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buck-star · 17 hours ago

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Love and protection | B.B

>> He’s going through thick and thin with you, supporting you and helping you to rise. He’s supposed to protect you, but he makes it his task to love you, as well and who are you to complain about it when you can find happiness and love with him. <<

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 5.303 Words

Warnings: best friends to lovers, toxic ex-relationship, cheating, angst, fluff, petnames [babydoll]

Authors Note: The fanfiction is based on the song “jar of hearts”. I want to thank @mercurial-chuckles for helping me to come up with the idea and supporting me. Divider made by me.

Events: Build-A-Bucky-Bingo [Round One | August | Musician AU], Fandom-Free Bingo: Frosty Edition [O2 | Bodyguard AU | @fandom-free-bingo]

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“I know I can’t take one more step towards you, ‘cause all that’s waiting is regret,” you sang, your voice shaking slightly. You looked around the bar. It was time to let go of the man you used to love, time to finally let him know that you moved on and that he couldn’t keep you trapped in his manipulative words and promises.

John sat next to you, his hand caressing your thigh softly. His eyes were pleading as he looked deep into your eyes. He tried to excuse everything with his softness, tried to excuse the way he looked at the woman with him just being nice and a gentleman. “You should know, baby. I’m a gentleman; I had to help her with her bags.”

“I don’t mind that. I just don’t like the way you looked at her, and especially not the way you touched her,” you mumbled, shaking your head slightly. John touched not just her groceries; he also touched her lower back — a bit too low when it came to your opinion. “You literally undressed her with your eyes. Your hand was almost on her ass, that’s not— I’m not jealous when you help. But I’m annoyed when you do that.”

“I’m sorry, please forgive me,” he said, running his hand higher. You tensed when his fingers brushed over your belly. You hated that he had such an effect on you — and even more that he knew exactly about it. “You know, I just can’t help myself. I shouldn’t have touched her like that or looked at her like that—“

“And you shouldn’t have left me with the heavy bags in the middle of the parking lots to help her,” you interrupted John. He nodded, his expression still pleasing, while his hand brushed back to stroke your thigh. “That wasn’t as gentlemanly as you try to explain to me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that. But I only want you; there is no one else. I don’t love her, and so you shouldn’t think about it, okay? I love you, okay?” He asked, using his free hand to grasp your chin softly and turn your face toward him.

Only when you nodded did he smile at you and lean in to press his lips against yours. It didn’t feel the same way it did months ago — the first time you kissed or the times you kissed when you started dating him. Right now, it was more like another empty promise you tried to believe because you hoped that he really meant it.

After all, you fell in love with him. It may have been a while since that, but there must have been something you said to him that made you fall for him. So you tried to convince yourself that this part of him has to be still there, deep down in the man you lived in an apartment with and slept in a bed with.

“Okay,” you mumbled and turned your face away from him. John grinned at you before he let go of you and got up from the bed. He turned around when he was halfway through the room. He had that shitty grin on his face, the glistening in his eyes that should have told you that John was going to break your heart, but you tried to oversee it. Because he loved you, didn’t he?

“Pizza? I order some, and then we can spend the evening watching some movies and cuddling?” He asked in such a sweet tone that it made your heart beat a bit faster. He held his hand out for you, and for a moment it just felt like John was being the one you fell in love with. You nodded and giggled as you grasped his hand, letting him pull you up and against him. “Knew I could make you happy with that, baby.”

“Don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore. You lost the love I loved the most,” you continued to sing. The song held everything you never said out loud to John, everything you felt, everything that broke within you as you had to realize that he wasn’t who he made you believe he was.

One evening when you were just heading out of the bar with your bodyguard — Bucky Barnes — after a performance. He had his big hand on the small of your back, leading you through the crowd and making sure that no one was touching or attacking you.

When you reached the car, he opened the door for you, and you smiled at him before sitting in the backseat and making space for him to get into the car next to you. Bucky and you have grown best friends since he was hired to protect you. Your bond was pretty strong, and you were lucky to have such a good bodyguard but also best friend by your side.

Bucky got into the car as well, shutting the door and telling the driver to bring you back home. While he did that, you looked through your bag to find your phone, wanting to send John a message that the evening was amazing and that you would be home soon. But as you unlocked your phone and saw the message, your jaw dropped and your eyes watered.

Your best friend, who leaned back and looked at you narrowed his eyes. His body tensed immediately, and you were gritting your teeth. He assumed that John did anything, except him and Bucky; you didn't have many people else who could cause tears in your eyes that fast. His voice was soft and filled with concern as he tried to figure out what brought you close to crying. “Babydoll, what's wrong?”

Without a word, you turned your face as well as your phone toward Bucky. His ocean blue eyes flickered from your teary ones toward your phone. He read the message, his body tensing further, and a low growl left his throat as he stared at your phone with an angry expression.

“D-Did he… He’s cheating, isn't he?” You mumbled, and a single tear rolled down your cheek. You swallowed thickly, watching Bucky intensely; he was obviously fighting with himself — should he tell you the truth or tell you that it may have been an accident that John didn't mean it like the message said.

He lifted his hand, brought it to your cheek, and wiped the trail of the tear softly with the rough pad of his thumb away. You inhaled deeply, Bucky scent filling your nostrils as you leaned further into him until your head rested on his muscular shoulder. “I don't know. Babydoll, I'm sorry. It definitely looks like that, but we don't accuse him before we know, okay?”

Sometimes you wanted to laugh about Bucky's way to try and solve conflicts or how he always tried to not assume something you weren’t one hundred percent sure of. But at the same time, you knew that he was right. John obviously wrote you the message that said, ‘Hey, babe. Wanna come over alone tonight!’ But maybe — just maybe it could have been a misunderstanding.

“Wanna sleep at mine tonight, babydoll?” Bucky asked as he wrapped his strong arms around your small frame. You nodded, your face still hiding in his shoulder. Your heart was aching, broken, but at the same time you didn't feel as bad as you thought you would. They warned you that John was a playboy, that he would cheat at some point, and they weren't wrong. But you know that you would never fall too deep because you had your bodyguard — your best friend — who held you before that would happen.

Bucky told the driver to drive to him before you reached your house, where you would have seen the car that didn't belong to you or John. The car that was still familiar to you because it belonged to John's assistant. “He doesn't deserve you, and once he finds out you deserve better, he will regret leaving you in the dirt like that, precious girl.”

“I learned to live half alive, and now you want me one more time.” A few tears fell down your cheeks. Not because it was hurting you but because you finally were able to let go — to finally feel the relief to let go of the man you thought loved you.

The day after you found out about John cheating on you, you were back at his house — also your house. You didn't have much stuff you wanted to pick up from there but a few important things before you would move in with Bucky. He always told you, if you need somewhere to sleep, you can come to him, and after last night he offered to move in with him. He wanted to come with you to pick up your stuff, but since you asked him to get something for dinner, he told you to pick you up in half an hour to drive home.

“Baby, where were you? I was worried,” John said as you walked into the house. He was still sleepy, in just his sweatpants. You had to swallow down the lump in your throat while you blinked away the tears in your eyes. He could have worn a shirt at least to cover the scratches on his shoulders and the hickeys all over his chest.

“Next time, take care that she doesn’t leave such trails,” you mumbled, nodding toward him. John looked at his body, cursing under his breath while he tried to come up with a good explanation for all of it.

“Listen, I'm sorry, I was stressed and—” John said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. The two of you knew it wasn't the first time he was cheating on you; it wasn't the first time he ‘was stressed’. You shook your head, smiling softly through the pain of everything you went through because of him — the lies, the doubts, the feeling to never be enough, to everything he did while you tried to be perfect for him. “I'm sorry, we can talk, and I will change; you know I can change if you want me to.”

A soft chuckle left your lips; it wasn't funny, not at all. But you just couldn't help yourself when he said that. “You don't have to change; I never wanted you to change, and I still don't want it. I wanted you, not a person you pretend to be because you can't keep your dick in your pants.” You explained, a tear rolling down your cheek. Saying that out loud was not as easy as all the talks you had with yourself in your mind. “Was it me? What is that that made you cheat on me? I just… I just want to understand. Because the times you told me you love me and that we are a team, it was all a lie, wasn't it? Would you love me… Would we were a team, then you wouldn't even have thought about cheating; you could have talked to me. So what was it that wasn't enough for you?”

“I said I was stressed!” John said loudly, making you flinch. He groaned, annoyed. “Don't fucking flinch, or I will give you a real reason. I said I would change for you, so get your shit together and stop acting like the victim here. I'm sorry, I was stressed. Now calm down and stop this little tantrum of yours.”

More tears rolled down your cheeks. In your good times with John, you liked to forget about this side of him, the dark and threatening one. He showed you this side the first time you had a really big argument and you said you would sleep at a friend's house. You ended up in the bedroom you shared with him with a locked door until you were begging him to forgive you.

“I'm breaking up, John. This is not a tantrum or anything. I break up because you cheated on me,” you said quietly, trying to push past him to get your back. His laugh was dark and low as he grabbed your arm and pulled you back to stand in front of him. “Let go, please.”

“So you can run away? Do you think anyone wants you more than I do? They only like you because you can sing and your pussy is good enough for a night, but more than that, you're nothing. They are all just nice to get you into their bed; if they got you there, they throw you away, and you will crawl back to me, slut.” John smirked, lifting his hand to wrap it around your throat.

You closed your eyes; your breath was shaking. But to your surprise, his hand never settled around your neck. When you slowly opened your eyes again, you saw Bucky standing behind John, his big hand tightly wrapped around John's arm and holding it away from him. Bucky pulled John away from you, standing between the two of you to offer some distance and comfort for you.

“Babydoll, you good? Take it slow and get your stuff; can you do it?” Bucky asked softly. You nodded, smiling softly, before you wiped the tears off of your face and made your way to get all the stuff you needed. You heard Bucky discussing with John, and even though Bucky knew you could handle yourself, you were happy he decided to come in to check on you.

“Who do you think you are? Runnin’ ‘round leaving scars, collecting your jar of hearts. Tearing love apart.” Your voice was steadier with every word you sang. The pain and the tears that you wasted for John were finally the past. Your eyes roamed through the room to the bar, where you knew to find the man who didn't mind collecting every little piece of your heart but even put it back together in the most wonderful way you could ever imagine — someone who showed you what real love meant.

“He's the past now, babydoll,” Bucky mumbled as he held you tightly pressed against his chest. The two of you were lying on the couch, watching one of these cheesy romantic movies after the other.

After Bucky helped you with John and your stuff to finally break free from that manipulative man, he brought you both home. Wrapping you in a blanket and offering you all the ice cream, snacks, and cuddles you could ask for.

Only when the tears rolled down your cheeks, wetting his shirt, he knew it was okay to talk about John again. Bucky could read you like a book, knowing that you would be stuck in your thoughts as long as you needed, and once you were ready to talk, you would either do it or let him know in any way. Crying in this case.

As much as he hated to see you stuck in your thoughts or crying, he knew it was your way to get through stuff, to get over the situation with John. Bucky knew everything that happened between you and John; he was more than your bodyguard; he was your best friend, your safe place.

“You were and will never be the problem. He doesn't know how to treat a girl, his girl,” Bucky assured you, his calloused hand moving up and down your back while you tugged yourself further into his side. You inhaled Bucky's scent deeply — sandalwood, vanilla, and just him. “You're enough. He lost the most precious thing he had; it's his loss, not yours. babydoll.”

“But why cheating? He could have broken up, or whatever, but he cheated." You mumbled into Bucky's muscular chest, feeling the urge to sink your teeth into his meaty chest. Bucky was well trained, his shirts tight enough to expose everything that was hidden underneath, unless he was working, then he wore a hoodie that covered his thick muscles.

When you thought further about it, he always wore stuff that hid his figure, only showing as much as needed. While others would walk around, showing off their well-trained bodies, he only did it when he was home or around you in hotels or backstage. You even saw him multiple times without a shirt, drooling over his massive muscles and the way his skin was softly glistening from the water of the shower he had before.

“It’s not that I love him anymore, but the pain he caused... why cheating?” You asked once again, turning your head so your mouth was just above the swell of Bucky's chest. Before you could hold back, you confessed your thoughts to Bucky. “I really want to bite into your chest; it’s so perfect, I always wanted to try it.”

Bucky chuckled softly, causing his chest to vibrate slightly against you. “First of all, cheating is a way for some men to compare things. He knew he wasn’t as perfect as you, so he cheated with someone less worthy than you. Or maybe he did it just because he’s a dick, maybe both. But breaking up means losing you, so he couldn't just do it. He wanted you by his side, but he wanted more. Not because you weren't enough, but some idiotic men need a fuck with a younger woman to feel younger themselves.” Bucky explained, his thick fingers moving from your back to comb through your hair. He turns his head, a soft smile across his lips as he kisses your forehead softly. “Maybe you should bite into it then; try if it's as good as you think it is.

“You're gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul. So don't come back for me. Who do you think you are?” A soft smile creeped onto your lips as you looked over the crowd toward your boyfriend, who smirked at you. Bucky was the person who was the proudest of you; he knew what you went through; he was by your side every step from the time you met. Bucky couldn't be happier to call himself your boyfriend now, knowing that he was the reason for the beautiful sparkle in your eyes and the cute smile on your face — a smile that always lit up his world.

“Bucky?” You mumbled quietly as you walked into the kitchen. Bucky was standing with his back toward you. He only wore a pair of sweatpants, revealing his thick back with a few red stripes and hickeys. “He wrote a message.”

The brown-haired pushed the pan away, turning around with widened eyes as he watched you intensely. You hold up your phone, the messages John sends all over the screen, and you walk another step closer toward Bucky. He instinctively reached out, wrapping one of his thick arms around you to pull you against his chest.

"Dickhead doesn't know when it's enough, does he?” He muttered, taking your phone from your hand and looking over the messages John sent you. Bucky really hoped that John would let it be, that he would let you be happy, but John had other plans, trying to get you back with manipulation and in every way that he knew would hurt you.

John: You know damn well that I love you, so stop your little tantrum and move your fucking ass home.

John: Going out with Barnes now, huh? Do you think he wants more than your fucking cunt?

John: Once he gets your pussy, you will crawl home to me. And I tell you that now, you better think about a way to apologize, or I will fuck all those bitches you're so jealous about in front of you.

John: Better think about dating Barnes; no one will love you. I'm the only one, and you know that, to get your shit together and come home, bitch.

Bucky looks at you, his expression soft, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You know he only wants to manipulate you. I love you; I really do.” Bucky presses another kiss to your forehead, his warm, plump lips lingering against your soft skin. “I love you more than anything, babydoll.”

“I love you, too, Buck.” You giggled softly, wrapping your hand around Bucky's wrist and moving a bit away from him so he could look at your phone again. You scroll down, revealing a message you send to John. “I responded to his messages; I just wanted to show you.”

You: You can call it a tantrum all you want; you can tell all your friends about it. Like you always did, no one of them cares about the truth anyway. You're pathetic, cheating on someone who was willing to give you everything. But I don't care about it anymore; I don't care about anything we had. It was an experience we had; it doesn't matter if it was good or not because now it's the past. And it's good the way it is, because the bitch won't come back to someone who treats her that poorly. You showed me you can wet your dick everywhere, so continue doing it.

You: Plus, you’re the one crawling back to me here. Trying to manipulate me like you did way too long already. Would he only want me for sex? He would have had more than one opportunity to do so. But Bucky isn’t like you. He doesn't jump on the next best girl, and also not on me. He knows how to spend time without needing any sexual activities. You may think he only wants one thing, but I know him better.

Bucky looked from your phone toward you, a wide grin across his handsome face. He nods slowly, causing a strand of his brown hair to fall into his face. You reached up with one of your hands, brushing the strand behind his head before you kissed the tip of his nose.

“I don't care what he calls me; I don't care what he says. I know you're by my side like you always were,” you mumbled with a soft smile. Bucky placed your phone on the counter next to the two of you, wrapping both of his arms around your waist to pull you even closer against his broad chest.

“Like I always will,” Bucky said, his lips pressing softly against yours. “I'm proud of you; that prick can fuck all the girls he wants. But he can't have my babydoll.”

“I hear you're asking all around if I am anywhere to be found. But I have grown too strong to ever fall back in your arms.” The song continues, and you feel the excitement inside of you growing. It was the last song you dedicated to him. You know you found your happiness in the man, who sits with a proud smile and light eyes at the bar, watching you intensely.

“He's looking for you, babydoll.” Bucky mumbled, pulling you closer toward him so he could shield you from John. It was just after one of your performances, and you hadn't seen John in the crowd, but the moment you wanted to get back to the car to drive home with Buck, your boyfriend spotted him. “He even asked the staff about your performance.”

You nodded, looking around. Bucky pulled his hoodie over his head without thinking, earning a lot of glances and even a few gasps from the women around you as he revealed his trained body to everyone. Even though he wore a thin sweater, it was like a second skin and didn't leave much to the imagination.

“Now they are all staring at you,” you chuckled, running your hand over Bucky's shoulder to his chest. He shrugged, smirking as he held the hoodie above you. It was warm and smelled like Bucky, and for a moment you felt like it was just the two of you. “Smelling good.”

“Not as good as it will smell when you wear it a bit. Now let's get out of here; they can stare at one another; this body here belongs to you, just like my heart. I only have eyes for you, so there is no need for them to stare at me like they could have me, because they can't,” Bucky explained, his voice low but soft as he leaned even closer. He put the hood over your head and wrapped an arm tightly around your waist. “Damn, you look fucking amying in my hoodies; you should war them more often.”

“So you can complain that you can't focus on working when everything smells like me?” You asked quietly so no one would hear the two of you. Bucky laughed softly. You had a point; he said that once.

“It smells like you anyway. So, forget what I said; you’re adorable in my clothes. Show everything that you belong to me.” Bucky led you out of the little club, toward the car. The two of you were pretty sure no one was following you because, with Bucky’s hoodie, you weren't as visible as yourself. And Bucky was known to wear clothes that covered more of his body than those tight second skin stuff.

But when you reached the car, a familiar voice came from next to you. A cold shiver ran down your spine, and you pushed yourself further into Bucky's side. “Was looking for you just to see you with your little bodyguard, huh?”

You slowly turned around, Bucky's arm still tight around you. You were face-to-face with John, who smirked at you. And you wanted to punch his face so hard, but you didn’t, not wanting to get any trouble. Even though you were pretty sure everyone would understand and support your decision to mark his face with a pretty print of your hand.

“You should stop tracking me; stalking isn't nice. We broke up, and my little bodyguard is actually pretty big and strong, so you better watch your dirty mouth,” you grumble, earning a soft laugh from Bucky, whose eyes were focused on you.

He always knew what you were capable of, but he never thought you would face John like that after all he did. But you did, and he couldn't be more proud of you. Bucky felt only happiness and love when he watched you. Even though he knew he was a part of making you stronger than you were because of his support and his unconditional love, he fell even harder in love with you.

John gasped, not knowing what to say. You never dared to talk back to him like that and slowly noticed that he messed up. That he lost what he should have loved, but you found someone who gave you what you were always looking for and what you deserved. It didn't mean he would give up to get you back, but he knew it wasn't as easy as he thought.

“Once he's bored of you, you will come back to me,” he muttered under his breath, turning to walk away. He muttered some more, but you didn't understand what and you also didn't care. You knew Bucky wouldn’t get bored because he wasn't John. Bucky was different, sweet and loving, taking care and helping you to raise instead of pushing you down.

“It took so long just to feel alright. Remember how to put back the light in my eyes. I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed.” You continued to sing, your eyes roaming further through the crowd until they settled back on Bucky.

“Can’t you just forgive me?” John asked; he found out where your next performance was and booked a ticket under another name to get close to you.

Unfortunately, Bucky was busy getting the car parked. The two of you were sure that John wouldn’t dare to be seen there because he wouldn’t be allowed to get inside if they read his name on a ticket.

But with another name on it, he was allowed to get into the club. And now he was standing backstage with you, his hands pushed into the doorframe to block your way.

“I said I’m sorry. I love you,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You really think you found someone better than me? He’s your bodyguard, but he can’t offer you what I can.”

“Right, he can’t. Because he can offer me so much more. He loves me the way I am, and he helps me to reach my goals, to grow, and to achieve what I would like to. He’s so much more than just my bodyguard,” you explained. John shook his head once more. “I hope you find someone who will show you the love he shows me. Because then you will understand.”

John groaned frustrated; he pushed himself backwards and away from you. He didn’t know what to say; he wanted to curse or insult, but he knew it wouldn’t help. John wanted to beg, to tell you he would be better, but the way your eyes lit up when you talked about Bucky. He never saw them glistening like that when you were with him. It was Bucky who made you happy, who brought back the love and joy after John ruined it.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked from behind John. His voice was low, and he sounded slightly mad. You noticed his tensed muscles, smiling softly to assure him that everything was fine.

“I wanted to go right now,” John mumbled before pushing past the bodyguard. Bucky looked after him only when he was out of his sight. Bucky turned to you and grinned at you.

“Thought he could get you back? When does he understand that you’re mine?” Bucky said, walking closer and you backwards until your back was pressed against the wall, and he caged you between him and the wall. His arms on both sides of your waist as he pressed himself against you and kissed you softly. “All mine, my precious babydoll.”

“Cause you broke all your promises, and now you’re back.” Your eyes move once again over the crowd, and a familiar face appears in the back of the club. You swallow thickly. “You don't get to get me back.”

You didn’t feel anything for that man anymore; he was just like a memory of your past. Someone you used to know, someone who used to love — but also someone who hurt you and betrayed you.

You thanked the people for listening, and before you could walk off the stage, you saw someone storming toward you. Your lips curled up into a smile as you turned around and looked directly into the ocean blue eyes of your boyfriend.

“Fuck, I’m so proud of you. You showed them all, babydoll,” he mumbled, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was soft, his plump lips moving softly, and you felt all the warmth he’s always causing once again erupting inside of you.

The crowd cheered and screamed, but for you, there was just Bucky. The world shut up; it was only you and him. His hands were holding you by your waist, pulling you closer into him.

“Thank you, I love you, my everything, my Bucky,” you mumbled against his lips. He smirked, kissing his way over your nose to your forehead and back down until he reached your lips again.

“I love you, too, my precious babydoll,” he said loud enough for the people in the club to hear. He claimed you in front of everyone, and he loved it. Bucky then lowered his head to your ear. “Now, let’s get somewhere private, because I need to kiss you so much more. I need to kiss you so badly, babydoll.”

Taglist: @pono-pura-vida @sergeantbarnessdoll @rogersbarber @kimmie113080 @sebastianstanisahotmf

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glamourscat · 3 days ago

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¡Shidou’s hcs and character analysis!

tw// childhood trauma, violence, reference to possible SA in his past, my writing cause I didn’t proffered this

PHYSICAL TOUCH!! Friends, lovers or even just acquaintances, he has the bad habit of seeking touch, small or big doesn’t matter. From shoving to fidgeting. It’s different obviously base on the relationship you have with him. Are you two friends? Expect playful shoves, ruffling each other’s hair, if sat together legs or shoulders will touch casually. He is the type of person to laugh and slap your shoulder while laughing.

If you two are lovers: hand holding (he does that thing of rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand), kisses, hair ruffling, legs intertwined, hugs from the back, nibbling/biting. Pressing his forehead against yours. SQUEEZES. Especially if you have more fat on you, he would *love* it. The need to hold you close and squish your rolls or chub.

I personally see him as unlabelled. I know a lot like to hc him as gay. And it does make sense, but one can flirt with guys and it doesn’t erase the possibility of being into women too. That said, I do believe he has a preference for guys, especially aesthetically, but ultimately his choice of a partner would be base on mental compatibility and aesthetic attraction, no gender. I feel he is into someone who truly enjoys being their true self and doesn’t conform to society norms, more on this in a sec.

He is complex, as we see glimpses of this in the “egoist bible” and during his internal dialogue (like in the U20 arc). I don’t think he would be a bad boyfriend, but neither would he be perfect. Objectively speaking, he does have a rough, almost explosive side. But that’s a side he brings onto the football field. How he is outside of football we don’t really know. He is shown to be someone who values uniques, and also strength, complimenting other players strengths. He is not a demon, he just so happens to be a human with a deep complex personality. He seems to value peace in his life outside of football, which is something you don’t expect from him. Because he gets presented as this brute individual and yet he is the same who pops out this answers: “What made you cry recently?” At the end of the day when I become nothing, tears come out.

“What will you do on your last day on earth” Watch it as it reaches its end

“How would you spend your day off?” Be free from everything and become nothing

His answers are, intense, are they not? Which leads me to several thoughts. 1) He is very lonely. Using humour and anger to defend himself, a common trait of children who were abused, neglected in their childhood.

2) base on this, I feel in a relationship he would enjoy someone who has similar vibes to him but ultimately is different. Someone he can be chaotic with, someone he can laugh as loud as he wants, someone with who he can gossip and still have deep conversations at the same time. Ultimately, an artistic partner would be the best. Not only because he is into art, mostly as a way to cool down and shut down his brain, but because an artist or even a writer can see the world under different shades of colours rather than in greyscale. Classical introverted x extrovert duo, with the exception that the introvert individual becomes as extrovert as him when they are alone. His partner is his ancor. He will need to feel at peace from the turmoil inside of him.

3)his home life was not the happy kind. Now, this has been long speculated and I will give my 50 cents on the matter. Let’s analyse his favourite movie, manga and song:

Music > hide. Especially "Pink Spider"

Movie > "A Clockwork Orange"

Manga > "Chainsawman"

On the base line all three explore the darker sides of humanity, the need for personal freedom, and the consequences of defying societal norms. They create a raw and intense narrative about self-destruction, survival, and transformation.

But if we dive deeper > the movie mainly depicts SA, it’s a twist mix of violence, societal injustices and lack of free will… “Chainsaw man” it’s all about violence, power imbalance and manipulation. Denji was a tool from the start to end (again, lack of free will). The song, explored themes of internal chaos, the darkness in humanity, destruction and emotional turbulence and the psychological tool that that violence and abuse leaves on people. I mean… can it be any more obvious? His whole character is shown to be this brute, rude, violent individual but slowly we are being feed details into his insight. Like how deeply philosophical he is, artistic and yet he is genuinely over sexualised. Maybe is a reach, but I don’t think that movie, the song and the manga choice are casual. They are a mirror image into the possibility that his childhood was pretty much terrible. That his sexual comments, which come off as almost distasteful, and feel icky in a way, are a projection of what he went through. Trying to use a distorted sense of humour and the violence he grew up with, to shield himself from what’s his personal life and past.

Like when he was locked up, his reaction was intense. He was close to begging to be set free. Again— lack of freedom, he hates not being able to be free. Something could have been taken away from him in the past. Maybe is as simple as a culture thing— as we know Japan is a rather modest country with certain unspoken rules. Its traditional outlook on things such as gender and sexuality are the total opposite of Shidou’s persona. His appearance is loud, his personality is loud and it alls screams “look at me I’m here” and yet at the end of the day he is still a lonely being.

I recently reread the U20 chapter where he enters on the field. His inner monologue he uses biology (specifically fertilization) as an analogy to scoring. Many people interpret it as him making a connection to sex, but for me, it didn’t read as such. Maybe it’s my literature student nerd ass, but, I took from his inner monologue a sense of need in terms of leaving a mark onto this world. He speaks how art leaves a mark, so does books, buildings and obviously children, showing the family legacy. Proof that something existed before them.

Shidou feels that his legacy, his needs, are validated through scoring. He feels seen, people are cheering. He is leaving a mark. Which ultimately could be validating a lack of emotional attention he received when he was a child. To me, all of these references and the constant sexual innuendos are a meaning for something deeper. We saw how each character with a heavy backstory has a trait or something in them that screams “something is not right”. Like Rin’s personality being a result of what happened between him and Sae. Can’t think of anything else to add, maybe I will add something later. If you have any opinions, I am more than willing to read them!! Feel free to reblog/comment :))

#Glamourscatwriting #blue lock #shidou ryusei #shidou x reader #blue lock shidou #bllk shidou #shidou headcanons #character analysis #character angst #blue lock headcanons #bl Shidou #headcannons #my headcanons #anime and manga #blue lock manga

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oshiawaseni · 9 hours ago

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Gonna write some meta about ch 431

After inferring Izuku could be by his side if he wanted to, and him indirectly telling Izuku he’s the standard he holds everyone to going unnoticed… it seems to me like Kacchan is releasing Izuku… for now. “If everyone is special then no one is special”… this kinda ties into what Shigaraki said to Katsuki for me. I get the impression that Kacchan believes in his core, that Izuku treats everyone special and Shigaraki had mistaken CYH for “extra special treatment” when, in Katsuki’s mind, loving and protective is really just how Izuku is to everyone.

The dig back at Kacchan for not thinking higher of himself or not noticing “obvious things” (Izuku’s feelings) is pretty sussy and very open to interpretation. It feels like they’re both not risking anything to explore the possibility for more. They’re mirroring each other’s hesitation.

This dynamic is basically inferred later, when Katsuki comments “peaceful idiots” at Kaminari and Jirou who are not taking a leap of faith to start a relationship themselves. “Lame losers” doesn’t really capture the nuance of Katsuki’s feelings towards himself and Izuku. Heiwa boke… two idiots not reflecting upon their obvious feelings for one another - all to keep a harmonious relationship describe bkdk to a T.

He’s projecting. Him and Izuku are also peaceful idiots with their dynamic too. So that’s why Katsuki let Izuku go. I’m sure a big part of him yearned for Izuku. Yearned he would turn around and not go to Ochaco. And that he’d realise Katsuki’s deepest feelings he holds tightly to his chest.

But Izuku won’t know who he is unless he fully experiences life and his feelings and what everyone and everything means to him. He needs context to understand who Ochaco and Katsuki really are to him. So Katsuki is showing a great maturity letting Izuku go. Also… Something something, if they come back again, they’re yours forever.

So my take away from all this is “They may be right for each other but that doesn’t mean they’re right for each other now” and these two peaceful idiots will surely get it together someday. Especially if Katsuki goes to those communication classes and they learn to understand each other better. 🤭

(Again, to me that’s Izuku wishing he could understand Kacchan’s subtleties and indirect way of talking better. They both have always sucked at truly understanding each other’s feelings for each other and finding a point of connection to act on those feelings.)

Kacchan is self aware of all of this. He has Izuku on a pedestal and feels he’s in an unrequited love. And since his apology, he has left the ball in Izuku’s court. It has to be Izuku to grow, to decide who he wants and who he wants to be. And Katsuki is okay with the cards falling where they may. And this, my friends… is unconditional love and why I loved this ship so much to begin with. He will always love Izuku and respect his choices and allow Izuku space for his internal growth. He’s a beautiful soul.

And in all that talk of destiny earlier, lies a certain knowing for us, that what is meant to be for them, will be. Bkdk for me is an inevitability and I think sensei did a good job to convey this to those who understand this immeasurable love and string of fate that runs between them. Bkdk have always existed in the realm of the unspoken, one just needs to open their heart to what’s really being said and implied underneath the surface. 🧡💚

#Bnha 431 #kana writes #bkdk #bakudeku #you light up my world like nobody else #line me up next to Kacchan like… Katsuki is his world #Kacchan just freed him to find another side of himself #the side that wants a special romantic love #and will one day be comfortable asking him for it #this is probably my last meta about hero aca I just had to put these thoughts somewhere

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purrlockswatson · 2 days ago

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Phantom of the Opera (1990), you did Erik proud

Alternate title: Christine, we have beef!

(Meme inspired by this post.)

I have not a bad word for this Erik (and not just because I can feel a certain friend of mine holding a chandelier over my head). The 1990 adaptation made some big changes to the story, but it perfectly captured the childlike soul of Leroux's Erik that is often lost in translation but vital to him. (When I was explaining POTO to someone outside the situation, i. e. my mum, two things I kept using as comparisons were a child and Gollum - not because he's a chaos gremlin, I was trying to describe how he has a skewered perspective of the world that isn't evil but doesn't follow the accepted moral system. But that's for another time.)

I found myself trying very hard not to resent Christine - a first time for me. I will defend her choosing the Compte de Chagny over Erik, she doesn't owe Erik love, no matter what he did for her. The problem is that she took on a responsibility she couldn't possibly carry.

Never, ever assume to fully understand someone. Especially someone like Erik, who thinks and exists on a different pane as most people. Christine was wrong, terribly wrong, to assume she 'knew his heart.'

When faced with a person so sensitive, so particular, when being the one person trusted by a person who trusts no one, don't make huge gambles like that. She shouldn't have assumed she knew what Erik needs better than he does - he told you he is happy with where they were, then stay there with him! Instead, she pulled the 'I can fix him' and shattered him completely. I don't hate her for being unable to catch Erik when he falls, I hate her for blindly promising to catch him and failing him.

(I do realise how much of the above describes myself and my worries about how people treat me, so fair warning, I may be a bit biased.)

An opinion: in every version, Erik emotionally manipulates Christine but here, Christine is the one who is emotionally manipulative. ('Manipulative' may sound malicious, but manipulators aren't always aware of what they're doing.)

In the second part of the series, she said at least three times 'If you love me...' Now, that is one of my least favourite sentences to see and hear in the best of times, but this is somehow even worse because Erik DOES do everything because he loves her. In other versions, there is the question of obsession against love when it comes to their relationship; in that context, I would accept her saying this. But here, Erik is not possessive.

As for Monsieur Carrière, I have beef with him too. An even bigger, tougher slice of beef. He is proved to be irresponsible: not once, but twice, he got in relationships and then left this partners when they have children. First time could be a mistake; the second time, especially when kept Erik's mother in the dark about his marriage, is inexcusable. Yes, he stayed with her till the end, but then left their son in a basement. Yes, he reached out to Erik in the end, but too little, too late. If Erik is emotional and irrational, it's because Carrière never gave him the guidance he should have.

Christine and Carrière love Erik, I don't doubt it. But it's still painful to see Erik fall down through everyone and everything that should have caught him: his talent, his parents, Christine.

If you'll excuse me, I need to cry in the catacombs and draw something miserable.

#phantom of the opera #poto #poto 1990 #erik poto #erik the phantom #christine daee #charles dance #phandom #cats #art #artists on tumblr

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chaifootsteps · 1 day ago

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College Anon back after so long. Got swamped with, well, college and every time I came in, your ask box was closed haha! Forgot most of my criticisms because these shows are forgettable so sorry if this is disjointed.

Anyways, WHAT THE FUCK. The new episode is SOOOO bad. The jokes are bad apart from a few at the end, the plot is nonsensical and shouldn't have happened right now, the song is TERRIBLE. I made a whole rant in the YouTube comment section because I was genuinely so disappointed.

I had found Full Moon quite good from what I remember because, to me, it was so obviously pro-Blitzø and a turning point for Stolas... Yeah. I should have known I was wrong.

As for the HH leaks, I only watched episode 2. I'm disappointed that Lute is yet another female character centered around a man. I don't like that she's also in love with Adam. It feels like there's too much emphasis on romance instead of friendships and further entangles her with Adam, therefore taking away her agency.

Pentious... I love him! I LOVE that his story is about inaction. It's a great message but his inaction was so heinous that it justifies him being sent to Hell unlike Chidi from The Good Place who showed that they needed a Purgatory for neutral people. Pentious here NEEDED to go to Hell for what he allowed to happen.

I also think this explains perfectly why it's him and not Angel. Because let's be honest, Angel doesn't deserve to go up there. His crimes on Earth and in Hell are a lot harder, if not impossible, to redeem. Him becoming a victim does not take away from the hurt he and his family caused. He could help raise the fact that being sexual isn't a crime and that Hell pushes people to get worse, with punishment unfitting for their wrongdoings. But unlike Sir Pentious, he wasn't a good person and actively harmed people. It wasn't that he was pushed to it when he was a decent person before, he simply got worse and had his remorse disappeared. In the end, it makes the fact that Charlie chose HIM to represent her goal of redemption laughable because Pentious is, he was always so obviously The One. It makes Angel's jealousy and insecurity tragic, which I wish they would explore, because he was right. He SHOULD BE. He likely won't reach redemption or not as easily. Pentious was the one to help Charlie's dreams come true and bring change, help making the afterlife better. And, my God, that would be SUCH a good concept and arc for Angel, especially when he's in a toxic, messy, and deeply abusive relationship, in a job he loves and hates, struggling to make new friendships work as a new him.

I know none of what they set up will be used or used well but the premise is good and so when they introduce these things, it makes the episode good. It's just that what comes next isn't. Pentious crying at the end of the episode is heartbreaking. The jokes land (love Abel! Great foil to Adam, I wish they introduced Cain for funsies. Saint Peter (iirc) is also pretty funny. I like that Sera is the only competent person in the room, it explains a lot (esp when you could infer that Adam nudged her in the worst direction possible) and just works), the songs are nice, the visuals are promising. The story is meh but it IS character-driven and that's working.

That said, of course it's gross to use a real life situation as backstory even though it's become akin to a legend/myth. I think they should have had something similar, maybe inspired or a clear reference to it, but not the actual deal. People died! Thousands lived in fear! A little bit of respect please!

Also, I still hope that Adam is brought back for REAL. NOT shoved in as fanservice as I bet happened but as a genuine foil to Pentious and the idea of redemption. Something to keep angels accountable, something that proves God gives a fuck. Let there be an actual cycle. We KNOW angels can fall. Between Lucifer and the Cherubs, we have ample proof. C'mon this would give Vaggie an arc, development and a backstory. Adam is a genuinely funny character with lots of potential, his VA is AMAZING and his music genre slaps. Bring him back you cowards!

Last note: it feels like the songs are FINALLY finished. Unlike Season 1, it doesn't feel like a draft or like they're missing instruments or an entire part (often a bridge). I might be biased because I don't care about ballads and Lute's song shares a rock-ish sound with Adam, whose songs were the best of the soundtrack, but it feels like there's some improvement here.

If your ask box is still open, I might send what I commented on the lastest HB episode because I feel like it's a decent critic but whatever. Been a while, hope you're doing well and that you aren't as harassed as before by the shitty fandom Viv is cultivating!

Ahh, I apologize for the frequently closed ask box! I hate the thought of people coming in with something to say and being met with that, but as of this moment, it's pushing 1,000. But I'm happy to report that the Viv standom's been mostly leaving me alone!

These are excellent thoughts, definitely agree on the music -- it seems to be a pretty prevailing opinion -- and I hope you're doing well too!

#Anonymous #college anon #actual blog post #viv stuff #hazbin leaks

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wardensantoineandevka · 2 days ago

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y'know, maybe it's just because I love and really enjoy characters like Illario and relationships like his and Lucanis's, and I'm often a fool who hopes even burnt bridges can be mended, even if they're different now, but—

I do NOT understand it when people who DO spend time understanding and articulating that Illario is a complicated person whose motivations are tangled, his feelings toward Lucanis are messy and contradictory, he clearly carries and has to continue to carry a lot of grief and regret and heartache alongside that rage and resentment and bitterness, and the entire situation is full of a deep and often self-inflicted pain from all sides, and then they turn around and go, "And that's why Illario is an awful and despicable person who should suffer forever because it is the righteous and just hell for terrible monsters like him, and he should know a moment's peace and rest, and his soul should rot forever as he morally deserves because he's clearly incapable of getting better." (Not an exact quote, but I HAVE seen some these specific phrases and still this is not at all exaggerating some sentiment I've personally seen.)

Keeping in mind that like, this is different from wanting his life to be a living hell of his own design as a Put That Guy In A Situation and because it's interesting to gnaw on the idea of him having to carry that burden forever (same), I mean, when people acknowledge the complexity of his situation and how complicated and contradictory his relationship is to Lucanis and his tangled emotions about a cousin he seems to still love, and then they STILL vindictively want him to suffer bc they feel he's irredeemable and rotten and horrific to the depths of his soul. I don't personally and emotionally get that. (Do not take this as an opportunity to explain it to me. I see where it comes from intellectually. I don't comprehend it emotionally.)

I don't get this perspective on Illario especially when this is a game about how none of us are doomed to be that which we've become, none of us are doomed to play the villain we think we must be if we accept our own redemption, none of us are undeserving of a second chance or beyond saving if we only just take the hand when it is offered—and he is, after all, at Minrathous.

#Maybe it's because I also personally have a fraught and difficult relationship with my siblings #I keep getting notes on that post I made with the screenshots about Illario that are so... vindictive toward him and I'm like. Why.#DATV things #DATV spoilers #Illario Dellamorte #Dragon Age: The Veilguard #Dragon Age #Eh I won't do a full suite

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justevelynnnn · 2 days ago

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Magic🍃

Summary: Scott has a headache so you offer him something w/ “magic” to help

Content: Scott summers x Mutant!Fem Reader

Warnings: mentioning of weed infused brownies and them being consumed & a couple of swears…

A/N: I got this idea from somewhere but I can’t remember where…it was on here actually and I was like omg I have to write this ! Ugh I love him so much….

You and Rogue made “brownies” while everyone was gone earlier. Gambit also tried to help but kept messing up so Rogue kicked him out however, he was invited to try a piece still when they were done. It was you three’s secret even though Xavier himself literally already knew, he just didn’t say anything. As long as you guys were responsible he supposed.

But it was others you worried about. Like Wolverine who probably would huff them up in minutes or Beast who’d lecture you for hours about the negative effects. Or…Scott.

The leader made it clear he was a by the book guy. Neat, serious, a rule follower ….whatever. Point was, he didn’t play games. So recreational usage ? Yeah, no. Nope.

You hide the rest in the oven since no one really cooked in there anyways and went back outside. Rogue and Gambit went off somewhere and you wanted to enjoy some outdoor air while these brownies kick in. You spent alot of time out there especially as a result of your mutation. Your powers allowed you to control all things nature. You could move water at will, control wind (but not as good as storm can), grow plants quickly and more. You loved all things nature related especially things you can use in your day to day life like herbal medicines. Or growing tea leaves to drink or even coffee beans.

You were also really into growing weed.

You knew not to get too high especially when important missions were coming up or when you knew a meeting would take place later on so only during your guaranteed free time did you try anything. Rogue caught you once but was really chill about it so now sometimes she gets high with you. But no one else. It was risky doing it but it really helped calm your nerves. Plus, Logan smoked and drank all day long so was it really that bad?

Once outside though, you see your beloved leader sitting on a bench with his head in his hands. He’s muttering something odd. Concerned, you go over to him. Maybe it’s because off the edible that he seems this way? He’s mumbling gibberish. His energy is off. Really off. You just hope that he can’t see how there’s a tint of red in your eyes.

“Hey…Scott? Youuuu okay?” you ask. You lift a hand to touch him but he suddenly looks up at you a bit, startled like he didn’t hear you approaching, which caused you to bring your hand back quickly.

“M’fine.” He says, almost in a groan. He puts his head back down and asks, “Did you need anything?”

“No..just…checking in you?” You don’t know why it came out as a question.

He says nothing.

It’s awkward for a second or two as you just stand there. It hits you that this may be one of his headache episodes Jean told you about. You felt bad for him. You wanted to stay but you get the feeling he wants you to fuck off.

He just groans again, probably in annoyance that you’re still here. It was very unlike him to act like this. This is the first time you’ve seen him in such a, pained, awkward state.

It hurt even more because he was secretly your..crush? You guess that’s the best way to describe it. It wasn’t crazy. Maybe you just admired him a lot as a strong leader. Maybe it was his good looks…. maybe. You just hoped it was a phase. It didn’t help him and Jean have a complicated relationship thing going on that he seemed more attentive to rather than looking for someone new to replace her.

You get an idea. It may be crazy but you didn’t know what else to do. Plus, you were a bit high so your decision making was a bit wonky. You rush inside the mansion and b line to the oven. You grab half a brownie and a bottle of water from the fridge. As you walk back outside you see Scott’s hands caught in his hair. It definitely seems like he’s getting worse. You hoped he accept this and not scold you and kick you off the freaking team or something.

“Hey…um, I brought you something…” You say, sitting next to him.

He lifts his head again and looks in your hands. “Water and….a brownie…?”

He says it low, like he almost was thinking out loud. He’s clearly confused.

“It..um..it has something in it that I think will help you…”

His hands are in his lap now and he’s just staring at you. His gaze feels strong for some reason even though he has the visor on.

He looks back in your hand and gently takes the brownie from you. You watch him slowly take a bite of the brownie, almost like he’s skeptical.. or maybe he is.

“It’s good, but how will this help?” Scott looks back at the ground as he finished the brownie. You almost feel guilty. You play with the bottle in your hand nervously as you think on whether you want to tell him or not. You’re scared of the possibility of him lashing out that you just secretly fed him cannabis.

It’s a couple of seconds before you answer. “They’re justtt, special.”

“Special how?”

“There’s something inside that will help you relax….”

Silence.

“….But, how?”

The question come out a bit sharp, you assume he wants a straight answer but also wonder how he can’t get the hint or has no idea seemingly. You can’t blame him though, why would he suspect a team member to be in possession of weed?

You sigh as you prepare for the worst.

“They have… weed inside.”

Scott slowly turns his head at you. He’s smiling weird. You accidentally clench the water bottle and out the corner of your eye you see some plants move around you two.

“…..What.”

You just stare nervously at his blank smile. You can’t ever really read him or his expressions sometimes but he’s definitely annoyed. Probably mad. Hopefully not furious. Definitely not happy.

It spills out of you. “I’m…I’m so sorry! I just wanted to help you and I know you hate weed and drugs and all that stuff but you looked like you were in so much pain and I just wanted to help and I know I might get kicked off the team but-”

“Hey.”

You stop. You feel a tear slipping from your eye.

“It’s okay.”

Your mouth drops. “W-what?”

“It’s fine. It’s not posion.”

You’re still frozen as Scott grabs the bottle. He’s…okay? Maybe you had too much of the brownies earlier….

“You’re…okay..? But, you hate weed! You said you-”

“I know.” He takes a weirdly large gulp of water. “But you had good intentions. So it’s fine.”

You’re still in shock from his nonchalance. Maybe he’s gonna yell later. Maybe he didn’t really understand that you just gave him a drug that he’s made so clear in the past that he hates.

He finished the water bottle quickly and just lazily throws it behind him. Okay, this may not be Scott. This might be Mystique. Or you’re hallucinating.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Or even, Scott…?”

He laughs at this but quickly winces. “Yes, I’m Scott. It’s just my head is making it hard to care about much right now.”

“Soooo, I’m not in trouble?”

“Professor knows about your sneaky behaviors already, y/n. Did you forget he can read minds? See through walls?” Shit.

You look down sighing. “Nothing gets past him. Seriously.”

“Nope.” Scott leans back on his hands. “But since he’s okay with it, so am I. Plus, Rogue told me last week.”

“Ughhhhh!” Embarrassed you put your head in your hands. Or course, Xavier & Scott knew. How could you be so dumb?

“So, when do these kick in? Sure could use it right now….” Scott looks at you smiling again. He’s amused at your embarrassment.

“It takes awhile…maybe another 40 minutes…?” You say looking away. You can’t look him in the eyes or, well, eye right now.

He laughs again. He believes it’s a placebo that’s making it seem like his headache is fading already because normally he wouldn’t be able to even move right now.

“Y’know…you’re kinda cute flustered..”

He says it so quiet you almost don’t hear it. Shocked you look back at him.

“What? Cute?”

He just nods and goes back to looking ahead at the garden in front of you two. Still shocked you just stare at him for a bit and then look at your feet. Your heart is beating quicker now and okay, why is your face heating up? You’re starting to think this is more than just a crush at this point. Not when everything he does make you feel like this.

You two sit and enjoy the sunset in silence as Scott noticeably relaxes more and more. It was only about 3mg so he shouldn’t be too affected. Just enough. He’s slouched on the bench now, it’s honestly a very rare sight to see him slouched…well, anywhere. He’s smiling at nothing again. You look at him as you literally watch him enjoy his first high. His red visor of course hides his eyes but you imagine they’re red now like yours. Deep down you’re just glad you could help him and his pain ease. And you’re a lot happy that you’re not getting expelled from the school.

Flowers grow at your feet as you just stare at him, heart fluttering. The soft warm light shined on his blissed out face, making him glow beautifully. You notice his relaxed strong arms and his soft pink lips and now tinted pink cheeks. He turns his head slowly to you like earlier except more relaxed. His dorky smile in full view now makes your heart skip a beat and you face heats up more. The flowers grow taller and there’s a slight breeze.

“Y’knowwww? You’re reallyyyy pretty…and kind….i like you, y/n…” He says it slow with that same smile.

You struggle to respond with anything more than, “Thanks, Scott…” because oh my god?!? Holy shit?? Scott Summers just said he thinks you’re pretty. This evening couldn’t get anymore magical.

You spent the rest of the evening watching the sunset with him as he laid a head on your shoulder. High Scott was quiet but definitely more laid back and more open. You enjoyed it a lot. And when it got fully dark you helped guide him back inside just to sit on the couch and enjoy each others company once more.

#scott summers xmen #scott summers x reader #scott summers imagines #xmen #xmen scott #scott summers #cyclops x men #cyclops #cyclops imagine #x men cyclops #i love him #I need to be his wife

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leftoverghosts · 2 days ago

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i am drowning

there is no sign of land.

Patrick's announcement hit you like a tennis ball to the gut. He had just gotten back from winning the junior US Open, but instead of celebrating together, he was ending things between you. The sharp sting of disappointment cut through your heart as you struggled to make sense of it all. This wasn't the end of your relationship, though.

patrick zweig x reader. patrick x tashi. mentioned tashi x art.

warnings: angst. like angst for the sake of angst. sex at the end. some curse words. not for minors. p in v sex. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. patrick sleeps with reader for a bed.

nori says: hiiiiiii, i've been lurking in the challengers tag and now have something to contribute. this is heavily inspired by the break up scene in whiplash. it just feels so patrick coded. also, i love tashi, it's not her fault that the boys were weird about her. send me ideas if you want to! xoxo.

word count: 4,818

2006, September. Per Se Restaurant, Manhattan.

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend.” Art had told Tashi, and Patrick had responded with “I do not”.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“I can’t believe your dad let us use his reservations. This is the coolest thing ever! I feel so grown up,” a cheerful voice interrupts Patrick’s thoughts, pulling him back to the present moment. Sitting across from you now, celebrating his triumphant win at the Junior US Open, he can't ignore the guilt and doubts that gnaw at him. Though you were never officially a couple, there were undeniable feelings between you two and Patrick had pursued you relentlessly. He couldn't resist your sweetness, especially since you’ve been friends for so long and despite being just a teenage boy with wandering eyes fixed on tennis skirts, even he understands that you genuinely care about him.

Patrick thinks with all the agony that the thing between his legs can muster, that he’s an asshole, that he shouldn’t of fucked up this situationship only to chase after a girl who made him compete for her attention. Part of him hates himself for betraying your trust and pining after someone else, but the other part of him is drawn to Tashi in a way he can't explain. She gets him, but more importantly, she understands true tennis.

Patrick fidgets with his cup of water, tracing your name on the condensation as if it holds some sort of salvation. But deep down, he knows that no amount of apologies or excuses can change what he has done.

"Listen, I have to be honest with you," Patrick finally speaks up, his voice strained with emotion.

You pause, feeling a sense of unease settle in your stomach as you wait for him to continue.

"I can't keep pretending that this is going to work out. My dreams of becoming a professional tennis player are consuming more and more of my time and focus. And when I am with you, all I can think about is training and winning matches."

As his confession sinks in, your world tilts on its axis. The realization hits you with startling clarity - his passion for tennis surpasses everything else in his life, casting a shadow over what bloomed between you. You always knew that tennis was important to Patrick, but you never fully understood just how significant it was until now. Your mind flashes back to all the times you thought tennis was just a hobby for him, a way to cope with his parents' high expectations. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you realize that this is not how you imagined your relationship with Patrick ending. You try to hold back your emotions, but they overflow despite your best efforts.

"You'll probably start feeling like I'm ignoring you and get mad that tennis is more important to me than our relationship," he continues, regret evident in his eyes. "And if you ask me to ease up on my training, I won't be able to comply because this is my passion. It's what I was born to do."

"Where is this coming from, Pat?" you ask, your voice trembling with hurt. You had never wanted to come between Patrick and his dreams, but now it seems like there was no other option.

“It’s been building up for a while.” In the midst of shattered expectations and unspoken regrets, Patrick's gaze meets yours fleetingly before retreating, unable to withstand the weight of your hurt and disappointment. The truth hangs heavy in the air - priorities laid bare, futures diverging like roads leading into different horizons. "Because sooner or later, we will start resenting each other for not understanding our priorities. It's better to end things now before they turn toxic."

"I can't believe this, I thought we were in this together." Your palms are clammy and your heart races as you try to process everything. You had been nothing but supportive of him, rearranging your schedule whenever he came home from the academy just to spend time with him. But now he’s telling you that it wasn't enough.

"We were, but I wanna be one of the greats.” He sighs.

“And would I stand in your way?”

“Yeah.”

“You know I would, you're sure about that?” You ask, wishing this would just stop. “Yes.” He reaches out to take your hand, but you pull away, unable to bear his touch after what he's done. "I'm sorry," he mutters, his face contorted with guilt and sadness, and the knowledge that he’s a liar. That this conversation is only happening because he’s chasing greatness and Tashi Duncan.

"I'm just a naive girl to you, aren't I? Someone who will never measure up to your grand ambitions.” As the words tumbled out of your mouth, your voice quivers with hurt and disbelief. You couldn't comprehend how someone that you love could make you feel so worthless. “You'll leave me behind as you chase after greatness," you cried out, feeling utterly small and insignificant in his eyes. “You don’t understand me. You never have." His accusation is like sharp, dagger-like punctuation mark, ready to cut off any lingering hopes and pierce through the heart of your relationship.

You look at him, feeling a mix of anger and heartache. "Why did you even bother pursuing me then? If your tennis career was always going to come first?"

"I'm sorry," he finally says, his voice heavy with remorse. "I never should have said those things."

His apology hangs in the air, hollow and insufficient. The bustling restaurant fades into the background as you try to comprehend the sudden change in your reality.

"Sorry doesn't fix this, Patrick," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Patrick runs a hand through his curly hair, frustration etched across his face. "I know, I know. I'm messing everything up. It's just... there's so much pressure. The tennis, my parents, the academy. And now..."

He trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You lean forward, searching his face.

"And now what, Pat? What aren't you telling me?"

Patrick's blue eyes meet yours for a moment before darting away. "There's someone else," he admits quietly.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces, each shard piercing your chest with unbearable pain. The revelation hits you like a serve you never saw coming, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You struggle to find words, your mind reeling from the betrayal.

"Someone else?" you finally manage to choke out, your voice barely audible over the clinking of glasses and murmur of conversation around you. "Who?"

Patrick shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your gaze. "Her name is Tashi. We met at a party after the tournament. She's... she understands tennis in a way that—"

The name strikes a chord of recognition. Tashi Duncan. You've heard whispers about her – the rising star in the tennis world, known for her fierce determination and unmatched skill on the court. Suddenly, everything clicks into place. The late-night phone calls, the distracted looks, the growing distance between you and Patrick

"That I never could," you finish for him, bitter understanding washing over you. Of course. Of course it would be someone from his world, someone who could match his ambition step for step.

"I think she could make me really happy," Patrick says, his voice pleading for you to just get it.

“You know, I really do hope that you make it. I hope you get to be number one or whatever,” You let out a wet scoff, he could have at least let you finish your meal. “But I’m glad that I’ll never understand you, Patrick.”

With those words, the conversation comes to a halt as you both sit in stunned silence. The waitress brings over your food, but neither of you have an appetite anymore. Patrick pushes his plate away, his stomach churning with guilt and regret. He realizes now that breaking things off like this is a mistake, he’s a coward, he shouldn’t have met up with you in person.

2019, August. Parking lot of a Roadside motel, New Rochelle.

Patrick slams his fist against the side of his beat-up Volkswagen Tiguan in frustration, feeling the sting of anger and disappointment course through him. His phone remains pressed to his ear, waiting for you to pick up, but it rings on with no answer. He begins and deletes a desperate text to you, twice, before finally you're calling back and he answers on the first ring. “Hey! Got a weird favor to ask you. Your new place is near Westchester, right?” His voice trembles with nervousness as he taps his fingers anxiously against the car door.

“A whole year, that’s a new record for you. Run out of money already?”

“Shit,” he swears under his breath, trying to use some charm or magic to convince you. “You know how the tour goes. I’ve been struggling to stay afloat. But uh, how’ve you been?” He forces a smile through the grimace as he thinks about his current financial state - a checking account with only $70 left. It’s a far cry from the greatness he once promised he was leaving you to pursue.

“Go to hell, Patrick.” The line goes dead and he pulls the phone away from his face, staring at it in disbelief as if willing you to call back. He knows you, so he waits anxiously until a notification with your name appears again on the screen, accompanied by a new address.

Same day. Private residence, Bronxville.

Everyone knows that Patrick's parents have stopped providing financial support for him, and even though your own father would be furious if he knew you were aiding this deadbeat, you can't bring yourself to let him go without. It's only the occasional bit of cash for gas or food, but Patrick always finds a way to repay you in ways that you didn’t even know you needed. There is an unspoken agreement between the two of you that hangs heavily in the air.

Despite everything, you can't turn him away completely, even knowing he will never truly change. Tennis is his first, great love and with the Donaldsons in town, you can't help but think Tashi might still be his second. And you, you are nothing more than a temporary lifeline – a benefactor to someone who will never truly appreciate your sacrifices.

His heart races with guilt and desperation as he parks his car and approaches your door. He knows he doesn't deserve your help, but the familiarity of these meetings brings a sense of safety.

You watch from your living room window as Patrick's battered Volkswagen pulls into your driveway. The sight of him emerging from the car, all scruffy charm and desperate energy, sends a familiar pang through your chest. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the encounter to come.

As Patrick approaches, you open the door before he can knock. He stands there, looking simultaneously sheepish and hopeful, his eyes searching your face.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft. "Thanks for... you know."

You scoff at his attempt at gratitude, your bitterness cutting through the air like a knife. "Is that supposed to be a thank you? I didn't know you knew how to use manners," you retort, your tone dripping with resentment. It's not like you to be so angry, but Patrick always has a way of bringing out the worst in you.

You step aside, allowing him to enter and close the door after him. Patrick's eyes dart around your new place, taking in the tasteful decor and the obvious signs of your success.

"Nice place," he comments, his voice tinged with a hint of envy.

You shrug, maintaining your emotional distance. "It serves its purpose."

Patrick nods, fidgeting with the hem of his worn t-shirt. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words and shared history.

At thirty-two years old, in the final stages of your cardiology fellowship, your father still treats you like a child who is expected to become an astronaut neurosurgeon, or some other fantastical career straight out of a Barbie movie. Meanwhile, your mother constantly laments about not having any grandchildren to spoil, as if that is the sole purpose of your existence. You often snap back with sarcastic remarks, such as suggesting that your cat could use a new diamond-encrusted bowl, a sharp retort that only serves to deepen the tension between you. The truth is, you yearn for an escape just like Patrick did. If you had any talent for tennis, you would have run away long ago.

Patrick clears his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "I, uh... I really appreciate you helping me out. I know I don't deserve it, after everything."

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're right. You don't deserve it. But here we are."

He takes a step closer, his gaze intense and pleading. "I never meant to hurt you. Everything just got so complicated, with tennis and Art and Tashi and—"

"Don't." You hold up a hand, cutting him off. "I don't want to hear about her. Or about tennis. I’m not sixteen drooling over you anymore. I don’t need to pretend that I care. That's your world, Patrick. It always has been."

He looks down, shame and regret etched across his handsome features. "I know. I fucked up. I fuck everything up."

Despite your anger and resentment, a part of you softens at his vulnerability. You've known Patrick for so long, seen him at his best and his worst. And even after all the heartbreak, there's still a connection between you that refuses to die.

"Why do you keep coming back here, Pat?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why me?"

Patrick lifts his gaze to meet yours, and for a moment, you're transported back to that fateful dinner at Per Se, when your world first began to crumble.

"Because you're the only one who really knows me," he admits, his voice raw with emotion. "The only one who sees past the bullshit and the bravado. Even when I don't deserve it."

Your heart clenches at his words, the irony in them isn’t lost on you.

“I still hate you.” You say as you step forward and wrap your arms around him, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours. Patrick stiffens for a moment before melting into the embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "For everything."

You close your eyes, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability, of connection. Tomorrow, you'll go back to your separate lives - you to your fellowship and the weight of your parents' expectations, Patrick to his endless pursuit of tennis glory and the shadow of Art Donaldson. But tonight, in the quiet of your home, you can pretend that things are different, that the choices you've made haven't led you down such divergent paths.

As the embrace lingers, the air between you shifts, charged with a familiar tension. Patrick pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, asking a silent question. Your breath catches in your throat as his gaze drops to your lips, and you know what comes next.

It's a dance you've done before, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of your lives. And as Patrick leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, you let yourself surrender to the moment, pushing aside the hurt and resentment that has festered for so long. His hands roam your body with a desperate urgency, as if trying to memorize every curve and contour before this fleeting connection inevitably fades away.

You melt into his touch, your own hands tangling in his curly black hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, a clash of tongues and teeth. Patrick's fingers find the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath the fabric to caress the soft skin of your waist.

A moan escapes your lips as his touch ignites a fire within you, a burning desire that consumes rational thought. You tug at his clothes, needing to feel his skin against yours, to lose yourself in the physicality of the moment.

Patrick responds in kind, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck as you head towards the bedroom. You stumble together, a tangle of limbs and half-shed clothing, until you fall onto the bed in a heap.

For a moment, you stare at each other, chests heaving, eyes dark with want. His lips trail scorching kisses down your neck, his stubble rasping against your sensitive skin.

"Pat," you gasp, arching into his touch as his hands touch wherever they can reach.

He pauses, hovering above you, his eyes dark with desire and something more, something akin to regret. "Tell me to stop," he whispers, his voice strained. "Tell me you don't want this."

But you can't. Because despite everything, the hurt and the anger and the years of distance, you do want this. You want him, even if it's just for tonight, even if it's a mistake you'll regret come morning.

"Don't stop," you breathe, pulling him back down to you.

Your shirt is discarded, followed by your bra, as Patrick's hands and mouth map the newly exposed skin. He lavishes attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around each nipple until they peak into hardened buds. You writhe beneath him, your nails digging into his broad shoulders as the pleasure builds.

Patrick's lips trail lower, blazing a path down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. He pauses, glancing up at you through his lashes, silently seeking permission. You lift your hips in response, and he tugs the denim down your legs, taking your panties with them.

Exposed and vulnerable, you fight the urge to cover yourself, to hide from the intensity of his gaze. But Patrick looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, his eyes filled with a reverence that steals your breath.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his hands skimming up your thighs, spreading them wider. "I never deserved you."

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you, his tongue delving into your folds, lapping at your most sensitive spots. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as he works you with expert precision, stoking the fire that burns within you.

Patrick slips a finger inside you, then two, curling them just so as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. The dual sensations are almost too much to bear, and you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge, your body tensing in anticipation.

"Pat, I'm going to—" you gasp, your words cut off by a moan as he redoubles his efforts, determined to unravel you completely.

And then you're shattering, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of blinding ecstasy. Patrick works you through it, his fingers and tongue gentling as you come down from the high, your body trembling with aftershocks.

He crawls back up your body, pressing tender kisses to your skin as he goes. When he reaches your lips, you taste yourself on his tongue, a heady reminder of the intimacy you've just shared.

"I need you," you whisper against his mouth, your hands fumbling with the button of his jeans. "Please, Patrick."

He helps you undress him, kicking off his jeans and boxers until he's as bare as you are. His erection springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach, and you reach out to wrap your fingers around him, reveling in the velvety softness of his skin.

Patrick groans at your touch, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Condom," he grits out, reaching for his discarded basketball shorts.

You wait impatiently as he rolls the latex over his length, your body thrumming with anticipation. When he settles between your thighs again, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of fullness. Your breath hitches as he slowly pushes forward, stretching you deliciously as he fills you inch by inch. A low moan escapes your lips at the exquisite sensation of him inside you, his thick length pulsing with need.

Patrick stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his forehead pressed against yours as he struggles to maintain control. "God, you feel incredible," he rasps, his voice strained with desire. "I've missed this. Missed you."

The confession tugs at your heart, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you once shared, the love that never quite died despite the pain and the years apart. You cling to him, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper.

He begins to move then, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm that builds in intensity with each thrust. You meet him stroke for stroke, your bodies moving in perfect sync, as if no time has passed at all. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the mingled gasps and moans, the whispered words of encouragement and praise.

Patrick's mouth finds yours again, his kisses deep and demanding, as if he's trying to pour all of his unspoken emotions into the press of his lips. Your fingers tangle in his curly black hair, tugging lightly as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter within you.

He shifts the angle of his thrusts, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. Patrick hisses at the sting, but it only seems to spur him on, his movements becoming more frantic, more forceful.

"Touch yourself," he commands, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you come around me."

Obediently, you slip a hand between your bodies, feeling the heat and sweat radiating off of Patrick's skin. Your fingers glide lazily over his chest and down towards the area of need. However, unsatisfied with your own rhythm, Patrick's fingers boldly enter your mouth, collecting the saliva and making you involuntarily gag. Without hesitating, his fingers make their way back down to their intended destination, gently nudging yours out of the way. His thumb finds your clit, tracing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation sends electric shocks of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your inner walls to flutter around his throbbing cock.

You arch into his touch, your hands now exploring the hard planes of his chest, tracing the lines of his happy trail.

As Patrick moves within you, his eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you can almost pretend that this means something more than a temporary escape, a fleeting connection in the midst of your fractured lives. But deep down, you know the truth.

This is all you can ever have with Patrick - stolen moments of passion, brief respites from the weight of your respective burdens. Tomorrow, you'll go back to being strangers, two people whose paths diverged long ago, held together only by the tenuous threads of history and desire.

With each deep thrust, Patrick stokes the fire building within you, pushing you closer to the brink of release. The fingers of his other hand dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he drives into you with increasing urgency, chasing his own climax.

"I'm close," he pants, his breath hot and ragged. "Give me another one. Come with me, baby. I’ve got you."

The endearment slips out unbidden, a echo of the past, of the tender moments you once shared. It's enough to send you tumbling over the edge, your walls clenching around him as euphoria floods your senses. Patrick follows a heartbeat later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he spills himself inside you, his hips jerking erratically with the force of his release.

As your breathing slows and reality seeps back in, the weight of your history, of all the unspoken words and unresolved hurt, settles heavily in the room. Patrick rolls off of you, disposing of the condom before collapsing onto the mattress and pulling you to him.

For a long moment, you lie tangled together, chests heaving, hearts racing in sync. Patrick's weight is a comforting presence, his face buried in the crook of your neck as the aftershocks of pleasure gradually subside.

But as the haze of desire dissipates, reality begins to seep in, cold and unforgiving. You feel Patrick tense against you, his body growing rigid as the magnitude of what you've done settles over him. He moves away from you, tugging on his boxers in swift, mechanical movements.

The silence that stretches between you is heavy with unspoken regrets, with the bitter knowledge that this changes nothing. You pull the sheet up to cover your nakedness, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in the harsh light of aftermath.

You turn your head to look at him, taking in the familiar lines of his profile, the curl of his lashes against his cheek. "What are we doing, Pat?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighs, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "I don't know," he admits, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I just... I needed this. Needed you."

Your heart clenches at his words, a bittersweet mix of longing and resignation. You know you should put a stop to this, to the cycle of hurt and temporary solace that keeps bringing you back together. But the pull between you is too strong, the history too deep.

"I can't keep being your escape, Patrick," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "I can't keep pretending that this means something more than it does."

He turns to face you then, his lake blue eyes searching yours, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable in their depths. "What if it could?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if we could make it mean something more?"

For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine it - a life where you and Patrick find a way to bridge the gap between your worlds, to build something real and lasting. But the dream fades as quickly as it forms, the harsh realities of your lives intruding once more.

"I wish things could be different," Patrick murmurs, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "I wish I could be the man you deserve."

Your eyes search his face for a glimmer of the boy you once knew, the one who stole your heart with his reckless charm and unbridled ambition. "We both made our choices, Pat," you whisper, your fingers reaching over to brush a stray curl from his forehead. "We can't go back.”

Patrick moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to you, shoulders hunched with the weight of his thoughts. You watch him, your heart aching with a familiar longing, a desperate wish for things to be different.

“I don’t even know what you really want from me. I doubt you do either. You’re just latching onto me because I’m something steady to grab a hold of.” Your voice is soft, tentative. “Look at me, Pat.”

He flinches at the sound of his name, as if the mere utterance is a painful reminder of the intimacy you've just shared. "Don't," he says, his tone flat, emotionless. "Please, just… don't."

You swallow back the words that threaten to spill out, the confessions and pleas that will only fall on deaf ears. Because you know, deep down, that Patrick will never be yours, not in the way you want him to be. His heart belongs to the court, to the thrill of the game, to the relentless pursuit of greatness that has consumed him for as long as you've known him. And the more it alludes him, the more desperate he is to obtain it.

And you? You're just a temporary port in the storm, a fleeting respite from the chaos of his life. A reminder of the girl he left behind, the love he sacrificed on the altar of his ambition.

Patrick stands abruptly, reaching for his discarded clothes. He dresses quickly, efficiently, his movements sharp and purposeful. You watch him in silence, a lump forming in your throat as the weight of the moment settles over you.

“Will you stop?” You sit up, pulling the blanket around you. “Just sleep here for tonight, Pat. You’re being difficult for no reason.”

Patrick's steps falter as he turns to you, his grip tight on the fabric of his shirt. His face is a mix of anger and frustration, but then it transforms into a vulnerable expression that catches you off guard. He runs a hand through his hair before letting out a heavy sigh. "I know I shouldn't ask after what happened between us...but will you come watch me play tomorrow?"

#patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #challengers x you #challengers fanfic #am i too late?#norimadeit #noriwroteit

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 2 days ago

Text

a/n: so excited to share my fic for the eras tour fic challenge, so creatively and wonderfully put together by @wyattjohnston and @comphy-and-cozy 🥰 my song was ‘the last time’ so i definitely leaned into the angst here (with an extremely healthy dose of smut). it’s not necessarily a toxic relationship, but i think there are undertones of toxicity there. anyway! enjoy and let me know your thoughts!! ❤️‍🔥

word count: 3.9k

tw: on and off relationship with some minor toxicity, oral (f receiving), fingering (f recieving),

summary: william’s at your door again and you keep letting him in even though you shouldn’t

“No.”

Your tone is flat and you cross your arms over your chest, a protective measure as much as it is a display of your feelings towards the man standing in front of you. Your lips flatten into a straight line and you can feel your shoulders tense up.

“Sötnos,” William murmurs the Swedish term of endearment and braces his hand on the doorjamb.

“No,” you repeat yourself, just as firmly. “How did you get up here?”

It’s a stupid question. Your doorman, Gus, loves William - thinks the sun shines out of his ass, especially after William had dropped comp tickets off at his desk a few times during the season. Of course Gus is going to let him upstairs, not that you’d actually told Gus to ban him. You should’ve told Gus to ban him.

“Don’t answer that,” you snap, before he can open his mouth. “Just leave.”

He looks rough, dark circles under his eyes and a downward curve to his lips that seems deeper than superficial. The Leafs had been eliminated two nights ago, bounced by the Bruins in seven games after William had been the only one to score a goal in that final game. A sharp, uncomfortable pang of sympathy for your ex settles in your chest and you wish it didn’t.

“Sötnos, c’mon. Let me in,” he’s borderline close to a plea. The term of endearment falls too easily from his lips, your second name during the time you were dating.

“I’m serious, William,” you sigh, suddenly exhausted down to your bones. “I’m not doing this. I can’t do this.”

His blue eyes sharpen and his jaw sets. “Do you have someone over?” The question is sharp and uncalled for, jealously practically dripping from his pores. At any other time you’d love his reaction, but it’s too little, too late and just annoys you more.

“Even if I did,” you hiss, “it’s none of your fucking business since you dumped me, remember?”

You’ve been on and off for more than a year, both of you too stuck in your ways to really commit. It was simple at first, to be at each other’s place when you were both in town, to say you were dating - boyfriend and girlfriend had been easy labels - but for all of William’s easygoing Swedish ways, he can be difficult and stubborn.

Not that you’re perfect either, happy to have your free time and flirt at bars with handsome men after a few drinks with your girls. But somewhere along the line, you’d made the stupid mistake of wanting more from him. Sure, you’d gotten a drawer in his dresser and your stuff occasionally cluttered his condo, but you’d also spent four of the last six months broken up when William decided that he needed to focus on hockey.

He’d come around your place after his eight-game goalless streak was broken and you’d gotten back together just as the Leafs were clinching a playoff spot. You’d spent the night with his head between your legs, him wearing your thighs as earmuffs and eating you out until his beard was soaked and your legs couldn’t stop shaking.

You’d thought that time was different, all the sweet words he’d spoken into your skin, alternated with pure filth.

There’s an 88 blue satin bomber jacket in your closet, unworn, that you thought was a sign that things were different. A jacket that William had apparently approved when the other girls had asked him about including you.

Joke’s on you.

Dumped two days before the playoffs started, by a William who was stressed and anxious and, as you found out later, suffering from migraines that would keep him off the ice for three games.

The sympathy settles again, like a rock in your stomach.

“I remember,” he says now, shoving a hand through his hair. “Let me in, please. I just want to talk.”

“The last time we talked,” you air quote the word, “you fucked me so hard I nearly forgot my own name and then dumped me three weeks later. So, forgive me if I’m not feeling chatty.”

Subconsciously though, you’ve stepped back into your apartment and William’s stepped inside. The door is still open, his body blocking you from being able to close it, until he moves to the side and closes it himself, leaning his back against the wood.

“Then let me talk,” he says. “You just listen.”

You’re mad that you even brought up the sex, but you’re surprised that William didn’t latch onto that with a sly comment and a smirk.

“I don’t want to listen,” you sound petulant. “I’m tired of letting you in, thinking things are different, only to find out that I don’t matter to you.”

William’s eyebrows fly up his forehead and his eyes go wide. “What?” He nearly shouts, suddenly fired up. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I don’t matter to you,” you repeat, slower, emphasizing each word. It feels like a knife in your chest, to voice the feeling you’ve had for weeks. “We’ve been doing this dance, you come to me when you’re on an upswing, drop me when you’re not. It’s pretty obvious, William, where I land on the list of things you care about.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not obvious to me,” he says, stepping away from the door. “Explain to me where you think you fall.”

“I’m not doing that,” you snap. To your horror, tears well up in your eyes. “If you don’t know what I am to you, I’m not explaining shit.”

“Of course I care about you, of course you’re important to me,” he says, reaching for your hand. “It’s hard, with hockey, to balance…”

You can’t help it, a scoff slips past your lips, the derisive sound stopping William in his tracks. “You’re not balancing anything,” you mutter. Ticking them off on your fingers, you list out the last three breakups, “you dumped me when the season was staring, when you’d gone on the goalless streak, and now, when playoffs were starting. Clearly, I am not as important to you as hockey is. So, I’m done. This is the last time I let you in, go play hockey, William.”

His entire face pulls down in an unhappy expression, eyebrows scrunching together over his nose. “I fucked up, okay? Is that what you want me to say? I’m not used to having to take someone else’s feelings into consideration, but I’m trying,” he reaches out for your hands and you don’t stop him, against your better judgment.

William’s hands are warm and dry and you hate the little spark of desire that flickers low in your stomach when he rubs the pads of his thumbs over your knuckles.

“It’s too late,” you shake your head, your hands still in his. “I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to let you keep stomping on my heart.”

“Let me make it up to you,” his tone is sweet, cajoling. His hands move up your arms, thumbs tracing over the veins on the inside of your wrists. You shiver and he smiles. “Let me prove how much I care about you.”

Your lips twitch at the corners and you fight the smile that threatens. William’s hands trail up your arms, cupping your elbows briefly to pull you closer and you go, stumbling slightly on the step into him. His fingers tighten around your elbows and you pout at him, your resolve weakening with William’s proximity, the woodsy cedar scent of his cologne filling your senses and making your head fuzzy.

You’re good at this, the both of you. Being fun, flirty with each other. The sex is unbelievable, it’s so easy to fall back into his arms when he looks at you with those icy blue eyes all liquid heat and desire.

“Are you going to let me show you how much I care, sötnos?” William’s voice is a low rumble that makes goosebumps rise on your arms, the memory of that voice speaking filth into your hair as he fucked you like his life depended on it.

“This is the last time,” you swear, rocking forward on the balls of your feet. William grins and meets you halfway, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His hands are cupping your cheek, the back of your head to position you at an angle for him to deepen the kiss.

You moan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body against the length of his. You can feel the ridge of his erection against your stomach, hot through the layers of clothes. William’s fingers tangle in your hair, tugging until there’s a sharp prick of pain in your scalp and you gasp, arching against him.

“Make the best sounds,” he mumbles against your lips, pulling back slightly, grinding his hips against yours. “Missed those sounds.”

He feels so good, solid against you and you’ve missed him even though it’s only been a few weeks.

“Will…” you whine his name, gasping when he bites and sucks at your pulse point, a flood of arousal between your legs. You roll your hips mindlessly, desperate for more. You’re unbearably wet for him, your body intimately acquainted with his talents and ready for more after being deprived.

His beard scratches your skin and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your neck, the edges of his teeth pressing against your skin. “I know,” he mumbles, biting gently. “I’m gonna give you everything you want, promise. I’m gonna make it so good for you, you’ll forget your own name.”

You’re being moved, walked backwards to your couch, with William’s lips all over your neck and collarbone. His hands are on your hips, holding you flush against his cock, and you wiggle in his grip, whines falling from your mouth around pleas for anything, everything.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the couch and you’re falling, wrapped in William’s arms to cushion the impact. He braces himself, still landing on you with a little exhale and a laugh, making you giggle too. Sex has always been fun with him, laughter filling any room you’re in, and this is no different. He peppers your face with kisses, making you laugh even harder, until you’re pushing at his chest and gasping for him to stop so you can catch your breath.

“No, no,” he grins wickedly, “I’m not stopping, I’ve missed you.” His hand slides over your hip and up the hem of your shorts, two fingers teasing at the damp fabric of your panties. You buck your hips into his touch. “Feels like she missed me too.”

Heat flushes your chest and you turn your face away from him, embarrassed at how wet you are from just kissing. You mumble something, incomprehensible to both you and William, and he laughs again, teasing at your clit through the fabric. Your legs twitch to wrap around his waist, but he’s got you pinned in place with his thighs on the outside of yours.

“Don’t hide that pretty face,” he leans down to kiss you, adding more pressure to your clit so you moan into his mouth. “Had to think about you and this perfect pussy every day to get some relief. My dick’s never been harder than when I’m remembering it buried in you.”

To emphasise the point, William slots his hips between yours, pressing the thick bulge of his cock against your cunt, thrusting his hips lightly to work you up even more. Your breath hiccups in your chest and pleasure builds in your stomach, desperate for relief.

“Don’t tease,” you whine, digging your nails into his back muscles, dragging them down to leave marks. Neither of you have ever shied away from marking the other and William’s the first one to tell you to mark him up. “This isn’t happening again, do it right this time.”

“We’ll see,” William grunts, shifting so he can kneel between your legs and hook one of your thighs around his hip. You’re still completely clothed, but with your legs spread open, you feel bare to him. “We’re good at this, sötnos, we can be good at everything.”

It’s not true, you think hazily, because you weren’t good at keeping the relationship going when an outside issue popped up, but the thought is gone just as fast as William’s pulling aside the elastic of your panties and plunging two thick fingers into your cunt with an embarrassingly loud, wet sound.

“Oh! Fuuuck,” you gasp, dragging the curse out on a moan. His fingers pump in and out of you relentlessly, dragging along your front wall and pushing you closer to the edge of your orgasm. You chant his name, heels scrabbling at the couch cushions.

“Come on,” he encourages you, holding your hip in place with his free hand. “Come for me, I can feel how close you are. So tight and wet, going to cream on my fingers, sötnos?”

“Yes, yes, oh my god,” you wail, William’s thumb pressed firmly on your clit, making you see stars. It doesn’t take too much longer for you to gush around his fingers, soaking his hand and dripping down the curve of your ass. You can barely process the force of your orgasm and the shit-eating grin on William’s face before he and his hand are gone.

Your cunt clenches around nothing, suddenly empty, and your voice is slurred even to your own ears when you mumble, “what- Will…”

His voice drifts up from the floor, where he’s kneeling and pulling at your knees. “Told you I was going to show you how much I care,” he kisses the inside of your knee, rubbing his cheek against your skin like a house cat. “Going to worship you on my knees.”

You’re yanked forward on the couch, a yelp escaping your lips. William’s got your shorts and panties on the floor and your legs tossed over his shoulders before you can blink and his mouth is on your cunt in the next heartbeat, his tongue flat against your sensitive cunt. It’s hard to suck in a breath with the way he eats you out. He traces your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing at your entrance with one blunt finger while the other hand has a vice-like grip on your thigh.

He hums against you, face buried between your legs to the point where you wonder briefly if he can even breathe. His nose presses against your clit next and all thoughts are gone, blue-screened as he laps at your arousal, the scruff of his playoff beard rubbing painfully against your sensitive, soaked skin.

William grunts when you kick his back, unable to control your legs as pressure builds again. Your hands find their way to his hair, twisting your fingers in the blond strands and pulling, holding his face in place so your hips can move, grinding over his nose.

You’re barely recovered from your first orgasm and everything is still sensitive. William’s tongue is stiff as it fucks in and out of your entrance, two fingers pressed inside your cunt, keeping you feeling full. You clench around his fingers and he groans into you, nudging the tip of his nose harder against your clit.

“Oh my god, there, right there,” you babble, digging your heel into his shoulder blade, rolling your hips over his face. It’s not enough and you wail his name, desperate for more.

William nips at your inner thigh and then dives back in, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, hard. You scream his name, back arching, and fingers tightening around his hair. The bastard laughs against your clit, the vibration sending an electric shock up your spine and snapping the tight coil of pleasure in your lower stomach.

You come again, eyes pinched shut, and moaning loudly, wantonly. It feels too good, too overwhelming and you’d be embarrassed by the force of your orgasm if it were anyone but William between your legs.

William’s face pops up between your legs, your thighs trembling on his shoulders. His hair is flopped over his forehead, messy from your abuse. He’s got a massive grin on his face and his beard is soaked with your arousal. Your hands fall from his hair and land on the couch cushions, as limp as the rest of your body. You manage a shaky grin back, breathing heavily.

“Next time,” he quips cheekily, wiping a hand over the lower half of his face, “I’m bringing a snorkel so I don’t drown in that sweet, wet pussy of yours.”

Somehow, you still have the facilities to remind him, “no, there’s no next time. This is the last time, no more,” in a slurred, faint voice. You’re still dripping for him, his fingers lazily playing at your entrance, smearing slick all over the place. Your thighs tremble and twitch and he turns his head to kiss the soft skin of your inner thigh, nipping gently and licking at the spot.

He hums and you try and wiggle away from his touch, gentle as it is on your clit, you’re bordering on overstimulated. “How can I convince you that this time is different?” He asks, making eye contract from between your legs. His blue eyes are serious, pupils still blown with arousal. William’s fingers are distracting between your legs, slowly stroking you to another orgasm. Fire builds low in your stomach, stoked by his continued chatter. “Another orgasm on my fingers? You’re always so sweet after I make you come, content to curl up like a cat. Maybe I need to fuck you hard and fast, get you strangling my cock so your thoughts that you don’t matter to me are gone.”

You whine, clenching around his fingers, rolling your hips over his hand. “William,” his name is a gasp punched from your lungs as his fingers find your g-spot and bully it until you’re coming, squirting down his arm and all over the couch. Your clit throbs painfully and you sob from the overwhelming strength of your third orgasm.

William’s other hand is between his own legs, stroking his cock - you can see his shoulder moving, hear the little grunts he’s trying to muffle - and you pant, trying to catch your breath. It’s impossible and when William finally removes his hand from between your legs, sucking his fingers clean, you sob from the relief. And something else, clicking in your chest, a feeling you don’t want to feel.

He leans up higher on his knees, concern etched in the lines on his forehead. “Sötnos,” he murmurs, sliding his hands over your hips and splaying them over your stomach, stroking gentle circles, “I’m sorry, that last one was too much. Talk to me, are you okay?”

You shake your head, hiccuping and gasping. Your hand snakes out on the couch and reaches for a throw pillow to throw over your face, everything is too exposed, your legs are in the air still draped over William’s shoulders. With a wiggle, you swing your legs off of him, fighting to curl up on the couch.

“What happened?” William asks, hands on your waist, you can feel his body heat when he leans in to pluck the pillow from your face. “Talk to me, please. You’re freaking me out.”

“I…this wasn’t supposed…” you gasp out, wiping at your face with the heels of your palms. Your chest feels tight. “I don’t want to keep doing this! I don’t want to keep falling into bed and loving you and getting my heart broken, William! Orgasms aren’t going to help, it doesn’t…I can’t be in love with you and only have…”

You cut yourself off, miserable that you admitted to loving him, still fuzzy and shaky and wet from the orgasms.

William clicks his tongue and lets out a little sigh of your name, affection and amusement laced in the syllables. He manhandles you easily, slipping your shorts back up your legs and dragging you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, his cock hard and hot under your ass. “Sorry,” he laughs, kissing your cheek quickly.

You drop your face to his neck, curling close even though you just want to run and hide. “Stop being nice to me,” you wail. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Sötnos,” William peppers your cheek and neck with light kisses, hands splayed over your back. “Don’t be. I didn’t realize, I’ve been in my head too much.”

He hasn’t said it back, you can’t help but notice, your heart hammering in your chest. You want him to say it back, but only if he means it. You can’t handle any other option.

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmurs, mouth right next to your ear. “I don’t want to say it when you’re sad like this. I want it to be a happy memory for you.”

Your heart lurches in your chest and your tears taper off, the shoulder of William’s shirt damp. “I hate feeling like this,” you sigh, pulling back a little to look him in the eyes. “I need you to promise me that this is the last time I have to do this.”

William grips your chin between his index finger and thumb. “I promise,” he says seriously. “I’ll be better. We’ll be better.”

He pauses and his eyes twinkle before he says, “come with me this summer, back home. To Stockholm. I’ll show you a Swedish summer and we can figure it out.”

You find yourself nodding, encouraged by the excitement in William’s voice and the smile that transforms his face. “Okay,” you agree in a quiet voice, nodding as you talk. “Okay. What does a Swedish summer entail?”

You’re picturing long walks with the dogs, holding hands and falling deeper in love. Your heart squeezes, fragile hope and delusion at war with each other.

“Hm, chocolate definitely,” William grins and you relax on his lap. “Meatballs,” he continues on a laugh, his hands ghosting down your sides and coming to rest on your ass. He squeezes and kneads your skin, fingers digging into your muscles, “massages.”

“I like the sound of that,” you say, tracing your fingers over the seams that run from the collar to the sleeves on his shirt. William’s hands trace up your sides, under your shirt, and cup your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, teasing them to stiff, painful points and you arch into his touch, a little whimper slipping out of your mouth.

He’s hardening under you, cock twitching against your inner thigh, and you grind down a little on him.

“Let’s go to your bedroom and get the summer started,” William kisses you soundly, lips and teeth and tongue working together to make you dizzy. As if you haven’t already lost all your senses to three orgasms in quick succession. As if you’re not already in too deep.

You barely have a chance to answer before he’s locking his hands under your ass and standing up, carrying you into your bedroom. His mouth finds every inch of exposed skin and trails heat down your neck and over your chest, teeth scraping at your collarbone.

You whine a little and William promises to be good for you, to make it good for you.

You can only hope he’s a man of his word.

You don’t know how many last times you have in you.

#william nylander #william nylander x reader #william nylander x you #william nylander fic #the eras tour fic challenge

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