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tiredsmashbros · 2 days

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Memories : part one

2k words ; tsb fanfic

the battle was intense. that's all smg4 could think about. chest tightens while engulfed in fear as he dodges the attacks of a giant mallet aiming at him. barely escaping the impact by an inch. the mallet belonging to non other than the person who has been impacting smg4's life into a spiral of endless stress. the suspicious behavior pattern, lack of consideration of others, unrealistic cartoon language and logic, and even his mysterious background are what made smg4 legs shake. yet the fellow still showed acts of kindness, thoughtfulness, a sense of genuine... nothing made sense! what's worse, smg4 never expected anything weird coming from this guy from their first introduction, he genuinely was quite excited for a new friend who seemed so silly, and intrigued by the memes he shared. yet... here he was now. fighting what felt like for his life. he didn't know what to do but be on the defensive side as he grew tired and weak. doing his best to sustain stamina as the yellow, blue maniac wasn't even breaking a sweat.

"stop this man! this isn't like you!" smg3 shouted, in the hope of verbally knocking some sense into the propeller-wearing individual, despite already countless efforts beforehand. striking a punch on tsb's face, losing his grip on his mallet.

"you don't know him." the body of tsb responded, his voice giving an unusual echo, eyes narrowed exposing his brown iris, accompanied by an uncanny smile that spread across his face. letting out a childish chuckle, tsb pulls his head back and strikes onto smg3 with a head-butt move. receiving a pained groan in response to the quick attack. smg4 rushed over to aid smg3 from falling over, standing beside his guardian partner, yearning to protect him but fueled with caution of the maniac man in front of them.

"let's try our meme powers again!" smg4 suggested to smg3, catching his breath in between.

"that method is futile." tsb spoke, almost monotone, his head dripping from the side of his shoulder, "you are too tired. you don't have enough energy to input something effective." he added.

smg3 clicked his tongue, eyes filled with anger yet with a touch of sorrow. seeing tsb talk and act this way made smg3 feel uneasy. something felt off by the way he spoke and the usage of vocabulary. his mind clouded with memories, being reminded of the silly obnoxious man that would bounce out of nowhere, someone he'd spent having long talks of comfort, a bro to always be there to help... to now him aiming to beat him down till he couldn't stand on either foot. "he's right," smg3 softly spoke, "nothing we do will work. we can't beat him..." smg3 added in a defeated tone.

"finally that's progress into your head!" tsb exclaimed, adding in a child-like giggling, giving the two guardians chills down their spines. till suddenly a lightbulb sparked inside smg4.

"wait that's it!" smg4 said. "into your head!"

"what in the hell are you-" smg3 spoke, but he was interrupted by his hand being pulled away by his blue counterpart.

puzzled yet intrigued, tsb grins and starts the chase after the smg's. staying somewhat close behind, but far enough to make the chase more of a game instead. dragging his body unnaturally on purpose.

smg3 got a hold of his stance, running behind smg4 but flustered by the sudden hand grab turned into holding. "b-baka! w-where are we-"

"while i was locked up by tsb and by that weird pink sand time guy," smg4 interjected, "right before you guys found me i was starting my escape when i accidentally stumbled upon watching him put a weird helmet device onto tsb's head." the two running out of the dark void they were formally at, to a slim hallway of the same black stardust material on the walls, floor, and ceiling. "and that is relevant how?" smg3 queried, puzzled, taking a mental note of tsb following them behind. yet tsb wasn't close enough to listen to the smg's conversation.

"that helmet device is the key! i overheard that sand guy its used to go into memories of mortals!"

"so why did he put one on tsb? to manipulate and control him or some shit?"

"m-maybe? i don't know yet! but it's our ticket to hopefully stopping this rampage of his before that cartoon legit kills us! you're close with him, maybe you can try punching his chaotic shit out of his mind?" smg4 quizzed.

"pfftha! that i can do!" smg3 cheered, a smirk blooming across his face. becoming aware of the possibility of potentially saving his friend who may be mind-controlled, it just made sense! the tsb he knew would never act this strange or dangerous. an observation thought the purple guardian kept to himself, fully aware of what his partner may have opinionated if spoken aloud. smg3 may love his guardian partner, but he knows for a fact from the small crescent of his emo heart who tsb truly is as an individual. even if smg3 lacks personal background and proof to support his belief, he would curse smg4's name for believing it. he only hopes that one day smg4 could realize for himself, how wrong he is about the silly looney toon. only time could tell as smg4 continued to lead them to what seemed like an endless dream space. seeing the same black void tingled confusion in his mind, it felt like an illusion even seeing the same thing repeatedly. his eyes giving a sense of lost in reality.

finally, smg4 jerked into an open room of an iron door, a space surrounded by chalkboards, paper, technology equipment, and science shenanigans smg3 took note of. smg4 immediately began searching for one of the helmet devices he mentioned, successfully within seconds smg4 found it and held it high in accomplishment. it was shaped and looked like a thick, solid helmet made for riding bicycles, painted all white accompanied by a red, yellow, and blue stripe down the center of the headwear. immediately, smg4 began searching for a second one to complete the mind transaction process. just as he does, tsb creepily walks in announcing his entrance, "back by popular demand...ME!" the 'me' delivered in an almost demonic-like vocal expression.

smg3 let out a small cry in surprise, retreating to smg4's side, praying now that smg4 was right about this plan. "alright 3, you grab ahold of him as best you can in a still position so i can input this on top of his stupid head!" smg4 ordered, moving to the side cautiously eyeing tsb.

smg3 nodded, "got it." he spoke not as enthusiastic as before, as he began to mentally prepare to hold that crazy cartoon maniac down after already a long fighting session as his life seriously depended on it. he prepped his stance, knees bent down at a 90-degree angle, spreading his legs for a wider range. "come on now then, big boy! show daddy how much you love him!" smg3 shouted, fanning his hands as a motion to invite tsb to come at him.

tsb manically laughed, full sprinting and pouncing at smg3 letting out a fnaf 2 foxy jumpscare scream. immediately the two began wrestling hitting and smacking down tables and chairs that flooded the room, papers flying above as cords being detached were heard. smg3 attempts to land punches to only then be received with a bite on his arm instead. smg3 bit his lip in an attempt to hold in his screams of pain and instead used it as the perfect opportunity to flip their positions with smg3 now on top of him. pressing his arm further back into tsb's mouth to stabilize him with his head in an upward locked position, despite the bottom half of his body being twisted the other way due to his unnatural body physics. using his other hand to aggressively stabilize tsb's hands, whereas his foot locked down tsb's legs.

smg4 stood on the sidelines, patiently and anxiously waiting for smg3 to hold the cartoon still, and just as his partner did smg4 rushed in without a second thought placing the device on top of tsb's head. swiftly removing tsb's propeller hat to prevent it from getting in the way. remembering how the pink sand man did it on him by pressing a black button on the side to activate it. after it was finally set on tsb's head, smg4 took a step back watching as the man pinned on the ground attempted to remove the helmet to no avail.

"now what!?" smg3 yelled with a struggled tone, growing anxiously impatient and mentally screaming in agonizing pain, grinding his teeth hard as tsb only dug his teeth deeper into the purple guardian's arm urgently attempt for freedom.

"okay, okay, i just need you to hold your head still and i'll place the second helmet on you so you can mind travel into his crazy brains or whatever!" smg4 hurriedly said, just as panicked as his guardian partner. swiftly grabbing the second helmet he had behind him and rushing towards back to smg3.

however, tsb did not like the plan these partnered guardians were cooking up. this time, putting all his energy into brute force to twist smg3 down to the opposite side of smg4's path to prevent him from putting the helmet on.

the purple meme guardian screamed in agony as his head harshly hit the floor, his body positioned awkwardly to be kept down by tsb. smg4 jolted from the sudden change of control and stood frozen in fear. to tsb's misfortune, smg3 was still holding onto tsb's hands enough to continue to prevent him from manually removing the helmet. yet the catch was there was no safe possible way to input the helmet onto smg3's head without tsb interfering.

"smg3! i-i can't find a safe spot to put the helmet on you!" smg4 said worriedly, fearful of his plan coming to a defeat. it couldn't end like this, he needed to think of something! tsb only laughed to himself, concluding by default victorious without the consideration of smg3 coming to a concluded thought. a thought that not only would help them win on top but a thought that may finally answer his prayers for the person he cared most to finally understand.

"s-smg4," the purple counterpart started, "YOU have to put the helmet on!" this suggestion surprised both his partner and the animated cartoon. "you can't put it on me, but it's not impossible for you to put it on yourself. YOU got to go inside this dumb dr. pepper loving asshole's brains and fix him!"

"i-i can't do that!" smg4 stuttered, shaking anxiously realizing the aim smg3 was getting at.

"yes you can! you can do it for me or for hell's sake do it for tari! she needs out help! we can't waste anymore time smg4!" smg3 exclaimed impatiently.

"i don't know how-"

"NEITHER DO I!" smg3 bursted, "but you trust and believe in me enough to do it anyways from the start! i trust and believe right back at you man." smg4 stood idly shocked, and to his surprise so did tsb. catching himself staring into tsb's eyes, they were still narrowed like before but... this time he could see a white arrow-shape glimmer in them. it almost felt like he was pleading for him to do so, to put on the helmet... but why? as if lost time on a timer, tsb's eyes reeled back to maniac mode, and resumed his attempt to freed himself from smg3's bearable grasp. "DO IT NOW FOUR!" smg3 yelled as he pushed in all his remaining energy to hold tsb down.

in a hesitant instance, smg4 removed his hat and put the helmet on. "NOOO!" screamed tsb in a higher echoed pitch, an unrecognized voice that didn't belong to tsb. with one more glance at his best friend, the two meme guardians gave each other an agreeable nod as smg4 pushed the button. with one final physical motion as smg4 could hear the technology within the helmet activate, smg4 raised his arm up, and gave a thumbs up.

to be continued...

...

fri: “watchman” was an outworldly entity, one could even label a god, but they were much more than that. an entity by physical appearance built up by particles of pink fluidity sand. as if a piece had its own consciousness. watchman was a playful being, understood empathy, sympathized with others, and yearned to nurture those suffering in pain. romantical pain even. always watching love play… always… watching… tick tock.

#tsb #tsb fanfic #smg4 #smg3 #smg4 smg3 #smg34 #smg4 fanfic #fanfic #oc fanfic #oc fanfiction #tsb 1k birthday party

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lostloveletters · 2 days

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This Must Be The Place (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Home is a place, and a person, and a strange thing to navigate when Brady’s been away from his for so long, and Woody’s never quite had one.

Note: I really missed writing for Brady and Woody, I'm sorry it's been so long! I was thinking I'd have this done like a week ago, but then I got stuck on a scene and had to rewrite some things. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Some angst.

‘I’m coming home. Woody will be with me. We’re getting married.’

John’s letter home, sent just before their departure from England, hadn’t been that short, but the message was clear enough that by the time they were Stateside, his mother had called—paid the long distance charges and all—just to speak to him after years of anxious writing. He choked up when he heard his mother’s voice again after so long, handing the phone to Woody so he could compose himself when he felt the conversation getting away from him.

Woody’s semi-frequent correspondence with his mother, particularly after his father died, put her in her good graces, as she found the letters odd yet charming. She especially appreciated the photo of the two of them that Woody included in one of her letters—which must have been from the party for Dye’s crew when they completed their 25th mission, since she was actually wearing her WAC uniform instead of her typical coveralls in it. ‘I thought it was from a movie magazine!’ his mother gushed to him in the letter that followed.

Looking at that photo, framed and displayed on the slightly yellowing floral-patterned wall along with decades’ worth of memories, from his parents’ wedding to his childhood with his brother, made him more certain of his future with Woody than ever.

He pulled his pipe from his mouth and sighed. Being home without his father around made him feel a bit unsettled, even though he had been greeted with hugs and kisses from just about every one of his relatives at the door. His father had been their rock, the one who kept it all together, the kind of husband and father he aspired to be someday. Turning around to look at his fiance, he tried to see her through his father’s eyes, and quickly determined he would have liked her, there was no way he couldn’t have.

Woody cleaned up damn well when she wanted to, her blonde hair had been in hot rollers and then painstakingly styled early in the morning, before they took the train into town, his brother Gene waiting at the station to drive them to Victor. She scrounged up the money to buy a new dress from a department store for the occasion—midnight blue, loose-fitting, ‘Something I can move in,’ she had told him. John wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to seeing her legs like that. Throughout the evening, his eyes drifted to the soft, flowing hem around her knees as each of his relatives fawned over her.

It wasn’t necessarily eavesdropping, not when aunts and uncles and cousins clamored over each other to speak to his future bride, who bashfully accepted their compliments and patiently entertained their questions.

“You’re from San Diego, aren’t you?”

“San Francisco, actually, but I’ve been all over.”

“San Francisco! It must be so sleepy up here to you!”

“Oh, I’m just glad to be wherever John is,” she said, glancing over at him almost shyly. “We could end up in Alaska for all I care.”

Her story of how they met won them over. The twinkle in her eye when his relatives gasped and crossed themselves when she told them of his crash landing upon arrival at Thorpe Abbotts—a detail he omitted in his letters home, it only would have been a source of unnecessary anxiety back then, but humorous and exciting in hindsight.

She’d ridden up to the wreckage of a well-executed emergency belly-landing in the truck with Ken Lemmons and the rest of the available ground crew, ready to get to work once he examined the damage. In the middle of Ken’s quick and astoundingly accurate assessment—’It really wasn’t that bad,’ she assured his enraptured family—she introduced herself to the fort’s pilot, mentioning to them how handsome she found then-Lieutenant John Brady when she first saw him.

“Love at first sight,” one of his younger cousins gasped.

“Something like that.” Woody said, light laughter in her voice. “After a while, I realized the progress on the plane wasn’t all he was interested in when he came around the hangar to watch me work.”

Their eyes met from across the modest living room’s threshold, sharing private smiles as if the dozens of people crammed inside all disappeared.

“Can you blame me?” he finally said.

Everyone had something to say after that, all clamoring to get their two-cents in. One of his uncles patted his shoulder, "You picked a good one."

He grinned—he sure did.

The sentiment was reiterated as the larger group dispersed throughout the house. He managed to slip into the dining room to make a plate of what was left of the hors d'oeuvres his mother had set out. Cheese and crackers, some cold cuts, too. Didn't realize how much he missed things like that, savoring each bite as he stood near the kitchen, watching Woody with one of his aunts.

She slouched a bit, withered compared to how she had been entertaining everyone in the living room.

“A lady mechanic,” his aunt marveled, “you know I can hardly believe it, but I’m sure you showed those boys a thing or two.”

“I was just glad I could do my part,” Woody said, the canned answer acceptably modest.

“Your family must be so proud of you.”

Her strained smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “My parents are, um—“

“Aunt Del, I think I heard my mother asking for you,” John interrupted, setting his plate down.

“Oh, I better go see, then. Lovely talking to you, dear,” she said, patting Woody’s arm before departing the kitchen.

Woody leaned against the counter, audibly sighing in relief. She fought to blink away her exhaustion, traveling into town in the morning to keep up a facade through the evening, wanting so desperately to make a good first impression on his family, the agreeable, lovely future in-law they all wanted.

He moved in front of her, shielding her from any nosy relatives who might poke their heads in, looking for her.

“You saved me,” she said.

“She shouldn’t be bringing it up anyway," he said. "I know my mother told them—"

"It’s a practice run for the wedding.”

“We could elope. Go to the courthouse first thing in the morning…”

She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting all over the room before bringing her attention back to him. "No, we couldn't," she said with finality. "It wouldn't be fair to them."

But it'd be nice. Shorten the list of things they had to worry about, though it'd just as quickly put her on his family's shit list as she managed to get in their good graces over the course of an afternoon. It almost felt too easy. Maybe that was what everyone wanted after everything that happened over the past few years, glad to finally have John home and willing to overlook any reservations about the woman he brought home with him.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look?” he asked, gently tugging on the hem of her dress and pulling her from her thoughts.

“I feel naked without trousers on.”

“I wish you were.”

She tapped his chest with the back of her hand. “Watch it, Johnny.”

“I’m sorry we have to stay here.”

“Why?”

He nodded toward the crowded living room. “Lack of privacy, for starters.”

She shook her head, echoing her earlier sentiment. “I’m just glad to be with you.”

“As soon as we’re both working, we’ll start looking for a place. Maybe an apartment to start.”

“Your family would be okay with that?” she asked. “Us living together?”

“Probably not, but we’re engaged at least, and after the past two years, I don’t want to be without you again.”

“Me either.”

They spent the following half hour or so hiding in the kitchen before his relatives began filtering out, leaving them with hugs and well-wishes and promises to invite them over for lunch or dinner sometime.

"Woody, it was great meeting you," Gene said, giving her a hug. "Keep an eye on this one, he might not look it, but he can be trouble."

"I'm enough trouble for the both of us, believe me," she said, retreating back to John's side.

The house was soon empty, save for the three of them, sitting in the living room with the radio playing softly in the background of the conversation between John and his mother.

Even though she brewed some coffee for them, Woody could hardly keep her eyes open. She nodded off for a moment, her mug nearly slipping from her hands.

"John, the poor thing is exhausted. Why don't you show her upstairs while I clean up? I made up your brother's old room for her."

"Thank you," Woody said. "Really, for letting me stay here. I can pay you rent, or—"

"Please, you're almost family now. And I trust you both to…" his mother struggled to find the words, almost flustered, and Woody tried her best to contain a snicker, "mind yourselves."

"Woody keeps me honest," he lied.

"Alright," she conceded with a smile. "Good night you two."

As soon as they were upstairs, they wasted no time in shoving into the bathroom together—a tight squeeze, but more than fine by them. Their respective nighttime routines peppered with kisses and soft touches while teeth were brushed and faces were washed, practically pressed against one another while sharing the limited sink space.

They paused to look at themselves in the mirror on the wall, a domestic portrait staring back at them. He pressed his lips just below her ear, settling his chin on her shoulder as his arms wrapped around her waist from behind.

Whenever she blinked, she expected it to be a dream she would wake up from, back in the barracks at Thorpe Abbotts, waiting for him to come back, worrying incessantly. But she put her hands over his and squeezed gently. Real, warm, loving. Always loving.

"I wish we didn't have to sleep in separate rooms," she mumbled.

"We'll be fine," he said. "It won't be for too long, anyway."

She wanted to say something—that it was ridiculous, they were adults for crying out loud. And after everything he especially had been through, couldn't there have been some grace, some wiggle room, all things considered? But it'd been clear through the way his family interacted with him throughout the day that they didn't know nearly as much about it as she did. Even then, there were things he kept to himself, things she'd probably never know.

Feeling almost useless, she turned around, pressing her lips to his, hoping he knew everything she couldn't say was in that kiss, in the way her blunt nails tenderly scratched his jaw. "I'll see you in the morning."

The hallway was short, the room easy enough to find with Woody's two suitcases sitting neatly next to the door, Gene having brought them up for her once they got to the house, encouraging her to unpack after the party, 'Make yourself at home.' She hesitated, more than used to living out of the two suitcases and not having much to her name anyway. She was careful when she set one of them on the bed, digging through for pajamas, a satin set consisting of an olive green camisole, matching robe, and loose, flowy pants with lace detailing around the cuffs. John bought it for her when they were in Manhattan, insisting his family would think he wasn't taking good care of her if she puttered around in her old PT shirt and men's pajama bottoms. Felt like they spent half the money they had on hand to buy new clothes, so they'd be real people and blend in with all the rest.

His mother made up the room beautifully for Woody—the soft, worn linens smelled faintly of detergent, but mostly of home, something she heard plenty of people refer to when the scent of a certain blend of tobacco or freshly cut grass was in the air, but never quite understood until she got under the covers and immediately thought of John.

Settling on her side, she stared at the wall between them, like if she looked at it long enough, she'd be able to see through it, see him. One measly wall, nothing compared to two years and thousands of miles, but she still missed him terribly.

She wrapped her arms around her middle in a weak attempt to comfort herself and closed her eyes. She couldn't find sleep behind them despite her earlier exhaustion, her racing thoughts keeping her awake.

The door creaked open, and she sat up on her elbows, brows furrowed in confusion until John closed the door behind him.

“Are you out of your mind? Your mother could come up here any minute and—“

“It’s not that…I can’t sleep without you,” he mumbled, almost embarrassed. They’d spent the past few weeks practically attached at the hip, from the time he arrived back at Thorpe Abbotts, on the ship from England to New York, to the guilty weekend in a Manhattan hotel room. Even in the familiar walls of his childhood bedroom, he tossed and turned when left to face the night alone.

“Oh, Johnny,” she cooed, extending her arms to him. “Come here.”

He curled up into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She silently cradled him until she felt hot tears on her skin.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly.

“‘m sorry."

“Don’t ever apologize. I love you.”

“I love you.” He held her tighter, the way he would cling to a teddy bear when he was a boy, too young to face his fears on his own but too old to seek the comfort of his parents for it. “I love you so much.”

In an attempt to calm him down, she stroked his hair. It wouldn’t look great, his mother finding them entangled in bed together or catching him sneaking out of her room. She didn’t seem like an unreasonable woman, though. Surely she would understand that seeking comfort wasn’t a sin—nothing they did was, not when there was love at the root of it all.

“Go to sleep,” Woody whispered, though she could tell by his steady breathing he already was. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

#john brady x oc #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air #john brady #mota oc #mota fanfic #mota x oc #mota #hbo war x oc #hbo war #ch: woody

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ablogcalledrevenge · 1 year

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So I headcanon Eddie as Jewish and I think that once the kids graduate and no more crazy shit happens in Hawkins, Steve follows Robin to whatever college she wants to go to, and Eddie follows Steve. Probably a big city like Chicago or Boston or New York.

Eddie scours the city for Jewish delis, ordering a bagel with lox or pastrami on rye at every one, wanting to find the best. It’s at one of these delis that he meets a bunch of older Jewish women looking for a mahjong player. See Rose just moved to Boca because the winter is bad on her knees so they need a new fifth and Eddie’s a Nice Jewish Boy and he likes games so he offers to join them.

Turns out he’s not that good at it. It doesn’t hold his attention like D&D while also moving too fast for him to follow. He’s too indecisive about hands, trying to switch late in the round.

But Steve… Steve LOVES mahjong. Steve is good at mahjong.

Cut to every Thursday night, Steve going off to Diane or Sylvie’s house to play mahjong with a bunch of old ladies. They adore Steve and how sweet he is, always helping them clean up the tiles and get to their cars.

“And he’s so handsome, isn’t he Ruth? If he weren’t dating Eddie, he’d be perfect for my granddaughter. Such a mensch.”

Because they know about Eddie and Steve. It’s easy to see when you know what to look for and Sarah and Ruth have been roommates since 1967.

So they play and gossip and eat snacks and exchange recipes. Steve asks for creative meals during Passover since he’s got a picky eater. They assume it’s one of the kids he babysits. It’s actually Eddie.

Just give me Steve hanging out with cool old ladies, being a little bitchy, eating rugelach, and taking Eddie out to dinner on his winnings.

#stranger things #steddie #headcanon #jewish eddie munson #i play mahjong and I’m not that good but i feel like steve would be #you have to see patterns and you have to move quick #also steve knows jewish stuff is important to eddie so he wants to be supportive

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malasquid · 7 months

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So. I've Cracked The Code On The Appearance Changes in Side Order.

Wall of photos and such incoming.

After a lot of testing, I've discovered there are 7 different little lights and doodads that are added to Agent 8 via upgrading certain chips, each with a basic 1st tier and and upgraded 2nd tier. The 1st tier of upgrades appear after picking up two of the same chips in that changes pool (ex: 2 Homing Shots chips), with the 2nd tier appearing after picking up five of them (ex: 5 Homing Shot chips). There is no further visual indicators added for maxing chips that go beyond 5, such as Splash Damage or Rush Attack.

Full disclaimer: This is the result of researching a LOT of my own runs, so I can say this is true with about 95% certainty. If I labeled an ability chip in the wrong visual pool, please let me know!

Let's start with the basics - our control group. No Teal upgrades provide any visible changes to Agent 8 (or Pearl-bot for that matter), so I ran an all-teal palette to demonstrate.

First is likely one of the more requested visual changes - the Headset. The 1st tier sports a basic metallic earpiece, with the 2nd adding an antenna and eyepiece that match your primary ink color.

Maxing Splash Damage, Sound Wave Damage, Splash Radius, Special Charge Up, Turf Lucky Chain, Rush Knockback, and Homing Shots all provide the headset!

Next up is Ink Bubbles. The 1st tier shows transparent, slower bubbles flowing in 8's ink tank, with the bubbles being faster and more opaque in the 2nd tier.

Nabbing Poison Ink, Splat Ink Recovery, Ink Saver Sub, Ink Recovery Rate, Sticky Ink, and Explosion Knockback all provide Ink Bubbles.

Following that is the Fins. The 1st tier shows the base shackles being added to 8's boots, with the fins themselves being added for the 2nd tier.

Picking up Run Speed, Swim Speed, Rush Attack, Mobile Ink Recovery, Mobile Special Charge, and Mobile Drone Gauge all provide the Fins.

Now, moving on to the weapon upgrades!

First we have the Muzzle Lights, which appear at the muzzle of most weapons, and the sides of the brush and roller nearest the base. The 1st tier shows a circle and squares circling around the muzzle, with the 2nd tier being more exaggerated, with alternating squares and rectangles forming a hexagon pattern in the center.

These are exclusive to the Ink Damage, Main Damage (Close), and Main Damage (Distant) chips.

Next up is likely the most common visual one can see on their run - the Arrows. The 1st tier shows a circle with three arrows pointing down the weapon, with the 2nd tier adding some blowback markers behind the circle.

These are on a whopping TEN upgrades, being Splatling Barrage, Main Firing Speed, Horizontal Slash Speed, Main Range, Main Piercing, Main Ink Coverage, Rush Ink Coverage, Quick Charge, Shot Spread Reduction, and Ink Saver Main.

Last of the weapon upgrades are the Dots. The 1st tier is 3 large dots and a circle spinning at the bottom of your weapon or around your wrist, with the 2nd tier adding another circle around the dots.

These can be found on the Hindrance Damage, Ink Attack Size, Charge Storage, Moving Ink Speed, Extra Dodge Roll, Brella Cooldown, and Knockback upgrades.

And finally, my favorite little knick-knack, the Shrimp Hook. This little guy appears on your ink tank after picking up 2 matching Luck upgrades (ex: Lucky Bomb Drop, Canned Special Drop, etc), and begins to glow after picking up 5. However, the glowing effect is not visible in the post-game screen. 😔 (I would totally buy one of these if someone made one, btw)

By the way, 7 visual upgrades * 5 chips needed to max each visual is 35 chips, which is just shy of the 36 total chips you can have on one palette, which means, in theory, you could. Have every maxed visual indicator on in one run.

Just a thought. : )

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #side order #side order spoilers #agent 8 #long post #sorry i have side order brainrot #look at my research boy

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greenorangevioletgrass · 4 months

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tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

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City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?”

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile. And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…”

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too.

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved.

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered.

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter, “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

#art donaldson #divorced!art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #divorced!art x reader #art donaldson fluff #eeeeeeeee im so h-word physically and emotionally for him #ava writes #challengers fic

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nanaslutt · 11 months

Note

omg can u imagine gojo being so obsessed with ur pussy lips and before seggs he makes u spread urself for him like he’s the pussy inspector 😵‍💫😵‍💫 or like makes u touch urself and spread ur legs/lips rly wide so he can watch

i can imagine and i am imagining and i will continue to imagine

nonnie you are BRILLIANT<3

contains: fem reader, pussy inspection, masturbation (gojo & reader), he guides you, you’re in front of a mirror, he’s obsessed with your cunt, you finger yourself together, so much praise like so much, dirty talk, he talks to ur pussy, pretty soft i won’t lie~

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

“toru, this ‘s so embarrassing.” your mumbling so quiet he can barely hear, face burning under his scrutinizing gaze with his eyes that can literally see everything

“don’t be embarrassed baby, your little pussy is so pretty,” he assures you, he currently has you on your back, thighs resting over his thicker ones as he’s between your thighs, sitting back on his heels, lengthy cock in hand, “you should wanna show her off,” he smiles sincerely at you

your hands are on the underside of your thighs, holding your pussy lips open for him to get a better veiw,

“you sure ur not jus’ pretending to be embarrassed cutie? little hole is squeezing around nothing down here when i talk to you,” his free hand coming to aid you in holding yourself open, pulling back the hood of your clit to get a closer look at your swollen bud,

“oh fuck,” he laughs, watching it twitch under his watchful stare, “want you to rub your clit a little for me pretty girl, can you do that?” he smiles fondly, eyebrows raising when he looks at you,

“o-okay,” you whimper, he moves his hand from the hood of your clit down to your thigh, rubbing comforting patterns into the skin there

you let one of the hands that was holding your cunt open come around your body and slide down your pelvis, tip of your middle finger coming in contact with your clit, legs trying to squeeze shut around him at the stimulation

“gotta keep ‘em open so i can see okay?” he says, emphasizing his point by using his strong grip to keep your leg in place,

“show me how you touch yourself when your alone.” he bites his lip, watching you look anywhere but his eyes that are trying to make contact with your own as you whimper out at his request,

dipping your finger down to your entrance to gather some of the slick there, you drag your finger back up to your clit and start rubbing quick circles into the angry bud,

not an inch of your movements are being overlooked by his crystaline eyes, he slowly starts to rub his own cock while he watches you, using his dripping pre to lubricate his strokes, jaw dropping in a half smile as he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head

a second finger joining the first in rubbing your clit, wetness echoing in the room,

“tell me how it feels,” he’s breathing heavily, focusing on his tip, watching you try to put your pleasure into words for him,

“feels so good, makes my tummy feel all hot,” you pause to gasp, “rubbing it d-directly like t-this is so intense.” you finish, panting in short breaths, finding a good rhythm, one that makes your toes curl,

“oh fuck, i bet it is, looks like it feels so good,” he shakes his head in disbelief, huffing out a half laugh-half moan when he picks up the ministrations on his cock,

reaching his hand back down to your pussy and teasing the tip of his finger in your hole, twisting his palm so it’s facing the ceiling, moaning at the feeling of how warm and wet you feel when he slips it deeper, before pulling out completely

“can you imagine how this feels around my cock?” he asked, watching you scrunch your cute little eyebrows together in pleasure,

“stop for a second.” he says, letting go of his grip on his cock and letting it bob in the air, you look up him confused, barely having time to register the change in position, he picks you up so you’re sitting on the edge of the bed on his lap, facing the mirrored closet, feet perched on the bed by your ass, giving you both a great veiw of your pussy all spread out, his broad chest flexing against your back, feet firmly on the ground,

“gimmie ur hand sweetie,” he speaks, letting him take your hand in his, he places his palm on the back of your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours before guiding your hand between your legs,

unlocking your finger after he presses you palm over your dripping cunt, his chest vibrates against your back when he speaks, “put two fingers inside yourself,” he requests, “slowly, really feel how soft and wet you feel.” he instructs, hand opting to hold your thigh open for now while he watches your every moment through the mirror,

you dip the tips of your fingers inside your hole, rubbing the wetness on the length of your digits before slowly pressing deeper into yourself, just like satoru asked, your head falling back against his shoulder in a moan when your cunt swallows up your fingers to the hilt, palm pressed firmly against your clit,

“good girl” he draws out, groaning as he thrusts his hips shallowly against you, cock pressed snugly between your lower back and his abs, relishing in the friction,

“feel how good that feels?” he asks, hand he had resting on your thigh coming down to your cunt, teasing the space under where your fingers are currently stuffed in your hole, you whimper out an ‘uh-huh’ while nodding, “that’s what my cock feels every time i’m inside of you.”

his thick fingers slowly joining yours inside your cunt, pushing them in with a little resistance as you gasp, eyes shooting open and head tipping forward to watch his ministrations in the mirror, “fuck! s-satoru!” you moan at the stretch

your cunt and his dick alike throb at the veiw of his fingers along with your own stuffed inside you, “this pussy is so fucking good to me you know that? he whispers into your ear, keeping eye contact with you in the mirror,

starting to pump all four of your fingers together in and out of your gushing pussy, forcing your fingers to curl with his each time he fucks them into you, putting the most mind numbing pressure on your gspot

“always squeezes my cock so good, just like she’s doin to our fingers now.” his mouth is still pressed to your ear, hot breath sending goosebumps all over your body,

“touch your clit, pay attention to how tight she gets when you do that,” he instructs

shaky hand coming down to rub your puffy nub, letting out a long moan of his name at the sensation of your clit getting stimulated along with your gspot being pounded into, thanks to him picking up the pace,

basically holding hands with him inside of you as your fingers tangle and curl together, cum sliding down between your ass as you work together to bring you to your rapidly approaching orgasm,

“fuck you felt that right?” he moans breathlessly into the shell of your ear, “felt how much tighter she got?” humming sounds of approval into the side of your face as the coil in your tummy screws impossibly tighter,

“and when you cum it makes my cock feel even better, try to focus on that, really wan’ you to understand how good you make me feel.” he enlightens you, staring between your pretty face twisting in pleasure and your messy cunt crying out for him as your thrown into your orgasm,

hunching over when the first wave hits you, remembering satoru’s words and trying to focus on how your pussy clenches and spasms around your fingers, and how it feels

his hips fucking up into your back, feeling sympathetic pleasure himself watching your intense orgasm wrack your body with tremors,

whimpers of his name and curses filling the air as your cum drips around both of your digits, letting you catch your breath for a second before pulling out his fingers, yours following shortly after, as he leaves sweet kisses on your sensitive neck.

“did such a good job, felt nice when you squeezed all tight on ur fingers when you came, right?” he asked, eyes already on yours when you came to, smiling and nodding at him through the mirror, affirming his words,

“good, now i wanna feel that same thing around my cock, and i want you to squirt for me while we’re at it,” he leaves one final kiss on your cheek, hearts practically in your eyes as he gets you in position for the long and messy night you’re about to experience.

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daycourtofficial · 6 months

Text

Wingspan Matters

Summary: based on this request, you, Nesta, and Feyre catch your mates in a pissing contest over their wingspans

Author’s note: silly little crack hehe

Word count: ~1k

You poured yourself another cup of tea as Feyre and Nesta began squabbling over something you really couldn’t bring yourself to care about. You looked out the window, taking in the nice spring weather. A light breeze was flowing through the trees, causing the branches to move in a dance to the wind’s patterns.

You watch as the birds flit by, their song a lament to the end of winter, as if they too were sending their thanks to the Mother for spring to return. It’s the first warm day in months, the first day that your forearms won’t get cold being exposed to the air.

The life around you seems to dance and sing at the joyous return of spring - insects buzz past the windows, their high pitched frequencies a delight to your ears. You don’t let yourself think for too long about how the resurrection of spring will cause Cassian to snore even louder than before.

Perhaps you and Azriel can plan an escape to the Summer Court for a few weeks. Hopefully the distance and the crashing of waves will be enough to block out Cassian’s loud snoring.

You get lost in a daydream of laying on the beach with Azriel, either in the sand or in hammocks, applying a protective balm to his wings. The sun is warm on your skin, the salty spray of the ocean in your hair.

Muffled shouting disturbs both your daydream and whatever quarrel Nesta and Feyre were in the middle of. The three of you open the doors to the balcony, leaning over the railing to find your mates in a circle in a clearing on the property, their tan skin and large, dark wings making them stand out amidst the greenery that surrounds them.

Azriel was standing to the side, looking incredibly smug with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches his two brothers. Cassian has a piece of ribbon that he was holding up to Rhysand’s back. The two kept bickering, over what you couldn’t discern.

Before any of you could question what the two were discussing, Rhysand took the ribbon from Cassian and pushed him off. Cassian landed on the ground, but immediately sprung back up, his hands coming up and shoving Rhysand off the rock he was perched on.

“Looks like the bats are finally measuring themselves,” Nesta muses, bringing her cup to her lips.

You could hear Rhys’s laugh from the balcony as he sprung up, keeping low to the ground as he charged at Cassian, his shoulder hitting Cassian’s hips. He pushed Cassian into the ground, causing Cassian to push his weight upwards so the two of them begin rolling around on the ground, punches and curses being shared to and fro.

Feyre chuckles, “it seems Azriel’s already won.”

Nesta peers back to you over her cup, “I don’t think it’s just Azriel that’s won.”

“Don’t draw yourself up too short, Nes. I think Cassian’s in second place.”

Nesta looks back at you, eyes roaming up and down your frame, “I’m more surprised he hasn’t broken you in half yet.”

Feyre laughs as you reply, “you’d be more surprised if you saw some of the things we do.”

You waggle your eyebrows at Nesta as Feyre continues laughing, but Nesta’s not quick enough to hide her smirk without your notice.

“How long do we wait until we have them measure Feyre’s wings?” you ask.

Feyre thinks for a moment, hand on her chin, “maybe when Azriel gets a little too cocky.”

“Or Rhysand gets too pouty,” Nesta adds.

From across the courtyard, you could see Azriel’s amused smirk as his eyes met yours, a light tug on the bond urging you to keep your gaze on him. You smile, pulling back softly. He raises his eyebrows up and down a few times, and you send some amusement down the bond as you roll your eyes at him.

He stretches his wings out at your attention, making them as large as he can. You’re pretty certain you’ve seen birds do similar things in mating rituals, but the unfortunate thing is seems to actually be working on you.

He looks over to his brothers, still rolling around in the dirt, and gently takes off for a short flight up to the balcony the three of you are on. He lands softly in front of you, his wings creating a small wind, his chest glowing in the sunlight as his hands reach for you, pulling you into him by your hips.

You melt into him, arms going around his waist, your head resting over his heart as he supports your weight with the railing behind him. The warmth from his skin is soothing without being overbearingly hot.

“They make me want to gag,” Nesta tells Feyre, and you move your head so you can see the two pairs of eyes looking back to the two of you. Azriel wraps his wings around you, making you nearly impossible to see if it weren’t for your feet. You can hear the smile on Nesta’s face at her words, though.

You weasel an opening between Azriel’s arms so you can make eye contact with Nesta as you tell her, “he makes me gag too,” as you make an obscene gesture with your hand.

Nesta’s face immediately goes into her hands while Feyre chuckles, but her laughs are drowned out by the male in front of you, his laugh rumbling in his chest beneath your ear.

He peers down at you, one eyebrow raised in question. You nod slightly, and the two of you vanish into his shadows, leaving Feyre and Nesta to watch their mates continue to fight in the dirt, forgetting who really won the competition.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel x y/n #acotar writing

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yandere-kokeshi · 6 months

Note

We need to know how separate TF-141 would be as house-husbands!!! Please!!!

— Yandere headcanons of TF-141 as house-husbands

Warnings: Yandere behavior, older! characters, male gender roles, NSFW, slight delusional behaviors.

A/N: Anon, you are SO, so smart. I love you /a.

Captain “Price” John:

The type of house-husband nobody expected for him to be– not even himself. John had partially agreed to it, and now he’s a stay-at-home dad for your cats. When he wedded you, he never thought of it this way; and now, he had promised to always care for you, did he not?

Price is well over-tired, pretty hairy and massive; beard scratchy and face all squishy; he’s a chubby man. But that doesn’t stop him at all.

John loves waking you up in the mornings. Before even shaking you awake, he loves to admire you. Watching your different breathing patterns, some dribbles of drool, and the obvious bed marks staining your face makes him smirk. But of course, it ends too short when he realizes you need to get up.

John is so, oh gentle, when waking you up. Scarred hands rubbing at your hips as he rubs his beard into your shoulder, prepping kisses and telling you to get a move on. However, if you ignore him, he’s more than happy to leave some permanent marks, yes?

He always makes your breakfast and lunch the night before, chopping the meat, fruits, and vegetables into the correct order so he can easily sleep in with you till you leave. So, when your alarm goes off, he detaches himself from you, getting up with only his red boxers– turning on the oven to preheat the food yet again and leaving them on the table for you to enjoy when you get out of the shower.

And with that, he takes your health seriously, mentally and physically, which means most foods in the house are pretty healthy. All types of fruits, veggies, protein, and fiber nourishment is given with each meal, and he expects you to eat it all.

When shopping, he takes everything seriously. He hates getting off track, only sticking to what’s on the list, and cashiers who take too long on talking– especially if they openly flirt with him. Can’t you see I'm taken? He snarks out, showing off his wedding ring before fast walking out towards his car with his hands full.

Chores are chores. They need to be done. Dishes are easy, laundry, and vacuuming are a piece of cake. But cleaning the bathroom? Oh, that’s a bit difficult. Especially with the hidden camera he’s put out of your sight, and at times, he gets distracted; watching the many films, seeing you all naked and wet, makes Price feel... a sudden urge. How are you just so gorgeous, hm?

John is the definition of a “Pro Loyalty Card”. For all those stores he visits, he has cards for each and every single one of them, including the convenience store. They always come in handy.

Routines are his specialty; he knows everything about your schedule, to the time you leave for work, to when you call him at your lunch break, come home and collapse in his lap, all the way to sleeping in the bed naked. He’s memorized it all.

After the long antagonizing and stressful week, John always sits you down for a long bath. He massages your shoulders, using a special lotion to rub on you after the bath. But, that’s not the only gift he's giving. Before gently and lovingly pushing you to the bed, he slowly fucks the stress and irritation of you; teeth makes ensuring you stay loyal to your man.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Simon is quick and sleek with shopping, getting and seeking foods that have high nutrition because you only deserve the best. Most foods he picks out are healthy, getting many baskets of fruits to ensure you enjoy your lunches. But when passing by the sugar aisle, he can’t help but choose a few sweets for you.

A type of house-husband you’d never expect. He’s brooding, shoulders kept tight, wearing a black mask and hoodie as he sulks in the grocery aisles, holding the colored basket. You’d think he’s stealing with a gun hidden in his back pocket. However, when in reality, he’s taking his house duties extremely seriously as he eyes for the cereal aisle.

He wakes up way early, even before you start to stir awake, even before the sun rises and goals himself to get a good workout in. Even though he’s not the same lieutenant as he was years ago– he’s not lazy, and still picks up his pace whilst jogging down the street and doing push-ups in the open garage.

At times, he wishes you could join him, and it would be fun, would it not? Having you down below, as his chest presses against yours and your flushed face being the main goal for him to continue? Or maybe, him guiding you through pull-ups, and you need his help? Oh, that’s how to make him very desperate for you in the early mornings.

Speaking of early mornings, when you rise with his gentle shaking, whispers of “good mornin’”, and his rough stubble rubbing your neck, you realize just how lucky you are. Especially with how Riley joins in, when he notices his second favorite human is up and awake.

Though, if you decide to ignore these two, covering your face and mumbling away, Simon will crawl over you, prep your face with sloppy kisses, and murmur hot and dirty words. His hand instinctively crawling down, snapping the band of your underwear, nails barely scratching at your skin whilst promising to get you all hot and messy, before forcing you out of bed.

When you leave out of that door, regardless of the morning, he ensures the house is spotless before you come home. He doesn’t listen to any music, only the occasional barks from Riley as he sprays the leather couches, doing the dishes the “old-fashioned way”, and folding laundry like it’s a race.

Most are scared of him– except for that one lady down the road. Her eyes follow Simon as if he’s a god, but he scoffs at that when she twirls her hair. You’re the real deity, he openly thinks. Of course, he shows off his pretty wedding ring, the one you got him; and somehow, Simon wishes you’d just make out with him in public, show her that he’s off limits and that he’s yours.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

The type of househusband who immediately recognized that you needed to be cared for, and went forth with that promise between the marriage. You work so hard to make money for the both of you. And he’s devoted to doing whatever he can to be helpful too.

Kyle is a clean freak, which means the house is nearly spotless when you come home. Every scratch at the couch has him grunting and hands vigorously trying to rub it off. Shoes inside the house are immediately put up, and he hates rainy days; looking at you with glaring pupils as you step inside with soaked coverings. But, he loves you.

The chores in the house are easily done before the afternoon, dishes cleaned with shiny marks and the floors vacuumed. Dusting and sweeping the house with headphones on, face flushed whilst… listening to among things he’d never want you to find out.

Laundry is always last in line, as he tends to “borrow” a good deal of dirty underwear of yours, smelling them intensely. Don’t worry though, he returns them at some point.

Kyle is the definition of “wifey material food”. Every breakfast consists of incredible fried eggs, mixed with bacon and fluffy pancakes; lunch and dinner being different every day, which is nice. He usually sticks with foods you’re comfortable with, never going out of your zone, and tries his hardest to make different sizes of hearts out of the food.

Though, you never seem to notice the secret ingredient, the divine particular part where the two of you are bonded stronger. Such shame, he utters. Sometimes he wishes you’d come home early– catch him desperately adding it within the dish with utter lewd excitement.

Having you come home is the best time of the day. Waiting by the door, wearing the cactus green apron you got him years ago, with a giant smile and dinner laid out, waiting for you. By the end of dinner, you’re full; both of love, and much suffocation of affection.

All the other housewives in the area love him. They often invite him for yoga, or work-out sessions. But, he usually uses the excuse that you need him. You do, don't you?

Every Friday, he wears and shows off certain gifts he feels that you’ll love. You work so hard for the both of you, so he should show his appreciation, should he not? Wearing all types of risqué clothing, leaving desperate messages, and having lingerie hidden underneath his black vest, coloring his skin and outlining his scars, stretch marks, and moles. Sooner or later, it leads to a heavy cuddle-sex session that he knows you’ll love.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

The type of househusband who uses his pretty eyes and sculpted body, to get his way. Everything from seeing you at your working office and past your lunch break, to getting free food samples, all the way to a book full of coupons and all types of gifts for half the percentage.

He’s amazing at picking food at the grocery outlet, picking up the correct portions of proper protein, vegetables, and iron. And sometimes, sneaking a few donuts, pops, and tubs of ice cream he knows you love.

Johnny always wakes you up, the alarm rarely shaking you as your beloved husband knows your schedule by heart. He ensures your breakfast and lunch are ready by 7am, smirking at the added secret ingredients that he only knows.

He’s more lenient with waking you up. Knowing how you like to sleep, beauty sleep he corrects, Johnny tries to let you snooze in as far as you can, before gently stirring you up as the sun rises in the opened window.

His arms snake around your waist, cuddling up behind you whilst pulling you into his warm chest, as he nibbles on your ear and tells you to start getting up; breakfast is served on the table with awaited love. Though, if his sweet honey voice doesn’t work at this time, maybe some extremely sloppy oral will help, no?

Johnny ensures that everybody knows you’re lovingly taken. Those hickeys and bruises on your arms, and neck show just how loveable he is. He boasts about you all the time, to his then-team, cashiers and ladies on the streets. It’s only expected you do the same, yes?

Housewives and other househusbands either love him, or envy him. He’s pretty– too alluring to just be at home and caring for duties. Most women, and men constantly flaunt at his grown-out mohawk, often slicked back into a small bun and a few scars, especially one on his head, that prominent his face.

He’s still in shape, working out in the early mornings and doing yoga with the other moms; who he regularly drinks coffee with. They love how sweet and handsome the man is, especially towards his spouse.

Anyone would be lucky to have him, and many would trade a lifetime for him. But, he’s not going anywhere, not without you or your yummy neck anytime soon.

—

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writerunnamed · 5 days

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note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that.

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together.

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess.

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child.

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it.

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls.

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy.

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on.

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him.

To you, it was pathetic.

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this.

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman.

It was shameful to imagine yourself.

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt.

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full.

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not.

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained.

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left.

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult.

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach.

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again.

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember.

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now.

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out.

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence.

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races.

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it.

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut.

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche.

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you.

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression.

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye.

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street.

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry.

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house.

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch.

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him.

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly.

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.”

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean.

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face.

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body.

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real.

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again.

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.”

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it.

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting.

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper.

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t.

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell.

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame.

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl.

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind.

You doubled down on avoiding him after that.

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you.

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person.

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time.

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation.

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job.

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home.

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny.

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid.

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy.

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you.

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open.

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content.

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth.

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again.

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time.

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open.

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought.

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet.

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement.

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough.

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out.

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly.

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes.

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip.

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy.

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting.

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his.

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard.

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass.

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze.

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver.

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs.

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word, should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren.

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly.

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates.

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin.

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him.

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper.

“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom.

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it.

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision.

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him.

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast.

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now.

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress.

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die.

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy.

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you.

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him.

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years.

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world.

The wrong thing wins.

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear.

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm.

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him.

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan.

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria.

What have I done? What have you made me do?

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #joel x y/n #pedro pascal #tw stepdad #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #unseemly #tlou #tlou fanfiction

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yanderestarangel · 6 months

Note

did u delete a fic? i swear i saw a tio!miguel fic earlier today

a/n: hi angel! thank you for asking, in fact there was an age restriction and I decided to delete it, I'll take advantage of your comment and repost it. ✧⁠*ᜊ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᜊ.

"TIO" MIGUEL O'HARA X FTM READER

𝐓𝐖: dark plot, toxic relationship, power play, non con, dub con, manipulation, age gap, step!incest (non-blood uncle), invasion of privacy, stalking, threat, dead dove, dark smut, latino ftm reader, femboy reader, jealousy, aggressive sex, recorded sex, dom!miguel, v!sex, blowjob, spanish nicknames, send nudes, degradation, objectification, AU, male x male, porn plot, long fic, brain rot, creampie, blackmail.

Family parties were normal for your family, getting together some close relatives and celebrating on any weekend, always with plenty of music and laughter filling your ears, was annoying at times, but you couldn't say 'no' to a tradition.

You felt the cold of the night breeze enter your skin, each hair left its place accompanied by a strange chill ── you were being watched, and you knew very well who it was... Tio Miguel.

Miguel O'Hara was a friend of your father, a mysterious and serious man, even though your family welcomed him as if he shared the same blood, he still had the same look of rigidity and seriousness ── no one knew much about his past, if he had some relationship or family before moving to your city years ago, but it was only said that he worked as a caretaker on some local farms ── which made him earn too much money for a simple caretaker, but that matter was not touched by no one in your family.

You obeyed the strict rule of calling him "Uncle" or "Tio", since when he arrived, when his eyes met yours, it was as if something awakened in his core ── a flame lost for years, now burning in his soul, and you it was the kerosene that made this fire worse.

Your attention returned to reality, seeing the tanned man go to the place where you were, sitting next to you; muscular legs crammed into the black jeans he always wore, with a weather-beaten dress shirt that had previously been white, now appeared to be a light vanilla shade, hugging the girth of his robust muscles. He had a cold, fresh can of beer in his right hand, while his left went towards his hair, arranging some loose strands that insisted on falling on his forehead, his lips formed a thin line, the corners turned down in disapproval ── The sight of you hiding from the celebration hurt him, a pang of possessiveness invaded his chest, soon remembering the things he had seen, however, before touching on the topic of rupture the words came out softly from his throat.

"What is wrong, carinõ?"

He asked softly, hand reaching out to take yours gently. His grip was firm but not unnecessarily tight, calloused skin warm against your own.

"You should be out there, dancing and laughing with your family... You seem thoughtful mi principito"

You sighed in response, quickly explaining that you weren't in a party mood, your hands went back to the cell phone that was previously in your pocket, making the Mexican's eyes narrow in response to such an act. O'Hara took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, then crushing the drink can in his hand and turning to you, he knew exactly what he wanted to know and he wanted the truth.

"Who was that boy, mi vida?”

He questioned, pulling you closer to his frame as the music swelled around you. His fingers traced idle patterns on your back, you felt the burn of heat on his body, the smell of expensive men's perfume and cheap alcoholic drink.

"You were speaking so intimately with him..."

His voice was a low purr, tinged with warning.

"This is our moment, just us... I dropped that phone." That was a threat, making you make a quick excuse ── after all, you knew exactly what he was talking about, you were going out with "Hobbie Brown", a friend from your college, but you didn't expect your uncle to have seen the two of you together (but it wasn't very difficult, you and the boy always clung to each other even if you didn't have anything officially. )

You moved away from Miguel's heat, before the sensation was still tolerable, but now it seemed like a violent flame and about to explode like a time bomb. Your mouth opened, speaking sweet lies, trying to mask the fact that you were going out with Hobbie ── you knew that the best way was to lie, even if it didn't do anything, you had already seen how your non-sanguine uncle acted like a crazy man when you were around people other than him. Miguel's eyebrows arched in disbelief, dark brows furrowing deeply. "Tell me, corazón, is there something you wish to confess to me?"

He asked, tilting his head curiously. His gauze lingered on your lips, as if he could taste the lie on them. "I see what happens around me, my heart."

He murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

"And I do not like it... Do not lie to me, mi angel, because the next lie I hear from your sweet lips, you'll regret it." The sound of his voice was a low rumble, like thunder on the horizon. He pulled you close again, his lips brushing your ear softly.

"You play with fire... Mi pequeño."

His voice was a whisper now, his breath warm against your skin.

"And one day, that fire will burn you."

He released you then, stepping back with a harsh exhale. His eyes were stormy, his features set in a hard line. Miguel stared at you for a moment, as if he could read your thoughts, as if he could feel your fear ── Finally, he sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"If I ever hear of another man touching you like that again... I will end him." He muttered, downing a large gulp of his drink before setting the bottle down on the table. You watched him leave, the loud footsteps on the raw cement floor were enough to tell you that he was angry. The rest of the party was strange, you felt tio Miguel's eyes on you, even though the atmosphere was pleasant for the other participants in your family, everything had gotten worse after the confrontation you had with the man ── you thought about telling about your uncle's strange behavior towards your father, but you knew it wouldn't help, they would just defend Miguel and say that you were exaggerating... But you felt like you weren't.

You went to your room, while you saw the tall man's shadow in the hallway, bumping into the walls because he was too drunk to think or stand on his feet ── you saw him leaning on your door frame, while you asked calmly if he needed some help. Miguel's eyes met his, his vision slightly blurred from the alcohol he had consumed. He licked his lips, his gaze roaming your body hungrily, but he didn't act, only a sob and a sad laugh left his lips, while he showed his white canines.

"You are mi ninõ. You always have been and always will be... There is no escaping your destiny."

He babbled, his words filled with drink, but he was serious, like he had never spoken before, you could see a mix of dark emotions that burned in his brown orbits, each word, no matter how slurred it was, carried a clear truth that could not be said aloud by several taboos.

His hands reached out, gripping your arms tightly. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving small red marks.

"Don't forget this... You would never lie to your Uncle right? I will protect you... Incluso si es de ti mismo."

He leaned closer, his breathing heavy and laced with the smell of whiskey.

"But I will also punish you if you disobey me."

He let go of you then, frowning as he looked at the marks he had left on your arms.

"Go to bed now."

He mumbled, turning away from you and stumbling towards the door.

"Sleep well, my precious boy."

His voice was filled with alcohol, spite and a twisted desire ── the latter making his gaze linger on you for a moment longer, as he staggered out, ignoring everything and everyone around him, you tried to ignore the burning in your stomach, a mixture of fear and a bittersweet heat near your stomach, you were maybe just very tired... Right? You pushed away the thoughts that consumed your mind, trying to grab the fog of sleep that you tried to achieve, you hoped for a good day... But little did you know what fateful destiny had planned.

You woke up to your parents cleaning the house, it was a hot and irritating Sunday, you woke up sweaty and to the loud sounds of rooms being dragged from one place to another ── you really didn't want to be there, so your father told you to go to your uncle Miguel's house, even though you insisted on saying the opposite, that you could handle the chaos at home and help them, but your parent just repeated the phrase and sent you to keep O'Hara company at his house.

Everything would be better than facing him again.

You wore your most comfortable and cool dress for that sultry summer day ── your breasts bounced and you felt the coolness of the wind blowing beneath your legs, reaching your thighs and panties, an adorable boy, on the way to the wolf's house.

Walking under the sun until you saw Miguel's house in a rural area and away from the common neighborhood, you called his name, soon seeing the man come completely sweaty and shirtless, still wearing the same pants from yesterday, while drying his sweat of his brow, letting you into his comfort.

"Fine."

He grumbled, he turned around, taking you home without saying another word. The tension between the two of you was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words.

As you entered the house, you noticed a slight disorder. Miguel's usually immaculate house really needed some cleaning. He gestured for you to sit on the couch.

"Your father said you were coming..." He sighed with a hand on his hips as he looked at you steadily. "That's good, now we can continue our conversation from yesterday, okay? I want the truth my boy, give me your cell phone, unlocked... After all, you have nothing to hide from me right... You and Hobbie are just good friends... Right?" His voice carried that threatening and authoritarian tone again, you stuttered but when you saw your uncle's look you swallowed hard and accepted your fate, obviously you had spicy messages on your cell phone, but what could you do? Running unfortunately wasn't an option, neither was screaming, you were trapped in a spider's web, and in the possessive man's judgmental gaze.

"Now. Give it to me. Or else you know what I'm capable of."

He repeated as you handed him the electronic device ─ and it didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for... Miguel's eyes narrowed as he flipped through the messages on his phone. His grip tightened around the device, his knuckles turning white. A mixture of anger, jealousy and hurt crossed his face as he read the explicit messages and saw the intimate photos, you were really with that boy... You were doing everything behind his back.

"How dare you show your body to that piece of shit!"

His voice was laced with bitterness and disappointment. He threw the phone onto the table, the screen cracking on impact.

"Do you think you can send nudes to some random boy and get away with it?"

He took a step towards you, his expression darkening.

"Did he make you wet? Did he make you excited?" His words came out like venom, his hand shot out, grabbing your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him. Miguel's grip on his chin tightened, his fingers digging into his flesh. His angry eyes fixed on his, his expression filled with a mixture of possessiveness and pain.

"I expected everything... Except that, I'm tired, tired of just being seen as your fucking uncle... I can give you so much more than that boy ever could. I can make you scream, make you beg for more. But you need to understand that you are mine."

His voice was filled with a desperate need, a desire that was both warm and terrifying. He pressed his body against his, his erection evident through his jeans. You tried to protest again, in vain, you just felt O'Hara's thick lips on yours, it was strong, his tongue dominating his as he held you tightly. His hand guided your trembling hand to his hard, throbbing erection, pressing it against the fabric of his pants. He let out a low growl of pleasure, the sound vibrating against your lips.

"You always make me hard on boy... So fucking hard." He continued kissing you fiercely, your free hand moving to grip his waist, his fingers digging into your flesh. He pressed your body against his again, now the bulge of his pants rubbing against your thigh. The intensity of his touch and the raw desire in his eyes made your own body respond, despite the fear and confusion, it was so wrong, but it felt right at the same time.

"Do you think you can show yourself like that to anyone? Do you think there will be no consequences?"

He pushed you back, guiding you towards the couch again ─ his hands exploring your body with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

"Strip for me, baby boy. Show me that body you dared to share with someone else. Show me what only I should see."

His voice was commanding, his eyes burning of lust and anger. He watched as you hesitantly complied, removing your clothes piece by piece, revealing your naked form to him ── your dress was discarded somewhere in the room, your breasts bounced while your nipples became hard from contact with the air, your pussy was already wet, a simple kiss had done that to you.

He looks at you with admiration... All of that was for him, a banquet of the gods, he wasn't going to leave you in punishment, no matter how angelic you were, he was going to reduce you to a dumb and beautiful mess, totally broken for him.

"Look at you... So eager to please, so desperate for my touch. Did just one kiss from does your uncle get you this wet?"

A smile played at the corners of his lips as he took hold of his cell phone, opening the camera app with a sinister glint in his eyes.

"Well, since you were so willing to show yourself to that boy, I think it's only fair that I capture this moment. Don't you agree, my precious angelito?"

He positioned himself in front of you, his cock springing free from his pants. The sight of his naked arousal feels a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. He pulled you down to your knees, his grip firm on the back of your head.

"Suck it," he commanded "Let the world see what a slut you've become."

You hesitated for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. But the thought of defying him only fueled his anger further. With a mixture of trepidation and submission, you wrapped your lips around his throbbing length, your tongue swirling around his head. He groaned, his grip tightening in his hair as he began recording your submissive act.

"You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth. Such a good boy, taking it all in."

He continued to record, capturing each salacious moment as you eagerly pleasured him. The taste of his cock and the sound of his moans filled your senses, heightening your own pleasure. Your body responded, the tingling warmth between your legs growing more intense with each passing moment.

"No one else gets to taste you like this. You're my slutty boy, and I'm going to make sure everyone knows it."

He spoke as the fat and hot tip of his member hit your throat repeatedly, making you choke and connect your nose with his groin, the lack of air making you momentarily see stars as he let you breathe again.

As Miguel reached his climax, he grunted and released a hot jet of cum into your mouth. He groaned with satisfaction, feeling the pulsing sensation as he emptied himself into your mouth. The taste of his essence filled your senses, mixed with the bitter-sweet humiliation of the situation. Once he had finished, he withdrew his dick from your mouth, his grip firm on your face. He forced you to open your mouth wide, showing your dirty tongue, coated with his cum, to the camera. The sadistic glint in his eyes only intensified as he instructed you to swallow it all.

You obediently complied, gulping down his cum, heavy tears ran down your body, while his thumb pulled your cheek to show him even more of your oral cavity.

"Look at the camera....You look like a damn porn star... A filthy, little porn star."

You barely had time to react, then the man trapped you beneath him again ─ his thighs separated yours, while he looked at your cunt milking the air with so much excitement, making him laugh mockingly and dominantly ─ without prior warning, his thick cock entered your wet pussy, stretching you to your limits and causing a mixture of pain and pleasure to surge through your body. Your legs were draped over his shoulders, granting him unrestricted access to your most intimate parts.

As he thrust into you, Miguel focused the camera on your tear-streaked face, capturing every moment of your vulnerability and submission.

You were a mess of conflicting emotions, a beautiful sight to him as he reveled in his dominance over you, The desire makes you delirious, completely erasing your sense of right and wrong ── soon you find yourself thrusting your hips onto his cock, whimpering pathetically as you moan his name.

"Mmm, you're such a buen chico para mí.. such a good and beautiful pussy... You hid it from me for so long... But you showed it so easily to that bastard... You disappoint your uncle sometimes, boy."

His hand left the camera momentarily, his fingers finding your clit, caressing it in a way that made your moans intensify, he watched your reactions closely, moaning with lips parted, as he looked directly into your teary eyes.

"See, I knew you'd love this, aren't you? Oh, sí... Mierda- Eres tan apretado chico".

Then, with the peaks of moans and pounding of flesh on flesh, his grunts grew louder and more primal as he climaxed. With one final thrust, he released his hot sperm deep inside your pulsating pussy, filling you with his essence. When he pulled out, the camera captured the evidence of your intimate connection, showing the mixture of his cum and your own juices. Your pussy clenched and milked the air, aching for more even after he finished.

"You've taken all of my cum... Un buen chico para tu tio."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction mixed with a tinge of shame as you watched your body respond to his touch.

He smiles at the video on his cell phone, while looking at you with a dangerous glare.

"Now you're going to be a good putito... After all, you don't want this to leak out to our family, do you?"

You had no choice, and maybe you didn't even want to... Miguel had broken you, as he always wanted, you were his now, only his.

1K notes · View notes

7ndipity · 7 months

Text

“Eyes On Me”

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: When you visit Yoongi on the set of the Haegeum music video, you realize you might have a slight thing for his Agust D persona.

Word Count: just under 1.7k

Warnings: +18 mdni, smut, Dom Yoongi, light degradation, slight mirror sex, mentions of voyeurism, unprotected sex(pls don’t do this), swearing, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this!

Masterlist

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You were practically vibrating with excitement as your car pulled up to the filming location. Usually, Yoongi liked to keep a certain level of separation between his work life and you, but since he was going to be filming as his Agust D persona, which he knew you had a more than slight obsession with, he’d asked if you wanted to join him on the trip to Thailand.

Naturally, you’d agreed immediately, loving any opportunity to show your support for him, and also knowing, whether he admitted it or not, that he was slightly nervous about being without any of the other members. Plus, there was no way you were about to pass up the opportunity to see him as his alter ego in real life.

As you climbed out of the car, you were greeted by one of his staff members, who then led you through the building to where they were currently filming.

Through the crowd of crew members, you managed to catch sight of him as he was talking with the director, clad in a patterned shirt and dark jeans, the necklaces around his neck catching the light as he moved, his hair, which you’d developed an obsession with since he started growing it out longer, was styled in a gorgeous mess of tousled waves.

You’d have to remember to thank his styling team later, his look exuded the perfect balance of casual, edgy sexiness, leaving you unable to tear your gaze away.

As you stared at him, he happened to look up and catch sight of you, his eyes lighting up as he sent you a tiny smile and wave, but before you could greet each other any further, the director called action and suddenly your Yoongi seemed to disappear.

As soon as the song started to play, Yoongi’s lips curled into a cocky smirk as he danced around the room, rapping along perfectly with the backing track. As he spun away from the camera, he shot you a quick glance, giving you a sly wink that made your thighs clench involuntarily.

You tried to ignore the stirring heat in your lower belly, but as they continued to film, you became embarrassingly aware of the growing wetness between your legs.

You couldn’t believe you were this turned on from just watching him. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him perform before, but something about seeing him like this, with that over-confident swagger and wicked gleam in his eye, had you squirming in your seat to try and subtly alleviate the growing need in your aching core.

After what felt like hours, they finally called for a break, giving Yoongi(and you) time to rest while they reset the cameras for the next shot.

Yoongi immediately made a beeline for you, a sly smile teasing up the corners of his mouth as he looped his arms around your waist in a quick hug.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked, pecking your cheek.

“Mhm.” You nodded, suddenly feeling shy for some reason.

He looked at you quizzically. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, why?” You replied innocently.

“Your face is red.” He said, smirking at you.

You looked down, flustered.

He leaned in close enough that no one else could overhear him.

“You know, you’re really not as subtle as you think you are.” He murmured against your ear. “I saw the way you kept staring at me. Care to share what you were thinking about?”

You shivered slightly as his fingers traced along your waist teasingly.

“You just looked really hot.” You admitted.

“Yeah? You like this?” He teased as he pulled back, gesturing to his outfit.

“Mhm.” You nodded, eyes following the way his hands caught hold of one of his necklaces.

“You should see what they’ve got me in later, a full suit with my hair slicked back.” He said in a low voice.

“I like you like this.” You whispered, catching hold of the edge of his shirt as you stared up at him, desperate need clear in your eyes, causing his gaze to darken.

He caught hold of your hand, pulling you along behind him as subtly as possible through the building til he found the spare room that was being used for wardrobe and makeup, which was mercifully empty of staff at the moment.

He quickly tugged you inside, pressing you up against the wall as he kissed you hungerly, his mouth hot and demanding, not at all like his normal gentle touch.

“I only have ten minutes, so you better behave.” He said, pulling back to stare you down with lust blown eyes, grinding his growing erection against your clothed core and causing you to let out a soft whimper.

A flicker of movement in your peripheral caught your attention, drawing your eyes to the full length mirror in the corner of the room, showing off the way Yoongi had you caged in with his body.

Yoongi noticed your gaze and glanced up, his earlier smirk returning.

“Well, isn’t this convenient?” He purred in your ear, pulling you forward and spinning you so you were now in front of the mirror, your back to his chest. “This way you can still watch me, since you like that so much.”

Without breaking eye contact with you in the mirror, he slipped a hand down your front of your pants, teasing you over your underwear, feeling the growing damp patch on the fabric.

“So fucking wet already.” He growled in your ear. “Did seeing me like this really turn you that much?”

“You always make me like this.” You breathed, your eyes fluttering closed as you let your head fall back against his shoulder.

“Ah-ah.” He caught your jaw with his free hand, drawing your gaze back to the mirror. “Eyes on me, understand? You look away, you don’t get to cum. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.” You whispered, feeling a shiver run through your body as you met his gaze in the reflection.

“Sir?” He raised a brow at you in amusement. “Shit, you really are gone for me today, aren’t you?”

Heat flooded your face, but you didn’t deny it, bucking against his hand fruitlessly. “Please.”

He removed his hand from you, making quick work of both of your pants before bending you over, barely teasing the tip of his cock between your folds before thrusting into you without warning, making you let out a small yelp, which Yoongi quickly muffled with a hand over your mouth.

“Careful, Doll, wouldn’t want anyone to hear what we’re doing in here, right?” He mocked as he bottomed out, not giving you time to adjust before drawing his hips back and trusting into you again, quickly setting a harsh pace as your hands shot out to brace against the mirror.

“Or maybe you would like that? Hmm? Want everyone to know what a little slut you are for me?” He adjusted his hold on you, deepening the angle of his thrusts and making you let out another low whine, mouth hanging open in pleasure.

“Such a slutty cunt, just couldn’t fucking wait to be filled, huh?” He grunted, watching the way you fell apart so easily on his cock.

Your hands clutched uselessly at the smooth surface of the mirror for stability, trying to hold yourself up as Yoongi continued to pound into you.

“Y-yoongi.” You whimpered, fighting to keep your eyes open and fixed on him.

“Hmm?” He cocked his head at you. “What is it, Baby?”

“Wanna cum, please.” You pleaded.

“Yeah?” He leaned over you, never slowing his thursts as his hand came back down to find your clit, rubbing harsh circles over the little bundle of nerves and making you shake in his hold.

“Cum.” He commanded.

Almost instantly, your orgasm crashed over you, biting your lip to keep from screaming out his name as you threw your head back.

Taking the opportunity, Yoongi latched onto your neck, sucking and biting at the skin and dragging out your release, causing your walls to spasm around him uncontrollably.

“Fuck.” Unable to hold back anymore, he thrusted harshly into you, his hips losing their rhythm as your clenching heat sucked him in, his cock pulsing as he coated your insides with his release.

“Fuck.” He repeated shakily, stilling deep inside of you as he leaned his forehead against your back, trying to catch his breath before pressing a kiss to your skin. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.”

You laughed shakily, still staring at his slightly fucked-out image in the mirror.

He pulled out, quickly tugging your underwear back into place before anything could escape.

”Keep that in for me, yeah?” He said low in your ear, resting his hand over your abused cunt. “We can’t be making a mess of the set, can we?”

You shook your head, wobbling slightly as you tried to turn to face him, Yoongi’s hands instantly shooting out to steady you.

Just as suddenly as it had appeared earlier, the dark glint in his eyes faded, leaving only the gentle sweetness of your Yoongi staring back at you as he held onto you.

“You alright?” He asked gently.

You nodded. “Just need a minute.” You admitted with another quiet laugh, making him smile in relief before pressing his lips to yours, this time so much softer and full of love.

There was a sudden knock at the door, making you both jump back slightly.

“Yoongi? We’re ready for you on set.”

“Be right there.” He called, never taking his eyes off of you.

He pressed another gentle kiss to your lips before leading you over to sit in one of the makeup chairs.

“You rest, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Okay?”

“Okay.” You replied, watching as he tidied himself up before heading for the door. “Hey.”

He paused, looking back at you questioningly. “Yeah?”

“Do you think they’ll let you keep that outfit?” You asked with a grin.

He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ll ask.”

“Thank you.” You beamed.

He slipped out the door, mumbling something about “ridiculous”, but you didn’t pay it any mind.

He did keep the outfit though.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

#yoongi smut #yoongi scenarios #yoongi drabble #yoongi oneshot #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts smut #bts drabble #bts one shot #bts requests #7ndipity

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unboundprompts · 1 year

Note

Hey, I was wondering how to write nightmares, or sleep paralysis for my next story.

How to Write Nightmares and Sleep Paralysis

Causes of Sleep Paralysis:

Insomnia

PTSD

Anxiety disorders

Panic disorders

Disrupted sleep patterns (ex: jet lag)

Family history

Symptoms of Sleep Paralysis:

Paralysis (duh)

Feeling outside of your body

Chest pressure (as if someone is standing on your chest)

Sense of suffocating or breathlessness

Feeling like there is something dangerous in the room

Nightmares vs Night Terrors:

When having a nightmare, you are likely to wake up during it and will possibly be able to recall the dream or parts of the dream.

When having a night terror, you will not wake up and you won’t be able to recall the dream in the morning.

Symptoms of Nightmares:

Fast heart rate

Shortness of breath

Sweat

Anxiety

Struggling to go back to sleep

Writing Prompts

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes darted around the room, quick as lightning. She could see the nightlight she kept in the corner, casting the far wall of her bedroom in a blue light. Then she saw it. It watched her with a thin smile. She tried to sit up, to scream, anything, but she was frozen. The thing noticed her distress, and it stalked towards her, limbs elongated and as dark as the shadows of her room.

He sat bolt upright in bed. His heart was pounding so hard he felt like it was going to break through his chest. He grasped at his shirt, gripping the fabric as tight as he could. His skin was slick with sweat, and he had to peel his clothing off.

They stared up into the eyes of something. It was standing on their chest, looming over them with an emotionless gaze. They couldn't move, their limbs stiff and refusing to listen to their mind pleading with them to run. And so they stared. And the thing stared back.

She woke up screaming.

He tossed and he turned, but no matter what he did or however many times he flipped his pillow over, he could not fall asleep. He was too afraid. Afraid of that same, damn, nightmare.

They ran a stressed hand through their hair as they tried to control their breathing. It was quick, and they felt more and more lightheaded with each passing second. There was nothing they wanted more than to go back to sleep, but every time they closed their eyes it was like they were transported back to that awful dream. They slowly pulled themselves from the bed and stalked to the shower. They knew there was no way they would be able to sleep again tonight, so they might as well start their day.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider donating! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi!

#writing prompts #ask box prompts #angst prompts #sleep paralysis #nighmares #nightmare prompts

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polarisjisung · 8 months

Text

KISSES WITH NCT DREAM

pairings: nct dream × fem! reader

genre: fluff

warnings: mentions of giving hickeys (for jeno) + reader is implied to have long(ish) hair + use of pet names

notes: a little different to usual but i want to post more often and I love reading these little headcanons! although I do need to switch it up from all the fluff 🫠

MARK-cozy morning kisses:

mark loves lazy mornings, holding you by the waist to make sure you don't have a chance to escape the warmth of the duvet you're all wrapped up in. sure your hair's a little messy but mark loves the domesticity of waking up next to you. you'll make every attempt to make your way out of the confines of your shared double bed but mark ultimately wins, shutting you up with a kiss when he feels like you're talking too much

"mark baby, please I have work" mark could not care less— really, they should've made it illegal to work weekends

"you have a boyfriend too" he'd tuck the hair falling from your ponytail behind your ear and you're a sucker for the way he'd let his palm rest over your cheek as he pulls you into his chest underneath the covers

"markie, I'll get fired" you know you'd lost the battle the second mark let his eyes land on your lips, the ones that were still shining from the left over lip mask you'd applied the night before, but you still try to bolt out of the covers as fast as you can, undoubtedly you'll get pulled back in by mark just a few seconds later

"don't run from me baby" he's all pouty, you know its all just a facade to get a couple extra minutes in bed with you but saying no to mark just wasn't one of your capabilities

when you finally sigh in defeat,

"just 5 minutes" with a roll of your eyes, he's peppering sweet kisses all over your face, placing a couple pecks on your lips too

"I'll take 5 minutes"

best believe he'll take a lot more than just 5

RENJUN-stupid adorable smiley kisses:

kisses with renjun start out ever so gentle, a quick touch of your lips before he's checking to see your reaction. doesn't matter how long you've been dating, renjun still gives you butterflies every damn time, and he's the same with you, all giddy and kicking his feet, so you both start out so smiley against each other's lips, soft and sweet. on occasion renjun likes to go for deep, more meaningful passionate kisses, and the second you see his starry eyes staring up at you, grin formed into a soft smile, you know his hand is going to reach for your jaw and his lips are going to move rushed against yours

there's a sparkle in his eyes, a glint that tells you renjun won't stop at a few pecks— naturally you don't mind at all

"my love?" he coos, looking up at you, taking in your features as though he's trying to commit every detail of your pretty face to memory, your moles, the shape of your lips and your sparkling eyes, he would memorise it all in that very moment

you swear he looks at you as though you've painted the sky and hung the stars, and every time you catch yourself wondering what you've done to be lucky enough to deserve him

"I love you" as those words slip so effortlessly out of his lips, he'll guide you with a hand against the back of your head to meet his lips again, with more urgency this time

"I love you too" you'd breathe out, an oppurtunity you'd never miss

JENO-neck kisses

jeno loves your lips, kisses, pecks, full on make out sessions— he doesn't mind. but every time he finds your hair tied back and your neck on display he sees it as the perfect chance to show that you're absolutely not single, very much taken in fact. jeno finds joy in carving his initials into your neck or leaving small, unintentional patterns behind sucking and gently biting at the warm skin on your neck. the kisses eventually trail their way up across the bone of your jaw, his hands tugging at the ends of your hair as he twirls it between his fingers. jeno wants it all, quick kisses will do if you're out and about but the second you're home, kissing is at least a 20 minute task.

when you're out, be it hanging out with friends or running errands together, especially in the summer, when you like to tie your hair back a lot more frequently, jeno finds himself going absolutely feral, he's like a child begging his mother to go home

your back is against the wall the second you step through the door, jeno's lips impatiently capturing yours. he's a literal animal, he'll devour any lipstick you're wearing like it was never even there, before his kisses land on your collarbone.

"knew what you were doing when you tied your hair up baby hmm?" jeno likes to think you do it on purpose, to mess with him just a little, admittedly you do, but if you could be honest it had been solely unintentional this time

"come on jeno" your hands land on his chest, almost avoiding the hungry search of his lips for the skin of your neck "didn't know you were so needy"

you like to tease him, his cute agitated kisses becoming a little more intense at your words

equally jeno finds no shame in just how crazy he is for you

"needy for you baby, only you"

something about his urgency mixed with his loyalty forces you to forget about the hickeys you'll spend hours covering up over the next few weeks

HAECHAN- tip of your nose kisses:

haechan loves a makeout session as much as the next person, and despite his forward and bold attitude, sometimes the hard-core kisses just aren't what he's looking for. his favourite solution? kissing the tip of your nose, he likes booping your nose here and there as it is, but in his softest moments, where you find his eyes staring your way in pure awe, haechan's eyes travel to the tip of your nose immediately. it doesn't take long for his lips to follow— a tentative kiss to make sure you're in the mood to be absolutely bombarded with his love

forehead kisses are a close second, and eventually haechan gives in to delicate tender kisses on your lips, his fingers interlaced with yours

"have I ever told you I love you?" kisses with haechan are playful, so you can always tell he's in the mood when that adorable toothy grin shines it's way at you

"multiple times hyuck, every day actually" you'd respond, so giggly that he swears he's falling in love with you all over again, he's not sure if it's possible quite frankly, considering he thinks the same thought everyday

"that's what you deserve baby, I love you" he'd waddle his way over to you on the sofa, that smirk on his face that tells you everything you need to know— the kiss lands perfectly in the centre of your nose, your face soon hidden away in your hands

"don't get shy on me now baby, you know what I wanna hear" he's already trying to get another look at your pretty eyes and when he successfully gets your hands to slide down your face, places a chaste kiss to your forehead

"I love you too hyuck"

"can't hear you buttercup, you're gonna have to show me that pretty face so I can lip read" he's a little too proud of his words, and when you do let your hands down, his lips are all over yours

JAEMIN-lip gloss kisses:

jaemin is a sucker for those shiny, perfect glossy lips of yours, he's a sucker for you full stop, but your lips are practically a superpower.

now jaemin hates strawberries but that pretty pink lip gloss of yours with a little shimmer and that strawberry scent is his absolute favourite, he swears it makes your eyes pop 10x more it's perfect— you're perfect

he loves showering you with affection, be it hugs or kisses, holding your hand or whispering sweet nothings into your ear, jaemin treats you like an absolute princess and when his princess is all dressed up and so absolutely gorgeous, he can't help but ask for one thing for himself. not that jaemin doesn't love seeing you lounging around casually, he thinks you look gorgeous all the time, but seeing the confidence that oozes from your being when you're ready for a big event has his stomach doing backflips

his arms wrap around your waist quicker than you can twist the tube of your lip gloss shut— really there was no point going through your extensive lip combo routine because you should've known jaemin would eat it all up

"my sweet sweet girl, do you think I could have a kiss?" jaemin likes to get extra affectionate in these moments, clinging to you with a smile that reaches his eyes, just to make sure there's no way you can say no

"but nana my lip gloss" you're always trying to make excuses, really it was just because lip products were starting to get expensive, but you don't mind blowing more money on them if it meant you'd have a love like jaemin

"hmm, I'll buy more for you, just give me a kiss pretty please?"

you only make one more attempt at stalling, you know better that you're not winning this battle

"but nana it'll get all over you"

he shrugs, so unbothered you swear you hear your heartbeat ring in your ears

"I like it like that"

jaemin loves the way you tenderly hold his face before you seal his lips in a kiss, when you pull away his lips are glittery and pink just like yours, but his smile seems to have grown ten fold

"you look so pretty nana, my princess" he nods

"your princess, all yours" before locking your lips against his once again

CHENLE-spiderman kisses:

chenle loves the movie, chenle loves you, to him it just made sense and the spiderman kiss has easily become his favourite way to greet you as he walked through the door.

most days chenle would find you seated on the couch, finishing up a project for work when he'd get home, his hand would wrap under your chin and slightly over your neck with ease, lips locking with yours momentarily

"I missed you" he'd whisper, every time as he pulled away from you, placing his things down to a side and slipping into the empty space beside you. his arm would find its rightful place resting over your shoulder before his lips would brush over yours again

"I missed you too"

the both of you would bask in the warm intimacy of the moment, something between you, only for you, that the both of you would secretly look forward to day in and day out

to chenle that was enough, that daily welcome home kiss was practically routine and it was a routine he'd grown used to, practically to the point where when he'd walk in and you weren't working away at a desk or on the sofa, anywhere he could easily guide your head backwards and press his lips to yours, the rest of his day would be ruined

dramatic, would be the best way to describe a kiss deprived chenle

JISUNG-hand kisses:

to jisung kisses are one of the truest levels of intimacy, they come with philosophical and ethical discussions and debates, prophesies of where the universe might be heading in ten years or why you shouldn't take things in life for granted

jisung liked to think, and he appreciated being able to share and discuss his thoughts with you, to him that seemed like one of the purest forms of love, being unashamed to share even the most wild and crazy theories with each other

he admired your passion, the way you'd get lost between your own thoughts, in your own world as you explained a concept to him, one of the many reasons jisung loved you, and in those moments a press of his lips to the knuckles of your hand, already intertwined with his, seemed perfect, like the cherry on top

"I think it's crazy how we don't realise so much of what goes on around us" you're sharing one of those moments of yours again, when you feel like you'd noticed something that made a big impact on your point of view in life and jisung can't help but let that gummy smile flash over his lips, his thumb rubbing up and down the outer surface of your hand

it's beautiful to him, how your legs are laying over his and how you rest your head against his chest and his fingers rake through your hair while you find yourselves in this moment, for a second jisung stops listening, or at least attentively so, trying to take in this fleeting moment of what he thought was the most important part of loving someone

"sung, you seem out of it?" you'd ask the question so concerned, despite a little guilt that he hadn't been able to listen to you, jisung would smile softly and shake his head

"just thinking about how lucky I am to have you"

and his hand would lift yours, quickly pressing a feathery kiss to your knuckles

"I love you" he'd say, a phrase he didn't say often, scared it would lose its meaning, but one he'd say just enough that you'd known how much you meant to him

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denwritesandcries · 9 months

Text

Take a Breath (and kiss me) – T.C

Pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: Your girlfriend Tara gets a little clingy when she realizes you haven't kissed her properly in days.

Word count: 2,0k

Content: cursing, fluff, kisses, cuddles, tara being a sad pup, college routine kicking everybody's asses, core four as a family.

Note: First time writing for Tara! Pure fluff cause I’m starting on a new job this week and needed comfort.

English is not my first language.

It's been four days straight since you last kissed Tara.

Not that she was counting, she really wasn't, but now, after an extremely long and tiring day of exams and more exams, it seemed impossible not to feel your absence next to her. The feeling of neediness and loneliness hits her hard when she realizes how long it's been since you two have been together.

Four days. Four whole days of no holding hands or playing with her hair, no hugs, no cuddles and definitely no kisses. Be it on the forehead, the cheek, the shoulders, the hands, or on the lips. Nothing. It's like the universe just decided one day 'nuh-uh, no kisses for Tara Carpenter' and boy that was unfair.

The last time you kissed her – actually kissed her – was on Monday morning, at the beginning of that hellish week, when she woke up too early with the sunlight escaping through a crack in the curtains bothering her eyes, with her whole body completely curled up on top of yours. One of the best ways to wake up, really. The same thing happened to you a short time later, because as much as Tara loves being in your arms, she also can't help but feel restless when she's awake and move a lot, but the way she lights up when you sleepy mumble a good morning to her doesn't make you able to be upset with her for that.

You gave her a slow, lazy kiss, still with that warm aura of sleep remaining.

It was the most she could enjoy of your company before you had to leave in a hurry to escape the scolding Sam would give you both for spending the night having class the next day – even though, you know, you're college students and adults – and get to your own dorm to be ready in time for your first class in the morning.

She would have braved the scolding and made you stay a little longer if she had remembered that exam season was about to start. Unfortunately, this only occurred to her when she had her first taste of it later that day.

See, that was perhaps the thing Tara hated most about her new life as a student in New York: the way the change in routine could easily overwhelm her, and how that made it even worse because you couldn't be around as much as she wanted you to.

You were a year ahead of her and your courses were different, so you didn't have any classes together and your paths barely crossed during the day, which meant the only times she got to see you were on quick runs across campus, barely having time to exclaim a 'hi baby!' before disappearing with stacks of books and notebooks in your arms.

Sure, you exchanged a lot of messages, but it wasn't the same as having a warm body next to her in bed or on the couch. You couldn't even come to the apartment after everything because she was also too tired from her own work to hangout after it.

But Friday had finally arrived and she had enough time to wallow in self-pity until everyone got home. Checking the patterned wall clock that her sister bought when they moved in, Tara realizes that it's already past five pm and the sound of the door opening is the sign that her family has started to come in. She buries her head in the pile of cushions, ignoring the throbbing pain in her temples.

“Ugh, finally." Mindy plops down next to Tara on the other side of the couch, clasping her hands above her head to stretch, “What is this? Why is there a sad, miserable gremlin on our couch?”

She hears Chad's loud laugh coming from the kitchen but can only mutter a 'fuck you' muffled by the cushions she's sunk into, feeling a tap on her calf in response.

Tara wasn't going to put up with any mockery now, not when she was so tired and sleepy and missing you. She would do the same thing she had done the last few days: take a hot shower without giving a shit to Quinn's protests about using all the water, hug Sam when she got home from work in 45 minutes, and accept the offer of a snack when her sister ask if she had already eaten, then she would go to her room, throw herself on the bed and text you goodnight, before completely blacking out until the next day, when she could finally have you all to herself for the entire weekend – and for the rest of the week too. The worst part is over, so screw it, you guys could afford to miss some classes.

“Are you just gonna lay there and give up on existence, lil dude?” Mindy starts again, interrupting the peaceful and only partly distressing silence Tara had settled into as she builds up the strength to stand up.

“Will you shut the hell up?” She bites, grabbing one of the cushions and hitting her friend in the face, “You’re not funny and my head hurt as fuck.”

“Jesus, okay, okay!” Mindy waves her arms in defeat and stands up, “I won’t say anything else then.”

"Great."

“I’m not gonna say–” She takes on a teasing tone, “–that Anika thought that a certain someone was really upset and buried in books all that time in their dorm and that it would be better if they came straight here after class to take a break, but I’m not gonna tell you that.”

"What?" Tara’s expression immediately brightened, “You’re serious? What you–"

“Well, I told my girlfriend to bring your girlfriend. But it's okay, I'm not gonna say any of that.”

Mindy looked extremely smug but Tara chose to spare her another hit in the face for the sake of the information she just received. She lights up and jumps off the couch in a flash, rushing to shower and get ready now that she has a good reason. She hears Chad shouting from the kitchen:

“Girl, I thought you were tired!”

“Right?” Mindy laughs, “Wednesday’s at that age when a girl has only one thing on her mind, Chad.”

This makes her stop: “I don’t look like her!”

She slams the door shut when she hears their laughter increase in response.

If someone asked Tara if it was true that she sat on the side of the sofa closest to the door so she could see the exact moment you arrived, she would vehemently deny it – even though that's exactly what she did – and she would also deny that she deflated a little when the first person to arrive after the twins was Sam with a pizza box in one hand and covering a big yawn with the other.

You and Anika only arrive almost half an hour after Sam, finding Tara already watching you with doe eyes. Your haggard face immediately breaks into a smile, lines of fatigue crinkling in the corners of your eyes.

“There you are, dear,” you cross the room towards her and Tara leans in, even before you touch her, practically purring at the soft kiss you leave on her forehead, “I missed you.”

She melts when you wrap your arms around her, burying her head in your chest, but that's it. A kiss on the forehead and a hug and then you're pulling away again because you and Anika have brought more food that should be placed on the kitchen counter.

It only took this small moment of you going back and forth for everything to come back to Tara with full force. You didn't kiss her.

It's stupid, it's irrational, but her eyes fill with tears even though she can clearly see you from behind, unpacking the groceries and talking to your friends there.

Tara tried to just sit and wait for you to come back as soon as you were done, but patience was never her thing.

“Hm?” You hum when you feel a tug on your hodie's sleeve, looking back to find Tara with a tearful, frustrated expression.

“I had a really long day,” she begins, not quite sure how to ask for what she wants, eyes focused on the floor, “Will you come stay with me?”

Your heart races and your voice immediately softens: “Of course, sweetheart.”

Tara wastes no time in dragging you to her room by your wrist and you can't even react to the warning look Sam throws you over her shoulder.

She perches on your lap the second you sit down on the bed, sighing in relief as she buries her face in your shoulder.

You rest your chin on her head, “Did somethin’ happen?”

“I’m gonna quit college." She moans in defeat against your neck.

You huff a giggle into her hair, “Same, baby.”

Tara pulls away just enough to look at you and the pure love and tenderness in your eyes is more than enough to make the tears come back.

“What? What is it?" You straighten up, worried, tightening your arms around her.

“You haven’t kissed me in four days.”

She blurts out, voice cracking and strangled and you stop.

“Four days?”

Tara nods, “Except for the one on the forehead, you haven’t really kissed me in four days and like, several hours.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” She frowned. Shit, now she was getting mad at you, “Oh?”

You rush to take her mind off it, pressing a kiss to her lips in which she immediately melts with a soundly sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you murmur between small pecks distributed on her lips, “I was so caught up in everything that I didn’t even notice.”

Tara still seemed a little upset by your response, but you kissed her again, bringing a hand to her jaw to deepen, feeling your girlfriend's arms entwined around your neck.

When you pull apart this time, you're both out of breath and Tara's face is covered in a soft red glow. You gently draw patterns with your fingers on her hips and lean in, leaving a kiss on her warm cheek.

“I’m sorry, Tar,” you echo, looking deep in her eyes “I’ve missed you so much. How can I make it up to you?”

She pretends to think for a moment, averting her eyes to hide the shiver that runs through her body.

“It's been four days,” she huffs with more annoyance than she actually feels, “I'm a girl who has abandonment issues, you know, it's your obligation to kiss me every day from now on.”

“Noted,” you smile.

“But…” She starts with a mischievous smile, “You could also make me feel better by watching The Babadook with me.”

“No, no, Tara!” You whine, “The noises of that movie freak me out!”

“Oh, I know,” your girlfriend says, blinking innocently, “But I want to do something with you, it's been so long since we watched something together alone and I love you so much.”

"I love you too." You respond instantly.

It only takes a look at those doe eyes and you lose the battle immediately and Tara looks victorious. She knows the power she has over you, the adorable little shit.

She leaves your lap just enough time to pick up the laptop on the table and returns to her place, you pull her back and lie down on the pillows, dragging her against your chest, pulling a blanket from the corner of the bed to cover you both.

“Tests are over,” you say, burying your face in her neck as the movie scene darkens, “The next few weeks are ours now. Just ours.”

Tara giggles when you startle again, sinking further against your body, smelling the hodie you were wearing, the one she got you for your birthday.

“Ours,” she says, “I like how that sounds.”

Tara tries to stay awake as long as possible, even after you fall asleep with your face buried in her neck. She's almost asleep when Sam quietly opens the door, a plate of pizza in hand and an eyebrow raised. The silent question of ‘can she stay the night please?’ is just a formality.

There's no way you're getting out of her league anytime soon.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #scream x reader #scream #scream 6 #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna marie ortega #tara carpenter fluff #denwrites

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lvnleah · 4 months

Text

Drunken Kisses | Leah Williamson

Based on this and this request combined :)

Summary: after years of you and Leah being best friends you drunkenly sleep together after the last game of the season. you agree to stay just friends but things change between the pair of you, leading to awkwardness and you both avoiding each other.

Warnings: 18+ this piece of writing contains smut. this is not intended for anyone under the age of 18.

Word count is 4.3k :)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The dimly lit bar buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses. It was a Friday night, and the air was thick with anticipation. It was the end of the season so you and some of your teammates decided to go out for drinks.

It was a bittersweet moment. Your closest friend, Viv, was leaving the team after seven long years so everyone was celebrating her time at the club. You were all sat at a round table, you were sandwiched between your bestfriends Leah and Beth.

Leah’s hand rested casually on your thigh, and the warmth of her touch sent a jolt through your body. She had always been close to you, but tonight, something was different. The tension between you was palpable, even amidst the noisy crowd. Her fingers traced patterns on your thigh, and every brush of skin left you craving more of her. The tension between you could be felt by everyone in the room despite a lot of them being in a drunken state.

Leah leaned close to your ear, you felt her breath against your neck, “Want another drink?”

Your breath hitched in your chest, you didn’t know what was wrong with you tonight but you just wanted to smash your lips against Leah’s.

You nodded, “Yeah I’ll have another one.” You held your glass out to Leah and she slipped out of the round table booth.

Beth leaned close to you, “What going on with you and Leah?” She shouted over the music.

“What do you mean?” A nervous laugh escaped you. You thought you were the only one that had caught Leah’s quick glances and flirty looks.

You’d been best friends with Leah since you were fourteen, you’d met at an England camp and had been inseparable ever since. You’d always been close, you’d always cuddled on the sofa together and slept over at each other's houses in the same bed. You’d never felt anything romantic towards her but tonight was different.

“Oh don’t deny it!” Beth groaned, “There’s something going on between you.”

Before you had the chance to say anything, Leah returned to the table with two drinks in her hand. She set one down in front of you and slid back into the booth.

“Dance with me,” Leah said in your ear, her hand still back to tracing patterns on your thigh.

You nodded, “Okay then but don’t embarrass me!”

The pulsing beat of the music seemed to synchronise with the rapid thud of your heart as Leah led you away from the table. The dimly lit dance floor beckoned, and you followed her, your hand slipping into hers. The crowd swirled around you, bodies moving in rhythm, but all you could focus on was the warmth of Leah's palm against yours.

As you stepped onto the dance floor, Leah pulled you close. Her body pressed against yours, and the scent of her perfume enveloped you. The world around you was forgotten, it was just the two of you.

Her hands ran up and down your hips, feeling out every curve and edge of your skin. Leah's eyes looked into yours, and you could see the desire there. She leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear.

“You look stunning tonight.” She whispered before pulling back.

“Thank you.” You murmured. You and Leah didn’t say anything, you just stared at each other and you danced to the music.

And then, in a moment of serendipity, your lips brushed. Soft, hesitant. A mistake, perhaps. But neither of you pulled away. Instead, you leaned into the kiss, your hearts pounding in sync.

Leah’s right hand pressed on your lower back, pushing your hips together as she took your breath away. Her left hand cupped your face, fingers spread under your jaw as her lips so perfectly moulded against your own, her tongue brushing my bottom lip.

Against your better judgement, you parted your lips and allowed the kiss to deepen, butterflies swarming your stomach with every touch you got from her. Your free hand flew to the back of her neck, a moan so close to slipping from your mouth.

“Back to mine?” Leah mumbled against your lips.

You pulled her back into a kiss, nodding against her lips. You pulled back from the kiss, your hand found Leah’s as she pulled you to the table. Your teammates were now also dancing, giving you the perfect chance to slip away without any questions.

Grabbing your stuff, you slipped out of the bar and grabbed a taxi. The kissing continued during the five minute drive and before you knew it you were at Leah’s apartment. You could barely let each other go as you made your way up in the elevator.

As the door swung open, Leah pulled you inside. She kissed you again, her lips hungry and urgent. You stumbled towards her bed, shedding clothes along the way. Your laughter turned into gasps, Leah’s kisses desperate. As your bodies tangled, you realised that this was no accident and was something that you had both wanted for a long time.

You fell back onto the bed, Leah falling on top of you, never breaking the kiss. You were both in just a bra and your underwear, you could feel the wetness pooling between your legs.

Leah broke the kiss and started to kiss her way down your neck and body, the kisses were a mixture of soft and rough but full of love.

“Do you want this?” Leah asked, breaking the kisses once again to get your permission.

“Yes Leah,” you moaned, scooping her hair up into a makeshift ponytail, “Please just fuck me.”

She continued her kisses and stopped at your breasts, her hand palmed at them as she placed gentle kisses all around. She whispered sweet words between the kisses.

Leah tutted, “Such a needy girl,” she whispered, slipping her hand in your lace underwear. Your breath hitched as she flicked her thumb over your clit, “You’re so wet for me, baby.”

She began to rub gentle circles over your clit, strings of pleads and moans slipping from your mouth. She parted your legs and slipped between them, you whined at the loss of contact on your clit as she pulled your underwear down your legs and threw them somewhere across the room to later be found.

Leah’s soft lips placed gentle kisses against up and down your thighs, each time she edged closer and closer to your throbbing clit. You ran your hand through her hair, scooping it up once again into a ponytail.

Arching your back, moans continued to slip from your mouth, “Leah please do something, I’m begging you!”

A whine slipped from your mouth as Leah blew cool air onto your swollen clit before taking it into her mouth. With her arm wrapped over your hips, she began to suck and run her tongue over your clit. Your moans became louder and louder as Leah worked her tongue on your clit.

“L-Leah fuck!” You gripped onto her hair, lightly pulling at it, “I’m so c-close, fuck.”

Just as you came close to cumming, Leah detached her mouth from your sensitive bud. A laugh escaped her, “Not cuming that quickly, baby.”

Your breath hitched once again and your body squirmed as Leah ran her finger through your drenched folds. With no warning, her mouth latched back onto your pussy. Your hips began to slowly grind against her face as she switched between sucking and flicking her tongue against your clit.

A gasp left your mouth as Leah slipped two fingers into your entrance, she sucked at your clit while her fingers slipped in and out. Strings of moans continued to leave your mouth as you pulled Leah’s head closer to your pussy, begging for more. Her fingers hit all the right places, edging you closer and closer.

“Leah fuck,” your legs wrapped around Leah’s head, gripping her in place, “Fuck, yes! Right there.” You moaned as Leah hit your sweet spot.

“Cum for me baby.” Leah mumbled against your skin. “I love hearing those pretty moans of yours.”

Your legs began to shake, your muscles tightened and an overwhelming sensation overcame you as you reached your high. You clenched around Leah’s fingers before spilling your juices all over her fingers.

Pulling her fingers out, Leah sat up and licked your cum off her fingers, “It’s going to be a long night, baby.” She winked.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, it’s warmthing echoing down on you and Leah. Your head throbbed, and your mouth was dry. Last night was a blur.

You knew that last night had escalated quickly. You could remember the drinks, laughter, and then Leah and you stumbling into her apartment, giggling like schoolgirls as you couldn’t let each other go.

You remembered collapsing onto her bed and your lips never leaving Leah’s. You leaned over the edge of the bed and looked at the clothes that were scattered around the room. Memories of Leah going down on you flooded back, the way she felt between your legs entered your mind.

You both went multiple rounds and both had multiple orgasms, everytime Leah made you cum you were begging for more. You’d never experienced sex like it before.

As you blocked your eyes from the harsh sunlight, reality crashed down on you. Last night was the best night of your life but you couldn’t let your feelings be known to Leah, you couldn’t risk losing her as a friend. You had to follow her lead.

Even though it was the best sex you’d ever had, you couldn’t let it happen again despite how much you wanted it to. You enjoyed it but now you were regretting it and the way it could potentially ruin your friendship with Leah.

Leah stirred beside you, her legs tangled with yours under the sheets, her eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes widened when she saw you, and you could practically hear her thoughts racing. You’d both crossed a line, and there was no going back.

"Hey," you croaked, your voice scratchy and tender. "Morning.

Leah sat up, pulling the sheet with her as she rubbed her forehead, "Morning," she replied, her voice equally hoarse. "About last night..."

"Yeah," you said, your heart sinking at what was about to happen. "We were drunk."

She dropped her gaze to her hands. "Yeah, I think it’s best if we stay just friends. I don’t want anything to be ruined between us."

"Just friends," you echoed, but the words tasted bitter on your tongue. You’d been friends for years but now it was something else entirely.

Leah swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and you followed suit. You dressed in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. The room felt smaller, suffocating. You needed air.

You stepped out onto the balcony, the cool breeze hit your face. You leaned against the railing, staring out at the city below. Leah joined you, her shoulder brushing yours.

"I never meant for this to happen,” Leah said finally.

"Me neither," you admitted. "But it did."

She turned to you, her expression pained. "Do you regret it?”

You swallowed hard. "No,” you shook your head, “but we need to just pretend it never happened."

Leah nodded and you stayed outside, the weight of last night hanging in the air between you.

"I, erm, I should go," you awkwardly said, pointing to the door over your shoulder.

Leah nodded, “Yeah, umm, yeah right. I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I’ll text you.” And with that you left Leah’s apartment. You left her on the balcony, thinking about the night before.

As you walked down the stairs, your heart ached. You ordered an uber and gave them Beth’s address, you just needed somewhere to go. Tears blurred your vision as the uber drove away from Leah's apartment. The radio played love songs whilst the driver tried to make some small talk, eventually giving up.

The drive to Beth's house felt like an eternity. The weight of last night clung to your skin, you needed to talk to someone, to unload the tangled mess of emotions that were suffocating you.

Beth opened the door before you could even knock, her eyes widening when she saw your tear-streaked face. "What happened?" she asked, pulling me inside.

You collapsed onto her couch, the fabric cool against your skin. "Leah," you managed to say, your voice cracking. "It happened with Leah."

Beth sat beside you, concern etching her features. "What happened? Did you two fight?"

"No," you whispered. "We... crossed a line. And now everything's awkward."

Beth's eyebrows shot up. "Crossed a line? What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out. "We slept together. Last night. And it was amazing, but now I don't know how to act around her. We agreed to be just friends but I don’t think I can be."

Beth pulled you into a reassuring hug and Viv appeared in the living room. "Oh, darling," she said softly. "You're in deep, aren't you?"

You nodded, tears threatening to spill again. "I can't look at her without remembering her lips on mine. And the way she looked at me—like I was everything."

Beth leaned back, studying your face. "So, what now?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I told her we should pretend it never happened after she said it was best just being friends."

Viv sat across from you, just as concerned as Beth as Myle jumped up onto your lap, “What happened?”

You laughed as Myle licked your tear stained cheeks, “Slept with Leah and now it’s weird.”

Viv’s mouthed formed into an ‘o’ shape, “Sometimes things happen, Beth’s a firm believer they happen for a reason and maybe they do.”

Beth's gaze softened. "Sometimes, you have to risk it. Love isn't always neat and convenient. It's messy and complicated."

You wiped your cheeks, smudging mascara. "I'm a mess."

"You're human," Beth corrected. "And humans make mistakes.”

Viv sighed, “Me and Beth were scared when we first got together, we didn’t want to ruin things. Maybe that’s what you’re both scared of?”

You nodded, “I don’t want things to be awkward between everyone at Arsenal and I don’t want to lose Leah either.”

“You won’t,” Beth said, “I promise you, you won’t. If you both like each other then you’ll make things work, and don’t worry about Arsenal. It’s your life, no one else’s.”

“Why don’t you give it a few days,” Viv suggested, “Think about how you feel and what you want to say and then talk to Leah about your feelings and see how she feels.”

You nodded, “Yeah I will, I just don’t want to mess things up.”

Days turned into weeks and those weeks were awkward between you and Leah. The days after the hookup, you and Leah barely spoke or texted. Everything was radio silent.

Each time you went to text her, you chickened out and put your phone back down telling yourself you’d do it later. Then, a week after you hooked up, you both were at the England camp. You expected to talk to her a few times but things were just awkward, at least a minimum of five words were exchanged between you.

Usually you’d be inseparable, you’d share a room and be partners for everything but that camp you spent most of your time with Beth. Beth tried to help you gain courage to talk to Leah but it was too much and each time you failed at it.

One evening, after camp had ended, a few of the girls decided to go out to a club.

The neon lights of the club pulsed in sync with your racing heart. The music thumped through the floor, blaring in your ears. You pushed through the crowd, your eyes scanning for Leah. The tension between you both had grown unbearable and tonight you were wanting to do something about it.

You spotted Leah near the bar, her blonde hair was shorter than the other day. She was laughing, her eyes crinkling at the corners. But it wasn't her laughter that caught your attention. It was the girl she was kissing. A stranger, her lips pressed against Leah's with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

You froze, your breath catching. The club's heat suffocated you, and you stumbled backward, crashing into Beth who had followed behind you. She steadied you, concern etching her features.

"Hey," she said softly. "You okay?"

You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from Leah. The girl's hands were tangled in Leah's hair, pulling her closer. It was like watching your own heart being torn apart.

Beth guided you towards the exit, away from the pulsing lights and the ache in your chest. You stumbled out into the cool night air, the city sounds a stark contrast to the chaos inside. Beth phoned a cab, and you climbed in, the silence heavy between us.

As the cab pulled away, you finally found your voice. "Why did I even come here tonight?" You whispered.

Beth's gaze softened. "Because you wanted to sort things with Leah, let’s get you back to the hotel."

Back at the hotel, you collapsed onto the bed, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. The kiss, the avoidance, the ache—it all felt too much. Beth sat beside you, her presence a comfort.

You laid there, clutching your pillow as Beth soothingly ran her hand through your hair. Your heart ached as tears streamed down your face.

You felt dumb. There was no reason for you to feel like this.

Leah wasn’t even your girlfriend.

She was just your best friend.

That night you fell asleep, tears still falling down your face while Beth comforted you.

Now, three weeks later, you were currently at four weeks of not speaking to Leah and those four weeks had been hell. You were missing your best friend and it was impacting your life but you couldn’t bear to see her with other girls. You were barely touching your food and your whole life felt a mess.

You’d avoided Leah as much as you could, each time you saw her was a reminder of that night in the club. Your heart was broken over a girl you weren’t even dating.

You felt so many emotions towards Leah and yourself.

You felt angry, angry that she’d kissed another girl despite not being romantically together. It felt like a betrayal, even though there were no promises between you.

You felt sad that she’d not been in contact.

You felt angry at yourself for not telling how you felt. You tried to convince yourself that maybe Leah just wasn’t into you like you were into her.

Since the night in the club, most of your time had been spent with Beth and Viv, the two of them were keeping you alive by feeding you and making sure you were looking after yourself. You were also trying to keep your mind off the emotions you felt towards Leah.

“Right, you almost ready?” Beth asked, peeking into the spare bedroom where you were staying.

You nodded, your fingers trembling as you finished the last curl in your hair. “Yep, I’ll be two seconds.”

Tonight, you were meeting your teammates at a restaurant for a catch-up. Only around ten of you could make it, and you wondered if Leah would be there. Beth hadn't mentioned her so you had no idea if she would be there.

A knock sounded at Beth’s door, taking you by surprise. From what you knew, you were travelling with Beth and Viv and picking Alessia and Vic up on the way. You followed close behind Beth, curious to see who was at the door.

Beth swung the door open, revealing a familiar face. It was Leah, her bright smile lighting up the dimly lit corridor. She wore a casual outfit, a stark contrast to her usual professional attire during missions. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and her eyes sparkled with warmth.

“Hey!” Leah greeted, stepping inside. “I hope I’m not late.”

Beth chuckled. “Right on time, as always. Come in!”

You and Leah quickly exchanged a glance before following Beth into the living room. You overthought everything you were doing, you felt awkward around Leah and had an ache in the pit of your stomach.

“Right so,” Beth sighed, “there’s not enough room in our car, Y/N are you alright going with Leah in your car?”

You hesitated, knowing that this was Beth’s plan all along. Going with Leah would mean spending more time alone with her, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a recipe for disaster. But then, maybe this was exactly what you needed to sort out your feelings.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah,” you replied, meeting Leah’s gaze. “I’m fine going with you.”

You made your way to your car with Beth and Viv, Leah offered to drive so you took her up on that offer. The awkward silence enveloped you like a heavy fog. Both of your breaths seemed too loud in the confined space of the car, and every passing second stretched felt like it lasted forever. You stole glances at Leah, her lips were pressed together, and her knuckles gripped the steering wheel.

Neither of you knew where to begin. The weight of your unspoken words, four weeks' worth, hung between you both. It was as if the air itself held its breath, waiting for one of you to break the silence. But how could you? How could you unravel the messiness of what happened?

You nervously traced the seam of your jeans, your fingers trembling. The radio played a mixture of different songs, but it might as well have been static. Leah's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, her jaw clenched. You wondered if she felt the same ache, the same desperate need to fix the awkwardness that had grown between you.

Finally, she cleared her throat. "So," she said, her voice brittle, "how have you been?"

The banality of the question struck you. How had you been? You’d been sleepless, haunted by memories of her lips against mine and the way she made you feel. But you couldn't say any of that. Not yet anyways.

"Alright I guess," you replied, your voice barely audible. "You?"

Leah's knuckles relaxed slightly. "Same," she murmured. "Just…fine."

The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the hum of the engine. You wanted to reach across the divide, to touch her hand, to tell her how much you’d missed her. But fear held you back. Fear of rejection, of reopening wounds that hadn't fully healed.

As you approached the restaurant, the tension tightened. Leah pulled into the parking lot, and the car came to a stop. She turned off the engine, and for a moment, you sat there, suspended in uncertainty.

"Leah," you began, your voice steady. "We need to talk."

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I know. About that night..."

"No," you interrupted, your frustration bubbling over. "Not just about that night. About everything. About us."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Us?"

"Yes, us," you said, your voice rising. "Leah, I've been a mess these past weeks. Avoiding you, missing you, and feeling like my heart is being torn apart. And all because of that night.”

"I missed you," she whispered. "More than I thought possible."

"Leah," you sighed, "we can't keep pretending, we can’t carry on like this. I saw you in that club, kissing that girl, and it broke me, Leah."

Her gaze held yours, vulnerability etched across her features. "I don't want to," she confessed. "I've missed us."

"I've been an idiot," she admits. "I've been scared too. Scared of losing you altogether."

"So have I,” you admit, “I know you said you just wanted to be friends but I don’t think I can be, Le.”

She nodded, “I can’t be either, these past few weeks have made me realised how much I fucking need you. I’m sorry for saying I just wanted to be friends when I really didn’t.”

"But you did," you say, your voice raw. "And now I don't know where we stand. Are we friends? Are we something more? Or are we nothing at all?"

“I want us to work on things,” Leah pauses to take a deep breath, “I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to be able to fuck you like that whenever I want, I want you to kiss me whenever. I want you to be mine.”

Your mind raced. Why would she choose you over anyone else? She was Leah Williamson, she could have any girl that she set her eyes on.

“You’re staring,” Leah teased, her cheeks flushed.

“I—” you stammered. “Why me? Why not someone else?”

Leah’s expression softened. “Babe, you’re everything I could ask for in a girlfriend and more. How could I not fall in love with someone like you? You’re literally perfect.”

Without hesitation, you lean in, closing the distance between your lips and Leah's. Her mouth is warm, and the taste of her-sweet and slightly salty-sends a thrill through your veins.

It's a kiss that holds all the longing, all the missed chances, and all the unspoken words. For a moment, time stands still, and it's just the press of lips, the mingling of breaths.

Leah's fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. The ache in your chest eases, replaced by something more profound, a connection that defies words. Her lips move against yours, gentle yet urgent, as if trying to convey everything she's kept hidden.

The taste of Leah, the softness of her mouth, and the promise of something more.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dizzy, Leah's eyes search yours.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," she whispers.

"Me too," you admit, your heart soaring. “So you love me then?” You giggled.

Leah nodded, “I do,” she smiled, “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

You leaned in and kissed Leah’s lips once again, nodding your head, “I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

#awfc x reader #woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #awfc #lvnleah

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