#this was so hard to match up because of the lighting

[ceesimz]

Booked - Mapi x Ingrid

TW: Mentions of blood, Ingrid gets injured during a game but it's not too bad. Feliç Sant Jordi🫶🏼

For the most part, María Pilar León Cebrián thought of herself as a calm and level-headed person in almost all situations. She was only human, there were indeed a few cases where that wasn't the case and even if her friends would never deem her as a calm person overall, she was sure that when the time came she was the model person in emergency situations.

What those one off cases were, you're wondering?

Ingrid. Syrstad. Engen.

All sensibility and composure flew far out the window as soon as Ingrid was involved, and that's where she found herself today.

It was an easy game, some may call it a battering, and Mapi had been subbed out just before the 70 minute mark so that she had somewhat of a rest before the weekend for a Champion's League game. Her performance was good, if not a little boring and easy since the other team had barely stepped a foot in Barça's penalty box, and she had a big, cheesy smile on her face when she saw that Ingrid was being subbed on just as she was coming off. And if Ingrid was annoyed about the two light pats on her ass from Mapi later before the Norwegian sprinted onto the pitch, she would simply say it was just for luck.

However, luck didn't seem to be on Ingrid's side for her quick involvement in the game. All of a sudden, it seemed the scoreline of the match had gotten to the opposing team's heads and before any of the Barça girls could realise, the physicality of the game increased tenfold. There was brutal tackle after tackle, shirt tugs, arm pulls, and risky one-on-ones for headers that saw Ona land horrifyingly on her neck and the player at fault to receive only a yellow for what everyone knew was a malicious and purposeful act. Ona was fine, she stood up after taking a few minutes to come back to herself, before moving to defend another corner as Alexia and a few other players were shouting at the referee who had made countless questionable decisions already.

"We're lucky nobody has been stretchered off yet." Mapi exclaimed to Frido from her seat on the bench, arms tightly crossed across her chest over her puffer coat.

"It's not a surprise though, right." Frido sighed disapprovingly, referring to the situation everyone was frustrated at in terms of the Liga F referees.

"Es tonterías." The Spaniard grumbled, slumping back in her chair as the whistle blew for the corner to be taken.

Her sulk didn't last long, it couldn't, because perhaps the most frightful occurrence of her life carried out right in front of her eyes. The ball curled right into the box where Ingrid was marking the targeted player at the front post, and the Norwegian wasn't able get a clean jump as the player to her side stomped on her foot aggressively. But before she could fall to the ground as a result of the pain of studs being dug into the space just below her ankle, there was an agonising strike to her face.

An elbow smashed against the outward corner of her eye hard, a sharp and sudden pain that immediately caused her to feel sick to the pit of her stomach, overriding any pain in her foot. She fell to her knees with a loud, excruciating scream, one hand immediately coming up to her face as the other clutches desperately at the goalpost beside her that she slumped against. When her hand came into contact with her face, she let out another scream, this one somewhat quieter, as the pain increased due to a nasty gash that stretched up into her eyebrow which stung impossibly more when she touched it. That's when she realised her hand was covered in blood and the sight of it caused her body to weaken as she paled, absolutely not a fan of blood. Her hands fell out in front of her as she kneeled over, side still pressed against the post, and she tipped her head forward to prevent anymore from dripping down her face.

The opposition's counter attack had to be stopped by Jana before the referee eventually blew their whistle. Jana had been subbed on for Mapi earlier and was now fuelled with rage, leading to her delivering an outstanding slide tackle to the player rushing towards her on the halfway line. Everyone will give her her kudos after the game for such a perfect tackle, it really didn't get much better than that, but for now the focus was, rightfully so, on Ingrid.

Alexia, Salma, and a few others had called for the game to be stopped as they rushed over to Ingrid the second she went down, absolutely enraged that a player had suffered not only a possible concussion which should have stopped the game straight away, but also had a gushing cut which was even more reason, if at all needed, for the whistle to be blown. Lucy and Irene were already arguing with the referee as words were ushered to Ingrid, but they were lost on her due to the intense ringing in her ears.

Mapi watched every second of it from the bench. When she saw the initial stamp on Ingrid, she stood from her chair and clutched at the back of the one in front of her as she voiced her outrage at such a blatant act. However, that was nothing compared to the reaction she had when she saw the hit to her girlfriend's face, followed by the stream of red. It was almost the exact same scenario she had gone through a while back, but her fear was about a million times more intense this time around since it was Ingrid. Her Ingrid.

When Mapi went through the same injury, she had been relatively calm when it had happened, and it had stayed that way as the medics attended to her before she was able to go back out onto the pitch. This time? Her emotions ripped through her and swiftly took control of her mind.

Even as Frido tried to hold her back, Mapi raced out of the seating area and onto the sidelines. An endless amount of colourful expletives left her mouth, cussing out the referee and the other team and just about anyone she could think to blame for causing such an avoidable situation. Jona and a few of the other Barcelona staff tried to call her back and stop her from acting out, but it was futile. She needed an outlet for her worries and if disguising her anxiety with anger was the first alternative her panicked mind thought of, she was fine with that. Some rational part of her mind had prevented her from rushing onto the pitch towards Ingrid, but that's about as far as she got.

The match officials came over to her and gave her multiple warnings about her actions but that didn't stop her, nothing would stop her until she knew Ingrid was alright. By now, the medics had made it to Ingrid and were cleaning up her, but Mapi had tunnel vision that she only snapped out of when the referee showed her a yellow card. Not the player that had brutally stamped on Ingrid, not the player that elbowed her, neither of them, the referee chose Mapi instead. The Spaniard could only laugh, and she went to let loose on the figure in front of her again but was stopped by Alexia, who had noticed the situation playing out after she had stepped away from Ingrid.

"Hey! Hey! Step down, stop, Mapi!" Alexia pushed her back off the pitch by her shoulders, the shorter woman not even realising she had gone onto it. "I know you are upset but you will get suspended if you carry on. Cálmate, María, ahora."

"That puta, she h-"

"Oi! I know, I saw it. Ingrid is fine though, just a bit freaked out." Alexia squeezes her shoulders before letting go and pointing over to the Norwegian, who was now sat up with her head being held still by one of the medics whilst the other gently dabs at the wound on her face. "See? She is okay. You can speak to her when she comes off, but for now calm down. This is not something to get suspended over."

"She's okay?" Mapi mumbles quietly to her friend after a moment, a concerned frown on her face as her eyes don't drift from Ingrid's spot on the pitch.

"Yes. You can find out for yourself in a minute." Alexia tells her, hands on her hips as she stands beside her. Mapi nods solemnly, all the fight gone from her, watching on silently.

Ingrid stands up and is met with an applause as she does so, one of the medics carefully lifting the blood-soaked jersey over her head before guiding her to the sidelines. With one eye, she spots an antsy looking María waiting for her and it makes her smile, feeling significantly better than she did a few minutes ago. When she arrives in front of Mapi, the Spaniard hastily unzips her coat and takes it off before draping it over Ingrid's bare shoulders.

"Thank you." Ingrid mumbles to her, grateful for the act as she was a bit cold now that she wasn't running around anymore. Mapi can't get a word out so just nods vigorously at her, something that makes her laugh a little and it's a noise that fills Mapi with relief.

The staff urge Ingrid to sit down in a chair at the back of the dugout and the Norwegian pats the chair beside her for Mapi to sit in, to which the Spaniard does immediately.

"Are you okay?" Mapi asks her breathlessly. Before Ingrid can answer, the cut is shown to her when the medic moves the gauze away from her eyebrow. "Ouch!"

"Why are you saying that?" Ingrid laughs, wincing when the gash is cleaned again with an alcohol wipe.

"Sorry, princesa, it freaked me out." Mapi answers with another grimace, though she looks at the cut quite inquisitively for someone so 'freaked' out.

"What a kind thing to say to your injured girlfriend." Keira said from one of the chairs in front of her, Ingrid giggling as Mapi looked a bit sheepish.

"Eso es un poco repugnante." Vicky comments from beside Keira.

"Oi! That's my girlfriend, nena." Mapi scolds her before turning back to Ingrid and scoffing when the dark-haired woman rolls her eyes.

"Hush, María. You don't need to play the hero." Everyone around falls suspiciously silent around her when Ingrid says that. She squints her eyes at her friends as the medics begin to bandage her up, eyes flicking between each person. "What is going on?"

"Nada." Mapi shrugged, sending what she thought was a sneaky warning glance to her but Ingrid caught it of course. The Norwegian sends a stern look of her own to her teammates, a silent plea for them to tell her whatever she wasn't clued in on.

"Mapi got booked for running her mouth off to the ref when you went down." Keira reveals, Mapi gasping harshly and slapping her shoulder.

"Oi, chivato!" She shouts, before turning back to Ingrid with a grimaced smile. "Sorry?"

"María, why?" Ingrid fixes her with another stern look, but unfortunately for Mapi, ever the childish one, she can't really take her seriously when she's got a comical amount of bandages wrapped around her head, looking like Mr Bump from the Mr Men books. "That was silly, you didn't need to do that. You could have got suspended!"

"I was scared!" Mapi argues, shoulders stuck in a shrug as she held her hands up blamelessly. "I feel better now, now that you're..."

"I'm what?" Ingrid pushes her, knowing that the words about to come out of Mapi's mouth weren't anything along the lines of 'now that you're okay' or 'now that I'm with you'.

"Now that you look really cute with that big bandage." Mapi comments with a mischievous grin, hearing some of the girls and staff around her laugh as Ingrid makes an outraged noise.

"María! I didn't tease you when you had the same bandage!" Ingrid exclaims, nudging her arm.

"I'm kidding, princesa, I'm joking!" Mapi defends herself, placing a hand on her bare knee and the other on her forearm. "Sorry elskling, I am."

Ingrid can't stay annoyed at the older woman for too long, not when she looks equally as adorable when she's begging for forgiveness, not when she's calling her pet names in Norwegian, and not when Ingrid knows she's just trying to lighten the situation and make her feel better. It's why she loves her, after all.

"You are annoying." Ingrid murmurs lovingly, shrugging the coat off and handing it back to Mapi when she gets given a fresh jersey. "Am I good to go back on?"

The medics have cleared her for now and Jona gives her the nod, so she stands but is quickly pulled back by Mapi who grabs her hand.

"Be careful, princesa." Mapi tells her in a soft, pleading voice. Ingrid nods and smiles when Mapi kisses the back of her hand before giving her a shy wave and walking to the sidelines.

Thankfully, the rest of the game goes off without a hitch, no more nasty fouls and not quite so much fury running through the other team. At the end of the game, Mapi joins her team in going through all the post-match procedures like the huddle and handshakes and fan interactions, before following Ingrid to the physio room like a lost puppy.

Before they start to take the bandage off though, Mapi grabs her phone from her coat pocket and makes sure to take plenty of photos of Ingrid with her head wrapped up, something that the Norwegian complains about before swiping the phone out of her hand and sliding it underneath her back where she lay on one of the beds. Mapi pouts dramatically before moving to stand at the top of the bed so that she's out of the way of the medical team.

They go through the process of taking off the bandage before examining it more closely now that they're not stuck in a mid-game rush, deciding that it can be solved with some stitches. Surprisingly, it's not Ingrid whose face pales at that, it's Mapi. But she just gives Ingrid a weak smile when the Norwegian looks up at her, squeezing the taller woman's shoulder comfortingly. Then, Mapi further grimaces when one of the doctors gives Ingrid a tiny injection in her eyebrow to numb the area before they start stitching. The Spaniard has her eyes screwed shut at that point, hand still placed reasurringly on her girlfriend's shoulder, until the doctor says he's done.

He gives the couple space for a while to allow the injection to work, at which point Alexia decides to walk over from where she'd been watching the whole thing, mainly her long-time friend.

"Stitches, no?" Alexia says, wandering over still in her kit except she'd swapped her boots for a pair of sliders.

"Yeah, stitches." Ingrid frowns, not quite a fan of the idea of it.

"You scared?" Alexia wonders, quickly shooting a smug, knowing grin at Mapi.

"Mhm. Mapi wouldn't stop gagging when she was getting her stitches." Ingrid and Alexia share a laugh as Mapi pulls a face at them both.

"That's because Mapi is a gallina. You should have seen her face when they injected your eyebrow, I saw the whole thing." Alexia teases as she looks back at Mapi whose face was now quite red, Ingrid giggling and also gazing up at her embarrassed girlfriend.

"No es justo, Ale." Mapi murmurs, glaring at both women.

"Cheer up, cobarde." Alexia lightly pats Mapi's cheek twice before the doctor comes back in.

"Ingrid, try to raise your eyebrow for me." All three people in the room standing over Ingrid watch amusedly as she tries so very hard to do as she was asked, but to no avail. "Perfect. Let's get started."

Alexia moves to grab a chair and sits on it backwards with her arms crossed over the top edge of it, smirking at the slight fear present in Mapi's eyes. The pair of them stay silent as they watch the doctor stitch up her eyebrow, and when he gets to the last few, Alexia grasps Mapi's hand that was gripping the edge of the bed so firmly her hands hurt.

"Come on, Mapi, you're doing so well, amiga. Nearly done, you're doing so well." Alexia reasurres her friend dramatically, Ingrid bursting out into laughter at the ridiculousness of it. Mapi grunts in frustration and slaps Alexia's hand away, lightly shoving her out of the chair and taking her seat.

The doctor quickly does a once over of his work before asking Ingrid a few questions where he decides she's all done for the night. With a quick thanks, he nods and smiles at the three, then leaves them to it.

"We will have matching scars, princesa." Mapi grins childishly at the thought, Alexia and Ingrid both rolling their eyes.

"Buena, I will leave you both. Make sure to look after her, yes Ingrid? She's a delicate little mariposa." Alexia pouts at Mapi like she's the injured one, pinching her cheek like a baby.

"Vete al diablo." Mapi slaps her thigh once more, then watches as Alexia squeezes Ingrid's hand quickly before bidding them both goodbye and leaving the room.

Mapi turns back to Ingrid who is already looking over at her, heads both at the same height now that Mapi was sat down, and Ingrid had a humoured but adorable look on her face.

"Not you too." Mapi grumbled.

"I did not know you were so squeamish, María. You can't even look at a tiny injection?" Ingrid grins at her, moving to sit up and swing her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet grazing Mapi's shins.

"I'm not so perfect after all, princesa, sorry I kept that a secret from you for so long." And just like that, her teasing nature was back.

"Ha ha, Mapi. Very funny." Ingrid rolls her eyes, now in a little bit of pain due to the dark bruising beginning to come out.

Mapi smiles a toothy grin up at her, leaning forward to rest her arms on Ingrid's thighs and rest her chin atop them. Ingrid huffs a breath of laughter and rests back on one hand, the other moving to tuck some of Mapi's hair behind her ear.

"How do you feel?" Mapi wonders, one of her fingers pushing Ingrid's shorts up ever so slightly so that she can stroke her thumb along the soft, tanned skin that's there.

"Tired. I have a bit of a headache." In Ingrid's terms, a bit of a headache meant quite an uncomfortable headache, that Mapi had learnt in the time they'd been together.

"Well, you do not have a concussion which is good. Good for me because then I don't have to tape my mouth shut like last time." They both laugh at the reminder, Mapi simply gazing up at Ingrid. "We will get you some medicine for your head and I will drive home. Are you showering before we go?"

"Mm, no. Can we have a bath at home?" Ingrid asks shyly, and Mapi swears she feels her heart double, triple in size at the sound of her voice.

"If you'd like. Anything for min kjære. Mi princesa."

Sure, maybe Mapi wasn't always a calm and collected woman, but who wouldn't panic when someone like Ingrid was in the face of danger? María Pilar León Cebrián would, that's for sure. She'd happily get booked every game she played if it was for defending Ingrid, even if it Alexia or Jona wouldn't exactly be too happy with that. Because when the sun is staring at you with such a beautiful face, it's hard not to get blinded by it.

#mapi leon #ingrid engen #mapi leon x ingrid engen #ingrid engen x mapi leon #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #mapi león #fcb femení #fcb femeni #alexia putellas

[nadvs]

imperfect strangers (one-shot)

pairing zach maclaren x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary after a painful break-up, you and zach go no contact, agreeing it’s best to cut yourselves out of each other’s lives. when he cracks and texts you a month later that he’ll be at your college for a game, you lie to yourself that seeing him can’t be that bad of an idea.

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Zach has been dreading tomorrow’s game. And it’s only because it’s at your college.

He keeps going back and forth on if he should break the promise he made to you and himself that he wouldn’t contact you.

He blames the fatigue from a strenuous practice. It’s what muddles his mind and makes him give in.

You two agreed that cutting all ties was best. But he’s just reaching out to an old friend that he might run into. That’s what he tells himself.

You’re sitting in a lecture when Zach’s name flashes on your phone. Your heart leaps at the notification and you hate that it does that.

You were supposed to delete his number, but it felt wrong. He wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was your best friend.

Removing him from your life wrecked you, so little things like keeping his contact information and the promise ring he gave you the day of your high school graduation feel like acts of rebellion against the hardest decision you’ve ever made.

Zach: Hey. How are you? I’m playing at your school tomorrow. Just wondering if you’ll be watching :)

You reread his text a few times. You know he has a game here tomorrow. You’ve been following his soccer season even though you know you shouldn’t.

On the screen, you see the last messages you exchanged, a little over a month ago.

Zach: Wish you nothing but the best. You deserve it.

You replied: you, too.

The night of your break-up was agony. Your video call lasted three hours.

Zach’s eyes were glossy, matching yours. His dark honey hair was tousled and sticking in every direction after he raked his hand through it over and over in frustration.

Your dorm rooms slowly got darker as night fell, neither of you bothering to turn on a light. It was a cruel reminder that you’re not even a timezone apart. Your schools have only four hours between them and you couldn’t manage to make a one-year relationship work over the distance.

Hurtful words were exchanged. You accused him of neglecting your relationship. He told you his extra efforts in school and soccer didn’t mean you weren’t a priority. He said you were giving up on him. You retaliated that you were working harder to stay together than he was.

Somehow, things still ended civilly. You agreed that the distance was too much of a big, ugly, unavoidable wedge driving you apart.

You’re convinced that ending on good terms hurts more than ending on bad terms. It would be easier to hate him.

Your fingers hover over your screen, wondering what you should say. If you should say anything. You realize this means he didn’t delete your number, either. Maybe he’s been holding onto hope, too.

You decide to reply, trying to act casual and in good spirits.

You: I’ll try to make it! Just don’t be mad that I’m cheering for the home team :)

He’s grateful you texted back. He misses you so much that it hurts.

Getting better has been a slow climb for Zach. You two lasted a couple of months of long distance before calls slowly shortened and texts became infrequent. It was too hard juggling everything.

Now, he’s putting his all into school and soccer. It’s all he has left.

When dark clouds roll in on the day of the game, you think about how Zach never liked the rain and you hate that you’re doomed to remember these insignificant things about someone you’re not supposed to be in love with anymore.

You decide not to go to the game. It’ll be too hard watching him play like you used to.

But eventually, you lie to yourself that it’ll be fine and your feet are dragging you to the stadium on campus, your umbrella blocking the raindrops. You join the roaring crowd, sitting in the bleachers.

You always sat behind the opponents’ net. At every one of his matches. Zach is a striker and whenever he’d score a goal, he’d be right in your eyeline.

He would find you in the crowd when he scored, beaming at you before his team swallowed him in a group hug.

But that’s where you sat when Zach was your boyfriend. And he’s not anymore. So you find an empty seat on the side, close to the middle of the field.

You spot him immediately. He’s running down the field, his cheeks flushed.

The same boy who nervously asked you out the second day of senior year. The same boy you gave your first kiss to. The same boy who called you the moment he found out he was granted a full-ride scholarship. Now slowly becoming a stranger.

This is too hard. You need to leave.

But then you watch Zach gain possession of the ball and he’s running fast and suddenly, he collides with a player on the opposing team, sliding in one of the mud puddles scattered across the field.

The crowd erupts in a mournful whine, reacting to what was surely a painful impact.

You’re on your feet, rigid, heart racing as you watch him in the distance. He’s not getting up. Why isn’t he getting up?

You wedge your way out of the aisle and rush to the bottom of the bleachers, hands gripping the cold, wet barricade at the same level as the field.

A medic runs out onto the pitch but when he reaches Zach, he’s slowly standing up on his own. But then he leans over, hands on his knees, shaking his head.

The medic beckons Zach to put an arm around his shoulders and leads him off the field while the referee holds up a yellow card against the other player.

Zach’s hamstring is throbbing in pain as he limps through the wet grass, his cleats heavy, but when he sees you standing at the front of the stands, everything feels better.

He thought you wouldn’t attend. His lips quirk up in a smile. Your stomach twists.

Zach’s coach is trying to get his attention once he reaches the sideline, but he mumbles something to him and disconnects from the medic and closes the distance between you two, his steps short and quick.

“You came,” he says, blue eyes travelling over your face. It’s only been a month but he swears, it feels like it’s been years since he’s seen you.

The bright stadium lights are emphasizing every plane and feature of his handsome face. His hair is soaked and plastered to his skin, his uniform muddy.

“You okay?” you ask over the loud chattering crowd surrounding you.

No. He’s far from okay.

“Survived worse,” he says with that smirk that is so typically Zach.

“MacLaren!” his coach calls.

“I’ll find you later?” he asks. Your eyebrows lower in confusion. You know he typically goes straight back to his school after a game with his team. But you just meekly nod.

The game ends in a tie. Zach texts you that he’ll meet you outside in front and takes a rushed, hot shower in the locker room.

You’re standing under a streetlamp outside of the stadium, spectators pooling out of wide doors. The rain is simply spitting now, your umbrella closed in your hand.

When you watch Zach pace towards you, all cleaned up after a shower, a big duffel bag over his shoulder, you’re so happy you came. Even though it hurts, it also feels so good to see him.

“You’re walking totally fine,” you say when he approaches you. “Did you fake it?”

He loves how you make a joke right away because that’s what you would do when you were together and it’s nice to feel like you are.

Zach laughs and pulls you in for a hug and you hate how the smell of his shampoo makes an uncomfortable nostalgia rush through you.

But this is who Zach is. He’s always been warm and affectionate and cheerful.

He notices how tense you are in his arms and pulls back quickly. Maybe giving into the impulse to hold you was a bad idea.

“A yellow was ridiculous, right?” he asks. “That deserved a red.”

You gaze up at him now that he’s so close to you and try not to get enamored.

“How bad is it?” you say, glancing down at his leg. The concern in your eyes makes his whole body feel like it’s been wrung out.

“Just a sprain,” he says. “Didn’t pull anything.”

“Good,” you say, nodding. “How long are you out for?”

This feels like a conversation you’d have when you were together. Next, you’d ask if he needs a massage and that would always lead to making love, but that’s not happening this time.

“Next game isn’t until Wednesday, so I might be fine,” Zach answers. You know all about his team’s schedule, even their standings, but you don’t tell him.

A tense silence settles between you now that the small talk has been used up.

“So, this is no contact?” you ask.

Now that the break-up has been acknowledged out loud, Zach is disappointed. He liked having his head in the clouds and pretending like you’re still his.

“You texted back,” he teases, his eyes glinting in their usual playful way.

“Back,” you emphasize, pointing to him, finally cracking a smile. “You started it.”

“We can be friends, right?” Zach says. “It’s weird not talking to you.”

Being friends hurts. You both agreed to that. But he’s here already and things feel so good with him, so you ignore your instincts.

“Sure,” you simply say. Your short response throws him off.

“Nice campus,” he says.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I was gonna give you a tour when...” When he visited as your boyfriend. You never made it that far.

It was unlike Zach, the way he started to flake on promises to visit or call. You gave him grace, but you eventually reached your limit.

“You can give me a tour now,” he says, pushing the conversation into easier territory. He always had a knack for that.

“You sure you can walk?” you ask. He misses that tone of voice of yours. When you’re worried about him.

“Come on,” he says with an exaggerated scoff. “You’re acting like I’m some kind of baby.”

In reality, he always loved being babied by you.

“When are you guys heading back?” you ask. You already noticed the massive branded bus you assume he arrived on parked in the stadium lot.

“I drove up by myself, actually,” he tells you. “I’m gonna go see my family later.”

Your college is only half an hour away from your shared hometown. You nod and turn, silently beckoning him to walk with you.

“How are they?” you ask.

Zach shrugs, looking down. He’s always been close to his family and they always loved you, so telling them you broke up was almost as hard as the break-up itself.

“Mad at me,” he admits. “I told them it was mutual, but…”

“Yeah, your mom texted me,” you say.

“She did? What’d she say?” He sounds surprised.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you if she didn’t tell you herself.”

His mom’s message went into just how perfectly you fit into their lives, how upsetting it is that Zach let you go, how happy you make her son. You didn’t have the heart to tell her you don’t make him happy anymore.

You remember so clearly how she ended the message. I hope this is just a temporary bump in the road.

“Come on, tell me,” he urges with a joking tone.

“Zach,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry - I, um - we shouldn’t get into this, right?”

His smile fades. With a deep breath, he nods and looks at the ground again.

“Right,” he says.

Like always, Zach gently complies. You naturally took on a more dominant role in your relationship, leading while he happily followed, even during intimacy. It’s what you bring out in each other and falling back into your roles feels effortless.

“How much time do you have?” you ask, checking your phone to see that it’s merely minutes past six.

“Couple of hours,” he tells you. “You hungry?”

You know if you tell him you’re not, he’ll feel bad dragging you to a restaurant.

“There’s a place I think you’d like,” you say.

You’re soon sitting across from each other at an on-campus eatery, talking to each other like friends, covering safe topics like classes and dorm life.

It’s not exactly easy, but you were together for so long that holding a conversation with Zach is second nature.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” he finally asks, pointing to your plastic-wrapped sandwich. He’s almost done with his food, while you haven’t taken a bite.

“Later. I’m not hungry.”

“What?” Zach watches you from his side of the table, heart thrumming at the adorable way you shrug.

“You wouldn’t have gotten food if you knew I wasn’t going to eat.”

“Oh, my God,” he laughs.

“You know I’m right.”

“You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

You both awkwardly straighten in your seats, bodies firming as far apart as possible. Your knees pull together. He rubs the back of his neck.

“Sorry.” Zach’s voice is low, eyes focused on the table. The term of endearment he used to always use for you just slipped out.

You feel stupid for thinking this would be okay. It’s way too hard to pretend like you don’t love him. You collect your bag and umbrella off the table.

“I should go. It was good to see you,” you mumble.

“You’re leaving?” Zach asks, a slight whine to his tone.

“This was a bad idea,” you say, avoiding eye contact, words quiet and rushed. “You should go see your family.”

You rush out of the building into the dark evening, the cold air pressing against your skin, hot tears welling in your eyes.

Zach’s leg is aching as he jogs behind you, but he’d do anything for you just talk to him, at least look at him one more time.

“Wait,” you hear. “Please.” The desperation in his voice is what gets you to slow down, letting him close the rest of the distance.

You’re standing on a pathway between a building and a courtyard, chewing on your lip, grateful nobody else seems to be around.

When Zach catches up to you, his chin dips as he studies your face, raising his hands inches away from your cheeks just to promptly lower them.

Your eyes are just as wet as they were the night you broke up.

“What?” you mutter.

“I’m sorry I called you that,” he says, breaths shallow. “Old habit.”

“We said no contact,” you tell him. You swallow hard. “We should have stuck to it.”

“Are you mad at me for texting you?” His stare is deep and so painfully sorry.

You’ve been on the receiving end of this look so many times. He was always on the sensitive side, needing reassurance that you weren’t upset with him.

Despite everything, you’re not mad. Your heart is broken, but you’re not mad.

“No,“ you say, “But we can’t be friends, okay? After what we… I just can’t.”

“So, nothing?” he says. “We’re just nothing now?”

“It’s what we agreed on,” you respond resolutely. “Just because this is easy for you doesn’t mean it is for me.”

“You think this is easy for me?” Zach puts a hand over his heart. You scoff at this, looking down, gently wiping under your bottom lashes. “It’s not.”

He puts his hands on his hips, grimacing.

“Why’d we break up?” he asks, voice thin.

“Zach,” you breathe. Just like that, the wound you’ve been working on patching up splits open again.

“I love you,” he says, hot tears building in the corners of his eyes.

“You can’t do this,” you say. The fact that you don’t say you love him back breaks him. “Do you not remember how bad it was?”

“We made each other so happy,” he retaliates.

“We weren’t even a couple by the end,” you say. “You got too busy for me, remember?”

“Don’t,” Zach mumbles. “I wasn’t too busy for you. You stopped trying.”

“We’ll just talk in circles,” you sigh, frustration bubbling inside you. You had this talk so many times. “I don’t have another three-hour conversation in me.”

He still has bad dreams about that night.

“See?” he says with a frustrated shrug. “You gave up.”

“You used to act lucky that you had me,” you say, your temper flaring. “Then I became a chore. Would you fight for me if I made you feel like a chore?”

“I’d fight for you no matter what,” he says.

“You’re not listening to me.” At this point, he’s being selfish by talking this to death. It’ll end the same way.

“As soon as it got hard, you left,” he says.

“As soon as it got hard? I tried for two months, Zach. You were so busy and got so distant and-”

“That didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you,” he counters. “There’s so much pressure on me with soccer and my scholarship.”

“I know and I tried to be there for you but I only added to that pressure,” you say. “Keeping up a relationship was too much work.”

“No, babe, I-” He winces. “Sorry. Just… Don’t you remember how good we used to be? How the summer was?”

You try not to think about it. The summer before college was perfect. You spent all your time together. You gave each other your virginities. You were sure you’d be together forever.

“I remember saying we’d find time for each other no matter what,” you mutter.

Guilt floods him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Zach says.

“I know you are.”

He apologized so many times and nothing changed. He said he’d drive up to visit you. He never did. He told you he’d call you. Then he bailed more than half the time. That wasn’t the man you knew. You could feel him falling out of love with you.

“I thought we could get through the hard times,” he says. There’s that unrealistic idealism of his. You shake your head.

“My best wasn’t enough for us, Zach,” you say.

“Yeah, neither was mine, apparently.”

You nod, throat aching from your tears.

“Go see your family. They miss you. And don’t tell them we saw each other,” you suggest. “It’ll just give them false hope.”

Zach both loves and hates that the last thing you say before you walk away is something protective and considerate about his family. But your kindness is one of the many things he fell in love with you for, so it’s no surprise.

An hour later, you’re curled up on your bed, watching a comfort show with the lights off when you hear a knock on your door.

Zach’s heart is pounding in his ears. He still has your address from when he sent you flowers as a sorry for flaking on a video call you two had planned back when you were still together.

All he did since you left him standing by the courtyard is sit in his car and think and cry. He feels like an idiot for ever making you feel like a chore.

When you pause your show, turn on the lights and swing open the door, your body goes cold. His eyes are red and puffy from crying.

“Did you stop loving me?” he asks. “I need to know.”

You take his hand, the first contact you’ve had in months, and pull him into your room so that your neighbors don’t hear your private heartbreak.

The door shuts behind you and you stand across from him, trying to let go of his hand, but he doesn’t let you, his cool palm pressed against your fingers.

“Did you?” Zach urges.

You glare up at him, cheeks burning from how many tears you wiped away.

“No,” you admit.

“Then why aren’t we together?” he pleads. “You just have to remember why you love me.”

You let him continue to hold your hand. The contact feels so good.

“I never forgot,” you say.

“Then tell me,” he urges. “Tell me why.”

“I…” You look down.

“You want me to go first?” he says. “I love you because you bring out the best in me. I love how when we joke around, we annoy the people around us and you never care.”

You huff a chuckle. Too many times to count, you’d send each other into a fit of laughter, leaving your friends or families confused over what was so funny.

“You went to every single one of my home games in high school,” he continues, “even though I know you hated it.”

“I liked it,” you counter. He smirks. You always had such a big heart.

“Try for me. Please,” he says. “We’ll make it this time.”

You’re silent and it scares him. You could be seconds away from telling him to leave.

“This is why I love you,” you say. “You’re so optimistic that it’s irritating.”

Zach laughs, still holding onto your hand.

“What else?” he asks lowly.

“You’re funny and sweet and…” you say through tears. “When you care about someone, you care so hard. That’s why…”

You loosen your hand out of his grip. His heart feels like it’s been wrung out.

“That’s why it hurt so much when you didn’t make time for us. It felt like you stopped caring. Like you stopped loving me and you didn’t know how to tell me.”

“I never stopped loving you, babe, I swear,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to deal with everything.”

Zach didn’t anticipate how hard keeping up with classes and practices and games would be, especially with the weight of his scholarship looming over him. He failed making you a priority. He knows that.

“It was hard and it only got harder when we broke up,” he says a little quieter.

You frown and Zach cups your face with his hands. His thumbs slowly rub over your cheeks as his gaze penetrates you.

“I’m not saying that to make you feel bad,” he says, words rushed. “I just want you to know you were never a chore. You were the best thing in my life. I messed up.”

The way your lashes flutter as you blink away tears makes what’s left of his heart crumble.

“What’ll it take?” he asks. “I’ll drive up here every weekend. We’ll talk on the phone every night. I’ll text you all day and I promise I won’t flake.”

“That’s crazy,” you say with a soft laugh.

Although he’s the more passive of you two, he’s determined that he’ll make it with you. He can’t picture a world where you’re not his and he’s not yours.

“I’ll do it.” You meet Zach’s eyes and you can tell that he wholly, sincerely means it.

“That’s not what I need,” you tell him with a small smile. The love in your gaze is exactly why you always felt like home to him. “I just need the you who kept promises and made time for me. When we were together, you were present. Like this.”

“Anything you need,” he says eagerly, head bobbing with quick nods, making you giggle. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

You revel in how his long thumbs drag over your skin, gazing at you through desperate eyes. Being so close to him causes a gentle heat to trickle through your body.

“You can do more than that,” you reply. He smiles and exhales sharply in excitement, leaning down to kiss you passionately.

Zach’s stomach tightens the second he feels the softness of your lips and the taste of your tongue. He slowly dips to kiss your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of you that he has smelled so many times.

His hands trail down your waist and over the curve of your hips, pulling you as close to him as possible, gripping just tight enough not to hurt you.

You always loved this about him. He makes you feel so cherished.

Your hands are in Zach’s hair as his hot mouth smacks on your skin. His body curves against yours perfectly, a piece completing the puzzle you missed being a part of for so long.

You can feel him growing hard against you and you lower a hand to rub him over his jeans, making him groan against your neck.

“Already?” you tease in a whisper. He chuckles, missing your touch and your voice and how hot it is when you taunt him.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Zach groans. You smile. He hardly ever swears, usually reserving it just for moments like these.

His fingers dip below the hem of your shirt, his skin warm against yours. He feels you nod, granting him permission.

As soon as he pulls your top off of you, he groans in delight when he sees that you’re braless. As he leans down to kiss you again, you push his jacket down his shoulders. He promptly and impatiently tugs it off, followed by his shirt, earning a laugh from you for his enthusiasm.

You gently push him backwards, straggling to your bed together. Zach lies down, desperately reaching for you as he watches you lean down over him.

You straddle him, kissing him deeply, his arms wrapping around you tightly as your bare chests press together.

His love for you consumes him, driving him to pull back and kiss you all over, puckering his lips over your cheeks and your nose and your forehead.

“Babe,” you laugh.

“I’m so sorry I made you so sad,” Zach says between kisses. “I’m so sorry I let you walk away.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say as he continues to pepper soft kisses over your skin. “We’re never fighting again, okay?”

“Never.” You always say this after a fight. It never sticks, but you both love pretending it will.

You thought you were destined to experience these shared quirks through memories only. But now Zach’s here in your dorm room, panting beneath you, holding you like he might die if you pull away.

You feel him buck his hips forward, his hands squeezing your waist. You press your forehead against his, biting your lip.

“You want me, hmm?” you purr, the power you have over him filling you with excitement.

“I need you,” he whines. His breath is warm against your cheek. “So bad.”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, rolling your hips. The sensation of you grinding on him is so perfect. He couldn’t ever feel another girl like this and he wouldn’t want to.

“I wanna taste you,” Zach says. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“Take my pants off.” You shift to kiss him, smiling against his lips as he pushes your bottoms and panties down with eager hands.

You kick off your clothes and shuffle to hover over his face, your naked core inches away from his mouth.

Zach’s hands hook around your thighs, beckoning you to lower your hips, hungry for you. You inhale sharply once you feel his hot tongue press against your folds.

He knows you well, knows where to lick and suck to earn moans from you. You look down at him, his eyes closed as he laps at you, fingers dug into your flesh.

“That’s so good,” you say. “You’re so good with your mouth.” The praise makes him suck even harder. You tremble as you slowly roll your hips on his face.

“I love how you taste,” Zach says, muffled. “I can’t live without you.”

You throw your head back, pleasure flooding your body at the sensations and his words. You put a hand in his hair, lightly tugging as he works his mouth with slow, hard movements.

You start to breathe harder, tension coiling in your stomach.

“Can we…” he asks. He’s starving to feel you from the inside. You look down to meet his striking, needy eyes. You know exactly what he wants.

“You wanna be inside me?”

“Please, yes, yes.”

“You’re so cute when you’re desperate,” you coo. He nearly rolls his eyes from the pleasure of hearing you talk like this again.

You put him out of his misery when you pull his pants and briefs off of him. You sit on your knees above him, taking his length in your hand and earning a groan from him.

“Where’d you hurt your leg today?” you ask, stroking him up and down. “Want me to massage it?”

“I just want you to ride me, babe, please,” Zach shudders.

“Don’t you want me to take care of you?” Your eyes are locked on his as you caress him, rolling your wrist.

“You are,” he says, whimpering at this point. “Please let me feel you. I miss you.”

Your body remembers Zach’s perfectly. As you sink onto him, sitting up, every muscle in your body loosens. He dips his head back, lips parting, jaw sharp.

“Shit,” he groans as you squeeze him in your soft heat. “You’re perfect.” His hands run over your thighs, your hips, your waist. He pulls you down so he can kiss you again.

“So big,” you whisper, noses nudging together as you rock slowly.

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says, his voice gently shaking. “Even if you don’t want me.”

“Zach,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. He’s crying again. “I’ll always want you.”

You drag a thumb under his eye, cleaning away a warm tear. He nods, looking at you with a sorrowful gaze.

“Do you promise?” he asks.

“I promise,” you say. “My sweet boy.” He trembles at your words. You kiss him again, your pace starting to quicken, the pressure of him inside you so nice.

Zach swallows hard, forcing himself to believe you. Breaking up shattered him. He can’t go through it again.

“Hey,” he says against your lips.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna marry you one day.” You’ve loosely talked about the future before, but he has never said these words to you out loud. Your heart numbs.

“Do you promise?” you whisper with a smile. The coil in your core tightens again, making your breath shake.

“I promise.” Zach feels you clenching around him and he can’t stop himself. His muscles tense and he tightens his jaw as he feels himself reach his peak.

“There you go,” you praise as he shudders beneath you. The drunk look on his face is what makes you climax, joining him in his euphoria.

He’s heaving beneath you, your skin taut and warm and sticking together. You shift to rest your head on his shoulder and he finds your hand immediately, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your fingertips.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you say, your heart burning.

Zach holds your hand inches away from his face, a finger tracing down one of yours.

“Do you still have it?” he asks, afraid of your answer. You look at your ring finger, where you used to wear his promise ring.

“I couldn’t get rid of it if I wanted to,” you say. He shifts to meet your gaze, his eyes still glossy. “It’s in my dresser.”

“Will you wear it again?”

“Of course,” you say. “And I’ll get one for you, too.”

The thought of having a constant reminder of your love for him on his hand makes his stomach flip. His dimples cave into his cheeks as he beams at you.

“How’d I play today?” he murmurs. Zach would always ask your opinion on how he did after a game. Tonight’s no different.

“Amazing,” you say. “I… I’ve actually been following your team. I know we said no contact, but…”

Zach’s elated that you cared enough to follow his progress.

“I’ve been checking every social media account you have every day,” he admits.

You giggle and he hugs you tightly, burrowing his nose into your hair. Suddenly, the memory of your argument outside rushes back into your mind.

“Wait, did you go home?” you ask.

“No, I just… sat in my car,” he tells you.

“What? Zach,” you say, voice heavy. “Aren’t you going to see your family?”

“I never told them I’d be in town,” he confesses. You shift to look at him again. “I knew that when we saw each other, we’d… realize we should be together. And I knew I’d only want to spend the night with you. I’m sorry - I only didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

Zach’s undying faith in your relationship melts you. Even after a messy break-up and a month apart, he believed in you two making it.

You nod, pinching his cheek, making him smile again.

“We could go now, if you want,” you offer. “They’d be so happy to see that we’re back together.”

Hearing you confirm it out loud makes Zach’s heart leap.

“Next time,” he says, squeezing you tight. “Right now, it’s just you and me. And eventually, we’ll be sleeping in the same bed every night and there won’t be any distance at all.”

You can’t wait. Neither can he.

author’s note: i started this blog with the intention to write for rafe only but my friend showed me the zach maclaren light and for that @juniebugg i owe you my life 🫡

#zach is subby and you can’t convince me otherwise! #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x reader #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren #zach maclaren and reader #zach maclaren and y/n #zach maclaren and you

[lettersofalover]

-> flashing lights | paige b | social media au part one

part two

paige x fem!college!reader

summary: the media student assigned to athletics is as cute as can be with an eye for shooting a certain blondie

yn.jpg: junior year talk to me niiiiice. happy to announce i got placed with women’s athletics as my photographer practicum. this barbie’s job is sports!!!

bestieuser : go best friend that’s my best friend

frienduser1: if you see kk pls tell her i love her

yn.jpg replied: no 🫶🏽

frienduser2: you? sports? what’s going on at uconn

yn.jpg replied: the lack of faith is astounding

frienduser3: can i be your plus one, i’m just trying to be friends with paige

sororitysisuser: that’s my little!!! so proud of you lil bit

yn.jpg: paige 🫱🏼‍🫲🏽 azzi using all my film w the cutest photos - so excited for the season

paigebueckers: looooove youuuuu

uconnwbb: dynamic duo 😤

frienduser1: get out this is so cute and fun!!

frienduser2: its the way you went from 2k followers to 10k

yn.jpg replied: the uconn effect 😮‍💨

kkarnold: ball hogs and camera hogs

yn.jpg replied: tell me about it

paigebeuckers: i’m really a model fr

yn.jpg replied: something like that

sororitysisuser: my little is making the fam proud

yn.jpg: i think i like this little life 🏀 p.b shot by yours truly

kkarnold: real shooter and i’m not talking about number 5

azzifudd: every picture is better than the last me next!!

paigebueckers: hanging this in my room

paigebueckers: this is hard

yn.jpg: just wait for the rest of the season 🤞🏽

frienduser1: more paige content pls

sororitysisteruser: you’re in your element and thriving

yn.jpg: the camera loves paige and she loves it back

yn.jpg: a little trip to the city with portraits of me courtesy of my second shooter

sororitysis: the matching outfits are cracking me up

kkarnold: two peas a pod or whatever they say

azzifudd replied: i think it’s dumb and dumber fr

paigebueckers: what would you have done without me

yn.jpg replied: had more stable blood pressure probably

yn.jpg replied: kidding, luv u pbj

yn.jpg: mood because i completed my sports media practicum, art showing, and people bought my work!! fall break can’t end fast enough. ready to be back on court with my girls!!

paigebueckers: congratulations, you deserve it

yn.jpg replied: couldn’t have asked for a better player to photograph

kkarnold: that’s OUR media girl

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball

[greyfics]

even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

pairing: the ghoul (cooper howard) x reader fic type: enemies to lovers, no smut, mild spice + eventual fluff slow burn meter: ◈◈◇◇◇ word count: 3.8K inspo: TPD lyric prompt list, reblogged on main reader type: assumed wastelander background, gender neutral, 'I don't need a knight to save me', assumed negative views of BoS, assumed gun for hire cw: strong language, violence, reference to fictional drugs, mild dismemberment summary: reader is a gun for hire who has gotten themselves into a bit of trouble in the form of a moderate bounty with a local segment of the brotherhood- and cooper howard knows he can get all the drugs he needs for what seems like an easy job.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

"We can do this all day, darlin'. Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leavin' here with you." you feel the pressure of a pistol barrel pressing against the base of your skull from behind, and a disgruntled, defeated sigh slips through your lips. The game is up- you're out of ammo, down to the ripper hanging from your side, and 'gun against the brain-cage' is the indisputable checkmate.

Up to this point, you'd been pretty successful in shaking off the swathes of bounty hunters and jet-scrounging raiders that'd been on your tale since you became an enemy to the brotherhood- which, nowadays, seemed to be a pretty fucking easy feat to accomplish. The rusty knights were getting a little big for their oversized, several-tonne boots- and you had never been a fan of self-asserting authorities using their power in the name of 'order', especially not when they could hardly organise their own little sectors across the expansive, sparse remains of the USA.

As good with a revolver as you are, today it seems your luck has ran out and your karma has caught up with you, because you've finally met your match in a ghoul with a face so smug you wish you at least had a chance to slap it before losing the game of cat and mouse you'd been playing for a couple days now across Junktown. Your face collides into concrete and a quick click combines with the feel of steel against your wrists, The Ghoul's threat having evolved into a promise.

You spit a ball of blood and saliva from your mouth, wrought up by the hard impact with the ground below, "Alright, you win this round you freak- I'll come with you, just get these off of me." You hear a smirk from above, "Now how stupid do you fuckin' think I am? No, I gave you a chance to come willingly, you chose to shoot me in the leg. Lucky I ain't returned the favour." He gives you a light, sharp kick in the side with the tip of his boot, "Up. We got a long way to travel, and sooner we get there, sooner I get paid. I'll be reminding you now that I only get a bonus for bringing you alive, so make my life hell and I'll live without the extra caps." "Not exactly easy when my-" you hear the chick of a safety being cocked, and awkwardly shuffle back until you can jut sharply up onto your knees and slowly stand, turning to glare daggers into your now captor. The Ghoul's expression remains stiffly affixed with the wry, smug facade he bears: relaxed, squinting eyes peeking out above a thin, ever-upturned lip- you swear to yourself to you'll smack that smile off his face- but by all accounts, beneath the withered, decaying skin that had festered in his ghoulish transformation, the man had the stature (and admittedly, the jawline) of a filmstar.

You shake off the irritable possibility of monster like this getting lucky with the gene pool as a calloused hand secures a vice grip on one of your wrists and tugs you in suit as it's owner sets into motion, dragging you away from the remnants of an old civilisation and towards a military base miles away you are all too acquainted with.

You had been so caught up in the wild ride of adrenaline that came with being on the lamb that you briefly detached yourself from the catalyst of the chase- but as concrete and clay inevitably crumbles away to distant sandy dunes and cacti, the dread stirs in your stomach like a plague. It was easier to wave off the consequences of your actions when you weren't being marched towards the gallows to face them- it wasn't like you made an attack on the organisation. You kill one knight trashing up a town in the name of redundant technology, and suddenly you're on a hit-list. You know The Ghoul probably doesn't know this, and you know for certain that even if you tried to give the man a sob story he wouldn't care. This was it. "You about to be sick?" You snap from your pessimistic daze at the sudden interruption of silence, "No. Why?" "You look like you just ate a mouldy iguana, that's why- and I don't want sick on my boots." You let out an irked groan, and sharply snap your head to face the horizon in the opposite direction to your captor. You hope this will satiate his sour jabs for the time being-

Your hope is crushed five minutes later.

"Go on then. I'm bored shitless and I'm outta jet, so spill." He says with an almost theatrical exasperation in his voice, "Spill what, exactly?" you coldly respond in a mute tone, focus still fixed on the horizon to the west, "Well what's the big story? Someone's always gotta be the victim when they got a bounty on their head, so what's the tragic tale behind 'Y/N', huh?" the muscles in your neck and shoulders tense up at the mention of your name- you weren't exactly a known associate or long-time rival to the brotherhood, and the wanted poster you had wrestled from the stiff fingertips of a raider last week only had a sketch and a scrawled account of the incident. You falter for a moment before replying, but ardently avoid taking the bait, "If your plan is to get me to tell you how we got to where we are right now just so you can mock me, then I think I'd rather carry on enjoying the view, if you don't mind." The sweet-toned sarcasm at the end of your sentence seeps with venom, and the hostility it implies does not slip away from your adversary.

This time, his laugh is a soft, whisper of a chuckle- something spiteful, foreboding- followed by matching words, "You should hear what your little community had to say about you for a couple caps and a promise not to shoot anybody- well, anybody else-" his words cut into something personal, then- and though you would normally know that attacking someone with your hands cuffed behind your back is never going to end in your favour, at this moment you couldn't care less as you swing your leg round in a swift roundhouse motion, and raise your knee towards the only place you can think to leave a mark-

You hit your target, but instead of howls of pain you are met with a split second of awkward silence as the ghoul cocks his head, unimpressed, before slamming it into your own, sending you staggering back a few paces-

Before you can reorient your vision, a heavy dull force plummets into your ribs- the sand cushions your blow slightly better than the concrete you met face-to-face with an hour ago, at least. Your arms, however, are not grateful to be pressed beneath you as a familiar, withered hand pushes into your throat, putting as much pressure on your trapped limbs when your upper body presses back as it does on your esophagus, halting your air supply as he lowers himself down to a kneel and fixes your gaze onto his,

"If I wasn't already a walking corpse, that could've really hurt- not a very nice thing to do to someone just tryna have a little bit of light conversation now, is it?" All you can do is glower through eyes blinded by the sun, which gleams behind the shadow of the ghoul's head, bearing on it a smile tweaked with frustration- you need to breathe- you can't keep this up, your heartbeat is louder than the sun in your eyes and-

The pressure releases. You turn your head to the ground and suck in air between dry, heavy coughs, and after you've finally steadied your breath, you find a minor fleck of relief in being hoisted up from the ground this time instead of scrabbling to get up at gunpoint. You wonder, perhaps, if this is some small act driven by guilt- perhaps this man had a conscience once and a set of values beyond doing what it takes to ensure one's own survival. You were a gun for hire yourself, so it would be hypocritical to criticise your captor for his line of work- mostly, you preferred to stick with jobs guarding merchant caravans and to take out bands of raiders harassing the cities you passed through, but you never questioned the legitimacy of the requests you received, or the cargo you oversaw; you had settled for a little while, having stuck around the same little settlement for a few years now and had started to develop some semblance of a connection to the people there-

or so you thought.

You know you're going to be walking for a while- so with a resigned breath, you begin saying what little there is left to say about your present situation, "Well, you probably know most of what I can tell you from the sounds of things, but I guess there's nothing else for me to do right now, and the horizon is the same no matter where you go around here. I guess you could say we're in similar lines of work, but that's not really what got me in trouble with The Brotherhood. They think they can rock up in a power armour with a logo on it and wreak havoc as they please because it's for 'the greater good', but they leave towns half-destroyed when they pass through. I didn't want that to happen to... well, I didn't like the sound of that happening where I was. So, dude gets out of his power armour and starts waving guns around screaming about some piece of pre war tech or the other, and I tell him with... a strong choice of words, to get going. He starts running for the power armour, guns blazing- and I just have better aim, I guess. Not even like I got paid for killing him, either. Maybe that would've made this whole thing a little bit sweeter."

Your profession leaves a silence hanging in the air for a little while after, but it feels appropriate. The dunes filter sand from the far west to respond to your story- the horizon quivers, but only through the illusion of heat; the sand dries your eyes before they have reason to shed tears. A loaded sigh escapes the ghoul in front of you, and the clasp on your wrist softens but for a moment before stiffening to pull you onwards, "Yep, well, caps keep you going a little longer round these parts, but money can't solve all your problems." "You should tell that to the Brotherhood. They seem to be doing pretty well for all the wealth they've hoarded- can even pay big time bounty hunters to do their shitwork from the looks of things." You retort, but after a moment follow up with, "Wish I could say I was upset about it but hell, if I were you, I'd turn me in too."

You hear that soft chuckle again, but when you turn around to catch a look at the face that matches it, you see relaxed muscles and a far-off stare- he won't let you go, but he has let his guard down but a little bit- perhaps when we get closer to my story's end, he'll even let me walk to my death with my hands unbound.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

After trudging on in silence for a while, head bowed to your fatalistic contemplations, you find as you drag yourself out of the pit in your head and look over the horizon once more that the scene has changed: the atomic orange dewdrops spattering the sky not long ago have quickly to faded into a bruised overhanging shadow of violent, lavender, crimson; twilight approaches, and you're still surrounded by desert hills and illusions.

One of these illusory quivers catches your sharp eye, a dark blip that has appeared somewhere in that distance; it's moving, but it isn't close enough for you to determine whether it's just a trick of the heat or whether it's something heading in your direction. Your brow furrows, but you say nothing yet.

Within a minute, the object comes into better focus- or, rather, the creature. Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to utter some kind of warning, managing to rasp, "Get the handcuffs off of me." "Now, darlin', I thought we managed to get past this already-" "No-" You tug your bound wrists, pulling the ghoul into your side- his other arm steadies itself against your shoulder before slipping up to your jaw and dragging it to face him, his own clenched and unaccompanied by a smile this time- the pallid complexion of your own face gives him enough pause for you to blurt in a fruitless, strained whisper, "Deathclaw."

If The Ghoul's skin could have paled more than it already had in his lifeless state, then it might have at that moment. The tight grip holding you against him slackens completely and you thud onto your ass as he draws his guns and casts you a playfully pitiful glance from above, shrugging and saying, "Sorry, darlin', guess I forgot to pick up the keys." He steps in front of you as a curse rips out of your throat in the sudden panic that ensues, and you try to muster enough brain cells in this moment to figure out a way of not dying, prematurely, and becoming just another skeletal curio.

There's the back-up plan, the 'if shit goes south' plan that you still hadn't gone through with because of the possible dismemberment that it might entail- but you had not been unarmed when you had been restrained earlier, and the phantom hum of a ripper blade always strapped to your waist as your last resort. You won't be able to wield it with any competence with your hands restrained as they are, but you can hit the power button from your current position-

Though, usually, you'd prefer to do it when the blade was already in your hand, not digging into the side of your leg.

shredded leg is better than deathclaw snack. Your astute analysis confirms your decision, and with a grunt and a whack, the blade starts chugging into a steady whirring action by the will of the dregs of an energy cell embedded inside- the next couple of seconds are far too long.

The blade begins it's excursion into your thigh as the gunslinging ghoul whips around at the sound, eyes wide at the sudden display of spraying crimson. You scream, struggle to try to align the cuffs without jerking your shoulders out of place. The deathclaw bounds into the mid-distance, closing in upon it's approach- it caught your scent before you could even see it's silhouette-

The tip disappears as your leg reflexively jerks, responding to the dancing jig of the chainsaw blade- you see pathetic sparks as the thing bounces off of the cuffs- strong enough to sever a leg, too rusted and battered to cut through metal. Your plan is failing. Your leg is bleeding. The cowboy falters as the deathclaw closes further-

You make a snap decision: fingers are easier to fix than legs.

You twist your wrist, and the pain just melts into the already existing burn emanating from your leg- a bloody, three-fingered stump slips from it's cage, and you swing your still-cuffed hand around in a fluid movement to drag the ripper from its sheath within your leg, snapping the cord that ties it to your waist-

You hear a frenzied firing of a revolver, but the approaching thunks are unimpeded- and though you know your leg may give way when the adrenaline finally dies, and though you know you need to find the two fingers you lost before sand vipers snatch them up and you're known as three-fingered y/n for the rest of your life- you launch yourself from the ground on your good leg, and stagger towards the approaching beast.

You grew up in the wastelands. You grew up in a settlement up here that, like any of the rest, was constantly plagued by critters and beasts- and if you were taught anything by the survivors that surrounded you, it was the following:

If you can't blow the bastard up, get 'em in the belly.

The deathclaw- a baby, thankfully- has it's gaze fixated on the man that had in the past half a minute become it's primary aggressor- so when you stumble forward, low and bleeding, with what to the creature is just another indistinguishable bit of metal in your hands, it does not see reason to change the track of it's jump.

As it launches itself above you, you pray to lady luck that you hit your mark.

An ear-splitting yowl and a sudden muffled crash tells you she's listening, for once.

Finally, after a few ragged breaths, the adrenaline wears off and you feel the weight of your body pressing into the wounds that liberated you- and the blueberry sky fades to black as you become weightless. This time, your fall is of your own accord- and this time, something stops you from hitting the ground.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

When you come to, you do not open your eyes at first- awake though you might be, your body is heavy with exhaustion. Before your encounter with the ghoul, you had been on the run for weeks, and in the last twenty four hours had not had time to stay put long enough to sleep. Coupled with the rough journey and the blood loss, you couldn't move if you wanted to. That being said, in those few dark minutes, a few things of note still catch your attention.

There is a faint crackling to your side, and the lulling warmth of a fire that brushes in waves against your face- and though you feel the silky grains of sand cushioning most of your resting body, your head lays higher up, neck leaning up to a more elevated surface- your attention snaps to the light sensation of fingertips absently grazing your neck in a repeating pattern, and the distant hum of an old country song embedded into muscle memory. The surrounding sensations are a strange comfort for all the brutal imagery this post apocalyptic world usually beholds; but it is brief, as your neck tenses, giving away your lucidity. The hand pauses, lifts- settles somewhere to the side.

When you dare to open your eyes, you are unsurprised to see the question-begging smirk and sharp eyes peering down from above, "Have a good nap?" You bolt upright, and immediately regret it when the bending of your leg snags one of the stitches you didn't know had been sewed into you until just now. Defeated, you flop back down, turning your head to the side to gaze into the dying embers of the fire beside you- praying you can brush off the flush of blush creeping into your face to the influence of the fire. Eventually you garner the courage to speak, "Feels like I've only been out for an hour." He snorts, shaking his head, "You went down around sunset, and it'll be sunrise in a couple hours." This catches you by surprise, and not just because of the amount of time you've lost, "What happened to getting your caps as soon as possible? Lost a lot of time waiting." He frowns, but does not lose his grin, "You trying to get yourself killed? 'Cos you've done a damn fine job of that so far. No, I've just been doing some thinking." "Congratulations. I'm proud of you." His eyes narrow into slits and he tuts at your sarcasm, following your gaze into the fire, "See, it could be argued that I would've been minced ghoul splattered n' buried six feet under the dunes if you hadn't gone all psycho slicing yourself up like that to get that baby deathclaw where it hurts." "That was a baby?-" "Anyway, guess my point is I might be willing to do a lot of things, but I still got my principles- only human thing I got left, probably. So I'd say I owe it you to not kill you at least. When you can walk, we'll go east to- well, to what's left of Shady Sands, and then you can do whatever the fuck you want."

You consider his words, and not knowing how to express appreciation or what to begin to make of this mysterious stranger and his obscure appeal, you find yourself rejecting this suggestion, though you don't know why- and so naturally, you dig yourself into a hole, "Well, you could also say that I would have died of blood loss if you didn't stitch my leg up." He studies you then for a minute, before shrugging and clasping your hands together at the wrists. You begin to stammer indecipherable protest and with a smirk he pulls you up, your hands still held rigid in your lap by his own, his head resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, "Now, I'm starting to get the impression you want me to march you up to our friends at the brotherhood just to keep my company." If he can't see the warm hue in your face now, he can certainly feel the heat flushing through your flustered face- you fight against the feeling, if only to make sure you stand a chance of winning this little exchange,

"Says the man who watched me sleep all night." You feel him shrug your comment off as his grin extends, "I might look like a monster, but I was a gentleman once upon a time. Like I say, I got principles." He lets you slip forward out of his grasp when you move to shuffle yourself around. As you do, you feel for the first time you are looking at him properly, sincerely- face to face, on equal grounds, with no threats of death or necessary facades of false confidence. After soaking in as much as you allow yourself to without losing yourself to curiosity entirely, you crossing your arms across your chest, and reply,

"Well, I have principles too- and if you're oh so graciously not turning me into the brotherhood then I still I owe you, so I guess I'll just have to stick around until you nearly get yourself killed again- that's all. No other reason." The ghoul rises, resting a hand on his pistol,

"You tell yourself that, darlin'- I'm gonna enjoy this change of scenery, I think."

#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ 01 ] #greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ cooper howard ] #greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ fallout ] #greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ x reader ] #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout fanfic #cooper howard fanfic #the ghoul fanfic #x reader #greyfics #fallout tv series #I know that the way I used the lyric does not match the lyric but hey don't knock the weird literal train of inspiration #may rewrite to polish a couple details nagging at me but have put way too much time into fidgeting around with the words for now hehe #also I feel like this definitely has second part potential if I want to divvy into it in the future so #note to self for that one

[malirosee]

SELF DESTRUCT - CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY;; Chris and Clara had been in a talking stage for 2 months and Chris decided to ghost her. But not for the reasons Clara thought he did ..

NOT PROOF READ ; NO SMUT JUST ANGST AND SLIGHT FLUFF :3 I suggest listening to the song before or while reading the fic because it'll make more sense to the plot !

Chris and Clara were basically perfect for each other. From the day they met at Larray's party they immediately had a connection and got along instantly. Both being the loudest and outgoing at the party. Their personalities together really made a room light up. They matched each other like puzzle pieces.

It didn’t take them long till they continued to bump into each other at Larrays multiple parties and  eventually got each other's numbers and started talking a bit more seriously. 

Clara was head over heels for Chris to say the least. From that night she knew she had something for him. It's like the universe aligned them together on purpose. He made her feel like her. He was the first guy ever to make her really feel something.  

If Clara had to describe him he was perfect in her eyes. In every way possible. The way he’d stay up all night talking to her, or how he’d assure her she was okay when she was having a bad day, or even the slight compliments he gave her, the way he made her smile at her phone, the way he’d listen to everything she had to say, he was everything she wanted. Everything she needed.

And Chris absolutely returned the feeling. He even made sure to hint to Clara how he felt.

So when Chris started distancing himself from Clara randomly it felt weird. It made Clara feel utterly confused. 

At first it started off as dry responses. She tried not to think too hard about it because Chris was a human and of course he had a life and other things to worry about. Then it started to become where he’d only text her once every other day. Then after about four messages in a row she sent him is when she realized he fully ghosted her.

She stared at her screen, blue light plastered on her face from the reflection. She bit her lip- holding back the urge to text him once again. She sighed and slammed her phone down on her bed. She just didn’t understand it. Was it something wrong she did? She said?  She looked? The entire situation kept her up late at night. 

She felt something she had never felt with anyone else with Chris. Clara had been in plenty of relationships before but she swore up and down that Chris was different. When in reality it wasn’t. He was just like everyone else. He was interested, he got bored, and was clearly too big of a dick to tell Clara the truth so he did the thing any other guy would do and ghost her.

They had only been talking for two months and she knew she shouldn’t have gotten attached but still, it fucked her up. It had officially been two weeks today since the last text Chris had sent her. She just needed to accept the fact that what they had was dead now. 

She sucked it all up and decided to go to Tara's party tonight. She knew she needed a distraction and hoped that Chris or the triplets wouldn’t be there because she had never seen them interact with Tara like that. 

For Chris, this was absolutely eating him alive. He hadn’t gotten proper sleep since then. Chris couldn’t exactly pinpoint why he ghosted Clara. Chris had extremely bad commitment issues and everyone knew that. His past relationships really wiring his brain anytime he found someone knew. So when he met Clara he thought that it would just end up being the same thing. He’d get attached to her and she’d end up hurting him. So he distanced himself to the point where he accidentally ghosted her. He didn’t even realize that he hurt her in order to protect himself until it was too late.

He even thought about texting Clara again but he couldn’t. He knew he had already fucked it up enough. He almost did though. A bunch of times. He would always write her really long paragraphs at 2 in the morning and almost end up sending them. He’d always feel really pathetic and end up deleting it and rolling over and try to sleep.  

He hated the thought of hurting Clara. He had been ghosted before by girls and it absolutely crushed him and he didn’t even wanna imagine what Clara was thinking. It made him feel like an absolute asshole. He wanted her to know how badly it hurt him too. It's like he self-destructed himself when he was around her. 

So here he was at Taras party. Trying to distract himself from it all. 

When Clara saw him she felt like her heart stopped for a second. Her entire body stopped. She stood in the middle of Larrays hallway staring at him. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her mouth slightly opened out of shock. 

It didn’t take Chris long to notice Clara’s eyes on him. They locked eyes. Both their faces went pale. Chris could feel the breath leave his body. Immediately when Clara noticed Chris´ eyes on her she stormed out the room. Chris excused himself from the girl he was talking to in front of her and immediately ran after her.

“Clara, wait..” He called out. Clara heard his voice. The same voice that used to calm her down. Her vision began to get blurry and her head started pounding. She began to push everyone and everything out her way. She didn’t even know where she was trying to go; she just knew she needed to get away. “Clara please!” Chris called again.

Clara finally reached outside. She took a deep breath in from the fresh air. She turned around and met Chris’ tall figure in front of her. Her mouth still held open; her pupils small and her breath shaky. An extremely disappointed look on her face. Chris’ face was filled with guilt and worry. “What.” Clara said sternly. Chris didn’t exactly know what to say. He said the first thing that came to mind, “I’m sorry.” is all he could spit out. A scoff left Clara’s mouth. “You’re sorry? For what Christopher. What are you sorry for?” Clara spat back. Her arms crossed her body. Anger began to fill her body. “Clara, you know what I'm sorry for…” He spoke softly. Clara rolled her eyes. “Yeah sorry for ghosting me and getting my hopes up? Wow thanks for that awesome apology Chris!” Clara began to walk away as she said that. Tears began to fill the brim of her eyes. Chris continued to follow after her “Clara you don’t understand, I didn’t mean to ghost you.” He explained. He placed his hand on her shoulder trying to turn her around. She met his eyes again. “How the fuck do you not mean to ghost someone Chris?” the tears began to spill out her eyes. 

Chris inhaled. “Clara I didn’t know how to function with you because I like you too much. I threw it all away because I was scared. I was scared of getting hurt that I didn’t even realize I was hurting you in the process. I self-destructed and panicked and just left with no explanation and it's been eating me alive. I hope that you know this entire thing has hurt me so unbelievably and I've tried so hard to reach out to you but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I felt like I fucked up too much. Maybe I should’ve stayed and I'm sorry…” He explained. Everything coming out at once. Every feeling Chris has had in these past two weeks finally came out. Clara’s face lit up in shock. She couldn’t believe what Chris was saying. Clara had no words. She didn’t even know how to respond to this. 

“Really?”

Chris chuckled awkwardly

“Really.”

-

AN: I didn't know what to do for the end so just come up with it with your imagination LMAO

TAGLIST (tell me if u wanna be removed or added!) ; @sturnioloshacker @sturnish @hoesformatt @lovingmattysposts @gwenlore @daddyslilchickenfingers @thenickgirl

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo an #sturniolo angst #sturniolos #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #fem oc #sturniolo #sturniolo fluff #fic #idfk #:3 #song fic #between friends #Spotify

[dawn-moths]

"40 — Love"

Nanami Kento x Female Reader

word count: 3,700+

(After watching Nanami and Gojo’s tennis matches for so long, you decide you want to try your hand at the game. Luckily, you just so happen to have access to the perfect teacher.)

disclaimer/content warning: nothing explicit but still some suggestive content, minors please dni! set in my i’ll be your angel au (sugar daddy nanami), use of the word “daddy”, reader is called “angel, baby, sweetheart, princess”, size difference, jealous gojo satoru. 

*ao3 mirror*

♡♡♡

The early summer’s evening sun beat down against the tennis court, the first gentle shades of what would eventually morph into a blazing sunset blanketing over you from where you lounged beneath the partial shade of an umbrella, the diamonds studding your ears and wrapped around your wrist winking in the soft amber light. Every movement you made caught Nanami’s eye, little glittering flashes of the newest jewels he’d gifted you distracting him like a magpie eagerly searching for a fresh sparkling trinket.

But he kept forcing himself to avert his gaze, umber eyes hidden beneath the lenses of his sunglasses as he trained his stare on his opponent. Gojo Satoru, on the other hand, was somewhat reveling in Nanami’s distraction. Perhaps now he might actually stand a chance at scoring a point against the blonde.

Satoru figured it would be hard for him to take his own eyes off of you, if you’d been visible from his side of the court. But, as was Nanami’s preference, Gojo’s back was facing you, though that still didn’t do much to stop him from trying to show off. If anything, it only encouraged him. Just a single glimpse of you in your sporty little baby blue skirt and crop top, the clothing hugging your sunkissed curves so deliciously it nearly had Satoru salivating despite the dryness his mouth had earned from all the recent exertion, it was enough to inspire him to give it his all on the court today, that was for certain.

Not that he ever took it easy when competing against Nanami, whether you were present or not.

And while Gojo excelled at plenty of other skills, Nanami Kento was a force to be reckoned with when there was a racket in his hands.

As Nanami sent the ball zooming past Satoru once again, earning himself another point (they weren’t keeping score, Nanami had said, just practicing, letting off some steam at the end of a long and busy day, but you’d secretly been keeping track the entire time, and so far, your Daddy was undeniably undefeated) you let out a cheer.

Nanami flicked his gaze over to you and gave a confident smirk and a thumbs up. No wonder he always won. He had the best good luck charm any man could ask for. And if Gojo thought blue was his color, today, it seemed, the shade belonged to Nanami through and through. He swept his gaze along your form, tracing from the big velvet scrunchie secured around your high ponytail all the way down to your pristine white sneakers.

He knew your favorite thing about joining your Daddy on his athletic activities was, of course, the cute outfits you got to model for him. And his favorite part, other than getting the chance to admire his favorite little cheerleader in between matches, was the fact that he’d get to take each and every article of clothing off of you later that night.

In the past, you’d participated alongside Nanami in some of his favorite physical hobbies— like golf or swimming or, like today, tennis— trying so hard to keep up with his speed and his strength and his skill. And weren’t you just so precious, thinking you could even come close to matching him? Because you couldn’t compete with him even if you wanted to. No one— not even Satoru— was a match for Nanami’s powerful tennis stroke.

You’d spent several afternoons as of late serving as a spectator, watching them play while you sat under your private little veil of shade and sipped pink lemonade, idly attempting to read through a book. But the thing about Nanami and Satoru’s tennis matches was, once the grunting and the sweat and the competition really began, you couldn’t focus on anything else. Couldn’t take your eyes off them, cold drink and paperback fiction all but forgotten as you sat up in your lounge chair, practically on the edge of your seat, leaning in as you peered over the delicate frames of your heart shaped sunglasses to watch them racing across the green top.

“Nice one!” Gojo called across to his casual-partner-turned-brutal-opponent as Nanami sent the ball back over the net in a clean, controlled arc. “But don’t forget this is—” His sentence was cut off with a growl as he hit the ball back with enough force to emit an audible crack echoing across the gardens. “A competition!”

Nanami leapt to hit the ball back in time, your breath catching when you feared he might actually miss. But at the last second, almost too fast for your eyes to keep track of, his racket sent it rushing back towards the man opposite him. Gojo dove for the ball but missed it by just a hair, the little blur of lime green slamming into the chain link fence with a shuddering rattle.

“Don’t get cocky now, Satoru!” Nanami teased, finally able to take a moment to catch his breath as Gojo went to retrieve the ball, raking a hand through tousled, sweat-streaked blonde strands. His lips cracked into an arrogant smirk, clearly not intent on taking his own advice. “Besides,” he added, lowering his voice a bit as he cast a glance your way. “You really think I’ll lose while she’s watching?”

Gojo peered over his shoulder, snowy locks damp and sticking to his temples and the back of his neck, a water bottle gripped in one hand while he used his other to fan his body with his black t-shirt. He couldn’t help but grin then too. Maybe if he had a good luck charm as perfect and pretty as you, he might actually manage to beat Nanami just once.

“Y’know, we might need to make a new rule,” Gojo suggested as he turned back to face Nanami, taking a few quick gulps of the flavored electrolytes. When he was done, he let out a satisfied sigh and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, lazily gesturing his tennis racket towards Nanami, he continued, “I could consider you bringing along your little cheerleader as cheating. Let’s see how you’d do without her around, shall we?”

Nanami’s gaze darkened at the prospect of the challenge, but ultimately his smile held steady. “How could I?” he replied, gently jovial. His full attention was on you now, and you resisted the urge to get up and saunter over to him upon his beckoning stare. “Besides, I promised I’d give her a lesson or two after we were done.”

“That mean we’re calling this match?” asked Satoru with a slightly defeated scoff.

Nanami could tell how eager you were to come over, so as he said, “Yeah. Better luck next time, I guess,” he gave you a beckoning wave.

You sprung up from your seat, trotting over across the court with a beaming smile, wearing a brightness to rival the season’s sunny weather. “Is your game over, Daddy?” you asked with that adorable sweetness lacing your tone, all watermelon-sugar and honey drizzled peaches.

What Gojo wouldn’t give to have a girl like you to call his own.

The moment you were within reach, Nanami was pulling you protectively against his side, one of his strong arms cradling your shoulders as you nuzzled further into his loving touch. “I’d say it is, princess,” he cooed, melting in your presence like a popsicle left out in the sun. Then he cast a somewhat taunting glance over at Satoru and added, “I mean, unless Gojo is intent on losing again today?”

Gojo flashed a mean, sharp smile, all pearly white teeth and malice, and then coughed out a huff of a chuckle, something cold and vengeful shining in those elysian blues. “Mark my words, Kento,” he taunted, “one of these days, I’m gonna annihilate you, and when I do…” His gaze then shifted to you, scanning up and down your form, trying hard not to let it stick on the soft flesh of your exposed thighs, the dip of your waist and the little sliver of your tummy that showed in the space between your skirt’s waistband and the hem of your top, the curve of your breasts and the bit of cleavage that peeked out from the V-neck. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, pink and wanting, right before he concluded with, “Good luck charm or not, she won’t be able to save you.”

You felt a little tense then, the energy suddenly seeming to shift as Gojo wore an expression that you swore was hungry. And, god, how tempted he was to make a bet with Nanami, wager a night with you— hell, even just ten minutes— as the prize for one of their weekly matches. And Nanami, being confident in his own ability, relying a little too heavily on his unbroken winning streak, might just be in a playful or arrogant enough mood to entertain Gojo’s little whims.

“Sure,” he’d reply, sarcastic and cocky. “If you can beat me, I’ll even let you have her in my bed.”

And that…

That would be just enough of a stake to seal the deal. To cause Gojo Satoru to become even more relentless than he normally was on the court against his oldest friend.

That would be the time Gojo finally won.

And he’d relish in making Nanami eat his overconfident words just before he’d drown in the pleasure of finally being able to have a taste of you— the one thing in the world he couldn’t buy for himself no matter how many figures his bank account secured.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you for the rematch next week,” Gojo shrugged, his predatory gaze morphing back into something light and unbothered, a look belonging to the Gojo you were more used to. After gathering his things, he gave you a playful little wave goodbye and said, “Don’t go easy on him now!” Nanami offered to walk Satoru out, but Gojo waved him off, saying, “I know my way out. Now teach her well so someday I can drag Megumi or Yuji or Nobara along and we can play doubles.” With a cheeky wink and a self-assured stride, Gojo Satoru was gone, disappearing beyond the manicured lawns and hedges and heading back to where his black Rolls Royce Phantom awaited him in the long, curving driveway.

“Can’t you let him win just once, Daddy?” you asked, some sympathy for Satoru’s defeat bleeding into your whine. “I’ll still think you’re the best at tennis even if he occasionally beats you…”

Nanami hummed out a note of amusement, beginning to guide you off to the side of the court where the extra rackets and tennis balls were kept. “And if I let him win, do you really think he’d be satisfied, sweetheart?” he asked you, pure adoration peppered with condescension lilting in his low, soothing voice. “Do you really think he’d accept a victory that he didn’t earn?”

No, you thought to yourself, Satoru would never claim a victory that he hadn’t earned fair and square. Because as carefree and frivolous as the man could be, he was equally cruel and competitive. He was good enough to outmatch anyone in almost anything, tennis included, just so long as that person wasn’t Nanami Kento. And though the two men were more evenly matched in their golf and swimming skills, it was, of course, the one game that Gojo had yet to best Nanami in that he was so hung up on.

“I guess you’re right,” you agreed with a shrug. As Nanami reached over to hand you your tennis racket— the light pink one he’d had custom made for you the moment you’d shown interest in learning— you took on a slightly more nervous tone and asked, words trembling a little towards the end, “But you’ll go easy on me, right?”

There was no way you’d survive a single one of Nanami’s vicious serves unless he dialed it way back. And he knew this just as well as you did. Not to mention he’d sort of been hoping you’d take interest in one of his hobbies eventually. That way, it would give him the perfect opportunity to spend more time with you, to leave work a little early or reschedule a boring meeting because it was almost time for his precious baby’s tennis lesson, and he just couldn’t be late. It also would be the perfect opportunity to put his hands all over you as he showed you the correct way to hold a racket or take a swing, his palms planted firmly on your hips as he helped correct your form, distracting you in the process of course, though once your lesson was over and he’d praised you for a job well done, the two of you fully intended on revisiting those more intimate parts of the lesson later in the bedroom.

“Of course, angel,” Nanami chuckled, grabbing up two extra water bottles from the mini fridge. “Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine. Besides, don’t I always take good care of my favorite girl?”

Especially because he wouldn’t want you to get frustrated and decide to quit. Oh no, he couldn’t have that. And while Gojo’s comment about playing doubles was probably a pipe dream, Nanami couldn’t help but fantasize about spending cool summer evenings out on the private home court with you once you’d gotten the hang of things, just gently hitting the ball back and forth with the sound of your bright laughter echoing over the net every time you successfully returned the ball to him.

But first thing was first. He had to teach you how to serve. So with your back against his chest and his hands taking purchase over where you held the racket, gently correcting your grip position at the start, Nanami led you through the basics of the swing.

“That’s it,” he encouraged you, allowing you to try a few times on your own. He grinned, impressed. “See, you’re a natural.”

You let out a proud giggle, wondering if maybe you’d end up having a knack for this after all, unlike golf, which was very technical, and swimming, which was very exhausting. Though, you’d always been one to get a little ahead of yourself. Because the ball hadn’t even been introduced into the equation yet.

In other words, the real test had yet to begin.

With Nanami now standing at the other end of the court, one of the fuzzy green tennis balls clutched in your manicured hand, you weren’t feeling quite as confident. You’d liked it better when he was guiding you, felt more capable with his expertise close and at the ready. Now, you feared you’d just forgotten nearly everything he’d taught you, your mind racing with questions of how to hold the racket properly and where to aim and, well, honestly you weren’t even sure if you’d be able to hit the ball successfully after tossing it up into the air.

“Whenever you’re ready, baby!” Nanami called over to you, and it was then that you steeled your resolve and reminded yourself that you could do this. You wanted to make your Daddy proud, wanted to hear him praise you when you did it right. You wanted to prove what a good student you could be for your teacher.

“Ok!” you called back, preparing to toss the ball up into the air. You didn’t throw it too high, though imagined how fun it would be to one day toss it as far above your head as you could, watching it plummet back down towards you with the confidence that you’d still be able to hit it across the net.

And even though your aim was a little off-center, you were still able to swing hard enough to send the ball over to Nanami, who lightly tapped it back to you, letting it bounce on the green once before you lunged forward to hit it back. You felt the ball make contact with your racket, and next thing you knew it was soaring over the net once more.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, your look of concentration splitting into an astonished grin. “I did it! I actually did it!”

Nanami returned the ball to you in the same gentle fashion, urging you to continue with the streak you two had going now. “See!” he said. “I knew you could!

But it then seemed your newfound confidence got the better of you because, though you leapt for the ball with everything you had, that time it was just too far out of your range. It passed you on the court and rolled until it hit the chain link fence.

“Ah, man!” you said, jogging to go after it, though you sounded more amused than disappointed.

“That’s alright!” Nanami called, casually walking closer towards the net so he wouldn’t have to shout as loud. “Just bring it here and we’ll try again.”

You grabbed the ball and tossed it towards him, Nanami reaching out to catch it in one of his sure, strong hands. “Do you want to try serving again?” he asked. “Or do you want me to serve?”

You took a moment to think about it, then smiled and replied, “I want you to serve now.”

Nanami returned a soft grin. “Alright, princess,” he said, both of you beginning to make your way back to your preferred places on your respective sides of the court.

“Don’t forget to go easy!” you called over, a playful giggle trailing off the end of your reminder.

“I dunno…” Nanami teased, a hint of mischief present in his voice. “I think you might be ready for a little more of a challenge.”

But, in the end, he was still nice about it. The serve came towards you in a controlled, soft arc, though when you returned it that time it was with a little more fervor, the power behind your stroke increasing just enough to wake Nanami up from his gentle daydreams, the lull provided by the balmy, early summer evening breaking upon the next cool breeze that wafted through the gardens.

The two of you practiced hitting the ball back and forth for another hour or so until you grew tired, your perfect white sneakers beginning to scuff and drag a little across the court, your swing becoming a little sloppier as fatigue caused your concentration to slip. But you didn’t want to call it a day until you’d managed to make Nanami miss the ball just once.

Similar to Gojo, it seemed you had some unrealistic fantasies of your own.

So, after asking you a few times if you wanted to be done for the day and you saying one more round despite how exhausted you clearly were, Nanami drew this conclusion and decided that, if he was going to let anyone beat him, it was going to be you.

“Why don’t you serve this time?” he suggested, sending the ball back your way. You let it roll off to the side a bit before going to retrieve it, and then, hoping he maybe wouldn’t catch onto your plan until it was too late, you tossed the ball up into the air, careful and soft like you’d been doing thus far but, that time, when you swung, you hit it as hard as your arms could muster, letting out your first real tennis grunt from the unexpected exertion.

And while the strength behind the swing was still nothing in comparison to either Nanami or Gojo’s, it still caught Nanami by surprise, caused him to hesitate just a split second too long. He went to lunge after the ball, originally intending to miss it on purpose, but when he found himself instinctually trying to hit it back only to miss it by accident…

Gojo would never believe it.

He looked behind him as it bounced out of bounds and rolled to meet the fence, and though technically the victory wouldn’t have counted in a real match, he certainly wasn’t going to tell you that. Not with the way you were jumping with joy on the other side of the net, squealing and giggling as you came running his way as if you’d just summoned magic for the first time.

“Did you see that?!” you asked, nearly crashing into his arms as you met him on his side of the court, your pretty pink tennis racket forgotten on the side you’d scored your first point against him from, the sorbet glow of the setting sun staining everything in sight with rich golds and brilliant tangerine oranges. “I can’t believe I actually did that! Did you see? Did you see?!”

Nanami dropped his racket and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for a hug and sweeping you off your feet a bit as he spun around with you in his arms. “I saw it, baby,” he assured you, placing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You were great.”

And when you looked up at him, arms still secured around his waist, wearing that look that was just dripping with pure love and devotion, eyes practically sparkling with it, Nanami had half a mind to lower you both to the court and celebrate your first successful tennis lesson a little early.

“I couldn’t have done it without such an amazing teacher,” you told him, nuzzling your cheek against his chest, both of you warm and dewy with a thin sheen of sweat. “But I had a lot of fun! Can we practice again tomorrow?”

Nanami let out a chuckle, the richness of it rumbling through his chest, velvety and sonorous. He swept you up in his arms, intending to carry you all the way back to the house, all the way up to the master bedroom. He said, “Of course, sweetheart. But first, a victory dinner is in order, don’t you think?”

You hummed out a pleasant note, that beaming smile of yours not faltering, though now something a little more devious snaked its way into your narrowing gaze. “Can the victory dinner involve going out for ice cream after?” you asked.

Nanami let out a sigh, though couldn’t wipe the grin off his face even as he shook his head a little and reluctantly replied, “Alright, I suppose you’ve earned it.”

But after that, once your sweet tooth had been satisfied and the exhaustion from the day crept back in to claim you, Nanami would be sure to collect his own prize. And once he was done with you tonight, well…

You might want to take a break from practicing tomorrow after all.

♡♡♡

(Hiiii everyone and thank you so much for reading! Honestly I’ve been thinking about my sd!Nanami from this au for so long now I just had to write a lil something for him and this is just what came to mind! I also can’t wait for summer, so I’m spending most days just dreaming about that lol. Anyway, I hope you’re all doing wonderful and remembering to take care of yourselves! See you next time, byyyyye~!)

#nanami kento #nanami kento jjk #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n

[jflemings]

— let the light in

pairing: jessie fleming x reader

synopsis: for jessie’s benefit, you end your relationship

warnings: depression, bed rotting, suicidal ideation, self depreciation, isolation, toxic!reader if you squint

a/n: take the warnings seriously and look after yourselves pls <3

as much as you knew you needed jessie, there was no way you were going to allow yourself to hold onto her so tightly. it was a repeated and ongoing cycle that you had been trapped in for years now and it seemed to only be getting worse.

“we can’t be together anymore” you murmur into your half empty cup “i can’t do it”

jessie sits across from you with her mouth agape. “if i’ve done something wrong i can fix it” she says, her voice cracking slightly as she pleads “this can be fixed, let. me. fix. it.”

a heaviness settles behind your eyes as you shake your head “there’s nothing to fix. i’m sorry”

it was as easy as walking out the door and leaving her sitting in her kitchen alone. the bag of your things had weighed your shoulder down as you dragged your feet all the way to your car, not once ever looking back in fear of turning around.

it left you here, laying in bed with the curtains drawn and your phone on do not disturb as you stare blankly at the wall. you had become a shell of the person you think you once were, someone who had hobbies and dreams, someone who wanted to build a life worth living. instead you take sick leave so that you don’t have to get out of bed, you let the dishes pile up in the sink when you do decide to eat and you clear a pathway out of your shit on the floor so you can get to your ensuite bathroom.

the numbness that had overtaken you didn’t allow you to cry, no matter how much you think you wanted too. you were drained. there was nothing left for you to give yourself. it was sick, really, the way your brain could play tricks on you and make you believe you weren’t deserving of the life that you have been given. why would you be? there was absolutely nothing to show for it. all you had was a bed with dirty sheets and a brain that told you death was better than anything else you have ever experienced.

your therapist had told you once that because you hadn’t acted on it, it was merely a way for you to cope without committing. a way to wallow, to escape, from a life that you weren’t ever sure you wanted in the first place. she said that people who have depression but don’t kill themselves will fantasise about it but not pick a date or a means to an end.

only, at one point, you had picked a date. you had closed your eyes and twirled your finger in the air before landing on a wednesday two weeks away. you’d marked it with a red dot and then began clearing out things you didn’t want, giving your belongings to charity or throwing them away before neatly organising what you had left. you thought that your family could decide what to do with them. you didn’t care, you were gonna be dead after all.

it was when your coffee machine had finally broken on you that morning did jessie come swinging into your life. you decided to go to a local coffee shop you liked when she pushed the door open too hard and smacked you square in the face. she had gone bright red and apologised profusely, telling you that the door had slipped out of her grip and that she didn’t even see you. you, with a hand pressed firmly to your forehead, had told her that it was okay, that it was just an accident.

maybe it was her smile, or the way her eyes looked when you actually made eye contact, but something about the canadian had stopped you dead in your tracks. she asked if you wanted to sit with her with the promise of not hitting you in the face again, to which you agreed with a laugh. you began telling eachother about yourselves, from where and how you grew up to hobbies and small quirks you had. when the topic of careers had come around you sheepishly told her that you didn’t watch football beyond the odd match when it was already on tv, and she had beamed at you and cheekily said that she’ll make a blue out of you in no time.

you didn’t go through with it, obviously, and jessie still doesn’t know that she quite literally saved your life that day. your relationship with jessie quickly blossomed and bloomed, soon becoming the most grounding thing in your life. jessie showed you that she loved you long before she told you and never once did she make you feel like you weren’t loved, there were just times where you knew you were hard to love.

like in the beginning when you’d practically ghosted her for three days and then came back with a half assed explanation and a bouquet of flowers; or when you’d completely shut her out and pretend like nothing was wrong when she could see the bags under your eyes and the mess around your apartment. you knew that her friends had told her that it wasn’t a good relationship to be in, that maybe you weren’t who she thought you were. she had brushed them off and ran back to you time and time again.

looking back on it you think that maybe it’s because she knew how bad it was getting, like she caught onto your badly kept secret before you even knew you really had one. when you had initially told her about your depression you insisted that you were doing a lot better and that even though you would have times of relapse, it was nothing compared to how it had been in the past.

the lie had kept up until there were things you were too ashamed to explain to her. like why she couldn’t come over or why you looked like you hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a few weeks. you didn’t know how to tell the footballer that your mental health had sipped out of your control, that you needed help and didn’t know how to ask for it. you didn’t know how to look your own girlfriend in the eye and tell her that you needed her.

that was when you knew it had to end.

when jessie came around to collect her things you just left them in a box outside your front door. you heard her knock but didn’t move from your position as she left with the last pieces of her you had.

she wasn’t stupid, despite the fact that for most of your relationship you clearly thought she was. she noticed the change in your behaviour and how you didn’t go out with friends as much or eat enough. she noticed the late night and even later mornings, the pile of dirty laundry you’d been putting off and the pills you tried to hide.

jessie wasn’t stupid.

when she pleaded to you to fix it, she meant fix you. she wanted you to take the weight off your shoulders and put it on hers because hers are stronger than yours anyway, they can hold more. she wanted you to let her help with the laundry, and to help clean your place. she wanted you to let her wash your hair and make you a good home cooked meal. jessie wanted nothing more than for you to be vulnerable with her, to admit that you needed her just this once.

as much as you adored her, absolutely worshiped the ground she walked on, you weren’t going to do that for her. jessie has a decorated career, one to be proud of, and the last thing she needed was to worry about whether or not you were going to get out of bed in the morning. she didn’t need the extra weight from your baggage dragging her down.

she deserved better, someone who could get up early enough to go for coffee after her morning run, someone who could actually make dinner with her and eat it, someone who didn’t have to create a fucking pathway from their bed to their bathroom because they haven’t cleaned their room in god knows how long. jessie deserved someone worth loving and in your mind, that someone just wasn’t you.

#pegs writes #pegs woso #jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #jessie fleming imagine #jessie fleming fic #jessie fleming angst #jessie fleming blurb #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso angst #woso blurb

[tonguepiercedanyway75]

Wedding guest // Ross Macdonald x Reader

summary: the whole band is a guest at a wedding (you’re part of it) and then you get closer and closer to Ross

warnings: 18+ mdni

masterlist

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The evening is aglow with the soft light of lanterns strung overhead, casting a magical ambiance over the outdoor wedding venue. As a member of The 1975, you are part of the band invited to perform at this special occasion. The air is filled with music, laughter, and the chatter of guests, but amidst it all, your attention keeps drifting to Ross.

The last months your feelings have changed. He was always your best friend and you spend the most time together but it’s different. He makes you want him all the time. You miss him when he’s gone for 5 minutes but you can’t breathe when he’s there. The longer you look at him, the more you want to tell him that you want to be with him.

But you can’t. Because it’ll ruin everything.

That’s why you’re sitting in front of him, avoiding to look him in the face, even though he looks as beautiful as ever today. In a black suit, matching his beard, eyes and smile.

“Bollocks! C’mon Ross you agree with me right?” John laughs and sips his drink. Honestly you don’t even know what you’ve been talking about and Ross doesn’t either.

“Sure,” he laughs. His hand drops down under the table and seconds later he’s pulling out a cigarette. He holds up the pack.

“Would you like one?” He asks and you decline. You don’t want your own. You only want to share. Ross nods.

You take the last sip of your drunk and stand up, “I’m gonna get a refill,” you mumble as you walk away.

“Mate, she’s weird today don’t you think?” Ross nudges John and nods his head your way. John just smiles because he knows about your feelings and he knows about how Ross feels about you.

“You haven’t said one word to her, maybe a compliment wouldn’t have been bad.” That’s true. When Ross gives you compliment they mean so much more. You want to be beautiful just to hear him say you are. It’s stupid.

“She’s not even looking at me longer than a minute let alone speaking to me in a full sentence.” His head drops and he starts rubbing his forehead, trying to understand why you’re acting that way.

John’s hand finds his shoulder, “just tell her already mate.” A voice interrupts the two.

“Tell her you are whipped for her?, mate it’s getting timeeee,” Matty says hugging him ironically from behind.

“Fuck off,” Ross says, pushing his head away, “you’re plastered already.” Matty huffs at the obviously true statement.

“I’m telling you, don’t be an arse and tell her you wanna shag her.” John breaks out in laughter and puts an arm around his shoulder. “Fucking drink some water,” he says and leaves with him.

Ross is sitting there, hoping you’ll return any second and you do. With a new cocktail. You lost count of how many drinks you had but it doesn’t even matter. The second you sit down the groom is speaking through the microphone.

“Okayyy, it’s getting time for some dances, you’re all welcome to join on the dance floor.” It’s a funky song and you’re definitely not drunk enough to show some dance moves.

“Where’s John?” You ask, breaking the silence. You look around because John promised to tell you the newest tea from his family.

“Looking after Matty, he’s had a tad much of alcohol.” You giggle. The sound makes Ross smile and warm his heart.

“Knew it,” you said “Adam owes me 20 quid.” Adam was so sure that Charli is going to be the drunkest but she’s dancing with George, too busy to drink.

You look around and there are not many people sitting down. At your table there’s only you and Ross and at the one next to you there’s Polly and Gabi.

Ross doesn’t stop looking at you, it drives you crazy. You tug at your dress slightly, trying to shake off the nervousness. But it’s hard when the guy you’ve had a crush on for a while now is smiling at you.

The song changes to a slow one. ‘Kiss me’ from Ed Sheeran is now playing through the speakers. Your gaze drops to the dance floor, looking at the couples and some friends paring up to dance.

Ross stands up as he extends a hand towards you.

“Care to dance?” he asks, his British accent adding an extra layer of charm to the invitation.

You look up at him, surprised by his request. You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. The twinkle in his eyes is infectious, and without any more hesitation, you place your hand in his.

“I’d love to,” you reply, rising from your seat.

He leads you through the cluster of tables and guests towards the dance floor.

Once you reach the dance floor, Ross turns to face you, his hand firmly on your waist as he holds your other hand in his. His touch sends a thrill through you, igniting a cascade of emotions that you struggle to contain.

You sway together in perfect rhythm until he spins you one time, and when your face finds his, his hand isn’t on your waist, but your back. His touch sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the heat of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest as you move together, lost in the enchantment of the moment.

It feels too real, him looking down at you through his perfect brown eyes. It’s something you could do for hours, gazing into his eyes, observing every breath he takes.

“Finally G,” Charli says as they both watch you.

Lost in the magic of the moment, you lean into him, the distance between you evaporating with each passing second. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek, the warmth of his embrace—it all feels like a dream you never want to wake from.

You think about what his lips would feel like on yours. But this is wrong. You’re friends. Ross wouldn’t think about you like that. You abruptly pull away, completely out of breath even though you were resting your face next to his, not on his.

“Sorry, I just-“ you stutter, “I have to-“ you look around, people still dancing, but the man in front of you looking at you baffled.

You pull your lips together and walk away, walking away from the venue to a little viewing platform. Far way from the people so they can’t see you, but you can hear them.

“Mate what happened?” George approaches Ross but he doesn’t give him an answer, he goes after you, taking his drink with him.

The air is cool and refreshing against your flushed cheeks. Overwhelmed by the intensity of emotions stirred up during the dance with Ross, you need a moment alone to collect your thoughts.

That moment is interrupted by footsteps behind you, you know that it’s Ross.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks his voice gentle yet earnest.

You nod, offering him a faint smile, “yeah, just needed to cool down.”

Ross steps closer, seeing the goosebumps on your arms, your red nose and your slight shaking from the cold. He shruggs his jacket off and puts it around your shoulders.

You wrap it around yourself, feeling the familiar scent of his cologne envelop you. It is an intimate gesture, one that stirrs a up a swirl of emotions within you.

You thank him but he’s quick to say “anytime.”

The two of you stand there, enveloped in a moment of quiet understanding. With Ross by your side, the weight of your emotions seem to lighten, the warm feeling in your stomach relaxing you.

“I haven’t told you today, but you look absolutely stunning,” you blush and you’re sure he sees. The wind blowing your hair into your face, covering your eyes.

Ross carefully tucks them behind your ear, smiling, “there you are,” he jokes. You’re still baffled from his compliment and now the small gesture. he’s driving you insane.

Somehow you gained some confidence and because you are friends you’re not unfamiliar with body contact.

You grab his hands so lightly that he doesn’t feel it until your hands are resting in each other. “You don’t look bad yourself McDonald.” He chuckles and enjoys the moment, not letting his eyes look away.

“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to find out what’s got you confused. You exhale shakily.

“It’s just,” he looks at you expectant but he’s still reassuring you it’s fine to tell him, “I was nervous.”

“Why’s that?” You remove your hands from his and take his glass into your hands to take a sip. You pause, because you can’t tell him the reason you’re nervous. You can’t tell him that he makes your heart flutter like a teenage girl.

“Hm?” Your name rolls off his lips and he takes a step further. “You can tell me.” He whispers.

“You make me nervous.” It slips. You look away but his hands cradle your face. He suppresses a smile.

His hands are on your face, warming your cold cheeks. You’re forced to look him in the eyes, scared that he will break your heart.

“I make you nervous?” He repeats, “why?” You close your eyes for a second, thinking about what to say. “I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“I do!” You say quickly, “I really do, I mean we’re friends and shit.” You sigh.

Now it’s unavoidable. You have to tell him. You will ruin everything. Your eyes wander from his eyes to the lights in the background until they’re back at Ross.

“I just really like you.” You say but what you want to say is that you really really really really like him.

“I like you too,” he says but you shake your head which makes him raise his eye brows.

“No Ross, I mean like I like you. And I didn’t want to say anything because we’re best friends and we’re on tour and I don’t want it to be weird. But then you’re always so nice and want to know if something’s wrong and I didn’t know-.” You’re rambling is stopped by your body being pulled flush against his, his hands grabbing your waist.

“Tell me when you’re done,” he says, smiling. Why is he smiling. Why is your body on his, feeling everything and why is your mouth suddenly so dry you can’t speak.

His gaze flicks down to your lips before his hand is on your neck, pulling you close. Now it’s a good thing you’re pulled against him because your knees buckle and you feel as if you’re gonna faint. His lips on yours feel better than you imagined.

“Wait,” you say as you pull away, “does this mean?” He’s on you again. His lips soft against yours, as he gives you only one long kiss.

“I really like you too,” he says. You want so scream, jump, cry, laugh but you stand there in shock. This is the best day of your life.

This time it’s you who pulls him in, Ross having to bend down to kiss you. His hand finds your lower back, pressing you against him, earning a shaky breath from you. An excuse to let his tongue brush against yours.

You can’t stand the heat, you want to rip his clothes off right there. “Do you think we can leave?” You ask, making him laugh.

“Patient much?” He teases, then he looks back at the venue. The people are still dancing and singing. When he looks back at you he knows he can’t wait as well.

“You absolutely sure?” He asks, “not too tipsy?” You shake your head and your eyes tell him you want him more than anything.

“I’m sure Ross, please,” His eyes are on you again, but this time, there wasn’t any questioning to them, as if he was searching for any sign that your words were less than sincere.

His hand goes through his face, “Jesus,” He’s having a hard time, not knowing what to do. He really wants to take it slow, give you a proper date. But you’re in front of him, saying ‘please’ so nicely.

He grabs your hand and leads you down the stairs, “okay,” he says, “let’s go to my hotel.”

You’re giddy, excited and you can’t believe that you have Ross, leading you to his room. You both move in a hurry, almost running. You’re lucky the hotel isn’t far away and you don’t need a car to get there.

When you reach his room, you lay his jacket on a stool. His bed isn’t made and his suitcase is still unpacked, but open. The door to the bathroom is open and you are amazed at the beautiful decorations.

Your thoughts get pulled back to reality as his arms wrap around your body and his mouth trails kisses down your neck. You smile and let your head fall against his shoulder. “Gorgeous,” he mumbles.

He spins you around and leans down to kiss you, more hungrily this time. He stumbles to the bed with you and lays on top of you, his mouth never leaving yours.

God, the way he kisses you should be illegal. Because it isn’t only his tongue, it’s the shameless groans he gradually let out the more the kiss intensifies -the way he bucks his hips upwards so you can feel how hard each kiss makes him. You are having a hard time breathing steadily.

You pull him closer by his tie, your mouth brushing against his ear before you speak just so you could feel the way your warm breath makes him shiver. “You make me crazy.”

“Yeah?” He reattaches his lips to yours, kissing you like his life depends on it.

Your hands finds his tie but you never fucking touched a tie so you just pull until he breaks out in laughter. “Let me.” He removes the tie in one move and now your hands are on his buttons. 4 open and you can’t wait so you just yank it over his head. He wastes no time getting back to kissing you, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck.

Your hands caress every inch of his skin you could reach from your position, the softness of your touch eliciting sweet sounds from his lips.

He rutts his hips against yours and you gasp at the feeling of his very hard member pressing into you.

“Ross,” you whisper softly, losing yourself at his hands and mouth touching your body. “I need you,” you continue.

“I’m here,” he says, keeping his slow grinding motions going. “What do you need?” He asks, his face coming up close to yours.

His gorgeous brown eyes waiting for an answer. “Touch me.” You say.

“I want to take my time with you, let me?” You nod and he grins. His hands find your back and the zipper of your dress. In one smooth movement he pulls the dress off of you.

You’re exposed now and it’s not helping you ease your nerves, when he’s staring at you. Your hands find your face.

“Don’t,” he moves your hands away, “you’re fucking beautiful.” Maybe it’s the black lace set you decided to wear. But for Ross it’s more. He waited for this since he’s known you.

He kisses the nervous feeling away from your lips and meanwhile his fingers find its way under your panties. When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good.

You gasp into his mouth, rolling your head back, closing your eyes at the new sensation. “Keep your eyes on me love,” he whispers against your neck, “need you to look at me.” You obey and open your eyes again.

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of Ross’ hand between your legs. “Fuck-“ you moan and Ross groans against your neck.

“Feel good?” Stupid question, you think. He’s fucking amazing and hotter than you’ve ever imagined. You nod and whimper at the steady rhythm, rubbing your clit and his fingers hitting the perfect spot inside you.

He talks to you, asks you stuff and you can barely listen let alone answer him. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“You,” you moan. It’s always him and it’s always gonna be him. Ross is your endgame.

He groans, “good answer.”

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. The sensation is getting too much and your back arches off the back, pressing your chest against him.

Ross is still in his suit trousers but he’s very uncomfortable because of his raging boner pressing against the fabric. Every once in a while he grinds himself against your thigh, letting out groans deep from his chest.

“There you go darling,” you can feel your orgasm crash over you. Eyes squeezing themselves shut as the pleasure rocked through you. Ross continues to curl his fingers inside you through the euphoria, until he gently removes his fingers from you, licking his fingers clean.

“Taste like heaven, shit,” he comes up to give you a deep kiss, “you ok?” He asks and you nod, cradling his face and pulling his body completely on yours, so he’s not half on you and half on the bed. His bulge finds your core, and he can’t control his thrusting anymore.

Your hands find his belt fumbling around trying to shove them off, “Off Ross, please,” you whine and he laughs pushing the pants down. But before throwing them behind him, he pulls out a condom out of his pocket.

“Patient girl, aren’t you?” He grins. That fucking smirk. You love that smile, his dimples. You love him.

After he puts the condom on, he gives his cock a few strokes but then his hand is replaced by yours. You look down but immediately look into his face, his eyes rolling back and filthy words falling out of his mouth. “Love, shit-“ he groans and thrusts up into your hand, his stomach tightens already but then he swats your hand away.

You know that he needs you and you’re burning for him as well. “Been patient enough, just fuck me.” He laughs and then he’s lining himself up with your entrance, his lips never leaving yours.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he half whispers, half groans into your ear.

You both gasp when he’s pushing himself inside of you completely. It stings a bit, “fuck- wait a sec.” He does as you say and he doesn’t move, keeping his hips still.

“You’re doing okay love?- Shit,” he breathes out, trying to study your face and then you open your eyes again, kissing him and putting your thighs on his sides, your legs pushing him even deeper.

He moans and it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. “Move Ross,” He closes his eyes, taking a steadying breath as he starts thrusting into you. Your walls squeezing him tight, producing the most resounding groan you'd ever heard.

Ross keeps one hand on your hip, then placing his other on the headboard, knuckles turning white from his fierce and unrelenting grip. He tries so hard not cum right there.

You moan his name multiple times following after some “fucks,” or “Jesus’” and he just keeps going. Not slowing down but not going faster. He enjoys it and takes his time with you. Devouring every spot you’re giving him.

“Wanted this forever,” he says, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, “you’re so gorgeous shit-“ you clench around him again.

“Please Ross, god-“ Your continuous whimpers and pleas are sending chills down his spine, spurring him on.

“You’re Perfect,” He breathes, his hand running up your back affectionately as his hips repeatedly slam into yours. You start to instinctively push back against him, pushing him further.

You feel your orgasm approaching again and Ross notices too. “Go ahead love,” his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles again while his cock hits your spot. You clench around him again, letting your orgasm wash over you.

It triggers his own, his hips stuttering before he collapses on top of you. You’re practically useless, your body feeling like jello, you close your eyes, relishing in the contact of his warm skin to yours.

You think about how your life will go on. Are you going to be together, was it a one time thing? You certainly don’t want it to be.

“You with me?” He laughs, making you giggle and hide in his chest. “Soooo with you,” you mumble.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” it’s a great gesture and you’re grateful but you need him. You grab his arm and pull him down again.

“Later,” you hum, “stay with me Ross.” He nods and furrows his brows, kissing every little spot on your head.

Your mind goes blank as you whisper into the air. “I’m so in love with you.” You close your eyes, trying to avoid his gaze but he lifts your chin with his thumb and pointing finger, taping your temple softly.

He says your name and when you open your eyes he’s already looking at you. He kisses you softy before confessing as well. “I’m so in love with you, you have no idea.”

One tear slips from your eyes which is quickly wiped away by Ross’ thumb. He rolls you on top of him, hugging your body so tight you both can’t breath.

“You think they noticed we’re gone?” You ask even though you’re sure they know and you’re not ready to listen to the banter in the morning.

“Now you worry?” His laugh is your favorite sound, it makes you smile again, nuzzling closer into his chest, which is moving up and down still a little faster then usual.

At some point his breathing steadies and so does yours and you fall asleep with him. Your dream has come true

#the 1975 #ross macdonald #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #ross macdonald fluff #the 1975 fic #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross macdonald smut #ross macdonald one shot

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 3

NEW TO THIS MASTERLIST

--------------------

Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable.

It’s been three hours since her first-ever official wrestling match, and Delilah couldn’t stop smiling. It had lasted all of eight minutes, and although she lost, no one could deny that both she and her opponent, Faye, had pulled a showstopper out of thin air. Delilah had only ever attempted a moonsault once in her life, one evening at training when she was feeling adventurous, but tonight, the burst of adrenaline had buoyed her, and it felt so natural being poised on the top rope. To her shock and delight, the crowd had given them a standing ovation when it was over. It was, as far as she could remember, the happiest day of her life. After Andre’s proposal, of course.

She hadn’t been this confident at first, though. She remembered being alone in the tiny, dingy locker room, on the verge of throwing up about fifteen minutes before the match. She remembered the loud cheers as the announcer geared the fans up for the upcoming match. She remembered forcing herself out, walking numbly towards the ring, then looking into the crowd and almost tripping on her own feet in shock at the sight of Jey up in the VIP area with Tank, unable to believe he’d actually showed up to watch her. HER! How she worked through the bundle of nerves and emotions, she would never know. But she did. And it was enough to convince her that she could still pursue her dream. That she wasn’t walking away from this just yet, because there was hope that she was finally going somewhere with wrestling.

Tank and Jey – she still wasn’t comfortable enough to call him Josh – had taken her out to celebrate afterwards. Even after leaving the bar well after midnight, both men didn’t seem willing to go home just yet. And Delilah didn’t mind.

“Your garden’s really nice, uce,” Jey observed the small but neat bed of flowers gracing the sides of the front door.

“Thanks! Andre worked hard on it,” Delilah beamed on behalf of her fiancé, “Dre’s the greatest landscaper in allll of Pensacola, so if you got a lawn that needs spicin’ up, hit him up.” Stepping over the threshold into her home, she winced at the mini warzone that greeted her. “Sorry for the mess,” she murmured sheepishly.

Tank looked around the trailer house and shrugged. “It ain’t that bad today. I’ve seen it in far worse shape,” he commented, lowering his huge self onto the old, worn couch in the center of the small living area.

“Damn, thanks Tank,” Delilah replied with a roll of her eyes. Way to embarrass her in front of Jey.

The man in question had been silent as he looked around the new environment. “Ignore him, Delilah. I like it,” he commented, finally facing her.

The trainee blushed profusely and dumped the bags of takeout they’d bought on the way home on the coffee table. She knew he was only being nice. “Could be better, I know you’re not used to tiny spaces like this,” she rushed defensively, retreating to the kitchen to grab three Bud Lights from the refrigerator. Surely Jey lived in a far more lavish abode, with all the money he was raking in at WWE. The Bentley Continental GT he drove her and Tank around with tonight was solid evidence. He lived large and her place was no doubt shameful compared to his, wherever that was.

Settling down next to Tank, the huge smile was still glued to her face, her right leg bouncing up and down in excitement. “Oh my god, I’m not sure I’m gonna get any sleep tonight! I still can’t believe I wrestled my first real match!”

“Yeah, and we predict it’s gonna be the first of many,” Tank drank from his beer as Delilah nodded enthusiastically, and he jerked his thumb in Jey’s direction. “At least, he thinks so. Right, Uce?”

"Heck yeah," said Jey, observing her over the rim of the silver can of alcohol in his grasp.

Delilah was still in awe that he was here, sitting in her home. It was tough to pretend she wasn’t thoroughly enjoying the attention she’d been getting from him the past two days. “You ain’t sayin’ that just to fuck with me, right?” she asked him blatantly, then cringed at her unwise choice of words.

Something flickered in his eyes. Then, with a low chuckle, he responded, “Baby girl, I ain’t never said shit I don’t mean,” Licking his lips briefly, he stared at the lone female in the room. “Look, we both see how talented you are. It’s about time you did too. That’s probably what’s holding you back. You should believe in yourself more.”

Delilah tilted her head at the use of that inappropriate nickname yet again, and she was torn as to whether she should voice her objection. Before she could make up her mind, a loud ‘thud’ sounded from the direction of the bedroom she shared with her fiancé.

Oh. Shit.

"Aw, shit, someone’s awake,” Tank chuckled and winked at Delilah, propping his feet on top of the coffee table. “Girl, you in troubleee,” he sang teasingly.

Casting her gaze to the amused smirk on Jey’s face, she refocused on the annoyed grumbles and shuffling feet. “Gimme a sec, guys,” she said softly, getting up and hurrying towards her angry fiancé in the hallway. “Hey babe,” she greeted him, forcing a wide smile as she rested a hand on his bare chest.

“What’s with all the fuckin’ racket?” Andre cut her off sharply, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Looking up into his dark eyes, she rubbed his arm placatingly. “We’ll be more quiet. I promise,” she whispered, “Just go back to bed, okay?”

But Andre was already wide awake and very unhappy about that fact. “For fuck’s sake, Dee, I gotta go to work in…” Pausing, he squinted at the clock in the kitchen. “What time is it?”

“One a.m.,” she answered quietly, her cheeks burning as she lowered her eyes to the floor. “Baby, I’m sorry we woke you. Please go back to bed,” she pleaded.

Shaking his head, Andre glared at his fiancée and gestured towards the two men in the living room. “Hell no. Not until you get ‘em the fuck outta here,” he insisted. When she huffed disbelievingly, he shook his head again. “Woman, I gotta be up in four hours. One of us has to work. Who else gon’ pay for these damn lights you got on?” he spat.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Delilah bit back, crossing her arms angrily, “I made two hundred dollars tonight, F.Y.I.”

When his eyes swept over her wrestling gear, Andre scoffed. “How? Working the pole?” he taunted.

Delilah’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Look whatchu wearin’. You couldn’t find more modest attire? Dress like a future wife should dress?”

Watching the entire argument from his seat in the living room, Josh felt his hands ball into fists. He understood the dude being mad for being woken up so late – after all, he’d done some bitching of his own at colleagues who rolled into the hotel at all hours of the morning causing a racket when he was trying to sleep. But he certainly didn’t appreciate the way he was disrespecting Delilah, especially while she was trying to apologize. As much as he wanted to say something to the punk, he did not think it wise to try to step in between the rowing couple. Yet.

“Look, tonight was the most thrilling night of my life, okay?” Delilah was saying, “I got a standing ovation after my match! Unfortunately you couldn’t see it, cuz you weren’t there even though you promised you would,” she made sure to add. “And if I wanna celebrate with my friends for doing so awesome, I’ll do it. God knows you and your friends have kept me up at night enough times in the past!”

“Nah, you not gon’ pull that bullshit on me right now,” Andre rolled his shoulders angrily and glared over her head at the two huge men who had now risen to their feet. “And if you don’t wanna kick your so-called friends out of my house, then I fuckin’ will.” Brushing past his fiancée, he stomped down the hall. He didn’t quite care if they were both built like brick walls and could probably kill him with their bare hands. This was his house and he was the one in charge here. “Ay, Tank, I let you have my girl for the night. It’s time I got her back,” he said.

Acutely aware that both Tank and Jey were about to give Andre a piece of their minds, Delilah quickly stepped between them before anything could go down. “Thank y’all so much for tonight, guys,” she cut in, meeting Tank’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she added, giving him a look that told him how sorry she was for Andre’s unbecoming behavior.

With a nod, Tank patted her shoulder. “You know what, Parrish? Why don’t you take tomorrow night off. You’ll need your rest after tonight, trust me.”

She nodded gratefully and turned toward Jey, totally embarrassed to look at him after he’d borne witness to her humiliation at the hands of her fiancé. Honestly, she’d desperately wanted him to think she was a tough chick, that she wasn’t just putting on a show for his benefit. And Andre had ruined it all with his antics tonight.

Following the men outside, she was taken by surprise when Josh stopped midway to his car and suddenly turned to face her. Instantly, she avoided his stare again, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Gimme your phone,” he told her, holding out his hand. 

“What?”

“Trust me. Give it here,” he repeated, waiting until she placed the device in his hand. He tapped in a number of digits and made a call, smiling when his iPhone rang in his back pocket. “We got each other’s numbers now,” he announced, handing her phone back to her. “If you wanna talk about wrestling, life, whatever…Don’t hesitate to call me anytime.”

Staring at the card, and then back at him, she raised an eyebrow. “Anytime?”

“Anytime,” he repeated, looking her in her striking hazel eyes which he noticed were filled with the unmistakable shine of tears. “For real. A'ight?”

Delilah gave a small smile and tucked her phone back in her pocket. “Okay. Thanks, Jey, I really appreciate it,” she said sincerely. 

“My friends call me Josh,” he insisted.

“Is that what we are? I've only known you a couple of days,” she responded.

“Sometimes, a couple of days is more than enough," he explained, watching her for one long moment before cupping her chin and tilting her face up to meet his. “Keep your head up, baby girl. You a queen. Don’t let nobody make you hide your pretty face.” And with one final wink, he let go of her, turned and made his way towards his car.

Watching them drive off, she willed away the flutter that was filling her insides and trudged back into the house, taking a deep, shaky breath. She had been filled with so much happiness and pride only a few minutes earlier, filled with hope for the future she was trying to create. But the confrontation with her fiancé, in front of Jey Uso for that matter, had snuffed it all out in a heartbeat. She was tempted to abandon Andre and sleep on the couch for the night, not wanting to be anywhere near him. But knowing the aches and pains that would descend on her in the morning, she thought it wiser to be in a bed tonight, no matter how angry she was with him.

Walking slowly to her bedroom, she pushed the door open tentatively, both relieved and annoyed to see that he was back in bed and out like a light. He always was a quick sleeper, unlike her. Shaking her head, she shed her ring gear, showered and found one of Andre’s big t-shirts to wear. She slid into the bed, ensuring to keep her back to him. She didn’t react when Andre’s strong arms wrapped around her a few moments later, didn’t flinch when his hard body pressed against hers from behind, only stared blankly through the darkness at the wall in front of her.

For as long as she had known her husband-to-be, she had been head over heels in love with him. After their first date, she had told her sister that she was going to marry him one day. She would never forget the twinkle in his beautiful dark eyes, or her unbridled joy, on the day he proposed. Back then, both had only harbored the glamorized fairytale version of the idea of marriage. Back then they’d been inseparable; hardly argued, hardly did anything without the other. Neither of them were weighed down by the strain of responsibility or ambition. Things were so different now. For one, she had far more ambition, and she found herself realizing that it was big enough to want to leave his side and do her own thing for the first time in a decade.

Her personal dream and the dream she and Andre had shared for so long hung in the balance, and right now, one was looking far more possible to achieve than the other.

-------------

Thoughts?

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

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#jey uso #main event jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fanfic #jey uso imagines #jey uso smut #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x black reader #new to this

[rileyglas]

The List ~Pt. 7 - Condemnation~ (Sneak Peek)

Out here kicking my feet like Alastor - Got part 7 queued for Friday then MAYBE part 8 next week (if ya'll like it enough) 💜 Need to catch up? Masterlist

The last few days (weeks?) have been a blur. It was a weird switch going from sleeping terribly because you longed to be near him - to sleeping constantly so you didn’t have to feel your body long from him. Anyone who came to your door was just told you weren’t feeling good. “Just caught a stomach bug, don’t come in! I would hate for you to catch it.”

Today you decided it’s time to finally leave your room. Charlie needs help and there are things around the hotel that need to be done before her meeting with Heaven. You aren’t one to let others down just because of your own emotional baggage.

You throw some makeup on to try to brighten your face. Usually, you wouldn’t be bothered but all the crying significantly darkened your eyes. I’d rather not let them see me like this. The less questions the better. Plastering a smile on your face, you head down to the lobby to get the list of ‘to-dos’ from Charlie. Surprisingly she isn’t there when you arrive, so you take a seat next to Angel on the floor. You lean your head against his leg as a silent ‘hello’.

“Hey toots, how ya feeling?” he says without looking up from his phone. “Better, thanks.” You say cheerfully.

“Good! Guess you and Smiles must have shared cooties ‘cause he ain’t been seen or heard from since Lucifer’s visit.” A pang hits your chest, but you try to brush it off. He’s probably just pissed off.

Charlie rushes down the stairs and scoops you into a lung crushing hug, “So so so soooooooo glad you’re feeling better! I didn’t realize how much you did around here! Could you do me a huge favor and go pick up a few things from the city and take them to my dad? He said he can meet you at this address. I have to go pack - Thank you!” Just as quickly as she came down the stairs, she hurries back, leaving you with a short list and an address.

For the first time in weeks, you leave the hotel without Alastor or his shadow close by. It’s not that you’re afraid of going out alone, but you realize you enjoyed his company more than you thought. You glance up at the radio tower as you walk away from the hotel and can make out a dark figure with glowing red eyes staring down from the window. Well at least that’s confirmation he’s still around.

You pick up the few things from a local shop and walk across the city to the address Charlie gave you. This doesn’t look right. The building you walk up to is more of an abandoned warehouse for a drug deal rather than a cozy meetup with the King of Hell. Cautiously you walk through the door which looked like it had been kicked in already. Just as expected, it’s an empty building with piles of trash scattered about. Graffiti and posters plaster the inner walls. You triple check the address on the small paper and it matches.

Sooo now what?

After waiting and pacing for a few minutes, you hear someone call out to you. You turn to see Lucifer standing outside a portal in the middle of the building.

“You didn’t actually think I stayed within the city, did you?” he chuckles as he motions for you to enter into the portal with him. Once inside you look around to see a large open room filled with…ducks? And this guy was trying to give me a hard time?

“Is – is this your office, sir?”

He boots a few ducks out of his path. “Yes, this is where I work on – important – matters. Also, no need for formalities, Lucifer is fine. Those bags for me?”

You almost forgot why you were even standing in the King’s office. All the piles of rubber ducks grabbed your attention and now you wanted to look through them out of pure curiosity. Handing over the bags, you keep scanning around the room. Lucifer notices your curious glances, “Would you – like to see my most recent project?” he asks nervously. You feel your face light up at the offer and he can’t help but mirror your excitement.

He starts to show you all the ducks he’s created, their names, what they can do. His eyes glimmer excitedly every time you display even the slightest interest in one. What feels like a mere fifteen minutes ends up becoming a couple hours. As he shows you the last of his collection, a solemn look crosses his face.

“Thank you for this. I don’t get a lot of visitors and haven’t really been able to share my work since Charlie…grew up. Plus, it’s nice to see you smile, especially after our first encounter.”

Your breath catches at the memory of that night. Not so much the crying in the arms of the devil part - rather the grief you felt shortly after. “Oh – thank you for taking the time to show me. Truthfully, I haven’t had much reason to smile lately so it’s a lovely change.”

His smile drops. There's a long pause as he fights with himself to find the right words, “Did he…Alastor I mean…hurt you that night? You can tell me. I know Charlie is close with him, so you probably don’t feel comfortable -”

“He didn’t hurt me. At least not in the physical sense.” Frowning, you curse at yourself for being too honest. You can’t help but feel at ease in his presence. He was Lucifer, King of Hell and easily the most powerful in all the seven rings. What ulterior motives could he possibly have or need? He has no reason to be anything other than genuine in his worry for you. He made it all too easy to tell him anything.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #radio demon #lucifer x reader #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #fanfic #sneak peek #writers on tumblr #angst #slow burn

[syrupfog]

Sanji doesn’t understand the point of humans, really. He knows that people love them, but… they’re just so FRAGILE. They break easily, hard to repair, and once their systems have stopped circulating, they just don’t turn back on. He doesn’t get the appeal.

He knows, has been informed, that he was born human. But it’s a ship of Theseus situation. He’s been long ago upgraded, doesn’t have those weaknesses he was born with. 

Hell, his siblings were incredibly powered up, for humans, and they were still easily disposed of.

Logically, loving a human just doesn’t make sense. They’re not REAL the way androids are real. Their consciousness doesn’t exist as soon as they’re powered down. There’s a liminal nothingness to that. Humans are like toys. Like starter beings.

He’s had all of those thoughts hundreds of times before, as he’s watched humans die in front of him. Watched his siblings as they perished by his own hand. This has been his Truth his whole life. Humans aren’t worth thinking about because they’re just not really REAL.

And of course, that’s why he’s questioning his own actions now. 

THIS human he’s seen around a few times, having washed up in a dingy little rowboat at the edge of town, telling the people something about how he’s been separated from his crew.

This human who has been working hard, exchanging manual labor for food while sleeping rough and making time to train with his ridiculous swords. Those are a weakness, at least consider guns, or fortified steel legs.

But this human, who’s been so confident he’ll be reunited with his crew, who’s been biding his time and training… Sanji had taken an interest in him. 

And then Sanji had watched him die. A freak accident with machinery he’d been tasked to repair in exchange for a meal.

Everyone in town knows of Sanji. And he knows they know, knows they think he’s a little alarming. But that’s fine. They’re human. 

However they perceive him, though, they don’t object when he swoops in and lifts up the green haired human, taking him away.

It’s not like he’s useful to them anyway anymore, he’s turned off and humans don’t turn back on. 

But Sanji… wants this one to. 

It’s ridiculous and maybe Sanji should upgrade his logic processing, but… he’s drawn to this one. Wants it back online.

His father had been a monster of a man, and the only one Sanji had taken true pleasure in turning off. But he’d kept his father’s workshops in working order to do his own repairs as necessary, and that comes in useful now. Sanji only knows living bodies for their food purposes.

He works and studies and experiments. He takes out his nightly recharging batteries and instead gets out his old charging cord so he doesn’t have to take breaks. He knows humans are quick to recycle after being turned off, even with the best precautions taken.

He doesn’t know why, but… he wants this. He’s drawn to the man. There’s an energy about him that Sanji doesn’t remember ever seeing before, and he wants it back. 

And after an intense amount of repairs and replacements and experimental flesh-and-metal welding…

He flips the switch. 

The man groans. 

He lifts a hand slowly to his face, squinting his eye at the light. Sanji hadn’t been able to save both of them. 

He sits up, blinking as he looks around. 

“Wh’ th’ fuck happened?” He mumbles.

“Hi,” says Sanji. “I’m Sanji. Your systems failed and turned off. I turned them back on.” 

The man looks down at himself. Sanji thinks he’s done a good job matching the spray paint to his skin tone. 

“Swords?” The man asks.

“In the other room,” Sanji says. “I wanted to check you were fully online before returning your things to you.” 

“Is that why I’m butt-ass naked?” The man asks, then shakes his head. “Whatever. Am I being held? Can I go?” 

Sanji blinks. “Of course you can go,” he says.

“But please let me feed you, first. Humans need sustenance.” 

The man frowns. “You not human or something?” He asks. “You don’t look like a fishman or mink.” 

“I’m an android,” says Sanji. 

“Well that’s a fucking note,” says the man. “I’m Zoro. Thanks for… fixing me, I guess.”

Sanji smiles. “I will take you to your clothes and then food,” he says. “There has been rumor your ‘crew’ as you called them is here, although I have not validated these claims. I have been busy.” 

Zoro grins, swinging his legs over the table and standing.

“Perfect,” he says. “I gotta get going, then.” 

Sandi frowns. “Wait,” he says. “You’re still newly upgraded. There might be bugs!” 

Sanji HATES bugs. 

“I’m fine,” Zoro says, then promptly stumbles. 

“Like that!” Sanji screeches. He’s had years, decades to work on his own tech.

“You need to be stress tested properly!” 

Zoro pinches the bridge of his nose and there’s the sound of metal groaning under his fingers. “Fine,” he says. “Then I guess you’re coming with me.” 

“Pardon?” asks Sanji. 

“Listen, Swirly,” Zoro says. “I have places to be and a future pirate king to serve. I don’t have time to be waiting around for hardware to fail so either you’re coming with me or I’m handing my doctor a computer repair manual.” 

Sanji groans. “…Fine,” he says. “I will feed you and then I will pack up. It will take two hours.”

“You have until Luffy shows up,” Zoro says. Then amends, “You have until Luffy has eaten everything in your kitchen.” 

Sanji doesn’t know this ‘Luffy’ but he takes that into his calculations. “Acceptable,” he says. “Let’s be off, then.”

And thus, the Straw Hats gain their cook, as Sanji makes it his life mission to keep his collection of humans as safe as possible. They’re so fragile, they break so easily. 

Although these ones do seem hardier than most.

#zosan #my writing

[lovepollution]

#midgelenny #midge x lenny #lenny x midge #the marvelous mrs. maisel #midge maisel #lenny bruce #i would like words with whoever did the lighting on manhattan because all the scenes are SO DARK and hard to brighten up #also i swear these matched better when i looked at them in photoshop #i spent such a long time on the colouring but this was as close as i could get :( #mine #midgelenny au gifsets #mashup #tmmm gifsets

[joshuaalbert]

I was walking my neighbor’s dog this morning and I was not very awake so I’ve just remembered that I spent the entire time in a vague hazy state of annoyance at the characterization in brave new world from echoes and refractions

#ik I posted some excerpts from it in like a semi positive light and I do still like the part #where ro laren is thinking about how if she had a sister she might be like sito #but I gotta be honest I think it was one of those ‘for a moment I was so caught up in sito jaxa content that for a moment #I forgot that the characterization for wesley was not very good’ #harder to complain about jaxa characterization like it doesn’t match mine but I’m aware that there’s only so much canon basis #but the wesley characterization felt like projection more often than not #like idr how/if it dealt with the crash because they’re both still in starfleet so that’s already something you have to account for #(or I guess you don’t Have To I can’t tell them what to do but it was weird how little it did) #but it also refers to wesley as not understanding people/being bad with people #and especially pre-crash I don’t think that’s true in the sense it’s being used there #he doesn’t have trouble making initial connections and while he seemingly has issues maintaining long term friendships/relationships #that’s a different thing and seems to be at least partly situational bc the first time he makes real friends is when they’re on even ground #and again. icarus factor B plot. #with like figuring out worf is upset and working very hard to help him #which I suppose you can argue about intuitive vs deliberately observational understanding but it is There #you can see my thoughts deteriorating I just think people need to know and perceive better #san rant

[chikaras-garden]

Batboys as your sugar daddy

What’s the point of all this money if you don’t have someone to spend it on?

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake x fem!reader

Contains: Sugar daddies. Possessive, controlling men. Power imbalances. They’re all a little toxic. These relationships are not aspirational babes. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Dick’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked.

BRUCE WAYNE 💋

“Wear the diamonds,” Bruce rumbles from behind you, lips right next to the shell of your ear. Before you can answer, his warm hands are already on your throat, and cool platinum touches your skin. A hundred diamonds arranged in three dainty layers sparkle in the low light of Bruce’s bedroom, clinging tightly to your neck.

With the choker clasped in place, one of Bruce’s hands traces up and down your neck while the other rests heavily on your hip, holding you flush against his chest. His touch is hypnotic, pulling you in like a planet pulls a moon into orbit. Your whole world revolves around him—and that’s exactly how he likes it.

But like the moon, the subtle gravitational pull you have on him keeps him in place, keeps him stable, calms his most wicked of storms.

He bows his head. The way he looks at you through his eyelashes is almost reverent while he kisses your bare shoulder, skin interrupted only by your dress’s hair-thin silk strap.

“Beautiful,” he says, and you know he’s not talking about the necklace, the dress, or any of the other jewels and silks he’s drowned you in over the last year.

When your eyes meet in the mirror, one corner of his lips quirks up into a smirk, which he buries under a kiss to your jaw. 

There, with a quick, sharp nip of his teeth, he lays his claim. “And all mine.”

DICK GRAYSON 💋

Dick’s on his knees, head buried between your legs when you hear—feel—him say, “I need you to take a week off work.”

Well. What he really needs is for you to just quit your job already, but you got upset the last time he suggested it. Baby steps. For now.

“Why?” you gasp, blinking hard as you try to focus on the fact that he’s starting a conversation now when his tongue is making you smart and shake with pleasure.

“I want to go to the Maldives,” he says as if it’s the most inconsequential thing in the world, as if he’s saying he wants to go across town, not across the world.

His tongue flattens out and dips into your weeping hole, and your thighs tighten around his head in response. He groans, and you choke out, “A week for the Maldives?”

You feel his lips twist and curve around you, paired with a little graze of teeth; he’s smiling, and the sensation makes you dizzy. There it is, he wants to say. You want more. Finally, your expectations are starting to match his bank account.

But he decides to play the dumb, pretty boyfriend he likes to make people think he is. “You don’t think it’s enough time? Wanna take two weeks?”

“I don’t have the—” He kisses up to your clit and gives it a tentative little suck, which makes you fist his hair. “—vacation days.”

“Why don’t you just take them without pay?” he proposes as his tongue laves up your swollen sex. “It’ll be okay, just this once. You’ll feel so much better after some time off; I promise.”

JASON TODD 💋

Jason is currently scrutinizing the contents of your pantry, a box of macaroni and cheese in his hand. After seeing the scowl on his face, you’re not surprised when he starts to lecture you. “You eat this crap?”

You raise a brow because he’s one to judge. “I’ve seen you eat an entire party box of tacos.”

“I’m not you,” he fires back. His voice is still low, still calm, but you can sense an edge in his tone; this conversation is about a lot more than boxed macaroni and cheese.

In the beat of silence that follows, his heated gaze dulls to a smolder. “You don’t know how precious you are.”

You open your mouth to reply, but whatever retort you were going to argue back with is silenced when Jason’s big hands cup your face, tilting your head up so he can kiss your forehead. He lingers there, and you feel him tremble. His breath is ragged, rough—as if he’s afraid.

“I’m not you,” he repeats in a whisper. It’s like he’s talking to a child, like he knows you don’t know any better. Poor little you—you need him. “Just let me take care of you like always, okay? How about I sign you up for one of those meal prep kits? No more processed food; it’s not good for you.”

When he pulls you against his chest and strokes your hair, you feel yourself nod, unable to disagree. You know he’s right, after all; and isn’t it sweet that he treats you like a delicate angel even though he’s seen the worst of the world? That nothing without his stamp of approval is good enough for you?

TIM DRAKE 💋

“Oh, you’re all set,” your manicurist smiles at you as soon as you take out your wallet, nails freshly done. 

Caught off guard, all you can reply with is, “Huh?”

She just smiles a little brighter, and there’s a sparkle of something in her eyes. It looks a little wistful, but also a little vapid—is that jealousy? “Your boyfriend paid already,” she explains as her eyes not-so-subtly look around, trying to catch a glimpse of said boyfriend, but you’re just as surprised as she is.

“For the next year,” she adds in a dry tone. Slowly, you drop your wallet back into your purse. There’s only one man alive who could figure out where you get your nails done, what day and time you like your appointments, and call ahead to pay off your manicures for the next year without you ever finding out about it.

So when you get back to your car, you call him.

“Do anything fun today?” he asks over the phone, pretending to be way more innocent than he actually is.

“Tim—”

“Actually,” he cuts in, and you hear a bashful tremor in his voice. That tremor makes your stomach do flips, which beckons you to give in to whatever he wants. “I was just thinking about you. You’ve got the prettiest hands.”

“Tim—”

“Let’s go shopping later,” he rambles on, completely ignoring you. “I think you need some new jewelry. You’d like a new set of rings, wouldn’t you?”

����: @mrs-kurooo; @lovely-loren05

#bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #batman x reader #nightwing x reader #red hood x reader #batfam x reader #🌸— mine. #🌸— bruce wayne. #🌸— dick grayson. #🌸— jason todd. #🌸— tim drake.

[screampied]

‘ IT'S A MATCH: LAST FRIDAY NIGHT ! ,

profile. girl, matching with your best friend on tinder is pretty awkward. hooking up with him, even more awkward. wanna know what’s even worse though? saying that word—i love you.

wc 4.9k

warnings. fem! reader, modern au, humor, size kink, mutual pining, loser boy gojo, unprotected, cheesy pick up lines, praise, touch starved satoru, cunnìlingus, overstim, créampie, i felt silly ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

an. old old draft ;') based on the song last friday night. damn!

“mannn i’m so cooked,” gojo murmurs to himself, pacing back and forth. he’s dragging his feet against the silkened strands of the carpet before a soft pout spreads across his lips. “she left me on delivered for seven minutes…… seven.”

to be fair, in actuality you did. only because you were occupied with doing your hair. gojo being gojo was freaking out, thinking you were probably uninterested. albeit, once you finally did reply, his heart nearly fell out of his chest.

‘how does 7 pm sound?’

‘soid@:$:@) good’

‘um what?’

gojo mentally smacks his forehead, stupidly mashing on his keyboard, barely even letting a second go by once you responded. he was way too eager, he intakes a sharp breath before smiling — replying with a cheesy thumbs up.

he had the dumbest grin plastered on his face. after his best friend, you, advising him to give dating apps a try, he actually does. gojo matched with a lot of women not even minutes after installing the app onto his phone. how coincidental that the main person who caught his attention was you, the both of you matched and he made sure to text you first.

who knew though. that you’d be matching with the one and only satoru gojo. definitely not you, and of course, not him.

despite what everyone said, gojo was a bit of a womanizer, sure. but he was also a huge hopeless romantic.

he started fooling around on dating sites . . not looking for love necessarily but mainly to pass time. you mentioned it to him and he decided to give it a try.

pretty soon, time flew by quick. with a quick snap, it was just about to hit six o’clock pm.

gojo threw on grey sweats and ruffled up his hair a bit. he couldn’t lie to himself, first date and he felt a bit nervous. who was he kidding though, you told him to come to your apartment.

probably wouldn’t end up being a date, but still.

he read through your bio about three times, and your personality stood out to him.

you and him surprisingly had the same interests in lots of things, you loved sweets, and loathed scary movies. “…she’s so perfect,” he’d utter to himself, just imagining the sound of your sweet voice.

gojo abruptly snaps out of his thoughts—he didn’t want be too late, so with a quickness, he starts to make his way to your house.

with hands buried in his pockets, he gives a few hard knocks on the front of your door. about approximately nine seconds later, you open the door and his maw instantly drops. “y-you?”

“hey, y—satoru?” you mimicked the same reactions

the silence was practically deadly.

the two of you stared at each other for what seemed like centuries before you furrow your eyebrows. “satoru,” you mumble, bringing a hand towards your face to rub your forehead. “…you matched with me on purpose, didn’t you?”

“wha— noooo!” he protests, a cute pout tugging against the corners of his lips. he obviously did. you eyed him from head to toe. whilst his hands were buried into his pockets, you could tell that you made him a bit nervous. a light tint of color started to flush against his cheeks before he pulls on his sweater. “heh, is it gettin' hot in here or is it just me.”

“oh my god,” you suddenly spoke. “no wonder you didn’t have a profile picture,” and then you give him an abrupt glare. “satoru. why’d you even use the kfc logo as a profile picture anyway? idiot.”

“oh— it’s a long story.”

you deadpan, mentally face palming yourself.

gojo takes a good look at you, and he’s got a sudden sheepish grin. “woah,” he utters, and his eyes linger for a long time. he’s never seen you dress in such a formal pretty way. he felt a sudden heat rush to both sides of his face before without thinking, he murmurs. “you look kinda hot.”

“kinda? now i’m offended.” you scoff, tugging on your fishnets.

“all you’re getting from me,” he fake pouts. he then comes closer, closer . . all until he’s just inches apart.

one look at your dress and he just wanted to rip it off. you and him were so attached to the hip, he’s never expected to see you in this kind of light. if you were being honest, his gaze that ran against your entire figure made you a bit nervous.

throughout your long term friendship with gojo, he was known to be flirty every now and then. you figured that was just his personality but perhaps he started to view you different. “so,” he shrugs, bending down to your level as a way of mockery, “is this the part where we hook up?”

“well technically, yeah—” and you look right into his eyes.

he was just undressing you with eyes practically, cerulean bright irises roaming down your body before he hums. “…..oh,” and he awkwardly scratches his head. “so do i make the first move or—”

“you’re such an idiot. just kiss me, ‘toru.”

he snickers, and after what seemed like forever, gojo leans in for a kiss.

he was so pretty, he didn’t even have to try. long fluttering lashes that matched his snowy white strands flap closed. gojo tasted sweet, the moment his lips went against yours, you sink into his embrace. he was surprisingly a good kisser, not that you ever kissed your best friend or anything—but for some reason, it felt so warm.

so natural…

your heart, it starts to pick up a bit and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders.

gojo let off a soft grunt, your sweet aromatic perfume wafts right into his flared up nostrils. you shiver a bit, feeling his hands slowly drag up your body. minty, a good way to describe the brief taste that loiters on his breath. he was always chewing peppermint—an unserious guy with a sweet tooth, although this time maybe his sweet tooth was for you instead of casual sweets.

the kiss was passionate, you almost forgot you were literally making out with your best friend.

you did dream a bit about this moment, him holding you all close with his lips mashed against yours. his hand continue to wander, such big hands compared to yours. you slide your tongue against his before parting your lips just a bit further.

“….mhm,” he’d huff out in a muffled groan, and he made sure to focus his hands near your hips. his fingers brush against the thin fabric of your dress before he gives it a hasty yank.

steamy breaths collide against each other whilst each second passes—eventually, gojo’s leading you toward your bedroom.

no bother in asking you where everything was since he technically knew the layout of your house like the back of his hand. “wanted to do this for so long,” he finally speaks in shortened breaths—he’s panting, and you let off a soft gasp once he lifts you up. instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist and he slyly smiles. “you should really clean this place,” he murmurs, walking casually with you in his arms. “oh right, you can’t because you’re always at my house.”

“the point of hooking up is to not talk, satoru.”

“well excuse me,” he dramatically rolls his eyes.

at first you were a bit shy coming to the bitter realization that you ended up matching with gojo by pure luck. by now, things weren’t even that awkward—or at least awkward yet…

you didn’t wanna jinx it though, he leads you towards your bed before you plop down on your hands. you sit down, staring up at him and he starts to pull up his grey sweatshirt. you watch intensely, his abs peeking as he yanked it off before you spot a glance of his dark blue boxers hiding above his sweatpants.

so attractive . . .

you’ve seen gojo shirtless countless times but never completely nude. just imagining him, his glistening body presenting itself right in front of you… phew.

you intake a breath, mentally preparing yourself.

“awh,” he sneers, and you’re so secluded into your erotic thoughts that you don’t even realize he’s practically half naked now. all that was left was his wan-colored sweatpants. he was a tease, your eyes fixate towards his ripped chest—his abs, they were sublimely sculpted and chiseled.

sharp.

you felt like if you ran a finger down his perfectly structured v-line, you’d get a paper cut. his six pack flexed and you had to squeeze your legs shut. it was no surprise gojo had a daily work out routine. he’d even try to drag you to come with him sometimes. majority of the time, that’d go to no avail though. “enjoying the show, yeahhh?”

“shut up.” you grouse with a swift eye roll.

a smug grin curls up against his pink lips before he grabs your hand. “wanna feel me?” and you’re confused by what he wants you to feel until he makes you slowly slide your hand down his clenched pecs. you peer up at him, his body feels so warm— it was brick hard, exactly how you thought. your fingers continued to run down his ripped modeled chest before feeling against a scar. “cute fingers,” he teases, making it trail lower and lower until you spot his happy trail that was just about poking above from the very hem of his boxers. “you should pull them off of me.”

“fine,” you mutter with a puffy blow, bringing both hands towards his lower half. gojo stares, watching you pull down his sweatpants— then his briefs. you made sure to take your time, tugging on the stretchy aqua-blue fabric before within seconds, his length springs out. “you weren’t lying.”

“hm?” he says, watching your eyes continue to wander — he was definitely big, your memory suddenly refreshes of the pictures you exchanged with him, and the carpets very much did match the drapes. his shaft was . . turgid, at least the tip was. it was a pretty flashing pink, smeared with a few droplets of his own pre-cum. gojo was well trimmed, but had a few left over white specks scattered all across his base. he even had a cute mole down near the very edge of his length. specks of white hairs near his happy trail decorated his body, it was attractive. he had a left curve too, it was quite noticeable—a strikingly long vein that pulses at the sight of you, running down the very middle part of his dick and you merely moan.

as you move yourself closer, he’s stood standing while you’re sat on the bed and your glossy lips give his swollen tip a few chaste kisses.

“damnnnn,” he pants, feeling his cock twitch from the way your lips made instant contact with his tip.

the more you stared at his length from your peripherals—the more you observed its color. it had a rich rosy tan. slightly—still the same pinkish color with a brief tapered ridge. he was hefty, there was no question. inch after inch, he stood tall right in front of you. gojo claws a hand into your hair softly before sucking in his breath. “baby wait, i wanna do everything. ‘m already hard.”

you hum, amused—giving his frenulum a subtle lick before backing away, jibing out a, “oh really?” and then once he makes you lie back against the bed, you sit up with a sly grin. “do you even know how to eat pussy? and i’m not just talking about from your 'experience' from reddit or twit—”

“girl shut up,” his tone pitches an octave and it’s quite funny.

always sassy—you watch as gojo strum his fingers against your dress, taking his precious time to lift it up before feeling against your thighs. so soft, he’s always wanted to feel you—especially right here, take in every part of your curves, your gorgeous physique. his lips form into a cute scowl as he pulls you closer towards him. “i know what i’m doing.”

“yeah you do.” you sing along, and he shoots you a pout. you loved the banter between the two of you, toying along with him—he always made it so easy. it doesn’t take long before he starts peeling off your fishnets with his teeth, it was so dirty. you felt yourself throb a bit, edges of his teeth softly pricking against your skin as he yanks the thin nylon material made fishnets that stuck against your thighs.

your back lies flat against the bed and you intake a single breath. gojo rubs a hand against your tummy, you quaver a bit simply from his touch. he’s keeping eye contact the entire time too, irises never looking away for a split second—he mimics the same motion, peeling your panties off with his pearly canines.

it’s lewd, he doesn’t even pull them off all the way. instead, he just leaves it on you but has it rolled down to your thighs. “lotta back talk for a girl this soaked, to be honest.”

“ . . . . ”

you don’t reply, and he chuckles to himself. he finds your lack of an answer quite cute.

gojo stares between your parted thighs and your lips were all stretched—glistening with a sheet coat of your sweet arousal.

“so pretty,” he coos in a low voice, and you watch as he leans in—pressing a soft kiss against your entrance. immediately, his lips gets all shimmery from your own wetness and it’s hot. gojo purposely runs his tongue against his lips because he knows you’re staring directly at him. “my best friend tastes soooo sweet.”

“quit talking, ‘toru.” you moan and you don’t realize how your voice is becoming more and more shaky by the second.

“fine. fiiiiine, can’t have shit,” he grumbles playfully.

you stare as he prods two lengthy fingers against your slit. with a gulp, you prepare yourself. he gradually starts to insert two fingers inside, curling them up whilst it adapts to your warm walls and his arm shakes. “oooooh,” he whispers in a mere raspy voice. sweetened squelchy squelches came from your cunt and it was so loud it rang throughout your ears like church bells on a wedding day. “she’s quite— the talker, huhh.” he continues, and that’s right when he places his lips against your folds.

you swallow, feeling your back immensely arch from his hot lips.

gojo’s tongue swipes against your pussy. the middle part of his tongue skims down and it feels so good, he’s slow at first. he knows the exact direction to go and your toes curl. a free hand of his slides near your pubic mound, applying just the right amount of pressure—he does this so you can quickly feel your sweet g-spot. you do, and a gasp leaves your lips, it’s mindblowing.

already, he made you feel your forbidden g-spot.

you didn’t even know gojo—your dumb best friend had this kind of experience. as his palm presses down against the particular spot, his other hand is still occupied. lengthy fingers curl all throughout your walls, reaching every spot by prodding with just the right amount of deepness.

“f-fuckkk,” you whine, and suddenly your nerves make you shift your attention back towards his slick tongue. as his tongue was lolled out, a pretty clean pinkish tongue. he slithers it by using the back of his tongue, merely copying a sort of vacuuming type technique. the sounds that ran out his mouth was so filthy, your thighs start to twitch profusely and your hands found its way into his hair.

“s—satoruuu.” you’d babble and its only been a few minutes. a few long minutes, your squirming was cute to him. you tried focusing on your breathing patterns but that was no use. your mind went blank, empty like a canvas.

“mhm,” he groans, feeling himself get hard simply from your pitchy moans that reverberate and bounce across the thin walls. his fingers still went in and out of your cunt at a decent thrusting pace. the way you easily swallowed his two digits was just perfect, it didn’t take long at all for him to find your clit. “there she isssss,” he hisses cheekily, changing up his tongue strokes just a bit. it felt so good, heavenly. the way he drags it against your pussy. your jaw hung open with only sweetened sobs and whimpers leaving right past your spit-glossed lips.

whilst he’s rummaging through your vulva, he occasionally breaks away to spit right onto your cunt. it was no surprised gojo satoru was a messy man. he couldn’t help it, he’s fantasized about this exact scenario maybe once or twice. as his saliva trickles between your slit, he grunts as he watches. just all sopping wet just for him. he blows against your entrance just to make you squirm even more.

with his fingers still buried into your cunt, he does the ‘come here’ motion—a simplistically erotic motion where he uses not one but both index and his middle finger to flick back and forth inside of you. right there, oh you could have came.

“o-oh my goddd,” you whimper, his warm breath colliding against your arousal. “i-i’m close, satoru. think ‘m getting close.”

“aw,” he purrs in a sweet tone, using the flat of his tongue to lap up against your clit even further. you’re so soaked—his chin starts to drip with your slick and it’s so attractive. he pulls himself back to grin at you, a dumb pussy-drunken smile and nothing but your slick arousal running down his chin, so sheeny. “suck a little harder, she says?”

you nod, although you were sure your inevitable orgasm was quickly approaching.

your favorite part was when he sucks deeply against your clit, practically tongue fucking you. he had quite a long tongue so it did wonders, it made sure to reach every particular crevice imaginable. “nah don’t run from me now, gorgeous,” he utters sweetly once you squirm a bit more—he grabs on your hips, removing his two fingers just to hold you steadily in place. “give it to me, baby. show me how much of a messy girl my best friend can really be, huh.”

his dirty talk was just the icing on the cake. gojo’s just coaxing you towards your incoming release, all the while—it felt so good. the way your legs quavered, a trembling mess.

gojo’s holding your jerking hips against his mouth so he doesn’t miss a single taste. your mouth forms into a surprised 'o' and it’s like he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment—to be fair, he could have just asked a long time ago.

he was shy though, he didn’t wanna ruin the friendship—yet now that he’s propped up between your legs, eating you out like a starved man, you don’t know how you could continue to be just friends. not in a negative way, but after this—every time you’d stare at gojo, you’d just see his face that was right between your legs that one friday night ago.

once your orgasm comes, you whimper out— a ripple surging out of you and you’re so squirmy.

it was so intense, you fell into a trance, feeling that familiar spark combust and you’re slump back. your maw still hangs open and you’re so cute—only inaudible whimpers, cacophonies of his name, the repetitive whiney, “s—satoru, ‘toru.”

his nose brushes against your entrance before he pulls away—he grows quiet for a brief moment before sitting up, you’re out of breath before he leans in for a kiss. you moan right into his mouth, running a finger down his cute undercut and that makes him whine into your mouth. his undercut, he’s always liked the feeling of you running a finger down there—it hypnotized him in a way, the entire scene was so salacious. tasting yourself on his damp tongue, your legs wrapped around his waist and his dick brushes against your parted legs.

“you’re not that bad of a kisser, you know.” gojo mutters as he finally breaks away—a stringy shiny trail of spit departs and he sits up. “why can’t we do this more often?”

“you never ask,” you breathe, still getting over your recent release—he talks so much, you almost forgot how much of a blabbermouth he was. literally seconds ago his face was buried between your thighs and now he’s rambling to you about a sale he spotted on one of his favorite candies. “. . yeah yeah, lie back now.”

he lies back against the bed and watches as you make your way towards him. he lands backwards with an ‘oof’ before raising his eyebrows in amusement. “oh? you’re gonna be on top? what if i wanted to have you bent over—”

“i’d rather die than let you see me arched over.”

“heh, woah now angel—that’s just mean. after i gave you that teeth shattering orgasm,” he says with a dramatic eye roll. you align yourself with gojo, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and for a concise moment he grows quiet. “hm. don’t really care though, you’re still hot. straddling me like this and—”

you lean forward, silencing him with a kiss because he just wouldn’t stop talking—it was cute in a way though, gojo would literally talk your ear off. he kisses back immediately, feeling you hover against his leaky tip before lowering yourself further and further down. “mhm,” you’d gasp at the current stretch. it was hard to ignore, he was big—no secret about that. due to how sopping you were, it made it easy to just sink right down. gojo’s jaw tightens as he brings a hand towards your waist, another near your ass. with a tight squeeze, he continues to fall into sinful bliss at your cunt holding him hostage. your walls hugged him tightly the more you sank down. his breath was heavy, he heaved and heaved before you’re finally all the way down.

parting away once more, he utters out a needy, “touch me.”

“ask nicely,” you whisper, starting to rock your hips swiftly in place—you were so hot, especially in his eyes. you’re so warm inside, feverish, tingly. gojo swallows thickly, a breath getting caught in his throat as his white lashes flicker towards your waist. you brush a thumb against your best friend’s lips before humming. “touch me pretty please, say that.”

“how about i tell you a joke—” he cuts off, yet moans once he feels you grind your hips in a specific rotation—so good. he’s at a loss of words before his eyebrows curl up and furrow, head throwing back in pleasure. “heh. uh, check, please! know what’s on the m-menu? me ‘n you.”

“…………………..”

“…..you’re right, i should just shut up,” he puffs out, his cheeks burning with such heat. he holds onto your hips before he swallows his pride, speaking in a cute pout whilst avoiding eye contact. “touch me pretty please.”

you smile, trading a finger down his chiseled chest—so muscular, he was perfectly sculpted.

his loved your touch, it makes him ten times harder. your fingers roam against his body and he merely folds into putty, his abs—they clench as you’re being stuffed by full of his thick inches. gojo made sure to go slow, he didn’t wanna hurt you—especially considering how big and how much of a damn packer he was. so big you almost drooled.

he was mesmerized by the way you moved, with a single pivot of your hips it didn’t take long for him to locate that spot. you moaned, feeling a surge of haziness overtake you before you lean in to kiss near the crook his neck.

“man,” he croaks, and each time he speaks—his voice gets more raspy and out of breath. “uh, keep ridin’ me like that ‘n i’m gonna die. your pussy’s fuckin’ dangerous—shit.”

again, he rambles while you’re riding him in the same constant rotation. he falls in love with the jerks, the way you grind and delve your hips even further into him.

it’s amusing to study his facial expressions though, the way his blue irises would roll back into the very depths of his cranium—his pink sheeny lips parting, even his irregular breathing patterns. he was so whiney, your cunt swallowed him whole and he starts to feel fuzzy. hot, you felt so hot inside. it merely gives him whiplash once he feels your hands trail up toward his chest. his chest, more so his pecs—abs, his nipples.

“s-sensitive there…” he pants, and with his same grip against your hips he drags you closer—back and forth, it was so slow. you’re grinding against his body and he thinks he’s feeling a certain type away. you know, that word. this entire view, seeing you top him like this—gojo was about to lose his mind, a fiery sensation pools low into his abdomen. you had him all hot and bothered, it didn’t take long before his thigh starts to bounce.

“are you?” you tease, leaning in to run your tongue against his perky nipples—oh, his reaction. it was priceless, he grips onto your hair this time, moving a few strands away from your face while you’re still riding him before he whimpers. with shaky lips, he begs for you to suck harder. you didn’t even know if he was into something like this, perhaps your best friend was a freak.

a freak in bed.

you wondered if he’d be like this if he got matched with some other random girl on tinder. being this whiney for them, but since you two were close maybe you had an exception.

“angelllll,” he drags out his words, and it’s cute. his tongue rolls a bit and beads of sweat start to race down the side of his forehead. “i’m gonna—”

suddenly, he grows quiet once his cock that was buried into your folds abruptly slips out.

he slowly looks up at you with a head tilt, and you’re staring right back up at him—he’s still panting with his hands attached to your hip. “oops,” he sheepishly laughs, trying to ignore how he was so close to shooting right inside of you. it squelched, you break away from his chest before kissing near his neck. he moans, aligning himself back against your entrance. “f-fuck that was kinda hot.”

“i can’t tell who sounds like the girl more,” you start to pant yourself, and you feel yourself coming close right with him—you briefly bite your lip before feeling such nerves sneak its way inside. his girth, it never failed to leave you speechless. with gojo, he was a bit thick but more so lanky—thin, yet he made sure to reach every crevice of your cunt. you felt him deep, the more his hold against your hips tighten—the more he’s pumping you full. you’re constantly leaning forward, cupping his face before sneaking a few kisses near the corners of his lips.

“shut up,” he rasps, and he’s close. you’re about to milk him dry—his breathing picks up and he presses his fingers right into your hips. strands of his hair runs through his face before he whines, head throwing back in pure bliss. “god, you do it so good—so good, ‘m gonna cum,” and then with pretty hooded eyes, he swallows before reaching between your legs. he runs a hand against your sopping wet cunt that was a sheer mess itself before sighing lowly, “where do you want it, angel? tell me if i should—”

“inside,” you whisper, and your voice was so close up to his ear that he could have just came from your voice and your voice alone. shivers ran through his body, your chest presses against his and he’s maneuvering quicker circles against your pussy. “f-fuck, ‘toru. ‘m gonna cum too.”

his ruffled hair was all in his face, it was cute. you’re being stuffed full—he’s so hefty you’re dizzy, approaching that release before seconds pass and you gush out. it comes out slow, a shockwave ripples out and you whimper—softly nibbling your teeth deep into the inside of his neck.

“oh f—fuckkk,” he babbles, and his voice ends up cracking, its adorable. both of his ears burn with radiating heat before he finishes, dumping a sloppy load of velvety ropes into your cunt. you literally did milk him, you bring your hips to a more slow stop—deeply grinding against him still and he slumps back. he pours so much into you he’s speechless himself, a hand hooked around your waist as you continue to swivel. “i just— i need you—shitttt.”

you stare at gojo and he’s all dumb, panting heavily. his chest heaves and tightens, loving the warmth of your plush thighs wrapping around him. “i.. i think i love you,” he abruptly says, and with his tone—it’s like in more of a question, he watches your shocked stare peer into him and he sighs. “i don’t wanna use dinder anymore, i— i just want you.”

“it’s called tinder, satoru,” you kiss near the side of his lip. “and i love you too, dummy.”

“really?” he looks at you, still smothered with a look of fatigue—he could go for more rounds but he needed a minute—plus he may or may not have a cramp in his leg. “soo when’s the wedding then?”

you deadpan and he sheepishly smiles at you, he’s still got a firm grip on your waist.

the feeling of gojo’s remains of cum just seeping down your thighs as you straddled him—still with his twitching shaft inside made you kiss your teeth a little. “i’m sure you’ll get cold feet, you’re scared of literally anything.”

“pft. girl, that’s not even remotely true. do you realize who you’re talking to?”

the arrogant gojo came back — you roll your eyes and he slyly grins, yet all the meanwhile he’s holding you close against your chest. you let him kiss you once more before you both pull away once his phone suddenly beeps.

a loud screeching notification . . you were assuming it was a text. he feels you shift a bit, turning to see what it was but pulls you closer towards him, deepening the kiss. you give up, locking your arms around him once more, preparing to start up your hips again.

oh, he tastes candied, sweet…

you moan straight into his mouth before the phone ends up beeping again and again.

consistently until it starts to get annoying, gojo grunts, departing from your honeyed lips. “who’s texting me, angel? thought i turned tinder notifications off.”

you grab his phone, it brights up from your fingertips hovering against the screen before you squint. “uh, it says . . . suguru geto?”

he repeats. “suguru ge—” and then he timorously runs a hand through his hair with a raised eyebrow. “oh. eh, what’d he say?”

you pause for a long moment before reading the message, by long—seven consecutive seconds to be exact, your lip twitching, slowly realizing as you skim through the text by this ‘suguru geto.’

“. . . he says that he had fun last night.”

“oh!”

#★vegasbaby. #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #female reader #anime smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x you #jjk fic #jjk x reader smut #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #cw sex mention

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ love me, connie springer (nsfw)

thinking about babydaddy!connie fucking you nice and slow after finding out you got stood up by your date. having little constentina (his idea, but tina for short) for the weekend, your precious angel just couldn’t keep her mouth shut to her daddy when you’d told her you were going on a small ‘dinner’

“she said dinner but that really means date, daddy.”

connie isn’t surprised. no one knew how to handle you beside him. i mean, he’s had your ass in place successfully for nearly ten years; only he was man enough to handle you, your mind, and most of all your body.

you loved connie like no other, you wanted no one else to be the father of your children. but you knew the streets would eventually take him away from you, and you just didn’t wanna stick around for that. not when you had a five year old girl depending on the both of you. connie looked for other ways to make bread without selling or doing anything…illegal but it was hard to match the stacks he was bringing home every weekend.

your separation was a one sided agreement anyways it seems. to you? you two were broken up. to connie delulu ass? you were his wife and you’re ‘smoking dick if you think ion belong to you and you’on belong to me.’

you didn’t even have any words for the absence of your so called ‘date.’. after an hour of waiting, you figured you’d call in to check on tina. ringing connie, your babyfather answered on the first ring, of course with a wood in his mouth and multiple lights on his face, signaling he was watching tv.

“hey,” your voice is solemn and low. you really were tired and ashamed to say anything more.

“hey mama, you okay?” connie’s hazel brown eyes quickly flick over to yours through the screen.

you shrug though he can’t see it. “i’m okay.” you admit. “just callin’ to check on my baby.” the frame was only on your face, but from the small shake of your hand, connie had managed to get a glimpse of a pretty black dress you’d sported, breasts looking three times as big as it usually did because of your sitting position. he could tell you dressed up for the night.

“yeah? she good, just upstairs sleepin’ right now. how was your date, pretty?” you hear connie turn down the tv in the background and give you his full intention.

you furrow your brows. “what? boy, how’d you know about it?”

your baby father blows out a huff of smoke and chuckles, flashing his gold canines. he wasn’t gon snitch on his lil informant princess. “i got my ways. tell me bout it baby.”

with a roll of your eyes, you let out a tired sigh and felt your shoulders sag. “wouldn’t know. the nigga never showed.”

connie furrows his own thick eyebrows. “what you mean? he told you he couldn’t come?” he asked. from the shake of your head, you see his face soften on the screen. “come over n’ smoke with me. lemme make you feel better.”

you kiss your teeth and throw your head back, already knowing where the conversation was headed. embarrassment flooded your expression. “you eating my pussy is not gonna make me feel better, constance.”

connie kissed his teeth and waved you off dismissively. “you’on know that.”

a blush can’t help but creep its way onto your brown cheeks. “i’m supposed to be staying away from you, ya know.”

connie gives you a knowing grin, shamelessly flexing the two deep dimples in his cheeks that constentina inherrited from him. “yeah? how’s that going for you, mama?”

“obviously not good because i’m actually considering your offer of being a booty call tonight?” you laugh.

“come onnn mama, tina’s sleep, i got a wood rolled for you and i want you here.” your ex compromised with a kiss of his teeth. “lemme rub ya feet and all on ya butt i promise you’ll feel better.

“i’m tired and don’t feel like driving, con,” you whine in the same tone. you knew if he didn’t have your daughter he’d already be at your door, but you refused to risk waking her up in a car ride over here.

connie rolls his eyes and puts you on pause for the moment. a minute later he comes back on screen and takes a pull of his backwood. “your uber on the way baby.”

“ooh daddy,” you cried, trying your hardest to breathe straight. “you know i cum fast like this, oh shit,” connie had your legs spread wide open, forcing your huge tits up against the bottom of your face as he pumped in and out of you.

“you like that mama, like when i fuck you nice and slow? all romantic n’ shit?” connie teased. tears streamed down your face and he wasted no time in kissing them from your pretty face.

you’re too far in euphoria to even fully comprehend exactly what he’s saying. “yes, i love when you stroke this pussy so deep daddy.”

connie holds your breasts up damn near to your face and takes his time sucking on each of your nipples, making sure to stretch and pull it all the way back as far as it could go, grinning at the sound of it snapping back toward you. “you’on need no one else to love you like this but me, you heard?”

you can’t help but shake your head, the small responsible part of you left that hadn’t been fucked out by connie yet (though he was close) was slowly bringing you to reality. “no,” you respond.

“nah, nah, dead that shit or imma stop,” your ex threatened, straightening his back out so he stood tall, yet still very deep inside your gummy walls. you can’t help but stare down the tattoos that littered his body; many dedicated to you and your shared daughter. “you grippin’ me so tight baby, boutta make me cum, fuck,” connie throws his head back and whines. “tell me you’re mine n’ we gonna get back together.”

“no, con,” your words were saying one thing, but the cream ring of your arousal forming around connie’s tanned dick was betraying everything leaving your mouth. “w-we’re we’re toxic—oooh, yes, right there right there!”

suddenly, a large pair of hands come to wrap around your neck, gripping lightly. “tell me you’re mine or im not fuckin’ this pussy,” he orders. “you know i don’t be bluffing, mama. ‘specially when it come to your spoiled ass déjame oírte decirlo.”

more tears fall from your eyes as you feel your lower region bubble in evstasy. “con—“

“say it if you wanna cum.” connie’s grip around your neck tightens as he inevitably starts to babble. he was not gonna let up off you no matter what. “come on mama, say it n lemme give you another baby. gonna make you a mama all over again, want you so full of my babies, pretty—fuck,” he breathed out. “you know daddy sorry, you gonna forgive him?”

it wasn’t until connie started to add his thumb rubbing circles around your clit did you finally fold and give in. “oh fuck, yes! yes yes i forgive you con—please—“

“go head and cum mami, te quiero.” connie breathed out, feeling his own orgasm approach. “te amo joder joder por favor dame más hijos mami te estoy rogando déjame correrte dentro de ti,” the man curses into the atmosphere as he strokes himself in you a few more times.

“yes yes,” you nod in response to his pleads of cumming in you. a nanosecond later, connie’s cumming deep into you until he ends up shooting nothing but blanks. you’re full to the brim to the point where drops of his cum couldn’t help but ooze out between your puffy cunt.

“dio mio.”

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐ #connie springer x black reader #connie springer x chubby reader #connie springer smut #plug connie x black reader #connie x black reader #connie springer x reader #connie springer #connie springer x black reader smut #connie smut #aot x black reader #aot x chubby reader #aot smut #aot connie #connie aot