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mercurycft · 7 months ago

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𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 — 𝐋𝐖

## the bubble universe - leah x reader !!

hi pookies!! i’ve really been enjoying writing shorter and fluffier fics recently! somehow this ended up being a bit longer than intended! i hope you enjoy this! more to come. you’ll be able to find them under the ‘the bubble universe’ section on my masterlist!! love always - RG x

2k words!

no warnings. pure in-love sweetness.

"so, what do you think, le?" you asked, eyes sparkling with excitement as you held up a newly-purchased jersey with the number six emblazoned on it.

leah looked up from her laptop, a smile playing on her lips. "it's perfect, lovie, just like everything else you pick." you replied with a sweet smile and a gentle eyeroll, folding the shirt neatly and pushing it to the side of the sofa which remains empty beside you.

the two of you sat in leah's living room, which as of a few days ago was now officially also yours too, cozied up beneath a blanket. you sat surrounded by boxes containing all of your beloingings, labelled by room and organised neatly into piles. re-runs of old shows playing on the tv ahead of you, casting flashes of colour across the room, overpowered by the lamp light from the corner of the room.

though you sat close together, leah had angled her body and screen away from you. tapping away on the keys with narrowed eyes of concentration. "what're you tip tapping away so furiously at?" you teased, lifting your head exageratedly to sneak a peak at her screen.

"hey, no peaking!" she quipped back, pulling the screen down to sheild it. "good things come to those who wait, love." she spoke after a second, lifting her hand and brushing her knuckles against your cheek gently.

"fine," you huffed, tilting your head to kiss her hand softly before turning back to the screen in front of you; attempting to drown out the noise of her tapping with the serene sounds of gavin and stacey.

the football season was in full swing, and your weekends were usually spent cheering from the stands, so a saturday in together was a rare but valued gift. you spent the time relaxing, allowing yourself to potter around. leah, on the other hand, seemed consistently distracted. whether that be by training, or whatever it is she seemed to be doing on her laptop or phone. you paid it no mind, aware of leah's growing responsibility. unbeknownst to you, that evening, leah had announced to the team her plans for the coming days.

you woke on sunday to leah leaning over you, training kit on and hair slicked into a ponytail at the back of her head. "good morning, love. im off in a minute, call me when you get up okay?" through the stirring of your sleep you murmured a small response and lifted to kiss her gently, before waving her out of the room.

it was past nine when you finally woke up fully. leah long gone and already at training as you made your way around the house carefree. after a swift call to leah, a lazy breakfast and a hot shower - you stumbled into the kitchen; towel still in hand and scrunching the last of the water out of your hair.

the sun shone through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow on the gleaming counters. it was quiet without leah's usual 'morning country session' as you called it, and the sound of her soft singing echoeing through the hall. you grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, scrolling through your phone.

your thumb froze mid-swipe when you saw a message from leah pop to the top of your screen. "hey, the girls keep bothering me about seeing you. wear your new jersey. love you x" you stifled a laugh at the thought of beth forcing leah to type and send the message, shaking your head softly and typing small reply.

you took your time getting dressed, slipping on the jersey adorned with leah's number six with a sense of pride. wearing it felt like a silent declaration of your support and love for her. as you made your way to the living room, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.

your face screwed together with confusion, taking a second to swipe your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check the time. half ten. "can't be leah then," you thought aloud as you made your way to the front door, you swung it open to reveal beth. stood in her kit and holding two take-away cups of coffee in her hands.

"good morning, my favourite wag." she spoke cheerfully, moving into the open space you had created by opening the door further to let her in. you shared a small hug as she came in, laughing at her comment.

"you know i hate when you guys call me that," you laughed, but shook it off, taking one of the cups from her as she thrusted them towards you. "you're the best, but can i ask what you're doing here and not at training?" you shut the door behind her as she advanced further into the house.

"i have a late start and leah said to come and get you because-"

"she took the car," you both said in unison, breaking into a small shared laugh over leah's predictability.

"give me two minutes and ill be ready to go, just have to go put on my jewellery."

you retreated back into the bedroom, as you reached for your necklace, the doorbell rang again. you huffed quietly to yourself, confused on who else could possibly be at the door.

"i got it," beth called from downstairs, opening the door.

"what was it?" you asked as you made it down the stairs, clasping the necklace around your neck and shaking your hair onto your back.

"just a parcel," she said shrugging, placing it on the kitchen counter and turning back to you. "ready?"

you nodded, grabbing your keys and checking for your phone one last time before flicking off the lights and locking the door behind you.

the car ride was quick, and you and beth chatted the whole way. once you arrived at the grounds, beth led you around to the side entrance, away from the usual doors at the front. "whats going on?" you questioned with a quizzical look, "leah said to bring you here." she replied with a seemingly unbothered shrug.

you followed her down the corridor and into the changing room, which was unusually quiet and empty. beth stopped you just before the double doors, forcing you to turn around and face her one last time. she smiled at you, with nothing over than love with a small hint excitement. "where is everyone? you lot are stressing me out." you laughed, attempting to break the confusing silence.

"they're all outside, probably running circles around your mrs." she teased, eyes flicked across your features and hair, then down to the jersey. you watch as a smile spreads across her features and she reaches for your phone out of your hands.

"you're scaring me, i dont want to go out there alone if everyone is out there!" you whined like an anxiety ridden child, taking a deep breath as beth pushed your hair off your shoulders and looked directly into your eyes.

"you'll be fine. trust me, go out there."

beth nudged you gently towards the doors, the sound of your heartbeat growing louder in your ears. you took a deep breath and stepped out onto the field, squinting against the sudden burst of light. once they had focused to the brightness, your eyes skimmed across the pitch searching for leah.

your gaze finally fell into the middle of the pitch where players and staff seemed to crowd around someone down. your face fell into concern when you realised leah wasn't standing with them, and instead they were stood around her.

"leah?" you called, eyes wide as you sped up to reach the group. the sound of your voice brought a hush over the crowd, who all shared the same concerned look as they concealed leah from your view. you tried to calm your breathing as you made your way closer, mind reeling with the worst possible scenarios of why leah is on the floor. "leah?" you called again, now close enough to reach for some of the girls to move them aside. as your hand extended to push past katie, the girls in front of you parted - finally giving you a full view of leah.

however, it was not the view you expected. you had expected to see her on the floor, injured and writhing in pain. instead, what you found had you stopped dead in your tracks.

leah, knelt on the grass, her eyes glued to yours. her hand outstretched, a small velvet box balanced on her palm and clasped between her fingers. you couldn't read her expression, and couldn't bring yourself to say anything. the world around you seemed to fade into the background as you stared at her, your eyes wide.

you watched as she took a deep breath and began. "i have loved you from the moment we met on this very pitch, during that first interview all those years ago. i have loved you everyday since and will continue to love you everyday for the rest of my life. since that first day, you have changed my life in ways i will never be able to explain to you. i knew from the first time you laughed at one of my stupid media trained jokes that i would marry you. so, im down on one knee, ready to love you forever. will you marry me?" leah's voice was shaky and hopeful, her eyes never leaving yours.

you felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs. your hand flew to your mouth to cover the shock that washed over your features. the crowd around you was silent, their eyes flicking between leah and you, their expressions a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.

slowly, you stepped closer to her, the realization of what was happening settling into your heart. "are you serious?" you whispered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"as serious as i've ever been," she replied with a hopeful smile.

you dropped down to your knees in front of her, wrapping your arms around her and pressing a swift kiss to her lips. "yes," you choked out, the word barely audible but clear enough for the entire field to hear. the crowd erupted into cheers, their claps and whistles piercing the quiet air like a gunshot.

leah's face broke into a grin so wide it could've split her face in two as she watched the tears fall down yours. she brought the box closer to you, revealing the ring nestled inside. it was simple, a silver band with a small diamond in the center - but to you, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on.

you took the box from her, watching as she lifted the ring out and slipped it onto your finger. it was a perfect fit, as if it had been made just for you. "yes," you repeated, louder this time so that everyone could hear the conviction in your voice. "i'll marry you, leah."

the crowd around you grew closer as the teammates you had come to know so well rushed in to embrace you both. the warmth of their arms around you, the sound of their cheers in your ears. they wrapped around the both of you, all smiles and laughter.

as the congratulations died down, you took a moment to swat her shoulder with a stern look "i thought you were hurt!" you muttered, looking down at the ring sat perfectly on your hand, then looking back to leah who mirrored your wide smile. before you could continue back and fourth, the sound of renee's voice called everyone back to training.

"you two got something to celebrate," she said with a knowing smile, "but remember, we've got a game on tuesday." you both laughed, as well as the rest of the girls surrounding you as leah moved to give renee a quick hug. around you the team split back into their usual groups to continue with their session, but leah made her way back to you.

"mrs williamson. it suits you."

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bennyboyfics · 2 months ago

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Poolside || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

Summary: INSPIRED BY MY DREAM LAST NIGHT 😭 Woke up all smiley today bc of it 🤭 THANK YOU TO MY BRAIN FOR MAKING THIS MY REALITY (even tho it was a dream lol)

Wc: 1,277

Warnings: none!!

MASTERLIST

The Florida heat was no joke today. Ben’s backyard was buzzing with life—music playing low from the speaker on the patio, the occasional splash of water as his friends messed around in the pool, and the unmistakable scent of sunscreen and chlorine clinging to the air.

You were stretched out on one of the poolside lounge chairs, soaking it all in. You’d opted out of swimming today, content to just tan and enjoy the warmth. Lying on your back in your favourite bikini, sunglasses perched on your nose, your skin already glistening from the heat, you’d casually tugged the straps of your bikini top down off your shoulders earlier.

Just far enough to avoid those annoying tan lines—nothing too scandalous. At least, that’s what you told yourself. The thing was… the fabric was barely holding on, and gravity was not your friend. You knew it. You felt it. One wrong move, one slightly too-expressive laugh, and your boobs would absolutely spill out for the entire backyard to see.

But hey. You were comfortable. Lying still. No harm done. “Alright,” Frances called as he climbed out of the pool, towel slung over his shoulder, “I’m roasting. I don’t know how you’ve been laying there this long without jumping in.” You smiled behind your sunglasses as he flopped into the lounge chair next to yours.

“Because unlike you, I don’t need to cannonball every fifteen minutes to feel alive.” Frances laughed, leaning back and running a hand through his wet curls. “Fair. But you’re gonna end up medium rare at this rate.” You turned your head toward him with a lazy grin, fully aware of your bikini top still precariously low on your chest.

“That’s the goal.” He reached for a water bottle from the cooler between your chairs, cracking it open and taking a long drink before setting it down. “Ben still out back with Tommy?” you asked. “Yeah. I think they’re trying to figure out how to beat each other at ping pong with a broken paddle and a beach ball.”

You giggled, and that small motion—the bounce of your chest—nearly dislodged your top completely. Frances’s gaze did not drift, because he wasn’t that kind of friend, but even you could feel how close you were to a wardrobe malfunction. And so could someone else. “Hey.” You didn’t need to see him to know it was Ben.

You heard the change in tone immediately—low, a little sharp, laced with something more serious. You looked up to see him standing over you, towel in hand, hair wet and sticking to his forehead, a hint of salt and sun still clinging to his skin. His jaw was tight, and his eyes flicked down to your chest for a split second before narrowing.

“Babe,” he muttered, crouching beside your chair. Before you could even say what?, his fingers reached for the loose bikini strings resting uselessly at your sides and slowly, deliberately, tugged them back over your shoulders. He moved with that careful kind of gentleness that masked the protectiveness burning just beneath the surface.

He didn’t tie them immediately. Instead, his fingers lingered at the base of your neck, where the knot had been. “You wanna get sun,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, “cool. But not like this. Not with everyone around.” You blinked up at him, heart stuttering at the sudden intimacy, the way his voice dropped like it was just the two of you.

Frances shifted a little on the chair next to you, clearly trying very hard not to acknowledge what was happening. Ben’s hands moved behind your neck, fingers brushing over your damp skin as he tied the strings again—this time with a knot you were definitely going to need his help getting out of later.

“You were about to pop out,” he said under his breath, lips close to your ear now. “Not sharing that with anyone.” You bit your lip to suppress the giggle rising in your throat, a blush blooming over your cheeks. “I was fine.” “You were a breath away from giving Tommy a heart attack,” he muttered, dead serious. “Frances, too.”

Frances held up his hands without looking over. “I’m literally not even looking, bro. She’s like my sister.” Ben didn’t respond, still staring down at you. You reached up, fingers curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “You know you’re kind of ridiculous,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with affection. He leaned down, pressing a quick, possessive kiss to your lips. “Yeah. But you love it.”

You did. Even if he was being over-the-top. Even if you could technically wear whatever you wanted. There was something about the way Ben couldn’t not protect you—even from a bikini malfunction of your own making—that made your chest ache in the best way. “You’re lucky you’re hot,” you teased, sliding your sunglasses back up.

He smirked, standing to full height again. “You’re lucky I’m not making you put on a t-shirt.” You gave him a look, but your heart was doing backflips. Frances exhaled loudly from his chair. “Are we done with the nipple crisis now, or…?” You burst out laughing, and Ben rolled his eyes before tossing his towel at Frances, muttering, “Shut up.”

You stayed out there a while longer—strings firmly in place, Ben’s eyes constantly flicking toward you from wherever he was. You knew that look. Like he was watching over something his. Like he was proud. Like he was obsessed. And you You were soaking up a lot more than just the sun.

#ben shelton #ben shelton fanfiction #ben shelton fanfic #ben shelton imagine #ben shelton x reader #ben shelton tennis #ben shelton au #ben shelton x fem!reader #tennis fanfic #ben shelton x you #ben shelton angst #ben shelton fluff #ben shelton smut #tennis x reader #tennis au #tennis fanfiction #tennis

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daydaydayrk420 · 6 months ago

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I'm on my period right now. It was like five days late and it's hurting as fuck. All I can think about is Bucky Barnes/Logan Howlet helping me with easing the pain.

So because I want to... here's a cross-over because they're my favorite people ever so I guess this is mostly for me but I'm sure someone out there will enjoy it too

I didn't want to put two GIFs so here's this instead with David Harbour in the background bcs we also love that man too

Men don't care about period blood

Top Bucky Barnes x bottom ftm reader x top logan howlet

⚠️period blood, sub-reader, taboo I guess, eating out, double penetration, not for weak stomachs⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

Bear in mind i don't have testosterone so i still get my period. I hear your period stops when you have it but i have no clue cus i can't get my hands on it.

Fyi I started this on the fifth of November so my period is long gone as I write this and post it

Update... I'm going through another period and I'm laughing at my old me if he thought those were horrible cramps. Now? I can't even walk or the pain goes in my ass too.

Again ⚠️ MAJOR WARNING A LOT A LOT OF BLOOD PLAY ⚠️

______________________________________________________________

Blood. Everywhere.

Y/n didn't keep track of his cycle. Again.

So. Guess who woke up with blood covered boxers this morning?

Y/n y/l/n.

Said man woke up in discomfort. He's in discomfort for multiple reasons.

One, his abdomen hurts as fuck.

Two, his thighs are sticking together from blood.

Three, wearing wet boxers isn't fun in general let alone blood-soaked boxers.

Four, the window is wide open and so is the door. He's fucking freezing.

Five, the bed is empty. His two veterans must've stayed up again.

Both Bucky and Logan prefer the colder weather so it's no surprise the windows and doors are wide open so the breeze flows through.

Y/n groans in frustration and covers his face. But he doesn't attempt to move yet. He's angry enough that he's too lazy to move. He's already covered in blood anyway what's the point of rushing.

But the cold breeze pushes him out of bed. He slowly gets up so he doesn't get the blood on more surfaces than it already is and goes to close the window.

Once that's done he goes to his dresser and gets his period boxers. He goes to the bathroom, strips his now red boxers off, and throws them in the washer.

Once the washer goes off he takes a quick shower to clean the blood off. Then he lets his body air dry as he searches for his menstrual cup. He makes sure to slide around with a towel under his legs so in case any blood drips it doesn't fall on the floor.

Eventually, he finds it and runs it under hot water to clean it.

"Why does it smell like murder in here?" Logan's gruff voice called out from the bedroom. Y/n only grunts knowing Logan can hear him because of his higher senses. Same with why he can smell the blood on the sheets so easily.

"Oh..." is the last thing the bleeding man heard before the bedroom was filled with sheet ruffling.

A couple of minutes later, Logan walked into the bathroom with the sheets he took off the bed and coveres. He stops the washer to add it in before setting it off again.

All while he did that y/n was zoned out sitiing on the toiled just letting the blood drip into it because it's way comfortable and easier. But you can't sit on the toilet for days. So Logan walks up to him and crouches in front of him.

At such proximity the veterans nose is hit with the strong smell of iron. "Hey, bub. You gonna get up some day." He keeps his voice soft so he doesn't set off y/n's mood randomizer.

The bleeding man snaps out of it and nods. He reaches for his cup again. Logan nods too and kisses his hurting lovers' forehead before leaving so he can have some privacy.

Meanwhile, Bucky is in the kitchen desperately trying to figure out the new coffee machine they got as a gift from y/n's friend.

He lets out a few curses under his breath as he tries to understand what's happening. That's until a hairy hand reaches around him and presses a few buttons, and boom. The coffee is brewing.

The metal armed man groans and chukles afterward. "Thanks, pup." He smiled at the smaller man with kitty ears hair behind him. Being a part of a throuple with two other short men helps with y/n's dysphoria. (Comic heights)

Logan grunts in response. He doesn't like being called pup, but no matter how many times he says it, y/n and Bucky still call him that. It's what he gets for calling everyone, bub. It's basically the same thing, but instead of b, it's p.

They both silently watch the coffee drip into the mug.

"James!" Y/n groans in frustration. The veterans tense up but look at each other, wondering which one he's yelling at.

"Both of you!" That snaps the two veterans out of their tranz and run towards y/n.

Said man is standing in the living room staring at their cat, who's covered in mud, that was dripping from Bucky's and Logan's shoes.

The white fur is now brown and sticky as the adorable feline wiggles on her back as if asking for belly rubs.

The bleeding man looks at the veterans and glares. They know what that means, and Bucky grabs Alpine while Logan grabs the boots. They both take them to the bathroom to wash off.

Y/n goes to the kitchen and takes Bucky's finished coffee. He grabs something to eat and goes to the living room. He opens the box of chocolate chip cookies and starts stuffing his face with the cookies and the coffee.

"Hey, that was mine." Bucky chuckled when he noticed y/n is drinking his coffee.

The bleeding man only grumbles and keeps drinking.

Bucky chuckles and goes to make another coffee. This time, he tries to remember what Logan did for the machine to work. Surprisingly, he figures it out and makes a simple black coffee.

Soon, Logan joines them with a cat burrito. He sets alpine who's wrapped in a tortilla blanket on y/n's lap and kisses his forehead before going to the kitchen.

The day goes by painfully slow for the man in pain. He's used up all his last painkillers. Normally, Logan or Bucky would've gone to buy more, but to y/n's luck today, it's a national holiday. So. Everything is closed.

So y/n is left to suffer.

But! The veterans talked, and borh agreed to help their boyfriend with his pain.

The bleeding man is still sitting in the living room. Alpine purring loudly in his lap as she suckles and kneeds on the fluffly blanket covering y/n's thighs.

Logan walks into the living room and picks up alpine. Y/n is about to protest, but Logan sits in his lap instead.

Logan is basically the second house cat. He's got claws. He growls. He purrs. He loves cuddles. And he's tiny enough to comfortably hold him in a lap. Besides the weight. But y/n's likes the weight. It's calming.

That's until Logan starts peppering kisses on the bleeding man's neck. He can feel y/n tense up so he starts to purr to calm him down again.

"Damn you" y/n huffed but pulled Logan closer.

Bucky watches from the doorway.

Usually, y/n is the one on top. He loves using his strap. But when he's on his period, the vetrans want to take care of him instead.

Y/n knows what's happening. He's not dumb. Is he in the mood? He's not sure. But he'll let it play out and see.

And so it did. Y/n is now naked in bed. A large towel under his hips and thighs as he watches Bucky setting up any necessary extra towels.

Logan is in the bathroom probably looking for their box of extra condoms and lube.

Y/n is hit with immense cramps and clutches his stomach. Bucky notices and immediately sits with him. The metal-armed man rubs circles onto y/n's belly.

He decides to skip the waiting and slowly reaches between the bleeding man's legs. Said man gasps and looks at Bucky who only gives him a reassuring smile.

Bucky slowly reaches down and gently removes the menstrual cup before taking it to the bathroom where Logan takes the cup and sends Bucky back.

When Bucky returned he saw y/n curled up in a ball, clenching his belly with his eyes shut tight.

The metal armed man immediately rushed to bed and pulled y/n to lay on his back. "Hey hey it's alright let me help." He said soothingly. Y/n whines and holds his abdomen.

Bucky slowly and gently removed the bleeding man's hands. He kisses his abdomen and gently runs his hands over those slightly bloodied thighs.

Not long after that Logan comes back with condoms, lube and some now found painkillers if the cramps get too bad.

Bucky slowly starts to kiss towards y/n's bleeding cunt. The moment his lips touch y/n's clit Bucky feels the body underneath him jump.

Logan sits by the hurting man's side and starts to kiss and purr against his skin to comfort him.

Y/n's face scrunches. He doesn't know if he wants it or not. So he just lets it play out and sees because he knows the veterans will stop if he asks.

The metal-armed man takes his time. His tongue slowly licks around the sensitive nub, licks down the outer sides of the inner lips. Then the inner sides. And eventually the opening. He stops when y/n's hand jump into his hair.

He slowly caresses y/n's thigh with his metal arm while Logan rubs y/n's abdomen and kisses his neck.

The mixture of kisses, caresses and Logan's purrs helps the bleeding man relax. He eventually eased the grip on Bucky's hair and lets him continue.

Bucky starts licking again. He doesn't want to use his fingers. He knows the tongue is enough when he's eating y/n out.

It doesn't take long before he's making out with the weeping cunt. He's like a starved man. And the way y/n's legs wrap around his head and squeeze only fuels him more. He rubs the clit with his nose as his tongue works wonders inside those bleeding walls.

Y/n's gasping and arching his back. His hand is gripping Bucky's hair so tight he's surprised he's not ripping them out. Logan can't help but stroke himself at the sight.

But this isn't for Logan. So he kisses his bleeding boyfriend and uses his free hand to play with y/n's nipple.

Y/n shakily reaches out and grabs Logan's dick. He doesn't like when the attention is only in him, so when Logan stops him, he nets out a whine in protest. The cat eared man chuckles and lets y/n do what he wants. That grin is slowly wiped off with a moan when he feels y/n's thumb right on his frenulum.

Logan cursed under his breath. Bucky is fully unaware of what's happening above him because he's too focused on his cunt makeout. He hasn't pulled up to breathe yet. But he doesn't seem to care.

Y/n does dare, though, so he tugs on Bucky's hair. He looks down to meet those beautiful blue eyes filled with passion. Bucky understands and lifts his head up to breathe. He looks like a hyena. Most of his chin is covered in blood. But it's not as messy as one would think, considering the blood mixes with the juices.

The former assassin finally notices how y/n is stroking Logan's dick.

"Should we take another step?" Bucky suggested. Logan groans with desperation but doesn't answer because it's y/n's matter.

The bleeding man thinks about it. He needs the release. Plus it'll help with the cramps. He nods and reaches for the condoms. Bucky stops him and grabs the box himself. He doesn't want y/n to move much.

The lube is forgotten. It's less likely that they'll need it. Bucky grabs a condom and hands it to Logan before he grabs one for himself. They carefully put them on.

Y/n sits up to straddle Logan's hips. He lays his back against the wolf's chest and tilts his head to bury his face in the wolf's neck. He rests one hand on Logan's that's resting on his belly to hold him in place, and puts the other one on Bucky's bicep for now.

Bucky first lines Logan up and lets y/n slowly sink onto him. The two men in front of Bucky moan.

Bucky just watches at first. He lets Logan gently rock his hips to start off with a gentle pace. Y/n keeps his face buried in Logan's neck.

Y/n knows that whenever he needs to dig his nails or teeth into something without having to hold back he can always use Logan for it. As much as Bucky loves the marks they all agreed that it's safer if y/n does it to Logan because of his healing factor so he doesn't have to worry and hold back on his pressure. And let's be honest. Logan is a masochist.

So y/n reaches back and digs his nails into Logan's bicep as he's hit with cramps. But Logan doesn't budge. He only groans and keeps a steady pace.

It doesn't take long before Bucky joins. He slowly pushes in to make sure the hurting man's body gets used to being penetrated twice at the same time.

It's not long after that that the throuple is a moaning and groaning mess.

"James" Y/n moans. He's so glad his boyfriends share a name. It's less complicated to moan for both of them. Bucky and Logan know the moan is meant for both of them. Also, a good reason why they don't get jealous over who gives better pleasure.

The boys speed up. Y/n gasps and arches his back. At this point he's forgotten the pain he woke up with as it's replaced with pleasure. "Close!" He cries out when he feels the familiar knot in his abdomen.

Both veterans start to attack their boyfriend's neck with kisses. They want to stimulate him as much as possible. Y/n's hands shoot to both of their hair and harshly grip them. They all let out curses under their breaths as they started to get sloppy.

"Yes yes yes yes yes" Y/n groans and squirts. He's not a squirter so this surprised all three of them.

Logan's senses go overload as he watches the liquid shooting onto Bucky's thighs. It's all too much for him and before he knows it he's filling his condom up.

Y/n lays against Logan who collapsed onto the pillows. They both pant and wait for Bucky to finish too.

Logan shakily reaches up and pulls Bucky into a heated kiss. The bleeding man whimpered at the sight.

Logan and Bucky smirked. They know what they're doing. So they purposely used more force into the kiss.

Y/n clenches around Bucky. That caused the metal-armed man to groan and pull away from the kiss. Bucky kisses the bleeding man instead. Y/n scratches at Bucky's back and returns the kiss.

That's all Bucky needs to let go and fill his condom too.

Bucky tries his best not to collapse so he can clean the three of them up. Once everyone's clean he joins them in bed. Logan and Bucky sandwich y/n between them and caresses his sore spots.

The bleeding man closed his eyes and murmured quiet thank yous before dozing off.

Logan and Bucky let themselves fall asleep too. They can't remember the last time they slept anyway.

#x ftm reader #ftm reader smut #transmasc reader #x trans reader #x ftm reader smut #male reader #x male reader smut #x male reader #logan howlett x male reader #wolverine x male reader #bucky barnes x male reader #marvel x male reader #mcu x male reader #marvel x trans reader #bucky Barnes x ftm reader #Logan Howlett x ftm reader

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sheriffaxolotl · 2 months ago

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Off the Ledge (Chapter 3) Abby Anderson x Reader

Jump back! ⇐ ┈┈ Return to the start ┈┈ ⇒ Jump forward!

Tags: Slow burn, parkour, attempt at humor, compulsory heterosexuality, coming out Wordcount: 5.9k

Summary:

You knew better than to fall. But Abby was gravity.

Two years later

You're running.

No destination, no enemies—just motion. The buildings blur around you, rooftops stretching into infinity, a familiar skyline swallowed in fog. You leap, land, roll. You keep going. You're weightless. Untouchable. The sky above burns orange like firelight, and somewhere behind you, you hear laughter. Hers.

You don’t turn around.

Then someone says your name—sharp, real—and the rooftops vanish like smoke.

You jolt awake in your bunk, heart hammering and breath uneven. The light in your shared room is low but rising, early morning haze bleeding in through the large window that spans across the front of the room. The stadium hums with pre-dawn movement—shuffling boots, low voices echoing down corridors, the clink of gear being prepped for the day.

Mel’s standing at your bedside, arms crossed, hair tied up in a messy bun that’s already coming undone. She’s holding a water bottle in one hand and your wristwatch in the other.

“You’ve got training in twenty. You planning to sleep through it?”

You blink hard, trying to ground yourself. The dream still lingers like a bruise under the skin. “What time is it?”

“Early,” Mel replies, tossing the watch onto your lap. “Isaac bumped your session forward. Scout training’s getting crowded again.”

You groan, rubbing your eyes. “Tell him to stop recruiting.”

“Tell you to stop being one of the best.” She’s already halfway to the door, pulling her jacket on. “You miss this session, he’ll put you on mid-day drills with the new kids. Your call.”

You mutter something vaguely rude under your breath and reach for your boots.

You’ve been roommates with Mel for two years now—assigned after your last bunkmate got promoted and transferred. At first, you weren’t sure how it’d go. Mel’s smart. Practical. A bit uptight. But she doesn’t snoop, respects your silence, and makes decent jokes when you let her. She’s probably the closest thing you’ve had to a friend who doesn’t expect you to be invincible.

Still, mornings like this? You’d trade that stability for another ten minutes of sleep—hell, even for one more second of that rooftop calm.

Wanting nothing more than to tumble out of bed and sleep on the floor, you pull yourself to your feet as you wander around, trying to find your clothes for the day. Once you’re dressed and somewhat presentable, you reach for your jacket.

You pull it on, fingers lingering at the collar.

Two years. And she still shows up in your dreams like it was yesterday.

The hallways of the stadium are half-lit, filled with the low thrum of generators and the distant rhythm of boots on concrete. You move on muscle memory—down the stairs, past the water station, nodding to a few familiar faces without saying a word. It's too early for small talk.

The training yard is already alive with movement. A few early risers are stretching, sparring, doing drills with dull-eyed determination. The air outside is colder, the sky still a sleepy slate-gray as the sun starts bleeding into the city skyline.

You spot Mason by the equipment crates near the obstacle setup. He’s leaning against one of them with that lazy, self-assured grin he never quite lost, spinning a training knife in one hand. When his eyes land on you, he straightens up, tossing the blade into its holster.

“There’s my girl,” he says, loud enough to turn a few heads.

It used to make you flinch, that nickname. Now it just lands differently—like something well-worn and harmless. A piece of an old self you’re not ashamed of anymore.

You give him a look as you approach. “I’m nobody’s girl, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, tapping a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me.”

You snort. “You were on patrol for two days.”

“And you woke up grumpy without me. Admit it.”

You roll your eyes, but there's a small twitch of a smile on your lips as you start wrapping your hands.

You and Mason had already been a thing by the time the Salt Lake crew rolled in—comfortably together in that way where no one questioned it. He was your person, your routine. The one who brought you coffee when you skipped breakfast, who learned how to tape your ankles right, who always kept pace when you ran even though he could’ve outrun you by miles.

Everyone said you made sense. And for a while, you tried to believe that too.

You wanted it to work. He was good to you. Kind. Safe. And for someone like you—who’d lost too much too early, who’d learned to keep walls up and expectations low—safe felt like a gift. Like maybe that was enough.

But it wasn’t.

Not when things got quiet. Not when his hands brushed against yours under the sheets and your chest pulled tight instead of opening up. Not when his kisses made your skin prickle with guilt instead of warmth.

That night—the one you still think about sometimes—he’d touched you like he loved you. Slow. Gentle. Patient in all the right ways. And you tried to meet him there. You wanted to. Told yourself to relax, to stop overthinking, to just be normal.

But the more his hands moved, the more wrong it felt. Not because of him—never because of him—but because something inside you twisted like a wire pulled too tight. Like you were playing a role you hadn’t agreed to.

You’d gone still. Stiff. And then, quietly, you broke.

Started crying without knowing why, all that pressure spilling out of you in jagged pieces you couldn’t hold anymore.

He pulled back immediately. Sat up with his hands in his lap, eyes wide but careful. You remember the way he looked at you—concerned, not offended. Present.

And you told him. Through messy half-sentences, through the guilt, the confusion, the aching truth you’d been shoving down for months. That something about intimacy always felt off. That every time it got close, it was like your body folded in on itself. That you didn’t know why, or what exactly it meant. That maybe you weren’t who he thought you were. Maybe not even who you thought you were. That you’d been trying to want it, to want him, the way you were supposed to—but the more you pushed, the more it all felt like you were drifting further from yourself.

You’d never said it out loud before. Not fully.

But he didn’t yell. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to fix it.

He just listened. Quiet. Kind.

Then he exhaled and said, “Okay. So… I’m still stealing your snacks tomorrow.”

You’d laughed through tears, punched him in the arm, and pulled the blanket around your shoulders like armor.

You lost a boyfriend that night. But you gained your best friend. And somehow, that’s felt like the real win ever since.

“Isaac said we’re doing more rooftop work today,” Mason says, already heading toward the course. “Wants you to demo some of the higher jumps again.”

“Of course he does.” You sigh, following him out to the edge of the course.

“Hey.” Mason glances back over his shoulder. “You good?”

You hesitate, just for a second. “Yeah. Just didn’t sleep great.”

He nods once, not pushing. “Well, maybe don’t wipe out this time. You’re supposed to impress the new kids, not scare the shit out of them.”

“No promises.”

And with that, the day begins.

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The warm-up is brutal.

Isaac’s not present—he rarely is for training these days—but he’s got one of the senior scouts barking orders, and it’s clear the man’s not in the mood to coddle anyone. You and Mason move through the drills like it’s second nature, muscle memory kicking in after the first few sets. Stretch. Sprint. Vault. Drop. Climb. Repeat.

Most of the others aren’t as smooth.

One recruit overshoots a landing and eats gravel on a roll he didn’t commit to. Another freezes halfway up a wall, trembling like it’s a hundred feet off the ground instead of ten. You recognize the nerves. You’ve been there. But the city doesn’t have time for nerves. Out there, hesitation gets people killed.

There’s a smaller group of promising ones, though—quiet, focused types. They follow direction, watch your form, mimic it carefully. One girl with a tight bun and quick reflexes nails a running jump that some of the others wouldn’t even attempt. Another guy, lanky and silent, sticks every landing with feline precision.

Mason watches them with a critical eye as you both take a water break behind the crates. “They’ve got potential,” he says, nodding toward the quiet ones. “Rest of ‘em? Gonna need miracles.”

You smirk, wiping sweat off your brow with your sleeve. “You saying not everyone’s cut out to leap over a death drop at six a.m.?”

I’m saying we shouldn’t waste good boots on people who can’t climb a fire escape without sobbing.”

He’s joking. Mostly.

You take your turn leading the rooftop course again—higher jumps, longer sprints. You climb the scaffold, run the narrow beam, vault the platform, and land with a clean roll. A few wide eyes follow your every move, and even the instructor gives a tight nod of approval.

It’s not about showing off. It’s about setting the standard.

You climb down after your demo and start spotting for the others. A few make it through—shaky, clumsy, but trying. Others barely make it past the first obstacle before bailing.

You were born for this,” Mason mutters, watching one of the recruits misjudge a jump and land in a heap. “Like, half spider monkey or something. I’m convinced your parents built you in a lab.”

You smirk. “Nah. Just didn’t want to end up as street pizza.”

“Mm, humble and terrifying. Love that for you.”

You shake your head, biting back a laugh. “Maybe I just don’t like dying.”

“Yeah, well, some of us enjoy gravity. Freak.”

The session wraps up just as the sun crests fully over the horizon, spilling gold over the top of the stadium. Your shirt is clinging to your back, your hair damp with sweat. You’re tired—but in that satisfying way, where your limbs ache and your lungs are clear.

You nod to the instructor on your way out. He scribbles something on a clipboard—probably notes on which trainees flopped the hardest. You almost feel bad for them.

Almost.

Back at the crates, Mason grabs both your canteens and tosses you one. “Think you scared off half the group.”

“Only half?”

“Give it time. We’ll have ’em crying by next week.”

You clink your bottles together like it’s a toast and take a long drink. The cold water is shocking but welcome. Around you, the morning buzzes with motion again—trainees dispersing, gear being packed up, instructors barking end-of-session wrap-ups.

But for a few quiet seconds, you stand still. Breathing. Watching.

The mornings you hate waking up to always end up becoming your favourite by the end.

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When you get back, you head for the gym. You’re already sweaty—no point in showering now and going later. It’s just a waste of perfectly good resources. Water’s rationed are fine these days, and even if it weren’t, you were raised to know better than to be careless with what you’re given. Besides, you like the gym early. Before it fills up with people trying to impress each other or blow off steam in noisy grunts and clanging weights.

The gym’s quiet at this hour—just a couple of familiar faces already mid-workout and the sound of a jump rope whipping rhythmically against the floor.

You stretch out first, settling onto a mat in the far corner. The ache in your thighs from the session burns in a good way. Controlled. Earned. Your muscles are awake, ready to be pushed further.

You settle into your usual circuit—pull-ups, push-ups, a few weighted squats. Nothing flashy, nothing too heavy. Just enough to keep the edge sharp. The reps help you think, or not think, depending on the day. Today, it’s somewhere in between. You count absently in your head while your mind slips sideways—to rooftops, to laughter echoing in a dream, to a voice that still lingers in your bones even two years later.

You roll your shoulders back, trying to shake it loose, and move on to the punching bag.

The rhythm is steady. Controlled. Your fists slam into the vinyl one after another, echoing like a heartbeat in the big, open space.

It’s easier not to think when your hands are busy. Easier not to wonder if Owen still makes her laugh like that. If she still flinches at heights. If she ever—

“Damn,” someone mutters from across the gym. You pause, one glove resting against the bag, and glance over.

Abby’s standing near the squat rack, sweat-slicked and flushed from whatever circuit she just finished. She’s got a towel slung around her neck, a water bottle tucked under one arm. Her brows lift slightly as her eyes meet yours, just for a second.

Your brain short-circuits. Just a little.

She’s changed since the day she arrived—since the day you tripped over your own feet at the sight of her hand on Owen’s back. Her frame’s bigger now. More solid. All carved strength and wide shoulders, arms that look like they were built to carry the world. Even her walk is different—steadier. Confident. Assured. She’s grown into herself in a way that shouldn’t be distracting but absolutely is.

And yeah, maybe you should look away. Maybe you should keep punching.

But your stomach does a weird little flip and suddenly you’re too warm again—not from the workout, not really. You can feel your heart skip for all the wrong reasons.

You snap your gaze back to the punching bag like it personally offended you.

One, two, three.

Don’t think about her.

Four, five.

It doesn’t matter.

Six—

But the rhythm’s off now. And no matter how hard you try to will it away, her presence sits in your periphery like a shadow that won’t stop chasing.

You don’t know if she’s in the mood to talk.

A few months ago, she and Owen had broken up. Quietly. No shouting, no messy fallout that you saw, just… space.

Distance. One day they were wrapped up in each other like gravity didn’t apply, and the next they were like mismatched furniture—still there, still functional, but clearly not fitting right anymore.

You didn’t ask questions. Not then. It wasn’t your place.

But you felt it.

The way Abby started lingering a little longer at training sessions. The way she stayed out on patrol just a little later. How she showed up to the gym at hours you didn’t expect. At hours when you were already there.

You never brought it up. Maybe she didn’t want it brought up. You didn’t want to assume.

But something shifted. In her. In you. In the space between.

You catch her glancing your way again as she moves toward the bench press. Not a smile, not quite. Just a flicker of acknowledgment. A silent check-in. And God, that tiny glance sends a whole ripple down your spine.

You tug your gloves off and pretend to focus on rolling your wrists out, but your eyes keep betraying you—flicking back to her silhouette as she loads the weights.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

You tell yourself she probably wants to be alone.

You tell yourself you’re just tired from training.

But there’s this stupid little voice in your head that says maybe, maybe today she wouldn’t mind company.

And you’re not sure what’s worse—wanting to believe that, or how badly you want to be wrong.

You shake it off. Just muscle memory. Just endorphins messing with your head. Nothing you haven’t survived before.

You move to the pull-up bar, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal and pulling yourself up into the kind of rhythm that usually shuts your brain off. One, two, three—breathe. Four, five, six—don’t think.

But it’s not working. Because out of the corner of your eye, you can feel her. That subtle gravitational pull Abby’s always had, like her orbit bends yours without trying.

You’re on your twelfth rep when a voice chimes in, low and amused.

“You’re gonna snap the bar in half if you keep glaring at it like that.”

You miss your grip.

Your foot slips off the post on your way down, and you land with a stumble that you almost style out—except for the part where your ankle clips a crate and sends your water bottle skittering across the floor like it’s trying to escape the scene.

Smooth. Real smooth.

You blink up at Abby, who’s standing there with a towel slung over her shoulder and a raised brow like she knows exactly what she just walked into.

“I wasn’t— I wasn’t glaring,” you mumble, reaching for the bottle like it betrayed you. “That’s just… my thinking face.”

“Oh,” she says, like she’s humoring you. “Didn’t know thinking looked like you were plotting a murder.”

You snort, heat crawling up the back of your neck. “That’s the other face.”

She leans a hip against the weight rack, arms crossed, smile small but definitely there. “You always train like someone dared you to fight the equipment?”

“Only when it’s judging me.”

There’s a pause—comfortable, charged—and for a second, neither of you says anything. The sounds of the gym fill in the silence: clanking metal, sneakers on concrete, a trainer shouting across the space.

Then Abby glances at the bench behind you. “You done with that?”

You nod, trying not to track the way she’s looking at you through her lashes or how her arms flex when she brushes the loose strands of her hair back. You tell yourself it’s fine. Just normal brain static. Completely explainable. Definitely not the same ache in your chest you’ve been trying to smother for years.

You’re halfway through collecting your towel when she adds, “You doing anything after this?”

And you freeze. Just for a second.

“Nope,” you say, trying to keep your voice even and totally not as high-pitched as it feels.

She smirks. “Cool. Spot me after? If you're not too busy murdering the pull-up bar.”

You open your mouth to say something witty—anything—but your brain’s already short-circuited from the visual of spotting her. Lifting. Sweating. Possibly grunting. All the ingredients for a personal crisis.

“Yeah. Sure. Totally. I can spot. Things. For you.”

Abby grins, wide and full this time, and heads to the bench without another word.

You stand there for a moment, clutching your towel like it’s a lifeline, whispering to yourself, “This is fine. This is totally fine. You’re not doomed at all.”

You are, in fact, so doomed.

You follow Abby toward the bench, trying to walk like someone normal and not someone internally combusting at regular five-second intervals. She’s already loading the plates, casual like always, and you hover behind her like a ghost of poor decision-making.

It wasn’t like you and Abby were ever that close.

Not really.

You’d trained together here and there. Swapped sarcastic comments during drills. Shared the occasional protein bar when supplies were tight or morale was lower than usual. She was someone you respected—solid, sharp, tough as hell—but you’d never had long talks or stayed up late whispering in bunks. It wasn’t like that.

At best, you had the kind of friendship built in the gaps of training sessions and post-patrol cooldowns. The kind that could've maybe become something deeper—if you hadn’t quietly slammed the brakes the moment she and Owen got together.

You’d seen it coming. The shift. The way she smiled more, loosened around him. And as soon as it became obvious, you backed off like it was instinct. Like your whole body knew it wasn’t a good idea to stick around and feel things you couldn’t name.

So instead, you drifted sideways.

Mel ended up assigned to your room not long after, and you started gravitating toward her. She was meticulous and dry and good at calling out your crap without ever sounding mean. She never asked why you avoided Abby, and you never asked why she always looked like she hadn’t slept after medical rounds. But the two of you stayed up late anyway—whispering in bunks, snorting at stupid jokes.

And Manny… well, Manny was hard not to get close to. Loud, charming, occasionally annoying in that older-brother way.

But he was a damn good scout. Knew when to crack a joke and when to shut up. He could keep pace with you on rooftops, alley runs, WLF patrol zones—wherever the route took you. He became your safest bet for getting through the messiest jobs and making it back in one piece.

Abby, though, remained… adjacent. Always nearby, but never quite in your orbit. You nodded at each other during drills. Shared space. Nothing more.

Until a few months ago.

When word got around that she and Owen were done, it barely rippled through your life. Mel didn’t bring it up. Manny joked once that “Abby finally got tired of Owen’s golden retriever energy,” but even he didn’t push it.

No one would tell you what happened, and you didn’t ask. You were scared the answer might sound too much like hope.

And now, Abby’s stretching on the bench in front of you, twisting her torso in a way that absolutely does not help your brain regain control of itself.

She glances back, arching a brow. “You gonna stand there thinking about physics, or spot me?”

You jolt like you’d been caught staring—which, okay, maybe you had been. “I’m spotting! Yep. Spotting is happening.”

Abby hides a smirk, settles under the bar, and starts her set.

And you stand there, hands half-raised, trying to keep your breathing normal and your thoughts from spiralling into dangerous territory.

She lifts like it’s nothing.

Like the barbell weighs as much as a broomstick and her arms haven’t been carved from pure goddamn intimidation over the last two years. She’s strong—stronger than you—and leaner. Built like she wrestles bears for cardio and wins.

You know you shouldn’t be staring. Shouldn’t be clocking the way her biceps flex and release, the subtle way her abs contract under the edge of her shirt, the way sweat clings to the hollow of her throat. But your eyes keep dragging over the defined lines of her muscles anyway, helplessly fascinated.

It’s not just the strength. It’s the way she moves—efficient, focused, like her whole body was designed for function and then accidentally ended up being unfairly hot about it.

One. Two. Three reps in—controlled, smooth, focused. Her breath comes steady through her nose. You don’t realize you’re counting with her until she glances up, catching your eye mid-rep.

“Don’t let me drop this on my face, yeah?”

You flinch, eyes darting to the bar like it was about to spontaneously slip. “No dropping. None. Your face is safe.”

You immediately want to bite your tongue off.

Abby snorts—just a breath of a laugh—but her focus doesn’t break. She keeps going, unbothered, like she didn’t just cause a full neurological crash in your brain. You’ve seen people flinch under that kind of weight. She doesn’t even tremble.

You try to look anywhere but at her arms. Or the way her shirt clings to her midsection. Or the way her forehead creases in that really unfairly attractive way when she’s concentrating—

“Eight,” she says.

You nod, swallowing. “Right. Eight.”

She racks the bar with a clean motion, sitting up with a grunt. “Thanks.” She grabs the towel off her shoulder and pats at the back of her neck, glancing at you like she’s considering something.

You’re still staring. Like a fool.

“So,” she says, like the word is casual. “You and Mel still rooming together?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, for now.”

“She still taping all her notes to the wall like some weird med-school murder board?”

You laugh—because, okay, yeah, Mel does do that. “Every available surface. I had to tape my socks to the ceiling once just to find them again.”

That earns you a real grin. Full teeth, scrunched nose, head tilted like she’s amused with you and not at you.

God help you.

“I don’t know how you put up with her,” Abby says, grabbing her water bottle and wiping the back of her neck. “No offense—don’t tell her I said that.”

“Nah, she’s alright. Keeps me in line. You know… when Manny’s not trying to get me killed for fun.”

Abby chuckles. “He still trying to race you across rooftops?”

“Every other week. Last time he fell through a rotten panel and blamed gravity personally.”

“Sounds about right.”

You both sit in the pause that follows, neither rushing to fill the quiet. It’s weird—easier than you thought. Almost normal. And that’s the part that throws you more than anything.

Abby glances up, elbow on her knee, water bottle resting against her thigh. “You still scouting?”

“Yeah. Isaac wants me to help train a few new ones. Something about 'honing instinct.'” You make air quotes, rolling your eyes. “Or just making sure they don’t eat shit on their first rooftop.”

Abby hums thoughtfully. “You’re good at that. Reading the terrain. I remember.”

You blink at her. “You do?”

She shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You don’t miss much. It stuck.”

Your brain absolutely does not short-circuit again. That would be ridiculous.

You clear your throat, suddenly very aware of how close she is, how her leg is almost brushing yours where she’s shifted forward to rest. “Well. You know. Gotta be good at something.”

Abby leans back a little, looking at you—not just looking, but seeing—and something in her expression shifts. Subtle. Soft.

“You’re better than good,” she says quietly.

And you are, officially, in the deepest part of the gay panic ocean, with no life raft in sight.

You laugh. Awkward. Too loud. “Cool. Um. Thanks.”

“Wanna trade sets?” Abby offers, already wiping down the bench. “Your turn to impress me.”

“Oh, I don’t lift to impress,” you say, puffing up with fake bravado as you take her place. “I lift for vengeance. Against my past self who chose a leg day program.”

Abby snorts. “You’re such a weirdo.”

You grin despite yourself. “Yeah. But I’m your weirdo now.”

You don’t even realize what you’ve said until it’s out there, in the air, between you.

Her brows rise slightly. She doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you—long enough to make your pulse skip and your breath catch.

Then she smiles. Not wide, not smug. Just a little tug at the corner of her mouth.

And sits back, like she’s waiting.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You turn to the bar, trying to hide your face behind action. But then… yeah. You remember exactly who just benched here.

You eye the plates loaded on the bar. Then eye your arms. Then eye Abby.

“No offense,” you mumble, “but I am not built like a Greek statue with a vendetta.”

You start removing weight plates, one by one, trying not to feel entirely humiliated.

Abby leans back on her palms, clearly enjoying the show. “Need a forklift?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you looked real confident two seconds ago.”

You shoot her a look. “Confidence and upper body strength are very different things.”

As you finish adjusting the weights, Abby steps aside, rounding the bench to stand behind the bar. You try not to notice how effortlessly she moves—or how close she is now.

She laughs, warm and full, and you lie back on the bench, heart thundering in your chest as you grip the (now reasonable) bar.

“So doomed,” you whisper.

Abby doesn’t miss it. You can hear the laughter in her voice when she says, “Don’t worry. I’ll catch it if you drop it.”

You kind of hope she means more than just the bar.

But you’re not brave enough to ask.

Instead, you inhale and push, letting the weight distract you from the warmth crawling up your neck and the way Abby’s voice has a way of lodging itself behind your ribs. One rep. Two. Your muscles burn in a way that’s weirdly welcome. Familiar. Easier to handle than feelings, at least.

She’s quiet while you lift. Not overly watchful, but present. You catch it in your periphery—the tilt of her head, the way she shifts to get a better angle, how her eyes linger just long enough to remind you she’s not zoning out.

"Seven," she says gently, voice low. "You’ve got it."

You do. Barely. Your arms are shaking, but something about the way she says it keeps you going.

You rack the bar with a groan, arms falling limp to your sides as you exhale hard. “Okay. That’s enough of that. Muscles officially quit.”

Abby grins down at you. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” You groan louder for dramatic effect. “That was the work of a legend. A martyr. Someone who gave everything in the name of not looking weak in front of—” You catch yourself. “—in front of her spotter.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

You sit up slowly, rubbing your shoulder. “Swear I used to be better at this.”

“You’ve been running yourself into the ground with patrols,” Abby says, grabbing your water and handing it to you without asking. “It shows.”

You blink, surprised. “What—You noticed?”

She shrugs again—her favourite move, apparently—but her voice is softer this time. “I keep tabs.”

Tabs. Like she’d been… watching. At least enough to know when your posture was off. When you started rolling your left ankle too much after long runs. When your laugh got a little tighter and your temper a little shorter.

You take a sip and try not to let it go to your head. “Guess I’ll have to be more mysterious.”

Abby snorts. “Too late for that.”

You nudge her with your knee as she sits beside you again, both of you facing out toward the gym. It’s not empty yet, but it’s quieter now. The hum of the stadium outside is faint through the walls. A few trainers are wrapping up. Someone’s sweeping.

It’s calm. Peaceful. Dangerous.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, her voice lower. “Can I ask you something?”

You glance at her. Her profile’s sharp in the dimming light. Jaw tight, eyes focused on the floor like whatever she wants to say isn’t coming easy.

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course.”

“Back when… me and Owen were together.” Her hands flex on her thighs. “Did I do something?”

Your stomach twists.

Shit.

You weren’t expecting that question.

There’s a beat where you feel the truth rising in your throat like steam—hot, wild, uncontainable. And for one stupid second, you think about saying it. About telling her how the timing of her and Owen messed with your head, how the jealousy clawed its way under your skin and stayed there, bleeding slow.

But you don’t.

You laugh instead—short, nervous. “No. You didn’t do anything.”

She waits, like she knows there’s more.

So you give her something else. A version that’s easier to say.

“It was Mason,” you lie, the words sticky in your throat. “We were going through a rough time around then. I didn’t really feel like… being around people.”

Abby’s eyes flick to yours, searching. Not skeptical, just concerned. “You two seemed solid.”

You shrug, trying to look casual. “We were. Mostly. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a mess for a minute there. It was just easier to… I don’t know. Disappear for a while.”

She nods slowly. Like she understands. Like she maybe knows what it’s like to push people away when everything feels wrong.

“Got it,” she says. “Still—kinda missed having you around.”

You blink. “Yeah?”

Abby smirks a little, but it’s not smug. It’s soft. “You’re the only one who can beat the pull-up bar into submission and still insult it after.”

A laugh escapes you—genuine this time. “It started it.”

“Sure, it did.”

You nudge her with your elbow, and she nudges you back, both of you still sitting there in that weird not-space between something and nothing.

And maybe you lied. Maybe you’re still lying. But her smile softens something tight in your chest, and for now, it feels like enough.

Because maybe the truth can wait a little longer.

Right now, this—the quiet, the closeness, the way her knee brushes yours and doesn’t move away—feels like the start of something you don’t want to ruin.

You both sit there for another beat, letting the air settle. Eventually, you stretch your legs and wince when your thigh gives a little twinge of protest. “Alright. I’m officially cooked.”

Abby raises an eyebrow. “What, no round two?”

“I like my limbs attached, thanks.” You wipe your face with your towel. “Besides, if I don’t shower soon, I’ll be banned from the room for biological warfare.”

Abby snorts. “You’re being dramatic.”

You gesture to your shirt, sweat-soaked and clinging in places it really shouldn’t. “This shirt is legally a hazard right now. I’m doing public service by hitting the showers.”

She laughs—a real one, low and throaty and surprisingly warm. It hits you square in the chest, stupid and sudden. You stand and sling your towel over your shoulder like a cape, trying to play it cool. “You sticking around?”

“Nah,” she says, stretching her arms overhead. “Manny’s probably gonna drag me out for breakfast. Again.”

You grimace in solidarity. “Thought you guys took turns doing the food runs?”

“We do. I just get lucky.”

You smirk. “Sure. We’ll call it luck.”

Abby stands, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey—thanks. For spotting me. And not letting the weights crush my sternum.”

“Anytime,” you say, too quickly. “I mean—yeah. Of course.”

You start to turn, mentally preparing for the awkward half-sprint you always do from the gym to the communal showers, when she speaks again.

“Hey,” Abby says.

You pause, looking back.

She looks like she might say something else—eyes darting to your face, then away—but instead she just shrugs. “Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

You nod, something stupid fluttering in your chest. “I won’t.”

You walk away before you can say anything worse. Or look back. Or let her see the way your whole face is slowly melting into a smile.

The hallway to the showers is empty, save for the hum of overhead lights and the faint echo of your footsteps. You push open the door, step into the tiled heat, and exhale like you’ve been holding your breath all day.

As the water hits your skin and the steam starts to fog up the mirrors, you press your palms to the wall and let yourself grin like an idiot.

You’re still doomed. Hopelessly, totally, emotionally doomed.

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Notes:

Okay so!! We’re officially in the part of the story where I’m giggling, blushing, and kicking my feet like an absolute menace. Writing this chapter had me grinning like an idiot because LOOK AT THEM. Just. Look. At. Them. 🥹💥 Abby being all calm and collected while the reader is out here having a full internal meltdown? Peak content. Honestly. 10/10 would suffer again. Anyway—thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the chaos, the gym thirst, and the slow, inevitable descent into feelings. Because it only gets worse (read: better) from here 😌💪✨ Suggestions and ideas are always welcome! I’ve got a general direction, but let’s be honest—I’m mostly winging it and vibing off daydreams. I didn't proof read this very well so... oops

Tag list: @half-of-a-gay

#abby x reader #abby tlou x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #tlou abby #wlw #sheriffaxolotlwriting

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fallenbratfiction · 3 months ago

Text

daydream in blue ~ joel miller x f! reader

Just two strangers at a motel on a one-night stand.

my masterlist faq

A/N: I found this sitting in my drafts so I decided to give it a go. I'm not usually a fan of one-night stands but something called me to do so. I wanted to make it spicier but I didn't have a lot of time.

warnings: strangers, no strings attached, age gap (reader in her 20s), wet humping (would be dry but since they're in the water), p in v, fingering, can't think of any other warning but if you feel something's missing let me know!

minors dni. i am not responsible for what you choose to consume.

do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

A roadside nowhere motel, the kind with flickering vacancy signs and a pool that glows too blue against the night. It’s the kind of place you only stop at when you’re running from something—or just passing through, hoping no one notices.

It’s late. Past midnight. The highway hums like a memory in the distance.

You couldn’t sleep. So you slipped out of your room in an old tee and a bikini you’d thrown in your bag last-minute.

The sky above was black velvet, buzzing with distant highway sounds and the low hum of some old ice machine that hadn’t worked properly since the '80s.

The pool shimmered like a mirage — neon blue, chemical stillness under a flickering overhead light.

And there he was.

Him.

Already in the water.

Laid back on one of those worn, motel-issue floaties, the kind that deflated at the corners. Shirtless, broad chest glinting faintly in the pool light, a half-melted drink sweating in his hand. His other arm hung lazily over the side, fingers skimming the surface.

He looked like trouble. The kind you could taste on your tongue if you got too close.

He saw you. Didn’t move.

Just tilted his head the slightest bit and said, voice low, rough from drinking.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just walked closer, letting your eyes trail slow over the scene. The heat. The way the water moved with him. The way his gaze slid over you, once, slow and unbothered.

“You gonna stare,” he added, sipping from his glass, “or you comin’ in?”

You blinked once, slow, eyes trailing across his bare chest, the floatie rocking just slightly under his weight. The beer bottle in his hand when he brought it back to rest against his chest.

“My mom told me not to get in the pool with strangers,” you said, lips quirking.

He let out a low, rough laugh — deep in his chest, like it surprised him a little.

“Yeah?” he said, shifting slightly in the water. “She told you what to do when they’re already in the pool?”

You stepped down one more rung, water sliding up to your thighs.

“She skipped that part.”

He tilted his head, eyes cutting across to meet yours under the haze of heat and neon.

“Guess you’re gonna have to figure it out on your own, then.”

You let that hang. One beat. Two.

Then you dropped in.

The water closed around you with a soft splash, and when you came up, his eyes were waiting.

Still watching.

You leaned back against the pool wall, hands bracing behind you, water lapping soft at your shoulders. The light buzzed overhead, catching just enough of him as he drifted lazily closer — not swimming, not pushing. Just letting the current bring him to you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you.

You met his stare head-on. No smile now, not quite.

Just that quiet pull — two strangers, no names, no history, nothing but chlorine and heat between them.

“You from around here?” he asked finally, voice low, still half-lazy like he hadn’t quite decided to care yet.

You shook your head.

“Just passing through.”

“On your own?”

That one came slower. Not nosy — curious. Like he was trying to figure out what kind of woman steps into a pool at midnight with a man like him floating in the center of it.

“Yeah,” you said. “You?”

He made a sound in his throat — somewhere between a laugh and a grunt.

“Mmm. Somethin’ like that.”

You raised a brow.

“That vague on purpose?”

He let himself drift a little closer, the floatie nudging gently in your direction now, water sloshing between you both. He sipped from his drink, eyes not leaving yours.

“Maybe I like keepin’ things quiet.”

“Maybe I don’t mind that.”

The air hung thick between you, not just with heat but with possibility. Questions not asked. Names not offered. And still, neither of you broke eye contact.

“What brings you here?” he asked finally.

You smiled, slow, almost sleepy.

“Bad timing. Empty tank. Cheap room.”

He gave a single nod like that explained everything.

“That’ll do it.”

And then he let the silence sit again. Like he was waiting to see if you’d ask him back.

You did.

“And you?”

He looked at you a moment longer. That still, unreadable Joel look.

Then he said, simple:

“Needed to disappear for a bit.”

You didn’t ask from what.

You just nodded, like you understood.

Because maybe you needed that as well.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… heavy in a good way. Warm. Electric in the space between your bodies.

He took another sip, eyes still on you.

Then, with a small tilt of his head and the faintest glint in his eye, he said.

“I’d offer you somethin’ to drink… but I don’t know if you were also taught not to take drinks from strangers.”

That pulled a real smile from you — crooked, lips pressing together to fight it.

“Yeah, I think that one was on the list too.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer. Then, without breaking it, he reached out across the water and offered you his bottle — loose grip, label peeled halfway from the condensation.

“Guess you’ll have to decide if I’m that kind of stranger.”

Your fingers brushed as you took it, cool glass meeting warmer hands.

“Reckless of you,” you said, lifting the bottle to your lips, eyes still locked on his. “What if I’m the dangerous one?”

Joel smiled — not big, not boyish. Just that low, knowing kind of smile.

“I’m countin’ on it.”

He shifted on the float, letting the beer drift in your hand while he leaned forward like he was gonna slide off with ease. Smooth. Effortless.

Except it wasn’t.

His foot slipped. The float bucked sideways. One arm flailed for a second before he caught himself on the edge of the pool with a loud splash and an audible grunt.

You gasped — then snorted, laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. You slapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, half-laughing, half-trying not to wake the entire motel.

Joel stood now, water streaming off his chest, hair slicked back, that unimpressed expression stamped all over his face.

You were still cackling, shoulders shaking.

“Not my finest move,” he muttered, finally closing the space between you, “but I assume we can move past that float moment.”

You bit your lip, still giggling.

His hands found your waist. Firm. Warm. Still dripping.

Yours rested against his chest automatically, the solid weight of him grounding you, pulling everything right back to this.

His mouth hovered close to yours — not touching. Not yet.

“Still think I’m the dangerous one?” you whispered.

Joel smiled. Just once.

“Yeah,” he said, “but I think I like it.”

His hands stayed on your waist, rough fingertips against your bare, slick skin. You could feel every ridge of muscle under your palms, the rise and fall of his chest — slower now, like he was trying to hold himself back.

Your laughter had faded, but the smile lingered. Eyes locked on his. Too long. Too deep.

That’s when he said it.

“You keep starin’ at me like that, baby…” His voice dropped lower than it had all night. Rough. Southern. The kind of warning that didn’t sound like one at all. “…and I’m gonna forget we’re in public.”

Your breath caught — barely — but he felt it.

And he didn’t move. Didn’t close the space.

Just waited.

Testing you.

Daring you.

The beer bottle floated somewhere behind you now, forgotten. All you could feel was the water between your legs and the way his thumbs were brushing slow circles on your hips.

He kissed you hard — no hesitation.

The water rippled around you. The wall pressed into your back.

Your legs wrapped around his waist like instinct, knees hooking behind his back. Weightless in the water — but he held you like you weren’t. Like you meant something heavy. His hands slid lower, gripping the underside of your thighs, pulling you flush against him.

And you felt it.

That hard, unmistakable pressure between your bodies. The kind of heat that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. Joel tilted his head, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, just barely.

“Jesus,” he murmured against your skin. “You’re not makin’ this easy.”

You shifted against him — hips slow, teasing, dangerous. Just enough to make him curse under his breath.

His grip tightened.

“I think,” he said, voice dragging like gravel soaked in honey, “we better take this upstairs.”

A pause — lips at your ear, that dangerous little smile back.

“To one of our rooms.”

You didn’t answer him right away. Just let the words hang there — our rooms — like a dare.

Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading into his wet hair, and you tilted your head back just enough to look him in the eyes. Still smiling. Still teasing.

“And which one’s yours?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, that tick in his cheek flaring for half a second.

“The one right next to yours, if you’re smart about it.”

You hummed, lips brushing his again — soft, taunting.

“Guess I’m gonna need help getting there…”

You rolled your hips, just once, under the water.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose — a warning or a surrender, you couldn’t tell — and pressed his forehead against yours.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“You said that already.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “but now I feel it.”

And he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, tongue sweeping over yours like he was already thinking about everything else he wanted to do with it.

By the time he pulled back, you were both breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, water clinging to every inch of your skin.

“Come on,” he said roughly, hands sliding down to lift you a little as he backed toward the pool steps. “Before I fuckin’ lose it and take you right here.”

You grinned against his neck.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“That’s me bein’ polite.”

The second the door shut, his hands were back on you — grabbing your waist, pinning you to the wall so fast your breath hitched in your throat.

Your back hit the cold plaster with a thud, and he leaned in, one palm braced beside your head, the other sliding under the hem of your shirt.

His mouth was at your ear.

“Now,” he murmured, breath hot and wrecked, “where were we?”

You barely managed a smile before his mouth was back on yours, hard and hungry — like he’d held back just long enough, and now he was making up for every second.

You kissed him back just as hard, fingers gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until you could feel every inch of him through the wet denim.

“Bed,” you breathed, between kisses. “Now.”

He chuckled, dark and low in your ear.

And then he scooped you up without warning — strong arms under your thighs, back of your head brushing the doorframe as he carried you across the room and dropped you onto the bed like you weighed nothing.

You bounced once. Then looked up at him.

He kissed you until your lips were raw, your fingers curled tight in his wet shirt like you were hanging on for dear life.

And then he pulled back — just enough to look at you.

His eyes raked down your body like he couldn’t decide where to start, couldn’t choose between touching you or tasting you. You felt it everywhere — the weight of his gaze, the heat of it. Like hands before he even touched you.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Already are.”

Then his mouth was on your chest, teeth scraping over sensitive skin, one hand sliding between your thighs — and you arched into him with a soft gasp.

“There,” you whispered, voice shaky, breathless. “Joel—”

He looked up at you. Just once. And then his fingers pressed where you needed them.

You shuddered — head falling back, legs tensing around his hips. He swallowed your moan with another kiss, slow and deep, like he wanted to taste every sound you made.

It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate. Clothes still half-on. His jeans barely shoved down far enough, yours long forgotten on the floor.

When he finally pushed into you — with one slow, thick stroke — your whole body arched off the bed. And his name left your mouth like it was the only one you’d ever known.

He didn’t hold back. Didn’t go slow.

He fucked you like he meant it. Like he’d been thinking about it since the second you showed up by the pool. Every thrust a promise. Every sound you made a reward.

The bed creaked beneath you. The headboard thumped the wall. You couldn’t even be embarrassed — not with how good it felt, not with the way he growled every time you pulled him deeper.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, panting against your skin. “You feel so good—so fuckin’ good—”

You were close. He felt it. One hand slipping between you, thumb circling just right, just enough—

And when you came, it wasn’t quiet. It was shattering. Your nails raked down his back, your voice cracked, and Joel cursed low in your ear, chasing his own release until he fell with a groan, burying his face in your neck.

Silence followed. Heavy. Warm. Only your breaths and the sound of your pulse in your ears.

He didn’t move for a while. Just held you, pressed so close you didn’t know where you ended and he began.

You woke slowly. Sheets tangled around your legs, pillow too warm beneath your cheek. The motel room was quiet — too quiet — and for a second, you weren’t sure where you were. Or what had happened.

Your body ached in places that didn’t feel like sleep. Your skin still tingled, flushed in that afterglow that felt too vivid for a dream.

Was it?

You sat up, the room spinning just a little as you dragged the blanket around yourself. The bed beside you was empty. No clothes scattered on the floor. No boots by the door. No sign of him.

Like it never happened at all.

You almost laughed — bitter and low in your throat — the kind of sound that comes out when you know you’re about to say well, that’s what I get. You swung your legs over the bed, reaching for your phone on the nightstand—

And that’s when you saw it.

A scrap of paper. Torn from the motel’s writing pad. — tucked under your phone — his handwriting is messy but clear.

“Didn’t wanna wake you. You looked too damn peaceful. Room next door, if you’re still around. — J”

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feedback is always welcomed & appreciated!

Reblogs, likes and comments help stories grow!✨🩵

#joel miller #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller the last of us #tlou joel #joel miller tlou #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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sweeterthanficstion · 5 months ago

Text

— coast2coast (pt. two) || l.s.k

pairing: life guard!leon kennedy x surfer!fem!reader

tags: surfing au! set in malibu, 1998, i wrote this with re2 leon in mind but re4 leon works too, UNEDITED! fluff, fluff, fluff

summary: Summer is a fickle thing, sticky-sweet and fleeting, gone before you're ready. You've learnt to love it while it lasts. For you, every summer has been the same—surf, sand, salt-water tides and the hot Malibu breeze. But this summer brings a new sort of challenge, a spotlight your not so sure you're ready for, as well as a boy with golden hair, eyes as blue as the waves, and a way of making your heart rattle between your ribs like it’s desperate to break free.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: ngl yall this actually sucked the life out of me, i'm high on like 3 choccy milks and delirious and tired i have work tmrw i wanna sleep.... anyway thank u cressie for providing me with million ideas this ones to u cheers *raises choccy milk to u* --- also sorry i literally hate writing dialogue but this ended up being more dialogue than anything im so sorry in advance if anything sounds WEIRD </3

playlist⭑series masterlist⭑AO3 || part 1⭑part 2⭑part 3 (coming soon)

You have this recurring dream that feels like a distant memory. Washed in milky sunlight, somewhere in Santa Monica, you lost yourself to hot summer days and salt-water tides, sticky fruit juice running down your arms, and the sting of a sunburn peeling across your shoulders.

The year was 1986, August was young and so were you. You’d learn this year just how quickly it’d slip through your fingers.

Barefoot and sun-dazed, you’d escape to the beach each evening. There, you met a boy by the waves. Older, taller, with sun-bleached hair and sun-kissed cheeks.

You remember a sunset that bled out over the water that evening, long and golden. His laugh echoed yours, and you smiled when he did. He must’ve been summer personified, you’d concluded. With his hair like sunshine and eyes like the ocean…

You never did learn his name.

You startle awake to the sound of your alarm clock blaring angrily atop your bedside table. Groaning, you slam a groggy hand down on it, killing the noise, and drag yourself out of bed in twenty minutes flat, your surfboard tucked under your arm.

You track the familiar path behind your old oceanfront home, the sandy trail winding its way down the bluff like a lazy ribbon, overgrown with beach grass and wildflowers that nod in the soft morning breeze. Thick sycamore trees stretch their sprawling branches overhead, casting the path in dappled shadows, leaving behind little islands of light that shimmer over the fine sand. It smells like salt and earth, and the faintest hint of blooming jasmine from somewhere you’ve never quite been able to pinpoint.

Ahead of you, at the base of the trail, your view opens up to the rocky cove that cradles your little slice of the coast. Tucked away from prying eyes, smooth stone outcrops rise like bones from the earth, their surfaces slick with sea spray. Between them, shallow rock pools glimmer in the early morning light, and if you look close enough, you’re sure you’ll find tiny crabs skittering to hide under the lichen-covered stone.

You leap from stone to stone, board tucked under your arm all the while. Your bare feet always know exactly where to land without slipping.

The sandy shore calls to you in the familiar language of gulls overhead and the steady rush and retreat of waves against the rocks. That’s where Claire will be, you know—her board already waxed and her camera slung over her shoulder.

Claire’s love for the ocean has always been as steadfast as yours, but is her own secret language all the same. Where you see the waves as an escape to get lost in, she sees them as her muse.

By the time she was twelve, her parents had bought her a little film camera, and she’d started seeing the world in snapshots and light leaks.

Hopping down from the rock, with your board under one arm and your sandals dangling from your fingers, you make your way to the sand.

You spot Claire easily, a blur of sun-kissed skin and red hair, crouched by the shoreline with her camera in hand.

She must hear you coming, or maybe it’s years of friendship that stirs the feeling in her chest and urges her to look up.

“Morning, sunshine,” she calls, grin as wide as the ocean behind her.

“Morning,” you echo, dropping your board on to the sand before you follow suit, knees bumping hers as you settle beside her. She hands you her wax wordlessly without a second thought, a quiet, easy rhythm of familiarity you’ve both fallen into over the years.

You think that’s why you love her, love this. Corral Beach is stagnant, always will be. Even the tides seem to move in a familiar pattern around here. After years of following your parents around the globe, constantly chasing something new, you think this is what you need.

“You’re slow today,” Claire hums after a while, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Something on your mind?”

You shrug your shoulders instead, unsure of how to put into words the strangeness in your chest after a lingering dream that feels more like deja vu. “Just savouring it. The water’s not going anywhere.”

“Good thing,” she quips, before leaning back on her hands. Her gaze fixes on the horizon for a moment, but Claire’s never been one for small talk, it’s not long before her eyes dart back to you. “So…”

Here it comes.

“Have you thought about that surf comp yet?” She asks, tilting her head at you in the way she does when she’s trying to be casual but failing miserably.

You groan in dramatics, dragging out the sound as your head falls back. “Claire.”

“What?” She feigns innocence. “It’s not like I’m saying you have to sign up right this second.”

“Not happening,” you sing-song, getting to your feet and taking your board with you.

“Oh, c’mon! Don’t be like that,” she rolls her eyes, watching you make your way towards the water.

“Can’t hear you!” you shout dramatically, cupping your hand around your ear is if the waves are just too loud.

She raises an eyebrow, her grin sharpening into something knowing. “Oh, you heard me.”

“Nope, not a word!” you call back with a shrug, and before she can press further, you break into a sprint, your feet kicking up sprays of sand as you rush toward the shoreline.

You can hear Claire laughing as you wade into the cool surf, the water rushing up eagerly to greet you. She doesn’t follow with her longboard in tow, and when you look over your shoulder, the rising sun warming your back, you see her still at the shore, camera held at the ready as she flashes you a thumbs up instead.

The ocean seems to move in whispers beneath you, gentle ripples that build into the promise of a wave. You see it first—a set forming, steady and clean, beckoning you like a siren's call you can’t deny. You paddle out towards it, letting the swell lift you effortlessly. The ocean is alive beneath you, humming its own rhythm, and you move with it.

The wave stretches on, long and peeling, giving you time to cut back and forth across its glassy face. You dip low, almost touching the water with your hand, then push into a sharp turn, feeling the spray kiss your legs.

As the wave softens, you coast to a gentle stop, stepping off your board into the shallow surf. The sand squishes under your toes, and it’s only then you see Claire waving her camera in triumph.

“That’s the one!” She grins, as you wade back towards her, the waves still lapping at your ankles as if begging you to come back.

Claire meets you halfway, tilting the camera to show you the screen: It’s the perfect shot of you mid-turn, your board slicing through the wave, sunshine filtering through and catching the spray just right, refracting in tiny rainbows like a million scattered diamonds. You have to admit, you do look killer.

“Are you gonna upload that one?” you ask, brushing wet hair from your face.

Claire looks at you like it’s a silly question. “Are you kidding? Look at this, it’s perfect. Surfline is gonna eat this up—and if they don’t, they’re insane.”

Her passion radiates off her in waves like the tide does. Claire’s been at this for months now, chasing every opportunity she can find to get her photos not just noticed, but seen. You’ve just about lost count of how many times she’s sent in shots to Surfline.

“Now c’mon,” she continues, “show me what else you’ve got.”

And you do. Over and over, the waves pulling you in, the ocean pulling you home. By the time the sun rises higher in the sky, Claire’s memory card is nearly full, and you’re sure you’ll be late to your shift at Bunny’s if you let yourself fall into the ocean’s allure for any longer. The cove has started to fill with other locals, the place a well kept secret between surfers wanting a quiet retreat.

Claire waits as you shake the last of the saltwater from your hair—or, well, try to—perched atop the sun-bleached remains of an old tree topped sideways. Her legs swing lazily, her tote bag by her feet.

Something must catch her eye, because suddenly she’s letting out a gasp.

“Holy shit.”

Her voice is nearly reverent. You pause, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see him.

And yeah, Holy shit.

It’s then you see him again, and it feels like magic watching him cut through the wave he’s catching with the ease of someone who does really know what they’re doing.

Blue-eyed blondie from yesterday is out in the surf, carving through the water like he’s part of it, like he’s spent his whole life learning how to move with it instead of against it. He’s all ease, all instinct, cutting clean lines into the wave before it folds beneath him.

It’s hypnotic. Magic, almost.

“He’s good,” Claire murmurs.

“Yeah,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze away from him. He is good. Too good for someone who claimed to be just okay.

And then, as if he sensing your gaze, he falters.

A hair-width miscalculation, a break in his rhythm, something or other. Then he’s toppling off his board and crashing into the whitewater with all the grace of a bird missing a branch.

There’s but a breath of silence before Claire cackles. “Poor guy.”

You bite down a smile, shaking your head.

“Do you know him?” Claire asks, jogging to catch up as you start walking back toward the trail, her longboard dragging behind her in the sand. “I’ve never seen him around, I wonder how he knows about the cove.”

“No,” you say too quickly before realising how it sounds, “yes? Sort of.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, as if catching onto something unspoken, and you wish all at once for the ground to swallow you up. “That’s not an answer.”

“I met him at the beach yesterday, he saved my board.”

“Oh,” she says, her tone lifting like something just clicked into place. Then, after a pause: “So…”

“So what?” You glance at her, sounding a little exasperated.

“So… what’s the deal? Did you talk to him? Does he live around here?”

You groan. “Claire, it’s nothing. I don’t know.”

“Mm-hmm,” Her grin spreads wider, brighter, knowing. “You’re antsy.”

“No I’m not!” you say firmly, picking up your pace like it’ll somehow leave this conversation behind.

“Sure,” she hums. “Whatever you say.”

The next time you see him is during the afternoon rush at Bunny’s.

The late-afternoon heat hangs over Corral Beach, and the diner feels like it’s baking under the weight of too many bodies pressed into too small a space. The air conditioner rattles helplessly above the front counter, but it does little to cut through the syrupy warmth.

You’ve been working at Bunny’s long enough to know the rhythm of summer shifts like the back of your hand, the sound of the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, Claire humming along to the shitty little radio perched atop the front desk.

You’ve got a tray of iced teas balanced on one hand, weaving around chairs, tables, and sketchup sticky toddlers, when the bell over the door jingles.

“Welcome to Bunny’s!” Claire chirps from the register, her voice bright and automatic.

And you don’t look up at first, mind too occupied on your tasks, but then—

“Uh, hi. I—oh, no, you first. Wait— oh, okay.”

That voice. It lilts over the chatter, low and sweet like something you’ve heard all your life.

You turn instinctively, and there he is—standing awkwardly in the entryway, looking like he’s just wandered off a postcard. Blondie, with his damp hair curling at the ends, a stripe of sand on his forearm, like he didn’t quite get it all off. He’s holding the door open for an older couple, sweet boyish grin across his face as they thank him.

He’s swapped out the lifeguard uniform for a thin cotton shirt, and a puka shell necklace.

You blink, fingers tightening around the tray. You wonder by what twist of fate you’ve managed to run into him again.

“Hey, table four’s waiting on their drinks,” Claire calls, snapping you out of it.

“Right, yeah.”

You drop your gaze, forcing yourself to focus as you slip between tables, pretending the sight of him doesn’t tie your stomach into some ridiculous knot.

It’s not even like he’ll recognise me, you tell yourself as you weave between tables, dropping drinks off at one and sliding a basket of fries onto another. But when you glance back towards the door, you catch him talking to Claire at the register, and your pulse trips over itself.

You head back toward the counter, heart sinking with every step, trying to avoid his gaze, save yourself from any possible embarrassment, say you trip over your own feet or say something utterly stupid.

But Blondie’s perceptive, apparently, just as he’s about to turn away, he does a double take, like he wasn’t expecting you to be here, like maybe he’s not even sure it’s really you. His brows pinch slightly, lips parting as he huffs an amused breath.

“Guess Malibu’s smaller than I thought,” his voice is smooth where you feel jittery all over.

Claire’s brows shoot up, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

“Oh, so you two know each other?”

He glances at you again, that stupid smile on his lips. “Yeah.”

“No,” you blurt at the same time, you turn to fiddle with the drinks machine to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Well not really,” you mumble.

Leon’s mouth quirks into the faintest of smiles, like you’ve confirmed some suspicion of his. “That clears things up.”

“I don’t know you,” you mumble, more to yourself than him, though it doesn’t sound nearly as dismissive as you’d hoped. It’s true in half, you don’t know him. Don’t even know his name yet. But why then does it feel like you’ve inexplicably known him forever?

“You could,” he offers, voice light, but his expression betrays him—like his own boldness catches him off guard.

You bite back a smile. “Don’t push it.”

“You’re holding up the line,” Claire chimes in, all too entertained by whatever this is.

There is no line, unless you count the kids loitering by the counter, trying to nonchalantly steal more straws to build their makeshift tower.

Blondie raises his hands as if in surrender, “alright, well what do you suggest?” And he’s looking at you when he asks.

God, damn him and those eyes. He has a way of making you feel like the center of the world. You clear your throat, slipping back into safe, scripted territory. “We have the best shrimp tacos on this stretch of the PCH,” you say, repeating the slogan on the chalkboard outside with practiced ease.

His smile softens, like maybe he finds your delivery a little more amusing than convincing. “Sure. Shrimp tacos it is.”

Claire rings him up, and he reaches into the pocket of his board shorts, presumably for his wallet, but before he turns away, he hesitates briefly. “Actually— I was wondering if I could ask a favour.”

You quirk a brow. “Uhuh?”

“Was wondering if you could, y’know… show me a few moves.”

You blink. “Moves?”

“Surfing,” he clarifies.

“You don’t need my help, you’re already great.” You chuckle softly, not exactly sure what to do to hide the heat creeping up your neck now.

His mouth twitches, as if fighting another one of his stupid smirks. “How’d you come to that conclusion?”

“Oh… uh,” You rub the back of your neck, suddenly regretting your words. “This morning. At the cove.”

His lips part slightly before he lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “Malibu can’t be this small.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Anyway, yes or no?”

You narrow your eyes a little, “What’s in it for me?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You owe me one don’t you, for your board? Unless you’re scared of a little challenge.”

You scoff at that. “Oh, watch it, Blondie.”

The grin lingers, easy and teasing. “It’s Leon,” and something about his voice softens. “You can call me Leon. And you?”

You don’t answer right away, caught up in the way his name rings around your head, the way it suits him somehow—like salt air and early mornings and something easy.

His lips press together, “Alright then,” he murmurs, pushing back from the counter, his eyes still on you. “Keep your secrets, sunshine.”

You roll your eyes but don’t fight the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth.

His order is up in five, and when you slide the basket of tacos across the counter, there’s a napkin tucked underneath—your name scrawled across it in quick, slightly smudged ink, punctuated with a little smiley face.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

#spilled ink ₊˚⊹♡#oh also i actually need yall to listen to shell by ethan tasch i had that on REPEAT writing this i hope u can feel it when you read <3 #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfiction #sweeterthanficstion #coast2coast #surfer!leon

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devoutekuna · 1 year ago

Text

Playing a sport with them

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

"Come on daddy" trying to drag the man out of the house, refusing to move an inch, he wasn't in the mood for baseball, especially since his daughter couldn't even play properly. "No, go away" flicking the girl off him.

Somehow he ended up outside pitching a ball for his daughter. "Watch this daddy!" Missing the ball miserably, it kind of stung watching his daughter be so unathletic despite only being 3. "How pitiful.." leaving snarky remarks under his breath. "Again!" Throwing the ball back at him. "Again" that's all he could hear as she kept throwing the ball back, hoping to at least get a hit before sunset.

Nanami-

This man isn't big on sports, never in your lifetime would you expect your husband to be good at it, somehow he was always in shape. So he had to be good at something, and that something was.. tennis? His daughter finding his old collection of tennis rackets he was yet to throw out. "Daddy! Let's play tennis" dumping the balls and 2 bats on the ground near his leg. "Since when did you play tennis ken?" Inquiring into his past life.

"Hi-yahh!" Hitting the ball but not over the net, as much as he loved his daughter. He couldn't handle playing with her, she didn't know how to play properly, to make it worse, she couldn't even reach over the net. "Try again." At this rate, he could sit down and eat his breakfast before she even got it over the net.

Feeling bad for the girl he decided to go teach her. "Throw the ball up" doing as he said. "Now swing" grabbing her arm as he guided it towards the ball, hitting it perfectly over the net.

Geto-

He used to do swimming till he realised how ridiculous he looked with his hair all in the swimming cap, that's why he switched to volleyball. Plus they didn't have a pool in the house so he opted for some volleyball. It was around 7pm in winter when she wanted to play, so of course it was too dark, meaning they couldn't head outside incase she got lost. "Okay, don't hit the chandelier or any of the pottery." Making sure you weren't around to watch how stupid the pair were being. He'd never play in the house with a ball, it was a rule you both agreed on, yet he was doing it right now. "What do you call that?" Hitting the ball towards him. "A serve?" He didn't know what he was talking about since it had been so long since he played. "Well! I did a serve" putting her hands on her hips like a superhero.

Gojo-

"Go easy on him Satoru" handing him a water bottle, your son and his father were currently playing basketball after switching from baseball. Gojo knew how much of an advantage he had compared to his off spring, his height, experience and overall everything since he was against a 3 year old. "Nope" slapping his arm. "Why not?" Your son was a crybaby, always tearing up whenever his father did something he didn't like. "Because.." he didn't have a proper reason for why he wouldn't go easy.

"Hurry up daddy" throwing the ball at the man's back, you didn't understand how easily he was caught off guard when his family was around. "At least let him get a shot, Satoru!" Shouting at your husband before he ran off.

Toji-

He didn't really do sports growing up, he normally just threw a ball to his ceiling for hours on end, trying to clear his boredom. "Catch papa!" Throwing the toy ball at him. He wasn't in the mood for any kind of activity, he just wanted to be lazy today. Purposely throwing the ball into the room opposite him, sighing as he saw his daughter run towards the ball. "Catch!" Throwing it back at him, this process went on for a few minutes. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he wasn't in the mood, just seeing her chubby face light up each time.

#toji fluff #geto fluff #sukuna fluff #gojo fluff #nanami fluff #geto x reader #gojo x reader #toji x reader #sukuna x reader #nanami x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru #toji fushiguro #nanami kento #sukuna ryomen #jjk #jjk drabbles #jjk x reader #𝙳𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚎𝙺𝚞𝚗𝚊

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teonyjackson017 · 14 days ago

Text

sapnap boxing stream notes

He slept 14 hours, which is why the stream started late

Tony is the cameraman

18 hours of valo yesterday, but he got his Immortal back, and that's all that matters

We are not boxing anyone, no sparring or fighting anyone, no opponent today

~95% of his boxing training is at the house, all non-sparring

They have a home gym, Sap's equipment, and Dream's garage. They have weightlifting stuff, but he does not rn because he gains too much muscle mass. Boxing section with a ring he bought bc he figured that would be better. It has a water punching bag bc he prefers it, and he does not hurt his hands.

His boxing coach! Tony Blaco from Orlando Boxing Club. They have been training for 6/7 months.

What they do on a day-to-day basis (non-sparring) bc they don't want to possibly show his flaws.

(he feels cringe but he is doing it for us 🐼🧡)

Every day, he has an energy drink (he has blue Monster) and 2 Rice Krispies (cheats?) while he puts on his shoes and clothes. Instant energy.

(something about not training on a full stomach?? stream lag, he feels heavy, and he does not like it. Everyone has their own preferences.)

He trains when he wakes up (right away or 30 mins- 1 h after waking up), he does not know if that's ideal.

He lies to his coach that he was up late working, but he was really playing Valorant. He streamed it, so technically it is work. 🤣

His boxing shoes are red Nike HyperKO shoes - he thought they looked cool.

Dream and George would die if he boxed them, especially gnf, Sap would go to jail if he boxed George.

He texted Blake to come, but he did not respond

He was weight training, but his weight was not going down the way he wanted it to. He was losing fat but gaining muscle mass. They had to cut it out to drop weight

Basic leg stretches before he Jump ropes (he is lazy and swings his legs around x10 each leg)

Jump rope (2 rounds), he has HIS jump rope. Each round is 3 minutes. Usually, he does more like 4-6 rounds. He messes up (a lot) and is not very good. He does this upwards of 20-24 mins. The jump rope is to jump-start his heart and get it warmed up. Boring, but a good form of conditioning.

He runs every day (also boring). He is supposed to run every day and he obviously does it yes yes. He wishes valo counted as conditioning.

Coach Tony: You can't box if you don't run.

Coach comes over almost every day to train sapnap. If not, he is at the coach's gym sparring. Rarely will they bring someone to the house to spar sap.

He has some break days, and he plays a lot of Valorant on them.

Coach: Especially with his travel, he needs to work out in the hotel gyms, and he can take the jump rope anywhere. Sap: I hate this thing! It hits me and it hurts! Coach: I think he messes up the jump rope just so he can stop. Sap: That's not true! x3 Coach: It's tougher than it looks.

Shadowboxing in the ring! (2 rounds with weights, 2 without, sometimes more/less) The ring has ropes, so he is forced to move his head and body under it and use the whole ring. He boxes an imaginary opponent, jabs, combos, and ducks. He makes little sounds. It feels cringe with the camera. Coach watches and comments. It is tiring.

Chat: He is fighting his demons!

Coach Tony: The benefit of shadowboxing is that it is where you perfect your form and technique and visualize a fight. It's everything! Sap: It's boring!

If it were up to Sap, he would spar every day, but the coach says no! You need your brain! Sap: Fighting is more fun. This is tiring and boring; you don't get bored sparring.

Pool Noodles (2 rounds). He can hit them with his bare hands. The coach calls sequences of moves. Sometimes the combos are too long to remember.

Sap goes to get his gloves. Coach brought tape for his wrists.

So, how’s it been working with Sapnap? Coach: oh it’s been great, i’m really really proud of his progress, a lotta times u see a lot of youtubers trying to fight but they don’t train like a fighter […] if u wanna train boxing u gotta do it like u love it, u gotta do it for real. (he praises Sap for his commitment, and Sap can't take the praise, it's so cute.) Coach is super proud of him!

Sap wraps his hands with tape. Everyone does it differently.

(Yapping about valorant, Coach: What's the game about? Sap: Killing people! Coach: Oh sweet! my kinda game!)

What gloves are you running today? Sapnap: These are Winning gloves. These are nice gloves.

Paddle Work (4 rounds?). Just like noodles, except with gloves and 2 paddles. They make a louder, satisfying noise. Sap says he feels like he is cheating because they make you sound loud and strong, even with soft hits. He prefers pads.

Sap never drinks water. He could do a 1-2 hour workout, and he never drinks water. He gets tired and takes rest breaks. He does not want to train with a full stomach. (Later, he drinks a little bit after the paddles.)

Sapnap's Spanish has improved so much! They can almost have a full conversation (Sap denies this lol). He listens to Spanish music all the time and can sing the lyrics word for word.

Water Punching Bag (2 rounds). He likes the water bag because it always stays soft. It is shaped like a torso. Stikes, combos, body shots. The most exhaustive bc the bag does not get tired. (Tony says that it can't fight back either.) He hits it hard; the others are not as hard hits.

Coach occasionally spars with Sap, and Sap wins, Coach says he is 52 and Sap is young.

It's hot, and Sap wants to turn the fans bc he no longer cares about the sound on stream.

The only time he hits as hard as he can is if he gets under (the arm of the opponent) and can hit the body because the body can take it, while the face cannot. A lot of people quit when hit on the body. Blake got hit in the body and quit. Soft shots to the face can also KO if placed right (chin, jaw), it does not take much if hit perfectly.

Liver shots are really impactful and painful.

He has to keep his hands up or he could get knocked out.

They always finish with a 3-minute plank, maybe more (Sap will do this off-stream)

They are keeping it short for stream; they often do 4-6 rounds of each.

Sapnap: disclaimer i’m not an actual fighter, so please don’t cook me, i’m a noob, i’m not even an amateur. Coach: he’s training like a fighter so to me he’s a fighter, cause he’s training like one Sapnap: he’s setting my ass up. He will take constructive criticism and wants the fight to happen.

END - The stream was 1 hour long. Sorry for any mistakes!

#this took so long #sapnap #pandasblr #sapnap boxing stream #i know nothing about boxing #inspired by that person who wrote out the whole gnf shopping list the other day #this was super interesting honestly #dteam #hope u guys find it interesting

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bteezxyewriter12 · 7 months ago

Text

Lazy Cuddles/ 2

Pairing- Yoongi x Named Reader

Word count- 1.9k

Includes- Soft cuddly boyfriend Yoongi, lazy sex from behind, cock riding, multiple orgasms, so much fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@borntowalkaway @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @seokwoosmole @meowmeowminnie @realisticnotes @effielumiere @svnbangtansworld @insomniacatiny @marvelfamily3000 @amyz78 @blueie-things

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝BTS Masterlist 📝Yoongi Masterlist

📝Lazy Cuddles 1

Yoongi POV

"Jagi?", I call, coming into the living room

"Mmmm?", she answers

"Jagi, where are you?"

I walk around the couch to find her laying on it, her face buried in the pillows, blanket pulled up to her chin

"What are you doing baby?", I chuckle, sitting next to her

"Dying"

"No baby, you can't die", I joke, "I need you jagi"

"Yoongi", she whines

Something's wrong

She'd usually joke back with me

"Tell me what's wrong baby", I ask, running my fingers in her hair

"Bad headache", she whispers, "Hurts so much"

"I'm sorry jagi"

She gets bad headaches from time to time

Even with meds it still hurts

Sometimes they last hours, sometimes they're short

Sometimes she gets one every day for a week or two then none for months

She's been checked out and there's no explanation for them

"Did you take meds?"

"Three Advil"

"Three?", I gape

That's a lot but it's normally what she takes when the headaches are severe

"Very bad headache", she whines, "And it's not working anyway"

"I'm sorry baby. Did you drink water? Maybe you're dehydrated?"

"I did naekkeo", she answers, "I'm just trying to nap. Maybe it'll go away when I wake up"

Sounds like a good idea

I don't want to leave her alone though

"I'll stay with you jagi"

She lifts her head, squinting at me, "You don't have to work?"

"Yeah but I can do it here. Use my laptop and headphones and I'll be right next to you"

She nods, "Ok naekkeo. Thank you"

"Of course Jo"

Leaning over her, I kiss her forehead then get up to get my stuff

--------------------------------

Half an hour later, I stop the music to change something when I hear her whimper

Reaching out, I rub her back as I fix what I need to fix

Then I hit play and listen to the melody

She moves, turning around, her back to me, trying to get comfortable

She hasn't been able to fall asleep yet

I'm trying everything I can- play with her hair, massage her forehead, rub her back but nothing is working

I don't know what else to do for her

Once the music stops playing, I decide it's good and I open a new file to work on

"Yoongi", she whispers

"Yeah baby?"

"Can....you hold me?"

I smile at her back, saying, "Yeah jagi. Of course. I can use a break anyway"

I'll do anything for her, drop anything for her, to help her, to comfort her

Taking my headphones off, I put them and my laptop on the floor, then lay down under the blanket next to her

Wrapping my arms around her body, I pull her against me, her back to my chest

I cuddle into the back of her neck, pressing kisses to her skin there

"Better jagi?"

"Yeah naekkeo. Thank you"

"No need to thank me. I'll always jump at the chance to hold you"

"I love you Yoongi. So much"

"I love you Jo. More than anything", I tell her, "Now try to sleep baby ok? I don't want you hurting anymore"

"I'll try", she says softly

"Good"

Pressing a kiss to her neck, I hold her, my eyes closing as well

I'm not planning on sleeping as I'm not tired but I don't want to just stare at nothing

A few minutes later, I hear her even breathing and I smile

Seems like she just wanted me

Which is fine because she can have me whenever she wants

I'm not ready to get up yet so I just keep a tight hold on my jagi

--------------------------------

Movement against my dick wakes me up

She's moving around in my arms, her ass rubbing against my crotch

What time is it?

I don't even remember falling asleep

It's not a big deal

That's our thing

Naps

A nap with my jagi is never a bad thing

But her wiggling around is making my dick hard

"Jagi", I murmur, moving my hand down to her hips and stopping her movements, "Don't wiggle baby"

"Huh?", she asks sleepily

"Don't wiggle. Your ass is rubbing against me and making me hard"

"Mmm", she whines, still pushing against me

"Is your headache gone?", I ask, trying not to think about sex

"Yeah. Just needed a nap", she says softly, her body still pressing and moving against my dick

"No more wiggling jagi", I say softly, my cock fully hard against her

It'll go away, I just need her to stop moving

"Put it in naekkeo", she murmurs

"What?", I ask, not sure I heard her right

"I feel how hard you are. Want you. Put it in"

It takes a second for my sleep riddled brain to comprehend what she's saying

"Are you sure?", I ask, once what she says sinks in

"Yes naekkeo. Want you"

I definitely want her so I pull her pants and panties down as far as I can

She lifts her legs to her chest, pulling everything off as I pull my pants and boxers down

I pull her back against me, then align my dick to her entrance and start pushing in slowly

"Yoongi", she murmur, her tight pussy opening for my cock, sucking me in as I move

"Jagi", I whimper, my arm moving around her, keeping her body against mine, "Feels so good baby"

"Mmm", she moans, her cunt getting wetter, leaking around my cock with each inch in

I'm almost in and I shove my hips forward, burying entirely in her sweet cunt, feeling the hard clenching her pussy is doing

The pleasure rolls over me as we both moan

"So good naekkeo", she says softly

"Always good jagi", I tell her, kissing the back of her neck

I move one of her legs back, over mine thigh, spreading her legs open

Moving my hand in between her legs, I run my fingers up her pussy, collecting the juice she's leaking around my cock

Then I press on her throbbing clit, hearing her gasp, and start moving my fingers in a circle

"Yoongi", she moans, shaking against me

Her pussy tightens so hard around me, spasming so blissfully

With each massage of my fingers, her cunt creams my dick more and more

I keep my cock firmly buried in her cunt, starting to grind into her, making sure my head rubs her spot

I slide my free hand up her shirt, groping her boob, pinching her nipple

"Oh god", she cries, "Yoongi, don't stop"

"I'm not baby", I murmur against the back of her neck, pressing soft kisses to it, "Not until you cum all over my cock"

She whimpers, her pussy spasming wonderfully hard around my length

She's so fucking tight, it like her pussy is choking my cock and I'm living for every pulse

I play with her throbbing clit faster, her cunt a waterfall, soaking my pelvis and my thighs, her pretty moans music to my ears

She's close, I can tell from how her pussy's gripping my cock, how she's throbbing

And I know what she needs when she's right there

"Cum for me jagi", I murmur in her ear, "Want your pretty pussy coming all over my cock for me"

"Yoongi, oh god"

She falls apart at the next move of my fingers, orgasming all over me

"Yes baby. Don't stop", I murmur, her body shaking against mine, pleasure from her orgasm washing over me

It feels so fucking good and I wouldn't have it any other way

Her legs start to close as her orgasm continues

Letting go of her boob, I grip her thigh, holding it open

"Keep your legs open", I demand, "I didn't tell you to close them. I'm not done with you yet baby"

She nods, "Ok naekkeo"

"Good girl"

After she finishes, I hold her around her waist and keeping her leg over mine, I pull my hips back, feeling every inch of her pussy tug on my cock as I pull out to my head

"Ready for me jagi?"

She nods

I thrust my whole cock back into her, slamming her spot, her scream of pleasure sounding in the room

I move quickly, fucking her pretty pussy, incredible pleasure washing over me

Her pussy squelches with every thrust, the pornographic sound turning me on more

I pound into her, spreading her hole around my length, making her cunt cream every inch of my cock

She leans back, her arm moving around my neck, her lips crashing into mine

I throw myself into her kiss, my tongue against hers, kissing her hungrily as I fuck her pussy wide open

The kiss is messy, our tongues all over each other's and it's so right in this moment

She moves, pulling me out, then climbs on top of me, sliding down my cock to the hilt

"I need you baby", she murmurs, bouncing on my cock right away

Fuck, I need her

I move us, leaning against the couch cushion, my hands on her thighs

As she comes down, I thrust up into her cunt, going in so deep

"Yes, Yoongi", she cries, grinding on me when I'm all in

I watch her slide up my cock, her pussy cream coating my cock, making a big beautiful mess

She comes down, her pretty swollen lips wrapped around my length, her hole opening and straining as she takes me

Sliding my hands up, I push her shirt up and off, watching her pretty boobs bouncing in my face

She tugs on my shirt, whining as she rides me and I get the hint

As soon as my shirt is off, she leans her hands on my shoulders, fucking the life from me

The pleasure is exquisite and the view of her on my cock, the pleasure in her face is mesmerizing

I love this girl more than anything in this world

I start moving again, thrusting up into her pretty hole as she bounces down, the bliss increasing for both of us

"Yoongi, yes...yes baby", she pants, her gorgeous brown eyes on mine

"So fucking good jagi. Such a good girl for me", I murmur, the throbbing of her pussy becoming extremely hard and tight

We fuck each other, both sweating and the next thrust has her screaming as she cums

"Yoongi", she cries, her pussy squirting, soaking me, her head back, her hips rocking, eyes closed, her fingers digging into the skin of my chest

Ecstacy tidal waves over me, stars explode in my vision, my hand squeezing her thighs hard as I go over the edge, filling her cunt with my cum

"Joanne! Jagi!"

"Yoongi! Yoongi!"

I help her rock on me to prolong the bliss for both of us, my body shaking involuntarily

God, it's so fucking amazing

She's amazing

As we finish, her rocking slows down until she stops

Her eyes meet mine, a soft smile on her face

Her hand cups my cheek, her fingers stroking my skin, a loving look on her face as she gazes at me

"I love you"

My heart pounds in my chest, like it always does when I hear her say those words

"I love you", I tell her, smiling at her too

She leans down, her lips meeting mine

I immediately fall into her kiss, her arms moving around my neck, mine around her waist

As we kiss, we move, laying down, her body against mine, her soft skin against mine, our legs tangling together

Holding onto each other tightly, we cuddle and kiss each other with no intention to stop

#bts yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #bts suga smut #suga smut #min yoongi fanfiction #bts yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts smut

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its-all-papaya · 8 months ago

Note

trick or treat!!!!

come trick or treating!!

for you... a sequel idea/snippet ! carlando podium (and subsequent carlando Obscenely Husbandly Behavior) in mexico made me think the devil in me thoughts...

Lando is drunk when he returns - a little louder than he usually is, knocking into Oscar's suitcase with his toe and hissing "fuck" under his breath where he usually probably wouldn't.

His shoes hit the carpet with two separate thumps. He giggles at something quietly, phone screen lighting up the room Oscar'd made deliberately dark when he'd arrived back from the track. Still half asleep, Oscar watches through slitted eyes as Lando struggles out of his top and tosses it towards the arm chair for one of them to deal with in the morning. Him, probably. Lando's not sloppy, but he'd been dehydrated enough before dinner that his hangover is going to be a bitch long about their wake-up call at ten in the morning regardless.

The bathroom light goes on only a second before the door shuts, but Oscar gets enough of Lando's back, muscles shifting with the stretch of his shoulders, to reignite the spark from earlier. From the moments after they'd filmed, before Lando had run off, when Oscar had pressed him into the doorway and spread his hand all the way across Lando's fireproofs, still damp with podium champagne. And from the moments even later, when he'd tapped through Lando's private instagram story. And Carlos'.

The shower runs. One complaint from Oscar in Miami about sweat and club grime in the bed had taught Lando his lesson about that. Enough minutes tick by tonight, though, that Oscar begins to wonder which one of them Lando's doing it for. Afterparties always key him up that way, blowing his pupils out and sticking him to Oscar's back in bed even when he's not drunk or on anything. Going out always puts him in that mood, but Oscar's one mental loop of Carlos' face from crawling out of bed and right into the shower anyway. Like tonight's any different.

He writes the thoughts off as sleepy irrationality and forces his mind blank against the white noise of running water. By the time it cuts, he's been in and out enough that time is fuzzy; he can't be sure whether it had gone long enough for Lando to accomplish anything other than a quick rinse.

He smells neutral, like lemon hotel soap, when he slips under the covers and plasters himself to Oscar's side. And he's damp, still, like he hadn't really bothered to towel off much.

And naked.

His lips are hot when they land at Oscar's shoulder, his palm broad and warm when it slips across the dip of Oscar's spine where it's peeking out above the hotel duvet.

"Have fun?" Oscar mumbles into his pillow. It comes out muffled, slurred, like he's the one who'd been downing Ferrari-red shots less than ninety minutes back.

He can feel the way Lando's lips curve against his skin, "Knew you were awake."

"Wasn't."

"Are now."

Lando's half-hard against his thigh, shifting his hips in lazy little movements. If Oscar ignored him, he's probably not too far gone to roll over and sleep himself.

Oscar drags in one last lungful of warm air from his pillow, then turns onto his side, face-to-face with Lando and his cheeky, hazy grin.

"Because you woke me," he argues back lazily.

"You weren't that asleep," Lando's cheeks are still flushed from his shower and his teeth glint in the alarm-clock's light when he speaks, sharp, "You were watching Instagram stories forty-five minutes ago."

Oscar forces his face to hold shape.

"You check your story views?"

Lando's smirk turns delighted. Oscar gets the feeling he's stepped directly into a trap he hadn't known was being laid.

"Wasn't my story."

Oscar's next inhale catches halfway down his throat as his brain whites out at the implications. When he's somewhere between picturing Lando's chin tucked over Carlos' shoulder and trying not to do just that, he's interrupted with lips under his own jaw and five fingers spanning the entire length of his neck, shoulder to ear.

"You like watching?" Lando asks against his adam's apple.

It all plays back behind Oscar's eyes like a stop motion: podium, Carlos' arms out, hands clasped, heads bent together, smiles and shots and a dozen different arms around Lando's shoulders, mumbling happy Spanish into his ears until his grin broke broad and genuine. Oscar knows what they are, Carlos and Lando. But the spark in Lando's eyes when he tilts Oscar's chin back down with his finger and thumb says Lando knows what Oscar is, too.

Oscar hooks his hand behind Lando's knee and drags him closer until their hips are aligned, Lando's leg over Oscar's hip.

"You like being watched?" he whispers against Lando's mouth.

The first roll of their cocks together forces Lando's breath out in a hot rush across Oscar's lips. He threads his fingers into the back of Oscar's hair and kisses him long and deep, tongue so far in Oscar's mouth that Oscar swears he can taste the last of the tequila from Carlos' final story.

When they separate, Lando's eyes are all pupil, lips slick, hand tight around Oscar's nape.

"I like how you get when you're jealous."

Oscar presses his hips forward another time. His protest never comes.

#answered #ask game #trick or treat #the devil in me #landoscar #my landoscar #drabble #i guess?#landoscar fic #landoscar fanfic #i fear i will never run out of jealousy asks and prompts from y'all so HERE HAVE SOME FOR FREE !#soph writes

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shadyruinskryptonite · 2 years ago

Text

Insecurities

Warning: Disordered eating, insecurities, depression, anxiety, self-loathing, references to s*x but no descriptions and not smut, unemployment, language, super negative self-talk (reader calls herself a bitch and fat), pet names (babe, baby, love), not proofread

Genre: hurt/comfort, established relationship, Modern AU!Eren x fem reader

A/n: Italics mean it’s the reader’s thoughts. Sorry that this is very dark and sad. As with any of my writing, it’s very self-serving. I promise that I’m alright, just feeling a bit insecure (I’m on the bigger side) and this will be comforting for me and therapeutic. Take care of yourselves <3

WC: 2390

y/n, texting: Hey Ren! You think we could hang out after work?

Ren: Sorry, I’ve gotta go to the gym and have some errands to run so I don’t think I can tonight 😢I should be able to tomorrow though if you’d like!

I sigh, feeling the familiar pressure settling on my chest as my stomach growls.

y/n: Oh, yeah. That’s fine. Tomorrow works! Love ya!

Ren: Love you too, babe.

I toss my phone to the side, heaving another sigh as I flop my head back.

I can’t expect him to realize something is wrong if I don’t tell him. How can you be both so good at hiding how you feel AND expect Eren to see through it? Dumb bitch, this is why you are disappointed so often, people can never live up to your unrealistic expectations.

Tears prick my eyes and I decide that the growling of my stomach is too obnoxious to ignore, so I walk to the fridge knowing I won’t find anything satisfactory. Settling on some cheese sticks, I fill the gaps with a bit of sparkling water.

If you want to like how you look in pictures, this better be the only thing you eat today.

Nodding to myself, I go back to my bed to finish my snack before sliding under the covers. Having not had more than one meal each day for longer than I can remember, I’m definitely exhausted. I’ve been searching and applying to jobs so often that I’m mentally just shot.

You should’ve never left your job. Sure they treated you like shit, but at least you had a paycheck. You’re so stupid for thinking you’d get a job quickly. And any place you work is going to be the exact same since you’re so fucking lazy.

I squeeze my eyes together before I turn on my white noise in the background hoping to drown out my own thoughts. Slowly, I drift off to a nap.

---

When I’m snapped out of my sleep, the room is dark. I rub my eyes, extremely disoriented because something that wasn’t my alarm is what pulled me awake. I glance at the time and realize I had been asleep for at least three hours. There’s a knock at the door, and it dawns on me that this is what must have pulled me out of my sleep.

Wearing just Eren’s hoodie, I stretch before calling out, “One minute!”

You’re not really going to answer the door like that are you? Even though the hoodie covers your ass your fat thighs with their stretch marks are out. You can’t have someone seeing that!

I groan before stepping into my closet briefly. I pull on a pair of leggings but quickly realize they’re tighter than the last time I wore them.

Ugh! You’re better off having your fat out. Just look at how these show the shadow under your gut! It’s disgusting.

For what feels like the hundredth time today I fight off tears not wanting to open the door looking like a crying mess on top of how shitty I already feel. I pull off the leggings in a huff and go to the door, too tired to care anymore.

When I glance through the peephole, I’m surprised to see Eren standing outside my door. I fling it open, confusion evident on my face. It’s only as he’s looking me over that I realize how messed up my hair must be so I quickly pull out the hair tie that was realistically only hanging on by a thread anyway.

His warm smile that crinkles his eyes and his musky scent envelope me, momentarily lifting the cloud off of me. But just as quickly as I felt better, the doom and gloom returned along with guilt.

Look at how handsome he is, it’s so unfair of him to be stuck with you. You were too obvious about how you felt and now you’ve forced him to come over here instead of doing the things he was planning on doing. Always a burden.

Fighting off the thoughts, I smile up at my boyfriend, trying to convey that I really am happy he’s here. A little worried about his response, I ask “what happened, I thought you were going to the gym and had errands to run?”

There’s an almost imperceptible furrow to his brow and I can tell he knows something is wrong.

Fuck! Don’t make him worry about you!

“I got off a little early so I’ve already gone to the gym and I decided that my errands could wait. You seemed off over text so I wanted to come check on you, and…I think I’m glad I did. What’s wrong baby?”

I pull him into my apartment and say, “nothing Ren, what makes you think something is wrong?”

I don’t want to worry him but, god, there’s nothing I need more than him right now.

As the door closes, the room is once again enveloped in darkness. “Well,” he says as he flips the light on, “for starters I can tell you just woke up from a nap.”

“I nap all of the time Ren, that’s nothing special” I say with a giggle, and to an untrained ear it sounds so very genuine. Not to Eren though. Wanting desperately to change the subject I ask, “Have you had anything to eat? If you went to the gym you must be hungry.”

As I go to walk towards the kitchen, he gently grabs my arm. “I had a smoothie, so I’m fine.” He’s still holding my arm when he looks behind me and sees clothes discarded on the floor of my closet, only he’s almost certain that they aren’t dirty. When he looks back to me, I can tell the expression on his face has bloomed into full-on worry.

“Talk to me, y/n,” he almost whispers.

I can’t hold his eyes so I look away, his thumb now rubbing loving circles on my arm. I steel myself so I can try to keep up the already fragile wall and look back at him with a softer smile this time. “I’m okay love, I promise. I appreciate you making sure I’m okay, though,” I say before getting on my toes to peck him on the lips. His eyes narrow slightly but he doesn’t press the matter.

Moving to the couch, Eren lays down with his head resting on the arm of the chair and invites me into him. I happily oblige. He has some random show on in the background, but as soon as I settle onto his chest and into his arms, my lip starts to quiver. My face is hidden in his chest, and I can tell he’s looking at the TV and not me, which is good because this time I couldn’t hold back the tears that had been brewing the entire day and, honestly, for the last nearly month.

I lay there, crying quietly as some stupid sitcom plays. Only there came a point where my crying wasn’t so easily hidden anymore. I move my hand to my mouth in hopes to cover any noise but there was no hiding the sob that racked my body. This got his attention.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

“Hey, hey, look at me baby, just look at me,” Eren says with increased urgency as he shifts so I can comfortably look up and make eye contact. When I fight looking at him, he changes strategy. Holding me impossibly close with one hand on the back of my head and the other on my back, he rubs comforting circles anywhere he can. “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay baby. I’m right here. It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.

My sobbing gets harder before it starts to calm down, and if I could’ve seen his face I would’ve known how each new cry broke his heart all over again. When my crying had mostly subsided, I tried to choke out an apology which only made me begin to cry harder.

Now, Eren insisted on me looking at him. As he held my chin he asked, “Why the hell are you sorry? I don’t even know what you’re upset about yet.”

Through shuddering breaths, I manage to say, “I-I’m sorry for c-c-crying and I’m s-sorry for making you w-worry and f-f-for being a burden and, and, and… just for everything!” I try to bury my face in his chest again but he stops me.

“Baby! You never have to be sorry for crying. Where the fuck did you get the idea that you’re a BURDEN?” As he speaks, he looks almost hurt that I would say such a thing.

“I-I took you away f-f-from your plans,” I whine out.

“That doesn’t make you a burden love,” he says as he strokes my cheek. Shifting again to get us more on eye level, he continues, “this is not what’s making you cry this hard though. Please talk to me, y/n. I just, I feel so helpless if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” By now he’s holding my face, so I can only glance down to escape his eyes.

I know what I’m about to say will make him mad, so I keep looking down as I whisper, “why do you even care?” I feel his hands get tighter on my face. Not so tight that it hurts, but tighter nonetheless so I know he IS mad just like I was worried about.

What I wasn’t expecting was to be met with silence. When I look up, his eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open. Wanting to escape the situation, I say, “close your mouth, you’re going to catch flies like that,” but as I reach up to his face to gently shut his jaw, he grabs my hand hard.

“Why do I even care? I really can’t believe you just asked me that.” Mistaking his incredulity for annoyance, I frantically begin to apologize again as fresh tears spill over.

“Please stop apologizing, y/n. You don’t have anything to apologize for.” This shuts me up and for a moment we just sit in silence before it’s his turn to look away and he asks, “Have I not been doing enough to make you feel like I care? I’ll do anything you need, I-”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean at all, you’re an incredible boyfriend and you make me feel so loved every day, it’s…it’s just that…” I pause to sigh. The last thing I wanted was for HIM to feel guilty. But how do I even begin to articulate what the problem is?

Eren waits patiently as I battle internally. Finally, I look down and continue, “It’s just that I don’t understand why you care about ME. I’m…I’m…I’m repulsive! I mean, just look at me!” I gesture to myself, still not making eye contact. Now I’m getting really worked up as I say, “We have no good pictures together because I ruin them all! I haven’t been able to contribute to a date in months because I have no money and on top of that you’ve had to bail me out financially more than once! I’m just…I’m useless! Fat, and lazy, and useless, and-”

I’m suddenly pulled into a crushing hug. Tangling one hand into Eren’s hair, I cry into the crook of his neck. For the first time in a while, I’m able to feel some of the weight lifting off of me. We stay like this for a moment and as my crying begins to subside, I can hear Eren speak through gritted teeth. Anger radiates off of him as he forces out, “did someone say something like this to you? Because if this is someone’s fault I’ll ki-”

“No one said this to me, Ren.” I lean back and realize he’s got tears glistening on his cheeks. I feel so bad for making him cry, but his silence implies he wants further explanation. I cup his face in my hands to wipe away his tears before I kind of chuckle and say, “No, no one said something to me. It’s just, I mean, I have eyes.”

“Well maybe you should get them checked then!” he bursts. I’m taken aback but it doesn’t stop him from continuing, “Because we must be seeing different things! Because when I look at you I just see happiness and love and sunshine.”

I chuckle again before I say, “Thank you Ren, but, to be fair, you’re my boyfriend. You’re supposed to say that kind of shit.”

Without an ounce of humor, he interjects “Well if I’m supposed to say it, then I must not be saying it enough. There are so many things about you that I love, like how smart you are and your humor and your kindness, but I never would have even wanted to get to know those things if I didn’t find you jaw-droppingly attractive. Your hair that looks soft and shiny no matter if you leave it natural or style it, your eyes that I find myself getting lost in every time we make eye contact, your smile that can genuinely turn my day around. And you’re every man’s dream because I don’t have to choose between tits and ass,” he squeezes both as his says that, making me genuinely laugh which reflects in his own smile before he continues, “and while I know you don’t like your stretch marks, I love them both because I think they’re like pretty tattoos but also because the skin is more sensitive so it gives me another way to drive you crazy any time we have sex.”

Before I can respond, he finishes off by saying, “You asked why I even care, but the answer is simple, and it’s because I love you. You are the greatest person I’ve ever met, and I will spend the rest of my life proving this to you if that’s what it takes.” He then kisses me softly yet passionately, conveying exactly how deeply he means everything he just said.

“It’s not something I’m just immediately going to believe about myself, but thank you. That really helped, Ren.” I kiss him one more time before saying, “I love you so much baby.”

“I love you too y/n.”

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