comment makes rin’s lips twitch at the corners before he picks up the remote to browse through your streaming services for a film that neither of you have watched. you veto a few and he does the same until the two have agreed on one, his thumb pressing the button on the remote to start the movie.

rin spends what he considers to be the “boring build-up” of the movie sipping on the red beverage styled as blood that he has come to learn is actually cherry juice. the film only earns his complete attention when the normalcy turns to eeriness and the tension is palpable. he’s so immersed that he can’t even tell that you’ve closed the gap between the two of you—not until he feels your hands squeezing around his bicep as you attempt to hold back a scream drawn out by a jump scare.

just as unexpectedly as your touch, rin’s heart skips a beat. he wants to question whether the jolt that courses through him is because of the jarring sound playing through the television’s speakers or something else, though, he knows that it wasn’t the former. when one watches horror movies as often as he does, they tend to pick up on the predictable patterns like the loud noise that alarmed you. what isn’t nearly as predictable is the way you’re still latching onto him, all without a word.

that’s what has him nervous—your uncharacteristic proximity.

it’s ironic, rin thinks, that the one thing that gets his adrenaline pumping, makes him freeze like a deer in headlights, is your loose grip on his arm and not the movie made to scare him. swallowing the lump in his throat, he takes a risk and glances over at you. your eyes are glued to the tv, lips parted in suspense as you anxiously await another potential scare. rin’s gaze drops to the fingers curled around his bicep and he swears he can feel his heart jump in his chest.

he blinks a couple times, discreetly shaking his head before turning his attention back to the screen ahead of him but the warmth of your hold lingers in the back of rin’s head for the rest of the movie.

he expects that the unfamiliar feelings will have faded by the time the credits start to roll but when the list of names that signal the end of the movie begins to play, rin is still hyperaware of your closeness and the peculiar way it makes him feel. his palms have never sweat nor have the tips of his ears burned in your presence before now; what the hell is happening to him?

“so.” your voice draws rin out of his head, almost making him flinch as he comes to look at you. he hopes his confliction doesn’t show on his face. “were you scared?”

he knows you’re talking about the movie but his mind only goes to one place upon hearing your question; you. the thought of falling does scare him, and not for some negative reason, but because it’s new and foreign and something he’s never felt before. so when he answers, he isn’t talking about the movie. “yeah, kind of.”

hiya it's manz :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: blue lock #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #rin x you #bllk x you #rin drabbles #bllk drabbles #rin fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #bllk imagines #bllk scenarios #blue lock imagines #blue lock scenarios

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colourstreakgryffin · 7 months

Note

Hello hello!! I hope you’re well. Tysm for all the wonderful writing you do for us!

Can I request a slayer who is also a demon & has a crush on a shy Genya? He likes her too but tends to avoid her like how he does with most girls. But then they’re sent on missions together because Kagaya thinks it’ll be mutually beneficial (he eats demon flesh to get stronger & she also does need human flesh. They both heal from doing this so it’s okay).

Ik that’s like so specific dkska so it’s totally okay if you’re not interested in doing this! Thanks again & have a nice day <3

Oooohh! Well, I’m not entirely sure what to write exactly for this but I will try the best I can!

Shinazugawa Genya- Unlikely Partnership

Genya is a naturally shy young man to girls. He wasn’t the nicest to them, back when he was even younger then he is now, and he feels guilty for being such a jerk. Nowadays, he can’t even face a woman without blushing deeply and stuttering wildly

Genya was originally alerted when he first met you. A demon! You’re a demon! He was ready to attack you but when the Master proclaimed you are a demon slayer and proved it, he immediately stepped back and whilst so flustered, apologised for his irrationality

Genya, once he has calmed down and accepted the reality of a another good demon, grows very shy yet considerate. You’re still a simply gorgeous girl, rather you be a demon or not, and he can’t help but feel so humiliated with himself anytime he messes up, even in the slightest

Genya enjoys going out on missions with you, all the more he does. You’re very skilled yet sweet, you don’t need to eat human flesh whilst Genya can utilise demon flesh for power, you are even willingly to let him bite you and use your Demon Blood Art

“Be careful, Genya!” You call out as you raise your katana and swing down, your focus was branched out onto multiple things; where Genya is, protecting the nearby civilians and drawing away this demon. You didn’t fail to perform a form of your breathing style to decapitate the demon’s arms and wind a mighty kick to it’s chest to temporarily wear it off. Genya, on his end, continued to lead away the injured civilians

Genya did hear your call of concern from the few feet of separation between you two but he didn’t know how to verbally respond as he stuffed the handful of injured civilians into nearby huts for protection, slamming the door shut and launching off his heel to meet up with you again, unbuckling his signature shotgun. He thought he was mentally and physically ready for literally anything but what happened caught him off guard and made him drop his gun

You, with a missing leg that thrashed blood around the floor and the enemy demon, suddenly fell into his arms in a bridal-carry style and it caused Genya’s face to explode in rosy red blush as the demon suffered through the effects of your Demon Blood Art, the one you used the second your blood made contact with it’s flesh. That demon had managed to torn off your limb whilst throwing you off your feet but luckily, your partner was there to save your skin. Smiling gently at Genya’s wondering but lovestruck eyes, you chimed out a sense of true gratitude

Genya knew you were just joking with your remark but the way you said it… is just so convincing

“Awwww~ thanks, my hubby. You’re the best partner ever~”

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #anime and manga #kny imagines #headcanons #kny characters #shinazugawa genya #genya shinazugawa #kny genya #kimetsu no yaiba genya #demon slayer genya #genya x reader #genya baby #genya shinazugawa x reader #kimetsu genya #shinazugawa x reader #demon slayer shinazugawa #genya fluff #genya headcanons

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scribespirare · 11 months

Note

If you're still open to flowerfang requests can you give us some more a/b/o with courting? Thanks so much. 🫶

baby i am ALWAYS open for flowerfang requests gimme gimme

So there's this guy.

Well, a villain actually, and he's slippery as hell and keeps wriggling his way out of Miles' grasp (seriously, there's an entire eel theme going on and quite frankly he doesn't really wanna talk about it) every time they meet. And since Miles is dealing with finals right now, he really can't spend that much time trying to chase this dude down. It's just not at the top of his priority list, ya know? Especially since he can usually stop the attempted crimes and send eel guy back to whatever rock he crawled out of. Or...swam. Whatever.

The point is, Miles gets the shock of his damn life when eel guy lands at his feet, trussed up like a present but without the bow one fine weekend afternoon.

Miles, in costume and having previously been enjoying the scenic view of the city from atop one of his many haunts, stares down at eel guy in pure shock.

"You're welcome," Miguel says from somewhere to his right, and Miles whips towards the sound.

"Huh?"

But the Alpha is stepping into a yellow portal, back turned, and Miles can only gape after him. "What the fuck?" he mutters, mostly to himself.

The man on the ground responds anyways. "Man, I have no goddamn clue. He came outta nowhere, said something about Omegas, and then clocked me."

Omegas!? If this is some dumb ass Alpha power flex then Miles is going to skin that man alive. Even if Miguel has at least a foot of height, a decade's worth of experience, and probably a hundred pounds on him. And also there's the fact that he's extremely hot. Like. Wildly fucking hot.

Whatever.

Fucking Alphas. Thinking they're hot shit just because they have chiseled jaws and biceps bigger than his head and amazing scents...

Miles spends the entire time he's taking eel guy to the police station grumbling about them.

Eel guy wisely stays quiet.

oOo

School lets out and the summer is sweltering where it gets trapped in all the concrete and gleaming metal of New York. Miles is given (mostly) free reign to do as he pleases and he does. There's nothing quite like swinging around the city to cool off.

There's just one problem.

Fucking. Miguel.

He keeps swooping in and taking down Miles' bad guys for one, even the tiny pipsqueak ones. And to make matters worse he's leaving shit in Miles' bedroom too. Money, some new Jordans, a spiderman suit that Miles will never admit looks way cooler than his current one and that he stuffed deep into his closet never to be seen again because fuck that guy.

Seriously, what the fuck is Miguel's problem? He hadn't thought Miles' being an Omega was that big a deal when he'd sicced hundreds of spider-people on him. Hadn't held back when he'd slammed Miles into the side of that train, all barred teeth and rage.

But now, all of sudden, Miles apparently can't wipe his own ass without an Alpha's help.

It's just his luck (which is to say, good) that when he decides he's done with Miguel's shit and is going to rip him a new one, Miguel drops a villain at Miles' feet and actually deigns to stop for a moment and chat.

Somehow the man laying between them is eel guy again. They both ignore him.

"What the actual fuck do you think-" Miles starts, at the exact same second Miguel says, "I wasn't sure if we should talk to your parents-".

Both of them stop, clearly confused by the other. Miles gets over his surprise first, shaking his head. "My parents? What the hell do you want with my parents?"

Miguel blinks down at him, face unreadable. "Well, the next stage of courtship usually involves speaking with the Omegas's-"

"Courtship!?" Miles' voice comes out so high and squeaky he feels like he's hit puberty all over again.

Another blink. This time Miguel's features tighten a little, and if Miles didn't know better he'd think the Alpha looked nervous.

Good thing he knows better.

"I...yes? I've been courting you since the start of summer," Miguel says. "I thought..." he trails off, brow knitting in manly angst that very much is not attractive on him, not at all.

Miles for his part just flaps his jaw in disbelief. Everything clicks together for him then: all the bad guys (fucking gift wrapped!), the shit Miguel kept leaving in his bedroom, the way he'd linger sometimes as if to catch Miles' reaction but ultimately still fucked off back to whatever universe he popped out of. Traditionally Alphas aren't meant to interact much with an Omega until they've declared their intention to the parents or guardian of said Omega. This is preceded by gift giving to see if the Omega is even amenable to being courted at all.

Here's the problem. A: that shit was common like a hundred fucking years ago. Nobody courts like that today unless they're richer than god and have been for generations. Old money are just weird like that.

B. Miles never gave any indication of being amenable.

...did he?

"Fuck you're old," is the first thing that pops out of Miles' mouth, because he'd rather talk shit than think about how he feels about Miguel trying to court him.

Miguel immediately tenses all over and takes a step back. "I'm sorry, I thought the age gap-"

"What?" Miles cuts him off, because he recognizes the look of a man about to run. "No, I meant you're old as hell for trying to court me traditionally."

The age gap is most definitely not a problem the Omega in Miles says. He ignores it.

"Oh," says Miguel, but he doesn't relax.

"Nobody does that shit anymore," Miles continues, "so I didn't recognize what was happening. On top of that, you didn't fucking say anything so how the hell was I supposed to know!?"

"I wrote you letters," Miguel argues back. Then, a little softer like now he's unsure of himself, "Written correspondence is an important part of a courtship."

"Did you leave them in my room, like the other stuff?"

"Yes?"

"Well there's your problem. You've seen my room, do the math. Bits of paper aren't gonna stand out."

Miguel runs a hand through his hair and sighs, shoulders slumping. "So you're telling me that I've been trying to make romantic overtures for over a month now, and not a single clear message has gotten through?"

Miles' heart does something weird and uncomfortable in his chest at the words romantic overtures. But he just nods. "Looks like."

Looking skyward as if for patience, Miguel mutters something under his breath and then huffs, puts his hands on his hips, and makes direct eye contact.

"Dios mio, fine. Clearly my preferred way of doing this isn't working. So let's try this instead. Miles, can I take you on a date?" The words are said so matter of factly and with such little emotion that they take a moment to process. When they do Miles immediately feels his face heat.

"Uh," he says intelligently.

Yes says both his dick and his inner Omega.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," are the words that actually come out of his mouth. Miguel looks pained though and Miles winces. "I mean...I'd love to? I think. I dunno, I'm kind of in shock right now. I have no clue what's happening."

That finally has Miguel relaxing and a ghost of smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Of course that look is just as stupidly hot on him as all the others. God, who did Miguel have to kill to get cheekbones like that?

Any and all thoughts of Alpha attractiveness scatter from Miles' brain when Miguel steps closer, right up into Miles' personal space. He smells...well, fucking amazing. Wild and sharp, like steel and ozone before a lightning strike. And he's leaning closer, tilting Miles' chin up with one finger.

"What's happening," Miguel says lowly into the space between them, "is that I'm interested in you, Miles. And I'd like the chance to show you exactly how interested."

Miles swallows hard and his knees nearly buckle under him. "Y-yeah, okay," he says, trying to ignore the heat of Miguel's body, how good it feels to be pinned in by his bulk and strength. He's failing.

"Good," Miguel replies, ruining all chances Miles had of trying to keep his cool because the Alpha leans down and kisses him.

It's not Miles' first kiss, but it is his first with someone who actually knows what they're doing. Miguel's mouth is hot and confident, nearly bruising in its intensity as he guides Miles' into parting his lips so that Miguel can sweep his tongue inside. Miles makes a surprised, pleased sound that immediately embarrasses him because it's so incredibly Omegean.

Miguel laughs against him, more felt than heard, and finally pulls away. "I've been wanting to do that for a while, cariño. Sabes tan dulce como te ves."

Miles yanks him back down into another kiss before he can say anything stupid.

"Uh, guys?" says eel guy from somewhere on the ground. "Hello?"

oOo

They don't end up talking to Miles' parents by mutual agreement. Miles isn't even sure why Miguel would want to considering Miles is still fifteen, but over the course of the conversation he starts to realize...

Miguel is a hopeless romantic. That's why he'd gone for traditional courting. Soft, gooey hearted, marshmallow fluff romantic.

Miles laughs until his sides hurt. He only stops when Miguel pins him down and kisses him until Miles can barely breathe.

It's really fucking great.

...Miles still forces Miguel to promise not to fight anymore of his bad guys though.

#asks #flowerfang #LOVED this thank u so much #flowerfang and a/b/o are just such a perfect combo *chefs kiss*#requests

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jamiesfootball · 1 year

Text

A not-as-long addition to the Ted Lasso: Coach Shaped or Dad Shaped Thesis

When it comes to Ted wildly fluctuating between being Coach Shaped and Dad Shaped with the people around him, Jamie isn’t the only one who had trouble distinguishing what side of the stick was swinging for him. Nate struggled with it too.

Nate’s is a comedic introduction but one that explains him perfectly- he’s high strung, anal retentive, lacks self confidence, is afraid to speak out, and he (rightfully) assumes he’s such a non-person that no one knows his name (which is an underdog trope in media, but a self-fulfilling prophecy in real life, but I digress.

“What was that? Sorry I have a hard time listening to people who don’t believe in themselves. Now is this plan going to work?”

So here comes Ted with his people skills and human decency and he clocks Nate pretty quickly. It’s not long before he’s giving Nate the same Ted-isms he gives the boys on the team. It’s very Coach of him. But to Nate it’s not that simple. It’s Personal Attention, and it’s falling like rain after forty years of drought. It’s clearly the first time in a long time that anyone’s put any effort into Nate - including Nate.

And don’t get me started on Nate’s age, because the actor is past 40 and the thought of Nate working as a kitman for what was likely fucking…..years, so close to his dream job but so irrelevant to the people around him. Going home to his parents and whichever sibling-with-kids. Taking all the little jabs from his dad on the chin. His mother being sweet but placating in regards to his dad’s dismissals. Having nothing to celebrate with them that isn’t a holiday or birthday, because he’s not done anything with himself worth being proud of.

He borrowed his dad’s suit to the gala, and Ted took one look at it and went ‘that’s not good enough for you. Let’s sort this out’

His own dad was fine with Nate not trying- in that he withholds all hid expectations and then judges Nate when he fails to meet them. But then there’s Ted, and his expectations of Nate are sky high, clearly spoken, and he wants to help Nate get there.

So yeah, to Nathan Shelley Ted Lasso was very very Dad Shaped.

Nate finally got his big Want - becoming one of the coach’s - but it’s afterwards that things spiraled, and it’s entirely because from Nathan’s pov he saw Ted’s affection drying up. There was this guy who spent a whole year talking and building him up, and then all the sudden he peeks behind him and no one’s holding the bicycle seat. Ted’s still down the street and he’s looking the other way- at Roy, at Jamie, at Sam. So Nate doubles-down on what he thinks made him Great in the first place- his sharp mind and cutting analytics. His ability to not be too impressed by the professional athletes around him. But he keeps doing it Wrong somehow, because Ted isn’t looking at him with approval. He’s just watching Nate, and occasionally shaking his head like he’s disappointed.

It’s so Nate’s Dad Shaped he could scream.

Ted gave him a whistle - a loud signifier of power on the field - and then when Nate wasn’t looking, he replaced it with an indoor whistle. Because Nate kept using the loud whistle too loudly. Because Nate doesn’t understand when and where to use it, just like he doesn’t know yet how and when he should use his own powers as a leader.

Roy doesn’t even need a whistle. Roy comes back and just shouts ‘whistle!’ and it’s the same if not more effective than Nate’s whistle ever was. No one had to give Roy power.

So yeah. Ted Lasso built him up the way his dad never did, and then turned away like his dad always did the second Nate did something wrong. Of course he was Dad Shaped to Nate. How could he not be?

This, if anything, is almost tangible proof that Nate never played team sports as a kid, and it’s heartbreaking because it means Nate missed all the signs in season one that Ted never set out to be a substitute father to Nate.

Ted was Coaching him, deliberately, to join him as a Coach.

He looks at Nate and he sees someone whip-smart and brimming with potential and he doesn’t think twice about testing him out. Springing questions like pop quizzes, making moments for Nate to step up and shine. He arguably doesn’t even see how much Nate is struggling past a surface level (he never sees how Nate interacts with his family). Ted has one true victory at the end of season one, and it’s that he got Nate up to Assistant Coach. And don’t forget that for Ted being a Coach is his life’s work, he loves it.

He very likely did not imagine that that wouldn’t be enough for some people.

And so throughout season two we have this dissolution between Ted and Nate. Nate keeps waiting for Ted to step back up to the plate and guide him; and Ted keeps waiting for Nate to figure out what Coach Nate looks like. Of course Ted won’t step in, just the same as he wouldn’t step on Beard’s toes. The same that he’ll remark to Roy that he’s supposed to be coaching Jamie too, but ultimately won’t step in the middle of them working out their (many many) issues. He respects them all as Coach too much to interfere.

The tragedy of it all is that they both missed the forest for the trees. They were so focused on the roles they could play in each other’s lives, that it wasn’t until the dust settled that the actual role they played in each other’s lives became apparent.

They were friends.

Not the same way that Beard and Ted are friends, which is all friendship wrapped in a blanket of “Coach” “Coach”. Not friendship the way that Ted is still having to pull Roy to the side and Coach him on Coaching, while Roy keeps Ted abay by being miles ahead at being a well-adjusted person who understands themself. But all friendship isn’t meant to be the same, and what Ted and Nate had was built on its own foundation of respect and genuinely liking the other person.

Theirs is a friendship break up, and it hurts to watch.

#nathan shelley #ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #sort of #ted lasso meta

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