#announcements will be made sometime later this month

[suuuupernovaaa]

steyki

steyki [English] vtr. anger, make someone angry

Neteyam gets angrier than he knew he could be when he sees another member of his clan trying to stake a claim on you, and takes matters into his own hands.

Adult Neteyam. Jealousy trope.

1,445 words.

Hunting wasn’t really a strong suit of mine. I was skilled with a bow, almost exceptionally so, and I understood that killing was part of the cycle of life, but I simply didn’t like it.

Instead, I had made myself handy at gathering. I could spend all day in the forest, pillaging through the wildlife, taking just what the clan needed and leaving no trace of myself.

Which was why it was so infuriating that once again, Marek had found me. Every day for the past month, he had found me.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Marek. He was a fine young man, handsome and well spoken, admired by many, but I knew I did not share the affections for him that he shared for me.

He followed me around for hours, asking incessant questions about the plants I was harvesting, how they would be used, and I wondered how he didn’t know these things - or maybe, he was pretending not to know.

With my basket overflowing, I finally announced that I was ready to return home. “Come,” I said to Marek, who was falling over himself with questions again.

Sometimes, I wished he would just declare his intentions, so I could reject him and we could both move on.

He followed me back to Home Tree, telling me about his most recent kill, and I tried to be very interested and kind, but I could not have been more relieved when he bid me farewell.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!” he said with a friendly wave, and I winced.

---

Marek’s friends teased him later that night.

“You follow her around like a lovesick Syaksyuk,” Ani, Marek’s oldest friend, said. “Just make your claim!”

Marek shook his head. “No, it will not work with her. She has to... I have to convince her, first.”

“This is what you waste all day doing?” Neteyam chimed in, having only been half listening to the conversation. He didn’t know Marek that well, but Ani was a good friend. “Following some woman around? Who is she?”

“Y/N,” Marek said.

Ani continued to tease, and the two men did not notice that their friend had grown very quiet.

Y/N, Neteyam quietly seethed. Marek had ideas on Y/N? Planned to make her his mate? That was impossible. He hadn’t even realized they knew each other very well. How long had this been going on? How absorbed had he been in his father’s training that he hadn’t noticed?

Neteyam gripped the bow in his hands, using every ounce of his self-control not to pounce on the innocent man in front of him. Of course, other members of the tribe were going to notice Y/N. Was she not the most beautiful woman they had ever seen? Was she not well-spoken, kind, and intelligent? He was a fool to think he could waste time with training and put off declaring himself to her.

He was angry with himself. What if Y/N was planning to say yes to Marek? What would Neteyam do then?

Marek was his friend... but he had to get to her first. 

---

Having dropped off everything I’d gathered that day near the fire pits where the daily meals were prepared, I considered socializing a little. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marek and two of his friends talking, and one of them was glancing my way.

Neteyam.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly in my chest. I hardly ever saw Neteyam anymore. In fact, it had been weeks since I spotted him. When we locked eyes, he stood up and made his way hastily over to me.

“Y/N,” he called, waving.

“Neteyam,” I greeted as he approached. “Where have you been?”

He sighed. “Training, always.”

I smiled, and he began walking with me, even though I didn’t really know where I was walking to. I thought about heading back home, or maybe back into the woods to dip my feet in a shallow pool. It was a very hot day.

“Well, the son of Olo'eyktan must be prepared for all things.” I looked over my shoulder, to where Marek and his best friend, Ani, were staring.”Ugh, please come.” I grabbed Neteyam’s arm and pulled him until we were out of sight, and alone.

“What was that?” Neteyam asked. I pressed my back against the tree behind me and sighed.

“Marek,” I said, wincing. “He, well, he...”

Neteyam’s face fell. “He wants you to be his mate.”

I groaned, putting my hands in my face, and felt ashamed. Marek was so kind, skilled, and handsome; I knew many women who would be flattered and even thrilled by his attentions, but here I was, annoyed.

The truth was, I had pined for Neteyam for quite some time. It wasn’t smart, to hope for the affections of the next Olo’eyktan, but I couldn’t stop myself.

As handsome and skilled as Marek was, Neteyam was a thousand times more impressive. No one was as kind as him, no one cared more deeply for their family, and certainly no one was more beautiful than the man standing before me.

“Does he bother you, Y/N?” Neteyam asked, reaching out to gently pull my hand from my face.

“Well, he doesn’t mean to... but he follows me all day. You know, I like to forage. I’m good at it, I, it’s easy and it makes me feel useful. Plus, it’s peaceful, to be in the forest alone most of the day. But now, almost every day, Marek follows me and talks. He talks, and talks, and talks, and I know he wants to ask me, but he won’t. I don’t know why he won’t.” The words spilled from my mouth like vomit, and I felt a little embarrassed to confess this to Neteyam.

“And if he did,” Neteyam asked, stepping just a little closer, “what would you say?”

“I would thank him for his offer, and say no. And then, he could move on to a woman worthy of his affections. He is wasting his time.”

Before me, Neteyam seemed to relax. His ears turned up, and his shoulders fell down just a little, and the tense lines in his forehead disappeared. 

“I know how to get Marek to leave you alone,” Neteyam said, and my eyes brightened up.

“Please, I will do anything,” I begged, reaching out and putting a hand on his chest.

“You must take a mate. Another mate.”

Disappointed, I fell back against the tree again. “No one else has expressed interested, Neteyam. I’m very strange. Most people, they don’t pay much attention to me.”

Neteyam shrugged. “I do.”

I grinned at him. “You do not. I never see you.”

“You would see me much more, if we were pledged to each other.”

My eyebrows furrowed and I pursed my lips. “Are you offering to pretend, so Marek will leave me alone?”

Neteyam’s grin grew ear to ear, and I wanted to sigh at the beauty of it. “No. I am trying to express my affections to you, and doing a bad job of it.”

Standing straight up, I pushed myself off of the tree behind me, forcing Neteyam to take a few steps to avoid us both falling down with my sudden forward momentum. 

“What?” was all I could manage in reply.

“I will not see you with someone like Marek. In fact, I will not see you with anyone else,” Neteyam said, a fierceness in his eyes that I rarely caught a glimpse of; he looked just like his mother.

He reached for me, placing one arm behind my neck, and the other low, on my hip. 

“You are not strange, Y/N. You are beautiful, and skilled, and smart, and you deserve to be loved by someone you love in return. I would hope, that could be me.”

My mouth was dry. I opened it, then closed it again, as he pulled me in so close that our chests were nearly touching. Neteyam was nearly a head taller than me, and I could almost hear his heart beating out of his chest.

“Yes, Neteyam,” I said finally, in a whisper. “I am yours.”

Not even a second later, Neteyam brought his mouth down to mine in a forceful, passionate kiss. His arms wrapped around my waist, nearly lifting me off the ground, and we sighed in unison.

All the fears and anxieties melted away as Neteyam held me, and kissed me with such a tender passion that I saw stars.

I could not help but think that, after everything, I owed my happiness still to Marek.

#neteyam #avatar #avatar twow #Neteyam x reader #Neteyam fic

[lovinpelova]

secret | k. casparij

summary; your man city teammates find out who your girlfriend is. [SMUT]

🎵 the beach - giveon

you first met kerstin when england played against the netherlands in a friendly almost two years ago, the game had ended in a glorious 5-1 win for your side and the dutch were left in despair at such a horrible defeat being handed to them; but a certain dutchie planned to leave the stadium with more than a loss. she'd requested a shirt swap for the masterclass you'd put up against her in midfield, smiling gleefully when you accepted immediately and made small talk to keep the conversation going. she just couldn't help herself, so when you'd laughed at another one of her jokes and gently placed your hand on her arm for the final time she asked for your number.

the next day she'd taken you out for coffee and a small walk with your hands absentmindedly laced together like you'd been dating years at that point. you realised kerstin was too shy to make a move in fear of making you uncomfortable so decided to take matters into your own hands (literally) and smiled to yourself when she let out an audible gasp, the midfielder then wrapping said arm around your shoulders to pull you closer with your forearm crossed over your chest. the pair of you didn't want that to be the end of your date and decided to plan another one, which led to kerstin kissing you outside your apartment door when she walked you all the way home and asking you to be her girlfriend a couple dates later.

after learning of her impending move to manchester within the first date you insisted on giving her a tour around the city, knowing you'll be seeing her a lot more often now that you were dating and really liked her. a month after making it official, kerstin announced her move to city and bid farewell to her previous club with a massive smile on her face; part of the reason being all the new opportunities city would provide her with, part of the reason being all the time she could spend with her girlfriend.

at this point in time your city teammates had caught onto you dating someone, still not having signed your girlfriend yet meant they couldn't even fathom to think you'd go for a dutchie. the girls speculated and you denied each guess, pushed away wandering hands when snatching at your phone to see who you were texting and remained silent on the matter of how you'd met, knowing for a fact the girls you played with for england would be able to narrow down you were dating a dutchie judging by the dates of recent international friendlies.

kerstin and yourself acted like friends in public and had continued to do so for the past year and nine months, opting to keep your relationship more of a private-leaning-secret matter for the sake of yourselves. you wanted to tell the girls ages ago but the moment just never came and with time you gave up on trying, rather letting them continue to think you were just friends that spent time together outside of football sometimes for the sake of team bonding and midfield chemistry.

none of them had managed to catch onto the looks you gave each other in training or sneaky touches when trying to get past in a group huddle, so you must have been doing a good job at hiding your relationship for now. there were obviously speculations online but it never got further than an odd rumour that no one paid attention to and luckily for you, your teammates had given up on trying to figure out who your girlfriend was. they claimed your recent instagram posts were looking like a soft launch but you quickly shut them down- why would you suddenly soft launch a relationship after being with her for nearly two years? the privacy was the main reason you'd managed to stay together so long and you both intended on keeping it that way.

current day, you just played against tottenham and won 4-0 with yourself bagging a goal and two assists from midfield. your girlfriend had been dropped back to defense to give the new signings a chance in midfield but it didn't stop her from joining the group hug you'd initiated after celebrating individually or with bunny. you were walking away from media duties with a proud 'player of the match' trophy in your left hand and match ball in your right, unsure of what you were going to do with the ball but you kept it anyways in case you wanted to practice juggling in your apartment.

you were congratulated by all your teammates as you walked into the changing rooms with music blasting in your ears immediately, mary and kerstin dragging you towards the middle of the room to dance with the other girls before they turned the music down after a couple minutes of celebrating your performance. your girlfriend sneakily winked at you and smiled in response to the blush that spread over your face, both of you going your seperate ways to find your cubbies and get ready to go home.

you'd already settled down on your couch by the time kerstin had arrived home, both of you being cautious about when you spent time together to not raise suspicions from teammates on why you were driving home together from games and training. the dutchwoman had sent you a text that had your heart beating out of your chest still, knowing you'd read it immediately since you always got home before she did.

'taking my stargirl out tomorrow. that performance deserves a celebration and a half prettygirl.❤️'

--------

staying true to her words, kerstin picked you up at the exact time she said she would with a bouquet of roses at your front door, smile on her face and gentle kiss when you invited her in to talk whilst you put the flowers in a vase.

"you didn't have to organise a whole day just because i had a good game, baby."

kerstin walked up to you with a soft sigh as you stood up from tying your laces, wrapping her arms around your waist loosely and leaning in to kiss you lovingly for a couple moments with yours resting over her shoulders. she broke away with gentle pecks at your request for more kisses and you both smiled softly.

"nonsense. my babygirl deserves the world and more."

you both set off not long after the intimate moment and kerstin had opened her car door open for you like a true gentlewoman, arriving at the café you'd had your first date in. glad you recognised it immediately, the dutchie helped you out of the car and shut tbe door for you like you were royalty, kissing the back of your hand with a smile before initiating small talk naturally. not long after drinking your coffees and sharing small snacks that eventually satiated your growing hunger you went for a walk, kirsten doing her best to show her love physically as she complimented your performance from the day before.

--------

one of the best parts about being a footballer dating another footballer is that you were on international duty almost always at the same time, sometimes even playing against each other. it's not always the easiest to have ridiculous scorelines against your girlfriend and it's definitely not easy when her team kicks you out of the olympics by one goal after you'd done everything you could in your power to ensure that didn't happen, but when she texted you to apologise and you texted her to congratulate, you knew you were on the same page.

you cared about each others careers, even if it was at the cost of your own sometimes. both of you knew football is a cruel game in many ways; underdogs having ridiculous scorelines put past them, a bad performance putting you on the bench, injuries littering your friend groups, dreams being taken away when they were millimetres from your grasp. it's mentally and physically challenging, but elite athletes were trained to cope with it- yourself and kerstin had helped each other through it multiple times.

one of the worst parts about being on international duty at the same time was missing her. she was in the netherlands whilst you were in england still, the time difference not being a problem but rather how physically demanding for your countries was, meaning you were catching up on sleep whenever you could and partaking in team bonding without realising you weren't responding to the other's texts. luckily it wasn't one-sided as you were both so busy, but you still felt bad and (slightly) dreaded international duty because of it.

you'd arrived home from st. george's park a couple hours ago after saying goodbye to your teammates and congratulating everyone on their good performances in your matches, now sat on the couch and enjoying the relaxing aura your apartment had before your phone lit up with a text from kerstin.

'i'm coming over. be there in 5'

'everything okay?'

'miss you too much to wait any longer'

immediately knowing why she was coming over, you smiled to yourself and shook your head in disbelief at how needy your girlfriend could get. fair enough, you hadn't seen each other in nearly a month, but you were going to see each other in a couple days at club training and afterwards for a date you'd planned. before you could check your appearance or think to put your phone on charge in your bedroom a sharp chorus of knocks echoed throughout your apartment, making you jump off the couch and open the door in record time.

you barely had time to think before kerstin's lips were on yours and her hands were pulling your hips into hers, foot shutting the door behind her whilst she turned to find the kitchen island and place you on it. your legs wrapped around her waist as she kissed you feverishly like she had no time left in the world, fingers gripping the soft flesh of your toned thighs that was left exposed by your shorts with the occasional slip under your hoodie to tease. your hands tangled themselves into her hair and tugged at her roots gently whilst kerstin slipped her tongue into your mouth, clearly desperate for more than a kiss judging by the way her hands were trailing along your thighs shamelessly.

you pulled away to catch your breath and smiled in disbelief of your girlfriend's state, breathing heavily and staring down at you with hooded eyes and a pool of lust replacing the loving light brown she owned. she licked her lips hungrily whilst staring at your own and pulling your body closer to hers, hands caressing the outside of your thighs as your arms wrapped around her neck to pull her closer and teasingly brush your lips over hers with a smile.

"we were gonna be seeing each other in a couple days."

"i want you now."

you forcefully pressed your lips against hers in an attempt to gain control of the kiss, failing miserably when kerstin pulled away to trail sloppy kisses down your neck and pick you up, finding her way to your bed as she left an unmissable trail of hickeys you were praying would be gone by the time city training was back on. the midfielder smiled cockily when your head lulled backwards out of instinct and she laid you down on your bed, taking off your hoodie as she removed her own jacket and shirt with haste and her lips moving furiously against your own again when she felt your hands tugging at her clothes.

kerstin let out a shameless moan into your mouth at the feeling of her bare skin against yours after so long without it, ignoring the cocky smirk you wore and trailing her hands down to undo your bra before she dipped her fingers into the waistband of your shorts in a silent request. you mumbled your approval against her mouth with one hand holding her jaw and the other grasping the side of her stomach, letting her slip off your shorts and underwear effortlessly without breaking the kiss. she'd obviously done this plenty of times before but you thought she would at least have some difficulty getting back into the routine after a month without it, clearly time makes no difference to kerstin's sexual expertise when it comes to your body.

"you too."

"what?"

she mumbled her confusion into your mouth and watched you roll your eyes with a smile once you'd pulled away, undoing the button and zipper on her jeans so she got the hint and took them off for you. her lips were back on yours with no time to spare fingers were tracing your thighs, embracing the way they fell open further for her in silent permission for her to go on. she kissed you softly as one finger slipped itself inside you, grinning against your mouth when yours fell open in ecstasy at being driven towards orgasm once she began thrusting it gently to ease you into it.

you knew with how desperate she was to see you she wouldn't be treating you like glass the entire night, your thoughts proven right with nails digging into her skin as she curled her fingertip into your g-spot whilst inserting another. kerstin was touching you in all the right ways with a sole motive of pushing you over the edge. soon enough, both fingers were pushing against your sweet spot and pulling wild moans out of you as she gradually sped up to the pace that had her mouth watering in response to your noises.

"keep going baby,"

"you like that mijn vriendin?"

"hou ervan."

your sudden switch to dutch had kerstins mind reeling, a guttural moan leaving her mouth alongside a choked one escaping yours as her fingers sped up even further. she trailed her lips down your torso sloppily and left marks in her wake to admire later, immediately latching onto your clit and flicking her tongue pleasurably before switching to sucking gently. hips bucking against her face and back arching, your hands found their way into her hair and tugged roughly to pull her closer as she moaned into you.

her fingers were abusing your g-spot in a way that had you seeing stars, the woman above you enjoying herself so much her eyes were rolling back and mouth was speeding up. kerstin needed to feel you cum around her fingers, she needed to feel that final claim she had on you after not seeing you in this state for god knows how long.

"c'mon babygirl, cum for me. you're gonna cum for me yeah?"

she desperately requested with her fingers still pistoning into your g-spot, lips scattering kisses over spasming thighs as you desperately nodded your head and cried out for her.

"that's it baby, good girl."

the midfielder didn't leave a drop to waste, collecting it all on her tongue and shamelessly swallowing. she licked her fingers clean after helping you ride out your high, memorising how you'd clenched around them moments beforehand as she gently licked up the reminants of your arousal in an attempt to clean you up.

--------

"is your girlfriend a mosquito by any chance?"

you heard one of your teammates ask from across the changing room, looking down at your body and being met with all the hickeys kerstin had left behind three days prior. they were fading, sure, but they were still visible. the woman had put herself to work in desperate times and she definitely didn't disappoint.

"christ, she's done some work on you."

"someone had a good time last weekend!"

"you sure she's not a vampire?"

humourless comments were thrown your way as you stood unimpressed, thanking god your torture was saved by other girls entering the changing rooms and switching the topic of conversation. you quickly put on your training top and turned to see a pale-faced lauren hemp, following her eyesight and seeing she was staring at kerstin, who was now shirtless.

"oh my god!"

the whole room stopped in response to laurens sudden outburst, your eyes going wide when she pointed to kerstin and then looked at you. immediately knowing she'd connected the dots and you both didn't have marks at the same time out of coincidence, you shut your eyes in preparation for what she was going to say next.

"kerstin is y/ns girlfriend!"

the scratch marks you'd left behind on kerstins back were still almost as red as her face, the brunette turning around shocked as you tried to make up excuses to save yourself but ended up babbling like you were braindead.

"holy shit hempos right!"

mary exclaimed next, the whole changing room bursting into conversation with the discovery of who your girlfriend was. next was the teasing comments about how you'd definitely seen each other over the weekend and then the questions that implied they needed to know every single detail about your relationship. only one good thing came of yours and kerstins carelessness in the changing rooms; you didn't have to hide your love for her anymore.

#kerstin casparij #kerstin casparij x reader #woso #woso smut #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #kerstin casparij imagine #kerstin casparij smut #man city #manchester city #mcwfc #mcwfc x reader #oranjeleeuwinnen #nedwnt #nedwnt x reader

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Epilogue

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, mentions of past trauma, fluff, smut mdni (18+), unprotected p in v, fingering, praising, dad jokes

Words:

Synopsis: Years later, you and Simon are still together but as more than roommates….

You are currently reading the last part to The Roommate Series

Few years later…

You were bored. 

So bored that you were worried you might start nodding off, like a few of the others who sat in the seats next to you. You should’ve been more excited about the fact that you were finally graduating, but it was difficult to feel anything other than the slight need of sleep when one of the professors conducting the speech wouldn’t stop talking.

How long had he been talking for? You’re zoned out a while ago, wishing you could pull out your phone to scroll through social media or check your messages just to pass the time until he was finally done. Instead, you had to sit there and listen to him ramble about something until it was time for you to walk.

You’d much rather be checking your messages now that you thought about it. Simon was supposed to text you this morning before you went to the ceremony since he was still on a mission, but you had gotten nothing the last time you checked.

Your feelings were a little hurt, but it worried you more than anything. If he couldn’t text you he was working and that meant it was possible he could be hurt-

You let out a deep breath, letting the thought drift away before it started to fester. 

Simon was fine. He spoke to you last night so he was probably just busy. You could text him when the ceremony was over, maybe even call him if he had enough time to spare. It would be nice to hear him and tell him all about the time you wasted listening to the professor who was one strong breeze from turning into dust.

You perked up when the professor stepped down and clapped a little more enthusiastically than you meant to. You watched as another professor came up to the podium and announced with the same kind of excitement that it was time to hand out diplomas.

You watched the first row of grads walk towards the podium to be announced. As they walked across the stage you couldn’t help but feel a little bittersweet about the situation.

Simon had planned to be here to celebrate with you. You both had come up with a plan to go out to eat at a fancy restaurant and maybe get a couple drinks after everything was over. 

He had been excited about it, not only because he got to spend time with you but he was happy that you were graduating. He was taking it seriously, making reservations and finding the best outfit to go with yours, making sure everything was planned how you wanted it…

And then duty called. 

You were upset, not knowing whether or not he’d be back in time, but eventually you came to terms with it. Judging by the texts Simon had sent you since then, he hadn’t come to terms with it, declaring that he would be there no matter what, even when you assured him it was okay.

You determined from his silence that he was still there. 

It hurt but that was the price to pay. Sometimes he’d miss out on important stuff with you because of work, that was life when you loved someone in his profession, but it made it all worth it because it was Simon.

He had left just two months ago and you assumed he wouldn’t be back for a few more.

Your row got up and you walked towards the stage. It almost didn’t feel real that you were graduating, that after all the hardships you had with your classes that it was finally over and that you were more prepared for life than before.

You could at least share it with Simon when he got back.

Your name was announced and as you stepped up to get your diploma you heard loud cheering which made you jump. You and everyone looked around for the source, everyone else clapped and gave maybe small whoops, but this was cheering you’d hear at a football game.

Tears welled up in your eyes and a grin stretched across your face when you saw them.

All of them, Simon, Price, John and Kyle were in the crowd. Simon held a bouquet of flowers and waved to you as if you couldn’t pick him out within the crowd of families who were mostly quiet. 

But that didn’t stop you from waving back to him, showing him your diploma with a chest full of pride that made you beam brightly at him. You felt even happier when he raised his fist, cheering louder for you.

It took everything in you to not run over to him. You still had to go through the ceremony and weren’t sure if the professors would be too happy if you ran out before it was over. That didn’t stop you from constantly peeking over your shoulder at him with anticipation, just waiting for the moment that you were allowed to go.

When it was over, you practically sprinted to them. You barely gave Simon enough to make sure you didn’t crush the flowers before you threw yourself on top of him, holding onto him with a tight grip as you blinked back tears.

Simon held you back just as tight. He let out a heavy sigh of relief and he nearly melted into your arms. He chuckled lowly and gave you a quick squeeze before  you slipped out of his grasp to look at him.

“You’re here!” You pulled back and drank him in.

He was wearing a mask to cover the lower half of his face but you didn’t catch any bruises or scrapes anywhere on the uncovered spots of his face. He stood perfectly fine like the rest of them and watched you with soft eyes so full of love that your smile grew bigger when he leaned closer to you.

He was alive and well, and now he was back here with you.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.” Simon said softly while he offered you the flowers and your heart swelled as you took them.

You let out a soft thank, so overwhelmed with emotions you weren’t sure how to process or handle them. All you could do was hold the flowers, try not to tear up and stare at Simon with every ounce of pure love you had within you. You had half the mind to pull him down for a kiss or to not let go of him, but you had to tell yourself that you were in public.

You settled on holding his hand which he seemed to gratefully take because you held onto it with a firm grip.

It could wait until you both got back to your shared apartment.

“We should celebrate.” Price spoke up and you nodded. “I’ll pay.”

Kyle and John cheered while you laughed. You tried to tell him he didn’t have to but he wasn’t hearing it, quickly dismissing any of your worries that it would be too much or that he didn’t have to since there was no reason for it. 

When you looked at Simon for help he only shrugged before he leaned in close to your ear.

“I’ll pay for us.” 

“That’s not any better!”

He chuckled and squeezed your hand. His eyes twinkled when you gave him an exasperated look before he pressed a quick kiss to your temple through the mask. He pulled you close and kept your hand in his while you all walked to the parking lot where you’d decide to go to dinner.

You spent the entirety of dinner catching up, but mostly just staring at Simon who seemed to stare back at you just as much. 

It hadn’t been long, not nearly as long as the many other times he had left for work, yet it was just the same as always. Every moment with him gone hurt but once he got back you felt so much better knowing that not only was he alive but that he had come back. It made every second worth it.

You could tell that he was feeling the same. His hand barely left yours and when it did he rested it on your thigh, his eyes never once losing their look of pride when he looked over at you. He seemed to have fallen head over heels for you again and you sure he would tell you just that if you said something.

You’d be lying if you said that you also hadn’t fallen in love with him again. 

You did it every day.

You all parted ways after dinner, but not without the promise of drinks sometime later in the week and possibly other times where you all got to hang out. 

“How do you feel?” Simon wondered as the two of you walked to your car.

“It honestly hasn’t set in yet.” You told him truthfully. You hadn’t really accepted that you had graduated and didn’t need to go to classes anymore. You were back to the way things were before you enrolled in the university, older and a little more wise, but not much different. At least you knew how to transition into a full time job. “I don’t feel any different.”

“Good or bad?”

You glanced at him, noticing the slight worry in his eyes. You gave him a small smile however and leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Good.”

Simon helped you in the car and playfully took the keys from you. On the drive back to the apartment, he kept his hand on your knee and you kept your hand on top of his.

“You know,” You caught his attention as you gave him a knowing look. “My job doesn’t start for another couple weeks or so.”

“Yeah?” He mumbled and squeezed your leg.

You hummed and a smug smile pulled at your lips. You slid his hand a little further up your leg and watched as his grip tightened on the wheel. You had to suppress a laugh when he let out a short huff, knowing full well what you were doing.

“Yeah…and I don’t have anything planned. Which means I’m all yours.”

Simon grunted and you bit your lip. Anyone else would’ve thought he was being dismissive, but you knew him too well. You could see the light blush on the tips of his ears and judging by the way he shifted in his seat you knew he was starting to get hard.

If he wasn’t flustered you were sure he’d lightly scold you for making him that way.

The drive back to the apartment was quicker than normal and the two of you rushed to get inside.

Your new apartment was smaller than the last but no less homey. You and Simon could be found everywhere and in every corner, the place completely lived in and inviting. There was only one bedroom and the bathroom was too small for both of you to be in there at the same time but it was home.

The door didn’t even close behind the two of you before Simon had his hands on your hips. He ripped the mask off and kissed you tenderly, capturing your lips in his as he pulled you into his chest. He didn’t give you a chance to breathe while his hands roamed your body, feeling you as if he were mapping out your body for the first time.

You kissed him back just as fervently, clutching onto him and letting out soft moans that made him kiss you harder. You barely had enough time to set the flowers down without harming them before he was peeling your outfit off you.

He left hot kisses across your neck down to your chest, kissing the dog tags he gave you. You let out a gasp when he sucked a mark on your breast before he very gently pushed you down on the couch. He hovered above you, pinning you down onto the cushions and let you tug him forward into another kiss.

“Been too long. I missed you.” He breathed into your mouth desperately and you hummed.

“I missed you too.” You gasped again when he pushed his finger past your wet folds. 

Simon swallowed your moans as he rubbed circles into your clit. The rough pads of his fingertips were almost too much after not being touched by him for weeks but the electric waves of pleasure that ran through you stopped any chance for you to protest, as if you would anyway.

His other hand held your face and he kissed you tenderly. He continued to steal the air out of your lungs, making you feel like you were floaty. When he began to pump two fingers inside, you let out a loud whine.

“I thought about you everyday.” He kissed underneath your jaw and curled his fingers, brushing them against the spot that had your entire body twitching. “Thought about what I’d do when I saw you again, how proud I’d be.”

“Simon!” You moaned when he began to play with your clit again.

His fingers moved in and out of you quickly while he kept a steady pace on your sensitive bud. 

You held onto his arms as you felt yourself clench around his fingers, the band in your stomach pulling tighter while your toes curled. It was impossible for you to breathe while whimpers and moans escaped your lips, small pleas for him to keep going falling off your tongue. 

The band snapped unexpectedly and your eyes fluttered shut while you clenched around his fingers. You whimpered as he kept going, unable to catch your breath while he kissed your neck.

“Need you.” You whined while you still twitched from your orgasm.

“M’right here, love.” He said breathlessly as he pulled his fingers out of you.

Simon wasted no time unbuckling his jeans, pushing them down far enough to let his cock out. He pumped it a few times, the red and dripping precume before he lined it up with your wet cunt.

You gasped and moaned when he slowly pushed in. The stretch of taking his length always made you clench and flutter around him, the slight pain eventually melting into pleasure enough for you to come on his cock before he even got it in fully.

He moaned from feeling you and his eyes going heavy as he watched him stretch you out. He went slow, just like he always did, and played with your clit to make you whine just a little more.

Before long he was fully seated inside you but didn’t move. 

You could barely breathe as you adjusted to his size, never fully able to, while he kept his thumb on your clit. You whimpered and placed a hand on his chest, noticing that he came home without a scratch and dug your nails into his flesh.

“Simon…” You begged softly, wiggling your hips to get him to move.

“Wanna make you feel good, love.” He said but grabbed your wrist and began to thrust.

You cried out when the head of his cock nudged the spot inside you that had you seeing stars. You keened and arched your back into him as he rolled his hips against yours to keep a steady rhythm. 

Every thrust made your eyes heavy and he added pressure to your clit. He deepened his thrusts and you moaned his name loudly which only fueled the fire in his stomach.

You could feel yourself getting close again, already unable to keep away from the edge as he nearly bruised your cervix. You pulled him down and kissed him hard, holding his hand as you clenched around him again.

He sped up ever so slightly and you couldn’t breathe.

Your entire body tingling and you couldn’t speak. You rested your legs on his hips and he thrust into you until your eyes rolled back and your entire body shook. You could barely hear him moan as you fluttered around his cock before he began to thrust sloppily.

“My pretty girl.” He said proudly into your mouth. “My smart girl, ‘m so proud of you.” 

Simon grabbed the back of your knees and pushed your legs towards your chest. He groaned and you writhed underneath him, the pleasure too much as you still rode the waves of your second orgasm. 

You came again unexpectedly and he cummed inside of you with a strained moan. You whimpered as you felt his cock twitch inside you, filling you up and spreading warmth across your lower abdomen.

He thrust inside you a few more times before he nearly collapsed on top of you. He rested his head against your forehead and you wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him close to you.

The two of you laid there to catch your breath, leaving small kisses across each other’s skin while you played with the hair on his neck that had gotten a tad longer than when he left.

When he pulled away you beamed up at him and got a smile in return. The hormones were slowly slipping away but that didn’t stop the elation in your heart as you stared up at him as if this was the first time you were seeing him today.

“Welcome home.” You traced his nose and he kissed your hand. “I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I have to keep up with the tradition!”

He scoffed but conceded and rested his forehead on yours, pulling you into an embrace that you gratefully accepted.

You spent the rest of the evening catching up and sharing soft touches, slowly riling each other up a couple more times before it was time to go to bed. While he took a shower, after you since he insisted, you went through your nightly routine of making sure the apartment was secured.

It was a habit you formed not long after moving here, one both you and Simon kept up because of what happened. You went first, going around to all of the windows to make sure they were locked and closed, shutting the curtains to them, before you checked the lock on the door, always doubling locking it. Then Simon would check after you, not because he didn’t have faith in you, but for his own sake. 

Just as you were about to shut off the TV, the news caught your attention.

“International threat and now former commander of the Konni Group Vladamir Makarov has been reported killed today. The Ultranationalist was responsible for multiple terrorist attacks across multiple countries and now his body is being recovered by the US government…”

You watched the news put up a picture of the man. You remembered well of the few attacks that had taken place far from you but that caused an uproar on the international scale two months ago. You remembered the sinking feeling in your stomach, knowing in the back of your mind that Ghost had been there risking his life again to catch him.

You thought about how he might be dead, how he might’ve gotten injured. How many close calls he had and if he ever thought that he wouldn’t be able to see you again.

Now he was dead…

“Love.” Simon caught your attention and you looked over at him.

He had a serious look on his face as he glanced at the TV for a moment. An almost silent conversation occurred between the two of you when he looked back at you, his dark eyes saying enough about the situation, before he gestured towards the bedroom.

“Let’s go to bed.”

You turned the TV off and walked towards him, bringing him into a short embrace where you placed a quick peck on his cheek.

“I’m glad you’re home.” 

You’re not sure what time it was when your eyes snapped open. It was still dark out and the silence outside told you it had to be in the middle of the night. It took you a moment to come to your senses, your heart racing just a little faster as you came down from the nightmare you just had, to realize that you were in your shared bedroom.

You took a deep breath and that was when you noticed the comforting circles being drawn on your arm.

You turned over and met Simon’s eyes in the darkness. You weren’t sure if you had woken him up with your nightmare or if he had one of his own, but neither of you said anything.

You rolled over and he immediately opened his arms to you. Before long you were cuddled into his side, your head on top of his chest while he wrapped a protective arm around you, starting his ministrations again once you were settled. 

The two of you laid in silence for a while. You drank up each other’s presence in the stillness, slowly waiting for the tense feelings to dissipate into peacefulness before either of you decided to go back to sleep. 

Your eyes were on the door, on the heavy laundry basket you put in front of it to keep anyone from coming in. 

The fear of the man coming back was mostly gone, he had been dealt with a long time ago, but it didn’t feel right to keep the door unblocked. You were grateful that Simon let you do it even though there were some nights when you didn’t need it at all. 

You shut your eyes and listened to his steady heart beat, feeling you slowly rise up and down from his breathing. 

“What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?” 

“...What?”

“Sofishticated.”

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest as he let out a chuckle. He hugged you closer and you felt him press a soft kiss to your temple on the spot where your scar was. 

When your giggling fit was over you looked up at him.

“Did you memorize the book again?” You mumbled, not wanting to break the silence.

“Yes.” He mumbled back with a small smile. “You gave me a new one, had to.”

You shook your head with disbelief, a smile spread across your face as you snuggled closer into him, pressing a kiss to his chest as you did so. Your hand found the scar on his torso and you ran your fingers across it, causing him to tense up underneath your touch.

Another scar added to the others. More pain he had gone through and yet he was still here. 

Simon traced the scar on your temple with his thumb and you wondered if he thought the same thing. If he thought about the pain that you now carried but  that you were still here.

The pain would only lessen, it would never go away but that didn’t scare you. So much had changed in such a short amount of time, and you knew things would continue to change, but the one constant was that he was always by your side and you were always by his. 

Suddenly the tension was gone.

“We’re still alive.” You thought out loud after another moment of silence.

“Yeah.” He breathed out. “We are.”

You sat up and he did as well.

You took his face into your hands, holding him gently as you caressed his cheek with your thumb, touching the scar close to his eye as you stared into him with a hopeless amount of love that seemed to consume your entire being. 

He placed his hands on your hips and stared at you with soft eyes full of the same deep all consuming love that you felt. 

“I love you.” He said barely above a whisper.

“I love you too.” You replied back just as softly.

In the darkness you kissed. It was slow and gentle, warm and comforting. All of the fear you had poured out and turned into nothing as you held each other. There was nothing there but the two of you, no threats and no one to bother you as you laid in the sanctuary of each other's arms.

Like every night you two went to sleep knowing that the other would be there, ready to start a new day.

The End

link to masterlist

A/n: don’t worry, their story isn’t over yet but we’ll let them rest for now ❤️ (i hope this wasn't too disappointing of an ending I tried to make it emotional and i got emotional writing but idk if that translated well anyway hope you guys liked it first time finishing a series like this haha)

tags: @kat-nee @alexwashere82 @suicidal-marshmellow @shuttlelauncher81 @poohkie90 @reiya-djarin @k4marina @mionacaped @igotmajordaddyissues @xxghostyx @pasta-m1lk @imstargazingx @jacksonpleasestopkillingme @kgive @konig-is-bbygrl @lialacleaf @frazie99 @gremlin-ghuleh @spencerreidisbae123 @writingmysanity @lillianastuff @alastorhazbin @reid490 @lockleywife @sheepselecric @dead-noodles @marshmallowtraver @sinclairbrosbathmat @sofasoap @crazyfandomist @iwmtfm @oiiviagrande @genesis1363 @revyjerry @guttabutta00 @greenkiki @d4z01 @quietlyignoringyou @mysticalgalaxysalad @almightywdm @mavieemav @lycheedr3ams @multitargaryen @fruitymoonbeams-blog @lilpothoscuttings @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @adriennepoison

#the roommate series #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #call of duty #mw2 ghost #ghost mw2 #the end #thank you

[ch3rry-wink]

Even in Death

Pairing: curse!Yūta x f!reader

Summary: Yūta has returned from the grave just for you.

CW: +18, murder, yandere Yūta, slight gore, obsession, blood, stalking, smut, co-dependency?

Author's note: I've read a lot of Yūta and I wanted to write something too

If you had known the implications of killing your boyfriend that night, you might have stayed still as he criticized you for that letter you wrote months before you became a couple, confessing your love to someone else. But no, in a fit of rage, you decided to thrust that kitchen knife into his chest and then dispose of his body by burying it in an empty lot.

The police had come a couple of times asking questions; you lied and made sure to lie convincingly. Getting rid of them was easy.

On the other hand, getting rid of the entity that resembled your boyfriend would be a greater challenge. Three days after the incident, a figure began following you, and people seemed oblivious to its presence. A week later, the entity took shape and appeared before you – a more lifeless version of your boyfriend.

He stayed with you, coiling around your body, sometimes feeling him groping you. When he wasn't on top of you, he lurked in corners, staring at you intently. Nights became sleepless, hearing the sound of his nails on any surface, pulling your blankets, and if he was in a good mood, he would cuddle with you.

Mornings were a hassle too; he found it amusing to make you struggle to find your things, causing you to be late.

Nowhere and with no one were you safe. This was confirmed during a night out with friends when the entity whispered a command in your ear, threatening harm if someone didn't remove their hand from you.

Terrified, you left the place, locked yourself in a bathroom, and his head appeared under the cubicle door in an unnatural position.

"Leave me alone!" you screamed. "No, you'll always be mine," the entity slid under and stood in front of you. "You'll never be with anyone else; I'll kill anyone who gets close to you."

"Yūta, I'm sorry."

"Save those crocodile tears," he approached your neck and kissed you from the collarbones to your ear. "You didn't look very sad when you left me in that field that night."

"Is that what you want, a confession? I'll do it if it means you'll leave me alone."

"And how does that benefit me? I want you to be mine like in the old times." The thought disgusted you.

You broke free from his grip and ran to the subway. He followed, sat next to you, and began touching you everywhere. The announcement for your stop came, and you walked through dark streets. Some guys approached, and unsurprisingly, Yūta intervened, blood and guts at your feet – he had always been protective.

Back home, you rushed to the small altar your parents had set up in honor of Yūta. Seeking comfort and wisdom in prayers, but Yūta was guiding the situation, hands on your breasts, lips kissing your neck.

"Fine, we'll be together," he got excited, wanting to take everything right there. He was no longer bound to behave; it was just a hungry curse for you and resentment.

He lunged at you, you fell, and he held your hands over your head. Your eyes filled with tears. Despite the hatred, his love was greater, wanting you to desire him, enjoy him as when he was alive, not just a curse to annoy you.

So he was gentle, caressing your body adoring every part of it with small, slow kisses, gently removing your clothes.

You gasped when his fingers finally found their way to your panties and he moved them aside, made perfect circles over your clit and your hips lifted towards him as you felt his fingers enter, you missed this sensation, missed him - the version that was a sweet guy, not the jealous Yūta, and certainly not the cursed Yūta.

You ran your hands through his hair and pulled him in for a kiss, he followed your kiss and his fingers kept curling inside you at that sensitive spot that would bring you to the end, yet he stopped leaving you there halfway to orgasm.

"I want you to beg for me." He stood up, and you did the same; your body was tense, and you were angry.

"Please, Yūta," you used that little voice when you wanted to manipulate him into doing something; however, it didn't work, and you approached him, following the swirl button shape, and began unbuttoning one by one.

Curse Yūta was very thin, almost bony. You touched his collarbones and then descended to do the same with his ribs, while kissing his neck, your hands reached his pants, and you heard them fall.

He was holding back, playing hard to get, wanting to see how far you'd go to have him. Then, you knelt in front of him, ready to give him pleasure; he stopped you.

"Tell me what you want" he towered over you, looking down with his sad, lifeless eyes.

"I want you... Please don't leave, stay with me, I need you," you said between sobs.

"I wasn't planning on leaving, I'll always be with you," he reassured you. "I promised to always take care of you, but now I need to feel you," he said as you nodded in agreement."

You lay back on the floor, offered yourself to him by spreading your legs, removing your panties and running your fingers through your wet folds indicating you were ready just for him. He directed his cock towards your needy pussy, and began to move it over your folds teasing you and how needy you were. A growl came from his throat as he began to slide his length inch by inch inside you, he stood there not moving just waiting, feeling you throbbing around him. His thrusts were sudden and rough.

"Yūta!" you moaned as he pressed again and again on your g-spot. You squeezed his cock hard, he knew you were close by the way your pussy clenched and sucked on it.

His bony fingers moved to your clit and started rubbing it, your back arched and your pussy contracted on his cock. You felt his cock and balls spasming.

With a firm grip he held your hips and buried himself deeper into you, his fluids filling your pussy until they spilled out; It felt good, like in the old times when he was your boyfriend, because he still was; he was Yūta, a different version but the same Yūta.

Yūta collapsed next to you, you smiled at him your cheeks were flushed and on your eyelashes was still the wetness of some tears.

"I'm sorry" you put your hand on his chest and then moved to kiss him.

"It doesn't matter, we are together now and we will always be together..... You will always be mine."

"Always yours."

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu yuta #yuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu smut #yandere yuta #jjk x reader #jjk smut #okkotsu yuuta #jjk yuuta #yuuta smut #yuuta x reader #yuuta x you #yuuta okkotsu

[valeskafics]

"A Good Marriage" - Tom Bennett x Wife!Reader (Stepford Wives/Don't Worry Darling AU)

Summary: You and Tom move to the new Stepford living community to work on your marriage.

TW: DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, period-typical sexism, brainwashing, daddy kink, breeding kink, oral f receiving, p in v sex, cockwarming

Word Count: 3,000 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the World On Fire characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

The minute Tom returned home from the war, the first thing he did was marry you, his childhood sweetheart from his secondary school days. You’ve always been the more ambitious of the two of you, with dreams of attending Oxford and becoming an investigative reporter, dreams that you did indeed accomplish. You got a job at one of the local London papers when you and Tom moved to the city shortly after the wedding and have been slowly climbing your way up the ladder in hopes of one day getting your own column.

You work hard, much harder than anyone else at the office in part because you’re a woman and your asshole boss seems to want to push you harder for that fact alone. Over the last few months, he’s been dropping hints that, come the end of the quarter, he’ll be announcing which new writer will be getting their own column and that you’re the favorite for it, assuming you keep up the good work. You’ve been staying late nearly every day, sometimes not getting home till just before midnight, and editing your pieces in what is supposed to be your free time.

Tom feels pathetic for it, but he’s come to resent your job. He misses the days when you’d both get home around the same time, when you’d sit down for a meal together and make love late into the night. Though it was less than a year ago, it all feels like a distant memory now. He often goes to bed alone, eats alone, wakes up alone since you are so absorbed in finally getting the column you’ve been working your arse off for.

The straw that breaks the camel’s back is when you don’t return home until half past eleven one night, looking like a dead woman walking. Tom’s made your favorite, spaghetti bolognese, and is extremely excited to have you taste it. He’s become quite a chef in his own right, if he says so himself, often being the one to prepare both of your meals. However, you give him a brief peck on the cheek and mumble that you’ll eat later. That you’re too tired to eat right now and have a deadline tomorrow. Tom feels his entire world crumbling in on him and turns to face you.

“You hardly sleep, you hardly eat. It’s like being married to a ghost,” Tom accuses, “Half the time, you don’t even bother looking at me when I talk to you! I miss you! I miss my wife!”

“Tom,” you sigh wearily, “I’ve told you, it’s just for the next month or so till I get my column-”

“And after that it’ll be till you publish your next story. Then the next,” he protests, “You know, you say you love me, but I don’t think you do. You never kiss me or touch me, forget making love to me. Why are you even married to me?”

You sink into a dining chair, pinching the bridge of your nose with frustration, “Do you want a divorce, Tom? Is that it”

His jaw drops and he shakes his head vehemently, “Baby, God, no! I just,” he bites his lip before muttering, “I just want my wife back. I just want to know why you don’t love me anymore. Have I done something?”

You walk over to him, resting your hands on his face, “No, Tom, of course not. I do love you-”

“Then why do you always disregard me?” Tom questions insistently, “The only time I see you is when you’re leaving for work or when you’re coming home and heading off to edit. I feel like I have to beg for your attention. For your love. And it’s not a good feeling.”

You wince, feeling the truth behind his words and give him a small nod, “You’re right. I promise I’ll try harder.”

Tom embraces you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, appeased by your sweet words. He fixes you a sizable plate of pasta and sits down opposite you, each of you at one head of the table, wolfing down your respective meals. And you talk, for the first time in a while, and it’s nice. He’s missed this more than words can say.

The two of you watch telly together that night and an advert comes on for a new living community, just outside of London - Stepford, they call it, full of young families with smiling faces looking entirely content. The women are all dressed like stereotypical housewives, something you’d never be caught dead wearing. And yet, Tom can’t help but imagine how sexy you’d look in one of those little numbers that would cling to your arse, your breasts. He imagines you fawning over him like these women are shown fawning over their husbands, just being adoring little wives to them. And God, is he tempted. And the idea of finally having kids? You’ve been so focused on your career that the two of you have been putting it off for a while, but the idea of you with a round pregnant belly, doting on him… Tom turns to you and speaks quietly, running a hand through your hair.

“You know, that would actually be perfect for us.”

You wrinkle your nose, “The suburbs? Tom, really? We both work in the city.”

“It’s only a thirty minute commute,” Tom insists, “Cost of living is lower. So much more space for when we have kids-”

“Which won’t be for a while,” you remind him sharply, earning a bit of a wounded look from your husband.

“Right, but, still! We’re always saying this flat is too cramped. And we’d be paying half the price for twice as big a place!”

You know that his logic is sound, and so you sigh, “I suppose it’ll be good for our marriage too, won’t it?”

Tom nods earnestly, gathering you in his arms, “I think this could be really amazing for us, my darling. Consider it at least?”

“It would be nice to not have to walk up three flights of stairs after a long work day… And I guess, when we have kids, the schools there would be much better,” you relent.

“A big backyard,” Tom points out, “You’ve always wanted a dog, love.”

Before you can think twice, you find yourself agreeing to go look at homes in Stepford tomorrow after work.

Tom knows you’re not the biggest fan of the other ladies in the neighborhood, judging by the way you constantly complain about them after speaking to some of the wives from your street on move-in day.

“God, these women are awful,” you groan, “They’re so bloody vapid! All they care about is pleasing their husbands and their hair! I bet they didn’t even vote in our last election! What ever happened to intelligent conversation? All they do is ‘yes, dear’ their husbands and cook and get pregnant, like bloody robots!”

“They’re perfectly nice women,” Tom protests, “Jack’s wife, Alice, seems lovely!”

“Alice,” you scoff, “Sanctimonious little bitch. She gives me the creeps. Always asking when you and I are going to have kids, what I cooked for you. It’s ridiculous! And also, let’s go back to the voting thing!”

“Why are you so hung up on that?” he questions as you slam the car door shut with your hip, instructing the movers on where to put the last of the boxes, “Maybe they just prefer to stick to the home and family and not worry too much about politics!”

“Politics are the backbone of our society, Tom,” you retort, annoyed, “I mean what if their husbands are,” you glance around before whispering as though it’s a curse word, “Tories?”

Tom can’t help but chuckle at your reaction, “Oh, come on, darling. At most, they’re a little old-fashioned.”

You scowl, “I saw your precious Alice and her little mate Gloria chatting shit about my jeans, you know,” you say, gesturing toward your outfit - a flannel shirt and pair of jeans, “Bitches.”

Tom grins wryly, “If they prefer their skirts and dresses, why is it such a big deal? Besides, you look beautiful in anything.”

You dodge Tom’s kiss and head inside the house, grumbling to yourself about how he doesn’t understand anything. Tom sighs and follows after you, rambling that once you make friends and get more settled that the two of you will enjoy living here. He even suggests a dinner party where you can invite the neighbors.

“Well, I want to invite our real friends from the city.”

Tom bites back his annoyance at your words, “Love, these people seem friendly enough. Don’t write them off completely-”

You ignore him and continue setting up the house, “Look, I’m nearly done here, so I’m going to head out and drop off my article. You can go play golf or go to their little Stepford Gentlemen's Club and make some friends or whatever. I don’t care.”

Frustrated with how dismissive you’re being of the neighbors and your new home as a whole, Tom nods and sets off toward the club. He has a pint with a few of the other husbands, who welcome him with open arms.

“Your wife seems a bit tense from the move,” one of the men - Jack  - says sympathetically, “You know, we have a spa right here that all our wives went to in order to help them relax after working so hard moving into a new place.”

This piques Tom’s interest and he nods happily, “That sounds exactly like what she needs! I’d love to treat her to a little spa day!”

He broaches the subject with you after dinner, and after thinking on it for a moment, you agree. After all, what harm can a manicure, pedicure, and massage do to you? You get in bed beside Tom, the two of you laying there and reading your respective books. And you feel the distance between you and your husband now more than ever. You turn to him, resting a hand on his arm, giving him a gentle smile.

“I do love you.”

“I know,” he says softly, “And I love you. Just give this place an honest try. For me?”

You nod, turning off your light and going to sleep.

Tom drops you off at the spa the next day and heads off to work, being told that a car service will drop you back off at home. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before driving off, grateful that you’ve agreed to take the day off to relax at the spa. The entire day, he’s buzzing with excitement, hoping that you might even be in a relaxed enough mood to get intimate with him when he returns home. The thought of being able to touch you again after so long has him achingly hard. You’ve always been the one to take the lead in the bedroom, but sometimes he wonders how it would be if you just let him take control once, just let him dominate you…

The first thing Tom notices when he gets back to the house is the smell of freshly cooked food in the air and the sound of an old jazz record. He wonders to himself what’s going on as he rounds the corner toward the kitchen.

And there you are. His eyes practically bulge out of his head as he takes in your visage. Your hair is perfectly set in loose waves, half up and half down, you have make up on including a very sexy shade of red lipstick. You wear a baby pink dress that accentuates your curves, a bit low cut in the front, like all the other neighborhood wives wear, with a frilly white apron on top. And to top it all off? You’re wearing high heels.

As though sensing his presence, you turn around and look at Tom, smiling demurely, “Tommy! You’re home!”

You rush to embrace him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before taking his briefcase and helping him out of his jacket, hanging it up for him. Tom takes you in his arms and pulls you against him, feeling your curves press against his body, breathing in the soft, vanilla scent of your skin. For a moment, it feels like the two of you are back in Paris on your honeymoon again. You giggle as Tom practically paws at you, his large hands moving along your waist, squeezing your arse.

“Tommy, I need to set the table,” you say in a sweet, lilting voice.

Tom reluctantly lets you break the embrace, eyes still greedily drinking you in, “Of course, love, I’ll just… Um…” He leans against the wall, just gazing at you, trying his best to contain himself, “Wow. How was the spa?”

“So relaxing,” you say dreamily, humming to yourself as you finish cooking, “Go sit down, my love,” you coo, leading him to a chair at the head of the table, pouring a tumbler of whiskey for him as well as lighting a cigar, “You must be just exhausted! Let me take care of you.”

Tom preens under your attention, unsure of what’s brought about this sudden change in demeanor but enjoying it nonetheless. You look so gorgeous like this, fussing over him, fawning over him, being so sweet and adoring. You hear the oven go off and dart away, returning with a massive tray, a docile smile on your face.

“I made Sunday roast, darling. Your favorite.”

Tom immediately opens his arms and pulls you into his lap, wanting to be near you. And God, the way you nuzzle up against him and how that cute little bum of yours rubs up against his cock… You’re being so coy and demure, lifting a fork to his lips and feeding him, even. He wonders if this is what heaven looks like as you gaze up at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours. He nearly lets out a whine of protest as you get off of him.

“Can I massage your back while you eat, Tommy? My poor husband, working so hard…”

Well… That seems like a fair exchange. He lets out a low groan as your hands work against his back, feeling the arousal within him continue to build. You let out a coquettish giggle at the sound, one that goes straight to his cock. He imagines you giggling like that, your arms wrapped around him as he pounds you into the mattress, and the thought is almost too much to take.

“You know, Tommy,” you say softly, whispering in his ear in that sweet, honeyed voice of yours, “The doctor here said tonight would be a good night to start trying…”

The prospect of what you’re implying sends a thrill up Tom’s spine. And before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s pushing the tray of roast backward, swiping the plates off the table, lifting you up and placing you on it. You let out the sweetest little gasp as he presses a kiss to your ankle, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses up your calf to your inner thigh before he hikes your skirt up to reveal your panties. White lace. He quickly lowers them, admiring the sight of your bare pussy, which he feels he hasn’t seen in so very long, before shoving your underwear in his pocket and burying his face between your thighs. You let out a little mewl of his name as he lifts your legs so that they dangle over his shoulders, your hands in his hair. Tom works his tongue against you, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he laps at your folds.

“Oh God, Tommy,” you whine, your hips bucking up against his.

Tom grins up at you, nuzzling his nose against your clit, mouthing at it, flattening his tongue against the sensitive bud, loving the way you squeal his name as you come undone against his tongue. But he’s nowhere near done with you. Tom loves how pliant you are beneath him and intends to take full advantage of that, quickly undoing his belt, lowering his trousers just enough to free his cock, precum already leaking from the tip. You gaze up at him doe-eyed, throwing your head back as he sheathes himself inside of you, feeling your cunt squeezing him so tight he thinks he could cum without even moving. He can feel himself throbbing, buried inside you as he begins to rut against you, ripping your dress open to mouth at your tits over the pretty lace bra you wear.

“Breed me like the good little wife I am, Tommy,” you murmur in his ear, your words driving him to the brink of madness.

Tom lets out a quiet growl as he continues pounding into you, feeling your velvet walls clenching around him as you get closer and closer to your own peak, your mouth twisted in pleasure, breasts heaving as you gaze up at him. He continues, feeling his balls tighten as he gets closer to his own end, wanting nothing more than to fill you up with his cum, watch it leak out of your pretty little pussy. And when you cry out his name, squeezing around him as you reach your peak, it triggers his own end and Tom spills himself inside you. When he pulls out, his fingers immediately move to push his cum back into you, and he grins.

“Don’t want to waste any.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you give him a sweet smile, one that nearly has him growing hard again.

He sits down, pulling his plate back toward him and seating you in his lap once more.

“Get me nice and hard again, love,” he murmurs, “Want you to sit on my cock while I eat this meal you’ve made for us.”

Tom doesn’t know what happened at that spa and he doesn’t care.

He’s just happy to have a good marriage with his perfect little Stepford wife.

#tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fluff #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennet x reader #my writing #tom bennett oneshot #halloween fic #tom bennett

[a-nemoiia]

「 In sickness and health 」

Summary: A small incident leads Thomas Shelby into a new battle with an invisible enemy

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: POTS symptoms (dizziness, struggle to breath, almost fainting, etc) + written through fever so there might be a few mistakes.

Note: A big thank you to @saltburnwhore for educating me on this topic, and I apologise in advance if it doesn't meet your expectations

It's been nearly 2 months now since the Garrison closed it's doors for renovation at Polly's request, and the loyal patrons were eager to return to their favourite pub.

That's why crowds now were packed infront of the entrance on the opening day, and once Thomas opened the newly polished doors, everyone poured inside barely leaving space for another person to set a foot. But that didn't stop them from enjoying themselves as the band John brought played loud music in celebration.

Harry struggled to keep up with the packed pub on his on, so without hesitation, Polly and y/n joined him behind the bar, pouring drinks and opening taps. And after a couple of hours, Harry shouted over the loud music "We ran out of whiskey"

Turning to y/n who was helping serve pints, Polly said "There's a new whisky delivery in the storage from last night, take the keys from Tommy and bring a couple of bottles, hurry!", as she took the glasses from her hands to continue serving the waiting customers.

Y/n didn't waste anytime, looking around the pub she spotted her boyfriend stepping out for a smoke away from the noise, "Tommy!" she called over, getting his attention as she made her way to his side. "I need the keys. Polly needs a couple of bottles, we're running low already" she explained as she held out her palm waiting for him to give her the keys.

Taking a look inside the crowded pub, Thomas turned to face her "A few bottles won't cut it..." he noted, as he took her hand in his, and led her to the back storage. With a twist of his keys he unlocked the door to where boxes of alcohol were stacked high amidst the leftover mess from the recent renovation.

"Polly said the delivery is from last night" y/n said as she eyed the room, "God! This place could use a through cleaning" she remarked, carefully picking her way around the bucket of paint, making sure not to knock it over.

Nodding in agreement, Tommy used his pocket knife and sliced through the top of several boxes, searching their content, "Aye, Arthur said he'll take care of it" he told her, as he cut through more boxes. A couple of minutes later Thomas announced "Found it!" as he held the bottles in his hand.

"Shall we take it all?" Y/n asked and Thomas shrugged, already carrying the heavy box in his arms "Better to have more than less, the night is still young" he said.

Giving him space to walk a head, y/n stepped back, unaware, her foot caught on a lengthy piece of wood making her stumble. Quickly, Thomas reached out to steady her "Careful!" he said, just as they both heard shattering.

The door knob...

Thomas sat the box down and walked over to the door, once he inspected the broken piece he realised that they were trapped,"Damn it" He cursed under his breath.

"I'm sorry Tommy..." y/n quickly apologised but Thomas shook his head "Not your fault sweetheart, fucking Arthur should've taken care of this mess ages ago" he sighed in frustration.

But y/n had other reasons that made her worry, placing a hand on her chest she felt her heart rate pick up, as she struggled to breath in the dusty and poorly ventilated place.

Before her legs give out, y/n reached for an old chair, and Thomas quickly noticed that something wasn't right, "Are you alright?" he asked, concern etched all over his face as he studied her distressed form.

"Just lightheaded" she tried to ressure him but thomas knew it was more than that. He wasn't blind after all...

Thomas had noticed the signs for a while: how she'd struggled to make it out of bed sometime, how shaky she'd be after having a drink of two, the continues dizziness and how her legs failed to carry her at times.

Y/n often blamed it on her cycle, other times she laughed it off, saying she couldn't drink like a Shelby, but Thomas wasn't fooled.

In an instance Thomas was before her, holding her hand in his, "Don't lie to me y/n, no more downplaying this" he said, worry evident in his deep blue eyes "Once we're out of here you're seeing a doctor" he continued but she cut him off, "It's nothing really" y/n insisted, with a weak smile but she knew he saw through her dismissal.

Closing her eyes in an attempt to think through the fog "POTS, It's... It's a disorder... I've had it since I could remember" she explained her condition, but the confusion written on his face told her that she needs to do better than that.

So for the next 10 minutes, she laid it all bare, she told him about the symptoms, the treatments that brought nothing but little relief to her daily pain. The man before her took it all in, his worry increasing with every new piece of information, it all made him feel like his hands were tied.

Running a hand down his face, Thomas couldn't help but feel fear grip him, because for the first time he felt powerless...

It wasn't a simple threat that he could shield her from with his fist or gun, the danger was invisible this time, beyond his ability to see or fight...it came from within her own body.

Noticing the sweat beads on her brows, as the heat rose in the cramped place, Thomas gently wiped it away with his palm. Cupping her face gently he said "Just breath for me, love, I'll get us out of here", Thomas felt like the words were for his own reassurance as much as for her.

On hurried steps, he started tearing through the mess, tossing and throwing anything that isn't useful out of his way, he rammed through the storage until he spotted an old axe, and without thinking twice Thomas graped it and marched towards the door.

Fueled by his fear for y/n, Thomas tore the strong door down to shreds, the wood didn't stand a chance against the relentless blows, until nothing was left of it but the lock dangling from the splinted frame.

"C'mon sweetheart" Thomas said dropping the axe, swiping her into his arms he rushed them towards the pub's back door, where Arthur met them halfway.

"Lovebirds, what took ya so lon-" Arthur started to say cheerfully but the words died on his lips once thomas suddenly snapped at him. "I'll fucking kill ya Arthur!" he shouted through gritted teeth making Arthur recoil in shook.

Seeing Y/n laying almost unconscious in his arms seemed to pour gasoline on Thomas's temper, as worry and fear ate him from the inside, his thoughts raced with different scenarios, each worse than the other.

Taking in the scene Ada quickly followed them with a cup of salted water in her hand, as Thomas swiftly carried the woman in his arms to the private booth. And once Thomas saw Ada hand y/n the cup he gave her a questioning look.

Meeting his gaze Ada saw the rare open concern in her brother's eyes,"She told me not too long ago... She didn't want to burden you", she admitted, answering his unasked question.

With a sigh, Thomas knelt down infront of y/n, noticing how the color started to return to her rosie cheeks brought relief to his worrying heart. Gently, he brushed the strands of hair clinging to her damp forehead and placed a tender kiss there.

"Never think like that again, we're in this together alright?" Thomas said, softly yet firmly "We will face it, just like we do all things" Thomas reassured her, his blue eyes peering into her weary ones before his lips met hers.

Earning a weak nod from her, y/n leaned into his embrace, taking comfort into his arms, she felt safe knowing that facing the challenges of this illness will be much easier with him by her side.

#cillian murphy #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here. 

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it. 

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!). 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :) 

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table. 

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.” 

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering. 

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it. 

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying. 

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height. 

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment. 

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head. 

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar. 

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself. 

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you. 

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems. 

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned. 

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift. 

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies. 

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two. 

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear. 

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.  

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!” 

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour. 

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill. 

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger. 

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all. 

Will be hard. 

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you. 

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you. 

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving. 

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide. 

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual. 

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow. 

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.” 

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too. 

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done. 

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target. 

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man. 

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening. 

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted. 

You are done waiting. 

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention. 

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours. 

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully. 

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table. 

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself. 

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie. 

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched. 

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.” 

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament. 

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning. 

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed. 

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.” 

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.” 

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?” 

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation. 

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks. 

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.” 

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets. 

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend. 

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door. 

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit. 

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances. 

There is a beat. 

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts. 

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him. 

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally. 

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz. 

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you. 

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently. 

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them. 

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to. 

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once. 

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him. 

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is. 

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion. 

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.” 

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all. 

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger. 

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.” 

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now. 

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor. 

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way. 

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go. 

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again. 

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose. 

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him. 

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.  

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?” 

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does. 

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you. 

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it. 

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it. 

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side. 

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical. 

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again? 

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.” 

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments. 

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.   

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good. 

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks. 

“I see you, baby.” 

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him. 

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark. 

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words. 

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand. 

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth. 

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in. 

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you. 

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?” 

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender. 

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago. 

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?” 

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly. 

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you. 

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are. 

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he��s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you. 

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well. 

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end. 

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could. 

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.  

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms. 

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer. 

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm.  You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises. 

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners. 

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now. 

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe. 

“I’m just gonna leave,”  he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying. 

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.  

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow. 

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him. 

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at. 

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words. 

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.” 

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are. 

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do. 

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly. 

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man. 

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion. 

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second. 

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him. 

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that. 

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet. 

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next. 

And the next. 

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being condescending towards an asexual kid in GSA?

🙃🏳️‍🌈 to find later

Long post so buckle up.

I (17, they/it/he) am one of three co-leaders of my school’s GSA, along with R (18, she/her) and N (17, he/him). All three of us are openly bi, and I’m also openly trans and (most importantly) very loudly aromantic. We’re all in 12th grade now but we were leaders last year (in 11th grade) too. The school/GSA is small enough that all four grades (9–12, so around 13–18 years old) are in the same GSA, there’s no separate upper grade and lower grade groups. We also have two advisors, both cis queer teachers; and some younger queer faculty members also join sometimes for formal events. We take turns running events during club time, such as fun crafts or watching music videos. Sometimes we also do educational stuff or documentaries, including having teachers come in to facilitate discussions.

I’ve been planning (since early December) to run a two part series of discussions about asexuality and aromanticism (separate discussions of each). I really just wanted to do one day about aromanticism, but R said that if I did that, people would derail it and just talk about asexuality anyways, which both N and our advisors also agreed made sense. So, it’s two days, and the asexuality one is first so that the aromanticism one can be closer to Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week (ASAW).

There’s a girl in GSA, let’s call her A (16, she/her), who’s in 11th grade. She’s very socially awkward and if someone points out that she’s accidentally said something rude or offensive she’ll make a big deal out of not knowing and generally derail the conversation. Also, two years ago A made a ton of “jokes” about me and my little sibling (16MtF) being “secretly dating.” When I asked her (politely at first) to stop, she said she was just joking around, and kept doing it. I asked her again and also asked the theatre teacher and school counselor for help, and eventually she did stop. But A kept following me around and trying to be friends with me, and I was super uncomfortable to the point that I asked the school counselor to facilitate a conversation between A and I so that I could ask her to fucking stop. It somewhat worked. Now she still keeps trying to start conversations with me in the hallways and such, but I just brush her off or ignore her.

The one place I can’t do that is during GSA. Since I’m a leader, I have to be civil to everyone and actually talk to people (R, N, and I set norms at the start of the year during our planning meetings). A is asexual but not aromantic, and today she showed up like 5 minutes into lunch (cafeteria lines are annoying) and loudly asked if she was late. We weren’t doing anything in GSA today, just chilling. At some point during the meeting I announced casually that next week we’d be discussing asexuality, and then the week after that we’d talk about aromanticism, which leads nicely into ASAW during February break. When I said this, A immediately said that she would be extra ace that week [during ASAW]. I was like, “during aromantic spectrum awareness week?!?!” in the same tone of that “during pride month?!?!” meme. She looked like someone had just given her an F on the most important test of the year and said she hadn’t known.

I also made a comment about how there’s way more openly aspec people at our school than at most schools, and N said that maybe the presence of role models is part of that (clear subtext: he was referring to me). I said pretty loudly (more people could hear) that it was kinda funny that I’m the “ace role model” when I’m literally not asexual. A looked super lost and confused at this, and I think she might’ve thought I was ace, even though I’m super open about not being ace, and have told her directly more than once.

Here’s where the potential assholery comes into play. There’s an ad for PrEP that was fairly common on the back covers of theatre playbills in the past year. The ad shows a Black man dressed in ripped leggings with fishnets, shiny knee-length heeled leather boots, and some sort of white leather harness, doing a bridge pose with one leg extended upwards so that the “r” in PrEP is resting on the sole of the boot. The ad has a bright red background and text that says “you cast of PrEP options is changing” along with a small QR code and website link. The pose is somewhat provocative, but not out of place on a playbill for an all-ages show.

During GSA, A was saying that she thought the ad was bad, because of the leather being “fetish gear” and “weird” (basically the same arguments people use to say that gay people shouldn’t be allowed in public). I told A that there’s nothing wrong with someone wearing leather, and she said that “it’s fetish gear and that’s disgusting and degenerate and just bad advertising!”

I explained calmly, like I would to a child (although I probably wouldn’t talk about this topic with a child), that PrEP is a medicine that people take if they anticipate having sex with someone who’s HIV-positive, so it’s okay that the ad is somewhat suggestive. She seemed to accept that, but still said that the leather was weird, and the ad should’ve shown “a diverse group of people getting pills at a pharmacy” instead, because “fetish gear” was too much.

I asked if she thought that all leather clothing was inherently fetishistic, to which A said yes, and then I asked, “do you know that people can’t just choose fetishes?”

She hadn’t known that, but she still said the ad was too sexual. I pointed out that it was a fairly well-targeted advertisement, using theatre references, but maybe A was not part of the target demographic. I also said that sometimes outfits are just hot without there needing to be any fetishes involved, which she didn’t refute, and that even if it was a fetish, that wouldn’t make it inherently “bad” or “degenerate” at all.

A said that she still didn’t like it, and I told her that she was entitled to have whatever feelings she wanted to have, but that doesn’t mean the advertisement itself is a problem.

Another person (17, he/him) called out “[OP], what do you think about kink at pride?” in a sort of nonchalant way, so I walked over while saying “i’m pro–kink at pride.” The conversation eventually moved in other directions, and then club ended and we had to go to our next classes.

TL;DR: given my position of power and responsibility as a GSA leader, AITA for being kinda condescending towards an ace person who’s 2 years younger than me because she was being very sex-negative about an ad for PrEP?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[https-yeonjun]

dance captains (c.yj)

wc. 2168

genre. smut

tags. minors dni! rivals to rivals with benefits, yeonjun x fem!reader, switch!yeonjun x switch!reader, their both kind of mean at the beginning, oral sex (both receiving), lots of teasing and lots of banter

a/n. repost

more of my work

if there was one thing you were certain about, it was how much dancing meant to you. you loved coming up with new choreographies and seeing how you could bend your body in new ways. you loved the way you felt on stage, and the feeling afterwards, adrenaline pulsing through your veins, was even better. and you especially loved your dance team, and how eager every single one of them was to put on a good performance, and how willing they were to stay at practice later than they needed to make sure that everything fell into place.

however, sometimes, it was easy to forget all the things you loved so much about dance when you remembered that you had to work with choi yeonjun.

in your eyes, he was lazy. he was rude. he was so deeply unprofessional. he never showed up to practice on time. and when he bothered to grace the team with his presence, he always half assed it. and you’re pretty sure the only reason he was even captain was because his last name was on the building that you practiced at.

and today, like any other, he sauntered into the practice room forty five minutes late, holding a watered down iced americano in his hand.

“look who finally decided to come into practice.” you announced as he walked to the couch in the back of the practice room. he turned to glare at you. the tension between you two was palpable and you could feel the uncomfortable stares of the other dancers who had to deal with this tension every single practice.

“guys, why don’t we take five?” you tell the rest of the team. “not you,” you say to yeonjun, who was planning his escape from the room with the other dancers who quickly fled as soon as you made your announcement.

“what is it now?” he turned to face you with a tight lipped smile.

“you’re late,” you responded bluntly. “again.”

“whatever,” he dismissed you, placing his bag on the floor.

“don’t “whatever” me, yeonjun.” you begin, standing with your hands on your hips. “you made a huge deal about wanting to be captain but you can’t even be bothered to come into practice.”

“i’m here, aren’t i?”

“yeah, almost an hour late.”

“not that it’s any of your business, but i was busy.”

“doing what?”

“like i said, it’s none of your business.”

“god, are you always this infuriating?”

“are you always this uptight?”

“fuck you.” you counter as the dancers file back into the room.

right now yeonjun was the least of your problems. your university was hosting a festival at the end of the month that you were supposed to be performing at and your team was still very much behind. you didn’t waste any time to get back to practice after your teammates filled the room. standing at the front, you instructed them to pick up from where you left off.

as the music started, the studio came alive with movement and the dancers took their places as you and yeonjun monitored them making sure that their formation was correct and they moved in sync. throughout the practice, the dancers pushed themselves, and you could see their progression and improvement with each repetition of the choreography.

“thank you guys so much.” you acknowledge after practice ends. “you guys worked really hard today. i know we’ve been pushing you but we’re almost at the finish line. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

the others make their way out of the room and you make your way to yeonjun. “we need to work on the choreography for the second verse and the last chorus.”

“yeah, about that…” his voice trailed off.

“what about it?”

“i think we should scrap it.” he admits.

you scoff in response. “you’re not serious.”

“i thought about it.”

“that must have been a lot of work for you.” you roll your eyes, rummaging through your bag in search of your water bottle.

he clears his throat to get your attention. “i thought about it and i think the song is boring.”

“oh no,” you feign upset. “yeonjun thinks the song is boring so we have to change the choreography that the entire team has been working on for the past two weeks.”

“well i’m captain so i think i have a say in what choreography we do.”

“well we’re co-captains, so no, not quite.”

“i have an idea that i’ve been working on.” he pulls his phone from his back pocket and shows you a video of him dancing. the music began to play and it became evident that dancing was not just a skill for him. his body flowed so effortlessly. his movements were mesmerizing, blending his strength and his delicacy. he moved in perfect harmony with the rhythm.

“this is what you’ve been doing while you’ve been skipping practice?” you asked when the video ended.

“it’s good, right?”

“it’s okay.” you lied.

“why is it so hard for you to compliment me?” he looks up at you, and you realize just how close you are. you take a step back and clear your throat.

“it doesn’t matter if it’s good because we’re doing the original choreography that everyone has been working on already.”

he scoffs and connects his phone to the speakers in the room. he sits on the floor and begins his stretches. you join him on the floor. “i hate you so much, you know?” you tell him.

“well that’s good because i hate you more.”

“it’s not a competition.”

“but if it was, i would hate you the most.” he sticks his tongue out at you.

“you’re so fucking immature.”

“you’re just mad that you have to work with me.”

“yeah because i had so many plans for this team and now i have to run them by a manchild who only got his position because of his parents.”

the smirk on his face falls off and is quickly replaced with a scowl. “just show me the second verse you’ve been working on.”

he plays the song and you run through the choreography from the beginning. in that moment, the world around you fades away. you don’t even notice him moving to sit on the couch as you move along to the choreography, your body guided by the years of practice and dedication that you’ve poured into your craft. for some people it comes naturally. but for you, dance is a language that you’ve had to learn. you complete the choreography, satisfied with yourself.

that satisfaction quickly vanishes when you see yeonjun staring at you blankly. “what’s wrong with it?”

“nothing.” he answers with speed.

“then why are you looking at me like that?”

“it’s just…” he pauses to think.

“can you just spit it out?”

“you’re a really good dancer.”

you laugh. “yeah, that’s kinda how i became captain of this team.”

“why thank you yeonjun. that was really kind of you.” he mocks you.

“i’m just saying, i know.”

“yeah, i don’t think i’ve ever seen you dance like this before.”

“well if you came to practice you would see me dance.” you move to sit beside him on the couch. 

“okay, fair enough.” he scoots away from you, his posture tenses up. you look him up and down, your eyes stopping at the bulge in his pants that he was trying his best (and failing) to hide. you burst out in laughter.

“oh my god! are you hard right now?” you say between laughs, clutching your stomach.

“no i’m not.” he defends himself, turning his face away from you in embarrassment.

“oh c’mon junie, look at me.” you tilt his face towards you.

“fuck you.” he pulls away from your touch.

“oh i know you want to.”

“please, go to hell.”

“why? wouldn’t you rather me stay here and help you.” his head snaps back in your direction. you try to stifle your laugh.

“you’re fucking with me.”

“so, you don’t want me to help you?”

“no,” he says a little too eagerly. “i mean, i do want you to help me.” he swallows. you cross over to sit on his lap, straddling him. his breath hitches when you lock eyes, yours conveying fascination, waiting to see who dared to make the first move. it was a battle of wills, a sort of unspoken challenge to see who would be the first to surrender to the intoxicating pull between the two of you.

“i hate you,” he finally breaks the silence. his arms tightly snake around your waist, pulling you in closer to him. “so fucking much.”

you press your lips against his. “i hate you too,” you tell him and you mean it. your lips meet in a fiery, intense kiss. as if a pipe had burst and all the years of pent-up frustration had been released. he pulls you deeper into the kiss and you respond with your fingers playing in his hair.

as your lips parted, you locked eyes again in a mix of passion and anger. your gaze was torn between the intensity of the moment and the bitterness that you let fester since the day you met him. his grip on your waist still firm, you looked at him with a mixture of frustration and yearning. “i knew you always wanted me.” a smirk plastered on his face.

“shut up.” you pulled him back into a kiss, your hands sliding from his face down his torso, your fingers tracing over the curves and planes of his body, until they found refuge on the waistband of his shorts. “tell me how much you need me.” you whisper against his lips.

“don’t play with me.” he groans.

“need you to tell me, junie.” you pepper kisses on his neck. “not gonna do anything until you do.”

“god, i need you,” he surrenders to you just like you wanted. “need you so bad.” he melts under your touch and you smile as you make your way down to your knees, slowly releasing his dick from his shorts.

“s’all i wanted to hear.” you wrap your lips around him, starting at the tip and steadily working your way down, letting your tongue wander over every part of him. he throws his head back and your name escapes his lips like a mantra.

he flips between wanting to worship your mouth and reeling in the fact that he has you here, on your knees, sucking the life out of him. his hands travel down to grasp the back of your neck, his hips thrusting upwards as you bob up and down on his length. “who would have thought? your mouth good for something other than complaining?” he breathes out between moans.

his whines are pathetic as you pick up the pace. “fuck,” he cups your face, titling your head upwards so you’re looking him in the eye. “you look so pretty with my dick in your mouth, baby.”

if the near silent moans that escaped his lips as he hung his head back weren’t enough to off of, the stutter of his hips gave away the fact that he was so close to his release. you slow down, swirling your tongue around the tip before detaching with a lewd pop. “what are you doing?” he asks, his face betrayed with confusion.

“if you think you’re going to cum in my mouth just like that, you’re sorely mistaken.” you get up. “if you want to come, you’re gonna have to work for it.”

he lays you back on the couch, scattering kisses on your stomach as he pulls your leggings down to your knees. he bites down onto the flesh of your inner thigh before placing soft kisses on your clothed cunt. “this is what you wanted, right? me between your legs?”

“just shut up and eat me out.”

with that slides your underwear down and buries his face in your pussy, his head moving up and down as he moans against you, the vibrations send chills down your spine. like a dehydrated man in search of an oasis, yeonjun’s tongue laps your pussy eagerly, his sloppy ruts causing his nose to bump against your nose. “fuck, god, you taste so fucking good.”

you tighten your grip on his hair as you inch closer to your orgasm. you feel him smile against your core. “fuck jun…” head thrown back, you cum with a breathless moan, fingers holding onto him with dear life, as if someone was about to take him away from you.

his face was covered with your arousal when he came up for air. he drew closer to kiss you. “lemme fuck you.” he asks between kisses. “wanna make you feel so good, baby.”

“we have to work on the choreography.”

“but you promised that if i made you cum, you would let me finish.”

“i said you needed to work for it.” you lightly push him off of you. “still need to work for it.”

taglist: @boba-beom @atinyniki @dearlyjun @wiisoob @isabellah29

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#fay's works #yeonjun angst #yeonjun smut #choi yeonjun #choi yeonjun smut #tomorrow x together #txt #txt smut #txt angst #txt x reader #yeonjun x reader

[scarletts-scribbles]

Reader works for Lena that turns into working buddies with benefits, but reader starts catching feelings. Maybe angst but happy ending?

Highly Unprofessional

⁀➷ Pairing: Lena Luthor x Reader

⁀➷ Notes: Okay so I haven’t written smut properly before so hopefully this is a decent attempt :,) Let me know what you think! Sorry this took a while, its like 3k words long so editing was a bitch.

⁀➷ Summary: When a one-time hookup turns into a regular occurance, it sets off a chain of events which you're helpless to stop.

⁀➷ WARNINGS: 18+ Minors DNI, fingering, cunnilingus, semi-public (I mean its in her office but the door was open oopsie)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

In the bustling chaos of corporate life, where stress reigns supreme the last thing you want to do is mix business and your personal life. It only ever ended in disaster.

When you’d first moved to National City, you���d never imagined just a few short months later you’d be working directly under the city’s most prevenient businesswoman. Lena Luthor was a force to be reckoned with. It was a miracle you’d gotten the position of her assistant at all, your CV was sharp, but it wasn’t anything to be in awe of so when you’d got the call that you’d received the job it was safe to say she was over the moon.

It taken a little while to warm up to you. She’d been a rather cold at first. Not that you could blame her of course, given her family history. However slowly but surely you found her opening up more to you, building up her trust gradually. In the meantime, whilst she’d grown to depend on your assistance, you payed close attention and slowly learnt her tells. You knew when Lena was upset, she’d get that little crinkle in her brows or that when she was anxious, she’d gently bite the left corner of her lip. Infact you’d become so observant of her habits and body language that sometimes you knew how she was feeling before she’d register the emotions herself.

One particularly hectic day in the bustling office, the air thick with tension, you noticed Lena pacing nervously in her office. The telltale signs were there – the crinkle in her brows, the subtle lip-biting – Lena was clearly on edge about the upcoming meeting with a major client.

Truth to told, seeing her like this made you feel anxious as well. How could someone as powerful and accomplished as Lena get so nervous? You’dhad never seen her like this before, and it was almost like seeing a completely different person.

You had to help.

You knocked gentle on the door, clearing your throat quietly to announce your presence, “Miss Luthor?”

A wave of relief washed over Lena as she heard your voice calling through the door. This meeting had been weighing heavily on her mind, and she was desperate to find some way to relax before it started.

“You know you can call me Lena.” She smiled and nodded for you to enter.

You stepped into the room and approached Lena with the gentle warmth and confidence that always radiated from you. She found herself walking over to you, looking at you deeply before taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. You took her closeness as a chance to reach out to squeeze her shoulder and when she didn’t object, you softly applied pressure to her muscles.

“Fuck.” She let the curse split out involuntarily before trying to regain herself, “Do you need something from me?”

“You’re tense, let me help?” You mumbled softly to which she nodded. Your touch was like a balm for her. As you began subtly massaging Lena's shoulders, the tension began to subside, and her frown faded away, you let your hand slide down to her wrist, holding it gently as you pulled her over to the pristine sofa at the other side of her office, “Come, sit.”

"Thank you." Lena took a deep breath and sunk into the seat. She could feel the stress and anxiety that had been weighing heavily on her began to melt away. She turned her head toward you and smiled softly, letting out a sigh of relief. Lena gave in and allowed herself to sink deep into your warm embrace. With her worries temporarily relieved, she closed her eyes and began to enjoy the feeling of your hands working away at her tension.

Leaning in, you reached to place a comforting hand on her thigh, feeling the subtle tension in her muscles. You had no intention’s behind the action. Your touch was light, meant to reassure rather than intrude. But Lena’s eyes slowly opened and cast over to meet yours, her emerald green iris's seemingly sparkling with a new found feeling.

It was obvious she was a little surprised by the gesture, but there was a moment of pause. She tried to be professional, but her body was responding positively to the touch.

The feeling was both calming and exciting, sending a shiver of desire down her spine, the creeping onset on desire making her leg’s bounce nervously.

She looked into your eyes and saw the unmistakable spark of attraction between the pair of you. Of course she’d noticed your lokg glances before and she wasn’t ashamed to say she’d given you some the day you’d left her office when you’d interviewed for the position. Her previous tension was soon replaced with a subtle feeling of arousal, and she couldn't help but crave more.

"Could you...keep going?" she whispered, words shaking through her soft yet overwhelming sensual voice - filled with desire.

“You mean?” Your voice was quiet as you very slowly moved your hand up her thigh, waiting for to confirm her consent, “Is this okay? I need to hear you say it Lena.”

"Keep going," Lena whispered. Her voice was raspy from the tension, but there was no mistaking the excitement in her voice. She wanted you to keep touching her. She craved it. Soaked in the intimacy of your touch. "Please..."

The feeling of your hand gliding over her thighs was intoxicating, sending shivers of arousal through her body. You teased her lightly, fingers reaching her line of her panties. You could hardly fight back your own growing blush at the feeling of the wet fabric. Lena let out a soft moan as you softly ran your finger around her entrance – she was so sensitive. Her eyes closed once again as she leaned back into the couch, surrounding herself to your touch.

Your touch was intoxicating. You kept it light, but your slow strokes were sending her body into ecstasy. Lena's breaths grew shallow as she leaned toward you, her lips meeting yours in an intimate kiss.

"Don't stop," she whispered against your lips, her body urging you to keep going as you edged her sodden clit, rubbing circles as her back arched involuntarily.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” You whispered back with a husky tone as your fingers continued to work their magic on her. You could feel the heat radiating off her body, adding to the intoxicating atmosphere. Your touch became firmer, getting closer to her core, making sure every stroke and tease was intense. You were doing your job finely, the way she moaned into your mouth was driving you wild with validation, knowing you were making her feel good. Truely you were completely under her control, willing to do anything she desired - anything to please her.

With each passing moment, the lust between you both grew more intense, fuelling your passion. Both your excitement only grew with every teasing touch and feather-light kiss. You knew she enjoyed the buildup of anticipation just as much as you did. In the heat of the moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself to the moment.

Your hand never stopped tracing along her sensitive folds as Lena’s moans grew louder, encouraging you to continue. She kissed you again and the kiss deepened as she pushed against you, urging you to take control. Her body ached for you as you pressed your fingers against her entrance, playing with her and teasing her. You held her deep in your embrace, feeling her shudder helplessly, her body giving into yours as you continued to stroke her. Finally, you gave into the inevitable and pushed inside, finally giving her the release, she craved.

Lena writhed beneath you, gasping for breath as you drove her toward climax. She muscles were tight against your fingers and you couldnt feel your hand going a little numb from how hard her thighs were squeezed together. She kept her hands clenched in your hair as you felt her body convulsing beneath yours. She moaned, high desperate sounds before finally, with a shudder of ecstasy, she peaked. Her back arching helplessly as she reached her climaxed under your guide.

Once she’d caught her breath, you carefully pulled out of her, making sure to be gentle against her sensitivities. You stroked her hair tenderly, feeling her body begin to relax against you as she came down down from her high.

"Do you feel better now?" you asked her, as she leaned back against you, still breathing heavily from the experience.

Lena sighed softly, a satisfied smile on her face, “So much better," she replied, her voice still light and breathless from the rush "Thank you for helping me relax.”

You brushed your fingers across her cheek, lingering for a beat. The intimacy of the moment was intoxicating, the shared look of pleasure and satisfaction. You couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than just stress relief. As your head wandered the clouds, you didn’t notice Lena fixing her hair, tying it back in a tight ponytail.

She checked her watch, seemingly debating something for a moment before her voice pulled you back down to reality, “I think we’ve got just enough time.” She said, sitting back down against you, pulling on of your legs over hers, opening you up.

“Enough time for what?”

Lena smirked mischievously, tugging at the edge of your skirt. “For me to return the favour...”

･ﾟ: ･ﾟ: ﾟ･

That had been the first of many times you’d helped her relax. It had become a sort of ritual really. Whenever she’d have a big meeting or important event coming up, she’d come to you to help her unwind. Truthfully the first it’d happened; it had taken you a few days to really process it all. The experience had changed you. You couldn’t just see her as your boss anymore. She was more than that. Lena had always had a stunning body of course but now it was almost as if though you couldn’t keep her eyes off her.

The ways her hips curved had you weak in the knees, it wasn’t just her physical attributes though. It was everything, the weak she spoke, the way she held herself. It was intoxicating. Safe to say you were happy to lend a hand whenever needed. Maybe you could’ve kept this up forever, helping her out without a second thought – she was still your boss after all. But this latest time had changed something in you.

It had started off in its usual way, you’d seen the meeting scheduled on the calendar and let yourself into her office – the two of you were way past knocking now. Lena knew what was about to happen, she’d been waiting for it.

As you entered her office, Lena didn't waste any time before pulling you closer to her. You felt the heat and need radiating off of her as she kissed you passionately, her hands moving greedily over your body. You moaned as she pushed you up against the desk, her mouth hot against your neck.

Suddenly, she pulled back, looking at you with a predatory glint in her eyes. "Do you know what I want to do to you?" she whispered, her voice low with desire as her tender fingers danced down the front of your shirt - making a show out of unbuttoning them.

As she spoke, Lena left the kiss and moved down your body with purpose, her lips and tongue leaving a trail of heat and anticipation down your torso. Your hands found her hair, pulling it as if to guide her further where you wanted her. But the CEO had plans of her own. She knew what she wanted and she wanted it now, right this moment. So much so that she hadn’t even bothered closing her office door.

Without warning, she pushed your shoulders down, forcing you to sit on her desk. Lena smirked, moving in to kiss you deeply, so deep that it left you chasing her lips as she pulled away. Without a pause, she pushed your legs apart and planted herself between them, her eagerness so apparent it sent a shiver of desire right through you.

You could feel her looking up at you as she kissed through the fabric of your panties, her hands moving to stroke and soothe wherever they could reach.

You couldn't help but moan now, one hand coming to grip her hair and the other gripping the edge of the desk with such force that your knuckles turned white. You were helpless to resist as Lena worked her way deeper, your grip became more frenzied, less able to control yourself.

It hadn’t taken long before your panties had been pulled down and Lena was happily satisfying herself on your clit whilst you slowly grinded against her face, desire driving you wild.

Then something suddenly caught your attention. You heard someone in the hall…

You tried to voice this but through your whimpers, not much was articulated. Despite this, Lena didn't even flinch when she’d heard them, seemingly not bothered by the accompanying approaching footsteps.

Instead, she kept going, her tongue working magic on you as she held your hips steady with one hand. You could hear people talking just outside the open door, but Lena didn't seem to care. In fact, it seemed to turn her on even more - the thrill of getting caught.

You tried to stifle your moans, but it was impossible with Lena's skilled mouth on you. Your body was writhing on the edge of the desk, your toes curling as the pleasure built and built. And still, she didn't stop.

Lena never broke eye contact with you as she continued to work her tongue and lips over your pussy, sending you further and further into ecstasy. The sounds of voices in the hallway were drowned out by your moans, which the Luthor seemed to be enjoying immensely.

She added a couple of fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit your sweet spot, and you felt your body convulse in response. You couldn't hold back anymore, and you came hard, your body shaking with the force of it.

Lena didn't stop, though; she kept going, licking and sucking until you were overstimulated and sensitive. Finally, she stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she grinned down at you.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She laughed, the sound of her voice sending shivers down your spine again.

Your cheeks blushed crimson as you cleaned yourself up, “Do you want me-” You took a step forward but stopped when she held out her hand, shaking her head as she fixed her hair.

“I just wanted you darling, nothing more. Now if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got a meeting to attend too.”

With that Lena smoothed out the crease in her skirt before heading out the door, leaving you to catch your breath, still perched upon her table.

Darling?

The pet name replayed over and over in your head as the day passed by. You couldn’t stop thinking about her, about these sessions.

It wasn’t just about favours anymore. It felt like she had wanted you. You’d wanted her. God you’d been trying so hard to ignore the fact you’d crave her touch when you were alone. It had gotten to the point where you’d started to miss simply being around her. In fact you’d started coming in earlier and leaving later just to be near her. But you had tried to ignore it. Dammit! Why couldn’t you stop thinking about it!

The rational part of your brain was telling you to pull back, to remind yourself that her actions were just physical and didn't mean anything more. But the other part of you, the part that craved the closeness and heat of your body wanted her for more. You wanted to feel more than just the pleasure of their bodies. You wanted to build a connection, a partnership. You wanted more.

Oh shit... You wanted love.

The realisation had made you sick. What you wanted could never happen. You knew Lena’s life; it was busy and packed. She didn’t have time for something solid. It was why your little favours had worked so well. You’d kept each other going. You could hardly tell her that you wanted more.

Goddamn it!

ﾟ: ･ﾟ: ﾟ･

The ringing it your ears hadn’t really faded since you’d realised. You’d called out of work the past 2 days; you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. Her eyes were a tease, a reminder of what you couldn’t have. Instead, you’d stayed home, trying to wrap your head around all the feelings swirling round in your head, your rapid thoughts never seemed to slow down long enough for you to process them.

You were in love with Lena Luthor.

You were in love with your boss…

Casual sex! That was all it was meant to be, no, no, no! How could you let yourself fall like this?

In all honesty, it felt like you were grieving. Grieving something you could never have. Something forbidden. It was awful.

You felt like shit. It had taken most of your energy to make the treacherous journey from your bed to the sofa - there was no point getting dressed. It wasn’t like you were going to work today anyway. You couldn’t bare the thought of facing her, the thought of it ate you up inside.

As you lay on your sofa, consumed by the weight of your emotions, a knock on the door suddenly startled you. You contemplated just ignoring it, hoping whoever it is will just get the hint, go away and leave you alone. However, the knocking persists, growing louder and more insistent with each rap.

With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself off the sofa and reluctantly opened the door. To your surprise, it was Lena standing there. A concerned expression etched across her face. Her usual confident demeanor seemed softened by genuine worry.

"Lena?" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, scanning the disarrayed room. "I've been trying to reach you for days. What's going on? Why haven't you been at work?”

Lena's concerned gaze met yours, and you could sense the weight of unspoken questions in her eyes. Your throat tightened, grappling with the words you hadn't dared to say.

"I... I just needed some time to think," you admitted, avoiding direct eye contact with her, staring hard at the floor, "Things have... changed.”

Her brow furrowed as she took in the gravity of your words. "Changed how?"

You hesitated, then let out a defeated sigh, "I can't keep doing this, Lena. Us. Secretly fucking each other at work just because we can. I don’t want to just be someone of the side anymore, I want to be more than that."

There was a moment of silence as Lena processed your words. Tension hung heavy over the room, a silence so thick you could’ve slice it with a knife, and you wondered if you had just ruined whatever fragile arrangement existed between you.

Finally, Lena spoke up, her soft voice wavering as she spoke, "More? What do you mean?"

"I mean..." You paused, gathering your courage. "I want a real relationship, Lena. Not just these secret little rendezvous we keep having. Lena, I want something genuine."

Her eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of vulnerability. "I didn't think... I didn't know you wanted that," she admitted, her usual confidence waning.

"I do," You nodded slowly, affirming your words, "I can't keep pretending that this is enough for me. I want more than just physical connection; I want an emotional one too."

Lena took a hesitant step closer, the distance between you diminishing. "I thought we were both on the same page, I thought-.”

"No, Lena, I can't do this anymore," you repeated, the weight of your unspoken desires finally finding a voice, “I can’t keep pretending I’m fine with this anymore. I’m sorry but I just can’t.”

Lena's expression shifted, torn between conflicting emotions. The room hung in suspended silence, waiting for her response.

Lena’s eyes softened, and a vulnerable smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I never realised how much you wanted this," she admitted, a hint of regret in her voice. "Maybe I've been too guarded, too afraid to admit it to myself…”

You felt a mix of relief and hope as Lena continued, “I'd think I’d like to try a real relationship too…”

There it was. The sentence that changed your life. You had a chance with Lena and you weren’t going to let it pass you by. Maybe this time, mixing your business and personal life wouldn’t end in disaster after all… even if it was horribly unprofessional.

✧･ﾟ: *

〚 Masterlist! 〛 ೃ༄ 〚Join My Taglist! 〛

#lena luthor x reader #lena luthor x you #lena luthor smut #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor #one shot #request #lena luthor imagine #lena x reader #fem reader #female reader #fem!reader #smut #supergirl #cw supergirl #lesbian #lena luthor x fem!reader

[mrs-monaghan]

🔐

Thanks for the mail.

I'm not all knowing about everything, because no one really is, I just have great sources who provide me with trustworthy information.

Yes, I was aware Jimin and Jungkook were enlisting together, however I didn't feel like this was something I would send in advance, because firstly, it's not something as light as a simple scheduled trip, which you would all know about soon anyways, or if it's something that's not even going to be announced as an information. But HYBE did, which was surprising to me, though I guess they had to.

It was funny to watch all the antis, who were (and still are) grasping at straws about how Jimin and Jungkook aren't going to spend the whole 18 month duration together. They are. The facts are, this was not a guaranteed shot for them, that if they apply they are going to get accepted. No. If the computerized lottery didn't pick them (and that is round 3, they didn't even know if they would pass the 1st and the 2nd round), they would be back to square one, having to apply again, individually, most likely going way later after V and RM, maybe sometimes in January, if they wanted to leave as soon as possible.

They wanted to use the buddy system now and enlist in December, because next year, even on the 1/1/2024, Jimin would no longer be eligible for the program, reason because he would be simply too old. Many of you have already figured this out, but when you are applying to the buddy system, you are automatically sent to a harder division and camp. You can choose out of 16 options, but they are all harder and more physically challenging than usual. Both Jimin and Jungkook made personal sacrifices for this. They didn't have to. No dates nor tattoos play any role in this, and that is a fact. If you ever see anyone saying that, please be sure that they do not know what they are talking about.

People going mental and all I have is this huge smile on my face

(P.s- feel free to tell me stuff that don't need to be published at all 😉 I'll take it to the grave)

Not but really this is the best Jikook news ever. I am ecstatic on their behalf. Almost like I'm the one doing this 🤭🤭 I am so happy they got what they wanted 😭😭😭

#ask shaz #bts ask #jikook #minkook #kookmin #jimin and jungkook #Padlock anon

[stylesispunk]

"A broken ankle, karma rules"

no outbreak! Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: you slipped on ice in front of your neighbor Joel and he ran to help you. warning: none besides a broken ankle, "peach" is reader's nickname, and probably grammar mistakes because I wrote this too fast. Word count: 2,6k a/n: This is the last piece of writing for the Christmas season! It's a short one but a lovely one. I'm actually dying because it's too hot here in my country (perhaps because Pedro is here) I hope you have a lovely Christmas Eve, take care of yourself and I hope there is so much love for you on your way!

dividers by @/plum98

It has been five months since your neighbor, Joel had moved to the house next to yours, in a neighborhood mostly habited by lovely elderly people, you were the youngest woman in this street, and the sweetheart, loved by everyone around. Well, you, your kind heart, warm personality, and the delicious pastries you baked since you were a professional baker.

And of course, the arrival of Joel changed the course of events at the neighborhood, at that sunny morning when he parked his car in front of his house, full of his belongings, clearly indicating he was taking the house.

At first, you didn’t understand the commotion outside when you spotted 3 of the ladies chatting and laughing with an unknown guy on the cobblestones in front of your yard, just when you were leaving for work.

As a shy person, you sometimes hated the new introductions and tried your best to avoid them, but this morning it seemed like the odds weren’t in your favor. Once you stepped outside your door, the three heads, well now four, turned to you, smiling, and the chatting stop abruptly.  You could swear the eyes of the stranger wide at your presence. You felt the rush creeping up your cheeks and swallow, making your war downstairs your porch.

“It’s our lovely baker here, come on sweats pea, let us introduce you both” one of the ladies said, her name was Betty and he was a lovely woman in her 80s.

You walked towards them, avoiding the lump in your throat and the stammer on your heart at the presence of the men next to Betty.

“Look, Joel. She is our lovely peach. Well, that’s not her name but we all call her that because she bakes the best peach tarts in this town” she beamed.

“Hi, nice to meet you, peach” he smirked, “I’m Joel” he took your hand to shake, and you swore there was an electric touch once your hands made contact.

"Joel, you have tried her peach tarts" Betty asked with a sly smile.

Joel, catching on to the playful matchmaking, replied, "I would love to."

As you blushed at that, Betty seized the moment. "Well, you're in for a treat! Peach, why don't you tell Joel about your baking journey? It's such a fascinating story."

“Well, I’m actually have to go to work but I-you. I’m, we can’t talk later” you replied, shyly, making your  

“And again, nice to meet you, Joel. I” you smiled, trying to avoid looking into his eyes.

It has been five months since that morning and you could say you and Joel got along well since then, you wouldn’t say you were both friends but you clearly could say you were on good terms and he was a great neighbor.

Since then, you had found out he was single, no wife, not girlfriend and not daughter, but he did have a dog that always switched his time between your house and his, trying somehow to pull you and Joel together.

And now, as the winter sky painted hues of lavender color in the horizon, you found yourself bundled up in a cozy blanket, sitting on the bench outside your doors with a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. The air was crisp, and the soft glow of holiday lights adorned the houses, casting a warm and festive ambiance.

Joel, with his dog by his side, approached quietly, the soft crunch of leaves beneath his boots announcing his presence. The winter silence was interrupted only by the distant sound of carolers and the occasional jingle of bells from some houses, and his presence.

"It's enchanting, isn't it?" Joel remarked, his breath forming a mist in the cold air as he settled beside you.

You smiled, the warmth of the tea contrasting with the chilly breeze, "Yes, there's something nice about winter evenings. Especially on the eve of Christmas."

Joel nodded, his gaze capturing the twinkle of Christmas lights around the neighborhood. "Absolutely. It's my first winter here, but there's a special charm to this season."

He turned to you, taking a look of your side profile looking at the sky. He hadn’t really paid attention of the beautiful features adorning your face. For him, you were clearly a gorgeous woman, but right now in the quietness of a winter afternoon and gorgeous colors around, he thought you looked breathtaking, and his heart stopped beating for a second.

He cleared his throat, “So, any plans for tomorrow night?”

You contemplated your answer for a while before answering the question, “Well, I’m just driving to my parents’ house. We aren’t really a big family so I’m spending the night with them” you smiled, turning to your side to face Joel “What about you?”

“With my parents. I mean they’re coming and my lil’ brother and kids. They all want to know the place I’m living now” he chuckled.

“If is not a bother, I would love to ask you if you could bake a peach tart for me?” his big brown eyes shone under the soft light left of the day “you promised once you would bring me one but you didn’t so…”

Your heart fluttered at the genuine warmth in Joel's request, and the winter chill seemed to retreat in the face of the newfound connection between you two.

"Of course, Joel. I'd be happy to bake a peach tart for you. It's the least I can do for my neighbor and his family," you replied, a grin spreading across your face.

Joel's eyes lit up with gratitude, and he flashed a grateful smile. "Thanks, peach. I can't wait to taste one." He stepped up from beside you and flashed you another smile “So, see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll knock at your door with a peach tart.” you beamed.

As you got ready to drive to your parent's house, your mind was filled with the joy of giving and the anticipation of the holiday night.

Before hitting the road, you took extra care in preparing the peach tart for Joel. The sweet aroma of baking filled your kitchen, creating an atmosphere of warmth and festivity. Once the tart was baked to perfection, you carefully wrapped it in a festive box, adding a touch of holiday magic with a ribbon.

The night before, the snow had painted the neighborhood in a blanket of white, transforming the cobblestones and rooftops into a winter wonderland. As you stepped outside, the chill of the morning air nipped at your nose, and you couldn't help but marvel at the serene beauty of the snowy landscape.

With the box in hand, you made your way carefully towards Joel's house, navigating the slippery cobblestones with caution. The snow had turned the quaint neighborhood into a picturesque scene, and the holiday lights twinkled against the snowy backdrop.

But just before you reached the stairs of the porch, your misstep, slipping on the icy pavement. A gasp escaped your lips, and time seemed to slow for a moment. The festive box containing the carefully prepared peach tart tumbled from your hands, landing with a soft thud on the snowy ground. Your heart raced as you tried to regain your balance, but the slippery surface had other plans.

“Damn it!” you yelled, at the impact, and you winced as you felt the cold seeping through your winter attire.

Just as the echoes of your frustration lingered in the air, a door creaked open. Joel, having heard your exclamation, rushed out of his house with concern etched on his face. His eyes widened as he took in the scene, the fallen box, the snowy ground, and you, trying to gather yourself.

"Peach, are you okay?" he called out, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You managed a sheepish smile as you felt the flush on your cheeks, "I'm fine, just a little clumsy in the snow."

Joel hurried over; his steps cautious on the slippery pavement. "Here, let me help you up," he offered, extending a hand.

But you yelped in pain as you tried to stand up, a sharp twinge radiating from your ankle.

Joel's expression shifted from concern to alarm as he saw the discomfort etched across your face. "Hold on, Emily. Don't force yourself up. Are you hurt?"

You winced, clutching your ankle. "I think I might have twisted it. It hurts."

Without hesitation, Joel carefully crouched down beside you, his eyes scanning for any signs of serious injury. "Let me take a look," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.

As he examined your ankle, you couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. The peach tart, now forgotten in the snowy commotion, lay beside you. The chilly air seemed to intensify as Joel's worried gaze focused on your ankle.

"I'm no expert, but it might be best if we get you inside and have a closer look," Joel suggested, his concern evident on his voice.

You nodded, appreciating his attentiveness. With Joel's support, you managed to stand, albeit with difficulty. Together, you limped towards his front door, the snow underfoot now a hindrance rather than a picturesque setting.

Once inside, Joel helped you settle into a chair. "I think it might be a good idea to have a doctor take a look at your ankle. I can drive you to the hospital."

But instead of uttering a word, you started crying. Embarrassment and sadness clouded your mind, with a possible broken ankle you wouldn’t be able to drive to your parent’s house and you just had ruined Joel’s tart.

Joel, seeing your distress, knelt down beside you, his expression a blend of concern and empathy. "Hey, it's okay. Accidents happen, and your health is what matters most right now. We'll figure things out."

“But I ruined your tart” you sobbed, into your palms.

“I don’t care about the tart now, but you, okay? Let me drive you to the hospital” he said, looking out his car keys.

“No, Joel, I can drive myself” you insisted, attempting to push away the feeling of being a burden.

"Don't be a dummy, peach," he said, using the endearing nickname. Joel gently took your hands away from your face, looking into your eyes with sincerity. "Your health is more important. We'll figure out the rest later. Let me help you."

Feeling embarrassed, you nodded, realizing the truth in his words. With Joel's support, you allowed him to guide you to his car, the winter chill contrasting with the warmth of his concern.

As Joel drove carefully through the snowy streets to the hospital, a quiet and comfortable silence settled between you two. The twinkling Christmas lights outside seemed to blur in the background as your thoughts focused on the unexpected turn of events.

"I appreciate your help, Joel," you finally said, breaking the silence.

He glanced at you, a reassuring smile on his face. "That's what neighbors do, right? Look out for each other. Plus, I wouldn't want you driving with a potentially broken ankle."

Your previous accident hit you again, and you sighed. "This wasn't how I imagined spending Christmas Eve."

Joel nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Life has a way of surprising us. Perhaps, something good may happen after this” he said, looking to the front of the road.

Arriving at the hospital, Joel helped you out of the car and into the emergency room. As you waited for the doctor, the events of the day played in your mind. Despite the unexpected twists, you found solace in the genuine care Joel had shown towards you right now, as he took care of you by holding your hand tightly as you both wait for the doctor to attend your ankle.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor finally arrived, breaking the quiet tension in the emergency room. Joel stood by your side, holding your hand tightly, offering a reassuring anchor as the doctor began to assess your ankle.

The doctor examined the X-rays and then turned to you with a composed expression. "Well, it seems you have a broken ankle. Nothing too severe, but you'll need to be cautious and follow the recommended care for a proper recovery."

You nodded, absorbing the news with a mix of resignation, and the doctor continued to explain the care instructions, detailing the use of crutches, the importance of keeping weight off the injured foot, and the expected timeline for healing.

Joel listened attentively; his concern evident in his eyes. However, to your surprise, the doctor, with a knowing smile, glanced between you and Joel.

"You're fortunate to have such a supportive boyfriend," the doctor said, assuming Joel was your boyfriend.

“Oh, he is-“

“Of course, everything for taking care of my girl” Joel interrupted, playing along with the assumption. He smiled warmly at you, as the grip on your hand gently tightened.

You exchanged a surprised glance with Joel, realizing that he was choosing to support the charade. The doctor continued, providing further guidance and answering any questions you both had.

As the appointment concluded, the doctor left the room, leaving you and Joel alone once again. You couldn't help but feel confusion at Joel’s behavior.

“Why did you do that?” you asked, curious.

Joel looked at you with a sheepish grin, his eyes reflecting a mix of playfulness and sincerity. "Well, it just seemed easier at the moment. Plus, I didn't want to complicate things. It's not like it's hurting anyone, right?"

“oh” you said, your tone disappointed.

“And because I think you are beautiful” he said, once he felt the disappointed in your voice “And I don’t care about peach tarts when I would rather taste the lips of the person who bakes them” he confessed.

Joel's confession hung in the air, and you found yourself caught between surprise and a growing warmth in your cheeks.

"I didn't mean to disappoint you," Joel said, a hint of concern in his eyes.

Your disappointment had quickly shifted to a mixture of surprise and something else—a fluttering sensation in your stomach. "No, Joel, it's not that. I just didn't expect—"

He gently interrupted, "Expect the unexpected, right? Life has a way of surprising us, I told you earlier” he said, smirking.

"Beautiful, huh?" you teased, attempting to lighten the moment.

Joel grinned, "Oh, absolutely.” He continued, "And as for the peach tart, I'd gladly trade it for a taste of something sweeter."

With a subtle shift, Joel leaned in, closing the distance between you. The moment felt like a suspended breath, a pause in time where the unexpected had become a canvas for something beautiful.

Your heart raced as Joel's lips met yours, the taste of your lips was just as sweet as he imagined, and the world outside, covered in a blanket of white, seemed to fade away as the warmth of your new found connection met in both of your lips moving against each other.

As the kiss deepened, you started to feel breathless, a rush of emotions swirling within you, and you even felt grateful for breaking your ankle because it led you to Joel.

the taste of the shared kiss created a sense of completeness, as if the universe had conspired to bring you together on this snowy Christmas Eve. The initial disappointment and frustration had given way to a profound appreciation for the serendipitous journey that had unfolded throughout the day.

When the kiss finally broke, you found yourself looking into Joel's eyes, a silent language being spoken between looks.

“Yes, definitely sweeter than a tart” Joel remarked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Joel remarked, the playful glint in his eyes creating a shared laughter that echoed in the quiet space.

You chuckled, the joy of the moment enveloping you both. "I guess breaking my ankle wasn't the worst thing that could've happened today."

Joel grinned, "Who would've thought a slip on the icy pavement could lead to all this?" His eyes held amusement

“Merry Christmas, peach,” he said, kissing you again.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller series #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller angst #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel x reader #Joel Miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascar character imagine #pedro pascal

[motherofdogs1010]

Letters to Juliet and Romeo III (Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Summary: Heartbroken and in the midst of the Great War as a nurse, Y/N L/N writes to a person she never expected to write to before... her brother's friend, Thomas Shelby... But the war's over now and it is time to face the letters...

Warnings: fluff, no other warnings

A/N: Would you guys like to see the wedding? Or would you rather I skip to S1? Comment if you want to be added to taglist 😊

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Part I Part II

One Month Later

"You mean to tell me that my brother, Tommy", Ada teased, holding just a small fraction of letters, "wrote you these because these are quite romantic."

"Ada!" Y/N said, a little embarrassed at the fact Ada had found the letters.

Ada let out a teasing laugh, Polly and her mother seemed to listening in as they sat at the kitchen table with tea.

"She's just wondering how Thomas managed to sweep you off your feet", Polly teased, "I know he is quite the charmer but for him to introduce you as his fiancee without even his brothers knowing..."

Y/N felt flush just at the teasing but a little smile was on her face as fiddled with the engagement ring on her finger; it was simple, nothing extravagant but she loved it because it was from Tommy. He had made promises that once they got the betting shop legal, he would give her a ring that she deserved despite Y/N insisting she didn't need a different ring.

"And now we're planning a wedding just a month after you both get home", her mother continued the teasing with a grin. "Your brother was going in circles when you announced all this."

"If he had answered my letters, he wouldn't have been surprised", Y/N retorted back as Y/N snatched the letters back. "Besides. these are private, Ada."

"They seem private with Tommy writing how in love with you he is", Ada said, Y/N playfully swatted the girl.

"No one teases you about you fancying Freddie Thorne, Ada."

Ada turned red as Polly and her mother chuckled as Y/N let out a teasing laugh before going to her room.

Once up in her room, Y/N glanced at the letters with a small smile, feeling the creases of the letters, the dents of Tommy's handwriting and she sat down on her bed; her bed felt like a rock compared to her having spent three and a half years sleeping on a cot.

Sometimes I thank whatever is out there for letting you chose to write to me. You could have written to anyone, John... Arthur... but you decided to write me and I feel like when we get back, I'll need to buy your brother a gift for not responding to you.

Y/N read one of the many letters Tommy had sent her and she could see how Ada was surprised by the way her brother wrote to her, but Y/N wasn't. It felt as if through each letter, she had slowly come to find out another new thing about Tommy.

She slowly smiled as she re-read the letters even if they were written during a dark time.

Y/N handled the books at the betting shop, she was quick with the numbers and found it quite easy to do plus it gave her and Tommy more time to spend together.

"Here ya go, love", Tommy said, giving her a betting slip. "Managed to snag this one."

She looked at Tommy as he grinned; he only seemed to ever really grin for her nowadays, but she understood. She knew the war took a piece big of him and on the nights when she stayed with him, she knew his mind wandered back to the tunnels.

"This month's been a good for you lot", she said with a small smile.

It was just them in the shop, an rare sight to see during the day but the usual bodies that occupied the shop where out on Peaky Blinder business. Y/N was asked once about how she felt about that, being engaged and soon to be married to a Blinder devil, but she also brushed off the comments with fake naivety.

"Been a good one for us", Tommy corrected before pressing a kiss to her temple. "You balance the books better than John and Arthur."

"Arthur's busy helping himself to the Garrison", she said as she stood up. "And John's falling over his feet with those kids of his."

John's wife, Martha had died from infection during the war and the five children he shared with her had been left to Polly and Ada while John was off fighting.

Now that he was back, the poor father was struggling under the amount of children he had.

"John'll be fine", Tommy said, bringing her to him. "Now, how's my bride doing in her wedding planning?"

She felt giddy when Tommy called her that despite technically having been engaged to be man for a few years ever since his proposal in one of her treasured letters.

"Poll and my mum seem to be enjoying themselves", she joked, "all me and you have to do is show up."

She rested her hands on his chest as he said, "I miss your letters. John and Arthur used to bother the shite out of me to know who was writing me."

"Ada found your letters, said she couldn't believe you wrote them", Y/N said, Tommy smirked. "Said you weren't the romantic type."

"What would she know?" Tommy said. "She's just a kid."

Tommy pushed a loose hair behind her ear as he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers; Y/N felt happy in the moment as Tommy embraced her.

TAGLIST

@calmingmelody96 @69your-best-night-mare69 @girlwith-thepearlearring

#reader insert #x reader #chubby reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #thomas shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic

[steddiewithachance]

Will You Still Need Me?

Summary: Steve Harrington is avoiding telling his professional-musician-boyfriend, Eddie, that he's going deaf because he's worried about what will happen when he does.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Or Read on AO3

June 13, 1992: A month later

Steve startles awake when he hears something fall on the other side of the apartment. The bed’s empty, he notices. That's disappointing. Steve brushes a hand across Eddie’s side of the bed to feel how cold it is, to check how long Eddie’s been up for, but he pauses when he feels a piece of paper where his boyfriend should be. Did Eddie leave a note? That goof.

Steve snatches it off the pillow and holds it over his face.

Steve, 

I was going to recite to you this big long monologue of all the reasons I love you and all the ways you’re important to me, but maybe it’s better if you read them. Don’t want you to miss a single syllable of my devotion to you, Sweetness. So I made a long cheesy trail of notes for you to follow, don’t make fun of me for it.

Yours Always,

Teddy

Steve is still half asleep so it takes him another groggy read-through to understand what he’s looking at. 

He sits up and does indeed see a trail of little pink notes, photographs, and rose petals twisting around the bedroom, under the door, and presumably down the hall. And Steve’s heart is pounding because, well he doesn’t want to get his hopes up or anything, but this sappy romantic gesture sounds like a precursor to something bigger. He’s frozen in place, too afraid to move. He eventually scoots off the bed and picks up the first note. 

‘I love you for engaging in my interests even though I wouldn’t blame you for not caring.’ It’s paired with an old photo of a DND game with the kids. Eddie’s DMing with Steve on his lap. 

The next few: ‘I love you for always trying to make little kids in shopping carts smile when we pass them at the store.’ and ‘I love how you can tell if I wasn’t in the shower long enough to condition my hair to your high standards so you make me get back in and do it right. Sometimes I take quick showers just so you’ll lay into me for it.’

The notes and photos are a lot more random than Steve had anticipated. ‘I love the way you will patiently explain the rules of various sports to me even when it’s been seven years of watching games together and I still don’t get it.’ There’s a photo near that note that was taken by Robin of the time Steve and Eddie swapped clothes at a sleepover. Eddie’s posing in Steve’s letterman jacket and tiny gym shorts and Steve is giggling in the background dressed in leather and denim. 

Steve gets to the door and realizes none of the notes have mentioned music or anything related to Eddie’s shows at all. Steve wonders if it was a conscious decision. Wonders if Eddie was being sensitive about Steve’s hearing problem. He swings the door open to see the trail continue all the way down the hall and around the corner. He huffs and keeps reading. There are notes about being a good “mom”, one about Eddie cherishing the nights they cook together. There’s a note about Steve’s smile, what it felt like to decorate their first apartment together, how Eddie loves that both of them have taken to calling Wayne “Pops”, but none about music. When Steve finally rounds the corner he sees Eddie sitting on the couch nervously.

“This was actually a terrible idea because I had to listen to you slowly shuffle down the hallway reading my notes. My anxiety is at an all-time high!” Eddie announces dramatically and Steve laughs. 

On the coffee table in front of him, there’s a big bouquet of flowers and a basket full of snacks and skin/hair care products that Steve loves. This is all a fucking lot. Positive attention makes Steve’s skin crawl. Eddie pats the couch and Steve slowly ambles over. He sits down and proceeds to not know what to do with himself.

“Stevie,” Eddie digs into his pocket and sets a little green velvet box on Steve’s thigh. 

Oh boy. 

“Obviously we can’t do anything legal, but I still want you to know that I wanna be yours forever. A tangible promise of loyalty. Is that okay?” 

Steve covers his face. He doesn’t know how people handle being proposed to in public. It’s mortifying enough in private. All he can do is nod. He feels Eddie prop the little box open. Inside is a golden ring, patterned with fancy flourishes. It reminds Steve of ornate picture frames in art galleries. He likes it a lot. Steve holds out his left hand.

Eddie beams, slips the ring on, and looks like he’s relieved it fits.

“Mwahaha. You’re mine now.” Eddie proclaims with the tone he uses to voice villains when he plays DND. Then he grabs Steve’s left hand and pushes the middle and ring finger down while pulling out the thumb, pointer, and pinky. Steve’s pinky finger barely stays up on its own but Eddie gives him a coy smile.

“This means ‘I love you’ in sign language.” 

And that’s the first expression Steve learns in ASL.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steddie fic #soft eddie munson #steddie fic rec #steddie fluff #hard of hearing #deafness #eddie munson is a sweetheart #rock star eddie munson #hurt/comfort

[wheels-of-despair]

I Hate Mondays Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Like his beloved Garfield, Eddie hates Mondays. Evil Woman decides to give him a reason to look forward to them. Contains: Early relationship fluff, Garfield references, Eddie being loved and adored and showered in lavish gifts like he deserves. Words: 1.3k

"Hey," you beam at your boyfriend of approximately one month as he drags his feet through the door of your first period classroom.

Eddie gives you a sleepy smile, drops his stuff on the floor, and plops himself into his chair. He crosses his arms on the desk and leans his head on them, ready to go back to sleep.

"Rough morning?" you tease.

"I hate Mondays," he mumbles through his shaggy mane.

"That's very Garfield of you," you laugh.

He turns his head toward you, so you can see half of his pretty face. "You like Garfield?"

"Doesn't everyone?" He blinks so slowly, you wonder if he's going to keep his eyes closed. "What's so bad about Mondays?"

"Early. Sleepy." The first bell rings, and he drags himself off the desk and leans back in his chair. "Start of another long week in this hell."

"I kinda like Mondays," you shrug. He narrows his eyes like you've just insulted his favorite band. "It means another week where I get to spend at least eight hours with youuu," you grin, lightly poking his cheek and hoping to come off as patronizing instead of sappy.

"Really?" The corner of his mouth twitches.

"I mean, it's probably not exactly eight hours, but if you count this, and lunch…" your finger waves through the air as if you're doing the math on an imaginary chalkboard.

"Well I feel like an asshole."

"You are," you grin. He gives you a gentle shove to the shoulder as the morning announcements begin.

One week later, you waited for him in the parking lot. He even drove slower on Monday mornings. But everyone was still accustomed to getting out of his way when he came roaring through every other day of the week, so perhaps they hadn't noticed. Students scattered, and Eddie pulled into his usual space and hauled his body out of his warm van and into the cool morning air with a groan.

"Good morning, sunshine!" you chirped. You weren't really much of a morning person yourself, but he was so grumpy and adorable, you couldn't resist messing with him. He fixed you with a deathly glare, and you brandished a freshly baked muffin at him.

"What's this?"

"I believe it's called a muffin."

"Why?"

"I don't know why. But I know this one's got blueberries in it."

His glare is ruined when he raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

"It's for you, doofus."

"Why?"

"Because I made a batch and I wanted you to have one."

A smile slowly spreads across his sleepy face. He reaches for the muffin with one hand and wraps you in a hug with his free arm. You'd bring him something every damn day if it got you one of these.

But for now, you'd stick to Mondays.

It took him a month to realize what you were doing.

"You don't have to keep buying me stuff, you know," he said shyly one day after school. He was resting between your legs, his back against your chest, in the back of his van. Sometimes you hid out here for a few minutes of alone time. He was using your knees as armrests and holding his hands out in front of him, fiddling with the black plastic spider ring you'd given him that morning. It was so small, it settled just below the nail on the tip of his finger, but he wore it all day and played with it anyway.

"I like giving you something to look forward to on Mondays." You try not to panic about making him uncomfortable. Since the muffin, you'd also given him an alien-shaped eraser, a bag of cookies, a quarter-sized bouncy ball, and his spider ring.

"I have you to look forward to on Mondays," he mumbles. His hair is hiding his face, but you know he's blushing.

"Awwwww," you coo, pushing his hair aside to give him a kiss on his burning, tomato-colored cheek. "I know you're gonna find this hard to believe, but I didn't have to blow my life savings on that."

"I know," he chuckles. "But you still don't have to."

"What if I want to?"

He doesn't answer.

"Is that okay? I mean, I'll quit if you think it's weird."

"It's not weird," he says slowly, "it's just… new."

"What, you've never had a girl shower you with random gifts before?"

"Nope."

"Does it make you feel like a kept woman?" You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and feel him chuckle.

"No."

"What if I told you," you whisper scandalously near his ear, "that I found the spider ring in the parking lot at the grocery store, on my way to drop a whole dime on the bouncy ball?"

He laughs.

"I mean, I washed it before I gave it to you, obviously. Who knows how many diseased children might've drooled on it."

You can feel him shake with silent laughter, but you're still waiting on him to tell you to stop. You're getting impatient. You knock him with your knee. "Let me nice to you, dammit!"

"Fine, fine, keep spoiling me with baked goods and priceless trinkets."

"Victory!" you shout, lifting your arms in a triumphant V.

"But I'll warn you now," he rumbles in a low voice you've often heard in Hellfire, "you keep this up, and you might never get rid of me."

"That's the goal, Munson." You wrap your arms around his shoulders again and pull him close. "Can't tell anybody I'm nice to you, though. I've got a reputation to maintain."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, relaxing into you and walking his fingers up your leg, making it look like the little plastic spider is being chased by the metal rings that actually fit him.

Eddie learned to love Mondays. Not just because of the gifts you gave him - which were quite badass, by the way - but because you always demanded a kiss as payment.

Sometimes it was food you'd baked or picked up on sale. (You always kept a bag of gummy worms in a secret compartment of your backpack for emergencies.) Sometimes it was something he needed, like a new pencil. (With "Corroded Coffin" carved into the wood, completed during a thrilling afternoon in detention.) Sometimes it was something fun, like one of the sticky little slappy hands from the gumball machines at the grocery store. (You two are the reason those are now banned in Hawkins High.) And sometimes, you went the hand-made route, like with the flip book of Principal Higgins and Miss Click that would probably get you both suspended if it were discovered. (It was not.)

This went on for the rest of the year.

On the last Monday before summer vacation, after all the exams had been taken and all the teachers were phoning it in, you gave Eddie what was probably his favorite Monday Gift of all.

You waited 'til the last few minutes of your last class together, asked for the bathroom pass, and came back with an envelope shoved into the waistband of your jeans, hidden under your shirt.

You pulled it out when you sat back down and handed it to him under the table, keeping your eyes to the front of the room.

You hear the paper crinkle as he opens the envelope, and then he lets out a sound somewhere between a choke and a gasp.

When you can't resist the temptation any longer, you look over at him. He's so red, you're worried his face is going to start bleeding.

Eddie "The Freak" Munson is holding a pair of warm panties in his hand, in the middle of a school day, in a Hawkins High classroom.

When the bell rings, he springs into action. He shoves them into his pocket, grabs your hand, and bolts.

Sorry, Garfield. Eddie Munson no longer agrees with you about Mondays.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #am i happy with it? no. am i sick of looking at it? yup.

[insertdisc5]

Devlog #19: THE LAST DEVLOG BEFORE RELEASE.

Hello everyone! Welcome to this month’s devlog!

If you just stumbled upon this, I am Adrienne, also known as insertdisc5! I’m the developer, writer, artist, main programmer, etc of the game. The game being In Stars and Time, a timeloop RPG, which is also the next and final game in the START AGAIN series, following START AGAIN: a prologue (available here!).  You can find out more about In Stars and Time here!!! 

LET’S GET TO IT. This month is THE LAST DEVLOG BEFORE RELEASE?!??!??!?! URGHH?!??!!

My goodness. Can you believe In Stars and Time will finally be out THIS MONTH? NOVEMBER? TWENTIETH? TWO THOUSAND TWENTY THREE?!??!?!?!? Yeah turns out ME NEITHER so WE CAN FREAK OUT ABOUT IT TOGETHER.

So, as previously mentioned, In Stars and Time will be out on November 20th on Steam, itch.io, GOG, Nintendo Switch, and Playstation 4 and 5!!! We mentioned this previously, but we cannot guarantee they will come out at a specific time, nor guarantee they will all come out at the exact same time and hour and minute, but we will do our best! Hopefully “sometime in the morning for Canada” is the time. Don’t hold me to that though!

And for our announcement, we prepared a wonderful announcement trailer, animated by the lovely Mimi Chiu! Did you see it?!? Well, have it again.

In preparation for the release, we’ve been bringing our marketing A-game! I (insertdisc5) have appeared on The Completionist’s IndieLand Stream, and it was an absolute blast. I also reiterated my Big Hope for this game, which is that I hope ISAT makes you feel so many feelings. 

We’re also doing a Fanworks Contest on Twitter, with the prize being a key of the game on release!!! If you have something in mind, why not participate? We accept EVERY kind of art, from fanart to fanfics to cosplay to animatics to memes to even pictures of food! As long as it’s ISAT related, GO FOR IT!!!

And finally, every Monday until release we’ll be sharing some ISAT character playlists made by yours truly (along with some VERY MUCH NEEDED HELP from friends and family. Finding songs is hard!) You can check them out here on Spotify!

And, finally for real, mayhaps consider joining the Discord channel before all hell breaks loose. Make some friends. Show some memes. Post your last minute theories. Or maybe just lurk! Up to you and your delightful little brain.

How weird to know this is the last devlog before the release! I WILL be posting a couple more monthly devlogs after this month- I want to talk about how the release went! And even after the game comes out, there will be some fun little things in store! So please stay tuned even after the game comes out :) And as always, don’t forget to wishlist the game on Steam!!! Ok!!! Wishlist numbers this close to release are SO IMPORTANT!!!! SO PLEASE!!! I BEG!!! ON MY KNEES!!! PLEASE WISHLIST!!!! (someone does a neck cutting motion off screen) I’m told to tone it down. So PLEASE WISHLIST but like, um, only if you want, teehee <3

Thank you for following this devlog all this time. I hope you enjoy the game when it comes out later this month.

See you next time.

#devlog #in stars and time #indie dev #indie game #game dev #Youtube