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sgiandubh · 4 days

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The door faces North

This has been, by far, one of the most complex investigations I have ever done in this fandom, and I am truly sorry for the long wait I had to inflict on many of you & for the uncharacteristic radio silence in DMs and comments. During this peculiar journey, I checked, double-checked and cross-checked as many details as I could and I carefully considered at least two different theories, of which I still think they do not exclude each other. I am now confident enough to make not only an educated guess, but also a daring bet on SRH's next whisky move.

Also, sorry for the length of this post. Truly sorry - think of the completely pulverized night sleep I had to give up, in order to bring this to you.

But first, a word on Marple's obvious PR tip on the Hopetoun Estate refurbishment and distillery old/new project. I am fair game enough to tell you the obvious: her overall recounting of the principals is roughly correct, spare perhaps one or two minor details. Correct, but dry - she limits herself to the technical documentation submitted by Golden Decanters and The Hopetoun Estates Trust to the West Lothian Council for approval. She correctly points out that S is not a visible part of the deal, at this point in time and she does a decent summing up of a very, very, VERY plethoric amount of bureaucratic information. She concludes, and I think she is partially right, that he might be interested in becoming an investor (I am taking things a bit further, though). But in doing so, she focuses on the development phase of the project only: the possible connections with SRH and his own spirits business are less, if at all, obvious.

I am going to give you my view of all this charade and, if I am going to mention (and probably repeat) some things already found by her, I am going to focus on the people: this is where the whole story starts to become remarkably interesting, at least to me. After all, I remember promising you some more clarity. Here's an honest, fair play take.

Little did I know, when I started to write about that (now defunct) company, Midhope Castle Distillery, Ltd (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/748597198794670080/the-info-provided-above-is-correct-but-outdated?source=share), that my investigation would turn to this:

... for it was to be just an almost random layer of a juggernaut matryoshka of defunct or still active companies, featuring roughly the same people and no less than 6 different name combinations centered around Midhope, Hopetoun, etc.

The following pics will give you an idea - feel free to open them in a separate tab, for clarity . I preferred this synthetic approach, because otherwise you will curse the shite out of me. But it had to be done, with or without Depon, Advil's Greek cousin (and before you ask a graphologist, this is my handwriting, and nobody else's 🙃):

The only explanation for the whole almost frantic Midhope/Hopetoun crisscross/hopscotch (LOL) combos I can think of is two people trying to secure one (several?) credit lines or to attract significant investors for their project and ultimately failing to do so. But I might be wrong (although I doubt that, thank you). Out of this entire maze ( I swear I now have a migraine), there are only two active companies remaining: Golden Decanters Ltd (renamed GD Spirits Ltd, in April 2022) and Midhope Ltd (renamed Skosk Ltd, in July 2023). It is on them I am going to focus my gaze.

GD Spirits Ltd was incorporated in Berwick-upon-Tweed, England (just across the Scottish border), probably for tax reasons, on March 11, 2015, the nature of its business being listed as 'wholesale of wine, beer, spirits, etc.'. It started with a team of two women: Julia Mackenzie-Gillanders and Ann Medlock, whose names we are going to see over and over again in all the eight corporate avatars. Later down the timeline (LOL for three decades and a half), on January 30, 2018, they were briefly (until July 19, 2018) joined by two very interesting professionals: Mrs. Margaret Boswell, an attorney at the very prestigious international law firm Gide Loyrette Nouel (Paris and London offices)...

...and Ken Robertson, former Corporate Affairs Director at Diageo Whisky, a subsidiary of the international Diageo group, one of the major players on the world spirits' market:

The second company, Skosk Ltd, was incorporated in August 2021, in Perth, Scotland, its nature of business being listed as 'distilling, rectifying and blending of spirits', with the clear intention to align with the exacting criteria prescribed by the 2009 Scotch Whisky Regulations:

[ Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scotch_whisky - sorry, I don't have time to wax lyrical on this, and neither do you]

This time, we only meet again the two distillerettes, Gillanders and Medwick. Up until now, at least, nobody else (attorney, former sales executive, whisky expert) has joined the platoon - TBC? I would not speculate and leave all options open.

There is little to 0 transparency on Skosk's financial situation, at the moment and to be honest, it looks very much like S's co-star (hehe)'s Irish business venture...

... but I was a bit more lucky, and the numbers more chatty, as far as GD Spirits was concerned:

Paging all shipper chartered accountants out there, but to me, it doesn't look great, at the moment. Cash is ridiculous, the net worth is hemorrhaging and the current assets are negligible, compared to 2020, when I think they managed to secure one or two credit lines, but not nearly enough for what they needed. Just enough to pay themselves and their external consultants and cover the operating costs, if you ask me.

The revised Planning Statement, of 8 February 2024, posted first by Marple, echoes my initial guess (COVID blew it up, see link to the first post) and the above assessment:

Mark this: 'Discussions are now proceeding with investors and there is a realistic prospect that work will begin in the near future (2024/2025) to implement the permission.' Given that they will start with the road and parking rehabilitation and upgrading, probably overlapping with the distillery building, it would make sense to begin this autumn at the earliest, with the most urgent: access to the site itself.

The initial Planning Statement, dated 9 July 2020 and re-posted on March 21st, 2024, tells a more detailed story. This is part and parcel of the current project as well, since the revision is just pointing out the changes operated, not the entire rest, which remains unchanged. You be the judge:

Also keep in mind this tiny, tiny thing: the Business Plan is 'submitted (...) under Private and Confidential Cover'. See where I am looking?

The initial plan was (and still is) for GD Spirits to produce their own booze, using Midhope's own barley (this is very important for the rest of my theory!). They even offer an overview of the real impact of their project on the local economy:

20 to 38 initial new job creations for a £ 15 to 30 million investment is not 'huge', madam Marple. Cumbernauld is huge. This? This is rather modest, if you ask me. But hey, what do I know about the labor market, right?

That initial Statement tells also the story they want to tell about the genesis of their idea, the scouting for the right location and a couple of other interesting details:

So they are telling us they started to look for the perfect location in 2018 and oh, hello, they found the Hopetoun Estate rather quickly, already starting the pre-planning application consultations as early as July 2019 (don't get me started, please):

If so, then why did they incorporate not one, but two different companies clearly linking them to the Estate (Hopetoun Estate Distillery Ltd and Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd) the same day and as early as May 23rd 2017 (and both dissolved in December 2022), as my above penciled timeline (LOOOOOL) shows? Who is really behind this project and why this entire ballet? It's like me pre-emptively looking for rental properties in (let's randomly guess) Lisbon, when it's just wishful thinking, heavily projecting and with 0 guarantees I will be posted there, right? I mean, I adore and deeply know Lisbon and I would be thrilled to go there. But I am not currently looking for any rental property, just like that, because that would be a #silly, rookie mistake. In their case, I think there's a different situation - again, you be the judge.

A first answer, as to who is really behind that project, was given by the UK media, back in 2020:

How odd, when we know that both Mrs. Boswell, the well-traveled attorney and Mr. Robertson resigned from GD Spirits in July 2018. Do they still say hi to the two distillerettes? Do they quietly keep an eye on the project? Are they silent partners? Business angels? Shareholders? Time to remind you that under UK law, there is 0 visibility on the shareholder's structure of a company. You just see the officers (Director, Secretary, etc), on the Company House website. On an umpteenth, last- second cross-check, it became apparent that Mr. Robertson remained involved in another company of the distillerettes, Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd (yes, the one mentioned above), until its voluntary strike-off, in December 2022.

Their best laid plans do mention OL, and how could it be otherwise? But all this £ 15 to 30 million hullaballoo for 20.000 people only (who counted them and how?), on a seasonal basis?

High-end restaurant, luxury B&B, event spaces, you name it. Interesting, to say the least.

And, for the people in the back, who still think SRH has a 100 years lease at Midhope (Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, the stupidity!):

This is why he commented as a 'member of the public'. At face value, there is no public involvement into that project. Yet. But it is my belief there is a vested interest in all this, justifying the comment, the visit, those papers rolled in his fist, etc. At first, I thought that was a visit to Lallybroch by the Exec Producer of OL's Season 8, to discuss technicalities - and shared that privately with a wonderful friend only. I mean, why not and still perfectly possible. But then, as I could not sleep tonight and felt guilty to have you all waiting, I started to connect some tiny dots.

Like this one, for a start:

Yes, I know, Marple told you that FIRST, I would not dare say otherwise, because if I did there would be a transcontinental screech. That trademark application was filed at the US Patent and Trade Office in September 2023 and I thought (and still partially do) it was a potential rebranding solution to The Sassenach's EUIPO nightmare (much exaggerated by the fandom's toothbrush experts):

But you also know I am an idiot and I always check people's CVs, when I follow a thread. This morning, the one Distillerette I am particularly interested in is Mrs. Julia Hall-Mackenzie-Gillanders (née Scales) and not like *urv would be.

Her LinkedIn profile is exceptionally talkative, too:

... and a BA (with Honors) in Fashion Design, class of 2005, at the Northumbria University.

The Financial Times article 'From packing boxes to wine deals worth millions', you can read on her LinkedIn page, tells a very interesting story. It is the story of a shy underdog (lots of temple bells clinging, at the moment), who made it by sheer persistence. It starts like this:

'When a painfully shy young woman contacted a fine wine merchant and said ' I have no qualifications- can I help?', she got the job and today is signing deals worth millions of pounds.'

It obviously did ring a bell and if SRH knows she exists (she is married, *urv!), and I dare to speculate he does, it must have struck a deep chord. Would I do business with her? I wouldn't speculate, although I am not very sure. Would he? He'd probably listen very carefully to what she has to pitch, for a start.

And what she has to pitch is also very interesting, in his world. A brief look at the Golden Decanters' website shows a first high-end single malt sourced collection of 4 exceptional expressions already sold out:

And when they mean high-end, they mean gold leaf labelling and all the tralala:

And, some last minute news, too:

Remind me, because I am an old woman, after this white night: wasn't The Sassenach (no comment, we agree to disagree and I am very skeptical), a blend?

We have these dots, then:

Bold Underdog ->spirits business->high-end collection of single malts sold out->business partnership with owners of Midhope Castle, fictional Lallybroch in OL, including a distillery and whisky production with Midhope/Lallybroch barley -> visit by the male lead and spirits entrepreneur (also the fictional Lallybroch laird) to Midhope/Lallybroch and vested interest in the estate's most recent business project....

What if The Sassenach would be included, for a start, in that new Blended Collection? And could it really be fanfic to imagine a future high-end, limited edition, Lallybroch whisky produced at Midhope, with Midhope/Lallybroch barley? It wouldn't be the first time, would it: after all, they did it with that limited tequila batch.

As I said, because I am (remember Someone? LOL) a 'silly cow', I was hoping he wouldn't do it. But my guess is he might very well do exactly that, with those people and under that label.

It's half past eight AM, local time and I need a strong, black coffee.

I rest my case (and I am bracing myself for the screeching). I will answer Anons later, after I come back from the hairdresser's. Appointments must be kept at all costs. Thank you all for your patience.

#boozewars #business #fandom #shitshow

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inklore · 1 year

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impetuous

premise: the little games you and joel like to play become risky when you almost get caught.

pairing: joel miller x smuggler!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected piv, established enemies with benefits, dirty talk, a certain clothing item being used as a gag, small mention of masturbation and bjs, hints of angst.

note: episode eight changed me as a person, the integration scene rewired my brain chemistry and i just needed to get this out before i collapsed from being in heat. the gif was made by me so don't steal pretty please.

part of this world but you don't have to read it to enjoy this!

“Shh, shh,” Joel silences you, just as a hard thrust of his cock has your mouth falling open, a moan filling the air of the damp shed. The crunch of sticks and gravel outside makes your already thumping heart beat faster against your rib cage.

Brows drawn together, the hands gripping onto Joel’s flannel digging into his sides. The thumb that was just pressed to the column of your throat—dirty palm squeezing your airway just enough to lower your moans, enough to make you wetter and less coherent—now moves down to where you’re bare and his cock is fucking into you. The rough pad of his thumb moving along your clit, “focus right here.”

Ignore the noises outside.

Ignore the possibility of getting caught by someone out after dark and up to no good.

Ignore the possibility of getting thrown in a cell by FEDRA because you two were out after dark and up to no good.

“Fuc-Joel,” you whine. Clench your eyes shut until all you can see is little white dots behind them. Try to focus on those, on the burn you feel from the tears that are now prickling at your lash line from how hard you’re trying to focus.

From how hard you’re trying to keep your mouth shut, to not getting caught—at least not before you’ve come.

Joel’s words “focus right here” mocking and blaring in your head like a song you can’t stop humming, a song stuck in your head, a song you want to bodily remove from your brain stem; your focus on the footsteps outside no longer the issue; your attentions shifting to the head of his cock, hitting every spot inside of you that makes your legs tighten around his hips more, on the burning pleasure he’s delivering to your clit right now.

You couldn’t focus on anything but him if you tried, and you’re trying really hard to focus that attention on staying quiet.

Which the two of you know is not your forte, in and out of this situation.

The countless times when Joel’s not fucking you come to the forefront of your mind of him complaining about your need to argue, to talk talk talk, instead of the two of you doing a trade, or making the other come.

“Anyone ever told you you talk too much?”

"Well, one of us has to do the talking, Mr. Resting Grump Face. Besides, you’d be bored if I didn’t make you work for what you came for.”

“That what you call it? Workin’ for it? You mean until I give you what you want because you can’t seem to ask for it unless you’re deliverin’ me bad news,” he had smirked. Wiped the grin from your face and covered it with his mouth seconds later as he backed you into the wall, groin grinding against your front. “I got better uses for that mouth.”

The scrape of the metal table your ass is on moves each time Joel thrusts, each time his cock drags against your sensitive walls over and over. If it weren’t for his jeans still covering half of him, the sounds of your skin moving against each other—and your wetness that was more than likely staining the front of his jeans, the small window in the back doing little to help light anything but his face and neck—would cover up the mewls and cries making your throat hoarse and raw each time they slip out when you fight to swallow them down.

“The only way you know how to be quiet is with my cock in your mouth.” There’s humor in his tone; his heavy breaths add more heat to your face. You feel his free hand run along your leg, moving it from his hip for half a second as he pulls your underwear from your calf and over your ankle until it’s in his palm and he’s pushing the material into your mouth.

You can taste the remnants of your arousal on the cotton, from even before the two of you started your little game. When it was still just a simple trade of stolen items and things your boss was too cowardly to hand off to the big bad grump. When he had just been scowling at you, listening to your bullshit story, and bidding the time until one of you cracked. Before both of you threw the items to the side and Joel’s hands were bending you over the nearest surface or pushing you to your knees.

You swallow around the material, your whimpers caught by the fabric and barely audible. His lips press against the material, barely touching your lips; the sweat on his forehead mingles with your own as he presses it against yours. “Focus on comin’ for me, take what you came for. C’mon. Come with me,” he grunts. Moves his hips in a way that has your eyes rolling back and your teeth biting the salvia-soaked cotton.

The hand not rubbing fast circles on your clit, cups the back of your skull. His dirty fingers wrapped in your hair, keeping you in place. Keeping you bent at the perfect angle so your hips can meet his. So his thumb has access to that nerve that’s making your toes curl—to push his cock further and further into you so the tip hits something pleasurably painful.

When you’re coming, when his name is muffled against your underwear and your nails are clinging and digging into his skin from the searing heat that has your body convulsing against him—"That's it, that's it, take it” murmured against your forehead—you feel him finish seconds later. Your walls clenching and spasming around his cock. A deep grunt breathed against your skin.

Your insides feel warm, like jell-o left out in the sun. Like if Joel never moved from between your legs and the two of you stayed connected forever, you wouldn’t mind.

And after he’s pulled out and his warmth is gone from your body, you quickly shoot down the disappointment rising up inside of you that he didn’t stay between your legs longer. That this part of the night is over, and now you’re back to the game.

To the reason you snuck out after dark to begin with.

Completely denying yourself any opposing thought that could put that reason into question. The two of you have been doing this for too long for your mind to think it’s something it isn’t.

Even when he doesn’t just take what he came for and leave or shoot you a scowl when he helps you find your pants, the way you expect him to.

Or how he doesn’t let you go first no matter how much arguing you do against it—how he makes sure the coast is clear before signaling it’s safe. Him hanging behind to—cover his ass, you’re sure—make sure when you slip down the dark alleyway, no one is there to catch you sneaking away into the night.

And later, when you’re laying in bed, you’ll chalk up the pounding need you feel again as you remember Joel’s rough fingers against you—your jaw, your neck, digging into your sides, your shoulder to keep you from moving anywhere but against him, anywhere but where he wouldn’t be inside of you—and his words still playing in your head “focus right here, come with me”, your heart will pick up, and you’ll have no choice but to sedate the ache you feel by making yourself come. Joel’s name on your tongue and bit into your bottom lip; you’ll blame it on his stupid mouth and your lack of options for sexual partners in this hell hole.

It won’t be because of an attachment or attraction of any kind.

Fuck that.

And tomorrow, when you tell Robert to do his own fucking deliveries, it won’t be because of your feelings but instead because you almost got caught last night. This little game becoming more of a risk than entertainment for you, and you’ll be damned if you get in the mix with FEDRA over Joel and the underlying need the both of you have to pick each other apart and pull the hatred you harbor inside out with teeth, tongues, and fingers that make you see stars.

But Robert is spineless, and you’re not convincing enough to make yourself believe you want to end anything with Joel.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fics #joel miller fics #joel miller x smuggler!reader #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine

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hyunip · 6 months

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DISTRACTION

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https://sober!-ony-x-drunk!-plus-size-black!-reader.com//:hyunip

A/N: Cannot get this man ony out of my head and how he gets distracted by how fine you looks while you talkin’ to him. You know that part of redbone with instrumental? He think you looks like that part of the song. Ion know if that made sense to you, but if it don’t, you gonna have to make sense out of it.

[I suck at warnings, sorry]

MATERLIST[Needs to and will be updated]

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[T]ipsy was really the only word that could explain you right now. The only word that fit into how you felt.

Your vision was a bit blurry, and your mind felt a little scattered, like all you could think of was words and how to put them in a way. But whilst talking, it seemed you couldn’t care less about what you said to him. Letting your thoughts be free. You were only like this because you and Onyankopon’s friend group were playing a game of uno with a little twist.

If someone put down a draw four card, you’d have to do four shots and then draw your four cards. Same thing if they’re stacked—if you have to draw eight cards that’s eight shots and eight cards—so on and so forth. You weren’t sure who made that shit up, but whoever did it was a damn good idea. It was funny and loud—which may have caused a little headache—and chill too. You all had a good time. But after a few rounds you all decided to chill since Sasha—a light weight—had one too many drinks for herself. So she’d went up to your room to sleep. Whilst Connie, Mikasa, Eren, Armin, and Jean were all laid out on bean bag chairs on their phones or talking. You were all in your basement, the song redbone by Childish Gambino playing, set to a medium volume on the speaker at the back.

Ony listened to you talk, listened to you sound a little loopy as you talked to him about a dream you had of him.

“And you was chasin’ me downstairs wit the knife—I almost bust my ass on the last step” you told Ony, your eyes slowly closing and your hand moved slowly to facepalm yourself in the face as you said the last part, making Ony chuckle at how you found it so dumb. “I ain’ gon lie baby, this shit sound like one ‘uh dem horror movies you be watchin’” he laughed.

Truth be told, Ony loved when you told him about your dreams, or spoke to him about just anything. Your voice was so smooth and sexy on the regular, but when you were like this, it was just goofy and sounded loopy as hell, and he found it funny and cute. But at some times—like now—he could rarely really ever focus on what you were saying, since he always found himself stuck admiring your facial features and body and how good you looked. He admired your ass, your thick thighs—and definitely the way the quadruple in size whenever you sit down. That has him practically drooling and wishing to be held between them for the rest of his life.— you hip dips, your double D cup sized breasts, and of course that pudgy belly you had (cause be real. You can’t want a woman with a FAT DUMPY and some pretty big titties without no stomach 🙄 plus size are baddies too.)

He loved the fat under your arms and how chubby you were. But my oh my, when he catches a look at them pretty brown eyes and see that wide and beautiful smile, his heart can’t help but skip almost all the million beats. He may not show it, but when he sees how good you look everyday, he try his best to find the words to speak. Always silent at first glance.

He was leaned back against the couch, his arms falling on his thighs as he sat manspread beside you, staring at your well done makeup. The little eyeliner wing making an illusion of slim siren eyes with a lit red tint under your eyes, and mink lashes perfectly placed on your lash line. The look with your outfit made him want to get on his knees and start slurping you up and eating you like the last dinner he will ever have. You were just too sexy, and he could always gas himself up about how bagged himself the baddest woman in his eyes.

“You listening?” Your voice was low and interrupted by a small hiccup after drinking a few sips of a cup of soda sitting on the small round table in front of you both. His thoughts were interrupted by that, bringing him back to reality.

When he focused back onto your words and was able to give your entire being a final analyzation, he heard the best part of redbone begin to play, making the moment even better for him.

Ony nodded at your question before you moaned in satisfaction as to what your ears were hearing right now, standing to start dancing to your favorite part of the song, vocalizing with it under your breath. As you got up, so did Mikasa and Connie, all of you vibing out to the music and singing along with each other. Ony couldn’t do anything but sit back and watch you enjoy yourself and feel good.

Best believe he could NOT wait to get you home and love and touch all up on you…

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And that, Ladies and Gentleman, was DISTRACTION by HYUNIP!

#hyunip #aot x reader #black reader #aot onyankopon #aot eren #aot mikasa #its been some time since i wrote anything #I love writing about ony #ony x black reader #plus size reader #for my big girls

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not-another-leon-blog · 8 months

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Aftermath

DI! Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary– How your son (doesn’t) deal with the aftermath of Alcatraz. Word count: 2345 S/n– Son’s name D/n– Daughter’s name A/N: has a slightly heavier focus on Leon and his son, a sequel to Family Matters / Aftermath / Out Together

You were right about one thing following the incident in San Francisco: You and Leon wouldn’t be sleeping alone for a long time. For almost the past month, D/n had practically moved into your bedroom, too scared to sleep alone even with her nightlight. Neither of you minded, though. You’d be more concerned if she never came to you at all.

Which was the case with S/n. Not once had he come crawling into bed between you. He hadn’t even sprawled himself across the foot of the bed like he sometimes did during thunderstorms.

Had it been any other situation, you probably would have commended him for braving through his fears. But you knew all too well how difficult it was to have to deal with the consequences of the viruses and the mutations they brought with them. And with S/n being only eight years old, it had to be harder for him.

“I’m worried about him,” you said to Leon one day. The kids were at school and for once Leon’s vacation days had gone uninterrupted.

He’d been thinking the same thing for a while now. S/n had changed since they came home. He was quiet, reserved. His grades had fallen and he hadn’t shown interest in doing much of anything. He knew they wouldn’t be able to keep the viruses a secret forever, he just never imagined the twins finding out so soon. And in such an intense way.

“I know.” He leaned against the dining table. “He pretends to sleep at night.” It had become almost routine for him to get up at some point in the night to check on S/n. “I’ve tried talking to him, but he won’t listen.”

You saw the droop in his shoulders, the defeated look in his eyes. The both of you were stumped when it came to getting through to your son. Unlike him, D/n was easier to read. She wore her heart on her sleeve and sought out support and help more often than her brother.

Your phone began to ring. As you went to answer, Leon continued to think of ways to get through to his son. Maybe they were trying too hard. Maybe he just needed to wait for S/n to come to them to talk. But S/n was stubborn and Leon knew that despite his youth, he felt like he needed to be the more responsible twin (though he’d been born only a minute before his sister) and that drove him to keep most of his negative thoughts to himself.

“We need to go pick up the twins,” you told him as you hung up the phone.

“Why? What happened?” That surprised him. They’d never been called to pick up either of the twins early from school before. It wasn’t even noon yet.

You sighed. “I don’t know. Something about a fight with a couple other kids.”

Leon slipped on one of his leather jackets and grabbed his keys, gesturing for you to follow him. Together, the two of you drove to the school in silence. There was no use in being upset with them (unless, of course, it was justified). Mostly, you were upset with yourselves.

The day you had told Leon you were pregnant, he was beyond terrified. If Raccoon City had never happened, if these viruses and monsters never existed, maybe he would have been excited. Make no mistake, he adored his children and would go to the ends of the earth for them, but back then the thought of bringing new life into a world like this felt like the scariest thing in the world. And now, in his eyes, he had failed his kids. They’d been thrown right into the face of danger and now had to deal with the trauma of it.

You reached the school and made your way to the front office. D/n and S/n were sitting just outside of the principal’s office. Their hair was a mess and S/n had ripped holes in his jeans. Dirt was smeared on D/n’s cheek and the braid you’d done for her had come loose. They both avoided your eyes.

The principal’s door opened. “Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy?”

“I’m sure both of you are aware that we don’t condone fighting in this school. We have a very strict anti-bullying policy,” the principal started.

“Of course,” you replied. “Though, we would like to know exactly what happened.”

“They were involved in a fight during their lunch hour,” the principal said simply. “The other kids are currently in the nurse's office with busted lips and bloody noses.” The explanation seemed simple enough. But surely there had to be more to it.

“Mind if we get the kids in here?” Leon asked pointedly. He wasn’t satisfied with this version of events. The principal nodded and Leon went back to the door, opening it just enough to usher the twins inside.

“They have no prior behavioral issues,” the principal said, “but given the circumstances, at the very least they will be on a three-day suspension.”

“Let’s hear their side first,” Leon said firmly, folding his arms across his chest.

They were quiet. D/n began picking at her fingers and chewing the inside of her cheek. S/n’s eyes were narrowed and his jaw locked. You knew that look despite how rare it was to see. He was usually such a happy boy but right now, he was angry. Downright furious even.

“They wouldn’t leave D/n alone,” he spat.

“What were they doing to D/n?” Leon asked.

“Pulling her hair. They called her a crybaby.”

You turned back to the principal. “I thought you didn’t tolerate bullying?”

The principal stumbled over his words and went red in the face, trying to find a way out of the corner he’d found himself backed into. “With all due respect, Mrs. Kennedy, if that is indeed what happened, instigating a fight is inexcusable.”

“Is that what happened, D/n?” you asked her. She nodded.

Leon’s own frustration was starting to show. He was done with this conversation. “Let’s go.”

“Mr. Kennedy,” the principal started, “This situation must be addressed.”

“Look, I don’t encourage my kids to fight–” the principal shrunk into his chair, “ – but as I see it, my son was protecting his sister. Had your lunch monitors done their job, maybe we wouldn’t be here.”

The principal was speechless. Leon put a hand on each of the twins’ shoulders and gently nudged them back to the door. You stood and began to follow them. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

The ride home was as silent as the ride to the school. Every now and then Leon glanced at the rearview mirror only to see S/n staring intently out the window. He could only guess at what his son was thinking. Above all, he hoped S/n wasn’t replaying San Francisco over and over in his head. Yet, he knew that was the reason they were here.

S/n was too young to process something like that and Leon will spend the rest of his life regretting the whole thing. But for now, he needed to find a way to help his son cope. He couldn’t have him going around busting lips and breaking noses (even if it was deserved).

As for D/n, Leon had decided to leave her to you for now. Even though she was a daddy’s girl through and through, his attention needed to be on S/n.

“Y/n,” he said as he pulled into the driveway, “go ahead and take D/n inside. I’m gonna have a talk with him.”

You nodded and climbed out of the car, D/n following close behind you.

There was a beat of silence.

“If you’re gonna yell, just do it,” S/n mumbled.

“I’m not gonna yell at you.” Leon turned in his seat. “I understand why you did what you did. But why didn’t you go get a teacher?”

S/n frowned and turned his gaze to his shoes. “I was…”

“But?”

He scoffed and shook his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes. Leon sighed and got out of the car, only to round it and get into the back seat with him. He put a comforting hand on top of his head.

S/n bottom lip began to quiver. His breathing became heavy and he wrapped his arms tight around himself. Leon swore he felt his heart snap in two at the sound of his son’s cry. Tears streamed down his face and his body shook with sobs. Leon unbuckled his seat belt and pulled him into his side, his shirt quickly becoming soaked with tears.

“I can still hear it!” Dylan Blake may be dead, but the damage he left behind would take a long time to heal, if ever. “I see it when I try to sleep!” S/n pressed himself as close to Leon as he could, as if he were trying to sink into him.

“It’s okay, bud,” he said quietly, slowly rocking back and forth. He desperately wanted to take the pain away. To erase the memories, rewrite the past or avoid it altogether. S/n cried harder, holding onto Leon like he was a lifeline.

It felt like hours had passed before S/n began to calm down. His sobs turned to sniffles and the tears slowly came to a stop. His grip on Leon’s shirt never loosened.

“W-why do you do it?” S/n whimpered.

Leon wiped his thumb over S/n’s cheek. “To keep you safe.” He held him just a bit tighter. “I do it so you’ll never have to.”

“B-but what i-if you… never come back?” Finally, S/n looked up at Leon. For that, he wasn’t sure he had an answer. He knew it was a very real possibility that one day he might leave and not come home.

“Don’t you worry about that.” He kissed the top of his head.

“Can’t you q-quit?”

“I wish I could.” It’s what he wants more than anything. He wanted to be home with his family. He wanted to watch them grow up and not have to worry about anything more than them coming home before curfew. If only it was that simple.

He pulled away slightly. “I know you were protecting your sister, but you can’t be fighting in school. Even if they deserve it.” S/n nodded. He hugged him again. “I love you, bud. You don’t have to keep all this to yourself.”

“I love you, too,” S/n replied.

Leon shrugged out of his leather jacket and wrapped it around his son. “Take care of this for me, will ya?”

He slipped his arms into the sleeves. The jacket nearly swallowed him whole. “It’s too big.”

Leon chuckled and ruffled his hair. “You’ll grow into it. Let’s get inside.”

You were starting to get worried by the time Leon and S/n came inside. You’d already managed to get the full story out of D/n and had her washing dishes in the kitchen. Not only had S/n started the fight, she had chosen to take part and help him instead of standing off to the side. At least you could take comfort in the fact that they’d stand by each other no matter what.

S/n waddled in wearing Leon’s jacket and went straight to the dining room table with his backpack, getting right to work on whatever homework needed to be done.

Leon came to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Let’s take them out tomorrow,” he suggested. With the kids out of school for the next few days, it would be a good opportunity for him to bond with them.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Sports park?” It would be a healthy way for them to get out the stress they’d been carrying. “Get them to wack a few out in a batting cage?”

You considered it for a moment. Since coming home from San Francisco the twins had only ever gone from the house to school and back again. They needed a change in scenery. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

“It’s settled then.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and went to check on S/n while you went to start dinner.

For the first time in a while, there was a sense of peace that almost resembled normalcy. Alcatraz wasn’t at the forefront of your mind as the four of you ate and prepared for bed. Soon you found yourself tucked against Leon’s side in bed. D/n had chosen to sleep in her room tonight, though you were prepared to wake up with her between you in the morning.

The television droned on with some old comedy while you traced random shapes on Leon’s chest. “It looks like you got through to him today,” you said. S/n was noticeably less tense at dinner than he had been these past few days.

“Yeah. Little guy’s got a lot going on in there.” Progress was made and it brought him some relief. S/n had opened up to him just a little bit, and he wouldn’t ask for anything more right now. The door creaked open and S/n peeked inside nervously.

He hesitated before asking, “Can I sleep here tonight?”

The two of you offered him soft smiles. “Sure, sweetie.” You scooted away from Leon to offer him the space in between. S/n nearly jumped into bed with you, almost as if he’d change his mind if he didn’t. Leon switched the television off and reached across to wrap his arm around the both of you.

“Will I ever stop thinking about it?” S/n held your hand tight as he nuzzled against Leon.

Leon kissed the top of his head. Deep down, he knew Alcatraz was something S/n would never truly forget. “One day, it’ll just be a bad dream.”

#di! leon x reader #dad! leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil leon #leon kennedy #leon kennedy angst #leon s kennedy #Leon Kennedy #resident evil #leon scott kennedy

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 4 months

Text

The Gingerbread Kerfuffle - Modern! Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Seeking your husband's help in baking gingerbread turns out not be the roaring success you had hoped it would be.

Pairing: Modern! Daemon Targaryen x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: profanity, p in v sex, degradation, cunnilingus, spanking, overstim, tiddy play, rough sex, slight daddy kink if you squint, she/her pronouns used

Word Count: 1.75k words

A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) Daemon girlies, you are up first 😋 i hope you enjoy!

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

“And what exactly is the difference between these two?” Daemon’s disgusted voice broke you from your focus as you focused on beating the milk and sugar. You sighed, turning to face Daemon as he held up the bag of flour and baking powder, looking confused.

Why in the Seven Hells did you think it would be a good idea to try and rope your husband into helping you to bake gingerbread cookies?

If it weren’t for the two twin girls soundly asleep upstairs in their beds, eagerly awaiting for your household’s traditional gingerbread cookies, you might have laughed until you woke the whole neighbourhood by now.

“This, my dearest husband,” you took the bag of flour from his hand, “Is the flour. Or all-purpose flour as we call it.”

“And what are its purposes?” Daemon inquired, a scowl on his face as his gaze flickered between the baking powder and flour.

You paused, “I…actually don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s just essential.” Daemon scoffed, “Darling, are you sure you know how to bake?” You shoot him a glare. “Who’s the one struggling to tell the difference between flour and baking powder, darling?” You moved to check on the mixture in the mixing bowl. Your husband came up behind you, hopefully not to ask another question about the difference and functions of baking ingredients.

Arms encircled you, as Daemon buried his face in your hair, inhaling your sweet floral scent. “You know…” Daemon murmured, hands creeping towards the front of your shorts. “I might not understand anything about baking, but you sure look sexy as hell while doing it.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, playing along as Daemon continued kissing your neck. “Daemon, the girls.”

“Won’t hear a thing,” Daemon concluded, trying to tug off your shorts. “As long as you’re quiet, darling.”

You smirked, pressing yourself up against him. A groan and his hardness pressing against you made you know you had succeeded, causing your smirk to widen. “Come on, darling, what do you say?” Daemon murmured, hands grazing over your pussy over your shorts. “Let me fuck you?”

“Hmm,” you pretended to consider it. “I say…help me roll up the dough into two balls, you dirty dog.” You spun around, pushing him off you gently.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips, looking not at all bothered by your rejection. “I know what other two balls you can play with-'' He laughed as you shoved the mixing bowl in his arms, looking at him sternly. “Less dirty talk, more rolling please. I’d actually like to get some sleep before having to wake up early to bake these tomorrow.”

“Yes, madam,” Daemon responded in a sly voice, as you narrowed your eyes at him.

The two of you made fast work of it, rolling the dough into two balls, before putting them in the fridge. You let out a sigh of relief as you began washing up the bowls in the sink, it was only 11 o’ clock, which meant that the two of you could get in eight hours of sleep before having to wake up tomorrow to bake the cookies.

When you finally finished washing up, you wiped your hands on the kitchen cloth, brows furrowing a little. It was quiet…too quiet.

“Daemon?” You called out, scanning the kitchen for your oversized man toddler. You had asked him to put the ingredients back into the pantry, but the man was nowhere to be seen. “Daem-“

You let out a squeal as strong arms scooped you up, bridal style. Daemon carried you like you weighed nothing more than a rag doll, briskly walking up the stairs to your shared bedroom.

“Daemon, what are you-“ you squealed again as he tossed you onto your bed roughly, immediately climbing over you and removing his sweatpants. “You think it’s funny, hmm?” Daemon lifted an eyebrow as he continued undressing himself, then moving to undress you. “Teasing me like a brat in the kitchen, acting all smart with me in the kitchen, like you’re better than me hmm?”

You stifled a giggle, coyly trailing a finger down Daemon’s abs. “Well, to be fair, you were the one who confused sugar for salt. I think I-“ You yelped as Daemon flipped you over onto your stomach, landing a harsh smack on your ass. “Not so feisty now, are we?” He taunted, spanking you again.

You choked on your breath as he continued spanking you harshly, but the inner brat in you refused to submit. “Says the man who doesn’t know the difference between a spatula and a whisk,” you mocked, sticking up your ass even more, leaning into his touch.

Daemon growled, hand landing on your ass so harshly that it made you yip in pain. He immediately moved to cover your mouth. “Shh, little whore,” he said condescendingly, smirking down at you. “Don’t want to wake the girls, don’t you?”

You were about to argue back, but then Daemon, clearly having had enough of your bratty attitude, thrust into you harshly from behind, making you scream into his mouth. He rubbed your back soothingly with the other hand, shushing you like you were a small child. “Shh, shh, I thought you said that we shouldn’t wake the girls, yes?” Daemon’s words were mockingly sweet, as he began pumping into you leisurely. He still kept his hand over your mouth, muffling any of your moans and cries as he fucked you. He groaned as you clenched tighter around him when he went faster, his hips snapping into yours. “Oh, the little whore likes it when I treat her rough like this, doesn’t she?” Daemon taunted, emphasising his words by thrusting into you when he called you a little whore. “Likes it when her daddy just fucks her with no care in the world, doesn’t she?”

You nodded eagerly, and Daemon smiled wolfishly at that, planting kisses down your neck down your spine. “Such a good fucking girl, mmm, all for me,” Daemon smacked your ass lightly a few times, groaning at the erotic sound of skin slapping on skin.

You felt a heated whisper against your ear, as Daemon grazed his lips against your ear, making you shiver. “And do you know what good girls get, sweetheart?” Daemon pulled back with a smirk as he watched you with mock pity. “Oh yes, my hand is still around your mouth. Tsk, how silly of me to forget.” He relished in the indignant “mmph!” noises he heard from you in response.

“I’ll tell you the answer, sweetheart,” Daemon said blandly, like he wasn’t currently ploughing into you right now with the vigour of a bull. “Good girls get to cum, sweetheart.” With that, his other hand went down to your swollen pearl, rubbing it with his thumb. He laughed as he heard your noises becoming more and more needy, letting out a sated sigh as he felt you cum on his cock, your walls tightening around him as you did.

“Oh, beautiful,” he leaned down and kissed you, taking note of how out of breath you were as he released his hand from your mouth. A smug smirk flickered on his lips. You were shaking so badly…

Too bad he wasn’t known for being “The Merciful” in the business world.

You yelped when Daemon flipped you over. Your back hit the cool sheets, but they provided little relief as Daemon seized your legs, forcing them to wrap around his waist as he continued thrusting in you. Cries of pleasure fell from your lips as Daemon’s hot mouth went to suck on your swollen, hardened nipples, biting them lightly and delighting as you writhed under his tongue.

“I can’t come again, Daemon, please,” you cried out, as Daemon’s pounding grew more and more intense and you felt the familiar coil in your stomach again. Daemon released your nipple with a wet pop, and looked menacingly into your eyes.

“Yes, you can. You little slut.”

Daemon lowered his mouth back onto your heated, sweaty skin again, this time devoting his attention to your neck and collarbone, while his hands came up to play and fondle with your tits, squeezing them. You let out a strangled moan as you came again, as Daemon flicked his thumb at your hardened bud.

You had hoped that Daemon would let you go after that, but your husband had other plans. Your head initially lolled back against the pillows in exhaustion, but it snapped up again as Daemon spread your legs even wider. “What…”

A wicked grin was all you saw before Daemon dived between your folds, eagerly licking up your wet, swollen slit “No, no, no more,“ you cried out, hips bucking off the bed as you tried to pull yourself away from his hot, needy mouth, but firm hands gripped your hips tightly, preventing you from moving an inch more.

You were always the sweetest thing Daemon had ever tasted, and he especially loved eating you out after your orgasms, with your legs shaking and barely managing to keep a hold of your sanity as he ravished you with his mouth.

When you felt his skilled tongue flicking at your clit, you could feel your orgasm approaching again, your body trembling in preparation for it. “Daemon, I can’t, I can’t-“ A strangled moan tore from your throat as you came, squirting Daemon’s face and tongue with your juices. Daemon chuckled darkly against your folds, refusing to stop until he had licked up every trace of your cum.

Exhausted after the three orgasms wrung from you, you collapsed back on the pillows. You felt a finger running along your overstimulated slit, as Daemon pulled himself up to you again, kissing you sweetly, a stark contrast from his former ravenous, wicked demeanour.

Daemon pushed his finger into your mouth, giving you a simple command. “Taste yourself, darling.” Your tongue hesitantly darted out, sucking your own juices off his finger. A sigh emerged from your lips, and Daemon smiled, kissing your forehead. “Is it over now?” you mumbled softly, eyes fluttering shut.

“Mmm,” Daemon hummed, looking down at your blissed out, fucked out state. “I think you’re forgetting something, darling.”

You opened your eyes, looking confused. Eyes darting to the clock on the wall opposite your bed, your brows furrowed. “Merry…Christmas, love?”

Daemon burst out laughing, hand trailing down to play with your nipples again. “Not that, darling,” he whispered, a devilish grin on his face. “I still haven’t come yet, haven’t I?”

Oh, fuck.

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy @kmmg98 @norestfortheshelbywicked @hb8301 @hc-geralt-23 @babypink224221 @mckenziewhite2005

let me know if you wish to be added to a general taglist for daemon related works or just my works in general in the comments below or through this form! :)

thank you for reading! if you liked it, likes, comments and reblogs are always highly appreciated! merry late xmas guys 😘🎄

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hyunverse · 1 year

Text

the first time hwang hyunjin tells you he loves you.

gender neutral reader. fluff, drabble. no warnings. 606 words.

the first time hyunjin told you he loves you is sudden, unexpected — much like the way you fell in love with him.

it slips from his mouth at a moment he felt overjoyed. so consumed with love that everything else in the world feels non-existent. just you, him, and the green-yellow plains stretched behind you.

you're sitting cross-legged on a checkered blanket, a daisy tucked on your ear. posing for him, as he sits in front of you, sketch book in hand and a brush between frail fingers. he's trying his best to paint you, tilting his head and all, tongue slightly peeking out from outmost focus. it's endearing — the way he's set on painting you accurately. "i want it to be as beautiful as you are in my eyes, want to do you justice."

"i can't hold this pose for long, jinnie!" you giggle, hand dramatically placed on the side of your head.

hyunjin rolls his eyes, "who told you to choose such a hard pose?"

"shush. just hurry up and finish the painting! i want to go pick more flowers after."

"just wait," he breathes out, eyes switching from the sketch to you from time to time, "can't quite get the colour of your eyes right."

you theatrically gasp, "i'm your lover! yet you cannot even paint my eyes right?"

"shut up," he says, "it's hard!"

you shuffle closer to him, placing the book down and taking his hands in yours. hyunjin's eyes furrow in confusion, though he gives in to you. you clasp his hands to your face, nearing your face to his.

"okay, here! look me in the eyes for a really long time, maybe you'll get it right then."

his face contorts into confusion, then he bursts out into laughters. it shouldn't be this funny, no — but something about the situation makes him happy. the kind of happy that he couldn't help but laugh about it.

you keep nearing your face to his, making faces while you're at it. he does the same, crinkles under his eyes from scrunching his face. both his thumbs graze your cheeks, stroking them in circles.

"can you get it right now?"

"mm," he pouts, as if pondering, "maybe, need to stare at you a little more."

"yeah?" you tilt your head, eyes looking straight into his chocolate ones, "little more, yeah?"

it's just you and him now. the rest of the world doesn't matter — he couldn't even see them. as if you're on portrait mode, the rest of the world blurs and you're the focus.

you pull yet another face at him, one that has you sticking your tongue out. for some odd reason, he finds it so hilarious that he breaks into a boisterous laugh. the kind which has him throwing his head back, clutching both his hands on his stomach.

you miss the sensation of his fingertips against your cheeks.

"it wasn't even that funny!"

"but it was! oh my god," he manages to say between laughters, "oh my god, i love you."

the eight letters slip past his lips without notice.

easily. tenderly. endearingly. sincerely. genuinely. meaningfully.

at your silence, he falls silent too. blinking, only now noticing what he had just said.

he means it, of course. just that he didn't even realize until he had said it.

"jinnie —"

"i mean it."

hyunjin's admiring you lovingly, and with a glimpse of hope in his eyes. you look at him right back, the same fondness in yours.

"i love you too."

the first time hyunjin tells you he loves you is raw, real — much like his feelings for you.

#k-labels #straykidsland #hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin fluff #stray kids fluff #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin drabbles #hwang hyunjin drabbles #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin oneshots #hyunjin x y/n

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clarks-letterman · 4 months

Note

I think I might've cracked the pajama pant code ™: it's around the holiday season & Wally invites his teammates for a ~guys only sleepover~ but because it's so close to Christmas (which Wally doesn't celebrate, to incorporate Milo being Jewish), nobody else but the reader shows up as a result of having a deep crush on Wally. When the reader arrives, Wally is already wearing those pants (school colors, of course) & the reader can clearly tell nothing else underneath them. The reader tries to brush that aside and the extremely intimate touches from Wally throughout the night while trying to distract him from how much of a bust the ~sleepover~ was, but one thing naturally leads to another when the night winds down & Wally asks the reader to sleep next to him.

the pj pants code™ | wally clark x male!reader

a/n — i want to preface this by saying i am not jewish, and while I did research and made sure to give what i thought was an accurate representation, please let me know if any of what i have depicted is innacurate or offensive. thanks! went light on the smut because i enjoyed writing the build up and having that as the focus more, anon!

summary — check the ask!

warnings — light smut at the end, angst and fluff

words — 7k (i yapped a lot in this one.)

~~~

Wally Clark couldn’t stand December. Sometimes, he literally couldn’t stand it. The snow and ice created a deadly walk to his car in the early mornings and he had his fair share of slips and slides down the path leading to it. Then he had to pray that his rear-wheel drive and manual stick shift didn’t create a nasty combination on the roads, and when he finally made it to school, he parked his car along a line of many others just like his—boxy, dynamically pointed. The same spot, always open, and always so far away from the school itself. Sure, it was right behind the building, but he hated stepping into the cold air after finding comfort in the heated enclosure of his black Chevrolet Bel-Air. The school air wasn’t much better once he was finally inside the building, feeling stale yet fresh with frustration and fatigue from everyone around him. It was a mood he actively contributed to during this time of the year.

He was able to blend in—in so many ways, but December was the one month where he felt anything but normal during it. He started the month feeling different. Everyone complained about the holiday jingles plaguing the radio, and subsequently, their boomboxes and home stereos housing more than half a dozen stations for it, but it didn’t pertain to Wally, so he never really gave an opinion on it. The only holiday songs he ever heard were sung dissonantly by his family for eight nights in a row—there was a reason he was the only Clark in the house to take choir. Then the first half of the month was a slog to get through, having to juggle school and football championships after endless classes and traditions upon returning home. Then, before he knew it, the cycle started all over again the next day. The second half of the month felt a bit better but worse at the same time. Winter break wasn’t filled with the hectic Christmas holiday like so many of his other peers had to endure, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something every year. Thankfully, at the end of the month, he got to slide right back into the crowd on New Year’s Eve. His friends could expect the same old pair of Nike’s falling into the same old spot he took up at their house, watching the ball drop on the television without anyone to kiss when the year reset.

That’s why he tried to host a sleepover the first night of break—and, coincidentally for him, the last night of Hanukah. Little was left of the holiday, and his parents were out of town for work, so his plate seemed pretty light. “No girls,” his parents said. It was their only restriction besides the usual anti-partying and drugs lecture they gave before they left. Wally wasn’t complaining about that one bit. There was only one guy he wanted to actually see at his sleepover, but he had to be smart about it. He couldn’t invite just one guy, especially if he turned out to not show. He cared about his other teammates, so he decided to invite everyone on the team as they had made it through the entire football season with more wins than losses—that was his alibi.

You were the last one to hear about his sleepover, mostly because you had one class with him in the morning and only saw him in after-school activities like the weight room and the athletics club. The morning class had a test right before the break, and the extracurriculars officially wrapped up last week in preparation for the week or so in which you wouldn’t see each other. That meant that he had to catch you in passing, and he always saw you on the way to his last class.

He called your name along with a quick, stopping you in the hall, “Hey!”

You turned and smiled once you realized it was him who had pulled your attention. He continued as you got closer to each other, “I’m having a sleepover hangout type of thing. That makes it sound a lot lamer than it actually is. Trust me, it’ll be super fun. Exclusive, and you’re on the list.”

“And I’m invited because?” You asked, already knowing that you would eventually give him a “yes, I’ll be there.” Eventually. You wanted to get a rise out of him first, to know that he was inviting you for the reasons you thought he was.

“Because you…” Wally trailed, pursing his lips and looking off to your left as he searched for the words in passerby’s face. He couldn’t look at yours because he’d say something dumb. By looking anywhere else, he had a fighting chance to make it out of the conversation alive. “…you’re part of the team, duh. Everyone will be there.”

“I’m the safety. I basically do nothing all match.” You continued, “The coach benches me during workouts, dude.”

“That’s not true, you’re good when we’re balls deep!” Wally heard himself and corrected it, fast. “Deep balls and goals—I mean. How many goals have you stopped?”

“Like, two? One, probably.” You averted his gaze, knowing that it would break any semblance of doubt you expressed. He was always good at clearing the moody air, and this time was no different.

He reassured, “Just one time is enough.”

“Someone was listening at the ‘Just Say No’ assembly.” You laughed, remembering how you were caught up in staring at the boy a row down from you during the assembly. They had grouped all of the footballers together, touting you to the other students by showing that success can happen without drugs. But you definitely weren’t bothered enough to listen, hooked on the rush of the boy in front of you. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

He did a quick notion of victory, clenching his fist and pumping his towards himself. “I knew you’d say yes! Okay, my house, tonight. Don’t miss it.”

Wally walked away with a giddy gallop in his step, as if he was about to jump up and click his heels together. He didn’t, but in his mind, he was happily trotting down the hall to his last class. The bounce in his step was nonexistent yet entirely palpable as the soles of his worn-out Nike’s felt like a freshly puffed cloud. Unsalvageable, the night was not.

Only a few hours went by before you found yourself about to reunite with Wally for the second time today, You didn’t count second period because of the test, but this would make up for the lost time you would have gotten to spend goofing off with him in that class. Unfortunately, several teachers decided to rain hell on you and assign homework that would all be due the day you got back, so you had to clear that out of the way first. You hoped that it hadn’t sucked up too much of the night, since you pulled into Wally’s driveway around eight. It was a bad sign that his car was the only one there, a fact now untrue thanks to your hunk of junk coming to a halt next to his. You put it in park, grabbed your bag from the passenger seat, and started your ascent up the small path leading to his front door.

You couldn’t help but notice the lack of decorations along his front lawn. His parents seemed well off, having a decently sized garage attached to their already big house. You couldn’t imagine the square footage without the garage, it must have been over a couple thousand. The bottom half of his house was covered in red brick, looking darker in the moonlight, and the second story was a calming shade of light blue. The windows were nothing special, ordinary but you were sure that they gave insight into something deeper within the house. All of them were empty and dark, except for the one next to his front door. It had a menorah inside that looked indiscernible from the road, that’s why you didn’t see it initially. Each of the branches had a candle in it and were illuminated. The curtain was pulled back to prevent a fire, but it gave you a brief glimpse into the Clark household. It looked empty, and no noise could be heard from your position outside of the house. Was anyone home?

If it was just you and Wally, maybe this would be the night. The night where everything would finally make sense. For the entirety of your senior year, Wally and you just felt different. There was no explanation for it, you had known him since the seventh grade, when you joined the football team, yet this year had been such a turning point for you and him. You hung out with him several times and went to drive-in movie theaters and found the fun in mundane gas stations, where life is supposed to feel boring. Wally made everything feel okay, at the very least. He made them tolerable, and he even had a force to pull you to his house on the twenty-first of December. The answer to a question burning in your mind could come tonight—did he like you back? You decided to stomach any reluctance and knock. A figure moved past the window, causing each flame to move with it. Then, the door opened.

“Ready to go to bed already?” You asked, looking him up and down. He was in a white tee shirt, blue and white pajama pants, and a pair of white socks. It was so lazy yet carefully reminded you of your history. The blue and white linens alluded to the school’s color scheme, probably something he bought as one of those athlete packages that bundle pairs of sweatpants and exercise gear together. They looked nice on him, loosely swinging from his legs and tightening to fit his narrow hips near the top. His shirt was crisp, unwrinkled, and a perfect blank canvas. Food and dirt had yet to splatter over it in his moments of action, yet it looked like it was small enough to make his movements more revealing. The hem of his shirt just barely covered the waistband of his pants. All of it was tied together with his golden necklace lying over his shirt.

“Being the life of the party by myself is tiring.” He said, acting as if no one else showing up was normal. He didn’t notice your prolonged stare, too happy that you actually showed up. “If only some other people were here to help me out.”

Wally moved to the side to let you in, and you really got to scope out the place. You two were the only beating hearts in there. Aside from the red blood keeping the both of you warm and present, his house was made of cool tones—blue curtains flowing down the length of his windows to block anyone out and a white shag rug filling most of his living room, from what you could immediately see. In front of the door were the stairs leading to the second floor, and to the right was his living room—the menorah finding itself tucked away in the windowsill of that room. On the left looked to be a dining room, but you couldn’t be completely sure, the obscured shape of a table leg and one chair led you to believe there was more to it. The back wall of the living room had a rectangular hole cut out of it, a white stove in view. Everything looked as it was, and Wally seemed to have spent the first night of holiday break lounging on his white couch with brown hairline stripes running along the upholstery and cushions. An Atari rested on the short brown coffee table in front of it alongside some cartridges, cables running to the television set, where more games were stacked inside of the surrounding cabinets. Yeah, he had definitely spent his afternoon alone.

“It’s the holiday. That’s why no one came.” You weren’t about to say something about his optimism. He planned this event with sincerity, so you treated it the same. Nothing about how he had planned a sleepover with only dudes, and how you could easily remark that “this was something only eighth-grade girls do.” Nope, you weren’t going to point that out, no matter how much you wanted to poke fun at him. But you did offer a bit of light to the situation, “Just one guest is enough for a sleepover, anyways.”

You turned to flash him a sign of sympathy, but you noticed that Wally had occupied himself with fixing the blue tinsel lining the inner side of the doorframe. With his hands up high and his shoulders carrying his shirt with them, it revealed his torso. You couldn't tell if the lack of a brief line, something indicated whether or not he wore anything under those loose linens, was because of how baggy they were or because he wasn't wearing anything underneath. He provided the answer to your question almost a second later by reaching higher than he should be in a shirt that small. His shirt rode up and nothing was there, no waistband leading to his boxers peeking out from underneath. Nothing. His pants clung tightly to his waist in the same way that your own eyes wouldn’t leave them.

“There.” Wally boasted. “Now we can get the party started.”

“Yeah, totally. Uh, what did you have in mind?”

He circled back around to you, “Video games, all-nighter, alone time?”

“So I packed pajamas for nothing?” Your bag started to feel heavy in your hand with the weight of pointlessness. Wally was quick to reassure you.

“No, no, no. They’re the entrance fee for this party. The bathroom’s right up the stairs and to the left.” He had placed his hand around your shoulders as he neared you, making sure that the directions he gave with his other hand were clear enough for you to follow. He couldn’t help but think about how he was already giving you directions to go deeper into his house. You didn’t want to leave, you actually made an effort to show up—and stuck with the theme! This was his chance to tip the first domino in his favor, closing in on the gap between his mouth and your ear. Whispering, he lets out, “And… my room’s right next door if you’d feel more comfortable in there.”

Wally didn’t make you say your choice out loud, so you shot him a quick “thanks” and parted ways from his closeness to get changed. Going up the carpeted stairs, you were greeted with the choice of two doors; both on the left side of the hall, the one closest to you was the bathroom door, shut but completely blank compared to the door a few feet past it—the door to Wally’s room, decorated with adorned with several posters about football and famous musicians you had seen the CDs for in his car. Your feet dragged themselves across the carpet, taking the extra steps to reach his bedroom and turning the handle of the door with care. It was less shiny, the gold finish rubbing off to reveal the copper handle underneath. Wally was prone to having his door shut more often, you figured. Pushing the door open slowly, you let yourself take in the room in quick glimpses as more of it was revealed to you.

The color coordination was nonexistent as everything clashed with itself. It doesn’t feel like something curated, but lived in. It doesn’t have the smell of a department store, it has the smell of a week-old jock in the laundry basket and hastily sprayed cologne to cover the scent. It reminded you of a night where the same smell filled the air of a locker room at an away game. You were sitting on the same bench as him in the same locker dwelling, alone. He was in just his jersey because he needed a second to breathe. Something was tugging at him, making it impossible to finish the night off in his regular clothes. That’s where Wally admitted that he didn’t know where to apply to college to take advantage of his skills, mostly because he didn’t care enough. “My parents will figure it out,” he said. At the time, it sounded like a lazy excuse, but his room proved it to be a surrender in the pursuit of who he wanted to be. Posters plastered themselves on the wall in clusters just like on the outside of his bedroom door. The densest area of the room was right above his bed, filled with drawings to partially cover the posters of famous athletes. At least his bed was an escape from the mess he had to wake up to everyday, the linens on it likely made for the first time in weeks upon your arrival. Blue sheets, like he was caught in an ocean of thought with a grey comforter being his raft to shore. Next to the bed, on the floor, were several sleeping bags strewn out with less care than he had given to his bed. And by the time you got to the last sleeping bag arranged on the floor, your eyes landed on his dresser—painted white but made of brown wood as the paint had chipped around its stubby legs. There were a few windows filling the room, the curtains were closed to stop anyone from peering into the second-story room and getting a view of you changing. While you stripped down to the essentials, you looked around. The rest was all standard stuff you had, a desk with his letterman hanging off the back of the chair slid into it, a smaller television than the one downstairs, and some other random trinkets from vacations and whatnot.

Then, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the full-body mirror hanging on the back of his door. Exposed in Wally’s room without his watchful eye to catch all the things you wanted to show him, but never could. You wanted to give yourself to him, but what if it was a joke? What if he didn’t invite anyone else? The worst question you kept asking yourself was, what would happen if this was real? If it was all fake, you could forget about it—forget about him. But if it was real, you would have to come to terms that things would be different after this one night. After that one move that will finally seal everything inside a neat little letter, addressed to you either way but the contents remained uncertain. As far as you were concerned, the letter was still being written. Maybe you both had a hand in writing something on it, just like how you two drew on each other’s papers in class when you were bored or found the lecture to be unimportant.

Heading back downstairs with a new layer of comfy clothes on, Wally greeted you with a pen and paper in his hand. He was in the middle of scribbling down his order while holding the paper against the wall, pen haphazardly flying through each line on the small sheet. “Perfect timing, I figured that we could order pizza and then do stuff while we wait.”

“What about the others?” Your mind went back to the numerous silky sleeping bags contrasting against his carpet. No one would be filling them tonight, and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of it.

“Let’s face it—they’re not coming!” He stated almost happily. Deep down, Wally hoped that others might stop by and show their faces for a few minutes at the very minimum.

You conceded, “I mean if you’re fine with us having some alone time over pizza… then I’m not going to complain.”

Wally finished writing down his order and peeled the paper from the wall, handing it over to you along with the pen in one pass. You took it, filling out the lines neatly. His writing was scrambled, but if he could read the chicken scratch that was his own handwriting, he could surely read yours. You saved yourself the pain of reading his order, hoping that he didn’t go for something gross like sardines and pineapple. His mouth would have to be kept far, far away from you if that were the case.

To pass the time after he phoned in the order, Wally suggested that you return to his Atari, still paused on what looked to be an intense game of Space Invaders. The pizza place claimed that they would be over an hour, so this was the perfect time to just enjoy his presence and forget about everything else. He plopped himself down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the small table. While you were upstairs changing, he took the liberty of connecting a second controller to the gaming system, abandoning his current progress on a level he worked so hard to get to. The game booted up, flickering on the screen in a harsh quality, but the graphics were so advanced. Your character—the spaceship that looked identical to Wally’s aside from the tip of it having a different color than his—appeared on the screen. Both of you could move around on the bottom to shoot enemies at the top. Only a few matches in, and you were raking in more points than Wally had as he chose the ‘Endless Shooter’ mode to make it more competitive. When he felt like a sore loser, he dropped the occasional comment that you “know how to use a joystick so well because you’re always handling something so long and hard.”

With his teasing and tense competition, the two of you almost missed the doorbell ringing. On what was probably followed by an annoyed sigh as the delivery guy rang his doorbell for the third time, Wally finally shot up to get the door. His exchange with the pizza guy was quick, the money disappearing from his hands in seconds and being replaced by two large pizza boxes. Each pizza was half-and-half, and it was intentionally done by him to make you have to share one box of pizza at a time. This was how he made his move. You didn’t know about his plan until he opened the boxes to reveal that both pies were evenly split down the middle with toppings on either side, apparently having the competition for grossest preferences. His half had cheese and green peppers, which you told him was the grossest thing ever, and you got the other half of the pizza decked out with your favorite toppings. He returned the compliment and moved his gaming system off to the side to make room for the two pizza boxes.

“You know… they make movies like Space Invaders? There’s this fucking sick movie I watched called Invasion of the Body Snatchers… fucking wild, dude.” Wally moved over to his entertainment system, rearranging the cords behind the TV to connect to the VHS player sitting on the shelf beneath it. A few moments of silence and shuffling and watching him bend over in those pants, the seams running down the middle—right over his crack—threatening to rip as he forced so much of himself into that taut fabric. It was still a miracle that the pants highlighted everything they needed to while keeping the rest loose and free for him to move without much care. He got the movie playing and returned back to his seat on the couch, the same one he claimed to play video games in and the same one that was so close to you. He picked up a box of pizza and rested it on his lap, his feet finding rest on the table yet again. Thumbing open the box from the slightly protruding cardboard tab, he let the flat cover swing over onto his knees and shins.

Wally went for a slice, stuffing his mouth carelessly. He looked over to you and gave you the sign that it was okay to start eating, if you had any doubt about it before. You reached over, damning the cardboard box, pizza, and layer of fabric keeping you from his dick to hell.

A few slices in, Wally faced his first predicament while watching the movie. A rogue pizza slice planned to sabotage him, dripping its cheesy and saucy remnants all over his shirt like he was being booed for his attempts to make a move on you by his own plan. “Ah, shit.”

He really didn’t want to miss a second with you, knowing that he was close to something finally happening. So, he pulled at the neck of his shirt and lifted it up and over his head, discarding it to the floor. He figured that he could deal with the stains later when they weren’t the only ones to clean that had a mess left on them. Something he was too afraid to do the night of a successful football game, he was still too nervous to do now—to be fully exposed in front of you. Even after his flat stomach would inevitably be bloated from the pizza, he still wanted you to see fully. Not in glimpses, not in pieces. Him, for all of his faults and worries and good and bad days. All it takes is one look to know if you like him like that, and it only takes one look at your face to know. But, he couldn’t bring himself to lose his pants, not yet.

Instead, he helped you embrace his upper body by moving the box of remaining pizza to the table with its twin’s arrival. Then, he just let his arm go above the couch and fall over both of your shoulders, slightly pulling you closer to him.

You noticed that he had taken his shirt off, but left it to be an unexplored subject of the night. At least, it would be unexplored in spoken words. Rather, you let your eyes do the looking and imagining what was under the rest of his clothes. His socks were a given, but his blue plaid pants held something that even your imagination couldn’t satisfy the image of. The way his legs were lifted up to the table, being pressed together meant that everything good that swung between them had to rest on top, giving you the perfect angle to see him. His length when he wasn’t hard was impressive, and his balls created a pocket in his soft pants that you wanted to see every curve of. But you tried to focus back on the movie, as it seemed that this might be the farthest Wally was willing to go with you. Friends cuddling, friends who are close to each other and care for one another more than anyone else on the team—that’s who you were. So, you kept on watching the movie, waiting for the hours to tick by.

But, a scene from the movie really got to you towards the end of the movie. Body horror was always a hit-or-miss for you, and the scene was graphic enough to make you turn your head. Wally had done the same, abandoning all hope of bravery and turning away from the screen and in your direction. The both of you made eye contact, your eyes staring into his rich brown ones. The warmth of them contrasted with the woman screaming on screen, and the shared silence between the two of you felt impossible to mistake as anything else but the right time. He started to lean towards you, and you moved closer to him, losing sight of him when you closed your eyes, waiting for a kiss that never came. The phone picked up on the woman’s scream on the television, blaring out its own final wishes as someone would have to put an end to its sole purpose by answering the call. Wally turned his head to the phone, then looked back to you with awkward eyes.

“That’s probably my mom.” He rose to his feet and swept across the room in quick motions, leaving you to sit upright without his presence.

You patted his seat, playing nice with him, “Gotcha, I’ll keep your seat warm.”

Wally went to pick up the phone, “Hello?”

“Hi, honey!” She cheered over the line. Wally could hear the smile forming through her voice on the other end. “How’s everything going? Did you light the last candle?”

“Yeah, I did when I got home. Look, I can’t stay on the phone long, I have company, Mom.” He sighed out in one breath.

“How many of your friends showed up?” She asked, trying to figure out if she should be worried about nine or ten rowdy boys messing up her house. He looked back to you and then turned his head back to the phone, mouth near the receiver like saying the words any closer would make it true, “A lot.”

“Okay, sweetie. I won’t keep you long then, don’t break anything! Love you.” Her voice got progressively louder as if she really wanted him to know about her affection.

“Love you too, mom. Bye.” He placed the phone back on its holder, returning back to the couch just as the end credits started to roll.

With the movie no longer keeping your attention, you asked him, “Does she know that I’m the only one who showed up?”

“Totally, and she said that you’re a total loser for coming over.” He replied, adding, “How about we move this upstairs? It’s getting kind of late, yeah?”

You agreed, yawning before and after you spoke. “Yeah, maybe a sleepover isn’t good after having school all day.”

“But now we know for next time,” he finished off with a yawn, infected by your set pair of them.

“Will there be a next time?” Your question sounded eager, not dreadful like you never wanted to do this again. This was probably the best time you had hanging out with someone. A "next time” would be necessary to finish where you left off, unless you happened to be misreading the situation. Though, there was almost no doubt about it as your teasing seemed to amp itself up.

“Maybe, if you don’t snore in your sleep,” Wally bargained, turning back to you as he took charge up the stairs. “But yeah, I’d love for there to be a next time.”

Wally led you up to his bedroom, taking careful time on the stairs to talk about the few family photos he had framed that you must have missed, so eager to listen to his directions and not break anything in his house by simply wandering into the wrong room.

Eventually, he opened his bedroom door for you, stepping over the sleeping bags strewn across the floor, “I’m sure you saw that earlier, that’s when I planned to have more people over. Can’t be too prepared. But since it’s just you and me, we can go halfsies on the bed? Sleeping on the floor is bad for your body and all…”

“And getting crushed by you is so much better?” You crossed your arms and sat on the end of his bed. It was soft yet firm like Wally’s touch—better yet, Wally’s skin. The way he made you feel like you were clinging on to something that was priceless yet easily available for your every whim was magical.

He insisted, “Some say it’s very therapeutic.”

Once you were all said and done with getting ready for bed, taking turns finishing up for the night. Wally shut his door, and you two were left alone to figure out the bed situation. You knew you were going to be sleeping next to him, but you had no idea if that would entail a wall being built out of pillows between you, if clothes would provide an extra barrier, or if something much more tantalizing would happen. But, you didn’t expect Wally to be the one to go first.

“Hope you’re good with me sleeping naked. Guess I should have said that before I suggested the bed…” He was in the middle of toeing off his socks, using his biggest toe to peel each off from the top-down while standing at the foot of his bed. Naturally, the next step to take would be to remove his pants. He left any idea of wearing a shirt at the door to his bedroom, the opportunity to have some restraint between the two of you ready to take the same exit.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll stay in my pajamas but you get comfortable, it’s your house, your bed.” You insisted on him, ensuring that he would feel find in his own skin. Plus, the view you would fall asleep and wake up to just sounded a hell of a lot better.

“If you say so.” He complied, his thumbs tucking into the waistband of his pants. The string keeping them up had been undone since he got back from the bathroom, and he was able to easily stretch out the band with just his thumbs alone. He pushed them down, the fabric fighting a bit as they slid over his thick ass and his dick and meaty thighs. His knees bent as he kept lowering himself down, pushing the pants down to his ankles then returning to his normal height to step out of them. Now, he was only wearing his gold necklace and nothing else. Just one thing remained on him, and you wanted to rip it off with your teeth.

The action never came and the thought went from a boiling idea at the forefront of your mind to a simmer on the back burner of the white stove downstairs. Distant, yet so close. That’s how you felt about Wally when you were both next to each other in his Queen-sized bed, cast in the soft light of his desk lamp on the other side of the room. He took up much of the bed in height, head laid back against a pillow that almost brought his feet over the edge of the mattress, so it was hard to not feel his presence from his radiant body heat to his soft breaths.

It felt like hours had passed, yet you could feel the moonlight leaning on you as a burning reminder that it had only been minutes since you took up the mantle with your crush. He seemed to be having the same problem, turning and twisting in some desperation to find comfort. That was hard to miss, too. The only direction he didn’t turn was to face you, going from his back to his side so that his pale skin glimmered in the fraction of moonlight peeking through the curtain. The small brown moles and blemishes were visible on him from the years of being kissed by the sun. He tossed himself around again, landing on his back and ruffling his hair just a little more each time.

You spoke to him but didn’t look over, “Can’t sleep?”

“No, I just…” He paused. “Have a lot on my mind with… college and stuff. And I can’t do everything before hitting the hay…” It all came out it half-whines and slowly said statements like he was trying to avoid the instincts of a tyrannosaur, moving ever so carefully under the sheets.

His shoulder lifted slightly, a light bump forming in the waves of gray made by your two bodies under the comforter. It circled down to where his crotch was. There was a light shift on the bed as well as the noise of skin hitting lightly against itself. You could hear it in the silence, breaking with his shuddered breath. He had been so busy, and now, he was next to you. Nothing stood in the way of thinking of you in ways that he could only do when you—or when any of his responsibilities—weren’t paying attention. This was a break for him, so he should be able to indulge in what he wants.

You, next to him. The thought alone was enough to make blood flow to his dick in seconds. His hand that had traveled down to his inner thigh slowly started to play with his growing length. Fingers wrapped around his shaft and started tugging, ones that he knew all too well from the time he had spent milking himself of every sexual desire almost every night. Only recently had that changed, and maybe for the better this time.

You could feel the light motions of whatever he was doing rocking the bed, it was enough to pull your attention to his side. Turning your head, you saw it—the lifted part of his big blanket shifting as the line went from his dick and all the way up to where his pale shoulders stuck out. You could pretty quickly piece together what he was doing. The way his face fell impossibly further back into his soft pillow, eyes half-lidded as he slipped in and out of fantasy and the reality next to him.

“Help me out with this…” Wally huffed, taking an entire breath to say those words.

You were breathless just moments later, crawling under the sheets and being trapped in the intoxicating warmth surrounding you. The air was stale in seconds, filled by his musk as the endless sky of grey went over your head and created just enough to see Wally. You found yourself on the edge of the bed, between his legs, your own legs feeling the chill air on the outside of your confines. Heat radiated from him more now that you were pressed against him, and you could feel your face heating up at the intimacy. You were about to blow him… this night really wasn’t a bust.

Your lips met his tip, which was already leaking precum, and used that to guide yourself down him given the darkness that has formed around you. You could see him, but sight can distract from the taste, and he tasted so good. He tasted a bit salty from being in thick winter fleece for most of the night, presumably showering once he got home from school because there was the faint scent of the damp woods and sweet flowers. The spiciness in his taste—and smell—was all him, though.

He arched his back from the bed, parting from its comforting coddle and moaning out into the quiet room. It was willing to curve for him but his bends were sharp, jagged as he fought to keep himself from releasing instantly. He was so worked up that he would have loved to keep your lips sealed to him, taking all of his cum then and there. You had managed to take him down to the base, gagging only once and feeling the heat get to you. Though they were practically invisible, your nose was buried in his dark pubes, the texture of stubble rubbing against your nose. The smell of his had gotten much stronger now that your nose was pressed against him.

It was another thing taking away your already-shortened breath and you had to pull off within seconds of throating his cock. You kept repeating the motion, taking him into your mouth until you felt like you needed to come up for the stuffy air you were trapped in. Then, you were back on to blowing him until he couldn’t take it anymore. After minutes of work, Wally had enough of fighting his urge to ruin your face and his bed sheets.

“Get on top of me,” he wanted to see you, to hold you. He continued by saying your name and a desperate “please” flew out of his lips. “I need this.”

Fresh air hit your lungs the second you crawled up to him, appearing from under sheets as he helped you get free and gave you matching bedhead. He continued to lay down, watching you kneel just above his hard cock, stripping off your top and pushing down your bottoms so that he could have easy access to the place he planned to dump his load in. Shuffling back, Wally reached around to help stick his dick in. With his so-called “help,” he teased your crack for a second, feeling the way your skin felt against his tip. He put it in after a second of teasing and, suddenly, you felt like a cowboy riding such a big horse.

You were able to lean back, taking more of him into you and dealing yourself a great amount of pain from the way he stretched you out. The other option was to fall into his arms, chest to chest. Heart to heart. Knowing that he could rock you to sleep like this, you chose to sit yourself upright, letting him push all of his length into you. The inches went in fast but came out slow as Wally’s hands came around to your hips to lift you up with the strength he had to let you bounce on his dick. He did his best to thrust while under your weight, but it was only when you did fall over against him did he really pick up his pace. He rocked his hips back and forth, fucking you tenderly as you used his neck and chest as your own pillow.

You humped against his lower torso, your hole pulled against his cock as the tight ring worked over most of his shaft with how much you could pull yourselves away from each other, then sink right back into place. You ended up finding release from the friction alone and ruining your own pajama pants and anything else you had on. Wally came shortly after, too pent up to really make a lasting effort. Much to your chagrin, you ended up falling asleep on him, not bothering to clean up the mess until the next day. Wally insisted on holding you close as the only member to show up to his sleepover.

#wally clark #wally clark x you #wally clark x reader #x male reader #x reader #wally clark x male reader #fanfic #milo manheim #milo manheim x reader #milo manheim x male reader #school spirits #school spirits x reader #school spirits x male reader #gay #gay fanfiction

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erodasfishtacos · 26 days

Text

hiiii.

this is the first two parts of an exclusive trope i have on pateron. it is completed and all together eight parts.

if you’re interested in the rest, you can sign up here for $3USD and have access to 100s of stories and blurbs.

YN doesn't know why she thought that a hockey game of all things would make her feel any better about her breakup with Adam.

YN really can’t imagine that anything will lessen the sour taste of her high school sweetheart getting another girl pregnant.

All YN had known was Adam which she was now realizing how much she had been missing out on experiencing through her earlier twenties.

While Adam snuck around behind her back to experiment, hook-up, and do whatever else with other woman.

YN, unfortunately, only knew Adam intimately.

YN always knew that had been lackluster, always more to desire because he chased his own needs and very rarely helped her reach her own pleasure.

It was bittersweet.

There’s a massive relief that she doesn’t have to imagine her entire life with him and open it to new possibilities.

However, the hurt that came with his infidelity still ached enough that she sometimes physically felt her chest twinge.

A hockey game with a few of her close friends.

Her best friend, April, worked for the arena which meant that she was able to secure pretty close-to-the-ice tickets for a fourth of the price.

As they sat down, a few of them had already had a drink or two in them, and YN didn’t want to mix alcohol with a broken heart so she stuck to a soda instead.

After they’ve filed into their seats, YN was at the one end of her group which meant the chair next to her would be filled by another attendee.

She didn’t think anything of it, leaning across her friend Henry to chat to April, her back towards the empty seat.

YN does not realize that someone is trying to sit down until someone bumps her in the back with their elbow, not hard enough to hurt but enough that YN glances back.

“Sorry for that,” The most gorgeous man she’s ever seen apologizes, a big genuine smile that makes dimples pop in his cheeks, “Got my hands full.”

And he did, he managed to carry three bottles of beer by the neck in one hand, his other filled with a tray of food.

His friends follow shortly after, tugging the beers one by one out of his hand until he can sit down comfortably with his carton of food on his lap.

“It’s okay,” YN assures him, trying to not make it too obvious that she’s giving him a sneaky once over because damn.

He was in a pair of well fitting jeans, a shirt that looked vintage but hugged his broad shoulders tight, looser as it tapered down.

The man continues to smile at her as his friends appear to be quite a rowdy group in comparison to him as they settle in.

“You’re pretty,” The stranger tells her, no shame in his words but not much meaning because he’s already turning back towards his friends like he didn’t just rock her world.

YN questions whether she heard it right because did he just call her pretty?

She tries desperately not to hyper focus on it like a schoolgirl with a crush but it’s hard when his shoulders are so broad, his biceps were built.

It was impossible for their bodies not to be frequently touching.

YN attempts to focus on her friends until the game starts, having to face forward and not be able to have her back to the man.

“You want a fry?” The stranger asks randomly after a few moments.

YN assumes that he’s talking to a friend until he nudges her with an elbow, “Do you want a fry or a chicken strip?”

YN normally wouldn’t accept food from someone she didn’t know but their dinner had been disgusting and inedible which meant her stomach was rumbling.

He’s offering the basket up to her, letting her pick out a fry, and his smile was still just plaster on his face as he watched her.

“Thank you,” YN replies after she’s finished it, giving him more of an unsure grin back.

“Help yourself,” He tells her casually before he’s placing the basket between them so she could grab a fry or strip more easily.

This was weird.

After a few minutes, YN hesitantly plucks up another fry, and the man next to her doesn’t acknowledge that she’s eating out of his basket at all.

When YN’s hand hits paper, she looked down in utter embarrassment, “Oh my god. I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize that I was eating all your food.”

The guy looks over at her for a moment, confused until he glances down at the basket balanced on his leg, and then back to her.

“I’ll go grab you another one right now-“

YN moves to stand up and his hand lightly comes to her shoulder to keep her sat, his expression is somewhat unreadable, somewhat amused.

“I offered them to you? Why are you apologizing?”

“You didn’t offer for me to eat the whole basket,” YN points out with a heat in her cheeks, this was embarrassing.

“Are you still hungry? I could go grab more,” He asks easily, it wasn’t a jest or teasing, he was being a hundred percent serious.

If YN would have ate Adam’s food, he would have demanded she go immediately to get more and then bring it up for the rest of the night too.

This man, who was unfairly attractive but more than that, suspiciously nice even though it didn’t come off as creepy or predatory.

“I’m good. Thank you for asking. I’m sorry again,” YN apologizes again for good measure as she picks anxiously at her thumb.

“No apology needed,” He shakes his head with a laugh as he puts the empty remnants on the ground in front of him and swigs from his beer.

YN has to keep her eyes on the ice, she is much too focused on every time his shoulder brushes or his knee knocks in hers because he has to spread his legs an ungodly amount.

There was no conversation between them until another attendee who was further into the middle row was attempting to exit by their side.

The man was a bit wobbly, there was surely a lot of alcohol running through his system and he wasn’t being careful.

He trips over his own feet, over the debris on the ground, and rumbles right on top of YN who yelps in surprise.

The man next to her is quick to action, standing up and tugging the guy back up so that he was standing off his feet.

He was visibly annoyed with the drunk, voice sharp as he warns, “Watch where you’re fucking walking, mate. You could have hurt her.”

The guy mumbles an apology before staggering up the stairs, most likely to get more alcohol.

“Thank you,” YN says once again to him, adjusting her top and brushing off the pants of her leg, heart still pounding.

“Harry, bro. Johnson almost scored!” One of his friends pats his arm excitedly.

Harry.

Well, Harry gives her that signature smile before biting the corner of his lip, and his eyes stay on her a moment longer than acceptable before going back to his friends.

When a commercial break cuts, towards the end of the game, it’s the crowd's favorite time.

The kiss cam.

YN doesn’t think much of it, she’s not with anyone nor loving up on someone.

And it’s an area with fifty-thousand people, it’s next to impossible for her to-

But then her friends are squealing, shoving at her to look towards the Jumbotron, and there she is, projected on the screen.

The frame is decorated with corny swirling pink hearts, balloons popping, and most importantly bold letters that read, ‘KISS CAM’.

In the frame with her, however, is Harry.

As if they were a couple.

His friends must point it out to him because he’s glancing at the screen before he’s making eye contact with her.

Boldly, wildly, he grins and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

YN boldy, wildly nods ‘yes’.

He leans into her space then, big hands coming up to cup her face, and he pulls her into a kiss with an intensity that’s unwarranted but welcomed.

YN can feel her heartbeat in her throat, blood rushing through her ears, and her hand trembling when she wraps her fingers around his wrist.

It’s not chaste.

No, Harry is swiping his tongue against her bottom lip as the crowd goes absolutely insane, roaring and hooting.

Not to mention their friends.

At some point, the camera finds a new couple but YN is positive that they’ve kissed for much longer than they were on the screen before they both pull back.

His lips are puffy, pink, and his eyes are intent on her.

YN feels like panting and her heart jumps when he leans back in for another kiss, a shorter, more sweet one but his hand is grounding on her jaw.

“I’m Harry.”

“YN,” She smiles back at him, her hand still gripping onto him and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit as they just can’t take their eyes off each other.

“Would you want to get out of here?” Harry asks brazenly, hopefully as he appears like he wants to devour her.

YN who’s never been a risk-tasker, who’s never had a hook-up, or anyone other than Adam finds herself agreeing, “Yeah, I do.”

+ second part +

After Harry had opened his apartment door, the arousal and excitement has warped into a trembling nervousness.

What the fuck did a random hookup look like?

YN didn’t even know if she was good at sex because Adam only had a few trusty positions that he liked.

Harry locks the door behind them, the apartment is small but cozy and clean, it smells like his cologne and the lighting is just right for the mood.

He steps up behind her, leaning down to kiss her neck, and his hands on her hips, bigger and stronger than anything she’s ever felt before.

“Do you need anything first? Bathroom, food, water?” He asks against her skin, he was forward in the way that he was already pressing his hips into her backside.

YN shakes her head, trying to keep up, “No, thank you.”

Harry laughs softly, lips smooth against her pulse, “So polite. Let me know if that changes, baby.”

Baby.

They just met and it sounded sincere, not like a corny pickup line.

Harry moves in front of her, not once ounce of shyness as he crosses his arms over his chest and tugs his shirt up and off.

He was ripped.

Surprisingly so, not that he didn’t look fit with his shirt on but YN wasn’t expecting him to have abs, a sharp vee cutting towards his groin, nor the defined muscle near his ribs.

He looks like he walked out of a magazine.

Was she being pranked?

YN didn’t think this could possibly be real life where the most handsome man she’d ever seen was stripping for her.

He moves towards his jeans, unbuckling his belt, and shimmying them off his narrow hips before kicks them to the side.

Just in his briefs and socks, his groin was prominent, and YN’s heart lurches at that because she’s only taken Adam who was a little below average in size.

His wasn’t average, she could tell from here.

A nervous flip of arousal churns in the bit of her stomach, she wanted this man so much that she felt like clenching her thighs together.

Harry’s brow knife in concern when he notices YN stood like a statue, just staring at him, and making no effort to move.

“Is everything okay?” Harry checks cautiously, stepping towards her but not touching her as he looks unsure.

Fuck, she was embarrassed again.

“Uh, ye-yeah,” Her voice cracks like a boy going through puberty, “Just my first time.”

Harry’s eyes widen in alarm, startled, “Oh fuck, I would have done shit different if I knew that you’ve never-“

YN realizes she could have used much better wording and waves her hand, “No no, I’m not a virgin. I just got out of a long-term relationship. I’ve only ever been with him. This is my first time…just randomly hooking up with someone.”

A relieved smile crosses Harry’s face, “Shit, baby. I’m glad you chose me. How could someone let you go? Prettiest face I’ve ever seen, cutest set of tits too.”

“I just might not be the best but,” YN shrugs sheepishly, this has to be the most mortifying experience ever.

“Don’t be worried ‘bout a thing,” Harry assures her as he steps forward, “Now I gotta give it my all to prove m’better than your ex.”

YN decides to take a step out of her comfort zone, reaching forward to grip him through the cotton of his briefs, and he fills her whole hand.

“You weren’t going to give it your all before?” YN teases, feeling her confidence grow by the moment as she moves to thumb over the sensitive head.

“Fuck,” He curses under his breath, eyes meeting hers under his lashes, “I was always going to, baby.”

“Mhm,” YN hums, not convinced as he twitches in her palm, easy for her already.

“Gotta get you naked, my room,” Harry’s breathing is heavier as he reaches out for her hand, guiding her towards his bedroom.

Once they’re in, it’s surprisingly big, and has a comfortable looking king-sized bed that was actually made nicely.

“Please,” YN hears him asks after a moment of her being distracted, “Let me undress you. I’m fuckin’ dying to see you.”

YN can’t help but look over his body once more and she knew she was nothing in comparison to his athletic build.

However, pushing the insecurity down, she nods with a smile for him to undress her.

It was worth the nerves.

By the time she’s down to just her panties, Harry is groaning as he acts like he’s never seen anything better in his life.

“Knew you’d have the cutest set of tits I’ve ever seen,” Harry rumbles as he ducks down to cup them in his big palms, mouth wrapping around one and sucking.

It felt amazing.

Adam didn’t pay any attention to her body when they had sex, never had, and it did feel like her first time in a way.

She wouldn’t want it with anyone else but Harry.

His hand trails from her breast down her belly, fingers dipping into the front of her cotton underwear.

“Fuck, wait,” YN reaches down to hold his wrist, cheeks warm, “You don’t have to.”

Harry pulls his mouth back from her chest, frowning as he stands up straight again, “Do you not like that?”

“It’s not that, I just haven’t you know…” YN trails off, hoping that he would catch on.

He doesn’t.

“You haven’t….” Harry repeats back, he was still soft and gentle, unhurried and patient with her as she hesitated.

YN looks past his right ear as she replies, “I haven’t shaved in a while. We’ve been broken up for a few months and I haven’t maintained-“

Harry is letting out a humored snort, leaning forward to kiss her quiet before he’s kneeling down in front of her, mouth laying wet kisses on her belly.

“Baby, you’re insane if you think I mind hair. Anyway, I can get your pussy is fine by me. I like it, knowing I’m the first to have you like this in a while,” Harry replies, voice scratchier as his arousal grows, and his lips stay on her hip as he tugs the underwear down her legs.

Adam would refuse to have anything to do with her if she wasn’t freshly shaven.

Not shaving for the past few months had felt like the most freeing experience, she hadn’t ever thought she would be randomly having a hookup or she would have shaved.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Harry groans when he finally gets a look at her, his thumb coming up to smooth down the downy curls that were lightly dusting her pubic bone.

“Harry,” YN giggles anxiously, “You don’t have to act like -“

“Can I get my mouth on you?” Harry cuts her off, his eyes were glued to her center, where his thumb was pressing between her folds to nudge at her clit.

YN raises her eyebrow in surprise.

Adam had rarely done that, maybe five times total in their entire relationship, and YN never requested it because it didn’t feel good enough to want it again.

“If you want,” YN breathes out, still in a bit disbelief that this man was kneeling in front of her, asking to put his mouth if her.

“If I want,” He chuckles with a shake of his head before his hands are gripping his hips a bit firmer and keeping her still.

He doesn’t waste another moment, burying his face into her center, nose bumping against the curls on her mound as his tongue swipes through the split of her.

Harry knows what he’s doing.

His lips find her clit in seconds flat but he’s grunting at her, communicating without taking his mouth off of her, and shoulders her legs apart wider.

YN reaches for balance, finding his hair as something perfect to weave her fingers into, and hold steady.

He then just casually, again refusing to take his mouth away, hefts one of her thighs over his shoulder, and makes it possible to lick even deeper.

“Harry,” YN moans kittenishly, a sound she’s never heard out of her own mouth as she tugs harshly at his hair.

He lets out his own moan between sucks and licks, nose buried in the curls, and he’s taking heavy breathes because of his refusal of air.

YN has had orgasms when she had sex with Adam, occasionally, and with her own fingers.

This was the first time someone other than herself made her come.

Holy shit, it was life-changing.

“M’close,” YN warns but by the time she gets the words out, she’s throwing her head back and bucking her hips into his mouth as she rides it out.

His hands move to grip her ass hard, bruising enough as he pushes her as close as possible to help her feel it for as long as possible.

YN realizes just how much she was tugging his hair when her fingers ache, unwinding them as she pants, “I’m sorry. I pulled your hair so hard.”

Harry sits back on his heels, face shining as he swipes his thumb across his bottom lip before sticking in his mouth.

He was fucking obscene.

“Loved it,” Harry replies, voice raspy and deeper than ever, “You tasted just as good as you look. I think I’m in love with the bush.”

YN giggles as he helps her unwind her leg from over his shoulder, he stands up and kisses her hard.

It shouldn’t be hot that she can taste herself.

“Want to see you,” YN murmurs shyly, her fingernails trailing down his stomach, his abs twitching in response.

“Yeah, baby?” Harry goads as he watches her hand, “Hopefully it’s to your liking.”

YN takes that as permission to tug his briefs down his thighs, he was beautiful here too, unsurprisingly.

YN had experience with this.

Kinda.

Adam was less than half the size, not as pretty nor as thick.

It was a bit intimidating.

Harry must sense it, pressing a kiss to her lips, and huffing when she wraps her hand around him, stroking upwards.

“S’gonna fit, nice and snug, huh?” Harry whispers sweetly before he bites her bottom lip, he takes it upon himself to reach down again.

He slips in index and middle finger through her folds, crooking them up inside of her, and cursing under his breathe.

“Baby, you’re tight,” He tells her as he goes slowly, working her open as she pumps him in slow, firm strokes.

YN bites her lip, brave as she thumbs over his shiny tip, “Fuck me, please. Want it.”

“What do you like?” Harry asks as he walks them backwards to the bed, YN landing on her back and squirming up to the middle center.

“What do you mean?” YN asks between a gasp when she feels him brush against her mound, tip bumping at her folds.

“What position gets you off the best?” Harry elaborates as he peppers kisses over her collarbone, tweaking a nipple in his fingers.

“Whatever you like,” YN replies because none get her off.

Harry glances up at her, “But what position is good for you?”

“They’re all the same, aren’t they?” YN shrugs mulishly, “I don’t usually, well, I can use my fingers in any one.”

Harry looks at her like she’s grown a second head, voice sharper, “Did you ex really never make you orgasm during sex without you using your own fingers?”

YN tucks her bottom lip between her front teeth for a moment, “He said it’s easier if I just did it so yeah.”

Harry shakes his head, a scoff of disbelief, “How did he not worship this perfect little pussy, baby? I’ve never seen anything more magnificent.”

YN tries not to let the compliment go to her head, he defiently says that to every other girl he’s been with, it’s just a line.

“Your fingers aren’t going to be anywhere near your cunt tonight,” Harry rumbles as he reaches over to his night stand, rummaging until he finds a condom and rolls it over himself.

“Sweetheart, you’re drippin’ to your bum,” Harry laughs but it’s not mean, it’s fond as he has her bend her knees and spread them.

Harry paints himself up and down her entrance, hitting the heavy weight of it against her clit a few times before pressing in.

“O-oh,” YN gasps because he’s big.

It’s not painful but it is a stretch, as he makes room for himself, and he goes slowly.

He leans down, kissing her, and murmuring encouraging words to her.

Much too sweet for a causal hookup.

“Look at you, never had anyone look so pretty while taking my cock, baby.”

“See? S’room for me, hugging me perfectly.”

“Shit, darling. Never going to want to pull out, just want to stay all tucked up inside you.”

“Fuckin’ beautiful, I can’t decide whether I want to look at your pretty face or perfect pussy. M’spoiled for choice.”

“Please, please,” YN hiccups, she feels needy as he starts to put in more force behind in thrusts, and on every odd motion, he manages to hit a spot she didn’t know she had.

The spot that barreled her towards her second orgasm, nails digging to Harry’s bicep as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Fuck, there it is, pretty baby. Come around my cock, squeezing me,” Harry lets out a low moan when he feels her walls contract around him.

YN has never come twice like that.

When Harry reaches down to press a thumb to her clit, she squeals with the overstimulation but he kisses her and assures her that she can give him one more.

YN has pathetic, fat tears streaming down her face as her third orgasm hits her.

“There we go,” Harry croons, pleased as a peach as he kisses her damp cheeks, “Came on my tongue, on my cock twice, see how good you are for me? S’all mine, right? Only cock you’ve ever come on.”

The possessiveness in his words makes her stomach flip with something good, validating that she wanted.

“Just yo-yours,” YN manages to agree through bated breath, he was pounding into her now, barreling towards his own end.

“Good girl, fuckin’ making me come for you,” He grits out, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he stills, pulsing inside her, “Fuckin’ hell.”

YN wakes up before Harry the next morning, quietly as a mouse slipping back into her clothes, and leaving his apartment.

Was it a shitty thing to do?

Yes.

Did she do it to avoid him kicking her out after they used each other because it felt real to her and this was just plain fun for him?

Also yes.

YN guesses this is how hookups go.

#harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic

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ellabsweet · 9 months

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[*ੈ✩] 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐄 & 𝐘𝐎𝐔 • 𝐀.𝐀

synopsis: abby anderson and owen, long time friends and lovers, finally tie the knot, and during the celebration, abby starts a friendship with the pretty wedding florist.

pairing: abby anderson x florist!reader

warning: multiple part series based off the movie imagine me & you so it contains the love at first sight trope, will have heavy mentions of comphet, eventual smut and reader is explicitly a lesbian! some use of y/n but i try to limit it

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐘

“I want something that says I’m sorry he’s dead… but not that sorry. He was a dog and you loved him more than you loved me. Can you do a bunch that says that?”

You’re stuck between laughing and sighing, looking through your inventory for subtle grief flowers, whatever those may be. The last customer of the day is always bound to be the hardest, a cheating boyfriend who needs forgiveness, an uncertain last moment gift, occasional odder ones that would go straight into the stories kept to gossip at your friends from an otherwise untuburlent life. You give the woman violets and start loading your company pickup truck as she leaves.

“What’s the job?” Dina from the store next door asks, helping with your boxes of potted flower arrangements, wiling the sweat off her forehead as she does so, the usual bright smile plastered across her face in a familiar warmth you have grown to adore.

“Another wedding, rich people really do love their spring engagements” You chuckle, tossing them out in the back of the truck, hands on your waist with an audible breath as you stand finally facing Dina into your focus.

“Nice couple?”

“Haven’t met them, it’s all about the mother in law” Dina rolls her eyes at that but silently agrees, her own distaste of weddings being duo to her on and off boyfriend’s mother aswell.

“Hey, me and Jesse are going out later, wanna come with after your ceremony?” You nod happily at her, her surprise being caught off guard making you laugh as you climb onto the front seat, hands ready on the steering wheel, you exchange a few more pleasentries and promises before you are truly on your way, feeling uncomfortably underdressed already by the pantsuit you barely had time to put on nearly stained by dirt around the heels.

You stare around the venue’s outdoors as some well dressed men come pick up your arrangements and spread them across the place, it doesn’t take long before you spot who you assume to be the groom amongst some family members well spread out. Staring briefly down your clothes and running your fingers through your hair to tame it pretty you walk towards him, arm extended forwards for a handshake.

“Are you Owen, the groom?”

He nods uncertainly, taking your hand and his as a little girl tugs on his suit, excessively calling out his name in effervescent curiosity only known to an eight year old girl, bubbly in all her existence, you smile down at the child, nearly distracted.

“Hi, I’m y/n, I did your flowers”

“Well I wouldn’t know a nice flower from a poke in the eye, but I’m sure they are lovely, yeah, thank you!” The girl wouldn’t stop as he spoke, the words Owen Owen Owen please still echoing.

“Owen I have a question, please!”

“Not now, Olivia!” His mother scolded but the guy still smiled warmly, kneeling down to her height level in good familiar fashion and asked her what it was, bright eyes becoming brighter.

“Owen, what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?”

“It never happens” You chime in istinctively, regretting it the second you do so as all eyes fall on you, yet you continue for the sake of the child’s curiosity “If there's a thing that can't be stopped... it's not possible for there to be something else which can't be moved, and vice versa. They can't both exist. You see, it's a trick question… is the answer.”

“Can she sit with me?” Olivia asks enthusiastically making you laugh as she grabs onto your hands and bombards you with new questions, like why is the alphabet in that order.

“Flower girl is hot” Ellie speaks to Owen as you are out of sight, his hand coming up to his face to press against his temple as he sighs looking back at you utterly entertained by his sister “I got a vibe from her, she’s a lesbian for sure, you think she’s into me?”

“I think she didn’t even look at you” Owen points out.

“Yeah, well, by the end of this she’ll be into me”

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.

Abby takes a deep sigh. She’s ready, she thinks, grasping onto her father’s arm while the song echoes her through the aisle. It has been a long time since she has had all eyes on her in this manner and it wasn’t exactly a comfortable feeling as it once felt, uncertain whether to look straight towards her future husband, at the ground to not trip, or towards her guests. She glances at Owen for a moment, his smile brightly unfaltered and immediately regretted it with a weird feeling in her stomach. She turns to the guests then, smiling around at familiar faces and finally, she sees you, and you see her. You see her. You see her, she feels.

Something else replaces the anxiety in her stomach, and it feels oddly like the fluttering wings of a butterfly. Her heart speeds up and her palms get sweaty, rubbing against the white fabric of her dress, she’s self conscious in a different way, a raw way. Her smile sends you shivers. The moment passes sooner than it began as her steps quicken towards Owen. She can’t shake the feeling something has changed. A divide.

taglist: comment if you’d like to be tagged on the next part!

#abby anderson x reader #the last of us fanfiction #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson #lesbian #abigail anderson #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #imagine me and you

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desert-fern · 1 year

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A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader

Part 6: Mark Me Down As Horny, Not Scared

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?

*GIF is not mine, I found it on Pinterest*

A/N: This is part two to the training exercise I set up last chapter. My apologies if the beginning seems a little stilted or a little off.

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Warnings: violence, guns, 'hostage taking', swearing, paint grenades. As usual, let me know if I missed anything :)

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist >> Part 5 >> Part 7

===

As she left the building to pick up her gear, Bear’s voice crackled through the radios of her teams. “Don’t be morons, have fun, and let’s show these pilots why we’re the best in the Navy. Red team ready?”

“Copy. Red team 1 ready,” Flare replied.

“Red team 2 ready.” Shrike rasped.

“Blue team ready?”

“Roger that. Blue team ready.”

Rejoining her team outside, Bear tapped Bug on the shoulder, slipping into position near the back of the group, ready to follow. Every member of the team had slid their night vision goggles into place, giving them a way to sweep the building.

Bug gave the order to breach and the doors on all four sides were yanked open, giving way to four teams of eight that entered silently.

Approaching a hallway, Bug directed two to break off and search the room on the left. They did, and when finding nothing, stuck a flag to the door, marking that it was clear. Bear and Finch broke off to do the same to the right, Finch touching Bear’s shoulder to signal that she was behind the other woman. A quick sweep turned up nothing. “Clear,” Bear muttered just loud enough to be heard. A short nod, and the two marked it off, slipping further down the hallway.

On the top floor, the pilots watched in fascination as Bear and her teams swept silently through the building marking off room after room. They watched as Bear and Finch left a room to reenter the hall down which Fireball and one of his team were sweeping. “Cross,” Bear called out, warning the others. Glances were exchanged, awe evident as they returned their focus to the projection on the wall.

Bear was getting antsy, two of four floors left to sweep and no one had run into a member of the red team. The adrenaline was pumping, and when she slipped past Finch to enter what felt like the hundredth room, she caught a flurry of movement that had her firing two blue paintballs at the perpetrator. Mouse groaned, he’d taken one to the chest, the other to the helmet, effectively marking him as dead. “Red 12 down,” he spoke into his coms.

Stepping over him, Bear continued her search, finding no one else in the room. “One down,” she spoke over coms. “Heads up.”

“Copy that Bear. Continue as planned,” Bug replied.

Finch marked the door frame but gunfire made her whip back into the room. “Siege, siege. Floor three, room 6,” she called through coms.

Bear flipped a table, pushing it close to the door, firing off a few shots before being forced to duck behind the makeshift barricade. Normally, she’d toss a flashbang or a grenade over the table, but this being a training exercise, all she was equipped with were a few large paintballs that exploded when thrown. “Get down!” she yelled to Finch, who hit the floor as Bear let the fake grenade fly. It crashed to the ground in the hall, splattering blue glow in the dark paint across the would-be attackers.

“Reds 6, 13, 4, 19, 22, 5, and 16 down,” came the crackled reply over the radio.

Stepping out from behind the table, Bear scanned the seven ‘attackers’, checking pulses. Finch provided cover as she did so, firing off a few shots down the hall, taking out another three with blue paint to the chest and helmets.

“Reds 7, 1, and 26 down.”

Standing up, Bear patted Finch on the shoulder, nodding her praise. The younger woman grinned and they swept back down the hall, continuing their search.

“Holy fuck,” Fanboy said as he watched Bear move. “This is like watching superheroes.”

Rooster nodded, forgetting that it was too dark for anyone to see him. “If this is what they’re like in training, I can see why the Seals are so fucking respected in the field.”

“Shut up!” Flare yelled from the main room. She was having way too much fun playing the bad guy and sent one of her people to point their weapon into the nook, threatening them pilots just a smidge.

“Red team 2, locations,” Shrike spoke through the radio, letting crackles fill the air. Her people were spread throughout the fourth floor, numbers 17 through 32.

“Southeast side, near room 4.”

“Northwest, room 8.”

A few more numbers were called out, as she stared at the layout in front of her, crossing off a few more numbers as the blue team advanced through the building.

“Cross!” Bug called out, ducking out of a swept room, reuniting with Bear and Finch on the third floor. “Bug advancing to four. Fireball, Raptor, Daisy report.”

“Daisy ascending to four.”

“Fireball on four. Pinned down.”

“Raptor approaching Fireball.”

“Copy, continue.” Motioning for her team to continue, Bug led them up the stairs to the fourth floor, where they were immediately fired upon by Shrike’s team. “Shit. Bug requesting back up on Southeast stairs.”

Bear and the others were taking turns firing shots out the open stairwell door. “Fuck,” Bear swore as a red paint ball zipped by her head, splattering against the wall behind her. “Cover, cover. Reloading.”

“Covering.”

Bear reloaded her weapon, peeking out to fire again, this time taking out two advancing red team members. “Red 18 down.”

“Red 20 down.”

A flurry of blue paintballs came from the opposite direction. “Daisy incoming. Bug, take cover.”

So they did. Daisy’s team swept through the attacking red team, taking out a large portion of the remaining forces. “All clear. Targets down.”

Bug poked her head out, finding Daisy right by the open door. “Appreciate it.”

“No worries. Let’s go. We have to be close.”

The two teams swept the remainder of their half, taking out a few red team members along the way. The radio crackled to life. “Raptor approaching final room. No eyes yet on hostages.”

“Copy. Bug and Daisy on the way.”

Bug crept forwards, tapping Raptor on the shoulder, signaling her presence. “Sit rep?” The man and his team were around the corner from the door in question.

“No eyes on hostages. Flare, Shrike, and what looks like five others are inside. Two by the door, one at the back of the room near a hole in the wall, and two on either side of the bosses,” Raptor reported, eyes flicking back to the monitor attached to the pin camera they had snuck under the door.

“What’s the strategy, Bug?” Bear asked. This was the challenge. What tactic would work to get them in, take down the seven remaining ‘enemies’ and save the hostages?

“Do we have any other points of entry?”

“A small window at the far end of the room. Near bad guy number three,” one of Raptor’s people spoke up. “But whatever we do might also harm the hostages.”

Bug pursed her lips. “Do we still have any flashbangs left?”

“Negative,” Daisy replied.

“I have smoke bombs left. No flashbangs though,” Finch said in a low tone.

Bug nodded. “Finch, take a few to that window. Crack it open just enough to slip them in on my signal. We’ll take the door when you do.”

Finch nodded, standing up and slipping away with a few others. Bug looked down at the monitor, guards were pacing and it looked like Flare was shouting about something.

“Bear, I’m having you lead the entry. You,” she said, pointing at a member of Raptor’s team, “Are holding the ram.”

“Copy.”

“Move out.”

Bear crept up to the door, taking her place on one side of it, while the others found their positions. She held up a closed fist, signaling them to hold their placement. Minutes later, they received the notice that Finch was in place and that the window was open, it was all up to Bug.

A quick nod was all it took. “Breach,” Bear said. The door swung open as the smoke bombs were dropped, filling the room quickly. The blue team filed into the room, holding the guards at gunpoint. Some tried to fire off a shot but were splattered across the chest with bright blue paint.

“Stay down!” Bug yelled, training her weapon on Flare, who slowly raised her hands. “Cuff her.”

Bear hurried forwards, letting her weapon drop as she stepped in behind Flare, grabbing her raised hands and zip-tying them behind her back. She nodded to Bug, who passed Flare off to someone else. The red team was shuffled out of the room and into the hall, forced to their knees with weapons trained on them.

“Hostages are through here,” Raptor called out. He stood next to the tiny room, having lifted his goggles to shine a flashlight in. “All 13 accounted for.”

“See that they’re escorted out,” Bug ordered, stepping off to question the leaders of the red team.

Bear had found the light switch. “Goggles off,” she called. “I found the lights.” Flipping them on, she walked back over to the wall. In a gentle tone, she told the Daggers “You guys are safe. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

Remembering the role on his card, Maverick spoke up. “How do we know that you aren’t just more of them?”

She nodded. “The people here are Navy Seals. We are American,” she answered calmly.

Maverick feigned hesitancy, knowing that that was his cue to try and get up. “Okay.”

“Okay, can I come in there and get you out?”

He nodded in the bright beam of the flashlight. Bear stepped into the little hiding place, with one hand extended. She grasped his palm, helping him to his feet. “I have one coming out,” she called back to the people in the room.

FAK dashed forwards, ready to help as if he were injured. “Is anyone hurt?”

Bear repeated the question to the pilots still inside. They all shook their heads. “It doesn’t appear so. They just look shaken.” Her reactions were exactly as if she were in the field, calm, quiet, yet firm.

Maverick was the first one out. His safe exit was the cue for Bob and Harvard to accept her help. They followed him out, hands being untied once in the main room.

Phoenix and Rooster were playing siblings. She would only go if Rooster left, and he would only go if she left, making the pair of them the trickiest to extricate. With more room inside, Bear stepped all the way in, crouching by Phoenix. “Are you ready to come out of here?”

“Not without my brother.”

“Okay. Who’s your brother?”

Phoenix pointed at Rooster, who was peeking out the opening into the main room. “Alright, we’ll get you both out. Okay?”

Bear motioned for Daisy to approach. “I need help with siblings. They won’t go without each other.”

Daisy nodded. She slowly approached Rooster, crouching to his level, but backed off quickly when his eyes widened at her approach. “Raptor, swap out.”

“Coming.” Raptor took Daisy’s spot, and slowly coaxed Rooster out. Seeing him leave, Phoenix stood and made her way out.

One by one, the pilots slowly left until it was just Hangman. Everyone else had broken from their roles and were chatting amongst themselves, leaving him and Bear in the tiny room. He wasn’t to leave unless proof was given, and the minimal proof that had been offered wasn’t enough to get him to leave.

Bear crouched down next to him. She spoke softly, but firmly, motioning to the dark coloured American flag on the shoulder of her uniform. He nodded once, joints popping as she helped him up and out of the room. “That’s all of them. Exercise over. I repeat, exercise over.”

Whoops and hollers broke out from the pilots. “Holy fuck!” Coyote cried. “That was so badass! You were all like…” he trailed off, ducking and dodging through invisible enemies, making Bear and the others laugh.

“Come on. Let’s get out of the uniforms, and clean up so we can get to bed. We’ll debrief tomorrow,” Bear said loudly. “Great job everyone.”

Everyone filed out of the room talking loudly. Bear brought up the rear, flipping the lights off and shutting the door as she walked back through the halls. “Teddy.”

“Hangman.”

“That was awesome,” Jake said lowly. “Like, I never doubted you, but you were incredible.”

She grinned up at him. “Thanks. I’m glad you guys had some fun.” She unclipped her helmet, tucking it under her arm.

Jake nodded, scratching the back of his neck. His mouth opened to say something, but he shut it in favor of staying quiet.

“Did you have a question?” Bear asked, looking over at the man next to her. “Because if you do, I’d be happy to answer it.”

Jake pinked a little. “Umm yeah actually.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “You and the others used ‘cross’ a lot. What does that mean?”

She grinned. “Oh that? It’s a warning to others on our team that we’re coming through a door or around a corner so we don’t get shot. It gets used a lot,” Bear explained gently. She let him walk in front of her, stopping to close a door and then continued “I’m not sure if it transfers into pilot shit, but that’s what we use it for.”

He nodded, staying unusually quiet. “I see. Okay. Thanks.” He had admired her before, but now, after this display of skill, Jake was very unsure of how to describe his feelings towards her. Bear was incredible. Her knowledge and skill made her far more dangerous than he’d originally thought and now, here he was, falling head over heels for her.

“Are you okay?” Bear asked, breaking through his thoughts. He had gone very quiet all of a sudden and it concerned her. In fact, since the exercise had ended, Jake wasn’t acting like himself. “I’d hate to think I scared you that easily.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Jake replied. His eyes fell on the large blue paint splatter in the ground and he grinned as he stepped around it. “It’s just, that whole thing,” he made a fluttering gesture with his hands around the space. “Was extremely hot and I’m seriously questioning myself.”

Bear blinked in surprise. “Oh,” she said softly. “Wait, what? You did?”

He groaned. “Yes, I did. Like I thought you were attractive before. Don’t give me that look, I know you caught me looking at least twice. But now, like I actually saw what it is you can do, and I’m not sure if it is the skill I find hot as fuck, or you,” Jake told her, risking a sideways glance at her. She looked stunned.

Bear met his gaze, biting at her lip as she tried to think of something to say to that. “Well, um. Shit. Okay, umm what do I say to that?” Hearing verbal confirmation made her heart sing and she knew that she was bright red.

“Maybe, ‘I think you’re hot too, Jake. I’ve always thought you were sexy as hell and now I just want to jump you.’ How’s that?”

She laughed, shaking her head at his antics. “You are ridiculous.”

“And you are ridiculously hot as fuck.”

Under his compliments, Bear’s face somehow got redder and she ducked her head to avoid his gaze. “If you still feel that way in a few weeks, well, I’m sure we can find some arrangement that works,” was all she could think of to say.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Jake said, his voice low in her ear. It sent shivers down her spine, igniting a fire in her lower stomach. “In fact, I think you will seek me out before I do.”

Willing some of her blush away, Bear just looked at him and winked. “We’ll see about that, Jake. We will see,” she purred in response. She heard him stop in his tracks behind her but Bear kept walking, leaving him standing stunned behind her. Where she found the confidence, she had no idea, but it kept her walking forwards, not risking a glance behind her.

“Fucking Christ woman,” Jake muttered. The purr to her tone sent the blood rushing from his head and he knew that the smug look on her face, combined with the sight of her ass in the tac pants and her purring tone would definitely fuel his dreams of her. And crude as it sounded, he knew that he’d have something better than any dirty photo or porn to jerk off to. “I might be in over my head.”

===

A/N: Kisses to @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s and @dakotakazansky for taking a read through and being my biggest cheerleaders!

Taglist: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @dakotakazansky @horseshoegirl @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @lavenderbradshaw @bobby-r2d2-floyd @bradleybeachbabe @roosterforme @twsssmlmaa @footprintsinthesxnd @fandomxpreferences @dempy @gizmodear @fighterpilothoe @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @djs8891 @rhirhikingston @sisterslytherinog @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @thegoddessc @sgt-barnesveins @taytaylala12 @urmom-999 @formulapierre @pinkpantheris

#a gun amonst daggers #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x you #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick x you #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #top gun imagine #bear and hangman #top gun maverick imagine #controlled chaos squad #callsign bruiser

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braimin · 25 days

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Omg I love the trope ppl do sometimes where Sanji gives birth to a mini marimo, and Zoro and the kid always fight each other or like compete for Sanjis attention. And it’s even funnier if he also has a daughter cuz of course his little lady is gonna always have Sanjis attention and she knows and is so smug about it.

I think Zoro and his daughter are united on all fronts until she turns like eight. Like they are total partners in crime through out her toddler years. Zoro is busy giving her just as much attention as Sanji so he doesn't really care if him and his husband can't spend as much time together as they used to. They have a baby now, that's where both of their focus is going.

But then she turns eight and Sanji goes back to working full time and suddenly she cares less about what Zoro is doing and more about Sanji paying attention to her. Which is cute at first, she misses her daddy now that he's spending more time in the kitchen. But Zoro also misses his husband now that he's spending more time in the kitchen.

Minimo (that's her name for now) has the baby privileges though, so she can walk into the kitchen at anytime and say 'Papa I wanna eat with you.' and Sanji immediately drops everything and sits down with his girl. She also would rather starve than eat anything that wasn't made by him. Zoro has to either kidnap Sanji, or wait until after their daughter has gone to bed. And Sanji goes to sleep early so Zoro only has like two hours to spend with him after that.

So Zoro and Minimo start competing with each other for attention. They both have their own trump card that is guarantied to win Sanji over. Hers is to ask if they can make something together (it's usually a little sandwich because those are her favorite and it's easy to make). Zoro's is to tell Sanji they're going on a date (they don't go out very often so when Zoro plans something it's usually something big). They both feel like that's cheating though so they don't use their trump cards unless they like actually really want Sanji's attention for the day. For the most part their days are spent basically pulling on Sanji's pant leg like children (well, one of them actually is so it looks normal when she does it, it looks ridiculous seeing Zoro practically beg for his attention though).

Sanji is aware that they do this and he really does try to give them equal attention, but every time he sees his little girl he can't help the feeling of wanting to give her everything. And he knows Zoro is used to him giving a lot of attention to his lady so he doesn't feel too bad about doing it.

Zoro and Minimo are still very close and their relationship is super chill when Sanji isn't around. She was trying to hold Wado before she was one and nowadays she's obsessed with swords. She practices two sword style because she thinks three sword style looks stupid (she's right). The blades she uses are custom made and currently are blunt; as she gets older Zoro will sharpen them for her but Sanji doesn't want her holding sharp weapons so young. Sanji was originally against teaching her how to fight or even fighting around her until she was older because he didn't want her thinking she needed to be strong, he wanted her to know she could be anything and could do it without fighting. But even without Zoro ever unsheathing his blades in front of her, she was still drawn to them and used to always ask him to teach her. When she turned seven she started straight up stealing Wado and using her. So they thought it would be better to get Minimo her own safe swords and have Zoro teach her.

She does a lot of 'Daddy, Daddy watch this!' *cue dangerous sword move that almost gives Sanji a heart attack* and every time Sanji almost tells Zoro to never teach her anything again. But she learns fast and has yet to hurt herself. Zoro is excited for the days when people come to challenge him for his title and she can kick their asses for him.

#zosan #sanji #zoro #40yo zosan #one piece #40yo zosan because I don't think either of them will even think about children until they're older #Imo they have a daughter first and then adopt a set of feral orphan twins #one likes fighting like his big sister and the other really wants to make swords #Sanji is kind of sad that none of them want to be pro chefs but he loves them very much anyway #and they all are obsessed with his food so it's fine

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multifan2022 · 8 months

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Fearless 4

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

"For those of you who don't know, my name is Eric," he says. "I am one of five leaders of the Dauntless. We take the initiation process very seriously here, so I volunteered to oversee most of your training."

You roll your eyes crossing your arms, trying diligently to avoid looking at Four who is staring at you. He knows you're avoiding him, which only makes him stare harder. It pisses you off that Eric is 'overseeing' anything. You specifically told him to stay out of it, hes just doing this to piss you and Four off. He has absolutely no training skills, he just gets off on being cruel.

"Some ground rules," he says. "You have to be in the training room by eight o'clock every day. Training takes place every day from eight to six, with a break for lunch. You are free to do whatever you like after six. You will also get some time off between each stage of initiation."

You shuffle from foot to foot again, the need to get out of here and away from the stress eating at you. But you stay in your spot and silent as Eric keeps speaking "You are only permitted to leave the compound when accompanied by a Dauntless, behind this door is the room where you will be sleeping for the next few weeks. You will notice that there are ten beds and only nine of you. We anticipated that a higher proportion of you would make it this far."

"But we started with twelve," protests Christina and you sigh seeing Four shake his head out of the corner of your eye. Clearly what you said to her earlier didn't stick, she was going to need to learn to stay quiet.

"There is always at least one transfer who doesn't make it to the compound" You say stepping forward to try and wrap up this dreadfully long speech. "In the first stage of initiation, we keep transfers and Dauntless-born initiates separate, but that doesn't mean you are evaluated separately. At the end of initiation, your rankings will be determined in comparison with the Dauntless-born initiates. And they are better than you are already. So I expect—"

"Rankings?" asks the mousy-haired Erudite girl "Why are we ranked?"

That anger that was flowing through you earlier, that is almost always right under your skin comes back. You could feel the RBF you always have morph into a true bitch face. It only took four strides to be right in her face, "I will only say this one more time today.. So EVERYONE LISTEN UP." Your voice raises towards the end of the sentence. The girl in front of you flinched slightly at your tone but you kept going.

"WE are your SUPERIORS! I do not give one flying fuck who you were in your old faction. If you want to make it through the next few weeks you will learn to shut your damn mouths. You do NOT interrupt us when we are speaking, and knock off all the bullshit questions. Everything will be answered in due time if you are QUIET."

You turn your back to the group and nod to Eric who smiles, and in the blue light, his smile looks wicked. He continues as you take a few deep breaths, curling and uncurling your fists. Four doesn't look at you this time, it almost hurts but you're so worked up you can't focus on that.

"Your ranking serves two purposes," he says. "The first is that it determines the order in which you will select a job after initiation. There are only a few desirable positions available. The second purpose," he says, "is that only the top ten initiates are made members."

All the initiates' faces drop, they must've thought that they all would get a place here. They really know nothing about the faction they moved too. You watch a few of them as they start to rethink their decision, but it's far too late now.

"There are eleven Dauntless-borns, and nine of you," Eric continues. "Four initiates will be cut at the end of stage one. The remainder will be cut after the final test."

"What do we do if we're cut?" Peter says and it takes everything in you to not say 'when you get cut'. "You leave the Dauntless compound," says Eric indifferently, "and live factionless." The mousy-haired girl clamps her hand over her mouth and stifled a sob. You roll your eyes, you know you're being kinda bitchy.

Life with the factionless is not one you would wish on many. But you are seriously wondering how these guys didn't do even a little research on who they were joining. It's no secret that you don't keep everyone who shows. It's no secret that a lot of the factionless came from Dauntless. It's not something you're proud of, but there's nothing you can do about it yet.

As the girl starts crying you hear Eric sigh as he turns to you and says "Pathetic" repeating the word you used on the train. You look back over the 16 year olds, watching the determination fall over Tris's face.

"But that is...not fair!" the broad-shouldered Candor girl "If we had known—"

"Are you saying that if you had known this before the Choosing Ceremony, you wouldn't have chosen Dauntless?" Eric snaps. "Because if that's the case, you should get out now. If you are really one of us, it won't matter to you that you might fail. And if it does, you are a coward."

Eric pushes the door to the dormitory open. "You chose us," he says. "Now we have to choose you."

Its raining as your feet pound the pavement. The cold water and even colder wind cooling your insides, as the pent up rage and stress leave. You know its been hours since you left, you know you really should be going back but your not ready.

You're not ready for the questions from Tori, Tris or Christina.

Not ready for the questioning looks Four will send your way.

But also not ready for the possibility that he wont look at you at all like earlier.

You know you lost your shit a little, but it was better you put her in her place over Eric. Hes vindictive and cruel. He would hold a gun to your head, or a blade to your throat like it was Sunday breakfast.

After another thirty minutes you turn towards the compound. Climbing the ladder to the roof, and launching yourself over the edge without pause.

Fearless. It was one word that you could always associate yourself with. Because at the end of the day what was the worst that could happen? When the net below caught your body you sighed in relief. Your muscles were burning, lungs aching from the cold air they were forced to breathe.

A deep voice next to the net startled you, "I wondered when you would come back."

You turned your head to the side, still not moving your body as you looked at Four. He smiled a little, relieved that you had calmed down. "You want to talk about whatever all that was earlier?"

You shake your head and make grabby hands in his direction, he chuckles before pushing the side of the net down allowing you to roll towards him. When you sit up he turns around letting you climb onto his back as he makes his way towards his room. Your cheek is pressed against his shoulder as your eyes get heavy.

You're tired in a way you haven't been in a long time. You wished that Tori hadn't put the weight of watching Tris on you, but you knew it was for the best. That didn't mean you had to be happy about it. OR that you had to be nice to her.

A slight blush filled your cheeks as he lifted and readjusted you on his back. Moving his hands further up your thighs, fingers digging into your skin threw the soak material of your leggings. You hadn't thought about the fact that you were soaked when he lifted you. But now wasn't the time to start caring, not when about 15 steps away was his room. Where everything was going to come off anyways.

He bent down slightly signaling for you to open the door. Pushing with one foot to let it swing open, resting your chin on his shoulder. Trying to ignore the fact he could probably feel the warmth radiating from between your thighs.

He didn't stop in the main area, instead making his way into the bathroom. Sitting you on the counter before turning around and setting his hands on either side of you. Bringing his face down so you are eye level with his dark blue eyes.

"So.. Are you ready to tell me what was going on." He said it more like a statement, it wasn't a question of if more like when. He was going to get it out of you, he just didn't know how far he would have to push.

You felt your teeth clamp down on your lip as you shook your head. When he sighed and turned around you felt relief flood into you.

For about a second.

Until he reached back and pulled his shirt off, fluidly turning the shower on just after. In that moment you knew you were in trouble, if he really wanted to know he would figure it out. Part of you wanted him to want to know.. Just to see how far he would take it. The other part was screaming just tell him now, before your to stupid to watch yourself.

When he turned back to you he was unbuckling his belt leaving it in the loops as he pushed his jeans off. Leaving him in just his black boxers, you had to force yourself to not look down. You already knew what was waiting for you, but didn't want to give him the satisfaction of looking.

The steam from the heated water started filling the air, making the small room feel smaller somehow. He was only one step away from you, so his hands easily found your hips pulling you off the counter. His eyes stayed on yours as he pushed your leggings down.

You tried to not laugh at the extra effort it took, them being practicality glued to your legs from the rain. But when you cracked a smile you were rewarded with his in return. And a beautiful smile it was. The way it lit up his entire face was breathtaking. Tobias Eaton was a beautiful man, scars and all.

Not that you would ever call him beautiful out loud. You had called him hot before, even sexy here or there. But beautiful seemed like it would cross the line the two of you had drawn. The line where it moves from friends with benefits to who knows what. You loved him too much, in too many ways to risk losing everything but alerting him to your feelings.

When he stood, he lightly drug his fingers up the back of your thighs. Gently squeezing your ass in a way you knew was meant to be teasing. When he was back to his full height he traced the straps of your bra watching his finger dip under it pulling before letting it snap back.

"Are you ready now?" He said slowly, that smile still in place on his face. You could tell that even though he wanted to know, he was enjoying the game he had barley started. And if he was enjoying it... Who were you to end it so quickly?

"I dont know Eaton.. Am I ready to tell you?" You said side stepping him as you pulled your bra off. His eyes followed you until you stepped into the shower, purposefully leaving the curtain open. He sighed through his nose as he watched your figured threw the fogged mirror.

When your raised your arms to pull your hair down you flicked your hair tie at him. Watching him chuckle as he stepped out of his boxers and into the shower.

@@coolestgirlhere @everydayisordinary

WARNING, THE NEXT CHAPTER IS SHITTY SMUT!

#tobias eaton x reader #four x reader #four eaton #divergent fanfiction

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