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honeybadgerwritings · 1 day ago

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Short Circuit

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob helps Y/N train to control her powers under pressure. But when frustration gets the better of her, their sparring session turns tense.

Reader’s Abilities: Electrokinesis, Telekinesis (not really mentioned here though), and Flight

Warnings: Mild angst, accidental electrical discharge, brief loss of control (non-lethal), combat training.

Please let me know if I have missed anything.

A/N: I wrote this so it takes place a few years after the Thunderbolts takes place, where Bob has a much better control over his powers and void (I will touch on his journey in some one-shots as well). Y/N has been a part of the team for a while, but struggles to control what she can do.

—————————————————

There was a hum of energy buzzing faintly in the training room of the avengers tower, dancing off the reinforced walls like static. The center mat had been cleared, the lights dimmed, and two figures stood, facing one another under the glow of the overhead panel.

Bob cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck, almost cocky looking, “Alright, sweetheart. Hit me.”

Y/N squinted at him, hiding the lilt of annoyance in her voice, “Just… hit you? You’re not even going to block?”

He smiled. It was patient. Infuriating.

“Don’t need to. This is about control, not damage.”

She exhaled slowly, raising her hands. Pale blue sparks flickered in her palms, licking at her fingers as she summoned a burst of energy

———

From the overhead walkway, Yelena was leaned over the railing, watching with interest. Bucky stood beside her, arms crossed. He was silent and stoic as per usual, but observant.

It was him who had suggested this training session. After the last mission had almost blown up in their faces, due to Y/N’s loss of control when she was overwhelmed by enemy agents, he needed to find a way to keep it from happening again. Her aim had suffered, she had gotten cornered, and Ava almost lost a limb in an effort to rescue her.

Bob was a bit reluctant at first, knowing Y/N already wasn’t proud of what had happened. He wasn’t sure that having her own boyfriend critiquing and correcting her would help.

But Bucky was insistent, considering he was the only other member of the team with any sort of powers. It also helped that once upon a time, he struggled to control his own abilities and emotions too.

With a sigh and a mumbled, “You’re paying for our couples therapy,” he reluctantly agreed.

They watched as she fired a few rounds of electric blasts at Bob, very obviously holding herself back a little.

“She’s getting better,” Yelena murmured, “But she’s tense.”

“She’s always tense when it’s him,” Bucky replied.

———

Below, Y/N was focused, her eyes locked on Bob’s chest. She extended one palm, fingers shaking slightly, and fired another tight bolt of energy. It hit his shoulder and dispersed harmlessly across his skin.

“Good,” Bob said, his tone gentle, “But you hesitated. Again.”

She huffed, “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Bob gave her a look, “You can’t-” Y/N cut him off, annoyance layered thick in her voice.

“Yes I know. I can’t hurt you because you’re ’Invincible’ or whatever,” her voice was almost mocking, and it didn’t go unnoticed by her boyfriend, “But you never actually know, so please just humor me.”

He took a slow step forward, keeping his patience as he spoke, “You wanna know what could actually hurt me?” His voice wasn’t cold, but it was stern.

At that moment, Y/N couldn’t really tell the difference.

“If you hesitate or lose control out there again? And a situation that you’re fully capable of handling goes haywire? That would hurt me. Because god only knows what could happen to you next time.” There was a softness behind his eyes.

And enough shame behind Y/N’s for her to not notice.

“So please humor me, and stop hesitating.”

She clenched her jaw, and lifted both hands this time, “Fine.”

Six quick pulses fired from her palms, more powerful than what she had released before. It was the kind of power she would use on enemies. The kind that could flip a vehicle. Four of them missed, only two of them hitting Bob.

He didn’t move, let alone flinch. Frustration burned hot in her throat.

“Y/N,” Bob said quietly, “You’re overthinking it. Feel it. Trust yourself.”

She shot him a look. “Easy for you to say, Mr. Invincible.”

His expression hardened a bit, “You don’t have to be invincible to be in control.”

———

From above, Yelena whispered, “She’s about to snap.”

Bucky just nodded.

———

Y/N released another blast, bigger than the ones before, this one only catching him in the shoulder, and she watched as his body just absorbed it.

She didn’t know what was more frustrating, the fact that she could barely hit an unmoving target, or that any time she did hit him, he took it like it was just a light breeze.

It made her feel weak. It made her feel angry.

“You’re just standing there,” she muttered, electricity building like pressure behind her ribs, “You’re not even trying. You’re not trying and I’m still failing—”

“You’re not failing,” Bob interrupted, stepping closer.

She took a step back, not looking at him. She felt like yelling, and screaming, and kicking, and breaking anything that she could get her hands on. She opted not to for the time being.

“Don’t lie to me,” she shook her head, hardly noticing the electricity beginning to flow through her entire body, in sync with her frustration, “Don’t act like this whole thing isn’t pathetic. Like I’m not pathetic.”

All of a sudden Bob was the one hesitating, not sure what to do or say. He could see the electricity flowing beneath her skin, and how she glowed slightly.

He began to take another step forward, “That’s not true-”

“I said don’t lie!” Her voice cracked as a violent surge of electricity finally released itself, bursting from her hands as she lashed out.

Bob barely had time to brace himself, catching the wave square in the chest. He skidded back a few feet while floor around him crackled, and smoke rose from the mat. He smiled to himself for a moment, when he realized that it actually hurt.

He hadn’t felt that in a while.

Y/N stood frozen. Her heart was racing, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly, “I-I didn’t mean to-”

Bob straightened slowly, looking incredibly impressed, “There she is.”

Y/N blinked, “What?”

“That,” he said, pointing to her hands, “Is what I’m talking about. It was raw, yes. But you didn’t lose control. You held the charge, you aimed, and you pulled back at the last second. That was instinct and restraint. That was control.”

She glanced down at the mat, seeing the minor skid marks from where he had dug his heels in as she knocked him back. She looked at her hands next, feeling the current run through them more comfortably, more confidently.

More powerfully.

She looked up at Bob, a different kind of glint behind her eyes this time. He smirked at her, heart swelling with pride as he opened his mouth to speak,

“C’mon,” he said, arms going up in defense for the first time during the whole session, “Hit me with another one.”

———

From above, Yelena smiled faintly, her own chest swelling with pride as she watched Y/N throw blast after blast. They were steady, more controlled, accurate.

They were even knocking the wind out of Bob, something no other avenger had ever been able to do.

Another fifteen minutes went by before Y/N’s hands finally dropped to her sides, catching her breath. Bob relaxed his stance, making his way over to her.

“Well,” she said, glancing toward Bucky, “That was surprisingly productive.”

Bucky gave a quiet grunt of agreement, eyes still on Y/N. “She just needs space to fall apart without being judged for it.”

“She’s lucky,” Yelena murmured, watching Bob as he gently wrapped an arm around her, “To have someone like that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice unreadable. “She is.”

Yelena shrugged, turning to walk away, “They are like lovesick puppies.”

Bucky cracked a smile for the first time that day, but said nothing else, as he followed Yelena out of the training room.

———

Y/N sat down on the mat, still catching her breath, and wiping sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her shirt.

“I actually feel good,” she said, surprised at herself, “Like I could do that again… not today though. No more for today.”

Bob sat beside her with a chuckle, their knees touching, “You should feel good, you earned it.”

She nudged him playfully, “You sure you didn’t go easy on me?”

“Absolutely not,” he said with mock offense, “I was bracing for impact the whole time.” She laughed, the sound light and unguarded, and leaned against his shoulder,

“Thanks coach.”

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her back,“Anytime, sparky.”

She snorted and shoved his shoulder.

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quarterlifekitty · 12 hours ago

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obsessed obsessed OBSESSED with barracuda!soap and betta!reader good god if you have anything else at all on that please share and if not please take all my love and appreciation regardless

You know I love a scientific setting

Honestly I’ve been thinking more about the world and I’ve been considering. Research Lead!Price and Research Assistant!Gaz who are studying soap and like. Before they acquired you that man was constantly swimming laps. Rubbing his throbbing cock against the glass. And Price and Gaz are like on GOD we gonna get you some pussy bro

And of course they’re supposed to be observing behavior so they can’t really interfere, so they’re just stuck watching him fumble the fuck out of you for the first few weeks that you’re in the tank. I’m imagining in this setting that it’s really rare to catch a live mer specimen, and it’s insanely rare to catch a live female specimen, so you being different species is something they just have to roll with for science.

Anyways I’m torn between Johnny actually successfully courting you or him just snatching you at an opportune moment to fuck you raw and stupid

Either way I imagine you start using certain fish bones from your feeder fish as rudimentary shivs to threaten him (tropical mer are well known for using tools more often than others), and instead of disarming you, he just gets you more. Cleans them really well and leaves them by your hiding spot. Gets you ones that are tough enough to crack serrations into some of the smaller ones.

And then maybe Price and Gaz interfere a little. Introduce a new feeder fish that’s insanely fast and full of gristle and bone. You’re not fast enough to catch them, but Johnny is. Johnny doesn’t have the dexterity or tools to process the fish, but you do. They watch with bated breath as you feed him a sliver of the fat-streaked meat from your knife for the first time. A few days later you linger after eating together, letting him cup your jaw near the gills (an incredibly vulnerable and sensitive area) and nuzzling you.

It’s not long before you’re pressed with your back to his chest, both full of his hunting and your carving, while his fingers gently tease and stroke at your slit to try and coax it open.

#cod fanfic #writing #cod #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #mermay #cod mermay #barracuda soap #betta reader #mermaid au

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wbbfannnnnn13 · 2 days ago

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Motion Sick // Chapter 6

Theme: homoerotic friendship messy core...

A/N: Oof, this was a challenge, but I felt obligated to get another chapter out quick with all ya'll being crashouts. You guys crack me up, but I secretly (not-so-secretly) love it. My mind is straight mush now, but it was a lot of fun writing this chapter, kind of dialogue heavy at parts, but I hope you enjoy.

WC: 5K

Warnings: angst, cussing (maybe)

**** Chapter 6 ****

It had been a couple weeks since the talk. Not a movie-scene blow-up or some epic “I choose you” moment—just a weirdly vulnerable heart-to-heart in the film room. Two people sitting in the blue glow of paused game tape, finally hitting play on everything else. No tears. No yelling. Just honesty.

And ever since, something had shifted.

They weren’t exactly glued at the hip again—more like orbiting the same planet without crashing into each other. Which, all things considered, was progress. A miracle, even.

They talked now. Real talk. Not just hey-good-drill or sarcastic comments about the weight room playlist. Full sentences. Actual conversations. Last week, Paige had even stayed behind after practice to argue about whether fruit snacks counted as a recovery food. Azzi said no. Paige called her a menace to sports science.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed this until it was back—until she could breathe around Paige again.

And honestly? Azzi had been breathing easier in general lately.

Breaking up with Derrick fucking Jones had cracked something open in her—in a good way. Like stepping out into fresh air after holding your breath too long. She hadn’t even realized how much energy she’d spent pretending. Pretending to be fine, to be all in, to care more than she actually did. The relationship had felt like lukewarm soup—tolerable, sometimes comforting, but never enough.

The moment it ended, she didn’t feel guilt. She felt relief.

She went home, ate half a sleeve of Oreos, and slept for twelve straight hours. When she woke up, the weight was gone.

Aubrey had cheered. Caroline had shown up with a Costco-size tub of cookie dough and refused to leave until Azzi talked. Really talked. About everything—about Paige, about the exhausting math of liking someone you weren’t sure you were allowed to like, about being tired of playing small.

They sat cross-legged on the floor of Azzi’s room, spooning dough straight from the tub and watching a muted rerun of The Princess Diaries like they were thirteen again. Caroline wore one sock and a messy bun, and kept making off-handed comments like, “This entire situation has big Mia Thermopolis energy,” which didn’t make any sense, but somehow helped.

Somewhere between Azzi muttering, “I don’t even know if I’m gay or bi or just… late to the party,” and whispering, “I don’t know who I am without basketball,” Caroline had looked at her—really looked at her—and said:

“Even if it’s too late for you and Paige… it’s not too late for you.”

Then she added, more serious this time, “You don’t have to figure out your whole identity tonight. But you do have to stop acting like you don’t get to have one.”

And for the first time in a long time, Azzi felt like maybe she wasn’t broken. Just… becoming.

Azzi hadn’t cried. But she had believed her.

So she started paying more attention to her own feelings. Not Paige’s. Not anyone else’s. Just hers. She poured more into practice, into film, into the one thing that had always made sense—basketball. Her first love. The only thing that had never made her feel like too much or not enough. And in the quieter moments—walking to class, waiting in line for coffee, sharing a laugh with someone in the library—she let herself notice. The way a girl’s smile made her stomach flip. The way it felt nice, just looking. Just wondering. Not in a dramatic, world-tilting way, but in those small, flickering moments that felt like maybe, finally, a beginning.

And Paige? Paige seemed good. She was still sidelined, still rehabbing, but there was a steadiness to her. Kathryn made her laugh, even if her jokes weren’t that funny. And maybe that was enough.

Azzi had told herself she was happy for her. Said it out loud enough times that it almost felt true.

Season had officially started, and Azzi was already feeling it in her bones—in a good way. There was a calm she hadn’t known she needed. Less pressure. More focus. Her shot felt smooth. Her legs felt fresh. She was ready.

And of course, Paige had gone full Coach P.

Not that Azzi minded—most of the time.

“Okay, defense shows high hedge, what’s the read?” Paige called across the court during transition reps.

Azzi didn’t even look up. “Corner skip or hit the cutter.”

“Uh-huh. And if Aaliyah actually remembers how to seal this year?”

Azzi grinned. “Drop pass. Easy bucket.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume Aaliyah’s gonna remember the playbook and not just bulldoze everyone like a human wrecking ball.”

Azzi laughed. “Hey, it’s a valid strategy. Chaos is still technically a tactic.”

“Tell that to the refs. She’s already averaging one offensive foul per scrimmage.”

“Justice for Aaliyah,” Azzi said solemnly. “She’s just out here catching strays and setting illegal screens.”

Paige smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Meanwhile you’re out here running point like Sue Bird’s ghost is whispering in your ear.”

Azzi tossed the ball toward her. “You’re just mad I’m learning to do your job better than you.”

Paige caught it one-handed and shrugged. “Well, someone’s gotta keep the dynasty alive while I’m stuck pretending to enjoy hip mobility drills.”

It was… nice. Their rhythm.

Azzi had always admired the way Paige saw the floor—like she had cheat codes no one else had. Like the defense moved in slow motion just for her, every trap and rotation already decoded before it even happened. Paige didn’t just react—she anticipated. Manipulated. Threaded passes through windows that barely existed.

It was part art, part science, and Azzi had spent years trying to figure out how she did it.

So yeah, it meant something—having Paige in her ear now. Not just nitpicking her handles or telling her to keep her elbows in. But actually pushing her to see the game differently. To read spacing in real time. To feel the shift of a defense before it fully committed.

Though that didn’t stop Paige from offering shooting tips, which was ridiculous. And also entirely on brand.

“Wrist’s a little stiff today,” Paige said casually after Azzi drained six straight from the wing.

Azzi deadpanned, “Please enlighten me, Steph.”

“Just saying, maybe you’re due for a form check. Could be a thumb drift situation.”

Azzi blinked. “You really wanna die today?”

Paige smirked. “It’s giving 12% left-hand involvement.”

“I will end you.”

“You’d miss.”

Azzi couldn’t help it—she laughed.

They still had their bruises. Still had history—the kind that didn’t fade easily, no matter how much time passed. But this? This quiet, cautious rhythm they were building now? It felt like something new. Not perfect. Not certain. But real. Steady in a way that maybe didn’t need labels or guarantees.

Something worth holding onto, even if just with open hands.

Paige

Paige tried not to stare.

But it was hard not to when Azzi was running the floor like she owned it. Confident. Locked in. The kind of sharp that made her want to clap and curse at the same time.

She watched from the baseline, arms crossed over her hoodie, trying to act like she wasn’t tracking every move. Footwork. Tempo. Angles. The way Azzi looked off the defender before slipping a bounce pass through traffic that made two managers gasp out loud.

“Jesus,” Paige muttered under her breath, even though her heart was doing this dumb little fluttery thing she immediately ignored.

It was good. This was good. They were good.

Better, at least.

She hadn’t been sure how that film room conversation would go—if it would break them, fix them, or just confirm that some things weren’t meant to be salvaged. But somehow, it had done none of that and all of it at once. They weren’t glued to each other like they used to be, but there was something solid in the space between them now. Friendly. Safe.

Mostly.

Paige knew what Azzi thought—that she was fine, happy, moved on.

And in a lot of ways, she was.

Kathryn was great. Chill. Low drama. The kind of person who didn’t need a spotlight, didn’t flinch at silence. She sent memes at 2 a.m. and always asked how Paige’s knee was doing before anything else. She let Paige rant about PT without trying to fix it. She made things easy. Steady. Predictable in a way Paige hadn’t realized she craved.

She didn’t ask questions Paige didn’t want to answer.

Like how she was really feeling. Or whether she ever thought about last season. Or what it meant when Paige couldn’t meet Azzi’s eyes for a full thirty seconds after that assist drill last week.

Kathryn didn’t ask, so Paige didn’t have to say.

She didn’t have to explain the scar tissue in her body or the messier kind layered somewhere under her ribs. She didn’t have to name the ache she still felt sometimes—quiet but persistent, like a song she couldn’t quite skip.

With Kathryn, everything had its place. Everything made sense.

And still… sometimes it felt like wearing a jacket that almost fit. Like if she just didn’t breathe too deep or move too fast, no one would notice the way it tugged in the wrong places.

****

If this was what Azzi looked like at the start of the season… the rest of the NCAA should probably go ahead and panic.

Twenty-six points. Six steals. Two blocks. One no-look dime that had the entire bench on their feet. She was everywhere—disrupting passing lanes, beating defenders off the dribble, calling switches like she’d been running point her whole life. Calm. Dominant. Untouchable.

Paige was proud. Like… stupidly proud.

She stayed composed on the sideline, of course—clapping, high-fiving, doing her little “Coach P” head nod—but inside? She was doing cartwheels. Watching Azzi level up like this? It was everything she wanted and everything she wasn’t sure she could handle.

The win itself wasn’t a surprise—Northwestern wasn’t exactly a team anyone was watching. But a dominant win still mattered. Momentum mattered. And Azzi had set the tone for the entire season. Paige would’ve killed to be on the floor with her, just for one quarter. Just to feel the rhythm again. But instead, she cheered. Coached. Supported.

It was enough. Kind of.

No major celebrations after the game—just fist bumps and ice baths. Everyone had already circled the Texas matchup on the calendar. Bigger test. Bigger stakes.

Still, the team wasn’t going to let a W go unacknowledged.

Naturally, they ended up piled into Azzi, Aubrey, and Caroline’s dorm suite, half-eaten pizza boxes scattered across the counter and someone’s Bluetooth speaker cycling through a very questionable playlist. No one brought drinks—look at all of us being responsible, Paige had joked when they’d passed a gas station and kept driving. Instead, they loaded up on soda, gummy worms, and arguments about who would win the West this year.

The TV was tuned into the NBA game, but no one was really watching. Side conversations buzzed in every corner—Caroline arguing with Nika about Steph vs. Dame, Aubrey attempting to rank all the High School Musical soundtracks, and Paige just… floating. Listening. Letting herself feel like part of it all again.

Until she realized Azzi wasn’t there.

She looked around casually at first, scanning the room like she might’ve just missed her. But the couch was full. The kitchenette, too. And that familiar gravity Paige always felt around her? Gone.

She leaned toward Aubrey. “Hey, where’d Azzi go?”

Aubrey didn’t look up from her phone. “Something about homework, I think.”

Paige raised a brow. “What, her and Derrick off doing microeconomics by candlelight?”

Aubrey blinked at her. “What?”

Paige furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, ‘what’?”

Aubrey looked up fully now, brows furrowed just as tightly. “Paige… they broke up.”

Paige froze mid-sip of her Diet Coke. “What?”

Caroline, sitting on the floor with her head against the couch, chimed in like it was nothing. “Yeah. Like, a couple weeks ago.”

Paige’s heart didn’t exactly drop—but it did shift. Like the ground underneath her had tilted a little to the left. Just enough to feel it.

“Oh,” she said. And then, stupidly, “I thought they were good.”

Aubrey and Caroline exchanged a look. Quick. Subtle. Not subtle enough.

Something in Paige’s chest pulled tight. She opened her mouth to ask more—when a bedroom door opened.

And there she was.

Azzi stepped out into the living room, hoodie half-zipped, glasses on, hair pulled into a low puff like she hadn’t given it a second thought. She looked… casual. Comfortable. Way too unaffected for someone who had just set the court on fire two hours ago.

“Sorry,” she said, sliding back into the room like she hadn’t been missed. “Forgot about some discussion posts.”

“Nerd,” Caroline muttered under her breath.

Azzi flipped her off without looking.

Paige tried to play it cool, but her brain was already halfway down a rabbit hole. Because discussion posts didn’t explain the way Aubrey had looked at her. Or the way Caroline had said it like it was obvious.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Azzi dropped onto the couch across from her, grabbing a slice of cheese pizza and taking a bite like nothing had changed.

And maybe it hadn’t.

But for the first time in a long time, Paige wasn’t sure she understood the game she was watching.

Azzi

Azzi played out of her mind tonight.

Career high. Thirty-two points. Against the number three team in the nation. She couldn’t stop smiling—not in the postgame presser, not in the locker room, not even as she tried to act like she wasn’t replaying it all in her head every five seconds.

This was fun. Like, really fun.

The kind of game where the rim felt like a magnet and her body moved like it already knew what to do before her brain caught up. Where the defense couldn’t keep up and the crowd fed off every bucket. Where she could feel it—that shift. Like maybe this wasn’t just a good start to the season. Maybe this was her season.

And when Paige came up afterward, arm slung across her shoulders in that way that always made Azzi feel like she was still tethered to something solid, she said it so casually you’d think she hadn’t just handed her the highest compliment in the universe:

“National Player of the Year. I’m calling it now.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, tried to laugh it off—you’re so dramatic, P—but inside?

Her chest buzzed.

Because it wasn’t just anyone saying it. It was Paige.

Yeah, they were only a year apart. They’d come up in the same circuits, trained together, pushed each other. But still—there was something about Paige that always felt… next-level. The way she read the floor. The way she led. The way she carried herself like she already knew who she was.

Azzi had admired that. Still did. So hearing her say something like that, even half-jokingly?

It hit different.

While the Northwestern win hadn’t exactly earned a celebration, this one definitely did. This wasn’t just about rankings. It was about making a statement. UConn was still UConn. And Azzi? She was someone to watch this year.

Naturally, the plan was Ted’s.

It was basically written into the culture of the program. Big win? You go to Ted’s. Birthday? Ted’s. Existential crisis before midterms? Ted’s with mozzarella sticks.

And with their next game not until Sunday, they had time. A whole six days of breathing room to celebrate, recover, and maybe watch the tape three times before Coach could even schedule film.

Azzi had already changed into jeans and a cropped tank top , still riding the high of the night. Hair damp, lip gloss swiped on at the last minute, hoop earrings in because Aubrey told her they were “absolutely essential for main character energy.” She didn’t argue.

Tonight, she felt like the main character.

****

The second she stepped into Ted’s, it was like the night tilted in her direction.

The music pulsed low and steady under her feet, the lights were dim enough to feel flattering, and every head seemed to turn when she walked through the door. Some double takes. Some straight-up stares. Caroline leaned in behind her and whispered, “Try not to trip over all the attention you’re getting, superstar.”

Azzi just grinned.

She earned this. She was the moment.

The drinks came quickly—someone handed her a hard cider, then a seltzer, then something pink and dangerous that Aubrey claimed was “hydration adjacent.” Her limbs loosened, the edges of her mind softened, and for the first time in… she didn’t even know how long, her brain wasn’t buzzing with plays or questions or complicated feelings she hadn’t made space to sort out.

Everything felt light.

Easy.

Even Derrick, camped out in the corner with his friends, scowling like someone had stolen his fantasy football password—he couldn’t touch her mood tonight. He didn’t even register. He was background noise.

And Paige?

Paige was across the room, curled into a corner booth with Kathryn, heads tucked close, laughing over something Paige was showing her on her phone.

It should’ve stung. A couple weeks ago, it might have.

But tonight? Azzi didn’t feel jealous. She felt done.

She was just about to rejoin the group when someone stepped into her path.

“Hey.”

Azzi turned—and paused.

Tall-ish. Blonde. Bright blue eyes and a confident smile that made her brain short-circuit for a half second. The girl looked familiar—maybe from class? Definitely someone athletic. Softball, maybe?

And okay—she was cute. Like, actually cute. The kind of cute that made Azzi stand a little straighter without meaning to.

Azzi blinked. Oh no.

She had a type. Apparently, it was tall, blonde, and alarmingly self-assured.

“Congrats on the win,” the girl said, voice low but certain. “And the thirty-two points. You kinda went off.”

Azzi blinked. “Thanks. I—sorry, I think we had a class together?”

“Yeah,” the girl smiled wider. “Sociology. You were always late.”

Azzi laughed. “Guilty. You sat near the back, right?”

“Middle-left,” she said. “But I’ll take back-row cool girl energy if that’s what you remember.”

Azzi tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Okay, I’m not trying to be rude, but what’s your name again? I wanna say Lily… or maybe Laila?”

The girl laughed, clearly not offended. “Lexi. But I’m flattered you remembered the first letter.”

“Lexi,” Azzi repeated, like she was trying it on.

It fit.

Lexi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You looked like you were having a good time out there. On the court, I mean.”

Azzi smirked. “What, you watch women’s basketball?”

“I do now,” Lexi said, not missing a beat. “Especially when someone drops thirty-two with a side of four assists.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You memorizing my stats?”

Lexi shrugged. “I did my homework before walking over here. Can’t show up unprepared.”

Azzi bit her lip, trying not to smile too hard. “You walk over to girls a lot? Or just the ones who embarrass Texas on national television?”

“Just the hot ones,” Lexi said, like it was obvious.

Azzi choked on a laugh. “Okay, wow.”

“I mean,” Lexi added, leaning in slightly, “if you’re not into girls, feel free to let me down gently. But I figured it was worth a shot.”

Azzi tilted her head, heart thudding just a little too loud in her chest. “And if I am?”

Lexi smiled slow and easy. “Then I’d ask if I could buy you your next drink. Or at least distract you from your MVP fan club long enough to learn something that’s not in the box score.”

Azzi stared at her for a second, then tipped her head toward the bar, grinning. “Okay, Lexi-from-Soc. Impress me.”

****

Azzi hadn’t expected to have this much fun.

She and Lexi ended up at the bar, tucked between a group of baseball players and some overenthusiastic birthday girls singing along to early 2010s throwbacks. The noise blurred around them. None of it mattered. Not when Lexi leaned in to be heard, not when she made a face after trying Azzi’s drink, not when she laughed at something dumb Azzi said and bumped their shoulders together like they already had a rhythm.

It was… easy. Surprisingly easy.

Flirting with girls wasn’t something Azzi had done before—at least not consciously. But now, in the middle of it, she realized how different it felt. Not necessarily better. Just… different.

Guys always came in a little loud. Like they had something to prove. There was a performance to it—like they were trying to win a prize, and she was the prize, and everyone was aware of the transaction.

This?

Lexi asked questions and actually listened. She made eye contact in a way that felt open, not invasive. She wasn’t trying to take up space—just offering to share it.

Azzi didn’t feel like she had to act a certain way or say the perfect thing or pretend like she didn’t care. She could just… be.

And okay, yeah, she still got a little flustered when Lexi tucked her hair behind her ear or touched her forearm when she laughed—but she didn’t feel like she had to hide that either. It didn’t feel like a game she didn’t know the rules to.

It just felt right.

Not in some overwhelming, life-altering way. But in a quiet, steady way that made something inside her settle.

Maybe she really was into girls. Maybe she was into both.

She wasn’t sure she had the exact words for it yet, but for the first time, that thought didn’t send her into a spiral.

It made her smile.

Because here she was—talking to a girl. Flirting. Laughing. Feeling something. And it wasn’t scary.

It was good.

Paige

At first, Paige didn’t notice.

Or at least, she told herself she didn’t.

She was mid-laugh, curled into the corner booth with Kathryn, legs tangled comfortably beneath the table, trading stories about their worst high school team bus rides—when the vibe shifted. Just a blip. The kind of thing most people would miss.

But Paige noticed. She always noticed.

She caught the change in body language out of the corner of her eye. Azzi at the bar. Some girl leaning in close, touching her arm like they were already three drinks and a secret in. Paige had seen Azzi lean in like that before. Only it used to be toward her—in the dark, in private, in all the ways they never talked about out loud.

Azzi smiling like she meant it. Tilting her head like she was genuinely interested in whatever that girl was saying. Like she was… into it.

And then that girl—whatever her name is—laughed too hard and said something that made Azzi look down, all flustered and cute and—

Paige’s stomach dropped.

Just straight up collapsed.

She looked away immediately, like that would help. Like not seeing it meant it wasn’t happening.

Kathryn said something about the birthday girls near the bar and laughed again, but Paige didn’t catch it.

“Paige?”

Kathryn’s voice was soft, but her hand was firmer now—on Paige’s wrist. “You good?”

Paige blinked. Nodded too quickly. “Yeah. No. Sorry. Zoned out.”

Kathryn searched her face for a second. Long enough to feel it—something off between them. The first crack.

Paige tried to fix it with a smile. The wrong kind. Too sharp around the edges.

Kathryn gave her a look like she didn’t believe her, but didn’t press. She leaned back, giving Paige a little space, which only made the knot in her chest tighten.

Across the bar, Azzi laughed at something the other girl said, head thrown back, face flushed. She looked good. Like really good. And Paige felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Pissed off.

Like, irrationally. Deeply. Offensively. Pissed.

Because what the hell?

Since when did Azzi flirt with girls? Since when did she flirt with girls in public? Since when did she laugh like that with someone new—someone who wasn’t trying to pretend the past never happened?

Paige could feel it building in her chest, hot and loud and impossible to silence.

“Bro. What is happening on your face right now?”

Paige looked up to see Nika sliding into the booth beside her, eyebrows raised in that twin telepathy kind of way.

“Nothing,” Paige said automatically.

Nika narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re lying with your whole body right now.”

Kathryn, sweetly oblivious or maybe just choosing not to get involved, stood up and said she was going to grab another drink. Paige nodded, eyes locked on the table.

Nika waited until she was out of earshot, then leaned in. “Get up.”

“What?”

“Bathroom. Now.”

Paige opened her mouth to protest, but Nika was already yanking her by the arm.

She barely had time to register the sticky tile floor before Nika locked the door behind them and folded her arms. “Spill.”

“There’s nothing to—”

“Paige.”

She said it like a warning. Like a truth Paige wasn’t allowed to outrun anymore.

Paige crossed her arms too, mostly to keep her hands from shaking. “I’m fine. I just… noticed Azzi talking to someone.”

Nika blinked. “Lexi. Yeah. They’ve been talking all night.”

“And?” Paige said, too fast. “It’s weird, okay?”

“What’s weird?”

Paige threw her hands up. “I don’t know! That she’s out here flirting after just breaking up with her boyfriend? That she’s flirting with a g—what is that, even?”

Nika’s mouth pulled into a slow, knowing smile. “Caroline said she had an epiphany. That she might like girls.”

Paige blinked. “She what?”

“Yeah. Like two weeks ago. Aubrey said it was a whole thing. Apparently Caroline brought cookie dough and everything.”

Paige stared at her. “Why does everyone know this but me?”

Nika shrugged. “Maybe because you're too busy pretending you don’t care.”

Paige opened her mouth, then closed it again. Because what was she supposed to say to that?

Nika softened, but only a little. “I know it hurts. But she’s not doing anything you didn’t already do. You're with Kathryn?”

That one landed. Deep.

Paige didn’t say anything at first. Just looked down at the sink, jaw tight, heart thudding in a way she couldn’t steady.

Because Nika was right. She had moved on—or at least, tried to.

She had Kathryn.

Kathryn, who brought her coffee before rehab. Kathryn, who asked how her knee felt before asking how she felt. Kathryn, who laughed at her dumb jokes and always knew when to give her space without making her ask for it.

She was sweet. Thoughtful. Cute in a soft, almost-too-good-to-be-true kind of way. Honestly? Kathryn was perfect on paper.

And Paige was happy with her. She was.

So why did she feel like she’d just been sucker-punched by something she wasn’t supposed to feel anymore?

Why did it still matter what Azzi did with someone else?

The guilt pressed in, low and sharp.

She didn’t know what any of this meant. But suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she liked where it was going.

Because this wasn’t just about Lexi and her overly confident smile. It wasn’t even about the flirting, not really. It was about Azzi. Azzi, who used to look at Paige like she was the only one in the room. Azzi, who used to climb into her bed after road games and steal the covers and kiss her like she was afraid to stop. Azzi, who—when it came down to it—couldn’t choose her out loud.

Not when it mattered. Not when Paige had finally been ready to be chosen.

And now? Now she was suddenly out here figuring things out—out loud—with someone else? With some girl named Lexi who didn’t know any of the messy, bruised history they shared?

What made her easier to choose?

Paige’s jaw clenched.

Because if Azzi had been scared then, if she hadn’t been ready—fine. Paige had told herself she understood.

She gave her space. Gave her grace.

But this—Azzi laughing, wanting, letting someone else see it—

That was what Paige had begged for.

And now Azzi was finally doing it.

Just not with her.

When Paige stepped back into the bar, everything looked the same.

The music thumped low under the buzz of conversation, lights dim and familiar. Someone was shouting near the dartboard. Caroline was holding court in the corner with half the team. The floor still stuck a little with every step.

But something had shifted.

Or maybe it was just her.

She walked back to the booth like she was sleepwalking. Like her body knew the motions even if her brain hadn’t caught up.

Nika’s words still echoed somewhere in her chest, too loud to ignore.

Across the room, Azzi was still at the bar. Still smiling. Still talking to Lexi, close enough that their shoulders brushed every time one of them leaned in to say something. Paige tried not to look. Tried not to notice—but it was impossible not to.

She slipped back into her seat beside Kathryn. Kathryn, who looked up and smiled, that warm, gentle kind of smile that always made Paige feel like she was being chosen.

Paige smiled back. Or at least, she tried.

She told herself to be present. To focus. To let it go.

But her mind kept drifting. To Azzi. To the way she lit up tonight. To the way she never once looked over.

The tension settled somewhere beneath her ribs—dull, steady. Not loud enough to break her, just loud enough to make everything else feel a little quieter. A little less real.

Kathryn reached for her hand under the table, and Paige let her. She even laced their fingers together, like she meant it.

But in her chest, something felt… off.

Like she was still chasing a version of herself that had already moved on. Like someone had turned the volume down on everything else, and Azzi’s laugh was still the only thing she could hear.

#pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #fanfiction

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justevelynnnn · 2 days ago

Text

Starved

Summary: Viltrumite!Mark is an eater

Warnings: MDNI🔞, Mentions of cunnilingus, reader is afab, mention of Stockholm syndrome, tiny bit of voyeurism

A/N: I’ve been meaning to put more invincible stuff out but i’m just busy i swear😭

Anyways, I’ve really been wanting to write Viltrumite mark because i literally need him like asap. I’m not the best at writing him tho especially cause this is my first time so sorry abt that. Also i was too lazy to proofread this guys 😭👎🏾💔 i’ll do it later maybe

(Also idk the artist, i tried looking but if anyone finds them let me know!)

As much as you hated him, you loved how he treated you in bed.

Especially while he ate you out.

The room itself, it was his, was huge and so was the bed. It was bigger than a king size on Earth. And it was oddly extremely comfortable and soft.

After this mark, who wasn’t actually your mark mind you, literally kidnapped you to make you his wife,—very, very long story btw— you had to become accustomed to living here. Viltrum was….intense, but also beautiful, structured and clean. And so was this guy.

Your mark on earth was awkward and kind. He hated killing. This one? This guy? He didn’t it like he was blinking. And when he laid eyes on you with that stare you couldn’t put an emotion on you knew it was over.

But enough of that.

This Mark was considered royalty here so he could just do.,..whatever!

He doesn’t care where, but if he wants to eat you out he will. It doesn’t help that Mark was your ex on earth so you just let him.

The first time was after some weird dinner thing in the dining hall a week after you arrived. You didn’t follow what they were doing well because, well, you were still traumatized from literally everything that happened. Plus, Mark’s hand was on your knee and inched up every other minute.

Everyone left and a maid started to clean up, but Mark couldn’t wait anymore it seemed. He proceeded to pick you up and lay you on the long table and pull your bottoms off.

“What-” You gasp. The maid looked up and made eye contact with Mark. They promptly left.

“I want to taste the sweetness between your legs.” Mark said in his usual nonchalant way. He stood between your now bare legs with a hand under each knee.

Shock wasn’t even the beginning to describe how you felt then. This guy has only kissed you like once. Now he’s gonna eat you out?

“Um, okay?” You sighed. What’s the use fighting him? “Are we just gonna….like, here? Now?”

Mark just nods once, expression unmoving.

You hate how he just lacks…personality. Sometimes he’s just a statue and it creeps you out how he moves so calculated.

He moves down so his head is between your thighs, his hands still pushing your legs apart so you couldn’t move even if you wanted to, and he immediately got to work. It was like he let himself go. You were concerned at first that Viltrumites just lick one long stripe each time like fucking robots but no. Nope.

Dare you say this Mark eat you out better than your own?

The way he used his tongue against you, flicking and dipping inside rhythmically had you on the verge of cumming minutes in. He groaned and moaned into you like he never tasted anything better. His nose brushed against your neglected clit every now and then which didn’t help.

You wondered why he avoided it but quickly learned he was saving it for the end. When you started twitch and trying to move away from him he held you firmly in place and started sucking on your clit, occasionally letting his tongue flick against it as well.

Then you came like never before. You saw stars. You swore you did. And the worst part was he didn’t even stop. He just kept going, slurping the juices that came out of you as you shook around him.

And then when you were done, gasping for air and still shaking a bit, he just pulled you up off the table and helped you put your skirt back on.

You couldn’t even speak. He just carried on and helped you to his room like nothing happened, his face still wet and all.

And after that night he’d just randomly eat you out. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited either when he started showing those subtle signs of needing you. Whether it was a hand on your knee or him just never leaving your side. Or even the times he’s just….staring into your soul (you did not like those times at all).

It made sense he ate you out like a god, he was one.

You could almost blame the creeping Stockholm syndrome on how he ate you.

“Your petals has the exact sweetness of a fruit from this planet i conquered once.”, Mark said one night between your legs. “A rare delicacy.”

You almost didn’t register it because you were lost in your own world of pleasure.

“Is…is that why, ughh~”, you moaned. You could hardly finish a thought because he just didn’t stop for nothing.

“Why what.” He said before returning to sucking on you.

“Is that why you like me so much?”

He paused like he was thinking about it. Then he shook his head no.

“There is more to why I “like” you.”

You wanted to say more but that was the end of that conversation because he went right back to work. Part of you believed it was stress relief. Another part now went the planet fruit excuse.

Everything else about him was composed. Regal almost.

Untouchable.

He was respected by many Viltrumites here.

But when he was between your legs like this? His heart was a mess. He made many noises you know no one else has heard from him. His eyes would get watery and filled with lust and need.

Not to mention he loved being drenched when he was done with you. One time his face was literally dripping because he got you to squirt on him. He’d always get up too, like it was nothing.

You still didn’t know how to feel about him. He was your kidnapper after all and not to mention he looked and sounded exactly like your ex. It was a complex situation. Even months later you felt conflicted.

But maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this as long as he stayed just as needy to eat you out.

#viltrumite #viltrum mark #viltrumeat #Real #invincible smut #invincible fanfic #invincible mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible imagine #invincible #viltrumite mark x reader

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lucy-literates · 2 days ago

Text

Knots

Synopsis: Your husband has a grueling job, so you secretly took massage lessons to surprise him and help him relax after a long day (post Thunderbolts*).

A/N: My requests are open! I'm seriously considering going back to the cinemas to watch Thunderbolts* again. I can not tell you guys how happy I am that Buck finally got his own theme, he so deserves it. I’m so proud of him. Anyway, enjoy :)

Not only does Bucky run around saving the world, he also babysits 5 adult children. There isn’t a mission they’ve been on that has gone how they planned, whether Alexi just ran in shouting “We are the Thunderbolts!”, or John who got the best of him and he took on more than he should’ve. It was always Bucky that got stuck saving their asses.

He knew that was gonna happen when he agreed (was forced into) the job, and deep deep deep down, he kinda likes it.

He’s never had that mentor role before, always being the fragile, broken soldier who needed guidance and healing. He now get to be the strong leader, who helps the other heal.

Some days, that looks like letting Yelena take her anger out on him. Other days, it looks like handcuffing Bob to the couch when he’s got the occasional craving for meth.

He wouldn’t change a thing. Except, for maybe a few more quiet days he could spend with you. He could never get enough of those.

He just came back from 2 week mission, dropping the others off at the tower and hightailing it to your little apartment down the street.

He fished the key you gave to him out of his pocket, and burst through the door. He silently stalked around the apartment, looking for you.

Next thing he knows, there’s a gun pointed in between his eyes.

“Holy shit Buck, I thought you were trying kidnapping me” you scold. It’s happened before, that’s why Bucky gave you one of his many handguns. You placed it down safely, then jumped into his arms.

He took you to the bed, hugging you and giving you small pecs the whole way. He placed you down, and reached for your computer which displayed your brand new masseuse certificate, something you had achieved right as Bucky got home.

You lunged for the laptop, slamming it closed and taking it from you. He immediately raised his eyebrow in a silent question.

“It’s actually a surprise for you” you admitted. “For me? When” he asked.

“Now. Lay done on the bed, shirt of” you ordered.

“Is this one of those new sex things you’ve been asking you try?” He accused.

“No! Now do what I said” you demanded

“Please” you added for good measure.

He grumbled and did what you demanded. You squeezed some moisture onto you hands and slid them up his back, gliding through the muscles.

You started on his shoulders, the tension and knots melted away as you worked. Bucky was groaning and moaning underneath you.

“You like your surprise?” You asked rather meekly

He replied with a muffled “fuck yeah” and went back to enjoying the pleasure.

His muscles rippled as you good your hands all over him, goosebumps changing after your hands. Some spots, like his shoulder blades, back, neck, and calves took a little extra work to get the knots out. You enjoyed being able to make him so relaxed while you basically got the freedom to touch whatever you wanted.

It wasn’t a secret that you struggled to keep your hands to yourself around your husband, this just gave you another excuse to touch except he enjoyed this one.

You spent an hour and a half massaging from his feet, to his scalp. He fell asleep somewhere around working on thighs.

He hadn’t showered yet, but you knew there was no way you were going to wake him up for one. So, instead, you got a warm wash cloth and bathed him the best you could. Luckily, you had him strip to his boxers so you didn’t need to worry about trying to slid clothes off.

You went to the walk in closet and pulled down a blanket, the only one you owned that completely covered him. You laid it on him and then off the light, making your way to the bathroom so you yourself could shower.

You emerged 20 minutes later to find Bucky sitting up in bed, book in hand. It was a book you recommended for him. He looked as he heard you lightly pad across the floor. He avoid back on the bed and lifted the covers, inviting you in.

A light bulb lit up in your head. “Buck, do you want to be little spoon this time?” He looked at you like you had offended him in the highest degree.

“That massage was amazing, but no fucking way am I ever going to be little spoon.”

You chuckled as his little outburst and joined him in the bed, snuggling into his now knot free chest.

“I’m not kidding doll, my body feels so loose and free now. Thank you” he admitted, kissing your forehead. “Surely you didn’t need to go get a whole certificate for it”

“Busted” you mutter. “I might want to start my own little masseuse business, massaging you just gave me a good excuse to get started”

“Of course it did” he chuckled, ever amused by your reasonings.

He held you tighter and whispered “good night, doll”. You pecked his lips and whispered “good night Buck” in return. You flicked off the lights and fell asleep to the sound of Buckys steady, content heart

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munsonsmixtapes · 3 days ago

Text

Make it Steamy

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

A weekend at a cabin with your best friend, Simon makes the both you decide to take your friendship to the next level.

cw: MDNI (18+) fingering, oral (f receiving)

You let out a sigh of relief when you enter the cabin you’re going to be sharing with Simon. He brushes past you as he comes in behind you, holding your suitcases that he insisted on carrying. Tension between the two of you was high the entire car ride and you’re wondering if being here alone will finally cause everything to crack and you wonder who will be the first to break.

You’re sure it’s probably going to be you. You’ve been feeling this way about Simon for so long and you think this is going to be the weekend where you finally make a move. You wonder if he feels it too. You see the looks he gives when he thinks you’re not looking. His hand was on your thigh the entire way up here so that has to mean something, right?

While he sets your bags in your rooms, you decide to take yourself on a tour, checking the place out. Simon booked the reservation and wouldn’t tell you anything so it’s all a surprise. Considering how spacious and nicely decorated the whole thing is, you just know that it had to cost a pretty penny even though it’s not very big.

You make your way through the kitchen where there’s a sliding glass door that leads out onto a deck. Your eyes see nothing but the giant hot tub and you let out a sigh at how good that would feel on your aching muscles. Your job has been stressing you out and you can literally feel the knots in your shoulders.

And you can’t help but let your mind wander, letting yourself think about Simon joining you in the hot tub, straddling his waist and-

“I’ve got some bad news,” he says, pulling you out of your dirty thoughts and you’re so startled that you feel like cold water has just been poured on you.

“What is it?” You ask, turning to face him and he has that face that lets you know that you’re not going to like what he’s going to say.

“There’s only one bed.” You resist the urge to bite your bottom lip, fighting off the smile when you hear those words. You’ve shared a bed more times than you can count so you don’t see why this is any different. He’s been acting weird the entire day and you can’t figure out why.

“So? We share a bed all the time. I missed your snuggles.” Simon normally loves sharing a bed with you. He loves that you let him hold you, but this time, it’s different. Seeing you in that tank top and short shorts is making his brain short circuit and if he’s around you for too long, he’s afraid of what he’s going to do.

He wants to pull you close, to feel every inch of your naked body, to bend you over the counter and-

“Hello, Simon?” You wave your hand in front of his face and he shakes his head, reluctantly bringing himself out of the delicious daydream he’s been having for days. If only he was able to stop thinking with his cock. Then maybe he’d actually be able to be around you and not have to constantly go to the bathroom to adjust himself. He’s debating taking a shower and putting on some loud music so he can jack off to get it out of his system.

“I think I’m gonna get in the hot tub if you want to join,” you tell him as you make your way to the bedroom to change. You don’t have to ask him twice. He makes a beeline for the bedroom and you’re already in the bathroom, surely getting changed. He wonders what little number you’ve packed this time, if you’ll let him take it off of you.

You stand in the mirror, the bright purple bikini looking a lot better on you than it had in the dressing room. You’ll wonder if he’ll like this one, if it will be left floating in the water as you ride him. Part of you wonders if you should just take a cold shower instead to make yourself a less horny mess.

You come out of the bathroom, feeling more confident than ever as Simon’s eyes catch on you, slowly moving over your body and your skin burns under his gaze. He looks like he wants to eat you alive and you think you might let him.

He stands there, frozen and you make your way towards him, batting your eyelashes like you have no idea what you’re doing even though you can clearly see the outline of his cock in his swim trunks.

“How do I look, Simon?” You ask and his mouth goes dry, all the words he’s ever known fleeing from his head. You look so good, so much so that he’s close to bending you over the bed beside you and having his way with you.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his eyes moving down to the tops on your breasts. God, what he would give to be able to reach out and touch them.

“You can touch me,” you tell him, your voice soft as you arch your back ever so slightly. “You can touch me any way you want.” You grab hold of his hands and rest them on your waist, your mind racing with all of the dirty things he could do with just his fingers.

He doesn’t even care that you’re calling the shots-he actually prefers it. He loves being told what to do, knowing that he’d do whatever command fell from your pretty lips. He’s so in love with you, needs you so badly that he’ll do whatever he needs to in order to please you.

He’s hypnotized, feeling dizzy as you stare up at him, his eyes now shifting to your lips that he so desperately wants to know the taste of. But he decides he won’t let himself until you tell him to. He just doesn’t want to overstep, to do something that you don’t want even though you’re looking at his lips too.

“Maybe we should get in,” he gulps, jerking his thumb in the direction of the hot tub and you wordlessly take his hand and lead him that way.

You feel like you’re on a high. You’ve somehow made Simon nervous and you kind of like it, that you were able to completely disarm him with just a few words. You wonder what he’d do if you straddled him in the hot tub, if he would let you fuck him right there. Your mind swirls with all of the possibilities as you both get in, the water bubbling as you sit across from each other.

The tension is palpable and you can’t help but smirk at the fact that he looks like he wants to eat you whole but he’s restraining himself, holding onto the edge of the bench so hard that his knuckles are white.

You don’t even last five minutes before you’re making your way over to him. You straddle his lap, each leg landing on each side of his thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands hesitantly land on your waist. You stare at each other, both of you thinking about all of the nasty things you want to do to each other but neither of you are willing to make the first move even though you’re staring at each other’s lips again.

“Kiss me,” you whisper and he does as you command, not holding back, pouring out everything he’s feeling for you into this kiss. It’s hungry, and desperate as you both take exactly what you want from each other. It’s teeth clinking and hands in hair, filthy moans.

You can feel hard he is underneath you and you grind against him as a way to tease him. He looks like he’s about to bust and before you can even register what’s happening, he’s carrying you inside, lips still attached as he takes you to the bedroom.

Once inside, he sets you on your feet, his lips moving down to your neck, kissing his way down your body until he’s on his knees. He goes to untie your bikini bottoms, letting them fall to the floor as he brings his fingers up to your cunt, moving them back and forth in a teasing manner and because you just need some relief, you grab hold of his wrist and shove his fingers inside you, moaning loudly at the sensation and Simon swears he’s going to bust right there.

“Fuck,” you whine, when he begins to pump harder and harder, seeing how easily you’re able to come undone just from his fingers. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you hold onto him for dear life, feeling your legs already turning to jello.

“So tight,” he groans, his fingers moving at an even more rapid rate. “Let me fix that for you.” He keeps going, watching you as he fingers you, eating up your pretty moans and the way your throw your head back because of how good it feels.

He’s hard beyond belief and despite how badly he wants to get inside you, he wants to taste you even more. He wants to watch you writhe as he eats you out, to fuck his face the way he knows you will, you scream with pleasure when you eventually come, his name falling from your lips.

He watches you orgasm, his ego even bigger because all he used was his fingers. You’re so close to falling to the floor so he pulls his fingers out and steadies you, making sure to lick his fingers clean before he does so.

“Can I eat you out?” He asks, and you look down at him, your eyes darkening as you do so. “Please.” He’s begging now and you never thought you’d ever get to see Simon Riley in this position.

“How about it sit on your face?” You ask and he’s on his feet in an instant, throwing himself onto the bed and you join him, kneeling beside him as you take off your bikini top and throw it to the side.

Simon can’t help but stare at your bare chest, your hard nipples, wondering how someone can be so beautiful. He swears that you’re more beautiful than he imagined, the star in all of his late night fantasies. But even those can’t compare to what’s happening now.

You lean over and press your lips to his and he can’t help but think about how natural this feels, how he could kiss you for hours and never get bored. This could be what you do for the rest of the night and he wouldn’t complain.

He’s so in love with you and he wonders how you would respond if he told you the truth. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to sleep with anyone else after tonight, not that he wants to. You’re it for him and he wants to spend the rest of his life with you if you’ll let him.

You pull away before he’s ready then move up by his head, swinging one leg over and before he knows it, you’re sitting on his face and he doesn’t need to be told what to do. He begins at your clit, teasing it with his tongue and just that makes you moan loudly, the sounds almost pornographic and he pulls it into his mouth, giving it a rough suck.

You must like that because you’re riding his face now, the prettiest sounds falling from your mouth as you do so. His hands move your ass, giving it a squeeze which makes you squeal and Simon can’t help but be amused by that. He then begins to knead, desperate for something to do with his hands.

You grab hold of the headboard in front of you, as he bites down on your clit, going at it like a man starved and and you can’t help but think that this is the best head you’ve ever received and don’t think you’d ever let anyone do this after tonight.

Once his mouth moves down to your slit, you already know that you’re going to come again, it’s rapidly approaching and the three words that have been on the tip of your tongue for years are blurted in a breathy confession as you reach yet another orgasm and as soon as the words are out of your mouth, your eyes widen, realizing what you’ve just said.

You’re quick to climb off of him and his expression matches yours, his eyes just as wide as he takes in the words, really letting them sit. The silence is deafening and you’re silently begging, pleading for him to say something.

“I meant what I said,” you’re quick to say, not wanting him to think it was just because of the orgasm he just gave you. Before you can even overthink, he smiles, and matches the way you’re sitting, getting on his knees as well.

“I love you too,” he smiles as a hand reaches up and cradles your face in his hands as he pulls you into a kiss that’s nothing but teeth and giggles because of how happy you both are. “So fucking much.” His swimsuit is off in an instant and he lays you down on the bed, fully intending on showing you just how much.

You stay like that the rest of the weekend, tangled up in the sheets, whispering just how much you love each other between giggles and sharing stories of when you first fell for each other. The weekend is nothing like you anticipated but you can’t say you’re upset with that. This is everything you ever wished for and exactly what you’ve been wanting your entire life. Needless to say you’ve both earned it.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost smut #ghost cod x reader #cod ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x fem!reader

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katnipp · 1 day ago

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ho isn’t it obvious?!?— yu jimin

genre: FLUFFFF

synopsis: karina never planned to be so obvious about holding hands with y/n — but once she starts, there’s no going back.

quick a/n: i’m considering just making a whole series of “it’s not fan service if it’s real”

—

the fans had been suspecting it for weeks.

the way karina’s eyes softened whenever y/n was near. the stolen glances during award shows. the gentle brush of fingers in group photos that lingered just a moment too long.

and now, this.

a photo leaked from inside a mall — karina and y/n walking side by side, fingers intertwined like it was the most natural thing in the world.

twitter blew up instantly.

guys, it’s just hand holding, maybe they’re close friends?

close friends don’t hold hands like that in public😒 plus karina’s smile… it’s different when she looks at y/n.

i mean, they’re both idols, they gotta be careful. maybe they’re just trying to keep it lowkey.

ho isn’t it obvious?😭 like, they’re literally walking around holding hands, posting matching stuff, and karina’s wearing y/n’s hoodie. how much more obvious do you want?

okay okay maybe there’s something there but let’s wait for them to say something.

—

the comment section turned into a full-on love fest, with fangirls and fans alike swooning over every tiny detail. videos of karina smiling at y/n flooded the timeline.

⸻

that night, y/n’s phone buzzed nonstop.

their groupmates teased, “sooo when are you gonna officially confirm your relationship with karina?”

y/n rolled their eyes and texted karina:

can you not be so obvious whenever we’re in public :(

karina’s reply came instantly:

everyone already knows though, sweetie

y/n giggled, then called her.

karina’s face lit up the screen—hair messy, wearing a hoodie that was definitely y/n’s.

“so…” karina teased. “did you see the fandom meltdown?”

“yeah.” y/n laughed. “they’re obsessed.”

“they’ve been guessing for weeks.” karina said softly. “i just made it a little more obvious.”

“lowkey love bombing them with your subtle pda.” y/n joked.

karina shrugged, grinning. “if i’m going to be in love, might as well show it.”

⸻

days later, karina posted an instagram story.

two coffee cups with lipstick marks, sitting close together. a star-shaped ring glittered on her finger—the same one y/n had given her.

caption:

weekend essentials (o˘◡˘o)

the comment section flooded.

that’s y/n’s ring!!

their matching coffee dates!!

karina’s not even hiding it now lmao.

karina sent y/n a message:

should we confirm it or keep them guessing?

secret gf🤫:

keep them guessing. but if you post my hoodie again i’m calling you out.

karina:

too late.

and just like that, she posted a mirror selfie.

wearing my favorite girl’s favorite hoodie

⸻

y/n groaned and started texting karina again:

karina, you’re literally not even trying to make this a secret…

karina’s selfie reply was a pouty face:

can’t help it :((( they need to know you’re mine💔💔💔

⸻

their late-night conversations became mini love letters.

one evening, karina texted:

“do you believe in soulmates?”

“someone who just gets you, even on your worst days?”

“and maybe spoils you with snacks?”

y/n laughed, replying:

only if you’re talking about you.

karina sent heart eyes.

on a video call, she teased:

“i want to shout it from the rooftops but i’m shy.”

“then stop hiding it,” y/n challenged. “you’re halfway there anyway.”

karina’s grin was soft and sincere. “maybe it’s time i go all in.”

⸻

and she did.

a few hours later, karina posted a photo of a plushie keychain—the one y/n had given her when she needed comfort during stressful rehearsals.

caption:

my lucky charm (ﾉ´ з `)ノ

y/n’s phone blew up with fan messages tagging both of them.

karina’s name popped up on her screen:

did i just start a riot?

DUH??? and i lowkey love it.

—

a/n: how i feel after writing jimin as a hopeless romantic. I ACTUALLY NEED HER SO BAD OMGGG

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trans-axolotl · 1 day ago

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i think one of the things that was most helpful for me in considering my own relationship with drugs prescribed by psychiatrists was meeting and talking to people who used those same drugs for fun. i was able to get a lot more accurate information on what those drugs actually felt like and what parts people liked and why they sought those drugs out. being able to know that people took xyz drug because they liked the way it was a downer, or that xyz drug was great for feeling relaxed and they liked the combination with other drugs they chose, was a lot more accurate and helpful information then anything that had been provided to me by a psychiatrist (pretty much exclusively the disease model of psych drugs, where psychiatrists told me that i was deficient/chemically imbalanced/etc and that this drug was manufactured for specific diagnoses and could target an underlying "disease process." none of which is particularly accurate or helpful information.)

and don't get me wrong, i don't want to take any of the psych drugs that have ever been prescribed to me ever again, i very recently was forcibly instituionalized and forcibly drugged due to my refusal to take meds. but talking about psych drugs like the other drugs i do choose to use was helpful for understanding the actual ways these drugs function and then identifying the multitude of harms within the prescription of psych drugs (forced drugging, coercion, lack of informed consent, misleading explanations of function, lack of explanation of side effects, low threshold for "effectiveness" on the research + development side of psychiatry, the ideology of cure as eradication, irresponsible polypharmacy/refusal to manage withdrawal, denial of prescriptions +labeling patients as drug seeking for wanting stimulants, etc etc etc).

anyway. solidarity between drug users of all sorts forever and always.

#personal #harm reduction #psych abolition #antipsych #antipsychiatry #i'm high as fuck right now so this might not make sense LOL #i just think the antipsych community would learn a lot from like. actually engaging with people who use drugs. criminalized or otherwise #because i think there's a certain type of like. conspiratorial? is maybe the word i'm looking for. way that certain subsets of antipsych #ideologies can get into. in terms of psych drugs. and it's like. i have been very deeply harmed by psych drugs #i am very intimately aware of this. there are many ways that psych drugs as they are prescribed and marketed are particularly harmful #and uniquely harmful. but sometimes i also see people saying shit that crosses over with like. the right wing alt med scientologist esque #perspective on medications. and anti vaxx shit #and i think that like. idk drugs are drugs are drugs are drugs. i'm going to use what i like and refuse to use what i don't like #not that i always have the option to refuse when i'm instiutionalized.#but i just think. when we aren't having solidarity with those who use criminalized drugs then what the fuck is the point #and treating psych drugs like. physically. as another seperate class of drugs that is somehow different then other drugs.#is not helpful

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bambisnc · 23 hours ago

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𝒦𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖬𝖤 𝖲𝖮𝖥𝖳𝖫𝖸 ⚜ like you want me euthanized

୨ৎ ─── 西村力; as the rival prince you sneak out to meet at night

ft. royalty au % angst + oneshot + 1.4k && w. implied yearning mentions of being a pawn reader is lwk a tsundere / ki is a menace swearing ˖ ✧

[ 陰 ♡ ] : so sao paulo by the weeknd happened heh. also how do u work the queueing / scheduling thing askinf for a friend. also also someone make me a layout i cannawt w/ ts pmo icl

🔗. 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝙁𝗶𝗟𝗘 ᰈ̠ 𝗡𝘼𝗩𝗶𝗚𝘼𝗧𝗘 ✮ 𝗖𝙇𝗶𝗖𝗞

you weren't supposed to be here.

tomorrow was the day that would see envoys from a neighboring kingdom, kwangya, being greeted into your own land.

your parents had been more than clear with their instructions on how you were to behave in front of them, how you were to dress, how you were to carry yourself.

how you were to speak, smile, stand and so on.

with the dawn of the new day, you would be promised wholly to its second prince in return for their monetary and political support.

being a pawn in the game of nobility was something you had long become accustomed to. the inclination to speak up against a decision imposed on you had simply died down after one too many punishments.

and yet.

yet, as the grandfather clock in the piano room—right next to the tall window which had been your way out—chimes once, it is reiterated to you just how late it is for a "harmless" nightly stroll.

you try not to think about the man who’d been the one to incite this unnatural behavior which was so out of the carefully docile persona you put out.

all it had taken was one teasing remark. “you’re too much of a little puppet, hm? it’s almost cute.”

nishimura riki spoke too much for his own good.

“i worry about you sometimes,” he'd said.

bullshit. you hate him and he hates you and that’s how the world works.

“you? sneak out? no offense, doll, but i’d sooner believe the moon’d fall from the sky.”

you had let slip your careful smile in favor of glaring at him. you were not just a puppet.

(except you were. you knew this and you knew he wasn’t a stranger to the fact either.)

but a white hot flash of wanting to prove yourself—you recall not being able to fathom why, at that moment, why would you even care about his opinion?—forced a firm, “i’ll do it.” out of your lips before you could even take a moment to think about it.

the brief startle on his features was almost worth it.

that is, of course, until it was buried behind the infuriating smirk that was so nishimura riki that it made you recoil a little.

he’d spent the whole evening afterwards and the few of the following days calling you out on how you were just bluffing and, really, he’d love to see you actually pull something like that.

it had seemed odd for a moment. to consider a simple rendezvous to be of such high stakes.

but the underlying implications of the act soon caught up.

unknowing is bliss just as much as it is a necessity to be aware, after all.

the innocence of the act to prove that you were in control, would be lost completely should a stray palace worker chance upon your meeting.

because when you’re a member of a royal family, then it is on you to uphold the honor, the dignity and the duty that comes along with the title.

if only as a mere facade.

it barely even registers that you’ve reached your destination due to being too caught up with your own jumbled thoughts.

something obstructs your line of sight. a hand, not close enough to touch but close enough that you can feel it’s warmth on your cooler skin.

you’d panic, normally, but a soft brush against your ear and the low voice immediately following is enough to let you know exactly who it is behind you.

“well, well. color me surprised.”

ni-ki’s presence is overbearing.

as much as you hate to admit it, he is everything and more required of a prince. the calm nonchalance and unspoken dominance is only one of the things that you despise about him (and begrudgingly also find yourself in awe of.)

“and here i was so sure you wouldn’t show. thought you’d leave me out here in the cold all alone.”

you lift your hand to swat his off of where it rests and turn to look at ni-ki, retort all ready. but the very little space that is present between both your figures is something you hadn't accounted for.

it takes a minute for you to get over your apprehension disgust.

you simply settle for an eye roll.

“hm? cat got your tongue?" there’s that smirk again. you wonder if he does it on purpose. if his aim to provoke you is so great that he’d risk all to achieve it. “don’t leave me hanging, now.”

“no. it’s merely too cold.” a feebler, more tame response than what you’d usually hurl towards him. maybe the lowered temperature (or the lack of sleep) is making you soft.

he hums in agreement. ni-ki’s movements are fluid, easy, practiced when he takes off his own warm coat and drapes the garment over your shoulders, tugging you imperceptibly closer in the process.

“not really dressed for midnight excursions, are we?”

“it is well past midnight.�� but you suppose he’s right. your flimsy excuse for nightclothes are hardly appropriate.

he laughs at that and the rich sound rings clearly through the garden.

you hate it. he should know better—should know to be quieter, unless he wants for everyone in a 2 mile radius to be drawn to the place. “do you always have to have the last word?”

“…” sheer pettiness makes you fall silent.

a beat of awkward silence.

your attention can’t help but be drawn to the clean, cedar-like scent which seems to have rather quickly overtaken your senses. the only way you can describe it is to be purely and totally nishimura riki.

you hate it. hate that you find yourself finding comfort in it, hate that he’s so close to you.

you hate that you want him closer.

“c’mon doll. gonna leave me hanging now?”

it takes you another minute to speak up again.

“what do you want.” and you do everything in your power to ignore the bite lacking in your words.

if ni-ki notices, he doesn’t comment on it. his expression however, falters at your response, if only briefly.

“a thank you for the coat would be appreciated.” his voice is still soft. as if in a conscious effort to match your own.

you scoff instinctively. it gives you something to do, something that isn’t hyper focusing on how you’re leaning into the pseudo embrace of his warmth. “you … why did you call me out here?.”

there’s barely any space between your chests—ni-ki’s hands still fiddling with one of the buttons on the oversized garment covering your figure—yet his sharp gaze never strays one bit.

“maybe i wanted to see if you’d actually do it,” he says finally. “sneak out. meet me.”

“i didn’t do it for you.” but you did. you’d rather die than have to admit it to him, though.

he shifts suddenly then, face dropping to be level with yours, “no? then who, doll?”

you open your mouth before realizing you have to pause to think.

“hey,” he pipes up again, effectively shutting up any defense you could come up with, “you’re shivering. ‘s it still too cold?”

you realize with a start that you’d really like to shut him up. with a kiss, maybe. or a slap, if you’re feeling nice.

“no just. just tell me why you called me here.” you say instead.

a silent beckoning. you simultaneously hope and dread his answer for apprehension that it will be exactly what you want to hear.

“i just wanted to see you. one last time.”

last time?

“what’s that mean? don’t tell me you’re finally running away. got too tired of being a pain in the ass for me?”

he laughs again and this time you hate him for stalling. it’s too late, he’s too close and you’re ... way too confused.

“i won’t ever get tired of that. of you.” his words drip with the signature effortlessness you’ve come to associate him with, and yet.. something’s different. “i meant i wanted to see you while you can still spare time for little ol’ me.”

spare time? doesn’t he know of the countless nights you’ve spent so far thinking about things you so desperately want to say; waiting with bated breath for a chance to verbalize them. despite knowing in your heart that there’s hardly a possibility that you’ll get to. of course you could spare time for him—

oh.

one last time. he meant to spare him one last chance to see you before you’re promised to someone else.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatabelle @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @eunwonji @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

#ㅤㅤ[ 📋 ⋆ 𐙚 ]#niki x reader #riki nishimura #riki x reader #nishimura riki #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #nishimura riki x reader #riki nishimura x reader #enhypen niki #kpop imagines #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #divider by kodaswrld

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no-144444 · 15 hours ago

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chapter 6: miami, the city that keeps the roof blazin'

꩜ summary: lando norris was a preppy asshole in secondary school, and you were the girl he despised. years later, you're a hot-shot sports lawyer rewriting the rules of the sport he calls home, and your paths cross, whether you want them to or not.

꩜ pairing: lando norris x fem! lawyer! reader

꩜ a/n: anything in orange and bold is the past/ in school

You felt nothing when Lando crossed that line first in Miami. It was a Sprint race. It barely mattered. He got out of the car, smiling like he had just won a World Championship, and it made you want to punch him. He was so smug, so sure he deserved everything he had.

You walked up to where Liam was standing in the McLaren garage, a sickly sweet smile on your face. “Hey,” you smiled. He turned his head, saw your smile, and smirked, crossing his arms.

He rolled his eyes, but it was playful, you knew him well enough now. “What do you want?” he asked like it bothered him and you both knew it didn’t.

“Take Lando’s interview for me?” you pleaded, absent-mindedly crossing your fingers. He chuckled, you looked up at him.

“What is it with you two?” he asked, chuckling. “Obviously, yes I will-” “Thank you-” “But seriously, what is his problem? He’s so rude to you,” he pointed out and you huffed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the paddock and out of the garage. He didn’t complain. You stopped just outside the garage.

“He’s just a dick I used to know,” you admitted. “But we had this whole argument in Saudi, and I’m just really not interested in digging up that grave again, y’know what I mean?” you asked, frustrated even when just thinking about what Lando had said. He had no right to think that everything you worked for was for him.

“What happened?” Liam asked, his eyes trained on your own. You stilled for a moment, actually looking at him. That tinge of green in his hazel eyes. The way his eyebrows furrowed when he was confused, or stressed, or wanting to understand something. You realised you still had your hand on his arm, and he hadn’t moved it yet. You didn’t move it. You gulped. “He just… he was a dick, said some shit about my work and how it was for him or something-”

“What a bitch,” he gasped. “Holy shit that’s awful. What a self-centred prick-”

“It doesn’t matter,” it did. It really mattered considering he promised you he’d always believe in you and your vision. You were glad someone else saw how shitty he was, and you were glad that someone was Liam. “Thank you for taking the interview,” you smiled at him before turning and walking off, needing some time to think. Liam walked back into the McLaren garage, passing Lando on his way in.

“Hey mate, you ready for-”

“Not feeling well,” he answered bluntly. “We can talk later.”

It was a Sprint win, not a World Championship. Lando knew that. But it still felt better than being behind Oscar again. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, everyone knew it stung. Anyone with eyeballs could see the way the WCC title was slowly slipping through his fingers, even if it was 6 races in, it still meant there were 5 where Oscar was better. Lando was meant to be better. He was meant to be everything. McLaren’s golden boy. F1’s new era. Max’s rival. A real racer, unafraid of getting his elbows out and fighting for what he wanted. Yet he was scared of instagram comments? That didn’t feel right. Didn’t sit right with him, or anyone, he assumed. He didn’t have a championship mentality, he knew that. He had his mentality, and he’d shape it whatever way he needed to, if it meant he’d raise that trophy once. Just one. He wasn’t here to be in the sport forever. He wasn’t here to break records. He was here to prove that all those years he spent making sacrifices, of his family making sacrifices, of sacrificing you, that it all meant something. That he wasn’t some bullshit, rich-kid, paid-in driver who never had any talent to begin with. Miami was his town, his first win, his biggest weekend yet, and he'd just won the sprint. He was happy. He was the driver he was supposed to be. But he still had quali later. All he wanted was to remind himself of those days at the karting tracks with you. The way you’d smile at him when he made a terrible joke. The way you always knew how to fix it if the race went bad. The way you always made sure his helmet was safe. The way he felt safe with you.

“What is it with you two?” Liam’s voice cut through the noise in the garage, and Lando’s clung to it like a lifeline. He’d realised that, where Liam was, you were too. A fact he didn’t particularly like, but he’d accepted, especially after the shitshow in Saudi. He didn’t mean to phrase it like that, he just couldn't get his words together properly. He just wanted to know if there was even a small proportion of you that still cared about him. Clearly there wasn’t.

Which is fine. Lando had decided he didn’t need love. He just needed to put his head down and focus. So why was he following you through the garage as you pulled at Liam’s arm. Lando’s posture stiffened.

“He’s just a dick I used to know,” you admitted. Used to know. Like you didn’t know every piece of his brain, every crack of his bones, every inch of skin. He scoffed. He noticed how Liam didn’t remove your hand as you ranted. He looked at you with those eyes he knew well. You were annoyingly easy to fall for. “But we had this whole argument in Saudi, and I’m just really not interested in digging up that grave again, y’know what I mean?”

“What happened?” Liam asked, his eyes trained on your own. You buffered for a moment, actually looking at him. Lando had noticed the way his eyes softened when he looked at you. He noticed those small glances he gave you in the halls. He noticed the way his eyes automatically fell to you. It made him sick. That was what he used to do. He knew that bubbly feeling in his chest all too well. He knew that lovesick smile. He knew the burning under your hand, the one you kept on his bicep. You didn’t move it. You gulped. “He just… he was a dick, said some shit about my work and how it was for him or something-”

“What a bitch,” Liam gasped. “Holy shit that’s awful. What a self-centred prick-”

All of what he said was right, and Lando knew it. Still hurt.

“It doesn’t matter,” it did. He knew it did. What he said wasn’t right, and he wanted to apologise. Of course he knew you did your work for yourself, and more importantly, the little kids in karting who wouldn’t have a chance without fairer rules. “Thank you for taking the interview,” you smiled at him, that soft, perfect smile. The kind that shouldn’t just be thrown around to co-workers, ones that should be reserved for vogue.

Liam turned to go back into the garage, (most-likely) to find Lando. He cleared his throat of the emotion bubbling within it and shook his head as Liam reached him.

“Hey mate, you ready for-”

“Not feeling well,” he answered bluntly. “We can talk later.”

𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

twists and turns masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

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slasherslittlesimp · 2 days ago

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Not Yours Anymore (Jasper X Reader)

Part One

“Do we have to do this?” Paul questions Sam with a sneer on his face, clearly displeased at the idea of having to help the Cullen family.

“It’s a newborn army, Paul. It’s better to fight against them together.” Sam explains, though you can see the displeasure on his face. The only person who seems all for it is Jacob seeing as he’s the person that brought it up- all to protect his little leech lover that has been leading him on for who knows how long.

As the pack argues and debates, you remain silent, simply leaning against the wall of Sam’s kitchen while staring at the ground. You have no particular opinion on whether or not you all help fight. You’ve never met the Cullen’s, and despite knowing they’re vampires you have no problem with their existence since they’re supposedly vegan. You’re actually kind of interested in meeting the family that pisses the rest of the pack off. It’s a shame it’s under the circumstances of fighting a newborn army, though.

You’d prefer not to put your life on the line for people you don’t even know. Though you suppose it’s also to protect your pack since the newborns will be close to your territory. It’s also to protect the rest of Forks, as well, considering the blood suckers have been killing lots of people. Though none of that seems to matter to the others who only seem to care about the fact you’ll be fighting alongside the Cullen family.

“What do you think about this fighting with the leeches crap?” Paul’s voice pulls you from your daze as you look at him, finding him to be leaning against the wall with his shoulder, arms crossed and face formed into a scowl.

“I think it’s necessary if we want to keep Forks safe.” You shrug. “Besides, it’s only until the end of the fight. It’s not like Sam is telling you to become best friends with them.”

“So you don’t agree with me?” Paul huffs in anger, nostrils flaring.

You deadpan at him. “Last I checked, we’re no longer dating, which means I’m no longer obligated to side with you on things. You can’t get mad at me for having a different opinion.” You walk away before he can reply, saying a quick goodbye to the others before heading home.

It’s a few days later when you all meet up again, shifting into your wolf forms before heading over to the Cullen house in order to start training for the fight. You linger near the back of the pack, a bit wary about meeting the Cullen’s for the first time.

The Cullen family watches as the pack emerges one by one, Sam’s large black wolf at the front with Jacob’s russet-brown wolf following close behind. One by one each wolf emerges, a few snarling and huffing as they do. Soon enough the entire pack is in front of the Cullen’s minus yourself who lingers in the trees for a moment, a bit hesitant at meeting vampires for the first time. When Sam’s voice echoes in your mind telling you to come forward, reassuring there’s nothing to be afraid of- despite you not being scared- you finally come out from the dark shadows of the trees. Your once pitch black fur shifts more into a dark shade of red the second you step out into the sunlight.

You keep your head ducked as you slowly make your way to stand next to Jacob. He leans over, nudging you with his body in reassurance. With a deep inhale you finally look up, taking in the sight of the Cullen family- the first vampires you’ve ever seen. Your gaze flicks from face to face, committing each one to memory. The blond male with chiseled cheeks and a polite smile, who stand with his arm draped around the back of a dark haired woman. Then there’s a very buff male standing with a blonde haired woman whose jaw looks to be clenched in anger. Then there’s the one standing with the human, which makes you assume he’s Edward. You’re promptly proven correct when he nods towards you. After them is a girl with short spiky hair. And then finally….

Oh.

Oh no.

The second you look at the final Cullen heat floods throughout your body, a burning desire to be near him practically tearing your breath away. The reactions from the pack is instantaneous as various different voices flood through your mind. Jacob is questioning if you just imprinted, Quil and Embry are in disbelief your imprint is a leech, Sam is warning the others to behave, but the loudest voice is Paul’s. You can practically feel the rage radiating from him as his voice echoes in your mind, basically threatening to tear your imprint apart. The threat makes you turn to face him, a warning growl leaving you involuntarily as you instinctively prepare to protect your imprint.

“What’s happening?” Carlisle questions, watching with interest and concern as your wolf snarls at one of the others. One minute everything was fine, the next there appears to be a fight on the verge of breaking out.

Edward nods towards you, his lips twitching a bit as he fights back a smile. “She imprinted on Jasper. The other one is threatening to tear him apart because of it.”

Despite the tension rising, Jasper finds his gaze to be solely focused on you. He can feel your emotions radiating strongly both from you but also from the bond connecting you two. He can feel your confusion, your anger… but the strongest of all is your desire. The desire to be close to him, to protect him. To simply be his. It’s intense, and if Jasper needed to breathe he’s almost certain your emotions would’ve stolen his breath away.

‘That’s enough!’ Sam’s voice rips through the packs minds with a growl as his wolf stands taller, towering over Paul. ‘We can deal with this at a later time. Right now we need to focus on training for the battle.’

Paul reluctantly backs down, unable to go against the pack alpha. Seeing him back off, your wolf finally relaxes from its tense state. You turn and face the Cullen’s once again, though this time your focus stays glued to your imprint who begins the lesson since he has the most experience against newborns.

You can only hope that everything goes well.

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