#back fork film

[gothamphantomgoat]

[moaninmoonen]

My last night in my legendary apartment! WHERE IT ALL BEGAN!!!

[spiritsdiary]

— FIRST DATE with TYLER OWENS

wc: 788 | content: description of intense weather (??)

you had made the mistake of issuing a challenge to tyler owens: “impress me.”

and tyler owens would be damned if he backed down from a challenge.

so he got you flowers and brought you along to thursday rodeos with his crew, and he must have talked to your mama too, because how else he could’ve figured out where to get your favorite pie was beyond you.

“nothing ever throws you off, does it?” you asked him the fifth time he showed up at your door, armed with a box of pie and that damn smile.

he had simply shrugged before reciting his stupid mantra at you. “if you feel it, chase it.”

he laughed when you shut the door in his face. you’d be lying if you said weren’t laughing yourself when you opened the box, grabbed a fork, and dug in, the dessert tasting a little sweeter than usual.

while it was nice, you’d grow bored of this routine eventually, and tyler seemed to know that, too. but he had an idea, and while it was stupid as all hell, he was willing to take his chances.

you barely pulled the door open when he spoke.

“i wanna take you out tonight.” well. that was new.

“it’s not thursday,” was all you could think to say in response.

“i know a spot,” he’d said, completely unfazed, with a cheeky wink and a tip of his hat, and really, you should’ve known what he meant.

because why wouldn’t you now find yourself in the passenger seat of tyler’s truck as he veers off the road directly towards a tornado?

“tyler owens, are you crazy?!” you exclaim, the only response being a bout of wild laughter as he throttles it even faster. “you better not be filming this!”

“you kiddin’?” he gestures to the cameras mounted above the windshield. “don’t worry, this’ll be just for us. we can look back on this in ten years and laugh.”

“if we live,” you mumble to yourself, glad of the wind, rain, and tyler’s blaring radio.

he looks at you for a moment, though, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “you ready?”

you don’t even have to think about your answer. “hell yeah, tornado wrangler.”

“‘s what i like to hear, baby,” he says, rolling to a stop in the middle of the field. “and now… we wait.”

“next time, just say you wanna drive me into a tornado.”

“next time?” he raises his eyebrows at you as he flips a few switches and anchors the truck.

“you’re insane,” you laugh, shaking your head.

“i’m startin’ to think that you like that about me,” he replies, nodding to the tornado only feet away as he makes sure your harness is secure. “better hold on to somethin’.”

you should be scared, but when you grab on to tyler’s hand, fueled by adrenaline and exhilaration, you just feel a sudden calm. like you belong here, with him, in his truck, getting hit head on by a tornado.

and maybe that’s why you let him kiss you.

the tornado swirls around the truck, the wind screaming so loudly you can barely hear his music, and you lean into him even though the harness digs into your shoulders. his kiss is gentle, respectful, and you can feel him smiling as you kiss him back, only pulling away to touch your forehead to his.

the winds of the tornado rock the truck, debris pelting the outside, but you’re too wrapped up in tyler to even care. you breathe him in until the sound of the storm begins to dissipate and the beating of your heart fades in your ears.

“you can open your eyes, sweetheart,” he whispers, watching as you lean back into your seat.

his voice spurs you into action, laughing as you undo your harness and jump out of the truck. he’s quick to follow you, smiling proudly as you let out a loud whoop.

“told you i knew a spot.”

“tyler owens…” you say his name again, slowly turning to look at him where he leans against his truck, arms folded across his chest.

“yeah?”

you could blame his tight jeans, or his backwards cap, or that damn smile of his for what you do next, but in the end you do it solely because you want to.

because you want him.

you run up to him, your hand bumping against the brim of his cap as you throw your arms around his neck, and kiss him, pressing him back against the hood.

and when his hands take hold of your hips, his mouth insistent against yours, you know that however you challenge him, he’ll always be crazy enough to impress you.

good evening twisters/tyler owens nation, i am officially throwing my hat in the ring 🥰

m.list

© qimirdiary 2024. do not repost without permission.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

THIS WAS A PRANK?!

drew starkey x fem!reader

(mood board does NOT depict readers’ appearance !!)

SUMMARY: y/n pulls her family into a trending prank where you pretend to embarrass your partner in front of your family…i wonder how drew reacts?

based on this ask!! i really hope you enjoy this @xoxosblogsblog , and i hope it’s what you asked for <3

WARNINGS: i think maybe one curse word?, just pure fluff really, me crying because i used ‘mom’ instead of mum because they’re american </3 (lmk if i missed anything!)

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

SECOND PERSON +

Drew always tried his best to make a good impression on your parents. Even after three years of dating you, meeting them countless times, and attending every family barbecue or holiday dinner you invited him to, Drew still got a little nervous around them. You found it sweet, honestly—how this confident, charming actor, adored by fans worldwide, could still feel the need to impress your mom and dad.

You were currently spending the week at your parents' house, a cozy rural home in Vermont that felt like a world away from the bustling chaos of Los Angeles where you and Drew lived.

Drew had taken the week off from filming to join you, and so far, everything had been going smoothly. That was, until you saw a TikTok prank trend earlier that morning.

The prank was simple: embarrass your partner in front of your family by saying outrageous things and watch them squirm. You couldn't resist. Drew had pulled plenty of pranks on you in the past, and this felt like the perfect opportunity for some playful payback.

While Drew was in the shower, you shared your plan with your parents.

"Are you sure he's going to find it funny?" your mom asked, trying not to laugh.

"Oh, he will," you grinned. "Eventually. After he panics a little bit."

Your dad chuckled. "I'm in. But I'm not holding back—I'll really sell it."

Your mom rolled her eyes fondly. "You two are terrible."

"We'll keep it harmless," you promised.

By the time Drew emerged from the shower, fresh and smiling in a casual hoodie and jeans, you were ready to set your plan in motion.

The four of you were gathered around the dining table, enjoying your mom's homemade lasagna—a dish Drew had raved about during every visit. You decided to start small.

"You know," you said casually, "Drew actually told me he doesn't like your cooking, Mom. He says it's too... plain."

Your mom froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. "Really?" she asked, her tone clipped.

Drew's head whipped toward you so fast you thought he might get whiplash. His eyes widened. "What? No! That's not true at all! I love your cooking!"

"Hmm," your mom said, narrowing her eyes. "That's funny, because you always seem to clean your plate."

"Exactly!" Drew said quickly, holding up his hands. "I do, because it's amazing! I don't know what Y/N's talking about. I would never say that!"

You bit back a grin and focused on your lasagna, mumbling, "If you say so."

Drew shot you a bewildered look, his brow furrowing. You could tell he wanted to press you on it, but he let it go—for now.

Later that evening, the four of you were in the living room watching a football game. Your dad had always been a big fan, and Drew had made it a point to bond with him over it.

"He doesn't actually like football, Dad," you said offhandedly during a commercial break. "He told me it's boring."

The room went silent.

"What?" your dad asked, turning to Drew with a stern expression.

"No, no, no!" Drew stammered, his cheeks flushing. "I never said that! I love football! We've watched games together! We’re both huge fans of the Kansas City Chiefs!"

"You mean the team you pretended to like just to get on my good side?" your dad said, raising an eyebrow.

Drew looked like a deer caught in headlights. "No, I swear, I really like them! I even looked up their stats before we came here so I could keep up!"

Your dad folded his arms, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I thought we had something, Drew."

"I—Mr. Y/L/N—I mean, sir—I promise, I'm not lying!" Drew's voice grew more frantic, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

When your dad turned back to the game with a dramatic sigh, Drew leaned over to you. "What's going on?" he whispered.

You shrugged innocently. "I don't know what you mean."

The final straw came later that night when you were all sitting around the kitchen island, enjoying dessert.

"Mom," you said with a sigh, "Drew said he's still hungry. He wants you to make him something else."

Drew nearly choked on his forkful of pie. "What?! No, I didn't!"

Your mom gave him a sweet but pointed smile. "Well, Drew, if you don't like the pie, I suppose I could whip something else up for you."

"I love the pie!" Drew insisted, looking panicked. "I never said that! Y/N, why are you doing this?"

You shrugged again, fighting the urge to burst out laughing.

When your parents finally went their separate ways—your dad retreating to the living room and your mom heading upstairs to fold laundry—Drew cornered you in the kitchen.

"Okay," he said, crossing his arms. "What is going on?"

"What do you mean?" you asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't give me that," he said, narrowing his eyes. "You've been throwing me under the bus all day. First the cooking thing, then football, now this? I swear I didn't say any of those things!"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmm, maybe you did, and you just don't remember."

"Y/N," Drew said firmly, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice now. "Are you messing with me?"

Before you could answer, your parents reappeared in the doorway, both looking serious.

"We need to talk," your dad said, crossing his arms.

Drew paled. "About what?"

"About all these things Y/N's been saying," your mom added. "We just want to know if there's something you need to get off your chest."

"I—I don't know what she's talking about!" Drew stammered, his hands flailing as he tried to explain himself. "I love your cooking, Ms. Y/L/N and sir, I love football, and I would never ask you to make me more food! I swear!"

That was it. You couldn't hold it in any longer. You burst out laughing, doubling over as tears streamed down your face. Your mom quickly followed, and even your dad cracked a smile.

Drew stared at you all, realisation dawning on his face. "Wait... this was a prank?!"

"It was a TikTok trend!" you gasped, clutching your stomach. "I had to try it!"

Your mom patted Drew on the shoulder. "We're sorry, Drew. It was all in good fun."

He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "I can't believe you all ganged up on me."

"You've pulled worse pranks on me," you reminded him, wiping your eyes.

"Fair point," he admitted, pulling you into a playful headlock. "But don't think you're getting away with this. I'm going to get you back."

"I'd like to see you try," you teased, grinning up at him.

As Drew laughed along with your parents, you couldn't help but think how lucky you were to have someone who fit so seamlessly into your family—even if he was already plotting his revenge.

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was such an adorable one :’)) i really hope you enjoyed it my lovely !!

i’m still trying to figure out a master list, so fingers crossed i’ll have it up tonight !! but for now, you can click on my personalised tags to access my fics <3

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated !! <3

[p0orbaby]

Reader being Beth Mead’s little sister & is dating Leah. Beth finding them in a compromising position/situation (shagging) 🤣🤣 feel like this would make a funny story

-

Beth has always been overprotective. It’s in her nature, like her knack for nutmegging defenders or her inexplicable hatred of pineapple on pizza. Growing up, you couldn’t so much as look at someone without Beth launching into her overbearing big-sister routine: “Who’s that? What do they want? Do I need to have a word?”

So naturally, when you start dating Leah Williamson—her teammate and captain of England—you make a pact with her to keep it under wraps for a bit. Just until Beth gets used to the idea.

That was six months ago.

Which explains why you’re currently in Beth’s spare room, shirt on the floor, Leah’s hair sticking to her face, and your brain short-circuiting as the door slams open.

“What the actual fuck?” Beth’s voice slices through the air like a referee’s whistle.

“Beth!” you shriek, scrambling for the duvet, which is already half-tangled around Leah.

“Mead-o,” Leah starts, holding up her hands like she’s negotiating a hostage situation, except she’s also very much topless. “I can explain—”

“Explain what?!” Beth snaps, her face a mix of outrage and something dangerously close to amusement. “Why you’re shagging my little sister in my house?”

“This isn’t—” you start, but you’re not even sure where that sentence is going.

“This isn’t what?” Beth interrupts, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in that infuriatingly smug way she’s perfected over the years. “What it looks like? Because it looks like my friend is banging my sister on my spare bed”

Leah winces. “Don’t say ‘banging’”

“Sorry. Would you prefer I say ‘fornicating’? ‘Getting it on’? ‘Knocking boots’?”

“Beth!” you yell, throwing a pillow at her, which she bats away with infuriating ease.

The room falls into a horrifically awkward silence. You can hear Leah’s breathing beside you, shallow and uneven, and somewhere in the distance, the hum of Beth’s washing machine hitting its spin cycle.

“How long?” Beth finally asks, her tone softer now but no less accusatory.

“Six months,” Leah admits, sitting up and grabbing her shirt from the floor. “We were going to tell you—”

“Oh, were you?” Beth cuts her off, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Before or after I walked in on this absolute nightmare?”

“Can you not call my love life a nightmare?” you snap, pulling on your own hoodie.

“Baby, it’s her love life now too,” Leah mutters under her breath, which earns her a withering glare from Beth.

Beth sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to summon the strength not to kill either of you. “This is mental. Fucking mental”

“Beth, come on,” you say, standing up and crossing the room to her. “It’s not like we planned for you to walk in on us”

“Oh, that makes it better, does it?” Beth fires back, but her tone is losing its edge.

Leah stands, hands stuffed in her pockets, looking more sheepish than you’ve ever seen her. “Beth, look. I know this is… not ideal. But I love her. And I would never hurt her. You know that”

Beth stares at Leah for what feels like an eternity, then at you, then back at Leah. Finally, she sighs. “Fine. But if I hear anything—”

“You won’t,” you both say in unison.

Beth shakes her head, muttering something about needing a drink, and leaves the room.

As the door closes, you collapse back onto the bed, groaning. “Well, that went well”

Leah snorts, climbing in beside you. “Could’ve been worse”

“How?”

“She could’ve filmed it for blackmail.”

You shove her, but you’re laughing now, the tension broken.

Later, when you’re all sitting around the kitchen table, Beth pours herself a very large glass of wine and declares, “For the record, I still think this is weird”

“Noted,” Leah says, raising her tea in mock salute.

“And don’t think this means I’m going easy on you at training,” Beth adds, pointing at Leah with a fork.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Leah replies, grinning.

And as deranged and mortifying as the whole thing was, you can’t help but feel relieved. Because if Beth didn’t truly care, she wouldn’t be sitting here, threatening Leah with a fork.

[eloquentlytired]

18+ CONTENT. MDNI.

wade x fem!reader x logan

word count: 3k

summary: Wade and Logan are your neighbors and best friends. You've been through many things together in the span of little time. When things take a turn for the worse, they're there for you.

warning(s): brief physical abuse ( reader's ex bf ), logan and wade are the bestest of friends fr, sassy wade, smut, threesome, fluff, tension, these three actually love eo too much, I LOVE THEM!!!, besties to lovers

note: sorry for any mistakes, I didn't re-check it but take it bc I'm ovulating intensely while also coping. this will be very self indulgent I fear

Your new life wasn't amazing but it was yours. It was good.

Your own rented apartment, your cat, your car and your neighbors which you'd somehow ended up best friends with. You've known Logan and Wade for half a year but you'd probably sacrifice a bunch of people for them — as terrible as that sounds.

“Ever thought we might be linked by destiny?” Wade asked one day while munching on a few chips.

“I was actually trying to think if I should link my fist to your left or right side.” Logan lovingly replied before the two began bickering. Yes, you truly loved them as they were.

At some point you had gone through all best friends shit with them. New relationships, breakups, toxic boyfriends and girlfriends. Or what Wade liked to call ‘the final boss’ known as your current boyfriend.

“He eats burgers with a fucking fork.” Wade argued while slurping his pasta. Logan was quiet next to him, taking in all the information of your newest relationship. In all honesty, he didn't like the guy — something seemed off about him — but you still appreciated how Logan wouldn't pry too much or judge. The opposite of Wade.

“You can't cross him out just because of that.” You talked back to Wade, roughly swallowing your own bite of pasta.

You were all gathered in Wade’s apartment, sitting at his dining table and talking.

“Cross him out? I'll do worse. I'll cancel him, gonna film it and everything too.” Wade turns to Logan then while pointing at you with his fork. “Tell her something now. This is an order.”

Logan glanced at Wade sideways before shrugging.

“She’s a big girl. Let her breathe a little.” Your face lit up at Logan’s reaction while Wade’s darkened unusually. But Logan was quick to soothe him with mere words.

“We’re a door away, bub. She needs us then she yells.” Logan stared at you as if waiting for a sign of confirmation and you found yourself obediently nodding — agreeing with his words. At least Wade seemed more relaxed now.

There were many things you hated in this life. Workload, bugs, traffic, Wade being right about things.

You blankly stared in the mirror, observing the bruise that was forming near your right eye. It hurt, of course it did, but the physical pain was somehow masked by the mental one. Whatever was going on in your head was simply worse.

You tried to remember everything that happened correctly.

Your boyfriend, yelling and screaming over some unwashed clothes he needed for tomorrow. You were a girlfriend not a maid, you'd told him before he punched you.

You remember the silence that followed and then how fast he left.

Wade and Logan were out working; a convenient time for your former boyfriend to do what he wanted then dip.

You stared at the clock on the wall signaling 3:20AM. Logan and Wade wouldn't get off until 6.

Sleep seemed impossible but it wasn't when you laid your head on your pillow and cried for what felt like an hour. So you cried yourself to sleep.

“Baby.” There were hands on you. Not rough or unfamiliar but quite the opposite. You opened your eyes slowly, feeling the aftermath of your crying affect your body. The headache, the puffy eyes, the dried drool on your face.

Wade’s thumb brushed over a spot on your face and you winced. It hurt. Then you remembered why it hurt.

You sat up in your bed, not caring that everything was spinning for a while. You spotted Wade sitting in your bed next to you then Logan with his arms crossed, standing at the doorway of your bedroom. He seemed even more intimidating like this, his expression caring suppressed anger. Rage.

“We had an unfortunate meeting last night.” Wade said, capturing your entire attention. “Your boy thought it was a good idea to choose our bar and get drunk. Said a lot of shit but more specifically what he did to his girlfriend. Boasted about showing you your place.”

The tension was thick but nothing could compare to Logan’s tensed stance. He was clenching his fists so hard, it was a miracle he hadn't popped a vessel yet.

“We decided to show him his instead.” It took you a while to realize how serious Wade was. There were no snarky comments or jokes or stupid comebacks. His eyes weren't even smiling anymore. Wade was simply angry and so was Logan.

“I would have killed him.” It was Logan’s voice that followed, speaking to himself more than you. “I would have killed him if it weren't for you two. Otherwise I wouldn't have something to lose.” Logan murmured, looked between you and Wade and then he exited your bedroom.

Some silent seconds later, you could hear Logan doing things in your kitchen. Probably cooking something.

“Is he alive?” It was your attempt at a joke but also not really. You were being genuine because you knew that these two people would kill for you. Actually.

Wade gave you a faint smile. His first of today.

“Yeah. Definitely won't be able to eat burgers with a fork for a while though.”

You giggled and his heart eased up when he saw you smiling. It was a good sign.

“I told Logan that if I don't see you smile once today, I'll find him again and do worse.” The glint in his eyes proved he was being genuine with his threats.

After all, Wade only made real threats and educated wishes.

“Dinner will be ready soon. Get her to shower, Wade.” Logan yelled from the kitchen and it made both of you grin simultaneously.

Wade followed Logan’s advice for once and held you by the hand while leading you to the bathroom.

You and Wade exchanged long glances once you entered the bathroom, as if having a silent conversation that no one else knew about.

Then you began undressing carefully as Wade’s eyes remained glued to your face until you were done.

He helped you into the shower and took off his shoes before joining you — although he was fully clothed.

When the hot water began dripping down both of you, Wade seemed unbothered by his clothes getting wet and sticking onto his body.

His focus was on you as he turned you around until your back was facing him and poured shampoo into his hands.

He washed your hair carefully as if you were the most fragile creature to exist. But it was also incredibly soothing as he ran his fingers through your hair and over your scalp, drawing invisible lines.

Then he took care of the rest. He rubbed soap across your neck, your chest and beneath your breasts as if he'd done it a million times before. He hadn't but it wasn't awkward — nothing could ever be awkward with him or Logan.

His fingers washed your sides then your stomach and when it was time, he gave you the initiative to clean lower.

It was silent for a long time. Wade stared at you and you stared back while rinsing the soap off your body.

“Food’s ready.” Logan cracked the bathroom door slightly open and spoke within the small gap.

When he received no reaction, he entered.

The three of you somehow ended up tangled in the small shower. You stood in between Logan and Wade, your back pressed against Logan’s bare chest while your breasts kept grazing Wade’s chest in return.

“The food will get cold.” You whispered as Wade bent down to kiss you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

Your hands moved to grip the back of his neck as you brought him closer, creating no space between you two. The same could be said about you and Logan as the latter kept rutting against you, his hardened cock moving in the space between your buttocks.

“We don't have to do this. Just say the word.” Logan whispered, pressing a faint kiss on your head.

You appreciated the affection and how gentle he was trying to be despite how hard he was.

“I want it. I want you.” You mumbled between them and that's all they really needed to know.

The bed creaked as the three of you moved in unison. Logan laid on his back while you crawled to him and laid on your stomach by his side. Your hand moved first, wrapping around his thick cock and giving it a few experimental tugs.

When he groaned in approval, you leaned your face closer to kiss the crown of his cock.

“Princess.”

He was already leaking in your hand, voice grumbling low.

The bed dipped beside Logan as Wade moved his knee there with odd familiarity and leaned over. You almost stopped what you were doing when you saw it happen—

Wade leaning in, grasping Logan’s jaw so naturally before kissing him hard. “Shit.” Logan cursed beneath all this attention and wrapped a hand around Wade’s nape while the other disappeared into your hair.

Logan gently urged you and you picked up where you left off — placing several kisses on the side of his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip. You gave it a tiny suck before sliding your tongue against his slit, feeling his thighs tense around you.

You swirled your tongue around his cock. Licking, tasting. Your hand remained clutching his base as your head began sinking and your mouth stretched around the fat girth.

Logan’s hips twitched but one of Wade’s hands moved to pin one of them down.

Your eyes watered but you didn't stop, taking him deeper and deeper. His fingers tightened their grip in your hair and once your nose was buried against his pubic hair, he lost it.

Your eyes fell shut as Logan fisted your hair into a messy bun and began fucking into your mouth without mercy.

Wade followed the noises you were making with his gaze — watched you as you stared at them both while swallowing Logan’s cock until it was impossible to breathe.

You hollowed your cheeks then, making Logan shudder beneath you.

Despite the restricted air in your lungs and the fat tears rolling down your cheeks, you didn't pull off. Even as Wade’s hand accompanied Logan’s on your head and forced you down, it still wasn't enough to break you.

You drooled around Logan’s dick happily as he used your mouth, raising his hips just a little to build a steadier rhythm. Even as his balls slapped against your chin, it didn't matter—

“I’m gonna come.”

Logan warned with a shaky breath as you hollowed your cheeks once more, sucking whatever precum you could into your mouth. Your fingers shifted from his base to his balls as you massaged them thoroughly, making his head spin.

Wade slid his hand away from your head and watched Logan dissolve into a mess of incoherent mumbles and lustful expressions while your actions took place.

“Gotta give her what she deserves, Lo.” Wade whispered against Logan’s lips to egg him on and it worked.

You felt Logan tense beneath you, his tip hitting the back of your throat without mercy. It took a few more thrusts to watch him come undone while Wade kissed him hard, swallowing every loud noise.

His moans turned into satisfied grumbles instead, faint purrs too.

You swallowed every drop carefully, eyes shut and throat contracting around Logan’s softening cock. A few moments later you pulled off, releasing the soft cock with a pop.

Something inside you snapped as you crawled higher to reach Wade, pulling him to you and kissing him hard.

Logan couldn't help how sensitive he felt upon seeing you two exchanging sloppy and dirty kisses — especially after he'd filled your mouth.

It was Wade’s turn and clearly he wanted everyone to know it.

“There!” You gasped as Wade pressed his cock in a spot that had your toes curling. Your hands fisted the sheets as he fucked you from behind, his cock stretching you out while his balls collided against your clit with each rough thrust.

It was wet and over the top.

His cum from previous orgasms was already beginning to drip out of you, coating Wade’s cock and your own pussy.

“Think I'll just ruin you for everybody else.” Wade grunted, his hands clutching your hips tightly.

Logan watched as you buried your face in a pillow and screamed, your entire body shaking as Wade miraculously ripped another orgasm out of you.

“In— I want it inside.” You pushed your hips back as if to make your point clear and Wade complied because you deserved every moment of this.

The hands around your hips tightened their grip as Wade suddenly pushed himself forward, slamming his cock too deep, and emptied himself inside you.

Wade pressed his forehead against your back while your body completely crumbled beneath him. Spent and full.

You felt so sleepy that it was impossible to hear the exchange between Logan and Wade.

“Got carried away,bub.” Logan commented as he sat up, watching Wade’s cum leak out of you.

“I think it's barely enough.” Wade teased while looking back at him, completely slipping his cock out.

By the time you woke up, you were starving. Logan reheated your dinner which you basically inhaled afterwards.

You took another shower then — a proper one — and spent time watching tv sandwiched between Logan and Wade.

Their hands which were resting behind you were different this time.

First of all, you now knew they were definitely intertwined. Secondly, you were officially a part of this equation. Whatever that was.

“You have a really hairy ass.” Wade decided to cut through the silence, throwing a glance at Logan.

Your eyes shifted between them as you tried to muffle your laughter.

“Your mother likes my hairy ass.” Logan grumbles and Wade gasps in fake offense.

“You cheating bastard. With my own mother?” Wade places a hand over his chest theatrically. You giggle.

Logan rolls his eyes and decides to flip him off.

Yeah. You would sacrifice everyone for these two.

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : calling hamzah your “friend”

bf!hamzah x poc!reader

summary : headcannons/blurb based on the tiktok trend of calling your partner “friend”

mickey speaks : since ppl really liked my first lil blurb imma just play out all my tt fantasies with our fake bf :D also pls send me any hamzah reqs my brain is very empty lmfao!!!!

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

you prop your phone up against the vase of flowers on your dining room table, capturing both you and hamzah in frame.

“guysss!! look my friend brought me takeout hibachi for dinner tonight!” you squeal and lift the styrofoam box to show off your meal.

hamzah doesn’t catch it the first time, he’s honestly tweaking because he stopped to get you both dinner right after the gym.

he feels starved but maintains composure and a smile for your tiktok bit

“i just got the basic fried rice, veggies, and chicken. i think my friend got the same, hamzah what’d you get?”

his eyebrows pinch in confusion for a second, “uh yeah, i got the same as you.”

“okay first bites! i’ll have my friend go first” you can’t help but smile when you grab the phone and start to record hamzah, but he’s paused holding his fork in the air.

“why do you keep saying that?” he softly asks through a laugh.

“what?”

“callin’ me your friend?”

“are we not friends...?" "i mean yeah sure but like not just that?" "you're confusing me, just take your bite please we’re gonna run out of time on this”

he nods his head compliantly and exaggerates a hum of “mmm!” after his bite before taking your phone to film yours.

“okay friend, your turn!” he loudly mocks with a wide grin.

you try not to laugh while taking a bite yourself

“it's actually so good, i needed this right now.”

you now record the both of you, “okay my friend and i are gonna finish this and then we’ll be back with more bestie activities!”

as soon as you say 'friend' again hamzah leaves the frame to chuckle through the amount of food in his mouth.

“right, best friend?” you urge some more

he swallows and pettily glances from side to side, “where's the best friend at???”

“okay he’s trippin’ but we’ll be back”

you're both in your bathroom now, hamzah reads over the packaging of two sheet face masks while you pull your hair away from your face with a fuzzy cat-eared headband.

"'kay, now we're gonna do these face masks together, because hamzah’s such a good friend!” you hold and rub his arm.

he puffs his lips and closes his eyes in defeat while shaking his head, “stop,” he looks down at you, noticing your headband, “that’s cute,” he flicks one of the cat ears on your headband.

“you look like one of those get ready with me girls; you'd be like,” he mockingly pretends to push his hair back, “‘get ready with me to lie on the internet!’”

you laugh with him and add to the joke as well, "get ready with me to kill my boy-friend! my friend!" your eyes widen and you try hide the embarrassment.

hamzah quite literally points and laughs, "look at you! even you know you're a damn lie! girl, get outta here!"

cuts to a clip where it’s just hamzah talking to your phone as he shifts the mask around on his face, “i don’t even know if i’m doin’ this right, bruh.” he looks into the camera, “oh hell nah, i look crazy!”

“it feels so weird…” he taps at the slick, cold mask some more before coming close to the camera again, “guys im having a fucking identity crisis. why’s my girlfriend gaslighting me right now?"

“like, i didn’t even know that girls knew how to do that…comment down below right now and give me tips on how to understand women.”

“okay i found one, look how cute!” you’re back and holding another fuzzy headband with a bow in the middle.

hamzah laughs, “i love you, but im not wearing that.”

in the next clip of course he’s wearing it, “aw don't we look so cute?”

finally cuts to a clip of you later that night throwing yourself next to him in bed and flipping the camera to record him as he plays candy crush, curled under the comforter. “hi babbyyyyy! i was joking about the friend thing i know you’re my boyfriend.”

“i know you know i’m your boyfriend,” he distractedly mumbles, laying on his side while continuing to move his thumb around his phone screen.

you flip the camera once more as you wrap an arm around him and squish your face on top of his hooded head. he looks into the camera and smirks to himself when he sees your sweet face.

he sticks his tongue out obnoxiously, yells “goodnight vlog!!!” and covers your phone's camera with his hand forcing a loud cackle out of you.

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 6

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual content and language, being sick? overthinking? p being melodramatic Wordcount: 4.4K A/C: was feeling inspired :)) anyway pls be patient with me posting, i'm applying to schools rn!! anyway this went a direction i hadn't planned but... uhh... i have no excuses i was going with the flow. anyway enjoy x (also what a scare yesterday just hoping p is doing fine and i'm sure everything's okay!)

-

Before London

You need a ride to work tmr?

I don’t but thank you x

My eyes roam the texts as they had repeatedly since last night, trying to decipher each letter as if some ancient code I couldn’t understand. Is she seriously gonna be like that? Like she wasn’t the one who pulled me in. She kissed me. Why was she taking it out on me now? I don’t got time for this anyway, to be stressing about something like this. 

I hadn’t seen Izara since Saturday, not at work, not in the apartment building, hell, I’d even gone to the gym every morning praying that she might show up but it was as if the girl had disappeared from the face of the earth. I knew she was avoiding me, and I guess she had reason but fuck, I thought she’d be better than that. Not a word since Saturday, other than those strange cryptic texts. Fine. Be that way.

“My favourite girls!!” Trey’s voice blatantly interjects my spinning thoughts as me, Arike, Satou and Lou are sat at a circular table, eating lunch. Not that I had been eating per say, more so poking my fork here and there trying to stomach a piece of chicken now and then. The heaviness in the pit of my stomach made it hard to eat at all.

I lift my eyes, hoping Izara would be trailing behind the man as usual. But it’s Ava instead, holding a notepad and taking quick steps to keep up. I mean I knew it wasn’t Iz before even looking up - there was an uncomfortable void of heels tapping against the hardwood as the pair approach us eagerly.

“Oh hey!” Lou smiles from her chair next to me. “What’s up?”

“So we were thinking,” Trey starts, leaning forward against the table. “If y’all could film some clips answering comments on your own since our dear Zari isn’t here.”

“Uh, where is she anyway?” I ask as casually as I can - though the way everyone’s heads snap to me tells me it was a feeble attempt.

Trey’s dark brown eyes study me for a while with an expression I can’t quite read before answering. “She’s home sick, poor girl.”

Bullshit. She’s trying to avoid me, I know it. I can’t believe it, I thought she would be more mature than this, than faking being “sick” just to get away from an awkward conversation with me. Why was she assuming how I felt anyway? Like the kiss mattered to me? Like I’d want more?

I mean all that was true. God did it matter and God did I want, no, need more. Much more. But she didn’t know that, so why was she assuming. I thought we were friends. You know what this is? Bad friendship.

“Oh damn, hope she feels better,” Arike answers for me, noticing the way I’m gone in my thoughts.

“Y-yeah for sure,” I mumble, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’mma go to the weight room.”

I place the fork down on my half eaten plate harshly, getting up abruptly making my irritation quite clear to everyone around me.

“Paige you gotta eat a little more,” Lou encourages but I shake my head.

“Nah, m’ not hungry,” I murmur and take my plate back, preparing to take out my aggravation at some weights, ignoring the way Arike and the rest of the girls eye me as I walk away.

-

“So how are we feeling about the first game soon?” My dad’s voice echoes through the speaker but I barely hear him, pacing my apartment’s living room. Truthfully I hadn’t thought much about the upcoming game. I knew that was bad. That I should be ecstatic, or scared as hell, but I didn’t feel anything else besides the dread of what happened between me and Iz. 

Matter of fact, I hadn’t been able to think of anything else but the way she looked all night, the way her green smoked out eyes twinkled at me, the way she threw her head back when she laughed at my jokes, when she pressed her front against me. The way her full breasts felt against my chest, the way her round ass felt under my hands. God, the whimper she let out when I squeezed it as gently as I could.

“Paige?”

“Uh what?” I mumble, ears burning, completely forgotten about the call with my dad.

“What’s going on with you?” His secure, steady voice asks, grounding me.

“Nothin’ dad,” I murmur, rubbing my eyes and looking out the window into the street, eyeing every dark haired woman just in case they were Izara.

“Paige Madison.”

I groan. I might be 23-years-old but my dad’s stern voice turns me into a teenager without fail each time.

“You’re comin’ to the first game still, right?”

“Yes, of course,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Why?”

“Nothin’, just miss you,” I mumble, coming up with an excuse for my low mood - though it wasn’t far off. Everytime I felt sad or anxious I just wanted my dad.

“I miss you too, kid. You know you just say the word and I’m there, okay?”

“No I know, I know. I’m just tired I think,” I sigh, my chest warming at my dad’s comforting words.

“Uh oh,” he starts. “Paige Madison… Don’t tell me.”

“Huh? Tell you what?”

“Is this about a girl?” He asks.

I pause, coming to a halt with my pacing. “Hu- I- What?!”

“You always say “I’m just tired” when you got a girl on your mind,” my dad laughs, doing a horrible impression of me.

“No!” I argue a little too fast and a little too passionately. “I mean, no. Just tired. Long practice.”

“Mhm alright,” my dad mumbles, an amused tone in his voice that irritates me in a way only a parent could. “So no girl?”

“No dadddd,” I whine like a teenage girl. “There’s no girl.”

I didn’t like lying to him. I wanted to tell him all about Izara. I knew my dad would adore that girl. He always said I needed a woman to keep me in check - Izzie did just that. But I also didn’t want to tell my dad about this girl knowing it likely wasn’t going to go anywhere, especially now that she had been hiding from me since our kiss.

“Okay dad tell Drew I said hi and I’ll play Fortnite with him tomorrow,” I say into the phone, ready to hang up.

“Okay kid, love you.”

“Love you dad.”

The silence is deafening, again. Like it used to be before I became friends with Iz. I felt alone, anxious, my head spinning with thoughts I couldn’t turn off. I thought she was mature enough to handle this like two adults. If she just wanted to be friends then she could just tell me, at least we could continue our friendship like that.

But usually when I kissed a girl, they didn’t run away like this. Quite the opposite. Did she not like the way I kissed? Was I off my game? Maybe the tongue was too much? Maybe she didn’t like my outfit. I’m a good kisser, I know I am. Good enough to get girls into bed with ease. So what is the trouble now? And I also know that that was the best kiss I had ever had. That our lips fit together just right. Fuck this girl had me going out of my mind. And now I just had to wait for her to reach out, it didn’t feel fair.

No. It wasn’t fair. Why did I have to wait for her? Who said I had to? Fuck that.

Too frenzied to even throw a shirt over my sports bra, I walk downstairs determined, knocking on Izara’s door angrily, preparing a speech of everything I’d been thinking the past few days: Look, Izzie, we’re both adults. You clearly think the kiss was a mistake. But avoiding me and acting like this is ridiculous and stupid and we don’t need to be acting like teenage-

“Paige?” 

Izzie opens the door, voice weak and nasally. She’s in a pale pink pyjama set, hair up in a clip and nose red and irritated. She wasn’t lying. Definitely not. She is sick. 

Quick, improvise.

“Uh, hey,” I mumble, my cheeks turning pink, her red eyes staring up at me reminiscent of Saturday night and the moments before our kiss on the balcony. “Trey told me you were sick.”

She chuckles, looking down at her dishevelled appearance and returns her gaze to me. “How did you know,” she jokes. She’s acting like nothing happened between us. How could she act like that? I guess it’s better than if she actually had been avoiding me.

“Was worried, haven’t seen you since… The party,” I say unsurely.

“Uh… Yeah. Crazy party huh,” Izzie says almost to herself. “Well, anyway, thanks for checking in but I’m perfectly okay. Just a cold and I think it’s passing.”

She begins to close the door but I grab it, holding it open.

“You been resting?” I ask concerned.

The girl shrugs. “Well at first but now I’m just getting bored so I’ve been doing some work from home.”

“Izzie…”

“What?”

“You gotta be restin’ if you’re sick,” I argue, which makes the girl roll her eyes.

“I’m fine Paige,” she answers, but I step inside.

“Let me in.”

“No, you’ll get sick,” she complains but I shake my head.

“I won’t. I’m built different.”

Izzie laughs, deciding it was pointless to try to argue and lets me in.

Her apartment is spotless as always, laptop open on her dining table with schedules and notebooks piled next to it. This bitch hadn’t been resting, no she’s been working and cleaning.

“Izzie!” I groan and close the laptop.

“Shoes! Shoes shoes shoes!” She yelps, voice breaking as she does. 

“‘M sorry!” I gasp and take my sneakers off quickly, placing them neatly by the entrance. I feel her eyes fixed on me. 

“Do you ever wear a shirt?” She asks, blowing her stuffy nose, which makes me let out a single laugh.

“Why, you want me to?” I ask confidently, easily falling into the same effortlessness as before.

My words make the girl blush. Perhaps the kiss wasn’t that bad? Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe I should just ask… Ask what?! If the kiss was good?! Bro… Get a grip.

“Well you’re going to get cold, it’s freezing here,” she tells me, turning away and walking to the couch where pillows are neatly arranged, an expensive looking blanket neatly folded on the armrest. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it definitely was not cold, that her apartment was scorching hot already making me sweat.

“Yo, you’re kidding right?” I laugh as I watch her somewhat pitifully curling up against the corner of the couch on her single throw pillow.

“What?”

“Iz, you’re sick!”

“Wow, thanks for rubbing it in my face,” she says nasally, blowing her nose again.

“Bro, that pillow is just sad! You need a nest,” I gasp, walking to her bedroom.

“Wait wait wait, it’s a mess in there,” she yelps, following after me. Mess, it is not. There is one hoodie on the bed, which is unmade. That’s it. I pull the heavy blanket off her bed, grabbing all four pillows and walking decisively to the couch with the dark-haired girl on my tail.

“What are you doing?” She asks as I begin to set up each pillow into a nest against the corner of the couch. She’s grabbing my arm and peeking at my actions from behind my back, clearly confused.

“I’m makin’ you a nest,” I explain, brows furrowing as I focus. This is serious business. “My stepmom does this when we’re sick.”

“A nest?” Izzie laughs.

“Yeah, get in,” I order, grabbing the girl’s shoulders and sitting her down. “Now lie back. Get comfy.”

Hesitating for a moment, Izzie curls up against the pillows as I place the blanket over her, watching as she gets comfortable with a smile on her face.

“There you go,” I coo, trying her forehead which is burning hot. “You have a fever Iz, I’m gonna get you some meds.”

“Paige, you don’t have to do this,” she sighs, looking up at me softly. I want to lean down and kiss her again. Instead, I bring my hand to her warm cheek, stroking it softly. She looks vulnerable, gentle for once. It made me want her even more.

“Lemme take care of you ma.”

She doesn’t comment on the nickname, matter of fact there’s a hint of a smile on her face when she nods. 

“The cabinet above the microwave.”

“Got it,” I tell her, pretty much scurrying to the kitchen, gathering everything you could think - water, painkillers, nose spray, I even cut up some fruit for her. But when I return the poor girl is in her nest, cuddled up, fast asleep. It hurts my heart to wake her up, but she needs these meds in her.

“Iz,” I murmur carefully, brushing dark locks away from her face. She blinks herself awake, rubbing her face. Everything about it makes me want to wrap her in my arms and never let anyone close in case they hurt her. 

“Fuck, I fell asleep,” she yawns. “I’m sorry I’m a mess.”

“You’re sick ma,” I remind her, sitting next to the girl on the couch and watching as she takes her medicine.

“This is so embarrassing,” she murmurs, sipping on the glass of water. Her cheeks are bright red, hair undone and eyes tired - I swear it’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her look.

“Izara,” I say sternly. “You’re sick, lemme help.”

“You’re gonna get sick too, and you have your first game soon love.”

“I’ll be fine, I got mad immune system powers.”

She giggles. “Immune system powers?”

“You heard,” I nod, fighting a grin. She coughs a little.

“Paige?”

Oh God. She’s gonna bring up the kiss now. I know it. I can feel it.

“Y-yeah?”

She takes a deep breath. “Can we watch Lady and The Tramp?”

-

“How are you already crying?” Paige asks with a giggle, leaning against the opposite corner of the couch. 

“Lady as a puppy always makes me cry! How could it not?” I sniffle, wiping my nose, watching the scene where Lady doesn’t want to sleep in her dog bed, the poor puppy crying for her dad. 

The blonde is chewing on an apple in her sports bra and black Nike sweats, muscles grown more prominent over her training period with the Wings, arms bigger, shoulders wider, outline of the muscles on her abdomen faintly visible even as she slouches. 

“What kinda names are Darling and Jimmy Dear anyway?” She asks, dramatically frustrated.

“Paige, you’re slow,” I laugh. “Lady thinks those are their names because they call each other those as like, pet names darling.”

The blond thinks for a while, and then grins. “Oh.”

We both burst into a choir of laughter, though it feels rough against my scratchy throat. Still, I could feel the medication already making me feel better. Or maybe it was the company.

My mind had been a mess after I escaped the party. I felt embarrassed, childish even for running away like I did, leaving Paige high and dry. Once I woke up the next morning it was hard to figure out what truly happened and what was my mind playing tricks on me. But I knew the kiss really took place the moment I remembered it, the weight of Paige’s kiss a mere memory on my lips. One wouldn’t forget a kiss like that. It was impossible.

Getting sick had been a lucky coincidence, giving me time to think and take some distance from the situation. I found it impossible to figure out where my desire for Paige and desire for physical contact differed. I couldn’t tell if I was just lonely. Or if I really liked her. I never considered it, me having feelings (if you could call it that) for a girl again. But now as she sat there, looking like that, I wanted nothing but to get on her. To climb onto her lap and kiss her again like we had on the balcony. Without the drunken hue, just us feeling each other.

Even as sick as I am, the familiar burn and ache that always showed up around the blonde begins to grow between my legs, making me squirm. Fuck, maybe I did like her. All I knew I definitely wasn’t in a place to start anything - that no matter what this was it would have to stay casual. I haven’t gotten rid of the ghost of my past relationship. No, not at all. I could see it looming around every corner, peeking through windows, just right outside my line of vision. I wasn’t ready.

Paige’s hand comes over to my bare feet poking out of the blanket, bringing them to her lap and beginning to rub them almost as if subconsciously, like unaware of the entire thing. Except her cheeks turn red as she does. My entire body relaxes, and I let her. For almost half of the movie she massages each toe, the arch of my foot, my ankle, leaving goosebumps everywhere. 

“I’m cold,” I complain, pulling my feet back under the blanket, feeling like a block of ice.

“I’m so hot,” Paige groans, now more invested in the movie, making small comments here and there.

“Lucky,” I groan which makes her snicker.

“Scooch,” The blonde tells me. Before I can resist she’s made her way under the blanket, into the nest, lying behind me and wrapping an arm around my waist. I fit in her arms perfectly, like I was made to be her counterpart, born to be in her arms like this, every curve of her body slotting with mine just right. My ass pressing into her, the blonde’s chin brushing against my shoulder, hot breath tickling against my ear nearly making me moan. Fuck.

“I- I thought you were hot,” I mumble, beginning to lose my composure.

“But you’re cold,” she murmurs into my ear, nose nuzzling into my hair as we keep watching the movie. Though I can’t concentrate. Even on my favourite movie. My head spinning too fast, speeding up even more when my pyjama top hikes up and Paige’s fingertips rub circles against my lower stomach, dangerously close to dipping into my pyjama pants.

“P-paige,” I almost whisper, my voice coming out breathy.

“Mhm?” The blonde’s voice is shaky too, a hoarse hum straight into my ear making me even wetter than I already am.

“You’re gonna get sick,” I remind her, my chest heaving.

“I’m good,” she breathes out, shifting a little, her head fitting just in the crook of my neck. Perfectly. “Are you?”

She’s asking for consent, I can tell. To dip her fingers underneath the band, to slide them into my panties. And God I want to give it to her. To let her have her way with me. The temptation is growing nearly impossible to resist.

“I-” I nearly say it. But then I shift to my back, to meet her gaze. Paige’s face is flushed, nostrils flaring as she breathes, hand remaining on my bare stomach. “How are you feeling about the game?”

“Oh, uhh,” Paige is taken aback, pulling her hand back to my dismay, bringing it to her jaw and rubbing it. “I mean, I haven’t really thought about it if I’m honest? I’m excited to see my dad and Dorka.”

“She went to Uconn with you, right?”

The blonde nods. “I mean issa big moment for sure, but I just wanna take it one day at a time.”

I hesitate. “Are you not nervous at all?”

She lets out a single laugh and looks around the room. “Nah I am. Just tryna keep my mind off it.”

I nod, understanding. I wish I could carry some of her worry, I could tell she was more nervous than she let on. But instead of talking I slide my hand into hers, which seems to comfort the girl more than words, her blue eyes locking with mine. She’s thinking, mulling something over in her head. I can tell.

“The party… Iz, I-”

“Shh,” I tell her before she can keep going, my throat going dry, the ache between my thighs nearly painful. I wasn’t ready to talk, at all. All I wanted was to feel it again, the weight of her lips on mine. So bad I felt dizzy.

“Nah, Izzie, c’mon. I think we both feel we-”

“Paige?”

“Yeah mama?”

“Kiss me.”

-

It makes no sense. But I don’t hesitate. Leaning down, my lips crashing into hers with such hunger it makes me uncharacteristically whine. My body is on fire, every inch burning up as our lips slide against one another, boxers growing damp quickly. My hand carefully holds her cheek, like the girl next to me might break. But to my surprise she pulls me on top of her by the back of my head.

I’m tasting for every inch of her, slowing down and taking my time, unlike that drunken mess on the balcony. Somehow this is even better, the kiss of the century even. Her body is cool to the touch, a sign of the fever going down. But I barely register, kissing her bottom lip affectionately, my hands holding her face. Izzie responds, her teeth pulling on my lip harshly making me groan. Her warm tongue brushes over it, soothingly.

I open my mouth further, my tongue meeting hers, other hand moving to the bare waist of the girl underneath me. I can’t believe this is real. That I’m kissing Izara. It feels like some type of dream, but the ache between my legs proves that every second is real. That she’s really underneath me. And If I’m feeling my core throbbing just from the kiss, I’m certain the dark haired girl feels something similar and the idea of my girl feeling such pain and not having it taken care of breaks my heart.

So my thumb dips underneath the band of her satin pyjama pants, feeling the lace of her underwear as it does. Zari lets out a shaky whimper, her eyes fluttering open.

“Paige,” she whines, brows furrowing.

“Yeah?” I ask breathlessly, leaning down to kiss under her ear which makes her squirm under my weight.

“C-can you keep your hands,” another moan as I suck on her neck, careful not to leave a mark. Izara didn’t seem like the type of woman you marked. “On top of the clothes.”

God she’s gonna be the death of me. But I oblige happily, pulling my hand back to her bare waist.

“Whatever you want Izzie,” I say between ragged breaths, making the girl moan as I keep kissing her neck. Izara’s hands wrap around my back, long acrylics scratching at the skin there.

“Shit,” I cuss under my breath, feeling like I might die or cum in my pants if I don’t get to have her. Still, I keep kissing her, fully aware what a privilege it was just to be on her like this. I do everything to try to stay composed, to keep my cool, to focus on putting on my best show as I return back to sloppily kissing her lips, shifting on top of her, my other hand beside Izzie’s face to hold me up. 

As I move my hips, my knee presses into her core, against the sheer fabric of the pajamas making her gasp straight into my mouth. I repeat the movement with purpose now, and can feel the heat radiating off her, the fabric between her legs growing damp. She wants this just as bad as I do.

“Lemme keep going, please,” I whimper, brows furrowed and barely conscious of what is happening at this point. “Lemme help ma, won’t even touch you.”

Her face is contorted with need, chest heaving desperately. 

“It hurts don’t it? Lemme help,” I coo, my lips wrapping around her earlobe and sucking softly. “Please.”

“Paige,” she whimpers, her body shaking with need. But I feel her shift, legs wrapping around my body. “Please.”

Oh God, I might actually cum in my sweats.

I kiss her all over, her neck, bare shoulders, mind spinning with need, my cunt growing wetter and wetter with every moan that leaves Izzie’s lips as I push my knee against her core, gently, so as to not hurt her.

“P-paige,” she moans my name. My name. 

“Ohh fuck,” I cuss, squeezing my eyes shut at the way her voice sounds, deep and gravelly, turning more high-pitched each time I grind my knee into her cunt.

“Let me get you right ma, please,” I beg breathlessly, shaking my head to myself trying to keep myself present. “Please, Iz, would do anything to fuck you,”

She’s speechless, whimpering desperately, but I can feel her muscles turning tense from the pleasure I’m giving her, legs shaking gently.

“Would be so good, just lemme eat that pussy,” I moan into her ear. “Gimme five.”

Pulling back, I meet her gaze. Her contorted face, dark brows furrowed and lips parted, green eyes blown out black. This is the most beautiful she has ever looked. Easily. Could look at her like this forever.

I can tell she’s considering, mulling it over in her head. Just as her lips part the ring of her phone interrupts the moment, the obnoxious sound blaring over the movie playing in the back. Of course. I can never have anything good. Just little tastes.

“Fuck,” Izzie mumbles and abruptly sits up as if suddenly thinking clearly. I climb off her, watching as she fumbles to find her phone.

“Here,” I catch it, handing it to her. It’s Kiran, her brother.

“Fuck, I promised I’d help him with his paper,” she groans, still trying to catch her breath.

“Uh, okay,” I murmur, attempting to catch mine, awkwardly shifting further on the couch, watching as the girl gets up and walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, leaving me there once again. Wanting more.

-

taglist:@wbbgetsmewetter @thaatdigitaldiary @pb524830 @bueckersfive @lupinqs @sierrale8ne @d3arapril @lovegalor333 @avvwritesstufff @rosemariiaa @bueckers22 @taylynbueckers44 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @rizzlerbuckets @wosolipa @bridgetloveswomen @paiges-1vur @slut4uconnwbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @janaelalfysblunt @omg-imtumbling @angryflowerwitch @ohbueckers

[starsjulia]

falling for an athlete // leah williamson

a/n : decided to write something fluffy for a change, also this is set way in the future

warnings : none!!

———————

The dinner table was a war zone of cutlery and sarcasm, typical for a Williamson household meal. Ellie, your beloved daughter, sat cross-legged on her chair with a plate of half-eaten pasta in front of her, was giving her best mate Liv a look the kind of look that screamed, “I swear, if you ask one more question, I’ll disown you.”

But Liv, bless her, clearly couldn’t read the signs. “So, like,” she started innocently, eyes flicking between you and Leah, “how did you two meet?”

Ellie’s head snapped toward her friend, a fork clattering against her plate. “No. Liv, no. You’ve bloody done it now.”

Leah, sat across the table with a smug grin and one socked foot propped on the chair leg, looked like she’d been waiting for this moment all night. “Finally! Someone wants to hear a proper love story.”

Ellie groaned so loud it could’ve woken the neighbours. “It’s not a love story. It’s a tragedy for me.”

You, sitting beside Leah, chuckled and reached under the table to squeeze her thigh. “Do you want to start, or shall I?”

Leah grinned, her accent getting sharper as her excitement grew. “Oh, I’ll start. Can’t trust you to tell it properly, you’ll skip all the best bits.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair dramatically, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “I’m leaving home. I can’t do this anymore.”

“behave,” Leah teased, before turning to Liv with an exaggerated seriousness. “Right, so picture this I was twenty-four, still a baby, but obviously very fit—”

Ellie interrupted with a glare. “Oh my God, stop talking.”

Leah ignored her. “I’d just finished a match, and me and the girls went to the pub. And then in walks her.” Leah nodded toward you, her grin softening into something fond. “Leather jacket, perfect hair, like something out of a film. I actually choked on me pint when I saw her.”

Liv gasped, clearly entertained. “You choked?”

“Full-on coughing fit,” Leah confirmed proudly. “Nearly sprayed it everywhere. My mates were in stitches.”

You jumped in, smirking. “She looked like a right idiot. Bright red, coughing like she’d swallowed a fly.”

“Yeah, well,” Leah countered, shooting you a playful glare, “it was your fault for looking like a sexy lead singer of an indie band. I panicked.”

Ellie muttered, “I’m living with children,” as she slouched further into her chair.

“So,” Leah continued, ignoring her daughter entirely, “I worked up the courage, walked over, and said, ‘Alright, love, can I buy you a drink?’”

“And I said, ‘No, I’m alright, thanks,’” you added, grinning.

Liv’s mouth fell open as she looked at you. “You rejected her?!”

“Too right I did,” you said proudly. “I wasn’t about to fall for some cocky athlete with a cheeky grin.”

Ellie jabbed her fork toward you. “You failed miserably, though, didn’t you?”

Leah grinned like a Cheshire cat. “She did. But she held out for a bit hard to get, y’know? Proper challenge. I had to step up me game.”

“Oh, step up is a stretch,” you teased, narrowing your eyes. “She nearly died of embarrassment.”

Liv’s eyes widened again, practically vibrating in her seat. “Wait, what happened?”

Leah groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment. “This is where it gets slightly less smooth.”

You smirked, looking far too proud of yourself. “So Leah decided she’d pull some grand romantic gesture, very dramatic, very her. She found out which café I went to every morning for my coffee and pastry. I walked in one day, and the girl behind the counter hands me this bag.”

Leah muttered, already cringing. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Written on the bag,” you said, glancing at Liv with a gleeful smile, “in massive block letters, was: ‘FREE PASTRY BECAUSE I THINK YOU’RE FIT—LEAH W.’”

Liv choked on her laughter, clutching her stomach. “No! You didn’t!”

“She did,” you confirmed, grinning as you leaned back. “I nearly died laughing. She’d paid for the whole thing up front, too. Couldn’t even take the croissant back when I refused it.”

Leah groaned again, though there was still a fond smile on her face. “The worst part? I wrote the note with one of those thick black permanent markers Thought it looked bold. Turns out it just looked like a five-year-old wrote it.”

Ellie was curled up in her chair, face buried in her hoodie, muttering, “I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

“I did try and make up for it,” Leah added quickly, looking at you like you’d hung the moon. “I bought her another coffee the next day. And, y’know, didn’t write anything embarrassing on it.”

“Very impressive recovery,” you teased. “But you still looked like a nervous wreck when you handed it over.”

Leah shrugged, unbothered. “Because I was. And I still managed to win you over, didn’t I?”

Liv, still laughing, wiped at her eyes. “That’s actually the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. I get why you tried so hard, she’s fit.”

Ellie’s head shot up in absolute horror. “Liv! That’s my mum! You can’t say that!”

“What?” Liv replied innocently. “I’m just saying…look at her!”

Ellie covered her face with both hands. “I’m never eating dinner here again. This is trauma.”

Leah laughed, grinning mischievously as she leaned closer to you. “She’s still fit now, though, isn’t she?”

“Leah,” you warned, though you were smiling.

“I mean, look at her,” Leah continued, purposefully loud and dramatic. “I married the fittest woman in England.”

Ellie flung a napkin across the table at her. “Stop. You’re both disgusting.”

Leah just grinned, pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek. “Jealous, El?”

Ellie groaned. “I’m moving out. This is unbearable.”

——————

Later that night, you were curled up in bed with Leah, the house finally quiet. Leah lay on her side, her arm draped lazily across your waist as she looked at you with that soft, adoring smile, he one that always made your heart flutter, even after all these years.

“You know,” she said softly, her voice thick with her accent, “I reckon Liv’s got a little crush on you.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Oh, does she?”

“Mm-hmm,” Leah murmured, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your hip. “Can’t blame her, really. I’d still try and win you over with pastries if I met you now.”

You laughed quietly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Still got a crush on me, have you?”

Leah’s smile turned impossibly soft as she leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. “Always, love. I’m still completely gone for you.”

You kissed her back, lingering for a moment before pulling away just enough to whisper, “Good. Because I’m still completely gone for you, too.”

Leah grinned, pressing her forehead to yours. “Worth every dodgy croissant and marker pen note.”

You laughed again, tangling your fingers in her hair. “You’re lucky I found you so endearing.”

“I know,” she replied, grinning as she kissed you once more. “But don’t tell Ellie. She’ll never let me live it down.”

And as Leah pulled you closer, her arm tightening around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Even after all these years, her love still felt as sweet—and as chaotic—as that first pastry.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (14)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this took aaaaaaages. I won't keep you. Go right ahead. Check back at the end with moi 💋

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The Mallorca holiday is not the only thing that ends in this chapter. Ewan and his Darling reckon with the truth, and they have to decide whether it's all worth it. Especially with what's coming...

The rest of the evening goes off without a hitch. It’s as if the stars have aligned and the universe has conspired to give two lovers the perfect date they so deserve after months and months of rolling in the muck.

It could be plain luck, but really, the credit goes to Ewan’s meticulous planning. Before leaving for Spain, he already knew he would have to pull out all the stops to get some proper time alone with you. Away from the rest of the group. And especially away from the guy you’re dating. 

The dedicated artiste in him can find some twisted pleasure in how this area of his life imitates his art. Wouldn’t it be easier to tap into Aemond if some part of him—of Ewan—carries some resentment for Matt?

Ewan had it in him to envision how this series of events would serve as his fuel for the Battle Above the Gods’ Eye. 

So long as he gets you back. As you sit across the candlelit table, he can’t stop staring. His dimples carve themselves deeper with every laugh or glance you throw his way. It’s the kind of brazen adoration that could make a person feel exposed, vulnerable even—but not with you. He could let you dig as deep as you’d like and he will still feel safe. Intoxicating, but in a good way. 

In turn, your eyes become drawn to those crescents on his cheeks, and you display a loving expression of your own. He blossoms under your scrutiny.

You’re in the middle of shoving a forkful of entrée into your mouth, not very demure-like, when he dreamily says, as if in a trance, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

The fork freezes mid-air, and your resulting snort further proves the absurdity of his sentiment. You sure have an almost unguarded way of presenting yourself for a Hollywood actress. Not that it matters with Ewan. You could be clad in nothing but a potato sack and the lad would think the sun shines out of your arse. That being said, the potato sack would allow him easy access to the main source of his bliss—nevertheless—the look he continues to give you proves nothing short of devotion.

“So smooth, Ewan,” you respond, feeling warm all over. “Do you have any other lines, or can I eat my food in peace now?”

“Hey, I’m not stopping you,” he smirks.

“No, you’re just staring.”

“Guess I’m just… making up for lost time,” he expresses, more sincere this time, unable to mask the longing in his tone.

You hold back your snarky retort. The logical side of you wants to believe that the period you spent apart had been necessary, and that both of you grew as people in the interim. He landed the role, you were able to focus on filming, and it was well and good—until it all came crashing down when he broke first that December night. 

If you hadn’t broken things off and the production for Ewan’s film bypassed him, it would have been on your conscience. But maybe your continued romance would have provided some balm for the both of you. 

It’s no use looking back on that now. You both made your choices. And now you stand on the precipice of what could be the end, or the beginning of everything anew. 

He is indulging in his wine when you finally find your words. “I’m sorry, Ewan. For everything.”

He catches on the crack in your voice and the quiver of your lip. His hand shoots across the table to encase yours. “Hey, darling, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“Are we?”

“Yeah. Look, you know how I feel about you. I love you, and that’s all that matters. Everything else is just noise.”

“But—”

“I’ll always love you,” he pauses, before dropping the words that make your heart clench uncontrollably, “even if you choose him.”

“Oh, Ewan—”

“Don’t get me wrong. It would hurt like a bitch. It would kill me… but I’ll survive, you know what I mean?”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. “You’re too good to me.”

“No,” he sighs, smiling ruefully. “Thing is, I haven’t been. Not always, and I’ll have to live with that. But whatever makes you happy now… is what I want. It’s all I want.”

“Okay,” you reply, and you mean it. You believe him. 

“So,” he says, his voice a little lighter, “darling, should I be offended that you still haven’t given me my birthday gift?”

Your brows shoot straight up. “Oh? I guess I should have… Well, what would you like?”

Ewan holds your gaze unwaveringly for a moment, waiting for you to catch on to the significance of his impish smirk. You roll your eyes fondly. “Not here, babe. There are other people in this restaurant. It wouldn’t be ideal. Besides, we really shouldn’t give Deuxmoi more fodder for their messed-up blind items.”

A beat of silence, broken by your shared laughter. And the night unfolds perfectly.

You’re halfway to the restaurant’s exit when the inevitable happens—a hesitant voice calls out behind you, stopping you both in your tracks.

“Excuse me?”

You turn to find a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, standing a few steps away. Her phone is clutched tightly in her hands, and her eyes are wide with recognition. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt… but are you… from the show House of the Dragon?”

Ewan freezes for half a second, his brows lifting in surprise, before his easy charm kicks in. “That would be us.”

“Busted,” you add with a grin.

“Oh my God,” the girl whispers, visibly overwhelmed. “Would it… would it be okay if I got a picture? I’m such a huge fan of both of you.”

Ewan glances at you for approval, before he smiles and nods at the girl. “Sure, let’s do it.”

The girl practically vibrates with excitement as she hands her phone to a passing waiter. She giggles nervously, moving in close for the photo, and then you notice her glancing at you in a state of awe. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispers. 

“Damn right, she is,” Ewan says sincerely.

“Thank you so much,” the girl gushes, taking her phone back from the waiter. “You’re both amazing. Really.”

As she walks away, Ewan leans in and mumbles in your ear, “I guess we’re not as inconspicuous as we thought.”

You laugh under your breath. “Let’s get out of here.”

The cool night air greets you two, sporting your superhero masks, the fabric blocking the faint metallic scent of oncoming rain. You make it halfway down the long main street before the sky opens up, the first fat raindrops splashing against the cobblestones. Within seconds, it’s pouring, the rain drenching you both as you scramble for cover.

Ewan pulls you toward a narrow alley, where an aging awning juts out above a shuttered shopfront. The shelter is flimsy at best, but it’s enough to keep the worst of the downpour at bay. You’re both breathless and laughing, your clothes sticking to your skin.

He lifts his mask just enough to show his mouth, a grin tugging at the corners. “Rain’s not so bad, is it?”

You pull your own mask off entirely, shaking out your damp hair as you glance up at him. “Speak for yourself, Spidey. I’m soaked.”

He takes a step closer, his hands sliding gently around your waist. “And yet you look incredible.”

You snort, though your cheeks flush at the usual intensity of his words. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stunning,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. His fingers tighten on your waist, and you can feel the warmth of him even through the cold rain. “C’mere.”

You don’t hesitate. Reaching up, you tug his mask higher, just past his nose, exposing his lips. Then you rise onto your toes, closing the space between you. The kiss is deep, unhurried, and utterly consuming. Rain slides down your face and his, cool droplets mingling with the warmth of your skin. One of his hands moves up to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you impossibly closer to deepen the kiss.

You moan against his mouth, and his heart soars. 

When you finally pull back, you’re both panting, your lips wet and foreheads pressed together.

“You’re unreal, darling,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “How did I get so fucking lucky?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you kiss him again, softer this time, as if sealing a promise only the two of you could ever understand.

Matt stands on the villa’s enclosed balcony, nursing a half-empty glass of Rioja and gazing out into the moonlit courtyard. The rain has softened to a mere drizzle, but everyone remains scattered inside the large holiday house. A knot of frustration is growing in his chest. He hadn’t been looking for anything serious when the two of you started seeing each other—at least that’s what he keeps telling himself. But watching you walk hand in hand with Ewan as you enter the gates feels like a punch to the gut.

You pause near the courtyard’s edge, leaning into Ewan’s shoulder as you exchange a few quiet words. Even from this distance, Matt can see the easy intimacy between you—the kind of connection he hasn’t quite managed to reach with you. He drains the rest of his wine in one gulp, the bitterness lingering on his tongue as he sets the glass down on the railing with more force than necessary.

“You know, glaring at them isn’t going to change anything,” comes a familiar, teasing voice.

He turns to find Liv leaning against the doorframe, one brow arched and a knowing smirk on her lips. Unlike him, she seems utterly at ease, as if she’s been waiting for this moment.

“Wasn’t glaring,” he mutters, though the tension in his jaw betrays him.

“Right,” she drawls, stepping onto the balcony. “Just brooding in the dark getting sloshed. Very subtle.”

Matt lets out a low chuckle despite himself, running a hand through his hair. “Subtlety’s overrated, love.”

Liv moves to stand beside him, following his gaze toward the courtyard. You and Ewan are heading inside now, your laughter grating at Matt’s ears as he watches your soaked figures, not that either of you seems to care. 

“You’re not going to make a scene, are you?” Liv asks, her tone light but edged with genuine concern.

He shakes his head. “Course not. We’re professionals.”

“But?” she prompts, tilting her head to study him.

“But it doesn’t mean I’m giving up.” His voice is steady, but there’s a vulnerability beneath it that catches her off guard. “Not yet, anyway.”

“You know I support you,” she says finally, “but there’s a fine line between persistence and masochism.”

He glances at her, his lips twitching into a wry smile. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m serious, Matt,” she insists, though her tone softens. “If you’re going to fight for her, do it because you love her, not because you’re afraid of losing.”

Matt looks at her, really looks at her, and for the first time, he notices the faint freckles dusting her nose, the flecks of gold in her deep brown eyes. There’s something unspoken in her gaze—an understanding, perhaps even admiration—and it nearly throws him off balance.

“Thanks,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter. “For the advice.”

“Don’t mention it.” She offers him a small, lopsided smile. “Just don’t make an arse of yourself, yeah? Remember, you are Daemon fucking Targaryen, after all.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “That I am.”

As she turns to leave, Matt finds himself watching her for a beat longer than necessary, a thought flickering at the edge of his mind. But he pushes it aside, refocusing on the task ahead. You’re still inside, still within reach…

But no. 

He’s not ready to let you go—not yet. But the truth is, you were never his to hold onto. Maybe you never had been.

The vacation winds down far too quickly, as such things always do. Bags are packed and lined against walls, the last remnants of a shared holiday ready to disperse back to their separate lives.

Louise moves through the villa with her phone in hand, snapping selfies with everyone in sight. Her laughter is infectious as she cajoles even the most camera-shy among the cast to join. Namely, Ewan Mitchell. She’s especially persistent with him, sneaking in shots when he isn’t looking or pulling others into the frame to get him to relax.

Freddie and Tom take one last dip in the pool, their shouts and splashes echoing through the courtyard. They’re trying to see who can hold their breath underwater the longest, both acting like overgrown kids unwilling to admit the holiday is ending. Bethany and Phia, meanwhile, are busy tidying up the kitchen. Somehow, they manage to rope in a few of the guys to help, using mock threats of withholding night-out invitations to get the job done.

You sit in the quiet of the villa’s courtyard, the sunrise emerging low on the horizon, painting the scene in hues of gold and amber. You find yourself enjoying the stillness, savouring this pocket of calm before reality rushes back in.

But the peace is short-lived. A familiar voice calls your name, and you glance up to see Matt approaching with his deliberate gait, his eyes shaded with an emotion you’re almost afraid to name. 

You know he knows. You know it’s time.

“Hey,” he says, stopping a few feet away. The air between you is charged, heavy with things unsaid, but perhaps these very same things have lingered since the beginning of your little romance.

“Hey,” you mirror softly, already knowing where this conversation is heading.

He gestures toward the empty chair beside you. “Mind if I join?”

You shake your head, and he takes the seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sounds of the villa fill the silence—distant chatter, everyone fussing and unaware of what’s unraveling between yourself and Matt. 

Finally, he breaks the quiet. “I’ve been thinking about us. About… what comes next.”

You’re not surprised. You had seen the tension in his jaw last night, the flicker of frustration in his eyes as you returned to the villa hand in hand with Ewan. You’d known this conversation was inevitable.

“Matt…” you start, but he holds up a hand, stopping you.

“Just… let me say this first,” he says, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “I know things between us weren’t supposed to get complicated. And I know I wasn’t looking for something serious when we started this. But somewhere along the way, that changed for me.”

He shifts, his fingers threading together as he searches for the right words. “I don’t regret any of it. Not a single moment. But I also know I can’t hold onto something that was never really mine to begin with.”

Your chest tightens at his words, taking in the raw honesty in his tone. You reach out, placing a hand over his. “You mean a lot to me, Matt. You really do. But…”

“But it’s him, isn’t it?” he finishes for you, his smile stiff and not reaching his eyes. “It’s always been him.”

You want to nod, but it doesn’t feel right. You worry that any sort of affirmation from you at this moment would be too cruel. Salt in his wound. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know,” he says simply. He leans back, exhaling deeply as he tilts his head as he gazes at you. “While I still have you, my love… while you’re still here with me… mind if I steal one last kiss?”

His words take you by surprise, but the sincerity in his eyes makes you nod. He leans in, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips meet yours. The kiss is gentle, filled with bittersweet yearning, and when he pulls away, there’s a sense of finality in his gaze.

“I would have been the happiest man if you let me fall in love with you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek, “my Alyna.”

Then he rises, giving you one last lingering look before turning and walking away.

The memory of that night plays in your mind as you sit on the plane, your hand intertwined with Ewan’s. He’s staring out the window, his profile bathed in the soft glow of the light streaming from the window. You’re both quiet, but his thumb strokes idly against the back of your hand, a silent reassurance of his presence.

The flashback is vivid—Matt’s earnestness, the way he had let you go with grace. But even in that moment, there had been no doubt in your mind. It had always been Ewan. From the moment you met him, from the way he looks at you now as if you are the only thing in the world that matters, you knew. Every detour, every mistake, every painful scenario had only ever led you back to him.

Ewan turns to you then, his eyes soft and searching. “You okay, darling?”

You nod, squeezing his hand. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” he asks, his tone gentle.

You hesitate for a moment before answering. “About how lucky I am.”

Those damn dimples appear as he smiles. “Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. The steady rhythm of his breathing soothes you as your eyes flutter shut, and for the first time in a long while, you feel truly at peace. The past is behind you, and the future—whatever it may hold—is something you’re ready to face together.

As the plane cuts through the clouds, carrying you both to LA, you let the weight of the last few months fall away. Your boyfriend’s arm wraps around you, anchoring you with him in the present. And everything feels exactly as it should.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and the two of you barely make it into the hallway before your lips clash again. The mimosas from the bar downstairs left a faint tang in your mouth, but Ewan’s familiar taste is just as sharp as he slides his tongue past your lips. His hands grip your face with sheer desire as he kisses you, his body pressing you against the wall outside your suite.

You fumble with the room key, laughing breathlessly against his lips when the thin piece of plastic slips from your fingers. “Ewan,” you groan, “if you don’t let me get the door open, we’re going to scandalise the hotel staff.”

His teeth grazes the curve of your jaw as he growls softly, “Don’t care. Let them watch, darling.”

The lock finally clicks, and the two of you tumble inside, the door swinging shut with a muted thud behind you. He kicks off his shoes without a thought, already reaching for the zipper at the back of your dress. His fingers are skilled, traversing the familiar territory of your curves, impatiently hitching the fabric down to your hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his accent curling deliciously around the words as his gaze devours every inch of you. 

Your hands aren’t idle either, tugging his shirt over his head and raking your nails lightly down his chest. He hisses at the sensation, his muscles tensing under your touch. “God, I missed this,” you purr, your lips following the path of your hands.

“Missed you,” he counters, pulling you closer until there isn’t a breath of space left between you. The queen-sized bed is only a few steps away, but neither of you seem to care, too lost in the frenzy of lips, teeth, tongue, and hands.

When he finally lifts you into his arms and carries you to the mattress, he lays you down with a gentleness that belies the hunger in his eyes and the world stands still as he hovers over you.

“I need you, my darling,” he confesses lowly.

“You have me,” you whisper back, pulling him down to meet your lips once more.

What follows is a collision of need and intimacy, a desperate reclamation of what had always been yours. 

The next morning, sunlight pours through the sheer curtain of your hotel room. The soft sounds of downtown LA waking up filter through the window. You snuggle against him, his arm lazily draped around your waist, your bare skin pressed together under the tangled sheets. It had been a long, passionate night of lovemaking. Leave it to Ewan to make up for months of lost time in a matter of hours. 

He presses a sleepy kiss to your shoulder, his voice still groggy with sleep. “Good morning, love.”

You smile, closing your eyes again as his lips brush your temple. This is peace—a fleeting, beautiful pocket of bliss. But peace isn’t destined to last, especially not for those in your profession.

Something will get brought up, unearthed, stirred. 

Meanwhile, across the internet, chaos has erupted. 

A Daily Mail article runs alongside blurry paparazzi photos of you and Matt in Spain and an older photo of you sharing a laugh on a date with Ewan in LA. The headline screams betrayal: “Caught Between Two Dragons: Actress Allegedly Juggled Co-Stars Matt Smith and Ewan Mitchell During Spain Getaway!” The story spins a salacious tale, claiming you had been seen cozying up to Matt before jetting off with Ewan.

Of course, TMZ can be relied on to publish the most unreliable piece, alleging that Ewan became involved with you while still publicly linked to Jenna. Photos of Ewan and you with fans in Spain were put side by side with those of him and Jenna smiling at each other in interviews. “Sources claim Mitchell has been sneaking around, one girlfriend from his TV show set and one from his upcoming film set…”

A Deuxmoi post soon follows, fueling the fire with even more speculation. “Spotted: rising actress allegedly two-timing her co-stars,” it reads, accompanied by grainy photos that should be anything but believable. There’s a shot of you and Ewan at the cozy, private dinner in Mallorca, looking every bit like a couple, followed by a picture—clearly taken from a distance—of you and Matt sharing that bittersweet goodbye kiss on the villa terrace. Louise’s sneaky photo has gone viral, misinterpreted and plastered across social media.

The story is twisted, of course—context lost in the frenzy of assumptions and rumours. But the truth rarely matters to the public. The narrative has already taken on a life of its own, the whispers and pointed fingers spreading,  along with the swelling tide of judgment from people who don’t know you, or the situation, at all.

The internet is divided.

Fans on Twitter rally in support.

“I don’t care what the tabloids say! She and Ewan belong together. The chemistry doesn’t lie.”

“They’re all adults!!! let them figure it out. The press needs to stop pitting people against each other.”

But the criticism was harsh, too.

“If she’s been playing both sides, that’s low. Poor Matt.”

“They're both cheaters. They deserve each other.”

“This is such a PR mess. Just admit it if you’re together!”

Back in the hotel room, the chaos of the outside world is a distant hum, until your phone buzzes incessantly on the nightstand. You groan, reaching for it, but Ewan pulls you back to his chest.

“Don’t,” he murmurs against your neck. “I don’t wanna share you with the world just yet, darling. You’re all mine.”

Everyone can speculate, criticise, gossip, and whatnot, but none of that noise matters when you’re in the arms of the one you love. 

The world can fuckin’ wait.

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued...)

Some notes in the margins...

If this reads like I'm trying to rediscover my footing in this story, that's cause I am. Trust me, I am not satisfied with this chapter. But I am also my own biggest critic...

Can you guess which scene(s) I slacked on?

Plus, the way I talked big game about the supposedly legendary smut scene. I just... could not. For now. I reckon it'll be a bonus chapter soon.

More drama! More drama! At least it's just them two now 😉

[kleine-joost]

Whine & Dine 18+ MDNI

Joost Klein x Fem!Reader

a/n: this too me way too long to write!! i tried to make it smutty but i just can't help writing cute fluff :)

WARNINGS: joost being a MUNCH, reader is AFAB, uuuhhh smoking?, there's a 'good girl' in there too

You’d always loved the process of getting ready for a first date. Choosing the perfect outfit, making sure your hair looked effortless, yet tamed, and the shot of liquid courage right before you stepped out the door, oftentimes it was more enjoyable than the actual dates you went on.

Either the guy couldn’t hold a conversation to save his life, or he forgot to mention one tiny detail like he was still living with his ex, or he’d make a comment about how you weren’t afraid to eat in front of a man. Your love life was a long string of red flags and ghostings. But you always persevered.

Tonight felt like a good night for you; you had a pep in your step and you were feeling confident. The guy seemed nice enough in the short conversations you’d had on the dating app where you matched. He was one of those sensitive, creative types, and he looked just gorgeous in his photos.

The restaurant you were meeting at was only a short walk from your apartment, so you made it there with plenty of time to spare.

You’d never been, but you must’ve walked past it a hundred times. The place always gave off vibes that were just a bit too cool for you, with its ornate lettered sign and rooftop bar open every weekend in the summer that blasted lo-fi beats that echoed through the streets.

Walking in, you were shocked at how cold it was inside. You felt goosebumps prick up all over and a shiver went down your spine. The room was quite loud, the sound of knives and forks clattering on plates and lively chatter disoriented you for a second–or maybe that was the tequila shot finally kicking in.

You saw the golden hair at the bar just by the entrance. A flash of excitement jumped through you as you approached. 

“Joost?” You asked tentatively, partly to not frighten him and partly to soften the blow if you’d picked out the wrong person at the bar.

He turned around and you got a good look at his face in the glinted orange light of the restaurant, highlighted with blue neon that shone over the bar. He looked…different in three dimensions. Seeing him properly had you smile, as he smiled back at and stood to give you a polite, short hug.

“You’re early!” He laughed. Oh, his laugh.

You chuckled. “You can’t talk!”

“I like to be prepared!” He feigned offence.

You let out a giggle, the kind of giggle normally only saved for when young girls talk to their schoolyard crush–you weren’t quite sure how you conjured it.

You were relieved when the conversation flowed so easily over dinner. You talked about friends and films and your teenage years. You’d learnt Joost was a musician–he was actually doing quite well for himself on that front–and though his songs didn’t really seem like your scene, you made a mental note to listen to a couple at least, he was so passionate when he was talking about his music influences growing up, it sparked inspiration for you to branch out.

You both finished your meals and they’d been taken away by a very sleep-deprived looking busboy…but you just didn’t want the night to end. And you felt like you’d gotten to know Joost well, but you didn’t know him that well. What would he think about you if you wanted to keep the night going?

You dwelled on the thought as you paid–well he paid, much to your protests– and both made your way onto the street outside. The sun had gone down now and streetlamps let off a soft aura every ten feet down the road.

Joost immediately took a cigarette packet out of the pocket of his jeans and placed one between his lips–lips that you had stared at far too much during the evening–before holding out the packet to you with raised eyebrows, silently asking if you wanted one. You grabbed the box and took one out, along with the bright green, plastic lighter in the packet as well. You tried to light it a couple times, but the spark on the lighter wouldn’t catch. Joost saw you struggling. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit old, you have to shake it a bit before you light it,” he said with the unlit cigarette still between his lips and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

You shook it a few times and tried it again…and nothing.

“Here…” He took a step towards you and grabbed the lighter, shaking it a few times and lighting it immediately. He held the flame to the end of your cigarette. “I’ve got the magic touch.”

You both stood on the pavement outside the still-bustling restaurant in a comfortable silence. Between drags on your cigarette, you snuck looks at him leaning against a small planter across from you, he always managed to catch you looking.

“So, uh, did you drive here?” He asked, breaking the silence.

“Walked, just live down the way…” You pointed to your right, to the direction of your apartment building. 

“Nice, nice…” He trailed off.

“Um,” you stuttered out, getting his attention again. “Would you mind…walking me home? If it’s not too much trouble, it’s just that it’s dark and…”

“Sure,” he said, cutting you off with a smile.

You breathed a sigh of relief. You were always very street smart, and you were pretty good at picking up on if someone was dodgy or not. There was just something about Joost that made you trust him, he seemed very honest, and you saw how his hands shook when you first met; you knew he was just as nervous as you.

As you walked, you continued to chat–just smalltalk mostly, he was telling a story about his friends from school. His face lit up when he spoke about the things he loved, you could tell he had so much passion about music and his friends and art. 

You didn’t notice that along the walk, you both slowly started to drift towards each other, not until your fingers lightly brushed against each other. Without hesitation, he grabbed your hand, fingers firmly intertwined with yours. And he never even faltered in conversation, but you saw his smile as you held onto him–a smile you returned.

Eventually you made it to the front of your building. As you slowed your heart hurt just a bit that the night was coming to an end.

You both stood in silence for a moment, you’d let go of his hand now and your palm was much too cold.

“Well…” You started. “I should…”

Joost nodded. If you weren’t so wrapped up in your melancholy you would’ve noticed the same look of sadness in his eyes.

“This was really fun though,” you continued. “We should do this again sometime.”

He smiled, you could for sure get used to that smile. “Yeah, I’ll text you when I’m free so we can get a drink somewhere or something.”

“Sounds good,” you grinned back at him, another moment of silence. “Get home safe.”

He nodded, then leant forward with his arms open. This hug was…stronger than the quick, polite one in the restaurant, you were truly engulfed in him this time, you could smell the cologne he was wearing; something warm and homely, but not like the kind that smelt like food, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it exactly though.

You didn’t want to let go, locking your hands around his waist. You couldn’t say how long you both stood in that embrace, it was like time stopped as you were taken up by him. You turned your head to look at him, he was looking at you.

Without too much thought to convince you against it, you closed the gap between your faces.

His lips were softer than you thought they would be, and his mustache didn’t tickle your face like you assumed it would have. Joost deepened the kiss, placing a gentle hand on the side of your neck. He was being so gentle, like you could’ve shattered under his touch. But you were hungry, you wished it would last forever, getting totally and utterly lost in him.

Once you had pulled away for a proper breath your bodies separated, you weren’t quite sure what to say.

“I should get going,” he said, breaking the silence.

You nodded. “Good night, Joost.”

“‘Night.”

You began to walk towards your building, a smile on your face that you couldn’t even try to hide. You entered the code to get in the front door and opened it, looking back to where Joost was standing. He wasn’t making any effort to walk away, he was just standing, watching you with a smile much like yours.

In a moment of unfound confidence you spoke, not even registering what you were saying as it left your lips. “Would you like to come up for a drink?”

It was a loaded question, you knew it and he knew it. But the aching between your legs wouldn’t let you get embarrassed by your forwardness.

He silently followed you into the building, grabbing your hand that held the heavy, tinted glass door for him as he stepped over the precipice. No words were shared as you waited for the elevator; his warm hand spoke enough, lightly tracing the end of his thumb over the back of your hand.

The elevator was empty apart from you two, and it seemed almost to halt to a stop as it slowly chugged up to the seventh floor where your quaint one bedroom apartment was. You leant against the cool metal wall opposite the doors, Joost was doing the same next to you.

There was an air of…anticipation surrounding you, mixed with excitement, and a little apprehensiveness. You looked at Joost, this was one of the first times you’d looked at him when he wasn’t looking at you, you could truly look at him now, really perceive him. You noticed the bags under his eyes, and how the colour of his eyebrows transitioned from a deep gold to almost pure white. He told you over dinner that he was bullied in school for the way he looked, and you could understand why–kids are cruel–but he looked perfect to you.

He caught you staring out the corner of his eye, he smirked at you. You let out a low chuckle as heat rose to your cheeks when he turned to look at you.

“You look nice,” you said in a low whisper.

“Nice?” He feigned confusion.

“Like you look kind, that sort of nice,” you continued. “Also you just…have a nice face.”

He showed off a proud smile.

Your apartment was warm, you’d left a window cracked open and the August air crept its way in over the course of the evening. Joost watched as you hung up your jacket by the door, pulled off your boots and dropped your keys on your small, cluttered dining table. He wasn’t sure what to do–or even how to stand–as you stepped into your tiny kitchen and opened the fridge.

“I have…some orange wine, but it’s not very good, or I have pear juice.” You looked up at him, fidgeting in his spot near the front door. “You can hang up your jacket, take off your shoes if you like.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, then slipped his sneakers off and took off his jacket. For the first time you saw all his tattoos, his arms were littered with little scrawled drawings. You wondered if each of them had a meaning, you would love to hear the stories behind them all. “Uh, I’ll have some pear juice.”

You sprung to action, grabbing two mis-matched glasses from your cabinet and pouring the juice into each of them. Joost followed you as you carefully stepped towards your sofa–so you didn’t spill any of the sticky juice onto your floor.

“Your place is nice,” he commented once you were both comfortably sitting on the sofa–at a distance.

“Thanks…” You looked around at the white walls that were decorated with framed posters of a couple of your favourite films. “It’s good for now.”

“It’s a home…” There was a look of melancholy in Joost’s eyes, it made you wonder. “I travel a lot, so I’m not really home a lot.”

You nodded, taking a sip.

“I can see you in here though, it’s-uh-it’s very you,” he continued, a small smile on his lips.

Something about Joost seeing you in your home–your haven–made you smile. He’d been so attentive over dinner, and it made you happy to think he was listening to you, understanding you.

“You’re very sweet,” you said after a short moment of silence. You’d noticed that silence was comfortable with Joost, you didn’t feel the painful urge to have to fill every second with a new question or an unrelated story. Conversation just felt so natural with him.

He turned away, pressing his face into his shoulder at that. You saw his cheeks redden. Part of you loved how the smallest compliment made his blush so much, you hoped you’d be able to give him more, deeper compliments just to see what he would do.

You were feeling brave. You placed your glass of the coffee table and slithered towards him on the sofa, placing a light hand on his knee. His skin was hot. He looked back towards you as you grabbed the glass from his hand and placed it next to yours.

“Is this okay?” You asked in a low voice.

Joost didn’t reply, just placing a gentle hand on the side of your neck and leaning forward to kiss you. This kiss wasn’t like your sweet, goodnight kiss outside, there was a subtext to it. You quickly opened your lips, letting your tongues meet. He pulled you closer so your chests were pressed together. You skin felt too hot, you were sweating even as a breeze blew in through the open window next to you.

You parted, quickly pulling your blouse over your head in hopes you’ll cool off. You saw Joost’s eyes widen, looking down at your body. His mouth was immediately back on yours, wet and messy as your hand returned to his knee before slowly inching further and further up his thigh. You pressed your fingertips into his flesh, getting a low moan from him.

He began to press kisses down your neck, settling just below your collarbone. You felt his teeth over the soft skin, and the pressure of him sucking. No doubt there’d be a bruise there later.

“Joost,” you slowly whispered.

“Hmm?” He replied, placing more wet kisses over your chest.

You had to think before you spoke, you could barely string a sentence together with how bothered his wandering hands were making you. “C-can you…”

“Tell me, baby.”

“I want you to eat me out.” You pulled his face off your chest to look you in the eyes. “Please.”

He smirked, pressing your shoulders back until you were laying on the sofa. He quickly peeled your jeans off your hips and down your legs, discarding them on the floor before leaning down to place a gentle kiss at your belly button, then a little lower, and a little lower again. 

Once he finally mouthed over your clothed pussy, you were so lightheaded you could barely think straight.

He slowly pulled your panties down your legs, seeing just how much you were dripping. He couldn’t hide the smile plastered across his face at the thought of you so hot and bothered by him.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered, lowering his face to your pussy and placing a light kiss to your clit.

You were so sensitive, you instantly cowered away from his touch. But he grabbed your hips to hold you in place. It felt like the room went cold, with goosebumps raising all over your skin.

You noticed that Joost was watching you, just for a second, though he just looked back to your core once he realised you’d caught him staring. He dove in.

You would’ve thought he hadn’t had dinner with how…passionate he was. He wasn’t letting up, listening to every direction you gave him; ‘lower��� or ‘more fingers’, and a ‘don’t stop’.

Before you knew it, you felt weightless as he drew you into orgasm. It wasn’t like when you did it yourself, you finally understood all those cheesy romance novels talking about seeing stars, because you had a whole galaxy in your eyes.

It took you a few minutes to come down from the high. Joost helped you through it, bringing you back down to Earth with gentle rubs over your hips and a ‘good girl’ thrown in for good measure.

Once you finally caught your breath, you spoke. “I don’t do this all the time, by the way.”

“Do what?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“This.” You gestured to, well, your still-naked body on your couch. You would’ve been feeling self conscious if you didn’t just have one of the best orgasms of your life. “I don’t want you to think I’m a slut or anything.”

He laughed. “Leifje, if you’re a slut, I am too.”

His laugh brightened the room, it eased you. 

“Well, we haven’t gotten to you yet, have we?”

xxx

[heartfullofleeches]

Ghost Hunter Reader: Look, Tobi! I found this cursed VHS tape online- The listing says if you watch it you'll be cursed with terrible nightmares before the ghost trapped inside comes to get you. Let's watch it and film what happens!

[Tobi [Yan camera man] holds a thumb up in approval]

-

[Later that night as they rest in bed, Reader tosses and turns in their sleep - sweat beading down their face. Tobi places a kiss to their forehead, causing them to fall still almost instantly. The TV at the end of Reader's bed flickers on as Tobi covers them back up with the blankets. Tobi pulls a knife and fork from the kitchen out of their pockets as a shadow crawls from the screen]

-

Ghost Hunter Reader: It was really strange, Tobi- My dream started off as a nightmare, but then everything just went dark. Did you see anything in your dreams last night?

[Tobi shakes their head - clearly chewing on something as their jaws move subtly]

Ghost Hunter Reader: Darn. Must've been another scam. I'm glad you're okay though. What are you eating anyway, Tobi?

Tobi - through text: I think its name was Jack.

Ghost Hunter Reader: Jack? Like flapjacks? You made pancakes without me?!

Tobi: Yes. I was waiting for you to wake up so yours would be fresh off the pan. I'll make them for you now. :)

[oaksgrove]

Lieutenant’s Sanctuary

pairing: Platonic Task Force 141 & Lieutenant!Reader, CallSign ‘Reaper’

synopsis: After years of tradition, the 141 team decides it’s time to crash at Lieutenant Reaper’s place for the first time. They’re expecting something practical and minimal, but instead, they find a storybook-like sanctuary.

warnings: Fluff, humor, found family vibes, and Soap being Soap.

word count: 1700

a/n: I’m such a sucker for Found Family and tiny cottages so this was so cute to write!

Every time Task Force 141 returned from deployment, they followed the same ritual: gather at someone’s place to decompress. It started as an impromptu thing—no one ready to face an empty flat just yet—and quickly became tradition.

Ghost’s apartment was Spartan: a single chair, a TV that looked like it had seen combat, and exactly one fork in the kitchen drawer. Soap’s place? Chaos incarnate, with mismatched furniture and a fridge stocked solely with beer, takeout boxes, and mystery condiments. Gaz’s flat was sleek and modern, but he was never there long enough to enjoy it. Price’s house was comfortably captainly, with sturdy furniture and the scent of pipe tobacco lingering like a welcome mat.

But no one had ever been to Reaper’s.

“You got a place, Reaper?” Soap asked, leaning against the Humvee after their latest mission. “Or d’you just materialize out of the shadows like a proper ghost?”

Reaper glanced up, her expression unreadable beneath the smudges of dirt and exhaustion. “I’ve got a place,” she replied simply, tossing her gear into the back of the vehicle.

“Really?” Soap pressed, grinning. “I thought you just slept hanging upside down somewhere…”

“It’s a house,” she replied, voice as flat as her expression. “And it’s off-limits.”

Soap didn’t relent. “So you do live in the shadows! Does it come with creepy fog and a drawbridge, or bats coming out of the chimney…?”

Reaper gave him a deathly glare through the rear mirror

“It’s a house,” she deadpanned. “And no bats.”

Soap wasn’t done. “How do we know you’re not just haunting an abandoned castle somewhere?”

“Because I’m not you,” she shot back smoothly.

The team laughed, but Soap was relentless. “So, when are we visiting this haunted manor of yours?”

Reaper sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. One visit. But don’t touch anything.”

And with that ominous warning, the deal was sealed.

The drive to Reaper’s place was unnerving, to say the least. Pavement gave way to gravel, gravel turned to dirt, and dirt became a narrow trail flanked by looming trees. The deeper they went, the quieter it got.

“Are you sure you’re not leading us to a burial site?” Gaz asked, staring out the window at the oppressive forest.

Reaper didn’t answer, her silence only adding to the tension.

“Swear I saw this in a horror film once,” Soap muttered. “Five soldiers go into the woods, only one comes out.”

“I’ll keep the engine running,” Ghost said, his voice as dry as the leaves crunching under their tires.

When they finally pulled up, everyone stared in stunned silence. Nestled by a bubbling stream, the house was a picture-perfect storybook cottage. The small structure had ivy creeping up its stone walls, a pitched roof dusted with moss, and a chimney that puffed lazy spirals of smoke into the air. The garden surrounding it was meticulously cared for, with rows of herbs, vegetables, and vibrant flowers. Wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze.

“Did we take a wrong turn?” Soap whispered. “This looks like something out of Sleeping Beauty.”

“Is this where you live,” Ghost asked dryly, “or where you lure unsuspecting hikers?”

“Are we meeting a witch to trade for supplies?” Gaz joked, his arms crossed as he surveyed the scene.

Soap, standing behind him, squinted. “If a witch comes out of there, I’m running back to base.”

Reaper cut the engine and grabbed her bag. “It’s mine. Don’t get too comfortable.”

Before anyone could respond, a low bark rumbled through the trees.

The massive dog bounded out from behind the house, a massive blur of fur and slobber. “Bloody hell!” Soap yelped, scrambling behind Ghost, who, to his credit, stood still as the enormous Saint Bernard thundered toward them stopping in front of Reaper, wagging his tail so hard it could have knocked a grown man over. Clifford, as Reaper introduced him, was as big as he was slobbery.

“You never said you had a bear,” Soap muttered, peeking out from behind Ghost.

“Harmless,” she said, scratching behind his ears.

“Harmless, she says,” Soap grumbled. “That thing could bench-press me.”

Clifford tilted his head at Soap’s voice, letting out a deep woof before trotting over to sniff at his boots.

Gaz, meanwhile, was practically cooing at Clifford. “You’ve got a dog? That's adorable.”

Reaper raised a brow. “I’m not adorable.”

“Your cottage begs to differ,” Gaz shot back, gesturing to the idyllic scene around them.

Ghost raised a brow. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Gaz gestured helplessly at the idyllic scene. “You don’t exactly give off ‘granny in a cottage’ vibes.”

Reaper smirked faintly. “Good.”

“Figured you’d live in a dungeon,” Gaz teased. “Not... whatever this is.”

If the outside surprised them, the interior rendered them speechless. The cabin was minimal yet cozy, every detail carefully curated. Handmade quilts and pillows adorned the couch, and shelves were lined with jars of dried herbs and homemade preserves. String lights cast a warm glow, and a faint aroma of lavender and something earthy lingered in the air. A bookshelf in the corner overflowed with worn novels and journals, while a small fireplace crackled softly.

Ghost, who rarely spoke about anything unrelated to missions, ran a gloved hand over the carved wooden mantle. “You made this?” he asked, nodding to the intricate designs.

You nodded, a little sheepish. “Most of it. I like working with my hands when I’m not… you know, shooting.”

Soap was already poking around, pulling open cupboards and exclaiming over jars of pickled vegetables. “You’ve got jam? Like, homemade jam?” He held up a jar like it was a precious artifact. “She’s got jam, boys. Homemade bloody jam!”

“Yes,” Reaper said, crossing her arms. “Try not to break anything.”

“Did you crochet these pillows too?” he teased, holding up a throw pillow embroidered with flowers.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Keeps me busy.”

“Busy,” Soap repeated, incredulous. “You’re secretly everyone’s gran, aren’t you?”

“Oi, I’m not that old,” you protested, swatting at him with a dish towel.

“But look at this!” he said, holding up a patchwork quilt.

Reaper didn’t dignify that with a response, just shrugged, but Clifford let out a loud snore from the corner, effectively ending the discussion.

As Reaper prepared a hearty stew, the team gravitated to the kitchen. Soap and Gaz hovered like starving children, while Price helped slice bread.

“Is this… homemade?” Price asked, nodding at the loaf cooling on the counter.

“Figured you’d be hungry, it’s not that hard.” Reaper said, not looking up from the pot.

“Not that hard,” Soap mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Meanwhile, I nearly set my flat on fire boiling pasta.”

Dinner was a revelation. Ghost surprised everyone by going back for thirds, and Soap declared it the best meal he’d ever eaten (between mouthfuls of stew and bread).

“Not bad, Lieutenant,” Ghost muttered, which from him was practically a glowing review.

“You’ve ruined us,” Gaz added, wiping his plate clean. “How’re we supposed to go back to regular food after this?”

“This is the best thing I’ve eaten in months,” Soap muttered around a mouthful of bread.

“You’ve been hiding this paradise from us?” Gaz said, gesturing at the cozy interior.

“Thought you preferred your chaos,” Reaper replied, smirking faintly.

“We do,” Soap said quickly, “but this? This is next level.”

By the time the meal ended, the team had fully invaded every corner of Reaper’s space. Soap challenged Gaz to cards, Clifford sprawled across Price’s feet, and Ghost—ever the enigma—quietly helped Reaper chop vegetables for tomorrow’s meal.

“You don’t have to,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

“I know,” Ghost replied simply, his tone soft.

“You’re full of surprises,” she said as he handed her a perfectly diced carrot.

“You have no idea,” Ghost replied, his tone unreadable.

As the night wore on, the team sank into an unspoken rhythm. Soap’s laughter mixed with the crackle of the fire, and even Ghost’s stoic presence seemed lighter.

Price absently scratched behind the dog’s ears, looking unusually relaxed. “You’ve got quite the setup here, Lieutenant.”

Reaper glanced at him, settled into one of the armchairs near the fire, her expression softening slightly. “Thanks, Captain.”

As the night wore on, the unspoken bond between them deepened. For all her stoicism in the field, Reaper’s home was a haven—a place of warmth and quiet that each of them hadn’t realized they desperately needed.

By morning, it was decided.

“This place is a bloody sanctuary, this is the spot now,” Soap declared, stretching as the sunlight streamed through the windows. “First day back, we’re coming here.”

Reaper raised a brow. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“You didn’t disagree either,” Gaz pointed out, grinning.

Reaper sighed, but there was no real frustration in her tone. “Fine. But next time, you’re bringing the beer.”

“Sorry, Ghost,” Soap added. “Your spooky flat’s been officially replaced.”

Ghost shrugged, leaning against the wall quietly observing as Reaper worked on mending a tear in her field jacket. “Fine by me.”

For all her darkness in the field, Reaper’s home was paradise, and her team decided they’d never let her live it down.

“Well, Reaper,” Soap said, biting into a fresh slice of bread, “you’re officially the heart of this team.”

She rolled her eyes, though couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t mind having you lot here—as long as you pull your weight in the garden.”

As the team loaded into the Humvee, Clifford gave each of them an affectionate nuzzle. Reaper stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her usual stoicism softened by the faintest smile.

“Drive Safely” she said simply.

And they knew they’d return—because for all her darkness in the field, Reaper’s home was a haven, and they were lucky to be part of it.

-

Months later, after another long and grueling deployment, the team returned to the cabin. This time, Clifford greeted them like old friends, and the warm light spilling from the windows felt like a beacon.

Reaper, standing in the doorway, simply smirked.

“Welcome back.”

[cerisereids]

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮- 𝐒.𝐑.

pairing: s13!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: a lonely new years eve turns into much more when another lonely coworker shows up at your door.

warnings: just fluffy new years stuff with a sprinkle of angst! I wrote this off a whole bottle of wine and I didn’t proofread I was just rly determined to get this out, so sorry if it sucks

a/n: divider from @thecutestgrotto !! happy new years my lovely tumblr fam!! the water tank at my house burst so now i am with my parents for the new year so here is this, bon appetit

Your steaming container of kow pad warms your hand, contrasting with the bitter chill outside your window. You swaddle yourself in your favorite blanket, settling into your annual viewing of When Harry Met Sally. ‘The ultimate New Year’s movie’, you’ve claimed for years. Something about its gentle blend of heartache and hope, the reminder that everything happens when it’s supposed to, feels especially poignant on a night like tonight.

You take a sip of wine, settling into the film’s comforting rhythm, when a quiet knock on the door breaks you from your trance. Your brows furrow, not quite believing the faint tap coming from the hallway. You hear it again, and spring into action. You make your way to the door, the flare of your fuzzy pants brushing along the hardwood. You swing it open to reveal your coworker, Spencer Reid, holding a bottle of sparkling cider. A half smile paints his lips, a glint sparkling in his sad eyes.

You study the man in front of you. The hard faced, reserved coworker whom you’ve only just recently met since his release from prison. That familiar longing returns, the one that pangs deep in your chest whenever you see him. Those big brown eyes take your breath away, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if he feels the same pull. If that’s why he decided to come see you, of all people. He shifts his weight lightly in the silence, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle.

“Can I…come in?” He asks sheepishly. Who are you to say no? Especially when he looks at you like that.

You step aside, and he silently enters, the light fuzz of his sweater brushing your bare forearm. The slight form of contact shoots electricity straight through your skin, deep into your veins. He sets the bottle lightly down on the counter, rubbing his palms against his pants. The glass clinking against the porcelain snaps you out of your daze, and you realize you haven’t even spoken to him yet.

“Hi, Spencer,” you start softly, easing him into the new environment.

“Hi,” he holds a palm up in a meek wave. He stands tall and still, like he’s not entirely sure of his surroundings.

“Are you hungry?” You offer a sweet smile, and the slightest uptick in his lips makes your heart flutter, “I got more Thai food than anybody should have in a year, so please, help yourself.” You grab a paper plate and fork for him, along with a glass of the fizzy drink he brought.

His lips form into a small smile now, and you realize you’d like to feel like this forever. Standing in the kitchen with Spencer, taking care of him. You’d really, really like that. You take the lead back to your couch, and his eyes light up when he sees what’s on the screen.

“Oh! I love this movie!” He gasps, bringing his food and drink over to the couch. “It’s the perfect New Year’s movie, you know?”

Your heart flutters at this, “I’ve always said that!” You respond, and you share matching smiles.

A silence falls over you two, and he shrinks back into himself. His back is hunched slightly, his eyes trained on the food in his lap.

“Spencer…” you start, hesitantly, “are you okay? What do you need?”

His eyes squeeze shut, and you see a furious rush of tears fall down his cheeks.

“Oh, Spencer! I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have pried,” you stutter, wiping his tears with your thumb. His cheeks heat up under your touch, his watery eyes fluttering open to drink you in.

“No, no, thank you, it’s okay,” he sputters back, just as flustered as you, “it’s just that-nobody’s asked me that in a long time. Thank you for letting me in.”

The double meaning of his words doesn’t miss you, shooting straight into your heart like an arrow. “Any time, I mean it.”

“I’m okay,” he mutters, looking down at his lap still. “I’m just lonely. I know that we haven’t spoken much at work, and that’s my fault, but for some reason, I just found myself wanting to be with you. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” you smile, validation pooling through your stomach at his words, “I’m glad you did, you’re welcome any time.”

Another silence falls upon you, until you’re struck with an idea. “Oh!” You pop up, “I have an idea!” You scurry into the kitchen, tearing apart your junk drawer until you retrieve two pens and a pad of paper.

“You, Dr. Reid, are going to partake in my favorite New Year’s tradition with me!”

“Just-just Spencer works,” he breathes, a pink tint flushing his cheeks. Doctor is a soft spot, got it, you think to yourself, smiling softly as you plop down next to him.

“Each year on New Year’s I like to make three goals for myself for the new year,” you explain, passing over a pen and sheet of paper.

“Why three? Seems like a random number,” he inquires, that 187 IQ never taking a break.

“I guess…” you tilt your head side to side, pondering, “I guess it’s enough to make me feel like I’ve accomplished something at the end of the year, but not too many to where it overwhelms me, you know?” You quirk your eyebrow at him as you begin scribbling.

“That makes sense,” his gaze lingers on you a moment before he follows in your footsteps.

The humorous bickering of Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan fill the silence, and you hadn’t realized you were already at the end. Your head snaps up to the TV once you’ve finished writing your goals down, a smile forming on your face as you watch the best scene.

If you hadn’t been so invested, you may have noticed Spencer’s gaze. He sits next to her, picking apart her face as if he’d forget, as if he’d ever forget her.

“This is my favorite part,” she whispers, her eyes aglow as she takes apart the scene before her.

“…I love that you get cold when it’s 71° out.

I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich

I love that you get that crinkle above your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts…”

“I wonder what that’s like,” she mutters softly, “to love someone like that.”

The statement hangs heavy between them, and all Spencer can do is inch his hand closer to hers. They lace together when they touch, and they finish the movie like that. Clasping each other tightly, not letting go.

“Okay!” She claps, and he snaps his head towards her, “it’s time to share our goals!”

That, Spencer was not expecting. “Oh!” The sound is pushed out of him, anxiety rising in his throat at the idea of sharing the intimate details he’s scribbled out.

“I’ll go first!” She offers cheerily, and he wants to kiss her, so bad.

“Okay, my first goal is to read more! I only read like, 15 books this year? Not okay with me!” She chirps, and he feels his heart grow three times its size.

“That’s more than most people read ever,” he chuckles, the cider loosening him up over the course of the night.

“I suppose that is true, Dr. I-Read-15-Books-In-One-Sitting,” she teases, and the term ‘doctor’ hits him right in his heart, settling somewhere warm and deep in his belly.

“My second one is to tell people I love them more…” she trails, and a seriousness blankets over them, the unintended implication of her words resting over them heavily. “My third, to spread kindness.”

“Those are amazing goals, I fully believe you can complete all three of those. You’re amazing,” he utters the last part with the utmost sincerity, and her gaze snaps up to meet his. Their eyes lock, a bolt of lightning unzipping down his spine.

“What about you, Doctor?” She smiles sweetly at him, and it nearly folds him in two.

“That was on purpose,” he mutters, unable to stop the smirk forming on his lips. He sees her shrug out of the corner of his eye as he unfolds his paper, suppressing a playful eye roll.

“My first goal,” he breathes, “is to be more forgiving. With myself, with others…”

“That’s a great start. I’m so proud of you,” her words nearly kill him.

“My second,” he chokes, “is to spend more time with people who matter.” He regains his balance in preparation for his last one, he’s not used to being so vulnerable, and he’s trying so hard to run from the fear. She makes it easy. “My third is to find joy in small moments.”

“I believe in you, Spencer,” she takes hold of his knee, the same leg that he’d stabbed months earlier, sending him into solitary confinement. The contrast of her delicate hands now lying atop it nearly sends him into cardiac arrest.

“Thank you,” he whispers. The silence is broken by some cheesy cable channel’s New Year’s celebrations. Obnoxious counting from 10 grabs her attention.

“Oh!” She so cutely squeals, “it’s almost the new year!” She clasps her hands together and joins in with the TV. Her fingers snake from his thigh and work their way into his, encouraging him to join. He gently rolls his eyes and gives in. It’s so worth it to see the way her eyes light up, her excitement as she wishes him a happy new year.

“Happy new year,” he responds, breathless at her beauty.

“Can I kiss you?” She blurts, the cider clearly loosening her tongue.

“Oh!” He gasps, but he doesn’t get to continue before she looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“Oh Spencer! I’m so sorry! How inappropriate of me! I just thought that it’s a new year-oh!” She slaps her hands to her mouth, her eyes portraying a look of horror.

“No, no! I mean, yes- yes you can kiss me-I-I just wasn’t expecting that is all,” he splutters.

“Really?” She breathes, her hands leaving her mouth and falling into her lap.

It’s his turn to grab her hands now, taking the lead and leaning in closer. “Really,” he mutters, his lips ghosting over hers before he presses them together.

It’s life changing, the way her sweet, soft lips smack and suck against his. He places his palm delicately at her waist, his deft fingers splayed against her back. She scoots closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing their chests together. Feeling her, her body, this close is nearly sinful. He pulls her onto his lap and deepens the kiss.

“Happy New Year, beautiful,” he mutters once more, before kissing you again.

[mattphobiia]

SOFT.

disclaimer: smut smut smut smut smut smut thats all im gonna say^_^ m!receiving, f!receiving, soft!dom matt x sub!reader lowkey

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

my favourite part of the day was always at noon when matt got back home after filming his daily content with his brothers, my prepared dinner on the dining table for us as he practically swings the door open and pulls me into a tired hug and kisses me everywhere. most of the time we mainly chilled in bed either scrolling on our phones or watching movies, but tonight felt so different.

usually when i was alone in the house, i would crave for matt's presence and it always made me feel turned on, but ever since i had been dating him i could never get off by myself which always made me feel a desire for his touch. it seemed so insane on how desperate i was for him, practically begging for him to come home just so i could keep sane.

"hi baby." matt whispers in my ear, making me jump as i didnt hear him come inside. i immediately wrap my arms around his neck before he held me in his arms like a baby. "miss me?"

i bury my face into his neck before responding with a small nod, making him laugh as he kisses the top of my head before walking over to the table, attempting to place me down onto the chair but failed.

"come on, you need to eat." he sighs, stroking the back of my head while he sits down in his chair, now placing me onto his lap as he looked up at me.

i shake my head in response, leaning my head against his shoulder. "i don't want the food, i want you."

"not yet, eat dinner first and then we can." he says, pressing a small kiss onto the tip of my nose. "i promise."

"okay." i sigh, slowly getting off him as i sat down in my own chair next to him, listening to him as he spoke about his eventual day whilst i try to quickly shove all this food down my mouth.

"slow down! you're going to be sick baby." matt laughs, holding onto my hand as he places my fork down onto the plate, his other hand slowly drifting to my thigh. "i know you're excited, but take your time."

"please matt..." i groan, leaning my head back as i let out a frustrated sigh. "i can't wait any longer!"

"yes you can, just take your time and we can go to the bedroom as soon as you are finished." he says, his cold rings pressed against my skin before i nod. "good girl." he whispers, planting a soft kiss onto my cheek as i resume back to eating, crossing my legs under the table to avoid the tingling sensation in between my thighs.

"alright baby, come on." matt giggles before holding his arms out as i practically pounced onto him. he began to walk to the bedroom while i was mid way kissing him all over his neck, sucking gently as he released a heavy groan from his mouth.

he practically threw me onto the bed when he swung open the door, quickly stripping himself as i done the same, laying my head on the pillow as he lowered himself between me, his cold hands held my thighs as he pushed my legs open. i felt myself whine while his index finger dragged agonisingly slow against my folds, almost making me scream.

"matt, please!" i begged, my back arching off the bed as i held a fistful of the bedsheets. "oh my- fuck! i can't handle it..."

"patience." he whispered, a huge smirk plastered on his face before he swiped his tongue against my clit, the sudden motion making me moan loudly and jolt upwards.

he began to laugh at me, slowly bringing his mouth down fully as he flicked his tongue slowly, beginning to pick up the pace as he looked up to me, my facial expressions contorting while my eyes rolled to the back of my head. i let go of the sheets, instead grabbing onto matt's fluffy hair, pulling him to get closer as he could before crying out at the pleasure. i felt my whole body radiate with sexual frustration, almost needing more.

"matt!" i groan, trying to speak but no words or sentences would form. "i- need more! please!"

"like this?" he questions, shoving his index and middle finger into me without warning making me struggle to breathe. "so needy, but such a good girl. hm?"

i nod in response, feeling my stomach tighten as everything throbbed, i didn't know how much longer i could hold off. my orgasm began to build up, his mouth sucking harshly on my clit, his fingers moving at rapid speeds inside of me, and the view of him grinding against the edge of the bed was enough for me. both of my hands flew to his head, pushing him closer before i finally finished, soaking his face and fingers as i felt him smile against my skin. i released my grip as i flopped backwards exhaustedly into the pillows, matt rising as his hands caressed my lower back.

"you alright, sweetheart?" he asks innocently, a devilish smirk displaying on his face as he peers down to look at me. instead, i only turn around to face him, impulsively jumping onto him as i held him back, placing myself between his knees while i press small kisses onto his cock, making him squirm as he bites his cheek.

his head dropped as i lowered my mouth onto his cock, hearing him let out a soft moan before looking down to me, putting his hand against my cheek as he winces at the sensation. his droopy eyes became desperate, wanting way more than he could ever desire. the further down i went, the more it began to hit the back of my throat repeatedly almost making me gag. a couple tears rolled down my cheek as i squeezed on his thigh trying not to choke as i fastened my pace. his moans became more needy as he thrusted upwards, somehow reaching deeper down my throat, until i felt his warm liquid shoot inside my mouth, almost overflowing. once he managed to stop, i slowly took it out from my mouth before swallowing his semen and beginning to cough.

"you done so good." he pants, now laying with his back against the bed as i grab his boxers and assist him with putting them back on. "god im so tired!" he groans, lifting his hips up to help me as he sits up again.

"i know baby, let me put my clothes on and we can chill for the rest of the night." i say, his eyes lighting up before he nodded, now getting underneath the covers as he watched me intently.

MASTERLIST

a/n: screaming crying throwing up. writing this made me literally giggle and blush like crazy i hope u enjoy this:3 STAWWP I NEED TO WRITE MORE SMUT BC THIS SHIT IS SO FUN TO WRITE usually when i used to read some fics i cringed so bad but theres some really good ones on here now so like🤗 yeeees also back at work for a whole 7 days no break so i might not post for awhile unless i get last minute ideas or post some drafts LOVE U ALL

[meazalykov]

scenes of envy

sydney lohmann x actress!reader

summary: seeing you so affectionate with someone else doesn't sit right with sydney, even if it really wasn't you.

you’re sitting on the hotel bed in new york, flipping through your script for the latest press interviews when your phone buzzes with a message from sydney. 

you smile and open it, expecting her usual sweet texts about how she misses you. but instead, it’s short:

just watched the new episode with laura. great job, babe.

the words seem normal enough, but you can feel something underneath them, something unsaid. you can almost picture her sitting there, awkwardly watching that make-out scene between your character, dina, and your costar‘s character, ellie. 

you can guess how she might have shifted uncomfortably, maybe biting her lip while laura sat beside her, completely engrossed in the show.

you quickly type back, 

thanks, liebe! only two weeks until i’m back in munich ❤️ i miss you.

as the night goes on and you think back to her message, the subtle weirdness of it lingers. sydney knows what your job entails. she knew it before the two of you even got serious, that being with an actress meant dealing with things like this—intimate scenes that are just part of the job. 

still, there’s that lingering feeling of jealousy in her text, and you know it’s probably bothering her more than she lets on.

when you finally get back to munich, sydney is waiting at the airport with her usual bright smile, but you can tell something’s on her mind. 

she pulls you into a tight hug, holding on a little longer than usual, as if grounding herself in your presence after weeks apart.

later, the two of you are sitting in your shared apartment, catching up over a quiet dinner when sydney glances at you, her eyes dancing with something playful but still a little vulnerable.

“so… dina and ellie, huh?” she says with a teasing smirk, but the edge in her voice makes you pause. 

“you’re really good at pretending to make out with someone.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes as you set down your fork. 

“pretending, babe. it’s all just pretend. you know that.”

she leans back in her chair, the smirk fading as she looks down at her plate. 

“i know. i do. i mean, i signed up for this when i started dating an actress,” she says, her voice a little softer now. 

“but it’s still weird seeing you with someone else like that, even if it’s just acting.”

you stand up, walking over to her and taking her hand. she looks up at you with that slight hint of jealousy in her eyes. 

“syd, it’s not real,” you say, your thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“i don’t even talk to her outside of work, except for scenes with the show. you’re the only one i care about. you know that.”

she squeezes your hand, but you can tell the reassurance helps only a little. jealousy isn’t always rational, but you’ve been away for a while, and you get it. 

“yeah, i know,” she says with a small smile. “it’s just…laura was so into it, and i was sitting there like, ‘y/n’s kissing someone else on my tv right now.’ it’s weird, okay?”

you laugh softly and lean down, kissing her cheek. 

“you’re cute when you’re jealous, you know that?”

“i’m not jealous,” she mutters, but the blush creeping up her cheeks says otherwise.

you grin, wrapping your arms around her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder. “i love you, sydney. you, not my costar, not anyone else. just you.”

"besides, 90% of the time we aren't really doing anything. there are choreographers that teach us how to film intimate scenes without actually being intimate at all."

finally, she turns her head, giving you a proper smile, and you know she believes you. it’s not easy being apart for so long, and you know the show adds some complications. 

at the end of the day, it’s always been the two of you, and that’s never going to change.

masterlist