#i maintain that there IS in fact a way to make that line not immediately suck ass

[usafphantom2]

#TomcatTails

#TomcatTuesday

Super Low Transition or

“How to Make Friends and Influence People”

I owe this one to @TomcatJunkie as he’s been very helpful in getting #TomcatTails going and has voted for this story a number of times. First, the technical. On a normal takeoff, once you’re cleared by tower you’ll go to full military power and wipe the controls out to ensure they’re not binding (hitting all the corners….forward, aft, left, right, circle all around). Once good to go and no warning lights are on, you’d let go of the brakes (pressing the top of the rudder pedals to brake) and then select afterburner as the roll starts. The RIO is reading off the speed and monitoring how much runway is left (with a full afterburner jet, normally it’s “plenty”) and once he got to “130 knots”, you’d set the stick back a bit and as the nose lifted you’d set the climb angle to 10°. As the jet came off the deck, you’d maintain the 10°, raise the landing gear (wheel shaped handle on the left) and as speed got to 180 knots or so, you’d raise the flaps (flap shaped handle on the throttle quadrant on the left).

Normally, the course rules (how you’re supposed to depart an airport, altitudes, headings, airspeed) would hold you down to 1200-2000 feet until over water and then you’d climb out to do the mission. All fairly benign, all fairly routine, which is why any Fighter Pilot worth a sh*t would do a low transition on occasion, provided you can get away with it.

Low Transition – a takeoff maneuver where the pilot lowers the nose to level just after the aircraft gets airborne and levels off at a very low altitude (20-50 feet), then accelerates as the gear and flaps are raised to arrive at the end of the runway hauling ass like a raped ape (technical term), to ultimately a hard vertical or semi vertical pull, showing full planform of the jet to an appreciating audience on the ground and in the tower.

One had to be pretty good at this because there were a number of ways to totally f**k this up and get famous (or infamous). The first way was to raise the gear too early. In the Tomcat, there was a thing called the Weight on Wheels switch in the landing gear. When compressed, the gear would close that switch and a number of things would happen (can’t remember them all). When going flying, the second you got weight OFF wheels and the switch opened, the first thing you’d see was your AOA indicator lighting up (upper left on glare shield). Unfortunately, that switch opened JUST before the wheels were actually off the ground so if you were too quick on it and slapped the gear handle up the second you saw the AOA lights come on, the one thing the WOW switch did that I DO remember would happen next.

Once the landing gear is in transit, the braking system would lock the brakes to prevent you from having a very heavy, high RPM tire spinning inside the wheel well around all the electric and hydraulic lines. Too dangerous to risk the tire coming apart in there. In fact, I had a couple flights where you could literally hear the wheel spinning as that system was broken. That’s a gripe they took very seriously. So back to our low transition; if you were too quick on slapping the gear handle up, the wheel break would engage. While you were still on the ground. Moving at 140 knots. Yes, both tires would immediately blow. As it happened, you’d normally have enough smack to climb away from the ground, but now you’ve got several hundred pounds of savaged rubber in your wheel wells and you now have to come back for an arrested landing. Yay, you’re famous!!!

The other danger was a thing called ground effect, a flight condition where you’re technically airborne but not really flying. You’re not getting laminar flow across the wings producing lift, you’re just riding a cushion of air that develops under your jet. It’s never happened to me but as described, you’re in full blower, mushing along at 140 knots, 20 feet off the deck and not accelerating because of the massive drag in that regime. You can’t lower the nose to get airspeed and you can’t raise the nose to get altitude, so you’re stuck. The one story I heard about, the guy just maintained level and slooooooowly got some extra knots until he could actually get away from the ground and fly away after a very long (12,000 foot) trip down the runway.

All in all, there’s an old saying about low transitions: “You can only tie the record.” Implying that the record low transition was zero feet when the guy screwed it up and skidded to a stop after coming back down on the runway. Accordingly, it’s a bit of a risky maneuver, but it’s a considered risk leavened by skill and is always something you talk to your RIO about.

On this particular flight, myself and Blaster (from the Mirage 2000 story) were launching out of El Centro, CA to head back to Miramar after a detachment. It’s 90 miles away, we have a full bag of gas with no real mission, we’re a couple of JOs, we’re BFFs, and we’re in the desert with no one watching. License to steal.

Man up, start up, taxi, and then position and hold on the runway, taking off toward the west on Runway 26 (it points 260° on the compass). I tell Blaster we’re doing a low transition and going to see how many knots I can get to at the end of the runway. He asks if he should request unrestricted climb out (also a cool thing to go pure vertical on takeoff) and I tell him “Nah, just normal departure.”

We get cleared and we run ‘em up. Off the brakes and to full blower. Good acceleration, “130”, set the nose and lift off the runway. Give it an extra potato (second) to get REALLY off the runway, raise the gear and lever off at about 30 feet. Get the flaps up and maintain level and the jet starts to really accelerate. El Centro has an 8,000 foot runway so you’ve got about 1.3 miles to the end. And so you’re aware, every runway has markers left and right indicating how many thousands of feet are left before the end. So we’re hauling ass at 30 feet, nearly to 300 knots and Blaster’s reading the boards off; “3 board………2 board……….1 board………”…….and we get to the end of the runway.

At this point Blaster is expecting something to happen, minimally a little nose up to start climbing out. Nope. A few seconds later, Blaster says “field boundary”, meaning we’ve left the airfield proper and are now over the farming fields to the west of El Centro. I tell him we’re gonna just keep this profile for a bit longer and he says “cool”. We elevate just partially to 50 feet (because we’re not COMPLETE idiots) and just trundle west, accelerating the whole time.

Sh*t is going past us REAL quick now. Roads flash by in a blur. Riverbed……..FLASH! Power lines……ZIP!!! We’re trucking along at almost 450 knots by now, just over 7 miles a minute. I THINK we flew over some farming areas but things are just a blur. In the distance I can see a large tractor spewing a dust cloud behind it. Okey doke, he’s my pull up point. Just a little right stick, getting closer, just about to go under the nose and WHAM slap on a 6 G pull in full grunt to the vertical right over him. We come out of blower and roll inverted to pull down and stop at our transit altitude back to Miramar, like 16K’ or something.

I like to think that the hard-working farmer really enjoyed that show, having 60,000 pounds of Grumman Ironworks thump him at 50 feet and 500 knots. I like to think he went home that night and told his family all about “this really cool thing that happened”. I like to think that maybe even today he hoists his grandkids on his lap and tells them about “that one time I was in the presence of American greatness.”

But he probably still thinks “those #$%%$ #$#&*# Fighter Pilots!!!!!”

@RSE_VB via X

[computationalcalculator]

the specific frustration of hearing a stanza of a song that sounds like it was written five minutes before it needed to be sent to the publisher, and having a better version of it ready to go, but knowing there's no real way to suggest it in a way where it'll get incorporated

anyway, happy Epic drop friday

[poisonlove]

The Addams curse | w.a

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

A/N: Okay, I admit it. I read a story that inspired me so much that I "stole" the idea

Wednesday was painfully aware of the curse she inherited from her family: the Addams curse. It was a curse that had existed since the 5th century, binding an Addams to their soulmate. A curse that would drive one to madness if rejected by that person, a madness that would torment them even after death.

As alluring as that last thought sounded, Wednesday didn’t want to become a slave to another person.

And she especially had things to do.

Just the thought of her father's expression when he looked at Morticia sent a warm, nauseating sensation to her stomach, a warmth that was far from pleasant. It was a reminder that in her life she would encounter… her other half. She would prefer to skin herself alive than to fall into this trap.

Because love was, in fact, a trap.

Thanks to reading a book about her family's history, she learned that the curse activated with the first contact with the destined person. A touch that sent thousands of electric shocks coursing through the body, a bond capable of quenching the thirst of her cursed soul.

That’s why she was averse to any contact: no one, ever, would trigger that curse to drag her into madness. She categorically rejected the idea of succumbing to temptation; she was even willing to kill the destined person, fully aware that she would die immediately afterward.

there was another side effect: if your soulmate died, you would follow them incapable of living without them.

Wednesday pressed her lips into a thin line.

That moment had arrived the instant she crossed the gates of Nevermore Academy. A warmth spread through her body and an annoying itch kept her on edge. Wednesday mentally cursed herself for having attacked students at her old school: at least she wouldn’t have anticipated her end. Her parents watched her with curiosity as they approached her new room and Wednesday tried to maintain an unreadable expression, fully aware that chaos reigned inside her.

Where her mother stayed in the past: Ophelia Hall.

As soon as they opened the door the itch intensified and something indefinable vibrated in the air. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the curse or the fact that she had entered a painfully colorful room. A girl immediately sprang up from the bed, a smile stretching from ear to ear as her blonde hair with blue and pink streaks danced toward their direction. Another girl sat cross-legged on the bed to the girl to far too… enthusiastic.

There it was again, that annoying itch.

“Hi, roommate!” the blonde exclaimed excitedly.

Wednesday felt nauseated, a wave of discomfort tightening her stomach in a cold grip. It was a new sensation for her. She felt her throat constrict, the urge to vomit ready to explode but the lack of food ingested that morning left her with only a painful emptiness, like an abyss sucking her from within. With a shiver she realized that the nausea wasn’t caused by hunger but by the curse that poisoned her insides, slithering through her veins like a subtle venom.

Oh no.

The impression of tiny spiders weaving her stomach from the inside sent a chilling shiver through her, insinuating itself between her bones. Every thread of that imaginary web seemed to tighten around her, making every breath harder than the last. The sensation of being trapped, of losing control, terrified her in a way she would never admit to anyone. Wednesday found herself immobile; perhaps "paralyzed" was the best word.

“Are you okay? You look... pale,” the blonde said with concern.

Other eyes turned in her direction.

“Oh… Wednesday always looks half dead,” her father commented with an ironic smile.

Her mother’s hand rested on her shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze, a gesture that could have seemed comforting but for Wednesday was a reminder of the distance between them.

But inside, Wednesday felt a turmoil boiling in her chest. A raw, primitive energy surged through her like an electric current, making her muscles tremble. Paradoxically, it was the first time she felt so… alive. That pain, that sense of oppression and that devastating nausea had awakened an intensity she had never experienced before. It was as if the curse was showing her the limits of her humanity, forcing her to feel closer to life, precisely because she was on the brink of her annihilation.

If her mother hadn’t placed her hand on her shoulder, she probably would have fainted.

“I understand,” the blonde mumbled, a look of confusion on her face. “Anyway, I’m Enid, and that over there is my best friend Y/N,” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

Y/N timidly waved her hand as a greeting.

“I’m happy to meet you!” Enid exclaimed, filled with bubbly happiness, opening her arms and walking toward her.

Wednesday’s eyes widened and she quickly took a step back to avoid contact. The itch had appeared as soon as she entered this room and the gothic girl didn’t know if it was the blonde girl who was the possible cause. There was also the chance that it was the other girl, Y/N, but honestly she didn’t want to know in any case.

Enid slowed down and looked at her with disappointment.

“Oh… I see you’re not a hugging person,” she mumbled weakly, still wearing a big smile on her lips.

“Do you like the room?” she asked curiously, her eyes so bright it seemed like she had two stars instead of irises.

“No,” Wednesday replied venomously.

“Sorry… Wednesday… is allergic to colors,” her father justified and Enid raised her eyebrows in confusion.

“What does it do to you?” she asked weakly.

“My flesh is peeling off my bones,” Wednesday replied in a flat tone, her lips reduced to a thin line. She felt the itch slowly fade but the annoyance remained on her. A faint laugh reached her ears, forcing her to turn toward Enid’s best friend. “Sorry… that was funny,” the latter stammered trying to justify herself as her cheeks flushed.

Wednesday stared at her intensely, a visceral hatred bubbling within her.

“Well… I’ll go now,” Y/N mumbled weakly. The girl got up from the bed and Wednesday found herself analyzing her quickly: tall, slender, long y/c hair and eyes of the same color. A smile resided on her lips and the goth felt as if her own were about to rise in reflex

she held back.

“It was nice to meet you,” she mumbled timidly.

Y/N passed by her and the proximity was enough to awaken the unsettling sensation gripping her insides. But luckily for Wednesday, it lasted only a few seconds.

(...)

Nevermore turned out to be much more fascinating than Wednesday had imagined: gorgons, werewolves, sirens, vampires and all the other creatures that populated the world of outcasts. However, what intrigued her the most was the series of murders wreaking havoc in the quiet town of Jericho. A frenzy of curiosity filled her; she felt inspired.

She longed to discover the identity of the killer, continue her novel about Viper and investigate any mystery that could be connected to her ancestor Goody Addams.

She would think about escape later.

Regarding her curse, Wednesday had narrowed it down: Enid, Y/N, and Yoko. Tayler and Xavier had quickly been eliminated from her list. Tayler for covering her mouth during the excursion in the woods to avoid being discovered by Sheriff Galpin and Xavier for taking her to the infirmary when she fainted. In both cases, she hadn’t felt anything, a total absence of emotions.

But Y/N was different. She was almost 80% sure that you were her soulmate.

Every time they spoke, even if she could detect a note of sarcasm in your responses to her icy remarks, she felt a palpable energy between you two, an electric current that seemed to draw her closer to you. Her eyes couldn’t tear away from yours and an unbearable fire exploded in her chest. She found herself experiencing mental blackouts lost in your gaze and on more than one occasion she had even stammered. She hated the curse, hated herself, and above all, hated you.

But what got her into trouble were her thoughts crowding her mind like a chorus of impatient voices: Take her hand, kiss her, find out if you are her damn ruin. These thoughts didn’t manifest with Enid or Yoko. With Enid, there was a weak itch, a sense of comfort but not attraction, probably because they were roommates. And Yoko? Well, she was simply a friend of Enid and Y/N.

Wednesday blinked and directed her gaze back to her plate.

The goth found herself having lunch at a table with her roommate's group. Despite loving solitude, she found herself amidst Enid and Yoko, with Y/N sitting in front of her, a calm expression on her face.

The buzzing continued.

Wednesday was close to Enid, so close that their shoulders brushed against each other. Anxiety gripped her stomach but she needed to narrow down the list, she wanted to know: she bit her lower lip and decided to eliminate the distance by leaning her weight against Enid's shoulder.

Nothing.

“Oh, sorry,” Enid shifted.

Wednesday furrowed her brow. Why hadn’t anything happened? Maybe the contact needed to last longer? Should she hold her hand or something? The goth extended her hand and placed it on the blonde’s arm.

Nothing.

She quickly fell into a panic, the electricity increasing around her and decided to touch Yoko.

Absolutely nothing.

“Do you want to kill me? Did you touch garlic with those hands?” Yoko asked, panicking as she looked at Wednesday through her sunglasses.

“I don’t think so… You would have already burned,” Y/N commented playfully. Wednesday looked up and locked eyes with Y/N. This only meant one thing... Her suspicions were true.

It was you.

You were her soulmate.

Oh, fuck it.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

What about a baby daddy Bruce?.. it can be smut or not.. I don’t mind it👀👀

Yes!!! Sorry this took so long, college classes are kicking my ass </3

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who insists on being involved in every aspect of your pregnancy, despite the fact that you’re not together. He tells you it’s because it’s “the right thing to do,” but deep down, he just can’t stand the idea of missing anything about the child you’re bringing into the world.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who tries to keep things professional and detached, but every time he sees the baby bump, his mask slips just a little. You catch him staring with a mixture of awe and guilt, as if he’s wondering how the two of you got here.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who somehow knows more about your prenatal appointments than you do. He shows up unannounced to check in, even if it’s just to sit silently in the waiting room. He’ll never say it, but he’s terrified of something going wrong.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who starts scheduling his patrols and meetings around your doctor appointments, even though you’ve told him he doesn’t need to come to every single one. He just raises an eyebrow and says, “It’s my child too.”

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who makes it clear that you and the baby will always be safe, even if it means stationing a discreet security team outside your apartment. You’ve caught him doing perimeter checks before and honestly don’t know whether to be annoyed or touched.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who tries to keep his feelings in check but can’t help being overprotective. When you casually mention being tired or nauseous, he immediately offers to have Alfred cook for you or send a car to take you home from work.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who doesn’t want to overstep but can’t stop himself from spoiling you. One day it’s a ridiculously comfortable pregnancy pillow delivered to your door, the next it’s a state-of-the-art crib that you definitely didn’t ask for.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who tries to maintain emotional distance but absolutely loses his cool when the baby kicks for the first time while he’s around. He freezes, his hand lingering on your belly longer than necessary, and you swear you see a flicker of vulnerability in his usually stoic expression.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who makes promises to the baby when he thinks you’re not listening. Things like, “I’ll keep you safe,” and “You’ll never have to know the things I’ve seen,” spoken so softly that it breaks your heart just a little.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who struggles with the line between co-parenting and wanting to take care of you, too. He’s constantly asking if you’re okay, if you’ve eaten, if you need anything, but he’s careful not to cross boundaries you’ve clearly set.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who is secretly terrified of being a bad father. He doesn’t say it, but you can see it in the way he obsesses over every detail of the nursery or how he hesitates before asking if you’d consider staying at the Manor—just until the baby’s born.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who is there, in the delivery room, holding your hand even though you told him he didn’t have to be. He’s calm, composed, and quietly reassuring, but the way he looks at the baby once they’re born is raw, unguarded love.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who respects your space (mostly) but insists on being a constant in the baby’s life. He’s there for the first feeding, the first sleepless night, and every other milestone, always offering help without expecting anything in return.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who gets off on thinking about your baby bump so much more often than he would ever like to admit. He just can't help it when he thinks about how that swell in your stomach was a product of you and him, not any other man.

Baby Daddy! Bruce Wayne who sometimes catches himself imagining what it would be like if the two of you were together—late nights in the Manor as a family, holidays, bedtime stories—but he never says it out loud. Instead, he focuses on being the best father he can, even if it means loving you from a distance.

Masterlist

[satorurize]

𐙚 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄¡!

cw. 18+ flithy smut, Sub!Gojo, Dom!Reader, Enemies to lovers, gojo is a virgin and the word loser is used a lot.

AcademicRival!Satoru believed he'll have a merry time getting paired with you for your upcoming assignment, afterall, you were fun to pick on and he adored the way the vein would pop on your forehead after he says something to completely throw you off the tracks. His plan was to make you do all the work while he gets on your nerves to pass his time.

Satoru prides himself in being jack of all trades, he's the captain of the collegiate basketball team, student body president, has 4.0 GPA in his astrophysics major and is on the dean's list, his stunning good looks were to kill for and to add to those never ending positive attributes he's filthy rich, if it wasn't so obvious by his sports car's raging engine whenever he drifts it around in the campus. Gojo Satoru was a star. Gojo Satoru was game.

Admirers and people lining up for him was no big of a deal, it is the routine when you're him. You're one of the many people who find him fascinating, find him attractive (which was something you would never admit to, even if a ceiling fell over you) but still, why was he shaking his legs underneath the table while he watches the furrow of your brow focused on the screen in his dorm room? He's way too distracted to read this paper about Aesthetics and Marxism—he only took up sociology because it was a humanities requirement within his course and also because he was utterly, out of his mind bored.

Feeling the burning gaze of his abnormally blue eyes, you slam your fist onto the table and anyone who was in their right mind would be able to decipher that your expression was twisted in unfiltered annoyance, the mask of a small, pleasant smile as your veins popped on your forehead was failing miserably. "We could get a lot done if you didn't think this was a staring contest"

"Wow, really? I did think it was a staring contest with how boring all this is" He mocked knowing it would only agitate you further, his eyes shamelessly trailed over the plushness of your thighs and how the skirt fabric sat on top of it, his thoughts were digressing, wondering about the colour of your pant—

"What are you looking at, pervert..?" You point it out to break the unholy chain of his thoughts immediately, his eyes widened by being caught off-guard, evading away to focus on the papers in front of him, lasering his eyes to aim at understand at whatever 'Russian constructivism' meant, his fist gripped the pencil tighter and tighter as he felt unbelievably panicked at being caught, the trance of embarrassment breaking away along with a sharp 'snap' of the pencil.

With a faltering attempt to maintain his cockiness, Satoru looked at you. "Just looking at how much of a loser you look, even broke a pencil because it's annoying how nerdy you dress" a painful roll of his eyes followed by, but his ventures to cover the way he felt were too poor and what was the parameter? The goddamned seductive smile on your pretty lips.

Gojo Satoru was game, but he was a fucking virgin.

"Lying is not going to save your ass, I can literally see the tent in your pants, what are you..a teenager..?" The mockery in your eyes and the superiority you had over him in that very moment was enough to make him let go of his guards and feel his knees buck. You were beautiful and he was so pathetically down bad for that.

"Unlike you, I have many things to excel at..who has time for something as stupid as this anyway" You had to give some kudos for the fact that his voice remained balanced despite the throbbing erection in his pants, and you made a face with slanting pursed lips that was to show him you believed him, although anyone could tell you didn't.

"what is with that face? You think you're better than me? What do you know about sex, having your cute nose burried in those stupid books all day.." And that statement makes you raise your brow, Satoru Gojo, called you cute? This was something, this was when he knew he messed up and you had all the power.

"Why don't I show it to you then? You wanna be a loser in this one area? Come on.. you're better than that, right?" Satoru gulped, the offer was beyond tempting, all those fantasies he ran his mind for while wrapping his hand around his cock in his dark dorm room, relieving himself while yearning for the warmth for your mouth and cunt—finally had the chance to be fleshed out to life. It was tempting indeed but what about his ego?

"Sure, I bet you suck at this too" He huffed a laugh with his faux confidence, only to be miserably proved wrong within a few minutes.

"Please— fuck! Your mouth feels so good.." He breathed heavily with an almost violent rise and fall of his chest, his legs sprawled wide as he was on the couch of his room and you, his beautiful arch-nemesis was skillfully using his cock like it was your personal toy. Satoru didn't feel he was being sucked off for his pleasure, he was being sucked off to be proven of the fact that you were in control here.

He reached his trembling hands to tangle within your locks as you let a thick glob of your spit fall onto his tip with a grin, tantalisingly rubbing it on your glossed lips. "Better than your stupid fist right?" And he moans at that degradation, his eyes marbeling with glassy tears, your pride swelled more than anything.

"Ever seen tits in real life? Or are you that much of a loser to have Inoue Waka as your wallpaper.." You teased further, unbuttoning your blouse and unfastening your bra from the front to spill out your breasts and Satoru's brain simply short circuits the moment the cushiness of your tits gather around his cock and he feels the tightening sting on his abdomen, dripping out loads of his cum onto your tits, painting you like the masterpiece you were with thick ribbons of his ejaculate.

You hum, licking a long strip from his base, swirling your hot tongue around his softening, sensitive frenum as he is limp by the pleasure.

"There's no way you're this good.." He spoke, almost sounding as if something unbelievable happened, almost angry.

"Such a good boy 'Toru.." You giggle in response, kissing his abdomen and he feels pathetically, helplessly in love with you.

Gojo Satoru was game, but you were a roulette.

[vamptizm]

i. MISSION JEALOUSY — p. bueckers.

pairing : paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis : in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings : cuss words. sexual innuendos. no smut yet.

word count : 2.3k

note : i’m honestly only writing it as an oc because its easier to do for me, but you can use this as an x reader fic if you like idc

Paige Bueckers and Clover Amar had more in common than either of them would like to admit. Two sides of the same coin. Cocky, overly confident, Competitive and undeniably overprotective. Basketball was their life, a priority that had been cemented at the very top from an early age on. The rivalry between UConn’s two star players was never solely reserved for the court. In fact, one might say the times where the two interacted off-court, were the most intense.

The gym buzzed with the faint echoes of bouncing basketballs and the rhythmic squeak of sneakers against polished wood floors. Clover moved with precision as she stretched, her movements deliberate, her focus entirely on her body's rhythm. Her dark hair was pulled up, a few loose strands framing her sharp features. The short sleeves of her jersey revealed the intricate tattoos lining her arms and the hint of a design peeking from her neckline, adding an edge to her composed demeanor. 

She switched seamlessly into dribbling drills, her tattooed forearm flexing as she maintained complete control over the ball. Confidence radiated from her as she worked through the warm-up, her mind already preparing for the scrimmage ahead. Paige wasn't even on her radar—until her voice, laced with challenge, broke through the ambient noise.

"I hope we're not on the same team today," Paige said, her tone casual but her intent sharp as the glint in her eyes. She stood only a few feet away, spinning a ball lazily in one hand, her trademark smirk firmly in place.

Clover didn't look up immediately. Instead, she finished her stretch, bending forward with an air of indifference. Her voice was calm, but her words were edged with fire. "So do I. I wanna see you flat on your ass a couple of times today."

A sarcastic laugh escaped Paige, low enough that it could've been missed by anyone not tuned in to her. She leaned slightly closer, voice dropping as she muttered, just loud enough for Clover to catch it, "Sure you don't just wanna see my ass?"

Clover froze for half a second before straightening, a wicked grin curling her lips. She tilted her head, finally meeting Paige's gaze with an unbothered confidence that only made the air between them crackle more.

"Maybe," Clover replied, the single word dripping with nonchalance as she rolled her shoulders back and shifted into another stretch, purposefully turning away. The movement was subtle, but the way Paige's gaze lingered wasn't.

Clover's grin widened, though she kept it to herself. Let Paige think she was in control. For now, she could have her fun, but Clover would make sure it was her name on everyone's lips by the end of practice.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the court, the rapid thuds of the ball, and shouts from teammates filled the gym as the scrimmage began. Clover and Paige stood on opposite ends of the court, their gazes locking briefly before the tip-off. Both wore identical smirks, their rivalry palpable to everyone present.

From the moment the game started, it was clear neither was holding back. Paige wasted no time driving toward the basket, weaving through defenders with her usual speed and finesse. Clover intercepted her at the paint, arms outstretched, forcing Paige to pull up for a contested mid-range jumper. The ball kissed the rim before bouncing out, and Clover snatched the rebound with a triumphant look.

"Better luck next time, Bueckers," Clover quipped as she dribbled down the court, her tone playful but cutting.

Paige jogged alongside her, the smirk on her face unwavering. "Don't get used to it. I've got range you can't even dream of."

Clover didn't respond—she didn't need to. With a sudden crossover, she left her defender stumbling and pulled up for a smooth three-pointer, her follow-through picture-perfect. The ball swished through the net, and Clover turned, shooting Paige a wink as she jogged back on defense.

Paige's teammates groaned, but she only shook her head, the corners of her mouth twitching upward.

Minutes later, Paige got her chance. She posted up against Clover on the block, their bodies colliding as Paige backed her down. Clover dug in, refusing to budge, but Paige was relentless, spinning off her shoulder and sinking a fadeaway jumper. She didn't even look at the ball as it swished through the net, her gaze locked on Clover's instead.

"Cute," Clover said, puckering her lips slightly. Her tone was flat, almost sarcastic. "But you're gonna have to try harder than that to impress me."

"I'm just getting started." Paige replied, already sprinting back on defense.

The banter continued as the game wore on, neither willing to let the other have the upper hand. Paige's quick drives and pinpoint passes were met with Clover's sharpshooting and scrappy defense, the two of them trading buckets and sly comments with equal intensity.

When Clover stole the ball from Paige in a full-court press, she couldn't resist a parting shot as she sprinted toward the hoop. "Guess those hands aren't as great as the hype, huh?" There was no way for the blonde to miss the implication.

Paige caught up just in time to block the layup, slapping the ball against the backboard. "Guess you'll just have to find out for yourself, Amar." she shot back, her voice laced with satisfaction.

Despite their constant back-and-forth, there was an undercurrent of respect in the way they moved around each other, pushing and testing each other's limits. Off the court, they might've been rivals, but on it, they brought out the best in each other—whether they'd admit it or not.

By the end of the scrimmage, both were drenched in sweat, their teammates huddled around the scoreboard to tally the points. Clover leaned on her knees, catching her breath, while Paige nudged her with an elbow.

"Admit it," Paige said, grinning through her exhaustion. "You're better when I'm guarding you."

Clover straightened, her cocky demeanor still intact despite the fatigue. "I'm always better, with or without you."

Paige laughed, shaking her head. "Keep telling yourself that, Amar."

The restaurant buzzed with the hum of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The team occupied a long table at the center of the room, the camaraderie usually electric during these dinners slightly muted tonight. Clover, seated near the middle of the table, absently pushed a forkful of pasta around her plate as her gaze flicked toward Paige. 

Paige sat across from her, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as her date—a redhead in a tight dress—leaned in closer. The girl's laugh was shrill, cutting through the chatter like nails on a chalkboard. Clover's jaw tightened as she caught Paige throwing a brief glance in her direction, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

"You good, Clo?" Nika asked from beside her, nudging her shoulder lightly. 

"Never better," Clover replied, her tone cool and composed. She pushed her plate away slightly, glancing up just in time to catch the waitress approaching their table again. 

The blonde waitress, with her friendly yet slightly shy demeanor, stopped beside Clover, her gaze lingering longer than necessary. "How's everything tasting? Can I get you anything else?" she asked, her voice sweet and soft, a faint pink dusting her cheeks as she spoke directly to Clover. 

Clover leaned back casually, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Everything's great. But I think I'm missing something," she said, her voice dripping with playful charm. 

The waitress blinked, her blush deepening. "Oh? What's that?" 

"Dessert. But I think already found something much better." Clover replied, her eyes locking with the waitress's. 

The blonde's lips twitched into a shy smile, and she ducked her head slightly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Well, if there's anything else you need, just let me know," she said before walking away, her steps a little quicker than before. 

KK beside her let out a low whistle. "Damn, Clo. You didn't waste any time, huh?" 

Clover shrugged, her smirk widening. "What can I say? I've got a way with people." 

Across the table, Paige's hand tightened around her glass. Her date, oblivious, was saying something about an influencer trip to Miami, but Paige wasn't listening. Her eyes were fixed on Clover, watching the exchange with the waitress, the way Clover's gaze lingered a little too long, and the deliberate brush of fingers when the menu was handed over earlier. 

The redhead beside Paige tugged at her arm, her bright red nails curling around Paige's wrist. "Babe, you're not even listening to me," she pouted, her voice high-pitched and grating. Clover had to hold herself back from snorting at the pet-name.

Paige forced a small smile, pulling her attention back. "Sorry. What were you saying?" 

The redhead sighed dramatically but didn't notice the subtle shift in Paige's gaze, which darted back toward Clover. 

Clover, sensing the eyes on her, turned her head slightly, catching Paige's annoyed expression. She smirked and raised her glass in a mock toast, mouthing, 'Enjoying the show?' 

Paige's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing slightly before she turned back to her date, the irritation bubbling under her carefully composed exterior. 

The dinner had dragged on far longer than Clover would've liked. The initial awkwardness of Paige bringing her date to what was supposed to be a team dinner had somehow managed to get worse. Amelia—or was it Emily?—sat perched beside Paige, her body angled as if she wanted to detach herself from the table entirely. She barely engaged with the team, only giving short, clipped answers to any attempts at conversation. 

"So, Amelia," one of their teammates, Azzi, ventured cautiously, a polite smile on her face. "What do you do? Are you a student here, too?" 

"I'm studying marketing," Amelia replied flatly, barely sparing Azzi a glance before leaning back toward Paige. "But I really think I'm gonna go into PR after graduation." 

Azzi's smile faltered as she glanced at Clover, who offered a subtle shrug before turning her attention to her drink. 

Across the table, Paige shifted in her seat, looking slightly uncomfortable as Amelia chattered on about some influencer she'd recently met. Clover's jaw tightened, her irritation growing. It wasn't just the way Amelia monopolized Paige's attention; it was how disinterested she seemed in everyone else, as though the team wasn't worth her time. Clover was someone who was very protective of her loves ones, especially someone as sweet and kind hearted as Azzi Fudd. There was no way in hell she'd let anyone disrespect her.

"Hey, sorry—what was your name again?" Clover cut in suddenly, her tone pleasant but her eyes sharp. She leaned forward slightly, setting her elbows on the table as if genuinely trying to remember. Paige's eyes couldn't help but drift towards the girl's now accentuated cleavage, her breast valley tattoo barely visible. "Emily, right?" 

"It's Amelia," the redhead corrected, her brows knitting together in clear irritation. 

Clover feigned a look of realization, nodding slowly. "Right... Amelia. Pretty name." She leaned back against her chair, crossing her arms. "You know, Amelia, don't you think that when you're out with a group of people, it's polite to at least acknowledge their existence?" Her smile didn't waver, but the sharpness in her voice was unmistakable. "Paige isn't gonna run away, honey. I promise." 

Amelia's lips parted in shock, her face turning an angry shade of red. "Excuse me?" 

Clover shrugged, her tone light as if she hadn't just dropped a verbal grenade. "It's just something to think about. Right, Paigey?" She turned her gaze to Paige, her smirk growing. "You're not gonna ditch the poor girl, are you?" 

Paige's glare could've cut through steel, but Clover didn't falter. The rest of the team watched the exchange, most of them trying—and failing—to suppress their amusement. Aubrey hid her face behind her drink, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter, while Aaliyah pretended to look at her phone, her lips pressed tightly together. 

Amelia looked to Paige, clearly waiting for her to jump to her defense. "Paige?" 

But Paige didn't say anything. She sighed, running a hand through her hair, and leaned back in her chair. "Clover's just being Clover," she muttered, clearly unwilling to get involved. 

That was the final straw for Amelia. She stood abruptly, grabbing her purse. "Unbelievable," she hissed, glaring at Paige before storming out of the restaurant in a dramatic huff. 

The table fell silent for a moment before Ayanna snorted, breaking into laughter. "Clover, that was ruthless." 

Clover grinned, unbothered. "I just call it like I see it." 

Paige shot her a look but didn't say anything, clearly annoyed but unwilling to escalate the situation further. 

As the night wound down and the team began gathering their things, Clover reached for the bill. "I've got it," she said firmly, waving off anyone who tried to chip in. 

The waitress returned to the table to collect the check, her usual professional demeanor softening when she looked at Clover. She slipped a napkin onto the table beside her, leaning in slightly. "Thanks for coming in tonight," she said softly, her cheeks flushed as she smiled at Clover. "Call me if you ever want dessert." 

Clover chuckled, slipping the napkin into her pocket as the waitress walked away, her steps quick and purposeful. 

Paige, who hadn't missed a second of the interaction, scoffed loudly. "Seriously?" 

"What?" Clover replied innocently, trailing behind the team as they exited the restaurant. "Can't help it if people like me, Bueckers." 

Paige rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "So fucking annoying." 

Clover smirked, her tone teasing. "I know you are, but what am I?" 

The tension between them was palpable as they walked out into the night, the unspoken rivalry simmering just beneath the surface, ready to ignite again at any moment.

[rainydayathogwarts]

hi, this is the first time I'm writing a request on tumblr but I really like your writing (and unfortunately I'm very picky about writing styles🫣) I have tons of ideas for one shots in the back of my head so I'm coming to you with this rather simple one: reader x remus

Remus & reader are sth like friends, they have a secret crush on each other; remus is the casanova of gryffindor tower and all the girls (and probably boys) are crushing on him, Remus isn't quiet aware of the impact he has, reader reveals it to him in a convo (maybe while studying?) they're having that everyone finds him attractive and he asks if reader does aswell and so onnnn...

honestly, do with it what you want, I'm sure you will slay it! in case you hate the idea pls just ignore my request haha!⭐️

What about you? - Remus Lupin

summary: despite having a whole fanbase of girls who want him as their boyfriend, remus is only interested in your opinion wc: 1k

The giggles you heard as you walked past a group of girls with Remus had you rolling your eyes, cutting off the middle of your conversation. You couldn’t even have a single trip back from the library without a group of Remus’ fangirls making a big deal over him, but the boy didn’t notice them, only taking note of your unusual reaction.

Remus brushed a hand to the back of your arm, his soft touch stealing your attention from the group of insolent girls. “You alright?” Remus asked, carefully watching your expression change from one of annoyance to empathy. “They don’t bother you?” Remus’s eyebrows furrowed, a crease forming between them “Who?” You glanced around the hallway, looking for another group of Remus’s fans. Finally, at the sight of some third year girls huddled around in the corner of the hallway, nervously glancing towards you both, you nodded your head in their direction, softly elbowing Remus in his side. “You know, your little fanbase of girls?” Remus stopped in his tracks, making you look back at his when you realised his disappearance. 

“My little what?” You laughed at the shock in his voice, repeating “Fanbase. Honestly Rem, it shocks me every time that you don’t have a new girl in your bed every day. You could have the entire school lined up to have a turn with you.” Remus stammered, finally picking up his pace, hooking his arm with yours to drag you back to the common room with him. “You need to start over, you’ve lost me.” He said, coming to a stop in front of the fat lady’s portrait to mumble the password.

“I’m surprised you don’t know.” “Sweetheart, just give it to me straight.” He begged, slumping down on the couch in front of the fireplace and patting the spot next to him. You didn’t fail to take notice of the jealous eyes following your figure as you sat close to Remus. You felt your chest swell with pride, and almost wanted to call out ‘Yes, I’m closer to him than you’ll ever be. Cry about it.’ But there were pros and cons to being Remus’s best friend. Pro: you were Remus Lupin’s best friend. Con: you were only Remus Lupin’s best friend. And you feared that with the discovery of all the girls who wanted to have him as their boyfriend, all you’d ever be was his best friend.

“There’s nothing much to it. You know, apart from the fact that every girl in the castle wants you as their boyfriend.” Remus was silent as he processed the information, blinking slowly. “You know, it’s just always been this way. I think people started realising that you’re more than just a pretty face.” “Pretty face?” He mumbled. “Wait. Every girl in the castle?” You shrugged, replying “More or less. I mean, I can assure you that Lily isn’t one of them.” You both laughed at the comment, an image of the infatuated couple displaying in your head. Remus slid his hand into yours, squeezing it softly. “Well, what about you?” You felt your face immediately heat up at his question, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact with the boy, but you couldn’t help the way your gaze dipped down to look at the way Remus held your hand.

You gulped. This was not the first time you and Remus held hands, not at all. But you’d never held hands in this context, with the boy asking if you wanted him to be your boyfriend. “What about me?” You echoed, returning your gaze to Remus’s eyes. The boy seemed to suddenly get nervous, his face flushing as he began to stumble over his words, voice quieting down significantly. “You said every girl in the castle wants me as their boyfriend. Does that apply to you?”

You were very aware that Remus could probably hear the fast thumping of your heart, and you could too. You only wished you had a trick to know how he was feeling too. “It’s fine if not!” He announced at the same time you said “Only if you want it to!” A painful silence settled between you. You cleared your throat, watching as Remus opened and shut his mouth. He didn’t make a move to say anything, forcing you to speak up. “It’s fine if not…” You started, “Does that mean you want it to apply to me?” 

“I mean, it would be pretty nice if the girl I like wants me to be her boyfriend. But if she doesn’t, I guess it’s…” Remus’s words trailed off as he saw a wide grin on your face. He swallowed thickly, forcing his face to cool down, but that wasn’t possible. Not when you were cupping his cheeks and leaning forward to press a bold kiss on his lips. Remus’s hand curled around the nape of your neck to keep your lips pressed against his, only pulling away when he deemed himself ready. “Let’s go out!” He announced the second your lips parted, standing up abruptly. 

You blinked quickly, looking up at the tall boy and asking “Now?” Remus nodded, holding his hands out for you to take. “Yeah, let’s go out now. On a date.” You took Remus’s hands, letting him pull you off the couch. He let go of one of your hands, the other one sneakily intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you out of the common room. Remus led you onto the Hogwarts grounds to spend time together, but it was impossible to have a conversation when neither of you could take your eyes off the other’s lips. Instead, your first date was spent chasing each other for kisses by the black lake, where watchful eyes allowed the news of your relationship to be spread all around hogwarts by the time you got to the great hall for dinner.

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl

[sanjisleggy]

a chance at reconciliation (sir crocodile x reader)

req: I was wondering 💭…If you could do something for Crocodile. I was thinking of something along the lines of where the reader is a warlord but she’s also the ex-wife of Crocodile, like they had a fallout and never actually properly talked about it. So maybe they make up somehow and discuss things? I don’t know something like that 😭

a/n: gonna try to be more relaxed and freeform with some requests so they don’t sit too long in my inbox! if you have any feedback on this bullet point/scenario combo type of format (whether you like it/hate it/have any suggestions to improve it) let me know!

contents: a little bit of angst/hurt, some fluff, soft!crocodile 

wc. 1.5k

wanna be on my taglist?

you initially decline the Marines’ request for you to relocate to Alabasta in order to keep an eye on Crocodile. though you’ve been a Warlord for quite a few years now, you’re still the newest addition to the group so the Marines tend to twist your arm a bit more if they really want you to do something. they don’t do it often but this time they go so far as to threaten to revoke your Warlord status so you begrudgingly give in, knowing they only chose you because you’re legally still his wife

you’d split up before the Eight Warlords was even a thing but since neither of you bothered to legally divorce, you’re technically still his spouse. you’re not sure if the Marines thinks that’ll make you more or less inclined to snitch on him but you don’t really care. at most you’ll go say hi before fucking off to whatever penthouse suite’s available to buy, the nicer the better–Alabasta’s a beautiful country but even you can smell something fishy’s happening behind the scenes and you’d prefer to stay indoors as much as possible

when you arrive at Alabasta you head straight for Rain Dinners, deciding it best to just get the ordeal over with ASAP. although you left on bitter terms, you can’t deny you still harbour some feelings for the man. he was your childhood sweetheart, after all, which is especially why you’re still somewhat bitter over how easily he let you go

Crocodile smells you before he sees you; or, more specifically, the familiar scent of your favourite perfume triggers something deep in his chest before he even realises you’re here. effortlessly keeping his cool in front of the Alabastian businessmen he’s chatting with, he scans the casino and nearly chokes on his cigar when his eyes meet yours.

you look older now but time has been kind to you. you’ve aged so gracefully it’s no wonder he recognises you right away despite having spent so long apart. he’d spent his growing-up years seeing your face almost daily, after all. 

you maintain eye contact for a mere second before breaking it and making your way to the end of the bar, hips swaying in a way he just knows will attract attention sooner or later. even after 15 years, you know how to get what you want from him–or is the truth just that you’d gotten him wrapped around your finger a long, long time ago and he simply never let go?

whatever it is, Crocodile excuses himself, much to the visible disappointment of the two young ladies who’d been glued to his sides for hours now, and makes his way over to the bar. he claims the only vacant seat beside you before anyone else can even consider the idea and pulls out a fresh cigar.

“fancy seeing you here, dear.” the term of endearment escapes his lips so easily any onlooker would assume you’re still actively together. it’s very unlike him to slip up in such a juvenile manner but he hides the fact that it was a complete accident extremely well, hoping, fruitlessly, that you wouldn’t comment on it.

“bold of you to call me your ‘dear’, Sir Crocodile.” you take a sip of your drink but not without shooting the handsome bartender a wink first. Crocodile immediately dismisses him and makes a mental note to hire a new one tomorrow.

“that’s a shame,” you lament as you watch the bartender leave his post, “i was planning on having a bit more than just a drink tonight.”

“why’re you here?” he asks pointedly. “surely not for sentimental reasons, especially since you’re a Warlord as well now.”

“i’m surprised you even know that,” you shoot back, the slight sharpness in your voice betraying any attempt to hide the hurt in your chest. you’d long buried it somewhere so far away you thought it was out of reach and yet here you are, feeling the heartbreak claw its way up your throat the moment you see Crocodile in person again. “funny how being apart for so long seems to make it easier for you to keep up with my life.”

it’s a low blow but he can’t deny the truth in what you just said. it was easy for him to neglect your relationship back when he was shooting up the ranks as a pirate, he’d taken your loyalty for granted and only realised his mistake when it was too late. 

eventually his name became known all throughout the seas and he was even offered the position of Warlord by the World Government themselves. the power tasted sweet on his tongue–it still does–and yet on some nights he wondered if the price he paid was a bit too high. it’s been many years but even now Crocodile sometimes finds himself turning to his right to ask you for your opinion, only to remember you’d long since detached yourself from him in pursuit of a more fulfilling life. 

nothing could have prepared him for your rise to Warlord status, though. Crocodile had always known you were extremely capable, he was simply never aware how huge your ambitions could get.

“i really let you slip away that easily, huh?” he wonders aloud, much to your confusion. 

“i’m not entirely sure what to say to that,” you answer honestly. it wasn’t like him to speak so sentimentally and, truth be told, you were expecting a bit more hostility from him during such a sudden reunion. “to answer your question, though,” you continue, keeping your eyes glued to the single ice cube floating in your drink, “the World Government wants me to snitch on you and your little operation.”

without even looking at him, you can pretty much see the way he’s quirking an eyebrow.

“i know all about your little organisation going on here in Alabasta.” you tear your eyes away from your glass and tilt your head up just enough to see his face, only to find he’s already staring right at you. has he been looking at you this entire time? “all your little code names, your agenda, your Millions and Billions.”

to your surprise, Crocodile smirks.

“would i be wrong to assume you were feeling a little sentimental coming up with the name ‘Baroque Works’?” you ask, not breaking eye contact.

“you always loved Vivaldi, my dear,” he answers simply, his smirk softening into a smile. he hadn’t felt his lips move in such a way in a long time, it was always reserved exclusively for you, after all.

“still do.” you look away once more, now hyper aware of the fact that he’s still staring at you.

for a few minutes, the two of you sit in a comfortable silence only interrupted by the goings-on of the casino around you. after taking the final sip of your drink, you opt to play with the glass, running your index finger through the droplets of condensation. 

you’re not entirely sure what it is you want to happen anymore. prior to arriving here, you’d been so confident that this would be a quick and easy meeting. you’d say hi and leave; and yet here you are, drawing the affair out as long as you can, it seems.

“are you waiting for me to say something, dear?” Crocodile asks, not even bothering to forgo the pet name at this point. “do you expect me to go down on my knees and beg you to leave my operation alone?” he nearly taunts.

“you and i both know that’s not really my style.”

“a lot can change in fifteen years.”

“a lot can stay the same, too, don’t you think, Mr Zero?”

without warning, he reaches out to brush his fingers through your hair, sending warm tingles down your spine like it always used to do all those years ago. Crocodile trails his hand back up, brushing his fingertips past your neck before settling his large palm against your cheek. unable to help the smile stretching across your face, you let yourself indulge in the warmth of his hand as your eyelids flutter closed.

“what could i have done to make you stay?” he murmurs, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your skin. your own hand rises up to lay over his to keep it in place as you nuzzle into his palm and the Warlord feels a dull ache in his chest. 

“you know i just wanted some of your time and attention,” you reply softly, keeping your eyes closed and your face resting in the palm of his hand. Crocodile nods even though he knows you can’t see it.

“and if i were to offer both of those to you now?” he suggests and for the first time in decades he feels anxious.

“you seem as busy as always, if not more, actually.” you hum thoughtfully. “don’t you have important business to attend to?”

“would you believe me if i said i’m much more capable of separating my work from my personal affairs now?” you let out a soft laugh and the sound soothes his nerves almost instantly.

“i could be,” you reply, eyes fluttering back open to meet his own, “with some convincing, that is.” 

“very well.”

Crocodile decides to start by bringing your hand to his lips and pressing an uncharacteristically tender kiss to the back of it; and from the way your smile widens, he believes he might just succeed. 

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch

[endursent]

Hi!

Not exactly sure if you take platonic requests but I would love to see your take on Sunday with a teen reader who kind of just stuck to his side the first time they met (reader lost their parents)

As for if it's pre-Astral Express or Astral Express Sunday it's up to you or it can be both if there is a noticable shift in dynamic between the two :3

��� content; sunday & gn!reader , astral express sunday , oak family sunday , general , mild bonding , sunday has changed a lot , rather short 】

【 note; i don't mind platonic requests! i've written plenty before, but it's been a while. thank you for the request!! i somehow haven't actually written pre-express sunday before...? i see sunday my brain goes brrrr. 】

【 word count; 1.493 | masterlist 】

Family Head - 

Sunday likes to think he’s quite good at handling people, be it when it comes to his work or personal life—which isn’t much to talk about—and thus when you follow him around like a lost duckling between errands after meeting at a funeral, he decides to at least make use of you.

  Not maliciously, sometimes he tasks you with carrying things, or writing something down he’ll have to remember. Sunday comes to find it quite helpful, despite the fact he barely knew your parents and that his presence was more of a formality—he doesn’t particularly mind your sudden presence, per se… but he has a reputation to uphold, and he must make sure that you will not do any damage to it.

  He’s very skilled in prying information out of others, both by force and not—though he prefers it to be a last resort that he thankfully didn’t have to utilise on you. Sunday hums to himself after passing down a street, vehicles cruising along the roads and people waiting to pass—he stops suddenly and you nearly walk into his back, but just barely manage to stop yourself before doing so. 

  He turns to you and tilts his head. “What is your preferred meal?”

  The question catches you off-guard. Sunday hasn’t asked you a direct question about yourself like this before, and though you can’t stop yourself from thinking of warm, homemade meals and familial comfort—you manage to blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind outside of old morsels clumsily.

  “I see. Come,” he turns and crosses the street before checking for passing vehicles, and be it pure luck or a creepy understanding of the Dreamscape’s environment, he passes between gaps in the road easily—you just barely make it by following at his heel. 

  After gifting (bribing) you with the meal of your choice, he gouges out your circumstance and position—mostly inquiring whether you don’t have any other immediate family to turn to. Tragedies are nothing new to him, and Sunday is a very practiced listener… but the presence of pain and the way you try not to maintain eye-contact with him throughout does tug on his need to rectify it. 

  He’s a bit awkward, as Sunday slowly tries to involve you more—more than just a glorified assistant. If nothing else, he can grant you a place in the Family and allow you a life for yourself, he can guide and mentor you forward to where you must go—but he cannot be with you at the finish line. 

– Generally rather neutral about your presence, he doesn’t quite realise that you’ve attached yourself to his hip until someone lists it out for him.

– He doesn’t mind being a guiding figure for you, though he doesn’t really believe that he’s the best person to do so—he might search for some guidance himself if you were to present him with something complicated. Yet he also doesn’t want you to risk being alone and without a guardian… that’s usually how people get taken advantage of.

– He’s rather busy, so he gives you tasks or errands to run while Sunday tends to his work. He does rather enjoy that you aren’t too independent, mostly because he has a prickle at the back of his mind that you might get yourself in trouble, which might lead to difficulty and danger—or even hurt. Which Sunday is rather vehemently against. 

– There is genuine interest in his questioning when he tries to get to know you, to gouge your interests, your worldview and person. Depending on you, he might either nurture those traits, or spend much time getting you to understand his own.

– He will never force or manipulate you to change your worldview or reasoning, but he will make you sit down and listen to him talk until you understand his own.

Astral Express -

Sunday felt a little overwhelmed when he boarded the Express at first—there were some rules he didn’t quite understand, and he’s never had to share a space with so many people before… so he often kept to a corner he picked for himself. 

  The crew of the Express is practically a family already, and despite your needs being very much tended to—Himeko and Welt have practically taken it to themselves to be pseudo parental figures—you don’t feel a sense of… shared kinship with many of them. 

  But there’s something about Sunday’s own struggles and reserved demeanour that makes it quite comfortable to just sit with him. He didn’t quite like it at first, some kid he’s never met before plopped themselves down by the table he’s sitting at as he stared out the long windows of the Express and made themselves comfortable despite the many other places you could’ve sat.

  But he kept it to himself, his eyes drifted back out to the vast expanse and neither of you moved until you were practically dragged by the ears to have some dinner after missing the hollers. 

  You have to be the first one to approach and sit down by him. Sunday quickly memories the Express’ routine and makes it his personal mission—at least it seems like it—to take as little space as possible, both physically and mentally, in the way of staying out of sight and mind. 

  He never declines your presence, but you never really asked either. One afternoon a day after you had accidentally rambled about a book series you had been reading to Sunday (you barely slept after realising you had talked for almost two hours) March tricked you into playing games in her room—and somehow Dan Heng as well—after a short stop on a highly commercialised planet, where she had spent all her spare credits on a console and games you had never heard of before. 

  You were a little relieved that you hadn’t seen Sunday all day despite the fact you found his presence soothing to be around—and the fact he’s an excellent listener!—but at the same time… you also wanted to ask him if he minded that you kept coming to his table. 

  The game was distracting enough, taking your mind away from your thoughts and before you knew it, two hours had passed. In fact, you wouldn’t have noticed if three had passed were it not for the fact that March’s door slid open, and Sunday peeked inside… bringing the three pairs of eyes in the room towards him. 

  He leaned back slightly when he realised his subtle peek had failed, and gave an awkward nod. “Ah… my apologies, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Sunday had wondered where you had gone—your presence hasn’t been missed at the table for several days now, and considering he hadn’t seen you all day (mostly due to his own routine) he had worried you might be sick or otherwise unable to come to the party car. 

  March, however, is unbothered. She holds one controller towards him despite the distance (and sitting on the floor). “Come play with us!” 

  Sunday’s lips part, and he nearly declines on instinct… but what else is he going to do? He found out where you were, he would just go back to the table and sit in lonesome silence. “… is it okay if I watch?”

  She shrugs. “Whichever you want, Dan Heng always wins anyway.” 

  Slipping inside silently, Sunday finds a spot on the floor to sit, and you turn to explain the mechanics of the game to him so that he can understand what he’s looking at. Sunday nods along and asks some follow-up questions regarding the characters you could pick—he doesn’t mind your blabbering at all.

– Express Sunday is a bit more reserved, he doesn’t present himself outwardly—mostly because he is in the midst of understanding himself and reevaluating his worldview. Perhaps your presence and long talks helps him further his thoughts and understandings. 

– A second perspective outside of the events of Penacony is very valuable to him now, he is quiet and listens closely as you talk—and even if you don’t, he’s listening to the ambiance of the Express, or the hum rumbling the sides of the cars. 

– Sunday sees you somewhat like himself at a younger age, a figure searching for guidance and acceptance with little to fall back on. Unlike himself, you have the Express crew to guide you forward were you to fall—and though he felt a prick of envy at the first thought, he understands that circumstances are different, and nothing will change the past. He must move on to the future. 

– He doesn’t really have ‘hobbies’, so anything you or the crew can introduce him to or tug him along for is a whole experience… though he might be a bit stiff at first, he is usually quick to learn—even when you showed him a strange puzzle mind-game developed by a branch of the Intelligentsia Guild and published to download on your phone. You saw him pondering over them for hours during long evenings.

[honeyedclementine]

beg for it

sevika x f!reader, smut, established relationship, strapping, top!sevika usage of 'good girl' (one shot, 1.8k words) ageless blogs, minors, and men dni

reply to be added to my tag list ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

it was rare these days that sevika came home in a playful mood. work was weighing down on her, silco's pressures getting worse and worse, but you understood, you always understood. you didn't pretend to know the extent of the work she did for silco and she never told you—you just sighed and tended to her wounds whenever she came home with them. that was how you two had met, in fact. you were one of the more notable healers in zaun, always caring for others with a gentle touch. she had come to you all those years ago when she first lost her arm and never stopped. somewhere along the way, things changed between you two and well, now you have a shared apartment in the lanes and make good use of your free time.

speaking of making good use, sevika is in a good mood when she comes home for once. it's a pleasant surprise when you hear the door while you wash up from dinner, arms wrapping around your waist—one warm, one cool. lips press into your neck and you sigh contentedly.

"good day at work, baby?" you hum, feeling the way her kiss intensifies at the pet name. she'll never admit it to your face that she likes it, but you know her and her body well enough to know what drives her crazy. her kisses grow playful as she nips at the crook of your neck, hands strong at your waist and thoroughly distract you. the plate you were cleaning slips softly into the warm soapy water of the sink as you grip the edge of the counter, eyes slipping closed.

"couldn't wait to get home," sevika mutters against your neck, biting and sucking a mark into it that you know will last for a few days. you love letting her mark you up—of course, always places you can cover up so you can maintain some professionalism when you need to, but you like knowing they're there. pressing fingers to bruises on your collarbones through your shirts, just to feel the hiss of old pain, remembering the nights you two shared. "to you."

you mewl softly against her touch, her flesh hand coming dangerously close to the waistband of your jeans. you can already feel desire pooling softly in the pits of your stomach, surely manifesting itself into a mess in your underwear. you groan as her metal hand climbs up the hem of your shirt, sharp fingers just barely grazing against an erect nipple. you moan softly, pushing your ass back against her hips and feeling her groan at the friction.

"gods, i need you," you moan, head hanging, hair falling into your face as you struggle to remain standing. she always has a way of making you weak in the knees while doing barely anything. "fuck me, please, it's been too long."

she picks up on exactly what you're asking for without you having to say much more, a chuckle falling from her lips as she pulls away from you. you mourn her warmth immediately, but her rough velvet voice washes over you as she says, "wait here, then."

a chill runs down your spine as you hear her retreat to the bedroom. she returns only moments later, this time without her jeans, a strap comfortable on her hips above her underwear. you bite your lip, tugging her close as soon as you can and smashing your lips together with the edge of the counter pressing into your back. she pulls away from you if only to tug your shirt over your head.

her hands roam your chest, flesh fingers teasing a hard nipple as she kisses along the line of your jaw, tongue exploring the hollow of your throat. her hands lower, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them down until they're stuck around your thighs, taking your underwear with it.

she's impatient, it seems, not even bothering to remove the clothing completely before turning you around and pressing your stomach into the edge of the counter. you gasp at the strong hand she has on the back of your neck, relishing in the way she can just push you around as you see fit. you've always loved how strong she is, especially in times like this.

you gasp as the strap presses against your back, not quite where you want it. her fingers find your clit, pressing down slightly before dipping lower and gathering more of your slick desire onto her fingertips. "so ready for me already."

"fuck," you gasp as two of her thick fingers breach your entrance with little warning, stretching and preparing you for her cock. "i need you."

she leans in close, her teeth nipping softly at your earlobe, the tip of the strap just barely teasing at your entrance, not giving you nearly enough. you whimper at the contact, relishing in the warmth of her stomach pressed against your back. "beg for it."

you don't need to be told twice. "please, sevika, i need your cock, baby, please. i've been so good, give it to me, please."

"good girl," she coos, caressing your face with one hand as her lips dive against your neck once more, sucking more marks into the soft flesh.

you're practically shivering with anticipation as her metal hand tangles in your hair, getting a solid grip on it before she presses you down until your stomach is almost entirely flush with the counter. she angles the strap against your entrance, just barely pushing in as if she knows this is driving you absolutely insane. you whimper at the slightest touch, chest heaving as you crave to be filled by her.

after the initial tease, she slams into you with little warning, drawing a pleasurable scream from your lips. her grip on your hair and back keeps you where she wants you and you don't fight it, content to let her fuck you however she sees fit. despite her initial roughness, she eases you into it, rocking into you slowly and letting you get used to the fullness. you groan, making an attempt to shove your hips back against her, but the strong hand on the small of your back keeps you from doing so, causing a soft mewl to fall from your lips.

"gods, you're beautiful like this," she breathes out, so quiet you almost wonder if she even meant to say it out loud. as if trying to hide the statement, she picks up her pace, pulling out of you almost entirely before slamming back in and keeping that same rhythm over and over again.

your legs shake and you almost certainly would have fallen if not for sevika and the counter holding you up. her strong hands ground you, even as you press your face against the coolness of the counter, no thoughts in your mind except for sevika, sevika, sevika. you already know if she keeps this pace, along with the gentle hand tugging at your hair the way she knows you love, you're not going to last long at all.

"sev, baby," you moan, the words barely sounding real as they fall from your lips mingled with soft whimpers and groans. you can already feel your climax at the edges of your nerves as she fucks into you relentlessly. you can't get over how she groans like she can feel it, too, the kitchen quiet save for a mess of moans and the wet sounds of her cock pushing into you again and again. you can feel yourself leaking down the insides of your thighs, surely coating the strap in an absolute mess of desire.

"you're doing so good, so good for me," sevika coaxes more moans out of you with her soft words, your hands white-knuckling the counter as you feel your orgasm growing closer and closer. your legs feel absolutely weak as she slams into you.

your orgasm washes over you quickly, like a bucket of warm water being dumped over you as your nerves light up with the release of tension, clenching around her cock before spilling over it, making a mess of yourself. sevika continues fucking into you, barely even slowing her pace as her flesh hand moves from your back. she reaches around, trapping her wrist between your stomach and the counter as her fingers tease at your clit, applying pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves, clearly trying to draw another orgasm out of you.

you don't fight it, leaning into her touch as more incoherent moans spill from your lips, focusing only on the hand on your clit and the cock thrusting into you over and over again with little remorse. you love when she's like this—rough and unforgiving, not letting you go until she's done with you.

already sensitive from your first, it's not long before you're coming again, this time against her fingers and pushing back against her cock. her hand moves back to your hips, guiding you through is as her pace lets up only slightly. as you come down, her thrusts slow down almost entirely before she stills, her cock fully buried within you and her back pressed against yours against the counter. you ground yourself in the weight of her against you, your eyes watering slightly just from the pleasure of the stretch.

she kisses down the nape of your neck and your spine, sending shivers across your skin. after a moment, she pulls out of you slowly. you sigh, going to push yourself away from the counter, but she stops you with a hand to the small of your back. so, you stay there, hands braced against the cool counter as sevika sinks to her knees. you shudder as her tongue finds your inner thigh, cleaning up the mess she made of you.

her lips and tongue are careful around your cunt, knowing how sensitive you are right now. you sigh contentedly as she cleans you up before rising to her feet.

"baby—" you start to say, but you're cut off by her hooking her arms around your back and the backs of your knees, effectively sweeping you off your feet. you're grateful for the help, considering you're not entirely sure you'd be able to walk after that. "i can walk, you know."

sevika just tsks as she carries you to the bathroom, starting up the faucet and waiting for the water to get warm. "not if i've done my job right."

she sits you on the edge of the ceramic tub and you watch as she undoes the harness around her hips, tugging her shirt and underwear off—a silent confirmation that she'll be joining you in the bath. you reach for her hips, tugging her close as she bends down and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

as soon as the bath is full, she climbs in, the tub barely big enough for her tall form, tugging you in after her and settling you against her back. you sigh, letting your eyes slip closed as she presses a kiss to your temple.

you love when sevika has a good day at work.

tag list: @puppyels @njm63522 @fict1onallyobsessed

[nohoney]

touya x drug dealer! reader has been an idea that i’ve been wanting to do for a while. i had thoughts of cute flowing dresses, flutes of champagne, strawberries with brown sugar, and a powdery compact mirror with a credit card lined with white at the edge ♡

Touya hates going to the country club. He hates having to get ready to wear the stupid polo shirt and pressed pants his mother picked out for him. He hates having to take out most of his face jewelry, only leaving his eyebrow piercing as a slight rebellion to irritate his father. It’s all so annoying to him but to be fair—

They all hate going to the country club together.

It’s only an obligation for them to attend as a family. To show up so that Enji’s professional business ties can remain intact if the event is important enough. It’s the only time everyone agrees together as a family. Despite the fact that going to the country club is meant to be a luxurious get away, the Todoroki’s see it as anything but.

With the exception of Shouto who is too young to partake in anything, the rest of the family cope in their own ways to survive an agonizing event that none of them want to attend.

Enji smokes in private with the other men, Rei quietly nurses a glass of white wine as she makes polite conversation with the other wives, Fuyumi and Natsuo discreetly pass a weed pen between one another, and Touya…

Well he’s got his special friend that he knows where to find.

All throughout the club, there’s little signs that lead to a certain someone who exchanges little treats for just the right price. It could be money or it could be secrets or something else entirely, but the exchange given has to be deemed equal in value to what is handed out. There’s bouquets that are found throughout the entire club, all seemingly of the same variations except for one flower that’s meant to point you in a certain direction.

Touya walks through the club, noting the one flower that sticks out in the bouquets as a subtle sign of where to find you.

Following the secret path, it leads him this time to a room with only a single piano in the center and the white curtains drawn over the windows.

It’s a beautiful grand piece of shiny, lacquered black and is maintained regularly in its tuning. No music is being played though, all that’s heard is the tinkling laugh from one of the two people that are sitting on the piano bench. Touya walks with his hands in pockets, leisurely in his step when he approaches you. Next to you is the caddy that often accompanies your father on the golf course, amber eyes lifting to him and giving him a friendly nod.

“Touya, so nice to see you again!” you greet with a warm smile. You’re graceful in the way you stand up from the piano bench, sliding your hand along the caddy’s shoulders as you make your way to Touya. He leans down, used to the customary greeting of kissing each cheek from you. The perfume you wear is new, smelling more like citrus and freesia than the usual florals he’s used to.

Turning back to the caddy, you wave him off. “I’ll meet you later Keigo, okay?”

The feathery blonde haired caddy stands from the piano bench, pressing a kiss to your temple first before making his way out.

“So, what can I do for you today Touya? You wanna be perked up? Or you wanna relax?” You ask him immediately, leaning against the grand piano and clacking your manicured nails against the surface.

“You ever think that maybe I’m just here to see you? And nothing more?” Touya playfully nudged his shoe against your ankle, also noting the clean polish of your pedicure. Strappy white heels are your choice of shoe today to compliment your tea dress.

You’re this vision of a good girl, prim and proper, soft and sweet. All the mannerisms you exude are perfected and practiced, taught firmly from the all girls school that you attended. On the surface, you’re just simply the rich daughter to the man who owns the country club. You’re known to love lounging by the pool or reading under the shady trees by the garden. The older adults love to fawn over you, even trying to set you up with suitors but only if they’re screened through your father first.

Rolling your eyes at him, you flash him a smile that sends the message of ‘yeah right’ before you wave him over.

You lift the piano bench where your current stash resides. It’s organized meticulously of all types of different pills and already measured bags of different powders. Nude colored nails hover over the selection that you know him to always get, but you’re polite enough to ask first for confirmation before plucking the packed substances from their spot.

“The usual?”

Touya pulls money out from his pocket, the same exact amount that he’s paid every single time he’s seen you. “The usual.” he confirms.

You hold two baggies for him, one with two blue pills and the other filled halfway of white powder. Touya takes it from you and waits for you to take out the held out cash.

“Mm, this dress doesn’t have pockets. Can’t take it.” you smile as you shut the piano bench, “I’ll take a kiss though.”

Touya smiles back, pocketing his cash alongside the goodies you’ve given him. “Is that how you’re taking payments today? With kisses?”

He knows you want him, you’ve been wanting him ever since he had fucked you at your father’s birthday party just a few months back. He can still recall the champagne he tasted on your lips, the silky material of your party dress as he pushed it over your hips, the smell of peony and honey spritzed onto your skin when he had bit your shoulder. It was an amazing fuck, one that he thought about going back for, but he liked to see you dangle yourself for him. Beg him with those pretty eyes and try to seduce him with low cut dresses or leave lingering touches that you hoped pull him in.

You shrug your shoulders and play coy, stepping into his personal space to smooth your hands along his shoulders as if you were going in to hug him. “Special just for you, I’ll figure it out with the rest.”

His hand slides along the small of your back to pull you in and close the space. “You are so bad.”

“I happen to be a very good girl, my record shows that.”

“Your records were expunged by your dear daddy.”

“So therefore, I have done nothing wrong.” you giggle, “C’mon, stop teasing me like this. You never want to see me outside of this place. I only see you when you and your family come to the club for an event, and you guys always look so miserable.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Touya’s hand drops lower, grabbing at your ass and relishing your little gasp, “because you help me get through these aggravating events.”

He teases you, has you chasing after him and keeps him entertained whenever he comes to this ridiculously posh club. You play the polite girl when you’re out among the crowd but he’s always felt your eyes on him whenever the two of you are in the same room together. If you could keep your eyes on him the entire time you would, but sadly you have to get pulled aside from so many people. From your inner circle, to polite introductions to your father’s colleagues, to the ones who want a little something to get them through the night. You carry yourself with grace and good posture, more than any girl that he had ever met.

You’re the classiest little drug dealer he knows.

And like every deal, a transaction has to be completed. So he leans down to kiss you, holding you tightly by your waist to bring you closer to him. You’re so eager for him locking your fingers behind his neck, sighing sweetly that makes him reminisce of that night you had together. The plush of your lips takes him back to that night, back when you smelled more floral and warm, when he had found you lounging alone at the pool and bored from your father’s party.

Surprisingly you pull away from the kiss. “I like you Touya, c’mon we had so much fun together at my daddy’s party. Don’t you wanna have fun again?”

“I never said that I didn’t want to do it again.” Touya points out as he takes a seat on the piano bench, “It’s crossed my mind.”

You pout at him, the gloss from earlier kissed off slightly sticky on his lips instead. Carefully you wipe away the remnants of the gloss from his lips, smudging it on the pads of your fingers. “You’re so mean, you know that? Don’t you know to not make your plug mad?”

“Ah, how can I make it up to you, princess? Please oh please,” Touya wryly plays along with you, “what can I do to get back in your good graces?”

You hold out your hand to him, “Take a walk with me.”

Walking out hand in hand with you, he is led out of the piano room and allows you to take him to wherever it is you have in mind. You pass by one person that you give a subtle signal too, Touya observing how they make their way to the piano room with a key in hand. He wonders how much you’ve paid off certain workers inside the country club to help and protect you.

He admires that about you, not being afraid to exercise your power. Maybe it just comes with being a spoiled brat who can get her record wiped clean when she calls her daddy with crocodile tears. All this wealth at your disposal and the only thing that entertains you is being the unofficial country club girl scout for xannies, oxies, and other treats.

Touya is led to different halls throughout the club, some he recognizes more than others, but not as well as you do. These are your grounds after all. The caddy from before is seen talking to a group of gentlemen, the elders clearly enjoying conversation with him if the boisterous laughter and the friendly pats on his back are anything to go by. Hell, Touya’s father is apart of the group and even he looks to be amused from whatever quip the feathery haired young man doled out.

Keigo must sense your presence nearby as he immediately looks up to see you. You blow an air kiss to him and he pretends to catch it in his fist. Touya can swears that when he looked at you, you mouthed ‘love you’ to him as they passed by.

He doesn’t know much about Keigo, only that he was brought on by you and that he happens to be very charming with many people. Looks wise, he can see why you went for him but Touya hasn’t taken any personal interest to get to know the caddy.

People pass by and give you pleasant greetings, all of which you returned kindly but never paused to have a conversation. There’s excitement running through you as Touya follows behind, wondering where exactly you’re taking him. He can tell by how eager your pace is that gives it away. It’s precious, he enjoys it too much.

You want him that badly.

━━━━✧

Touya’s not sure how he’ll explain to his mother how his pants got so wrinkled, but it’s a thought that gets pushed out of his mind as he smothers you in a kiss. He’s trying to recall his last excuse when his mother questioned how he became so unkept. The answer isn’t quite coming to him; all he can recall is just the adrenaline he had afterwards from fucking you so good. Normally he’s very smooth with his words, lying easily to anyone when it pleases him, but he had gotten pussy drunk off of you and his brain just wasn’t operating the same.

You and that cunt of yours.

He’s almost upset that he’s been denying himself this entire time. There were plenty of nights recalled the sloppy kisses from you, the elegant way you crooked your finger to bring him to you, and when you pulled on the roots of his hair when he had eaten you out. Truthfully he had wanted to chase you just as much when the deed had been done. But as he’s got you on your knees for him, Touya remembers why he decided to not give into you so easily.

“Please Touya? Please, pretty please?”

It’s so sweet when you beg.

He remembers after coming down from the high that arrogant look on your face when he had helped zip your dress back up. That because he had shagged with you then he was surely to come at your beck and call. Instead of giving in, Touya decided that he’d like to see you chase after him. To have you be the one sending text messages or letting late night calls go unanswered, declining private invitations from you to keep you frustrated.

He still has all your voicemails of you breathless and needy, begging softly for him to just want you back.

Your voice is small and pitched, whiny almost as you pathetically tug at his belt as you sink to your knees. You’re practically drooling for it, eyeing his bulge and caressing it gently through the fabric. Christ, he really made you that in love with his cock. “Oh princess, don’t tell me you’ve been pining after me.” He coos over you and tilts your head up to look at him, “All this time?”

“Yes, god yes!” You admit and jut your lower lip in a pout, “I would wait around for you, hoping you’d answer me or even come visit! I’ve always been so nice to you Touya, and you just ignore me!”

It is the spoiled brat in you that’s making you act this way. You’re such a good girl, a nice girl, a pleasant and sweet and pretty girl that there shouldn’t be any reason to give you this awful treatment. That’s how you see it. That you’re the one who blessed Touya with the rare gift of giving him personal access to you so therefore, he should be grateful and be falling at your feet.

Touya has his own pride though.

“Is that darling caddy you’re so fond of not enough for you?”

“I adore Keigo, I love him,” you admit, “but I want you too.”

You want him desperately, slowly crumbling your pride as you beg softly for him. This is what Touya wanted from you. To see you throw a bit of dignity away just for him.

“Yeah? You mean that?” he asks you, using a single finger under your chin to lift your gaze up to him.

“Yes.”

He could probably ask anything of you in this moment if it meant that he’d give himself up to you. Something that you would find worth it for him to finally cure your ache. Admittedly one of his fantasies with you is to use one of your fancy lipsticks to draw the filthiest names on your body and take pictures for evidence. He wants to write slut at your tits, whore written in fat letters on your back, maybe even cumdump on your tummy with an arrow pointing down to your cunt. Touya wonders if that would be too much though.

He wants to demean you so bad, knock you off your high horse and make you look pathetic.

Yet there’s also some desire in him to cherish you too. You are the darling of this club, adored and revered and Touya falls into that crowd too. That it wouldn’t be so bad if you were to wear a dainty necklace with his initial, have you in his car for leisurely joy rides down by the coast, and go on those stupid fancy picnics that you posted on your instagram.

“Need you Touya, need you!” you whine, catching his hand and leaning your cheek into his palm. Aw look at you, trying to look sweet for him, giving him doe eyes and batting your lashes.

There’s some laughter outside, just a small group passing by the room you’ve locked yourselves in for privacy. There’s a little sign that you hung on the door handles: the art gallery is closed. Nearby is a sculpture of a nude woman, crafted by one of the local artists here and was in the club’s newsletter not too long ago. Touya glances to it, finding it beautiful and better in person than in the photo they had taken of it. Art is usually better to see in person anyway-

“Touya!”

You’re not on your knees anymore for him, standing to your feet and smoothing down your dress. Ah, you’re upset now—actually upset at him. “If you don’t want me, then just fucking go. You’ve been playing these games with me and I’m tired!” you huff and try to pick up your heels that you discarded onto the floor when you had locked up the room, “Keep the stuff I gave you, I still won’t charge you for today.”

His hand goes to your wrist and he’s pulling you back to him, wrapping you up in a hug as he hushes you, “Don’t be so upset, it’s not a good look for you.”

“Well I wouldn’t be if you would just look at me!” you almost cry, sinking into his body and making a small noise when he hugs you tighter. “Everyone else wants me, why don’t you? Don’t you want me?”

It surprises him how genuine you’re being. You can’t be this upset, can you?

It makes Touya happy that he can make you this way.

“Never said that I didn’t, princess.” he admits finally, “I like you back, is that all you need to hear?”

He’s given a little nod, feeling your hand press at his bulge again. Your hand caresses his cock through his slacks and you sigh a little, slightly tilting your head up and nosing along his jawline. Touya bites down the smug smile that wants to sprout up on his face—this is how he wanted you, on his terms and not on yours. So now that he’s got you right where he wants you…

“Ow!” you cry out when Touya roughly grabs a handful of your hair right at the root, pulling you just enough to make you look up at him. He holds tightly and coos over your shocked expression, your wide eyes looking up at him with a small sense of betrayal. How could he switch up on you so fast like that? “T-Touya..!”

You pout up at him, your lips tempting him to kiss you.

“You’re not the good girl you make yourself out to be. Like you got everyone wrapped around your little finger, huh?” Touya speaks haughtily, his grip flexing slightly and tugging slightly on the roots of your hair, “Good girls don’t sell drugs out of a piano bench and fuck around with the piss poor caddy that’s so popular around here.”

“Maybe not other girls,” you hiss through your teeth, “but I can.”

You can do whatever you want, it’s how you lived your life. If there are any rules you’ve broken, you’ve always been very good to take care of it yourself mostly. Look at how you flout about, walking around with your pretty heels and waving the help over with darling manicured hands, discreetly handing cash and speaking with the sweetest lilt to get people to do what you please.

Touya snorts, but he does admire you all the same. If he had more drive to do anything, he’d probably be working under you too.

But he hates being inside this stupid country club, which is where you typically are when you’re not traveling or with your own gaggle of friends. This is where you like to work after all, and will be yours to run once your dear daddy passes.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” Touya sighs out before leaning down to kiss you. He’s unexpectedly soft considering the tight grip he still has on you, slotting his lips against yours too intimately for someone who also wants to ruin you all the same. It’s a long kiss he gives you, that it even gets the butterflies fluttering inside of his chest.

He pulls back and releases the hold he had on your hair, twirling his finger in a circle to indicate for you to turn around. You present your back to him, getting flashbacks to when Touya had first undressed you. His fingers are cold as he fiddles with the zipper at the back and pulls it down slowly. The dress loosens from your body and you shrug off the thin straps. It falls to the floor in a pool surrounding your feet, and you’re left standing in a little cotton panty that’s lined with lace. Your nipples are perked due to the chill of the room but you don’t bother to cover yourself to retain some modesty.

You’ve been wanting to be like this in front of Touya for the longest time.

You’re given another wordless command, blue eyes briefly glancing down to the hardwood floor. Kicking your dress off to the side, you kneel down in front of Touya once more and watch as he unzips his slacks and pulls his cock through the opening. Your mouth practically waters upon seeing his dick again, so thick and with the prettiest color at the tip you had seen. You’re about to go in when he stops you with a simple little tut.

Glancing up at him, you wonder what he could possibly have to say.

“Don’t get too sloppy, can’t walk out of here with fucking drool stains on my crotch.”

Touya hopes to fuck you in his bed one day, have you squirt on his sheets, and then cum all over your face. But while the two of you are here, the two of you have to be able to come out look presentable. He can’t go as wild as he wants on but he fucking swears that he’s gonna make you fucked out by him one of these days.

You nod in understanding before swallowing his cock into your throat. There’s some dreamy sigh from you as you bob up and down on his cock; you really must have been aching for this. There’s enthusiasm as you swallow all his inches, looking up at Touya and going all doe eyed for him. See how much you wanted him?

He admires your small gags, the way your body lurches when you choke deeply on his cock, but he reminds you again to try to keep your drool from getting on him. Touya wants to fuck your face, he wants to make you cry from fucking your mouth too hard, and even slap your cheek. There’s so much he wants to do but this isn’t the time or place to do any of it.

You’d be pissed off too if he even attempted.

You pull off his cock, a line of drool connecting your lips to his cock still but it gets wiped away quickly by the back of your hand.

Touya grabs your wrist to bring you to your feet, pulling you to the nearest wall to fuck you against. Your hands brace the flat surface, grunting when Touya uses one hand to jut your ass back to him and the other presses your head to the wall. With your back arched, he admires your elegant form under the soft lighting of the art gallery. The lovely still life painting of a bouquet does not compare to how fucking beautiful you are in this moment.

He can’t wait until he can ruin you to tears.

He offers his fingers to your lips, your mouth obediently dropping to lick and spit on them. It tickles a little with the way your tongue drags along his fingers but he doesn’t allow it for long. Touya only needs just enough to finger your hole, even spitting on his own fingers before he does a careful but quick prep after pulling down your panties.

“Oh god… oh fuck…” you mutter, your eyes shutting as relishing in his touch, “Fuck me please!”

“Relax.” Touya is firm in his tone, acting cool and masking the equal desperation that is surging throughout his own body. He wonders if you notice how eager his fingers are to be inside you, biting his lip to force down the wolffish smile on his face when he feels how wet you are. All that teasing before that he had done to you was worth it.

It was worth all of it to lead up to this moment.

His fingers withdraw and he sucks on them, savoring the taste of your slick along his tongue. Touya recalls how he ate you out at your father’s birthday party, driving you wild with his tongue on your clit and the sweet noises you made. It would be nice to do it again.

Your body shudders a little as the head of Touya’s cock nudges against your pussy, a sharp little breath sucked in as the first few inches sink into you. “Fuck!” you quietly curse.

Touya would like to savor this, to take his time and work you up into a sloppy, pretty little mess. To finger your clit until you cry out of frustration and then choke you if you give him an attitude. There’s so many things that he wishes he could do in this moment. But you remind him—

“Please hurry, we can’t be in here for long.”

Because you’ve got people waiting for you. People waiting to eagerly meet you, whether at your piano bench or if you’re needed somewhere else to help maintain your father’s appearance. No matter how much Touya has this vision of what he wants, he knows that he truly can not have you in his own way.

But he’s grateful to get you anyway.

He thrusts in, sinking in smoothly but with a sharp clap of his body meeting yours. Your pussy tightens up on him from the brief shock that is also coupled with a small gasp. His hands grasp your hips tightly and he pounds away at you, noticing how you help with the motion by moving back into him as well. It’s quiet inside the art gallery so all Touya can hear is you and the sound of his skin slapping against yours as he fucks hard into you.

“T-Touya!”

It’s just as sweet as the first time, observing how you occasionally look over your shoulder at him and give him sweet doe eyes again. But this time they’re glazed over, your eyelids dropping as you get lost in the pleasure, relishing in everything that you had been waiting for. Touya wonders how many nights you spent fingering yourself to him, he imagines your embarrassment when he would leave your needy voicemails or nudes in his inbox unanswered, and he dreamt more than a few times of you riding that pretty boy caddy in front of him.

I want to fuck you again.

Those words almost slip out as he reaches a hand to finger your clit. Your knees buckle but you maintain yourself, your own little sounds struggling to be kept in. Touya can feel it already, he can feel you just about ready to snap if the way your cunt is clenching around him is any indicator of anything.

“Please cum, please cum!” you desperately whisper, “Please cum in me!”

I need to fuck you again.

Touya fucks harder to get himself to cum, looking down to see that you’ve creamed all over him. He’s grateful that he pushed his pants down enough so that none of it catches onto his clothes. It’d be nice if you could clean up his cock with your mouth after he cums in you, but you’ve got to come out looking as proper as you can be.

So no hair pulling, no spitting in your mouth, no crying to ruin your makeup, and no marks are to be left.

But if you’re going to beg him to cum in you, you should be able to accommodate a reasonable request.

Touya leans over, feeling his control ready to let go as he’s about ready to burst as he mutters in your ear, “Keep my cum in you, keep me inside you.”

His words have your eyes rolling back, answering him with a jittery nod and a sweet yes hissed into the air. “Yes, fuck yes!”

I am going to fuck you again.

Touya jolts into you one last time, pressing himself so deep that you whine his name. He’s emptying himself into you, spilling cum into that delicious cunt of yours. He chances putting a hand at your throat to choke you, his fingers careful at your windpipe and peering down at you as your orgasm wipes your mind blank and has you going limp that he has to catch you.

And then there’s silence.

He’s holding your body against him, carrying your weight as your mind tries to start back up again. Touya drinks in this moment because he knows he won’t get a repeat of this. He may never get the upper hand again now that he’s given you what you’ve been aching for.

He wants to keep coming back not to just buy off you, but to keep seeing you.

“Good, Touya?” you manage to find your voice and lean back against him, patting your hand against his arms that are still holding you tightly.

“The best.” He answers

You chuckle, nodding your head and still remaining in his hold with his cock in you. He wonders why you haven’t bothered to start making yourself proper—

The door to the art gallery unlocks and it has Touya jolting. All the curse words he knows flash in succession in his mind but you pat your hand against him. “It’s okay, it’s Keigo.”

Sure enough, it is.

The pretty caddy with blond hair is approaching the two of you with two small towels in hand. Had he been waiting outside the entire time?

Touya wonders if every move you’ve made has been calculated. Did you know for sure that he would finally fuck you today after keeping you waiting for so long? And to have your favorite toy waiting on hand to clean you up as well?

He takes the offered towel from Keigo but doesn’t offer a thanks. Touya wipes off the remnants of you off his cock, throwing the towel over his shoulder as he pulls his pants back up. His belt buckle clinks as he makes himself presentable.

“Can we stay and talk for a little Keigo?” you ask leisurely as the caddy places the towel over a wooden bench for you to sit on. You’re smoothing down your hair as you sit down, Keigo kneeling down on one knee to massage your calves. Your dress and heels still lay discarded as you appear to take your time getting ready to leave.

“Just for a little, okay? Hana is looking for you—“ Keigo informs you and laughs a little as you groan at the name. It seems he has the sense to not continue the sentence.

Touya is dressed, his pants not as wrinkled as he hoped they would be. Rei will probably take notice like she did last time but this time, he has enough clarity to give an answer that he knows his mother will not believe but does not have any backbone to question.

He supposes that he should go out there.

He’s got what he wanted anyway.

“See ya princess.”

“I’ll see you out there Touya.” You call to him just as he’s out the door.

Stopping by a restroom first, he puts himself in the privacy of a stall after locking the door. He retrieves the dime bag and admires the scaling of the cocaine inside the plastic. He fishes out a key from his wallet, using the tip of it dip into the bag. He inhales a sizable bump into each nostril, wiping his nose clean before flushing the toilet for the sake of seeming as if he had used the facilities.

He joins Natsuo and Fuyumi, the weed pen offered to him as well but he declines. Just a little further down, Shouto is with two boys that he seems to have made friends with. One of them is blond and huffing his chest while the other has hair the color of an evergreen tree and seems to be the mediator of whatever fuss is going on.

Touya leans back into his seat, just a touch more awake as he tastes the drip at the back of his throat.

━━━━✧

It’s a relief when it’s finally time to leave.

Enji and Rei are side by side, she’s holding onto his arm for balance, teetering slightly to the right but is corrected by her husband as he helps her into the car. Shouto is waving his friends goodbye before going along to Fuyumi’s side. She asks him if she had fun and he answers yes. She is no longer high but Natsuo takes a small hit of the pen one last time to tolerate the car ride.

Touya is about ready to take his place inside the car when he hears his name. He looks back to see you walking towards him and he decides to walk to you so that none of his family eavesdrops.

“Thank you for seeing me today, I really enjoyed your company.” you speak with a bubbly lilt and your smile more pleasant than usual. Of course you’re happy—you and Touya finally fucked again.

“Thanks for having me.” Touya responds a little flatter than he intended to, just trying to keep his family off his tail so that they don’t ask questions.

“Text me later.”

It’s not framed as a hopeful question; you’re telling him to text you.

“I will.”

He means it.

No more ignoring or being coy, not anymore since you got what you wanted and Touya knows that he’s given up the power to you. It was nice to briefly wield it but he knows in the end that you are the one to hold all the cards and have things aligned with how you want them.

Touya avoids his father’s gaze as he gets into the car. He leans back into his seat at the very back of the car, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling the buzz of the coke starting to wind down. He chances looking back and you’ve hung around in your same spot, appearing to see him off.

The windows are tinted and he’s sure that you can’t see him through the glass but you wave anyway, as if knowing that he’s looking at you. He resists waving back.

And as the car starts, someone joins you. Wearing all black and with slightly unkempt white hair, Touya recognizes your foster brother. He’s only seen Tomura around a handful of times—unlike you that leaves a trail to be found, he’s a bit elusive.

The car starts to pull away, Touya watches from his seat as your foster brother leans down to you. One would think that he just leaned down to kiss your cheek but he swears that it was a kiss on the lips. It was hard to tell when enough distance had blurred the interaction.

Not that it matters to him anyway.

Later that night, Touya does as promised and he texts you. All the previous messages in his inbox from you were one sided but now he’ll be expected to reach out to you. Maybe you can meet him at a different place occasionally, take you for a ride in his white mustang or share a sorbet with you in the downtown area.

He knows that he will have to meet you more often at the country club though—it is where you work after all.

Touya hates the country club but he’s only ever gone to have a chance to see you.

[secretlysamcro]

Female Reader x Jax Teller MAJOR SPOILERS, smut, explicit language & again, MAJOR SPOILERS. If you're under the age of 18, easily offended, haven't finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: hi love could you do a jax teller x reader where jax is really upset and tries to start a fight but eventually gives up and just lets the reader comfort him?? i feel like there’s not enough soft/vulnerable jax and i just really need it haha! xx

Backstory: You had met Jax a few months after the death of Tara. You aren’t in an actual relationship just more like friends with benefits. Whenever he needs comfort, it’s you he spends the night in. Jax has been keeping in his feelings regarding Tara, his boys & his club, it all boils over, with you in the firing line.

“Fuck” Jax mumbled under his breath as he moved against you, maintaining a relentless pace. His calloused hands firmly grasped your hips, directing your movements like his own puppet on a string as he applied pressure, pressing your body down onto his ready to cum cock.

It’s not long after you’re both climaxing in unison, you stare at him intensely almost as if you’re being hypnotised by those charming blue eyes, shortly after your head snaps back in ecstasy, your back arching in pleasure as you dig your french tipped nails into his chest, just above his ‘Abel’ tattoo. You can feel Jax filling you up as his grip on you becomes firmer and more authoritative. It’s a feeling that’s become familiar over these past few months.

Jax doesn’t talk about Tara at all, not with you anyway. You only know what happened because people talk, but you wouldn’t dare to ask him. He obviously finds some form of comfort in the fact he has no obligation to talk to you about her whilst he’s with you, or about how and why it happened.

As Jax finishes his peak before you, he looks up and observes how you’re still enveloped in your pleasure bubble. He takes in the little details of your skin, how the sweat on your forehead makes your baby hairs swirl against your hairline and how your golden ‘Angel’ necklace hangs at an angle, catching the light ever so slightly. His grip immediately loosens. As beautiful as you are, you’re not Tara.

“Get off” he orders, as he can’t bare to watch you any longer. You ignore what he says, not because you’re being a bitch but because you’re still coming down from your own high. “I fucking said get off” with a swift push, he forces you off of him, he doesn’t cause any harm but it was enough force to shock you. He gets up, locking himself in your en-suite, leaving you sat on your bed feeling confused, slightly rejected and in a dripping mess. “what the fuck” you silently mouth to yourself looking in the direction of your bathroom door.

Jax Looks at himself in the mirror, after splashing his head and face with cold water, getting it absolutely everywhere in the process. He wipes away the tiny flecks of blood from his chest caused by your nails.

Despite his attempts to suppress it, Jax’s feelings have been growing stronger. He finds himself drawn to you, both emotionally and physically, but at the same time, he feels guilty. He feels as if he’s betraying Tara; betraying their love, their marriage, and betraying her death. Which is why he’s tried his best not getting attached, dismissing you when it’s convenient to him, only having sex in doggystyle so he doesn’t have to see your face - not because he doesn’t want too, but because if he does he knows the feelings will become real, stronger even, which is exactly what had just just happened.

Today was the first time you had ever taken control in the bedroom, since the two of you started having casual sex. You being on top, being in charge and breaking the cycle of having sex without meaning. Up until tonight, Jax had gotten used to having sex with you solely in a functional way. No emotional connection, no eye contact - just getting the job done. He would usually take you from behind focusing purely on his own pleasure, it was always like that; a structured routine.

You grab a random tee from your draw, chucking it on as you hear Jax coming out from the bathroom. You turn round to face him, he’s already managed to pull on his jeans - now fiddling with the samcro belt buckle attached to them.

“Did I do something wrong?” You question, your voice a low tone as you step on the eggshells surrounding Jax as he slides his air force 1s back onto his feet.

He ignores you. Pulling his white tee over his head and then his flannel shirt.

“Jax?” you say, walking closer to him.

He ignores you again, searching around the bed for his kutte. You see it slipping off the headboard, you grab it and take it towards him. He goes to grab it but you pull your hand and his kutte away from him.

“What happened?” You ask.

“Stop fuckin’ around gimme my kutte” he raises his voice as he shouts his demands at you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You retaliate, throwing the kutte in his direction.

He laughs in a tone of disbelief. “What’s wrong with me? What the fucks wrong with you?”

You look at him, confusion written all over your face.

“What was all that shit about?” he looks you up and down, almost as if he’s scolding you.

“What the hell are you talking about, for gods sake Jax you’re so hard to read somet-” your sentence is cut short.

“All that lovey dovey look me in the eye bullshit” he cuts in.

“Are you being foreal jax? We’ve been fucking for months now and me looking you in the eye is suddenly where you draw the line” You scoff back at him, walking away and pottering around your room, picking up random things to avoid having said eye contact.

“yeah! I’m being for real. Don’t fucking do it again” His authoritative tone peeking through. He squares up to you slightly when saying so, realising he’s overstepping a boundary he puts on his kutte before taking a step back. “Look I’m sorry I just… I don’t like it” he lets you know, his tone now softer.

“You don’t like it? Or you think Tara wouldn’t like it?” you question, knowing you probably shouldn’t have just said that.

His eyes meet yours aggressively. “What the fuck did you just say?”

You were already clued up that this probably had something to do with Tara, I mean of course it would, of course he still has the trauma of a dead wife on his shoulders, and you can’t blame him. You just wish he’d talk about these things, instead of hiding them, and constantly portraying this stone cold figure, when deep down you know he really does have a soft heart.

“You’re allowed to miss her Jax…” You say, in a calming tone, hoping he understands you mean well. “…but you’re also allowed to carry on with your life, do things that make you feel… good”

You watch closely as he grinds his teeth together, the muscles of his jaw flexing in sync. You can tell there’s a battle of conflict in his mind, he’s deciding how he should react. He takes a few steps back, sitting back down on the edge of your bed. He looks up at you “I miss her” are the last words he says before the tears start flowing, letting you see that soft side of Jax, that you’ve never seen before.

You take a deep sigh, “come here” you beckon as you sit down next to Jax. Your arms almost ready to wrap around his shoulder and pull him closer, but noticing the slightest flinch in his body. The movement was so subtle, you almost missed it.

There’s always been a strange contrast in his behaviour. Whilst he’s open to shoving his dick into you, he often withdraws when it comes to the moments that require emotional vulnerability, such as kissing, hugging or even the eye contact.

Jax looks up towards the ceiling, his hands wiping away the tears that have managed to escape his eyes. He breaths in heavily and begins to talk, the emotion weighing heavy in his voice. “I don’t know what to do anymore” he admits, the vulnerability pouring out as easy as the tears. As the last word leaves his lips, he takes your hand in his, a silent requests for you to break through his cold, rough exterior and to offer him comfort. He’s needs you to provide the emotional support that he’s craving in this moment of weakness.

Without hesitation, you pull him into a sideways embrace. His arm’s instinctively reacting to your hug and throwing them back around you in response. You can feel his strong body as it pushes against you, heaving up and down with each sob, for just a brief moment, neither of you say anything. You give him his moment to fully express and release all of his pent up feelings. He raises his head off of your shoulder, his hair still slightly damp from earlier, he makes eye contact, even though it is shaky.

“I know nothing I say is going to make you feel better Jax… and I know I can’t fully understand what you’re going through” you say softly, your voice full of empathy. “But I promise you Jax. Even if it feels impossible right now, right this second… things will get better.”

Jax let’s go of your embrace, wiping the remaining moisture threatening to spill. He takes a deep breath as he steadies his breath, “Sorry for before y/n… I just-” he begins to apologize. “It’s just…my sons, Abel… he keeps asking when mommy’s coming home and Thomas, he’s just so…so unsettled - I mean he’s too young to understand but it’s like he knows" Jax looks up at you, just as your lip begins to quiver “sorry I don’t know why I’m telling you all th-”

You nod your head a little, silently signalling to Jax that it’s safe for him to continue. His hand finds its way back into yours. The cold metal of his rings brushing against your skin as he interlocks his fingers with yours, seeking your comforting touch.

“I’m not sure how much you know but-”he can tell by the twitch in your facial expression that you do in fact know some version of the situation. “Still don’t know who did it” he hangs his head in sorrow “there’s just no closure you know I-”

You squeeze his hand gently as you ask the question “What about the funeral? sometimes people find comfort and closure in that…” Jax nods his head in agreement “Didn’t go, was still in county, I got out two days after” he begins making little circles on the palm of your hand.

“Jax, I’m so sorry” you offer your sympathy, even though at the same time in the back of your mind you’re wondering why he was in county. You knew some background info about Jax and his club, but being an outsider you never knew what was the truth and what was just general rumours.

Before Jax can respond, his phone rings. He stands up pacing around your room as he answers. Jax being a man of few words, wraps up the conversation in no time. You’ve grown accustomed to this routine, so you know what’s coming next.

Jax pockets his phone, looks at you and says “duty calls” with a half hearted shrug. You rise from the bed, following him downstairs to your front door, knowing the routine all too well.

Before opening the door, he turns to you and pulls you closer by your wrists. He tucks a strand of your wayward hair behind your ear with a soft and gentle gesture, his finger lingering for a moment on your skin. “Thank you, y/n” he whispers in a sincere tone.

“Don’t thank me” you smile as you adjust Jax’s kutte, making sure it looks neat. In a reassuring tone, you reply “Jax, I want you to know, I’m always here if you ever need to talk” letting Jax know that you want to be that safe space for him.

Jax smirks and lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Won’t be happening” he reassures you, a hint of playfulness in his tone. He adjusts your ‘Angel’ necklace, bringing it back to the centre. Meanwhile, memories from earlier swirling through his mind “and no nails either, you almost gave me a new scar” He teases, you can tell he’s trying to keep things light hearted.

You roll your eyes and repeat his words in a mocking tone. “No feelings, no scars and no lovey dovey eye contact, I got ya”

A small twinkle appears in Jax’s eyes as he laughs, appreciating your attempt to lighten the mood. “I never said anything about the eye contact” he smirks, placing a soothing kiss on your forehead before he leaves to deal with club business, he looks back one last time before getting on his bike, that oh so famous jax teller smirk on full display.

Gifs, Photos & Music do not belong to me.

Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

[emeritusemeritus]

Call me by your name [Fred Weasley x Malfoy!Reader]

Pairing: FredWeasley x Malfoy!Reader

Timeline: OOTP, reader and twins are in their 7th year.

Summary: Malfoy!Reader had been successfully hiding her secret relationship with Fred Weasley for years. What happens when Fred no longer wants to hide? Cue angsty breakup and makeup fic!

Warnings: Mentions of deatheaters, Umbitch, negative commentary of status and wealth. House divide, negative talk of Slytherins. Abusive parents. Sorry Narcissa, I actually like you. Mentions of arranged marriages, swearing, public declarations of love. DA and inquisitorial squad mentions.

Word count: 3.4k

This came from a wonderful request from my dear @kellyxo1, as always thank you so much for your wonderful request, hope this is okay!🖤

The air in the stuffy old Manor House was unbearably cold and stale, much like the family that resided there. The home of the Malfoy family, much like their surname, was figure of stature and tradition, a paragon of social status that oozed wealth and importance on account of their pure-blood status. Each member of the family had been selected by the sorting hat upon their arrival at Hogwarts to enter into the house of Slytherin, a fact the family was most proud of, another ode to their pure-blood roots and continued beliefs. Every malfoy had followed in the footsteps of the previous generation, marrying into other pure-blood families as to keep the bloodline strong, fraternising with equally powerful families that held the same beliefs, each out to gain and maintain status in the wizarding community.

"He's younger than me!" You shriek, you left arms lifting into the air as you look upon the stiff and unemotional faces of your parents who stand by the edge of your bed, delivering the news.

"Blaise is a fine boy and he shall make a fine husband," your father says, as if he truly believed the words that he was speaking. "He's from a long line of Slytherin's, a good student and a promising young wizard."

"He's a complete twat," you argued, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, completely exasperated by the conversation you were forced to endure with your parents.

"It's only two years difference," your mother says, trying to remain at least diplomatic as your father gave you a thunderous look for your selection of language.

"He's a friend of Draco's! It's archaic and barbaric." You added, trying to express your disgust at the very thought but it was immediately apparent that your parents did not share in your distaste, nor understand it.

"Young lady!" Your father hissed in displeasure, the veins on his head looking fit to burst.

"I just don't understand why I have to marry someone with status," you say, in a calm and somewhat emotionless voice, realising that your emotive reaction was doing no favours here. "I don't understand why I have to be married at all, much less to somewhat that wasn't my choice."

"We want the best for you," your mother adds, her hands clasped in front of her as her gaze flicks between you and your father. It's a blatant lie, a way of manipulating you into following their path but it wouldn't work, not this time.

"Then let me make my own choices," you retort, not meeting their eyes.

"So you can run back to that blood traitor?" Your father all but screams, his temper exploding as he throws his cane, narrowly missing the house elf that was tending to the paintings in the hallway just outside of your door. He storms off in a flurry of black robes, almost growling under his breath as you hear his heavy footsteps marching angrily away.

The mention of Fred makes your stomach roil dangerously, filling you with hatred for your family, for the life you'd been born into. You don’t know how they came to know about your situation, but you detested their use of it against you. The anger dissipates slightly as you watch your mother perch on the side of your bed, hands still folded in her lap as she looks at you with a conflicted expression.

"We just want what's best," your mother repeats but you interject, frustrated by her attempt to keep pushing the matter you were so obviously not open to discussing.

"You had your chance! You chose to marry for money and status," you replied, a harsh tone to your voice that you'd seldom used at your mother.

"I didn't have a choice!" She says, her voice coming out like a hiss as her resolve drops so that you finally see her fraying nerves.

You pause, taking a moment to really see your mother as a young woman that was in your position so many years ago.

"If it's so bad why would you want that for your own daughter?" You ask, trying to appeal to her though your emotional delivery, trying to reach out for that young woman who must have felt exactly how you did right now.

She refuses to meet your eyes, nor answers your question. You realise very quickly that you're getting nowhere and never would. All emotions exit you as you look upon your mother feeling no love or affection, nor receiving any in return.

As you looked upon the vision of your mother and thought of your fathers reaction, you felt an empty void of emotion where love should be. The chasm of happy memories was empty, at least when it came to your family.

Right then you thought of Molly and Arthur, of the whole family and the strong, foundational outpouring of love in which the family was built around. Two people that loved one another deeply, building a life and a family, creating a warm and loving home for their children to thrive in.

They'd be celebrating Christmas right now, with gorgeous homemade food and handmade presents, surrounded by love and laughter and maybe the occasional cross word.

Poor in wealth but rich with love; and you would always chose that over this.

"I refuse to marry Blaise Zabini or any other pure blood suitor you deem acceptable," you say matter of factly, your voice completely void of emotion as you made your point clear. "I'll make my own choices in life. You may not have been strong enough to resist the pressure but I am, I refuse to be forced into a loveless marriage and live out a miserable existence like you."

"You're no daughter of ours," your mother sneers. "No. I'm not."

Later that night, you lay in your dark and dreary bedroom, looking around at the bare, lifeless walls that held no sentiment nor icon of your personality, your life. You thought of Fred and George's bedroom and how cluttered it must be, with all their quidditch memorabilia and Weasley products lying around. They'd have bedspreads that had been knitted for them, fresh sheets that smelt like their home and little trinkets around the room that had been collected throughout their lives. You had none of that, even down to the colourless and scentless sheets on your bed. You thought of Fred often, the boy you loved more than anything in the world. The boy that had seen past your surname and your Slytherin placement and still loved you regardless. He hadn't been prejudiced or hateful, nor had he used you to gain status in the Wizarding community. He simply loved you because he loved you.

Loved.

Memories flashed behind your eyes of happier times, your relationship strengthening over the years until you were completely infatuated with each other, planning your futures in hushed whispers and promising secrets. You could be yourself around Fred, completely unashamed of the things you'd believed for so long to be personal failures and character faults.

You'd been together since your fifth year, unable to deny the attraction any longer. You'd started sneaking around, stolen kisses in the secret passageways, sneaking out after hours, notes slipped into pockets, fingers grazing as you walked past eachother pretending the other didn't exist. You secretly cheered for each and every hit he'd administer on the quidditch pitch, every dive and skilful deflection of the bludger. Though you couldn't cheer or support him outright, you always kept a little something on you in Gryffindor red that you both knew meant that you were there for him.

After a while, you told your small group of friends and Fred told his, including his siblings. There were tensions at first, of course there was, but after seeing how good for each other you were, of how happy you were together, the grievances quickly quietened.

His friends became yours too, a real and honest group of friends that too could rely on, share with and care for in return.

You didn't have to hide anymore, at least not with them. But Slytherins much like their name were mostly all vicious snakes, with sharp tongues and deceitful tendencies. You couldn't let them know, couldn't allow them to spoil the singular good thing you had in your life and so for the most part, your relationship remained hidden to the wider school.

It was exciting at first, rebelling against the restrictive and domineering upbringing you were forced into. You weren't like your parents or Draco, or any members of your family really. You were certainly no deatheater and didn't hold the same disgusting values that they did. Blood trainers, mud bloods, muggleborns or muggles, everyone should have the right to be treated the same, to live their life without fear or prejudice.

Fred knew, he knew you weren't one of them, that you were better, different than your name but also that you couldn't step out of line for fear of the repercussions you'd face. Or at least, you thought he understood.

Your seventh year at Hogwarts, your last. The last hurdle to get through before you could truly be your own person and break away from the chains of being a Malfoy. You had a plan, carefully and slowly formulated for years for the eventual day you'd be your own person and free to make your own choices, leaving your family behind. Your world would gain colour and warmth instead of the cold and monochrome world you felt you loved in. Only, it wouldn't happen now, at least not as you always planned it.

Things had been going so well, you were on track to ace your NEWTS, your relationship with Fred was almost blissful and with everything happening behind the scenes, it kept your parents busy and mostly out of your way. But then it all started to crack when Fred became Fred up of sneaking around, becoming paranoid and suspicious of your true intentions. You'd tried your hardest to squash these intrusive thoughts, to calm his nerves and to show him just exactly how much you wanted him but for so many reasons you couldn't be open about it. He'd face repercussions too, not just you. But he didn't see it that way, said he didn't care, that he just wanted to be able to be in love without having to hide it.

The last nail in the proverbial coffin came when Umbridge turned up and tried imposing her disgusting views upon the students, altering the curriculum and moving in favour of the deatheaters under the guise of ministry control. You'd joined Dumbledore's Army without a scone thought, knowing it was the right thing to do. The only Slytherin who was invited to join, their trust in you appreciated. But then Umbridge had formed the inquisitorial squad and you'd never felt a more painful divide in your life. Your younger brother had proudly joined, sadistically enjoying the power he was bestowed with. The danger of being discovered , found to be a traitor and the consequences of that were almost enough to make you quit the DA, but you persevered with increasingly fraying nerves.

You were stressed, tormented by the divide in your life and the conflicting expectations of you with no outlet to express your frustrations.

So you did what you had to do and fought harder to keep your relationship a secret, to keep the one good thing in your life away from the dementor-like happiness stealing of your family. The Christmas holidays were coming up and your anxiety was peaking at having to spend an extended amount of time away from your boyfriend and friends and have to go back to that dreary manor with your even drearier family. Fred could tell that something was up with you, that you were unhappy, tense and quiet but he never stopped to read between the lines, to see the big picture. Instead, his insecurities began to plague him again until one day you both snapped.

"I just don't understand why we still have to hide!" He says with a frustrated growl, pinching the area between the bridge of his nose and his eyebrows.

"Because I can't be without you!" You say back, voice raising to a dangerous level as you become irritated at having the same conversation over and over again. "If my family find out that's it, they'll force me to stop dating you, lock me away. I'll never be able to leave then."

"So what, I'm just a part of your plan? A stepping stone for you to break away and then as soon as you're free you can throw me away? Thanks for that mate, sorry to using you and all," he mocks, only furthering your anger that you're painfully trying to repress.

"Using you? You think that's what this is? You think you're just a pawn for me, even after two years of loving you?"

"You tell me," he says, eyes dark.

"Unbelievable," you say under your breath, closing your eyes as you take a seat on one of the wooden crates down in the passageway between the staircases and Honeydukes, your regular spot.

"Or are you embarrassed by me, is that it? The poor, scruffy Weasley boy that fell for the rich, beautiful Malfoy. The prophet would have a field day, wonder if they'll make us into a film," he rants, a vicious side appearing in his tone. "The deatheater and the peasant."

"How dare you!" You say, standing up in a fit of rage, squaring up to him like you'd never done before; the insult he'd so readily dished out feeling like a blast to the heart. "I'm no more a death eater than you are you prick! You think I'm embarrassed of you? I think you're ashamed of me, ashamed that you fell for the bad seed, the villain. I think you can't stand that I'm a Malfoy and you know it. My surname bothers you much more than your's bothers me."

"Yeah maybe it does."

Silence. His words are met with sheer silence, except for the pounding of your breaking heart. I'm your worst nightmares you'd never expected those words to fall from his lips, for him to admit the thing you'd been fearing the most since your crush of him started to bloom. You were tainted goods, a person that tried her hardest to be good that would always be haunted and spoiled by her name.

"No, no sweetheart I didn't mean, I don't think that," he began backtracking, realising that he'd gone way too far this time. "It makes me crazy that I can't shout from the bloody roof that you're mine no matter how much I want to. I don't care that you're a... Malfoy," he says, reaching out for you to hold you close, knowing that he was hanging by a thread here.

You're quiet for a moment as you take in his words, unsure of how to proceed.

"Maybe you're right, about it all," you paused. "But if you wanted me to believe all that, you should have said my surname with less disgust."

You turned around walked away, ignoring his calls, barely holding yourself together until you made it back to your dormitory and finally allowing yourself to sob. You should have known you could never be happy, it was ridiculous to think that anyone could ever get past the fact that you were born to be bad.

The week that followed before the holiday was sheer torture. You gathered sympathetic looks front your friends, or rather Fred's friends but were unable to get any actual comfort as you couldn't fraternise with the social enemy.

Fred however, hadn't spared you a single glance since that evening in the tunnel, the fight that had ended your relationship, or so it seemed. He went back to pretending you didn't exist, believing your harsh words all to easily. He'd said things on his side too but you thought, stupidly, that you'd be able to explain that you were simply retaliating. Apparently he wouldn't give you a chance to explain.

"Maybe you're right, about it all."

Those words haunted you, cut you deeper than any splinching ever could. If only you'd pushed down your anger, never said those words, he'd still be yours. But now he wasn't.

Christmas break was miserable, even more so than usual as you sat alone in your bedroom, physically and mentally distanced from any sense of company.

You though of Fred often, wondering what he was up to, wondering if he was happy. You hoped his dad was okay after hearing through the grapevine about his attack. You hoped that even if it was just a little, that he was missing you.

When you got back to school, you were just as miserable and separated from your peers as you were at home. The friendship group you'd built up of good people still have you distanced smiles and sympathetic glances but you felt the distance more than ever. It lasted for a few days before you'd had enough, completely depleted and in need of something good back, you needed Fred. You tried to think of ways to get him alone, to explain but you couldn't think of anything. You sat in the Great Hall, completely separated from your Gryffindor friends and sat between two of the most bearable Slytherins you could find, trying to ignore the boasting and mockery your brother was bestowing a little further up the table.

It makes me crazy that I can't shout from the bloody roof that you're mine no matter how much I want to.

You looked around you, considering your options. It wasn't a rooftop per se, but it would do.

You climbed up on the table, unfazed by the cries of outrage of the people around you as you ascended, trying to be mindful of the plates and glasses on the table. Draco shouts at you to get down, what are you doing, but much like always, you ignore him. The commotion began pulling people's attention towards you but you knew you had to make it quick because the faculty and teachers were starting to notice.

"I have something to say," you said, projecting your voice until you were certain you’d be heard across the hall. “I’ve been hiding something, for so long, something that never should have been hidden in the first place. I was scared and stupid. I’m a Malfoy, a Slytherin… but I’m completely and hopelessly in love with a Gryffindor.” You look up to where Fred is watching you with wide eyes, the first hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. Your eyes quickly flick over to George who is beaming at you, enjoying the demented display you were putting on, encouraging you to continue before you lost your nerve.

“Fred Weasley I’ve loved you since that bloody third year Quidditch match when George hit that bludger at Snape and you winked at me for laughing. You told me that we didn’t have to hide, that you’d shout from the rooftops, well this is the best I could do considering.”

Fred makes his way to you quickly, sensing that the teachers were on their way to inevitably punish you.

“You’re bloody insane woman,” he says with a laugh, unfazed by the entire hall watching you as he holds out his hand for you to come down. You smile at him, so happy to see him smile at you again, to hear his voice.

“Y/n Malfoy! Get down, get down! Detention!”

Instead of helping you down, Fred suddenly seizes your hand and uses you to pull himself up until he was also stood on top of the Slytherin table, cackling at the groans of the other slytherins around you.

“Mr Weasley, detention!”

“More time to spend with you,” he shrugs, smiling as he bends down to kiss you wildly in the middle of the hall as cheers erupt around you, making you both laugh into the kiss.

“It really doesn’t bother you that I’m a Malfoy?” You ask, suddenly bothered by what he’d said before as you pull away slightly. His hand holds your cheek as he smirks, shrugging his shoulders.

“Not gonna be a Malfoy for much longer, I plan on making you a Weasley as soon as possible.”

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[haartemis]

THE ALCHEMY

pairing: kylian mbappe x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness

summary: working at real madrid is a dream come true— until kylian mbappe, football's biggest star and the last person you ever want to see, joins the club. as tensions rise between you two and the lines between frustration and fascination blur, you wonder: can you truly resist the man you've sworn to hate?

A/N: based on this request. i know club employee x player is a bit overdone but i had so much fun writing this! let me know if it's worth continuing. pls also share any other thoughts you have in my inbox or in the comments, i love hearing from you guys <3

“it’s almost time!” your boss whisper-yells as he runs into the break room, the sudden interruption jolting you so much you spill coffee from the mug you were holding onto your pristine white shirt. “quick, everyone get ready!”

you set down your mug carefully, looking down at your ruined shirt with a sigh. it was bad enough you had to come in early today for his presentation, but now your daily morning coffee ritual in the break room was ruined – all for real madrid’s newest galactico.

after doing his medical exams, touring the training facilities and meeting his new teammates, kylian mbappe apparently insisted that he see the club offices before his stadium presentation, ‘to meet the employees that he now calls family’. you’d snorted when you read the email announcing his visit, irritated at the fact that you’d have to play nice to the most arrogant, self - absorbed person to ever step foot in madrid.

you figured he’d make a quick stop on the first floor to see the social media team. that was the department the players engaged with the most, anyway.  no way he’d go all the way up to the fourth floor, where the finance department resided. yet, here you are, standing with the rest of the team, facing the door, waiting to be graced by the presence of the best player in the world.

naturally, he’s running late. 

“we have our weekly meeting in 15” you frown, looking at your phone. “what’s taking him so long?”

“forget the weekly meeting. we’ll reschedule” your boss, who loathes postponing anything, waves you off dismissively. he’s unusually smiley today, practically vibrating with excitement. he even has the new mbappe jersey in hand, no doubt to ask for an autograph. you’ve never seen a grown man fanboy this hard; it’s kind of pathetic if you think about it. 

your ears perk up at the sound of commotion outside the double doors, where you can see there’s a small crowd of people forming. the doors swing open a few moments later and in walks the talk of the town, flanked by a couple staff members, what looked like his personal assistant, a small camera crew, and a bodyguard. you can hear the collective intake of breath from the room as soon as he walks in.

“hello, everyone!” he walks to the center of the room, practiced smile plastered on his face. " how's everyone doing? i'm really happy to be here!"

the team immediately erupts into applause at his words. you reluctantly join, rolling your eyes.

he starts shaking hands and exchanging quick hellos as he makes his way further in the room. when he approaches your group, he stops in front of your boss. you can't help but notice how his beige polo shirt and white shorts make him stand out sharply from the dozens of people in the room dressed in bland office attire.

"we-welcome to real madrid!" your boss exclaims, stumbling over his words. you stare at the ground, fighting the urge to laugh.

“thanks, I’m excited to meet all of you,” kylian replies warmly, his gaze shifting to you for a brief moment. “and you are…?”

" y/n l/n, financial analyst" you say, putting on your best fake smile. "pleasure to meet you"

"pleasure is all mine" he murmurs, extending his hand towards you. you shake it, and his grip is surprisingly firm and warm. you maintain eye contact, searching for something in his face.

“sorry, I was wondering if you could sign this?” your boss interrupts, gesturing to his jersey.

"of course" kylian says. you overhear your co-workers gushing over him as he signs the jersey, declarations ranging from "he's more handsome in person" to "i can't believe he's actually here". he has a small smirk playing on his face as he listens, the jerk. of course what he needs is more fodder for his already inflated ego.

after handing your boss his jersey back, he turns back towards you , catching you off guard. “so, how long have you been with the club?”

"two years" you respond. "best workplace in the world, as i'm sure you're going to find out"

"oh, i already know'" he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "i've been obsessed with this club since i was a little kid"

"really?" you tilt your head skeptically. " you didn't give that impression the past 6 years or so"

silence.

his eyes narrow, and was that an irritated look crossing his face? your heart races when you realize you've struck a nerve. he looks at you– really looks at you for the first time. before, you were just one of many he was obliged to make small talk to for the cameras but now you're the annoying woman who dares to question him.

“it's been a long road, i admit” he says carefully. “but i’m here now, and i’m just really happy”

“the biggest signing bonus we’ve ever given – i'd be surprised if you weren't over the moon” you say drily.

he clears his throat, smile completely faltering for a moment. “money isn’t my motivation”

“sure it isn’t!” you chirp sarcastically.

"no, really. i have plently of that already" he smirks, his gaze lazily dropping down to your chest. "you have a stain on your shirt, by the way”

"can we- shall we all gather for a group photo?" your boss, who was watching the entire exchange with a horrified look on his face, waves everyone over. he shoots you a pained look as he ushers kylian into the center of the group, mouthing a 'what the fuck???' over his shoulder. you grimace as you stand off to the side, arms crossed.

kylian lingers for a little bit after the photos, chatting with eager people, which, let's be honest, is everyone else besides you. a few minutes later his assistant announces that he needs to be on his way to get ready for the stadium presentation, so he makes his rounds again, shaking everyone's hand and saying goodbye individually.

when he approaches you, his smile fades a little. it thrills you to know it takes him more effort to fake his niceties with you.

"it was nice meeting you..." he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish the sentence.

you almost roll your eyes, of course he’s pretending not to remember your name.

“it’s y/n” your boss supplies when you stay silent. he’s grinning,  just glad to be of service to the great kylian mbappe.

“y/n, yes!” kylian’s eyebrows rise in feigned realization. He gives you an exaggerated apologetic shrug, then leans in close, whispering just for you, “sorry, y/n, it’s just that some names are…forgettable.”

"just like some nights are forgettable,” you whisper back “or at least you wish they were, just because they’re so fucking bad.”

he gives you a genuinely confused look, a question in his eyes.

“yeah, i’d block out the memory of lasting one minute too” you smirk. “ I still have your watch, by the way”

his eyes widen so much it’s almost comical. there’s an undeniable look of recognition on his face. oh, he remembers now.

he opens his mouth to say something, but he’s whisked away by his entourage. he's actually running late for his presentation now.

you shake your head as you watch him go. he's exactly as you remember him: all charm on the surface and arrogance underneath.

this is the story of how you come to despise kylian mbappe. it starts off six months before that fateful morning in madrid, in packed nightclub in paris. you're on a weeklong girls' trip, your first time in the city of love. you've done all of the activities on a tourist's checklist: gone sightseeing, had some of the amazing pastries, and of course, taken the mandatory instagram pictures.

on your last night, you and your friend decide to go to some of the most exclusive clubs in the city  – your friend, who does pr for the big fashion houses, has connections that get you past doors.

you're just coming out of a period of depression, something you’ve struggled with throughout your life. after several months of feeling like a grey cloud was hanging over you everywhere you went, you crave some excitement and spontaneity— basically something to remind you you're alive. and so you're a woman on a mission that night: to find a hot man and hook up with him. no strings attached.

it turns out, you don't have to look far. you're on the dance floor of the first club you visit, moving amongst the hot sweaty bodies when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

you turn to find a tall, burly man looking down at you.

“my friend wants to buy you a drink” he says without introduction, pointing up to the vip section where you honestly can’t see anything through a wall of bodyguards.

“okay” you say, smiling. “he can buy me a drink”

there’s an unspoken statement from his end. he wants you to come up

“how old is he?” you ask more out of curiosity than anything else. there’s no way you’re going with him. “and how tall?”

the bodyguard is obviously taken aback. “uh, he’s 25, and…6 feet?”

“6’2 and above only, sorry” you say, giggling as you walk away to your friends who are waiting at the bar.

before long, you find yourself on the dance floor again, pressed up against someone with your back to their front, swaying to the rhythm of the music. You don't even know what they look like, but their body feels strong, solid. when their fingers graze your hips, you flip around, curiosity getting the better of you.

to your credit, your face doesn’t give away the fact that you know this person. that you’re probably one of his biggest fans in the world. that you watch even the most boring of psg games just for him. or that you want him at your club so so badly. no, you’re smart enough to arrange your face into a facade of nonchalance.

the first thing you notice is the smell of dior sauvage, and then the pretty dimples he flashes you when he sees you’re facing him.

“your dimples are pretty” you shout over the loud music. oops. looks like you’re in the ‘speaking without a filter’ stage of being drunk.

“thanks” he says into your ear. “why did you say no to vip? i was hoping you’d come up”

realization hits. oh.

“you’re not 6 feet tall!” you shriek gleefully, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “your bodyguard lied”

"yeah, I'm 5'10" he’s got a look of amused confusion on his face. “not sure why that matters though”

“that’s kind of short for a guy” you say. “you chose the right sport”

he raises his eyebrows, perhaps surprised you recognize him. “let me buy you that drink. and maybe we can talk about something other than my height?”

and so it begins. you spend the next thirty minutes at the bar pretending you both don’t know where this is leading and what you both want. you talk about madrid, how your time in paris is going. you don’t mention your employer, and he doesn’t talk about his impending transfer. he’s surprisingly witty and observant, something you don’t expect from a celebrity, and certainly not a footballer. at one point in the conversation, his hand lands on your thigh and it doesn’t leave. you’re drowning in anticipation, in want.

finally, he suggests you take this somewhere else. somewhere quiet, where you can 'talk more'.

you say yes. soon you’ve said your goodbyes to your friends and you’re in his car, and you don’t even know where you’re going, because you've both dropped all pretenses and are making out in the backseat. he's great at kissing, and even better at making you forget your name as soon as he touches you.

you hesitate for a brief second when you see you’ve arrived at a hotel a few minutes later, but his hand is warm on yours, so you let him lead you inside. everything after this is a blur— you remember the short elevator ride, his room key flashing, his lips immediately finding yours again as soon as the door clicks shut.

inside the room, your kisses grow heated, but they’re sloppy and unfocused. his hands are everywhere, sliding all over your body frantically. you both stumble over to the bed hazily, clothes disappearing off your bodies in the process.

it’s fast. so fast that you don’t realize it’s began until it’s over. afterwards, he collapses against you in a breathless heap, and you can only stare at the ceiling, trying to fend off the crushing weight of disappointment.

you roll him off your body slowly, but he doesn’t protest because he’s already dozed off. the alcohol has dulled your thoughts and your senses, but you can’t shake the creeping sense of hurt. somehow, sleep takes over you as well.

you stir awake a few hours later. the other side of the bed is empty, but you can hear movement from the bathroom. you're rubbing your eyes, groggy, when something catches your attention —his phone, which sits on the bed side table, is unlocked and displaying a text conversation.

don't do it, you think, do NOT do it.

but your hand treacherously reaches out and grabs the phone. you find that it’s a group chat of him and his friends. you skim over the texts quickly, aware that he's just in the other room.

tchaga: Kylian where tf are you???

kylian: with that girl from the club

ous: bro we stopped by your place you weren’t there

kylian: you know I don’t take groupies to my place what if she’s like in love with me

ous: 😭😭

tchaga: was it worth ditching your friends

kylian: I don’t remember a lot tbh. sucks, because I had to pretend I wanted to talk to her for like 30 minutes before we got to the hotel🙄

kylian: think I’ll head out before she wakes up and it gets awkward haha

your stomach immediately starts to churn with a mixture of humiliation and hurt. you're not an idiot, you knew what you signing up for when you left that club with him. a fun, meaningless hookup was what you wanted. but you didn't think it would be this. you're nauseous with disgust— not just at him, but at yourself. he brought you to a hotel, took what he wanted, and now he's laughing about it with his boys. you feel cheap, like he used and discarded you.

the worst part is, you used to like the guy. you were a huge fan of him as a footballer, and maybe even harbored a little crush on him. now you don't even want to see his face ever again.

you put the phone down quickly when you hear the bathroom door creak open, closing your eyes and pretending to sleep. you can hear him as he quietly moves around while he gets dressed. seconds later, you hear the click of the door shutting behind him.

just like that, he's gone.

you're not far behind him, eager to leave the room and the night behind. as you're gathering your things, you spot his watch on the bedside table. in a flash of anger, you stuff it in your purse along with your belongings. you also see he’s left a note, but you throw that into the trash without reading it. then you're out the door.

so, that's the story of how you come to hate kylian mbappe: in one careless, thoughtless night, he crushed the fragile self esteem you managed to rebuild over the past couple months, leaving you feeling smaller than ever. like you're worthless.

and now he's living in the same city as you, playing for the same club you work for. he's got everyone wrapped around his finger, worshipping the ground he walks on. and you? you'll never not despise him, that's for sure. come hell or high water.

taglist: @kyliansonlygf @ynkfreeastheocean @scottishthistle @user6373738 @lucysantos6-blog @tuliptopiasstuff @kennasutopia @cinderellawithashoe @akiracim @kymb-10 @germanapples @loonworld @ajsboys

[lowkeycasanova]

have a baby by me

trafalgar law x f!reader

Plot: Law wants to have another baby

warnings: smut, breeding kink (18+)

*pic isn't mine. all creds to the original owner, whoever you are*

You blink open your eyes, realizing you’re in Law’s arms and his lips softly pressed to the skin on your shoulder. His leg is in between yours and you can feel his morning wood against your backside but that’ll be dealt with later.

Gently escaping his grasp, you slide off the bed and into the bathroom. Law should be waking up soon now. He usually wakes up minutes after you leave his arms.

You close the bathroom door, enveloping the quiet solitude of the morning. The soft glow of dawn peeks its way through the window casting a warm hue on the tiles as you make your way to the sink.

Before turning on the water, you pause. You senses heightened. You listen out for Damien in the fact that he might be awake. Usually you hear the pattering of his feet against the floor, or maybe he's playing with his toys and talking to himself. At least he sleeps through the night.

It's around his second birthday now and your mind drifts back to when you found out you were pregnant with him.

When your breasts started becoming tender, Law spectulated that you might be pregnant. You brushed him off because he came off as unserious. Also because you two weren't trying. Sure, you talked about it and you were both for having children, but it wasn't planned.

With him being a doctor, he started getting nervous when you started getting heartburn and when you finally began vomiting all the time, he went out and bought too many pregnacy tests and made you drink water until your stomach hurt.

Fast forward nine months after that, nothing woke him up faster when you went into labor that night. You were irritable and in pain for twelve hours. Thirty minutes into the second stage of labor, your son was born. He was born with a full head of dark hair and bright yellow eyes, just like father.

You named him Damien, he was the kind of baby that was constantly on the move. If he wasn't sleeping, he was exploring his surroundings.

He's a good kid. Sure, there are times where he throws his tantrums. He is a toddler after all and it's just his way of asserting his independence. However, there are times when he will patiently wait for his food and play quietly whenever Law took him to his office and worked.

And the rest of the crew were always down to help. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi loved him. They were the only ones that could make Damien laugh as hard as he did. His face becomes red and he lets out this loud, yet infectiousbelly laugh.

Damien plays with them a lot.

As you finish up your morning routine, you hear that telltale morning groan. A smile comes across your face as you peek back into the bedroom, watching as Law slowly sits up, rubbing his eyes.

"Mhmm, good morning." he says in that deep, raspy voice that makes you want to jump on him. "Is Damien up yet?"

"Don't think so. But thank God he's not wailing in the middle of the night anymore."

"I kinda miss that."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

Law shrugs. "It's just a reminder that he's getting older."

He reaches out his hand to you and you immediately walk over and grab it, letting him pull you back in bed. You sit against the pillows and he lays down on his side, his arms wrapping around your waist.

He lets out a sigh, trailing a fingertip along your arm as if he wanted your attention but didn't wanna ask for it.

"Do you need something?" you joke.

He rests his chin on your shoulder and looks up at you with a mischevous gaze in his eye.

"Do you want another baby?"

You tensed up and his inquiry hung in the air. Finally meeting his gaze, he continues to trace your arm and maintains eye contact. He's cautious though, hoping he didn't overstep a line by asking.

The weight of the question settling in you. Of course you wanted another kid. The joys that came with parenthood were undeniable, but it was also a lot of responsibility.

"It's something to think about, isn't it." you say with a soft smile, breaking the silence.

He grins and moves his hand from your arm to under your shirt, kneading the soft skin. "Let's have sex."

You chuckle in amusement. "Kids are a lot of work." you tell him and hug your arms around your waist, inadvertently pushing his out the way.

Law knows you too well. Your subtle action manifested because you still weren't in love with your body yet. He uses his palm to lift himself up and give you a kiss on the cheek. A sign to remind you that he still found you beautiful.

"Law," you begin in a soft voice. "I don't know." You don't tell him why- because he has the responsibility of being a captain to his crew and you would need all the help you can get raising the kids- but he knows.

"No, no, listen," he says and turns all of his attention to you. "I want to take a break from being out on the water. I've already talked it over with the crew. Traveling around like this, it's not safe for him." He pauses, squinting slightly. "I want our son to have a stable environment, go to school, make friends. I want him to have siblings to grow up with. We'll go back out to sea eventually, but for now, I want to live a different kind of life."

You studied his face, seeing the sincerity in his eyes and the love he held for his family. Also, deep down, you think it's because he envisions his kids to have the life that he experienced, before it was taken from him.

You gently caress his lip with your fingertips and he puckers them, giving them a quick kiss.

"You really mean that, don't you?"

He nods.

You look up at the ceiling and slowly exhale. You have been wanting to discuss another baby but that would be coupled with the asking him to take a break from his work. But he's willing to do ut for you already. A smirk flashes across your face and you lean in to give him a kiss. "Let's have a baby then."

You don't need to tell him twice.

He maneuvers his body to face you, the lower half of your bodies still concealed by the sheets, and pulling you in for a searing kiss, tongues moving slowly with each other. You reach up and grab his hair to tug on it, just enough how he likes it. Feeling his hands on your waist, it's easy to lose track of time. But Damien's room is down the hall and he will be up any minute now.

While he's kissing you, he reaches down and pushes the fabric covering up your pussy to the side so he can use his hand to rub on the slick that's gathering in between your folds. His hand then sldies to the top of your underwear, fumbling with the fabric.

"Law don't-"

Too late. He's ripped them off before you can finish your thought, balled it in his fist and tossed them to the side.

"Sorry." he mumbles so casually before leaning back down to kiss you again. But you know he's not. He does this often.

His two middle fingers push themselves inside you, hitting that spot that you need. You lean in to press yourself into his neck to kiss him there. Mainly to keep your voice down.

"I'll buy you some more." he hums.

"You know," you say in a voice that's barely above a breath. "They're pretty good quality, and the fact that you can rip them off like that is pretty impressive."

His eyes darken with lust as your comment pratically fuels his ego.

"God." he mutters.

He moves to lay on his back, impatiently shuffling off the sheets as an invitation for you to straddle him. You accept it as you move one leg over his, reaching down to grab his cock to align it with your dripping pussy. You're wet enough so it doesn't take much effort to sink down on him. You love how he fills you up whole. You lean in to kiss him and he meets you halfway in an attempt to silence your moans, pulling away once your fully down on him.

He laughs halfheartedly when you give him a smile and you move your hips to try to adjust to him. His hands knead your ass and eyes squeeze shut as you pull up off him then slide back down. Since having a kid, you two haven't been having sex as often, but that doesn't matter. You'll always have to adjust to him.

"Mmph fuck me."

You bury your face into his neck again as you ride him, his hands helpng you out at a steady pace. The sounds of skin slapping fills the room along with your occasional whines and his occasional grunts as he thrusts into you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, surely to leave crescent marks behind. But you don't care and neither does he.

"You know what?" he says in a low voice. Your ear is right next to his mouth, so you have no choice but to listen. "I'm gonna fucking fill you up. Fill you up to the brim with my cum and force you to take all of it."

His words cause you to clench around him.

"Fuck, and then- mmph fuck- then I'm gonna do it again. I'm gonna fuck you again. I'm gonna fucking get you pregnant and watch you swell with my baby."

He palms your clit with just enough pressure to make you squirm, a hand still on your leg to encourage you to keep rocking your hips against him. You're overstimulated now. You clench and unclench and you finally reach your high.

"That's a good girl." he coaxes. "Now tell me how much you want my baby."

Your legs are exhausted from riding him for so long. At this point, all you want it for his to release inside you. "Please," your voice is desperate. "Want you to cum inside me. F-fill me up and get me pregnant."

In that second, he flips you over so you're on your back. Interlocking his fingers with yours and holding them above your head. He's thrusting into you so hard that the headboard is striking the wall. He grabs it to try to keep it stable. But all other ways to try to be quiet? Forget about it. Your hands aimlessly roam his back and he's groaning and his movements quivering.

"Oh my-fuck." He groans, slamming his hips into yours and you can feel him erupt. His head dips down into your neck as he releases, keeping his whole shaft inside, as deep as he can, and his tip as close to your cervix as possible. "Take it all, babygirl."

He pulls out and flops right down in front of you to where he's putting his weight on his bent knees. You're so tired, you can't even muster the energy to get up. So you lay there, still on your back with your legs open right where he can see.

You're a little embarrased that he's looking at you with that amazed expression. However, you begin to feel his cum seep out, so you take a hold of his cock and use the tip to sweep it back and deposit the white fluid back in.

Looking back up at him, he's left with his mouth agape.

"That...you...I..."

He's so astonished at your action, he can't even speak.

"You're so sexy."

He leans in with the intent of kissing you, but is interrupted by pattering against the floor on the other side of the door.

"Mama!"

You cover your face with the palm of your hand. Law quickly gets off of you and scrambles to put his pants on. "I got him. You stay right there."

[starryjake]

ever since tate mcraw dropped sports car, the line that goes "you could do it on your own while youre lookin at me" just SCREAMS mutual masterbation with k

k just bleeds sensuality and confidence when in an intimate relationship that just makes you also wanna be as sensual and confident, and what better way to test that then to watch each other get off before k just slams into you whispering you how proud of you he is and that you did so good for him

<3 🎨

🤭🤭🤭🤭delicious.

i agree that he bleeds sensuality and confidence, and therefore he feels completely comfortable and shameless jerking off in front of you. in fact, he likes being watched by you and seeing how you blush just from him stroking his cock.

“you should do it too,” he’d suggest, eyeing the empty spot on the bed. “it’d be fun.”

you remained in your spot, standing a few feet away from the bed. he wanted you to touch yourself? right in front of him? just the thought alone embarrassed you.

yet he wasn’t embarrassed at all. he was moaning carelessly as he sexily dragged his fist up and down his length.

“c’mere,” he urged, sensing your shyness. “don’t be nervous.”

you shakily walked over and sat on the bed with him. he smiled a little at your evident nervousness, finding you cuter than ever.

“take your clothes off for me, baby,” he said. “it’s okay, i’m right here.”

maintaining eye contact with him, you slowly peeled your shirt up and over your head, followed by your pants and underwear, which left you completely bare in front of him.

“now touch your pretty pussy for me,” he commanded. “i know you want to, angel. i can see how wet you are.”

you were positive your face was the brightest shade of red. despite the level of embarrassment you were at, you were also beyond aroused. you needed to touch yourself.

watching k stroke himself, you brought your hand down to your pussy, rubbing your clit and immediately moaning at the relief your fingers provided. k watched you with dark eyes, feeling his cock twitch in his hold.

you couldn’t keep your eyes open after a few minutes, the pleasure too overcoming. k, however, couldn’t blink because he didn’t want to miss a moment of the sight of you touching yourself.

he could tell you were getting close by the way your legs started shaking, your body twitching slightly.

you flinched, your eyes flying open at the feeling of his hands suddenly on your skin. he laid you down onto your back, spread your legs, and slid his cock inside you with ease.

“you did so good for me,” he whispered, kissing your forehead as he thrusted. “you feel amazing. nice and warm for me, hm?”

“please,” you cried out.

he smiled, intertwining your hands together.

“i’ve got you, sweetheart,” he assured. “i’m so proud of you for doing so good. i’ll let you cum for being such a good girl.”

needless to say, you were gushing around his cock in minutes.