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sippy--sippy · 2 days ago

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wedding date (miya atsumu x reader) - summary: you meet atsumu at your friend's wedding and steamy shenanigans ensue CW: smut, car sex word count: 9,774 A/N: if you know me in real life do not read this oh my goooooooood i can't have people knowing i write smut. ya’ll this is almost 10k words LOL this holds the record for the longest one-shot i’ve ever written. this idea came to me because i went to like 5 weddings last year and none of them were my own so i'm getting desperate. enjoyyyyy! !! MINORS DNI !! also, reader is written as AFAB and wears a dress

One would think you’d be more excited to see the cumulation of hours and hours of hard work come to a head once your best friend’s wedding came around. Working closely with the bride-to-be (Kumi) and the maid of honor (her sister), it took months to plan your best friend’s perfect fairytale wedding. Tiring, grueling nights of research, long phone calls, nonrefundable deposits and arguing had finally paid off.

Kumi had found the most beautiful countryside venue for her ceremony. The venue was surrounded by lush forest, spattered with cherry blossom trees that were thankfully in bloom at this time in April, giving the area an ethereal feeling. Rows of white chairs lined the grass, an aisle nestled between the rows that was dusted with white rose petals and cherry blossoms, leading to an elaborate archway decorated with drapes of tulle, ribbons and flowers.

Wedding guests were already in their seats, talking reverently amongst themselves as they awaited the wedding processional, soft romantic music filling the background. You couldn't have asked for better weather either. It was a sunny, clear skied day and since it was April, it wasn’t stiflingly hot.

So why weren’t you giddy with happiness?

Because you were nervous.

You wanted this to be the most perfect day for your friend, one that she’ll cherish forever. What if something went horribly wrong? What if someone in the procession tripped? What if the caterers for the luncheon give everyone food poisoning? What if someone breaks their ankle on the dancefloor?

A million possibilities ran through your mind of what could possibly go wrong during the next couple hours but the procession was actually the part you were most worried about. Usually, there would be some sort of practice rehearsal the day before to make sure everyone knew what order to walk out in, how to timely do so, and to make sure everyone knew where to stand. Unfortunately, a rehearsal wasn’t done due to half of the procession still traveling from Tokyo the day before and not making it into town until late that night so no one was able to practice.

Behind a remodeled rustic barn that served as the inside portion of the venue and out of sight from all the guests, everyone was scrambling to get in the proper order to walk out. The officiant was going to walk out first so he could take his spot under the archway. Next in line was the groom who, besides the utter chaos around him, looked as cool as a cucumber.

Due to living a pretty large distance away from each other, you didn’t have the chance to get to know Kumi’s boyfriend, fiance and now almost-husband very well. From what you have learned though, was that Kita Shinsuke was the calmest, sweetest and most brutally honest person you had ever had the chance of meeting. While you were almost scared to talk to him at times, you could see how your friend had fallen head over heels for him. He was so gentle and soft spoken, especially to her. She was going to have the most peaceful life with him.

He looked very sharp with his tailored light grey 3-piece suit and his dainty baby pink bowtie. His hair wasn’t styled much different than what it usually looked like. If anything it looked just the slightest bit wind-swept with the small breeze that blew through the air. How he managed to look so nonchalant at a pivotal moment of his life like this, you had no clue.

Following him was Kita’s grandma and Kumi’s mother who were going to walk down the aisle together, both dressed in cream dresses. At the tail end of the party, Kita’s little nephew and Kumi’s niece acted as the ring bearer and flower girl. Behind them, hidden from Kita’s view just inside the barn, Kumi was waiting to emerge with her older brother who was going to walk her down the aisle, as her father had passed away years ago.

Sandwiched right in the middle of the party were the groomsmen and bridesmaids which is where the real issue lay. Since no one was able to practice the procession, none of you knew who you were supposed to be walking down the aisle with and it didn’t help that Kita had asked practically his entire high school volleyball team to be his groomsmen. Luckily, your friend had picked just as many bridesmaids so there were even numbers but there were 10 different couples. 20 bridesmaids and groomsmen in total. Which was absolute lunacy in your personal opinion.

The maid of honor was whisper-shouting the names of each couple that were supposed to walk down the aisle together. She was paired with Kita’s best man, a tall dark-skinned man named Aran Ojiro. As she went down the list, each bridesmaid and groomsman scrambled to find each other and get in the procession line. She called a couple names before she finally called yours.

“(L/n) (Y/n) and Miya Atsumu.”

You were briefly surprised when she called your partner’s name because she had already called another Miya to partner up with a different bridesmaid. He was tall and handsome, dark brown hair swooped to the right, looking casual but put together at the same time. Were the two related? You didn’t have to think for long as a warm body sidled up to you.

Definitely twins, was your first thought. They looked eerily similar, especially since they were wearing the same outfit. All of the groomsmen wore a white button down shirt with a light gray suit vest and slacks, all tied together with a baby pink tie. This twin however, had blonde hair that was styled to gently swoop to the left and he seemed to be slightly broader than his brother.

Extremely handsome, nonetheless. Almost unnervingly so.

He looked down at you with a casual smile and flashed a perfect set of pearly white teeth. “Are you (L/n) (Y/n)?”

You suddenly felt very self conscious about the way you looked. How were you supposed to walk down the aisle on the arm of a man that looked like- well- that? The pink dress you wore to match all of the other bridesmaids felt too hot and restricted. You were suddenly worried you were going to sweat through your dress. Did your hair look alright? Was your makeup smeared?

Realizing you had just been staring at him, all you managed to squeak out was a pathetic “Yes”.

He probably noticed your raging blush underneath the heavy layer of makeup covering your cheeks but he didn’t say anything about it, instead choosing to lead you over to the procession line to stand behind his twin and the bridesmaid he was linking arms with.

Atsumu held out his ridiculously strong looking arm to you and you hesitantly looped your hand into the crook of his elbow. You could feel the bulge of his bicep beneath his shirt and you felt yourself getting woozy. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the sudden temperature spike, how painstakingly gorgeous the man who stood next to you was, the nerves or a combination of all of it.

You didn’t realize that you were shaking until Atsumu dipped his head down to look at you in concern. “Are y’ alright? Yer tremblin’.”

He had the same Kansai accent that Kita had. You couldn’t deny that it fit him beautifully. You nodded and gave him a tight lipped smile. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just nervous I guess.”

Atsumu huffed in amusement and nudged your ribs with the elbow you held onto. “What for? Yer not the one gettin’ married.”

With the hand that wasn’t holding onto his elbow, the hand that held a small bouquet of pale pink and white flowers, you very delicately tapped his chest in retort. You couldn’t smack him as hard as you wanted to, in lieu of destroying the fragile bouquet. “I know that! I just- I don’t know. I want this to go as smoothly as possible. Kumi and Kita deserve the most perfect wedding and what if I trip over these stupid heels walking down the aisle or something.”

You shifted on your feet to prove your point, your heeled feet squishing into soft grass you stood on. Atsumu looked down to watch you squirm in place, then surprised you by lifting his free hand up to pat your hand that rested on his arm.

“I’ll catch you if y’ fall. Or fall with you, so yer not as embarrassed if yer really that worried ‘bout it. We can humiliate ourselves together..”

You looked up at him with a raised brow. He’d do that for you? You couldn’t deny it made your heart race that this attractive man that you’d met not two minutes ago would go to such lengths to calm your nerves, even if that meant embarrassing himself. You gave him a genuine smile this time, squeezing the soft muscle of his arm.

“Thank you for the offer, that’s very sweet of you. Let’s just both agree to not fall for the next 20 minutes and save our humiliating moves for the dancing later tonight.”

Atsumu smiled at that idea and straightened up. “Save me a dance?”

Butterflies exploded in your stomach and suddenly you weren’t so worried about the ceremony anymore, instead looking forward to the night to come. “Absolutely.”

A venue employee motioned for the start of the processional to begin and the officiator made his way out from behind the barn to start down the aisle, followed a handful of slow seconds later by Kita who’d take his place next to him. Kita’s grandma and Kumi’s mom followed after and then next were the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Atsumu and yourself were 6th in line so it took a while before it was your turn. Once Atsumu’s twin made his way out, a couple of seconds passed before the two of you started your walk.

Instead of keeping his free hand down by his side like all the groomsmen before you had, Atsumu kept his free hand resting over yours that sat nestled in his arm. You realized he was doing it to help keep you steady if you needed it. If your legs weren’t wobbly before, they certainly were now.

The slow walk down the aisle felt ages long but probably took about 30 seconds tops. It was terrifying having all the attendees watching you walk down the aisle but you kept your cool and kept a soft smile on your face. You couldn’t see it, but Atsumu was cheesing the whole time. He loved weddings, especially when he got to walk down the aisle with a pretty bridesmaid.

Once the both of you reached the end of the aisle, Atsumu gently let go of your hand and you hesitantly let go of his arm to join the line of bridesmaids. You couldn’t help but look at him before you parted. Everyone was focused on the couples behind you anyway so no one was paying attention to you two at the moment. Atsumu gave you a sly smile and a wink before turning to take his place in the line, not before giving a nod to Kita who gave him a rare gentle smile.

The rest of the ceremony went swimmingly. Kumi looked so beautiful walking down the aisle with her brother. The ever stoic Kita had tears in his eyes the second she came into view, and his voice even wobbled as they exchanged vows. You were embarrassed to admit that half the time the officiator was talking, you weren’t watching the happy couple, instead focusing on the line of groomsmen behind Kita.

Atsumu had a sort of magnetism to him you couldn’t deny. He seemed to be having the same problem as you because you made eye contact on multiple occasions and his smile broadened each time. The ceremony flew by and Kita and Kumi officially became husband and wife with a sweet kiss, prompting cheers from all the attendees.

The newlyweds made their way back up the aisle, smiling and holding hands while being showered in white flower petals. The bridesmaids and groomsmen then linked back up with their assigned partners to follow them once they were through. While most linked arms again, Atsumu surprised you by interlocking your fingers and tugging you down the aisle with him in giddy happiness. His energy was contagious and you were laughing right along with him through the white petals.

Once the exciting energy of the ceremony wound down, it was time for pictures which took an awful long time. There were a large variety of shots. Large family pictures, pictures of just parents/grandparents, Kumi and all the bridesmaids, the groomsmen tossing a rather hesitant Kita into the air, etc. There was only one picture where you were placed next to Atsumu (to your disappointment) but when he put his hand on the small of your back while everyone smiled at the camera, you decided you wouldn’t complain.

The luncheon followed next, which you helped oversee to make sure everything was running smoothly. By the time it was time to actually sit down and eat, all the circular tables towards the front of the room where the other bridesmaids and groomsmen were sitting by the head table had been filled from what you could see. You were about to find an extra seat at one of the emptier far tables but before you could, Atsumu waved you over to his table where a seat next to him was being saved. You thanked him profusely and sat down just as Kumi’s sister gave her maid of honor speech, followed by Kumi and Kita giving their own speeches. You couldn’t help but tear up as they spoke, their adoration for each other very apparent.

While they spoke, caterers brought plates of food around to the tables. The main course consisted of salmon smoked to perfection with a side of rice straight from the family farm Kita owned and operated. Along with a couple other sides, cups of sake were passed around to those who wanted it.

It wasn’t until the tail end of Kita’s speech when you noticed Atsumu had draped his arm over the back of your chair. Your bare shoulders could feel the heat of him through his white shirt.

Once speeches had wrapped up, everyone dug into their food and started casual conversation. Most of the people around the table were groomsmen, and you quickly learned all about their high school volleyball days and learned that almost all of them, including Atsumu to your absolute pleasure, still played professionally. Atsumu’s twin, Osamu you learned, was happy to tell you all about it.

“‘Tsumu’s both the most popular and most hated volleyball player in all of Japan. He’s talented, sure, but his PR skills are absolute garbage. This scrub gets cancelled on Twitter at least once a month. You’d think with as big of a head as he’s got, he’d have a bigger brain and NOT get into a fight with some 12 year old kid who said Kageyama’s a better setter than ‘Tsumu will ever be.”

Everyone at the table laughed, yourself included. Atsumu growled and tried to punch Osamu, who ducked out of the way. They scuffled for a little bit as you got to know the other people at the table. Aran and Suna were fun to talk to, both of them professional volleyball players as well. Aran was one of the strongest players in Japan which you were very interested in learning about, and Suna had the most social media followers of any professional volleyball player in the whole world.

They asked a lot of questions about you too, which got Atsumu’s attention enough to finally stop fighting Osamu. You told them about your career in Tokyo and the simple life you were leading. Nothing compared to theirs, you assured them, which they disagreed with you on.

The rest of the luncheon was filled with pleasant conversation and laughter. Before you knew it, the caterers came around to clear the tables and it was announced that there would be a break until the reception started so the guests could go do as they pleased. There were still a couple hours until the reception and none of you knew the location well enough to leave the venue to explore so everyone stayed and lounged around.

You got up and took some time to make sure everything was in order for the dance portion of the reception and songs were queued in the right order. The cake was your next target, making sure it was ready for the cutting. After checking a couple other odds and ends, you made your way back to the table where the conversation had fizzled out. A couple of the men were on their phones, Osamu seemed to be sleeping with his head on the table, and Atsumu was just looking around the venue at all the lights and decor. When you slid back into your chair, he smiled and straightened up, angling his body towards yours.

He led you into a conversation about your life, and you asked questions about him, very interested in his blossoming career as a national league setter. As you spoke, you didn’t notice his arm moving beneath the tablecloth until you felt his fingers brush your thigh. Your dress was on the longer side, so he wasn’t able to reach any skin but that didn’t stop him from flattening out his large palm over the fabric. Your words caught in your mouth as you looked at him in surprise. His head was propped up on his other hand, and he didn’t look the least bit guilty as his pointer finger started to twirl in lazy circles.

His hand wasn’t unwelcome, you realized very quickly, and you enjoyed the feel of his warm fingers running over your thigh. The tablecloth covered your legs and his hand so you didn’t worry about people seeing, but it was still risky. You were thankful for your longer dress because if he had any access to more of your legs, you were sure he’d be exploring and you doubted you’d be able to keep any noises or reactions you made very discreet.

His hand stayed on your thigh for a quite while and you didn’t realize how much time had passed until you looked at the clock. The reception was set to start in half an hour and you needed to make sure the caterer’s were getting the refreshments in order.

Grabbing Atsumu’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, you deposited it into his own lap and excused yourself. You stood up and wandered back into the kitchen to talk to the manager of the catering business, talking lightheartedly with him and praising him and his team on his work. The refreshments looked amazing, a blend of sweet and savory dishes spread across trays to bring out once the reception guests started to arrive. Thanking them for all their hard work, you left the kitchen but you didn’t get very far because someone grabbed your arm and yanked you behind a stack of crates and refrigerated boxes brought by the caterers. It was secluded from sight, but you wouldn’t be hard to spot if one of the workers came looking for a stack of extra cups.

Atsumu smiled down at you as you stared at him in surprise. In his hands was a plate stacked with pastries from the kitchen. Your mouth watered at the sight, but you couldn’t help but scold him first.

“How did you get those? We’re not supposed to eat these until the reception starts,” you whispered. Even so, you grabbed one and stuck half of it in your mouth anyway, almost moaning at how good it was.

Atsumu quietly laughed and ate one of his own. “I grabbed some while you were distractin’ the workers. I haven’t had sugar all day so I grabbed a couple. I figured they won’t notice a couple missin’. Thought you’d want a taste too.”

As he finished his sentence, he held your stare as he licked a dash of the cloudy frosting off his thumb. He knew what he was doing, making sure to take his time as his tongue flattened over the tip of his finger to get every drop. God yes, you wanted a taste.

Gulping, you shoved the rest of the pastry in your mouth in haste, trying to push the sinful thoughts aside. This was not the place, nor the time (as much as you wished it was). Dusting your fingers of crumbs, you licked your teeth to make sure there wasn’t any pastry residue stuck there. Atsumu gazed at you the whole time, hands gripping the plate, staring at your mouth.

“W-We should… get back to our table-”

Atsumu’s restraint snapped it seemed, surging forward to pull you into a fierce kiss. He dropped the plate of pastries on to the nearest box and used his now free hand to cradle the back of your neck. You were surprised, but melted into the kiss shortly after. A little fun wouldn’t hurt, right?

You draped your arms over his neck as he guided you back to rest against a stack of boxes. The hand that didn’t hold your neck slid down your side and hooked underneath your thigh, pulling it up to hook around his leg as high as your dress would offer. His hand kneaded the flesh behind your knee as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue making an appearance to swipe across your lips, probably gathering up a trail of powdered sugar left there from the pastry.

You were on cloud 9, eyes fluttering as you happily let his tongue dance with yours. Atsumu let out a soft grunt as one of your hands slid into his hair, grasping at the blonde strands. As much as you wanted this to continue, in the back of your mind you knew you couldn't go further than this. Hoards of people were due to start showing up any minute for the reception, and you’d be found for sure.

Relishing in a couple more pushes of his lips against yours, you pressed your hands to his cheeks and pulled his face away. He slowly opened his eyes to look at you in hazy, lust-filled confusion, a hum of question rising from his throat as you squished his cheeks together.

“We can’t do this here. Someone’s gonna catch us and we need to get ready for the reception.” As you spoke, you stared at his lips, both because you wanted to kiss him again and because the dark lip tint covering your lips was smeared across his mouth.

Laughing lightly, you ran your thumb over his lips, picking up the color as you went. His eyes softened at your laugh and he stood still as you worked, hand dropping your leg so he could instead rest his hands on your hips.

“Are ya sure? We can make it quick, I promise. I’ll be real quiet, baby,” he whispered.

You shook your head and pushed his chest so he’d back up. He holds tightly to your sides as you adjust your dress back down your legs and fan your face to try to make your flaming blush go away. Atsumu hesitantly let you go as you started to herd him out from behind the boxes as nonchalantly as possible, holding the plate of pastries in one hand.

New guests were starting to show up and join the greeting line to say congratulations to the happy couple, leaving piles of gifts at the front entrance. Atsumu had a pep in his step as the two of you neared your table, pulling out your chair for you which you embarrassingly thanked him for, shrinking under the curious gaze of everyone else. Osamu was particularly curious, raising a brow as Atsumu plopped into his chair with a sly grin. You busied yourself with watching the sea of people, smiling as they praised Kita and Kumi on their wedding and gorgeous reception.

Atsumu and yourself ease back into the table’s conversation to wait for the greeting line to disperse. Atsumu’s hand found its way to your thigh again, this time brushing higher than it did before. You nearly jumped out of your seat when he forced his digits against the strain of your dress to drag over the crotch of your panties. You snatched his hand away as discreetly as you could, choosing to interlock your fingers with his instead, holding his hand in your lap. Atsumu seemed fine with this change and relaxed against his chair to tune back into Aran’s story of how he met his new girlfriend.

By the time it was announced that it was time for the cake cutting, you were nearly asleep in your chair. It had been a long, eventful day and you were starting to feel the effects of it. Your eyes opened from their drooped state when Atsumu stood and pulled you up with him to gather around where the newlyweds were about to cut into their cake.

Smacking your cheeks to clear your head, you let him lead you to the crowd of people surrounding Kumi and Kita. Osamu clocked your intertwined hands immediately but didn’t say anything. Atsumu let you stand in front of him so you could peek through the bodies to watch, the heat of him grazing your spine as you watched the couple try their cake and laughed as Kumi smashed a bite into Kita’s surprised face.

Once the cake had been wheeled away, it was time for the dancing. Everyone stood around the dance floor as Kumi danced with her brother, which brought a tear to your eye, and gentle Kita danced with his grandma which really made you cry. Then, Kita and Kumi danced together. They held each other close as they slowly danced, whispering to one another. It was a sweet moment, and you watched them with adoration, unaware of the gentle gaze Atsumu had on you, not the couple.

As they finished their song, anyone who wanted could go out to join them for another slow song. You twisted your fingers together and watched a large handful of couples head to the dancefloor. A shock of electricity ran down your spine when a warm hand fully rested on your lower back and Atsumu pushed you forward. You had no time to decline, as he had already pulled you in front of the crowd so you’d look pathetic if you backed out now.

Gulping nervously, you shyly looked at him as he took your left hand into his right, bringing his other to rest on your lower back to tug you flush against him. Your free hand moved to rest hesitantly on the back of his shoulder when he started to sway to the soft music. You buried your face into the warm expanse of his chest to hide your blush and he brought his head down to rest against the side of yours.

“Yer shakin’ again, beautiful,” he murmured into your ear.

Squeezing the hand that held yours, you murmured back a quiet “fuck you” which made his chest rumble with a low laugh. You didn’t say anything the rest of the dance, slowly relaxing into his hold which he noticed, pulling you impossibly closer. The end of the song came too soon and people started rushing the dance floor when a much more upbeat song came on.

Before you had the chance to look at him, Atsumu was dragging you into the bouncing crowd, the beginnings of a mosh pit bubbling. You were swept into another dance with him, this one much more full of life. Deciding to just let go, you gave into his advances, swaying your hips and laughing loudly as the bass of the song shuddered through you. Atsumu laughed too, bouncing on his feet to the beat. The rest of your table came to dance around you, some more energetic than others, but there nonetheless.

The more songs that played, the looser everyone got. Even Kita was getting into it. Osamu found one of the bridesmaids to dance with, a little liquid courage from multiple cups of sake flowing through him. Aran wouldn’t dance with any other ladies, as he did have a girlfriend, but that didn’t stop him from dancing with Suna who was surprisingly fluid as he danced. Atsumu focused all of his attention on you, save for the one time Suna started throwing it back, also a little drunk. Everyone’s attention was caught by that.

Besides that though, Atsumu kept close to you and got closer and closer as you danced. At one point, you helped him loosen his tie and threw it around his neck. Since everyone else was too preoccupied with dancing, and no one was going to even notice you doing it anyway, you pressed your ass against Atsumu’s slacks, hips moving in time with his to the beat. His breath was hot against your neck, large palms keeping your waist warm as you brought a hand up to scrape your nails over his dark undercut.

You could feel his excitement start to tent his light grey slacks against your backside. Looking up at him with hooded eyes, you both had a silent but simple conversation.

You needed him and he needed you. Atsumu wasn’t ashamed to admit that if you kept grinding on him like that, he’d take you right here on the dance floor.

Showing some restraint and taking your hand tightly in his, Atsumu tugged you out of the sea of dancing bodies, an excited determination in his walk. As much as you wanted this to happen, there was only one problem.

“Atsumu, where are you planning on taking us? There’s nowhere private we can go in this building.”

He halted in his steps as he took in your words, realizing that you were right. There weren’t many rooms in this barn, save for the kitchen which was packed with caterers, the bathroom which had a constant flow of people trickling through, and the occasional storage closet which were too close to the reception to be able to sneak into without being easily spotted.

Drumming his fingers on his thigh, he looked around the venue in a desperate attempt to find some sort of secret alcove or something. Just when you thought that maybe it wasn’t meant to be, Atsumu perked up and grinned.

“I’ve got an idea.” He started tugging you along again back to the table the two of you had been sitting at all night. Letting go of your hand, he started rummaging through the pockets of the light jacket he had brought along with him that had been abandoned over the back of his chair all day.

The muffled clacking of something in the jacket pocket gave away his idea as he pulled out a simple set of car keys. Flashing you a smile, which you eagerly returned, he snatched up your hand again to start walking out to the gravel parking lot that sat a couple hundred yards away from the venue. You tried to slow him down and make it less obvious to those around you what you were going to do but he seemed to be too excited to care.

The cool outside air was refreshing against your heated skin and the sky was gorgeous as the sun started to dip below the horizon. The parking lot was packed with cars, attendees constantly trickling in and out of the reception. Depending on where he was parked, the parking lot would be just as risky as using the bathroom inside. Luckily, he led you back to the far corner of the lot where a gorgeous white car sat. Your car knowledge was slim, so you didn’t know what type of car it was but you could tell it was expensive. It had very dark tinted windows as well, which was an extra bonus.

Atsumu had backed into his parking stall, a spot at the very end of the lot so no cars were parked behind him or on one side of him giving you both the perfect spot to hide away (unless the owner of the one car next to him showed up).

“Nice ride.” You joked as the both of you stopped by the driver’s side door. Atsumu chuckled as he fumbled his keys in his hands, trying to unlock the vehicle.

“Thanks! ‘Samu says I got an expensive car to compensate for my ‘tiny dick’, but we’re twins, so he knows that’s not true. We had one too many naked fights in the locker room durin’ our volleyball days, so I know I’m packin’ just as much as he is. Front or back seat, gorgeous?”

You giggled as he finally got his car unlocked and opened the door for you to peer inside. As nice of a car as it was, you doubted Atsumu would be very comfortable in the back seat given his size. It was a pretty slim car.

“Front. Wouldn’t want to squish you into the back seat.” You gave Atsumu a once over as he stood with an arm resting on the hood of the car. “Plus, I’d like to ride those thighs of yours.”

Atsumu had the goofiest smile. He looked like a kid in a candy store. “You’re readin’ my mind.”

You stood watch as Atsumu worked on getting his car ready, moving the driver's seat as far back as it could go and reclining it enough so it would be comfortable for him. He cracked open the two windows on the passenger side of the car, the side that faced the forest, so some fresh air would breeze through. Finally, he slid into the car and threw the keys into the passenger's seat. If you weren’t turned on already, the sight of him lounging in the seat, outfit rumpled from the dancing, tie slung around his neck and powerful legs spread just waiting for you to settle onto them would definitely do the trick.

Kicking off your heels, you left them sitting on the gravel outside the car and made one more cautious look around before you bunched up your dress to your knees so you could get into the car with more ease. Atsumu looked at you like you were the most gorgeous person on the planet as you moved to straddle his lap, dress hiking up a little more to rest around your thighs.

The second you closed the door behind you, Atsumu’s mouth was attacking yours, tongue instantly pushing past the seal of your lips to explore every inch of your mouth that he could reach. His large palms kneaded the flesh of your ass through the thin fabric of your dress, and you moved to frantically rake your fingers through his dark undercut. The flex of his powerful thighs underneath yours was driving you insane, cords of muscle dragging against your skin through his slacks. You were sure his slacks were a size or two too small, because you could feel every inch of him like he wasn’t even wearing pants.

After a couple of breathless minutes, the two of you finally separated, a string of spit keeping your mouths connected. Just like earlier, your dark lip tint was smeared over Atsumu’s lips again. When he went in for another kiss, you pulled your head back which prompted a whine from Atsumu as he tried to chase your lips.

“The makeup ‘Tsumu, remember? It’s gotta last for at least one more hour.”

Atsumu pouted and grumbled out a “fine” before focusing his attention on your neck. While he started attacking the soft skin just underneath your jaw, you started unbuttoning his vest and shirt. The more of his torso you exposed, the wetter you felt your panties get. He was gorgeously tanned and toned. Once you had unbuttoned all the buttons you could reach, besides the few that were tucked into his slacks, your hands started exploring his smooth skin. His shoulders were gorgeously sculpted, the dips of his collarbone deep. Your hands splayed over his chest, fingers brushing over his nipples which pebbled at your attention.

His chest heaved at your ministrations, groaning in pleasure. You felt him shift his hips up into you, member straining against his slacks as he dragged it against your clothed core. Tightening your legs around his thighs, Atsumu held your hips tightly against his as he ground against you, working your neck with his teeth. You keened as his bulge dragged over your sensitive clit, shuddering as Atsumu nibbled at your ear.

Tired of waiting, you reached beneath you to fumble with his belt, tossing it into the passenger seat with his keys once you’re able to pull it free. You make quick work of the button on his slacks, tugging down the zipper and pulling his pants and boxer briefs down just enough to bunch underneath his cock which stood at attention against his abdomen.

Osamu was definitely wrong when he assumed Atsumu got a fancy car to compensate for a tiny dick, because it was anything but tiny. He wasn’t outrageously long, but he was thick. Thick enough that just the thought of him dragging inside of you had your eyes rolling back.

WIth his cock now free, the friction between your panties and his member had Atsumu’s thighs quaking under you. He released one of his hands from the vice-grip it had on your hips to reach behind him and hold onto the head rest.

“Hng- Christ, baby.” His voice was deep and scratchy, breathless as you rubbed your core against the underside of his dick, squeezing it between your body and his stomach.

You mouthed at his throat which bobbed against your lips as he sat forward. Wrapping an arm around your back, he started digging through his center console. When he grunted in annoyance and leant forward even more to start shifting through his glove box, you nipped at his ear and huskily asked, “What’s wrong?”

Atsumu was pulling handfuls of objects out of the glove box and throwing them onto the floor in front of the passenger seat. “Shit- can’t find a condom.”

Dragging your tongue over the shell of his ear, you reached down and wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft. His cock twitched in your grip and his arm tightened around your back as he paused his searching.

“Are you clean?” you asked, slowly sliding your hand up over his velvety skin. All Atsumu could do was nod. “Then I don’t mind. I’m on birth control, but try to pull out if you can.”

Atsumu nodded again in agreement and leant back in his seat, watching with one of the most lustful gazes you had ever seen as you rose up on your knees to push your panties to the side, exposing your already drooling core to him. He gripped your thighs as you collected as much spit as you could in your mouth to spit onto your palm. Rubbing the liquid over his length as well as all of the pre-cum he’d already leaked, you gave him a couple pumps for good measure.

He tilted his head back to rest against the head-rest with a guttural groan as you positioned yourself over him, teasing his tip through your folds. With one hand guiding his length and the other gripping the shoulder of the seat, you sank slowly onto him. Both of you moaned in unison as he filled you surprisingly easily considering the lack of proper lubrication and the sheer size of him.

You stopped with him half-way seated, gazing adoringly at his rosy cheeks and mussed hair. He looked back at you just as fondly. With a preparatory breath, you braced yourself on the seat and started to set a slow pace. Every thrust brought him a centimeter further into you as you adjusted to the stretch of him. He held your thighs in his hands, letting you take control for the time being and enjoying the view.

It took a minute of work before you were able to fully sheath him inside yourself. You threw your head back and gasped when you did, the stretch of him hurting so deliciously. It didn’t help that the hard teeth on the zipper of his slacks rubbed against your sensitive folds and the button would occasionally brush over your clit.

Atsumu was barely holding it together. Your core hugged him so tightly, warmly pulsing around his cock in such a way that he probably could’ve come right then and there. Something about you just fit him perfectly in a way no other partner of his ever had.

Once you felt like you had adequately adjusted, your pace quickened. Bouncing up and down on him, he enjoyed the view of your covered breasts bouncing in sync. He leant forward to suck on the small sliver of breast that was visible above the neckline of your dress. You whined and scratched your nails over the back of his neck.

After a couple minutes of this, he couldn’t take it anymore. Gripping your hips tightly, Atsumu took control and started bouncing you on him himself, hips thrusting up to meet you. The new angle had you seeing stars and you didn’t care about your makeup anymore, smashing your lips to his in a kiss that was messy and wet.

Every force of your hips into his had your clit rubbing against the hard metal of his slacks and the brush of pubic hair at the base of his cock. It gave you the friction you needed to bring you closer and closer to the edge. Atsumu wasn’t faring much better - his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier and his hold on your hips getting less and less controlled.

You didn’t have much time to prepare before you came, yelling his name as you gripped his broad shoulders, your fluids covering Atsumu’s thrusting member. It seemed Atsumu didn’t have time to prepare either because he came suddenly with a groan and spilled his load into you, groaning your name.

Pumping yourself up and down a couple more times, this time much slower to ride you both down from your highs, you rested your forehead against his in utter bliss. Breath mingling, you slowed to a stop and sat there in silence, relishing in the stretch of him seated completely inside you, the warm feeling of his spend mingling with your own deep in your core.

After a minute, you pulled your head back to look at him. His face was flushed, eyes drooped in satisfaction and chest heaving from the exertion. The two of you started laughing in euphoria and Atsumu peppered kisses over your shoulder. You slid your fingers through his unkempt hair and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“That was really something, ‘Tsumu.” You hummed, giggling as he wrapped his arms tightly around you to hold you to his chest.

“Sure was. Sorry ‘bout not pulling out. I really was gonna try but you just do somethin’ to me I can’t explain. I didn’t expect to cum that fast.” His hands explored your back, fingers running lightly over the fabric.

“It’s alright. I’m not complaining.”

He pulled back to give you that handsome goofy grin again before kissing you sweetly. You gave him a chaste kiss before pulling away and looking down at the mess you made. Luckily, most of the mess was still trapped inside you thanks to him but if you weren’t careful, it’d get all over his slacks once he pulled out.

“How should we do this? You can’t go back in with a giant cum stain on your pants.”

He hummed in thought, looking around his car. He didn’t have any rags or towels handy, but he did have a load of napkins that he threw onto the floor when looking for a condom. Holding you closely to him, Atsumu reached over to scoop up as many napkins as he could reach. The shift of him had you both groaning at the overstimulation.

Gathering a handful of napkins, he held them under you as you slowly slid off of him, catching as much fluid as possible. You both hissed at the feeling of him leaving you. Thankfully, he was able to catch almost everything with the napkins, save for a few splatters that got on his expensive leather seats.

“Shit, sorry ‘Tsumu. I can help pay to have that cleaned.”

He shook his head immediately, cleaning himself off with the napkins and dropping them on the floor next to his seat. He worked on tucking his length back into his boxer briefs and slacks while you cleaned yourself as best you could, pulling your panties back into place and fixing your dress. Turning your head, you pulled down his sun visor and opened the mirror to get a better look at the state of your makeup.

It was mostly intact, save for your lip tint that was slightly smeared which was fixed with a little swipe of a napkin and your hair was easily tamed since Atsumu had avoided running his fingers through it. There were remnants of your lipstick covering your neck from where Atsumu had furiously attacked. Atsumu had his own stains on his neck from where you had been kissing him. You made eye contact with him through the mirror as he gazed at you with a smirk. You huffed in amusement and cleaned up your neck, then turned to clean up his.

He didn’t take his eyes off you as you did, watching you carefully wipe the smears off his skin. You wiped his mouth last, taking your time as you watched him part his lips for you. Once you were done, you dropped the napkin on the floor with the rest and sighed at him longingly. If only you had more time. You’d let this man do whatever he wanted to you. Unfortunately, you had a wedding reception to get back to.

“Well, thanks for the good time ‘Tsumu.”

He watched your face carefully and you noticed the ever so slight crease fold in his brow. “Yeah. O’course.”

The silence that followed was a bit awkward, so after a second, you moved to open the car door but he grabbed your hand before you could. “Wait.”

You turned back to him and raised a brow, deciding to busy yourself with buttoning up his shirt and vest. He suddenly seemed very shy, rubbing his fingers over the flesh of your waist in little circles. Finally he spoke.

“When are ya headed back to Tokyo?”

You stilled your fingers which were working on the last button of his shirt. “Tomorrow.”

He nodded and seemed to be deep in thought before drumming his fingers against you in nervousness. “I fly back tonight but… wouldya be interested in meetin’ up sometime? I don’t have much free time but I’ll find the time for ya.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest at the offer. “Like… a date?”

Atsumu’s cheeks turned a shade darker in the almost nearly setting sun as he grumbled, now looking at anything but you. “I mean, yeah? Unless you don’t want it to be, then it doesn’t have to be a date I guess. Could be a friendly hang out or somethin-”

You cut him off with a brief but strong peck. You didn’t want to risk getting more lipstick on him. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

He perked up and squeezed your sides. “Really?”

You giggled and nodded. “Yes! Of course I would, you big airhead.”

The next couple seconds consisted of him raining kisses all over any part of you he could reach with you laughing and trying to push him away, begging him not to ruin your makeup. After losing the battle and cleaning lipstick off of him again, you finished buttoning up his vest and pulling your dress into place before you left the car.

You slid your heels back onto your aching feet while Atsumu refastened his belt and gathered up all the used napkins, making a mild sound of disgust at the large amounts of viscous fluid covering most of them that was getting all over his hand. Once his car was locked up, you both walked hand-in-hand back to the reception where it seemed no one even noticed the two of you had left.

After tossing the napkins into the nearest trash can, the both of you went to the bathroom to clean up any remaining mess before returning to the crowds. Plopping down at your table, the two of you gulped down multiple cups of water and started digging into the refreshments. Atsumu had consumed at least 3 onigiri and 2 little bowls of miso soup on his own before Osamu plopped down next to him, looking weathered from the dancing.

“Where have you two been? I lost track of ya like half an hour ago.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and you focused on your bowl of miso soup, stirring the broth around with your spoon. Atsumu seemed to be much less embarrassed, chest puffing up in pride as he finished off his next onigiri. Osamu raised an eyebrow and studied the two of you before looking at Atsumu’s neck, where a very obvious hickey was starting to bloom and groaned in disgust.

“Jesus, y'all are nasty. Where the hell did ya find a place to jump each other’s bones around here, huh? Out on the grass? There are kids here.”

You covered your face in embarrassment as Atsumu angrily started defending the two of you. “O’course not, jackass! Do you really think so little of me? You really think I’d do that?”

Osamu instantly agreed that he would, in fact, probably do that. Atsumu grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shook him around. “No! We did it in my car, thank you very much. And it was amazing. Have you ever done it in a car before, ‘Samu? Doubt it! No chick will ever want to go down on you if you keep cruising around in that beater of yours!”

The twins really started getting at it now, yelling at each other and rolling around on the ground, trying to get the last punch in. You tried to avert your eyes and pretend you didn’t know them. Kita, bless his heart, came up to separate the two who instantly fell to their knees to apologize for making a scene at his wedding.

Atsumu came to you after, pouting about his brother and sporting a busted lip. You coddled him, helping clean the blood off his chin. Osamu gagged from his place at the table, now sitting next to you instead of Atsumu so they didn’t try to fight each other again.

The rest of the night went smoothly. The dancing finally wrapped up and the send off was magical. The newlyweds ran through the line of guests who held sparklers above their heads, making for a magical exit into the night as the couple set off for their honeymoon. You had to stop Atsumu from starting Osamu’s hair on fire with his sparkler shortly after, taking both men’s sticks from them to put in a water bucket.

All of Kita’s old volleyball friends stuck around to help clean up, helping put away the tables and chairs, and taking down the decorations. By the time it was over, you were wiped and ready to go back to your hotel room to sleep until noon.

As you were loading up the last of the boxes into the trunk of your car, you felt someone come up behind you and ghost their hands over your stomach, pressing a tender kiss on the back of your neck. You smiled as you closed the trunk, reaching a hand up to slide through Atsumu’s soft hair. He buried his face in your neck and the two of you stood there for a minute, savoring the warmth of each other in the brisk darkness.

“I wrote my number down on a napkin and put it in yer purse. Call me when y’ get back to Tokyo tomorrow, ‘kay? Wanna make sure y’ get back safe and sound.”

You smiled and turned to face him, running your fingers over the tie that still hung loosely around his neck. “I will. I’ll text you when I get back to my hotel so you have my number, and you text me when you make it back to Tokyo tonight too. Need to make sure my date makes it back in one piece.”

He smiled and nodded in agreement, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

A day you thought would be full of nerves and worry, had turned into one of the best nights of your life.

If you thought Kita and Kumi’s wedding was nerve wracking, it didn’t hold a candle to your OWN wedding.

Pressed close to Osamu’s side, you waited anxiously as the wedding procession in front of you started their walk down the aisle. Since you had no living male blood relative that you wanted to walk you down the aisle, your now almost brother-in-law was immediately your first choice. He was surprised, of course, but said yes in a heartbeat. Atsumu’s twin had easily weaseled his way into your heart soon after you started dating Atsumu, as rocky and embarrassing as your first night meeting him was.

He gave you a free meal every time you visited Onigiri Miya, and charged Atsumu full price to make up the difference. He gave you the most embarrassing pictures of Atsumu in his phone to use for blackmail. He was the ring-leader in making sure everything was perfect the night Atsumu proposed to you, keeping a crowd of people at bay to make sure you and Atsumu were alone when he dropped to one knee in the middle of a large gorgeous bridge at the popular tourist site, the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden. He got yelled at in many languages that day from the angry tourists who wanted to cross the bridge, but it was well worth it. Suna, who held off the swarm of people on the other side of the bridge, would agree.

Just like you had the day of Kumi and Kita’s wedding, you were trembling and clutched Osamu’s arm desperately. He looked down at you and smiled.

“You’re ok, (Y/n). Everything is going smoothly. All you have to do today is make it down that aisle to ‘Tsumu and enjoy yourself for the rest of the night. We’ll take care of everything.”

You looked up at him with a teary smile at his words. With no siblings of your own, your relationship with Osamu meant the world to you. Standing on your tip-toes, you softly kissed his cheek. “Thanks, ‘Samu.”

It was finally your turn to walk down the aisle. With a deep breath, Osamu slowly started to lead you into the room packed with family and friends. It was a gorgeous building. High steepled ceilings, white and burnt orange flowers scattered over every surface available. Since it was mid December, an outside wedding was impossible with the cold but you couldn’t have picked a more perfect place to get married in.

The actual place itself didn’t matter though, as much as the man who waited down the aisle did. Atsumu was dressed in a gorgeous black tux that was pressed to perfection with a sleek black tie to match. His hair was styled the same way it had the day you met him, brushed casually to the side. To your surprise, Atsumu was already crying.

Seeing you walk down the aisle in your beautiful dress, on the arm of his life-long best friend broke him down immediately. You couldn’t help but tear up yourself as Osamu brought you to him. Osamu softly gave your trembling hand to Atsumu, kissed your temple, and gave Atsumu a crushing hug before taking his place at the front of the line of groomsmen. Speaking of groomsmen, you noticed many of them were also already crying.

Atsumu’s teammates were lined up next to him. Kita and Aran both had tears lining their eyes. Hinata and Bokuto, who you became fast friends with, were almost on the verge of full-on sobs. Suna wasn’t crying but had a smile on his face. Sakusa wasn’t crying either but didn’t seem as bored as he usually did.

“You look so beautiful.” Atsumu blubbered out in a whisper as he moved to take both of your hands. Your wet eyes sparkled as you took in every inch of him.

“So do you,” you teased, which made him laugh.

The rest of the ceremony both flew by and dragged on. You stumbled through your vows, trying to keep your tears at bay which proved mostly unsuccessful. Atsumu was in the same boat, barely able to make it through his own vows without choking up.

By the time Atsumu dipped you into a fierce kiss, you were sure your makeup was already ruined from your tears. Everyone cheered loudly in joy. Osamu was hooting and hollering. Hinata and Bokuto finally succumbed to their emotions, crying hysterically. You were breathless by the time Atsumu brought you back to your feet, steadying you with his hands as you smiled widely at the crowd.

Interlocking your fingers, Atsumu led you back down the aisle through the shower of white confetti just like he had the day you met him. In fact, your photographer captured the moment almost in the exact same way that Kumi and Kita’s photographer had. You loved the photos so much, they were hanging up side-by-side in your and Atsumu’s house.

In both pictures, the two of you were smiling more than you ever thought was possible, holding hands and looking at each other with such tenderness you could feel it through the photo. You didn’t really believe in love at first sight, but looking at the photos side-by-side, you realized the two of you had looked at each other that fateful day the same way you looked at each other on your wedding day.

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dreamersworldduh · 3 days ago

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Omg hiiii again,i don't know if you've watched Teen Wolf, but can you write of Stiles stilinski. Instead of Stiles liking Lydia since third grade, he's like the male reader instead, and he's finally wanted to make a move on male reader so he tries to show off at lacrosse practice but it failed and he continues until he finally confess to male reader. If it could get a little sexual at the end it would be soo appreciated 🙏🙏. Your works are still sooo good, and I loved my request you did. Thank you so much 🙏🙏🙏

CLUMSY CONFESSIONS

• STILES STILINSKI x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Stiles Stilinski has spent years secretly in love with his best friend but never found the courage to confess. However, after an intense lacrosse practice where he pushed himself to impress you—only to end up in the hospital—he began to realize he couldn't keep his feelings bottled up any longer.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.

WORDS! 6.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Here we are with the sarcastic, witty and dashing, Stiles Stilinski. There’s a easter egg in there from one of my favorite movies—if you catch (you are awesome). This was fun to write—honestly there might be a part 2, but anyway I hope you enjoy ✨

Nine years, six months, and two days. That's exactly how long Stiles Stilinski has been in love with you—not that he's been counting or anything. Not that he lies awake at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling, replaying every moment, every touch, every stolen glance between you. Not that he marks the time in the way your laughter has changed over the years, from the high-pitched giggles of childhood to the softer, more knowing chuckles of adolescence.

It all started in third grade, in Mrs. Carter's classroom, where you plopped down beside him without hesitation, your pencil poised over wide-ruled paper, the scent of bubblegum lingering in the air between you. You were the first person to truly see him—not just as the hyperactive kid with too many thoughts and too little filter, but as Stiles. You noticed things, like how he bit his lip when he was nervous or how he tapped his fingers against his desk in a pattern only he understood. You laughed at his jokes, even the really bad ones, and when he forgot his fruit snacks, you always—always—slid half of yours across the desk without a second thought.

At first, it was admiration, a simple fondness for the way you scrunched your nose when you concentrated, the way your hair caught the sunlight just right, the way you somehow made even the most ordinary moments feel special. But admiration turned into something deeper, something heavier, something that settled in his chest like an immovable weight. It was in the way his pulse stuttered when you linked your pinky with his during a scary movie, the way his stomach flipped when you ruffled his hair absentmindedly, the way he memorized the exact shade of your eyes even though he'd never had the courage to hold your gaze for too long.

Through the years, there have been countless moments—late-night talks where your voices dipped into whispers, study sessions where your knees knocked together beneath the table, inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand. But through it all, Stiles has never let himself say the words that burn at the back of his throat.

Because as much as he aches for you to look at him the way he looks at you, as much as he dreams of your fingers lingering just a second longer when they brush against his, he's terrified. Terrified that if he speaks the truth, if he lets the love that has woven itself into his very being spill from his lips, he'll lose you. And losing you? That would be the one thing he could never recover from.

The connection between you and Stiles is so natural, so effortless, that his friends can't begin to comprehend the idea of you ever walking away from him. To them, you and Stiles are an inevitability, a force of nature, like the tide meeting the shore—constant, unwavering, and undeniable. If anyone is blind to the reality of the situation, it's him. Because to everyone else, what you share isn't just friendship. It's something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore, woven into the very fabric of your interactions.

Scott has lost count of how many times he's watched the two of you exchange nothing more than a glance before dissolving into laughter, as if carrying on an entire conversation without a single word. It's almost eerie how in sync you are, how seamlessly you anticipate each other's thoughts and reactions. He's seen it happen mid-battle, mid-study session, mid-sentence—you don't even have to try. It just happens.

Lydia barely suppresses an eye roll every time Stiles insists, "We're just friends." Because to her—and to everyone else—there is no just about it. She's analyzed every interaction, every lingering look, every moment Stiles gets that dreamy, faraway expression when you aren't paying attention. She's seen the way his hand twitches, like he wants to reach for yours but doesn't, and the way his entire body relaxes the second you're beside him, like you're the one thing in the world that makes sense.

Even Malia, who isn't exactly known for her emotional awareness, has taken notice. More than once, she's tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the way Stiles instinctively moves toward you, how his body seems to orient itself in your direction even when you're across the room. Once, she even asked, completely deadpan, "Are you sure you're not mates?" Stiles choked on his drink, of course, but it didn't escape anyone's notice that he didn't actually deny it.

To them, it's not a matter of if you and Stiles will finally admit what's been obvious for years—it's a matter of when. Hell, half the pack already assumes you're together. And if they didn't know any better, they'd think you and Stiles were just keeping it a secret for the fun of it, stringing everyone along in some kind of elaborate inside joke. Because a connection like yours? It doesn't go unnoticed. It doesn't just exist without meaning something.

While your friends—and most of the pack—were convinced that you and Stiles were already a couple, the rest of the student body had their own interpretations. Sure, some people noticed how often the two of you were together, how your steps naturally fell in sync, how Stiles' entire demeanor shifted the second you entered a room. They saw the way he leaned in when you spoke, like every word that left your lips was something precious. But others? They didn't pick up on the unspoken language between you, the lingering glances that stretched just a beat too long, the way Stiles seemed to breathe easier when you were near.

No, they only saw what wasn't there—no hand-holding between classes, no kisses stolen by lockers, no official title to confirm what everyone else assumed. And because of that, they came to one simple conclusion: You were single.

Technically, they weren't wrong. But Stiles sure as hell didn't see it that way.

He stood beside his locker, fingers curled tightly around the strap of his backpack, jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfolding just a few feet away. One of his fellow lacrosse teammates—Jake something, because honestly, Stiles couldn't be bothered to remember—was leaning far too close to you, his forearm braced against your locker like some kind of wannabe heartthrob in a bad teen movie.

Stiles knew that posture. That smirk. That tone. He'd seen it a hundred times before, heard the fake charm laced in every word. And right now, every muscle in his body screamed that Jake wasn't just making conversation—he was flirting.

And worse? You were smiling. Not the dazzling, full-wattage grin that Stiles had practically built his entire emotional stability around, but a small, amused curve of your lips. A polite, entertained smile. But still, a smile.

Stiles' stomach twisted in frustration.

With an exasperated sigh, he turned to Scott and Isaac, his eyes darting back to you every few seconds, like he couldn't quite tear himself away. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, voice low and clipped. "He's not even funny. Or interesting. Or good at lacrosse, for that matter."

Scott, ever the reasonable one, placed a steadying hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Relax, man. If anything was really happening, you'd know. You two have a connection. Just talk to him."

But Isaac? Isaac had no intention of easing his suffering. With his usual smug grin, he leaned lazily against the lockers, arms crossed. "Look, I hate to break it to you, Stilinski, but your boy over there?" He nodded toward Jake, who was still talking to you, still way too close. "He's one of the hottest guys in school. Aside from me, obviously."

Stiles scowled as Isaac flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve, completely unfazed by the death glare he was receiving.

"It's only a matter of time before someone snatches him up," Isaac added, his smirk widening.

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Wow. Super helpful, Isaac. Really appreciate it."

Scott shot Isaac a look, but the damage was already done. Because as much as Stiles wanted to brush it off, those words lodged themselves into his brain like a splinter. What if someone else got to you first?

That single thought sent a jolt of determination straight through him.

No. Not happening.

If there was ever a time for Stiles Stilinski to stop hesitating, to quit hiding behind fear and excuses, it was now. Because if he didn't make a move soon, someone else would. And there was no way in hell he was about to let that happen.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, spilling gold and amber hues across the lacrosse field, you settled onto the bleachers, the cool metal beneath you warmed by the lingering heat of the day. The air was thick with the sounds of practice—the rhythmic thud of lacrosse balls meeting sticks, the sharp calls of the coach barking orders, the occasional grunt of exertion as the team wove through their drills. Your eyes, however, were locked onto one player in particular.

Stiles Stilinski.

Despite his usual chaotic, slightly uncoordinated energy, there was something different about him tonight. He was focused. Determined. Almost... competitive?

From across the field, he spotted you, and it was like a switch flipped inside him. His face lit up instantly, a grin stretching from ear to ear. With one hand gripping his lacrosse stick, he lifted the other in an enthusiastic wave—so enthusiastic that he nearly lost his grip on his stick in the process. You chuckled, returning the gesture with a playful wiggle of your fingers, amusement dancing in your eyes.

Unfortunately, your little moment didn't go unnoticed.

"Trying to impress someone, Stilinski?"

The voice came from beside Stiles—Jake Matthews, one of the more arrogant players on the team. The same Jake who had been leaning against your locker earlier that day, trying to charm his way into your good graces. His tone was casual, laced with teasing, but there was an unmistakable challenge woven beneath it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced between Stiles and you.

Stiles' grin vanished instantly, replaced by a scowl as he turned to face Jake. Oh, this guy again.

"I don't need to try," Stiles shot back, tightening his grip on his stick. "Some of us have natural charm. You wouldn't understand."

Jake scoffed, twirling his lacrosse stick with an easy confidence. "Right. We'll see about that."

And just like that, the game was on.

What should have been a standard practice turned into something else entirely—an all-out competition. Every drill, every pass, every shot suddenly became a battleground. Jake, fueled by his own arrogance, made a show of his skill, dodging past defenders with ease and landing shots with near-perfect precision. But Stiles—fueled by sheer stubbornness and the undeniable need to win—was playing with an intensity no one had ever seen before.

He ran harder, passed sharper, and somehow—somehow—even managed to score a few impressive goals. The kind that made both Scott and Isaac stop mid-conversation and exchange stunned glances.

"When did that happen?" Isaac muttered, arms crossed as he watched Stiles maneuver around a defender with surprising finesse.

Scott shook his head, equally baffled. "I have no idea. But I think we just found his greatest motivation."

It wasn't just effort. It wasn't just determination.

Stiles was playing for you.

And honestly? It was kind of working.

Until it wasn't.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the overwhelming urge to one-up Jake. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that he could still see you sitting on the bleachers, eyes trained on him, an almost amused little smile playing on your lips.

Whatever the reason, Stiles got cocky.

Going for what was supposed to be his grand finale, he sprinted across the field, angling himself for an epic shot—one that, in his head, would be flawless, the kind of goal that would leave you thoroughly impressed. But instead of landing his cinematic moment of triumph, disaster struck.

His foot caught in the turf.

Time seemed to slow as he realized—far too late—that there was no saving himself from what was about to happen.

With a graceless flail and a yelp of pure panic, Stiles went down. Hard. His lacrosse stick tumbled from his grip, skidding across the grass, and a collective wince rippled through the field as he landed in a heap, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the air.

A second later, a low groan escaped his lips.

Scott was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees. "Stiles, you okay?"

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, mentally assessing the damage before attempting to sit up. "Yeah, yeah—I'm fine," he grumbled, only to immediately suck in a sharp breath and clutch his ankle. "Okay, nope. Not fine. Definitely not fine."

Isaac, standing over him with a smirk, tilted his head. "Hate to say it, Stilinski, but I think your charm just backfired."

Despite the pain radiating from his ankle, Stiles still found the strength to glare up at him. "Wow. So helpful, Isaac. Truly."

Scott sighed, already prepared to help him off the field, but Stiles barely registered it. Because even as his pride (and his ankle) throbbed in agony, his gaze flickered toward the bleachers—toward you.

Your expression was a mix of amusement and concern, but the fact that you were concerned at all sent a different kind of ache through Stiles' chest—one that had nothing to do with the fall.

Because twisted ankle or not, humiliating wipeout or not, one thing was crystal clear.

He wasn't going to stop fighting for your attention.

Not now. Not ever.

The hospital room at Beacon Hills Memorial was as sterile and dimly lit as ever, the harsh fluorescent lights casting a clinical glow over the walls. The scent of antiseptic and freshly laundered sheets filled the air, but none of that mattered to you. Your arms were crossed as you stood beside Scott, watching Melissa McCall—Beacon Hills' most capable nurse and, more importantly, Scott's ever-reliable mother—wrap Stiles' ankle with practiced efficiency.

Her movements were swift yet careful, the kind of precision that only came from years of experience. She worked as she spoke, her voice both professional and motherly, a perfect blend of authority and care.

"You're lucky," she said, securing the bandage with a firm but gentle touch. "It's just a minor sprain. Stay off it for a few days, maybe use some crutches if it starts hurting too much. And—" she shot Stiles a knowing look before he could so much as open his mouth, "no attempting to run around on it like an idiot."

But Stiles wasn't listening.

His focus wasn't on Melissa. It wasn't even on his ankle.

It was on you.

Scott, ever perceptive, noticed immediately. He caught the way Stiles was staring—completely unaware that he was doing it, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that would've been impossible to miss if you'd only turned your head.

Scott sighed. Here we go.

With an exaggerated stretch, he clapped his hands together and glanced at his mother. "Hey, Mom, why don't we go check on the nurse's station?" His tone was casual, too casual. "Y'know, in case they need you for anything?"

Melissa blinked, confused. "Scott, I work here. If they need me, they'll—"

"Great, let's go." Scott didn't give her a chance to finish, already ushering her toward the door with the determination of someone trying to prevent an impending disaster.

Melissa shot him an unimpressed look as he all but shoved her into the hallway. "Subtle," she muttered before the door swung shut behind them, leaving you and Stiles alone in the quiet hum of the hospital room.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The distant beeping of machines filled the silence, along with the faint murmur of nurses and doctors just beyond the door. Stiles shifted slightly on the bed, drumming his fingers against the railing, the metal clinking softly under his touch.

Then, finally, he cleared his throat and attempted a casual smile—his signature smile, the one that had always been a little awkward but undeniably charming.

"So," he started, dragging the word out, his voice just a little higher than usual. "You, uh... you saw that, huh? The game. The practice. Me. Doing well for once."

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Yeah. That was... a first."

Stiles pressed a hand to his chest, scandalized. "Wow. Wow. So little faith in me. I'm wounded. Emotionally and physically."

You grinned, shaking your head. "I'm just saying, I've never seen you play like that before. I mean, you were actually keeping up with everyone."

Stiles scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "Okay, that's fair."

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, the tension in the room easing just enough for Stiles to relax against the pillows.

But then, curiosity flickered in your expression as you leaned against the hospital bed's railing. "So... what was that all about, anyway?" You lifted an eyebrow. "I mean, I've seen you play before, but never like that. You were on fire."

Stiles opened his mouth, prepared to toss out some half-hearted excuse—something about adrenaline, maybe sheer dumb luck. But before his brain could catch up, the truth just slipped out.

"Well, yeah. It was because of you."

The second the words left his mouth, his brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, mouth snapping shut like he wanted to reel them back in, as if he could somehow undo what he had just confessed.

You blinked.

Stiles panicked.

"Uh—I mean, not like because of you, you," he rambled, his hands flailing as he scrambled for damage control. "But, like, inspired by you. Or, uh, motivated? Encouraged?" His voice pitched higher with each word, his hands now waving in frantic gestures. "Not that I'm saying you specifically motivate me, but—well, actually, no, that is what I'm saying, but not in a creepy way, just in a totally normal and cool way—"

"Stiles."

He froze.

You had your arms crossed now, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. "So what you're saying is... you were trying to impress me?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken tension.

Stiles let out a strangled, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted anywhere but at you. "Pfft, no! Of course not! ...Maybe."

A slow smirk spread across your face.

Stiles groaned, immediately flopping back onto the hospital bed with a dramatic sigh, one arm thrown over his face like he couldn't bear to see your reaction.

"Kill me now."

Your laughter rang through the small hospital room, light and effortless, cutting through Stiles' dramatic groan as he buried his face in his hands. His fingers gripped his hair in frustration, as if sheer force could undo the last sixty seconds of his life.

Rolling your eyes, you reached forward, fingers wrapping around his wrists, and gently tugged them away from his face. Stiles resisted for about half a second before relenting, his hands falling limply to his sides, revealing a face that was, without a doubt, very pink.

His expression was a perfect storm of embarrassment and something else—something softer, something hesitant, something that made your stomach flip if you let yourself think about it too hard.

"Come on, don't be so dramatic," you teased, keeping your hold on his wrists as you leaned in slightly. "It was kinda cute, actually."

Stiles blinked. "Cute?" His voice cracked on the word, high-pitched and unfiltered, and the moment he realized it, he immediately cleared his throat, forcing a more neutral expression—one that utterly failed to hide the way his ears had gone red.

You only grinned, giving his hands one last tug to pull him forward.

And that's when it happened.

You had moved without thinking, stepping closer in the process, and suddenly, you were standing between his legs. His knees bracketed your body, the warmth of him radiating through the thin fabric of his hospital shorts.

Stiles definitely noticed.

His breath hitched. His brain stalled. His hands, which had instinctively found their way to your waist to steady himself, froze.

And no matter how hard he tried, he could not not think about the fact that you were right there—closer than you'd ever been, close enough that he could count the flecks of color in your eyes, close enough that if he tilted his head even slightly, your lips would be—

Nope. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there.

Stiles tried to focus on anything else—the distant beeping of machines, the muffled voices of nurses in the hallway, literally any other thought that wouldn't make him combust in real time. But you weren't making it easy. Not with your hands still loosely gripping his wrists, not with your body so close, not with that teasing smile that made his heart do things it had no business doing.

His fingers twitched against your waist before he quickly ripped them away, gripping the edge of the hospital bed instead like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Meanwhile, you seemed completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown happening in Stiles' head. Instead, you just tilted your head, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"You good?" you asked, watching the way his entire body had gone rigid.

Stiles let out a noise that was supposed to be a casual laugh but came out more like a strangled wheeze.

"Yeah! Yep. Totally fine. Just, uh..." He forced a lopsided grin—one that was more nervous wreck than charming rogue. "Just... sitting here. With a sprained ankle. And my very attractive best friend standing way too close and—"

His mouth snapped shut.

His eyes widened.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over your chest. "What was that?"

Stiles slapped a hand over his face so fast it was almost comical. "Nothing. Didn't say anything. Please disregard."

But you just smirked.

Leaning in ever so slightly, you lowered your voice just enough to make Stiles' stomach flip.

"Stiles," you murmured, tilting your head. "Are you nervous?"

Stiles groaned, flopping back against the pillow like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "I hate you."

You just laughed again, and despite his sheer, complete mortification, Stiles was pretty sure that sound alone could heal his ankle faster than any of Melissa McCall's medical expertise.

You then reached forward and nudged his shoulder—not hard, just enough to jolt him out of his spiraling self-destruction. His head lifted slightly, his brown eyes meeting yours again, still wide from his earlier slip-up. You could see the wheels turning, his brain scrambling at full speed, desperately trying to figure out how to recover, how to backtrack, how to un-say the words that had already left his mouth.

But before he could even attempt an escape, you smirked.

"You know," you said casually, tilting your head, "for someone who thinks I'm attractive, you don't seem to realize you are too."

Stiles blinked.

His lips parted slightly, like his entire operating system had just crashed, his brain throwing up an error message in real time. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—his face flickering between shock, confusion, and sheer disbelief, as if he had just misheard you. As if he needed a full system reboot before he could process those words properly.

"I—wait—what?"

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. "I'm serious, Stiles. You're really attractive." You shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just figured someone should tell you, since you clearly don't hear it enough."

Stiles made a noise.

A noise.

Something between a strangled laugh and a dying animal, his face turning an impressive shade of pink. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers fidgeting like he suddenly had no idea what to do with them. He sat up a little straighter—well, tried to—but in doing so, he only ended up shifting closer, his knee brushing against the side of your leg.

And that was when he realized—again—just how close you were.

Oh, God.

His brain was overheating.

Before he could spiral any further, you leaned in.

His breath hitched.

The world tilted.

Your voice softened, something warm and undeniably real threading through it. "And... I'm really proud of you, you know." Your eyes searched his, the words landing in the space between you like something solid, something true. "You played amazing out there."

Stiles swallowed hard.

He wasn't sure which part was making his heart race faster—the fact that you were still standing between his legs, the way your voice sounded so genuine, or the fact that—

Oh.

You were leaning in even closer.

His breath caught entirely when your lips pressed softly against his cheek, warm and lingering for just a second longer than necessary. The heat of the contact sent a shiver down his spine, burning through him, leaving a brand behind.

His entire body locked up.

Every single nerve in his system short-circuited.

By the time you pulled back, Stiles was frozen.

Mouth slightly open. Eyes impossibly wide. Heart definitely no longer beating at a survivable rhythm. If it were anyone else, you would've assumed he had stopped breathing altogether.

You tilted your head, amused. "You okay there, Stiles?"

Stiles slowly blinked.

Then, with absolutely zero control over his own reactions, he squeaked—an actual, audible squeak—before aggressively clearing his throat and scrambling to collect himself.

"Y-Yeah! Yep! Totally fine!" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and he winced. "Just—just processing. You know. Uh. Normal stuff. Normal processing."

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly. "Glad to hear it."

Stiles, meanwhile, was pretty sure he was never going to recover.

For the rest of the week, Stiles could not stop smiling.

It was actually getting ridiculous.

Every time he so much as thought about that moment in the hospital—the soft press of your lips against his cheek, the warmth of your voice when you told him he was attractive, the way you had stood so close, right between his legs like it was the most natural thing in the world—his face would break out into a stupid, lovesick grin that he couldn't wipe off no matter how hard he tried.

Scott had definitely noticed.

So had Lydia. And Isaac. And literally everyone who interacted with him for more than ten seconds.

"Okay, what is wrong with you?" Lydia had asked at lunch, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as she watched him stare off into space with the goofiest smile she'd ever seen. "You look like a golden retriever that just got praised for doing a trick."

Scott, already knowing exactly what was going on, just smirked and shook his head. "It's about you know who."

Isaac, biting into an apple, tilted his head. "Ah," he said, nodding in understanding. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome. Classic case."

Stiles snapped out of his daze immediately, scowling. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome is not a thing."

Isaac took another bite. "It is now."

But as much as Stiles tried to brush it off, he knew they weren't wrong. Because no matter how many times he replayed it in his head, he kept circling back to the same conclusion:

He had to tell you how he felt.

He couldn't keep pretending it wasn't there, couldn't keep shoving his feelings down just because he was scared of what might happen. You liked him—maybe not in the exact way he liked you (yet), but you had to like him at least a little, right? No one just casually calls their best friend attractive and kisses them on the cheek like that unless there's something there.

Right?

Oh, God. What if he was reading this all wrong?

What if it was casual for you? What if you just saw him as a best friend, nothing more?

What if he confessed and completely ruined everything?

Stiles groaned, dragging his hands down his face as he sat slumped over his desk at home, staring blankly at his notes for a history test he definitely wasn't studying for.

But then his mind wandered back to the way you had looked at him in that hospital room, the way you had smiled right before kissing him, the way you had stayed by his side, even when you didn't have to.

And that's when he decided—screw it.

He needed to tell you. Because the way his heart had been feeling lately? He wasn't sure it could handle keeping this to himself any longer.

Stiles knew he had to find the right moment to tell you how he felt—really tell you. Not in a half-mumbled, nervous slip-up. Not in an awkward, flustered compliment that he immediately tried to backtrack. No, this had to be something big, something meaningful.

That moment didn't come right away.

In fact, it didn't come until the championship lacrosse game.

Beacon Hills was up against one of the toughest teams in the league—the Cyclones—and to say it was an intense game would be an understatement. The air was thick with tension, the crowd was electric, and every player on the field was running on pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

The game had been brutal—fast breaks, bone-rattling defense, near-impossible shots that somehow found the net. By the final quarter, Beacon Hills was up by just one point. One more goal, and they'd win the championship. But if they missed? If the Cyclones countered?

They'd be going home humiliated.

The pressure was insane.

Scott, Isaac, and Stiles stood tense on the field, eyes locked on the opposing team as they strategized their next move. Sweat dripped down Stiles' temple, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears.

And then—because the universe was a cruel, cruel place—the ball ended up in his stick.

Everything stopped.

For a split second, it felt like the entire world had gone silent.

The pounding of footsteps, the roaring of the crowd, the whistles and frantic calls from the sidelines—all of it faded into a distant hum as Stiles stared at the lacrosse ball nestled securely in his net.

He swallowed hard.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no.

This was bad.

If he made this shot, he'd be a hero.

But if he missed?

If he missed...?

He would never hear the end of it. Not from his teammates. Not from the school. Not from literally anyone who had ever met him.

Stiles tightened his grip on the stick, fingers clammy, his pulse wild. He could do this. He just had to—

And then, in the midst of the chaos, he heard it.

"You got this, Stiles!"

Your voice.

It cut through everything, ringing loud and clear from the stands.

Without even thinking, Stiles turned his head toward the bleachers, his nerves momentarily forgotten.

And there you were.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, eyes locked on him, wearing a smile so bright, so damn confident, that his stomach flipped. Both of your thumbs were raised in encouragement, your expression screaming, C'mon, Stilinski, don't overthink it. Just take the shot.

For a second, the rest of the crowd seemed to fade, as if everyone else had noticed exactly who he was looking at. A ripple of murmurs passed through the stands, eyes shifting toward you, wondering why you of all people had chosen that exact moment to cheer.

But Stiles?

Stiles didn't care.

Because suddenly, the nerves? Gone.

The weight of the game? Didn't matter.

Because you believed in him.

Time seemed to slow down the moment Stiles swung his lacrosse stick, sending the ball flying through the air.

The crowd held its breath.

Everything—the pounding of his heart, the shouts from the sidelines, the sound of cleats scraping against the turf—faded into a distant hum as the ball spun in a perfect arc. It cut through the air, passing by outstretched sticks of the opposing players who leapt desperately in an attempt to intercept it. But Stiles had aimed it just right—just high enough to avoid their reach.

The goalie's eyes widened. He reacted a second too late, diving forward, his gloved hand stretching toward the ball in a last-ditch effort to swat it away.

For a fraction of a second, it looked like he might block it.

But then—

Swish.

The ball slammed into the net with a resounding thwack.

Silence.

For half a second, no one moved. No one breathed. Even Stiles, still frozen in his follow-through stance, wasn't sure if he had actually seen it happen or if his brain was playing some kind of cruel trick on him.

Then—

The referee's whistle pierced the air.

And just like that, the silence shattered.

The stands erupted. The entire Beacon Hills crowd exploded into cheers, a deafening roar of excitement and disbelief as people jumped to their feet, screaming in celebration.

Stiles barely had time to process it before Scott tackled him from behind, practically lifting him off the ground. Isaac was right behind him, ruffling his hair and shouting something about how he actually pulled it off. Other teammates swarmed in, clapping him on the back, shaking him by the shoulders, shouting in his face like they couldn't believe it either.

But none of that mattered.

None of it even registered.

Because the only thing Stiles saw, the only thing that mattered, was you.

Still standing in the bleachers, still grinning from ear to ear, eyes locked on him like he was the only person on the field.

And that's when he knew.

This was the moment.

The deafening roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the rush of adrenaline pounding through Stiles' veins. His breath came fast, chest heaving, but he barely registered it. The celebration erupted around him—teammates shouting, hands slapping against his back, coaches cheering his name—but none of it mattered.

Stiles didn't think. He just moved.

He shoved past his teammates, dodging high-fives, ignoring the victorious yells, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted toward the bleachers. The crowd was a blur around him, faceless and unimportant, their voices lost to the singular, relentless thought hammering in his skull: Get to you. Get to you. Get to you.

His cleats scraped against the turf as he vaulted over the barrier, weaving through the surge of students rushing onto the field. He hardly noticed the way some clapped him on the shoulder, how a few shouted his name in triumph.

Because you were all that mattered.

The second he reached the bottom of the bleachers, your gaze locked onto his, and in that instant, every hesitation, every excuse, every fear that had kept him silent over the years vanished.

Not anymore.

Stiles took the steps two at a time, pushing through the ache in his muscles, his pulse hammering harder with each step. His entire body was electric, wired with something more powerful than adrenaline, more overwhelming than victory.

And then, finally, he was standing right in front of you.

Your lips parted, a breathless laugh escaping as you opened your mouth to congratulate him—but you never got the chance.

Because Stiles didn't wait.

His hand lifted instinctively, cupping your cheek, his fingers feather-light despite the wild energy thrumming between you both. His thumb brushed gently against your skin, his touch softer than it had any right to be considering the way his heart was slamming against his ribs.

His eyes searched yours for just a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see everything he had been too afraid to say, too scared to show.

And then, finally—finally—he closed the distance.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss raw, desperate, full of everything— every moment of hesitation, every ounce of longing that had been bottled up for years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you in, molding your body against his as he melted into you, as if this was the only place he was ever meant to be.

The roar of the crowd, the championship, the entire world disappeared.

There was only this.

Only you and him.

And the only thought running through Stiles' head as he kissed you was:

Finally.

Suddenly, something cool and unexpected landed on his cheek. It was subtle at first—just a single drop of water sliding down his skin. He barely registered it, too caught up in you, until another followed. And then another.

He pulled back slightly, his breath mingling with yours as his eyes fluttered open.

And that's when he felt it.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall from the sky.

You both tilted your heads upward, watching as the dark night sky gave way to a soft, steady drizzle. The stadium lights caught the droplets as they descended, making them shimmer like falling stars.

But there was no rush for cover, no panicked scramble from the crowd.

No—if anything, the rain only seemed to heighten the energy. The cheers still echoed across the field, players and students alike embracing the moment, their victorious shouts mixing with the sound of raindrops hitting metal bleachers and dampening the turf.

Stiles, however, wasn't paying attention to any of it.

Because as the rain soaked into his jersey, cooling his flushed skin, his gaze drifted back to you.

You were still watching the sky, droplets catching in your hair, sliding down the curve of your cheek. And then, as if sensing his eyes on you, you turned to face him again.

And you smiled.

A small, soft, knowing smile—one that made his breath hitch all over again.

"Congratulations," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the chaos around you.

Stiles' heart stumbled, his chest tightening in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect.

He returned the smile, unable to help the way his fingers instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you closer.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you again.

This time, it was slower—less frantic than the first, but just as intense. Rain mixed between your lips, the coolness of it contrasting with the warmth of the moment. His hands tightened their hold on you, as if anchoring himself to this, to you, to the undeniable certainty that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

And as the crowd cheered, as the rain continued to fall around you, as everything else faded into the background, Stiles realized something—

Winning the game had been incredible.

But this?

This was the real victory.

As the rain continued to fall around you, soaking into your clothes and sending a pleasant chill down your spine, you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Stiles' gaze again. His brown eyes were still wide with disbelief, flickering with excitement and something deeper—something that sent a thrill through you.

You leaned in close, your lips barely brushing against his ear as you whispered, "We should get out of here."

Stiles pulled back, blinking at you in surprise before a teasing grin spread across his face. "What? You scared of a little rain?" he teased, shaking his wet hair dramatically, sending tiny droplets flying everywhere. "C'mon, I thought you were tougher than that."

You rolled your eyes, stepping even closer, your hands trailing up his damp jersey until they rested on his chest. You could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch, the steady rhythm growing faster the longer you lingered.

"That's not why we should leave," you murmured, your voice taking on a tone just sultry enough to make Stiles freeze.

His cocky expression faltered slightly. "Oh?"

You smirked, tilting your head as you leaned in, your lips barely grazing the shell of his ear. "I just think... a champion deserves to be properly celebrated," you whispered, letting your voice drip with suggestion.

The effect was instantaneous.

Stiles practically short-circuited.

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening against your waist as he processed what you just said. His face went through a series of rapid changes—shock, realization, then a dawning understanding that sent heat rushing to his face.

"Oh," he managed to breathe out, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, watching with amusement as his brain visibly scrambled to catch up.

Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Stiles grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as he stepped back. "Right. Yes. Leaving. Immediately. Great idea. Fantastic idea."

You chuckled, allowing him to pull you along, both of you ducking through the rain as the cheers from the crowd faded into the background.

Because this night?

It wasn't over yet.

#x male reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x male reader #dylan o'brien #dylan o’brien x male reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x male reader #gay

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avonsdrabbles · 16 hours ago

Text

I got Pride and Prejudice, voted that I've heard of it but haven't read it. But this feels like a perfect before bed ramble:

Was assigned and have read:

The Yellow Wallpaper (College) -- Hated, made me incredibly dissociative, especially when I had to read more about Split Personality Disorders

The Story of an Hour (College) -- Man, college was depressing.

Their Eyes Were Watching God (College) -- See above

The Monkey's Paw (College/High School) -- See above

Flowers for Algernon (High School/Middle) -- SEE ABOVE BUT THIS ONE ESPECIALLY

The Tell-Tale Heart (College/Middle/High School) -- Loved it

The Masque of the Red Death (College) -- Loved it

The Cask of Amontillado (College) -- Loved it

The Handmaid's Tale (College) -- Loathed it, burn it

The Crucible (High School) -- Meh

Brave New World (College) -- NICE A+ GOOD SHIT

A Midsummer Night's Dream (High School) -- I love Shakespeare

Esperanza Rising (Middle School) -- BURN IT

The Kite Runner (High School... x3 =_=) -- BURN IT HARDER

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (College) -- Meh

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (College) -- Meh???

Macbeth (College) -- Not bad!!! Love me Shakespeare

Hamlet (College) -- Also love Shakespeare

Romeo and Juliet (College) -- Loved it more teaching it, but still, loved

Was assigned and somewhat read:

1984 -- Boooooooooorrrriiiiiiinnnnnggggg

Frankenstein -- TBH Ran out of time, but wasn't bad

Read on my own:

The Hunger Games -- Pretty solid, disliked the further books but should reread it now

There Will Come Soft Rains -- RAY BRADBURY MY MAN

Where The Red Fern Grows -- Genuinely a really good novel

The Lottery -- OOOHOHOHO

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe -- Meh

A Christmas Carol (might've been assigned in MS but I read it long before then) -- TASTY CRUNCHY SHIT. EAT IT

The Hobbit -- I barely remember it

The Giver -- I just taught this like 2 months ago

Heard of but never read/gave up on:

To Kill a Mockingbird

Catcher in the Rye

The Picture of Dorian Gray

Fahrenheit 451

Jane Eyre

Wuthering Heights

Little Women

The Little Prince

The Great Gatsby -- Only read it because it was our theme for prom. Gave up quickly

Pride and Prejudice

The Metamorphosis

The Bell Jar

The Gift of the Maji

Heart of Darkness

Uncle Tom's Cabin

The Most Dangerous Game

Othello

Slaughterhouse Five

Ender's Game

The Old Man and the Sea

Catch-22

Crime and Punishment

Dracula

The Secret Garden

Watership Down

Speak

Invisible Man

Sense and Sensibility

The Color Purple

Beloved

The Importance of Being Earnest

A Tale of Two Cities

Island of the Blue Dolphins -- I wanna read it but I get dissociative when I pick it up

Death of a Salesman

Oedipus Rex

Number the Stars

The Scarlet Letter

The Road

Holes -- Ran out of time, was reading it to give a kid an alternative curriculum because his parents didn't want him to read about poverty. (Yeah. I.... yeah I didn't bother explaining)

Tuck Everlasting

A Wrinkle in Time

The Book Thief -- My mom tried to force me to read it, so I have... issues with this book.

Night

Charlotte's Web

Great Expectations

Oliver Twist

The Grapes of Wrath

Of Mice and Men -- Started to glance at it during student teaching, but no time to read it fully.

The Outsiders

The Lord of the Flies

The Alchemist

Animal Farm

Never heard of:

To The Lighthouse

Sweat

Woman Hollering Creek

Eleven

Araby

Carmilla

Heroes

Parable of the Sower

Kindred

Antigone

Seedfolks

The View from Saturday

Anthem

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

I have no idea (amnesia is a bitch):

The Storm (sounds like something my professor would've assigned me in my Feminist Writing class)

The Ones Who Walk Away From Orm..... (Can't read the full title but never heard of it I think)

Hills Like White Elephants (I... remember sitting down and reading this, but glancing at it, I have no memory of it beyond them drinking)

We Have Always Lived in the Ca... (Can't read this one either, but don't think I've seen that title)

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs.... (Can't read)

I've created a list of 100 commonly-assigned texts (at least in the USA), based both on my own experience and what I've heard from friends. I included a mixture of stuff assigned in middle school, high school, and college. Spin the wheel here and answer:

Bonus: tell us what you thought in the tags!

Use your discretion for texts you started but didn't finish for whether you count it as "read" or not.

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sycamorelibrary754 · 3 days ago

Text

Hearts on the Run

Summary: You and Natasha are on the run in Norway, unaware that Valentine’s Day is upon you. Natasha goes out of her way to make it special.

Word Count: 942

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A/N: A day late, but I wanted to write a little something for Natasha. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Holiday Series: Home is Anywhere You Are Masterlist

You sat on the worn couch in the small, nondescript safe house, flipping through a battered copy of a magazine. The words blurred together on the page as your mind wandered back to the events that had led you here.

It had been months since the airport battle in Leipzig. Months since Steve had gone rogue, you'd found yourself at odds with the organization you'd sworn to protect.

You had both made difficult decisions and were now paying the price. You chose to stand by Steve, convinced that the Sokovia Accords posed a grave danger to the Avengers' freedom. Natasha, on the other hand, aligned with Tony. Having witnessed the chaos of unchecked power firsthand—the horrors of the Red Room and the sinister machinations of HYDRA—she couldn't bear the thought of history repeating itself.

Yet, when the moment arrived, her loyalty to Steve prevailed, and she aided him and Bucky in their escape. After being captured by Ross and making a break for freedom, Natasha arrived in the serene yet rugged wilderness of Norway, where fate had a surprise in store for her—she found you, a beacon of hope amid the chaos she had fled. Both of you on the run and united by a shared sense of purpose.

Nat walked into the room, her eyes scanning the space before coming to rest on you. "Hey," she said, her voice low and smooth. "Find anything interesting?"

You shook your head, setting the magazine aside. "Just the usual. Politics, scandals...nothing that will help us get out of this mess.”

Natasha nodded sympathetically. "I know. It feels like we're stuck in limbo, doesn't it?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just wish we could go back to how things were before. You know, when our biggest worry was some alien invasion or Hydra scientist."

Natasha smiled wryly. "I miss those days too. But we can't change the past. We have to focus on the present."

You looked up at her, feeling a surge of gratitude. Natasha had been a rock for you throughout this ordeal, using her vast resources and network of contacts to keep you one step ahead of the authorities.

You felt a flutter in your chest as you gazed into her eyes. It was a feeling you'd grown accustomed to over the past few months, but one that still caught you off guard.

Natasha seemed to sense your gaze, and her expression softened. "Hey," she said, walking over to sit beside you on the couch. "It's Valentine's Day."

You raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't noticed."

Natasha smiled. "I figured as much. But I thought we could...celebrate, anyway."

You felt a spark of curiosity. "Celebrate?"

Natasha nodded. "Yeah. I mean, we're stuck in this safe house, but that doesn't mean we can't make the most of it. I was thinking we could...have a nice dinner, watch a movie...something like that."

You smiled, feeling a sense of excitement. "That sounds amazing."

Natasha grinned, standing up. "Great. I'll go start dinner."

As she walked into the kitchen, you couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder. Despite everything that had happened, despite being on the run and in hiding, Natasha had still managed to make this Valentine's Day special.

You got up and walked over to the window, looking out at the drab, suburban landscape. It wasn't the most romantic setting, but with Natasha by your side, you felt like you could face anything.

As you stood there, lost in thought, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned to see Natasha standing behind you with a small smile.

"Hey," she said, her voice low and husky. "Dinner's ready."

You smiled, feeling a sense of anticipation. "Great. I'm starving."

Natasha chuckled, leading you to the small table in the corner of the room. The spread before you was impressive - steak, roasted vegetables, and even a small chocolate cake for dessert.

You sat down, feeling grateful. "Natasha, this is amazing. You didn't have to go to so much trouble."

Natasha smiled, sitting down across from you. "I wanted to. Not every day we get to celebrate Valentine's Day in style."

You laughed, picking up your fork. "I guess not."

As you ate, you couldn't help but feel a sense of joy. Despite everything that had happened, despite being on the run and in hiding, you felt like you'd found a sense of peace with Natasha.

After dinner, you sat down on the couch, watching as Natasha put in a DVD. The movie was an old romantic comedy you'd seen before but never grew tired of.

As you watched, you felt Natasha's hand brush against yours. It was a fleeting touch, but it sent a spark of electricity through your body.

You looked over at her, seeing the faintest glimmer of a smile on her face. You smiled back, feeling a sense of connection.

As the movie ended, Natasha got up and walked to the window. You followed her, standing beside her as you looked at the night sky.

"It's beautiful," Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, feeling a sense of agreement. "It is."

You looked up, meeting Natasha's eyes. For moment, you just stared at each other, the tension between you palpable.

Then Natasha smiled a slow, sultry smile. "Happy Valentine's Day," she said, her voice low and husky.

You smiled back, feeling your heart skip a beat. "Happy Valentine's Day," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

As you stood there, the air thick with tension, you knew that this Valentine's Day, on the run and in hiding, would be one you'd never forget.

#natahsa romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff and you #natasha x you #black widow #valentines day #mcu

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softpascalito · 1 day ago

Text

Vow Renewal I Renaldo x Matt (SNL Sketch)

Summary: Just when things seem to finally be calming down in Matt's marriage, someone from his past shows up at the Vow Renewal. And Renaldo has always been Matt's favorite temptation.

Pairing: Renaldo x Matt (SNL Sketch) Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 2.6k Tags: Explicit, Smut, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty-Talk, An*l Sex, MLM, (Light) Spanking, Cheating (ish), Crackfic, Never thought I'd write smut about an SNL sketch but who is surprised

AO3 LINK // Masterlist

notes: i have no defense, i saw the sketch, i opened my laptop and a wrote this. have fun ♡

Vow Renewal

It’s been a rocky road. But it didn’t start out that way. When Matt met Kelsey in College, their relationship was picture perfect. A few glances and smiles exchanged from their respective seats in the lecture hall, an invitation to grab coffee on a friday. Matt brought flowers and paid for the drinks with a few crumpled up dollar notes and asked questions that he hoped made him sound smart and well educated.

They must have, because three months later, for Christmas, he met Kelsey’s family for the first time, sweating too much at the dinner table as he tried to be on his best behavior. But despite the nerves, all was going well. He popped the question two years later. She said yes.

Then came Domingo. And it all went to shit.

Matt was surprised they had even gone through with the marriage but with Kelsey promising again and again that she was over Domingo and that she only had eyes for Matthew, things settled down. Still, they decided on a vow renewal less than a year later. A sign of good faith. For both of them, though that detail was unknown to Kelsey.

He uses his hand to smooth down his hair, trying not to mess up the product that is already holding it in place. The venue they have booked is small but pretty and even though they are already married, seeing the white and pink decorations is making Matthew feel like his tie is too tight, cutting off his air supply. “I’ll be outside for a moment,” he mutters to one of his groomsmen. They barely take notice of his departure, too busy going over some sheets of paper that are sure to be another embarrassing, self-written song. Like anything good ever comes out of those.

The February air that greets him outside is cold and he shivers in his suit, letting the door fall shut behind him. The balcony stretches along the back of the house, overlooking a forest behind it. It probably makes a nice addition to the venue in the summer, when the weather allows it. But today, it is empty.

He smells him before he sees him. Matt doesn't smoke, unless he counts the two times he tried it in college. He doesn't know shit about cigarettes. But he'd recognize the scent of American Spirits mixed with him anywhere.

The sounds of Renaldo's footsteps echo around the terrasse as he comes closer, like a wolf stalking its prey. “I was waiting for you.”

“Renaldo.” Matt is surprised to hear that his voice comes out shaking. “I didn't know you were here.” He’s not sure why he sounds so hostile. Renaldo hasn't done a thing to him. Except be the very thing he can't have.

“Any yet here I was, still waiting.” He has that fucking smirk on his face.

“How is Santiago?” Matt asks quietly, leaning back against the bannister because he wants to keep as much distance between them as possible and hoping that the topic of Renaldo’s hot brother will provide distraction. But it's like he's back on that golf course where they first met.

“Good. He's good.” Renaldo hums, taking another step towards him. “But that's not the question you really want to ask, is it?” It's like he's challenging him, brown eyes focused on his face, searching for the hint of emotion that will betray his desire and make him an open book. “It's been a very long time, hasn't it? A whole year.”

Matt can feel the man entering his space, his scent even more protruding now. “I told you it wasn't like that, Renaldo. I'm not like that.”

“I don’t remember you complaining,” he muses and fuck, Matt doesnt have it in himself to deny that. “In fact, I think you were doing quite the opposite.” Renaldo’s hand comes to rest on the banister beside his and he towers over him, his voice dropping to a whisper against his ear. “You were begging for it.”

His reaction is immediate. Matt lets out a soft noise that is somewhere between outrage and a moan and he feels his dress pants getting tighter, a shiver running over his body. He takes in Renaldo’s face for a few split seconds, the small goatee, the fine lines that serve as a visual reminder of their age difference and brown eyes filled with lust. Then, Matt pushes himself off the banister and right into Renaldo’s arms, his lips finding those of his illicit lover.

Renaldo’s tongue pushes against his mouth until he gives in and opens for him, their mouths catching his moans when the other man begins to explore his mouth, all restraint forgotten.

Matthew is panting when they break apart. “Not out here. Kelsey's parents are–” He takes a shuddering breath. “Everyone is here. Come on.”

He takes Renaldo’s hand, prompting the other man to follow him without hesitation. They squeeze through the door again, taking a left to get further away from the ceremony hall, when an idea pops into Matthew’s head. The room is small and windowless, almost too full with two chairs, a vanity and clothes rail. It's where he got ready with his best man half an hour earlier. Now, it has turned into the perfect hiding spot.

He doesn't even have a chance to lock the door behind them when Renaldo pushes him further into the room, pinning him against the nearest wall with an audible thud. Matt doesn't know the layout of the house, doesn't know if Kelsey is getting ready behind this very wall. But just the thought of it makes him whimper.

Renaldo’s hands are wandering down his body, his broad form trapping Matt in the most delicious way. He can feel his legs on either side of his right one, already feeling the hard cock pressing into his thigh. By the way his own pants are stretching, he can tell he's not far behind either. One hand finds Matt's back, the other trailing over his neck and somehow Renaldo still knows exactly where to touch him to draw those breathless little moans from his throat.

“You fuck her?” Renaldo grunts and it takes a moment for Matt to remember who he is talking about. His own voice comes out breathless.

“She’s my girlfriend–” He feels Renaldo press into him more at that. “No, she’s your fucking wife,” he growls. “But she was your fiancé last time and you still let me fuck you. So I assume that hasn't changed?”

“I’m not bi,” Matt chokes out, not because he believes it but simply because he's so used to saying it, even when he knows that Renaldo of all people does not give a damn what label he puts on his sex life.

“You want me to stop?” He grunts, searching Matt's eyes for a few seconds. Renaldo can watch as they soften and the younger man shakes his head.

“No,” he whispers and Renaldos smirk returns at that, tugging at the groom's belt.

“Then lose those fucking pants.”

He is eager to obey, fumbling with his belt with shaking hands and then practically ripping his pants down, not even bothering to step out of them properly. Just enough to allow Renaldo access. He hisses as the other man hooks his thumb into his briefs and pulls them down in one quick motion, his cock already hard and leaking. “Should’ve come earlier–” Matthew mutters and the next moment, Renaldo’s hand comes down onto his bare ass, grumbling an empty threat.

His large, callused hand stays there, kneading the flesh and it's like he remembers the exact motions still, both of them no doubt taken back to that night in Scottsdale. Renaldo slips his index finger inside and Matt immediately feels his muscles clench down on him. “Relax.” Renaldos voice is a bit softer now, low against his ear as he begins working his finger further inside, though with a bit of a struggle. The squeezes of his ass turn into soft caresses. “You got any lube on you?”

Matt shakes his head, already trying to mentally prepare himself for a more painful experience than he’d like. But to his surprise, Renaldo just nods and withdraws his finger. “Don't move. I'll be just a second.”

***

His steps through the hallway are hurried, partly because he doesn't want to leave Matt waiting and partly because he doesn't want to be caught sneaking around with a more than obvious boner in his pants. Renaldo nods to himself in relief when he finds the kitchen empty, the staff nowhere to be seen. He eyes the white two-tier cake with a small shake of his head, not paying it too much attention. Instead, he opens one cabinet after another until he finds what he’s looking for. “Bingo.”

He slips back into the dressing room with the bottle of olive oil and laughs as he watches Matt's eyes go wide. “That's the expensive stuff–” He breathes out because of course that's what Matthew would be worried about right now.

“Good,” Renaldo comments dryly. “Then maybe it’ll be nearly as good as real lube.” He carelessly throws the cap into a corner and places the open bottle onto the vanity beside them. As soon as he’s back beside him, Matt's hands reach for him, fingers clawing at the golden chain around his neck, pressing his half naked form against him. It's like now that he has him, he doesn't want to let him go again.

“Do you need to lie down or are you good to stand?” Unless Renaldo is very much mistaken, he doesn't believe that Matt has been with another guy since their fleeting romance and he remembers the whispered confession about being his first.

“I can stand if you can, old man.”

Oh. He knows exactly how to push his fucking buttons. Two can play that game. In one quick motion, Renaldo uses his size to his advantage, turning Matt on the spot and bending him over, the younger man's hands flat against the wall, his ass stuck out and on display. Renaldo brings his palm down on each side, feeling his own desire skyrocket at the sight of his hand imprinted on the cheeks for a few moments.

The soft moans from Matt's mouth mix with the distinct jingle of Renaldo opening his belt, followed by that of a zipper opening. He kicks his pants off and reaches for the bottle, his cock already aching to be touched. The cool sensation of the olive oil sends shivers through his body and Renaldo fists himself a few times, coating his length in the makeshift-lube.

“Who the fuck are you calling an old man, huh?” He grunts as he lines his tip up with Matt's hole and begins to bury himself inside, looking down to watch inch after inch disappear, the younger man's body already so tight around him that he feels like he could shoot his load right away.

“Fuck–” Matt chokes out, curling his fingers as he holds himself up against the wall and Renaldo watches him closely. He knows exactly what he needs. So he leans forward, reaching around to hurriedly undo the buttons of Matt's dress shirt and carelessly sends it to the floor. He runs his tongue over Matt's shoulder as he bottoms out, teeth scraping over his neck. Distracting from the pain that they both know will turn into their favorite pleasure in a few seconds.

“You good?” He hums quietly, giving the other man a moment to check in with him. He watches him nod weakly and Renaldo tuts softly. “Words, baby,” he reminds him.

“Good. It's so good, Jesus–” Matt presses out, rolling his shoulders back slightly. “Please move.”

Renaldo obeys, beginning with shallow thrusts, working his way in and out. His free hand wanders down Matt's chest, fingernails scratching his skin just enough to make him shiver. Then, he finds his lover's middle and wraps his hand around the leaking cock that has been so starved of attention until now. He loves how the other man feels in his hand, heavy and slick with precum.

“You're gonna ruin those pretty dress pants,” Renaldo mutters into his ear, punctuating each of his sentences with a deep thrust. “Did your little wife buy them for you?”

For a split second, he thinks he’s gone too far, feeling Matt tense under him. But then, his dick twitches in his hand, making Renaldo smirk as Matt groans. “I want them ruined.”

He doesn't have to ask twice. Renaldo sets a faster pace, making both of them pant with effort as Matt bounces himself back on his cock. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room and judging by its weight, Renaldo is certain that the wooden door of the dressing room is in no way soundproof. Good.

“Renaldo–” Matt doesn't even have to say it. They both know what he’s asking and the older man nods weakly, burying his nose against his neck as a groan leaves him. “Yes.”

He lets his thumb flick over Matthews tip, making him whimper and his body shudder below him. His muscles quiver around his own cock in a way that lets him know he’s close. His grip around Matt's cock tightens and he strokes him right up to that delicious edge. Then, he drops his hand, prompting a weak string of curses from below him.

“I want you to come from just feeling me,” Renaldo rasps and is met with eager nods. “Think you can do that?”

“Yes, fuck–please–” He’s begging the same way he was that night, falling apart below Renaldo’s hands so beautifully. “Renaldo–” He chokes out. “Tell me to leave her.”

He hesitates for a moment, knowing that those words hold more weight than any of their actions tonight. But eventually, he nods, driving himself deep into the man below him. “Leave her.”

Matt moans, his name on his lips and shoots his load without further warning, the sticky fluid ruining his pants the way that Renaldo promised it would. He brings his hand back to stroke his lover through his orgasm, drawing it out and a few moments later, Renaldo follows suit, spilling himself deep inside of Matthew, exactly where he is meant to be, their bodies melting together and he finally, finally marks what is his.

He pulls out with a grunt eventually, watching his cum drip from Matt's hole for a moment, ruining any slight chance of salvaging those black pants, now stained with white. Renaldo lets himself fall onto one of the chairs at the back of the room, beckoning Matt to follow him and pulling him onto his lap, one strong thigh serving as his seat. He closes his eyes for a moment as he feels Matt tracing his gold chain again, his touch now so delicate.

“I'm gonna have to see her at the family functions, won't I? If she gets with Domingo.” Renaldo can tell that he's trying to hide the anxiety in his voice but he's not doing a very good job of it. He sighs, opening his eyes again and nods.

A smirk spreads over Renaldo’s face as he nudges Matt's chin, prompting them to lock eyes. Then, without blinking, he brings his right hand up to his own mouth and licks a stripe along its side, catching a few drops of Matt’s cum on his lips.

“You’ll have to. But I promise there’ll always be a dressing room to fuck in.”

notes: thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, feel free to reblog or follow me for more ♡

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bitterbutblue · 2 days ago

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november 1998 (下)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

I NEVER FORGOT ABT THIS SERIES GUYS OMG i promise i have plans i have everything planned out for this story already each character has their own arc prepared but i just cannot believe that i have to sit and write and actually execute my ideas!! thats crazy!! but heres the new chapter that is too many months late, love u all <333

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

By the time the sun hits your eyes, you were already wide awake. You had been lying on the bed since five in the morning, unable to fall back asleep and staring blankly out the window. Your mother had left the bed maybe an hour after you first laid down, and you don't question where she went off to. You watch as the birds flap their wings, singing their songs into the rising sun and you just lie there. You can't comprehend this feeling of uncertainty that makes you feel like throwing up. By the time your mom's alarm rings at seven, you've already gotten out of bed, leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of tea in your hands. The events that occurred last night play out in your head over and over again, Stelle's call and her pained expression as she begins to build up her walls around everyone she sees. You've known Stelle since you were six. You know her mannerisms by heart at this point and her silence last night was deafening- a sign that she's scared. Hurt. Obviously, her mother had just kicked her out and found out about her sexuality and you don't know how you would even begin to process that if it had happened to you. What can you even do for her?

"Y/n?"

The abnormally soft voice from the door has you looking up from the spot on the floor you had found yourself analysing for no reason. Your mother stands there with her arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face. Somewhere between wanting to let her guard down but also feeling an overwhelming urge to keep her guard up. This is the closest you will get to her being vulnerable with you.

"Morning." You say hoarsely

She doesn't say anything, just moving to take the kettle gently off the stove. You hear her movements, barely able to look at her. The silence is uncomfortable, filling itself between you two and into each crack on the floor. It rises, drowning you two in an unbearable tension. The whistle of the kettle is loud but still too quiet, not enough to break the invisible wall between you two.

"Have you spoken to her?"

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak right now as you take another drink of your nearly empty mug. Your mother isn't looking at you, staring ahead out the window at the cozy town, most just getting started with their day when you have just spent the past few hours rethinking everything. The sounds of her going about her day feel muffled, as if she too is restricted by something burdening on her mind. Something as simple as pouring hot water into a mug feels stiff, feels uncertain.

"You should talk to her."

The silence you dread fills the room once more as you look down, swallowing down the millions of millions of thoughts that threaten to drown you. You think Stelle is probably in the same position as you.

"Okay."

Your mom doesn't say anything, only the fading sounds of her now retreating footsteps remaining. You look up. 7:04. You have school in an hour. You feel sick to your stomach in a way you don't understand either, because why are you sick to your stomach? Why does the thought of having to talk to Stelle scare you so bad? The reality of having to confront a topic so taboo is now hitting you too hard and by the time you've collected your thoughts properly, you see that you're standing in front of your own room with a shakyhand held up to the door.

Knock, you fool.

"Stelle?"

"Come in."

Her voice is quiet, her usual loud and brash nature has completely been nullified by the events of last night. You don't even think as you move to rest a hand on the door handle, twisting the doorknob with a hesitance as if you are opening the door to a stranger's room and not one that you have lived in for over a decade and a half now. The sight that greets you isn't a surprising one, it isn't one that should elicit a response but you still felt your heart stutter slightly in the empty cavity that is your chest. She sits at the edge of the bed, back facing you.

"Stelle."

"Hi."

She doesn't move, doesn't turn to face you or anything. You let out a soft sigh. She needs you right now and you need to push down whatever feelings you are feeling right now because your friend needs you.

"Talk to me?" You say softly, moving to kneel down in front of her so that she has to look at you. You feel your heart shatter slightly at the sight- she looks like she barely slept all night, eyes bloodshot red and swollen. She avoids your eyes, swallowing as she lets out a shaky breath. You tilt your head to the side, moving your hand up gently to rest against her knee. She tenses up, you give her knee a soft squeeze.

"It's okay."

Her eyes water slightly, unshed tears that hold the weight of her entire soul threatening to spill. There are a million words that could have been exchanged this morning between you and your mom, you and Stelle, but instead you guys kept it simple. What was conveyed was through the one-syllable words and the actions.

"You're loved here."

And she sobs. You hold her close, her tears seeping into your shirt as she holds onto you like you are her last lifeline, and in a sense you are. Because she has nobody else next to her now and her own boat is sinking, every lifeline pulling away and leaving her astray. But you're here, you want her to know you're here, and you always will be.

By the time the room quiets again, school had already started but neither of you really were in the mood to get dressed and go learn about the history of whatever war happened fifty years ago. She lets out a shaky sigh, still holding your hand like a scared child would.

"I'm sorry."

You couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter in disbelief.

"Sorry? What are you apologising for?"

"For showing up.. unprompted?"

"Stelle, for goodness' sake-" You shake your head "All that matters to me is that you're okay. I really do not care what time you pull up, under what circumstance, as long as you're safe. I just want to know that you're safe. Okay?"

She smiles at you in a way that makes you feel warm, a little too warm. But all that matters is that she's smiling again, and you want to keep that smile in your life forever.

By the time you guys actually get to school, the bell for second period had already rang.

"Shit, shit shit shit-"

And both of you realise a bit too late that pulling up at the same time, two hours late to class, looking frantic, was probably causing a lot of odd glances and eyebrow raises. In your embarrassed and panicked state, you don't notice how Robin eyes the two of you with a clenched jaw. You don't notice how her eyes were on you as you take your seat three rows in front of her with an abashed expression, a pink hue dusted over your cheeks and she curses herself for feeling a sinking feeling in her gut as you lean over to whisper to Stelle. She looks away finally, a bitter expression that is barely masked. Aventurine, raising an eyebrow, glances between Robin and you. His kaleidoscope eyes brimming with unspoken words as a wicked little grin forms on his face. He taps his fingers against the desk with a sick little smirk as he pieces it all together.

It's gonna have fun this year. So. Much. Fun.

Robin doesn't say anything all class, just zoned out as she writes down notes absentmindedly without actually paying much attention to what is being taught. Her mind races with the same thought: why was Stelle with you? Was she with you when she called? Her face flushes slightly at the thought, the idea that you were with someone else when she called you. A moment so intimate to her, just the sound of your voice but it had her crying to herself until sunrise. Intimate, but knowing that you were next to someone else, that you were with someone else, suddenly she feels pathetic. Suddenly, it all meant nothing and it never meant anything. She is overthinking and she feels absolutely pathetic. The notes she had long given up on now stare back up at her mockingly, her mind is racing and moving at a speed she cannot comprehend herself. Thoughts upon thoughts, all piling upon each other but in the centre of it all is, and always will be, you. The bell ringing doesn't reach her, only the sound of Aventurine's drawl snapping her out of it all.

"Daydreaming again?"

"I was not." She says quickly, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes slightly "Just.. thinking."

"About?"

"Dance."

The quickest excuse, the easiest excuse. Everyone knows her history, everyone knows her path. It's easy to lie, to use it to mask what she's really feeling. A turbulent of emotions, jealousy and guilt, a burden on her shoulders she can't quite shake.

"Take it easy on yourself, Robin." Boothill mumbles from behind, lounging across the desk as he opens a pack of Pocky "We've rarely seen you out nowadays."

"I have an audition next month." She smiles apologetically, and Boothill pouts

"So that's more important than me?"

"Considering it could launch her to stardom, I'd say that's more important." Acheron butts in, crossing her arms as she leans against Boothill's desk, taking a biscuit from him.

"But-"

"I'll make time." Robin says quickly, forcing her practiced smile out "I miss you guys, but after my audition I'll make time. I promise."

Aventurine doesn't say anything, letting out a hum of acknowledgement as his own worries flash briefly across his usually collected expression.

"Take care of yourself." He says softly with a sincerity Robin hasn't heard before.

"Always."

Because she made that promise to you years ago too.

Humming softly to herself, Yukong takes the freshest batch of pork buns out of the steamer and moves them into the warming cabinets near the cashier. A soft tune, one that she still recalls decades later and she finds herself subconsciously humming the same notes over and over again. She watches as you and Stelle ran out the door, you shouting apologies for being late but for the first time she didn't care. For the first time, she had her eye on Stelle instead of you. Her train of thought is abruptly interrupted by the familiar jingle of the bell, and she looks up to see a pair of eyes that has her world stopping, blood going cold, every cliché you could think of. It hits her all at once.

#hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr robin #hsr robin x reader #robin x reader #robin #hsr robin x fem!reader #robin x fem!reader #remember me 1999 #remember me

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ihopesocomic · 2 days ago

Note

It's 2025 and it's been years since the last episode/update: can we as a species please move on from shit like MP? Every time I read about some new defense that MP fans are coming up with just so they can watch it guilt-free, I can only sit and think why? Even if the show was written decently: the creator is transphobic, she slapped multiple people (including a trans VA) with false allegations because her fweelings got hurt and she bailed rather than face criticism. Stop supporting her already.

I think the saddest part of all of this is Tribble doesn't even like her fans. So many creators in and out of the industry keep in contact with their fans because obviously without them, they wouldn't be where they're at. There's an innate gratefulness there. Tribble can't even be bothered to tell her fans that Season 2 is never happening, she's never making a comic, or whatever crumbs everyone is groveling for. I'm sure she'll be back if she needs some money from Makeship or whatever, with continuous months of no news. Is that someone who respects you? Is that someone who's worth your undying fealty?

I know a lot of her remaining fans are young teenagers who would rather watch a cartoon than read, but no one's forcing her to do a cartoon or nothing with her own content. She's already offered to write it as a book (like she also offered to do with COTW) but then she says she's only willing to do it if people subscribe to a Patreon, therefore getting fans' hopes up for no good reason. Whatever her reasons are, she certainly has enough drive to test the waters and see how far she can get by doing the least amount of work possible. Proof is in her community tab for the doubters who insist we're wrong.

Tribble always intended to leave because people were already openly criticizing her and seeing her for the person she truly was for nearly a year before we said or did anything. Because she's a thin-skinned coward and because MP wasn't raking in the opportunities she thought it would (who could've predicted this?). Her fans just don't want to accept this because 1) the mental gymnastics of blaming us for "driving her away" are too great to resist and 2) they don't actually care about what she did and actively play things down as opposed to us saying that her show isn't that great. God forbid.

You'd think that RJ having followed her work for years and us having years' worth of conversations with people who have worked for her on top of everything else out in the open would be sufficient evidence that we're not just making shit up. (Ironically, making up reasons to like/hate something is what these people excel at.)

Some have come to terms that Tribble just used them so she can get paid and bounce, but too many still have a vice grip on this embarrassing slop that only exists because Tribble has Warrior Cats views on Youtube. And since people confuse YT popularity with quality, well, we all know the ending to that sad story. Because of that mentality we get more slop like HH/HB.

The majority of these people have to make something up in their head to "defend" MP's writing, like quite literally all the "explanations" for characters' actions are 100% fabricated and was more effort than Tribble put into her own show, so how exactly do your headcanons cancel out anything that's there in front of your face? And these are the same people who have the temerity to say shows like Big Mouth and Velma are bad but MP and HH/HB are good, when MP and HH/HB are also offensive shoddily written dreck made by privileged individuals who don't care about you until they want more money from you.

And then people want to turn around and say IHS sucks because it's "not realistic" (even though we've never said we're trying to be realistic) or "just like Warrior Cats or TLK". Pick a real reason to not like our comic, I'm begging. If our comic was "just like Warrior Cats", hell they'd probably like it because it would have no gays and enough ableism to last them a quarter of a century, ha. But I'm clearly not interested in pandering to these smooth-brained goons whose highest standard for xenofiction is "no gays", if they can even get as far as opening so much as a Kindle or Audible app.

And I don't feel bad for saying this. Even other once-fans of MP can concur that current day MP stans are some of the most homophobic, transphobic, sexist, ableist, victim-blamey trash we've ever had the misfortune of giving the benefit of the doubt. (It's no wonder why they like the show so much because the characters - like Hover - enable this kind of atrocious behavior.) Quite a few of these testimonies are on our review alone. And I'm over it. The shit that's going on in the world has driven me to be exponentially less tolerant.

We now live in a point in time where being LGBT+ is considered a legit federal offense and we're just done. Some of you can piss and moan all you want when we say "no" and block you when 90% of your complaints about our comic concern it being LGBT+ and the other 10% is made-up or incorrect nonsensical bullshit that isn't worth writing on toilet paper. Why should we listen to you exactly? Why should we take everything out of this comic that - whether you like it or not - provides solace to people just to satisfy your bigotry that you try and hide behind a veil of pretentiousness? Get fucked. lol

And I am beyond tired having to keep explaining this to people who appear to not be used to the idea that maybe the thing they like has a ton of problems that far outweigh anything good about it. But then they go ahead and take it personally, because people are so chronically online, their identity is welded to "entertainment". Bot behavior, truly.

Even the existence of I Hope So is tainted, simply because MP was so indefensibly awful about queer/disabled representation. IHS shouldn't need to exist, but because of people like this it has to. Some people just want to read something that has animals, queer rep, and no ableism. But to some of these people, we may as well have killed their dog in front of them. We have seen people who have all but made it their life's mission to purposely misconstrue the whole comic, ourselves, and people we know. They should thank whatever space fairy they pray to that they're a bunch of nobodies whose only value is being a lolcow.

The best thing I can hope for these people is them moving the fuck on to literally anything else. They'd be happier for it, or less miserable at the very least. There has been so many good comics and cartoons to come out over the last 4 years. Maybe if people removed their head from their ass for two seconds, they'd manage to see some of it. - Cat

#ask #ask us stuff #cat answers #my pride mention

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ohburgee · 22 hours ago

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𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲

sanguinius x modern!fem-oc

tw: yandere themes, violence, death an: my second 40k fanfic, this is about my favorite primarch, Sanguinius. I know my blogs are focused on yandere stories and suddenly posted 40k fanfic, I've been a fan of 40k and got motivated to write a fic, I just wanted to share that's all. And sangi is a yandere here so I won't miss my yandere traits from my blogs, also in the first paragraph is the summary of the start of story. Check my first 40k fanfic, Remembrancer. summary: Soleil a painter from the modern world when she suddenly get the imagination of someone, a beautiful angel, as she always see the angel's face and decide to sculpture it, when she started to dream the angel. She was sick and got worse when she got attack from a serious sickness and didn't have time and died but when she woke up and saw the angel she's been dreaming.

It's been hours now as she stares at the Fallen Angel painting.

The painting got her attention not just because It's meaning but something why she had been staring. She started to imagine this mysterious angel in her mind.

She can't help it and starts to sketch the and paint multiple canvases of the angel, she often sees this angel in her mind.

She started sculpting the angel and that made her comfortable as she could have something to do in her art life, even if it made her crazy.

As she walked out of the museum and drove home. She reached her home got inside the house and went to her art studio the first thing that greeted her was the sculpture of the angel and she admired it for a second.

The angel was doing a standing pose as its face looked up its long wavy blonde hair wrapped half of his shoulders the right hand down and the left one holding its cloth wrapped around him, and its wings stayed idle behind his back.

She took it for months sculpting and then started dreaming about the angel, she remembered where the angel wrapped their wings around her with a gentle whisper, and when she was saddened by the death of her grandmother, the angel was there comforting her, it was like a guardian angel protecting her.

This became a cycle of her life and started to draw that angel and now sculpt it. She sighed and went to her desk full of sketches and letter envelopes, is she going crazy?

She felt tired as she coughed again and blood went to her hand, she already consulted her doctor and said she had the same sickness as her grandmother she thought she might die any soon as she laid her head on the desk and slowly closed her eyes, then her sleepy consume her.

...

I slowly open my eyes when I feel like something is behind me and slowly sit up and see myself in a large room as I look around saw a few candles around golden, brown-colored furniture, and the room is also the same color.

I suddenly feel a pair of hands on my shoulder and when I react and see wings wrapped around me I feel someone's chest in my back and I turn my head to see those angelic faces as they lean close to mine his long wavy blonde hair fall to my face.

"Look at you my star, very beautiful" hearing a soft, calming voice as his hand touched my face caressing it, "I can't wait to feel the real touch of your face, and see those beautiful eyes" he added and I feel comfort but eerie at the same time.

"Soon you'll be here with me. Soon" when he said those last words.

She woke up from the sound of a phone ringing and you look at it's your mentor's number and yawn and stretch yourself.

What kind of dream was that, it feels like real but there's something like a message.

...

After walking for hours in the art exhibition Soleil roam by herself when her eyes caught one painting.

It's an angel, a warrior as it holds a spear and stabs the creature down looking like a demon.

She had been staring for minutes when she was distracted by Mr, Poirier, "You liked this one dear" he said and Soleil nodded her head she didn't have anything to respond to.

She looked at him but when her eyes caught someone walking behind, a tall man wearing a long brown coat and it's long wavy blonde hair tied down, her eyes widened, is he real?

She decided to walk towards the man and when as she passed by the crowds caught the man and turned around and saw his face, was not the face of the angel she had seen and the blonde hair she had seen earlier was just brown hair.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked and she shook her head, "No nothing, just mistaken someone I'm sorry" Soleil apologized and the man nodded his head and walked away.

She heard Mr, Poirier walk towards her and she turned around to face him, "Are you alright, Soleil? Oh dear please tell me if you're not we can go home" he said and Soleil sighed and nodded her head and they both got out the exhibition.

Mr. Poirier took her home and she thanked him and drove away, she got inside her house before she could walk another coughing and more blood out and she felt dizzy.

As she walked to her art studio and went to her desk she slowly losing breathing as she started to look for her pills, scattered all the things on the desk, and when she found it her vision was slowly blurry and her breathing became weaker and weaker.

Is this the time? Is it my last?

Slowly darkness consumes her and she falls to the ground and no longer breathing...

When the moon shines through her art studio window and through the sculpture and her lifeless body then suddenly a white feather falls to her body.

...

A soft sound of fire was heard and Soleil slowly opened her eyes, when her eyes were fully open still blurry she slowly sat up and saw herself on a bed she touched the smooth silk blanket around her as she looked around the place and saw the same thing in her dreams.

She got up from the bed unaware of where she was, looking around for anything to know but nothing when she decided to walk towards the door but it was locked as she looked around once again and when she heard the door open and she turned around and her eyes widened, I'm a seeing thing again or is this dream?

She looked at the person who walked in and saw the angel she had been seeing in her imagination and dreams, as the angel walked slowly towards her as she saw the wings moving happily, he was wearing a gold armored and a big red thing to his chest as he now closes her.

"My star you're awake, how's your sleep?" He spoke in his soft angelic voice. No this is just a dream, "No. This is real, my star" Soleil looked at him confused "Calm yourself" he said as Soleil looked at him, the angel could hear her heartbeat and as Soleil began to overthink, she remembered that she had fallen down and... She is Dead.

What... How.. How did that happen? How did I end up here, is this heaven?

"There's no such heaven here, my star," he said taking her hand and leading her to the bed and sitting her "Take some more rest you have to gain all your strength back after that chase" Chase? What chase?

"You breathe heavily when I chase you and you almost lose your breathe and fall unconscious" the angel said as Soleil look at confused.

"Drink this it will make you feel better," the angel said as he handed her a cup she took it and drank and the angel smiled at her "How obedient" he took the cup and put it back where it came.

Soleil looked at him as she checked his appearance it was really the same as her sculpture and the wings were absolutely admiring if she was seeing real things, she couldn't believe the real wings of an angel as it looked soft, she wanted to touch it.

When the angel noticed her eyes admiring she heard a chuckle and her face turned to him "What are you staring at my star" he asked as Soleil looked at him "What's your name?" She asked wanting to know the angel's name.

"Sanguinius" the angel replied and she looked confused, how do I pronounce it? "Is that really your name?" Soleil asked and the angel nodded "What about your name my star" Sanguinius asked looking at her "It's Soleil", "That name means the sun, beautiful name you have" The angel smiled at her.

"Where am I?" Soleil asked and Sanguinius looked at her "You in my ship, we just got travel from your home planet" he replied as she looked down, and before she could ask another question the door opened and a large red-armored man came inside, "My lord the traitor speaks" the armored man said as Sanguinius got up and took your face with his hands.

"Can you wait for me here, my star I'll be back when I finish something" Sanguinius asked she nodded her head and suddenly surprised her when he kissed her forehead and got out of the room with the armored man and the door closed.

Soleil looked around and tried to process everything that happened, she was dead from her world, and now here, did I get reincarnated? Her mind speaks and when she walks through the door gladly it opens and slowly walks out of the room and sees a dark hallway with some torches attached to the wall.

Medieval times? She said in her mind and started to walk through the hallway when she passed a room with an open door and didn't hesitate to walk inside.

She looked around and found a computer and went towards it, she tried to use it but she didn't know how, when she saw the papers and tried to look and some sketches she gladly saw some in her interest and saw some armored men in sketch and some weird looking creature too.

When she suddenly heard a scream coming from the hallway walk out of the room and slowly walked towards the sound she reached the room where multiple red armor were around and saw one of them on the ground no helmet on his head he coughing of blood.

As she saw Sanguinius raise a sword and slash the man's head and behead him, Soleil slowly walked backward as she heard Sanguinius speak "A traitor should deserve death" When the angel heard her heartbeat and turned to see fear from her eyes.

Soleil didn't hesitate to look and ran towards the hallway as she tried to find something, somewhere to hide as she heard footsteps coming and she sped up and bumped into metal and scratched her arm, blood coming out but she didn't stop and ran.

When she came to a room her eyes widened to see a sculpture of her as she saw herself looking like a Greek woman with a cloth white wrapped around her and the way the detail of her face really matched hers.

While she watched the sculpture of herself a pair of hands grabbed her and the angel caught her and wings wrapped around not letting her go, "You made me worried again, please don't run away" the angel spoke.

"You killed people why... Why yo-" "He is a traitor there's no mercy or forgiveness, what he did is wrong and is wrong, and needs to face death," Sanguinius said as he cupped her face letting her face him, "Did I scare you?" Soleil nodded her head and kissed her forehead again.

"You'll used to it soon" as he looked at her "I see you saw my sanctuary" Sanctuary? "You were my comfort when I was feeling down as I came from the battle I always stay here and stare at your sculpture," he said as he said those words in a soft tone.

"You are my peace. my comfort. my light. Without you, there is nothing but darkness again. That's why I made a sanctuary the sculpture of you" he added as he looked at her in full of admiration as he looked at the sculpture and back to her.

"And now I see my real sanctuary," he said as he caressed her face with his thumb "I also did too, make you a sculpture I can't stop seeing you from my mind," she whispered softly and the angel smiled, and kissed her forehead again and he notices the blood bleeding from her arm, he senses something that can't control it any seconds.

When he heard one of his sons coming he quickly grabbed her arm and put it to his mouth where the scratch was, and Soleil reacted and whimpered from it as she looked surprised at what just happened, he couldn't let his own son smell the blood of her.

When Soleil slowly gets dizzy as Sanguinius continues to drink her blood as she gets weak, he can't control himself. When Soleil touches his face his eyes widen and stop but Soleil already falls unconscious..

...

Soleil slowly opened her eyes once again and slowly sat up but a hand stopped her and she turned to see Sanguinius sitting behind her in the bed as she was still dizzy.

"I'm sorry I can't control myself from drinking your blood" Even he can actually control his red thirst but it's her blood, she heard him apologizing, and she sighed and looked up to him, "You drank blood?" She asked "Mhm it's part of me it's called red thirst" he replied as he smiled at her.

"Go back to sleep my star, you're still tired," Sanguinius said and Soleil obeyed and lay herself down on the bed any second her tired self let her fall asleep, when Sanguinius noticed her sleeping he brushed out hair from her face and smiled once again as he leans his head closer to her.

"I never expected to find someone like you from another world and I kept dreaming of you. Now you're here the real you" his fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering as he admired her sleeping form.

"You are my solace, my comfort and I promise I won't let this disappear away from me. No human can have you, only me" he added his fingers still brushed to her face.

Sanguinius leaned closer to her ears as he softly whispered, "Yourself, your mind, your blood, it's all mine but don't worry you still have freedom but I won't let you have the other freedom" and he kissed her forehead once again and feel the warm from her.

#warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k x reader #warhammer 40k #sanguinius #sanguinius x reader #yandere sanguinius #wh40k #primarch #primarch x reader

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torukmaktoskxawng · 1 day ago

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the song lives on

Summary: Aha'ri Lives AU!

Dedication to: @inolaphoenix for coming up with the idea and brainstorming with me!

Word Count: 1.9k+

Pairing: None (mainly focused on the Sarentu siblings)

Warnings: gn!reader, angst, PTSD, violence, children of neglect/abuse, mentions of brainwashing and residential school trauma, open-ended ending with the intent of writing more 😉

Taglist: @mooniequeen @anemonelovesfiction @avatar-lover @taronyuhunter @daisyyvoid

A/N: Happy Birthday, Inola 💙🥰

~~~~~~~~~

You hardly recognized your sister.

Aha'ri, so brave and fierce, whittled down into a small, scared child, just like you, only this time... it left her physically scarred.

Mercer's shot had left the young Na'vi girl in and out of consciousness, the medics barely able to keep her stable. It was bad enough the TAP personnel didn't appear to care about the children's needs, but their welfare? It was hardly even on the list. No one in the med bay was prepared to treat a Na'vi child with a bullet wound in her back. Sure, they had the means to treat a human, no problem, but a Na'vi? Who's body didn't react to the same medicine and treatment a human's would? You would think, that if TAP were going to house Na'vi children as Alma was teaching, they would be better prepared for it.

There will be a time when, once you get older, you will come to accept that no one in TAP ever cared enough to learn or do better. But for now, you're scared, innocent, and confused. Why was no one bandaging Aha'ri right away? Why are they poking and prodding at her wound and wondering out loud about how a bullet affects the Na'vi body?

You hardly slept. Barely anyone did. Ri'nela managed to get Teylan to shut his eyes for a few hours, but the occasional twitch in his tail told everyone he never truly slept.

Aha'ri was in and out of surgeries for a week before she finally turned a corner. Alma informed you and the other children of this with a quiet voice, explaining that Aha'ri would have a scar, but she would live.

Alma's version of "living" was breathing and moving around. But to a Na'vi, the way Aha'ri looked when she returned to school, that wasn't living. From then on, she was simply surviving.

She was a shell, her eyes almost always bearing a one-thousand-yard stare, empty of any warm emotions. She didn't sing or hum, and never mentioned your mother when you tried to prompt her in an attempt to see a small spark of life in her once more. Nothing.

The scar was on her back. A round, small bullet-shaped wound that made her wince every time she moved her left arm while it was still healing. If any personnel dropped the temperature of the children's room, she would whine and softly cry to herself from how badly the muscles in her back and arm would spasm and ache. Now, whenever she sees someone with a gun, even if it were strapped to their hip, Aha'ri would flinch and curl in on herself.

Mercer had made his warning loud and clear. Next time, she would not be so lucky.

It took months for her to fully heal physically, but once she did... something subtly shifted in her eyes. A small, tiny spark of warmth returned, and you hardly had time to feel relieved to have a small part of your sister back, let alone question it. You were so relieved, in fact, you missed the small bit of determination that returned to Aha'ri's spirit.

Neither you nor Teylan was prepared for the abrupt wakening in the middle of the night, months after Mercer had shot Aha'ri.

"Come," Aha'ri spoke softly, even gracing you with a small, familiar smile, "We're leaving."

"What...?" You questioned while rubbing your eyes, your brain not entirely caught up with your surroundings.

"B-B-But we can't!" Teylan whimpers from his bed, where Ri'nela quietly soothes him. "I-I-If... if the same thing happens again-!"

"It won't," Ri'nela shushes with an encouraging smile, "There is another way out of here, Teylan."

"It is time to go home," Nor spoke sternly, more confident than ever. His own personality had shifted since Aha'ri's injury.

The three older Na'vi children led you and Teylan up into the TAP facility's vents, hands gripping pillowcases full of carefully collected supplies from the months they had spent planning a more thorough escape. Ri'nela had expressed patience over the months while Nor was anxious for Aha'ri to heal so they could get a move on. Ri'nela would take a little bit of food here and there during meal times, stowing that and any little bit of supplies up in the vent above her bed to preserve until the moment was right. If any human at the facility noticed they were missing a small bandage here and a compass there, they always chalked it up to misplacement, none the wiser.

Nor managed to distract his eagerness by keeping a close watch on the guards, something that Harding had unintentionally taught him between lessons where she'd force him to hold a gun. Timing their patrols and shifts, Nor eventually saw a small window of time when hardly anyone would be walking by the children's rooms at night, a small flaw that Harding would be furious to whoever designed the patrol schedule, which made Nor internally smug. He made sure the same window of time happened for a full week before sharing this small information with Ri'nela and Aha'ri, vowing to himself to be more thorough so the last escape attempt wouldn't repeat itself.

As for Aha'ri, she dutifully played her role to perfection. Yes, her traumatic experience and her injury had changed her, but she exaggerated it a little more than she had originally felt. Sure, she would spend years later flinching at the sound of a gunshot, but her will to survive overpowered any fear she had gained after Mercer had shot her. She wanted him to believe he had won, so she kept her head down, her eyes drifting off to stare at the walls as if no one else was in the room. She had let Mercer believe he had broken her, despite his appalling actions further strengthening her.

The vents were large enough for the children to walk through, only having to bow their heads slightly to fit. There were some tight spots where they would have to carefully and quietly crouch down and crawl, hardly breathing if they passed over a vent and noticed humans walking beneath them. Otherwise, part of their natural Na'vi instincts kicked in, their tails keeping them balanced while their feet kept them quiet, sharp ears twitching at any unknown sound.

Finally, Nor stopped and held out a hand to the rest who traveled behind him, his voice barely above a whisper, "Teylan."

The youngest Na'vi child slowly crawled over to the other boy's side, peering down through a vent to follow Nor's gaze. Beneath them was a hallway, and attached to a wall was a control panel that was obviously meant for the double doors beside it. Upon observing the doors, Teylan recognized it to be the entrance to the mess hall.

"The next patrol meant to pass our rooms will come from there," Nor explained quietly, "Can you lock the doors to buy us some more time?"

Teylan lowered his ears, and his big eyes widened with fear. "I can't do that! We'll be caught!"

"Shh!" Nor hissed, small fangs bared, "We'll be caught if you do not keep your voice down. Can. You. Do. It."

"Y-Yes, I can do it, but not from up here."

"If you went down?"

"I-I-I-I can't go down there... they'll see me."

"I have watched these boring Sky People walk these exact same hallways for days. I promise they will not even be around to see you," Nor snarled, beginning to grow impatient, "Not unless you continue to delay."

"I will go with you, Teylan," Aha'ri's hand gently settles on Teylan's shoulders.

Nor's ears stick straight up in alarm, and his eyes fix on Aha'ri, crouched behind Teylan. "No. I will go with him. Keep a watch on us from above."

The boys cautiously, so very gingerly, remove the vent cover and pass it over to the girls before quietly jumping down, their feet meeting the cold floor of the hallway. Their ears move wildly in search of any sound in either direction as they sneak over to the control panel. Once at the screen, Teylan is quick at work, starting to relax once in his element, efficiently locking the doors to the mess hall before slinking back around until the open vent is just above his head. Nor is close behind him and helps lift Teylan back up into the vent before closely following suit with one big leap and Ri'nela swiftly closes the vent once more.

With one more obstacle out of the way, the kids begin to get a little eager, the taste of freedom just at the tip of their tongues. Pressing forward through the vents with less quiet steps, the Sarentu children can feel their hearts racing in their chests and hear them pounding in their ears. Even after buying themselves a little bit of time, they didn't want to take any chances in case Mercer got the drop on them once more.

There's a large, sealed-tight door within the vents, separating the oxygen within the facility from the carbon dioxide and other lethal elements in the outside world the children were told about in Alma's lessons. Teylan makes quick work of this door as well, and by this point, Nor shouts at everyone to break into a run in this final leg of their race. The exit, a large vent that leads out into the world of Pandora, is close at hand and looms over all of their heads. Once right at the foot of it, Nor eagerly takes a screwdriver out from Ri'nela's pillowcase and begins to unscrew all the corners of the large vent.

Aha'ri's grip on your hand momentarily slips. As she whips her head back around in a panic, she finds herself staring at wide, tear-filled eyes. You tug and pull on her hand desperately, stepping back down the way you came, "Wait! We forgot sa'nu's songcord!"

Your older sister relents for a moment, the horrible reminder that Mercer kept your mother's songcord as a trophy around his wrist still hung heavily in her heart. With as much sorrow as she could afford, she gently grasped both of your little shoulders in her hands, making you look her dead in the eyes, "We can not go back for it. We have to go."

"But we will forget her--"

"No, never," she said firmly, and with a determination you had not seen in her eyes in a very long time, "We never will forget, so long as we have the song she sang to us. We may not remember the words, but we can still sing the songs of our people."

"I got it!" Nor happily exclaims, disbelief in his words as the vent comes free and falls outside, the clatter it makes drowned out by the rush of noises that fills the children's ears.

Bright light surrounds all of you, forcing you to put your hands in front of your eyes before they can adjust. Blinking, you lower your hand and you're met with a vast, enormous jungle, heavily encompassed in vegetation and wildlife. The colors... nothing like you have ever seen before, taking your breath away and distracting you even as Aha'ri takes hold of your hand once more. You finally tear your gaze away from what awaits you, meeting your sister's eyes as she smiles softly.

"Come. Our home is waiting for us."

Whatever you find in her gaze brings a newly found bravery in your chest. You take a deep breath and firmly nod with a small pout on your little face. Together, and with your friends, you and Aha'ri jump out of the vent and sprint as quickly as possible into the world of Pandora, the leaves and branches of the trees stretching out when the wind picks up as if the Great Mother was opening her arms out to you in relief that you are home once more.

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Main Masterlist Here! If Inola and I brainstorm more on the potential of this story I may write more, so keep an eye out for that! Thank you for reading, and thank you Inola for always being a caring and supportive mutual. I'm so thankful that we've become friends 🥰 Happy Birthday!

#afop imagine #avatar frontiers of pandora imagine #aha'ri #afop aha'ri #aha'ri lives au #afop #afop game #avatar fop #avatar game #avatar frontiers of pandora #sarentu #sarentu oc #sarentu reader

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roguelioness · 2 days ago

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It took me way too long to realize why I'm so uncomfortable with the companion quests in Veilguard.

It's because the choices Rook has to make are far, FAR too personal. Rook should have exactly zero say in any of them.

Spoilers beneath the cut-

Starting with the "mildest" - Davrin - Rook has only just known about the griffons. Davrin has protected them right from the start. He's attached to them in a way Rook can never be. While I can see Rook giving their opinion, it really should be Davrin deciding their fate.

Neve and Lucanis are unique cases because there's only one outcome if they become hardened (Neve becomes leader of the Threads, Lucanis imprisoned Illario) - to be fair I do respect the mechanic (even if I'm not a fan of how it comes to be. I understand (and appreciate!) they become hardened when their city falls, I just dislike how it's implied to be Rook's fault.) But when there is a choice to be made, why does Rook get to decide the kind of person Neve should be for Dock Town? Why should Rook be involved at all in deciding Illario's fate? It's a family matter!

Those are still on the milder side though. Limits annoying, but it can still be sort of glossed over as Rook just giving their opinion.

But then we get to Emmerich, and this is where things get murky. Why is Rook, someone who's known Emmerich for months, allowed any sort of influence over a decision so monumental as becoming a lich? (Not even going to mention how strange it is that liches just popped into the lore out of thin... fade) Emmerich has wanted it for years. Decades, even! It could be argued that Rook is giving him their opinion, but imo that particular choice should never have been on the table. (We could have attempted to redeem Johanna! Can you imagine having her in your side??!)

And then there's Taash. I appreciate her struggle with culture - it resonates with my experiences and I can understand the struggle of not knowing where you belong. But what I don't do is go around asking my friends what culture I should follow?! That is such an incredibly, incredibly personal thing, it should never have been on the table. Especially because culture is such a complex issue and there's no either/or choice in it.

Finally, Bellara. Even if Rook is an elf, the decision of saving or destroying an archive of information for an entire group of people who already have so little to go by CANNOT BE MADE BY A SINGLE PERSON. Hell, it can't be made by just Bellara and elf Rook either! And if Rook isn't an elf, why the fuck are they being allowed a voice in this issue?

There's so much more i want to rant about, including the lack of consequences to the decisions Rook makes about the companions and the general plot of (some) of the companion quests but I've realized something else while typing out this long ass post: everything just boils down to Veilguard has shitty writing and I'm once again depressed about all the missed opportunities.

I should just make up my own version of the companion quests. Dragon Age is ours now, right?

#dragon age the veilguard #veilguard spoilers #veilguard critical #rolo rants #ngl the taash and bellars ones really piss me off #how do you make a game that is so beige coded and still manage to be insensitive

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tsukihotaru · 3 days ago

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Movie Werehog Idea

If I don't type this out it's going to drive me up a literal wall. It won't leave my fuckin head. So here we go! (ALSO IF ANYONE WANTS TO WRITE THIS KNOCK YOURSELF OUT. I'd love to see others interpretation of this idea)

Set right after the 3rd movie. Two months after the eclipse canon event, Sonic is kidnapped by gun (upon Rockwell's orders) while he was on a nightly run to think about Shadow. (This is so Sonadow, but tbh it doesn't have to be, in just desperate).

He is taken to a secret base where GUN starts tests on Sonic to make HIM into the weapon they want, since they 'lost' Shadow. Sonic fights tooth and nail, never shutting up and trying his best to drive the scientists nuts while he thinks of an escape plan. But before he could, he is injected with a substance GUN obtained from deep within the earth. They dubbed it 'Dark Gaia energy', thinking it's directly related to the old god Gaia.

Upon injection, sonic transforms painfully into his Werehog form, after this the tests grow more brutal. Combat, healing capabilities, bodily functions, they tested it all. Giving him a collar to keep track of his progress.

But when GUN brought in a live person (a prisoner on death row or something) to fight, Sonic refuses. No matter what they did, sonic didn't fight against the defenseless human. That is, until they activated a secret aspect of his collar, where it sends an intense amount of electrical energy mixed with dark Gaia energy. He blacks out after it, when he comes back to his senses, he was covered in blood and staring at the mangled body of the human prisoner.

Sonic grew quiet after that, his mind swimming with self hatred. About how he's to dangerous now, that he'll hurt others. And after he almost bit the arm off of a scientists, they attacked a muzzle to his head and gave him special gloves that his claws can't penetrate.

So while all THAT happens, Sonic is gone for half a year. His family tries to find him in any way they can, exploring around the world trying to find their blue blur. But no matter what they did, it was like he just vanished.

While on their search, they came across a very alive Shadow. The family was reluctant about the hedgehog at first, but shadow explained he had no intentions of harming then or anyone, and that he was sorry for his past actions. But upon learning Sonic was missing, shadow Insisted on helping find him. (After using the emeralds, they formed a connection of sorts. But that connection has a range so they can't always feel each other unless they're within 5 miles of each other)

So that's, kinda it tbh. I haven't thought much past that. I toyed with the idea of sonic finally breaking out and running, or his family and shadow figuring out where he is and go to rescue him. But nothing legit or solid.

OH!! and he isn't very big! Like he's bulky and fluffy, but not much taller than he usually is.

Well that's all I guess. Hope at least someone will find this interesting lmao

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 #sonic fandom #sonic the werehog #werehog make brain happy #tsu talks #sonadow #movie sonadow #movie sonic #movie shadow

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waynes-multiverse · 3 days ago

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Ooof, it was! But I did adjust it a bit since this is already so AU (President Vicky is still alive after all lol 😅)

As ominous as this situation is, there's something really cute about picturing Ben doing this lol. He loves her fr fr. 💗

He did really take good care of her (surprisingly lol). Loved showing a little glimpse of how Ben's doing with technology, too. I figured in those few months of navigating life alone, he probably learned at least a few things 😅 (I have a HC that he googles everything someone tells him from thereon out, especially if it's his wife. She's not getting away with lies as easy anymore lmao)

Small favors? 😅 Your worldbuiding with the cure vs. the virus is so interesting here. I'm wondering how they're going to get her better at this point if they can't make her a non-supe...

I tried my best at making it plausible and give it a quick bandaid lol. My thought behind it was that the virus might change her supe DNA enough that the cure could take hold again? Luckily, Ben also doesn't understand "scientific mumbo-jumbo," so I had an easy work-around there 😂😂

And all in all, he got fucking lucky... 😅

But that moment where she literally coughs blood is so visceral. 😭 Really well done, even though my heart is in my throat now. 🫠

Yeah, you suddenly go from "Oh, it's just a plain cold" to "uh-oh" 🙈

So sweet. 😭 I was expecting his call to Victoria lmaooo, aaaand it went about as well as I expected loll. You've soothed my worries that she was the one who might've had something to do with the reader getting sick, but I'm still on the edge of my seat on how you're going to fix this...

I couldn't believe it either, but Victoria might be her actual friend lol. But kinda makes sense, considering Vicky also was very fond of Hughie 🥲 But Vicky and Ben might have leveled up from "arch-nemesis" to "frenemies" lmao

I felt that No in my chest, jeezus. 😭😭

I loved writing him during this entire scene lol! Considering he was fully human and went up against his supe wife like that and stood his ground... He really fought for her and their relationship 😭💕

Oh my Goddd their rehab days coming to bite her in the butt loll. But good on Ben for learning something! 😂

Glitter and glue 😂 Ben's not book smart, but he's definitely street-smart lol

Honestly I could see this. 💔 The V changes people, typically for the worst. And with her, I feel like she was kinda quick to suggest divorce after everything she and Ben had been through.

We definitely saw the change with Butcher and Hughie 👀 And the V absolutely changed her, too! The absence also didn't help. It was easier to cut ties and grow colder, being miles away 💔

The divorce was still her way of telling him it's okay to go. She didn't want to hold him back and be a burden. She hates being a supe and knows he hates it, too.

lmfaoo. I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh. 😂

You were supposed to laugh. He literally went whew, bomb defused 😂 It was a bit insane of him to go toe to toe with a supe lol. He even recognized that SB might've not been as cooperative as she was 😅

OhGodohGodohGod!! Her anger is so valid, but also, I can't help but root for Ben's side on this one. 😅

Right? Like, if it hadn't worked, I'd be so pissed he's making me suffer more, but still – Go, Ben! You do you, man 😂🫶 (And a part of her surely knew all along he'd do it either way lol)

I have a feeling Ben's gamble is gonna pay off, thanks to the one time he paid attention to science. 🤓

Well, did he? lmao One in eighty rats wouldn't be a chance I'd take. They definitely didn't teach him math at that boarding school 100 years ago 🤣🤣

But yes, like I said, he got fucking lucky 😂🩵🩷

Lover – Part 2

Series Summary: Free from his past, Ben’s trying to move on and find a little drop of happiness in this new world. But when he finally holds everything he ever wanted in his hands, it threatens to slip through the cracks, and he has to fight one final time with everything he’s got to keep it.

🫡 Catch up here! Sequel to Rehab & Video Games.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ due to language & mature themes, established relationship, Soldier Boy x wife!reader, human!Soldier Boy, angst with a side of hurt/comfort, sickness & generally gross descriptions thereof (the Gen V virus says hello 👋 – with minor adjustments), tw: mentions of euthanasia & suicide, sprinkles of fluff between

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Don't read too much into the whole virus situation, guys. I promise this is a full fix-it, and that annoying little bug is just how we're gonna do that 😜 Come tomorrow, all's well because we all know the V stands for... I do this joke every year, don't I? Never mind! Happy reading! 💕

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 2: Lovesick

Ben’s worried. Y/N keeps saying she’s fine.

They stroll through the supermarket. Benny pushes the cart in front of them, racing down the aisles.

She woke up this morning around eleven o’clock after a thirteen-hour sleep. He’d held a small mirror under her nose several times at night to assure himself she was still breathing. She never woke up. She’d looked so peaceful it had almost been creepy.

She also sweat through her sheets and jittered like a leaf in the wind. He tried to hold her when she was freezing and gave her distance when she was ablaze. In those breaks, he scoured the Internet for answers and tried to keep his frustrations over it quiet with little grunts and a deeply creased brow.

The hard lines on his face are still there, though. They never left.

Ben isn’t entirely clueless, however. Sure, he’s spent some four decades locked away, then came back for a short period of time to a world he can barely understand, only to be put to sleep and experimented on some more for a couple of years. People don’t really expect him to follow the news at this point, and they’re not wrong in their assumption – he rarely ever gives a shit.

But he remembers how she’d given him an update of the world’s dire state when he’d first gotten to the clinic. She’d mentioned a virus – one designed to kill any supes. The plan was to wipe everyone out. Biological warfare, they’d called it. It hadn’t come as a surprise to Ben. He’d seen this all before. Hell, he’d even helped with some of those things back in his glory days.

The virus had been one more reason, one more need for the cure. It had been the perfect deal: If you can’t kill ‘em, cure ‘em. But once that infectious little vial was opened, well, it had been hard to put the genie back inside.

The cure acted as both a vaccine and a remedy against the virus. Soon, the pesky little thing was pushed back but was never quite eradicated. It had eventually slowed its progression but never became any less deadly.

Now, instead of quick and painless, there was agonizing and torturous.

But Y/N can’t take the cure. He might as well kill her this second out of mercy.

When she woke up from her beauty sleep this morning, she admittedly looked better. She said she felt better. Ben still didn’t believe her. She barely touched her food, picked at her breakfast, and ended up only eating the leftover crusts of their son’s toast. He watched her from his periphery as he nursed his coffee in the kitchen, stoically worrying more.

Y/N coughs once more next to him as they pass the frozen food aisle. Ben eyes her cautiously. She’s done it all morning. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help her or how to stop it. Not even the blue vial could help him fix it. He doesn’t even know if it’s real yet. Is it normal? Is he overreacting?

She coughs again. He shakes his head and bites his tongue.

“You okay?” he checks gruffly, his voice thick with tension and concern, but he already expects her answer.

“I told you not to worry. I’m alright,” she says, her throat dry and her voice coarse. Her words are meant to soothe her husband. She can see the worry shimmering in his juniper eyes. She’s lucky he’s not a supe anymore, or he would’ve gone nuclear a while ago.

And admittedly, she knows she might be in denial. If true, it seems like a cruel trick the universe is playing on her. Giving her all she’s ever wanted and take it away immediately after? It definitely feels like a cosmic joke all the Gods are laughing about.

But deep down, she knows it’s true. She knows she’s screwed, but she doesn’t know how to tell Ben. He’ll lose his shit. She knows he’s not built for this.

She coughs again into a used tissue, which she has stored in her pocket since last night. Her tongue tastes something metallic – copper and iron. And when her eyes land on the white cloth, they notice spots of a deep, scarlet red.

She stops walking then and swallows thickly, her hands trembling as her eyes transfix on the blood. Ben halts as well when he realizes she’s not moving. He sees the panic in her face, sees she’s a lot paler now than the night before. Her skin looks clammy, her eyes red, weary, and dazed as if she had just taken a hard hit from one of his blunts.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asks and steps closer. He cocks his head at her, the creases of his brow now harsh lines. She seems out of it, confused. She doesn’t even seem to understand his question, let alone be capable of answering.

Her mouth opens, but instead of words, she only inhales shakily like it’s the last breath she’ll ever take. Ben barely reaches her fast enough when her eyes roll back into her head till there’s only shining white and her knees begin to buckle.

Ben pulls the knitted wool blanket up to her shoulders and gently kisses her temple. It’s been two hours since she’s fainted in the supermarket, and she’s still burning up.

He caught her just in time before her head hit the linoleum. He shooed away a group of concerned strangers that had gathered around them, assuring them that his wife was fine and just experiencing a minor dizzy spell. He sold it with a humorous eye roll and chuckled the word “women” before grabbing the kid and carrying her quickly out of the store and into the car. If she hadn’t been out cold, he’s certain he would’ve heard several objections to that comment.

Ben knows he can’t take her to a hospital, however. No one knows she’s a supe, and these days, they don’t receive the best treatment – too many bridges burnt after Homelander’s reign of terror. People have become angry, fearful, and distrustful.

Again, he feels a little responsible. He’s sure Soldier Boy had laid some groundwork for that, too.

Softly, the door to their bedroom clicks shut, her phone in his hand as he searches her contacts. His shoulders tense as he reaches the one he needs. His jaw tightens as he holds it to his ear and waits for an answer.

“Hey, I figured you’d call. Already fed up with the wrinkly dick and coming back?” Victoria Neuman’s voice sounds through the speaker, causing Ben’s hair to stand up on its ends.

Chalk on fucking board, he thinks and bites the anger back. He hates talking to that bitch, hates being nice, and hates asking for favors. But he swallows the acrimony down for the sake of his wife.

“It’s me,” Ben grits and feels his jaw beginning to ache. Why the fuck does everything hurt all the time? It’s something he figures he’ll never get used to – every time his back cracks and creaks in the mornings.

“You have exactly five seconds to tell me she’s not locked up in your basement before I make a few calls and let hellfire rain down on you, you decrepit piece of antiquity,” she bites her threat, but Ben can hear the concern in her voice, although he doesn’t give it too much weight. She’s probably faking it like her orgasms.

“Look, I wouldn’t fucking call if it wasn’t serious, you cunt,” Ben snaps and squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing the surge of fury and impatience out of his temples.

His admission causes a beat of silence on the other end. “What’s going on?” Neuman then finally asks and swallows down her own snarky remarks.

Ben licks his chapped lips before pushing the words out. “She’s-… she’s sick.”

There’s another long pause. “She can’t be sick. She’s a supe.”

“I fucking know that.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah…”

They both sigh (and both hate that they have something in common).

“I-… I have the cure,” Ben says and bites down on his tongue immediately after. He doesn’t want to show her all his cards.

“You can’t give it to her. It’s going to kill her,” Victoria reminds him firmly.

“The fucking virus is gonna kill her too, right?” Ben’s eyes drop to the floorboards that hold the solution to all his problems underneath.

“Yeah, it is,” Victoria admits. “What are her symptoms? You sure she’s not just pregnant?”

“I fucking hope not.” There’s a sentence he never expected to say. But– “I haven’t fucking cum inside of her for months.”

“Charming,” Neuman retorts on the other end.

“Wait, do you fucking know something? Did she cheat on me?” The grip around the phone in his hand tightens. Was that why she forgave him so fast and said she believed him?

“Unfortunately, no,” Victoria replies with obvious disappointment. Ben refrains from releasing the sigh of relief he feels. “Believe me, I’ve tried to get her cockdrunk on someone else…”

If Ben still had super-strength, he would’ve crushed the goddamn phone in his hand. Instead of exploding, he closes his eyes and takes a deep fucking breath, though. Ten… nine… eight… Where’s your happy place?

“Why the fuck are you calling me? What do you want?” Victoria’s voice snaps him out of his fatal fantasies of tearing her limbs off one by one.

“What d’you got in your labs? You gotta have a new cure, a new sample, fucking something,” Ben says but doesn’t even know what he’s asking. He’s grasping at straws, hoping to stumble upon an answer.

“If they’d found something, I would’ve already given it to her,” Neuman says.

“You fucking sure about that?” Ben doesn’t believe a drop of what she’s tellimg him.

“Yes,” Victoria still insists. “Look, before you give it to her, I’ll ask around, make a few calls, okay? See if there’s any possibilities to stop this.”

Ben’s hands tremble, his jaw quivers as he desperately tries to steady himself. “Thank you, fucking hurry,” he forces out in a murmur and immediately hangs up.

Y/N stretches with a grumbling sigh as his hand gently caresses her head. He presses his lips to her burning temple, her weary eyes fluttering open.

“Hey, my love,” Ben says, his deep voice soft as if he’s singing her a lullaby. “How are you feeling?”

She yawns and fights back the sleep in her eyes. “Still tired.”

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours,” he tells her and watches as she curls into the couch cushions with a coughing fit. He lowers down to the carpeted floor, stroking her back till she strenuously takes a breath again. “I think we need to talk about it now.”

Slowly, she meets his gaze, and he sees the fear shimmering in her eyes behind a thin veil of tears. She knows what this is, what her body is fighting, and Ben wonders how long she’s known without saying anything. He guesses she knew right from the start. Sometimes, he forgets he likes to pretend she isn’t really smarter than him.

But then, the fear morphs to determination. She nods, swallowing. “The gun’s in the safe in the closet.”

“I know where the fuck it is,” Ben grits, his brow densely creasing with a mix of confusion and angry suspicion. “What exactly do you think I’m gonna fucking do with it?”

“Shoot me.”

Her eyes are steady and firm, his voice is sterner.

“No.”

The word booms through the living room, threatening to quake the earth and shake books off their shelves.

“Ben–“

“You fucking listen to me, I’m not fucking killing you. End of discussion,” he snaps furiously. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him this angry before – not even when she said they should consider a divorce. Although, this seems to be a different kind of anger – one that cuts deeper.

“Sid shot Nancy,” she says quietly, hoping it appeals to him in some dark, ironic twist.

“She was stabbed, and they could never fucking pin it on him,” Ben shuts her argument down. “Ain’t fucking happening. I’m sorry, but you’re not gonna be the last person on my kill list, love.”

She forces a wry but weak smile. “It’d be a mercy killing. Euthanasia.”

“I’m familiar with the fucking concept,” Ben huffs tiredly. His hand then dives into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a small vial that holds yellow liquid.

Her lips part in shock as her eyes fix on the familiar cure in his grasp. “How long have you–“

“Stole it from that black site while you and that Neuman cunt were busy yapping about policies,” Ben explains. “I also took something blue. Figured I could use it at some point.”

“Still wanna be Soldier Boy, huh?” Her voice sounds almost bitter, mocking. A small part of her has always hoped she’d be enough for him someday. That he didn’t need the fame, the money, and the fake heroics. That he’d love himself enough to not rely on a façade.

“No,” he replies to her surprise and watches her straighten a bit on the couch. “I’d fucking do it for you.”

“I don’t want that,” she tells him firmly, hoping he still remembers her words even when she’s gone.

“I know that. Why the fuck do you think I haven’t done it yet?” Ben says with a raised brow and as much patience as he can find within himself. Chats like these aren’t his strong suit.

“So, this is your idea?” She cocks an eyebrow at the vial in his hand, her look pointed. “You don’t wanna kill me quickly, but you’d rather watch me die in fucking slow-motion?”

“It’s better than nothing,” Ben argues, the lines on his freckled face hardening again. Why does she have to be so fucking stubborn all the time?

Ironically, she thought the same thing about her husband.

“For who? You?! You can’t be that fucking selfish,” she spits and rises from the couch with a shaking head.

“Funny. I was just about to say the same fucking thing to you,” he returns with the same fire.

She thunders into the bedroom and slams the door shut before he hears her rummaging through the closet. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes once the first expletives bleed through.

“Where’s the fucking gun?” she snaps as soon as the door flies open again.

“Already hid it somewhere you won’t fucking find it,” he answers slyly and purses his lips as she storms past him into the kitchen.

She lets out a deep sigh of frustration when she finds both the knife block and drawers empty. “Seriously? Did you fucking baby-proof the house while I was asleep?!”

“Well, if you’re behaving like a fucking baby…” he retorts and patiently follows her frantic steps. “You also won’t find fucking scissors and pills, either.”

“Ironic coming from you,” she scoffs, opening and shutting cabinet doors in the desperate search for something strong enough to put her out of her goddamn misery.

“Yeah, how do you think I knew which shit to hide, huh?” he asks rhetorically and takes a careful step closer, cornering her between counters and appliances. “Would you stop that now and fucking talk to me?”

“You don’t wanna talk to me,” she retorts. “You just wanna fucking pump me full of poison, so you get to feel fucking good about yourself again.”

“You think that’s it? I’m fucking jealous?” He arches a brow and crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest, his offense hiding behind amusement.

“Aren’t you?” she bites back.

“Is that you or the fucking V talking, huh?” Ben has never said it out loud before, but he hated how that blue shit changed her. Sure, it only amplified certain parts of her that he supposes have always been there, but it made her less caring, more arrogant, too.

“It’s me, you asshole,” she snarls.

The look on her face breaks his heart into a million pieces. He almost doesn’t recognize her anymore, and he knows reaching any sense of clarity or humanity within her is impossible at this point.

“You sure about that?”

She doesn’t reply, just shakes her head at him and opens the fridge. Her shoulders still for a second, and Ben knows at that moment she’s found something and is thinking of a plan to outfox him.

His gaze swerves to the full beer bottle that has found its way into her hand. She’s quick when she breaks it forcefully against the countertop, the golden-brown liquid splashing onto the floor. But Ben’s faster and bruisingly clutches her wrist, spinning her to face him. Tears sting her eyes as she fights against his hold. Ben knows she’s not using her full strength on him, though, and is almost curious as to why.

He’s not sure Soldier Boy would’ve shown the same hesitant restraint, even if it had been her.

“What the fuck are you doing? Let me fucking go,” she grits through her teeth.

Ben only shakes his head, his gaze on her stern as he tightens his grip around her wrist.

“You want me to fucking melt you into a puddle?” she threatens.

“Fucking do it,” he challenges her defiantly without a blink of a single eye. “If you wanna do this, you’re gonna have to step over my fucking body first, ‘cause there’s no way I’m letting this hand go unless you drop that fucking bottle. What’s it gonna be?”

Her nostrils flare in sync with the heavy rising and falling of her chest, her glare deadly. Slowly and mutinously, she opens each finger till the bottle crashes to the floor and shatters into sharp daggers at their feet. As soon as his grasp on her loosens, she breaks down and falls into his arms, sobbing against his chest.

He feels a flood of relief rush through his body. Thank fucking God, because he’s totally been bluffing.

He wraps his arms tighter around her, holds her closer, and nuzzles his face into her hair. “I know. It’s okay, sweetheart…”

“I’m fucking scared, Ben,” she cries, and he swallows the thick lump in his throat and forces his own tears back into his skull.

“I know, I know…” He cradles her head, resting his chin on her crown. “You know, admittedly, I’m-… I’m a little scared, too.”

She peels from his chest and meets his forest green eyes, amusement dancing on her lips. “Well, I’m glad you’re not a cold-hearted psychopath.”

Ben curls his lips, cheeks reddening. This is what he gets for opening up. “It’s my job as your husband to take care of you. Be a strong front.”

She rolls her eyes back dramatically and groans into his shirt. “You know, it doesn’t make you less of a man for feeling things.” She teasingly grins up at him. “In fact, I think only guys with the biggest dicks can pull it off.”

His lips tug at a smile. “I know what you’re doing.”

She locks her arms around his neck and pulls herself to his height for a scorching kiss. And Ben can’t fight the feeling this is meant to be their last one.

“Don’t get weird when I’m gone, okay?” she tells him then, and it feels like the beginning of a list of last wishes. “No reverting back to full asshole. No blue shit.”

“Christ, you’re not fucking dying,” Ben replies, his deep voice calm but firm.

“Ben, denial will only make it worse,” she says, her heart cracking at the forlorn look on his face. “You can’t fix this. There’s nothing you can do. It’s okay.”

Ben shakes his head wordlessly, and she knows the conversation is about to be over. There really isn’t more she can do, either.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed. You need some rest,” Ben says and already scoops her into his arms before she can respond.

Y/N’s head rests on his broad and bare chest as he holds her tightly in his arms. The skin-to-skin contact seems to soothe her, which is good because he plans to never let her go. If he just keeps her here right next to him, she’ll be fine. She won’t leave him.

She’s talked some when she wasn’t out like a light, but Ben could tell her mind was getting hazy. She talked about her parents and her childhood, something she rarely ever does.

They had never really talked a lot about their respective pasts altogether. They’d covered the basics, but what actually happened didn’t matter as much. They knew they’d both done things they weren’t proud of. But the point of their relationship had always been a clean slate – a fresh start.

She had barely gotten that. She stupidly sacrificed it all for him, and he still wishes she would’ve never done that. He was supposed to die that day with Homelander. It had been his time.

Not hers.

She snores softly in his arms. Her heartbeat is faint, her breathing shallow. An hour ago, it used to be labored, each breath a struggle. She’s so hot he’s afraid she’ll melt in his embrace. He knows she doesn’t have long anymore. He’s running out of time.

Carefully, he stretches his arm to reach for the glistening yellow vial on the nightstand. He pops the lid open and stabs the syringe through the top, drawing it to the brim.

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his green eyes. What if he makes it worse? More painful? What if he kills her?

Victoria’s words ring in his ears. There’s a chance the virus accepts the cure. A loophole, if you will. The cure’s deadly for two-timers, but if they were also infected with the virus, the cure could piggyback on that. One in eighty rats had survived the ordeal before they stopped the trials. Ben didn’t understand the rest of the scientific mumbo-jumbo, but he knows those aren’t great odds.

Still, it’s something.

Ben doesn’t have the luxury to be picky about solutions, though. What he thought were minutes turn to seconds once her breathing stops entirely.

He rolls up the sleeves of the oversized shirt she’s wearing, one of his, and looks for a good angle on her forearm, just below the elbow. He’s not a doctor, he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing or where it should go best, but that one time he did heroin in the 80s, he’d put it exactly there, and it had been fine.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he mumbles into her hair and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

One rough prick through her steeled skin, and the needle is in. He empties the liquid in one swift motion before discarding the used syringe back on the nightstand. He cautiously slides out from underneath her then and ensures she’s lying comfortably on the mattress. He doesn’t want to leave her side, but he knows her powers might short-circuit soon.

Ben remembers the stories from other supes at the rehab clinic – the agonizing pain, the feeling of puking your organs out before the rest follows. Flickers of his own process trickle into his mind. He can’t remember most of it, but he remembers how they’d locked him up in a nuclear-proof prison at some point during the procedure.

For now, he prefers not die by a rain of acid if he gets to pick.

His hand gently caresses her head. He’s not even sure she’s still alive. She might not, and he may have been too late. All for nothing.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers and takes her hand in his. It feels cold and lifeless, but he still tries. He’s not ready to let go yet. He’s not sure he’ll ever be. “I know you can beat this shit like everything else. We’re this fucking close. Just a little more…”

And then, there’s a flicker of something – a weak tap of a finger against his palm. There’s movement behind her eyelids and a twitch of her brows.

“Sweetheart?”

There’s a groan, her hands gripping a fistful of bedsheets as she coils into the mattress, muscles contorting. He gently rubs her back, trying to help her as the pain tears through her.

“Hey, hey, you’re good. You’re alright,” he soothes and feels the guilt bubbling in his stomach. He hates that he did this to her, but he did it for love. The knowledge barely makes it better, however.

“Oh, fuck, Ben!”

She usually screams those exact words for different reasons, and Ben notes the soft tones of annoyance and anger that are lacing her voice.

“Did you give me the fucking cure?!”

Ben draws his lips into tight line and nods. Admittedly, she might not have fully consented to the procedure. But he prefers her furious with him for the rest of her life over dead. Besides, he’s her husband – shouldn’t the decision be his? Like pulling the plug? That’s a thing, right?

“Motherfucking–“

She bites down on her tongue and swallows her curses with some blood as another surge of pain takes control of her body. Her fingernails claw at her forearms as if she’s trying to scratch it out of her system. If Ben could compare it to anything, he’d probably go with a demon exorcism.

“You selfish fucking prick! You can’t even let me die in peace?!” she grits through her teeth, fighting another surge. She feels the nausea too, like a parasite trying to flee its host through her throat.

“Look, I’m fucking sorry, but I had to take the shot, alright?!”

Y/N groans in loud exhaustion, and Ben’s not entirely sure if it’s because of the pain or a little bit because of him, too.

“Ben, you need to fucking leave,” she presses through her lips, her stern gaze finding his.

He can tell by her look that she’s not saying it out of anger. She’s not saying it because she doesn’t want him to stay and never see him again. She says it because she’s trying to save his life.

Again. The fourth time.

Her name falls from his lips, but she shakes her head as she stumbles out of bed and pushes past him towards the bathroom.

“Leave,” she tells him with more urgency. “Close the door. Go now.”

Ben stills with a hand on the doorknob and looks at her. He can’t leave her like this, can he?

“I’ll be fine. I promise. Please go,” she says as if she can read his mind, steadying herself against the cool wall. She can feel it everywhere, trying to escape her body.

His breaths are ragged, his heart is hammering against his ribs. “I fucking love you,” he says through the sting of tears in his eyes. He says it like it’s the last time he gets to say it while she can still hear him.

She sends him a weak smile and mouths, ‘I love you, too.’

And all there’s left then for him to do is staring at a closed bedroom door. And waiting. Fucking waiting…

Part 3: Lovestruck – TOMORROW 💕

Ah yes the waiting game 😂🫶 Are you excited for the finale aka the happy end tomorrow? After this, they truly deserve it haha

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#comment reblog #lovely readers 🤍#lover #rehab sequel #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy

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