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reiderwriter · 3 days ago

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hi Kacie :"> it's me :"> just thinking about ''reader sitting on his face in reverse cowgirl and decides to just unbutton and zip down his pants, turning this to a 69 and somehow both of them make it into a 'who's gonna make the other one finish first' competition'' nothing much how has your afternoon been I hope you'll have a great day xx -kei

A Kei request a day keeps the chances of my going to heaven away 🙏 I <3 smut

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, use of pet names (good boy), sub(ish) Spencer Reid, munch!Spencer, oral (m +f), 69ing, rough sex, face fucking, unprotected oral sex, no plot just sex. Literally no plot.

Masterlist <3

With a cock that perfect and neglected right in front of your face, you could hardly resist the temptation to give it a tiny taste.

It wasn't like it was against the rules of your non-hookups with Spencer. He'd ask for explicit pictures twice a week, which you'd happily send for the chance to be sat on his tongue by 10pm that Friday evening, days on which cases landed notwithstanding.

Hotel rooms were very convenient hook up spots, especially the ones with free condoms and tissues on both the nightstand and by the desk chair.

Not that you ever needed condoms, really. You'd never so much as touched Spencer's cock, let alone had it inside you. He was too much of a giver to take something like that from you. His cock was always hard, always visible through his pants, but he was so focused on your pleasure, he didn't care about his own needs being met.

Spencer's tongue was your personal sex toy. You'd fucked his face multiple times, grabbing his hair and forcing his nose into the bristles of hair at the end of your pelvic bone as you ground your cunt into his wet, hot mouth. You'd laid back contentedly and let him peacefully lick and suck slowly for hours on end, cumming multiple times as he explored your sensitive parts.

You'd sat on a chair, legs spread, and let him lap up your cum on his knees, because there was nothing in the world he wanted more.

More than once, you knew, he'd walked away with cum dampening his pants, having enjoyed your moans and taste so much that he'd lost it before really touching you.

But Spencer Reid was being unfair getting you to sit on his face, to look at his big, thick cock atraining through his pants, straight on, and telling you to sit still and enjoy his tongue when all you wanted was to take him as far down your throat as he could get.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you moaned again as he nipped at your clit, tongue flicking it as you felt a familiar burn of stimulation at your core.

You were going to end up roughly fucking his face if you weren't careful. His tongue just felt too good.

You slid your hands down his stomach a bit, landing on his loose pants as you repositioned your knees.

“Spencer, that's it keep going. Good boy, good boy.”

You gripped his pants tightly, using the little bit of tension to help you arch back, pushing more of your ass onto his face than before.

But your arms, already weak from a rough day at work, slipped again pushing his pants down just one more inch until his cock could finally spring loose. You wanted nothing more than to taste it, reaching forward and looking at it intensely as your mouth watered. You didn't get closer than a breath away, as Spencer immediately stopped when your mouth almost achieved its goal.

“Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Spencer mumbled crawling out from underneath you as he scrambled to get his cock back in his pants.

“Spencer-”

“I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I'll-”

“Spencer, slow down. What?”

You'd seen Spencer flushed with desire before, but the redness of his cheeks was different somehow now. More embarrassment than anything else.

Slowly, you crawled towards him again, trying to look as non-threatening as you could, clad only in hastily pushed aside panties and dishevelled dress. Your hand slowly traced up his thigh, and you kept it there, still for a second watching to see what Spencer would do next.

“Spencer. Why can't I see your cock?” You asked, voice low but light, almost surprising yourself with how breathy and needy you sounded.

“I… I thought you wouldn't want to see…” he trailed off, and you pouted up at him, stroking his thigh as he looked down distractedly at you.

“I want to. Can I have it now?” You asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

“Y/N…. It's… I've had complaints in the past, it's not…” he struggled to find the words as your hand brushed over his crotch now tracing the bulge in his pants as his head dropped backwards.

“It's not what? Big? Don't lie to me.”

“That's not it… I get… I get too overwhelmed if you do that, I get too-”

“Too….” You mimicked, dropping a hand into his underwear as his hand fell over yours, unsure whether it was to stop you or to set the pace of your impromptu hand job.

“Rough,” he said, as you firmly gripped his cock, using your other hand to free him from his pants and underwear, knocking his hand away as you ran your palm along the length of his hard cock.

“Rough?” You said, gripping the tip of his cock, teasing it until it shone with precum.

His hand fell back over yours, more firmly this time, as he met his eyes with yours.

“I didn't want to hurt you, but I get so overwhelmed if I use it that I… I get rough, I don't listen well-”

You were practically dripping listening to his explanations for not fucking you, or even letting you see his cock.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yes! It's like… Y/N, I'd treat you like a sex toy, not a person, and I want this to be good for you, too, so let's not-”

You cut him off with a rough kiss as you pressed him back into the bed, straddling his thighs as you gently fisted his cock, rubbing up and down slowly.

“I'll make a deal with you, Spencer,” you said, between gasps of air. “I'll sit on your face again, and you let me suck your cock. When you get rough, if you get rough, you'll be able to feel how much I'm enjoying it, okay?”

He nodded between kisses, words forming and melting on his tongue as his hips began thrusting into your hand, his thigh digging into your mound as he thrashed towards a climax.

“Good boy,” you said, kissing him one last time before letting go of his cock and climbing out of his lap.

His body twitched in protest, but his big hands grasped you quickly, pulling you up the bed as you eagerly went with them, losing your panties on the way as you let your dress fall around his face in an all too familiar position.

But this time, you lowered yourself down, too, spitting on his tip quickly as his tongue got to work teasing your clit slowly.

You gave him a few pumps, before lowering yourself more completely on his face, pressing your chest close to his abdomen and taking his cock slowly onto your mouth.

Spencer wasn't small, but you also weren't going to let him be a challenge. You got a few inches down before you decided to come back up again, hands still stroking the base and massaging the rest. You did that a few times before you felt Spencer's body angle up into you again.

Changing his leg position on the bed, Spencer thrust his cock up into your mouth as you forced yourself to breathe. His cock thrust up again, quickly but totally and he left it there for a few seconds before pulling it out again.

The entire time, he hadn't let up his work on your cunt. His to guess flattened out against your clit, roughly stroking that sensitive area with a precision only he knew. A hand clasped around your hips, gripping your ass kept you firmly in place on his face, as his hips bucked into you.

He got faster, wilder, and yes, rougher.

You didn't want to pull off his dick, but moving back was instinctual. He pushed you right back in with a hand on your head, fisted into your hair as he synchronised your movements, pulling your head up as he pulled his cock away from your lips, and pushing it back down when his hips snapped up.

You moaned hysterically when you came apart on his face, feeling your cum trickling down your leg as he continued to use you to get off. His to guess never stopped, even after wave after wave of your juices hit him.

The only sign of his impending orgasm was the tightening of his hands, both of them now coming down on your head, forcing you to the base of his sizable cock as your tongue touched his balls. He came down your throat and immediately releases you, spluttering and coughing as your legs trembled.

Spencer scrambled to get you on your back, pushing you upright and patting your back as you regained your breath.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, I said it wasn't a good ide-”

You pushed your cum stained tongue into his mouth, shutting him up quickly as he tasted himself, and you tasted yourself, and your tastes mingled quickly, as you climbed into his lap again.

“Spencer,” you said, catching your breath once again, collapsing into his arms.

“If I need to beg for your cock, I will. I like it rough. I-” you gasped again, feeling his cock stirring with each word.

“I very much like it when you use me like a sex toy. So… so in the future, please use all of me, and I'll use you, too.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid self insert #sub spencer reid

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vinocean22 · 6 hours ago

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20 Things Spanking Fetishists Have in Common

Sweet Tea

Spankos are soulmates. The fetish hardwires our hearts and minds in remarkably consistent ways that aren’t usually apparent to others, so it’s always a bit magical when we chat. “Holy shit, you get me.” I still find it shocking how much we have in common. Can you relate to this list?

1. We’ve been like this for a very long time.

“I’m a lifelong spanko.” This is common in our community and not all that surprising, as most fetishes are formed during childhood. The vast majority of spankos I’ve met have either been this way for as long as they can remember, or can pinpoint a specific age in childhood when they became preoccupied with thoughts of the act. I can’t personally remember any point in my life when spanking didn’t fascinate me and captivate my attention.

2. It’s not a choice.

For many people, spanking is a kink. They enjoy it and find it sexy, but don’t necessarily consider it a requirement for a good time. For those with the fetish, however, spanking is a need rather than an option. Some of us can appreciate and enjoy other BDSM-related activities like bondage or wax play or needles, but spanking is central to our sexuality. This thing lies at the core of our soul and we couldn’t get rid of it if we tried.

We looked up the word ‘spanking’ in the dictionary as kids, not once but multiple times. This also applied to related words like ‘paddle’, ‘switch’, ‘flog’, ‘discipline’, or ‘punish’. We knew their meanings, of course, but the act of reading the definitions was exciting—arousing, even—though we may have been too young to conceptualize the feeling as sexual. If we studied a foreign language, we sat in class and wondered in the back of our minds, “But what’s the word for ‘spanking’?”

(Is this common with other fetishes? Did foot fetishists look up the words ‘foot’, ‘high heel’, ‘stocking’, etc. at the library, bashfully looking around to make sure no one else would notice? I wonder…)

4. We have, uhhh, ‘issues’ with being around it.

Non-spankos can talk about spanking like it’s nothing, but that’s not the case for people with a fetish for it. We may turn bright red when the topic comes up in conversation or feel the need to leave the room when spankings happen in movies or TV shows. For some, this is because the idea triggers intense arousal, even more so than if straight-up intercourse were playing onscreen. For others, it’s simply too intimate and embarrassing to think about unless we’re by ourselves or discussing it in the context of a sexual encounter. When I was a kid and friends publicly proclaimed, “My mom spanked me yesterday!” I felt absolutely mortified. “How can anyone talk about THAT so casually?”

5. We think about it a looooooot.

Some researcher folks have claimed we all think about sex an average of 18-35 times a day. The fetishists I know think about spanking at least this often if not more, frequently daydreaming about the smacking of butts. A fetish is, by definition, a meticulous obsession. We live and breathe it, and never run out of things to say when chatting with other spankos. We want to meet people like us and TALK about it in detail, even if we never end up playing together. It’s our favorite means of connection.

6. Our fetish has caused us hardship.

“Do you feel like your fetish is a curse?” I’ve seen this asked quite a bit on spanko forums. Most of us had to navigate a number of challenges while growing up with this thing. We felt shame, embarrassment, and isolation after realizing how different we were, and may have worried we were crazy. Our relationships with non-spankos have likely been riddled with intimacy problems because we can’t relate to each other sexually. No matter how kinky or open-minded our partners are, they’re unlikely to understand us unless they have the fetish too. As a result, many spankos become pickier over time, ultimately refusing to date those outside of their orientation. “I’d rather be single than with someone I can’t share this with.” Until we find our people, it’s a lonely world.

7. Spanking takes priority over sex.

Every spanko I’ve ever met has put spanking at the forefront of the itinerary. It’s satisfying in its own right for a lot of folks, whether or not other sexy stuff occurs before or afterward. Some spankos identify as asexual, eschewing intercourse entirely because it doesn’t interest them in the same way discipline does. Others are extremely sexual people who focus on spanking as the main course or frequently indulge as an extended form of foreplay. This is an example of why we might experience difficulty finding balance with non-spanko partners. By the time they’re ready to move onto something else, we’re just getting in the zone.

8. It’s on our mind when we orgasm.

One of the first times I had sex with another spanko, I was blown away by the level of telepathy between us. I closed my eyes and fantasized as he licked my clit. He suddenly paused and smiled. “You’re thinking about having your pants pulled down, aren’t you?” I mean fuck, of course I was, but how did he know?! With a bit more experience in the community, I realized many if not all spankos think about it while they’re getting off. The moment thoughts of discipline enter my mind I’m aroused, but I cool off just as quickly if my focus is drawn elsewhere. If I didn’t think about spanking, I’m not sure I’d ever climax.

9. Most of us have tried switching at least once.

Some spankos like to give and receive in equal share, but many have a preference toward being spanker or spankee. I’ve noticed, though, that even the most stubborn of us who proclaim, “I don’t switch!” have tried a taste of the other side out of curiosity at some point. It makes sense to want to learn all angles of the equation. I’m in favor of the idea that everyone benefits from switching. Understanding what our partners experience makes us all better lovers.

10. We want spankings to feel as ‘real’ as possible.

Often, spankees want to cry. We want to be held down and ‘made’ to take it until our spanker is done, no matter what we say or do. This makes the experience feel more real, as if we’re truly being punished by an authority figure and have no choice in the matter. Once trust has been established, some spankees will afford their partners blanket consent and opt not to use safewords. (I don’t recommend this route with anyone you wouldn’t trust with your life. There are oodles of legitimately fucked up people out there masking their abusive tendencies as BDSM. Vet your spankers well, ladies and gents.) This all exists to enhance the pleasure of the fantasy, but isn’t an invitation to violate limits. We want our spankers to be perceptive, taking us just far enough to inspire tears and provide release, but not so far as to genuinely break or traumatize us. Finding this balance is an art form that requires empathy, intelligence, communication, and skill.

11. We all have our preferences.

What implements do you like? What are your favorite positions? What kinds of spankings are your favorite to give? Bruises or no bruises? How long do you like to go for? What kinds of behavior would earn a spanking from you? These are the sexy deets we discuss when we chat, and our answers say a lot about our personalities. It’s rare for a spanko not to have feelings about such things. More often than not, we have specific reasons for liking what we like.

12. We enjoy associated activities.

To state the obvious: spankos love butts. LOOOOOOOOVE them. Naturally, we tend to enjoy other ass-focused activities in conjunction with spanking, like anal play, doggy-style sex, enemas, thermometers, and between-the-cheeks ‘inspections’. Many of us also dig other punishment-related activities traditionally associated with spanking, like corner time or writing lines. “I will not behave like such a sassy little brat. I will not behave like such a sassy little brat…”

13. For us, spanking is its own category.

I’ve noticed a desire in the spanko community to distinguish what we like from the greater umbrella of BDSM. Clearly, spanking incorporates elements of discipline, D/s, and sadomasochism. However, what most of us mean when we mention our fetish is far more specific. We’re not talking whips, dungeons, or shibari. We’re talking traditional, domestic bare-bottom OTK punishment with hands, paddles, belts, wooden spoons, bath brushes, and other goodies found in the home. It’s a comforting, parental, for-your-own-good type of vibe wherein we call our partners Mommy, Daddy, or other titles that convey nurturing familiarity. Very different than, say, having a cold ‘master-slave’ dynamic in a relationship, which tends to be a bit too much for our taste.

14. We love every stage of the process.

A non-spanko might solely imagine the physical slapping of cheeks when we refer to our love of spanking, but that's not the long and short of the matter. Spankos adore the entire arc of the narrative. The misbehavior that led to the spanking. The threats and anticipation. Getting into position. The warm-up and removal of each layer of clothing, all the way until the spankee’s bottom is bared. The swats, first with hands, then a variety of implements. The communication surrounding lecturing and admonishment. The catharsis of tears. The slow tenderness and beauty of aftercare. The closeness the ritual inspires. The intimate drama of this entire process is deeply satisfying.

15. We distinguish between different kinds of spankings.

What is the purpose of the spanking being given? Punishment? Maintenance? Stress relief? Eroticism? This detail is important to us, for it influences the style in which the spanker spanks. Sexual spankings often involve caressing of nether-regions and start off somewhat softly, building in strength at a comfortable pace throughout a drawn-out warm-up period. Punishment spankings embody an entirely different space. They are meant to be intense, painful, and challenging to endure.

16. We watch a lot of the same porn.

My closest spanko friends and I send each other links to videos every so often. “Have you seen this one?” A lot of the time the answer is yes, for we’re drawn to the same spankers, spankees, and couples who create our favorite content. Spanking vids with a glitzier, more porny atmosphere tend to be lower on the ladder than amateur, traditionally domestic ones. Again, we want it all to feel as real as possible. The “we shot this at home while punishing actual misbehavior” setup provides more satisfaction.

17. We don’t usually watch our porn with non-spankos.

Back when I used to date vanilla and guys would ask, “What kind of porn do you watch?” I would lie and pretend porn wasn’t my thing. This is because I knew that what I watch would likely bore them. A clip with fifteen straight minutes of nothing but spanking, sans sex, would likely make a lot of people’s eyes roll back into their sockets. “So monotonous!” Once I started dating spankos, however, I found much joy in sharing, knowing we could relish each and every moment together.

18. We all want a house out in the boonies.

Ask a spanko about their goals for the future and many will answer, “I want to buy land.” This is because our activity of choice is LOUD and has the potential to disturb nearby neighbors. Nothing ruins a good time like a visit from the fuzz. The begging, screaming, and crying… they are cleansing to our souls and we wish to do them freely. It’s countryside living for us, boy howdy.

19. We’re very romantic people.

It comes as no surprise that many spankos are traditionalists. We often relish old-timey acts of devotion like marriage, opening doors, buying flowers, and cooking for our partners. Many are monogamous and like to wait to have sex until deep bonds of commitment are set in stone. Spanking is an extension of this attitude toward intimacy. We’re so deeply devoted to our partners that we refuse to turn our backs on their misbehavior, laziness, procrastination, or feelings of guilt. Instead we stay, face them, and do what must be done to help them deal with their problems, following up with plenty of aftercare involving sweetness and reassurance. Squeeee.

20. We speak the same love language.

For partners with a consensual domestic discipline dynamic, spanking is an act of love. It’s an intimate ritual centering on a potent giving and receiving of attention. A means of setting aside time to converse and communicate about the challenges of relationships and everyday affairs. A tool for strengthening the bond and balancing the energy between spanker and spankee. A way of helping one another feel “right” and “natural” in a world that so often feels like it’s tumbling off its axis. In nonconsensual or manipulative contexts, spanking is abuse. Between those of us who crave it from one other, it’s the highest form of affection.

Granted, these are solely my thoughts based on my own observations and experiences.

Anything to add, spankos?

Reach out, I'd love to hear you : https://www.the-rose-moon.com/post/20-things-spanking-fetishists-have-in-common

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259kmvn · 2 days ago

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shy

– scaramouche spends some time with his shy partner | scaramouche x f!reader, soft smut, fluff

the atmosphere in the room is nothing close to obscene. it is light, gentle, playful- one will only find two lovers innocently indulging in their desires. yet, with their kisses and caresses, even an angel would avert its eyes so as to not intrude.

you look up at scaramouche, who has you lying naked on the bed amidst a silk blanket that veils fractions of your body. he sees only your eyes as your forearm drapes over your face in profound embarrassment.

"we've gone through this, y/n," he demands, a soft smile contrasting his twitching eyebrows, "don't cover your face."

you shake your head underneath your arm. this isn't your first time being naked with him. you've done this many a times with your lover, yet each time your heart still flutters at the sight of his lean body.

his lean body. your partner is toned. a hazy line runs down the middle of his tummy, decorating a torso with a waist so small an hourglass would be jealous. his skin was neither too hairy nor bare, and you know that from the past times he's gone waist to waist with you. 'it's almost like cotton', you've thought once before, while his body rubbed against yours in a loving heat of motion.

the memory makes you blush and squirm.

scaramouche chuckles, a teasing lilt in his voice- "what are you thinking about, hmm?"

your eyes met his in a pleading gaze. "nothing," you whisper. and in another sentence, "please..." you beg.

the breath he lets out is shaky and it tickles the arm that hides your lips. he plants a kiss before shifting it from your face to your side. "please, hmm?" his tone is slow, "please what?" there's a genuine curiosity in his voice, as if he doesn't know what you want. but he does. he's done this so many times you could say he's become an expert of your desires. and yet he asks.

you're stubborn, however. with one hand pinned down by your lover, you use the other to gently pinch the skin of his shoulder. "you already know." your pout makes him think that you'll sulk if he pushes on further. part of him wants to see that happen. part of him, specifically the lower part, just wants to feel you already.

"you're lucky i do." and his lips meet yours. once, twice, thrice- slowly increasing in intensity. he weaves his voice into his kisses, humming against your lips. smoothly, he travels down. he kisses your jaw, then your neck, and he spends a lot of time working your neck. it takes a few wet seconds for you to notice his tongue sneaking past his lips to taste your skin.

scaramouche continues down your body and his hands roam about you- steadily losing patience as he approaches your thighs. the breath he lets out is warm, open-mouthed, and shaky. you're wet.

he greets your slit with a peck before sliding his finger up it. and, to tease you, he looks directly into your eyes as he licks it. and when you hastily turn away, he chuckles. "you're too pretty for me, y/n."

the way your body reacts to his words, his fingers and his tongue betrays the shy red of your cheeks- jerking, squirming, shivering. and just as he laps up the juices in between your thighs, he laps up the sight he's beholding of you.

"fuck," his voice is a mumble against your clit, "you're so fucking pretty." and against your will, you moan. he continues. sucking, kitten-licking, breathing in your heat.

your hand finds purchase on his hair- and you find in you the strength to resist pulling it. you just need to touch him. that's all. "scara-", you whimper, and he growls in response. his hand that held your thigh rests on top of your newly placed hand. you feel his tongue swipe up your slit as he guides you deeper into his hair- fingers intertwining with his soft strands.

when he feels you're comfortable where your hand is, he orders- "pull." you pause. hesitating on behalf of your shameful will. he plunges himself deeper into your heat, as if to override your will with desire- mouth open as his tongue thrusts into you. again he orders, "pull."

so you pull. the moan that he lets out is almost impure, shrouded by the sound of your flesh. "again," he orders, though his voice resembles more of a grunt. you pull again. his hips immediately buck into the bed in a falter. a few more licks, and he sits up, breathing heavily- just as heavily as you are. "i can't hold back anymore." he strokes himself and brings his waist closer to yours.

"y/n." you look up. his hand is gentle, shivering, when it cups your cheek. it smears wetness on your skin. "tell me what you want." you shake your head.

for a moment his heart stops. "you don't want..?" his hand withdraws from your face. sensing his fear, you say, "no, scara, i do," and your voice is gentle, "i just.. don't wanna say it." you bite your lip. his relieved sigh is followed by the return of his hand on your face, fingers warm and wet. "why not?" he decides to tease.

you pause, then decide to tease back. a sheepish, playful smile tugs at your lips, "because i'm too shy."

he pulls back entirely at this, head falling back so he can look up and ask god what he did to deserve this. "hah... fuck." he can't deny the wide smile on his face, "fuck," and he comes down to suckle on your neck. body against body, but not yet connected. "fuck," he mumbles into your skin, "i'm the happiest," a kiss, "fucking," a lick, "man in the world."

with his lips still attached to your neck, he guides himself against your slit. you share a shiver as his member slickly slides up and down the opening. "y/n," he gazes at you past your jaw. brings himself closer to your ear. a whisper- "i need you to tell me to put it in."

he sees your eyes widen, eyebrows turning up and still, he's rubbing himself against you. the both of you know- you need more.

"pl-please," you whisper, turning away from him. your soft voice goes softer, "put it in."

you feel the tip push in.

"look at me and say it."

you take the deepest breath you could take in such a situation and turn towards him. you expected him to be tense- just as needy as you are, perhaps, impatiently waiting for you to say the words.

but when your eyes meet, he's smirking. head tilted to the side as if to tell you that he can wait for hours (though the truth couldn't be farther from that). you can't hold back anymore. fuck it.

"scara, please... put it in, please," your lips quiver after delivering the pathetic plea.

"as you wish." and you're stretched with the full length of scaramouche's member. you moan in relief, and so does he, but the both of you are still tense. knots in your cores tight and waiting to unravel. "ready?" he asks, and you nod meekly. hoping he doesn't torture you any more.

a hand caresses your hair, "good girl." he starts moving. the motions are familiar. he's fluid, as he always is, gentle throughout yet firm when he reaches a deep spot inside you. but something feels different. not physically- his soft skin and silk sheets are all too familiar. but mentally. emotionally.

as he thrusts inside you, breaths hard and focused, you realise that it's the impact of actually mustering up the words to request your lover to fuck you. you've earned this. you've earned the grip of his hands on your hips as he moves vigorously inside you. you've earned the string of "fuck"s that mimic the rate of which he enters you. you've earned the build-up of tension, as both of you squirm and buck against each other, chasing your climaxes.

"y/n, fuck!" he calls out, leaning down to kiss you, "i'm close."

you nod and wrap your arms around his shoulders. "me too." breaths getting heavier.

his thrusts, from methodical, become haphazard. he's no longer fluid but rather fervently chasing his high- both of your highs.

"scara- scara, scara, 'm cummin- hah-" your eyes squeeze shut. if you can't see him, he can't see you, right?

it's not the first time he's witnessed you climax, but he can't get enough of how sweet and honey-like you sound; unrestricted by your self-proclaimed shyness that he also can't get enough of. how you avoid his gaze but become all the more vulnerable by closing your eyes. he can't help but moan.

with one last thrust he cums, sensitive to the way you tighten around him and cum as well. his weight falls entirely on you as he collapses, chest and ribs rising and falling together in your needs to catch your breaths.

he plants a kiss on your collarbone and sighs.

the waning of your lust gives way for your mind to regain control, and you comprehend the nakedness and the proximity of your partner to you. immediately you gasp and look away, covering your face as if that changes the fact that his exposed skin is kissing your exposed skin.

he chuckles, and you feel it resonate in your chest. your turned head exposes a part of your neck he hasn't kissed, and he kisses it- imprinting his smile onto your skin.

"how are you still this shy," his warm breath smears against you, "after everything we've done together?"

when you don't reply, he lifts himself up to see your runaway gaze.

"or did you forget how you begged me to put-" you yelp, smothering his sentence with a pillow, "my pshhhmmshfhfmh-!"

in a fit of laughter, he wrestles with you and your feather-filled weapon, tossing it out of reach. he pulls your waist from below and traps you in his arms. deep breaths. you're grinning, and so is he. you both release a long sigh.

"let's stay like this a while, hmm?"

#genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #kmvnwriter

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tpwk-formula1 · 3 days ago

Note

Hello, can I please request Charles jealous smut?

AN: Definitely went a bit of a different route than normal but I enjoyed writing this! Started it right before I went to the hospital and was able to finish it tonight! I hope you guys enjoy. I know its a bit shorter but I'm running on melatonin and oxi so bare with me haha

TW: multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, low-key asshole Charles (very beginning)

WC: 1.2K

Y/N POV

"Charles, what's wrong?" I ask for the third time since getting back into the car after leaving the end of year Ferrari dinner.

"God damn it, Y/N! Nothing I said nothing was fucking wrong," Charles snaps at me making me gasp slightly at the out burst.

"Charles Leclerc, do not ever speak to me like that again," I shout at him when we finally get back to the apartment.

I had chosen to keep quiet the rest of the way home, hoping it would help cool the both of us down but when we walked through the door and Charles instantly beelined for our bedroom mumbling to himself I finally snap.

"Then don't ever talk to Carlos Sainz again," Charles snap back while turning around to show he had fire in his eyes.

It finally had clicked for me. Charles was jealous which isn't something that happens often but when it does he tends to turn into the green monster.

"Charles, are you fucking kidding me! Carlos is leaving Ferrari, and I was telling him about how I've enjoyed his time with Ferrari," I shout back at him making Charles roll his eyes before stomping his way into the bedroom and slamming the door. The whole dramatics

A part of me just laughs softly at his childish antics but the other part of me is still raging with anger at the way he had spoken to me.

I make my way into the kitchen grabbing myself something to drink before grabbing the bottle of tequila and taking a shot of the bitter liquor.

When I feel myself cool down just enough I march into out bedroom to find Charles already under the covers ready for bed but instead of him laying in the middle of the bed like normal he's on the very edge as far away from my side as possible.

"I hope Leo pushes you off the bed," I scoff when Charles doesn't even acknowledge me.

"Maybe if you slept in Carlos's bed like you want I would have more room to cuddle with Leo," Charles replies back in a sheepish mumble showing me that he's getting close to crumbling and apologizing.

"It's actually why I came in here. Need to pack an overnight bag," I comment with a smirk on my face but before I can even make it into the closet Charles is up from his spot on the bed and storming towards me before pushing me against the wall.

"You think this is funny?" Charles seethes making me shrug my shoulders.

"I mean ya kind of Charles, we both know damn well I have never and will never be into Carlos, so ya you being jealous and threatened by him is hilarious," I reply back making Charles's eyes narrow slightly at me before I see his should relax slightly.

"I- 'm sorry," Charles mumbles clearly letting the embarrassment sink in.

"I don't know why it upset me so much tonight. I know it's not an excuse but I am sorry for getting jealous and even more sorry for how I spoke to you," Charles admits softly while pulling my face into his hand.

"I don't even care when you get jealous, if anything I find it hot as fuck, but I do care about the way you speak to me," I tell him softly feeling my anger slowly start to ease.

"I know and it was wrong, I really am sorry," Charles says again making me smile softly and nod my head.

"You're forgiven, but I demand 3 orgasms," I say with a smile and a nod.

"Deal," Charles says with a laugh before pulling me in and placing a soft kiss on my lips and pulling me by my waist towards our bed.

When Charles drops me down on the bed he quickly climbs up to join me pulling off his shirt at the same time.

When Charles joins me on the bed he wraps my legs around his hips before he leans down and pulls me in for a kiss while grinding his hard cock down into my dripping core.

"Charles please, I need you," I whine when I can feel my pleasure soaking through my flimsy panties.

Charles finally pulls back and quickly pulls my panties off before wasting no time attaching his mouth to my sensitive clit. He knew it wouldn't take long to throw me over the edge but when I feel him slipping his fingers into my soaked pussy I can't help the loud cry that falls from my lips.

"Fuck! Charlie," I cry when I feel his fingers grazing my G-spot while his lips are still sucking on my clit.

"Cum for me," Charles mumbles into my pussy making me cry out and cum all over his finger.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I moan in a chant as Charles continues to fuck me through my first orgasm.

"Too much," I cry when I realize Charles isn't letting me come down from my high but rather throwing me right into another orgasm.

"You want three no?" Charles asks with a smirk on his face before speeding his fingers up even more and attaching his mouth back to my overly sensitive clit.

"Charles," I cry out when I feel his start speeding all his actions up clearly with the intentions to bring me to another orgasm.

"Charlie," I cry out when I feel myself fall over the edge again not expecting the orgasm to hit me so fast.

"Fuck, good girl," Charles groans while fingering me harder and letting me squirt all over the bed and his face.

As soon as I started to come down from my high Charles is quickly pulling his boxer off before climbing back into bed and quickly rubbing the tip of his hard leaking cock through my soaked folds before finding my dripping hole and quickly pushing his whole cock deep into my pussy making me whimper the the stretch of his cock.

"Fuck!" Charles and I both groan put at the exact same time while he starts slowly thrusting his hips in and out of my soaked pussy.

It doesn't take long for me to fully adjust to Charles's size and once I do he quickly speeds up his trusts while making sure to hit all the good spots deep within my pussy.

"Fuck Charlie," I cry out when I feel myself crawling closer and closer to another orgasm.

"Fuck, feel so good," Charles cries out as his hips start to shutter a bit letting me know he was getting close to cumming as well.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," I cry out when I feel Charles bring his fingers down to my clit and teasing me until I fall over the edge pulling him with me.

"Fuck," Charles grunts out when I feel his hip shutter one final time before filling my pussy up with his hot cum.

As we are both trying to catch our breath I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him down to rest his body on top of mine.

"Fuck, that was good," I breath out making Charles laugh softly.

"I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you in the car and when we got home," Charles says while slowly slipping his softening cock out of me and laying on his back and pulling me into his chest.

"You're forgiven, I guess," I tease making Charles roll his eyes softly but still pull me in tighter to his chest.

"I love you and thinking about losing you makes me a bit insane," Charles admits making me smile softly. I definitely couldn't imagine my life without him either.

"I love you too," I reply back softly while curling into his side a bit closer.

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00valentina-writes00 · 2 days ago

Note

I know literally everything is about ambessa but.. ambessa x reader who just thinks this massive, strong, intimidating woman is just the cutest thing ever??

Like for example, they just walk up to her doing anything and they just go like “awww omg you’re literally so cuteeeeee!”

✞⛧ Just too cute ✞⛧

Warnings: nothing! Just fluff

Word count: 1.5k

It’s a quiet evening in the grand Medarda estate. The usual hum of activity has quieted, the sound of soldiers training and strategizing replaced with the soft crackling of a fire in the hearth. You’re seated at one of the lavish chairs near the fire, your gaze occasionally drifting to the grand windows where the light of dusk falls, casting the room in gentle shades of orange and gold.

The only sounds in the room now are the soft shuffle of Ambessa’s boots against the marble floor and the light, rhythmic tapping of a piece of parchment against her desk as she pores over documents.

There she is. Your massive, strong, and intimidating wife. Ambessa Medarda, the commanding general, with her battle-hardened presence and sharp gaze that can bring even the fiercest warriors to their knees. To the world, she’s an indomitable force, a leader who exudes strength and fearlessness. But to you? She’s… so cute.

You can’t help but smile, watching her with that same look you’ve always given her when she’s lost in her work. You’ve been married for years now, but she still gets flustered when you pull this trick on her. She’s never truly gotten used to your admiration, no matter how much time passes.

The first time you said it, it was by accident. You’d walked into the war room, completely oblivious to the serious conversation happening around the table, only to find Ambessa sitting at the head, her posture so proud and composed (with only a bit of a pout from the conversation) that you couldn’t help but blurt out, “Awww, you’re literally so cute.”

Everyone had stopped dead in their tracks. The generals, the soldiers—each of them stared at you, blinking in confusion as though they couldn’t believe their ears. But Ambessa? She’d frozen, her eyes widening, and for the briefest of moments, her usual confidence faltered. She blinked at you, utterly flustered, before muttering, “Cute? I’m not… cute.”

The entire room had erupted in awkward silence, but you could see it in her face—Ambessa was trying so hard not to smile. Eventually, she had tried to maintain her usual stoic demeanor, but the faintest blush on her cheeks betrayed her.

And from that day forward, whenever you found her in moments of strength, focus, or even casual rest, you couldn’t help but tease her with that same endearment. After all, how could you resist? She was just so cute to you.

Tonight is no different. You rise from your seat, quietly walking over to her side. Ambessa’s focus is entirely on the documents sprawled before her—papers detailing military movements, strategies, and all the things that made her the most powerful general in the land. Her long fingers glide over the ink, scanning the information, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.

Without a second thought, you stand beside her, eyes full of affection, and softly call out, “you’re so cute, sittin all adorable in that chair”

Ambessa freezes for a moment, her gaze snapping toward you. The moment her eyes lock with yours, there’s a flash of disbelief, quickly replaced by that telltale hint of embarrassment. Her jaw clenches slightly as she tries, and fails, to keep her composure.

“You keep saying that…” Ambessa starts, her voice a mix of playful irritation and something else. You can almost hear the smile she’s trying to suppress in her words. “I’m the General Medarda, not some cute little creature.”

You tilt your head slightly, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “Nope, you’re just a giant, muscular teddy bear who happens to be very, very cute. Look at you! You’re sitting here doing paperwork, surrounded by all this power, and all I can see is how adorable you are. It’s literally impossible not to think you’re cute.”

She shakes her head, her lips twitching as though holding back a smile. It’s always the same with you, but she can never quite get used to it. The way you look at her with such pure affection, as though she is the most precious thing in the world, makes her heart ache with a tenderness she’d never known she could feel. It’s the thing that both comforts and humbles her.

Ambessa leans back in her chair, letting out a soft sigh. “If you say so,” she mutters, though she doesn’t push you away. In fact, she’s rather still, her hand pausing in its movement over the papers. She’s clearly distracted now, her focus less on the work and more on the way your eyes are fixed on her with adoration.

You take that as an invitation, moving closer and gently leaning against her desk, your hand finding a spot next to her arm. You watch as she shifts ever so slightly, clearly not used to the proximity, her body stiffening slightly before she relaxes.

“I mean it, though,” you continue, your voice soft but full of affection. “Look at how cute you are with your serious, intimidating face, and then there’s me just standing here like a lovesick fool, fawning over you.”

Ambessa lets out a small chuckle, shaking her head. “Lovesick fool, huh? You’re lucky I adore you, or I’d have you dragged away by my guards for disturbing me during my work.” She looks at you with narrowed eyes, but the way her lips curve upward betrays her. “Not that I would ever do that to you.”

You reach out, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “Oh, I know you wouldn’t. You’re too soft for me.”

“Soft?” Ambessa scoffs, though her voice lacks the bite it normally holds. Her shoulders are visibly relaxing, her usual tension easing. “I’m the furthest thing from soft. You’re the one who’s always showering me with affection.”

You tilt your head, a mischievous glint in your eye. “And you love it.”

Her golden eyes flick to you, and for a brief moment, she lets down her usual guard. She gazes at you with a warmth that’s usually hidden beneath layers of authority. “I suppose I do,” she admits quietly. “But don’t think this means I’m actually cute. I’m fierce, remember?”

You grin at her playfully, leaning in just a little closer. “Mmmm, you’re fiercely cute, my love. Absolutely adorable in that intimidating way.”

Ambessa huffs, but you can see her lips twitching with the beginning of a smile. “You are impossible.”

You tilt your head again, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re literally my favorite thing in the world, and I can’t help it. I mean, come on—look at you. You’re tall, powerful, and strong. Your arms could crush me with a single movement, but you’re sitting here looking all serious and intimidating, and I just—” You pause dramatically, “—you’re just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen”

The shift in Ambessa’s demeanor is almost imperceptible, but you catch it—just the slightest shift in her posture, the faintest flush rising in her cheeks. She’s holding back a smile, but you can see it; you know it’s there.

Her voice is a little lower now, teasing but full of affection. “You should be careful, wife,” she warns, her hand reaching up to lightly touch your face. Her fingers trace the curve of your jaw, the simple touch sending a warm flutter through your chest. “One of these days, I might just show you how intimidating I can be.”

You laugh, not intimidated in the slightest. If anything, you’re emboldened by her playful warning. “Oh, I’m sure you could, General. But right now, you’re too cute to be intimidating.”

Ambessa rolls her eyes dramatically, though her lips betray her with a wide grin. “I’m going to have to find new ways to get you to take me seriously if you keep calling me ‘cute.’”

“Good luck with that,” you tease, brushing your lips gently against her cheek. “Because you’re just too adorable for me to resist.”

Ambessa sighs, her hand gently cupping your face, her thumb grazing your cheek in a rare moment of tenderness. “You really think I’m cute, don’t you?” she murmurs, her voice soft with genuine affection.

You nod enthusiastically, not even the slightest bit embarrassed by your obvious adoration. “Yes. I do. And I will continue to think you’re cute every single day for the rest of my life.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Ambessa just looks at you with a mixture of awe and fondness, her golden eyes softening as she takes in the sheer affection radiating from you.

Finally, she exhales slowly and pulls you closer, her lips brushing against your forehead. “Well, I suppose if I must be cute, there’s no one better to appreciate it than you.”

You smile against her chest, feeling the warmth of her arms wrap around you. “Exactly. You’re mine, and I will never stop thinking you’re the cutest, most powerful, most amazing woman in the world.”

Ambessa chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. “And you, wife, are absolutely impossible.”

But even as she says it, you feel the faintest shift in her stance—one of acceptance, of love. In that moment, you know she’s completely aware of what you see in her. And as much as she likes to deny it, she wouldn’t change a single thing.

Because to her, you’ll always be the one person who sees her, not just as the General Medarda, but as the woman she is—powerful, strong, and yes, just a little bit cute.

#arcane #arcane x reader #ambessa headcanons #ambessa fanfic #ambessa x you #ambessa x reader #arcane ambessa #ambessa arcane #ambessa medarda #ambessa medarda x reader #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #arcane drabbles #arcane imagine #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you

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theetherealbloom · 2 days ago

Text

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.3

Chapter Three: The Air Buzzes Whenever You're Near

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: HEHEHEHEHE. Yes, this fic is basically a slice of life, low stakes, and all-around good vibes. Eventually, there will be some drama but nothing too heartbreaking… maybe… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Magnets by NIKI

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

The soft hum of your phone vibrating roused you from the haze of sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dim light of the TV still playing softly in the background.

Your hand instinctively reached out to grab your phone from where it had slipped to the floor beside the couch. As you shifted, something warm and solid tightened around your waist.

Oh.

Oh no.

Your breath hitched as the realization settled over you like a weight. Pedro’s arm was draped across you, his body pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Your head had somehow found its way to the crook of his shoulder, and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against your side told you he was still asleep.

Oh God.

Carefully, you reached down to grab your phone without disturbing him. Your thumb brushed across the screen to silence the alarm, and you winced when you saw the time: 4:30 a.m. Far too early to be awake but late enough to question how this even happened.

Your heart pounded as you tried to make sense of it. You’d been watching a movie—something quiet and low-energy, just as you’d requested. You vaguely remembered leaning back against the couch, your body growing heavier with sleep. But you hadn’t expected to wake up like this, tangled together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Pedro stirred slightly, a low hum escaping his lips as he adjusted his arm around you, pulling you even closer. Your breath caught, panic and something else—something warmer—bubbling to the surface.

Do I move? Do I stay? Oh, this is bad. Or is it good? Your thoughts raced, but your body refused to cooperate, frozen in place as if the universe had hit pause on this moment.

A faint smile tugged at Pedro’s lips, even in sleep. His face was softer like this, the usual teasing edge replaced by something peaceful. It wasn’t fair, you thought, how he managed to look so effortlessly handsome even now.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. Carefully, you began to shift, attempting to untangle yourself without waking him. But as soon as you moved, his arm tightened again, and this time, his eyes fluttered open.

“Mm, what time is it?” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

You froze, caught in the act. “Uh, it’s... early. Like, really early.”

Pedro blinked a few times, his gaze slowly focusing on you. And then, as if realizing the position you were both in, a sleepy grin spread across his face.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice still thick and low, “this is a nice way to wake up.”

Your cheeks burned. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—”

“Relax,” he interrupted softly, his eyes twinkling despite the early hour. “I’m not complaining.”

You stared at him, caught between embarrassment and the inexplicable urge to laugh. “Pedro...”

He stretched slightly, his arm finally loosening its hold on you, though he made no move to pull away entirely. “You fell asleep first,” he said, his tone teasing now. “I just... went with it.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking your head. “This is so unprofessional,” you muttered, though there was no real weight behind the words.

Pedro smirked, sitting up slightly but still close enough that you could feel his warmth. “Guess we’ll just have to keep it a secret,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Our little... accidental cuddle.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into a smile. “You’re impossible,” you murmured.

“And yet,” he countered, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your heart stumble, “here you are.”

The air between you shifted then, the teasing fading into something quieter, something unspoken but undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, the world outside the suite forgotten.

And then, because it felt safer than facing whatever this was, you stood, clutching your phone like a lifeline. “I need coffee,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze as you made your way to the kitchenette.

Pedro watched you retreat into the kitchenette, his easygoing grin fading into something thoughtful. He stretched lazily, his hair still mussed from sleep, before following you at his own unhurried pace.

You were already fussing with the hotel’s coffee machine when he appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like he belonged there. “You know, you’re very intense about your coffee for someone who just woke up,” he teased, his voice warm and teasing.

You startled slightly, glancing over your shoulder at him. “I need caffeine to survive this,” you muttered, your words a little too sharp, betraying just how tightly wound you felt.

Pedro quirked an eyebrow. “This? What exactly is this?”

You didn’t answer right away, turning your attention back to the machine and praying it would brew faster. “Nothing,” you said finally, though your tone was anything but convincing.

He stepped further into the kitchenette, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he didn’t want to spook you. “Is it the early morning? Or... could it be that you’re stuck sharing a suite with me?”

You froze, clutching the edge of the counter. His voice held that teasing lilt you’d come to associate with him, but there was something softer underneath it, something that made your stomach flip in a way you were trying very hard to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though your tone made it sound like you were anything but.

Pedro chuckled, and the sound was low and warm, filling the small space between you. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. He was standing closer now, his dark eyes studying you with a mix of amusement and something else—something you couldn’t quite name.

“I just—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat. How were you supposed to tell him that sharing a suite with him, waking up next to him, was a level of surreal you weren’t prepared for? That he wasn’t just Pedro to you; he was Pedro Pascal, your literal celebrity crush and the man who’d unintentionally been making your life both thrilling and impossibly complicated?

“I’m just trying not to embarrass myself,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Pedro’s grin softened into something gentler, something almost fond. “You’re doing fine,” he said simply.

Before you could respond, the coffee machine beeped, signaling it was done. You practically lunged for the cup, desperate for something—anything—to do with your hands.

Pedro didn’t push you further, but as you handed him a mug of coffee without meeting his gaze, he murmured, “For what it’s worth, I like having you around.”

Your heart gave a traitorous little leap at his words, but you forced yourself to nod, mumbling a quiet “Thanks” before retreating back into your room to get ready.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY

The car ride to work was tense—at least for you. Pedro, of course, seemed completely unbothered, chatting with the driver and making the occasional attempt to draw you into the conversation. But all you could manage were one-word answers, your mind too busy overthinking everything about the morning.

Once you arrived on set, you threw yourself into your work, doing your best to stay out of Pedro’s way. Which was easier said than done, considering he seemed to have made it his mission to seek you out every chance he got.

“Hey, everything okay?” he’d ask in-between takes, his dark eyes scanning your face like he could read your thoughts.

“Yep, totally fine,” you’d reply, before darting off to find something—anything—else to do.

By lunchtime, you were exhausted. You slumped into a chair in the corner of the break area, picking at your food while scrolling aimlessly on your phone.

“Who are you hiding from?” Daisy’s voice cut through your thoughts, startling you. She plopped down in the chair across from you, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth as she gave you a curious look. “You’ve been acting weird all morning.”

“No one,” you said quickly, maybe too quickly, because Daisy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Oh, really?” she drawled, leaning forward with a knowing smirk. “Does this have anything to do with a certain actor you spent the night with?”

Your face went hot, and you nearly choked on your drink. “I—what? No! It’s not like that!”

Daisy’s smirk only grew. “Uh-huh. Sure. You’re just blushing like crazy for no reason.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It’s complicated, okay?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Daisy said lightly, leaning back in her chair. “Pedro seems pretty into you, you know.”

Your head shot up, your eyes wide. “What?”

She shrugged, biting into another piece of fruit. “I’m just saying, he keeps looking at you like you hung the moon. It’s cute, really.”

You shook your head, trying to brush off her words, but the flutter in your chest told you it wasn’t that simple.

And as if on cue, Pedro walked into the break area, his gaze immediately landing on you. He smiled, that easy, disarming smile that made your knees weak, and started making his way over.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, sinking lower into your chair.

��Good luck,” Daisy whispered with a grin, grabbing her tray and leaving you alone just as Pedro reached your table.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and casual, as if he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive. “Mind if I join you?”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was a soft, barely audible, “Sure.”

Pedro sat down across from you, his eyes twinkling with that same unreadable expression that always made you feel like he knew something you didn’t.

“So,” he said, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned forward slightly. “Why have you been avoiding me all day?”

And just like that, your heart was racing again, because of course he noticed. Of course he did.

Pedro’s question lingered in the air, heavy with curiosity and a touch of concern. He tilted his head slightly, watching you like he had all the time in the world to wait for your response. His fingers drummed idly against the table, a subtle rhythm that matched the uneven beat of your heart.

“I… Um…” you stammered, feeling like your words were stuck somewhere in your throat.

Pedro’s brow furrowed, and his expression softened. “Did I make you uncomfortable last night?” he asked, his voice quiet and laced with genuine worry. “I’m so sorry if I did—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, your voice rushing out faster than your brain could keep up. You waved your hands slightly, as if trying to erase the idea entirely. “I didn’t mind. It’s just—”

You trailed off, feeling the weight of his gaze. Pedro didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence with reassurances or jokes like he usually did. He simply waited, his head still resting on his hand, his warm brown eyes encouraging you to keep going.

Taking a deep breath, you clenched your hands together in your lap, as if grounding yourself. “I’m just… I can’t believe you really want me around,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you actually want to be friends with me. It seems so…”

“Unreal?” Pedro finished for you, his lips curving into a soft smile.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Exactly. Unreal. I mean, you’re you—a ridiculously talented actor, charming, funny, and so... well, famous. And I’m just... me. I keep waiting for the moment you’ll realize I don’t belong in your world.”

Pedro blinked at you, his expression flickering between surprise and something deeper—something that made your chest ache in a way that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

He sat up straight, his hand reaching across the table, stopping just short of yours. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice pulling you out of your spiral. “First of all, you’re not just anything. You’re smart, talented, funny as hell, and honestly, one of the most grounded people I’ve ever met. That’s a big deal in this industry, you know.”

You looked up at him, startled by the earnestness in his tone. “Pedro…”

“And second,” he continued, leaning a little closer, “I do want you around. Not because of some weird celebrity power imbalance or whatever you think this is. I want you around because you make my days better. You make me laugh. You make everything feel... lighter.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you had to look away before your emotions spilled over completely. You focused on the half-eaten piece of fruit on your plate, blinking rapidly. “You don’t have to say that,” you murmured.

“I’m not saying it because I have to,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

When you finally dared to meet his eyes again, you saw nothing but sincerity staring back at you. It was the kind of sincerity that made your carefully constructed walls feel like they were made of paper.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady.

Pedro smiled then—a real, heart-stopping smile that lit up his entire face. “Okay,” he echoed, sitting back in his chair with a satisfied nod.

The tension between you eased, replaced by something warmer, something fragile but promising. And for the first time all day, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Pedro saw something in you worth sticking around for.

“Now,” he said, breaking the moment with a playful grin, “can we please talk about how you were about to burn that coffee machine this morning? Because I have questions.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as he chuckled, the sound wrapping around you like a familiar melody. And just like that, the world felt a little less overwhelming, and Pedro felt a little more like home.

The afternoon passed in a blur of tasks, and now, you found yourself walking toward the makeup trailer, your phone clutched tightly in your hand as you prepared to fetch Pedro for his next scene.

You knocked lightly before stepping inside, the scent of hairspray and setting powder filling the air. Pedro was lounging in the makeup chair, eyes closed as Andrea Cracknell, the key hair and makeup supervisor, gave his hair a final tousle. Suzanne Harper, one of the main hair and makeup artists, was touching up the edges of his beard with careful precision.

The warm glow of vanity bulbs cast a golden hue over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the soft crinkles near his eyes.

Dara Hannon, the daily hair and makeup trainee, glanced up and grinned as you stepped in. “Ah, there’s our favorite ray of sunshine,” she said, setting down a brush. “You always look so put together. How do you do it?”

You laughed, heat creeping up your neck. “Trust me, I don’t. I just hide it well.”

“She doesn’t need to hide anything,” Pedro murmured, cracking one eye open. His voice was smooth, laced with something teasing but warm. “She’s effortlessly stunning.”

You felt your brain short-circuit.

From across the room, Samanta, one of the junior makeup artists, let out a low whistle. “Damn, Pedro. You don’t hold back, do you?”

Chloë Pyne—one of the main team hair and makeup artists—smirked, tilting her head as she studied you. “He’s right, though. You have one of those naturally pretty faces. Like, the kind that doesn’t need much makeup.”

Pedro hummed in agreement, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long. “See? Told you.”

You waved them off, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Okay, okay—enough. I came to get you, not to hear you guys exaggerate.”

Pedro grinned. “We’re not exaggerating. You just don’t take compliments well.”

“I take them fine,” you mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but him.

He chuckled, stretching his arms as he stood from the chair, towering over you. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Your stomach flipped, and you wanted to sink into the ground. “Pedro—”

He smirked, leaning in slightly. “Yes?”

You huffed, turning on your heel. “Come on, you’re needed on set.”

Pedro chuckled behind you, his footsteps light and easy as he followed. Just before you stepped out of the makeup trailer, his hand brushed against your arm—barely there, a whisper of contact—but it sent a ripple of heat up your spine. You swallowed hard, pretending not to notice, pretending your stomach wasn’t doing ridiculous little flips at the way his presence lingered so close behind you.

By the time you reached the sound stage, the energy on set had shifted.

“There she is!” Vanessa beamed the second she spotted you, setting her script down to stride over. “Finally. The only competent person around here.”

You snorted. “I think that’s an insult to literally everyone else.”

Vanessa grinned. “And yet, somehow, they’ll survive.”

Before you could respond, Joseph and Ebon chimed in from where they were going over their lines.

“Thank God, I thought Pedro kidnapped you,” Joseph teased, crossing his arms with a smirk. “We were about to send a search party.”

Ebon shook his head. “Nah, he would’ve kept her hidden all day.” He gave Pedro a pointed look. “You’ve been hovering.”

Pedro scoffed. “I don’t hover.”

Vanessa snorted. “You so do.”

You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish, unsure how to defend yourself—or Pedro, for that matter—when another familiar voice called out.

“Ah, the prodigal assistant returns!”

You turned to see Jess Hall, the first AD, grinning as he strolled over, script in hand. “Seriously, where have you been? I swear the set runs smoother when you’re around.”

“I… I’ve been doing my job?” you offered weakly.

Jess huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, keep being humble, we love that.”

Before you could protest, Matt—the director—walked up, arms crossed, surveying the growing crowd around you with an arched brow.

“So…” he mused. “Am I missing something? Because the way everyone gravitates toward you makes me think you might actually be running this set.”

You blinked. “Uh—no? I mean, I just… I don’t know, I just do my job like everyone else.”

Matt squinted at you like he didn’t quite buy that, but he just hummed and glanced at Pedro. “You keeping her distracted, or is she keeping you distracted?”

Pedro grinned. “Bit of both.”

Your brain stalled.

Matt shook his head, muttering something about actors before waving a hand. “Alright, let’s go, people. Back to work before I regret hiring all of you.”

As the cast dispersed, Pedro leaned in, voice low, warm. “See? Told you everyone likes you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Pedro’s laughter rumbled beside you, rich and warm.

“Why are you like this?” you muttered, voice muffled against your palms.

He tilted his head, smirking. “Like what?”

“You know what.”

Pedro simply grinned, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, as if he wasn’t single-handedly unraveling your ability to function like a normal human being.

There was a steady thrum in the air whenever he was close—something neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. It was impossible not to.

It crackled between you when you stood side by side, almost magnetic.

And when your fingers brushed, even just for a second? Electric.

You pulled your hand away as if burned, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way you tensed. But of course, he did. Pedro always noticed. His gaze flickered down to where your hands had been, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. “Someone might think you like me or something.”

You sucked in a sharp breath and, without thinking, smacked his arm.

Pedro just laughed, dodging the second playful hit you aimed at him before finally relenting, his hands raised in surrender.

“Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” he promised, though his smirk said otherwise.

With a final glare, you turned and threw yourself into work, desperate for some sense of normalcy.

The next few hours passed in a blur of controlled chaos—wardrobe changes, prop resets, last-minute adjustments. You did your job like clockwork, moving through set with practiced efficiency. Fetching cast members, tracking schedule updates, and ensuring things ran as smoothly as possible.

Your friends worked nearby, their presence grounding you amidst the constant hum of production. But despite the familiarity of routine, you felt off-kilter.

Every time you caught sight of Pedro—laughing with the cast, deep in conversation with Matt, even just sitting between takes, flipping through a script—your stomach did that thing.

The stupid fluttery thing.

By the time filming wrapped for the day, you were both exhausted and wired, your brain still buzzing with the day’s events.

You found yourself huddled in a loose circle with some of the PAs and crew, all of you packing up while chatting, the easy rhythm of conversation filling the space.

Daisy elbowed you playfully. “So, how’s your day been? You seemed a little… frazzled earlier.”

You cleared your throat, focusing very intently on coiling a stray cable. “Just… tired.”

Jordan snorted into his coffee. “You’re such a bad liar.” He raised a brow. “Let me guess—Pedro?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

The entire group cackled.

“Yeah, thought so.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grumbled, hugging your clipboard to your chest like it might somehow shield you from their knowing smirks.

“Oh, sure,” Lucy drawled, her smirk downright devious. “It’s not like the man literally gravitates toward you every chance he gets.”

“That’s just how he is!” you argued, feeling heat creep up your neck.

Daisy hummed, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“You guys are insufferable.” You crossed your arms, trying and failing to suppress your flustered expression.

Jordan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll drop it. For now.”

As the conversation flowed, the tension you’d been holding onto all day slowly unwound. Someone cracked a joke about a prop malfunction earlier, and you found yourself laughing, the sound blending into the hum of easy chatter around you.

“Okay, but did you see the way the fake blood exploded everywhere?” Daisy wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes.

Jordan shook his head, still grinning. “Poor props department. That cleanup looked brutal.”

Lucy snickered. “I swear, Matt almost had a stroke.”

You smiled, the stress of the day fading into the background. It was moments like this that made the long hours worth it—these small pockets of joy, of shared experiences.

Then, like clockwork, he entered the periphery of your awareness.

Pedro’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, low and familiar. The sound curled through your chest like a flickering ember, and before you could stop yourself, you turned slightly—just enough to catch sight of him.

He was leaning against one of the equipment carts, deep in conversation with Matt, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. But then, as if he could sense you looking, his gaze flicked up—searching, landing squarely on you.

And suddenly, it was just the two of you.

Your breath hitched.

Pedro’s smile softened, his eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. He lifted a brow, like he knew exactly what was running through your mind.

You tore your gaze away, your face burning, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Yup. She’s gone,” Jordan muttered, loud enough for only the group to hear.

You smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

Daisy cackled. “Oh my God, you’re so screwed.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands as the laughter around you grew.

Maybe you were screwed.

Because, try as you might to ignore it, that pull—the steady thrum of something unspoken, something undeniable—was getting harder and harder to resist.

You quickly said goodbye to your friends as they boarded the shuttle back to their hotel, the last remnants of laughter lingering in the air. The set had mostly cleared out, leaving only a few crew members finishing up and the cast slowly trickling out of their trailers. You tucked your arms around yourself, the night air cool against your skin as you waited for the others, your thoughts still buzzing from the day.

Then—warm hands.

A firm, sudden weight against your back.

You barely had time to process it before you were lifted off the ground.

A startled squeal left your lips as Pedro spun you effortlessly, laughter rumbling in his chest. “Gotcha,” he murmured near your ear, his voice thick with amusement.

“Pedro!” you gasped, swatting at his hands, but you couldn’t help the breathless laugh that followed.

He finally set you down, his arms still loosely around your shoulders, and when you turned to glare up at him, he had the audacity to grin—full, boyish, utterly unrepentant.

“You didn’t even hear me coming,” he teased, giving your shoulders a playful squeeze before finally stepping back.

“You ambushed me,” you huffed, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “I almost had a heart attack.”

Pedro smirked. “I’d apologize, but your little scream was too cute.”

Your face burned. “You’re insufferable.”

Before he could respond, you heard stifled giggles from nearby.

You glanced up just in time to spot Coco, Vanessa, Joseph, and Ebon approaching, all of them watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of amusement.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Vanessa quipped, smirking.

Coco nudged Joseph with her elbow, grinning. “Are we interrupting something?”

Pedro, ever the shameless one, just threw an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Not at all,” he said easily, then glanced down at you with a teasing glint in his eye. “Unless you think we were?”

You glared at him, resisting the urge to shove him away—because knowing him, he’d just make a bigger scene.

Instead, you turned to the group, feigning exasperation. “Can someone please save me from him?”

Ebon just laughed, shaking his head. “Nope. You’re on your own, kid.”

Your stomach did an unfair little flip as Pedro pulled you closer, his warmth seeping into you despite the cool night air.

And the worst part?

You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be saved.

Pedro’s arm was still draped lazily around your shoulders, his body warm against yours, the scent of his cologne lingering—something woodsy, something undeniably him. You willed yourself to ignore the way your pulse picked up, to pretend your skin wasn’t tingling from the casual intimacy of it.

Vanessa arched a brow, arms crossed as she watched the two of you with blatant amusement. “What are you doing just standing out here?” she asked, tilting her head. “You could’ve knocked at my trailer.”

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath Pedro’s hold. “I, uh—” You cleared your throat. “I didn’t have your guys’ numbers, so I just thought I’d wait near the trailers.”

Coco gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “You mean none of us thought to give you our numbers?” She turned to the others, looking genuinely offended. “What kind of monsters are we?”

Ebon chuckled. “Okay, okay, let’s fix this.” He pulled out his phone and waggled it in front of you. “Give me your number, we’ll add you to the group chat.”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed. You had kept a certain level of professional distance with the cast—sure, you’d exchanged pleasantries, worked alongside them, shared the occasional laugh—but this? Being included like this?

Pedro, still pressed close, must have sensed your hesitation because he squeezed your shoulder lightly, his voice softer this time. “Told ya,” he murmured, just for you. “We like having you around.”

Your chest tightened.

Before you could overthink it, you rattled off your number, and within seconds, your phone buzzed with a message from an unfamiliar group chat.

Coco grinned. “Welcome to the chaos.”

Joseph laughed, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you just signed up for.”

You looked down at your phone, at the flood of messages already rolling in—Vanessa sending a series of emojis, Ebon dropping a meme, Pedro sending a voice note that was probably nonsense.

A warmth spread through you.

Maybe you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be saved.

But you were sure of one thing.

You didn’t mind being pulled deeper into this.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

Turns out, everyone was exhausted. Some opted for room service, others had plans to meet up with friends in the city. The once lively group slowly dwindled, leaving you and Pedro lingering near the car.

Without a word, he reached for your bag, slinging it over his shoulder like it was second nature.

You blinked up at him. “Pedro—”

“I got it,” he said easily, already heading toward the car.

You huffed but didn’t argue, too tired to put up much of a fight.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, the streets of London painted in golden hues from the setting sun. Pedro, ever so casually, turned to you.

“Do you wanna go out for dinner?” he asked. “Or we could just order room service.”

You shrugged, watching the buildings blur past the window. “I don’t mind either way. It’s up to you.”

Pedro hummed as if considering his options, but he didn’t push for an answer right away.

When you arrived at the hotel, the two of you walked through the dimly lit hallway to your floor. The plush carpet muffled your steps, the air between you thick with something unspoken—comfortable, warm, charged.

At your door, you kicked off your shoes, swapping them for the soft hotel slippers. Pedro did the same, toeing off his boots before setting your bag down on the small table in the suite’s living area.

“You didn’t have to carry that, you know,” you told him, watching as he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up slightly.

He smirked, that lazy, insufferably charming smirk. “I didn’t have to,” he echoed. “But I wanted to.”

Your stomach did a flip.

You swallowed, folding your arms as if that might steady you. “Well… thanks.”

He shot you a wink. “Anytime, cariño.”

After flipping through the room service menu, you both settled on an easy dinner—something warm and filling without the hassle of going out. Quickly calling the food service on the landline, the order was placed, and as you sank into the plush couch, stretching your legs, you sighed.

"During the weekend, I’ll probably go grocery shopping," you mused aloud. "Ordering room service and eating out every day is going to burn through my savings if I keep this up." You glanced at Pedro. "So, I’ll stock up on food in the pantry if I’m still, y'know… here. In your suite."

Pedro, who had been casually leaning against the armrest of the couch, stilled. His expression shifted from amused to something unreadable. "Why?" His brows furrowed. "Where are you going?"

You blinked at him, confused for a second. "Uh… the front desk said they might have a room for me by next week, remember?"

"Oh." His lips parted slightly, but he didn't say anything else.

You watched the way his fingers tapped idly against his knee, as if the thought of you moving out hadn’t quite registered until now. There was something oddly endearing about the way his frown deepened. Like he didn’t like the idea of you not being here anymore.

Before you could think too much about it, you cleared your throat, shifting the conversation. "Anyway," you said lightly, folding your arms over your chest, "you guys did great today on set."

Pedro’s eyes flickered back to yours, and just like that, his easy grin returned.

"Yeah?" He leaned in slightly, resting his forearm against the back of the couch, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Any specific compliments, or just a general ‘you guys did great’ kind of thing?"

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at his teasing. "Oh, I definitely had specific compliments." You tapped your chin, pretending to think. "Vanessa was incredible, Joseph absolutely killed his scene, Ebon had amazing delivery—"

Pedro gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Wow. So, I just… I don’t even make the list?"

You bit back a laugh. "I mean… you were fine."

"Fine?" he repeated, eyes narrowing playfully.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Serviceable. Passable. Not bad."

Pedro let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back against the couch. "Unbelievable. Here I was, thinking you were my biggest fan."

You giggled, nudging his knee with your foot. "You’ll survive."

He peeked at you from beneath his lashes, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I guess I will."

The warmth in his voice made your breath hitch. You quickly looked away, pretending to check your phone as the sound of the hotel staff knocking on the door saved you from whatever moment you’d just stumbled into.

Pedro stood up to grab the food, but not before murmuring, just low enough for you to hear—

"But it’d be a hell of a lot easier if you stuck around."

And just like that, the butterflies were back.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE NIGHT

The scent of warm food filled the suite as you both settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the television flickering against the dimly lit room. Pedro had absentmindedly put on a movie, something familiar and easy to watch—though neither of you seemed particularly focused on it. The conversation flowed naturally between bites of food, soft laughter filling the quiet spaces in between.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Pedro asked, “So… no special someone waiting for you back home?”

You froze mid-bite, your fork hovering near your lips. It wasn’t the question itself that threw you off—it was the way he asked it. Casual, like it was just another topic of conversation, but there was something in his voice. A quiet curiosity. A weight that made your stomach flip.

You swallowed and shook your head. “Nope,” you said simply. “It’s just me.”

Pedro hummed, nodding slowly as he chewed. “Huh.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your plate down on the coffee table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, tilting his head toward you. “Nothing. Just surprised.”

You scoffed. “Surprised how?”

He took his time answering, setting his own plate aside before stretching his arm along the back of the couch. His fingers drummed lightly against the cushion behind you, close enough that if you leaned back just a little, you’d brush against them.

“I don’t know.” He exhaled, gaze flickering to the screen before finding you again. “You’re funny, smart, kind—"

Your eyes narrowed. “Sounds like you’re about to say something insulting.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I was gonna say, I just don’t get how someone like you is single.”

A warmth crept up your neck, and you quickly picked up your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering right away. Your heartbeat thrummed a little too fast, a little too loud.

“I don’t know,” you murmured finally, voice quieter now. “Relationships just… never worked out for me, I guess.”

Pedro studied you for a moment, his usual playful expression softening. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. Instead, he just nodded, accepting your answer without prying.

And then—because the air was starting to feel too heavy—you smirked. “What about you? No special someone waiting for you?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Nah. It’s just me, too.”

Your lips twitched. “Well, that is surprising.”

Pedro groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “Oh, come on—”

You laughed, nudging his leg with your foot. “I’m just saying! You’re charming, talented, kind of a big deal—”

“Kind of?” He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense.

You grinned. “Kind of.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath about how unbelievable you were, but there was a smile playing at his lips.

And just like that, the weight in the air lightened again, the conversation slipping back into something easy. The movie played on, mostly forgotten, and the two of you sat there, side by side—closer than before, shoulders brushing every now and then.

Neither of you moved away.

End Notes:

OOOOOHHHH?!?! Things are heating up??? Or maybe it’s literally nothing at all and it’s all in your head 😃✊

OOF— you might stop sharing the suite at the end of the week? Oh naur T^T

Thank you all for the lovely words and comments that ya’ll keep leaving on each chapter. It warms my heart and gives me fuzzy feelings that make me dizzy AAAAAAHHH

Mfs, I’m posting this while I’m outside at a club LOL

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x fem!reader #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader series #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedropascal #pedro pascal art #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedrito #pedrostories #pedro pascal x reader masterlist #pedro pascal imagine

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snoopychris · 2 days ago

Text

phone calls

warnings: slight mommy kink, edging if you squint, misuse of technology, lowkey inspired by this post

12:04

chris

baby

12:05

hello?

it’s cold

and raining

12:06

can you just come let me in

12:07

dude the gym closes at 1:30 so that they can do a midday clean btw.

12:08

hello???

????

omfg

you piss me off

12:09

HELLO?!?!?!?

are you fucking kidding me

you’re unbelievable

12:10

whatever i’m going home

text me if u want.

you spun swiftly on your heels, the light jacket you were wearing wrapped tightly around your frame. it was never normal for chris to not answer his texts, especially when he got so many of them. especially when they were from you. when you were halfway down the stairs, the door behind you swung open. the heavy breathing that was coming from chris quickly got your attention. your immediate reaction was that he was having some sort of asthma attack.

your worry subsided when you noticed the small wet spot that was on the front of his sweats. he swallows in embarrassment, licking his lips as he looks down at the floor in shame. no words are spoken, but his expression says everything it needs you. he moves away from the door, leaving enough room for you to walk inside. when he sits down on the couch, he still hasn’t made eye contact with you. he’s too embarrassed to even acknowledge your presence.

“what happened here?” you tease, sitting besides him on the couch. his boner is still clearly pressed up against the material. chris shrugs as he mindlessly turns the tv on, purposely ignoring you and your question. maybe if he stays silent you’ll ignore both the tent in his pants and the wet spot that seemed to be growing. “chris.”

“nothing. nothing happened. my phone was just dead.” he whispers, crossing his legs in attempts to cover himself up. your eyes furrow in confusion. had you mentioned his phone?

“chris…” you pry, tossing the pillow off his lap. he whines in frustration, throwing his head back. he could try to lie his way out of the situation, but he knows there’s no use.

“well! it’s just… you took way longer than you said you would and i was just getting so frustrated and i haven’t seen you in a week so i started looking at our pictures while i was jerking off and then when you started texting me… it felt good. and i was reading all your text i was! and then i was getting so close and you said you were leaving and i didn’t want you to go so i just… and now… im just. i was so close to cumming and i didn’t okay?!” chris doesn’t even realize how much information he just gave you or what you can do with it. not until he sees the wide smirk on your face. there’s so many different things running through his mind. the most prominent is how incredibly hard he is and how he can’t do anything to fix it right now.

another whine escapes from the depths of his throat when you tug his pants down swiftly, his lack of underwear doing him no favors at all. he wants to tell you to stop– not because he actually wants you to stop but because hes embarrassed by the situation at hand. he squirms at your touch, thrusting his dick against your hand. his tip is embarrassingly red from his unintentional edging earlier, and its covered in so much precum and spit that it seems like he had been at it for hours. when you let him go, his cock slaps against his hoodie covered stomach. no matter how desperately he wants to touch himself and bring himself to the orgasm hes been so desperately craving for what felt like ages, he knew you held the power right now.

“please… please baby please help me.” chris mumbles, letting out a gasp when you begin to giggle. you were being so cruel to him right now. how was he supposed to act normal and stay quiet when you were just laughing at him and not even helping?

“wheres your phone?” you ask, searching around the couch. chris scrambles to reach into his pocket, handing you the phone with shaky hands. you grab it carefully, holding it up against his length. he was a bit bigger than his phone, but he wasn’t paying much attention to your actions. all he was trying to do was reach the feeling he had been yearning for. chris only starts to pay attention when you grab your own phone and begin to dial a number. he wants to ask who you’re possibly calling in this moment, but he quickly pieces it together when his phone begins to buzz while pressed against his tip.

there’s a groan that leaves his lips that’s a lot louder than he wants it to be. he doesn’t care right now. right now he just cares about the fact that your call got sent to voicemail and the buzzing halted. “no no nooo!” he whimpers, reaching for your wrist to move it for you. you tsk and shake your head, handing him your phone. “go ahead. call me again. you want it so bad you can work for it.” tears of frustration form in his eyes at your words. fine.

with shaky hands, chris picks up your phone, pressing the call back button. with each ring on your side, the vibrations seem to be getting stronger on his. he knows it’s not possible, but it feels like which each buzz the feeling is getting more and more intense. he lets out a small cry after the fifth or sixth phone call, his cock beginning to twitch between your hand and his phone.

it’s pathetic, almost, given that it’s only been about two minutes of constant weak vibrations. you almost want to show him sympathy. he must’ve been a lot more desperate than you had expected if he was cumming this soon. “please… fuck mama please let me cum.” he whispers, his hips thrusting up to meet the vibrations all the way through. “y’gonna cum for me? you gonna make a mess all over your phone? imagine what people would think if they knew you used your phone as a sex toy… how would that make you feel? like a desperate little slut?” you reply, clicking his contact on your phone once more. the vibrations start up again as chris moans, nodding his head rapidly. “please! fuck please please.” he whines, biting his lip. his orgasm hits him faster than he expects, because within seconds of his last plea, white spurts of his cum are coating his phone case. it’s a sight you wish you could’ve recorded but both of your phones were occupied.

it takes chris a second to catch his breath. it takes you a second to comprehend the situation that just went down. you shrug it off— it’s not the weirdest thing you’ve ever done. as you gather your thoughts next to him, you lay your head down on your boyfriends shoulder. “so like… are we still going to the gym or are we gonna go to best buy and get one of those waterproof cases?”

a/n: please nobody talk to me after this one. thanks and apologies in advance.

dividers by @13hoax and @bernardsbendystraws

tags: @mattybsgroupie @whore4mattsturniolo @sosasturns (for the 1 mili party) @darksturnz @surprisecurlyfriesbackup @ribbonlovergirl @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbratt333 @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @ayesha-eroticaa @bluessturniolo @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @marrykisskilled @cykss

#⋆˙⟡snoopychris #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

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lazycats-stuff · 2 days ago

Note

Don't know if or when your asks will be open, but how about Batfam x male reader, where Reader is sarcastic and somehow pisses off Jason. Then Jason and the rest of the brothers decide to get Reader stoned to see what would happen and how he would behave. Fast forward 5 hours and the entire Batfam and the Justice League are trying to save the Reader from the Legion of Doom, only to find the abandoned warehouse and every villain unconscious from exhaustion or whatever because of the Reader and the Reader (stoned out of his mind) just dancing with one of the major villains to the song Rasputin. Later, when they bring Reader back to the manor, Alfred just tears the brothers a new one while Reader is still doing the most random things like Sheldon Cooper on coffee.

Thought it would be funny, thank you

Okay, comedy is not my forte, but I'll do my best to make it funny. Also, yes it's been a while, but no one said college was easy.

Warnings: smoking weed, author knows nothing about weed and smoking, swearing, author sucks at comedy, Alfred is mad.

Summary: (Y/N) pisses Jason off, who decides to get revenge.

(Y/N) and Jason were always at odds. (Y/N) has always been a sarcastic person and sometimes it would grate Jason's nerves to no end. Everyone else were used to (Y/N) being sarcastic and sometimes that sarcasm was necessary, so it was nice to have a sarcastic person who was simply natural about it.

But Jason was in a bad mood that day and (Y/N)'s sarcasm was not welcome anywhere in his vicinity. But, since they live in the same house, they are bound to see each other. And soon enough they got into an argument. What was it about? None of them can even remember, but Jason can only remember the feeling of getting back at (Y/N).

So... With his other four brothers, they have devised a plan to get back at (Y/N).

And that is to get him stoned out of his mind and see what he does. Record anything embarrassing and use the for blackmail. Of course, Bruce and Alfred can't know anything about this. Otherwise there would be hell to pay.

Especially from Alfred.

But they weren't really worried about (Y/N). They have all been exposed to a lot of different things, so weed was the least of their worries. The only thing they needed to do was to make sure to stone him and make sure no one finds out. Now, the problem is how to get him stone, because (Y/N) won't take weed willingly and knowingly. So the sneakiness is the way to go.

And the four of them devised a plan.

It has been 5 hours. 5 fucking hours since (Y/N) was kidnapped by the Legion of Doom. Bruce was close to just losing his mind and/or ripping his hair out from the worry. He wasn't sure what he was going to do first. The four boys were slightly worried. (Y/N) was stoned and... Well, it was a lot. His cognitive abilities are dampened. Which is not good when you are kidnapped.

Especially if you are kidnapped by your enemies. No. Just no.

And then they got the lead and went to abandoned warehouse. Bruce called in the big guns. The entire Justice League was there to help him. And his four sons too. It was going to be all out. They do need their brother back. Especially since they stoned him and they could only hope that he would be fine.

" He's going to be fine, " Jason said as they were making their way to the warehouse.

Bruce thought he was talking in general. He had no clue that they stoned him. The other 3 brothers just glanced at each other, wondering if he was really going to be fine. If he is even alive. That would be a better point to start with. Is he even alive? Is he being tortured? Are they cutting up his body to send it back into pieces?

Who even knows what they are doing to (Y/N)?

Jason was slowly, but surely, starting to question himself and trying to push the guilt down.

If he hadn't stoned (Y/N)...

They surrounded the warehouse, ready for the worst. But the sight that greeted them was something that could be in a movie.

Villains strewn on the floor, not dead. Superman has said that they are all alive. Just unconscious. Their heartbeats were all slow. But this wasn't even the best part. (Y/N), clearly stoned, if not from the smell, then from the sight of him, dancing with Lex Luthor, the leader of the Legion, dancing to Rasputin. Lex was clearly stoned out of his mind too.

Now, Bruce was expecting the worst. But this is... This is something that you see in fiction, not reality. What the hell has happened here? Bruce had to many questions swirling in his mind, but the first one being how the fuck did (Y/N) get stoned. How the hell did (Y/N) get stoned?

There is no weed in the manor. He has a rule that no drugs are allowed in the house. None.

Bruce slowly approached (Y/N), just as Lex passed out from exhaustion. Oh, Bruce could smell the weed. He wrinkled his nose a bit, but slowly, with some coaxing, managed to get (Y/N) in the car. Superman, Wonder Woman, Cyborg and Flash, Aquaman had problems back home, loaded up the criminals for transport.

The villains weren't Bruce's problem at the moment. It was the fact that (Y/N) was high as a fucking kite. Maybe even higher. God only knows how high. But for now, they had to wait it out.

" What the hell were you 4 thinking?! Alfred will kill you 4! "

And turns out that Bruce was right. Alfred heard what happened to (Y/N) and to say he was livid would be a big understatement. A big one. At the moment, in the cave, Alfred was ripping them a new one.

" How could you all be so stupid to get him high?! He was never stoned in his life! "

" Alfr- " Jason started, but Alfred gave him a sharp look.

" DO NOT INTERUPT ME MASTER JASON! How could you think that it was a good revenge to get him high! What on earth went through your mind?! "

While Alfred was yelling, (Y/N)... (Y/N) was like Sheldon Copper on coffee. Jittery, couldn't stay still and was just a bundle of energy. Bruce was scared out of his mind. Sure, the man who weeds out terrorists, murderers and the rest, is afraid for his youngest son who was high as a fucking kite. Or even higher.

Again, God only knows how high they actually got him.

(Y/N) was mumbling, walking around the cave, restless and just unable to sit still. It was not a possibility. Bruce was trying not to get worried, but looking away for a split second and bam. (Y/N) was gone.

Now the panic has set in. Where is his son? Where the fuck is he?!

" Safe to say is that you 4 are grounded! How long, I am not sure, but lets make it clear, you'll be living in a prison! What you did was irresponsible and stupid! " Alfred continued, voice loud and clear, showing no signs of stopping down.

Bruce searched the entire cave and actually managed to find him. By this point, the effect seemed to have calmed down. (Y/N) was now calmer, munching on Oreos underneath a table. It seems that (Y/N) was calming down. Which was good. Soon enough, Bruce would put him to bed once he calms down a bit more.

" Alfred, the effect is wearing off, " Bruce declared to Alfred who calmed down a bit.

" Now, " Alfred's attention was back at the 4 boys, who were looking remorseful. His voice was now calm and collected. " You 4 are going to change, go upstairs, have dinner and go to your rooms. We'll talk more about your punishments in the morning, when we are all rested, I'm not mad and when (Y/N) is back from the heavens from how high he is. Up you all go. " He gestured with his hand and the 4 boys obeyed.

Morning came and (Y/N) came down. He was feeling dizzy, sleepy and clearly felt off in every sense of the word. Alfred gave him a light breakfast, trying to get some food in him. He didn't want (Y/N) to be hungry, especially not after being higher than a kite.

The others watched him, worried. They didn't mean it to go this far. Truly.

" Are you okay? " Jason asked quietly, making (Y/N) sigh.

" I swear, I will wrangle your fucking neck Jason. I swear to God. " (Y/N) rubbed his temples and Jason simply shut up after that.

Alfred didn't scold (Y/N) for the threat or for the language he has used. It was justified. (Y/N) wanting to snap his neck is a normal reaction after getting him high as a kite. Well, higher than a kite.

" Don't worry master (Y/N). You'll be back to your old self in a day or two. Don't stress yourself out, alright? "

(Y/N) nodded as he finished his plate and slowly moved to stand up, feeling off in every single sense of the word.

" Good, good. Slowly. " Alfred gently led him upstairs, where he tucked him into the bed to sleep. He also gave him a trashcan where he could throw up if he needed to.

" I would give you something to sleep, but I don't think that it is a good idea. Now, close your eyes and try to sleep.

Downstairs, Bruce was sitting with his other boys, a stern look on his face.

" I don't think I need to tell you that all 4 of you are grounded. For how long, that remains to be seen. This was stupid, reckless and for what? For revenge? Unfortunately, I won't know how he took down the Legion of Doom, because he has gaps in his memory. And I still can't believe he danced to Rasputin with Lex Luthor. You can all consider yourselves lucky that he's even alive. "

Oh, they were counting themselves lucky.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader #jason todd x male reader

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bougiebutchbinch · 2 days ago

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ugh UGHHHH I wanna write a sad fucked-up thing from Ning Yingying's POV

Shen Jiu didn't prey on Ning Yingying in any way, but he could literally only sleep when a woman was there and no men. He flatly refused to tell anyone this or the reasons why. Therefore, he has behaved 'inappropriately' with Ning Yingying (i.e., asking her to stay the night out of desperation because he needed to sleep and Liu Qingge had embarrassed him so much by dragging him out of the brothel that even that space no longer feels 'safe'; but obviously not touching her at all and staying well away from her - still highly Suspect to any outside perspective, though!)

And Ning Yingying isn't stupid (despite what some people think).

She was genuinely nervous about what her shizun might want with her (her shizun, who she knows has two faces - the kind face she shows her and the cruel one he shows Luo Binghe and damn near everyone else). But she also trusts him, and when nothing untoward happens, she's more than happy to have a sleepover with shizun whenever he asks!

But of course, this looks really fucking bad.

And during the trial, Liu Mingyan and Qi Qingqi and the little palace mistress and Qiu Haitang and so many more people, they all come to Ning Yingying and sit with her and talk to her gently, and tell her it's okay. They understand she might be uncomfortable with talking about what happened. They just want her to know that they're here for her, that they support her...

From Liu Mingyan and Qi Qingqi's perspectives, they've heard the rumours, and they're genuinely concerned. Little Palace Mistress and Qiu Haitang, of course, have a darker agenda, and pressure Ning Yingying until even she's not entirely sure what happened between her and her shizun. Did he really just make her a little bed on the other side of his room and put up a screen for privacy? Then ask her to sit on the cushion on the floor by his bed and play the guqin for a little while, until he fell asleep? Did anything more happen? Surely she'd remember - but trauma can be strange like that, Qiu Haitang confides, with teary eyes. Sometimes, your memories don't reveal everthing.

I want a story where Ning Yingying did falsely accuse Shen Jiu, but it's entirely understandable why. He shouldn't have put her in that position. He shouldn't have used her for comfort, even if it was entirely non-sexual and innocent. He should've talked to her and explained that he saw her as a daughter (though in what world would Shen Jiu ever be so open with his emotions, lmao). He should've confided in Yue Qingyuan and his Peak Lord siblings about the difficulties he was having sleeping and found some solution together that didn't damage anyone's reputation - but that would be entirely against everything Shen Jiu is.

And I want Ning Yingying to come to the water prison and sit in front of that sad human stick and tell him she's sorry, she doesn't know what to think, it's all so confusing; she doesn't remember him being a monster even though she said she did at the trial, but everyone keeps telling her he was a monster and she doesn't know what to think or what to believe -

And Shen Jiu can't say a word, since Luo Bingge cut out his tongue. He just looks at her with his one remaining eye and lets her speak.

#shen jiu #shen qingqiu #ning yingying #svsss #scum villain self saving system #scum villain #my fic #tw: csa mention

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melioristicbeast · 7 hours ago

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“Sorry,” Stiles said, unsure of why he was apologizing. “I’ve never heard that song before. Did you write it?” Derek looked uncomfortable, maybe a touch embarrassed, which was answer enough. “It’s good. I like it. It’s calming.” The small smile he got in response melted his heart a little bit. Fucking hell, he was so gone for this asshole. Stiles didn’t know what he was going to do. He wished he’d never realized how much he loved him. Wished he’d just continued to think they were best friends and nothing more. It was slowly going to kill him being so close, and yet so fucking far. Clearing his throat, he brought the book back up to continue reading, muttering that Derek should keep playing. He did, his fingers plucking gently at the strings, filling the loft with soft music. It really was calming, and soothing. Stiles really liked it. He liked it even more when he realized Derek could honestly express himself with the guitar. It still wasn’t a voice, but it was something, at least.

Actions Speak Louder than Words (ch18) by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

This fic is what spurred me to start doing sterek fanart back in the beginning of december - magic!stiles, cursed!derek, stiles/jackson terrifying everyone else as friends - an incredible 430K story with a completely endearing slow-burn and slowly unfolding exploration of the characters and their relationship, made complete with the perfect bow of cursed-mute-Derek because 'Derek's eyebrows have a language of their own but only Stiles is fluent' is my favorite and this author does it SO well. And gives Derek a guitar. Derek plays a guitar!!

Ella, consider this my loveletter to your works - they all, this one in particular, buoyed me through a tough time in my life and brought me back to a love of drawing that I haven't had in years and a fandom that has been so generous in their support of my silly art. Thank you for sharing your works!

And a huge thank you to everyone's support so far - the sweet comments in replies, the unhinged all-caps tags, yes-and'ing my silly ideas and headcanons, i'm just over here kicking my feet and giggling and definitely not getting teary-eyed over it no siree no lacrimal action happening here

#Teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek fanart #fanart of fanfiction #isthatbloodonhisshirt #Actions speak louder than words #my art #but also #mel blabs #and my too much gene is showing but lbr at this point it's more of a too much genome #Except when it comes to drawing a guitar apparently #strings? having it look like it's tuned??#shh #i had to draw a line somewhere and it was drawn somewhere after the 9th redraw of stiles' face and 4th of derek's LOL

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 hours ago

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if you fall, i will catch you

for @steddielovemonth day 2 using Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper

rated t | 855 words | no cw | tags: high school, prom, slow dance, flirting, open ending but assumed getting together

🪩🕺💃🪩🕺💃🪩🕺💃🪩💃🕺🪩

Prom is stupid.

Steve didn’t even want to come. He didn’t have a date and nothing is more embarrassing than showing up to prom alone. Even the nerds come as a group, dancing and laughing together.

His mom made an appointment for his suit fitting and he couldn’t really explain to her that there was no need. She still thinks he and Nancy are on track to be married when Nancy graduates high school. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’ll probably die alone.

Okay, that’s a little dramatic. He’s probably not gonna die alone.

But he may die unhappy, and that’s worse.

Most of the music hasn’t been terrible so far, at least. Only one slow song played and no one seemed interested in dancing to it.

Steve’s a fucking wallflower at his own prom. He never saw this coming.

He figures he could probably escape within the next few songs, no one would even notice his absence. He makes a mental plan to wait until one of the parent chaperones walks back to the other side of the room.

Then he’s off.

He manages to escape to the hall behind the gym, the one that leads to the auditorium and drama class, not the main building of the school. No one should be back here. It’s the perfect escape route.

“Never thought I’d see the day when King Steve is trying to escape prom,” a voice says from the end of the hall. The music from the gym is echoing in here, but the voice is much louder. It’s familiar, too. “Miss Wheeler too busy with Byers to dance?”

It’s Munson. Steve sighs.

“Why are you even here?”

“It’s my senior prom, too! Or should those of us not graduating not be allowed?” Eddie walks closer and Steve sees that he’s actually dressed up. It’s not a designer suit like he’s been forced into, but it’s nice. Eddie looks…nice.

“Wait,” Steve registers what he actually said. “Not graduating?”

“Yep. Apparently quadratic formulas are crucial to my development and I cannot enter society until I understand them.” Eddie kicks his foot across the tile, leaving a scuff mark from shoes that have probably been waxed beyond necessity. “And I guess dissecting a frog and turning in homework may have helped.”

“But aren’t you pretty smart?” Steve thought he was one of those dungeon dweebs like Dustin. Dustin’s the smartest person he knows, without a doubt, kid or not. He thought all the nerds who play that game were like that.

“Sure, I’m smart enough,” Eddie scoffs. “But I don’t play by their rules. I forget to do homework. I argue.”

“But if you know the stuff, they can’t fail you.”

“Ah, but they can. I don’t have the Harrington name to convince them to change a D to a C. It’s all good. Everyone expected it.”

Steve’s brows furrow, forehead creasing as he thinks about how many things people expected of him that won’t happen.

“Just because people expect it doesn’t mean you have to give it to them,” he says.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he seems shocked by Steve’s words. But the shock wears off quickly. Steve wonders if he imagined it.

“Right you are! Very wise words from the king,” Eddie bows dramatically.

Steve laughs.

Eddie glances up, tense until he realizes Steve’s not laughing at him, just at the entertainment. He stands straight and holds out his hand.

“I do believe such wise words should be repaid with a dance,” Eddie puts on a fake British accent, nose pointed to the sky, smirk playing on his lips.

Steve thinks this must be what it’s like to be charmed by someone.

“A dance?” Steve asks. “Here? With me?”

“It would be my honor,” Eddie loses the accent and turns his head back down so he’s looking right at Steve’s eyes. “Miss Lauper wrote this song just for us, after all.”

Steve’s confusion grows until he hears the song coming from the gym. He can only imagine how awkward it must be in the gym while some couples slow dance with chaperones watching their every breath. He reaches out and takes Eddie’s hand.

“The honor is mine, sir Munson,” Steve tries for an accent like Eddie had previously, but it falls flat.

Eddie pulls him close, but hesitates before he puts an arm around his waist. Steve feels breathless all of a sudden, like they’ve rocketed into space and he forgot one of those astronaut suits. He nods, giving permission for Eddie to take the lead.

When Eddie pulls him closer, they’re almost flush against each other.

Steve’s heart is racing.

“I didn’t know you were weird,” Eddie admits quietly. It sounds a lot like admiration. He’s swaying them back and forth gently, and Steve finds it’s easy to lose track of everything but the way Eddie’s hands rest on his body. “It’s nice to see you, Steve.”

It’s a lot more than what it sounds like.

As Cyndi Lauper plays, Steve wonders if this is how his prom was always meant to be spent: in Eddie Munson’s arms, falling.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie events #steddielovemonth #steve harrington x eddie munson #prom #slow dancing #flirting #high school

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heartsriki · 17 hours ago

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ALWAYS YOURS, NEVER MINE ⌇늦은

pairing ᝰ jungwon x fem!reader (?) — featuring.. riki & jay word count: 3k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ pt. 2, angst, high-school au!, gut-wrenching angst like trust, love triangle, crying, lots of selfishness coming from won, hurt no comfort..., one-sided love.

synopsis — why did jungwon hide rikis love letter to you? (PLEASE READ PART 1)

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊there were a lot of questions/asks for explanations from pt. 1 so here it is! guys lowkey started tearing up I'm so sorry jungwon biases... I couldn't help myself again...

5 months before…

Today was Jungwon’s worst day possible. He hadn’t done as well as he wanted on an important test—not a failing grade, but not perfect either. On top of that, he left his stuff somewhere and couldn’t remember where.

Usually, he was calm, cool, and collected, but right now, he felt helpless. Resting his head on his desk, he let the frustration settle in, feeling like he was slowly being submerged in water—until he felt a slight tug on his hair.

Slowly, he lifted his head, only to see you, your hand still hovering above him. You flinched at his movement, clearly not expecting him to be awake.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were asleep, and your hair just looked so fluffy—” you blurted, your words tumbling over each other.

Jungwon just stared at you, silent.

You took his lack of response as a reason to keep going. “Anyway—I found this bag and recognized the name. Here you go!” You slung it over the back of his chair, grinning.

He glanced at the bag before looking back at you. You knew him? He didn’t know you.

The silence stretched, and you hummed, shifting awkwardly. He still hadn’t said thank you. You were about to excuse yourself when you caught a glimpse of the paper under his arms.

“Hey, a 75? That’s great! Man, I barely got a 65—you’re so smart. You wanna study sometime?”

Jungwon opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the classroom door swung open.

“Y/N! We need you in the student council room—the boys are fighting again!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. Without another word, you gave him a small wave, flashing a pretty smile before running off.

Jungwon raised his head, staring at the spot you had just been. “A 75 isn’t even good,” he murmured, resting his head back down. “What a weirdo.”

Yet, despite himself, he kept thinking back to that moment. He wouldn’t admit it, but it brought him a strange sense of comfort. He also didn’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened if he had really lost his stuff.

Days passed, and while he didn’t speak to you much, he saw you everywhere. Then, one day, as he strolled through the library, he spotted you working at the front desk.

He lingered behind a shelf, watching as you glanced around before sneaking to the back of the library.

Curiosity got the better of him. He followed.

Turning the corner, he caught you opening a small box, slipping a piece of paper inside. When you turned around, both of you flinched.

“Jungwon? What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? What’s in the box?”

Quickly, you stretched your arms out, blocking him. “It’s nothing.”

Jungwon smirked, trying to peek past you. “If it’s nothing, let me see.”

Before you could stop him, he had already snatched up the paper. You groaned, covering your face as he read it.

“You were embarrassed over cussing someone out for wearing the same headband as you on picture day?” His grin widened, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I talked about wearing that headband for weeks…” you mumbled, looking away.

For a moment, he stayed silent. And then—he burst out laughing. Full, unrestrained laughter—the kind he hadn’t had in ages.

From that day on, he stayed by your side.

Jungwon was well-known around school. Girls found him handsome, even flirted with him, guys thought he was pretty damn good at sports and cool to hang out with. But because of that pedestal, few ever approached him as a true friend.

You didn’t seem to care about all that.

Instead of just waving at him in the hallway, you ran up to him to rant about your day. Instead of borrowing a pencil and ignoring him for the rest of class, you swapped desk numbers just to sit beside him. Instead of leaving him alone when he shut down, you stayed. Always.

You became his best friend. And he was yours. Thats all he ever needed.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

February rolled around—the month of love. The halls were littered with Valentine’s posters, the air buzzing with excitement.

Jungwon didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’d just hang out with you that day.

But when he sat down next to you in class, you were grinning at your phone, giggling.

He smiled. “What’s got you so giddy today, huh?”

You turned your screen toward him. “I got Riki’s contact today… look!”

Jungwon’s smile faltered. He glanced at the name on your screen. Ah. Right.

He forgot about your tiny crush on Riki.

Nodding, he turned to the window, pretending it didn’t bother him. But the dull thump in his chest told him otherwise. I guess you’ll be busy that day. How lame.

Later that day, he was on the soccer field when his phone vibrated. Seeing your name, he grinned stupidly and opened the message.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Jungwon stared at the screen.

Riki? Well. It was about time. He had been into you without a doubt.

Scoffing, Jungwon typed back.

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Jungwon frowned. You could be so oblivious sometimes. To more than one person.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

Setting his phone down, he exhaled sharply. He had a weird urge to see you. Maybe you wanted to talk about it.

He sighed, packing up his things and heading toward the library.

As he neared the back entrance, he spotted Riki slipping out. Their eyes met for a second, but neither spoke.

There was something in that look. Knowing.

Jungwon clenched his jaw and walked past him, slipping inside unnoticed.

Then, his eyes landed on the box.

For a split second, he hesitated. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward.

Glancing around, he reached inside. There were a lot of letters. But he found Riki’s almost immediately—a pink envelope decorated with tiny white hearts, his name written neatly on the front which was uncommon for love letters being left vulnerable in a box.

Jungwon stared at it. “What an idiot.”

Without thinking, he plucked it from the box, turning it over in his hands before slowly opening it.

Inside, a note.

Hey, I don’t really know how to start this. Okay, so… I think you’re really annoying. But for some reason, I like how annoying you are. You’re incredibly nosy, but I don’t mind when you peck at my life. I don’t know when I started to feel this way, but I know how I feel now. I like you. A lot. Too much, actually. If you feel the same, then… I don’t know. You’ll know what to do. You always do. — N.R.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his temples.

If you knew about this, you’d be over the moon.

And yet—before he could stop himself—he shoved the letter into his bag.

Why?

He convinced himself it was to toy with you. Something deeper inside knew other wise.

When Jungwon saw you through the student council door, scanning through all the love letters, he felt a soft pang in his chest. You were looking for Riki’s… he knew it.

When he entered, he played it off—laughing, smiling—knowing he had the one thing you had been waiting for this entire year. But when the opportunity came to fess up, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

When Riki stepped in, both Jungwon and Riki locked eyes. It didn’t even last a second, but the way he looked at him… he knew. He definitely knew that Jungwon had grabbed the letter.

Jungwon excused himself, whispering, “Good luck,” into Riki’s ear. A small part of him meant it. It was more for you.

He walked slowly to the locker room, overthinking about you and Riki. Overthinking about you and himself. What is this? It hurt. It hurt so much.

He was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder. It was Jay, another friend of his.

“Hey man, where’s your girlfriend?” Jay asked with a knowing grin.

Jungwon blinked, still walking toward the locker room. “Girlfriend? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jay sighed, glancing around before looking back at him. “Don’t play dumb. You know I’m talking about Y/N. Did you confess yet?”

Jungwon stopped, causing Jay to stumble a little. Jay looked at him, puzzled.

Confess. Did he like you? Is that what this is?

That’s what he thought about for the rest of the day.

He liked you.

He liked you. You. You. You.

He fumbled on the field, spaced out during conversations, and excused himself from after-practice hangouts.

When he got home, he immediately went to his room, throwing himself onto his bed and sighing at the ceiling. The moment of peace was interrupted by a vibration in his right hand. He brought his phone up to his face and saw your contact. You always called him after his practice.

He answered, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“AHHHHHHH, Wonnie! You won’t believe it! He likes me back! Isn’t that crazy? For some reason, his love letter went missing—some weirdo took it. But he confessed to me!” you squealed from the other line.

He smiled a little at your happiness, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. “That’s great Y/N… You guys dating now?”

“Actually, we’re taking things slow. He blabbed about needing to take care of something first.”

That made Jungwon sit up. “Take care of something?” he asked.

“Yeah. No clue, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been waiting long enough—I can wait a little bit more.” You smiled to yourself.

Jungwon thought. Riki didn’t need to take care of something. He needed to take care of someone.

“I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” Jungwon said, trying to sound reassuring.

You sighed at his words. “Thanks, I feel like the happiest girl in the world.”

Jungwon didn’t respond to that. “I’m pretty tired from practice. Talk to you later?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Wonnie! Of course—sleep well, alright?”

“…You too.”

And with that, he hung up.

Jungwon stared at his phone, the call screen fading to black as the weight in his chest settled in. His fingers curled around the device, gripping it tighter than necessary.

He likes me back!

Your words replayed in his head over and over, each time pressing harder against the part of him that had only just realized the truth.

He liked you.

And now, he was too late.

Jungwon exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed before running a hand down his face. The ceiling blurred in his vision as he lay back down, feeling—what was this? Emptiness? Regret?

He wanted to be happy for you. He was happy for you. You were his best friend. That’s what best friends did. They supported each other, no matter what.

But then why did it feel like his heart was being squeezed in a way that left him breathless?

Riki still hadn’t officially asked you out. That was something, right? But Jungwon knew it wasn’t for the reason you thought.

He needed to take care of someone.

Jungwon scoffed to himself, letting his arm drape over his eyes.

Riki knew. He definitely knew.

And now, Jungwon had a choice to make.

Does he let this be? Pretend his feelings didn’t exist, swallow them whole, and stand by your side like he always had?

Or does he do something about it?

His fingers twitched at the thought, but deep down, he already knew his answer.

Jungwon had never been the type to back down from a challenge. But this—this wasn’t some game. This wasn’t a competition he could win just by trying harder, running faster, pushing himself more.

This was you.

And if anyone deserved to be happy, it was you.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

“Pass it!” Jungwon yelled across the field.

He had been practicing all morning, through breaks, and even during lunch. Soccer was his escape—the only thing that drowned out the noise in his head.

But that peace was shattered when he spotted a figure standing by the benches near his stuff.

Riki.

He stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady. His expression was unreadable, but Jungwon knew exactly why he was here.

Jungwon hesitated for only a second before calling for a break. With a deep sigh, he jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead before sitting down on the bench. He didn’t look at Riki, just grabbed his water bottle and took a sip.

Riki sat beside him, wasting no time.

“Do you know what happened to my letter?”

Jungwon glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned his gaze back to the field. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?” His voice was flat, expression unreadable.

Riki exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly as if he expected that response. “Why?”

Jungwon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know the answer to that too.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. The distant shouts of players and the sound of cleats against the field felt worlds away.

Finally, Jungwon sat up, patting his thigh before standing. “Is that it? I’m pretty busy.” He nodded toward the field, crossing his arms.

Riki stood too, this time meeting Jungwon’s gaze head-on. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“However you feel, take it out on me. Not her, she cares for you.”

Jungwon clenched his jaw.

Riki let the words linger before turning on his heel and walking away.

Jungwon watched him go, fingers tightening around his water bottle. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on it, suffocating him.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before kicking the bench. It barely moved, but it was enough to make his frustration bubble over.

Why did Riki have to say it like that? Like he was some selfish idiot who didn’t already know that? Like he didn’t already hate himself for it?

With a forced breath, he shook his head, pushing everything down, just like he always did. He had a game to focus on.

Without another glance at the benches, he jogged back onto the field, forcing himself to get lost in the only thing that still made sense.

A week after that encounter with Riki, Jungwon found himself in your room. He was doing homework while you sat beside him, pouting at your phone. He glanced at you and smiled.

“What are you grumbling about?” he asked.

You sighed, putting your phone down and continuing with your work. “It’s nothing…”

Jungwon raised a brow. He had never seen you this down before. “What? Tell me. You always tell me what’s wrong,” he pushed.

Pouting, you looked at him with puppy eyes. “It’s Riki… It’s been about a week, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him. Do you think he ghosted me?”

Jungwon stiffened. He had overheard from some guys that Riki had gotten into serious trouble with his parents and now had to work overtime at his part-time job. He sighed, looking at you. You were so obviously heartbroken. Should he tell you?

Or should he be selfish?

This was his chance. He could win you over. He could show you that he was here. That he would always be here.

He gulped, staring back down at his work. He was selfish—just for a moment. But then, he heard a broken sniffle come from you. His eyes snapped to you, watching as you tried to dry your tears, a fake smile on your face as if pretending everything was okay.

His heart dropped. Did Riki really mean that much to you?

Jungwon quickly moved next to you, guiding you to rest your head on his lap. Your cries softened as he gently patted your head, just like he always did.

He looked down at you—your eyes shut, your breathing slowing, the tension in your body fading. And then, softly, he spoke:

“I overheard that he got into some pretty big trouble and is working overtime at his job. He probably didn’t want to trouble you with that stupid mentality of his.”

Your eyes shot open. You turned your head, looking up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

In an instant, you shot up, grabbing your jacket and shoes. “Gosh, that jerk. Where does he work? I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. Text me the address?” you said, pacing around the room.

Jungwon watched you, unable to find the right words. He wanted to stop you.

Before you could rush out the door, he stood up and grabbed your wrist. You looked up at him, confused. “Wonnie? What is it?”

“I—uhm.”

This was it. He should tell you now. If he didn’t, it would kill him. But as he looked at you—eager, desperate to see Riki—he exhaled and let go.

“Take your umbrella. It’s raining.”

You smiled, running past him to grab it. “Thanks! Leave whenever you want! And don’t forget to take some leftovers home!”

And just like that, you were gone.

Jungwon stood frozen, staring at the empty space you had just occupied. Slowly, his eyes wandered around your room.

The walls covered in posters. The notebooks scattered on your desk. The lingering scent of your perfume.

It was all so familiar.

His mind filled with memories—the time you both got front-row tickets to your favorite band and shouted while holding hands, the nights he stayed up to bring you food when you were sick, the first time you hugged him while crying into his chest.

And yet, despite all those moments, despite everything he had done for you… he never came to terms with his feelings.

A tear slid down his cheek before he even realized it. He wiped at it absently, staring at his damp fingers in disbelief.

Then, without warning, the tears came faster.

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop them, but his chest tightened, and his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor, hands gripping the fabric of his pants as silent sobs racked his body.

It was too much.

The love he had buried.

The longing he had ignored.

The pain of watching you run to someone else.

He had lost you.

And the worst part?

You were never his to begin with.

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blond3ang3l · 3 days ago

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"Keep going bunny. Since your apparently do it so often when I'm not here. Let me see how you really are behind my back." This was so embarrassing to get caught doing. Your boyfriend was gone for almost a week cause of work and you were one to get worked up easily. Unfortunately for you he came home and caught you with your plushie between your thick thighs grinding against it. The soft whimpers and pants that fell from you were too distinct so he knew you were getting close. It was a beautiful sight to him. He wanted to surprise you by coming over and instead he got an even better one.

He wiped the tears that started to drip from your eyes at the overwhelming need to cum, but no matter how much you did it was like you couldn't. Nothing felt as good as him and he knew that.

" Please B, mm help me." You pleaded to the older man. His dark grin only widened as he saw you getting desperate. Usually you'd be so shy, making him turn your plushies away when you did anything, but now you were making a mess all over your favorite one. His large hand grabbed your face with a taunt. His free one went into your drawer that was next to your side of the bed.

The hand on your jaw moved your head up so you were looking directly at him. He took in your dumbed down look. The neediness hiding (just barely) in your glossy eyes. The way your face had a slight tint of red from you being frustrated at not being able to cum. "Can you ask nicely, hm? Ask the right way and I might think about it. You let out a small sob only making him smirk. His grip tightened as his hand moved from your jaw to your chest, lifting up the shirt which just so happened to be his that you wore.

He didn't have to worry about you breaking eye contact with him and moving your head. You knew better. The rough hand grabbed and smacked at your chest making you whine. "C'mon bunny. Why do I have to repeat myself? You want something then what do you do?" He taunted.

Your head was practically spinning at this point. He always dumbed you down whenever he was around. How could you resist? He was everything you wanted in a man. He made all the decisions and did everything for you so it was bound to happen that your brain would turn off around him. "Have to ask nicely." Your answer earned you a smirk from your boyfriend. Anyone else would think that reply would have made him happy, but you knew it egged him on.

"Go ahead. I'm waiting bunny." Your smaller hand moved to his that was still harshly groping your chest. "Please. Daddy I need your help. S' not the same as you. Butcher gave a small hum of acknowledgement before pressing his lips against yours. The gloss you wore getting all over his lips and a bit in his beard. The temporary distraction quickly ended when you felt your vibrator against your most sensitive parts making you throw your head back.

Your legs instinctively closed shut only for him to force them open. " Nuh uh, none of that shit. You're gonna take this punishment or I'm gonna draw it out real long." Your hands grabbed at his arm that he had wrapped around your waist as your hips bucked into the wand repeatedly. Your moans bounced off the wall and filled Butchers ears much to his delight. "H-hah! Fuck, m' so close daddy. Can I cum?"

Butcher gave a chuckle at your begging before turning up the speed. Within seconds you felt your orgasm come over you. Your hips stuttered as the sticky mess between your thighs, on the bed, and on your plushie grew tenfold. Your breaths started to grow shaky and sounded more like whines mixed with pants. He wiped away the last few remaining tears as your legs twitched. "There you go, so good f' me. Lay down okay? Let me clean you up." You have a small nod as he pressed his lips against your cheek. Having a older boyfriend was more fun than people led on..

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#spotify #fanfic #x character #x reader #x black reader #x black plus size reader #x black male reader #x male reader #x bottom male reader #smut #butcher x reader #the boys x reader #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher smut #billy butcher #the boys fanfic #the boys smut

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allfortheslay25 · 2 days ago

Note

Hi!!! I love your blog and was wondering if you have any Milo and Warren hcs?

Spoilers for Milo’s Future

The first cordial conversation these two have actually happens at Eden’s (before it is ruined lol)

Like I’ve mentioned before, Milo’s goal while being with the Foxes was to improve their teamwork and help them win a game. One of their team bonding things he suggested was clubbing together so he took them to Eden’s since his family has a history there (and he could house them in the Columbia house which he bought from an old Fox when he was 15)

Wymack allowed the team to go out as long as they stayed in doors and didn’t get into too much trouble. Milo was stuck babysitting the real trouble makers and he unfortunately had a rude awakening that the bartender he met back as a kid (Roland) was not as chill as he thought he was

Warren let the cigarette burn away at the tips of his nails. Christen leaned closer to his knuckles to blow at the cherry end, smirking when he recoiled in disgust.

“You need to smoke it or it’ll die.” Christen said.

Warren stuffed his free hand into the leather confines of his jacket pocket, clenching his fist so hard his scabs split open.

“Disgusting. Let it die.”

Ash stumbled, leaning her weight into Christen as she blew a mouthful of smoke his way. “I’ve been sooooo generous. We’ve been so generous. You don’t want to let your lungs stay a virgin forever, babe, it’s embarrassing.”

The striker had been nothing but a nuisance to Warren since he moved to the states. Intoxicated and naked, she preferred to press his buttons and rob him of his anger management progress. But Ash was scum and Warren found hanging out with someone like her made him feel better about himself, as horrible as it was. He felt indebted to her after knocking her out of last year’s season. Warren looked down at the cigarette between her fingers. It was hard to tell the arm had ever been broken at all.

When her hands reached for his face, he moved his arm up, stopping her in her tracks. Christen pulled them back, far enough that Warren would be forced to take three steps forward if he so much as wished to snap their necks.

“My eyes are up here,” Ash cooed.

Warren glanced away from her long throat and scowled at the two oufs.

“Really, though, how do you expect to manage all that crazy without something to take off the edge? Smoking a cigarette is the least dangerous option we’ve offered you.”

Christen jostled her. “I don’t even know why you bothered asking the retard.”

Warren dug his thumbnail through his pointer finger and clenched his teeth so hard he’d be sure to crack his jaw.

Ash grinned and hip checked Christen. “I like him. Big scary European dog. Woof woof.”

Warren curled his lip. He didn’t know how far intoxicated she was but it couldn’t be as hard as their usual routine. He saw Milo empty their pockets before they left.

Just like that, Warren’s body sagged in content. The image of Milo’s beautiful eyes swirled through his brain like crystal waves at the beach. Sometimes, Warren got jealous of the sun, being that the evidence of its kisses freckled his skin every time he saw him. Warren would not insult God by praying for the man, but he begged his forgiveness every night for he knew who he’d see in his dreams. Such a twisted form of fate to introduce him to someone so addicting. It wasn’t right. Warren was sure you’d have to first taste something for it to control you so, yet here he stood, poisoned with no antidote for heartache. Oh, Warren wanted so deeply it burned. It will burn. The devil smirks at me now.

“Hey!”

Warren startles, his fist coming out of his pocket but then he sees the eye of the sea and stops. Milo was a sight to behold. He’d demanded everyone dress their best for this night out, as if it were a requirement for entry at this so-called ‘Eden’. Warren had allowed Ash to dress him and in turn, he’d lent Christen a few things. But Milo had surely tricked him. The man must be planning Warren’s murder, why else distract him with a flash of his gorgeous and freckled abdomen. So many freckles.

Milo stomped over to the blonde mooncalves. Christen once again pulled them away, far from where the young Minyard-Josten could smell their deceit.

“You two! Get back inside!” He shouted.

Christen and Ash moved faster than Warren thought possible, hiding the cigarette and Ash’s positively large pupils. Milo chased them to the back door of the club, a breathtaking view as the moonlight earned her turn to caress his face in her light. Warren swallowed the lump in his throat or maybe the Lord holds his tongue as punishment for his unfathomable lust.

“Don’t ruin the night for everyone! You both know Coach said to stay indoors!” Milo hisses at their backs.

He huffed, shoulders going down as he muttered something venomous under his breath. Warren’s face flushed at the intrusive idea that Milo ought to shout at him instead. Don’t waste your words on the air or the piss covered concrete. Cuss at me. Spit the poison at me, burn me with your glare. Warren vaguely recognized the heat from the cigarette threatening at the first knuckle of his finger. It wasn’t enough to bring him out of his longing. Milo’s teal coat emphasized the color in his irises, but paled in comparison to the makeup he asked the Captain to frame around his eyes after Barry David called him a slur. Warren had begun to realize Milo lived to spite others. He wore makeup to spite David, sung in the locker rooms to press the men’s buttons, trimmed his hair because Ash said long hair was more attractive on him, and pressed his chest against Warren’s just because he stole the ball from him during scrimmages. And if Warren found more ways to knock over Milo’s stick, just to feel the idea of Milo’s heartbeat against his own—

“Oh, Warren…” Milo noticed him, awkwardly dropping his tensed fists behind him.

Warren was too dumbfounded to speak. He bit his tongue to prevent it from getting him in trouble. Despite what the team thought, he wasn’t slow. English wasn’t easy, he found it hard to form a sentence that wasn’t as vulgar as he learned from the Sharks back in France. They taught him all the bad words first, then worse things so he’d follow along during their threats. But English, Greek, nor French—none of their vocabularies held the words Milo deserved to hear. However, this was his chance was it not? Couldn’t he start fresh? Couldn’t he apologize? He hadn’t ruined it all just yet. Milo isn’t like the rest. He closes the distance with Warren everytime they speak, he stands too close, closer than anyone on the team had the courage to. He could close the distance. He didn’t need Milo to hold him or fall in love with him. Warren was okay watching from the sidelines, listening to his voice was enough. Let me watch as you play exy with the kind of fire that devastates our earth, let me listen to you ramble on about anything. I’ll hang on to every word like clothes on a line or a painting on a wall. Just say yes.

Milo smiled, as if he heard Warren’s thoughts.

“Having fun?” He asked.

Warren bit down harder. He shrugged in lieu of an answer.

Milo glanced down at his cigarette. Warren was about to crush the offending stick until Milo leaned closer, taking a deep breath and giving Warren a soft look. “Sorry,” he said bashfully, “the smell reminds me of simpler times. It’s nice.”

“Do you smoke?” Warren blurted.

Milo paused, maybe not expecting Warren to speak at all.

“No… I can’t. But it’s a nice reminder that things hadn’t always been so bad.” He gives the cigarette one last gentle look before shrugging off the wall. “I’d better go back inside, make sure everyone is safe.”

Warren watched him go, because it’d be cruel to force him to stay. He looked down at the cigarette still holding on between his crooked fingers and brought it to his lips.

This is what the sketches looked like from three years ago lol

I would’ve added the rest of the scene (I wrote it three years ago) but the post was getting too long. Anyways, unfortunately the night ends when Milo is really put off by Roland (who’s been flirting with him since he found out who he was) so he’s trying to get his foxes to leave. Ashely refuses and is just doing drugs and chatting up some dude. Warren, pent up from the anger Chris and Ash stacked on him all night, went to civilly bring her to the cars. Ash badmouths him and comments on his mothers and his hard on for Milo (which is a joke since no one knows he’s crushing) so Warren snaps and breaks her jaw on the counter of the bar. They’re kicked out of Eden’s and Milo has to get them to the ER

Warren ruined his development with Milo who begins to be cautious around him now, keeping Warren at arms length and worst of all, Warren watched Milo’s hands tremble as he dialed coach on the way there.

#aftg #all for the game #art #doodles #oc #oc art #aftg oc #miloverse #all for milo #Milo Minyard josten #milo josten #ed warren #ash salazar #chris herman #my foxes #all for my foxes

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