#she has an EXACT idea of what she wants and it's not my place to get in the way of that lmao

[sirsparklepants]

I didn't necessarily like Vanessa breaking up with Wade in dp&w, because it did minimize her character and I love her and their relationship chemistry, but it made sense as a trajectory to me, because with the flashback, we see stress happening along an existing consistent faultline in their relationship.

In the first movie, the reason Wade is even in the program with Francis is because he unilaterally made a decision in their relationship to not allow Vanessa to support him through his cancer, even though she expressed that she wanted the exact opposite. She's clearly still searching for him and interested in resuming their relationship based on the way she immediately goes out to try and find him when she's lured out and kidnapped, despite the strong possibility he's already dead. She never gave up on him the way he did himself, and yet, Wade never comes back to her, because he's imposed his own idea of what she would think and want on her and used that to make another unilateral decision. Which she's clearly angry about in the finale, despite being willing to take him back! And completely understandably.

In the second movie, we obviously don't see a lot of their relationship, but we can tell that Wade doesn't let her in on any details of his work by the way he makes excuses to her about being late for their anniversary, which again, she's annoyed by. And when his work literally gets her killed, she isn't angry in the afterlife (if we take those scenes as given instead of happening in Wade's head exclusively, which I've always wondered about, but given how self loathing he can be, I would think that a Vanessa in his head would blame him). In fact, she even jokes about it in dp&w, or at least that was my read - it felt very like their trauma one-upping in the first film to me.

So what do we know about their breakup from dp&w? Well, we see the scene where Wade interviews with the Avengers and says "my girl is sick of my shit", and a conversation in flashback that's been manipulated by Cassandra. But before she has Vanessa tell Wade "you'll never matter", it seems to me like they're having a completely different conversation - one where Vanessa is asking him to open up to her and let her share his burdens, which is consistent with the rest of their relationship. And it seems like to me that that conversation takes place after his Avengers rejection, given that she says he got knocked down and can't get back up again (although this is debatable), and if so, implies that she stays with him beyond that and tries to help him out of the resulting depression. Since Wade has previously imposed his own ideas of what Vanessa would want and believe about him over what she's actually been saying, that seems consistent to their previous issues. And it's exhausting to try again and again to get someone to open up and share with you when you can clearly tell there's a problem and not be allowed in or allowed to help. I can't blame her for not being able to handle that after a while!

But even after their breakup, she still cares for him and wants him to be in her life, or else why would she be in his family picture and at his birthday party? She's still happy to be seated next to him and hold his hand, no matter what else the ending meant. The fact that their relationship has ended didn't change that. Maybe the fact that Wade found a purpose again (I don't think that it would necessarily be superheroing that she would want, but Wade's self-worth is tied up in 'proving' he's important, and saving the universe gave him a boost there) made her hopeful that they could rekindle their relationship with less of those problems, maybe she was just happy to hear that he still cared deeply for her - with how awkward their interaction was the first time around, I could see that - but she wasn't put off by it in the least. Their closeness is important to her, no matter what their relationship is, and I'm glad that whatever else, dp&w kept that.

And if I said that I think Vanessa treated Wade poorly in Deadpool and Wolverine, and that I think she was a complete dickhead for asking him to "prove" his live after everything he went through for her. What then?

And what if I said Logan treated him better theought the entire movie than Vanessa did in the last 2 films of the trilogy? And that they had more chemistry and soft moments? What then?

[j-partneringrime]

there’s something so poetic about tr!ros lying by leaving out very important context about why her and tr!aimsey fought and both their motivations behind it to bad and pili to try make it seem worst so they would give her more respect and fear, the literal whole reason the fight started in the first place; ros considering killing aimsey to gain respect from bad and pili. And asking pili if he would kill, his best friend, pangi like ros did to hers only for pili to say no, never INSTANTLY, zero hesitation, the main reason ros got called out by aimsey WAS the hesitation she had when asked if she’d kill them, so to hear pili, who is a person she actively doesn’t trust and thinks of as bad, have absolutely zero hesitation in refusing to even consider killing his best friend, you’d think would be a kind of wake up call to her about her actions and thinking.

But ros, not even noticing or saying anything, instead goes fully into their flawed idea again by saying “I killed my best friend, so is that scary to you” still needing that validation and respect, especially after already having done it and murdering her most trusted ally and friend, only for pili to say no, because he could never hurt someone who means so much and is so precious to him, he’s shares the exact same view on it as aimsey, the correct view on it, but ros was too caught up in needing respect and also viewing pili and bad as evil, who she needs to stand up to, that she couldn’t realise it was a bad philosophy and even pili knows it. So her not knowing, someone who is a lot more caring, shows just how far she’s spiraled in this need for respect. And then bad says how traumatising that must’ve been for aimsey to be killed by their best friend, for ros then to instantly say that she died too to a zombie afterwards, which both feels like saying, I made a mistake and got what I deserved right after, which would make sense for her divided thoughts on the whole situation and not being able to fully make a choice on what she wants to do, so it just ends up being a chain of constant mistakes and regrets. But it also kinda feels like almost desperately trying to get them back on her side by saying “well I know I killed my best friend and betrayed their trust but I died too as well so it’s even” as if dying to a zombie and dying by your best friend after finding out they’d consider killing you for respect from people youse don’t even like, are in any way comparable.

Ros also says “I had to do what I had to do” about killing aimsey, which is her both denying any sense of choice in the situation and thinking of it being something she had to do to get them to respect her instead of something she chose to do and actually did, and also her making her seem more serious about it to bad and pili by seeming like she has no regrets in doing it, which whether she ignores them or not, she definitely does. Then when bad pulls her up on it asks her “you had to kill aimsey?” she said “well…” because she knows she’s lying and at this moment she can’t bring herself to say she had to kill aimsey, she could easily carry on the lie, carry on the idea in her head that she had to do it but she can’t, because she didn’t, of course she didn’t but at the same time, she did because doing it seemed to be the only way that could wake ros up from this idea of doing anything for respect, and then that didn’t even work because here she is now doing exactly what she said she would, going up to bad and pili and telling them she killed aimsey to get them to fear and respect her… and it doesn’t work, if anything it does the opposite since they, unknown to them, are saying what aimsey said to her when confronting her before their fight.

Pili even says to her that she can’t commit to this violent image she’s trying to have, which is one of the main problems right now, both that she can’t commit to it and when she does, it’s at the worst times, if you can’t fully commit to this idea but then committing to it when your best friend asks you if you’d kill them to gain respect is THE WRONG TIME TO COMMIT.

She’s so conflicted on her own ideology, even when it’s eating her up inside on needing to do it, which really shows what a genuinely good person she is, because she is a very kind hearted who is extremely powerful, being one of the highest people in the kingdom and also the person who build the actual kingdom itself, and also extremely strong, despite being constantly underestimated. She could easily be the full ruler of the kingdom, she has all the qualifications AND MORE, she is anything but weak, so getting constantly targeted by pili and bad makes sense to help fuel her idea of violence but it’s just so sad seeing how conflicted she is, especially after going so far to one side that she got her most trusted ally and best friend killed and yet still being conflicted. (p.s ros also said aimsey needs therapy after being killed by ros, which is DEFINITELY TRUE, for many reasons, but coming from tr!ros is kinda crazy…)

tr!ros you deserve so much better and you WILL GET IT!!! Ros has done SUCH an amazing job creating and playing this character, I’m so invested in her story and her relationships with the kingdom, with aimsey, with pili & bad and with the rest of red & green factions.

BTW I haven’t watched too much of ros, pili or bad’s povs, so some of this might be wrong and will definitely be missing more specific details but still they’re all SUCH GOOD CHARACTERS!!!

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.204 Colorful world

The food came out shortly, and Desiree forgot all about her mission to uncover the saga of how we met. Sophia got up to her old tricks, telling wild tales, making us laugh. I don't know what comes over her in restaurants, but it's always a good time. Once we had our fill of noodles, and were teetering on the brink of a carb coma, we headed back to the rental and took a proper tour of the house. It had just about everything we needed, and many more things we didn't expect, like a small yoga studio and a private hot spring. We almost didn't need to leave the house.

Desi and I settled in the living room while Sophia unpacked.

"So, what do you think about Mt. Komorebi so far?" I asked.

"I think I like it, but... It's weird here."

"Nooo, don't say that. Things might be different, but that doesn't make them weird. Every place has its own style and culture, and they're all kinda cool in their own ways. Actually, we have a lot of cultures in our family."

Her eyes lit up again.

"We do??"

"Yep. My dad's family is from a place called Monte Vista. It's really far away. But it's very beautiful and looks a lot different from here and San Sequoia. Their culture is very serious about food and influenced a lot of what we eat, like pizza and pasta."

"Pizzaaaaa! What about Mommy?"

I groaned, not because I didn't want to share her story, but because it wasn't mine to tell and she wasn't around to decide whether it got told. But her history isn't her own anymore. That is the exact reason she wanted to have children in the first place. Desiree deserves to know how she got here and who played a part in it.

"Mommy has lots of cultures in her family, so she's extra cool."

"Oooh, like what??"

"Well, part of her family is from Sulani. That's an island, so they live on the beach."

"Ooooooh!!"

"Another part of her family is from El Selvadorada. That's the jungle."

"The jungle?!"

"Mmm hmm. And a very small part of her family is from another faraway place called Al Simhara. That's in the desert where the pyramids are."

"COOOOOOOOOOOL!"

I have no idea if she even knows what the pyramids are or why they're so cool, but her reactions are sending me! She has the cutest, most expressive face.

Sophia finally joined us, asking what all the excitement was about. Before I could answer, the kid gave a very loud, excitable response.

"Daddy said you're cool because you have the most cultures!"

"Oh," she said, chuckling nervously. "Is that right?"

"Let's go outside and watch the snow," she blurted.

"OKAY!"

Desi hopped up and ran outside. Sophia lit the fireplace to keep us warm since we didn't put on our coats.

"Isn't it pretty?" she asked.

"Yes, but it sounds funny," Desiree shouted.

Sophia laughed.

"Yeah...it kinda does. I like the way it sounds, though."

I silently agreed with both of them. It's weird when the snow is thick and really coming down because somehow it can absorb sound, making it eerily quiet outside. But it also has a hushed, serene quality to it that is calming. We stood there and listened for a moment before Sophia turned around and warmed her hands. Desiree watched her, shadowing everything she did. It was the cutest thing. Despite all the time she and I spend together, and despite how much she enjoys our time, it's good to know she still desires her mother and wants to be like her.

I had plans for tonight and was eager to get my vacation agenda started, so I cozied up to Sophia, whispering in her ear.

"You should have told me you were cold. I would have put the kid to bed early so we could light a fire upstairs."

She giggled.

"I mean...you could still do that."

"Say less."

I grabbed Desi and ushered her upstairs.

"Time for bed, Des!"

"But I'm not tired!"

"You will be. Trust me! We had a long journey today. It'll hit you very soon. Just close your eyes and think sleepy thoughts."

"But I don't have sleepy thoughts!"

Once you hear us, you'll wish you did.

"I need some water," she said.

"You're fine. Drinking water will make you get up and pee later." And then you might see some things.

"I want to stay up with you and Mommy," she whined.

"I know, hon. But you'll get to hang out with us all day for three straight days. That's what's so cool about vacation."

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart!"

"Okay."

She changed her clothes and slid under the covers. I tucked her in and gave her a goodnight kiss.

"Sweet dreams for our sweet potato."

She closed her eyes and was down for the count within minutes, just like I said.

I all but ran next door to our room and tore off my clothes. But to my surprise, Sophia had found another activity to enjoy.

"Luca, this is so nice! I've never done it half naked by a fire before."

Hopefully she wouldn't enjoy it for too much longer. My time was growing short. You got to strike while the iron is hot; ya know? But we are on vacation, and like I just told Desi, we're gonna have three whole days of togetherness. We don't have to burn a hole in the mattress tonight. Besides, Sophia does so much for our family, never complaining or making excuses. She deserves to relax, so I sat patiently and admired her from a distance...

But then I got a very selfish idea, heh. I never got a chance to give her that full body massage, and it's high time she sees exactly what these hands can do. First, I'll start innocently with her hands. Then, I'll hit her neck and shoulders, like last time. I'll move down her back real slow, and when I start squeezing that ass, she will be putty in my hands. It's about to go DOWN!

[nubiawrites]

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: None as of yet. Summary: When an up-and-coming screenwriter meets her match in a rising actor, their worlds collide as the lines blur between business, pleasure, and maybe love...

Notes: It's been a minute since I wrote any fanfiction, but I was inspired by the community that has emerged out of love for Aaron Pierre and the many characters he has played. So, hopefully, I make people proud. If you want to be on the tag list, reblog or like, and I will add you. Enjoy, and tell me how you feel! CHAPTER ONE

A deep breath in. A deep breath out. Iriye had to remind herself of this as she looked up at the water tower of her workplace. The Warner Brothers emblem shines down from her view on the lot. This was what dreams were made of. But her path wasn’t the easiest. She was grateful for the coffee runs, errands, reading, and research she did for others as she tried to make her way up the food chain. And it paid off.

Iriye turned towards the office on the lot, Telfar bag on her shoulder and box in hand, looking at her home away from home for the next few months. Many halls led her to the office door with a placard that read the name of the production company she shared with Tamara: Lanoire Productions. Iriye pushed through the door and smiled brightly as she saw Nelly slide into view.

“You’re not supposed to be here yet,” Nelly whined as Iriye placed her things in an empty chair. Iriye smiled at Tamara’s little cousin, who doubled as Lanoire’s one and only intern turned assistant. “I had a big surprise planned. There were going to be balloons and everything and these,” Nelly went to grab a confetti shooter, and with a pop, she let it go off. 

The pop brought Tamara out of her office, smiling as she saw Iriye.

“Let the woman breathe, Nels!” Tamara stated, pulling Iriye in for a hug. “Look at our little space. Isn’t it everything we dreamed of?”

“Well…��� Iriye took in most of the space and smiled happily. “We don’t have the chocolate leather couches or Michael B. Jordan banging down our door, but it’s something,” Iriye teased. “But we have plenty of time for that,” Iriye wrapped her arm around Tamara’s shoulder.

“Took us nine years to get here, but it was worth it,” Tamara reminded Iriye. Iriye just shook her head playfully.

“Listen, I can wait nine more years for Michael,” Iriye teased as she grabbed her bag.

“Don’t you guys keep up? Michael is so last year,” Nelly declared.

“Nah, don’t say that,” Iriye shook her head, goddess locs moving. “Who is this year then?”

Nelly approaches Tamara and Iriye with her phone, clicking through her photos until she plays a video of a tall, light-skinned Black man dancing through a spirit tunnel for the Jennifer Hudson show.

“Ain’t that Malcolm X?” Tamara asked, Nelly shaking her head as Iriye chuckled.

“That’s Mufasa,” Nelly sang along with the video. “Aaron Pierre, to be exact. The South London heartthrob,”

“Right,” Iriye rolled her eyes at the words. “A new one comes and goes every month,” She grabbed her bag and box. “Let me get my stuff set up in my office. We got that meeting anyway with the executives, right?” She said.

“Yes. Two pm sharp. Don’t be late,” Tamara teased.

“Yes, ma’am,” Iriye teasingly salutes. “Nelly will keep me on time. Part of her job,” 

After setting her belongings down, Iriye entered her office and organized her desk. She then took out her laptop and reviewed the notes and questions she had prepared for her meeting later that day.

Iriye and Tamara had secured a first-look deal with Warner Brothers after many years of creating their short films and funding an indie feature while working for others. It was a whirlwind, and all their hard was paying off. 

Iriye prepped for a little longer before opening a PowerPoint file and working on a lookbook for her new idea. It was a romantic drama, something she was doing to challenge herself. She went through the slides, beginning to go through the different photos and such on the slides. But then she caught sight of the one picture she had pulled from her selfies. She and her ex-boyfriend, Jay. She sighed, seeing the beauty in the photo of them holding each other and how it connected to what she wanted to explore in the script. But it hurt still, and she shut the laptop.

Iriye got up and headed out of her office to see Nelly setting up more knick-knacks and memorabilia to make their production office more welcoming.

“I’m gonna go for a walk. Grab some coffee,” Iriye told Nelly.

“Isn’t that my job?” Nelly asked Iriye.

“Not right now. I need the air. You want anything?” Iriye asked.

“Oh, I would love a cookie,” Nelly pleaded. 

“Your wish is my command,” Iriye headed out to the lot, taking familiar steps to the cafe on the lot.

Iriye headed for the path she usually took, but with several new productions happening on the lot, she had to take the same routes some of the studio tours were on. She found herself in familiar territory, remembering her first job as a tour guide on the lot. She walked until she caught sight of one of the soundstages that were usually left empty for the walking part of the tour.

Iriye slipped inside, footsteps hitting the ground and her taking in the sound stage. She looked around, wrapping her arms around herself as she took it all in. She knew she had ten minutes before the next group came in.

Iriye shut her eyes, imagining a set on the sound stage. Two actors portraying forlorn lovers settled in their house while Tamara called cut. Iriye sat in a chair, headphones on, watching from the video village. It was so close yet so far away. Her fantasy was cut short by the sound of heavier steps entering the space.

“My bad, I didn’t know this stage was taken,” The light-skinned man spoke with a heavy British accent, adjusting his glasses as he looked at her.

As this stranger stood on the soundstage, Iriye felt unnerved, her fantasy disturbed. His presence was something else, though, as he smiled at her.

“It’s not, but you shouldn’t be here,” Iriye stated matter of factly. “It’s the sound stage the tour uses. No one is supposed to be here,”

“You’re a tour guide?” He asked, Iriye trying her best not to scoff.

“I am- I was,” Iriye admitted. “Do I look like a tour guide?”

“No. Not at all. I mean no offense by that,” He explained, moving closer. Iriye held her ground, realizing that she should probably move away as he was so damn tall. “I was just-“

“Because I was trying to look like a professional now. And the tour guides wear button-ups too,” Iriye was trying to be calm as she smoothed out her button-up shirt. 

“You look good. Dope,” The tall man reasoned. Iriye raised her eyebrow at him, taking in his jawline and those eyes. Man.

The rumble of a tour bus coming to a stop broke Iriye from her trance, and she focused on the entrance behind him.

“We should go before we get kicked off the lot. I mean, I won’t, but you might,” Iriye stated, heading towards the exit and leading them out. The footsteps entering the space made the tall man follow behind Iriye, and she looked over her shoulder at him.

“My bad,” he whispered, as they exited the sound stage. They made it outside the stage, and she pointed back to where the tour guides usually congregated with their groups.

“You might want to return to your group before they notice you are missing. The tour guides can get in trouble if they lose someone,” Iriye stated. The man just chuckled, and Iriye crossed her arms. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Trust me, I probably would cause more commotion being there with them. Would probably get me in trouble.” He said. Iriye shook her head at him. 

“So I’m guessing you’re new to the lot. What production are you working on?” Iriye asked. With that question, the man looked at her curiously before a smile crossed his face. 

“Lanterns,” He said. “I’m Aaron,” He offered his hand to her.

“Iriye,” Iriye shook his hand, feeling almost dainty as her hand was in his. “Nice to meet you, Aaron,” She said. “Hope you don’t get into trouble while on the lot. It’s an amazing place to be,”

“It is from what I can see. What’s your favorite place here?” Aaron asked her, and Iriye found that question intriguing. 

“My favorite place here?” Iriye thought about it for a moment. “Anywhere I can see the water tower,” She said. “If you’re driving to the lot, it’s welcoming you. And once you get inside here, you can see it down the main road. Right down there,” Iriye pointed out.

Aaron looked the way she pointed, taking in the lingering smile on her face. “Not to get you in trouble like myself, but do you mind showing me?”

“Are you mocking me?” Iriye asked. “Because you asked me what was my favorite place here,”

Aaron put his hands up in defense. “I just don’t want to get you into any more trouble than I already might cause,” 

Iriye smirked before motioning for him to follow her. “Come on,”

Iriye and Aaron walked down one of the roads until they reached a path with a clear view of the water tower, which was lit by the sun. 

Iriye stopped, taking in the view, and she turned to see Aaron beside her. She took in his side profile as he stared ahead, gold-rimmed glasses on his face. From her eyes, she fell to his full lips and then the chiseled jaw with a trimmed goatee. And though she couldn’t see much, she could tell under his hoodie and sweats that he was tall and muscular.

“So what are you doing on Lanterns? You know, job-wise?” She asked, still taking him in. Aaron looked at her directly, and his eyes were so bright and open, her masking her surprise and failing. She couldn’t tell the emotion on his face, but it was quickly washed with a warm smile.

“I work with talent,” Aaron stated. “Yourself?”

“I’m a writer working on the lot here,” Iriye stated. “The production company I co-own with my best friend got a deal with the studio,” She explained.

“Congratulations,” Aaron applauded her. Iriye shook her head. 

“Don’t clap too soon. We have to get something greenlit first,” She stated.

“What makes you think it won’t happen?” Aaron asked.

Iriye turned to Aaron, seeing the curiosity. “You know how fickle this industry can be. One day, you’re in, and the next, you’re out. If I keep my hopes low and realistic, I won’t be let down if it doesn’t come to fruition,” Why was she spilling her guts to him? It must have been those beautiful blue-green eyes.

“Maybe I have too much faith, but I have a feeling you’re going to get everything you want,” Aaron said with a smile. “It’s okay to be hopeful,” 

“Maybe so,” Iriye shot back. Her eyes were stuck on his, seeing how hopeful and solid he was. It should have scared her, but it wasn't very safe in a good way. The sound of a golf cart going by them broke off their stare, and Iriye fidgeted on her feet. “I should get going. I have so much to do. And I still have to get coffee,” she explained. “Plus, I’m sure your second AD is not gonna like one of his below-the-line crew running off,”

“Right. I shouldn’t keep you any longer,” Aaron said. “Thank you for the mini tour. Maybe you can show me some other places on the lot soon." His face was filled with a hopeful smile.

“Maybe. Make sure you have your badge on you, too,” Iriye reminded her. She waved goodbye before walking towards the cafe.

Coffee, water, and two cookies later, Iriye made it back to her production offices, goodies in hand, as Nelly came over to hold the door.

“You okay? Was worried when you weren’t back so quickly,” Nelly asked. Tamara came out of her office and saw the treats. 

“If I would have known, I would have walked with you. Especially after the email I got,” Tamara stated. Iriye offered her half of her cookie, seeing her friend's forehead wrinkling.

“What was the email about?” Iriye asked before taking a sip of her coffee. Nelly dug into her cookie with a hum.

“Davis wants us to meet in his office instead of them coming to us. I guess they’re expecting a few more people in this meeting,” Tamara chewed a piece.

“Thank God. This place wasn’t going to be done in time,” Nelly declared. “I can only do so much. I’m one person,”

“Well, you can take a break 'cause you’re coming with us. Tamara and I were serious about including you in this production company. The best way to learn is to get hands-on experience,” Iriye smiled. She had to keep calm for the three of them. “Tamara, we’re going to nail this pitch, get the green light on this project, and be on our way to showing what we can do,” Iriye had to take the bull by the horns, especially as she was just as nervous.

“What would I do without you?” Tamara pulled Iriye into a hug, patting her back. 

“Team Lanoire,” Nelly put her hand out. Tamara pulled back and added her s before Iriye did the same. They cheered before Nelly put on her music, blasting it through the office and starting an impromptu dance party.

As Megan Thee Stallion rapped throughout the office, Iriye got hyped about the presentation. The representation she wanted to bring. But even more so, her brain kept wondering to Aaron’s kind words. He was a total stranger and yet, he was able to leave an impression on her. And not because he was handsome. Tha was a plus but it felt like he was trying to speak something inside of Iriye into existence.

His words were still on her mind even as they made their way to the one of the main offices on the lot that housed the execs they were meeting with. An assistant led the three women into the  conference room and were met with a smile and hand shake from Davis, a  executive who had been championing their work for the past two years.

“Sorry about the shake up, ladies,” Davis stated as he waited for them to sit down. 

“Nothing we can’t take in stride,” Tamara said, looking to Iriye with a smile.

“I’m guessing we’re going to be expecting more people today for the meeting,” Iriye inquired, grabbing a bottle of water that was on the table for them.

“We are actually. Some executives wanted to bring in an actor that’s working on the lot for the next few months. You know how it goes. Give him some options of films to star in,” Davis explained. Iriye tried her best not to roll her eyes. Nelly had to hold a chuckle in as she looked at Iriye.

“You know how grateful we are for this opportunity,” Tamara said before Iriye jumped in.

“Davis, you know that’s not us though,” Iriye admitted. “We really want to be on the forefront of breaking new talent,”

“You know I want that more than anything for you guys. And I will keep in my mind. But you know some things are out of my hands,” Davis took a sip of his drink. 

“We know,” Iriye nodded, even if she had to bite her tongue. 

“We really appreciate everything, Davis,” Tamara reasoned. 

“You the man, Davis,” Nelly added on. The older gentleman nodded along.

“So, do you know who the studio wants to try and partner with us?” Iriye asked, wanting to get straight to the point. 

“He’s this up-and-coming actor. I’m shocked because he requested to be here. He’s working on the lot for a bit, so the studio wants to maintain a good relationship with him and all,” Davis said. 

Iriye was ready to retort when the conference room door opened, and three other execs poured in. Iriye began digging through her bag for a few pens, moving to hand Nelly one, but she noticed the woman had frozen up.

“You good?” Iriye asked her. Nelly nodded, taking the pen. Iriye turned back to the door, and she tried her best to keep a poker face as she looked at the man she had met earlier. 

The tall stranger whose presence had slowly wormed it’s way through her head as she prepared for this meeting. I have a feeling you’re going to get everything you want. Those words were ringing true now.

He stepped forward to Tamara, shaking her hand. Iriye was sure her brain turned off until he got to her.

“I’m Aaron Pierre,” Aaron said, glasses no longer on as his grayish-green eyes bore into her.

“Nice to meet you, Aaron. I’m Iriye,” Iriye kept her composure. They were in a professional setting now. No need for the theatrics, even if the man she met on the soundstage seemed anything but it. But he was an actor. Aaron had a role to play, and Iriye did too.

[silvermoon424]

Dude little kids can roast you so hard lmao. I was playing with my 3yo niece and we were building with these magnetic tiles, and I tried to add something to the building. She looked me dead in the eye and said "I don't think that's a good idea." Damn go off queen 😂

[varjopeura]

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[thebleedingeffect]

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[yamikawaii]

i wanna go home i wanna be with yoomiee

[i-love-ptv]

Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Goin’ On ˚̣̣ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣

Pairing: Husband!Rafe Cameron x Soccer-mom!Wife!Reader

It’s not easy being a soccer-mom, especially when dads hit on you at every game as if you’re not married to Rafe.

Wc: 1,596

Fluff, Protective Rafe making an appearance, kinda pushy guy (idk what to say)

An: I’ve really wanted to write a fic based on this song, and this idea randomly popped into my head so! Am I using the names I wanna name my kids? Yes, yes I am.

Not proofread tbh

Feedback always appreciated lovelies!! xx

“I’ll be back, ‘mkay doll?”

You hum in acknowledgement, eyes peering back at the field after looking up.

Your husband, Rafe, leant down and places a firm kiss on your forehead.

“Yeahhh, Daddy’s gonna be back, baby.” Rafe coos at your two year old, who was sitting on your lap, babbling freely while peering at him with her big doe eyes.

Rafe walks off the bleachers in search of the concession stand to buy food for the three of you.

You brush your hand over your young daughter’s head, making sure her somewhat oversized hat is still covering her head entirely. Her hand wraps around your index finger.

It was oddly humid today, if you continued moving, you’d break a slight sweat. You can't even imagine what your daughter—Stacy must be feeling, running around on the large grassy field under the beaming bright sun.

You were proud of your baby girl though, nonetheless. And so was Rafe, of course.

You shout loudly when you notice the game is about to start, bellowing out a “Go Stacy!”

Stacy’s eyes easily found yours, for you and Rafe would always sit in the same spot on the bleachers.

Her eyes were slightly wide due to your shout, despite you and Rafe always cheering for her during her games.

She’s motioning for you to ‘shh’, putting her fingers to her lips before getting into her position.

“Which one’s yours?” You hear to the left of you, the unknown voice makes you tear your eyes away from the field.

You smile shortly at the unfamiliar man next to you, “Number 22.”

You can’t help but notice how he’s rather scruffy looking, an odd contrast to your upkept husband with his neatly buzzed hair.

“Mine’s number 13.” He says, flashing his teeth at you.

You gasp and shoot up a little, making you look down at your daughter on your lap. “Valerie’s yours? Oh she’s just the sweetest!”

The man chuckles, looking deeply in your eyes. This makes your eyebrows raise, slightly in confusion, but mostly in discomfort.

He hadn’t done anything out of the norm, you’d randomly talk to the other moms around too, but something about him made you uncomfortable.

“My name's Brandon, and yours?”

You introduce yourself briefly, before turning back towards the game.

His eyes dart to your left hand, looking for a ring, for any indication that you belong to someone else. He smiles sharply when he finds your fingers bare. This goes unnoticed by you.

Little does he know, you do have your ring on, just around your neck.

Your biggest fear was your youngest accidentally pulling off your ring, resulting in you losing it. Or, even worse: it pokes her eye or something of that nature.

You suppose you could be considered a ‘Helicopter-mom’ at times, simply going to the extremes to make sure your kids are happy and healthy at every point in time.

Rafe is the exact same way, maybe even a little worse. But you knew he was just protective, he loves this life that he has with you, since he had no idea the two of you would’ve been together for so long.

You had started dating Rafe when you were 18 and he was 19. It was good for the first few months, disregarding the few arguments that you had. But then, you had caught Rafe doing cocaine.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to shake the look on his face from your memory.

You weren’t supposed to be at the party, you said you were busy filling out college applications.

So when he was mid-line, and he saw you standing there all dolled up, watching him with glossy eyes, he felt his heart shatter into pieces.

You weren’t supposed to find out, he wanted to keep this away from you, to keep you close to him.

He promised that he would try and stay sober for you, but eventually he’d give in every time the opportunity was in front of him. This resulted in several arguments, and surprisingly, a break up.

But things are different now. You both are in your 30’s, you got married, and of course, had two beautiful babies together.

Rafe knew he’d be crazy to fuck things up now, when he has the perfect life right in front of him.

Speaking of which; you’re really starting to wonder what the hell is taking him so long just to get some goddamn hotdogs and drinks.

You’re bouncing your knee anxiously, which makes your daughter giggle. You wish she wasn’t finding this amusing, but you know she can’t help it.

“Well who’s this cute girl, huh?” The man coos, tickling your daughter’s side.

“Her name is Noelle.” You huff, your mood quickly shifting due to this stranger touching your daughter.

He lets out another chuckle, you wish you never had to hear it again. “Sounds like you’re quoting Teenage Dirtbag to me.”

You give him a pointed look, you’re really getting sick of his pestering. “That’s where I got it from.”

Abruptly, the crowd starts cheering madly. You look around and see Stacy's team celebrating briefly; they had just scored a goal.

You cheer and clap, grabbing Noelle’s chubby hands and making her raise her arms wildly while giggling with her.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could-” Before Brandon could finish his sentence, none other than Rafe Cameron comes stomping up the bleachers, huffing and puffing angrily.

He sits down and sighs, “God, I’m sorry babe. The line was so long! I swear I’m going grey right now.”

“And I missed the goddamn play!” Rafe exclaims. He looks over at you and immediately goes quiet once he sees those wide baby eyes that look at him curiously.

“Da?” Noelle mutters, reaching her tiny hands towards Rafe’s larger ones.

“Yeah. Da’s here babygirl, do you want your food? Huh sweet girl?”

Rafe hands you your food, setting his food aside so he can put Noelle in his lap. He begins to split half his hotdog in pieces for her.

You glance to the left, you notice Brandon looking like a fish out of water.

Rafe is the CEO of one of, if not the biggest business company around. And Brandon had just borderline harassed his wife, who was holding his child.

Brandon sneers at the two of you in silence while the game continues, nearly boiling at the fact that he couldn’t have you.

Your head is laying on Rafe’s shoulders, you’re rubbing circles on Noelle’s shoulder as she settles down.

“Everything alright babe?” Rafe asks, trying to peer down at your face.

You untuck your necklace with your wedding ring from your shirt, fiddling with it. “Yeah, now that you’re here Ray.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a few seconds.

“…What does that mean?”

You hesitate to answer, but you do regardless, “Nothing! It’s just uh..That guy next to me, was kinda like hassling me I guess.”

This makes Rafe straighten his back.

“He do somethin’ to you doll?” Rafe questions in a whisper. You know you have about 30 seconds to try and calm him down before he’s banned from every soccer game left in the season.

“No, okay? I’m fine, it’s cool. I need you to calm down Ray.”

Rafe’s nose is flaring, “What about Ellie? Did he touch her?”

You feel your throat closing up, your heart is damn near pounding out of your chest.

You don’t say anything to Rafe, but that look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know.

You grab his bicep, trying to keep him grounded. Even though he’s changed, some parts of him haven’t.

Rafe speaks lowly in your ear, but not too much to frighten you in any way. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Don’t worry y’pretty little head about it.”

Rafe presses a firm kiss against your cheek, then presses a softer one to your lips.

After 30 more minutes, and 2 more goals, Stacy’s team wins.

You and Rafe cheer loudly, letting out “That’s our baby girl!”

You meet Stacy at the bottom of the bleachers, holding Noelle in your hand as the littlest claps her hands between Stacy’s face.

You’re too busy congratulating your daughter to notice Rafe pulling Brandon aside while his daughter, Valerie is off talking to her friends.

Rafe puts a firm hand on his shoulder, “Hey man.”

Brandon lets out a nervous laugh, “Hey there, Rafe Cameron, right?”

“Yeah, let’s keep this short. I better not see or hear you talking to my wife again, do you hear me? I don’t give a shit what happened.”

Rafe continues shortly, “And keep your fucking hands to yourself, if I find out you touched my either of my daughters again, I swear to God himself I’ll put you under.”

The two men are holding eye contact, one looks with confidence and borderline rage, while the other looks with fear.

Rafe walks down the bleachers, meeting you and your girls.

“You were amazing out there sweetheart!” Rafe smiles while pulling Stacy into a bear hug.

“Jesus dad, you’re crushing me!” Stacy laughs with a slight wheeze.

Rafe ruffles her hair and puts his arm around your neck.

“All good to go?”

You nod your head, and with that, the four of you begin to walk to Rafe’s parked car.

Rafe realizes that this isn’t the first time you’ve been hit on at a soccer game, or anywhere in fact. And this definitely won’t be the last.

Cause everybody’s in love with Stacy’s mom.

[crushpunky]

actress!reader calls drew on phoning it in

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. i didn’t have an exact interview to base this off of, so it’s a bit of a compilation of a bunch of different ones lol. also easter egg for a diff fic i’ve done, iykyk

“Hi, I’m y/n y/ln and I’m here with Elle to call some people!” Y/n said with a giggle. She crossed her legs, flipping through the small notebook they had handed her until she got to the first challenge.

Call someone and… tell them you’re stuck in an elevator

“Oh god… ok, I’m gonna call Miss Madelyn Cline. She has a fear of elevators so this is perfect.” Y/n said, putting her phone on speaker as it rang.

“Hey babe, what’s up?” Madelyn answered happily. Y/n took a second, getting into character before responding.

“Mads you’re not gonna believe this but I’m literally stuck in a [bleep]-ing elevator right now.” Y/n said, her voice shaky. Madelyn gasped on the other end before letting out a shriek.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Have you— have you called the fire department?” Madelyn said.

“I did and they said it was gonna be like two hours… I don’t know what to do.” Y/n groaned, a smile on her face.

“Are you by yourself? Is Drew with you?” Madelyn responded.

“I’m by myself and I…” A smirk came across y/n’s lips as an idea popped into her head, “I’m scared I’m gonna pee my pants if they don’t hurry the [bleep] up!”

“Oh my god… do you have like a bottle or something?” Madelyn whispered lowly, causing y/n to burst out in laughter at her serious tone.

“I’m so sorry Mads, I was just kidding. It was a prank. I’m in an interview with Elle.” Y/n giggled. Madelyn gasped on the other end.

“I hate you!” Madelyn groaned.

“I love you, bb!” Y/n smiled.

“Ugh, I love you too.” Madelyn said.

Call someone and… tell them you’re starting a singing career

“I am a notoriously bad singer, so this ought to be good.” Y/n laughed, putting the notebook down and scrolling through her contacts.

“Ok, ok… I’m going to call my good friend Tom Blyth.” Y/n said, pressing “call” and putting the phone on speaker. The phone rang for a moment, y/n sitting in anticipation.

“Hey, what’s up?” Tom greeted happily.

“So I just wanted to ask your opinion on something kinda important.” Y/n said, her tone serious.

“Alright… are you ok? Is everything good?” Tom responded, his voice low and full of concern.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Y/n said. “I just wanted to get your opinion on me starting a music career… like singing.”

“Music? Oh that’s nice… are you like– have you talked to your manager?” Tom said on the other line. Y/n covered her mouth, hoping he couldn’t hear her giggles.

“No, I just wanted to get some opinions before I really made that step… what do you think? Is that a good move?” Y/n asked, biting her lip as she waited for Tom’s response.

“You’re very talented, so I think if you put your mind to it you could do it.” Tom responded. Y/n placed a hand over her heart at Tom’s kindness.

“Tom you’re too sweet… this is for an interview. There’s no way in hell I’m starting a singing career anytime soon.” Y/n said. Tom laughed on the other end of the line.

“Oh come on, you’re a great singer.” Tom said sarcastically. Y/n shared a final farewell before hanging up the phone and returning to the notebook in front of her.

Call someone and… apologize for accidentally leaking their phone number

“Ooh… oh, I’m gonna scare the crap out of Drew.” Y/n giggled, calling Drew. The phone rang, y/n sitting in silence as it continued.

“... if he answers. He’s awful at—” Y/n started.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” Drew answered, a smile spreading across y/n’s face.

“Drew… I’m so sorry…” Y/n said, her voice low.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” Drew responded urgently.

“I’m fine I just… ugh, you’re going to be so mad at me…” Y/n groaned, really dragging her reaction out.

“I promise I won’t be. Please just tell me what happened— are you sure you’re ok?” Drew said, his voice laced with concern.

“I… I’m so sorry I… I accidentally leaked your phone number. On Instagram.” Y/n said with an exaggerated sniffle. She could hear Drew let out a sigh on the other end, a smile creeping across her face.

“Jesus, baby, you scared the crap out of me. T– That’s fine, I can get a new one.” Drew responded.

“You’re not mad at me?” Y/n said quietly.

“No, no, no of course not. I don’t give a [bleep] as long as you’re ok.” Drew said, causing y/n’s cheeks to warm.

“Oh, Drewseph, I love you. That was just a prank. I’m in an interview with Elle.” Y/n said with a giggle. 

“You scared the [bleep] out of me, oh my god!” Drew chuckled on the other end.

“I’m sorry, my love.” Y/n frowned playfully.

“You’re gonna kill me, baby.” Drew said with a sigh.

“I love you, Drewseph.” Y/n grinned.

“Love you too. See you when you get home.” Drew said.

[wheres-mylove]

ice-cold revelations - modern!cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader

Summary: You are in a risky secret relationship with your brother's best friend. What happens when Cregan's unexpected injury exposes your feelings? Well, isn't there somebody you forgot to ask?

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.8k

The wind tore through the streets with a biting ferocity, tugging at (Y/N)’s skirt and making her instantly regret both her outfit choice and this entire trip to the bus stop.

“Stupid winter has to be coming,” she muttered, yanking a colorful scarf up to cover her nose. Her phone chimed in her pocket, vibrating with the familiar sound of a new message. She fumbled with one hand to pull it out, her fingers stiff from the cold.

🐺: jace wouldn’t stop bugging me about that earring under my bed

🐺: i convinced him sara must’ve left it when she crashed at our place lmao

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows, her breath fogging the air as she sighed. The last thing she needed was her brother playing the part of a suspicious rom-com wife, finding random jewelry in odd places and jumping to conclusions. At least he hadn’t figured out where he’d seen that earring before.

Jacaerys Velaryon, as much as she adored him, had a habit of being a little too protective. He was always there when she needed him. But he was also the kind of brother who, despite being only a few minutes older, seemed to think that fact gave him full control over her dating life. Any guy who so much as glanced her way was either a potential threat or one of his friends. And friends were off-limits. Too much drama, he’d say. Too awkward if things went south. Even more awkward if things somehow worked out. Conflict of interest. Absolutely not.

Which was precisely why, in the grand scheme of things, the most logical solution was for her to start dating his best friend and his hockey team captain, Cregan Stark.

Cregan was wonderful. The kind of guy who would do anything for her, no questions asked. That's what had brought them to where they were now. Hiding their relationship from her dramatic brother and quite literally gaslighting him.

Did she feel guilty? Absolutely. Did she know it would be a hundred times worse if Jace found out? Also yes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a bus speeding past the stop, tires screeching as it flew by. Her bus. Of course.

With impressive force, she pressed the green phone icon.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Cregan answered in three seconds. Her irritation melted a little at the sound of his deep voice. Down bad.

“Hey, did you guys finish practice?”

“Yeah, just now, I couldn’t cut the boys any slack before tomorrow.”

“Any chance the strict captain could give me a ride home? I missed the bus. Or more like the bus missed me.”

“You’re kidding,” Cregan said, sympathy already thick in his voice. “Of course I’ll come get you.” He paused for a beat, then cleared his throat. “Only thing is… Jace wanted a ride too.”

“The gods are punishing me today,” she groaned.

“Call him. It'll be the same ride. Just, you know, he'll think it was his idea,” Cregan suggested.

“Are we bad people, Cregan?” she asked, half-serious now.

“Nah. He’ll find out eventually, just better if I’m in full hockey gear when it happens.”

“Fair enough,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. “Thanks. Love you. Bye.”

She hung up and immediately dialed her brother, requesting the same exact thing.

“Sure, you owe me one though,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t have my car today, so we’ll have to go with Stark. Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” No, her boyfriend wouldn’t be a problem.

(Y/N) Velaryon paced back and forth under the shelter of the bus stop, her boots crunching against the thin layer of frost that had already formed on the pavement. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep the cold at bay, when the familiar growl of a black Jeep Wrangler cut through the quiet. It rolled to a stop near the curb.

She jogged toward the car, her breath puffing out in small clouds, as the driver’s window slid down.

“Your chariot awaits, princess,” Cregan announced with a mock flourish.

“More like a toad,” Jace quipped from the passenger seat, his grin unmistakable.

“One more word and you’ll get my bag to the head. I’ve got half my textbooks in there,” she threatened playfully as she slid into the backseat.

The backseat of this car had witnessed many events, and that was the first thought that crossed her mind. One look at Cregan in the side mirror, and she knew he was thinking the same.

She pretended to be very engrossed in buckling her seatbelt.

“How was practice?” she asked out of politeness.

“Not bad. Stark was all business today, but it was necessary. Big day tomorrow,” Jace replied, fiddling with the radio. Cregan slapped his hand away as he slowed down for a red light.

“Great,” the girl muttered, not trusting her tongue around the two of them together.

An awkward silence fell, broken only by some random song. How long can a red light last?

“So, (Y/N),” Cregan began, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His voice wavered, but Jace was in his own world, watching pedestrians crossing the street. “How’s it going? How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” she replied, playing with the hem of her skirt. “Though the classes dragged on.”

The devil on her shoulder won an uneven fight with the weak angel. She smirked.

“‘M absolutely knackered.”

Cregan inhaled slowly through his nose.

“Dude, it’s green,” Jace informed him, just before the car behind them honked.

“I can see,” Cregan reassured him, finally moving forward. “I’ll need your sister’s address since I’ve never been there before.”

If Jace had one more brain cell, he wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

“Sure thing,” her brother agreed, typing the info into the GPS on his phone. “Hey, kid, are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” (Y/N) asked angrily, kicking his seat. “Baela’s taking me.”

“You know what I think?” Jace started, spreading his arms dramatically. “A girlfriend in the stands is such a power boost. Such a boost… I never play as well as when Baela supports me from the bleachers.”

“You never play well,” His sister muttered under her breath, but Jacaerys was currently listening only to himself.

“Cregan wouldn’t get it,” He patted Cregan on the shoulder in the meantime. “If you combined your skills with that support, if you brought a girl, trust me, your performance would be a hundred times better.”

“Talented people don’t need superstitions to play well, Jace,” (Y/N) chimed in, leaning forward. “Besides, Cregan is single.”

“Because he’s too serious and broody, girls don’t like that,” her brother declared in a know-it-all voice. She gave him a side-eye. “He is afraid of women.”

“Are you afraid of women, Stark?” she asked seriously, barely holding back laughter.

Cregan shot her a look in the mirror, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Terrified,” he deadpanned. “That’s why I’m thinking maybe your sister should be my good luck charm tomorrow. Just as a friend, of course.”

“Eh, it’s not the same,” Jace protested, scrunching his face.

“Don’t you believe in the power of friendship?” the driver asked with full seriousness.

“Can I get a jersey with your number?” (Y/N) batted her lashes playfully at her boyfriend.

A jersey with his number was already hanging in her closet.

“Alright, you’ll see, you need deeper feelings for it to work, otherwise it just won’t…”

Jacaerys continued his monologue all the way to her apartment. The girl sighed with relief once she was back in her room, the familiarity of it a welcome escape from the tension.

Two new messages.

🐺: you looked so pretty today

🐺: but next time wear a damn coat, or you’ll catch a cold!!!

The fluorescent light above (Y/N)’s head flickered ominously, casting creepy shadows across the cramped janitor’s closet. She swore that if the bulb died completely, she'd either pee her pants or spiral into a full-blown claustrophobic meltdown. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to focus on the neatly arranged rows of brooms and mops. Soon, the door creaked open, revealing Cregan in all his glory.

Full hockey gear? Check. Helmet? Tucked under his arm. That goofy, ridiculous smile? Definitely check.

“You look so good,” she admitted, grabby hands already in the air. “Come here.”

Cregan shut the door behind him with a soft click, casting a glance at the flickering light overhead. He sighed, took one of her hands, and kissed her wrist softly. 

“We have to tell your brother,” Stark said, his voice serious as he placed his helmet on the wooden shelf beside them. “It’s not right that my girl has to sneak me a good-luck kiss in a smelly closet. You should be able to strut right into the locker room.”

His girl grinned. “You’ve got your gear on,” she pointed out. “We can tell him after the game. Besides, Baela’s softening him up for us. I asked her to.”

Baela Targaryen was known for sniffing out secrets, and the second she spotted (Y/N) wearing Cregan’s jersey before the game, she didn’t even need to ask. Her knowing look said it all, and within minutes, Velaryon girl spilled the truth, enduring Baela’s delighted squeal that had probably echoed for miles.

“I knew you had high standards, girl. Going straight for the captain!” Baela teased, laughing. “Jace obviously doesn’t know? He hasn’t said anything... and Stark’s still breathing.”

Thankfully, Baela had been more than willing to help, distracting Jace so Cregan could sneak away after the pre-game pep talk. Now, Cregan was looking at (Y/N) with pride, his eyes lingering on the jersey she wore. 

“She’s a real one for that,” he mused. “But seriously, we have to tell him. I want a picture of us on my lock screen, and that asshole keeps looking over my shoulder.”

She laughed, pulling him closer and kissing him hard, savoring the way his rough stubble tickled her skin.

“For now,” she murmured against his lips, “just focus on the game. You’re incredible. An amazing captain. And it’s going to go great. I believe in you.”

Cregan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe one more kiss. Just to make sure we win.”

“The power of having a girl in the stands,” she teased, poking his chest playfully.

“Jace definitely exaggerated that theory,” Cregan confessed with a chuckle. “But honestly... I’m just glad you’re here.”

With butterflies in her stomach and a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face, (Y/N) found herself in the stands minutes later, sitting next to Baela. Her friend was watching the silent exchange of glances between her and Cregan with thinly veiled amusement.

“I always knew Jace was blind, but this is just tragic,” Baela remarked, elbowing her in the ribs. Jace, oblivious as ever, waved enthusiastically from the rink. Both girls waved back, cheering with the crowd.

“You’ll boo with me when the Dornish Spears come out, right?” (Y/N) asked.

Baela gave her a mock-serious look. “Technically, we shouldn’t. Obviously, I will,” she promised. 

The game was fast, brutal, and nearly deadlocked until the very end. (Y/N) had never yelled so much in her life, though her shouts were lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. Cregan played like a man possessed, commanding the ice with his usual grace. At least twenty times during the match, she found herself holding her breath, her heart leaping into her throat with every risky play. But she knew he had it under control. He always did.

Of course they won.

The victory rippled through the stands like a wave, and (Y/N) screamed herself hoarse as the crowd erupted around her. Cregan pulled off his helmet, his eyes scanning the stands until he found her. His smile—tired and breathtaking—was for her, and her alone. She didn’t regret the ringing in her ears or the scratch in her throat for a second. Moments later, he was swept up in a sea of celebrating teammates.

“Girl, are you crying?” Baela asked, pulling her into a hug.

“I don’t know,” She sniffled. “I’m just emotional. I just like that boy so fucking much, Bae.”

“I know, honey. Come on, they’re heading off the ice. Let’s congratulate them, and then have a crazy party or something. No time for tears.”

Cregan was one of the last players to leave the ice, trailing just behind Jace. But before he could step off, the captain of the opposing team, his face twisted with anger, skated up to him. For a moment, it looked like they might talk it out. But then, it all happened too fast.

The player from Dorne shoved Cregan hard against the wall. Stark, ever the calm one, simply raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

And then he took a fist to the face. The sickening sound of bone cracking echoed across the rink.

“What the hell is going on? Jace!” Baela shouted, holding her friend back as she tried to rush forward.

Jace jumped back onto the ice, but by the time he got there, the other team had pulled their enraged captain away. Cregan stumbled off the ice just as (Y/N) reached him.

“Are you okay? Oh gods, let me see,” she fretted, her hands hovering near his face.

“What a fucking jerk!” Jace nearly screamed, skidding to a stop by the exit. “I called for help, they’ll be here in a second.”

(Y/N) carefully moved Cregan’s hand away, revealing the damage. His face was a swollen mess, his nose clearly broken.

“Do you think they’ll make me lie face-down on the ice?” Cregan joked weakly, leaning on her for support.

“Does it hurt a lot? Maybe you should sit down. Oh shit, I can’t believe—”

“Hey, sweetheart. Calm down,” Cregan murmured, his voice soothing despite the pain. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

Just then, the medic arrived, momentarily distracting Jace. But despite the chaos, he had clearly heard what Cregan just said. For a moment, Jace stood there, his face pale as the words and the image before him sank in.

“Sweetheart?” he echoed softly, but no one paid him any attention.

“Jace, maybe now’s not the time,” Baela said gently, stepping up beside him.

“I feel physically sick,” Jace muttered, staggering to the railing for support.

The medic handed Cregan an ice pack. “Hold this to your face for a bit. I’ll get you something for the pain right away, but a doctor’s gonna have to set that nose.”

Cregan winced but smiled through it. “You might wanna check on my friend first,” he said, gesturing toward Jace. “I can wait. He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Jace did, in fact, end up passing out.

Cregan had to take a break from sports after that little adventure. He’d recovered, but now sported a slightly crooked nose—something his girlfriend found oddly hot.

(Y/N) saw his temporary recovery as the perfect chance to manipulate him into watching Teen Wolf with her every evening. After all, the title worked in her favor.

They were nestled on the couch, wrapped together in a soft gray blanket. It was their first time lounging in the living room of the apartment Cregan shared with her brother, rather than hiding behind the securely locked door of his bedroom. 

It would be perfect, really. If it weren’t for Jace’s constant, deliberate trips to the kitchen and bathroom, each one an obvious reminder that he was keeping an eye on them.

“Dear Jacaerys,” (Y/N) said, her patience wearing thin, “you do know we don’t need a chaperone, right?”

Jace barely paused, shooting her a sidelong glance before muttering, “You need someone to knock the stupid ideas out of your heads,” as he slammed the bathroom door.

Cregan chuckled softly, pulling her closer. “Give him some time,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “To be honest, I thought it would be worse. He’ll come around eventually.”

They’d already gone through several long, tension-filled conversations, with Baela stepping in as the voice of reason when things got too heated. They were careful now, avoiding anything that might provoke Jace further.

But Cregan was right—Jace was slowly coming around, even if he was still stubborn. The days of silent treatment had finally passed.

“This is on us for hiding things from him,” (Y/N) sighed, watching her brother embark on yet another purposeful long journey to the kitchen. “No more secrets now.”

“Your brother’s just looking out for you,” Cregan called out, raising his voice slightly so Jace could hear. “He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I respect that. I don’t know anyone else who cares like he does.”

Jace stopped, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His lips curved into a sweet, mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” he began, drawing out the word. “So tell me sister, when are you introducing him to Mom?”

[thecloudsarefalling]

Just kinda want to rant

I cannot stand what Israel is doing in the slightest. It's nothing short of a genocide. But on a more personal note, they're ruining the childhood of one of my closest childhood friends.

She would travel to Palestine every summer to visit family, I was never entirely sure of the exact place, but I definitely remember checking her location from time to time while looking over the Snapchat map to check my cousin's backpacking trip through Europe over that same summer, and I had definitely seen her within the Gaza strip many times

She has so many family members in Gaza, a handful had been caught in the US, lucky enough to evade the genocide, but not all of them. It's disheartening to see her childhood ripped apart by an overzealous army who have no idea who she is

Who any of the people in the Gaza Strip are

or those on the West Bank

When I repost the hundredth TikTok of the day about the genocide in Palestine, I mean it. I mean look at all of these people having their lives ripped away from them. I mean look at the lives of all of these children who will never get to experience the beauty of Palestine in the way my friend has. I mean look to all the people who have passed and those who continue to pass. Those committing suicide because their outlook for the future is dim. I mean look to those who could never begin to escape, killed by disease, illness, and the destruction of Gaza. I mean watch for the journalists who are being slaughtered in constant bombings and targeted sniper attacks for speaking out against Israel. I mean the family of both my childhood best friend and all of those whose lives, and land, are currently threatened by this genocide.

No one should have to be a martyr, not because of the cruelty of Israel, famine, disease, and most certainly not of greed. No parent should have to witness the death of their child, nor child witness the death of their parent. No partners, siblings, pets, or families should be torn apart because of greed.

I am outraged over this, but I feel so small because I don't have any way to help people escape Gaza. All I can do now is use my voice, and though I no longer subscribe to any religion, I pray for the freedom of those in Gaza, and for those in Palestine, that they'll be able to survive and live freely as they are meant to.

[sinofwriting]

Insane Person - Max Verstappen (I ❤️ MILFS verse)

Words: 667 Summary: Max wants to be sure he can give Pan kids. (Part of the I ❤️ MILFS verse) Note(s): Takes place during the original I ❤️ MILFS fic, before Max finds out Pan’s age. Max is insane btw, this has been a blurb idea since I wrote the original fic and finally it has been written so enjoy, lol.

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

“I’d love to give Logan a sibling or two.”

The words so soft had made his heart speed up as soon as he heard them and now thinking about them, letting them play on repeat.

It’s early in their relationship, though they haven’t yet talked about it yet, no matter how much Max is dying to do so. But Max wants to be the one that she gives Logan siblings with.

Which is why he’s sitting in front of his computer and looking at medical studies.

A lot of it is going over his head. The most schooling he sat through was the first four or five years of it. He can grasp engineering, anything to do with cars and their data, but medical terminology goes over his head.

He powers through, he doesn’t know Pan’s exact age, his mother would smack him over the head if he even thought to ask her age, but she’s got to to be mid to late thirties if not early forties considering Logan is twenty.

The studies say she’d be fine getting pregnant, shouldn’t have trouble conceiving, and his cheeks burn at the word, at the image it puts in his mind. They haven’t quite got their, but they’ve gotten close. They throw out the term geriatric pregnancy which makes him flinch because forty wasn’t old, at least not if you weren’t a driver and to see it be called something like that felt harsh, rude. Another one calls it advanced maternal age which really isn’t any better, but it’s just relieving to see that’s still possible. And then a study mentions that if people are having trouble conceiving that not only does the person birthing need to get checked, but both do and a new panic takes over his brain.

What if when it came time to try, he was the problem? It would really be his luck. Things had been going very well for the past few years, it would be his luck that he couldn’t give the woman he loves more kids.

And Logan wanted siblings, the panic grows as he remembers Logan chiming in that he’d love some siblings. Oh god, what if he failed in giving Logan siblings? He wanted the younger driver to like him, to really like him.

His fingers act quickly, wanting to know how he can know if he can have kids and the results make him blink because it couldn’t be that easy.

He just had to provide a sample in a cup?

Max’s brain struggles to compute that after just reading everything that women have to go through to get their fertility checked.

His hand goes to his phone, he rarely if ever called his doctor, but this was important.

He goes through the motions of confirming he is who he is, wondering how weird it must be for other people to do this for him before he finally gets asked why for the purpose of the appointment.

“I want to check to see if I can have kids.”

“Okay, are you and your partner having trouble conceiving?”

His cheeks burn, “We aren’t trying yet. I just want to make sure that it’s possible on my end.”

“Okay, it’s a simple procedure at our clinic and we could see you in the next three days if that works for you at any time we are open.”

“That’s perfect.”

“Alright, we’ll see you in a few days, Mr. Verstappen.”

He gets the results back five days after his appointment, an email sitting in his inbox, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before finally opening it.

There are words he doesn’t know, ones he doesn’t really want to think about, but there at the end, a note from his doctor that says everything looks great, and he shouldn’t have troubles getting someone pregnant and his fist goes in the air, a quiet but excited yes leaving him.

He could give Logan siblings and Pan more kids, thank fuck.

[bluem1lls]

HEYY, I LOVE UR WRITINGG

i have an idea where thanos flirts with reader and immediately reject him, giving him a dirty look or just being rude to him. se-mi is around there so when reader sees her their entire expression changes, giving her a smile or something like that idk 😭

it doesn't have to be exact to that, just take the idea of u like it and use it however u want!!

✦ content: short fluff, how you met your girlfriend at the game while rejecting her friend!

✦ authors note: thank you so much! i was just rewatching and i kept thinking about this idea so i wrote a short fluff, i hope you like it! thank you for your request♥️

⋆｡°✩ ever since the games started, you've been along player 120 and player 095. until the third game, where you lost them out of sight. as you heard "group of 5", you kept thinking that maybe this was your last round.

⋆｡°✩ i mean there was nothing else to do.. right?

⋆｡°✩ until a girl pulled your hand, and somehow you ended up in a room with a purple hair guy, his weird best friend, this girl and a guy who seemed to be her friend.

⋆｡°✩ she leaned against the wall, catching her breath, crossing her arms on her chest while staring at you. she has nice piercings.

⋆｡°✩ "well, well, well... look at what the wind brought us. a new friend" the purple haired guy spoke, looking at me. "i'm thanos, and who brought this pretty thing?"

you rolled my eyes, trying to copy the brunnete's position.

turning your head to look at her, her piercing gaze stays on you.

"thanks..."

"se-mi" she introduced herself.

"i thought i was about to die out there, thanks se-mi" i said to the girl.

she nodded, thano's best friend chuckled.

"we've been trying to get her name for days, but a pretty girl shows up and that's the first thing she tells her"

i snort as she rolls her eyes and scoffs, mumbling something that sounded like "idiot".

⋆｡°✩ of course you couldn't stop talking to her after the third game ended.

⋆｡°✩ eating with her, chatting and even laughing. it was easy to forget about everything when you were with her.

⋆｡°✩ but sadly, you could never find her alone. if she didn't had min-su following her around, thanos and nam-gyu were teasing her. so that meant you always had to chat with them too, as you tried (really hard) to get her alone.

⋆｡°✩ "doll face, came to hear your boy throwing a few lines?" thanos said getting closer to where me and se-mi were sitting down.

"oh my god" i covered my face as i hear her laughing. "i like talking to you so much, but i dont know if it's worth... this" i pointed at thanos.

she smiled, her arm sneaked to rest on my shoulders.

"it's worth every penny. althought you may wanna tell him that you're not really going for boys" she whispered in my ear. i softly laughed as i stare at her. she's so pretty. and her friends so annoying.

"prettiest girls in the planet, listen out, this one's for you-" thanos started.

"listen" i cut him mid-sentence. "you're such a fun, amazing guy" i said, standing up and placing my hands on his shoulder. "and i bet any girl would be so lucky dating you"

he nodded, proud of himself, as se-mi stared smirking.

"but i think there's something that would make you even a better person" i said looking at him, straight in the eyes. "leave to a corner and please let me have ten minutes alone so i can flirt with se-mi"

⋆｡°✩ his expression quickly fell as se-mi and nam-gyu snorted.

"so im not about to be your boy-"

"you're not. i'm not into guys, thanos. but you're...so...nice"

⋆｡°✩ he quickly understood. apparently. at least he went away along with his best friend. it was more than enough.

⋆｡°✩ "so.. can we go back to the flirting part?" se-mi said, her smile never fading as she played with her lip piercing.

"yeah, i think we finally can" i said, dragging her to sit with me in one of the beds.

⋆｡°✩ no need to clarify anything else. the guys understood when the next time they saw you, se-mi was hugging you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder.

⋆｡°✩ se-mi couldn't stop teasing thanos for falling for two times for two lesbians girls, which always ended up with him telling her how he'd release a rap called 'revenge is sweeter than girls' against her once they were out of here.

⋆｡°✩ you believe him. you'll hear more about it once you're out of here, holding your girlfriend's hand.

[p0orbaby]

Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

-

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

-

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

-

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

-

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

[woewriting]

turning point (g!p)

pairing: tara carpenter | reader summary: tara calls you to rescue her from a bad date and things take a surprising turn. word count: 3726 warnings: mdni, +18 only! no ghostface au, reader has a dick, friends with benefits (?), clothed sex, language, smut in general. a/n: will you guys believe if i say the date part was inspired by a terrible date my coworker had? because it was and @wesstars is the proof of it!

masterlist

When the 7th episode of season 4 of Stranger Things started you felt your phone vibrating somewhere in between the cozy blankets. As you blindly looked for it, eyes focused on the TV in front of your bed, you felt it vibrating once again, but this time more than once. 

Holding the phone in your hands, the name “tara” followed by a small heart emoji showed on the screen with 4 messages attached to it. Pausing the episode, you unlocked the device. 

tara ♥︎ can you come pick me up? please this is the worst date ever 😭

Sewing your eyebrows together, you were quick to reply, asking for her location. 

tara ♥︎ im at the motel near the campus, green valley or something chad is showering and i told him i’d take an uber home because i wasn't feeling well and didn’t want to stay anymore please come fast

Typing a simple “omw”, you grabbed your hoodie, throwing it over the white tank top you usually wore to sleep along with sweat shorts that easily became a second skin.

It was easy to spot the building as a gigantic green neon sign took over most of the illumination of the empty street. You parked in front of it, patiently waiting for your best-friend as you sent a message letting her know you arrived. The place seemed expensive and well cleaned, unlike most cheap motels that took over the right side of the street near the campus of your college, still, it didn't appetize you to walk in.

Soon, the younger Carpenter ran towards you, sighing in relief when she jumped into the car. 

“That bad, huh?” You asked with a laugh, setting the first gear ready to go back home. 

“You have no idea.” Tara whined, turning on the heat, complaining about how cold it was outside in a whisper. “I'll tell you everything when we get home.”

“I'm watching Stranger Things.” The focus on the road in front of you as you took a right turn didn't allow you to see the indignation expression on her face, more dramatic than it was necessary.

“Is Stranger Things more important than me?”

“I’m about to find out what happened at the Hawkins Lab…” You continued, trying to convince her of your cause, but her next words made you look at her with raised eyebrows, a convinced smile of someone who won drawing her lips.

“He has a small dick.”

“I'm all ears, princess.” 

The return home didn’t take more than 10 minutes, especially with empty roads and yellow sign lights. Tara started telling about her date from the second it started, which was 5PM, the exact time she started to get ready. Honestly, none of that was necessary to reach the part that it all went downhill, but you didn’t dare to interrupt, you paid attention to every word Tara was saying as you carefully parked your car in your designated spot.

The second the elevator stopped on your floor, Tara had finished telling you about the dinner part of her date. 

According to her, the food wasn't bad, but the place was crowded and the music playing was so annoying that it became a bit too much for her. It was already hard to pay attention to anything Chad was saying as the others' conversation was caught in the middle, stealing her attention, all she could was nod and smile, like one of the Penguins from Madagascar. 

You laughed at her indignation and the small wrinkle in between her eyebrows, opening the door and giving her space to walk in. Kicking your shoes away, the both of you automatically walked to the door at the end of the small hallway of your apartment, the episode 7 of Stranger Things’ last season still on pause when you sat on the bed being followed by Tara; Jamie Campbell’s beautiful blue eyes on the screen.

“... and after we got to the motel, things were heating up and his hands were on my ass and he kept pushing me against him and…” Tara stopped talking after noticing the disgusted expression on your face as you made yourself comfortable on the bed. The girl sat right by your side. “I will not spare any details.”

“I’m seriously considering automatically deleting every explicit part of it.” You retorted, shifting uncomfortably against the headboard.

Despite the years of friendship you and Tara had, from Junior High all the way to college — where you both were right now, nothing touchy ever happened between the two of you, not even a single, drunk kiss at parties. You two were close, of course, but not this close, and hearing the vulgar words easily slipping out of her mouth was creating a weird feeling inside your chest.

“I don’t care.” The girl rolled her eyes, moving closer to you. “Continuing, Chad is gentle, nice, and it feels good to be with him, but ugh… I couldn’t even feel anything when I was sitting on his lap.” You let out a small laugh, scratching your eyebrow. That wasn’t the first time Tara rambled about a bad date, but this was Chad, a common friend, and someone that the young Carpenter had a genuine interest in. At this point, that interest had disappeared into thin air. “And when he removed his pants, he had this military patch underwear and black socks on and it was a huge turn off.”

“Black socks really do sucks…”

“I know!” The exasperated way she agreed with you made you laugh, her hand resting near your knee. “Can you believe he didn’t want to take them off? He said he has cold feet.” Her face fell against your thigh, a tired sighing leaving her mouth, hot breath hitting your bate skin. “I should’ve ran when he said that.” Tara mumbled.

Your hand naturally rested on her head in a soft petting, “You really should have.”

The brunette moved a little, laying on her side with her cheek still resting on your leg to feel the soothing moves of your fingers on her hair. The new position gave her a small vision of what's beneath the thick fabric of your shorts, the hem of black boxers peeking through. She looked away, crimson color on her cheeks as she continued the events of the night.

“But, it’s Chad, so I decided to ignore that ridiculous sock and continue.” You nodded your head. “He removed that equally annoying underwear and I swear to God! It was smaller than my hand, and my hands aren’t that big! Look.” To prove her point, she held your other hand, measuring it with her own. She intertwined your fingers together after you agreed with her, resting them both on her chest. “But I was like… okay, it’s not big but maybe he can be good with his tongue.”

“Oh, God.” You choke, closing your eyes. “I will never be able to look at him again.”

“Imagine how I feel!” Tara whined. “But then I thought to myself, he’s a terrible kisser; if he doesn’t know how to use his tongue on my mouth, imagine how bad it’ll be when he use it on my pu—”

“Okay! Let’s not use those explicit words, please.” You interrupted her, shifting again. ��But damn, is that guy good at anything?”

“He has a nice body… from the waist up.” This time neither of you could hold back the laugh, the delightful sound of her laughing mixed with yours filled the room for a couple minutes, your hand still playing with the soft strands that spread across your leg. “Chad is a nice guy, but… that’s not enough for me, you know? I crave touching, feeling something. And he was so small I would barely feel anything.” Tara cried out, covering her face with her free hand as the other still held yours against her chest.

“I’m not a sexual freak or anything but I agree, at least the kiss has to be good. So that’s when you messaged me?”

“I wish.” It was your turn to sigh loudly. “We kept going and when I asked him to wear protection, you won’t believe it…”

“He didn’t have any?”

“Oh, he did.” She bit her lower lip, hand still covering her eyes as the images played like a broken record behind her closed lids. “After that awkward moment where he put it on, he got soft.”

“Maybe it was too tight or something, that can be an annoying bother.” You tried defending your friend, but the girl denied with her head, pursing her lips together, deciding if she should say it or not, but after all the details she already had shared, this one wouldn’t matter either.

“It was loose. It was the smallest size and it still was big for him.”

“Jesus Christ. I am deleting every photo I have with him. I can’t bear looking him in the eyes after knowing all of that.” Once again, your laugh filled the bedroom, making Tara look at you with narrowed eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Is it me?” You tilted your head to the side in confusion. “Am I the problem?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’m a terrible kisser and that’s why it didn’t fit.” She explained, looking at you.”Do you think I’m hot?”

“Where did that come from?” 

“The deepest part of my curious brain.” Tara sat back up, resting her hand and yours on her thigh. “Now answer me, am I hot?”

“You are hot, Tara.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure the problem wasn’t you. Maybe he was just nervous to be with you, I don’t know.”

“That does make me the problem.” Her eyes never left yours, looking for a small sign of a lie that was never found; after all, you did find Tara hot. “Why did you never kiss me?” 

You let out a deep sigh. “Because we’re friends.”

“You kiss your friends. Amber, Mindy, and I’m sure you tried to kiss my sister once too.”

“Please, don’t bring that to the table.” The pinkish tone that colored your cheeks made the other smile. “And it’s different, they’re just friends, and you’re my best friend.”

Tara moved on the bed, sitting on her calves, still looking at you, and still holding your hand. 

“Kiss me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kiss me.”

You let out an awkward, breathy laugh, trying to pull your hand from hers and moving away just a bit, but the brunette was determined, you could see it in the dark brown eyes.

“Stop joking around, Carpenter.” You said one more time, her slender fingers tracing random patterns on your thigh with her free hand, feeling the goosebumps all over your skin, big bambi eyes staring at you. “Tara…”

“Please…” She cried out, the tip of her fingers trespassing the hem of your shorts, only a few centimeters away from your clothed cock. You could already feel it twitching inside your boxers just from those small touches. “I just wanna prove to myself that I can do it and that there’s nothing wrong with me. You, as my best friends, should help me with that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, I truthfully believe you can get someone hard.”

“Then why wasn’t he hard?”

“Maybe it was just a bad day or he was nervous, I don’t know.” You repeat what you said earlier, hoping that it was enough for the small girl. It clearly wasn't though.

“But we were having fun! He was sweet, polite, respectful, and paid for dinner and the motel, which was not cheap. It makes no sense!” She whined like a spoiled kid. Tara sat on your thighs, holding your face in her hands. “Lemme touch you. Please.”

“Can’t we just watch Stranger Things and forget about this terrible date?” You asked in hopes she would let that stupid idea go; she obviously didn’t. 

“We can, after we kiss.” Tara fixed herself on top of you, moving up. Your hands instantly grabbed her waist, before she could sit on your hips. “You know I won’t stop.”

“You’re like the donkey from Shrek.” You writhe under her.

“Please…”

“Dear Lord.” Your head fell back, hitting the soft headboard. “Why does it have to be me? And now?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” The girl shrugged. “Plus, you never let me see it.”

“I swear you have the strangest obsession with my dick.”

“I’m just curious about it.” Feeling the loosen on your grip, Tara moved slightly up, sitting right on top of it. “And I can definitely feel it.” The brunette pushed herself down, biting her lower lip. 

“Please, stop moving.” You whined, trying to hold her still, but she was determined, you could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t going to take long before your underwear became a bother. “Tara, I’m warning you.” 

“You sound so hot, you should use that tone with me more often.” Her hands grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, wrinkling it, pulling you closer until her mouth was yours. You didn’t stop her or kissed her back, but your grip on her waist grew stronger. She smiled against your lips, one of her hands sliding down your body, nails scratching your belly under your hoodie, threatening to trespass the waist of your shorts. “Can I touch you?” 

You gulped hard, staring at the brown eyes that looked soft, unlike her hands. “Are you sure you want to do this? There's no point of return.” Tara nodded fast, not giving a second thought to it, playing with the waist of your shorts. “You can touch me.”

When you gave Tara permission to touch you, you thought the girl was going to wrap her hands around your soft shaft, but all she did was kiss you, slowly and enticing, and this time you kissed her back. Your hands on her waist helped her move against your lap, grinding on you at a torturous pace. 

You wanted to turn around, change your positions so you could control whatever it was about to happen, but you allowed her to be in charge; this was all about Tara proving to herself she’s not the problem, right? So you held back the urge.

Tara’s hands moved up again, wrapping around your neck as she got closer, pushing herself down on you, moaning against your parted lips when she felt your dick pressing on her even though you weren’t hard. 

Her kiss trailed down your neck, gently nibbling on the skin there. You threw your head back, moving your hands down her ass, under the skirt of her dress to push her harder against you, increasing her hips’ speed.

“Fuck…” You let out a sharp breath, completely affected by the delicate touches coming from your best-friend, and that only made her more eager to pleasure you. 

“Do you like this?” Tara whispered in your ear, softly biting on your lobule, tracing the cartilage with her teeth. All you could do was nod. She could feel you slowly getting hard against her ass.

Licking your lips, you thrust your hip up in a strong move, making the both of you moan lowly. You could come just with that friction if she continued moaning with her mouth so close to your ear, only for you to hear it.

Tara’s hands trailed down your body once again, but this time she pushed down the elastic of the waistband of your gray shorts, in a silent request for you to remove it. She lifted herself just enough for it to slide down your legs, pooling just before your knees, the black boxer still hugging your thighs tightly. 

She didn’t want to look down, too shy to do so, but when she sat back against your bulge, it was impossible to not look at it. She pursed her lips together, the moan choked in the back of her throat as she felt you pressing hard against her. A wet spot taking form on the dark, thin cloth the more she rolled her hips on you.

It was an agonizing pain to let Tara in control of the situation. You could feel the warmth and wetness dripping for her cunt, you would easily slide in her, if she allowed you to. But you didn’t know how far she wanted to go with you, after all, this was just a test to see if she could get you hard, and she definitely could as she felt you twitching against her in desperate need to release. 

This could've stopped here and now, you were hard after all, but in a bold move, her hand slipped into your underwear, her hand holding your dick in a hard squeeze that almost made you scream against her mouth. Pulling your length out, Tara wrapped her hand around your shaft, moving it up and down in a provocative way, smiling against your parted lips. Her eyes were dark, staring at you with luxury dripping from the brownish just like she was dripping on your thighs. You could feel the hot, thick liquid oozing on your skin as she rubbed herself on you.

“Fuck, Tara.” You breathed out again, broken, lewdly. 

The brunette dipped her hand in her own underwear, eyes threatening to close as she rounded her swollen clit with two fingers, but she kept them open with a wicked expression on her face. Tara pulled her dress up, giving you the privileged view of her ruined underwear, the white fabric completely transparent. You couldn’t help yourself as your finger traced the wet stain, Tara’s mouth hanging open at the agonizing slow touch.

“Stop.” She asked in a trembled voice, shakingly holding your hand with flushed cheeks. “I don’t wanna cum like this.”

“And how do you wanna cum?” 

Letting go of your hand, she watched with focused eyes as you took two of your fingers in your mouth, sucking at the slick that coated them with a satisfied hum. Tara seriously considered saying she wanted to ride your face and fall apart on your lips, but she just, messily, removed her underwear. A thin line of arousal followed the cloth as she tossed it somewhere in your bedroom, your mouth watering at that.

Tara pulled your boxer slightly down just enough for your member to be released, proudly hitting your lower belly, before placing herself on top of your cock, the blood flowing in your veins reverberating against her clit, making both of you choke on your breath. She fitted your length in between her slick folds, almost crying at the warm feeling. 

She started grinding on you, shaking at every small move. 

“This feels so fucking good.” 

Throwing her head back, Tara supported her weight on her arms, gaining a fast pace. Your hands held the skirt of her dress up, giving you the perfect view of her shining cunt, smearing herself all over your cock. You could feel that tight knot on your stomach at that.

Moving one of your hands up and taking the dress with it, you crossed a barrier when you exposed her perfect tits, holding the stiff nipple with your thumb and index finger in a hurtful squeeze, earning yourself a crying moan that only made you throb against her center, while the other hand bruised the skin of her ass. You could see the red marks of your fingers all over her waist. 

Pulling her torso towards you, your lips wrapped around her other nipple, trembling your tongue on the hardened nub, making Tara’s hands pull on your hair, keeping you close to her chest. Her hips started to lose speed, squirming in your arms as she neared her release; you weren’t going to last much, not when she started whispering your name over and over, shakingly violently in your arms. You came right after her, shooting thick ropes of cum directly into your hoodie. 

Your arms were fast to hold her against you, keeping her body close as you came down from your high together. Tara's head fell on your shoulder, her hot breath tickling the skin of your neck, you could feel her smile. 

“You okay?” Being the first one to break the silence, you asked in a soft voice, running your hands up and down her back, feeling her heart beating like crazy; yours weren't different, smashing itself against your ribcage.

“I'm great.” She mumbled out, weak and out of breath. “Are you okay?” 

Feeling the nod of your head, she pulled away from her hiding spot. When you met her eyes, a pinkish color was filling the skin around her cheekbones, coloring the freckles that spread across her face, and unlike you were wondering inside your head, things didn't look awkward after that; Tara still had that familiar, warm look in her eyes when she leaned in to place a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips. 

“Are you proud of yourself?” 

“For making you cum without barely touching you?” Tara laughed in a proud voice, avoiding looking down as she felt your length still comfortably placed in between her slick folds.

Your hands were firm on her waist when you lifted her hips, guiding the tip of your cock against her sensitive bundle of nerves before slowly sliding in her cunt at the same time she fell back on your thighs, trying to catch her breath at the sudden invasion. A small smile on her face at the feeling of being full, her velvety walls clenching hard around your shaft, still recovering from her orgasm. 

“For the fact that I'm still pretty hard.” Pressing kisses over her jawline, you thrusted up, a surprised moan escaping her throat. “Can you feel it? How hard I am? How good I'm filling you?” 

“Yes…” She choked out, wrinkling your hoodie in her fingers, trying to find support on your shoulders when your hands forced her up, your member coated in a thin layer of her arousal before sliding her back down. “I'm very proud of myself.” The breathy confession made you smile against her neck, softly biting on her jugular before your movements gained a steady rhythm, mixing with the wet sounds and the melody tone of her voice calling out your name for every neighbor to hear.