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kryptonitejelly · 3 days

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art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as she easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x y/n #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson x female reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers imagine #not cm #not tg

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ariadne-mouse · 1 day

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Thinking about Dorian's new wardrobe - specifically the swap to gold signifying his new heir status and the "sluttiest" shirt etc - and remembering earlier in the campaign when the party went to the masquerade ball. Dorian had been planning to wear something he wanted to wear (the flowy beige chiffon outfit he wore in the pageant in ExU) but when the plan changed to subterfuge, he very pragmatically chose something conservative, militaristic, and introduced himself as "Brontë Secondsun of the Silken Squall". Notably, he discarded the outfit he'd originally wanted (3x12):

As I do, put those things away, I'm going to reach into my bag and pull out the outfit that I had, which was this chiffon outfit that I had previously gotten a long time ago, and look at it for a minute. Then I'll pull out the mâché mask that I had, and I'll crumble them both up and throw them in the bottom of the bureau, and leave them behind and go back down to the group.

He'd been looking forward to a chance of expressing himself, and when he realizes he can't (by choice, for the sake of the mission), he literally buries his feelings. Having to lean into his family identity is not a happy occasion for him; it represents everything he's trying to escape and a suppression of the self he's trying to become.

What's interesting about his most recent costume change is that in learning the reason for swapping silver to gold, it also tells us that Dorian has actually been wearing a reminder of his status in his family this whole time, on his everyday clothes. His winged boots are ancestral, but they have the excuse of being a useful magical item - Dorian could choose whatever metallic accent style he wanted for his clothes. And in using all silver, he never completely erased Brontë Secondsun Wyvernwind, he just embedded the title in his color scheme. Wearing gold now feels like grieving Cyrus as much as it does the grim acceptance of his new inheritance, but the two things are intertwined.

The "sluttiest" shirt meanwhile is a pretty straightforward continuation of the flamboyant style he yearned for in the masquerade. And with such loss behind him and the dire mission before them - if not now, when? If they get out of all this alive, he may return home and have to resume whatever pomp and circumstance are required there. Life's short; wear a sheer blouse.

All told, Dorian's new outfit and presentation are such a wild mix of messages. My brother is dead. I'm the heir now. My familial duty is part of me and I acknowledge this despite having very complicated feelings about it. But I'm also going 1000% on my dramatic personal style that doesn't match what I would wear at home as a prince. I have left behind beloved familiar instruments and chosen new ones. I am simultaneously reinventing myself in my desired image, cutting away things I think I must, and reaffirming my roots to which I am tied now more than ever. And I'm gonna do it all tits out.

#really just excellent choices and details by Robbie #cr spoilers #c3e96 #dorian #dorian storm #critical role #op

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delfiore · 1 day

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—SAD TO BREATHE (THE AIR WHEN YOU'RE NOT THERE).

pairing: aitana bonmatí x uswnt!reader

synopsis: aitana leaves for the international break and you become a mopey little shit.

word count: 1.1k

a/n: something short and sweet to get me back into the writing groove. the final inspired me this. and yk what this was nice, writing fluff ... is nice (sometimes).

It was embarrassing, really, the way you moped.

Unapologetically, you pouted and rolled around on the couch, convulsing and whining the way a child would beg for more candy. You would be convulsing and whining standing up if you weren’t so hung over from all the alcohol and clubbing you had done the past two days (most of which was justified, most of it).

“Do you have to go?” You knew the answer to that. In your mind, you looked very convincing. You’d hoped Aitana would notice and take pity on you and spare you a glance amidst her running around the house to pack.

“Amor, I’ll be back in two weeks.” Then she switched to Catalan. “[Plus you’re going soon too anyway.]”

It was true that the USWNT camp would assemble tomorrow, but that was one more day you would have liked to spend with Aitana after all the chaos of the Champions League weekend. The whirlwind of Barcelona’s victory has left little time for you to be alone with her. As soon as the match was over, the celebrations began, and Carla and the media team deemed that most of it should be on record. You wanted to be with your girlfriend so badly, but with Aitana dutifully attending to Carla’s every PR need, you were left pouting and giving her sad puppy eyes long before this morning.

“But-but—” you groaned as another wave of the pounding headache hit you, and you lay back down on the cushions.

“You see, this is why you shouldn’t drink so much.” She said, standing in front of you for a second to check that you weren’t going to vomit everywhere on the new couch.

“I’m sleepy. Come cuddle, please.”

You watched her stuff another pair of pants into the suitcase that lay open in the middle of the living room. “I didn’t ask you to get up with me.” She didn’t look amused. Somehow, it spurred you on even more, to know that she was having none of your shit but still engaged.

“But I always notice when you’re not in bed with me,” you whined again. “Can’t sleep after that.”

Aitana shook her head, barely acknowledging your predicament, scanning her suitcase, then went back upstairs.

With Herculean willpower, you stood up and followed her up the stairs. You stopped at the door of your shared bedroom, watching her collect her things from the en-suite bathroom.

“It’s just, I’m gonna miss you,” you said pathetically, “a lot.”

You didn’t know why, but this particular stint between this upcoming international break and the last felt much longer than others. It might have had something to do with the many things that happened during it—the many trophies that, looking back, you thought the team must have been running on crack to have won all of them whilst keeping yourselves fit and sane. In the middle of all that, you had Aitana, and she had you. The spotlight wasn’t easy, but it was alright because you both had each other to return to at the end of the night.

Finally, your pout must have worked because Aitana set her toiletry bag down on the counter when she met your eyes in the mirror. “Oh, amor. Why are you acting like a child?”

You didn’t care that you were; you just wanted your girlfriend to hold you before duties take her away.

Resting your head on her shoulder, you let out a sigh of desperation when she put her arms around your waist.

“I’m gonna die here, all alone, all by myself, and you don’t even care.”

“You’re not going to die, Y/N,” Aitana scoffed, but she held you closer. “[I’m sorry we didn’t spend much time together after the match]. Winning is exhausting, sí?”

You blew a raspberry. “Can’t wait for this season to be over.”

“No, you don’t, because then it means we’re going to the Olympics.”

You groaned, and plopped yourself onto the bed. “I don’t like playing against you.”

Aitana giggled, the sound floating like music in your ears. “Why? Scared you’ll lose?”

“Excuse you!” You put your hands on your hips. “I’m calling it, you guys versus us in the final. Better start practicing those free kicks.” You grinned and pulled her close, bumping your nose against her stomach.

“We’ll see.” When she leaned down to kiss you, you were ready and puckered your lips, but Aitana had the audacity to evade you and pecked your forehead instead.

She grabbed your chin and finally bestowed on your lips the kiss that you had been yearning for.

It’s not ever easy to let down your defenses, but with Aitana it felt so easy to do so. You never thought you’d ever be this lucky, certainly not two years ago, when you first transferred to Barcelona and Aitana started consuming your every thought. From the moment you laid eyes upon that beautiful smile and her unstinting kindness, you knew you were gone.

The memory of your first meeting lingered in your mind as your girlfriend dragged her suitcase towards the front door.

“I’ll call you when I get to camp,” she said.

“You promise?”

“Yes, promise. Now come here.” Her hands found yours and tugged you forward as you grinned. How could you not smile when her face was so close to yours? “I love you.”

You cupped her face and kissed her softly. “T’estimo.”

“Don’t be too sad, okay? It will go by quickly.” At least she pitied you enough to reassure you.

As you watched her get into her Uber, you could only wish she was right.

Aitana kept her promise and FaceTimed you once she had settled at camp a few hours later. The conversation didn’t last long, as she had to go quickly after that.

“I’m sorry,” you remembered saying.

“For what, my love?”

“For being clingy,” you laughed and shrugged. “I don’t know . . .”

It was a surprise, then, after you had packed your things for your early flight back to the States that night, that she called you again before you went to bed.

“Babe, is everything alright?” You had feared the worst when she texted you.

Are you still awake? Can we talk?

Super cryptic.

“Yes, everything is good.” After a quick pause, she said, “I couldn’t sleep. I miss you.”

A large grin crept onto your lips. “Well well well, how the tables have turned.”

As you heard a groan on the other side of the phone, you laughed, and thanked your lucky star above that you had someone like Aitana to look forward to coming home to.

#aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmatí x reader #aitana bonmatí #aitana bonmatí imagines #aitana bonmati imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #woso x reader #aitana bonmati

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gaywarcriminals · 2 days

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Shen Jiu's obvious motivation in telling Yue Qi that his legs are broken are to get YQ to fucking leave already before he gets caught, idiot, but I think it also has a parallels to an interesting behavior in children: when a kid is hurt in a way that they don't understand, find hard to articulate, or they know isn't seen as "bad enough" to cause this level of distress, they will sometimes lie and say that something more obvious and readily pitiable has happened to them to get someone else, usually an adult, to care/understand/sympathize. It's a plea for someone to acknowledge that they're suffering.

I feel like part of the reason SJ told YQ that is because he needed some way to convey how much he was suffering. On a surface level, SJ is "just" badly beaten and bruised, something that has probably happened to both SJ and YQ before. But ofc that's not all there is to it: QJL dehumanizes SJ and takes obvious joy in his suffering, treating him like a plaything. It's frightening and disquieting in a way that SJ himself probably minimizes or feels weak for being affected by, so how could he possibly tell Yue Qi? How could he explain how bad his life was going to be under QJL's boot? Just telling YQ he was beaten couldn't convey how hurt and scared he was.

Can't you see I'm in pain, Qi-ge? You can't forget that. You have to hurry.

#svsss #shen jiu #yue qingyuan #qijiu #fish.txt #fish meta

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aajxs · 2 days

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BUT WE'RE TOO DAMN SOBER (FOR MISTAKES LIKE THIS) RIN ITOSHI

⚽ : ̗̀➛ rin itoshi has been your best friend for years and you're both adamant on keeping it that way, even with the undeniable tension that constantly lingers whenever you're together. it's not long until the rope snaps and you're unable to resist anymore.

CONTENTS // friends to ? / aged up characters / mentions of reader having past relationships / no confessions / pining / mentions of pro!rin but it's not rlly important / "platonic" cuddling / prob ooc rin / nsfw 18+ / inexperienced rin but he gets the hang of it / mentions of m!masturbation / rin is kind of a perv / oral (f! receiving) / fingering / half assed smut, I got lazy / unedited // 4.3k

PAIRINGS // rin itoshi x fem!reader

A/N // so basically this came out of buttfuck nowhere! i hope y'all enjoy tho bc this man is giving me actual brainrot 😭🙏🏽 also im sorry if the smut is hot dogshit im rusty lmao

I RECOMMEND LISTENING TO. . . MISTAKES LIKE THIS BY PRELOW . . .WHILE READING

// MASTERLIST .

RIN ITOSHI would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy your presence. You with your wide grins and outgoing personality, it's almost like you were moulded by the sun itself the way you shine so brightly. He thinks you bring out that little bit of light in him. You're the only person that really, truly, can.

You used to think that Rin didn't like you. It might've been the constant sneer on his (unbelievably pretty) face, or maybe the dead gaze that he always stared at you with. You eventually came to the conclusion that he's just bad at communicating emotions that aren't anger, jealousy, or pride.

You can barely remember how you became friends in the first place, really. You remember meeting in highschool when his determination to beat his older brother came before everything else.

Rin was popular for nearly all the wrong reasons. He was notorious for his position as captain of the boys soccer team, but was more known as aloof, mean, and haughty all in one. He thought he was better than the rest of the world, and you were determined to change that.

You've always been good at getting people to notice you, so catching his attention wasn't the hard part. It was getting him to hold a conversation with you. It's not like he was nervous, he just didn't like you much at first. You were too popular and too happy and you were a distraction. Rin Itoshi didn't need friends, much less distractions. His eyes were set strictly on his goals, and he would make all of them come true.

So why were you so insistent on being a part of his life, and completely altering the plan that he had so carefully made? Rin ignored you for awhile. Maybe if he didn't acknowledge you, then you'd go away.

But it was so hard to not pay attention to you. It still is hard to keep himself from letting his thoughts wander to you throughout the day.

It started with little things like greetings in the halls that he brushed off. Then you began sitting with him at lunch rather than with your group of yes-men. Your conversation was mostly one sided, just you rambling on and on about your day as if he was listening.

(He's always listening, but he'd never admit that)

It didn't take long for him to start responding to your advances to be his friend. You greeted him in the hallway? He looked at you and pursed his lips. It wasn't much, but it was a start. When you'd sit with him at lunch, he'd give you reactions whenever you said something that caught his attention. He rarely replied, and when he did it was usually something cocky or disregarding.

Soon enough you were a constant in his life. Your peers thought you might be a bit crazy for even interacting with the notoriously aloof and mean Rin Itoshi, but you never cared about their opinions. Rin was different with you than he was them. It didn't take common sense to know that you had charmed him, and the two of you were becoming friends.

And now, many years later, you're even closer than before. You're practically joined at the hip at this point, in your eyes. You get to see a side of Rin that you don't think he's ever showed anyone before, and you're extremely grateful for the confidence you had to force him into a friendship with you.

You're polar opposites, but it's like you were made for each other. Crafted by completely separate hands, yet somehow managed to be put on display directly next to each other.

You make sure that people know of your friendship. From the way you scream his name louder than anybody else at his games to the way you brag endlessly about your best friend. Some people might even assume that you're a couple with the way you flaunt him, but it's not like he's any better.

"Hey Rin, are you going to the celebration dinner?" His teammates would ask, and he'd just stare at them for a few moments. "Nah, I've got plans with-"

"Wait! Let me guess, that hot girl you always have plans with?" A different teammate would cut him off with a knowing grin, and Rin could only purse his lips because they're spot on.

Not to mention you and Rin practically watched each other grow up. You met when you were sophomores in highschool, and now your full grown adults with jobs.

Rin was there for you through each and every failed relationship, helping you when nobody else could possibly imagine the feelings you were going through. And you were there for Rin when his expectations for himself became a bit too much. It was an unspoken agreement to always be there for one another. Being best friends came with a lot of those 'unspoken agreements.'

Like not acknowledging the tension when you come a little too close to each other, or when your knees accidentally touch under the table and neither of you move, or when your hands brush together while you're walking side by side.

Like right now, when you're playing with his tussled hair after a particularly rough game. His strong arms are tightly wrapped around your waist, and his uniform is still on. The only thing he's taken off are his cleats, but it's not like that stopped him from getting turf that got stuck in his shoes on your couch. He smells like musk and dirt and the field, yet you can only focus on the head resting tiredly on your breasts and the anger radiating off of him as his grip tightens every once and awhile. You take a moment to acknowledge the weight of him and the way he's not even trying to keep from crushing you under his tired body.

The game was only won due to a lucky shot by Rin, and he's probably thinking about how useless his teammates were in those final few minutes right about now. He's done that quite a lot since he went pro.

You decided that you'd just order in to your shared home. It's not really where you live, but you stay over enough for it to be your house too (not to mention you picked out each and every piece of furniture in the house and the house itself, but nobody really has to know that).

"Rin," You start, catching his attention with the sound of your velvety voice. He has always thought his name sounded better when you said it, and right about now it's music to his ears. "I'm not gonna lie, you stink. Go shower and you can hug me all you want when you're done."

He looks up at you, an indiscernible emotion in his aquamarine eyes as he gazes longingly at you. You raise a brow, and he only keeps staring. Rin doesn't tell you often, but he thinks you're the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.

He's too busy staring at you that he doesn't even realize your hands have left his hair and you're now trying to shove him off of you. A small frown makes its way onto his face as he saves you the energy, getting up.

"What did you order?" He monotonously asks as he stretches, a small groan leaving his pink lips as he opts for sitting on the couch rather than laying on you. His shirt rides up ever so slightly and you can't help but glance down at the little peek you get of his v-line.

You avert your gaze and look back at his face, only to see him already staring back at you. You don't acknowledge the fact that he definitely saw you looking.

"I haven't ordered anything yet. What do you want?" You ask as you curl your legs towards your chest. Rin stares at you with hazy half-lidded eyes, and you can only stare back, awaiting his answer.

"I was thinking sushi." He says after a few moments, "But you can order whatever. I'll be in the shower." He quickly adds before getting up, leisurely walking towards the bathroom.

You take a quick moment to admire him as he walks away, silently eyeing him as he turns a corner and enters the hallway leading to his bathroom. You exhale slowly before unlocking your phone and calling in at your favorite restaurant to order some food.

When you hear the water start, you have to completely turn off your imagination because you really don't want to think about your best friend showering right now.

You definitely don't want to think about the toned muscles on his body that you never get to see. If you're being honest, if you didn't value your friendship with Rin, you probably would have asked him out already.

It sounds laughable that he would even give you a chance, but even a blind person could see the thick rope of tension between the two of you. You and Rin choose to ignore it for the sake of your friendship, but sometimes you wonder if ruining what you worked so hard to build might be the right thing to do. Who knows? Maybe Rin might feel the same way you do.

But that's just the problem, Rin doesn't have a crush on you. Not even close. At least that's what he tells himself when his hands wander between his legs at night and all he can imagine is you. Maybe it's more than a crush, but neither of you will ever know because he surely won't be acknowledging it and he will never tell you of it. Because the last thing Rin Itoshi will ever do is speak of his feelings for you because maybe if he simply never acknowledges them then they'll go away.

More importantly, it's not like you'd ever like him back anyways. Sure there are moments where he thinks his feelings could be returned, but with the way you hop between relationship after relationship, he doesn't think you'd be able to settle down with him.

Oh, how wrong you both are.

A good ten minutes pass when you finally hear the water shut off. Usually his showers take less than seven, but you don't think much of it. He must've just been extra sluggish today. You rise from the couch with a small sigh, standing above the spot Rin once sat in. You brush bits of turf off the soft couch, absentmindedly cursing Rin for always getting stuff dirty after matches.

"What'd I do?" He says from a few feet away, immediately catching your attention with his thick voice. You slightly jump at his sudden appearance, quickly turning to face him.

"You need to stop getting dirt all over the couch. It's gross and sucks to clean." You frown at your friend as you take him in. His dark hair is wetly sticking to his forehead and his fresh white T-shirt and grey sweatpants are tight in all the right places. Curse him for being so attractive.

Rin begins walking towards you, and you raise a brow. "Sorry, I'll remember that next time." He says as he rubs his tired eyes before sliding past you, placing a large hand on your hip as he does so. You hope he doesn't notice the way you shudder at the small gesture.

He lays down on the couch and you huff as you plop down on top of him. He lets out a small groan, and you laugh softly. You're in the same position you were just ten minutes ago, this time reversed. Your head is resting on his strong chest and your arms are around his neck rather than tightly wrapped around his torso.

You adjust your head so you're looking up at him. Rin is practically hugging you, strong arms locked around your body. You remember the days when Rin avoided your touch like the plague, but now he practically craves it.

"When's the food gonna get here?" He asks tiredly, eyes half lidded. You stare at him through your lashes.

"I would check, but you're laying on top of my phone." You nuzzle your face further into his body, getting a bit more comfortable. You don't question why his heart is racing, practically beating out of chest.

"And you're laying on top of me, so it looks like we're both at a loss here." He hugs you the slightest bit tighter. It doesn't seem like he wants you off anytime soon.

"That's okay, I'll get up when it gets here." You smile as you take in his face. You think you could stare at Rins perfectly moulded face forever. His sharp jawline, the curve of his nose, eyelashes you'd die for, the prettiest turquoise eyes.

You're mere inches away from the most exquisite sculpture with every detail perfected from the miniscule to the perceptible. If not a masterpiece chiseled by skilled hands, then what is Rin Itoshi but an angel sent straight from the skies above?

Rin stops hugging you, his hands trailing down your back and softly gripping your waist. You pull one hand from behind his head and begin tracing his thick bicep.

At the rate his heart is going you think he might go into cardiac arrest. You take your other hand and gently place it over his heart, smirking to yourself as you feel it speed up. It's taking everything in Rin to keep his hands from wandering. It always does when you're in positions like this. You must think he's being friendly, but he'll never admit that he just likes the feeling of your body on his. Other best friends do this type of stuff too, don't they? You can't be the only ones.

Rins hand moves ever so slightly, his pinky finger resting slightly under the waistband of your shorts. You flinch, your gaze flitting to his. He just stares at you, an unintelligible look in his eyes.

His hand moves again, sliding further into your shorts. You push yourself slightly off his chest just as your breath hitches, and he pauses. "What?" His lips twitch, as if holding back a dirty grin.

"You know what you're doing." You say breathily. Rins hand moves the slightest bit more, and your eyes widen. A warning, telling him that he should stop. But do you want him to stop?

He props himself up with an elbow. You sit on his abdomen, and heat shoots through your body where his hand lingers near your behind. His name softly leaves your lips, a silent plea. For what, you're unsure, but you can't deny that what you're feeling right now is returned.

With one look you're able to discern the emotions that you both have kept stowed away for so long. Hidden beneath subtle, second-too-long touches and friendly looks that should be reserved for lovers.

Lovers. You think that's what you want to be with Rin.

You don't think as your lips sloppily slot themselves on dhis. You can feel the smile that forms as he kisses you. Your lips move in synchrony, practically made for each other.

You're restless, unable to keep your hands from wandering as they run up his clothed chest and pull at his damp hair. You involuntarily grind your hips into his torso as his tongue slips into your mouth.

And then you begin thinking again. You rush to pull away from him, scrambling to get your lips off his. His hands swiftly make their way to your waist, keeping you on top of him as he follows your head as it backs away from his own.

"Rin we can't-" You stammer, "We shouldn't-" Your hands are still in his hair, the only thing keeping his lips from yours.

"We really shouldn't," He says lowly, staring at you with desperation evident in his eyes, "But you want this too right? You want me too?"

More than you'll ever know, you don't say as your lips connect with his once again. This time it's sloppier than the first, less controlled and full of much more need. You're hands are everywhere this time.

Up his shirt and running across his toned body. His hands are everywhere too. They're trailing up and down your bare back, as if unable to figure out where to put them.

You break away from the kiss and Rin takes the opportunity to pull your shirt above your head, leaving you close enough to bare in front of him. You tug his shirt over his head and take no more than a second to attack his jugular. He gasps as you lick and suck and bite at his throat.

"What're you? A fuckin' v-vampire?" He breathes shakily. You hum into his skin, sending a vibration through his body. Rins hands make their way to your breasts, cursing lowly as he savors the feeling of your tits in his large hands.

His thumbs run over your hardened nipples, causing you to sharply exhale into his skin. Rin has never gone farther than hand holding. So this? Touching you? It's all a whole different level for him.

(Not that he's complaining, Rin can officially die happy now that he knows what your lips feel like.)

Suddenly you're tired of sucking on his skin and you rush to put your lips back on his. You're not yet used to the foreign feeling, but you think you could get used to it.

Your hips roll in a way that makes him silently gasp, and you use the opening of his lips to insert your tongue. Rin can feel his oxygen slowly depleting from the intensity of your mouth on his, nearing breathlessness. That fact doesn't stop him from cupping your face and shoving you further into himself.

Rin can feel your hands wandering from his hair to his thick, muscle filled arms and then further down his body. You trace every indent of his toned abs, nearing the prominent v-line. Any closer and Rin might ruin his sweats.

You're the first to pull away from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting you to him. Rin thinks the couch in his home is probably the worst place to have you, but he doesn't have the patience to carry you all the way upstairs into his bed. He takes no time tightly gripping your hips and flipping you over on the soft couch.

His warm mouth trails down your jaw, kissing down your throat and skimming over your collarbone before continuing down your chest. He barely pecks your sensitive nipples, and when you bite your lip to hold back a small moan he looks at you through long lashes.

"I want to hear you. Don't cover up." He says into your skin, sending a vibration through your body as he continues down your chest and onto your abdomen. He lingers there, kissing the supple skin before his big hands land on your shorts.

Rin looks at you, a silent request to continue. You nod, letting out this smallest "Please?" as you gaze at your best friend. After this you aren't sure if you'll ever be able to call him that again. Your eyes are dark with lust and desperation, and with a face and voice as beautiful as yours, Rin doesn't think anyone could ever think of resisting your plea.

He makes quick work of your shorts, tugging them down your legs and past your ankles, flinging them across the room.

"If we do this, tell me you won't regret it." He says as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your cotton undergarments. His words hit you somewhere deep down. Why would he think you'd regret him?

You look him straight in the eyes as you say, "I won't. I don't think I could ever regret anything about you." And with that, he places a sweet kiss on your pelvic region before touching the damp spot on your panties.

A small whine leaves your lips and you go to close your legs, but Rin stops you by practically tearing your underwear off your body. You gasp when the crip air hits you bare. He hooks strong arms around your thighs and places them over his shoulders. And then, he gives his full and undivided attention to the oozing mess in front of him. Heat shoots towards his agonizingly hard dick, and if he's not lucky he might not last another five minutes.

"I've never gone this far before, so tell me if I'm doing something wrong." His gaze flits to you before he drags his middle finger down your slit. You suck in a breath, and you can almost make out the small smile he gives himself before inserting the same finger into your pussy.

A low hum from the back of your throat turns into a quiet moan. After a few simple strokes of his finger he inserts a second, causing you to let out a slightly louder whimper.

And then his thumb makes its way to the bud full of all the pleasure you could need, and he rubs it in soft circles at the same pace of his fingers. You want to ask if he was being honest moments ago when he told you he's never gone this far.

Now with the addition of the second finger and the circles he's rubbing on your clit, the moans he's eliciting from you are constant. Low sounds that are like music to his sharp ears leave your plump lips. "D-don't be shy Rin, I can take whatever you give me." You stammer, and he exhales sharply.

Rin isn't sure how exactly to react to your words, but he takes it upon himself to quicken his slow pace. The faster he goes, the louder you get, and when he settles on a volume he likes he stays at that speed.

A bunch of curses and chants of his name leave your lips as he fucks into you with his fingers. Your hips roll and your body stirs with restlessness. Rin doesn't think he's seen anything more breathtaking, and the praises he sends towards you make you feel like something worth worshipping.

"You're so beautiful," He says breathlessly. Any time you try to properly reply he hits that familiar, particularly gummy spot inside you and a lewd string of moans leaves your open lips.

You can feel that familiar knot making its way into your stomach, building and building until it finally snaps with a cry of his name. Your warm juices squelch around him as they begin leaking out of your pussy, and he grins cockily. You've only ever seen such a determined, fired up look when he's on the field, and seeing it up close is enough to get you just as excited.

He slips his fingers out and tries to find a place to wipe them, but settles on licking his fingers clean. He was going to taste you sooner or later anyways. He's trying so inexplicably hard to not let out a groan at the taste of you.

"So fucking sweet," Rin says, more to himself, as he wastes no time placing his warm lips on your still sensitive pussy, licking a stripe down your folds. The moan you let slip is the same volume as the one you let out when you came, loud. He prods at your entrance with his tongue and places his thumb back on your clit. You hazily think there's no way Rin has never had sex before.

And then when he starts devouring you whole, you don't think you're complaining. He's sloppy and is eating you like a man starved, pumping his tongue in and out of your hole and gathering your juices in his mouth.

A chainlink of moans leave your pretty mouth, a sound Rin could definitely get used to. Especially when they're sweet chants of his name. Not the kind he usually gets after a good play on the field, but the kind that leaves his own knees wobbling.

Your thighs tighten around his head and he's practically trapped between your legs. You've always wondered what that mouth of his could do, now you know. Rin hums into your pussy, sending a vibration throughout your entire overly sensitive body.

His tongue leaves your cunt and he adds a few fingers to the mix, pushing them inside you. He peppers the inside of your thighs with kisses before returning his attention to your hole. You don't see the look on his face, but you know for a fact that it's curious as he softly takes your clit between his teeth. This elicits a loud moan from you, and neither of you can tell if it's one of pain or pleasure. When his head shoots up and his turquoise eyes flit to yours, as if asking if what he did was right or wrong.

The bottom half of his face is glossed over with your arousal, bits of your slick running down is chin. You think he looks good like this, damp hair tousled on his head and lips shiny with a mix of your wetness and his own saliva.

You shove his head back between your legs in an instant. Rin gets straight back to work, and it's not long before your legs are shaking and your moans are growing louder.

"Fuuuck- I'm g'na ah- cum," You manage to say between moans. You bury your head further into the couch when Rin hits that same extra gummy spot with his long fingers. Your vision goes white and a loud curse leaves your lips as the band in your stomach snaps violently. Rin slurps down every bit of liquid that sprays out of your pussy.

Rin wipes his mouth as he pulls away, but the doorbell ringing makes him pause. You're immediately brought out of your aroused haze and you lock eyes with Rin. Your eyes meet, and the canvas of his face has shock drawn all over it.

You both completely forgot about the food you ordered.

The realization of what just happened, what you both just did, hits the two of you like a full speed car. The look you share is full of something unspoken, but you both rush off the couch to find your clothes.

You share another look, and you speak first. "We'll talk later..?" You offer, and Rin blinks. Needless to say, you're going to need a new couch for the very long talk you're about to have with your 'best friend.'

#rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x you #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock #bllk #bllk x you #bllk rin #rin blue lock #blue lock x you #( 📝 aajxs — written works . )

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welcome-to-green-hills · 3 days

Note

So if Amy isn’t in the film, who would give the humanity speech to shadow?

Hi Hon❤️✨

I’ve shared this thought before, but I’m more than happy to talk about it again. I definitely think—and strongly feel—that moment needs to go to Sonic. Not Amy Rose. Please understand that this is not a hate post towards the character. This post is meant to be a reflection of the characters that we know and how they would respond the best to an emotional situation.

The conversation that Amy Rose had with Shadow worked because we got to grow up with her. Through a progression of years, we’ve watched Amy Rose go from cheerleader to becoming her own hero. We’ve had the pleasure of seeing her love the world around her over time. We’ve seen her form relationships with people, we’ve seen her create a life for herself everywhere she goes, we’ve seen her tag along on adventures and prove her worth, and we’ve seen her experience the good and bad that come with life as both a heroine and a civilian. That’s why the moment worked so well in Sonic Adventure 2; we got to grow up with her throughout the games and experience life through her perspective. And because we got that perspective of her “growing up,” her conversation felt much more meaningful in order to trigger a locked memory in Shadow.

This moment wouldn’t work in the films. We wouldn’t have the same relationship that we’ve formed with Amy Rose in a 2hr+ movie as we did in a span of 30-odd years. It wouldn’t feel natural and heartfelt either. The moment would feel like a forced interaction that pays homage to the games. However, this interaction would work best with Sonic Wachowski because we are watching him grow up. We’ve seen how Sonic Wachowski handles the bad and the good in SCU through a progression of years.

This moment needs to come from Sonic. He will have the a level of compassion that Shadow would need in order to snap back into reality. Believe it or not, Sonic also has an understanding of what it’s like to be compared to as something dangerous. The whole point of Sonic remaining hidden for years (from both humans and other species) is because of his abilities. His power is controlled by emotion; when unchecked, it can be dangerous. But when controlled, he can master it. That needs to be a conversation with Shadow, considering he’s viewed as both a weapon and hope for humanity.

Sonic also has an understanding of what it’s like to lose someone that he loves because of him existing. It’s a guilt that resides in both of them where it feels like it’s their fault for the loss of a life. Granted, their experiences are different in how they both loss their loved ones. No one will understand that better, and relate to Shadow better, other than Sonic.

Sonic will have a better understanding of how humans function in the modern world. We’ve seen a healthy balance in how humans respond to extraterrestrials coming to earth. The humans have either welcomed them with open arms, acknowledge their existence and move on, or try and steal their power. Sonic knows the wide range of response; he can vouch on the behalf of those that are kindhearted.

As much as I love Amy Rose, I don’t believe that this moment should come from her. This moment needs to come from Sonic. And that’s okay. Don’t include her into the film to act as an Easter egg. Include her for the right reason. Give her a proper moment that outshines that one. I guarantee you that she is so much more than that. I hope that this answers your question, my dear.

#shadow the hedgehog #sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #mystery anon #off topic

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theodorenmyth · 2 days

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Hi I saw ur requests are open! Could something where r and Theo are much older, and are both professors at hogwarts and they are hooking up but secretly madly in love and everyone kinds of knows it but they both deny it until a student in r’s class says something about finding a ring in theos office? And they have to go confront Theo about this little rumor.. maybe they end up getting engaged!!

The Secret Between Professors

Pairings : Theodore Nott x GN! Reader Summary : You and Theodore are hogwarts professors, and theodore wanted to propose to you but a student did it for him A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠) Warnings) : Nothing! Word count : 700+

The grand hallways of Hogwarts, with their centuries-old stone walls and magical portraits, seem as familiar as your own skin now. As a professor, you traverse these hallowed halls with a mixture of pride and nostalgia. Your colleague and secret lover, Theodore Nott, strides beside you, his presence a comforting constant in the ever-changing world of magical education.

Theodore and you have managed to keep your relationship under wraps for years. Though whispers have floated among the students and staff, neither of you has ever confirmed the rumors. There's an unspoken agreement between you two: the less said, the better. After all, you both value your privacy and professional reputations.

One brisk autumn morning, you find yourself teaching a group of fifth-year students about the intricacies of potion-making. Your focus is on explaining the delicate balance of ingredients when one of your more outspoken students raises a hand.

“Yes, Ms. Fairweather?” you acknowledge her, slightly apprehensive as to what she might say next. She’s notorious for her curiosity extending beyond the classroom.

“Professor, I heard a rumor that Professor Nott has a ring in his office. Is he getting engaged?” she asks, her eyes wide with genuine intrigue.

A murmur of excitement runs through the class, and you feel your cheeks flush. Clearing your throat, you maintain your composure. “I wouldn’t know anything about Professor Nott’s personal belongings, Ms. Fairweather. Let’s focus on the lesson, shall we?”

The rest of the class passes in a blur. Your thoughts are consumed with the idea of Theodore having a ring. Is it possible? Could he have been planning something without you knowing? The thought sends a thrill through you, mingled with a bit of anxiety. The students shuffle out, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. You waste no time, heading directly to Theodore's office, your footsteps echoing in the corridor. Reaching his door, you don't bother knocking and step inside, finding Theo engrossed in grading papers.

He looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes at your sudden entrance. "Y/N? What's wrong?"

You close the door behind you, leaning against it as you cross your arms. "One of my students found a ring in your office. Care to explain?"

Theo's eyes widen slightly, then he chuckles, a sound that melts some of your tension. "I suppose the cat's out of the bag, then." He reaches into his desk drawer and retrieves a small, intricately designed box. "I was going to wait for the right moment, but well, it seems our students have other plans."

You take a step closer, your heart pounding. "Theo, are you?"

He opens the box, revealing a stunning ring. "I was planning to propose to you, Y/N. I wanted it to be perfect, but maybe this is perfect in its own way."

Your breath catches, emotions swirling within you. "Theo, we've kept this secret for so long. Are you sure?"

He stands, crossing the space between you in two quick strides, taking your hands in his. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I love you, Y/N, and I don't want to hide it anymore."

Tears prick at your eyes as you look into his, seeing the love and certainty there. "Yes," you whisper, barely able to speak past the lump in your throat. "Yes, Theo, I'll marry you."

He slips the ring onto your finger, and it's as if the world stops for a moment. The two of you stand there, holding each other, a new chapter beginning in the same place your story started.

───────♡───────

The news spreads quickly. By the time Monday rolls around, it seems the entire school knows about your engagement. You and Theodore decide to stop hiding and embrace your future together openly.

The staff congratulates you, and the students are delighted. It turns out that many of them had been rooting for you all along. You walk hand-in-hand through the halls, no longer hiding your love.

At the end of the day, you find yourselves back in Theo's office, savoring the quiet after a whirlwind of congratulations and well-wishes. He pulls you close, his forehead resting against yours.

"I can't believe we waited this long," he murmurs.

"Better late than never," you reply, smiling up at him.

As the sun sets over Hogwarts, casting a golden glow through the windows, you realize that this is just the beginning of a new and magical chapter in your lives. Together, you and Theo will face whatever comes next, hand in hand, and heart to heart.

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nerdlingmerchling · 3 days

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Jesper and Dima : a Wesper Essay

I feel like we, as a Fandom, don't speak enough about that scene. Perhaps, it's because we know that Wesper is end-game and we can't see Jesper with anyone else than Wylan. Also, we might think that the purpose of that scene is only to establish Jesper as a queer character, and as a "player" who lives in the moment and has a string of anonymous hookups. HOWEVER, I'll argue that this scene has, in fact, everything to do with Wesper and reveals a lot more about Jesper as a character, about his aspirations, than we might give it credit for.

First of all, for what's supposed to be the aftermath of a "meaningless" quickie between strangers, this scene is incredibly tender. Jesper is being so earnest and gentle; in the way he speaks ; the way he kisses Dima goodbye, the way he touches his face, like he wants to imprint it in his memory. There's real emotion there ; real care, however fleeting.

But the true impact of that scene is in the way Jesper looks at Dima (props to Kit's acting there. We love you, Kit). There is so much longing in Jesper's eyes: it's plain to see, and almost painful to watch. He's probably not longing for Dima himself ; they haven't known each other long enough, but he's longing for a meaningful connection, something of lasting substance ; for companionship...for love. Jesper knows and understands that this wasn't meant to be (he says so himself). And yet, there's grief in the way he watches Dima leave. Why? BECAUSE IT'S NOT THE FIRST TIME THIS HAPPENS TO HIM.

It's not the first time Jesper has a lover walk out on him. For him, watching Dima go is exactly like waking up alone after his first night with Wylan : it's the rejection and the sudden severing of a bond that barely had time to form. I'm going to quote my friend Ras :"Jesper is having war flashbacks" and yes, that's exactly what this is. Maybe he's not specifically thinking about Wylan in that instant, but that kind of hurt and disappointment is still a familiar feeling to him.

Yes, of course, Jesper is a flirt. Yes, of course he loves sex. And there's something enjoyable, exciting, and thrilling for him when he engages in impromptu sexual encounters with strangers, but Jesper is also someone who's deeply insecure and in constant need of validation. When his lovers walk out on him, he can't help but feel unlovable: good enough for a shag, but not good enough to keep around. What he truly wants is for someone to care about him: truly, deeply, meaningfully. But it's easier for his self-esteem to jump from one hook up to the next, because at the end of the day, he can tell himself he chose this lifestyle. When Wylan reminds him of his "reputation", saying "I thought someone like you wouldn't want anything more ", Jesper doesn't contradict him, but he's still stung by those words. Jesper is a player who doesn't really want to be one. At his core, this is not him. It's just a self-defense mechanism.

I feel like his brief time with Dima was sort of a tipping point for Jesper. He had no choice but to acknowledge the longing and the need for something more.

And then there's Wylan. To be able to reconnect with a past lover was an unexpected second chance for Jesper ; a wink from Lady Luck. He wasn't going to give up so easily this time.

In other words, Jesper/Dima walked so Jesper/Wylan could run. So I'm grateful for that scene in season one, which might seem inconsequential and gratuitous at first glance, but truly isn't.

Thanks for your attention.

#marie overanalyzes stuff #wesper #jesper fahey #dima the stablehand #wylan van eck #wylan x jesper #six of crows #shadow and bone

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iovebarca · 3 days

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Tides Of Love - Pablo Gavi

Authors note: I was trying to make a longer fic but I don't know how I feel about it so i may delete it later on😭 like idk if this moves too fast n whatever so yh

Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, not proofread

WC: 2400

Summary: Childhood friends Pablo and the reader share an unbreakable bond, supporting each other through thick and thin. After a heartfelt confession, they realize their mutual feelings and embark on a romantic journey together.

The sun rises over Barcelona, casting a golden glow over the city as you start your day. Today, like every other day, you're headed to pick up your best friend, Pablo, for his training session. Pablo Gavi, the talented football player, has been your closest friend since childhood. You've seen each other through thick and thin, and your bond is unbreakable.

As you arrive at his apartment, Pablo is already waiting for you, his gym bag slung over his shoulder and a bright smile on his face. He hops into your car, and the two of you drive to the training grounds, chatting and laughing about everything and nothing.

"Remember when we used to play football in the park, and you would always steal the ball from me?" Pablo teases, his eyes sparkling with fond memories.

"Hey, I had to keep you on your toes somehow," you reply with a grin. "Who knew you'd end up playing for Barcelona?"

Your daily routine is a testament to your deep connection. You bring him to training, support him during matches, and spend almost every free moment together. Yet, despite this closeness, there's an unspoken agreement between you both to brush off any romantic feelings. Neither of you wants to risk the friendship that means so much.

At the training grounds, you wave goodbye to Pablo and head to the stands, where Pedri, another of your mutual friends and a fellow FC Barcelona player, is waiting. Pedri knows about the feelings you both harbor but refuse to acknowledge. He's made it his mission to encourage Pablo to take a leap of faith.

"Hey, Pedri," you greet, taking a seat beside him. "Ready to watch Pablo show off his skills for the last time this season?"

Pedri chuckles. "Always. But, you know, I think there's something more important we need to talk about."

You raise an eyebrow, curious. "Oh? And that is?"

Pedri leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You and Pablo. It's obvious you both like each other. What's stopping you?"

Your heart skips a beat at his words, but you quickly brush it off with a laugh. "Pedri, you know we're just friends. Besides, it would complicate things. I don't want to ruin what we have."

Pedri shakes his head, a knowing smile on his face. "Sometimes, the best relationships start as friendships. You both deserve to be happy, and I can see that you make each other happy."

As the training session progresses, you watch Pablo with a mix of pride and longing. His dedication, skill, and passion for football are inspiring, but it's his kindness and unwavering support that have truly captured your heart. Despite the butterflies in your stomach, you push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on being the best friend you can be.

Pablo interacts with his teammates, sharing jokes and laughs. One of them, Ferran, playfully nudges Pablo. "Hey, Gavi, your number one fan is here as always," he says, glancing at you with a grin.

Pablo laughs, glancing over at you. "Couldn't do it without her," he replies, his voice sincere.

After training, Pablo jogs over to you, sweat-soaked but beaming. "How'd I do?" he asks, grabbing a water bottle from his bag.

"Amazing, as always," you reply, handing him a towel. "You never fail to impress."

Pedri joins you, clapping Pablo on the back. "Great session, man. But you know, there's something you should probably work on outside the pitch too."

Pablo looks between you and Pedri, a puzzled expression on his face. "What are you talking about?"

Pedri smirks. "Just think about it, Pablo. Sometimes, the best opportunities are right in front of you."

As you watch the exchange between Pablo and Pedri, a flutter of hope stirs in your chest. Could it be that Pedri sees what you've been trying so hard to ignore? Is it possible that your feelings for Pablo are not as one-sided as you'd thought?

And as the day draws to a close, you find yourself lost in thoughts of what might be. Could this be the beginning of something new, something more than just friendship? Only time will tell, but for now, you cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, love is waiting just around the corner.

After the last training session of the season, Pablo, Pedri, and you decide to take a much-needed vacation to a small beach city in Spain. The picturesque town, with its golden sands and crystal-clear waters, promises a perfect getaway from the hustle and bustle of your regular lives.

The three of you rent a charming house close to the beach, and as the days pass, you and Pablo find yourselves spending even more time together. Whether it's lounging on the beach, exploring the local markets, or sharing quiet moments under the starlit sky, the connection between you two grows stronger. The unspoken tension, however, becomes almost unbearable.

One day, you and Pablo build sandcastles on the beach, laughing and competing to see who can make the best one. "You're still a kid at heart," you tease, smiling fondly at him.

"And you love me for it," he retorts, his eyes twinkling.

That evening, while Pedri is out picking up groceries, you and Pablo are in the kitchen, preparing dinner together. The intimacy of the moment—chopping vegetables side by side, the occasional brush of hands—heightens the tension. You can feel Pablo's eyes on you, and when you finally look up, your gazes lock.

"Pablo," you say softly, feeling a rush of emotions.

"Yes?" he replies, his voice equally soft, his eyes never leaving yours.

The air between you crackles with anticipation, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside the kitchen has ceased to exist. Pablo takes a step closer, and your heart races. You can feel his breath on your skin, and just as his lips are about to meet yours, the front door swings open.

Pedri walks in, oblivious to the moment he's interrupted. "Hey, guys! I got everything we need for dinner!"

You and Pablo quickly step apart, the spell broken. The moment is awkward, and you both pretend like nothing happened, focusing instead on finishing dinner. Pedri, sensing something is off but unsure of what, remains silent.

Later that night, after dinner and a few rounds of laughter and games, Pedri pulls Pablo aside. They step out onto the patio, the cool night air providing a stark contrast to the tension inside.

"What's going on with you and y/n?" Pedri asks, his tone curious but concerned.

Pablo sighs, running a hand through his hair. "We almost kissed, Pedri. In the kitchen. And then you walked in."

Pedri's eyes widen in realization. "Oh shit, man I had no idea. I'm sorry if I ruined the moment."

"It's not your fault," Pablo replies, shaking his head. "It's just... we've been best friends forever. What if... what if we mess everything up?"

Pedri places a reassuring hand on Pablo's shoulder. "Listen, the best relationships often start as friendships. You two clearly have something special. Don't let fear hold you back. Talk to her. You both deserve to know how the other feels."

Pablo sighs, nodding slowly. "Okay, so let's say I do want to tell her. How do I do it? I can't just blurt it out."

Pedri grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You need to make it special. Show her how much she means to you. Do something that she'll never forget."

Pablo's eyes light up with a newfound determination. "You're right. I need to plan something amazing. Flowers, chocolates, maybe even a small gift. Something that shows her how much I care."

Pedri claps him on the back. "There you go! Now you're thinking. I'll help you out. Tomorrow, I'll keep her busy while you get everything ready."

Pablo smiles, feeling a surge of confidence. "Thanks, Pedri. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Inside the house, you lay on your bed, your mind racing with thoughts of what almost happened. The tension between you and Pablo is undeniable, but so is the fear of losing the friendship that means so much to you.

The morning sun peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the quaint beach house. Pablo wakes up with a sense of determination; today is the day he plans to confess his feelings to you. He knows he needs to make it special, and after talking to Pedri the night before, he's decided to go all out.

While you’re still asleep, Pablo heads to the kitchen where Pedri is already making breakfast. He quickly explains his plan to Pedri, who listens with an amused but supportive expression.

"I need your help today," Pablo says, grabbing a piece of toast. "I want to find the best flowers, chocolates—anything that will make this perfect. I need you to keep y/n busy while I'm gone."

Pedri grins. "You got it, man. I'll make sure she's entertained. Just focus on getting everything ready for your big confession."

With the plan set, Pablo finishes his breakfast and slips out of the house quietly. He heads into town, determined to find everything he needs to express his love for you.

Back at the house, you wake up to the sound of Pedri's cheerful voice. "Morning, are you up to go shopping?"

You stretch and yawn, still feeling the lingering tension from the previous night. "Where's Pablo?"

Pedri shrugs nonchalantly. "He had some errands to run. But don’t worry, he’ll be back soon. In the meantime, how about we go explore the town?"

Curious but agreeing to the distraction, you and Pedri set off to explore the charming beach town. You visit local shops, taste delicious treats from street vendors, All the while, Pedri keeps you entertained with his humor and easygoing nature, but you can't shake the feeling that something is up. You miss Pablo though.

Meanwhile, Pablo is on a mission. He drives to the nearby town to find everything he needs for the confession. He visits a small, charming flower shop, carefully selecting a bouquet of stargazer lilies as he knew those were your favorite flowers. The elderly shopkeeper watches him with a knowing smile.

"Someone special, eh?" she asks, wrapping the flowers carefully.

Pablo nods, a shy smile on his face. "Yeah, very special." He can't help but smile, imagining the look on your face when he presents them to you.

Flowers in hand, Pablo makes one final stop at a small boutique. He finds a delicate piece of jewelry—a pearl bracelet with a heart shaped gold charm. It's simple yet meaningful, a perfect symbol of his feelings for you.

As he makes his purchases, Pablo's mind races with thoughts of the confession. He wants everything to be perfect, but the fear of what might happen if things go wrong looms over him. Still, he knows he can't back out now.

When he returns to the beach house, he finds you and Pedri lounging in the living room, chatting and laughing. You look up as he walks in, and for a moment, your eyes meet. There's an intensity there, a mix of hope and fear, and it makes his heart race.

"Where have you been?" you ask, a teasing tone in your voice.

Pablo steps out from the kitchen, holding the bouquet of flowers and a small jewelry box. Your eyes widen in surprise as he walks toward you, his expression earnest and hopeful.

"Hey," he says softly, handing you the flowers. "I wanted to do something special for you."

You take the flowers, your heart pounding. "Pablo, what's all this?"

He takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. "Come take a walk with me on the beach. I’ll explain everything."

Hand in hand, you leave the house and step onto the soft sands, the rhythmic sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop. The sky is painted with the colors of the setting sun, casting a golden glow over the water.

As you walk along the shore, Pablo squeezes your hand, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I know this might seem sudden, but I've been feeling this way for a long time. Every time we were together, I wanted to say something, but I was afraid of what might happen if you didn't feel the same way."

You stop walking and look out at the horizon, the beauty of the moment making your heart ache with unspoken emotions. "I've felt the same, Pablo," you admit softly. "Every time I thought about telling you, I was terrified of losing our friendship. But being here with you now, I realize that we both wanted the same thing."

He stops and turns to face you, "I don't want to hide my feelings anymore. You're my best friend, and I cherish every moment we spend together. But... I realized that it's more than that. I love you, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember."

Your eyes well up with tears as you listen to his heartfelt confession. "Pablo, I..."

Before you can find the right words to respond, Pablo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box. With trembling hands, he opens it, revealing a delicate pearl bracelet with a heart-shaped charm. "I got this for you because I wanted you to know how much you mean to me."

Overwhelmed with emotion, you reach out and take the bracelet, your fingers brushing against his as you do. "Pablo, I..." you try again, but once more, the words fail you.

I know it's a lot to take in, but I just couldn't keep it to myself any longer."

Overwhelmed with emotion, you step closer to him, setting the flowers and chocolates aside. "Pablo, I love you too. I was just scared to tell you because I didn't want to ruin our friendship."

A radiant smile spreads across his face, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. "You have no idea how happy that makes me," he whispers.

The evening is magical. You and Pablo enjoy a romantic dinner on the patio, the sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop. After dinner, he takes your hand, leading you to a secluded spot on the beach. Under the starlit sky, you dance to the sound of the ocean, wrapped in each other's arms.

As the music fades, Pablo looks into your eyes, his gaze filled with love and longing. Without a word, he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. The world falls away, and in that moment, there's only you and him, lost in the intensity of your feelings for each other.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and flushed, you both know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful new chapter in your lives. And as you hold each other close, watching the stars twinkle above, you can't help but feel that everything has finally fallen into place.

#pablo gavi #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi fluff #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #fc barcelona #gavi

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