#A little emphatic... But yeah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunni-stuff · 8 months ago

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Part 1 This is part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

With the train ride now over, the sergeants ran, scouring the market for two familiar faces. Their footsteps in sync, crunching delicate mounds of white snow. Soap broke through the crowd first, then Gaz and Gary were right with him.

“Where the hell are they?” Gaz pants out, his breaths misting in the cold air.

“You said the marketplace,” Soap huffs.

“Yeah, I said the marketplace, but it's not like I know exactly where they went!” Gaz snaps back.

While the two sergeants bicker, Roach quietly breaks away, scanning the area until he spots the familiar figures they’d been hunting for. Price and Ghost stand outside a cigar shop, deep in conversation. The satisfied grin on Price's face tells Roach everything—he got what he was after.

“They’re over there!” Roach exclaims, snapping his partners out of their lovers' quarrel.

Gaz and Soap go silent, their eyes following Roach’s line of sight until they, too, spot their Lieutenant and Captain.

In a heartbeat, the three of them are sprinting toward their unsuspecting targets. Soap grins like a madman, practically buzzing with mischief, while Gaz shakes his head, both amused and slightly wary of what might unfold. Roach, meanwhile, is simply thrilled to be along for the ride.

They skid to a stop right in front of the two men, chests heaving as they catch their breath in the biting winter air.

“The hell is wrong with you lot?” Price’s voice cuts through, laced with a mix of annoyance and bemusement as he shifts his attention from Ghost to the winded sergeants.

Ghost, arms crossed, eyes them with quiet scrutiny. His winter coat does little to conceal his bulky frame, a silent reminder of his imposing presence as he stands beside Price.

Price and Ghost waited for an explanation, knowing well everytime those three got together, they were definitely up to no good.

Like how they put semi-permanent green dye in Ghost's shampoo for Halloween.

“We… we saw. A kid with your face,” Gaz manages, still catching his breath, pointing straight at Ghost.

Ghost raises a brow, baffled. A kid with his face? What the hell did that mean? Did they think he looked like a baby?

Soap huffs in mock disappointment, shooting a playful glare at Gaz. “Oi, I wanted to say it!”

Predictably, the two dive into another back-and-forth. Gaz isn’t one to shout, but Soap has a talent for riling anyone up.

Price lets their little show go on for only a moment before his stern voice cuts in, slicing through their bickering. “One of you properly explain, or you'll be walking back to base.”

Roach steps up, eager to clarify. “There’s a kid, probably about two, and she looks exactly like the Lt. Scowl, glare, and all!”

Price and Ghost pause, their expressions twisting as they both try—and fail—to imagine a little girl with Simon’s permanent scowl.

Price shudders, shaking the thought from his head. “That is not a face a kid should have.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Gaz chimes in, nodding emphatically.

Ghost throws him an offended look, his usually hardened eyes showing a glimmer of hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” they all exclaim in unison, even Price, who quickly averts his gaze as Ghost’s glare narrows on him.

Ghost huffs, then crosses his arms. “Did you take a picture?”

Soap snorts, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Aye, right, 'cause that wouldnae be creepy at all.”

Ghost stares daggers Into Soap, rolling his eyes and pushing himself off the wall. “Okay, then where is she?”

The three stooges lead the charge once again, this time with their Captain and Lieutenant in tow. They weave through the crowd toward the train park, where Soap eagerly scans for the woman and kid he’d spotted earlier. But the line they were in is empty, the pair nowhere to be found.

“Shite. I think they’re gone,” Soap mutters, his Scottish accent thickening in his frustration, the words rolling out with a clipped bite.

“So the imaginary woman and kid don’t actually exist,” Ghost deadpans, unimpressed.

“They exist!” Gaz insists, voice edging on exasperation.

“Sure,” Ghost replies, his tone flat and thoroughly unconvinced.

Roach snickers, then glances over at Price—only to see him staring slack-jawed through the window of a nearby café, his cigar dangling from his mouth, forgotten.

“Cap?” Roach says, touching the older man’s shoulder.

Price doesn’t look away, nodding toward the café. “Found them.”

Everyone turns toward the café, eyes landing on you and Adira. The little girl is happily weaving between your legs, her tiny hands gripping your coat as she entertains herself, all while you order hot chocolates to fend off the winter chill. A soft smile touches your lips as you watch her play, blissfully unaware of the audience gathering just outside.

The barista, with a warm smile, hands over two cups, one with a little extra marshmallows for Adira, her voice bright as she wishes you both a merry Christmas. You take the cups with a grateful nod, handing one to Adira. She immediately takes her drink, sipping eagerly, her small feet bouncing on her heels from the sugar rush.

“Yummy?” You ask, glancing down at her with a soft smile, a wave of motherly pride swelling in your chest as you watch her delight in the simple joy of her drink.

Adira nods eagerly, her eyes lighting up as she pulls away from her straw with a satisfied sigh. “Yummy.”

With a soft chuckle, you both leave the warmth of the shop, stepping out into the crisp air. Hand in hand, you walk back toward the park, the world around you feeling peaceful despite the cold. As you reach the crosswalk, you stop, waiting for the light to turn. Adira looks up at you, her little face filled with contentment as she swings your joined hands back and forth, her sugary energy still buzzing.

Across the way, the team stood frozen, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before them. Everyone but Ghost was struck by how much Adira looked like him—her features unmistakably mirroring his, save for the color of her hair and skin. The resemblance was uncanny, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world had stopped around them.

“She looks nothing like me,” Ghost stated plainly, his voice cutting through the stillness as though it were fact. His expression was unmoving, a wall of stubbornness in his eyes. He was ready to die on that hill.

Then, as fate would have it, a woman walking her dog passed by, and Adira’s cherub-like face hardened into a cold, calculating stare. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

“Nevermind,” Ghost muttered, his earlier conviction faltering as he watched her shift before his eyes.

“So… you’ve been having fun these past years?” Roach asked, his gaze flicking between Adira and Ghost, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Not that I know of,” Ghost grunted, his eyes still locked on you and Adira, a mix of unease and something else flickering across his face. He couldn’t pull himself away.

“Let’s get closer,” Price commanded, already making his move. Soap and Roach exchanged a shrug, falling in line without hesitation.

“Excuse me?” Gaz sputtered, though his body had already begun moving before his brain could catch up, unable to defy the Captain’s order.

Ghost fell silent, teeth gritted. This wasn’t a situation he was used to, especially not one where he was forced to go in blind. He stood stiffly at the crosswalk, trying to hide his glances, his focus split between the team and you.

Soap ended up the closest, standing just next to Adira. The little girl paused, her big, doe-like eyes lifting from her drink to catch sight of him. The recognition was instant. Her lips pursed into a small line, and her gaze grew heavy with annoyance.

“Ugee…” she whispered, scooting closer to you.

Soap froze, his mind stuttering for a moment. Did she just—? Did she call me ugly?

Gaz, standing behind him, couldn’t contain himself. A muffled laugh broke through as Soap turned to look at the others, wide-eyed and speechless, completely taken aback.

“Do ye lot think I'm ugly?” Soap asked, his voice thick with disbelief, clearly thrown off by the little girl's words.

“Not the time, Mctavish,” Price said, a tiny laugh tugging at the corner of his lips despite the situation.

The streetlight flickered green, signaling it was time to move. You adjusted yourself, ready to cross the street. Each member of the team started mentally preparing, unsure of how—or even if—they should approach you. Ghost, however, was the first to make a move, determined to intercept you. But Soap, ever the opportunist, beat him to it.

Ghost wasn’t exactly subtle, and having him try anything would probably send you running in the opposite direction.

“Excuse me, aren’t you the lady from the train?” Soap called out, his voice light, though his intentions were clear.

You paused at his interruption, recognition flickering in your eyes. You remembered the man who bumped into you earlier. “Yes? Is something the matter?”

“Do you happen to know where I could find Leslies?” Soap asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice, though he tried to mask it.

“The pub?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Soap confirmed, his face lighting up with a mix of relief and surprise at your easy response.

You look around for a moment, trying to remember and see the street names of your current location. “Uh…it should be about a couple blocks south from here. They have a big sign, you can't miss it.”

Thank God for Soap, because that one question was all he needed to keep you trapped in a conversation, his charm working its magic as you giggled and chatted away easily, the awkwardness of the situation melting away.

Meanwhile, Ghost’s attention shifted to Adira. He looked down at her, and she, almost instinctively, looked up at him. Their eyes locked in a silent staring contest, each of them studying the other. The intensity in their gaze was undeniable, both sets of eyes reflecting the same quiet, unwavering strength. It was like looking in a mirror—a mirror that mirrored back his own hardened stare and no-nonsense attitude.

Adira was, quite literally, his mini me. The resemblance was impossible to ignore.

“How old are you?” Ghost asked bluntly, his voice low as he kneeled down to Adira’s height, his gaze intense but trying to soften.

Adira paused for a moment, glancing up at you for help, but you were still caught up in conversation with Soap. She turned her focus back to Ghost, her small fingers fidgeting with the hem of her coat as she murmured shyly, “Two…”

She was two. Two. Ghost’s mind raced, trying to piece together the details, but nothing clicked. Nearly three years ago… what had he done three years ago? He kept everything categorized, stored in his mind like a well-organized file system, but this was something that didn’t fit.

Then, Soap’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“You don’t seem like the type of lass to frequent Leslies.”

You giggled, a soft blush creeping up your cheeks at Soap’s question. He wasn’t wrong… at least, not entirely. “I’ve only been to Leslie’s once, and, well… it’s how I ended up with my little blessing.” You glanced down at Adira, the warmth of your smile radiating as you spoke.

Everything shattered in that moment. Ghost’s stomach twisted painfully, his heart skipping a beat as the realization slammed into him like a freight train. Leslie's. Almost three years ago, during that stupid holiday.

His mind began to piece it together, the hazy memories from that night slowly coming into focus. He remembered the bar, the laughter, the way you had caught his attention. You were easy on the eyes, easy to make laugh, and most importantly—unlike everyone else. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry, you just let him lead, let him slip into the night with no strings attached.

But now, as he looked at Adira, everything fell into place. The way she stared at him, those familiar eyes, the resemblance he couldn’t ignore. His breath hitched, and the weight of the truth crushed him—she was his daughter.

A knot formed in his throat as he tried to process the fact. Adira. His daughter. The little girl standing before him was his flesh and blood, the result of a moment he'd long since buried in the depths of his mind.

---

Taglist: @auradaniela98-blog-blog @cumsluut @unstqblecvrses @moraxnomora @serafina-nyx @sage-burrow @skylarmitchell @xx-wal1flower-xx @n-y-x04 @gluttonybiscuits @imahugenerdlol @wehrgabriel @blackhawkfanatic @tazuduck @soxocs @jingyuansspouse @cutiecusp @sleepyoriana @forgottensomewhere @puppylikethedog @spongelistener @caged-birdies-blog @bubblegirll26 @misscaller06 @fuckbananas03 @watu2ka @yukisdelusional @redroserabbit

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #Singlemom!Reader #sunshine-sunni

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crushpunky · 8 months ago

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drew and actress!reader on the kitten interview

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this was highly requested, hope you enjoy <3

“Not sure how I got the short end of the stick with these three.” Y/n teased as she crossed her legs in front of her, joining Chase, Rudy, and Drew on the floor of the interview space. Cameras and crew surrounded them, a small makeshift barrier of boxes dividing them from where the cast sat on the floor.

“Ouch.” Rudy said, placing his hand over his heart in faux hurt. Drew grinned, leaning back on his hands, his fingers resting closely to the curve of y/n’s back.

“Are we ready for the kittens?” One of the producers asked.

“Bring in the cats!” The four of them cheered, clapping excitedly as one of the crew members entered the space, kittens in hands. Y/n put her hands over her mouth, squealing quietly as they placed the tiny creatures down in front of them.

“How long until y/n starts crying?” Chase said, as they continued to watch the kittens stumbled along the ground.

“She already cried on the drive here so…” Drew said, causing y/n to elbow him before returning her attention to the cats. A small gray kitten waddled over, climbing its way into y/n’s lap, its paws padding along her legs softly. The four of them talked sweetly to the kittens as they continued to play, climb, and run along the set.

Who in the Outer Banks cast consistently makes you break character?

“Oh JD,” Rudy said, moving to lay on his back as a small orange kitten rested politely in his lap.

“Yeah…” Drew watched one of the kittens crawl along his arm. “Or Nick Cirillo.”

“Agreed, agreed,” Chase said. “Y/n?”

“Hmm?” Y/n asked, clearly still entranced by the gray kitten playing with the sleeve of her shirt. The boys broke into laughter, causing y/n to groan. Of course she knew it was going to be difficult to answer questions with the smallest, cutest creatures alive in front of her, but she at least thought she’d be able to answer one question.

“I’m sorrryyy!” Y/n laughed. “Um, I think I’d have to say JD or Drew.”

“Me?” Drew asked with a quirk of his head.

“Yes! It’s just so weird to see you acting like… for lack of better words, a crazy person.” Y/n grinned, her nails scratching the scruff of the gray kitten’s neck.

What’s your favorite behind-the-scenes memory from filming Season 3?

“Oh, probably when Drew dropped me on my ass.” Y/n said, causing Rudy and Chase to laugh at the memory and Drew to shake his head emphatically. They had been filming a scene where Rafe picked up y/n’s character, carrying her over to the couch, however, Drew had miscalculated and dropped y/n straight on the hardwood floor. He had felt so awful, stressing as a pretty gnarly bruise began to form along her back over the week.

“I’m sorry! It was an accident.” Drew groaned, running his fingers through his grown out buzz cut.

“I know, I’m just kidding, baby.” Y/n cooed, pressing a kiss to Drew’s cheek.

If you could create a playlist for your characters, what songs would be on it?

“Do you guys have playlists?” Drew asked, looking between his co-stars.

“Oh yeah,” Rudy said, patting the head of the kitten sleeping soundly on his stomach.

“I’ve got like a lot of… dark stuff.” Drew chuckled, glancing over at y/n, who was entranced with the gray cat that was still lying politely in her lap. Drew noticed the sparkle in her eye as she tickled the cat playfully, the kitten letting out a small meow.

“Um, a lot of Taylor Swift, of course… some Fleetwood Mac.” Y/n answered, attention still on her new furry friend.

“I think you’ve got a new family member, Starkey.” Chase teased, pointing at the furball in y/n’s lap.

“Oh, yeah, I think Charleston needs a little kitten friend.” Y/n said, blinking her eyes at Drew playfully. Drew said nothing, just grinning and chuckling lightly.

What’s your biggest ick?

“If you don’t like animals.” Rudy said, y/n pointing at him with a nod. At her movement, the small gray cat in her lap leaped off her knee, landing on Drew’s stomach. The kitten crawled up before flopping down on his chest, wide eyes peering up at Drew. Y/n squealed, watching the little cat having a staring contest with big old Starkey.

“I’d say, um, being rude to service people. That’s a big ick.” Drew whispered, his hand moving to rest next to the kitten’s paws.

“I would say hating on people for liking things,” y/n said, scratching the gray cat’s head. “Like, let people like things. Who cares.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Chase said.

If Outer Banks could crossover with any tv show, which show would you choose?

“Seinfeld?” Rudy laughed, the orange cat resting on his lap stirring slightly as his stomach moved as he chuckled.

“I’ve been digging Rings of Powers lately. I think it would be kinda cool to be in Middle Earth.” Drew answered, sitting up slowly, the cat sliding to rest in his arms.

“Alright, nerd.” Chase teased, causing y/n to giggle and Drew to roll his eyes at the jab. Contrary to what his very frat boy-esque exterior may give off, Drew was a nerd at heart, more than okay with spending the night reading Harry Potter or watching Lord of the Rings.

“I’m gonna say, and I think JD and Austin would agree with me, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.” Y/n said, the boys humming in agreement.

“I feel like JJ would really get along with the Gang.” Rudy said.

Who was your celebrity crush growing up?

“Robin Williams. I had a huge crush on him growing up.” Rudy answered, petting the kitten in his lap softly. The gray kitten resting in Drew’s arm began to climb up his shirtsleeve, balancing on his forearm as Drew lifted it higher.

“Padme and Anakin in Attack of the Clones were… life changing.” Y/n said, watching the kitten walking carefully across Drew’s arm. One of the kitten’s paws slipped off, causing the kitten to fall and y/n to let out a small yelp. Drew was able to catch the cat’s small body before it fell too far, the cast letting our relieved sighs.

“You saved him.” Chase gasped, Drew lifting to hold the kitten against his chest, a sweet smile on his face. Y/n cooed at the way the kitten rested in Drew’s large hands, resting her head on Drew’s shoulder as the two of them looked down at the cat.

“Hmm,” Drew hummed quietly, “maybe Charleston does need a little friend.”

Y/n grinned, pressing a kiss to Drew’s cheek before squealing excitedly. Y/n turned to Chase, shaking his shoulders excitedly as Chase joined in on her excited squeals.

“Thank you Buzzfeed!” Rudy said, elbowing Drew playfully.

“Yes, thank you Buzzfeed!” Y/n joined, thanking the crew for their new furry friend.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x actress!reader #actress!reader

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azzibuckets · 9 days ago

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spoiled

vote paige as a wnba all star

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: paige spoiling azzi. that’s it. wrote in all lowercase bc im lazy. also rough ending bc i didnt know what else to add lmao

word count: 5k

main masterlist | oneshots masterlist

when it works

paige typically isn’t very observant, per se, but with azzi things are somehow always different. noticing things about her best friend comes like second nature to her—like how she’ll always slip a couple of bottles of coconut water into the cooler, or how during sad movies she suddenly has the urge to go to the bathroom every five minutes, blaming it on said coconut water but it’s really so that she can cry without her family making fun of her. or, more relevantly, paige notices that no matter how many dresses azzi looks through, her eyes keep flicking back to the sparkly one in the corner.

it was the first one azzi had looked at when they’d entered the small boutique store. eyes widening, she’d smoothed her hand over the satiny chiffon with a quiet sort of reverence before flipping over the price tag at the top. both paige and azzi’s jaws had dropped at the same time; azzi had brought the slip closer to her face, as if squinting at it would change the amount of zeroes. “didn’t even know dresses could sell for five hundred,” the dark haired girl had muttered before swiftly moving onto the next aisle, not daring to linger with something she knew she couldn’t have.

azzi had liked other ones—a black gown with a slit on the side that paige thought her long legs would look great in, and an emerald green sheath dress that dipped to show cleavage and hugged her curves a little too well. both articles fell within her budget, and it’s not like they were ugly; paige thought that azzi would look just as stunning in them—although it might be a biased opinion, considering that paige also thought azzi could wear a trash bag and still be the most beautiful girl at prom—but nothing compared to the smile she’d had when admiring the first one.

so while azzi was trying on her budget-friendly dresses, paige had went back and snagged the sparkly one. “hey, azzi.” she knocked on the door of the fitting room. “you all done?”

rustling, and then—“yeah. still tryna choose between the black and green.”

paige rises on her tippy toes to heave the dress over the door. “don’t come out yet. put this one on first.”

“paige.” azzi laughed breathily. “this one’s a little too pricey. my mom would implode.”

“i know, i know.” she shakes the dress emphatically. “just give it a try, yeah? i just want a look.”

hesitantly, the dress slips slowly over the door and into azzi’s hands. paige waits patiently outside, foot tapping against the floor. “paige?” azzi’s voice floats out after a few moments. “need help with the zipper.” the door opens a crack, and brown eyes peek out.

“you can’t get it yourself?” if the dress fits anything like paige had imagined, then she doesn’t think she can handle being in a small room when azzi looks like that. if she’s honest, being with azzi always sort of dims her logic, and she doesn’t trust that she won’t do or say something stupid that will expose her more than friendly feeling blossoming of late. but azzi nods adamantly, and paige stifles a groan as she steps into the room.

paige doesn’t let her eyes linger, immediately positioning herself behind her best friend. focus on the zipper, she reminds herself. ignore everything else.

but even from the backside, she’s a traitor to her own thoughts. she zips up the dress slowly, fingers brushing against her back. azzi’s somehow both curves and muscle, and paige resists the urge to trace her thumb along the path of her spine. azzi shivers. “sorry,” paige mutters. “my hands are cold.”

the zipper goes up easily, but paige doesn’t let go. her hands slide down azzi’s shoulders, tracing down to her waist, and she eases forward until they’re flush against each other. heart skipping a beat, paige burrows her chin into the crook of azzi’s neck as her hands slide around her hips. “looks fuckin gorgeous, azzi,” she whispers into the nape of her neck, breath tickling against the younger girl’s curls. she presses a kiss to the underside of her jaw, just for good measure.

a delicious shade of pink blooms across azzi’s cheeks. “i like it,” she says quietly, touching the neckline a little self-consciously. paige’s hold tightens on her.

this time, paige doesn’t have the willpower to avoid azzi in the mirror. the younger girl shifts in front of the glass, studying the dress from all angles. it’s only then that paige notices that this dress too has a slit. it’s subconscious, the way her thumb strokes across the exposed skin of azzi’s thigh, where the gap begins, and she doesn’t even really know what she’s doing until azzi’s breath catches, legs spreading a little as she pushes into paige, who groans. fuck. paige thinks she might faint with the feeling of azzi’s warm skin against her own. she clears her throat. focus. “this might be the one, mama,” she says as normally as possible.

“i can’t.” azzi shakes her head and reaches for the zipper, almost eager to take it off. “i told you, it’s too expensive.”

“nah, you’re getting this dress.” paige pushes away azzi’s hand and takes over, unzipping the dress carefully, one hand planted on azzi’s waist, not so much as to steady her but to feel. “i gotchu.”

“paige,” azzi says indignantly. “it’s half a thousand dollars.”

paige stuffs her hands into her pockets, averting her eyes as azzi steps out of the dress and starts to put her clothes back on. “honestly, az, it would be a crime against humanity for you to not wear something you look so good in.”

“i don’t care. i’m not letting you pay for that,” azzi says firmly.

“baby, you’re doing me a favor.” paige picks up the dress, shaking free the wrinkles before threading it back on the hanger. “it’s not even for you, it’s for me. i wanna see you in this dress.” when azzi stays silent, she adds, “it’s blue and pink which is basically purple and purple is my favorite color.” her logic doesn’t make sense to even herself, and paige doesn’t know why the hell she’s rambling, just that being so close to a half naked azzi is muddling her thoughts more than usual.

but they’re best friends for a reason, and some of that logic seems to work its way into azzi’s brain. “you’re ridiculous,” azzi says fondly, hand pushing paige’s chest a little.

paige grabs her waist so that she can kiss her forehead. “forgot how short you are,” she mumbles. “gotta get you some high heels too.”

“i’m not short,” azzi grumbles, but she has to look up at paige to say this, which doesn’t really help her point.

paige doesn’t hear her, merely grabbing the dress and leading azzi out of the fitting room. “pink sound good?” she asks, bending down to examine the first rack of heels they come across.

“i have heels at home,” azzi says resolutely.

“black heels.” when the younger girl’s eyes narrow, she says softly, “come on, baby. you know i got some nil deals. it’s really not a big deal.” in all honesty, paige has more money than she knows what to do with. becoming the first freshman to win national player of the year came with more media attention than ever, and she’d signed multiple brand deals that left her bank account constantly growing. sure, she’d used some of it to fund charities and donate to certain causes, but there was still an abundant leftover—more than enough to spoil azzi, which was quite possibly her favorite thing to do.

azzi’s eyebrows shoot up. “a five hundred dollar dress and hundred dollar heels isn’t a big deal?”

“not for you.” paige holds up two pairs of pink heels, one a light bubblegum and the other bright neon. “which one?”

“paige.”

“azzi.”

“paige. my mom’s gonna murder you.”

“i’ll just throw away the receipt and we can lie about the price.” paige looks down at the heels. “come on, azzi, if you don’t choose, i’m buying both.”

“fine.” azzi points reluctantly to the neon ones. pleased, paige grabs the lid and boxes it up. “remind me to never go shopping with you again,” the younger girl mumbles. “else you’re gonna go bankrupt.”

“wouldn’t mind going bankrupt,” paige says mindlessly. “long as you’re happy.”

azzi doesn’t know what to say to that, so she takes paige’s hand instead, who manages to hook the dress to the inside of her elbow and hold the shoebox and her wallet with her left hand so she doesn’t have to let go of azzi with her right. they check out, and paige is positively glowing at the look in azzi’s eyes.

as they emerge from the store, they spot azzi’s family milling about at the food court. but azzi isn’t ready just yet to share paige with them, so she tugs the older girl’s hand, halting their steps. paige turns around with questioning eyes.

“i just—” azzi sighs, and reaches for paige’s hand and squeezes it. “i don’t even know what to say. thank you, paige. you didn’t have to do that.”

“i know.” paige squeezes her hand back. “but i wanted to. someone’s gotta spoil the princess.”

azzi rolls her eyes before leaning in to kiss paige’s cheek. then her nose, then her forehead, and on her chin, until she’s peppering paige’s entire face with perfectly platonic appreciation kisses. “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

paige is grinning like a fool once azzi is done. “you forgot a spot,” she jokes playfully, tapping her index finger against her lips, but then azzi freezes and paige starts to sweat, because where the fuck did that boldness came from? she steps back hesitantly, thinking azzi might just about start yelling at her, but azzi steps right along with her. the dark haired girl touches her face, palm cupping her cheek, thumb swiping her bottom lip, and pulls her in. their lips meet, tentatively and softly.

paige groans a little, because azzi’s lips are soft and pillowy, just like she’d dreamt of, and taste a little like the chocolate milkshake she’d had earlier. as azzi breathes into her, paige can’t think of anything but more, more, more. unfortunately, the younger girl pulls away after a few seconds, and looks up at her with hooded eyes. biting her lip, paige realizes that azzi’s hands have somehow made their way under her hoodie to palm her ribs, and she thinks she has approximately five seconds before she actually, for real passes out.

“thank you,” azzi whispers, forehead pressed against paige’s.

paige’s heart stutters. “you’re welcome,” she says shakily, head spinning.

as the reality of their situation starts to set in, azzi giggles. “you just paid $600 for me to kiss you.”

“aw, shut up.” paige pushes her away, but her eyes stay glued to azzi’s mouth, and azzi laughs even harder.

truth be told, it hadn’t been entirely selfless on paige’s part. lord knows the amount of hours she’s spent stalking azzi’s date on instagram, sizing him up. but no matter how many good things she hears about him, about how he’s amazing at football, even better at baseball, a good brother and student, it’s not enough. not for azzi. it’s a bitter feeling, to know that no man is good enough for her best friend. but, as paige slips her wallet into her pocket, she thinks that maybe seeing azzi pose with someone else will sting a little less if she knew that she was the one who’d dressed azzi from head to toe. a twisted sort of satisfaction floods through her, because azzi may dance with another person, but at the end of the night, she’ll come home to her.

༉‧₊˚✧

when it backfires

azzi yawns. it’s barely past midnight, but her legs are still sore and aching from lift, and she’s about ready to knock out. she finishes off her cocktail before sliding a hundred dollar bill across the bar. “you can keep the rest,” she tells the bartender as she hops off the stool and grabs her purse, but he doesn’t even look at it.

“your tab’s already been covered, ma’am,” he replies, continuing to pour drinks.

azzi’s eyebrows furrow. the bartender nods his head at where the team is clumped together in one of the corner booths. “one of your friends got it. think it was the white one with the black shirt.”

and yeah, azzi might be tired, but she’s not tired past the point of letting her ex-girlfriend get away with her bullshit.

“you don’t get to do that.”

paige stares up at her, and azzi wills herself to keep her glare focused on bright blue eyes and not the girl who’s half in paige’s lap, arm looped through the blonde’s and thighs settled onto paige’s like they’re fucking glued together. “do what?” paige asks, taking a slow, unbothered sip of her beer.

“beg for my attention with your stupid money.” azzi throws the bartender-rejected benjamin on the table. it falls into a pool of condensation, wilting in the dampness, looking a lot like how azzi feels. “buying me things won’t change the fact that you’re a complete asshole.”

paige scoffs. “i bought the entire team drinks, azzi,” she says coldly, waving her off. “you’re not as special as you think you are.” the entire table falls silent, all the other girls pretending to not see war unfolding. it’s not that strange of a sight to see these days—the two star players of their team, always having been poised, supportive, leaders, now throwing grenades at each other like it means nothing. they’ve learned by now not to question it, not to dig too deep, to not ask azzi why she’s ignoring paige or ask paige why she won’t look at azzi, or else azzi will go back to her room and paige will get into her car and disappear for the rest of the day.

paige picks up the bill between her thumb and forefinger like it’s dirty, not worth her time. then she tosses it at azzi, as if it’s nothing more than trash, and azzi takes a step back as she realizes that she’s not worth paige’s time. not anymore.

eyes stinging, she turns around quickly, but it’s not fast enough to hide the tears already pooling at her eyes and slipping down her cheeks. paige softens, regret coloring her cheeks—she hadn’t meant to say that, to embarrass azzi, especially not in front of the stupid girl on her lap, and especially not in front of their team. “azzi,” she calls out, reaching for her, but she’s already gone.

a glass slams down on the table, and it’s like the entire room falls silent. “way to go, paige,” caroline says dryly. “making my best friend cry every day this past week wasn’t enough for you? now you gotta ruin the one good day she’s had?” it’s only now that paige remembers why they’re even at the bar—azzi had dropped thirty two points against one of the top ranked teams in the country, had been all smiles for the first time in a while. the taste in paige’s mouth turns sour as she realizes that she hadn’t even said congratulations. as much as she hates to admit it, azzi had been right—she’d drunkenly thought that paying for her drinks would be congratulations enough, that she could make everything up to azzi without ever saying a word or doing anything hard. her stomach sinks.

caroline stands up, brushing off her jeans as she moves to follow. “she was right. sometimes you are an asshole.”

paige can’t even argue back. she likes that azzi has someone who stands up so fiercely for her—she just never imagined that it would be against her. she only has the energy to move the girl off of her, who—paige can’t even remember her name, only that her dimple resembled azzi’s, but was nowhere near as cute, and that her hair was curly, but nowhere near as pretty as azzi’s—grabs the hundred off the floor, eyes gleaming. “i could use this,” she giggles.

without hesitation, paige slaps the money from her hand and puts it into her own pocket. she’s sure as hell not going to keep it, but she’d rather die than let it fall into the hands of someone else. “don’t fucking touch that.”

“your team’s right. you are an asshole,” the girl snaps, and she marches back to her group of friends, who all send a collective dirty look to paige. all the fight leaves paige’s body, and she slumps into her seat and groans.

nika pats her hand sympathetically. “rough night.”

“shut up, nika.” paige allows herself a moment of self-pity, burrowing her face into her arms. “do you think i’m an asshole?” she asks quietly after a beat.

“um.” when she lifts her head to fix nika with a warning glare, the brunette shrugs. “a well-intentioned asshole,” she offers.

“fuck my life.”

“hey, i don’t wanna hear you complaining.” nika shoves her, but it’s affectionate. “i’m still confused on why the hell you ever broke up with her in the first place.”

the question of the year, paige thinks dryly to herself. but she can’t really answer that when she doesn’t know why either, so she grumbles, “i said shut up, nika.”

༉‧₊˚✧

things never really go back to normal after that night. it hadn’t even been the worst things they’ve said each other (when you know someone for so long, fights are inevitable, and when you’ve known someone since you were teens, well, let’s just say every teenage girl has said something terrible at one point). it was the way azzi had walked away, and paige had let her. it was the fact that they’d both made an active decision to just give up, which is probably the breaking point for two girls whose entire relationship had been built on fighting for each other—through distance, pressure, expectations.

amari wipes the sheen of her forehead with her shirt. “spot me?” she requests, and azzi nods dutifully. lift ended half an hour ago, but amari wanted to squeeze in a few more sets, and azzi doesn’t want to be alone right now, so she’d lingered.

“did you see paige’s story?” amari asks, arms trembling as she lifts up the barbell.

azzi stiffens, but she keeps her face neutral. “nah.”

“i heard she dropped like, six hundred dollars at the mall the other day. was on a double date type of thing with the soccer girls.”

azzi’s not sure why amari is telling her all this—they’re pretty close, but azzi’s only ever opened up about her relationship with paige to caroline. she knows paige is the same with nika, stemming from an unspoken place of mutual respect to try and not let whatever’s going on between them affect the rest of the team by limiting who they tell.

“that’s cool,” azzi says, hands hovering over amari’s as she struggles on the last rep. amari flops onto the ground, breathing hard, and azzi lies down next to her as they both stare at the ceiling.

“i’m just saying.” amari rolls over to look at her. “she spends a shit ton of money, but that’s the only thing she does.”

azzi is slowly losing her patience. “what are you getting at, amari?”

“like, i’m not even gonna lie, it’s easy for her to drop a bag. she has money. minimal effort, you know? what’s hard for a D1 athlete with a busy ass schedule is using her time and efforts.” when azzi squints in confusion, amari takes that as a sign to continue. “like, i know you see her spoiling all these other girls, but shit, azzi. you’re the only one she ever set aside time for and did all the extra cringy shit for.”

azzi flops onto her back. she takes a second to debate on whether or not she should continue to engage amari—it feels like a mini act of betrayal to paige, but technically, amari was the one who started it. it couldn’t hurt to ask a couple of questions. “how do you know she’s not taking these girls on romantic beach dates and stuff?” she asks, contorting her voice to sound casual.

“i room with her, azzi. i know,” amari deadpans. “i also know that she’s definitely still in love with you.”

azzi falls silent. a door slams in the background, and there’s a faint sound of balls dribbling.

“can i ask you a question?”

“mhm.”

“why’d you break up with her? she’s hopeless for you, and you’re clearly not over her.”

azzi looks at amari, puzzled. “huh?”

“why’d you end it if neither of you wanted it?” amari prods.

“i didn’t.”

“you didn’t?”

azzi throws an arm over her eyes. she feels like crying again, and breaking down in the middle of the weight room is not her ideal way to spend the morning. “she broke up with me, amari,” she says, voice muffled.

her teammate snorts. “i don’t believe that.”

“then i don’t know what to tell you.” azzi sits up suddenly. “she came to my room, ended things, then left and never spoke to me again after that. she ended it, and it’s over, and i can’t even fucking look at her anymore without feeling like i want to die.” tears are dripping down her cheeks now, and she curses under her breath. she hadn’t meant to say all that. “i gotta go,” she tells amari, who looks more confused than ever. “i’ll see you at practice.”

azzi doesn’t want to believe amari at first. hope is a devastating thing, and for all she knows, amari could’ve been lying out of her buttcheeks. but a week later, when she wakes up hungover and head aching after a night at ted’s, she finds paige in her kitchen, and her friend’s words come back her in a sudden and dizzying rush.

more exactly, azzi wakes up to the smell of omelettes. which is peculiar to her, because nobody on the team likes omelettes but her. when she pads to the kitchen, still in her pajamas and glasses, she double takes at paige standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyeing the pan on the stove like staring hard enough will undo the burnt mess.

“what are you doing in my apartment?” she asks harshly. startled, paige jolts a little, and she curses loudly as her hand comes into contact with the surface of the pan.

“jesus, paige.” azzi grabs her hand, more rough than she needs to be, and paige winces. softening, azzi guides the older girl’s hand under a steady stream of cold water. it’s quiet, only the sound of the running tap and paige’s labored breathing filling the air. azzi can feel the blonde looking stubbornly at her, but it’s 8 AM in the morning and she can’t deal with all that right now, so she doesn’t look up.

she applies some ointment onto paige’s hand, not trusting that paige would do anything more than just stick a band-aid on it and call it a day if left to her own devices. she rummages through the cabinets to find some gauze. paige is wordless the entire time. “geno’s gonna kill you,” she mutters, breaking the silence as she slowly wraps the bandaging around paige’s fingers. “what were you even tryna do? you don’t even like omelettes.”

paige gestures gloomily to the rubbery mixture of eggs and tomatoes and other roasted, indecipherable ingredients. “i chose the recipe that said super easy.” she shakes her head. “i shoulda known when the first step said sauté.”

“sautéing is super easy,” azzi says. “what, you run out of pans at your own apartment or something?” she lets go of paige’s hand. “what are you doing here?”

“‘m tryna learn how to cook better.” the blonde scratches the back of her head sheepishly. “and i know you like omelettes even though they taste gross, and you’re always hangry as hell when you’re hungover, and, well.” she shrugs, looking hopeless.

“how’d you know i’m hungover?”

“nika said some of the girls were going out to ted’d last night, and i didn’t get an invite, so.” paige shrugs. “i assumed you were going.”

that makes azzi a little mad. “we promised to keep the team out of it,” she says. “don’t act like i told them not to invite you. you were invited. everyone was invited in the group chat.”

“i’m sorry.”

azzi snorts out an exasperated breath, and paige licks her lips, nervous.

“why’d you break up with me?”

paige blinks, the question clearly throwing her off guard. “what?”

“you heard me.”

paige turns away, starting to clean up the kitchen, and that gets azzi even angrier. “don’t do that. don’t turn away when it gets hard.” when paige continues wiping down the counters, azzi says harshly, “i know you fucking lied to me.”

paige stills.

“i’ve always been honest with you.” azzi says, voice breaking. “we promised each other that.”

paige’s head bows, but her back remains turned. “who said i lied to you?”

“god, paige, i know you’re still in love with me.” she spreads her arms, hoping to god she’s not wrong. “i see it, everyone else on the team sees it. you broke up with me, giving some lame ass excuse that the timing wasn’t right, that we should focus on basketball.”

“you didn’t want anything serious,” paige says lowly. “i can’t not do a serious relationship with you, azzi. i can’t—i can’t have a little bit of you while wanting all of you. i can’t have some of you knowing eventually i might have none of you. it’s not fair to you or me.” she sniffles. “if you didn’t see us going anywhere, then what was the point of us being together?”

“that’s not—that’s not what i meant.” azzi grabs paige’s elbow, and finally, she turns around. “god, paige. you think i didn’t want serious with you?”

paige runs her hands through her hair, frantic. “you said you weren’t ready for anything more beyond just going on dates! how else am i supposed to interpret that?”

“i wasn’t ready yet, but that didn’t mean i was never gonna be ready.” azzi furrows her eyebrows. “we’ve been just friends for so fucking long, i thought we needed time to adjust to being more before we threw ourselves deeper into everything.” she searched paige’s eyes. “we’ve never been good at taking it slow. or thinking.”

“well, you didn’t say that.” paige laughs bitterly. “so i thought you didn’t see a future in us, azzi, and that fucking broke me.”

“well.” azzi crosses her arms, not so quick to forgive. “you did move on pretty fast.”

“i was tryna distract myself from thinking of you.” paige’s throat bobs, and her voice falls quiet. “it didn’t work.”

“dropping six hundred dollars didn’t work?” azzi provokes, mouth twisted.

paige scowls. “it was three hundred. and who told you that?”

“she’s a gold digger, paige,” azzi says, ignoring the question.

“never said she wasn’t.” paige lifts her hand in surrender. “but it was nice knowing she didn’t want anything but money. i didn’t want her to get invested.”

“how chivalrous of you,” azzi says dryly.

“i know what it looked like.” paige’s hand hovers over her waist, and azzi shifts closer, giving the older girl permission to pull her in. “let me prove to you that you’re the only one for me.” paige kisses her shoulder. “besides, i didn’t hear you complaining when i dropped five hundred on your prom dress.”

azzi scoffs, twisting away but paige’s hands are insistent. “that was so long ago.”

“i know. maybe we should work on our communication skills.” paige presses another kiss to the pulse on azzi’s neck, feeling the flutter beneath her lips. she tastes a little like sweat, and paige loves it.

“and take it slow,” azzi emphasizes, fighting back a smile as she pushes paige’s head away.

“right.” sheepish, paige wipes the spit from her neck with the pad of her thumb. “slow.”

“i better never see you dropping a bag on anyone else again,” azzi warns.

“swear,” paige promises.

“that was the worst month of my life,” azzi admits.

paige nods in assent. “i should’ve talked to you,” she murmurs. “instead of just walking out.” her head falls on azzi’s chest, and azzi holds her.

“caroline’s gonna be jumping for joy when she finds out,” she snorts.

paige winces. “think she’s still mad at me for the bar thing?”

“definitely.”

“i’m sorry about that too. that was wrong of me to say, especially in front of everyone, and—”

“apologies later,” azzi interrupts, makes a start for her room. “first, hold me until i fall asleep because your horrible cooking skills woke me up way too damn early and i’m exhausted.”

paige smirks. “whatever you say, princess.”

༉‧₊˚✧

it works again

“i actually have to get my own gas now.” azzi stares at her fuel gage in disbelief. the red tick is dangerously close to the empty line.

“your life must be so hard,” sarah mocks.

“fuck.” azzi starts her engine. “you’re coming with me.”

“bro, let me go home.”

“don’t think we can even make it back to storrs with this.” azzi drives to the nearest gas station. as she waits for the tank to fill up, she snaps a quick photo of the pump and texts paige.

azzi: can’t even remember the last time i had to do this💔

paige: i’m sorry baby

paige: wish i could be there ☹️

Apple cash payment: $100

azzi: for?

paige: gas

paige: and having to pump it yourself

paige: it’s a cruel world we live in

azzi: sometimes i feel like u think im poor

paige: naaa

paige: you know i love to spoil you

azzi hops back in the car, ten times lighter. tank full, lunch paid for, loved up by her perfect, hot girlfriend. we’re so up, she thinks.

“we can go home now?” sarah asks brightly.

“nope.” azzi pops the p. “we’re getting lunch. paige’s treat.”

“no way.” sarah snorts. “she’s like putty in your hands. bet you could ask her for a thousand and she’d immediately send it, no questions.”

“na, i’m sure she’d say something,” azzi replies. “she knows i don’t need her money.”

sarah’s eyes gleam. “i’ll bet you fifty that paige will send it with no hesitation.”

azzi hesitates. a thousand is a lot—surely paige would ask what it was for, if she even sent it. “alright,” she agrees. “fifty.” she pulls out her phone, sarah huddling over her shoulder.

azzi: P can you send $1000

azzi: please

they wait for a couple seconds. text bubbles pop up before they disappear again, and an apple cash message appears on the screen. Paige Bueckers sent you $1500.

paige: have fun baby

“well, well, well,” sarah snickers. “pay up.” shaking her head, she mutters under her breath, “i should’ve bet a hundred.”

azzi groans and sends $1450 back to paige.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconnwbb #fluff #angst #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd

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oncasette · 7 months ago

Text

𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗜𝗧 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗡

jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: 1.1k

Your head is spinning. You must be dreaming. There’s no way you’re actually kissing your best friend right now, not quite sure if he’s still your best friend at that moment or not, but not caring enough to pull back and check.

or the one where jj spills his feelings for his best friend.

a/n: i haven't seen s4 and i don't know if i'm going to, but here's this jj fic since i was feeling up for it? question mark? it's all fluff.

masterlist

“Done in there?” JJ calls from where he’s no doubt spread out on your bed. You can’t help the small laugh that trickles out of you as you open the door, still facing the mirror as you finish up your skincare routine. In the corner of the mirror, you catch JJ’s reflection fiddling with a lighter.

“Don’t burn down my bedroom,” you say. He looks up at you, catching your gaze in the mirror. He flips the spark wheel. A small flame erupts, already being bullied down by the high setting on your ceiling fan.

“What? Don’t trust me?” he smirks.

“Not even a bit,” you chirp, setting all of your creams and oils back into your medicine cabinet.

He sets the lighter down on your nightstand.

“Comfy?” you giggle, watching as he snuggles down further under your plush duvet. You’re glad you made him change, not sure you’d ever get the dirt and sweat from his clothes out of your sheets. He nods, humming. You feel his eyes tracking your movements as you shut the bathroom light off and slide under the covers beside him. It’s almost instantaneous that JJ molds to your side, pushing up your arm in order to lay his head against your shoulder, nose in your neck. You do your best to ignore the way your stomach flutters a bit.

JJ had always been touchy with you. You like to think that he does it with everyone, that that was just his nature. You’d seen him sling an arm around Pope at the Boneyard, tug Kiara into a hug, spin her around, even, kiss John B on the cheek in some of his more emphatic moments. But, you couldn’t ignore the way he was with you. The lingering touches, the snuggling, the sleepovers, the kisses against your temple. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been out on the HMS without him putting his hat on you. It’s friendly enough for you to brush off, for the most part. For you to push it all down and justify his actions when the rest of the pogues prod you for information.

It’s moments like this, though–alone, away from prying eyes–that you allow yourself to pretend. Just a little.

You bring up a hand to his hair and run the tips of your nails across his scalp. He purrs, curling closer into you and you feel his eyelashes brush your skin as his eyes close.

“‘S it raining?” he mumbles into you. His hand slides over your stomach as he reaches for the hand not currently in his hair. Slowly, nearly leaving goosebumps beneath his fingers, he intertwines his fingers with yours. There’s no way this is platonic. Right? Your brain screams at you.

“What?” you hum, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

“Rain. From the sky. Outside.”

You look at the window.

“Yeah. Yeah, J, it’s raining.”

He smiles, kissing the skin already beneath his lips. That’s new.

“I like the rain,” he chirps, voice surprisingly drowsy for how energetic he’d been before you’d left for your shower.

“Do you?”

He nods, humming. “Makes everything slow down a bit.”

“I didn’t think you liked slowing down,” you say, your fingers moving down from his hair to ghost over his back.

“I like slowing down when I’m with you,” he shrugs. You feel him shudder slightly when your nails gently scrape across his shoulder blades. “Plus, I look sexy when I’m all drenched like that.”

You snort and smack him on the shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?” he scoffs, head snapping up to glare at you pitifully.

“Smug bastard,” you laugh. He winks as his lips curl into a fittingly smug smirk.

“You love it,” he says. His hand squeezes yours, still held tight in his grasp. You don’t respond in words, instead opting to squeeze his hand back. You feel his heart rate jump against your ribs. His eyes flicker between yours. The smirk slowly drops into something a little less cocky. Something a little softer. Warmer. You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. It’s only when his gaze moves down to your lips that your own breath stutters. That definitely can’t be platonic.

He whispers your name so quietly you almost don’t hear it. You probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been so close.

“I think I love you,” he says. What.

“I love you, too, J,” you say, pasting on your friendliest voice to try and ignore the way his breath is now fanning over your face. He smells like the gum he’d stolen from your car.

“No, I mean…” he clamps his eyes shut. “I do love you, like that, like a friend. Of course I do, you’re my best friend-”

“John B’s your best friend,” you cut him off, because there’s no way this is actually happening.

“Listen, just… I,” he drops his head against your sternum, frustration seeming to roll off of him in waves.

“I’m sorry, I’m listening,” you say softly.

“I don’t want to keep doing this,” he grunts.

“Doing what?”

“Pretending.”

Pretending.

“Pretending?” you ask, placing a hand on his cheek to pull his gaze back up to yours. You smile softly at the way he nuzzles into your palm.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” he asks. His eyes are closed, his nose pressed against your thumb. “I thought I was being obvious.”

You need more than these clipped comments. Stupidly, something deeper in the back of your mind can’t settle for even the chance of you misconstruing this. Of being wrong.

“Obvious about what, J?”

“I already told you,” he whispers. He just barely kisses the pad of your thumb.

“Tell me again,” you beg, holding your breath.

“I’m in love with you.”

“Good,” you hiccup.

“Good? That’s all you have to say? I’m pouring my heart out here, baby,” he huffs and your heart nearly stops altogether. A bewildered giggle slips out of you.

“That’s good because I… uh,” you swallow. “I love you, too.”

He doesn’t answer this time. He slides up the last couple of inches to press his lips against yours. His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, bringing your mouth even harder against his. His other hand squeezes yours for dear life.

You’d kissed him before. On New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight. But, that had been a quick, chaste peck between friends and you’d been able to blame the fireworks behind your eyelids on the holiday, and this. This was different. Much, much different. There were sparks tingling down to the tips of your toes. You pull back when you can no longer justify ignoring your need for oxygen and nearly whine when JJ chases your lips.

“I’m in love with you.” His voice is hoarse.

“You said that,” you giggle, brain still a little hazy.

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to get me to stop saying it now,” he says. His body weight is almost fully pressed onto you as he ducks his head to place short kisses against your neck. Your fingers find his hair again, combing through the silky strands. You mentally thank him for stealing your shampoo.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #outer banks #outer banks fic

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stellaspectral · 2 months ago

Note

I have two requests, both with the Bayverse turtles. This is the second one:

Raphael x Female Reader.

Fluff. Lots of Fluff. With some introspection too maybe? Extrovert Grumpy (Raph) x Introvert Sunshine (Reader).

I was thinking of something that would focus on their blooming relationship but seen through the eyes of Leo, Donnie, and Mikey. Or just one of them of your choice if this request gets too long. It's the first time they've seen Raph act so soft, sweet, and calm and awkward around someone and they'll definitely have a lot of thoughts going on in their heads about it. And maybe a lot of teasing too ;). Thank you so much in advance if you decide to write it!

A/N: Hello, anon! To be honest, I wasn’t sure whose POV of Raph and the reader’s relationship to write in. But it seems I ended up gravitating towards Leo the most. Though the other two still have commentary, of course.

Enjoy! 💖

Drawn to You (fluff)

❤️ Bayverse Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Fluff, soft/awkward Raph, implied crush/pining, brotherly teasing. All characters are aged-up.

You’re curled up on the couch in the lair, nestled deep into the cushions, sketchbook open on your lap. The paper is smooth under your pencil as you draw one of the graffiti markings on the wall opposite you. You add a final flourish to the spray-painted tag you’ve replicated, tilting your head to admire your work.

Suddenly, the lair’s entrance tunnel echoes with boisterous sounds. Footsteps herald the return of the turtles from whatever topside excursion they were on. You instinctively snuggle a little tighter into the couch, a cheerful smile tugging at your lips.

The first one who enters is Leo, already mid-sentence, gesturing emphatically. “… and I told you the grappling hook wouldn’t hold on that gargoyle, Donnie, but did you listen? Nooo.”

Donnie follows, looking mildly exasperated. “My calculations indicated a 93.9% structural integrity probability. Clearly, the masonry was older than I initially thought.”

Mikey comes in last, practically vibrating. “Dude, did you see that flip Leo almost didn’t stick? Epic fail waiting to happen, bro!”

Last comes Raph. He enters more quietly than usual, rubbing the back of his thick neck, his usual post-patrol scowl firmly in place. His eyes scan the lair, likely checking if Splinter is meditating nearby. Then they land on you.

And something shifts.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible if you didn’t know him. But from the entryway, where his brothers have paused their bickering to shed their gear, the change is glaringly obvious.

Leo stops mid-gesticulation, his eyes widening slightly. He nudges Donnie, who adjusts his glasses purely out of habit, and raises a questioning brow ridge. Mikey just freezes, his usual bouncy energy stilling as he watches.

Raph’s shoulders, typically tense and ready for action, visibly relax. The deep V of his scowl softens, not quite disappearing, but smoothing out into something almost … hesitant. He takes a step towards the living area, then another, his heavy footfalls strangely muted on the floor. He seems to be actively trying not to stomp.

He stops a few feet away from the couch, his enormous frame suddenly looking a little awkward in the open space. He clears his throat, a low rumble that’s much softer than his usual volume. “Hey,” he says, his voice rough but lacking its typical edge. “You, uh, good?”

You look up, beaming at him. The brightness of your smile seems to physically hit him; he blinks, shifting his weight. “Hey, Raph! Yeah, I’m great. Just drawing.” You hold up your sketchbook. “How was the patrol?”

“Uh, fine. Usual.” He glances towards the graffiti you were drawing, then back at your face. There’s a flicker of something warm in his eyes, a stark contrast to the ‘ready-to-rumble’ look he usually sports. “Looks good.” He takes another step closer, peering over your shoulder, but careful not to crowd you. There’s an uncharacteristic gentleness in his proximity.

Meanwhile, by the entrance, a quiet conversation is happening.

“Dude, look at him,” Mikey whispers, pointing with a slight nod of his head. “He’s doing ‘the thing’ again.”

“Define ‘the thing’,” Donnie begins. “His heightened state of peripheral awareness when she’s present? His decreased vocalizations? The slight, almost imperceptible softening of his default scowl?”

“All of it, brainiac!” Mikey whisper-shouts. “He looks like a big, shy puppy trying to ask for pets without barking too loud.”

Leo, leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watches with a more measured expression. He’s noticed it too, of course. How could he not? Raphael, his brother who communicates primarily through grunts, glares, and the occasional explosive outburst, becomes … subdued around you. Gentle. It’s baffling.

And, Leo has to admit, a little heartwarming.

Donnie pushes his glasses up again. “Fascinating. Physiologically, his respiration rate appears elevated, but his aggressive posturing shows a significant reduction. Perhaps a neurochemical response triggered by proximity to a preferred individual?”

“Or maybe,” Mikey stage-whispers, leaning closer to his brothers, “he liiiikes her!”

Back by the couch, Raph shifts again, his gaze locked on the sketchbook page. He points at a specific detail in your drawing. “You got the … the little flicky bit there just right. The way the paint kinda dripped.” He clears his throat again. “How’d you get so good at this?”

“Years of practice,” you say, offering him another warm smile. “Want to see the others I did?”

His head snaps up, eyes wide for a fraction of a second, that warmth flickering more brightly. “Uh … yeah. Sure. If you wanna show me.” He moves closer but doesn’t sit. His gaze drifts from the sketchbook back to your face, lingering for just a moment longer than strictly necessary.

Across the room, hidden partially by the archway leading to the dojo, the espionage continued.

“See? SEE?” Mikey whispers. “He’s leaning! Like, actually leaning in to look at her drawings! Raph never leans! He looms. Or glares.”

Donnie analyzes the scene. “Observation: Raphael’s typical personal space boundary appears significantly reduced in relation to her. Approximately 45 centimeters closer than his baseline average with non-familial individuals. Also, note the lack of fidgeting typically associated with his impatience. Instead, he exhibits micro-shifts indicative of … social anxiety? Or perhaps, contentment?”

“It’s called being smitten, Donnie,” Leo supplies, pushing off the wall. Casually, he saunters closer to you and Raph, ostensibly to put away his katanas. But truthfully, he’s only positioning himself for a better view.

“Never thought I’d see the day Raph looked like he was afraid of scaring someone just by breathing too hard,” Donnie murmurs.

“He asked how she got good at drawing,” Mikey adds, eyes wide with dramatic effect. “He usually just grunts and says ‘cool’ if he likes something. He used words. Multiple words! In a question!”

Back at the couch, you’re flipping through the pages of your sketchbook. Raph remains standing, his large hands clasped loosely behind his back, a pose that looks strangely formal and uncertain on his powerful frame. He’s genuinely looking at each sketch, his brow furrowed in concentration, not anger.

“This one’s the mural down by the old noodle shop,” you explain, pointing to a vibrant, detailed reproduction. “And this is that little stencil someone keeps putting on the mailboxes near the park …”

“Yeah … know that one,” Raph mumbles, his gaze flicking up to meet yours for a second before darting back to the page. That warmth is definitely there, a banked fire behind his usual tough-guy facade. “You … uh … you really capture the … the feel of ‘em.”

“He’s complimenting her artistic interpretation,” Donnie murmurs, sounding genuinely astonished. “The probability of Raph using such nuanced appreciation is statistically infinitesimal under normal circumstances. This deviation is remarkable.”

“Translation: Raph’s got it BAD!” Mikey giggles, barely containing himself.

It’s Leo’s cue. He finishes securing his swords and wanders over to the couch area, stretching nonchalantly. “Hey, Raph,” he calls out, his voice deliberately casual but loud enough to carry. “Everything alright? You look a little flushed. Feeling okay?”

Raph visibly tenses. His head snaps towards Leo, the soft expression vanishing, replaced by a familiar annoyed glare. “I’m fine, Leo. Just … lookin’ at sketches.” The last part comes out defensive.

“Oh yeah?” Leo stops near the armrest, peering over Raph’s shoulder, mimicking his earlier pose but with deliberate exaggeration. “Whatcha got there? Wow, Raph’s right, these are amazing! You really captured the … spray-e-ness.” He gives Raph a pointed look.

You smile up at Leo. “Thank you.”

Raph shifts uncomfortably, caught between your presence and his brother’s obvious teasing. He shoots Leo a warning look that clearly reads, ‘Don’t push it’.

Mikey, never one to miss an opportunity, comes over. “Ooh, lemme see! Wowzers! Raph, you never told us she was this talented! Usually, you just grunt about stuff.” He grins cheekily. “Guess some things make you wanna use your words, huh?”

A faint reddish tinge creeps up Raph’s neck. “Shut it, Mikey.”

Finally, Donnie approaches. “Indeed. Raph’s verbal communication frequency increases by approximately 35% in her presence, correlating with a decrease in aggressive posturing by nearly 50%. Fascinating psycho-social dynamics are at play.”

“Donnie!” Raph snaps, turning fully towards his brothers now, creating a partial shield between them and you. It’s a protective gesture as much as a defensive one. “Can’t you go … I dunno … invent somethin’ or annoy Splinter?”

“Aw, but Raph,” Mikey whines playfully, leaning around him to beam at you, “we just wanna hang out! Like you’re hanging out! Looking at pretty drawings.” His gaze flicks meaningfully between you and Raph.

You look between the brothers, catching the teasing undercurrent and noticing Raph’s struggle to maintain his composure. A small, amused smile tugs at your mouth. You reach out tentatively and pat Raph’s arm, feeling the muscle beneath twitch slightly at the contact.

“It’s okay, Raph,” you assure softly. “I don’t mind showing them.” You look back at your sketchbook. “Maybe you guys could even give me ideas for what to draw next?”

The effect on Raph is instantaneous. His glare softens again as he looks down at you, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. The slight flush on his neck deepens, and the anger has dissipated, replaced by that familiar, flustered awkwardness. He clears his throat again. “Uh … yeah. S-sure. If … if you want.”

Leo, Donnie, and Mikey exchange looks. Whiplash. One gentle touch, a few soft words from you, and Volcano Raphael is dormant once more.

Leo can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. Oh yeah; this was definitely unfamiliar territory. And watching Raph navigate it, with all the grace of a tank trying to tiptoe through a minefield, was going to be endlessly entertaining. Regardless, he steers Donnie and Mikey away to give you and Raph some space.

“Did you see that?” Mikey whispers dramatically, eyes sparkling. “Poof! Grumpy gone!”

Raph lets out a breath as his brothers retreat towards the kitchen, their voices fading but their knowing glances still palpable. He visibly deflates, the tension leaving his body in a rush, but he remains standing.

“So,” you prompt gently, tapping your pencil against the sketchbook. “Ideas?”

He glances around the lair, eyes snagging on a training dummy, then the weapons rack, before finally landing back on your sketchbook. “Maybe … maybe you could draw … you know that bit of wall near the docks? The one where the bricks are all busted up and kinda looks like a face if you squint?”

You tilt your head, picturing it. “Oh, yeah! With the really deep cracks running through it? I know the one.”

“Yeah. That.” He gestures vaguely with one hand. “It’s kinda cool. Looks tough. Like it’s been through stuff.” He seems pleased with his own description, though his gaze flicks nervously towards the kitchen, checking if his brothers overheard.

From the kitchen doorway, Mikey leans out, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Ooh, busted bricks! How romantic, Raph! Maybe she can draw a little heart graffiti next to it?”

Raph whirls around, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Mikey! I swear—”

“Easy, you two,” Leo’s voice drifts from deeper within the kitchen.

Raph clenches his fists, his neck flushing that familiar red again. But then he catches your eye. You’re watching him, not with fear, but with a patient, amused expression. He forces himself to take another deep breath, turning back towards you. The growl subsides, though his jaw remains tight.

“Ignore them,” you say, offering a reassuring smile. “I like that idea. The texture of those old bricks would be interesting to capture.” You flip to a fresh page in your sketchbook, wanting to get Raph involved. “Show me again where the cracks look like a face?”

His anger drains away almost comically fast. He steps closer, bending at the waist to peer at your blank page. He hesitates, then lifts a finger, hovering it just above the paper, careful not to touch. “Okay, so … the big crack goes down here, like this …” He traces the shape in the air above the page. “And there’s these smaller bits that kinda … yeah, like eyes. And the busted bit at the bottom looks like a grumpy mouth.”

He’s leaning closer now, his usual intimidating presence softened by his focused explanation. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the faint scent of the city night still clinging to his gear. He’s completely absorbed in describing the broken wall, his voice losing some of its earlier hesitation.

“Grumpy mouth, huh?” you muse, sketching lightly based on his description. “Sounds appropriate.”

He glances up, meeting your eyes directly for a solid second. The warmth there flares, intense and unguarded, before he quickly looks back down at the sketchbook. “Yeah. Guess so.”

You continue sketching, adding details as he describes them. He stays close, watching the image appear on the page. A few more details he points out include a loose wire hanging nearby, and a specific pattern of moss. He’s surprisingly observant.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, the others continue their own observation at a lower volume.

“He’s practically an art historian now,” Mikey says, his voice full of suppressed laughter. “Describing moss patterns! Who knew Raph noticed moss?”

“Or maybe,” Leo murmurs, leaning beside Donnie, arms still crossed, “he just actually wants to talk to her.” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to break the weirdly calm bubble that seems to have formed around the couch.

You finish the rough sketch of the brick wall face, holding it up. “Like this?”

Raph leans in again. He’s closer now, close enough that you could probably count the scars on his face if you wanted to. “Yeah,” he says, his voice dropping even lower, almost a rumble. “Looks good.” He doesn’t pull back immediately this time, his gaze lingering on the drawing, then flicking up to meet yours again.

But then he seems to realize how close he is and moves back half a step, a faint pinkness rising on his cheeks this time.

“They almost touched noses!” Mikey whisper-squeals from the kitchen, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Proximity threshold breached and self-corrected,” Donnie observes.

Leo just shakes his head, a wry smile touching his lips. Donnie could analyze the shell off a turtle, but even he couldn’t miss the obvious: Raph is head over heels.

You flip to another blank page. “Any other cool spots you think would make good sketches?”

Raph hesitates, glancing around the lair again as if searching for inspiration that isn’t potentially embarrassing. His gaze falls upon the worn-out punching bag in his room. “Maybe the bag?” he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Got a lot of … history.”

It’s a simple object, beat-up and functional, but the way he suggests it feels oddly personal, like he’s offering a small piece of himself.

Leo watches you and Raph. You’re smiling, considering the punching bag with genuine interest. Raph looks at you as you watch the bag, his expression a strange mix of hopeful and apprehensive. The usual storm cloud that follows Raph seems to have dissipated, replaced by this uncertain, almost sunny humidity. It’s weird.

Good weird, mostly, Leo thinks.

Donnie and Mikey look at Leo expectantly, waiting for the punchline. The teasing remark. But Leo looks past them, back towards the couch. Raph sees him, his shoulders tensing again as he braces for the usual barrage. He glances from Leo, back to you, then to Leo with a silent plea in his eyes.

And, for once, Leo listens. He sees the vulnerability there, the raw awkwardness that his brother tries so hard to hide behind muscle and scowls. He’s navigating something new, something that doesn’t involve fists or threats, and he’s doing it clumsily. But he’s doing it.

Leo catches his eyes from across the room. He gives Raph the smallest, almost imperceptible nod that says, I see you. It’s alright. Then Leo turns to his other brothers, lowering his voice. “Alright. Squad, you’re dismissed.”

Mikey opens his mouth to protest, probably armed with a dozen heart-related puns.

“Now,” Leo orders, cutting him off with a look that says I mean it. “Let the big guy breathe. Go sort your gear or something.”

Donnie raises a brow but nods slowly, seemingly accepting the logic of allowing the current social experiment to proceed without further variables. Mikey pouts but follows Donnie, muttering something about ‘mood killers’ and ‘romantic potential.’ Leo leans back against the counter, crossing his arms.

You’re sketching the punching bag, asking Raph about a specific tear near the top. He’s answering, his voice still low, leaning in again, pointing with that same hesitant finger. He looks … quiet. Focused. Almost peaceful.

It’s a side of Raph Leo rarely sees. The fighter, the hothead—that’s the Raph they all know. But this Raph, the one who describes moss patterns and gets flustered by a smile, is new. For Leo, it’s actually kind of nice to see his younger brother soften, even just for a little while.

Perhaps Raph wasn’t just doing ‘the thing,’ as Mikey put it. Maybe he was just being Raphael.

And maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

#my writing #filled requests #tmnt bayverse #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph #tmnt x reader #tmnt bayverse x reader #bayverse raphael #bayverse raph #bayverse raphael x reader #bayverse raph x reader #raphael x reader #raph x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt requests #scheduled post

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dismalflo · 4 months ago

Text

Favourite

poly!marauders x reader enjoy a soft, sweet evening ✩ 978 words

cw: fluff, thats all this is just domestic fluff

It's your favourite kind of evening. James and Remus are pottering around the kitchen preparing dinner, you can faintly hear the honeyed words they’re exchanging and Remus’ occasional warning– stop waving the knife around James– no doubt a by-product of his emphatic speech.

You're laid out on the sofa with a dozing Sirius in between your legs, His head rests on your stomach, the soft rise and fall of his chest a gentle reminder that he's finally getting some much-needed rest. If you weren’t so content just lying here, you’d probably be up, offering your help in the kitchen. It's sort of like when a cat falls asleep in your lap, instead it's your dark haired boyfriend who doesn't sleep enough as it is. So you wont move, but it does feel like your boys are conspiring against you to get you to relax too. It's working.

"Darlings!" James’ voice calls from the kitchen. "Would you prefer—" His words fall away when he enters the living room, his eyes softening when he spots the two of you. A grin spreads across his face. "Is he asleep?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You just nod, smiling softly as you dip your head to leave a faint kiss on Sirius’ forehead. He doesn’t move at first, just stands there, as if soaking in the moment. Then, with a suddenness that is entirely James, he closes the gap, sits himself on the coffee table. It's like he can't bear being so far away from you though, as he reaches out to take your hand. Original question waylaid by the softness of the living room.

“Is he alright?” he questions, absentmindedly caressing your hand in his grasp.

“Yeah, just tired I think, he was all giggly before this.” You reply, dipping your head to place a few kisses on Sirius’ forehead again, you can't help yourself.

It's then that Remus pokes his head into the living room.

"Jamie," he calls, though there’s no real reprimand in his tone, “I told you to ask them what sauce they wanted, not to join ‘em”

James looks up, a sheepish grin playing at his lips. "Moony, look at them!" he exclaims, clearly unable to hide his fondness. "How was I supposed to resist?"James' voice is starting to become louder now, filled with excitement. It pulls a giggle from you and Remus’ eyes flick over. As he takes in the view in front of him, the same lovesick grin that painted James’ face is now on him.

“Hi Rem.” you say, maybe a bit bashful, just to say something.

“Hi, Dovey.” he coos, “He’s asleep?” as though the answer isn't obvious.

The answer to his question doesn't come from you though.

“I was, until you bastards woke me up.” Sirius stirs on top of you, his voice muffled but unmistakably amused as he lifts his head from your stomach, blinking sleepily at the scene around him. His lips curl into a lazy smile as his eyes flicker to James and Remus.

James’ grin only widens, unbothered by the fact that Sirius is waking up grumbling. "Well, sorry if decisions about dinner have interrupted your beauty sleep," he says, practically bouncing on the coffee table, like the sight of you two together is some kind of gift he’s unwrapping.

"You weren’t talking about dinner," Sirius mutters, still a little sleepy, but his voice teasing. "You were fawning over me, the lot of you." He raises a hand to rub his eyes, though his affection is evident in the soft smile tugging at his lips. His eyes meet yours. "At least you have the decency to do it quietly, doll.".

“You're a bloody handful, Pads,” Remus teases, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him. His voice carries a playful edge, though the fondness is clear in the way his eyes linger on Sirius.

Sirius chuckles low in his throat, stretching in a long, exaggerated motion, and you feel the gentle brush of his fingers over your legs as he sits up. He yawns, stretches again, and then leans forward to press a soft kiss to your cheek, his movements lazy but full of affection. "Can’t help it," he murmurs, voice thick from sleep. "Been this way for years.

“I know you have, you git” James teases while standing up. He leans over to plant a kiss on Sirius’ lips, unable to help himself seeing his boyfriend soft and dishevelled by sleep, full of adoration for the boy.

Remus starts into the room at that, his smile softening into something more sincere as he watches the three of you. “What’s the plan, then?” His gaze drifts between you and Sirius. “We actually gonna eat tonight or are we going to keep getting distracted?”

You’re smiling, that lazy, contented smile that the boys tend to draw out of you. "Food, please," you mutter, a little light-headed from the warmth of the room and the gentle weight of Sirius beside you. “I’ll come help.”

As you get up, your place beside Sirius is quickly taken by James, who plops himself down with a joyful look, eager to soak up all the affection he can from the dark haired boy. There's a sudden swat on your bum as you make your way over to Remus, you can guess the culprit, turning around you see Sirius’ wolfish grin your suspicions are confirmed. Your grin grows larger, silly and dizzy with love.

When you reach Remus, his arms are open, ready to pull you in for a hug. You lean up, kissing him softly along his neck and jaw before finishing the string of affection with a gentle kiss on his lips. He responds with a sweet smile, guiding you into the kitchen.

“Alright, what do you need me to do, Handsome?”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! I love any feedback! <3

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moonstruckme · 30 days ago

Note

hi lovely,

Can I request one of the face masks for poly!marauders (or any of them individually) in an au where they're actors. I could totally see sirius and James being more mainstream hollywood whereas remus would be in indie movies or Shakespeare re enactments 😭

love your work and congrats on 10k, you really deserve it <3

Thanks so much angel!

actor!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 464 words

“Oh, look at you.” You beam at the telly. “So handsome.”

“He always looks handsome,” says James, right as Sirius jeers, “Oi, that’s my boyfriend you’re mooning over!”

A piece of popcorn lands in your hair. Remus picks it out with a sigh. “If you start throwing food and shouting, I’m going to shut it off.”

James shushes you all. You exchange smiles, but none of you makes another sound. You know your handsome boyfriend’s threats aren’t hollow.

Trust Remus to miss out on his own premiere. In fairness to him, you’re in the midst of blockbuster season—you’ve been to three red carpets already this month, one for James and two for Sirius—so even though Remus’ indie movie premiere was supposed to be a smaller affair, he’d claimed social fatigue and begged to stay home. (Well, begged is how Sirius would characterize it; Remus had only said that it was his night and he wanted to spend it at home, and any arguments had gone unentertained.)

So, while Remus’ costars are being escorted from limos, signing autographs, and talking afterparty, you’re all piled on the couch in your pajamas to watch the exclusive tape he’s procured for your little viewing party. And not throwing food or shouting, as the rules dictate.

At least, until…

“Are we going to have to watch you snog her?” Sirius groans, as Remus-in-character makes eyes at the actress on screen.

Remus-in-person hums noncommittally. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

You look at Sirius from the corner of your eye. “They’re totally going to snog.”

Sirius boos this emphatically. Remus makes a move for the remote, and you jab Sirius with your elbow so that he goes quiet.

“I hope she dies in the end,” he mutters.

“You’ve met Amelia,” says Remus, exasperated. “You liked her.”

“Yeah, that’s before I knew you were sucking face every time I turned around.”

“I watched you in a sex scene last week.”

You send Remus a look. That hadn’t gone over particularly easy for any of you, and he knows he wasn’t excluded from that. He’s such a hypocrite.

James sips loudly from his drink. His arms are crossed. “Did you do that thing with your tongue?” he asks. “When you snogged her?”

“Of course not.” Remus’ brow wrinkles. “It was professional.”

You all relax a bit, mollified.

“Can we throw popcorn at the screen when she comes on?” you ask.

Remus turns like he’s surprised you asked—like he expected better at least from you—but you only hold his gaze stubbornly.

“I just feel like it’d be a good outlet,” you say.

He sighs. “Keep in mind you’ll have to pick it all up afterwards.”

James and Sirius cheer, the latter leaning over to plant a kiss on your cheek. “Brilliant plan, gorgeous.”

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gooutsidenerd · 20 days ago

Text

Something something you tell Pope Cody he doesn’t have to pull out and he really, really takes it to heart.

———

A/N: baby’s first smut. No beta. Minors not welcome. Miners over 18 c’mon in, but we’re checking IDs at the door.

———

Pope Cody is equal parts control and chaos, and even with next to no context, it’s be pretty easy to see why he is the way he is. You don’t mind a bit either way. His diligence, attentiveness, and relentlessness are intoxicating, but sometimes he’s absolutely feral, and that’s even better. Like right now, for instance. You’re between a rock and a mattress-at least that’s how it feels-with his considerable bulk pressing you down into the bed, his chest sliding against your own as he continues driving home inside you with deliberate, delicious snaps of his hips. He’s starting to unravel though; you can tell when his rhythm begins to stutter and his stream of groans and whines and filthy, filthy dialogue goes up in pitch. You know what’s coming-well, aside from the both of you-he’s going to ask the question.

“Where-fuck-where do you want it?”

He’s obliging like that. Always puts the question to you, even though you know he has his favorites. Since you’ve known him, he’s taken a particular shine to coming on your tits, purely so he can experience the sublime pleasure of cleaning them off with his tongue. You know what he really wants though. It’s only that classic Pope Cody control that’s kept him from begging you for it. But you also know that he’s been deprived of kindness after kindness his whole life, and so you decide to give him what he wants-without making him ask.

“Inside,” you gasp with what little breath you can spare. You’re not on birth control, and you both know it, so that single word is chock full of implications. It becomes clear immediately that not a single one is lost on him.

Pope stills almost entirely. His pace slows and his thrusts become shallow, but it’s almost as though he can’t stop himself fucking you. Even in light of this kind of revelation.

“You want…you want me to come inside?”

Pope’s brain appears to be short circuiting, and if that isn’t just goddamned adorable. Even your emphatic nod and shit-eating grin don’t seem to help matters, and he attempts to clarify further.

“You mean you don’t…I usually…you don’t want me to-“

“Don’t,” you interrupt firmly, snaking a hand from its place ‘round the back of his neck and gliding it into his damp curls, tugging at the roots to drive your point home. “Andrew Cody, don’t you fucking dare pull out.”

He comes back online right before your eyes. The line of his mouth tilting into a smirk as he regains his rhythm, going even harder than before.

“Yeah? You want that?” He growls down at you.

“Please-Andy-yes!”

“Yeah? My babydoll wants me to fill her up?”

You nod, it’s the only assent you think you’re capable of giving when he’s stuffing himself so deep inside, but clearly it’s not enough.

“Say it.”

That little demand, growled against your throat, sends you right over the edge, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to leave him behind.

“Fill me-ah-fill me up Andy.”

And oh does he ever. A broken, beautiful sound escapes him as you feel his warmth coating your insides. There’s so much of it you can only imagine what the mess will be like when he pulls out. As you come down from your peak, eyes fluttering open, you’re somewhat surprised to find Pope watching you intently. He’s pulled away slightly, balancing on his forearms, but he hasn’t stopped shallowly thrusting into you.

“Andrew?”

The meekness in your voice makes him shiver, for you have a duality of your own, equal parts his assertive, indulgent lover and his sweet, soft babydoll.

You squeak out a pitiful sound as he rolls the two of you over and cages you against his chest with his strong arms. He’s softening slightly inside you, but he’s apparently not in any hurry to leave your warmth. Indeed, he uses one arm to tug the covers up over both of you and presses what is evidently a goodnight kiss to your hair.

“Andy, what-?”

“You think I’m gonna reward you for taking me so well by leaving you empty all night? I don’t fucking think so. Besides, you told me not to pull out.”

As if participating in the conversation, his cock twitches inside you, making you squirm, but you’re not getting out of this bear hug until he lets go.

“Anyways, how’m I supposed to fuck a baby into you if I just let it all leak out afterwards?”

It’s not until the next day that you realize how far he’s going to take your heat-of-the-moment directive. He finds you in the office where you work from home after returning from his morning workout and shower. He hasn’t bothered to put on more than a pair of boxer briefs, and when you look up from your screen, you can still see droplets of water clinging to his chest. Wordlessly, he motions for you to stand, and you do so, brows raised inquisitively. He moves to take your place in the comfy desk chair he’d bought because you’d mentioned one whole time that it looked nice.

You open your mouth to put your confusion into words, but all that comes out is a little squeak when he hauls you down on top of him. Another question-or possibly the same one, things are getting a little hazy-is foregone in favor of a moan when he tugs your panties to the side and works a finger inside of you. A thick second digit joins the first, and you finally find the wherewithal to say a word or two.

“Andrew I…need-oh-I’m working.”

“Then work,” he counters mildly, his other hand fumbling beneath you momentarily, “doesn’t bother me.”

You choke on your rebuttal when he begins stuffing his cock into you, and makes good on his word, even going so far as to reach in front of you to place your hand back on the mouse as he starts bouncing you on his dick.

After completing approximately zero work tasks, or even coherent thoughts, you come on a scream that might have been his name. He follows right behind, and then, well, nothing. Pope reaches up to smooth your hair over one shoulder so it doesn’t get trapped when he collapses back against the chair, and pulls you against his chest, still seated inside you as far as he can get in this position. He doesn’t leave the chair-or more notably, your pussy-until he ambles off to the kitchen muttering about making you lunch. You have no choice to stare incredulously at him when he returns, letting you know he’s got an errand to run and placing a turkey sandwich and a clean pair of underwear, folded with military precision, on the corner of your desk.

It happens again that night after dinner. You’re both on the couch, decidedly not watching whatever’s on the TV, and he coaxes you into his lap, stretching you lazily with his fingers, fucking you silly, and keeping your slick heat wrapped around him for so long that you actually doze off against his shoulder.

And on it goes. Not every time, but often enough that you’re getting rather good at keeping your hands steady enough to type in the aftermath of one of your office sessions. Some days you’d swear he spends more time inside you than not. Then, one day, after you’ve produced two positive tests and received word from your doctor, after he’s disengaged from his family for the most part and become a brighter, happier version of himself than either of you thought possible, you decide to bring it up.

Yet again, you’re settled on his lap, chests pressed together, but no longer heaving. Pope massages your thighs, something he’s prone to when you’ve been riding him. Some documentary about deep sea life murmurs away over your shoulder. And yet again, he’s made no retreat. He’s still fully seated inside you.

When you lean back slightly, depriving him of the soft skin of your throat where he’d been sucking a bruise, his hands immediately grip your hips, preventing what he’s clearly perceived as an escape attempt, when in reality you just want to look him in the eyes for this next bit.

“We did it, Andy. We’re going to have a baby,” You begin, voice barely above a whisper.

Andrew responds to this pronouncement the same way he always does. His gaze softens, and he looks at you, the mother of his unborn child, with complete and utter reverence. And, as usual, it almost derails you to be looked at that way, but you press on, trying to ignore the fact that you can feel him getting hard again. You stroke your hands up and down his arms and gentle your voice just a little further.

“You don’t have to stay inside anymore.”

He chuckles, chest rumbling against yours as he pulls out just enough to draw a whimper from your lips when he slips back in.

“I know that,” he says softly, one of his big hands rising to cup your cheek as he leans in close enough to rest his forehead against yours. “But you’re my favorite fucking place in the world. Why wouldn’t I stay?”

And as his thick fingers find your clit, rubbing in those tight circles he knows you love, you can’t remember why you asked in the first place.

#pope cody #pope cody x reader #pope cody smut #animal kingdom #questionable use of italics

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luveline · 3 months ago

Note

hi 🙈 would u do a request of steve with a reader that’s an emotional drunk? love ur work 💖

thanks for requesting lovely! fem, 1k

“I think that you think you have a way higher threshold for getting drunk than you actually have.”

You nod emphatically. “Yeah!”

Steve grins. You’re sitting on the high stool next to his slowly attempting to spin yourself around. He’s holding the chair steady with his leg under the bar. A milkshake and a burger sit in front of you largely untouched.

Steve takes a sip of his own milkshake and feels the frozen vanilla hit the roof of his mouth as you fill the silence. “‘Cos I always drink a bunch right at the start of the night thinking it won’t get me, and it does!”

Steve doesn’t drink at all anymore. He doesn’t like the idea of being inebriated, whether of his own will or not, but he doesn’t mind being your guardian for the night, any night you want. Robin got you plastered because you’re drinking for two, a joke she insists on and nobody finds all that funny sober. If she said it to you now you’d crumple off of your seat to the floor and cry tears of joy. Everything is heightened. Your excitement, your boredom, your hunger. You’d pleaded with Steve to buy you a burger, and have quickly forgotten it’s there.

He takes your knife and cuts the burger in half, then again into quarters. “Here,” he says quietly, more subdued than he means to be in the face of your freneticism. “Before it gets cold, baby.”

He likes all of the pet names now he’s with you. You’re a sweetheart, an angel, his bub, babe, baby, it doesn’t matter how corny the word is, if he thinks about you in the right way he can say it with full sincerity. Babygirl was a bad phase, but baby sticks.

“Thank you,” you say, reaching under his arm to link you together as you pick up one of your quarters, lettuce and tomato and sauce spilling out the sides.

“You’re welcome. You know that.”

You smile around a huge bite and wipe your appled cheeks clean with the side of your hand, giving him these looks you’ve perfected, not shy but almost, I’m so lucky unsaid but felt. Steve can’t really understand why you’d feel that way about him, he’s a loser, he’s not pretty, he doesn’t work out anymore, but none of that stuff matters because why should it? He doesn’t care that you’re a lightweight, that you snore like a freight train, that you pull your lip in between your teeth whenever you’re thinking too deeply and accidentally look like the victim of a botched face lift. It’s all inconsequential. The stuff that matters is your arm like a weight through his and how happy you were when he paid for your burger and fries.

He squeezes you under the chin as you chew to hold you still for a kiss. “Love you. You look beautiful.”

“I do?” you ask through burger. You try to cover your mouth best you can, but Steve doesn’t care.

“You do. Tonight was fun, yeah? I had a great time with you, like always.”

Your eyebrows pinch up. Your eyes begin to swim. Steve blinks in shock as you swallow and grab onto his wrist, your lips shiny with what might be ketchup as you begin to pout. “Steve…”

That’s his fault. My bad. He knows what kind of drunk you are but he knows how much it means to you regardless to hear that you’re appreciated. He shouldn’t have said it yet, maybe a little later when you’d calmed down and your fries had soaked up the beer in your stomach, but it’s too late. He lets his gaze soften. “I mean it,” he says, rubbing your chin with his thumb swiftly, before wrapping his arm around you, lest you feel wobbly again. “Spending time with you is my favourite thing to do.”

“What’s your problem?” you ask, eyes filling with tears, the biggest one he’s ever seen flushed over you waterline as you screw up your face. “That’s so nice. I love you, too.”

“I know,” he says, and if he dips into a babying tone, well, that’s his business.

“You had a good time?” you ask through a shuddery sob.

“I had the best time.”

You turn your face into his arm. Steve ignores the waitress staring at you both to smile into your temple. “You’re not supposed to cry, it’s a good thing!” he says lightly. “I just wanted you to know I had a good time tonight.”

“I had a good time too!” you splutter.

“I know,” he says, “I know you did, why don’t you try and eat some more of your food? You’ll feel less… like this.”

“Sorry!”

“No, don’t be,” he says, firmer now, “it’s okay, I don’t mind, I just don’t want you to be upset–”

“I’m not upset! I love you!”

He can hear the girls in the booth by the door giggling. Steve laughs into your head, ushering your face into his neck to give you some time and a space to calm down. “I love you too. Even if you’re, like, ninety percent bud light right now.”

It takes you ages to calm down and he can’t blame you. You’re super, super drunk, and despite your best attempts at dinner you’ve basically got an empty stomach. He’s trying to save you from puking with the burger, so after a couple of minutes of you saying that you love him and that tonight was really fun, he pulls you out of his neck to meet your eyes. “Can you eat some more for me?” he asks, smiling, knowing it’s ridiculous.

You love it, digging in with your cheeks still wet. Steve wipes at them with the back of his index finger.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you say around a crinkly bite of romaine lettuce.

“I’m not, but I don’t mind.”

You sniffle. “You have to eat too,” you say.

He offers his hand for holding. You take it, letting them swing between your two chairs, returning for now to your meals. Steve’s opened the floodgates and he’s expecting another bout of crying before bed. Hopefully not while he’s holding your hair back over the toilet bowl.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

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fazedlight · 4 months ago

Text

Tradition

Something had changed.

Lena could sense it, in the kisses and the small touches, in the way Kara would watch her in the mornings as Lena slowly woke. Her girlfriend had grown more pensive, looking at Lena with curious eyes - a touch of stress on her brow.

“Are you alright?” Lena murmured one morning, as Kara brushed a stray lock of hair behind Lena’s ear.

“Yeah,” Kara said, pressing her lips briefly against Lena’s, “Just thinking.”

---

Lena tried to let it go.

There was no real worry inside her. It did bother her, an itch somewhere in her mind, that Kara was holding something back. But this wasn’t like before - there was no fear or loneliness or distrust. She knew she loved Kara; she knew Kara loved her. That was all that mattered.

But she was certainly curious.

Luckily, there was always work to do to distract herself. Running the Foundation, tweaking experiments in the Tower, being a voice in Kara’s ear when the hero went out to fight. Plenty to keep herself busy in the day, before she and Kara went home at night. She could be patient.

It only took a few weeks for Kara to say something, on the couch one evening. “I promised you I would be open with you,” Kara said.

Lena glanced up, reaching her arm across to give Kara’s hand a light squeeze. “I promised that too.”

“What if I’m not supposed to be?”

Lena frowned curiously. “Kara, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing bad,” Kara emphasized, “I just- I don’t understand Earth romance. We didn’t have that on Krypton. Parts of it are still a little alien to me.”

“Okay,” Lena mulled, trying to understand, “We can- we can talk about it? We can slow down-”

“I don’t want to slow down,” Kara said emphatically.

“What do you mean?”

Kara eyed Lena for a moment, then glanced down to her lap, shifting shyly. “If you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, shouldn’t you talk about it first?” Kara asked, “Shouldn’t they decide that together? How do you make it… a surprise?”

Oh, Lena thought, her heart fluttering lighter as she realized the source of Kara’s concern, she wants to propose.

It brought a smile to Lena. She wants to propose…

Lena leaned forward, brushing her lips to Kara’s, trying to soothe the blonde’s confusion. “We’ve talked about our lives together,” she murmured against Kara’s lips, “What we want to do, how we want to live, what it will be like to grow old. Those are the things that are important to me.”

She could feel the tension in Kara’s body dissipate, as Kara wrapped her arms around Lena, kissing her back. Lena felt herself melt into Kara’s embrace as the ardor grew, leaving thoughts of the future for some other time.

---

“Could I fly you somewhere?” Kara asked one Saturday night.

Lena looked up from the couch, where she had settled in to read a book after dinner that evening. She took in Kara’s expression, watching as the blonde fidgeted shyly. Oh, Lena thought, trying not to smile, “Sure.”

Still in her pajamas - not that she minded - Lena and Kara went out to the balcony. “I’d like to blindfold you first,” Kara said shyly, and Lena nodded. The scrap of cloth went around her eyes, and she felt as Kara’s hands directed her closer, before Kara scooped her up into her arms.

She wondered how far Kara would take her, but she didn’t ask. The cool breeze of the night was a welcome relief from the warm day, and they quickly found themselves descending.

Still blindfolded, Lena felt as Kara gently set her on the ground. Blankets?, Lena thought, now sitting somewhere outside, feeling the warm and fuzzy bedding against the palms of her hands, when did she set this up…

The blindfold lifted from her face.

Lena looked around. She was indeed in a nest of blankets, giving her cozy warmth on that cool night. Her eyes drifted to the Irish pastries and wine near her feet, two glasses sitting neatly next to one another.

She glanced up, gasping softly at what lay ahead - a lake, blanketed in night, with an array of trees and stars behind it. The reservoir, she realized, recognizing their picnic spot as one she and Kara had been to a dozen times before. A place that had grown fond to them, despite their terrifying first night there.

“When I came to Earth,” Kara said nervously, kneeling next to Lena, “Everything was new, and strange. People talked about all sorts of beliefs, different types of magic. There were so many cultural practices, so many languages. It felt like I landed on hundreds of planets at once.”

Lena placed a gentle hand on Kara’s arm.

“I didn’t understand romantic love,” Kara continued, eyes glancing up to meet Lena’s, “But I started to feel it, fragments of that spark, figuring out what it meant. And then I found you, Lena. And I realized something important - that Krypton had hidden more than one type of magic.”

Lena smiled, already feeling the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes, emotion bubbling up in her chest.

“This was the place I realized it,” Kara said, looking out to the reservoir. “I was holding you above this lake, and I realized I could never let go.”

Kara hesitated, turning back towards Lena as a hand drifted to a pocket, and Kara pulled out a small black box to present to her girlfriend. “Lena Luthor,” Kara said, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Lena said, realizing her voice was thick with unshed tears, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Kara’s lips, “Yes, yes, yes,” she said over and over again, as Kara kissed her back, as the two pulled each other close.

When they finally broke apart, Lena laughed, as Kara struggled enthusiastically to get the ring box open, before finally sliding the ring on Lena’s finger.

Kara leaned forward again, brushing her lips one last time on Lena’s. “I hope I did that right,” she murmured.

“Darling, this was perfect,” Lena whispered back.

#supercorp #mel writes ficlets

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cyberlsk · 4 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ pathetic ⋆ ˚｡⋆ᡣ𐭩˚⋆ ˚

LEON KENNEDY / FEM!READER smut

-> leon's pathetic when it comes to his cute, younger neighbor. simply put, he'll come up with any excuse to see you.

a/n: i love pathetic old man Leon who’s ridden with guilt at his crush on his younger neighbor…btw reader is in her 20s and leon is 38 (set after death island). based on this post i made a while back.

content warnings: dom!leon, daddy kink, ooc-ish (he's obsessed), unprotected sex, you’re both tipsy when the smut occurs.

If it was wrong, then why was he knocking on your door?

If it was wrong, why did he offer a meek, apologetic smile, unbefitting of a man his age? If it was wrong, why did he spit out a lie, shove his hands in his jean pockets to calm himself down?

God, he felt like a dirty, old man. Was one. He was downright depraved, he decided. Seventeen years fighting unimaginable evil, and a pretty girl made his morals go down the drain. He was better than that.

In his defense, he hadn’t been lying. He could use some technical support. His computer wouldn’t connect to the WiFi, though if he was honest to himself, he couldn’t remember the last time he stayed at this place long enough to bother installing it. When he wasn’t working, he hung out at your place–enough to consider you a friend. That’s right, a nice, albeit gorgeous, and intelligent,

…and sweet friend, but a friend nonetheless.

Now was his downseason. Each mission came with cruel amounts of paperwork, and over the past few weeks, he was finishing up the last of his reports. For now. He groans in anticipation of the work ahead.

“Leon?” Sweet eyes peering into his, sweet smile too. God, you were going to be the death of him. “Everything alright?”

He nods, pinching his nose between the bridge of his spectacles. “Yeah," he bites out after a long pause, "you could say that.” Fuck, was he losing his speaking abilities? Must’ve been the T-virus. Yeah…that. Not the fact that his heart whined seeing you in that little gingham dress with the lace decolletage, or the pendant draped on your collarbones, or the cheap DSO watch he’d won at a work party. His watch. On your wrist.

Leon squints through his square spectacles as you’re rebooting his laptop. “It’s okay, princess, I’ll look at it later. You want a drink?” he offers in an attempt to quell his nerves.

“Princess?” you question. “That’s a new one.” You wrinkle your nose, clicking through the various settings on his computer, and he swears he’s never seen anything cuter. Put simply, he felt pathetic.

To make matters worse, your free hand was resting on one of his forearms, slowly tracing along the veins on it. He held his breath, trying not to feel the heat radiating off of your body.

And then–and then you look back and flash him a brilliant smile. His heart whines in his chest.

"Do you want a drink?" In an attempt to assuage his own guilt (or rather, drown it), he hustles over to the cabinet, rummaging for some liquor. Drinking on a Thursday night, yeah...well. You were fresh out of college. Behind several bottles of whiskey, a dusty bottle of champagne sat untouched. Great. Way to go, Leon.

“I don’t have many options,” he laments. “They don’t exactly have grocery shops in the secret combat zones I work in.”

You laugh, and his chest puffs up in pride. “That’s fine. You got another mission coming up?”

“Nope,” he says emphatically. “Seems like bioterrorists take a vacation once in a while, too.” His confidence swells as you react positively to his one-liners, then plummets once you turn to face him, arms outstretched.

“C’mere. Can I give you a hug?”

Leon freezes, fist clenching around a half-open bottle, then nods. Too eagerly. Is he shaking? He can’t tell if it’s the abysmally cold temperature in his apartment or just you, but he has to close his eyes for a moment to stabilize himself once your arms wrap around his waist. Stabilize himself. God, Claire would’ve laughed her head off. Leon Kennedy, renowned flirt, falling to his knees because a friend asked to hug him.

He drinks in the sensation of your skin greedily. Soft hands pressed against his back, chest flush to his. When he doesn’t say anything, leaving his hands loosely on your hips, you frown. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He’s a bad man, he’s sure of it. He’s a creep, he’s weird, and he’s just a bad friend in general, because the second you pull away, he’s pushing a lock of hair from your face and basking in your worry. Yes, basking. Not that he enjoyed seeing you upset, but you–you were worried. Because of him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. He’s hardly sure if he’s breathing at this point. He thinks he must be dreaming, because you’re looking at him like he’s the most endearing thing in the world, art coming to life, a face that could be adored. He chides himself. It’s in his head. “You, uhh…you figure out what’s wrong with my computer?”

When you place a hand on his cheek, he’s a goner. “Of course, silly. Did you even install a router?”

“Yeah,” he says again, stupidly. “Uh, it’s in my room. In the closet. I’ll go get it.” Before you can say another word, he darts away, clambering to his room and shutting the door. Leon takes a deep breath.

“Fuck,” he swears to himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It was wrong. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, and he should send you on your merry way. Back to your apartment, away from weird old men like him who perceive every gesture of kindness as an advance.

Does he do that?

No.

Instead, he preens his hair in the mirror across from his bed, straightens his suit lapels, and steps back into civilization. Where normal people had normal thoughts and feelings about their friends, especially their significantly younger ones.

When he returns, you’re sitting at the kitchen table (yes, he wasn’t a total imbecile–he did have furniture). You're sipping a glass of whiskey as delicately as one can, given the acrid taste, and absently shaking your leg. And, since you were sitting, your dress rode up your thighs. What had been a hint of legs became almost the whole expanse of skin, soft and supple and so tempting to him. Tempting? What a creep.

“Hope you don’t mind that I started without you.” He nods tersely, pouring himself his own glass and avoiding eye contact.

As the whiskey hits his throat, he finds himself slowly unwinding. His moral reservations from before begin to loosen, then slip from his grasp entirely. He was just a guy with a crush. He was hurting no one. Slowly, his confidence comes back to him.

Leon yawns, stretching so that his V-lines peeks from under his shirt. "Muscle cramp," he lies, running his fingers through his hair and making flirtatious comments that you returned, perhaps innocently, but returned nonetheless.

“Leon?”

He realizes that he'd gone quiet for a moment.

“Sweetheart, can you help me out with something else instead?”

If it was wrong, why did your breath hitch when he placed a hand under your jaw? If it was wrong, why did your fingers snake behind his neck? If it was wrong, why did your eyes fan shut as he kissed you ravenously? Pulling you onto his lap, hoisting you into the air and leading you to the living room couch?

Usually, when men try to initiate sex, they’re crass, aggressive. But Leon–he’s just desperate. When he throws you down on the sofa, he groans. He never stops talking between kisses, fuck, baby, you’re so pretty, can’t believe I got so lucky, drags his hands along any and every part of you that he can. It makes your heart soar, the fact that this big, esteemed government agent was falling apart because of you, and you’d hardly done anything yet.

“Leon…,” you gasp, and he short-circuits. You’re under him, hair and dress splayed prettily to your sides, silently begging him for more, legs wrapping around the back of his thighs. Pawing at his back as he kneels over you, wanting, needing more. Closer. More.

Leon complies with your wish, leaning back in for a kiss. This one’s slow, deep, makes your insides burn up. He tries to learn every inch of your lips, the crevice of your mouth, the underside of your tongue. Is it gross? A little. He knows that it’s way too wet, but with the way you invite him in, the way you claw at his back and beg for more, he can’t help himself.

If he’s a dirty old man that has fantasies of his younger neighbor, so be it. Just for tonight.

“Where’s your router?” you tease, running your fingers along his stubble.

“Fuck, uh,” he swears. “I don’t have one.” You laugh, pulling him back in for a kiss.

“Knew it. You always use my network when you’re home.”

“Can I make a ridiculous comment about our connection?” Before he can continue, you yank him by the collar, teeth colliding with the impact of it. His blazer hits the floor, then his shirt (way too many buttons, you grumble), then your dress, but before you can unlatch his belt buckle, he has you pinned with one hand while the other runs down your chest. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Leon swears he’s losing his sanity. He latches onto your chest, swirling his tongue around the buds and sucking sharply. Moaning almost as loud as you. Bathing your chest in kisses, dragging his mouth along the undersides, nipping lightly at the skin and leaving a trail of pretty purple marks.

When he reaches your pussy, he’s noisy with it. Messy. He flattens his tongue inside of you, groaning and lapping up every inch he can get. His nose nuzzles against your clit repeatedly, roughly, and when he tilts his head up to suck on the sensitive nub, the entire area is coated in your slick. It would’ve been embarrassing had he not been moaning louder than you.

“You like when this old man takes care of you?” he practically purrs, diving back in with a punctuated suck on your clit. When you moan out in response, he presses slow, heated kisses along your labia, then drags the expanse of his tongue up your slit. “Oh, you like that? You like it when I take care of your princess parts?” Then flicks the tip of his tongue along your clit, alternating between kitten licks and long swirls.

“Yes, yes,” you pant, mewling so loudly that you have to bite the back of your hand. Leon won’t have any of that.

“Oh, baby,” he purrs, replacing the hand on your mouth with his. “Can’t take a little attention? Your cunt is that desperate?”

His thumb brushes against your lower lip. On a whim, you maneuver it so it rests in your mouth. Leon could’ve cum in his pants at the sight.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” You give his thumb a light suck at his words, and he retaliates by giving you a smothering kiss on your cunt. “So pretty. So pretty just like this, yeah? Need me to take care of you, not any of those younger guys who don’t know how to treat you right?” Leon finishes his rambles by replacing his tongue with his fingers, crawling forward to give you a searing kiss. His lips were wet with your arousal, and when you moved your head away, mumbled something about how his face was soaked, he laughed.

“Look at you, baby. So fuckin’ wet that you made my face all drippy. You want this old man’s cock that bad?” You nod desperately. “Clean it up, then. I can’t take care of my girl if my face is drenched because of her. Wanna be clean for my pretty girl, right? Not dirty.”

You nod your head, making quick work. All dignity thrown to the wind, you lap at his cheeks, then his nose, and finally, his mouth, eating away all the arousal you’d left on him. “That’s my girl,” he says throughout all of it. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

You palm at his slacks, still stubbornly on, and he damn near whines. Talking about how he’ll get a desk job, transfer departments, hell, quit his fuckin’ job at the DSO, just so he can come home and take care of you every single night. Fuck, only for his pretty princess. Only for you.

“You’d do that for me?” You bat your eyes at him, mascara running down your cheeks from how good this feels.

“Anything, princess.” Finally, he undoes his belt, making quick work of the rest of his clothes. When he finally frees himself from his boxers, your eyes water.

“You want it?” he taunts, swiping a hand over the angry red tip. The same veins that travel up his arms are on his dick, pretty and pink and twitching.

“Yes, daddy,” you say, half-joking, half-serious. He smiles sweetly.

“Aw, you want daddy’s cock?” he coos. “I bet you do.” Leon kisses down your chest, then your stomach. You feel like you’ll burst if he doesn’t just fuck you then and there. Looking up at you, big blue eyes, before he gives your pussy another experimental lick, but it’s enough to leave you keening. He’s insatiable. He sucks on your clit so hard that you see stars, swirls his tongue around inside you, groans the whole fucking time about how pretty you are. Kisses all over your thighs, sucks marks into them. You prop yourself on your shoulders and notice that he’s humping the bed while eating you out, eyes narrowed but refusing to shut—to see you coming undone by him. He looks pathetic, but how can he help himself when it’s you?

And finally, finally pulls away, face glistening with your arousal, as he guides his tip toward your entrance.

With how wet you were, he could’ve sheathed himself fully in one thrust. Instead, he prolonged this as much as he could. You knew he was fucking with you because he could. Because he liked to see you cry pretty tears for him, so what? You were just so pretty, and seeing you want him that bad made him want you even more, if that was possible.

“More, more,” you beg. Leon just laughs.

“There’s one thing that younger men get wrong. They think that faster means better. Once she cums, you’ve finished the job. But when you’re my age, you want to fuck a girl so good that she doesn’t stop cumming. So I’m gonna take my time with you. I’ve waited thirty-eight years to fuck a girl like you.”

His eyes nearly roll into his head. You’re bouncing back on his cock, sharp whimpers leaving your mouth. And your cute little pussy just keeps sucking him up, a little creamy ring dripping onto his balls. His tip nudges your walls and you pulse around him. “Pretty girl. That’s it, sucking me in so pretty.” You babble incoherently, as he pulls your back to his chest, one hand kneading your tits while the other bounces you up and down on his cock.

“Look at that,” he purrs. Your eyes flick toward him in the mirror, his stern gaze splitting you open as if his cock wasn’t doing that already. You hadn’t even noticed that was there. “So pretty. Look at yourself, pretty girl. Wanted you for so long. And look at you now–pathetic.” A pit in your tummy warms, making you clench tighter and him thrust harder. You look like a mess–your head is barely upright, bobbing with each slam of his hips, your chest is practically purple, and the sound of him fucking you is so wet it should’ve embarrased you. But you couldn’t be, not when he waw fucking you this good and he looked so pretty, big blue eyes devouring you whole, stubble nuzzling against your shoulder as he craned his neck, showering it with kisses.

“Mmm, Leon,” you whine. “Gonna cum. Please, please, can I cum?”

Leon groans at the desperation in your tone. Normally, he would’ve corrected you, taken you over his knee until you knew who was fucking you (daddy, not Leon. Leon was for outside the bedroom only). But you were so cute, and he’d dreamed about this moment for so long that he couldn’t say no to you. “Go ahead, princess. Cum for daddy.” With that, your vision went white, pussy spasming around his dick. Leon couldn’t hold back much longer, either. Swearing under his breath, he tenses up, gripping the flesh of your sides tightly before he cums–

–so much. When he finally finishes, he cums lots and lots. There’s so much coming out of him that he feels drained, your release and his wetting the sheets. A strangled noise comes from the back of his throat, one he didn’t think was possible. You clench at how hot he looks coming undone like this–and he just keeps going. He fucks you past your orgasm and his until you’re making a mess everywhere and you’re both shaking and whimpering from the overstimulation.

“ ‘S too much daddy, please,” you cry, hot tears pricking your waterline. Leon feels his heart melt, instantly coming to a stop.

“You okay, baby?” he asks gently, stroking your hair. You nod.

If there was anything that was understated, it was the fact that older men weren’t just better at sex. They were unreal with aftercare. Leon pampered you, showering you with kisses, cleaning up your fluids with a wet wipe and even carrying you to the bath after. While you scrubbed your hair, Leon hummed away in the kitchen, a towel hanging loose around his lower half.

When you finally re-emerged, wearing one of his old RPD shirts, Leon tosses you a lopsided grin so handsome that your heart skips a beat. “Hungry?”

You gape at him. “Leon, I can’t. You’re too kind.”

Leon plates the food. “I figured you might be hungry.”

As the two of you dine, exchanging light conversation, you frown. “How’d you know I like this dish?”

Leon rubs the back of neck sheepishly. “Well, every time you ordered delivery, I noticed that you got this.”

“Weirdooo,” you groan, playfully jabbing your fork in his direction. Leon chuckles, a red hue coating his cheeks.

Soon enough, he’s washing the dishes, refusing any help because "he’s the one who caused you the inconvenience of helping him." You give him a hesitant smile, glancing at the door.

Leon catches your eye and feels his heart sink ever-so-slightly.

“Sooo, wanna get dinner sometime?” he asks before he can help himself. “It’s not usually my style to fuck a girl before I’ve taken her out first.”

“Of course, Leon.” His jaw hurt by how much he was smiling, but you weren't any better. Leon was pathetic when it came to you, but were you any better?

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #resident evil smut #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you smut #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader fluff #leon s kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader

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roanniom · 5 months ago

Note

I just want to suck Eddie's dick so badly 😞

Do That Thing

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, oral sex (M and F receiving), drug use

Eddie likes it wet and he likes it noisy.

You once voiced the fact that previous partners had balked at any messiness. Eddie had laughed. He wants you dirty. He wants you sloppy.

So you make sure to give him exactly what he wants. Today you're on your knees in front of him while he sits on a lounger reading a comic and smoking a joint. You know for a fact he stopped paying attention to the comic a while ago, mainly because he hasn't flipped a page in a while.

You have one hand wrapped around the base of his dick while the other slides up and down his shaft. Your mouth pulls up and down on his mushroom head, with your tongue providing a swirling motion ever time you pull off.

After a particularly languid drag from his joint, Eddie drops the comic over the side of the chair. His now free hand comes to rest on the top of your head.

"That's it, baby. Fuck, just like that. How about you wet it a little more for me, huh?"

You do as he suggests and immediately add more saliva. The increased lubrication comes with a more auditory glide. Eddie moans at the sounds. He takes another drag from his joint and throws his head back before puffing out a cloud of dense smoke that you can smell from your place on the floor.

"Do that thing you do with both hands, princess. The - oh fuck yeah." Eddie sinks deeper into the chair when you comply with his request and begin twisting your hands slowly in different directions around his cock as you pull up and down.

"You're getting me there, princess," he says roughly, his hand a pleasant pressure on the top of your head to encourage your movements.

"Mhm?" you hum. You know doing so adds a vibration he can't resist.

"Oh yeah..." Eddie drops his finished joint in a nearby ash tray and grips at the arm of his chair. looking up past the plane of his abdomen you see his chest is flushed. A vein pulses emphatically in his neck.

"Mmmm," you hum again. Purely egging him on now. You feel him growing even harder in your hands, in your mouth.

"You're gonna make me cum, baby," he groans. You take your mouth off of him with a wet pop, making sure to continue the movement and pressure with your hands.

"That's the idea, baby," you all but purr.

You barely have time to fit your lips over his tip again before he's erupting into your mouth. You keep your elbows grounded against his thighs to keep you stable while his hips buck up involuntarily.

"Fuuuuuck..." Eddie moans. It's music to your ears. Music that makes you unbearably wet. This is why you love giving him blow jobs. The surge of power and confidence and achievement courses through your body like the weed Eddie had just smoked. Eddie falls limp back against his chair, an arm over his face, but you take the opportunity to disengage from him and stand.

"Mmm," you hum dramatically, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "How was that?"

"How was it? How was it? I'll let you know when my soul reenters my body, princess," Eddie responds with a hoarse laugh. He lowers his arm from his face to look at you just in time to see you begin to strip. "Oh mother of god..."

"Wanna help me with something, champ?" you drawl. You know he loves this. The shift of power. Switching up tones and dynamics.

In seconds, Eddie is on his knees in front of you, shuffling forward despite the fact that his jeans and boxers are still caught around his calves.

"I'll do anything for you princess," he says with a cheeky grin up at you. He grabs at your naked thighs and you place one hand delicately on his cheek. The other hand you place on the top of his curly head.

"Yeah? You'll do that thing I like?" You echo his previous request, but this time in reference to your favorite thing he does. Eddie looks up at you through his eyelashes as he slides his right hand around your thigh and between your legs so he can swirl around your clit.

"So wet," he says, almost to himself. He circles your clit for a few seconds before sliding down and pushing two fingers all the way into you. In a swift combined motion, he also lunges forward and sucks on your now pulsing clit. The combination of the suction and the immediate prodding, come-hither motion he's employing with his fingers inside of you is exactly what you'd been asking for.

"Holy shit," you hiss. You have to brace your hands against his shoulders to keep your knees from buckling.

Eddie begins to thrust his fingers in and out of you to intensify the feelings.

"Fuck, Eddie. That feels incredible. More." You're being greedy, but you don't care. You did your time on your knees. This is Eddie's turn.

"Mhm," is Eddie's dutiful reply, causing vibrations to ripple through you and causing you to moan.

And he continues to do that thing you like.

~*~ I hope you enjoyed! This one was so fun to write because hooo boy, I got myself with this one. Let me know what part you liked! <3

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

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miedei · 5 months ago

Text

moments of glad grace

you test your lipgloss on spencer; he loves you.

a/n: hey so this request made me go crazy. um this is the result of me rereading yeats' poems and listening to my love song playlist and buying the new nyx ligloss yesterday dont judge me

cw: slightly suggestive, established relationship, reader has she/her pronouns, referred to as a girl, title from when you are old by WB Yeats

wc: 1.5k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

The package is cold in your hands, thin and flat as you thank the deliveryman, shutting the door behind you. The familiar excitement of getting something new zips up your spine, and you hurry into the living room.

Spencer is curled up on the couch, your battered copy of The Collected Poems of W B Yeats in his hands. He raises his head as you come in.

“Spence, look!” He cocks his head to the side.

“You got a package!” He’s happy, but it’s clear he doesn’t understand the mischievous tone in your voice.

“It’s that new lipgloss I ordered.”

“The one that Emily told you about? That’s good, you were really excited about it.” He lowers the book, watching you search through the cluttered contents of the coffee table.

“The box cutter’s there- to your right, next to the candle- yeah.” You straighten up, flashing him a grateful smile before settling on the couch next to him.

Pulling your feet up on the couch under you, you brandish the box cutter dramatically, giggling at the worried yelp that elicits from Spencer.

With a touch more precaution, you bring the blade down to the tape on the package, slicing carefully before retracting the sharp edge.

Spencer leans in, his hand coming down to rest on your back as he watches you fold open the flaps of the box. You reach in, pulling out the reddish-brown tube with a grin.

“Oh, it’s nice! I was worried the shade wouldn’t be right, but I think this suits me, don’t you think?” You hold it up to your face, turning to Spencer.

His eyes soften, dark pupils melting into the brown of his irises.

“I think that’s great, angel. Are you going to try it on?”

You hop up, heading to the bathroom. Even without looking, you know Spencer has risen with you, following behind you faithfully.

He can’t resist watching the way you focus when you apply makeup, a tidbit you know from when he spilled it drunkenly after the last time the team went out for drinks.

Leaning over the sink, you twist open the product, pulling out the applicator and swiping it carefully across your lips.

If your eyes were to stray a little higher than where they’re trained on your lips, you’d see Spencer, hands twitching to hold your waist or hip as he watches you intently, the adoration he holds for you clear in his eyes.

Once finished, you pull back, recapping the tub and setting it down. You spin, facing him with a smile.

“What do you think?”

Spencer reaches for you immediately. His hand reaching forward to rest on your waist, he leans toward you, the thumb of his other hand rising to wipe just under your bottom lip. His voice is emphatic, reverent.

“It’s perfect, pretty girl.” It sends a shiver down your spine to hear his low tone. You have to distract yourself so as to not drag him to your bedroom immediately.

Turning your face to gaze at the tube on the counter, you muse softly.

“Y’know, this gloss is advertised as super longlasting. The colour’s supposed to stay for 8 hours, even after it’s not shiny anymore.”

He hums in response, seemingly content to stand there watching you.

“Do you think we should test it out?”

His brows furrow, the wrinkle that forms between them looking achingly kissable.

“Test the longevity? How are you going to do that?”

You can’t help yourself, a playful smile spreading across your face as you take his hand, tugging him back into the living room.

“Sit, please?”

He frowns, but does as you say, leaning against the back of the couch as he watches you.

“Do you want to help me with my experiment, Spence?”

“Help you?”

You move forward, perching on his lap so you can look down at him, mischief glimmering in your eyes. Leaning down, you press your lips to his cheek once, looking at the mark left on his skin with satisfaction.

“Yeah. If you could help me see how long the colour lasts? I figured, you’re the science guy… But if you don’t want to, I guess that’s okay.”

You move as if to shift off his thighs, but his hands come up to grip your waist, holding you there.

“No, no I can… I can help. Yeah, I’ll help. You just want to kiss me?” His eyes are large, doe-like as he gazes up at you.

“Yeah. You can read the book while I do, it’s okay.” He shakes his head fervently, almost pulling a laugh out of you.

“No, I don’t need to read. Go ahead.” You spring into action at his words, leaning down to begin pressing kisses to the curve of his cheekbone, his jaw, the bridge of his nose.

“So, are you liking the Yeats poems? I want to know what you thought, Spence.” You murmur against the skin of his temple, grinning wolfishly when you feel him shiver.

“Yeah, I’m really- really liking it. It’s a really interesting perspective on the fight for Irish independence. Like, um, An Irish Airman Foresees His Death, it was really, uh, interesting.” He’s far less eloquent than usual, a hand coming up to tangle its fingers in your hair as he struggles to get his thoughts out.

“Yeah? What else did you like about them?” You run out of space on his face, and the marks have only just begun to be less pigmented. What else is there to do but to move down to the coloumn of his throat?

His breath hitches at the feeling of your lips moulding to the sensitive skin there.

“I also liked the ones about Maud Gonne. Like…” You hum, prompting him to continue.

“Uh, like Her Praise. ‘She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.’. Made me- fuck- made me think of you.”

How easily he can reduce you to your barest emotions. You feel that all-too-familiar burst of affection in your heart, pulling back so you can see his face.

“Really?”

He seems to regain some of his composure, although his face is still radiating heat, the skin of his cheeks and neck flushing to match the marks you’ve left on him.

“Really. Um, ‘If there be rags enough he will know her name, and be well pleased remembering it,’. I agree with him, ‘her praise should be the uppermost theme.’ I think you deserve praise from everyone who knows you. I can’t believe there’s anything else worth talking about.”

His voice is heartachingly sincere, and you can feel your face begin to blush to match his.

“Spence…”

It’s too much to look him in the eye, and you have to bury your face in your hands to contain the feelings threatening to burst out of your chest.

He laughs, voice slightly raspy from want. Large fingers grip your wrists, pulling them away from your face.

“Look at me, honey.” You do so, meeting his gaze.

“You finished with your experiment?” His low tone rolls over you like a cresting wave.

“I- yeah. I think that was enough.”

He smiles, saccharine with a tinge of longing.

“Can I kiss you this time?” You nod, wordless.

He leans in slowly, until it feels like your eyelashes should meet his. Eyes flutter shut, a soft sound of relief leaving you as his lips slot against yours in a way that makes you want to believe in soulmates.

It’s too chaste, his lips leaving yours so soon that it makes you itch to chase him. But you can’t bring yourself to be irked when your eyes open to the sight of him.

His smooth skin is peppered with kiss marks, varying in pigmentation as they trail down the expanse of his neck.

Best of all, his lips are kiss-swollen, marked in a shiny hue that matches yours.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #writing #bau team #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #matthew gray gubler #this is me exposing myself as a pretentious poetry nerd

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