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rheeblogs · 2 days ago

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★ — HELP WANTED

★ — pairing : canon/contractor!abby anderson x fem!reader

★ — as a new homeowner, paying full price to get a remodel on things was so expensive. luckily abby anderson gave pretty faces major discounts.

★ — warnings : sexual content

🔖 : @thaatdigitaldiary @d3arapril @rosemariiaa @ashortyluvsports

you weren’t much of a handyman—or handywoman, for that matter. when you moved into your new house, you quickly realized that the charm of its old bones came with a laundry list of things that needed fixing: a leaky faucet, creaky doors, shelves that threatened to collapse if you so much as looked at them.

that’s how you met abby anderson.

the first time you saw her, she was unloading a truck across the street, all lean muscles and work boots, her blonde braid sticking out from under a baseball cap. you didn’t think much of it at first, too busy trying to wrestle a box through your own front door. but when you dropped it with a loud thud, she appeared out of nowhere.

“you need a hand?”

her voice was warm, slightly teasing, and when you looked up, you were momentarily struck by her presence. abby was… well, extremely beautiful. sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders, and a crooked smile that could melt steel.

——

after helping you with the box, abby quickly learned about your diy incompetence.

“so,” she said a few days later, leaning against the doorframe as you struggled to fix a curtain rod. “you always this good with tools, or am i just special enough to witness it?”

you turned, rolling your eyes at her smirk. “yeah, yeah, laugh it up. at least i’m trying.”

she chuckled, her gaze dropping to the small pile of mismatched screws and nails at your feet. “tell you what—how about i come by this weekend and help you out? i’m pretty handy, if i do say so myself.”

you hesitated, but the truth was you needed the help. “are you sure? i don’t wanna intrude.”

“darlin’,” she said, stepping closer and giving you a lopsided grin. “it’d be my pleasure.”

——

that sunday, abby showed up in a tank top and work pants, a toolbox slung over one shoulder. she whistled low when you opened the door.

“well, look at you,” she said, her eyes dragging over the black cropped tank you had on, showing off the bold tattoo on your right shoulder. “you dress up for me?”

you blushed, shaking your head. “you wish.”

“maybe i do,” she replied, her voice dropping slightly as she brushed past you, her shoulder grazing yours.

the day passed with abby fixing things at lightning speed while you hovered nearby, asking questions and offering her water or snacks. she made it impossible to concentrate, the way her muscles flexed when she tightened screws or hammered nails.

at one point, she caught you staring.

“enjoyin’ the view, ma’am?” she asked, smirking as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

you stammered, “i—i was just tryna’ make sure you were doin’ it right, that’s all.”

“uh-huh.” she leaned closer, her voice dipping into something more intimate. “if you’ve got any other… inspections in mind, let me know.”

your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face.

——

by the time the sun set, abby had fixed more in one day than you thought possible. the two of you were sitting on the floor of your living room, surrounded by tools and scraps, laughing about the crooked shelf you had tried to install before she arrived.

“i can’t believe you thought duct tape would hold that up,” she teased, nudging you with her knee.

“look, desperate times, desperate measures,” you defended, shaking your head. “besides, you’re the expert. that’s why i have you now.”

her smile softened, and for a moment, the teasing faded. “yeah,” she said quietly. “you do.”

the air between you shifted, tension crackling like a live wire. abby’s gaze dropped to your lips, and you felt your breath catch.

“i—“ you started, but the words got stuck in your throat when abby reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“you’re something else, y’know that?” she murmured, her voice low and husky. “been drivin’ me crazy all day.”

your heart hammered in your chest. “abby…”

“tell me to stop,” she said, her forehead nearly touching yours now. “i will. just say the word.”

instead of answering, you closed the gap, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that was so soft at first but quickly deepened. abby’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as the tension of the day finally snapped.

when you pulled back, breathless, she smirked. “so… does this mean i’m gettin’ that ‘thank-you’ dinner you promised?”

you laughed, tugging her back in. “dinner can wait.”

——

abby had you sprawled against your bed, the same bed that she fixed hours earlier. your bra was thrown across the room, landing on the vanity she just remodeled.

“fuckin’ beautiful, i fuckin’ knew it,” she says, looking at you like prey, and you can feel yourself salivating at the way her muscles bulge when she manhandles you. “spread those legs, sweetheart, lemme’ see you.”

you spread yourself to abby’s liking, your pants and panties discarded on your rug, leaving you fully bare in front of your next-door-neighbor.

her mouth damn near waters at the sight, your folds glistening in slick, simply because she talks to you nice. abby eats that shit up, making sure the neighborhood knows she does this to you.

“let me in, baby.” she says, as her fingers start pumping in and out of your pussy, the squelching noise driving her batshit crazy. she’s on top of you, kissing your neck and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. “pussy’s talkin’ to me, isn’t she?” she says, inserting another finger inside of you.

“shitttt, abby, don’t talk like that.” you whimper, causing abby’s pace to speed up when she hits that sweet spot inside of you, causing your moans to grow louder and louder.

“shh… gotta be quiet sweetheart, you just got here—you want the neighbors to know my name already?” she whispers against your skin, leaving messy kisses along your tits.

she’s forcing you to grind into her fingers, the show your giving alone making her boxers a soaked mess.

“p—please, abby…” you pant, your head spinning and baby hairs sticking to your forehead.

“i’ll give it to ya’ sweet girl, always so fuckin’ patient, yeah?” abby’s breath starts to hitch as you dig your nails into her back, her chest clad with a black sports bra.

“gonna… abby please, i’m so close—,” you manage to let out, and abby takes this as a signal to let you finish. she holds your body down, pumping at lightning speed, listening to your moans grow and watching your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“c’mon sweetheart, all over my fingers.” your stomach snaps, and sudden flow rushes through your body and right onto abby’s digits. you were shaking, abby’s thick fingers leaving you in a trance, all of her handy work being put to use.

“jesus, abby. you do this to all your new neighbors?” you say, attempting to catch your breath.

“nah, just you honey.”

——

the night stretched on, filled with whispered laughs and stolen kisses, and for once, you were thankful for all the broken things that had brought her to your door.

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #kennedy’s works ⋆·˚ ༘ *

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pboogerswbb · 12 hours ago

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SO IT GOES - chapter 2

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, slight sexual language Wordcount: 5.9K A/C: SURPRISEE we're back!! again, be prepared for a slow burn y'all, don't expect anything big anytime soon (sorry). anyway got lots of love for chapter 1 so ty for that and being so patient with me over christmas! hope you had a good time over the holidays aand again send me your thoughts on the chapter! NOW GO READDD

Before London

“After you ma’am.”

Trey presses his keycard against the reader on the door, pulling it open for me. I can already feel myself regretting leaving my hair down, the spring breeze not as gentle as I’d hoped, causing my black strands to fly all over my face. Hurrying inside, Trey follows after me into the corridor. The moment he shuts the door I miss the wind, the heat inside College Park Center stifling me.

“Is it always this hot?” I ask, already fanning myself, my chunky knitted sweater a horrible choice for the temperature.

“Holy shit, no,” The guy walking in front of me groans, opening another door at the end of the corridor and letting us into another room, lined with doors. I already knew I was bound to get lost here, the identical doors and hallways making it feel like a maze. A security guy walks by us, but Trey stops him, asking about the heat.

“Yeah man, AC is broken,” the guy complains. “Should be fixed tomorrow.”

Great, and for once I thought I could get away with wearing a sweater.

“Nothing works around here huh? Can’t wait to get out of this damn arena,” Trey says as we walk off, me following after him, my heels tapping against the floor echoing up and down the narrow hallway.

“When’s that gonna be? 2026 right?”

“Yeah,” Trey says, abruptly turning right into another almost identical hallway.

“Someone’s gonna have to draw me a map of this place,” I laugh, already feeling the sweat dripping down my back and breathing becoming laboured in the heat.

The man laughs, interrupted by the sound of balls bouncing off the floor faintly somewhere far away. “You’ll learn, your keycard should be coming next week.”

It was the first of what I already knew would be many times at College Park Center. Linda had sent us to come get some footage of the arena, simultaneously encouraging us to get some clips of Paige Bueckers’ first official practice.

I knew it was my first proper test. I had made a few posts here and there already in the past week but this was the first time it was just me, Trey and his camera. No script, no guidance. It was up to us to figure it out, and watching Linda closely in the past week she didn’t seem too impressed by Trey. So it was on my shoulders, like always. Which was fine by me, I was used to it. Being the one to carry the load - work, relationships, friends, you name it.

Finally the man beside me comes to a stop, unlocking the door beside us.

”This is for the media team. The players are around that corner closer to the court.”

I step into the small room, two leather couches in the corner, a couple desks lined up, a fridge and Dallas Wings merch and posters covering the walls. The lack of windows made the room feel tighter than it was, and the slight musty smell didn’t make my first impression more favourable.

”Welcome to our office,” Trey grins, reading my uncomfortable expression.

”It’s… cozy,” I say, not believing a word that spills from my lips. Trey laughs, hand wrapping around my shoulder. I still wasn’t used to how touchy people in Dallas seemed to be, or at least Trey, but it didn’t make me cringe and tense up anymore.

”You can also work anywhere else in the building,” he comforts me and I sigh in relief.

“Oh thank heavens,” I chuckle, pulling the knitted sweater off, leaving me in low waisted, white, flowy pants resting on my hips, and a silky leopard print top, with thin straps holding it up. If I was dressed this way for my previous job in London I surely would’ve been fired, but what I had found out in the past week was no one at the Wings cared to dress corporate, most younger workers dressing in sneakers and hoodies. I notice Trey watching me for a while, his gaze quickly averting when I catch his eye.

“Well,” I say sitting down on the desk, “Shall we throw some ideas around?”

It felt good to be back on the court. After my last season at Uconn I felt ready, focused, like I was on fire. What felt even better was Koclanes had made sure to make it clear for everyone - I’m a point guard, no reason I shouldn’t be running offense instead of the nonsense Geno had me doing last season.

Honestly, it was such a relief I had to fight back tears hearing it. All season I had fought to do what Geno wanted me to, I wanted to be the perfect player, to make him proud. I think in the end I had done so, but God it would’ve been so much easier if I just got to run the ball.

“P!” I hear Arike’s voice from behind me, somewhere on the left. Trying a no-look pass, I let the ball fly. Turning around I realise she's nowhere near where I thought she was. We had a lot of work to do, I knew this. But I missed my girls. I knew them better than anyone, knowing where they were each moment of the game, where I could easily find them. Now I had to start from scratch once again.

“My bad,” I laugh, wiping sweat off my forehead. Of course the AC had broken down the day of my first official practice in this hellhole. Instead of cancelling, we all agreed to take lots of breaks and we had all undressed to our sports bras and shorts. Still, the sweat is dripping down my neck and back, and my chest heaves fiercely.

“Paige, Arike, Tea, take a break before you get a heatstroke,” Chris yells from the sidelines. Gratefully, I jog to the seats and sit down, chugging water, Arike sitting right next to me. We both knew it would take a while for us to build that chemistry the team needed us to have. Thankfully, I really liked her already. Could’ve been worse I guess.

“P,” Arike mumbles breathlessly, elbowing me.

“Get your sweaty ass off me,” I jokingly complain, making the girl snicker to herself.

“Just look behind us,” Arike groans, nodding her head backwards. Turning my gaze, I nearly fall off my seat. About ten rows behind us, Zari is sitting cross-legged, her hair down not in the neat, tidy way as usual but unruly, soft waves falling over her shoulders. The curves of her breasts are visible all the way from here, left strand of the slinky top falling off her shoulder, forehead glistening with sweat. Even so, she makes me feel breathless.

It had been nearly a week since I last saw her, and I had spent that entire time convincing myself I was delusional - there was no way anyone could be as beautiful as I remembered her to be. Now watching her whispering with Trey, I realised it wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Clearing my throat I turn back, shrugging, acting like it made no difference to me. I didn’t need the other girls to clock how much I’d been thinking about Zari. Which had been more that I’d like to admit.

“It’s your girlllll,” Arike giggles, finger poking my shoulder.

“Alright, enough,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. Before I can stop her, Rike is waving them over.

“Bro,” I scoff in a whispered voice, quickly rubbing the soft towel against my skin, wiping as much sweat off as I can. Great, here comes this perfect, poised, classy girl and I’m here sweating like a sinner in church, red in the face, half naked, hair falling out of my bun.

“Whatchu guys doing here this early?” Arike asks as Trey and Zari come up to the row of seats behind us. I’m still wiping the towel against my neck, giving an awkward smile to the pair.

“We’re here to play, clearly. Can you not tell by my fit?” Zari asks, her gravelly voice smooth like butter in my ears. My eyes roam her body, watching the way her midriff is exposed from how low waisted her pants are, her stomach slightly soft, light brown skin peeking out. Eyes travelling upwards my eyes take in her chest, and my mouth goes dry.

Arike kicks my ankle, and I realise everyone’s noticed my staring - no, my ogling. Face going bright red I rub my jaw, looking for any save. At least say something Paige.

“You look… nice,” I murmur, making Arike cover her mouth to hide her chuckling.

But instead of calling it out or embarrassing me more, Izara merely smiles and quickly brushes her fingers through the long, black ends of her hair.

“Thank you Paige.”

Paige. Paige. Suddenly, for a fleeting moment my name becomes my favourite word, the way it sounds from her lips making my heart race.

“Haven’t seen you around the building, neighbour,” she grins, her hand reaching to squeeze my shoulder. It’s sweaty. I know when she quickly pulls away.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty as hell,” I chuckle awkwardly.

She scoffs, easily waving it off with her hand. “Isn’t that your job anyway?”

I smile sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck, hoping she might notice the flex of my arm. God what was I doing? She was probably straight anyway. And I had promised to stay celibate. Besides I don’t think she likes me anyway, even as a friend. Are we even friends? Probably not, we’d talked like one time. I’d like to be her friend though, I think. Wait, everyone’s quiet. Fuck, what did she say.

“Uh, yeah?” I mumble, not sure what to say.

“It was a hypothetical question darling,” she giggles. “Does anyone have a towel please? I feel like I’m sweating too.”

Immediately I hand her the one on my shoulder, drenched with my sweat.

“Paige I’m pretty sure she wants a clean one,” Arike says, grabbing a fresh towel from underneath the bench.

“Oh right,” I murmur, laughing at myself. To my delight, the black haired girl laughs too.

“I mean I could get some good money selling that,” she chuckles, wiping the towel against her glistening neck.

“Yeah, her fans are something else,” Trey adds, and suddenly I’m reminded that he’s there too, my focus all on the girl standing behind me.

“Speaking of your fans, can we get you in for a clip later? Only for a moment, I promise,” Zari pleads, batting her eyes at me. There’s no universe in which I could say no.

“Sure, whatever you need.”

“I must tell you Izara, Jasper came over today. Brought back some of your things. He’s such a considerate young man, he had packed everything so nicely. Not a single plate was broken. Now I know I know, not that hard but men are a bit dim sometimes. I can’t even tell you how many plates your father would’ve broken if I ever let him pack any-”

“Muuuum,” I groan, her rambling about my ex-fiancee making my heartrate pick up quickly. I turn the phone away to roll my eyes out of sight from my mother on facetime.

“Anyways, he came over and Izara. That man looked so poorly, like he hadn't slept or eaten. I just feel so bad, he’s really upset Izara.”

“Mum,” I try to stop her but as always, she barely hears me.

“I just don’t understand why you ended things. He’s a good man. Good men are so hard to find Izara,” my mom preaches, the same words that I’d heard nearly daily since I informed my parents about our breakup. My brother had been more supportive, he’d never liked Jasper. At least there was someone in my family who saw him for what he really was from the get go.

“Mum, if we keep talking about this I’m going to end the call, please. I already told you that I don’t want to talk about it,” I finally assert myself, hearing my mother let out a frustrated huff.

“Fine. Fine! You do need to tell me one day though, because I don’t understand any of this nonsense of-”

Taking a deep breath I close my eyes, trying to swallow my frustration. I can’t. “Mum, I’m really tired. I’ll call you back tomorrow after work, okay. I gotta edit some posts anyway.”

With that I hang up, throwing my phone on the bed as I sit on the bedroom floor. Running my fingertips through my hair I lie down. Just for a moment. Then I’ll get back to work.

Chewing on my cheek I fight the tears threatening to spill over. I didn’t want to cry. No, I refused to. I just wish I could get my parents to shut up about it. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, of Jasper, of the hell I went through the past year.

As I take deep breaths to calm myself down, suddenly I notice a faint bitter, acrid smell. Abruptly getting up I search my apartment for something burning, checking everything I could think of until I realise it’s coming from the stairway. Putting on a pair of slippers and grabbing my keys I slip outside, walking around to find the source of the smell - until I end up behind Paige’s door.

Without thinking about it further, my hand firmly knocks three times on the door, other hand subconsciously brushing through my hair to flatten it, hoping I looked at least presentable.

I found the blonde interesting. Whenever I observed her, she seemed to have this insane confidence, this incredible skill to put people at ease, to get them to like her. It would’ve been so easy for Paige Bueckers to be just another entitled basketball star. However, she was anything but that. Yet, around me, she seemed to tense up for whatever reason. I had a feeling she didn’t like me at all.

When the door opens, Paige is standing there looking discombobulated, eyes widening further when she sees it’s me on her doorstep. The blonde is holding her nose, still just in a sports bra and grey sweats hanging low on her hips, boxers showing just the tiniest bit reminding me of how a teenage boy might dress. And I might’ve poked fun at it but something about it suited her, made her even more charming.

“Zari! Uh, hey,” she murmurs, holding her nose.

“Is that smell coming from yours?” I ask, the scent getting even stronger now. “I can smell it all the way in my apartment.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” she groans, cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I didn’t know microwave meals can burn.”

“Evidently,” I chuckle, glancing over Paige’s broad shoulders into the apartment. It was the same as mine, though looked to be bigger. The same white walls, cold and sleek and modern. Suddenly I hear her stomach rumbling, making Paige bring her hand to the bare skin there and letting out an awkward chuckle.

“Sorry,” she murmurs but I shake my head.

“You’ve got to stop apologising so much love,” I could feel all the nurturing bones in my body beginning to take over, as this poor, hungry, younger girl stands in front of me, in an apartment smelling like smoke. “Did you open all the windows?”

“Oh right, I should prolly do that,” Paige murmurs, looking back into the apartment, stomach rumbling again. I couldn’t help it, I felt pity towards the girl.

“I was just about to make dinner actually, do you want to come downstairs while you let your place air out?” I ask, inviting Paige over.

“Uh…” she mumbles and I can feel my stomach twisting in anxiety. Why would I be anxious? So what if she says no? I really didn’t want her to though for some reason, maybe I just needed a friend that bad.

“Ion wanna bother you if you got something to do,” Paige says, swinging back and forth on her feet.

“You’re not! I’m offering,” I insist.

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Aight. Thank you.”

With that Paige grabs a navy Uconn hoodie, her keys and phone before we make our way down, her blue eyes watching me unlock my door. She steps into my apartment, looking around. Not that there was much to look at yet, the walls were blank and the basic furniture was sitting where it had been placed for me.

“I haven’t really decorated yet,” I murmur, following the blonde girl in.

“I can see that,” she chuckles, blue eyes roaming the space. I watch as she takes steps further, and can’t help but grimace at her shoes.

“Sorry, but could you take your shoes off please?” I ask carefully.

“Yes ma’am,” Paige obeys without thinking, kicking her sneakers off and placing them neatly next to the wall. The way she bends to my will quickly, so eager to please, makes my face burn up for some reason.

“So you’re hungry?” I ask, walking into the kitchen with the blonde following close behind.

“I’m starving, but you don’t need to be cookin’ for me, we could just order a lil something? Or go out?” She suggests, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

I wave her off, grabbing my big chalkboard which had every meal planned in advance, a column for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“No no no, I like to cook. Especially for other people, so really, you’re doing me a favour,” I insist, feeling her come up from behind me to peek over my shoulder at the board. My skin tingles as the heat of her body radiates off of her, the pounding of my heart not letting up. Must be the Dallas heat making me all loopy.

“You weren’t joking about being a planner huh?” She chuckles, her finger scanning over the text as she reads.

“I just like to be organised. I don’t see any harm in being prepared.”

For a moment she stands close behind me, reading. I can feel her breath on my bare shoulder, goosebumps spreading down my arm.

“Damn, you can cook all this stuff?” Paige asks, clearly impressed.

“Well, yes. I like to cook,” I chuckle, putting the board down and turning to the girl behind me. “I could teach you, if you’d like?”

“Who says Ion know how to cook,” she scoffs, our eyes locked in each other’s gaze. I realise this must be the longest she’s held eye contact with me yet. Not used to it, I look to the floor and shrug.

“The burnt smell coming from your apartment does,” I tease, opening the fridge next to the girl, everything neatly organised. “Now, what would you like to eat Paige?”

“Like this?”

“Oh, well, almost. Let me show you darling.”

Suddenly her hands are on mine, guiding the knife through the vegetables as she stands next to me.

“See, you don’t need to lift the knife, keep the tip on the board, got it?”

Honestly I barely take any of it in, my heart beating so loudly I was sure Zari could hear it. My skin tingles as her shoulder presses against my arm, my eyes locked on how our hands look together. Her brown skin makes mine look paler, the long nails on her slender fingers making mine look stronger, more masculine. To my dismay, Zari’s hand lifts off mine and she steps back as if suddenly aware of our closeness.

”Now why don’t you try for me?”

For her? I didn’t know her well at all, but everything about her had me wanting to do anything for her.

So I do as she says, doing my best to follow her advice, my brows furrowing in concentration. I watch as the knife cuts the pepper into pieces, uneven in size. I wasn’t very good at this cooking thing, I should probably consider getting a personal chef. Maybe I could hire Zari and have her cooking for me in a maid dress, or in lingerie. Okay no, I gotta focus.

”There you go, good job Paige,” Zari murmurs, watching closely, her hand coming up to rub my shoulder. ”You’re doing so good.”

I swallow, my throat bobbing. It’s almost embarrassing, the heat between my thighs when I hear her say those words, her praise making my mind spin, her touch leaving fire in its wake. God, I need to get a grip.

”Uh, do I add them to the salad?” I ask flustered.

”Yes! Let me check on the chicken,” Zari smiles, taking the food out of the oven. The smell is making my mouth water, why doesn’t chicken ever smell like that.

”Yo that smells so good,” I groan. ”What spices did you use?”

”A lot,” the girl laughs. ”I can write down the recipe for you?”

”O-okay,” I mumble. The time spent together had only turned me more tense, I was just hoping she couldn’t see it.

”Go into the living room love, I’ll make your plate. Would you like some wine?”

Before I can think, a yes slips through my lips, too discombobulated by the nickname. I didn’t even like wine.

Cussing to myself in my head, I walk into the living room, eyes roaming the identical furniture to mine. Except hers was neater, and the only decorations in the room a vase of white lilies on the coffee table and a colourful chart hung on the wall. Looking closer I realise it’s a fully colour-coded schedule, every minute planned in advance. Jesus this girl was wound up tight.

I plant myself on the couch, Izara soon bringing me a plate of quite possibly the most delicious looking chicken salad I’d ever seen and a glass of white wine. The dark haired girl sits in a black leather chair facing me.

“Oh my God,” I groan, my mouth full of food. It was delicious. Zari laughs, lifting her glass.

“Cheers.”

”Cheers,” I smile, grabbing the glass, trying to hide the scrunch in my face as I sip the white wine, the bitter taste filling my mouth.

Zari lets out a soft laugh, noticing my expression. ”You don’t like it?”

I shake my head, my eyes still closed. ”I hate wine,”

”Why didn’t you say something Paige? You don’t have to drink it, poor girl.”

I laugh at myself, placing the glass on the coffee table.

”I dunno man,” I rub the bridge of my nose.

There’s a moment of both of us chuckling filling the room till it goes quiet again. I recognise a sliver of unsureness on the other girl’s face, something I’d never seen before.

”Can I ask you something?” She asks, voice softer than I’m used to. I nod.

”Did it upset you when I didn’t recognise you that first time I saw you?”

Her bluntness shocks me. I put my fork down, shaking my head. ”No, not at all,” I reply.

She thinks for a while, putting the plate down on her lap and watching the floor. ”I’m just getting a sort of feeling that you don’t really like me much.”

I’m shocked, confused. Our eyes meet for a moment but surprisingly, she looks away. The way she says it seems lighthearted, casual, like we’re talking about the weather or something.

”Huh? No, not at all Zari,” I say urgently, chasing for her gaze. She meets my eyes, shrugging. From the outside she didn’t seem bothered at all by the possibility of me hating her, if it wasn’t for the way she was fiddling with her golden necklace.

”I don’t quite know how to explain it. You just seem a little uncomfortable around me.”

Okay. Apparently I hadn’t been as slick as I thought. In the midst of trying to hide the little innocent crush I had, I’d come off so cold and withdrawn now Zari thought I didn’t like her. Great.

I sigh, feeling a heat rise to my face. ”Shit Zari, I’m sorry,” I say, knowing there was no other way of explaining my behaviour.

”I’mma be honest, and don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re pretty intimidating.”

She thinks for a while, taking a bite of her food and swallowing before speaking again.

“How come?” Zari asks, tilting her head.

“You seem like a woman who knows her shit, and you got this mad confidence too,” I admit, picking at my cuticles. “You’re also really pretty. So yeah. Intimidating.”

I swear, for a fleeting moment, her face flushes red - but only for a second. Then she laughs and nods.

“Huh, I must work on that,” Zari says more so to herself. I shake my head.

“Nah I like that, but honestly I just feel stupid as hell around you.”

“Well you are American,” she says seriously, but the twinkle in her eye tells me she’s teasing.

“Alright now, best country in the world,” I grin, making both of us burst into laughter. Zari sips her wine, shaking her head.

“Just to be clear Paige, I do not think you’re stupid,” she hums, meeting my gaze. A look on her face that tells me she’s being genuine.

“Okay, my turn to ask a question then,” I say, leaning back on the couch. Zari crosses her legs in her chair, intrigued.

“Are we playing 21 questions?” She asks, teasing again. “Pretty sure the last time I played this was in uni with this guy who was trying to shag me.”

It’s a tempting idea, but I shake my head swiftly. “Nah, just wanna get to know you.”

“Well go ahead.”

“You’re from London right? What in the hell got you to move to Dallas, Texas out of all the places in the world.”

Zari thinks for a while, looking up at the ceiling and shifting on her chair to get more comfortable.

“I used to work summers at this pub in Leicester Square, All Bar One. It’s horrific, super touristy and the pay wasn’t great,” the girl starts. “And there was this older man who came to London the same week every summer I worked there. He was from Dallas and told me all these stories about it being the greatest city in the world.”

“And you believed him?” I ask amused.

The girl laughs. “No, absolutely not. But then I was uh… well let’s just say going through some stuff and saw a job offer in Dallas and thought of him and took it as a sign I suppose. Not that I believe in signs but.”

I don’t pry, but I do notice the way her right hand squeezes into a fist as she talks, telling me she was really affected by whatever she was talking about.

“My turn,” she says to change the subject. “You miss Uconn?”

Easy question. “Like crazy,” I start. “‘M not used to living alone.”

“The silence right before you go to sleep is the worst,” Zari says, like reading my mind.

“Exactly,” I reply. Our eyes meet for a moment, in a silent exchange. We might be really different, but she gets me. “Miss having friends.”

“Aren’t we friends?” The girl asks, her eyes studying me.

“Are we?”

“I think we are,” she hums. “Or could be, if you’d like. It’s not that I’ve got friends here either.”

I think for a moment, looking at the empty plate on my lap. Friends. That’s all I could want.

“I’d like that Zari,” I murmur. A silence falls over us, now more comfortable than before.

“Sooo, why haven’t you decorated?” I ask. Zari chuckles and shrugs, looking around the living room.

“I only have a visa for a season. Seems like a waste to start turning this place into a home,” the girl explains.

I furrow my brows, studying her face. “What’s the point of coming here then? If you’re not tryna make it home?” I ask, and my words hit me just as hard as they do Zari. The past couple weeks I had spent moping around, feeling sorry for myself, refusing to move forward. Maybe it was time to accept that this is my home, that maybe I should be trying a little harder to make it so.

“I mean I got some shelves but I realised I don’t have a drill so I can’t put them up,” she says, pointing to the wooden boards leaning against the wall in the corner.

“I got a drill.”

She turns to me, surprised. “You do?”

I nod, feeling proud that I might just get to save her once more. “Yeah, my dad got me a tool set when I moved.”

“Smart man, do you know how to use it though?” Zari questions, making me scoff.

“Of course I do,” I say offended, though I hadn’t used it more than once before. Finally I get up from the couch, grabbing the girl’s empty plate from her. She begins to stand up too.

“Nah, you sit Zari, I’mma put the dishes away and go get that drill, aight?” I say. She looks up at me, eyes wide, surprised, studying my face. Like she wasn’t used to this. Eventually she nods, her mouth stretching into a smile. She’s pleased, I could tell. It made me wanna do more. “I’ll get you another glass of wine too.”

It’s her turn to go speechless, as she hands me the empty glass. I can still feel her eyes on me as I walk out of the room.

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“I got it, sit down.”

“But, are you sure you can keep it str-”

“Zari, please sit down and drink your wine. I got it.”

Letting out a frustrated huff, I plop myself onto the soft couch, resting against the cushions. My eyes are locked on the blonde, her veiny hand wrapped around the drill, the muscles of her back flexing from the strain of holding the shelf up.

I huff again, sipping on the wine and crossing my legs. I felt useless just watching her like this. I was so used to doing everything for myself, letting someone else work for me felt entirely backwards. Still, a part of me was enjoying being taken care of this way.

Done with the shelves, Paige takes a step back to admire her work. “Uhh, I don’t think it’s straight.”

“What?!” I ask, sitting up to see better.

She turns to me, a big grin on her face. “Kidding.”

I throw a pillow at the blonde, laughing too.

“You’re not very good at that huh?” She asks, dodging.

“At what?” I ask, furrowing my brows.

“At relaxing,” the blonde says, taking a sip of a can of Coke. She’s got a point so I don’t argue. I was wired that way, being tense was part of me, a tightness in my shoulders constantly a reminder of my brain working overtime.

“I’m not the relaxing type,” I answer, standing up to look at the shelves on the wall. I gasp noticing she’s done well, even to my standards. It wasn’t lopsided at all.

“Did I do a good job?” Paige asks as I walk to stand next to her, finishing the last sip of wine.

“Mhm,” I nod, noticing a tingle running up my arm as our hands brush together for a fleeting second. Strange, must be the wine. “You did good, thank you Paige. I owe you.”

The blonde scoffs, leaning close enough for our arms to press against one another. I smell a hint of her shampoo, fruity, apple maybe? Either way, it must have been the closest I had been to a person since me and Jasper called it off.

“You made me dinner, you don’t owe me nothing,” she chuckles. I feel her eyes on me, seeing the way her face is turned to me in my peripheral vision. I could feel my chest heaving, not quite sure why.

Paige points to the colour coded schedule on the wall. I knew it seemed excessive, neurotic even. But it was the only way I got everything done. My life wasn’t easy, far from it. I had always been one to plan, but ever since my break up structure seemed like the only thing keeping my life from falling apart.

“You follow that forreal?” Paige asks, walking closer to the schedule to read through it.

“What’s the point of having it if I don’t,” I point out, watching as her blue eyes roam the different colours. Shaking her head, she turns to me.

“You ever take a break?”

I chuckle, leaning in to point out the yellow text on the paper. “Yes, I got it scheduled in.”

“It says you should be working right now,” Paige says.

I nod. “I know.” I knew it by heart.

Paige’s blue eyes land on my face for a moment, studying me. I could feel the wine making my cheeks heat up, so I look away, back to the shelves the blonde had put up for me. The idea made my heart flutter, someone doing something like that just for me. Without expecting anything in return.

“Well,” the taller girl grabs her toolkit. “I should prolly head out and let you work.”

I feel a slight disappointment deep in my gut, hoping she would stay a little longer. After all, she was the only friend I had. But I knew what the schedule said.

Thursday 7:00PM-9:30PM work

So I nod, following the girl to the front door, watching her put her shoes on.

“Thanks for dinner,” the blonde smirks, lids heavy as she looks down at me. My skin burns, I must have forgotten to turn the AC up after work.

“Thank you for the drilling,” I say which makes Paige let out a loud laugh. Realising what I said, I cover my face with my hand, joining her. “I mean, for the shelf.”

“Right,” Paige grins, wiping her lower lip with her thumb. “You ever need help relaxing, I’m right upstairs.”

Her voice is hoarse, deeper than usual. For a moment I think she’s flirting with me, trying to imply something entirely different than one might think at first. But I quickly shake the idea off. That wine really went to my head.

“I’ll see you Paige,” I murmur, watching her go, closing the door behind her.

I stand there for a moment, still a hint of her shampoo in the air. Turning left I eye the kitchen, everything perfectly in place just how I liked it. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had cleaned for me. Jasper always claimed my standards were too high, that it was impossible for a person to fulfill my requirements. But looking at my kitchen now I had no complaints. Maybe there really were people out there that wouldn’t always disappoint me. Maybe Paige was one of them.

My eyes land on the hoodie draped over the back of a chair, navy blue and too large to be mine. I pick it up, looking at the Husky decorating the front, and I know I’m either mad or much more wine drunk than I realised when I lean in and press my nose against it, inhaling the scent, a mix of skin and deodorant and sandalwood. Returning back to my senses, I quickly pull away and neatly fold it, urgently hiding it in my wardrobe and closing the doors.

“Jesus Izara,” I mumble to myself, making my way to my desk to work, the faint scent of sandalwood still apparent in the air around me.

taglist:@wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@sierrale8ne@lupinqs@lovegalor333@d3arapril@avvwritesstufff@rosemariiaa@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@bueckersfive@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges-1vur@slut4uconnwbb@xxloveralways14@bueckersbitch @janaelalfysblunt @omg-imtumbling @angryflowerwitch @ohbueckers

#paige bueckers #so it goes #lilas writing #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x fem #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers smut

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multipleoccupancy · 2 days ago

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He sensed their topic was helping her too and so Theo was comfortable in staying with it for the time being. Not realising the path he was sending Samantha down as she started to express her thoughts. She started talking about how she had been recruited and Theo paused to watch her, silent and still, worried that a single movement or too loud a breath might startle her from speaking. She never mentioned it and he later learned that it was not something that should be asked or really revealed to others.

Her story sounded harrowing though! She was almost sacrificed to hybrids? He might have never known her, she could had died and he'd have been none the wiser. He caught that disguised sob, he knew her too well now and stopped what he was doing with the net to cross the space between them and pull Samantha into a tight and protective hug.

"I'm sorry that happened to you, but I am so glad you made it out of there." He was sure to say very clearly but there was a short and quiet rasp to his voice as he was sure to hold back his tears and his horror. "We can help this guy, we'll do all we can. It's going to be ok and we'll make sure this never happens to anyone else again." He promised, or at least thought he could without the sense to remember that there was a big wide world out there with cultists lurking and waiting.

Unaware he was doing very little to settle Violet's nerves around his counterpart, Sloane kept up the act comfortably, smiling politely to the man as Violet thanked him too and then to her, still so tired and polite as she gave her own response. Oh she was very good! He'd have to tell her when they got out of ear shot!

The man returned with the key to the dorm and Sloane's ID card. "Here you go Professor Parry, Miss Parry," he said as kindly as he could, clearly trying to do his best to seem professional in the moment. In truth, Sloane thought they now had the perfect set up for him to leave unannounced in a few days, of course he would have to look after dear cold and tired little Astrid.

"Ah! Thank you," Sloane was quick to say but he took the key and card calm and polite, "You hold onto the key for me?" He offered to Violet, holding out the little door key for her to take. "Don't lose it now, be sure to hold on tight to it," he encouraged as perhaps a tired father might, not quite able to see his daughter as fifteen yet, still young and in need of encouragement. "I'll just put this back in here," he explained as he pretended to fumble around with his wallet again to put the card back in, seemingly getting frustrated and jamming it in half way before closing the wallet again.

"You've been our saviour tonight," Sloane praised the man, putting his hand back on Violet's shoulder. "I'll be sure to tell Stacey how helpful you've been, I can't thank you enough." He even let a little bit of tears flood his eyelashes without actually letting them fall. "What a nice man," he told Violet with a small smile, "let's get you set up in the room and settled in, we can take the sleeping bag from my car, it'll be like when we used to go camping, just without the mosquitoes," He gave a tired laugh and started to head back towards the door to leave. Thrilled with their performance.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Focusing on a possible solution helped Samantha, too. It kept her mind away from the plan, from her being bait. "Yes, you're right. It was probably a ritual or something of the sort. Maybe we can force him to do the reverse ritual if there's one." Oh, right. Violet had seen a woman turned into a monster. "Maybe he's hiding a monster somewhere, yes. Or maybe he's using some monster poison? Injecting it in the student's veins?"

She paused, her fingers resting on the rope. "I don't know if it works the same way, but... I saw things. Similar things. It's how I got recruited. I don't talk about it because..." Samantha looked down at the net. "It was horrible. Someone died." Her lip quivered. "It was a fertility clinic. They were making... hybrids? I don't really know. Half-monsters, half-babies. I worked there as an intern, and I had no idea this was happening. I thought it was a normal clinic. But one day, they tried to sacrifice me and another intern. They wanted to feed us to the monsters. I managed to escape, but..." The other intern was not so lucky. "I couldn't save him."

Samantha disguised a sob behind an awkward cough. "There was no turning them back, these creatures. They had never been fully human in the first place, anyway."

Violet was really very impressed by Sloane, how easily he played his part. But it was a little bit scary, too. Like with the flick of a switch, he had turned into a single dad, worried about his daughter. No wonder she always got tricked by the Sloane she knew. He didn't just disguise himself, he transformed himself.

"Thanks, Dad," she whispered just as low when he offered her his lunchbox. He was expertly making their situation seem even more heartbreaking to the man behind the desk. And it worked, too, because here he was, offering them a room -the room Sloane told her would be ideal.

This little charade reminded her of how much she missed her dad and her home in New York. When her eyes got just a little bit shinier, she wasn't playing. She did feel like crying.

"Thank you so much, sir," she was sure to say with a grateful smile. And when he disappeared into the office and Sloane suggested they get McDonald's the next day, she followed his example and continued with her own part -the tired daughter. "Really? I'd like that a lot," she replied, careful not to sound too excited -this was supposed to be a consolation prize after all.

#hvbris #killian #violet #asoue au

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w1shfullthink1ng · 2 days ago

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𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔…𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐎

paige bueckers x cheer!fem!reader

DESCRIPTION/ at the wnba draft you & paige show up together finally debuting y’all relationship

WARNINGS/ none (use of y/n AHHH ik ik pls 😔🔫 i swear i only use it like once!! don’t shoot the messenger girl didn’t you write this? shhh )

YOU WHERE IN THE HOTEL BATHROOM GETTING READY….safe to say you where scared no terrified for tonight. You put on your best face but you where drowning in your own mind “what if this goes wrong” “the medias ruthless” “what if-“ and that’s when paige’s voice brought you out of your head and back to reality

“you almost ready baby?” you shoot her a soft smile trying the mask your anxiousness “yeah..” you try your best to sound put together but after a year of being together and being friends for 3 she knows you like the back of her hand. “Hey..” she approached you gently her voice soft and comforting “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours hm?” she cups your face and moves a stand of hair out of your face tucking it behind your ear

you sigh softy “just nervous about tonight” you admit “if your having second thoughts we don’t have to-“ “no no I’m not having second thoughts well..maybe but I want this I do but you know with the media knowing and how they are it’s just nerve wracking and I don’t wanna ruin anything with you I know you have your NIL contract and stuff-“

she has a look of slight disbelief on her face “woah woah woah. you don’t wanna “ruin anything with me” baby you’re the best thing that ever happened to me you could never “ruin” anything in my life ever. so get that thought out of your head and as for the media screw ‘em people are always gonna have something to say. Plus if you don’t got haters then you ain’t poppin.” she says with a soft smirk. “You got me, I got you we’re good alright?” you nod her words of reassurance easing all your worries “Now come on pretty girl we have a draft to get to, and I need my gorgeous girl with me” she smiles placing her hands on your hips “okay okay let’s go” you laugh softly

You guys arrive to the draft squeezing your hand “Come on ma, you got this keep your head up you look beautiful baby, i’ll be with you the whole time okay?” she kisses your forehead softly her words gentle and sweet easing all of your worries “here we go” you sigh plastering a soft smile on your face as you take paige’s hand and head inside

The walk to the building was filled with cameras & people. The camera snaps few photos of you & paige an interviewer comes up to you guys and asks a few questions to paige like “what are you wearing tonight?” “Here to support Nika Mühl?” “How are you feeling about possibly getting drafted next year?” the suddenly the attention was pulled to you “Paige we see you brought a new face as your plus one tonight care to introduce us?” the interviewer asks with a smile “This is y/n, she’s my beautiful girlfriend”

You smiled softly and wave. You weren’t used to this many cameras sure there was a lot of people & cameras at uconn games but nothing like this, and definitely not this up close and personal. Paige had her arm wrapped around your waist and squeezed your hip a silent acknowledgment that she was there for you. The reporter smiled at you and paige “Girlfriend? wow what a surprise, y/n you look beautiful how are you feeling tonight.” “Definitely a little nervous but I have paige with me so I know i’ll be alright and i’m so proud of Nika just came to show my support for her as well.” the interviewer smiled “Y’all are just adorable if you don’t mind me asking how did you two meet?” paige had that stupid smirk you loved on her face. She loved telling the story.

“Well this pretty thing here is Uconn’s sweetheart she’s a cheerleader and she was cheering with all the other cheerleaders at one of our basketball games and I made a shot but after it went in it somehow bounced over and hit her head-“ you shake your head in embarrassment and giggle “Gosh paige don’t-“ she just laughs and shush’s you “Shh baby let me finish. ahem. anyways as I was saying it hit her head so I run up to her and apologize but I look at her and it hit me when I looked in her eyes I was like woah this is genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen so yeah I found her after the game got her number.” she winks.

The interviewer laughs finding the story so cute but I bud in “Paige thinks she has so much rizz yeah she may have got my number that day but it took her a WHOLE YEAR for her to ask me out” paige rolls her eyes playfully “Aye chill good things take time” the interviewer smiled and was amused by you and paige “Y’all are just the cutest, thank you both so much for your time it was so nice to meet you y/n thank you paige for sharing her.” paige smiles and reply’s “Of course but don’t y’all get to comfortable she’s mine.”

After all the draft night the media fell in love with you just as much as paige did loving your hospitality and transparency. Sure they’re was a few homophobic assholes but there was more positive feedback and so much support from everyone. You could say that everyone adored you…especially paige.

A/N still haven’t gotten over paige’s draft fit it was absolute perfection she’s so beautiful. also I apologize for being so inactive with finals & then the holidays your girl has been BUSYYY (I wake up everyday & there’s always smth to do i’m sick of it😾) but thank you for the love & support on my last blurb it’s so appreciated also TYSM for 30 followers ily all from the bottom of my heart. My inbox is open for yap sessions, unlicensed therapy sessions (i will always listen to y’all but samantha jones once said “we’re as fucked up as you are it’s like the blind leading the blind”) & requests are open !!

thanks for reading, love you always

wish signing off 🪽

#Spotify #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies

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meazalykov · 2 days ago

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the past does not exist

lena oberdorf x interviewer!reader

summary: after a year, the both of you came to accept that you cannot change the past.

it was a job you loved—interviewing the best and brightest in women’s football, seeing the beauty and heartbreak of the sport that brought you so much love.. love for someone who never made it professionally.

you had a thing for drawing out stories no one else could, peeling back the layers of the players' lives beyond the pitch.

it wasn’t just about asking the right questions; it was about knowing how to listen, being caring, and respect. through this job, you were able to make friends with many of the footballers.

you weren't a gossip interviewer, you knew what to post and when to keep your mouth closed and mind your business. mainly sticking to growth stories, interviews about games itself, and tactical commentary. the players respected you as much as you respected them.

when you stayed in wolfsburg during the 2023 champions league final, the town seemed excited for the team that shined throughout the season. the final was in eindhoven, but wolfsburg fans decked out in green and white as they prepared to cheer on their team against barcelona in the dutch city.

for you, it was another opportunity to dig deeper into the lives of players, and the wolfsburg squad was nothing short of intriguing. to you, lena oberdorf stood out among them. she is a tough midfielder whose intensity on the pitch was matched only by her charm off it.

your first interview with lena was.. interesting to say the least. she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed casually, a mischievous glint in her eye as she teased you about the list of questions you had prepared.

“come on, these can’t be all you’ve got!! be nosey for once,” she’d said, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

you laughed, adjusting your recorder on the table.

“trust me, oberdorf, i’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

“good,” she said, leaning forward slightly.

“i wouldn’t want this to be boring.”

what followed was a conversation that felt less like an interview and more like a sparring match. she was sharp, witty, and unapologetically confident. you couldn’t help but be drawn to her energy. over the next few days, lena sought you out whenever she could—whether it was a casual chat after training or a quiet drink in the team’s hotel bar.

it was there, amid the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, that your connection deepened.

one night, as the team celebrated their victory in the semifinals, lena pulled you aside. her usually playful demeanor was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

“y/n.. i don’t know what it is about you,” she admitted, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

“but i can’t stop thinking about you. you’re so beautiful, and i can’t stop hearing your voice. is that weird to say? i am not sure, but please tell me that this is not one sided..”

it didn’t take long for your professional boundaries to blur. you spent nights tangled in lena’s sheets, stolen moments in hotel rooms where the world outside ceased to exist.

it wasn’t love, not at all, but it was something raw and undeniable.

wolfsburg lost the champions league final, which sucked horribly. that means that you had your next job to do– the 2023 women's world cup. you were in australia, assigned to be following the uswnt as they sought to defend their title.

that means that you couldn’t be with lena or germany. it sucked, but you and lena kept contact. until, germany’s shocking elimination in the group stage. it was a blow to lena and her teammates.

when you texted her to check in, she didn’t respond. calls went unanswered, messages left on read.

you understood that lena was hurting. the weight of expectations, the sting of disappointment, it was a lot for anyone to bear. however, her silence cut deep. you wanted to be there for her, to comfort her, but your job demanded your attention elsewhere.

as much as it pained you, you told yourself to let it go. lena owed you nothing. you weren’t hers, and she wasn’t yours.

still, it hurt.

months passed, and you threw yourself into your work. you interviewed aitana bonmati after her world cup final heroics, sat down with leah williamson to talk about england’s near chance at winning it all, and made a documentary on the rise of young stars like lauren james, salma paralluelo, and trinity rodman.

lena became a ghost in your life—a memory you tried not to revisit, though it lingered at the edges of your thoughts.

then, over a year later, the news broke: lena oberdorf is leaving wolfsburg for bayern. the transfer sent shockwaves through the football world, and as one of the leading journalists in women’s football, it was your job to cover it.

except your coworker, matt, stepped in before you could even begin.

“i’ve got this one,” matt said casually, leaning against your desk.

you looked up from your laptop, frowning.

“since when do you cover transfers? you only do injury status stuff..”

he shrugged.

“since i know this one’s a little... complicated for you.”

“complicated?” you repeated, your tone sharper than you intended.

matt raised an eyebrow, unbothered by your reaction.

“look, everyone knows that you and oberdorf had... something. i’m just trying to make it easier for you.”

“i don’t need you to make it easier for me,” you snapped, though the tightening in your chest betrayed you.

“i can handle it.”

“y/n,” judah, matt’s husband and your other coworker, spoke up, his voice softer.

“you don’t have to prove anything. let matt take this one.”

you wanted to argue, to insist that you were fine, but the truth was, the thought of facing lena again—even from a professional distance—made your stomach churn.

you hated that she still had this power over you, that the mere mention of her name could unravel the carefully constructed walls you’d built around yourself.

“fine,” you muttered, closing your laptop with more force than necessary.

matt gave you a reassuring smile. “i’ll handle it, don’t worry.”

as he walked away, you leaned back in your chair, exhaling slowly. you told yourself it didn’t matter. lena was just another player, another story. you’d moved on.

except, deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true.

paris had this summer’s energy with the olympics. the streets were alive with fans draped in flags from all over the world, and you were in your element, weaving through the chaos to chase stories that mattered.

the united states had just played germany in the group stage, a tense match that ended in a 4-1 victory for the americans. the post-match adrenaline was palpable, and you had just wrapped up an interview with sophia smith.

it was nice seeing one of your favorites again, sophia’s grin mirrored your own as she walked off toward her teammates to the dressing room, the tension of the match now replaced by joy.

you adjusted your microphone to turn it off. you turned to walk away, preparing to call it a day when you nearly collided with lea schüller.

the blonde woman’s presence was commanding, her expression soft yet serious. you’ve interviewed her a long time ago while she still played for essen, but now she’s grown up.

“oh, lea,” you said, recovering quickly. professionalism kicked in as you gestured toward the camera crew that was starting to pack up.

“did you want to do a quick interview too? i can call them back.”

“no,” lea said quickly, shaking her head. her tone caught you off guard—there was a weight to it, something unsaid pressing at the edges.

“i don’t want the cameras.”

your brow furrowed as you lowered your microphone and put it away in your bag.

“are you okay? i mean, this is about the olympics, right? you should be focusing on that.”

“i am,” lea said, her voice steady but her gaze unwavering.

“but this isn’t about the olympics. not entirely.”

you tilted your head, curiosity prickling at your skin.

“then what is it about?”

lea hesitated, glancing around as if to make sure no one was listening.

“can we just talk? no microphones, no cameras. just you and me.”

you hesitated. as much as you respected lea, this wasn’t normal protocol. the look in her eyes—earnest and almost pleading—nudged you to agree.

“okay,” you said softly.

“what’s on your mind?”

lea exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. she stepped closer, lowering her voice.

“i’m here to apologize. not for myself—but for obi.”

your heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. you hadn’t spoken about obi in months, hadn’t even allowed yourself to think about her for fear of reopening old wounds.

here it was, her name hanging in the air between you and lea like a ghost.

“apologize?” you echoed, keeping your tone neutral.

“for what?”

lea shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable. “i know about you and lena. about... what you had.” she paused, watching your expression carefully.

“she’s really sorry for how things ended. or—how they didn’t end, i guess. for ghosting you.”

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry.

“she told you about us?”

“she did, but honestly she didn’t have to,” lea said gently.

“i’m her best friend. i noticed how different she was after you two stopped seeing eachother. she’s not great at dealing with her emotions, and back then...” lea trailed off, sighing.

“she was going through a lot. losing the champions league final with wolfsburg hit her hard. then germany getting knocked out of the world cup? it was too much. and she didn’t know how to handle it. she shut everyone out, including you. shit, it took me a few weeks to get to her again.”

you wanted to look away, to shield yourself from the vulnerability of the moment, but lea’s gaze held you in place. the blonde’s words twisted something deep inside you—part anger, part sadness, part longing.

“i get that she was struggling,” you said finally, your voice steadier than you felt.

“but she could’ve said something. anything. instead, she just... disappeared.”

“i know,” lea said quickly. “and i’m not trying to make excuses for her. she knows she messed up. that’s why she asked me to talk to you since she can’t be here.”

you blinked, the weight of her words settling over you.

“she asked you?”

lea nodded.

“she wants you to know she’s sorry. she didn’t mean to hurt you but she also knows that an apology coming from me isn’t enough.”

you folded your arms across your chest, the defense mechanism almost automatic. “it’s not,” you admitted.

“if she wants to apologize, she should tell me herself.”

lea’s expression softened, and she gave a small nod.

“i understand and i think she does too, but she’s scared, y/n. scared you’ll never forgive her.”

you took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed.

“i’m not saying i wouldn’t. but it has to come from her. not you.”

lea studied you for a moment, then offered a small smile.

“honestly, you’re a good person, y/n. she doesn’t deserve you, but if she gets the chance to explain herself, i think you’ll see she’s been trying to be better.”

you didn’t respond right away. part of you wanted to dismiss the entire conversation, to pretend it didn’t matter anymore. the truth was, it did. lena still mattered, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

“thank you, lea,” you said finally, your voice quiet.

“for telling me.”

lea smiled again, this time with a hint of relief.

“of course. and for what it’s worth, i think she’ll reach out. she just needs to find the courage.”

as she walked away, you stood there, the noise of the olympic village fading into the background. you weren’t sure how to feel… relieved? angry? hopeful?

it started innocently enough—moments stolen between interviews and training sessions, quiet conversations that lingered long after they ended. obi was magnetic by a vulnerability she rarely showed to anyoen except for you.

she made you laugh when you least expected it. over time, those stolen moments grew into something deeper. the teasing smiles turned into lingering glances, and the casual touches—her hand brushing yours, her knee pressed against yours under the table—became harder to ignore.

usually, you were able to keep your professionalism for footballers, but lena made you feel ways that you didn’t feel for a very long time until that spring of 2023.

for lena, you were different. she had always been wary of letting anyone get too close, but with you, it felt effortless. you asked about her family, her dreams, the books she read when she needed to escape the noise of the world. however, you asked because you wanted to know– not because you needed something new to write about for an article.

obi, in turn, wanted to know everything about you—your favorite coffee order, the places you dreamed of visiting, the stories you carried behind your composed demeanor as an interviewer. it scared her how much she wanted to know, how much she wanted to keep you close.

the nights you spent together weren’t just about the sex, though that was undeniable. it was about the quiet moments after, when lena would trace lazy circles on your skin as you talked about nothing and everything.

it was in the way she’d insist on walking you back to your room, even when it was out of her way, or how she’d send you random texts during the day—pictures of the sky, a meme she thought you’d find funny, a simple compliment.

it wasn’t just hooking up, not to either of you, even if neither of you said the words out loud.

the semifinal was here a week after lea and you talked. the united states against germany, again.

you adjusted the strap of your bag, walking alongside matt and judah as you made your way to the front-row seats reserved for the media.

matt was mid-story, animatedly describing america’s pre-match routine as he holds judah’s hand. you’re set to interview lindsey horan after the match. your media company is collaborating with the united states to put out a documentary if the united states win the olympics. a contrast to being eliminated from the world cup a year before.

matt was talking when suddenly stopped in his tracks. his hand reached out to grab your arm, his eyes wide. “y/n,” he said, his voice dropping in volume.

“don’t freak out, but... is that who I think it is?”

you followed his gaze, and the world seemed to tilt for a moment. lena. sitting in the crowd just a few rows behind where your seats were, her presence as sharp and overwhelming as a gust of icy wind.

she was next to lea, who was also sidelined due to injury, both of them out of action yet here to support their team. lena’s leg was propped slightly to accommodate the brace on her knee—a harsh reminder of her recent acl surgery.

your breath caught in your throat as her eyes locked onto yours. there was a softness in her gaze, an unreadable mix of intrigue and something else that made your chest ache. she smiled lightly, not quite coy but just enough to make you feel unsteady.

beside her, lea glanced your way and offered a small, sympathetic smile that only twisted the knot forming in your stomach.

“shit,” you murmured under your breath, quickly looking away and focusing on the crowd in front of you. your heart raced, a thrum so loud you were sure matt and judah could hear it.

“are you okay?” matt asked, his tone cautious, concerned.

“fine,” you said quickly, your voice tight.

“just wasn’t expecting—her.”

“do you want to switch seats?” judah offered, ever the considerate one.

“no,” you said, shaking your head even as your hands trembled slightly.

“it’s fine. i’ll deal with it.”

it didn’t feel fine. it felt like your chest was caving in, the air around you charged with tension. lena wasn’t supposed to be here. she was supposed to be in germany, recovering. why was she here, in france, sitting just a few rows behind you?

you made your way to your seat, determined to ignore the weight of her presence. matt and judah settled on the left side of you, chatting about the potential lineup changes for both teams. its 0-0 in the 40th minute and its clear that both teams might need changes. you nodded along absently, your thoughts spinning in a dozen directions. you glanced at the pitch, and latched onto lindsey horan’s familiar figure. you reminded yourself that you were here for a reason. lindsey. you had a job to do.

it was impossible to shake the sensation that someone is looking at you. it crawled along your skin, pulling your attention until you couldn’t resist. you turned your head slightly, your gaze flicking over your shoulder—and there she was.

lena.

she wasn’t watching the game. the german’s eyes were on you, unflinching and intent, as if she were trying to read your every move. obi’s expression wasn’t smug or teasing; it was quieter than that, almost searching.

beside her, lea was fully immersed in the match, cheering loudly as the germans pushed forward. however, lena’s focus was solely on you.

your stomach flipped, and you whipped your head back around, your pulse thundering in your ears. you clenched your hands into fists in your lap, willing yourself to calm down. the last thing you needed was to let lena see how much she still affected you.

“she’s looking at you, isn’t she?” judah’s leaned in, his voice feminine but low enough that only you could hear.

you didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded slightly. judah sighed, his tone softening.

“forget that she’s even there.”

easy for him to say. judah didn’t have the weight of months of unspoken words and unresolved feelings sitting just four rows behind him. of course he didn’t, neither judah or matt understood lesbian relationships.. or situationships. the married couple didn’t have to confront the ache of seeing someone who had disappeared from their lives without explanation.

you tried to watch the game and it worked for a while. as the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but wonder if this moment, this game, this crowd, was lena’s way of trying to find her way back into your life.

it was.

the americans kicked out germany to secure their place in the gold or silver medal match as germany will fight spain for the bronze medal. you finished your interview with lindsey in record time. it helped that she was a close friend, making the questions flow naturally.

after the camera crew packed up and moved away, lindsey squeezed your shoulder affectionately.

“good luck with... whatever’s on your mind,” she said, her knowing smile hinting that she’d picked up on your unease before and after the interview. before you could respond, she jogged off to join her celebrating teammates, leaving you standing alone at the edge of the media zone.

then, you saw her.

lena was on crutches, moving slowly through the thinning crowd. the brace on her leg was unmistakable, but it was her eyes that made your chest tighten. she was looking right at you, determined, like she’d already decided this conversation was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not.

you froze. part of you wanted to turn and walk away before she reached you. however, your feet could not move. your pulse quickened as she stopped in front of you, her presence commanding despite the vulnerability of her injury.

“hi,” she said softly, her voice carrying an unfamiliar mix of nervousness and resolve.

you nodded, keeping your tone professional.

“hi, lena. how’s the leg?”

her lips curved into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“it’s... getting there. rehab’s gonna be tough, but i’m managing.”

you nodded again, the words sticking in your throat.

“that’s good. um, do you want to—”

“no,” lena interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind.

“don’t do that, y/n. don’t skip around what happened. we can’t just act like it didn’t exist.”

you blinked, caught off guard by her directness.

“lena, i don’t think—”

“please,” she cut in, her tone softening as she adjusted her crutches to steady herself.

“let me talk.”

you swallowed hard, nodding. she took a deep breath, her gaze unwavering as she began.

“i messed up,” she said, her voice low but steady.

“last summer... after the champions league final and the world cup, i was in a bad place. i felt like i’d failed at everything that mattered—my team, my country, my family, and you.” she paused, her brows knitting together.

“i was embarrassed. i didn’t know how to face you because i thought you deserved better than the mess i was. so, i ran and that was the worst thing i could’ve done.”

obi’s words hit you like a wave, stirring up emotions you’d worked hard to bury. you opened your mouth to speak, but lena pressed on.

“i thought i needed space,” she continued. “and maybe i did, but i didn’t realize what i was losing until it was too late. until you were gone. and i’ve missed you, y/n. every day. not just what we had, but you. your laugh, the way you understood me even when i couldn’t find the words.” she paused, her voice catching.

“i haven’t forgotten about you. not for one day.”

you looked away, trying to steady your breathing. “lena,” you began, your voice shaky.

“do you have any idea how much that hurt? you just... disappeared. no explanation, no goodbye. i thought—i thought i didn’t matter to you.”

“you mattered,” she said quickly, her voice firm.

“you still matter. i know i hurt you, and i’ll never forgive myself for that. but i’m here now, and i’m asking... can we start over? i have so much time on my hands now with this injury. time to make it right, if you’ll let me.”

you hesitated, the weight of her words settling over you. “maybe you should focus on your recovery,” you said finally, your tone careful. “that’s what’s most important right now.”

lena nodded, her expression serious.

“i am. my therapist said part of my recovery is being honest with myself though and the truth is, i want you back in my life. not just as something casual. i want us to be official, when the time is right.”

obi’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. then, you nodded slowly.

“i’ll be in munich when bayern plays their first champions league match,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“we’ll see where things stand then.”

lena’s face broke into a smile—genuine, relieved, and filled with something you hadn’t seen in her for a long time: hope. “okay,” she said softly. “okay.”

she stepped closer, leaning down slightly despite the crutches to pull you into a hug. her arms wrapped around you tightly, and you felt her press a small, lingering kiss to the side of your head. it was grounding, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

as she pulled back, she met your eyes again. “you can stay at my place in munich anytime,” she offered, her tone light but sincere.

you gave her a small smile.

“okay.”

just like that, the past felt smaller, less significant. the past did not exist anymore, since the future was all you and obi have.

masterlist

#lena oberdorf #lena oberdorf x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #gerwnt #bayern frauen #lea schuller #woso soccer

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dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth · 12 hours ago

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I worked at a drugstore in a city with tons of gangs. One woman came in with the teardrops tattooed below her eye and everything, but was trying so hard to help find her dying mother an oxygen tank, and my store didn't sell those. But the specialty pharmaceutical shop in the city did, and I got her an address.

The woman was broke. She had a dead phone that couldn't use GPS as a result. And she had no money for a charger, only for the oxygen tank which was life or death for her mother, nor did she know what type of charger she needed. She was terrified and didn't know what to do, and her mother could barely stand.

I knew tech well. I love tech and so I asked her to show me her car. I found she had the cigarette port type charger, and type C phone charging port. I said to gimme a second, ran inside, and used my scanner to damage out a port charger, plus the cord, which is like $25 right there.

That was against the code of the store. I didn't care. A strong woman who endured gang life was sobbing over hardly being able to care for her dying mother, and I brought the charging equipment out to her car, hooked it all up for her, and told her to go get that oxygen tank.

She was sobbing and hugging me as she loaded up and went off to the store.

And another time, there was a woman, a sex worker, who was in the area but her phone broke. She needed to call for a ride back home, and our store sold burner phones and the ones you could purchase a card for to add minutes to it.

The woman only had enough money for the phone itself but not for the minutes. She was so distraught and stressed, unable to get a hold of anyone otherwise.

I told her to pay what she could for the phone, then I took the minutes card from her. After she purchased the phone, I brought out my card and bought the minutes card for her, handed it over, and told her to be safe.

That woman was sobbing and grateful.

I did the same with a stranger who couldn't buy the last $10 for her kids' Christmas gifts one year.

I helped jump the cars of random folks who broke down in the lot during my shifts.

During my last month working at the store, my mother was preparing to go for open heart surgery. I was going to be on my own for weeks following this, needing to buy my own food and cook it and everything, and I was on a very limited budget at that point. I was terrified of going hungry.

A lady broke down in the lot just a few days before my mother was set to go in, and she was from 11 hours out of state. It was below freezing, she didn't know where she was, and seeing as it was almost midnight, no place was open for repair.

I went out and tried to jump her car. When it wouldn't work, I figured out the alternator was dead and told her to give me a second.

Then I physically pushed her car out of the way and to the side of the store. I was trained to do this in MMA as one of my exercises where I pushed my teacher's pickup around the giant dojo once each month at least for years.

The woman was SO grateful, she got her daughter from an hour north to come get her for the night, but that lady was so thankful she gave me $20.

And I cried. That covered my meals for the next 4 days. I knew I was going to be hungry and struggling to get my food for a while, and this stranger gave me enough to get meals for 4 days worth.

That meant the wold to me, and I meant the world to her.

My first job ever, I barely passed as a man. Living in this area is hard because judgment is rampant, and relentless, especially with such a bigoted populous. And one day I received so much hate and anger from customers that I literally almost walked out of the store and quit right there. I had unsolicited photos taken of me, people pointing and laughing, you name it.

But one lady walked to my register and smiled. "I was at Stonewall! I marched for YOU! I threw bricks FOR YOU!!" she said enthusiastically.

She was a dyke lesbian who was there during the Stonewall riots, and she gave me so much love and acceptance that I broke down sobbing as I walked out from behind the register and hugged her. The kindness of that woman saved me because I didn't think I wanted to make it home that night.

I drove home safely that night, and I'm now 7 years on testosterone with full support of my friends, and I'm planning my last surgery for late 2025. :)

Humanity is a broad experience of emotional connection and happenstance. An opportunity for kindness is an opportunity to change a life for the better in every way.

Be kind to one another. Help that stranger. Feel emotion to the fullest extent, and share that with others.

Be human.

“People are inherently terrible” no!!! Have you ever seen a child wait for their friend while they tie their shoelaces? Have you ever known someone who would bring hurt squirrels and rabbits and mice to the nearest vet just so it doesn’t suffer? Have you seen someone grieve? Have you ever read something that hit your heart like a freight train? Have you looked at the stars and felt an unexplainable joy? Have you ever baked bread? Have you shared a meal with a friend? Have you not seen it? All the love? All the good? I know it’s hard to see sometimes, I know there’s pain everywhere. But look, there’s a child helping another up after a hard fall. Look, there’s someone giving their umbrella to a stranger. Look, there’s someone admiring the spring flowers. Look, there’s good, there’s good, there’s good. Look!!!!

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ubeb0nes · 2 days ago

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Sevika x fem!bar owner!reader

Pt. 2

༇ ༇ ༇

a/n: sorry this took so long lmao. I completely scrapped the first version i wrote of this because it just got too damn long

regardless, we're here now and i hope you enjoy!!

༇ ༇ ༇

"So… what is it exactly that you do?"

You'd asked her the question on yet another night where she'd stayed extra late, long after the last patrons had bid you a good night (or very early morning) and all the chairs had gone up.

(Sevika had put them up, even after you'd distinctly told her not to before you went into the kitchen. Your fault, really)

She ponders the question, wondering if you're playing at something more or really just asking. She knows you're smart. It's why she likes you. But she just doesn't know how smart.

"I hurt people, usually," she said casually. If the answer offended you, you displayed the opposite of it.

Your glasses clinking was the only sound to clash with the jukebox, ringing in a gentle sense of understanding on your part.

"A lucrative business here," you say.

"In the long-term. Better be, at least."

For someone who's known as The Lioness of the Lanes, it's a while before you ever see her lion'ing about or whatnot.

She's never violent in your establishment. But you know bad people, you know how to pick up someone's capacity for violence. Sevika has a huge one.

But you understand quickly that there's a reason she's called 'Lioness' and not 'hyena', or something. Her violence is never undue. If she bares her teeth, it's to protect.

Physical altercations aren't at all uncommon in your bar. It's the Undercity after all, these things happen but people always move on from it quickly.

You've noticed that people always seem to... "act right" whenever Sevika's at your bar that night. The meanest-looking men in your bar straighten their posture when she walks by their table, others greeting her with a nod of respect (or submission).

"Wow. I'm glad you like me, at least," you say as she sits down, right in front of you like always.

"Says who?" And she always gives that smug little smile when you laugh in response.

While she's watched/admired you put more than one customer on their ass for trying to cause a scene in your establishment, it's always with a protective posture.

She goes into guard dog mode the moment you cross out from behind the protection of your bar to tell a drunkard off. Her poker buddies poke fun at her for it.

She intervenes before you even get the chance to one time. Perhaps it's because the man keeps drunkenly bumping into her shoulder, or because his boisterous voice keeps causing her head to snap over to him.

You're busy laughing at her expense when the man turns his antics on you. You're perfectly content to brush off whatever rudeness he spouts at you, but Sevika clearly isn't when her hand shoots out and grabs the back of his neck.

He'd called you a dumbass or something of the sort in a more distasteful manner when you'd cut him off. Sevika's eyes had flared with a personal, wrathful anger before she'd grabbed him by the scruff.

"You know better," she snaps. It would be as if she were lecturing a child if it weren't for the man's face pressed against the bar. She's pressing him into the surface with nothing but the strength of her human arm, her large body looming over his as he slurs out an apology.

God, you wished she would grab you like that- who said that??

The next time she comes in, you insist her whiskey's on the house.

"Consider it compensation for dealing with that guy last night." She rolls her eyes at you as she lights her cigarillo on the lighter you offer, and throws a few bills on the bartop anyway (hot).

You throw them back at her with a playful glare, and subsequently earn yourself a real one. You feel a shiver run down your spine that's for any reason but fear.

"Don't play this game with me, you'll lose." To you, that really didn't sound all that bad.

Before you can even think, she's leaning forward and tucking the bills into the pocket of your apron in the middle of your sternum. The look she wears is challenging as she sits back, almost expectant of a reaction.

You don't disappoint, reaching out with two fingers to pluck the cigarillo from her lips and taking your own drag. Your eyes never leave hers, watching her shamelessly stare at that damn cigarillo with a burning jealousy.

"Hm. I picked a good brand, didn't I?" "Yeah, yeah, hand it back before you choke, princess."

You try not to let it get to your head (and heart) how it makes you feel when she calls you that, or any other name like 'baby', 'sweetheart', or 'beautiful'.

And you try not to let it get to your head how you seem to be the only one here who she calls those things.

Neither of you had any idea how hopelessly hers you already were.

While Sevika's "occupation" slowly becomes clearer to you, the amount of energy she puts into protecting you is completely out of sight and mind.

She tries to convince herself that her reasoning for continually lying in Silco's face is purely pragmatic; you're good for the community, providing a warm reprieve for the kids in the city against the harsh reality of Silco's slow revolution. As far as she's concerned, Zaun profits more from your continued thriving than any amount of money she could intimidate out of you.

The idea of ever coming into your bar for collections makes her a little sick, if she's honest. Never you. It's far too late for that now.

So when Silco sends her to do exactly that (because you're just that savvy at running your business), she feels her heart churn. She can only say no to Silco so many times and in so many ways. There's no way around this one without raising his suspicions, and she doesn't have the backing to combat that yet.

Your unfailing smile when you see her comes in makes her want to punch her own face in. She hates that she's fond of you.

"Hey good-lookin', you're late! What kept y-" "I'm here on business this time." "O..oh...?"

She explains Silco's tax with a coldness you've grown unfamiliar with from her. You take it like you would a slap to the face, growing angry before you can risk feeling sad.

"Sevika, what the hell is this? I've minded my damn business ever since I opened, the hell did I do to piss him off?" "It isn't personal, princess. You asked me what I do. I don't think I ever gave you the impression it was pretty." "If I knew petty extortion was what freedom-fighting meant to you, then I would've kept those cigs for myself."

You don't give her much more room to say anything after that before you're throwing a bag of coins at her and telling her to get the fuck out. She expected as much. You were hardy and quick to adapt, just like Zaun.

Sevika's done plenty of things in the name of a better future that she isn't proud of. But your money seemed to burn a hole through her hand, and the sting didn't fade even after she'd dropped it on Silco's desk.

"Good work," he said flippantly, as if she didn't always do good work. Go to hell.

She imagines it's your hand holding her lighter when she smokes through nearly half a pack later that night.

The soft voice of a shelved version of her whispers that maybe just this once, she should fight for something only she wants.

She tries to push away the thought and reason that it was always going to end up this way anyways, while you close down the bar for the night alone.

#arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika headcanon #ubebones writing

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murdrdocs · 2 days ago

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pet play; dom!luke; mega inso from babygirl (2024) MDNI 18+ w/ LUKE CASTELLAN

luke's not scared of himself when he's with you. he's not scared because he knows what his mind is capable of. he knows what his hands are capable of, too, he's thought about it late at night, fighting off shakes as wrath spills through his blood and anger keeps him warm from inside out. he's thought about ways he could make a change, things that could easily be different if he just used his sword.

luke knows what he's capable of, but he never thought would've guessed he would be part of this—whatever title is missing from the relationship you have with him.

he was a little surprised at the ease of which he told you to get on your knees that first night, how quickly everything clicked for him. how easily he could give you what you wanted.

it was nice having this power and control surrendered to him, and at first, he thought that's why he was doing this—to continue chasing that thrill that came to him every time you listened to a command. but it was more than that.

there wasn't anything at stake for the two of you. you were equals in practically every sense of the word—both counsellors at camp, only a few mere months between your births, no secret or anything to hold over your head. there was nothing to lose by agreeing to this, but so much to gain.

knowledge of a part of you luke would've never known otherwise, insight into other weaknesses of the human body, an understanding of just what he could do.

"look at me," luke says.

he watches as the crown of your head disappears to reveal your face. eyes big and glossy as they stare up at him, lips parted and bruised from how hard you had kissed him not long ago, remnants of mascara smudged beneath your eyes.

he grins and the movement doesn't have anything sinister behind it. at least, he doesn't intend for it to. he doesn't know how it's coming off, but it's not intended to come off as anything in particular. luke smiles because he likes the look of you.

for a second, he kneels down and cups your face in his hand, grin widening when you nuzzle into his palm. "you're so pretty," he tells you once, completely earnest. and then, "you're so pretty when you're like this," once as well, making sure to emphasize that he loves the way you are as yourself, but he loves having you on all fours just like this, too.

your lips tug up on the edges and you look relieved, as if you're satisfied to hear that he thinks you're pretty even when your humanity and pride are almost completely stripped down.

there's a moment shared, but then luke stands to his full height and stares down at you. he thinks about what he should do.

he could tell you to get off on his boot. he could make you touch yourself while he stood and watched, refusing you from even seeing his cock, let alone getting to touch him, too. he could make you lay on your stomach, withholding your ability to see him as he got you off with just his fingers.

he could be mean, knowing you would listen and like it.

but he has mercy on you. there's no reason to be cruel, especially when he would be doing it just because he could.

no, instead he lifts his shirt above his belt and pushes the leather through the buckle.

your eyes light up, luke can see it, and he laughs.

you sit back on your heels, hands in your lap while you patiently wait for permission. if you had a tail, he’s sure it would be wagging by now.

when luke has his belt undone and his pants open, he drops his hands to his side and nods at you. he thinks about dangling his cock in front of you like a treat. he thinks about all the times he's made you sit with your tongue out, dragging his leaking tip along the muscle, until he allowed you to wrap your mouth around him completely.

but again, he has mercy on you.

"go ahead," he tells you, "you can go ahead, angel."

#luke castellan x reader #lukesworld!#luke castellan x you #cw pet play

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nieceeee · 2 days ago

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MY LITTLE SECRET

Ony x reader

P/S: You and Ony had never really solidified your relationship with one another. It was all "my man my man my man" when yall were alone but in public, nobody knew the dirty little secret you shared. Not even Ony's little girlfriend. So when he pulls up to the party with her on his arm, will you be able to keep that secret under wraps? If he doesn't tell, you won't tell..

A/N: Angst. I heard the song and went with it. I DONT CONDONE CHEATING! I don't usually write hard angst so this is an interesting one for sure so let me know what you think. MNDI, small smut section in the beginning.

“Fuck Ony. Right there.”

You whine out in ecstasy. His lips pressed against your neck, peppering kisses all over you as his hips piston into you, tip driving into your cervix. You had been going at it for at least two hours. The way he fucked you, you would think you were mortal enemies. Your manicured nails dip crevices into his back and he strokes you deep. “Ony f-fuck baby please.” You beg. You have no clue what you’re actually begging for but you cry out anyway. “Take that shit mamas, I know you can.” He encourages as he fucks you. Your body is on the brink of collapse but you hold on for dear life as you ride out another orgasm. Pussy clenching tight against his length, you convulse as clear liquid spills out of you splashing against you both.

Ony slows his hips but stays sheathed inside of you as you lock eyes. “Fuck.” you breath out. “You good?” he asks with a slick smile plastered across his face. You roll your eyes at him too weak to push him off. After a few breaths, he rises up from the bed and steps into the bathroom. Your eyes get heavy and you fight to keep them open as he reappears with a towel. He presses it between your legs and cleans you up as you fight the sleep calling you. You’re jolted awake once again at the sound of his phone ringing.

“Shit.” you hear him mumble. “Aye I got to head out.” he whispers at you. You roll over to find him already out of the bed, walking to pick up his clothes from the floor. You take the time to look at his frame, enjoying the view.

“So am I going to see you later?” You ask him. He plants a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t know yet. But I’ll hit you up if something changes.” You lay there and watch as he gathers his things and walks towards the door to leave. “See you.” Only calls out as he steps out. You cuddle back down into your covers and allow yourself to fall back asleep.

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

“Bitch hurry the fuck up!” Your best friend yells from the living room. You roll your eyes and finish applying your gloss to your lips. After Ony had left, you ended up sleeping off the rest of your sex coma. You were woken up a few hours later to your best friend beating on your door going on and on about some house party she wanted you both to attend. Your body was screaming no but for some reason, you stood here 2 hours later with a beat face and a new outfit. You take the time to admire your body in the mirror and the way the sleek black outfit accentuated all your features. After another once over, you slipped into your shoes and headed out your bedroom door.

“Okay, bitch. How do I look?” you ask her as you step into your living room. She looks you up and down before a wide smile breaks across her face. “OKAY! Body tea! Hair long!” she hypes you up. You laugh to yourself and shake your head at her antics. “Girl, you so fucking over the top. Come on before I change my mind. You know I’m tired.” you say. “Ain’t nobody tell you to let that nigga ram you into the mattress. That's your own doing.” You laugh again as you follow her to her car.

Yall pull up to a house on the outskirts of town. Car littered the yard and bodies were scattered in between. “Damn, who house is this?” you say as yall walk up. “Girl, Eren. His parents are away for the month so he been had this shit jumping for the past week. It's been party on party.” We walked to the front door and the music had the doors rattling.

The bass of the music thumped so hard you could feel the vibrations in your chest, the frame of the walls seeming to shake with each thump. Laughter, chatter, the clinking of bottles--it was all a blur, a swirl of unrecognizable faces circled you as your friend lead you deeper into the house. Energy surrounded you both immediately as you danced your way through the crowd. You tried to put your best face on for your friend but deep down, your feelings were all over. Ony hadn’t messaged you back since he left your house earlier that day and it was unlike him.

You tried not to think about it. You weren’t necessarily exclusive but there was…something. It was strange, not being able to be in his presence all the time. You chalked it up to good dick that had your head confused and focused on being present in the moment. You weren’t exactly expecting to see him but he at least could’ve messaged you back. “Bitch this party is crazy!” your best friend’s voice interrupts your thought pattern. “Yeah, this is some wild shit. White boy knows how to throw a house party.” you respond to her. “Come on let’s go get a drink. Then you can help me come up with an excuse to run into him.” she grabs your arm and pulls you. “Mikaaa. Just talk to him. You been feigning over this boy for too damn long.” you fuss at her. She shrugs as she grabs two solo cups and fill you both to the brim.

You are lost in the moment, enjoying yourself when it happens. You world comes crashing down on you as you turn to the door and see none other than Ony. His signature black tee and jordans fit paired with the same Ony chain that was dangling over your head earlier that day.

Your heart skipped a beat. But there was something else in your chest too. Something dark, something tangled, like you were holding your breath while the air between you two thickened. He had always had this effect on you—the way his broad frame filled the room, the way his deep brown eyes searched the crowd like he was looking for something—or someone. His presence had always been magnetic, but tonight, it felt like the gravity between you two had shifted.

Because as you stood there, getting lost in his presence, you finally registered it. He wasn't alone. She was there, hanging onto his arm. A subtle yet possessive touch as she grinned up at him. You felt a knot in your stomach as the liquor threatened to resurface. Her. His girlfriend. Or at least who everyone saw as his girlfriend. The girl who didn't know

About you. The late night phone calls. The stolen moments when no one was looking. The texts that only said “you good?” but meant so much more. The one was unaware of the nights when you and Ony were tangled in sheets, whispering each other’s names as if it meant something more. Like you said, yall weren’t exclusive. Honestly, the whole thing had been a secret from the jump. But you knew the truth: you shared something between you that was deeper than just physical. Those nights with him… the tenderness mixed with heat, the way he would hold you after, his breath warm against your skin, his hands tracing every inch of your body as if he were trying to memorize you.

Yet here he was. Casually conversing with his homeboys with an arm tossed over her shoulder. Laughing and smiling like nothing had ever happened between the two of you. And that thought alone let a very nasty taste in your mouth and lit fire underneath your skin. “You good boo?” a voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see Mikasa standing next to you, a raised eyebrow and a concerned look on her face. “Yeah, I’m straight,” you lied, though your heart was hammering in your chest. “Right,” she said with a smirk. “I can tell you’re real straight with all the space you’re putting between you and Ony. What's up with that?" You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. "Ain't nothing to it." Mikasa raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Well, if you say so. But I know you bestie. I'll find out sooner or later.”

Your eyes flickered back to Ony and her as they made their way deeper into the house. Attempting to calm your nerves, you down the rest of your cup but just before you turned to go get a refill, his eyes found you. His posture stiffened the moment your gazes locked, and he froze for a split second. The smile dropped from his face as his eyes darted to her and then back to you. You didn’t look away. You couldn’t. But there was no way to stop the sting in your chest, the way seeing him so easily with her hurt, like it was a fresh wound that hadn’t healed. You both stayed locked in for what seemed like an eternity but in reality was barely a minute. “Yo,” he called, his voice a little louder than it should’ve been as he excused himself from her side. He pushed through the crowd, making his way over to you, but the nervous energy in his steps was unmistakable. You break contact first, turning to Mikasa. She was chattering with Eren, finally using the liquid courage. “Hey boo, going to get a drink and step out. Got my lo on.” you whisper to her. She gives you a squeeze of concern but you offer a smile. “All good baby.” you say before walking away.

Ony tried to get to you but by the time he wormed his way over you were gone. “Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath. “Aye Mika, you seen y/n?” he asks her. “Uh, she walked off to get a drink. I’m sure she will be back soon.” she smiles at him, completely unaware of the weight of the situation. He looks around for you, a hint of desperation in his gaze. But before he could walk off and search for you, she grabs him by the arm. “Ony baby. You okay? You left me over there?” she whines. Ony looks down at her, “Uh…yeah. I was just looking for a friend. But they’re gone.” he mumbled. His arm lazily loops around her as they walk into the den.

Later in the night, things were starting to get rowdy. The music had gotten louder, the dancing more erratic. You were standing by the wall, when someone approached you. “Hey beautiful, Care to dance with me?” a deep voice rang in your ears. You look up to see a tall man with blonde hair and honeyed golden eyes. “Names Reiner.” he smiles. You smile back, “Y/n and yes. I would love to dance with you.” you say. He leads you to an open space in the middle of the floor. Your fave twerk song comes on and you allow yourself to get lost in the music. Reiner was catching all you were throwing, thick hands wrapped around your waist. You could feel him pressing against your ass as you moved.

Unbeknownst to you, Ony also saw the way you were moving. Anger bubbled underneath his skin as he watched you. He was a fucking hypocrite. How the hell could he be mad at you for dancing with someone when his literal girlfriend was sitting on his lap, talking to his friends, “Ony?” she spoke, hand waving in front of his face. His eyes cut to her. “Did you hear me? I said I was going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” she had spoken to him. “Aight.” he snipped. She took her that as her queue and walked off, accompanied by another girl. “So, how long you been fucking y/n?” Eren’s question cuts through the music. Ony’s head snaps to him. “What?” he lets out. “I mean with the way you shooting daggers at Reiner, it's obvious to see.” Connie laughed through a cloud of smoke. Ony bit the inside of his jaw. “It's not like that.” he mumbled slinking down onto the couch. “You only fooling yourself but aight.”

You were in your own world. Body moving against Reiner as his hands caress your curves. You allowed yourself to get lost in the moment. “So, what do you think about getting out of here?” he leaned down into your ear. You smile but before you could answer, you were snatched up and pulled away from him. Ony dragged you around the corner and pressed you against the wall. “Ony, wha-...Have you lost your damn mind?!” you hiss. “Me?? You the one about to go home with a random ass nigga who was basically fucking you on the dance floor. You out YO mind?!” he snaps back, voice low. You let out a dry laugh. “That’s rich coming from a nigga here with his fucking girlfriend.” you spit out. His jaw clenched tightly as he stepped closer to you, invading your personal space. You hated the way your body reacted to his proximity.

He took a step closer, and your breath hitched. His presence was overwhelming, as it always was. His large frame was mere inches from yours now, the space between you too small, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You both stood in silence for a moment. “You good?” he asked after a while, voice quiet, almost too soft for the loud music. “I'm straight Ony. What do you want?,” you said, though it was a lie. You were miserable but there was no way in hell you would let it show. “Y/N I-... I'm just checking on you. Aight?” he spoke, his eyes darkening. You caught the shift in his mood immediately. Something was off with him tonight. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by an intensity you hadn’t seen before. Before you could ask him what was wrong, his hand brushed against yours, and the touch sent a shockwave through your body.

“I didn't expect it to happen like this.” he says softly. “I bet you didn’t. Don't want your girlfriend knowing our little secret, huh?” You took a slow sip of your drink, keeping your face neutral, but the words felt like they were burning in your throat. “You’re with her now. In front of everyone.” The words came out too casual, too sharp, and you didn’t like how your voice cracked at the end of them. He looked back at you, clearly flustered, and his voice dropped another octave. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, like the words didn’t come naturally. “GF/N and I are just... doing our thing.”

You snorted quietly, the bitterness starting to seep in. “Your thing?” You repeated the words like they were foreign. “Funny, if this is your thing then what the fuck was last night and this morning? Just needed something to past the time? Was that another thing, Ony?” your words cut at him. The way you said his name sent a shiver through him, but it wasn’t the kind of reaction he was used to. It wasn’t desire. It was guilt. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He swallowed, his throat bobbing like he was trying to say something but couldn’t find the right words.

"You know," you continued, voice softer now but still biting, "last night, it was just us. Just you and me. I mean where the fuck was this even going for you?” you start. “I mean I could see just the fucking but the other shit. The texts, the phone calls, the gifts. Why the fuck would you even take it this far?!" you try to keep your composure but the anger mixed with the alcohol was making it difficult.

His eyes shifted nervously toward where his girlfriend had walked off then back to you, a conflicted look clouding his expression. He opened his mouth again, but you cut him off before he could speak. "You know what. I don’t want to hear it. The excuses," you said, shaking your head, frustration leaking into your tone. "I don’t want to hear you lie to my fucking face like you been doing. And I definitely and not in the mood for the ‘it wasn't meant to be like this’ bullshit. We both know that’s a damn lie too."

He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching, the weight of everything clearly sitting heavy on his shoulders. And just as you were about to walk away, he stepped forward quickly, grabbing your wrist gently, but firmly. " y/n just hold up. Please. Let me explain," he said, his voice tight. You could see the tension in his face, the way he was fighting against whatever emotions were threatening to bubble over. You stared down at his hand on your wrist, a thousand thoughts flashing in your mind. You had every reason to pull away, every reason to walk out of that house and never look back, but you didn’t. You couldn’t help yourself.

"Fine," you said through gritted teeth, “Start talking.”

Ony pulled you gently to the side, away from the main crowd, to a quieter corner of the house. The thumping bass was muffled here, the light dimmer, and for a moment, it was like the two of you were the only ones in the room. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the anticipation of what was coming next. You should be stronger, should tell him go fuck himself but you didn't. Instead you let him pull you away, adrenaline mixed with anger flowing through your body.

You leaned against the wall and watch him pacing, running a hand down his face like he was struggling to figure out where to start. “I don’t know how this got so messed up,” he said, voice quieter now, raw with guilt. “But I didn’t truly mean for it to be like this, not this way anyway. You’re more than just... whatever this is. I know that. I just—I didn’t know how to... how to deal with it.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped from your lips. “Deal with it? You didn’t know how to deal with it?” You stepped closer, your voice dangerously low now. "You didn’t know how to deal with the fact that we’ve been in bed together? That we’ve shared moments—intimate moments—over the past few weeks? You think you can just walk away and act like none of it happened? What the hell do you think this is?”

He looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time. You could see the realization in his eyes that this was no longer something simple for you. It wasn’t just a few secret hookups. It wasn't just a simple mistake. It was about the betrayal. The quiet, lingering hurt that had been building inside of you every time he pulled away after you gave him everything.

"I can’t do this anymore, Ony," you whispered, voice trembling slightly. “I’m worth more than your fucking bed and I damn sure ain’t no side piece to a bitch who can’t light a candle to me. I will not be the little secret you keep stuffed in your fucking pocket until you want to get your dick wet.” He stepped forward, his hands reaching for you, but you held up a hand, stopping him. “Don’t,” you said, voice shaking now. “You made your choice. And now you have to live with it.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, looking at you like he didn’t know what to say, like he was hoping you’d just forgive him without question. But you couldn’t. Not anymore. "I’m done, Ony," you said quietly. He wanted to speak but before he could utter a word, her voice cut through. “Ony, baby where are you?” she called out. He steps back just as she turns the corner. “Oh! There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Oh, HI!” she says in a high pitched voice. She slung her body onto him kissing his face before turning to you. “I'm gf/n, Ony’s girlfriend. Who are you?” she asks with a smile. You look at him then back at her, “A former friend. It's nice to meet you.” you respond to her. Ony’s heart lurches forward at your words. Former friend, He tries to silently get your attention but you refuse to meet his gaze. “Excuse me. It was nice meeting you. Have a good day. A good life for you Ony.” you say with finality.

And before he could respond, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there with his words still tangled in his throat, the weight of everything between you hanging in the air.

#aot x reader #aot x y/n #onyankopon x black y/n #fem!reader #ony x black reader #aot onyankopon #onyankapon #onyankopon x reader #ony x reader #onyankopon fluff #ony x y/n #ony #ony angst #aot angst #angst #nieceenotes

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marscardigan · 3 days ago

Text

thinking out loud

ellie williams x reader

summary: you share a blunt with ellie and her friends.

warnings: suggestiveness, getting drunk and high, but mostly fluff

Sure, you did get drunk a couple of times with your friends, even once with your girlfriend. But getting high? That wasn’t on your bucket list. You never thought you were going to end up smoking some weed before the day was over with Ellie, Jesse and Dina. It seemed that the teen boy found out a couple of blunts hidden in his brother’s closet, and he obviously had to steal them to try at least one of them with you.

So here you were, in Dina’s bedroom and already quite wasted from the beers you drank a couple of minutes ago.

"So you never tried one of these before, huh?" Jesse grabbed one of the blunts, almost mocking at you. Your face fell on the crook of Ellie's neck, smiling shyly. "Fuck off, Jesse" your girlfriend answered for you. Dina passed him the lighter, and the male made the first puff. Ellie took the next one with ease. “Come on, baby, try it out” She handed it to you, and you tried and failed to inhale it properly, making them laugh. “You did great” “You sure did” Jesse mocked at Ellie’s response, making you blush.

It seems that all the confidence that lacked on your personality comes out with your high self. After a few minutes you started to like the sensation of the disorientation that brought you the smoke, and without thinking it twice, you curled up in your girlfriend’s chest, laughing about some joke Dina told. Ellie looked down at you, eyes filled with pure adoration and lust. “I think you have had enough, doll” Your girlfriend tried to take the blunt away, but you turned so she couldn’t grab it.

“Let her have some fun”

“Yeah” You exclaimed, nodding at Jesse’s complaint. “Let me have some fun, jeez” You got comfortable in her lap, smiling and battling your eyelashes at her sight.

“Someone got her confidence boosted up” Dina laughed, drinking the rest of the beer that remained on her hand.

You normally would be more shy, especially in front of Ellie’s friends, but somehow you really felt like bragging the woman you had as a girlfriend. “What can I say” You shrugged, “I got lucky with this girl” Your head rested on her shoulder, inhaling her cologne. Even though, you did catch how her cheeks blushed at your comment.

She would never admit it out loud, but oh how she loved when you complimented her, all flushed. Ellie couldn’t wait to have all for herself and show you how lucky she was.

#ellie williams #tlou ellie #tlou fanfic #tlou #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #the last of us 2 #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams tlou #tlou 2 #tlou part 2

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hsnlv · 21 hours ago

Text

caught in the act (of falling) | y.jw

req!: jungwon with fake dating trope (and like he wants to make it a real relationship or smth like that)

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader

synopsis: what started as a fake dating scheme to fend off jungwon’s ex turns into stolen kisses, lingering touches, and feelings neither of you expected. when “pretend” starts to feel a little too real, jungwon’s flustered confession might just change everything.

warnings/others: fake dating trope!, cute flustered jungwon🤭, jungwon’s ex is obsessive (i would be too if i were one actually)

w/c: 1.07k

here’s my masterlist!

you honestly can’t figure out how you and jungwon ended up here—tangled in each other’s arms in his room, no one around but the two of you. his chest is warm against your back, his chin perched lazily on your shoulder, and his hands are wrapped around yours, helping hold the comic you’re both supposed to be reading. except neither of you is paying attention. how could you, when you can feel his breath tickling your neck every time he exhales?

this whole thing started as a joke—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. jungwon’s ex had been haunting him like a particularly clingy ghost, and out of sheer desperation, he asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend. fake dating, he called it. to drive her away.

at first, you thought he was out of his mind.

<<<<<<<<<<<<

“jungwon, have you completely lost it?” you whisper-shouted, darting nervous glances at his ex, who was seated way too close to your table in the cafeteria. her glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. “she’s going to end me.”

“she’s not going to end you,” jungwon whispered back, though his tone wasn’t exactly convincing. “look, it’s a foolproof plan. a few hugs, maybe hold hands—just when she’s around! it’ll be fine.”

“fine? jungwon, she’s been staring at me like i ran over her cat.”

he winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “okay, fair. but you’ll be doing me the biggest favor ever. i’ll owe you one. please?”

you crossed your arms. “and what exactly does fake dating involve? because i swear if this gets weird—”

“it won’t!” he exclaimed quickly, his face scrunching up in that stupidly cute way that made you want to throttle him and pinch his cheeks at the same time. “just little stuff. harmless things. like holding hands. maybe linking arms. y’know, couple things.”

you eyed him warily. “define ‘couple things.’”

<<<<<<<<<

“couple things” turned out to be… a lot. jungwon, in his infinite wisdom, decided you both needed to “practice” being a convincing couple. this involved a series of increasingly absurd activities that had you questioning his sanity—and yours for agreeing to any of it.

“okay,” jungwon said one afternoon, pacing in front of you like a drill sergeant. “let’s practice nicknames. couples always have nicknames.”

“we already have nicknames,” you pointed out. “you call me by my name, and i call you uwon to annoy you.”

“no, no, no.” he waved his hand dramatically. “those aren’t cute nicknames. i mean things like ‘baby,’ or ‘sweetheart,’ or… or ‘honeybuns.’”

you nearly choked. “honeybuns? jungwon, if you call me honeybuns in public, i will personally make sure your life is a living nightmare.”

“noted,” he said with a laugh. “okay, let’s keep it simple. i’ll call you… babe. and you can call me—”

“uwon,” you interrupted, grinning. “i’m sticking with uwon.”

he sighed but didn’t argue. “fine. but we still need to work on PDA. let’s practice holding hands.”

you raised an eyebrow. “jungwon, we’ve held hands before.”

“yeah, but not like this,” he said, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. his grip was warm and secure, and he gave your hand a small squeeze. “see? it’s all about the squeeze. it makes it look more real.”

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, though your cheeks felt suspiciously warm.

<<<<<<<<<<<<

present.

weeks passed, and jungwon’s ex finally got the message. her death stares became less frequent until she eventually stopped showing up altogether. mission accomplished. but the fake dating didn’t stop.

“uwon,” you call softly, the nickname slipping out naturally as you shift in his arms. he hums, his chin still resting on your shoulder, but his hold on you tightens slightly.

you put the comic down and turn to face him, his hands automatically settling on your waist like it’s second nature. “what are we doing?” you ask, your tone light but pointed.

he blinks at you, his brows furrowing in confusion. “reading?”

you sigh, rolling your eyes. “not the comic. this.” you gesture between the two of you. “what is this, jungwon? because i’m pretty sure your ex isn’t spying on us anymore.”

jungwon freezes, his eyes darting away like he’s suddenly very interested in the corner of his room. “uh… practice?” he says weakly.

“practice for what?” you press, crossing your arms. “you said the whole point was to convince your ex. but she’s gone now. so why are we still… doing this?”

he scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. “well, you know… just in case.”

“just in case of what?” you shoot back, leaning in slightly. “jungwon, are you hiding something?”

his face flushes, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for an excuse and coming up empty. finally, he blurts out, “okay, fine! i like you, alright?”

your brain short-circuits. “you… what?”

jungwon immediately panics, his hands flailing as he starts to babble. “oh my god, i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to just—i mean, i did, but not like this! and i totally get it if you don’t like me back, but—oh no, wait, please like me? or don’t? no, wait, maybe you could? or we could just pretend this never happened? or—”

“jungwon,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through his spiral.

“yes?” he squeaks, his wide eyes meeting yours.

instead of answering, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. he freezes for a split second before melting against you, his lips moving softly against yours. the kiss deepens, and his eagerness makes you giggle into his mouth, causing him to pull back slightly, breathless.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, pouting.

“you,” you tease, your fingers still gripping his shirt. “you’re way too eager.”

his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t back down. instead, he grins mischievously and suddenly hovers over you, gently pushing you onto your back. “you stole a kiss from me,” he says, his voice low and playful, “so now you’re stuck with me. forever.”

before you can respond, he leans down and captures your lips again, this time with more confidence. his hands cradle your face, and the weight of him above you is both grounding and electrifying. when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his smile soft but radiant.

“so…” he whispers, his tone teasing, “can we drop the ‘fake’ part now?”

you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “yeah, i think we can.”

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menteycorazoncito · 2 days ago

Text

Háblame - Pedri González

ᥫ᭡: pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x reader

ᥫ᭡: warnings: angst to fluff, breakup, lmk if forgot smth

ᥫ᭡: a/n: I was listening to Tayc while writing and the idea to combine some lyrics in the fic came to me. Criticism and feedback are always welcome. Enjoy :)

navigation | request guidelines

It has been a few weeks since you had last seen Pedri, a few weeks since you have heard his voice, felt his warmth or laughed about his foolish jokes and humorous banter. It all used to seem insignificant, yet now, it was all you could think about. Still holding onto the faint memories for dear life.

Things had changed between you two. It was nothing dramatic. No big fight or disagreement, just a dull emptiness that replaced the connection you once had. You got too caught up in your own life and insecurities to even notice. So close, yet so out of reach.

Pedri laid wide awake in his bed, staring out the window at the beautiful Barcelona skyline, wondering when he got to the state he was in right now. Long sleepless hours, filled with thoughts and regrets that drove him crazy. He didn’t exactly know what he had done wrong. But there must have been an explanation as to why you left.

His phone on the bedside table mocked him with its silence. He grabbed it and for the umpteenth time that night his finger hovered over your contact, before setting it back down and sighing into the darkness of his empty bedroom.

He missed you. The way your perfume lingered in his flat, even after you left reminded him of you, and it was killing him slowly inside.

Pedri couldn’t get himself to call you; not in the state he was in. He desperately needed to see you.

You were sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, reading your book. Yet, you found yourself rereading the same page multiple times, unable to focus on the words. Your thoughts drifted to a certain Spanish brunette.

You jumped at the sound of doorbell ring. Who could it be at this hour? You asked yourself in denial because deep inside you knew who it might have been.

“Pedro.” you said, his name stuck in your throat, as you opened the door.

He stood in the hallway of the building blankly staring at you, looking worse than ever. The shadows under his eyes more prominent than they already were, his hoodie wrinkled, and his hair messy. His posture reminded you of a lost puppy. It looked like he had cried, eyes red and puffy. Did he really let himself go like that?

He stared as if you would disappear if even moved his eyes ever so little. You on the other hand tried to keep composure after seeing him.

“Can I come in?” he finally spoke.

“Why are you here?” you asked, desperate to know the reason for his visit at this hour.

“We need to talk…” he said, his voice barely audible. “I deserve an explanation.”

Against your better judgement you opened the front door wider to let him into your flat. You stepped aside as he shuffled inside and sat on the sofa of your living room.

You trailed behind him and for a moment there you didn’t believe the sight in front of you: Pedri, the man you love(d) sat in front of you in utter silence. His big doe eyes glazed with tears, reflecting a sadness that mirrored your own.

The room was silent, broken by the sound of Barcelona’s traffic outside. Both of you did not know what to say or do. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife, as you wondered how it has gotten this bad.

“What happened to us…” he finally asked.

You were silent, the words got caught in your throat. Truth is, you had imagined this moment endless times. Each scenario playing differently in your mind. Yet nothing could have ever prepared you for this encounter.

“I though we were doing fine. All of a sudden it’s like we don't know each other. You gave up on us at the first hardship of our relationship. It’s like you never even fought for us, at least not like I did.” he said, his voice cracking.

Utter silence. His words hung heavily in the air. Still you remained silent.

“Talk to me…” he urged. “Talk to me, even if it’s to insult me. Tell me that you hate me, just don’t ignore me”

Tears filled your eyes as you realised how much you actually hurt him. “I didn’t fight for you because I thought you’d be better off without me, Pedro”

He flinched at the use of his actual name, since you always used nicknames with him. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.

“You think I would be better off without you?” he scoffed, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You are everything I have ever wanted. Do you know how much it killed me to hear nothing from you? I analysed every single move I have ever made in our relationship to see if I ever wronged you. It killed me to see the person I love slip away from me day by day. I did everything I could to at try and make you stay but I wake up one day, your things are gone, and I am blocked everywhere.” His sadness quickly turned into frustration.

You blinked emptily at him. His words hit you like a tidal wave and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to crack.

“I- I thought I was protecting you. All the pressure, the media, the traveling. You were away half the time, and I didn't know how to deal with it. It was never my intention to hurt you. I thought letting you go would be what’s best of us, before any of us get attached. No matter how much it hurt me. I was so selfish that I ended up hurting you too in the process. Plus, it was too late when I came back to my senses. The damage was already done, and I don’t know how to fix it,” You confessed, your voice quiet and high pitched. Pedri wouldn’t have heard you if you weren’t sitting so close to each other.

“So that’s it? After everything, you’re just giving up” He was growing more frustrated by the minute

“I never felt enough for you. You are this amazing footballer that all girls dream of, and I am- I am just… me. Plain me.”

The walls you had built came down, showing how fragile you were in reality. Ashamed of your vulnerability, you looked away, finding a sudden interest in the bookshelf of your living room as the realisation hit you like a thousand bricks.

You had ruined everything. You lost everything to your own insecurities.

“Mira cariño, I didn’t come to fight,” he reassured you softly, his gaze softened at the sight of the tears glistening in your eyes. “You were enough. You always were. I came here because I really miss you. This emptiness is killing me.”

He scooted closer to you, taking your hand in his, looking at you with a look of sympathy. The same look he had always given you when you were upset. As you allowed the tears to finally fall, he gave your hand a squeeze.

“I miss you too.” your voice cracked in between the sobs. “I miss us.”

He cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in his eyes that make you fall in love over again.

“We can fix this, mi amor, you just need to want it too.” he reassured you, getting his own hopes up.

You nodded, not knowing what else to do. As he pulled you into a hug you began to sob even more (if that was even possible). How missed him. The scent of his woody cologne filling you with nostalgia of what you had, the way his arms wrapped around you, the way he made everything into a joke. You put your head on his chest as he put his chin on your head whispering sweet nothing to you. The sound of his heartbeat calmed your sobs a bit and for the first time in weeks you felt a little bit of relief.

“I want you back,” you admitted through tears. “No matter how much I tried to move on and live without you, but I found myself hanging onto every single things that reminds me of you. I can’t sleep without you here, the bed feels too big and the flat feels quiet. I can’t live without you, Pedrito.”

The two of you spent what was left of the evening, silently in each others arms. Pedri occasionally pressed kisses to your head and hands like he always used to do. And for the first time in what felt like forever, a sense of peace and a flicker of hope warmed your cold heart.

“Estoy aquí para ti, siempre” he whispered reassuringly in your hair before you two drifted into a deep sleep.

Maybe, just maybe, this time you would get it right.

#footballer fanfic #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #footballer x you #footballer imagine #pedri x y/n #pedri x reader #pedri x you #pedri gonzalez #pedri imagine #pedri gonzález x reader #barca x reader #barca fc #fc barça

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leonkennedybreedingkink · 2 days ago

Text

NEUTRON STAR

real dad!leon kennedy x reader

tags: dddne. discussion of incest and noncon, implied child abuse (one line), spit, vomit discussion, hallucinations, victim blaming, discussion of ptsd and anxious behaviors (from personal experience). reference to my dark vanessa btw.

Session transcript, October twenty-first, 2018. [15:03]

Patient: Kennedy

”Ms. Kennedy, would you tell me why you’re here?” Your therapist asks after five minutes of silence, her pen writing the date and time on the right corner of her legal pad.

[Silence.]

A steadying inhale. “The court ordered me to.”

More scratching. ”And why is that?”

“They say I’m traumatized.” You answer, audible clicking noises as you pick at your cuticles.

“Why is that?” Your therapist asks, eternally patient and blank.

“‘Cause my dad and I had sex.”

The pen stops scratching, then scratches again briefly. “Would you elaborate?”

You scoff audibly.

[Silence.]

“My dad and I had sex. That’s it.”

More scratching. “What led to that event?”

A long sigh through one’s nose. “Um, I came home from college for the weekend. I was hanging out with my dad and doing nothing when I… felt weird. My, my wine tasted salty, I almost spat it out.”

Scratching. Patient’s wine was drugged by father.

“My head… felt fuzzy. Couldn’t move my arms or legs, they felt so heavy. I thought I was gonna throw up and choke on it, like Jane.”

”Jane? Is this a friend of yours?”

”No, um. Breaking Bad. She was Jesse’s girlfriend. She did a speedball with him and Walter rolled her onto her back on accident. When she puked, she choked on it and died.” More clicking. “That’s what I mean.”

”I see.” Scratching as she writes down the events in order. “You may continue.”

”Anyway, uh,” Your voice wobbles slightly. “I was in and out of it. Dad, um.” You clear your throat.

[Silence.]

”He… pulled down my pants, my sweatpants. He… fingered me, and it hurt, cause I was dry. Despite the wine.” Your voice lowers ashamedly. “I came.”

Patient focusing on smaller details outside of rape by her father.

“Then he pulled down his pants and got on top of me.” Sniff, sniff. Rustling as your therapist hands you a tissue box. “Thank you.”

”You’re welcome.”

You clear your throat. “Then we had sex. He drooled in my mouth. I was… I was drooling a lot, there was a wet spot on the couch the day after. I threw up the entire day afterward.”

The scratching stops. Insistence on ‘sex’ instead of rape. ”Was this… a pattern?”

A loud sniffle. “Pattern?”

”Did he violate other women?”

”I don’t fucking know.” You blow your nose and toss the tissue out. “How do I know they didn’t want it, if he did?”

Patient blames other hypothetical victims.

”Did he violate you any more after this initial encounter?”

A derisive laugh from you. “It wasn’t a violation, it was sex. With him. The law says a lot of things are wrong without taking nuance into account.”

A scratch as your therapist underlines insistence on ‘sex’ instead of rape. “How often did your encounters with your father occur?”

Your voice lowers. ”At least twice a week.”

Violations from father at least twice a week.

“All the specifics.” You snort, blowing your nose again and throwing out the tissue. A soft squelching noise as you squirt some hand sanitizer into your hand and the wet sound of you rubbing your irritated and chafed hands together.

Patient compulsively washes hands.

“Is this the point where you diagnose me?”

“No, that comes after a few more sessions of getting to know you.”

Another derisive laugh.

”Are there any encounters with your father that stick out in your mind?”

”Chickenshit.”

[Silence.]

”I’m sorry?”

“You’re a chickenshit.”

”Why is that?”

“You won't call it what it really is. It’s just sex, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Patient is in denial.

A deep inhale from your therapist. “What you just described to me sounds like no consensual sexual encounter I’d ever heard of. Are there any encounters with your father that stick out in your mind?”

Clicking. Clicking. Clicking. “We went hunting over Thanksgiving break. Mom died close to Thanksgiving. We, uh, went up to the cabin and got settled in before we had sex again. He made me promise not to tell anyone, afterward.” Pause, dead air. “And I didn’t.”

First encounter: Patient was home for the weekend from college and was drinking. Father drugged her wine and raped her on the couch. Patient threw up all day and the day after.

Second encounter: brought patient up to a cabin to go hunting, raped her, and made her promise never to tell anyone. Patient followed instructions.

”We went hunting in the morning and brought home a doe. I thought—“ Your voice breaks and you clear your throat. “When dad slung her over her shoulder, I saw myself. And when he showed me how to butcher a deer and when I was butchering it, I saw myself again.”

Patient hallucinated herself as the deer her father killed and brought home for meat.

“I threw up outside.”

“That must’ve been distressing.”

A snort. “You think?”

Scratching. Patient extremely defensive as a response to long-term trauma—uses sarcasm and humor to deflect.

”Is there anything about your relationship that sticks out in your mind? Did he manipulate you?”

A haughty scoff. “Him sharing his feelings isn’t manipulation. That’s what’s wrong with psychiatry, it pathologizes normal human behavior.”

Patient exhibiting protective behaviors over her father, herself, and their relationship. Cognitive dissonance to distance herself from what happened as a protective measure.

“What feelings did he share with you?”

[Silence.]

”That he was lonely.” Your voice quiets down. “He’s my only family, and I’m his only family. We’ve only got one another, since mom died. He didn’t wanna lose me. That’s why we got so close.”

Use of present tense when describing her and her father’s relationship. Father employed emotional manipulation to groom patient into accepting a sexual relationship after the second rape.

“So your father intentionally isolated you from everyone else and made you feel as though you were the only one who could save him.” Your therapist says patiently.

”No, he didn’t.” You say stonily. “I still had friends and people I could talk to. He never took my keys or anything like that.”

”I mean emotional isolation. Your father very carefully whittled you away from your friends and made you feel as though you only could be understood by him.”

”Well, he didn’t, no matter what the DSM or ABC or whatever the fuck says. He’s my dad, he’d never hurt me.”

Stomping, and a door slamming shut.

Patient has hit a wall when it comes to recovery: cannot fathom her father raping her willfully and has mental walls in place to avoid reality of incestuous sexual abuse.

Session three transcript, November fourth, 2018. [29:58]

Patient: Kennedy

“Before we get started, I’d like to thank you for coming in for another session with me.”

”The lawyers are paying for it, figured I wouldn’t waste their money.” Click, click.

“Right, I see.” Patient is not coming of her own volition. “Actually, I’d wanted to ask you a question before we continue from last time, if that’s alright with you.”

”Uh, okay. Shoot.” Rustling as you adjust yourself.

”Since your father’s incarceration, how have you been sleeping?”

[Silence.]

“Not well.” You don’t speak very loudly, it’s hard to hear over the recording. “I have to down a bunch of nyquil every night just to go to sleep. And even then, um… I don’t sleep well. I have a bunch of waking interruptions and nightmares.”

“Would you be willing to tell me what the nightmares entail?”

Rustling as you shift again. ”It’s dad. Always him.” You clear your throat. “It’s almost always the first time we had sex, too. I… can always taste the wine. And… my tears.” Your voice wobbles. “And… the pain. Like he was gouging at me from the inside. Even after I came.”

A sniffle and rustle as you take the tissue box. “Thank you.”

”What happens after you wake up?”

”I can’t sleep. I don’t. I get up and watch TV or play on my phone, since there’s—“ You cut yourself off, blowing your nose.

Scratching of a pen. Patient has nightmares and acute stress response to said nightmares. Patient afflicted by insomnia.

“Since what?”

”Since there’s nobody else for me to wake up. I slept better when we slept in the same bed.” You murmur, almost inaudible. “My dad and I, I mean. He… it was like having an octopus in the bed. I’d always wake up sweating because he runs so hot and he’d be clinging to me. I didn’t sleep in his bed until after our second time.” Your words muffle as you put your face in your hands.

More scratching. Patient and father codependent, typical of familial abuse survivors.

“Is there anything else you’re experiencing since your father’s incarceration?”

Cracking as you pop your knuckles nervously. “I can’t see police lights anymore. I… they make me hyperventilate. I feel like I can’t breathe. I can’t watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer anymore.”

Scratching: trauma responses to related stimuli (e.g., police lights).

”How come?”

”I got to season six in my rewatch. And… Buffy’s almost raped by her boyfriend in an episode. Onscreen, violently.”

[Uncomfortable silence.]

“I couldn’t see, and I was back on the couch with him on top of me. I felt… phantom pain. And I was crying. I couldn’t stop.” Your voice breaks and you pull a tissue from the box, blowing your nose and throwing it out. Wet squelching as you sanitize your irritated hands.

Your therapist adds, patient exhibits trauma response to sexual abuse related stimuli. Beneath your name, she writes Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with anxious facets.

“And all—“ your voice breaks, soft sniffles leaving you as you try to keep it together, “all I can think is that I wanted it. I must’ve told him, shown him, something. I must have.”

Rustling as your therapist stands up, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher.

“Thank you.” Your voice is wet and raw as you take the cup, soft swallows echoing through the recording.

Brief silence as your therapist waits for you to compose yourself. “I think we should have a discussion about personal responsibility.”

A mirthless chuckle. “I’m sure. Isn’t this the part where you coddle me and tell me that I didn’t do anything wrong?”

”It is, because you didn’t. Let’s unpack this.”

A groan under your breath. “Goodie.”

”So, what makes you think you did something to tell him you wanted him to have sex with you?” Patience, must meet the patient where they’re at.

”I… I don’t know.” Your voice quiets like your head dips forward. “Maybe it was unconscious.”

”I see. You wanted your father to drug you in order to have sex with you. But your saying that you wanted it and broadcasted it to him unconsciously doesn’t answer why he drugged you.”

Footsteps and muffled sniffles and sobs, a door opening and shutting.

Your therapist lets her last client out for the day, locking the practices’ doors behind her and walking out to her car in the lot, heels clicking on the pavement and sidewalk. Her phone rings in her bag and she pauses, pulling open her bag and fishing through the mess in her bag to pull her phone out.

It’s you.

You’d reluctantly accepted her phone number after session eight, for use during emergencies.

She picks up, putting her bag back over her shoulder and walking to her car. She unlocks it and tosses her bag in the passenger seat.

“Ms. Kennedy?” She asks after a period of quiet sobbing on your end of the line.

”He—“ You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle a loud sob. “He said he didn’t want to see me. Ever. And I’m no daughter of his. He—He thinks I sold him out and left him to rot.” The last word trails off into sob into your palm, wet and ragged inhales almost painful to listen to.

Oh. You’d gone to visit him today, you’d made a remark about that after the last session.

“I didn’t, I told him I kept the promise, I swore to him.” You’re nearly incomprehensible through your tears. “It was those other bitches who’d made that complaint and got him locked up, it wasn’t me.”

Your therapist listens silently, heart breaking with every sob.

”And he’d—“ A dry sob. “He’d told me that he loved me so much, that what we did was a natural extension of his love for me as his daughter, that he didn’t want to lose me, he needed me like air. Did he lie? Was it all a lie? He’s my only family, he’s all I’ve got.”

You sob between your words. “He’s all I’ve got and he’s cut me off. I have nobody. And I—I felt so small, like I was nine and he was having a fit again, breaking glasses and all that shit.”

A pause as you keep sobbing, making no effort to muffle yourself. “I wish my mom was here. I wish he was here. I just want—“ A pained inhale.

Your therapist cries with you.

“I just want a hug. He’s my dad, and I love him, and I just want one last hug.”

She sits in silence with you, intermittent sniffing coming through the receiver. Eventually, you blow your nose and sanitize your hands.

“If it’s not a love story, what is it?” Your voice comes through, heartbreakingly small and raw.

You know the answer: rape, incest, abuse of power, emotional manipulation and abuse.

“I… I need it to be a love story. It has to be, because I have nothing left if it isn’t.”

#mine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

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