#val's blurbs

[valswrld06]

I feel like ppl always talk abt tummy gains, tit gains, ass gains, etc, etc... yk what one of my fav places to see gains is?? the face!! like I js love seeing a cutie's face blow up due to the result of their gluttony. and the double chin(s) omgggggggg so cute!! :3

[onlyquinns]

AS IT WAS, q. hughes

pairing: ex childhood friend!quinn hughes x fem!reader

wc: 6.6k

cw: SMUT MDNI, swearing, mentions of blood and injury, underage usage of marijuana and alcohol, the reader self sabotages A LOT, trevor is kind of a slut in this ngl 😭

synopsis: you’re childhood friends with the hughes, particularly close to quinn, until you accidentally say things you didn’t mean. left reminiscing, you’re faced with your ex-best friend years later and forced to admit how devastatingly stupid you’d been after the meddling of his two friends.

2017

growing up, your summers were always the same. sticky, brightly colored popsicles, long bike rides with the neighborhood kids, trips to the soup kitchen with your mom, swimming at the pool, and stick-and-pucks with your dad out in the road—that was all you knew, what you looked forward to. but the summer you turned twelve, things changed.

the hughes family moved in across the street from you and your parents, filling the brick house with ruckus and laughter—and, most importantly, the hughes brothers.

the three of them were like fireworks, exploding across their driveway and in the road every morning just to play street hockey. it didn’t take long before the three boys were running up to your front door and asking for you, asking for the girl with the silly chipped front tooth whose dad coached the 18u hockey team.

you loved the attention, loved the thrill you got from being able to play hockey with kids your age in the neighborhood because other parents always refused to let you shoot pucks at their kids—a safety hazard for their brains and teeth, whatever that meant. but with quinn, jack, and luke, anything that happened in the big league games was fair game in all forms of hockey the four of you played—street, roller, ice, whatever.

you always knew hockey was a team sport—practically had that notion engraved into your head from an early age. but hockey with the hughes was more than that, more than just the practiced good sportsmanship and friendly pats to their helmets after a goal. it’d become sacred—the sole thing that drew them in to you and you to them, and the sole thing that’d formed your relationships with them.

but formation never came by itself; it always came hand in hand with alteration, with change.

the driveway and streets are blanketed in snow, covering every inch of dead grass and pavement. quinn and jack shoot pucks in their driveway, laughing and talking about going to the odr by themselves. you sit on the steps of their front porch, watching their form and taking notes like how your dad does for your team. it’s easy to get lost in their movements, in how easily they maneuver their sticks back to send the puck flying through the air.

“wanna go skating?” quinn asks, and you look up from your notepad to find him grinning. something in your heart stutters at the sight of him, eyes only on you and car keys dangling from his hand.

at the age of eighteen, quinn had already gotten his drivers and boating license. he’d tried alcohol and weed—even if he’d never admit it. he’d dated and kissed girls.

and he’d become the only boy you’d stupidly gone and fallen in love with.

you chew on your bottom lip. “i don’t know, i don’t really want to right now.”

jack groans dramatically and shoots a puck into the back of the little net they’ve set up. he’s teasing, playing the role of younger brother, but that doesn’t stop quinn from glaring at him, eyes sharp in a way only an older sibling can manage. jack shuts his mouth instantly. your heart soars.

“c’mon,” quinn says, stopping in front of you. his breath fogs in the cold air, puffing from his mouth and wafting away into the crystalline sky. it brings back memories of a shared joint between the two of you, passed back and forth between warm fingers on your eighteenth birthday nearly a month ago. “i’m gonna’ be leaving for college soon and we haven’t skated together all season, please?”

and you’re too weak to argue, because you’d rather skate with the two of them than think about losing quinn—your quinn—to another university. or to another girl who watches him play hockey, with or without a silly notepad.

the odr is the same as it was when you were younger; the paint on the boards are peeling, revealing worn wood, and there's the same old wrecked goal net at the end of the rink. you breathe in deeply, the little hairs in your nose tingling with frost and dulling your senses with the bite of winter.

quinn takes the time to pull your gear bag out for you, putting it by the bench near the rink. he wipes the snow off with his gloved hand, ensuring you don’t have to do it yourself. then, he and jack are on the ice in an instant, lacing their skates in record time. you don’t join them as quickly, taking your time to slide out of jim’s old truck and walk over to get your skates on.

your body aches as you sit and bend over to pull your skates on, lingering reminders of early morning practices with your high school team and the ruthless drills your dad had you do to ensure a spot on a college hockey team. the stretch of kinesiology tape your mom had painstakingly put on you that afternoon pulls at your biceps under your shirt, the stern reminder to keep yourself from overworking your body—to keep yourself from scratching to rest of your last season.

the laces on your skates bite into your calloused fingers, long roughed over from years of tying your own skates. you move through the motions mindlessly, everything on autopilot up until you finally join the two boys on the ice.

it’s just an easy stick and puck situation—just sticks, gloves, and pucks—but after nearly an hour of shooting, the boys convince you to play rougher, to start checking and pushing each other. and who are you to disagree?

quinn laughs easily as he scoops the puck from you, tearing down the ice as he goes from one side of the rink to the other. jack blocks him off when he gets too close to the boards, taking the puck into his own area and sending quinn into the boards. you try to keep up, skating toward jack in the hopes of cutting him off just to take the puck for yourself.

you’re nearly there, reaching out with your own stick to knock his away, when quinn comes barreling into you from your side. it happens too quick for you to even adjust yourself or even think.

one of your blades catches in the ice, digging deeper than normal, and you fly sideways. you land on your shoulder, stick clattering away from you and your head slamming painfully into the ice before bouncing off. the boys stop immediately, game forgotten and laughter gone.

you cry out in pain, curling in on yourself as your head fills with fire. there’s a sharp, throbbing pain somewhere that you can’t place and the ice beneath your ear feels sticky.

“holy fuck,” jack yells as he stops in front of you. you look up at him through teary eyes, hands clutching at your head. “holy fuck, holy fuck—i’m… i’m gonna’ call mom. okay?”

you’re barely listening to him as he rambles, too busy trying to keep your eyes from slipping shut. quinn lands on his knees next to you, hands pulling at your own to assess the damage.

“i’m so sorry,” he tells you as you cry out and try to kick him away. “i’m so, so sorry.”

by the time jack returns by your side, your mom and ellen’s car come racing down the street and into the parking lot. your dad is immediately there, taking you in his arms like when you were just an infant as you cry and scream in pain. ellen ushers her boys into the truck, tells them to go home as she gets in her own car and follows your family to the hospital.

they tell you that you need stitches, that your memory is still intact, that you’ll have some bad bruising, but you’re alive.

the stitches burn like fire and make you clench your teeth, make your vision bright white. your mom holds your hand the entire time, kisses your bruised knuckles and demands you wear a helmet from now on, even for stick and puck. ellen watches from the corner, apologizing like crazy as if it were her fault but your parents tell her it’s okay—that you’re okay. and you tell her you are because it’s hockey, for fuck’s sake, you can take a fall.

when you get home, quinn and jack wait on the doorstep. they hold flowers and balloons in their hands, cheeks and nose windburned from standing outside for who knows how long. ellen scolds them, argues with jim for letting them stand there, but quinn argues that he’s eighteen—he’s an adult by law, he claims.

you crack a smile at that.

by the time you’re fully healed, the season is over and you’ve missed out on scouts and your senior year. your dad is wrecked and your mom is pleased. you’re mad.

it’s the end of the school year and you and quinn are graduated, free from your years of high school classes and drama—now shackled to impending years of university or college.

or the nhl.

you and quinn sit side by side atop the hood of jim’s truck, a can of beer you’d stolen from your dad’s stash between the two of you. you lean back on your elbows and look up at the sky, eyes drawn to the dim clouds that litter across the expanse of dark blue.

quinn looks at you, traces the soft line of your jaw with his eyes. he’s enamored with the peacefulness in your expression, savors it because he knows he’s about to destroy you like he did months ago.

“i’m committed,” he tells you. “to umich.”

you swallow thickly, nodding as he tells you how a scout saw his last game and talked to his coach. you barely listen, filled with a rage that you can’t even describe. your hands shake next to you and tears burn the backs of your eyes as quinn talks and talks—about his future in the nhl and how he hopes he gets drafted soon.

“so, that’s it?” you whisper, voice weak and hoarse.

you’re mad. mad at the injury that you sustained months ago, that made it so your mom and dad argued until they agreed to pull you—to talk with your coach and bench you. you’re mad at quinn for being so rough that night at the odr, knowing that you were tired and didn’t want to skate in the first place.

you’re mad at yourself for being mad at quinn because it’s not his fault at all. you’re just mad.

“you ruined my senior year,” you say, turning to look at quinn with tears in your eyes and rage shaking your fists. “i missed the scouts, i didn’t get sought out by some cool university, and you’re just… leaving? after what you did?”

quinn winces, body locking up at your words. you don’t mean it—you don’t blame him at all—but you’re angry and upset and… you’re losing him.

“i didn’t mean to, you know that,” he murmurs, eyes downcast, unable to look at you crying. “if i could go back and just do something different, i would. i fought so hard against your parents; i told them that you could keep playing—“

“clearly not hard enough,” you bite back.

you hop off the hood of the truck and walk toward your own car. quinn doesn’t call for you; instead, he watches you walk away and get in your beater vehicle and scream as loud as you can.

2025

the summer sun beats down on your back, heating your bare skin as you swish your legs back and forth in the cold lake water. you grip tightly onto the dock that you sit on, head tilted to the side.

across the lake, you can make out four tiny figures—what you assume are young kids—playing street hockey. your heart sinks at the sight, a reminder of your youth spent with three boys obsessed with hockey coming to mind. you shake it away—it’s been too long for you to dwell on your past, on what could’ve been if you hadn’t let one accident and one fight keep you from achieving a goal long forgotten.

instead, you pull your legs from the crystal clear water and make your way back to your family lake house. as you walk along the lakeside, a cluster of boys catches your attention. they’re loud, split up between standing by a nice boat and inside of a truck bed. laughter fills the air as you walk closer to them, fully intending to breeze past them to get back home.

as you walk, one of them catches a glimpse of you—eyes you up and down in your tight bikini top and ridiculously short jean shorts. he lets out a low whistle, one that has you whipping your head toward the group and glaring so viciously whatever stupid comment he was about to make disappears from his mouth.

what you don’t expect, however, is to see quinn hughes standing by the boy who blatantly disrespected you.

he looks different and not just because he’s standing topless and in board shorts. his hair is longer, curlier, and crops across his face in delicate waves. his jaw is sharper, far more defined than when the two of you were eighteen and still losing baby fat. he looks exactly how he does on your television screen back home, where you watched him and his brothers get drafted into the nhl.

where you watched him climb the ranks as the rookie to the captain, while you spent your time trying to forget everything hockey that was drilled into your brain.

he stares at you, eyes locked on yours in a weird staring contest sort of way. his eyes drop down your body and then back up to your face, his face giving away none of his thoughts.

“hi,” you say, unsure of what else you can say—not after the last thing you said to him when the two of you were eighteen. “nice day for a boat ride, huh?”

it’s a silly question because you know it is and they do too, that’s why they have the boat out, but you double down and wait—wait for quinn and his friends to agree or maybe for quinn to ignore you flat out. but instead, he shrugs a little and pats the side of his boat.

“yeah,” he says, voice deeper than you last remembered it. “boys and i are gonna go wakeboarding. wanna join?”

the question surprises you and you think it surprises quinn too, judging by his awkward chuckle and his telltale crooked smile that barely reaches his eyes. screw it, you think, because the day’s been full of surprises, so why not add to it.

you nod, “yeah,” you tell quinn, response loud enough for everyone to hear but your eyes only on your childhood friend. “sounds like fun.”

and, admittedly, it is.

it’s nice out on the lake, wind blowing through your hair and the sun melting over your skin. the water splashes over the sides as quinn jerks the boat left and right, his friend, cole, screaming and howling with laughter as he tries to stay upright on the board.

you tuck your face into your face, cheeks heated from the sun, and droopy gaze drawn to the setting sun. a beer is situated between your thighs, condensation from the can leaving splotchy water marks on your jean shorts and the soft skin of your inner thighs. quinn’s other friend, trevor, watches as gentle droplets slip down the curve of your thigh, and you act like you don’t see him staring—because you’re not after his attention, anyway.

you tilt your face away from the horizon, brought back to reality by the sound of cole’s body hitting water with a loud yelp. you smile into your palm as the boys around you laugh and chirp cole as he climbs into the boat, shaking soppy hair like a giant dog.

“as if you could do better,” he retorts as quinn teases his inability to last long—a joke you know has an underlying meaning to it.

before he can retort, trevor pipes in. he’s smirking, mischief dancing in his bright eyes. you think he’s handsome, if it weren’t for the quiet understanding that he was your average hotshot hockey dude who messed with girls like they were pucks that he could shoot away from him at mach speed.

“why don’t we ask her?” he says, waving toward you in your jean shorts and baby blue bikini. “bet she could attest to huggy’s ability to last long.”

your beer can crashes in between your legs, slipping past your fingers and spilling itself over your thighs and the terracotta-colored leather seats. your body is stricken with horror at the implication, at the sheer idea that someone you’ve just met could assume something like that, even though you’d thought about it plenty of times as a teenager—but that’s beside the point.

your now empty can of beer rolls around the deck floor, bumping against one end of the boat before rolling back between your sandal-clad feet. cole, the only one who doesn’t stand or sit looking either proud or horrified, rushes to help you wipe up the foamy amber liquid. he settles his strong body between your knees without thinking, pressing his towel to the ground and snatching up the can. you can feel his hair brushing against the insides of your thighs, suddenly hyper aware of your position.

quinn is, too.

he moves without thinking, snatching up another towel in a tight fist and making his way over to you. your head snaps upward, watching as he gets closer, body illuminated by the setting sun and unfairly attractive in his stupid american flag-themed swim trunks. he moves cole out of the way, lightly smacking at his shoulder so he’ll get up, and grabs you by the bicep.

you reek of cheap beer and embarrassment at the way he handles you, pulling you into his side so he can wipe up your seat for you before letting you go.

“are you wearing anything under your shorts?” quinn asks, leaning over the side of the boat to dunk his beer-damp towel into the cold lake water. he braces himself with his free arm, the muscles in his biceps and chest flexing and taut.

you silently pray that the water with magically come up and suck you in, like the ocean in moana. “yeah, uh,” you start, glancing over at trevor, whose smirk is wider than ever, “why?”

quinn pulls back from the boat’s edge holding the wet towel, little droplets splattering to the deck at his feet in drops of varying size. he looks at you with amusement, a look you thought you’d never see again but had dreamt of for years.

“should take your shorts off then, yeah?” he teases, offering you the towel in his hand. “unless you wanna smell like beer on the way back to the dock.” his lips quirk into a smile, awkward and unsure of himself but trying his hardest to be as close to normal as possible. not that anything was normal now.

you let out a breathy laugh, knowing quinn’s right. memories of rebellious teenage years flood your mind—moments of you and quinn sharing beers and drunkenly spilling them on each other, how you’d dissolve into tears at the smell and how he’d always kept a change of clothes for you on him.

you don’t expect that last bit now as you slip the button of your jeans free, fingers pulling at the worn zipper. quinn, ever the gentleman, turns his face away, finding the boat’s railing more interesting than ever. you watch as his free hand runs along the surface, fingers peaking to pick at something. you drop your shorts and he tilts his head even further away.

trevor whistles again, sharp and downright jeering despite it meaning to be appreciative. quinn’s head is immediately on a swivel, turning to trevor with a withering look—one that clearly reads that he needs to knock it off, or else. your heart squeezes in your chest at his protectiveness, reminded of how he’d been when you’d gone through puberty and catcalled by boys grades above you.

he turns to you and tries his hardest to keep his eyes on your face, to stay level with your eyes rather than your bare chest and tummy and—

“wanna go for a swim?” he blurts, squeezing his left hand in minuscule, discrete motions to keep blood from rushing to his crotch like he’s some dorky teen boy.

the giggle that leaves your mouth has his head swimming, greedily storing the sound of it away in case after this the two of you go back to being strangers. cole and trevor are already whooping at the suggestion and jumping in, sending a shower of ice-cold water up into the air and on your smooth skin. quinn gulps as he waits for your response, adam’s apple bobbing thickly at the sight of water droplets sliding down your neck and between your tits.

you say something that he doesn’t hear, followed by a breathtaking smile and another giggle—another sound that he stashes away in the part of his brain dedicated to you. you surge forward and grab quinn’s hand, pulling him from his own thoughts and into the water. you’re unsure where the bravery even came from, why you’re suddenly so comfortable with him even though you’re the reason he’s not longer part of your life, but you hope it’ll last a little longer as the two of you surface.

and for a second, it’s like you’re both eighteen again. but maybe it’s a trick of the heart, instead.

‎ ୨୧

the fire pit in front of you crackles loudly, spewing tendrils of smoke and ash into the evening sky. you’re curled up on a sun lounger, legs pressed to your chest and arms coiled tightly around them. you’re wearing an old hoodie quinn gave you, one that he claimed belonged to one of his brother’s, but you’d seen through the bluff. you’d seen the hoodie years ago, remembered exactly where you were when ellen had wrote ‘q. hughes’ on the inside of it.

you don’t know why you’re here, sitting in the backyard of quinn’s lake house. one moment you were swimming with your childhood ex-best friend, carefree of the messy past the two of you shared, and the next you were blindly agreeing to come over. to implement yourself back into his world even more.

trevor and cole sit on the other side of the pit, laughing and chatting nonstop. trevor’s interest in you is long gone, put to rest alongside the setting sun, but he still looks at you with a weird glimmer—something you recognize as being bad.

you watch through the climbing flames as the two of them get up from their seats, pushing and shoving each others shoulders like young boys who’ve dared each other something dumb. eventually, trevor rounds the firepit and makes his way to you, his body taking up the sun lounger next to you. he leans back into the plastic slats, casual and comfortable in his position.

“so, how do you know quinn?” he asks, looking at you meaningfully. orange light flickers across his cheeks.

you glance at trevor, face unreadable, and then glance at quinn. he stands on the back porch, diligently working old charcoal off of the grill for the barbecue he’d told you about planning.

“we used to be friends,” you murmur softly, almost too quiet that the crackling of the fire eats it away. you press your cheek into your knee, fully looking at quinn as he tries to start the grill so he can run a whole onion over the grate. “childhood friends, actually.” you fight back a smile. “he and his brothers were the only kids allowed to play hockey in the neighborhood. the others weren’t allowed to because they thought i’d knock their teeth loose, or something.”

trevor sputters in his seat, propping himself up in strong arms. “you play hockey?” he asks loudly, so loud that he draws the attention of cole and quinn onto your curled up form.

you see quinn wince, an involuntary twitch of his body at the mention of you and hockey in one sentence.

your slight smile slips away, and you purse your lips. “yeah,” you say gravelly, “i used to.”

the past-tense of the verb has trevor sinking back into his lounger, “oh.” his excitement is gone, interest in your history with the sport fading from his face.

you nod and sigh, pushing yourself upward. you excuse yourself, claim you need a drink, and follow cole’s advice to head inside for the fridge. you move sluggishly through the backyard, eyes drawn to your feet. quinn watches you move, his plan to clean the grill thrown out the window. instead, he quietly slides the back door open for you and follows you inside.

as you reach for the fridge handle, he comes up behind you, chest lightly brushing against your back. you hold your breath, feelings that you thought you’d tamped down resurfacing—as if they haven’t already after the day you’ve had with him and his friends.

“here,” he whispers, breath curling into your hair and lips so close to your ear that you can feel the heat radiating, the scent of bonfire thick in your nose, “let me.”

quinn’s hand automatically gravitates to a beer you like, fingers curling around the can in a way that causes nostalgia to tug at your ribs. he hesitates for a second, then grabs another one, his long fingers twisting to accommodate for two cans instead of one.

the two of you stand-by-side next to each other in the dark kitchen, sipping from cold beers. the taste of it floods your mouth, drawing stupid childhood memories from the corners of your mind. you swallow them down alongside the beer, throat thick. quinn coughs into the darkness, knuckles tight against the edge of the kitchen counters as he leans backward into them.

“why’d you quit?” quinn asks in a momentary lapse of his own self. you don’t respond immediately, scared to voice the truth. he crushes his empty beer can and tosses it into the kitchen trash bin. “was it really because of what happened when we were eighteen, or was it something else?”

you’d asked yourself that question for years—you always knew it wasn’t actually because of one injury. you always knew hockey was a rough sport—that’s why you were so obsessed with it when you were a kid—but now you were using that one incident as an excuse. you didn’t quit because you’d taken a tumble on the ice, didn’t quit because your mom forced you out of it. you’d quit because you were too caught up in battling the sport for quinn’s attention—because you’d lost to it.

but could you admit that to him, to the boy you’d harbored feelings for since the beginning of time?

“i… don’t know,” you say instead, eyes dropping to look at your beer.

quinn’s jaw ticks in the dark, and the dam in his brain breaks down. “i called in a shit ton of favors,” he says into the dark. “i had my coach at umich ask all of his hockey buddies if they’d heard of you, if you’d somehow ended up one a team’s roster.”

your heart thuds loudly in your ears at the admission, at how after you’d walked out of his world—a world filled with care, a career in hockey, a love for you—he’d tried so desperately to keep you from drifting further away.

“i thought that you might’ve ended up in sports management like your dad, y’know.” quinn turns to look at you, hazel eyes sad as they take in your form. “like, maybe you’d kept that… that spirit after the fall and turned it to helping other players.”

you shake your head. “i couldn’t,” you say thickly, thinking about how your dad had sat you down and asked what you wanted to do in college if you couldn’t play hockey—how you told him you didn’t know, that you felt lost. “i lost it when you left for college.”

“jack and luke tried—“

“i wasn’t in love with jack or luke!” you cry out, turning your teary-eyed gaze to quinn. your lip wobbles. “i didn’t feel like i needed their attention on me every single second! it didn’t matter if i came second to hockey to them because i…” quinn looks at you with wide eyes, mouth agape, and you realize you’ve fucked up. you push off the kitchen counter and place your beer on the marbling. “i need to go,” you say hurriedly, attempting to walk away.

quinn grabs your wrist, fingers firm but not painful. he spins you around until you’re facing him and then positions himself so you’re against the counter, boxing you in between the counter and his string arms. he presses his lips to yours, tasting of beer and summer fruit. a hand slides from the counter and finds your hip, squeezing through the thick cotton of the hoodie you’re wearing. you kiss back, eyes sliding closed and lips slotting so perfectly against his.

it’s not like what you’d expected—there aren’t any showy fireworks in your brain or silly butterflies in your belly. you feel safe, comfortable, as he holds you and pours every unsaid thing into the kiss.

your hands slide around quinn’s neck and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. he kisses like he’s got all of the time in the world, like he has things to say and make up for, and when his tongue presses to your bottom lip…

you let out an airy sound, something between a sigh and a moan. quinn groans at the sound and the kiss suddenly becomes desperate, messy. his tongue pushes against yours and his teeth graze your lip, stinging in the best way possible. his arms wrap around your waist and he hoists you up, urging your legs to wrap around him.

quinn doesn’t break the kiss until you’re seated on the counter, thighs pressed to cold marble and his body slotted between your legs. his lips smear hot kisses along your jaw, brushing and nipping near your ear before dragging down your neck. he sucks marks into your soft skin, lathing over them with his tongue and leaving a gentle kiss as he moves on. his hands push the hem of your hoodie up, warm palms roaming your bare skin.

“quinn,” you whimper, scared that trevor or cole might walk in and catch the two of you. “we shouldn’t—“

he’s kneeling between your dangling legs, your bare calves hooked over his shoulders and his arms desperately trying to pull your body down more so he can reach you where you need him most. his lips are kiss-swollen and his eyes are filled with determination, and rounded with something you think might be love.

“i’ve waited years to hear you say that, and i doubt those two will try to walk in here after making that stupid sex joke earlier.” quinn squeezes your leg, tilting his chin into the bend of your knee to brush a little kiss to your skin, “but if you want to stop, i will. i don’t want you just for sex. i’ve been so in love with you for years and i couldn’t live with myself after what i did to you.”

you suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, fingers bracing your body against the counter. quinn looks up at you again and your hips twitch lower off the counter, drawing your core closer to his face. he smiles as you nod, and you settle your thighs by his ears, your lower back held upward by his strong hands.

“fuck,” he breathes, sucking dark marks into your inner thighs. you let out a breathy moan, arms trembling already. quinn peeks up at your face, savoring the way your eyes are half-lidded and your teeth are clamped down on your lip. “you’re so perfect, so beautiful…” he praises softly, nuzzling his nose against your clothed clit. “always been.”

your breath stutters in your throat as he presses his tongue flat against your bikini bottoms. the sight of your childhood crush and best friend between your legs is obscene, fucking sinful.

“quinn…” your voice nearly gives out as quinn pulls your bottoms to the side, hot tongue pressing kitten licks to the bundle of nerves.

quinn groans and takes your clit into his mouth, sucking it past his lips and circling it with his tongue. without thinking, you raise a hand to your mouth and clamp it over your lips. quinn quickly adjusts, embracing more of your weight down on him without letting up on his ministrations.

his tongue licks stripes down your cunt, the tip of it pressing into you just briefly. you moan into your palm and chase after the sensation, hips flush against quinn’s lips and chin. he chuckles and you feel every breath of it.

“lemme take my time, sweet girl,” he whispers, kissing your weeping entrance. “i’ll make you feel good, i promise.” you nod into your hand, eyes rolling into the back of your head as quinn continues to eat you out.

his tongue dips into you finally and his nose presses insistently against your clit, rubbing into the swollen bud as he tongue fucks you. your hips grind against his mouth, drawing you closer and closer until you come undone around his tongue with a muffled sigh and a squeeze of your thighs around his head.

quinn grins and pulls away, chin shiny in the dim light with your slick. he slowly slides you back onto the counter, hand drawing up your inner thigh and pressing lightly against your fluttering cunt. quinn pries your hand away from your mouth with his other hand and presses a sloppy kiss to your lips, swallowing every sound that comes from your mouth as he kisses you and presses two of his thick fingers into your walls.

“taste so good,” he whispers as he pulls away from the kiss. he curl his fingers and you let out a gasp, hand squeezing his fingers. “and so sensitive.”

quinn pulls his fingers from your cunt and presses them to his tongue, groaning around the digits as he licks them clean. you watch, captivated, jaw slightly dropped and your hips shifting in search of more friction.

“god,” he moans, pressing his obvious boner into you. “could taste you all night, baby, but i can save that for another time,” he says, voice rough and filled with amusement as you try to press your hips to his with a little pout.

the front of his swim trunks are stained from where he’s leaked through, a patch of fabric darker than the rest of the shorts. you paw weakly at the waistband, impatient and eager for his attention. quinn smirks and draws down his trunks just enough to free his dick, letting it curve up into his abdomen. precum beads at the tip of it, leaking from the slit, and you lick your lips at the sight.

“please,” you beg, looking up at his dark eyes as he fists his cock, spreading pre down the length of it. “please fuck me, q, i need it so bad—have wanted it since forever.”

quinn rubs the head of it through your holds, letting it catch against your clit for a second. “i know, baby,” he murmurs gently. he lines himself up with your entrance and you watch with rapt attention, waiting for him to sink into you.

when he finally pushes into you, agonizing inch by inch, you let out a breathy sigh—like having him in you has you feeling complete. you’re unsure why, but you babble incoherent thank you’s, reveling in the way he fits perfectly within your warm walls.

quinn sets a gentle pace, rocking into you as he holds you flush against his chest. he moans into the junction of your neck and shoulder, one hand slipped under your hoodie to pull your bikini up to grope at your tits.

“feel so good,” he moans into your skin, pace quickening and his fingers tweaking your nipple between calloused fingertips. “take me so well; fuckin’ made for me.” the sensual sound of skin on skin fills the kitchen, your ears ringing as you take in the sound of every lewd squelch.

you nod, lips parted in a moan. your orgasm creeps up on you, building faster than before. “nngh..! q, ‘m gonna cum!” you cry out and he groans. he ruts into you, dick hitting every sensitive point as if he’s mapped your body out perfectly.

“i know, baby, just let go for me. need to feel it like this, please,” he begs, and you unravel at his words. your lips fall in a silent scream and your thighs tremble against his hips.

quinn lets out a choked moan as your walls squeeze and clamp down on him, causing his hips to stutter momentarily as he fucks you through your high. he’s about to ask where you want him to finish when you suddenly lock your ankles around his back, tugging him closer.

“in me, please!” you whimper, eyes shut tight. “want you to cum in me, q; want you to fill me up.”

his hips falter again as he spills into you, gasping and moaning through it as white coats your insides. quinn doesn’t stop; instead, he fucks deeper into you for a moment as you whine and whimper, body sensitive and spent. he stains your walls with him—claiming you now that he’s got you back.

“s’too much,” you mumble, pressing your forehead to his sternum.

quinn chuckles and slowly pulls out, both of your gazes on the area the two of you connect. after pulling up his shirts, quinn takes no time to finger his cum back into you, fingers pressing his seed deep into your cunt. when he’s satisfied, he draws his fingers out and you let him press them into your mouth, tongue circling the pads. he pulls them from your mouth with a pop!

his gaze softens as he looks at you, body still slotted between your knees. quinn runs a hand through your sweat-damp hair, fingers likely scratching at your scalp as if he’s trying to map something out. when you realize, you take his wrist into your hand and bring it to your mouth to brush a tender kiss to the inside of it.

“i don’t blame you for what happened back then,” you say softly. “i was selfish and ignorant, and i didn’t want you to leave me behind.” you look up at quinn and your heart pangs at the sight of guilt in his pretty eyes. “if i could take back every awful thing i said that night, i would. it was never your fault, quinn.”

he tucks his face back into your shoulder and holds you flush against his chest. you hold him close, palms splayed across the expanse of his back. quinn���s body shudders with a relieved sob, a choked sound muffled into your skin and hot tears dampening your hoodie. you don’t let go as he sobs, holding tighter instead.

“it’s not your fault, q,” you repeat into his thick curls. “i love you, and i’ll do everything to remind you—to make things better. i promise.”

[succubusvalentine]

Geta who eats you out on his throne. Geta has taken over my entire mind and this needs to come out or I'll explode actually! CW : Pussy eating, slight exhibitionism, almost getting caught.

Geta had been showing you the area where he and Caracalla sit during the Gladiator Games. A proud crooked smile on his face. It would be your first time viewing the games from such an angle.

Geta grabbed ahold of your hips and had you sit down in his throne. And when you looked up at him, his eyes flickered with possessiveness. As if you sitting in his throne meant that he owned you.

Geta hummed as he stared at you. His eyes trailing over your stola. "You look good like this, my dear" Geta rumbled.

"I'd hope I look good to you all the time, Geta" you say softly, which makes the emperor chuckle, his hands landing on your knees, rubbing up and down your thighs.

"You know you do" Geta hummed, pushing your stola embroidered with gold thread, up your legs. And you hold the fabric against your lower stomach.

Geta continued to run his hands up and down your thighs, his touch felt as though your blood burned with need. The Emperor always had such an effect on you. His rings sending a shiver down your spine from the chill of them.

"Must you always tease, Geta?"

"Of course I must. I enjoy watching you become desperate for me"

You groaned in frustration at that. Your cunt was throbbing desperately now. Feeling how sticky your panties had become.

You sighed in relief when Geta finally tugged your panties down, his hands grabbing your thighs and spreading them wide open so he'd have all access to what he called, "nectar from the Gods".

you gasped quietly as Geta buried his nose in the tuft of hair on your mound. he always loved smelling your natural scent, despite how flustered it made you.

Then you felt his tongue glide up between your wet folds. Your hips jolting at the contact.

"Geta!" You huffed impatiently. Moaning as Geta began to suck on your clit.

Your hands glided down to his hair, tugged the locks as your hips grind forward into Geta's insatiable mouth. His tongue lapping into you, as if he was stuck in the desert and your cunt was the oasis he'd been praying for.

Geta had eaten you out plenty of times. But this was by far the best. You had the sun shining down on you, Geta's mouth on your pussy, and the thrill of the idea that anyone could see you.

"Emperor?!" a guard called out, you weren't sure from where. But it made you jolt and look down at Geta with wide eyes.

"Geta! Geta, a guard is going to see us!" you whisper in panic.

Geta pulls away, licking his lips. "Then I suggest you come in my mouth before he finds us" he grinned, before diving back in. Making you whimper desperately. Nodding in agreement.

You try to muffle your moans and whimpers as Geta doubles his efforts. Covering your mouth and tipping your head back to rest against the back of the throne.

"Close!" You moan into your hand, just loud enough for Geta to hear.

"Emperor?! Are you up here?! You have a meeting with the council!" The guard called out, just as the coil in your stomach began to rapidly tighten.

Geta then began humming around your clit. Your hand slamming down on the arm rest of the throne as you unexpectedly came.

Your orgasm ripped through you, feeling as though every nerve in your body was alight. Your eyes rolling back.

When you finally came down from the high, Geta had pulled your panties back up and smoothed out your stola. Having stood up as the guard finally found the two of you.

"Ah, Emperor Geta" the guard said as he walked over. "I was worried you would miss your meeting with the council"

"Unfortunately I will be missing the meeting. As you can see, my fairest has tired herself out and I will be joining her in my chambers" Geta said with his usual smug smile. Making you glare at him with a scoff.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[musicallisto]

anddddd if I’m allowed to request multiple, can i please ask for Carlos sainz with fantasy au?? love youuuuu

· · · · ♡ fantasy au!carlos sainz…

"that's enough. let him go." her voice ripples through the crowd of mercenaries, their bony, leather-clad silhouettes moving aside as she walks. deliberately, with the confident diligence of whom knows themself to be in charge. a complacency carlos knows all too well, too. "are you the leader?" he addresses her, trying to enunciate as loud and stern as he can with the tip of a blade pressed to his chin. it's rhetorical, really. he knows power, knows its quiet waves. for a fraction of a second, though, her smug demeanor is replaced by the purest surprise, flickering on her face when she meets his eye. then it's gone. "prince carlos. your highness," she addresses him, equal parts amused and disdainful, clearly holding no esteem nor reverence for the honorific. "you're a long way from your palace." she sees him for what he is, for what she saw all those years ago on her only trip to the capital—a child in fine silks smiling at the crowds from a gold and red carriage, and those big brown eyes that have never had to beg for food. or for his life. "an usurper sits on my throne," he speaks. at his words, the guard dog presses his blade harder against the fallen heir's neck, but carlos only steels himself, facing the mercenary queen dead in the eye. she knows this, of course—rumors of a coup and a crown prince on the run are worth a king's ransom. "I came to you to take my kingdom back. your manpower... in exchange for my riches." murmurs rise from the crowd, some outraged, others perplexed, but without so much as a gesture she has the assembly quiet as soon as she speaks. "a bold offer." "I am a bold man." she stares him down a moment longer, reading the very fires of grit in his soul. the candid face of a man who still believes there's such a thing as a noble death. "speak, your highness. I'm listening."

send me a driver + a concept and i’ll give you a moodboard + drabble not taking any more of these!

[stevie-petey]

How about a bug and Robin blurb? Maybe the first time Robin saw bug and how her crush on bug developed? You posted so much and I'm so grateful for you, you keep me sane 😭

ok ok i wouldnt necessarily say robin has a crush on bug per say, but she def has always had a youresoprettyandcoolpleaselookatmebeforeidie vibe with bug LMAO

enjoy !

"okay, we're doing ice breakers today. i want everyone to tell the class their name and one fun fact about them. everyone understand?" mrs. greer, robins english teacher, announces.

robin sinks low into her seat. she hates ice breakers. its the first day of sophomore year and robins third class of the day and shes done more ice breakers than she thinks should be legal. theyre annoying and horrible and should be considered a crime against society instead.

a few kids in the class give half-hearted responses to the teacher. everyone is tired, no one wants to be here, and robin knows its going to be a long year for her.

one by one, agonizingly slowly, the students in the room present themselves to the class. theyre all the same kids robin has known her entire life. no one new ever comes to hawkins, its a painfully small town.

she watches with dread as the kid in front of her stands up and announces that his name is greg and that he has a pet frog named freg. robin is so bored out of her mind that she laughs at fregs name, and greg gives her an odd look.

not a good way to start her introduction to the class.

all eyes turn to her, shes next, and robin sighs. her knees shake slightly, her palms sweat. "hi, im. uh, robin. robin buckley."

"and your fun fact, ms. buckley?" mrs. greer prompts, making robin want to die even more.

"right! uh," does she even have a fun fact about herself? she thinks girls are prettier than boys, if that counts for anything, but she doubts that would go over well. mind blanking, robin spits out the first thing she can think of. "it-it took me longer than average to learn how to walk?"

no one says anything.

someone coughs.

mrs. greer blinks at her.

robin sits back down in her seat and covers her head. shes mortified. hey, look at me! i cant walk ! who even says that?

"hello," a familiar voice reprieves robin of her mortification. she turns in her seat and almost chokes. its you. perfect, wonderful, way too cool for robin, you. "im y/n henderson, and my fun fact is that i have a cat named mews and a turtle named yurtle."

"freg is better." greg quips, a smug smile on his face.

you laugh, and its angelic to robins ears. your hair is pinned up today, a sweater drapes over your frame, and robin is convinced that youre not real. "i gotta admit, its pretty good."

"thanks, i thought of it myself."

"how creative of you, greg."

greg winks at you and gives you a thumbs up, pleased, and robin wants to die again. you give him a confused look, clear your throat, and sit back down. right behind robin. because of course youre seated behind robin. why wouldnt you be?

"im jonathan byers and my fun fact is that yurtle the turtle once bit me."

you stifle a laugh between your fingers and jonathan glares at you. robin sinks down into her seat. this is just her luck. shes going to be sitting in front of you and jonathan for the rest of the school year.

shes been dying to be your friend ever since she first saw you last year, but youve never strayed from jonathans side long enough for her to work up the nerve.

now here you are, and the stupid loner boy sits next to you.

robin hates her life.

“COME HOME” BLURB MASTERLIST

if you’d like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[ashisill]

I am absolutely losing it …

[the-witch-of-one-piece]

stfuattdlagg trio

[prymith]

I'm testing out print on demand options, and would love some help on what goes for a good cover. Obviously the spines aren't done, and these are subject to change, but opinions?

[valswrld06]

ok!! we listen and we don't judge: feedism edition😼😼

I was making some soup today for dinner (delish btw) and the recipe called for heavy cream. I feel like heavy cream is quite literally one of the feedism drinks😭 Now I have never tried heavy cream before, I mean I quite literally went to the store to get it for this recipe lol. So while I was ya knowwww mixing the ingredients, I decided to have a little sip.

oh em gee I hated it.

so... we listen and we don't judge: this fatty hates heavy cream😭

[onlyquinns]

can i pls have a fic with jack hughes where he hurts his already injured shoulder while doing something around the house and is in pain; reader just taking such gentle care of him and jack realising she’s his future wife. that every failed relationship has led to her.

it happens so suddenly. one moment, he’s totally fine—moving grocery bags in from your car—then the brown bag is slipping from his fingers and he’s hunched over.

jack grabs at his arm, his fingers white-knuckled on his shirt sleeve. pain burns down from the scar in his skin, shooting sparks of fire and electricity into his bicep. he tries not to cry out in fear of worrying you, but you’re already racing through the apartment, alerted by the sound of groceries falling to the floor.

“i’m okay,” jack says immediately even though he’s still hunched over, teeth grit.

you’re by his side, helping him to the couch. “i told you i could’ve done it, j,” you mumble, eyes filled with worry.

“yeah, well, what kind of boyfriend would i be if i made my girl carry groceries?” jack jokes, attempting to lighten your mood. he flops onto the couch, falling onto his good side. he gives you a goofy smile but your frown doesn’t drop.

your brows are pinched and your hands lay heavily on your hips, mind running a million miles per hour as you wonder what you’re going to do with him.

jack’s smile falters slightly, “baby, i didn’t mean to worry you—“ but you don’t listen, turning away and grabbing various supplies from the kitchen.

jack watches as you prep a hot water bottle, turning on the electric kettle to get water boiling. as it boils, you set out his favorite mug—one that he insisted the two of you buy because they came in a matching set of two—and put in your tea infuser. within five minutes, you return to his side with his hot water bottle—your favorite one that you never let him use—and a warm mug of tea. once they’re in jack’s hands, you turn away again and grab a cold cup of water and a tiny bottle of advil.

jack watches in awe as you take the time to open the bottle for him and dump out two pills. after surgery, you’d taken it upon yourself to open every bottle and can—whether it were a drink of a jar of jam—so he wouldn’t have to.

his memory nags at him as he watches you, as he remembers the year before when he’d initially hurt his shoulder—how his girlfriend at the time hadn’t done any of that for him. he swallows thickly, pushing away the memory of pain and fatigue of having to care for himself while his ex had spent her time lounging around.

“here you go,” you say, pulling his mind back to you. you stand in front of him, palm outstretched. he easily takes the advil from you, popping them into his mouth. you stand nearby, making sure he takes them because you know he’s weird about having to take meds.

once you’re certain he swallows, you nod happily. jack smiles softly at the sight of you so proud of yourself, thinking of the little ring box he’s tucked away in luke’s room in fear that you’d find it in his.

“alright, scooch over, pretty boy,” you say, words light and teasing. jack chuckles and makes room for you on the couch, tucking you close to his uninjured side. you reach for the remote.

“what’re we watching?” jack asks as the tv comes to life.

you shrug, “whatever you want,” you tell him.

jack’s heart stutters and he’s sure that when summer rolls around and he’s able to move his arm again, he’s definitely proposing to you.

[onlyquinns]

THE LINE WHERE HE SAYS HE CLULD WALK OUT AS UR HUSBAND??? FUCXKKKKK THATS SOO HOT SORRY NOT SORRY

CONGRATS ON 500 BABE! You deserve it and so much more 🖤

I’d like to request Quinn with the prompt. “weird way to propose but yes.”

Love you. Bye.

BUCKLE UP IM IN LOVE WITH HIM

Quinn Hughes - fluff prompt 11 - “weird way to propose but yes.”

WC: 511

CW: none tbh, just fluff

Quinn loved whenever you were able to join him for an away game, didn't care if it was multiple games or just one. He loved having you there, you were his lucky charm. Some people have socks, or underwear. He has you. He’s always had you. It started in college, every game you were at they won. It followed through into the big leagues. You were there the night he was named captain, and the night they solidified their playoff run. You were always there.

The thought of marrying you wasn’t ever a “maybe” thought. To him it was as easy as 1,2,3. Quinn knew very early on how badly he wanted to put that ring, that's been hidden in his closet for the last 4 years, on your finger. Jack had talked him out of proposing to you his freshman year at umich. To which he's thankful for now, he's had time to perfect his plan.

You’d known for a very long time that Quinn was the end of the endings, Quinn was your lifeline. You were never in a rush. You knew it'd happen, you knew that even if you didn't have a ring or his last name he was yours and you were his. Everyone knew.

When the schedule aligned and you were hand in hand with Quinn in the heart of Las Vegas something felt different. Not in a bad way, just new.

Quinn’s stares lingered a little longer, his hands haven’t not been somewhere on you, his kisses felt

more heavy and relaxed all at the same time.

Your mind kind of just off, focused on the way Quinn’s skin felt against yours. On how he always led you where you needed to go, never putting you in any harm.

“Sweetheart,” his fingers gripped a little harder, pulling me back to reality. “You hear me?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, “no, i’m sorry. Can you say it again?”

He looked at you with a tooth rotting grin, “I asked if you wanted the last pretzel?”

“Weird way to propose, but yes. I do.” You giggled.

There was a flash in his eyes, his stance tightening. “You know, we’re in Vegas.”

Humming at the boy as you take a bite of the pretzel he saved you.

“We could go to any chapel in a 2 minute walk, and you could walk out a Hughes and I could walk out your husband.”

“You wanna marry me?” Your voice so quiet you were sure he didn’t hear you.

“More than you know. Have for a long time too. Tried to ask in school but Jack bullied me. Told me

to wait it out a little longer. You’re home to me, you’re it for me.”

He stopped walking, hands finding home on your cheek. Wiping away a tear that made her way down.

“I have a ring at home, in the closet. Top shelf where I keep all my special game pucks. So, what do you say? Wanna let Elvis call you my wife?”

“Yeah, Quinny. I do.”

[em1i2a3]

Soak Up The Sun

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and the team are on vacation in Mexico–Val’s treat for staying out of trouble–and Bob ends up getting a brutal sunburn after refusing to wear sunscreen.

Warnings: Just pure fluff here, Descriptions of Sunburns, Bob is in pain in this one (bros please wear SUNSCREEN) Bob and Reader are in an established relationship, Bob’s a bit sassy in this lol.

Author’s Note: In keeping up with the theme of being in scorching hot climates, I decided that this would be a great little blurb to do! I just found it to be a nice little thing to release and write as a little break from my Bob Floyd fic today. I loved writing this little thing and adored the little hint of sassy Bob I decided to throw in there cause the man does have some sass I think. I can’t wait to post my next thing tomorrow, I’m so excited for it! Cause on Friday we’ve got another crazy double update circuit and I cannot wait!

Word Count: 2,856

“Bob…” Your voice was low, a plea edged with exasperation as you leaned one hip against the dresser, sunscreen bottle in hand, “Please…You’re literally going to scorch. I forgot to reapply yesterday and I literally felt my skin cooking. I could’ve sworn I smelled burning flesh.”

From across the hotel room, Bob groaned like you were asking him to give up his freedom instead of just–god forbid–apply a thin layer of SPF. He was standing near the sliding door that led to the balcony, the golden morning sun caught the tousled edges of his damp light brown locks. His thin cover up–white linen, of course–hung open and loose over his chest, clinging slightly where his skin was still warm from the shower you both took. His swim trunks were a deep navy, already wrinkled from him sitting cross-legged on the bed earlier trying to fix the drawstrings so they were even.

His bare chest–pale in all it’s glory–was on full display, freckled and defenseless. And still, he had the audacity to shrug lazily and say “My skin is us–used to the sun. I’ll be fine Y/N.” You stared at him with wide eyes, absolutely aghast by what he had just said.

”Used to the sun?” You repeated, “Bob…My love…Light of my life…The only thing your skin is used to right now is fluorescent lighting and being covered by hoodies, long sleeved shirts, and sweaters year–round…This isn’t New York.” He scratched the back of his neck, his face turning a blush red from all the things you had just called him, clearly trying not to grin, and slowly you watched his eyes soften. It was the look he always gave to you when he wanted to entice you for a kiss–or for when he wanted to convince you to let him do what he wanted.

”Bob. Don’t give me that look. You’re really going to end up getting burned. Put the damn sunscreen on.” He raised his hands as if he was surrendering, but instead he took a step towards the hotel room door.

“Y/N…I’ll be fi–fine. I’m just going to be an hour or two…Maybe less.” You advanced a single step towards him,

“Robert.” You said sternly, which made his lips quirk up into a smile.

”Ou…Using my fu–full name now…We're getting serious hmm?” You squinted at him.

“You’re pushing it.” You warned, still following his movements. You kept your distance, calculating your angle. If you needed to tackle him, you’d need room for a solid launch. The carpet was thick, cushioned enough to minimize injury. Bob’s eyes flicked nervously to your stance, and you knew he saw it too–the calculation behind your silence. You saw his hand move to rest subtly on the doorknob behind him, fingers curling around it slowly.

“I will literally tackle you to the ground in the middle of the damn resort if you don’t protect your skin.” Your voice dropped into dangerous territory. Low. Even. With just enough heat to make his brow glisten.

Bob paused. His hand froze on the handle, knuckles paling.

“Va–Val won’t appreciate us getting into trouble here…” He started, slowly. “Remember sh–she booked this trip for the team so that we could unwind and relax… If we get shipped back to New York for–for stirring things up, Val isn’t going to be happy.”

You arched a brow, stalking closer.

“You know who she really won’t be happy with?” You asked, voice sharp as cracked ice. “You, if you come back looking like the color of Elmo, Bob.”

He groaned like your logic physically pained him. “I do–don’t burn! I tan.” You laughed, short and disbelieving, crossing your arms in front of you.

“Bob, I’ve only ever seen you in different shades of red. Crimson. Rose gold. That one time it was practically cherry Kool-Aid. I’ve never seen you tan. Ever.”

His hand finally gripped the doorknob. Turned it.

And then he had the audacity to smirk–smirk–with a crooked, sheepish sort of charm that softened the edges of his face and made your heart annoyingly ache just beneath your ribs.

“Th–That’s because you never fail to ma–make me blush…”

Your mouth opened, already halfway to a flustered retort–

But the door was already swinging.

“Sorry, I love you, I’ll se–see you in an hour!” he called out breathlessly, bolting into the hallway like a man running from the scene of a crime.

You stood there in stunned silence, sunscreen still clutched in your hand like a grenade with the pin pulled.

“BOB REYNOLDS–”

But it was too late, he was gone, and all you could hear was the hurried slap of bare feet on tile echoing down the corridor.

The door clicked shut gently behind him, like it didn’t just bear witness to your complete defeat, and you let out a dramatic groan, walking to the edge of the bed tossing down the sunscreen onto the thin comforter before dropping face-first into the mattress, climbing up to Bob’s side of the bed, smelling his aftershave–lemon, and mint–on the pillow that he had laid on the night before. You reached for your phone and opened the group chat.

You: If any of you bozos see Bob around please slather him in sunscreen, he’s going to come back looking like a piece of bacon if you don’t.

——————————

The hours had slipped by.

You were curled in the hammock strung up just outside the balcony doors, a paperback in one hand and a half-melted drink in the other. The sun above Mexico had climbed to its highest point, casting everything in that harsh, white-hot glare that made even the breeze feel like it passed through an oven first. Fortunately, you had stationed yourself smartly beneath the wide circle of your umbrella, skin protected, mind adrift in the haze of heat and fictional drama.

The quiet lull of your page-turning was broken by the snick of the hotel door unlocking.

You froze mid-sentence.

Then came the unmistakable shuffle of bare feet dragging across the carpet. Slow. Heavy. The rhythm of a man whose body had turned against him.

You glanced over your shoulder just as the glass door slid open again.

Bob stood there, blinking at the floor like it might shift under his feet. His white linen shirt was wrinkled and clinging in places, damp from sweat. His chest, his arms, even the tops of his cheeks—all a warm, flushed hue of pink that hadn’t been there when he’d left. His light brown curls stuck slightly to his forehead, limp from heat and water.

“See?” he murmured, voice low and sleepy. “I di–didn’t burn.”

You narrowed your eyes, slipping out of the hammock with a sigh and placing your book on the patio table. “You sound like you’re on the brink of heat stroke. Lay down on the bed. Let me get you some water.”

He shuffled past you like a man barely conscious, a wilted version of the smug idiot who’d bolted out this morning. You opened the mini fridge, pulled out one of the chilled water bottles, twisted the cap off–and turned just in time to catch the full, pathetic glory of Bob Reynolds trying to climb onto the bed like it was covered in spikes.

He was moving in slow motion–elbows bent weird, hips at a funny angle, legs dragging like they’d stopped cooperating.

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “You sure you’re not burned? Because you’re definitely doing the ‘I’m burned’ crawl onto that bed of ours.”

“No…” He breathed. His curls fell forward, sticking to his flushed forehead. “No, I’m fine. Just di–dizzy.”

You sighed through your nose as you crossed the room.

He flopped onto his back like it took everything in him, a soft huff of air escaping his lungs as he sank into the mattress. His arm flopped across his chest dramatically, and he looked up at you like a dying Victorian debutante.

You handed him the water wordlessly, and he chugged it in seconds, neck arched, throat working in big, frantic swallows. You watched with your hands on your hips.

“Yeah…” You muttered. “You’re either dehydrated or about to pass out from sun exposure.”

You reached out to touch his arm.

And jerked your hand back instantly.

“Jesus Christ, Bob…” You gasped. “You are burned! You’re boiling!”

He shook his head weakly, eyes fluttering closed as the empty water bottle rolled off his chest. “It’s no–not painful though.”

“Not yet!” You snapped, rubbing your fingertips against your shorts like the heat still clung to them. “Sunburns don’t always show up right away. It usually takes a bit of time. You goof…You’re probably going to blister.” Bob made a soft sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper, curling in slightly on himself. The movement clearly hurt him–his jaw clenched, and his whole body flinched with it.

“I… I th–thought I’d just get a little color,” He said, eyes still closed, lips dry and cracked.

You sighed and sat beside him, pressing a hand gently to his forehead. Still way too hot. He didn’t protest your touch now–just blinked up at you, cheeks bright and flushed with the early burn.

“You’re gonna regret this in about an hour,” You muttered.

He reached for your hand sluggishly, curling his fingers around yours. “I al–already do…Sorry I didn’t listen.” You brushed his sweat-damp locks back from his forehead with your free hand, heart squeezing despite yourself. You let out a breath somewhere between a huff and a sigh, brushing your thumb along the back of his hand.

“You’re lucky I remembered to bring aloe vera with me…”

Bob cracked a faint smile, eyes still closed, his voice hoarse and wobbly.

“Be–Because you knew I’d be stubborn?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. “Exactly.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, leaning in slightly so he could hear the dry amusement under your exasperation. “Did we learn our lesson, though?”

He nodded against the pillow, light brown curls shifting ever so slightly with the movement. “Al–Always listen to you…”

“Damn right,” You muttered, softening, leaning forward to press a kiss between his flushed brows.

Bob hissed–just a tiny intake of breath–but still smiled underneath it.

“It’s that,” you murmured, brushing your lips over the same spot again, “And always wear sunscreen.” He let out a breathy, tired laugh that made your heart squeeze again. He sounded like he was trying to keep it together through the sheer force of exhaustion and heat.

“Will you help me put so–some of that aloe on now?” He asked, voice low, tentative. “I actually am starting to fe–feel like I’m on fire…And I need to cool off.”

You gave him one more soft kiss between the eyebrows and stood, letting go of his hand.

“Hang tight. I’m gonna go dig it out.”

He made a noise that might’ve been agreement or pain–it was hard to tell at this point.

You padded over to your side of the room and crouched beside your open suitcase, rifling through the tangle of rolled-up swimsuits, cover-ups, soft cotton shorts, and travel-sized chaos. Your fingers finally closed around the cool plastic bottle of aloe, the gel inside sloshing as you pulled it out with a triumphant sigh.

“Got it.”

You turned to face him again, twisting the cap open with one hand and watching as he barely lifted his head from the pillow.

“You’re just burned on your front, right?”

“Ye–Yeah…” He murmured. “I fell asleep on my back.” You paused mid-step.

“…You fell asleep?” He winced, realizing his admission. “So you’re saying this could’ve been even worse?” You added.

Bob made the smallest, most pathetic groan. “Bu–But it’s not worse…” He insisted weakly. “So can you pl–please come here and rub that on my skin now?”

Your lips twitched.

“I should make you wait,” You muttered under your breath. “Just for the drama of it.”

He whimpered. A real one. A sad, miserable little whine that came from deep in his chest.

You sighed again, crossing the room slowly and lowering yourself onto the bed beside him. Bob shifted slowly, groaning as he maneuvered himself upright in the most awkward half-sit of all time. He moved like every inch of him was coated in regret. Still, he reached for you, mumbling something unintelligible as he crawled over and finally laid the full weight of his upper body across your lap.

The heat of him hit you instantly. Not metaphorical heat. Actual radiating body heat–like you were holding a radiator in your lap. The warmth soaked through your thighs, making your skin damp almost instantly, but still…His weight settled into you in that familiar, grounding way. The way it always did.

You exhaled softly, brushing your fingers over his hair again before reaching for the aloe bottle.

With a low pop, you squeezed a generous glob into your hand. The gel was thick and cool, a soft translucent green that shimmered faintly in the sunlight pouring through the window. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus and cucumber–fresh and sharp and oddly calming. A scent meant for soothing. Healing.

You rubbed your palms together to warm it slightly and whispered, “Alright, solar boy… brace yourself.”

You leaned forward and gently pressed your hands to his chest.

His body tensed beneath your touch–muscles flexing instinctively beneath the coolness–before he let out a long, shuddering sigh that sounded like the air had been punched out of him.

“God,” he breathed, “it feels like a piece of ice…Th–that’s so good.”

You smiled softly, brushing your thumbs over the line of his collarbones as you slowly worked the gel into the angry pink flush of his skin.

His eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling against his cheeks. His body, normally all controlled strength and subtle restraint, was loose now. Boneless. Almost fragile.

“Ha–have I told you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my en–entire life,” he mumbled, voice drifting somewhere between delirium and sincerity, “and that I don’t deserve such a perfect person like you in my life?”

You snorted, amused despite yourself. “You technically tell me that every day without words.”

He hummed–a low, content sound from somewhere deep in his chest.

You grabbed another cool dollop of aloe and slowly slathered it along the tender skin of his stomach, careful not to press too hard. He flinched only slightly, but didn’t pull away–just let you touch him, soothe him, cool him.

“I love you so much…” He murmured, the words tumbling out like they’d been resting behind his teeth for hours. “And I’m glad that I have you.”

You looked down at him.

His eyes were still closed, face relaxed now. Less pained. His lips were parted slightly, pink and dry and still cracked from too much sun, too much pool water, too much stubborn Bob nonsense.

You bent down slowly, brushing your lips over his gently, careful not to hurt the delicate skin. He responded with the softest twitch of a smile, his hand reaching to weakly brush your thigh where it held his weight.

“I love you too,” You whispered. “And you’re the best thing that’s happened to me as well. Even if you don’t believe it.”

He let out a soft, almost bashful hum, the kind you’d only ever heard when it was just the two of you–quiet and slow and completely unguarded. His head dropped slightly against your stomach, and you felt him melt.

“You’re wa–warm by the way,” He grumbled sleepily.

“Because you turned me into a human heating pad.”

“Still nice…” He slurred, already fading.

You pressed one last kiss into his hairline, then shifted slightly so you could reach for more aloe without displacing him.

“Get some sleep,” You whispered, “You’ve got a long night of whining ahead of you.”

He didn’t answer.

But the weight of him against you was answer enough as he slowly got heavier and heavier against you as your hands continued to work in the aloe.

[holyblonded]

father’s day blurb/concept with azulita, estrella, baby val, and alexia!

— it started as a joke. estrella said it first, deadpan, middle of breakfast, while val toddled around holding her sippy cup like a trophy.

— “val, who’s that?” she pointed at alexia.

— val blinked up with big eyes. estrella grinned. “that’s papa.”

— azulita, without missing a beat, added, “yeah, that’s dada.”

— the way alexia looked up from her toast. betrayed. wide-eyed. she turned to olga like “control your children.”

— olga just laughed and said “you do give off serious dad energy, babe.”

— from that moment on, it stuck.

— for weeks, val ran around the house yelling “papa!” whenever she wanted something from alexia.

— “papa, look!”

— “papa, juice!”

— “papa, help!”

— estrella and azulita died every time.

— alexia tried to correct it at first. very gently.

— “soy mami, mi amor. mami.”

— val nodded… then turned around and shouted “papaaa!” again.

— ale fully gave up after a while. she’d be in team meetings, phone buzzing with messages from olga.

— “val just called you dad again”

— “estrella told her you used to be a soldier”

— “azulita told her you invented football”

— ale went home to val wearing one of her training jackets like a cape and yelling “¡soy papaaa!” with estrella filming the whole thing.

— val told her daycare teacher her dad’s name was alexia and that she plays for barcelona.

— azulita and estrella were banned from pick-up duty for two weeks after that.

— eventually, val grew out of it, after a soft talk from olga, a bribe of cookies, and maybe a very serious moment when alexia said, “do i look like a papa to you?”

— val blinked. said, “no. you’re mami.” and gave her a hug.

— alexia almost cried.

— still, every now and then, if estrella’s feeling chaotic or azulita wants to cause trouble, they whisper “papa” just loud enough for val to hear.

— she’ll start giggling and go “noooo! mami!!” and it becomes a whole game.

— but for a solid ten months, alexia putellas—queen of midfield, two-time ballon d’or winner, was known exclusively as papa.

— and val still draws her with a crown and a tie. “my papa–i mean, mami.”

— ale’s never living it down.

[onlyquinns]

god this made me feel so warm and cozy

kissing Quinn’s little helmet mark after practice

ofc!!! gen audiences, fluff, q loves to spoil his girl

you've moved to the passenger seat after parking quinn's car, yours was in the shop but you had errands to run, so you dropped your boyfriend off at practice before heading out. the backseat is piled with groceries, mostly fresh produce and meats, but you splurged on things like coffee, oreos, and a bottle or two of wine.

the door opens and quinn slides into the drivers side, turning to look at you. "have fun on your errands, baby?" he asks, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips.

you nod along, fishing in your purse to pull out his credit card. "mmhm! went to safeway, and costco, and i stopped by the mall." you hand the card over to him, watching as he grins at you.

"and what did you get for yourself, hm?" he reaches over, one hand rubbing your thigh. "something smells... new. and good. perfume?"

your cheeks flush at how well he knows your little indulgences. you fish a small bag with four, small perfume vials. "they're trial sizes! i couldn't decide which one i liked best, figured we could decide together."

and of course your boyfriend smiles at that. "we, huh?" he leans over, kissing your cheek playfully.

you turn to face him, reaching up to trace the small red mark on his forehead with your thumb. "of course, only fair since my generous boyfriend paid for them." you lean upwards, kissing the mark on his forehead. quinn breathes deeply in response, inhaling the scent of the new perfume on your skin as his nose rests near your neck.

[valeisaslut]

val i have a VERY important question. what piercings would rockstar!ellie get? nipple piercings in my delusions

I UNDERSTAND SHES MORE OF A TATTOO GIRL but i can see her having her ears LINED UP. let me know bae

OMGGGG HI BAE QUEEN OF MERCH DESIGN. FIRST OF ALL I’M SCREAMING YOU’RE SO RIGHT TO ASK 😭😭😭

okay okay okay listen. you are 100% CORRECT. ellie is a tattoo girl first and foremost—she’s got the sleeves, the hand tats, the neck and back tattos—but piercings? BABY SHE’S NOT OPPOSED. she’s just selective.

canonically she has that lil eyebrow piercing (left side) and the lip ring (RIGHT SIDE, IDGAF, it’s hot and slightly crooked)

and her ears are lined the fuck up. multiple hoops. stacked. mismatched studs she doesn’t remember buying. a couple of tiny safety pin earrings. maybe even a tragus. she says it’s annoying but she won’t take it out. she looks hot when she wears her in-ears and chews on the cable with all that silver flashing.

AND YES. NIPPLE PIERCINGS (not canon BUT OMG maybe in the future...?). don’t even play with me rn. i just bit a hole in my keyboard.

bonus: she got her septum pierced for exactly three months. everyone went feral. she took it out before tour “because it kept getting caught on shit”

final verdict: — eyebrow ✔️ — lip ✔️ — stacked ears ✔️✔️✔️ — nipple piercings (on god just wait) — septum (short-lived, legendary) — belly button? maybe in her fake-id 17 year old early fireflies era. removed long ago. — tongue? only in my blurb. but we can dream 😭

[succubusvalentine]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ THE THUNDERDOME ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Hiii, I'm Val :3

If you're new here welcome welcome. Enjoy your stay. If you're a repeat stalker, ily don't abandon me.

I don't have a schedule or anything, I post when I do. If you get frustrated that I don't post frequently enough for your liking, womp womp.

I don't wanna be mean or nothing, but mind you I am doing this for no money nor taxes. I do have a life. I have college, friends, boyfriend. This is a hobby for me. Not a job.

If you're one of the lovely people that reblog my posts with reaction images or amusing hashtags, I LOVE YOU. Seriously, I live for those.

Anyway I'll finish up my yapfest. Have fun on my page sluts ‪‪❤︎‬

MASTERLIST !

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Requests 

⚰︎ Requests are always welcome unless my pinned post says otherwise. Do be patient in waiting for your request to be answered. And if I don’t do your request, don’t be upset! I most likely didn’t see it within the onslaught of the other requests.

What can you request?

⚰︎ I mainly write blurbs for requests! I like to keep full length fics and stuff to my own wall of ideas just to keep it fair for everyone. So, have a blurb idea? Awesome! GIMME IT. ⚰︎ Request character x character, or character x reader, even character x reader x character!

What won’t I write about?

⚰︎ Im sensitive to outright rape. So I won’t write about that. Although I will write dub/cnc as long as somewhere in the writing I mention that it is at least somewhat consensual. ⚰︎ Scat/watersports. It’s just not my groove. ⚰︎ Child stuff OBVIOUSLY. ⚰︎ Anything morally wrong. ⚰︎ I don’t write anything about cheating unless it is a planned thing. See an example here.

Who do I write about?

⚰︎ Any and all COD  ⚰︎ Stranger things (all underage characters are exempt from this) ⚰︎ Criminal minds ⚰︎ Gladiator  ⚰︎ TLOU