#sorry I am worried people will think I’m actually trying to say that

[bigboobyhalo]

just woke up thinking about badboyhalo mpreg canon . it’s true obviously that q!BBH was joking and hasn’t been pregnant at any point on the QSMP (YET!!!) and richas did not deliver any of his children and that was all just part of the insane scenario they were roleplaying but it’s so much funnier to simply say that badboyhalo mpreg is canon . also why would he have said that even as a joke if he wasn’t actually capable of getting pregnant, huh ? huh ? why would he say that if he doesn’t have a womb . riddle me this batman

[5sospenguinqueen]

Emotional Range Of A Teaspoon | Pierre Gasly

Summary: What right does he have to feel angry at the sight of Y/N and Charles? The answer is none. After all, she's only his best friend. Isn't she?

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Fluff. Jealousy. One suggestive comment

No faceclaim but British reader. 2024 timeline

F1 Masterlist

Requested: Yes (sorry it's a little late)

This one actually comes with a tiny text paragraph mid-way through

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Replies to @ PierreGASLY

Charles_Leclerc c’mon mate, it’s only been two days 

→ PierreGASLY a whole lifetime 

→ ItsYN i can’t even remember what you look like 

→ Charles_Leclerc and the people say that i am the dramatic one 

AlpineF1Team think you can channel that pain into some points this weekend?

→ PierreGASLY why aren’t you taking my pain seriously 

→ AlpineF1Team do you want us to schedule you an appointment with the counsellor?

→ ItsYN i don’t think that counsellor gets paid enough to listen to him

User1 ouch, talk about friendzoned 

→ User2 no, no, they’re in the denial stage of their friends to lovers arc

Replies to @ ItsYN

PierreGASLY i can still hear your voice

→ PierreGASLY although i’m glad you’re not making me suffer through the lost boys again

→ ItsYN okay first off, you love that movie. and second, because of that, i’m telling everyone you cried watching cars 3

→ PierreGASLY traitor!

→ LiamLawson30 as any man would!

Charles_Leclerc don’t worry y/n, i’ll have movie night with you 

→ ItsYN are you going to make me watch harry potter again?

→ Charles_Leclerc yes..?

→ ItsYN @ PierreGASLY come back please 

Replies to @ Charles_Leclerc

User3 not charles tweeting this the day after the canadian gp. y/n missed the canadian gp and you can tell poor charles had to hear all about it 

ItsYN we all know i would be the soldier and pierre would be the doting housewife crying on the platform 

→ PierreGASLY and i would look radiant doing so

Max33Verstappen he wouldn’t shut up about her during the driver’s parade. i tried to walk off and he followed me!

→ PierreGASLY i was in the middle of a sentence!

→ danielricciardo mate you know it’s bad when yapstappen needs you to stop talking

ItsYN stop talking about me. you're making it sound like we're friends

→ Charles_Leclerc excuse me but you know you want to be my bestie

→ PierreGASLY you can’t have her. she’s mine. i saw her first. shotgun or whatever you monagasques say for dibs 

→ GeorgeRussell63 actually i saw her first; her brother was my teammate when we were kids so 

→ PierreGASLY and just for that, i’m unfollowing you 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Replies to @ CHICKEN!!

User4 whoever took this photo needs to go straight to jail. not y’all making it seem like charles and y/n are a sneaky item

User5 i knew she was shady, talking about how she couldn't make it only to end up in the winning driver’s garage 

PierreGASLY oh 

→ User6 wait no, pierre, come back. look at other tweets about this please

User7 stop being a shit stirrer. he’s literally got his other arm wrapped around alex ‘cause he was guiding the two of them through a ton of fans but that’s conveniently been cropped out 

Replies to @ BRAKKEEE

User8 i can’t believe people were trying to convince us ynarles was real when it’s clearly ynex

User9 love that charles was literally only there to keep them safe from fans and after that they were like ‘you’re done babe. now we run off into the sunset’ 

User10 watching him chase after them was so funny tho because he was literally yelling “let me play too” 

Replies to @ ItsYN

User11 oh no, we’re so sorry. we were just so happy to see you 

→ User12 yeah and pierre would’ve been happy to see her as well if you hadn’t blasted her all over the internet 

→ User13 pierre didn't exactly look all that happy though. he wouldn’t stop glaring at poor charles  

→ User12 maybe because you guys made it seem like his best friend lied to him to be with charles

Thumb aimlessly swiping at the screen of his phone, Pierre scanned the tweets as they passed, making note of a cute waffle shop in Monaco that he knew Y/N would love. Nothing of note appeared to have been posted as most of the Grid were waiting to hear where Sainz had signed. Hand halting, Pierre’s eyes flickered across the screen once. Twice. And then a third time just to be sure. His last message to Y/N had gone unanswered and now there was a picture of her on Twitter, claiming to be from today. With Charles’ arm around her. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, and a derisive scoff filled his driver’s room. What happened to being unable to book the time off work, he thought bitterly to himself. Instead she was in the Paddock with a red-clad arm wrapped around her. Before he could restrain himself, he had clicked on the ‘reply’ button. A knock at the door pulled him from his downward spiral, preventing him from looking further into the comments gushing about how cute his best friend and closest F1 friend looked as a couple. 

“Pierre, time to warm up.”

“D’accord.”

He locked his phone before dumping it onto the massage table, storming out of his driver’s room, unaware that if he had scrolled down another two posts, he would’ve seen a picture of Y/N with Alexandra and a tweet from the woman herself. 

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ItsYN just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, estebanocon and others

ItsYN an amazing weekend in barcelona watching my best friend do his thing and achieve some well-deserved points. a huge thank you to charles and alex for helping me sneak into the paddock last-minute tagged: pierregasly, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux 

553 comments

alpinef1team our favourite things rolled into one post 

→ ItsYN mine too! 

→ User1 sis, get off the floor 

estebanocon should i be offended that you wearing my cap didn’t make the post 

→ ItsYN shh i can’t have my people thinking i have friends other than pear 

danielricciardo PIERRE GASSLLLYYYYY

→ ItsYN go thirst over him on his posts. my insta is a 310 free zone

→ danielricciardo just admit that you’re jealous of our love and move on

→ ItsYN was he publicly crying over missing YOU? i don’t think so 

→ danielricciardo that’s because i’m a better friend than you and i’ve been here the whole time

→ ItsYN blocked 

alexandrasaintmleux thank you for trusting me with the surprise! 

→ ItsYn thank you for being so wonderful and helping 🩷 (and stopping charles from throttling me)

→ charles_leclerc it’s because you wouldn’t stop saying thank you and asking me if i was “sure that it’s no bother” to help you 

→ It’sYN sorry for being considerate! 

User2 not to be that person but has anyone else noticed that pierre hasn’t commented?

→ User3 i'm getting the feeling that, despite all his online complaining, he wasn’t overly excited to see his best friend this weekend? 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

User4 not the f1wags posting her, they know the truth

→ User5 what truth. it doesn’t look they’re even friends anymore

User7 it’s the way she looks like she’s trying to explain/talk to him and he’s just yelling at her 

→ User8 i used to root for them to get together but now that he’s yelled at her :/

User9 y/n is stronger than me because if a man pointed his finger like that at me, i’d savagely bite it off 

User10 uh, who does he think he is talking to y/n l/n that way

User11 i bet it’s because he thought y/n was there for charles and got jealous 

→ User12 i’ve connected the dots

→ User13 you ain’t connected shit

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User14 idk which one i want to be more

→ User15 that’s because you want to be their third instead 

User16 i’m thirsty. anyone else thirsty

LandoNorris oh god my eyes

→ danielricciardo this is why you should stop looking at x rated things on the internet 

→ User17 what happened to your pr training?

→ Charles_Leclerc what happened to pierre’s?

User18 if only he could transfer this kind of passion onto the track 

User19 uh, the clarity of the third one?? did admin take this and then leak it online? 

→ AlpineF1Team i'm afriad that we’re finding out along with you guys but we’re not gonna pretend like we weren’t rooting for this 

ItsYN why am i trending on twitter?

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

ItsYN just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, lilymhe and others

ItsYN my little pain au chocolat 💕

845 comments

pierregasly we talked about you calling me pastries 

→ ItsYn yes, we did. and i didn’t take into account anything you said

→ pierregasly you are very lucky you're cute

→ ItsYN it's gotten me far in life

User1 talk about a hard launch

→ User2 they weren’t really given the choice considering they were caught snogging all over barcelona last weekend

alpinef1team pierre repping the alpine colours 

→ ItsYN release your chokehold on my man

→ alpinef1team no, you release your chokehold on our man 

→ ItsYN what happened to being supportive of this?

→ alpinef1team that was before all he did was yap about you!

lilymhe babe, this isn’t you. get up and come back to me 

→ ItsYN i’m sorry but i don’t think i can come back from this 

→ lilymhe what about us, what about everything we’ve been through

→ ItsYN you know i never wanted to hurt you

→ alex_albon @ pierregasly guess i’ll be seeing you at the next karaoke marathon 

→ pierregasly only if you sing breaking free with me

→ ItsYN this is why i love you

landonorris let’s take a moment for our fallen soldier… we lost an honourable brit to a french man

→ pierregasly it’s not my fault that i have charm and you don’t 

→ danielricciardo i didn’t realise charm meant having a tantrum when she asks your friend for help to surprise you 

→ pierregasly we agreed not to speak of that! 

→ ItsYN i don’t think you’re living this one down, macaron

charles_leclerc can you tell him to put his clothes back on, please

→ ItsYN i tried but he seems incapable of keeping them on around me

→ pierregasly charles is just jealous of my amazing physique 

→ charles_leclerc best you not talk about jealousy 

User4 @ ItsYN i love that they’ve not had a chance to pr train you yet

→ ItsYN never! 

User5 and they called me crazy when i said friends to lovers! 

→ ItsYN tbf hun, so did we. it took us a minute

→ User6 so pierre is slow on and off the track 

→ pierregasly hey! 

pierregasly just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, yukitsunoda0511 and others

pierregasly from movie nights to drunken karaoke, i would go on any adventure with you 

1,454 comments

ItsYN my best friend and my love 

→ alexandrasaintmleux i thought i was your best friend 

→ ItsYN i’m not allowed to post shirtless pics of you online though

→ charles_leclerc no you are not! 

→ User7 i hope pr never got ahold of her

→ alpinef1team she has an appointment with them on thursday

yukitsunoda0511 is this what they call simping?

→ pierregasly no

→ ItsYN yes

maxverstappen1 does this mean you’ll stop talking about her during driver’s parades?

→ pierregasly no 

→ yukitsunoda0511 he’ll just stop talking about whether she’s interested in any of us 

→ ItsYN he did that?

→ pierregasly no!

→ maxverstappen1 yes, the latest victim was logan

→ charles_leclerc actually i was the latest victim, and i will remain the most famous. my jealousy era is forever captured on the internet 

→ logansargeant @ pierregasly is that why you kept asking me what i thought about her?

landonorris you guys are kinda cute when you’re not yelling at her 

→ ItsYN please stop saying this. i'm the one who has to listen to him apologise over and over for the millionth time

→ pierregasly because i feel bad! 

→ ItsYN omg i know! 

danielricciardo mate, we get it. she’s your girl now but you can let go of her for two seconds. she’s not going to disappear

→ pierregasly it’s called a healthy attachment

→ ItsYN he says whilst cuddled into my neck and following me to the bathroom

lilymhe she’s so hot, drop me her @ please

→ pierregasly back off

→ ItsYN i’m right here bby girl. let me take out on a date 

→ charles_leclerc careful lily or he might start yelling at you next 

alpinef1team we’ve been asked by an anonymous source that you all refrain from discussing previous events. reparations have been made and it’s been advised that such an event remain in the past 

→ danielricciardo lol he ran to mom

→ landonorris anonymous source, my ass. just tag him

→ georgerussell63 this is so lame

→ alex_albon mate, this is more obvious than pierre’s jealousy 

→ charles_leclerc even i cannot support him through this 

→ ItsYN i love you, my little croissant, but i cannot pretend that this is normal

→ pierregasly ultimate betrayal

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Sorry if this wasn’t angst enough. Humour and fluff are more my forte.

As always, F1 requests open for the current grid and retired drivers.

Tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury

(A huge thank you to both of you for wanting to be added to all f1 posts. It means a lot)

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[anifever]

Hii, can you make Johnny cade or the gang with reader kinda like Charlotte LA Bouff from princess and the frog because I'm just thinking that it would be so interesting having kind of s/o so spoiled but kind and not a brat too, I love Lottie tho✨😭

Gang w/ a Lottie!Reader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The Outsiders x Fem!Reader

୨୧ : The Curtis gang with a reader whose like Charlotte La Bouff from “Princess and the Frog”

A/N : AHHH I’m sorry this took me so long I’ve been busy w other stuff. Anyways, I always wanted to be Lottie when I was younger 🥲 hopefully I got this close enough to her character also sorry these are shorter than normal <\3

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🎀 ˚₊‧⁺˖

Darry

୨ He’s honestly a little jealous of you

୨ He feels like you have everything he doesn’t

୨ That being said, does NOT stop the man from loving you once he sees how sweet and generous you are

୨ Your personalities are super different tho

୨ You’re so bubbly and bright and he thinks it’s endearing

୨ You definitely keep him on his toes

୨ You also keep him young

୨ Whenever he seems to be struggling more than usual with finances, you swoop in and save the day

୨ He’s like “??? Honey, I can’t take this,” and you’re just like “Too late, Dare-Bear, don’t worry about it 😊”

୨ Whenever you sleep over you wear a frilly pink sleep mask he has trouble not smiling over

୨ You love his cooking and are always drooling over it

୨ It’s a habit for you to bring pastries, etc from a bakery on the other side of town whenever you come over

୨ Earlier in the relationship/before you started dating, he knew how spoiled you were and he was like “..how am I supposed to compete with this.”

୨ Luckily you find him extremely muscly, attractive, and sweet so it makes up for his money 😋😋

୨ Either way, he still buys you whatever he can when he has the spare cash

୨ You have him wrapped around your finger

Two-Bit

୨ Couldn’t hold back his laugh when he saw a childhood picture of you dressed as a princess for Halloween

୨ You guys honestly go together so well

୨ If you have the same type of accent Lottie has- even better

୨ The first thing you said when you met his sister was “Well aren’t you as pretty as a peach!”

୨ Safe to say that made him more smitten

୨ You walk him like a dog it’s so funny

୨ He doesn’t spend as much money on beer anymore cuz he saves a lot up for you

୨ Found a stray kitty on the street and you started squealing when he brought it to you

୨ He was cheesing from ear to ear

୨ Has tried to get you to kiss a frog before after you told him you always wanted to when you were younger (mwahaha) and you freaked out

୨ That being said, he picks up random bugs all the time to try and gross you out- which works

୨ You never hurt them though⁉️⁉️ You just run away and start screaming

୨ Whenever he starts insulting people if they’re mean to you or something, you start dying of laughter which spurrs him on more

Steve

୨ He’s torn between thinking you’re a brat to also being extremely attracted to you

୨ He assumes you’re a mean girl who lives off daddy’s money (the second part being lowkey true)

୨ Doesn’t stop him from drooling tho

୨ Contrary to popular belief, you were actually really nice

୨ Like you came into the DX one day, giving him a huge tip while talking super animatedly and he was just like “Ah..”

୨ Whenever he talks about cars you have no clue what he’s talking about

୨ You have a pretty pink ‘62 Ferrari 250 GTO and that’s all you know!!

୨ You buy new clothes constantly and have lil’ fashion shows for him

୨ “Yeahhh, could you jus’ spin around one more time so I can see the back? 😇”

୨ “….Steve.”

୨ Whenever nobody else is around (Soda, etc) at the DX, you give him WAY bigger of a tip than normal lmao

୨ Brags about you to Soda all the time

Dallas

୨ He thought you were so annoying at first I’m sorry 😭

୨ Even with that, he still tried to get in your pants

୨ You slapped him for it which just made him want you more (he’s on that freak timing)

୨ You know what you want and he’s honestly really attracted to it

୨ He ends up spoiling you though, he can’t help it when you give him puppy dog eyes and pout your glossy lips

୨ Hilariously different

୨ Whenever he’s in your room he’s so out of place

୨ He’s surrounded by so much pink, stuffed animals, expensive jewelry and clothes, a big canopy bed, a crystal chandelier, etc

୨ His ego gets boosted when he’s out in public with you

୨ Like he’s with the prettiest and richest girl in town??? Yeahhh he’ll never let this go

୨ You not caring about his/his friends status’ is really important to him and he appreciates it even though he’ll never outright say it

Soda

୨ You guys both have a big line of people who want you

୨ Power couple!!

୨ You’re really ditzy- not necessarily stupid, but not all there

୨ He relates.

୨ You guys just sit there and look pretty

୨ Like you definitely have won various beauty pageants and have kept all the tiaras and sashes

୨ Makes you try the tiaras on every time he comes over

୨ He takes you to a drag race or rodeo and you’re like “Shew- Soda, I’m sweatin’ like a sinner in church,” while fanning yourself

୨ Probably because you’re wearing some expensive dress from a boutique in town made with thick material, but he’ll never smart off to you by saying that 🤍🤍

୨ Has a habit of ruining his DX shirt and you always pay for him to get a new one

୨ He already knew he was attractive, but it was only when you came along and started buttering him up that he started getting giddy about it

୨ He sucks up so hard to your mom and dad; they love him

Johnny

୨ Probably teased you a bit with Pony before you guys officially met

୨ After the initial iffy feeling he had about you wore off, he was head over heels when he knew you better

୨ He genuinely sees you as a princess

୨ You’re always wearing some shade of pink and some form of pearls and he’s mesmerized

୨ He thinks you deserve a lot better since he can’t give you much

୨ You literally couldn’t care less though since he treats you so well

୨ He’ll save up random coins off the street if he had to tho

୨ Your house is huge so you let him stay in a spare room which eventually just becomes his own

୨ Your house also did nothing to help his idea of you being a princess since it was way bigger and more extravagant than anything he could’ve imagined

୨ Your cat(s) love him, he’s a little overwhelmed at first but after that you’ll always find him with one around/on him

୨ You’re so comfortable fawning over him constantly and he gets pretty embarrassed about it LMAO

Pony

୨ He has a thing for pretty rich girls so this is fitting

୨ Once again, he also assumed you were mean and stuck up

୨ When you guys talked for the first time, he was definitely surprised

୨ You were definitely a bit out of touch with reality, but who cares!!!! You were pretty and nice!!!!

୨ Saw you stand up for one of your greaser friends once and felt his heart skip a beat

୨ Heard through the grapevine (he asked around) that you were enamored with some ‘pretty boy’ and couldn’t stop talking about him and he was like “Awww shucks 😞”

୨ He became extremely confused and denied it when Two and Johnny kept saying it was him after they saw you two interact at school

୨ He finally picked up on the heavy flirting one day and was like “…OHHHH”

୨ Whenever you get excited about something, he has a hard time understanding you since you start talking so fast and freaking out, but he just watches with a lovesick grin

୨ Your sass put together is on another level

୨ It scares Darry.

୨ And Steve.

୨ Back to the point I made earlier, you’d stand up for him about his status no matter what

୨ So in love it’s nasty

୨ Everyone in the gang is confused about how he bagged you especially considering he’s the youngest

[norrizzandpia]

Hiiii I love your writing so much!!! Can I request an imagine where Lando is streaming and the reader says something and lando is like “when I marry you” and the reader is like WHEN? And lando is all like in love and the stream goes wild. Then she leaves the room and lando is like “I can’t wait to marry her “ or smth…. Thank uuuuuu

When? (LN4)

Summary: Apparently, to Lando, it is not a question of if he will marry Y/n, it is when.

Warnings: none

Sitting in a swiveling chair beside him, Y/n peaks over Lando’s shoulder, watching as his car on the video game spins out of control before crashing into the barriers.

“Shit!” Lando screams, his body flying forward from his chair to hunch over.

Y/n giggles in the background as the chat berates Lando for his poor sim skills whilst also being a Formula 1 driver, “You’d think you’d be so good at this game?”

Lando shoots her a look over his shoulder, a warning glance, before he shakes his head with a snicker, “You try it, then.”

Y/n shakes her head, “Nah, I’m good. Leave it the professionals.”

Lando nods with a tsk, finding her presence and her words funny nonetheless. There’s a ringing on her phone that shakes them from their moment, Y/n picking it up and noting the unknown number.

“Hello?”

Murmuring sounds from the other side of the phone before realization flows through Y/n and she nods as she speaks, “Yes, sorry. I will ask my boyfriend for that right now. I’m not sure what the exact code is.”

The word code makes Lando mute his microphone, knowing if people found his apartment with the knowledge of the code to get in, all hell would break loose.

“Who is it?” He asks her.

“The delivery guy. What’s the code to get into the building?” Y/n replies, her free hand landing on his bicep as he turns around to fully face her.

Lando’s body warms at her touch, “2576.”

She nods and he unmutes the microphone, the couple going back to their old ways.

“You know, you could just make it easier for me and write the code on a piece of paper for me. Or at least let me write it in my Notes app. I always forget it.” She chuckles, noting the way the delivery man texts her he’s making his way up the stairs, gaining closer to the apartment.

Lando mindlessly laughs, “I don’t want it to get leaked or for you to lose the paper. Maybe when I marry you, I don’t know.”

The chat erupts as silence ensues behind him. Lando sneaks a glance at Y/n behind him, the girl jaw dropped, “When?”

His eyebrows furrow, “Yeah, when. What about it? You think I don’t want to marry you? You think I don’t already have it all planned out in my head?”

Y/n shakes her head, disbelief bleeding from her being, “Well, what a nice surprise!”

She giggles, still a bit taken aback, before leaning forward and planting a slobbery kiss on his cheek. One which he grimaces at and wipes away, although his heart beats faster in his chest at the gesture.

She smiles down at him as she stands up, mumbling about the food being there, as she lays another kiss yet this time meeting his lips. She stares at him a bit more before leaving the room, the two being lovesick in the way their eyes shimmered.

Lando, let alone for the moment, read through the chat and laughed at their words, “What do you mean ‘I’m crying, that’s so cute’ I thought people knew how serious I was about her?!”

Max laughs from the other end of the call, “Yeah, what? Lando has been talking about marrying Y/n since he first met her.”

More messages flood through and Lando can only smile blissfully, “Well, you heard it here first, folks. I can’t wait to marry that woman.”

At this point, the chat is triggered into a frenzy and Y/n looks bewildered when she comes back with the food, slightly overwhelmed at the volume of words infiltrating the screen.

“Jesus Christ, did Lando moan again?” She jokes, though by the way Lando doesn’t answer she actually worries for a moment.

He’s quick to reassure her though, “No, just informing the chat on how in love I am with you because apparently they didn’t know.”

Blush rises to her cheeks and Lando pulls her down onto his lap, the two digging into the two bowls balancing in her lap. There’s a chowing session between the two, their hunger taking over, as they continue to converse with the chat and Max.

Truly funny, though, the way the conversation steered into the topic of Lando and Y/n getting married as the engagement ring rest in the depths of his sock drawer, begging to be taken out and displayed on the finger of his favorite girl.

[kyber-crystal]

i will follow you into the dark || bradley "rooster" bradshaw

summary: your first instinct has always been to push people away when they get too close, but for some reason, you have trouble letting one pilot go. but little did you know that he had settled into your heart from the start and has no intention of leaving. (in which you have Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even notice—5 occasions that solidify your love for him, and 1 time you realize it)

words: ~3.3k

warnings: angst (BUT A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE), near-death experiences, brief mentions of violence, also my writing LMAO

a/n: hi guys i haven't posted a full-length fic in a LONG time but here we go :) this fic won the vote so it's going up first! hope you enjoy :)

I. meet me in the middle

“Mav!”

You and Maverick turned around at the same time. “Which one?”

“The pretty one,” Rooster stated. 

“Be more specific.”

“I am being specific, Captain.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Fine, I need your daughter.”

“You always need her for something.”

“Sorry, pops,” you grinned and clasped Maverick’s shoulder, and walked over to Bradley. “Come to kidnap me again, Bradshaw?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“Then…go eat? I don’t see what any of that has to do with me.”

“I’m going to dinner, and I want you to come along,” he explained. “So, let’s go.”

“Is that why Cyclone was grumbling about someone spilling coffee all over him earlier? I knew it had to be you that put him in that mood.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”

You looked back at your father, who simply laughed and motioned for you to go. The test flight would have to wait. 

It was 5:30 when you got there, but the usually-crowded cantina had only one other person inside. Rooster didn’t hesitate as he set down his car keys and slid into the booth right next to you.

“There’s a seat right there,” you pointed out. 

“And?”

“You can sit over there.”

“I don’t want to, though.”

“Alright, then.” 

You weren’t even done for the day and already, felt tired and worn out beyond belief. The one thing that had been keeping you going was Maverick’s promise to take you on a Mach 7 test flight. (With the Admiral’s permission, of course. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he had never asked.)

Rooster tells the waitress your order without blinking, and you give him a tired smile as a thank you. 

There’s no animated conversation, no loud comments or jokes or anything of the sort as the food comes out, but neither of you mind. Sometimes, all you needed to cool down from a long week was each other’s company and a steaming plate of fajitas. 

The little routine you’ve established falls into place so easily you don’t even have to think. Impromptu dinners, blasting 80’s music as the sun goes down, taking the offbeat path down to the coast with salt in your windswept hair.  Little to no words spoken, and somehow the silence speaks volumes.

But you don’t understand why he’d choose you to do this with, out of everyone. You’d expect him to drift towards someone less damaged. Someone who could keep up to his free and daring spirit and push him to his limits. Someone who had less baggage and didn’t flinch at every little touch. 

But despite all that he doesn’t leave. Even when everyone else around you seemed to, he was always there, assuring you he’d wait no matter what.

“Don’t worry about it.” He places a gentle hand over yours as he hands his card over to pay later that evening. “Let me treat you tonight.”

“Thanks…” 

He holds the door open for you as you walk out and keeps a ghost of a hand against your back the whole way to the car. You’re trying to burrow into yourself, but he doesn’t stop looking at you. The feeling of his eyes on you sends shivers running down your spine and you nervously shift in your seat. 

“You okay?” Rooster places his hand on the headrest as he reverses out of the parking lot. “You seem quiet tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t press any further, assuming that you’re tired and that’s why you’re unwilling to say much. He knows. He understands. “If you ever need to talk, though, I’m one call and a 15 minute walk away. Or 7, if I sprint.”

This makes you laugh a bit. “If you say so.”

II. waiting on you

As soon as you hop out of your plane, he’s the first one there to greet you and pulls you in for a hug. You have no time to react to it because he’s so quick to sweep you up into his arms. You can smell a mix of sweat and coffee and a little bit of raspberries on him, and it helps bring you back down to reality. 

“You saw me a few hours ago, Roos…please let me go…” you mumbled into his shoulder. His grip on you only tightens further. “What’s with the excitement?”

“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”

Not knowing what else to do, your hands awkwardly reach up to pat him on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Though you don’t say it out loud, you’re also just as happy to see him—it’s comforting to know he’ll be waiting whenever you return from something. And that, you think, is more than enough. 

Rooster carries your things for you without asking, and you’re grateful because your shoulders feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets. Once again, he’s standing close by as you go to your quarters, ever the watchman. If he doesn’t have a hand on you, then his eyes will stay glued to you for as long as they can be. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks as you step out of the bathroom wearing an oversized vintage T-shirt and a pair of jeans. 

“No.”

“It looks better on you, anyway.” He smirks; you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit longer than normal. “You ready to go? They’re waiting for us at the Hard Deck. Hangman’s complaining about a rematch or somethin’.”

You lean into his side and smile, and he puts an arm across your shoulders. It feels so natural that you almost don’t notice. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

His eyes never leave you, even when he’s in the thick of the game. It’s impossible to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach every time his gaze flickers over to yours. 

Coyote notices your dazed look and nudges Payback in the side. “How is it that everyone knows that Bradshaw and Y/N love each other except Bradshaw and Y/N?”

“Because they’re stupid,” Payback whispered back.

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“So, we need to do something about it.”

“Hm…I’d say we wait it out. They’re going in the right direction.” A small smile graced Coyote’s face as Rooster pumped a fist up in victory before rushing over to embrace you. “A room full of people, yet all he sees is her.”

“You’re so right, man.”

III. rose-tinted glasses

“What are you looking for out there?” Rooster called out.

“Something pretty,” you replied as you stood by the ocean’s edge, the wind fanning your hair around your shoulders. He’s sure that he’s never seen a more mesmerizing sight. 

“I beat you to it, because I already found one,” he stated with confidence, eyes never leaving you.

“Where?”

“I’m looking right at her.”

“That’s not what I meant, silly. Do I look like a seashell to you?”

“No, you’re even better.”

You laugh once again and resume your search. Right then, a glowing scallop catches your eye, and sand dusts your clothes as you bend down to pick it up. It’s smooth and seems to glow in rose gold amidst the early evening light. 

“Would you look at that,” you breathed out, palm extended to show him what you’ve found. “It’s perfect.”

Rooster encloses his hand around yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s cold out but you’re not freezing at all because he’s so close. He’s so close. Your heart skips a beat. 

“Wow…it sure is.”

He kneels down with you, and you spend the next few hours making it a competition to see who can find the most unique set of stones. A strange feeling washed over you as you watched his brows furrow in concentration. Never had you imagined to be spending Thursday night with Bradley Bradshaw by the seashore, and yet, it feels like you’ve done this thousands of times before. 

Everything seems to fall into place. 

IV. for you, i’d cross the line 

“Y/N, hey.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. Move over.”

You shifted on the bench to make room for him and he sat down next to you. This was probably his tenth time playing his rendition of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ but that didn’t matter; the man knew how to sing. You found yourself leaning into him and listening to his heartbeat, and the sensation lulled you into a peaceful trance. 

You took one good look at your best friend. Sweat lined his forehead and his face was bright red from both the alcohol and heat, but still, you were 100% sure that you’d never seen a more beautiful sight in your life. 

The way he seemed to gaze at you made your heartbeat pick up speed. It didn’t matter that he had too one too many drinks in the moments leading up to this, nor did it matter that he was always one to be rather affectionate with you. It didn’t make you love him any less—if anything, it made him all the more endearing. 

“You’re looking at me very…intensely,” you mumbled. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “A man can’t help it when he’s in love.”

“Was that tipsy you or sober you?”

“Sober me is saying I love you.” He continues playing, unfazed, and the sound of the piano in your ears fades away into nothingness. 

It’s drunk Rooster telling you he means what he says, the confidence boost making him do things he normally wouldn’t. It’s drunk Rooster attempting to serenade you as his warm, alcohol-riddled breath falls against your neck. It’s drunk Rooster talking…but there’s a sober truth hidden behind his words that sends a shiver down your spine. 

You’re nose-to-nose as he starts to sing, and you lose yourself in a sea of gold and blue as his warm thumb grazes over your cheek. As if there’s an invisible string drawing you together, you move closer and closer towards each other. Drunk or not, he was utterly enchanting and you couldn’t turn away.

Once again…you ignore the stirring feeling in your chest at the feeling of his body being so close to yours. 

V. saving grace

You find yourself opening the door to Rooster, who has a bouquet of your favorite flowers and some large Tupperware in hand. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you accept them and step aside to let him in. “What is this for…?”

“Thought you’d want something nice to add to the kitchen. You and Mav need to work on decorations,” he said. “Why? Do you not like them?”

“No…I’m…how’d you know these were my favorite, anyway?”

“I heard you talking on the phone to Phoenix about them six months ago,” Rooster explained, taking his jacket off and hanging it over the couch. “I pride myself on being observant like that. Also…I woke up early to cook you that pasta you always go nuts over when we drive to LA.”

“Oh.” Your heart twinged as you glanced over—that damn pasta was your favorite thing on the entire planet. You claimed that nobody could make it as well as the diner in Newport did, except Bradley himself. (He didn’t tell you how many times it took to get it just right, though. He didn’t want you freaking out over that. And besides, Maverick’s pots and pans that he borrowed had already paid the price.)

He paused for a moment after setting the container down on the counter. “I noticed you went home early today. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied as you put the flowers in a vase. But that was no use; he could see right through your monotone response. “Didn’t sleep enough last night.”

Bradley sees your hands tremble slightly. “Sweetheart.”

That’s all he needs to say before you step forward and lean your head against his chest. One arm finds its way around your waist to pull you close, while his free hand smoothes your hair out. A cracked sob escapes your lips and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that if you kept them closed long enough and prayed hard enough, a guardian angel would swoop in and save you. 

“I’m here, it’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t go, Bradshaw,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here, don’t worry,” he reminds you, his hand moving down to rub your back. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, I promise.” 

You reach your pinky out a bit, and the two of you link your fingers together. 

You’re never letting go, and neither is he. 

epilogue—soul ties 

“I’m trying to shake them off. They won’t let up—shit, I’m hit—”

His panicked voice cuts through the buzz of static and you can feel your whole body go numb. What if he doesn’t make it back… The thought alone is too much to bear. 

He curses under his breath and you hear something like that of a whispered prayer and several mentions of Please let me come home to her. Your heart clenches in your chest and you feel like you’re going to puke. Noticing your sudden uneasiness, Maverick grips your hand to keep you steady. 

“Bradshaw, what the hell is going on there?” Coyote nervously rubs at his forehead as he looks up at the screen. “If you die, we’re all going to kill you.”

“Left engine’s completely blown out. I have two bogeys on my tail.”

You bite the inside of your cheek until the tangy, metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. This couldn’t be happening. There already was a ghost amongst the skies, and Rooster could not afford to become the second…

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I’m going down, guys—” Rooster curses again, and the earsplitting sound of a large blast interrupts him before he can say much else. 

“Bradley!” you shrieked as you watched his radar signal slowly fade off the screen. “No—”

Silence punctures the air and you finally lose balance, succumbing to the black void of nothingness. 

—

10 hours later, you sit outside the hospital room in the cold hallway, a thin, tear-stained blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman and Phoenix had long since given up on getting you to move, so they took turns sitting with you. 

“You should try eating. There’s In-N-Out nearby, I’ll get something for you if you want,” Jake offered. 

You shake your head. 

“Come on. It’s been all day.”

“No.”

“You’re really that worried about him, aren’t you.”

“No,” you muttered bitterly. 

“You claim to not care, yet you’ve been sitting here for the past ten hours.” 

“I don’t care. This is me looking out for him in the same way any colleague or teammate of his would. This is what I’m supposed to do. What we’re all supposed to do.” 

“Y/N.” Jake sounds a bit more serious this time, and this makes you stop trying to bury yourself within your thoughts. “Listen to me.”

“What,” you exhaled.

"The fact of the matter here is,” he cleared this throat, “Bradshaw cares about you…a lot. Not in a simple and innocent ‘friendly’ way. And if you keep pushing him away like you always do, all 'cause you're scared, you're gonna lose him for good. Losing a good man out of fear is never worth the cost."

Your heart stops.

Every hug, every word and cheesy pickup line, every lingering glance and touch and intertwined set of fingers—he'd fallen first long ago, and pulled you down with him. But you let him, and you'll walk to the ends of the earth if it means he'll hold your hand along the way. And that's when everything hits all at once—the realization comes crashing down like a waterfall. 

You were hopelessly in love with him, the man who brings you flowers every Friday night. In love with the man who holds the door open for you, gives you his favorite jackets, and stays up late or wakes up early to learn your favorite comfort meal (even if it means failing 17 times in the process and ruining Maverick's kitchen), the man who serenades you to classic rock ballads with the taste of rum on his lips. 

This was Rooster Bradshaw, and he was your soulmate.

“But I already lost him,” your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words to say, “I can’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That man is going to stay waiting for you until the day his body is buried six feet underground. Deny it all you want, but he’ll keep waiting long after he takes his last breath.”

You let out a long sigh and stood up. “Okay.”

You’re hesitant as you step inside the small hospital room. He’s asleep, but he must’ve sensed your presence and his eyes flutter open. 

“Sweetheart…”

“Bradley.” He moves over a bit for you, and you sit down next to him. “You’re alive.”

“Sorry for not dying. That must’ve disappointed you,” he jokes. If he’s in any sort of pain, he manages to mask it behind a soft smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I waited ten hours.”

“You should’ve gone home and slept.”

Closing your eyes, you rest your head against his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that you weren’t okay.”

He hums some tune against the crook of your neck; lips brushing over your skin. “But I came back, like I promised. I’m okay, because you are.”

Helovesmehelovesmehelovesme.

As if he could read your mind, he leans in just that bit closer. You look up at him and your heart somersaults in your chest. 

When your lips meet, everything clicks into place and it’s like you finally found the missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for. He was here all along; it made so much sense. Everything else fades away into the background as you get lost in the feeling of him and him alone. You knew from the moment he stuck out his hand and told you with a million-dollar smile “I’m Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, and I can make a mean lasagna or anything else you want,” that choosing him would be the single best thing you ever could’ve done. 

And you were most certainly right about that now. 

“I kept it, you know.” he murmurs as you eventually break away, “I didn’t think it would last as long as it did, but here it is.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

He fingers dip below the scoop of his T-shirt and he brings out the glittering charm, laying it in his hand. “You gave it to me ages ago. It was a while ago but I still remember the exact time and place. August 5th, 2010, 2:26 a.m. We were both on the verge of falling asleep.”

Your heart grows warmer. “Roos…”

Rooster opens the locket, and inside is a picture of you beaming as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. So young and so in love, but not yet knowing how you felt about each other. 

“I think this is what kept me alive up there. I was in the air long enough to think about and reflect on the fact that I was dying, but I knew I had to come home to you. I was dying, Y/N, but you saved me. If you didn’t come into my life right when you did then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be telling you that I love you.”

He has you at a loss for words yet again. It didn’t matter that you’d known each other for years because he would always find a way to steal your breath. The once-tiny caterpillars crawling in your stomach had morphed into giant butterflies that never stopped fluttering when he came too close.

He leans in and he’s kissing you again; this time it’s like you’re his sole source of oxygen and he’s in desperate need of fresh air. Your grip on his hand tightens as he deepens the kiss, and you pray to God that your heart won’t explode into a million pieces like it did when you thought you wouldn’t see him again. 

I’ve died and come back to life twice now, Rooster tells himself. 

And both of those times, you’re the angel that magically appears to save him from a certain, unfortunate fate. 

tags, including people who may be interested (sorry if this list seems off, it hasn't been updated in a while hahah): @sarcastic-sourwolf @totomoshi @sebastianstangirl01 @purelyfiction @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @buckysbeloved @lyn-lc @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @cherry-waved @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @lam-ila @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @callalily2000 @the-untamed-soul @shizzybarnaclee @bananaa @luvfurdogs @shalaniela @unordinare @and-claudia @lgg5989 @katiemcrae @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface @nyx2021 @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vane28282 @bittergomez @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @whotfatemywaffles @hoedameronsworld @aerangi @julia-marshal @uwiuwi

(also if you filled out the general taglist form/top gun taglist form and you're not on here, that means i couldn't tag you for some reason)

[brenwritesss]

Tru Fru part 3

Paige Bueckers x reader

Summary: You see Paige after the livestream happened and the two of you get closer.

(Semi-sexual content ahead.)

It had been a couple weeks since you had gone to Paige’s place and the livestream happened. Since then, it had been awkward between you and Paige, considering you didn’t really know each other and now you were trending on social media. Paige had texted you multiple times, apologizing and you had to reassure her that it was okay. At first, you didn’t see it as a big deal since no one really saw your face. However, you didn’t really understand just how popular she was until you started seeing edits starting with an intro of the video of you and Paige on her bed. 

Paige and you really haven’t hung out since then, her being busy with basketball and traveling while you were trying to finish all your studies.

Currently, you were in your room trying to finish an assignment for one of your classes when a text notification popped up on your phone beside you. It was from Paige.

Yo can I come over?

Immediately texting back, you replied with a “sure” along with your dorm number. This is the first time she would ever be over at your dorm and you couldn’t help but feel nervous.

You took the time to clean up your room a little, putting away your homework and picking up any dishes or cups that were in your room.

A knock disrupted you. Walking over to the door, you let out a breath and opened it. “Hey,” Paige said, looking at you with her hands in her back pocket. She was wearing a UConn jacket and sweatpants.

“Hey,” you replied. “Come in.” You moved out of the way so that she could come in. Paige walked in and you shut the door.

“I know I keep apologizing but I’m so sorry for the whole livestream situation.”

You let out a small laugh and led Paige into your room. “Don’t even worry about it. It’s all good. It’s not like they know who I am. If anything, I’m sorry that it’s trending and you have to deal with this sort of stuff.”

Paige felt relieved in your response, as if weight was lifted off her shoulders. She sat down on your bed, grabbing one of your stuffed animals near your pillow and fiddled with it. “It’s actually really refreshing to hear you say that.”

“Really?” You sat down beside her.

Paige looked at you, her clear-framed glasses sitting perfectly on the bridge of her nose. Her hair was in a low bun and she had on a beanie. All you wanted to do was lean over and kiss her, but you had to restrain yourself. “Yeah,” she said, “a lot of people don’t really think about how this kind of stuff affects us.”

You rubbed your hands on your thighs. “Well people should. I mean I get y’all are supposed to be like celebrities but you’re still human.”

Paige smiled at you, her eyes squinting in response. You thought the “eye-smile” she did was the cutest thing ever. It made you want to melt on the spot. Damn, you were starting to fall for her. “Thank you for saying that.”

It seemed like a long moment of just staring into each other’s eyes. When you and Paige had hung out in her room, moments like this had happened but this was different. Like the two of you were actually seeing each other for the first time. The sexual tension between the two of you had changed into something more emotional. And it intrigued you, making you want more. It made her want more too. However, it was a little overwhelming as this hasn’t happened to you in a while.

Paige’s eyes didn’t leave yours as she very slowly started to lean in, her face inching closer towards yours. A sudden bolt of fear shot through you and you turned your head away, making Paige look at you confused. You began saying, “so, how’s basketball been go-”

“Y/n.” Paige’s voice cut you off. Hearing your name coming from her mouth sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t look at her. “Yeah?”

“Look at me,” she spoke softly, her fingers coming up to your chin as she gently turned your head allowing you to both make eye contact again. She let go of your chin, leaving behind cold marks that made you long to feel her touch. “I feel things for you.”

“What kind of things?” you asked.

She slowly laced her fingers with yours, smiling. “I think you’re incredibly beautiful and I like the way we talk to each other. And when the live happened, I felt so bad, you have no idea. All I wanted to do was apologize to you. I realized that I want to get to know you more and that I like you.”

“You like me?”

“If it isn’t obvious already.”

“I feel the same way. You have this energy that draws me to you.” You held onto her hand and you could feel her leaning closer to you.

There was a small moment of silence before she spoke, “can I,” she started, “can I try something and you won’t freak out?”

“Depends.”

Paige chuckled. “Just trust me.”

You didn’t say anything as you waited for Paige to do something. She took your silence as permission to lean forward, lifting one of her hands up to your cheek. As she pulled your face toward hers, you felt fear but also excitement, as you had wanted to kiss her for a while but never had the courage to.

Paige closed the distance between the two of you as it started off slow, the both of you moving in sync. Something ignited in Paige that made her pick up the pace, her hand dropping from your face to your waist and pulling you closer to her body. The sudden movement resulted in a small groan from you which made Paige’s heart beat faster and her mind start racing. 

As the pace quickened, you grabbed her face, pulling yourself up from your seated position and straddled her lap. “Fuck,” Paige spoke against your lips, her hands running up and down your waist, sending shivers throughout your body as if her touch was electric.

“Paige,” you whispered softly into her and moved your mouth from hers to her neck, eliciting a small moan from her lips.

“Say,” she tried speaking in between moans. “Say my name again, princess.”

She could feel you smiling against her neck as you muttered, “Paige.”

“Holy fuck,” she breathes out. “Hearing you say my name is so hot.”

“Yeah?” You pull yourself away from her neck, taking a moment to admire the small marks you made along her neck.

Paige’s hands found themselves under your shirt, caressing the skin underneath. You melted into her touch. “I think this needs to be off,” she said, tugging at the fabric.

You pulled off her beanie that she was still wearing, throwing it to the side of your bed and then unzipping her jacket. She watched your every move, biting her lip as she admired you. “Only if this comes off.”

“Deal.” She let you take off her jacket which resulted in her pulling your shirt off, leaving her in a t-shirt and you in your bra. You both pulled each other closer at the same time, lips finding the other’s as you moaned into her mouth.

This time, she pulled away from you and found your neck. She sucked and softly bit down on your skin, leaving patches of red along your neck as she moved down towards your chest.

She flipped you onto your back, kissing up and down your chest and stomach, creating the softest sounds from you. “Paige, please.”

She looked up at you. “Please what, baby?”

You huffed, trying to find your voice. “I need you.”

“Where do you want me? Show me.” You grabbed her hands, guiding them down to your shorts, putting her fingers on the zipper. She unbuttoned and unzipped your shorts and pulled them off your body, taking in the sight before her. You suddenly felt self-conscious in her gaze but the way she let her hands slide up and down your thighs made you realize that you had nothing to worry about. 

Paige slid her fingers up your inner thighs and found themselves at your clit. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me already, aren’t you?”

You shuddered at her touch, rolling your eyes back. “Paige, don’t make me wait.”

Paige smirked, moving her thumb in a slow circle, making you throw your head back. “Tell me how much you want me,” she said, her voice so deep it made the tension between you two thicker.

“I want-”

Paige’s phone went off, a call coming through. You sighed, frustration replacing that needy feeling you were embracing. Paige noticeably angry, took her fingers away from you and picked up her phone. “Fucking hell.”

You missed her touch and all you could think about was her fingers back on you, and the way she held your body. The way her hands fit your body. Paige answered the phone, “What do you need? I’m busy right now.”

“What do you mean we have practice right now?”

“Fuck, okay. Shit, why is he pissed?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there just give me a minute.”

She ended the phone and looked at you, an unreadable expression on her face. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. Coach is pissed for some reason and we had a practice that I forgot about so I have to go.”

You nodded, clearly frustrated while putting your shirt back on. “It’s fine. You’re all good.”

She moved toward you, kissing your forehead before grabbing her jacket. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You looked up at her. “Yeah, you better.”

She chuckled, grabbing your chin gently and kissing you. “You’re doing something to me, Y/n.”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

So sidekick is like the protective younger sibling (or younger sibling figure) of hero and they find out their older sibling is having a thing with the villain so they go and confront the villain and is all like “you don’t deserve to date my big sibling you sick, nasty villain”

But then villain pulls out the reverse uno card and is all like “oh please as if i don’t know you’re secretly seeing my henchman at the club every Friday night 🤨” then sidekick is like “😦😦they’re your HENCHMAN?-“

“I swear, if you touch them—”

“Oh please, they beg me for it.” They took a sip of their drink and leaned back, satisfied by the entertainment the sidekick gave them.

They were a lot like the hero, the villain realised. An angrier and smaller version of their nemesis.

“Ugh. Ew. Argh— I mean it, if you hurt them, you’re done.” The sidekick raised their finger but the villain couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you gonna do? Uninvite me to your birthday party?”

“You—”

In a sense, it put the villain’s mind at ease. To know that someone was there who was just as worried, just as protective over the hero was comforting. The hero needed to be protected with all their hot-headedness and impulsive decisions.

They could get into a lot of trouble, into a lot of fights. The villain had seen the scars.

“Listen, kid. You’re worried. But I promise, I don’t have any ill intentions.” They tapped their fingers against their glass.

The villain couldn’t get their mind off the hero. It was an actual problem at this point. It was more than a crush, more than dating. The villain was so helplessly devoted they found themselves pathetic.

A few months prior, they would’ve loathed this. But it was easy to forget everything when the hero’s hand was on their arm. When their fingers intertwined. When the hero held onto them when they got scared.

“Sorry, but I don’t exactly trust a villain. Do you think I’m dumb?”

“No. You’re clever and that’s why you’re going to believe me,” the villain said. “If I wanted them dead, they would be. Instead, I am stitching them back together.”

“That’s my job.”

“It shouldn’t be. You’re a kid.”

“I’ve been taking care of them my entire life.”

The villain tilted their head, smiling sadly.

“And that’s rather sad, don’t you think? The amounts of blood you’ve seen, the variety of wounds someone can endure — no child should see something like that.”

This time, the sidekick didn’t say anything, they just stared at the villain’s desk rather angrily. It was frustrating, the villain was fully aware of that.

It must’ve been difficult for the sidekick to realise something was changing, that their role as a caretaker was shifting. It must’ve been difficult not to feel replaced.

“I know you don’t agree with my methods. Neither does my lover. But I can promise you to take care of them, whatever it takes. You don’t have to carry this burden anymore.”

“It’s not a burden,” the sidekick snapped and the villain realised that the sidekick could’ve become a villain easily. They were angry and didn’t know how to handle that anger. They were frustrated and didn’t know how to express it. If they had been around the wrong people at the wrong time, they would’ve made a perfect victim of manipulation.

The villain wasn’t going to let that happen.

“They talk about you all the time,” the villain said. “Brag about your grades and awards.”

The sidekick looked up, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. You play the violin, don’t you? And you’ve been obsessed with this new video game, aren’t you?”

The sidekick nodded. Suddenly, they seemed a little embarrassed.

“But you also get into a lot of trouble at school. Can’t stand bullies?”

The sidekick shook their head.

“They couldn’t be more proud,” the villain said. For a second, all was quiet. The villain was reminded of a lost childhood, of tears and fear. Of feeling alone, of losing everything. “Listen. They love you more than anything and I cannot change that, even if I wanted to. And I don’t. I guess I am trying to say that there’s two people now who can protect them. Plus, they’re not completely helpless.”

Now, the sidekick smiled softly.

“They’re stupid, though.”

“Oh, totally,” the villain agreed.

“They need me.”

“You need them just as much. They can’t give you that when they’re exhausted and need stitches all the time.”

“…I guess you have a point.” The sidekick let out a big sigh and rubbed their face with their hands. And that was the moment the villain knew they had changed their mind. It wasn’t easy to let go of habits and the villain was fully aware that this wasn’t over, that the sidekick would try to slip back into their role every now and then.

But this was a great start. That kid needed more free time.

“I always do.” The villain grinned. “They’re in good hands, don’t worry. I’ll take over the bloody parts and the tears, you do the video games and laundry fights, alright?”

“Ugh. Fine. That doesn’t mean I like you,” the sidekick said. They stood up, false annoyance all over them.

“Mmm, don’t worry. That’ll kick in later. Now get lost, don’t you have a science project or something to take care of?”

“You’re so annoying.” They were heading for the door but the villain had one last sideswipe. They couldn’t help themselves.

“Oh, tell my henchman to do their work on time when you see them tomorrow, will you?” They tried not to smile when the sidekick turned around.

“Excuse me?” The villain stood up, walked around the table.

“Tomorrow at the club, I mean. I’ve heard you’re quite the wildcards together.”

“Hey, what do you mean, your henchman?”

“Just try not to devour each other in front of other people, I don’t want to hear anything about that.”

The villain gave them a smile and pushed them gently out of the room.

“Woah, wait, hey—”

“Bye bye.” They closed the door of their office with a cheery demeanour. They’d always been a sucker for a little drama.

pt. 2

[alotofpockets]

Meeting again | Part 2 | Leah Williamson x Reader

Where Leah saves the day and sets up Liam's class with a visit to the Emirates.

Thank you @totaly-obsessed for letting me bounch ideas off of you for this one!

Meeting again universe | Woso masterlist | Words: 2.7k

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When you check your phone after waking up, you see a text from Leah. Her name amongst your notifications instantly brings a smile to your face.

Leah: Hey, good morning! Can I pick you up at 11 for that coffee?

You text her back instantly, no longer being scared of messaging her, after you’ve spent the evening together last night. After doing some stuff around the house, you get ready, and wait for Leah to pick you up.

At the coffee shop Leah went to order for the both of you, while you found a spot to sit. You were admiring your surroundings, when Leah headed your way with two cups in hand. “No coffee for you?” Her placing a mug with hot chocolate down in front of her peaks your interest. “Oh, yeah, I don’t drink coffee.” She says with a shy smile. “Why didn’t you say so when I asked you out for coffee? We could’ve gone somewhere else!” Leah shakes her head instantly, “Don’t worry about it, I was happy with the invite to see you sooner, and this place has the best hot chocolate in town.”

You fall into conversation with Leah just as easily as you had done yesterday. With years to catch up on, there were enough topics to keep you talking. Though, even if you had fully caught up with Leah, you think you’d still find topics of conversation to get to stay talking to her.

The first time you got quiet for a moment was when Leah said, “I’ve been trying to piece together how we stopped being friends all those years ago.” Your eyes fall to your lap, it had been your fault that the two of you stopped being friends. You wish things would have been different, but then again, you would not have Liam. Liam meant the world to you. “I remember us being really close, and then some rumours spread.” Your eyes meet her nervously. You noticed a slightly hopeful look behind her eyes, as if she was never fully able to understand what happened back when you were kids. So, you took a deep breath and started talking.

“Okay, the rumour, the one where it spread around the school that I liked you, was never actually a rumour.” Leah’s blue eyes pierced into yours. “Oh?” A part of Leah felt relieved that those almost moments between the two of you growing up weren’t just in her head. “Yeah, basically I confided in Maria, one of my best friends, about my feelings for you, because they were confusing me. You know as a teenager finding out that the feelings you’re meant to be having for a boy, you are feeling for a girl.” Leah nodded in understanding. “Well, she was apparently very homophobic, and decided to tell the whole school. I stopped being friends with her instantly, and you know the rest. I got together with Ryan to get people off my back, and put distance between the two of us. I think I even convinced myself for a moment that I could be straight, but yeah that’s not me.” 

You let your eyes meet Leah’s again, there was no anger or hurt behind her eyes, just softness and understanding. “I am truly sorry about how everything played out, and if I hurt you in any way, that was never my intention.” Leah reaches for your hand on the table and gives it a soft squeeze, “You have nothing to apologise for. What Maria did is truly terrible, and I wish I could’ve been there for you at that time. All of that is in the past now though, and we cannot change it.” Her hand stays on yours. “You’re right, we can only focus on the future.” The blonde smiles and nods. “Well, that was a lot deeper than coffee would have gone, but I’m glad we were able to talk about this.” You both laugh. “I should really head back though, I have to pick up Liam from school in a bit.” 

Leah drives you back to your place, and the two of you share a hug when you arrive. “Thank you for today. We should do this again sometime.” Leah says, and you agree instantly, “Yeah, I’ll text you later?” And you did. After Liam went to bed that night, you were texting back and forth with Leah all night, until you fell asleep with the conversation still open. 

The next time you saw Leah, you and Liam watched her play on Sunday. You were rather far from the railings, but Leah found you amongst the crowd and set the both of you a wave when the match was over. 

Since Liam missed Leah for dinner the first time when he had invited her without your knowing, and it got you to reconnect with Leah, you decided to invite her over for dinner that night with the both of you. You decided to make pizza together, since you found out that alike your son, Leah’s favourite food was pizza. Leah was amazing with Liam, you admired the two of them as they were busy chatting, while decorating their pizza’s. 

While you sat down for dinner, you talked about your plans for the week like you always did with Liam, but now including Leah. You had always found it important to know what was ahead, especially since Liam was at his dad’s for half of the week. You had given Leah the honours of talking about her week first as the guest, she told you about her work schedule, and some other things she had planned for the week. Then Liam wanted you to go next, so you shared your work schedule, and your plan to spend your days off with. Liam wanted to finish off the round, he told you about his plans with Ryan, and what he knew about school. “Oh, and mom, what are you doing for the class tomorrow?” Your brows furrowed in surprise, “What do you mean, bud?” 

“It’s your turn to do the class trip tomorrow, do you not have anything planned?” Liam asks in a worried tone. “Buddy, I’m so sorry, but I don’t know anything about it being my turn.” He stood up from the table and you were instantly worried, luckily he came right back with his backpack. “Here, Miss Owens sent this out.” He hands you a letter, informing the parents of the switch in schedules, and it did indeed show you for tomorrow. “Buddy, if this is still in your backpack, I have not seen it yet.” Realisation hits him, “Oh mom, I totally forgot to give it to you. What are we going to do?” Leah, who had been quiet during the interaction spoke up, “I think I might have an idea. I know it’s not my place, but I think I can help, may I?” She looked at you for permission. “Yes, please, I do not have the right connections to take a class out for the day this last minute.” 

Leah got up, “Alright, I am going to make some calls and I will make sure you will have a great day tomorrow, I promise.” She told Liam. She headed into the other room, and started planning away. About thirty minutes later she got back into the kitchen, “Alright, everything is set for tomorrow. I will keep it a surprise though, are you both okay with me coming to class tomorrow?” Liam instantly said yes without giving it a second thought, his friends would finally believe him when he said that he knew Leah Williamson. You nod as well, “Thank you so much Lee.” Leah’s heart started beating faster at the nickname she hadn’t heard from you in such a long time. She smiled and sat back down for dessert. 

The next morning Leah was at your door bright and early. You were busy packing Liam’s lunch when she knocked on the door. “Liam, can you get the door bud?” He came walking into the kitchen pulling Leah behind him, “Mom, Leah still won’t tell me what we’re going to do.” You smiled at the scene in front of you, a frowny kid, and a smirking Leah. “Don’t look at me, Leah went out of her way to arrange this for you, so let’s allow her the one rule she set in place for this.” He let go of her arm. “Fine.” He turned to Leah, “I am grateful that you did whatever it is that you did for me, I just would really like to know what it is.” She put her hand on his shoulder, “I know kiddo, just a little longer, I promise it will be worth the wait.”

You and Leah wait outside of the classroom, while the teacher starts out the day. “Thank you again for doing this, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” Leah shrugs, “You would’ve figured it out, you’re a great mom. I am glad I could help though, I hope the kids like it.” Leah zipped down her jacket to reveal her Arsenal jersey. “By the looks of that, I think the kids are going to love what you have in store.” Leah is about to say something back, but Miss Owens tells you the class is ready for you. 

The two of you step in, and you see the jaws of many kids in Liam’s class drop. “Hi kids, as many of you know, I am Liam’s mom. Today, I have brought someone special with me. I would like you all to meet Leah Williamson.” You introduced her to the crowd, “Hi, I’m Leah, and Liam told me you were looking forward to doing something fun with the whole class. What would you say if the Arsenal players bus was waiting just outside of the school?” The class erupted with excitement. “Would you all like to go and see?” Miss Owens calms down the class again before heading out, “Jackets please, and wait in a line outside of the classroom.”

Leah takes the lead and takes the kids to the players bus. At first they admire it from the outside, where the whole class takes a picture with Leah. Then Leah invites them to sit inside, once all the children are settled, Leah gets on the microphone and starts talking to the kids, and interacting with them. “So, who wants to go to The Emirates Stadium with me?” You couldn’t believe that Leah pulled all of this off in thirty minutes. She sat and talked with the kids, while you talked with Miss Owens. 

After a short tour, Leah guided the kids to the family and friends area of the stadium. “What do you all think of one more surprise?” The class starts cheering again, and right on queue, a group of Arsenal girls walk out. Katie McCabe, Lotte Wubben-Moy, Beth Mead, Vivianne Miedema, and Kim Little, greet the kids with waves. They all have a little meet and greet with the kids, before it is time for them to head back to school. Leah thanked the teacher, and waved bye to the teacher and the kids. Since it was already the end of the school day, and she wanted to show Liam some more behind the scenes things, she asked the teacher if it would be alright if she took the kids back on her own, with a promise of getting her some signed copies of her books for her own kids she agreed.

Liam was living his best life hanging out with his favourite players, like they were friends he had known all his life. Lotte walked up to you as you were watching him talk with the girls. “So, you and Leah go way back I hear?” You smile at her, “Yeah we do.” You and Lotte talk for a bit before she gets pulled aside. “It was nice meeting you y/n, I’ve heard a lot about you the past couple of years.” Lotte’s eyes widened when she realised what she had just said, Leah had just walked up to you, and her cheeks turned red instantly. “Sorry.” Lotte said before quickly walking back to the rest of the girls, and whispering something into Katie’s ear. The latter turns to you, “Mind if we show Liam around some more?” You shake your head and return your attention back to Leah.

“So, you’ve been talking about me for years, have you?” You didn’t think it was possible, but her cheeks turned even redder. While Leah was nervous, she felt like it was now or never. “I mean can you blame me? You are pretty hard to forget.” You’re the one with blushing cheeks now. Leah’s words hang in the air, and you feel a warmth spread in your chest. The way she spoke those words, makes you feel like maybe, she has felt the same way all along. 

“The feeling is mutual,” You reply after taking a moment. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I mean how could I forget the girl that was always able to bring a smile to my face, even on my worst days? I think I already proved that though, by coming to most of your matches.” You both laugh at the last comment. “I’ve missed this.” Leah reaches for your hand out of instinct, “You laugh, your smile, and just having you around.” 

Your heart is beating a million miles an hour, by the way she was looking at you right now. In that moment, when her ocean blue eyes stare lovingly into yours, you realise that perhaps the rumours, the misunderstandings, and the years apart were merely obstacles on the path to this moment right here. “I’ve missed you too, Lee. Remember when the other day we said that we can only focus on the future?” Leah nods, and rubs her thumb gently over the back of your hand. “I hope you’re a part of that future.” You nervously look up at her again. 

Leah gave your hand a soft squeeze, “I hope so too.” Her smile grows bigger as she continues, “I’ve thought about what could have been with us so many times, but right now, all I want is to be here with you, and see where time leads us.” Your smile grows just as big as hers is, Leah had felt the same way about you all of this time. “Would it be inappropriate to kiss you at your place of work?” Leah pulled you closer by the hand she was holding, and moved her other hand to your cheek, gently moving her finger over the soft skin there. “I am not working currently, so I think that should be alright.” She leans in the rest of the way, and after all these years of will they won’t they, and what could’ve been, you finally felt her soft lips on yours. 

A loud “Ahem” pulls you away from the blonde. You turn around and find Liam, Katie, and Lotte looking back at the two of you. Before you can say anything Liam turns to Katie and Lotte with a proud smile on his face, “I told you they would get together sometime soon!” Katie high fived him while you laughed, of course Liam had talked about your love life with the two people that were probably sharing Leah’s right back. Leah put her arm around your shoulder, and walked towards the group. “Who’s ready for some dinner?” Liam hugs you from your other side. “Mom, this has been the best day ever, can we please make it even better with McDonald’s for dinner?” You look around the group of girls left over to see if they’d be down too, when you get three nods, you look back to Liam. “Let’s do it.”

As you walk out of the stadium with Liam’s hand in your left, and Leah’s hand in your right, you couldn’t be more happy. 

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[randombush3]

you're not sorry to go

ona batlle x reader

summary: ona and you are best friends, but it's a bit more complicated than that

words: 4.5k

notes: this one is based on true events x

also let's ignore the result of my poll because i want the next part to have smut and it wasn't fitting with the vibe of this part

oh and the title is a quote from 'this side of paradise' by f. scott fitzgerald

January, nine years ago. 

Nothing about today has been out of the ordinary. 

The weekend is starting, winter drags on, and Ona is all set to train later on in the evening, provided you confirm whether or not you are willing to accompany her to the local pitch. 

Barcelona B usually allows for Fridays off, but Ona isn’t stupid. No one becomes the greatest footballer of all time by not playing more. School is beginning to bore Ona to death, and she knows that she wants what she always has: to go professional. 

“I have a plan,” she tells you confidently, glad you don’t mind sitting on the uneven, grassy sideline as she sets up her cones with determination. You hold the ball between your hands, though Ona is amused by how foreign it looks to you, and you seem to be holding her prized possession hostage so that she spills. “It sounds simple and obvious out loud, but it’s that I am going to play for Barça while you go to the university. You can introduce me to your smart friends so I can meet my wife, and you’ll have all the boys after you anyway so–” 

“Ona.” Her monologue has led her eyes to the ground, but your voice makes her head jerk upwards, not needing much authority to get her to look at you. “I’ve actually had a… realisation, of sorts,” you say with a bashful grin, chin jutting out the way it does when you are gearing up to tell her something that no one else will get to know. “Your cousin is really pretty.” 

“I’ll tell her you said that.” It’s a nice thing to say, and you are partly aware that Ona’s cousin knows who you are because she doesn’t shut up about you ever, but you can’t help the frustration that begins to bubble up inside of you.

“No, Ona,” you try again, “she’s really pretty. Like, I would kiss her.” 

Ona frowns, then. “Don’t be one of those.” She means the girls who experiment, who toe the line of liking girls but don’t, not really. She has been warned about them by her older teammates, the ones who go out for drinks and kiss girls in clubs. The budding footballer really admires them, because their advice is always good and she gets to explore her sexuality without feeling like a creep. No one in Vilassar de Mar cares much that Ona does like girls, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling judged all the same. 

You are one of her best friends, but Ona isn’t sure she can forgive you if you become someone like that. 

“I’m not! I wouldn’t do that.” Your offence is suspicious, and you have been so caught up in destroying her worries that the ball has been dropped and is now rolling towards Ona’s feet, where it is instinctively flicked upwards and caught. “I wouldn’t, Oni, because I know it’s unfair to you guys.” 

“But you want to kiss my cousin? That makes you interested in girls in general too, you know.” 

You bite your lip. 

“Ona, I think I’m gay.” 

The ball is dropped, along with her jaw, and you shift uncomfortably in your seated position, not enjoying how big of a deal she is making this out to be. 

People realise that they’re gay all the time! Why should it be any different for you? 

“Oh,” is all Ona can manage to breathe out, wondering what to do next. Although your friendship cracks the padlocks of most secrets, there is one that hasn’t ever been shared. One that now means substantially more than it did five minutes ago. 

“Say something, please,” you groan in mock annoyance, moving aside your textbooks so that you can grab Ona’s hand and pull her down on top of you. She is much stronger – she trains every day – but something about your skin touching hers injects a surge of patheticness into her well-earned muscles, and she falls, of course she does, because she always falls for you. 

…

A year passes. 

You kiss Ona’s cousin, as intended, and Ona knows the breakup is going to be rough but nothing prepares her for when it comes. 

She’s conflicted, and she’s older now. No longer left behind by her teammates, Ona gets to go out with them when they don’t have football; she gets to talk to the girls about their sex lives, she gets to be involved in it all. She has met Alexia Putellas and been treated like an equal, and she made out with her fourth ever girl last week, this time progressing past tongues and confidently letting her hands roam. 

Ona would say that she has learnt a lot since you dropped your nuclear missile, and she has managed to forget the initial hope she had felt. The secret had been near-faded. 

Until you are calling her, sending her a text when she doesn’t reach her phone quick enough.

‘Ona, I really need you.’ 

She hears nothing from her cousin – they were closer when they were younger – and that, she reasons, is why she is by your side in an instant, meeting you at the windy beach you go to when you are sad, hair damp from running and eyes a little wide as she tries to wake herself up. 

“She said she can’t do it anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking under the strain your sobs had put on it. “She said that she really likes me but that it’s not enough, and she doesn’t want to break my heart but she knows she has to.” 

Ona doesn’t get a chance to respond, because you have flung yourself into her chest before she can think of the right words to say. 

Your shoulders shake as you cry, devastating howling joining the whistles of the wind and the thrash of the waves. The sand is unsteady beneath your feet and you stumble, but Ona holds you firmly, as though she has only ever trained to hold you up. Though you feel her biceps, hard and significantly larger than the last time she had held you this way, you are too caught up in your first heartbreak to acknowledge the tiny, tiny spark between you. 

As you cry and cry and cry, Ona can’t help but feel a little bitter towards her cousin. Clearly, your affection wasn’t false and, though it was working towards the severance of your friendship, you actually cared quite a lot for her. 

Ona chooses to abstain from her jealousy because she is embarrassed that it is possible. 

She is there for you the next day, ensuring you have eaten and allowing you to sleep, but the sun soon sets and Ona vows one thing to herself: she will not take advantage of it. 

“I’m going home,” you mumble when you wake from your restless nap, rolling over into the empty space in your best friend’s bed. The sheets there are cold and unused. Ona must not have moved a muscle since you fell asleep. “My parents must be a little confused, and we have people coming over for dinner. Thank you for looking after me.” 

“No problem.” Ona nods and you awkwardly stand up. “I think I’m going out with the team tonight, but don’t hesitate to call me if… Well, if you feel sad again.” 

“It’s going to feel shit with or without you.” 

You are trying to distance her, to tell her that she can have fun. It might be an issue that your friendship only seems to work when the two of you discuss your recent conquests or latest flings, but it is not one that either of you wants to address for now. 

“I’m just making sure you know I’m here,” she defends indignantly, rolling her eyes at the glimpse of your happier self making its return. 

“Are you going to be drunk?” Your question is pointed and you should really cross your arms and tap your foot impatiently to match your tone. “Don’t you have training tomorrow?” 

“Maybe, and not tomorrow, no. I’ve been asked to join the first team the day after so they’ve given me an alternative rest day.” 

“Ona, if you get drunk, you won’t be there for me at all. You’ll have your tongue down some poor, poor girl’s throat and your phone will be dead.” You laugh from experience, having grown accustomed to how she behaves under the influence. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I swear that alcohol is what fuels your hormones. I’m not going to burden you with my fucking pathetic crying, and, well, you know me, I’ll just find a boy to talk to. I am going to be fine.” 

No one in the room is convinced. 

You swat the air between you two, telling her to get on with getting ready. “Now, enjoy your night, and tell me all about it tomorrow morning!” 

Ona wonders if you are over-compensating by insisting to hear about whoever she has gotten off with, but you are practically flying out the door the minute you have said goodbye to her family and she is stumbling around her room trying to find a clean bra. Life goes on. 

If time did not tick on its own, one of you would task yourselves with turning the hands of the clock manually. 

You try to recover from how much it fucking kills to have a girl break your heart by reminding yourself of your worth in the best way possible: male attention. They hound you, but you enjoy it. You crave it, most of the time, even if the feelings are never quite believably reciprocated. 

It annoys Ona to no end, the way you play with the boys chasing after you. She hates the push and pull, fed-up with the constant complaining from your end. Often, because Ona speaks her mind when she can, she tells you that it’s not fair on the ones who hand their hearts to you only to watch you pierce through them with sharp, I-was-never-a-lesbian nails. 

You don’t talk about her cousin. At least, not to Ona because you have been informed by some other friend that blood is thicker than water.

Or maybe it’s because Ona begins to avoid you, begins to spend more time with her teammates, who don’t hide their sexuality and who like the things she likes. (Once, in a hateful frenzy, Ona thinks to herself that the only thing the two of you have in common nowadays is that she likes you and you like you too.) 

“What happened to your best friend?” Laia Aleixandri asks thoughtfully once after training. Ona is helping her collect the water bottles the other girls had left lying around on the pitch. There have been more injuries than what’s comfortable within the first team, and maybe some of the reserves have forgotten that they are not yet professionals. “You’ve stopped talking about her.” 

“We’ve fallen out,” Ona answers, settling on that because she doesn’t know how else to describe the shift in your relationship. 

“Over what?” comes Laia’s obvious sequential question, more a due dalliance than genuine interest. Laia is one of those girls who plays to play and can sometimes be too busy to spend time with the team outside of training. Because of this, she is largely unaware of Ona’s growing reputation within the squad. As Ona has grown up, her confidence has increased. Girls like that, and they are in plentiful supply to her. She no longer needs to be drunk, but something almost certainly occurs if she is. 

“She dated my cousin and, I don’t know, the way she acted in the fall-out was horrible. She likes girls, I know she likes girls, but I think she has been scarred and her ego has been bruised. No boy has ever made her cry like that, and I think she’s traumatised. And it’s valid! I understand, completely and totally, but she is acting as though she never had a thing with my cousin and it’s annoying. It’s as if being gay is a joke to her.”

Laia senses that Ona’s not done, and she is correct to think so. 

The next wave is this: “Laia, I really don’t agree with it, and it is hurting me. It hurts to see my cousin be messed around by a straight girl, it hurts to see my best friend hate part of herself, and it hurts me because, well, it just– it just does! I can’t explain it.” She can; she doesn’t want to. Her secret is still heavily guarded and it is going to take more than Laia asking about you to get her to confess. “I just want peace for everyone involved,” she says after taking a deep, diplomatic breath. 

“Peace,” Laia repeats with a giggle. “Ona, the things I have heard about you are the opposite of ‘peace’. Aita’s been keeping me in the loop, and she says that–” 

“Okay, Laia, I don’t need a lecture.” 

What probably would have been very helpful for Ona to know is lost to the devastating final blow of her eye-roll as she jogs to the water cooler to return the bottles and head home. 

…

The reconciliation of a decade-old friendship is fast and natural. Things do not quite go back to normal, and the two of you are not as close as before, but your group of friends at school breathe out a collective sigh of relief when the ice thaws and Ona starts to turn up to their gatherings instead of the ones held by her beloved blaugranas. 

It’s a camping trip. 

Their first year of bach has ended, and someone – Ona doesn’t know who – has suggested a camping trip because her grandfather’s brother owns a farm and the farm has a field and the field is far-removed enough for the smell of cigarettes and red-label whiskey to dissolve before reaching the house. 

“Are we really going?” Ona asks, making you all laugh as you haul your bags and tents along the tractor path. 

“I do think we should’ve gotten in the tractor,” you agree. Ona nods at you, thanking you for your support. 

Everyone else says it’s good fitness, and then hurls insults at Ona for the remainder of the trek because she should be the last to complain if she is going to become a professional athlete. 

It’s not as far as it seems, and the tents are set up quickly, along with some chairs, a foldable table, and a hefty stash of various bottles of alcohol. 

You start smoking the minute someone flashes their lighter, and Ona uses that as a reason to stay on the other side of the small campsite for a good hour or so. 

She stays away from you no matter how much you stare, but you watch her all the same. 

The boys you talk to are not satisfying. Some may have innocent intentions but the majority don’t, and you know that you are pretty but you are not shallow like that. You don’t even meet the boys half the time unless they corner you at school and demand a slot of your in-person attention.

The boys you talk to explain football and the gym and why they have to play FIFA until the sun rises because it will definitely help Barcelona win on the weekend. They take you for an idiot, and they hardly acknowledge that your best friend (sort of) plays for their darling club so of course you know the rules and the positions. You know that Ona is a defender, and that she is good at it. You don’t want to be patronised and you don’t care about this kind of thing unless it involves Ona. 

Therein lies the issue, actually. 

You don’t care about much unless it involves Ona. Ona, who sways to the music bursting out from the speakers just as stiffly as she always has, not exactly blessed with dancing talent but not for lack of trying. Ona, who declines alcohol tonight because she is following a summer strength and conditioning programme with the hopes of playing in the first team’s preseason matches. Ona, who looks beautiful. Always. 

Smoke billows from your cigarette, right towards the point of your focus, and, suddenly, doe-like eyes are staring back at you with a small, small smirk. She waves, as if to say that she has caught you, and you lean back on the camping chair you are slouched in, pretending to laugh at whatever your friend has just said beside you.

Later, when everyone else is knocked out from the bad quality of the whiskey, snoring comfortably in the other tents, Ona and you kiss. And once you start kissing, you don’t stop. 

Ona is good at this, you assume, because she knows exactly what to do. Contrary to popular belief, you are far more active in theory than in practice, and she surprises you a little bit. Or maybe she doesn’t, because it’s Ona and Ona is good at everything. 

You strive to match her, and you do by the time you finish school. 

Sporadic, non-committal, and in complete disregard for your friendship, the arrangement of hooking up when you feel like it sees you out of Catalonia, with Ona naturally in tow. 

Madrid CFF is happy to have her, and you quite enjoy the challenge of the Spanish capital. It’s not Barcelona, it’s not ideal, but change is good and you need space to explore who you are without watchful eyes and nosy gossipers. 

Homophobia isn’t quite a thing in your family. Your parents are not radically against gay people. In fact, you’d say they are relatively supportive. However, that doesn’t stop you from feeling some discomfort. You lived through Ona’s struggle to come out, and her parents are ever more care-free than yours. 

Madrid is a brand-new place, and word about how you are doing is easily controlled. Updates come from either you or Ona, and that means there is a filter easily applied to all anecdotes. 

Your friends know about the sex, more or less. They know, they don’t approve, but they let you guys sort it out yourselves because everyone agrees that that is just how you and Ona are. They won’t understand it and they have given up on trying to.

Both of you make half-hearted efforts to separate the arrangement from your friendship. You don’t talk much afterwards until the other has left the realm of I-am-in-love-with-you. It’s nice to be in Madrid together, but you find different social circles soon enough and then you are reaching out more for sex than friendly activities and… You stop sleeping with each other upon the footballer’s request. She wants to focus on her career, on her success. She tells you over the phone because she cannot bring herself to end whatever occurred over the last two years in person, knowing that she’d take back her decision in a heartbeat. Ona really, really likes football, and she knows that she has to become obsessed with it to get to the top; more obsessed than she is now. How can she do that if you are distracting her? 

You’re disappointed, but you respect her wishes. 

Girls in Madrid stop seeming as shiny. The world is a bit duller, because although there had been no exclusivity between you and your best friend, there had always been that guarantee that the other would be ready and waiting. Your growing misery makes studying boring, and you find answers for your emotions in a science textbook, desperately running away from the obvious truth. Less sex means that you are unhappier. It’s biology. 

It’s not a crush. 

Not on Ona. 

No. 

And it’s certainly not this not-realisation that flies you to Milan the minute a modelling agency inquires about whether you have ever thought of, well, modelling. They scout you someplace random, and your mother claims that she could have helped you start your career earlier if only you’d have been interested. 

When you explain to your best friend what you are moving for, she is oddly unsurprised and uncaring. Her reaction is sickening, because you’d have rathered her get an ego boost from having slept with a model than be so fucking apathetic. 

“I’m going to Milan, Ona,” you repeat, just in case she has not heard you. “I’m moving. We did the trial shoots last week, and they loved me. They want me to update my social media and work on building up a following, and they said that I should start learning English because I might end up in New York.” 

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” She doesn’t sound like she means it, and you grow annoyed about how she is not even trying to sound enthusiastic. 

“Can’t you be happy for me? Or is it only acceptable for you to have dreams?” 

“I am happy for you, I just said that.” 

“The words left your mouth, but they definitely did not come from your heart.” 

“You’re being dramatic.” Ona rolls her eyes and the pent-up sexual tension builds and builds until the bottle it has been shoved into can no longer withstand the pressure. You haven’t argued since you moved to Madrid, which makes no sense considering you literally broke up – even if it absolutely wasn’t dating. Neither of you has processed your broken heart, and you’re pretty sure you are still too traumatised from the first girl you fell in love with to be capable of revisiting those kinds of emotions. 

Ona hasn’t had sex in weeks, and it is affecting her performance. She can’t sleep if she has the energy she does, and she can’t get through her workouts because not sleeping makes her lose her appetite and then she does not have the energy to complete them. Her coaches are worried, but they know that she is young and though almost idiotic, they mostly assume that she is repulsed by the idea of playing for a club in Madrid. They get that a lot with the Catalans that come over from La Masia, whose dreams have been delayed because the first team had thought it necessary that they gained more experience elsewhere. 

Ona has wanted to shout and scream every minute of every day, and so have you. Therefore, everything explodes. 

…

You inhale deeply, exhaling when it feels as though some of the stress has dissipated. This casting is one of the more important ones of the week. It’s odd to be judged on your appearance, to be paid for it, but it has been almost a year since you moved to Milan and you are enjoying yourself. 

You don’t miss university, and you don’t miss your parents. Your friends visit you lots, loving the idea of your career, loving the excuse to escape their dreary weekends in where they have always been. 

Milan is great. You make friends with a few other models, though they come and go depending on work, and the more experience you get, the more your following count goes up. Brands send you things, nice things, and events start extending invites to lure you into the glamour of the industry. 

Milan is great, you tell yourself on repeat. 

Milan is great, but it would be better if Ona were here. 

Milan is great, but you regret the way you left things and want to take it all back. 

Milan is great but– 

“Your fitting is tomorrow,” says the assistant, reading off her iPad. You suppress your wandering thoughts, nodding. You need this job, you need the money to pay for a flight. The agency has given you some advancements – an impressive thing, apparently – but not enough to cover the cost of the ticket to New York for the start of Fashion Week. This show will fluff out your experience, and increase your chances of walking at one of the bigger shows. 

You’ve been told that you are quite a good model; attractive, funny, with just the right amount of personality to be both a mannequin and an interesting figure. 

The lifestyle is different but good, and you realise that you’d never wanted the mundanity of studying and then working and selling your soul to some kind of tall office building. Not everyone gets the concept of living away from home, especially not those from your tight-knit community who think the city is stretching the distance slightly (the train works, you can live with your parents and have a good job – you’ve been told that a few times), but you don’t mind. You can explain it as much as you want and they would still be confused. 

You stay in touch, but you don’t stay present. 

As your career snowballs over the next two years, you pull away from your home, always on a flight, always busy. You go to LA and Paris and London, and you rent your flat in Milan out as an Airbnb whenever you’re not there. You love the city, you start to think of it as yours, and slowly but surely, everything else fades into the background. 

Apart from Ona, of course. Your friends still visit, or you meet up with them if you ever find yourself in Barcelona, and they continue to affirm just how proud they are of you. They talk about her a lot, too; about where she’s playing now, about injuries and fame and representing Spain. They know you are too stubborn to search it up for yourself, but these are the people who have grown up with you: they know you would like to be informed. 

When you hear that Ona has moved to Manchester, you don’t quite think your actions through. 

You have had enough. You miss her terribly.

Her number has changed, but someone passes it onto you. 

You: I saw that you’re playing Arsenal next week. I’ll be in London then. Do you want to get a coffee? 

Ona takes her time replying, but that is only because she wants to delay the inevitable. 

Her eyes shine and her hair is damp, but the kick-off had been early and you don’t have anything to do today. You meet her in the carpark, picking her up in a black BMW that’s sleek and shiny and 100% not yours. Her laugh is light and free as she knocks on the driver’s window and juts her thumb out, instructing you to swap. 

“I’m not getting in a car that you’re driving,” she declares seriously, though you know she has forgiven you because she would not have agreed to meet if she hadn’t. “Come on, I checked on Maps and there’s a place not too far from here that looks nice. And it’s empty, so don’t worry about the paparazzi.” 

“The paparazzi are not after me,” you shut down quickly, not wanting her to think you are a bigger deal than what you are. Successful, yes. Famous? Not so much. “One day it’ll be you worrying about them, when you’re all grown up.” 

“I’m twenty-one!” 

It comes out so whiny and childish that you burst into a fit of giggles. Ona is proud to have made you laugh. 

You don’t kiss her, but you’d like to. Then again, maybe it’s better to just be friends. 

[kaita0]

Til the Day I Die One

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader Word Count: 2k

Summary: You have a big fat crush on the lone wolf and you try so hard to avoid and shove your feelings down. What happens when two people who clearly like each other constantly avoid their feelings and hide their emotions?

Warnings: Angst, Slow Burn,

Notes: Reader has wings/Eagle Mutant with Talons

“Jean I just found-” You cut yourself off with the sight before you. There sat a topless rugged man with dark brown hair with an equally dark-haired beard. Sweat glistening down his body, mouth agape at the sight before your eyes. You didn’t know what to say. What can you say at this moment? So many thoughts were going through your mind for miles at a time. 

You heard your name being called multiple times. A sheepish smile appeared on your lips. “I’m sorry!” You move your wings to shield your face. “I didn’t know you had a guest.” You could hear two pairs of chuckles coming from in front of you. “It's ok, There’s no need to worry. Just give me a few minutes to get this big guy settled.” You nod your head even though they are unable to see it. As you scurry out of the clinic, you fail to see the way the mysterious man’s eyes follow after you. 

Ever since you caught a glimpse of the man, you just couldn’t get him out of your head. From his muscular body to his strong jaw. Or even the protruding veins running along his big arms. The way he would saunter around the school, a smug grin on his face that was filled with confidence and arrogance. You kept your distance, choosing to always watch from a safe yet wonderful distance. 

You could already feel your face start to burn up and the big fat grin appearing on your face at the thought of him. You feel someone tap your shoulder, and your eyes meet with Storm’s as she has a small grin on her face. “What you thinking about?” She asks, her voice was playful. “Nothing important.” A small ‘sure’ leaves Ororo’s lips. You turn your whole body to her, tilting your head in confusion. “Is there something wrong?” She shakes her head at your words. “Nothing really, The professor wants you in his office.” 

You are confused on this information. As you haven’t been having any troubles with the students or with missions. So what could he possibly be asking you about now? “I guess, I will go now. See you later?” Your words come out more so as a question than a statement. Ororo smiles and nods her head, watching you go up the stairs of the mansion. Once you reach the professor’s door, you give it a light knock. Even though your mutant abilities are very animal-like, doesn’t mean you are actually one. 

You hear a soft ‘come in’ before you open the door. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I promise I did nothing wrong this time-“ You cut yourself off when your eyes lay on the other person in the office. There stood the man you had been thinking about for the past few days, arms crossed and a smug expression on his face. “Hello my dear, I have a small request of you.” You slowly step into the room and close the door softly behind you. “It’s time you officially met our guest, Logan.” Finally getting the name of the mysterious man, you reach your hand for a formal shake. At first, it seemed Logan was only going to sit there and stare at your hand but after a while, he eventually shakes your hands. 

He gave your hand a very firm shake before quickly letting go. “I need you to show Logan around. Let him get a bit more aquatinted with what we do here.” Your eyes quickly turn to the Professor. “I am confused. He’s been here for 2 days, surely others are better suited to be his guide around here. Like Ororo or even Jean. Hell, maybe even Scott. I just don’t think it's wise for me to do when I have only been here for a few months.” You explain, Charles nodding along with your words. 

“Don’t worry, you will do great. It is nothing major after all just a tour. As for your questions on Ororo, Jean, and Scott. I have them doing a mission we spoke of previously.” A small sigh escapes your lips. “Ok, I’ll show him around.” You can see the smile appearing on Charles’ face. “Perfect. Now run along you two. There is a lot to uncover.” Before long you and Logan stood outside of the professor’s door. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was starting to feel like some sort of setup. “Well, Aren’t you going to show me around?” 

You glance in his direction, seeing how his eyes wander around the mansion. As you begin to explain the purpose of all of this. The reason why the Professor started this school for the gifted, is the reason the X-Men exist. You bother now outside of the mansion, taking a small stroll in the garden. “Do you have any questions?” You ask Logan, not really having your eyes on him but the pond in front of the both of you. There's no need to actually look at him since you see his reflection in the water. You weren’t ready to see the way his eyes trailed along your body as if examining you. 

“How do they work?” You raise an eyebrow in confusion, such as a vague question. You turn to look at him. “What are you talking about?” That's when you feel a slight tug on your wings, making them unconsciously spread. Logan’s eyes run along the wings, not to mention his surprise and fascination. Just silently listen to your words. “I mean, it's the same as when you control your arms.” You begin to demonstrate by folding and unfolding your wings. “It’s like when you take those claws you got.” Logan’s eyebrows scrunch together. “They are not claws.” 

A small smirk appears on your lips. “So what would you call them?” You watch as his mouth opens to close once again. A loud grunt leaves his lips as he turns away from you and begins to walk away. “Hold up, Don’t get mad at me because you don’t know. Mr. Claw.” If you thought he was moving quickly then, you couldn’t even describe the pace he was going now. Using your wings to float above him. “No need to get so angry! I was just trying to lighten the mood.” He continues to ignore you as he enters the mansion, leaving you in the air behind him. You gracefully land on the floor and continue following behind him. “I didn’t show you where your bedroom is. Unless you want to go back into the lab room where you have been.” Logan’s feet come to a stop, making the grin already on your face widen at his display. 

You only got to be around him for a few hours alone and honestly, he seems like a big grumpy old wolf to you. A little laugh escapes your lips as you think of the comparison. “What you laughing about?” You are startled by his words and shake your head. “Nothing just follow me.” You lead him to his room. “Well, Good night.” The awkwardness between you two is so thick you decide to just run along. You left without hearing your own good night from Logan. “Goodnight to you too, bub.”

As the night grew apparent, Logan lay in bed thinking of everything that had happened. The fight he got into with “Sabbertooth”, the impending doom of Magneto, and You. He obviously couldn’t sleep with these many things on his mind. Eyes land on the clock next to him reading ‘3:45 AM’  He grumbles under a “shit” under his breath as he slides out of the bed. His feet touched the cold tiles on the floor. He takes steady and long steps out the door and to the kitchen. 

In the kitchen, he sees the fridge door open. He raises an eyebrow and wonders who could possibly be in the kitchen at this time of night. He could see the feathers peaking out around the fridge door. “What are you doing up?” He could see you jump and quickly close the door to the fridge. He could see how rigid your body was from shock. He watched it sink into a more comfortable aura. The furrowed eyebrows fall and rest calmly back onto your face. 

Logan was so worried watching your facial features that he didn’t hear a word you said. “Huh?” He questions you. “I said I came for a small snack. What are you doing up?” You raise your eyebrow, curiosity was evident in your eyes as you search his whole body. He folds his arms together and leans against the kitchen doorframe. A cocky grin on his lips. “Hoping to find some beer. You can even say I’m also looking for a snack.” He watches the smile grow on your lips as you shake your head. “I don’t have any beer or any sort of liquor. This is still a school after all. I do have some Chamomile tea.” Logan scrunches his face up in confusion. “What is that?” You turn to go into one of the cabinets to pull out a yellow box. You open it to show him the many tea packets inside. 

“I don’t think I want that.” He grumbles. “I promise, this will have you sleep quicker than any brand of bee can.” Logan’s facial expression still doesn’t change as he isn’t convinced about the effects of the tea. “And how do I know I can trust you on these things? You are so bold to compare the two.” You send him a little smile. “Just because we are in a school, doesn't mean I don’t have a life outside of all this. Just trust me.” Logan was amused by this. His genuine first impression of you, cute, small, shy little thing. After all, Logan was twice your size and the first time he saw you covered your face with your wings. You just seemed so fragile. 

He decided he was going to trust you and sent you a small nod before sitting down at the table inside the kitchen. You clasp your hands together as you begin to bowl the water. Once you fixed up the cup, you set it in front of Logan, who eyed you suspiciously. You nudge the cup once more so he can take the hint. After a few minutes, he takes the cup and takes a few sips. He sets the cup down, eyes closed because of the warm feeling running down his throat. He would be lying if he said the tea didn’t taste good. You stand there awaiting his reaction. He gives a slight nod in acknowledgment. 

“See, it's good, isn’t it? We can sit and drink together.” You pull out your cup and sit next to him. You both sit in silence as you drink your cups of tea. It didn’t take long for you to finish your cup, Logan was done a while ago. He had even begun to drink the empty cup in hopes of just sitting here a little longer. Your presence just makes things go quiet. It makes it easier to just exist with this silence. “Well, I’m all done. Hope to see you tomorrow.” Logan watches you get up from your seat and leaves the kitchen. You stop before you fully leave. “Goodnight, Bub.” He was taken aback by the statement, he didn’t think you heard him. A smile forms on his lips at this. He too begins to get up to go to his room. The effects of the tea hit him as his eyelids began to feel heavy. He makes it to his room where he flops in and sleep takes him. 

Logan tosses and turns in the bed, broken memories going through his mind as a nightmare. He begins to mutter unknown words. There stood Rouge over his sleeping body, staring at him. Her expression stretched with worry as she looked down at Logan. Her hands slowly creeping to touch Logan. As if awoken by the small touch, Logan launches out of the bed and towards Rouge. His claws were already outstretched and stabbing into her upper chest. A loud gasp left Rouge's lips at the sudden pain etching through her body. Without much thought, her hands reach out to grab onto Logan’s arm. 

Almost as if Logan was under a spell, his eyes blink quickly before everything settles in. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” He began to repeat over and over again. His words stopped once he too felt pain coursing through his body. Starting at his arm and leading up to his neck and head. A loud growl escapes his lips as he crumbles to the ground. The door to the room slams open and Storm and many others are behind her. “What’s going on in here?” Rouge guilty turns her head around and mutters, "It was an accident.” As You and Storm rush to Logan’s aid. 

[riordanness]

i wish you would — [p.jackson]

pairing: percy jackson x reader

wordcount: 0.9K

warnings: nightmare mention

requested: no

I hesitate for a second before I knock on his door. I don’t want to wake him, but I’ve come this far already, and I know deep down he won’t mind.

I knock, and there’s a clattering sound inside the Poseidon cabin, like Percy has tripped over a chair or something on his way to the door.

The door swings open, and there he stands, in flannel pyjama pants and a navy blue hoodie. His dark hair is messed up, and he looks both alert and half asleep.

“Y/n, hey,” he says. “It’s the middle of the night. What happened?”

I shrug one shoulder, suddenly nervous. Which is ridiculous. Percy is my best friend. Why am I nervous to talk to him?

“I’m sorry,” I apologise. “I had a really bad nightmare and—“

I don’t get the time to finish. Percy immediately pulls me inside and closes his door, and then envelopes me in a hug. I melt instantly into his familiar embrace, burying my face in his hoodie. He smells like sea salt and oreos.

“Hey, trouble?” he asks softly.

I pull my head away from the hug, leaning back just enough to look into his eyes. “Yeah?” I kind of whisper in response.

“What was your nightmare about?”

I take a second to answer. “You. Being in pain. I don’t really know why or what was happening to you but I knew you weren’t okay at all and it was somehow my fault. And…” My voice doesn’t have the strength to continue.

Percy’s sea green eyes are so full of differing emotions I can’t even tell them all apart. “Y/n,” he says quietly, and the sadness in his voice makes my heart break. “You don’t need to worry about me, you know.”

“I know,” I try to protest weakly, “but—“

“No buts,” he shushes me, his index finger on my mouth. “Just hush, trouble.” He unravels his arms from the hug, takes my hand by the fingers, and leads me to his bunk. “Sleep in here tonight, okay?”

“With you?” I mean to think it, but I’m sleepy enough that my brain sends the words through my mouth instead.

Percy kind of coughs and kind of laughs at the same time. “Yeah, with me. If that’s, like, okay with you and everything. I just figured it would help.”

“Yes. Yes yes, it would help,” I say quickly, smiling finally.

“Okay.” Percy grins.

Once I’m comfortably in his arms and under his navy blue sheets, my head on his chest and my fingers intertwined with the strings on his hoodie, I finally relax. I’m warm all through, and I don’t know if it’s because of Percy… or because of Percy.

“Hey, Perce?” I whisper into the darkness.

“Yeah?” he whispers back, just as quiet.

“You know how sometimes people fall in love, and they don’t even know it at all?”

“Like Silena and Beckendorf?”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “Like them. And like—“

“If you’re gonna say Katie and Travis, I’ve already bet twenty bucks on them getting together by the end of this summer.”

“Percy, shush, I’m trying to say something important,” I whack him gently on the chest. “But yeah, they’re totally and a hundred percent in love. Like, the rivals-to-lovers thing they’ve got going on is so cute.”

“Personally I like best-friends-to-lovers a lot more,” Percy admits softly, and I go quiet.

“Me too.”

Even though it’s pitch dark in his cabin right now, I can feel his smile.

“Hey, trouble?”

“Why do you call me that?” I ask, instead of answering.

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer,” I protest.

“That is totally an answer. You asked a question and I answered it. That makes it an answer.”

I roll my eyes, then remember he can’t see me. “Well, I want an actual answer.”

“Okay.” He reaches up and ruffles my hair, and instead of shoving his hand away like I usually would, I let him. “I call you trouble because no matter how much you try to be good and perfect and sweet all the time, trouble always finds you, and that’s adorably funny.”

I roll my eyes again. “Oh really,” I say flatly.

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

There’s silence for long enough for me to wonder if Percy has fallen asleep, and then he speaks again.

“So, trouble,” he says.

“Mhm?”

“You know I’m like, in love with you.”

I take a moment to even process that. “Huh?”

“I’m in love with you, trouble.” The arm that’s around me is suddenly a little tense. “Have been for a while. Uh, hopefully you don’t find that weird. Sorry.”

“Percy,” I half laugh. “I’m in love with you too, idiot.”

“Oh. Wait. Really? You are?”

“Of course.” Even though it’s dark, I know his face better than anyone’s, and I sit up just enough to kiss him. If it’s even possible, I get even more warm. “And just for the record, I like best-friends-to-lovers best too.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [9] - Engagement

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A marriage decision leads to an honest conversation about expectations.

Word Count: 2700

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

For a couple of seconds, he gawked at you in complete silence before he managed to pull himself together.

“You—you’re saying yes?”

“I’m saying yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Please don’t ask me again because I have this feeling that I’ll change my mind if I think about it longer than a second,” you stated and he nodded fervently.

“Right,” he said. “Sure, I…wow. Okay, we’re—we’re getting married then.”

“Don’t say that either, I am not ready to hear it out loud,” you said with a sigh but before he could answer, a soft voice reached you both.

“Bucky?”

He closed his eyes shut for a moment as he scrunched up his face and you turned your head to look at the top of the stairs where a pretty girl in an oversized shirt –his shirt, if you had to guess— was leaning to the steel handrail.

“Hi,” she said. “Um, who are you?”

“His fiancée,” you stated, trying your hardest to ignore the pang of jealousy in your stomach and her eyes widened.

“Oh I didn’t—I didn’t know—”

“Neither did I when I woke up today,” you said with a click of your tongue. “Can you leave us please?”

“Sure!” she said as she rushed back to what you could only assume was the bedroom and Bucky shot you an apologetic look.

“Charm I’m sorry, if I knew…”

You walked past him, looking around the huge living room. Even you had to admit it looked incredibly beautiful and sleek, and the clear view of the city that you could see from the floor-to-ceiling windows was absolutely breathtaking. It was exactly what you would come up with if someone asked you what Bucky's apartment would look like; luxurious yet dark.

It didn’t mean you would tell him that though.

“I’m not moving in here by the way, this place is a dump,” you forced yourself to say, “If I wanted industrial interior, I’d buy myself a factory.”

“Right, sure—”

“That could be a fun project though,” you muttered more to yourself as the girl appeared at the top of the stairs again, and rushed downstairs, grabbing her coat off the rack.

“Sorry again,” she said without looking you in the eye and walked out of the apartment, and you heaved a deep sigh.

“None of this will be happening from now on by the way,” Bucky said in a haste and you rolled your eyes, then turned around to look at him.

“I don’t care about you enough to have that conversation with you,” you said. “I don’t give a fuck who you fuck, but you’re not going to make me look like an idiot in front of other people so when it inevitably happens, you’ll keep it a secret.”

“You don’t have to worry about that at all,” he said, his voice firm and you crossed your arms.

“So then,” you said. “I feel like we should both talk about the conditions before taking it to the families and the lawyers and everything.”

“I’m good with your conditions,” he said and you shot him a glare.

“You don’t even know my conditions.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You kept your eyes on him, a slight frown pulling your brows together before you took a deep breath and took off your coat to throw it over the couch.

“Either way, I think we should talk about it,” you insisted and leaned on your hip. “So do you have actual booze in here or are you going to pull out a homemade barrel or something?”

He smiled slightly.

“Take a seat sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll bring the wine.”

“And put a shirt on!” you said as you made your way to the table, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat. “This is a business deal, honestly. There has to be a dress code.”

                                            *

When Bucky came to the table, he did in fact have his shirt on and he was carrying a bottle of wine with two glasses. He filled one and handed it to you, then filled his own and sat down. You took a sip, pleasantly surprised at the taste and lowered your glass, leaning back.

“Alright,” he said. “Tell me your conditions.”

You swirled the wine in your glass, deep in thought.

“Well first of all, we need to have a time table,” you said. “I don’t want to stay married to you for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure you share the sentiment.”

A small smile twitched the corners of his lips but he didn’t comment on it.

“But we can’t get a divorce as soon as I take over because that will lead to a lot of questions and I won’t have the time for distractions, the taking over process is chaotic enough,” you said. “I can’t be making any mistakes, especially considering I already have a rival.”

“Calling Ian a rival makes him sound more important than he actually is,” Bucky commented. “But I agree. We already know some of the families can disagree with this idea.”

“Stark?” you asked and he nodded.

“At least,” he said. “We have Steve and Sam’s support, my family and your family of course, but the rest…”

“You think Romanoff would disagree?”

Bucky thought for a moment.

“Probably, but I can talk to Nat I think,” he said. “She’d hear me out.”

“Barton?”  

“Barton is not going to do anything Nat disagrees with,” he said. “If we have Nat, we have Clint.”

“So that leaves us Stark,” you said, pursing your lips. “Who talks to him, you or me?”

He shot you an apologetic look.

“I mean we may try to sell it as love but at the end of the day, everyone will think about the business side of things,” he said. “It could be better if your father talked to him actually. He already dislikes me enough, and we’re changing the power balance in the city by doing this.”

“Alright,” you said. “My dad could do that.”

“Next?”

“I want your word that I will be included in everything,” you said. “None of the bullshit the earlier generation pulled. I will be in every meeting and I will be included in every single decision.”

He nodded. “Yeah, figured as much.”

“I mean it Bucky,” you said, looking him in the eye. “We will be equals completely.”

“We will be,” he assured you. “I swear on my honor.”

“And I’m not changing my surname.”

He threw his head back. “Charm…”

“Out of question.”

“Charm if I’m going to get you into those meetings, you need to have my surname,” he insisted. “You know the rules. We need to give them an actual reason if you can’t be there as an heir.”

You thought for a moment and cleared your throat.

“Hyphenated it is,” you said. “I’ll keep mine and add yours.”

“It’d be better if—”

“I can’t take over my father’s territory if my last name is Barnes,” you pointed out. “I’ll use both, it’s fine.”

Bucky thought for a moment, then licked his lips and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine,” he grumbled even though his tone signaled it was anything but fine. You sipped your wine, leaning back.

“Goes without saying that we won’t have any children in the meantime so should we even talk about it?”

“I think we should,” Bucky said, a small smile curling his lips. “Just in case.”

“Just in case?” you repeated and he rolled his eyes.

“It’ll be on the prenup just like everything else,” he reminded you. “And our families will see those prenups, so it’d be better if we covered it beforehand.”

You huffed out and waved a dismissive hand.

“Fine,” you said. “The usual, right? The first born is the heir…”

“The second born is the spare, yeah,” Bucky said. “Although, if you’re keeping your surname…”

“Our children would as well,” you finished his sentence for him and let out a dry laugh. “So then, is the firstborn yours or mine?”

“Maybe it’ll be twins,” he joked and you shook your head.

“We’ll say that the firstborn rules both until the second born is ready, and then divide my territory and yours accordingly,” you said and Bucky raised his brows.

“But until then, both territories?” he asked. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

“That person doesn’t exist and will not exist,” you reminded him. “It’s just gonna be a hypothetical article in the prenup, that’s it.”

“And if we want a divorce—”

“When we have a divorce,” you corrected him and Bucky hummed.

“Any specific reque—”

“The weekend house,” you cut him off and he let out a small laugh.

“How long have you had your eye on it?”

“Oh, so long,” you said with a grin. “It’s really pretty.”

Bucky held up his hands, gesturing surrender. “It’s yours then."

“I mean I know I can’t just get it without giving something in return so how about you? What do you want in the divorce?”

“Nothing.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him.

“You want nothing?” you asked him. “Bullshit. Say your price.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“You’re going to get me in the business and help me take over and you want nothing?” you insisted. “No fucking way. What is your game here?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Why are you doing this then?” you asked with a frown. “Seriously. What’s in it for you?”

“My reasons are my own.”

“Bucky…”

“But I do have one request now that you mention it,” he said and you nodded your head.

“Yeah tell me. What is it?”

“Throughout the time we stay married,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “No sleeping with other people.”

“…I’m not going to sleep with you,” you managed to say after a pause and he shrugged his shoulders.

“We’re going into war with an outsider while pushing you to the top,” he said. “Any kind of issue in our marriage, including a whisper of a rumor could work against that. We need to present a united front to all the other families and our people. Can’t fight a war on that many fronts, you know that.”

As much as you hated to admit, as it turned out, Bucky was actually smart when it came to how things worked in business. You nibbled on your lip, trying to put your thoughts in order before sticking your nose in the air.

“That’s a two-way street,” you told him. “If I’m behaving like the perfect wife, you’re going to behave like the perfect husband.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Bucky, I’m serious,” you said, looking him in the eye. “Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your mistresses.”

“Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your boyfriends,” he replied and you took a deep breath, then downed your wine and stretched out your hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you said and he chuckled, then reached out to take your hand into his, sending a pleasant warmth from your hand to your whole body.

“Likewise,” he said, his voice soft. “Let’s make you the queen, princess.”

                                              *

 You and Bucky decided to tell your family about your decision that weekend at their favorite restaurant. It would at least give you some time to get your story straight and you figured it would play into the lie; that you and Bucky had something for each other all along and once you got together you didn’t want to lose any time to get married.

Of course your closest friends were going to know about it, it would be impossible to keep it from Becca, Sarah, Steve and Sam because they’d had the first row to every single fight whenever you were within each other’s sight not to mention heard about how much you two disliked each other for years now.

But as far as anyone else was concerned, it was the happy ending to a decade long crush on both parts.

That night, you decided to stay in a hotel until the weekend. Not only did you not want to talk to Ian or your father, but it would also work in your favor; it was Bucky’s favorite hotel, it was in his territory and he would make sure to stay with you in the honeymoon suit every night until the weekend so you were pretty sure the rumors would reach your families way before you told them.

Your bodyguards were still on your father’s payroll after all.

You sipped your champagne, your feet propped up on the small coffee table across from the couch you were sitting on, the fluffy bathrobe wrapped tight around your body as you changed the channel on the TV but the knock on the door made you turn your head. Heaving a sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed and went to the door, then put a bright smile on your face and swung open the door.

“Finally!” you exclaimed, then gasped at the huge bouquet of roses Bucky was holding. “Oh my God!”

“Hi beautiful,” Bucky said with a smirk and you stole a look at both your father’s and Bucky’s men in the hallway, then turned to him.

“You shouldn’t have!” you giggled as you grabbed his arm to pull him into the suit, and closed the door behind him.

“Flowers are a nice touch,” you commented, the lovesick smile disappearing from your lips even if your heart did a happy flip and Bucky winked at you.

“I’m glad you like them,” he said as you took them from him, then walked to the open kitchen to pour water into the empty wine decanter before putting the flowers into it.

He leaned back to the kitchen island. “Did you talk to Becca yet?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “I slept the whole day away today, barely did anything. Must be the stress after yesterday.”  

“Is she serious with that girl by the way?” Bucky asked you. “Leila?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything about Becca.”

He tilted his head. “You and I are going to get married—”

“And she’s my best friend so she’s still above you on my loyalty list,” you pointed out. “Marriage is one thing, friendship is another.”

“Should I at least threaten the girl so that she doesn’t break her heart?” Bucky asked and you rolled your eyes.

“No, Leila is a sweetheart,” you said as you walked past him, then threw yourself on the couch to grab the remote. He followed you and rested his hands on the back of the couch you were sitting on, the closeness of his body making your stomach do a pleasant flip for some reason.

“So what are we watching?”

“We are not watching anything,” you said, trying to focus on the screen. “I’m watching The Bachelor.”

He let out a groan. “Seriously?”

“There’s another TV upstairs, go watch whatever you want to watch there,” you said, grabbing your champagne glass again and tilted your head back so that you could look at him, and Bucky shot you a mischievous grin.

“Marriage requires quality time together, Charm.”

“Who told you that lie?” you asked, turning your glances to the TV and he chuckled.

“Steve sent me an article about it today when I told him the news.”

“Not Sam?”

“No, Sam sent me the address of a great psychiatrist,” he said. “For couples therapy and marriage counseling.”   

“That’s much more useful than an article,” you pointed out and he squeezed at your shoulder making your heart skip a beat.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said as he walked to the hanging stairs and someone knocked on the door, making you frown and look at Bucky over your shoulder.

“Room service,” Bucky answered before you could ask. “I already know your favorite so I ordered for both of us.”

“How do you know my favorite?”  

“I pay attention,” he said as he started climbing the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt. “Don’t open the door yet though, will you? Wouldn’t want my men to think I last five minutes.”

“I’m sure that would be an improvement for you,” you said with a scoff and he tsk tsked.

“If you want to see just how wrong you are, all you gotta do is ask nicely princess.”

“That will never happen!” you called out and slipped a little on the couch when you heard him close the bathroom door, then heaved a sigh.  

“Great,” you muttered to yourself as the water started running. “My honeymoon should be so much fun.”

Chapter 10

[oceansprompts]

text message prompts

[text] You okay?

[text] GO TO BED!

[text] hey you better be alive in there

[text] SOS save me please holy shit

[text] call me this date is going so bad

[text] I have way too much shit to do.

[text] Honestly I'm really worried about you.

[text] Why are you trending on Twitter?

[text] Please let me come over and pet your (pet).

[text] We are in the same building, you could come talk to me.

[text] It's not going to work out.

[text] This is a terrible idea.

[text] people have fetishes

[text] They really do crucify anyone these days huh

[text] I don't know why but that really means me want to stab you

[text] That movie was awful.

[text] For the love of god please help me

[text] I fucked up. I fucked up really bad.

[text] I'm blocking you.

[text] YOU ONE BRAINCELLED BITCH

[text] I regret swiping right.

[text] Everyone lies on their dating profiles.

[text] That absolutely can't be an actual picture of you.

[text] This forced open my third eye and I saw the devil

[text] I'm like a child in line for the newest fucked up disney ride

-

[text] That's just all fucking sorts of fucked up

[text] Why are we here? To suffer? Every other day I get messages that cause pain

[text] In the department of old man fucking, we've got you beat.

[text] have you gotten any work done?

[text] I am beyond shame, try again

[text] You left your left your underwear at my place.

[text] Don't you dare put this on Facebook.

[text] My brother in Christ you're being haunted

[text] I want to wring you like a wet towel and slap you against a wall

[text] The mind is weak but the body is funky

[text] I'm a zombie the law can't stop me.

[text] Jealous of my massive honkers

[text] We left you to die to play minecraft

[text] She would never ever take away one of these stupid fucking hats

[text] I puked all over the Uber driver's backseat.

[text] I just took a screenshot of that and posted it to Reddit

[text] You said you'd be right back and it's been months.

[text] Can't we talk about this face to face?

[text] Yeah, you'll come learn I just have a thing for milk

[text] Why did you like one of my pics from 2014?

[text] Now's as good a time as any to exchange nudes.

[text] Why would you send me an eggplant emoji?

[text] I write five paragraphs, pouring my heart out, and all you reply with is k?!

[text] Who would dare to lie on the internet?

[text] When I die, please delete all my shit off the internet

[text] He's so hot, I briefly started texting like a straight person

[text] And because I'm god and I've decided that; no, in fact, I'm not done.

-

[text] I know you love bloopy reggae jams, now is not the time.

[text] You better not be standing catatonic in your room again.

[text] God has abandoned his children but unfortunately for you I pay child support and I will smite thee.

[text]: My neighbor just told me he can fix my water heater for 50 bucks. I’m skeptical.

[text]: Do you have any idea how much it costs to buy apples? I paid 10 dollars for 6.

[text]: I mean, I wouldn’t say I have a problem with buying Squishmallows..

[text]: Hey, so you know how you told me no dog? *sends pic* I don’t do well with no’s.

[text] Stuart Little is a bitch and Remy could take him any day.

[text]: My roommate just said that Lola Bunny is hot. I’m moving out.

[text]: Hey I posted that vid of you drunk, singing Ariana Grande, wearing all black and people said not to do it again. Sorry.

[text]: Do you think the price is ever right? Like, I feel like it’s not.

[text]: I booped your nose. Boop the last five people you texted or–nothing happens really.

[text]: I’m actually in the ER and it’s a long story that involves Best Day Ever from spongebob.

[text]: I fucking hate you–wait you’re not my ex. Who are you?

[text]: You ever ask yourself if birds see a bee and just go ‘wow a bee’? im high.

[text]: sometimes all i think about is–sour patch kids. bet you thought it was you.

[text]: I love you—not as much as I love my dog. But still a lot!

[text]: I found a cat on the way home and now it’s mine. But it hates my guts so this should be fun.

[text]: I have questions about the marvel cinematic universe…how long do you have?

[text]: why do donald duck and winnie the pooh not have to wear pants but other people do?

[text]: Hey you know that show floor is lava? I may have turned the apartment into that..this isn’t a joke, btw. the floor is sticky.

[text]: I bought too much soap off etsy and now I don’t know what to do with it…I smell like Captain America.

[text]: On a scale of one to ten, how many drinks would you need to sleep with me? This isn’t a tiktok trend…or it is.

[idanceuntilidie]

Can I request a yandere!ceo x male reader please

Ps, I love your writing ♥️

Thank you!

I hope this was to your liking,

I am working on next request and it will be posted tomorrow.

You are sure your boss hates you.

Sighing dramatically you are met with eyes of worried co workers that are looking at you from behind a comically large stack of documents.

You try to smile at them, then your eyes scan the paperwork again.

You will have to stay after work to even get rid of almost half of the documents.

You rub your face sighing dramatically.

It was tiring, you even regret getting this job in the first place.

“Y/n?”

You feel a light tap on your shoulder, you slowly turn around to face the person who disturbed your moment of self reflection.

It was May, your co worker, she smiled apologetically.

“The big guy wants to see you. What on earth have you done this time man?” She laughs quietly, you join her.

May must be one of the nicest people you have ever met.

“Man, my excuse of ‘the dog ate my homework’ didn’t go through?”

“It seems like it”

She looks at your pile, her cherry red lips forming an o shape.

“Don’t even start May I swear to God”

“What? What? I haven’t said anything”

She huffed.

„You better go, or he will kick your ass out.”

You groaned, lazily moving your body out of the uncomfortable chair that you are pretty sure has reflected shape of your because of the amount of time you had to spend to sitting on it. May patted your back as you dragged yourself out of the office.

You really REALLY don’t want to go there.

Finally you got to the black door, only now you noticed how sweaty your hands were when you were about to open the door your boss did it first.

You came almost face to face with him, he was slightly shorter than you.

He looked at you with a scowl.

“I was about to get you, come in.”

You only nodded, following him in and quietly praying you won’t die in there.

You sat in front of him, eyes scanning the environment and coming in contact with plate containing his last name.

Kingston.

Oh right, you are so used to calling him big man you actually forgot his name.

“Sir L/n, I am not satisfied with your work.

You are lazy, you are coming late.”

Ouch, that’s, that’s not true, you might have been late few times but you are working as hard as everyone else.

“I was thinking about firing you actually”

Your heart sank, mouth opening to argue. Nothing came out.

“You are so lucky I like you.”

“I’m- I’m sorry?”

“I like you. I thought I was clear.”

Your face burned. How is he even saying it so bluntly???

You saw him get up and walk to the big window that was behind him.

He motioned you to come. You did, you swear you couldn’t feel your legs. You wobbly walked next to Kingston. Your eyes looked at the city underneath you.

“Please go out with me”

That didn’t sound like a question nor request.

“You don’t have a choice really, I can make your life a living hell y/n. I can ruin your image, make you loose your job. You don’t want that do you?” he smiled at you,

You swallowed weakly, nodding.

“Great, I will pick you up at seven tomorrow.”

He clapped his hands.

“You aren’t getting rid of me, you belong to me now honey.”

[noxturnalpascal]

The Hunted

SerialKiller!Joel x F!Reader (8.2k)

DARKAU! POV will switch between Joel and Reader. This is dark compared to anything I’ve ever written before. I am a spooky girlie at heart and I wanted to give this idea some legs. If it’s not your thing, that’s okay. Spooky Halloween everyone!

Summary: This Ken is a Ski Instructor. This Ken is a Veterinarian. Well, this Joel is a Serial Killer. The canon Joel is actually kind of a serial killer too, if you think about it. But this version is No-Outbreak, 56-years old, and a Violent, Deranged, Serial Killing Loner. When a new victim practically falls in his lap, he doesn’t take the time to see that she could be his undoing.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. This is a little dark (for me). Murder, Dead Bodies, Sex, Kidnapping, Bondage, DubCon (they want it but they’re tied to a chair), creampie, blood, violence, semen, crime scenes.

A/N: This is: creepy plot with porn at the end. It’s my first posted tumblr story. Spooky Season is upon us!! Please be nice 💜

He’s been enjoying the silence of the cabin in the woods all afternoon. The only sounds surrounding him have been the soft bird songs and din of cicadas drifting through the open window from the outside, and the rustling of his own body moving about the small rooms inside. 

The sound catches him so off guard, that at first he looks around the inside of the cabin, trying to figure out where the hum could be emanating from. The cabin is not hooked up to electric, so what could be making that sound? Then he realizes it's coming from outside. He looks out the windows and sees a figure hunched in the bushes, a stone’s throw away from his front door. 

He steps to the front door and quietly opens it, watching her at the wood’s edge. It’s definitely a woman, he can tell by the double braids winding down the back of her head, ending in pigtails. She is wearing dark wash blue jeans, a green jacket, and has on a rust-colored backpack. He can hear her humming even clearer now, the melody traversing the short distance to his ears.

He watches as she stays hunched over, reaching into the bushes and rustling the leaves. Nearly a minute passes before she finally stands, wiping her hands off on her thighs. He notices a small wooden bowl at her feet, stuffed full with berries. She is sucking on her fingertips, stained a light purple, when she turns and meets his eyes.

“Oh!,” she says, startled by his presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in this ol’ thing.”

She gestures towards the cabin. She has a point. Even at first glance, the woods surrounding the cabin appear to be putting forth their best effort to reclaim it. The roof is covered in fallen leaves, moss and lichen cling to every surface, and the front steps - made of flattop logs - are sinking down, seeming to retreat back into the forest floor. And what he knows that she doesn't - yet? - is that the musty smell of the forest has permeated every square inch of the old log cabin’s interior, and everything inside of it. 

He puts on his warmest smile, softening the way his eyes are squinted, and blinks slowly. “Yeah, she’s not much but she keeps me honest,” he says, and he notices the way her body relaxes at his gentle, comforting tone.

“I’m guessin’ I’ve wandered too far. Sorry, I didn’t notice any signs posted.” The gentle lilt of her southern accent hits his ears like a sweet melody. 

“Yeah, state land ends at the treeline at the bottom ‘a that hill,” he gestures to the distance, her gaze following where he points. “But I don’t shoot or bite or nothin’, so don’t worry about steppin’ on my property,” he chuckles. He can see her continuing to relax under his welcoming reception. 

“I appreciate that. I’ve got one ‘a those little vans in the clearing down there, ‘n I expected more people to be around if I’m being honest.”

He notices she’s said I, not we.

“It’s gettin’ the end of camping season, so there’s fewer ‘n fewer out here, I think,” he waves his hand, hoping to convey how little he even notices the campers on the adjacent land.

“Well I’m sorry about stealin’ your berries. You want ‘em?” and she takes a few steps forward, closing the gap between them, holding the small bowl in her outstretched arms. 

The pigtails make her look young. So does the innocence in her eyes, which are partially hidden behind her thick-framed glasses. She stops short of the steps, still about six feet away now, still holding out the bowl. 

“No, ‘course not,” he gives her a sideways grin. “Those were gonna get eaten by birds before they got eaten by me. You enjoy ‘em little bird.” His guts twist at the smile that breaks out on her face. The way she looks down, almost bashful.

She turns to walk away and then stops, turning back to look at him. He watches her as she gives the outside of the deteriorating cabin another once-over, and then looks him up and down. “Can I ask you somethin’?” and before he can even respond, she continues. “Is it safe around here?”

His stomach clenches. He gently furrows his brows, “yeah, sure it is, why?”

“I’ve heard a couple things recently about people going missin’. Hikers and campers near here,” she gestures in a circular motion with her finger. “You heard anything about that?”

She is worried. He can tell because she looks worried. God, every emotion she has is playing across her face right now. He can read her like a book. She is so vulnerable. She’s a young woman camping all alone in the woods and she is worried. She should be.

“I haven’t heard anything myself, no. But that happens every year. People underestimate it.”

“Underestimate what?” she interjects, her doe eyes scanning his face.

“Nature,” he replies, and now he gestures around with his finger.

He gives her another soft smile and blinks his eyes slowly. She lets a genuine grin break through her worried features and she nods, taking in his response.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, there’s no one out here to cause ya trouble,” he offers, hoping she notes that he is clearly not a danger. “Besides, if anything happens, you can come back here.”

This time her smile falters a bit. He’s pushed too far. She’s worried. She’s alone. She’s not looking to seek refuge in a stranger’s cabin. He backtracks.

“I’m sure the worst thing that’s gonna happen is ya find a spider in your van,” he continues, “But please don’t come back here for that!” 

He gives a low chuckle and is glad to see she does the same, good humor returning to her now relaxing face. She gestures to the bowl of berries and flashes a toothy-smile as a thanks, before turning to retreat down the hill. He hears her call out a goodbye after she turns and he calls one back in response. 

He goes back inside and finishes watching her leave until the trees hide her departing figure. He has about seven more hours until dark fully takes hold. Seven more hours until he can seek her out in the clearing with the safe knowledge of remaining undetected. Plenty of time for him to finish prepping the cabin and get himself some dinner.

*****

He thinks he might be getting too old for this. His lower back is aching, his thighs are on fire, and he’s had a stabbing pain in his neck for the last twenty minutes; all due to the fact that he has been hunched against this tree for over an hour. Usually he wouldn’t still be here. He’d have made some observations, taken some mental notes, and planned for additional reconnaissance later on.

But he doesn’t know how long you’re going to be here. You haven’t unpacked anything - not even a folding chair - to indicate that your campsite setup will be anything more than a one-night stay. If you’re gone tomorrow and he has missed his opportunity, he’ll regret leaving now. He has spent the last eight hours thinking about nothing but you. 

He’s thought about the way your delicate lips wrapped around your fingertips and the gentle melody you hummed before you knew he was there. He has thought about the kind way you offered him the berries you picked and the way your jeans hugged your ass as you sauntered away. What would your eyes look like if he took your glasses off, if he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, if he wrapped his big hands around your delicate throat?

No, he has to do it tonight. He can’t wait any longer. 

Your van is all black. Besides the windshield, there are windows only at the two front seats and the rear double doors. However, you have all the windows covered with blackout panels. Smart. You’re a young woman camping alone, keeping your privacy is a smart thing to do. And keeping peeping eyes out of your space is probably important to you.

You’ve been playing music inside the entire time, though he doesn’t recognize any of the songs. Sometimes he thinks he can hear you humming along. He imagines you’re eating the berries you picked from the bushes outside his cabin. Maybe you’ve changed into more comfortable clothing, maybe you’re sitting on your bed, maybe you’re reading a book. Maybe you’re even thinking about him. He tried not to make an impression earlier but part of him hopes he did.

He really can’t wait any longer.

He moves slowly, not just because his body is quite literally creaking, but because he has to keep his head on a swivel and continue to make sure there are no eyes watching him. He makes his way towards the van, choosing his steps carefully. His head moves back and forth, checking in front of and behind him, watching for any movement. The night is so quiet all he hears is the gentle wind rustling the tall grass and the constant cricket song.

He finally reaches the side door of the van. The music inside is louder from here but he still doesn’t recognize the song. He pats his pockets, obsessively triple-checking he has the supplies he’ll need. He pulls a small tool out of his shirt pocket and sticks it in the door lock. He feels rather than hears the soft click that he knows means he now has full access to you. 

He puts his hand on the door handle and inhales a breath, holding it with full lungs. He closes his eyes and imagines what he’ll see when he opens the door, warm light spilling onto him from the inside. What will you be wearing? Will you look excited to see him? Frightened? Will you scream?

“Hey there little bird,” he says quietly as he throws the door open. Confusion falls across his face. He looks down onto the floor of the van, where a single bluetooth speaker sits, still playing music. The single overhead light from the van’s interior barely illuminates the inside, but it doesn’t matter, since there isn’t anything to see. 

The inside of the van isn’t a camper. It’s an empty utility van. There are no seats and no wall panels. In fact, the entire inside of the van is covered in thick plastic sheeting, which vibrates a strange buzz from the reverberation of the bluetooth speaker.

He has barely taken it all in when he feels a pinch in his neck. He grabs at it with his hand but there is nothing there and before he can react further, everything goes black.

*****

You hear a couple deep breaths and then some grunting. Maybe this means he’s finally waking up. You walk around in front of where he sits bound naked to a chair, and bend over, hands on your knees, face close to his, cooing gently for him to wake up sleepyhead. 

Standing up straight, you watch as he slowly opens his eyes, bit by bit, working to focus. He is blinking long, slow blinks, and his eyes raise to your face. His pupils start going big and then small, his eyes start rapidly blinking as his swirling thoughts begin to come back to him. 

Then you see it - recognition.

He crinkles his brows, the crease between them going so deep. His mouth begins to form a question but only a short, dry croak comes out. You can’t help yourself, you laugh at him. A quiet, melodic chuckle.

“Sorry, I think I gave you too much back there,” with two fingers you brush some hair off his forehead that has fallen forward. “I thought you were fatter under all these clothes, but you’re doing alright for yerself there.”

His eyes fall to your shirt - well, his shirt - and then to his own lap. He’s just realizing he’s naked. Then his eyes trail back up your body as he takes in the fact that you’re wearing all of the clothes you stripped off him.

His mouth opens again but you don’t let him even try to speak this time. You grab his face and his eyes snap to meet yours. “Remember when I asked if you knew anything about those campers and hikers goin’ missing?” You drop your hand from his face and step to the side to reveal a folding table set up behind you. Along the table you have laid an array of different souvenirs he had plucked from his victims. 

“You told me you didn’t know anything,” you continue, as you watch his eyes grow larger as they rake across the table, taking in the items he had hidden away in his cabin. “But honey, I think you know a lot more than you said you did.”

His eyes slowly come back to yours and you can’t hide the smile you now have plastered across your face. “I don’t-” he starts. You quickly shove your finger overtop his mouth in a shush motion.

“Don’t even try that honey, we’re way past denial now. I already found all yer little trophies.” 

Now he flexes in the chair. Your finger drags down his neck and across his shoulder as you walk around the chair, circling him. You watch him continue to strain, testing the ropes, checking to see for himself if you knew what you were doing when you tied him to the chair. You did.

“So what is this?” he mutters, “One a’ them yer friend? Your brother or sister or somethin’?” He continues to push against the unforgiving ropes. “This some kinda revenge plot you got brewin’?” 

You can’t help it, you laugh again. “Oh honey, is that what you think?” You place your finger at the top of his forehead and slowly run it down his face, “You think you’ve hurt me?” over his nose, “Think I’m your victim?” over his lips, stopping on his chin. You lean in and ghost your lips right over his. “I’m not your victim honey,” you whisper against his lips, “you’re mine,” pressing into him with a kiss.

You stand up and take a step back. “I know what you are. I know exactly what you are because I’m the same. Well, almost the same,” and you laugh again, breaking eye contact. “When I was young, my adoptive father recognized it in me n’ taught me how to direct it. He called it my dark passenger and I-”

“Y-yer what?” he interrupts.

“What?” You’re back to looking him in his eyes.

“Did you say your dark passenger?” He looks past the folding table strewn with his trophies and sees the ‘camper van’ parked with the side door still wide open, inside still covered with plastic sheeting. “Dark passen- isn’t that from that fuckin’ TV show? Dexter?”

“What the fu-,” you slap your arms against your thighs in frustration. “Don’t tell me you get fuckin’ Showtime in that piece a shit cabin. There wasn’t even a fuckin’ TV in that shithole.”

“Well I don’t fuckin’ live there sweetheart that’s just where I-” he stops short but just rolls his eyes at you. Then he gives you a look like he’s embarrassed for you. 

“Oh well excuse me for wantin’ to add a little flair to this situation!” you yell out to the ceiling. “I guess we can’t have any fuckin’ fun around here.”

“So what’re you gonna do now Dex, chop me up and take me out to the ocean?” a cocky fucking grin settles on his face.. 

“Jesus Christ what’d you watch the whole fuckin’ series?” You look down at his smug face. He thinks he has the upper hand again. This motherfucker. Naked. Tied to a chair. Still thinks he’s smarter than you. 

“You know how much fuckin’ work it’d be to chop your fat ass up?” and you watch his grin get wiped off his face. “Think I’m gonna take the time to dismember you? You? I could leave you just like this in a shallow ditch ‘n not one person would even miss you honey.”

“Then whatcha’ fuckin’ waitin’ for, huh?” He snarls, his smugness gone. “Get it over with, let’s go.”

You walk behind him and grab a second chair, dragging it noisily across the floor until it’s parallel to his own chair but facing the other way. You plop down in the chair and lean closer to him.

“I really don’t know how you’re still not gettin’ it,” you say quietly. You drag your finger along the ropes across the front of his chest as he lowers his chin to watch you. “But you are not in charge here.” He lifts his head and his hard eyes meet yours.

“Now… I’m gonna ask you some questions and you’re gonna answer me honestly.”

“And why would I fuckin’ do that?” he says calmly, quietly.

“Cuz otherwise I’m gonna call 9-1-1 right now. When they get here they’ll see I’ve done all their work for ‘em.” you hitch your thumb back to point it towards the table behind you. He sighs a deep breath and - growls? - under his breath.

You point to the table again and ask, “How do you choose your victims?” He shakes his head, tries to shift in his chair but the ropes are tied too tight to allow for much movement. You really do know what you’re doing. He still doesn’t seem to believe it, flexing his arms and chest against the ropes yet again.

“I don’t.” You give him a beat to add more to the sentence but he just stares at you with black eyes, mouth closed and tight-lipped.

“You’re gonna have to do a little better n’ that honey,” you gently coo. He suppresses another growl. You can tell that your little nickname for him is finally starting to grate on his nerves. 

“That’s my answer,” he grumbles, refusing to elaborate, staring ahead at the folding table.

“Okay hun, no problem,” you reply as you lean forward and pull a cell phone out of your back pocket. You punch in the lock code and begin to dial. You type in 9 and you see him watching you out of the corner of your eye. You quickly type in the 1 and then hover your finger over the button, ready to repeat the motion. You pause and look up, meeting his eyes.

“You wanna call my bluff or you wanna start talkin’?” and then you smile as you hear jesus fuckin’ christ muttered under his breath and watch him spend some more time straining against the ropes. “Get it over with, let’s go,” you repeat his words back to him in a bad impression of his gruff voice. His scowl deepens.

“I don’t,” he repeats. “I don’t choose ‘em.” He sighs, and you open your mouth to protest that he’s still holding back but before you can speak he continues, “I just take what’s there.”

“You don’t have a type?” 

“You seem to know everythin’, look at ‘em,” he nods towards the table where you have placed cut out photos from the missing posters next to the trinkets you found in his cabin. “Does it look like I have a type?” You remember the photos of men and women from all backgrounds on that table.

“So you just take whatever… whoever you can get?”

“Easier that way. Don’t have to go findin’ something specific.” He’s not making eye contact anymore, even though you have leaned in so far your faces are just inches apart. “Less suspicious that way too. Looks less like one person is pickin’ ‘em all off.” He shrugs, then quiets.

You lean back in your chair now, thinking over what he’s said. He’s been doing this for years. You could connect some of his souvenirs to known missing people but he had more items stuffed in his floorboards than you had pictures. So who knows how high his number really is.

“Is that all of ‘em?” nodding your head back towards the table again. His head is still down, seemingly very interested in a freckle on his left thigh. But you see a smile tug at one side of his mouth. He tries to hide it before you can see but it’s too late.

“Yeah,” he lies, unconvincingly. He doesn’t see you roll your eyes. God he’s shit at lying. 

You raise the phone up and wave it in front of his face, showing the 9-1 still dialed in. “Is that your final answer, honey?” He lets out a big sigh, like you’ve spoiled his fun. That’s right, we can’t have any fun around here, can we?

“Not exactly,” he grumbles. “Camping season is short ‘round here. Winter comes on quick. I have somewhere else I go sometimes,” he vaguely adds. He doesn’t elaborate further.

“Do you have sex with ‘em before or after you kill ‘em?” you ask, not even taking time to absorb his previous answer. His head snaps up to yours, his eyes wide.

“What?”

“Do you have se-”

“I don’t fuckin’ do that,” he spits, face contorted in disgust.

“Yeahhhh. But that’s what they all say. And, spoiler alert,” your voice goes high and teasing, “they ALL do it.” His face is still tight, mouth curled into a frown. 

“Well I fuckin’ don’t,” he looks back down at the freckle on his thigh, continuing to curse under his breath how disgusting you are for asking. “Killin’ doesn’t get me hard,” he snarls.

“Oh honey, I don’t know why you’re goin’ all shy on me now,” you coo, he’s still looking down, shaking his head now. “I’ve been in your little hidey-hole, ya know. It smells like fuckin’ loam ‘n body odor. I took a black light. That place is truly fuckin’ disgusting.” You adjust your glasses on your nose and continue, “I didn’t find a single cleaning product in the whole place. And now you’re gonna act like you’re not in there sprayin’ blood and cum all over the walls?” He doesn’t raise his head but his eyes meet yours under his eyebrows to scowl at you. You lean in till your noses almost touch. “A black light,” you repeat.

“That’s a huntin’ cabin sweetheart, and it wasn’t always mine. So I can’t tell you what yer little black light saw but it wasn’t me doin’ - that - with any ‘a them,” he nods to the table. 

Now you consider what he’s said and decide if you believe him or not. He’s a terrible liar, right? Maybe. Or maybe he’s just been playing you this entire time. You don’t give a shit that he’s a murderer. Anyone would murder under the right circumstances. But sexual assault? That’s a line you’d never cross. In fact, most of the men you’ve killed have been guilty of it themselves. Pigs, all of them, who’d stick their dicks anywhere for a moment of pleasure. They deserved what they got. Is this guy one of them?

“Well like I said, that’s what they all say, n-”

He interrupts, muttering jesus fuckin’ christ again, and more curses follow in whispers. “Is there fuckin’ evidence that I did any ‘a that? Any… sexual assault?” he spits the last two words out with particular venom, speaking the term for the first time.

“You’re askin’ if there’s any evidence on the months-old decomposing body parts found half-eaten in the woods?” You poke the freckle on his thigh he’s been seemingly obsessed with. “Surprisingly, no, there was not any evidence of sexual assault found.”

“Well then, there ya go,” he grunts out, as if that settles it. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. You can’t tell if it’s from shame, discomfort, or disgust. He’s doing a good job pretending it’s disgust. Is he pretending?

You try to ask another question but he is done talking. He won’t look up from his lap now. You even hold up the cell phone again but he doesn’t flinch. He knows by now you’re not going to dial the police. He’s shut down. So you get up and pull your chair away, disappearing behind him for a moment. 

When you come back in front of him you sit on his lap, facing him, straddling his legs with yours. He looks up at you with cautious eyes and opens his mouth to say something - but say what you’re not sure. When he feels the sharp poke just under his ribs he stops short. He looks down and sees the 5” knife you have pressed into the soft spot where his sternum ends.

“I guess it’s time then, honey,” you hum. The hand not holding the knife traces the side of his face. He looks almost sad for one singular moment before his eyes turn hard and all the muscles in his face pull tight.

“If ya expect me to beg, you’re wastin’ yer time.” His pupils are blown wide. “Just do it.”

“How about you stop bein’ so bossy on our first date?” You lean in and kiss him on the nose, then the right cheek, then the left cheek. “Well…..  Our last date,” and you kiss him on the mouth.

You press your lips hard into his and wait. When he doesn’t relent you take your free hand and squeeze his cheeks, hard, forcing his mouth open. Risking him biting your tongue, you push it into his mouth. Your gamble pays off when he doesn’t bite but instead pushes his tongue back and forth along the length of yours.

You wrap your free arm around his shoulders, bracing yourself and grinding your body down into his naked lap. You press your chest into his as your hand moves to the back of his head and fists in his wild curls. You continue kissing him, tongues wrapping around each other, lips moving sloppily across each other’s mouths. 

You move your wet kisses down his jaw, mouthing at the patches in his graying, scruffy beard. You grab a handful of his hair and squeeze your fist, tugging gently at the roots. He grits his teeth and groans, attempting to buck his hips up. 

Of course he can’t move against the restraints, but you grind down again, and you can finally feel that he’s gotten hard through the baggy jeans you’re still wearing. You let a low chuckle slip out.

“I thought killin’ didn’t get you hard,” you smile against his mouth.

“Who am I killin’?” he mutters, still simmering with anger at the topic.

Oh yeah, you giggle, your breath ghosting across his neck. “I guess I’m the one who it’s gettin’ hard,” you whisper. 

You can’t help it. The anticipation of the kill is thrumming through your veins. It’s always like this, the energy, the electricity. Killing makes you feel more alive. You usually aren’t making out with them though. Never, in fact. This time feels different. You’re not sure why.

You lick a stripe up his neck, rolling your hips over his hardened length, and now he bites, nipping gently at your jaw. You squirm and the knife pokes harder into his abdomen. He inhales a sharp breath through his nose at the contact. You silence any additional protest by kissing him hard on the mouth again.

You pull back, face flushed and panting. He is looking at you with wild eyes and puffy lips, his hair pulled at strange angles from your hands running through it. Do you want to fuck this guy? You just brought him here to kill him but now you think you want to fuck him. This is a morally gray area. He’s bound to a chair and you have a knife at his ribs. Can he consent?

“Why’d ya stop?” he huffs out, bringing your attention back to him. “Are we doin’ this or what?”

“It feels kinda fucked up,” you say meekly, the first time he’s seeing any hesitation from you. You look down, twirling the knife against the rope crossing his chest. “It’s not gonna change my mind ‘bout what happens here ya know.”

“I didn’t say it would,” he says quietly, and you look back into his eyes. His eyes are dark, like fresh brewed coffee. They’d be kinda nice if they weren’t about to be on a dead guy.

“You…. you want this?”

“Why not?” he immediately answers.

“Because I’m gonna kill you after,” and even though you’re sure he doesn’t need the reminder, you poke him lightly in the ribs with the knife again, leaving a little red dot from the tip. He doesn’t react this time. He just lets a small smile ghost across his face and his eyes soften as they land on yours.

“What a way to go.”

It’s all you need to hear. You get up and uncinch the belt that is the only thing holding his pants up around your waist. As soon as it’s loosened, the pants fall to the floor, the belt buckle tinkling as it hits the concrete. You’re not wearing any underwear but the view of your cunt is obstructed by the long flannel shirt draped over you.

You take the knife and stick it in the edge of the shirt about breast-high, just above where you have the first button done up. You slowly drag the knife down the placket, cutting each button off easily with the very sharp blade. The buttons clatter to the floor one by one and when you’ve reached the last one, the shirt opens up a bit.

It’s just enough to see the valley between your breasts, a line of your soft stomach, the patch of hair on your mound, and your pink folds peeking out between your legs. You watch him looking you up and down, devouring the sight of you. His brown eyes now black with hunger. Now you can finally take the time to admire his body. 

Yes you had stripped him naked and then tied him to the chair. The whole process had taken nearly thirty minutes. Your hands had been all over him, this grown man you had to maneuver while he was unconscious. But that wasn’t about sex. That was just a body. And you’ve had your hands on plenty of bodies. It’s not sexual. 

But now…. now you can really admire him. He has a long and muscular neck, a broad chest, and freckle-dotted shoulders with strong muscles that continue down his thick arms. He isn’t very hairy but he does have soft arm hair, a little chest hair, and a trail of hair that starts beneath his belly button and continues down to a large patch around his cock.

His cock. Now you can appreciate what you were feeling on his lap. Why does it look so good? Cocks shouldn’t look this good. It’s fully hard, leaking precum and leaning against his stomach, his balls pulled tight at the bottom. You’re surprised to notice his pubic hair isn’t growing wild, it looks as if it was trimmed but has grown out a bit. His cock is both a little larger and a little thicker than what you know to be average. It’s not the biggest you’ve ever seen but that’s alright. In this context you aren’t looking for something that’s going to destroy you. You need to be able to walk later, you’ll have a body to dispose of.

You look back at his face and his eyes are meeting yours. You wonder if he can see the same hunger in your eyes that you saw in his. He’s smiling again but this time it’s not the same cocky grin as before, this one is genuine and filled with excitement. Your heart is pounding. You feel intoxicated. Is this the thrill of the kill or the sex?

Double ropes make an X across his chest, fastening his torso tight to the back of the chair. His arms and wrists are also bound to the back of the chair, causing his arms to be extended stiff at his sides, hands dangling towards the ground. Another X of the double rope crosses his thighs, attaching him to the seat of the chair, and his ankles are tied to the chair’s front legs.

You consider for one brief moment if untying any part of him would increase your enjoyment but quickly decide that’s not a good idea. Even if you might want his hands on your body, if you find them on your throat, it could all get very messy very quickly.

You give your shoulders a slight shrug and his flannel begins to fall off your shoulders, brushing down your arms as it falls to the ground. Now you stand before him completely bare. You don’t miss the fuuuck he silently mouths. Jesus christ what is this guy doing to you? You swear you just felt your clit twitch. 

It is now obvious more than ever the effect he’s having on you, as your unobstructed cunt is so wet that the cool air hitting your thighs makes you realize you are a fucking sopping mess down there. Not wanting to wait any longer, you straddle his thighs again. This time you don’t put your legs on either side but rather rest your legs on top of his. Your feet rest inside of his thighs right under his balls and your ankles and shins lay on top of his thighs. This position is you going give you the best leverage to raise and lower yourself, since you know he can’t help with driving his cock into you.

You can see his arms straining against the ropes. By now he should have learned that they’re too tight for him to move but you think this might just be out of habit. He wants to touch your body, you can tell by the way he moves his head forward - the only thing he can freely move forward - and laps his tongue anywhere he can reach.

You grab his face with one hand and crash your mouth onto his, a mess of teeth and lips and tongues. With your other hand, which is still holding the knife, you carefully use two fingers to tilt his cockhead directly under you and you slowly sink down on it.

You both let out wanton moans into each other’s mouths at the sensation. You continue to press down until he’s seated all the way inside you, and then you pause to let your body adjust. He feels bigger than he looked. Maybe it’s been a while since you’ve been with anyone but this feels borderline painful. You don’t move up and down but rock forward and backwards ever so slightly, giving yourself some more time. He groans a little bit, maybe impatient but you don’t care, and you just smile against his mouth.

You feel your own wetness dripping out of you, down around him, and you feel like you’re ready to go. Pulling your face back from his, you look in each other’s eyes, almost tenderly. You put both hands on top of his shoulders, careful to have a good grip on the knife but not have it too close to his skin. You don’t want to be the one to do anything prematurely in this situation. 

You start slowly at first, ignoring the quiet groans coming from him. He’s not whining but he doesn’t sound or look pleased with the pace you’ve set if the pained look on his face is any indication. You continue moving but grab his face to ask you good? The pained look immediately disappears from his face as his eyes snap open. He grunts and mutters a quiet it’s been awhile before he closes his eyes again, trying to focus.

“Don’t you end this early on me,” you warn. It’s a little funny to you when you realize that his punishment for doing that would be death. It shouldn’t be funny but it is. Probably because you’re fucked in the head. He barely reacts and just mutters I won’t between clenched teeth.

Your pace starts to pick up and you alternate between quite literally bouncing up and down on his cock, and grinding forwards and backwards on it. Each time you switch movements he lets out a strangled groan, clenching his eyes tighter. You can feel your orgasm start to build as a little ball of energy deep in your torso.

You picture what it would be like if he could put his hands on you. You take your own hands off his shoulders and run them up and down your thighs, careful to not let the blade hit either of your bodies. You run them across your stomach and up your ribcage, grabbing your breasts, the cold blade of the knife pressed against one of them. You cry out at the sensation and notice he has opened his eyes now and is watching you intently.

You throw your head back, squeezing your breasts, and bring two fingers to pinch each nipple until they’re over-sensitive and stinging. You look back down and watch his face, inches from your breasts, mesmerized. Without warning you shove one of them right into his mouth and he greedily accepts it, tonguing and biting your nipple. 

You continue to move on his lap, driving his cock in and out, up and down, filling you up, hitting all the right spots inside of you. Your bodies are sliding against each other, lubricated by the sheen of sweat covering them. The sounds of your skin slapping echoes off the walls. The slurping noises of his mouth are turning you on even more. You can feel your orgasm now just below the surface. You know you’re close. 

“I’m gonna come honey,” you moan. Jesus fuckin’ christ you hear him grunt beneath you, mouth still full of your breast.

You push yourself closer to him, pressed up against his chest, his mouth popping off your nipple. You wrap both arms around his neck and pull him tight, rutting hard and deep on his lap. It’s just there, so close. Then he latches his mouth onto your neck just below your jaw, and he sucks. 

A white-hot release immediately hits your body, spreading from the core out. It hits you so hard that you actually scream. Your movements stutter and slow as you work through your orgasm, feeling your pussy contracting on his cock.

Seconds later you hear him against your neck, a long and drawn-out moan, as you feel him releasing repeatedly inside of you. You continue gentle rocking motions against him until you feel his cock still. His mouth is still against your neck, breathing heavy breaths in between curses of jesus fuckin’ christ, and holy shit.

You push yourself up off him using the leverage from your shins on his thighs just enough for him to slip out of you, your combined release dripping out onto his lap. You lay your head down on one of his shoulders, gently kissing his neck. At the other shoulder, your arm rests with the knife dragging up and down along where his carotid artery lies.

You sit like that for a while, both of you catching your breaths, getting your bearings back. You are vaguely aware of the mess on his lap you’ll have to clean up later. It’ll have to wait. You think that orgasm made you dizzy. You’re pretty sure your legs will be jell-o for a bit. You haven’t felt like this in a long time. Fucked out and cockdrunk.

He is the first to speak.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says tentatively, “before ya….  ya know.”

“You have a question for me?” you scoff, “I’m flattered,” which is true, even considering what you’ve just done.

“Were ya serious about doin’ this before? The killin’ part?”

“Well yeah, what makes ya think I wasn’t serious?” you lift your head to look him in the eyes just in time to see him roll his.

“Probably the part where ya pretended to be Dexter-” he starts.

“Oh my god I can’t wait till you stop breathin’ so I don’t have to hear about that again. I was just trying to- ya know what? Nevermind,” and you push the blade forward into his neck a little. It’s hard enough to pierce the skin. It draws a couple drops of blood but you’re mostly just teasing him, since you have no desire to clean five liters of blood off the floor of this rented garage. But you can’t help the thrill that shoots into your stomach at the way he clenches in fear.

His body relaxes after a few seconds when he realizes you haven’t pushed the knife in any further. He had clenched his eyes shut, not letting you see the panic in them. Now they flutter open and meet yours, barely able to focus, your faces are so close together.

“My question was somethin’ else,” he mutters, barely audible over the sound of your pounding heartbeat whooshing in your ears. You say nothing, just continue to stare at him wide-eyed, unblinking. “My question was… why. Why do ya do it?”

You are taken aback. Literally and figuratively. You physically pull back from him, resting on your heels back where his knees are. Your hands remain on his shoulders, one still clutching the knife against his neck. Someone is looking for the answer, you think to yourself. It’s almost sweet that he thinks you have it.

“I do it for the same reason you do it.” You scan his face, searching for that smug smile, waiting for deception to play across it, for something. For anything. It doesn’t come. He genuinely doesn’t know. “I do it because it fucking feels good, honey.”

He just keeps your gaze, nodding his head slowly as he takes in your answer. He doesn’t ask anything else or add to your answer. He’s just considering it. You get up off his lap and fold up the knife in your hand, dropping it on the floor on top of the discarded flannel. You walk behind him again and grab the pre-filled syringe you set up. This is the way you like to do things. Clean. Efficient. No stains or smells to deal with later.

You walk up behind him, standing so you are pressed to the back of the chair, his head resting against your bare stomach. You put your hands down on top of his shoulders, the syringe in your dominant hand tapping against his skin. He looks down at it and then tilts his head back to look up at you.

“Why me?” he asks. Not whiny, like most people are. Just a curiosity. Why him? Why did you pick him? Out of everyone in the world, why is it him? It’s almost romantic.

“I thought it’d be fun. I mean, it’s always fun. But I thought it’d be more fun than usual, huntin’ someone like me. Well, almost like me. I’m better at it,” and you tap the syringe against his clavicle a few times, “obviously.”

“Well you weren’t exactly playin’ fair, were ya sweetheart?” he says in an accusing tone.

“How do ya mean?” you ask, your eyes going wide, insulted by the implication. “You knew people would be lookin’ around and askin’ questions, maybe even the police.”

“Yeahhh,” he concedes, “but the police‘re idiots.” He keeps his eyes on you, watching you nod your head in agreement. “I didn’t think I was up against someone like you.” He pauses and then flashes you a cocky grin. “Someone smart.”

“Oh stop, now you’re just tryin’ to flatter me,” and you swat the syringe on his shoulder.

“I’m not,” he says, still smiling.

“Kinda seems like you are, ya ol’ flirt.” and you wink down at him.

“No, what I’m tryin’ ta say is…” and he finally looks away, staring straight ahead before he delivers the next sentence. “I bet you couldn’t do it again.”

“Do what again?” You continue to look down at him but he’s still looking straight forward, not meeting your eyes.

“Catch me.”

Now you’re annoyed. “Honey it really wasn’t that fuckin’ hard the first time. I highly doubt th-”

“But,” he interrupts, “I bet you couldn’t do it again.” His cocky smile is back, head thrown back staring up at you again. “You couldn’t do it now that I know you’re lookin’ fer me. 

You push off his shoulders and walk around the front of him. Bending over, you pull his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans laid on the floor. You’re gonna wipe that smug grin off his face once and for all. “Well Joel Miller,” and you read off his home address in Texas, “I really do think I could find you again.”

“Then do it.” His smile is gone. His face is expressionless. He’s just staring at you. “Find me again,” he taunts.

You drop the wallet back to the ground and sit down on his lap, almost considering what he’s saying. You run your hand on the side of his stupid smug little face, syringe still in the other hand. You lean your face to his and gently pepper his face with kisses.  

“Honey, I don’t want you sufferin’,” you coo between smooches. “Yer gonna miss me too much if I let you go.”

“How long you think I’d have to suffer?” he counters, “Hmm? How long you think it’d take you?”

“It took me less than a week this time honey. So probably not long,” you continue the kisses down his neck.

“Then come find me,” he growls, stilling your motions. “End my sufferin’.”

You pull back from him. Fuck. The thought of it made you undeniably excited. You were practically vibrating with anticipation and you weren’t even thinking about killing him anymore. This was about a chase. An honest-to-god chase with someone that might be something close to a challenge.

He had a point. You didn’t want to admit that to him, but he didn’t know you were looking for him. He had no idea there was someone like him in the area, whereas you had begun to suspect last summer, and had spent the last year putting pieces together and planning your trip this way. 

It did take you less than a week of moving around to different areas of the state land with your van, finding different places to camp, until you ran into him and his filthy little cabin. But you had spent much longer than that reviewing his victims, studying his patterns, and getting yourself into his mindset as best you could. 

He has confirmed your suspicions that he moved on after the summer to hunt somewhere else. But where else? Where he lives in Texas? Another off-the-grid cabin? It could be anywhere. It doesn’t matter. You’ll figure it out. 

The phone you’ve been threatening him to dial 9-1-1 with is actually his phone. You'd used his fingerprint to gain access while he was out cold and then changed the passcode to something that only you know. You can gather a lot of information on him from his cellphone. That will help and he doesn’t even yet realize you have it. 

You already have an upper hand on his little proposition. You’re already outsmarting him.

You press your lips to his one last time and stick the syringe’s small needle into his neck, pressing the plunger halfway down. With open eyes kissing him you see his eyes go wide and then shut. His entire body goes limp under yours, including his lips. His plush lips. You feel his heart still beating strong under your hand so you take the time to indulge, holding his head up and stealing a few more kisses before you have to start cleaning up.

*****

Joel wakes a while later, how long he’s not sure, but the room he’s in looks very different. The van is gone, as is the folding table covered in trophies and photos of his victims, as are you. In fact, very few things remain in the room. 

His clothes are folded in a stack on the floor in front of him. Next to them are his wallet and truck keys. Finally, there is a folded note stuck to his leg. It’s pinned to him with your five inch pocket knife having been driven into his thigh.

The restraints around his wrists have been cut so that he can reach forward to take the knife out of his leg. When he does, the note drifts to the floor a few feet away. He ignores the searing pain and blood now streaming from the wound on his leg and manages to work himself free of the rest of the ropes. 

He moves to stand up out of the chair and immediately his legs give out, collapsing him unceremoniously onto the floor. He is free of the chair for the first time in - judging by the physical state of him - what has probably been half a day. With shaky hands he reaches out and picks up the paper where it had fallen, unfolding it.

In pretty, looping handwriting it reads: ‘Catch ya later!   xoxo’ 

*****

READ THE NEXT PART HERE (THE CHASE - PART 1)