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murdrdocs · 21 days

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II most wanted.

slightly suggestive content; implied oral (f receiving) southern!luke w/ LUKE CASTELLAN

thinking about riding shotgun with luke in a beat up truck, the one thing his father left for him. that one good and worthy thing his father left for him. refusing to see that his father could do good, luke believes that the chipped powder blue chevy, sweetly named jolene, was his doing, not his father. luke has worked tirelessly to take the hunk of clunk into something worthwhile. something he loves.

you're sitting in the passenger seat for once and not in the center. your head was previously laying on the crotch of luke’s faded blue jeans, but you now sit with your head resting on the headrest, your lower half at a slightly awkward angle to allow your feet to dangle out of the window. it feels good enough to ignore the cramp in your side and the pain in your lower back.

there's some song playing through the speakers of the truck. you've heard it enough times to hum along to it, but your stubbornness keeps you from asking for the name. luke sings along too, his voice a nice mix of smooth and scratchy in ways he can't control, but it still makes a beautiful symphony. his fingers thump against the worn leather of the steering wheel in time with the beats, adding in a few drum fills in between that you can easily see him replicating on his set in his detached garage.

the road in front of you is desolate. a windy backroad that he knows as well as the back of his hands. it's a two laner, meant for luke's truck and another to pass by each other without a second glance. but at this time in the evening, most people are home with their families, leaving the road all alone for you and luke. he drives in the center, the large wheels of his truck and the lifted cab making you feel like you're on a throne. like you're invincible as luke's truck straddles the weathered yellow center line.

you don't know where you're heading. maybe the diner just on the outskirts of town, shealy's. that one that always hosts truck drivers that are either too kind for their own heart, or too misguided when they try to mess with you, completely unknowing of the substance foreign to their feeble brains coursing through luke's veins. (on the nights where luke lost control, when the wrath got control of him, you would be the one to tend to his shiner and hide him in your room until he was unscarred enough to face his worrying mother.)

you turn to face him, watching his overgrown curls whip around his face from the wind. he's a little tanner, a distinct farmers tan on his arms from the work he's picked up over the summer. he's a little buffer too, surely from the way he's been working both on mr. sease’s land throughout the week and in his mother's garden on sunday's, a place he previously hadn't frequented much but he's been going there more since you encouraged it.

you take your feet out from the window to nudge your big toe into luke's thigh, gathering his attention. he slows to a stop sign, in the right lane this time, and turns the volume down enough to hear you.

he hums, turning to look at you with something so particular to him in his eyes. lovesick, your brain tells you. but the thought makes you turn all giggly and you try to hide your smile.

there isn't anyone else at the four way stop, so luke sits and takes his time. he looks at you. he's looking at you. your stomach turns and you suddenly really need a coke or sweet tea to cool you down.

"shealy’s?" you ask, your voice a little hopeful even though it doesn't need to be. it's rare that luke denies you of anything, especially the banana pudding that he knows you like at the diner.

"'course," he tells you. "your mom's not cooking tonight?"

you know how much luke loves your mom's cooking. but tomorrow is sunday, and he'll have more food than he knows what to do with by then.

you shake your head.

"shealy's it is then." he turns to face the road, places a hand over your calf, and speeds towards the diner.

later in the night, when you're back at your place and luke is ready to spend yet another night with you, you kiss him with a banana pudding flavored tongue. you're loaded up on hearty food and too-sweet treats, a quarter full container of banana pudding in the fridge and a half finished milkshake on your nightstand as testaments. it was originally luke's, but what's his is yours at this point in your relationship.

the pressure in your stomach makes you feel a little sick, but the desire deep in your abdomen and the sudden emptiness between your legs prevails past the food-induced pain. you straddle his hips, much like how you were positioned not too long ago in his truck. but the freedom of space in your bed allows for more range of motion. the space of your bed allows luke to lay you on your back, and slide down between your legs.

still, it's really nothing unlike what you've been able to do in the cab of his truck, too.

#lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #drummer!luke #celeste writes pjo

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tddyhyck · 24 days

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what’s your fantasy? [ z.cl ]

pairings ⇢ chenle x afab!reader

word count ⇢ 2.9k

warnings ⇢ 18+, smut, pee/omorashi, established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, no foreplay, kink discussion, kink discovery, spanking, riding, unprotected sex/creampie, pet names (baby/puppy), foot fetish (mentioned), drinking

playlist ⇢ smoothie_nct dream / water_ten / water_tyla

masterlist

a/n ⇢ i wrote this in less than 24 hrs pls be kind 😭😭 also i think i might do a bonus/part 2 lemme know if you’re interested

you weren’t really sure when chenle started being more obsessed with your liquid intake, maybe a month ago or so? he’d always been the first to say you were dehydrated if you didn’t feel good. he would pour you a glass of water and pat your head waiting for you to down the glass. he’d call you a good puppy and have that smug little grin when you started to feel better.

but lately. lately he’s been almost trying to drown you. he’d bring you fancy juices to try or make cocktails for you after dinner. and you didn’t mind, you definitely didn’t mind being spoiled. maybe that’s all it was, a new way to spoil you.

chenle did know when it started. he could pinpoint the exact moment the switch flipped. it was almost 4 months ago since it happened and he felt crazy for being obsessed but he couldn’t help it.

it had been a long day of shopping for christmas gifts, spending way to much time on your feet carrying bags and boxes around. finally when you had both checked everything off your lists he decided to take you to a cocktail lounge somewhere you both could relax and unwind. he mainly went because you had been talking about trying this place out. he wasn’t planning on drinking and didn’t think you would get a drunk as you did but you were slurring and leaning on him as you walked to the car together that night.

it was windy and blowing your skirt up making you giggle as you leaned into him.

“hold m- hold my h-and,” you hiccuped holding your hand to him and he grabbed it while tightening his arm around your waist as you walked.

“i think you had a little too much, baby,” he sighed, opening the car door for you. you pouted up at him with hair in your eyes and something made his heart ache with how pretty you looked.

“nope i want you,” you slurred, poking his chest. “to make me a dirty martini.” you hiccuped but wagged your eyebrows as best you could.

“how about i make you an ice water,” he grinned as you got in the passenger seat. you pouted at him your legs were spread as the wind blew your skirt showing your panties. he raised an eyebrow as you groaned about wanting a martini before shutting the door and hurrying to the driver's seat.

when he got in you were still talking about the martini and doing a poor job of begging him to make one. he let you ramble as he started the car and pulled onto the street towards home.

“pleaseee - pretty extra please make me one,” you were grabbing his arm now.

“no can do, baby i’m making you a nice big crisp glass of water and you are going to drink it all for me,” he told you, coming to a stop light. suddenly this reminded you of the overwhelming need to pee.

“i need to pee,” you whined.

“can you hold it baby, we're almost home,” he said, eyeing you from his seat.

“gotta go so bad,” you whimpered, reaching your hand between your legs to cup yourself hoping to keep yourself from going. chenle had to pull his eyes away from you the desperation in your voice made him tingle for some reason. but he couldn’t focus on that, he needed to get you home. he heard you whispering to yourself that you could hold it, you could do it. your leg was bouncing and your left hand was gripping his arm, the nails digging in.

“it’s okay baby, we’re almost there,” he soothed, running his hand over your shaking leg. he hadn’t realized that he was practically speeding but he was already pulling into the parking deck finding the closest spot to the door. he got out quickly running to your side and helping you out before dragging you into the building. he hastily pressed the elevator button as if it would come faster. eventually it dinged and he rubbed your hand as the door closed.

“i can’t i can’t i can’t,” you moaned, bouncing beside him one hand between your legs. your knees were weak and you felt yourself squatting beside chenle while you pressed your legs tightly together.

“so close baby, just a little more,” he said, pulling you back up to stand just as the doors opened. you both ran down the hall and chenle typed in the passkey as fast as he could before pushing the door open. you barreled in kicking your heels off before running to the bathroom not even worrying to shut the door. but then just as relief washed over you, you realized your mistake.

“fuck no, fuck,” you whined, holding your skirt up as hot piss dripped out of your panties.

“you okay,” chenle said before stopping and staring. your wet eyes looked up at him tears of embarrassment slipped down your hot cheeks.

“shhh, it’s okay,” he walked over to you rubbing your back as you pressed your face against him. you were still peeing it felt hot pressed against you in your ruined panties.

“it’s so,” you sniffed. “embarrassing,” you cried into his stomach.

“it’s okay baby. it’s just you and me,” he said, petting your head before tilting your chin to him. “don’t cry.” he leaned down and kissed your forehead. you had finally stopped peeing and chenle helped you up and out of your soaked panties and with the rest of your clothes before getting you into the shower.

he let you shower before taking your soiled clothes to the laundry. he felt more embarrassed by the fact that he got hard while watching you pee and knowing you wet your panties made him even crazier. he didn’t let you know he had gotten off with the image of you holding your skirt up and filling your panties.

that was when it started for him.

he wasn’t really doing it on purpose. well he kinda sorta was. he liked spoiling you but spoiling you with the chance of you pissing yourself was a bonus. and you weren’t complaining about it so it was probably fine right? he definitely wasn’t telling you that was what he wanted he wasn’t even sure if you remembered, but it was all he thought about he’s fucked you in those same panties 10 fold imagining you filling them before he presses into you getting his cock warm and wet with every thrust.

you had wondered why he had been fucking you in your panties he normally wanted you completely bare for him. you didn’t mind it though you liked how animalistic it seemed, he couldn’t even wait for you to be naked before he ravaged you.

today wasn’t any different, chenle had come home with a new fruity drink for you to try. and you didn’t hesitate to gulp it down because it was undeniably delicious. he smirked at you across the bar as he stirred food in a pan, the straw in your mouth as you casually slurped the purple liquid.

“do you like it?”

“mhmm, so sweet,” he smiled down at the cutting board.

“why are you getting me so many drinks lately?” you asked with the straw between your teeth.

“i just see stuff and it makes me think of you,” he said nonchalantly.

“you’re just the cutest,” you sigh, looking at him dreamily and he rolled his eyes playfully.

“gotta keep you hydrated, baby.”

“unhuh,” you eyed him curiously as the last of your drink bubbled through the straw making you pout. he watched you at the sound.

“what,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender.

“are you sure that’s why?”

“why else would i be buying you a drink?”

“i dunno, you just look guilty.” you raised an eyebrow feigning seriousness. but somehow what you said made him feel guilty.

you didn’t dig any deep or tease him anymore, just watched him cook before setting the table and eating with him. you did eye the large glass of water he poured you along with a glass of wine.

that night you and chenle talked, sharing the last of the wine while you snuggled on the couch.

“what’s something you want me to do but you’re too shy to ask?” you looked at him before downing the rest of your wine before setting the glass on the table.

“you do everything i like and want. but i,” you sigh looking down.

“hmm” he questions.

“i like when you use your feet on me. i’m not saying i’m a foot obsessed person. but i just like the way it makes me feel powerless with you,” you started off strong but finished shyly.

“baby just say you want me to step on you,” he laughed lightly. you whined into his neck shaking your head.

“maybe a little,” you whisper.

“you’re so naughty,” he groaned, leaning his head back as his hand slid up your ass.

“what’s your fantasy? what can i do for you?” you asked, peeking up at him while you fiddled with the hem of his shirt. chenle gulped.

“don’t take this the wrong way. but i want you.” he paused.

“tell me i wanna do it,” you said eagerly. he leaned closer lips grazing your ear.

“pee on me,” he whispered. you gawked, taken aback by what he said. you were sure it would be something less, messy. but it almost made sense for him.

“is this why you’ve been getting me drinks,” you laugh.

“maybe,” he looks away. “but i like spoiling you too.”

“what made you want me to, you know.”

“do you remember when you almost pissed yourself a few months ago?” you groaned covering your face. “nuhuh.” he pulled your hand away and stared at you. “it was so hot you were so desperate and needy, fuck. just thinking about it.” he grabbed your hand bringing it over his already hard cock. you gasped before biting your lip looking up at him innocently.

“please,” he whispered to you.

“it’s so embarrassing.”

“i like it when you’re shy and embarrassed. such a pretty puppy.” he knew what he was doing using puppy to get you to cave. and you wanted to and now talking about pee made you realize how badly you needed to. so you were shifting on him before he pulled you onto his lap. you whined feeling his cock press into you.

“you need to stop wearing these flimsy little skirts,” he said, flipping up the material peeking at your dampening panties.

“and these cute little panties.” his fingers grazed the material and you knew he could feel the wetness because now he was smirking at you.

“you know you make it seem like you don’t want to but you’re so wet, puppy.” you whimpered, bringing your hands to cover your face but he pulled them away. one hand holding your wrist and the other gripping you hips.

“feel how hard you make me,” he moaned as he grinded against you, his hard cock pressing against his zipper. you stayed quiet but moved your hands to release him from his jeans. he watched and you delicately unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before tenderly gripping his cock letting the head poke out of the waistband of his boxers.

“need you,” you whimper, your hand still fisting at his cock as precum beaded at the tip.

“how bad,” he asked, looking up at you curiously. his fingers teased along the hem of your panties and you wanted him to shove his hand in and touch you.

“so bad.” he smirks at you, fingers dragging down to graze your clothed clit, making you quiver.

“i know you need to go. been filling you up all night for this.” you whined, looking away from him.

“hmm, gonna piss on my cock baby?” you whimpered. you did need to go but you really didn’t want to make a mess.

“lemme,” you mumbled, standing up on weak knees and pulling his jeans down his legs, leaving him in his boxers and tshirt. he looked like a god, leaning back, staring at you with this look of power on his face that made you feel so weak. he groaned when you straddled him and rubbed yourself against his cock.

“don’t make me,” you whined. “so embarrassing.”

“but you need to go so bad, baby,” he replied, pressing a hand against your tummy, making you pull your legs together around him.

“i need to but i can hold it,” you say mainly to yourself.

“just fuck me i can hold it,” you blubber tugging at his boxers ready to pull your panties aside and let him fill you up.

“you really think you can hold it while i fill up your pretty little cunt,” he teases, fingers tickling under your shirt and up your chest. you nodded harshly.

“i can i can do it.” you yelped when his fingers tweaked your nipple bending forward pressing your hands on his chest. he smirked up at you as his thumb brushed your hard nipple, his nails grazing the sensitive skin.

“so if i hold you like this,” he says, moving his hand down to press against your tummy while the other holds your hips in place. you’re squirming when he says, “ while i fuck you, you can hold it?”

“hnngh, wanna hold it. wanna be good and hold it,” you slipped deeper the need to go overwhelming you.

“let go puppy,” you whimpered. not realizing you were but when you felt the familiar warmth you sobbed grabbing at yourself to stop. and you did hold yourself back from letting it all go. you couldn’t see the large wet spot in your panties or feel the way it had started to drip out. but chenle did, he could feel the warm liquid slowly dribble onto his cock making precum pump out of his cock.

“no, no no,” you whined. chenle pressed your tummy again.

“you’re such a good puppy. let go for me.” he groaned.

“want your cock, i can - let me - i can hold it,” you whimper, pulling his waistband down letting his cock free beneath you. lifting your hips as you pulled your panties to the side before sinking down with a groan.

“fuck puppy,” he moaned, leaning his head back but keeping his eyes on you. you did your best to bounce on his cock but you were so full your legs were quivering.

“so full,” you mewled, he reached up pushing your hair out of your face before gripping your hips and fucking back into you harshly. you felt like you would burst any second you couldn’t tell if it was from the need to pee or the need to come. you held your hand over your clit rubbing circles as chenle watched you.

“so fucking good holding it for me, puppy.” he stared at you listening to the sounds of skin slapping filling the room along with your whimpers. watching your lashes flutter against your cheeks and one hand gripping his shirt the other circling your clit. you looked so fucked out so perfect for him.

“so pretty baby, all for me.” you whined down at him, your arms feeling weak from holding your body up.

“so much. can’t hold it.”

“let go, puppy,” he said, pounding into you hard and fast. you couldn’t do it anymore couldn’t hold it in so you let go. relaxing as you let the warmth pour out of you. chenle stared between you watching the hot piss gush from you onto his skin making him groan. your fingers still circled your clit making the liquid squirt onto his chest and stomach and he felt so close to the edge.

“such a good, puppy, so good. so fucking good.” he found himself gripping you tighter and fucking you harder your cunt pulsing around him.

“so close,” you whined, working your hand faster, your stomach full of pleasure instead of the pressure. the mix of release and the building orgasm was too much.

“cum for me, pup,” chenle moaned, thrusting into you faster. you groaned at his words letting your orgasm flood over you, pee still pouring from you as your legs shook and cunt tightened around chenle.

“fuck,” he cursed as he came a moment later filling you up with hot cum. your cunt still pulsing around him as he finished. he stared up at you seeing the last dribbles of pee drip onto him as you slowly continued to rubbed your clit. your hair was a complete mess and your eyes closed and he loved it and wanted it forever.

“you’re so fucking hot,” he groaned, rubbing his hands over your hips.

“it’s so messy,” you finally said, opening your eyes looking at the puddle on your couch.

“lemme see?” he asked, lifting you up off of his cock. he quickly spun you a hand on your back to bend over so he could see your messy cunt. your hands held yourself up as he leaned forward gripping your cheeks pulling them apart to see your puffy hole watching the cum drip out.

“so fucking sexy,” he smirked slapping his hand on your ass making you whine.

“it’s so messy,” you say, turning back to face him.

“but you liked it,” he grins, making you nod shyly.

#chenle smut #zhong chenle smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #chenle x reader #chenle x you #chenle hard hours #chenle x y/n #omorashi #chenle omorashi #nct omorashi

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thevirgincherry · 3 months

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AND I LOVE HER !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. omg.. fluff and that’s it im sick, age gap, like brief mentions to sex idk, slight angst

note. don’t know what happened to me! ignore typos/mistakes this isn’t edited :3 rbs n feedback always appreciated omg im embarrassed ngl this is just leon feeling guilty as always

“Okay, and so we get bored, right?” You tell him, perched on the bathroom counter, peeling back your false lashes to reveal– you guessed it, your natural layer of lashes which look identical to the fake pair. “Like, there wasn’t a lot to do, I mean it was snowing, we couldn’t leave campus, we couldn’t even leave her bedroom, right?” Leon gives an Mhm to show you he’s listening and totally not dozing off to the sound of your voice. Sorry, babe, sometimes it just puts him to sleep. The same way white noise does. “We go on Bumble - you know what that is, right?”

“Oh, yeah, obviously,” Leon scoffs, when in fact he doesn't know what that is.

“So, yeah, we're swiping, swiping, not a single right, right?” Another Mhm from his side, you’re using a cotton bud to remove your eye makeup, the black smears and becomes streaky on your skin. Cute, that’s how you look after a nice, hard fucking. His mind wanders far away to the sanctum that is his bedroom, the room on the opposite side of the hall. “And so Ashley, you remember her, right?”

“Rings a bell,” It rings no bells, not a single one, the only Ashley he knows is ex-First Daughter Ashley Graham. “The short one?” All your friends are short, he makes a purposely vague guess to hide his disinterest. Leon would put more into this conversation if he wasn’t five seconds away from conking out on the closed toilet seat.

“Yeah, that one, her fucking boyfriend pops up!”

“From where?” He asks, genuinely concerned for your wellbeing, was the freak hiding out in his girlfriend’s dorm room, under the bed of some shit?

“On Bumble?” You shoot him an odd look through the mirror, “Anyway, his profile says some shit about an open relationship, that his girlfriend wants a threesome, like, all this shit.”

“That’s awful.” He gets the gist, the dude is a cheater, still has no clue what a Bumble is.

“I know, and he’s ugly, that’s the worst part, she’s out of his league.” You hop off the counter, running the tap to wash your face in that ritualistic manner. Scrub, splash, wipe. Shit’s obsessive, Leon’s only ever ran his wet hands over his face, uses his thumbs to get the gunk out the corner of his eyes. “She was totally upset,” You say, lathering your face in foam, “She wouldn’t stop crying, and don’t, like, tell her or anything, babe,” You rub circles on your cheeks, the soap bubbles up, the tap has been running five minutes too long.

“Wasn’t planning on it, babe.” Leon tips his head back to soothe the tension in his neck, when you cup your hands and splash water into your face, droplets splatter on the counter.

“Good, well, to tell you the truth, she was pissing me off,” A few more minutes of what looks more like a facial massage than a wash and you’re done, “Like, he was never even nice to her, he made her pay for dates, and she was really crying hard, Leon, like, snot and everything.”

“Lousy guy.”

“Yeah, and so we find a place that’s open on the map, like, a convenience store, I mean it was like gas and groceries, but it was so fucking shady, babe,” You pat your face dry with a towel, hanging it up on the rack, “And, like, we try to get an Uber, or like literally any cab at this point, but no one wants to drive in that weather, you saw what kinda clothes I took too!”

Oh, Leon did, and he did the right thing and warned you that tie-up tops and mini skirts so mini they could be classified as belts would do nothing for you. Well, they do everything for your figure, but nothing against the least windy of winds. Like a shaky orange leaf clinging to the weary branches of an autumn tree, those scraps of Lycra would go flying, leaving you topless and bottomless and defenceless without a Leon to take care of your sorry ass.

“So, I’m like so sure I’ve got frostbite as we’re walking, but it’s five minutes away, we keep going, none of us had an ID by the way, not even a real one,” The second part of your routine involves applying lotion so thickly, it secretes enough palm oil to give back to those Amazonian orangutans, solving the deforestation issue one nighttime routine at a time.

“Babe,” Leon says in the tone of a disappointed and slightly exasperated father who wants nothing but the best for his daughter while being emotionally distant all at once, because he just has that kind of voice, “You can’t be doing that, it’s dangerous, could get in a lot of trouble, and it’s bad for you, y’know?” His liver cries out in disbelief as it has been subjugated completely by his alcoholism, “You don’t need drinks to have fun, you just need your friends.” His words pass through you. Leon has changed the world through his Special Agent status, he’s saved it time and time again, what he has not done is change your world like he suspected he would with that half-assed motivational speech.

“So, Ashley, the bitch, she shoves me in front, and all the girls are like oh, you go up, you look soo much older than us, which is so fucking rude. Like, I know I look it, everyone says it to me, doesn’t mean she should say it. So, I go up, and babe - I swear to god, he doesn’t even ask, like, he just kinda looked at my tits and scanned the bottles.” You use your hands a lot when you speak.

He blinks at you bare-faced, and it all comes falling down, on top of him like gigantic Jenga blocks that he himself misplaced. “You’re a baby,” Leon tells you. Not in the way most older men do when they talk down to young girls - to make them feel like even younger girls. It’s not to put you in your place, after all, it is Leon that needs to be put in his place more than anyone. He says this with the utmost sincerity as he spirals head-first into a frantic epiphany of sorts. He’s fucking a baby. A baby with a heart-shaped ass and a penchant for clothes that cover a single nipple at best.

“No, I’m not a baby, I’m just not old,” There’s a lack of hardened lines on your face, not quite baby-faced, but visibly young.

“Yeah, okay, baby,” Leon pats your head, rolls his shoulders back to relieve him of an ache, “I’m going to bed.”

“So am I.” Your lips jut out, “I was going there first actually.” Holy Mother of God, you’re a kid. Don’t do this to him. Usually, Leon likes his women menopausal, Norman Bates would agree, that’s insensitive, rather Mrs Bates would agree. It’s just that when you’re forty-six, fucking older women goes into grandma territories. Women his age are beautiful, but half of them settled down over ten years back, the available ones are career women that keep him on his toes, and he doesn’t like that. Being kept on his toes is too much, his back hurts and he wants to rest. The other half come with kids, Leon would rather scoop out his brain with a tea spoon than come into close contact with a child. The appeal wears off either way because Leon wants them to be older than him, but he’s not twenty anymore so the older women won’t be forty and stern and beautiful in the way worn out housewives are, they’ll be sixty and senile.

“Were you now?” He keeps the bile down in his stomach where it should be, takes you to bed, fucks you into the mattress one last time, kisses the mole between your breasts and leaves the following morning. What drug was he on the night he met you? Leon doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know if he’s still on it, or if dating younger women is a side effect of it.

The car windows are frosted over when he makes his way out without a de-icer in hand, it melts slowly as he sits in the driver's seat with his head bowed, drooped on top of the wheel. Leon pats himself down, feeling for his keys, he gets out, into the elevator and returns to face the front door. He slots his key into the lock and enters the apartment because it is his apartment, not yours. He’s so used to walking out on people that he walked out of his own home. Selfish tendencies that surely stem from some fucked up part of his brain.

“Leon?” You’re stood there in the doorway rubbing your eyes, “Did you go out?”

“Yeah, babe,” He grunts when you take your seat on his lap, the weight is pleasant, grounds him, “I went out, just for a minute, had to take a call, didn’t wanna wake you.”

“I woke up the minute you got out of bed.” The softness of your skin on his is dizzying, sleep-swollen lips coming to kiss his scruffy face with all the tenderness of a young adult woman, that’s a lot of tenderness, they feel a lot. Heart might not be on your sleeve, but it leaks out of you in the most insignificant moments, it’s in every single word you say to him. “You’re not very quiet, Leon. I don’t know who hired you, they should reconsider.”

Smiling, he cradles your close, takes your tit in his hand. Love is stored in these things. That’s why your heart is in the left one, not on your sleeve. “Was I that loud?”

“Yeah, I heard you stub your toe, and you were like fuck, fuck, fuck! for a good minute,” You recount, “And then I heard you talking to yourself in the bathroom, and you were brushing your teeth, you kept making those gross gagging noises, my dad does that too.”

“Trying to get it all out.” Leon shrugs, his chin rests atop your head.

“Get what out? Your uvula?”

“No, stupid, just, I don’t know, stop asking questions.”

“Okay, whatever, and then you walked out still talking to yourself, and then you were looking for your keys, moving furniture,” That he was, “Sounds like you scraped up the floors,” That he did, “Then you found them and they kept fucking jingling, then you shut the door really quietly, and I was like where is this loser going. Hey, Leon, you know I can see your car from here, right?”

You’d seen him. Seen him throw a sulky manchild tantrum in his car. How embarrassing. “If I’m being honest, I didn’t know that.” He admits.

“Well, I saw you sitting in there, I know you didn’t go to the store, I know you’re lying to me, but it’s okay,” You kiss his Adam’s apple, your nose tucked into his neck, “I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean it,” Leon confirms, he holds you tighter to him and thinks that you're more mature than he’ll ever be. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” It comes easily to you, and he wishes to do the same, “You can talk to me instead of, like, trying to drive away from your own apartment, that’s pretty weird, Leon.”

“I know, I’ll talk to you,” He won’t, and you know that, and he knows you know that, but it’s okay, it takes time for this sort of stuff, “I love you,” Leon says again, his lips meet yours, swallows up the response on your tongue, he eats your love.

#leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil fluff #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy fluff

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bomber-grl · 6 months

Text

Date night

10:00 P.M

You run as fast as you can, leaping off buildings and almost slipping on the fast falling snow. You know you can’t keep this up forever, and you know, one wrong move, and it’s game over.

Robin is quick on your heels and with the cold, almost burning air that hits across your face and how difficult it is to breathe in, you’re sure you’ll get caught in no time.

Finally you stop and slide across one of the rooftops of what you can only assume is an apartment building.

“Hey Robin, I know we’re like arch enemies or whatever but I’m running a little late to my date so how about we make this quick?”

Robin usually loves to be your complete opposite, however to your surprise he says “I agree” and goes to kick you. If it weren’t for your quick reaction time by using your fore arms to shield yourself you know you would’ve been toast, still it might leave a bruise.

“What’s with the sudden compliance? Don’t tell me you’re already falling for my charms? You ask this feigning surprise.

“Don’t kid yourself, if anything your best feature is your fighting. He goes to use his spear but you counter with your own.

“Oh? So you admit I’m good?” You can see the disgust spread across his face and you take this opportunity to slash him across the face with your dagger, only that you barely managed to knick him in the chin.

He staggers back but is quick to recover, he pushes against you and pins you down. “I honestly can’t help but wonder why you care much, it’s almost like you’re falling for me.”

With your current position with your back against the wall and how you’re pinned up by him, you can’t pass the opportunity. “You’re right Robin, I think I really am falling for you.”

he lets you go with disgust blatant on his face but when you smirk he realizes this was all a ploy. With the golden opportunity to escape you take a swan dive off the building, the only imagine is of him peaking over the ledge watching you plummet into the darkness of the cold dark night.

11:30 P.M

You practically barge into the small cozy diners front doors, the atmosphere very much contrasting that of the windy coldness outside. You quickly spot Damian and make your way over to him where’s he’s seated, setting your things down and taking a seat, still panting.

“Finally, I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it, that not really a good impression to make, especially on the first date [l/n]” he teases.

You initially met Damian while at Gotham academy and while he wasn’t what you’d describe as a ray of sunshine, he was still amazing. He always seemed like an untouchable guy and you were so late to a once in a life time date that others would kill for, all because of that Robin!

“I know I know, I’m so sorry Damian!!” You take a seat, fixing your disheveled clothes and patting down your hair. “What’s with you? You seem like you got hit with a tornado or something?” He smiles.

“Sorry!! I uhh fell asleep while reading a book so I was rushing!” You give an embarrassed laugh. “I’m just teasing, I barely got here myself.”

“What???” You ask pouting. “Sorry sorry, I was just busy with useless rich people things, as you like to put it.” He says this obviously referring to that once time where you told him rich people don’t do anything.

“Hey! No fair!” Before the two of you could continue your discussion a waitress came up to your table and began taking your orders.

After the waitress left, you started feeling the diners warmth was a little too warm, especially with your large jacket. You took off your jacket and set it aside, rolling up your long sleeve shirt.

You were about to tell Damian something random that came to mind before you noticed something. On Damian’s chin there was a faint scratch, almost like the one you gave Robi-

No no no, no way, there’s just no way Damian could be robin. Damian is incredible, he’s so nice to be around, and gosh is he hot.

Not that Robin isn’t

What the hell were you thinking-

You suddenly feel Damian’s fingers glide across your fore arm. “What happened?” He asks as he looks up at you expectantly.

“Huh?” You look down and low and behold the bruise that Robin gave you with his kick. Damn you knew it was gonna bruise.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just fell and landed on my fore arms.” You add a couple nervous laughs and hope Damian doesn’t notice.

Soon enough your orders are served but slowly but surely more signs are showing that Damian is Robin. Soon enough it gets late and that’s when you decided to make your move.

“Look ro-Damian, I really need to get going so-“ and with that you practically bolt to the door, however as your hand lands on the handle you feel a hand rest on your shoulder.

You slowly turn around, however before you can react you hear one sentence that makes you feel chills run down your spine.

“Are you [v/n]?”

Part 2?

V/n: villian name, l/n: last name

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soapskneebrace · 1 year

Text

gravity

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Rating: General audiences Word Count: 3.9k Warnings: none Author's Notes: LIKE CHILEAN MINERS (iykyk). I want to express a tidal wave of thanks to everyone for waiting so, so patiently for this chapter. Life got hard and is remaining so, but the kindness I have received has been so incredibly comforting. Please enjoy the longest chapter of Neighbors I have written to date. Also a HUGE shoutout to Lev @yeyinde as ALWAYS for her advice, the pub is a direct result of her guidance. MASTERLIST Now on Ao3!

It’s a cold and windy morning that, as you hover just a little closer to his warmth, you ask him about decent places to eat nearby.

“Fancy pub food?” he asks in response, and it takes you a moment to process what he’s said. Today he’s in a thick, soft-looking knit sweater, which makes it infinitely difficult not to imagine huddling up against him.

You think he’d let you. You’re not sure how you know this. Maybe it’s the way he positions himself next to you, standing at an angle toward you just slight enough to be casual, but open enough to be purposeful. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to warm you up with his eyes alone—he asked you once why you always bundled up to be outside, and you told him you were just sensitive to the cold.

Since then, you’ve often caught him checking on you, surreptitiously. Simple once-overs that you think are searching for evidence of discomfort.

What would he do, you wonder, if he found any? Would he send you inside, as he had the first morning?

Part of you thinks that would be better. It would give you an out, open up a path diverting away from whatever this thing is that hangs in the air between you and John Price, this thing that you pass back and forth between the pages of borrowed books.

It’s a thing that breathes with the both of you into the early morning, and you don’t know how to look at it. You don’t understand its shape. It’s a thing you wish you wanted to walk away from.

“Who doesn’t?” you reply, sipping at the cold dregs in your cup.

“How ‘bout tonight, then?” John says, and you swallow a little too quickly.

“W-what about tonight?”

He smiles at you, as if he’s thrown you off on purpose. “Dinner, on me.”

You blink several times. “You—I—I mean—really?”

He shrugs, easy and casual as you wish you could be. “Could show you what’s best on the menu. And I wouldn’t mind having dinner with someone besides m’self.”

You hesitate, because your gut reaction is to say yes, John, I’d like nothing more, and that is not a reaction you want to satisfy. These past several mornings have been nice—nicer than you could have expected. You’ve stopped interrogating yourself as to why you keep bothering, because each time his smile greets you as you step outside is answer enough. The routine has been easy to settle into, even comforting.

You need to protect that comfort, you know, even from the allure of something more.

John does not press for an answer, seeming content to savor the last few inhales of his cigar. You wonder if he’s guessed at your inner conflict, wonder if the quiet he’s giving you is an intentional moment to sort yourself out.

He never presses for anything, ever.

“I suppose I could meet you after work,” you finally say.

The smile that breaks across his face nearly knocks you off your feet. You’re relieved when he says, “Sounds good to me,” because if he’d said it’s a date you think you might have dissolved on the spot.

John texts you the pub’s address, and it’s close enough to walk to. You arrive that evening, in your usual two coats plus a knitted hat, to find that the place exceeds a set of expectations you didn’t know you had. The patio seating is closed in with a white picket fence and hung with strings of fairy lights, and it flanks a red brick building with a large, friendly lantern hanging over the door.

You might have expected something a little grubbier, if you’d given the place any more thought beyond this is John’s pub and he’s having me for dinner here.

Warm air envelops you as you step inside, and your gaze is drawn as if by a magnet to a table further in—John has already seen you, and beckons you over with a wave.

He’s still in the knit sweater, and his fleece jacket is hanging on the back of the seat across from him. He stands as you approach, rounds the table, and pulls that chair out for you when you join him.

You don’t know why the chivalry makes you falter, makes you want to turn and sprint all the way back home. All you know, as you sit down, is that you can practically feel the aura of his presence behind you as he helps push your chair in, can feel it move as he leaves your side to return to his seat. You feel yourself gravitate into it, leaning a little over the table as if trying to keep it close.

“This place is tidy,” you say earnestly, trying for that morning normalcy, as you begin to shuck your layers.

“It’s alright,” he agrees. He’s smiling gently, the cool blue of his eyes vivid in the contrast of warm lamplight.

“Do you—” and then you can’t help but giggle, because it’s such a cliche question “—do you come here often?”

He grins, huffs that little laugh. “Too often,” he says as he sits back in his chair, putting a hand on his stomach. “It’ll start showing soon, probably.”

You look at the flat of his stomach, the broad paw of his hand. Remember the trim waist of that very first morning. “You know, somehow I doubt that.”

He meets you eyes, laughs again, and it warms you to the bone.

Seeing him like this, at night, is an unknown quantity. The John you know how to interact with exists on his front doorstep, painted in the cool palette of sunrise, cold air, cigar smoke. This tableau, composed upon the table between you, might as well turn him into another man entirely. Who is this John, awash in warm light, nearly twelve hours older than the man you spoke to this morning? Who are you, now, seeing him after work and before the end of the night?

You feel a little untethered. Your feet still itch for the door, for the measured, predictable floorboards of your own home.

Maybe John notices, because he takes a menu from the stack of two at the end of the table and offers it to you with a reassuring lift of his brows. “Hungry?”

That question, at least, has an easy answer. You smile a little. “Starving.”

His advice turns out to be necessary—everything looks good, and you both end up ordering too much food. Over a spread of fresh, hot chips, halloumi kebabs, and katsu chicken served liberally with curry sauce, John also has a bottle of scotch brought to the table.

“No, that’s too much!” you protest as the waitress sets the decanter down with two clean glasses. “John, really.”

He sets to pouring, his expression pleased, though you’re not sure what about. “Humor me, love. I don’t get to share very often.”

He hands you a glass, and lifts his own above the food. You acquiesce, and clink the rims.

“Do I take a shot or a sip?” you ask, bringing the glass up to your mouth.

“A sip,” says John, and his expression is genuinely distressed. “Please, don’t ever suggest shooting scotch again. That hurt to hear.”

You smirk, and take a slow drink. It hits your tongue with the prologue to a burn, rolling across your taste buds as the twinge fades and you close your eyes. The flavor opens like smoke exhaled into still air; you purse your lips a little and swirl it in your mouth; nutmeg, vanilla, and even a little apple expand across your palate. When it hits the back of your tongue, a short floral burst surprises you, and you swallow it down eagerly.

You find John watching you when you open your eyes.

“Where did you learn to drink like that?” he asks, and there is a new tone in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

It’s low. Resonant. Almost—purring. The look in his eyes, too, is different, the pale blue sharper somehow. Focused keenly, and with some unknown, honed intent, on you.

It pins you where you sit. John is looking at you. John is seeing you.

“Doesn’t everyone learn to drink at uni?” you reply, trying for airy and light. It doesn’t work. Your voice trembles, just a bit.

He’s still watching you, and you think he sees that. Recognizes, perhaps, a change in your expression, some telltale sign that he has shaken you. He looks away from you, takes a drink of his own scotch, and when his gaze returns the keen edge of it has softened. You breathe, and realize you hadn’t been.

You seek something comfortable, something you can measure and control. “How is Actium treating you, then?”

He smiles, and it’s a little rueful. “Octavian’s being a cunt.”

As talk of the most recent book he’s borrowed carries you into more comfortable territory, the two of you make your way through dinner, which is every bit as delicious as John had promised. The food is hearty, greasy in a way that isn’t too heavy, and pairs perfectly with John’s scotch, which you indulge in liberally.

When the alcohol has outpaced the food that is meant to offset it, you think back to what he’d said earlier, about not often getting to share.

“So am I the first person you’ve brought here?” you ask. “Or do you take every neighbor out to dinner?”

John lifts one dark brow, leans in with a tilt of his head. “Only the pretty ones.”

You give an unladylike snort and swirl a cut of chicken around in curry sauce. “You’re incorrigible, John, really.”

The smile he gives crinkles the laugh lines around his eyes, and you feel yourself want to melt at the sight. It is unfair how handsome he is, in that warm sweater, in that golden light, haloed softly in the haze of your verging intoxication.

“When will you believe me when I compliment you, hmm?” he asks, low and resonant in the depths of his chest.

You shoot the rest of your scotch in answer, stuff the chicken into your mouth, and proffer the empty glass.

John squints at your heresy, but obediently pours.

“I suppose your line of work isn’t really great for your social life, then,” you comment. “Always coming and going.”

“My calendar’s certainly empty,” John agrees. “Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve sat down with someone like this. I suppose I’m out of practice.”

“You’re eating with a fork and knife and not your hands.” You grin. “I’d say that’s pretty good already.”

He smiles back. “Would that chase you off?”

You sip your scotch. “Not if you keep pouring.”

“And she complained when the bottle came out. What about you, then?”

“What ‘bout me?”

“How many blokes have you been to dinner with, lately?”

You scoff at that and wash your food down with a sip. “None. As if they’re throwin’ ‘emselves at me.”

John’s expression changes, and it’s slow grin that spreads across his face, a smile you have never seen on him before. It isn’t the sad smile he’s given you at times, melancholy and resigned; nor is it the one he gives when he sees you in the morning, warm and soft and friendly.

No, this one is—energized. Invigorated. As if someone has given him good news he hadn’t been expecting.

“They’ve got to be,” he says, and his tone is humorous. “You must have your pick of the lot. And none of them have struck your fancy?”

You press your hands to your too-warm face. “John, don’t tease me.”

“Seems I’ve got to count myself lucky tonight, then,” he continues, leaning his elbows on the table. “If you’re as choosy as all that.”

You give him a droll look, and swirl your drink around in your glass. “If you must know, I got out of a relationship not long ago.”

John’s brows lift, and you want to smack yourself for letting that little detail escape you. “Is that so?”

You drink. “That is so.”

“What kind of idiot would let you get away?”

“My head is already spinning, and you’re abusing that,” you protest.

“Sorry, love,” he says, clearly not sorry. “But now you’ve got me curious.”

You sit back in your chair, staring at your plate to avoid his gaze. “I’m afraid it’s not all that dramatic. It just…didn’t feel right. I guess he liked me more than I liked him. We would go out, and I would think, ‘I want to leave him and go home.’”

And you still felt guilty about it. You hadn’t liked him that much in the first place, when he’d asked you out—you’d just said yes, because it seemed like the right moment in your life for something like that to happen. When you’d ended it, your extended social network had scratched its collective head, because there truly hadn’t been any good reason.

You just weren’t happy.

“Suppose I didn’t give it enough of a chance,” you say, downing the last of your glass.

“Hey,” John says, soft and gentle. You look up to meet his eyes—the expression on his face is a mixture of sympathy and resolution. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure, John.”

“Love.” His brow creases, insistent. “You deserve something you want.”

You press your lips together tightly, and suddenly you’re struck again with that sensation from earlier, that feeling that John’s presence is a tangible aura, something that rolls and settles across your awareness like a physical touch. You realize you’ve been leaning into it again, drawn toward him like a comet into the snag of a planet’s gravity.

“I’m definitely drunk now,” you say, because the only other words that want to come out are an emphatic I want you.

John smiles. He doesn’t press the issue. “Will I be carrying you home, then?”

“Oh, John, really!” You give a scoff, surprised at the sudden humor. “You couldn’t carry me all that way.”

One dark brow lifts.

“No,” you say. “You’ll have to put me down. I’m not light.”

The smile remains.

You hold his gaze, suspicious, and finish the last of your glass. It does not take long to polish off the last of dinner, and when the two of you agree that the last chips have finally gotten too cold to eat, John pushes his seat back and stands.

“Done, then? I’ll settle the tab. Love, put that away.”

You sheepishly lower your half-lifted wallet back into your purse.

Accounts settled, you make it outside the pub, and then you have to lean against a wall as John watches you, amused. The world is swaying, its pendulum arcing near-horizontal at the amplitude of each swing.

“I just need a minute,” you whisper.

John does the worst thing he could possibly do—he gives you his back and kneels down, arms a little open. “Come on.”

“Come on? Come off it, John, really, you’ll drop me!” you exclaim.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “I won’t.”

You don’t know what convinces you to do it. Tomorrow, you’ll blame the many glasses of expensive scotch, but in the moment you know it’s the way the hanging lights limn his silhouette in gold. You know it’s the soft expression on his face that you are already too fond of. You know it’s the quiet confidence in his reassurance, and above all those things it’s the familiar comfort of his kind blue eyes.

“All right, John,” you say.

As you wrap your arms around his shoulders, John scoops your knees up into the bend of his arms, and you can add now the feeling of his strength to your mental registry of his body. He is broad against you, the width of him obliging your thighs to part farther than they have in a long, long time.

It brings a heat to your face that dwarfs the low simmer of your inebriation. When he lifts you, straightens up and hoists you a little on his back, like you weigh almost nothing, you are unable now to shove back and contain what he has inspired since that first morning.

“This feels nice,” you murmur, tucking your chin on his shoulder. The scotch has the reins of your tongue now. There is no stopping the words that come out. “I wondered if it would. This morning.”

John’s reply is low, humming in his throat as he begins the trek home. “This morning?”

You breathe. “You always look warm and soft. You’re so handsome every morning. Even the first. I wanted to touch you back then. I wanted you to hold me.”

He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s trying to focus on the walk back and not dropping you in the middle of it. He hoists you a little, cupping his hands beneath your knees, squeezing.

His silence prompts more of your honesty. “I don’t want to go to dinner with anyone else, John. Even if someone did ask. You’re the only one.”

“You’re drunk, love,” John says. You don’t recognize the tone of his voice, why it sounds…pleading.

Your face is very close to his, your chin pillowed in the fleece lining of his collar. You resolve fully to blame what you do next on the scotch, and touch the tips of your fingers to the coarse umber on his cheek.

His thumbs press into the divots beneath your kneecaps. John says your name, low and breathy. It must be the strain of carrying you that shows in his voice.

You lean in. You press your cheek against the bristles of his beard, inhale, take in the ever-present Maduro that saturates his skin. The friction is a million little pinpricks of sensation, and you think in that moment that if his beard doesn’t leave hot, welted scratches on your face, you might fall asleep crying.

“Oh,” you murmur, not recognizing the languorous, almost wanton sound of your own voice. “Feels good, John.”

“That’s,” he huffs, and audibly swallows. “That’s good. We’re—ah—we’re almost there.”

“Okay,” you say, sighing against him, settling fully into the expanse of his back.

You doze, unburdened now by what you’ve admitted. He does not waver once on the walk, makes no complaint of your weight as street lights pass and the night moves slowly by. He is as steady, when he makes it to your front door, as he was when he first picked you up.

“Where’s your key, love?” he asks.

“Oh,” you murmur blearily, “um. Let me down.”

Even after your feet are back on the ground, his steadying hand does not leave you, ballasting your elbow as you dig around in your purse. It seems like an embarrassingly long time before you find your keychain, and when you try to unlock your door you miss the slot twice.

John’s big hand wraps around yours then, engulfing it with long fingers and broad palm, and guides the key steadily into the lock. The slide of the deadbolt is loud in the quiet night. You have to lean against the door, suddenly devoid of the strength to turn the knob as you look up at John’s concerned face.

“Let me help you in, love,” he says, brow creased. “Please. I’m worried you’ll fall and hit your head.”

Your entire body feels like it’s sinking into a glass of champagne, his words caressing you like rising bubbles, little pearls of air tickling your face as they touch you. You openly stare at him, watch his throat work as he swallows again, rest your eyes along the broad tendon that flexes as he tilts his head.

“Sure,” you whisper, too out of breath to speak aloud. “If that’s what you want.”

So John turns the knob, loops your arm around his shoulders, and walks you inside.

It is very hard to focus now, as John sits you down on your couch. There isn’t much you can hold in your mind besides the moment his hands leave you, and you inexplicably want to cry at their loss. You don’t see where he goes, vision going dark and blurry around the edges—you think he might have left until he comes back with one of your glasses, filled with clear, cool water.

He kneels in front of you and proffers it, doesn’t let go of the glass until both your hands are wrapped around it. He watches you as you take a sip.

“Drink all of that, alright?” he says. “You had a lot.”

You hold the glass back out to him. “You did too.”

His brows lift, lips parting. Have you surprised him? He pulls the glass closer with a little tug, puts his lips to the rim and tilts it from the bottom as you hold it. His eyes do not leave yours as he drinks, as he takes only a little, and then he pulls away and gently pushes the glass back toward you. Your gaze falls from his eyes, down to the little droplets of water clinging to his mustache, down again to the steady line of his mouth.

You bring the glass back up and take a deep gulp.

“Good girl,” he says, low and rumbling, and heat floods your body.

You realize then that his other hand is on your knee, the weight of his palm heavy and broad, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle into the edge of the cap. You are washed in the blend of his warm comfort and the sudden, almost violent sear of your own desire.

When the glass is empty, he eases it from your hands and sets it aside on your coffee table. When he turns back to you, your hand comes up, unbidden, to curve itself along the angle of his jaw. Umber bristles are coarse beneath the sweep of your thumb.

“Not soft, is it?” John murmurs, and there is something stormy and intense in his gaze.

You take a deep breath. “Maybe I’m okay with that.”

His hand grips your knee suddenly, vicelike, and you know this is pushing too far. He does not lean in to you, makes no move toward you, but his entire body is a bank of energy that he is holding, holding, holding back. His chest rises and falls rapidly. His eyes pin you to the couch as he works the muscles in his jaw.

“You’re drunk, love,” he says. It is not the pleading assertion he’d given earlier. It is a conclusion—fond, but resigned.

The room has begun to gently spin, with John at its axis. “I’m drunk,” you agree, whispering and fragile.

It breaks whatever has been building since you’d left the pub. John draws back. Nods. Gives you a smile—that smile. The one that had taken hold of you the first time you saw it. Trying, with every scrap of willpower it had, to be happy, to be alright with what little it had. Failing to do so.

Unable to hide how much it wanted.

“You got a spare key?” he asks. “I can lock you in.”

“Key hook,” you say.

His hand drags down from your knee to stroke along your shin, and then he’s rocking back on his heels, standing to his full height. He looks at you for a moment longer.

“Get some sleep,” he says.

When you blink, he’s gone, and the deadbolt is sliding home.

Bonus A/N: Some housekeeping. First, if you see your username on this list and it's struck through, it means you did not come up when I tried to @ you. I will try one more time, but if it doesn't work I'm taking your name off the list. Get right with the tumblr gods if you can. Second, a few people have told me that they did not get the tag notification on the last update, so let me know if that's the case for you and I will see about trying a different format. And third, I've been editing the format for neighbors across all chapters, so sorry in advance if you get notified twice. Tumblr knows even less about coding a website than I do.

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The taglist is closed. Thank you everyone for your interest.

1K notes · View notes

augustinewrites · 1 year

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@sunasbabie — for last year’s bday, christmas, and new years gift bcs ily or whatever 🙄

suna used to have a really nice denim jacket.

it was made of black denim, bought from some american brand that cost him way more than he’d care to admit. he loved that jacket— he’d worn it over t-shirts in the summer and thick hoodies in the winter. he’d been wearing it on the day of onigiri miya’s grand opening and the day he’d signed with ejp.

he’d also happened to be wearing it the night he met you.

he remembers seeing you the night of atsumu’s new year’s eve party. remembers thinking that your dress was highly impractical because it was sequined and backless but damn— you looked good.

and no matter what osamu thinks he remembers, it did not take him so long to talk to you because he was feeling shy. he was just giving the other guys at the party a chance, is all. he’s nice like that.

atsumu, the drunken idiot that he was, had ended up dragging everyone up onto the roof of his apartment for the countdown. and you, idiot that you were, started shivering 15 seconds into the count, suna watching as you’d rubbed your arms for warmth and and suddenly turned to face, as if you’d felt him watching.

with 30 seconds to midnight and a shove from osamu, he’s closing the distance between you both to say hi. you have his jacket draped over your shoulders by midnight. just because he’s nice like that, not because he’s silently marking his territory and telling potential suitors to fuck off.

he even lets you leave with it, but not before exchanging numbers so you can return it as soon as possible. which you do, showing up at his place the next afternoon, his jacket washed and folded neatly in your arms, offering to buy him lunch as a thanks.

you’re the one wearing it, four months later, when he asks you to be his girlfriend. because ‘it’s just so windy out, rin. you don’t want my dress flying up, right?’

on cooler days, he’s almost sure you forego your own jacket just so you can steal his, and he lets you. you wear it draped over your shoulders when you walk back to his place after a movie. you use it as a blanket during longer car rides. there’s this fatal bug in suna’s system, and it doesn’t let him tell you ‘no.’

you’re wearing it the day you move in. he wasn’t going to make you unpack all your clothes just to find a jacket to wear to lunch.

you’d spent three years stealing that jacket. the denim is soft and well-worn, with a tear or two in the hem, but you love it. and he loves that it still smells like your perfume on the odd day he gets to wear it himself.

maybe that’s why it hurt so much, watching you brush your fingers over it as you pack away your clothes. you’d left every every t-shirt of his you’d slept in, every hoodie you’d claimed, in what was now his closet again.

but for this, you hesitate. a dull ache throbs between his ribs as he watches you hug the fabric to your chest, eyes fluttering shut.

“just take it,” he’d told you quietly from the doorway. “i don’t want it anymore.”

suna used to have a really nice denim jacket.

_____

it’s almost six months later when you call him for the first time since the breakup.

suna has to do a double take when he sees your contact. mostly because three in the morning and no one should be awake at this hour, but also because he can’t believe it’s you.

his brain and his heart are at a crossroads. he shouldn’t answer. you probably hit the wrong contact. you have other friends in the city, surely you would call one of them if you needed something.

but there’s that flaw again, and suna hits accept.

“hello?”

“rin? rin! hi.”

he sits up in the darkness at the sound of your slurring. “are you drunk?”

“no,” you lie, even hiccuping a little. “i just…i really just wanted to tell you—”

you cut yourself short, sighing. “that you did really good during your game last week.”

he raises his brows slightly, chuckling. “you were watching?”

“no,” you say again, much too quickly. “i just…heard.”

“i know what you sound like when you’re lying,” he reminds you, sliding out of bed and pulling on a hoodie. “and i also know what you sound like when you’re drunk. stay where you are, i’m gonna pick you up.”

you send him your location right away, and he drives over. he calls you to let you know he’s there, because he’s sure you’re not gonna hear your text tone, and when you step out of the bar—

he sees that you’re wearing his jacket.

that damn black denim jacket, american label and all. it hangs off your shoulders loosely, and when suna gets out of the car, he grabs the collar, pulling you closer and pretending not to notice the way you inhale sharply. ignoring your wide-eyed stare as he adjusts the jacket, doing up the buttons because he knows you’re gonna complain about the night chill.

“c’mon,” he says, pulling open the passenger door. “get inside, dumbass.”

the cute pout that downturns your lips is just like suna remembers. he closes the door after you, rounding to the other side of the car.

“did you tell your friends you’re getting home safe?” he asks as he reaches across you to put on your belt. “how come none of them came to get you?”

“oh, uh, yeah i called them but they weren’t answering,” you tell him. “i’ll call them now, just in case.”

suna watches as you fumble with your phone, tapping back and forth through the phone app until he grabs it from your hands with a sigh. he has no idea which one of your friends you’d called, so he goes to your recents.

only to see that he’s the only one you’d called tonight.

#suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff

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marnerparty · 2 months

Text

young stud

Connor Bedard x reader

_connorbedard

Liked by lululemon, nhl and 199,028 others

_connorbedard📍Nashville

tagged adamfantilli

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adamfantilli my dude!

yourusername no it’s ok… I wasn’t there either… I don’t wanna be featured…

_connorbedard being around me 24/7 wasn’t enough? 😐

yourusername no.

_masonmctavish23 Jesus just tell him you love him yn

yourusername we are JUST best friends

trevorzegras yeah, and i’m cleaner than jamie

_masonmctavish23 where tf did you come from!?

jamie.drysdale don’t bring me into this

yourusername hey all you ducks get outta here. tilli is comin to Anaheim not C-Dog

adamfantilli we have no idea where either of us are going to end up yn

_connorbedard SEE

user1 sorry the Blackhawks are gonna draft you

colton.dach 👀

yourusername even he knows you’re going #1

_connorbedard yn we still just don’t know

espn congrats on the success & good luck tomorrow finding out who your next team will be!

madi_bedard 🤘🏻

user2 boutta be the biggest bust the NHL has ever seen

yourusername and you’ve done what in your life exactly?

trevorzegras yn responding to haters >>>>>

_connorbedard please do not encourage this

yourusername hi, I’m yn. I think we’ll be great friends

trevorzegras nice to meet you, I’m trevor & likewise. let’s hang out sometime

biznasty 🤠🤠🤠

barzal97 kiddd

yourusername 😍😍😍

_connorbedard don’t say what you want to rn.

_connorbedard please.

_connorbedard I beg you.

trevorzegras yn, you are your own person. if you want to embarrass yourself and tell mat you think he’s hot do it.

barzal97 now I feel like I shouldn’t be here

user3 connor sucks

_masonmctavish23 🦅🦅🦅

_connorbedard those are Eagles

_masonmctavish23 connor wtf. that’s a smart-ass comment that should come from yn not you

_connorbedard he limited the amount of times i can comment on his Instagram posts. this is actually yn. I took connor’s phone

trevorzegras oh my god we will be amazing friends

yourusername

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yourusername I couldn’t be more proud 🫶🏻

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_connorbedard thank you for your never ending support yn ❤️

nhlblackhawks who’s the new guy?

yourusername some bum. probably shouldn’t make the team tbh

_connorbedard what happened to “couldn’t be more proud”

yourusername 🤫

adamfantilli it’s been a ride 🤘🏻

_connorbedard love you long time brother 🫡

cubs welcome to the Windy City Connor!

kentjohnson.13 YOU DID IT C!

_connorbedard miss you 🫶🏻

trevorzegras yn panicking rn trying to make this comment section abt her

yourusername fuck you trevor

barzal97 she’s aggressive isn’t she?

yourusername 🫢😮

trevorzegras look what you did Mat 🙄

barzal97 ??????

yourusername he’s referring to the fact you put the attention on me

barzal97 didn’t he start it by pointing it out in the first place?

trevorzegras watch it.

yourusername besties, please. this is no place to fight

user1 yn 🤝🏻 hockey boys

Liked by yourusername

lululemon #1 brand —> #1 pick! congrats Connor!

yourusername @lululemon free clothes?👀

_connorbedard wtf?? it’s MY brand deal bud

lhughes_06 your relationship is confusing

user2 honestly fuck connor bedard

yourusername Connor has asked me very nicely to not respond to haters & be rude so I cannot say anything to you that I want to, but just know, I really want to.

trevorzegras I am so proud of your growth

yourusername i love Connor, what can I say

yourusername

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yourusername bestie is the big 1️⃣8️⃣ 🫶🏻

tagged _connorbedard

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user1 about goddamn time

jackhughes wtf how is this kid just now an adult

trevorzegras now you guys can do it !

yourusername TREVOR

yourusername NOT FUNNY

adamfantilli I still can’t believe Yn’s a cougar

yourusername I’m a year older 😪 chill.

_masonmctavish23 SO YOU ADMIT YOU’RE A COUGAR

trevorzegras WE GOT HER

colton.dach YN LIKES CONNOR

user2 AHHHHH

lululemon Happy Birthday Connor! 🎉

user3 I love you plz marry me

quentinmusty happy birthday CB !!

_connorbedard 😚😚😚 miss u

trevorzegras super sus 👀

adamfantilli someone check on yn

_connorbedard thank you ynn <3

Liked by yourusername

lhughes_06 love birds

yourusername I’ll kill you Lucas

lhughes_06 come at me yn

trevorzegras Luke what have you done

trevorzegras yn will protect connie wonnie boo-boo bear at all costs

yourusername you’re dead too Zegras

user3 all these adults obsessing over some teens

_masonmctavish we are NOT obsessed

user3 def are

_masonmctavish NO

user3 yes.

jamie.drysdale mason wtf are you doing

barzal97 happy birthday kid!

_connorbedard thank you 🙌🏻

yourusername added to their story!

yourusername

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yourusername besties trip!!

tagged trevorzegras

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trevorzegras 😚😚😚

jamie.drysdale IS THIS A THING

trevorzegras ????

yourusername 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

user1 Matching tattoos & a trip? Too sus

colton.dach I THOUGHT YOU LIKED CONNOR

adamfantilli WHAT HAPPENED

user2 whore

trevorzegras watch your mouth

barzal97 I’m officially out 😔

yourusername NO

yourusername COME BACK

yourusername You’re always #1 😘😘😘

_connorbedard No invite is crazy

yourusername make up for it when I get back?

_connorbedard I guess 🙄

user3 tension?!!!

user4 this girl sucks

_connorbedard Get outta here

madi_bedard GORGE

yourusername ughhh I’m in love with you

user5 *with your brother

_masonmctavish ^^^^

_connorbedard

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_connorbedard can’t take her anywhere

tagged yourusername

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yourusername added to their story!

yourusername

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yourusername go Blackhawks!

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jackhughes WHAT

trevorzegras why are we acting surprised

luke_hughes06 HE’S A CHILD

yourusername you’re a child

ryanwhitney6 MY EYES

colton.dach you dirty liar

adamfantilli “there’s nothing between us”

nhlblackhawks “we’re just best friends”

trevorzegras Even the team is invested in this 😐

biznasty Connor you dirty dog

yourusername 40 yr old in the comment section 🥱

biznasty Connor she’s mean

yourusername who knew biz was whiny

barzal97 what about us 😔

yourusername Mat he can be gone in 5 seconds

trevorzegras Connor wonnor has a girllll friendddd

_connorbedard Yeah that’s one more than you 🤠

yourusername 🫣

jamie.drysdale Yikes getting roasted by a 12 yr old

trevorzegras JAMIE!? BE ON MY SIDE

jamie.drysdale that was kinda a dig at both of you

trevorzegras I don’t care care it should only be a dig at HIM

yourusername trouble in paradise 😬

_connorbedard

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_connorbedard a full trip around the ☀️

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biznasty Are you 30 yet?

_connorbedard just turned 19 bud

yourusername lover 😚

_connorbedard ❤️❤️

user1 🤮

user2 mans pulled a baddie like yn … let me know your ways

madi_bedard sista sista

madi_bedard I’m stealing her

yourusername im yours <3

trevorzegras and Connor’s and Mat’s ?

yourusername yes.

colton.dach yn > Connor 🤷🏼‍♀️

olivermoore11 agreed.

titobeauvi91 she has a more pleasant presence

_connorbedard wow TEAMMATES thank you!

jamie.drysdale YOU’VE BEEN DATING A YEAR!?

luca.fantilli That’s gotta be illegal

trevorzegras Not so team Connor and yn now huh Jimmy

yourusername oh please you wouldn’t have known we were dating if I didn’t tell you

barzal97 🤘🏻

user3 you need someone better than yn

trevorzegras lol good luck finding anyone better

barzal97 she’s a national treasure

jamie.drysdale haters will be haters

_connorbedard too bad I love her 🤷🏼‍♀️

yourusername boys stop it I’m blushing ☺️

adamfantilli he said the L word 🤢

A/N I’m … back ??

#nhl #hockey #hockey imagine #instagram edit #instagram imagine #connor bedard #chicago blackhawks #nhl imagine #hockey players #connor bedard imagine

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citrusy-lemons · 11 months

Text

meet-cute

tasm!peter x reader (university au)

summary: you're late to your class and someone's left a skateboard on your path. the owner of the skateboard has very brown eyes.

w/c: 0.8k

author's note: um, hi. this is the first thing i've written for peter parker (i know, shocking, i mostly read about him) so i'm not sure whether i've captured his essence, but i tried. also i know it's a bit cringey but i started writing it in the reader's pov and i couldn't change it to peter's in the middle like i wanted to so, i guess, next time. i hope you like this! constructive criticism is encouraged, please be nice :)

you had not imagined your first day of university to go this way. it was a cloudy day, pleasant and not too windy. you were hoping to make it to class a few minutes early and have everything set up before the professor arrived.

but instead, you were late, you were not organized at all, and you were panicking. all because your stupid alarm hadn’t gone off. why? because you’d forgotten to change the timezone in your phone. moving to the new city had not been easy and now you were super late for your class.

cursing yourself for your stupidity, you were hurrying across the campus, you weren’t sure where your class was, but you were hoping that you’re walking in the right direction.

checking your bag, hoping to god that you’d grabbed the right books on your way out, with a cup of coffee in your other hand, you awkwardly jogged across the campus to the building where you hoped would be philosophy by mr. jackson.

you were in the midst of congratulating yourself on successfully having the correct textbooks in your bag when the earth shifted.

okay maybe that was a bit dramatic but that was what had happened to you. the earth hadn’t shifted, but you’d fallen on your butt because someone had left a skateboard lying in the middle of the walking path.

thankfully, your coffee hadn’t spilled but your books sure had. looking up you found a brown-haired boy bashfully kneeling down and start collecting the books, profusely apologizing.

"-really sorry, are you okay? did you break anything? i broke my ankle a couple of years ago but i was just being stupid, oh god did you break your ankle? i hope you didn't, that hurts a lot. i'm so so sorry, are you okay?" he finished, turning his brown eyes on you in concern.

he looked very... soft. he was wearing a brown jacket and a navy blue zip up over a light blue tshirt. his headphones were hanging out of the neck of his tshirt. he looked like he smiled a lot. his brown hair was ruffled, his brows furrowed and you realized he was still waiting for your answer.

"i dont think i've broken my ankle if that's what you're worried about," you sat up. your butt was sore, but other than that you were okay.

"okay, that's good, that's a start, anything else broken?" he bit his lip, and you tried not to stare at it.

"no, doesn't feel like it," you took a breath, and looked away from him, towards the guilty board, "why don't you explain why your skateboard was just lying there?"

he helped you up, your coffee was still intact, you dusted yourself off.

"oh, uh yeah, again, i'm really sorry, i was checking my schedule on whether philosophy was right now or in an hour and i didn't realise it had rolled away from me," he did look very guilty, his frown saying as much.

he returned your books and you stuffed them in your bag which was lying on the ground. he was still looking at you.

"be careful then," say something clever, why wasn't your brain working?

"i'm really sorry," he offered, why was he still looking at you?

he picked his own bag up from the ground and looked away, grabbing his skateboard too.

you blinked.

"i think philosophy is right now,"

he looked at you again.

"which reminds me," you walked past him, fast. almost running, looking straight ahead.

philosophy is right now and you are very late.

"um, hey!" you heard him call out and turned around, still walking. he was facing your direction, looking at you again.

"philosophy by mr. jackson?" he asked, his skateboard in one hand and his brown bag slung across his back. did he really like the color brown?

"yeah," you called back, hoping he didn't have the same class as you.

"his classroom's that way," he pointed his thumb behind him.

goddamnit.

you stopped and started walking in his direction and he joined with you as you went past him. he took the hint that you were late and didn't really feel like making conversation. you tried not to visually show your panic but he seemed like a good observer.

you both reached the classroom (it was the first room in the building how could you have missed it?), and saw that yeah, you guys were very late.

the classroom was full, and a middle aged man was already talking to the students. professor jackson noticed you both before you had a chance to say anything.

"ah late on the first day, not making a good impression mr. and miss...?"

"peter- uh parker, peter parker," the boy next to you said.

you introduced yourself and mr. jackson let you both get to your seats without further embarrassment.

you sat down, pulled your textbook out and tried listening to what the professor was saying.

you looked for him and found peter parker's brown eyes already on you.

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