#I finished this in like. a day. I loved it

[sanjisblackasswife]

JJK Men with a GF with a Fat Ass (NSFW-ISH)

…I’m taking a small break from drawing and I missed doing HCs. Shaddap.

Ft. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Choso

Black ! Fem Reader in Mind

CW: Twt Links!, mentions of sex, men are a bit OOC

Gojo

Gojo definitely does this to you anytime you lay on his lap. And if he finds out you’re not wearing any panties under it…welp..all plans are now cancelled

He’s a pervert and it’s your fault.

He’s never really seen women of your stature often so when you both were younger he was so BLUNT with his thoughts about your body.

“You have a very voluptuous—“

“Imma stop you right there….VO-WHO?”

“You don’t know what the word vo—-“

“No, I know. I’m confused as to why you are using that word when talking about my ass.”

Gojo is 6’6-7” , he’s a big nigga, but can he handle a big behind?

No.

No he cannot.

He constantly uses his blindfolded eyes to shamelessly watch the way your walk across the room in public. His poker face is actually impressive, but if you couldn’t see how tight his fist were in his pockets it’d prove otherwise.

He’s so hot damn childish he does this shit sometimes because he thinks your ass is perfect for playing on

“CAN YOU STOP.”

“Whhhyyyyuuuhhhhhh.”

When you wear moomoo’s or a big shirt it is his favorite

Yup.

Moomoo.

Your ass is free to move and shake to its desire and he just watches in awe. He loves you bad.

Another thing he loves doing is napping on your butt, he doesn’t sleep often, unfortunately, but he can attest that the best nap he has ever taken was in between your plush thighs and ass.

He blames his pretty little girlfriend as to why he is now an ass man.

Geto

He takes these kinda pictures with you which sometimes leads to him pulling down your underpants and massaging it with his bare hands to then licking or kissing it to then…eating…you…out…while you’re standing.

He loves watching you put on clothes.

Having to shake, jump, and wiggle yourself into some pants is actually so sexy to him.

If your butt is anything like mine and is HEAVY. He LOVES it even more , watching the way the movement in your butt and thighs to match is something Geto finds so so mesmerizing.

One thing about Geto he’s very sneaky, he’ll come up behind you to help pull up your bottoms you clearly need no help putting on, and everytime he does you can feel a slight pressure on your ass that is a verrrryyy familiar feel to a bulge.

He can’t help it, your ass is so pretty.

Sitting on his lap is a must, whether he is talking with someone in public or doing some work he needs to feel your weight on him.

The first time you sat on his lap you swore you heard a groan. When you turned to ask him if he was okay, his cheeks were very pink.

He denies it to this day, but even if he did it’s your fault because why does your ass feel so good against his pelvis?

Showers with Geto are so insufferable in the best way because once you finish cleaning yourself your long haired boyfriend can’t wait to practically grind and jump against the cool shower wall.

He definitely loves hugging you from behind, swaying you back and forth. To others it’s a cute gesture seeing such a big man hold you so close, practically dwarfing you , you only you and him know the real intention begin it was just him whispering how good you look in that dress and how badly he wants you.

Geto is such a sensual person next to nanami. Even after sex and you’re laying with him in a bliss he finds his way to continue his love by kissing and licking you down and praises of how beautiful and sexy you are even after such activities. He calls it “Cleaning you up”…little perv.

“‘Was wrong?… Embarrassed?”

“YES.”

“Good, now c’mere.”

Toji

Ass eater.🫵🏾

That’s an ass eater he eat ass🫵🏾.

Toji “Ass Eater” Fushiguro

You thought gojo was shameless? Toji is WORSE

As an ass connoisseur he prides himself on always reminding you how fine you are to him.

“You like my dress?”

“Hell yes, mama. Turn around for me.”

SWAT to the ass just to see it recoil

He definitely slaps and GRABS. It’s kinda hot though because he’ll do it anytime anywhere

For example you went with him to some horse racing game for him to make bets and got hungry so you headed to grab a few drinks and snacks. Before walking past him, his legs were spread, tooth pick in his mouth and just like clock work you feel a firm hit to your Jean covered behind.

“OOWWUH!”

“Sssh, Baby im watchin the game….what? Your ass was all in my face what else could I do?”

Whether you are a chunky girl or a skinny girl with a larger butt he don’t care he quite actually is your biggest fan.

Of course Toji being the ass eater he is almost every other night is spent just like this or sitting on his face. He never seen himself as a pleasure son kinda guy. With his one night stands he only had sex for himself, but with you of course being the first woman he finally got to love after MamaGuro he takes his time with you. It’s a slutty sight but he knows it’s exactly that can get you off before him

Toji is your new seat btw.

Not just his pretty face but his lap too.

He’s a big strong man so don’t EVER think or assume you’re too heavy for him.

Nanami

This man here.

A KING.

Freaky king but a king none the less.

He loved every part of you.

Which is what he does say and prove everytime you both are together but he does have a small little quirk about him that you aren’t sure whether or not to point it out

Most men guide their woman by putting their hand on their lower back

Nanami however does this

ESPECIALLY on date night.

Just like Geto he loves to watch you dress, but also dresses you himself

“Wear this, yes? It compliments your skin beautifully.”

“You sure it’s not, because it’s a bit tighter below the waist?”

And now hes blushing.

He’ll admit. Whenever you come and visit him during lunch to feed him a home cooked meal he hates to see you go but LOVES to watch you leave.

Especially with that sundress you wear during the spring.

Nanami definitely is another man that will practically BEG for you to sit on his face.

“It’s okay, baby honest. Use my face.”

“Kentoooo—!??”

One of his favorite ways to eat you out is like this. It was actually so embarrassing for you at first only because of his SLUTTY MOANS. Which was something you wouldn’t expect from a man like him, but you wasn’t complaining!He whined and whimpered so shamelessly inside you, you couldn’t even make eyes contact after cumming on his tongue.

Choso

Lord bless him.

He is very….confused to say the least.

He never understood the attraction of women’s part.

Of course he found YOU attractive, but that was all over until he seen your shape.

“Oh.”

“…oh?”

“You—“

You usually wore baggy clothing like him. You decided to change really quickly at his new apartment and he was watching you.

Who knew you had a BODY LIKE THAT on you

“You’re sex—cute…”

Choso isn’t necessarily a shy man, but more hesitant when it comes to touching and complimenting you…

You’ve told him time and time again he is free to touch you when he wants but you sometimes have to guide him.

Usually when he wants to grab your ass he walks DANGEROUSLY close behind you.

So a few times you take his hand and place it on your cheek. For a moment he just rubs his hand across the soft skin and then SQUEEZE.

Choso loves to kneed and rub on your ass while he licks you so usually it’s 69 or you laid to your side.

Another things he actually loves seeing you in are sweats with a small top. Your lower body being heavier than the top is so attractive and you look so squeezable he can’t help but to hug you from behind

Please. Please PUH LEASE wear thigh high socks around him the ones that go RIGHT UNDER the cup of your ass and shake it JUST A LIL in front of him.

Moans at the sight everytime

No like literally MOANS by just looking at your ass jiggle.

He doesn’t think he’s a pervert but from how he grinds and jump against your ass while you sleep says otherwise.

If yall are wondering why I didn’t really speak on backshots it js because ALL OF THEM GO FERAL DOING IT.

[monstersflashlight]

Thinking about your take on (any) monster eating an aphrodisiac candy on accident or like an accidental aphrodisiac pollen ingestion (from like just sniffing around scavenging/hunting) - if that makes sense? Just imagine them losing a bit of control, being so needy, and only wanting “it” to go away yet it feels too good to not be inside the reader… yea I’m totally normal about this.

I can’t wait to see what you come up with this and take your the time, make sure you are well rested and taking care of yourself! 💙

Hi anon! Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm trying to be kinder to myself and it's always nice to have a reminder. That said, I hope you like his little story I came up with. I went overboard with this. I don’t know where this came from but dang if it wasn’t fun. Hope you enjoy! <3

Wrong candy, right hole

Werewolf x fem!witch || dub-con, accidental drug ingestion, size kink, oral sex, knotting, breeding, squirting, lowkey somnophilia || tw: there’s mentions of anxiety and a panic attack

“I’m so fucking hungry, are you done?” He pushed his face against the side of your head, almost bent in half to do so, looking over your shoulder. When he pressed against your space so closely, you felt so tiny. Fucking werewolves being as big as a refrigerator.

“Wait a lil bit, dude. I need to finish this so I can send it today.” You told him, pushing his snot away from you. You were trying to pack the last products of the day before going for dinner. You told him that at least three times already, but he was so damn impatient. You kinda loved him for it, he was always so eager for everything you did together, it was charming in a way.

“But I’m hungry…” He whined, making you bite your lip to hide a smile. Your best friend was so cute when he was acting all puppy like. You though werewolves would be more dominant or something, but he was just a big furry himbo. And you had a bit of a crush on him, but you weren’t going to sexualize him that way. You knew part of the reason you had a crush was because of how big and imposing he was, how furry his body was… You had a bit of a monster kink, and well, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable so you didn’t say anything about it.

You pointed at the counter and told him: “Eat some candy, they are over the counter.” He let out a happy sound as he marched to get them. You turned around in time to see him eating some of your last shipping products. Oh fuck.

“Uh, oh,” you mustered. This was bad, really bad.

“What?” He asked, opening his mouth wide, candy crumbs falling off. Gross.

You look at him with what you hoped was a sorry face. “You shouldn’t have taken that.” He didn’t eat the candies you were pointing to, he ate the ones your client specially asked for.

His face fell instantly, the worry in your tone not as hidden as you thought. “What? Why not?” You could see the gears in his brain turning, thinking about all the bad possibilities.

“It’s not candy,” you mustered, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but calculating how much time you had before it started to make an effect on him. Fuck, you didn’t know if it was going to be enough, it should be fast. Fuck.

“What?! You said I could take one.” He yelled at you, his voice growly and sexy, you tried not to think about that last part. Your lady parts would have to wait.

“The other ones, damn it. Now I have to make a new batch.” You tried not to sound annoyed about it, but those took so much effort to make… Damn it.

He looked at you like you were dumb and asked: “What were those, then?”

“Aphrodisiac candies,” you confessed slowly. The clock was ticking and you didn’t know how he would react, you normally provided them for other species, never for wolves.

“What?! WHY DID YOU HAVE THEM THERE?” He asked, starting to panic. You tried to calm him down by touching his chest, making him match your breathing. He complied, but with great effort. The clock was still ticking.

“It was an order. I was gonna pack them! But you ate them.” You kept breathing slowly, his big furry paw now on your chest, trying to breathe together. You learned about that when he had a panic attack the second time you two meet, and it had been helpful so many other times.

“What do I do? Give me the antidote,” he asked. You looked up at him with what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I- There’s none.” You tried to stop him from getting away, but he pushed you lightly and stepped back, his paws going through his head, frustration and anxiety very present on his features.

“What?!” He exclaimed. “I need to go. I need to get home, get my fleshlight. I don’t know. What do I do?” He sounded more panicked by the minute. You felt very sorry for him and even worse because it was technically your fault.

And then a light bulb turned on your head. “Or I could… I could help you,” you told him, looking to the ground, suddenly shy. You just offered your best friend to have sex with him to ride out the aphrodisiac he accidentally ate. Your brain wasn’t in the best place, but you couldn’t avoid the wetness between your thighs thinking about fucking him.

He turned to face you completely, his eyes so big it looked comical. “What?”

“Just… Just if you want to,” you muttered. Each second that passed it seemed like a bad idea. He was your best friend, he didn’t see you like that.

And then he deadpanned: “Are you saying you want me to knot you?” You blushed from your toes to your hair, hearing him talk about knotting made your pussy twitch and juices flow, you could feel the wetness on your panties growing uncomfortable.

“Dude when you say it like that.” You looked at him intently expecting him to say something else, but when he didn’t, you answered truthfully: “Yes, okay. Yes! I want you to knot me.”

“Am I taking advantage of you if we do this?” He asked, his tone worried. That made you confirm your choices. Of course you would do that for him, he was your best friend and the best werewolf you knew. He was better than any man, human, warlock or any other species you knew. He was just… him.

“No, I want this. I… I might have a bit of a monster kink…” You blushed again, and he smiled at you smugly. “Am I taking advantage of you?” You asked, matching his worried tone.

“No. I… I’ve had a crush on you since forever.” You looked at him perplexed, completely shook, what the fuck? “Your fucking candy also has some truth serum or what?” He asked and you remembered that yes, it did, fuck.

“Maybe… It’s to make the communication between partners better,” you explained. It sounded bad to your own ears, like a silly excuse for what was just happening, but you didn’t care. He had a crush on you. On you!

“Good lord, I’m never eating anything you give me ever again.” You chuckled at that, and he followed. But it was short lived. His laugh broke with a whine: “Fuck, it hurts.” He was palming his cock through the fabric of his pants and you could feel saliva pooling at your mouth. Dang you wanted to suck him off badly.

“Shit. Yeah, it should be starting to make effect.” He looked back at you with full on puppy eyes, making your heart constrict and your pussy get wetter. You pushed him backwards, and he let you guide him to the back room. You had a mattress there for when your long potions had to be made, so you could take a nap. You thanked the Goddess and pushed him on it. “Does this work?” You asked, sitting on his lap, you could see the outline of his dick and you wanted to explore every inch of him. He nodded eagerly, his paws grabbing your hips to grind your covered pussy against his dick. He whined and let out a long groan, a wet patch forming in his pants. “Did you just come?” The smile on your face was so big it hurt your cheeks.

He looked at you embarrassed. “Yes, fuck. What did you give me?” His hands kept moving your hips to grind against his dick and you were starting to lose your mind. The friction was so good you were close yourself.

You groaned and told him: “You ate it yourself. It’s… It’s supposed to make your sex experiences extremely pleasurable. And maybe… Maybe improve your stamina?” It wasn’t a question, it did improve stamina greatly, that’s why you never gave it to wolves or other species with already good stamina, their partners couldn’t hold that much time.

“I’m a werewolf, I already had enough stamina!” His words agreed with your inner turmoil. Fuck, his clothed dick against your wet panties felt wonderful. “Take off your clothes or I’ll rip them.” His low growl made you groan and more juices pooled on your panties. “Fuck, I can smell you. I can smell how wet you are.” You got up from his lap and started to get your clothes off. You were being too slow because he growled and tried to grab you. You stepped back and took care of the rest rapidly.

The second your clothes were off you, he was launching himself at you, his face going directly for your pussy. You felt his long tongue inside of you, so long and so inhuman that it was hitting every single place inside of you that made your toes curl. You kept cursing as your hands found his fur, you pulled and groaned as he ate you out like a desperate animal. You could see his hips grinding against the bed, he was probably making a mess. In your foggy brain, the pleasure hit a max level and you exploded, coming against his face as he licked every single inch of you.

He pulled back, his face contorted in what you only could describe as feral grin. He ripped off his own clothes, the sound of tearing fabric excited you. And then you saw his dick, and you twitched. He was so fucking big, his tip was red and big, leaking so much it looked shiny. But what scared you the most was the knot at the base, so big it was almost like your whole fist. Dang. You weren’t sure that was going to fit inside of you.

“I’m not sure that’s….” You tried to push away on the bed, but he grabbed your legs and pulled, positioning yourself perfectly for him. Your pussy on display and your legs over his shoulders.

“It will fit. I’ll make it fit.” His voice had an edge of danger and you shivered.

Your pussy was sensitive after the orgasm he just gave you, so when he pushed inside of you in one hard thrust you almost lost it. You arched your back and screamed at the top of your lungs. His mouth found yours, and he started kissing you, more teeth than lips. He didn’t wait, he didn’t let you warm up, he started fucking you hard and fast, your whole body moving when he pushed inside. When he bottomed out, you could feel his knot against your entrance, trying to slip inside, an insistent pressure driving you wild. He grabbed your hips and pulled them up, the perfect angle to hit your G-spot with every thrust. You were seeing stars as he grunted and growled against your open mouth. You weren’t kissing anymore, he was just licking the inside of your open mouth as you lost your body to pleasure.

He came inside you. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe even four, you stopped feeling it when it started to be too much. You could feel his cum moving inside of you with each thrust. But he kept fucking you, using you like a toy for his pleasure, and you couldn’t even blame him for being rough because you were enjoying it a lot more than you should. You did that to him, but good lord if it didn’t feel like paradise. You lost count of how many orgasms you had as he pounded you, your body at his mercy.

When you thought it was impossible to feel more pleasure, you felt him slow down, pressing and pressing, and pushing and trying to stretch you impossibly wide. You thrashed under him, there was no way, but he didn’t mind your struggling as he forced his knot inside of you. You let out a cry as it fitted inside, you felt like he was breaking you apart in the best possible way. You didn’t know it could feel like that, you didn’t know it could feel so good. Your voice gave out before your body did, your scream turned silent as he bit and licked your neck, probably leaving a line of hickeys there. You didn’t care. It felt so good. Too good.

And then he pushed on your lower abdomen, making you feel so full and so weird, but it was so hot. You had so much cum in you, a bump in your lower abdomen indicating he came so many times you were knocked up for sure. You would need to make contraceptive potions tomorrow, but for now you could enjoy the feel of his cum inside of you. So much, so hot. It felt like molten lava was melting your insides as you came and came. And he came and came.

He moved his knot against your G-spot over and over, making you want to cry because of the pleasure. And then you felt the telltale sign that you were going to squirt. It only happened a couple times before, never with somebody else, but when you tried to alert him, your arms and legs wouldn’t respond. You could just lay there in silence as he took his pleasure on you, off you. You squirted, soaking his fur and making him stop for a second, surprised. His answering growl was so feral you felt it in your whole body. He came again. And again. And again.

At some point you passed out. Your body gave out. But you guessed he kept fucking you, the candy was supposed to last for hours. Well… You trusted him, he could fuck your asleep body as much as he wanted.

[luveline]

oh my, oh my. I adored your fics where reader is smitten over reid with his glasses and then where reid is smitten with reader in her glasses! can I request something similar with hotch, where he's the one flustered - or, at least, his reaction lol - by reader wearing her glasses for the first time? <3

thank you for your request <3 fem

“Hotch, can I ask you something?” 

He hadn’t heard you knock, lost in thought behind his desk, and he knows you won’t begrudge him for failing to look up. “Of course,” he says. 

“I went to the eye doctor a few days ago and everything was fine, but she said my contacts are gonna keep degrading my eye health, apparently, if I keep wearing them. Do you think I could wear my glasses in the field?” 

Hotch takes a moment for your asking to catch up with him, desperately printing the last of his thoughts into a consult note. He makes a spelling mistake in his rush. Frowning, he crosses it out and corrects it neatly. “Uh, you want to start wearing glasses in the field?” 

“Yeah. Do you think that would work?” 

“I don’t see why not.” He stops himself firmly, before he can call you honey. Hotch doesn’t want to patronise or condescend you even in his thoughts, but he has to remark to himself that you sound adorably over-concerned. “Reid picks and chooses when he wears his own glasses, and he’s never…” 

He’d finally managed to tear his gaze from his desk and found you standing further away than he’d thought, in a black pencil skirt that flares out gently at the end like a flower bulb, a neat shirt with a triangular collar showcasing just a slip of your chest and the small silver necklace you wear. None of this is unusual, Hotch is used to finding you charming and lovely by now, it’s the glasses that shock him. He hadn’t realised you’d actually be wearing them. 

They’re not thick nor too thin, simple black frames made of a translucent plastic. They’re glasses like any other, and Hotch can’t diagnose his own reaction to it. Perhaps it’s how they sit on your nose, or the cutesying effect they give your expression. They make your eyes look a little darker than usual. They’re everything. 

“Hotch?” you ask. 

“He’s never had any problems,” Hotch finishes, ever so slightly breathless, his hands falling to his thighs. 

“They look stupid.” 

“What?” 

You raise the back of your hand to your cheek and press it there with fingers curled loosely inward, “I know they look silly, I haven’t worn them in a while, but my eyes hurt everyday with those contacts, no matter how much saline I use–”

“No,” he says. He stands, and he swallows against nothing. It’s embarrassing for his age. “They don’t look silly. You should wear whatever makes you most comfortable.”  

“I knew they looked silly,” you say again, turning toward the door. “Sir, you just stared at me. I never should’ve let Spencer tell me they looked cute.” 

“They do look cute,” Hotch says, rounding his desk. He stands in front of it rather than crowd you at the door. 

He isn’t unaware of his own influence. His moving has stopped you from leaving. His compliment, especially one far from his usual professionalism, sticks you like a flytrap. 

“You look just as nice with them as you do without them,” he furthers. “I’ve never seen you wear them before.”

“Well, I was always underwhelming, growing up. I didn’t think glasses helped.” 

“Underwhelming?” he asks. 

You smile like you’ve caught him. He doesn’t like to be caught, and he turns away to pretend to look for something, but he’s saved by another presence on the landing. 

“Oh my god,” Morgan says, looking you up and down with an affirmative, sweet appreciation. Morgan might make a show of it sometimes, but he’s genuine as he continues, “Sweetheart, what am I gonna do with you?” 

“They’re not strange?” you ask.

“Is that what the boss man said?” 

You look back at Hotch bashfully, and that look alone catches him all over again. Morgan watches through the doorway and he knows he’s doomed —Hotch’s feelings are, for that split-second, plain as day. 

“He didn’t say they were strange, no,” you say gently. 

Hotch wonders if he should insist on contacts after all. “They’re suitable for every day.” 

“Suitable,” Morgan says. 

Hotch gives him a you’re-pushing-it squint and everyone decides they have things to be doing, leaving him alone to panic. (He doesn’t panic, he’s not the type, he just remembers your new look and feels his heart give irregular pangs a few times an hour for the rest of the afternoon.) 

[adriennebarnes]

Heyy can you write an oneshot of charles dating andrea (his personal trainer) daughter and how andrea would react

Ooh YES!! Imagine the drama, I love it. I hope this is what you wanted and if I wasn’t, hope you liked it anyway!

My Trainer’s Daughter

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ferrari! Reader

Summary: Charles is dating Y/N Ferrari, the daughter of Andrea, in secret

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors.

A/N: i have loved getting requests from everyone, feel free to request any more ideas. And yes, the title is unoriginal, I know, I couldn’t think of anything.

The day Charles met Y/N Ferrari was a day he would never forget. It was when he was doing his winter training for the 2023 F1 season. He was supposed to meet Andrea at the training camp so he was surprised when he saw a woman he has never seen before on the treadmill.

“Excuse me, did you know you are trespassing?” Charles asked, Y/N stopped her treadmill and took off her headphones.

“Che cosa?” Y/N asked

“Stai sconfinando, vattene prima che chiami la sicurezza.” Charles threatened in Italian. The woman rolled her eyes and when Charles was about to say something, Andrea appeared.

“Ah Charles, i see you have met my daughter, Y/N.” Andrea said, gesturing at Y/N who smiled like she has won.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter. What is she doing here?” Charles asked.

“She was in Italy, I haven’t seen her since she moved out so I invited her. I hope you don’t mind.” Andrea said.

“But I’m supposed to film some shots for my blog.” Charles said.

“Calmati, bambola, i promise not to get in the way. You could always crop me out if that’s what you want.” Y/N said.

“Oh so you do speak English.” Charles said.

“Yeah I do,” Y/N said.

“Okay, let’s focus on your training, Charles. You’re doing great, cuore, ti amo.” Andrea said.

“Ti amo anch’io papà.” Y/N said, before she put on her headphones and continued to run on the treadmill.

Charles was staring at the woman, she was as fiery as she was beautiful. There were moments where he had to stop himself from staring too much because he was positive that Andrea would kill him. Y/N didn’t fall far behind, she was also staring at Charles during certain exercises, who wouldn’t stare at the beautiful monegasque? Both finished their exercises after 2 hours (I’m assuming)

“Great work, Charles. Y/N, you want to go grab food?” Andrea asked.

“Sure, papà, let me just pack my things. They have a shower her?” Y/N asked.

“Yes. Charles, show her please, I have to change and get my wallet from my room.” Andrea left the hotel gym which just leaves Charles and Y/N.

“Sorry about threatening you. It’s just this gym was booked for my session so when I saw you here, I thought you were a fan.” Charles explained.

“A fan on the treadmill? Why the hell would a fan be on the treadmill if they so desperately wanted to meet you?” Y/N asked.

“I Don’t know, to appear normal. Anyway, I’m sorry, I had no idea Andrea was your father.” Charles said.

“Don’t worry about it, bambola.” Y/N said.

“Why do you call me bambola?” Charles asked.

“Because you have a pretty face like a doll, hence the name bambola. These are the showers?” Y/N asked, pointing to the door.

“Yep, these are the showers.” Charles said,

“Alright, thank you, I’ll see you around Charles.” Y/N said, before entering the shower room.

“See you around, Y/N.” Charles said.

From that moment on, every time Charles had a training session with Andrea, Y/N would always be there. There were moments where Y/N and Charles would hang out alone and one of those hang outs led to a very important question.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” Charles asked as Y/N was eating her pasta. She finished chewing and swallowed.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Y/N asked.

“Would you like to go on a date with me? A proper date.” Charles clarified.

“Oh bambola, my dad would kill you. His top client going out with his daughter? Can you imagine the drama that would ensue?” Y/N asked.

“Which is why it will be a secret.” Charles said.

“A secret? Oh yeah, because that always turns out so well,” Y/N commented sarcastically.

“Think about it, we can go out on a few date, if it doesn’t work out, we never have to tell Andrea.” Charles said.

“Okay, I can live with that, my dad would never have to know.” Y/N said.

“What do you mean he would never have to know? Are you saying you’re positive this won’t work out?” Charles asked.

“You literally said the same thing!” Y/N exclaimed.

“I was convincing you to go out with me!” Charles exclaimed back.

“Fine, we’ll go out. Tomorrow night sound alright for you?” Y/N asked.

“Yes it does.” Charles said.

Well that first date turned out to be such a success that they have actually been dating for 4 months which means it was time to tell Andrea. They were in the gym, Andrea was sitting down, scrolling on his phone.

“Good morning, Andrea, are you ready?” Charles asked.

“I am but i have one question.” Andrea stated. Charles nodded for him to continue. “Why the hell were you on a yacht with my daughter?” Andrea asked and shoved the phone in Charles’s face. “Care to explain?”

“That’s what we are here to tell you. Charles and I have been dating for 4 months.” Y/N said.

“Four months?!? And you’re telling me now?!?” Andrea exclaimed.

“I wanted to know if we would work first, he’s not really my type.” Y/N said.

“Excuse me, I’m not your type?” Charles asked offendedly.

“I’m trying to make him feel better, chill out bambola.” Y/N said turning to face Charles. She then faces her dad. “But charles has been a perfect gentleman. He holds the door open for me, he carries my bags when we go shopping, picks me up with flowers when we go on dates, he’s a great guy, papà.” Y/N said. Andrea stands up and goes over to Charles.

“If you hurt my little girl..” Andrea started

“I won’t, sir, I swear, I would rather quit Ferrari than hurt Y/N.” Charles said.

“Good answer. Now let’s get to training.” Andrea said

The moment Andrea found out they were dating, it was hilarious. Charles’s training sessions became more difficult.

“Can’t have my princess dating a weak man, now can i?” Andrea says and Y/N just watches as her father tortures her boyfriend. After Charles’s workout, Y/N goes to him.

“How you feeling, bambola?” Y/N asked him, rubbing his back.

“I’m fine, ma belle, your father is right, if I’m going to be your boyfriend and protect you, i can’t be weak.” Charles said,

“Ha ha, get up so we can get some food.” Y/N said,

When they travelled together, Andrea would give them a curfew, not just because of the race events Charles had, but because he’s such a protective dad.

“I want you two back here by midnight.” Andrea said.

“Yes papà.” Y/N said,

“Yes sir.” Charles said before the two left the hotel to go somewhere. “Your dad took us dating way better that I thought.”

“Tell me about it. I guess it comes with you two knowing each other for a long time since you started F1.” Y/N said.

“You’re right. So Mon ange, am I your type now?” Charles asked and Y/N laughed.

“My god, bambola, let that go already.” Y/N said, charles laughed with her until she placed her hands on the back of his neck. “You have always been my type, I like boy with brown fluffy hair and blue green eyes.”

“And I like girls with (your color) hair and (your color) eyes.” Charles said before they kissed. “Can’t believe I’m dating my trainer’s daughter.”

“And I can’t believe I’m dating an F1 driver. I am wishing you luck on tomorrow’s qualifying session.” Y/N said,

“As long as your there, my good luck charm, I’m sure quali will go well.” Charles said, they kissed again before walking to a little bar near the hotel.

The End

Hope y’all liked it. I thought it turned out well

[randombush3]

cool about it

alexia putellas x reader

summary: you can't find inspiration for your play

notes: this was rotting in my drafts and then i got drunk and finished it lolz

i refuse to read it back so have fun

The first time Alexia sees you, you are with your friends; sleeves rolled-up, wide smile on your face, a pool cue in your hand as you wield it like a weapon the minute one of the women beside you opens her mouth. She is drawn into observing, craving the knowledge of what you are being told; what is making you blush so furiously. She sees your mouth open, a blackhole that draws her in without mercy, and she barely survives the sound of your loud, raucous laughter

Suddenly, in the universe of football and media events and her little sister’s embarrassingly active love-life, you appear. Like a new star, burning bright, big and hot and… “You’re staring,” says Mapi with a smile. She knows not to tease, and she treads lightly. “You’ve been staring for a while.” 

“They’re speaking English.” It’s an incriminating sentence, but it would have been futile to deny Mapi’s accusation anyway. 

“I saw her at the bar. She spoke Spanish then.” 

“You’ve been stalking her.” 

Mapi nods, and holds Alexia’s drink in a silent push to get her over to the pool table. To you. “Because you’ve been staring. I was only making sure she wasn’t a psycho.” 

“Thanks,” she scoffs, but, in truth, she is grateful. 

As she saunters over (a newly regained skill, months down the line from her traumatic ACL reconstruction surgery), her confidence a believable façade, she decides that she is going to be Alexia Putellas. She is going to be cool about it, and she is going to impress you, and she is going to make you laugh so that she can hear that sound again. 

Again, again, again. 

“Yeah, sure, you can take over for Soph,” you say, nodding towards the woman who had been on the receiving end of your light prodding with the wooden stick all of friends regret allowing three-drink you to be in charge of. “So you’re spots, I’m stripes. I’ve got two left until I can pot the black, and you, er, you might be at a disadvantage here.” You rub the back of your neck as you peer at the balls on the table, almost all of them left behind by Soph’s inability to play pool. “How about we just, um–” 

“Está bien.” Alexia pretends to understand a lot more of what you said than she really does, regretting her choice to approach you in English, but she gets the jist. And, although you make her feel as though life has only just begun, she remembers her competitiveness very, very clearly. “Voy a ganar,” she scoffs. 

She holds in her celebration as you break out into a grin, immediately rising to the challenge, glad your friends have tired of the pool table so that no one can interrupt the battle you are about to commence. A battle with a very pretty woman, you must admit. 

You lose. 

You blame it on Alexia – she tells you her name as she pots three balls in a row – and try not to acknowledge the taunts from your friends at the bar, most of them having watched the entire game from afar to have something to talk about tomorrow. “You win,” comes your pitiful concession after a brutal defeat. “So, what will your prize be?” 

It’s an easy answer. 

That morning, throat hoarse from the cries that left it the night before, eyes red and tired and way too sensitive to light for you to consider drinking a drop of alcohol ever again, you wrap your arms around the warm body in the unfamiliar bed, finding the intimacy to have lived on longer than it should for a one-night-stand. Barcelona is warm and sunny, the day one to be enjoyed, and the company the best you have had in a while. 

It isn’t just that Alexia is a goddess. It isn’t the Amazonian ridges of her stomach and the firmness of her thighs, nor the softness of her hair or the deft movements of her fingers against your scarred skin. No, that is not what has, in just one evening, made you fall in love with her. (You bite your lip as you are overcome with emotion, chest filling up – with which feeling, you do not know –, heart pounding into your bones as the rhythm of your desire to be in Alexia’s life sets into the very framework of your being.) No! How could it be that? How could it be that when there is more? 

The coarseness of her determination; the slippery confidence, delicate and sharp, as though it is both the petal of a rose and the thorn that will prick you. Her humour, mistranslated at times, but always ready to make fun of idiots (most often, a specific idiot with a neck tattoo, as you come to realise). 

Personally, you believe it to be unfair that Alexia, Alexia Putellas, is simply ‘all that’. 

Getting to know each other fails to feel awkward, though you spend a lot of time waiting for the tension to appear. 

She discovers who you are, how you have moved to Barcelona for inspiration, finding that very thing lacking in dreary Leeds (the most depressing place on Earth, you could argue). She learns of your dream, although you label it as your ‘plan’: to write a play and to see it on the stage, preferably a grand theatre in the West End. Or in Stratford, where upon lies the greatest soil from which a playwright can grow. 

You show her your empty pages, devoid of black print marks. White and white, that goes on until it is clear that you have tired of pressing the ‘enter’ button as though it will ignite a story within. A story that hasn’t yet come, mind. 

“Do you think it will work?” she asks you, her accusation carrying nothing but curiosity once you see past the abrupt manner in which she interrupts your lengthy monologue about your severe case of writer’s block. 

Maybe you intend to be a little vague, for the sake of your racing heart and your delicate emotions, because you only shrug. You have already found your inspiration, not that you are going to tell her. 

Alexia is forward in the sense that she checks how temporary your presence is in her city before asking you out on a date. Your answer of ‘however long this shit takes’ is enough for her to be sure that she wants a second. A third, too. 

Then, before you know it, it has been a year. 

A year of Barcelona, a year of Spanish sun, and, excitingly, a year in which you have been cured; fingers blessed with movement and ideas and words on the tip of your tongue that run free in Alexia’s ear as you talk and talk and talk. She listens and listens and listens, and switches into the focus of your pairing when you go with her to watch her team play and play and play (why the fuck does football have so many matches?!). The final stage direction, all curling italics and sentimentality, sits at the bottom of the page. 

The end of your play. 

It is finished, it is done, and, soon after you have revised it one last time, it is sent to your producer friend with a nervous click of the ‘new email’ button and the hope that he is thankful for the times at university when you cared for him when he drank himself so silly that he barely made it to his lectures two days after the night-out. 

“It feels good,” you tell Ingrid, the girlfriend of the idiot with the neck tattoo, beaming as she inquires about your work. “I feel like I lived through it to get to this moment, you know? All that’s left to do is for him to read it and decide whether he’ll pick it up. Then, table reads and funding, of course. I’d want to direct, but, also, I’m not going to sell this one. Leasing it and taking a percentage of the royalties will make me loads more, because, Ingrid, this one is the best thing I’ve ever written.” 

There is a moment, usually, that comes after you have finished writing. A brief, sharp sort of panic, where you question your worth and your talent; you wonder if you have been lied to your whole life, and that your version of the same twenty-six letters of the alphabet, jumbled up on a white canvas as though you are (after a sleepless, usually) Picasso, is terrible. Or, worse, bad. 

Bad. Bad is so… plain. If it is just ‘bad’, you have failed as a writer. If it is not outrageous or unbelievably horrible, or, as one obviously hopes, incredible and amazing… if it is just ‘bad’, well: “Alexia, I’m terrified.” 

Alexia kisses your neck (you do not feel the finality of it, or maybe it is that you do not want to) because she knows it isn’t bad; she is more than aware that your play, your new creation, is really rather good. Brilliant, even. “Tranquila, mi amor,” she murmurs in your ear, bringing her arms to rest on your tense shoulders, a hand closing your laptop on its journey. “Le va a flipar.” 

“You think so?” 

“Sí.”

“Are you saying that because we’re together and you love me?” Your voice is small and unsure, and its teasing lilt is thrown off-kilter by the croak of your anxiety. “Or do you mean it? Please, I hope you mean it.” 

“I mean it.” She hates that she does. “Yes, of course I mean it. I love you and I am proud of you.” She hates it, she hates this, and she hates the talent your mind wields; something that is going to rip you from her grasp. It was bound to happen.

Your phone rings; soft, electronic trills dancing in the space between you and the coffee table it has been placed on. “I think that’s him,” you whisper, the volume you had intended to speak at smited by the nervous lump in your throat. Alexia nods mournfully, but you are too busy accepting the call to see.

“Let’s do this,” he says. 

…

The first frost of London comes that January. It’s unusual, the locals claim, because the city exists in its own polluted microclimate, but their statistics do not stop the layer of ice from freezing onto the windshield of your car. You are glad London feels just as cold as you do. 

Your play is beloved by the actors who speak your words, and the critics amongst your friend group, who for once, have no criticism to give. There is promise here. It is going very well. 

You drive to the theatre, ready to sit in on another rehearsal. Though your original intention had been to direct, you pawed off the role to an old school friend upon her return from Broadway. Your decision, you tell her, comes from a lack of experience in direction. You pretend to have had an epiphany: you only want to write the plays. 

In truth, this is a lie. 

Of course it is a lie. 

But how can you direct such happiness, such love and romance, if you know that the very thing that inspired each line has ceased to exist? 

Alexia feels like she has ceased to exist. 

On the outside, she seems relatively fine. She trains well, plays well, makes appearances where she should, says what you’d expect of her, hopes to make the world a better place. She walks Nala as though the Pomeranian does not whine for you to hold her leash, and she visits her mother and sister even though they continue to ask her why she did what she did. 

At night, she scrolls through social media, fingers always leading her back to you; your life; your work; your experiences that you no longer share with her. She cries, then, usually: a common occurrence nowadays. 

There is a gaping hole in her chest that has been made by her sticking her fucking foot in it. 

She has questions, naturally; each directed hatefully at herself. Why? Why, why why? Why on Earth did she tell you never to come back? Why did she blame you for leaving? 

You were always going to leave! Alexia knows that, hates that she knows that. 

You came to Barcelona because you couldn’t write, and you wrote. You wrote, you made her fall in love with you, and, when you had finished, you discarded the life you had unexpectedly built all because of some stupid, stupid play. 

A play titled–

A play. 

A… Alexia can’t even bring herself to think about it. 

No, all Alexia can think about is how insignificant she feels when you are no longer in love with her. You: sophisticated, intelligent, brilliant, adoring. Her? 

“Lex, you can’t mope if you’re the one who broke it off.” The words leave Alba’s mouth in jest but Alexia recoils as though she has been whipped by her sister’s tongue. 

“I’m trying to be cool about it,” she replies like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

It seems as though the globe has spun a full circle on its axis by the time Alba formulates her response, dumb-struck by such fucking idiocy. 

Alba hopes her sister feels like a fool – she hopes Alexia looks at herself in the mirror and… laughs, at this point. The whole thing has been ridiculous, in her opinion. 

First, her sister claims she is in love with a playwright with no plays to her name (Alba is examining the facts objectively, here, because she did quite like you); then, poof! Like a rabbit in a magician’s hat played in twisted reverse, away you go, and it somehow isn’t even your fault. 

She’d like to hate you, for her sister’s sake, but she finds herself loathing her own blood as it thins and thins until it trickles just like water. 

Okay, maybe she is being a little dramatic there, but she is still annoyed with Alexia. 

Alexia – whose existence as more-than-a-footballer is fading as she loses herself to waves of futile guilt – hates that she cannot hate you. She is plagued by emotional constipation, and though she tries to squeeze the situation for a drop of cruelty from you, she fails to discover a gram of relief.

It would have been kinder for you to have been cruel. Mercy is getting Alexia nowhere, and she would run to you if it were fast enough. Mercy is what renders her in a perpetual state of regret. Mercy is what keeps her up at night, but maybe mercy is what she likes having because it is yours and, in that way, she carries a piece of you with her. 

To confuse herself even more, to skew her mind further onto a path of unconventional self-destruction, she silently begs the mercy you have left behind to disappear so that she can learn to do without it. It’ll become a crutch and she wants it ripped from her grasp so that she can learn to walk on her own. She’s capable of that, she tells herself. 

(It probably isn’t true.)

…

Opening night. 

You’re wearing something far too nice to be comfortable, and there has been a champagne flute in your hand since the lunch held by the investors of the production company. The bubbles have served their purpose, clouding your mind with thoughts that weren’t to do with Alexia and her Alexia life and her Alexia smile and her Alexia way of making an Alexia-shaped cavity in your heart. 

It gushes quite a bit, because Alexia is strong and big and capable of damaging you to this extent. You reckon your surprise is foolish but fuck off, you’re trying your best. 

Comfortingly, not one scrap of red velvet is visible once the audience is ushered inside the theatre. 

It’s beautiful here; small, old. The perfect place to fall in love, just as you did. Or at least, experience the good part through deliciously talented actors and a stellar script (your horn has been tooted enough times for you to give it a go). 

Fear creeps up your legs as you take your seat in the front row, guarded by friends and family and proud English teachers who’d believe in you, but you take another sip and it simmers down. 

“Careful,” whispers your mum, shoulder nudging yours as you place your plastic cup (no glass in the auditorium) on the patterned carpet just as the show is about to begin. “You’ll not remember this if you don’t take a break.” 

And you’re halfway to announcing you don’t want to remember anything at all when the curtain goes up and a woman walks onto stage. 

It’s sobering. 

The audience is restlessly quiet, anticipating the brilliance they’ve been promised with an impatience that demands to be sated, but the actress takes her sweet time. 

She walks from stage left to stage right, then up and down. She’s passively searching for something. 

Someone. 

(It’s the fucking point, and you knew this would happen because you typed out these exact stage directions once upon a time. Alexia had misplaced a sock – a lucky sock, she claimed – and her passion, her desire to discover it, had weirdly morphed into a scene you could see being played out on a stage.) 

“Figure this out later,” speaks the actress with a satisfied smile, folding her arms over her chest. Finally, the audience’s breaths catch, enraptured by the vaguest cop-out of opening lines you could’ve chosen. 

They love it, though; they lean forwards in their seats as they are plucked from London and dropped into the middle of Barcelona. It’s mildly unnerving that you can’t escape the journey, clearly a member of the audience even if you don’t need to be told the story, but you land without the masses in the rows behind you. 

You land right into Alexia’s arms. 

There she is before you, in all her glory, proudly displaying the blue and red that she is so admirably dedicated to. Muscular and tanned, beautiful in the way that she always is, but shining brighter than just that. 

And you fucking hate it. 

When you imagine Alexia, you imagine her crippled and bed-ridden. Cracked knuckles come to mind, too, and she can barely speak without descending into rattling sobs that hack on and on until she somehow falls into fitful rest. 

You come prepared for absolution, expecting to see her dying just as you are, so it’s no wonder that your fists clench at her blasé declaration of “no regrets”. 

(By the way, Alexia’s not really there. You’d been stalking her Instagram and so that’s why she’s wearing her training kit, and… and you’re drunk!)

There are many things you’d like to say to her. 

Alexia had always been apprehensive of your relationship. She was closed-off to new people, and though she was certain of your importance to her, she was untrusting of much else. It happens when you’re famous; there are many wrong turns to take. And she needed to stay on the right path. 

It was impossible to pass Alexia’s test. 

For you, that is clear. Broken up with, told to leave and never come back, and begged to find someone else are not descriptors of the winner, nor she who achieved full marks. You’re a bit of a stranger to failing, but you’re trying to forget about it so that it never happens again. 

You’re breaking a sweat trying to banish her from your brain, barely registering the applause rippling through the theatre as you reach the interval. Trying to get her out of your head is like tugging at your intestines – a hand down your throat renders you dumb, and pains sears through your stomach as you are emptied and left to be a carcass.

“Is it good?” you ask your mum as you head to the bar in the foyer. 

“I wish you had let me meet her.” 

…

Alexia has never been to London outside of football before. She’s played in the north and in the south – she’s won every time – and it’s summery enough right now, but she is still a foreigner in the city. 

It’s fitting, this feeling of being lost, and it’s acceptable to feel it here because she has an excuse. Lost in Barcelona would be ridiculous. 

(But she is.) 

Why is Alexia in London when she could be in Spain? 

Well the only answer is that she has a ticket to a play in a theatre just off the West End that reminds her of someone she once loved. 

She thought it might help, seeing as she hasn’t scored a goal in four weeks with no assists to excuse the drought. Her manager gladly gave her the weekend to recharge, and she escapes matchday seven of Liga F under the guise of illness. 

While sleeping with your pillow, your t-shirt, she must have absorbed whatever the fuck you were on. By osmosis. 

That block. 

And now she has to act like she can’t read your mind. 

Her ticket, acquired last minute by a friend in high places as a massive favour, means that she has a front row seat to a damned play. She is well-prepared for the dread that wrenches her gut. 

The silence settling over her is uncomfortable and impatient, and the lights go down with a sense of impending doom. It’s a bit like being on death row, Alexia thinks. Here she gets to see the good things – a last meal of whatever she would like (you, of course that’s you) – but it is only because of her inevitable execution that this happens. 

The necklace hanging from her collarbones is a noose, the seat is a wooden box about to be kicked out from underneath her, and she needs to make her decision now: does she scream? Should she– 

She’s pulled out of her insanely dramatic spiral by a woman walking onto the stage. 

Her shoulders are hunched slightly and she has that look in her eye; that pang of hunger. 

The actress is recognisable, sure, but that is not the familiarity that strikes Alexia. 

It’s the character. 

It’s you. 

Walking from right to left, towards the back, down to the front, the actress is desperately searching for something. 

Inspiration, Alexia assumes, a smug smile briefly brushing her lips as the opening line breaks the tense silence. 

“Figure this out later,” you say. 

The actress is experienced but she has never read a script like yours before. It moved her to tears, though you claimed it was very happy. 

She lies awake at night, furiously envying those who could love like you do. 

She pities you, partly, because it’s no secret that the story of this love ended when you came here to put the show on. 

She has had to fall in love with someone – method acting, according to the director. 

It’s not quite the universe exploding and stars being born that your relationship must have been, but it’s alright and she is glad to see him in the audience. 

He’s next to a woman who does not seem to be enamoured by the beauty of the plot. 

A woman who seems absolutely fucking horrified. 

Her eyes are wide, fists clenched.

You – the real you – are watching Alexia with curiosity, more interested in her reaction to the play than the play itself. You wonder if she knows the significance of tonight; the reason you are here once more. 

In one month, the set and costumes will be packed up in boxes and taken onto the main street. 

It’s a dream come true. 

You’re here to announce the good news at the end of the show. 

…

“Alexia.” 

She tries not to turn around but she does. 

The night is cool and fresher than she’d expected the London pollution to allow, and the lamp posts are scarily looming over her as she forces herself to not run into your arms. You don’t wear a coat, although your year in Barcelona has borne a certain nostalgia for a warmer climate, but Alexia is wrapped up warm. 

“How… how are you doing?” 

You cringe at how apologetic it sounds. She broke up with you. 

There is a year that will be forever lost to love and happiness, bliss in Barcelona that was always going to be too good to be true. 

There is a year that you will never get back, but there is a breakup you must deal with. 

It’s not a brick wall, it’s a hurdle to jump over. 

Breaking up won’t be the end of your worlds. 

Knowing this, despite the weakness in her knees and the aching of her heart, Alexia lies. For your sake, she lies. 

“I’m good. It’s nice to see you.” 

You’re drowning but you’ll eventually remember how to swim. 

“You too,” you say with formulated sincerity that one day will grow naturally. “Score a goal next time you play, though.” 

[lemon-koii]

•|Sad TWST headcanons

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒖𝒍

𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝑠𝑒ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠

If his mother calls him before or during eating a strawberry tart, he'd have a hard time finishing his tart after their conversation even if it has no relate to it. He would clutch his hands and just stare at his strawberry tart for a few minutes and eat it slowly. Still remembering the first day he tasted a tart, but not a good way

𝑇𝑟𝑒𝑦 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟

Doesn't like it when people yell at him when mad as it reminds him when Riddles' mom yelled at him and his family for 3 hours straight. Although, he wouldn't react much if you yelled at him, but he will definetly hold a grudge

𝐷𝑒𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑆𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑒

After Riddles' overblot, he'd not only get nightmares about it, he'd also get nightmares of Cater getting impaled with a spear from Riddle. In some dreams, Cater died, right infront of him and his roommates would have to wake him up. He pleaded them to not tell Cater but one of them slipped(It wasn't Ace. I refuse to believe he's THAT much of a jerk and clumsy)

𝐶𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐷𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑

Whenever his sister would call him, he'd just stare at it ringing. He doesn't want to talk to them but he also don't have the heart to reject it. Sadly, he can only do this when he's alone since people will point. But when he gets close to the prefect, he'd ignore the ringing and tell you to do the same. Just don't pester him and point at it more than 3 times

Comforts Deuce in a non-obvious way whenever his roommates accidentaly told him that Deuce had nightmares about his impalement

𝑅𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑖𝑒 𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑐ℎ𝑖

Tons of bite and scratch scars from his childhood due to fighting over food with another group of hyenas. As a male hyena, he's pretty tall in their book so he's the one to mostly go out to hunt and fight for food

Sometimes has to give up his food to female hyenas

𝐾𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑚 𝐴𝑙-𝐴𝑠𝑖𝑚

On the outside it looks like he trusts his siblings a lot but deep down he doesn't. He loves and trusts his baby siblings but once they reach the age of learning about the hierarchy, he'll start to doubt them but won't show it. So when they do end up trying to kill him, he'll be heartbroken but not surprised

𝐽𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙 𝑉𝑖𝑝𝑒𝑟

He was 14 years old when he first killed someone to protect Kalim. One of the most traumatic event in his life but as he got older, it bothered him less and less. When he looks back at his first kill, he'll cringe. Thinking, "God why did I cry and puke that time? I should've expected it"

𝑂𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑜 𝑆ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑

Somehow got a hold of a file full of old pictures and videos of H!Ortho and when he has nothing to do, he'd watch it privately. Observing how past Ortho acted and will try to recreate does actions.(It gives Idia tons of flashbacks)

𝐿𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎 𝑉𝑎𝑛𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔𝑒

Back when Silver wad a kid, he'd give Lilia every egg he found during Easter. But the moment Lilias' eyes spotted a black egg with bright green designs on it, he'd go quite and just stare at it. Remembering Meleanor and egg Malleus

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔

After overblots, they really want to vent to their parents but they can't. Crowley pressured them to not tell anyone or their grades and the schools reputation will be at risk

[lewisvinga]

so high school | max verstappen x fem! singer! reader

summary; in which max feels like a sixteen year old in high school whenever he’s around y/n

word count; 976

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03 @c-losur3 @fall-bambi

note; requested ! i dont listen to taylor swift so im not familiar w this song, but i hope this is good enough!😫 n so sorry this took a bit longer than usual, a lot of things happened in my life rn + i’ve had major writers block 🙁

masterlist !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

i just want to find you in a crowd just to hide from you

Max stood at the podium with a proud smile on his face. Another race won another race closer to being the world champion. The sound of his nation’s national anthem filled his ears as his hands found their way through his blonde locks.

His bright eyes scanned the crowd searching for her.

The start of the season was always a grand event. Drivers often brought their girlfriends along with them to enjoy a sunny Bahrain and the beginning of the season. When the first race of the season came around, Max couldn’t help but ask his girlfriend of just a few months and a world-famous singer to accompany him.

He thought it was a good idea. He really did.

However, the second his eyes landed on her wide smile from the top of the podium, he felt his heart skip a beat. She stared at him with so much love in her eyes that he became flustered. His cheeks began burning up and he secretly hoped and prayed that others would think his rosy cheeks were from the bright sun.

He had to hold back a laugh, a giggle even. Max Verstappen, The Max Verstappen, giggling and blushing over a girl that was already his? It was unheard of. He knew if he kept staring his cheeks would be too red to be just from the sun.

As quickly as his eyes found her, he looked away and instead focused on calming down his heart rate.

i’ll drink what you think and i’m high from smoking your jokes all damn night

Max was always the type to drink his coffee black. No cream. No sugar. That changed the moment he started dating Y/n and learned about her addiction to a milky and very sweet iced vanilla latte.

She claimed it helped her and her melodic voice that he adored so much.

It was another late-night session in the studio and the Dutch driver had brought over two iced vanilla lattes, one with just a little less sugar than the other.

He honestly hated the sugary milky beverage. He could barely stand a sip but he refused to tell Y/n that. He only drinks the vanilla iced lattes because he loved to see her face light up whenever he’d give her the rest of his drink because he ‘didn’t want to finish it’.

“Here, have the rest of mine. I don’t want it.” Max said with a chuckle as he noticed her pout after she finished her own.

“Are you sure, Maxie?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Here.”

Y/n laughed and pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a pink lipgloss mark. Max couldn’t help but laugh with her as she happily took his drink.

She sat down across from him on the couch in the studio. She began to tell him a story about something that happened to her and Lando days prior. He honestly wasn’t focusing much on the story. His focus was 100% on the smile on her face and the laughs she’d let out every other sentence.

If her laugh was a drug, he’d sure be high every second of the day. Hearing her laugh was an addiction to him. He adored it and if forcing himself to drink a sugary ice vanilla latte to accompany her during studio sessions just to hear her laugh, he’d do it without a problem.

the brink of a wrinkle in time, bittersweet sixteen suddenly.

Y/n let out a yawn as she walked down the halls of her and Max’s shared home. She needed a break from writing songs. Her mind was blank and she couldn’t think. The iced vanilla lattes weren’t helping her creativity flow and neither Jimmy nor Sassy helped.

She was walking towards Max’s gaming room where she knew he’d be on the simulator. She suddenly heard him say her name and she stopped right outside the slightly open door.

“No, yeah, Y/n and I are great. It’s just-“

“Just, what?” She recognized Charles's voice and his laugh.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Tell me! I won’t tell a soul.”

“No, it’s stupid.”

“C’mon, Max.”

Y/n furrowed up her eyebrows as her heart rate began to pick up. She immediately assumed the worst. Did Max cheat on her? Did he no longer want to be in a relationship with her? Did she annoy him?

She bit her nails as she anxiously waited for his response.

Max sighed, running his hands through his blonde locks. “It’s just that I feel like I’m a teenage boy in high school around her. She makes me flustered, like actually flustered. It’s like I’m sixteen again!”

Y/n almost let out a sigh of relief from his words, but kept quiet as she knew that he would hear her. She quietly yet quickly walks away. She finds herself back in the living room with her notebook in hand. She began scribbling across the page, finally getting the creativity she needed to write the last song for her album.

She hums in satisfaction as she finishes off the song. ‘So High School’ she had scribbled at the top of the page. Right as if it were on queue, she hears Max’s voice.

“Any luck with songwriting?” The Dutch driver curiously asks, sitting beside her on the couch.

“In fact, I’ve had plenty of luck.”

“Let me see.” He mumbled, his hand reaching towards the book.

“No!”

“C’mon, schat! Let me see!”

Y/n quickly kissed his cheek in an attempt to distract him. Fortunately for her, it did. His cheeks began to turn a rosy shade of pink. He rolled his eyes, moving his attention from the notebook to Sassy who found her way to the couch.

She had to hold back a laugh as she noticed his ears also turning pink. He really was like a 16-year-old in high school.

[saturnstrn]

you usually never minded when matt was live-streaming. you were usually spotted sitting down on his bed, cozied in your his shirt and your cute little shorts!

you always knew when he was streaming and he would always tell you! just not today..

you had just walked into the sturniolo household, confused on how quiet it was! you shook it off and headed to matt’s room like usual

smiling at the fact that you finally get to see your boyfriend, you open the door to find a very focused matt. sitting at his desk playing ( what you guessed) fortnite, screaming at chris & nick

you roll your eyes making you way over to him pushing him slightly laughing as you do

taking off his headphone, matt eyes goes wide “ hi hello- when did you get here or have you been here the whole time?” tilting his head up at you

“ i just got here hi- and hi chat” you go in the view of the stream waving as you kiss matt on the cheek

the chat begins to blow in if not already, message over message

the fans are used to you and matt’s relationship but they don’t have enough clips of you and matt just being you and matt!

“ why is the chat blowing up jesus christ- oh y/ns here”

“ Y/N IS HERE” yelled nick immediately matt yells at nick for his screaming

“ hi nick and fuck you chris” you roll your eyes joking

“ do you want me to get off?” asked matt looking up at you

“ bro matt we just started”

“ he just wants makeout with y/n

you and matt both roll your eyes at chris’s foolish words, as you shake your head “ don’t- i want to finish my book and you always like to distract me whenever i do so!” you tease him

“ yeah because i’m just too good looking” he smirks as you roll your eyes, messing up his hair as you laugh “ you’re stupid”

“ whatever” he smiles looking back at the chat

“ whatever” you mock as he smiles

“ i love you” he looks back as you go to sit on his bed “i love you too matt” you smile looking up at him

“ barf”

“ GET BACK TO THE GAME MATT”

you both laugh. you love days like these with your boyfriend and bestfriends. it was like everything was perfect.

[euno11a]

i just saw your post about reader who can’t make themselves cum and ugh i love it, especially because i feel like no one ever talks about or includes it. anyways i would love to hear your thoughts on reader who has a hard time cumming, especially during sex no matter how good it feels

I fell that it’s honestly really important to talk about it to let people know that they aren’t alone. And I’m so glad you liked it :)

It is scientifically proven that men can cum easier during sex than women. It’s mostly because women have complex bodies, what works for one person might not work for the other. So when figuring out your own body, it’s important to keep in mind that your body is unique compared to others.

this wasn’t the first time that you’d been sprawled out in bed with Simon pleasing you. He kissed up and down your body, caressed every inch of you, even stopped for a little to rest his head on your chest and make sure you were nice and relaxed. You two had been on this journey together for a little while now, trying to figure out what you like and how he can make his pretty cum. He had tried many things, using his tongue, light pressure on your clit, firmer pressure, no pressure and just stimulating your g-spot, stimulating your g-spot and your clit, adding nipple play to see if that made you more sensitive; but even if it felt good, your body wouldn’t let yourself go.

at first, Simon thought it was because he wasn’t good enough. That he just lost his touch and that he wasn’t doing enough for you. But when you comforted him and explained how you’d been like this since you could remember, it made him feel better and worse. Alright, he wasn’t a complete failure and could still make you cum…but why hasn’t he? Every time you two had sex or just did foreplay, he would make sure to take all the time in the world to get you really nice and wet for him. He would use his fingers to curl inside you and touch that spot to make you mewl and arch your back off the mattress. But you still couldn’t cum. You were in the middle of him thrusting into you, feeling how his cock would twitch gently inside you, his fingers working your clit. Left side, right side, hood of it, right on it, pinching it gently, but all it would do is make you feel more pleasure that lead to nothing but a dead end.

you buried your head into his neck and let out small whimpers as he kept his movements steady. After another 15 minutes, that’s when the whimpers turned into silent sobs. Your body jerked a little as you cried, tears gliding down your cheeks and onto his bare shoulder. His head leaned down against yours and held you tightly, gently sliding your of you to hold you in his lap. You cried softly, neither of you talking, but both knowing what was wrong. “I don’t like being broken…” you said through little cries, voice soft and hoarse. But you were cut off by Simon shaking his head and cupping your face to press small kisses against the apples of your cheeks.

“Yer not broken, love. Y’just different. Just because we don’t know how t’make you cum just yet doesn’t mean my sweet girl is broken.” His words were soft against your ear as he caressed your head, another time failed.

as time passed, you began losing hope. It’s fair, thinking you just can’t do it because something inside is wrong or maybe you just weren’t cut out to be able to feel that pleasure everyone talks about. You started to notice how Simon even began refusing any type of pleasure. Handjob? No thanks, love. Maybe a blowjob cause you had a stressful day? Nope, but I do need cuddles, sweet girl. He was refusing your love. While he sat in his home office finishing some paperwork, you walked in quietly, staring at him as he stared down at the paper, pushing up his glasses. The glasses that you finally got him to buy because he kept complaining about the television being too hard to see and the news on his phone is too small. Thank god you did though, he looked bloody hot in them. Scooting your way into his office, you stood in front of his desk, catching his attention. “Somethin’ ya need, love?”

your cheeks burned as he looked at you, but you couldn’t get distracted! “Why are you refusing my love?”

it was clear the question caught him off guard by the way he paused, mouth slightly agape as he looked at you. “I’m not refusin’ your love. What makes you say that?”

“Wha-…? Yes you are! Every time I offer you a blowjob or a handjob, you say no. Am I doing something wrong? Does it not feel good? Do you…do you not like me anymore?”

he could hear your little heart shatter in that last question, standing up from his chair and walking over to you. He grabs you hands and sits on his desk, pulling you towards him. “I fucking love you. Neve think for a minute that I stopped loving you. I’m refusing to let you do any of tha’ because I don’t think it’s fair to ye. Not fair that my sweet girl has to endure not bein’ able to cum, so m’not gonna either.” He says while looking straight into your eyes, his thick and calloused fingers pushing some hair behind your ear. “Won’t cum until you can.”

while you thought he was refusing your live, he was actually doing it because he didn’t want you to feel left out? This man looked like a scary man, but he was the most thoughtful and caring teddy bear ever. “What if I never do, though?”

“Then neither will I.” He spoke seriously. “Understand?”

the small nod you give him is enough acknowledgement for him, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Now, I was doin’ some research, and I found that most women can’t reach an orgasm without some help. So, what do ya think ‘bout lookin’ for some toys with me, eh?”

[leahwllmsn]

love of my life

alexia putellas x reader

The moment Alexia smiled at you, nothing else seemed to matter.

prequel to this

You met her on a Saturday.

Your agent told you that you were meeting the captain before you were set to join training the following week.

When you were offered a contract by Barcelona, it was a no-brainer. You packed your bags, said your goodbyes, and you were off to start your new adventure.

Alexia introduced herself, as if you had no idea who she was, which was ridiculous considering her face was plastered everywhere in this city.

You weren’t expecting the instant connection you had with Alexia. That feeling you get when things fall into place and life just… makes sense.

Alexia smiled at you and you swore you’d never felt more at ease than you did at that moment.

You fell for her on a Wednesday.

A few months into life in Barcelona, you spent more nights at Alexia’s than you did at yours. It wasn’t like you were paying the rent, so you couldn’t really care less.

You two were friends. Best friends, Mapi would argue that Alexia now preferred you over her.

That was what you two were. Two people with so many things in common, it felt like you were made for each other. As best friends.

But the more Alexia pulled you by the waist, having to have you pressed against her as she drifted off to sleep, the more you realized that you were in fact, very much in love with her.

When morning came and the first thing you saw was Alexia staring at you, a glimmer of happiness in her eyes as soon as she saw your eyes open, you didn’t think twice about kissing her inviting, soft lips.

You had your first fight on a Friday.

It was something silly that set it off. Something about Alexia going out for drinks with her group of friends, and you knew the list included her ex.

Alexia did ask you to come with, but you were already in a terrible mood because everything seemed to go wrong that day.

So you said “no” and you started going off about how Alexia was only going out because she wanted to see her ex, your green-eyed monster getting the worst out of you.

You slammed the door to Alexia’s apartment and walked back to yours.

You didn’t talk to her until Monday rolled around and you were met with a bouquet of your favourite flowers on your cubby.

Alexia stood apprehensively, gauging your reaction. Those who were in the locker room looked at each other cautiously. They knew you two never fought.

You sighed and beckoned for her to come closer. Once she did, you jumped into her arms, Alexia having to steady herself at the force of your jump.

You mumbled a million of apologies into her neck and Alexia just hugged you tighter. She told you to never worry because she would never do anything to hurt you.

She promised. You believed her.

In the future when Alexia eventually broke her promise, you would think back to this moment and consider yourself the biggest fool for ever believing her lies.

She proposed to you on a Tuesday.

It never crossed your mind that Alexia would propose that soon into your relationship.

You had been together for two years, which may seem like an enough time to propose for some people, but you knew Alexia.

You knew how she had been with Jenni for almost a decade and not once did she ever think of going ring shopping.

You knew that Alexia never spoke about marriages, so you just thought it was never in the cards for her.

It was definitely a surprise when she bent down on one knee in your shared living room, with nothing but your oversized national team sweater.

It wasn’t anything fancy, you two had just finished eating takeout from your favourite Thai place, you were watching reruns of Friends—it was perfect.

Alexia didn’t get to finish her question, you immediately tackling her to the ground, a chorus of “Yes, yes, yes!” falling from your mouth.

With Alexia’s laughter echoing throughout the apartment as you shower her with kisses, you’d never felt aglow like this before.

“I love you, mi amor,” Alexia would whisper to you in the early mornings, when no one else was awake but the two of you. “You’re the love of my life.”

[tojisun]

hockey player simon pt 03 // part of this plot // mlist

i swear it was just supposed to be a drabble w no plot

jo heaves a sigh the moment you slide in front of her, and you would have been insulted if it wasn't for the gentle smile she gives right after. still, she's staring at you with that teasing tilt of her lips and her eyes narrowed in humour, one that you're not privy to.

"what?" you finally bite out, fiddling with your iced coffee, feeling self-conscious.

you fleet your eyes to yourself and, yeah, sure you're wearing the same pants as yesterday’s but c'mon? you didn't get to go back to your place after, well...

at least you didn't repeat your top, and is instead wearing a sweater you've stolen from simon's closet. cashmere, cream and soft, and the material comfortable, if not a little bit loose in the arms that droop past your fingers.

you thought you at least looked like those typical college students in the movies—effortlessly chic in a boyfriend sweater, if not a little haggard because who is not when in university?

she finally chuckles, the thrum of her voice easing up the frown that tugged your brows together. “don’t sweat it, superstar. it’s just that i’m still not used to seeing you be a sugar baby.”

you choke mid-sip, her words devouring you like an angry tide. you feel your eyes water in protest, the feeling burning as you sputter.

“i’m not–!”

“you’re not what?” tim asks, sliding into the seat beside yours.

you grumble, wagging a finger as you wipe your stained chin with your other hand. jo snorts and fills him in, chuckling all the while as she gestures at your sweater because she knows it couldn’t possibly have been yours.

tim’s smile turns cheeky, teasing, and he wiggles his brows at you.

“shut up, oh my god,” you whine, rolling your eyes at them, almost shyly, and you feel your cheeks warming. “i’m not– simon’s not my–”

“oh c’mon, babe,” jo says, playfully throwing her mechanical pencil at you. you huff before chucking it back at her, giggling to yourself when it bounces off her arm and rolls into the floor.

tim picks it up for her.

“he buys you expensive things—” her eyes flit to the new promise ring that you’re wearing. you unconsciously hide it behind your palm. “and pays for your tuition which i’m so, so jealous of.”

“doesn’t he fly you around too? in a private jet or something?” tim pipes up, shamelessly snagging away your iced coffee now that you’re too preoccupied to drink it.

“he doesn’t!”

twin brows quirk up in silent judgement.

“…he buys us first class tickets, not, like, a whole jet.”

see? they seemed to say with the way they cock their heads to the side.

you sniff. “it’s for work,” you mumble, remembering the first time simon flew you for his games.

“i mean, for him, maybe. but you? tell me what business do you have in winnipeg?” tim chirps and you almost want to jump him just to make him shut up.

“sugar baby,” jo finishes, singing. “but i mean, who can blame him, huh?” she grins, her voice dipping into a faux southern accent. “i’d spoil you too, sugar.”

“oh, you flirt,” you trill, taking the opening she offers to change the topic.

tim takes the bait and whines about how jo doesn’t do all those things for him, but jo is unmoved, eyeing you knowingly, but thankfully drops it too.

it’s just—

there’s a whole stigma to athlete’s girlfriends. for god’s sake, they even have a whole label—puck bunny—which is honestly just a dig made up by really shitty men who burn with jealousy . and you know that, but—

you can’t help but wonder if some, not all, of simon’s love for you is because of what you do to him. of what you give him in return. especially since he’s so busy all the time, either flying during the season and is rarely home, or packed with training and other physical regimen during the offseason.

so you wonder if this—flying you with him on the days the official WAGs are not being flown by the franchise, bringing you to vacation spots on the other side of the ocean, buying you everything you used to only dream of ever having—was his way of paying you back for your support and patience and care and love.

tim knocks his shoulder with yours, worry now lining his boyishly charming face.

“y’alright?”

“of course.” you lick your lips. “so did you ever get a copy of the lab sheet from rayan?”

.

you watch from the front seats as the team wrap up practice tonight, their coach looking pleased at their performance. it was still difficult to follow the game, but the players all look content too despite the sweat and their ragged breathing.

they never did know how to hold back even during a practice.

you say your goodbyes to the other people who came to watch, shooting simon a text that you’ll be waiting for him in the parking lot, and walk out.

the cashmere sweater, thankfully, is enough to fight off the cool air and the gentle breeze while you make your trek to simon’s distinct range rover, all sleek and pure black like he’s got the damn royals for a passenger.

it’s locked so you hover outside, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your pants, and entertained yourself with making puffs of air like you’re ten again. it’s honestly not too bad to be alone, if it weren’t for the sudden swarming of your doubts—the very same ones you thought you already shrugged off before taking the cab to the rink.

fuck.

“hey, love,” simon’s voice pierces through your thoughts and you jump, barely smothering the yelp that almost tore itself from the base of your throat.

you swivel, heart pounding, and simon’s beautiful face creases into one of concern.

“are you–”

“si!” you greet, jogging to him.

he laughs and opens his arms for a hug, one that you excitedly give him. you tuck your cold face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, taking in the antiseptic scent of rink soap and the faint smell of his shampoo.

his body is so warm against yours, and you can’t help but melt in his hold, body relaxing at the comfort he brings you.

“you ready to go home?” he asks like the insinuation that his home is also yours is not heart-stopping and world-changing.

you nod, unable to trust your voice right now.

there’s something different whenever it’s just you and simon—your thoughts, for once, are quiet and your confidence in yourself peaking like simon is the only place in this world where you can truly be yourself. it’s not just indulgence, nor tolerance, but it’s pure unadulterated acceptance.

and maybe it’s because of that realization, that flipped switch, that in the lull of your conversation with simon, you bring it up.

“did you know? my friends think that you’re my sugar daddy.”

you feel him freeze, body going rigid as your words spill into the space between you two. you continue to hide your face away from, avoiding a serious conversation as regret begins to build, shame licking up from your fingertips to your ears.

stupid, you think to yourself. why the hell did i bring it up? fuck—

then, simon laughs, soft and sputtering, his whole body shaking as he giggles, choked wheezes uncontainable. you tip your head up just enough to catch his eyes, questions filling your tongue, waiting to be spilled, but simon cups your cheek so tenderly before you could doubt anything any more.

“do i need to be one to spoil you rotten?” he asks like he didn’t just shaken the foundations of your doubts.

do i need to be one to spoil you rotten, he said like spoiling you was the norm. like showering you with expensive gifts and booking you expensive flights and helping you with your expensive necessities was something that boyfriends typically do. like your friends are the odd ones for thinking he had to be anything other the man you’re dating to be able to splurge for you.

“no,” you say, dizzy with the weight of your affections.

simon’s smile droops, his eyes clearing. “was that something that honestly worried you?”

“i–”

the humour leaves him, and simon straightens up at seeing the gravity of the turmoil in your heart. his hands fall to your sides, thumbs hooked in the dip of your hips. he leans forward until his nose is brushing against yours.

“you know i love you, right?” simon asks, his voice quaking in desperation.

“yeah,” you sniffle, honest because god you mean it. “yeah, si. i know.”

“okay,” he says after a while, still intensely looking at you like you aren’t surely anything but a blob in his eyes with how close you two are pressed to each other.

then, his lips brush with yours, so faint, you almost missed it. you shudder at the feeling of it—how could a chaste kiss feel so intense?—your lips wobbling as something in your heart bloats.

you feel simon’s lips stretch into a grin from where they’re ghosting above yours, and then he’s kissing you again, this time deeper and longer. you curl your arms around his neck, feeling like you’re being swept off your feet all over again.

because simon is not good with words, truly, but he’s managed to swing an axe to the cornerstone of your self-doubt and made it crumble.

.

“oh god,” jo sobs in your arms, the two of you snuggled up under your sheets. “that was a joke! i promise!”

“i know,” you say, giggling. “i swear jo, it’s not you, it’s me.”

she looks up at you, eyes shimmering with tears. “are you sure?”

“yeah,” you croon, bumping foreheads with her. “...‘sides, simon’s taking me somewhere to make up for, and i quote, ‘making you doubt how serious i am about you’.”

she sniffs. “…permission to make a joke again?”

you grab your plushie from somewhere behind you and smack her ass with it.

“ow!”

“stop being dramatic—that didn’t hurt.”

[giggles nervously] so uh. 🏃🏻

[lovergirlsyndrome]

MAKE ME PROUD

word count — 1351

summary — you decide to surprise your girlfriend on her birthday by flying to see her play in the wnba for the first time

pairing — kate martin x fem!reader

warnings — nothing really besides fluff!

bri yaps — in honor of my best girls birthday is a present to all my kate martin lovers out there. also this is probably ass… i made it at 1 am with no motivation

Your palms were sweaty and your nerves were shot through the roof. You’d have had this trip planned since the beginning of the season due to your busy schedule back at home and the inability to take off from work, which Kate understood and was never upset by but you knew deep down she wanted her number one supporter to be in the stands cheering her on. So you decided as a partial birthday gift that you’d show up to a game without her knowing—a complete surprise to her.

You remembered that the last time you got to spend true time with her was before and after the WNBA draft. You two plus Gabbie, Jada, and Caitlin had all gone exploring around NYC and seen a bunch of landmarks before appearing on SNL with Caitlin, which had been a cool experience for all of you. Then getting to see her be drafted to the back-to-back champs and hard-launching your relationship on national television in the truest and purest way. After that, you two had to spend a day together as a final ‘goodbye’ that included dinner and lounging the day away while also getting her packed up for the trip to Vegas.

Another bonus for you in this situation was that her teammates had taken a liking to her and protected her as their own—their rookie. So when you shared the idea with her fellow teammates Alysha Clark and A’ja Wilson, they were quick to jump on board and help you. You’d been pacing back and forth in your hotel room for some time and texted Kate as you normally would but it startled her when you turned off your location the day prior, she never asked why but questioned to herself what you were up to.

You decided to get dressed. The outfit spread out on the chair was a black and silver Kate Martin jersey, a black short sleeve underneath, and a pair of black shorts. Your phone started to ring, and Kate’s contact popped up along with your personal favorite photo of her with her nephew Carson.

“Hi baby!” She greeted you cheerfully over the phone when you answered. Your giggle sounded through the speakers and you knew she had a bright smile on her face.

“Hey K, I thought you’d be practicing by now.” You questioned it as you heard balls being thrown in the background when they’d slam against the court.

“Snuck away to call you. I was wondering what you were up to.” Her tone was suspicious, but you decided to wave it off and answer in the best way you could.

“Nothing really. Work was pretty tiring, so I might eat and head to bed earlier than usual.” You sighed out, and she paused for a moment on the other end before you heard her shuffling.

“Well, I wish you were here! I miss you too much.” She admits with a chuckle at the end which makes your heart swell a bit. All you wanted was to say that you were here and jump into her arms, then never let go but unfortunately you wanted this to be a surprise. “The best birthday gift would be you.”

“I know, honey, I know. I love you.” You say and decide to finish up the call so you can head out. You grabbed your keys and left the dingy hotel room to drive to the arena where the game was being held, it was Aces vs. Wings and had been sold out for a while. It wasn’t a long drive and only lasted about ten minutes, but parking took longer than that. As you entered the arena and found your seat right behind the Aces bench, Alysha found you and waved lowly so you wouldn’t be found out so soon.

The game would start soon enough, and Kate still hadn’t spotted you in the many faces, but it didn’t bother you much because you were able to watch her come off the bench and earn meaningful minutes with an already well established group. She found her place and showed what she was good at, whether it was on defense or offense. Since it was an away game, she was in the white jersey that you preferred over the black. She had retired her signature braid and opted for a ponytail. Once in a while, you would get up out of your seat to cheer her on and yell out her name.

The fourth quarter was rowdy, and it had become a close game between the two teams. It was in the Aces possession, and Jackie was trying to run the time out while they still had the ball. She passed it to Kelsey, who then passed it to A’ja. Your leg bounced up and down as Kate was open in the corner, and A’ja shot the ball down to Kate. In the last seconds, as the buzzer sounded, she shot it and made the three which helped her team secure the lead even further and you guys won the game. You jumped up out of your seat and celebrated amongst the people in your row, shouting, “That’s my girl!”

Many people started making their way out of the arena, and some stopped on the court to talk to the players including Kate, who had a line. A sense of pride overwhelmed you while you watched her interact with everyone. It was clear how much she was loved and respected by the Aces fans. You walked behind a crowd of people to where Kate was and watched Syd, KB, and Alysha pull their phones out to record the moment. You slowly tapped on her shoulder, causing her to quickly turn around. She tried to register for a moment and process before her jaw slacked open.

“Happy birthday, baby!” You greet her and wrap your arms around her neck. Her arms immediately fall to your waist, and she lifts you up and spins you around the court. Laughs and giggles were heard from her teammates, and the fans were still watching the two of you with the biggest smile on their faces. “Alright, I’m getting a little dizzy here.” You say jokingly, but she does listen and puts you down, still burying her face into your next and tightly hugging you. Being in her arms just felt like you were right at home, and you never wanted to let go in fear of losing this moment forever.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you.” She whispers softly into your ear and it sends butterflies to your stomach.

“Better than glitchy facetime calls.” You joke, and she lets out a snort which causes you to giggle. She finally lifts her head to get a good look at you, her eyes were the deepest blue you’d ever seen them be, and her lips were curled into a bright smile that you could never get tired of. Finally, you decide to close the gap between the two of you and press your lips against hers, the kiss being delicate and sweet as your fingertips rest against her cheek before you pull back and she gently rubs your hips for a second.

“God, you’re so perfect.” She pinches your side before interlocking her hand with yours and leading you into the team’s tunnel. You relished in the moment with her and completely forgot about everything else as you two talked about the excitement of the game, what she did to celebrate with the team for her birthday, and what the two of you would do before you had to go back home.

You watched her silently as she shared her experiences and stories so far from her month in Vegas. Memories flooded through you, and this reminded you why it was all worth it—you got to watch your girlfriend live out her dreams. With a contended sigh, you stood on your tiptoes to give her a kiss on the cheek before she had to go into the locker room to change.

“Kate Martin, you’ll be the death of me.”

[deerlino]

half-admitted.

kim seungmin x gn!reader / seungmin with a clingy s/o. you’re adorable, but he'd never admit it. you're always following him around like his second shadow.

tags / grumpy!seungmin, clingy!reader, fluff, established relationship, cute banter, unspoken feelings, school setting, teasing & banter, humor (attempted) — 578 words

content warnings / none !

note / i felt like writing grumpy seung, so here he is! this was fun to write, just like my other stuff. hope you like it! oh, and huge thanks to everyone who's been so lovely to me these past days—you're amazing. love you all! <3

You’ve been shadowing Seungmin all day, flitting around him like an excitable butterfly. He pretends to be annoyed, but the slight curve at the corner of his mouth betrays him every time. Today is no different. You’ve got your arm linked with his as you both walk through the crowded school hallway, and he’s muttering something about how you’re “way too clingy.”

“I’m clingy?” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder. “You’re just mad because you secretly love it.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, trying to look unimpressed. “In your dreams.”

You giggle, leaning your head on his shoulder for a moment. “Admit it, Seungmin. You think I’m adorable.”

“Keep dreaming, weirdo,” he mutters, but his face is slightly pink. You know you’ve got him.

During lunch, you plop down next to him at your usual table. “Hey, did you bring me anything?” you ask, peering into his lunch bag.

“Since when do I bring lunch for you?” Seungmin asks, trying to snatch the bag away, but you’re too quick.

“You love me,” you say in a sing-song voice, pulling out a sandwich. “Oh, ham and cheese! My favorite. Thanks, babe.”

He huffs, crossing his arms. “It’s my lunch.”

“But sharing is caring!” you insist, taking a big bite.

Seungmin sighs dramatically but doesn’t try to take the sandwich back. You know he wouldn’t. Instead, he opens his drink and takes a sip, looking anywhere but at you. “You’re a menace.”

You grin, wiping a crumb off your cheek. “And you love it.”

Later in the day, you’re sitting on a bench outside, waiting for Seungmin to finish his baseball practice. You scroll through your phone, occasionally glancing up to watch him. He’s focused, serious, and completely in his element. You admire him for a moment, feeling a warm flutter in your chest.

As the practice wraps up, Seungmin jogs over to you, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You’re still here?”

“Of course. I’m your biggest fan,” you say with a bright smile. “Need some water?”

He takes the bottle you offer, taking a long drink. “You’re such a dork.”

“But you love me,” you say, repeating your favorite phrase.

Seungmin looks at you, a rare soft smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, barely audible.

You catch it, though, and your heart does a little flip. You reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You’re sweaty,” you say with a playful wrinkle of your nose.

“You don’t have to point it out,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat in his words.

You laugh, and he shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “You’re impossible,” he says, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re floating.

“Admit it, Seungmin. You think I’m adorable,” you say again, leaning closer.

He sighs, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Maybe you’re a little bit adorable.”

Your eyes widen in mock surprise. “A little? I’m extremely adorable, thank you very much.”

Seungmin chuckles, ruffling your hair. “Don’t push your luck.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I love you, Seungmin.”

He looks at you, his expression softening. “I know,” he says quietly, and you know that’s as close to an admission as you’ll get. But it’s enough. More than enough.

The rest of the evening is spent with you clinging to him like a second shadow, and Seungmin pretending to be annoyed. But you know the truth. And so does he.

© deerlino (est. 060624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

[girlokwhatever]

ʚɞ✧˖ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- end of beginning,, pt.2

part one

emily engstler x fem!ex!reader

you got ready in record time. the combination of your nerves and excitement together spurred you into a frenzy, encouraging you to bounce around your hotel room like you were being rushed.

emily said she’d pick you up soon, causing you to hurriedly make the finishing touches on your look tonight. there was that feeling still, deep down, that you wanted desperately to impress her.

the shared conversation you had echoed in your mind the moment the two of you departed. she asked you out to dinner. your mind teetered on the line between two ideas: she wanted closure so you two could be teammates without your history getting in the way, or, maybe she hasn’t moved on.

you think in some ways you have, but was that even true? if emily came to you with a confession of love that she never let go of, what would you do?

there wasn’t time to ponder the thought because your phone dinged. it was a simple message from emily telling you she’s here. ‘waiting for you outside’ she said, simple but enough to make your heart beat faster. you gathered your essentials and left the ghost-like hotel room to meet emily outside.

when you caught sight of her, leaning against her car, hands buried deep in her pockets and ankles crossed, you knew you were done for. she looked so beautiful, no less than you remember.

“hey, sorry, i know i’m a bit early.”

“it’s all good, i was ready anyway.”

she eyes you up and down, smiling to herself because she recognizes the bracelet you’re wearing. it’s one of the many she bought for you during your relationship. a token of her love for you.

“i was thinking we could get some hibachi, your hotel is kinda close.”

you nod, affirming it’s a pleasant choice. the car ride there is filled with simple conversation. you realize it’s the kind of conversation you’d have with someone you barely know, but then again, it’s been two years since you’ve seen emily.

she is different. but so are you.

“okay i’m gonna warn you, i’ve heard mixed reviews about this place.”

the two of you had been seated almost ten minutes ago and still haven’t been given drinks. you didn’t mind much but you could tell by her bouncing leg that emily was losing patience.

“and you didn’t feel like that was worth mentioning earlier?”

“well i remember you like hibachi and this is the only place i know of that serves it.”

she’s giving you a playful shrug as her fingers toy with the lanyard attached to her keys. you can’t help but let your eyes linger, watching her facial features shift slightly when she breaks eye contact or noticing the almost invisible shake in her hands. she seems much more reserved, a lot quieter than you know her to be.

“hey do you remember that time,” she smiles as she pauses to collect her thoughts, “when we got hibachi and the guy accidentally burnt you with the shrimp?”

“oh my god- yes. i still, to this day, have no clue how he managed to flip it on me instead of the stove.”

“dude that was classic. i mean, unfortunate for you but definitely funny.”

emily leans back against the wooden chair, relaxing into the seat. she was looking at you again and still smiling at the contagious happy memory. it was a popular story to tell during your relationship.

“yeah okay, but when i mention that time in the park when you fell on your face it’s not funny?”

“no. you threw the ball way too high. i don’t even know how you threw the football like that.”

“from practicing when we went to the beach that one time, remember? we’d throw the ball on the beach at night.”

all the recounts of priceless stories never to be forgotten makes your chest swell with fondness. to see the way emily smiles when talking about them warms your heart even more because she’s genuinely happy and you sense no resentment in her tone. she’s appreciative of the time she got to spend with you, even if it was short-lived.

“i don’t think i could ever forget that. it was the best vacation of my life for sure. it was so good, school had kinda been stressing me out and all so i was just happy to get away with you. i remember our first night there you wore that really pretty dress, the white one, and you asked me to take pictures of you at sunset but it was so windy and you kept getting mad. oh my gosh you were so mad. i still have the one picture where you’re pulling that piece of hair out of your mouth and you got so upset because i took the picture and sent it to myself. but you looked so beautiful anyway, it was good.”

you don’t say anything, too shocked to properly collect yourself. though you knew ex’s could be friends, you weren’t aware it was like this. you’re in awe of her really, feeling your cheeks grow warm at her compliments of your beauty.

your eyes stay trained on emily but she’s looking straight ahead at the wall, rummaging through all her memories containing you. you’re all she can think about in this moment and she’s not aware how obvious that simple fact is. she was too lost in thought, too busy missing her past to realize her word vomit.

“i remember too how an ocean wave knocked you over and you got a bunch of sand in your hair,” she leans back further, trying to submerge herself in the memory. “and i had to help you wash it out that night cause your arms were tired. then for the rest of the week you made me go in the ocean with you every time so i could help hold you up, i think i can still feel how tight you’d grip me when a wave came. and we’d always get burnt cause we’d float together for ages. but i didn’t even care because i was just happy to be there with you. nothing else mattered to me.”

the intensity of her words finally dawn on emily, immediately stiffening and clearing her throat. the air between you is thick and her confession weighs in the space between. you have no idea how to react or what you could possibly say to her, but you don’t have to because someone is finally asking what you want to drink.

the rest of dinner was tense with very few shared words. every now and then emily would comment on the quality of the food and you’d say nothing in return.

what could you say?

the ride back to your hotel was even worse. the soft hum of the radio and an occasional road bump was the only noise to fill your space. your eyes stayed glued on the sunset out the window the entire time, trying to remember how you ended up in this situation.

you thought back on everything. from the moment emily asked you to be her girlfriend, the moment you broke up with her, to earlier in the night when she asked you out to dinner. anecdotes of your shared past with her flooded your mind and refused to leave. it wasn’t until she parked at your hotel that they drained, leaving you with a teary waterline and regrets of past decisions. and current ones.

“thanks for taking me out tonight.”

“yeah, no problem.” silence lingered as you climbed out of her passenger seat but once you were about to shut the door she spoke up again, “i’m sorry.”

but it was too late and she wasn’t even sure if you heard her because you just kept walking. shaky breaths and silence consumed the walk back to your room, nothing in your mind but blame on yourself.

you should’ve said something, acknowledged her admission and reciprocated it. instead you sat there silently and visibly watched her shrink in on herself.

you were a coward.

you were a coward back then when you broke up with her, not able to face the uncertainty change would bring. it had only gotten worse. you realized that maybe some things don’t ever change.

the harsh opinion you harbored for yourself only made you feel worse. once you reached your room the tears began to fall one by one down your face, a pent-up sob escaping you from your spot on the bed.

emily was still parked outside, watching the time pass by. with each minute she debated on going inside, straight to your room. she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do or say when she got there, but she just wanted to see you again.

it had been thirteen minutes since you left. thirteen minutes since she saw you. thirteen minutes since the opportunity to win you over again had passed. thirteen minutes sitting in silence waiting for you to text her something, anything. but you never did.

she couldn’t leave knowing she didn’t try.

so she didn’t. she remembered seeing your key card, your floor and room written across it in bold lettering. that’s where she found herself now, standing on your floor gathering the courage to just knock.

finally she did, hearing you shuffle on the other side of the door. she could swear a drop of sweat was dripping down her forehead, bringing the back of her hand up to wipe at it.

“emily?”

“can i talk to you?” she was going to throw up, she was going to throw up, “please?”

“yeah.. are you okay?”

“are you?” emily looks at your face, makeup disrupted by wet streaks and eyes slightly red, red enough to be noticed. her tone came out harsher than she meant it to, pushing her way into the cold room. you don’t answer, instead busying yourself with shutting the door and turning the lights on.

“can i sit down?”

“go for it.”

she props herself up on the end of your bed, hands resting on her bouncing knees as you approach. you lean against the wall a few feet away as she begins to speak.

“i’m sorry for dinner, if it made you feel weird or anything. i think i should tell you, just get it out of the way, that i still think about you. all the time. and, like, i miss you. i know we’ve both probably changed and we’re different people now, i get it. but nothing, nothing, amounts to the way i felt with you. when i saw you today i felt like old me again. i want nothing more than to be like that again.” emily catches her breath, the jumbled confession coming so suddenly. “i went back to louisville last summer, just to see jeff and stuff. being there reminded me of you. i felt better there because i felt like part of you was there with me.”

she looks at you expectantly, waiting for some type of reaction. you just stare at her with an unreadable expression, tears dipping at the corners of your mouth and you bring a gentle hand up to wipe them away.

“do you ever..” she buries her head in her hands, dragging them down her face, “do you ever feel that way? tell me you don’t and i’ll leave if you want me to. i just have to know so that i can move on with my life.”

“emily..”

“it’s okay” she whispers, “it’ll be fine.”

she stands, tucking her flyaways behind her ear. your eyes connect with a silent message as you try to find the right words. you turn your head away from her direction because you feel like she’s peering into you, dissecting every thought and tearing you apart to find what she wants.

“i think about you all the time.”

it’s short but effective. emily’s heart skips a beat and so does yours, the gap between your bodies lessening.

“getting on the court with you again was so amazing and for that reason alone i’m happy to be here. i left louisville because i couldn’t do it without you. and i spent, oh my god, so many nights regretting my decision. i miss you emily. i’ve missed you for two years.”

neither of you have any words left as she surges toward you, pulling your body into hers. your lips meet in a passionate kiss to make up for lost time, finding peace within one another. emily holds the back of your head to press you as close as possible because she fears you’ll slip away again if she doesn’t. she finally has you back, nothing is taking that away from her.

you’re the first to pull away, placing your forehead against her own. your noses rest side by side, lips touching and fingers tangled in hair as you both pant from loss of breath. you’re so relieved that you’re almost convinced it can’t be real.

there’s no negative feelings plaguing either of you anymore, finally feeling complete.

the rest of the night is spent with tangled limbs and gentle kisses to pass the time. she never leaves your embrace and you don’t leave hers, feeling content right where you are.

you can finally wave goodbye to the end of your beginning with emily, ready to move into the next chapter with her.

ʚɞ✧˖ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

thank you @astroph1les for literally giving me all the motivation to do this

i hope no one forgot about pt.1 i know it’s been a minute 😬��😬🤗

not spell checked yet but it will be later!!

pls enjoy!!!!!!!

[runnning-outof-time]

Up Until You | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: In which Tommy Shelby realizes that he might just have someone he wants to live for.

Warnings: smoking, slight season 2 spoilers

Word Count: 3698

A/N: boy does it feel good to post a story again! I hope there won’t be as big a gap between this and my next one … I promise I’m getting these requests written! Anon, I hope this is as angsty as you were hoping….the prompt you sent is bolded. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: I almost forgot! I wanted to give a shoutout to the lovely Mars @toms-cherry-trees for helping me so much in the planning process of this fic…I don’t think it would have gotten finished if it weren’t for you!

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! — COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message Me if you’d like to be tagged!

(Y/N) sent Ada Shelby a look that asked 'where is he?' the second the latter opened the door. Ada answered with a head nod to the left, which conveyed the answer of 'he's in there'. A glance over the Shelby woman's shoulder confirmed it - Tommy was sitting at the table in the front room. His back was to the door, so he hadn't noticed that she arrived...yet.

She sent Ada an appreciative smile before she quietly walked into the room, hoping that Tommy wouldn't hear her footsteps. He seemed to be too engrossed in his writing for that to happen though. She stood there for a few moments, carefully peering over his shoulder as he finished the sentence he was writing.

He paused then, and it gave (Y/N) the ability to read the sentence he'd just written:

In the event of my own death, I want the following facts to be known...

Reading those words made her mind go blank. "You're actually going through with it?" she asked without thinking.

The sudden sound of someone's voice made Tommy quickly turn in his chair. He was already on edge with the day's events taking up his mind, so this unexpected visitor had caught him completely off guard. It took a few moments for it to register that (Y/N) was standing in front of him. When it did, he cursed under his breath before letting out a huff.

"When'd you get here, eh?" he asked, his eyebrows raised as he placed his hands on his thighs.

"Just now. I couldn't find you at home. The guys hadn't left for the derby though, so I figured you'd be here," she explained her reasoning. "You don't have to go through with this, Tommy," she then circled back, not letting him switch topics.

"I have to," his response cut right to the point. He didn't have time to get into a discussion about it.

"What about the other options you've shared with me? The options that don't include you having to come face to face with this man in order to get the job done," she reminded him of the talks they've had in the past, hoping that doing so would get him to change his mind.

"There's no time for those other options, (Y/N). The derby's today. The plan's been laid out," he wasn't biting.

Silence hung in the air as they stared at each other. (Y/N) was hoping that he'd change his mind. She waited on bated breath, waiting for him to announce that to her. But he stayed silent.

She couldn't wait any longer. "So that's it then?" she asked, incredulousness present in her voice. The fact that he wasn't even trying to entertain a conversation about this was breaking her heart. "You're just going to write your note and practically seal your death with it? And what'll that mean for me?" she was unable to stop herself from getting choked up as she uttered her final question. She didn't want to think about her life without him, but it was staring her dead in the face at the moment.

"The note's just precautionary, love," he attempted to assure her. Her expression didn't change, her brow was now furrowed and it was noticeable that she was biting on her bottom lip; most likely to stop her tears. Tommy finally stood then, coming face to face with her in hopes that his proximity would wash some of her worry away. "I'll be fine," he added in a low voice, blindly searching for her hands so that he could hold them.

"You can't promise that," she responded, her voice coming out as a shaky whisper. It was taking everything she had not to burst out into tears in this moment. She'd always associated his closeness with safety...whenever Tommy was close, (Y/N) knew she could never get hurt. But now his closeness was making her hurt even more.

"It'll be fine," he repeated, squeezing her hands.

"It's really been decided?" she still couldn't accept it.

"It has," he nodded.

(Y/N) sighed at his confirmation. Her gaze dropped to the floor as she pulled her hands from his grasp. She then wrapped her arms tightly around her frame as she turned and took a few steps towards the windows.

"(Y/N)." Her name left Tommy's lips as a breath. He knew he was fighting a losing battle here. "Come on, love. Look at me," he gently coaxed her. She stood still. "It'll be fine," he tried once more to assure her.

That set her off. She whipped around within a second of hearing his statement. There was now a fire burning in her watery eyes. "Do not say those three words again," she snapped at him, "do not continue to try and reassure me with things that you cannot guarantee will happen. You know how dangerous this plan is, Thomas. Please don't try and act like It isn't. You wouldn't be sat here writing a note for someone to find in the event of your death if you didn't think that there was a possibility of it happening," she spoke her mind, letting her emotions go free as all of the pent up worry flowed out.

"(Y/N)," he spoke her name again, in a different tone this time. He didn't need this lecture. Not right now. "This is what needs to be done," he continued in a low voice, staying stoic in hopes that it would alleviate the situation quicker.

But (Y/N) no longer cared about what he did or didn't need at that moment, and if anything, his statement just made her even more upset.

"It doesn't need to be done like this," she insisted, "you don't need to sign your life away for a contract...for a man who doesn't give a single care about the stakes that have been raised here so long as he isn't the one carrying out the deed. Any other person would be trying to find a way to take themselves out of the equation but you've decided to put yourself in the driver's seat."

(Y/N) felt like she was talking in circles. Hell, she probably was, but she was doing so in hopes that something would be set off inside of him. She wanted him to realize that there was still time to think up another plan; one that didn't include him being placed in harm's way.

"What is it that you want from all of this?" he asked her, his brows furrowed together.

"You, Tommy!" she exclaimed, her frustration shining clear through her words. "I want you to fight! I want you to realize that things don't need to play out this way; that you can still put another plan into play!" she paused, taking a deep breath as she swiped at the tears that had escaped her eyes. "I want you to come home when all of this is finished," her voice was level again as she spoke the final sentence. Her eyes were locked onto his, hoping that he'd realize how much this was affecting her.

Their eyes stayed locked and a few moments passed before Tommy looked down at the ground. He exhaled a sigh as he brought his hand up to the back of his neck. "It's already done," he said, his voice void of any tone.

"Then I guess I'm done," the words left (Y/N)'s mouth before she could stop them. She didn't take them back though. She was tired of fighting in a one-sided fight. It was so obvious that Tommy had his mind made up. Nothing was going to change it at this point. But yet she still held onto that sliver of hope. She hoped that her showing up today and speaking her piece would get him to change his mind.

"(Y/N)..." Tommy looked up again as her name fell from his lips, shock now present in his expression.

"I can't be here a moment longer. I can't stand in front of a man who is acting as if he's already dead. I need to leave."

Her words were spoken softly, but Tommy heard them loud and clear. He said nothing as she moved to the archway, expecting her to leave without another word. To his surprise, she turned around just before she was about to exit the room.

"I didn't believe that love existed until you came along, Tommy. But you showed me how wrong I was for thinking that way; for thinking that I'd never experience something like that. And now you've just decided not only your future, but mine as well. I can't stay here and watch it play out. I'm not sure if I'll be home when you return. I just..." (Y/N) stopped speaking as the words got caught in her throat. She let out a shaky breath, tears welling up in her eyes once more.

All words escaped her at that moment, and she shook her head instead, deciding that finishing her declaration would be a lost cause anyway. She couldn't even bear to look at him again, too afraid that she'd actually break down. So instead she turned and made her way to the door of the home, opening it and leaving without looking back.

The sun was now shining down on her. It was an absolutely lovely day in London, but yet she was having one of the worst in her life. She decided to go for a walk, revisiting the streets that still felt like home even though she'd made the move to Birmingham several months ago.

(Y/N) knew Ada Shelby before she knew Tommy. She'd met her when Ada had moved into the next door apartment with her adorable son, Karl. The two women quickly became friends, spending a lot of time together right up until the day Ada had been found and hurt for being a Shelby.

Contact stopped briefly as Ada had moved out of the apartment, but things continued like nothing had even happened when Ada sent (Y/N) a letter that contained her new address. The two frequently spent time together in the front room of the lovely new home, sipping tea and talking about the day's events in front of the fire.

Ada's house was where (Y/N) first met Tommy. Surprise riddled their first encounter. Ada had stepped away to tend to Karl when Tommy came knocking on the door. (Y/N), being the friend that she was, didn't hesitate in opening it. The sight she was greeted with took her breath away. Thankfully Ada had returned from Karl's room, or who knows how long the two would have been standing in the doorway, staring at each other. She even joked about the fact that they couldn't seem to keep their eyes off of each other. Of course it didn't help that Tommy had forgotten what it was he was even there for for the first few minutes of his visit.

That wasn't the last time (Y/N) saw Tommy. The two became very close very quickly. It was like they had known each other forever; like there was this pull present between them that neither could ignore. Things also got serious pretty quickly. So serious that (Y/N) was packing up her things and leaving her London apartment for Small Heath after only six months of knowing Tommy.

Some might think it was crazy; that things were moving much too fast. But (Y/N) had never felt so sure of doing something in her life.

Which made what was happening now hurt so much more. But she needed to keep walking. She'd done the right thing.

Tommy placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a match before taking a deep drag from it and exhaling slowly. The sealed letter sat on the table in front of him. He stared at it for a few moments before pressing the thumb and index fingers of his free hand against his eyelids, hoping it would alleviate some of the pressure he'd been feeling.

"I made you up some tea," Ada's voice broke through the silence, and the sound of glass being set on the table he was working at made Tommy lift his head again.

He nodded as a thank you before bringing the cigarette back up to his lips again. He then stamped it out in the ashtray while exhaling the smoke slowly.

"I heard everything that was said, you know," she said then, moving over to one of the chairs so that she could sit. "What were you thinking, Tommy?" she asked with raised eyebrows, her eyes zeroed in on her brother.

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes as he looked off to the far wall. He didn't need anymore of this right now.

"She was my friend first. She was the only person who cared about me when I moved here. She helped me through a lot. I'm not going to let you ruin her for your stupid ambitions," Ada had no problem speaking her mind and letting him know how wrong he was for responding to (Y/N) the way he did.

Tommy pulled the timepiece from his pocket and checked it before letting out a sigh and returning it back to its place. "I need to leave," he told Ada before lifting the cup and downing the beverage in one go. In hindsight he was thankful that it wasn’t scorching hot. "Thanks for the tea," he said to her as he set the empty cup back down.

Nothing more was said as Tommy stood from the chair he was sitting on. He looked to Ada as he pulled the jacket he'd been wearing back on over his shoulders. She was glaring at him, hoping that he'd have something - anything - more to add to the conversation.

It became apparent that he didn't when he started for the archway. So Ada left him with one last statement: "please don't let her go, Tommy. We all need her." There was a quiet desperation now present in her eyes, one Tommy wasn't sure what to say in response to.

So he nodded and turned to exit the home, heading right to the car he parked a few streets down.

Truthfully what he wanted to do right now was head back to Birmingham and stop (Y/N) from leaving, to tell her that she was more important than any plan he could ever put into place. He knew she was justified in saying everything that she had.

But it was too late to do that now. Tommy knew that there'd be men searching for him by the end of the day if he stepped away from the plan this late into it. At least now he had some sort of control over the outcome of his life. And he was going to try like hell to stay alive...because now he had someone to stay alive for.

The house on Watery Lane was quiet when Tommy stepped into it later that evening. The fire in the main room was still lit, but he couldn't quite remember if they'd put enough wood on to keep it going prior to leaving that morning. So judging (Y/N)'s presence based on that could have surely given false hope.

He took his overcoat off and hung it on one of the hooks by the door. The suit jacket followed after, and he draped that over one of the chairs in the sitting room as he walked through it.

No one was downstairs, but he hadn't expected anyone to be at this time of night.

He quietly walked up the steps and down the hall to the bedroom that he and (Y/N) shared. He paused at the closed door, taking a moment both to steady himself; to regroup from the day's events, and to prepare himself for the possibility that he may be opening the door to an empty room.

After inhaling and exhaling deeply, he turned the knob and opened the door. The first thing he noticed was the lit candle on the bedside table. Seeing it made all of his worries dissipate. (Y/N) had a habit of lighting them and then falling asleep.

Looking slightly to the right, he found the woman that hadn't left his mind since she left him in Ada's sitting room. She was laying on her side, facing the wall, telling him that she was sleeping.

Slowly, quietly he began ridding himself of his outer layers. It wasn't until he moved over to the dresser that he noticed the bags sitting on the floor. They were packed. It was easy to see that, even in the candlelight. He looked back to (Y/N) then, putting the pieces together in his mind. She was going to leave...but something made her stay.

Now only wearing his undergarments, he made his way over to the bed. Hesitation overcame him again. Should he lay with her? Should he go back downstairs? She was in her spot, tucked up against the wall so that enough room was present for him on the small bed they shared.

A few moments passed before he made his decision, lifting the covers and slowly slipping underneath them. He laid on his back for a short time before turning onto his side so that he was facing her sleeping frame. Another bout of hesitation filled him, but he didn't let it stick for too long as he gently draped his arm over her midsection.

That was when (Y/N) let out the shaky breath she'd been holding in from the moment she heard the door open. She was awake the entire time.

"Are you still awake, love?" Tommy asked in a whisper.

"Yes," she breathed out, her voice wavering.

"You've been crying," he pointed out, able to read her like an open book.

"I didn't know if I'd see you again," she answered him, choking up as she spoke.

"I'm here," he assured her, his arm wrapping tighter around her body.

(Y/N) didn't say anything in response. Instead tears fell from her eyes as she held her breath, trying not to make it noticeable that she was crying. But Tommy was able to feel how her body was shaking.

"Turn and look at me," he said quietly, a soft demand that took her a few moments to comply with. Her tear-stained face became visible in the candlelight when she did, and seeing it broke Tommy's heart. "C'mere," he breathed, allowing her to move even closer to him so that he could engulf her in his embrace.

"No one knew where you were, Tommy," she whispered once she was finally able to get words out again. "I thought..." she paused, not even wanting to say what she was thinking, "I thought the worst."

"I'm sorry you had to think that way, darlin'," he murmured, stroking the back of her head slowly. He held her close until her body stopped shaking, giving her the time she needed. He didn't speak until she lifted her head from the crook of his neck. "Better?" he asked in a whisper, peering down to see that her eyes were still closed.

"Slightly," she breathed out a response. "I'm relieved that you're home. Is..." she paused, seeming like she was looking for the words to say next, "is it finished?"

"It's finished," he answered in a definitive tone, nodding his head as best he could.

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath upon hearing his response, feeling as if the rest of the weight had lifted from her chest. She slowly opened her eyes and looked right into his. "I was going to leave," she started, watching Tommy's brows furrow together in the candlelight, "but I realized that this is part of the life I chose with you. That this is the type of work you carry out, and that I can either fight you on it or support you the best that I could. I also realized that my desire to be with you is so much greater than the worry that your work creates." Her eyes didn't stray from his as she spoke. Watching his hardened blue irises soften as he took in her words was enough to fill her heart to the brim with love.

Tommy took a moment to soak in her words. He moved his hand from behind her head so that he could gently trace the line of her jaw with his thumb. Taking in a deep breath, he knew what he had to do. Searching her eyes for a few seconds longer, he thought of the words he wanted to say.

"I thought I could lose everything and be totally fine with it," he began, clearing his throat in hopes that she wouldn't notice the fact that his voice was breaking. She noticed. "But then you came along...and now I see how wrong I was."

"Tommy," she breathed, taken back by his admission.

"I had nothing to live for up until you, (Y/N)," he admitted, not holding anything back now, "and I promise you now that things will change... that there’ll be no more of these plans. I don't want to have the possibility of an outcome that doesn't include you in it."

(Y/N)'s mind was swirling. It had been a rollercoaster of a day, she still couldn't quite believe the change of events that had happened. But she was so very thankful that things had ended up with Tommy by her side again.

"I love you, Tommy," she whispered, a smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards.

"I love you, (Y/N)," he repeated the phrase, his expression mirroring hers as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss.

Now that he had her again, he knew that he could never let her go. What he'd told Michael earlier in the evening would soon be true: he was going to ask (Y/N) to marry him.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @theshelbyslimited

@peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss

@alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl

@emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife

@anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08

@insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter

@cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable

@thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

[g-hughes]

Bite Me - Q. Hughes

hockey masterlist | g's graduation celly

synopsis: When one of Quinn's teammates asks if their sister could stay with him to bounce back after a break-up, Quinn said yes. But six months later, Quinn feels like he has met his matched. Or when Quinn Hughes falls for his roommate, who happens to be his teammate's sister.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: smut mentioned! friends with benefits situation, Boeser!Reader, nudity, cursing.

Quinn Hughes thought of himself as being a “good guy”. He held doors open for people, swapped seats on airlines when asked, donated money to various charities, and spent time, when he could, coaching the Canucks Youth Team. He was a good guy and an even better teammate and captain.

He prided himself on being the one on the team the guys could go to when they needed advice or just someone to sit and listen to them rant. He would give his teammate the shirt off his back if one of them asked. So when Brock Boeser, Quinn’s best friend, asked if his younger sister could crash with him for a few days, Quinn said yes without even really thinking it through. 

“It’ll be a few days,” Brock assured Quinn as he brought in one of her suitcases, “Her dick head ex cheated on her and threw all her shit in the driveway. She was gonna spring for a hotel, but I couldn’t let her do that. I’d let her stay at mine, but we’re remod-” 

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Quinn assured his winger, “I know you’d do the same if it was one of my brother’s. She can crash here as long as she needs.” 

“She swears it’ll only be a few days.” 

But a few days turned into a few weeks, and a few weeks into a few months. Now it's been six months and Y/N Boeser has become Quinn’s official unofficial roommate. And he hated it. 

Quinn didn’t want a roommate, nor did he need one. He actually loved coming home to a quiet apartment after weeks on the road. He liked the solitude of being able to hide away from the cameras and the press in his face and following his every move. He liked to be able to walk around damn near naked and not have to worry about being walked in on. But having a roommate, all those privileges had been taken away. 

“Quintin! You parked in my fucking spot!” Y/N yelled as she slammed the front door shut. Quinn smirked to himself, as he finished mixing around the vegetables in the pan. He knew exactly what he did and he knew it was going to piss you off. Quinn had two parking spots, one for himself and one for a guest (which had become Y/N as of late), and he decided that tonight, he was going to forget his driver’s ed training and park in the middle of the two spots. 

“Quintin,” Y/N groaned, coming into the kitchen, setting down her bags from work. Quinn looked over his shoulder, trying his hardest to fight the urge to stare at your breasts. 

Yes, Quinn hated having a roommate, but it did come with its own perks. Such as, his roommate was very, very attractive. 

“Oh hey sweetheart,” Quinn smirked, “Did I miss something?” 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms across her chest, pushing her tits up even more in the tight tanktop she was wearing, “You know what you fucking did, you parking in the middle of the spots again!” 

"Oh, I did?" He feigned innocence, "Well, maybe if you didn't leave all your damn shoes by the fucking door!"

"It was one pair! One pair, Quintin!"

"Quit calling me Quintin!"

Y/N groaned and grabbed her bag, stomping her way out of the kitchen. Quinn turned back towards the dinner he was cooking, his mood sour. He had such a good day too. Practice went smoothly, Toch only yelled at them for an hour instead of two. Things were finally starting to take a turn after a losing streak that put everyone on edge. Quinn felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, his first season as captain after a disappointing season. He had to prove himself, he had to prove that he was worthy of the captain spot. 

Oh, and waking up with Y/N’s mouth wrapped around his cock was an added bonus. 

Quinn hated to admit it out loud, it made him feel dirty and wrong about it, but there was nothing dirty and wrong about it. It seemed to have happened naturally, the tension between them building since the moment Quinn first saw Y/N. He had done his best to ignore her for the first week she was occupying his guest room. She had just been broken up with in a horrible way, and was trying to pick up the pieces of a shattered years-long relationship. But then she started to come out of her room, and she was like a storm, Quinn had no idea how to brace for. 

She was sassy, and smart, and beautiful, and stubborn, and messy, and so fucking sexy when she was pissed off about something work or at Quinn for parking over the line of his parking spot. 

It was bound to happen, the tension and animosity growing between them as the days went by. It turned into more than Quinn bitching about the shoes by the front door, which he had repeatedly told her to stop leaving them there. It turned into her bitching at Quinn for leaving dirty plates in the sink. Then it was Quinn bitching about how she would take the full garbage bag out of the can and leave it by the front door (in her defense, the dumpster was in the alley behind the building and Quinn didn’t feel very comfortable with her taking it out late at night). Then it was Y/N bitching about Quinn leaving his travel bag, unpacked, in the laundry room between roadies. 

The final straw for both of them was when they both came home, unsatisfied in different ways. Quinn had come home from a long roadie, the majority of them being losses. All he wanted to do was take a bath and relax and regroup for the next series ahead. Y/N, had come home from yet another shitty date. She insisted that her date didn’t need to walk her to the door, but he wanted to make sure she got in safely, or so he said. Quinn could hear her fake laughter from the other side of the door, as he stood at the kitchen counter, waiting for the tea kettle to whistle. 

“I had a good time,” She said, “Thanks for walking me back.” 

“No problem,” A male’s voice sounded out, “Ya know. . . this doesn’t have to end here.” 

Quinn grimaced. It didn’t take a genius to know that Y/N wasn’t interested. 

“I uh. . . I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Quinn could almost picture her nervously pushing her hair behind her ear, “I’ll give you a call.” 

“C’mon,” The guy was sounding desperate, “We both want to end the night right.” 

It was silent for a moment, and for some odd reason, anger flowed through Quinn’s body. Was the guy kissing her? Was she seriously considering letting him in? Quinn had never brought it up, but he assumed that Y/N wasn’t having people over. Not that she couldn’t, he guessed, it was her place too. But for some reason, the idea of her having a man in her bed pissed him off. 

“You’re right,” Y/N sighed. Quinn’s body seemed to move on it’s own accord as he walked over to the front door, his hand wrapping around the knob, “I better go see if my vibrator is charged. Night, Marcus!” 

Quinn jumped back startled as the front door was pushed open and Y/N charged in. He could see the confused face of the man, Marcus, behind the door as it slammed in his face. Y/N groaned as she kicked off her shoes and tossed her purse on the couch. Quinn wanted so badly to make a comment about her shoes, but instead he said;

“You have a vibrator?” 

Y/N looked at him, one eyebrow raised, “I am not a 16 year old. Of course I have a vibrator. Almost every woman has one.” 

“You use it?” 

“Yes, perv,” Y/N scoffed, and reached for her purse, “Boe said you were quiet, but I didn’t know quiet meant stalker. Night.” 

Quinn blinked several times as she walked down towards her room. His mind, again, thinking of other things to say, like apologizing for asking her such a vulnerable question, but instead, once again he blurted the wrong thing. 

“I don’t want you having sex in my house.” 

Y/N paused in her walk, holding still for a moment and turning around to face him, “Excuse me?” 

“I don’t want you having sex in my house,” Quinn stood firm on what he said, even though he regretted it the second he said it. Even though her name wasn’t on the lease, she was still living and paying rent (Quinn told her several times her money was useless, but she cried and told him she had to contribute somehow). 

“I am not.” 

“Good.” 

“Good?” 

“Mhm,” Quinn nodded. It was silent again as the two of them stared each other down, tension thick in the air like smoke. 

“Need anything else?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence. She folded her arms under her chest, pushing her breasts up in the tight black dress she was wearing. Quinn gulped, taking in her appearance; short, tight black dress, black leather jacket, black heels that made her legs look like they went on for miles. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, a dainty good chain around her neck. Quinn gulped, thinking and praying of anything that would keep the blood from rushing south. 

“Nope,” He shook his head. 

“Good,” Y/N responded, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to end my night right.” Quinn felt his boxers grow tighter as she turned on her heel, and walked down to her door. She stopped just before going inside her room, “Ya know, a gentleman would ask if I need help.” 

Quinn watched as her eyes seemed to turn a shade darker and looked him over from head to toe. In two quick strides, Quinn was pushing her against her door, his lips on hers. Her hands were in his hair, pulling on the locks she told him not to cut. His hands roamed her body, pulling her as close to him as she could possibly get. He shamelessly rutted her hips against her, his cock begging for release from his pants. 

“If I fuck you, will you stop leaving your shoes by the door?” Quinn mumbled, his lips leaving a trail of searing hot kisses on her skin. 

“If you do a good job, I might consider it.” 

From that night, their friends with benefits relationship blossomed. One would think with the among of orgasms they gave each other, that the animosity would be nearly nonexistent. But it only seemed to up the ante between them. The fights were louder, the pranks were almost near nuclear, and the sex. . . the sex was downright rough and dirty. It almost became part of Quinn’s pregame ritual, to fuck Y/N or jerk off to a video of her. 

Y/N clenched her jaw as she threw her dirty work clothes into the hamper, getting ready to shower the day off. She grabbed her speaker, making sure to turn it up loud enough to annoy Quinn down in the kitchen. He hated her taste in music, and she was well aware of it, always taking the aux cord from her when they would drive to Roger’s. Quinn also liked to eat his dinner in silence, claiming it was one of the only times of his day he had to himself. 

Smiling, she turned on Taylor Swift, letting the bass hit her ears as she stepped into the hot stream of her shower. 

Quinn was mid bite when the all too familiar intro to “SLUT!” started playing. He groaned, slamming his fork down, “One dinner. One fucking dinner in peace.” He pushed his chair away, storming down the hallway towards Y/N’s room. He wasn’t surprised to find her bedroom door unlocked, almost as if she was expecting him. He was about to push the door open, when he heard another all too familiar sound coming from the other side, the blood in his body rushing south. He smirked, imagining how deep her fingers were inside of her to get that kind of reaction. 

Quinn could tell she was getting close by the way her moans got higher pitched. He knew now was the time to strike. Pushing the door open, he walked right over to her shower and yanked back the curtain. 

“Quintin!” Y/N squealed, pulling her hands away from her core and covering her chest, “What the fuck!?” 

"Don't be shy, sweetheart," He smirked, looking up and down her soaking wet body. He licked his lips, and she scoffed, turning away from him, "Oh come on, it's not like I haven't seen it before. Turn back around, lemme see the girls again."

"Oh bite me, Hughes!" Y/N turned the shower head towards him, affectively soaking him. Quinn turned his body away from the water stream that was not only soaking his t-shirt and shorts, but the floor. 

"No," Quinn grunted and grabbed the shower head, turning it back towards her, "You'd enjoy it too much."

Y/N looked over at him, "You're all wet."

"That makes two of us now, huh," Quinn shot her that megawatt smile. Y/N rolled her eyes and snatched the shower curtain from his hand.

"You just lost your invite!"

my requests are open!! :)