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kxsagi · 12 days ago

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HELLOOOO OK SO I JUST READ YOUR LATEST WRITING ABOUT READER LOVING FOOD AND I ABSOLUTELY DEVOURED THE WHOLE POST😋😋

so like now I've got an idea. what if now..it's a reader that eats less, like they don't like eating just because everyday they don't feel like it. and bllk boys being an athlete ofc prioritizes getting enough energy and nutrients from food so they ask the reader to eat more or prob they just learn how to cook for both. can I get this with isagi, kaiser, itoshi brothers, shidou, and karasu? THANK YOU SO MUCH AND BTW I CANT HELP BUT KEEP MENTIONING THAT I REALLY LOVE UR WRITING AND DONT FORGET TO REST WHEN NEEDED.

LOVE YOU!!!!!

“𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐟”

a/n: thank you so much!!! i'm getting emotional 😭😭😭 i'll rest when i need to and you do the same! love you!!! 🫶🏻

also side note, i really don’t promote unhealthy eating habits, and even if you don’t feel like eating, please make sure to eat and fuel your body because you deserve to be fed and feel good!

ft. isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

he finds out on accident.

you casually say something like “oh, i didn’t eat today either” when he asks what you had for lunch, and the word “either” shatters his entire worldview.

“what do you mean ‘either’? wait… wait wait wait, how long has this been a thing?”

the boy goes from concerned boyfriend to a TED Talk nutritionist in three seconds flat.

immediately pulls out a color-coded meal tracker app to “make it more fun” like it’s a game.

and he will absolutely start meal prepping with you. thinks it’s kind of romantic, actually. he’ll sit at your counter with a blender and go “if we blend chicken and spinach together, you get all the protein and fiber without having to chew anything! win-win!”

his mission becomes “get you to eat three times a day like it’s the world cup final.”

“love, i swear on blue lock, just take one bite of this or i’ll start crying.”

kaiser michael

kaiser’s first instinct is to mock you.

“you’re not eating again? what are you, a plant? photosynthesizing your way through life?”

but deep down he’s worried sick.

he notices the way you get tired easily and how your hands are cold even in summer. and while he’s a little dramatic, he does care.

so he starts learning how to cook – secretly. because if you found out he was doing all this for you, you'd probably get flustered and avoid it.

next thing you know, there’s a very flustered kaiser in your kitchen at 8 AM, shirtless, aggressively googling “how to make cute bento boxes that will guilt-trip your girlfriend into eating.”

tries to act cool when he presents it to you.

“eat it. i didn’t spend an hour making smiley-face eggs for you to skip breakfast again.”

if you say “i’m not hungry,” he fake gasps and goes, “i see. you hate my cooking. okay. noted. i’ll go cry in the shower now.”

itoshi rin

rin is not subtle.

the moment he catches you skipping meals or brushing it off, he just squints and goes, “that’s not healthy.”

he’ll start leaving little plates of cut-up fruit, protein bars, or drinks with a sticky note like “eat this. now.”

very “acts like he doesn’t care, but is cooking rice in your kitchen at midnight because you haven’t eaten.”

if he sees you get dizzy or tired, he will pick you up bridal style without saying a word and place you on the couch like you’re a sims character about to pass out.

“you can’t just run on vibes. you’re not a ghost.”

but the cutest part? he starts copying recipes from youtube cooking channels, awkwardly learning how to make tamagoyaki or miso soup just because it’s light but filling.

and when you actually eat something he made? he looks away all flushed like, “whatever. just don’t starve. dumbass.”

itoshi sae

sae finds out when you casually mention you haven’t had an appetite in a few days.

he stops chewing mid-bite. slowly lowers his chopsticks.

“what do you mean… ‘a few days’?”

he’s horrified. in a calm, dead-eyed, big-brother-knows-best way.

immediately texts rin like “this is why i have trust issues.”

he doesn’t make a big deal of it, but the next day he shows up at your place with groceries. fancy ones. imported olive oil. cuts of salmon. actual saffron.

he cooks gourmet meals like he’s on a michelin-starred revenge arc.

“you don’t like eating? then i’ll make something so good you’ll change your mind.”

he casually drops phrases like, “this has slow-digesting carbs and omega-3s, so you won’t feel heavy,” like he’s in your stomach.

bonus: he cuts up the food into small bite sizes so you don’t get overwhelmed. he’s smooth with it too.

“you’re eating this one. no negotiation.”

shidou ryusei

shidou finds out and goes FULL PANIC.

“HUH???? YOU’RE STARVING YOURSELF FOR FUN?????? BABE, DO YOU KNOW HOW FOOD WORKS???”

he’s being dramatic, but he’s actually very worried.

and of course, his version of helping is… weird.

he decides to cook, which is already a disaster. man made cereal with hot sauce once.

“i’m gonna feed you with so much protein you’ll turn into a meatball.”

he tries to make you “protein bombs,” which are just weird mixes of peanut butter, tuna, and pre-workout powder.

you gag. he calls you ungrateful.

eventually, he settles on bribery: “eat this, and i’ll let you sit on my lap while i do squats. hell, i’ll do push-ups with you on my back. anything. just eat.”

he’s so in-your-face affectionate it’s hard to say no. especially when he hugs you from behind and goes, “babe, seriously. you’re perfect. but i want you to have energy to sass me back, y’know? it’s not fun if you’re fainting mid-roast.”

karasu tabito

karasu notices everything.

you’re talking about your day and casually mention “i had water and a banana” and he does a full slow turn like, “sorry. that was your meal???”

turns into mom friend energy immediately.

he’s a little annoying about it in a loving way.

“okay, but hear me out… what if you did eat something with actual nutrients? revolutionary, i know.”

he’ll start showing up with smoothies and snacks unprompted.

hand-feeds you fries on the couch.

and he can cook. surprisingly well.

“i made you a lil something. don’t get used to it, though. unless you want to. actually, yeah. get used to it.”

jokes aside, he’s really gentle about it. when you explain that it’s more of a lack of appetite than anything serious, he doesn’t push – just offers small, frequent snacks and praise every time you eat.

“good girl. finish that rice and i’ll let you wear my hoodie tonight.”

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #kaiser michael x reader #michael kaiser x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #ryusei shidou x reader #karasu tabito x reader #tabito karasu x reader #acts of service bf

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dark-l-angel · 2 months ago

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Hi hi. I have just recently read your Omnilingual reader! And I absolutely loved it. I thought it was so cool and hilarious. Could one possibly have more???

Please :)

A/N : You want chaos do u? language flexing, and the boys absolutely baffled by y/n who casually speaks more tongues than Ra’s himself.

BATBOYS x OMNILINGUAL READER- Part 2

In the Batcave. Tensions are high. Sass is higher. Reader just decoded a villain's ancient message scrawled in 12th-century Aramaic, while wearing sweatpants and sipping a Slurpee.

Dick: "Okay, I’m just saying, it’s kinda hot that you just read that without Google Translate."

You said in perfect French "Si tu me flattes encore, je pourrais bien traduire ce que j'ai dit plus tôt en latin. Peut-être."

(Flatter me again and I might translate what I said in Latin earlier. Maybe.)

Jason was staring at you, jaw clenched "Alright, but like… how many languages do you speak?"

You simply answered "Fluently? Twenty-three. Without Including ASL, Morse code, and whatever it is Damian uses to talk to animals."

Damian looked from the corner, narrowing his eyes.. "You're exaggerating."

You chuckled and said in flawless Arabic : "هل أنا، حبيبي؟" (Am I, habibi?)

Tim slammed his coffee down "I just spent two days decoding that villain’s note. You did it in three minutes. And flirted with a UN ambassador at the same time."

You sipped your drink.. "He liked my dialectical usage of Swahili, what can I say?"

Bruce was silently watching, arms crossed, like he’s doing math. "...Where did you learn to speak Akkadian?"

You answered "I told you. That summer in Mesopotamia. Long story, involved camels, a cult, and a time traveler."

Jason was still staring "So... you single or what?"

You tilted your head "Depends. Can you tell me what 'I want you to shut up and kiss me' sounds like in Latin?"

Jason: "…Cupiam ut silescas et me osculeris."

You smirked "Hot. But your pronunciation's sloppy. Say it again.. slower."

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dragonsondragons · 1 month ago

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You Should Probably Leave - Masterlist

Summary: Jack's therapist encourages him to reach outside his comfort zone, leaving behind his blanket darkness of night and trying to emerge into the light of day. So, he decides to host a summer barbeque with the Pitt team. As the party is wrapping up and guests trickle out, he can't shake the feeling that how much he wants you to stay really means that you should probably leave.

Warnings: yearning!jack, medical social worker!reader, reader is Jack’s work crush, slow burn, tons of therapy, working through trauma, Jack on his #healingjourney, angst, unspecified age gap.

Author's Note: There are so many Chris Stapleton songs that are so Jack Abbot coded, I couldn't resist with this one. Might expand to do some other chris stapleton songfics after I complete this little series.

Prologue - Hard to Resist In which Jack’s therapist challenges him to enjoy the daytime and he admits he has a work crush.

Part I - That Look In Your Eye You make big, bad, Jack Abbot nervous in a way he really isn’t used to anymore. He fumbles his first attempt to invite you to the party, so Dr. Ellis gives him a crash course in how to get the girl.

Part II - Alright, Just One Kiss

Part III - Do the Right Thing, Baby

Part IV - Sun on Your Skin, 6am

[If you would like to be added to my taglist fill out this google form!]

#jack abott #jack abbot x reader #the pitt fic #the pitt hbo #dr abbot #doctor abbot #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot fic #jack abbot fic #You Should Probably Leave

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dr3amfyr-e · 6 months ago

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crybaby - j.v. ( w. 5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. again. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ childhood-friends-to-lovers. someone said idiots in love, and yes! modern au. everyone lives au. liberal usage of the em-dash. foul language. pushing the rhaenicent agenda. an incredible amount of yearning and pining. mention of reader's hair. mentions of anxiety. reader has a breakdown in semi-public. subplot where reader is sick. reader is so down bad its crazy. targ-tower cameo! aemond bitter af and for no reason. wrote a bit of dialogue that is so foul but i only realized it after i typed it and its not being taken out. luke is so little brother coded. i directly quote a serial romance novel thats so cringe. part one here. ⎯ ୧

can be read stand-alone, but theres a lot of context in part one !! thank u all for being patient :3

“It's called Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature.”

Looking up from your twelve-page study guide, you meet Jace’s bright gaze where he sits at the foot of your bed, “That sounds… complicated.”

He shrugs, long fingers brushing up through his thick curls, “I need to take it, it's cross-listed for literature and political science so I’ll get credit for both. I think it’ll be interesting, plus if you take it too…” He leans a little closer, grinning in your face.

“Send it to me,” You reply, highlighting a section in the packet about climate change and its impact on migratory birds in pretty pink ink.

You promise to look it up, to get back to him later, but it's hollow and you know it. He's already given you that pretty smile, flashed his dimples and stared down at you with his dark eyes — your grave has been dug. You will take Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature and read pages of boring political theory because Jace asked and Jace has you wrapped around his finger.

He shifts on the mattress, lying down on his front and scooting decidedly closer to you. His laptop is open in front of him, eyes trained on the screen through his glasses, perusing the course catalogue for the spring semester.

“Isn’t it a bit late to pick classes?” You ask, stretching your legs out in front of you, “It's December, next semester is in, like, four weeks.”

Jace is a perfectionist, a pre-planning freak who has three calendars: a planner that he carries everywhere, a big desk calendar at his apartment for easy access while studying, and his digital calendar. Its colour coded — he has a browser extension that allows him to make events on his Google Calendar any colour. So, it's very unlike Jace, who does his schoolwork the night it's assigned, to pick classes two months after registration opened.

“I just like to look,” He replies, “This class is Wednesday and Friday, from ten to eleven o’clock. Does that work for you?”

You nod, because it will work. You’ll rearrange your schedule if need be. It's pathetic, really, how easily he gets you to do things.

It's quiet for a while, Jace scrolling on his computer while you fill in your study packet.

“When is your last final?” He asks.

“Next Friday.”

“So you’re leaving Friday?”

“No, my train ticket is for Saturday.”

“Damn, I’m leaving Tuesday,” A lull, “When do you come back.”

“The Sunday before classes start. You?”

“That Friday.”

The conversation continues like that, mindless and short but so very comfortable. It's often like that anymore, with little eye contact and no real attention paid to each other besides the brief words — and, not in the way that feels awkward or tense, but in the way that old married couples chat over morning coffee and the paper. Maybe it's the lifetime of friendship that does it, or that you spend more nights in his apartment than your dorm.

You see each other twice more before the holiday.

The Monday that exams start you meet at the coffee shop that became yours in the first two weeks of school. The middle table by the bay window is where you always sit, and the barista has Jace’s order memorised — because he gets the same drink every time you come, a caramel macchiato.

He groans into his hands, ignoring both his coffee and his half of the cheese danish that you’d split, “I feel like I did poorly.”

He’d suffered through days upon days of studying for the political science exam that had plagued him all semester, to be taken today at noon. It was a three-hour exam, mostly multiple choice with two essay questions. You’d been with him through the worst of the studying: in total, forty-seven pages of research papers and scholarly articles printed at the library, and six books varying from fifty to five-hundred pages. He had filled up a plethora of pages in his notebook, and at least three in a word document. There was no study guide, just a list of broad topics. He was facing the consequences of taking a 300-level class in his first semester.

“Jace, darling,” You reply, reaching out to press a reassuring hand to his arm, “You studied for that test more than I think anyone in the history of this school has studied for anything ever. If you didn’t do well, that's a reflection of the professor, not you.”

He doesn’t seem to want much to do with that rationale, sliding his hands down to rest his chin in them. He's pouting, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks at you through his lashes, “What if I failed?”

“Then… I don’t know,” You reach up to pull one of his hands down to the table, twining your fingers, “Then you failed, and that sucks. But you’re sporting a solid one-hundred in the class now, you could get a fifty on that exam and still end with…” Quick mental math. If the exam is weighted at twenty percent, then, “- a ninety percent.”

“An A-minus,” He whines.

“Jace,” You chastise sweetly.

He huffs, his pouty stare turning into a glare with no heat behind it. He wants to whine and mope about exams. What harm does it truly do?

You push his half of the danish towards him, “It's over now. You studied hard, you did your best. There's nothing you can do right now to change your grade. You can’t control it, so there is no point in trying to.”

Jace likes control, he likes to be in control. A psychological idiosyncrasy plaguing many eldest children and children of divorce. The quintessential therapist's advice about what you can control and what you can’t control had been revolutionary for him during one of his bi-weekly appointments — the whole family had them, Rhaenyra and Alicent were big proponents.

Regurgitating that to him, no matter how much it makes you feel like you’re giving unsolicited advice, always works wonders to ground him when he's disproportionately anxious over something out of his control.

He deposits you at your dorm with a kiss on the cheek that evening.

On the Friday you leave school, Jace drives you to the train station. He packs your bags into the backseat of his hoity-toity hybrid Porsche Panamera and lets you play with his radio all the way there.

You’re an hour early to the station — Jace is early everywhere. He sets his paper copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings on his lap in the little lobby, slipping his finger into the book where it is dogeared. Yet, he makes no effort to read, his attention solely on you.

“A month is ages to be apart,” He says, voice soft and thoughtful.

You scoot a little closer, elbows knocking, “It won’t be so bad. We can talk.”

His watch glimmers in the overhead light of the train station when one of his hands settles safely on your knee. Small white face, silver hands and framing, thin black band — it's Gucci, something his mother wore in the nineties. His fingers trace the edge of your skirt, and in the silence begin to smooth down your kneecap to your shin.

“You must be cold,” He murmurs, thumbing the material of your nylons.

“I’m alright.”

Your train is called before he can shed his coat and drape it over your lap, as he so desperately wishes to do.

He hugs you, tightly, before you board. He's so warm, his black jumper is soft against your cheek, and you can smell his cologne where your nose lands in the crook of his neck — patchouli and something earthy and fresh, Brutus Oroto Parisi.

“God, I’ll miss you.”

One morning, a week into the holiday, a letter shows up. It’s written in the black pen he’s so fond of, and you admire his neat penmanship as you read the detailed account of his holiday celebration. You smell the expensive cologne he wears and recognize Helaena’s handmade stationery. He gives you a sheepish smile over a FaceTime call when you bring it up.

When you see him on campus again in January, not much has changed. You're both in your respective majors, he lives in the nicest building on campus, and he hates your roommate. She’s taken to referring to him as your boyfriend; you correct her the first two times and then give up.

Classes are harder with the emotional slump attached to winter. You talk to Jace often, but don’t see much of each other outside of class. And then you get sick.

Banging. Loud banging. It wakes you up from your fever-and-Doxylamine induced sleep. Per college dorms, your first assumption is that it's your loud-ass fucking neighbor! Again! Having bunk-bed-breaking sex like she does every Thursday night with her ugly ass boyfriend who radiates such a strong odor of weed and computer science that you can get a noseful of him a meter down the hall. Doxylamine tends to make people agitated.

Before you can weakly pound on the cinderblock wall, there's a muffled call of your name. It comes from the hallway, and it's followed by another bang — which you begin to realize is knocking.

Crawling out of bed, you blearily pad to the door. You don’t have to peer through the peephole to see who it is. The voice is soft, low, and endearingly posh. Clearly, it’s-

“Jace?” You grumble when you open the door, mind foggy from the cold medicine.

It's early January in London, and the beige cashmere jumper he wears isn’t warm enough — it's a woman’s cut, but it fits him like Loro Piana himself measured the fabric to Jace’s body. The cold weather is visible in the flush of his face, the snowflakes that linger in his hair.

“I’ve been calling you for hours, darling,” He speaks gently, voice heavy with concern.

You blink at him, not responding with anything more than a little, oh.

His hand finds your upper arm, leaning closer to hone your attention, “You look awful,” He guides the both of you back into your dorm room, “Are you unwell?”

You nod, “My roommate brought it back from holiday break.”

Jace huffs sharply, mumbling something to himself, no doubt about your roommate. He walks you back towards your bed, gently pushing you to sit.

“Have you been to the clinic?” He asks, one hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Twice.”

His hand slides up, finers gracing your temple to push some stray hair behind your ear, and then landing upon your brow bone, “You’re burning up.”

It's quiet for a few moments, hands retracing back down to cradle your face as he inspects you. He's focused, calculating and planning in his head — it's an energy you’ve seen him embody countless times, assessing the scraped knees, bruised foreheads, and aching tummies of his younger siblings.

“What time is it?” You ask, after watching him bustle about your room for about thirty minutes. He's such a mother hen: making tea, procuring medication you didn’t know you had, wetting flannels, adjusting your blankets.

“Ten,” He replies, settling into your twin-size bed next to you and pressing a mug of piping hot tea into your waiting hands, “It's peppermint. I wish you kept chamomile, or really anything herbal.”

You disregard his latter comment, resting your head on his shoulder. Soft. As an eighteen-hundred pound jumper should be, “You came here in the dead of night? In the snow?”

He slides his legs under the blankets, sinking down into your pile of pillows and stuffed animals and pulling you closer, “I took the bus part of the way. Plus-” His hand drags across your shoulders, “I needed to see you. You missed class today, and I haven’t heard from you since Monday. I had nearly driven myself to the brink of madness with worry.”

You groan, turning your head to bump your forehead into the jut of his shoulder, “I hadn’t thought about class,” Bump, bump, bump goes your head, “Did I miss anything important?”

He hums, looking down at you, “We had to turn in a paragraph detailing our preliminary ideas for that big Arthashastra comparison essay. Doctor Dunlavey loved your connections to the political system in The Silmarillion.”

What? You lift your head to look up at him, “I didn’t do the assignment.” You had been too sick to think about school-work.

“Well,” He shrugs, lightly enough that it doesn’t disturb you, “Who's to say? He doesn’t have your handwriting memorized, he has hundreds of students.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, “Thank you, Jace.”

He sleeps in your bed that night, insisting that you’re sick enough that someone needs to keep an eye on you. Dressed in a loose pair of your pajamas, he curls around you in the tiny bed. His body spills warmth through both of your sleepwear, and maybe it's the fever or the cold cinderblock of your dorm but there is no physical proximity that quantifies as close enough to him.

He's gone by the time you wake up, late into the morning. Naught of him but a text.

i had to go to class and i didn’t want to wake you up, sorry

be back later x

And true to his word, he arrives that evening with a travel mug of lavender chamomile tea and the cough medicine he makes Luke take when he’s sick. It’s so bad that you nearly choke at the taste, but he leaves the bottle and you’re better by the end of the week.

You’re both more diligent in seeing each other going forwards.

Your phone rings one day in mid-February — a silly picture of Jace in a bright red hat, one of Helaena’s, pops up on your screen, followed by the affectionate nickname he’s saved as in your phone.

You even get a chance to say hello, his voice immediately bursting through the speaker, “Do you have plans for the third weekend of February?”

You think through your mental calendar, “I don’t believe so, nothing that takes priority over you at least. Why do you ask?”

You can hear him fiddling with something on the other line, the clicking of a pen echoing from his bedroom to your ear. Every year his family hosts a gala, raising an ungodly amount of money for their charitable cause by selling high-priced tickets. And everyone comes, because the Targaryens are the royalty of the one percent.

“Come?” He asks, “Please, I think you’ll enjoy it. Plus, it’ll be like a little holiday for us.”

And again — you’re wrapped so tightly around Jace’s finger that you don’t even think before saying yes. You don’t think through many things regarding this, which lands you in a guest bedroom in Rhaenyra and Alicent’s massive London estate.

In truth, it's not a guest bedroom, but rather Daeron’s old room. It is decorated with posters of classical musicians and string instrument charts; vinyls line his bookshelf, alphabetized and all orchestral. Daeron stays with Alicent’s brother in Paris during the academic year, attending a private secondary school with a music-based curriculum. He had been practically a prodigy at the violin.

The room is sandwiched between Luke and Aemond, directly across the hall from Jace. There are a number of guest rooms in the house, but they’re all the next floor up and Jace had insisted that you stay across the hall from him. It does feel a bit odd to change into your pretty black dress while staring down a battalion of Daeron’s music awards and a very large framed photo of Otto Hightower.

“I don’t mean to be judgemental, but who keeps a photo like this of their grandfather in their bedroom?” You ask, adjusting the straps of the dress, “I would understand if he was dead, but Otto is… not.”

Jace laughs from where he lounges on the bed, scrolling through something on his phone. After nearly two decades of friendship, there's little that hasn’t been seen and very lax boundaries. He had watched you change innumerable times before, but today his eyes are decidedly diverted onto his phone.

“Good?” You ask, turning from the mirror, and giving him a spin.

Jace stares, uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes are trained on you, scanning the dress, mouth closed and brows drawn so slightly you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him so well. He's a bit rigid where he’s propped up on the bed, clearly contemplating.

After an unnerving amount of time, really only five seconds, he speaks, “You look nice.”

It's… odd. Measured and closed off, a complex thought that you don’t have the context from his internal monologue to understand. Did he not like it? Or was he stunned into silence by your sheer, Goddess-like beauty?

“We match,” You offer meekly, gesturing between your dress and his black suit jacket and slacks. A lame comparison. Nearly everyone at these events wore black.

But he smiles nonetheless, a genuine smile that shows off his pretty dimples, “We do.”

Jacaerys drives to the event, and you’re squished in the too-small backseat of his car, between Lucerys and Aemond. Aegon is in the passenger seat, talking incessantly, and Jace wishes he would shut up so he can think about the silky material of your dress in peace.

It's a precarious set-up, truly. Jace drives a four-door, but it isn’t meant for six adolescents in formal attire. Aemond is stiff as a rod next to you, pointedly staring out the window and only interacting to bite back at anything Aegon says. Occasionally his bony elbow will bump your side or his knee will knock into yours, and he’ll pull away as if you’re red hot, shooting you a glanced glare.

The radio is its own battle. Upon entering the car it had connected automatically to Jace’s phone, playing a few seconds of the theory podcast he had been listening to and earning a collective groan. Luke was quick to sync his phone instead, the Ramones brash drums blaring from the speakers. Aegon changed it to chav rap. It ensued like that for the whole car ride — punk rock to rap, volume up and down and up and down.

The ballroom is glorious. All high domed ceilings and white crown moulding and gold leaf details. There’s a massive chandelier in the centre of the room that drips with perfect crystals. An astonishing world it was that Jacaerys grew up in. Overwhelming

“Are you alright?” Jace murmurs, hooking his arm into yours as your shoes click against the marble floor. He can sense your unease, feel it in the way your forearm tenses at any particularly fast movement or loud aristocratic laugh.

“Fine,” You assure, shooting him a smile.

Of course, Jace doesn’t buy it. Your pretty smile doesn’t reach your eyes, it's tighter than normal. He knows things like that — he’ll never admit it, but every one of your microexpressions are programmed into his brain.

Arm-in-arm the pair of you reach a semi-circle near the bar. Rhaenyra, Corlys, Luke, and Helaena. The boring financial drivel meets your ears from several paces away, and it's mind-numbing up close.

‘I don’t think you can quantify the inherent need for biodegradable fuel in those metrics.’

‘Well, I would argue that you can. In such a high output industry you have to calculate the necessity for every pence.’

You nod along, putting up a convincing facade of business intellect while Jace adds in expertly to the dull conversation. Helaena, to Rhaenyra’s left, is about as interested as you.

It's only when Otto breaks into the group, and the conversation shifts from the most cost effective biofuel to is shipping on a mass scale a pertinent trade in post-Brexit England that you’re pulled away. Though not by Jace, who has become more engrossed in the conversation than he is in you, but by Luke.

“You seemed to be drowning,” He smiles up at you, offering his arm.

You take it gladly, “Thank you for saving me.”

“Don’t worry, I was drowning too.”

Activity on the balcony is scant; one lady sits in a metal chair sipping a glass of champagne, an elderly man stands at the far end of the railing peering at the London cityscape down below. Luke leans his elbows against the rail, propping his head up in one hand.

“How's college?” He asks, looking up at you.

You hum, leaning down to mimic his posture, “Oh, it's fine. It's a lot of work,” There's a lull in the conversation as the two of you bask in the lack of hustle and bustle, “Have you started thinking about college yet?”

He shrugs noncommittal, picking at the nails of his free hand. He's very quiet for a while, and you allow him that because every life decision feels massive and dire at fifteen. When he does speak, his voice is soft, “Grandfather said that he wanted me to inherit his business after my dad, but now mum is talking about me being her successor.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“Jace doesn’t want to inherit.”

“I know.”

“He wants to be a lawyer, like Alicent. And I don’t blame him, but that puts a lot of pressure on me. Because now it's like I have mum and grandpa expecting me to be great, and I stand in their conversations and I don’t understand half of what they’re saying-”

“Luke,” You softly interject in his rushed rant, running a careful hand down his arm, “No one expects you to be perfect. You’re still a child, you’ve not even taken your A-Levels yet.

He nods solemnly.

“I know that it feels like the weight of your family legacy rests on your shoulders, but if you also defer inheritance it will be just fine. You have, what — like, ten siblings?” He gives a little laugh at your reasoning, “Plus, Laena and Baela, and Rhaena who could take over after your father.”

Luke nods, “I suppose you’re right,” He elbows you gently in the ribs, “You’re pretty wise, you know?”

It's your turn to laugh, nudging him back, “So, what do you want to do after school?”

He traces mindless little stars into the railing, “I’d really like to study music. Some of my friends and I have been playing together, and we’re talking about starting a band.”

“That's really cool, Luke!” You beam.

He smiles sheepishly, “I mean, it's nothing grand yet. We haven’t decided a name, and we’re a bit at odds about a genre.”

“Well,” You smile, “When you lot play, let me know. I’ll be in the front row!”

The calm quiet is broken when the door to the balcony opens, “Luke, darling. Mummy needs you.”

You both turn to see Alicent peering out of the doorway, body still inside the ballroom. Her arm slips around your waist in an endearingly maternal way as the three of you make your way back towards Rhaenyra.

“How are you, lovely?” She asks, rubbing between your shoulder blades. Her pear and saffron perfume, Guidance Amouage, floods your olfactory senses.

“Well!” You reply, leaning into her warm touch, “This is all so wonderful. I’m very glad Jace invited me.”

She smiles back, “Me too.”

Being a guest of the host by extension, you’re required to stay for the duration. So, you watch people dissipate as your energy dwindles. By the end of the night, nearly eleven, your upright position relies heavily on the support of Jace’s arm around your waist as he chats with his grandmother, Rhaenys. Politics, environmentalism, blah blah, drivel, drivel. You might do more to participate if the five hours of nonstop interaction and three glasses of champagne weren’t pulling your body towards the ground, but you settle for little engaged nods.

The car is less crowded on the way back — much to everyone's chagrin, Aegon called an Uber halfway through the gala. You’re allowed the front seat, and spend most of the ride dozing off to the tune of The Velvet Underground & Nico, 1967.

You sleep in Jace’s bed that night, despite your own quarters being directly across the hall.

When Jacaerys realises he’s in love with you, you’re crying in the library stairwell.

“I’m fucked,” You sob into your hands, shoulders shaking with the force of your misery.

You had been studying together, preparing for the rest of your midterms when a notification came through your school email with an updated exam grade.

Sheer terror, cold unyielding panic that starts just below your throat and twists its way down your spine and back into your lower intestine. The grade was a forty-two, which brought your total grade down to a fifty-eight.

In the least melodramatic way possible you’d shut your laptop and told Jace you were going to the bathroom. But the bathroom was at the back of the room, and you had gone to the hallway — plus, he just knew better.

Gentle footsteps, you see his Sambas first and hear the crack of his knees as he sits next to you on the stair step.

“You’re not fucked,” He murmurs back, his voice low and soft. One arm comes around your stooped shoulders, the soft fabric of his cardigan brushing the back of your neck, “It's only midterms, angel. This is nothing that you can’t reverse.”

The first thought in your head is easy for perpetual straight-A student Jacaerys to say, the next thought is much more self-pitying. You don't voice either, head falling to your knees.

You aren’t allowed to stay like that for long, firm hands come to your arms and pull you up. From there, they run slowly up and down — from your scapula to your bicep, over and over. And his chest blooms with warmth when you respond well, calming down. He runs his thumb over the soft skin underneath your eyes — first the left eye, and then the right — brushing away tears.

Jace’s typical form of comfort plays on his lifelong role as eldest sibling; it's usually coddling, while he mothers you and tries to problem solve. This is not that. It's something deeper, more genuinely concerned. He isn’t trying to solve your ailment, he just wants to make you feel better.

“It's just a grade,” He soothes, “It's just an exam, a midterm. This makes up maybe ten percent of your overall grade, and I know that you do well on everything else,” His head is cocked, looking at you so sweetly, “I bet it only looks this bad because it's mid-semester, your score will go up in a few weeks.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the last stray tears fall.

“You’re alright,” He whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, “Hm?”

Jace is alone that night, Montblanc pen held in perfect writing posture as he journals — an exercise recommended by his mother. The highlights include:

It was gutting. I just wanted to make it better & I didn’t know how.

Inappropriate time to kiss her face, I couldn’t think of anything else.

I’m usually so good at comfort and reassurance, I don’t know what's wrong with me.

Fuck, I’m hopeless.

Things feel different to me now. Not in a particularly bad sense, just different. Maybe it's the transition from childhood friendship to adult friendship.

I read that god awful serial romance novel last holiday because grandma left it sitting out – A Wallflower Christmas by Lisa Kelypas. And I remember this passage like ‘I want you under me. I know you deserve more respect than that.’

I found it, “I want you under me. On your back. / I’m sorry. You deserve more respect than that. But I can’t stop thinking of it. Your arms and legs around me. Your mouth, open for my kisses. I need too much of you. A lifetime of nights spent between your thighs wouldn't be enough. / I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you’ve ever said to me. / If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place. I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.”

I’ve been thinking of that passage, like it's playing aloud in my head. What does that mean?

I don’t particularly feel that for her.

I get some of it, like ‘I want to talk with you forever, I remember every word you say.’ Anything else though, the romantic bits, I don’t.

Though, the kissing her face was new. It was compulsive almost, like I had to do it.

Need to call mum.

“Is it fair to you?” Rhaenyra asks through the phone. It's late, past the time she puts the little kids to bed, but she's never not answered a phone call from one of her children.

Jace sighs, worrying one of the buttons on his cardigan, “What if it ruins everything?” He asks, “What if I tell her, and she never speaks to me again and then I lose my best friend?”

“But is that fair, Jace?” She reasons, “To go about a lifetime of friendship keeping this massive secret from her? It won’t go away, my love. It will fester and fester and eat at you for as long as you know her.”

He doesn’t have a good reply to that.

“Jacaerys, I spent twenty years pining after my best friend — so long that I had time to marry, have three children, and divorce. I spent years and years suffocating in regret, because I missed my chance to tell her and build a life. I got another chance, which is very rare, and it was no less scary that time. But, I knew that if I didn’t go for it then I would never have the opportunity to live the life I had spent my entire adolescence dreaming of,” Rhaenyra sighs, “My sweet boy, don’t let this slip away because you’re afraid.”

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, he thinks.

When you accompany him home for summer break, hand in hand, it's with a new depth to your relationship. ‘Tis better to have loved.

tags<3 @one-big-fangirl

check out my event ! ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

#𖦹｡⋆ jace #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #prince jacaerys #listened to soooooo much lana del rey writing this

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brummelliana · 5 months ago

Text

It Begins

The Next Beatles Game

this is only a placeholder of course. Let it be known that as a placeholder menu song it plays the guitar solo from Freebird. I wish it could always be this epic but stupid beatle song will have to replace it.

Good news for Ringo fans since he is actually in this one.

I spent the last 30 or so hours working on Act 1's coding. I have 1459 lines of code in the script as of now. There is more script and outline in google docs.

This is a much more ambitious project than CBML. To put it into perspective, the first choice in CBML was at line 1611, and AHDN has about 10 choices and a minigame so far.

But as Can't Buy Me Love improved upon Paulgame, I aim to improve upon CBML with "A Hard Day's Night: The Game". A Hard Game's Night? The title is a work in progress...

The outline is more or less finished. The plot follows along the lines of the film, but I don't want to make it an identical experience to watching the movie either.

Like CBML there is an original player character, I draw info from the original script, add a little here and there, ect.

Your choices will matter much more in this game. I have variables and a point system, the Beatle boys will remember if you slighted them, or vice verca.

It is planned to be a tamer game than Can't Buy Me Love, (I mean, CBML was a real fever dream of a plot), but fear not, I will try to integrate my classic Brummelliana wacky zany humor everybody and their mother loves.

My current plan is to finish act 1 as a demo, and then continue on the rest of the game. If I'm lucky, maybe it will be out this summer, give or take. Maybe the full game will be done by winter 2025.

Maybe I should go crazy and sell the full thing for like... a dollar. I don't know if that'll make Paul sue me or what. The full game might be a few hours, so I might get away with it.

#AHDN Game #the beatles #CBML

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barcameowski · 6 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐈 ⁻ hector fort

warnings: none

face claim: jade distinguin

pairing: hector fort x reader

𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽

liked by hctorforrt_ , lamineyamal , judebellingham and 53,000 others

yourusername: ⭐️

view comments

user1: everyone is just here because of hector lol

hctorforrt_: mi estrellita 🤩⭐️

⇝ yourusername: 💛

user2: back off

user3: hector can NOT be dating her

user4: it’s giving golden retriever girlfriend x black cat boyfriend

⇝ user5: grumpy x sunshine

user6: she’s so…bright

user7: it is not true!!! hector is dating me not her!!!

⇝ user8: #staydelusional

user9: leave her alone like damn

user10: she just casually gained 10k followers in three hours

user11: can we talk about the dress tho

⇝ user12: ikr im literally obsessed 🤩

user13: angelic 🪽

user14: 🤮🤢

user17: why are we ignoring that jude bellingham is here?

user15: you guys need to get a life

user16: your hair has perfect waves 😭😭😭

liked by hctorforrt , footballgossipofficial and 198,000 others

yourusername: sol, amor, y flores 🌺 (también una quemadura de sol)

view comments

hctorforrt_: 💖

⇝ liked by creator

user1: thats 100% hector in the first photo and no body can prove me wrong

user2: i want those earrings 😖😖

⇝ yourusername: they’re from a local shop in barcelona 💞

user3: why are there so many people here?

⇝ user4: shes hector forts girlfriend (allegedly)

user5: of course he’s dating a blonde

user6: it’s not that deep you guys, I’m sure you think you had a chance but you didn’t

user7: your skin is glowinggg

user8: hair card never declines

user9: the tan 😖😭

user10: im curious, what does hector see in her?

user11: if summer was a person

user12: she literally has no flaws

user13: aw i scraped my knee, falling for you

user14: sabrina carpenter vibes

liked by hctorforrt_ , judebellingham and 237,000 others

yourusername: self care 🎀

view comments

user1: each time she posts she has more likes wtf 😭

user2: photo booth pics ateee

user3: she’s so self love coded

user4: mother, i said it, i wont take it back

user5: we love a girl who loves and cares for herself 💛

user6: hector didn’t comment this time?

⇝ user7: my prayers have been answered

⇝ user8: he still liked the post

user9: aestheticcccc

user10: she has the vibes and the girlies love the vibes

user11: i like her hair better wavy than straight but she till looks nice i guess

user12: hablas catalán?

⇝ yourusername: un poco 🤏

user13: jude is only here when hector isn’t featured in the post lol

story posted by hctorforrt_

replies

user1: this is y/n right?

user2: pleaseeeeee nooooo

user3: im mourning

user4: hector no

user5: are you serious

liked by hctorforrt_ , paucubarsi , judebellingham and 391,000 others

yourusername: 🖤

view comments

hctorforrt_: ❤️💋

⇝ liked by creator

user1: same dress as the girl in hectors story

user2: she was literally the girl in hectors story

user3: side profile 🫠

user4: no you don’t understand i need to be you

user5: google says you have three days left

user6: you look stunning as always

user7: oh to be as pretty as you

user8: drop a tutorial please 🙏

user9: very demure, very mindful

user10: I can’t even comprehend the fact that hector is dating her

user11: bellingham is so obsessed

judebellingham: 🫠🤩

⇝ yourusername: visca barça ❤️💙

⇝ user12: she said get yo ass out of here before I take you out myself

liked by hctorforrt_ , lamineyamal , marcguiu9 and 411,000 others

yourusername: en playas de santorini

view comments

hctorforrt_: que belleza 🤍

⇝ liked by creator

marcguiu9: mamá y papá

⇝ lamineyamal: mamá y papá

⇝ marcbernal_: mamá y papá

⇝ paucubarsi: mamá y papá

⇝ hctorforrt_: basta ya

comments are limited

requests are open

#Spotify #fc barcelona #football #football x reader #x reader #barca #futbol #smau #hector fort x you #hector fort #hector fort x reader

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hvnsinureyes · 2 months ago

Text

YOU LIKE TO SAY THAT YOU'RE RIGHT ! austin reaves.

request | "omg rennie… more like a challengers-esque version where golfer!austin hires you, a has-been golf player sidelined to teaching by an injury—whose career he’s inadvertently followed because you used to train at the same club when you were kids, to help perfect his swing then one thing leads to another and suddenly you’re being fucked in a golf cart with a [CALL DROPS]"

warnings | angst-ish, reader is somewhat tashi coded, nsfw— austin fucks you in a golf cart, unprotected sex, creampie, austin's lowk obsessed/delusional (that's how i like 'em)

author's note | it's a long one! also forgive me i know nothing about golf, learned all of this from google! also i am sick (once again) so i may take a teeny break from tumblr after this one! sorry :(

AUSTIN REMEMBERS YOU CLEARLY. more than he should, to be honest. he first met you at golf camp— where his parents enrolled him in so he had something to keep him occupied during the summer. he was used to playing baseball and basketball, golf was meant to be a challenge. golf keeps you balanced, his dad says. forces you to try and try again until you're sick swinging your arms around, but in the long run, you'll improve.

camp was boring at first, he won't lie. but then he met you.

you were here for different reasons— a rising prodigy in golf, a legacy already guaranteed by your skills alone. you were only 15 at the time, yet already considered a future GOAT. despite all the whispers and pressure, you didn't break. never let anyone see you fall. the first one at the range, practicing for hours on end, practically glued to your golf club. austin wasn't jealous of your skill, far from it. he understood the hype the moment you arrived, didn't need any more convincing. if it wasn't from the way you exuded dominance, then it was your skill. he was entranced by the way your face looked when focused, eyes sharp enough to kill, with the perfect posture, your swing controlled and precise.

but regardless of how austin noticed your presence, it was like he was invisible to you. well, everyone was. you wouldn't let anyone distract you from your goals. you weren't here to make friends. the only time you ever talked to him was in passing or asking him for a simple favor. even years later, austin didn't forget you. he wasn't obsessed or anything, no. he simply wanted to see your progress. after all, the whispers were right.

you rose through the ranks like it was nothing, win after win, working hard to fulfill the prophecy laid out for you.

but before the world could fully cement your place in golf, before you could really savor the taste of what it meant to be great, you career ended in seconds. suddenly, the music you were listening to turned into shrill sirens, red and blue surrounding you. it was all a blur, from the murmurs of the first responders to state of your totaled car.

it wasn't your fault. a reckless driver, drunk off his ass, speeding past a red light and hitting your car in the process.

"are you awake? hello? how do you feel?"

what you felt— or what you couldn't feel— was your wrist.

you didn't have to listen to what the doctor had to say, the look on his face said it for him. a severe wrist fracture.

and that was all it took to dethrone you.

you love golf. sometimes, you like to think golf loved you just as much, if not even more. it's a silly thought, but it's the only one that brings you comfort. better than the ones who call you "wasted potential" or "the princess who never became queen". you've degraded yourself to a mentor now, helping people become close to what you used to be. it's not bad, actually, having a purpose once again feels good.

it’s good enough. it'll never be the same as playing, but oh well. there's nothing you can do about that, right?

you look at your watch— 3:02 p.m. 2 minutes after you were supposed to start today’s session.

he's late, again.

the new pain in your ass, austin reaves, is your new student. your only student, matter of fact. he's the only one who can handle your teaching style. you remember him as the cute, country sounding nerd from arkansas. back then, his game was decent, but when he reached out for help years later, it was like the skills he learned had vanished.

he wanted you, out of all people, to teach him what he forgot.

he likes the push you give— wants you to be hard on him, to hold him accountable, to make him better. you didn't understand why. he still has another sport to go home to at the end of the day, one who takes up much more of his time than golf.

austin's willing to be molded into your image of a perfect golfer. every move he makes, he looks back at you, eyes asking, "was that okay?"

whether it’s praise or criticism— austin soaks your words up, like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, and in return, he gives results. you like to say he’s the best student you ever had. not out loud, though.

you catch the soft hum of a golf cart approaching— low and steady, the familiar "rrrrr" noise cutting through your thoughts. finally, he's here. his tour bag’s propped in the back of the golf cart, swaying slightly as he pulls up and parks a few feet away from you. without hesitation, he grabs his bag and jogs over, face flushed, hair a mess— he clearly rushed over here.

you’ll have to cuss him out about being on time later.

there's a sharper edge to you today— more pissed off than usual, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by austin. maybe it’s because he was late, maybe it’s undeserved anger built from the day you lost it all. whatever the reason, the look in your eyes stings more than any words. you're looking at him like a failure and it eats away at his core.

"again," you mutter, harshly. austin breaks out of his stance, setting his arms back down. he's exhausted, maybe nearing his limit, but you continue on anyway. his swing’s gotten sloppy, and he still hasn’t made the correction. he sets another ball on the tee, casting a quick glance your way. body settling in, feet planted, arms raised, breath held—

"stop." austin holds his pose. "what's wrong with your stance?"

"...i don’t know."

you sigh and roll your eyes, not even trying to hide your exasperation as you step toward him. the grass crunches lightly under your feet, hand landing on his shoulder. "you’re stiff," you say, your voice quieter now, but still with the same bite. “too stiff. you’ve got to relax, alright?” your gaze travels down, scanning his body until it catches the problem. "and your knees aren't bent. how many fucking times do i have to remind you?"

"sorry coach." it's a more than an apology, a plea for you to have mercy on him. you're already starting up and austin knows it won't end soon. you pull away from his shoulder, backing up to observe him. "sorry won't change that sorry ass stance. fix it and try again." you say. it's quick, barely noticeable, but austin falters.

you wait to hear the crack from the club hitting the ball. it doesn't come.

instead, austin drops the club completely, the loud thud of the club hitting the ground, sound echoing through the air. "i said try again." but austin doesn't make a move to pick it up. he ignores your demand, walking towards you, his expression mirroring yours. he's pissed.

"what’s wrong with you?"

"excuse me?"

"you heard me. what’s goin’ on?" silence fills the air. you don't know what to say back. austin's never stood up for himself like this— often taking the brunt of your harshness without a single complaint. what's even worse is, you can't give him a real answer.

you can't say you're still bitter about what happened to you. bitter that your entire future, wasted because of someone else's poor decision. it should be you practicing your swing, winning tournaments, and making a name for yourself. austin could be great too, but golf is "just a hobby" to him. golf was your life, it still is. he can play whenever he wants for fun, while you can't grip a golf club without your wrist aching.

it's not fair.

but instead, you say, "what are you talking about?"

"don’t bullshit me." he steps forward, voice low as he closes the last bit of space between you, his shadow overtaking your figure. austin lowers his head slightly, tilting it just enough to catch your eyes under the brim of your cap. the eye contact is intense, the both of you refusing to back down as your emotions clash. "y’know, i’ve dealt with your attitude since day one. i never complain. i don’t talk back. i treat you with respect. but still, you treat me like i’m shit."

"i thought you were okay with the way i teach you. if you can’t handle it—"

but austin continues on, cutting you off. "oh, i can handle it. don’t get me wrong, i like the way you teach. but there’s a fine line between bein’ strict and straight up rude. so again— what’s your problem?"

you say nothing. your insecurities sit too deep inside of you, buried under layers of pride and fear— your lips part like you might speak, but no words come out. "won’t talk?" austin watches you carefully, scanning your eyes as if they'll reveal the truth themselves, but you're not budging. he scoffs. guess you'll be stubborn about this.

"that’s fine by me. i’ll jus’ have to get it out of you another way."

"austin."

"shut up. all you ever do is run your mouth. it’s my turn." you press your lips into a tight line, while the corner of his mouth curves upward. a smile not filled with amusement, but with satisfaction. good girl, he thinks. "now you listen to me good n’ well." his finger points at the golf cart behind you.

"i’m gonna fuck you right here, in this cart. better tell me now if you want me to stop."

austin expected you to yell at him. call him crazy and delusional for even thinking you’d consider doing something so dirty with him in public, in the same country club you frequent often. if you were to get caught— your reputation would be done for.

your conflicted look isn’t lost on him. but then, you nod.

"don’t stop." you whisper. you don’t have to tell him twice. he grabs your arm swiftly, dragging you over to the cart. despite his tight grip, he lays you down gently on the front seats, making sure you don't hit the handles, lowering himself to catch your lips into a kiss. austin says a quick thank you to god in his head, glad a bunch of trees are covering the two of you from any nosy bystanders.

his lips and hands are everywhere all at once— your thighs, breasts, hips, and neck, working together to bring you to pleasure. it’s not long until austin’s sick of how covered you are, unbuttoning your polo and throwing it off your body. your skirt, bra, and panties are next to go, and once you’re bare underneath him, austin’s breath hitches. "you’re so gorgeous," he mumbles, distracted by your beauty. "too bad you’re so mean to me, hm?"

"i’m sorry."

"sorry won’t fix that sorry ass attitude. remember?" you glare at him and he snickers. you realize you don’t have that power anymore, to boss him around. austin’s in control and as a way of making it up to him, you’ll let him have it. just this once. after pulling his shirt over his head, austin goes back down to start trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. he nips at your skin, eliciting a soft whimper from your throat. as much as austin wants to ravish every inch of your body, the longer he takes, the more likely you’ll get caught. he doesn’t want to be banned at the club (or arrested) for public indecency.

when he makes it past your stomach, austin can’t help but smirk. acting like you couldn’t stand him, when all this time you were soaked. a finger goes in to dive between your lips, letting him in with no resistance. one finger becomes two, pushing in and out, making you moan loudly. your fingers grab onto the plush seats of the cart, trying your best to keep your composure.

the heat inside of you builds and builds, until austin stops, pulling away.

you whine at the loss of contact, but austin chuckles at your neediness. "don’t worry, m' not done just yet." he says, unbuckling his belt. he unzips his pants quickly, pushing them down to his ankles. with a swift tug of his cock, he buries himself inside with a swift thrust. he sighs in relief, throwing his head back.

you feel like heaven. he’s addicted and barely even got a full taste of it all. "been wantin' to fuck you since we met again." hands gripped the handles of the cart, fingers curled tight around the warm metal, as he thrusts his hips into you.

"if i had known it was gonna be this good, i would’ve made a move the first day." you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping somehow, blocking out the world will make austin's voice disappear. but it doesn’t work— each one finds their way into your head. you feel the heat rise inside, spreading through your chest, your body betraying you with every breath. a raw, burning want cuts through your attempts to hold back. you want him. desperately. your body is already giving in before your head can make it's mind up. "how does it feel, baby?"

so good, you think, but you settle for another moan instead.

"these strokes good enough for you? not too stiff?"

"fuck— fuck you, austin."

"you are, right now." his smirk is devious, practically getting off to the thought of finally putting you in your place. "funny how you're not telling me off anymore." he drives the point in when he changes the pace of his thrusts, slowing it down just for you. his cock enters in slow, but deep, hand running down the small bulge poking through your tummy. "i bet you love this." you mewl when he presses down, "maybe that’s what i'll do now, fuck you stupid when you get too smart."

you don't dignify him with a response— but your pussy does. the way it's squelching around him, covering his dick with your slick. "because i'm the only one who makes you feel this good."

"y— you sure about that?" austin laughs again, dismissing your words. he doesn’t take you seriously— not in the way you want him to. you said it to hurt him, a desperate attempt to get back some control. he knows better. you’ve told him before, "i don't have time for relationships." you’ve never been the type who gets around either, not like he does, at least. "with how you're stutterin'? you won't want anyone else after today."

"i'll be the only man bendin' you over," he murmurs, saying it like it's a promise. he sees you struggling, head thrown back against the seats. "you're close aren't ya?" your pulse quickens, and that familiar pressure coils low in your stomach. "cum all over this cock, sweatheart." his fingers quickly find your clit, rubbing relentlessly.

"let go for me." you try to hold it off, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he single-handedly wrecked you so quickly, but the pace of his thrusts combined with his fingers are overwhelming. that's all it takes for your orgasm to hit you violently, juices squirting around his cock. austin hisses at the sudden feeling of your pussy clenching around him, suddenly gripping him like a vice.

with every ounce of energy you can muster, you wrap your legs around his waist. legs locked around him, his body against yours leaving nowhere else to go but deeper, closer. austin freezes as if he's been caught off guard, but gathers himself quickly. hunched over like an animal, he says against your throat, "where d'ya want it? inside?" a warning that he was close.

"yes, yes, yes! please, austin."

"you wanna risk it? might knock you up, make you a mommy."

"i don’t care—ah! anymore! please!" in an instant, the warmth of his cum floods your insides, thrusts faltering as he drives into you in one fluid motion, all the way to the hilt. your pants fill his ear, his head pressed into the crook of your neck. you can feel the faint beat of his pulse against your chest, hearts beating together.

you try to savor this moment of silence, try to pretend austin's cum isn't dripping out of you. he's still your annoying ass student, the same one who didn't fuck the shit out of you a few seconds ago. you definitely don't have any feelings for him either, oh god no.

"we might have to look at baby golf shoes. y'know, just in case." he says, pressing a teasing kiss to your shoulder. "ugh, shut up." you snap, making him laugh all over again. yup, still annoying. he lifts himself away, looking for your clothes sprawled across the grass. "did you forget plan b exists?"

"still sassin' me, huh?" he smirks. "you didn’t learn a thing."

#rennie writes #nba imagine #nba imagines #austin reaves x reader #austin reaves #nba fic #nba fanfic #austin reaves imagine

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iiiknowplaces · 6 months ago

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collide, santana lopez.

| warnings: fem!reader, santana being absolutely DOWN BAD, best friends to lovers, miscommunication trope, angst, angry love confession, reader is/was a cheerio, set in glee season 2.

we bringing back the 2018 instagram edit audio for this one !!

santana lopez never thought she'd be in such a compromising position. she was smarter than this, she knew how to avoid situations that could possibly put her at risk, yet, she'd failed. why? she was madly in love with her best friend. one that's straight (or she thinks). the two of you met in your freshman year at the cheerios prep camp, where you were the new girl in town. she immediately was charmed, which she thought was platonic (spoiler alert! it was not), so the two of you became friends, along with quinn and brittany. you two were always a little closer with each other than with the other two, for some totally unknown reason. it was at the end of sophomore year, where you two had gone through glee, which helped santana find herself a bit more, and made her realize that she may not be as straight as she wished. it took just about the entirety of summer to come to terms with the fact, but she did. and by the time junior year had started, she also managed to pinpoint the cause of her questioning, you.

it was solos week in the glee club, which was widely loved by everyone, especially the ones who never get solos. you had performed a beautiful rendition of "safe and sound" by taylor swift, leaving santana in absolute awe. how could someone be so angelic? the hardest part was acting like the song hadn't rocked her world, especially when you sat next to her when you'd finished. she internally freaked out, wondering why you had sat next to her, before snapping back into reality and remembering that that was in fact your seat. you'd seemed to notice her turmoil, raising an eyebrow at her antics, which got a nervous smile in return, prompting you to look back at the front of the room where kurt stood, ready to perform.

"shit", is what the latina thought when you'd waited for her after glee. she'd forgotten that the two of you were going to hang out at her house afterwards to "do your homework" (code for gossip and watch romcoms). she was snapped out of her thoughts by your sweet voice.

"are you ready to go, tana?"

she loved when you used nicknames. if only it was one like 'sweetheart' or 'baby', instead of a shortened version of her name, but she'd take what she could get. she nodded, grabbing her binder and linking arms with you.

the two of you were now walking to her car, where you skipped slightly ahead, ranting on about your day and how sam kept trying to copy your work, while she listened and watched your movements. she zoned out, watching the graceful bounce of your hair when you skipped a little too high, and the way the light shone off your skin, and how-

"are you even listening to me?" you deadpanned, looking at the girl expectantly.

"y-yes! sorry." she stuttered nervously. she hoped you couldn't see the blush on her cheeks. you smiled as an acceptance of her apology, and she smiled back, not being able to stop herself from looking incredibly cheesy, with the most loving smile she could muster. you didn't seem to notice the feeling poured into that look, continuing your rambles. she could listen to you complain all day, especially if it was about sam evans.

you laying in her bed was a sight she wished she could see everyday. sure, you were in a ratty, oversized shirt paired with shorts you'd stolen from her closet, but she didn't think she'd ever seen something more enticing. you had managed to beg your way into watching your favorite romcom (not that it took much, she'd do just about anything you asked), so now she was stuck watching "500 days of summer" again, which in her opinion, is most definitely not a romcom, based on the way summer screwed him over, but your argument of "google is free", leading in a google search, where it was in fact listed as a romcom, got it on her tv. you were blabbering about how hot joseph gordon-leavitt was, when she decided to speak up, the words leaving her mouth faster than her brain could catch up.

"yeah, he's cute. but just look at zooey deschanel, i'd much rather date her." she hadn't realized what she said until you looked over to her, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"oh? santana lopez, did you just say you'd date a girl?" your voice was teasing, but it didn't help the pang in her heart when she heard it.

"maybe. what's wrong with that?" her tone was defensive, it's what she did best. she didn't know what else to do except get defensive.

"nothing! i just didn't take you as the type."

"really? because i've been in love with you for two years." she smacked her hand over her mouth incredibly quick, because did she really just say that? she really needs to work on thinking before she speaks.

"i... what?" you looked confused, eyes wide and face flushed.

"nothing...! pretend i didn't say that, please." oh god, she's just digging herself in an even deeper hole, and her heart dropped when you shook your head.

"no. are you... are you serious? like have you actually...?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed as you shift onto your side to look at her better.

"yes! okay, yes! i'm serious! i've been in love with you since freshman year!" she wasn't sure when she'd stopped whispering nervously and started yelling passionately, but it'd happened. you were surprised by the sudden demeanor change, sitting up and reaching your hands out to attempt to calm her, but it was too late.

"santana-"

"no, alright! don't 'santana' me! i've had to watch you screw around with finn and with sam while i've been right here this whole time! do you know how bad that's hurt?! falling in love with your straight best friend?!" again, she wasn't sure when dry eyes had turned into streams of salt water rolling down her cheeks, and when wishing to hold your hands turned to pushing them away. she was about to start yelling again, when you grasped her shoulders to get her attention.

"santana, look at me. i want you to listen," it was always difficult to defy you, because the way you got her to shut up so quickly should be studied in history books. "i love you too. and for one, i am not straight, don't insult me like that again." she looked at you incredulously, pausing to soak the words she'd been waiting ages to hear in, before pulling you in to a kiss quickly. it wasn't anything sexual, no, it was full of love and emotion. you pulled back, stunned, before your lips melted into a smile, wiping away the tears on her face with your thumbs. you crawled off her lap, settling beside her, in the same position you were before. she felt disappointed for a second, before feeling the warmth of your body cuddling up against her side, watching the movie again.

okay santana post woo!! just a btw i know safe and sound wasn't released until 2012 but let's just pretend the timeline isn't fucked up. also my requests are open (santana included), so go look at my pinned post for the list! okay bye!!!

#santana lopez x reader #santana lopez #santana lopez x fem reader #santana lopez fanfic #glee fanfiction #glee x reader #glee #wlw #Spotify

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