#i don't think i ever posted this here when i made it last year

[jackknife-roach]

malice, cowboy PI

[freyaphoria]

Hello! Since I can't save the writings in my drafts and your request is currently stuck in my drafts, I have to post it this way. I hope you can see your request T_T By the way, I wrote this 4 times, and the universe prevented me from writing it. Normally it was over 2k words, but most of it was deleted and I forgot what I wrote. Anyway, Love u!♡

Look Like a Freak

tw: nerd!Seonghwa x fem!reader, oral(giving mentioned, receiving), squirting, slapping, fingering, vibrator using, degradation, bondage, overstimulation

wc: 1.5k

taglist: @aim-blossom @matzrionette

“Seonghwa, are we really going to do it here?” It was too late to ask now. He made an approving noise as he abused your pussy between. To your surprise, he could hear you and respond. Normally, after tasting you, Seonghwa would be pussy drunk and wouldn't hear or see anything.

Seonghwa's room was the most virginity room you've ever seen. There were more Star Wars figures and Legos than you could count. And what is it? On the top shelf of the display case, on top of the Star Wars legos, there were colorful house legos and animals next to them, which you might think were related to animal crossing which might attract the attention of 5-year-old children.

You and Seonghwa went to the same university and met at the dance club. When you first met him, he was very quiet, buried in his book with a book by an unknown author in his hand and he was wearing the metal-framed glasses he was currently wearing, not communicating with anyone. Even though most people avoided communicating with him, you felt his potential in his eyes under those big glasses. You had initiated the first communication and asked him something about the star wars lego keychain hanging on his bag, and before you knew how the things had developed, he had pulled you into the back storage and made out with you. After a while, you started fucking after every dance lesson and became addicted to each other. You were nothing but a fuck buddy, but you'd still meet up at his house every once in a while to build Legos together like cute couple, and as you can imagine, your night would end up in his bed, trying to recover, with his cum dripping down between your legs.

Same thing today, you met at his house to play his favorite game, the two of you lying in bed while Seonghwa was playing Animal Crossing on his Nintendo. But you had made him horny without knowing why, and Seonghwa stopped his game, which was an unexpected move from him, and started eating you. Animal Crossing, where you played with Seonghwa, was still on on the TV and calm music was playing.

"Can you at least turn off that game? It's ruining the whole mood-" You were cut off by Seonghwa shoving your panties into your mouth. "Don't tire that beautiful mouth of yours by talking, you will be tired enough when I put my dick down your throat."

Who would believe that someone as nerdy as him could make you this wet? If you told your friends who knew him, they would all think you went crazy. But right now, you were in his bed with your legs wide open and you were dripping, Animal Crossing in front of you, Star Wars figures next to you, and a nerd Seonghwa losing himself between your legs.

When Seonghwa started using his fingers as well, you realized you wouldn't last long. He was eating you out and fingering you so professionally that you were seeing stars every time, your legs shaking uncontrollably and squirting on him. And so it was, the moment you felt his fingers inside you, curls them up and abusing your sweet spot while his tongue stimulates your clitoris, you couldn't hold back that ball that was growing in your belly any longer and you came into his mouth. Your voice came out as a muffled moan through your underwear in your mouth. "Oh but I couldn't hear you clearly, looks like we're going to do it again." He pulled the fabric from your mouth and kissed you hungryly. Since he still didn't remove his fingers from you, you continued to spasm uncontrollably around his fingers and began to squirm from the overstimulation.

"What is that? You got tired a little early for a slut like you. Open your legs." As you tried to close your legs, Seonghwa forced them open. When you closed them again, you were startled by the sound of him slapping your thigh hard. "You want to be a brat? Okay then." He let go of your legs and headed towards his desk. He opened his drawer, took the rope next to a lot of Animal crossing cards, closed the drawer hard and turned towards you. You held back your laughter when you saw the colored cards. He adjusted the thin metal-framed glasses that fell on the tip of his nose, found the end of the rope and started wrapping it around your wrists.

"Hwa, I'm getting rope burns, haven't you found that furry handcuff yet?" He tied the rope tightly around your wrists, he bent your leg towards you and brought your ankle closer to your hands and tied the rest of it to your ankles. "No I couldn't. And if you stop squirming, you won't get a burn." After tying your other side in the same way, he checked its strength and made sure that it was not loose. He looked at you, his masterpiece, from head to toe, then he spanked your pussy that you had forced open and exposed for him, and he moved towards your upper body. You let out a small scream at the sudden feeling of pain. He tied your upper body by looping the rope around your chest and tying it over your arm; so it stabilized your arms and prevented you from closing your legs.

"Now, what should we do with you?" You felt even wetter with the feeling of being restricted and having all your control in his hands. The feeling of emptiness inside you was becoming unbearable and if he didn't fuck you soon, you would start crying and whining from frustration. "Just fuck me already."

The left side of his mouth lifted up and laughed slyly. A deep chuckle escaped his throat. "No no, I won't give you what you want that easily." This time, he opened the drawer where he kept your toys under the previous drawer and took out the pink vibrator with remote control. When you think about what he did to you with it, your heart starts to lose its rhythm and the adrenaline in your body begins to tickle your pussy waiting to be filled. The vibrator that he play with you for hours and eventually makes you squirm from overstimulation and cry and beg him to stop...

"How about this? No coming until I finish my new lego set. If you come, I won't fuck you tonight. Understood?" "Wait, at least let me suck you." He moved the toy in his hand over your folds before inserting it inside you, collecting your wetness on the toy. "Are you that much of a cock slave? Is there a day you don't spend without sucking me? Can't that little belly of yours do without taking my cum?" Your face turned red because of his dirty words. Yes, there wasn't a day without sucking him, but there wasn't a day without him eating you either. You were considered equal in every way. After all, you were a fuck buddy and that was your purpose. "Please just let me take you in my mouth" He balled up the panties he had just taken out of your mouth and put it back into your mouth. "Just deal with it for now. You can do it, right? It shouldn't be too hard."

After laughing sarcastically, he moved the vibrator over your folds for the last time and put it inside you. You gasped at the sudden feeling of being filled. The fact that you didn't know when Seonghwa would start the toy and when he would stop it made you nervous and excited. After licking his fingers, which got wet because he inserted the vibrator inside you, and tasting you again, got up from you and took the lego bag next to his wardrobe and placed it on his desk. "Which one do you think I should do?" He took out the Lego sets one by one from the paper bag and showed them all to you. The hilarity of your current situation and the Animal Crossing music playing in the background almost made you laugh. You were thankful for the fabric over your mouth that prevented you from laughing.

"Oh that's it!" He took out the 1394-piece Ghost & Phantom II set from the bag and placed it on the table. When he took the remote control of the vibrator and started to turn it on at medium level, you first lost your breath and started to squirm in your place. But he tied the ropes so tightly that you couldn't move much.

"Remember, no coming until I finish this set." He opened the box and placed the contents on the table, looking at you who began to tremble slightly. “You look like a slut.” And you look like a freak you thought.

[joeloverture]

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax. 

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing. 

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. 

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from  — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky. 

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining. 

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down. 

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…” 

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee. 

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head. 

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.” 

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel. 

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

 “Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips. 

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become. 

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel. 

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily. 

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him. 

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is. 

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!” 

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

[xreader-writing]

STILL HERE | "They're eating sushi!'

✦ Sumarry: Y/n comes to her ex-boyfriend Lando Norris' defense when he's being canceled, and Lando couldn't be happier about it.

✦ Pairing: Ex!Lando Norris X Actress!Reader. | Timothee Chalamet? 👀 | ✦ WC: 1.491

A/n: English is not my first language, forgive my spelling mistakes dear.

LAST | S.MASTERLIST | NEXT

Y/n sighed and put her phone in her pocket.

"What happened?" Her castmate Timothee asked, handing her a cup of coffee.

"As if you didn't know." She said laughing, and he smiled back, scratching the back of his neck.

"Well, but it could be another reason!" He said laughing, making her laugh even more.

Timothee looked at her and noticed her worried look.

"I read your text, it must have helped him a lot."

"Yes, but Lando is a little immature sometimes, and that makes things worse." Y/n sighs and runs her hand over her face.

"I wouldn't like being his lawyer." Timothee says making Y/n laugh.

"Thank God you act then, huh?" The two laugh and stay silent for a moment.

"Don't think too much about it, he has to deal with the consequences, I would say you've already done too much for him., none of my ex-girlfriends ever wrote me a cute text like that when I got canceled." Timothee says laughing and Y/n laughs more.

"Oh, poor him." She says, squeezing Timothee's cheek with her free hand.

"But seriously, I bet he's completely crazy about you right now." He says, raising his eyebrows and Y/n rolls her eyes.

"WHERE ARE MY TWO PROTAGONISTS?!" They hear the director yell, and Timothee whimpering covering his face with his hands.

"For the love of God, I just want a break!" he pretends to cry and Y/n rolls her eyes pulling his hand away.

And Timothee was completely right, Lando was checking his phone every 30 seconds to see if there were any messages from his ex-girlfriend.

"Stop checking your fucking phone Lando, her not going to call." Carlos said, patting Lando on the shoulder.

The pilots were all together on a "guys' night", but Lando couldn't keep his head there.

"Yeah, she was really nice to make that Instagram post for you." Charles says sitting next to Lando.

"Sorry, I'm lost." Max says trying to make sense of the matter.

"Didn't you see? They're canceling Lando." Charles says pushing Lando's shoulder.

"He seems pretty happy for someone who's being canceled."

"That's because Y/n made a post on Instagram defending him." Carlos says and Lando smiles as he remembers.

"Y/n? Your ex-girlfriend?" Max asks, still a little confused.

"That's her." "But you don't think she wants to get back with you just because of that, do you?" Pierre says, breaking Lando's smile.

"Why else would she do that?" Lando says a little louder now and Pierre scoffs.

"She might be completely over you, which is why she doesn't feel uncomfortable doing it." He shrugs, irritating Lando.

"That doesn't make sense..."

"Actually, it kind of does." George says thoughtfully.

"Why did you guys break up?" Oscar asks, and Carlos scoffs, taking another sip of his beer.

"I broke up with her." This gets Pierre's attention.

"Why would you do something crazy like that?" Pierre asks, laughing.

"Because... Iwantedtoenjoy." Lando says this so quietly and quickly that the pilots look at each other in doubt.

"You wanted to what?" Chales asks and Lando covers his face with his hands.

"I wanted to have fun, but I couldn't do that if I was dating."

When he finishes, there is silence in the middle of it, and wide eyes towards Lando.

"If you broke up with her, why the fuck do you want to get back together?" Pierre asks indignantly.

"Okay, let me get this straight, you broke up with your girlfriend of two years because you wanted to be with everyone until you caught a sexually transmitted disease?" George says and Carlos laughs.

"No, look, I don't know, I just wanted to have fun, okay?"

"Oh, I would have had a lot of fun if I was dating her." Pierre says laughing, making the others laugh along.

"Fuck you!" He says, getting up from the couch and heading to the kitchen to get some water.

"Wait Lando, it was a joke!" Pierre says laughing but Lando gives him the middle finger.

"Was it a joke Pierre?" Charles asks

"No" Pierre says laughing

Lando finds a bottle of water and leans against the counter, drinking it and checking Instagram.

He never unfollowed her, and she never unfollowed him, like she said, they remain friends. In fact, she has always been much more mature than him, and he remembers how she reacted to the breakup like it was yesterday.

—

"It's not you, okay? It's me." Y/n sighs and massages her temple.

"Lando, I know it's not me, and it's okay that you don't want to be with me, I just need to know why, that's all."

"I want to have fun, I want to go out with guys without having to worry about someone else holding me back." Y/n scoffs at that.

"I never stopped you from going out with your friends."

"I know, but you end up getting in my way."

"You end up getting in my way." That's what he said to the woman who put up with him day and night.

"That's right Lando, if I'm just a stone in your way, I better go." Y/n says this with an expression that leaves Lando upside down, Y/n has always been very reserved when it comes to feelings.

"I don't want to lose your friendship Y/n." Lando says as soon as she turns her back. She sighs and looks at him smiling.

"You're not going, you can count on me if you need anything."

And yes, he did and she was there, just like she said she would be.

—

Lando went on Y/n's Instagram for the tenth time that day, maybe to read her text again, or to see if there was a new post or story from her, he doesn't really know.

He just wanted some kind of update, that's all.

He feels his heart beat faster when he sees that there was a new story from her, but before he can press the photo icon, a hand squeezes his shoulder making Lando almost drop his phone.

"Damn Carlos, what a scare." Lando says, dropping the water bottle and putting his hand on his chest.

"You weren't upset, were you? You know how Pierre is." Carlos says, patting Lando on the back.

"I know, I'm just pissed at myself, that's all." Lando says, pressing Y/n's photo icon and immediately regrets it.

"What the FUCK is this?" Lando screams and Carlos snatches the phone out of Lando's hand to look at it too.

"Oh my God, Lando, they're eating sushi!" Carlos can't help but laugh and Lando takes the phone back, looking at those images.

"Fuck! Fuck!"

"I don't know why you're so nervous, she said herself that they were on a break from the movie, besides, you guys aren't even dating anymore." Lando looks at Carlos without answering.

Carlos knew he was a little drunk and stressed, and he knew Lando would have to deal with the consequences even in that state.

Carlos sighs as he hears Lando sniffle.

"I miss her..." He says softly, wiping his eyes on his sweatshirt sleeve.

"Oh Lando, come here." Carlos pulls Lando into a tight hug.

"I know you feel that way, but things can still work out, it's not like they're posting pictures on social media or anything." Carlos tries to joke, but Lando lifts his head and walks away from Carlos, fiddling with his phone.

"That's it, I need to go on his social media."

"I didn't say that-"

"Son of a bitch!" Lando yells and Carlos closes his eyes.

"Lando, please-"

"Look at this!" He practically rubs his phone in his friend's face showing a post from Timothee.

Liked by youruser, carlossainz55 and other people

Tchalamet 🫡

@Youruser

—

Youruser 🫡

Tchalamet 🫡

User1 I hope they get together Geez.

User2 I don't know if I want her or him

User3 I think she deserves someone good for her

User4 I hope this movie gets nominated for an Oscar

-

"Why the hell did you like, Carlos?" Lando yells in Carlos' face.

"I liked it? I didn't even notice."

"Yes, you liked it damn it, whose side are you on?" Carlos observes Lando's state, controlling himself not to laugh.

"I'm on her side, for sure."

"This isn't going to stay like this, not at all." Lando starts doing something on his phone and Carlos sighs for the thousandth time in that half hour.

"Don't do anything you might regret later."

"There, it's done!"

"You must be possessed or something."

—

Timothee was looking at his Instagram and raised his eyebrows, surprised by what he saw in his notifications.

landonorris started following you

—

Taglist

@emryb @sltwins @lottalove4evelyn @weekendlusting

[sgtgarricks]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ your gentle hands are enough

simon riley x afab!reader cw: nsfw, angst kinda?, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, praise kink, creampie!!, reader referred as 'pet' like twice, smut with sadness, hurt/kinda comfort, mention of johnny's death, simon is scared of commitment :(, we still love him.

reblogs are immensely appreciated! <3

NEXT PART (HEA): i want your hands on me for all my life

notes: my first ever fic that i'm posting on this site !! feedback is appreciated ♡ dedicated to @rowarn for being lovely and entertaining my rambles!

You and Simon weren't exactly dating.

He visits you almost every night whenever he's in the city and he's always gone before you're out of bed. But you relish on the rare occasions that you're awake before him — the moments you get to brush your hand through the raised scars littered all across his face, the moments you get to tangle your fingers in his hair to hear his little grunts.

Simon Riley has rough hands, scarred and calloused from years in the battlefield. Yet when those hands are caressing your body softly, you know he's being unnecessarily gentle to not let you feel the roughness in his hands — as if he was trying to prevent all the hurt and pain he's inflicted with his fists from bleeding into you.

You pretend to have only just woken up, eyes blinking slowly trying to adjust to the sunlight filtering in through the blinds.

"Morning, Si."

"G'morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?" He places a warm palm on your hip, not fulling resting the weight of it.

"I always do when you're here." You raised your hand to his chest and feel his heart thumping steadily below you. His body always runs hot no matter the weather and it makes you nuzzle into him more during the bleak winter.

Silence engulfs the two of you, lulling you into a vulnerable state of bliss as you recall the events of last night.

You had barely opened the door for him last night before his hands were all over you, lips crashing onto yours as he kissed you with desperation. Strong hands working swiftly to remove your clothes gently as he pushed you towards the bedroom.

Simon was always gentle with you, but you've been with him long enough to know the difference between him missing you and him scared at the thought of missing you.

Instead of gently laying you down on the plush mattress, he pushed you with a little bit of force than usual.

"Simon!" You yelp. You must've been too distracted by him to fully notice that he was now fully naked below you.

He had a glint in his eye that let you know you were not going to be able to rest until he coaxed multiple orgasms from you.

His hand was constantly on your body, not wanting to go for a second without feeling your skin under his. Greedy kisses were peppered all across your collarbone that were now marked with the imprint of his teeth.

You knew Simon was trying to memorize every inch of your body, leave his marks on you because he was going to go back on deployment soon.

This realization is what snaps you out of your peaceful reverie. That your Simon is going to leave you soon.

The mere thought of having to see him leave your apartment in a few hours and not getting to see him for another week? Months?

It leaves a sour taste in your mouth that made you frown and turn your head away.

Simon, ever so vigilant, notices your downturned lips. He cups your chin and swivels it to face him. He nudges his nose with yours, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

You hate that he was playing dumb. Hates that he thinks you don't know his antics by now. Hates that he thinks you don't know him by now.

"You know why, Si." Pushing your hands on the plush bed, you rest your back on the headboard. You stare at Simon disapprovingly, upset that he's trying to pretend everything is fine.

He sighs heavily and run his hand through his hair, messing it up more than it already was.

"How do you know?" He finally lets out, still laying down on his side staring up at you.

You scoff at him. Maybe because you've seen him through his highs-and-lows. You've seen his little smirk at your antics. Listened to his stories intently as he fondly recalls memories with his squad mates.

But you've also seen him coming to you bloody, battered, bruised, and shaking as you stitched his back. You've seen him scare himself awake at night, dreaming about the last time he saw Johnny.

He chuckles when you stare at him pointedly and finally sits up. He waits for you to stop sulking for a few minutes, before sighing once more.

The bed creaks with his weight as he tries to stand up from it, turning towards the window. You know what's coming next and you are fully aware there's nothing you can do to stop him from going on deployment.

What you can do, is at least try to make him stay a little bit longer.

You crawl forward from your position, throwing both your arms around his wide torso — at least try to, he's way too wide for you to fully engulf him in your arms.

"Don't go."

Your lips are pressed against his back as you softly plead with him to not go. Simon takes both your arms in his hands and angles his upper body towards you. Slowly, you move up from your sprawled-out position and kneel in front of him.

"Please." You slowly pull away your arms from his grip. He reluctantly lets you go before you slowly wrap them behind his neck. You inch closer to him, slowly leaning down and kissing his neck.

Simon moans languidly, still groggy.

"You play dirty, love." He cups your behind, angling his neck upwards to give you more access.

"You love it."

"Being cheeky, are you?" You grin against his neck, biting down softly. Arching your neck subtly as Simon tugged on your hair.

These were truly the moments you truly enjoy the most. Not that you don't enjoy sleeping with him, you definitely do. But being able to love him freely in the daylight made it much more intimate.

You suspect it's why Simon always tried his best to leave before the sun came up.

You know Simon loves you, albeit in his own unique way. He's never been nothing but kind and gentle to you, always making sure you feel safe and taken care of with him. From locking your door with the spare key he has after he leaves, to making sure to take care of you after having sex — always gets up to clean any messes he had left on your body with gentle wipes and ending it with a soft kiss to your forehead.

Despite your numerous attempts to get him to open up about his past, he doesn't bite often. Though, you know some part of him wants nothing more than to tell you every single thing about himself when he speaks little snippets of his past.

He doesn't tell you anything overly upsetting, always keeping it minimal and with as little details of violence as possible.

Perhaps, his idea of a small mercy.

Maybe he thinks he's doing you a favor, giving you little bits of himself hoping you eventually realize how damaged he is. He doesn't understand how those flickers of vulnerability makes you hungrier for more of him. You wanted him, thorns and all.

Simon lets himself get roped back into your arms, all his muscles relaxed, no trace any tautness or rigidness lingering. He feels safe in your arms.

"How long Simon?" You finally ask, preparing for the worst.

Simon was mostly gone for around a month.

But on the rare times you couldn't see him for more than half a year, it was like hell. It hurt so deeply knowing even if he had been killed off somewhere, you might not even know. The only traces left of him would only be the few shirts he's let you take and the Simon-shaped hole he would have left in your heart.

It scared you that you could never be able to smell his earthy musk lingering in your sheets again, that it would fade one day and you wouldn't remember what it smelled like anymore.

"I dunno. More or less three months?"

You hated when he was vague. He was often trying to spare your feelings.

"So... more."

He nods with his face still hiding in your neck. You can feel him press his nose harder and inhale deeply.

Deep down, you feel crushed. You always do when he has to leave. You want to tell him how much you love him again, how much you need him, and you wanted him to say it back so badly.

You thought you had gotten so far with him, slowly breaking down his walls after getting him to start staying over instead of leaving. Something changed after he lost Johnny — he was more touchy, more clingy, but he never let you get any closer anymore. You could physically feel him wince if you told him you loved him during one of your vulnerable moments.

The first time you told him you loved him, he looked at you with a somber look. He didn't say anything, but he pulled you close and gave you a bone-crushing hug.

I'm sorry.

He gave different reactions every time. Some days he'd simply sigh and drag his fingers through your hair lovingly. On worse days, he'd shake his head and do nothing else.

It was like an impenetrable wall had suddenly appeared when it wasn't there before.

You take a deep breath. Simon has been nothing but gentle with fragile you. He's been trying his best to not taint the heart that you've freely ripped out of your chest for him.

Maybe this time, you can do something for him and let him go back without the weight of your love on his shoulder.

"Better make the most of it then, eh?" You pull back from him and hear a grunt of protest. You start pushing him until his back hit the headboard gently. Kissing your way down to his groin, you tug at his boxers impatiently.

"Sweetheart you don't have to-"

"I want to." You cut him off.

"Fuck. You're gonna be the death o' me, love." He lifts his hips and lets you drag his boxers down, revealing his semi-hardness.

God, his cock is so beautiful. It's so thick you could barely wrap both your hands around it even when he's not fully hard.

"I'll make sure to send you off gently with a kiss, Simon." Your mouth slowly engulfs the tip of his cock, licking all around it. Simon lets out a groan as he grabs your head gently.

"Oh, fuck. That's it, sweetheart. So sweet, being so good f' me." He encourages sweetly and it's enough to get you preening and moving your head excitedly down his length.

Just as you know his habits, Simon also knows what makes you tick. Getting praised by him almost always makes you putty in his hands and he makes sure to take advantage of this information to its full potential. He loves to praise you even for the smallest of things, such as cooking for him when he gets back.

Telling you how lovely you are and how he's thankful for you taking the time to cook for grumpy, old, Simon.

You continue taking more of his length in your mouth, gaggling slightly from the sheer size of him. You can taste the salty precum on your tongue and your eyes roll back from pleasure, taking him in more enthusiastically.

"Slow down, love. Don't want- ugh.. you t' hurt yourself." Simon tries to pull your head back to give you space, but you're not happy about it. You glare up at him best as you can before taking him down to the hilt.

Nose pressed deep, you can smell the slight tang of his musk, making you slightly delirious. You moan, sending vibrations up throughout his body.

Simon trembles with pleasure, groaning.

"Yeah, you like that sweetheart? Love choking on my cock? Hmm?"

At his words, you slowly take your mouth off of him, replacing it with your hands. Slick from your spit and his precum, your hand glides along his shaft easily as he bucks into your hand.

"Mhm.." You put your mouth on him once more, only pulling away to rub it all over your face. "Love it so much, Si. Love having your cock in my mouth. Can't live without it."

Simon admires you, cockdrunk on his leaking shaft. Even with his mess all over your face as you slobber on him, he thinks you look absolutely gorgeous.

Looking up at him, it's like you can see hearts in his eyes. You've been wet since the moment you woke up to him next to you, but him looking at you like you're the only person he wants to see on him makes you feel on top of the world.

Unable to take it anymore, you whine pathetically and start humping the bed.

Simon sees you writhing on the bed below him and chuckles as you continue kissing all over his cock.

"Look at you.. so needy, sweetheart. You don't need to hump the bed like a dog in heat. I'm right here, love." With that, he gently pulls you off his cock. You groan dismay, body going slightly limp from desperation.

"Need you so bad, Si." You beg him, tears starting to form in your eyes. You think you're going to crazy if he doesn't fuck you soon. He's about to leave soon for months and you're desperate for him to leave his mark on you.

Simon gently tuts and caresses your cheek. He's in awe of how he's got such a lovely, needy, pet wrapped around his finger. He hasn't had someone this devoted to him in a very long time — someone who's always excited to see him come home, someone who's never asked for him for more than what he can give.

Maybe it makes him a narcissist that he's happy of the fact that you're so desperately in love with him, you'd rather have parts of him than not at all.

But during early mornings where he'd find you sniffling into your pillow, he feels pain in his chest where his heart resides. He knows you cry over him.

He mourns the love that you two could have, but he'd rather mourn over the fantasy he's created in his head — the fantasy where he wasn't fucked up and is able to receive the kind of love you freely give, than have you be heartbroken when Simon inevitably doesn't come home one day.

"I got you, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good." He rumbles against your lips. In a split second, he'd managed to lay you out on the bed and now hovered above you.

He takes a moment to stare at your face. Wide-eyed, sweating, and panting heavily. He peppers kisses all over your face.

His little pet all worked up over sucking his cock.

He's staring at you for a few seconds, making you writhe around, but you never break his stare. It was as if the both of you were trying to commit each other's faces to memory right in this moment, not knowing when you were going to be able to see each other again.

You bring your hand up to his face, slightly wiping the sweat away from his eyes.

His eyes.

The moment he looked at you, you know you were done for. Those eyes never fail to send shivers through your whole body, as if your entire being was standing to attention when his eyes were on you.

"You're so pretty, Simon."

That seemed to break him out of his trance. He grunts slightly as if disagreeing with your statement. You sigh, knowing he's never going to see himself the way you see him.

That's okay. You'll spend as much time as he'll give you to convince him.

Simon kisses and caresses down your body as you moan from the feel of it. Teasing you with his lips and leaving small marks all over. When he gets to your thighs, he slowly raises both of them as he lightly rubs his scruffy chin on it.

"Lift those pretty legs f' me, hm?"

When you don't respond, he gently bites to get your attention and you huff. You grasp your bedsheets so tight your knuckles were going white when you feel his hot breath on you.

"Such a pretty pussy. Just for me, yeah?" He kisses your folds gently, the sensation of his scruff causing a prickly sensation, making you wail in pleasure.

"S-Simon!" You were so needy and sensitive — Simon loved that about you.

"So sensitive." He murmurs against your weeping pussy. He runs his finger across your folds, gathering the wetness. You look down at him as he tastes your wetness on his finger.

"Fuck, Simon."

"Mm, my favorite taste."

After a few moments of simply kissing all around your folds and your clit, Simon decides to stop teasing you. He presses his face in your folds and licks a stripe across it.

He repeats this action multiple times, sucking on your little bud in between. He rolls his finger around your clit as his mouth makes suckling noises. The sensation of his tongue and finger on you make you gasp loudly — your eyes rolling back.

You arch your back and don't stop chanting Simon's name like a prayer. Like he was going to disappear if you stopped calling his name.

"That's it. Let me hear what you want, pretty." He brings two of his fingers back inside your walls, lightly caressing them. He's teasing you, waiting for you to beg him to put his fingers inside of you. You break instantly, begging for him to use his thick fingers to please you.

"Please, Simon. Please, please, please. Need your fingers in me."

How could Simon deny you when you beg so sweetly?

Humming against you, he slowly sinks his fingers inside your aching walls. You sigh in contentment, unconsciously clenching on his fingers.

"Relax love, you're choking my fingers." You relax a bit at his words, trying to get your breathing back to normal. The death grip you

It seems that Simon had other ideas, because as soon as you loosened, his fingers started picking up. You start wailing again at his sudden shift in pace, grabbing his hand that was gripping your thigh.

His hand lets go of your thigh and entwines it with yours.

"Doing so good for me. You can take it, sweetheart. Be good and cum on my fingers, yeah?" At this point the both of you were panting heavily, his heavy cock still leaking precum onto the bedsheets. You didn't realize it before, but you're just now realizing how the bed is creaking from his hips.

Simon pants heavily, the room getting warmer by the second. His heavy groans makes your pussy throb around his fingers as you feel a pressure building in your lower belly.

"Si- please. So close."

Knowing you're close sends him over the edge, his tongue works faster and sloppier in tandem with his fingers. Simon moans and and your back starts to arch higher than before.

You're now making a mess on the bedsheets, wet noises can be heard loudly as it echoes throughout the entire room. You feel hot, sweaty, and suddenly everything's too much.

The lights are too bright, the noises too loud, and you feel so sensitive it burns.

"Simon, I-" You whine, legs starting to thrash as Simon pulled his fingers away to hold your legs. You feel your nerves lighting awake as you feel every single sensation as he sinks his tongue inside.

"Love you Si, love you so much. I'm—" Your body seizes and freezes for a moment and a little flick of his tongue against your bud makes you lose it. Your orgasm washes through you like a crashing wave, causing you to tremble in his hold and let out gasps as you struggle to breath normally and let your legs fall.

Simon lets you catch your breath as he lifts himself up, still hard. You rest your eyes on him and you see him lick his lips — his entire mouth and chin shiny with your slick.

He hovers above you once more, leaning down to give you a kiss. You reach up enthusiastically, pulling him down by his neck. He grunts at the sudden force as you slant your lips against his. It's messy, his lips slick with spit and yours with a small trace of drool. The kiss is desperate, teeth knocking into each other more than once.

It goes on for a while before Simon starts to pull back. Before he's successful, you wrap both your legs around his waist and Simon gasps at the sensation of his cock pressed against your slick.

"Need you inside, Simon. Want you in me." Murmuring against his lips, your hand desperately wanders down his sweaty body and grips his cock.

He lets out a grunt at the sudden warmth enveloping him and is unable to control as his hips involuntarily thrust forward.

"Yeah? You want my cock? Take it, sweetheart. It's all yours." He watches in a daze as you slowly align him with you. The moment he feels his tip rub on your slippery folds, he lets out a whimper.

"Please Si.." You whisper to him. "Wanna feel you inside me so bad." Simon coos at you, seeing you beg him to fuck you never fails to make his brain circuit for a few seconds.

He teases you a few seconds longer, just to hear you beg more for him. He begins to feel bad when you start humping the air in hopes of getting his head inside you.

You're babbling incoherently now, eyes closed, hands wandering all over Simon's body. He gives you mercy and starts to push inside your throbbing hole. It takes a bit of time, but when his head manages to push through, he's already able to feel your walls pulsate around him.

"Oh, sweetheart. So needy f' me." He's also barely coherent, his eyes focused on his cock deeper inside your tight hole. "What are you gonna do when I'm gone, hm? Who's gonna fuck you this good?" Simon barely realizes what he's saying until he's spoken them. The thought of someone else fucking you when he's gone lights a fire inside him.

"Oh, fuck." His cock is fully in you now and you can feel every vein pulsating inside of you. Your hands are gripping Simon harder, possibly leaving red marks all over his body — you relish in the thought of Simon looking in the mirror and seeing the marks you left on him. "No one, Si. No one's gonna fuck me as good as you. Don' want you to go. Want you here with me." Your mouth hangs open uselessly, overwhelmed with the pressure of Simon in you.

Hearing you admit so openly you weren't going to fuck anyone else drives Simon even crazier. You realize now how much of an impact your words have on Simon when he starts pounding your poor pussy that was still sensitive.

"Yeah? That's right, sweetheart. No one can fuck you like I can." It takes him a few seconds to get his words out, huffing above you. You can barely hear what he's saying, ears ringing from the blinding white, hot pleasure coursing through your entire body. Your hands try gripping him as long as you can but his thrusts are causing your body to jostle relentlessly, and now your arms flail helplessly before holding onto the headboard.

Simon is no longer on his forearm, his head resting in the crook of your neck as his hands grip your waist. You're sure his hands are going to leave prints in the morning from how hard he's gripping you.

You don't mind at all.

Your brain feels foggy, only speaking Simon's name over and over again. Simon's no better than you, grunting and groaning at every thrust that leads him deeper into your hole.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He moans. "So good for me, so sweet for me." Your legs no longer have the energy to stay corded behind his back, limping helplessly beside you as Simon fucks you.

You feel another orgasm creeping up on you as your walls begin to clench around Simon's cock. Simon hisses at the feeling, leaning up to look at your cream gathering at the base of him. He looks up to the ceiling, gasping in pleasure.

"Si, I'm so close, I-" He brings his head down to give you a chaste kiss before pulling away, nose touching yours and staring into your eyes.

"Let go f' me, sweetheart. Gonna cum on my cock and be good?" He coaxes you, one of his hands going to your face. You don't even realize you're crying until Simon wipes your tears away.

You can't take it anymore, the loving look in his eyes and feeling him inside you breaks you.

"Love you so much, Si. I love you so fucking much." You cry out to him as you're finally sent over the edge. You wail loudly, back arching as Simon continues to thrust at a slower pace, going deeper than before.

"God, fuck. I love you, I love you. Fuck." He continues to mumble against your neck. Your jaw goes slack and another orgasm seizes your body as you clench and gush all over him.

His thighs are drenched from your slick and when he feels your walls pulsing repeatedly over him, he feels shivers all over his body and he cums.

The blinding pleasure takes him off guard, thighs shaking from the sheer force. He continues thrusting shallowly, dragging out his orgasm as his cum fills up your hole to the brim.

He gasps and bites down on your neck, not stopping until he's fully come down from his high.

You're shell shocked, one hand over your eyes as you thinking about what just transpired. This was nothing like before. He'd never said 'I love you', ever. You take a moment to regain your thoughts, heart thumping wildly.

By this point, your hopes had soared like never before, the small part of you that still believes you can have something with Simon begins crawling out of you — coming back alive.

"Si-" You start as you catch your breath and lift your head slightly to look at him.

"Sorry." He mumbles lifting himself from your body, plopping himself on the pillow beside you.

There's nothing but silence for a few minutes. A part of you wants nothing more than to confront him, get him to face his feelings. But you know Simon and that if you did that, he'd panic.

So, you wait. And wait. And wait.

Until he coughs.

"I have to go. Supposed to meet the boys in an hour." He grumbles, fumbling around to get himself off the bed and find his clothes.

Your heart breaks. Was he really going to go away for a few months without talking about what just happened? You had to make a choice. Either speak now or forever hold your peace.

"Simon." You speak with such a finality in your tone that it renders Simon frozen. He pauses putting his pants back on and stares up at you, terrified.

"I love you." You say, loud and clear. You've told him you loved him in the throes of passion and in the sleepy haze of early mornings, but never when both of you were wide awake. Like a secret that's only meant to be whispered so as to not let it get snuffed out.

You see his eyes widen for a fraction of a second. He seems to debate what he wants to say. You badly wish for him to just say something, anything at all.

He doesn't.

Simon continues to put on his pants and slip his shirt over his head. Once he finally gains the courage to look at you once more, he had to clear his throat. The forlorn look on your face would haunt him until the day he dies.

He knows you love him so deeply and honestly, that there was no questioning your devotion to him. He knows that you feel for him so deeply, you'd rather hurt yourself over and over than let him go.

But he's also once harbored care and affection to someone, fighting side-by-side with someone he thought was going to never stop speaking gibberish in his ear.

If Simon almost couldn't survive losing Johnny, there was no way you were going to survive losing him.

With his heart in his throat, Simon stares at you, fighting back tears that threaten to escape. God, he wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you and tell you he loves you more than anything in this world. That he'd fight through any battlefield with broken limbs just to come home to you. But he knows he can't give you that promise. That promise that he's going to die of old age with you.

He expects you to cry or scream, but nothing in the world would be able to heal the way Simon's heart breaks when you only give him a sad smile.

"That's okay. I know you're not selfish enough to love me back."

He knows he should just leave, but he can't help himself from hurting you once more. Simon steps forward, cradles your head in his hands and lay a kiss atop your head.

And then, he leaves.

[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.

[iholdwhatican]

reunions

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

read part 2 here!

length: 3.8k

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; surprise visit from patrick ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension

summary: you want to make your husband's birthday special, so you invite his attractive, charming, estranged childhood best friend in the hopes that they'll make amends. surely nothing will go wrong, right?

author's note: i can't stop thinking about them i am so ill. this is the first of presumably many challengers works. and yes i did make a new blog just for this, don't judge me. this is a drabble that was stuck in my head but I do have more for it should it be wanted! preferably something that leaves you sandwiched in between them :3

originally posted by iholdwhatican

You told yourself this whole thing happened out of the goodness of your heart. You’d just wanted to be a good wife and make your husband’s birthday the best it could possibly be. Because Art Donaldson was the most amazing person you’d ever known, and he loved you, and he deserved the world. There was nothing off limits when it came to him, no line you wouldn’t cross. 

You knew how much Patrick had meant to him, how much he missed his best friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide the stories made you smile, how happy he sounded when he recounted the things he’d gotten into with the eccentric tennis player. And you knew how sad Art was that they didn’t talk anymore. 

So what better time to remedy that than for his birthday? That was a wonderful surprise, right? Right?

Upon meeting Patrick Zweig, your first thought was how the hell this man got along so well with your Art. Not to say he was a bad person, but he was just so… much. He was cocky, indomitable, the kind of person that knew what he wanted and what he was worth and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was a force not to be reckoned with, no matter what. He was also unbelievably charming (and not bad on the eyes, which you would never admit), and you hated the way his sweet-talking got under your skin. 

He asked you how Art was. You told him he was fine. Retired, now. Making the most of a quiet life. You’d just celebrated 3 years of married life. He asked to see wedding photos and you didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes at missing the event. You happily obliged. It was the most romantic day of your life, after all. 

And you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Patrick missed him too. You could mend the broken bridge between them, and your husband would be thrilled. He’d reward you for your good work. 

You asked Patrick to come to Art’s party. To make contact again. To come back into his world. He only hesitated for a moment, asked if Art knew and was okay with it. 

The lie slipped off your tongue easily. Of course, he’s wanted this for a long time. It’s a surprise, but a most welcome one. You didn’t have details on what happened between them- only knew of a falling out while Art was in college- but it couldn’t be that bad. Anything could be overcome, right? 

Patrick accepted and you hoped the lump in your throat was from excitement and not dread. You thanked him for meeting you, told him you’d forward him the details, and went back to your husband. 

The day of the party came, and you were so nervous you could hardly take it. You’d spent the last couple of days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced that this reunion was a terrible idea and your husband would hate you. You had no right to bring an estranged friend back into his life, on his birthday no less. And without saying a word to him. 

God, what the hell was wrong with you? 

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and downed your third glass of water. It did nothing to soothe the dryness in your throat. Or the pounding of your heart. You wondered how fucked you’d be at the party if you took a Xanax right now. Or five. 

Just then, Art peeked his head into the kitchen, donning a sweet smile when he spotted you. He looked as handsome as ever, sporting a well-fitting polo shirt and khakis. His hair was growing out again, starting to show those boyish curls you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He made his way over to you, wedding band sparkling on his finger, and your heart melted. 

You loved him so much. Had you ruined his birthday with your stupid meddling? Maybe even ruined your marriage? 

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted, sliding a hand around your waist and kissing your head. It was a familiar gesture, a normal one. He loved touching you, keeping you close. You loved it just as much, “The cake was just delivered. You went way overboard, as usual.” 

You pretended you weren’t overcome with dread and cupped his cheek, “Shut up. There’s no such thing as overboard. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to be celebrated.” 

Please, please don’t be mad at me for inviting him. For bringing him into our world. Please still love me. I did it for you. I’d do anything for you.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled- in that perfect way you adored so much. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time on your lips. It was gentle and caring and everything you were to each other. It made you want to cry. Art was everything. All you wanted was to give him the same. 

The doorbell rang, breaking you two out of the moment, and your husband pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Well,” He spoke, looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, “That must be our first guest.” 

You hummed happily, “Guess it’s time to celebrate you, Birthday Boy. Shall we?” 

“We shall.” He teased, doing a mock bow as he offered you his hand. You took it, laughing, and the two of you made your way to the front door. 

You took a deep breath and tried not to focus on the unhappy way your stomach was churning. 

The first hour of the party went by with a pleasant lack of reunions-turned-altercations. Patrick had yet to show his face, and you wondered if he might not come at all. Part of you was relieved at the idea, while the other couldn’t help but be frustrated. 

He said he would come. What if the surprise didn’t end up being a bad thing? How would you know if he never showed? 

God, you needed a cigarette. 

You’d spent the entirety of the party so far glued to Art’s side, being his doting wife as you made conversation with everyone. Your eyes continued to stray to the door, looking for a certain dark-haired man. Every single time, you were disappointed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. From what you’d heard, Patrick wasn’t really someone who could be counted on a lot. 

Maybe this whole thing was just a big mistake. And maybe the part of you that truly felt let down at not getting to see him again was something you should never, never look into. 

You patted Art’s chest and stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna check on the food. I’ll be back.” 

He nodded, smiled, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His arm released its grip on you and he continued his conversation with an old Stanford buddy without missing a beat. He was fucking incredible. At everything. You were crazy about him. 

The food didn’t actually need to be checked on. The caterer was high-quality, and they knew better than to fuck up one of your events for your husband. You had full trust in them- you honestly just needed a breather. This whole night had felt like a cold fist clenched around your heart. 

Instead, you grabbed yourself a large glass of wine and made your way to the patio to enjoy some cool night air. 

The area was blessedly empty, allowing you to slip out of the hostess facade. You were more than happy to do it, especially when celebrating Art, but the circumstances tonight were making it much harder than usual. Which was, of course, entirely your own fault. Way to go, you! Knocked it out of the park tonight, didn’t you? 

You sighed, leaned against the railing, and took a long gulp of your drink. The weather was slightly chilly, and it felt amazing against your heated skin. Already, you were finding it easier to breathe. And think, for that matter. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the party, Mrs. Donaldson?” A familiar, spine-tingling voice spoke, breaking you out of your peaceful moment. 

You whirled around, eyes landing on Patrick fucking Zweig leaning against the wall of your house. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, his hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. They went well with the button-up shirt he wore, a stark contrast from the shorts and hoodie he’d had on when you first met. He looked good- really good. Enough to make a pit grow in your stomach. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You blurted out, thankful that the darkness was shrouding your red face. His face was just barely illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette, and you watched as he looked you up and down, “Also, how’d you get back here? I didn’t see you walk into the house.” 

Patrick kicked off the wall and walked over to you, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. His curls fell over his forehead, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush them out of the way- the same way you always did to Art. You swallowed deeply. What the hell was wrong with you? 

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” He responded matter-of-factly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The smell made you nostalgic. You and Art had made a pact years ago to quit together, but God did you miss it sometimes. You licked your lips and tried (and failed) not to stare, “I snuck in through the back. Thought it’d be less messy that way.” 

You had no idea how he’d been able to get back here, but you decided you weren’t gonna ask. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. Besides, he was probably right. You had no idea how Art was gonna react, and it was smart to have it happen in an isolated area. 

“Probably smart.” You muttered, taking another swig of the wine. The feeling of his eyes stayed on you, burning into your skin, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You didn’t want to think too hard on why. 

“He doesn’t know you reached out to me.” It wasn’t a question, but you responded to Patrick’s words regardless. He’d find out eventually. 

“No.” The admittance came out with a heavy breath, like you were releasing the weight that had been on you all night. In a way, you were. You ran a hand over your forehead, “I don’t know what happened between you two, he doesn’t talk about it. But I just- I’m terrified he’ll hate me for bringing you.” 

Why the hell were you pouring your heart out to this stranger? What was it about him that drew you in so much and made you want to bring down your walls? How was this charming man already under your skin from one damn meeting? And how the fuck were you supposed to explain any of this to your husband, his estranged best friend? 

You needed another drink. Or ten. 

“You really love him.” Again, not a question. But you answered. You had to. 

“More than anything else in this world.” 

Patrick offered you his half-smoked cigarette and you took it without thinking. The sting of the smoke in your lungs was like coming home. It was so good it almost made you cry. But lots of things made you want to cry right now. You could taste mint on the cigarette, like he’d been chewing gum before lighting up. The same kind Art always chewed. 

It made something flip in your stomach. 

“Well, from what I can tell, you’re pretty great. Super caring, based on how far you went in an attempt to make him happy. Shit, you tracked me down, which is a feat in itself. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m surmising that you’re basically the whole package.” He spoke calmly, as if every one of those words didn’t make your heart jump into your throat. You chugged your drink to use it as an excuse for your rosy cheeks, “So I don’t think there’s any way he could hate you. Even for inviting me here.” 

You were speechless for five long seconds as he took the cigarette back and inhaled. Then you finally got your brain to stop lagging, “You don’t even know me.” 

“I know enough.” He countered, continuing the pass back and forth of the cigarette, “And I know Art. He wouldn’t marry someone beneath him. The fucker somehow always gets the ones way out of his league.” 

You didn’t comment, but you knew what Patrick was referring to. Tashi Duncan. The now pro-tennis player that he’d had a thing with back in the day. You didn’t know the details, but you knew she was a point of contention between the two men. 

Honestly, you tried not to think about Tashi. She was gorgeous, super talented, and an overall seemingly great person. Art had passed up on that for you, and it got to your head a lot. You wondered if he regretted it. Or at least wondered what his life could’ve been like. 

You didn’t think you were out of his league. In fact, you thought the opposite. Not that you needed to tell Patrick that. Your insecurity and jealousy issues could stay yours alone. 

“Well, I don’t know about that.” You murmured.

The cigarette began to dim as you took the last drag, flicking it off the balcony and down into the grass below. With both the alcohol and nicotine gone, you started to think you probably needed to get back to the party. Your husband would be looking for you, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting. You just had to figure out how Patrick would fit into the equation. 

“If you weren’t taken, I’d be trying to charm the fuck out of you right now.” 

The statement caught you completely off guard. You looked over at him, eyes wide, and tried to keep your cool at the sexy smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking attractive. 

You blinked once, twice, a third time, “What?” 

His smile grew at your flustered state, “I have great taste in women, and I’d flirt with you if I could. So I’m saying you’re definitely a catch. And totally out of Art’s league.” 

You licked your lips. Subconsciously, “I’m pretty sure that was flirting.” 

“Was it?” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, “Oops.” 

You ran your finger over the rim of your wine glass, trying to think of something to say. You came up empty. You were married- to this man’s childhood best friend. To the love of your life. He shouldn’t be flirting with you. And you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it. 

“There you are! I was starting to worry.” Art’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned around to watch him making his way to you with a smile. Then he spotted Patrick and his smile dropped as his face filled with recognition, “You- what the hell are you doing here?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain and mediate the situation, but the dark-haired man beat you to it. 

“Your pretty little wife invited me.” He said, which was probably the worst thing he probably could’ve chosen. You internally buried your face in your hands. 

Art’s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up. It took you a moment to realize that the expression was anger. Honestly, it took you by surprise. It was extremely rare to see him angry, and never was it directed at you. And though he was looking at Patrick, you were terrified that in this instance it was. 

“Let me explain.” You immediately choked out, clutching your empty wine glass like a lifeline, “I really just thought that-” 

“She thought you missed me and wanted us to reconnect. As a birthday surprise. Isn’t that sweet?” Patrick butted in, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Art looked ready to murder someone (probably the tennis player holding you), “I doubt it was easy contacting me, but she managed. All for you.” 

You laughed nervously, ducking your head, “Well, that’s not-” 

“Let go of her.” Art demanded. His voice was cold and dangerous. Possessive. It made something twitch in your core. Oh, you liked that. 

The brunette didn’t hesitate to do as he was told, holding his hands up in surrender, “My bad, man. I just feel like we’re already such close friends from hanging out together. Don’t you think so?” 

The last part was directed at you, and Patrick nudged you. You gave him an incredulous look. 

The charming, sweet man you’d just been talking to was gone. He was replaced by a cocky, near-disrespectful antagonist who was trying to egg your husband into some kind of altercation. And he was using you as the bait. 

You couldn’t lie that you were frustrated, but it did feel a bit nice to be in an almost tug-of-war between the two men. You liked being an object of affection or desire. 

“You should head inside, baby.” Art spoke to you, though his furious gaze never left Patrick, “Our guests will wonder where the hosts went. I’m gonna talk to Patrick for a minute.” 

You’d be damned if you told him no. Even though this situation felt like a mess that was definitely all your fault. Damn you for inviting Patrick. Damn him for being so captivating. And damn Art for loving you so much that the sight of another man touching you made him see red. This entire thing was like a whirlwind. 

“Okay…” You whispered, moving towards your husband and the house. You gave Patrick a small smile, hoping to convey your thoughts to him. Please don’t hurt him- he’s my world. Then you stopped at Art’s side and placed a hand on his bicep, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea. I just wanted to make your birthday special, is all. I didn’t mean to fuck it up.” 

He finally looked at you, just long enough to give you a loving smile and a shake of his head, “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m so proud of you for doing all this for me. Don’t worry.” 

Then he kissed you, only to stop and pull away, “Is that- were you smoking with Patrick?” 

You sucked on your teeth and nodded, “Yes, a little. I’m sorry. I just-” 

But then he was kissing you again, hard and needy. Like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Your face burned bright red, and you could feel Patrick’s eyes on the two of you. Art had never acted like this in all the time you knew him. But right now, within thirty seconds of being around his old friend, he was putting on a show to prove that you were his. 

You belonged to him. And he wanted Patrick to know it. 

You really, really fucking liked this. 

When he pulled away, you felt dizzy. From both the kiss and the wine you’d downed. You barely had time to take a breath before he was lightly patting your cheek and sending you inside. You managed to take a look at the two men before rejoining the party. They just stared at each other, like they were in a standoff. 

It was unbelievably hot. 

As you went back to your guests, lips still tingling, only one thought was coming to you. 

You wondered how long you could keep Patrick around, just to see what it would do to your precious husband. 

[simpxxstan]

best friend's older brother mingyu

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event! find the rest of the members' headcanons in the event too as i post them through this month!

warnings: SMUT 18+ NSFW, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT making out, dry humping, untouched orgasm, mingyu is a slight perv

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who you haven't seen in seven years

ever since he'd been selected into the under-19 basketball team, and then the national basketball team for south korea, you'd only ever see him on the tv screen in his games and interviews. he hasn't come back home in ages and has probably forgotten all about you.

that does not, however, mean that you have forgotten about him. you've watched all of his matches, kept track of his records, and following him like his #1 fan. you are his #1 fan, you think. you keep a scrapbook with all of his achievements and photographs and every little symbol of him. you're perfectly content with loving him in secret, in the depths of your heart. the ideal man, the hypothetically perfect match, the epitome of perfection.

his sister does not know about your not so little crush. she's aware that you liked him once or twice in school days. but she's dismissed it because you haven't seen him in ages, how can one have a crush on someone they haven't met in years?

oh but you can. it's a wild pining, that blooms into warmth every once in a while, when you open your scrapbook each night, when you watch him play on the tv. and as each day passes, instead of your desire for him decreasing, it seems to be rapidly rising.

for, if fifteen year old mingyu had been taller than his entire class and a certified visual, twenty-two year old mingyu is an absolute god. it's positively worse for you because unlike others, who treat mingyu as a celebrity crush, you know him. you remember what his touch feels like, you remember what his scent is like, you remember what his gaze feels like. you remember how nervous he made you every time he talked to you. you remember how broad his back had been even as an adolescent. you remember how raspy his morning voice would be freshly after he had hit puberty. you remember how kind he used to be to you, because you were sister's best friend. so, unlike the others, your fantasies are based on real things and not just intangible imagination.

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who retires from his basketball career after winning the gold medal at the olympics

he returns to his hometown, a cherished celebrity, because he wants to go back to his normal life. he's seen how some of his most respected seniors got dismissed as soon as they could be replaced by young talent, and mingyu wants to retire while he's still remembered as the golden star of korea. so he retires at the helm of his career, a hero.

and while he will miss the team, he won't be missing the pressure that came along with it. he'd rather become an engineer like he'd always wanted to and live a steady life ahead.

but when he returns, he sees you. after seven years. standing next to his sister at his home, where there are a ton of unfamiliar faces, all here to get selfies with the celebrity.

"who's that?" his sister barks out a laugh, "you don't recognise y/n? you idiot!" y/n? fuck him for not realising you've grown up too. fuck him for not remembering how pretty your eyes had been underneath the thick glasses you'd worn since childhood.

"how could i? i saw you last when i was, fifteen?" "yeah. and i was twelve." "nice to see you're still my sister's best friend." "nice to see you back home. congrats on the win, though." mingyu smiles. you smile too. fuck. you have dimples. where did the nerdy little girl with braids and freckles go?

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who joins your college, majoring in aerospace engineering, which is coincidentally also your major

he sits next to you. it's your first day in class and mingyu's joining three years late but no one really minds. everyone is too busy fawning over him. look at his arms. look at his smile. look at his long hair.

"why are you sitting here? there's plenty of place for you to sit." "i'd rather sit next to a familiar face. why, do you want me gone?" "no but you're distracting." he leans in closer, leaving nearly no space between your seats. "distracting?" "yes. if you haven't noticed, there are like a dozen cameras pointed at you right now, and a dozen more eyes. not to mention that everyone wants to sit next to you, so you choosing to sit next to me ruins my chances of making friends with others." your glare is stern, and mingyu can't help the way his heart races when you look at him like that from above your glasses.

"i'm shier than you think. i'm here to escape the attention too." you sigh, "i don't remember you to be like this." i don't either, mingyu wants to say. from your height difference, he can see a bit of your cleavage and he almost drools. "people change, y/n-ah." you turn your face away as the professor comes in. "well, please focus in class then. otherwise i won't really like you sitting next to me, no matter what your excuse is."

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who begins to rely on you totally in college

from sitting next to you in class, to sitting next to you and his sister during lunch, he's become a permanent feature in your periphery nowadays. and you're not sure you can take it any longer. because fuck your memory had served you wrong.

mingyu still smells like that, his voice is still like that, but he's grown at least three sizes bigger, and he just doesn't fit in the small class seats. his arm is nearly always on your desk, especially because he is left-handed. you always sit on one end of your seat to ensure mingyu and your legs aren't constantly touching. and it doesn't help that he laughs at even your smallest jokes because he always, always ends up slapping your thighs or arms during his laughter. frankly, every day in class is torture.

it doesn't help that mingyu now hangs out a lot more with you and his sister. so if you're doing homework in the library, mingyu tags along. if you're gossiping in her bedroom, somehow mingyu's also there, although he's engrossed on his phone. eventually, you stop becoming conscious of his presence, and stop censoring your conversations. it's not easy, but not impossible.

mingyu eventually invites himself over to your house for a study session before the exams. it's just the two of you, because your best friend is studying with her own group of classmates who have the same major as her. it's safe to say, it's a completely useless session for you because you get no studying done.

mingyu is literally in your personal space throughout the evening. he may be sitting opposite to you, but somehow his knees knock against yours under the table, his long hands stretch across the table to take the highlighter you're using from your hands, and he leans right into your face on the pretext of listening to what you're explaining. finally you can't take his attention on you any longer, and you take too many bathroom breaks to calm your racing heart.

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who is a part of the varsity basketball team

he may be a freshman, but he's still the captain because his skills are undoubtedly the best among the lot. and while he has retired from the national team, he still loves the sport enough to be a part of the college team.

of course, he wins the inter-college basketball varsity cup, and the entire college is roaring and cheering for him. mingyu knows you're somewhere in the stadium- he'd spotted you right before his final match-winning shot, but now he can't see you at all.

using this as a means to escape the attention of cameras and other people, he runs through the corridors to find you sitting in a classroom, empty because everyone's at the stadium in the grounds to watch the match. "didn't you watch the match?" his voice makes you turn around, slightly jerking at the sudden voice. "of course i did. i knew you would win."

you look heavenly right now. not that you don't all the other times, but especially today because you're wearing the jersey he used to wear for the national team. he knows a hundred other girls were wearing it too in the stadium, but they were all copies. this is the original- he knows because his sister has told him that she's given it to you. and while it's loose on your body, there's crazy rush of arousal running through his veins right now as he sees his name written all over your back: number 9, mingyu.

"then why are you hiding here? i was taking out my sis for lunch afterwards. my treat. she'll be happy if you come along." i will be too, but he doesn't say it.

"no i- i have some revision to do. the viva's day after tomorrow, and i know i-" you stand up to face him, but your words fail you when he takes three steps closer towards you until his entire figure towers over you. "or are you just avoiding me?" he can see the effect he's having on you, the way your skin gets redder with blush and the way you keep averting his eyes. it makes the adrenaline rush quicker and his braveness increase. he's high from the victory and from playing his beloved sport after so long, so he's not averse to taking a few risks right now that he would not take any other day. so he leans in closer to you, until he can smell your perfume.

"why would i avoid you? and why are you here? shouldn't you be celebrating with your team?" "i wanted to see you." "don't lie to me for no reason, please." mingyu huffs, and pauses before replying. he takes in a deep breath, inhaling your delicious scent again, before he replies. "i'm not lying. why don't you believe me? is it so imposs-""not impossible. just, i don't know. irrational. doesn't make sense. look i know you may feel shy but i'd think you're used to this kind of attention. in fact, i always thought you rejoice in this attention."

you're right. you're so right, because any other day, and he knows he would be out there with his team, hollering and celebrating the win. but right now, he can't think of anyone but you. even on the field, from the moment he spotted you in the stands, he couldn't think of anything but how he wants to play for you. win for you. impress you. so that you have more reasons to like him. more notes to add in your-

"i saw your scrapbook." he sees the way your eyes dilate. "when?" "when i went to your house." "you fucking snoop-" "was that all a lie?" "min-" "i need to know, i need to know. i need to know because i can't think of anything else. i need to know because i don't want anything else from my life. i need to know."

"no!" you finally look up at him, cornered against the desk because he's caved you totally. "it's true. all of it. so what? will you laugh at me for it?" at that, mingyu's confidence falters for the first time. "laugh? why would i l- y/n, what are you saying?" "i know what you're doing. all this smooth talking, all your attention, you're just playing me along. and i won't be played along, mingyu."

"fuck, is that- is that what you've been thinking all along? fuck, no wonder you're avoiding me." he mutters under his breath, but he can see the confusion in your face too. "what do you mean, mingyu?" he doesn't want to answer, because he knows he will fuck up the words. so he just says, "stop me if you don't want this."

and he leans in and kisses you. it's a messy kiss from the first moment, because he's moving too fast and you're moving too slow in your shock. he pulls back after a second, his eyes glazed. "talk to me, y/n. tell me somethin-" "kiss me again, mingyu. kiss me like you mean it."

so he does. your tongues clashing and you moan when his hands wrap around your hips. spurred on by your sounds, he picks you up from the desk in one go. you squirm in his grip, wrapping your hands around his neck, clinging on to him as you float in air for a second. but you don't break the kiss. he holds on to you like dear life, as he turns around and sits on the desk himself, pulling you on to his lap. he carefully pulls away from the kiss for a breath and leans against the wall.

mingyu drags you closer to him, your legs folding around him and- "fuck, gyu- you- you're hard?" he hisses when you grind your body against him. "you're so hard from some kissing?" there's a teasing lilt in your voice, and for some reason, it's turning him on even more. but then his grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you to grind over him faster, while kissing you desperately.

your hands get lost in gyu's soft, long hair. mingyu's hands trail along your bare thighs under the skirt, and when he touches the hem of your panties, he feels from over your panties just how wet you've become, and he moans from the sticky feeling. "don't stop, gyu," you're whispering, and he doesn't. he sees you throw your head back, as you crave the friction and keep grinding against his crotch. the sweat from mingyu's body has trailed onto you, and he finds droplets of sweat running down your neck into your cleavage. he bucks his hips up into you at the sight, and you hold on to his shoulders to grind on him faster.

"can you come like this, baby? i can- i'm going to, if you keep moving your h-hips like-fuck!" and he does. kim mingyu, star of the generation, national basketball champion, icon of the college, comes right in his pants as you ride him and kiss him, chasing your own high. he doesn't stop you, although the humping is pushing him to overstimulation, but he keeps biting your lips and your neck the way you seem to like it, and soon you pull off his lips with a scream, your entire body trembles, and he can see the way your thighs quiver and then go still.

"that was so hot, baby." mingyu says after a minute of the two of you just looking at each other, coming down from your highs. "it was so risky- what were we thinking!" he laughs as he sees the shyness kick in after all this time, "don't go all innocent on me, love. now, do you want to take this home, or do you want me to keep kissing you here, my pants wet with my own cum like a teenager?"

and then, you giggle. the prettiest, fucking giggle ever in the world. for all your brisk attitude, you go soft over him at this moment and hug him, pulling him to your chest. but he's so wrong if he thinks you're talking soft, because he then hears you whispering in his ear, your breath hot against his earlobe, "i want to go home and ride you properly, gyu. will you let me?"

[chuwenjie]

Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse comes out later today so I wanted to write a post reflecting on my journey and experience working on this movie. So many people have supported me through this and I am so thankful to each and every one of you!

Text version of this post under the cut:

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse comes out tonight. It feels really weird to be typing that out right now. I worked on the movie as a visdev artist for the last 2.5 years, from 2020 to 2023. Long post incoming.

There are a lot of reasons why I'd consider this film to be one of the most ambitious animated films to ever be made. As artists, we were asked to push ourselves far beyond our comfort zones and do things that had never been done before in animation.

Every time we reached a point where most people would say "this must possibly be as creative and weird as it gets," our entire team of artists and animators would smash right through the ceiling. The driving direction for the visuals of the film was to push the limits of every single frame; to challenge audience expectations and make something truly original.

The best thing about this film was that there wasn't a single boring day working on this movie. The hardest thing about this film was also that there wasn't a single boring day working on this movie.

There were times while working on this where the imposter syndrome hit me hard. This was my first big movie, and what a hell of a first movie to get thrust into.

I came in only a few years out of school with absolutely no idea what the hell I was doing. I constantly feared that someone had made a mistake in bringing me onto this film, and I was going to let everyone down. There was a solid chunk of those 2.5 years where I wasn't sure if animation was the right path for me.

If there's anything I could tell my past self it would be this: there are so many people who love you and believe in you. There will be a time when you get to stand on the other side of it, look back on everything and see how far you came.

I'm still working on self-acceptance every day (it will be a lifelong struggle, I'm sure), but I'm glad I didn't give up on myself. I'm proud of myself and my contributions to this film, and I'm certain that this movie will continue to change and shape the animation landscape just as the first one did. That's truly a special feeling to have been a part of. I am so incredibly grateful to every single person who helped me along this journey.

Here come the thanks:

To the ENTIRE visdev & art crew- it's been an honor getting to work alongside each and every one of you. My jaw is literally still on the floor from seeing your incredible talent day after day.

I want to thank Tiffany and Felicia especially for being there for me through tough times- I admire and respect you both so much as artists, and even better than that, my life is greatly enriched for being able to call you my friends.

Thank you Patrick and Dean for taking chances on me, teaching me so much about art and what I'm capable of, and encouraging me along the way. To Aymeric, your art is one of the reasons I initially became interested in animation and you have been one of the kindest & most empathetic mentors I could ever have asked for.

I want to thank my wonderful parents for believing in me always and raising me into the person I am today: everything I do in life is to make you proud. To my brother Andrew who is perpetually awake at 3 AM when I need someone to talk to- thank you for always picking up the phone and making me laugh.

And finally to my partner Luke for making me grilled cheeses on all of the difficult days, for never getting sick of me even when all I would ever talk about was work, and for patiently and steadfastly loving me throughout this entire thing. I don't think I could've done it without you.

Starting tomorrow I will begin posting and sharing some of the art I made for this movie; I'm looking forward to sharing some of my personal favorites with you. I hope each and every one of you enjoys Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse when it hits theaters later today!

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 4

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce finally confronts Damian, and hates how tonight's events seemed to turn out just to remind him what a terrible father he is. He felt like he didn't deserve you, and he wanted at all costs to avenge the injustice Talia committed with you two.

Warnings: Family discussion; maternal overprotection; Bruce has psychiatric problems and is mentally unstable, besides being very angry; mentions depression, post-traumatic stress and the like.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: I apologize for taking so long to post the fourth part. I was looking for inspiration to continue in other fandoms. Now I feel engaged again to continue posting

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"She is not a secret." Damian tried to sound firm, looking Bruce in the eyes to avoid suspicion. But no matter what he did or how long he tried to maintain the lie, his father had already decided what to think about this enigmatic and strange situation.

"Hmm..." He let out a disheartened murmur, and the boy never thought something like this would happen, but he frowned with worry as he saw Bruce pour another drink. It wasn't like his father to act this way.

When Damian first met him in person at ten years old, he could have sworn Bruce and Talia were somewhat enjoying themselves that day, even with the barbs hidden in some exchanged sentences. Or maybe he was mistaken; after all, it had been so long. Perhaps he had preserved a false memory.

"How much have you drunk?" The boy asked with a disdainful voice, trying to hide that he was truly concerned.

"Why have you never talked about her? She is your sister, Damian." Bruce ignored the question but in a kind of silent acknowledgment, he rested the glass on the side table, preventing himself from getting drunk.

"Why are you acting like this? As if it's a big deal." He made a face of confusion. "Why do you care so much about this? She isn't even your problem. I won't stay here being interrogated because of her." Damian got up, taking hurried steps to the front door. He was running away, and he knew it.

"Where are you going?" Bruce stood to follow him, finally showing some kind of emotion beyond stoicism since they had been alone in the room.

"I'm going to wait for my mother outside. And when she appears, I'll come back to fetch Y/n. Then you won't have to see her anymore, ever again." Damian said, and although Bruce didn't know if in the last part his son was referring to you or Talia, he didn't dare ask for the detail.

"Why didn't you ask any of us for help when you found out she was missing? If she is someone so close to you, you could have talked to us." Bruce was speaking in that strange way again, like when he found out Jason was the Red Hood. He was hurt, and as if a whistle had snapped in his mind, Damian understood that his father was like this because of him. It wasn't Talia or how she always ended up causing problems; it was him. "You hid from me that you were still talking to your mother."

"And did I need to inform you that I talk to my mother?" The boy tried to maintain a haughty tone, repressing the urge to shout so that Bruce wouldn't see his conflicting feelings.

The truth is that it hurt to lie like this. It hurt even more to lie to you. Damian didn't show or openly say what he felt; his mother once told him that was weakness, but honestly, now he was disgusted with himself.

"You didn't need to inform me, but you made an effort to hide it!" Bruce didn't shout. His voice was grave, authoritative, and deep down had a tone of betrayal that had twice the impact of a shout. He seemed to reflect on something, and patiently Damian awaited a lamentable outburst, but just as he himself would do, Bruce was avoiding becoming emotional.

"I don't understand why, but you came to live with me and seemed to exclude her from your life because of us. She is your sister and didn't even know I am your father! You sent letters, which I'm sure you hid not just from me but from her too. And she ended up here in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Will you tell me again that all this has no reason?"

"Even if there were a reason, it wouldn't be your business." The young man replied harshly, and once again: it was a lie. It was his business. Seeing Bruce's angry scowl turn into a defeated look made one of his fingers tremble. Realizing only after saying something that what he did was wrong made a panic arise in his chest.

Bruce sat back in the armchair, giving up on the discussion once and for all. He felt so stupid for thinking he was succeeding in freeing his son from the League of Assassins' clutches, that he was doing a good job showing him he didn't need the blind loyalty Talia taught him to have. He feared that Damian would succumb to a villain's life, exactly as Ra's al Ghul wanted Bruce to be: cruel and ruthless.

Talia stirred bad reactions in him, and his sense of justice hammered in his head. How could he simply hand you back into her hands after you came here tonight? That woman was a bad influence on anyone, and it didn't matter if you were her daughter; you were a child. And wasn't that what he did with all his children? Took them from the streets and bad parents?

He wanted to vomit at the idea of allowing you to continue being raised by someone like her, among those people, but if he couldn't even change Damian, what could he do for you? Bruce couldn't force you to stay, but at the same time, he grappled with the internal conflict of corroborating that one day you would become like they. He is Batman, his duty is to protect. He should protect you too.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling an intense headache and he day was already dawning again"Your mother isn't coming, Damian." He asserted, noticing that a long time had passed since they started waiting, getting up to return to his own room.

"You said we had a lot to talk about." Suddenly, the boy felt the need to prolong the conversation, if this could even be considered a conversation. It was as if they would never speak again if he allowed his father to leave.

"We don't anymore." Was cold, and that made the boy swallow hard. Bruce knew he would regret being so harsh, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking straight. The rational part of his brain was being dominated by his impulsive side.

Bruce opened his bedroom door with unusual violence. Lately, these episodes of anger were frequent, perhaps due to interrupted sleep; this damned insomnia was worse than in the last months. Alfred had already suggested he see a psychiatrist, but Bruce was sure he would leave there with a worse diagnosis than expected, so he avoided it as much as possible.

The butler once dared to mention that he might have some type of post-traumatic stress, but Bruce was stubborn and that led to an argument. He was a controlled man, but that day he shouted. The reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension from the chaos Scarecrow was causing in the city at the time, but Alfred was observant and knew the problems went beyond that.

The death of his parents was a delicate subject, and combined with the pressure of being Batman, Alfred saw Bruce become more obsessive, anxious, and even depressed over the years. Fortunately, the emergence of Dick was a break in the sad loneliness for him. And then came Jason, Tim, Damian, and things improved for a while, but the relapses still existed.

Bruce sighed as he admired his bed, wishing he could sleep again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to without taking another dose of pills, which certainly wasn't an option. Then he noticed your coat there. The garment had been left in his room, carefully placed on the arm of the room's couch.

He walked over and picked up the coat, rubbing the soft fabric with melancholy and noting how well-kept the garment was. It would probably be a good idea to return it to you; Would also be an opportunity to check if you were well accommodated.

Cautiously, he walked to the guest wing. Bruce thought he would need to check the rooms one by one to discover where Alfred had placed you, but a beam of light leaking from one of the doors indicated which one. He hesitated to turn the knob; it felt too intrusive. So, he knocked: three soft taps on the wood. He waited a few seconds, but you didn't come to open it, and he gave in to the act of opening it himself.

In slow movements, he leaned to look inside the room, without entering yet and checking if everything was okay. He saw your figure well wrapped in the covers, eyes closed and breathing in a consistent rhythm. You were sleeping, and the light he saw was the bedside lamp.

He entered, doing everything to control his steps, going to a chair to place the coat there. He felt the need to be gentle with the garment for some reason, handling the coat with such care, as if holding you in his hands.

He was envious of how pleasant your sleep seemed, wishing he could sleep like that too. He thought of turning off the lamp, but regretted it when he saw that his act interrupted your sleep. As soon as everything went dark, he heard the rustle of the covers, signaling that you had woken up. You stayed still for a while, staring at the shadow in front of you, knowing someone was there but too embarrassed to ask who it was, until the light was turned back on and you saw Mr. Wayne.

"Sorry, I think I woke you," he said softly, genuinely feeling guilty. "I brought your coat. I left it to dry better; it's still a bit wet," he continued, gesturing towards the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied groggily due to the minutes you spent sleeping. Thinking he would leave, you clasped your hands as if praying and placed them under your cheek on the pillow. A common but funny position.

"Call me just Bruce," he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at your face. He had a question stuck in his throat and thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for letting me sleep at your house." you answered serenely, and he nodded in agreement. "And you?" You asked back. Bruce blinked, surprised by your question, realizing that your eyes were shining. The truth is he couldn't say how he felt, so he said what anyone would say: 

"Yes, I'm okay," he said, more focused on your face, knowing you might be uncomfortable with that but wanting to see you better. 

“Can I ask you something?” He seemed anxious, and you waited expectantly in silence, which he took as a yes. “Why did your mother separate you two like that? Why didn’t she tell you anything?”

You stared at a random spot on the mattress, feeling a pang in your chest at the memory. “She did, in a way. Mom doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Wayne. I think that’s why,” you said, looking back at him, seeing him raise his eyebrows in amusement; you corrected yourself with a gasp: “Bruce.”

“Did she speak badly of me to you?” Bruce was curious like a silly child, even though a serious scowl was etched on his face.

“Not exactly about you. Mom and Grandpa hate Batman.” By this point, you had already figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots between your family and Robin with him after a few minutes of reflection. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Bruce let out a dry laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me,” he confirmed, and you shifted to sit more upright on the bed, excited.

“Is it true that you killed the Joker?” Your question made Bruce’s scowl turn puzzled. So that was the kind of rumor circulating.

“No, I didn’t kill him. He just... disappeared one day,” the same day Bruce thought he had lost Jason, and although deep down he wanted very much to have done it, he didn’t find it appropriate to admit that to you.

“I’m confused,” your voice became more relaxed, he thought it was due to the casual tone the conversation was taking. “If Damian is Robin now, what happened to the other one? He didn’t die, did he?” You asked the last question in a whisper, fearing it was true.

Bruce laughed at this. He had never thought about how people assumed Robin was a single person all these years. “No, he’s fine. You’d be surprised if I told you five different people have been Robin.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly you remembered a detail: “There was a girl, wasn’t there? I remember seeing some photos in an old newspaper.”

Bruce was perplexed at how much you seemed to know about him, but in a good way. “Yes, there was a girl. She’s Batgirl now,” when he said that, your smile widened even more. It seemed like you were a secret fan, he would say, since in your own words: "Talia hates him" and Bruce knows she would hardly allow you to have such admiration.

But your smile faded, and that worried him for a moment until you spoke: “I didn’t know that man was Hugo Strange,” you looked at him with regret. “If I had known, I would have caught him for you.”

“Would you?” He asked, doubting you really could.

“Well... I would have tried,” you defended yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Very brave. But it’s good you didn’t do anything,” he said playfully, stopping to think for a moment. “Y/n, what did he tell you?”

He saw you wrinkle your nose in a grimace before answering. “I thought we met by chance. I was walking and saw a man smoking a cigarette on a corner. I was going to walk past, but then he asked if I needed help.”

“Which corner?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t far from home. I was trying to figure out the street on a map I found in the municipal library’s phone book,” you sighed, frustrated at not being able to give the information. “I ignored him, but he followed me. I got scared and started running, but he said he was a cop, so I trusted him.”

“Did he have a police car nearby?”

“He said he was undercover. But I don’t know what that means; I thought it was the same as being off duty.”

“It could mean that too.” Bruce saw your guilty expression, your lip trembling and your hands nervous.

“You don’t need to feel bad for believing him,” his larger hand enveloped both of yours like they were nothing. Were warm, and it was comforting. “I know Damian said horrible things, but he speaks in the heat of the moment.”

“It was not in the heat of the moment... He never just speaks,” your voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible. Your eyes burned, but there were no tears. Crying for your brother would be the last thing you would do again. “What was in the box?”

“What box?” He was confused by your sudden change of subject.

“Didn’t Dick give it to you?” You asked, feeling his hand move away from yours and touch his left pocket. What Dick had given him was a card and not a box. Maybe he had taken what was inside. “I guess he forgot.”

“No. He didn’t forget,” he quickly responded, snapping out of a stupor. A curiosity grew in his chest, a need to know what was in that card.

Bruce fumbled in the pocket where the card still was and pulled it out. He quickly examined the paper, turning it over to check the back for anything. For a long time, his voice was muffled, and Bruce could only hear a buzzing in his ear. It was impossible for those words to have any real meaning. His breathing became loud and shaky, as if he were in the cold, and you were startled to see his eyes blinking frantically.

“Are you okay?” You moved to approach him, seeing moisture suddenly form on his forehead. It was cold sweat.

“How is this possible?” You heard him ask himself, bringing his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them to make sure he was really seeing. That card had left him unsettled, you realized, and hesitantly, you tried to take it from his hands to remove it from him, but his grip tightened at the feel of your fingers, so tight that it completely crumpled the paper. “Sorry. It’s nothing,” he stammered, seeing that the abrupt movement had scared you.

He got up from the bed, completely oblivious to you or anything else now. He staggered before reaching the door, very disturbed and seeming out of it. Maybe it was you who did something wrong and didn’t realize it?

He didn’t seem fit to walk, so you quickly removed the covers from your legs and went to him, supporting and guiding him to the chair where he had left his coat. He was very heavy, but he was so disoriented that he went limp. He seemed so shaken that he didn’t protest and simply sat there. You stood in front of him for a few seconds, not knowing what else to do to help him.

“Shouldn’t I call someone?” You asked.

“Dick,” he mumbled without looking at you, and that worried. It seemed intentional, as if it was too difficult to face you.

“Where do I find him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of something, but Damian’s voice on the other side of the door caught his attention:

“Y/n, open the door.” You stood still, recognizing your brother’s voice, until he continued: “Mom is here. She’s going to take you home,” he said as a warning, opening the door after a moment without even asking. “Come on. Why are you standing there like a statue?”

He was perplexed when you didn’t respond, and then he noticed his father sitting beside you in terror.

“Dad?” He approached, kneeling to assess the severity. He was having another episode. Lately, Bruce had only been getting worse every day and still refused to ask for help.

“What happened?” Your brother turned to you, but your face already showed that you had no idea.

Damian tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Bruce pushed it away aggressively. Your father would never act like this just because of the argument they had before, much less give him a venomous look as he did now, but beneath it all, there was hurt. He had found out about you, somehow.

He should have felt bad about how the news seemed to have been revealed, but he was relieved not to have to lie anymore. At the same time, he regretted choosing to cater to his mother’s whims once again, deceiving his father this way. But the omission had grown so much over the years he spent in the mansion and, after so long, it didn’t matter when he told him, the damage was already done.

Bruce wasn’t in a perfect mental state. He wouldn’t react like this normally, and knowing that, the man felt pathetic in front of the two of you.

“He asked for Dick,” you said to Damian, giving him space to breathe by stepping back.

“Forget Dick,” Bruce replied firmly, surprising. In an instant, he had a fit, and as quickly as he entered this state, he left it. Now, he seemed furious. “Where is she?”

This was a ploy by Talia and Strange. They were planning this together to hit him, a way to weaken him. It could only be that. It was too much of a coincidence Strange had found you just that night; nothing made sense. When had he and Talia gotten involved again after that day that led to Damian? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t good at recalling such old things. Maybe that wasn't even true. It was as if there was a big blank page in his mind.

“Get out,” Talia’s silhouette appeared at the door where she was leaning. Like most times when referring to the children, her voice was imposing, leaving no room for contestation. “Both of you.”

“You were supposed to wait downstairs,” your brother tried to contradict her. Despite everything he did for your mother, unlike you, he was the only one who had the courage to face her.

Her frown deepened at Damian’s defiance, but her stern expression softened at your trembling voice: ‘Mom...’ She sighed and opened her arms to you, casting a challenging look at Bruce, who returned it with an even harsher one, as she wrapped your smaller body than hers in a tight hug.

She knelt to your level, her hands gently brushing your cheeks and hair, noting how frizzy and messy it was. ‘Look at you. Your hair is all disheveled.’ She ran a finger down to your lip, grimacing at the cut there.

‘I’m sorry.’ Although less anxious now that you knew she wasn’t angry, you still regretted disobeying her.

‘My sweet girl,’ she said in a soft, genuinely affectionate voice. She kissed your cheek, casting that same malicious glance at Bruce again, as if provoking him. He felt a wave of nausea seeing her use you as a pawn just to taunt him. ‘Let the adults talk,’ she ordered, standing up and regaining her authoritative tone.

‘I’m staying,’ Damian protested. Leaving his father alone with her in his vulnerable state was a mistake.

‘Go and stay with your sister, Damian,’ Bruce was as harsh as Talia, but unlike her, he was seething with anger.

The boy closed his eyes in frustration but gave in, knowing it was useless to argue. He glanced at you, who had already walked out of the room and into the hallway. Damian was about to follow, but his father’s voice stopped him again:

‘She’s not leaving the house, Damian,’ his firm tone carried the weight of undeniable authority, with bitterness seeping through. The coldness in his voice left no room for warmth; it was distant. Bruce had finally gotten the push he needed. The possibility of you being his daughter gave him a sense of entitlement, and it made Talia’s arrogant expression falter for a moment; she looked apprehensive. ‘Do you understand?’ It was a question directed at both his son and Talia.

‘Yes,’ the young man replied simply, avoiding eye contact with his mother as he left. Damian paused in front of the door before fully departing, and his mother slammed it shut in his face.

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and turned to look for you in the hallway, but you had vanished.

‘I deserve this,’ he muttered impatiently. You were avoiding him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel irritated at how childish that was. But he was one of the villains here; he was the one who lied, insulted, and rejected you. Realizing this filled him with shame, and unlike the first time, he repeated the words, this time with a tone of regret: ‘Yes, I deserve this.’"

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[ask-spiderpool]

Hey mod, are you okay? It’s been a while since you posted (no judgement!) and I just wanted to see if something was wrong. Love you and I hope you stay strong🫶🏼

Bless you anon! I appreciate you checking in! I don't post a lot of personal updates here, but I have been going through the wringer lately... hough.

Lately I've been battling with anxiety, you know, same as everyone. It's kind of made things that I used to enjoy kind of stressful for me. Everything becomes stressful for me. Even not having things to stress about makes me stressed. I'm at my most Peter Parkeriest, in the worst sort of a way.

I thought it was a brain thing – that it was all in my head. I have a new, stressful job, and a stressful living situation, and some family issues I'm dealing with. It'll pass. So I kind of tried to power through, until my body shut down on me last year. And as it turns out, when I got checked out by the doc, it's not just a brain thing. I have a tumor (her name is Lamar, and she's benign, buuut...) she's producing 5x the normal amount of stress hormone in my body. The doctors think it's insane. I think it's hilarious. I feel like it's some kind of joke.

I've been battling this ridiculous chronic stress for years, thinking it was all in my head, but actually, biologically, I'm an overflowing reservoir of stress, and it's something that can be measured in my bloodstream. And it's been going on for years!

So, lately I've been devoting a lot of time to forcing myself to relax. Doctors orders. I can't get stressed about things. Every day I have to effectively diffuse a bomb. And the bomb is me. I'm so pumped up with involuntary stress, and I have to devote my time to keeping it at a manageable level. And so there are a lot of backflips I have to do to keep myself human right now, and not turn into a bomb.

See... posting to the blog doesn't exactly calm me down. It makes me anxious, most of the time. So I've been telling myself it's okay. Only post when you feel good. You have enough things to worry about, and the blog can't be one another thing to worry about. It can only be for fun. If it doesn't feel like fun, don't do it.

I need to do a million little calming activities to function. The blog used to calm me. But it doesn't, anymore. I still love it, and I still have so many scripts I'm excited to do, but... I just have to be patient with myself, right now. I can't bug my head over something that can wait. It can wait. Right now isn't the time. My health is the most important thing. I can't get that back, if I lose it.

Right now I'm about keeping my head above water. Keeping calm. Doing meditative things, that aren't necessarily productive... (trust me, I am SO upset about not being productive. I miss it a lot) but they force me to take it slow and force me to not worry. I'm learning the banjo (she calms me), and I spend a lot more time in nature, having staring contests with ducks and pigeons, and befriending beetles and bugs.

I'm a very positive person, and I know I'll make it through, and I love myself for all the effort I'm making to keep myself from breaking. Because I know if I didn't force myself to calm down, I could snap like an elastic band. I – I don't want to break, like I did last year. I need to be good to myself. And relaxing is an effort. It takes a lot for me. And certain calming routines work for a little while, and then stop working, and I need to make the effort all over again to find something new. It's kind of insane how much time I need to calm back down again. I remember, once upon a time, it being baseline.

Luckily there's a surgical solution, so hopefully I'll be normal again soon, and there won't be any more bees buzzing in my brain!

I hope you'll all be patient with me! And hopefully I'll make it out alive and stronger than ever, soon.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

First, let me apologise for making people worry. I appreciate all those who reached out and I'm sorry that I couldn't get back to you all.

I have been through a very rough spiral. It was building for months, and I am still not fully okay.

For those who want context, it's under the cut.

I bought a house in May. It's expensive. I wasn't ready financially or in many ways for that step, but my partner convinced me. I told him as much but I was not heard. Alas, I have a mortgage, full time work, astudent loan, and an ongoing school program to contend with. It hasn't been easy and it caught up to me.

At the same time, a person who traumatised me and I have no way of fully extricating from my life, has moved closer. To keep the peace, I have to associate with him to a degree and he pretends that nothing ever happened. To him, it was nothing.

In June, I moved. It was hard and fast paced. I did most of the paperwork etc for the whole process and obv helped with the physical transition as well. I was responsible for deadlines and checklists for not just myself but my partner.

I was plugging holes in a sinking boat.

At the same time, I had obligations to my family. Every weekend if I wasn't dealing with the house and all that goes into it, I was running around to babysit or see family or whathave you.

In July, I pinched a nerve behind my tailbone. I missed a week of work bc my injury but it took longer for my to recover. I am still feeling it today. It was more than physical, but emotional.

I also got three periods that month. Hormonal can't begin to explain how fucked up I've been.

On top of all that, there are underlying issues associated with other trauma and discontent. I'm realising that I have been loyal and tolerant to the point of my own detriment.

I don't want to hurt people how I've been hurt, so I don't speak up. When people tell me something about myself, I let all the doubts planted in my mind from years of abuse convince me that they're right. I can admit my faults but often times I will think that proof of one flaw means everything about me is rotten.

People forget about me or just don't care. Both or either. They don't put the same effort in that I do. I find it hard to connect because years of disregard and neglect have told me that the other side just won't care.

But I'm not just hurt, I'm angry. I'm seeking therapy and trying to figure this out.

It all boiled over after my last post. Nothing I do is enough. For anyone. Not even when it's a hobby. I was frustrated bc the place I use for escape just made me feel like less than.

Obviously, I don't mean everyone or even the majority. I appreciate the discourse and fun and everything here! There are so many awesome people to interact with and I have missed you all, however, my headspace was bad. Very bad. I had thoughts I haven't dealt with in years.

I put my nose down and just went to work. I didn't wanna talk to anyone. I didn't wanna be in the world.

I did some reading, eventually some non-fandom writing, and sometimes, I just stayed alive.

I don't know if I'm really okay but I'm trying.

To those who have been so patient and supportive, you deserve everything. To those who are silent supporters, you do too. And even to those people who send me the most vile hate, you deserve to lift yourself out of the dark space you're stuck in. Hopefully, I can, too.

[ceesimz]

Best of Both Worlds

Yes, the title is a Hannah Montana song, it fits perfectly. Also, for the sake of fiction, Leah did in fact play at Wembley, thank you!

Possibly the most long-awaited day of Leah's life; her national team return. It was one thing to play for The Arsenal again, but to represent her country whilst wearing the captain's armband at Wembley was an experience that simply couldn't be matched. And that's why it meant everything and more to her that you were in the stands with her family and her name on your back.

It wasn't the most aesthetically pleasing match ever, a 1-1 draw against Sweden, but Leah was back in her rightful place under her rightful role, and that was a win in itself. With each step on the pitch, your heart swelled with pride, knowing the mountain she'd climbed with her injury and how hard it had been mentally with each bump in the road, especially when she had to drop out of the last camp.

But here you were, seated in the same area of the stands her family had been when she had won the Euros, watching on in awe at how seamlessly she slipped back into the team. You had missed that fateful day back in 2022, having only met Leah five months after it at a New Year's Eve party, but with the affection Leah described that day with, you may as well have lived it for yourself. Now, having experienced your first game at Wembley since you hadn't gone to that game last year, you were beaming as you watched your girl command her national team around again.

Sure, you'd been to many a game of her's before, but there was something different about this one. There were obvious reasons of course, her injury and whatnot, but seeing her lead her team out to a stadium filled with the most people you'd ever seen her play in front of, a feeling settled in your chest that was unlike anything before. And when she was back in your arms at the end of the game, you would show her exactly how much you treasured her.

So, as she made her way around the stadium post-game, taking the time to applaud all the fans that had come along to watch and signing things for some, there was a smile of admiration on your face that her cousin beside you noticed. You blushed heavily at the teasing nudge she gave you with a smirk on her face.

"I suggest you wipe that cheesy, love-sick smile off your face before she comes over and bullies you for it." The woman next to you said, the pair of you laughing as you rolled your eyes, both all too familiar with her antics.

But the absence of said smile only lasted for about a minute, because then Leah was making her way over to the area of stands where you and her family was, and she had a down-turned smile on her face, the one she always did whilst trying to suppress her actual one. You were sat on the second row behind Leah's immediate family, so you stood back and waited for her to greet them all, also doing so as to not attract much fan attention. Leah made that hard though, because when her Mum pulled her into a bear hug, she indulged herself fully in it for about five seconds before her eyes flitted up to you and the corners of her mouth finally quirked up.

She jokingly pushed her Mum to the side so that she could reach out for you, and leaned up to hug you tightly. However, you pulled away after a few moments, and she made her disapproval very clear.

"What you doing that for?" She quizzed grumpily, looking utterly unimpressed up at you as some of her family members chuckled at her.

"The fans, Leah. We're at Wembley, think of all the videos." You whispered close to her ear, not quite intelligible for the others to hear.

"Who gives a toss, babe, I've hugged all my family here and you're no different." She responded, and she pulled you back in before you could complain. You wouldn't have complained anyway, because really who were you to deny your girlfriend's hug, your favourite in the world.

"Don't throw a strop later if there's about a million different angles of this." You teased, pinching her side where one of your hands rested around her.

"Doesn't matter, it's still you I get to go home with." She murmured before quickly pecking the spot under your ear and pulling back with one last squeeze. When she leaned back, she saw the light blush to your cheeks and smirked. "A year later and I've still got it."

You shoved her away lightly so that she could chat with the rest of her family before going off to do her post-match routine. Seeing her with her family, who she was so tight-knit with, was always a joy to see and you'd never get tired of seeing it. And as she jogged away back to the tunnel, her Mum turned to you and embraced you too.

"Thanks for coming, darling, it means a lot to her and to us too." She told you, rubbing a hand up and down your back. Praise and gratitude from her never got old either.

"Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world." You said back to her, to which she smiled and kissed your cheek.

You and the rest of the group made your way around to the family area inside the stadium to wait for her, making light conversation with them all to pass the time whilst Leah carried out media duties. It was fun and easy spending time with her family, because as a result of your girlfriend's relationship with them, you had grown almost as close with them too. Ever present at family dinners, birthdays, and events like christenings and weddings etc, now it was second nature for you to follow Leah to them. Within only a few months of being with Leah, every invite had your name on it too.

In the middle of your conversation with her cousins, talking excitedly about plans for the summer vacation later that year, you were interrupted as Leah finally appeared in her tracksuit with short wet blonde hair, a soft smile on her face. She spent a bit of time talking some more with her family, before bidding them farewell and wandering over to you.

"Home time?" You wondered, reaching a hand out to brush some of her hair back behind her shoulder.

You had, rather bravely, drove to the stadium today after Leah somehow secured you a reserved parking space, with the plan of driving yourself and Leah home your flat for the night before she travelled back up north to St. George's Park with the team tomorrow.

"God, yes." She sighed, and you smiled up at her.

"Let's go then." You took the hand she offered after pulling up her hood and let her lead the way out of the stadium.

Arriving at your car, with a few curious stares from fans to see if the hooded figure beside you was who they thought it was, you helped her lift her things into the boot of your car before the pair of you clambered in.

For the time it took to drive home, you caught up with her as it had been a few days since you had seen each other whilst she had been at camp. You, ever the safe driver, weren't one to hold your girlfriend's hands whilst on the road, always with two hands on the wheel at all times. Leah teased you of course, her and her English humour never falling to banter you everytime she could, but nevertheless when she was feeling a little clingy her hand would rest on your thigh as you drove, or it would massage and stroke the back of your neck as her arm leaned on your seat's headrest.

Today was a case of her resting a hand mindlessly on your thigh, something you would smile at constantly and glance down at the sight every chance you could get. She didn't notice though, busy talking and too tired to realise. Adjusting back to playing 90 minutes was something she was still in the middle of, not that she couldn't handle them because she obviously can, it's just the tiredness afterwards was something she hadn't experienced in a while of playing professionally.

That meant you weren't exactly surprised when she flopped down immediately on your sofa when you got home, not even bothering to drop her bags off in your room.

"Want some food, love?" You offered, pushing her bags to the side of the hallway so that they weren't a tripping hazard before leaning against the doorway of your lounge.

"You don't have to cook, we can just order a Nando's or something." Leah yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"Well, I thought ahead." You smiled at her, giggling at the tired and confused expression she silently responds with. "I meal-planned for you. I can heat up a plate of that Carribbean chicken and rice and veg if you want."

She gazed at you for a few moments before her head dropped back against the pillows with a groan.

"If I had a ring right now, I'd ask to marry you."

With a laugh, you took that as a yes and headed to the kitchen to do exactly as you said. As you were gone, the blonde put Netflix on the TV and chose the sitcom you had been watching together before pausing the episode to wait for you. She sat up with a groan and slumped back heavily, going onto her phone to reply to some friends and family.

Not so long later, you walked back in with Leah's food, handing it to her before sitting down beside her. Plate and fork in hand, she twisted her body to lean her back against your shoulder and happily tucked into her meal as you pressed play on the TV.

"Thanks for this, babe, I'm really grateful." She muttered as she ate, to which you smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"It's no problem, Le. I made a plate for myself too but I had a hot dog at half-time so I'm not hungry." You revealed, giggling as Leah chuckled.

"I know it's just a plate of food but... I don't know, means a lot to me that you thought about this." With a light blush, you shrugged nonchalantly and kissed the side of her head.

"I would say I know you'd do the same for me, but everybody knows you can't cook." You jested, grinning when she grumbled under her breath.

"I was only being nice, but alright." She huffed, but you only held her tighter against you.

"I'm kidding. I just love you, s'all. Wanna take care of you, especially after the last year and especially because I know you're a bit of a bottomless pit after a game." You say, and she hums in agreement. "If I'd have known my chicken was so good, it inspired thoughts of marriage, I'd have made it more often."

"I could never say no to that."

You both fell silent at that, more than content to enjoy each other's company with the show on in the background. Spending time with you after a game, just relaxing together, was fastly becoming Leah's favourite tradition. Going to dinners with friends or partying were great, but not much could beat this. Great food with even better company, in the arms of her girlfriend, Leah was finally at peace with the silence she had to greet after a game that was anything but.

That was something not many people would guess was a struggle in women's football. Going from playing in tiny stadiums to bigger venues but hardly any fans, to then playing in sold-out game after sold-out game for both club and country, that was her dream. What she wasn't expecting was the mental challenge that came with it. Spending well over 90 minutes in a booming stadium with fans that never ceased their chants was astounding to her, but the silence that met her when she would go home to a quiet and empty apartment was difficult.

She had worked on dealing with it better since the Euros where it had really picked up, but there was one thing that made it so much easier every time without fail. And that was you.

"You know I do plan to marry you, right?" Leah piped up out of nowhere sometime later, her plate long discarded to the coffee table as your positions on the couch remained the same. At her out-of-the-blue question that took your breath away a little, you cleared your throat and nodded though she couldn't see you.

"Yeah."

"Because I do want to marry you one day. I've known that from early on, I actually know the exact moment I thought that."

"Do tell, my love." You smiled, never one to pass up on a chance to hear just how and when Leah had fallen for you.

"The second time we saw each other after the New Year's party, when you started teasing me for not kissing you again after that night."

Much to Alex's dismay, the night of that party yourself and Leah had spent pretty much all of it talking about everything and nothing, compelled by a desire to get to know each other. That was until the blonde's intake of Dutch courage lived up to its name as she kissed you a little more than what could be described as friendly once the clock struck midnight. And when the night ended, no matter how much you didn't want to leave, you both shared a taxi to your respective apartments and exchanged details. It wasn't long before you saw her again though, in fact you saw her twice in the two weeks that followed, but the defender had been a little too embarrassed at her eager act a few weeks prior to kiss you again. But when you teased her one too many times about it, on the third 'date', she huffed before firmly yet delicately gripping your face and finally kissing you again.

"I spoke to Wally after our second date and she called me crazy for knowing I'd marry you when I didn't even have the balls to kiss you again." You laughed loudly at that, a notion Leah soon joined in with as she knew her past-self had acted in a ridiculous and shy way. "But that's the truth, babe. I knew I had to have you, and what better way to show that than snogging the life out of you on a random bench in London."

"Ew, Leah! Why describe it like that? I thought it was such a sweet moment, but you've just described it like we were two horny teenagers." She grimaced at the point you made, regretting it already.

"My bad. It was sweet. If not a bit... desperate." She snickered, grinning when you swatted her shoulder. "So, would you marry me then?"

"Wow. If this conversation couldn't get any less romantic, I think you've just put the nail in the coffin." Leah scoffed and sat up, fixing you with a disapproving look.

"That wasn't my actual proposal, you knob. I just wanna know if you'd say yes when I did eventually ask. Properly, that is." The defender asked with a shy smile, and you couldn't help but giggle at her face, doing so more when she frowned in confusion.

"Yes, I would accept your proposal. As long as it's with a nice ring and a better speech." You answered to put her out of her misery. She lets out a relieved sigh but smiling again.

"Noted."

With that, she stood up, now your turn to be confused. Squealing as she lifted you up bridal style, you laughed when she lay you down on your back length-ways across the sofa. Then, she kneeled against the cushions under your knees and carefully laid on top of you, her head resting against your stomach. Her hands came up to slide under your back and she sighed contently.

"Comfy?" You asked with a smile, your own hands settling on the back of her head.

"So comfy." She hummed, eyes closed as she faced away from the TV.

"If you're gonna fall asleep, Le, we may as well go to bed."

"No." She grunted. "I won't fall asleep. I just want to lay here for a bit."

"Alright." You conceded, your attention fully lost from the TV and instead on the girl draped over you.

You admired the slight view of her face available to you, your hands combing delicately through her almost dried hair as the only sounds shared between you were the calm and quiet breaths you both let out. A few minutes passed by and you thought she had gone to sleep, but she proved you wrong.

"This is my dream, you know."

"What is?" You asked her, moving one of your hands to rest on the side of your face and stroking her skin there with your thumb.

"Going home from a game to someone I love. Who I can fully switch off with." The small explanation had you beaming, beyond happy to hear how special you were to her.

"Well, I'm glad I can help, my love." You replied, a sheepishly proud smile on your face.

"I used to find it hard, y'know... our football blew up in popularity during the Euros, and I struggled with it more than I expected." You hummed curiously, not wanting to disrupt her train of thought but letting her know you wanted her to continue. "Going from being surrounded by up to ninety thousand people, singing and chanting and cheering non-stop, to just... nothing when I got home. Just a cold, empty, silent apartment. The contrast of it troubled me a lot. I worked through it with a psychologist and coped with it better, but it was never perfect."

She paused, adjusting her position so that her hands came to rest under her chin as she looked up at you, that same down-turned smile from earlier returning. Your hands fell to clasp behind her neck, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Then you came around, and now that anxiety doesn't even phase me anymore."

Now, if that wasn't the most heart-warming thing your girlfriend had said so far, you weren't sure what was.

"That makes me so happy, Leah." You whispered, cupping her cheeks with your hands and smiling softly at her.

"One of my favourite things about our relationship is how easy it is for me to switch from Leah Williamson the footballer, to just Leah when I'm around you. Makes coming home after a game much easier."

Shaking your head, you took her hands and urged her to move further up your body so that her head rested against your chest. Wrapping your arms around her, you squeezed her tightly, desperate to convey your love to her in a way words couldn't explain.

"I'll happily welcome 'Just Leah' home all the time."

"Now you're ruining the moment."

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

"Stupid" Things the TWST Cast Believed As Kids

I was going to post this without a preamble but it just looked wrong LMAO -----------------------------------------------------

Heartslaybul

Riddle - He just mispronounced a lot of words out loud. This is actually common in a lot of kids that read a lot, they don't know how to say a word any differently than the way they've pronounced it in their head, so some examples: (Ladle -> would rhyme with Saddle, Rhythm had over-emphasis on the first 'h', etc.)

Trey - thought butter was made from the fat collected off of cow butts ('butt' was also the only 'naughty' word he knew for a long time). The thing is he had probably seen his parents make butter. either by accident or on purpose and it still didn't click for him.

Cater - only ate black beans, (when they were served). when he was a kid because he thought they were the same as coffee beans. He saw his dad eating chocolate covered coffee beans and got mad when he denied him the Delight Of Caffeine at Three Years Old so thought eating black beans was like. A super sneaky way of being like his dad.

Deuce - Chocolate covered strawberries came from a special plant, he didn't think his mom just set them up for him sometimes. He ended up asking more than a few times when his strawberries were plain when they could 'go back to the store and get the good kind' and would call the strawberries without chocolate 'rotten'.

Ace - For whatever reason, he didn't think bears were a real animal. Just. Teddy bears existed. And of course when his big brother showed him pictures of real bears he thought he was messing with him. Ace will not admit how long it took him to realize that bears are real.

Savannaclaw

Leona - Falena told him once that vanilla extract comes from 'beaver butt juice' and it was in all the vanilla flavoured desserts he's ever had. Yes Falena was messing with him to get his portion of desserts because Leona was too grossed out to eat them. It managed to last about 6 months before Leona was fed up and researched the information on his own.

Ruggie - His grandma protected him best she could from food scarcity, so he genuinely believed she knew how to make something from nothing. Same with his clothes.

Jack - Refused to eat hotdogs because he thought they were made from real dogs and cried whenever he saw someone else eating hot dogs. Even when they bough turkey hot dogs he thought they added 'turkey flavouring' to the Dogs.

Octavinelle

Azul - Thought cuttlefish were 'cuddlefish' and would get so SO upset when they didn't want to snuggle with him

Jade - When he first heard the word 'hermaphrodite' he thought it meant someone who just really really liked hermit crabs.

Floyd - Was SO disappointed to find out ice cream didn't scream while you eat it (I-scream)

Scarabia

Kalim - Used to try and eat really fast, so Jamil told him if he ate his food too hot his tongue would melt to the top of his mouth. (Yeah Jamil got in trouble for that one but it worked, Kalim savoured his food and he still makes sure his food is cooled down a little before he eats).

Jamil - Didn't eat yogurt for a long time because he didn't want to 'feed the bacteria in his belly'. That was his only reasoning.

Pomefiore

Vil - thought candy cigarettes were real cigarettes, this resulted in him biting one of his dad's or fellow actor's cigarettes and Regretting it. (Even the fake ones are filled with like an herbal blend, you don't want to eat it still)

Rook - kinda sad, but genuinely thought termites were considered dessert. They were fairly rampant in his home so he would eat them any chance he got (raw termites supposedly taste like pineapple).

Epel - yeah he thought he was a werewolf, there isn't much else to add.

Ignihyde

Idia - Thought that microwaving a spider/other bugs for a very short amount of time would mutate their DNA and he could keep it as a pet, despite many failed attempts, he continued trying.

Ortho - (insert ugly crying here thinking about baby boys early years) he really believed that one day Idia would find a way to bring the characters from tv/video games into 'real life' so they could have play dates with them. (Idia promised him he would try his best)

Diasomnia

Malleus - He thought computers were a type of pet people could have.

Lilia - Used to think that the stars were really big glow bugs

Silver - Fully believed the storks deliver babies thing. Not because of Lilia, but because of a story book and it made things easy so he just rolled with it anyways, until Silver was old enough.

Sebek - That the fountain of youth was real - he wanted to drink from it once he reached his prime so that he could serve Malleus always.

Others

Che'nya - Refused to believe that gum ever came from trees because he 'tried sap before and it didn't even taste like syrup so how could something sweet as gum come from trees'.

Najma - Thought she was able to talk to ghosts, it was just Jamil fucking with her lskjfhsldkjfsdf

Neige - Didn't know what owls were, called them tree penguins.

Rollo - Called ambulances 'Body Rescue Busses' because even as a kid he knew only God could save your soul. (you can take that seriously or as satire idc) -------------------------------------------------------- @fluffle-writes thank you for the compliments, and the motivation to write!! ljfkjdshflkjsdf

If you want to be on a taglist in the future lmk

[arminsumi]

when is daddy coming home ?

g. satoru ⋅ fem wife reader

note: WOW i'm so sorry for writing this anyways tagging @satoruhour for no reason except i'm evil 👍 ik we need fluff comfort rn but i had to get out at least one devastating post. anyways. enjoy the suffering!!

warnings — heavy pure angst prepare to suffer and cry more than you already are, implied death, chapter 236 spoilers

playme ♪ oh god it's you i watch tv with / when i wake up i see you with me... as long as i'm here, no one can hurt you

scurrying around the kitchen, there's no free time when you've got a little mouth to feed. and you smile when you see your cute little girl devouring the bowl of steaming food. it's satoru's favorite, he asked you to make it today especially and you don't know why.

an hour goes by. you observe your child drawing a scribbly heart.

" what are you drawing ? " you ask, and she replies with " something for daddy. "

" it looks beautiful. who's that ? "

" that's you. and that's daddy. and that's me. "

" are we inside a heart ? "

" yup ! we're inside daddy's heart, because it has the most space. "

your heart feels a peculiar pang, and you look out the window. how strange, you felt like your whole world caved in for that split second.

" mommy, when is daddy coming home ? " your little girl asks innocently.

" soon, angel. "

you ring his number.

gojo satoru ~ i'm busy right now, leave a message — ow !

you remember the day he made this prerecorded messgae. his ow at the end is a reaction to your little girl biting him when she was teething, that was years and years ago now.

the little bell on her bracelet sounds. it's the bracelet that you and gojo wove together in high school; your little one had found it in your memory box and loved it so much that she asked if she could have it as her birthday gift.

that bell chimes as she moves her wrist to color in satoru's eyes with the prettiest blue crayon. and for some reason, it sounds louder than ever; you stare at it. why are tears coming forth?

the tv is playing. the birds are chirping. the world keeps spinning. but your world? it feels like it broke apart. and why? what was this feeling? you felt like... like something devastating has just happened.

you try satoru's phone again, wandering aimlessly into the kitchen. it feels eerily quiet and joyless.

gojo satoru ~ i'm busy right now, leave a message — ow !

you try it again.

gojo satoru ~ i'm busy right now —

you try it again.

gojo satoru ~

gojo satoru ~

gojo satoru ~

he was mimicking the way you always said his name in high school.

and you start breaking down crying, trying and trying repeatedly as if it would change anything. you don't need someone to knock on your door to tell you he's gone, because you can feel it; his spirit isn't in this world anymore. you and him were completely connected, a string between the two of you that linked your hearts and subconscious no matter the distance between them.

when you look up at the sky, there's an endless blue. but all you really think of when you see that sky is his eyes. when you first met, that was one of the first things you told him.

" your eyes put the skies to shame. "

and he replied with something so cheesy that for some reason made you fall in love with him right there.

" aw. well, you put the angels to shame. "

the food goes cold. in his last moment, when he detached from the world, he was thinking about returning home to you. that's why he had asked you to make his favorite, after all. he thought it would be nice to enjoy such a simple thing after saving the world.

it's funny, even if he would have saved the world, he wouldn't have been able to come home to boast about it to you; because you never knew that side of him.

you never knew he was gojo satoru.

you just knew he was your gojo satoru, your doting husband.

when those eyes stared up at the blue sky for the last time, he thought;

at least i got to say i love you to you this morning, and give you that big kiss. treasure it baby, there will be no more now.

rest well honoured one.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[fourmoony]

heyyy read you're looking for requests so here's one! james coming from hockey practice (i love hockey player james) and you tell him that a guy from uni has been hitting on you and stuf. he doesn't get mad just queasy, but then he needs reassurance too!

thanks for requesting, angel!

cw: insecurities, language, unwanted advances

1.4k, modern au, ice hockey James

The tell-tale sound of James' bag being abandoned haphazardly by the door alerts you to his presence. The door clicks shut soon after, followed by a heavy sigh. He's likely exhausted - always is after practice, especially if he and Sirius get caught mouthing off and are punished with bag skating.

James rounds the corner into the living room at the same time you pause your show and sit up to greet him. He doesn't acknowledge your abandoned plate from dinner or the pile of unfolded washing on the arm chair to his left. Instead, he gives you a tired smile and collapses into a heap beside you on the sofa. "Hi, bug." He mumbles, chin tucked into the neckline of his hoodie. Exhaustion seeps from his voice.

"Hi, handsome." You soothe, hand reaching out to toy with the curls at the nape of your boyfriend's neck. They're still damp from his post-practice shower, the smell of his body wash sweet and heady in your nose. "How was practice?"

He lets out a long suffering sigh, leans into your touch, "Stressful. The team isn't where we need to be for the playoffs. Coach made sure to let us know how angry he is about it."

You hum softly, scoot closer to James on the sofa until you're practically in his lap. James likes touch, he likes the connection, the intimacy, the weight of your body on top of his. You're happy to indulge him, the flowers that your boyfriend brings about your rib cage blossoming as his arm wraps around your middle, hoists you fully onto his lap. "What does he expect, you know? Half of his team graduated out, last year. He only has a couple of you guys left and the rest are freshmen." You try to justify James, but it seems the reminder only further sours his mood.

"Yeah, try telling him that. He thinks everyone is just born to be in the NHL, that these guys should already be up to standard, that they don't need the same exact training and coaching that we got." James' voice is thick with coiling tension, even if his muscles seem to be relaxing under you.

You smooth the baby hairs under your fingers, tilting your head until his eyes meet yours, "You're their captain, baby," You smile, "I bet they'd listen to it a lot better coming from you. They like you, look up to you. You be their coach if coach isn't going to step up."

Your boyfriend smiles, the sun peeking through storm clouds. A glimpse of your Jamie. He leans forwards, lips soft and gentle as he presses them to yours. He hums into the kiss, hands squeezing your hips. "Thanks."

"Anytime, handsome."

"How was your day?" James asks, feet stretching out to sit atop the coffee table.

You'd scold him if you weren't so busy quelling the beating of your heart. Any kiss from James sends you reeling, has done since the first time in freshman year. You don't think you'll ever get over the fact that he's your boyfriend. That he loves you as you love him, that you'll grow old and grey together. It never quite feels real.

"Good. Productive. We have a project due for McGonagall's class on Wednesday so I just worked on that most of the day." You don't feel the need to mention that you pointedly worked alone on your half of the project, but James frowns at your words and you know he's going to ask.

"You worked alone?"

"Yeah." You should probably say more, but James has a shorter fuse than Sirius does in general when it comes to you and you don't feel like unleashing all two hundred pounds of ice-hockey muscle onto the arrogant asshole who won't leave you alone.

James' thumb rubs steady circles into the fat of your thigh, his brows hooked upward in the middle a blatant sign of his confusion, "Your group have left you to do all the work?"

"No," You shake your head, "It was just easier to do my part on my own."

James doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's waiting for you to go on. You sigh through your nose, head falling to rest on your boyfriend's shoulder, "One of the guys in my group has been hitting on me pretty regularly."

"What?" James asks around a swallow, voice hoarse. His muscles tense under you, his thumb pausing it's soothing measures on your thigh.

You shrug, "He keeps saying how he'd treat me right, how a 'pretty girl like me' deserves better. It's all bullshit, so I chose to work myself and just send the rest of the group my sections."

"Right."

It's odd, the way your body reacts to a single word as though it were a slap in the face. Your stomach sinks because you realise James isn't angry. He isn't itching to pound the guy's face into the ground and he isn't insisting you allow him to fix the problem, himself. You remove your head from James' shoulder, find him pale faced and distant. He looks lost, nauseous. "Jamie?"

James shrugs, eyes cold, "What?"

"'Right.'? That's all you have to say to that? What's wrong?" You ask, drawing further away the colder the look in James' eyes gets.

"What would you like me to say? That he might be right?" There's a clipped edge to your boyfriend's voice that you've never heard before, that jolts your body into fight or flight mode quicker than you'd care to admit.

You remove yourself from James' lap, confusion evident on your face as you settle to face him on the coffee table. His feet meet the ground with a thud as he moves to stand. Your hand flies out, a firm grip on his knee that begs him not to move. James gives you a sad look as he complies, fidgets with the draw strings on his jogging bottoms. "You think he has a point?" You ask.

James nods, lips pursed, eyes avoiding yours so evidently it angers you.

"Why?"

Your boyfriend shrugs again, tips his head back and lets out a groan, "You know at the end of this year I'm going to be drafted, right? I'm going to have to move across the country, probably, I won't have a choice in the matter and neither will you."

"We've had this argument before, James. I'm going wherever you go. I don't care where it is! It could be fucking Antartica and I'd still go." Your voice sounds less stern than you'd intended, but James softens slightly at your words.

"But you shouldn't have to just pick up your life and move because of me. You deserve someone who can give you stability and all of their time. I can't." James leans forwards until his elbows are resting on his knees, his face so close to yours you can feel his breaths.

It's an age-old argument, one you and James used to have often in the beginning. Before you knew that you wanted James in your life forever, back when he was trying to push you away with everything he had because he didn't want to risk falling in love with you and having to leave you, one day. The argument lessened the longer you were together, decisions made. You'd made up your mind the day James told you he loved you that you'd follow him anywhere, that you'd give up anything and everything to just be with him.

"I don't want anyone else. I don't care where we are in this world, James. I want you. That's all." You reach for him, thumbs swiping under his eyes in steady motions.

He takes a breath, closes his eyes under your touch. "I can't help but feel I'm asking you to sacrifice more than I'm worth."

And that just won't do. You clamber back onto his lap, legs on either side of his hips and chase his eyes. They're dark in the dim light of the living room, a deep brown filled with fear. "You're worth everything, Jamie. Everything." You tell him. And you mean it.

James swallows, nods. His arms wrap around you, pull you to him until he's falling back into the softness of the couch. "I love you." He tells you, vulnerable as you've ever heard him.

Flowers bloom all along the crevices of your rib cage, pull taught until you're so overflowing with love and happiness that all you can think to do is kiss him. He chases your lips when you pull back, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. "I love you too, Jamie."

"So you're not gonna leave me for that guy in your Psych class?" He asks, a twinkle in his eye that lets you know he's kidding.

You laugh, loud and obnoxious and your boyfriend swallows it with a world-ending kiss.