#i want to throw both of them in a blender | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holyblonded · 2 months ago

Text

picture perfect | blue stars

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader, barca femeni x teen!reader

summary: you and estrella will NOT ruin this media day for alexia

notes: ITS A CROSSOVER YALL!! it’s a play on the first fic i did for estrella!

Alexia had one goal today. Just one. A perfect media day family picture with the two teenagers in her and Olga’s life. In a normal household, it wasn’t too much to ask. In the Putellas-Rios household, it was like asking someone to carry an elephant.

Because one of them lived to spread chaos like glitter in a carpet, and the other was a stubborn little rock who would rather wrestle a bear than smile for a camera.

The morning was already off to a cursed start. Alexia blinked awake, slowly registering the bright sunlight pouring into the room. A glance at her phone made her bolt upright.

“¡Mierda! I slept through all my alarms!” (Shit)

Olga, beside her, stirred groggily, still in dreamland. But before Alexia could fully panic, a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.

“JESUS CHRIST!”

Then came the shrill wail of the fire alarm.

The two women bolted out of bed like soldiers under attack, Olga yanking on a hoodie as they sprinted toward the chaos.

They arrived to find: the blender on literal fire, Estrella curled in the corner of the kitchen, screeching like a banshee, you covered in foam, wielding the fire extinguisher like a warrior in a war zone.

“What in God’s name made you put a SPOON into a blender?!” you yelled, wheeling around on Estrella once the fire fizzled out.

“I didn’t mean to!” she shouted back, still not meeting your furious eyes. “It was an accident!”

Alexia looked between the two of you, the smoke, the foam, the utter state of the kitchen, and let out the most exhausted sigh in history.

“Okay,” she began, rubbing her temples. “What. Happened.”

“She wanted a smoothie and told me to do it because she was ‘too tired to function,’” you snapped, still glaring.

“She pushed me out of the way and said I was too dumb to blend fruit,” Estrella snapped right back, standing up now with her arms crossed.

“You put a metal spoon into a blender—”

“I didn’t know it was in there!”

“You didn’t check?!”

And just like that, it devolved into a full-on mimic war.

“‘I’m sooooo serious all the time,’” Estrella mocked, lowering her voice and hunching her shoulders in a perfect (and wildly offensive) imitation of you. “‘I wake up scowling and I eat cereal like it wronged me in another life.’”

“‘Oh look at me,’” you fired back, flailing your arms around dramatically. “‘I get yellow cards for sass and call it performance art. I’m an artist, okay, not a menace.’”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Both of you SHUT UP!” Alexia finally roared, voice bouncing off the walls. “Silencio. Ahora.” (Silence. Now.)

The silence that followed was immediate and terrified. Olga stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes narrowing like a mother hen about to throw hands.

“Couch. Now.”

Both of you shuffled over like guilty toddlers, still occasionally shooting glares at each other. You sat stiffly, arms crossed. Estrella kicked her feet and tried to whistle, failing miserably.

“I want you both to listen carefully,” Olga began, voice calm but absolutely terrifying. “You are not to go near the kitchen again today. Do you hear me?”

You both nodded.

“You are going to your rooms. You are going to get ready for media day. You are going to wear what we laid out for you. And you are going to behave like normal human beings who don’t set things on fire. ¿Entendido?” (Understood?)

“Yes, ma’am,” Estrella muttered. You grumbled something that vaguely resembled a “yes.”

“Go.”

Estrella skipped off like she’d won a prize. You groaned loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

As soon as the two of you disappeared down the hall, Alexia dropped into Olga’s arms with the grace of a dying swan.

“I just want one photo,” she moaned. “One. One where Azulita’s not scowling like she’s at a funeral and Estrella’s not making jazz hands in the background.”

“Good luck with that,” Olga chuckled, stroking her back soothingly.

“They’re impossible.”

“Our girls are… special,” Olga said, trying not to laugh.

Alexia groaned louder. “That’s the problem.”

Olga kissed her head with a grin. “You picked them, cariño.”

“No, I picked one, you brought the other, and somehow they both got your attitude.”

Olga laughed as they both turned to look at the blender wreckage.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing the cleaning supplies. “Let’s try to make the kitchen look like it wasn’t ground zero.”

Meanwhile, in Estrella’s room, the chaos was far from over.

She had a white T-shirt on the bed with black stripes drawn on it, a whistle, and a pocket full of red and yellow cards.

“I’m going as a referee this year,” she declared proudly.

You stared at her like she had grown three heads. “You’re actually insane.”

“It’s a protest.”

“A protest?”

“Yeah. Against injustice. Like all the cards I got last season. I was targeted,” she said dramatically, holding a hand to her chest. “Like a political prisoner.”

You snorted. “You told the ref she should be banned from the sport and then clapped in her face.”

“She deserved it.”

You rolled your eyes.

Estrella smirked. “What about you? Gonna smile this year? Maybe try not to look like someone just punched your cat?”

You gave her a glare so deadly it could’ve been listed as a weapon. “Say that again and I will hide all your cards before we leave.”

“Try me, stoneface.”

You lunged at her with a pillow.

She shrieked.

And down the hall, Olga and Alexia exchanged a long, knowing look as they wiped down the counters.

“Ten bucks says they ruin the group photo again,” Alexia muttered.

“Twenty,” Olga grinned.

The drive to the training facility was…tense. Alexia sat in the driver’s seat, one hand clutching the wheel, the other pinching the bridge of her nose like it was the only thing holding her sanity together. In the passenger seat, you had your hoodie pulled up and arms crossed, glaring out the window like someone had personally offended your bloodline. In the backseat, Estrella was humming a suspiciously upbeat tune, kicking her feet and clearly up to no good.

Alexia knew that tune. It was the same one Estrella sang before trying to convince their team physio she’d developed narcolepsy to get out of fitness testing. This was not a good sign.

“Okay,” Alexia began, her voice tight with the kind of hope only a truly desperate parent has. “Please. I’m begging you both. Just this once. Can we have a normal media day? Please.”

“Define normal,” Estrella said innocently from the back.

“One where no one ends up banned from the press area, no one photobombs every teammate’s headshot, and no one fake-cries on camera for attention.”

“You told me to be authentic,” Estrella shot back with a grin. “Those tears were real. Real artistry.”

“You got into a fake argument with the mascot last year,” Alexia reminded her, voice rising. “It ended with you giving him a yellow card and yelling, ‘Read the rulebook, rat!’”

“He was offside!” Estrella protested. “Mascots should play by the rules too!”

Alexia closed her eyes. Counted to ten. It did nothing.

She turned to you next. “And you. Please don’t scowl in every photo like we’re at a funeral. You’re beautiful. Just smile.”

You huffed, still staring out the window. “I’ll smile when Estrella stops breathing.”

“Oh my God,” Alexia groaned.

“Fair,” Estrella muttered.

“Please. I’m serious. I just want one nice family picture,” Alexia pleaded, eyes darting between the two of you. “One. That’s it. For my desk. For the wall. For my sanity.”

“Fine,” you both mumbled at the same time, in the same tone of someone agreeing to do chores under duress.

The moment she pulled into the parking lot, you both flung the doors open and bolted like escaped zoo animals.

“I didn’t even park yet!” Alexia yelled after you. “WE TALKED ABOUT EXITING LIKE HUMANS!”

But you were gone. You’d vanished into the building like media day goblins. Alexia stared at the empty seats, her soul slowly peeling off her body. She laid her head against the steering wheel and let out a groan so deep it echoed into another dimension.

A few cars down, Fridolina Rolfö paused mid-sip of her smoothie and turned to Lucy Bronze, who was leaning against the hood of her car.

“…Did you hear that?”

Lucy nodded slowly. “Sounded like someone just got their soul crushed.”

They exchanged a look before making their way over. Frido tapped on the car window. Alexia lifted her head just enough to look like a haunted Victorian ghost.

“Are you… okay?” Frido asked gently.

“No,” Alexia mumbled into the steering wheel.

“What happened?” Lucy asked, already smirking.

Alexia sat up and pointed a dramatic finger in the direction you both had disappeared. “They happened.”

“Which one?”

“Both.” Alexia threw her hands up. “Estrella has something hidden in her backpack. I know it. She’s got that face. The ‘I’m planning chaos’ face. And you—” She gestured vaguely in the direction you had stomped off. “—are in a mood. And I have six interviews today. I cannot babysit two menaces and pretend to be a media darling at the same time. I just want one nice picture. ONE. And I’m gonna end up with Estrella dressed up as god knows what and her sister looking like she’s on her way to commit arson.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Did she actually bring a costume?” Lucy asked, trying not to laugh.

“She claims it’s a protest,” Alexia muttered. “Against… being carded too much. I don’t even know anymore.”

Frido smiled sympathetically and patted Alexia’s shoulder. “I’ll get her to smile.”

Lucy grinned and cracked her knuckles. “And I’ll wrangle Estrella.”

“You would do that for me?” Alexia asked, looking up like she’d just seen angels.

“Absolutely,” Frido said. “But I expect baked goods in return.”

“And I want to be in the good Christmas card this year,” Lucy added.

“Done,” Alexia said, already digging into her glove compartment for emergency thank-you snacks. “There’s chocolate in here if you survive.”

Lucy grabbed a mini Snickers. “I’m going in.”

Frido cracked her neck like she was preparing for battle. “Operation: Smile Like You Mean It begins now.”

As they walked off toward the facility, Alexia stayed behind just a moment longer, staring out the windshield.

“They’re lucky they’re cute,” she muttered, before finally exiting the car to deal with the mess her life had become.

Little did she know, inside the building, Estrella was already putting the whistle around her neck and practicing her best “foul!” voice, while you sat next to a very confused makeup artist silently radiating “do not touch me” energy.

This was going to be a long day.

“Leave me alone, Frido.”

Frido gave you a look. Not a mad look. Not a disappointed look. No, it was worse. It was her “I’m gonna smile at you until you cave” look. The one that had defeated many before you. But you were made of stronger stuff. Hardened by teenage angst, Estrella’s nonsense, and the agony of being dragged to media day against your will.

“I need a smile, kärlek. Captain’s orders,” Frido said, sitting down beside you as the camera crew finished setting up. (Love)

“Leave me alone,” you repeated, staring straight ahead like a statue in witness protection.

“Don’t worry,” the media manager chirped. “We’re just gonna play a fun little game of ‘Who’s Most Likely To?’ Should be quick, easy, and full of laughs!”

Frido beamed. You blinked. Slowly.

“Let’s start with an easy one,” the interviewer said, chipper as ever. “Who’s most likely to oversleep and miss training?”

“Estrella,” you and Frido said at the same time.

“Because she sets seven alarms and sleeps through all of them,” you added flatly.

Frido nodded. “It’s like a symphony of chaos. Honestly impressive.”

“Not when she drags me down with her.”

The interviewer laughed nervously. “Okay! Next one… Who’s most likely to cry during a sad movie?”

“Frido,” you answered immediately.

Frido gasped, clutching her chest. “What? I am not—”

“You cried when the dog in that commercial found his way home.”

“That dog had resilience!”

You stared at her, deadpan. “It was a detergent commercial.”

“HE SMELLED HIS FAMILY.”

The interviewer was losing it. “Okay, next, who’s most likely to get in trouble on media day?”

There was a beat. Both of you said, “Estrella.”

At that exact moment, as if summoned by the sheer force of your mutual exasperation, Estrella leapt into frame like a caffeinated raccoon, launching herself onto your back with an obnoxiously gleeful “WHEEEEE!”

Your soul left your body. Your expression didn’t change, but your eyes said, ‘I am about to commit a crime on camera.’

You stood up, Estrella clinging to your back like a koala, and in one clean motion, threw her off.

“Unhand me, chaos demon,” you said, brushing yourself off.

Estrella hit the bean bag beside the set, bounced up like it was a trampoline, and tackled you to the floor. The camera was still rolling and the media team was thriving. One guy was nearly in tears from laughter.

“Get OFF!” you yelled, grabbing Estrella in a headlock. “You smell like glitter glue and Red Bull!”

“You love it here!” she screamed back, wrapping her legs around your waist like she was practicing jiu-jitsu.

Enter, Lucy and Frido, both with the resigned energy of babysitters at a sugar-fueled sleepover.

“Why is she always on her back?!” Lucy barked, grabbing Estrella by the collar and yanking her off you like she was pulling a cat off a curtain rod.

Frido tried to help you up, only for you to swat her hand away. “I got it,” you muttered, smoothing your slick back with a grumble. “I’m already emotionally injured.”

Estrella was still kicking in Lucy’s arms like a rabid possum. “I had a whole monologue prepared!”

“No,” Lucy said, deadpan. “No monologues.”

“No more caffeine,” Frido added. “And no more sneaking onto interviews!”

The Barca media crew was thrilled. The whole scene went viral within the hour. Clips of your dead-eyed glare as Estrella launched herself onto you were already trending. Fans were obsessed.

“Me when my sibling breathes.”

“She’s fighting for her life.”

“Barça should make a reality show of just these two.”

You were not amused.

The media room at Ciutat Esportiva was packed. Journalists buzzing, cameras flashing, a Barça banner perfectly centered behind the long table where four chairs sat.

In those chairs was, Fridolina Rolfö, poised and smiling. Lucy Bronze, polished and charming. You, arms crossed and already three minutes into regretting everything. And Estrella, practically vibrating in her seat with chaotic energy, legs swinging, sunglasses on indoors, and what looked like a whistle clipped to her collar.

“Thank you all for coming to this special Barcelona Femení media panel,” the moderator began, chipper like they hadn’t just walked into a lion’s den. “Let’s start with a fun one, who on the team brings the best vibes to training?”

Frido leaned into her mic, smiling softly. “I think Patri always brings calm, but also a lot of joy. And Vicky too, she’s young, but she lights up the room.”

Lucy nodded. “Agreed. And obviously, Jana. She’s hilarious even when she doesn’t try to be.”

Estrella threw her hand up like she was in class. “I bring vibes too. Not good ones, but definitely powerful ones.”

The room chuckled. You stared at her, unimpressed.

“My vibes,” she added, leaning forward, “are disruptive. Unfiltered. Deliciously unpredictable.”

Frido let out a nervous laugh. “Yes, Estrella certainly… brings something.”

The moderator pivoted quickly. “Let’s move on. What’s one personal goal you’ve set for the second half of the season?”

“Win the Champions League,” Frido said confidently.

“Stay healthy and keep building our defensive chemistry,” Lucy followed.

Estrella leaned back in her chair. “I would like to… not get carded for saying someone’s haircut looks like a crime.”

You slowly turned your head to her. Glared.

She burst out laughing.

The moderator, barely keeping it together, turned to you. “And you?”

You leaned into the mic, monotone. “Stay out of trouble.”

Estrella wheezed.

You didn’t blink. Just turned to her again with the slow, soul-piercing glare of an older sibling who’s so over this.

“Okay,” the moderator said, definitely enjoying the growing tension, “If you weren’t footballers, what do you think you’d be doing?”

Frido thought for a second, “I’d probably still be in something athletic. Maybe coaching or sports science.”

Lucy nodded. “I always liked kids, so maybe something in education.”

“I’d be a DJ-slash-Instagram-meme-page admin.” Estrella answered, getting scattered laughs.

You blinked. “So…unemployed.”

She slapped the table, laughing so loud a camera wobbled. “YOU’RE JEALOUS.”

You turned to her fully now. “Jealous of what? Your TikTok addiction or your suspension record?”

“Those cards were political!”

“No, they were because you told a ref, ‘Your eyebrows are uneven and so is your judgment.’”

“It was accurate!”

The moderator was now wheezing behind their cue cards. The media room was eating it up. Phones were out. Recordings were on. Journalists were openly laughing.

Frido and Lucy exchanged slow, exhausted glances like they’d rehearsed this before.

“Girls,” Frido said, her voice cutting through the chaos like a disappointed kindergarten teacher. “Can we not fight in front of fifty journalists?”

You and Estrella froze like you were being told off by your mom in public.

Simultaneously, you both muttered, “She started it.”

“I literally didn’t,” Estrella hissed.

Frido gave you both the look— the one that promised consequences if you didn’t reel it in. So you sat back in your chair, arms crossed, your expression once again returning to emotionally bankrupt.

Estrella slumped in hers with a dramatic sigh, muttering something about “oppression.”

The moderator looked like they wanted to kiss Frido’s feet for regaining control.

“Well then! Next question… which of your teammates would survive a zombie apocalypse?”

Frido blinked, considering. “Caro.”

Lucy nodded. “Definitely Caro. She’d build a bunker.”

You leaned in. “I’d feed Estrella to the zombies.”

Estrella, without missing a beat, “I’d taste delicious.”

The entire room lost it. Even Frido laughed, despite herself, while Lucy shook her head, fully regretting ever agreeing to this.

The hallway outside the Barça media photo room was tense. Frido and Lucy stood in front of you and Estrella like two parents about to deliver the most intense heart-to-heart of their lives. You were slumped in your chair, chewing gum like it had offended you. Estrella had her feet propped on a stool and was flipping a whistle around her finger like she was about to cause a security lockdown.

Frido clapped her hands once, loud and sharp.

“Okay. Listen up.”

Estrella blinked, “Yes, coach.”

Frido narrowed her eyes. “Don’t test me.”

Lucy stepped in, folding her arms. “We need to talk about what this day means. To Alexia.”

That made Estrella pause. You looked up briefly, suspicious.

“She’s been planning this media day for months,” Frido said, softening a bit. “You two are all she talks about. She’s been telling everyone how good these pictures are going to be. She’s picked out spots in the house. She has frames ready.”

“She has a Pinterest board,” Lucy added grimly. “A Pinterest board, guys.”

“She rehearsed her smile,” Frido said. “In the mirror.”

“She’s printed reference poses!” Lucy said, scandalized.

Estrella’s mouth parted slightly. “Wait, for real?”

Frido nodded solemnly. “And she said and I quote: ‘These are going to be the kind of pictures that make me feel like my little family is complete.’”

You and Estrella exchanged a slow, loaded look. Your brows furrowed. Her whistle stopped spinning. The hallway went silent.

Lucy whispered to Frido out of the corner of her mouth, “What’s happening?”

Frido whispered back, “I don’t know. Should we stop them?”

“Are they communicating telepathically?”

“What if they’re plotting our demise?”

“Then it was a good run.”

Then you both stood up simultaneously. You, cracking your knuckles. Estrella, cracking her neck.

Frido and Lucy both took a cautious step back.

You looked Lucy dead in the eyes and said, “Fine. For Alexia.”

Estrella adjusted her oversized sunglasses. “Let’s go take these damn pictures.”

Inside the photo room, Alexia stood near the backdrop, nervously checking her phone. She was already in her kit, hair done, looking every bit the Captain of Chaos Control. She had asked the photographer three times if he had enough battery. She was two seconds away from pacing a groove into the floor.

Then the door opened. You strolled in, hands in your pockets, chewing gum with purpose. Estrella followed behind, uncharacteristically calm, not a single whistle in sight.

Alexia blinked like she was hallucinating.

You stopped in front of her. “Let’s get this over with.”

Estrella patted her shoulder. “Let’s make history, Mami.”

Alexia looked behind them, expecting Frido and Lucy to jump out and yell ‘Surprise! They’re AI clones!’ But nothing happened.

Then, miracle of miracles: you and Estrella took your places on either side of her. Smiling. Genuinely.

The photographer blinked in disbelief.

“Alright, let’s start!” he said.

You didn’t groan. Estrella didn’t pull out a clown nose. Nobody shoved anyone off a stool.

The three of you smiled like a perfectly coordinated little football family. Estrella rested her head on Alexia’s shoulder for one. You put your arm around her waist in another. There was even one where Alexia turned to kiss the tops of both your heads while you pretended not to be touched by it.

When it was done, Alexia just stood there, blinking like she was going to cry.

“You guys…” she said softly. “You actually…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Estrella said, waving her off, “don’t get emotional. That’s your job.”

You rolled your eyes. “This better get me out of the next five interviews.”

Alexia was already pulling you both into a hug. “I love you guys.”

Estrella mumbled, “Whatever.”

But she didn’t pull away.

Two weeks later, the framed photo sat proudly above the fireplace in Alexia’s house, perfectly centered, with the caption “My Girls” etched underneath.

Another copy hung right at the entrance of Eli’s house, where no one could miss it. Eli cried when she saw it. Alba teased her for days.

Alexia pointed to it every time someone walked in. “Look at them. Look at my beautiful, normal family.”

Meanwhile, you and Estrella walked by it every day like you didn’t plan the whole thing telepathically.

“Should we tell her?” Estrella once whispered.

You deadpanned, “Let her believe in miracles.”

And Alexia still smiled every time she saw it. Even when Estrella was banned from two training sessions for trying to ref a scrimmage again. Even when you got another warning for telling a La Liga photographer to “crop your face out or else.”

Because no matter what, that picture existed. And to her, it was perfect.

411 notes · View notes

vbecker10 · 6 months ago

Note

I found the prompt “this isn’t a double date, we’re just third and fourth wheeling” and thought it would be perfect for a Loki/reader to be the third and fourth wheel-maybe another couple is trying to set them up and both Loki and reader are alllllllll the way in denial. Would love fluff, idiots to lovers, and female reader character if possible. Thanks so much! 💚

This isn't a Double Date... Right?

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N), Bucky x Natasha

Summary: Natasha has been taking her role as your best friend and personal match maker way too seriously lately, setting you up on dozens of awful blind dates. After finally convincing her to stop, you resume your place as the official third wheel on Natasha and Bucky's date night. Or at least that's what you thought the plan was until you find out Bucky invited Loki to go out with you all and now he's the fourth wheel... because this isn't a double date, right?

A/N: I'm really, really sorry this took so long! I absolutely love this idea, thank you so much for sending this request! I hope you like it! 💚

Also... this is way longer than I thought it was going to be but I just can't seem to finish multi-part fics lately so I didn't want to risk only writing half of it lol

"I hate when you two are being cute," you roll your eyes as you walk into Natasha's apartment. You didn't bother to knock, you never do on blind date nights. The spy and her super soldier boyfriend know your routine by heart and are not at all surprised to see you.

Nat has been setting you up on blind dates for the last four months and each time you come straight to her apartment after. You can't tell who is more excited to see you, Nat because she is a surprisingly hopeless romantic and desperately wants to help her best friend find her perfect match or Bucky because he always has a snack ready to hear about how this date was so much worse than your last one.

Bucky's arms are wrapped around Natasha's waist as she cuts up fruit, his chest pressed against her back. "Hello to you too, grumpy," Nat laughs, shaking her head lightly when you close the door and take off your coat.

"I'm serious, it's gross," you fight back a smile as Bucky steals a piece of strawberry from the cut pile to eat.

"Those aren't for you," she swats his metal hand away before he takes another piece and he chuckles. While she's distracted with Bucky, you reach over the counter, taking a few pieces of fruit and popping them in your mouth. "You're as bad as he is," Nat laughs, throwing the top of a strawberry at you with expert precision. You fail to block the small piece of fruit and wipe your cheek as you bend down to pick it up off the floor.

Resting his chin on Natasha's shoulder he smirks at you, "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess the date didn't go well... as usual."

"I'm going to die alone," you inform the couple, sitting at the island across from them. You drop your head dramatically on the counter and a laugh escapes Bucky.

"No you won't," he says with less sarcasm then you expect. You lift your head slightly to look at him and he smiles, "You're going to tag along with Nat and me until you die."

You lower your head back to the counter heavily with a loud sigh.

"Be nice," she looks up and scolds him.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," Bucky tries to defend his comment. "I just meant cause she always goes out with us when we go on dates anyway."

"Not making me feel better," you groan without lifting your head.

"You are not going to die alone," Nat finishes dicing the fruit and adds it to the blender. "I'm going to find you someone, I haven't given up yet."

You sit up, "Well, I'm giving up. Look Nat, you're an amazing friend and a completely bad ass spy and I love you to death but you are horrible at this whole match making thing."

"Just let me try one more time," she reaches across the counter and grabs your hand. "There's a new guy in-"

You cut her off, "Nat, I'm serious. You set me up with one more weirdo and I'm going to make sure the next mission I assign you to is in the Bermuda Triangle."

You walk quickly down the street, holding your thin jacket closed against the wind as the museum finally comes into view. Nat waves excitedly when she sees you, Bucky's metal arms possessively around her waist as always.

"Sorry, the last debrief took way longer than it should have. Lang was giving the overview of his mission yesterday in ridiculously specific detail," you hug Nat then Bucky. Laughing, you add, "He'd probably still be going on and on if Loki hadn't very strongly suggested he learn to summarize his thoughts before sharing them with everyone."

"Well I'm glad you were able to escape," Nat smiles and links arms with you, turning to walk up the steps.

"Hold up, we're still waiting on someone," Bucky says, putting his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Who?" you raise an eyebrow and look suspiciously at Natasha. "You agreed, no more blind dates and you know I can't stand blind double dates, they're even worse."

She shrugs, "I didn't do anything, I have no idea what he's talking about. Who'd you invite Bucky?"

"Steve?" you guess.

"Oh, there he is," Bucky doesn't exactly answer your question as he looks past you down the street at the mystery person. You and Nat turn to see who he's looking at and your eyes widen in surprise. Loki looks left then right before quickly crossing the street against the light.

As he gets closer you can't help but think he looks amazing as always. He's wearing black dress pants, black dress shirt with the top two buttons open and a dark green pea coat which flows open around him as he walks. Loki raises his hand to wave at Bucky and you can see the surprise in his eyes when he spots you and Nat on the first few steps of the museum. Clearly he wasn't expecting to see anyone other than Bucky which is good, you think, that means this definitely isn't a surprise double date.

Loki smiles as he walks over to the three of you. "Sorry I'm late," he apologies, you and Nat rejoin Bucky on the sidewalk.

"Don't worry about it. I should be thanking you for getting me out of that debrief in the first place," you tell him.

He chuckles, "I did it for purely selfish reasons I assure you but I'm glad it worked out for you. I hadn't realize you and Natasha would be here as well."

"Hopefully that's not a bad thing," you smile, suddenly feeling a bit nervous as he takes a step closer to you. Bucky moves to put his arm around Natasha's waist but you barely notice. You're too busy trying to decide if this is the longest conversation you've ever had with the incredibly hot Asgardian outside of what you needed to discuss for work.

He smiles, his eyes focusing only on you, "I'm not disappointed."

"Good," you rub your hands together from the cold then joke, "We needed a fourth wheel. I'm a bit tired of being an awkward tricycle all the time."

Loki gives you a confused look but when Nat laughs he nods, understanding your meaning. "I know how you feel, I seem to be the third person in Thor and Jane's relationship quite a bit lately. I imagine they're excited to have a night out without me for a change."

"Well their loss is our gain, right?" you reply, your mouth moving faster than your brain. Loki smirks at you and you blow lightly into your hands, looking down in an attempt to pass off your blush for being cold.

When you look down, you miss the wink Bucky gives Natasha and her nodding in approval of his secret plan. "Now, can we please go in?" Nat asks, "It really is way too cold to keep standing out here."

Once inside, you immediately go to the hall to your right, wanting to see the new exhibit and Loki follows you. The two of you move to the first painting in the almost completely empty hall, unaware that Bucky and Nat haven't joined you. You begin to read the small metal information card next to the painting to yourself and Loki leans closer to read over your shoulder. Smiling when you feel him close, you read the rest of the brief description outloud as his eyes drift up to the large oil painting. When you finish, your attention shifts to the painting, enjoying the colors the artist used.

"Would you be interested in a fairly random fact about this piece of art?" Loki asks and you look up at him. You expect to see his signature smirk but instead he seems genuinely unsure of whether you're curious or not as he waits with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh, absolutely," you nod excitedly. "I honestly love random facts and weird trivia. Let's hear it."

He smiles, his posture becoming more relaxed as he tells you what he read about the painting years ago. You listen to him as you both move to the next painting where you once again you read the small card to Loki. After you finish, he describes the method the artist used to mix his paints to get all those different color variations.

At the third painting it's finally your turn to tell Loki something you learned about the painting. Unlike the prince's information which comes from art history books, your fact comes from someone you follow on TikTok but you aren't about to tell him that. When he doesn't respond right away, you immediately get a sinking feeling, filling with worry that you are actually wrong and now he thinks you're an idiot.

After a moment, he smiles. "I've never heard that before but it makes sense." You relax, walking to the next painting as Loki adds, "I have to tell you how nice it is to talk to someone who actually wants to have a conversion with me, especially about something like art. I honestly feel like most of the time, Thor invites me to go out with him and Jane because he thinks if he doesn't, I will just sit in my apartment alone all night."

"Would you?" you ask.

"Most likely yes, I don't enjoy going out alone," he answers. "But I'm perfectly fine sitting in my apartment and reading all night. That was my plan for tonight until I ran into Barnes right before our last meeting."

"So as far as you know then, this isn't a double date right?" you ask. "Nat's been setting me up a lot lately."

He shakes his head, "I honestly had no idea you or Natasha were going to be here. To be fair though, I didn't ask. Barnes said he had an extra ticket to the museum for tonight and told me to meet him here after work. I did think it was a little strange since we've never spent time together outside of missions." He chuckles lightly, "I just figured Thor told him to take me out so he could spend time with Jane."

"Oh, like it's Bucky's turn to babysit you?" you can't help but laugh.

He nods, "Something like that, yes."

You walk to the next painting, quickly falling into a comfortable pattern. You read the card that is placed next to the painting and then either you or Loki shares a fact you've learned about the artist, the subject matter or the style. You try to focus on the beautiful art in front of you but it's hard not to notice how Loki seems to stand a bit closer to you each time you move to a new paniting.

At the last painting in the wing, the back of his hand brushes against yours and you find yourself fighting the urge to thread your fingers between his as you listen to him tell you about the artist's failed attempt at making sculptures. You laugh, envisioning the clay collapsing in a heap around the artist the way Loki describes it.

"Would you like to see the next hall or do you need to find Natasha first?" he asks when you've contained your laughter.

Looking around, you realize for the first time that they aren't in this hall. You assumed they followed you but honestly you were so distracted by Loki you forgot to even check. He smiles, waiting patiently for an answer. "I'm sure they're fine without us," you tell him.

"I agree," he holds out his arm and you take it, blushing as he leads you to the next hall.

You giggle, covering your mouth as you look up at the first painting in the next hall. "Care to explain what's so funny darling?" he asks, your giggles cut short by the sudden use of the nickname.

"I just-" you clear your throat. "No, it's going to sound stupid."

"Tell me anyways," he insists, moving closer to you so his hand brushes against yours.

"Well..." you point to the couple sitting on the bench facing the lake with their arms around each other. "There's Nat and Bucky..." then you point to the woman sitting on the bench next to them. She's eating a sandwich that she very obviously stole from the couples picnic basket while they were distracted with each other, "There's me."

He laughs, "Ah yes, I see it!" You hit his arm playfully and he smirks, "You are much prettier then she is though."

Your face heats up and you barely manage to mumble, "Thanks," in response as Loki walks to the second painting, turning to make sure you follow.

Loki and you walk down the steps of the museum to meet Nat and Bucky about half an hour later. "I see the double date's going well," Nat jokes. "You two snuck off pretty quick," she winks at you.

"We didn't sneak off," you roll your eyes. "And we've already established that this isn't a double date, cause you said you weren't setting me up with people anymore."

"Fine, fine," she says as Bucky puts his hand on her lower back and you all start walking down the street.

"But, this is definitely the best 'not a double date' I've been on ever," you add and she smiles at you over her shoulder. You walk another block and shiver as you wait for the light to change, wishing you wore a warmer coat.

"Cold?" Loki asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

You fold your arms around your body tighter, nodding quickly. "I guess l grabbed the wrong jacket when I was leaving. I didn't think it was going to get this cold out."

"Here," he unbuttons his coat and you shake your head no. "Frost giants don't get cold," he insists as he takes his coat off. "I bought it cause I liked it, not because I need it."

"Well, it does look really good on you," you smile up at him as he puts it over your shoulders.

He smiles when you slip your arms into the sleeves. "I actually think it looks much better on you." You can barely keep from giggling as the blush creeps up your cheeks.

You laugh as you sit next to Loki at the restaurant, your knees touching lightly under the table when he leans closer to you. "Wait, do you ever sit between them when you see a movie?" you ask.

"I hate when you do that," Bucky says from across the table, his contribution to the conversation ignored by both you and Loki.

"No!" Loki laughs loudly, putting down his nearly empty drink as he looks at you. "Y/N, I must say, you truly are an evil genius. I'm absolutely doing that to Thor and Jane next time."

"Or you two could just go to a movie together," Nat suggests with a shrug. "You know, without other people? Like on a real date."

You smile at the thought of spending more time alone with Loki but before either of you can respond, the waitress walks over to your table with the bill. "I've got this," Loki says as he opens his wallet without looking at the bill sitting in front of him.

Bucky shakes his head, "You don't need to do that."

You joke, "Yeah, since this isn't a double date we should just split it." You reach for your bag but Loki waves over the waitress and hands her his credit card.

"Too late," he smiles when she walks away.

He leans back in his seat, his arm settling on the back of your chair. You shift a little closer to him and are pleasantly surprised when he moves his arm to rest across your shoulder. You look up to catch Nat smirking at you as Loki's fingertips trace circles on your upper arm slowly while he finishes his drink.

A few minutes later, the waitress hands Loki his card and the receipt. He takes his arm off of you to put the card back in his wallet and you grab his wrist lightly to stop him. "Wait, is that Tony's card?" you look at him in surprise.

He turns the card over as if he's never seen it before, "Oh, would you look at that?"

You laugh, "Loki!"

"What?" he grins as he puts it away. "Well, I think she deserves a pretty large tip, don't you?" He fills out the receipt and signs the bottom while Nat shakes her head but can't hide her smile.

"He's been looking for that for like a week," Nat says with an eye roll.

"That makes sense," he smirks as he gets up. "I needed to pick up a new series from the bookstore so I... borrowed it."

"Oh, what books did you get?" you ask as you slip on Loki's coat, you look up to catch him watching you with a smile.

"Don't encourage him," Bucky gets up and shrugs on his coat. "And borrowing it means you plan on returning it," he informs Loki.

"I'm going to," Loki responds and opens the door for everyone. "When I've finished using it."

You walk out first and wait for the others, "Do you think Tony would mind if we used it to get some ice cream?"

"I think I'll pass, I'm actually kind of tired," Bucky puts his hands in his pockets.

"Oh I forgot," you joke, "It's past your bedtime old man."

Nat laughs as Bucky folds his arms across his chest. "I'm not an old man," he says in a grumpy tone. "And if I was, that means your date is ancient."

"Okay, first off, this is not a double date and secondly... wait, how old are you?" you look up at Loki.

"1,054," he answers, chuckling lightly when your eyes widen. "But I'll live to be around 5,000 so technically I'm still quite young. Barnes however is older than the age an average human would live to."

Nat puts her arms around Bucky and kisses his cheek, "I'm gonna take my fossil home. You two enjoy ice cream in this freezing weather."

"I hate all of you," Bucky mumbles, turning with Nat to walk down the street.

"No you don't, you're just cranky cause you're tired," you giggle but your breath catches when Loki puts his arm around your waist.

"Ready for dessert?" he smiles and leads you in the opposite direction.

Your hand brushes against Loki's as you cross the street and he intertwines his fingers with yours. You smile and squeeze his hand lightly, continuing down the street in comfortable silence until you reach the Tower. The smiles vanishes from your face when he lets go of your hand but you lean into him when he puts his arm around your waist once inside the lobby.

He pushes the button for the elevator and says, "Thank you Y/N, this is the most fun I've had in months."

"I had a great time too, Loki. Shame it wasn't a double date, right?" you ask when the doors open and you both step inside.

He nods, "It would have been a perfect double date. But since it wasn't, can I take you out on a real date tomorrow night?"

You giggle, "Of course but not a double date."

"Just us," he agrees. After a moment he adds, "I'll admit, I'm looking forward to the end of our first date."

"How come?" you ask a bit confused.

He turns to face you, "Because I would really like to kiss you but I know on Midgard it's typical to wait until the end of a first date."

You look at him in disbelief but the elevator ding distracts you. You both get out and walk down the hall towards your room. "You know... we could just call tonight a date since it pretty much was one," you say as his fingers squeeze yours gently. "The museum, dinner, ice cream, lots of talking and laughing and-"

Loki cuts you off, pressing his lips to yours as you stand outside your apartment. You close your eyes and kiss him back, your hands moving to his lower back as he cups your cheek. When he pulls back he smiles and you say, "I'm assuming you agree tonight was a date then?"

He nods, "And now I'm looking forward to our second date greatly."

"Me too," you kiss his cheek lightly. "Have a goodnight Loki."

"This is your fault you know," Nat says to Bucky who's laying with his head on her lap while they watch TV.

"Goodnight Y/N," he turns and walks towards his apartment.

You watch until he turns a corner and as soon as he's out of sight, you walk quickly down the hall in the opposite direction. A few moments later you swing open the door to Nat's apartment without knocking.

"I know," he mumbles and turns off the show as you nudge him to sit up so there's space for you on the couch between them. "Tell us about your date, Y/N."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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pboogerswbb · 6 months ago

Text

SO IT GOES - prologue

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, none Wordcount: 5.6K A/N: LILA IS BACK with a new series. this is the prologue, purely here to give people an insight to our oc Izara (who i already love btw), so not as much paige here, but she will make a much bigger entrance come first chapter of the series. again, ty so much for everyone who hyped this up based solely on the synopsis i wrote and ty for your support! i am so excited for this series you guys don't even know!! this one will be a looooong one so buckle up

Passport? Check. Silk pillowcase? Check. Laptop? Check.

The list seemed to go on and on, filling out three sheets of paper, both front and back. Some people called it excessive but to me it was necessary. It was better to be over prepared than leave things up to chance. I had been making lists all my life, I wasn’t about to stop now. They have worked for me so far.

Flipping through the maroon moleskine notepad in my hands, my green eyes skim over one page after another - grocery list, changes I must make to my skincare routine, presents to buy next Christmas, wedding registry. There’s a sting in my chest as I stop, my french manicured hand brushing over the soft paper: Vitamix blender, Ginori 1735 cake plate, Baccarat candlestick set.

Inhale, exhale. The pain won’t relinquish. I bring my hand to the soft cotton of my turtleneck, rubbing soothing circles on my chest just like my mum used to when I was little.

“There you go Izara, don’t you feel better? It’s a magic trick, it takes the sadness away.”

The black suitcase is laid out on the floor in front of me, clothes folded neatly in their own nooks. I keep rubbing and rubbing but the sadness won’t go away. So I stop, my fingers carefully flipping a few pages forward.

Move to The US

Pros

Good career move?

New experiences

Cons

Leaving my family and friends

Boss talked about promotion for me in the next year

Leaving London

Visa hassle

Expenses

Wedding delayed off

Leaving Jasper (pro?)

My memories of the day resurface, the way I was locked in my car, dreading walking inside where my husband-to-be was expecting me. I had spent all day trying on wedding dresses near Soho, my mom and her sister fawning over Jasper the entire day. To everyone he was the perfect man, charming, nurturing and protective. But they didn’t know half of what I put up with. All day I wanted to scream, to throw a fit, tell everyone that they don’t know anything about my perfect fiancé. But instead I kept my mouth shut, and waited till I got into my car to cry. I didn’t like being vulnerable, for my relatives to see me weak. I had told no one about the conflicting feelings inside me, or the way I had applied for an open position to be a social media producer for the Dallas Wings. That very same morning the position had been offered to me.

So I sat in my car with my trusty lists, as usual. The moment I wasn’t sure whether to write leaving Jasper into the pros or the cons, I knew I had to go. It had been gnawing at my subconscious, making me sick to my stomach. Even according to the list this decision made absolutely no sense. But in my gut I knew had to go - desperately so.

“Izzie, are you done yet? We have to leave soon.”

My brother bursts into the room, watching the way I had undone all the packing that I had naturally finished a week prior. Clothes were all over my childhood bedroom, piles of them standing neatly. After calling off the wedding with Jasper I had decided to move back home, not wanting to stay with him and his temper under the same roof.

“What the hell have you done here?” He chuckles, shaking his head as I stand in the middle of the bedroom, notebook in hand, staring at the half empty suitcase.

“I think I’ve gone crazy Kiran,” I admit with a sigh. Two weeks ago when I accepted the job I had been so sure - now I wasn’t. This was insane, mad, completely, utterly unlike me. To get up and move, to disappoint my parents, to disappoint everyone. I just couldn’t stand it anymore, my life here. Every year I grew older I became more and more unsure. Now at 25 I felt like a complete fool, not knowing anything except this wasn’t the life I wanted. Something had to change - I had to change.

My younger brother walks over, wrapping a hand around my shoulder.

“Yes you have.”

I scoff and push him off. “That’s not helpful!”

He chuckles and begins to pack for me, just as neatly as I had done earlier. Guess being high-strung ran in the family.

“It is mad. But that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do,” my brother mumbles, neatly folding my black cashmere sweater. “I think it’s good Iz, no matter what mum and dad are saying. Don’t mind them. They’ll come around.”

“I wasn’t raised not to mind them,” I chuckle, looking out the window, ours just one of many of the semi-detached houses extending along the road I grew up on. The cherry trees had just bloomed, pale pink blossoms covering the branches, decorating the pavement.

“Funny that, neither was I,” Kiran laughs and finally zips up my suitcase, picking it up and preparing to carry it to the car. “You got everything? Passport? Wallet? Documents?”

I nod with a smile. Even if we didn’t look almost exactly the same (though, we certainly did), it was impossible not to pick up on the family resemblance.

“I have everything.”

The drive to Heathrow Airport is quiet. Truthfully, I was far too nervous to speak. I could feel my stomach twisting uncomfortably, a nauseating weight on my chest. I watch as we pass the streets of London, the only streets I had ever known. We pass the red double-decker buses, the abandoned phone boxes, eventually making our way onto the highway.

London is cruel, relentless to its residents, yet simultaneously captivating and thrilling. I had travelled enough to know there was no place like it. Nowhere else I could hop on the Northern Line in the bohemian, eclectic Camden, switch tubes and step out to Canary Wharf, where skyscrapers stand tall above you and the streets are buzzing with men in suits, just in 40 minutes or so. The diversity of the city, the way it could feel like a large metropolis as much as a small charming town all at once, depending on where you were. I loved this city, I always would. But it was time for me to move on at least for now. I wasn’t getting what I wanted, not that I knew what that was in the first place.

“Can’t believe my sister’s gonna be working for the league,” Kiran interrupts the silence. “When you meet Bronny you must tell him hi.”

I let out a laugh, turning to look at him. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening anywhere else except your delusions.”

“Hey, you never know!” He scoffs as we pull up to terminal 3, the butterflies growing deep in my abdomen.

“You’re such a guy,” I roll my eyes. “I’m working for the WNBA and all you want is to say hi to Lebron James.”

“Well who else is there, Steph?”

In reality, my brother loved basketball, he was the sole reason I knew the first thing about the sport. But he loved pushing my buttons more - and nothing pushed my buttons further than women being underestimated by men.

“A’ja, Stewie, Sabrina, Jewell? Arike plays for the Wings!”

“Never heard of any of them.”

I smack him on the shoulder as he’s parking the car, making him yelp. He was joking of course, but I wasn’t in the mood. Some would argue I was rarely in the mood to joke around but it’s just how I am. High-strung, intense. It was just me, I couldn’t help it. You know how some people have that spark to them? The kind where they step in the room and the place just lights up? That wasn’t me, and I was okay with it. At least I got shit done.

“Okay sorry,” Kiran whines, rubbing his arm. Neither of us wanted to get out, to face the goodbye looming ahead. So we sit for a while.

“Paige Bueckers was drafted there though, right?” My brother asks, staring at the big sign for Terminal 3 above the sliding doors.

“Yeah, she was.”

“She’s tough,” he says and I nod in agreement. I had followed her college career quite a bit, saw her go through injury and rise to the top again. She wasn’t my favourite player, I preferred focusing on the league - but it was undeniable she was a generational talent.

“She’s also really fit,” my brother adds, making me snort.

“Kiran, I'm fairly sure she’s also really gay,” I laugh. My brother turns to me with shock written all over his face.

“You really think so?”

I roll my eyes, “I- well yes. It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

“Damn,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Takes one to know one I guess.”

Another smack on his shoulder, another yelp spilling from his lips. One drunken night years ago I had come out to Kiran as bisexual and now it was his favourite joke in the world. I don’t think he realised I was serious, or that at points in my life I had dated girls as well. Honestly though, I hadn’t even thought about girls that way since I met Jasper. Not that I’d found any girl remotely attractive in the past years, perhaps it had just been a phase.

“You’re going to come back with some 6 '5 American basketball lesbian aren’t you?” He teases, making me roll my eyes.

“We need to head inside,” I laugh, climbing out of the car. I didn’t know much about what would happen, but I certainly wasn’t going to come back with anyone. The time I spend in Dallas would be time dedicated to me, to figuring out who I was, what I wanted. I had no time for love.

I pull the suitcase towards the doors, Kiran on my tail until we both come to a halt right inside. Quickly I check my purse again - passport, phone, wallet, charger, documents. All there. Just one thing left to do.

I turn to my brother and hug him. We had never spent more than a month apart since the day he was born. I had always been the annoying, bossy older sister, ordering him around since he could barely talk. But still, it had all been out of love. I wanted him to be safe and it was my job to protect him. He was my baby brother after all, even now at 23 as he stands 6’0 tall.

“Take care of yourself Izzie,” he whispers, squeezing me tight.

“You too, and of mum and dad please,” I tell him, holding my breath in as to not let any tears fall, though they’re already burning in the corners of my eyes.

We pull apart, and he smiles at me assuringly. “Call mum when you land, we don’t need her getting loopy.”

“I will,” I chuckle. There’s a few seconds of silence that stretches across us, our green eyes locked in each other’s gaze. We don’t need to say these things out loud, we both knew we loved each other.

“Well, have a safe flight and have fun in Dallas,” Kiran says and waves bye, turning around to walk away. “YEEHAW!” He turns around and yells before slipping out through the sliding doors. Laughing, I watch him, the ache in my chest growing exponentially. It was all becoming real. Me in Dallas, Texas.

A couple hours and a long security line later I’m sitting on the ascending plane, gazing out of the window. I stretch out my legs, glad to be short enough to fit in the seats comfortably. I’m holding a copy of War and Peace by Tolstoy in my hands, simply flipping through the pages, my mind too conflicted to focus as I watch the ground beneath me retreating further every second.

I could see Big Ben, The London Eye, Thames stretching across the length of the city, shrinking until we ascend through a thick layer of clouds, making it impossible to see anything. It’s only then I let myself cry, the first tears after ending my engagement only a couple weeks prior. I had no other plan, I needed this to work out desperately.

Jet lag was killing me, but I knew I could never allow it to show. It was the following day of arriving in Dallas. I spent all of yesterday sleeping, trying to let my body adjust to the time difference before my first day on the job.

Of course I had woken up three entire hours before my alarm went off. So when I get to the first media team meeting of the season, I have already had time to drink two coffees, go to the gym, shower, shave, do my jet black hair just to have a crisis and pin it up in a slicked back bun, do my makeup and send emails and make calls to the wedding venue to cancel it. I was on fire and wouldn’t let a little jetlag hold me down.

The maroon turtleneck and black slacks I was wearing had already been decided on the evening before as to avoid any clothing disaster. I wasn’t exactly sure how to dress for a job like this - but as I step into the tall building from the busy streets of Dallas I can tell I’m overdressed. Many of the people around my age are dressed much more laid back than I’m used to, wearing hoodies and jeans - and to my biggest shock of all, sneakers.

As I walk across the entryway the sound of my heels tapping on the tiles echo around the building, my cheeks turning bright red. I knew people were turning to stare, but instead of looking back and checking, I rush to the elevator, slipping in through the doors and facing my reflection. Maybe I was overdressed, but I look nice. The gold earrings decorating my ears contrast against my light brown skin and black hair, making them pop. I smooth over my belt, fixing the way the golden buckle of it was sitting on my slacks when a man around my age walks in just as the doors are about to close.

“Hey there!” He greets me, a charming smile on his face and brown eyes twinkling. His friendliness is so intense it nearly startles me.

“Oh, hey!” I reply, turning towards him. For a moment he looks at me, blinking, perhaps waiting for me to keep talking but when I don’t he’s quick to pick up my slack.

“I’m Trey, I do media stuff for the Wings. Basically a glorified cameraman,” he explains lightheartedly.

“I’m Zari, they just hired me to do social media actually,” I reply, shaking his hand firmly just like my dad always taught me to. There’s a sliver of recognition on Trey’s face as he takes in my words.

“Oh yeah! They said they hired someone new! Didn’t mention you were a Brit tho. Well shit we’re prolly gon’ be working together a lot then,” he says. It’s at that moment I decide that his enthusiasm isn’t fake even though it’s suspiciously intense. Maybe he’s just an energetic guy - maybe he’s just an American.

“I suppose yes!” I chuckle and look over the buttons of the lift. “So, perhaps you know which floor I need to go to then because I don’t?”

“Oh sure thing.”

Pressing on the number 10, the elevator finally begins to move upwards. I’m fiddling with the rings around my fingers, a nervous habit I had.

“You nervous?” Trey asks, picking up on my queues quickly. Guess I wasn’t as composed as I’d liked.

“A bit,” I admit.

Trey chuckles and wraps an arm around my shoulder comfortingly - or I suppose it’s meant to be comforting but I didn’t particularly find it so. “You’ll do good, everyone’s chill here. Except the boss but you get used to her. You can relax, Zari.” As much as the man’s enthusiasm and touchiness shocked me, I was glad to have someone show me where to go instead of wandering around the floors aimlessly.

In a corridor full of doors Trey picks the right one, opening it for me. Inside we find a team of 10 people or so sitting around a table, their discussion immediately coming to a halt when we step in, all eyes turning to me. I feel unease settle over me, but instead of panic I inhale and exhale. I knew I could do this, this was the only plan I had. I had never not had a plan B, a plan C before. This had to be it.

“You must be Izara,” a gravelling voice says as a red haired woman, likely in her 50s, stands up. She’s dressed much more corporate, a fitted blazer and a pencil skirt accentuating her curves. I immediately notice her brows, thin and sharp, appearing almost angry. I didn’t have to be told who this was, Trey’s description had been colourful enough for me to know she was my boss.

“Yes, well I go by Zari actually, if you don’t mind,” I say in a friendly tone, walking over in my black stilettos to shake her hand.

“You kids and your nicknames, oh well. Zari’s fine, but don’t complain if I forget,” she sighs, clearly already bothered. “I’m Linda Halford, the managing media director for the Dallas Wings. We spoke on the phone.”

Her eyes are blue and piercing, but there’s something about her straight forwardness that feels intriguing in contrast to the excessive friendliness of everyone else I’d met so far. Hell, even the cab driver tried to strike up a conversation after my flight. I wasn’t sure if I liked Linda or feared her - perhaps a bit of both.

“It’s nice to meet you in person,” I smile, sitting myself down on the chair Linda pulls out for me right next to her. All eyes were on me of course, the new girl. I just had to get through the first week and I’d be old news. Good old boring Izara. Just get through the week.

“I hope your travels went well,” Linda says distractedly, scrolling through a document on her laptop. As I open my mouth to answer, she keeps talking.

“Now, there are many big changes this year, and our media team has been… not up to par so to speak,” she glances up at Trey, and a couple of girls sitting next to him who I suppose I would be working with as well.

“Thanks to Bueckers, we’re about to have a lot more eyes on us. So I hired Izara-” Zari. Just call me Zari. I bite the inside of my cheek not to correct her, she didn’t seem like the type of woman you correct. “and she’s gonna help us. She’s here to innovate, to come up with ideas to boost online exposure and to boost clicks. We need to get active on Tiktok, and whatever the kids use. I need daily content. No more editing videos for weeks before posting them on Youtube, Trey.”

“My bad,” Trey says, making everyone chuckle, his eyes sparkling when they land on me.

Linda looks at him disapprovingly before continuing.

“We are sitting on a goldmine now guys. Paige Bueckers has over 2 million followers on Instagram. She is incredibly marketable, how do we use her best?” Linda asks, everyone going silent immediately, looking around, waiting for someone to bite. Fine, I will.

Clearing my throat I begin. “Well, I think it’s important that while we do use her to get clicks, we don’t make the Wings the “Paige Bueckers team” and repeat the same mistakes I personally think Indiana Fever did with CC,” My voice is steady, sure, even though deep inside I’m not quite certain about what I’m saying. I pause, composing myself - if there was one thing I was good at it was selling things with confidence. Even when I wasn’t.

“I think we use her for clicks, make loads of content with her but use that content to uplift other players and the whole team. Not just Bueckers, not just Arike, but everyone.”

Linda nods. “Yes, Izara. How do we do that?” Zari. Just say Zari.

I shrug. “A lot of Paige’s fans are young, I’m not sure if some of them even watch the sport at all. So we try to get them intrigued. Not posting purely basketball content, but including some fan service should help with that, incentivise the young girls to get involved with the sport. There needs to be a balance.”

To my shock, when I raise my eyes from the table, Linda is smiling. It’s not the warmest smile, but one nevertheless.

“And this is why we had to hire someone all the way from England, because you guys couldn’t figure this out in this hellhole,” Linda scolds my colleagues. The praise feels good, but I really didn’t want to come off as a show off or soon my only friend in all of Dallas, Texas would be Linda Halford.

“Good job Zari, welcome to the team,” the redhead says firmly before returning to her notes. “Okay tomorrow we are all having a little Dallas Wings get together. The coaches, players, everyone so be prepared to go out after work.”

As I write this down in my calendar I’m interrupted by Linda again. “Izara.”

“Yes?” I ask.

“By the end of tomorrow I’m expecting you to be friendly with Bueckers. You’re gonna be working together a lot, I need you on her good side.”

“Thank God!” I groan to myself, kicking off my black stilettos the second I step into my new home. The league had provided me with an apartment until the end of the season. It was modern, nice, sleek but so incredibly impersonal it pained me. It didn’t feel like me at all, the blank white walls, the dull grey furniture. It wasn’t home.

I crash into the couch face first, mixture of jet lag and stress of the first day on the job taking over. Not only was I the new girl, but I was also the English girl. All day I’d been asked if we really eat beans on toast, and if I’d ever seen the Queen - mind you she passed in 2022.

With too much left to do, I only let myself rest for a few minutes before getting up reluctantly, tiptoeing to my bedroom to start undressing. Throwing on a matching set of knitted cream coloured sweater and pants, I let my hair down, finally feeling comfortable.

Suddenly I hear a loud crash from the hallway, followed by even louder giggles and muffled yelps echoing around the building. Too curious about my neighbours, I step into my slippers and carefully open the door to see what’s going on.

“Bro, it’s not that heavy,” an accented voice groans probably a floor below me. Heavy steps on the stairs are closing in. Two people, I think.

“Lou, you’re kidding right?” Another girl complains, her voice bright.

“You’re too weak, just give it to me,” the other person argues, steps approaching me.

“Ha, no way, you’re just gon’ break my new plates. Ion trust you.”

“Next time you’re getting an at-home deliver- oh hey!”

A brunette girl with her hair down, only in basketball shorts and a sports bra sees me as she turns the corner, meeting my gaze as I peek through my door. She’s holding a cardboard box, full of pans and pots, hair sticking to her forehead from the humidity.

Suddenly the other girl appears, blonde, hair in a bun but other than that pretty much wearing the exact same thing.

“Who you talkin to- oh,” the blonde notices me, her blue eyes so intense my knees nearly buckle.

“Sorry, we’re being really loud, we’re gonna try and keep quiet,” the brunette apologises. The blonde is still watching me, never breaking eye-contact. Feeling uneasy, my eyes flicker to the brunette and I smile politely.

“That’s fine, I was just checking if you were okay?” I ask. The blonde walks past my door, my eyes lingering for a millisecond on the way her biceps flex as she carries a large and apparently heavy box of plates towards the next flight of the stairs.

“We’re good, sorry ‘bout that,” the blonde answers, her voice now much quieter, less lively than before when it echoes around the halls.

“Okay well, maybe next time you should get at-home-delivery?” I suggest, watching as the girls struggle slowly up the stairs before retreating back into my apartment.

“That’s what I SAID!” The brunette complains loudly. I can still hear them bickering when I close the door, a smile spreading to my face. The first time I’ve genuinely laughed since I landed.

It’s as if I knew those girls from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place it. Something about them was so familiar. It’s not till I hear them jogging back down for the next batch of boxes to carry upstairs, their voices loud enough to echo into my apartment, when I realise.

“Paige I’m about to call Bob Bueckers to come help us soon, I’m dead serious.”

“You don’t got my dad’s number.”

“Pretty sure I do!”

Oh. Peeking out through the peephole my suspicions are confirmed. Walking past my door it indeed is Paige and Lou, bringing more kitchenware upstairs. And I didn’t even recognise them. I look down at my knitted set with a deep sigh. So much about being professional huh? I better make a good impression tomorrow.

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#paige bueckers #lilas writing #so it goes #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x female oc #wnba x oc

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hoonieyun · 2 months ago

Text

final girl

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader x park sunghoon

warnings: slasher horror movie themes, mentions of death and murder, blood, true crime obsession, psychopathic behavior, guns, physical violence, threats, violent activity, a little suggestive, serial killer behavior, 18+ not proofread

wc: 2361

the sound of jake’s heavy footsteps behind you sound a lot closer than they seem, it was like the fear that this whole ordeal has instilled in you has corrupted your perception. in a moment of fear, you decide to turn around as you’re running up the stairs which turns out to be a big mistake as jake takes this as an opportunity to gain on you, his hand tightly gripping your ankle; causing the both of you to fall onto the steps of the stairwell.

a grunt leaves your lips as you try and get away from jake, a crazed look in his eyes as he tries to tighten his grip on your ankle and pull you towards, but with your free leg your foot comes in contact with his nose; causing him to let go and allowing you to scramble back onto your feet.

you use that time to run away and find a place to hide, choosing the first room you find that was open which just so happens to be jay’s bedroom but before you’re even able to slam the door shut behind you; jake is pushing into the room. his strength was unmatched to yours and it leads you to falling onto jay’s bed. glancing over at jake, you couldn’t even look at him the same.

your once best friend who you, at some point, loved so much; was now someone you couldn’t look at with nothing but disgust. you slowly crawl backwards on jay’s bed as jake towers over you. his knife held tightly in his hand was all you could look at, “i don’t wanna hurt you..

yn.. i love you. i promise i don’t wanna hurt you, please don’t make me hurt you.. i can convince heeseung to keep you alive. we don’t have to kill you. just– all you have to do is say that you’re mine and everything will be fine..”

jake’s gaze was glued onto your face, you could only imagine the type of frightened expression you had on your face– “you don’t want to hurt me..?” you ask, a tremble in your voice and jake just nods as he gets closer to you. his face was just a foot away while his hand slowly made its way to hold your face.

if you didn’t have a plan in mind, his touch would’ve made your skin crawl– and it did, but you couldn’t let it show. jake was too focused on your face that he didn’t notice your hand creeping towards the guitar that was laid to the side of jay’s bed.

“well.. i want to hurt you.” and before jake can react, you’re swinging the guitar with whatever strength you had left and whacking jake. the guitar cracks and breaks in several pieces as jake stumbles off of the bed, freeing you. a pain groan and cough leaves his chest as you run away, throwing the guitar neck at jake as you leave.

“sorry jay, i’ll get you a new guitar..” you mutter, running away and shutting the door behind you.

you make your way back downstairs in hopes of finding jay or aiding sunghoon in some way but before you could even get to sunghoon, you see jay laying on the floor of the kitchen with heeseung standing over him. his knife gripped between his gloved fingers, preparing to finish jay off the way jake couldn’t.

with quick thinking, you rush over to them and hurl the blender towards heeseung’s head. heeseung staggers over, grunting as the glass blender shatters over his head while you quickly help jay off of the floor and back to the living room to get sunghoon.

now that you knew sunghoon was alive, all you had to do was survive and escape, which is a lot more said than done.

before exiting the kitchen, you grab a knife of your own to have some sort of protection, if heeseung and jake wanted to gut you with blades, then two could play that game. you’re running behind jay, watching him crouch down to his brother and help him up, a sigh of relief leaves your lips as you see sunghoon is still conscious but that sigh soon turns into a sharp gasp as two strong hands snatch your body from behind.

jake, who was waiting in the shadows, wraps his hands around your throat and waist. pulling you flush towards his body, “drop it.” he whispers into your ear and you have no choice but to drop the one piece of protection you had. the knife hits the carpet with barely a sound before jake is whispering in your ear again.

“good girl… i’m glad you know how to listen.”

his words make you feel sick but fearing for your life; you aren’t able to do anything but stand pushed up against jake’s body as he holds your life in his hands. the knife pressed to your neck was cold, despite being used tonight, and his breath on your skin made the hair rise on the back of your neck.

your gaze is fixed on jay who is tending to sunghoon, putting pressure on his gash after freeing him from his restraints and the gag in his mouth. everyone’s eyes shoot towards the front when someone bursts through, “fbi, hands where i can see them!” taeyong emerges from the door and for once you feel relief knowing that someone has come to save you and your friends.

jake stiffens behind you at the sight of taeyong holding a gun that was directed towards him. you could tell that he was slightly thrown off, hearing him swallow the nerves down his throat as his grip tightens on your waist and neck. “jake, drop the knife..” taeyong warns but your joy of being saved is short lived when a knife is suddenly pierced through his neck, blood pouring down his clothes as he coughs.

taeyong’s body drops to the floor and you’re left with your mouth ajar as your only chance of surviving was now lying in a pool of his blood.

“that was easy.” heeseung says as he snatches the knife and walks over taeyong’s body, cleaning it off with his glove. “so.. who’s next?” he asks, pointing his knife towards the twin brothers, moving it side to side as if he was playing eeney meeney miney moe. “actually..” heeseung says, bending over and grabbing the gun from taeyong’s lifeless hands. you were afraid that he was going to resort to shooting you all instead of his traditional knife but all heeseung does is empty the bullet chamber and tosses the weapon aside.

“please, you didn’t think i was going to use that? gross.. i may be a serial killer but i’d never use a gun. a knife is way more fun and… satisfying.” he says, a tight lipped smile on his face. you struggle against jake’s grip, writhing under his grasp but he isn’t letting up.”you know yn.. none of this would’ve ever happened if that fucker right there never came into the picture.” he says, pointing his knife at sunghoon who was furrowing his thick eyebrows at jake.

you couldn’t help but feel pain and guilt while you looked at him. pain and agony paired with anger was painted across his face and all you could think about was the fact that maybe jake was right. none of this would’ve ever happened if you never met sunghoon, let alone became his girlfriend; jake probably would’ve confessed at some point and maybe you would’ve dated him instead..

these thoughts run through your mind as you weigh your options and it seemed like there was truly only one option in your head that seemed the most possible.

“it’s not too late, baby.. you could still be mine and all of this would be over.” jake whispers, pressing a slight kiss onto the shell of your ear. your lips quivered as you looked at sunghoon and for a moment, it was just the two of you. like all of the dangers in the room disappeared and it was simply you and sunghoon standing together. you had a silent agreement and it was as if he could read your mind with the way he gave you a small nod.

“okay..” you muttered and jake repeated it back to you in the form of a question.

“ok.. i’ll be yours jake. just like how you want.” you confessed, tears in your eyes as you turn around when jake’s grip loosens. you take that opportunity to turn around and face him, gently placing your hand on his cheek as you stare into one another’s eyes. “really?” he asks and you nod in response. “i forgive you.. please don’t hurt me, jake…” you tried your best to not let your tears fall. sincerity was dripping from your words and jake couldn’t feel any happier to hear what you were saying.

only if it were true.

your hand finds its way to the knife in his and you snatch it away and jump out of the way just as sunghoon lunges forward and tackles jake to the ground. his shoulders pummeling into jake’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. jay watches this play out and follows suit, tackling heeseung before he could interfere while you scramble to figure out what to do next. you watched the four boys wrestle with one another, jake and sunghoon are trading punches while jay is sitting on top of heeseung, letting him have it.

you needed to find a way to gain some leverage and that was when you remembered that you weren’t entirely hopeless. the night that you had come up with the plan and told sunghoon you needed to go somewhere, you met with someone you had been speaking to and bought a firearm from him– knowing that you’d be able to use it in some way to help you. and that was now. you run towards the closet that they had used to hide sunghoon and your hunch was right, there on one of the hooks was your bag.

rummaging through it quickly, you feel your fingers graze the cold metal of the gun and with a swift motion to ensure that there were still bullets inside of it. “one, two, three- five.. ok.” you count to yourself as you load the gun back up and with the click of the safety, everyone’s eyes are on you as you aim the gun at jake.

“get the fuck off of him..” you warn as you threaten jake who now found himself on top of jake, hammering down his fist onto your boyfriend’s face. jake brings his hands up in submission, eyes wide at the gun in your hands, “woah.. pretty girl, let’s calm down, ok?” he says but his words only piss you off even more.

sending one warning shot into the ceiling, jake flinches and climbs off of jake. sunghoon and jay limp to your side as you keep your gun aimed at the two people in front of you. you were all in a standstill as the tension in the room continues to get thicker and thicker.

the gun in your hands was getting heavy and it was getting harder to breathe the longer you pointed the gun at the two people you once called friends.

jake suddenly dashes towards you and almost like it was an instinct, you fire three bullets into his chest. everyone gasps at your action, jake who was once standing and running towards you is halted in his path when the bullets shoot through him. blood moistens the fabric of his clothes as he falls to his knees, one last glance into your eyes as he falls forward.

heeseung, who was standing to the side, watches this in anger as his once perfect plan was now falling apart. he grabs the knife by his feet and when he rushes forward you try to shoot him but in your state of shock, you miss.

a second attempt at shooting heeseung fails as the bullets in your gun had been used up, “shit!” you exclaim and as you prepare for the impact from heeseung while sunghoon moves himself in front of you, shielding you from the danger but it never comes as another gunshot rips through the air.

heeseung falls forward with a thud and reveals detective irene, holding a gun that was aimed to where heeseung was just standing. the three of you look at irene with wide eyes as you soon realize both assailants have now been taken care of and irene was here to save you.

you and the twins make your way over to irene but jake suddenly lunges upwards in an attempt to grab sunghoon but you’re quick to grab the gun from irene and shoot him in the chest one more time. his grip on sunghoon’s leg loosens as he looks at you once again.

“i would’ve never hurt you, i love you too much..” jake coughs as blood from his mouth splatters the carpet. you blink at his lifeless body while irene escorts all of you out of the hellhole that was this house. before leaving, you decide to shoot heeseung again, causing everyone to whip their heads around to the sound, “just making sure that fucker’s dead..” you say, handing the gun back to irene as you and your friends finally walk through the door; leaving the gruesome crimescene behind.

the cold night air nips at your bruised skin as you walk hand in hand with sunghoon, who easily slips his hand into yours; a sense of comfort that you haven’t felt in so long. you rest your head on sunghoon’s shoulder as jay leans on the support beam of his front porch.

the sounds of sirens get louder as you look into the distance, the colors of red and blue bleed into the night sky, and for once in a long time; you breathe a sigh of relief knowing that it wouldn’t be followed by something that would make your breath get caught your throat shortly after.

back - masterlist - next

detectives notes: the decelis killers have been identified as sim jaeyun and lee heeseung, who orchestrated and committed the murders. both assailants are deceased, leaving 3 survivors, yn, sunghoon, and jay who are now in police custody for questioning and medical aid.

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

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#kiki diaries #enhypen #en-diaries #kpop #kpop au #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #enhypen au #fanfiction #enha #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader

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cornliastreett · 22 days ago

Text

ALREADY OVER ⎯⎯ chapter two

george clarke x singer!reader

NAVIGATION !

ALREADY OVER MASTERLIST !

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

001. NOTE

just a reminder this is set in 2022!

It was a rare kind of sunny afternoon in London — just bright enough to sit by the patio doors at Simon and Talia’s house and let the sun shine through the glass onto the dining room table. The room smelt like garlic and toasted wraps, and the playlist running through the speaker was an easy mix of R&B and pop.

Y/N was stirring an iced oat latte with a straw that Talia had made her, half-listening to Freya rant about something Josh had done.

“If Josh tries to get me to drink one more protein smoothie that tastes like wet cardboard, I’m going to throw his blender out the window.” Freya dropped onto the chair opposite Y/N at the table, her oversized hoodie nearly swallowing her whole as she grabbed her coffe like it was a lifeline.

Talia, halfway through slicing cucumbers at the kitchen island, didn’t even look up. “Is this about the ‘bulk phase’ again?”

Freya groaned. “Yes. He says I ‘don’t support his fitness journey’ because I won’t drink his chalk-shake monstrosities. I said if he wants support, he can have it with a side of oat milk and flavour.”

Y/N burst into laughter as she leaned over to grab a handful of crisps from a bowl in the middle of the table. “Didn’t he try to convince you to do a couples workout last week?”

“I’m still sore,” Freya deadpanned. “Emotionally.”

Talia finally looked up, smirking. “You say this, but at least he didn't ask you to film it.”

Y/N snorted into her drink. “Honestly, that’s so true. Both of you are so lucky you can keep most of your relationship private.”

Freya rolled her eyes dramatically. “But all I wanted was a nice Sunday lie-in. Instead, I ended up doing jumping lunges while he shouted things like ‘Let’s go!’ in my face.”

Talia had finally finished in the kitchen, placing the chopped cucumber into the salad bowl and bringing it over to the table. She placed it in the middle before sitting down beside Y/N.

“How brave of you. You’re both survivors,” Y/N added, holding her iced latte in a mock toast. “To dating Sidemen.”

They all clinked drinks in a very uncoordinated, very on-brand moment of solidarity before bursting into laughter.

The three of them dissolved into conversations about life as the late afternoon sun streamed through the patio doors. The table was scattered with wraps, crisps, and half-finished salad prep, as casual and familiar as any proper girls' lunch should be.

"You have been suspiciously quiet today," Talia had twisted herself to face Y/N, arm resting on the back of her own chair. "What's going on?"

"Me?" Y/N raised her eyebrows at the older woman.

"Yeah, you."

Freya nodded in agreement, leaning forward on her chair and resting her elbows on the table. "She's right, not like you to be so quiet. You've barely spoken about yourself all afternoon." Not that Y/N was so self-absorbed that she was constantly talking about herself, but it was weird that she hadn't told the girls anything about what was going on with her lately, especially when the whole idea of lunch was for a proper catch up.

Y/N shrugged. "There's not really anything to say," which was nothing but the truth. "I haven't been up to much, or anything at all." Y/N hadn't exactly done anything exciting recently. She had been in the studio working on songs but nothing solid enough to tell the girls about.

"No disaster dates to tell us about?" If there was one thing Y/N always had up her sleeve, it was a date story that had the girls either gasping in complete shock or on the floor crying with laughter, so Talia was surprised she didn't have anything to say.

"I actually haven't been on a date in months, and, I don’t know… it’s been nice not answering to anyone.”

Freya tilted her head. “No flings? No dating app disasters? Not even a tiny crush?"

"Nada." Y/N replied, taking a long sip from her drink—her second coffee of the afternoon. "Haven't met anyone in months who’s even made me think about dating again." She was ready to pivot the conversation, already searching for a new topic, but then a face flickered in her mind. Just for a second—brown eyes, crooked grin, that ridiculous laugh. And apparently, her expression betrayed her, because Talia was suddenly leaning in, eyebrows knit with suspicion.

"Well, that was a big fat lie, wasn't it?"

And it seemed Freya had noticed too. "Spill. Right now."

Y/N let out a sigh, knowing there was no point even attempting to pretend it was nothing with those two. They could read her like an open book. “Okay… maybe there was someone.”

"You need to tell us, immediately." Talia said, already grinning.

Y/N hesitated, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “I mean… it’s was nothing. I don't even know him.” She glanced across at Freya, who had her eyebrows raised. Y/N exhaled, gave up the fight, and unlocked her phone. “His name is George Clarke. We met at the XIX party last week.”

Freya leaned in. “Why is this the first we’re hearing of this?”

“Because I didn’t think it was worth bringing up,” Y/N said with a soft shrug. “But… he was cute. That’s all.”

Talia narrowed her eyes playfully. “Alright, well, who is he?”

Y/N pulled up TikTok on her phone and finding his profile, from her following, and handed the phone over to Talia first. She began scrolling through his videos, stopping on a few to watch and laughing quietly. When she was finished, she passed the phone over to Freya.

Freya's face lit up. “Oh, he’s funny.”

“And cute.” Talia added, nudging Y/N.

"He’s actually funny—not that forced YouTube energy.”

"But it's nothing. I barely even spoke to him." Y/N said, shaking her head and taking her phone back. She glanced down at George's face on her screen quickly, ignoring the feeling in her stomach. She then locked her screen, almost throwing her phone down on the table.

"This isn't nothing, Y/N/N. You're blushing."

Y/N's hands shot up to her face, fingers feeling her cheeks burning up. She hadn't even realised. "I am not blushing." Lying right through her teeth.

“You totally are,” Talia teased. “Your cheeks are one shade away from writing his name in your notes app with a heart next to it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t bother denying it.

Right then, the front door creaked open, followed by Simon’s familiar voice echoing down the hallway. "There better be some food left, otherwise there is going to be a problem."

Simon wandered in a few seconds later, hoodie slightly askew and hair flopped to one side and expression slightly suspicious. “What are we gossiping about?” He said, eyes scanning their expressions. Talia was practically vibrating with suppressed laughter. Freya had a smirk carved into her face like it had been chiseled there. And Y/N… well, Y/N could feel the heat rising in her cheeks like a thermometer on the sun.

Simon leaned over the table, stealing the bowl of crisps before sliding into the chair beside Freya.

“Y/N/N met someone.” Talia said with zero hesitation.

Simon raised his brows. “Oh yeah?”

Y/N groaned, throwing her head back against the chair. If Simon knew, everyone was bound to find out and that was the last thing she needed. Everybody thinking she had a crush on George when she had only met him once.

"She met him at the XIX launch." Freya added.

"Oh my God, I know exactly who you're talking about." Simon said, his eyes lighting up.

Y/N's head shot back up to glare right at him. "What? No you don't."

"Oh it's so obvious. You're like the same person." He said, a large grin plastered across his face. He hadn't been aware that Y/N had met George at the party, but he would be lying if he hadn't been waiting for it. “You and George? You’re basically clones. If I locked you two in a room together and walked away, I’m convinced you'd either fall in love or start a podcast.”

Y/N groaned again, hiding behind her hands. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“I’m being accurate,” Simon said, grinning almost proudly. “You both have the same dry humour, and main character energy."

"I do not have main character energy."

"You do," Talia said, nodding in agreement. "But in a good way, like Jess from New Girl."

"And he's exactly like Nick."

"Ugh, I hate this already."

Simon pointed with a crisp. “Still stand by it. You’re like if George had a skincare routine and stage presence.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a reluctant tug of a smile at her lips. “We literally just talked. Once. For like twenty minutes. And it wasn't alone, Chris, Chip and Arthur were there too.”

“And yet here we are.” Talia said, shooting her a knowing look.

“Can we not make a thing out of this?” Y/N said, trying to sound annoyed, though the warmth in her voice betrayed her.

Simon stood and grabbed a fizzy drink from the fridge. “Too late. This ship has sailed. The group chat will be informed.”

Y/N reached across the table and threw the kitchen roll at his arm. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, somehow, still your favourite,” he said with a wink.

As the laughter bubbled back up around the kitchen, Y/N glanced down at her hands as they twirled the rings around her fingers.

Maybe this was becoming a thing.

A small thing, sure. But still… a thing.

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The bar was already buzzing by the time Y/N stepped through the doors. Warm lights glowed over rustic wooden tables, music hummed low under the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses, and the place smelled faintly of chips, spilt beer, and good memories.

She spotted the group near the back—two pushed-together tables covered in half-drunk pints and chip baskets. Chris and Shannon were tucked into the corner, laughing about something on his phone. Will had an arm lazily draped around Mia, while Freezy, Chip and Harry were mid-debate about football. Arthur was animatedly recounting a story to Becky and Sabina, who looked like they were both invested and slightly alarmed.

“Y/N/N!” Mia beamed, waving her over. “We thought you were bailing!”

Y/N slid into the seat between Sabina and Becky with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly considered it. But then I remembered you lot are unbearable when I miss things.”

Josh grinned. “Fashionably late. Popstar behaviour.”

“You know me,” Y/N said, grabbing the full glass of wine that Becky had just passed her. “Main character syndrome.”

Just as she took her first sip, the pub door creaked open again.

“Speak of the devil,” Will muttered under his breath, nodding toward the entrance.

Y/N glanced up—and there he was.

George Clarke, in all his charming glory, strolled in with Arthur Hill by his side. George wore a black tee layered under an open flannel, his hair a little messier than they probably had been when he left the flat. Arthur, equally cool but quieter in energy, followed with a relaxed smile.

Y/N straightened a little in her seat, trying not to be obvious.

“Oi oi!” George called, voice rising above the hum.

A chorus of greetings met him as he and Arthur made their way over. George’s eyes found Y/N's almost instantly, and something about the way he smiled—sharp, boyish, like he already had something cheeky planned—sent a quiet spark down her spine.

George started to say hello to everyone, as well as introducing them to Arthur. He made his way around the group till he reached Y/N.

“Well, look who it is.” Y/N said as George slid into the seat beside her, that Sabina had since deserted.

“Didn’t think I’d see you twice in a week.” he replied, nudging her knee under the table as casually as if he did it all the time.

She smirked. “And yet here you are. Are you stalking me or just conveniently everywhere I am?”

George leaned in slightly. “Could be fate. Could be really good location-tracking.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the grin tugging at her lips. “How romantic. Shall I send you my live location to make it easier?”

“I already have it,” he whispered with mock-seriousness. “Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to.”

But before Y/N could respond, there was a cough from beside George, as if to gain their attention. Y/N's eyes darted to the man beside George.

“Oh, shit—sorry,” George said quickly, leaning back slightly to gesture between them. “Y/N, this is Arthur Hill—my flatmate. Arthur, this is Y/N.”

"It's nice to meet you, Arthur."

Arthur offered a small smile and a nod. “Nice to meet you. I’m a fan… of your music, actually.”

Y/N's eyebrows lifted, pleasantly surprised. “Really? That’s sweet, thank you.”

"Arthur makes music too." George quickly added.

Y/N perked up immediately. “No way! That’s so cool.”

“I haven’t put out much yet,” Arthur said, scratching the back of his neck. “Still figuring out my sound. A lot of rough demos and late-night doubts.”

Y/N smiled warmly. “If you ever want someone to listen—honest opinion, no sugarcoating—I’d love to hear them.”

Arthur’s expression shifted with genuine appreciation. “Seriously? I’d really appreciate that.”

George looked between them, lips twitching. “Arthur’s just being modest. I’ve heard some of his stuff—it’s amazing. He just won’t let anyone else hear it yet.”

Y/N laughed before tilting her head. “So how long have you two lived together?”

“Only about a month,” Arthur replied, nudging George lightly. “It’s still that weird honeymoon phase where we pretend each other’s habits are cute.”

George scoffed. “You say that like I’m not the ideal roommate.”

“You left cereal in the sink yesterday.” Arthur deadpanned.

“And the only time I've done it!” George defended, eyes flicking toward Y/N like he wanted her to take his side.

"Oh, I know all about messy roommates, trust me." Y/N said, eyes focused on Arthur with a faint smile on her lips.

After a few more exchaged words, George and Arthur excused themselves to get a drink at the bar, allowing Y/N to catch up with the others.

When they finally returned, Y/N was deep in conversation with Becky, Mia and Will, her laughter carrying lightly over the hum of pub chatter. George noticed the way she tucked her hair behind her ear mid-sentence, completely absorbed. Rather than interrupt, he and Arthur took the seats opposite, sliding easily into the ongoing banter between Chip, Harry, and Freezy.

They were only a few minutes into the conversation—chatting about video ideas—when Chris, half-leaning across the table with a mischievous grin, raised his voice just enough to cut through the noise. "Hey George, I heard you went on a date a few weeks ago? How'd that go?" Chris had shouted across the table, gaining everybodies attention without meaning to.

The words hung in the air like a dropped pint glass.

Y/N's stomach dipped.

George blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. Uh—yeah, we went out. Twice, actually.”

“Ohhh,” Mia chimed in, dragging the word like a tease. “Repeat performance. Someone made an impression.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh with the group, eyes trained on the ice in her glass as she gave it a lazy swirl with her straw. Her face stayed neutral, but her stomach dipped — a gentle, unexpected twist.

“Not really a thing, though,” George said quickly, glancing around. “Just grabbing drinks. Chill.”

Y/N barely knew George. They’d only met twice. But there was something about him — the dry humour, the way he really listened when she talked, the way he’d looked at her earlier like he was remembering the shape of her smile.

It was probably nothing.

Still, she didn’t love the sound of “twice.”

Becky, ever perceptive, shot a quick look toward Y/N, but said nothing.

The conversation drifted again, and Y/N let herself get pulled into it. She joked with Becky about booking a girls' trip to Lisbon, teased Chip about still having his mom’s Netflix password, and even joined in when Freezy started ranking everyone’s “vibe” based on their drinks.

And then there was George.

He didn’t say much, but every now and then, their eyes met across the table. He smirked at one of her quips. She caught him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

At one point, George slid a fresh drink across the table to her and said, “You looked like you were rationing that last sip."

She raised an eyebrow. “Concerned for my hydration levels?”

“Just making sure you don’t fade mid-conversation. Would ruin the vibe.”

Y/N laughed, a little caught off guard by the softness in his smile.

They didn’t know each other. Not really. But she felt it — a little flicker of something, warm and magnetic.

Still, Chris’ words echoed faintly in the back of her mind: Went on a date… twice.

It didn’t mean anything. But it also wasn’t nothing.

And suddenly, she wasn’t sure what game they were playing—or if they were even playing the same one.

She didn’t know what George’s situation was. Two dates wasn’t a relationship—but it wasn’t nothing, either. And maybe she was reading too much into everything. But the way he looked at her, the way he talked to her like there was no one else in the room—it didn’t feel platonic.

ALREADY OVER TAGLIST !

tags: @lottiewills @sophiexxclarkey @sundarksposts @rkaya @lovingaphroditesworld @theresglitteronthefloor @golden-hoax @duolingofanaccount @courtjjade @dopeysunflowers @tyna-19 @madforgeorge @just-yazz @madsclarkey @justheretoreadthxxs @happyclifford @hey-there9-its-me @clarkey4life

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forsaken-headcanons · 2 months ago

Note

i know there’s like 300 asks in the inbox BUT PLEASSSEEE I NEED TO DUMP OUT MY BRAINN (why am i cooking NOW of all times-)

ok so. basically i’m just gonna lay out the order of events for forsaken. like the order of survivors and stuff (including unreleased)

so i’ll start with spectre stuff

First, the Spectre had to make the realm. The Forsaken realm is its pocket dimension adjacent to purgatory. (side note: the spectre is some sort of fallen angel i think bc of its relations with purgatory, anyways) The Spectre stores away all the survivors and killers and landscapes and stuff in the pocket dimension. It’s able to control everything in there because they own the place. Yknow.

Anyways, first victim of the Spectre? 1x. 1x had been sent back to the Banlands after Shed defeated them (at the cost of like 4 OUT OF 6 WINGS BTW-), so they had that malice that attracted the Spectre. The Spectre promised them power… the ability to be feared… basically everything that 1x wanted. So 1x gave in.

The Spectre then trained 1x to be a better swordfighter, which was why they lost to Shed in the first place. It was not only for 1x’s benefit but for the Spectre’s, as it could form a powerful weapon to use against the future survivors. (also playtesting)

When the Spectre was finished training 1x, it rewarded them: 1x got to choose who the first survivor would be. Of course, 1x chose Shedletsky. They had become far more powerful and wished to impose that upon him, the very person that created him. i love dysfunctional families

Shedletsky’s perspective? Well, he was pretty easy pickings for the Spectre because of his guilt about 1x (also he does kinda have grief since he lost the being he considers a son). He was heading to the Banlands to maybe see 1x again, even if it was risky. Meeting up with your making is always anxiety-inducing, especially if it’s evil and your embodiment of hatred, so he tried to calm down by shutting his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself in a cabin. The rest is history.

Other admins’ perspectives? Well, Builderman at first thought Shed had become an alt account (see telamon identity crisis hc), but he contacted them all and got no answer. Even after weeks, there was still no answer. So Builderman was the first to notice Shed’s disappearance. Dusekkar, Taph, and Stickmasterluke started to catch on as well. They all know he doesn’t just go silent like that. And Doombringer didn’t care. He was more sad about 1x’s disappearance. He’s wallowing in the Banlands with a grudge against the other admins, so why would he care that Shed’s gone, right?

— ink anon (i will make another part to this for the other survivors. uhm. the other admins might get their own section. hyperfixiations chat—)

DON'T APOLOGIZE FOR SENDING ASKS SHDJHDS WE'RE GUCCI W THEM ALL /GEN!!

ough worldbuilding.., yes. YESSS!! the thought of the spectre being a fallen angel is lwk strangely fitting.. yoinking that teehee. anyways 4 OUT OF 6 WINGS?? JFC SHED 💔💔 oh these dysfunctional lil shits... so hurtable... so so hurtable.... we say as we toss them both into a blender /silly

SHAKING THIS HC/AUTHING (< bad at telling) AND THROWING A CINDERBLOCK IN YOUR DIRECTION (doombringer being more uspet about 1x..? hmmmm is someone projecting their ships /j /j /j)

#forsaken headcanons #forsaken #forsaken roblox #roblox forsaken #ink anon #the spectre forsaken #1x1x1x1 forsaken #shedletsky forsaken #builderman forsaken #dusekkar forsaken #taph forsaken #stickmasterluke forsaken #mrdoombringer forsaken #mod c00lkidd‼️‼️

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athenamikaelson · 2 years ago

Text

Complaints and Harriet Styles Pt. 2

Klaus Mikaelson x reader

Warnings- strong language, innuendos, mentions of blood and death.

Word count- 2.5k

“Would it make me a bad person if I said he was hot?’ I asked Caroline as I sat in front of her vanity mirror as she curled my hair.

“Y/n,” Caroline frowned at me as she looked at me through the mirror, “he either killed or is trying to kill our friends. He’s a bad guy, so don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not saying I want to bang the guy or anything,” As I say that the the thought crosses my mind and it’s clear Caroline knows that as well as her frown deepens, “Care don’t get your Barbie hair in a twist. Even though his accent is dreamy and his blue eyes make my knees shake. I’m not going to try anything, obviously.” I say mockingly as Caroline watches me as if she’s somehow aged 100 years since our conversation began. Which you know isn’t possible because she’s literally immortal.

“Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. You’re either arguing with someone or hitting on them. Or even both!” She says as she throws her hands up in emphasis, the curler unplugging itself during her action.

We both sit there in silence for a moment looking at the curler’s wire. I look up at her with a sly smile, “Does this mean we’re finally done? My ass hurts from sitting here and being your personal doll.” Caroline puts her hand on her hip with a displeased look on her face.

“I haven’t finished curling the other half of your head, so turn around and shut it. And didn’t you just say I was the Barbie doll?” She says matter-of-factly as she replugs in the curler and waits for it to heat back up.

“Ok well you are a Barbie doll, I’m more like that doll that Angelica had in Rugrats, y’know the one with fucked up hair and looks like she just got thrown into a blender.” I laugh at my own joke as Caroline rolls her eyes, a smile trying to make its way onto her face.

I glance at my dark eyeshadow that makes my y/e/c eyes bright.

“Why do I even have to go to this stupid dance, our school has like 14 a year. How does our town even have the budget for that? And why do we have to do weird decade dances?”

“Y/N you’re going to homecoming, end of story. It’s our senior year. This past year has been so crazy that we deserve a little normalcy.” She says as she finishes my last section of hair.

“Normalcy? You do realize that every dance we’ve had since last year has ended with someone dead or impaled right? It isn’t a Mystic Falls high school dance if it doesn’t end in blood!” Caroline just watches me in annoyance as she sprays my hair with hairspray, “accidentally” spraying some into my face.

“Bitch!” I cough out.

“Go get dressed!” She uses her strength to lift me up and push me over to her closet where my y/f/c dress is hanging.

I look over my shoulder, “I hate you.”

Caroline smiles, “Love you too brat.”

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

I listen to the live band as I sip on the disgusting drink in my hand. Caroline who was supposed to chaperone tonight left me to go yell at Tyler for his wolfy crush or whatever on Klaus. I’m seriously debating on just walking myself home, since Caroline was my ride, as I watch on in disgust as teenagers grind against each other to the fast song the band is playing in the backyard of Tyler’s house. Somehow Tyler was able to put together a huge party since the gym was flooded last minute. Caroline didn’t seem suspicious but I on the other hand always think the worst is going to happen at any time, and with my friend group's history with dances I wouldn’t be surprised if something was going to go down tonight. I'm about to grab my bag and leave before shit goes down when I hear a British accent come from behind me.

“Welcome everyone tonight,” I turn around, and low and behold that British fuck from Senior prank night is standing up on the stage in front of all of us, yapping about something.

“This is a long time coming,” He says as he watches someone from the crowd with a smirk on his face. I follow his eye line to see Stefan staring back at him. Yikes. I look back to the Brit but find his eyes staring in my direction. I don’t think he’s looking at me until I send a look of disgust at him which makes the smirk on his face deepen. Fuck me. Wait. No. I quickly turn around and start to make my way to the edge of the party hoping to make my escape before I get sucked into whatever bullshit the Scooby gang is going to try to drag me into. I smile to myself as I’m about to be successful in my escape as my vision is blocked by something. Said something bumps me backwards throwing me off balance and I wait to hit the ground as I start falling, but nothing comes. I look up to see Klaus grabbing ahold of the top of my arm, keeping me from falling down.

“What a fucking cliche,” I say to myself angrily. Klaus looks at me inquisitively.

“What’s a cliche?” He asks me with that stupidly hot accent as I rip my arm away from his hold and put another foot's distance between us.

“You catching me,” I tell him but he only looks confused, “Y’know in romcoms when the girl trips and falls but doesn’t actually fall because the random hot main guy catches her. It’s a big fucking cliche.” I say huffing as Klaus watches me with that stupid fucking smirk on his face.

“And I’m the main hot guy?” He asks, clearly trying to get me to go along with his current ego trip.

“No, you’re not. Ryan Gosling is the hot main guy or Paul Rudd,” I let out a satisfactory sigh at Paul Rudd, “You’re more of the evil boos villain in video games.”

“And what’s so wrong with being the villain?” He asks me as he takes a step towards me.

I look at him with what I can only guess looks like a “are you fucking kidding me” look.

“Literally everything. That’s literally the whole point of being the villain.” I put my hand out stopping him from stepping closer. Klaus watches me closely for a second too long. His gaze makes me quite uncomfortable because I can’t tell if he wants to kill me for speaking to him like I just did or applaud me for having the balls to. God, sometimes I just need to learn to shut the fuck up.

“Dance with me.” He states as he puts his hand out waiting for me to give him my hand in return. My gaze goes from his face to his hand multiple times before I shake my head in annoyance.

“No way dude,” I say as I start to book it back towards the house away from him. I don’t get far though because he’s in front of me again with a determined look on his stupidly hot face. God why does it always have to be the bad guys that are hot?

“Either you dance with me, or I start killing your friends off one by one. I wonder where that blond friend of yours is, Tyler’s little girlfriend.” He says with a dark glint in his eyes.

“Why?” I try to hold my ground even though I’m pretty sure I’m about to start pissing myself any second now.

“Why what?” he asks me as he watches me.

“Why do you want to dance with me? Theirs like 200 other girls here that I’m sure would just jump at the chance to dance with some British guy.”

Klaus just shrugs his shoulder as if he himself doesn’t even have an answer to the question.

“Because none of them have had the displeasure of catching my eye.”

“And let me guess, I have?” I ask him. He doesn’t give me an answer though, only reaches out his hand once again waiting for me to take it. Annoyed I slap my hand in his and drag him to the dance floor. Once I push us into the middle of a big group, I turn to him.

“Don’t be pissy if I step on your toes.” Klaus just lets out a huff of a laugh as he drags my body closer to him so my chest is touching his. A shudder goes through my body at the contact and I mentally curse myself for the reaction. Fuck he smells good. Jesus Y/N get a grip, he’s just a guy. A thousand-year-old hot guy, but still just a guy. I look up to find Klaus already staring at me, with a knowing smirk on his face. I just roll my eyes as I try to play it off cool as he sways me to the now slow song.

“So tell me, how did you become friends with my doppelganger and her little group of followers?” A weird feeling of sadness flows through me at his question as I realize he only asked me to dance for information on my friends.

“We grew up together. Small town like this everyone knows each other, sadly.” I say looking off to the distance and watching the other couples converse lovingly with one another.

“Why sadly?” He asks me, and for a second I could’ve sworn I heard actual curiosity. I glance back at him and shrug.

“I just hate this town. I never liked people knowing my business, and everyone here is so complacent with their normal lives. They never question anything or want to know more about anything other than what happens in our weird ass town.” I blush as I realize I just rambled on to a complete psycho about my feelings. But, the look on Klaus’s face isn��t one of annoyance or humor like the other people I’ve vented to usually have on their faces. His face turns from contemplation to understanding.

“I know what you mean,” He says as he expertly twirls me around, “when I was a boy I grew up in a small village where the wasn’t much chance for prospering. I loved the arts and knew I would never be able to do anything with it. It made me angry. So I can understand your resentment.” He tells me and for a second I forget that he’s the blood-thirsty monster ruining my friend’s lives.

“You like art?” He looks down at me with a soft smile as if the subject brings out a different side of him.

“I’ve loved it for over a thousand years. The way emotions can be shown through a canvas and bring out emotion so foreign is unlike anything else I found over a millennium of living,” His eyes trail down to mine, “What do you think?”

I nod softly in agreement, “I love art. Not really painting because I’m kind of shit at it, but sketching and just looking at art. Although I’m not a fan of this new-age art where someone can splash a canvas with a line of color and sell it for a million dollars. I like art that means something to someone. Art that when you look at it you can feel the emotions that the artist was feeling, every move of the brush stroke made with heart and emotion.” Klaus nods along to my rambling again with a soft look on his face. A look that I can’t quite decipher since it’s on the face of one of the scariest men in the world.

As the song comes to an end I reluctantly let go of Klaus’s hands. He stares at me for a moment and I think he’s just going to turn around and walk off realizing he didn’t get the information he wanted but then a small laugh escapes his lips and he shakes his head. I watch on in slight confusion wondering if he’s having some kind of stroke or something.

“You’re not like them you know,” he must notice my confusion because he continues, “like your friends. You’re nothing like them.” I pang of hurt pierces my chest as I turn away and start to walk off, “Well screw you too.”

“I didn’t mean that as an insult,” He says hastily as he grabs my arm turning me back towards him, “You’re friends they’re small-minded. They think of only themselves and not the world around them, or how amazing it can be.” I go to interrupt him and tell him not to insult my friends but he cuts me off.

“You need something bigger than this little town. Something that brings you life. When I originally saw you that night in the gym I thought you were just going to be like the rest of them. But you surprised me Y/n, and not many people can say that.”

I just stare at him in amazement for what seems like forever as I try to piece together everything he just told me. In my stupor though a woman approaches Klaus and whispers something to him which makes his originally light demeanor change to something dark. The woman walks away as Klaus looks at me once more.

“Whenever you decide you want to be a part of something bigger, see something other than this little town I’d be happy to show you. All you need to do is ask.” He tells me as he grabs my hand and places a chaste kiss upon it. I still can't get the balls to say anything as he gives me one last glance before he follows behind the woman.

What the actual fuck.

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

I walked up to my front porch after getting dropped off by Matt because I guess Tyler drugged Caroline with vervain to save her from a pack of mind-controlled hybrids so that’s why she couldn’t bring me home. Sometimes I really hate my friend group. Why can’t for once we deal with normal people's problems like pop quizzes or acne? Like why does not one person in that entire group have a pimple on their skin? That’s the most supernatural thing going on here.

I’m about to open my front door when a small envelope catches my eye at the bottom of my feet. I look over my shoulder and only see Matt as he waits for me to enter my house. I wave to him with the envelope in hand and walk inside my house. I hastily open the envelope and pull out a piece of thick canvas paper. The paper is covered with a beautiful sketch of what appears to be an open field covered in flowers with grazing horses in the distance. Being so engrossed in the sketch I didn't notice the small note on the back.

“There’s a whole world out there just waiting for you to experience, love. When you’re ready to experience it, I’ll be waiting.” – Klaus

Taglist-

@grac3aph3lion @megmcc2003 @kollover24 @nameunknownsthings

#author #athenamikaelson #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaleson imagine #stefan x elena #the originals #the vampire diaries #thecwshows #elena gilbert #elijah mikaelson #klaus x reader #tvd klaus #bonnie bennett #tvd fanfiction #tvdversegifs #tvd x reader #thevampirediaries #the vampire diares imagine

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bakugotrashpanda · 5 days ago

Text

Summer Lovin’

Chapter 7: Piña Colada (18+)

Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki, Hawks, Dabi x Reader

⫸ Word Count: 1k

⪢ Chapter Select

⪢ Previous Chapter

!!: sex, masturbation

You get cleaned up – only to get dirty again

A blender whirring in the kitchen brings you downstairs. After your alleyway rendezvous, you needed to freshen up… and hopefully not run into anyone with cum running down your face or pressed into your dress.

Todoroki and Bakugou stand in the kitchen, their heads conspiratorially close together.

“I thought everyone was in town?” you interrupt. Blonde and red separate.

“Got bored,” Bakugou shrugs.

“Try this,” Todoroki hands you a cup with a white blended drink garnished with a golden pineapple wedge.

“You know I was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle,” you point out.

“Don’t be a shit, take the damn drink,” Bakugou scoffs, “Ya can’t live on whiskey alone.”

“Bullshit I can’t,” you mutter. You had dreams about that bottle and all the unhinged decisions you could make and blame on it.

“The bottle is empty,” Todoroki deadpans as he brings a cutting board and blender to the sink.

“Oh,” You cheerfully take a sip, “Well then thanks for the drink.”

You eye the two men wondering why they really came back. Bakugou you could understand — he didn’t seem like he wanted to go out anyways. But Todoroki? He seemed to be having a good time at the record shop. You lift your drink to your mouth… and miss.

“Oh shit.” It spills out of the corner of your mouth and down your jaw. Bakugou finger wipes up the droplets on your chin and pushes them into your mouth.

Your lips capture his finger. Vermillion eyes are glued to you as your tongue swirls around the fingertip. Maybe this is why they came back?

“You missed a spot,” Todoroki says.

“What?”

He leaves the blender in the sink and approaches you.

“Here.” Todoroki leans in. His hot tongue laves up the column of your neck. You can’t help but arch into him.

Definitely why they came back.

“Shouto,” you whimper under his warm touch. Nimble fingers slide up your thigh under your dress. Your panties are soaked. You know it. And you know he knows it when his lips curve into a smile against your skin.

“Really?” Bakugou throws his hands up in exasperation. “In front of me?”

Todoroki ignores him. “Hold on to the counter.” Obediently, you grip the granite countertop and brace yourself. There’s a shifting of fabric behind you. A zipper undone. Your dress piled above your ass. Panties sliding down your legs.

“Shouto,” your head falls forward as his cockhead nestles between your folds at your entrance.

“No,” Shouto teases and pulls back. Wrapping a hand around your throat, he pulls your head up. “Let him watch.”

A ruddy blush spreads over Bakugou’s face as Todoroki spreads your legs further apart. Your breath hitches as he finally thrusts into you at an agonizingly slow speed. Each inch elicits a moan, a lip bite, tears pricking the corner of your eyes, something from you. And Bakugou’s vermillion gaze tracks every movement. Lust pounds through his veins and his cock. Your faces shift in a complicated dance where you lead and he follows – all conducted by Todoroki.

Bakugou’s hand passes nonchalantly over his sweats. Even rearranging his hardening dick, you can still see the outline of it pressed up against the waistband. A shudder runs through you. Imagine having both of them at the same time.

Todoroki’s hips stutter behind you. “Take it out.”

Bakugou’s eyes fly from your face to his. “What?”

“Take your dick out and stroke yourself,” he says impatiently.

“Wh-”

“She fucking clenches when you do that and-”

Bakugou pulls his pants to mid-thigh. His cock stands at attention. You tremble again with thoughts of ‘what if’. What if he slid his cock into your mouth while Todoroki pounds you from behind? What if you took them both at once? What if Todoroki settled you on Bakugou’s dick and used you like a fleshlight to jerk the other man off?

A mewl escapes your lips as Todoroki’s hips snap against your ass. Fingers dig into your hips and pull you down hard.

Todoroki leans over you, his breath tickling your ear. “You like him watching?”

Bakugou’s forefinger and thumb circle his shaft, lightly stroking up and down. You wanted him to do more than just watch.

“You like him seeing your tits bounce as I take you?” he growls in your ear. One hand snakes down to the apex of your thighs. A simple graze of his finger against your clit has you whimpering. “You like seeing her come undone on my cock?”

Bakugou tosses his head back and fucks into his fist.

Desire burns along your nerves and you collapse into Todoroki as your orgasm washes over you. He’s not far behind you, his hips losing their momentum as they stutter against you and a rushing heat fills you. You stay joined for a moment, Todoroki’s softening cock letting come leak out of you.

He pulls out and braces himself against the counter next to you. In a daze, you stumble over to Bakugou who watches you with lust filled eyes.

“Can I?” Your voice trails off as you sink to your knees.

“Not this time, Princess,” he pants. Your heart sinks, but he continues, “I wouldn’t last a second with your pretty lips wrapped around me.”

Todoroki, finished tucking himself back in, stands behind you. His hands run down your shoulders, taking the straps of your dress with them. “Give him something to aim for when he blows his load.”

The edge of your dress caresses your tits as Todoroki pulls your top down. It stops momentarily on the stiff peaks of your nipples before popping free.

Bakugou starts pumping faster, his hand fisting his weeping cock with such strength you’d think he was working out at the gym. “Fuck.”

Hot drops splatter across your collarbone and tits. One even makes it up to your bare shoulder. Bakugou pants, lost in his own orgasm.

“Shouto,” you look up at him from your spot on the ground, “Can I have my panties back?”

He raises an eyebrow and taps a bulge in his pocket. “No.”

⪢ Next Chapter (coming when it’s finished)

#bnha imagines #todoroki x reader #bakugou x reader #todoroki #bakugou #summer lovin

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alchemistc · 1 year ago

Text

too many toasters | bucktommy 1/1

Tommy contemplates asking Buck to move in with him.

read on ao3

He's reorganizing a cupboard to make room for the massive crockpot he'd found for a steal at an estate sale (thinking of the stew he wants to make for Evan the next time the Santa Ana's are chasing at their heels) when he notices.

Evan's protein powder, still balanced on top of the fridge because he's hesitant to claim the spot Tommy had cleared for him weeks ago.

Evan's spare immersion blender, brought over because he'd seen Tommy's old-school espresso maker and wanted to try his hand at foam art. Unsuccessfully, considering both of them were avoiding cows milk at the moment.

The spare set of Jeep keys looped next to the garage door, which Evan hadn't asked him to return after Tommy changed his oil, and Tommy had taken to touching on his way out of the house like a wife stroking a token of her husband far off in a foreign country fighting a war.

In the living room, the blanket over the couch is tucked and folded in a way Tommy can never replicate and doesn't try, because he likes the look of it, hanging neatly over the arm of the loveseat.

In the garden, a second set of gloves, too unwieldy for anything but pulling thick weeds.

In the bathroom, the mouthwash Evan swears by tucked next to Tommy's aftershave in the medicine cabinet.

In the bedroom, two hoodies Tommy has stolen and stretched out the shoulders of - a flavored lube in the bedside table drawer that they'd both laughed themselves silly about after one use and Tommy hadn't had the heart to toss in the trash the next morning - three department issue tee's folded neatly in his wardrobe that Evan outgrew years ago and has retrofitted for sleepwear - a book on the bloody history of the potato on top of the ancient PS4 setup Tommy still hasn't moved to the living room.

And more - Tommy can picture them all in his mind clear as day, and his heart lurches fondly, warningly, in his chest.

They’ve settled somewhere between normal and warp speed, now that the early relationship milestones have all been blown clean out of the water. Spare keys exchanged, controversial sexual fantasies shared, shovel talks mostly avoided by the sheer power of dry wit and matching bitchiness, I love you’s exchanged beneath a hazy crescent moon with half a bottle of Merlot drunk between them and the wisteria hanging off his pergola tickling their noses. Tommy counts the time Evan had let him throw the Jeep up on the lift so he could do a full diagnostic rundown, and Evan counts the time Tommy let him Facetime with his nephew in Reno. Milestones, common and uncommon, that Tommy had stumbled through with a hand clenched in Evan’s, absolutely prepared to match both speed and psychosis.

He’s met the parents, at more than just a passing glance with his face covered in the same soot that painted a radius around Evan’s mouth. He’s fully integrated into the 118’s groupchats - every iteration, though he’s fond of the Maddie-Karen-Athena combo that never fails to go for the throat where station fuckery is involved.

They’ve done the stupid zodiac quizzes Tommy’s sister had sent him, Evan curled into the circle of his arms and ignoring the barrage of texts he’d gotten from Maddie after he’d asked her what time of day he’d been born, grinning into the skin of Tommy’s pec at the readout and then promptly reminding Tommy that neither one of them believed in that shit, anyway.

They’ve talked about the future — for themselves, individually, for the possibility with a partner. For each other, if (when, Tommy’s heart whispers) they make a good run of things.

Evan’s lease is up in a month.

They haven’t talked about it.

He only knows because Eddie had mentioned it, about as subtle as a bullhorn, before Tommy had to stop him from gossiping about all the missteps Evan’s had with living with significant others in the past.

(”There are things about Evan I should hear from Evan first,” Tommy had told him, a little more stern than he’d been going for, enough to make Eddie visibly swallow down a barrage of thinly veiled disdain for Evan’s exes.)

Evan hasn’t brought it up, but Tommy knows a little , enough to piece together why he might be reluctant to broach the subject.

But as Tommy shifts the popcorn maker into a corner and removes the toaster he’s been tinkering with to no avail for six months now, crockpot sliding in without so much as a rustle from the other kitchenware stuffed in there, he thinks about the recent quiet that has swallowed him whole on nights when they just can’t quite make the revolving door of their disparate schedules work. He thinks of the times he’s pushed through the door to Evan’s loft, dead on his feet and world-weary after a patient arrived at the helipad DOA — of the sound of his voice falling into a tangent easing something inside Tommy even though his joints and his heart were both still aching.

He thinks of the way Evan looks, toothpaste on the corners of his lips because he’s had a thought halfway through brushing that couldn’t wait the extra forty-five seconds to be heard. He thinks of the way he hates washing his sheets between visits, now, because he doesn’t like losing the faint scent of Evan’s shampoo on the pillowcase.

Tommy closes the cabinet and makes a beeline for the jug of protein powder sitting on top of his fridge. Opens the cabinet door above it and shifts the jug back into the spot he’d assigned it weeks ago.

“Right,” he says, out loud, into the silence of the house.

The house sighs back at him.

---

Tommy is incredibly good at stifling the part of himself that enjoys rom-coms more than any other genre of fiction. He’s had years, decades, to push his soft sighs down below his diaphragm where they can’t hurt him.

Evan appreciates how little fanfare there’s been to most of their firsts. The lack of pressure, the ease with which they’ve approached things that they’d both previously considered watershed moments.

He considers texting Eddie to ask him if Evan has mentioned anything about re-upping his lease. Tosses that thought aside almost immediately, because he can already see the snarky response: There are things about Buck you should hear from Buck first.

He nearly reaches out to Bobby, before he remembers Bobby’s soft smile, a month and a half ago, while Evan carted a squealing Jee-Yun around Hen and Karen’s backyard, his gentle smile when Tommy had handed him a club soda and lime. (”You know, I never thought I’d see Buck settle in to something he doesn’t need a pep talk about,” Bobby had said, and something had unfurled in Tommy like a delicate flower reaching for the sun.) He could. It’s stupid to think Bobby wouldn’t be happy to talk to Tommy about something like this — but there’s a quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him this is something he needs to figure out for himself.

In the end, he keeps it simple. Just enough romance to maybe give Evan a heads up. Two nights after shoving Evan’s protein power where it belongs, Tommy tells him to dress slightly more than casual, picks him up in the Nova he’s been fixing up for three months, drives him up the PCH until the sun is low on the horizon. They watch the clouds spark up in pinks and purples, the sea reflecting colors back, and then Tommy gets them burgers and beers, and they walk them off in the twilight, shoes in their hands as they drift along the sun-warm sand.

Evan points out a cloud that he swears looks like the tree in the front yard of the house he grew up in, and Tommy seizes the moment, shifts the slim box from his back pocket while Evan is turned away. It’s nearly too dark, and they should probably have turned back for the car twenty minutes ago, but Evan has a step count he likes to meet when he won’t be at the gym for a few days, and they’ve got plans for a long weekend.

Tommy takes a deep breath when Evan turns back to look at him. His breath tumbles out in a rush when he catches sight of the box. “It’s not a ring,” Tommy tells him, cringing, hyperaware all of the sudden that Evan would absolutely know that just by the size and shape of the box.

Evan tilts back on his heels. There is a gentle grin on his face — the one he had five seconds before Tommy told him he loved him, the one he wore the first time Tommy threw one of his hoodies on in the chill of the loft and raised the cuffs surreptitiously to his nose, the one Tommy sees every time he presses a kiss to the pink mark over Evan’s brow.

Like he knows.

Like he’s been waiting on Tommy to catch up.

“You could have just said something yourself,” Tommy notes, with a hint of sass, as the picture comes into focus. “You didn’t have to send Eddie in to drop hints.”

Evan bites his lip. “Is that for me?” That cloud looks like the tree outside my childhood home, my ass.

Cheeky. God, Tommy loves him. “Could be.”

Evan crab-hands his way forward, and Tommy shifts his weight back just enough that he misses, in the growing dark. There’s a little helicopter on the keyring he’d bought, no key attached because Evan already has that, and it’s so sappy he’s bound to get half a dozen teasing texts about it the very first time someone at the 118 clocks it. Tommy doesn’t care.

Evan shifts his weight back, drops his hands to his sides. Tommy can see the moon reflecting off the water in the sparkle of his eyes. “Ask me,” Evan says, and Tommy leans in to kiss him, instead.

---

Tommy finds no less than six of his henley’s in the depths of Evan’s closet while they’re paring down the parts of his wardrobe he doesn’t wear anymore. Rather than comment on it, he folds them neatly and adds them to the keep pile.

The Buckley’s, always deciding to be overbearing at the worst of times, try to buy them a new mattress when they hear through the grapevine that Evan is moving.

Chimney spends a week giving Tommy shit about the keyring, and Tommy retaliates by buying Jee a toy copter that lights up, makes noise, and can manage to hover off the ground just at ankle height.

---

“We have four toasters,” Evan comments. They’ve spent an entire three days off unpacking, the both of them unsettled by the idea of leaving boxes stacked around the house, or in the spare room (Thank you, Eddie, for that shared trauma response).

He’s shirtless, rubbing a serum into his skin as Tommy settles in on his side of the bed, soft pink lips parted, favoring his good leg a little. Tommy’s already reaching for the massage oil by the time Evan has finished his thankfully simple skincare routine. Tommy needs to upgrade his stock medicine cabinet, if Evan is going to continue stockpiling a backup of both of their respective skin and hair products.

He waves the bottle of massage oil at Evan when he moves towards the bed, and something eases in Evan’s expression — the reminder that Tommy pays such close attention to him always enough to turn him a bit gooey, and Tommy has never used it for evil, but he could, if he wanted to. “Do you want to get comfortable to sleep, or is this going to make you horny again?”

Evan grins, bright and wide, a little mischievous as he tilts his head and cocks a hip. Down to his briefs, there’s not much left to Tommy’s imagination.

“Not my fault you’ve got magic hands.”

“I’m merely trying to perform a service for my partner who has been moving boxes up and down stairs for a week and a half.”

“I’ll perform a service on you,” Evan rebuttals, tongue between his teeth, and the muscles in Tommy’s groin tighten on instinct, more than anything else.

“Three out of ten for cheesiness. I’ll give you six overall for sticking the landing.”

“That’s at least an eight and you know it,” Evan argues, the side-sleeper knee pillow already out from under the bed and propping up his leg as he shifts to get comfortable.

Tommy doesn’t warm the dollop of oil in his hand before he slides his palm up Evan’s thigh, and Evan makes a noise halfway between a squeak and a snort. He shoots Tommy a bratty look that Tommy wants to devour, but —

He warms a much more generous pour of oil between his palms before he slowly searches out the deepest knots with gentle fingers, and Evan sighs, eyes tipping closed as Tommy works. His dick twitches in his briefs, but Tommy ignores it, for the time being.

They’ll have time for it later.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #if you're interested in my zodiac hc's hop to the end notes on ao3 #theres a few gems in there i discovered when i got curious

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ladysomething · 7 months ago

Note

no snippets on snippet Wednesday? 🥺

I truly-truly in love with little developments, must’ve reread the last chapter 10 times over…

Thank you for your tireless work!!!

I can’t tell, did you guys want a snippet?? 😂

Here, have an extra long one!

With this being the last meal before Max leaves, Charles takes it into his own hands.

He still can’t hear anything from Max’s room when he passes by the closed door to go upstairs, but he gets started anyway because it’s now almost half past eight.

Aware that Max is probably going to be the hungriest he’s been now that his rut is so close, he chops up all the fruit he can find. Bananas, strawberries, melon, grapes, oranges. He puts three croissants in the oven to warm up—one for him and two for Max—and scrambles eggs. He pours them both some juice, but makes Max a smoothie as well. The only meat Charles can find is chicken, so he grills that as well.

When Max comes upstairs, there are circles under his eyes, he’s got on two sweaters, and there’s a stack of paper under his arm.

“Morning,” he says carefully, eyeing all the food Charles has piled high. “Looks . . .”

The fruit is oddly shaped and mushy from his terrible cutting; the tops of the croissants are burnt; the eggs are cold and rubbery; the chicken is dry; there are smoothie chunks everywhere from when he’d tried to add more milk to the blender without stopping it.

The only thing that looks good is the juice, which he poured straight from the carton.

Charles pulls his lip between his teeth, cheeks pink.

“No, it looks good!” Max says quickly.

Great. It looks so bad that Max, the bluntest person he knows, is lying.

“I tried really hard,” Charles defends weakly.

It’s not really like Max can cook so much better than him—most of their meals are still pre-made, and supplemented with food that's easy to make. Still, even Max has never butchered heating a croissant.

“It’s fine, Charles,” Max promises. “I haven’t even eaten any yet.”

Charles tries to fight his pout, but it doesn’t quite work because Max circles the counter and puts his hand on his elbow.

“No, see, it’s fine,” he repeats, reaching out to pick up a croissant as he squeezes Charles’ arm.

His face twists a little as crispy, burnt flakes of croissant drop everywhere, but he still swallows his mouthful. Charles doesn’t believe him at all, but there’s nothing he can do now except throw it all out, which he doesn’t want to do.

Max seems determined to eat it anyway, so they both carry it all outside into the sun. Charles sits in the shade while Max sits directly in the sunlight, glasses perched on his nose.

The food is far from good, but it's edible, and Max eats it all like he can barely taste it anyway. Charles was right—he is clearly the hungriest he’s been, and he eats everything, even all the fruit that Charles was sure he’d need to store away.

Charles eats far less, but watches on, pleased with Max’s satisfaction when he leans back in his chair and stretches his arms above his head.

His shirt pulls up, revealing a patch of pale skin and the waistband of his underwear. Charles doesn’t even realise he’s staring until Max slumps back down, shirt falling back to cover him.

It’s getting warm out here, Charles decides, pressing the back of his hand to his cheek to cover his flush.

“I brought the contract up,” Max says after a moment, putting his hand on top of the stack of papers he’s brought with him. “If you still want to read it.”

Charles reaches over the table eagerly and Max simply hands it over, though there’s still a large stack of paper left on the table.

The Mating Rights and Exclusive Access to the Omega, Charles Leclerc.

It’s thinner than he remembers it being.

#anon ask #where you go i go #wygig: max #wygig: charles #wygig: snippet

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arronapologist · 1 year ago

Text

How Pretty U Are

MDNI 18+

Sato x Reader

Warnings: (female anatomy) pt1??, kissing, fingering, light binding, oral (reader receiving), pnv sex, unprotected (don't play with fire), dirty talk

Your fixation on Sato's hands was already a problem, his nails always freshly manicured and the stacks of rings on each finger. It was mesmerizing. His hands just looked like they were teasing you. It was ridiculous. You became more aware of how he held things and how many things he had in a single hand.

He didn’t notice your infatuation, but he did realize you wanted to hold his hand more and even fidget with the rings on his finger. He just thought it was a comfort thing; sometimes you’d get anxious and look to him for support, but there was nothing wrong with that. Once again, he thought nothing of it when you’d watch him cook; he genuinely assumed you didn’t know how to hold a knife. It wasn’t until he returned from a training session that he realized what it was.

Sato walked through the door with his hair stuck to his forehead, it was a particularly hot day, so he wore a black tee and shorts. He was tantalizing. Walking through the door with a huff, he startled you up right from your horizontal position on the couch. “Oh, hi, y/n! I didn’t know you were coming over today.” He walked over to you, running his fingers through his sweaty hair before placing his hand on your foot that dangled over the arm of the couch. Your hand trailed up from his fingers to his hand and arms that were a little veinier than usual. It must’ve been arm day.

“Uh, yeah,” you started to answer, trying to get your thoughts back on track, “Kala invited me over to hang out for a bit. But she ran to go pick up food first.” Your voice was a little shaky, but you don’t think he noticed.

Sato walked over to the kitchen to prep his smoothie. After he let go and walked away, you threw yourself back onto the couch with a deep sigh. It felt like he was torturing you, the way he rubbed his hand up your foot onto your leg. You threw your arms over your eyes, letting your thoughts take over when Sato called out to you again, “Is anyone home then?”

That you were unsure of after Kala left, you hung out on the couch watching TV and scrolling. “I actually, am not sure.” That was good enough for Sato; the house was quiet, so he had every reason to believe it was just the two of you.

The blender started, so you didn’t hear Sato leave the kitchen and approach you. It wasn’t until you were being dragged by your ankles to the arm of the couch that your feet once dangled off of. Your arms flew up, throwing your phone onto the floor behind you.

“AHH, Fuck Larso. Jesus Christ.” You huffed, genuinely startled.

“You’ve been staring at my hands a lot. Then today, you couldn’t look me in my eyes.” He spoke softly, leaning over the arm of the couch between your legs. “What is it, baby? What about me has you so worked up?”

You were so caught off guard that you didn’t know what to say; your mouth just fell open ready to speak, but nothing came out. Sato was expecting an answer; he took his middle and index fingers, and placed them on your tongue, sliding them around and coating them in your saliva before shoving them into the back of your throat leaving you shocked and speechless. He smiled down at you, “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Sato slowly pulled his fingers out of your mouth while he looked you in your eyes. He placed both his hands on the sides of your face and leaned over the arm of the couch until he was parallel with you. This was very unfamiliar territory for you two; there was no doubt that there was sexual tension between the two of you, but neither of you acted on anything.

After the shock factor leaves your body, you gain some confidence again. “It's like you’ve been teasing me all week, Lars.” You looked up at him with doe eyes blinking slowly with a slight pout. You didn’t know it yet, but that look went straight to his head. You were beginning to drive him crazy.

You took hold of the thin chain he was wearing, slowly guiding him closer to you. At that moment, it was just the two of you. Your faces are inches away, inhaling each other's exhale. The tension was so thick as you stared at each other's lips, neither of you willing to make the first move. You were so entranced with each other that you barely heard the key jingling. But you did hear the handle turn and the sound of Arron and Kala laughing.

Jumping apart both startled, your hand got caught in Satos’ chain, pulling it from his neck. Both of your hearts are racing, you quickly scramble to gather yourselves, sitting straight up. Sato walked back into the kitchen, where his smoothie waited for him.

Neither of you noticed that his chain wasn’t around his neck but lying on the floor next to your feet. Kala and Arron come into the house laughing when you go to pick up your phone, noticing 3 missed calls from Kala and a text asking if you wanted anything from the store they were at.

“Y/n, I called and texted, but you didn’t answer, so I just got you some sour candy.” Kala smiled at you throwing them to you. “What’ve you been doing?”

Unsure how to answer, you looked around “I just scrolled on my phone but then started watching TV.”

That's when Lars came out of the kitchen looking a bit flustered. It wasn’t obvious what you two had been doing, but his face was definitely giving something way.

“Larso where’d your chain go?” Arron teased, walking toward where you sat. He played it off cool, rubbing his neck, genuinely unsure where it could have gone.

Kala hopped over the couch to sit beside you, “Looks like the two couldn’t wait to get alone. ” Kala smirked while leaning over to grab Satos’ chain from the floor, looking between the two of you.

“Uhh, I have to go. I love you; see you later!” The words basically fall out of your mouth as you hustle out of the house and into your car. You heard them all calling to you, but you simply threw a hand up and screamed, “BYE!” Shutting the door with a hard slam behind you. You were embarrassed.

The drive back to your house was awkward, granted it was just you, but your embarrassment was eating you alive. When you finally got home, you couldn’t bear to look at your phone, so you showered and got into bed.

It's been a few hours, and you still haven’t looked at your phone, just too embarrassed to face them. They wouldn’t make fun of you…too bad. You were on your way to sleep when you heard knocking at your door. “Who is it.” You yelled out, hoping it was a missionary so you could ignore them.

“It's me; open up.” You knew it was Sato, but you didn’t think you could ever be alone with him again, so you decided to treat him as if he was a missionary. “I'M NOT INTERESTED THANK YOU, THOUGH!” You yelled out to him; now you hope he doesn’t try to open your doo-

“I should’ve known you didn’t lock your door. You know you shouldn’t be doing that, how many times do I have to tell you? A missionary could walk in.” Sato spoke to you, walked into your bedroom, and crawled into bed with you.

“You okay after today, y/n? I could tell how embarrassed you got. Come here.” Sato pulled you into his arms. He got comfortable pulling you by the waist into him. He laid his head close to yours.

“You remember what happened last time I asked you a question, and you didn’t answer.” You slowly turned around, placing your head into his chest. “Obviously, I was embarrassed. How could you not be.”

Sato was, but not embarrassed to have been inches away from kissing you. He was ashamed he didn’t do it sooner.

Back at their house, while you ran away, the two curious and confused nosey asses tried to interrogate information out of him. Of course, he didn’t give in, just leaving them where they sat to come to you.

“I was,” Sato placed his hand into your hair, slowly rubbing your scalp. “Embarrassed that this whole time you wanted me, and I was too stupid to notice. Embarrassed that I didn’t kiss you sooner.” The words left his mouth so smoothly, almost like they were rehearsed.

Sato gripped the back of your head, pulling your head up to look him in the eyes. “Wha-” Before you could even get any more words out, Sato had his lips on yours.

The kiss felt like it was a lifetime overdue. Both eager, it started a bit awkward, but in no time, you found your rhythm. The kiss made your heart race. You’ve never been kissed like this; Sato kisses you like he has something to prove, and you hope he’s never stopped kissing you like this. But he pulls away shortly after needing to catch his breath. Now breathing heavily, you were no longer embarrassed by the situation but now wishing it would have happened earlier.

You took your hands off of his chest, grabbing his face to kiss him again. He giggles into your kiss before taking your bottom lip in between his teeth, causing you to let out a low, breathy moan. It felt like he was teasing you again. His hand around your waist lowered from the small of your back to the curve of your ass, pulling your leg up and over his.

He ran his hand up your bare thigh over your ass that was covered with shorts. He felt over the shorts; he stopped making out with you and laughed to himself, “Are these the shorts that say Larso on the ass?” Your cheeks started to heat up; it was embarrassing but quite hilarious.

A few weeks earlier, you had been playing some games with the group, and there were a bunch of mystery prizes; you just so happened to win the booty shorts that said Larso on the ass in purple glitter. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s cute.” Followed by a smack on the ass.

He started to kiss you again, this time a little more playful. He flipped you onto your back and began to kiss your neck. This new intimacy was heightening your emotions; his touch made you sensitive and needy. The neck kiss turned you on, and you were silently begging to be touched.

“Lars, please. I want you to touch me.” In response, he kissed your neck up to your ear.

“Baby be patient with me, okay? I want to take my time with you. I want to cherish this moment before I wreck you.”

Things were getting hot with him. If there is anything he is good at, it would be teasing and foreplay. He has barely touched you, and you're already wet for him. Sato lifts himself from your neck, hovering over you; he raises a hand and rests it on your cheek, fingers behind your head, and thumb rubbing over your cheek. He was admiring you.

You lift your legs to rest them around his waist. You wanted more. You needed more, and it was like he was torturing you. You reach out to him, fiddling with his shirt. You wanted it off, and he took the hint. Pulling his shirt over his head with one hand from the back of his collar, you watched as he slowly pulled his shirt off.

He discarded it onto the floor next to your bed while you laid back and admired him. You knew he worked hard in the gym, he was a sight for sore eyes. The silence you two shared while admiring each other was comfortable and familiar; it almost felt innocent.

Your eyes glossed over as you looked at Sato, “do you know how pretty you are?” You whispered to him, rubbing his torso. “Like seriously.” He doesn’t know how to take compliments, so he smiles down at you blushing.

“All right, baby, I'm not going to be the only one getting topless.” You giggle before lifting yourself to allow him to remove your shirt. He pulled the shirt over your head, throwing it on the floor. Almost immediately, a switch in him flipped. He seemed darker and more driven by lust. You didn’t have a bra on, and it kind of took him by surprise.

“Can I touch you?” He asked you for consent, but it was sultry. He sounded needier than you had been before.

“Please.” You sounded just as needy, but he didn’t make you wait any longer. He began to kiss down your sternum slowly while playing with your nipples. The stimulation was light, but his touch was what you wanted most. When he reached your belly button, his hands made their way down your torso to the tops of your thighs.

Sitting up on his knees, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, “are you ready?” The way he asked for your consent was so sweet, but you were tired of playing around.

“Larso, please. Just take them off. No more playing around, please.” He loved hearing you whine and beg for him. Call it sadistic, but he loved it. Lifting your legs straight up, he removed your shorts and underwear in one go. Placing his hands in the crevice of your knees, he slowly opens your legs to him.

He looked at you with hunger in his eyes, and it made you shy. With a devilish smile, he hit you with your own line, “Do you know how pretty you are?” He said that while getting up, kneeling at the foot of your bed.

Before you could say anything witty back, he reached up, grabbing the tops of your thigh and dragging you down to meet his mouth. His warm breath flowed over your clit, and it drove you up the wall.

“LARS, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.” He looked up at you through his eyelashes.

“Didn’t I tell you to be patient with me?” It came out mean as he rubbed your clit. “Yes or no?” He lifted his hand again, threatening to stop.

“Yes, I'm sorry, yes.” You whined again, hips begging to rock back and forth. He leans down, taking your clit into his mouth. He threw your legs over his shoulders as he began to sloppily suck at your clit.

With his head between your legs, he wasn’t letting up. Your moans grew heavier and louder. He was making you feel phenomenal. Dropping one of your legs, he runs his middle and index fingers between your lips, covering them in your wetness before siding them into you. You let out a small gasp as he begins to finger fuck you.

He starts slowly, exploring the sounds you make for him when he touches certain spots. When he finally finds that spot that takes your breath away and curls your toes, he’s dead set on it. He takes his mouth off of your clit and leans forward to hover over you. He wanted a better view of how you reacted to his fingers.

He watched as your mouth dropped open and your eyebrows furrowed. You were silent as you tried to process all the pleasure. Sato, however, loved it when you moaned for him.

He placed a foot on the ground next to the bed to stabilize himself before grabbing the back of your neck and pulling your head to meet his. Gently touching foreheads, you looked up at him, causing your eyes to cross.

“Come on, pretty girl. I know. But you have to breathe for me, okay? I know it feels good. Let me hear you.” Sato’s dirty talk sent you so far up into the clouds that you would do anything he asked.

“FUCK! OH MY GOD.” You threw your head back as he continually abused that spot faster and harder. The knot in your stomach begins to build up, but he doesn’t bring you to finish. He brings you right up to the edge before pulling his fingers out and sucking on them.

He lets your neck go, and you fall back onto the bed, whining out, disagreeing with his actions.

“Behave.” It was short and stern as he stood up slowly, taking his belt off. You sat up on your elbows, watching him strip.

“Pretty. Do you think you’re ready for me?” By the end of his sentence, he has his belt off and in his hands.

“Yes.” You shook his head at you. “And do you trust me?” He asks, getting back onto the bed and crawling between your legs. You answered yes again,

“Enough to give me complete control?” It was a big ask from him, but you did. You’d trust him with life. “Don’t give me that fucked out look, baby. I need an answer.”

You hadn’t realized you had just been staring at him with pleading eyes. “Yes.”

He smiled down at you before leaning, taking your hands, binding them together with his belt, and strapping you to your headboard. Sato immediately went back to eating you out and fingering you viciously. You became a moaning mess underneath him again. Feeling your orgasm creep back up on you. Your breath begins to pick up, and he pulls you to the edge again. But much like the last time, before you could reach your orgasm, he pulled away from you again.

Crying out from the edging, Sato stood over you with this sadistic smile on his face as he slowly undid and took his pants off.

“Lars, please let me cum. I can’t take it anymore.” You sounded so weak, and he loved that you needed him to be able to cum. But he was done making you wait. He needed to be in you.

Sato stood at the end of the bed admiring you as he slowly stroked himself. He thought you looked like an angel laid out for him. Your eyes slowly scan down his body. You take note of how his muscles flexed with every movement. Caught in the daze of emotions Sato's mind was finally clear. No other thoughts except the anticipation of feeling the way you’ll stretch around him.

“You going to be good and take it all?” Sato climbed onto you caressing your legs before lifting them onto his shoulders. “You asked for me, so you’re going to take all of me.” He commands as he slides into you.

The stretch was everything he’d imagined it to be. You were so warm, wet, and tight that he didn’t think he could control himself. He set the pace slow at first allowing you to adjust. When your face relaxes, he presses your knees to your chest giving him a view of the bulge he creates when he bottoms out in you.

Before picking up the pace he frees you from the makeshift bindings. Sato wants to feel your hands on him while he tears you apart. Picking up his pace he gets lost in the pretty little sounds you make when he hits that spot. “Let me hear you angel, it's right there right?”

Sato was laying it on you long and thick, he wasn’t letting up. Sato's heavy thrusts mixed with praise were addicting. You clawed down his back and moaned sweet gibberish in his ear while you held on to him for dear life. He used the mattress to set a tantalizing pace. Letting a leg go he reaches down and begins to play with your clit. You began to squeeze around him, making it hard for him to keep the pace. Pulling him in and closer his thrust grew deeper and harder. “Fuck angel, you trying to make me fall in love with you?”

A/N

Hello unique here! requests are open! I'll be writing for Doro for now being it's the only series I've seen recently. As I finish others then I can add to the list.

#Lars Sato #DORO #LARS X READER #smut #x reader #doro smut #uniquewrites

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cherry-shiftss · 6 months ago

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my first day in my fame dr!!

The day is saturday 7th september 2013 and I wake up at 9 o clock, not too early but not too late and I'll probably take some time to myself, gathering my thoughts and steadying myself within my new reality. I can hear voices in the kitchen- andrew and alex. elisha knows I've shifted (she's a shifter herself) so I drop her a text, something along the lines of "OMG WTF I SHIFTED AND ANDREWS IN THE NEXT ROOM DJEJJFND" or an equally calm, cool, and collected reaction.

after recovering, I will once again die a little when I go out into the kitchen to be greeted by a view of my roommates- my cousin alex and the loml andrew. I will have to physically refrain from throwing myself towards the both of them but I shall succeed because I'm strong. I'm then gonna make myself a cute little smoothie in our blender (so excited for this bc I don't have one here) and have nutella on toast bc I'm an adult and can do what tf i want.

after eating that and chatting to the lads, I'll go and clean my teeth, wash my face and put my contact lenses in, in the bathroom (plus the good old morning shit😘) then go into my room and put on my OOTD and do my make up and hair as pictured below: (yes my hair is that colour too😝)

its now about half 10 and me and elisha are going SHOPPING!! and I'm spending my adult money on probably like clothes and whatever tickles my fancy. we get the bus into the centre of dublin and do some shopping until lunch time where we pop into the cafe/bookshop I work at to get some lunch and also buy some books because I get cheap stuff since I'm an employee😘. we then finish up the shopping at like 3 and head home.

once we're home we give alex and andrew a cutsey shopping haul and just like fuck around ig... read a bit, listen to music, chit chat until 5ish which is when we're gonna start making dinner which is LASAGNA which will be served at around 6 and it will be very yummy because Andrew's an amazing chef and lasagna is lush. it's now half 6 and since I have the body clock of an old lady it's now time for me to shower and get changed into my pyjamas. after about 45 minutes max, I am out of the shower and now have to wait for everyone to shower before MOVIE TIME. this will probably be my "first" one on one time with andrew in which I will be turned into a blushing mess.

we'll then watch a movie (mean girls bc were girlbosses) and eat snacks before chatting, maybe having a cheeky wine or two (adults!!! (like not being one's ever effected me🤫)) and now it's like 11 which is late for me so I'll go to bed and maybe read a bit before going to sleep

and that's my first day in my fame dr!!

hope you enjoyed xx

ps I listened to the new ethel cain album while making this and HOLY FUCK I AM CHANGED

#reality shifting #shifting community #shifting blog #shiftblr #shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting motivation #shifting realities #anti shifters dni #fame dr

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utilitycaster · 9 months ago

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if you're up to elaborating, i would love to hear more about your complicated feelings on Taliesin's reads of this campaign, because that's something that's been itching my brain but I'd been having a hard time pinpointing why and I'm interested to hear your thoughts!

So I think it's best summarized in part as a combination of what was said in this post I just reblogged and these tags from @kerosene-in-a-blender on this post:

#yeeeaaaahhhh#ngl it seems like the characters and parts of the cast got so caught up in the potential moral dilemma of interventionist gods#that they forgot the gods of exandria aren't particularly interventionist#critical role#critical role spoilers#cr spoilers

Ashton feels like they learned something about their own arrogance and assumptions with Shardgate...and then it just vanished. And the fact that Taliesin genuinely read that as what was supposed to happen when like 3-4 authority figures, some of whom (Allura) have existed since Campaign 1 as People To Listen To had said "This is a bad idea" in plain language does give me pause because like...with all due respect, I get why Ashton would do this anyway! But come on, man, how do you hear that and not go "oh maybe it's a bad idea."

I don't want to read in too much to cooldown and 4SD either but I really do just feel that like...some of the cast, and Taliesin isn't alone in this but definitely seems to be using it the most in-game, have come under the impression that the purpose of this campaign is specifically to upend everything we knew...but that idea is just an assumption that is not supported, and as I've said repeatedly, there is no situation in which the world is not drastically changed - there's going to be either a hostile alien invasion, or a friendly alien migration, but either one will be monumental within Exandrian history, and that's not counting the establishment of the Accord/the collapse of local institutions in both the Dwendalian Empire and Bassuras/ If one cannot see any possibility for vast change within the world other than killing/driving out the gods, I don't know how to address this nicely. This is an uncreative and stupid position that I can't engage with because it's so stupid. It's like saying World War II didn't change anything in our world because at the end of it the US and USSR both still existed largely intact. So the over-focus on only one means of change in a way that feels based on an interpretation of this campaign's purpose that isn't even stated anywhere is telling and deeply frustrating.

As the second post indicates, it feels like some of the cast, Taliesin especially, got caught up in a theological argument of divine intervention that personally I had a great time debating in Hebrew school when I was 13, but is not ultimately true in Exandria (or reality, for that matter). On some level it's like maybe read some Harold Kushner and you'll calm down; it feels like you're arguing against like, some very real religious tenets (that are not exclusively Christian for once) but in a story where that's not actually a problem.

I'd throw in that Bells Hells sit in this awkward place of not being nobodies (or Nobodies) anymore but many are still acting like it and Ashton is at the forefront. Indeed, look at the name "the Nobodies." The problem is that Ashton is a Somebody now. He's not like, the ruler of a city, or an ancient dragon, or a god. But they're someone who has the personal raw power and the connections to survive an ill-considered second shard absorption. They're someone who is easily going to survive a fall out of a window, and who can't be bound into service. They are someone who has been entrusted by the world to assist in saving it, and they're too fixated on the gods not personally saving them to consider the vast potential harm to others, and I think it's not inherently out of callousness but rather that they've rather abruptly risen from "orphan criminal who expected to be dead by 30" to "guy tasked to save the world" but they have no option but to rise to the occasion, as the Raven Queen said. To change the world, he must change himself, and I feel like Taliesin, who often enjoys the idea of characters who don't change, is perhaps too wed to that concept for this particular narrative. And, for what it's worth: I've said it before that my personal preference is to keep the gods in place...but I would genuinely be MILES happier with a party that decisively had decided to kill the gods. I would not agree with their decision, but anything is better than this indecision. And since Ashton is pretty staunchly in favor of killing the gods and the rest of the party is varying degrees of strongly against (Orym, Braius), weakly against (Chetney, Fearne, Imogen, increasingly Laudna) and unsure but worried specifically about the mortal impact (Dorian) at some point it's like. Either say "I don't like this, but this is the party's plan" or leave. The decisiveness matters on an individual level too; because Bells Hells does not have good internal methods of resolving conflict for reasons stated above and below, at some point it's like. You have to give it up because no one will make you. If Ashton genuinely cannot or will not yield on this, either commit to betraying the party (totally valid, could be a great story) or have them leave; if Ashton does trust the party, have them reluctantly give in. A party-wide choice must be made and fast. The party is aimless because they are all pulling in different directions and it all cancels out, but Ashton is definitely contributing extensively to that agonizing stasis.

I suppose I should wrap up with what I've been saying a lot but should probably go on this post which is that a lot of the flaws in this campaign are not any singular person's fault. I really do feel like they began with the fact that Matt was clearly building to this specific story, and Bells Hells were not a party terribly suited to it in the first place and then were given an earlier narrative that, because it was heavily on rails to get them to the solstice setpiece, failed to give them the tools to become people who would be prepared for this endgame. I think Matt really wanted the cast to make the decisions here, and did not have a specific decision in mind, and now they're all finding that they're playing characters who can't make that decision. It's a culmination of a lot of smaller out-of-game choices that have failed to gel into a coherent whole. When I say the Raven Queen was right, and if they are not ready for this, to go home, I don't think the party should be tpk-ed or anything, but yeah, if they can't decide what to do when they are essentially tasked with killing the BBEG and diffusing the universe-shattering bomb, they should abdicate. I don't think a story in which the heroes fail is a bad one. I know Call of the Netherdeep has been a touchstone in the fandom throughout this campaign and there's one possible ending to that that's sort of unsatisfying, but the unsatisfying nature itself makes it an interesting story to me. I think this campaign ending with the party saying "we can't do this" is vanishingly unlikely, and complaints aside I think they will probably make a decision now but it all feels exceedingly doylist - Bells Hells are the characters the cast happens to be playing for this climactic final moment so I guess they will play those characters, and those characters will have to make a choice so that the final moment happens, but it doesn't feel terribly organic.

#answered #Anonymous #it's been a minute since I read harold kushner i should get that out of the library if i can #unrelated but i bought the main actual play study text too my meta is going to get REALLY fucking researched soon #not that it wasn't. but it's going to get MORE.#this got very rambly and a bit off topic anon sorry i hope it still answers it #cr spoilers

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