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gudfornuthin · 1 month

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All I’ve Ever Wanted

Season 4!Five Hargreeves x fem!reader

! Spoilers ahead !

Summary: six years of travelling to different timelines, and Five isn’t sure how much longer he can go on for. Until he stumbles upon a greenhouse, full of strawberries. And you.

Word count: 4212

A/N: so season 4 was a… thing that happened. This story is basically my own idea of how things should’ve gone in ep 5. Instead of the weird Lila/Five situation, it’s just Five, and his chance of living a normal life with someone new. Hope you all enjoy, and feedback is appreciated :)

Number Five was never one to back down from a challenge. Having been through a series of different apocalyptic events, transporting to a timeline where he spent 40 years alone, and dealing with a misfit group consisting of his exhausting siblings, Five was up for anything. But the current situation he was dealing with? For the first time in his life, he was at breaking point.

After another wasted day spending hour after hour searching for any clues or information on how to get back to the correct timeline, Five returns to the subway, entering one of the compartments and slumping down in the first chair he sees. He rubs his eyes and lets out a visceral sigh, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. He reaches into his pockets, pulling out a small pack of dried fruits. He rips it open and devours every last piece. He can’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He was becoming more desperate, rummaging through trash cans and foraging in bushes, hoping anything he picks isn’t poisonous.

The compartment jolts and begins to move, making its way to the next timeline. Five wipes his hands on his already dirty pants, standing up and walking slowly to the door. He wonders whether his apocalypse counterpart will be waiting for him this time.

After several minutes, and Five almost falling over from his lack of sleep, he finally arrives, the doors opening. He steps out, immediately making his way up the stairs. No time to waste. He cautiously pokes his head out, looking around for any signs of, well, himself. Before he can move out more, something wizzes past his head. A bullet. He ducks, as more shots are fired directly at him.

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” Five mumbles, as he finally takes notices of the other him in the distance.

He sticks up his middle finger, and no soon after closes his fists, blinking as quick as he possibly could.

The Five with a gun disappears along with the destroyed world around him. Five drops his arms to his sides, turning around and admiring the new environment. Luscious, greenery surrounds him, with an array of different flowers sprouting from the ground beneath him. A small pond with fish glimmers in the sunshine, lily pads floating on top. He continues turning, finding himself standing next to a tall greenhouse. The glass was slightly foggy, making it difficult to see what’s inside. Five leans in closer, squinting as if that would help. He can barely make out what appears to be pots of fruit and vegetables, some fully sprouted and others not yet ripe. His stomach rumbles, the feeling of hunger consuming him.

A rustle sounds from behind him. He turns quickly, coming face to face with a pair of shears. Five jumps back slightly. He then spots the person wielding said ‘weapon’. A young woman, probably early twenties, wearing a light yellow dress and a pair of brown sandals. Five can’t help but admire her beauty, if it wasn’t for the fact she had a face like fury and didn’t seem afraid of cutting him in half.

“Can I help you?” Her words are kind, but her harsh tone says otherwise.

Five can’t exactly tell this young woman the truth. Showing up randomly in her back yard, covered in grime, gawking at her crops through the window. He raises his hands up in the air, trying to convey that he meant no harm.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his throat sore having not spoken to anyone in quite some time. “I don’t really know how I got here.” That’s not exactly true. “I’ve been travelling for a few days now.” Try six years. “And I could really do with a hot shower and something to eat.”

The woman doesn’t say anything, just staring, with the shears still held out in front of her.

Five puts his arms down, shrugging in defeat. “I’ll just go. I truly am sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” He looks down. “Or step all over your rose garden.” He gingerly moves away from the destroyed flowers.

He turns and begins to walk away, hoping to find an exit as quick as possible. Blinking in front of this woman probably wouldn’t help his cause. A warm hand grabs hold of his wrist, forcing him to stop and look back. She has the shears loosely hanging by her side, as her eyes pierce into Five’s. She seems hesitant, words forming in her mind. At last, she speaks again.

“You’re telling the truth?”

Five nods incessantly, feeling like a child.

“And if I let you in and make you something to eat, you won’t try and kill me?”

Five holds back a laugh, knowing she’s being deadly serious. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The woman waits a beat, then huffs. “Come on, I was just about to start dinner.”

She moves past Five, walking into three greenhouse. He takes this as a sign to follow after her.

***

The young woman allows Five to use her shower, and he’s thankful for the change of clothes she provides for him too. The home is small and cosy, playing into the stereotypical cottage core of living. The lighting is soft, and the smell of pumpkin seems to waft through into every room. It’s calming, it’s peaceful, it’s something that makes Five feel on edge. He isn’t used to the domestic life, away from the terror and destruction, trying to save the world over and over. He knows he can’t stay here long, but he won’t miss the opportunity of a proper cooked meal.

After putting on the change of clothes, Five makes his way down the hall and into the kitchen, a small buffet waiting for him. He finds it hard not to drool, the potatoes and fresh pie, along with the fruit and vegetables he’d spotted earlier. It looks incredible. He takes a seat, as the woman places down a final plate of tomatoes, sitting down opposite Five.

They dish out the food, filling their plates as high as they can, especially Five. He tries not to look like a slob in front of the pretty girl, but finds it hard not to drop some things down his top. She doesn’t seem to notice, or pretends not to.

The woman takes a sip of her drink, clearing her throat. “So,” her soft voice makes Five look up from his plate. “Do you have a name or is that one of the many mysteries of the man shovelling food down his throat like he hasn’t eaten in several years?”

The woman isn’t afraid of being upfront. Five admires that. Although, it’s not surprising considering he’s a complete stranger she’s trusted in her home. He puts down his knife and fork, grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth.

“No, I have a name. It’s Fi-,” he catches himself, unsure if his ‘name’ would just create more confusion, and unwanted questions. “Jerome. Just, Jerome.”

The woman squints her eyes, but doesn’t push further, seeming to move past his stumble. “Okay. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Jerome.”

Five shrugs, not knowing what else to say.

“My names Y/N.”

Five nods. “Okay. We’re closer already.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N says, a small smile gracing her face. Five can’t help but pull the same expression.

***

After a hearty dinner, and some obvious awkward silences, Five insists on helping Y/N do the washing up. The sun was beginning to set, and Five knows he’ll have to leave soon, but something stops him from doing so. He doesn’t want to admit it, but this was the most relaxed he’d felt in a long time. The fear or worry of something bad happening wasn’t there, and as he stands close to the woman he had barely met 2 hours ago, he realises what he’d been missing in his 60 something years. A place to live, with a person who makes him feel safe.

“Jerome,” the voice breaks through his thoughts, as Five almost forgets the name he’d given to this woman. “I feel like we’ve skirted around the topic enough. Is there any reason you were in the state you were in, taking refuge behind my greenhouse?”

Five places down the plate he was cleaning, turning to face her fully. Her expression is calm, and her voice shows no sign of interrogation. It’s a first for Five, as he’s become accustomed to people prodding him for information only for their own benefit. No one’s ever shown true interest in him.

He shrugs. “It’s been a tough couple of years. More than that I guess.” Fives eyes glaze over. “I haven’t seen my family in a long time, and I don’t know if I ever will. And if I do, I’m terrified of the state that I’ll find them in.”

Y/N stops what she’s doing, also turning to look at Five, a look of worry taking over her face. He knows he’s said more than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. He’s not good at sharing his feelings, and when he does, he’s scared of what will happen once the flood gates are opened. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to close them.

“What d’you mean? Are they in some kind of trouble?” She asks, a slight shake in her voice. “Are you in trouble?”

Five shakes his head, not wanting to stress out this poor woman who’s been nothing but doting to him. “No! No, I just,” he sighs, knowing he’s really put his foot in it. “I just care about them, a lot. Too much. And I don’t even want to think about not seeing them again.”

A soft hand brushes against Five’s cheek, as he glances at Y/N wiping a tear away from his face. He didn’t even realise he’d started crying. He sniffles, moving away and rubbing at his eyes, fearing how red they may look. He sucks in a deep breath, calming his beating heart. Whether it’s from talking about his family, or the touch from the woman next to him, he isn’t sure. But he fears he’s overstayed his welcome.

Five moves away from the kitchen counter. “I guess I should probably go. Don’t wanna miss my train.” Although he knows they’ll always be one there waiting for him.

He heads for the door, remembering to go upstairs and collect his dirty clothes before he leaves. Footsteps are heard from behind him.

“Uh,” Five swivels back around, as Y/N hesitates over her words. “This may seem kinda forward, and a dangerous move on my part, but, I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight knowing you were out there in the middle of the night, traveling by yourself.”

Five holds his breath, not wanting to jump the gun, but already anticipating the next sentence out of her mouth.

“I have extra pillows, and blankets.” Y/N shrugs. “It’s not the most comfortable couch but I’d say it’s more comfortable than the chairs on the train.”

Neither of them speak for a while. Five ponders her offer over and over, wondering if this is something he wants to decline. He needs to get back to his family. He needs to get back to help them. But so far, every option has been a bust. He’s not sure how much longer he can go on for. It could be the apocalypse all over again. Stuck for 40 years, traveling none stop, unsure if he’ll ever see his loved ones again. Could a good nights sleep really be such a bad thing?

He thinks the risk is worth it. “As long as it’s not too much trouble for you.”

***

That one good nights sleep turned into three months, staying at Y/N’s home, crashing on her couch. It didn’t stop Five from going out, back to the subway, trying to find the possible solution to his six year problem. But the more time he spent with the woman, the less time he wanted to spend away from her. They grew closer, making meals together, gardening together, watching silly romcoms together. While Y/N taught Five how to bake, Five taught her how to fight. A young woman living by herself? It didn’t hurt knowing some basic defence skills.

Five didn’t want to admit it, but his family hadn’t crossed his mind as often as it usually did before he met Y/N. He’d become soft, wanting to be around her all the time, not wanting to visit the subway as often as he should be. He’s lucky enough to call her a friend. He hopes she calls him that too.

***

It’s late, and Y/N is sat on the couch, crocheting a few pairs of gloves and a long overdue jumper. People used to make fun of her for it, calling her an old lady, but she finds it soothing. And making your own clothes is a big bonus too. Five, or Jerome as she knew him, had been out most of the day. She never questioned what he was up to, only that he returned safe, ready for whatever she’d cooked up for him during the day. She wasn’t completely naive in thinking ‘Jerome’ has involved himself in shady business. But unless he plans on telling her, then she won’t bother pushing him on the matter.

A bang echos from the back of the house, specifically inside the geeenhouse. It makes Y/N jump up from her seated position, quickly rushing out to the source of the noise. It can only be one person, or that’s what she hopes. Either way, she grabs for her shears before entering the warm glass room.

“Jerome?” She whispers, watching her step, the only light in the room coming from the moon through the windows.

A muffled groaning reaches her ears, as Y/N blindly moves her hands over the walls, trying to find the light switch. She finally does, and flicks it on. A sharp gasp comes out of her mouth, as the brightness finally reveals her new friend curled in a ball on the floor, rolling in pain.

“Shit.”

She quickly makes her way over to him, delicately wrapping her arms around his waist and slowly helping him off the floor. He stumbles, knocking into a few pots, almost making them fall off the table.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, the word slurring under his breath.

“Don’t apologise,” she says, making sure he’s steady on his feet. “Let’s just get you inside and onto the couch.”

They make their way through into the living room, Five dropping haphazardly onto the soft cushions, while Y/N finally gets a proper look at him. His clothes are ripped, the once pristine suit (one she bought for him as a gift) now in tatters. His hair is sticking up in all different directions, and he’s clutching to his side like his life depends on it. She reaches for his arm, prying it away to reveal an array of bullet wounds, still bleeding.

“You should see the other guy,” Five jokes, tilting his head back and trying to forget about the burning pain running across his body. Funnily enough, if Y/N saw the other guy, he’d look exactly like him, considering this all happened due to an unfortunate run in with apocalypse Five.

Y/N stares at him with wide eyes. “Really? Look, I don’t bother asking where you go or what you’re up to when you leave this house, but I think now’s the time you tell me the truth.”

Five moves his head back down, looking her in the eyes. She’s terrified. And he hates that. He breathes in deep, taking her hand in his.

“If you can help me patch this shit up,” he briefly motions to his wounds, “then I’ll tell you who I really am.”

So that’s what they do. Y/N retrieves the first aid kit from her bathroom, while Five opens up about his life before he met her, and how he’s not from this timeline. He isn’t sure if she’s believing what he says, as she remains quiet the entire time, only occasionally looking up at him and quickly returning to removing the bullets lodged in his side. But she listens. And allows him to pour his heart out to her.

“The past six years were torture. Somehow worse than the forty I spent in the apocalypse.” Five turns his head and stares at the woman next to him, as she finishes up her work. “But these last few months with you. I could finally be normal. I could live a life most guys would kill to have. And I’m so sorry I lied to you this long.”

They fall into silence, the pair somehow closer together than they were a few minutes ago. Both emotionally, and physically. Y/N moves her hand and takes his, squeezing tightly. Five’s heartbeat picks up speed, only now noticing their close proximity.

“So your real name is ‘Five’?” He nods at her words. She nods back. “Hmm. It suits you a lot better than Jerome.”

They both laugh half heartedly, as they stare deeply into each other’s eyes. She moves her hand up to his hair, moving it out of his face, trying to calm it down slightly.

She carries on talking. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through.” Five rolls his eyes. She doesn’t even know the half of it. “But if I can be the person to keep you grounded, for however long you’re here for, then I’m happy to do just that.”

Five smiles, glancing quickly at her lips.

She does the same. “And I hope you’re here for a long time.”

They both lean in, softly pressing their lips against each other’s. Five cups her face, deepening the kiss as Y/N rests her arms atop his shoulders. They move in sync, careful not to cause any more damage to Five’s wounds, as she somehow moves closer, one of her legs wrapping itself around his waist.

They don’t stop, clothes discarded, bodies intertwined, as their growing tension is finally broken. Five isn’t sure if he’ll ever get back to his timeline, but for now, he’s happy to call this place home.

***

Another four months, and still no sign of a way back. Although, Five can’t deny he hasn’t been trying as hard as usual. The peace and tranquillity has consumed him whole, falling into a proper routine with the woman he…

Is it love? Could he truly fall for someone like this? Someone who isn’t involved in the shit show he’s grown accustomed to? Someone who wants that quiet life, watering flowers and baking pies, with him? Maybe it’s what he needs.

Five stands in the greenhouse, picking some fresh strawberries, and trying a few to see if they were ripe. He’s already found the perfect recipe to use them in. Something he knows she’ll love.

As if reading his thoughts, a pair of arms slip around his waist. Y/N rests her chin on his shoulder, peaking over to see the basket full of fresh fruit. She picks one up, moving away and popping it in her mouth. Five turns and looks at her, smiling wide.

“They taste perfect,” she says.

Five takes her wrists, pulling her towards him and kissing her lightly. “So do you.”

She laughs, holding him close and breathing him in. “The cheesy lines don’t work on me, bub.”

“I think they do.” He mumbles, bringing her in for another kiss, sliding his hands up and down her back.

They stay like this for a while, holding each other in the warm glass room. The sun starts to set, as Five looks out and realises what time it is.

“Damn.”

She looks at him, confusion on her face. “What’s up?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, I just need to do a double check of the subway before dinner.”

Y/N tries not to show her anxiousness, but some of it seeps through. After Five explained to her what the subway is and why he goes there every day, she’s terrified at the thought of him leaving and never coming back. But she knows he wouldn’t do that to her. Not without saying goodbye.

She steps back. “Right. Promise you’ll be safe?”

He kisses her on the cheek. “I promise.”

***

Five spends some time looking around the platform in the subway, checking the lights, checking the maps, even poking his head into the tunnels to see if anything has changed. But nothing. It all remains the same. No sign of his past life waiting for him. Was that such a bad thing?

Holding a small flashlight, he shines it up and down, left and right, hoping his eyes will catch something new. A sudden pop from above startles him, the grip he had on the flashlight loosening. It falls and rolls onto the tracks. Five looks up, noticing one of the bulbs now flickering. He huffs, moving to the edge of the platform and jumping down. He retrieves the flashlight, hitting it a few times to try and get it to work again. It comes to life, flashing in front of him. That’s when he spots something.

“That’s new.”

Five walks over, grabbing the mystery object and holding it up. It’s a plain notepad. He flips it open, scanning over the messy handwriting inside. His messy handwriting. He can’t help but let out a tiny gasp, as he figures out what it all means.

“This is it.” Tears form in his eyes. “This is my way back home.”

He’s shocked. He’s elated. He’s emotionally drained. This is his chance to rejoin his timeline. To see his family after so long. To fix the mess they’ve created. But all he can think about in this moment is Y/N. How the hell is he supposed to break the news to her?

***

After another hour spent pondering this new found information, Five slowly makes his way back home. His home. Where the life he’d built was waiting for him.

He enters the house and walks into the kitchen, where Y/N stands by the stove, boiling something sweet and caramelly. Five just stares at her; humming a random tune, wiping her messy hands on the apron he bought for her when her old one accidentally caught fire. That was the most stress he’d felt since coming here. And if that was the only stress he had to deal with, he’d take it every single day.

She finally turns and spots him, smiling wide. “Oh hey! I was worried for a sec, you were taking longer than expected.”

She moves closer to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He holds her, not wanting to let go. Y/N can tell something isn’t right.

She leans back. “You okay?”

Five doesn’t reply, only holding the notepad out for her to take. She does so, flipping through the pages just like he did, her expression perplexed.

“I don’t understand-”

“It’s the way back to my timeline.”

She looks up at him, mouth slightly open, as her words fall short. Five can swear he hears her heartbeat speed up, as her breathing becomes erratic. Five isn’t sure what to do, waiting for an explosion of emotions to rain down on him. But nothing comes. Neither of them do or say anything.

Five chooses to break the silence. “I don’t wanna lose you. I can’t. I don’t think I could live the way I used to live. Not after living this life with you.”

Y/N bites her lip, suppressing a sob. “You have to go.”

Five furrows his brow, hoping he heard her wrong. He tilts her head up to stare into her eyes, seeing the tears forming.

“No,” he whispers. “You’ve become the most important thing in my life. The thought of never seeing you again, I can’t do that.”

A tear falls down her cheek, as Five reaches out to wipe it away.

“I’d love nothing more than to stay in this little bubble we’ve created,” she replies, finding it hard to keep her voice steady. “But your family, your timeline, all those people? They need you more than I do. And I know deep down, you can’t bear the thought of letting them die, knowing you could’ve helped.”

Five wants to ask her to come with him. Become apart of his family. He knows she’d get on with them all. And they’d all love her, possibly more than they love him. But he knows it’s cruel to ask her to leave her life behind. The house, the garden, the home that she’s worked so hard on. And the thought of throwing her into the thick of it all. Putting her at danger? No chance.

He pulls her into his embrace, kissing her hard. They hold each other tight, their lips bruising as neither of them can stop the tears from falling.

Y/N is the first to pull away. “If you ever get the chance to come back to this timeline, you know where to find me.”

Five smiles, not wanting to let her go. He kisses her once more. “In the greenhouse, tasting just as sweet as the strawberries.”

#the umbrella academy #number five #five hargreeves x reader #x reader #five hargreeves #tua s4 #tua s4 spoilers

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hyunebunx · 2 months

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⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ''what are we?' with skz

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: fluff and a little angst and a lot of uncertainties

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: in honor of 'i like it' , i think this is a very fitting first post lmao

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧ - “whatever you’d like us to be.”

He smiles, and you swear it lights up the whole room. Sweet, considerate Chan who never wanted to make you uncomfortable by rushing into things. The man you’ve been seeing for months now that didn’t put a label on your relationship just to give you space and time to sort out whatever else was going on in your life. The one who’s been there for you even if he didn’t have to, especially since you weren’t official, or anything at all.

The best man you could ever ask for.

That’s why, the next action feels like the most natural one.

Taking a deep breath, you return his smile and lean forward, resting your forehead on his. He stares deeply into your eyes, mesmerizing you with their beauty while his smile never falters.

“Then, would you do me the pleasure of being my boyfriend?”

Chan can’t help but chuckle, swiftly grabbing you by the waist to set you in his lap before pecking your lips. “It would be my honor, baby.”

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧ - “you tell me.”

Looks you dead in the eyes, with one eyebrow raised defiantly, the food he prepared and laid out nicely suddenly forgotten. This wasn’t the answer you were expecting. However, it’s such a Lee Minho one that you can’t even be surprised for more than a moment. Shuffling in your seat, you clear your throat before complying, all caution out the window.

“You’re my boyfriend. Only mine.”

Minho nods slowly just like a cat, his doe eyes never leaving yours as he continues to give you his undivided attention. “Alright. So then, what are we?”

You watch him, trying to understand what exactly he wants to hear right now. Your answer rests on the tip of your tongue yet, you hesitate, not knowing if he shares your feelings on the matter. He’s always been a complicated man, not giving anything away.

What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

You take a deep breath. “We are…lovers. A couple.”

This causes Minho’s smile to return, eyes twinkling again as he finally pushes a plate of food in your direction. “There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧ - “whatever we are, I like it.”

Changbin shrugs, bringing you closer to his chest by the arm he wrapped around your shoulders. The movie on the tv serves as background noise as your feelings threaten to overwhelm you, ready to take you down a well-known path of overthinking. What does that even mean?

Does that mean that he likes you? Loves you? Dislikes you with every fibre of his being but is too comfortable to say it? Usually, you would appreciate Changbin’s laid-back nature but now, it only makes you feel worse.

Why do relationships have to be so complicated? With him by your side, you thought it would be all smooth sailing but it looks like that isn’t the case.

“Y/n?” He asks, tearing his eyes away from the screen. “Is everything okay?”

His concern seems real, but is it really? Or is it just an act meant to have you fall even deeper in love with him? At this point, you don’t even know.

Shaking your head, you hide your face in the crock of his neck, choosing to ignore your screaming mind in favour of basking in his affection just for a while longer.

“Yeah, things are great.”

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧ - “is this your way of asking me to make it official?”

Ever the hopeless romantic, Hyunjin gives you the sweetest smile, the sight making your heart beat faster. Oh, what you wouldn’t give to make things official with Hwang Hyunjin. But, would he want that or is he just playing with you? Your concerns seem unreasonable since he isn’t that kind of person but you never know.

“And what if it is?”

The smile turns cocky, resembling a smirk more than anything. “So, you like me?”

You giggle to hide your growing embarrassment and nerves. “I mean, I’m sure you know the answer to that question.”

He fakes ignorance, looking at you with big, puppy eyes that still pull at your heartstrings. Hyunjin knows all the buttons he needs to push to get you wherever he wants.

“Nope. Do tell.”

Without missing a beat, you say exactly what’s on your mind, wanting to pay him back for all the teasing by short-circuiting his brain.

“I love you.”

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧ - “Is that a rhetorical question? You genuinely want an answer?”

Poor baby has never been more flabbergasted in his entire life. What do you mean ‘what are we’?! This isn’t high school, and you aren’t kids, what are you even confused about? He’s always made himself as clear as possible when it came to your relationship.

“You’re my baby, the love of my life, what kind of question is that?”

You shrug, turning on your side to face him. “Be more specific, Sungie.”

His mouth falls open comically, and you do everything in your power to not burst out laughing at the sight.

“We’re literally laying in bed together right now. I said I love you less than five minutes ago.”

You move closer to rest your head on his sturdy chest. “Yeah, but what exactly ARE we?”

Jisung stares down at you without a word for a few moments, trying to understand if you’re fucking with him or not until he sees the beginning of a grin stretching across your face and scoffs, turning to face away from you.

“Go to bed, Y/n, I’m too tired for your nonsense.”

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧ - “what do you want us to be?”

You’re greeted by big, hopeful eyes as Felix turns to look at you like you’ve got all the answers he’s ever sought for. Like you’re a genie that is capable of granting his every selfish wish. For him, you kind of are since your relationship pretty much marches to the beat of your own drum, with him just tagging along for the ride.

Felix would like to change that though – would love to just take matters into his own hands for once and answer your question with full confidence. But, he can’t. So, he throws the ball in your court again, wanting to avoid getting hurt.

You don’t answer right away, instead letting your head fall on his shoulder as you take your time to think his question over.

“How about…we try being more than friends?”

His face lights up instantly, buzzing with happiness at your proposal. Beaming, he nods before gently grabbing the back of your head to connect your lips in an eager kiss.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧ - “a mess.”

You’re expecting to see him smirking or even rolling his eyes at your question, however, once you turn around, none of those things happen. He’s just looking at you, face devoid of any emotion, and that’s when you realize that to him, this is serious. Seugmin isn’t playing around nor is he avoiding the subject – that is genuinely what he thinks on the matter. To him, whatever relationship you’ve developed, is a complete mess. If it’s a mess he enjoys or on the contrary, finds troublesome, is a question for another day.

“Well,” you begin, still taken aback by his blunt answer. “You’re my mess.”

This time, he does roll his eye, acting more annoyed than he actually is as you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind and lean down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Whose else would I be, dummy?” he shakes his head, voice uncharacteristically soft. Turning around in his seat, Seungmin moves to embrace you properly before burying his face in your soft hair.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧ - “you know what we are. You just want to hear me say it.”

You nod, taking another sip from your drink before releasing his hand. “Alright. Then say it.”

When he sees you stop in the middle of the crossroad, he follows, visibly confused. His hand moves to grab yours again, however, you pull away, shaking your head.

“Answer me properly, Jeongin.”

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to wrap his head around what’s suddenly gotten into you. Did you really want to have a conversation as serious as this here, out in the open? What was happening?

“I – “ He feels his whole face warm up, voice cracking and not allowing any other words to slip out. Jeongin knows what he wants to say, he’s had a whole speech prepared for a while now. But, being put on the spot like that has him freezing up so, he ends up giving a totally different answer, one that breaks both of your hearts simultaneously.

“We’re…” He pauses, looking down, “just friends, of course.”

The look on your face hurts so much, he almost doubles down in pain as you turn your back to him and walk away from his life, presumably for good. He has really screwed up this time.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids headcanons #skz headcanons #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #skz drabbles #bang chan #lee minho #changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #felix #kim seungmin #jeongin

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sugurizz · 1 year

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(Smut/ NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

Nanami always keeps clear boundaries with his subordinates. He's a highly professional man who never crosses a line when it comes to mutual respect with everyone around him.

It's almost admirable in your eyes..How efficient he is, how perfectly he executes every task of his job. only does he seem different at times...

You're just so thoughtful it almost annoys him. You've already picked up on each and every one of his little habits; the way he likes his coffee, exactly when he takes his coffee breaks, where he usually hangs his freshly ironed jackets, where each piece of paperwork is kept in his office...

...Might be the old age but it makes him feel things when you knock on his door, when you greet him with the "Morning, Nanami-san, I sorted the documents from yesterday for you", or when you get his jacket for him without him even asking, with a sweet "Nanami-san, please don't forget your umbrella tomorrow, it's going to be rainy."

You're the only one who's allowed to adjust his tie when it's a bit loose, the only one allowed to lay your hands on his chest and fix his collar -breathing in the scent of his colone along the way-, the only one igniting his primal desire despite his exhausting life.

Might be the old age but he certainly wishes he could get this kind of treatment at home as well. He's rather lonely, overworked and tired whenever he gets back to his empty apartment..

Wouldn't it be better if you were the one to bake his fresh bread and prepare his delicious sandwiches for him? Give him a kiss before he heads to work and send him pictures of your legs spread with one of his designer ties barely covering your pussy?

Wouldn't it be so much better if he came back to strip you naked and take a steamy shower with you? push you on his king-sized bed to devour your sex, then have you all prepped and pretty to take his cock?

He'd be so happy with any of that, so happy he's now stroking himself and fondling his balls, trying his best to picture the way your tits pressed on his chest in the cramped elevator yesterday.

He knew your birthday was coming up but you never thought he'd even remember something so seemingly 'irrelevant' to him. So you didn't expect to find a luxurious box delievered to your doorstep, with a handwritten wishcard that had a familiar scent to it.

A note saying "wear them with your black heels, it'd look perfect" was inside the box, signed with a beautiful -Kento- on the corner...

---

"Nanami-san, your morning coffee." You greeted him with a smile the next day, leaning down as you gently posed the cup next to him.

"Nanami-san, I'm wearing your gift for my birthday. And the fabric feels so soft on me..."

a large hand pulled you back by the arm as you were about to walk off..

"Don't go there, sweet cheeks. you know I'll ruin you.."

"Then ruin me, Kento..."

I'll be at my desk if you ever need me."

You closed the door behind you, flashing him an innocent smile on the way...

---

Nanami san was missing at work that evening, secretary y/n was not there either. But thankfully your coworkers didn't know the reason behind your absence..

Nanami is busy training your throat in his spacious apartment. Your ass is on the cold floor tiles, body stripped to the lacy lingerie he bought you, caged between the wall and his lower half as he goes balls deep in your throat.

His tie is leashed around your neck with his leg pushing between your thighs, the tip of his expensive leather shoe bumping against your tiny clit.

"How much did this pussy think of me, hmm? does she like my shoe kissing her? playing with her?"

His leg presses harder, your eyes cross in pleasure as you suffocate on his veiny length..

"Look down princess, she's dirtying herself, drooling on my shoe.."

he frees himself from your mouth, leaving you with a drooly tongue and snotty nose as you shiver under him.

"Nanami..my pussy wants you, put it in her..please!"

"Nasty minx." He flicks his tongue with a grin, tears his shirt open to reveal his broad shoulders and toned chest, then tirelessly lifts you on his biceps.

"Aww...I want her too, princess.."

he kisses you senseless, giving himself a few pumps before he splits you open.

He's fevereshly rammimg inside you..golden strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, blushy cheeks blooming and hazel eyes almost teary as he finally feeds the hunger for you..

"Y/n...I need a wife! I want you-fuck-" you hug on him tighter, pussy clenching at the way he growls it against your lips... he paints your stomach white, his embrace deliciously crushing your body.

---

...A few days later the rumors started circulating among the coworkers; Both y/n and Nanami suddenly started wearing rings around the same time, and Nanami's office door started getting double locked, too often...

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rememberwren · 3 months

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Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand her horizons, gets her first tattoo from Simon. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep.

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!”

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking.

“What guy I recommended?” she asks.

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?”

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.”

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.”

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day.

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life.

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.”

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?”

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all.

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it.

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him.

“Hello?”

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line.

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?”

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him.

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says.

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted?

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?”

“Five. Don’t be late.”

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in?

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost.

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting.

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize.

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek.

“The water is for you,” he says.

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.”

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh.

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.”

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.”

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question.

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair.

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing.

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book.

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?”

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer.

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.”

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him.

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again.

“Here.”

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean.

His thoughtfulness touches you.

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you.

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?”

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death.

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.”

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?”

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.”

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears.

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend.

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks.

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?

Masks are cute, you say.

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free.

You’re terrible.

You’re…thinking about it.

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST.

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness.

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one.

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another.

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.”

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed.

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.”

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions.

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’.

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary.

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that.

What is it?

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true.

But all he said back was: how can I help?

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working.

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better?

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better.

You bring the pasties anyway.

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass.

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs.

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free.

“Hi,” you squeak.

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t.

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more.

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.”

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing.

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years.

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length.

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas.

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you.

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way.

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.”

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.”

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face.

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.”

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax.

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass.

“Good?” He asks.

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.”

“I’m not backing out.”

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line.

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good,” you squeak.

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.”

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs.

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it.

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up.

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats.

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through.

His thumb gently strokes your sternum.

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast.

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again.

He hushes you, surprisingly tender.

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain.

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.”

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again.

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again.

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow).

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length.

“Eager to be done?” you wonder.

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said.

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply.

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently.

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.”

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.”

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way.

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.”

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable.

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call.

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much?

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring.

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering.

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello.

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry.

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?”

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.”

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.”

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?”

“Twenty minutes from now?”

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye.

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop.

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow.

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes.

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.”

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands.

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation.

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks.

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit.

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.”

“Forget what?”

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.”

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one.

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?”

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.”

“Nosey.”

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out? “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.”

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt.

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off.

“Maybe you should look closer.”

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.”

“You could—if you wanted to.”

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat.

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair.

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.”

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.”

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness.

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex.

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple.

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind.

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?”

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing.

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips.

“What else do you need?” he asks.

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly.

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure.

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth.

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh.

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola.

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite.

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.”

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?”

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?”

You nod, feeling like a bobble head.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps.

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief.

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art.

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.”

“Good,” you breathe.

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right.

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length.

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily.

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure.

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?”

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.”

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it.

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.”

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit.

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat.

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms.

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit.

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again.

He hums behind you, a smug sound.

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.”

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead.

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you.

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you.

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat.

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?”

“Yes.”

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see.

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself.

“Regretting it already?”

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.”

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head.

He scoffs a little.

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.”

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly.

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.”

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #skin deep

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wiishopwednesday · 3 months

Text

longing for something you can never return to

[ID: a collection of images relating to nostalgia. the first image is a genius screenshot of the lyrics to car seat headrest's "famous prophets (stars)." the screenshot reads "We gotta go back/We gotta go back/We gotta go back/We gotta go back." the second image is the "we got the torture labyrinth tomorrow" meme template, edited to instead say "We got missing what we can never return to tomorrow/What?/We got the beginning of the rest of our lives tomorrow/Ohhhh/Okay." the third image is a discord screenshot, with the user's username and icon cropped out so that only the text is visible, and reads "Duuudeee you missed out on those 7 days where god created earth you are fucked LOL." the fourth image is a screenshot of a piece of text, which reads in bolder font "You can never leave home." underneath it, in normal text, it reads "You take it with you no matter where you go. Home is between your teeth, under your fingernails, in the hair follicles, in your smile, in the ride of your hips, in the passage of your breasts." the fifth image is a screenshot of a post made by tumblr user ryebreadgf, which reads "YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK! YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK! YOU CAN BITE AND SCRATCH AND BEG BUT YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK!" the sixth image is a screenshot of a piece of text that reads, "YOU KILL YOURSELF AND IMMEDIATELY WAKE UP AS A CHILD ON YOUR PARENTS BED. YOU'VE BEEN ASLEEP FOR HALF AN HOUR. THE SUN IS SHINING." the seventh image is a picture of two uneven dark yellow boxed next to each other on a off-white background. the first box reads, in handwriting, "I'm terrified of change." the second box reads, "I'm terrified of staying this way forever." the eighth image is a screenshot of a post made by tumblr user dakotajohnsongf, which reads "women be looking at pictures of their childhood selves and trying to find a way back to them." the ninth image is a screenshot of a post made by tumblr user bestofgentleearth, containing a screenshot from a forum of some kind. a line of text reads "(16 hours ago) butterfly said:" underneath, an indented section of text reads "today, the world looked beautiful again. i'm starting to remember what kept me alive last summer." the tenth image is another tumblr post by user cursedsuggestion, which reads "the friend you miss comes home for good. you never see another mirror. it's summer forever and that terrible thought you keep having finally disappears." the eleventh image is a screenshot of a reddit post, with the original poster's username and icon cropped out so only the text is visible. it reads "I'm not sure how to word this, but I constantly go through this deep sense of loss. I feel like I terribly miss something I love from the bottom of my heart, but I don't know what it is, exactly. Nothing in life satisfies me, nothing makes me content, but l wouldn't say I'm depressed either. There's just this endless search for something, and at times I feel I can catch a glimpse of it - different sceneries pop into my head at times, like of a particular beach at night, and I'm moved to tears. Or I remember a dream and all the feelings that were stirring while I saw that dream, and feel entirely connected to them." the twelfth image is a screenshot of a tumblr post, but the original poster is cropped out so only the text is visible, which reads "wait i wasn't ready. i never finished that game of tag. i still need to learn how to do a cartwheel. my friends and i never finished making that bridge over the creek. i want to go back. can you carry me to bed one last time? and maybe i'll wake up tomorrow in my childhood room with my pink walls and we'll laugh over this dream at breakfast." the thirteenth image is another tumblr screenshot of a post by user heavensghost, which reads "uhhh yh sure u can go back but no one will be waiting for you there."

the fourteenth image is a screenshot of a reddit comment, with the user's information cropped out so that only the text is visible, which reads "HIRAETH (heer-eye-th) 'A deep homesickness; an intense form of longing or nostalgia for a place long gone, or even an unaccountable homesickness for a place you have never visited. A pull on the heart that conveys a distinct feeling of missing something irretrievably lost.'" the fifteenth image is a collection of 3 rows of black boxes, with 3 boxes in each row. the first box has a white, vague form of a human. the second box pictures the human form stretching its arms and legs out. from the third box onward, the human figure starts to dissipate into white dots until it has completely disappeared and only dots remain. the sixteenth image is a tumblr post by user n1ntendos, which reads "I AM HAUNTED BY A PAST I CANNOT GO BACK TO !!!!!!! anyways." the seventeenth image is a screenshot of text that reads "I cling to everything - CDs that skip, rings that turn my fingers green, the dead ends of my hair, old love notes that turn my stomach over and over. And I'm not proud but there are still boxes under my bed. And I'm not proud but my closet is still running out of space. And nostalgia is a fucking waste of time but my heart is full with it. Tell me I won't hold this forever. Tell me there will be a day where I let gloriously go." the eighteenth image is an image of larger text that reads "It's a summer day, and I want to be wanted more than anything else in the world." the nineteenth image is a photograph of a large white dog standing in a dark, flowing river surrounded by a dark forest and green trees. the dog is facing away from the viewer with its mouth open. the dog appears to be glowing, likely due to a lens flare of some kind. the entire picture feels very melancholy and nostalgic. the twentieth image is larger text that reads "Nostalgia is the aching realization that you can't go back again. The longing, no matter how intense, can never be met." the twenty-first image is a screenshot of an instagram dm, with the user's username and icon cropped out so that only the text is visible, and it reads "well the time passes anyway so I have to." the twenty-second image is a screenshot of the spotify lyrics for gerard way's song "action cat." the lyrics read "Hey/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you too." the twenty-third image is a screenshot of text that reads "YOUR CHILDHOOD DOG IS ALIVE. YOUR DEAD BEST FRIEND WANTS TO GET COFFEE. YOU HAVE BEEN KIND AND GOOD. THERE IS NOTHING CHASING YOU. YOU CAN SLEEP. WHAT DO YOU DO?" the twenty-fourth image is a continuation of the lyrics from car seat headrest's "famous prophets (stars)" that were pictured in the first image. these lyrics read "We've gotta go back/We've gotta go back/We've gotta go back/(Don't spend too much time on it)." end ID.]

#webweave #webweaving #web weaving #corecore #web weave #on nostalgia #car seat headrest #on longing #toby.txt

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mssalo · 9 days

Text

taste

Pairing: Neighbor!Older!Joel x Reader

Summary: After moving in next door, you've slowly chipped away at Joel's gruff exterior, turning his grumbling into smiles. One night, as you show up at his door with your usual charm, the playful teasing between you two shifts into something much more intense. When Joel finally gives in to his burning desire, he can't help but get lost in your sweetness, leading to a night filled with heated passion and uncontrollable cravings.

this is my first post, `m scared

Warnings: 18+. Explicit content. Unprotected sex. Age gap. Oral sex (female receiving). Intense dirty talk. Obsessive behavior. Protective dominance. Reader has she/her pronouns and a vagina(lol), Detailed descriptions of physical intimacy. MDNI (Minors Do Not Interact).

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you reached Joel’s porch, the sky a tapestry of deep oranges and purples.

It had been a while since you moved in next door, and over time, you’d chipped away at the gruff exterior of the man who now occupied far too many of your thoughts.

He wasn’t one for casual conversation or easy smiles—except, it seemed, when you were around.

You knocked lightly, and the door swung open almost immediately. Joel stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway, his usual scowl softening just a little when he saw you.

“Evenin’, darlin’,” he greeted, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that always sent a shiver down your spine.

“Hey,” you replied, stepping inside with a smile that you knew got under his skin. “Miss me?”

Joel closed the door behind you, shaking his head, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“You never give me much of a chance to miss you. You’re always showin’ up.”

You flopped onto his couch, making yourself comfortable as you flashed him a playful grin.

“You’re lucky I do. Imagine how quiet your life would be without me.”

“Quiet, maybe,” he muttered, his voice low and rumbling as he leaned against the wall, his dark eyes watching you with an intensity that made your heart skip. “But peaceful too.”

You rolled your eyes, unfazed by his teasing. “Yeah, right. You’d miss me if I stopped coming around, and you know it.”

A low, almost inaudible laugh escaped him, the sound deep and throaty, though his gaze lingered on you with a kind of burning curiosity.

“So, what brings you here tonight? Bored?” he asked, his voice carrying a rough edge, casual but with a hint of sharpness.

You shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see my favorite grumpy neighbor.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something darker in his gaze.

“That so?”

You grinned, leaning back on the couch and stretching out a little.

“Yeah. Besides, I think you secretly love having me around. Admit it.”

He shook his head, a soft grunt escaping him.

“You’re trouble, that’s what you are.”

You laughed, watching him from beneath your lashes. “Trouble, huh? I think you like trouble more than you’re letting on.”

His jaw tightened, the raw, darkened intensity of his voice rising.

“You’re too young to be throwin’ yourself into trouble like this,” he said, his voice rough and strained.

You tilted your head, smiling up at him, your voice dropping a little lower.

“Maybe I’m not the kind of trouble you think I am. Maybe I’m exactly what you need.”

Joel’s eyes darkened further, his posture stiffening as he shook his head again.

“Damn it, darlin’, you don’t know what you’re askin’ for.”

You leaned forward, catching his gaze and holding it. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He stared at you, his eyes tracing over your face and down the curve of your body.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, rough whisper, each word laden with unspoken desire.

“You’re beautiful, you know that? Always have been.”

Your heart stuttered at the unexpected compliment, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you tilted your head, offering him a playful smile.

“You’ve never told me that before.”

“Because I shouldn’t be sayin’ it,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion as he stepped closer, looming over you.

“But damn if I haven’t been thinkin’ it since the day you moved in.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. “Joel…”

“I’ve been dreamin’ about this,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper as his fingers brushed against your cheek, trailing down your neck.

“Thinkin’ about how good it’d be to touch you like this.”

Your breath hitched, his touch sending waves of heat through you. “You have?”

“Every damn night,” he growled, his voice deep and throaty with desire.

“Every time I see you, all I can think about is how bad I want you. In every way.”

The raw hunger in his voice made your stomach flip, but you tried to stay composed. “So what’s been stopping you?”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his hand dropping to your thigh, squeezing lightly. His voice, though rough and strained, was filled with raw longing.

“You’re too damn young, too damn good for me. I shouldn’t want you like this.”

You arched an eyebrow, your voice soft, teasing. “But you do.”

He groaned, the sound deep and resonant as his fingers tightened on your leg.

“Yeah, I do. More than I can stand, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep your voice steady even though your body was practically humming with anticipation. “Then what are you waiting for?”

For a heartbeat, Joel stayed still, his eyes searching yours as if looking for a reason to hold back.

But when he found none, a low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within his chest. He surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was hard, rough, filled with the intensity of every moment he’d spent holding back.

His hands roamed over your body, fingers slipping under your shirt, grazing your skin with rough, calloused palms.

You moaned into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, the kiss deepening with every passing second.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his voice thick with desire as he looked down at you.

“Goddamn, you’re so fuckin' beautiful,” he muttered.

“Hot as hell, too. Been dreamin’ about you like this… and it’s even better than I imagined.”

Heat flushed through you at his words, your body aching for more as he hovered over you, his hands still exploring.

“Yeah? What else have you been dreaming about?”

Joel’s voice dropped to a rasp, his hand sliding up your thigh, gripping just above your knee.

“You. Spread out under me, lookin’ at me like you are right now. Spread open—showing me that sweet fucking pussy. Beggin’ for me to touch you.”

Your heart pounded as his words sank in, the sheer intensity of his desire making your head spin.

You arched into him, your voice breathy as you teased, “Who says I’m gonna beg?”

He smirked, his fingers trailing higher, teasing the edge of your shorts.

“We will see, darlin’. But for now I’m gonna give you everything you’ve been wantin’.”

With one smooth motion, Joel tugged your shorts down, his hand immediately finding your pulsing heat, under your baby blue panties, fingers slightly teasing you as he watched your reaction with dark, hungry eyes.

You gasped, your back arching as his fingers worked you slowly, deliberately, purposely.

“Jesus, Joel,” you moaned, your hands clutching at his arms as he continued to tease you, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck.

“You’re—fuck—so good.”

He groaned against your skin, the sound low and possessive, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered,

“I’ve been dreamin’ of hearin’ you say my name like that. You’ve got no idea what you do to me, darlin’. You’re perfect. Fuck.”

His praise sent a rush of heat through your body, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as his fingers moved with skill around your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

When his lips found yours again, you were lost, drowning in the sensation of him, the feel of his hands, his mouth, and the deep, gravelly sound of his voice in your ear as he murmured,

“You’re so damn beautiful. Can’t believe I waited this long. So stupid.”

You whimpered, your body trembling beneath him as he pushed you closer and closer, his fingers working you in perfect rhythm until you couldn’t take it anymore. “Joel, I—”

He growled softly, his hand tightening on your thigh as he kissed you hard, but right before you reached that sweet high, his fingers stopped.

You gasped, the sudden absence of his touch leaving you in a daze, your body aching with the need for more.

“Need to taste you, baby. Been wantin' it so bad.”

Joel’s lips trailed a heated line from your mouth down to your neck, each kiss a tantalizing brush of warmth against your skin.

His touch was deliberate, his breath hot and uneven as he moved lower, his eyes dark with desire.

His hands gently pushed your thighs apart, his touch sending shivers through you as he settled between your legs.

His breath hitched slightly, a deep, hungry growl escaping him as he looked up at you, his eyes full of a possessive, smoldering heat.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rasped, his voice low and thick with need, as he pressed soft, lingering kisses to the inside of your thigh.

The feeling of his lips so close to where you needed him most made your breath catch, anticipation and excitement building in the pit of your stomach.

With a deliberate slowness, Joel’s lips found their way to your most intimate place.

His breath against you was warm, each exhale a tantalizing caress that made you shiver with anticipation.

He paused for a moment, his face mere inches from your core, taking in your scent—the musky, sweet aroma that was uniquely you.

Joel inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he savored the intoxicating smell of you.

The scent was heady, rich with the essence of desire, and it made his pulse quicken and his entire body shudder with a primal hunger.

He let out a low, shuddering breath, the sound escaping him in a groan of deep satisfaction.

The scent, so personal and intimate, filled his senses, amplifying his desire as he felt every inch of his control slipping away.

His breath against you was hot and uneven, his entire body trembling slightly as he tried to hold back the feral need surging through him.

Joel’s eyes were dark with a mixture of awe and lust as he looked up at you, the sight of your flushed skin and the way you responded to his touch only heightening his desire. He could feel the raw, primal urge to taste you, to fully indulge in the intoxicating aroma that was driving him wild.

Unable to resist any longer, he pressed his lips to you, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweet, heady flavor that had been teasing him.

The taste was as intoxicating as the scent, and it drove him to growl deeply, his voice resonating with a rough, satisfied tone as he continued to explore you.

“oh fuck,” he muttered, his voice a low, guttural rasp, “you taste so fuckin` perfect, I can’t get enough.”

His tongue danced over your sweet clit with relentless hunger, sucking and licking. As he savored every part of you, he couldn’t help but rut against the couch in desperate frustration.

The intensity of his arousal was almost unbearable, and he found himself grinding against the cushion, the friction only adding to his mounting desire.

Joel’s grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging in as he continued to taste you even deeper with greedy fervor.

“fuck, you’re drivin me insane with this sweet pussy”

he growled into you, his voice thick with a mix of desperation and obsession.

“I can’t get over how goddamn perfect you are. `been wanting this for so long, and now that I have you… I can’t stop.” he says, slurping loudly, messy.

Your body responded instinctively to his touch, every flick of his tongue, suck between his plump lips and every rough breath only heightening your own pleasure.

The sound of his low, desperate growls, the way his body moved against the couch, all combined to create an atmosphere charged with raw, unrestrained passion.

Joel’s movements became more frantic, his tongue working you with an almost frantic intensity.

“you have no idea what you’re doin` to me,”he rasped, his voice hoarse with need.

“I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

His admission only fueled your desire, your body trembling with each touch and taste as you responded to him with equal fervor.

And as Joel continued to lose himself in the sensation, rutting against the couch with an almost animalistic need, it was clear that nothing would stop him from savoring every moment of this intoxicating connection.

Joel's tongue moved relentlessly against you, each stroke deliberate and filled with a raw, insatiable hunger.

His deep, guttural growls reverberated through his chest, the sound mingling with the muffled cries that escaped your lips. His face was buried between your legs, and he showed no sign of slowing, his need to taste every inch of you driving him to a fever pitch.

"y` taste so good," he groaned, his voice thick with desire as he lapped at you with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"I can’t get enough of you. so sweet, so perfect, I just want to make you cum all over my tongue, baby."

The heat of his breath, the way his tongue worked you with an almost frenzied intensity, pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Every flick of his tongue, every rough, needy groan, drove you wild. Your hands gripped his hair, pulling him closer, your back arching as you tried to chase the growing pressure that built in your core.

"Joel, oh god," you whimpered, your voice breathless and desperate.

"I’m so close. Don’t stop, please—"

His growl was a low, primal sound, vibrating through your entire body.

“that’s it, darlin’,” he rasped, his voice muffled but still filled with that familiar rough edge.

“let me hear you. I wanna feel you come apart for me. I want you to lose yourself, to give it all to me.”

With every word, every sound, Joel drove you closer to the edge. His tongue flicked and circled your clit with a masterful touch, pushing you right to the brink. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming with the pleasure he was giving you.

The heat between your legs was overwhelming, a wave of sensation that crashed over you in a relentless tide.

“Joel, I—” you began, but the words were lost in a broken cry as he pushed you over the edge.

Your orgasm hit with a force that took you by surprise, your body convulsing as the pleasure surged through you.

You gasped, your breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps as Joel’s tongue continued to work you through the climax, savoring every shuddering response you gave him.

“that’s it, darlin’, come for me,” Joel urged, his voice rough and strained as he lapped at you with feverish intensity.

“feel it, let it all out. I want you to come all over my face.”

His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his tongue, drove you to a second, even more intense peak.

You cried out, your hands gripping his hair tightly as the waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your body trembled, your thighs quaking as he kept his relentless rhythm, his own breathing heavy and ragged as he tasted every drop of your release.

When you finally came down from the high, your body still shivering with aftershocks, Joel’s touch softened, his movements more tender now as he kissed and licked you gently, savoring the last remnants of your orgasm.

His eyes were dark with a mixture of satisfaction and possessiveness, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“you were amazing,” he murmured, his voice husky and filled with admiration as he looked up at you.

“so perfect, darlin’. I could taste you all night.”

Your breathless, sated smile met his gaze, and you reached down to cup his cheek, your fingers brushing softly over his skin.

“you know how to make a girl feel special,” you whispered, your voice still tinged with the lingering effects of your climax.

Joel’s breath was ragged, his gaze locked onto yours with a possessive intensity that made your heart race.

He pulled back slightly, giving you a moment to catch your breath. But the desire in his eyes never wavered; if anything, it deepened.

“you’re so fuckin` hot,” he growled, his voice a low, rough rasp.

“- every inch of you. I need to be inside you, to feel you wrapped around me.”

You could barely respond, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax.

But the need in Joel’s eyes drove you to beg.

“please, Joel,” you whispered, your voice filled with raw need. “- want you so bad. I need you to fill me up. please, give me your cum.”

His gaze darkened further, a shudder of anticipation running through him.

He reached down, positioning his cock at your entrance once more.

“fuck, you’re so eager,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust.

“- you want me inside you, huh? want me to claim you, hm?”

“yes,” you moaned, arching into him, your body aching for his touch. “I want you to fill me, to make me yours. don’t hold back.”

Joel’s eyes were burning with an intense, almost feral hunger as he began to push into you, his cock stretching you deliciously. “you’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough with need.

“every inch of you belongs to me.”

You gasped as he thrust deeper, the sensation of him filling you completely sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“Joel, you feel so amazing,” you moaned, your voice trembling with desire.

“I’m so close. I want you to make me come again. I need your cum inside me.”

His pace quickened, each thrust deliberate and powerful.

“you want it that bad, huh?” he growled, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. “you want me to fill you up, to mark you as mine?”

“yes, Joel, yes,” you cried, your voice desperate.

“I need you to come inside me. make me yours. I want to feel you. I want to feel your cum.”

Joel’s movements became more urgent, animalistic, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

“you’re so perfect,” he groaned, his voice rough and filled with possessive pride.

“so fucking tight. I’m gonna give you everything you’ve been begging for.”

His pace picked up, each thrust driving him deeper into you, the rhythm steady and relentless.

“fuck, so good,” he growled, his voice a deep rumble of satisfaction.

“you’re mine, darlin’. every time I see you, every time I touch you, I want to remind you just how much I need you.”

With a final, powerful thrust, Joel let out a guttural growl, his cock throbbing as he came inside you, the warmth of his cum filling you completely.

“fuck,” he moaned, his voice strained with pleasure.

“I’m never letting you go. you’re mine.”

You moaned loudly, your body trembling as you felt his release, the sensation pushing you to the edge once more. “Joel, yes,” you cried, your voice breaking with the intensity of your pleasure.

“you’re making me come again. I —”

Joel’s arms tightened around you, his movements slow and deliberate as he rode out his orgasm.

“that’s it,” he growled, his voice filled with a mixture of satisfaction and fierce pride.

“come for me, darlin’. let me feel you come all over my cock.”

The combined sensations of his release and your own climax left you breathless, your body trembling beneath him.

Joel’s lips found yours, his kiss deep and possessive as he whispered against your mouth, “so perfect. you’re mine, now and forever.”

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, Joel’s grip on you remained firm, his eyes never leaving yours.

The connection between you was stronger than ever, a blend of passion and possession that promised more intense moments in the future.

When you finally caught your breath, you looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “better than your dreams?”

Joel chuckled softly, his voice low and tender as his thumb gently brushed your cheek.

“darlin’, you’re better than I ever could’ve imagined.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, that same soft, teasing grin still on your lips as you gazed up at him. “glad I could make your dreams come true, old man.”

His eyes darkened at the playful jab, and before you could say another word, Joel leaned in, pressing a rough, claiming kiss to your lips.

“you keep pushin’ me,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice low and gravelly, “and I’ll show you just how much I’ve been holdin’ back.”

The warmth of Joel’s body pressed against yours, his possessive gaze locked onto your face. His hand trailed lazily over your skin, sending little shivers through you as he traced circles along your waist. The heat between you had cooled slightly, but the intensity of his presence remained.

You lay there, chest still rising and falling as you caught your breath. Joel leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, a rare moment of tenderness from the man who had been all passion and dominance moments earlier.

“You okay?” he asked, his gravelly voice now softer, more intimate.

You smiled, a lazy grin spreading across your face as you nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice still a little breathless. “More than okay.”

His lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. “Good. Didn’t want to be too rough on you.”

You laughed lightly, fingers brushing through his messy hair. “I can handle you, Joel.”

He chuckled, the deep sound rumbling through his chest as he pulled you closer, wrapping his strong arms around you. “You definitely can.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, the weight of what had just happened settling in. You had crossed a line, but it felt inevitable. Joel had been circling your thoughts for so long, and now that you had given into each other, it felt like the only natural conclusion.

As you lay there, wrapped up in his arms, your mind wandered to what came next. This wasn’t just a casual fling—not with the way Joel had looked at you, the way he had spoken to you with such raw honesty and desire.

“What are we doing, Joel?” you asked softly, your voice cutting through the silence.

He stiffened slightly, his arms tightening around you. He let out a deep sigh, as if the question had been hanging between you for a while, waiting to be asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quiet but honest. “I just know I want you. That I need you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you. You had never seen Joel like this—open, exposed.

“And you’ve got me,” you whispered, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “But where do we go from here?”

Joel shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, were softer now, more open.

“We figure it out,” he said, his voice steady, but there was a hint of uncertainty in it. “I ain’t gonna pretend like I have all the answers. But I know I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you felt a sense of relief wash over you. This wasn’t just a moment of weakness or lust—Joel wanted more, just like you did.

“I don’t either,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want more.”

Joel’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was a stark contrast to the heated passion from earlier—a kiss that spoke of something deeper, more meaningful.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, as if he was trying to read your thoughts. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his voice firm. “Figure things out, day by day.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. “Okay. Day by day.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Joel’s lips, and he kissed you again, slow and deliberate. When he pulled away this time, his eyes were filled with that same possessive intensity that had sent a thrill through you earlier.

“But make no mistake, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that made your heart race. “You’re mine now. And I don’t plan on lettin’ anyone else have you.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but it wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, the idea of belonging to Joel, of being claimed by him, felt right. You leaned up, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Joel’s eyes darkened at your words, and he pulled you close again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that promised more than just passion. It promised commitment, something solid in the midst of the uncertainty.

For now, that was enough. You had Joel, and he had you—and together, you would figure out what came next.

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I accidentally deleted this post bruh

pussy whipped like me. this was my first fic, hope you enjoyed it.

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pastryfication · 1 month

Note

could you write something about oscar proposing to his longtime gf? but maybe something private just the two of them because i imagine that oscar is not big on public engagements

i'm gonna love you 'til my heart retires

pairing: oscar piastri x reader note: this was so fun to write and i really love how this turned out!! might be my new favourite thing i’ve written. it’s so lovesick and cutesy and everything i want in a proposal 😭❤️

you’re sitting on the balcony of your shared apartment, overlooking the city of monte carlo as it’s slowly starting to wake up. the sky is a soft pink, the kind that makes you feel like the world is giving you a quiet hug. the morning is still cool, with the scent of fresh coffee mingling with the air. oscar’s sitting next to you, as he always does, his hand resting lightly on yours, caressing the soft skin. there’s a peacefulness between you, a silence that doesn’t need filling.

he’s never been one for grand gestures, despite the world of flashing cameras and roaring engines he’s a part of. you’ve both always preferred the quiet moments, the ones away from the spotlight. no one sees the way he looks at you when you’re reading, or how he listens so intently when you talk about your day. no one sees the kisses you share when he comes home after a triple header, or how you so tenderly takes care of him when he feels burdened by the intense pressure. it’s these moments you cherish, the ones that feel like they belong only to the two of you.

as the city slowly comes to life, he shifts a little, and you feel him reach into his pocket. your heart skips, but you don’t dare to hope too much, even though you’ve been together for years, sharing everything from lazy sunday mornings to the stresses of his racing season. he pulls out a small box, simple and unadorned, much like the way he lives his life off the track.

he turns to you, and for a moment, he’s just looking at you, as if trying to find the right words. when he speaks, his voice is steady, but there’s an unmistakable softness in it, a tenderness that’s only ever for you.

“you know,” he begins, “i’ve been thinking about this for a long time. it’s funny . . . i’ve driven some of the fastest cars in the world, experienced an immense amount of adrenaline, but nothing’s ever made my heart race like you do.”

he pauses, taking a deep breath, his eyes locked on yours in an eye contact that feels so safe. so familiar and right. “when we’re out there, on the track, everything is loud and chaotic, but when i’m with you, it’s like everything quiets down. it’s just . . . us. it’s just peaceful. you give me that calm, that feeling that no matter what happens, as long as i have you, i’m exactly where i’m supposed to be.”

you feel yourself tearing up, and he smiles a little, a soft, genuine smile that you know is reserved only for you. “i’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, you know that. it’s just how i’m wired. i’ve spent so much of my life focused on racing, on training, that i didn’t really think i had space for anything else. but then you came along, and suddenly, everything else just fell into place. you made me realize there’s more to life than just the next race, the next victory. you gave me something to come home to, something to look forward to beyond the track.”

his hand tightens a little on yours, as if grounding himself in this moment. “i know i’m not always the best at saying how i feel, and i’m definitely not good at big romantic gestures, but you’ve always seen me for who i am, even when the rest of the world just sees the driver, the competitor. you see the real me, and you still choose to love me, and that’s something i’ll never take for granted.”

he opens the box, revealing a beautiful diamond ring that’s just like you would dream of. it’s not flashy or oversized, just perfect, like he somehow reached into your mind and pulled out exactly what you would have chosen.

“i didn’t want anything big or showy because i know that’s not you. and thats not me either.” he continues, his voice a little softer now. “but i want you to know that i’m sure, more sure than i’ve ever been about anything. i want to spend the rest of my life with you, in these quiet moments, in this perfect calm that we’ve built. i want us to keep building this life together, one day at a time.”

he takes another deep breath, his voice growing more tender as if he wants to say it just right. “you’ve been my best friend, my confidante, my anchor in a world that’s always spinning too fast. when everything else feels out of control, when everything becomes too much, you’re the one thing that keeps me grounded. you’ve been with me through the highs and lows, the victories and the defeats, and you’ve loved me through all of it. i can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

he swallows, his eyes never leaving yours. “i want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep with you every night. i want to share all the quiet moments, the simple joys, and even the struggles, because i know that with you by my side, i can handle anything. you’ve made me a better person, a better man, and i want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you’ve made me.”

his eyes search yours, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart ache with how much you love him. “will you marry me?” he asks, and you can hear the slight tremor of nerves beneath his steady tone.

there’s no hesitation in your heart. this is right, this is everything you’ve ever wanted, wrapped up in this quiet, perfect moment. tears are springing in your eyes as you nod, your voice catching in your throat as you whisper, “yes.”

he slips the ring onto your finger, and it fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be there. he leans in and kisses you, soft and sweet, the world around you fading away. it’s just the two of you, as it’s always been, and as you want it to always be.

you rest your head on his shoulder, your hands intertwined, the ring catching the morning light. the city continues to wake up around you, but it feels like time has slowed down, just for you two. there’s no need for words. everything you need to say is in the way you hold each other, in the peaceful quiet that wraps around you both.

this is your moment, perfectly private and beautifully simple, just like the life you’ve built together.

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animexts · 1 year

Text

BETTER THAN MEAT

Sumarry: Luffy discovers that his favorite smell is no longer the smell of meat.

OPLA!Luffy X Reader

Warnings: I think none, I just hope it gives you butterflies in your stomach lol

A/N: You asked me for this so much and here it is, it's horrible, but it's a good start.

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"Where's Y/n, Nami?" Luffy says while Nami is still looking at the clothes.

"She's over there changing, let's go Y/n!" Nami screams.

"I guess I didn't like that." Y/n says showing off and upon hearing his voice, Luffy turns his head to look.

He doesn't know exactly what he felt at that moment, but it was something very similar to a heart attack.

"What do you think Luffy?" Y/n says observing Luffy's serious expression.

"You are the most beautiful pirate I have ever seen in my entire life." Y/n blushes when she hears this and Zoro scoffs.

"That's very kind of you Luffy, thank you." Y/n says awkwardly.

"Seriously you... you would easily be mistaken for a princess or something." Luffy says getting up and going to Y/n.

Y/n smiles at Luffy who is right in front of her now, and suddenly he starts moving his nose sniffing.

"And what is that smell?" Luffy says trying to identify the smell.

"It must be from dinner Luffy."

"No no, it's something else." And then he does something that leaves everyone wide-eyed.

Luffy puts his nose on Y/n's neck, sniffing deeply, sending shivers all over Y/n's body.

"Luffy don't do that." She says laughing and pushing his shoulders awkwardly.

“Your smell better than meat Y/n!” Luffy says laughing and she feels her cheeks heat up.

"That really surprised me." Zoro says laughing a little.

"Y/n can I smell you more often?" Luffy asks smiling.

"I think you can?"

And it doesn't end here

Y/n is sitting next to Luffy during dinner, she is drinking when she suddenly feels something warm on her neck and turns red as a tomato when she sees Luffy's hair and realizes it was him sniffing her neck again, almost making her to drown.

"Luffy for the love of God don't do that." She says pushing him awkwardly again.

"You really smell good ." He says smiling, and she feels her heart soften.

Y/n doesn't know what to do or say so she just turns forward again, seeing this Luffy's smile disappears

"Oh you don't like that Y/n?" Luffy says loudly, unintentionally drawing the attention of the entire table.

"No, don't worry Luffy, it's okay." She smiles and puts her hand on his shoulder.

But no, it wasn't okay, Luffy thought about Y/n's reaction during dinner, during his speech and everything.

What he least wanted was to hurt or offend Y/n, she was too special to him, it made him so anxious that he simply couldn't wait until the next day to talk to Y/n, so here he is facing the bedroom door her.

Before he can knock on the door, Y/n opens it and is surprised to see Luffy there.

"Oh hi Luffy, everything okay?"

"I'd like to apologize if I made you uncomfortable hi something like that it wasn't my intention." Y/n thinks she fell in love with Luffy even more after hearing him say that.

"Oh no Lu, it's okay, I… I liked that." Y/n says embarrassed as she admits this and he smiles at that.

"That's great, because I like doing this too." He says and moves closer to smell Y/n again, but this time, she tilts her head to give him better access.

But when he is moving away from her, he stops in the middle of the way with their noses almost touching, and then Luffy gives Y/n a quick peck on the lips, quickly moving her face away and smiling.

"Damn why did you do that? It must have made her uncomfortable again" He is torturing himself with his thoughts when Y/n speaks again.

"Do you want to go find the kitchen?" Y/n says and his smile widens.

"Yes, let's go!" Luffy grabs Y/n's wrist and pulls her along with him.

He's happy that his favorite person in the world isn't mad at him, and she's happy that her favorite pirate cares about her so much.

love young bro...

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#one piece x reader #one piece zoro #one piece luffy #one piece #luffy x you #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #luffy #inaki godoy x reader #inaki godoy #op live action #opla luffy

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crystallinestars · 6 months

Text

Taking Care of Them

Short scenarios about Argenti, Aventurine, and Jing Yuan receiving much-needed care and comfort from you. Pure fluff, a little hurt/comfort for Aventurine's part.

I took some creative liberties with Aventurine's character since we still don't know everything about him yet, so this is simply my interpretation of him.

This isn't proofread because my brain is fried from writing.

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🌹 Argenti:

As a Knight of Beauty, Argenti is a highly skilled fighter who puts his very life on the line to vanquish his foes. Usually, he defeats his enemies with grace and style, but even the refined Argenti sometimes sustains injuries.

In his most recent battle, Argenti made it out practically unscathed, save for a few scrapes and bruises that marred his handsome face. That was how he found himself obediently sitting on your bed while you treated his wounds.

“I apologize that you have to see me in this state,” he murmurs, guilt darkening his expression. “I did not want to cause you worry.”

“No need to apologize,” you brush off his concerns with a smile. “Now turn this way. I’ll clean the scratch on your cheek,” you said as you gently turn Argenti’s face to one side to reveal the shallow, red gash on his cheek.

Argenti complies without hesitance and sits perfectly still as you dab at the scratch with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. It stings, but the Knight of Beauty unflinchingly tolerates the burn with a small smile on his face.

He can tell through the delicate and careful way you clean and dress his wounds that you care a great deal about him. Your touches were gentle so as to not cause him unnecessary pain, yet no less thorough. It felt nice to be touched so tenderly, to be cared for in such a loving manner.

Your heart is beautiful, he thinks. To possess such a caring and loving heart, you must rival the beauty of his beloved Aeon Idrila. Argenti truly believes that you are a wonderful and beautiful person, both inside and out.

As you finish patching up the last wound and pack away your first aid kit, Argenti turns to you and gives you a radiant, sincere smile from the heart.

“Thank you…” he softly says as gently takes one of your hands and kisses the back of it, “You have a dazzling heart—so pure and gentle. I feel like the luckiest man in the universe to have the privilege of receiving your care and affection.”

His words may sound over-the-top and perhaps even fake, but he truly means them. Every single one. Even if you don’t entirely believe him, the amused smile that his flamboyant phrases elicit out of you is all the reason he needs to keep them up.

“You’re welcome. Just try to be more careful next time. I’ll love you no matter how you look, but I hate seeing you hurt,” you murmur in reply and lean in to kiss the band-aid on his cheek.

“There. A kiss to make it all better,” you giggle as you pull away.

The little gesture catches Argenti by surprise, but he can’t say he didn’t like it. In fact, he enjoyed it more than he ever thought he would.

With a small chuckle, he pulls you close to kiss you fully on the lips. If you don’t take his word for it that he feels incredibly lucky to have your love, then perhaps his actions will convey the sincerity of his feelings for you.

🦚 Aventurine:

All his life, Aventurine has faced hate. Hate for being Sigonian, hate for being a dog of the IPC, hate for acting exactly the way that’s expected of his kind. He played into people’s perceptions of him. Why waste time trying to correct their views when they won’t change? It’s easier to just act according to their expectations and hide who he really is behind this playful and sly mask.

Only with you does he let his carefully crafted façade crumble to reveal his vulnerable self.

Aventurine is very good at acting like everything is fine when the world is against him. Perhaps to an extent, he truly believes that life is all about fighting battles on his lonesome. He can use others and get used as a tool in return, but the only one he can trust is himself. It’s the only life he’s ever known.

However, you’ve known him long enough to tell that the hate and isolation get to him, no matter how much he pretends that they don’t. When he comes home one night after a particularly awful day, it doesn’t take long for you to figure out that he feels down.

Aventurine smiled and teased you like usual, but he spoke less and clung to you more than usual. He hugged you from behind and kept an arm around you no matter what you were trying to do, almost as if he was seeking comfort from your physical presence.

Turning to face him, you glance into his tired eyes.

“What is it, darling? See something you like?” he teased, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

“Hmm, no,” you hummed. Extending your arms forward, you wrapped them around Aventurine and slowly pulled him into a hug. “I don’t see something I like.”

Aventurine is momentarily stunned by your unprompted action, but he quickly recovers.

“Oh? How come? Am I not appealing enough for you?” he quipped, resting his chin on your shoulder and returning your hug. Unlike your tight hug, his arms wrapped around you in a loose hold, as if he was uncertain how to go about it.

“Quite the opposite,” you softly chuckle, “I don’t see something I like, but I do see someone I love,” you whisper and turn your head to look directly at Aventurine’s face.

A beat of silence passes as Aventurine processes your words, before bursting out laughing.

“That was painfully corny, even for you!” he chuckled.

You scoff but don’t say anything in response, simply continuing to hug him tightly. Slowly, carefully, you card your fingers through his blond hair before moving lower to stroke your palm along his spine in soothing circles.

Aventurine’s laughter dies down, his initial mirth now replaced with something fragile and vulnerable as he falls quiet. He won’t ever share what burdens him, but you don’t need to know the details to provide him comfort. If he doesn’t want to tell you, then you won’t pry. At the very least, you’ll do all you can to support him and remind him that he’s not alone.

Being wrapped up in your warm embrace, feeling your gentle caresses—it all felt unfamiliar to Aventurine. It’s been so long since he felt the tender and loving affection of another person. It took a while, but eventually he relaxed and allowed himself to lean into your body, burying his nose into the crook of your neck.

Silence lingered in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was something soothing in not having to talk. It was freeing to not worry about pretending to be okay or be pressured to talk about the things that trouble him.

That hug—that simple act of human affection—made him feel safe and protected in your arms. When you leaned back slightly to plant a tender kiss on Aventurine’s forehead, something inside him snapped and he had to hold back tears. Burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, he clung tightly to you while you continued to rub slow circles along his back.

“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay, I’m here. You’re not alone…” you whisper, hugging him tighter.

Being wrapped up in your warm hug, feeling your affectionate kisses and gentle words is something Aventurine never knew he needed until now. Just for this moment, he lets his walls come down and bares his wounded self to you with the hope that you can soothe his pain if only a little.

And you do. With whispered reassurances and loving caresses, you ease his hurt, even if just temporarily. He is safe, you promise. He will always be safe in your arms.

🦁 Jing Yuan:

Jing Yuan is notorious for disliking the abundance of paperwork and other leadership tasks he has to take care of on a day-to-day basis as a General of the Xianzhou Luofu. Despite his woeful sighs about how tedious it is, and how the work never seems to end, Jing Yuan still accomplishes all his duties in a timely and precise fashion.

Jing Yuan is a hard worker, you are well aware of that. Which is why when he snuck out of the Seat of Divine Foresight to come spend some free time with you, you offered him to rest on your lap. And who was he to turn down such a tempting opportunity?

Sitting outside on the veranda with Jing Yuan’s head resting on your lap, you softly ran your fingers through his fluffy, white hair, marveling at how silky it was. It was as soft as it looked.

“I could get used to this,” Jing Yuan said with a sigh, relaxing into our touch. His golden eyes were closed as he enjoyed the sensations of your fingers combing through his hair, gently massaging his scalp and soothing any tension he felt.

Chuckling, you looked down at him, mirth dancing in your eyes.

“Really? I wouldn’t mind having you as my lap cat like this more often. Why not come see me every day and get pets?” you tease him as you lightly poke his cheek.

Jing Yuan cracks open one eye to give you an amused look.

“Being your lap cat sounds like a wonderful idea,” he sighs, “Laying on your lap and getting pampered sounds like my ideal life.”

Both of you burst out laughing at the ridiculous notion of Jing Yuan being a lap cat, your spirits lifting as the mood brightened even more.

“Ah, but if you ever want to take a break and relax, you’re always welcome to see me,” you say in a softer voice this time, resuming running your fingers through his tresses.

“I’ll keep your invitation in mind,” he replied, his voice dropping an octave as he relaxed into your touch once more.

The minutes pass in a comfortable and serene atmosphere, with you pampering Jing Yuan with affectionate caresses, meanwhile, the man listens to you talk about your day. You both knew that after this he would have to go back and complete the mountain of work waiting for him, but for now, you were content to spend this little bit of time with your beloved.

Under the warm sun and gentle breeze, with his head resting comfortably on your lap, Jing Yuan felt himself growing drowsy. His eyelids became heavier, and his body didn’t want to move from his position on your lap.

Noticing the General grow sleepy, you fought the urge to tease him. If you pointed out his sleepiness, he would most likely apologize and put a stop to this tranquil moment by getting up and heading back to work. He already saw you less than either of you wanted, simply because work kept him busy. Moments like these were a luxury.

Keeping quiet, you gently massage his scalp until his breaths even out and become deeper, seeming to have fallen asleep. His expression looked so serene and vulnerable, something that very few people have had the chance to witness. As his lover, you were privy to this sight more than most. You watch over him with a small smile on your face, gently tucking away a stray strand of his hair.

Thinking he was asleep, you lean down to press a lingering kiss to his forehead, but as you straighten, you notice Jing Yuan peering up at you with an amused glint in his eyes.

Growing flustered, you quickly look away, feeling your cheeks heat up with a blush.

Jing Yuan only laughs in response, but his laughter quickly turns into a contented purr as you shut him up with another head massage. Whatever teasing remark he had prepared, immediately died on his tongue as relaxation washed over him and he felt sleep take hold of his mind again.

“It’s ok, take a nap. I’ll wake you up in a few minutes,” you murmur, willing Jing Yuan to finally get some rest. You could tell he wanted to protest, but with a light brush of your thumbs over his temples, he released a sigh of defeat and conceded.

“You certainly know how to take advantage of my weaknesses,” he chuckled, voice a little hoarse from drowsiness.

Despite his initial reluctance, Jing Yuan fell asleep fairly quickly. The continuous days of endless work had left him exhausted, but your tender pampering and sweet company were just the respite he needed.

“Sleep tight,” you whisper, gracing him with another sweet kiss on his forehead.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #argenti x reader #hsr argenti x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #jing yuan x reader #I just want to hug Aventurine and protect him from the world #even though he'll be the one protecting me once I pull him lol

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doromoni · 18 days

Text

Not Over the Papaya | OP81

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Ships : Oscar Piastri x Popstar! Reader , Ex!Lando Norris x Popstar! Reader

Genre : Fluff Smau

A/N : Thank you guys for dropping messages 🧡 I really really appreciate them and I love interacting w/ u guys 🥺. If you have questions or anything u want to say to me~ go ahead and don’t be shy.

Face claim : Jennie Kim

Warnings : Cursing , Grammatical Errors

Summary : Y/N and Oscar cope with their own breakups by making the Heartbreak Club.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

< Previous | Part 11 | Next >

skysportsf1

liked by user1 and others

skysportsf1 P3 for Oscar! Catch up with the interview with our Fav Aussie in Papaya

user1 This interview was filled with so much tension (?) I can’t explain it.

user2 Osc looks like his both happy and at the same time angry??

user3 YES EXACTLY. Boy was seething and so uncomfortable when he was asked about Lando and Mclaren… then he was all smiles for the last question??

user4 “i’m paid to race, so I’ll race” OK SIR 🥶

user5 Oscar said fuck Lando’s race, I’m driving for myself

user6 Kimi Raikkonen is back y’all… hello Ice man

user7 Oscar has the WDC mentality 🔥

user8 A lot will happen?? what will happen huh Oscar Jack Piastri?? tell us.

user9 He is planning smth i swear.

user10 Ok Osc is pissed about Mclaren. That joke about losing his job was so dry, boi was angry fr.

user11 watch out for lap 1 turn 1 tomorrow. Oscar is taking the gap!!

f1wags.

liked by user1 and user2

f1wags Y/N was spotted leaving the Hilton (McLaren’s hotel).

user1 Noooooooooo Y/N pls dont leave! like where are you even going 😭

user2 First Y/N wasnt present in Quali and now she’s leaving the hotel??? what happened to her and Oscar??

user1 pls dont let them end before they even started

user2 I just got to know about them and I refuse to let it go!

user3 Did she leave with her luggage? maybe she went out for smth??

user4 She was spotted carrying her suitcase😭

user5 Lando Norris I swear to everything you love I’ll hunt you down

user6 Seriously, he couldn’t just let Y/N be happy huh? Bro had to cheat and make more problems 🤡

user7 Ik!! Dude stay on your lane. You end ella deserve each other so much

user8 who’s ella?

user9 Oh shes just Y/N’s ex friend that Lando cheated with 🤢. Lando and her really do complement each other so well 🤡

user10 WHY IS THERE A RUMOR THAT Y/N AND OSCAR ARE OVER?!!

user11 I mean if its true and they’re done… they couldnt even last 1 race week together. What kind of relationship is that 🙂

user12 @user11 a normal one?? imagine having so much stress and an ex trying to sabotage your love life.

*incoming call from Osc🧡

Pick up or Decline

Decline

*incoming call from Osc🧡

Pick up or Decline

Decline

*incoming call from Osc🧡

Pick up or Decline

Decline

Notification : you received a message from Osc🧡

*incoming call from Osc🧡

Pick up or Decline

Pick Up

“I’m literally on the way, Osc. stop worrying!”

“I know, I know! I just miss you so much my most beautiful and lovely girlfriend”

“And whose fault was that hmm?”

“Mine…”

“Uhuh, I’ll be over there in a few minutes be patient dum-dum”

“Did John give you the keys to my room?”

“He did. I still can’t believe you got a room next to Charles’s without the rest of McLaren knowing that one of their drivers is not in their hotel”

“Well that one of the pros of them only caring about Lando’s ass”

“Thank you McLaren favoritism. I still can’t fucking believe that they’re ordering you around for personal matters”

“Yeah, fucking unbelievable. I thought Alpine was the worst. What employer has the right to dictate their driver’s personal decisions? they’re fucking crazy.”

“But are you sure you want to disobey orders? We could always keep us lowkey…”

“Screw lowkey and screw team orders! I’m not keeping us a secret!”

“As long as you want it Osc, I’m ok with anything as long as i’m with you”

“I’m perfectly sure, Dear”

“Ok. Oh! I’m near the hotel.”

“I’ll fetch you in the lobby alright?”

“mhm. Bye ~ love you!”

“love you more”

call ended

Y/N. close friends 3m

story replies

oscarpiastri am i forgiven then my luv? 🥺

Y/N. Hell nah, im still making you work for it 😌

oscarpiastri We have our whole lives, take your time~ im not leaving baby. Till death do us part girl.

Y/N. Wtf, i’m your girlfriend for hours and ur thinking about marriage???

oscarpiastri Yes. ur meeting my parents next week 🥰😘

Y/N. I have no words Oscar Jack Piastri

oscarpiastri an I do would be great

Y/N. I cant with you HAHAHAHAHA i love you so much. thank you for not giving up on us

oscarpiastri I love you so much more and I’m not making the mistake of letting you go.

danielricciardo Girl you were just crying yesterday I-

Y/N. ok now i’m crying for a different reason

danielricciardo I dont want to hear your sex life with Osc. pls dont 😷

Y/N. DANNY WTF NOT THAT 😩. I meant I’m crying tears of joy… I’m not going to talk about my sex life with u tf

danielricciardo that’s what i meant stupid! ur like a sister to me. Get u and oscs germs away from me🤢

Y/N. Stfu dweeb 🤓.

danielricciardo thank fuck that u two straightened things out . You two owe me big time for being ur messenger 😤

Y/N. yeah yeah~ thanks danny 😘🧡

danielricciardo I’m not kidding, you OWE me 🤡

y/bf DAMN OK. I expected an update but not this . Holy damn Y/N! so you and osc are good then?

Y/N. We areeeeee… and its official~ 🙈

y/bf Oh thank goodness!! Im so glad y/nieee 😭. I was about to book a flight too, you bitch!

Y/N. Really?? ughh you really do love me.

Y/bf are you happy?

Y/N. Yes. I really am .. and I think Osc and I need a to label our relationship. sooo yeahh~ let more drama pour, at least now we know where we stand.

f1wags.

liked by user1 and others

f1wags. Y/N is in the paddock for the race 🧡

user1 Y/N FINALLY!! girl ur lack of attendance made us worry!! pls tell us u and osc are ok???

user2 The 2 days you’ve been gone in the paddock made everyone crazy! Theories of breakups and come backs are spread 😭

user3 Y/N strutting back in the paddock like nothing happened ~ Ok slay. I need that type of confidence

user4 Fr, Y/N waltzing in like she didn’t just drop a literal diss track on Lando

user5 As she should 💅

user6 THAT FIT THO 🥵🔥

user7 she ain’t dressing Lowkey Y’all . She’s here and she’s ready to serve!

user8 when Oscar said things are happening? things are HAPPENING and it starts with Y/N L/N.

user9 Ok Y/N! show them what’s up.

user10 McLaren can’t stop this girl.

Y/N. 45m

story replies

oscarpiastri Thank you Baby 🧡

Y/N. That overtake in turn 1 was so good Osc!! I got goosebumps

oscarpiastri ur only saying that cuz I got Lando down into P4 with my move

Y/N. NO you just were amazing! ngl i did enjoy throwing Lando out 👹

oscarpiastri I did promise a show 😉 and speaking of shows~ I need to go to our de breifing and watch them clown around.

Y/N. Okay! I’ll be with Alex at Ferrari. Call me when you need meeee. Bye luv.

* at McLaren motorhome, driver debriefing room.

-what the fuck was that at turn 1 Oscar?!-

-That’s what you call racing, I saw a gap and I took it-

-You cost me my race. That podium should be mine-

-Not my fault you bottled your first lap, now is it?-

-OK STOP. Oscar you should think about the team! Lando was on pole!-

-Funny how that works. You hired me to drive and I did. I got you your podium and points for your constructors-

-Follow team orders! that’s your fucking job-

-What you expect me to sit still and take it?-

-Yes, Oscar. That’s how this team works-

- Tsk and that goes for personal matters too?-

-Ah, so that’s what it is? This is about Y/N. Are you worried that she’ll see you as the loser you are?-

-Not at all, specially when I don’t get babied by the team. Tell me how does it feel like kissing up the boss’ ass? -

- FUCK YOU! -

-THAT’S ENOUGH. Oscar you should know when to stop! You’re still new here… learn your place and follow orders exactly as stated — and that goes with Y/N L/N keep your distance or face the consequences -

- Watch me -

*Incoming call from Osc🧡

Pick up or Decline

Pick up

“Hi Osc! are you done?”

“Dear, do you trust me?”

“What?…. about what?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes. I do”

“Ok. Baby we’re going public”

Extra A/N: hihihi did I scare you with the false breakup?? 🤭

Series Taglist : @champagneproblems17 @itsjustfranzi @cheriwritesig @forza-charles @awritingtree @sltwins @gr1mes-cc @hwalllllllelujah @btsfluffsworld @tillyt04 @landotd @booksandflowrs @czennieszn @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @tellybearryyyy @wobblymug @alittlechaotics-blog @bingussthirdtoe @mirrorball-6 @demandealalune @heartsforleclerc @yoongi-holland @maneskin-slave @alenix @forensicheart @bloodyymaryyy @stereading @hahahjej @youre-on-your-ownkid : closed

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v @lottalove4evelyn @gr3yhues : closed for now

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wolvietxt · 22 days

Text

𝖺 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗑-𝗎𝗉!

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : teeny bit of angst, fluff, developing relationship, neighbour!logan, implied age gap, implied size diff, not proofread wc : 2.4k

logan wasn’t the kind of guy who spent his time thinking about flowers. in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d given or received any. his life was a blur of work, fixing things, and dodging unnecessary conversations with people who seemed determined to waste his time. but today was different.

he was in the middle of tinkering with his motorcycle in the garage when the doorbell rang. he wiped his hands on an old rag, irritated at the interruption, and walked to the front door. when he opened it, he was met with the sight of a delivery guy holding a large bouquet of flowers.

“logan?” the delivery guy asked, checking the label on his clipboard.

logan frowned. “yeah, that’s me. but i didn’t order any flowers.”

the delivery guy shrugged. “they’re for you. says so right here.”

logan took the bouquet, more out of confusion than anything else. the delivery guy left without another word, leaving logan standing in his doorway, staring at the vibrant arrangement of roses, lilies, and other blooms he couldn’t name if his life depended on it.

flowers. what the hell was he supposed to do with flowers?

as he stood there, holding the bouquet awkwardly, his thoughts drifted to you, his next-door neighbour. you were the opposite of him in almost every way - soft-spoken, kind, always with a smile that seemed to light up the whole street. you were also the only person he couldn’t seem to brush off with his usual gruff demeanour.

you were always around, whether it was in the garden, tending to your plants, or sitting on your porch reading a book. logan found himself drawn to you more often than he’d like to admit. you were the kind of person who noticed things, who asked how his day was going, who remembered the little details about him that no one else bothered with.

and he hated how much he liked that.

he wasn’t the kind of guy who had crushes, but there was something about you that made him want to be around you, even if he’d never admit it out loud. but the idea of acting on those feelings was ridiculous. he wasn’t good with emotions, and he sure as hell wasn’t good at relationships. he didn’t want to screw up the one thing that seemed to be going right in his life.

but as he stared at the flowers in his hand, he couldn’t help but think of you. maybe they were meant for you. it made more sense than them being for him.

logan grabbed the little card attached to the bouquet and squinted at the handwriting. the scrawl was barely legible, but he could make out the words “to my sunshine” and your name underneath it.

“shit,” logan muttered under his breath. it was exactly what he’d feared - a mix-up. he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that the flowers weren’t meant for him.

he knew he had to get them to you, but the thought of knocking on your door with a bouquet in hand made him feel like an idiot. still, he didn’t have much of a choice. he wasn’t going to let those flowers die in his living room just because he was too stubborn to walk a few steps next door.

with a resigned sigh, he walked over to your house and knocked on the door, the flowers still clutched awkwardly in his hand.

when you opened the door, your eyes lit up in surprise, and logan’s heart did a little flip in his chest.

“logan,” you greeted him with a warm smile, your eyes dropping to the bouquet. “are those… for me?”

logan cleared his throat, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. “yeah, i think there was a mix-up with the delivery. these were dropped off at my place, but they’re definitely for you.”

you reached out and took the flowers from him, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. it was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

“they’re beautiful,” you murmured, bringing the bouquet up to your face to inhale the sweet scent. “thank you, logan. i didn’t expect this.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling out of his depth. “don’t mention it. they’re not from me, though. just… making sure they got to the right person.”

you nodded, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes, something he couldn’t quite read. “oh. i see.”

there was a moment of silence, one that stretched just a little too long for logan’s comfort. he was about to make some excuse to leave when you spoke again.

“would you like to come in for a bit? i was just about to make some tea.”

logan hesitated. he wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but the thought of spending more time with you was enough to make him say yes. “sure. why not?”

you stepped aside to let him in, and he followed you into the cosy warmth of your home. it was a stark contrast to his own place, which was more functional than welcoming. your living room was filled with soft cushions, bookshelves overflowing with novels, and the faint scent of vanilla in the air. it was the kind of place where someone like you belonged.

as you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing the tea, logan found himself relaxing in your presence. you had that effect on him, a way of making him feel like he didn’t have to be on guard all the time.

“so, how’s the bike coming along?” you asked as you poured hot water into two mugs.

logan blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. it was such a simple thing, but the fact that you remembered what he was working on made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t used to.

“almost done,” he replied, leaning against the counter. “just a few more tweaks and it should be good to go.”

“that’s great,” you said with a smile, handing him one of the mugs. “i’ve always admired how handy you are. you seem like the kind of person who can fix anything.”

logan snorted. “only if it’s mechanical. people, on the other hand… not so much.”

you chuckled softly. “well, you’ve done a good job of fixing my day. i really appreciate you bringing the flowers over.”

logan felt his ears warm at the compliment, and he quickly took a sip of the tea to cover his reaction. it was surprisingly good - sweet with a hint of something floral, not that he’d admit it.

“anytime,” he muttered, not trusting himself to say more without sounding like a complete idiot.

you both settled into an easy conversation, one that flowed naturally despite the fact that logan usually struggled with small talk. he found himself opening up more than he expected, sharing bits and pieces of his life that he normally kept to himself.

and the more you talked, the more he realized just how much he liked being around you. you were smart, funny, and you had a way of seeing through his tough exterior that both unnerved and intrigued him.

as the evening wore on, logan found it harder and harder to ignore the growing warmth in his chest. he knew it was more than just a crush, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. he wasn’t used to feeling this way, and the idea of putting himself out there was terrifying.

but as he watched you laugh at one of his sarcastic comments, your eyes sparkling with genuine amusement, he knew he had to take the risk. for once in his life, he wanted to be honest about how he felt.

“hey,” he said, his voice gruff as he tried to find the right words. “about the flowers… i know they weren’t from me, but… would it be so bad if they were?”

you blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. “what do you mean?”

logan exhaled slowly, feeling like he was walking a tightrope with no safety net. “i mean… what if i wanted to give you flowers? not just because of a mix-up, but because i actually… care about you?”

the silence that followed felt like an eternity, and logan was convinced he’d made a huge mistake. but then you smiled, a slow, warm smile that made his heart skip a beat.

“i think that would be really nice,” you said softly, your voice tinged with a mix of shyness and affection. “because… i care about you too, logan. more than i’ve let on.”

logan’s chest tightened with a mix of relief and something much stronger. he wasn’t good at this - at being vulnerable, at putting his feelings out there - but with you, it didn’t feel as scary. it felt right.

“so… what now?” you asked, your voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

he stepped closer, closing the distance between you until you were both standing just inches apart. “how about we start with dinner? my treat. and… maybe after that, we can see where this goes.”

you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “yeah. i’d like that.”

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

dinner was the start of something new, something that neither of you had fully expected but both of you were eager to explore. the easy conversation from earlier continued, only now there was an undercurrent of something deeper - an unspoken understanding that this was more than just a simple crush.

logan found himself drawn to your openness, the way you didn’t shy away from telling him how you felt, even when it made him squirm a little. it was refreshing, and it pushed him to be more honest with you, to let down some of the walls he’d built around himself.

he walked you home, and you stood outside your door for a second, hesitant to leave him. he picked up on it quickly and grabbed your hand in his much larger one. you felt his warm breath on your lips as he leaned in slowly, swerving to your ear last minute.

“can i kiss you?”

you nodded quickly, and immediately felt his lips on yours, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair. he pulled away, eliciting a small gasp from you, one that he found very amusing.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

over the next few weeks, you and logan fell into a comfortable rhythm. you spent more time together, whether it was at your place, his, or out and about in town. he found himself looking forward to those moments, even the small ones like sharing a cup of coffee in the morning or watching a movie on your couch.

the more time you spent together, the more logan realised just how much he wanted this - wanted you. he’d never been one for relationships, always seeing them as more trouble than they were worth, but with you, it was different. it didn’t feel like a burden; it felt like something he’d been missing without even realising it.

you had a way of making him feel seen, of making him feel like he wasn’t just some guy who fixed things and kept to himself. you made him feel like he was worth more than that, like he was someone who deserved to be cared for, even when he didn’t always believe it himself.

one evening, as you both sat on his porch watching the sunset, logan found himself reaching for your hand, his fingers lacing with yours. it was a simple gesture, but it felt significant, like he was finally letting himself be open to the possibility of something real.

you looked over at him, your eyes soft and full of affection. “i’m glad you’re here, lo.”

he squeezed your hand gently, his usual brusque demeanor softened by the warmth of your words. “me too.”

there was a pause, a comfortable silence that was filled with the unspoken understanding between you.

“i never thought i’d find myself in a relationship,” logan admitted, his voice low. “but… ’m glad it’s with you.”

you smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “me too. you’re more than i ever could have hoped for.”

logan felt his heart swell with something he hadn’t felt in a long time - contentment. for once, he wasn’t focused on what could go wrong or what he might screw up. he was focused on you, on the way your hand felt in his, and on the simple fact that he was happy.

and that was enough.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

months passed, and what started as a tentative relationship grew into something solid, something that neither of you had expected but both of you cherished. logan found himself falling more and more for you every day, in ways that surprised him.

he loved the way you challenged him, the way you didn’t let him get away with his usual gruffness when it came to emotions. you pushed him to be better, to be more open, and he found that he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.

in return, you seemed to thrive on the stability he provided. logan wasn’t the most expressive guy, but he showed his care in other ways - in the way he made sure your car was always running smoothly, in the way he remembered the little things you liked, in the way he was always there when you needed him.

and then, one day, as you both sat on the couch watching a movie, logan realized just how deeply he had fallen for you. the thought scared him a little, but it also filled him with a sense of certainty he hadn’t felt before.

he turned to you, his heart pounding in his chest. “i love you.”

the words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything he felt. he wasn’t one to say things he didn’t mean, and he hoped you understood just how much those three words meant coming from him.

you looked at him, your eyes wide with surprise, and then a slow, radiant smile spread across your face. “i love you too, logan.”

logan let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relief washing over him. he pulled you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. it wasn’t the first kiss you’d shared, but it felt like the most important one.

from that moment on, there was no going back. you and logan were in this together, and he knew he’d do whatever it took to make sure you both stayed happy. because for the first time in a long time, logan had found something worth holding on to - something real, something lasting, something that made all the tough times worth it.

and he wasn’t about to let it go.

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moonxknightx · 1 month

Text

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : THE FACE BEHIND THE MASK : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Wade Wilson x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: After months of dating Wade Wilson, you ask him to show his face, promising that his scars won't change your love. Despite his fears, Wade reveals himself, and you reassure him that he is beautiful just the way he is.

LIVING NEXT TO WADE WILSON HAD ALWAYS BEEN AN ADVENTURE. From the random explosions at odd hours (he called them "enthusiastic cooking attempts") to the incessant chatter that came from his side of the paper-thin walls, there was never a dull moment. Somehow, despite all the madness, you'd become fast friends. He’d wormed his way into your life with his never-ending supply of sarcasm, absurd humor, and unexpected kindness.

And then, somehow, you’d started dating. It wasn't the conventional type of dating—nothing was conventional with Wade. He’d whisk you away on spontaneous adventures that ranged from fighting ninjas ("It's like cardio, but with more blood!") to watching rom-coms while he provided his own colorful commentary.

But there was one thing that had never happened in those months. You had never seen his face. Sure, you'd seen his mouth, his jaw, the occasional glimpse of his eyes through the mask, but never the whole thing. He was always careful to keep the mask on, only slipping it off when he was sure you weren't looking.

At first, you hadn't pushed it. You knew about his past, the pain he'd endured, and how self-conscious he was about his appearance. But as your feelings for him deepened, so did your curiosity. It wasn't just about seeing the man behind the mask—it was about connecting with him fully, scars and all.

One night, after a particularly wild date that ended with Wade hog-tying a group of particularly rude henchmen ("They were asking for it! Literally, they asked if I could teach them some knots!"), you both collapsed on your bed, breathless and laughing.

"Wade," you said, once your giggles had subsided. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, but if it's about why I wear red, the answer is 'because it hides the bloodstains.' And also, it makes my butt look fantastic."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "No, it’s not that. I was just wondering... why don’t you ever show me your face?"

The room grew quiet, the only sound the faint hum of traffic outside. Wade’s usual banter was noticeably absent, and you could sense the shift in his mood.

"Oh, you know," he began, his tone a little too casual, "it’s just that I’m devastatingly handsome, and I don’t want you to fall even more in love with me. Also, there’s the possibility that you’ll look at me and your eyes will literally explode from the sheer beauty. It’s a risk, really. For your safety."

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his. "Wade, I know you're joking, but I also know this is hard for you. I don’t care about your scars. I care about you."

He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. "I just... I don’t want you to see me and then regret everything. I’m not exactly Ryan Reynolds under here."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. "Well, good, because I’m not exactly Blake Lively."

He snorted, finally looking at you. "She wishes she was as cool as you."

Taking a deep breath, Wade sat up and reached for the edge of his mask. "Okay, but if you scream, I'm outta here. And I’m taking all the pizza."

"I promise not to scream," you said, your voice soft. "And I’m keeping the pizza."

With a final sigh, Wade peeled off the mask, revealing the man beneath it. His face was covered in scars, the skin rough and uneven, a far cry from the smooth, unblemished look he used to have. His eyes, however, were the same—warm, mischievous, and full of vulnerability.

You didn’t say anything at first, just took him in. Then, slowly, you reached out, tracing the lines of his face with your fingers. He flinched at first, but as you continued, his muscles began to relax.

"You’re beautiful," you whispered, meaning every word.

Wade rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "Sure, if by 'beautiful' you mean 'looks like an avocado had a passionate affair with a much older, uglier avocado.'"

You laughed, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. "No, I mean you’re beautiful because you’re you. And I love you. All of you."

For a moment, Wade was silent, his usual stream of jokes and quips nowhere to be found. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it. "You really mean that?"

"I do."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "Well, in that case, I guess you’re stuck with me. Scars, bad jokes, and all."

"Wouldn’t have it any other way."

You spent the rest of the night wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. As you traced the lines of his face, memorizing every scar, Wade made a few more self-deprecating jokes, but they lacked the usual sting. Instead, they were softer, more playful, as if he was finally starting to believe that you could see beyond the surface.

As the night went on, your hands continued their gentle exploration, and Wade's breathing grew steady and calm. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly at peace, his heart no longer burdened by the fear of rejection.

And as you lay there, his head resting against your chest, you knew that no matter what, you would always find him beautiful—because beauty, you realized, was more than skin deep.

I fucking LOVE Wade!

I’m going to make a taglist for deadpool content! If you like to be added, let me know! 🫶

#wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #wade wilson fluff #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool fluff #ryan reynolds

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pitchsidestories · 3 months

Text

treat you better II Ingrid Engen x Mapi León x Reader

part 2 I masterlist I word count: 2451

a/n: hi, it's based off this request here, please enjoy. <3

warnings: toxic (ex-)partner, but with a happy ending.

You had been staring on your phone all evening, impatiently waiting to see your girlfriends number appear on the screen. But your phone stayed silent.

Subconsciously, you tapped on the photos icon on your home screen and started to scroll through pictures of you and her together.

Since you parted ways last summer when you moved to Barcelona and she joined Chelsea, you talked less and less. She said she was cool with it but you had the feeling that this lack of communication strained your relationship.

“Y/n?“, Ingrids voice disrupted your thoughts.

“Yes?“ You looked up, surprised about the fact that you were not the only one in the changing room after your late gym session.

The Norwegian sat down on the bench next to you: “Are you still waiting?“

You sighed and forced yourself to put your phone aside: “She promised to call me tonight…“

“You’ve been waiting for hours.“, Mapi reminded you from the other side of the room where she casually leaned against the lockers.

You remained silent. Somehow you felt very stupid in that situation.

Ingrid gently laid a hand on your knee. With slight concern in her voice, she asked: “Have you had dinner yet?“

“No…“, you admitted reluctantly.

With a smirk, Mapi folded her arms across her chest: “Let’s go get some then.“

“Wear something you love. We’ll pick you up later.“, Ingrid winked before taking her bag and leaving the changing room with her girlfriend.

You silently nodded to yourself. They really tricked you into having to go home instead of sitting on the hard bench for hours, waiting for that call.

You followed their instructions as soon as you returned to your apartment and slipped into lacy black top and your favourite suit. You were just in the process of doing your hair when the couple rang at your door.

“I’m ready.“, you called out to them while grabbing a black handbag and slipping on a pair of sneakers.

“Good, lets go.“, Mapi grinned as you joined them outside.

“You look stunning by the way.“, Ingrid complimented your outfit.

You beamed: “Thank you.“

“You both do.“, Mapi joined in, taking both you and Ingrid in.

“Ingrid and you always look so beautiful.“, you said. A lot of people on your team dressed well but you often found yourself in awe of what a gorgeous couple they were. And then you remembered something: “My girlfriend doesn’t like me in suits.“

Mapis smile turned immediately into a frown: “Why not?“

“She said it looks too gay.“, you relayed what your girlfriend had told you several times before.

You noticed Mapi and Ingrid sharing a concerned look.

“But…“, Ingrid began.

“What a weird thing to say!”, the Spanish defender commented outraged on both of their behalf’s.

Her Norwegian girlfriend nodded in silent agreement.

“It kind of is right?”, you bit your lip guiltily while you three took your seats at the table of the restaurant. It was way fancier than you expected. But just like the couple it had an elegant touch to it. The candlelight tinted your faces shine in a warm, soft glow.

“I only know that from people who don’t want other women to notice their girlfriends.”, Mapi admitted, sounding serious.

“Which is weird because no matter how you dress y/n, people will always notice you. You’re always gorgeous.”, the younger woman observed, looking deep into your eyes as she spoke.

These words coming from such a beautiful human herself made your cheeks turn pink. You were never happier for the dimly lit room, so it was hard to see the change of your face colour.

“Exactly, you’re our team Estrella for a reason.”, the heavily tattooed Spaniard reminded you of the nickname you had in your team.

A sad smile appeared on her lips, remembering how you changed since your girlfriend has stepped into your life. The Barcelona girls were all a bit worried as your spark has lessened over the time.

“Although you lost a bit of your light.”, Mapi sighed.

“I didn’t loose my light.”, you protested weakly. Unsure if you really trusted your own words in the situation.

“Y/n, you deserve better.”, Ingrid replied, taking your hand into hers to squeeze it empathetically.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine.”, you tried to assure them.

“Do you know what you want to order?”, the defender swiftly changed the topic to something more enjoyable.

When the meals arrived, you clapped excitedly into your hands:” This looks so delicious.”

“It’s the best, trust us.”, Mapi grinned.

“I do.”, you answered smiling. Everyone in your team knew that the two women didn’t only have great taste in clothes, but in food as well.

“As you should.”, the Scandinavian chirmed.

Looking around, soaking into the calm atmosphere of your surroundings, you declared:” This is really nice here.”

“It’s our favourite.”, the older woman confessed beaming.

“It’s perfect for dates..”, your heart sank once the sentence was out. Wishing your girlfriend was here in this moment even though you knew deep inside that it was almost more fun with your two teammates, less stressful for you. Their relaxedness rubbed a bit on to you and you felt a sense of calm.

“Yes, very romantic.”, Ingrid answered delighted.

“You two are so cute.”, you hummed.

Mapi exchanged a look with Ingrid before she leaned over the table and whispered: “Ingrid always is when she really likes someone…“

“She’s?“, you asked, not sure what the defender was hinting at.

“I guess thats true, yes.“, Ingrid admitted, slightly flustered. Her long fingers barely touching yours on the table.

You looked up at her: “Oh.“

“Wasn’t your girlfriend supposed to come tomorrow to spend your free weekend together? What did you plan for that?“, Mapi inquired suddenly. She studied your face for any change.

You shrugged nonchalantly as if you had not planned this for over a week now: “Oh, I thought I would show her Barcelona. And then we could have a little picnic down at the beach.“

“Oh my god. That’s so sweet.“, Ingrid squeed.

“I thought she would enjoy that. But she hasn’t confirmed yet that she would be able to make it.“ You tried to keep any disappointment out of your voice.

“If she can’t make it in time, we’d love to come and do it with you.“, Mapi smiled.

“You’d?“

Ingrid confirmed with a nod: “Yes, we would.“

You could feel your heart flutter in your chest. “That’s so nice of you.“

“It’ll be a pleasure, y/n.“, Mapi said, reaching for your hand.

You had such a lovely evening with your teammates that when the call came the next morning, it felt like a shock. You knew what she was about to say before she even greeted you.

“Sorry, y/n. I can’t come… Emma said we need to do extra training on the weekend.“

“Oh… that’s okay. Next time maybe.“, you replied almost automatically.

You knew you should feel sad or disappointed about her cancellation but there was also a part of you that felt nothing but relief in this moment.

You immediately took your phone and messaged Mapi and Ingrid to come down to the beach later today if they were still down for it.

Weirdly, you found yourself less anxious and more excitement for the picnic with the two of them while you started packing everything.

You met Mapi and Ingrid in the late evening. A blanket and a few pillows were already spread out on the fine sand when they arrived. Freshly baked bread, cheese and ham as well as olives and grapes were piled high on plates.

“This is literally perfect.“, Ingrid marvelled at the sight.

Mapi sat down: “I agree, this is so nice.“

“We’ll see the sunset too.“, you added, pointing towards the horizon.

Ingrid popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and laid her head into you lap: “I hope you don’t mind too much that you have to spend the evening with us.“

Absentmindedly, you started to stroke her dark hair: “I mean I’m a bit sad that she couldn’t come but your company definitely makes it better.“

“Don’t worry, we can make sure you have a good time too.”, the Spanish defender promised.

“You already do a great job at that.”, you assured the couple. With a melancholic glance at the sea you added:” I just miss her and being touched, does that sound weird?”

“No, that makes perfect sense.”, the Norwegian told you while simultaneously exchanging a knowing look between her and her girlfriend.

Afterwards a pleasant silence descended upon you three, the only sound came from the waves crashing on the shore, until Mapi raised her voice.

“We’d treat you better.”

“What?”, you looked at her in surprise.

“You’re unhappy with her. She’s been ignoring you, she always wants to have the upper hand.. and we saw that she likes to leave her marks when you saw each other.”, Ingrid listed the reasons why you should break up with your girlfriend on her long, elegant fingers.

“And you two think you can treat me better?”, you nervously licked your lips, too afraid to look directly into their eyes, so you chose to watch at the water instead.

“No. We know we can treat you better.”, the tattooed woman corrected you in a serious tone. Her girlfriend nodded in quiet agreement.

“Which isn’t hard because I’m pretty sure she’s seeing someone else behind your back.”, Mapi continued, there was anger towards your lover swinging in her voice.

“The whole team thinks so.”, the Scandinavian cleared her throat. Every teammate thought that you deserved better than that.

You were startled by your own words coming out of your mouth next:” I suspected it, because I asked Millie if they had training on the weekend, she said no.”

The one thing you were sure was that your England teammate and co-captain would never lie to you. Remembering the short call made you tear up all over again. Nothing hurt more when knowing that everyone knew someone was betraying you behind your back.

“I’m sorry, amor. But we don’t want to see you suffer any longer.”, empathetically Mapi laid an arm around you:

“I feel so stupid, girls.”, you confessed, trying to swipe away the tears streaming down your cheek.

“You’re not stupid.”, Ingrid pressed a kiss on to your hand before raising up to hug you from the other side.

“We all have been here.”, the defender told you.

“Really?”

“Really.”, she replied.

Suddenly you knew what to do, you didn’t knew where the bravery came from, but you were grateful for it as you announced: “ I’ll tell her that I’m done with her games, the only game I’m interested in is football.”

“That sounds reasonable.”, the Norwegian beamed at you proudly.

“It’s for the best.“, you said quietly, not sure if you were talking to them or to yourself.

Mapi flashed you an encouraging smile: “Yes, but you’ll always have us.“

“Right, you can count on us.“, Ingrid agreed.

“Thank you, girls.“

“You’re welcome.“

You slowly stood up from the blanket, pulling your phone out of your pocket and took a deep breath: “Excuse me. I think I’ll have to make a call.“

Ingrid nodded: “Go on.“

“See you in a minute.“ You forced yourself to a smile.

There was something in the way, they looked at you that gave you the confidence to walk a few steps closer to the water and dial you girlfriends phone number.

“Hi, y/n.“, she greeted you. She never sounded happy when you called, only annoyed as if you were always calling at the wrong time.

“Hey, I need to talk to you about something…“, you came straight to the point. Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Sure, but I need to leave soon so you better make it quick.“

In this moment, you knew you made the right decision. There was no fear or doubt, the words just came to you: “I can make it very quick. I want to break up.“

There was a moment of silence on her end and you briefly wondered if she had even heard you. Her voice was high-pitched and she was yelling when she finally replied: “What?! Are you kidding me? I’m the best thing you’ve ever had!“

You remained calm and composed: “You’ve been avoiding me for some time now. I think I deserve better.“

She laughed: “Oh please, you’re so pathetic, y/n.“

“You’re with someone else. I know that. It was pathetic that I believed you.“

“You’ll never find someone as good as me!“, your now ex-girlfriend spat.

Subconsciously, your gaze drifted back to the picnic blanket. You realized that Mapi and Ingrid were no longer sitting there.

Gentle fingers took the phone out of your hand. You looked up to see Mapi speaking into the phone: “Oh, don’t worry. She’s got someone better now. Someone who actually appreciates her.“

Your ex-girlfriend went quiet. “Good luck with that, y/n.“, she said, her voice icy cold before hanging up.

Ingrid stood in front of you, studying your face. You were confused but also relieved. It was finally over.

“Hey, come here. You did so well.“, you felt Ingrids arms wrap around your torso. You held out one arm as an invitation for Mapi to join the hug.

The Spanish defender pressed a kiss to your temple: “You deserve this.“

There was so much you wanted to tell them but you had no words for it. So you just stood there for the moment, grateful and safe in their embrace.

Immediately after the breakup, Mapi and Ingrid started to take you out to more dates. A few months later, you were officially in a relationship with both of them.

You could have never imagined yourself in a polyamorous relationship before but the two of them made it easy. It was probably one of the healthiest relationships you had ever been in. In contrast to your previous relationship, there was no mistrust and no jealousy.

Seeing your girlfriend on the pitch in your Champions League matches agains Chelsea surprisingly did not bother you at all. Especially not, once you knocked them out of the UWCL.

As soon as the final whistle blew, Mapi jogged towards you and kissed you excitedly: “You’ve been amazing, amor!“

“My girls! We won!“, Ingrid joined the two of you.

You turned towards her to give her a celebratory kiss as well.

You could feel your exes angry stares at you but could not care less. You just booked the ticket to the UWCL final with your amazing and supportive girlfriends, there was no space in your life for her anymore.

a/n: we always appreciate comments, likes and reblogs. <3

#ingrid engen #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen imagine #mapi leon #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon imagine #ingrid engen x mapi leon x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community #woso one shot #woso oneshot #barca femeni #mapi leon x ingrid engen x reader

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6esiree · 3 months

Text

Gen Z Things With The Hazbin Women

WOO, I finally did something with the women! Just like last time, all of these quotes were taken from Instagram 😭

Charlie:

The Hell-Quake

“Imagine all the titties that were bouncing during the Hell-quake earlier?” You say, slowly turning to Charlie, your face at level with her chest.

“I, uh—what?” Charlie stutters, a blush creeping up her neck.

“Including yours,” You unashamedly add, laughing as she clamps a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my goodness, you’re so embarrassing,” Charlie says, but she drags you away to your shared room anyway, charmed.

Vaggie:

Got a Girlfriend?

“You got a girlfriend, Vagina?” You approach Vaggie, who’s been sitting by herself at the bar for a while already.

“Uhh, it’s Vaggie,” She blinks, confused over your question. “And no…”

“Well, you do now,” You say, snatching her hand without hesitation. “Get your ass up and hold my hand.”

“What happened to hello, how are you?” Vaggie squeaks as you drag her off the stool, but she isn’t complaining, either.

Niffty:

The Breakup

“How did you get dumped?” Niffty asks you, patting your cheeks dry with a tissue, but she’s struggling with all the moving you’re doing. “And why are you laughing while you’re crying?”

“I’m sorry, but he bought me the shoes I wanted then told me to walk out of his life,” You sniffle, another bout of laughter coming over you.

“Wait, that is kind of funny,” Niffty says, retracting the tissue from your face before the corners of her lips starts to twitch upwards.

Alastor was looking for Niffty, but as you both laugh like maniacs on the couch in the parlor, your face red and puffy from the tears, he slowly backs away.

Cherri:

Late-Night Texting

“U always smiling,” You text Cherri, a smile growing on her face as she reads it from her notifications. “U be making me smile and shit.”

“Aww, I’m glad,” Cherri texts back, trying to think of something sweet to add, her fingers typing away.

“Ima fuck the shit outta u tho,” That makes Cherri erase her text, rolling her eye with a huff.

“Alright, goodnight.”

Rosie:

A Love Poem

“Oh, isn’t that just lovely?” Rosie hums, taking a sip of her tea as she watches a cannibal recite poetry to their lover.

“You like poetry?” You ask her, and she nods, basically granting you an opportunity to fuck with her. “Here, I got a little something for you.”

“Sugar is sweet,

lemons are sour.

Spread thy legs,

and give me an hour.”

Rosie starts choking on her tea, never anticipating that you’d say something so crude. When she notices the smug look on your face, however, she grabs your chin and leans over the table, smiling at you with those razor-sharp teeth of hers.

“Oh, darling, just a measly little hour?” She says, her lips a few centimeters away from yours. “We’re going to need more time than that.”

“Hey, wait a minute, I was just joking,” You squeak, but it’s too late. She tosses you over her shoulder and leaves the room with you. “Rosie!”

Lute:

Beauty Comes From The Inside

“I would call you beautiful, but they say that beauty comes from the inside,” You pant, trying to find a way to escape Lute, who has you pinned to the ground.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lute says, annoyed, thinking that you were trying to insult her. “Ugh, never mind—do you yield or not?”

“Hey, you didn’t let me finish!” You say, smiling wickedly at her. “I can’t call you beautiful because I haven’t been inside of you yet.”

“Training is over,” Lute quickly says, relinquishing you and flying away before you can see the blush on her face.

Emily:

You’re Fine Art

“I don’t really interact with winners all that much,” Emily confesses, fidgeting as she sits next to you. The two of you just started dating. “So, I’m sorry if what I say or do isn’t all that great, romantic-wise.”

“That’s okay, I’m not any better,” You shrug. “I mean, I come from a generation that says the freakiest shit to their partners.”

“Oh? Like what, exactly?” Emily asks, leaning in, curious to know. When you ask her if she’s sure, she eagerly nods.

“I know we’re not supposed to touch fine art,” You start, slightly leaning in and grabbing Emily’s chin, her breath hitching at the action. “But someone’s gotta pin you up against the wall and nail you, right?”

“That is…wow,” Emily stutters, her eyes nervously darting to the side as you wink at her, a wonky smile on her face. “Wow.”

Velvette:

Wise Words From A Young Person

“Life is like a weiner, sometimes it gets hard for no reason,” You say between sips of your morning coffee, trying to comfort Velvette, who was complaining about something that happened. “But it won’t stay hard forever.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Vox coughs, setting down his toast, while Valentino chuckles away next to him.

“Okay, why did we agree to let them in our group again?” Velvette asks, scooting away from you.

Carmilla:

The Passport

“Uhh, why are you handing me this?” Carmilla asks you, her eyes darting between you and the passport in your hand.

“You must understand, I just really love Latinas,” You say, shaking the passport, asking her to accept it. “Come on, you gotta let me in!”

“This is why you called this meeting?” Carmilla sighs, rubbing her temples.

“Just one date, that’s all I’m asking of you,” You say, but she shuts the door on your face before you can add anything else.

Sera:

Uppies, Please!

“Look, I’m not trying to, uh, offend you or anything,” Adam starts, scratching the back of his head. “But do you ever get annoyed by how freakishly tall Sera is?”

“Oh, I love me a tall woman,” You say, leaning onto the table and perching your chin on top your palm. “My favorite thing to do is look up at her and, like, do this,” You lift your arms up, making grabbing motions with your hands, “And say, ‘Uppies please!’”

“Does she actually pick you up?” Adam blinks, unable to imagine Sera doing such a childish thing.

“Who is this ‘she’ you two are discussing?” Sera asks as she steps into the room.

“Uppies, please!” You say, and with a practiced motion, Sera picks you up. She’s horrified because her body moved without thinking.

“Holy shit! I’m using this as blackmail,” Adam stupidly announces, taking a picture before Sera can put you down.

She throttles him before he leaves the room, however, a squeaky rubber duck-like noise escaping his throat.

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thatacotargirl · 4 months

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Hi there, still accepting requests? For some reason I'm in the mood for some classic Elriel angst 🥺 maybe where Inner Circle reader loves her best friend Azriel and secretly knows that they are mates, but he was always in love with Mor and now seems smitten over Elain, so she's scared to tell him in case she gets rejected, and she doesn't want him to feel forced to be with her because of the bond, but he finally realises (maybe when reader is about to give up on him and go on a date with someone else or leave the night court) and they get their cutesy happy ending together 😊

Hi there! I absolutely am, thank you for the request! I’m a fluffy writer at heart so this is my first attempt at any kind of angst - I hope I do your request justice!

Inbox is always open for requests ❤️

Divider is from @tsunami-of-tears , you are an absolute genius! Thank you for making such beautiful dividers ❤️

Misunderstandings

An Reader x Azriel one shot

"AZ!"

You hear screeching laughter from the library of the House of Wind and you feel your heart crack, your stomach drop, and your head spin, knowing exactly who that laughter is coming from. The strawberry pastry in your hand drops to the floor as you pop your head around the door, careful not to be seen, and see Elain balancing precariously on Azriel's shoulder. Azriel, who is known for his reserved nature, his lack of comfort for physical touch, has Elain hoisted on his shoulders and is guiding her towards the bookshelves so she can reach the book she is looking for. Only, he keeps pretending to trip, or to drop her, or to forget she's there - making her scream and grasp onto his arms tightly. In other words, he is flirting with her.

You feel tears pricking in your eyes as you slowly back away and close the door quietly behind you, desperate to not hear the laughter any more.

When you had felt the bond snap with Azriel 75 years ago, your heart had soared. You had harboured a crush on the Shadowsinger since the first moment you met him and to know he was your Cauldron destined mate had been the best moment of your life. Only, the bond snapped one-sided, and Azriel had yet to realise. Sometimes you would tug on that little golden thread, other times you'd yank on it harshly, hoping for any sort of reaction from him, for him to realise who you were. But nothing.

Instead, you watched as Azriel pursued an unrequited crush on Mor for centuries. She had no idea that you were mates, the only person that knew was Rhysand - and likely Feyre by extension. She didn't know how much it hurt to watch Azriel follow her around, his eyes full of metaphorical hearts. You saw the pitying looks from Rhysand every night at Ritas when Azriel would make a sly attempt at garnering Mor's attention, his back turned to you.

You and Azriel had always been close, he was easily the best friend that you had ever had. You could fall into comfortable silences with each other, neither of you particularly extroverted people, especially not by comparison to the rest of your family. But there was always a very clear line in your friendship and it was never once crossed. You'd hug, if the situation warranted it, you'd sit next to each other at meals and on the sofa, he'd help you if you asked; but you knew he didn't see you the same way that he saw Mor.

And now, Elain.

You had caught the pair of them in the kitchen just last week, laughing and covered in flour as he watched Elain bake. You saw them sat shoulder to shoulder in Azriel's study late at night, giggling over who knows what. Azriel had never looked this happy before.

You didn't realise you were crying outside the library door until you felt a hand on your shoulder and the sensation of winnowing around you. When you looked up, you were in Rhysand's office and clasped to his chest.

"I'm so sorry, y/n. I told him to stay away from her, on account of her being a mated female, I thought he'd listen".

You could do nothing but cry harder. His feelings for Elain surpassed even an order from Rhysand - and Azriel never defied Rhysand. You heard the door open but didn't look up, too busy soaking Rhysand's shirt in tears. You felt someone pull you towards them and your body was engulfed in another, large male. You would know Cassian's scent from anywhere.

"He's a fool, y/n", Cassian whispered into your hair. You looked up at him, and then glared at Rhysand.

"I didn't tell him!", Rhysand said, holding up his hands in innocence.

"He didn't have to tell me, y/n. I figured it out a long time ago - for a Spymaster, I'm amazed he's so damn clueless".

You only cried harder, your head on Cassian's chest, mindful of his siphon. He held you whilst you wept, slowly guiding you both to the sofa in Rhysand's office.

"I don't think I can do this anymore, Rhys".

"Do what?"

"Stand by and watch him fall in love with every female that isn't me".

Both Rhysand and Cassian looked at each other, concern marring their faces.

"What are you saying, y/n?".

"I need to leave, Rhys".

You didn't know how long you intended to leave the Night Court for. Rhysand had spoken with Tarquin and had agreed that you would go to the Summer Court. You would find a home and work there, and Tarquin would allow you to stay for as long as you wanted - forever, if that was your decision. He had even lifted the ban on Cassian, allowing him to visit, but only if supervised by you at all times. You had formally resigned from your role as Night Court emissary and began packing your bags.

Mor and Feyre, teary-eyed, sat on your bed watching you pack - Mor secretly pulling out clothes from your suitcase so you'd have to re-fold them and stay longer.

"Mor".

"Please don't leave us, y/n. Azriel is an idiot, he's not worth leaving over".

You had told them about your mating bond with Azriel. Nesta and Amren also knew. But you'd been careful not to tell Azriel or Elain. You didn't want Azriel to leave Elain just to be with you because of the mating bond - you wanted him to be with you because he loved you. But he didn't. He loved her.

"I have to, Mor. It's time I get some space and find my own feet again. All these years have been taken up by Azriel and waiting for him - I deserve more than that".

She sighed, her head hanging in resignation. She knew you were right.

As you put the last of your clothes in the suitcase, you moved it to the door where your boxes waited to be transported to the Summer Court. You heard a knock, expecting Rhysand, but opened the door to a grinning Elain.

"Hi y/n! I was just wondering if you wanted to go..."

Elain looked from you to the suitcase, to the boxes, to Mor and Feyre's tear-stained faces, and then back to you.

"What's going on?".

"I'm going away for a little bit - just to the Summer Court. But you can visit, and I'm sure I'll visit here again".

Elain's lip wobbled.

"For how long?".

Feyre couldn't hold back her sob and at that moment, Elain realised you might be leaving forever.

"Why?".

You wanted to tell her the truth, but her sweet face made it hard to be angry at her. She didn't choose this. She didn't know that Azriel was your mate. She is just a young female thrown into a new world and making the best of it.

"Just need a change of scenery", you reply, forcing a smile on your face. You watch as Elain's face changed from heartbroken to panic-stricken, and she ran from the room.

"I think maybe that was one change too many for her", Mor sighs.

"I'll go after her", Feyre says, standing from the bed. She pulls you in for one last, long hug and flies from the room, hiding the new batch of tears streaming down her face. You see Rhysand standing in the doorway, his hand outstretched to you.

"Ready?".

You nod, taking his hand in yours and feeling his powers fill the room as he winnows you to Adriata, the Summer Court, your new home. You felt a lightness take hold of your body that had been missing for the last 75 years. A sense of calm and peace. Your heart was broken, but it could heal, you could find yourself again and feel happiness and joy at the small things in life, things you sorely missed.

But, if you'd have tugged on that golden thread one last time, you'd have felt Azriel's answering pull back.

Elain thundered through the House of Wind and up the stairs to the training ring on the roof. She burst the door open to see Azriel lighting the last of the candles that surrounded the picnic blanket, rose petals littered the floor, and a strawberry pastry sat on a plate in the middle. Azriel knew they were your favourite, and knew it had to be the food he offered you for the mating bond.

"AZ, SHE'S GONE".

Azriel whipped his head to the door to see a dishevelled Elain standing there, red in the face and out of breath.

"Gone where?"

"The Summer Court, she's left the Night Court, Az".

Azriel felt his heart sink. He had only felt the bond snap a few weeks ago and had been planning this night ever since. Elain, his new friend and confidant, had been helping him. She had helped Azriel find and read your favourite romance novels in the library to know what you liked from a partner, she had helped Azriel learn how to bake your favourite pastry so it would be perfect for you when you accepted the mating bond, she had taught him calligraphy so he could write you the love notes he knew you swooned over, the pair of them giggling at Azriel's attempts to be a hopeless romantic, and failing terribly.

He never imagined that you would leave before he could tell you how much he loved you. That you would leave without even saying goodbye.

His head reeled as he stumbled backwards. Without a second thought, he took to the sky, wings beating harder than they ever had before, towards the Summer Court.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Tarquin". You were in awe of the home he had provided for you in Adriata. A beachfront, two-story home decorated to the nines in shells and pearls. It was glorious.

"It is my pleasure, y/n. Please, do enjoy everything that my Court has to offer. This particular beach gives a beautiful view of the sunset".

With that, Tarquin departed - allowing you time to process your move and absorb your new surroundings. You walked down to the ocean, your beautiful new sundress blowing gently in the breeze, and felt the water flow up to your mid-calves. It was pleasantly warm, heated by a day of sunshine, as you watched dusk start to coat the horizon.

That was, until something crash landed in the ocean in front of you.

Before you were able to turn back and run, you noticed a black membrane bob up out of the water, followed by a blazing blue siphon. You heart stuttered as you watched Azriel swim as fast as he could to you.

"Y/n", he breathed, his hair matted to his face with sweat and salt water. In his hand, you noticed a soggy, crumbled, almost entirely disintegrated strawberry pastry. Gaping, you watched Azriel offer the pile of mush to you.

"Az?"

"I.... love.... you", he heaved, trying to catch his breath.

But you were pretty sure you stopped breathing altogether. You heard more noises behind you, and turned to see your entire Night Court family there, having been winnowed in by Rhys, Feyre and Mor.

"What is going on?".

Rhys stepped forward and offered you his hand.

"Let me show you". So you did.

Once joined, Rhys entered your mind and showed you memories from Elain and Azriel's minds. You saw the moment the bond snapped for Azriel, the grin that had taken over his face when he realised, the sheer excitement she had felt at knowing two of her friends were mated. You saw the conversation between them - Azriel asking her to teach him how to make your favourite strawberry pastry. You saw, from their eyes, what they were giggling about at Azriel's desk - the poorly written love notes, all addressed to you. You saw the book Elain was reaching for in the library from Azriel's shoulders - your favourite romance - and how they studied your tabs and highlighting like their life depended on it. You saw the picnic. You saw Azriel's heartbroken face when Elain told him that you had left.

As Rhys withdrew, you realised that you were crying. When you looked up, you realised you weren't the only one, your entire family was in tears - Cassian near blubbering into Nesta's hair.

Azriel loved you.

You turned to face him, still completely sodden and holding out the mush to you. You took it, grimacing slightly, and shoved the entire pile of it into your mouth.

"I love you too".

Azriel flew at you, grabbed you into his arms and kissed you like he would never get another chance. You dropped your shield and felt the bond overflowing with love, Azriel pushing all of his emotions to you, almost knocking the breath out of you once more.

"Come home?", he asked quietly.

You nodded, leaning in to kiss him again. Then paused.

"But, maybe in a couple of weeks?". Azriel looked at you with confusion, before his eyes suddenly darkened, a feral look overtaking his face.

"Aaaaannnddd, that's our cue to go", Cassian laughed, your family all grappling at each other to get out of there quickly, not wanting a front row seat to your show.

You paid no attention as you let Azriel lift you into his arms and carry you towards the beachfront house. You simply smiled, feeling comfort in the fact that, maybe, everything really was going to be ok.

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