#or literally knowing that if I don’t reach out first like each and every time that no one would talk to me

[jamminvroomvroom]

no more mister shy guy.

OP x fem!reader

in which you can’t work out why he just won’t sleep with you

i am neither normal, nor am i hinged! i hope you guys get the vision, i literally wrote this last night possessed by some feral urge bc i just love oscar sm and i’ve been needing to write for him sooo baaad. enjoy! pls lemme know what you think <3

songs to set the vibes: delicate by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, my kind of woman by max demarco, feeling myself by wolf alice

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp but also there is some plot? overstimulation, crying in a hot way, choking, unprotected sex (L bozo don’t do that!) the most minor moment of angst, fluff

2.8k words

you watch him make coffee, daydreaming, balancing your heavy head on your hand. you study him while your free hand taps against the kitchen counter, nails drumming a random beat. sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, framing him golden. you don’t think he knows how pretty he is.

oscar is oblivious to the way your mind is ticking behind him, twisting the cap on the carton of oat-milk. you hear the plastic fall onto the counter and your tongue wets your lower lip as he reaches up into the cupboard, his back flexing beneath his shirt as he finds your favourite mug. you realise then how swollen your lip is, snapped out of the trance he had you in, the one that had you biting your lip so hard, completely mindlessly.

he’s bulked up over the winter break, filled out a lot over the course of his rookie season. he’s no longer the scrawny, anxious guy you’d met at your fathers work event a year ago, he’s broader, thicker in your hands, utterly delicious. as much as you like the way he looks, you like his mind a whole lot more. if only you knew what was going on inside it.

oscar is an enigma, quiet, hilariously dry, the kindest man you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. you’ve been together since the start of the winter break, november, after awkward run ins and plenty of pining since the start of his first season. you’d travel to races with your dad, a mclaren sponsor, and run into the australian, stare at each other and pretend no one noticed. after months of teasing from lando, oscar finally got the kick up the arse that he needed and you’d said yes to dinner before he’d even finished asking the question.

it’s february now, a week til he needs to be in bahrain. the last three months had been serene, spent with a man made of sunshine, and you’re sad to see him go, as if you won’t be in the emirates a mere four days after him. you fear the way you’ll ache for him, having been inseparable since the dinner that started it all.

but then again, it can’t be worse than the way you ache for him now.

“sweetheart?” oscar is waving his hand in front of your face when you realise he’s been calling your name for a good 15 seconds, and you have, in fact, been staring. hm? you jump, staring at him bewildered. he looks amused. “you okay?” he coos, sliding the coffee across the island towards you.

“yeah, sorry, i, um, i just- why won’t you have sex with me?” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you realise what you’ve just said.

oscar just blinks, mouth forming a little o, the permanent blush he seems to have increasing tenfold. you instantly feel guilty for ambushing him, but you were at the end of your tether. three months of nothing, nada, zilch. every move you made was refuted, ignored as if he was oblivious. you were ravenous for him, he’s so gorgeous! and you didn’t want to pressure him, but you were starting to feel like there was something wrong with you.

you’d wake up in bed with him wrapped around you, grinding against your ass in his sleep, and you’d revel in it, the rare times that he actually seemed to want you like that. you loved him regardless, of course you did, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need to be… dealt with. urgently.

“i- um- what?” oscar splutters, and the bottom of his mug blinks against the granite.

“is there something wrong with me? am i not pretty enough?” you whisper, shy. “do you just not… like- do you not want to do that?” you ramble.

panic fills his face, and he’s rushing around the island, by your side in an instant. he takes your hands into his, finding your eyes. they’ve grown watery, a mixture of guilt and desperation swirling in them which makes him feel ill.

“baby, no, god no.” he rushes the words out, desperate to convince you that it wasn’t you. “you’re the most beautiful person in the entire world, prettiest girl i ever saw.” he promises. “i’m just… it’s scary.”

“oh, osc.” your face falls, and you want to throw yourself off of the balcony. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to pressure you. if it makes you feel better, i’m scared too. but i love you so much, i just want to feel even closer to you.”

“you didn’t make me feel pressured, i’m just sorry i made you feel unwanted. trust me, i want you like that. drives me insane. but i’ve never had sex before with someone that i love. not the way i love you, anyway. scared that i won’t be good enough for you.” he murmurs.

you’re hung up on the part where you drive him crazy, the part where he loves you like that, and then you remember how vulnerable he’s being, baring his entire soul to you, and you rip yourself from the fantasy.

your hands smooth over his shoulders, until you’re softly fisting a clump of hair at the nape of his neck.

“i love you. insanely. we’ll go slow.” you state. he moulds further against you, and you quickly realise it’s for leverage, because the next thing you know, you’re in his arms. he has his hands hooked under your thighs and he’s kissing you so, so deeply that you’re dizzy. you don’t realise that you’re halfway to his bedroom until he pulls away.

“i don’t wanna go slow anymore.”

oscar places you on your feet at the end of his bed, the large, plush king-sized mattress that is currently calling both of your names. your blouse gets unbuttoned first, his hands shaking in a way that makes you melt, and his lips trail over every inch of bare skin that he uncovers. when it finally falls to the floor, his pupils are blown wide, his hands palming intricate black lace. your jeans are stripped away mercilessly, his hands shaking less now, and you take it as a sign to crawl backwards onto the bed.

he stands there, watching you, apprehensive again. you can see how hard he is, how desperately strained his cock is through the light grey of his sweatpants, and so you switch tactics. your hand grazes your tummy, skimming up your abdomen until you reach a bra strap. you toy with the elastic, holding the kind of eye contact that makes him twitch, tugging it until it hangs loosely off of your shoulder.

“i need you, osc. i trust you.” you utter, soft and enticing. one finger runs under the cup of your bra, flicking over your nipple. he can just about see the hardened bud through the lace of your bra. it’s not enough, though, and every ounce of self control depletes when you whine, “want you inside of me so badly.”

the elastic band snaps and he’s on top of you, rutting between your legs like a man starved. you drag his shirt up and over his shoulder blades, moaning as you feel each and every muscle under your fingertips.

“just wanna make you feel good.” oscar rasps, rolling his hips even harder into your core.

“take these off.” you beg, pulling at the waistband of his joggers. he somehow musters the strength to pry himself off of you, just long enough to discard the uncomfortable material of his sweats, but as soon as he looks down, his plans change.

painted over the crotch of them is a shiny pool of your slick, and when his eyes flit hungrily to your core, he sees where you’ve soaked through your panties. you’re panting when you see the stain, and you just want to get him inside of you, but his priorities have changed. oscar collapses between your legs, head buried, tongue exploring.

he groans, carnal and needy, into the fabric of your underwear, laving his tongue over the lace. your eyes widen as he dives in, licking over the wet patch until he grows frustrated. you hear the tearing of the fabric, feel his big hands pawing at your thighs to spread them as wide as they’ll go. his tongue slides right inside of you and he whines. he fucking whines. the vibration nearly makes you scream. you can’t believe this is your oscar, the same oscar that had quivered with nerves a mere five minutes ago.

“oh my god.” you chant, rolling your hips against his face. you must be all over him by now, what with the way he’s sucking and slurping, obscene sounds of wetness sounding around the room. you’d be blushing a deep red if you weren’t so turned on, shaking against his bedspread which will probably need changing once he’s done with you.

you thought that maybe he was inexperienced and that was the source of his fear, but if he was, you never would have known. he was a natural in between your legs, nipping at your clit to get you even louder for him.

you cum faster than ever, and he’s mumbling something incoherent into your pussy when you do. you’re riding the high, midway through the bliss, when a thick finger slips its way inside of you. oscar realises that he can easily slide another in, and he does. he doesn’t thrust them in and out, he grinds them against your walls, and your mouth falls open as a silent scream forces it’s way out.

you cum a second time, in record time yet again, and he still doesn’t let up. he’s hitting that spot relentlessly with his fingers, keeping your clit between his swollen lips, and you’re begging him. for what, you’re not sure, but you’re whimpering his name like you’re going to die. and what a good way to go this would be.

his eyes meet yours, and he looks unhinged. that’s when you feel it. that all consuming, belly twisting rush.

“oscar!” you try to warn him, but it’s too late, and he knows it. he makes you squirt, because of course he does. the shy guy who was scared that he wouldn’t be able to please you makes you squirt.

he pulls his mouth off of you but keeps his fingers buried deep, eyes fixed on watching the way your pussy convulses.

“holy shit.” you cry. you’re staring down at him like you’ve gone insane. he’s smiling innocently.

“was that good?” he almost sounds shy and you want to kick him.

“are you… are you serious?” you rasp. oscar just shrugs. “get up here.” you reach for him and complies, slotting himself between your legs once more.

oscar resumes the rolls of his hips, and the friction of the grey fabric against your core makes your eyes roll back.

“please, oscar, fuck me.” you whine, his head falling into the crook of your neck. he bites down, leaving behind the sting of his teeth and a faint purple splotch.

“fucking love you.” he slurs, his accent thickening in a way that makes him sound that extra bit fucked out already.

“i love you.” you murmur, forcing his sweats down his legs. his boxers are wet, just like your panties were, and you can’t help but stare. oh, it’s big.

his boxers are peeled down and you can feel yourself throbbing. his cock hangs heavy, red and dripping, painfully hard. you reach for it, looking at him to make sure it’s okay to touch, and he’s rapidly nodding his head. your small hand struggles but you make it work, and his head tips back, exposing his thick neck that you want to suck purple. your hand works over him a few times, and a visible shiver running through his body makes you stop.

“you ready for me?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“please.” you gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “however you want me, ‘m yours.” you breathe.

oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, your words sending his brain blank, and then he’s pushing home, slow and deep.

“fucking hell.” he groans, guttural. you’re so tight, warm, soaking wet. he feels like the biggest idiot in the world for waiting so long for this.

“oh.” you gasp, your eyebrows knitting together. he’s so deep. “so full.” you pant.

“can you take it, sweetheart?” oscar’s lips bump your jaw. “want you to take it.” you nod profusely, desperate to hear him run his mouth even further. your eyes clench shut when you feel him move, just the tiniest bit, readjusting.

“move.” you plead. he’s staring down at you, watching every single micro movement of your face.

oscar pulls out the smallest bit and thrusts back in, nice and slow. the drag drives you feral, the weight of him on top of you makes you weak. you want to stay like this until the end of days.

“good?” he hisses, trying to keep composed. he’s finally inside of you, claiming you as his in the most intimate way of all. he tries not to think about how many times he could have had you begging under him in the last three months.

“so good, so good.” you repeat, pushing your hips up to try and meet his.

“so pretty like this for me. always so, so pretty.” he rambles. he realises that he never quite made it as far as getting your bra off, and he needs to see all of you. the cups are tugged haphazardly down, and oscar stares at your breasts like he’s never seen tits before. you hear him hum, low and greedy, and then you feel the wet drag of his tongue across your nipple.

the animalistic whine that he rips from you makes him thrust harder, upping his pace a bit. he can hear how much wetter you get when he picks up his pace, and he changes up his rhythm, pushing all the way in and dragging out again at lightning speed. your jaw goes slack and your eyes are damp.

“baby, what’s wrong?” oscar slows to a stop, and you want to scream.

“no, no, no, keep going.” you choke out, your throat constricting with a sob. “it’s so good. feel so good.” you sound drunk, all for him, and he loses his mind completely.

he taps into that athletic stamina, fucking into you with a newfound vigour that you didn’t think was humanly possible, and you feel things that you didn’t even know you could feasibly feel. you see stars behind your eyes, his face, and nothing else but bright white. calloused fingers find your clit, and you wonder fleetingly if he’s trying to kill you when he rubs messy shapes into the much too overstimulated bud. his teeth graze your nipple, and everything seems to come together perfectly.

thick tears run hot down your cheeks, only to be licked away by eager tongue. your belly tightens, aflame for him; he’s wound your body up perfectly and you’ve never in your life teetered so dangerously over the edge.

“can feel you, baby. want you to cum, okay? ‘n then i’m gonna fill you up.” oscar grunts. you clamp down on him even tighter, thanking god for oscar’s filthy fucking mouth and birth control, and then everything snaps.

you think you scream, you know that you’re sobbing, and your throat is raw when the wave hits. oscar keeps going, intensifying your pleasure, and when he finally let’s go, it’s the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen. it’s surreal, the way his neck flexes, eyes clenched tight, brown locks flopping over his sweat damped forehead. and the sounds he makes, god. he’s muttering into your ear, lewd and shameless, and a fifth orgasm nearly takes you under.

“gonna need you everyday like this, tight fucking pussy, all mine. can’t live without this now. fucking perfect.” he’s rambling, burrowing deep into you one last time. you feel his warmth spilling into you, feel his hot breath fanning your face. he licks into your awaiting mouth.

“fuck.” you giggle, breathless.

“good?” he raises an eyebrow, grinning bashfully.

“more than worth the wait.” you whisper, mustering the strength to lift your head just enough so that you can peck his lips. “you better not hold out on me ever again though.” oscar laughs at that and you feel the rumble in your flushed chest.

“you promise?” there’s the shy guy again.

“osc, honey, that was the best. ever. ever. need you to be mr sex god more often.”

“only if you behave for me.” he smirks down at you.

“there he is.” you sigh happily.

when he snakes his way back between your legs, lapping up the mess he’s made, and then some, you wonder just what you’ve unleashed.

-

whoops? lol

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taglist

@thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @charli123456789

(run outta space on my taglist lol, lemme know if u wanna be added or removed)

[hon3y-y]

your choso has rewired my brain...literally cant stop thinking about popular reader who has a new bf every week x virgin nerd choso who despite his inexperience has every intention to leave you dumb on the end of his cock. He even lets you slap his books down and talk shit about him with your little girlfriends in public, but behind closed doors you're the one crying and begging him hdjsjs definition of 'send her back to her bf w my handprint on her ass' aaaaa and if its a love story, it turns out chosos had the fattest crush on her bc he knows shes actually a sweetie at heart but loves her toxic side too and gives her the best dick until she stops playing around like THE REVERSAL 😭 he would be so sweet in his own way and so loyal and a fucking dog to her lowkey but covers it up with mean words and pussy slaps 🥺

Nerd!choso has a special place in my pants heart😵‍💫

Cw; nastyy smut, filming, infidelity(👀), choso is a little pervy but that’s why we love him🫶, talks of bodily fluids, reader is a lil mean

Enjoy<3

After the first time you fucked, he was extremely a little mad about you dating someone the next day (especially since it was his first time and you knew that) but quickly forgot about it once he had his head between your legs later that night, your mouth babbling nonsense when he sucked a little too hard.

He would purposefully leave hickies on your chest and thighs, smiling cheekily as he watched your shakey legs try to dress yourself. “Don’t look at me that way," you mumbled, your usual attitude gone and replaced with shyness under his intense gaze. Yeah, he didn’t have to worry.

Choso let's you get away with everything. the laughing, the pushing, and the taunts about how “small” he probably is from your friends (to which he nearly smirks when you stiffen slightly). He goes along with all of it and even watches you tongue-fuck your stupid boyfriend, who’s likely one hard hit to the head away from permanent brain damage. But he can’t stay mad; you look so cute trying to be tough. Eyebrows furrowed and a little hiss in your tone, knowing that the moment everyone disappears, you’re nothing but a sobbing mess, begging for him to touch you.

You’re in his room later, bent into a mating press, gasping for air as his cock clumsily batters your g-spot. “Yes—fuck, cho! "Your skin feels so hot, and your mind is so numb. Choso is nearly just as loud, already cumming two times, but watching you made it impossible to pull out. A sticky mess of both your fluids caused gooey strings to form whenever he moved away, the erotic sight making him pull out and reach for his phone. “W-what are you—"

You tried to sit up when the light of a camera flashed in your eyes, making you gasp before he tilted it down, focusing on your pussy. “Look at how wet she is.” He reaches out to touch, making your hips jerk in sensitivity. He plays with your wetness, making your cheeks hot, showing off the substance to the camera before placing his finger on your hole to tap at the new cream that seeped out.

You went to pull your legs closed. "E-enough, Choso." You sent him a glare, making him laugh before leaning down to kiss your cunt. He pointed the camera up to catch your shocked face, and you glanced at it again. “Why are you filming this? I never said—"

You squeal as he nips your clit, immediately shutting up but sending him a harsh glare. He kisses your thigh at your compliance. “Do you really not want me to?” He stared up at you, putting little pecks on your bud, making your breath hitch. You shook your head, ‘no’, “fuck, I don’t care, just make me cum,” you whine, pushing his head down. You jolt up, your eyes widening, when you feel the stinging slap on your pussy.

You’re about to speak when he does it again and again, each hit harder than the previous one, a yelp of surprise escaping you as he forces the light in your eyes again, making you squint. “You’re such a slut, it’s almost pathetic." His harsh words make you pout, mumbling about how mean he is. “I’m mean? Tell the camera why you came here.” You bite your lip, looking away, causing him to grab your chin and force you to look. “I’m not asking.”

It feels humiliating: “He couldn’t make me cum.” Your voice is quiet, but you could practically feel the cocky smile on Choso's face. “Who’s he?” You want to die, shaking your head. He rolled his eyes, tapping on your cheek to signal you to talk. With a sigh, you repeat yourself, “My boyfriend couldn’t make me cum.” Choso mockingly coos behind the camera, his thumb going to rub your swollen bud. “And how many times have you cum since getting here?”

He pans the camera back and forth between your needy pussy and pretty face, your sweaty skin glistening under the intense lighting making his cock impossibly harder. You look so delicate, just helplessly taking the pleasure he gives you because your body needs him so bad. Tears gather in your waterline whenever he applies more pressure, eyes zeroing in on the slick that starts to drip down your ass.

You can’t answer, your jaw hanging open when he quickened his pace. Your chest is heaving as you chanted out ‘please!’ hips thrusting up to meet him until you quickly cum with a shutter, choso slowing but not stopping as you relax again. You look up to the camera with a tired smile, holding up your hands to signal four, your eyes could barely remain open, head flopping back into the pillow. your eyes are getting heavy, nearly having you succumb to sleep when you feel his tip align with your cunt. “Flip over, slut.”

He forces you to film yourself as he pounds into you from behind, crying when he leans down to tug at your sore nipples. He forces your back to arch more, pathetically taking his cock into your swollen pussy. If you drop the camera, he’ll wait until you pick it up again. Or, he’ll snatch it from your hand to catch you desperately rutting against him, begging him to let you cum and “fuck you right." He does just that, leaving you with a fried brain and a puddle of your own drool, tears, and juices from how intensely he made you squirt.

Honestly, he’s so horny and has so much stamina he’ll just keep going until he’s shooting blanks, making sure to point the camera at the cum that leaks out of your puffy cunt, spreading your lips so it can closely get your gaping hole. Of course, after he’s had his fun, he’ll gently take care of you. You’re practically sleeping already, barely being able to speak as he nods along to your near incoherent praise, “S'good t’me. Luv you so much."He smiles, a giddy feeling in his tummy, as he holds a water bottle to your lips, which you gulp down quickly, not realizing how dehydrated you really were. He tucks you in, cuddling as you grip onto him tightly.

It’s not long after that you stop seeing the guy you were with, or any for that matter (at least, according to your friends' knowledge). When they ask what happened, you just shrug, making up some excuse, trying not to stutter as the vibrations in your panties speed up. Choso watches closely, smiling happily as you try to discreetly roll your hips<3

A/n: I need him so bad it’s getting to me. Also, send request bc writers block is a btch. Mwah💋

[luxaofhesperides]

Final hour Ghostlights request! Soulmate AU where when your soul mate dies your soul mark expands. Duke was really heartbroken at first but now his soul mark makes it really difficult to keep his secret identity hidden because he is covered in a map of the cosmos. He has to use his shadow powers almost constantly to keep all the stars hidden! And and maybe they light up like actual stars when he uses his light powers.

He meets Danny at orientation or something at GU and they brush against each other and he just lights up like a supernova, all his stars literally blazing and he's just like "YOU!" Both excited and also OH MY GOD YOU ASSHOLE.

....I rambled a bit here I'm so sorry.

The thing about soulmates is that you don’t really know who they are until they die. And even then, most people never know who their soulmate was, only that they outlived them.

Duke became one of those people when he was thirteen. 

He didn’t even notice until he went to change and saw the watercolor swirl of nebula spill out from over his heart. 

One moment, he was tired and angry, ready to sneak out of his latest foster home to search for his parents and do all the things adults have failed to do. The next, he’s collapsed on his knees, shaking, unable to breathe as he tries to rip his soulmark off of his skin. He couldn’t think past the shock and horror of realizing that his soulmate is dead and Duke didn’t even know until that moment. 

They’ll never get to meet. 

Duke had never felt so alone before. 

He spent the next few days in shock, his mind a mess of static, unable to focus. He hid away in his room, buried under the covers, and his foster parents were understanding when he whispered my soulmate’s dead. They called him out of school and brought him food and water throughout the day, gentle encouraging him to eat something every few hours. 

But disaster waits for no one, and Batman was gone, so Duke pulled himself out of his misery and hit the streets again. 

So his soulmate’s dead. So his parents are gone. So Gotham’s falling apart.

No one’s doing anything about it, so it’s up to Duke to start fixing things. It’s not like he had much to lose.

Soulmates become a bit of a taboo topic to him, after that. He speaks of them to no one, avoids all conversation about them, refuses to stay when people talk about soulmarks. He tries not to look at his soulmark at all.

And then he takes a hit to the chest and patches himself up with shaking hands. For the first time in months he looks at his soulmark again and…

Did it… grow? 

Duke prods it gently, letting out a hiss when his bruised ribs protest at the movement. He remembers the mark being right over his heart. 

But looking at it now, it branches out, swirls of galaxy and constellations reaching out along his ribcage. 

Panicked, Duke grabs for his computer and looks up soulmark growth and webmd soulmark abnormalities.

Neither give him any answers, though WebMD helpfully suggests skin cancer. 

“I’m gonna ignore this,” Duke decides, and pulls on a shirt and goes to sleep. The less he thinks about his dead soulmate, the better. 

Time passes and Duke goes from being a Robin to being the Signal, a legitimate vigilante working with Batman. It’s nice to see Gotham start to settle, things falling into place. For once, nothing is awful; Duke’s found his parents and doctors are looking for a cure for long-term exposure to Joker Gas, Batman’s taking care of Gotham with a number of other Bats, Duke is getting used to his powers and slowly making a good name for himself out on the streets. 

He keeps his focus on protecting people and getting stronger, helping solve cases with the other Bats. No one mentions soulmates, so he keeps his ever expanding soulmark a secret. 

The only problem is that it keeps growing and Duke is concerned that it’ll move to a place he can’t easily hide under his clothes. 

And he does need to hide them. The more his soulmark has grown, the more obvious it is, especially when he uses his powers and the stars on his skin light up like the Fourth of July. He knows it’s abnormal, but it’s also his soulmark and he doesn’t want anyone, least of all Bruce, poking around trying to study it. 

The grief still lingers when he looks at it, but Duke has long since grown used to it. If anything, these days he’s quietly annoyed by how far the galaxies on his skin spread out, forcing him to take tank tops and shorts out of his wardrobe. 

There’s also the tentative hope that maybe his soulmate is immortal and keeps coming back to life after they die. And they must also have terrible luck, because they just keep on dying.

Case in point: his soulmark flares and spills out onto his shoulder and wraps around his bicep. It’s not the first time he’s seen it move, but it still startles him.

“Are you serious,” Duke mutters to himself, pulling at his sleeve to adjust it and hopefully hide his soulmark. The starts are bright against his skin, and while sometimes he likes to trace them with his finger, now is not one of those times.

As pretty as it is, his soulmark is also very obvious and will cause people to realize his identity if they ever catch a glimpse of it while he’s out as Signal. 

He sighs. There’s no choice but to live out the rest of his life in hoodies and sweatshirts. 

As if to spite him, his soulmark grows once more. 

Did his soulmate just die twice in the span of five minutes? That’s concerning. 

He wishes he could meet them just so he can shake some sense into them. Maybe tell them to stop dying since it’s stressing him out so much. Maybe stick by their side to make sure they never have to die again. He’s honestly not sure what he’d do if he ever meets his soulmate, but he has to do something. This has gotten out of hand.

At least seeing his soulmark grow doesn’t hurt as much as it did a few years ago. 

Lazily, he pulls at the light around him to hide the new portions of the soulmark on his arm from sight. It takes some focus, but he can hold it up long enough for him to grab a snack from the kitchen and retreat up to his room without being questioned by anyone. He could probably even keep this shirt on for the college orientation he needs to attend later in the day if the light works well enough to keep his secrets hidden. 

He’s expecting Alfred in the kitchen when he arrives, but is greeted by Dick clapping a hand on his shoulder, right where his soulmark has claimed space. Duke falters and works to keep the light from fracturing as he returns Dick’s grin. 

“Hey man,” he says, “What are you doing here? I thought you were out until Friday.”

“And miss a chance to hang out with you? No way. Besides, I wanted to give you a ride to your orientation.”

“You don’t have to,” Duke starts, only for Dick to cut him off.

“I’m going to,” he says, as if it’s a threat. “It’s been too long since we get to spend time together without a mask on. Are you really going to deprive me of this?”

Duke shakes off Dick’s hand from his shoulder, walking towards the pantry to find a small snack. “I guess not. It’s going to be pretty boring for you, though. I’m just going to listen to people talk about what college is like for a few hours.”

“We could always just walk around campus afterwards. I haven’t seen it since it was rebuilt after the last time Freeze attacked it.”

“Sure, that sounds fun. Thanks for offering to drive me.” Duke pulls out a box of Poptarts hidden behind stacks of pasta boxes and pulls out a pack for himself. He opens it and isn’t at all surprised when Dick steals one right out of his hands. 

“Meet me out front in an hour then.” 

And with that, Dick leaves, his stolen Poptart in hand, and Duke is left to shake his head and shove the Poptart box back into its hiding place. He heads off to eat his own snack, making sure no one is in the hallway as he lets go of his hold on the light. Already he can feel a migraine building with the immense focus he had to use to make sure nothing looked out of place.

At least Dick didn’t notice anything was off. If he can fool Dick, he can fool anyone.

Still, just to be safe, Duke changes into something with longer sleeves before he leaves and hops into the car with Dick. 

The drive goes quickly to the tunes of ABBA, both of them singing along as they head for the GCU campus. Parking is a bit tricky, but they manage to find a spot a street away and walk towards the student union, where tables are laid out for incoming freshmen to sign in and grab a folder filled with papers meant to help them. 

He waves to Dick and heads in once he gets his folder, and grabs a seat in the auditorium that’s close to a fire exit. 

It takes another twenty minutes for the presentations to start. The lights dim and Duke panics for a brief moment before drawing the shadows over himself lightly to hide the soft glow of the star etched onto his skin. 

They start with introductions, bringing in advisors, professors, and student ambassadors. Most of it is basic information that Duke already knows, so he zones out and plays with some shadows at his feet, where no one can see the way he twists shadows together like some dark magic form of finger knitting.

For the next hour, Duke halfheartedly listens to people talk about preparing for classes and keeping on top of schoolwork and learning how to ask for help. He’s saved enough college students that he knows the gist of things, and the orientation really doesn’t give him anything helpful. 

He probably could have skipped, but he wanted a normal college experience. 

He should have known that normal means boring as hell.

As soon as the presentation ends, an advisor encourages everyone to follow the schedule tucked into their folder to give them a half day modeled after a typical student’s schedule. Of course, all the classes are nonsense just to fill up their time, made to help freshmen coming into the college by covering topics such as how to write an email and an introduction to majors and minors.

Duke already declared himself as a Human Services major, his first step into becoming a social worker like his mom was. 

Also he totally knows how to write an email, what are these advisors on about? Do they really think people his age can’t write emails? 

Yeah, he’s ditching. The main presentation is really the only part that matters in the orientation. He’s not walking out on anything he needs.

Duke files out after the rest of the crowd, carefully letting the shadows slip off of him once he’s outside again. Instead of finding the first ‘class’ he’s supposed to go to in the Modern Languages building, he wanders off to find a quiet place he can sit down and wait until Dick finds him. 

Tucked away towards the back half of the campus is a small nook full of trees, bushes, and benches. Judging by the amount of cigarette butts left in the single trash can there, it’s a popular smoking spot. 

No one’s there, so the air is clean and free of smoke, so Duke heads in, hoping to sit down.

Someone else apparently has the same idea. He hops down from one of the concrete planters that’s keeping a bush contained and nearly falls on Duke.

They both shout in surprise, then Duke is moving without thinking, reaching out to steady the startled looking guy who accidentally jumped down in front of him. 

Duke only has time to take note of how blue his eyes are before his hands wrap around the guy’s wrist and Duke feels his soulmark flare with warmth.

In the shade of the trees, the glow of each star on his skin is obvious. It’s visible even through the fabric of his shirt. His soulmark, at this point in his life, stretches across his chest, his ribs, his back, and now his shoulders and upper arms. All the stars in that watercolor galaxy are shining brightly as if the night sky has been draped across his body.

Soulmarks only react like that for one reason.

“You!” Duke shouts at his soulmate, both elated to see that he’s alive and annoyed that he made Duke’s soulmark so large. “Stop dying! Do you have any idea how much stress you’ve caused me?!”

“Oh my god,” the guy says faintly, eyes fixed on Duke’s chest where his soulmark originally rested, shining brighter and bigger than any other star, as if he’s tucked a sun into his heart. “Oh my god,” he says again, with more feeling.

“I’m so happy you’re alive, but please stop dying. It’s bad for my health.”

“I think I need to sit down?”

He does look very pale and faint. Duke tightens his grip on his soulmate’s arms and guides him to a bench, gently sitting him down.

“You’re not about to die, right?” Duke asks. “I don’t think my heart could take it if meeting me killed you somehow.”

“No, no,” his soulmate manages to say, “I’m not going to die. Um. Wow. I didn’t know my soulmark would do that? Sorry.”

“Well, it’s not like you had any way of knowing. It’s all good, man. Just please stop dying.”

His soulmate winces. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be possible. Sorry. Again.”

What does that mean, though? What does it all mean?

“Can I maybe get an explanation as to why you have to die again.”

“Mmmmm no. We just met and it’s kinda personal so. No.”

“Dude.”

Duke’s soulmate shrugs helplessly. “It really is personal! I know your my soulmate and all, so I’ll probably tell you one day, but right now I don’t even know your name.”

Oh shit. He’s right. Introductions completely slipped his mind, too busy reeling over the fact that his soulmate is here and alive. Which, honestly, would be enough to throw anyone off balance.

“Shoot,” Duke says. “Sorry. You just really caught me off guard. Hi, I’m Duke, I promise I’m more put together than that.”

“Hi Duke, I’m Danny, and I’ve apparently been traumatizing you for the past few years by making you think I keep dying.”

“Well. At least we’re thrown head first into the crazy. Best way to know if we’re be a good match.”

“You sure you can handle this? You seemed pretty frazzled a second ago.”

Duke flusters and lightly whacks Danny’s shoulder. “That’s normal! Anyone would do the same when meeting their soulmate for the first time!”

“Fair enough,” Danny laughs. “This is a totally weird request and you can absolutely say no, but… can I see?” He presses a hand against one of the glowing stars beneath this collar bone, looking up at Duke with wide, hopeful blue eyes, and Duke finds it so cute that he’s willing to do anything Danny wants. 

“Here,” he says as an answer, pulling the collar of his shirt down a bit to reveal the nebula spilling onto his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Danny breathes, tracing a light finger against it. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m guessing you like space?”

“Love it. I wanted to be an astronaut, but uh…. It’s never going to happen. Health problems, you know?”

“Well, I know it’s not the same, but I hope the stars you put on my body will be a good enough replacement.”

Danny cheeks turn red and he turns away, flustered. “Don’t smooth talk me right now, I’m not ready for it,” he mutters, bringing up a hand to try to hide his expression. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Duke laughs, “I’ll try to keep the flirting down to a minimum. It’s just really great to finally meet you. And I’ve been wondering, what’s your soulmark look like?”

“Oh, well…” Danny fiddles with the long sleeve of his shirt. “I had a pretty bad accident years ago that kinda affected how my soulmark looks. So if it looks weird, that’s why, okay?” He takes a deep breath, then pushes up his sleeve, holding his wrist out to Duke. 

The first thing Duke notices is the soft yellow glow, Signal yellow to be precise, running down his arm as if sunlight fills his veins. Then he sees Danny’s soulmark, a sun with rays that wrap around his wrist. And running through his soulmark are Lichtenberg scars, glowing yellow as if stealing the color from his soulmark. 

“Guess we both got super obvious soulmarks, huh? At least we kinda match, that way.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Danny agrees. 

“Man, what a day.” 

Danny looks more relaxed with him now. It’s much better than the startled, tense version of him that first sat down on the bench. Duke hopes he chooses to stay with him; he doesn’t admit this often, willingly, or to other people, but he’s a romantic at heart and has always wanted to live a happy life with his soulmate. It’s still far off in the future, but he hopes Danny feels the same way.

“So, are you ditching the orientation classes to?” Danny asks.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m going. I mean, a class on how to send emails? They can’t be serious.”

“I know, right?! I saw that and thought I was being pranked. I mean, we’re going into college. We better know how to send an email by now.”

“Since we’re both free for now, wanna grab lunch with me? It can be our first date, if you want.”

“I’d love to! And you can show me around Gotham a bit. I’m coming here for college, but I haven’t really seen the city yet. It’d be nice to explore it with someone who knows where things are.”

“Are you free for the rest of the day? ‘Cause I wouldn’t mind showing you around, if you want.”

Danny smiles, radiant. “I am. I’m in your hands for the rest of the day.”

“Cool,” Duke says, trying not to think too much on that wording. It’s very suggestive, very flirtatious, and he’s looking forward to getting to know Danny more so he can start properly flirting. “Lemme just let my brother know to not wait up for me.”

He pulls out his phone and sends Dick a text that just reads: met my soulmate. going on a date now. i’ll see u back at the manor!

Then he puts his phone on silent and tucks it back into his pocket. He’ll tell Dick all about this later; for now, all his attention is on Danny. 

Soulmates get priority, even stressful ones that give him the largest soulmark he’s ever seen. 

And right now, he’s on a mission to find the best lunch spot to take his soulmate to for their first date. Everything else can come later; for now, he’s going to enjoy the time he gets to spend with Danny.

He hopes they’ve got a future together as bright as the stars in his soulmark. 

Despite it all, Duke is sure they’re going to be alright.

[frightwrite]

Just a little something as I work on posting consistently again ♡

Imagine an incubus lover that is slowly growing tired of his job. He loves sex, literally needs it to survive. But being asked time and time again to dominate someone in bed, pin them down into the mattress and drive his cock into them over and over became exhausting. He didn’t know what exactly he was missing each time he was summoned. That is, until he met you. 

You hadn’t summoned him and instantly wanted him to fuck you. It confused him at first, but you instead sat him down and asked if he would be alright with you switching the roles in the bedroom. You were tired of the many relationships you’ve had where the men expected you to be submissive. The relationships usually didn’t last long especially with the sexual incompatibility. 

As you spoke to the incubus, his tail began to swing in anticipation. Was this what he was missing? To be dominated and not the one doing most of the work? 

He got his answer pretty quick when you had his hands restrained above his head on your bed. His aching cock leaking precum which dripped onto your silk sheets. He squirmed in his restraints as you tutted softly at the sight of him, your index finger idly tapping the swollen head. He whined pitifully, amber eyes welling up with tears at your teasing. You had been at this for a while, leaving him tied up and only toying with him every now and then leaving him desperate for your touch. 

You formed a circle with your hand, slowly moving it up and down his length. His words came out in choked sobs as he bucked his hips up into your hand. You instantly pulled away, smiling at him innocently. 

“You gotta use your words, baby, I can’t help you if you don’t use your words.” You cooed, your tongue licking the bits of precum off of your hand. 

Just the sight of that had him briefly fight against his restraints, pulling at the ropes in hopes of breaking free. He only stopped when you glared at him, beginning to move away before he called for you to come back in a panic. 

“No, please! I’ll be good, I promise, I promise!” He pleaded. You paused, patiently waiting for him to go on. The incubus bit his lip briefly, trying to uselessly buck his hips at nothing again, his leaking red cock bouncing against his abdomen. “I wanna cum…please… I can’t, I can’t-”

You were quick to silence him with a kiss, straddling his lap as you grind down against his sensitive cock. The kiss was messy, your teeth and tongues clashing together. His length rubbed against your clit, coating him in your slick as you moaned into his mouth. You could hear his pointed tail thumping in excitement against the bed, the bedframe straining as his wrist pulled on the restraints again. You pulled back from the heated kiss, a string of saliva connecting the both of you as one of your hands held his wrists still. Lifting your hips, your free hand reached down to guide his cock into your weeping cunt. You rubbed the head against your slit, the incubus shivering from the sensitivity before you slowly let his cock finally enter you. 

He was a mess. Whimpering and moaning your name, tears pricking the corner of his eyes as he stared up at you like you were a goddess. You didn’t hesitate to begin moving, slowly rising up before slamming back down into him. You picked up the pace, rutting into him as his throbbing cock hit your walls in all the right places. He was fixated on you bouncing on his cock. The way your face contorted in pleasure as you chased your high, your lovely curves and breasts that shook every time your cunt swallowed him whole. 

His hips began to thrust up to meet you halfway as your head reached down to rub at your swollen slit. Your movements were getting sloppy and so were his as he thrust up into you a few times before your walls clenched around him. You shook slightly as you came around him. He followed soon after, your cunt milking his cock as he continued to fuck his cum into you. 

Eventually he stilled, his cock softening inside you as you remained on his lap, your sweaty head resting against his chest. The incubus snapped the restraints easily, petting the top of your head in a loving matter. 

[More Monsters]

[whimsyprinx]

anyways I’m tired of friends making me feeling like me and my emotion are a joke, only speaking to me if I speak first and/or ignoring me when I DO speak to them, I’m like tired of it

[marauroon]

A Remus fic where the reader and him just can't stand each-other but she is literally the only person who calms him when the full moon is near?? (Or just straight up can calm 'Moony')

Like, they both hate being around each other but the reader doesn't fight his proximity around that time?? She lowkey knows

Like; "can you stop that?"

"Breathing?"

"Whatever it is, yes."

But around the full moon they are suddenly soft on eachother

B E S T F R E N E M I E S — REMUS LUPIN!

remus lupin x gn!reader | fluff | 0.9k | masterlist!!

You hate each other. You despise each other. But there’s three or so days every month when you’re a little less antagonistic.

a/n — i love this type of relationship, thanks for the request ml <3

You don’t need a phase calendar to know when the full moon is coming up.

You don’t need a lunar tracker, or a magical device.

Heck, you don’t even have to look at the moon.

No, none of that matters. You know when the full moon is coming up, because all of a sudden, almost inexplicably, Remus Lupin decides that he wants to spend time in your presence instead of ripping your throat out.

You can’t say you’re exactly sure when it started, when you mutually agreed to cease your incessant bickering just for those few days over the full moon before returning to your previous hatred.

Just as you couldn’t quite remember how you figured out his little ‘problem’ in the first place.

But here you were nonetheless, sat in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, with you on one end of the sofa and him on the other.

There was no glances, no conversation, but his foot was extended far enough across the cushions to brush against your knee as the two of you sat in parallel, books in your hands and silence in the air.

“Will you stop doing that?”

Remus looks over the rim of his book with furrowed eyebrows. “Doing what?”

“I can hear you breathing, it’s annoying,” You turn the page of your own book with an exaggerated sigh.

“Guess I’ll just suffocate to death then,”

You give Remus a short hum, and he scoffs.

“And stop moving your leg,” You elbow his calf passively, not hard enough to actually prompt him to move, but enough to act as a reprimand.

“I’ve got pins and needles.”

Don’t sit like that then,” You spare him a glance, he’s already looking at you.

You know he won’t move, he never does.

“I’m fine,”

And you’re always right. Especially this close the full moon.

“No you’re not,”

“No, this is uncomfortable as fuck,” Remus agrees with you pretty easily, tugging the decorative pillow from behind his back with a groan. “Why is this sofa so shit?”

“It’s not the sofa, it’s your joints,” You roll your eyes, turning the page of your book. “You’re built like an old man,”

“Oh, wow, thank you.” His expression matches his tone, deadpan and flat, and very clearly unamused.

“You’re welcome,” Your reply is just as enthusiastic.

“I’m too hot,” Remus complains. You’re sure he’s just doing it for the sake of it.

“Move away from the fireplace then,”

“You’re in the way,”

“Oh for Godric’s—” You exhale exasperatedly, shutting your book harshly on your lap and standing up, making a show of gesturing to your, now vacant, spot on the sofa. “Go on then,”

Remus groans exaggeratedly as he stands, his eyes narrowed in an exaggeration of his frustration with your attitude, and he collapses into your spot like a grandpa into an arm chair.

“Happy now?”

He opens his book with one hand. “Chuffed,”

“Wonderful.”

You grit your teeth with a sigh as you watch him sink into the corner cushions, biting any more unsavoury comments on your tongue as you move to sit on the side by the fireplace.

Although there’s really no point, because he stops you before you can even get two steps away.

“Sit down, don’t let me get in your way,”

“That’s what I’m doing?” You gesture almost sarcastically towards the slowly disappearing indentation on the sofa cushion where he’d previously been sat.

“Don’t sit by there. Like I said, it’s too hot,”

He reaches out his arm without looking away from his book, blindly grazing your side until it lands on your wrist, then he’s tugging you back towards him until you’re basically stumbling into his lap.

“Oh, and this isn’t going to be too hot?” You grumble as you land against his thighs. Even those are bony, and not very comfortable either.

“Just be quiet.” Remus shifts underneath you, pulling your legs over his lap until you’re sat perpendicularly to each other, although occupying the same space.

There’s a few moments of the two of you making small adjustments to the way you’re sitting, how you’re positioned and how to work around having enough space for the both of you to read at the same time.

Then the silence returns, and it’s nothing but the crackling of the fireplace and the occasional turning of a page as the two of you sit quietly in the begrudged agreement of each other’s presence without argument.

“You’re a shit cushion,”

Well, almost anyway.

“Shut the fuck up and sit still,”

[sayoneee]

☆ I WANNA BE YOUR MAN

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” (1.7k)

contains: loser older brother luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. pt 2 of parent trap but can be read standalone ish. guest appearances! rock / metal music references.

kashaf’s note: i think i can call myself a melomaniac now

LUKE CASTELLAN HAS always occupied that in-between space, the no-man’s-land between something and nothing — his indecipherable gaze as his cold, black, and blued knuckles grazed your cheek when he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear swims around your mind endlessly. despite how each thought, each expression, each breath is as familiar to you as your own, you have never quite known where you stand with him, regardless of how quickly he seemed to inhabit a piece of your soul.

the familiar weight of the mixtape that luke made you feels unusually burdensome in your hands, mirroring the heft of the songs on it that you have painstakingly committed to memory, each sleepless night’s offerings of tossing and turning becoming a reoccurring ritual. 

you had popped the tape in your walkman immediately after luke had handed it to you, incognizant of the way his eyes softened as you concentrated on the music, trying to identify the first song. 

“this is that band you like — l.a. guns, right?”

“you’re a regular sherlock,” luke had said, smiling and sarcastic, twisting his silver rings.

“shut up, no i know this song,” you say, tilting your head and snapping your fingers. “its — um — i wanna be yours? nono, don’t make that face at me, asshole, hold on… i wanna be your man?”

hues of pink crept up his cheeks, and you basked in the warmth of his answering crooked grin, the feeling wrapping around you like the caress of a summer night. 

you uselessly stirred the spoon in your now stone-cold cup of chai, leaning across the kitchen table with your head propped up in your other hand. the phone taunts you from its corner on the counter, sitting just by the clear jar of blue cookies, its black hue a beacon among the sea of greens (the cabinets, the tiles — you liked to tell sally that she should try her hand at interior design one of these days) — as of late, the jacksons’ kitchen has become somewhat of a refuge for you. 

you set a steaming china cup down in front of him, listening to the sounds of percy, annabeth, and grover in the living room, pulling out the chair in front of him with a slight creak on the slightly worn wooden floors, and watching him as he taps his fingers along to bob marley’s soft crooning, “little darlin’, stir it up”, lost in his own world.  

“luke,” you say, breaking him out of his revelry.

luke sits up straight, meeting your amused gaze, “yeah?” he asks, reaching for his chai, and mumbling a quiet thanks as he sips it.

“you look kinda stupid when you think,” you say, watching him blink before taking the bait, and hiding your smile of satisfaction behind your cup.

“y’know, this is why you have a black hole for a heart,” he says, grinning crookedly, filling you with an indescribable longing to reach out and trace his grin. 

“what?” you laugh, “what does that even mean?”

“just that you’re mean,” luke says, and the afternoon sun chooses that specific moment to encompass him in its glow, like a kiss from apollo. “and that you’re emo.”

“you literally say this every time, oh my god, i’m not mean or emo.”

“because i’m literally right?”

“you like him,” annabeth says, sympathetically, standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, her braids resting across her shoulders, glancing from your untouched cup to your face, an expression of pity gracing her features. her presence caught you so off guard that you don’t even question where percy ran off to, who was usually attached to annabeth like a conjoined twin. 

“i know,” you say, shivering slightly, the revelation feeling strangely empty, although you suppose the same part of your soul that recognized him had always known, a small inkling reappearing with every argument, and every nudge. 

“he likes you,” annabeth adds matter-of-factly, interrupting your stream of consciousness. 

“i know,” you repeat, picking at the lint on your sweater, and while this revelation is supposed to be shocking, it is also hollow, as you suppose your soul also knew this with every hushed conversation in the dead of night, and the slips of silence that only spoke volumes around him.

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” she turned and stalked back toward the living room.

you sat still for a minute or so, before sighing and putting luke’s mixtape (even in your misery, he is somehow always there) in your walkman, putting your headphones on as axl rose trilled, ‘i said, baby you been lookin' real good’ in his voice that took a while to get used to — something luke gave you a heads up on.

you sighed, conceding to annabeth’s attempts to rewrite whatever fate had pushed the two of you apart, from the hours-long phone calls that dwindled into short, clipped conversations, you can’t necessarily blame annabeth for trying to fashion a phoenix from the ashes of your friendship. 

you stood up, grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair you were sitting upon, and walked into the living room, pausing for a few minutes to watch the scooby doo episode on the screen along with percy, grover, and annabeth, who were currently sprawled across the softly carpeted floor, arguing over monopoly.

“you’re literally cheating,” percy was saying.

“i’m the banker, i’m supposed to be innocent,” annabeth argued back.

“percy, i saw you steal a couple dollars behind annabeth’s back,” grover added, rolling the dice.

“guys,” you said, interrupting their three-way argument, “put on your jackets and shoes, we’re going to the fair in five minutes.”

you ignored the way the troublesome trio exchanged glances, walking through the hallway covered in framed photos of percy and sally, going to wait by the door for them.

“so,” percy says, all-too-innocently, “why the sudden change of plans?” once the four of you are a couple of blocks away from his apartment.

“no reason, just wanted to see what was so hot about the fair,” you say, digging your hands in the pockets of your jacket. once more, you ignore the glances the trio exchange. 

“so it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain curly-haired individual that we’re currently seeing less and less of?”

you keep walking, trying to feign ignorance, although the question was so pointed even you were concerned with percy’s audacity, “what’re you talking about?”

“oh, nothing,” percy smiles. “just the way —”

“— the two of you —”

“— were inseparable —”

“— for a disgustingly long time —”

“— and now you’re not —”

“— but we’re going to the fair because —”

“— his band is playing —”

“— and you’re going to try and fix —”

“— your troubles in paradise.”

you blinked slowly, as the three of them did jazz hands, matching shit-eating grins on all of their faces, “how long did it take for you guys to rehearse that?”

“a week, give or take,” grover says, and annabeth shoots him a glare.

“not the point, the point is, we support you.”

“gee, thanks, all i really needed was the support of three twelve-year-olds.”

“three twelve-year-olds that know you’re stupidly in love with luke castellan,” percy points out.

“okay, y’know what…” you trail off, frowning.

annabeth nudged percy, “not the point here, again.”

“fine, fine, fine,” you huff, as the four of you approach the brightly illuminated fair, looking for the ticket-selling booth, “i’ll buy you guys tickets so you can go hang out on the rides and i’ll go to the concert.”

the three of them nodded happily, making a beeline for the cotton candy stand a few feet away. you shook your head before pushing through the bustling crowd to look for the concert stage. when you finally do find it, after three excuse me’s and four sorry’s, the concert is already in full swing, with what looks like a mini moshpit already forming somewhere near the center.

once you’ve pushed your way to the absolute front, the darkening night sky serving as a backdrop, the harsh lights illuminate all five individuals on the stage, with a gorgeous girl with shaggily-cut hair and a raspy voice singing as lead (thalia? you think you remember luke telling you on the phone late at night once). however, your gaze almost immediately fixed on luke, who was playing a riff on his electric guitar, looking as hot as ever, his crooked grin on full display.

the band is covering l.a. guns’ ‘i wanna be your man’ at the moment, and you’re suddenly very grateful to annabeth for her unsubtle nudges, because you would’ve missed out on this sight of luke castellan, the view of his muscled arms bulging out of his band tee is permanently seared into your memory.

you’re almost sad when the show is over though, finally realizing why luke liked concerts so much, from the crowd surfing to the drumstick tricks during solos (beckendorf, you think the drummer’s name was — luke had mentioned him before) to the lead’s insane vocals, to the girl with long curly hair that stood next to you for most of the concert (probably the band’s most enthusiastic fan), you savored every minute of it. however, you’re glad for the chance to corner luke afterwards, climbing onto the stage as the crowd begins to disperse in waves, and realizing the curly-haired girl was already among the band members packing up their instruments, helping the curly-haired bassist pack his things. 

luke barely looks up at your sudden arrival. “what’re you doing here?” he asks, packing away his guitar.

“i’m here to see you,” you say, trying to drive the hint home.

“i told you that you didn’t have to come see the band if you were busy,” luke says, uncomprehendingly, making eye-contact with you. 

“i like you,” you say insistently.

“c’mon, let’s not kid ourselves right now, you said we’re friends so you don’t have to try to make me feel better,” luke says, shrugging and looking away from your face, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i listen to your dumb mixtape every night, luke castellan. does a person who’s not into you do that?”

there is something so raw about the way he looks right now, with his expression stilling as his cheeks are colored in swathes of red. 

smiling at his dumbstruck expression, you surged forward to kiss him, ignoring all the wolf whistles and “get some, castellan” enveloping the two of you, tangling your fingers into his hair, his hands coming to rest upon your hips.

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[azsazz]

Hide (Part 3)

Eris x Rhysands!Sister Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Literally in love with every fic you write. I know your requests are closed but in the future, could you write something where Eris and the reader see each other and there’s a lot of tension and they’re secretly mates but no one knows? I’m curious to see how you’d end it!

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 2,447

Notes: A lil longer this time...enjoy 💙

[Part One] [Part 2]

_________________________________________

You don’t get the chance to call after Rhysand before he vanishes in a puff of darkness.

Your chest aches and tears prick your eyes. You’ve never fought with your brother like this before, not even when you argued over him coddling you long after you healed from the incident and wanted to have time alone without a guard Illyrian watching your every move.

This somehow hurts more than any of the injuries you sustained that dreadful night.

Eris stands from his chair and pulls you into his body, desperate for your touch as much as you are for his. He doesn’t care that Cassian and Azriel are watching his every move, how Azriel gets a hand on the hilt of his dagger as soon as he stands. He wouldn’t hurt you, couldn’t hurt you, but that burning in his chest that you let drift down the bond, he knows how much he has.

You swallow roughly, leaning into his chest. Eris strokes your hair softly, pressing his nose to your hair to take a deep inhale of your scent, one he hasn’t smelled for months this time, but it nearly brings him to his knees all the same. 

Eris is incredibly happy to have you in his court but his happiness is stifled by both the fact that you and Rhysand are no longer on good terms, and that he’s bringing you to meet his family for the first time, and that alone is like walking into a den of wolves.

With you in his hold once again, none of that matters. Nothing matters besides you and your happiness, and he will try his damnedest to make that beautiful smile appear again. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and think of terrible, awful things so his cock doesn’t press into your stomach the way that it wants to.

Just being in his arms again helps calm you. Eris’ body is so warm and suddenly you feel so drained from the events that have happened here. All you want to do is burrow yourself against him and fade away for a few hours, but none of that is going to happen any time soon because your brother's words ring in your head.

Get out of my court. 

Had he been serious when he said such a dreadful thing? His words are law in the Night Court but surely he couldn’t have meant that you needed to leave. Not while you’re fighting. Not like this.

You rest your chin on Eris’ chest when he draws up only slightly at the snort of disgust Cassian makes behind him. He doesn’t care that his back is turned to the two most powerful warriors in the Night Court, not when he has you in his arms.

Staring up at your mate, you blink slowly, looking deep into those russet eyes. They’re soft with worry, his fingers a gentle massage as he runs them down your back, needing to touch every inch of you possible. Eris restrains from kissing you, from claiming you in front of them, because you’re hurting more than you’re letting him feel, but he knows you better than that, even without the bonds help. The redness brimming your eyes, the tightness of your mouth, the way your fingers dig into his skin so harshly, like clinging to him is the only way you won’t break. 

The kiss Eris places on your forehead is so gentle that a tear breaks free, rolling down your cheek. He wipes at it before he reaches down and twines your fingers together, letting you lean into his side as the both of you face your guards.

Your treachery is written clear as day across Cassian’s face. His thick eyebrows drawn taut, those hazel eyes flickering between you and your mate with contempt. The corners of his mouth are downturned in a disapproving frown, and you’ve never quite seen him like this before. 

His hatred is palpable. You want so desperately to reach out to him, to explain all of this mess, but he will refuse to listen, no matter how much he loves you.

Azriel’s face is carefully blank. You’ve never mastered being able to read through it and it makes your heart clench in your chest.

“How could you?” Cassian blurts, as if any of this was your choice. You don’t choose when the mating bond makes itself known, and you certainly don’t choose who your mate is. 

You’d been just as surprised as they were when the bond snapped into place in the middle of a meeting with the High Lord’s, sat right by your brother’s side. One look from the heir apparent of autumn has sent your bond striking, writhing in your chest at the sight of him. As soon as those russet eyes found yours, your breath caught in your chest, the bond snapping like a lance.

You’d gone pale and your brother had thought nothing of it, slipping into your mind to ask if you were okay while he kept his attention on the conversation at hand. 

Ripping your gaze from Eris’, you had told him you suddenly felt ill, the first lie you’ve ever told your brother. It felt like shit in your mouth but the twisting of your lips had been misread as the sudden sickness you felt in your stomach. 

Rhysand asked Azriel to escort you to your rooms in the Summer Courts castle, and even the shadow singer hadn’t deigned to read into the sudden rush of emotions running through your veins, the shared emotions of your mate.

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning heavily on Azriel when you felt the desperate tugging in your chest as if Eris was begging you to stay, not to walk away from him despite the centuries long clashing of your courts. 

“Do not speak to my mate like that,” Eris hisses, slithering from his seat to stand firmly in front of you, keeping you safe from the two males you’d grown up with, that had taken care of you, suddenly looking at you like you’re the enemy. “She has done nothing wrong.”

“She has done everything wrong!” Cassian’s shout bites. You flinch a little, tucking in closer to Eris’ side. His russet gaze sharpens, lighting with anger. You tighten your arms around him so that he doesn’t do anything irrational like light Cassian up right where he’s standing. Cassian’s siphons glow menacingly as he swings his gaze to you, the hurt he’s experiencing clear on display. “You should have come to us! We would’ve—” He seems at a loss, the words choking up in his throat. “We would’ve been able to help!”

“Help what, Cassian?” You answer, voice cracking as your emotions heighten again. “There was nothing any of you could do, nothing to fix!” You’re exasperated, shoving a few strands of hair back from your face. “I am in love with Eris Vanserra and there is nothing that anyone can do about it!”

The silence that follows your words is scorching. 

Cassian opens his mouth and shuts it immediately. He’s looking down at you like he doesn’t even know you, like he hasn’t known you since you were no more than thirteen and had been harboring the biggest crush on him. You’d seen him as someone who you could always turn to, someone who could ease the pain of many. The male who could so easily lead an army with a little wit and a lot of confidence, sweet and cheeky and rational.

Cassian is one of the strongest males that you know, but right now, in Rhysand’s absence but in front of the Mother and yourself, your mate and Azriel, he’s acting like nothing more than a fussing babe.

When Cassian seems to find his words, they are not nice. “If you truly believe that there was nothing we could have done, I don’t know you.” He shakes his head, sheathing the knife at his thigh.

You’re done listening to his vitriol. Your voice is heated, as if the fires that burn beneath your lover's skin fuels your words. “If you truly believe that I don’t love my mate, I don’t know you either.” 

Cassian pins you with one more glare, chuckling softly as he turns to leave the room. “You have one hour to leave this court. Night’s armies no longer march with Autumn’s.” 

Your breath leaves you in a harsh gasp but he’s already out the door. This…this is the worst case scenario. You’d been worried about the impending war against the King of Hybern and the Queen of the Black Lands. It has taken an immense number of correspondence with the other courts to plan your defense, and now it’s all for naught. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice cracks as the weight of the night rests heavily on your shoulders. You peer up at your mate, the urge to burst into tears an appealing one, especially when you hear your mate’s stern words.

“There is nothing for you to be sorry for, fawn. Nothing,” he glances over to the last standing Illyrian in your way of leaving. Eris swoops down, unable to keep himself from you, pressing a soft but reassuring kiss to your lips. “We will speak about this later. You should gather your things.”

You look at Azriel for permission to do just that. His hazel eyes flicker between you and Eris before he nods slightly, leading you from the room.

His shadows trail you from behind, crawling across the walls like spiders. Him walking in front of you is a sign of trust that makes your shoulders droop a little. At least one of the three brutish Illyrians you consider your brothers sees reason. 

“I surely hope that you know what you’re doing,” Azriel murmurs, turning down the corridor leading to one of the staircases leading upstairs. It’s not the grand one in the center of the house for everyone to see, and you’re thankful that his spymaster tendencies will keep you from being the entertainment of the night. 

You can’t help but to think about your brother.

You clear your throat a little before answering Azriel. “If you cannot accept my mate, then you cannot accept me, either. Rhysand has made that abundantly clear.” You squeeze Eris’ hand, following Azriel down the halls that you know so well. There is no need for an escort, and each step closer to your room tightens your throat.

You adore how Eris is following your lead, how he’s letting you speak for yourself and not for you, no matter how much you know he wants to burn this manor to the ground. 

“He is outside of his mind right now,” Azriel answers, his steps silent even though his boots are thick-soled. He moves like a whisper of night, always an eerie aura to the cobalt siphon clad male. He glances over his shoulder with a look that tells you you should know this, that you should know your brother better than anyone. “He will come around.”

You hope.

You don’t speak again on the way to your room. No one does. Eris is following along, eyeing everything because he has never been this deep into the House of Wind. It’s intriguing to him, or you think your mate might be cataloging everything he’s seeing for ammunition later. You’re much too tired to question it right now. 

Following his lead, you drink in everything that you can; the scones and art littering the walls, the intricately patterned runner on the end of your bed, a gift from your mother.

It doesn’t take long for you to grab your things. Dresses and clothes you can purchase when you arrive in Autumn. You will need to fit in. You carefully fold the runner, aware of both males eyes on you as you do so; one pair loving, the other calculating. 

You pack a few more personal items, the ones that mean something to you: a necklace gifted to you from Rhysand on the coldest solstice you’ve ever experienced, a sweater, one of the only gifts you’ve actually received from your father. Your favorite knife is already strapped to your thigh beneath your dress—a gift from Azriel, and with a slight frown, you shove the book Cassian had picked out for you into your bag, clipping it shut.

“Are you sure that’s all you want to bring, my mate?” Eris asks tenderly. You nod firmly. Looking around your room one last time, you wonder if you will ever see it again. Azriel seems so sure that Rhysand will come around, but you’re not so sure. You may be fighting on the same sides of the war, but you are no longer allies.

“Yes. I’m ready.” You say it with a fake finality that you don’t mean. You peek at Azriel one last time and catch the remorse in that dark gaze of his. 

He doesn’t like this anymore than you do. 

Eris takes your bag and then your hand, winnowing you to your new home.

When you appear in the Autumn Court, his rooms greet you. The lights are buttery and soft, an immediate comfort that reminds you so much of the caring male mated to you. The walls are painted a deep olive with the most luxurious curtains draped all the way to the floors, which are a warm wood. 

A fire roars loudly in the hearth, its flame burning brighter with your sudden appearance, like the flames are trying to crawl from the firebox to hold you in their warm embrace.

Eris frames your face with his hands, sweeping his thumbs beneath your cheeks, drinking you in intently. He’s nervous, you realize, because you’ve never been to autumn, never seen his rooms nor met his family. You bond thrums in your chest as you send all of the love and thanks you’re feeling through to him. His shoulders drop immediately, the tension leaking from them because no matter who gets in your way, from your family or his, you will always have each other. 

The kiss is searing. You step further into your mate, reveling in the feeling of being alone with him again. Nothing else matters outside of this. Outside of his smokey scent, outside of the hands on your body, creeping up your back to split the collar of your dress, outside of his lips on yours—

Eris breaks the kiss almost abruptly, his lips the same red dusting as his cheeks. You can’t help but to lick your lips, your core melting when his eyes track the motion. 

“Welcome to the Autumn Court, fawn. Let me show you my bed.”

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Hide taglist: @littlesw01f @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen @naturakaashi @lexluvswriting @chybay22 @acotar-thirst @teenagellamaangel @minaethrym @tothestarsandwhateverend @coolepowersthings @meritxellao @callsigns-haze @mrs-azriel @eminvelaris @kennedy-brooke @melsunshine @starsinyoureyes @sleepylunarwolf @actuallykate777 @lilah-asteria @acourtofbatboydreams @misskennygirl

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco - Epilogue

Dead Disco masterlist Ghost/Soap/female reader The end.

You’re having trouble breathing.

It doesn’t help that you’re hiding in the back, peeking around the corner every so often, trying to interpret everyone’s faces. 

It’s terrifying. You’re terrified. 

“Hello?” Lea calls from the other side of the hallway, hands turned upwards like she’s confused. “What are you doing?” 

“Shhh!” You hiss, grabbing her by the wrist. “I’m hiding.” 

“Okay… why are we hiding?” 

“I can’t go out there.” The denial is steadfast, and she shakes her head. 

“You have to. You’re the artist.”

“I know. And that’s why I can’t go. They’re all… looking at me. Judging me.” 

“They’re appreciating you, love. They’re appreciating your work.” You shiver. It’s not just your work out there. It’s a collection of your pieces, moments and feelings worked out on canvas, agony and elation painted together into something called art. 

“I can’t go out there.” You double down, and she rubs your shoulder sympathetically. 

“You have to.” 

It’s not so bad. You finally appear from the back, and the gallery host introduces you as the artist. Everyone claps. 

As you make your rounds, you start to notice small stickers on the plaques, signifying the sale of a piece, and it warms you, happiness spreading from fingers to toes, fills you with pride.

People stop to talk to you, shake your hand, ask you about certain pieces. You find answering their questions is not as painful as you imagined, and their compliments make you feel lighter. You circle the room, finally coming to a stop in front of the biggest piece in the entire gallery. 

At first glance, you think it’s hard to discern what’s really going on, but the longer you stare at it, the more the puzzle comes together. Or at least, you think so. You’ve been staring at it for four years. 

It’s an expressionist piece, as all your paintings are, but this one is a touch abstract, stroked together in a way that seems almost unintentional. 

It’s a painting of conflicting colors, some dark and moody, others bright. A push, and a pull.  Three bodies lay on a bed, diaphragms torn open and bleeding. They're all reaching into each other's chests, blood coating their arms, curled up so tightly together it’s hard to discern where one ends and the other begins in some strokes. 

There’s no emotion scrawled into their features, nothing to interpret. You did it intentionally, hoping to direct the focus to the piece as a whole. That’s the only way it works. The only way it makes sense. 

“I like this one. It's intriguing. Feels sad, almost.” Someone says behind you, and you turn to see a tall man staring at it with a thoughtful gaze. Studying. “Will you tell me about it?” 

Emotion clogs your throat. Your fingers trace over the plaque bearing its name. 

Darling.

“It’s a love story.” 

The bar stool is one of the spinning ones. 

You keep turning around in it, in circles, laughing as Lea rolls her eyes. “Babe, you’re going to fall.” You tsk. 

“You’re literally no fun.” 

“We’re here celebrating you. I don’t want to be doing that in a hospital when you break a bone falling off that stool.” She tips her head towards the bartender. “Can we get another round please?” 

“Sure thing.” You like this place. It’s got great natural light in the day, big, tall windows and sage green walls, gold accents littered throughout. It feels homey, and sweet. 

“I think that went really well. How do you feel about it?” 

How do you feel. 

“I think so too. Once I got over the nerves I… I thought it was good.” 

“You sold a lot of paintings.” 

“I know.” You laugh. That’s the surprise of the night, if you’re being honest. The number of pieces you sold, to other galleries, to a museum. 

A wild dream turned reality. 

“You’re going to be a big-time fancy painter now, watch.” 

“I’m sure that’s either a long way off, or not going to happen. Either way, I’m really happy. I’m really proud of myself.” The two of you sip your new drinks, and you twist again on the stool. 

“Someone tried to buy Darling.” Lea says gently, eyes soft. 

“I know.” 

“You’re sure you didn’t want to sell it?” You shake your head. It might be your best, biggest piece, but it will never know a home other than yours. You started painting it four years ago, the first night you left her behind, and she’ll never belong to anyone, except you. She’s safe with you, protected by you, loved by you, like she always should have been. 

Like she was, so reverently, by them. 

You didn’t even want to display it tonight, if you’re being honest.  But Lea convinced you, and you found it in yourself to be brave. 

She lets you sit in your silence for a while, which you appreciate. She’s a true friend, one that doesn’t pressure you to do things or say things for the sake of them. 

Usually.

“Well,” she clinks her glass against yours with a mischievous smile and then says much too loudly, loud enough faces and bodies turn towards yours in the bar, “here’s to my favorite painter and her first gallery showing.” Some people clap. Some people cheer. You glare at her. “What? Opposed to free drinks?” You spin on the stool again, smiling, and then catch a flash of someone walking towards a door, muscled shoulders- 

And a mohawk. 

Your heart trips over itself. 

“I’ll be right back.” You tell Lea, who gives you a confused look, but you’re already moving through the room, unsteady on your heels. 

You burst through the door into the cool air, autumn nipping at your exposed skin, and look up and down the street. Your pulse ricochets in your ears. 

They’re a block away. The night is dark, and the streetlights are yellow, but you’d know them anywhere. 

“Hey!” You yell. “Wait!” They turn, and you teeter towards them as fast as you can manage, startling to a stop a few feet before them. 

Your heart hammers inside your chest. Standing here, staring at them, taking them in, soaking in it. They look good. Happy. Healthy. Johnny’s skin is glowing, Simon somehow seems bulkier than he did four years ago, but the weight suits him. 

“Hi.” You breathe. 

“Hi.” Johnny’s eyes sparkle, Simon’s lips turning up in a barely-there smile. 

Words fail you. For the first time in a while, you don’t know what to say. Hundreds of thousands of things try to get free, but none of them make it, though your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. 

“We saw yer name on the sign outside the gallery down the street earlier. Congratulations.” 

“Thank you. It was… really neat.” Lame.

“It’s a big accomplishment. You must be very proud.” Johnny’s gaze never leave yours, and you nod. 

“I am.” The three of you stand there, staring at one another. 

“Well, we should get going.” Simon breaks first. 

“Right. Of course. Uh, it was… it was good to see you.” 

“Ye too.” You let them get half a block away, not even. 

You know what you want to say. Delayed, held on your tongue too long in a wash of uncertainty, but it arises clear as day.  

“Wait!” They turn, you take a deep breath. “Would you… would you maybe want to have dinner, or something, sometime? Catch up?” 

“We’d love to.” It feels different now, but the good pieces, albeit changed, shifted, are still there. 

“Great, it’s a… plan. To have dinner. Or something.” Johnny smiles, and Simon nods. 

“It’s a plan. You’ll text us?” 

“Yeah, I will.” 

“See ye soon, then.” 

“Okay. See you soon.” 

[hateblackies]

it’s so canon that gojo would accidentally injure u while training because he either gets too carried away or is just too strong to realize 😭

“oh, come on. don’t look at me like that, it was just some friendly banter,” gojo spoke out from where he sat. his legs were crossed over each other, his back leaned forward against the wooden chair, a bit too small for his size.

‘friendly banter?’ you thought to yourself, eyeing him through your bandaged face. you rolled your eyes. “easy for you to say,”

he rested his elbow on the armrest, resting his chin upon his palm. his expression turned to a mocking pout, “awh, i almost feel bad for you,”

you were in no condition to try and size him up. he would throw you down again. again and again, until you threw in the towel. it didn't give him any sense of power whatsoever, he knew damn well he was the strongest and didn’t need any reassurance about that fact. he thought it was for your own good that you acknowledged your weakness.

“if only you knew more than basic combat moves. all you do is rely on your inconsistent cursed technique, it’s not very helpful,” he continued, the pout now a smug grin, “then you wouldn’t end up looking like a mummy every time we spar,”

if only you could punch that damn smirk off his face.

he chuckled, “did you forget? i’m the strongest,” his hands now folded. his words were laced with arrogance. he wasn’t flaunting, he merely just stated a literal fact. after some thinking, you came to the conclusion that you were just upset by how much you were outclassed by him.

“oh, i haven’t forgotten at all. with you shoving that fact down my throat so often, it would be impossible,” you snapped back at him, annoyed that he was still mocking you even when you were hurt.

he hummed, “good to know i was getting through,”

he stood up from the chair, his height towering over you, his hands stuffed into his pockets, head downcast to look down at you. even when he was relaxed, like he was right then, he still managed to hold that air of superiority around him.

“you gotta learn how to take hits,” he said, his tone much more quiet than before, “or learn how to dodge them in the first place, don’t you think?”

he reached out with one hand, grabbing the edge of your bandages. he tugged on them, lightly, just to get a reaction out of you. your face flushed red, your fists tightening.

“you can’t afford to be weak these days, your a sorcerer,” he spoke quietly, yet matter of a factly, his hand moved further up, letting the bandages fall away from the side of your face.

you abruptly stood up, pushing the chair back. “shut up! you don’t know how hard it is, you’d be nothing without your damned six-eyes,”

he was surprised by your sudden movement, his hand falling back to his side. he eyed you with a bit of surprise, but didn’t comment on it. instead, he took a small step backwards to give you space and raised his hands in mocking surrender. “woah, woah, woah, no need to get all worked up now,”

[hier--soir]

take your medicine

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: *tv sales advert voice* so you've been finding it hard to reach orgasm? lucky for you, our best-selling item "hunky boyfriend joel" is on sale at half price. shipping is free, and he is very determined to help you achieve your goals! call the number on your screen to buy now! OR your medication makes it difficult to orgasm so joel (and your vibrator) help make it happen. warnings/tags: set in the early 2000s aka early thirties joel my lover boyyyy, boyfriend joel, depression [nothing dark or sad], anti-depressants, brief discussion of food/eating, cigarette smoking [f], soft!supportive!joel, mentions of masturbation [f], unprotected piv sex, use of a sex toy, ride 'em cowgirl (1939) dir. samuel diege, cream pie, dirty talk, joel talks you through it. word count: 2.9k masterlist a/n: so this one is.... self-indulgent. shout out to all my friends on anti-depressants that are strugglin' to reach orgasm. me too, pals, me too. and there will be no medication shaming on this account, no there will not! so happy sunday, i hope someone else out there enjoys this short little thing with me x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

Medication is a journey, they say. Every day will be different.

Medication is not the end all be all, they say. We can always try different avenues.

Six months on, now.

Six months since Let’s try the Zoloft for a few months.

Six months since We can reassess in April.

It’s June and summer has settled over Austin with a hot wet vengeance. April came and went with a mutual agreement that you weren’t ready to be weaned off yet. A gentle hand on your forearm and a softly spoken Why don’t we check in again in July?

A low dose. A starter dose. A you shouldn’t experience too many side-effects dose.  

And she was right – for the most part. There were no headaches, no nausea, no dizzy spells, no changes in appetite. That shallow, low mood that’d been haunting you for months suddenly began to lift. Begrudging exercise in the afternoons, a three-meals-a-day regiment implemented by your boyfriend, and a happy little pill with every morning coffee.

But fuck – you can count the number of orgasms you’ve had since January on one hand.

Countless nights spent alone in your bed, tangled betwixt sweaty sheets, fingers and forearm cramping until you finally give up. Drink a cold glass of water, wet your face, and go to bed frustrated; a routine disappointment.

You’d gotten lucky a few times, of course. Vibrator on the highest setting possible, pussy all puffed up and numb from the rough speed. Frustrated tears in your eyes, lightheaded by the time you finally feel that sweet sweet relief coursing through your veins.

A few times with Joel, too, in those first few months. And ignorance was bliss—quite literally—until he caught onto what you’d been doing.

“What was different tonight?” he’d asked you on one of those nights, laid out beside each other in his bed. Chests heaving, satisfied smiles spread across your faces.

Your hand had paused against his head, fingers twisted up in his sweaty curls, and you hesitated. So quick, the briefest pause before trying to play it off, but he caught it. Always too perceptive, too watchful of an eye; especially since you’d been diagnosed.

“What’s wrong?” Joel frowned.

“I… didn’t… my…” you’d mumbled, face tucked against his pillow.

“Can’t hear you when you do that,” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Baby?”

“I didn’t take my meds today,” you repeated, voice still low, still wary. But you could tell he heard you. Knew from the way his body stiffened beside you. From how when you looked over his smile had dropped, eyebrows pinching inward. 

For a moment he didn’t even say anything. He hardly breathed. And then—Darlin’, why would you do that?—so painfully soft, the faintest tinge of worry in that deep, rasping voice of his. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed, and something hot began to burn behind your eyes. Wet, pinching shame. “Just… I woke up and I wanted you. And I wanted it to feel like it used to for us, and I can never… you know I can’t finish when I’m on them, and I hate feeling like I’m disappointing you—”

“Baby,” Joel shook his head, strong hand cupping your jaw. His forehead knocked against yours; a tender but firm kind of insistence. The type that says look me in the fucking eyes and listen up. “You’re not disappointin’ me.”

“Joel,” you sighed, face hot, foreheads tacky where they pressed together.

“No,” he grunted. “I fuckin’ mean it. This stuff takes time, okay? We’ll figure it out the way we always do. Just… don’t do that again. Please.”

“I won’t,” you murmured feebly, nose smushed against his.  

“Promise me,” Joel had urged you. “Promise me you’ll take your medicine.” 

“I promise, Joel.”

You kept strong on that promise. Didn’t get frustrated when he’d stay over more nights than usual, or drag you back to his place in the evenings – all just to watch you pop that little white pill in the mornings.  

It brought out something new in him, the day you’d showed him the prescription. Like some instinctual protectiveness was unlocked and he just kicked into hyperdrive.

Cutting work early to drive you to your doctor’s office, cooking up different meals every night for dinner.

Most days you wake up alone in his bed; wipe the sleep out of your eyes as you wander downstairs. Let him nudge you into a chair at the table, beside Sarah, so he can set identical bowls of cereal in front of the two of you—his girls. Hell, if you had a dollar for every time that man has said Breakfast is the most important meal of the day in the past six months, you’d have more money than you could spend.

Joel didn’t even get mad when you started smoking again in May.

Didn’t bat an eye when he found you at two in the morning, sat on the back porch in one of his sweatshirts with the smell of tobacco staining your fingers.

“Been a long time since I seen once of those in your mouth,” he’d smirked, settling onto the stoop beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced, remembering how proud he’d been when you quit. He rested his head against your shoulder, eyes watering with a yawn.

“S’late,” he grumbled sleepily. “N’you smell now.”

“I’m sorry,” you’d repeated, stamping the cigarette into the concrete. “Today was just… hard. Couldn’t sleep.”  

“S’okay,” Joel told you. “Just don’t like it when you sneak out on me, yeah? You know I ain’t judgin’ you.”

The only thing that frustrates Joel, is that he comes, and you don’t.

And it’s not a frustration with you. No, it’s a hot faced guilt that spreads through him every time you fuck. Evident in those frantic touches, desperate pleas of your name, of tell me what to do, tell me how to help, of fuck I’m sorry.

Because you still want him, despite it all. Still can’t help your wandering hands, your fingers that tease back his bed sheets and then his boxers and coax orgasm after orgasm out of him, night after night.

Tonight, you thought, would be no different.

Covers strewn across the end of your bed, pillows askew, you sit astride his lap.

It’s hot; the AC in your apartment has been broken all week, and your thighs are tacky with sweat where they press against his skin. Everything wet – sweat in your hair, slick between your thighs, the soft squelching sound that raises with every press of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, hands tight against your waist. “I can’t—goddammit, I’m not gonna last, baby.” 

“It’s okay,” you moan, eyelids heavy as you rock your hips over his.

It’s late, and you both have work early in the morning, but the burn is so good like this. The heavy weight of him reaching so far, pushing the limits of what your body can take. For years it’s been your favourite way to fuck him; poised above his body, admiring the way his stomach tightens and his eyes roll when you sink down on his cock.

“What can I do?” his voice is strained, the veins in his neck bulging as he holds his breath – anything to stave off the impending high.

You only whimper pathetically, grinding your hips into his. Can feel everything in your stomach knotting up into a white-hot ball.

“Hey,” Joel urges, hand landing in a soft slap against your outer thigh. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” you cry out, shaking your head. “It’s right there, but I…”

“But what?” he murmurs, hips snapping up again.

“I don’t think I can,” you finally admit, eyebrows drawn tight in frustration. Your lower lip is bitten raw at this point, incessantly gnawed at by your own teeth. His grip tightens on your hips and he drags you upward until his length slips out, falling against his stomach with a wet smack.

“C’mon, tell me what you need,” he says quickly, and you’re sure that the desperation you see in his eyes is mirrored in your own. Pupils blown round and fat, endless black—pleading.

You stare down at him for a moment. Watch the way his chest heaves with harsh, stilted breathes. How little dots of sweat have gathered at the hollow of his throat. And fuck, you want it so bad.

“Top drawer,” you exhale roughly, pointing to the side table.

Joel doesn’t question the order. Doesn’t say a word as he spreads a long arm across the bed, yanking the drawer open and shoving his hand inside. You watch him rifle around for a moment, pulse increasing as you wait for him to find what you want. What you need. And you can tell when he does; his shoulders stiffen and he lets out a choked sort of sound, pulling out the black wand and shoving it into your hand.

“Show me,” he says, eyes wild.

Your finger drops down against the button, turning your hand to show him which one to press.

“There’s four settings,” you murmur, slipping it back into his palm.

“Does this normally help?” he asks, grunting softly as you grip his cock, notching the tip back at your entrance.

“Sometimes,” you sigh, sinking down, sucking in the heavy weight of him. “Can still take a—a little while.”

He presses the button tentatively, watching as the rounded head of the wand starts to vibrate. Spread open around him, he can see your swollen little clit so easily, and he lowers the wand to press against it. Your body jolts forward, mouth splitting open with a groan as heat flares through you. Your hips stutter against him instinctively, chasing that intense feeling, and he looses a gravelly moan at the feeling of your wasted cunt squeezing around him.

“Look at that,” Joel grunts, dark eyes trained on your face. That wicked pink tongue slips out to wet his lips and he nods in encouragement. “I know, baby, I know it’s a lot, you feel good?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, jaw going slack as you settle into the feeling. “Fuck, yes, it’s good, it’s good.”

It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before; nothing your past boyfriends had ever been comfortable enough to try. It has the muscles in your thighs tensing up already; the thick press of his cock paired with that unrelenting, almost overbearing, vibration.

“Can feel it,” he hisses out, head tilting back into the mattress.

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he nods, expression grim. The muscle in his jaw twitches. “So fuckin’ tight like this. All wound up, y’need it so bad, I know.”

You moan, eyelids fluttering as he presses the button again, notching it to a higher speed. You lift up slowly and then press back down over him, and the two of you groan in unison. His free hand falls against the curve of your ass and he squeezes, encouraging you to rock against him, starting up a steady pace.

One of your hands settles on your chest, fingers twisting and pulling at your nipples. You need more, always more, something, anything.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” Joel mutters, and you can tell how fucked out he is already as he watches you. Dark eyes glazing over, mouth hanging open deliriously. “My pretty girl, so damn good for me.”  

Your heart stumbles in your chest and you whimper, appreciation for him flooding your senses. He’s been so close for so long tonight already, teetering precariously on that edge but holding off for you. Fucking you into the mattress before pulling out and tucking his face between your thighs, doing his damnedest to get you to that same place. Urging you to get on top, to take what you needed, to use him to get yourself off.  

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly, eyes pinching closed as something sharp starts to tingle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joel snarls, hips snapping upward.  

“What ar—” your words cut off with choked moan as he clicks the button again, and then again, taking it to the highest speed. Your shoulders shake and you tilt forward a little, hand gripping his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Joel,” you cry out, chest heaving and stomach tightening.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, searching for something to ground yourself against. That firm press against your clit doesn’t falter for a second, and you let out a rough moan.  

“Good,” he grunts. “Good girl, give it to me.”

The muscle in his bicep spasms and strains beneath the skin, everything pulled taut as he keeps the wand pressed firmly against you. And it’s almost painful, the way you can feel your high coiling inside you, burning, but never quite reaching fever pitch the way you need it to. 

A symphony that builds and billows and writhes within you. Sloping swells of violins and cellos and trumpets. Up, up, up to that shattering crescendo you just can’t seem to reach.

“Joel,” you mewl, and there’s tears in your eyes, on your cheeks. Hot, fat tears that stain your face now, dripping from your chin to splatter against his chest.

“C’mon now,” he grunts, hips shifting up off the bed, meeting you thrust for thrust. The stretch of his cock is so wide, so deep, and every shift of his body punches the air from your lungs.

“I don’t know if I can,” you shake your head, stomach on fire. The vibrations are so intense, the speed so fast, you can feel your clit going numb beneath it. But Joel doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop the fast pace of his hips. The muscles in his abdomen twitch under you, tan skin glistening with sweat.

“You’re so close,” he goads, jaw tight. “Don’t fight it, baby.”

“Stop moving,” you beg then, your voice a high keen. Joel stills instantly, wary eyes darting across your face. He doesn’t pull the vibrator away though. Not yet.

“Fuck,” you cry out, hand firm against his stomach. “Just let me-just—”

Knees on fire against the bed, you grind your hips down into his. Gasp as his cock presses hot and heavy against something deep inside of you that sets your entire body shaking, vibrating against him; buzzing at the same high-speed rhythm as the wand between your legs. You rut against him again and again and then something pulls tight and hot at the base of your spine.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, eyes widening. “Oh god, Joel, I think—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” he moans. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline to his chin. “You’re okay, let it happen.”

“Touch me,” you say, breathless and needy and so so desperate. “Fuck, please.”

Joel groans – a deep, guttural thing. A sound that comes from somewhere in the base of his stomach. It rattles your bones and has your fingernails digging into his stomach, and then his hand is on your chest. Rough fingers squeezing and stroking and pinching and you’re gasping, keening his name as he whispers frenzied words of encouragement and it’s building it’s building it’s building and and and—

Everything goes silent when you come. It’s all blurred vision and deafened ears; an intense ache in your jaw from the way your mouth hangs open. You can feel a vein in your neck, raging beneath the skin; a staccato rushing sound that echoes inside your head.

And you think you can hear Joel’s voice, somewhere beyond it all; Fuck, there it is, good girl, good fuckin’ girl.

When your eyes flutter open, you can only see Joel’s face swimming in your vision. His eyes rolling back, lips parted as he snarls your name.

“Fuck,” he spits. “—yeah, that’s it, there we fuckin’ go.”

You feel his cock kick inside of you; fast jerking spasms and then a warm rush as he starts to come. Your hand wraps around his, pushing the wand to the side of the bed, but he doesn’t fucking stop. He grips your waist and fucks up into you, spitting curses and warbled slurs of your name as he pumps you full of his hot spend.

It’s obscene – a mix of your come and his, squeezing out around his girth and smearing against the inside of your thighs. It pools around the base of his cock and you whimper at the sight, swollen cunt still tightening around him. Only when you start to sag down against his chest does he rest, his thighs twitching and tensing with the aftershocks of his high.  

Joel raises a hand, calloused thumb brushing the tears from your cheeks. Then, carefully, he grips the back of your neck, guiding you down to rest against his chest.

Your shoulders slump and you press a lazy kiss against the jut of his collarbone. And for a moment there’s just this. No sounds but that of heavy breaths and a soft buzzing, forgotten somewhere in the sheets. The swipe of his fingertips down your spine, your lips against his salty skin. A gentle tap against your waist and he’s slipping out of you with a sigh, but not letting you pull away, not letting you move from where you’ve collapsed directly on top of him.

“Missed that,” you slur sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Me too,” he mumbles. “Did so good. Made me proud.”

“S’that right?” you smile against his skin.

“S’right, baby.”

You hum, dragging your head up to press a kiss against his mouth. Both of you so exhausted that it’s just a brief, lazy swipe of your lips, but it’s enough. It’s thank you.

“Shower?” he suggests softly, smiling up at you.  

“Or… cigarette?” you respond, eyebrows raised, teasing.  

“Watch it,” he smarts, laying a quick smack against your ass before nudging you off of him. He stands and holds out a hand to help you off the bed, tutting underneath his breath. “Although I guess you’ve earned it.”

a/n: in hindsight, idk why the fuck i wrote that it took them six months to try this but what can you do lmao.

thank you for reading! x

[wonysugar]

My mind keeps imagining g!p wony x sub reader x g!p Karina, like🤭🤭 Both of them having unnie kink and breeding kink? USGSIAHAIAHAYA the woman they are😩

taking this as old ass ask as an opportunity to write some drabbles for you guys while i finish up my draftss cause i know that you guys are starving rn😭i’m so sorry for the longg wait, i promise i’m trying my hardest to get them done as fast as i can, please bare with me🙏

cw!! g!p, breeding kink, unnie kink, free-use, college au

so uhm they’re both hung. SORRY, I SAID IT… THEY’RE BOTH HUNG SUE ME LITERALLY SUEE MEEE!

now.. g!p wonyoung has basically all of us here on a chokehold, that much is obvious! however, i don’t think i’ve ever talked about g!p jimin on here? WEYLPP YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANSS THERE’S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHINGGG~~

so what is the deal with these two? well i’ll tell you what; losers, the both of them, two actual massive fawking nerds!! they will always be caught at the library studying for mid terms,, either that or they’re in their dorm playing overwatch and valorant all day long😭😭losers trapped in hot bodies i fear

jimin and wonyoung considered you a friend ever since you asked the two of them to help you study the material, since their grades are practically outrageous.. so yeah you guys are just overall suuuuper chill and gawsh they just really appreciate your presence altogether it’s all happy and jolly! they’re a year above you, which probably explains the giggly and jittery reaction they both get when you call them your unnies… they can’t help but to baby you all the time!

some day, they innocently invite you over to their dorm, yknow just asking to order food and study together and whatnot, perhaps getting on val afterwards for shits and giggles.. you accept, of course, because why would you pass up an opportunity to improve your grades with two of the best students in your program, let alone a hang out between friends?

when you do get there, the dorm is clean and tidy, just as you’d expect from such model students. you do end up studying for about an hour and a half, that is until wonyoung suggests taking a break, wearing a warm smile as she adjusts her glasses.

“why don’t we stop for a little bit, hm?” she says, closing the book in front of you as she throws quick glances at jimin, they seem innocent enough, so you paid no mind to those.

jimin only nodded, liking the idea and gently putting her hand on your arm, “it is indeed very important to regularly take breaks when studying. plus, you’ve worked hard today, don’t you think, baby?”

in a usual situation, you wouldn’t be at all fazed by the pet name she used, since the two girls basically call you that every chance they get. however, you don’t know if it was jimin’s hand caressing your arm at that moment or the way that wonyoung was staring at your eyes that made you especially nervous, perhaps it was both, but you nodded to her words regardless.

she was right, after all, breaks are very necessary to a productive study session.

however, you quickly grasped that the ‘break’ in question would last much, much longer than you expected when jimin’s lips were suddenly trailing kisses down your neck whilst wonyoung caressed your hair.

“unnie—“ you reached out for her hand, more and more adrenaline rushing through your body with each kiss that jimin left on your soft skin.

and because that honorific just drives the both of them FAWKING crazy, “your unnies will take good care of you, okay sweetheart?” is what she’d softly say, smiling. you’d nod, entranced, before feeling her soft lips on yours. you knew there was no turning back when they eventually grabbed your two hands and made you feel their visible and poking hard-ons, which got you embarrassingly riled up to a great extent.

the rest is history, really. you never in a million years would’ve thought a ‘study session’ would end up with having jimin fuck you missionary, watching how her cock disappears inside you as she slowly thrusts into you and moans your name whilst wonyoung fucked your throat, nestling her slender fingers into your hair guiding your head to bob up and down her length ahehehefheh

when both of them are close to cumming, i feel like they’d be the types to not even tell you, lowkey.. especially jiminfcksmdm she’d just be so lost in the sensation of how good her cock feels fucking your tight, wet cunt is that she’d just carelessly shoot her load into you as if you were just some sex toy,,, she can’t help it!! she wants to mark you as much as she can, even if that meant potentially knocking you u— [GUNSHOTS]

also it is important to mention that while jimin lovesss fucking your pussy, wonyoung is absolutely a head girlie.. she’d much rather have you down on her knees and sucking her dick than fucking you. don’t get her wrong, she’ll still dick you down if you asked her to, she just prefers using the pretty mouth that calls her ‘unnie’ way more aheheh

you’d just be straight up lying if you said that you didn’t yearn for more of them after that day… especially after having the many changes that your relationship with them had gone through. back then, they’d stare at you with innocent eyes, gaze warm and polite when seeing you, waving at you. now? they were basically eyefucking you and smirking at you everytime they saw you in the hallways.

it didn’t take long for them to take that to the next level,, omg next level by aespa— [NUKES] SORRY. but yeah sometimes even pulling you away from your nerdy friend group to have a quickie in the bathroom just because they know you’ll let them use your body at random times of the daycjenfkd they’re unhinged i fear! using your exams as an excuse,, saying shit like “but it’s important to relax and relieve stress before an exam!” before proceeding to dick you down in a stall likee.. right, right..

of course, you live for every second of it and they know it, but acting all innocent and oblivious towards their advances when really, you’re already soaked by the time that you’re on your way to their dorm so you can suck them off after they text you to come over is all part of the funkdjsndm

[loui3e]

Knuckle Velvet

And every drop of blood is love I don’t get back’

Old man!Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: A night of cleaning bloody wounds leads to a lovely confession.

A/n: Can you tell I love old man Logan? And Ethel Cain? Lmao. Has been proofread.

Warnings: Some angst with comfort.

Words: 684

Logan had nowhere to go, battered and bloodied he limbed his way up your porch. His bruised knuckles hesitating at your front door. 

“Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.” 

Your words ring out in his mind, echoing hopelessly. As he finally bangs on the door, he hopes to god he didn’t take your statement too literally. 

“Christ what on earth.” You grumble out as you open the door, anger bubbling in your gut at the sudden disturbance to your sleep so late at night. You choke on your words though once you see the man before you; eyes widening with distress at the sight, jaw agape.

Logan stands in-front of you, four clean bullet holes in his white tank; now painted red. Blood oozes down his front and onto the wooden planks. 

“Sorry sweetheart, just didn’t know where to go.” Logan grunts out through gritted teeth, his hands clenching and unclench at his sides with each dull throb of pain.

“Oh my god.” You speak as your hand reaches out to fall on his shoulder trying to hold up his burly frame. Your eyes drag down to your soaked porch boards.

“Shit I’m sorry doll.” 

“It’s, fine, it is, they needed re-stained anyway.” You speak nearly incoherently, as your brain works at pace through your next actions. “Quickly inside.”

Logan’s taken aback by your generosity, he wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome; you’d probably shun him off your porch but instead you let him lean his weight on you. Hand firmly planted on his chest as you help him inside and onto your couch. 

“Off now.” You command rigidly, making a gesture towards his tank. You sound rough but Logan knows you well enough to know you’re only putting up a front to hide your anxiety; especially as you make off towards the bathroom for supplies whilst biting your nails. 

Rushing back with an arm full of medical supplies, Logan chuckles dryly at you. “Sure you’re not performing surgery on me?” 

“Don’t laugh.” You groan, unimpressed at his humour at this time. 

Logan spreads his legs wider for you so you fit neatly between; able to study the extent of his wounds easier. “Darlin’ don’t frown like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles,” he says trying to ease your mind; swiping a thumb over your brows. 

“You’re hurt though.” 

“I’m fine just needa’ get these bullets out first,” he speaks before standing up promptly; shifting you out of the way with a gentle shove to your hip.

“Logan, wait Logan I gotta check.” You chase after him but are instead greeted with the bathroom door flush with your face. “Damnit.” You whine, slipping down the back of the door until you sat down against it.

Soon the sound of painful groans hit your ears followed with the an unmistakable tink. Jarring up suddenly to your feet as the door swings open. “Now you can check.” 

With a wet cloth you clean blood from his wounds, then with some rubbing alcohol; you wince at each sharp intake of breath Logan makes as his wounds sting. 

As you sit kneel between his legs after finishing the bandaging you lay your head on his thigh with an exhausted sigh. Soon you feel a familiar hand running its fingers through your tousled hair.

“Sorry for worrying you.” Logan speaks earnestly, but you shake your head in response. 

“No don’t be, I’m just glad you came to me.” 

Logan’s shocked but not only your generosity, but your words. A pang settles within his heart at that, you wanted him no matter what condition he turned up in. Blood or cleanliness you’d be waiting with bandages or kisses. 

He runs his knuckles across your cheek, you lean into his gentleness; kissing each of his knuckles with care then his freshly wrapped wounds. As you do so you swear you hear a mumbled; “love you.” It’s hushed by your lips to his. 

You’ll bring him to bed that night and in the morning he’s on your porch with a bucket of stain in one hand and a brush in the other.

[xxchumanixx]

hiii, could you write a Tim Bradford X Grey!reader? She is sergeant grey’s daughter but adopted, so everyone can imagine themselves as they want 💕!

and they have to sneak around because she is “off limits”, also maybe younger than him??

and one day, while they are at her house and they are doing it (idk if you write smut, if you don’t you don’t have to go into details ofc). Wade goes at her house because she was not answering her phone and finds them while she is literally on top of him ??

Not just any man

Tim Bradford x Grey!reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ mdni!, smut, p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), language, fluff, secret relationship, reader is Grey's adoptive daughter

Word count: 1.722

Authors note: Hey love, thanks for the request! Yes, I do write smut. I hope this fits your expectations! I really appreciate the idea with the reader being adopted, so everyone can imagine the reader as they like!

Enjoy!

There was a lot you had Wade Grey to thank for.

Catching you with your boyfriend wasn't one of those things, though. Especially when your boyfriend was one of his officers and he was older than you.

You were in so much trouble.

It had all began when you met Tim at a charity event hosted at the police station (not the best place for an event like this, as your father later would always like to mention).

It had instantly clicked.

The thrill of doing this behind everyone's back was what excited you the most the first few months - that was, until Tim confessed his feelings to you.

You were deeply in love with each other, and no one would be able to separate you - not even your father, even when he decided to fire Tim, if he ever found out.

When you were a baby, barely a few months old, Wade had adopted you.

Your parents died a few days prior, losing everything, including their lives, when a drug deal went horribly wrong.

You didn't know much about them, but you didn't care. The Grey's were your family, not them.

Family didn't end in blood.

You were a little older than their biological daughter, but you were still your fathers little girl.

Which meant you were off limits - to everyone, including Tim. Not that it would have stopped you, though.

You had to sneak around of course, but someday your parents eventually had to find out - especially if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Tim.

It just wasn't supposed to be that day, especially not like this.

You and Tim had been busy that day, you both had a day off and had been cooking together, went shopping (yes, you did that together, when your parents weren't near), and watched movies.

All that time you didn't look at your phone, though - missing several calls from your father.

Now, you were very busy with Tim, as he placed kisses down your neck, making you shiver in delight.

Your naked body's pressed together, his fingers brushing over the curves of your breasts, wandering further down.

Your fingers touched him wherever they reached - his muscular chest, his back and his arms, brushing through his short hair as his fingers pleasured you.

His lips found yours, muffling a moan, as his fingers went in and out of your tight pussy, his palm brushing your clit in the process, sending shivers up your body.

You loved every second of it.

You loved the way he always took care of you, the way he took his sweet time.

The knot in your stomach tightened, as he quickened the pace of his fingers. Gasping his name your fingers dug into his shoulders, his lips ghosting over your neck, as his thumb drew figure eights on your clit.

With a few last strokes you came, moaning his name, pure bliss pulsing through you, blinding you momentarily. You rode out your high on his fingers, before he removed them, smirking down at you as you gasped for air.

He was breathtakingly beautiful. His eyes that shined like the stars at night, full of love. His face, his lips and his hair - he was perfect the way he was.

And he was all yours.

His lips found yours again and he stroked himself, before he aligned his dick with your entrance.

Slowly, he inched forward, stretching you out in just the right way, the initial pain quickly fading into a feeling that was so much better.

When he was fully settled, he started to move, not giving you much time to adjust.

A throaty moan passed your lips, as his hands gripped your hips to steady himself. You fell into a steady rhythm, the familiar knot in your belly already forming again.

"Fuck." he breathed, one of his hands finding your breast, pinching your nipple. Moaning loudly your legs wrapped around his middle, taking him even deeper.

He thrust into you vigorously, your moans mixing together. But you wanted a change in position.

Pushing him back you sat up, his brows furrowing in confusion. You pushed him onto his back, causing him to chuckle knowingly, as he realized what you were doing.

Smirking, you straddled him, not wasting any time to sink down on him again. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, steadying you.

“Oh fuck…” His moan was like music to your ears, raw and unfiltered, as you started to move, up and down and up and down.

Skin slapped on skin, as he gripped your ass, helping you in your movement, when he suddenly stiffened, pulling you into his arms to cover you up.

"Tim wha-" you wanted to ask what happened, when you heard it.

"You better be kidding me!"

Flinching, your head snapped in the direction of your father's voice, body pressed against Tim, as your eyes widened.

"What the hell?" you yelled, your father's back turned towards you, one hand on his pistol.

"What the fuck?" Tim cut in. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"What the hell am I doing here?" your father bellowed, as you climbed off Tim, frantically searching for your clothes. "What the hell am I doing in my daughter's house? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

He shouted - never a good sign.

Tim searched for the right words, not sure how to explain, as you threw his shirt at him.

When you were both fully clothed your father had already left the bedroom, pacing in your living room.

Walking towards him you tried to come up with an explanation. It would have been useless to lie, so you decided to confront him with the truth.

"We're together." you spoke, swallowing. Fast and painless - just rip the bandaid off in one move.

Your gaze fixed on your father who so suddenly stopped, you thought time had paused for a second.

"You are what?" he yelled, anger clear as day on his face, a vein on his neck popping out. Tim stood somewhere behind you, not daring to say anything.

After all he was still his boss.

"We. Are. Together." you repeated word after word. "We are in a relationship. We love each other."

Your father's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets, as he stared at you, mouth agape.

How we're you to explain, if he suddenly had a heart attack?

"You of all people!" he spoke angrily, pointing at Tim and you stood in front of him, blocking his way as your father took a step closer. Giving him a pointed look, he fell silent.

"Dad, I'm not thirteen anymore!" you tried to reason, shaking your head at him. "Im twenty-six! You don't have to protect me from men - and you definitely don't have the right to tell me who I date and who I don't!"

Blinking rapidly he tried to process your words.

"But-" he started, irritation clear on his face. "Y/N, you're my daughter! I told them you're off limits!"

Furrowing your brows you looked at him in disbelieve. "You did what?" you almost shouted. "God, you're so embarrassing!" His eyes were wide. "I am embarrassing? Seeing my daughter naked with a man - that is embarrassing!"

Your cheeks flushed, not wanting to be reminded of that, as you looked away.

Sighing he tried to find the right words, only making unintelligible sounds, though. "I can decide on my own who I want to be with, dad." you explained, brushing away a lose strand of hair.

"But-" he tried again, brows furrowed in sadness, and your heart grew heavy. "You're my daughter, my little girl! I can't just hand you off to any random guy!"

"What?" Tim interrupted, stepping forward. Rolling his eyes your father shook his head, fully knowing he could trust Tim Bradford.

If anyone, it was him.

It grew quiet, as you bit your lip, nervousness washing over you in waves. Would he fire Tim? Destroy his entire career just because he loved his daughter?

He sighed heavily, wiping over his face with his hand.

"Look, you didn't answer your phone all day so I got worried - and then I find you with him!" he explained, briefly pointing at Tim, who grabbed your hand, not letting go even as your father's jaw clenched at the sight.

"I'm not ready to hand you off just yet."

Closing your eyes for a moment you took a deep breath. "Sarge, I love your daughter and I want to be with her." Tim started, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

It would all be good.

"I'm not willing to give her up, just because you can't let go."

Your father's brows rose at the bluntness of his words, but he kept quiet, chewing on his cheek as he thought.

"What if you break her heart?" he wanted to know after a while, tilting his head. "Won't happen." Tim returned without a moment's hesitation.

You couldn't help but smile at his words. You loved him with all your heart and you knew he did the same.

Your father swallowed, nodding after a while, eyes glistening. "If you just so much as look at her in the wrong way, I will make the rest of your life a living hell." he swore Tim, huffing at his emotions taking over.

Letting go of Tim's hand you walked to your father, hugging him in relief. He returned the hug, his arms the same shelter as when you were just a small child.

"Thank you." you whispered, happy tears filling your eyes. "When he hurts you, just tell me and I'll get rid of him." he offered, letting go of you.

Judging by Tim's huff he heard his words, but you were sure he did it intentionally.

"I love you, dad." He smiled down at you, the emotions still clear on his distraught face. "I love you too, kiddo."

Rolling your eyes you hugged him again, before letting go and walking towards Tim.

Smiling up at him you took his hand back in yours. It would all be good. He returned the smile, still a little hesitant because of your father's presence.

Standing on your tip toes you kissed him, causing your father to immediately protest.

"No!"

[star-girl69]

If You Lie Down With Me

Caroline (KK) Harvey x Fem!Reader

—-

synopsis: away game shenanigans

a/n: guys have i mentioned that i’m a genius… from this ask!! i hope you all enjoy!! this is like literally so bad i cant 😭😭

If You Lie Down With Me - Lana Del Rey

warnings: I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT COLLEGE OR HOCKEY, pls forgive me for inaccuracies 😞, texting again, phone calls blah blah, but some people might hate that so here is your warning, swearing and the usual, like mentions of kissing and some suggestiveness, cringey tik tok prank idc i think it’s cute, mentions of violence and black eyes, lmk if i missed anything!!

—-

Someone’s on top of you.

It’s early in the morning, so early that you would probably be insane to call it morning. The darkness presses around you physically, keeping your eyes shut even as an alarm you barely noticed before comes into focus- blaring loudly.

“I don’t want to go,” someone moans.

Is someone on top of you? Or is that just blankets? Or maybe it’s a physical manifestation of your exhaustion.

You open your eyes, feeling like you might actually die with just that little motion, trying to roll around and stretch- but you can’t. Yes. Someone is definitely on top you.

KK? You try to ask, but you’re so tired that the only thing that comes out is a garbled “K.”

“I don’t want to go,” your girlfriend repeats, pushing her face into your neck and wrapping her arms around your body.

Your eyes drift shut for another second, the alarm fading into the background. It takes another minute, in which KK falls back asleep on top of you, for you to fully wake up and for your brain to start working. You reach out towards the bedside table, fumbling with KK’s phone until you can finally see the alarm, the time of 4:30 A.M., and the name of the alarm-

flight at 7 wake up

“Fuck,” you gasp, trying to push your girlfriend off of you. She pouts and hugs you tighter, and all of that hockey muscle is simply dead weight when she’s asleep. “KK. KK, get up, I’m serious.”

It takes a few hard shakes, but she finally wakes up, adorable pout still stuck on her face.

“What the fuck could possibly be going on?” She groans.

“You have a game, KK. Get off of me.”

She reluctantly rolls off of you, quickly shuffling around. You would be stupid to think she’s actually getting up, so it’s no surprise when she simply presses her face into your neck and wraps her arm around your waist.

“Fuck the stupid fucking game.”

Why on God’s green earth did you agree to sleep over?

You wouldn’t call Caroline overly clingy, although her main love language is probably touch, she’s more into the little things. Hand holding, your feet in her lap when you’re sitting on the couch, arm around your waist in public- laying completely on top of you when you’re sleeping.

She’s always at her worst the day before away games, forcing you to sleep over and smiling so sweetly when she asks you can’t even think about saying no. She spends the entire night with you wrapped up in her arms, trying to soak in as much time with you as she can.

It’s horribly early on Thursday morning, and she won’t be coming back until Sunday night.

And you don’t blame her. Away games are hard, but it comes with the territory of dating a D1 athlete. She was so sweet about it when you first started seeing each other, claiming she understood if it was a dealbreaker but you knew you were too far in to say no.

You thought you could handle it, just a few nights away from her, but just doing every daily task knowing that she’s so far away from you just makes everything feel wrong. And when there’s a time difference, she’s often not just a phone call away.

Caroline, when she’s away, takes it upon herself to text and call you so much it sometimes feels like she’s never really left, until you’re on FaceTime with her at the end of the night and the sound of her voice is almost enough to make you cry, because she’s almost there with you- but not really.

She kisses the side of your neck, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

You’re going to miss her so bad. But it’s hard to remember that you’re going to miss her when you have to deal with her perpetually late self.

“Can you turn off that alarm?” Oh. You forgot to turn it off.

“KK,” you sigh. She frowns against your neck. “Get. Up.”

“Noooooo, Y/N, please. Five more minutes-”

Someone bangs loudly on the door. “Turn it off and get up!”

That grumpy voice can only belong to Laila.

They’re normally very happy people, you try to convince yourself. And normally you aren’t this cranky either- but it’s so early. And you would be lying if you said you weren’t going to miss KK too.

You slowly reach out and hit snooze on the alarm.

The blaring blessedly stops, and KK smiles and pulls you even closer to her. “Five more minutes.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” you mumble.

KK’s hand slowly runs down the side of your waist until she reaches the hem of your shirt, slipping her hand under it so her warm hand is pressed up right against your skin. You shiver a bit at the feeling, and she still hasn’t wiped that satisfied smile off of her face- you can feel it against your neck.

“Okay, baby,” she mumbles back, thumb rubbing back and forth against your skin.

She’s going to be late again, you resign. She’s going to make Laila late, and then you’ll have to listen about how bitter Laila is until they make up, and then until KK eventually makes her late again- it’s a vicious cycle.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she whispers. Fuck.

Now you miss her. You miss this slow moment already, and you haven’t even left it.

“I’m gonna miss you too. I hate away games.”

“I know,” she hums, pressing another kiss against your bare shoulder. “I hate ‘em too.”

“You gotta get up, seriously,” you say. Even if you dragged her out of bed right now, all of you know that KK is probably still going to be late, and Laila by extension. “You’re gonna get in trouble if you’re late again, babe.”

“Okay?” She scoffs. “Worth it.”

“No, actually, not worth it.”

You open your eyes at the new voice, too tired to question how the hell Lalia has silently appeared in front of you.

She pulls the blanket off KK, and you, causing you to gasp and shoot her a glare. She shoots one right back, before animatedly fake gagging at the sight of KK’s hand under your shirt and the fact she’s actively trying to burrow under your skin.

“Laila,” KK groans. You almost laugh at how much moaning and groaning there’s been this morning. “I’m saying goodbye.”

Lalia rolls her eyes before smiling wide, completely fake, sleep evident on her face. “Bye, Y/N! I love you so much, you’re the best girlfriend ever! I’m going to be so, so miserable without you and your lips and your attention-”

“I do not sound like that,” KK huffs.

“Oh, you do. Anyways, goodbye, Y/N. See? I just did it- not hard at all.”

“Y/N,” KK says.

“You do kinda sound like that,” you shrug.

“Both of you are assholes,” she says, finally letting go of you and sitting up. “I’m getting up, okay?”

Lalia stares at her expectantly, waiting for KK to actually get up.

You laugh as she mutters something under her breath, again being all pouty, probably cursing you and Laila out.

“Goodbye, my wonderful, very talented hockey players,” you sigh, waving before pulling the sheets back around you again. “Good luck!”

“Bye, Y/N!” Laila says, seemingly much more happy now that KK is at least out of bed.

KK smiles down at you before pulling the blanket over you, tucking it around you as she leans down and quickly kisses you.

“Goodnight, baby,” she whispers.

“Good morning,” you whisper back, unable to help yourself from wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her down into another kiss. When you pull away, you smile at her, feeling so in love that annoying as being away from her is, you wouldn’t trade it for anything. “Good luck, babe. Although you don’t really need it.”

You softly squeeze her bicep, knowing a good stroke of her ego is probably the best going away present you could give her.

“Call you tonight?” She whispers, not even gone yet but already planning the next time she can talk to you.

“Obviously.”

—-

hockey queen: r u alive

you: surprisingly yes

you: life is colorless without u and i can taste sounds

hockey queen: really bc i can hear tastes

hockey queen: anyways our flight landed

you: thank god. i was terrified

hockey queen: haha. u love me

you: 🧐

hockey queen: i hate u ttyl

you: ☹️

you: ☹️

you: ☹️

you: ☹️

you: it’s been 10 mins… no answer… might die

you: ☹️

you: ☹️

hockey queen: i’m not responding to people who don’t love me and don’t care about my safety

you: ily and i care about ur safety

hockey queen: and suddenly i don’t hate u anymore

—-

hockey queen: just got back to hotel

hockey queen: practice was hell

hockey queen: pls can i call u now

hockey queen: pls y/n

hockey queen: y/n

you: one sec sorry almost done w hw

hockey queen: ok cool idc

Incoming call from: hockey queen

Call Declined

you: I SAID ONE SEC

Incoming call from: hockey queen

Call Declined

you: omg i’m so serious i’ll block u

Incoming call from: hockey queen

Call Accepted

“You are literally the most annoying person I have ever met in my entire life.”

You prop up the phone against the lamp on your desk, seeing a flash of your girlfriend’s face in an otherwise dark hotel room.

“You know you love me.”

You resist the urge to say something mean back, remembering earlier today when she had ignored you for entire 10 minutes, despite your persistent sad emojis, she’ll probably be petty and hang up on you.

And you want to hear her voice.

“Yes,” you say through gritted teeth. “I love you!”

“Aw, just what I wanna hear.”

Finally, you look at the screen, seeing KK smiling widely at you, and your stomach does an embarrassing flip. That fucking smile.

You smile back, feeling heat rise to your cheeks with the way she stares at you adoringly.

“The plane ride was really pretty this morning, with the sun rise. You would have liked it a lot.”

“And to think, at the same time I was probably looking at your ceiling.”

She hums suggestively, and you roll your eyes.

“Fuckin’ freak. Ok, I’m done,” you sigh, finally setting your pen down and stretching your hand out.

You sigh, grabbing your phone as you stand up, stretching and not caring about what unattractive angle your phone is currently catching you in. You flip the lights off and climb into bed, thankful your roommate had decided that tonight she was taking an everything shower and would probably be gone for a long time.

“How was your day?” KK asks as you get into bed, holding the phone a foot in front of your face against the bed as you lay on your side.

“Hm, it was okay. Kinda boring, really.”

“Cause I wasn’t there?”

“…Yeah, sure.”

KK frowns. “You’re actually so fuckin’ mean to me. Laila too. I don’t deserve this, for real.”

“I’m teasinggggg,” you smile. “I love you. My life is miserable without you. I can barely function without you. I miss you so much it’s consuming me. I-”

“Babe, shut up.”

“So you don’t love me?”

“I love you,” she scoffs. “My roomie’s gonna be back soon, though. And I’m exhausted, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure. “I just wanted to hear your voice for just a little bit. I’m tired too.”

“I miss you,” KK says, dropping her voice to a whisper, making it sound like she’s admitting a deep dark secret.

You could tease her about how it hasn’t even been a day. But you miss her too.

“I know. I miss you, too.”

You stare at her through the screen, watching as she smiles sleepily at you, eyes drooping.

“You’re so pretty,” she says after a second.

“Maybe try telling me that when your eyes are actually open, babe.”

“Don’t need it see you to know how beautiful you are. I can feel it through the phone.” Now, her eyes are fully shut and if you were there with her, you could imagine hearing her breathing even out if your head was pressed against her chest.

“Goodnight,” you smile. “I love you. So much, baby.”

Your heart sometimes feels like it’s literally going to burst. Maybe you have an unknown heart condition, but knowing that KK loves you, the way she shows it, and just… KK. How beautiful she is. How she makes you feel and how you make her feel. Her loving you and you loving her feels so impossibly perfect. So good, so right. The feelings you get when you’re with her don’t even have words in the English language.

You feel everything with her, happy and sad and whatever- but under all of it there’s this layer of belonging, of calmness. You belong with her, to her, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You stare at the screen with a smile, that same smile slowly fading when she doesn’t answer.

“KK?”

Silence.

“Caroline. Caroline. You didn’t say I love you.”

Her sleeping face is beautiful, but you just want to hear her say goodnight and that she loves you back.

“Okay, fine. Whatever. Wait until tomorrow.”

—-

Call ended by: hockey queen

hockey queen: it was so amazing to wake up to ur drooling face on my screen this morning. felt like i was right there with you

hockey queen: we have a workout super early today but text me when u wake up pls

—-

you: super busy all day but i’ll text later

you: also i don’t drool

hockey queen: what r u doing on a friday without me

you: i have friends and school yk

hockey queen: ok be safe and call me later i miss ur face

you: look at a picture then??

hockey queen: i am rn but it’s not the same

you: u r actually so clingy when u go away it might fr be a medical problem

hockey queen: ur fault bc ur so hot 😫

you: thanks…

hockey queen: you’re welcome ❤️

When you finally get home after a busy day of lying to KK that you were out doing something, your friend in your first class had actually helped you come up with a good plan to get back at her.

You had actually forgotten about the fact she didn’t say goodnight or I love you when you woke up, but when you saw that she didn’t even say an actual “good morning” to you… would it really hurt anyone to do a harmless Tik Tok prank?

It would probably scare the shit out of Caroline, which is exactly what she deserved.

You put on your best pouty face, taking a picture with the filter on. It actually was a pretty convincing black eye.

You had kinda failed by letting yourself text her back like everything was normal, but the element of surprise was probably a good thing.

you: *picture*

you: 🤕

hockey queen: what the actual fuck

hockey queen: r u ok???

hockey queen: wtf who did this to you

hockey queen: y/n r u ok

hockey queen: text me

hockey queen: y/n

hockey queen: what the fuck happened

One missed call from: hockey queen

Two missed calls from: hockey queen

hockey queen: y/n i’m so serious answer ur phone

hockey queen: u can’t send that and then not answer

Three missed calls from: hockey queen

you: *picture without filter*

hockey queen: what

you: i’m sorry it was so funny 😂😂

hockey queen: r u serious

hockey queen: i actually hate u

hockey queen: i was so scared

you: ik it was so fucking funny i’m still laughing 😂

hockey queen: i’m blocking u don’t talk to me

hockey queen: why did u do this fr

hockey queen: i don’t deserve this

you: u forgot to say goodnight last night

you: and didn’t say good morning either

you: karma 🤷‍♀️

hockey queen: r u serious

you: deadly

hockey queen: and i’m the clingy one?? ur lucky i love u

hockey queen: ok i have to go get ready for the game but i’m calling you later just to say goodnight

hockey queen: i think u gave me a heart attack

you: aw ur so sweet 🥹

you: ok srsly goodbye ily ur gonna do amazing good luck 😘

hockey queen: thank you baby

hockey queen: ilyt

hockey queen: goodbye

hockey queen: ok make sure you see that goodbye my heart can’t take another stupid prank

you: yes ma’am i see it and no more pranks 🫡 maybe

—-

hockey queen: go to my place

you: huh

hockey queen: flight gets in at 11 ur gonna sleepover

you: so when did i agree to this

hockey queen: when i asked u to be my gf and u said yes look over ur contract

you: oh silly me i see it right here

you: “due to caroline’s excessive clinginess and obsessive tendencies, she reserves the right to force y/n to sleepover at any time”

hockey queen: 🙏

hockey queen: just go hang out at my place u can order dinner and i’ll pay

you: awww how sweet

hockey queen: i love my gf 🔥

—-

You wake up to the feeling of someone cupping your face, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. The feeling of someone hovering over you.

“Wha?” You mumble, stretching, opening your eyes into the darkness but seeing nothing. You eyes slowly start to adjust, but they don’t need to.

“Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Caroline whispers. She smooths your hair back, and your eyes drift shut again at the calming motion. “Go back to sleep, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

“KK?” you ask into the darkness, mind foggy.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I missed you.”

She laughs a bit before kissing the top of your head, hand drifting down to cup your cheek again. “I know.”

You unknowingly latch onto her wrist, holding her hand in place against your face. “Come to bed,” you mutter. “I missed you.”

She softly detangles herself from you, and you feel like a child about to throw a tantrum. “One second, okay, baby? I still gotta get ready for bed, I just wanted to see you.”

You groan but let go, the darkness of her room pressing around you similarly to the morning when she left. Your mind drifts back to that, to how good it felt to wake up next to her, how utterly right. You think about how mean you’ve been to her since she left, using sarcasm to cover up the way your heart literally beats crookedly when she’s away from you.

Wow, maybe you’re the clingy one.

You think about the sound of her voice on FaceTime as she’s falling asleep, and you think about how good it will feel now right in your ear. You think about your empty bed back in your dorm, sleeping lonely even in her shirts that smell like her.

You roll over onto your stomach, blankets sliding off of you as the sound of the sink running in the bathroom makes you so fucking impatient.

“K,” you groan, deciding she’s taking too long.

“Calm down,” she whispers, voice very amused, and it feels so right when you suddenly feel the covers pull back and someone slip in next to you. She runs her hand along your upper back where her last name is printed on. “You look so sexy in my shirt.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, already half asleep again and shifting around as her arms slide around you, pressing yourself back up against her. Too tired to flip back around but still needed to be touching her as much as possible.

“Was your dinner good?” She asks, kissing your neck.

“Yeah,” you yawn. “Thank you for paying, babe.”

“Mhm,” she hums, squeezing the arm wrapped around your waist. “Come closer.”

“I am closer.”

“Fine,” she mumbles, yawning herself as she settles against you. You can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks. “Goodnight, Y/N,” she enunciates.

You almost laugh at how petty it seems to prank her for not saying goodnight.

“Goodnight, Caroline,” you say back.

Maybe you’re both just really annoying and really clingy, but when you’re wrapped around each other like this, and everything feels so perfect that you can’t even imagine her ever being away from you ever again, pieces of her always carried in your heart, you can’t be bothered.

Maybe you’ll regret this in the morning, though, when KK doesn’t let you leave her bed until noon.

—-

[girlokwhatever]

omg would love if you could do famous!reader x paige hcs!!!

paige bueckers x famous!reader hcs

‧₊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧₊˚ෆ paige with a famous gf,,

— you met paige on social media

- she’s literally your biggest fan

- you posted a video with the caption: ‘when she’s blonde and tall and plays basketball’ and it went VIRALLL (everyone tagged her)

— she ending up reaching out to you and the rest is history

— before you started dating she would always repost your videos or pictures whenever you posted

— you kind of dabble in everything (singing, acting, modeling, etc.) and she really respects that about you

- she calls it your ‘hustle’

— you were honestly a fan of hers too, all her tiktoks and edits would be on your feed

— no one even asks who her celeb crush is anymore cause she always says you (lowkey always has)

— you both hard launch each other

— paige loves your music (i’m imagining r&b but you do you boo) and will play it for everyone in any place at any time

- at church?? doesn’t matter: “have you heard my girlfriend’s new song?”

— you took her to her first ever premiere as your plus one

- had way too much fun together during the interviews

— you have to media train her because one time she leaked your new song on kk’s live

— everyone she knows will ask for her to get them an autograph

— her mom is a massive fan and kinda freaks out when she meets you (paige is embarrassed but you think it’s sweet)

— has watched every single film/show you’re in and saves every magazine cover you’re on

— defo gets a little jealous if you have to kiss someone else on screen

- you have to tell her beforehand so she can mentally prepare

— sometimes she’ll get insecure if the media ships you with someone else, but they rarely do it cause everyone knows the two of you are locked in

— she’s absorbed all your fans into her cult

— sometimes she’ll troll everyone and make up the craziest lie/rumor and watch everyone post about it

- “guys we got married last may”

— at first your demanding schedule was a bit of a problem cause you hardly ever saw each other

- you prioritize her more now, but there’s still sometimes where you’ll have to go months without being in-person together (you both have mental breakdowns)

— she always listens when you tell her celeb drama (she’s so into it)

- you make her promise she won’t tell anyone

— you’ve definitely made some songs about her

- they always make her cry cause they’re so beautiful and sweet

— paparazzi anytime the two of you go out (they do catch some cute candid pics though)

— she’ll be at EVERY award show to cheer you on, no doubt

— you get her free tickets to concerts cause of connections

— saves every edit she sees of you (movie scenes, media moments, concerts, you name it)

— sometimes you ask her for inspiration (she’s your muse fr)

— when you see each other again for the first time in awhile… be prepared. she’s bombarding you with kisses, smothering you with hugs, and never lets you leave her bed

— will cry if you ever have to do a sex scene (she prays it never happens)

— she makes sure EVERYONE knows you’re dating.

- she’ll wear shirts with your face on them

— will post the craziest off-guard and bts pictures of you and the fans go craazzzyy

— “so.. how does your next movie end? is it like-“

- “i’m not telling you so don’t even try.”

₊˚ෆ.ೃ࿐༉‧₊˚.𐙚⋆⭒˚｡⋆

i feel like maybe i ate this down????!

i had so many ideas for this request you guys

hope you enjoyed!! 😋