#( if not there's no need to reply !! just toss it in the garbage and do a funny dance on top of it !! )

[theirmockingjay]

➶; @unsnare ♥d the starter call and wanted to have at it and by it i mean her and by her i mean kat be like (ง •̀_•́)ง bring it.

It always comes down to you, she thought. With her mouth open, hands clutching at her neck begging for her throat to release whatever was stuck there and asphyxiated her. A sob? A scream? His name? It didn't matter.

It would always be him. Since the training center, since her score, since the beginning of it all, and continued during the nights. The enemy that was not your enemy. The misplaced target. The personification of what had to be given if you wanted to become a victor. It had always been him.

No. Them.

“Cato” she managed to whisper.

You appear in my nightmares everyday. You’re the prize I had to pay for survival and it’s costly. I did not want you dead. They made you into a weapon and they made me a survivor. It was a matter of time. It was a matter of context.

He was strapped to a chair inside a padded room in the hospital wing. He had a bracelet just like the one she wore during her stay on thirteen, but while hers read ‘mentally disoriented’, his probably had something else written. She was supposed to stay behind a glass panel and talk to him through a piece of machinery by pressing a button, the doctors of thirteen said. She asked to be left alone hoping they wouldn’t catch the lie, the hidden message, and once they done so, she pushed the door open, slid through and grabbed a chair to lock the door. It was a temporary measure to an eternal dilemma.

And Katniss needed this.

As she turned towards him, her lips parted and the beginning of so many sentences flashed inside her head. What happened. Why are you alive. How come are you so strong that neither the expectations placed upon you nor my arrows can kill you. Do you want me dead. Am I the face of everything that was taken from you. Do you resent me. Do you resent what they made of you.

She said none of that.

“I want to stop dreaming about you.”

[requiemforthepoets]

overcooked 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: play overcooked they said, it’ll be fun they said.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i just can’t help write about the idea lando playing overcooked, so i did. hope you’ll enjoy this! :)

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 1k

WARNINGS: typos and ferrari strategy meme

Lando’s twitch stream was in full swing, and the chat was buzzing as you settled beside him, controller in hand.

“Alright, babe, let’s see how well we work together,” Lando teased, flashing you that signature grin. You rolled your eyes, already sensing that this game of overcooked might be more than what you bargained for.

You both dove into the first level, the kitchen chaos unfolding on the screen as you both tried to chop, cook, and serve orders with as much coordination as two people shared a life, but perhaps not a kitchen.

“Lando, the onions! You missed the onions!” You shouted, pointing at the screen as the virtual kitchen teetered on the brink of disaster.

“Relax, I’ve got this!” Lando replied, but his character was already running into walls, the pot burning on the stove. You could feel the frustration bubbling up, your competitive nature kicking into high gear.

You took charge of the kitchen, barking orders like a seasoned chef, while Lando scrambled to keep up. “Chop the onions faster, Lando!” You yelled as the kitchen timer ticked down. Lando, flustered, accidentally tossed the onions into the trash instead of the pot.

“Oops,” he said, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Oops?” You shot back, incredulous. “Lando, we’re running a restaurant, not a garbage disposal service!” The twitch chat exploded with laughter, and Lando couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trying to manage orders, avoid fires, and stop Lando from accidentally throwing perfectly good ingredients into the trash, you both managed to complete the level. The result? Two stars. You stared at the screen, eyes narrowing.

“Unacceptable.” You muttered, “this is unacceptable!” You declared, your voice suddenly dropping into a perfect Gordon Ramsay impression.

“Oh look, baby we got two stars! That’s not bad!” Lando said excitedly as he pointed on the screen.

“Not that bad? Are you kidding me, Lando?” You snapped, fully embodying the spirit of Gordon Ramsay. “We were all over the place! No communcation, no strategy. Honestly, what was that—your best effort? Do you want to serve that to people? Do you?!”

Your sudden intensity caught Lando off guard, but before he could say anything, you were now pacing back and forth in front of him. But before he could say anything, you were off on a tirade, launching into an elaborate explanation of your strategy. You gestured wildly, pointing at the screen, completely absorbed in your monologue.

“Okay, listen. First, you need to stay on your side of the kitchen. I’ll handle the chopping and the prep work—because clearly, you’re incapable of doing both without setting something on fire. We need to streamline the workflow. I’ll chop, you’ll cook, and we both plate. But!” You pointed at him, your expression deadly serious, “no more improvisation. We need to stick to the plan. No more running around like a headless chicken.“

Lando blinked and nodded at you, clearly taken aback by your sudden switch into full-on chef mode. He opened his mouth to respond but then quickly shut it, his eyes darting between you and the camera that was still live streaming every second of your tirade. The chat was exploding with messages, his fans throughly entertained by your unintentional transformation into a culinary dictator, and Lando knows better than to interrupt you when you’re in the zone.

“And another thing,” you continued, pointing to the screen like you were delivering the world’s most important TED talk. “Timing and synchronization is crucial. We need to strategize and work like a well-oiled machine, not a circus act, okay? I handle the chopping, you’ll cook, and we both plate. We’ll divide and conquer!”

The chat exploded, the fans losing it as she continued, hands flying everywhere in wild gestures. Meanwhile, Lando was trying his hardest not to crack up, the corners of his mouth twitching as he watched her go on.

“Babe…baby,” Lando finally managed to interject, struggling to keep a straight face. “You realize we’re live, right?”

You froze, eyes widening as you remembered the twitch stream, the hundred of his fans who had just witnessed your unhinged rant. Slowly, you turned to the camera, a sheepish grin spreading across your face.

“Oh…hi, chat,” you said, your voice suddenly much softer, the intensity draining from your expression. “I’m sorry for that. That was not very demure, very cutesy, and very mindful of me.”

Lando burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “I think you’ve been watching too much Hell’s Kitchen, love. Gordon Ramsay has become your new personality,” he teased, pulling you back down and sat you on his lap. You groaned, burying your face on his neck, as he put an arm around your waist, but even you couldn’t help laugh at yourself.

“Come on, let’s get you that three stars.” Lando said as he chuckled again. You settled down beside him and gave you a kiss on your temple.

The rest of the stream was just as chaotic as when you both started playing the game, filled with rage, frustration, and hilarious uncoordination. Orders were still missed, pots were still burning, and Lando’s character even managed to fall off the kitchen at one point, but you were both too busy laughing to care. By the end of the game, you hadn’t earned a single three-star rating that you had intentionally wanted, but the stream had been a massive hit, and the chat was flooded with memes of your intense strategy session.

As Lando ended the stream, he leaned over and kissed you on the lips, still chuckling. “We may not be the best team in overcooked, but I think we’re the most entertaining,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile played on your lips as you rested your head ok his shoulder. “Yeah, well, next time we’re getting three stars. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“Deal.” lando replied, wrapping an arm around you as you both relaxed, your own competitive sprit finally at peace—for now. “And can I say, it really turned me on when you started yapping.” His eyes wiggling, suggesting something that you knew fully well as you slapped him playfully on the chest.

“Oh shut up you.” You both laughed.

The kitchen might have been a disaster, but at least your relationship had survived the heat—well, barely.

twitter posts

[heytheredelulu]

To Have and To Hold-

And to Fuck Whenever I Want

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Word Count: 1.5k

C/W: Shameless smut. It’s our favorite dirty talkin’, 107 year old super soldier fucking you (his wife) on your period.

Gimme beefy Bucky coming home late, long after his kids are in bed for the night and finding his pretty little wife curled up on the couch with a frown on her perfect face, watching some shitty ass movie.

His cock twitches in his jeans at the sight of you in his tshirt and an audible groan rises up from his throat when he rounds the corner completely and notices you’ve chosen to forgo pajama pants altogether. Those innocent little cotton briefs of yours always do him in.

“What’s wrong, momma?” He asks in a low, gravely voice as he takes a seat next to you on the couch, resting a large hand on your bare thigh.

“Cramps.” You reply flatly, not taking your gaze off the garbage rom-com playing on the tv, though you’ve seen it numerous times.

“Oh.” He breathes out, glancing over his shoulder at the dry-erase calendar hanging on the wall in the kitchen that you use to manage your large family’s schedule. “Hm. Two days early?” He asks.

“Yeah, two fucking days early.” You snap, shifting in your seat.

He keeps his grasp firm on your thigh, offering an affectionate squeeze.

“You feelin’ that bad, huh?” He asks in a soft voice that he reserves only for you.

You nod, finally pulling your attention away from the television and turning it onto him. The only light source in the room at this time of night is from the flashing scenes across the flatscreen but that little bit of illumination is all he needs to see how glassy your eyes are.

“Oh, baby girl.” He murmurs, pushing your hair back off your face. “Lemme take care of you.”

You shake your head, knocking free a few of the tears that had been brimming your lash line. “No, there’s nothing you can do to help.”

He scoffs, his hand sliding up the soft flesh of your thigh until his fingertips brush the hem of your underwear.

“No. Baby, no.” You protest, bringing your hand down to stop him but his vibranium hand is faster, catching your wrist and pushing it away.

“Yes. Baby, yes.” He muses, slipping his index finger under the fabric and gently wrapping the string of your tampon around it.

“Bucky, that’s disgusting.” You hiss, frowning at him. “I’m on my period.”

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle as he slowly and carefully begins to tug. “It’s just blood, momma. You think me of all people would be bothered by blood?” He asks softly.

You pause, considering your answer but in your silence he continues. “Besides, wasn’t that part of the vows we exchanged in that sweet little church before God? To have and to hold and to fuck whenever I want?”

“That was not in our vows and you know it.”

“Hm, they weren’t? We should consider renewing those.” He replies with a crooked smirk as he pulls your tampon free, tossing it over the couch and into the waste bin with precision.

“I gotta be honest, baby girl. If the good lord hadn’t intended for me to fuck you everytime my cock was hard, he wouldn’t have blessed you with such a perfect little pussy.”

“Bucky..” you warn, sitting upright as he rises off the couch.

He shushes you, his large hands moving to unbuckle his belt as your eyes settle on the tented crotch of his jeans.

“If you think-“ He mumbles, pulling the leather through the silver buckle and unbuttoning his jeans with his thick fingers. “That I’m not going to bury myself balls deep inside my wife any and every chance I get- you are sorely mistaken.” He tells you matter of factly, tugging his jeans down his defined waist and kicking them unceremoniously aside in a pile at the foot of the couch. “Now take off those sweet little panties before I tear them off of you.”

You hesitate, swallowing down the whimper that rose up in your throat at his command.

“I said, off.” He repeats sternly, stepping out of his boxers and wrapping a hand around his weeping cock. He pumps himself lazily once, twice, in your hesitation before letting out an impatient growl and reaching forward to curl his vibranium fingers under the waistband of underwear, not allowing you a second more to protest before tearing them effortlessly off of your body.

“Now, are you gonna follow my instructions or will I have to pick you up and set you down where you belong?” He asks in a gruff whisper, his blue eyes darkening with desire.

“And where exactly do you think I belong?” You ask him defiantly, pulling at his last thread of patience.

“You-“ He growls, grasping your wrists in a punishing grip and yanking you to your feet. He jerks you towards him as he looms over you, his head dipped down to hold your gaze and his impossibly hard cock pressing against your abdomen, leaving a smear of precum across the soft skin of your belly.

“You belong wrapped around me.” He murmurs, cupping your jaw gently and brushing the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip in an affectionate sentiment that felt like such a stark contrast to the aggression he’d just been displaying. It was the little gestures that betrayed that dominance in him, that assured you that this powerful man standing so needy before you loved you so much that he’d do anything for you without question.

You lean into his touch and he lets out a low and breathy moan.

“You belong wrapped around me, momma.” He continues. “Crying out my name. Soakin’ my cock with your sweet, sweet-“ He pauses, his length twitching as he sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck, I need you.” he chokes out, settling his hands on each side of your hip and he lifts you effortlessly, sinking you down inch by inch onto his throbbing cock.

He plants his feet and bends his knees, supporting your weight as he cups your ass, kneading the soft flesh while he allows you the opportunity to anchor your arms around his neck. A shameless moan rises from your throat, your head tipping back in the pleasure of him buried balls deep within you as he walks you backwards to press your back to the wall. A low and cocky chuckle is all the warning he gives you before he draws his hips back, thrusting up into you hard enough to kiss your cervix. Choked gasps tear from your chest as he picks up a steady rhythm, massaging your aching walls with every deep rut of his hips.

“I thought-“ He hissed through gritted teeth, dipping his head to nip at your pulse point. “You said nothing would help.”

You shake your head, mumbling incoherently and letting your head fall against your shoulder to allow him further access to the sensitive skin of your neck. “Seems like it’s helping.” He muses, licking a long stripe up the column of your throat. You whimper, tightening your legs around his waist as he slows his pace into long, deep strokes, groaning as he savors the way you grip him, the feeling of your building orgasm causing his hips to stutter just the slightest.

“Fuck, momma. You have.. the most.. perfect.. cunt.” He rasps out, emphasizing each of the last words with a brutal thrust.

You break with that last deep roll of his hips, the tension that was coiled tight in your abdomen snapping with a burst of white hot ecstacy, a broken cry escaping your heaving chest as your walls spasm around him.

“Oh God, that’s it. Come on my cock, come all over daddy’s cock.” He grunts, snapping his hips and increasing his tempo to fuck you through the dizzying waves of your release.

“Jamie..” You whimper, reaching a trembling hand to caress his jaw.

His name on your lips is the sweetest fucking sound, causing his breath to catch and his eyes flutter closed with a low and raspy moan. He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm before you trail your fingertips down his shoulders in a featherlight touch. He buries his face into your neck, his short, sharp pants hot against your skin, his movements growing sloppy and erratic as he hangs on by a mere thread.

“I’m- I-“ He chokes out, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle the primal groan that rips through his chest as his balls draw up and his cock pulses, emptying himself inside you with one last powerful thrust.

He’s still for a moment, working to catch his breath before he tightens his arms around you, peppering gentle kisses along your jaw as he lowers you to the floor on wobbly legs and you sway, stumbling forward slightly.

“Momma.” He says softly, splaying a large hand against the base of your skull and drawing you into his chest. “You alright?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m alright.” You assure him, a hum of satisfaction rumbling in his chest under your ear. “I’m feeling much, much better.”

He smiles, tucking your head under his chin just to feel you close to him a moment longer.

“C’mon, baby. Let’s get you in a hot bath.”

His hands trail along your spine in a soothing motion, goosebumps prickling along your flushed skin in response to his touch.

“To have and to hold.” He whispers, pressing a firm kiss to your temple.

You grin against his chest, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent.

“And to fuck whenever you want.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@badbunnybabygirl01 @suz7days @truthfulliarr @lilacka @writtingrose @samsgoddess @loveisallyouneed1125 @vicmc624 @millercontracting @wildernessflora @mydorkyboys @blackhawkfanatic @honestlywork @ladyvenera @cavity-exe @ihavetwoholesforareason @km-ffluv @shortnloud @mrs-katelyn-barnes @somnorvos @22rhianna2006 @misshale21 @angelbaby99 @deans-spinster-witch @kezibear @acornacreacure @buckys-wintersoldier @terry2227 @wintrsoldrluvr @foxherder

[kyufessions]

koala

synopsis: you help your boyfriend take his makeup up off after work

pairings: idol, boyfriend! chenle x g.n. reader

genre: domestic, fluff

word count: 1.0k

a/n: got this idea from the recent weverse live. sigh.

general taglist: @jwnghyuns @eaudenana @soobin-chois

the creaking of the front door didn’t alarm you, knowing it was your boyfriend after a long day of promotions. you knew he had been on his way, you just didn’t know he’d be here so soon. on your face sat an animal themed face mask and on your feet a foiled foot mask, with only five minutes left for each as a horror film played on the television. as the footsteps approached closer, your eyes stared out to the door frame and stared at the groggy man with a full face of makeup and tired eyes that widened at your state.

his lips upturned at sight in front of him, the smile weak but facial expression entertained. tossing his bag to the designated corner, he drags his feet into the bathroom and grabs some makeup cleaner, a washcloth, and plops down next to you. you just stare at him, a small grin on your lips. “you look cute.” he says as he looks up to you, moving his body so his head is laying in your lap. “is that a panda?”

nodding, you place a quick peck to his lips. “you look tired, baby. how was work?” you lean over to start taking the foil masks off your feet, rubbing to excess into them and tossing the masks into the trash bin next to the nightstand as chenle tells you about his day. when you turn your head, you notice him holding the cleansing balm and washcloth out towards you. tilting your head for the dramatics with a smile, you look between him and the items. “what’s this for?”

“can you wash off my makeup for me, please?” an exaggerated pout makes way onto his face, earning a small chuckle from you. soft moments like this with chenle happened every so often. your relationship was very playful and fun, the soft moments came and went but the love was always there and never questioned. but whenever either of you were ever this vulnerable with one another you never batted an eye, just went along with it.

opening up the banila cleansing balm, you take out the scrapper and start putting small amounts of it throughout his face. his eyes flutter shut, enjoying this small moment between you two. the sound of the terrifier 2 plays in the background, the vulgar noises going through one ear and out the other. you focus on making sure you get each part of his face but avoiding his eyes so as to not irritate them, watching all the colors mix together on his face as they melt into an oil mixture. wetting the wash cloth with your water bottle, you bring it to his face and start washing off the oil and making sure there’s no excess.

as you begin to wash off the oil, chenle’s eyes open back up to watch the process. his eyes watch you focus with your bottom lip out in a pout, eyes slightly squinted as you make sure to get every inch and not stain the new pillow cases you just bought last week. once you announce you’re finished, he slides off the bed lazily and tosses his clothes into the hamper. as he does so, you finally take off your face mask and throw it into the trash bin and soak the rest of it into your skin. as you tossed the mask into the garbage, you felt chenle wrap his arms around your waist and lay his head back in your lap.

when you looked down at him all he wore was his boxers and a basketball tee, his eyes still tired but grin still exuding happiness. you automatically wrap your arms around him, confused but allowing it to happen. “what’s gotten into you tonight?” you tease, causing him to look up at you.

“谢谢.” was all he said, his grin turning into a tired smile before placing a kiss to your thigh.

“i’m your partner, you don’t need to thank me.” you reply, placing your lips on his quickly before pulling him into his spot on the bed next to you.

he allows you to do so, secretly enjoying it anyway. the movie is long forgotten at this point but you don’t forget to make a mental note to rewatch it tomorrow when you have the time. you move the blanket so it’s on top of both of you and your boyfriend and allow him to cuddle up next to you, your arm wrapping around him and hand landing in his hair to play with his now messy strands.

“rough day?” you asked as he played with your shirt, his head on your chest and his breathing becoming slower. you can tell he could fall asleep any second now, but you always wanted to make sure he got everything off his chest he needed to so he didn’t sleep with anything heavy on his mind.

he moved his head up and down as if in a nodding motion. “yeah, just a lot of dance practices and interviews.” he lets out a deep sigh against your skin, causing a shiver to run up your spine as the ending credits roll from the end of the film. his one leg intertwines with yours, wanting to become even closer as he continues on about his day. “i finally have a day off tomorrow though, so that’s good.”

humming in agreement, you look down at him and press a small kiss to the top of his head. “about time.” you sink your body further down into the mattress, feeling your eyes getting heavy as well. as you reach over and turn off the nightstand light, you continue with your sentence. “my little koala has been working hard lately.”

although exhausted, chenle’s head shoots up and his eyes shoots daggers at you. his nose scrunches in disgust, hating the stupid nickname. “i hated that so much.” he pecks your lips before resting his head on your chest again, cuddling back into your warmth. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you roll your eyes, adjusting yourself in a position to get comfortable for bed. “yeah yeah, you love my stupid nicknames.” you feel him tap your side with his thumb two times, signaling something. “what?”

“you didn’t say it back.”

“chenle. you know i love you too.”

“just say it back, please. so i can go to bed.”

“i love you too.”

“good.”

even when half asleep he’s extremely stubborn.

[tonyspank]

"CHEF'S HERE..."

Summary: "Chefs here..." a voice murmurs as you burst through the kitchen doors

Warnings: nothing really, chef y/n is giving gordon ramsay a bit

Words: 800+

A/N: hi everyone! been a while eh

"Chefs here..." a voice murmurs as you burst through the kitchen doors.

You cast a quick peek around. A dozen cooks and servers are preparing for the evening rush, and the air is humid and damp from the hot burners.

"Where's Evan?" You inquire, scouring the room for a sight of his familiar face among the pandemonium. The other cooks trade looks, displaying a mix of perplexity and fear.

Ava gestures at Evan, who is frozen in his trackers, as if he has just seen a ghost. His eyes widen, and he stares at you with his mouth open. You can watch the color drain from Evan's face as he cautiously approaches you, stuttering over his words.

Everyone in the room goes silent as they watch this unexpected meeting occur.

You rush over to him and take him by the elbow, forcing him to look at his plate, which had been returned due to the lobster being undercooked.

"What is this?" you question, pointing at the lobster. Evan moves his focus from you to the plate, his face shifting from panic to perplexity.

Everyone in the room is waiting for an explanation while he stammers, attempting to find the appropriate words to explain the situation.

"Uhhhh," Evan says, searching the kitchen for help.

"It's lobster, idiot," you snarl. "How long have you been here?" "Why do I have to deal with your messes all the time?"

Evan's face flushes with shame. "I... uh..."

"Don't say anything!" You cut him off with a snap.

He looks at you, perplexed.

"I break my fucking foot working my ass off in this restaurant, and the one day I need you to be on your A-game, of course you disappoint." Evan averts his gaze, his shoulders hunching.

Holding the lobster tail in front of his face, you seize it. "Apologize."

Evan's lips move in and out of uncertainty over how to reply. You snarl, "I said, apologize."

He glances at the lobster for a moment, then back at you, his expression bewildered.

"I'm... sorry?"

You turn to face the rest of the kitchen and aggressively toss the lobster in the garbage. "Someone, get me a fucking apron... now!"

You swiftly tie an apron around your waist after a server approaches you with one. Realizing that the other employees have seen your outburst, you observe them exchanging anxious glances as you make ready to return to work.

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to gather yourself and concentrate on the task at hand.

"Alright, everyone, listen up! It's time to turn this day around!" You say this, clapping your hands together.

The kitchen is silent, and the staff stands still, looking between you and Evan.

"Now," you point at the food on the stove, "someone give me a lobster; I'll prepare it myself."

No one moves.

"Well?" You demand, "We don't have all night! The dining room is packed, and we have tables that are waiting!"

At this point, the staff jumps into action, and the kitchen comes alive.

"Yes, Chef," someone mutters and hands you a plate with a lobster tail.

Within a couple of minutes, you're walking back out of the kitchen, your hair tied up and an apron wrapped around your waist, walking in the direction of the table that had originally ordered the lobster.

"Hi there, I'm so sorry about the delay. Can I offer you something on the house to compensate?" You ask, approaching the table, smiling apologetically, trying to mask the anger that is still coursing through you.

The brunette finally looks up, meeting your gaze. You immediately recognize those brown eyes.

"Y/N?" She asks, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Hey, Jenna." You say, letting out a small laugh. "What— what are you doing here? I thought you were in New York."

"Well, I wanted to surprise you." She laughs, shaking her head. "And what about you? I thought I told you to rest your foot."

You run a hand through your hair and mutter, "Baise-moi... (Fuck me...) Uh... it's a long story,"

With a lighthearted smile pulling at the corner of her lips, Jenna raises an eyebrow. Oh, gosh. She leans in closer and adds, "Well, I have all the time in the world to hear it."

You give your girlfriend a sidelong glance while sulking. "It's not that serious, baby. The boot helps a lot."

She sighs slightly and rolls her eyes. "You should be at home, resting."

"I'm fine." You sigh and cross your arms.

Jenna tilts her head, purses her lips, and raises her eyebrows.

"I swear, baby."

"Well, as much as I like the fact that you're here, I don't like the idea of you hurting yourself. Especially after how hard you worked."

You grin and nod slightly. "In any case, try the lobster. "Made by yours truly."

"Of course. Thank you, darling."

You nod and walk back to the kitchen, smiling at the sight of Jenna digging into the food you cooked.

"How'd it go?" Evan asks.

"It's my girlfriend," you tell him, untying the apron and setting it aside.

"What? The blonde one?"

"No, not the blonde one."

"The brunette one? Jenna Ortega?!"

You roll your eyes, grab your jacket and slip it on.

"Yeah, Evan, the brunette one," you say, pushing open the doors and making your way towards the exit.

"Oh."

[puck-luck]

give him six | trevor zegras

warnings: extreme domination. EXTREME domination. daddy kink because i do what i want. edging. spanking. cockwarming. at the same time. don’t worry about it. i do what i want. HINTS of anal play but they don’t actually do it. derogatory language (name calling…). crying during sex. sorry! spit kink. had to be done. subspace! ugh need a man to put me in that BAD bad pairing: trevor zegras x fem!reader summary/request: “thinking about trevor zegras needing to fuck his gf roughly after a tough game to let out his frustration bc i can sooooo see him being into that. but he’d always be looking out for u too, saying to tell him if it hurts and checking in to ask if she’s ok, but as soon as she assures him she is he’s just going absolutely nuts not holding back 🫠” wc: 4109

You don’t have to look at Trevor to see how angry he is. He lost a few weeks of hockey due to his broken ankle and now he was back– but he couldn’t make a fucking goal in a shootout to get the win for his team? The worst part was that his shot was denied not by the goalie, but by the post. By the fucking post. 

Trevor loves to flaunt his accuracy in the backyard, in the practice rink, even when tossing trash into the garbage bin, but the one time he doesn’t mean to hit the post, the puck does? It’s idiocracy. It’s humiliating. He’s better than this. He knows it, you know it, the whole world knows it. But St. Louis got to celebrate tonight, and maybe if he hadn’t hit the damn post, then he’d be celebrating with his teammates instead of stewing in your bed. 

His arms are crossed over his chest and the TV isn’t even on– you join him and want to laugh at the image of your pouty boyfriend wallowing in silence. You climb under the covers with Trevor. 

“You did really well, Trev,” you compliment, settling into the mattress.

“We should’ve won,” he replies.

You sigh. “You can’t win them all.”

Trevor scoffs. “Yeah, well, we could’ve won this one,” he snaps.

You stare at him for a moment while his tone really sets in. “You don’t have to talk to me like that,” you say, your voice growing cold. “I wasn’t out on the ice with you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He, at least, sounds the part. He covers his face with his hands, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. “I just– I’m so mad.”

You take a deep breath. You don’t have to be at work until 9 and it’s about five minutes away if you leave on time. You have to do the laundry tomorrow afternoon anyway. Trevor would feel better if you did this. You really wanted to sleep after the game tonight, but it would be a lie if you said you didn’t want to make him feel better. Another deep breath.

“Why don’t you take it out on me?” You ask.

Trevor looks over at you, surprise written all over his features. “Really?” He asks, like a child who was just told that he could have another candy before bed. “Like last time?”

Last time. You practically start salivating, thinking about how Trevor brought you to the edge and ripped you away from the cliff time after time, until you were sobbing and screaming and begging for a release. 

“Yeah, like last time,” you agree, already a little absent. Trevor notices, of course he does, he’s more in tune with your body than you are at this rate.

A smile tugs on the corner of Trevor’s lips, but he ignores it.

“Hands and knees,” Trevor says. “Right in front of me.”

You position yourself accordingly.

Trevor smooths a hand over your behind, your shirt riding up and exposing your skin due to the position you’re in. You hadn’t worn anything else to bed– why would you? You and Trevor had been together for ages and you weren’t exactly new to his… post-loss coping mechanisms. 

“Elbows,” Trevor corrects. His cock twitches when you immediately drop to your elbows, no hesitation in your movements. You’re silent, like he wants when you play like this, and you’ll do anything he says. You’re gorgeous like this, all spread out and listening to him with your head forward like a good girl, waiting for your next instruction.

You hear his voice over the thumping of your heart, although you’re not sure how. You’re always finding Trevor in the mess of everything. 

“Bite the sheets,” Trevor commands, shimmying out of his boxers. You can hear him moving and you take the bedsheets in your mouth, the fabric almost immediately saturating with your saliva. “Close your eyes.” You slide your eyes shut and wait, your shaky breath filling the room and heating your face.

Something warm probes at your entrance and for a moment, you can’t tell if it’s Trevor’s fingers or his cock. The answer comes to you via a sharp spank on your left cheek, with Trevor’s left hand. He always fingers you with his left hand so that he can keep his right around your neck– the hand that’s currently kneading your other cheek. 

He pushes his cock into you slowly, the movement more like he’s pulling you back than pushing you forward. 

“Six shots,” Trevor muses, watching his cock disappear into you. “Six shots, and I didn’t make one.”

You bite back the reassurance, swallowing it. Trevor doesn’t want to hear it.

“Do you know how that feels?”

You don’t answer. He still doesn’t want to hear it.

“I’ll show you,” Trevor promises, his voice deceptively soft. His hand rests against your skin, heavy and present. 

You get lost in the feeling easily, your mouth full of the comforter and your fingers twisted in the top sheet. Your eyes stay closed, the red-tinged darkness grounding you. 

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” he repeats, his voice darker this time. “You’re going to understand exactly what it feels like to come so close six times, just for all of that to be taken away from you.”

Your eyes open at his words and you pale. You spit the covers out and break your silence. “Six times?” You ask, incredulous. “Trev.”

“Daddy,” Trevor corrects with a spank. “Unless that’s… not what we’re doing tonight?”

You clench down on his length at the contact and the name, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sound of his voice. Trevor is playing with you, teasing you. His fingers are walking all over you– the small of your back, your cheeks, down your crack all the way to where he’s buried inside of you… and it’s distracting.

You find yourself nodding. “It is.”

“Good,” Trevor says. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make the second and third ones quick, okay?”

His voice is full of condescension, like he knows you’re going to lose track of everything as soon as he starts hitting you. He’s right, but that’s neither here nor there.

For as long as you’d been dating Trevor, you’d never seen him tap into the mindset that he has on the ice off the ice. However, when he’s bringing his hand down on your ass, he gets pretty damn close.

His spanks are precise and powerful. He’s leaving pink handprints all over your skin, from the fleshy parts of your ass to the top of your thighs, even a few falls over the hole that he’s not occupying. Each flash of his hand leaves your skin burning and your hips inching upwards, begging for more. All of this, and he’s still inside you– the torture of the spanking is that he isn’t moving, and you’re not supposed to.

You lose track of the count, feeling your stomach flip with each slap. What starts as stinging pain turns into aching pleasure, and the sensations aren’t lost on Trevor.

He feels you jolt each time he brings his hand down on your skin, the clench of your pussy around his cock, the pounding of your pulse from inside of you. Trevor smirks and shifts his hips forward as he brings his hand down, his hand making contact with your asshole just as his tip nudges against your g-spot.

You wail, lurching under Trevor’s watchful eye. You fuck back on his cock once, only managing the movement one measly time, before Trevor stills you with a hand and slides out of you.

“No,” you breathe out, voice muffled by your makeshift gag. 

“Yes,” Trevor replies, smug. “Isn’t it frustrating?”

You glare at him, turning so he can see the look on your face.

All it does is make him laugh. “Well, now I have to really punish you, don’t I?” He asks. “I can’t have my baby making angry faces at me.”

Trevor taps your hip, wordlessly telling you to move. You resume your original position next to him, expecting Trevor to tell you to put your “pretty little hand” on his cock and jerk him until he comes all over your freshly manicured fingers. 

You don’t expect him to slide under the covers and hike up your shirt until your breasts are exposed. Trevor hooks a leg around yours, his mouth exhaling warm air onto your nipple. His fingers tap at your skin, one hand on your side and the other on your mound, making its way south. 

“We’re going to do four like this,” Trevor tells you. His voice is merely a whisper, crawling over in your skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. “Just like this. I’m gonna take one,” he breathes, catching your nipple between his teeth for a split second before continuing. “Right here. Gimme one, baby, just from me licking your tits. I know you can.”

He dives in, tongue first. Your jaw drops as Trevor’s eyes close, the same way you know they do when you kiss him. It’s surreal, seeing him kiss and lick over your skin the way he normally does over your lips. His eyelashes flutter, the long, dark pieces of hair stealing your train of thought. 

Trevor surprises you with how quickly he brings you to the edge again. He promised that the second and third would be quick, but you didn’t know just how quick he meant.

You let out a strangled gasp and your hand flies to Trevor’s hair when he opens his eyes and lets his adoring gaze fix on your face. You pull him off your chest, heaving breaths filling your lungs. 

Trevor smirks, but it never quite reaches his eyes. The same look burns you, makes you shy under his gaze. You blush and look away, one of your hands covering the redness on your cheeks.

“Good,” Trevor remarks, a mere observation. “You got close, didn’t you, baby?”

You nod, still breathing heavily.

Trevor waits, expectant. He tilts his head down and blinks.

“Yes, Daddy,” you concede. “I was close.”

“Honest girl,” Trevor praises. His fingers dance over your slit. “Love you.”

“Love you,” you parrot back to him. 

Trevor rewards you by pushing one finger into your heat, pumping it in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. 

Your breath stays shaky, your eyes never leaving Trevor’s. His finger drags along your walls, petting the inside of you with its pad, and you swear you can feel the ridges of his fingerprint inside of you if you focus enough. 

It’s hard to focus on that when Trevor’s got his scrutinizing eyes on yours, though.

“What finger is it?” Trevor asks.

“What?” You stammer, finally blinking and breaking the trance. 

Trevor’s other hand flies up to steady your chin before you can look down and ruin his game. “Which finger–” Trevor asks, curling it inside you. “–am I fucking you with?”

Your brain stalls. It’s a no-brainer, really, you should know each of Trevor’s fingers by feel alone with how often they make their way inside of you. However, you’ve been denied two orgasms already and Trevor is close to taking a third from you with just his smug stare.

“Come on,” Trevor goads. “You know which finger this is, baby. The faster you tell me, the faster I get you to your orgasm.”

“Yeah, the faster you take it away,” you reply. 

Trevor’s eyes cloud over and he jams his finger inside you, increasing his pace. “Don’t be a bitch.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Trevor twists his finger inside of you.

“Unless you want me to fuck you like one,” he teases. 

You clench down on Trevor’s finger, his middle finger you realize, when he utters those words.

“You like that?” Trevor asks, unnecessarily. He can feel how you feel about it. “You like the idea of me getting my cock in you and fucking you like a damn animal? What is it, baby? Is it the primal instinct of it all or just the fact that I’m disciplining you like you’re worth less than I am?”

You moan at his words, logical responses and formed sentences too far from you to grasp.

“Tell me.” Trevor nudges your g-spot and you arch your back, your hips grinding against his finger… just for him to draw it out of you. “Not so fast. We’ve still got three more to go.”

“I was close,” you complain.

“So was I,” Trevor counters. “Hurts, doesn’t it? When things don’t work out the way you want them to?” 

“Trevor!” You frown, put off by his game.

“Well, now you’ve really done it,” Trevor growls, shoving two fingers inside of you and resting his thumb on your clit. “You know better than to call me by my name.”

You’re drenched in sweat and slick, so Trevor’s movements aren’t hindered in the slightest, not even when you squeeze your thighs shut. All Trevor does is push them open, trap your thigh under his bony knee. Somehow, even though you just had your legs spread, Trevor seems to push in further and rub your clit faster, hitting every right spot in alternating movements: clit, then g-spot, clit, then g-spot again. And over and over.

You don’t warn him this time, you don’t pull away. You try not to clench down, you try not to rock your hips, you try anything that might get you real relief from a real orgasm without Trevor noticing.

But it’s also a futile effort because your boyfriend knows you that well.

He withdraws his fingers just as your legs, the traitors, begin to tremble.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t think you’d get away with that, did you?” Trevor teases.

“Please,” you beg. “Please, Daddy.”

Trevor’s eyes flash with approval and he teases your entrance again, this time with a third finger. “Don’t worry,” he coos. “We’ve only got two more. Then I’ll let you come.”

You choke on your own spit when Trevor buries his three fingers inside of you, all in one motion. He doesn’t dawdle or stall for time. He doesn’t take advantage of the situation at hand– that you were already shaking for him and a pump of his fingers would give you away to the pleasure just on the other side of your approaching peak.

No, he doesn’t pump his fingers. He just wiggles them as deep as he can get them and smirks before dropping a kiss on your lips. He lowers himself then and blows cool air on your clit, spreading your folds with his other hand so the full bundle of nerves is revealed to him. He leans in and captures it with his tongue, lightly sucking on the bundle. It’s not the most friction he’s ever given you, but it’s consistent. He builds you up on his tongue, slowly, so slowly. 

And when your thighs close around his head, he stops. You’re aching for a release, tears building along your waterline. Your refractory period is shrinking with each near-orgasm, your babbles begging for Trevor to do something.

“I need it,” you beg, but the words feel more like a scream with how heavy they sit on your chest. 

“Oh, I know you need it,” Trevor replies, tone mocking. “You need it so bad, you’re acting up. Talking back, not using my name, not answering my questions, trying to trick me so that you can get an orgasm. I ought to leave you like this, really show you what it’s like to be left frustrated after a disappointing performance.”

“No,” you whimper. “No, Trevor, that’s too much.”

It’s not your word, it’s not a cry of pain, but it still gives Trevor pause. 

“Need me to be sweet to you?” Trevor asks, his eyes genuine and his hair wild from your wandering grasp.

You whine, arching your back. Trevor smiles fondly, but bats you away. When your back makes contact with the mattress again, Trevor’s deft fingers pinch your nipple and cause you to arch up a second time. He pushes you back down.

“Slut,” Trevor chastises. “Think you can distract me with your tits? This isn’t amateur hour, baby. I’ve still got to steal one orgasm from you.”

You blanch at that, your eyes wide. You take in every detail of his face, panting. There isn’t anything you could say that could stop him, except your word, but you’d rather curl into a ball and die than stop this right now. The words don’t come to you to tell him to continue, though.

“I’m going to get you so close,” Trevor whispers, his face close to yours. He leans down and kisses your neck. You arch into him, your once-useless hands finding his sides. You feel over the muscle there, his lean waist and strong chest. “You’re going to be right there, baby, and then I’m going to take it all away.”

“Please,” you repeat, but it’s indecipherable whether you’re begging Trevor to let you come or begging Trevor to leave you wanting more.

“Yeah,” Trevor agrees, sliding his three fingers back into your wet cunt. 

You moan sharply at the intrusion, pumping deep into you this time and dragging along your walls in a torturous way. It feels so good, it has you seeing white specks when you manage to open your eyes and look at Trevor. His eyes are trained on your cunt, watching your wetness seep all over his fingers. When you push his hair out of his face, his eyes lift to meet yours. 

His pupils are blown wide with lust and he’s got a snarl rumbling from deep in his chest. It is primal, you realize, the way he’s bullying his fingers into your cunt without a thought about what you can or can’t handle. He’s taking you, the way that you’ll only ever allow him to do.

“Gonna come?” Trevor asks, the evil smirk overtaking his face again.

“Please,” you beg again.

“‘Please,’” Trevor mocks. “Is that the only word you know?”

He pulses his hand, his fingers bouncing off your walls and causing you to jolt and scramble to find something to hold onto. That something ends up being Trevor’s hair and the pillow to your side. Your chest is heaving again, your nipples taut and pointed and begging to be touched. 

As Trevor’s eyes trail down your body at a snail’s pace, you can feel your orgasm approaching. You yank his hair and he winces, bringing his hand to your neck and squeezing in retaliation.

“Daddy,” you wheeze, the edge of your vision growing fuzzy and dark. It’s the only warning you can give Trevor as the cliff starts to crumble below you, as you start to fall away into the orgasm that was denied from you for so long.

And when Trevor pulls his fingers out of you, he yanks you back onto solid ground.

And, unsurprisingly, you start to cry.

It’s not pretty, either. It’s not a tear here and there when you’re deepthroating your boyfriend, or the beautiful running of mascara as he fucks your face at some hockey event. No, this is full-on sobbing, gut-wrenching cries that have Trevor taking inventory of all the things he did to you, wondering if he pushed you too far. He rubs your thighs with both of his hands in a soothing motion, ignoring the glistening precum that he’s inadvertently rubbing into your skin. 

“Baby,” Trevor murmurs. 

You sob and raise your arms, needing him to hold you. Trevor’s face softens immediately and he pulls you into his chest, turning so he’s sitting with his back against the headboard and you’re awkwardly dangling half on his lap, half off. You keen into his neck, burying your face in his soft, tan skin.

“My girl,” Trevor whispers, rubbing your arms now and pulling you closer to him, comforting you with his warmth. “You’re perfect.”

“Daddy,” you whisper into his neck. “Please.”

Trevor tilts your head back and looks into your eyes. His gaze looks sad, meeting your own, red and puffy. “Please what, baby?”

“I need your cock,” You plead, petting over his stomach with a hand that feels like its made of static. “I need you to make me come, Daddy.”

Trevor groans, sounding pained. He twitches beneath you. “Like this?” He asks.

You nod, losing your words again. It’s a timid but vehement nod, needing Trevor to press inside you more than anything, but not knowing if you could handle another ruined orgasm.

“Please, let me come this time,” you say, trying to look as pathetic and needy as you can. With big doe eyes like this, Trevor has always been bad at denying you the things you want. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve tortured you enough,” Trevor agrees, reaching under you and pressing his cockhead against your entrance. “Give me a bounce, baby. Wanna see your tits jump in front of my face, yeah?”

Trevor snakes his hands around to grab your bottom, his fingers tight against the skin. He uses his leverage to bounce you for him, knowing that you don’t have control over your movements as fucked out as you are, and he’d hate to see you cry more because you’re mad at yourself for not moving the way he wanted you to.

He lifts you up and down, snapping his hips up to meet yours when they fall. His eyes flicker between your boobs and your face, the teartracks drying over your cheeks as you allow yourself to be consumed by ecstasy. One of Trevor’s hands flies upward, tracing over your skin until he threads it between the strands of your hair. Once his whole hand is enveloped in your roots, he tugs and your mouth falls open.

Trevor leans forward and directs a glob of spit down your throat, his forceful hawk causing his spit to find the back of your throat. 

You convulse on top of him, trembling under his watchful gaze and his warm cock. “Daddy,” you pant, feeling like you’re burning and drowning in your desire for him. Trevor slips his thumb into your mouth as you come and you suck on it like a child, grinding against him through your aftershocks.

You’re floating on air by the time your aftershocks cease and Trevor pulls out of you gently, grasping his cock in his fist. He’s watching you and you’re watching him. Never breaking eye contact, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out.

Trevor presses his tip to your tongue and strokes his cock, squeezing on the downstroke and groaning curses with each turn of his hand. He comes just seconds later, his white ropes of come gracing your tastebuds. He pulls away after only a few drops intersect with your tongue, continuing to come in spurts over your cheeks, lips, and nose. A bit of come drips down the tip of your nose and you poke your tongue out again to try and catch it, which makes Trevor laugh.

Still lost in your post-orgasm haze, you barely notice when Trevor leaves the bed and comes back with a moist towel. He wipes your face, then your thighs and pussy, dropping a kiss on your lower belly after he’s finished. You let out a breath at that, not knowing that you were holding it, astounded by the fragility and intimacy of the moment.

“Daddy,” you say out loud, mostly just to yourself. Mostly just to feel the word on your tongue, feel it take its shape in your mouth. It sounds like awe.

Trevor deposits the towel in the hamper across the room with a toss, proving yet again that his precision and accuracy are off the charts most of the time. He crowds your space, tracing your features with his delicate pinky. “Did Daddy make you feel good, baby?” Trevor asks. “You made Daddy feel good.”

You whine at that and almost want to cry again at the praise. All the time you spent wondering if you were good enough, if you’d ever get a boyfriend who loved you and stayed with you was worth it when you found Trevor. He always said the right things, made you feel things you’d never felt before. 

“I love you,” you say.

Trevor slips his thumb into your mouth, watching your eyes close in bliss as he presses it against your tongue. You can still taste where he was rubbing your pussy with this digit.

“I love you,” he replies, voice soft. His voice sounds like awe, too.

note: small town girl chapter 1 next! (hopefully)

[dameronology]

when it rains (obi-wan x reader)

summary: being in love with obi-wan is great - but it might be less difficult if he knew about it. (commission for @ofmusesandsecrets!)

warnings: language

You were generally quite good at keeping your shit together.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been a threat to that.

On the surface, you were everything a Senator could need to be; an intelligent and well-spoken individual, with a high level of education and a passion for change. You always stood up for what you believed in; always spoke up on issues you were passionate about and always fighting the good fight. These were all things that Obi-Wan had loved about you, and in what felt like the galaxy's cruellest Catch 22, it was that love that threatened your ability to upkeep appearances. One glance at him across the Senate, or a brief moment of eye contact at one of the Galas - more often than not where he was your bodyguard - and you were worried it would all come tumbling down.

You had met Kenobi a few years after he'd become a Jedi Master. You were early on in your career as a politician, working as an apprentice to a higher-level representative. Always on the go, with stacks of paperwork in your arms and a million thoughts brewing in your mind, you'd crossed paths with Obi-Wan one morning during a meeting in the Temple. He'd given you a smile, made a quip about how he'd never seen you not on the go (which confirmed to you that he had seen you before and had stared long enough to notice those details about you).

Five years later, you hadn't been able to look at anyone else.

He was your best friend now, undoubtedly and wholly. You saw each other every day at the least - maybe in meetings and occasionally in passing - but he would come to your apartment every night without fail. Mostly just to catch up, and sometimes just to vent. Even on the days where Anakin had driven him to the point of grey hair, you were still happy to listen.

It was raining tonight in Coruscant. A lot. Lashing down from the sky, putting most of the city to a halt. Your afternoon meeting had been cancelled as a result, which meant you'd been holed up in your apartment all afternoon, a mug of tea in one hand and a stack of paperwork in the other. Obi-Wan's first ever comment to you had always rung true; you were always on the go, even when you were sat still. There was always something on your mind - something to create, something to do, something to debate. Sometimes, it made Obi-Wan want to grab your shoulders, give you a little shake and tell you to slow the fuck down.

He turned up just after 8PM - drenched, as expected, and with a slightly wet coffee cup in hand. In your line of work, you could afford a slow afternoon. For Obi-Wan, your busiest day of work was comparable to one he'd find relaxing. You had no doubt that he'd not long wrapped up for the night, so you wasted no time in stepping aside and letting him into your apartment.

"Long day?" you asked, eyebrows raised.

Obi-Wan glared at you. "Long day. Wet day."

"Right, sorry," you snorted. Taking the coffee cup out his hands, you tossed it into the garbage and headed towards your kitchen. "C'mon, I'll make you a drink that's not half rainwater."

"Thank you, darling," he gave you a small smile, hot on your tail as he followed you through the apartment. "I heard the Senate meeting was called early this afternoon."

"Yeah," you replied. "At like 2PM. Half the people due to come couldn't make it due to the weather. It took me two hours to get home."

"You should have come and found me at the Temple," Obi-Wan said. "You know my room is always available."

You knew. You'd always known, even on the nights when Obi-Wan was present there too. How many times had you stayed over after a long night? Snuck back there after a Gala? Just to sleep three feet apart, both your minds working at a thousand miles an hour, purely to resist the urge to reach out towards him and curl up into his side. The idea of domesticity with Obi-Wan was almost enough to kill you, just as it was right now. Here he was, leant against your kitchen counter. He was throwing his wet cloak into your tumble drier, hands reaching for a tea towel on the side. He was acting like he lived here, like he paid half the rent and maker, you wished he would. You wished that he would come back here every night and just fucking stay. With you, here, forever. No outside world; no politics; no stupid Jedi laws.

"Where did you go?" he asked.

You blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Your mind - it went somewhere," Obi-Wan continued. "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, uh...just work," you forced a smile. "You know how it is."

"I turn off when I'm done," he replied, hand brushing down your arm. "You never really stop, do you?"

I stop thinking about work, you thought to yourself, but I never stop thinking about you.

"No, I will," you murmured. "Sorry."

"Never be sorry," Obi-Wan said.

You snapped back into action, hands quickly chucking ingredients into a mug in order to produce an acceptable cup of coffee. You knew Obi-Wan's routine with his fancy-ass drip filter and organic beans and locally sourced milk. It was a few levels above the instant coffee you were about to press into his hands, but your actions were still met with a smile.

"How are you going to get back to the Temple later?" you asked. "The storm has half the city at a standstill and I beg you not to say that you're walking."

He smiled. "I realised as soon as I got to your building that I may be trapped for the night."

"Right," you replied, fighting back your own smile. "That's sort of the point I was getting to anyways."

Your eyes met, and you couldn't help but sometimes wonder if he felt it too. If his eyes lingered on yours when you turned away, if you were constantly on his mind every moment that you were apart. Of course, it was different for him; after all, the job he'd dedicated his very life to forbade attachment in any form and this? Well, this was the highest form.

"I have some of my brothers clothes in the hallway closet," you broke the silence. "You're welcome to steal some."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Thank you, darling."

It wasn't really a question between you about where he would be sleeping. You only had one bed and you'd already shared before, so what was the point in overcomplicating it? Well...overcomplicating it even more. Nothing about this was simple, and sharing a bed was not the distance you needed for the situation, but what did you care anymore? You yearned to be around the man all the time, even if it meant doing this weird to-and-fro that you'd had going on for half a decade. Him being in your bed just for tonight was fine. You were both tired. You both needed it.

Obi-Wan picked up his mug, giving your arm another squeeze.

"I'm going to go and shower," he said. "Thank you letting me stay."

You smiled and nodded. "Always."

Putting aside your own half empty coffee, you threw it into the sink - that would be tomorrow's problem, as would all of this - and went through to the bedroom. You could hear the shower running, and your mind again went off to that all too familiar place: home. Not here, but wherever Obi-Wan was. What you wouldn't have given to had this every night; you getting ready for bed, him in the shower, both of you planning to end up in the same bed. It wasn't possible. You knew it wasn't possible, as long as he were still a Jedi and as long as you were still a Senator. Hell, you would have thrown your position aside in seconds if it meant being with him. Maybe that was the difference between the two of you.

Changing into a baggy shirt and sweatpants, you threw aside the covers and climbed into bed. The sheets were cold, as they always were when you first went to bed, but knowing someone else was minutes away from warming them up sent butterflies to your stomach. Maybe not butterflies, so much as they were wasps. Big, anxious wasps, at the idea of being in such close proximity with your best friend. What if this was the night that three foot meant fuck all? Maybe you could actually have his arms around; keep him closer for longer, not just a brief hug or a quick touch. This could be it now.

You heard the water shut off and there was a brief shuffling. A few moments later, Obi-Wan exited the bathroom. He'd opted for sweatpants too, but no shirt. Your instincts said to look away, but you couldn't. Hell, you didn't even care that you looked like a creep, watching him as he crossed the room. Obi-Wan barely even noticed, simply placing his boots by the door and climbing into bed beside you. You could feel the heat off his body beside you, arms just inches from touching.

"Was the shower okay?" you asked, eager to break the silence that had once again formed. "I've been having problems with...with my hot water."

"Why are you nervous?"

You blinked. "I'm not nervous."

"Yes, you are," Obi-Wan replied. "You always ramble when you're nervous, and I've never heard you talk about something as boring as how well your shower is working."

"Right," you murmured. "Sorry."

"That still doesn't answer my question," he pushed. "Why are you nervous? It's me, sweetheart."

"Maybe that's exactly why I'm nervous," you muttered. "I'm not sure. I just...it's weird that you're shirtless in my bed."

"Oh," he seemed surprise. "That's okay. I can sleep on the sofa-"

"- no, no, it's fine," you quickly cut him off. "I just never really know what to do these situations, to be honest. When we've slept together before, I've always tried my best to stay on the other side of the bed but...I'm not so sure I want to do that tonight."

Obi-Wan stared blankly ahead for a moment. Okay, so that had been risky as fuck, and for a moment you felt yourself reeling, waiting for his reaction. To your surprise, there wasn't really one. Even when it was the most forward you'd been - without really being forward at all - he still stayed stoic as always. There was no visible response, just a quick blink and a small shrug.

"We're both cold from the rain," he reasoned. "It makes sense. I see no reason why we have to stay on opposite sides of the bed."

Much to your surprise, he was the one to move first. He shuffled onto his side, a large arm coming around your waist and the other snaking underneath you. He pulled you into him, hand guiding your head into his neck and tucking it below his chin. You were stiff for a second, but quickly relaxed - this felt right. Like it was meant to be.

You could faintly smell the remains of his aftershave, mixed with the smell of your shower gel. His skin was still warm from the shower.

(And maybe it was).

"Are you warmer now?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," you murmured. "Toasty."

He smiled. "Good - now get some sleep."

You knew the morning would come, and that Obi-Wan would have to leave; you knew even more that this might not happen again. Not unless luck was on your side and would happen to lump you together during a storm, or a black out. Or - and the more terrifying option - that you declared your love for him and this would be how every night was.

It was hard to know; hard to tell and predict, just like everything else in the galaxy. Still, you were grateful that Obi-Wan was your best friend, and even more grateful that you had tonight.

[satansapostle6]

X

Josh Futturman has always had a crush on his beautiful coworker, the sharp, sexy scientist he thought he could only dream of talking to.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Sexual content.

Part One: Purple Orchids, Indian Food, and Chocolate

Josh Futturman always noticed her, every time she walked into a room. He knew that it was because he’d had a crush on her for as long as he’d worked at Kronish Labs, but he also felt that, regardless of how he, or anyone saw her, she was just inherently noticeable.

Her name, from what he knew, was Dr. Johansson, and although Josh hardly knew anything about her and had only spoken to her on a few occasions, never more than a couple of sentences, he still thought she was a total goddess.

Dr. Johansson was a scientist at Kronish Labs, the head of the research department. She worked right below Dr. Camillo, Elias Kronish’s right hand man, although, if you were to ask Josh, he could’ve sworn she herself should’ve been Kronish’s right hand man.

Every time Josh saw her, he wished he could’ve spoken to her; struck up a conversation, or paid her a compliment; anything. But Josh was more than aware that he was nothing more than a janitor at Kronish Labs; his job wasn’t even to cure herpes; it was to clean up after the people curing herpes.

That morning, not too long after his shift at the lab had started, Josh Futturman was gradually making his way up the building, emptying every garbage can in sight and cleaning up whatever needed to be cleaned. Truthfully, Josh couldn’t wait to get home and return to his video games. It was all he really thought about throughout his day at work.

He was only thinking of his PC at home as he entered Dr. Kronish’s office, where he and Dr. Camillo, along with one of the lower level scientists, were all deliberating. It was certainly a lot to take in.

“Dr. Camilo,” Elias Kronish said as calmly as he could. “I have told you, many times now, we will be going public with the research as planned.”

“But why?! Going public with that information is just going to cost us! We could make a fortune off of all of it!”

“As I have told you many times before, we are in the business of helping people, not just ourselves,” Kronish reminded him.

Josh awkwardly entered the room, cart behind him. “Sorry, Dr. Kronish, should I come back?”

He received two different answers.

“Yes, you idiot!” Stu Camillo shouted angrily.

“No, it’s quite alright,” Kronish smiled, speaking over his associate. “Thank you.”

“‘Course,” Josh nodded, cautiously entering the room to take out the garbage.

“Dr. Camillo. Need I remind you that… I’m sorry, what was your name again?” Kronish asked apologetically, seeming genuinely guilty.

“Futturman,” Josh replied, practically shocked that the founder of the company cared about his name.

“Thank you. Need I remind you that Mr. Futturman here works for me, just as you do. You do not have the right to address my employees on my behalf, and you most certainly do not have the right to berate them completely unprovoked!”

Josh silently gave the older man a thankful glance just as he left the room. As he tossed the small bag of garbage into the bin he carried around, he noticed a tall woman about to enter Kronish’s office.

“Hachi machi,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself.

“Oh. Sorry,” she said simply, backing up to allow Josh to pull the cart out.

He felt himself nearly choke on his words. It was Dr. Johansson, arguably the most beautiful woman in the building.

“I-It’s okay,” Josh stammered, barely pulling the cart out as he looked at her.

She looked perfect, as she always did. Her long, strawberry blonde hair was flawless, falling in soft ringlets that perfectly framed her face. And it was a beautiful face. It was striking how little makeup she actually wore; she had the features of a model.

It was no wonder she was constantly allowed to violate the office and lab dress codes. Mostly because of her talents and performance as head of the research department, Kronish hardly even noticed what she wore under her white lab coat. She could get away with a clubbing dress and a pair of stilettos if she felt like it.

Today, Josh noticed that she was wearing a nice black and purple dress with tall dark heels, the dark purple tone complimenting her strawberry blonde hair surprisingly well.

“Might not wanna go in there just yet,” Josh warned her shyly as she held in her hands a folder most likely meant for Kronish.

“Really?”

“Yeah… Dr. Camillo’s having one of his days,” he informed her.

“Is he? Well, I can handle Dr. Camillo,” she sighed unenthusiastically as she walked into the office.

Josh saw as Dr. Camillo’s head turned automatically, seeming much more excited about Dr. Johansson’s interruption than Josh’s.

“Sorry, Dr. Kronish, I just need you to sign off on these two,” she said politely as she held out the open folder.

“Yes, that’s right, of course. Thank you,” Kronish nodded as he quickly signed the forms.

Dr. Johansson nodded as she closed the folder and turned to leave.

“Hey, Brynne,” Camillo said, grinning like a child about to open a Christmas present.

“Dr. Camillo,” Brynne Johansson said curtly.

“You never responded to my invite, for my Christmas party next weekend,” he spoke up.

“That’s because I asked around and there is no Christmas party, Stu. If you ask me, the most realistic part of that plan is you throwing a party and no one showing up.”

Dr. Johansson left the office, and turned to find Josh, still looking in. He was mortified, realizing he’d been caught staring. But she didn’t seem to think anything of it.

“Does Dr. Camillo really hit on you like that?” he asked nervously, trying to salvage the interaction

“He tries to,” she nodded.

“Wow. My condolences,” he remarked humorously, still extremely nervous.

“Thanks,” she smiled dryly. “You have a good one… Futturman,” she said, reading off of his shirt before walking back to her own office.

Josh watched in disbelief as she walked away, shocked that she cared enough to learn his name. He was then interrupted by an angry Dr. Camillo, who practically pushed past him.

“Watch where you’re standing, janitor! If you were half as good at cleaning as you are lurking, you’d have a fucking award!”

Josh sighed in defeat as the man furiously pushed the janitorial cart away, creating even more work for him. He pulled it back towards him, just as Kronish also emerged from the office.

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to ignore him,” he apologized to Josh, who was surprised by the man’s kindness. “He’s a very angry man.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Josh smiled lightly.

Dr. Kronish just chuckled.

“So. Dr. Johansson’s caught your eye, hmm?” he noted.

“Uh…” Josh had no idea how to respond. “She’s nice.”

“She is nice,” Elias Kronish nodded, hearing the subtext. “And also, very fond of orchids. Specifically the purple ones.”

“Oh,” Josh remarked, considering the idea.

“She also likes Indian food, and Ethiopian food, and raspberry iced tea, and chocolate, specifically those little Ferrero Rochers, if that’s an easier introduction,” his employer considered thoughtfully.

“Thank you, Dr. Kronish,” Josh smiled.

“Please. Call me ‘Elias’.”

“Thank you, Elias,” Josh corrected himself.

The older man smile had a strange twinkle to it, as if he just radiated kindness.

“What was your first name, again?”

“Josh,” he told him. “You seem to know a lot about her.”

“I’m the only one she likes enough to talk to,” he explained. “Brynne’s a lovely woman. Private, and snarky, but lovely.”

“I know,” Josh Futturman nodded, fully aware of how funny she could be.

“Good luck, Josh,” Elias Kronish smiled, leaving him to his own thoughts

-

Part Two

[fredwkong]

Genie: Javier's Wishes

Click here to see the genie’s first master.

Click here to see the genie's previous master.

When the club finally closed at 3 AM, Javier breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, now he had to clean the whole place after a night of metalhead raving, but after that, he could go home and get some blessed sleep before his shift at the grocery store in the morning.

Javier was putting himself through college. On paper, the job at the club was great, way better than his other stocking and retail jobs. For most of his shift, he could do his readings while making sure that the patrons didn’t get too randy in the bathroom every 20 minutes or so. Even so, the constant cycle of work, sleep, class, repeat was draining. More than anything, Javier wanted some time off to travel.

While tossing a bag of garbage out into the alley, a glimmer of light in the dimness caught Javier’s eye. Just to one side of the door, as if it had been dropped carelessly, was an antique lamp.

Javier picked it up and stuck it in his hoodie pocket. If nothing else, it seemed to be real brass. He could probably sell it. With heavy, tired feet, Javier finished with clean-up and headed home. Before he could even think to unpack his things, he collapsed on his bed.

It wasn’t until the next day, after a shift at the grocery store, afternoon classes, and an evening at his tutoring job, that Javier slumped at the desk in his studio apartment and took out the lamp.

The thing was definitely real brass. There was just one discoloured spot on the side. Javier grabbed a washcloth, but he had barely begun to rub it when a stream of rainbow smoke erupted from the spout. Seconds later, a buff genie in a pair of form-fitting satin pants and a billowy white shirt was hovering in the middle of Javier’s room.

“You know how this goes, right babe?” the genie said, grinning down at Javier. “You make a wish each day, and I make it come true.”

Javier barely had to think. He knew what he needed in his life. “I wish I could travel,” he told the genie.

“Perf,” replied the genie, and clapped his big hands. A burst of dark blue smoke shot from between his hands and then thickened, filling Javier’s vision. In particular, it centred on his old flip phone, the cheapest thing that he had been able to buy.

When the smoke cleared, Javier looked down at himself and was shocked to see that he was in a sharp business suit, holding a briefcase. Instead of his old apartment, he was standing in a hotel room. On the desk, a sleek new Samsung flip phone was open, an appointment blinking. Javier had to get to the airport to fly to London.

In the taxi, Javier took a few work calls. He found that the information he needed for his new job as a marketing professional appeared in his mind as he reached for it. But, by the time he boarded the plane, he realised that he had to create a presentation and do hours of research before he landed at Heathrow. Thankfully, the company paid for his business class seat and in-flight wifi.

After the meeting in London, it was only a few hours until Javier was on his way to a meeting in Lagos. From there, he flew to Kuala Lumpur, and then Hong Kong. It was three days before Javier was sitting on a plane without any pressing work tasks to complete. After so many flights, he wasn’t sure where he was flying to. He went into the airplane toilet and rubbed the lamp.

The genie appeared in the mirror, disdaining to diminish his bulk in the cramped quarters. “You got another wish?” he purred, grinning out at Javier.

“I wish I didn’t have to work,” Javier said, his voice slurring from tiredness.

“Haven’t heard that one before.” The genie winked, and the vent in the bathroom issued a cloud of dark blue smoke. Instead of a suit, Javier found himself in perfectly fitted loungewear as the tiny commercial toilet expanded into a luxurious bathroom. Stepping out of the door, Javier stood in the bedroom of a private jet decorated in a classy, understated style.

A cute young man in a steward uniform stepped into the room. “Can I help with anything, sir?”

“Please, just call me Javi,” Javi said, the words seeming to fall from his lips unbidden in a smooth, laid-back tone. “And no, I’ll call if I need anything.” The full-size bed and fresh satin sheets were calling to him.

After a nap, Javi felt refreshed. The plane was coming in to land in some exotic locale or another. As a trust fund baby with several million dollars in the bank, Javi loved to fly from place to place around the world as the mood took him. He would just stay at a local resort until he got bored and flew out again.

And yet, all the days of partying and living it up felt strangely empty. Javi found himself remembering his life before the genie. All his classmates, friends, and coworkers still living from paycheque to paycheque while Javi ate off of plates worth more than they made in a year. Still, even his indescribable wealth wasn’t enough to support all of them for the rest of their lives. Not if Javi wanted to live as he was becoming accustomed to. So he summoned the genie.

“I wish I could help my friends.”

“Finally, something I can work with,” the genie groaned dramatically, and snapped his fingers.

Instantly, Javi’s vision filled with dark blue smoke. There was a wrenching sensation as he seemed to be pulled across a great distance. When his vision cleared, Javi found himself seated in a well-appointed lounge. He was in a perfectly tailored, fashionable suit, and looked over the rims of his round sunglasses as another young suited man entered.

“Your Highness,” the man said, making Javi’s head spin, “announcing tonight’s young lords.”

Behind him, two more men, some of Javi’s old coworkers from the grocery store, entered. They had fresh haircuts and were wearing perfectly tailored suits that left nothing about their trim bodies to the imagination. Javi found his mouth watering.

The memories rushed in. In order to help the most people in his circle, Javi had used his trust fund to establish a sort of feudal fraternity. He was the Prince, and beneath him were a selection of Dukes who invested in Counts, Viscounts, and Barons. This way, the money went farther, and there was a sense of decorum among Prince Javi’s modern “nobility.”

Of course, judging by the way the two Barons being presented before him tonight were undressing him with their eyes, appearances could only be kept up so long. The Prince was owed his due from those sworn to his service, and Javi could feel his cock hardening in his wool slacks. “Take this to the vault,” he told the steward, one of the rotating Dukes, handing him the lamp. “My lords, with me.” Javi crooked a finger at his Barons and led them to the adjoining playroom.

The Duke handed the lamp off to the nearest non-noble staff member, who took the next exit out of Prince Javi’s court/club. He had been planning to steal some silverware before leaving, but this was a much better haul.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

Junk Accounts

"Dude, have you been up all night? Does the computer need a hit of penicillin?" Sam asked as he woke up to the sound of Dean flipping the laptop closed.

"I wasn't looking at porn." Dean said, almost pouting.

"You weren't?"

"Man, I wish I had been. Porn is at least satisfying."

"Okay, so... what were you doing?"

"Maintaining our position."

"What?"

Dean sighed, "Nothing." He got up and headed to the bathroom.

Sam, his curiosity getting the better of him, swung his legs out of bed and grabbed the computer from the small table by the window. As soon as he opened it and the screen woke up, he shook his head.

"Tumblr, Dean? Again? I told you those polls are chaotic garbage."

The sound of Dean taking a leak was loud through the open bathroom door. "Look, those chicks are hot but they don't get to win just because a few people have nothing better to do than cheat." The toilet flushed.

Sam looked at the screen again. "What the hell? 'Ultimate Incest Tournament'? Dean? Why do you even..."

"I don't know, it came up in my For You. Look at the vote tallies for it versus the other polls in the bracket."

Sam scrolled for a moment. "Holy shit. They either really want to win this, although I don't know why anyone would want to win an imaginary incest competition, or..."

"Or they really don't want us to win." Dean came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a towel. "And seriously, fuck them."

"Wait, so you've been cheat voting on this all night?"

"It ain't cheating as long as everyone's playing by the same rules, Sam." Dean unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it over the dresser.

"But how do you even... each account can only vote once per poll, right?"

"Junk accounts." Dean's slacks joined his shirt.

Sam squints his eyes at the screen, "huh."

"Have at it, man, I'm beat." he said as he collapsed onto the bed.

"So you've been creating new accounts and voting in a Tumblr poll all night?"

A grunt from deep in the pillows was the only reply.

Obviously deep in thought, Sam started tapping on the keyboard. Several minutes later, he muttered, "There's got to be a way to write a script to automate this..."

~~~

read full fic on AO3

[charliedawn]

What if the slashers kept a journal ?

Bo was taking care of one of the employees' car—which had a flat tire—when you decided it was the perfect time to do a round check of all the bedrooms. All of the slashers had to keep a journal and you thought it would be alright to just give it a quick look to see their progress.

However, Bo's journal seemed very well hidden and then, you found out that his desk was slightly off-centred. It was by palming haphazardly the underneath of his desk that you found the journal—hidden inside a secret compartment he had surely crafted himself.

"You clever clock.", you whistled admiratively with a proud smile. You then opened it and frowned as you noticed that the first page was blank...and the second...and the third. Why was it empty ?!

"Can I help ya ?"

You were surprised to hear Bo's voice behind you and quickly turned around. He eyed the journal in your hands and looked up at you before blinking several times. He seemed to catch up quickly on what you were doing by how guilty you looked.

"Anythin' interesting in there, nurse?"

However, instead of replying, you threw the journal on the bed scurried off of the room as quickly as you had entered it. As soon as the door was locked, he smiled and walked to his desk. He checked that his real journal was still there—hidden underneath some mechanical engineering book—and smiled when he realized it was...

He chuckled knowingly.

"Noisy lil' darlin'."

In Vincent's journal, there were merely animal pics and various unreadable scribbles. You couldn't possibly read the things written, so you focused on the photographs and smiled at the various subjects...until you arrived to the last days' entries. Now, you knew Vincent to be easily obsessed. He had once followed a bird for hours—only to draw a sketch of it. However, you had never seen him get obsessed over an actual human being—until today.

There were only photographs of you.

You. Eating.

You. Talking.

You...Sleeping.

Oh...You blushed and promptly closed the journal before hiding it back underneath his pillow. However, when you turned around—you fell face to face with Vincent.

He looked successively between you and his pillow and finally, it clicked. He tried stop say something—but by then, you were already gone. You had snuck past him. He stood still for a second or two before re-opening the diary. He gently stroke the last photograph he had taken of you—smiling at him.

It was his best one yet...

Sex jokes. So many sex jokes. You thought that man would take the time to write profound meaningful things ? Ah ! Joke's on you.

However, he smiled when he saw you reading his diary. He stayed there for a moment before creeping his way in and surprising you by suddenly pulling your head back.

"Haven't you heard the expression curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart ?", he asked with a threatening grin and you shrugged.

"Haven't you heard bastards usually get cooked ?", you shot back.

At this point, you didn't give a toss that he had caught you—with the amount of garbage you had read. His whole brain needed to be purged in holy water.

"It doesn't make any sense.", he snarled and you offered him a sweet smile before taking a lighter on the table.

"Yes. It means let me go, Krueger...before I burn you somewhere that REALLY hurts.", you his in-between meaningfully—but it didn't seen to be efficient. It only spurred him on as he closed the door with his foot.

"Hmm...Nah. Don't think I will."

No need to say...Freddy got more than one additional burn that day.

Brahms was so discreet—you didn't notice when he approached you from behind. He glanced at what page you were on and realized it was a part when he described you.

Curious. Nice. Beautiful...

You smiled at the compliments, but realized that he had missed the point of the exercise. It was to focus on himself and reach deep. However, Brahms didn't like people reading his secrets.

His chest heaved heavily and in a matter of seconds, your back was against the door and he had removed his mask. You wanted to read all about his secrets ? He would make you sing yours.

Jason mostly wrote random words he learned. He couldn't make full sentences yet—but he mostly tried to write words and various emotions or actions of the day.

Cutting. Eating. Cooking.

He didn't like making sentences—so he usually only writes down random words. He described people he met, places he went to and his feelings.

You smiled.

He might be the only one who had listened to you and tried to fill their journal with what they felt. You flipped quickly through the different entries until you reached the final one. You were then pleasantly surprised by finding a few sentences. But that pleasant feeling quickly disappeared when you read.

'Hello, mommy. I have friends now. I think you would like them. And I...I met someone. I think you'd like them too. They like us. They take care of us. I miss you. But I...I think I'll be alright.'

You let out a few tears as you imagined Jason writing those words. He had learned so much and you weren't afraid to say that you were proud of him. And you were sure his mother would be too if she could see him.

Michael could smell you. He knew you had been in his room and every single thing you touched. The scent lingered on his diary and on one page in particular—one he didn't think was that important.

It was a photograph. A photograph of all the slashers reunited on Christmas. It was also the only day Carrie and Sadako were allowed in the facility.

Jason had taken that photograph before giving it to Michael as a present. He is completely forgotten about it, but smiled faintly at the realization that you had chosen this page in particular made it special.

He sighed before sitting on his bed and closing the journal. He looked out at the garden where you were helping Freddy with the bad weed.

You looked so...perfect. And that made you precious in Michael's mind—but also dangerous. He had this urge to protect you clashing with the need to kill you. It was exhausting to keep that last urge at bay, and he was afraid of what he might do if you were to ever know about his feelings...But, he wasn't worried.

You would never feel the same...right ?

Jack writes down everything—and I mean everything. He can fill an entire book about his day. He also has a big memory and can remember the tiniest of details.

That was the reason why you had decided to read his entries—in case he would have written something you had missed.

What you found inside made your eyes widen.

He had studied them all. And it wasn't just moments. It was fully-detailed portraits. Physical. Mental. Psychological...He had recorded ever trait, every change...And not only about the slashers or the other patients.

But the staff as well. And of course, you. You learnt that he had memorized everything to you taste of cake and the type of clothes you wore for every occasion. It was impressive—but also rather worrying.

"Well well...Wasn't expecting any visitors."

You turned around swiftly add found him standing there with a smug look on his face. He didn't seem to mind you reading his journal. He simply tilted his head with a knowing smirk and you let the journal fall to the floor before slowly backing away.

"I was just..." His eyes didn't leave yours before he stepped out of the way.

"Here you go, nurse. You can go."

You eyed the door suspiciously. Could you...really ? But, you didn't want to stay and ask—so you walked out. Jack's eyes followed you until you were out of view before smiling and picking his journal back up.

New entry: Nurse Y/N doesn't seem to be very happy about being the studied subject for once...

Pennywise hadn't written anything. You were partly disappointed, but not that surprised. Pennywise didn't like sharing—and that was even with himself. He was complicated and he refused to acknowledge his own feelings.

But, that was okay.

You closed the diary and looked at Pennywise who was sitting in his favorite rocking chair and was staring ahead at things you couldn't fathom.

Maybe were there ghosts of his past ? You didn't know. Maybe would he open up some day. But, you'd wait until then.

They ran. They all ran. And I chased after them. Their little hearts pounded loudly in their chests as I trapped them. Their wide eyes fixed on me.

You had mainly a lot of notes on his time when he had to face the Losers' club. Penny was oddly specific on the gore details of his past kills. But, you needed to understand him—so you digged dipper.

You read everything—everything until you found something truly important.

I'm losing my memory...Pennywise says it's normal. But, I can't even remember who I was before. What was my name ? I think I was a clown...But, I don't know anymore. I think I had a daughter. But, I don't remember her name.

Penny was...losing his memory ? You looked up and saw him playing with the other younger slashers in the garden. He was smiling and carelessly chasing after them. But, what if...there was more to him than you had initially thought ?

Ghostface had refused to show his face to anyone. You had simply wanted to get to know him better. You knew that searching though his personal entries for answers wasn't really nurse-worthy...But, he refused to open up. However, before you could read as much as a few words—he had grabbed the diary from your hands and pressed his knife against your throat.

"Now now...nursy. Spying ? That's not very ethical of you.", he teased and you closed your eyes.

He seemed pissed by the way his voice became slightly more high-pitched and you knew that you should be afraid—but something else crossed your mind.

"What is you favorite scary movie ?", you muttered and Ghostface tilted his head quizzically.

"...What ?"

You slowly turned around to face him fully and he didn't stop you.

"That is the question you ask to all the patients. The question you always ask to everyone you meet. Are you...", you looked up—even though you couldn't really judge his reaction. "...searching for someone ?"

Ghostface stayed uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before clenching his fists.

"Leave. Now.", he uttered in a quiet whisper and you didn't dare defy him—as you knew by the way he had suddenly tensed up that you weren't welcome anymore.

The moment you were out, he slammed the door and locked the door before removing his mask and throwing it to the ground angrily. He was was conflicted. He was ashamed that you had succeeded in seeing right through him so quickly. And, he couldn't tell you—not yet. He opened his diary and sighed. He couldn't tell you that the answer he was searching for was Psychose. 1960. His father's favorite scary movie.

It was the only information he had—that and that he was a patient in St Louis. He looked up at the ceiling and suddenly threw the diary in the fire heating up the room.

No one would know. He wouldn't risk it.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: miss me in your bones | chapter 2

chapter 1

pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel miller/female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 1961

summary:

When Joel Miller started his own contracting business, he didn’t expect all the administrative tasks that came with it. As a result, his budding business is in desperate need of help.

Good thing his best friend’s daughter is home for the summer from college. And sure, he’s always been attracted to you, but he can keep that under control.

It’s just one summer, right?

author’s note: slow burn? i don’t know her. if you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging or commenting! and if you're so inclined, you can also send me coffee

AO3 | Joel Miller Masterlist

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age gap (21f and 36m), no cordyceps outbreak, Joel is not a father, Joel's feelings of guilt about being attracted to his best friend's daughter, sexual tension, voyeurism, mutual masturbation, mild jealousy, pineapple as a pizza topping. let me know if there are any missing!

By the end of your first day in Joel’s office, you’ve managed to sort all the stray papers into more manageable categories and have booted up the ancient laptop he had gathering dust on the desk.

You’re sitting cross legged on the floor of the office when he comes home, surrounded by the fruits of your labor. He knocks on the doorframe to announce his arrival.

“How’s it goin’?” Joel asks. He’s rumpled from his day, shirt wrinkled and still damp from sweat earned in the Texas heat. 

Christ.

“It’s good! I’ve got most of these organized. Do you have any finance software you’re using?” You ask.

His brow furrows. “Uh…no. Should I?”

“You’re running a business, you gotta have some way of doing invoices and tracking expenses versus payments.”

“I’ve got a notebook for that.” He looks around the room. “Somewhere.”

The stare you give him is unimpressed. “I’ll start with Excel, but I expect a subscription to Quickbooks by the end of the week,” you tell him. He gives you a quick nod. 

“Listen, you gettin’ hungry? I was goin’ to order pizza,” he says. You shift around, sitting up on your knees. 

“Pizza sounds good.”

Joel doesn’t reply. He stands there with his hands at his sides, dark eyes fixed on where you’re kneeling in front of him on the floor. You’re aware of the image you must make, denim shorts riding up your thighs as you spread your knees the tiniest bit further, watching as Joel’s eyes track the movement and his Adam’s Apple bobs with a strained swallow.

The tension in the room is palpable, pressing on your chest and making it difficult to breathe. After what seems like forever, Joel shakes his head and holds a hand out to you, tight smile on his lips.

“Come on, let’s get that pizza going and you can tell me what else I’m doing wrong,” he says. You grip his hand, palm warm and rough against yours as he hauls you to your feet with little effort. The action brings your bodies close together, your chest brushing his as he looks down at you. “Pepperoni and pineapple?”

“You remember,” you reply, voice more breathy than it ought be around this man. 

“‘Course I do, darlin’,” he says, taking a broad step back, his hand slipping from yours. “How could I forget?”

________

You’re sitting across from Joel at his kitchen table, eating your slice of pizza as you make notes on a piece of paper of all the things that Joel needs to get his office and business in order.

“Why don’t you just come with me to the supply store? Go wild,” he says, biting into his own slice of pizza. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time if you don’t mean it, Mr. Miller.”

“Told ya to call me Joel.”

You blink at him. “Sorry. Joel.”

Joel lets the sound of his name on your lips wash over him. He wants to hear it more. 

“We can go tomorrow mornin’. I don’t have any consults ‘til later. That work?”

“Sure.” You wipe your mouth with a napkin and stand, bringing your plate to the sink and tossing away your garbage. “I better head home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have a good night,” Joel says. You look at him over your shoulder as you leave the kitchen, smile bright.

“Oh, I will.”

Joel’s brow furrows as he wonders what that means. Did you have plans? Would you be going out somewhere? With someone?

And why does he care? 

________

The thing about being Joel Miller’s neighbor is that you know the man isn’t one for keeping his blinds closed. When you were seventeen, you remember peeking into his bedroom, conveniently located across from your window, and seeing a shirtless Joel getting ready in the morning, or watching him step into a pair of fitted Wranglers, his deft fingers buttoning the denim at his work-toned waist.

When you get back home, you slide the sheer white curtains covering your bedroom window apart. Joel’s room is currently dark and empty, but that gives you time to prepare. Your dad is at his weekly poker game with some guys from the garage, leaving you a house that will be empty until the early morning hours.

You toss your bag on your bed and rifle through your still-packed luggage, digging out the baby pink lingerie set you’d packed on a whim.

Hey, you never know. And boy are you glad that you brought it.

Because you had a plan. 

You were going to seduce Joel Miller.

The signs were all there. The man was attracted to you, and god knows you’ve had it bad for your dad’s best friend since you were still a teen. What’s a little harm in acting on your impulses?

Especially when they could lead to reward.

You strip out of your shorts and t-shirt, switching your more practical underwear for the lingerie -  a thong consisting of barely enough fabric to be considered clothing and a sweet matching balconette bra with an overlay of lace that makes your tits look fantastic. You check yourself out in the mirror before pulling your clothes back on.

Now you wait.

________

Joel heads to his bedroom around 9 pm, the day finally catching up to him and leaving him yawning with exhaustion. His mind wanders back to you, conjuring up the image of you on your knees, looking up at him through your lashes. He palms his cock with a groan as he enters his room.

He flicks on the lamp, bathing the room with a warm glow. Movement across the yard catches his eye and he’s surprised to see you in bed, laying on your belly with a book spread open in front of you and your feet kicking behind you. Your window is open and you’ve got something playing on speaker that he can’t recognize. 

You turn over, arching your back as you hold the book above you. Joel’s eyes trace the curve of your body, the way your shirt tightens across your breasts and lifts just enough to show a strip of your tummy over your denim shorts. He can feel his cock getting harder now, the press of it more urgent against the fly of his pants as he stands near the window, mesmerized by you.

You set the book aside, standing beside your bed with your back to the window. Your fingers curl under the hem of your shirt and lift it over your head, tossing it to the ground. He gets a brief glimpse of your baby pink bra strap before his eyes are drawn to watch as you shimmy your shorts over your hips and down your thighs.

Joel’s breathing hitches, caught in his throat as he takes in the sight of you in only a thong, your ass on full display for his hungry eyes. He shifts closer to the window, trying to keep himself out of the direct line of sight.

You stretch your arms above your head, turning as you do so, and Joel gets his first glimpse of your breasts and the way they’re barely contained by the cups of the bra you’re wearing, pink lace highlighted by smooth, luscious skin. 

Joel’s mouth goes dry as he watches you crawl back on the bed, ass swaying with your movements as you get yourself comfortable on your back. 

Your hands start out by cupping your breasts, pulling the little fabric cups down just far enough to expose your tight little nipples. You pinch the buds between your fingers, your back arching into the sensation. Joel has to press a hand to the wall to support himself.

Your mouth drops open in a moan as you play with your tits, twisting and pinching and groping yourself. Joel hardly dares to blink as your hands finally move on, trailing down your torso until your fingers dip beneath the waistband of the scrap of fabric trying to act as panties. Your back arches sharply and Joel commits the visage of your first touch to your needy little pussy to his memory.

He unbuttons his pants, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers until they sit around his knees. He doesn’t want to look away for even a second to remove them further. This will have to do.

Your fingers circle your clit and he desperately wishes it was him feeling the slick slide of your cunt. Would you like it fast? Slow? Rough or gentle? He wants to find out every rhythm that makes you see stars.

You scramble to pull your panties off, tossing them to the floor in a rush to get your hands back to work. Your right hand stays pressed between your thighs while your left returns to pinching and pulling at your little nipples. Joel spits in his hand, fisting his cock with a harsh grip and giving it a single tug that has his knees going weak. He has to dig his teeth into his lip to fight back the groan that wants to escape.

You spread your legs obscenely wide, giving him a better view of the way your hand moves across your pussy. The fast circles you use to treat your clit, followed by the slow swipes to bring yourself back from the edge. He can practically see the way your empty cunt flutters around nothing, begging to be filled.

By him. Begging to be filled by him.

Christ, this is depraved. He shouldn’t be watching this. He shouldn’t be looking at his best friend’s daughter and thinking about how it would feel to sink his cock so deep inside he wouldn’t know where your body started and his ends.

His hand starts to move faster, twisting on the upstroke so that his palm glides over the sensitive, leaking tip of his cock. Your hips are moving frantically now, chasing your hand and the pleasure it’s giving you. You slip a finger inside and Joel can hear the moan you let out. He has to bite his lip so goddamn hard he tastes copper on his tongue so that he doesn’t echo your shouts of pleasure.

Your one finger becomes two, plunging inside of you with abandon as your chest heaves with ragged breaths. Joel can feel his orgasm building at a fever pitch and he silently begs for you to reach yours before he does.

Like the universe hears his plea, your legs snap shut around your hand and you shake with your release. He can see the quiver of your thighs and the way your mouth drops open in a moan.

“Joel!” You cry out. For a moment, he worries he’s been caught. But your eyes are closed, head pressed to the mattress as you ride out your orgasm.

Joel barely has enough time to cup his free hand over his cock, catching the streams of come in his palm as his orgasm hits him like a train, the sound of his name on your lips doing him in.

He sags against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. Finally, he uses his clean hand to pull his jeans back up his hips so that he can go to the bathroom and clean up.

When he returns to the bedroom, your curtains are notably closed. Joel swallows nervously.

Fuck. How the hell is he supposed to look you in the eye tomorrow, knowing what you look like when you come? Knowing what his name sounds like cried out from your lips?

He flops back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with sleep creeping at the edges of his vision.

That’s tomorrow’s problem.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727  @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo

[dmwrites]

It all started with Doc bursting into Xisuma’s office. Xisuma had just been about to take a sip of his tea, but a shard of the door landed directly in his mug, and he decided against it.

“Hello, Doc.” Xisuma said, putting down the mug sadly. “What’s up, dude?”

“That beady-eyed birdie and his smirking friend have me at my wits end!” Doc began pacing back and forth over the now-broken door. “They broke my machine, and giggled like little school children while showing me what they’d done!”

Xisuma hummed. “Beady-eyed… oh, you mean Grian and Scar! Yeah, I heard about that, what an unfortunate situation! I heard through the grapevine that you’re going to kill them, and badly. Sounds like fun.” He looked over Doc as he paced and cursed. Doc looked ruffled, lab coat in even more disarray then usual, and his crocs missing the straps. And on top of his head…

“Are the cat ears a… statement, or something?” Xisuma asked.

“Huh?” Doc felt for his head and tore the ears off with a growl. “Ah, fuck those ScarLand ears, forgot they were there.” He threw them into the garbage can by the door- he missed, and the cat ears just kind of flopped to the ground.

“Doc, I can see that you’re upset.” Xisuma held out a placating hand. “But is there a reason you came to my office? I know you’re more than capable of dealing with them yourself.”

Doc puffed out his chest at the complement. “Yes, yes, of course I am. I came here to ask a favor of you. You see, I have a plan- well, me and the hivemind have created something of deadly proportions. But the machine will take time to plan and build. I need someone to tell them off now, so they don’t forget that they were bad.”

Xisuma frowned. “Doc, it sounds like you think that Grian and Scar are children with no sense of object permanence or guilt.”

“They are children- look what they’ve done, and giggling the whole time!” Doc raged. “And they need to be disciplined like such until I can get to them.” He gave Xisuma an almost evil look that had him wondering if he would have to pay off the Minecraft board of ethics to look the other way for this DocM payback.

Doc seemed to have planned for Xisuma’s trepidation, and tossed a stack of diamond ore blocks onto his desk. “Please, man. I need time, and they must know of their crimes.”

“You know, I think I have just the person for the job.” Xisuma said, pocketing the diamonds. “They’ll leave Grian and Scar feeling very sorry for themselves indeed. You go do your planning, now, let me handle this.”

Doc cracked a smile. “Yeah? Awesome, thanks man.” He left, picking up the cat ears on the way out and stuffing them into his pocket.

Xisuma sighed at the state of his office, but picked up his communicator and made a call.

——

“Sit.”

“Already sat.” Scar said cheerfully.

“Not you, Scar, I was talking to Grian.” Xisuma replied, and gestured for Grian towards a wooden chair he’d placed under the HHH pavilion at spawn. Grian sat down, and Scar positioned his chair next to him.

“What’s going on, X?” Grian asked, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows.

“Well, your recent actions against a certain DocM77 have not gone unnoticed.” Xisuma began, crossing his arms too.

“Oh my god.” Comprehension dawned on Grian’s face. “Are you going to lecture us on our bad behavior, X?” He began to laugh.

“What? Is that why you called us here?” Scar giggled. “Now, Xisuma, you’re a wonderful man, really, but you don’t exactly strike fear into my heart. But by all means, lecture away, tell us how bad we are. I’m sure we will be scared into being good little boys for the rest of time.” He wiggled his eyebrows at him.

“Oh, no, you see, I’m not going to be the one lecturing you.” Xisuma said with a smirk. “I’m just here as a teacher’s assistant, if you will.”

“Teacher’s assistant?” Grian asked, confused.

Scar looked at Xisuma, fear in his eyes. “Wait… you don’t mean-”

“Doc’s redstone? Really, guys?” Cleo landed on the ground in front of the pavilion, a frown firmly in place. Xisuma had to smother a laugh as he watched Grian and Scar gulp in fear at the same time. He’d had to pay Cleo thirty diamonds to come lecture Scar and Grian, but he had a distinct feeling he was in for a real show.

[janicho88]

I Got You - Chapter 2

Pairing- Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Female!Reader

Word count- 1862

Warnings- Language, mentions of domestic violence, injuries, and abuse, abusive boyfriend, hurt reader, protective Jake. If I missed something, please let me know.

A/N- Before we get any further into this, there will be a few differences from the movie. Ice was sick, but beat it, the aviators are there for a six-week training, not three. This one has been sitting in my WIP since last fall. First Jake story, I hope I can do him justice. The first few chapters will be a little heavy, but we will move past that.

Summary- When you have finally reached a breaking point, you call the one person you trust for help. He’s never seen you as more than a friend, but he is the person you know you’re safest with.  It’s been months since he has had so much as a text from you, but Jake Seresin would do anything for the Navy princess he met years ago.  The pilot knows she means more to him than he ever will to her, but he will do anything for her

Series Masterlist

You nod into Jake's chest as he’s holding you, but don’t move away.  He is right, you do need to get out of here, but right now you just want to stay in the arms of the man in front of you, where you know you are safe. 

 Jake carefully moves you down the hall to where he thinks the bedroom will be.  He finds it after opening the second door.  The room is a mess, there is glass on the floor from a broken mirror, clothes thrown about. Stepping back Jake carefully pulls out his phone and takes some pictures, not missing the blood on some of the broken glass.  Sitting you down on the bed he starts going through the dressers and closet for your things.  He’s not finding as many clothes as he expects to though. 

“Do you have more clothes in another room?”

“No.”

“Princess, where is your suitcase?”

“He threw it away,” you mumble.

“Do you have any of your tote bags you used to carry?”

“There might be one or two that survived in the closet of the guest room.”

Jake shakes his head trying to hide his anger from you as he goes to look for something to put your belongings in.  He finds two of your shoulder totes, and goes through the kitchen for a few garbage bags.  He takes a deep breath to calm himself down before going back to you.  Done with the clothes, the bathroom is next then he moves you and your things out to the living room.   Looking around that room, Jake can’t imagine anything in this room is yours. Not even a single picture. There is a closet near the door, inside he finds two coats of yours.   

“Sweets, where is your purse, driver's license? Any of your, ya know important paperwork?”

“He took my license, I don’t have a purse anymore or credit cards.  There’s a desk in the other room that might have some things in it.  I’m not supposed to go through it.”  

Jake follows you to the spare room, fists clenching at his side.  A part of him is willing Josh to walk in just so he could give him a little taste of what that man has done to you.  After entering the room you point out the desk drawer the paperwork is mostly likely to be in.  Jake starts searching through that, while you move to the closet.  He finally finds your birth certificate, license, social security card and insurance card in the second drawer, under the asshole's own. A pained groan has him quickly turning around to face you.  As he makes his way over he notices you holding your left wrist in your right hand.

“Are you okay?”

You only nod in reply.  Taking a deep breath you turn to him, “Can you grab that out for me please?”

“Sure, what is it?”  He asks, grabbing out a small black garbage bag from the back of the closet. 

“Some things of mine Josh threw away.  I’d try and sneak them out of the garbage when he’d leave after tossing them,” you whisper.

Jake closes his eyes and takes another deep breath of his own before taking the bag out of the room.  He turns when you follow him out to the living room.  “I’m gonna run a load down to the truck real fast.  I’ll come right back up to get you and anything else.Will you grab some wet towels to clean your cuts up with?  Once we get you out of here, we can stop and take care of those.”

You hesitate, not wanting to be left alone, but finally nod knowing it will be the quickest way.

“Good girl.  Lock the door as soon as I leave, and I’ll let you know when I’m back.”

After Jake is out the door, you move to the bathroom as quickly as your sore body allows you.  You take the pack of bandaids and wet down a towel to clean up the blood you feel on your arm.  As you come back to the living room you hear Jake at the door telling you he’s back.  The man must have flown down the stairs.  All his Navy training coming in handy. 

Standing back from the door you let him in, he grabs the last two bags and looks at you.  “Is there anything else you want to take?”

After briefly glancing back you shake your head slightly.

“Don't you have any pictures of your family or any of your friends somewhere you want to grab?”

Another small shake of your head answers Jake. There were a few you saved in the bag Jake pulled out of the closet.  The last visit you were able to take to your parents house about six months ago, you snuck a few things back in your old room for safe keeping.

“Where is your car?”

Head down, you yet again give a shake.  You don’t want to get into that with him right now.  Josh had told you months ago that LA was too expensive for you both to have a car.  So he sold yours, and of course kept the money for himself. 

Jake gives you a small smile you don’t notice as you stare at the floor.  “Okay, then let’s get out of here princess.”

With his hand carefully on your lower back, he guides you out the door and down the steps. He helps you into the front seat of his truck before setting the rest of your meager belongings in the backseat.  From the corner of his eye, he notices you shivering and pulls one of his sweatshirts out of the backseat then helps you put it on.  Once he closes the door you take a deep breath, and Jake’s scent from the sweatshirt helps you to calm down a little.  After he gets himself in the driver’s seat, he takes off.  

The two of you are a couple of miles away when he pulls into a grocery store parking lot and gets out of the truck coming over to your door. 

“Okay, let’s take a look at those cuts.” 

He helps you unbuckle and turn to face him.  As he slowly pulls up the sleeve of your left arm, you can’t help but hiss.  

“Shit.” he swears under his breath.  

The wrist in his hand is swollen and a nasty shade of purple already.  Jake tries to gently touch it, and you about jerk it away from him.

“We need to get you to a hospital, to get that looked at.  Where is the closest one?”

“Can’t go there.”

“Y/N, I think it’s broken.”

“Can’t go there,” you repeat.

“You need to see a doctor.”

“He’ll find me there.”

That sentence freezes Jake in place.  “Darlin, have you had to go to the hospital before?”

Looking anyway from your friends’ face, you give a slight nod. 

“Son of a bitch,” he swears again.  “Okay, we won’t stop at the hospital here.  But we are stopping at one.”

Jake looks at the store, then back to you.  You can almost see the wheels turning in his head. He’s hesitant when he starts to speak again.  “Darlin’, do you think you’ll be alright if I run into that store real quick? I’ll even pull up and park up close.”

A part of you want to say no, but you don’t expect Josh to be out doing his shopping right now.  Especially since that’s your job when he drops you off at a different grocery store. You really can’t tell Jake no when he came all this way for you tonight.   “Yeah, sure.”

He gets in and moves the truck up closer, checking to see if you need anything before running into the store. While Jake is inside, you are constantly checking the parking lot around you.  It isn’t long before you see him running out of the store, two bags in his hand. Reaching the truck, he comes over to your door instead of getting behind the wheel. 

“I wasn't sure if you ate tonight, there are some bananas, crackers with peanut butter, and poptarts in this bag.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can stomach anything right now,” you almost feel bad telling him this after he was kind enough to think of getting you food.

“I can understand that, they're here if you change your mind.  This bag isn’t negotiable though.” After setting the first at your feet, he pulls a towel and a bag of something out of the second one. “Can you lift your sore wrist up for me?”  

Once you do, he places the towel on your thigh followed by what you realize is a bag of frozen peas. He covers the bag with half the towel and instructs you to put your arm back down.  Then he hands you another frozen bag of peas to hold on top of the sore wrist. 

“Since you won’t let me stop now, we need to try and slow the swelling.  I have two more frozen bags if you want to put them anywhere else.”

You notice, his eyes travel up to your face as he speaks.  More than likely you have some bruises there too.

 “I don’t think I can hold more than one in place right now.  Thanks Jake.”

Walking around to the driver’s side, he climbs back in the truck and heads for the highway. The drive starts out quietly, it’s probably twenty minutes later before he softly asks the first question.

“How long has this been going on?”

Sitting in the passenger seat you don’t respond.

“You said you’ve been to the hospital before, so this isn’t the first time.  A few weeks…”  He waits for any kind of response from you.   “A few months?”  Still nothing. “Longer?”

This time you slowly shake your head. 

Jake swears, and slams his hand against the steering wheel causing you to jump and hiss in pain.  It doesn’t escape him that you slide a little closer to the door. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  I’m not upset with you, darling.  But I am pissed at him.  That is not how you treat a lady.  You deserve to be treated like the princess you are. I swear if I see him…”  Noticing you trying to make yourself smaller in the seat, Jake stops talking and slowly reaches his hand out to grab your knee.  The action once again has you pulling away.  It takes him a minute to figure out why, when he does, he pulls his hand back to his side.   “I’m not going to hit you, I promise you that.  I will never ever raise a hand to you.”

Slowly nodding you go back to looking out the window, wishing you could go back in time about two years.  Back before you ever met Josh. Maybe even further to when you met Jake during a visit to Annapolis with your dad. Maybe you could have done something to get out of the friend zone with him back then.  No use wishing for things you can't have now.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 3

IGY Tags

@dempy @fox-bee926 @acarboni21 @novagreen04 @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @bethbunnyy @senjoritanana

[malii-the-bonehead]

The Other Woman pt3

god this is cringe tbh idk why im posting this bc I KNOW they lurking and seeing this shit

anyways

Slow burn

Summary: Chris, a popular hockey player at school where Y/n went, found himself falling for the beautiful, shy girl. As time went on he found out who Y/n truly was as a person and ultimately, he had to make the choice, his girlfriend, or the other woman.

Part 3

Hey it’s Chris. I stared at the message on my phone. I had work in 20 minutes. I finished getting ready quickly. Now, I was cleaning the house. I heard my phone go off, forgetting that I gave Chris my number this morning. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting him to actually text me. I continued scrubbing the dishes before responding to his message.

Hello, Christopher. I responded quickly, walking to the living room to clean up the clothes and trash all over the floor. The trash and clothes my mother left there. Empty bottles of liquor scattered before the couch. I bent down, grabbing multiple and tossing them into the garbage, going back to grab more. Buzz buzz.

I took my phone out of my pocket and checked it, once again. 

Just call me Chris. When you call me by my full name you sound like my mother. I giggled to myself. 

Okay, Chris. Sorry about that. He was quick to reply. Damn, is he sitting waiting for this message?

It’s fine. What you up to? I sighed, placing my phone on the side table next to the couch. I sat down, looking at the dirty floor. I should mop. Is that puke? I shook my head with a grossed out expression. Nasty. 

I grabbed the mop from the kitchen closet, filling the bucket with hot water and floor cleaner. I didn’t have much time before I had to leave for work. Buzz. 

I looked back to my phone on the table, picking it up and looking at the message that was sent. The second message, actually. You free tonight? I have a test in calc tomorrow. Was wondering if you could meet me somewhere and help out? I shook my head. I had work until late tonight.

I sent a text back, Sorry, I’m cleaning the house. And I don’t get off work until late tonight. If you’re okay with calling when I get off I can help then. I tried to place my phone down, but it buzzed in my hand.

Where do you work? And yeah that sounds fine. What time you get off? I sent a quick message, avoiding the first question he asked. He didn’t need to know where I worked. Technically no one should know. It was no one's business but mine, but it’s actually illegal to work at a bar until I’m 21. The manager knew my dad personally so I got a quick job there. Now they pay well. As long as I don’t talk about my age or where I work then I should be fine, hopefully. 12. 

My phone buzzed again, but I put it in my back pocket, needing to finish mopping the house. I had to leave in 5 minutes.

–

I sat in my car, in front of the building I worked at. I grabbed my phone. I completely forgot about Chris’s message from earlier. I checked it, getting out of my car walking towards the entrance.

Damn that’s late. What job has those kind of hours? I typed a quick message. A job that pays for food and bills. He was really trying to get it out of me.  He sent another message asking where but I ignored it. He sent another message after a few minutes, understanding that I wasn't going to tell him.

Oh. Well if you aren’t too tired when you get off then I’ll appreciate the help. I opened the front door, heading to the back to pick my things up in my assigned locker. I’ll let you know. 

I put my phone in my back pocket and went to the bar area. We’re normally not super busy until 6, so I had about 2 hours to get things ready. 

–

I was sitting behind the building, on break, hitting the rolled joint in my hand. I smoked every now and then. Not too much and not too little, just enough to relieve some stress. I pulled out my phone, checking the message from Chris. I knew he had sent one. Honestly, he messaged so fast you’d think he was obsessed with me. But that’s crazy, right?

Don’t take this as a creepy message or anything but you got a picture I can have for your profile? You there? Oh shit you’re at work. Let me know when you get off. 4 messages after another? Damn.

It’s been 5 hours since his last message. I’m on break now. If I send a picture you have to send me one as well. Right now, it’s a random dog off of pinterest lmfao. 

It took him about 2 minutes to respond. I put the joint out, shoving the rest of it in my jacket pocket. Lol why a dog? And yeah I’ll send one but you first. 

I opened my camera roll, picking the picture I liked the most. I pressed send, waiting for his response.

(something like this but it’s you, obviously)

I sent after the photo, because you remind me of a golden retriever. 

He responded quickly. Really? Also that’s a pretty picture. You look nice. My stomach started to twist, butterflies floating around. I can hear my heartbeat. He thinks I look nice.

Thank you, Chris. I smiled a little. Now it’s your turn. I glanced around the back of the parking lot behind the building. The music seemed more quiet as I breathed in the cold air, enjoying the moment. Not many people compliment me. Well, not many people like Chris. It felt.. Good.

Your welcome Y/n. Let me find a picture. Give me a sec. 

I shut off my phone, leaning my head against the wall behind me. Buzz buzz.

Notification: New message from Chris popped up on my lock screen. I looked at it for a while, scared to open it.

My breath hitched as I stared down at my phone, my mouth slightly open from shock. My cheeks went slightly pink. Damn, he’s really pretty. I saved the photo, changing his profile picture from the dog to the one he sent. 

Damn, you think I look nice? Look at you. I erased the message. What should I say? It’s not a big deal, Y/n. Just send something simple.

You have nice eyes. Simple and true. He really did have nice eyes. He had nice everything. Nice hair, nice eyes, nice lips. 

“He has a girlfriend, Y/n,” I mumbled to myself quietly. “Besides, he would never go for someone like you.” 

You think so?  I liked his message before sending, yes, I do. 

Thank you Y/n. That means a lot. 

You’re welcome, Chris. I checked the time. I had a few minutes of my break left.  I should get going. My break ends in 2 minutes. Text me at 12 when I get off so I can help with your calculus. 

You got it ma’am. Have fun at work. I shut off my phone, standing from my crouching position against the wall. I needed to stretch my legs. They hurt from sitting in that position for so long. I walked back through the back door, heading back to the bar getting to work. 

[maximwtf]

“When the sun sets.”

                                            Pearl x reader

words: 1300

google docs pages: 2

Warnings: sleeping problems, think that's it

opening: You’ve had trouble falling asleep recently, but no worries. Pearl is there to spend time with you in the dark hours of the night, and wait for you to fall asleep. 

AN// Reader can be any gender. This is a really short one, but I still wanted to write it you !

                             “When the sun sets.”

While tossing and turning on your bed again, the thought of how amazing it would be to be able to sleep comes to mind. A while ago the blame of keeping you up had been placed on the ‘bed’ you’d been given, but it wasn’t that. The couch was actually very comfortable to be on, but you just couldn’t catch sleep. 

As you turned to your back, the rays of sunshine from the rising sun seemed to have come back. Another night spent without an ounce of sleep. A long but a rather quiet groan escaped your mouth. You pushed the soft pillow from the couch onto your face, hiding from the light of the day. What you couldn’t see, wasn’t there. 

It didn’t take long for Steven to start waking up. You heard his sheets move, and soon he was making his way to the kitchen area to make breakfast. Peeking from under the pillow, you could see him start to prepare something. “Morning…” You mumbled, letting the pillow fall onto the floor. The dark haired boy looked a little startled at first but soon calmed down, seeing that it was only you talking. “Morning!” He chirped, before seeing the condition you were in. Tired and worn out, barely any sleep for a while. “Are you…okay?” He asked carefully, tilting his head a little. You sat up, stretching straight after. “Okay, yes. Tired, also ‘surprisingly’ yes.” Steven hummed, as if to say that he understood but also as a sign that he felt bad. “I’ve tried everything, and nothing seems to help. How do you sleep so well?” You asked the boy, turning to look at him again. Steven kept preparing his food as he replied. “I guess it comes naturally to me.” He said, then quickly turning to look at you. “I’m sorry for not being able to help, really.” Poor boy, he was still quite young and somehow felt bad because you couldn’t sleep. “It’s okay.” You took a hold of the edge of the pillow, and pulled it back onto the couch. Pearl hated when you left them on the ground.

The door behind the warp pad opened, and Amethyst walked out of her room. “Morning.” She said, making her way to the kitchen, seemingly looking for something to eat. The gems didn’t have to do that to survive, but somehow Amethyst was the only one who chose…who wanted to take part in it. Though she went above and beyond with it. She would often be seen making an egg salad in the garbage disposal, which you’d never in a million years do, nevertheless eat it afterwards. 

You were brought back from your thoughts by Amethyst waving her hand in front of your face. “You there, buddy?” She said, and when your eyes moved to hers, she sat down next to you. “Sorry, I haven’t really slept.” You apologised, trying to erase the slight blush that had creeped onto your face. 

The next one to appear from their room is Pearl. She sits down on one of the kitchen bar chairs and soon her gaze lands on you. “Stars, you look terrible.” She blurts out, soon fixing her wording. “Not that- I didn’t mean it in-” You giggled, making the pearl stop explaining herself. “It’s okay. I do look like I’ve been through a car crash.” Pearl tries to laugh too, but fails to do so, as she clearly feels bad for you. She despised most human traditions, but she was still understanding. Humans needed sleep. 

The rest of the day went on with you staying inside most of the day, not having the energy to go out or do much for that matter. The sun was setting yet again, which to you indicated many restless hours that were ahead yet again. 

Steven was putting himself to bed and the gems had gone to rest. You began to unfold your blanket, when Pearl turned to look at you. Not feeling her gaze, you tried to lay down, eyes open like they were taped up. A soft sigh came from the other side of the room, as quiet steps came closer and closer. “You don’t look like you’re ready to sleep, no?” Pearl’s voice said as she sat down next to you. “I won’t be any time soon.” Pearl furrowed her brows as she watched you move back to a sitting position. She didn’t say a word for a moment, an oddly comfortable silence falling between the two of you. Only the usual nightly sounds surrounded you for that moment. The sound of Steven breathing in his sleep, a clock ticking and the wooden house creaking when gushes of wind blew past outside. A quiet ‘erm..’ came from Pearl’s side before she spoke up more properly. “Would you like me to spend time with you? If that could help?” She ended up saying, a little awkwardly. You turned to look at her for a short moment, surprised by the offer. “Sure, go ahead.” And with a soft hum you leaned back against the back of the couch. 

Pearl’s gem started to glow and soon a book appeared in her hands. After that the glow died down and the room was dark once again. The spine of the book made a little crackling noise as the pale gem opened it up. Without saying anything, she started to read it quietly. Not loud enough to wake up Steven, but just so you could hear it too. Slowly, as the story went on page by page, you started to lean more towards the gem. At some point she had lit up her gem to function as a reading light. Her gem was placed perfectly, for her having to only look down and the light pointed nicely on the pages. 

Some time later your head had slumped down against her shoulder. It felt like the pale gem had tensed up for a moment but soon relaxed, not mentioning anything about it. She kept reading, and at some point into the book she had pulled the blanket back on top of you. It felt comfortable. Comfortable to be warm and have her around. 

Pearl started to be near the end of the book, and it might as well have been hours or a shorter amount of time, you couldn’t tell anymore. She had placed her free hand around you, to make sitting more comfortable. Your eyes had grown heavy, and with the sound of the pages turning sleep finally overtook your mind and body. Pearl only noticed this after she had closed the book and put it down. It almost felt like a crime to move now that you were finally asleep, but maybe…maybe if she moved just carefully enough you wouldn’t wake up. 

With slow and to her style usual, elegant movements, she was able to get up and let her human companion sleep in peace. She observed your sleeping form quietly and moved a stray hair out of your face. The glow from her gem had disappeared a while ago, leaving the house dark once again. A faint smile appeared on her face as she took long and quiet steps towards the door at the back of the house. Before entering her room she made sure to check that you were still asleep, and then disappeared from the house.