#CJS Writes

[werepuppy-steve]

corroded coffin does one of those interviews with puppies and before eddie leaves, steve warns him that he better not come home with one of them. eddie promises him he won't.

he wasn't expecting the littlest basset hound puppy he's ever seen to curl up and fall asleep between his crossed legs at the beginning of the interview. he wasn't expecting to fall in love a second time in his life.

and the rest of the guys already decided they were going to adopt one of the many puppies they played with, so what's the harm in eddie doing the same?

the distance between their home and the studio is only an hour car ride, so when eddie gets home that evening, he quietly closes the front door and finds steve in the living room, sprawled out on the couch and watching tv.

as gently as he can, eddie places the puppy (galadriel, he named her on the ride home) onto steve's chest. he doesn't startle too bad, thankfully, but he does stare at her in bewilderment.

"hello...?" he says to her, confused. "where did you come from?"

eddie clears his throat and he gives a little steve-like finger wave when steve snaps his head up and their eyes meet.

steve lets out a sigh, deep enough to send galadriel rising and falling, and flops his head back on the couch cushion. "i knew this would happen."

"i really did try, stevie," eddie tries to plead his case, leaning against the back of the couch and reaching to scratch at galadriel's little noggin. "i held out for as long as i could, but she caught me in a moment of weakness."

galadriel's mouth falls open in a yawn, her tongue lolling out, and then shuffles further up steve's chest to curl into a ball in the space between his neck and shoulder

eddie's bottom lip juts out and his eyes go wide.

steve feels his heart melt and he brings a hand up to cradle her little butt. she's so warm, how are puppies always walking space heaters?

he looks back at eddie, finally breaking. "puppy pads are in the hall closet. i've already made a rotating schedule for potty walks and baths."

eddie makes a giddy sound and leans forward to peck steve's lips, careful not to wake the sleeping pup.

after the interview comes out, eddie tweets a photo of galadriel (who has quickly chosen steve as her favorite) wearing a puppy battle vest and a colts hat.

[tawnysoup]

fuck the hero's journey you don't need all of that you only need 4 points to kickstart a story basis you can build on top of

who: want: obstacle: need:

define your character. tell me what it is they want in this story. what obstacle is preventing them from getting what they want? now, what do they need to realise in order to resolve their conflict? in some cases the need may result in the story ending without them getting what they want, and that's real bc they still went through an emotional arc. examples + rambling under the cut

i will bullshit something right now just to show you

who: a gay bartender. want: to get with the guy he's serving. obstacle: no matter what the bartender mixes and serves to try and impress the guy, the guy doesn't seem invested. need: to realise the guy wasn't interested in the drinks bc he was more interested in eyeing up the bartender, and that he only ever needed to ask the guy out in plain terms.

who: someone who sinks into the background and is very shy. want: to become famous and the life of the party, for everyone to know and like her. obstacle: talking to people is scary! and really hard to do consisently! need: to realise she didn't really desire attention from all sides, but just wanted one friend she could grow close with. turns out the quiet life is quite pleasant! and even more pleasant with a pal.

sometimes throwing down stuff like this will lead u onto more developing thoughts which tie stuff together more. such as: maybe girl in example 2 learnt she only wanted 1 friend bc she found someone who thought her shy personality was charming. so now you wanna develop who this friendly friend is, and so on.

you can apply it to stories you already know too. try and reverse engineer some stories you enjoy to figure out their basic structure.

ofc this method has its limitations, it kind of relies on some sort of moral throughline to tie things together instead of just letting things naturally exist and progress and find complexity, but as a way to kickstart writing a story from scratch it tends to help me out so i hope it helps u out toooooo

also just so we're clear dont worry hero's journey u are brilliant as u are and a fantastic tool for story-making. i just dont have enough braincells to do all that when i need to just chuck something out as a foundation which i can then play with and reiterate upon asap

[magic-worms]

"equal ground" a blu engiespy comic

CWs: graphic descriptions (not illustrations!) of violence/torture, illustrations of blood, bruises, fresh stitches. for the first one, please refer to this clip from poker night at the inventory if you need a preview.

thank you for reading

[yourscorpiodad]

”my daughter turned out fine?”

“Excuse me ma’am, your daughter calls me “dad” with the fullest extent of the meaning of the word while getting off to being my sex toy. You know what, you’re right, she turned out exactly fine! 😏”

[a-tired-human-draws-junk]

I think cale has a pretty tier list that exists only in his head where he ranks how pretty everyone he meets is and it exists only in his mind. I think God of death is in f rank cuz cale is fueled by hatred (alongside the ranks of people like prince Adin and the white star)

[therewillbenoromance]

heart and mind rollerskating date. ok? ok

[hmsdoodlin]

One of my favorite headcanons is that Heart is often violent during his crying fits, especially if someone is trying to comfort him.

Soul struggles to keep him still as he sobs and squirms, beating desperate fists into Souls chest because it’s all too much and he has so much pent up energy. Tightening his grasp on Souls shoulders until bruises form and Soul has to practically man handle him to get him to calm down.

Soul wakes up sore and covered in bruises in the morning, trying his hardest not to hiss in pain as he goes about his daily activities. Heart struggles to fully remember, but he knows it’s because of him, the guilt eats him alive.

[clonehighdoublehelix]

[jaredwnch]

“You knew what the fuck you were doin’,” he muttered, undoing his belt slow enough to make your breath catch. “Sat there at the bar all pretty, laughin’ in that guy’s face, moanin’ my name later under your breath.”

His jeans hit the floor. His body was all hard muscle and bruised knuckles, skin like copper fire, tattoos inked across his stomach that disappeared below the waistband of black boxer briefs.

“I should make you beg,” he said lowly, climbing onto the bed like a wolf who’d finally cornered his prey. “But we both know you’d like that.”

You swallowed, defiant even now. “You talk a lot, CJ.”

Oh. Mistake.

He was on you in a flash—one hand gripping your jaw, the other tugging your panties aside like they offended him.

“You wanna be a brat?” His voice was hot against your neck, breath ragged. “Let’s see how cocky you sound with my tongue in your fuckin’ throat.”

Then he slid down, pushed your thighs apart, and didn’t waste a single second.

His mouth was ravenous. Sloppy, hungry, practiced. He licked like a man who meant it—tongue flat, lips wet, sucking on your clit with a rhythm that made your spine damn near arch off the bed.

“Fuck—CJ—”

“That’s it.” He slapped your inner thigh, not enough to hurt but enough to warn. “Say my name again. Let the whole fuckin’ motel hear you.”

Your fingers twisted in the sheets, in his hair, in anything you could hold. He groaned against your heat like it turned him on to make you squirm, and when he slid two thick fingers inside you, curling them just right—

“CJ, please—”

He pulled back, mouth glistening, smirking like the devil.

“Now you wanna behave?”

You nodded���frantic, messy, needy.

Too bad he wasn’t done teasing.

[bluerazberrysoda]

haiii :P

u think since camp jupiter is basically a glorified child military camp meant to set them up for war

the campers were taught to not see their enemies as people but as targets

u think jason subconsciously flips that switch when he's fighting

u think he doesn't hesitate even when a monster is crying for their brethren to save them

or that it hurts, or when they beg for mercy

just jams his weapon in all the vitals to move onto the next target as efficiently as possible

what if he was fighting humans. do u think it would be different. or do u think he would take a life without thinking twice because that's what he's been conditioned to do

u think he ends up being the last man standing on the argo 2 battles. because even tho he's not as powerful as percy, percy hesitates to slaughter something that had an upbringing and a goal and a life that could have been redeemed

jason doesnt see that

the enemy is just that

the enemy

and the enemy needs to be exterminated

ok baiiii :P

[werepuppy-steve]

"robin."

"you're drooling."

"robin."

"steve."

steve covers his face with his hands to muffle his groan. "robin," he whimpers, dragging his hands down. "robin, he's so hot."

robin rolls her eyes and fake gags, throwing a balled up receipt at him. "your taste in men is questionable."

"no, robs, you don't understand." he's on the precipice of whining. he throws a hand outward, dramatic. "look at him."

robin rolls her eyes and looks to where she already knows he's pointing. across the store, leaning over the new release table in front of the window, is eddie.

eddie, who has decided to battle the indiana summer heat with the shortest sleeveless crop top she's ever seen and a pair of cut off jeans with his hair in a ponytail.

steve makes another wounded noise when eddie turns around and makes a face, his lips pursed and his cheeks puffed out, absentmindedly scratching his (admittedly) soft belly as he scans the store.

she wrinkles her nose.

"if he isn't going to rent anything, i'm kicking him out for loitering." she's only teasing.

mostly.

quick as a flash, steve is pushing himself into her personal bubble, not that she minds, and poking her cheek with his finger. "don't you dare," he says, like he's scolding a misbehaving puppy. "i'll never speak to you again if you do."

"somehow i think i can live with that." he wouldn't even last a full hour.

steve backs away from her like he's been burned. he takes a breath, smooths out his shirt and vest, collecting himself. "alright. if you want to play that game. kick eddie out and leave me devoid of my favorite part of the day, and see if i pull for you anymore."

robin gasps in mock outrage. "you wouldn't–!"

"ahem."

they both jump and turn. eddie is standing at the counter, three tapes in front of him. his hands are in his back pockets as he rocks back and forth on his heels, a devilish smirk on his face that he directs more toward steve.

"you know i could hear every word, right?"

[cuntryd0g]

megumi x reader

Pride kisses week one day five : kiss on the palm

short and cheesy ( 〃▽〃)

You and Megumi weren't close. Occasionally, you'd work together, being a good pair. There was no animosity between you, Megumi just preferred keeping to himself. You didn't have a problem with it. You respected him after all.

Like today, you had a shared mission. It went well, except you had sliced your hand sometime during the mission.

"Your hand."

You glanced at Megumi, a confused look on your face. "Huh?" You glanced down, finally noticing your injury. Your face paled. You quickly looked away as the feeling of pain shot through.

"Come, I have a first aid kit."

You held your injured hand with your other one. You avoided looking down as much as possible. You didn't have a problem with blood usually, but it being your hand was different. It felt weird.

Megumi led you to his room, motioning for you to sit at his desk. You sat down while he retrieved the first aid kit.

He moved to stand in front of you, gently taking your hand. "I will clean it first. It might hurt, but try to be still."

He was careful as he dabbed at the wound, cleaning the blood away. It did hurt. You tried your best to keep still, but it was hard not to wince at the antiseptic.

"Just got to bandage it now." He kept his movements gentle as he wrapped your hand. "There. Feel okay?"

You frowned, flexing your hand. "Wrap is good, jus' hurts."

He was quiet for a moment before taking your hand back in his. He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing the bandage over your injury. "Better?"

It caught you off guard, face warming instantly. "Yeah, feeling better already." You smiled, "Thanks Megumi."

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

It's me, ya favorite gremlin, on anon for funsies - I am here to be a menace. I would like your well educated opinion on the Jensen boys' favorite positions. 👀 Let's goooooo.

me, screaming and kicking my legs like we’re not in the trenches together daily already. ily. thank you, my fav gremlin, for this cultural contribution. let’s begin. <3

SOLDIER BOY/BEN: this man’s favourite position is any one where he’s in control and you’re not wearing a goddamn thing but his dog tags and a fucked-dumb little grin.

ben’s not just dominant. he’s possessive, primal, and somewhere under all the posturing and trauma? starving for affection he doesn’t know how to ask for. so when he fucks, it’s not just about getting off—it’s about control, claiming, proving he still matters.

his favourite position? missionary—but not sweet, not romantic. soldier boy missionary. it’s pin-you-down, headboard-breaking, spit-in-your-mouth missionary. he needs to look at you. needs to watch your eyes roll back. needs to see the exact moment you fall apart for him. and he’s saying shit like: “you like that? you like bein’ split open like this? fuckin’ knew you would.” while he’s choking you with one hand and cradling the back of your head with the other like you’re the only soft thing left in the world.

he’s rough. he’ll manhandle you without thinking—hook your knees over his shoulders, throw your leg up, slam your hips down on him like he owns your body and your goddamn soul. (spoiler: he does.)

also? he loves the mirror. loves taking you from behind, one hand tangled in your hair, making you watch him in the reflection while he wrecks you. “look at you, baby. takin’ it so fuckin’ good. proud of you.”

and ben is obsessed with cockwarming. i do not make the rules.

bonus: once you’ve broken him in emotionally? he does that same position but slow. aching. like he’s scared he’ll never get to do it again.

he fucks like he’s trying to burn the memory into your body. because he’s terrified it’ll be the last time.

DEAN WINCHESTER: dean’s default setting is munch. he’ll finger you until you’re shaking, sure, but he’s got one goal from the second your legs open: face-first, tongue out, eyes locked, worship.

his favourite position? you on your back, legs over his shoulders, his mouth buried between your thighs. but again, it’s not just sex for him—it’s penance. he’s down there like it’s the only way to earn forgiveness for all the things he thinks he’s done wrong. moaning, panting, literally begging you to come on his tongue. and when you do? he keeps going. and going. and going.

he’s a big fan of cowgirl. because he loves to be used. loves watching you ride him, thighs shaking, lips parted, hair a mess, hands on his chest while he’s moaning like he’s being blessed.

he’ll still help—grabbing your hips, thrusting up, giving you that cocky little “is that all you got, sweetheart?” smile while dying inside.

but if he really needs to feel you? if he’s feeling soft? vulnerable? it’s you in his lap. arms around his neck. slow grinding, forehead to forehead. and he’s whispering: “never had anyone like you… never wanted to.”

also? he’s obsessed with taking you from behind in the impala—you bent over the seat, skirt hiked up, begging for it. the second he hears “dean, please”, it’s over. he’s wrecking you with praise and filth like: “that’s it, sweetheart, take it—my girl—fuck, you were made for me.”

he loves pulling out and rubbing his cock between your soaked folds while you beg him to put it back in. loves hearing the wet sounds (duh?) and loves when you’re loud for him because he doesn’t believe he deserves it—but fuck, he needs it.

and the motherfucker 10000% has the praise kink to end all praise kinks. you cannot tell me otherwise. go argue with the wall. he also thanks you in a breathy, whiney little tone. voice cracking. panting and moaning. the whole nine yards. subby baby-boy energy.

but whatever the position? dean’s not stopping until your legs don’t work and your voice is hoarse. and he’s asking “one more?” like you ever had a choice.

bonus: dean loves dry humping.

CJ BRAXTON: i'm gonna seem like such a hater but... cj definitely thinks he’s a dom. he is the guy who thinks he’s really good in bed. he says shit like, “you’ve never had it like this before, huh?” while doing the bare minimum. but you know what? he tries. and sometimes? that’s enough.

his favourite position is you on your back, legs pushed up high, because it makes him feel dominant and because he loves watching your tits bounce. but what really gets him? when you look at him all soft and whiny and say “please, cj…” he melts. gets cocky. starts talking shit. “yeah? beg for it then. lemme hear it.” …until you flip him over and ride him so hard he short-circuits.

he has a secret praise kink but would never admit it. absolutely loses his mind if you say he feels good. “yeah? yeah? fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me—shit—”

he’s got potential. he just needs a little guidance. somebody get him a vibrator and a tumblr tutorial and he might actually start changing lives.

ALEC MCDOWELL: alec is a jackrabbit backshots kinda guy until you teach him to slow the fuck down. military-grade stamina. he could go for hours.

favourite position? you bent over literally anything—table, wall, car hood, arm of the couch—he’s not picky. he likes the view. he likes the control. but most of all? he likes hearing you whine. gets this smug little smirk and says, “you gonna be a good girl and take it, or am I gonna have to hold you down?”

but the second you show a hint of dominance—grab his chin. ride his thigh. make eye contact while you’re on top and say his name? he folds. gets quiet. handsy. a little shaky. starts fingering you like he’s praying.

he learns fast. and once he figures out your body? it’s over. he’ll have you coming three times in a row just so he can say “that was a new record, right?” and act like he’s not obsessed with every sound you make.

bonus: loves sex in risky places. gets feral if there’s a chance you might get caught.

JASON TEAGUE: pure rich boy repressed ragefuck energy. he’s polite in public and unhinged behind closed doors. and his favourite position is you on your knees. not even for the act itself—just for the visual. he loves the power dynamic. loves seeing you look up at him like you’d do anything he says.

but the one that actually breaks him? riding. not because he wants to give up control—but because he tries to hold it together and fails miserably. you lean down, kiss his neck, say “you like watching me fuck myself on you, huh?” and he’s GONE. fists in the sheets. panting. saying shit like, “you’re gonna make me come—fuck—don’t stop.”

he gets obsessed. starts lifting you up and slamming you down. starts chasing it like it hurts to need you this much.

mirror sex is also high on the list because he wants to watch. wants you to see how fucked-out you look. “look at what you do to me.” (jason. baby. we see it.)

and afterward? he’s real quiet. real soft. brushes your hair back and kisses your shoulder like he didn’t just rail you into another dimension.

BEAU ARLEN: you cannot tell me he ain’t a slow grind, deep eye contact, whole hand on your stomach to feel himself inside you kind of guy. but it’s deeper than just sex for him—it’s connection. he doesn’t fuck to blow off steam. he fucks to feel something.

his favourite position? spooning in the early morning, under warm sheets, the kind of sex that’s all sighs and soft skin and lazy hips. one hand under your head, the other gripping your hip, pressing kisses to the back of your neck like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers. and the filth he whispers? oh, bby—it’s quiet, drawled, reverent. “you feel that? every inch? you’re takin’ me so damn good, darlin’. so proud of you.”

but don’t let the softness fool you. beau’s got rage under the surface. and when it breaks through? you’re up against the wall. your dress is hiked up, panties pushed aside, and he’s lifting you like it’s nothing—like he needs you. he’s got one hand under your ass, the other gripping your thigh, fucking into you with a fevered rhythm like he’s been holding back for years. his jaw’s tight, his voice rough in your ear: “you got any idea what you do to me?”

and when you moan for him? he just mutters “that’s my girl.” like he’s staking a claim.

bonus: afterwards, he holds you so close it’s almost crushing. buries his face in your neck. he says he doesn’t believe in forever, but fuck—he wants it. and when you brush his hair back and kiss his cheek? you swear his hands tremble just a little.

RUSSELL SHAW: russell is not loud. he’s not messy. he’s precise. he is a body language expert so he notices every blink, every breath, every twitch of your thighs—and he absolutely uses it against you.

his favourite position? legs over his shoulders, you pinned to the mattress, spread out and helpless, while he’s slow-drilling into you with the intensity of someone watching a target through a sniper scope. and he doesn’t talk at first. just watches. cataloguing what makes your eyes roll back. filing away the way your voice breaks when he hits just the right spot.

but the second you start to unravel? he fucking snaps. voice low, almost loving in how dangerous it sounds: “that’s it. just like that. fuck—so beautiful when you come for me.”

he’s a control freak in the sheets. but not in a selfish way. he wants to ruin you—but only so he can piece you back together.

also? he has a thing for face cradling. quiet, sacred moments in the middle of the chaos. pulling your hand to his chest, kissing your palm mid-thrust, like it grounds him. “you’re safe. i’ve got you.” it’s not just sex for him—it’s data, it’s worship, it’s homework.

bonus: he lives for the moment when you’re riding him, smug and in control—until you falter. your rhythm stutters, your eyes go wide, and his hands slide up your waist as he smirks like the end is already written. “you tried, sweetheart. let me finish it.” and then he does.

he fucks you like he’s solving an unsolvable riddle. and when you fall apart in his hands? he looks at you like he just found the answer.

in conclusion: the jensen boys are unreasonably good at sex in wildly different, deeply chaotic ways. ben is a menace. dean is a munch. beau is a porchlight in the dark. russell is a psychological thriller. alec is cocky until he’s not. jason is unravelling. and cj is trying so hard and honestly? that’s hot.

thank you for coming to my totally scientific analysis. i am now emotionally and spiritually pregnant. <3

[zepskies]

One Exception

Pairing: CJ Braxton x F. Reader

Summary: Joey has invited you to a party at Pacey’s apartment, and CJ has agreed to go, despite the contentious history between him and your new friends. He doesn’t want to be the reason you miss out on a good thing, but it also means he’ll have to hide his apprehension (and his alcoholism).  

AN: Here’s the sequel to Good Morning! This story takes place in 6.14 of the show, with a little twist.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mature themes, but it doesn’t really warrant an 18+ rating. Angst, alcoholism, hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, tinge of spice, and implied smut.

“Nice television,” CJ remarked, noting the giant monstrosity in the middle of this very loud apartment.

“See? Told you it’d be low-key,” you said.

More like high and off-key, CJ thought wryly.

Nickleback’s “How You Remind Me” was blaring. People you and CJ recognized from school were crowded in the living room around the TV, as well as milling around the kitchen with beers and solo cups, and it was pretty much a wall of sound that already grated on CJ’s ears. Pacey had to be in here somewhere too.

You squeezed CJ’s hand and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“You okay?” you asked.

He gave you a smile to hide his nerves. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He was no stranger to parties. He just didn’t often find himself going to parties where the host had once introduced his face to a brick wall.

Before he truly got to know you, CJ had a one-time unintentional fling with your (former) dorm roommate, Audrey. She’d been spiraling out of control in an alcohol-fueled depression. He’d seen a kindred spirit in her and tried to help her. He just hadn’t known that she was still sort of in a relationship with Pacey, who had a mean right hook when he wanted to.

And then there was Jen, Audrey and Joey’s best friend. CJ felt the worst for hurting her along the way, unable to reciprocate her feelings…

And, oh yeah, you still didn’t know about that last part. 

CJ silently stewed in all of this when you led him by the hand to find your friend and current dormmate, Joey.

“Hey! Glad you could make it,” she said with her wide, doe brown eyes and a too-bright smile.

You gave her a quirking look when you hugged her in greeting. She smelled like vodka and orange juice, but you’d never known Joey to go too hard in the paint with her liquor.

She gave your companion a little wave. “Hey, CJ!”

“Hey,” he nodded with a smile.

“You guys want something to drink?” she asked, gesturing to the row of liquor bottles and various chasers behind her on the kitchen counter. You internally paused for a moment, glancing at your boyfriend, but you turned back to Joey with a smile.

“Yeah, Diet Coke would be great,” you said.

CJ gave you a curious look, but he asked for the same. Joey bobbed her head before she went to pour the drinks into some plastic cups.

CJ leaned in near your ear. “Sweetheart, you’re allowed to drink. You know I’ve been to parties before.”

In fact, you and CJ had met at a club party. One where Audrey had been led up to some guy’s room while she was drunk, and CJ had all but broken down the door to get her out for you and Jen.

“I know, I just don’t feel like doing alcohol tonight,” you told him.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. You just didn’t want to risk making CJ even more uncomfortable than he likely already was, being near Pacey. You’d asked Joey to talk to him for you—a plea for him to not try and kill your boyfriend.

And there your esteemed host was, coming over now.

“Heyyyy, good thinking,” said Pacey. He went over to Joey’s side when she turned to hand you and CJ your drinks. He grabbed another cup to pour one for himself. 

“Hey, man,” CJ greeted politely. His hands were in his pockets, trying to mask his stiffness.

Pacey hesitated, taking note of CJ, but the beat of tension broke between the two men when Pacey graciously stuck out a hand.

“Hey. Good to see ya…not with my girlfriend,” he quipped with a smile.

CJ’s was a bit more strained, but he gave a wry chuckle along with his handshake. Joey elbowed Pacey in the ribs.

“Ah, what?” he protested. She gave him a firm look, pursing her lips. Then she turned to you and CJ with a smile.

“Hey, you guys have any whiskey?” Jen cut in, as she sidled up to Joey. “I’m not so much in a beer mood, but whiskey I could do. Maybe it’s the burn I’m craving—”

She stopped short when she saw you and CJ. Her smile thinned.

“Oh! Hey, there,” she said.

CJ offered her nod, but his insides tightened. He watched you brighten and give Jen a hug that the other woman couldn’t easily reciprocate. Jen’s eyes were on him, even while she hugged you.

You and Joey then broke off to catch up for a bit (CJ encouraged you to it), while Pacey went back to watching a football game on the mega-sized TV with Jack. CJ was about to join them when Jen’s voice stopped him.

“You guys look good together,” she said. She had a glass of whiskey in her hand and a small smile on her face. Her blonde hair was shorter now, cut just below her ears. Her black halter-style dress suited her.

But she wasn’t you.

CJ smiled more genuinely. “Thanks.”

Jen was a good person. He was still sorry that he hurt her, but he wasn’t sorry for choosing you.

You were happy to see CJ hanging out with his friend David, along with Jack and Pacey and some other guys from school. Meanwhile, you had the chance to catch up with Joey and Jen.

Maybe it would give you a chance to mend this weird rift of distance that had seemed to come between you and Jen in recent weeks.

You didn’t know where it came from, but you genuinely admired Jen as a person. She was smart, and she always spoke her mind and stuck to her principles. That was something you wish you had more of in yourself.

Now, she was a bit quiet while sipping her whiskey. Joey made up for it, with a kind of giggle-snort you'd never heard come out of her mouth before. You raised a brow, despite your smile.

"Yes, Josephine?" you teased.

"Sorry," she waved a dismissive hand. "Just remembered something. Like the fact that I really like vodka. I mean, it's clear, almost tasteless, so it's almost like drinking water, you know?"

You and Jen shared an amused look.

"Sure, that's what it's like," you said.

Joey's eyes went wide then. She leaned in close to you, leaning on your shoulder.

"Oh. Don't drink champagne though," she said, while eyeing Jen. She "whispered" loud enough to be heard over the music, and also hurt your left ear. "She once killed a girl with champagne."

Jen's mouth fell open incredulously. Your eyes went as wide as Joey's. This was some serious “girl time.”

"Wait, what?" you said.

Jen looked at her empty glass. "Well, would you look at that? Right on time."

She escaped to the kitchen to refill her tumbler, but you and Joey followed her; you out of morbid curiosity, and Joey because she too wanted more vodka than orange juice in her plastic cup.

Jen gave you a smirk as she filled up her glass.

"Don't worry, you're all safe. This is Jameson," she said.

You emitted some nervous laughter and leaned on the kitchen counter, trying to figure out where the joke was here. How the hell do you kill a girl with champagne?

“So are you sure you don’t want an actual drink?” Jen asked, gesturing at your soda.

“Oh, no. I’m fine,” you held up a dismissive hand.

“You sure?” Pacey said, coming up from behind your little group to find a beer. “I got your boyfriend a vodka soda. I can get you one too.”

Your eyes widened, though you tried to hide your alarm, smoothing your hands down your jeans.

“What?” you asked.

Pacey paused. He’d caught the surprise flitting across your face. “What?”

“Um…” Your hesitation came from trying to process information in record time. You looked over and saw CJ with David. Your boyfriend was indeed holding a different cup.

You returned your attention to Pacey. His brows were raised. Joey looked confused as well, while Jen was sipping at her own drink, in a way that hinted that she already knew what you were about to say.

“CJ doesn’t drink,” you explained.

Pacey brows popped higher. “Ah. He’s 21 though, right?”

“Yes, but he’s a recovering alcoholic,” you said with a sigh. You didn’t want to have to say that, telling CJ's business, but you didn’t know how else to explain why you were slightly freaking out.

“Oh…uh, sorry about that,” Pacey said.

“No, it’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it,” you said.

Pacey gave a wan smile and returned to the group around the TV, CJ included. You sighed and turned back to Jen and Joey.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know either,” Joey said.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” you said, shaking your said. “I’ll just check on him, if you guys don’t mind—”

Jen’s glass hit the counter, and she poured herself another whiskey on the rocks.

“By all means, check away,” she said.

“Hey, sorry man. I didn’t know,” Pacey had said to him, with a look on his face that also said:

Sorry you’re a leper. That’s rough buddy.

CJ found himself withdrawing from the rest of the guys, even as the smell of vodka wafted from the solo cup in his hand. He glanced down at it with a short sigh, but he didn’t drink it, even though his hand itched to raise the cup to his lips.

You startled him a little when your hand curled around his arm.

“Hey,” you greeted in a whisper.

“Hey,” he smiled back at you. But the worried look on your face made his smile fall.

“Wanna hang out for a bit?” you asked, nodding at a quieter looking corner of the living room.

CJ waved at David with the hand that held his cup, and he followed you over to the far side of the couch. You sat on its edge, arms crossed, while he found a seat on the sill of a large window.

You pointedly glanced at his cup. “Have you been drinking?”

CJ’s lips pursed. He took in your stance: arms crossed, shoulders tense, lips pursed, eyes deeply concerned and wary.

Are we having fun yet? he thought dryly.

“See, I’d be more inclined to answer that question if you hadn’t lured me over here under false pretenses,” he remarked. Though he did set the cup down beside him on the windowsill.

“What false pretenses?” you asked, your brows furrowing.

“You don’t want to be with me. You want to check up on me,” he pointed out. “You’re looking at me like an inmate who got loose in the psych ward.”

You frowned then. “That’s not true. I’m just wondering why you would take an alcoholic beverage from Pacey.”

“Your friend offered me a drink. It seemed rude to say no, so…” CJ glanced down at his hands in his lap. Your head tilted in concern.

“CJ…” you sighed. “Why the hell would you ruin your sobriety over something like that?”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he replied flatly.

“Oh really?” you said. Your lips pursed in irritation.

“I just didn’t want to get into it with a stranger,” CJ said, throwing up a hand. “But thanks for telling him that I don’t drink. Now he’s apologizing to me like I’m dying or something.”

A sharper sigh fell from your lips. “I told you we didn’t have to come here. I didn’t want to make you feel pressured to—”

“Again, you know this isn’t my first house party,” he said.

“Yeah, I know it’s not. So why? Why did this happen tonight?” you asked. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been so disciplined with yourself. You have a set of rules, and you follow them.”

“Yeah, well, did it ever occur to you that maybe I realized that I was too strict on myself?” he said. “That maybe we wouldn’t even be together if I didn’t bend those rules?”

Your mouth fell open incredulously, a bit of anger sparking your blood. He knew he shouldn't have said that. It just kind of flew out of his mouth, immediately sparking his guilt.

“Okay,” you snipped. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be bending those rules at all if this is where it leads.”

CJ's lips pursed. “What, because I’ve been sitting here, spending the last hour debating whether or not to take a drink?”

He gestured at the cup beside him. 

Your eyes blinked wider, with even more surprise, and a heavy dose of confusion.

“Wait, what? Are you telling me that you haven’t been drinking tonight?” you asked.

“Is that going to magically change all the conclusions you just jumped to?” CJ retorted.

You closed your eyes with a sharp, exasperated sigh. When you opened them again, you frowned at him.

“Uh, yeah!” you exclaimed. "Of course it does, CJ!"

“Well, it doesn’t work that way,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it. Fine. Just like I’ve been trying to find some normalcy with you here. But apparently you find that wildly insulting.”

He was getting wildly defensive right now. You sort of saw where he was coming from, but it was still frustrating. You held a hand to your chest as your heart raced with the force of your relief.

“Look, I’m sorry for assuming. I’m just…I was worried about you,” you said honestly. “I knew coming here might be stressful for you—”

“I can handle stress,” CJ said. “What I can’t handle is you looking at me like I’m a powder keg waiting to explode.”

You raised up placating hands as you glared at him.

“Fine,” you said. “Sorry for being concerned about my boyfriend. I’ll try to curb that behavior in the future.”

At that, CJ’s frustration and anger simmered down, swiftly followed by more guilt.

You got up and blinked quickly, like you were fighting tears as you shook your head. You aimed to get by him, but he got off the windowsill and went for your hand. There was no drunk excuse for his behavior now.

No, this one was all him.

“Hey,” he said, in a softer voice. He looked down at you with softer eyes too. He could see now that you didn’t mean to make him feel less than, like you had to watch him so he wouldn’t mess up in front of your friends. No, you were just genuinely worried about his wellbeing. 

You looked up at him warily. He held your hand more securely in his.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I am,” he said, when he noted your raised brow. “I’m really grateful that you care about me. That you’re concerned about me. But I’ve been dealing with this for a long time. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be yourself either, even when we’re out here in the wild.”

A small smile twitched at your lips. You held his hand back.

“Out in the wild, huh?” you quirked a brow. CJ smiled back and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I just need you to trust me a little more,” he said.

You nodded, smiling when his forehead gently rested against yours. The ends of his hair tickled between your brows.

“Okay, I’m sorry too,” you said. “Next time I won’t be so quick on the draw.”

You leaned up for a kiss. CJ met you there, sweetly at first. Then he tilted his head and deepened the angle of his lips moving against yours.

“Ooh save that for later,” Joey said, loudly from behind you.

It made you jolt in CJ’s arms. You turned your head and met your friend with a wide-eyed look of confusion. She held an empty wine bottle in her hand and waggled mischievous brows.

“Come on, let’s play.”

You really couldn’t believe that Joey was making you all play Spin the Bottle. For you, it was the stuff of awkward middle school horror stories of the highest form. She’d roped in you and CJ, Jen, Jack, Pacey and their roommate Emma, and Gus, a gross looking guy who was apparently her "fiancé" of some sort. 

Gus took the first turn, and got creative with it—giving Joey a nice lick on the cheek.

That’s what you get for making us play this dumbass game, you thought as you laughed.

Joey ended up giving Jack a sweet kiss, followed by him and Emma sharing a little lip-lock, and even Emma and Jen giggling as they came together for a peck.

But when it was Jen’s turn, the wine bottle spun, and spun…and landed on CJ. A chorus of “ooohs” came from the others.

You felt yourself bristle internally. It’s just a game, you reminded yourself. Just a stupid, stupid game.

You patted CJ’s knee and tried to school your face into amusement.

“You’re up, babe,” you said.

He looked a bit uncomfortable when he met your eyes, and then Jen’s. She wore a smile, though she was a little absent in the eyes. She’d been pounding hard liquor pretty much all night.

“All right, CJ. Let’s get this over with,” she teased.

He let out a subtle breath through his nose, but he uncurled his arm from around you so that he could lean over to meet Jen across the circle. Instead of the light peck that he was aiming for, she surprised him by taking his face in her hands and giving him a kiss deep enough to make him taste the burn of whiskey.

He parted from her with a flinch. His eyes blinked wide. A quick glance around the circle told him he wasn’t the only one who was surprised, but you were the only one he cared about. He settled back next to you and felt guilty for your muted disbelief, even though he wasn’t the real perpetrator here.

CJ frowned hard at Jen. She just smiled and crossed her arms around her legs, head bobbing to the tune of the alt rock music playing.

“Damn, Jen,” Pacey said, laughing uncomfortably. “That’s some dedication to the game.”

You were still shocked into stillness. You knew Jen was a bit deep into the bottle, but was she really drunk enough to try and make out with your boyfriend in front of you?

Joey finally dropped her hands from her face (she’d been watching the scene through the cracks in her fingers). She gave you an apologetic look. She was very effing drunk as well, you knew, but not make out with your boyfriend in front of you—drunk.

You finally looked over at CJ, not knowing who you should be more irritated with: Jen for sticking her tongue down his throat, or CJ for letting her.

“It’s your turn, bro,” Gus said. Not that he cared about whoever CJ landed on. He just wanted the chance to kiss another one of the girls. Preferably Emma.

CJ shook his head. “I don’t think I—”

“Go ahead,” you said. Your tone was a challenge, as were your crossed arms, and the tight expression on your face. “It’s just a game, right?”

That last part, you aimed at Jen. She finally had enough self-awareness to avert her drunken gaze. Your teeth were grinding.

Though you had to pause when you realized where CJ’s spun bottle had landed: right on you.

“Aw, well that’s good,” Joey said, with a nervous laugh that broke some of the tension in this little circle.

CJ let out a subtle breath of relief himself. But this was a whole new challenge as he met your steely gaze. He tried to give you a smile.

Your eyes fell. So with a small sigh, he gently took your chin between his fingers and tilted your face up to him, just before he leaned in to kiss you.

He plied you softly at first. His lips dragged against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. Then he angled his head away from the circle, away from prying eyes as he brushed his tongue across your lower lip, seeking entrance. You inhaled deeply, and you couldn’t help but let him in.

You uncrossed your arms and found his cheek with your hand. Your fingers soon delved into his hair, nails lightly scraping the back of his neck. He barely restrained a shudder.

“Ah, okay then,” Pacey muttered.

When you parted from CJ, your heart was racing, and there was a fire in your belly that you could see reflected in his eyes.

“I’m a little thirsty, you wanna…” he trailed. You nodded and let him help you off the ground where you all had been sitting.

CJ’s arm once again wrapped around your waist, and he led you into the first bedroom he could find. The door shut against the blaring music, the sounds of laughter and stories and dumb middle school games.

Until all that was left was you and CJ, and the sounds of quick breaths, clothes hitting the floor, and skin against skin.

“I’m sorry about earlier. With the game,” CJ later said. “Jen took me by surprise.”

Much later, where you were tangled up in his arms and the sheets, both of you mostly naked and tucked under the covers. You felt bad that you didn’t even know whose bedroom this was.

Jack’s maybe? You could only hope so. That would probably be the least awkward situation if you two were caught in here.

But at CJ’s question, your blissful mood of moments before was wiped away. Your face dropped into a frown. You turned in his arms so that you could see his face, resting your head on his arm.

“Yeah, what the hell was that with Jen?” you asked.

CJ soothed a hand up and down your arm. He knew it was time for him to come clean with you, even though he knew it might make you look at him differently. He could only hope that it wouldn’t.

“Before you and I started talking, dating—well, you know what happened with me and Audrey,” he said, expelling a breath of regret. “Before then, Jen had feelings for me.”

Your eyes widened. By now you could’ve guessed that Jen wanted your boyfriend, but you had no idea it had started way back then. CJ looked you in the eyes.

“I just didn’t feel the same way,” he said. “Then Audrey and I happened, just the one night. But Jen…I know I hurt her, and I felt terrible. I still feel bad about that, because I never meant to hurt her. I just thought Audrey and I had a connection.”

“And then Pacey,” you supplied, realizing where this story was headed. A fight between Pacey and CJ. Audrey left for rehab in California. And Jen was left to nurse her wounded pride and hurt feelings…especially when you and CJ began for real.

You closed your eyes on a sigh. This explained why she’d been so frigid to you lately.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” CJ said. “I didn’t want to come between you guys, or hurt her more by pursuing another one of her friends…I just couldn’t help falling for you.”

At that admission, you softened. You caressed CJ’s cheek, and you brought him down to you for a kiss. Again, it was slow and unhurried, yet no less passionate.

Your lips parted from his first, so you could meet his eyes.

“I’ll talk to Jen,” you said. “But…I’m glad I fell for you too.”

You and CJ shared a quiet moment then, each of you processing, hands intertwined. It had you thinking about everything he said tonight, even before the game. 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it. Fine,” he’d said. “Just like I’ve been trying to find some normalcy with you here. But apparently you find that wildly insulting.”

You sighed and squeezed his hand. It was comfortably trapped between his bare chest and yours.

“Just for the record, you don’t have to be ‘normal’ for me, or be what you think I want around my friends. Just be you,” you said, meeting his green-eyed gaze. “I do trust you, CJ. I trust that you want to be with me, and that you have a handle on yourself.”

CJ smiled ruefully. He ran his thumb across the back of your hand.

“You were right though. The truth is I did get a little nervous tonight,” he said. “Being here, seeing Pacey…it brought up all that drama again. I took that vodka soda from him, and I was thinking about drinking it.”

“But you didn’t,” you said firmly. “Because you’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know.”

CJ looked down at your hand joined with his, at your face, set with honesty and vehemence. You seemed to believe every word of what you were saying. That alone made him feel strong.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile.

It hadn’t been all that long, but he knew this felt right. It always felt right with you.

You smiled back at him and leaned up for a sweeter kiss.  

“Thank you for bending your own rules for me,” you teased.

CJ chuckled. He stroked your cheek and pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“You’re my one exception,” he said.   

AN: As frustrated as CJ made me at times, somehow he weasels his way back into my heart. 😂💗 If you enjoyed this, let me know!

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[cj-schlatt]

Take Me Out - Part One

Pairing: MLB player!Schlatt x gn!sideline reporter!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Schlatt is the new first baseman for the New York Mets, and you’re the team’s new sideline reporter.

Content: Fluff!

A/N: I went with the Mets over the Yankees because a.) I’m a Red Sox fan, and b.) the Yankees are strict and only allow mustaches (long live the chops). Enjoy! :)

You feel like a kid on the first day of school. You’ve got that nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of feeling, but in a good way.

It’s your first official day as the sideline reporter for the New York Mets, and you couldn’t be more excited. All those long nights of studying, all your hard work to obtain your communications degree, have finally paid off.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you enter Clover Park for the first time. You’re in beautiful Port St. Lucie, Florida, and Spring Training is just getting underway. The smell of freshly-cut grass hangs in the air as you watch the players running drills on the field.

It’s here, as you speak to a member of the production team near the dugout, that you catch your first glimpse of him.

His laugh is what you hear first. Instinctively, you turn towards the sound, and that’s when you see him. He’s standing near first base, facing away from you, showing off the number 99 that covers his broad back.

Schlatt, everyone calls him, despite the surname stitched across the back of his jersey. His reputation precedes him. Everyone has heard the scouting reports, seen the viral videos passed around social media. In the minor leagues, he’s been known for his antics, taunting runners on the opposing team when they reach him at first base. It’s his first year being called up to the majors, and he’s one of the big stories for the team, the player to watch.

You’ve done your homework. You know all about Schlatt and his rather colorful personality. He’s certainly one of the more animated players in the sport, always fired up after a solid hit or a particularly impressive defensive play. He’s cocky, and, honestly, he has every right to be. He’s the Mets’ number one prospect, an above-average first baseman and strong power hitter. You know he’s going to be a handful in interviews, but you’re up for the challenge.

You can’t tell from this angle, but you know that if Schlatt were to turn around, you’d see the infamous mutton chops. Second to his spectacular playing ability, his unusual facial hair has been one of his defining characteristics since he was first drafted. Love it or hate it, it gets the fans talking, keeping that oh-so important spotlight on him.

You’re pulled out of your musings by a shout of, “Look out!” followed by a baseball whizzing past your head, narrowly avoiding you. You look to the field to see a few players standing around sheepishly.

“You okay?” To your surprise, it’s Schlatt who turns to ask you.

You give him a thumbs up. “All good,” you call out to him.

With a satisfied nod, he turns back to face the field.

It’s going to be an interesting season, you think.

You’re packed into the press room like sardines, shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow reporters. You all crowd around the podium where Schlatt sits, an array of microphones and cell phones in front of his face to catch his every word.

The press conference begins, and you’re called upon to ask the first question.

You open your mouth to speak.

Before you can get a word out, an older, male reporter begins talking over you. “What do you think—”

“Hey,” Schlatt cuts the reporter off sharply. “Let ‘em speak.” He gestures to you.

You feel your cheeks heat as seemingly every pair of eyes in the room turns towards you. You take a breath, then, as calmly as you can, ask your question: “What’s your takeaway from day one of Spring Training?”

Schlatt hums thoughtfully before answering, “That we look good out there, but we still have a lot of work to do before we’re ready for Opening Day.” He leans back a little in his chair and adjusts his cap. “That all?”

“One more thing: got any advice for a rookie reporter, as a rookie yourself?”

He grins wide. “Just enjoy it. We’re in the big leagues, baby!” he whoops, and the crowd erupts in laughter and scattered applause.

Before moving onto the next reporter, you swear Schlatt shoots a wink in your direction.

Spring Training flies by. Before you know it, you’re on a plane to New York for Opening Day. The sun is shining bright on Citi Field, helping to warm the chilly air.

You’re trying your best to soak it all in. This is what you’ve dreamed of for so long, and you want to enjoy every moment of it.

What an exciting Opening Day it turns out to be. The Mets and Phillies have gone back and forth, earning runs and keeping the score close throughout the game.

It’s now the bottom of the ninth, and the teams are tied three-to-three. There are two outs, no one on base, and Schlatt is up at bat. The count is full—three balls, two strikes. It all comes down to the next pitch.

You watch with bated breath as the Phillies pitcher throws a blazing fastball towards the plate. Schlatt swings the bat, and—CRACK! Just from the sound, you know it’s gone, and Schlatt does, too. He stands in the batter’s box for a few moments, watching the ball sail into the stands, before beginning his victory trot around the bases.

The crowd is going absolutely crazy. Lights are flashing all around, and music is blaring through the stadium speakers. The Mets dugout empties to meet Schlatt at home plate, where they convene in a huge group, shouting and high-fiving one another.

As the celebration on the field dwindles and players are headed off the field, you’re able to get Schlatt’s attention for a post-game interview. You can hear Gary, the announcer, in your ear, setting it up for the viewers at home.

“Schlatt!” you have to practically yell over the crowd. “That was amazing! What’s going through your mind right now?”

He’s breathing heavily, standing with his hands on his hips and leaning in to hear you better.

You think he starts to talk, but you’re suddenly doused in ice-cold liquid. You gasp and instinctively try to back away, but it’s too late. You realize, belatedly, that another Mets player has dumped the Gatorade cooler in celebration, but seems to have missed his mark.

“What the fuck, man?!” Schlatt shouts at his teammate, instinctively putting an arm around your shoulder, as if to shield you from another onslaught.

You shiver, not completely sure if it’s from the unexpected contact or the fact that you’re soaking wet in New York in early April. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

The station must have cut back to the booth by now. At the very least, the audio will have been muted momentarily when Schlatt swore. Still, you’re pretty sure that, even though the camera is there, it’s not broadcasting you in all your drowned rat glory.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Schlatt mutters to himself before focusing his attention on you. “Are you alright? Lemme get you a towel.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you try to tell him, but he’s already jogging towards the dugout and returning moments later with a clean towel, ironically emblazoned with the Gatorade logo.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the towel and attempting, maybe in vain, to dry yourself off. You’re at least able to get the worst of it so there is no longer Gatorade running into your eyes, which is an improvement.

Schlatt crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I’m sorry about him.”

To be honest, you’re surprised he’s still here, still talking to you. You figured he’d want to get out of here as quickly as possible, but here he stands, looking genuinely concerned.

“It’s alright,” you try to brush it off.

“No, it’s not,” he insists. “I’ll talk to him, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You smile appreciatively. “Thank you,” you say again.

He smiles back at you softly. It’s so unlike him, you think—or, at least, so unlike the version of himself that he presents on the field and in interviews. It’s like you’re getting a peek at the real Schlatt, the man behind the persona.

You’re whisked off the field soon after. The production team assures you that you don’t have to stick around for the post-game press conferences, insisting that you go home and get cleaned up, for which you’re very grateful.

One very uncomfortable (but thankfully short) walk later, you’re back at your apartment. You quickly peel off your ruined outfit and hop in the shower, eager to wash off the day (and the Gatorade).

Soon, you’re curled up on the couch, cozy in your pajamas. It’s then that you feel your phone buzz, pulling it out of your pocket to reveal a wall of notifications. Confused, you unlock your phone, trying to make sense of the influx of Twitter mentions.

You nearly drop your phone when you open Twitter.

There, on your screen, is a video of you, microphone in hand as you begin interviewing Schlatt, before the Gatorade shower interrupts you both. The video doesn’t end there, though. You watch in disbelief as Schlatt puts his arm around you and continues talking to you, unaware that the camera is still rolling. Sure, there are a few moments where the audio is muted to cover up Schlatt’s f-bombs, but it appears that SNY aired your entire interaction with Schlatt.

You scroll down, eyebrows raising as you read through the replies. There are screenshots of Schlatt with his arm around you, followed by incomprehensible strings of letters and an impressive amount of emojis. You don’t really know what to make of it, and you try to put it out of your mind as you get up to make yourself dinner.

An hour or so later, you get a text from an unknown number:

can we talk?

A second message comes through moments later:

it’s schlatt

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! :)

[hmsdoodlin]

(31) Mr Jash give me Who You Are in Vol 2 and my life is yours

—————————————————————————

Heart hummed, holding his other half close. Mind was cold against his chest, hair tickling his chin as he felt two mechanical arms tighten around his torso.

“(Tough day?)”

Mind only replied with a staticky grumble, fighting the urge to fall apart in the moons arms.

“(It’s alright.)” Heart said reassuringly, testing his luck by holding him just a tad bit tighter. “(We can worry about it tomorrow.)”