#i want to go on a walk so bad but what’s the point if i don’t have a playlist……….. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elaci · 3 days

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Art brings Patrick along to celebrate your entry winning! He also shows off your side-project of collecting intimates, Patrick wants in.

cw; threesomesss! m-recieving oral, spitroasting, consensual voyeurism, more talk of tennis and a man who is not named mary...

Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | The Rule of Thirds masterlist | talk to me!

“You aren’t even playing tennis in it.”

Patrick Zweig, who really does hate formal attire, tilts his head at the print framed in front of him. The glass of sparkling in his hand doesn’t do much to unlock his creative interpretation. To him, it’s a photo of his best friend smiling like a dork with a racket in hand.

Art jabs him in the ribs. “It’s the afterglow,” he parrots, a weird knowing smile pulling at his lips. “You’re just jealous that I won.”

Patrick snorts and leans into Art. “You didn’t. She did.”

The two of them glance around the venue, a makeshift gallery to display the submissions for the face of sport competition . People crowd the place, pointing at prints and talking between themselves about angles and lighting and composition and everything under the sun that isn’t sport. All of the pictures are the same, though: a close up of a sports player as they train. Their face sweaty and angry as they hit a ball or cross a finish line or do a fucking pirouette.

The boys step out of the way to let an older married couple in front of them look at the winning photo. The husband looks puzzled, glancing from the first-day-of-school-esque photo of Art to a photo of a swimmer diving into the water.

“This is the winner?” the husband asks his wife.

The wife, who is sneaking a few pictures on her phone, laughs and says, “Jeff, honey, you just don’t understand art.”

Patrick snorts at that and looks at his Art, one he also doesn’t fully understand. Art rolls his eyes and steps away, motioning for Patrick to follow. The two fall in step with each other, voices low as they walk through the gallery.

“So,” Patrick dips his head down a little as he speaks, a dutiful whisper. “Are you two dating or what? Have you fucked her yet?”

Art stops abruptly, his shoes squeak against the linoleum flooring, karma for wearing sneakers to an event where champagne is served and people say things like ‘what a peculiar angle’. He looks at Patrick with something in his eyes, and the brunette has to take a moment to try and decode his best friend's silent story.

“Ohh,” he grins after a moment. “She fucked you.”

Art clicks his teeth, he wants to object but he ultimately can’t. “She takes photos.”

“What?”

“Polaroids.”

“Of you fucking?”

“Yes, Patrick, not so loud.”

Patrick’s grin is glued to his face. It’s less amused and moreso smug now, maybe a little excited. There's a moment shared between the two before Patrick chimes in again, a tinge of worry lacing his tone. "And you know she's not going to send them anywhere?"

Art shakes his head. "She lets me keep them."

"Holy shit," Patrick laughs, "I have to see these."

Art scoffs and pulls Patrick along. They continue walking through the exhibition halls, occasionally stopping to look at different prints on display but quickly growing bored of the monotony of each shot. Patrick starts to realise, after the sixth shot of a tennis player hitting a ball, that you were right in catching something different. The pair turn a corner and find themselves in a secluded hall of past entries that no one cares to gawk over a second time; Patrick takes his chance and grabs Art by the arm.

"Come on," his voice is low, and he glances through the empty hallway to make sure he hadn't missed someone standing within earshot. “Let me see.”

There’s a pause, and then Art shakes his head. “No way, my eyes only.”

Patrick grins, “what’s so bad about them? She gets you to dress up in a maid's dress and serve her on your knees?”

Patrick entertains the thought for a moment, and then sees the danger in doing so and shakes his head. “I’m joking, Art. If you don’t want me to see, don’t show me.”

Another pause, Patrick knows Art like he knows himself, even more so maybe. Art wants to share, he wants to gloat about the endeavours he’s been having behind a closed door: he's a man for attention just like Patrick is, it’s what makes them such a good team, everyone’s eyes are always on them. They hold eye contact for what feels like a moment too long, and Art finally lets his lips flip into a grin.

“And how would Tashi feel about me showing you these?”

Patrick shrugs. “You know Tashi, she’s not the jealous type,” he puts on a high pitched voice, despite Tashi having the complete opposite, and points a finger in the air to quote her. “I dont care what you do or who you fuck, Patrick, as long as you play a good fucking game of tennis afterwards.”

Monogamy, not a given in the world of competition, unsurprisingly. Art stands still, hands by his side as he squints his eyes at Patrick. He’s always been able to call bullshit on him, and Art must trust his intuition on this one because he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He pulls two polaroids out of the back slot and pockets one of them, not comfortable with sharing such an intimate photo of yourself with express permission. The other one, the one you had taken your first time together, gets slipped into Patricks awaiting palm.

And he has no telling face as he looks at it, studies it. In the photo, Art Donaldson, his best friend since twelve, is laying on his back, expression lost in a mixture of bliss and overwhelming desire. Sweat sticks to his skin, sticks his hair to his forehead. His face is blushed red and his eyes are blown wide open, pupils expanded as if he were looking at God herself; perhaps he was. His mouth is parted lightly, lips glistening with what could be spit or... and Patrick is hard.

“Introduce me,” Patrick deadpans. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again. I’ll give you so much money. I’ll quit tennis.”

Art grins. “You are a fucking liar.”

“Yeah, one with taste and a semi.”

Art hits Patrick in the arm, but ultimately folds. “Fine, but only because she wants to meet you.”

“I could suck your dick right now.” Patrick takes another hit to the arm, this one harder than the last. He moves to rub the spot where pain still lingers, but stops in his movements when a thought crosses his mind. “So you’ve told her about me, huh?”

Art rolls his eyes and plucks the polaroid from Patricks hand. He looks at the picture for a moment.

“Oh he won't shut up about you," a voice sounds from behind the pair. Both boys jump at the sudden presence and spin to face you, smiling laudingly at the pair- a gold medal with a camera engraved into the front hangs from your neck. Your gaze flits between them, and Patrick is suddenly struck by all the times he’d seen you around before. Though he's not often on campus, only when his schedule opens and visits are worth making, he's turned his head as you've walked past before, he knows it.

Art clears his throat and turns to face you properly, placing the hand with the polaroid behind his back. "This is Patrick," he gestures at Patrick while maintaining eye contact with you. You nod, and then look towards the brunette. Your name falls on attentive ears, Patrick rolls it on his tongue for good measure and decides he likes the taste of it. He introduces himself in turn with an extended hand to shake and his signature smile.

"It's good to meet you," you hum as you shake his hand, though your head nods to Art's hidden hand. "I do autograph my originals, if you want."

Art's face falls slightly, caught in the act. Patrick smiles and nods, to which Art mutters an embarrassed apology. Your eyes soften, and the corners of your mouth tug upwards in response. You hold your hand out, and Art sheepishly places the polaroid in your hand. You turn the polaroid around and examine it for a few moments before plucking a permanent marker from your pocket and writing something on the back of it. You waft it through the air a few times to allow for the ink to dry, and then grin at Art as you hand the polaroid instead to Patrick.

Patrick takes it with a dumbfounded half-smile, his eyes darting from you to Art and then back to you and down to the writing you've left behind--- THE ART OF MAKING LOVE, it reads, and Patrick snorts at the pun. Your smile widens slightly.

“Very nice.” Patrick comments softly, holding the polaroid between his fingertips and glancing down to it pointedly.

"I know," you reply simply. "Thank you for coming, by the way, both of you. I would have skipped it myself if I didn't win."

Art chuckles. "It was our pleasure, this place is nice."

You laugh in response and Patrick thinks he's heard heaven's bells. "Some lady asked if I'd read the part about the entry having to be sports-related."

Patrick pushes in before Art can speak. "Ah, don't listen to them," he takes a step forward and glances down to the polaroid still between his fingers, you don’t know if he’s talking about the photo he’s holding, or the winning entry. "I think you really captured the... afterglow."

If Art could roll his eyes completely into the back of his head he would, he can't hold his laughter in at Patricks attempt to sound like he knows the first thing about photography, and your laughter sings out too, picking up on the parroting of your own words to Art. The sound echoes across the empty hallway, bouncing off the walls and filling the space like music.

"Patrick doesn't know what he's talking about," Art runs a hand through his own hair, eyes settling on you in a dorky grin you've grown to adore.

"I'm better in front of the camera than behind it," Patrick offers.

Silence meets his words as you look between the boys, committing both of their features to memory. You imagine, only for a moment, getting them both in front of your lens. The imagined sight is enough to press an offer to your lips. Patrick and Art stand in silence, staring at you as you watch them.

"I already got my medal" you toy with the award around your neck. You tilt your head to the side, "wanna get out of here?"

"Yes," said in eager unison by the best friends, fire and ice.

You smirk, turn on your heels and lead the way down the hall. Patrick and Art fall in step behind you, Patrick still holding your polaroid between his fingers-- Art plucks it from him in a quick movement and pockets it. Patrick, in childish turn, shoves Art against the corridor wall. He hits a framed photo of an elderly woman with a feeding tube in her nose, titled 'the woes of age', and it crashes to the floor with a loud clatter. The frame's glass shatters across the floor, and you whip your head around to find Patrick and Art both staring wide-eyed back at you.

"What was that?" A voice from the main gallery calls out, thudding footsteps follow.

And you stifle a laugh, looking down at the broken frame of a probably now-dead elderly woman's portrait, then up to your two accomplices. Art and Patrick look between each other, a silent agreement between them. All of a sudden, they're sprinting past you, and both grabbing a hand of yours to pull you down the corridor.

Your shrieks of laughter fill the space between you. You run faster than you've ever ran before, your heart pounding in your chest and blood rushing through your veins; it's exhilarating, it's terrifying, you're alive.

SIX YEARS LATER

A burly old man with tattoos from head to toe stands behind the counter at MARY'S PAWN SHOP— YOUR TRADE, YOUR TREASURES. Patrick Zweig walks in with two tennis bags slumped over his shoulders, looks at the balding man with ‘leisure’ tattooed under his eye and smiles, “I’ll take it you aren’t Mary.”

"No," says the man of few words.

Patrick raises his eyebrows and exhales, his social battery already malfunctioning. He walks to the counter and sets each tennis bag down atop it with a padded thud. "There's uh, there's rackets, wristbands, a pair of shoes- I think, a few balls. All in good condition, nothing cheap, nothing dirty..."

The man nods, still silent, and begins looking through the tennis bags. He pulls a racket out to check it for wear and tear, and then another, glossing his eyes over and finding no damage. He checks the shoes for dirt and scratches, the balls for wear, and once he's happy with the quality of the first bag's contents, he moves onto the second. He unzips the side pocket with a short tug to reveal something other than tennis equipment— a polaroid.

It only takes a glance at the photo from the stocky man before he's slamming it face down on the counter. "Fucking Christ, kid. Check your shit before you pawn it off."

Patrick looks puzzled, "what?" he slides the polaroid towards himself and flips it up to look at it— his lips twitch. "Oh."

"Yeah 'oh'," the man scoffs in reply.

Patrick stares down at a photo he hasn't seen in years, and while red tinges his face as he stands in Mary's Pawn Shop, it's nothing compared to his flushed red look of desperation in the polaroid. There he sits, with Art Donaldson sitting behind him pressing wet kisses to his neck, hands splayed over Patrick’s bare chest. His legs are spread, the photo is taken from between them— at the bottom of the frame his cock sits rock hard and at rapt attention, your manicured fingers wrapped around his length: he can even see the glisten of precum beading at his tip.

"Jesus," Patrick exhales shakily, quickly pocketing the polaroid and only barely managing eye contact with the clerk. "That's, uh..."

"I don't care," he snaps a finger to the store's entrance. "Out."

"Wait," Patrick scrambles to show him that the rest of the bag is indeed only full of tennis gear. "Seriously, please, I need the money," his tone softens, but is still pleading. "Look, I'm a tennis player, Patrick Zweig, if you plaster my name on the sale I'm sure you'll get more sales. Can you just—"

"I just got a faceful of your cock, Patrick Zweig," the old man barks. "Get the fuck out."

Patrick lets out an exasperated sigh and zips up his tennis bags, slinging one strap across his shoulder and taking the other by the handle. He turns and walks gingerly out of the store, a 'please come again soon!' sign hangs awkwardly from the door he walks through, and rattles when he slams it shut behind him.

The trek to his car is an embarrassing one, the old tattooed man's eyes still burning into him as he unlocks the trunk and throws his tennis bags in. The moment he's situated in the driver's seat, he's turning out of the street and praying silently to god that he gets hit by lightning or something to that extent. He's been doing that a lot lately.

Once he's reached his apartment, Patrick's mind is reeling, and every thought has to do with you. He leaves his stuff behind in the car, mind too occupied to care about bringing them in.

His front door creaks when he pushes it open and slams it shut behind him, he's walking straight to his laptop, which sits at the counter because he hasn't had the time nor funds to buy a table, and opens up the screen. Your name is tapped into the search browser in seconds, his index finger clicks the enter button and Patrick Zweig holds his breath as the search results load. There's a funny feeling in his chest, a deep sense of anticipation that makes him feel almost giddy.

The page loads a display of your photography but no display of you. Patrick scrolls further down, scanning through articles about your photographs and a few links to reviews of your work. Nothing. His fingertips drum against the keyboard as he tries another search— your personal website.

There you are. A photo of you behind a camera headlines the page, and below are examples of your work. They're mostly photos of people, some of them are tame and shot against the sun in fields canvased with colour, others are sultry black-and-white boudoir style photos, though each subject has the same look on their face that you've been chasing since the day he met you. Patrick takes the polaroid from his pocket and sits it against the screen, as if on display with the rest of your shots, and he can't help but smile. It's very you.

BOOK A SHOOT! — GET IN CONTACT is written in bold towards the bottom of the page next to an email and a phone number.

Patrick Zweig knows he isn't the best person to grace this earth. He knows he has a habit of placing himself in the arms of people that would be better off without bearing his weight. He knows his voice can be a jarring one— so he skips past your number and starts typing an email instead. Because he’s trying to be thoughtful, you can delete an email, but also because he’s a few minutes away from stroking his cock to that polaroid of yours until his wrist hurts and he’s cumming dry and you’d certainly hear the building desperation in his voice.

Your email goes in first, and then a subject line— he flips the polaroid over and smiles at the smudged writing on the back, and then gets to typing:

‘Zweig, your plus one.’

SIX YEARS EARLIER

“So what am I here?” Patrick takes a drag of his cigarette, leans back against the tree he sits under and blows his smoke into the air. “A third wheel?”

You laugh, so does Art, who is sitting across from him on the grass, beside you with an arm around your shoulder. He has a cigarette in hand that he offers you every now and then, but you’re busy feeding new instant film into your polaroid. Though your head is down as you work, you reply with a sweetness to your tone nonetheless.

“No,” you laugh. “More like a plus one.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows and looks from you to Art, something in his eyes that only his best friend could read. Art shrugs, a playful smile pulling at his lips as he mouths 'told you.' Before Patrick can ask what exactly what you mean by that, he sees you lift the polaroid in front of your face and snap a picture, the flash sending Patricks eyes wide in the otherwise dim night. When you lower the camera from your nose he finds you grinning at him like you've just won the lottery, and he laughs low in his throat.

The polaroid prints from the camera, and you waft it in the air a little to let it develop before looking down at it. "You looked good," you hum, and give Patrick the opportunity to lean forward and take a look for himself. He does so immediately, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward and angles his head. He sees himself, cigarette in hand and smoke blowing softly from his lips as he sits.

He takes another toke of his cigarette and then taps it out into the ashtray beside him. He nods at you, catches your gaze, "do you play tennis?"

You laugh, a genuine laugh that rings in Patricks ears. Art laughs too, and nudges you with his arm. "She's a natural."

Patrick can tell Art is lying, because he can always tell. A grin pulls at his lips as you shake your head and cover your face with your hands for dramatic effect and dissolve into your laughter once more. Art nudges you again, and you push his arm away gently, but there's no malice in your movements, "I'm about half as useful with a racket as I would be if I was blind. I'll leave the big leagues to you two... you're playing professionally right?"

Patrick nods, and spends a fair few minutes going into depth about the world of pro tennis. You listen tentatively, nodding along to his words and asking questions when you aren't sure of something. Art chimes in too, at some point, and the conversation shifts from pro tennis to all types of stories from the boys' years of playing together. It all feels so familiar, and yet so foreign. Patrick can't remember the last time he's talked about tennis with someone that isn't aching to get pointers from him, or lecture him on how to improve. You just listen, and you throw in your own stories of childhood sports leagues and extracurriculars here and there, and Patricks not quite sure how but by the time the conversation wraps up, the three of you are sitting an awful lot closer than you were when you'd first found the secluded spot on campus.

"How long are you visiting for?" You tilt your head as you look at Patrick- your legs are draped over Art's lap, though you have a hand on his knee.

"A few more days," Patrick nods, looking from you to Art who has a sly grin plastered on his face, "what?"

Art shrugs nonchalantly, leaning slightly forward as he rubs a hand over your legs. “Patrick is staying in my dorm,” he looks to you, something knowing in his eyes. “I forgot to tell him I wouldn’t be there tonight.”

Patrick looks between you and Art.

“Oh but your doors locked,” you sound genuinely concerned as you turn to Patrick and ask, “do you have a spare key?”

Arts door isn’t locked— he always forgets to lock it. Even at boarding school Patrick would chide his inability to remember to lock their room up when they left, they’d always fall victim to someone coming in to steal a racket or swap out their pillows for the less comfortable ones that would circulate the dorm.

“I don’t have a spare key,” Patrick lets your hand crawl a little further over his thigh. A glance to Art offers him an equally hungry look, a heat, a taste for more than that night in the hotel with…

Should he tell you about Tashi? He knows she’s unbothered by his endeavours as long as his performance doesn’t slip for it, but some draw a line at sharing. He looks between you and Art, takes in the burning from the both of you and almost laughs, something tells him sharing isn't off the cards for you.

“You said earlier that you’re better in front of the camera than behind it,” your voice is soft, sultry, it sends a twang of something needy through Patricks spine. “You wanna take some pictures, Zweig?”

It’s all a rush, from his acceptance to the trip to your dorm room, a haze of hushed laughter and lingering touches he can’t tell who from. He wants to put on a face for you, woo you like he does every other girl he’s slept with. But with Art it’s easy, they're best friends… soulmates. They’ve kissed before, they've seen the most intimate parts of each other— in a way, Art's presence settles his nerves with you.

The second your dorm room door clicks shut, Art’s lips are against Patrick's and he’s guiding him to the edge of your bed in a mess of sloppy implacable kisses, his slender hands run through Patrick's curls, tug at the base of his scalp in a newfound dominance Patrick was unsure Art had in him. This is the second time they've made out, if you don't count the time when they were thirteen and practised on each other for their first girlfriends… which neither of them will admit ever happened.

The back of Patrick's legs hit the edge of your bed and at the same time, Art's tongue slips dutifully into his mouth and slides over the expanse of his teeth. He tastes like cigarettes and chapstick, which Patrick assumes is yours because it tastes like cherries and everything else narcotic, in this sense he kisses you also. There's a heat licking at the pit of his stomach and it spreads like wildfire through his chest and down his arms. Tugging at the hem of Arts shirt, he gets his point across and is able to lift it and run his fingertips over his abdomen as Art removes it completely. Patrick follows suit shortly after, grabbing his own shirt by the collar and lifting it over his head: it's tossed to the side despite its price. His jeans soon follow.

For a moment, it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Art's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Patrick takes Art's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Art's throat.

They part, and are given only half a moment to mourn the loss of each other's touch before their kiss-swollen lips upturn into grins, and a gentle laughter is shared between them. Art's smile is wide, and he turns his head from Patrick to you, sitting at your desk writing on the back of the polaroid you had taken outside.

"Busy over there?" Art teases, smiling as you turn to look at them.

"Just letting you have your moment," you hum complaisantly, then lift your camera up to take a quick photo of the pair, hot and flushed and still panting slightly, "just let me know when you two feel like being productive with yourselves…"

Your tone trails off, and then you're standing quickly, grabbing your camera as you saunter over to the boys, who part from each other to glue their eyes onto you. You survey the scene, their tousled hair and matching vibrant pink cheeks. Patrick’s boxers are a light blue, Art’s are black, and you like the contrast of colour but decide they should exit the scene completely.

You run a nail down Art’s chest, watching as his shoulders roll back as you flick over one of his nipples and continue down to the waistband of his boxers. You pull the elastic towards you, and then let it snap back against his skin. He hisses at the contact, plasters a dramatic frown across his lips as you smile in turn and nod to the bed, though not before tugging down at his boxers just enough to expose the trail of light brown hair leading to his hardened cock— a suggestion if nothing else: take them off.

Art obliges, sparing only a glance to Patrick before tugging his boxers down and kicking them to the side. You steal a good look at his cock, licking your lips at the sight of his growing hard-on. He catches your gaze and gives you a sly smile before climbing onto your bed and sitting back.

You’re quick to guide Patrick into position as well, taking him by the wrist and giving him a pointed look when he uses his free hand to caress the curve of your ass. He’s a lot more assertive than Art, lets his hands roam when Arts would stay clasped behind his back. You like it, you like the contrast, and you like the thought of having Art take control of his ministries for once.

You pull Patrick to stand in front of where Art sits and then, with a cheeky lopsided smile, you push him backwards and watch as he falls to sit just in front of where Art is settled. You take a step back and watch as Art moves forward, hand on Patrick’s shoulder, and sets his gaze on you.

“Direct away,” he rests his chin on Patrick’s shoulder, and the pair watch as you ready your camera.

“You’re good like this, actually,” you hum, looking between the boys. Rather than snap a photo, though, you reach back out and lift Patrick’s chin up to offer him your gaze. Your fingers trace the expanse of his jaw, up to his cheek before returning to his cocky smile. You slip two fingers into his mouth, his lips closing around them without guidance nor hesitation. His tongue lays flat against your digits as he sucks, hollowing out his cheeks, eyes boring into yours.

When you pull your fingers from his mouth his arrogant smile returns ten-fold. You’re pressing your lips against his in only a second, rolling your tongue into his mouth in an attempt to shut him up despite not a word falling from his lips. He brings a hand up to cup the side of your face, an attempt at dominance despite quite literally being the one stretching his back to keep his lips against yours.

His hand travels to the nape of your neck, tugging you forward until you practically fall into him, your legs giving way as you drop to your knees against the cold hardwood floors. You find purchase by splaying your fingers over his thick thighs, his lips still locked with yours in a frenzy of tongues and teeth and shared oxygen. It's an unspoken battle for the upper hand, something you never had to wager with Art, who's happy to melt under your touch until the sun rises. You take your turn by slipping one hand past the waistband of his baby blue boxers and palming his rock hard erection; a harsh intake of breath from Patrick allows you to pull your lips from his and gaze up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster.

"Can I suck your dick now or are you going to keep me waiting? I'm kinda starving."

A breathless chuckle escapes your lips as Patrick stares at you with heated eyes and opens his mouth to reply but no sound comes out. The words die on the tip of his tongue and he closes it quickly before swallowing audibly and looking between you and Art, who has pulled himself up just enough to get a look at you from over his best friends shoulder. When Patrick's eyes lock onto yours again, his grin widens even further and he leans back against Art's chest, looking down at you through lidded eyes and nodding eagerly.

You waste no time on lingering touches and feather-light strokes. Your free hand is tugging Patrick's boxers down, with his help as he lifts his hips to allow you to do so, and with your other one you're squeezing his shaft, moving your hand up and down in deliberate strokes that send his mind into overdrive. Once he's biting his own lip, you wrap your around his glistening tip and swirl your tongue around the head of his cock before sucking him deeply into your mouth.

A gasp from Patrick, quickly muffled by the turn of his head and Art stretching his neck to meet his best friend in a ravenous kiss. You flatten your tongue against Patrick's length, take a moment to hum contently and listen to his hitching breath at the vibrations you offer him, and then start bobbing your head rhythmically. You cup his balls with one hand, offer him gentle squeezes in tandem with the movement of your tongue, and rub grounding circles into his thigh with your other hand. Your cheeks hollowed out, you suck Patrick Zweig's pulsing cock until he deems himself desperate enough to start bucking his hips upward into your mouth. You know he'd hold your head in place and throat-fuck you until you'd lose your voice if he had you alone, but Art's doing well in distracting him with his tongue, his lips and his hands.

It's when Patrick breaks the kiss to look down at you, eyes glossed with a yearning lust, that you know he's close. Breathing laboured, fingers digging into the edge of your mattress, hips snapping upwards for any chance at fucking deeper into your throat. His desperation only doubles when Art starts nibbling at his ear, then kissing down the stretch of his neck, hands feeling up his chest.

You know he’s close, walking on the fence of a ruined orgasm and a zenith climax that would taste better than it feels, though you place your hunger aside to do what you do best— take the shot. You pull your lips from Patrick’s cock with a pop, and replace your mouth with your right hand, wrapping your fingers around his length and stroking him just enough to keep him on that edge.

You reach over his trembling thighs, grab your camera and line up the shot. Art’s mess of blonde hair is a contrast to Patrick’s darkened look as he works bruises into his neck, fingers splayed over his chest. Patricks face, the look of looming bliss melted over his features, and the tension in his corded muscles as he opens his mouth to beg for sweet release. You make sure his pulsing cock is in frame, too, held in reverence by your own hand. The flash momentarily brightens the room, illuminates the scene at hand but only for a second before the Polaroid prints your photo and you pluck it with the hand that had held Patrick's cock on the edge of orgasm.

He whines as you smile up at him, nearly moving to stroke himself to completion but stopping in favour of starting an argument.

"What the fuck?" He has to swallow twice to keep his drool from spilling out of his mouth. "That's unfair, fucking-"

You press a kiss to Patrick's knee and then stand, stepping back once and placing your finger against your lips in a gesture of silence.

He watches, his brows furrowed as you turn on your heel and wander back to your desk. You don't bother to look over your shoulder as you pick up a permanent marker and start writing on the back of your developing Polaroid.

'ZWEIG, OUR PLUS O—'

A pair of arms around your torso pull you backwards, and you smudge the last few letters with your thumb as the man behind you pulls it from your grasp and smacks it face-down against your desk. You can feel his erection pressing against your clothed ass, his sweaty chest against your back and his hot breath against your ear as he speaks, low and sinful.

"I don't know if you've noticed," Patrick Zweig bites. "But I don't get off on being used like a toy. I'm not Art."

You turn your head in the direction of his voice, let his breath fan your cheek; you smell cigarettes and remnants of Art's chewing gum. "I know you're not," you coo, pressing your ass back against his painfully hard length. "Art made me cum twice before I ever got on my knees for him. You're selfish."

"Damn right I am," Patrick breathes, tightening his grip around your torso and near-dragging you back to the bed. "Always have been, too."

You're walked to the bed where Art waits, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you get manhandled into position. He'd offer you a hand, a way out, if you weren't smiling so wide, giggling beneath your breath as Patrick pushes between your shoulder blades and bends you over the edge of your own mattress. You catch yourself with your hands on Art's knees, face dangerously close to his now rock-hard cock as Patrick uses both hands to pull your bottoms and panties off in one go. His eyes linger on your exposed cunt as he slips two fingers through your folds, grinning- "fucking soaked, huh?"

"Fuck yes," you breathe. You think he's going to stretch you out on his fingers and you're about to object, tell him you don't need it, when you hear a condom packaging rip open and the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. You can only gasp in response.

"Tell me yes, say you want it," Patrick breathes.

"Fuck me, Zweig."

You make eye contact with Art as Patrick slowly presses into you, using your own wetness as lube. Art watches you with sinful eyes, something deep inside of him like watching you fall apart under his best friend's touch, but you refuse to reduce him to a cuck. You let Art lift your chin just enough to press a tender kiss against your lips as Patrick starts to thrust into you, slowly increasing his pace as he feels you adjust more and more to his size. You love the taste of Art's kisses, the gentle way his lips take yours, but you're hungry for more of him, so you pull away and try not to focus on those sad eyes of his.

As Patrick snaps his hips into yours and bottoms out inside of you, you lean down and take Art as deep into your mouth as you can manage. As soon as Art finds your rhythm, his eyes flutter closed and a sigh leaves his lips. His hand finds its way to the back of your head, and he holds you there, rocking his hips into your mouth as Patrick tries to match his rhythm. You move in tandem with the ministrations of your boys, with each thrust of Patrick's hips, you're choking further on Art's cock. And with each snap of Art's hips, you're pushed backwards onto Patrick's length, and each time he manages to fill you just that little bit deeper.

"That's it," Patrick's voice is breathy. "Good fucking girl, taking us so well, like you were fucking made for it, huh?"

With each movement, every moan from either boys' lips, you're pushed closer towards the edge of a new level of pleasure, and you can feel warmth beginning to gather in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers dig into the sheets, holding onto them tight and keeping you anchored as you push against Patrick's cock harder, faster... fucking yourself on him in the spirit of competition. You're full to the brim, lips wrapped around Art's cock as you work him close to the edge, eyes looking up at him through your lashes to find a face so fucking pretty you forget to even think of taking a picture. Not that you could even if you wanted to, with his cock embedded in your throat and your arms the only things keeping you up.

The pressure in your stomach, the searing stretch of Patrick's cock makes you wonder if you're a masochist at heart, because you never want that dull pain to end. His moans fall from his lips and permeate the air, a symphony of wants and needs, and you think you could get lost in it forever.

"Oh Jesus Christ," Patrick groans, voice cracking as he nears climax. Art's hips start to shake, his thrust into your mouth becoming erratic and harsh and so much better than it should be when you can feel sweat dripping into your hairline, the sting of tears forming in your eyes as Patrick pounds into you. It takes everything in you not to come undone as his hips jerk forward. It feels too good, too good to last, and you're seconds away when you feel Patrick fucking Zweig reach an arm around your waist to rub fast circles against your clit, less selfish than he proclaims to be.

The three of you cum in perfect unison, your bodies wracked with tremors of a shared climax unlike any you've had before. Patrick presses as deep into you as he can, near-kissing your cervix in instinctual desperation to fill you up despite his condom. Art shoots right into your mouth, pulling back a little so his load lands on your tongue as well, offering you a taste of his lust, one you take happily. Though you're unable to keep it all in your mouth as he pulls out and allows you space to take a breath as you come down from your high. His seed glistens on your lips as Patrick pulls out of you and lets you turn onto your back and lay on your bed, panting heavily as the haze of ecstasy starts to fade.

Art soon joins you, laying down beside you in a dizzy haze of exertion. When you turn your head to look at him, he's already smiling at you, and reaches a hand out to swipe his thumb against your lips, gathering his own cum and pushing it back into your mouth. You bite his thumb with a playful grin and Art laughs in response, the moment between you sweet until the flash of your own instant camera dazes the both of you into silence.

You sit up on your elbows, looking towards Patrick Zweig, who stands with your camera in one hand and a freshly developed photo in the other. He flicks it a few times, unaware of how to speed up the development process, then looks at it as if he's analysing each aspect of his shot. After another beat, he turns the print around to let the both of you see, and grins proudly at his work. The photo is a sweet one, your teeth bared around Art's thumb, the calm after such a storm of pleasure.

"Turns out, I'm great at both sides of this thing," Patrick holds your camera up in show and smiles cheekily, to which you roll your eyes. Though you can't help the laughter that rumbles from your lungs when Patrick flops down onto the mattress, making both you and Art move over to make room for him. Art follows suit, laughter spilling from his throat in harmony, and it spreads quickly to Patrick.

Once the air is silent, Art turns his head to greet the both of you. With a smile, something simple falls from his lips— "dinner?"

You hum in response, nodding your head as your mouth starts to water, though Patrick clears his throat. "Yeah," he sits upright and looks between you before grabbing at one of your thighs and pulling you closer to him, his head dips to the juncture of your neck and shoulder and he speaks simply against your skin. "I'm not done with either of you yet."

taglist;

@lotties-ashwagandha @daughterhouse @kiiwizz @doll-0f-flesh @jackierose902109 @lonnie2390147 @hedonisticwomen @ysuftmikey @viena-vie @whitewashedghanianlol @kolsmikaelson @nikirikii @dumbass-sappho-stan @seriousaliysa @majathepapaya @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lovezclub @s-u-t @sceletaflores @24kmar - cont. in comments!

#art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #challengers 2024 #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers smut #art donaldson #art x reader #art smut #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x art donaldson #art x patrick

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princessbrunette · 3 days

Note

pogue!rafe who you call over to fix every minor inconveniences.. theres a cockroach bothering you or your ac’s acting up and rafe is the first guy you call 🙂‍↕️ he acts all nonchalant being “you could literally call the ac guy or your neighbor or someone. youre saying i come all the way here for this?” but you js go “but you’re the only one i trust rafey!!” and he eats that shit UP 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

perhaps you have strict kook parents who don’t let you bring men into the house — but rafe has worked on the house, they trust him — so he’s allowed right? he really doesn’t wanna come all that way just to press a few buttons on your ac that he knows you could do yourself — but he can’t help it, he’s just a man and you’re feeding his ego when you say stuff like “i’m not good at this kinda thing rafe, you’re all smart n’know how to fix things. oh, and my parents like you so they wouldn’t mind if you come here whilst they’re not home!” which makes his ears perk up like a rabbit of course. he reluctantly agrees and heads straight out.

it’s a specifically hot day, so when he turns up you’re walking around in just the tightest tiniest bikini because the ac is broken and you just couldn’t bring yourself to put clothes on.

he’s being his usual mean self, telling you to stay out of his way whilst he figures out the problem, and then once he figures it out starts telling you that you could have done it yourself — but you’re just smiling, barely listening, staring up at him looking all soft and grabbable which makes it hard for him to concentrate. you’re finding ways to get him to stay longer, offering him iced tea and food to which he declines every offer. before he leaves you get all upset, brow furrowed and pouty and he can’t stand it.

“what, huh? why are you looking at me like that?” he throws his arms up from the doorway to your bedroom, watching you sit on the bed sulking.

“why do you wanna leave so bad?” you mewl, genuinely sounding like you’re on the verge of tears and he sighs, scratching behind his ear.

“doin’ my job, kid. you’re not payin’ me to hang out and besides — m’not taking your money today.” he waves a hand and for a second you lose focus of your goal.

“wh— why?”

“i came over n’pressed a few buttons. s’not rocket science.”

“i’m still gonna pay you.” you cross your arms stubbornly and he spreads his palms carelessly, looking around.

“well uh, i’ll send it back.” he sarks and you huff, staring at your feet. he watches you for a moment, before giving in just a little and leaning on the door frame. “still upset? huh?”

“yes.” you pout.

“whats the problem now? you kook girls have got plenty’a shit to entertain yourself with alright you— you don’t need me for that. not a god damn babysitter.”

“you’re not babysitting. not even that much older than me, anyways.” you whine, only seemingly proving his point and he huffs out a laugh.

“jeeeesus christ.” he drawls under his breath before he strolls over to stand infront of you. you don’t look up at him, pointedly, so he taps beneath your chin twice. “hey.”

looking up, you look so sweet — he couldn’t deny it. “whats the issue?” he reiterates, and from his clipped tone you can tell he’s not gonna ask again if you refuse, he’ll just leave.

“want you…” you murmur, eyes getting hazy and low, pupils dilating before his very eyes like you’d flipped a switch. it’s tempting, very tempting but he backs off anyway.

“nah, nah you want a toy. go fuck on a dildo, m’not your slave.” he huffs tiredly as he drags his big body over to the doorway again. in almost a panic you let out a devastated noise, tears welling up.

“no i want you. rafey, c’mon… you have no idea. s’hurting.” you complain, and now his interest is piqued, turning around once more he licks his lips irritably at the back and forth, blinking at you.

“you think that shits not gonna hurt with me? huh?” he tilts his head, reaching down and boyishly grasping at the shape of himself through his jeans. “this shits bigger than any of the other suckers you’ve had. trust me, you don’t want this kid. go back to playing with kook boys.”

fed up and whiny, you bring your feet up onto the bed, spreading your thighs as you pull your bikini bottoms aside. he freezes on the spot, eyes locked in to the sight, only just taking in the pained look on your face. you weren’t lying, your cunt is a mess of slick, practically pulsating and clenching around nothing infront of him.

“i can take it. make me take it.” you request quietly, peering up at him. he exhales hard out his nose, looking around the room helplessly before storming towards you.

“yeah? alright. i’ll make you fuckin’ take it.”

: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

#anon #pogue!rafe #rafe cameron prompt

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collapsingneutron · 2 days

Text

Am I the only one who is deeply reminded of Tim Drake every time they see a John Mulaney comedy special?

If John Mulaney was 15 and looked 13, he'd be the prime actor to cast as Tim Drake. Because he has this cynical but boyish charm like he's a 50s professor trapped in a modern boy's body and very self-aware about it. He's seen some shit and done some shit, but he manages to look very put-together.

Here are some actual quotes from John's comedy specials that Tim Drake would totally say if he was writing his autobiography:

On Bruce Wayne:

Tim: Kids, you think your dad’s weird now? Wait for his dad to die. Then he goes on a whole quest.

He’ll wanna take more family pictures, but be angrier during them. “Can we get one photo where we all look nice?”

We’re like, “I don’t think this motherfucker’s doing that well.”

Tim: My dad never hit us. My dad is a lawyer and he was a debate team champion. So he would pick us apart psychologically.

Tim: He was a man most acquainted with misery. He could look at a child and guess the price of their coffin.

Tim: He didn’t want us to not get kidnapped. He wanted us to almost get kidnapped and then fight the guy off using weird, psych-out, back-room Chicago violence.

On being Robins:

Tim: This was always a very dramatic process – ’cause we were thirteen, we looked nine.

Tim: God, I guess they’re finally going to kill us all. All right. This is younger than I thought I would be but we are pretty big assholes.

Tim: I thought I was going to be murdered my entire childhood. In high school people were like, “What are your top three colleges?”

I was like, “Top three colleges? I thought I would be dead in a trunk with my hand hanging out of the taillight by now.”

On being 'the smartest Robin':

Tim: I don’t know what my body is for other than just taking my head from room to room.

Tim, to Bart: Here’s my plan, you and me get very dressed up, including hats, and then we wave handkerchiefs at it until it disappears over the horizon.

On being Red Robin:

Tim: I was hoping, uh, by now that I would look older but that didn’t happen.

I don’t look older, I just look worse, I think. Honestly, when I’m walking down the street, no one’s ever like, “Hey, look at that man!” I think they’re just like “Whoa! That tall child looks terrible! Get some rest, tall child! You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends!”

On Gotham:

Tim: What a historic and beautiful and deeply haunted building this is. I keep walking through cold spots being like, “I wonder who that used to be.”

Tim: I was coming into my apartment building one night and I saw in front of my building a wheel chair, knocked in its side with no one in it. That’s a bad thing to see. Something happened there… you hope it was a miracle… but probably not… probably something worse.

On staying calm while Gotham is on fire:

Tim: I try to stay a little optimistic, even though I will admit, things are getting pretty sticky.

Tim: I’ll just keep all my emotions right here [points to heart] and then one day, I’ll die.

Tim: And by the way, part of me was like: “Whatever"… you know? You ever have those days where you’re like: “This might as well happen."

On Gotham Rogues:

Tim: He did not look like his job description. He looked like he should be the conductor on a locomotive powered by confetti. But, instead, he made his living in murder.

On the fracturing of the Batfamily amidst Bruce's supposed death and Tim's search for him:

Tim: It was an intervention. For me. Interventions for me, are my least favorite kind of intervention.

Tim [searching for Bruce while Dick is Batman and Damian is his Robin]:

I, meanwhile, was loose in New York City, not doing well.

On his time with the League of Assassins and Ra's Al-Ghul's interest

Tim: Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that.

Tim: You’re all uncomfortable now, but I’m way over it.

On college:

Tim: I went to college. For the whole time. Holy shit, right? I just got a letter from my college, which was fun ’cause mail, you know?

And they said… How did they phrase it? They said, “Give us some money!

“As a gift! We want a gift! But only if it’s money.” I found this peculiar.

I went to college, I was 18 years old, I looked like I was 11. I lived like a goddamn Ninja Turtle. I didn’t drink water the entire time.

Tim, at his first frat party: People were drinking like it was the civil war and a doctor was coming to saw our legs off.

Miscellaneous:

Tim, in an argument with Steph: That wasn’t what I was telling you, but alright, lets talk about this entirely new topic.

Tim, when asked if he's been up since yesterday: And I was like: “No” you know, like a liar.

Tim: I went into the room to get the massage and the woman there told me to undress to my comfort level. So I put on a sweater and a pair of corduroy pants, and I felt safe.

Tim: Those were the choices — salad or fries, the two most different foods in the universe. That’s like saying, “What kinda day do you wanna have? Do you wanna be active and go to the bathroom and stuff, or do you wanna lay on the floor moaning?”

Tim, talking to Kon at 5AM: It was really easy to get away with murder before they knew about DNA. It was ridiculously easy. Like, what was even going on back then? What was a murder investigation like in 1935??

One cop would just walk in and be like, [speaks sharply with an old-timey accent] “Detective! We found a pool of the killer’s blood in that hallway!”

And he would just be like [low voice] “Hmmm… gross! Mop it up. Now then, back to my hunch… [holds chin with hand and looks around the floor] Hmmmmmm…. Look for clues. [stands up straight] I’ll tell you what we’ll do! We’ll draw chalk around the body. That way, [narrows eyes and looks side to side and speaks with a suspicious tone] we’ll know where it was…”

Tim, showing up to brunch at Denny's: Hope you don’t mind that I dressed up. It was my first communion today so I decided to come right from it.

Tim: I was sitting up in bed a few weeks ago like… [groans] You know, life.

Tim: How did they find out about the inside zipper pocket? That pocket has eluded everyone in my life.

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g-hughes · 2 days

Text

Small Fry - L. Hughes

hockey masterlist || g's graduation celebration

synopsis: it's the middle of the night and you can't sleep, the only thing that can soothe it, is a late night run for chicken nuggets

word count: 709

warnings: pregnancy, cravings, fluff

It was almost 2AM, and you were wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The windows were open, letting in the soft breeze that was rolling off the lake. Surprisingly, all the boys in the house had gone to bed somewhat early, tired and exhausted after a full day of boating and wake surfing. You had called it a night around 10PM, fully preparing to sleep like the dead after having a long day, however, the growing child in your stomach had other plans.

You couldn’t sleep, your back ached and you were starving. You were at the point in your pregnancy where no matter what you did, your body ached and no matter how much you ate, you were still hungry. Whoever told you that the last trimester was full of bliss and wonder had lied to you. You had already ventured down stairs once to see if there was anything in the house that would satisfy your cravings, and you were sadly disappointed that amongst the very full fridge and pantry, not a single thing would suffice.

You considered waking Luke, but you were hoping that the baby in your belly would stop kicking and you would just go back to sleep. He hadn’t moved a single inch despite your huffing, puffing and moving. But the curl haired boy next to you remained sprawled out, his lips parted as soft snores left his mouth. He looked peaceful with the slightest bit of a sunburn across his cheeks.

You hated how he could just sleep so peacefully while you were being used as a personal punching bag.

You huffed again, adjusting and sitting up higher in bed, crossing your arms over your growing belly.

Luke must’ve sensed your unease, as he rolled over, slinging his arm over your belly, “Sleep,” he mumbled.

"Can't," You sighed, and ran your hands through his curls.

"What's wrong?" Luke was now waking up, and looked up at you with his big blue eyes, "Baby okay?"

"No. I'm hungry, and fat," You said, and Luke sat up, looking at you, "I want nuggets."

"How did I guess," He smiled, and leaned up to kiss you. He pushed back the covers, and rolled out of bed. His pajama pants were slung low on his hips, and he grabbed a sweatshirt from the ground. He walked over to you, helping you out of bed and pulled you up, "Come on, mama. Let's go find you nuggets."

You were thankful that the McDonalds by the lake house was open 24-hours, and so was Luke. Mood swings hadn't been easy on you or him, and he was worried that if he got there and they were closed, it could be a long ride back home. Luke ended up ordering himself something too, and drove back to the lake house. He grabbed the bag of food as you waddled your way down to the dock, the moon high in the sky lighting the way.

The warm Michigan air felt good, as you happily ate away at your nuggets. You and Luke talked about names again, throwing around both girls and boys names since you had decided against knowing the gender.

"Luke," You asked your boyfriend, and he looked at you, "Can I have your fries? Don’t judge me, the baby’s hungry."

"The baby, huh?" Luke smirked, and handed you his fries, "What about. . . Arthur for a boy?"

"Like that bald rabbit from the kids show?"

"Okay guess that's a no. . . Thomas?"

"I like Thomas. For a girl, I still like Eleanor."

Luke smiled softly to himself, he liked the name too. In the back of his mind, he always wanted to name his child after his parents. They had given him everything, they had taught him the game of hockey, drove him all over for the sport and stood by his side during the good times and bad. His only fear was not being half the parent that they were. But as you told him over and over, as long as their child was happy, healthy and taken care of, they were doing their job correctly.

And a couple months later when their baby girl, Luke knew right away that there was no better name than Caroline Eleanor Hughes.

note: hi, yes, welcome to my hockey blog :) requests are open! and I hope to have a masterlist outline posted soon!

#Luke hughes imagine #Luke hughes fan fic #Luke Hughes fan fiction #Luke hughes x reader #Luke hughes blurb #Luke hughes fic #lh43 #hockey imagine

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azzifudd · 2 days

Text

i don't wanna see you with anyone but me

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: Azzi gets nervous before games. She always has. No matter how low or high the stakes, whether it’s a regular season game against a team clearly a cut below her own or the state championships, the moment she sets foot on the court, her palms break out into a sweat and her stomach churns with nerves.

Today though, she’s not nervous at all. She’s pissed.

rated: teen

3.0k words

disclaimer: as always, this is fictional

[AO3 Link]

Azzi gets nervous before games. She always has. No matter how low or high the stakes, whether it’s a regular season game against a team clearly a cut below her own or the state championships, the moment she sets foot on the court, her palms break out into a sweat and her stomach churns with nerves.

Today though, she’s not nervous at all. She’s pissed. It’s already been a bad morning. Early morning games are always tough on the team, and they’d gotten to the hotel late last night because of an expected traffic jam, leading to even less sleep.

And now, instead of helping her warm up and hyping her up like she normally is, Paige is at the opposite end of the court giggling with some girl on the other team.

They only have a few weeks left together before Paige has to go home, and instead of being with Azzi, she’s off flirting with someone else.

Azzi takes another shot, grunting when it bounces off the rim. The ref finally blows his whistle, signaling the teams to line up for tip off. Paige starts to walk back toward their side of the court, but not before that girl says goodbye with a hand pressed to Paige’s arm.

Azzi’s petty enough that she pretends she doesn’t see Paige’s offered high five before she runs onto the court.

Azzi plays like a woman possessed. By the time the final buzzer sounds, they’re up 25 points after her efficient 33.

“Okay, killa!” When Paige bounds up to her, bumping into her with her chest and trying to wrap her arms around her, she shrugs her off.

“Why don’t you go comfort your new friend?” Azzi heads to the bench to take a much needed drink of water. Paige trails close behind her.

“What are you talking about?”

“Her.” Azzi flicks her head in the girl’s direction. Azzi has to admit she’s pretty; with dark skin, dark hair, and big brown eyes. She’d probably enjoyed it a little too much when her crossover had landed the girl on her ass, but like she’s said, she’s petty.

“Why would I do that? I don’t even know her.” Paige looks dumbfounded.

“You seemed to know her well enough that you spent all of pregame talking to her instead of helping me warm up.” She tries to keep her voice low, knowing that their voices would echo easily in the gym no matter how loud the other games were.

“She said she was a fan! I was just being nice!” Paige crowds into her space, voice defensive.

“Oh, I’m sure you were.”

“Azzi, come on, you’re being crazy.”

Azzi sees red, elbowing Paige in the stomach, pushing her lanky body out of the way easily. “Get away from me.”

“Fine!” Paige throws up her hands. “Come find me when you’re done being crazy.”

The rest of the day drags as they have to take the long drive home together in the car with Azzi’s family. Her parents clearly want nothing to do with their drama, ignoring the two ticking time bombs in the backseat.

When they finally make it back to the house, Azzi storms inside, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

“So… what happened, big dawg?” Tim asks Paige as she helps him unload their bags from the car.

“I didn’t even do anything!” Paige huffs, frustrated.

“I didn’t say you did.” He replies, patient.

Paige hesitates, suddenly feeling awkward about talking about this with her what are they? her girl? her Azzi’s dad, but he stops her before she has to.

“You don’t have to tell me the details, but give her some time to cool down, and then just talk to her. You know how she can be, I mean both of you are stubborn as hell, but when has she ever stayed mad at you for long?

That’s true. It’s one of the things that Paige likes the most about Azzi, that no matter how annoying Paige is being, Azzi still wants her around.

When they’re done unpacking, Paige goes to find Azzi. She stops in the kitchen to grab some reinforcements. When she gets to Azzi’s door, she hesitates. She’s never had to knock before. But before she even needs to, it opens.

She and Azzi stare at each other for a moment before they’re both blurting out, “I’m sorry.”

Then they’re both giggling and Azzi pulls Paige into her room, shutting the door behind her.

“I brought this, in case you were still mad at me.” Paige holds up a cartoon of ice cream and a spoon.

“Only one spoon?”

“In case you were still mad at me,” Paige repeats. Azzi laughs and tugs Paige over to sit on the bed, where they take turns eating bites of the ice cream.

“I’m sorry I called you crazy.” Paige says, wincing as she remembers it. “I shoulda seen how upset you were.”

“And I’m sorry that I overreacted when I saw you talking to someone else.” Azzi twists her fingers together. “I just got so mad when I saw you talking to her. And I know how popular you are, and you deserve every bit of it, but…”

Paige just waits because she knows Azzi needs to talk it out herself, and that she just needs Paige to listen.

“I know it’s selfish, but part of me just wants to keep you to myself. Because as soon as everyone finds out about you, they’re gonna want you.” Azzi glances at Paige then, almost certain she’ll see a cocky grin on her face, but Paige just listens.

Paige gets it. Sometimes someone can just look at Azzi for a second too long and it makes her want to just take Azzi and hide her away. But she can’t, so she just reaches out to hold Azzi’s hand.

There are so many things she wishes she could say to Azzi, things that she can barely stand to consider because they scare the shit out of her.

So she just settles for saying the one thing she knows to be true.

“I’m yours.”

Paige watches Azzi blush, stunned and speechless.

“Can I kiss you now? Lowkey it was so hot how jealous you got.” Paige laughs when Azzi pushes her with a hand to her face.

But then that same hand is gripping at her collar and pulling her on top of Azzi and then there’s no more talking.

It’s a Friday night, and Paige is sober.

It’s not the most uncommon occurrence, not anymore. After her ACL, she has learned to be a bit more responsible, a bit more grown up. So when the girls had decided to go out that night, she volunteered to be DD.

And if that gives her a chance to watch over Azzi a little more closely she will take it. The younger girl has been acting off in the past weeks. On the outside, she doubts that anyone else has noticed, but she almost knows Azzi better than she knows herself.

It becomes even clearer that something’s wrong when Azzi returns over and over to the bar, taking way more shots than she usually does.

And now, a few hours into their night, she has disappeared. It’s a small bar, in a small town, so Paige isn’t too worried, but Azzi has never been one to wander off, and especially not on her own.

Paige pokes her head through the door to the back patio which consists of a few picnic tables, lit up with fairy lights. She almost heads back inside when she hears a familiar laugh from the far end of the patio.

When her eyes adjust to the light, she sees Azzi sitting on a table, a tall form looming over her.

“Azzi!” She barks out, strides long as she rushes forward. The figure steps back from her friend, and Paige vaguely recognizes her as one of the members of the girls volleyball team.

“What?!” Azzi fires back, stopping Paige in her tracks.

“What are you doing? Who is this?”

“I’m talking to a friend.” Paige fights the familiar twist in her stomach at the sight of Azzi’s hand on the other girl’s arm. “Is that okay with you? Or are you the only one allowed to flirt with every woman who throws themselves at you?”

Paige feels like she’s been punched in the gut. She sees a hint of regret on Azzi’s face before she turns her head away.

The stranger looks like she would rather be anywhere else, and Paige would be more embarrassed if she wasn’t so focused on Azzi.

“I’ll see you in class, Azzi?” When Azzi gives a jerky nod in response, the girl takes her leave, giving Paige a cold look as she goes.

Azzi’s eyes are glassy, her cheeks obviously flushed even under the dim lights. She takes a heaving breath, face turned away while she clearly fights tears, and Paige hates that she is the reason for her best friend’s pain.

“Az-” Her hands reach up to find their usual place at Azzi’s waist, but she freezes when Azzi flinches away from her. Her fists clench as she drops them at her side.

“Am I not enough?”

“What?” Paige chokes out. The thought is inconceivable. She reaches out again, grasping at where Azzi has wrapped her arms around herself.

Azzi still isn’t looking her in the eye.

“Azzi, come on.” Paige sighs in relief when Azzi allows her touch, hands warm against the skin exposed by her crop top.

Azzi’s eyes brim with tears. “Can we just forget I said anything?”

That’s when Paige knows something really might be wrong. Azzi is always the one pulling her out of her shell when she’s upset, and she wasn’t usually one to hide her own feelings.

“It’s just us. Me and you.” Paige brings one hand up to cup her jaw and brings their gazes together. “Talk to me. We promised that we’d always talk to each other.”

Azzi takes a deep, steadying breath. And then another.

“I know that we agreed when you came here that we’d pull back and keep it more casual.”

You wanted that! Paige wants to say, but she can’t deny that she took advantage of it, loved it at times even. She can’t deny that sometimes it was nice to be able to talk to, flirt with, and kiss girls who didn’t hold the power to crush her with one word.

But none of those girls ever made her feel even half of how Azzi did, like she could conquer the world if only Azzi was at her side, holding her hand.

“And I know that we decided last year that it was best for the team and for everyone if we just.. didn’t complicate things.”

She keeps it unspoken that it was never that simple, and that it had tested their relationship more than ever having each other so close, but being unable to really be together the way they both hoped the other wanted. And then the season had ended with that devastating loss, and neither of them had had the emotional capacity to deal with all of it.

And then her ACL had happened, and just when Paige had thought that she couldn’t be forced any lower, there was Azzi. Azzi, who had just shown up to hold her, and let her yell and cry, and not be okay, for once.

It still sucks, and there are days where she’s so desperate to play that she cries, but she’s not alone in it. She’ll never be alone again, not as long as she has Azzi. And she knows now, sure as anything, that Azzi is all she’ll ever want.

“I thought something had changed between us this summer, and I’ve been waiting for you to be ready, to tell me you were ready.”

Paige feels like this is a conversation she has been waiting to have for a very long time.

“Do you know what my first thought was the first time I saw you? ”

Azzi huffs in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you shoot a basketball for the first time, and thought, damn, I have to play with her, and then I did, and it was better than I even imagined it would be. Then I got to sit next to you on that plane, and got to really know you, and then I knew that I just wanted you in my life forever. So don’t ever think that you’re not enough. You’re all I’ve wanted since I was sixteen years old.”

Azzi’s eyes shimmer with tears, but the smile on her face is radiant. Paige tugs her even closer by the waist until Azzi hooks her arms around her shoulders.

“I wish I was as good with words as you are,” Azzi says, pressing their foreheads together. “I wish I could tell you what you mean to me.”

But Paige doesn’t need Azzi to say it. She can feel it in the way Azzi’s heart pounds against her chest where they are pressed together. She can see it in the way her lips tremble like they’re about to kiss for the first time.

And she can feel it in the way Azzi presses their lips together, like she never wants to stop, like breathing matters less than kissing her.

Paige is unzipping her luggage when her phone rings with a Facetime call from KK. She taps accept and as the screen fills with an image, she realizes it isn’t a normal call.

The angle is askew and the camera is out of focus showing a gym with a few figures in the distant background. Somehow KK must’ve accidentally called her. She hears KK’s voice loud and clear joking around with someone with an Australian accent. She smiles, happy that her little freshman is getting along with everyone at the Dawg Camp. She almost hangs up the call when the camera focuses itself and the figures in the background become clear.

They’re a bit far away, but Paige would recognize that form anywhere. Azzi stands at the opposite court putting up shots, though her feet stay planted on the ground. Her stroke is still smooth as butter though, and she’s so strong that the shots swish through the net even if she can’t get off the ground yet.

Someone’s under the net, someone tall with dirty blonde hair, rebounding for Azzi, and she says something, too quiet for Paige to hear from this far away, but she does hear Azzi’s responding laugh.

The sound, one of Paige’s favorite sounds, one that normally never fails to bring a smile to Paige’s face, instead sends an uncontrollable roll of unease through her gut.

She knows it’s irrational, to still get jealous when someone else makes Azzi smile. She’s never been more secure in their relationship than she is now, but apparently that jealous part of her is still alive as she squints down angrily at her phone, watching fucking Kate Martin?! standing way too close to her girl.

“What the hell?” She mutters, and then the phone is moving and KK’s face fills the screen.

“Oh, what the? P. Boogers! My bad, how long have you been on my phone?”

“Kamorea!”

KK jumps from the unexpected growl in Paige’s voice. “Damn what’s gotten up your butt? Say hi to Georgia.”

“Hi,” Paige says, brusquely. She swipes the FaceTime to the corner of the screen, tapping open Instagram and navigating to Azzi’s profile.

“Jeez, tough crowd.” She hears Georgia say as she taps on Azzi’s following, scoffing when she sees Azzi’s most recent follow.

“Dude, lemme talk to Azzi.”

“Y’all fightin’ or somethin’? She seemed all goofy after she talked to you last night.” KK thinks for a second. “Oh was it because you were cheesin’ at those dancers?”

“What?” Paige sputters. “I was just being polite!”

“Mm, sure.”

“Whatever, just let me talk to her, bro come on.” Paige nods, impatiently.

KK rolls her eyes, but still walks down the court. “Azzi,” she calls out. “Dumbass on the line for you.”

Paige watches Azzi’s face come into focus, first looking confused before a smile blooms on her face, dimple creasing her cheek.

“Babe, hey.”

Paige feels all the uncertainty and jealousy just fade away at the sight of that smile.

“Hey,” she replies, softly.

“Did something happen?” Azzi’s brow creases with worry, and she walks a bit away so they can speak in a more private spot.

“No,” Paige lies, suddenly embarrassed about how much she overreacted. “I just miss you.”

“Paige.” Azzi's smile grows even wider. “You called KK to tell her how much you missed me? You just saw me like two days ago.”

“Well, she pocket dialed me, and I saw you, so-” She cuts herself off. “Yeah.”

“I miss you too, dummy.”

Azzi’s smile is softer now, the sight of it fills Paige’s chest with warmth, so different from the mess of emotions she felt just minutes ago. Azzi has always been that for Paige, her safe place, her peace, her home.

Paige hears the noise in the background pick up and Azzi looks up, past the camera.

“You gotta go?”

“I’ll call you later?”

“You better.” Paige smirks and Azzi rolls her eyes fondly.

“Okay, I gotta go.”

“Wait,” Azzi pauses with a finger over the screen. “Is Martin still there?”

Azzi looks confused, but she still calls out, “Kate!”

Kate appears over Azzi’s shoulder, looking slightly puzzled at being summoned, but with a friendly smile anyways. “Hey, Paige.”

“Hey, how are ya?”

“Good, happy to be here, you know? Just taking it all in. Azzi’s been really nice about helping me actually. Since she’s been here before.” Kate smiles at Azzi, who returns it.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great, huh?” Paige winks and Azzi snorts softly. But then she says, voice serious, “Keep an eye on her for me, would ya? She doesn’t like to ask for help for herself sometimes.”

“You got it, Paige. Good to see you.” Kate jogs off to join the others in the now starting scrimmage.

When Paige looks back to Azzi, she almost blushes at the look in her eye.

“You’re always taking care of me.”

“Well, I kinda love you a little, so.” Paige scratches the bridge of her nose, feeling bashful all of a sudden.

“I kinda love you a little too.”

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi

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cameronluvr · 1 day

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TENNIS COURT — rafe cameron x kook!reader

summary: you beg rafe to play some tennis with you on your private tennis court, but he gets tired of losing and fucks you right there instead.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, semi public sex, risky sex, pet names, just PURE smut in this one — lmk if i missed any! 𖤓

: ̗̀➛ 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you stand in your backyard, fiddling with your tennis skirt before hearing the door open. you look up with a grin on your face upon seeing your boyfriend in his cute tennis outfit.

“adorable,” you giggle.

“shut up. come on,” he laughs, holding your hand as you walk down the steps of your huge yard which lead to the tennis court. your mom is a tennis player, so having a whole private court in your own backyard was awesome.

you both grab a racket each before walking to opposite sides of the court.

“you’ve played tennis before, right?” you ask, giggling as you swing your racket in your hand. you grew up playing the sport, so you were pretty good at it by now.

“of course i have” he says, getting into position, ready for you to serve the ball. “hm, okay, let’s see who’s better then, rafey” you smirk, both getting into competitive mode.

you swing the ball up into the air, hitting it with your racket, watching as it flies over to rafe’s side. he rushes to hit it, but he completely misses, making you cover your mouth to hide your laugh.

“that didn’t happen.” he says, running to catch the ball with his hand. “okay, you serve then” you chuckle. he’s so cute. he was definitely lying about having played tennis before.

he gets back into position, lining himself up before throwing the ball up and swinging his bat, this time hitting the ball. but, the ball goes the opposite direction to where he wanted it to go, landing in the sidelines.

“fuck,” he frustrated himself.

you can’t help but to laugh at him. you both continue playing, or trying to play before rafe got fed up, tossing his racket aside and walking over to you. “you sure you’ve played tennis before?” you squint with suspicion and a giggle.

“y’know, tennis isn’t really my thing.” he says, laughing it off before pulling you into a hug. you loved sharing these moments together, they were sweet, it was pure love.

“no? then what is?” you grin, looking up at him as your chin rests on his chest. “you, baby” he smirks down at you, his tall figure towering over you.

“yeah?” you smirk, biting your lip slightly. “yeah, you look so fucking sexy in those shorts i can barely think about anything else.” he tells you, reaching his hands around and down to your ass, gripping your cheeks and pulling them up, making you gasp.

“aww, is that why you were so bad at tennis?” you joke, making him separate your ass cheeks slightly which turned you on so bad, and he knew it. “rafe, don’t do that” you whine, knowing your parents were home and you couldn’t do anything.

“why not, baby? hm?” he asks, rubbing your butt to tease you more. “you know why” you whine. “n’aww. you think mommy and daddy will see you out here?” rafe giggles at you being so worried. “duh,” you raise your eyebrows sarcastically.

“my love, we can’t even see the house from here.” rafe tells you, twisting your body around to allow you to see. he points to the bushes surrounding that side of the tennis court, followed by a wall behind it. your parents surely wouldn’t be able to see, but it’s definitely still risky.

“but we’re not gonna fuck out here, silly” you roll your eyes, wishing he’d stop teasing you but you clearly don’t get his point. “says who?” he asks. “wait— really? you wanna fuck here? but— it’s so open..” you widen your eyes, looking around the yard and being able to see your neighbors houses.

“who cares? nobody will see us.” he says as if he’s certain. “how do you know?” you ask, still looking around but his hand gently grabs your face, pulling it forward to face him. “just trust me. don’t be so paranoid, i got you. it’s just me and you, gorgeous” he reassures you, smiling before dropping his hand and pulling you close again.

his hands went straight back to your ass cheeks, but this time up your skirt. “rafeee…” you whine, letting out a moan as he toys with your ass, knowing that was a weakness of yours.

“shh… let me make you feel good, baby” he whispers in your ear, leaning his head down to your neck to kiss it. you trust him, letting him feel around with your body before slipping his hand down the front of your skirt and playing with your pussy, making you moan.

after kissing and touching each other for a little, you both move over to the side of the court where there is a seating area. without hesitation, he spins you around and bends you over the seat. you giggle at his sudden movements, feeling as he slips his hand up your skirt again, only this time to move your panties to the side.

he rubs your pussy a bit, “mhm’ so wet for me” he says, making you moan a bit louder when he slips two fingers in you. your own hand covers your mouth, while the other kept you held up. “now, now, don’t make them hear you” rafe lets out a laugh as a huff through his nose, and you put your head down in embarrassment.

“mmm” you hum at the feeling of his fingers sliding in and out of you. “that’s it, baby, you like that?” he asks, smirking and loving the sound of your wet pussy. “y-yes… god” you shut your eyes and leave your mouth agape. if his fingers were enough to please you, how does his cock feel?

“you want my dick, princess? hm?” he asks, softly raising the pitch in his voice. “mhm.. please” you nod, making his smirk grow bigger though you can’t see his face.

“you wanna take me like this, from behind?” he asks, seeing you nod again. “atta’ girl” he pulls his fingers out of you, slapping your ass and making you jolt before he begins pulling his shorts down a bit, allowing his long, hard dick to spring out.

he moves more forward, rubbing his tip along your wet folds, making you let out a long hum. “i need it…” you say after he teases your pussy for a while. “you need it?” he asks. “yeah, please..” you beg.

he wastes no time to fulfil your needs. he positions himself near your entrance, slightly pushing the tip in before grabbing your hips with both hands, pulling you back whilst thrusting forward, making him instantly slam into you. you cover your mouth again, squeezing it this time. you couldn’t stay quiet, not with rafe inside of you.

“stay quiet, doll, y’don’t wanna get caught, do you?” he asks, knowing the obvious answer. “fuck… i- i can’t…” you moan underneath your hand, but it wasn’t quiet enough. rafe takes over, nudging your hand out the way to grip your mouth for you.

his grip was hard, but it was making a difference. your moans are muffled, only being able to breathe through your nose now. you grab his hand with yours, holding onto it as he fucks you rough.

the odd few sounds of cars driving past, windows slamming and dogs barking caught you off guard. “relax, doll” he tells you, shushing you as he removes his hand from your mouth to grab a fistful of your hair instead. you moan, covering your mouth with your hand again. you seriously didn’t want your parents to hear you, but boy, was rafe making it so difficult.

“fuck… i love you, pretty girl” he lets out a moan, gripping your hair tighter as he thrusts deeper into you. “i… i love you more—” you struggle to say in between deep breaths caused by his pace. “impossible.” he chuckles, showing his perfect teeth as he pounds into you from behind.

you let out some muffled moans underneath your hand, making rafe smirk and admire how he has you acting. reaching your hand down the front of your skirt to rub your clit made rafe harder than he already was. he loves it so much when you touch yourself in front of him.

“fuck, that’s it, princess… rub your pussy f’me,” he moans, thrusting into you at a perfect pace to hear your mumbled but pornographic moans. “mhmmm..” you hum, rubbing your clit at a fast speed.

he keeps fucking into you, hard and fast, both of you getting sloppier and wetter by the minute. “fuck rafe… i— i feel so close” you close your eyes, roughly gripping onto the seat you’re bent over.

“fuckk, let it go, princess” he tells you, rolling his eyes into the back of his head at how amazing you feel. “i… i am” you moan, your body starting to shake as you come on his cock. he keeps going, thrusting back and forth, in and out of you, feeling and seeing your juices leak out from the sides of his length inside you.

just seconds later, he finishes too, right inside of you. luckily, you’re on birth control. you both ride out your highs for a few moments, before he slowly pulls out of you. “fuck, ‘ts a little messy” he laughs, watching as his cum leaks out of your pussy and down your thigh.

“rafe, help” you quietly laugh, staying bent over the chair as he quickly looks for something to wipe you with. there’s nothing around, so he takes his shirt off and wipes your dripping pussy with it, “rafe, is that your shirt?” you ask, turning to look over your shoulder.

“it was the only thing i could use, alright?” he laughs it off, wiping away the cum that was dripping down your legs. after quickly cleaning yourselves up, with rafe’s shirt, unfortunately, you both head back inside to change into your normal clothes and out of your tennis ones.

walking into the house hand in hand with rafe, you walk past your mom and dad in the kitchen. “have fun playing tennis?” your mom asks with a smile as she prepares dinner. “yeah, i won” you turn around and giggle as your parents laugh, watching you flick your hair to show off. “yeah, yeah, i’ll practice more. you gotta’ teach me some time, mrs y/l/n.” he says to your mom as you both walk up the stairs. “of course, sweetheart” your mom smiles.

“aww, if only she knew how much of a slut you were… for me, not tennis.” he whispers in your ear as you get to the top of the stairs, both laughing as you enter your bedroom together.

SMUT SMUT SMUTTTTTT😩😩😩 3rd piece of work uploaded in ONE DAY? go me hahahahah. HOPE YA ENJOY I LOVE YALLLLLL <33 NOT PROOFREAD BTW. I’M IN A RUSH I GTG

@cameronluvr

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader smut #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron

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aerinaga · 3 days

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ocean eyes pt. 1

paige bueckers x reader series

synopsis: your family tagging you along as chauffeurs with the divisions of the uconn basketball team won’t be that bad right? having to be stuck in disturbing (yet so tempting) tension with a blondie from the wbb team won’t make this 3-day trip go downhill…maybe?

warnings: none

your younger brother, nathan, is part of the uconn basketball team. he’s a sophomore at uconn, and he’s been doing great there. he tags you along during their games, even on their little parties, even with the uconn wbb team.

the women’s division in basketball is way more popular than what you thought. in fact, it’s way more popular than the mens team. you always laugh at the thought that the women’s team get way more girls than they do.

as the year is ending and summer is starting, all coaches in the basketball field have decided to go on a trip. this is gonna be the biggest trip ever, knowing that both men and womens division will be there.

your parents volunteered to chauffeur an extra vehicle. but being the independent you, you decided to take your own car too. you offered to be a chauffeur as well. you got caught up on your nerves since you would be meeting new people, but who knows? you might end up making good friends with the girls.

PRESENT TIME

it was 6am, everyone was gathered at uconn. cars were ready, luggages were everywhere, girls, and guys everywhere. your mind was still foggy, not being used to this early morning.

the coaches and parents were assigning the seating arrangements for the car rides. as you look at the list, paige bueckers is assigned to your car. her. you saw her often, at your brothers games. the both of you never really talked, only hi’s and heys at each other when your family greeted her.

there was always this tension between the both of you. the tension in where your lips might just crash at each other. besides the point, she is beautiful. you do have a thing for girls here and there, but she makes you so gay.

you can feel her piercing gaze at you. you can’t help but look back, her ocean eyes too beautiful to resist. you open your trunk for her to put your luggage in. kk, azzi, and ice were also joining in your car. you knew them well enough, excited for whats coming in the next days.

paige immediately took shotgun, connecting her phone to the aux because she claims that “she has the best music taste.” well what if she tasted good too?

it’s been 2 hours on the road, all 3 girls at the back were fast asleep. paige was awake, looking at the road ahead of her as the sun rises.

“do you wanna switch? i can drive too, we can pull up to the side.” paige talks to you quietly, not wanting to wake up the people at the back.

“no it’s okay, just keep the aux going. you do have good music taste like what people say.” you chuckle lightly, giving her a small smile as you look at her swiftly.

“i mean, it’s me. i have all kinds of music.” she shrugs her shoulders (🤷‍♀️).

you hum at her as an approval, focusing your attention on the road.

a few moments later, you hear her mumble something.

“what did you say? is there something wrong, p?” you don’t know how you got that nickname, instincts you guess.

“hmm nothing, you look pretty even if i can tell you’re tired. not used to waking up early huh?”

you blush at her comment, trying to keep in your smile.

after 4 hours on the road, the teams arrived at the resort. it was a beach resort, the sand was white, water was clear, the breeze just felt like summer. the coaches booked two villas, one for the men and the other for the women.

you don’t know how you ended up in a room with paige. well…at least the bed is a queen sized bed…? fuck.

you were in the room when paige suddenly walks in. you turn to look back at her, and you see her smirking.

“what? i didn’t choose this arrangement” you huff, feeling teased by paige. paige laughs, putting her luggage down to go closer to you.

she walks closer to you, grabbing you by the waist.

“maybe you just can’t resist me, baby.” she whispers.

“or maybe, YOU can’t resist me, p.” you move your face closer to hers.

the space between the both of you is so little, lips so close to touching each other.

before you could do anything, kk barges in the room.

a/n: HALUUU 😙 send me in messages and tell me how you like it! send requests too.

#Spotify #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb

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eevees-hobbies · 2 days

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Dating Sanemi Shinazugawa - NSFW

Authors Note: Um…I don’t know where the fuck this came from but all the Sanemi propaganda that you all post inspired me. I kind of….want him???? Send help. Reblogs, likes, comments, and asks are always appreciated! I don't bite.

As always, minors and ageless blogs don't interact.

Synopsis: A headcanon of what it's like to get to know, date and suck off Sanemi.

Content Warnings: Female Reader X Sanemi. Fluff and smut. He touches your butt. Light reference to Sanemi going down on you. The smuttier smut is at the bottom and separated by my poor excuse of a divider. You give Sanemi oral.

Word Count: 2.1K

Getting to Know Sanemi Shinazugawa

When you meet Sanemi Shinazugawa, he’s gruff and moody—-just like he is with everyone else. He doesn’t initially acknowledge your presence until he has no other choice, and your hesitancy to fully engage with him only makes him bristle more.

You admit to being a bit afraid of him—and who can blame you—he just seems so angry! But you quickly realize that his anger is used to hide feelings of loss; his stone-like demeanor is a way to keep everyone at a football stadium's length away. He has the “they can’t hurt me if I don’t let them in” mentality locked down.

But some things you notice about him make your heart flutter. You detect that despite his stand-offish ways, Sanemi is close to the Serpeant Hashira, Obanai Iguro. They often share pointed looks without speaking a word, and while walking alongside one another, their strides are very similar—commonplace behavior for people who share a closeness. You stare at them in awe, a bromance, you think to yourself—of course, you wouldn’t dare say this aloud and in the presence of two of the moodiest Hashiras. Certainly, he can’t be all bad if he can build this level of intimacy with someone!

And despite regularly abusing the lower-ranked corp members during his infamously brutal trainings, Sanemi never yells at those whom he considers to be the most vulnerable—children, women, or the elderly.

At first, you confuse this behavior as indifference, but in actuality, he hates any instance of abuse of power. You witnessed this very scenario when Sanemi connected his fist to the nose of a corp member who had a young woman cornered—the corp member was far too handsy, and the young woman was obviously uncomfortable. A loud crack collided against the narrow walls in the alleyway as the young man crumpled before Sanemi’s feet.

Sanemi snatches the jacket from the limp body of the corp member and turns his attention to the woman. “Hey, you ok? Sorry about this asshole.” His tone is even, but the fist that holds the jacket turns pale as his grip cannot possibly get any tighter.

So after witnessing the enigma that is Sanemi and deciding that he’s actually totally your type, you hatch a plan—a plan not unlike one that you would use to soothe and bond with a rabid animal: kill ‘em (or seduce, right?) with kindness.

You begin to bring him snacks, offer to share your lunches with him, and even say hi when you pass each other in the estate halls, which is enough to make him pause, whip around, and watch as you walk away.

“Good morning?? What’s THAT supposed to mean?” You turn around to face him—skipping backward so as not to interrupt your stride—and stick out your tongue playfully. “Now what kind of silly question is that? What do you THINK it means?” Sanemi grumbles under his breath about needing stricter policies for those who can join the corps, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from you. Despite the oddity that is you, he can feel his heart stutter and finds himself cautiously anticipating and getting excited at the thought of passing you in the halls.

You take notice of all his scars, at first out of morbid curiosity but then out of wonder. Each streak across his face is a roadmap of all the loss and pain he’s endured. Despite those facts, he still chooses to fight on behalf of a world that has not always been kind to him.

Sanemi can feel you staring at him, and it makes him unbearably angry. His shoulders stiffen as he begins to feel self-conscious under your gaze. When he turns to give you an earful, his breath catches. He doesn’t see fear or pity in your eyes; it’s something he’s unfamiliar with—adoration, perhaps?

“What are you staring at?’ he mumbles sheepishly. You offer a small smile, amused at the sight of his reddening cheeks. “You’re pretty cute. Do you know that, Sanemi?” Sanemi stammers, “You touched in the head or somethin’…?” You ignore his pitiful attempt to get you to leave him alone, “can I touch them?” He doesn’t answer you, afraid to give the wrong answer, but also scared to put himself out there and potentially get crushed. “I won’t touch them without your go-ahead, Nemi.” His mouth falls open at his new pet name, your boldness stirring something inside him as he gives a curt, practically unnoticeable nod. You extend your hand to his face and stroke his cheek, your thumb gliding gently across the rough, raised skin. “You’re kind of….a pretty boy, Sa-ne-mi.” You say his name like each syllable holds weighted importance—and fuuuuuuck, does he like the way you say it. And while you were fully prepared to lay your attempts at winning his heart over on a bit thicker, you find that you don’t have to. Sanemi’s heart races because he’s so used to people running away from him, used to people treating him like shit, that his wild eyes stare into yours, searching and finding something that he was so desperately missing and wanting. And to your giddy delight—he doesn’t pull away; instead, he gingerly rests his cheek into your palm.

Bit by bit, you somehow manage to tame the Wind Hashira.

Dating Sanemi

Sanemi is surprisingly thoughtful when it comes to you. This might partly be attributed to the fact that he can’t get you out of his mind but also because he’s so desperately afraid of losing you to someone else—someone like that bastard Tomioka—because women prefer the sensitive type, right?

He takes mental notes of things you like, so much so that when you one day show up to a meeting with a leather-bound book of poems, he secretly checks which page is the most worn and commits the prose to memory. When he presents you with the detailed cross-stiched poem in a hand-crafted wooden embroidery hoop, he can’t look you in the eyes,

“I uh…got a Master Embroider to make this for you. Take it.” You gasp, and for once, you’re the one at a loss for words because while Sanemi is starting to let down his walls, you weren’t expecting something so intimate. Truly, he’s a romantic at heart.

Other times, he’ll simply sit beside you, both of you taking a rare break in your favorite shaded spot, and present you with your favorite flower.

“So, uh,” he’ll lean back, folding his thick, chiseled arms behind his head, “tell me about your day.” You smile, bringing the flower up to your nose and letting the sweet scent tickle your senses, hoping that in the future, the smell of this particular flower will trigger this memory, offering an immortalized snapshot of the blossoming feelings you feel for him. “Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Nemi.” He’ll blush and rub his thigh against yours, eyes still closed but a blush creeping from his neck to his cheeks. “Yeah? I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you either.” He’ll breathe out a husky laugh, “come to think of it, you’re constantly on my mind.”

Romance with Sanemi

The first time you kiss Sanemi, you’re pretty sure a quiet whimper escapes from his throat. The kiss feels electric and familiar simultaneously, and it doesn’t take long for him to press his lips more firmly against yours. His soft lips glide with yours as he places his shakey hands on your hips and pulls your bodies so close that your chests touch. He drags his tongue against your bottom lip, daring you to give him access, and of course you do. His tongue explores every crevice of your mouth, mixing your saliva and savoring your taste. When you two pull away, his cheeks are tinted pink, and he’s looking away with a half-hearted scowl before he pulls you back in, his rough hands resting on the back of your neck and head.

“Hm, let’s do that again. It was too short,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His mouth is so close to yours that you can feel his breath tickle your lips.

The first time you’re intimate, Sanemi’s hands explore your body as though you’re fragile and could crumble under his touch. He constantly brings his eyes up to yours; you can hear him swallow thickly as he takes in your naked body splayed out in front of him—for him.

“Is it ok if I lick you here? You taste so fucking good.” “Y-you’d tell me if you wanted me to stop, yeah?”

With each instance of intimacy, he grows more confident, maybe not in his abilities to please you because he was never unsure about that, but he grows convinced that you want him. And eventually, it’s like the floodgates open. And those floodgates represent a 100% increase in Sanemi’s affection—and how he shows that affection—towards you.

In a crowded marketplace? Sanemi is grabbing your hand, guiding you carefully through the sea of people, and shooting daggers at anyone who bumps into you or looks at you the wrong way. Haven’t seen each other in a few days because he has been on a mission? Sanemi beelines straight to where you are—forgoing his sleep or taking a bath—to embrace you in a hug and whisper how much he missed you as he presses his lips to the crown of your head.

“I missed my girl so much. Did ya miss me? There’s no way in fuckin’ hell I was goin’ to miss seeing you for another night.” He scoops you up in his arms and kisses you, his large hands conveniently cupping your ass and squeezing your curvy cheeks.

You’re bone tired and sleeping in? Sanemi is the kind of lover to leave a trail of soft kisses along your forehead, nose, and then lips every morning before quietly rising—careful not to wake you—to sweep the floors, put away dishes, and brew your favorite tee so that there are fewer things for you to worry about when you wake.

“Tch! Look at who finally decided to join me. Thought you were going to snore the day away—-come drink your tea already, sleepy head!” And though he’s starting the morning by talking shit—he can’t help but smile at you as he brings your cup over. He snakes an arm around your waist and chirps, “you know you snore like a fuckin’ hog?”

-------

Sucking Sanemi Off

There is no doubt that Sanemi is the proverbial definition of a man, but there’s nothing that makes your brain turn off more than when he pulls his thick, veiny and domineering cock out of his uniform. You get a primal urge to suck him off until he pumps your pretty little mouth with thick ropes of his cum.

And so you do.

Your tongue flirts with the fat tip of his dick, licking at the precum that is now sliding down the length of his shaft. You leave every inch of his cock covered in your slick saliva, even trailing your tongue down and suckling at his balls.

“You and that filthy fuckin’ mouth of yours,” his head falls back as he strokes your hair. His breath and tone ring harsh in your ears, but his touch is loving—this only fuels your need to take more of him down your throat. As you slide his meat past your tongue so the tip is pressed against the back of his throat, he lets out a prolonged and guttural moan.

“Hmm, my girl really knows how to suck dick, huh?” His calloused hand strokes your cheek; his words sound like pure honey to your Sanemi-addicted brain. You give him a muffled but eager, “mmmh!”

You move your lips and tongue along his shaft, his precum pooling into your mouth and sliding down your throat. The heat in between your thighs only grows more intense with the bobbing motion of your head.

“Make it messy, baby. Slobber on my cock like ya know I like it,” Sanemi groans as he pulls his dick out from your mouth, smacking and dragging his length against your swollen lips. You grip him at the base and spit on his dick; your eyes light up in pleasure as his heavy balls twitch aggressively. Not being able to take it anymore and because Sanemi has a thing for cumshots, he grips his dick in his hand and strokes himself quickly.

“Open wide, baby girl. Show me that tongue.” You obediently stick out your tongue, strings of saliva, and precum, making a lewd-looking web in your mouth.

Sanemi whines and rests his sensitive tip against the entrance of your mouth. “Fuck, you ready, baby?” Before you can answer, his cock twitches, firing fast and hard right into your waiting mouth, and like a good girl, you swallow every last drop.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #demon slayer sanemi #kny sanemi #sanemi shinaguzawa #demon slayer fanfic #smut

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sketches4mysw33theart · 2 days

Text

Dead Poets Society: Some Thoughts and Analysis

Essentially a stream of consciousness I had while rewatching the movie today. In chronological order as I was making notes!

✒️ Charlie talks so much with his eyebrows

✒️ Todd is tasked with taking minutes of the meetings, but I don't believe we ever see him actually do so (although it would have been nice if he did)

✒️ Cameron looks so much like a fisherman when he's smoking his pipe

✒️ Cameron's distaste for Charlie (and often for the rest of the boys) is evident super early on (e.g. when they walk out of Mr Keating's first class and Cameron says "do you think he'll test us on that stuff?" And, when he gets shut down, he throws a very angry look at Charlie and the poets. This happens several times, but as far as I remember we never see Cameron retaliate.) From this, while I don't like it, I understand why Cameron did what he did at the end of the movie because I think he felt undermined by the others and he was considered 'useful' and 'smart' for the school

✒️ Also, I do not accept that Cameron's name is Richard Cameron, he's pulling a Zendaya and goes by one name only

✒️ Mr Keating looks so disappointed in Charlie when saying "Thank you, Mr Dalton, you just illustrated the point"

✒️ I think Knox kissing Chris at the party, while somewhat gross, is necessary to show that Carpe Diem isn't always the right thing to do, as is Charlie putting the article in the paper - i think maybe Chris not ending up with Knox would have hammered this home, especially because she seems perfectly happy with Chet. Of course, Chet's response to what happened at the party isn't fair, but it is definitely what I can see a teenage boy on the high school football team in the 50's doing. Don't choke on the bone, Knoxious!

✒️ Is Charlie trying to get thrown out of school? With the article in the paper stunt, he must have known how serious the repercussions would be, so maybe already he was considering getting out of school because he felt it wasn't the right path for him

✒️ "You made a liar out of me, Neil" - Mr Perry, I hate you

✒️ Did all of the poets, minus Neil and Knox, really squeeze into Keating's car?!

✒️ Neils little face when he comes out of the curtain, and how quick it falls when he sees his father - he's like a little kid showing a finger painting to a parent who insults it, he just wants his Dad to be proud of him

✒️ Mr Keating's face when Neil drives away after the play - I think he had an idea what was coming

✒️ That zoom in on Neil's face when his father's saying "more of this acting business, you can forget that"- he knew, then, that his dad would never change and what he was going to do

✒️ I want the doorknobs in the Perry house, specifically Neil's

✒️ The first time I watched this movie, I was so on edge when Neil was standing in front of the open window, thinking he was going to jump, and when he didn't I was like 'phew', and then the thing happened and my blood sugar spiked way up

✒️ Mr Perry saying 'my poor son' - i don't know, it rubs me up the wrong way, he has a name, he is not simply an extension of you

✒️ Cameron isn't there when the poets tell Todd what happened to Neil

✒️ The lingering image of Charlie with a tear down his face is so beautiful

✒️ Knox just clinging to Todd in the snow

✒️ The comparison between the deleted scene of Neil and Todd running lines by the lake when it's sunny and Todd running towards the lake screaming Neil's name 💔

✒️ Similarly, the comparison between Todd not wanting to speak at all in the meetings, and then the deleted scene where he reads a poem after Mr Perry takes Neil away

✒️ Charlie not singing during Neil's assembly

✒️ Ave means farewell in literature, and Charlie closing his eyes when it's sang is beautiful

✒️ Charlie carries on smoking when Cameron's coming into the attic meeting - he either knows it's Cameron or doesn't care who tf catches him doing anything bad anymore

✒️ I don't think Cameron ever actually 'believed' in Mr Keating, definitely not to the extent the others did - he never called him captain, for example, except when he realised everyone else in the common room was, and air quotes the word 'captain' in the attic. So, it raises the question why he went along with everyone even so?

✒️ While I do somewhat sympathise with Cameron, that is one of the most satisfying punches in movie history

✒️ I think Todd's parents weren't that different from Neil's, Todd's dad is clearly very authoritarian from the minute or so he's on screen (and the fact that Todd signs the paper) and his Mom says nothing in his defense, but the way Todd mouths 'Mom' breaks my heart

✒️ In what universe does acting = what Neil did? All those theatre kids and their evil, satanic rituals, forcing our kids away from school 🙄 I hate you, Mr Perry and Mr Nolan

✒️ Todd's the last one to stand up when Nolan walks into Keating's classroom

✒️ Mr Nolan complimenting Mr Pritchard's introduction is so ridiculously funny to me considering what Keating made them do to it

✒️ Mr Keating's smile to Todd through the door in the classroom has the same energy as "All my love to you poppet. You're going to be alright."

In conclusion, I adore this film.

Robin Williams, O Captain, My Captain 🫡❤️

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indulgentdaydream · 5 hours

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protective!jason hcs or blurb 🥰

Ok so I kinda touched on these in my latest fic but anyways i WILL elaborate bc those were just background

We all know that man is touch starved. We ALL know it.

We also all know he’s hesitant with sharing touch

It’s only once you both have been dating for a bit already, maybe three months in, that he really starts to show his protectiveness through his touch

Or at least when you notice it

He’s always at least holding your hand as you guys walk around Gotham. Depending on exactly whereabouts in Gotham is when he changes whether he’s between you and the road, or you and the alleyways.

You watched him change it up one time halfway through your shared walk, him letting go of your left hand, stepping behind you and around to grab your right instead.

“Oh? So you want me to get hit by a car and die?”

Jason only keeps his eyes on the passing buildings and the ones coming up, “The chance of that is much lower than somebody trying to mug you in this area, love.”

One day you’re both out at the bar together. He’s sitting on a stool behind you as you babble to oke of yours friends.

From over their shoulder, you see a man approaching, but don’t think anything of it.

Suddenly, you see the man stop in his tracks, freezing. You glance over at him. He looks terrified. He glances at you, his original target, then behind you again. He spins on his heel and walks back the way he came.

You look behind you, feeling Jason’s hand still resting on your hip. You almost feel a little scared yourself, seeing that killer glare that Jason’s pointing at the guy’s back.

He switches immediately the second he looks down to you, a soft smile and kind eyes, not a hint of the previous bloodlust a mere second ago. “What?” He asks, like watching his expression change wasn’t the biggest turn on in the world.

You’re sitting in your apartment at your desk typing away on your laptop. You’re trying to file your taxes, and Jason had come over to help you with it (surprisingly he knows how even though he’s still legally dead at this point and hasn’t had to pay any taxes. Ever.)

He had stood and was wondering around your room a bit while he waited for you to fill the next part out. You can hear shuffling, but you’re too focused to tune into it.

“Jay? What does this line mean?”

Jason grunts for a moment and you hear your window slide open.

You turn back around, “Jay?”

“One second.” He shuts your window again. You watch as he fiddles with the lock before easily sliding the window back open. He throws his hands in the air and looks at you. “How long have you lived here?”

You shrug, confused, “You helped me move in.”

Jason waves his hand through the air, “When?”

“Almost a year? Last November.”

Jason fiddles with the window again, slamming it back down, “This lock doesn’t work. You been sleeping in here and anyone could’ve just broken in?”

You shrug again, “I didn’t know it was broken! I don’t really lock my window often.”

Jason looks like he almost broke his neck by how fast his head whipped back to you, “You don’t lock your window????”

He finishes your taxes for you before he leaves, saying he’ll be back. Within the hour he’s knocking on your door again, a duffle bag in hand full of power tools, screws, and different assortments of heavy duty locks. He spends the rest of the night installing them.

A new one on your bedroom window that actually consisted of two different locks. A similar two on your kitchen window. Another three on your bedroom door itself. Then four on your front door.

As he leaned over your kitchen sink, screwing in the lock and blocking your way as you tried to make you both dinner.

“Is this really necessary?”

“I’m not having you practically open to every bad thing the city has to offer, love.”

“Then how are you going to come in through my window now?”

“I’ll learn to knock.”

That’s all I can think of right now okay byeee

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themultifanshipper · 3 days

Note

..................reader riding logan soft and slow after miami, leaning down and kissing all over his neck, whispering gentle praises and "you did all you could"s and "it wasn't your fault"s and "i'm proud of you no matter what"s while his hands cant stop scrambling wherever they can reach- reader's shoulders, hips, ass, chest, waist, arms, anything he can hold on to because he's just so overwhelmed with how good it feels.

eventually it ends with him almost choking on reader's fingers, spit and tears mixing on his tongue and sobbing heavily after reader removes their fingers, saying "i did well, i believe you" when he finally, finally cums and it's one of those slow and smooth ones that just never seem to end and it's all soft and vanillay UGH i can't get over this. i thought of it on a high-speed train through korea (seoul to busan) and i didn't have service but WOOOOO i'm doing great

(can u tell i'm ovulating)

I'm ovulating too and this just ... wow kill me softly why don't you

Shoving your fingers into his mouth just to stop him trying to argue with what you're saying, and eventually his drool is dripping down his chin, over his abs, down to where you're joined, easing the slide even more.

You're splitting yourself on his cock as he struggles to not thrust up into you, using him as you please to punish him for saying negative things about himself.

In fact, whenever he gets close to coming, you pull off, making him wail around your fingers, tears streaming down his cheeks. You're not letting him come until he repeats the sentences you said to him back to you.

You take your fingers out of his mouth for the 3rd time now "Well? Anything to say to me?"

He shakes his head as you tut disapprovingly, seating yourself back on him, but not moving. "I've already come twice my love, I'm satisfied. I'm not letting you come until you've done what I asked, and if you don't want to I guess can just walk right out of here." You clench around him to emphasise your point and he whimpers.

"I did all I could-" he manages to choke out after a while "It- it wasn't my fault".

You hum in encouragement and start rocking your hips again, slowly.

"I did well...I-" he stops, the last part always the hardest to say for him.

You grab his face, forcing him to look at you, thumbs wiping at his tear stained cheeks. "Go on baby, say it, I know you can"

He surrenders completely at your touch "I'm proud of myself"

You smile and kiss him softly.

"Again" you order and he squirms as he repeats the words again under your heated gaze. You make him repeat them once more after that, rythm of your hips never faltering, until he finally starts sounding like he believes what he's saying.

You kiss him passionately and you pick up the pace, his hands grabbing onto the meat of your hips as you trail kisses over his face and neck. "Good boy, you can come inside now baby, I'm so proud of you"

He groans at that, and grabs your waist to start pounding into you from below.

"I'm so close!" He whines.

"I know, baby, let go for me, I've got you"

And he comes inside you with a noise somewhere between a sob and a wail as he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

This is the best way to make him decompress after a bad race (and he has a lot of them at the moment) and you're only happy to embark on the long and hard journey that is making Logan Sargeant believe in himself again.

Logiiiiiie, this hit me in feels ngl I'm terrified about his future, and now I learn they're giving Kimi Antonelli dispensation to drive... truly cogs in a fucked up machine

Anyway

#f1 #formula 1 #logan sargeant #ls2 #logan sargeant smut #logan sargeant x reader #gn reader

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hoe4sports · 22 hours

Text

“Take care of Clara” p2

Jessie Fleming x reader

A/N: Mentions of anxiety. Angst. Read part one for context. I’m having a writes block so please give me your request <3

You wanted to scoop her up in your arms and remove her from the situation. Honestly, you felt like you were stuck in a freeze. Clara was 20 meters in front of you standing next to her chewing on her finger as if there was no tomorrow. You could feel your own heart start to pound in stress. Clara wasn’t a bad kid, but she was a kid with a heavy backpack and that backpack needed to be carried by adults with strong shoulders.

In your mind, you were trying to work up what you were to tell Clara, let alone what you were to tell Jessie when you had to see her after the game. It felt like someone physically was taking your stomach and twisting it with their bare hands. Like someone had injected adrenaline straight into your heart. Like your vision was blurred with allergies.

Jessie squatted down to Clara’s level, and you could see her talking to Clara. Clara was slowly nodding at Jessie as she spoke. Jessie pointed out to the field as Clara once again nodded. Then, out of nowhere just as you were about to move to get your daughter, you see Clara nodding before grabbing Jessie’s hand before they start to walk out with the rest of the girls. Your little girl looked so small on the big field next to Jessie. The camera crew were walking across the line of players filming them, and just before the got to Jessie; she picked Clara up. You could see them on the big screen and it made your heart swell to a size that didn’t feel like it would fit in your body. The pride topped itself when Jessie said something to Clara and Clara giggled as she waved her little hand to the camera causing the crowd to go “aaawwww” in sync. The feeling of pride was spreading across your body and tears started to pile up in your eyes. The joy of seeing your daughter on the field next to your girlfriend meant the world to you. You thought about how sister would’ve been beaming with pride and joy, and you made sure to snap a picture of them on field during the league song. You wanted to cherish this moment forever, like there was no tomorrow.

The song ended abruptly, and you suddenly felt uneasy again. How was Clara gonna deal with having to be carried off the field instead of by running with the other kids like she had wanted to? God, the disappointment would stick with her for weeks on end. You placed your phone in your pocket as you got ready to grab your daughter. When you looked up from placing your phone inside your pocket, Jessie and Clara were already making their way towards you. But Clara was not being carried. She was holding on to Jessie’s hand while running next to her with the most precious smile you had ever seen. Her little eyes beaming with pride as she ran next to your girlfriend. Her infectious laugh was spreading to you as she came closer to you making you smile as it calmed your heart down.

You squatted down as you opened up your arms to your daughter who came running the last few meters to you with Jessie next to her. Her frame threw herself at you while she giggled like she never had before. The little girl go hoisted up onto your hip as you looked at Jessie for a second who blew you a kiss as she ran out to the other girls while waving to Clara. “Mommy! I did it! I went on the big field with Jessie!” Clara squealed in excitement as she clapped for herself. “Yes Claramell, you definitely did” you said as you kissed the top of her head while walking with a staff member to the friends and family section rather than the section for the mascots.

The game went on, and Chelsea went on to win 3-2. Jessie was standing in the right corner of the box as a last minute corner was called for. Jessie got lucky and was able to smash the ball in with her left food before the crowd erupted in a collective cry of joy. Clara clapped as the camera focused in on Jessie’s face. Two seconds after Jessie’s face was filmed; she tapped her heart twice and pointed to the drawing on her arm made by Clara last evening. Clara of course noticed it, and it lead her to giggle again.

—

“Jessie!” Clara screamed as she ran across the hall to Jessie’s arms. “You won!” Clara giggled as Jessie tickled her. “Yes, C, we won! ” she said as she smiled towards you. “Big girls gets medals for winning” Clara said as she wiggled herself out of Jessie’s grip before skipping over to grabb her little heart shaped bag out of your hands. She pulled out a folded together drawing before turning to Jessie and folding it out. “It’s you and me and mommy and a ball and a big medal on the big field!” Clara explained as she pointed to the drawing. “You have pink shoes, like me!” She said as she pointed to the neon pink shoes she had drawn onto Jessie’s feet causing Jessie to giggle. “Maybe I need to get pink shoes like the ones you have?” Jessie asked before Clara nodded rapidly. Jessie grabbed the drawing and thanked Clara before hurrying into the warderobe to do the debrief with the team.

After the match, Jessie met up with you in the parking lot. Clara had fallen asleep in her car seat after talking about how she wanted to be like Jessie when she grew up and how she was gonna work just as hard as Jessie. It wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Jessie was the one for you and Clara. Clara hadn’t really spoken to other adults than you, your bestfriend and occasionally your parents. It was all a part of the anxiety issues she’d suffered from since birth.

“Baby, you played so well!” You said as Jessie embraced you into a hug. “Thanks love, where’s Clara? Is she okay?” Jessie asked as she peeked into the car to see a sleeping Clara. “She fell asleep rambling about how she wanted to be like you, I don’t know what you did but you have certainly won her over” you said as you once again could feel the tears pressing. Jessie shrugged before you both got into the car to go home together. “How did you do it? Get her out on the field? I am not sure that I wouldn’t be able to get her out there” you asked as your eyes moved to the rear view mirror to see your beautiful daughter safe asleep in her car seat with her little Fleming jersey on with her bunny in one hand and her little heart purse in the other. “I told her about how even adults can feel anxiety” Jessie said before sipping on her bottle. It seemed like Jessie didn’t think it was a big deal, but for you however; it was a huge deal. “I think that Clara really likes you, you know” you mumbled as you kept driving trying not to seem to eager, but a part of you wanted Jessie to move in with you and to be a family. Jessie smiled as she yawned and touched your thigh. The ride home was fairly quiet with both Jessie and Clara being tired. As you pulled up to your apartment building, you looked over at Jessie who was admiring the picture of Clara you had on your phone. “I’d really love for us to be a family” you said quietly as you almost swallowed your own words to the point of them being inaudible. Jessie didn’t seem to hear it as she was already heading out to carry a sleeping Clara into the apartment. On your way in; in the escalator the two of you stood in silence only to hear Clara’s light snoring from Jessie’s arms. Jessie looked over at you just before the doors to the escalator opened up;

“I’d really like us to be a family too, if you’d let me stay here with you both. I promise that I’ll care for her like my own and I’m gonna find the perfect ring for you, baby.”

#woso imagine #woso x reader #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming

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heeseung-min · 2 days

Note

Can you write about Yandere Jungwon being rejected?

[21:29]

"I'm sorry but I like someone else."

"What?"

Jungwon felt his heart crushed so bad after heard what you said to his confession. Had he read everything wrong? Didn't you like him and was too shy to admit it?

"What do you mean, Y/n? You like me right? You are just too shy to admit it. I've seen you stared at me in the class."

You were flabbergasted at what he said. It's not really wrong but it's not 100 percent right either. True, you were staring in the class but not to him. You were looking at the person beside him, Sangwon. Jungwon read the situation wrong and now you felt guilty because of it.

"Jungwon, I'm really sorry but it's completely wrong. I was staring at Sangwon not you. I'm really sorry if you think it was for you."

Not only Jungwon felt embarrassed but he also felt angry and mad towards his cousin, Sangwon. Why does he got your attention? Why would you want to be with his cousin when you could be with him. Thankfully, the class was empty so they can't see what is happening between both of you.

You wanted to say more but Jungwon already went to his seat without even looking at you. You too went back to your seat when some of the classmates started to arrive. You saw Sangwon came and asked Jungwon why his face was gloomy but Jungwon just shook his head and do revision instead.

-----

You were having a date together with Sangwon. Few days after Jungwon confessed to you, Sangwon came and asked you out in front of the class. Based on his expression, seems like he didn't know that Jungwon likes you. Probably, Jungwon never tells his cousin about it.

"Are you okay, Y/n?"

"Hmm?"

Sangwon stared at you curiously. He was excited to know that you like him and asked you for a date but now you seems like not excited about it anymore.

"Ah yeah yeah I'm okay. I'm just a bit nervous."

The date went smooth but you still feel nervous whenever you looked to Sangwon's eyes. His face is similar to Jungwon so it kept reminding you to what happened few days ago.

Sangwon dropped you off after the date's over. You thanked him before went inside your house. However, when you came into the house, the strong smell of blood went through your nose.

You felt hopeless when you found out your dad was lying down dead with his stomach got stabbed. The strong smell from blood made you wanted to puke. You were taken back when you saw Jungwon was sitting beside him.

"Jung..won..."

Jungwon turned to you while his finger still fiddling with the knife that you believed he used to stab your father. The sight of him smiling with blood stain on his face made him looked so creepy.

"Oh y/n, you are home. How was the date with Sangwon? Was it exciting?"

Jungwon asked but you couldn't say anything when he was looking so creepy. He stood up and started to walk closer to you.

"I can't stand you with someone else, Y/n."

"You are crazy."

You stepped back to get away from him but Jungwon was quick to hold your shoulder. At this point, you can only cried and begged for him to let you go.

"Jungwon, this is wrong."

"If you didn't reject me maybe this will not happen, Y/n."

"Are you hearing yourself?! You killed my father just because I rejected you?!!"

"And I will do it again to others. Until you don't have anyone anymore."

Jungwon said as he caressed your hair like he was assuring you but instead he was threatening.

"I will make you depend to me only, Y/n."

You don't know where you got the courage but your hand moved by yourself and instantly punching him on the face. The impact is strong and made Jungwon lose his focus. You quickly ran away from him and throw things to slow his down.

"You think you can escape me?"

"Shut the fuck up, Jungwon."

"It sounds sweet when my name coming out from your mouth."

You ran to the kitchen and picked up a knife and shoved it to Jungwon. He smirked at the sight of you.

"You come close, I will kill you."

"Really, Y/n? Can you do that actually?"

Jungwon took one step closer and you were freaking out. The knife you shoved towards him didn't scare him at all.

"STAY THE FUCK AWAY OR I WILL- AHH"

Jungwon watched you fell down to the floor and passed out. He catched the knife so it won't fall and hurt your face. There was a little blood on your temple as a sign from being hit just now. He stared up at the person.

"That was good, Sangwon."

"You should not question the home run hitter, Jungwon."

Oh, how sick both of they are.

You thought you get with a good guy but no guys actually are good to be with.

_____________

Taglist: @stacey-stonem @huggyuvita @duolingofanaccount @obsessed1with1straykids @eeunoia @rowretro @soireegurl

I did this while I was in hiatus so it's a bit boring but I hope you guys still enjoy it 😚😚😚

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spideyhexx · 23 hours

Note

soft billy thought is that especially after the stargazing scene with his father i always think about how romantic he could find stargazing as a date especially with like a boss’s/sheriff’s daughter reader where he sneaks you out of your room to take you stargazing in the middle of the night

(accidentally falling asleep out there and having to rush you back as the sun is rising and it leaves for some very rushed kisses goodbye but you assure him it was the best night possible as he apologizes for keeping you out all night)

yeah :(

He’d probably choose that as your nightly activity after he knows you had a bad day. While Billy can’t be seen conversing with you during the day, he still overhears things, talk in town, about how hard your father was on you when you did the daily trip into town for supplies and food with him, which ended up in a scene, you getting scolded and humiliated by him right in the town center.

So Billy makes sure his evening is free. He doesn’t know if you’re gonna busy, he doesn’t know if you even want to see him, but after giving himself some words of encouragement, he makes his way right outside your window, like he’s done countless times before.

You’re startled when you see him pop up but it’s no hesitation. You get off your bed and open it, immediately speaking to him in a hushed whisper, “I didn’t know if you were coming.”

Billy gives a look like that’s the most ridiculous thing you could’ve said, “no hello?” He teases, with a soft smile but he quickly says, “‘f course I’d come,” and he nods his head out towards the fields, asking you to come with him for a few hours.

Of course you say yes. Once you’re both on the ground, he gives you a proper hug, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your back, relaying that he heard what had happened as the two of you start to walk. You rant to him about your father like you typically do and Billy continues to feel frustrated that you’re stuck with him as a father, that you two are stuck hiding away.

But he’s quick to reassure you he’d hide forever if it meant getting to spend time with you. Once you get to a good spot (at his choice), you both lay in the grass on your backs, opposite ways but heads against one another, looking up at the sky. His fingers caress yours, and he speaks in his softer tone, pointing out any constellations he can pick out.

You both try to make your own and he’s silly with it, so you’d laugh. That was his purpose tonight anyways. To get you smiling. Calm. As some time passes, you eventually shift to actually lay with him, your head on his chest, fiddling with a button on his shirt.

“this had gotta be the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for me,” you tell him and he’s happy you can’t see his face right now because he’s blushing hard.

“I’ll do it all over again if it’ll make you smile like before,” Billy says, fixing your jacket on you so you’re more covered, you being cold was a worry of his but the way you lean into him, he can tell you’re comfortable.

It was already in his mind that he had to get you back to your room, but the comfort do you against him and the crisp air lulled you both to sleep. It’s near sunrise when you wake, immediately panicking and shaking him awake.

He’s groggy and rubbing at his eyes as he sits up and puts his hat back on, standing up, tugging on your hand to help you stand. Billy’s got a tight grip on your hand the whole way back, terrified he’s ruined this and your father would find out.

“‘M so sorry, honey, I won’t fall asleep like that next time, you were just so…it was just so…,” he trails off and looks back to you once you stop under your window, your hands reaching to cradle his face and give his lips a quick peck.

“None of that apologizing. Was the best night, Billy.”

He looks into your eyes, with stars in his own, silent for a moment like he’s zoned out on you and your admiration. It makes you chuckle and pat his cheek, “Billy, I gotta go.”

“Right, yeah,” he chuckles, flushing, and gives your lips a peck too, then again, and again, smiling as your grin gets wider. He can’t he’ll but place small little kisses to your cheek and chin and jaw as you’re pulling away.

He stops reluctantly when he has to help you back up into your room and he turns his head expectantly, and you place a long, lingering kiss on his cheek.

“Have a good day, Billy,” you say to him, and he nods, “you too, honey,” before he leaves.

#billyasks #this was longer than I meant it to be but👍#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid fluff #billy the kid fic #billy the kid smut #billy bonney #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #william bonney #william bonney x reader #tom blyth #william bonney x you #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid drabble #billy the kid blurb

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 days

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Hi there!

If you still take stardew valley requests please write hurt/comfort with Shane and (gn) reader about Shane getting progressively more worried about the farmer each time they go mining because of all the injuries they get there to the point where one day he snaps and breaks down in front of the farmer. It would be nice if you could show shane slowly loosing his mind each day but that would probably make the fic longer so no pressure. just pls make sure theres comfort after the hurt, bad endings make me sad :(

Thank you in advance, and even if you choose not to write this i hope you still have a lovely day.

I'm always down for Shane angst <3

In my main file I fear he's like this bc I'm constantly coming back from the dangerous mines/skull caverns on like 1 hp at 1:50 am

......

(Spring, Year 1)

"Hi, Shane!"

"God, what do you want now?"

"Nothing. I'm off to the mines." You grinned at the rugged man in front of you, holding up your pickaxe. "I'm shooting for level 120 this time, and hopefully I can pick up more gems along the way."

Shane raised a brow. "...and I care because?"

"You don't have to. Just thought I'd let you know."

'What? Like you think I'll go looking for you if you pass out? Forget it. Whatever happens is your own damn fault."

"I know the risks, but thank you." You politely answered, ignoring his blunt rudeness before checking the monster slayer guide. "The Adventurer's Guild wants me to slay a ton of bats...only 200 more to go."

""Adventurer's Guild?" Sounds stupid and childish." He grumbled, taking a swig of joja cola in his grasp. He was already running late to work, and he didn't want to get yelled at by Morris.

And he certainly didn't want you, the new farmer who made it their mission to annoy the shit out of him everyday, being the reason.

"Well it's neither of those things. It's actually thrilling." You chuckled, before digging an emerald out of your pocket. "I meant to sell this yesterday, but you can have it."

"...the hell? What am I supposed to do with this?" His brows furrowed at the green mineral you shoved into his hand.

"Keep it..for good luck, I guess?" You shrugged. "You can put it in your pocket and forget about it if you want. I just wanted to give you something nice. Plus, not to be weird, but...it kinda reminded me of your eye color."

Normally, any other villager would've been thrilled that you wanted to befriend them with gifts that reminded you of them.....

Yet Shane just stared at you as though you've confessed to stalking him.

"If you wanna give me something that's actually "nice", buy me a beer at the saloon next time." He sneered, brushing past you and continuing towards JojaMart, while you headed north of town, already knowing what you're gonna do tonight.

When you looked over your shoulder, you could see him pocket the emerald rather than throw it away despite him passing by several trash cans.

And you smiled.

(Present Day)

"Awh, you still held onto that emerald even after all this time?"

"Yeah, so what? It was the first gift anyone's really given me.." Shane confessed, heat rising to his cheeks as he held the mineral between his fingers. "I never believed in all that crap about crystals and "energy" that Emily talks about. But..I just like keeping this one around. It's like...erm..."

"A testament to the start of our friendship and eventual marriage?" You cheekily grinned as you polished your weapon, before looking to your husband.

He nodded. "Exactly what I was gonna say."

"I know you so well." Chuckling, you walked over to kiss him on the cheek. "I'm gonna head to the mines, okay? Welwick says the spirits will shower everyone in good luck. I wanna see if the fabled prismatic shards really do exist."

Almost immediately, Shane froze..and he found himself wanting to desperately say "no" and convince you to stay on the farmhouse.

But he didn't know why.

From the moment he met you, he knew you sought adventure and profits in the mines, fighting all sorts of monsters for the Adventurer's Guild. He's seen skeletons, mummies, and golems caged up at Spirits' Eve festivals, but never the wild ones below the surface who attacked you relentlessly.

Yet you never let the constant dangers deter you from exploring.

Mining was exhausting work, yet rewarding every time you cracked a stone open to find a diamond or discovered a treasure chest. With the materials you've gathered, you were able to craft some rings to wear, enchanted with powers to help make your excursions easier and safer.

Despite being well-prepared, though, Shane did have his concerns...especially as once you came home after clashing with skeletons, a scar on your head from a flying femur bone that still hasn't fully healed.

You only went to Harvey to get it checked out after your husband--who was your boyfriend at the time--insisted on it.

Even before that, he'd see you around town, bearing a new bug bite, scratch, burn, bruise, or bandaid on your body.

It never worried him before, but after that skeleton incident, he finally understood that those monsters were real and you were seriously getting yourself hurt.

He'd go to the mines with you if not for his fears that he'll only make things worse. There's a good chance he'll slow you down and find himself getting swarmed by slimes, bats, bugs, and whatever the hell else was there....and he wasn't exactly the most fit to swing a sword or pickaxe.

Simple walks made him tired.

What good would he do?

"Shane? What's wrong?"

Blinking, he snapped out his thoughts and saw your concerned face. "Nothing, sweetheart." He dismissed, giving you a little smile. "Just be careful out there, alright? I'll take care of things here."

"Thank you, baby." Smiling back, you gave him a kiss before heading out the door with your backpack and tools. "Off to the bottom of the mines I go!"

Shane tensed.

"Wait-"

As quickly as the door opened, it slammed shut, and he was left by himself in the cabin.

It was an uncomfortable silence.

'Maybe I should've tagged along.....buh, what am I saying? They'll be fine. They do this all the time. Stop getting so worked up, idiot..' Clearing his mind yet again, he went off to check things around the farm for you, deciding to watch TV later on.

There was gonna be another Tunneler's game tonight, so at least he had that to look forward to.

Nothing like that, some good food in the fridge, and this cozy cabin he got to call home...

And it was all because of you.

If you could build everything here and still having the energy to go mining and fight monsters, why should he worry?

1:20 AM

After a productive day, Shane managed to fall asleep early for once.

Only be woken up by the creak of the bedroom door.

Light almost immediately flooded his vision, stirring him from his slumber as he grumbled and tried to shield his eyes, wondering what time it was.

"Fuck..morning already-?"

"No, honey..it's...just me. Sorry.."

He blinked, sitting up to see that it was only you coming into the room, removing your rings. One of them served as your light source, yet it didn't hide the numerous scratched and bruises that littered your skin.

And they were all fresh.

"Babe, wha...are you okay?" Shane was now fully awake, watching as you peeled off your jacket and trousers, tossing them into the corner of the room before dragging yourself into bed.

Only then could he see your injuries up close and personal, and his heart began racing. "What happened? You look like hell."

"I'm fine, Shane. I just..need to sleep it off.."

"B-But...there's blood everywhere.." He mumbled, his eyes going to the clothes in the corner. "I can call Harvey-"

"No..don't. I already patched myself up. I'll be fine in the morning..I just wanna be here with you." Smiling weakly, you kissed him, before putting the prismatic shard into his hand. "Look. It exists...haha...it's so pretty, right? It's yours."

He didn't know what to say, staring dumbfounded at the mineral.

What hell did you go through to get this?

And as much as he loved it..why get it for him?

Why risk your life?

But when he looked back to question you further, you were already passed out beside him, looking peaceful despite the wounds on your body.

Eventually, he slid the prismatic shard under his pillow and laid back down, only to hesitate in wrapping his arm around you.

All he could do was gaze at your exhausted face..and the dried blood under your nose.

Least to say, he had trouble falling back to sleep.

..........

Ever since that night, Shane's grown increasingly worried over your safety during your mining trips. And it began to affect his usual routine around the farm.

In fact, calling it "worry" at this point would be a heavy understatement..

It became straight-up paranoia.

Whether you headed off to the mines or Skull Caverns early because of an "extra lucky day" or simply because you needed a specific resource, you'd always come back home the same way:

At later hours, with more injuries and bandages than last time, constantly on the verge of passing out and barely able to hold a conversation with him.

Of course, you'd have breakfast with him, and you'd never leave the farmhouse without giving him a kiss...but it did nothing to ease his mind, as he'd constantly see your wounds and dread whatever horror stories you were about to tell him.

Even though you're perfectly nonchalant as you talk about a serpent who tried wrapping itself around you and squeeze every last breath out of your body, it made Shane feel utterly sick to his stomach.

How could you be so calm after so many brushes with death?

He didn't understand.

On the surface, he seemed fine with you leaving. But when you did, he'd find himself turning to beer to calm his nerves..although most days he was able to resist the urge and occupy himself with farming tasks or video games.

Despite this, he hasn't outright told you anything. He knew mining was your passion and thought you'd chastise him for "worrying over nothing".

So he kept it to himself, thinking his anxiety was being stupid.

Then the final straw came the evening when he got a call from Harvey's clinic around 5PM.

One that he hoped to never hear:

You passed out, and were currently being treated for serious injuries.

He bolted out the cabin, all the way to the town square and damn near broke the door down. There, Harvey, Linus, and Marlon were at your bedside, the latter two having brought you in after seeing you fall unconscious in from of the elevator, covered in blood and shrapnel.

Fortunately, you were expected to make a full recovery with just stitches and some IV fluids to rehydrate your body...but you still owed Shane one hell of an explanation.

This time around, you landed in an "infested" area of the 100s, trying to use a bomb to kill off most of the monsters.

Only to trip over a stupid lava crab and drop the bomb after you just ignited it, damn near losing your leg trying to kick it away from you in time.

And by the grace of Yoba, you were able to limp your way back to the ladder, return to floor zero, where Linus so-happened to be passing by the mine entrance.

You gave the poor old man quite a fright, as he didn't know how much blood on you was from the monsters...or you.

In the end, the bomb left shrapnel in your flesh, searing your clothing and requiring stitches to ensure you didn't bleed out. You appreciated Harvey for his quick work and for Linus and Marlon for taking you to him.

However nobody in that clinic was more terrified over your condition than Shane, who was in disbelief that you were able to stand and walk back home with him after getting discharged.

He wouldn't talk to you, although his hands shook as he helped you into bed, still sleeping beside you like he did every night before this.

But this time...he had the worst nightmare possible.

He was down in the mines with you, except he felt stuck and couldn't do anything to warn you or save you from the impending danger.

It was like he was spectating a game, instead forced to watch as the bats and monsters made of shadows descended upon you with their teeth bared and claws out, tearing into your body. You had yelled for him to save you, to stop being useless, damning him for not stopping you from leaving...yet their horrible noises drowned out any further shouts.

Then you were gone.

You were gone and he failed you.

And it was all his fault.

It made him joltbwide awake at 3 AM, and he felt like his heart was about to burst from his chest. His mind kept going to you, constantly checking to make sure you're still breathing, unable to fall back to sleep for a while.

When he did, he was in tears.

..........

"No."

"Shane, I know last night was bad. But I'm not-"

"You're not going to the mines today. I mean it."

Dumbfounded, you gazed at Shane, who was physically blocking you from leaving the cabin. A scowl was written all over his face.

You sighed and rubbed the side of your head. "It's only the first few levels, honey. Willy needed bug meat for-"

"Right. The "first few" you say, and then I'll get a call from Harvey at 2 AM about you needing emergency surgery again." He gritted his teeth, tears coming to his eyes. "Whatever he or anyone in this damn town needs in those mines can wait. Why can't you just stay?!"

"I don't understand.." Your eyebrows furrowed. "You never cared before if I went there. What changed?"

"What changed....? What changed is that I've been having a lot more of sleepless nights lately! I can barely eat or do anything except worry and worry about you. And it's because...because..." He trailed off.

"Because what?"

"......."

You sighed. "Shane, if you're not gonna tell me what's wrong, then I don't see why-"

"Because you've been scaring me to death okay?!" His hands now gripping your shoulders as he stared at you. "You think you're invincible, but you aren't. What don't you get?! How badly are you gonna let those things hurt you?! Or be the reason YOU DROP DEAD AND DON'T COME HOME?!!" He screamed.

Your own eyes widened, stunned by his words..and eventually you saw the realization flash across his face as he blurted out his true feelings.

The ones he tried to hide from you, yet consumed him for hours upon hours whenever you left for the mines.

It made your heart plummet.

His breath hitched, and you then saw the tears beginning to fall from his greenish eyes.

"Shane..."

"[Y/n], you saved me from throwing my life away. And...i-it's like you're throwing away yours for no reason!" He sobbed. "Night after night, I have nightmares of seeing your limp body..a-and....and I can't save you. I can't do anything except scream and beg them to stop hurting you! But they never listen! A-And...I just...I-I don't wanna lose you. I can't lose you..."

He looked totally shattered, making you finally realize how serious this was.

Your guilt right now was immensurable, watching the man you loved fall apart right in front of you.

And it was your fault.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry..." You pulled him into a tight hug, and he completely broke down in your arms. His quiet crying became muffled by your shoulder. "I..I had no idea you were feeling that way. Why didn't you tell me about the nightmares sooner?"

"You would've thought..th-they were stupid. Or that I sound "needy" or controlling.." He sniffled. "I-I know I can't stop you from going, but...I just..a-after what happened to you last night, I...I.."

"Oh, honey..that was my dumb mistake. The monsters had nothing to do with my injuries." Rubbing his back, you gently kissed his head. "I was tired and got clumsy with a stupid bomb..but I promise it won't happen again. You're right. I'm not invincible. I need that reality check sometimes."

He didn't say anything, instead holding onto you tighter.

You never realized how badly your mining trips and injuries were affecting him...affecting this very relationship.

The Shane you met back in Year 1 could care less if you dropped dead. He outright said he'd never go looking for you and that whatever happened was your own fault.

But the Shane you knew now was crying in your arms over the mere thought that one day you'll go into the mines and never come out, holding it all in until he couldn't anymore.

You've really helped him open up to you, but now you were tearing him apart inside and never really knew it until this point.

"W-Will you just..stay here today, please?" He finally spoke, not caring about how needy or pathetic that sounded.

"...I will." You answered. "I'll take a break from mining for a good while."

"....you would do that for me?"

"Of course. I'd do anything for you, Shane. Hell..I'd give that up altogether if you wanted me to."

You felt him shake his head, and you chuckled, squeezing him tightly. "I'm only kidding, but I promise. No more mining this week."

Shane raised his head up, looking to make sure you were serious. And he saw nothing but sincerity in your expression.

You sighed softly and cupped the sides of his wet face, seeing the torrent of anxiety and frustration raging like an ocean current in his eyes. "You must've felt so lonely and terrified, baby..I'm sorry. I won't make you feel that way ever again."

He sniffled again as you brushed away his tears, before taking ahold of your wrist to kiss your palm...where your first scar from a rock crab came from.

How badly did he wanna kiss away every scar those bastards left on you until none remained.

Some faded with time and care, but others were more permanent--testaments to your survival down in the mines..as well as your several brushes with death.

Heat rose to your cheeks, watching him become so affectionate and gentle with you, even though he knows you're not made of glass whatsoever.

Eventually, his tears ceased as you both decided to go lay down on the bed together, with Shane cuddling up to you and resting his head on your chest. All he could hear was your strong heartbeat drowning out the noise in his mind.

It was still kicking, like you.

"Thank you..god, that was exhausting.." He mumbled. "I'm sor-"

"You don't have to be sorry for being honest with me." You reassured, petting his hair. "I just..wish I picked up the signs sooner."

"INah, I should've been clearer...and maybe that would spare myself this headache I got now.."

"Hmm..how about we sleep in until you feel better? Then we can check on the chickens."

Feeling him nod and wrap his arms around you, you took that as a "yes" and chuckled softly, knowing you weren't gonna leave this spot anytime soon.

But that's okay.

There's no other place you'd rather be. Not even the mines.

#clanask #anonymous #sdv x reader #stardew valley x reader #sdv shane #sdv shane x reader #stardew shane x reader #angst #hurt/comfort

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