#the way he kept smirking and smiling like

[nottsangel]

just friends — p.z. & a.d.

pairing: fwb!patrick zweig x fem!stanford!reader x bsf!stanford!art donaldson

warnings: smut 18+, threesome, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m. and f. receiving), creampie, praise, dirty talk, everyone is really into each other

word count: 4.5k

summary: you and patrick have been secretly hooking up behind art’s back for months without him suspecting a thing. however, everything changes when art unexpectedly walks in on you both.

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“Fuck!” you cursed when your trembling, non-dominant hand holding the nail polish applicator accidentally painted your skin bright red with a rogue flick. Hastily shoving the applier back into the glass bottle, you reached for a tissue, carelessly splashed some nail polish remover on it, and tried to fix the mess as best as you could. You squinted your eyes as you dabbed the remover-soaked tissue on your skin, the sun gradually setting and the chilly evening summer breeze feeling pleasant against your skin in your humid Stanford dorm room. 

“That’s… better.” you mumbled to yourself as you held your hands in front of you, admiring your freshly painted nails with a satisfied grin, when three loud knocks on your dorm room door resonated through the room, making you jump and let out a small squeal in surprise, jolting you out of your trance. 

Hastily, you tucked away your nail polish supplies before another set of impatient knocks echoed through the space. “Coming!” you yelled out, leaping towards the door with a rush of excitement coursing through your body, knowing exactly who was waiting on the other side. 

You carefully grasped the handle, ensuring not to ruin your fresh nail polish, and pulled the door open with a beaming smile. In front of the door opening, your best friend stood with his hands in his pockets and a broad grin that widened when he saw your excited expression. 

“Patrick!” you exclaimed, holding your arms out as he swiftly wrapped you in a hug, lifted you from the ground, and spun you around while casually closing the door with his foot. “Careful, careful! I just painted my nails!” you grumbled, quickly checking your nails with a concerned frown before he set you back down on the ground.

“You were getting all dolled up f’me? You didn’t have to, you know.” You rolled your eyes, his cocky attitude already surfacing after approximately ten seconds. “Oh, shut up. And uhm, If you didn’t know already, I’m actually seeing someone. Stanford has some pretty cute guys, surprisingly.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes, closely observing your face with a serious expression before a wide grin broke out. He chuckled while shaking his head, his eyes briefly drifting away from yours before he firmly gripped your jaw, “You’re fucking lying.” A small smile tugged at your lips, unable to maintain your poker face any longer. Having been best friends for so long, it was easy for both of you to spot a lie.

“I mean, obviously you’re not seeing anyone. C’mon baby, we both know no one can fuck you as good as I can.” he taunted, his voice low and raspy, before he stepping closer to you until you’re merely inches away from each other, the smirk on his face gradually fading.

His eyes looked right into yours, then shifted to your lips as he licked his own before abruptly cupping your face with both hands and pressing his lips to yours hungrily. His mouth was warm against yours, a mingling of passion and urgency as teeth clashed briefly and tongues fought for dominance while you could taste the faint hint of cigarettes mixed with minty gum.

You were well aware of the risks that came with being friends with benefits, but god, it was so fucking addictive. Patrick had a way of making you feel like none of your ex-boyfriends ever had, which kept you coming back for more. 

And since the two of you first hooked up at a party, both intoxicated and horny, a few months have passed of you continuing as friends with benefits without any issues yet. You both agreed right away to keep it a secret from your other best friend, Art, fearing it might complicate things between you three or potentially ruin your close friendship. And so far, it worked out just fine, and everything between you three remained as normal as ever. 

“Have you seen Art already?” You questioned as you broke the kiss, making him whine as his rough hands wandered all over your body, reaching your waist.

“Hmm, what? Art? No, no, not yet. I— uh, I have more important things on my mind first.” He snickered, his signature smirk spreading across his face, before swiftly pushing you onto your bed, causing you to bounce lightly on the mattress as you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, taking in his athletic shape. You noticed he had grown more muscular since the last time you saw him, nearly making you drool at the sight of his biceps flexing as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, revealing his defined abs.

He then fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, his impatient and hurried manners only slowing him down instead, making him groan in frustration before finally yanking his trousers off and kicking them to the side. Your eyes were instantly drawn to his tented boxers, with precum forming a wet patch on the fabric as he approached you on the bed, causing you to unconsciously spread your legs open.

“Fuck, I haven’t gone a day without thinking about you, you know that? Your sweet mouth, your perfect tits, your pretty pussy. You have no idea how much I’ve looked forward to this moment.” he whispered with a raspy voice, your floral perfume filling his senses as he removed your top, the soft material gliding over your head, and then did the same to your shorts, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, before tossing them to the ground, leaving a pile of scattered clothes on the floor of your dorm room. 

“So… what? you’re telling me that you haven’t fucked any girls on tour? At all?” You asked sceptically with a raised eyebrow as he knelt before you on the bed, his lips slightly parted with a sly smile on his face as he admired your stunning body, a red lace lingerie set perfectly hugging your figure, his eyes scanning every inch of you. “Shit. You’re so fucking hot.” he chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief that someone as hot as you would want to have sex with him. 

“Baby, trust me when I say the only thing I’ve fucked these past few weeks was my own hand while thinking about you.” he assured you as his head lowered to your neck, but you caught him off guard when you swiftly pushed him off, causing him to land on his back beside you before straddling his lap, grinning down at him. He groaned at your sudden dominance, a smug smile playing on his lips as his wandering hand moved to your ass, roughly squeezing it as he gazed up at you. 

“Hmm, really? While thinking about me, huh? That’s cute.” You whispered while grinding your hips right on top of his boner, the sensation of your swollen clit rubbing against him making you grow wetter with each passing second, desperately needing to feel him inside of you after weeks of not seeing him. 

“Oh c’mon, baby. Don’t act like you haven’t been doing the same. I know for a fact you’ve been using that pink toy of yours while moaning my name every time you came.” He taunted, then proceeded to imitate you mockingly by moaning his own name in a high-pitched tone. Dickhead. He knew you too well. 

“Oh, fuck you, Patrick.” You playfully slapped him on the chest with a sheepish smile on your face, neither denying nor confirming anything as he cockily stared up at you with half-lidded eyes. “Only if you ask nicely, sweetheart.” 

The smirk on his face quickly faded as you unexpectedly quickened your movements and lowered your head towards his neck, planting sloppy kisses along his jawline before nibbling on his earlobe, causing him to groan and buck his hips up in desperation.

You teasingly moved your mouth towards his, ghosting your lips against his and making him reach for you desperately, causing you to smirk. He bit his lip, staring at you with hunger in his eyes, until you finally gave in and kissed him eagerly, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his. Smacking noises along with soft moans filled the room, fully immersed in the moment, unable to think about anything else but his roaming hands roughly exploring your half-naked body as you lustfully made out. 

Suddenly, the door burst open, jolting you both out of your trance as you quickly broke the kiss, a string of saliva still linking your lips. 

Your heart leapt in your throat as you saw your best friend, Art, standing frozen in the doorway, his jaw dropping and his face turning red with one hand still tightly clutching the door handle. A hot wave of embarrassment crashed over him, and none of you dared to move— Patrick stared at Art with wide eyes, while Art's blue eyes darted between the two of you.

Both Patrick and Art remained frozen, too embarrassed and shocked to move. But you— you stayed put for a different reason. You were intrigued by how this scene would unfold, silently waiting for one of them to speak, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes.

“Oh my god. Sorry, I— uh, I didn’t know you guys— I didn’t know you guys were, uhm, together.” Art stammered, finally breaking the silence as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head, his wide eyes unsure where to look and his lips tightly pressed together into a thin line. 

“No, no, we aren’t, I promise! This is just— It’s like— we’re—” Patrick stammered, trying his best to come up with an excuse but failing miserably, so you quickly cut him off, “We aren’t together.” You remarked with a casual indifference, sitting up straight on Patrick’s lap now with your hands resting on his bare chest for support. Art finally mustered the courage to meet your gaze, one eyebrow raised in confusion and his lips parted as if to speak, but he was too dumbfounded to find the words.

“We’re just… you know, friends who… occasionally have sex.” You shifted your gaze back to Patrick, who snapped out of his frozen state and inhaled a deep breath, his cheeks flushing bright red, clearly unsure how to react. “I wanna die right now.” Patrick muttered through clenched teeth, his voice barely audible as he slowly dragged his hands over his red face in embarrassment.

You returned your attention to Art again who hadn’t moved an inch, still awkwardly standing there. A cunning smile tugged at your lips as you took in the scene. “So are you just going to watch like a fucking creep or are you actually going to join us?”

 “What!?” Art, blurted out, eyes wide with disbelief as he swallowed hard, the sound of the gulp almost audible in the stunned silence. “You should, uh… come here and join us— As friends, of course.”

From your peripheral vision, you noticed Patrick's face gradually light up as soon as you suggested Art to join you, his excitement clearly visible. It was obvious, really— Patrick had always been attracted to Art. You could see it in the way he teased him, the smile that appeared whenever Art entered the room, and the subtle touches here and there. So, just before Patrick arrived, you had texted Art, asking him to meet you both in your room in ten minutes. But Patrick didn’t need to know that. To him, this all was simply a perfect accident. 

“Uhm… I, uh— yeah, okay. I mean, sure.” Art let out an awkward chuckle and nodded slightly, the tension he was feeling gradually washing away and his stance slowly relaxing, though he still hadn't fully processed what he'd just walked in on, but he was more than eager to join. 

He closed the door behind him and made his way towards you both, his eyes unintentionally darting between your half-naked body and Patrick’s tented boxers, before sitting on the edge of the bed as you rose from Patrick’s lap. 

“I can’t believe you guys left me out of this.” He joked, but there was a hint of seriousness in his tone, which made you gaze at him with a sympathetic expression as you straddled his lap, hands resting on his toned shoulders. 

“We’re sorry, really. It wasn’t… intentional. But I promise we’ll take good care of you now, okay?” you whispered softly, your sharp nails grazing over the skin of his neck before moving to the hem of his shirt. In one swift motion, you pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. 

“Well, you better. I mean, you both have a lot to apologise for here, just saying.” Art teased, a challenging tone in his voice now as you could feel his erection growing bigger right beneath your dripping core. Patrick now sat beside Art, wasting no time as he attached his lips to Art’s neck and planted wet kisses while whispering softly against his skin, “We didn’t mean to. It just— it just happened, you know? But uhm… we’ll make it up to you.” 

Art could only moan in response, strangled noises escaping his mouth as you began to slowly move your hips back and forth right on his painfully hard boner. His roaming hands explored your body with caution and eagerness, while his blue eyes stared down at your barely covered figure with his mouth slightly agape, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage. “Oh my fucking god.” 

You then firmly gripped his jaw as your mouth slowly drew closer to his, causing him to shift his gaze back up, half-lidded eyes staring at you before your soft lips met his. Your bodies pressed together as his mouth moved against yours with an unrestrained passion while Patrick sloppily placed love bites all over Art’s neck and collarbones, whispering soft apologies against his skin.

Art felt as if he were in heaven as he sat on the edge of the bed, a warm glow spreading through him. The soft smacking noises of your and Patrick’s lips seemed to blend perfectly with his racing heart as his cheeks heated up, savouring every second of the moment. 

You then grasped Patrick’s jaw, pulling his head toward yours and Art’s, inviting him into the kiss. Soon all three of you were entangled in the kiss, tongues moving against each other, fueled by the pent-up sexual energy between the three of you that finally seemed to burst. The world around you faded as Patrick’s lips pressed against yours with a hunger that was soon matched by Art’s, both of them eagerly moving their tongues against each other’s and yours while yearning for more. 

Art's hand glided over your bare back, pausing at the clasp of your bra. He skillfully unclasped it with one hand, slipping it off your shoulders and throwing it aside, your bra quickly replaced by his firm hand. You softly moaned into their mouths at the feeling of Art kneading your breasts, causing him to slyly smirk into the kiss, meanwhile Patrick's hand travelled to between your thighs, trailing over your clothed cunt and feeling your wetness through the fabric.

You gently pulled away from the kiss, your mouth parting from theirs as quick breaths left your swollen lips. Gazing at your two best friends kissing before you, you carefully lifted yourself from Art’s lap.

Both of them were lost in their own world, lips still attached to each other as they hungrily kissed each other, the passion in their kiss so intense and urgent that they didn’t even notice you breaking the kiss. A mischievous smirk spread across your face as you slowly dropped down to your knees in front of them. Your eyes remained locked on the boys as sighs and moans echoed throughout the room, the hunger and longing for one another overtaking them both.  

Your hands eagerly grasped at Art’s pants as you fumbled with the buttons, causing him to break the kiss and snap his head towards you, finally jolting him out of the trance and, for the first time, realising that you had pulled away from the kiss. “Why are you stopping? Go on, continue.” You ordered, Art’s hips instinctively bucking up so you could pull his pants down. Patrick was the first to resume the kiss, his hand gliding against Art’s jaw as he guided him back towards him, their lips meeting once again. 

Both of them were now sitting in only their boxers, their erections clearly visible as they were making out heavily. A sense of power surged through you as you attentively gazed up at them and palmed them through their boxers at the same time, noticing their bodies instantly tensing up at your touch as they moaned into each other’s mouths. After a short while, you freed them both from their last piece of clothing, their erections jumping free against their abs with precum leaking from the top.

“Gonna make my boys feel so fucking good.” You murmured as you wrapped your hands around both of them and simultaneously pumped their cocks at a slow pace while licking your lips, nearly drooling at the sight in front of you. 

You drew your head closer to Patrick’s cock first, starting by gently licking the tip and feeling him melt under your touch before you wrapped your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks. He let out a loud moan in Art’s mouth and gripped the sheets when feeling your head bob up and down on his erection. You made sure to flick your tongue over the pink tip at the same time, knowing exactly what drove Patrick crazy. 

Then, you withdrew from Patrick and moved to Art who was eagerly waiting to feel your warm mouth around him after seeing how Patrick reacted to your touch. Your tongue moved along the length of his shaft before reaching the tip, swirling your tongue over the most sensitive part. A string of curse words flowed softly from his mouth as your lips wrapped around his cock and pushed yourself down on him until you felt him touch the back of your throat, all while your other hand stroked Patrick’s cock at a fast pace.

Groans and shattered breaths escaped both their lips as you alternated between sloppily sucking them both off, saliva running down your chin while using your hand on the one that wasn't in your mouth at the time, bringing them closer and closer to their release. 

The kiss between them grew more heated and sloppy with each passing second, and they were both desperate to let go, but you abruptly stopped right before they could. Both of their heads snapped in your direction with disappointed expressions on their flushed faces, panting heavily as you gazed up at them with a sly smile.

“Not yet. I want you to cum inside of me. Both of you.” you murmured as you gazed up at them through your eyelashes with your lips slick and swollen. The sight of you kneeling in front of them, spit tracing down your chin and making a mess all over your tits as you stared up at them with large, doe-like eyes could make them cum on the spot. A soft oh my god slipped from Art’s lips as he fixed his gaze on you with a mesmerised grin, causing Patrick’s eyes to shift from you to Art, a knowing smile forming on his lips, chuckling as he noticed his enchanted expression. 

“Art looks like he’s already about to cum, baby. Help the poor guy out.” Patrick chuckled, causing Art to snap out of his trance and lightly push Patrick to the side, his cheeks heating up because it was true— he was so fucking close already. 

You rose to your feet, slipped your soaked underwear down and stepped out of them, before gently pushing Art onto the bed, making him lie flat on his back. Patrick moved behind you, his eyes fixed on your figure as you hovered over Art’s lap, your hands pressing against his chest and your wetness dripping onto him.

“You want me to fuck you, Art? ‘Cause I don’t know, I’m just… not fully convinced yet.” You taunted, his mouth slightly agape in mesmerisation as he stared up at you. “You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?“ You raised an eyebrow at him with a naughty grin dancing on your lips, waiting for him to say the words you so badly wanted to hear. “Fuck baby, you have no idea how bad I need you. I want you to fuck me, please.” 

With a satisfied smile, you lined his cock up to your entrance and slowly sank down, feeling him gradually fill you up and stretch you out completely, causing you to hiss with pleasure. Art threw his head back at the sensation, and his hands instinctively moved to your hips, gripping them firmly to prevent himself from cumming straight away. “Is this okay?” You asked, slowly rolling your hips on top of him and resting your hands on his chest for support.  “Yeah, that’s— fuck, that’s amazing. Please— keep going, baby.”

“Yeah, she feels good, huh?” Patrick chuckled, a smug grin spreading across his face as he reached around to massage your tits from behind, teasing your sensitive nipples while you leaned against his shoulder. Your hand found its way to his cock and began to stroke him slowly, causing him to moan into your neck and leave a trail of kisses. 

“So fucking good, oh my god. I can’t believe you’ve kept her to yourself all this time, man.” Art replied, before letting out a hitched breath as you slowly began to rhythmically move up and down on him. The curve of Art’s cock allowed him to rub against your g-spot so perfectly, it caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head and let out a loud moan, one hand resting on his chest and the other one pumping Patrick’s erection at a fast pace. 

You murmured a soft come here to Patrick, beckoning him to move closer to Art. You let go of Patrick and took Art’s hand, guiding it towards Patrick’s cock before wrapping his hand around it firmly.

“Make him feel good.” you murmured, and Art quickly obliged as he began to move his hand up and down on Patrick’s cock, allowing you to focus on the movements of your hips. Your fingers gently trailed over Art’s abs all the way to his lips, before sticking them in his mouth and forcing him to suck on your digits. Art’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of your cunt squeezing him so tightly, meanwhile, Patrick’s stared at him through half-lidded eyes and his mouth agape, making it even more obvious to you that he has been waiting for this moment for a long fucking time. 

Sensual moans and grunts from all three of you filled the room as you moved your hips at a fast pace, and you’re so certain other people in the building could hear you, but at this moment, you couldn’t care less.

Patrick’s hand moved down to where your and Art’s bodies connected and began massaging his balls, only adding to the intense pleasure Art was already feeling, causing him to grip the sheets. 

“I’m not— I’m not gonna last long.” Art cried out, biting his lip as he was nearing his release. “Let go, baby. Wanna feel you cum inside of me.” You could feel his cock twitch at your words before he let out a choked sob and painted your walls white, cumming as deep into you as possible. “Good boy.” you whispered as you cupped his flushed face with your hands and kissed him, giving him time to recover from his orgasm as he whispered against your lips, “So fucking good, oh my god.”

You then slowly lifted yourself off his cock, a mixture of your juices and his sperm dripping down your thighs, but Patrick quickly moved behind you as soon as he noticed, grabbing your hips and hungrily sucking on your neck. “Let me help you finish, pretty girl. You want that? Hmm?”

A soft please was all you could get out before he positioned himself behind you and pushed in with one quick thrust, too impatient to take it slow since he was already so fucking close to his release. When he was balls deep inside of you, he wrapped his bicep around your neck and pulled you up, your back resting against his sweat-soaked chest. 

“Get— fuck, get under her, Art.” Art instantly understood as he moved his head directly under your body and wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it eagerly while Patrick began to move inside of you. He quickly set a steady but rough pace, causing you to arch your back as he massaged your inner walls so perfectly, strangled noises escaping your lips. “Oh— oh my fucking god.”

It was so fucking messy— Patrick pounding into you while Art’s cum was still deep inside of you, causing a mixture of both Art’s cum and your juices to drip down onto Art, who was ferally sucking on your swollen clit, making you moan both their names loudly over and over again. 

Patrick’s focused gaze was fixed on his cock disappearing into your body, and it felt like a dream come true to fuck his best friend with his other best friend’s cum dripping out of you at the same time— it used to be merely a fantasy that he would think about while stroking himself late at night all alone in his room.

He groaned as his hand reeled back before slapping your ass, causing you to clench around his cock as you moaned loudly. “Oh fuck, feels— feels so fucking good.” 

Your eyes fluttered shut when he continued rubbing against that one spot inside you that made your toes curl, the pleasure building as you could feel his cock twitching inside you. 

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m— I’m gonna cum” you cried out, brows knit together as you felt your release approaching. “Fuck, cum for us, baby.” Art moaned into your cunt, his tongue moving faster against your sensitive clit. 

Another forceful thrust and your orgasm struck you, causing you to see stars as your vision blurred, your nails digging deep into Patrick’s arm. His hips began to stagger, losing rhythm, and you knew he was close too before you felt a pool of warmth inside of you as he filled you to the brim with his cum. A string of curse words left his lips as his grip around your body tightened when he felt your body go limp, trying his best to hold you up while slowly moving his hips and riding out his high. 

Art lay back down on the bed again, sensing that you were about to collapse, and you soon did, falling right on top of his body, and giving Patrick a perfect view of your cum-dripping cunt. 

“Oh well that was..” Art began, as Patrick chimed in, “Yup.” “And that.” “I know.” “And THAT.” “Yeahhh.” “Just, don’t you guys fucking dare leave me out of this next time!” Art demanded, his tone firm with his chest still heaving up and down. “Got it, no more secrets from now on. Right, Patrick?” you reassured Art, then glanced back at Patrick. “Yeah, I mean… both our cum is literally, like, dripping out of you, baby. I don’t think we can ever go back to normal after this.”

thank you for reading !! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ♡

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[awakenedevildays]

「quarrels and sofas」 Art Donaldson x F!reader

TW: angst, smut (minors DNI), fighting, jealousy, insecurities

you can read the other parts here!

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Art knew it was a terrible idea to properly introduce you to Patrick right away, from the moment he saw how his best friend looked at you up and down he knew he was in for troubles. Even more when Patrick "kindly" offered to teach you how to play tennis while "your boyfriend was busy". 

You agreed happily almost immediately: with Tashi busy with her professional tennis career, and you with yours, you didn't have much time to see each other, and when you did you tried to disconnect from your jobs by doing other things and that resulted in not playing that much anymore, expect with Art sometimes.

"your girlfriend is really cute by the way, how come I didn't realize it when we met her years ago" he teased Art after you excused yourself to go to the bathroom of the restaurant. 

Art knew where the conversation was going, but decided not to respond to his best friend's taunts "you didn't realize she was cute? It's your bad I guess" he replied in a snarky way, his fingers playing with his glass "besides, she's been cute since forever, what are you even talking about?" Art asked.

Patrick snickered a little at Art's response, taking a sip of his glass while he kept his eyes on him.

"Oh don't play dumb with me. She's always been on the cute side, but come on... she's seriously gorgeous now. You're so lucky and you don't even realize it" he replied back, a mischievous grin on his face growing as he continued to tease Art.

Art felt anger rise in his body, why did he always feel like he had to compete against Patrick? 

Patrick could feel the tension between them and continued to push further "You should be glad she's still loyal to you. She could easily leave your ass if she wanted to, bet she has tons of men after her" he kept going with a smug smile, knowing fully well he was pushing Art to his limit.

"Yeah well, unlike you I know how to treat my girlfriend right" he bit back, his smile growing. 

Patrick's smile faded a little at the reference to his past relationship with Tashi, but he quickly regained his composure and a smirk formed on his lips "Oh please, I know how to treat women just fine. Tashi simply just couldn't handle me" he said with a laugh, trying to brush off the topic.

Art's frowned his eyebrows in fake confusion, his smile turning into a thin line "Oh... my bad, I heard it went differently, from what I know.. it was you who couldn't keep up with her". 

Patrick raised an eyebrow at Art's response, his smirk faltering slightly as he tried to keep his cool.

"You've heard wrong then. It was Tashi who couldn't handle my life as a successful businessman." he retorted with a hint of defensiveness in his voice, trying to deflect the truth with arrogance.

Art was going to answer but a voice interrupted him "excuse me, I'll leave you the bill" the waitress said leaving the small receipt holder on the table, both men smiled as she walked away. 

Art took his wallet to pay and Patrick didn't bother to stop the blond as he slid the money inside of the card holder before leaving it on the table for the waitress to take. 

Then, Art takes a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving Patrick's "stay away from her Patrick, I mean it" he warned. 

Patrick rolled his eyes at Art's warning "Oh, come on Art. I'm just being friendly. What's the harm in that?" he replied with a smirk, clearly not taking him seriously. 

"I know what you're trying to do, I know you". 

Patrick leaned back in his seat, his smirk widening at Art's accusation. "And what exactly do you know, Art?" he asked with feigned innocence, though his eyes gleamed with mischievous intent.

"I know you can't stand seeing me happy while you're not" he replied immediately and Patrick couldn't help but scoff at Art's words. 

"Oh please, I'm perfectly happy in my single life. I don't need a relationship to make me happy" he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, though there's a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Art leans on his chair "sure you don't, but don't try to ruin mine too" his smile didn't reach his eyes. 

"Ruin your relationship? Who said anything about ruining your relationship?" Patrick asked with a hint of sarcasm, feigning innocence once again. "I'm just being friendly, Art. I don't have any ulterior motives" he added, maintaining his smile but his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

Before Art could answer you are next to him again "sorry, what did I miss?" you asked innocently, Art's arm wrapped around your shoulder while his other hand takes your fingers in his to play with them. 

Patrick's gaze flickered from you to Art, observing the two of you with a subtle feeling of irritation before he plastered a charming smile on his face. "Ah, nothing much. We were just catching up, talking about old times" he replied smoothly, though his gaze lingered on your hand enclosed in Art's, a flicker of envy in his eyes. Art looked at you and smiled, "nothing important" he said, brushing off the conversation to shift his focus back to you. 

"we should go baby, we have to wake up early tomorrow" Art stood up, you mimic his action. 

"Oh yeah, that's right" you said, slightly puzzled but you quickly brushed it off and leaned into Art's side, giving him a soft smile. Patrick watched the two of you raise from your seats, his smile still on his face "alright then, it was nice catching up" he said standing up as well, giving Art a nod before his gaze went back to you. "It was really nice to see you again" he added, his voice carrying a hint of flirtation you didn’t seem to notice, but Art did. 

"It was nice seeing you too Patrick, I'll text you for that tennis lesson, ok?" Patrick briefly looked at Art and smiled "can't wait, good night". 

Art's grip on you tightened momentarily, his expression tense but he quickly regained his composure to give Patrick a curt nod in return. "Good night" he replied shortly before leading you out of the restaurant, his arm remained protectively around your shoulders. 

Now, a few weeks later, Art leans with crossed arms at the doorframe and watches you getting ready for bed. He can't stop thinking how Patrick looked at you during that dinner and he can't imagine what his eyes saw while you played together, how he probably glanced at your legs and checked you out.

"So how was your match with Patrick?" He hopes you don't hear the jealousy out of his voice. 

"it was good, how was your day baby?" you decide to ignore his jealous tone, you kiss his lips when you pass by him to go to the bathroom.

He kisses you back, smiling when your lips touched his but he can't help thinking of Patrick right now. 

"My day was good," he says "what did you and Patrick do after your practice?" He asks while he changes from his jeans to a jogging pants.

"he gave me a ride here" you shrug.

He tries to hold a neutral mimic by hearing that but his jealousy is too much to not say anything about it. 

"I could've picked you up, baby" he tells you while he sits down on your bed waiting for you to finish brushing your teeth.

"I didn't want to bother you, and we were already together" you explain to calm him down but it's not working as you hoped it would.

You can see his knuckles turning white "it's not about bothering me. It's about you and Patrick together, alone. I don't like him". 

You look at him shocked "what do you mean? he is your best friend Art" you exclaim incredulous. 

"he just has a thing for you and it's obvious and I don't like it" It's like you can touch his anger, it's filling the whole room.

He can't stop imagining how Patrick might have touched you when he wasn't there, how he looked at you... just thinking that he might have looked at you the same way he did during the dinner is making him crazy. 

"I don't want you to see him anymore" he states and his arms cross in front of his chest and you scoff. 

"you're being ridiculous Art, he didn't try to do anything" you say and finally look at him from the bathroom. 

He starts to raise his voice and you can see the veins on his forehead throbbing "don't you see he has a thing for you?! You think he's such a good friend helping you play better? He doesn't give a damn about that, and you're just too naive to see that. He's just waiting for a chance to be with you" he snaps and stands from the bed. 

"I'm sorry are you trying to say I'm cheating on you?" you ask and you really hope he's going to deny it. 

 "I'm saying I'm tired of seeing you give attention to every single male that flirts with you, I mean how much attention do you need, are you really that desperate?" he snaps and immediately regrets what he just said, your hurt expression makes him shut his mouth.

He sighs and walks towards you, but just as he arrives in front of  you take a step back, tears swelling in your eyes and Art's heart clenches in his chest.

How can he explain to you that there is a voice in his head that tells him, every time you look at him, that he doesn't deserve you? that you could find someone better than him? that what Patrick had told him had affected him more than he wants to admit and that he is as terrified of losing you as he is terrified of few other things in the world?

"you're being unfair Art, you know I didn't cheat on you" you defend yourself but your voice tremble and it's difficult for Art to hear you. 

"I know, I'm sor-" but you don't listen to him.  

"I never, ever, gave you a reason not to trust me," your voice raises, you feel so hurt by him right now, you thought his trust in you was stronger than this. 

"I know, I'm sorry you're right, it's just that... Patrick told me some thing last time at dinner and insecurities got the best of me! I'm sorry, I really am baby, its just that..." he tries to explain what he is feeling "every time I look at you I always think you are too much for me, that you could find someone better than me and that you could leave me at any given moment, I love you so much it makes me crazy... Please forgive me" he takes your face in his hands but you don't look at him,  you can't bring yourself to feel sorry for him right now, you're way more hurt than he is. 

"but this is not the right way to show me Art, what you are saying it's unfair, I never, ever gave you a reason to doubt my loyalty towards you and our relationship" you take his hands off of your face. 

You are right, he knows you are, but his thoughts just won him over this time. He gently pulls you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist, he starts kissing you on your jawline and down your neck but you don't hug him back. 

"I..am so sorry baby. You have every right to feel hurt by what I just said and did. Please forgive me, I really am sorry, look we're both tired, can we go to sleep? we'll talk about this tomorrow morning, how does that sound?" he gives you a small smile in hope to soothe you but you avoid his gaze and he realizes he had said too much this time, he swallows the lump forming in his throat.

"I'm sorry, I truly mean it" he whispers with a gentle voice. All he wants to do now is to kiss your pain away, but he know you won't let him this time.

"I think I'll sleep on the couch tonight" you say and slip past him out of the bathroom and the bedroom.

 He watches you leave the bathroom and the bedroom with his heart racing like crazy. You were going to sleep on the couch? No. No way. It hurt knowing that he made you feel bad enough that you would sleep on the couch instead of in your bed with him. His legs moves on his own and he follows you out of the bedroom before grabbing your wrists and pulling you close to him. "Baby please, don't sleep on the couch" he pleaded and tried to press you against his body.

"Art I don't want to be close to you right now, I really need space to think"you pull your wrist back and Art feels his heart sink at your words as his head started spinning. 

He tries to blink away the tears that were in the corner of his eyes, but he can't. So his hands slowly let go of your wrists and he takes a step back. "Okay. If you want space then I will give you the space you need", he says with a cracked voice and looks down at his empty hands.

You smile weakly before giving him a small smile "thank you, night Art" but before you can turn again he surpasses you to sit on the couch before you can reach it "I'll sleep here baby, you take the bed" he says and lays there, his eyes never leaving your figure and the way he is looking at you makes you feel so damn guilty even though he is the one at fault.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing you think seems appropriate, you reclutantly nod and turn around to go back to the bedroom.

He watches you disappear in the dark bedroom. His thoughts were racing. The guilt that was already so heavy on his soul is getting heavier every second. But he knows that you need space now after what he said to you. The only thing that he could do now was to pray that in the morning everything will go back to being alright. So that's what he did before falling asleep after a long time of just simply staring at the ceiling.

You hand caressing his cheek softly stirs Art awake the next morning.

You can feel Art's body tensing up at first at the soft touch of your hand on his cheek, but he quickly melts into it. The warm feeling of your hand on his skin makes his heart flutter and he slowly opens his eyes to look at you. "Baby?" he whispers still sleepy from what you assumed was a bad night on the couch.

"Hi" you murmur and his hand come to rest on yours still on his cheek "I made breakfast, would you like to join me?" if it wasn't for the fact that Art slept on the couch and his burning eyes he would've thought that what happened yesterday was just a bad dream.

Art is confused, he is afraid to speak and ruin this moment, to push you away once and for all and lose you forever "Yeah I would love to, baby".

You gave him a small smile before making your way to the kitchen and Art follows behind you. He still seems exhausted as if he barely got any sleep last night. His heart sinks once his eyes lands on the table. You made his favourite pancakes with maple syrup, but in contrast to all the other days you didn't made coffee this time, only milk.

You sit on your place but Art stands awkwardly at the doorframe as if he needs your permission to approach you. So you give it to him.

The both of you eat the food in silence. Art doesn't dare to say a word the whole time, the only thing that he can't stop doing is stealing a look at you every now and then when he believes that you won't notice it. He can't get over the fact that you were so kind and cooked him his favourite meal after what happened last night. But his heart stops when you suddenly put down your fork and clear your throat. He was so nervous that he can already feel the lump in his throat building up.

"I think we should talk about yesterday Art"

 His heart is beating out of his chest the second he hears that dreaded sentence. The dreaded talk. The talk that would surely decide how everything is going to be between you two from this point. He swallows loudly before nodding his head. "Okay. Baby, listen I-" his voice cracks and he feels pathetic, if only his voice stopped him from speaking yesterday he wouldn't find himself in this position now. 

The second he sees your hand going up to stop his rambling, he immediately shuts up and swallows hard again. The tension in the room is so thick it could be cut trough with a knife. He has no idea what to do or how to start this conversation, so he looks at you with his thoughts racing in his head and fear building up more and more.

"I'll talk first"

He felt the lump in his throat growing thicker, but he nods once to show you that he is listening. "Go ahead," and you nod.

"what happened yesterday was not okay Art, I'm sorry that you feel so insecure of our relationship but you have to talk to me about these things and not accuse me of things I never did and never will"

 Art takes a shaky breath at your words. Everything that you said makes sense and he knows it. He should have talked about his insecurities and doubts, but instead he lashed his pain out on you. He feels so stupid right know.

"You're right. You're right. I'm sorry for what I said and did yesterday", he mumbles while he reaches for your hand to hold it. "I just..I don't know what got into me, but I promise I will never do this ever again".

"I'm not done" you say but take his hands in yours to reassure him. 

He swallows hard as you tell him that you aren't done. So he sits there still, not moving a muscle but also not letting go off your hands while he waits for you to continue. His heart is beating in his chest so fast it feels like it could explode any second.

"If you really think that Patrick is flirting with me, I'll keep him away from me... from us. I don't want to know what he told you that night, I don't care, but I need you to know that I love you, I'll always love you and only you, nothing will change that and I will never cheat on you, and I won't tolerate you behaving or accusing me like you did yesterday". 

Your words hit Art in the heart. He squeezes your hand a bit to show his affection and he nods "I know, I know that you love me and only me and that I'm an idiot for ever doubting that. And I love you too. More than anything. I'll try and work on my self doubt and my stupid insecurities. I'm sorry." He can't believe that you are still sitting in the same room with him.

You get up from your chair and sit on his legs, your hands go to his cheeks and you can feel his breath hitch as he hurriedly wraps one arm around you. Slowly he starts to press his cheek into your hand, he loves feeling your touch on him and he lets his eyes slowly close.

"is Patrick really the only thing that is bothering you?".

Art hums softly as he gives your question a real thought. Is it really the only thing that is bothering him?

He slowly opens his eyes and looks at you when he realizes that there is one more thing that made him jealous when he thought about it. "It isn't only Patrick..." he mumbled.

"what is it then?" 

"It's you" he says truthfully "It's you and how many people find you attractive. Everywhere you go there are so many guys checking you out. I know that they're no threat to our relationship, but everytime I see them looking at you I can't help but wish sometimes to have you all for myself".

"it's your fault for choosing a hot girl as your partner" you joke to lighten the mood. 

Art chuckles softly at your joke. He can feel the corner of his lips slowly twitching upwards to a smirk at your words. It's just like you to try and lighten up the mood and he loved that about you. 

"That's not fair" he mumbled against your palm before he leaned in to press a soft kiss onto it.

"you think I don't feel the same about you? everywhere we go there is always some girls making heart eyes at you and it makes me crazy, have you ever noticed them?" he shakes his head, he never sees them, he only has eyes for you, "and in the exact same way I don't see any other guys that is not you." he blushes and you kiss the corner of his mouth "the fact that I am insecure as you are about other people finding you attractive doesn't mean I get insecure of your love for me or of our relationship, and you shouldn't either" you flick his forehead 

At this point he is simply stunned by what you said and you could literally see on his face, so you are jealous of him too?

Art doesn't know what to say at first so the only thing that he does is to tighten his grip on your waist while his cheeks slowly turns red. "I..I thought you didn't feel the same about..you know..." He trails off when he realized that there aren't any words that can express what is on his mind.

"about other girls finding you pretty?"

Art slowly nods his head. "Yeah..I guess so" he mumbles and looks down at his lap, embarrassed that he has those thoughts and doubts. "I just thought that it didn't bother you cause you never said anything. I thought I was being crazy" he mumbled and looked up at you with guilty eyes.

"I should've express my feeling about it sooner, maybe you wouldn't have felt this way about Patrick" 

"Maybe..." he mumbles while he slides his arm from your waist and gently brushes some loose hair behind your ear "I'm sorry for what I said about you and Patrick baby...I'm so sorry"

"I know you are... I'm sorry too" you murmur 

His eyes widens slightly and his head snaps up so that he can look at you. "What are you sorry about, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong" his thumb gently brushes over the skin on your cheek.

"about not expressing my insecurity sooner, for making you feel alone in this, we both could have handled this situation better" his heart starts racing in his chest when you lean into his hand and softly press your lips onto it. A small sigh escapes his lips while he keeps his eyes on you "I guess we both have to work on sharing our insecurities baby. Let's not keep anything from each other, alright?"

"sounds like a great deal to me" you whisper and kiss him softly on the lips and he comes alive under you.

He immediately leans into the kiss and presses his lips back onto yours. He feels like all the tension between you is slowly fading out and he cups your face with his hands to pull you closer.

He can't get enough of the taste of your lips. The way you are sitting on his lap kissing him passionately feels so right. It takes all his willpower to slow down the kiss and pull away from you to breath for a moment. His thumb gently caress your cheeks, while he watches you, flushed and looking absolutely wrecked.

You climb off his lap just to straddle him and rejoin your lips together, his hands fly to your hip to pull you closer. The feeling of your body pressed against his makes him groan and his eyes flutters for a moment, before he deepens the kiss again. His tongue licks across your bottom lip and he gently nips on it with his teeth.

you moan and grind your hips on his, the only things keeping your body separate are your short nightgown and his jogging pants. 

A breathy moan escapes his lips at the feeling of your hips grinding on him in such a sweet torture. He pulls you even closer if that's even possible and his fingers digs into the skin on your sides to hold you in place while his hips starts to move on their own. "Baby.." he gasps against your lips at the delicious friction of your bodies, he can't handle how hot you look on his lap.

"I need you Art, please"

-------

The second those needy words leave your lips something inside him snaps. The way you beg him makes him feel like he could explode in any second. "God, I love you" He gasps and pulls his lips from yours just to shower kisses along your jaw. "I need you too, baby." He moans against your skin and his hips rocks upwards to meet your movements.

you grind your hips on his again and again in circolar motions, his lips goes to your neck and lightly suck on it and his hands on your ass to help your movements. Your hands instead goes to raise his shirt to take it off and Art leans back against the chair to help you before going back to the same position as before.

Art groans in anticipation when you start to pull off his shirt that reveals his pale chest and abs to you. He shivers slightly when your hands roams over his bare skin and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He leaves wet kisses on your skin while he let his fingers sneak under the hemline of your nightgown to feel your skin. 

you take off your nightgown and throw it on the floor with his shirt before raising your hips to slide off his pants and boxer 

While you take the rest of your clothes off he can't stop himself from watching you. You look so divine and beautiful while undressing in front of him that he has to swallow hard and bite his lips at the sight of your body. After all this time you can still make his mind blank and speechless with your beauty. Slowly his hands roams up your thighs and over the skin on your hips while his eyes looks up at you, completely mesmerised.

"you look so beautiful baby" he says while you slid your panties to the side and sink down on his member, you let out a moan.

He keeps his eyes on you while you slowly let yourself sink down on him, his fingers gently grabbing at your hips to help you, while he feels himself becoming consumed in the feeling of you. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen" he manages to gasp before slowly kissing your lips. It felt like his mind was blank as he could only focus on every single sensation that you make him feel.

His breath hitches at the feeling of your insides wrapped around him and a moan escapes his lips in between the kisses. Art can't even concentrate on anything in this moment apart from you. He starts to move his hips in a steady rhythm with you in his lap.

"fuck, you feel so good baby, I love you" he moans and picks you up, a yelp come out of your mouth and your body trembles in his arms as his member slides deeper than before.

He picks up the pace when he hears you moan out loud, his mind completely blissed out at the feeling of himself buried inside of you while he continues to kiss you everywhere he can reach. 

His idea was to take you in your bedroom but you feel too good and his legs tremble from the pleasure, so he has no choice but to sit you on the table, him between your legs as he pick up his pace.

A surprised gasp escapes your mouth at the change of positions. He spreads your thighs further apart and his hips snaps against you and a groan escapes his lips.

You bring his face to yours and kiss him deeply, your tongues intertwined and your hands slide to his shoulders to dig your nails there and Art moans at the pain mixed with pleasure, one of his supports his weight off of you by resting on the table and the other finds your clit to rub it in circular motions to stimulate you further.

He moans into your mouth the second your tongue finds its way to his and his body presses against you while he does so. That action alone causes him to be deeper inside you and his eyes flutters close despite his best efforts to keep them open to look at you.

"Art- fuck" you moan and tremble against him, your chests pressed together before you let yourself lay against the table completely 

He stands back to look at your spread out body, you look so beautiful that it almost physically hurts him, he gets out of you to turn you around, you whine in response but lay against the table again without much struggle, he slips inside of you again

His pace now is slow and he stops your hips as they try to meet his, you whine in protest 

"Art please... go faster" you look back at him, your eyes pleading while your elbows support your weight, he lowers himself until his chest is pressed against your back and his mouth is close to you left ear "tell me you are mine" he orders while he bottoms out inside of you. 

The way he says that in your ear combined with how deep he is inside of you makes you whimper and shiver runs down your back. "I'm yours" you breathe and your eyes flutter by the feeling of him pressed so close against you. You feel like you're being wrapped up in Art and that feeling alone makes you feel so loved "I'm all yours, please..."

"I swear I'm only yours Art" you say again and his right arm goes around your neck while he bring you up with him in a straight position.

His hand tightens around your neck, making sure the pressure is light as his other hand slips around your stomach to hold you up against him. He then starts to move inside you with slow even strokes. "That's tight you're mine..." he groans into your ear, "I love you so much..."

The new position makes his cock hit your cervix and you eyes gets watery from tears of pleasure, he picks up his pace "I'm going to cum Art" 

"me too baby" his hands goes to your clit again and your walls spams around his shaft "can I cum inside of you?" you nod furiously and turn your head to kiss him, when you cum your mouths are still joined and he slides as deep as he can as he reaches his climax too, his mouth now on your left shoulder and your hands wraps around both of his wrists. 

You stay still for a moment, your bodies joined together as your mouths lets out shaky laughs and breaths, he slide out of you delicately and turns you to sit you properly on the table again, his Hans on your thighs as they tremble.

Even in this moment you look the perfect combination of beautiful and wrecked to him. "I still can't believe how prefect you look all the time" he mumbles as he brushes some loose hair behind your ears softly.

You smile and pepper his face with sweet kisses that makes Art close his eyes in content, you slide off of the woodened forniture and take his hands in yours, "how about we take this to the bedroom, my love?"

He immediately nods in response and his eyes flutters when he feels your lips on his face. He feels like in this moment he could stand here and let you shower him with kisses forever. "Lead the way my love" he mumbles with a lazy tired smile on his face, his eyes follows you while you make your way to the bedroom.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

do not copy or repost.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fluff #challengers fic #challengers #art donaldson

[uzurakis]

heyy !! i was looking at your profile which is amazing btw and saw someone desperate like me for some kaiser content. maybe smth involving reader wearing his jersey and well… yk.. :33

“aah, someone’s been a thief,” kaiser teases, eyeing the jersey that fits snugly on you. the way the fabric drapes over your shoulders, slightly too big yet perfectly fitting; it’s like you’re carrying a piece of him with you, and it fills him with a sense of pride. “i was wondering where that went.”

during a break from practice, your boyfriend spots you and jogs over, his eyes widening as he notices the familiar jersey. a nasty smile forms on his lips as he approaches, clearly intrigued.

playing pretend, you feign innocence, glancing down at the jersey. “oh, this? i thought it was mine. it fits me perfectly, don’t you think?”

it does, it looks perfect on you. oh how much kaiser wants to say that. but no, there’s still one thing he needs to hold high; a man’s ego.

so, kaiser narrows his eyes playfully, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “nice try, but we both know that’s my jersey. or maybe you happen to be one of my fangirls that shop their favorite—“

“oh, shut up,” that cocky attitude of his is not getting anywhere under your watch. then you shrug, giving him a cheeky grin. “well, finders keepers. maybe you should have kept a better eye on your stuff.”

“ouch, you’re saying i’m messy person? that hurts, meine liebe,” he chuckles, one mirthless laugh falling in your ears. “why don’t you wear it tomorrow for the match?” kaiser suggests playfully. “that way, everyone knows you’re mine.”

you tilt your head, pretending to consider it. “hmm, i don’t know. there will be a lot of fans wearing jerseys with your name on them. even you could mistake me as one of your crazy fangirls. yuck.”

kaiser’s smirk fades, replaced by a mock pout. “but none of them are you,” he says, tone slightly possessive. “it’s different when you wear it. like, it’s special.”

still playing along, you raise an eyebrow. “oh, so now it’s special because i’m wearing it? maybe it’s just a really good jersey.”

he laughs at your remarks, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “mein liebe, seriously, seeing you in my jersey makes me feel… proud..?”

“because when you wear it, it’s a statement. it says you belong to me. and i like that.”

“i like what’s mine.”

you feel your cheeks heat up at his words. “well, maybe i’ll consider it,” you reply, trying to keep your cool. “maybe though.”

his grins broadens, clearly pleased with your response. “good girl. now, how about a kiss for luck?”

you laugh, “only because michael asked so nicely.” leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips, you continue, “anything else you want, your highness?”

he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “you better be in the front row tomorrow. front and center,” he murmurs against your lips. “i play better when i know you’re watching.”

you smile, but what if you still want to mess with him? “huuh, but i also haven’t said i’ll watch your—“

“don’t fucking care, you will watch me,” he says, pressing another kiss to your lips, shutting you up. “now, go cheer me on. i’ve got a game to win.”

n. i’m taking this way babes. we can also talk abt it if u wanna take it that way *winks aggressively* jus hmu as always <3 mwah ty for trusting me wit every kaiser piece here ahhsakksjs. also! tagging another kaiser lover @6gumi mwaaah xo

@uzurakis

#.writing #blue lock #blue lock scenarios #blue lock michael kaiser #blue lock kaiser #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #bllk scenarios #bllk kaiser #bllk fluff #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser fluff #kaiser x reader #kaiser x you #kaiser x y/n #kaiser fluff #blue lock imagines #kaiser michael #kaiser #kaiser blue lock #kaiser bllk

[spatialwave]

"indulgence"

pairing: pre-war!cooper howard x plus-size!fem!reader word count: 1.1k summary: cooper lost his breath the moment he saw you. there you sat at the end of the bar, deep rouged lips and painted nails that ran along the rim of your wine glass—smiling at him like the devil. warnings/tags: mdni! smut, praising, penetrative sex, doggy-style, porn without much plot, fluffy ending, reader is confident and cooper is divorced (and lonely). notes: as a plus sized person, this was long overdue to have some representation 😉

“hey, cowboy,” your voice purred, words rolling from your tongue. you leaned against the bar, eyes half-lidded and watching the older man who hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from you for the past ten minutes. feeling confident from two glasses of merlot, you decided to jump at the chance to talk to cooper howard.

to be noticed by him of all people, well, there was a first for everything.

your head tilted to the side, lips pulled into an impish grin, “can i buy you another glass?”

cooper’s eyes fixated on yours, sitting in his seat at the bar with a cigarette between his lips. two fingers pulled the thin stick from his mouth, a smirk replacing the stoic look on his face.

as confident as you were, you felt your stomach swirl in nerves as his eyes flickered up and down your satin-covered curvy figure. he was intoxicated by the image of you, knees weak at the idea of knowing you—learning your body. a few glasses whiskey in his system always made him incredibly worked up.

“only a stupid man would pass down a free drink from a pretty girl like yourself,” his voice drawled, the thick southern twang sending your brain into orbit. he was much more charismatic in person, “but a gentleman would never let her pay.”

the way he spoke was so cliché, but it worked wonders on you. a smile spread across your lips and the softest laugh erupted up from your throat, “in that case, a glass of red, mr. howard."

“so, you do know me,” the older man hummed, quirking an eyebrow as he slid a few bills across the black marbled surface, mentioning to the bartender your next round of drinks.

you kept your stance in front of him, long painted nails tapping along the bar top, “oh, please,” you chuckled, the sound deep in your throat and sending chills up cooper’s spine, “don’t be so modest. i’m sure you can’t go anywhere without someone recognizing you.”

with a tilt of your head, you chewed on your plump bottom lip—a coy look on your face. one that made the bulge in that man’s pants harden. if being divorced gave him anything positive, it was the freedom to have fun with a woman like you.

a chuckle came from him, lips breaking into a smile that was so god-awfully beautiful. he was easily the most attractive man you’d ever had the pleasure of flirting with.

“okay,” he said through gentle laughter, nodding at the bartender when two drinks slid before you, “sometimes i like to think that one day i’ll run into someone who has no clue who i am. it would be like a breath of fresh air.”

your eyes settled on his hand as he held the glass of whiskey to his lips, noticing the bare ring finger.

“i like roleplaying,” your voice was low, the intent of what you wanted from cooper palpable, “i can be that girl for you… sorry, what was your name, sir?” it was then your eyes rounded, eyebrows lifting in feigned uncertainty.

cooper didn't hesitate to indulge in you.

“fuck,” the word squealed from you, your face buried into fluffed pillows and ass in the air. your knees were growing weak, fingers digging into the linen as cooper fucked you from behind, “s’good…”

large hands grabbed at the rounded flesh of your ass, watching it bounce with every forward buck of his hips. your curves were heavenly, your body reacting and moving in ways that made his cock twitch inside of you.

“good girl,” cooper mumbled, eyes half-lidded as he groped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin. he couldn’t pull his eyes from you, watching in delight as you turned your head to the side to look over your shoulder. your eyes were glossy, lipstick smudged and face contorted into a blissed out expression.

you saw stars, and your mind was high in the clouds. cooper’s cock stretched you well, driving deep into your heat as to cause your eyes to roll back. a guttural moan rumbled from your chest, mouth open and tongue prodding against your bottom lip.

cooper’s hand settled on the small of your back, pushing down so you arched, and your head slightly tilted back as his pace quickened. your eyes settled on the cowboy behind you, his hair dishevelled, sweat accumulating on his forehead and chest, and red blooming over his cheeks. his abs tightened as he focused on grinding his hips forward against your ass, causing them to jiggle in a way that made his mouth water.

the image of him was burned in your mind, and you knew then no one else would ever compare to cooper howard.

a smile curled the corners of his lips, brown eyes watching you, “tell me how much you like this.”

“a lot,” you slurred, hardly able to speak as his length pounded into you with reckless abandon. you could hardly keep your eyes open, fingers digging into the silk bedsheets until you white knuckled, “i’m gonna’ come.”

“hold on, angel,” his voice was thick with lust, leaning forward so he could sneak a hand around you. he grazed his fingers against your rounded stomach, lowering until he could rub his middle finger in tight circles over your swollen clit.

you mewled in response, body shaking and hips stuttering as your orgasm came at you like a tsunami. eyes rolled into the back of your head and your cunt tightened and pulsed around cooper’s cock that fucked you rotten. the sounds from you were delicious—sending cooper over the edge just as quickly.

you milked him for what he was worth, collapsing onto the bed just as he did and thankful for your knees and thighs to rest.

“christ,” you breathed, hands lifting to brush against your hair, before resting them above you in an outstretched position. a hand moved to your cheek, tilting you to look over at cooper howard who was smirking to himself, “what’s that smile for?” you teased, looking through thick lashes.

surprisingly, you were answered by his lips. a soft, gentle kiss that made you wonder if this night wasn’t the last you’d see of him.

he pulled back and watched your eyes widen, an innocent look on your face that was far different that the vixen stare you had at the bar.

“just appreciating you,” he hummed, kissing you again before you could even part your lips to speak.

you were wrapped tightly around his finger, with no intention of trying to break loose.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #walton goggins #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fic #th ghoul fic #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #fallout prime fic #walton goggins smut #wordsbyspatial

[freshoutcaladan]

- shadow

summary: feyd-rautha harkonnen - a psychotic, evil man who knew nothing but pain. his coming of age was the most anticipated event of giedi prime, but he did not expect to find his future bride while missing out on the festivities - a quiet bene gesserit witch, who had come to the na-baron’s birthday celebration, just to do her job. oh, how the tables have turned.

pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x afab!bene gesserit!reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: violence, use of the voice, feyd being obsessed with reader from the moment he saw her <3

author’s note: english is not my first language! if there are any (and i mean ANY) errors, please lmk. fic is unedited!! this is also my first “dune” work so pls don’t go too rough on me ty xx

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer.”

You keep repeating that one single statement in your mind as you approach Giedi Prime. In all honesty, you were terrified. You knew, that it was wrong to be scared. You resided the plan given to you by the Reverend Mother. The objective was to seduce the young na-Baron, make him take the Gom Jabbar test and secure the bloodline. Sounds easy enough.

Then why were you shaking like a leaf?

“Nervous, sister?” Margot teased, breaking your trance. Lady Fenring was a beautiful Bene Gesserit, bewitching any man who came her way. Some called her mesmerizing, others - a manipulative she-devil. But that just proved, that she was a master at her work.

“No. Why do you ask?” You finally answered after staring at the wall in front of you for a tiny bit too long. Of course, you were nervous. You were surprised, that she wasn’t.

“You just seem.. worried, that is all,” she smirked after her comment, silently making fun of your nervous state.

You noticed your hands shaking. Shit. You took your gloves, that were laying next to you and slid them on. Perhaps, it was just cold.

“No need to worry about me, sister. It is just colder here than in Kaitan,” You give her a soft smile and continue looking out the window of the aircraft.

You were landing.

As you stood on Giedi Prime ground, you looked around and breathed. It was warmer than you had anticipated. But the people weren’t like the weather at all. Everyone was pale and cold as if they lived in an eternal winter. You couldn’t blame them, though.

You turned. Before you floated the Baron- a large and hideous man, being kept alive by a machine. You wished you could pull the plugs and watch him shake and squirm until he’d die. You couldn’t do that, of course. You’d die instantly if you even laid a finger on him.

To his left stood Glossu Rabban, the Baron’s oldest nephew. He was known as the “Beast”, to which you laughed at when you were alone. You wished you were alone right now. Ironically, Rabban was also a huge and hideous man. Like uncle, like nephew, you figured.

“And this is my youngest,” the Baron pointed to the tall man to his right, “Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. He is my proudest achievement.”

You looked up from the Baron to see this “proudest achievement”. The person you saw.. made your blood run cold, yet your face filled with heat.

Feyd-Rautha stood tall and proud, his muscles showing through the black armor he had on. His piercing blue eyes were already on you. In fact, they had not left you since the moment you stepped foot on Giedi Prime. To him, you were the most beautiful and pure thing to have ever lived. An angel, he thought.

You bowed, not letting your gaze leave his. He was beautiful. Absolutely stunning.

Just then, he started walking over to you. You felt as if everyone had disappeared. It was just you and him. Lady Fenring was standing mere steps away from you, watching intently as Feyd made his way over to you. He took your hand in his, brushing his lips over your knuckles.

“It is an honor to meet you, my Lady,” he uttered in a rough voice. You had heard all sorts of things about his voice - how it scared off even the strongest warriors, how it made people fall to their knees. To your surprise, it was almost comforting. Like music to your ears.

You nodded and bowed.

“I hope to see you this afternoon, my Lady,” he seemed to put an emphasis on addressing you as his.

“I will be there, my Lord na-Baron,” you continued looking into his cold eyes as you spoke.

Feyd smirked and gave your hand one last kiss, before stepping back to his uncle’s side. His eyes never left yours as the Baron continued blabbering nonsense. You tried focusing on his words, you really did.. but something about the man you had just spoken to kept your soft gaze glued to his.

You could not wait for the evening to come.

Everyone was preparing for the na-Baron’s birthday celebration. The celebration being a brutal fight between Feyd and drugged hostages. Everybody knew that, yet nobody seemed to care - as long as the future Baron won every battle he was in.

The dress you had slipped on was a white gown with millions of tiny pearls attached. It reminded you of home - of Kaitan. A long, white veil covered your face. You examined yourself in the mirror ahead of you, taking time in smoothing out your dress. You looked perfect.

“Let me take over the job,” a voice muttered behind you. You spun around to see Lady Fenring, wearing the same gown as you, just black.

“Why should I, sister?” You slowly turned around and treaded towards her. In mere moments, you stood face to face with Margot.

“Because you’re obviously not fit for it. You’re squeamish and a coward. The na-Baron scares you and you won’t be able to secure the bloodline,” she smirked and looked down at you. She was always like this - looking down on you. You were her shadow. But not anymore.

You quickly pulled out your blade, that was attached to your thigh, making her let out a gasp as she hit the wall behind her. You pressed the cold, sharp metal to her pale throat.

“Would you like to test me, dear sister? Though, I wouldn’t like getting your blood on my dress. I have a job to do later, remember?” you threatened her as she pleaded with you to let her go and spare her. You stared at her with wild eyes before letting the blade travel from her throat back to the strap around your thigh. You gestured for her to leave the guest room, that you were staying in. She quickly sprinted out the room, shivering. You felt proud of yourself for standing up to her. You should do this more often, you thought to yourself.

You entered the balcony of the triangle shaped arena and sat down on the right side. The black sun of Giedi Prime made everything black and white - from the pale faces of the cheering people, to the Baron sitting straight across from you. He was staring daggers into your eyes from the balcony on the other side. You lowered your spyglasses and breathed out.

The commentator announced Feyd’s name. You quickly scooted over to the edge of your seat, wanting to get a better look at him. He walked out the large gates of the arena, tall and mighty. He looked terrifying, yet absolutely beautiful. You wondered what he was thinking and how he was feeling. You took your spyglasses and brought them back to your face, just to see Feyd already looking at you. A shiver ran down your spine, seeing how he stared at you. The lust, that glistened in his eyes was undeniable. He was like a predator, about to devour its prey. Well, he was about to do the exact thing to drugged captives.

The fight started. Feyd went through the first two prisoners with ease, slashing their throats and making them fall, dead, laying in a pool of their own blood on the white looking sand. But the last hostage was.. different. He looked conscious, while the previous ones slurred their movements and were gone in seconds. You took your eyes away from the ongoing battle to look at the Baron. Oh, God.

He had a nasty smirk on his face. Vladimir was on the edge of his seat, staring down at his fighting and panting nephew. He had planned it. The Atreides slave wasn't drugged. It was all an elaborate plan.

You drawed your attention back to Feyd. It looked like he was winning so far. He was holding the captive by the back of his head, drool dripping from his mouth, his black teeth shining through his big grin. One last stab and Atreides was on his knees, heaving.

"You fought well, Atreides.." Feyd whispered, yet it could be heard throughout the whole arena.

Cheers errupted and Feyd's name was heard from every corner. Feyd slid his blade out the goner's corpse and lifted it up in the air, the cheers becoming louder. Fyed celebrated his victory by yelling and shouting words in the Harkonnen language, which you couldn't understand. The cheers and chants turned into whispers and people leaving the arena as Feyd made his way to the large gates.

"It was rigged," you spoke in a low voice, just for you to hear.

The celebrations were wild and loud as fireworks went off outside. Feyd walked through the dark corridors of the manor, processing the talk he had earlier with his uncle. Arrakis was destined to be his. All of it. A future Baron and the leader of the spice fields. Everything would be in the palm of his hand.

As he wandered the halls, he felt eyes piercing through the back of his head. Someone was strolling right behind him for God knows how long. He stopped in his tracks, and so did the person following him.

"I know you're there," he voiced in his stern and scratchy voice.

"Good," you spoke, lowly.

Your voice sent goosebumps down every crevace of his body. It was you - the woman he couldn't keep thinking about since the very moment he saw your face. Yes, it might have been veiled but he knew that it was as gorgeous as your voice and your body.

He turned around to face you, gazing down at your, now, unveiled and bare face. You were as stunning and as breath-taking, as he thought you'd be. He had a soft smile plastered on his face.

"You're just as beautiful as I imagined you to be," he whispered softly, caressing your cheek. It was unusual. You'd known this man for, what, eight hours? But you felt like you'd known him for years.

"You fought well."

Your voice ringed in his mind, yet your lips.. they weren't moving. Feyd realized. You were Bene Gesserit.

His eyes slightly widened and his pale lips parted in shock.

"You.. you're a witch," he mumbled, his hand leaving your face.

"You could say that," your soft voice continued traveling through his head like a song.

You stepped away from him, marching straight past him and into the guest wing. Feyd followed you with his eyes and then with his feet. He seemed to be, almost, hypnotized by the way you moved. He didn't even notice as you two strolled into your dimly-lit bedroom. You took your silk hood off, sitting down on the soft, cushioned bed. Feyd stared daggers into your eyes with his own - blue and cold. You gestured for him to come over to you. He, obviously, obeyed.

He slowly strided over to you, now standing right in front and looking down at you.

"Kneel," you stated in a distorted voice. Feyd quickly got on his knees, now looking up. He moved his face closer to yours, before feeling a certain coldness near his right hand. He looked down.

A small box with a gap sat neatly on a tiny wooden table.

He looked up at you to see a worried look on your face.

Then - a sharp needle next to his neck.

This was a night you and Feyd would never forget for the rest of your lives.

#feyd rautha #screaming crying throwing up #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #gnawing at the bars of my enclosure #dune part two #dune #dune movie #somebody sedate me

[wineauntie]

OUR DAUGHTER — family is family au

You, Quinn and Evie were out grocery shopping for the week. The grocery store was quiet enough with it being later in the evening, the sun fading in the distance. Five-year-old Evie sat in the cart's child seat, happily munching on a cracker as you and Quinn discussed dinner plans.

"I think we should try that new pasta recipe tonight," Quinn suggested, his eyes scanning the shelves for the right ingredients.

"Sounds good," you replied, reaching for a jar of sauce. Just as you were about to place it in the cart, you froze. There, not even ten feet away, was a face that haunted your nightmares, one you never wished to see again.

James, your ex-boyfriend and Evie's biological father. The same guy who had cheated on you and dumped you at the news of your pregnancy. His sudden appearance sent a jolt through you, your feet locked in place as your heart raced.

“Hey, you okay?” Quinn’s eyes flitted to you before his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You remained rooted to the spot as James approached with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes, his expression a mix of surprise and something more sinister.

"Well, if it isn't y/n and the happy family," he drawled, his gaze flicking between you, Quinn, and Evie.

"James," you fought to keep your voice steady as you felt a chill run down your spine. Quinn's hand found its way to your back becoming the only thing grounding you.

James glanced down at Evie, who had turned towards the stranger with wide curious eyes.

“So, this is the kid," he said, his tone mocking. "Looks like she got your eyes."

"Yes, she did," you said firmly, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "And she’s not 'the kid’, she's my daughter."

“Our daughter,” James corrected with a sly smile.

“Our daughter, actually,” Quinn stepped forward, his presence steady but protective. he shot a hesitant look at you, who nodded subtly. "I'm Quinn," he spoke as extending a hand.

James glanced at Quinn's hand but didn't take it. "A hockey player stepfather, huh? Moving up in the world, aren't we?" he said with a derisive chuckle.

“Is there a problem here?” Quinn's expression hardened, but he kept his voice even.

“With me?” James scoffed, meeting your eyes once again. “Nope.”

“Good,” Quinn stared down the man in distaste. “Then I think you should keep walking.”

James shrugged, his smirk widening. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he said dismissively. He turned back to you, his eyes cold.

James's eyes flickered with something darker. "I suppose now you think you’ve got it all figured out. A happy little family, just like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "But now that I’ve finally seen her, I want to get to know my daughter."

“If you want to know her just to try get under my skin, that stops right here.” Your voice shook ever so slightly. You felt Quinn's reassuring hand squeeze your shoulder. "We can talk, if you truly do, but it will be on our terms. Evie’s happiness and well-being will always come first."

James snorted. "We'll see about that," he muttered, scribbling down his number on a scrap of paper and shoving it into your hand.

As he walked away, he threw one last mocking glance over his shoulder. You turned to Quinn, who wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as your eyes fluttered shut and your held breath expelled.

“Are you okay?" he asked gently, running a hand over your hair in comfort.

"Yeah," you sighed, exhaling deeply. "I think so. That was just... a lot."

Quinn kissed the top of your head. "We'll handle it together," he assured you. "I promise you."

You looked at Evie, who was blissfully unaware of the tension, her eyes wide with curiosity as she looked at the colorful cereal boxes nearby. "Yeah," you agreed, smiling softly. "Together."

#wineauntie #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fluff #nhl x reader #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes fanfiction #qh43 #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes blurb #father figure!quinn hughes #family is family universe #fif au #fif au – blurbs/thoughts

[the-badger-mole]

A Bend in the Stream

Zuko sat up in bed, gasping. He looked around wildly. It took a few moments for his confusion to wane, but soon he was able to recognize the familiar trappings of his room. The one above the tea shop that his uncle was making famous with his delicate blends. There was no smell of floral garden air from the windows. His blanket was scratchy and stiff wool, and not the down stuffed silk that would be in King Kuei's suites.

After registering his surroundings, Zuko sighed and let his body flop back onto his bed. His racing heart slowly returned to a steady beat. It had all been a dream after all. Being captured by the Dai Li; the moment with the waterbender in the caverns; Azula offering him a chance to redeem himself; the death of the Avatar... It was all just a bizarrely vivid dream. Just as Zuko was drifting back off to sleep, his door swung open and Iroh came in with a wide grin.

"Good morning, nephew!" he said cheerfully. "It's a beautiful day, full of endless possibilities."

"Uncle," Zuko groaned, letting his head loll back onto his pillow.

"Don't take too long," Iroh said. "I have wonderful news! We're serving tea at King Kuei's court!"

"What?" Zuko sat upright and stared at Iroh in disbelief. That was how his dream had begun. Iroh, however, seemed to have taken his nephew's reaction as excitement.

"I got the news last night," he told Zuko. "It seems word of my mango jasmine blend has spread farther than I realized! I would have told you sooner, but you weren't here. Hurry, hurry! We still have to help with the morning rush before we go."

"Yes..." Zuko said distractedly. "That's right..."

"Breakfast is ready when you are." With that Iroh nearly skipped out of his nephew's room, humming a cheerful song under his breath.

Zuko got dressed and hurried through his meal (rice porridge with nuts and dried fruit was too common a breakfast for Zuko to read into it's similarities of his dream breakfast). Then he dressed and headed down to the tea shop. The feeling of deja vu was annoyingly sharp, but Zuko reasoned that his life had become so unusually predictable lately that his mind was still adjusting to the similarities of the day to day grind. So many of the customers were regulars at the tea house, it was no wonder he was learning all the orders already, despite his indifference.

At last, it was time to go serve tea to King Kuei. Something in Zuko's stomach turned. It was a sharp turning feeling in the pit of his stomach. King Kuei's palace was too familiar. He'd never been before, so how could he have dreamed it up in such detail? Zuko's hackles were up as he and his uncle were led to the room where they were to be received. It was just like his dream. Why were they being kept waiting for so long? Eventually, the wait began to grate on Zuko, and he paced the floor nervously.

"Calm down, Nephew," Iroh chided. He poured himself a cup of tea, completely unbothered.

"What's taking so long?" Zuko growled in frustration.

"Perhaps King Kuei overslept," Iroh said, smiling slightly at his nephew's discomfiture.

"Something's not right," Zuko said. Then he froze. It was just like his dream. Just like his dream. He looked at his uncle with wide, frightened eyes.

"What's the matter?" Iroh asked, setting his tea cup down.

"I think-" was all Zuko was able to get out before the door opened, and the next part of Zuko's dream came rushing back to him. Azula walked in, flanked by Dai Li agents, and smirking at Iroh and Zuko smuggly.

"It's tea time!" she said with a saccharine tone.

"No way!" Zuko gasped.

"Have you met the Dai Li?" Azula nodded to the men immediately at her sides. "They're earthbenders, but they have a killer instinct that's so firebender. I just love it." Zuko could only gape at his sister. He knew what she had been about to say. How could he know that? This moment felt less real than the dream had. Iroh stood up beside his nephew, and Zuko knew the words Iroh was about to say to his niece before they were ever spoken out loud.

"Did I ever tell you why they call me the Dragon of the West?"

Zuko was ready to grab Iroh's arm and run the minute Iroh created the hole in the wall. When Iroh used lightning to blast a hole in the second wall, Zuko froze again. Iroh jumped into the bushes below and turned back to his nephew.

"You'll be fine!" he assured Zuko. "Jump!" How could Zuko explain to his uncle why he couldn't? He hardly understood himself. He was just frozen into place. Moments later, Azula and the Dai Li caught up with him and Zuko turned to face his sister.

"You're so dramatic," she taunted him. "What? Are you going to challenge me to an Agni Kai?"

"You're not interested," Zuko murmured. Azula blinked in surprise, caught off guard for the barest moment. It wasn't enough, though, and her Dai Li guards sprang into action before Zuko could do much. He was quickly bound in stone cuffs, and throne into the catacombs beneath the city. And just like so many things that had happened that day, he was unsurprised to find himself trapped with the Avatar's waterbender (Katara. He'd known her name for some time, but Azula herself couldn't have tortured him into admitting it).

His mind was reeling as his memory of his dream and the reality of the situation crashed together, and he had the unpleasant sensation of remembering everything Katara had said before she'd spoken it. Particularly painful was Zuko anticipating her confession about how he was the face that for months she'd been picturing when she pictured the enemy. When she offered to heal his scar, Zuko was ready to break the walls down himself. Still, he submitted to her touch on his face. He wouldn't have been able to explain why for anything. Fortunately, he was spared thinking too hard about it when the Avatar arrived.

Azula caught up to them not long after. When Azula made her offer this time, Zuko froze, completely unable to thinks about anything beyond his own confusion. It was his dream. It was exactly his dream. Right down to the Avatar being struck down, and his uncle being taken prisoner so Katara could escape with the Avatar's....corpse? Zuko watched her go uncertainly. She met his confused gaze with a flinty one of her own. A shiver went down Zuko's spine.

Later that night, Azula congratulated Zuko on his choice. He barely registered any of it. Had he done all of this, he wondered. Had he literally dreamed his success into reality? He settled down into the bed of the room Azula had given him. Where King Kuei was, Zuko couldn't begin to hazard a guess, but for the time being, Azula had claimed his palace as her own, and given her brother the second best room available. Despite this, sleep came reluctantly for Zuko, but still, it came.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Zuko sat up in bed, gasping. He looked around wildly. It took a few moments for his confusion to wane, but soon he was able to recognize the familiar trappings of his room. The one above the tea shop that his uncle was making famous with his delicate blends. There was no smell of floral garden air from the windows. His blanket was scratchy and stiff wool, and not the down stuffed silk he remembered falling asleep under in King Kuei's suites.

A few moments later, his door swung open and Iroh came in with a wide grin.

"Good morning, nephew!" he said cheerfully. "It's a beautiful day, full of endless possibilities."

This time, all Zuko could do was stare. Iroh was as excited as ever as he admonished his nephew to get out of bed and get ready for work. Zuko was not at all surprised when Iroh announced that he had been invited to King Kuei's palace to serve tea.

"It's a trap," Zuko warned him. "We shouldn't go."

"Don't be silly, Nephew!" Iroh chortled. "Why would Kuei want to trap us?" Zuko wasn't sure how to handle that question without sounding insane. He went along with it. Perhaps he was still dreaming, Zuko reasoned. He had been asleep the entire time, and his brain wasn't allowing him to wake properly. He went through his day for the third time. He remembered most of the orders he'd taken the last couple of times, so he was able to devote most of his brain space to figuring out what was happening and how to stop it.

This time, he said little as he paced the floor in King Kue's palace, but he still hesitated just long enough that he was once again caught by Azula's Dai Li agents. And once more, he landed at Katara's feet. As before, he submitted to her tirade silently. This time, he was caught by the pain in he voice when she told him how his family had taken her mother from her. He wondered about her story. How long ago had it happened? How had it happened? How young had she been?

Katara wasn't much younger than he was, Zuko guessed. Maybe a year or two. He wasn't certain. She was still young enough to need her mother. It wasn't fair that she'd lost her mother so young. He said that, too, after commiserating with her over the loss of his mother. What would Ursa say? What would she think of her son sharing this with a Water Tribe girl?

When her hand came up to his face, Zuko had already accepted that she wouldn't have time to try her healing water on him. Sure enough, as her thumb grazed his lip, the wall on the far side of the cavern burst open, and the Avatar came in, followed closely by Iroh. Katara threw her arms around the younger boy, relieved to be rescued, and completely forgetting her offer to heal Zuko.

Zuko hesitated longer on his sister's offer. Little else changed, after all, how could he not help his sister? How could he not take his chance to go home? Still, Azula's suspicious gaze lingered on Zuko a bit longer afterwards. Zuko felt more eyes on him in general for the rest of the day. By the time he turned in that night, he was certain his sister had eyes on him even as he climbed into bed, sore, tired and confused.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Zuko opened his eyes, somehow unsurprised to find himself in the familiar trappings of his room above the tea shop. There was no smell of floral garden air from the windows. His blanket was scratchy and stiff wool, and not the down stuffed silk he had fallen asleep under in King Kuei's suites.

A few moments later, his door swung open and Iroh came in with a wide grin.

"Good morning, nephew!" he said cheerfully. "It's a beautiful day, full of endless possibilities." Zuko sat quietly as Iroh told him the good news. That they had been invited to serve tea to the King of Ba Sing Se. Iroh's smile dimmed a bit when he realized that Zuko wasn't reacting.

"Are you alright?" he asked. He sat down on the edge of Zuko's bed and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Are you sick?"

"...no," Zuko said after a moment. "I just...didn't sleep well." That may have been true. Zuko didn't remember falling asleep. Didn't remember dreaming. It seemed to him that he had just closed his eyes for a moment and then the world had reset itself. What was happening?

"Alright," Iroh said, unconvinced. "Breakfast is ready when you are." He got up and started to go. He paused at the door and stared at his nephew. "Or you can stay home, if you'd prefer." Zuko shook his head.

"I'm alright. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Zuko had heard all of his customers' orders so many times by this point, he didn't even need to pay attention to them. He did the cursory work, pretending to jot their tea preferences down on his note pad before he turned them into his uncle in the kitchen. Maybe that's why he was able to pay more attention. Maybe that's why he saw Katara this time. Their eyes met across the crowded tea room, Katara's eyes wide in horror. Zuko's eyes wide in shock. Had she always seen him that day? No wonder there was more anger than surprise when hours later, the Dai Li threw him into the catacombs before her. This time was no different.

She launched into her tirade, hurling her accusations, her pent up anger, her grief at him. This time, Zuko understood a bit better. She wasn't angry at him- or rather, she was, but it was a deeper wound she was purging. So when she spoke of her mother, Zuko said,

"That's something we have in common." And then... "What was her name?"

Katara was thrown completely for a loop, Zuko could see it in her eyes. She turned to him, wiping the tears from her eyes. She stared at him quietly for so long, Zuko didn't think she would answer him. But then...

"Kya," she whispered. "H-her name was Kya." Zuko shut his eyes and repeated the name to himself. Kya sounded like a poem. What kind of person was she? Was her daughter anything like her? Zuko thought she probably was, and if Katara was like her, then Kya must have been a very fierce...pain in the neck. The thought made him smile a bit.

"Are you laughing?" Katara demanded. Venomous rage bled back into her voice. Zuko met her gaze head on.

"No," he said. "I was just wondering if she was anything like you." That froze Katara once again, and this time Zuko did have to bite back a chuckle. There was a long, awkward pause. Then,

"My...my grandmother says I am," Katara said quietly. Zuko wasn't entirely sure she was speaking to him directly, or just didn't care if he heard her. "She says that I'm just like my mother when she was my age." She went silent again, casting furtive glances at Zuko. "What was your mother's name?"

"Ursa," Zuko sighed.

"Are you like her?" Katara asked. Zuko considered that for a moment. Then he shrugged.

"I hope I am," he said.

They didn't get around to Katara touching his face or her offer to heal his scar. They were still on opposite sides of the cave when Iroh and the Avatar burst in. This time, Zuko hesitated a beat too long, and he was crushed by a rock from one of the Dai Li agents.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Zuko shot up in bed, choking down a strangled scream. He could still remember the agonizing pain radiating from his caved in chest, and the feeling of blood filling his lungs as he gurgled out his last breath. He ran his hands over himself looking for any marks, or bruises. Any evidence at all from what had happened....last night? Tonight? What was going on? A hiccupping sob escaped Zuko just as the door opened.

"Good morning, nephew!" Iroh said cheerfully. "It's a beautiful day, full of endless possibilities." Iroh froze abruptly when he saw the look on Zuko's face. "What's wrong?"

Zuko didn't say anything. He just leapt out of bed and threw himself on Iroh and wept like child in his uncle's arms. Iroh let him, alternating between comforting Zuko and trying to understand what had him in such a state. It took nearly ten minutes before Iroh managed to calm Zuko. Then he bundled Zuko up in his scratchy blanket and guided him to the little kitchen table, the one that wobbled and was hardly big enough for the both of them. Minutes later, he pressed a fresh cup of soothing tea into Zuko's hands and squeezed into the other side of the table.

"What happened?" he asked. Zuko choked down an errant sob and shrugged helplessly.

"You won't believe me," he muttered.

"Try me," Iroh implored. He reached out across the table and squeezed Zuko's free hand. "Please, Zuko. Did something happen last night? Did you get into some trouble? Did you break up with your lady friend?" At that Zuko laughed. If only if it were something that small.

"No," he said. "Jin and I haven't spoken in..." Zuko frowned. How long ago had it been? How many times had he relived this day? Did it count towards how long it'd been since he'd seen Jin?

"Then, what is it?" Iroh looked ready to cry himself. That startled Zuko. And it loosened his tongue. He told Iroh everything. How he'd live this day already, several times. How the invitation to King Kuei's palace was a trap. That Azula was not only in the city, but in the middle of a coup. He told Iroh about being trapped in the cavern with Katara (despite the situation, Iroh managed to look arch at Zuko using the waterbender's name). Zuko hid his shame, but he told Iroh how Azula won at the end of the day. Then he told Iroh how the last time, he'd died. Iroh was stricken at that. He scanned Zuko for injuries that they both knew weren't there.

"No wonder you were upset," Iroh said.

"You believe me?" Zuko stared at his uncle in shock.

"I have little reason to doubt," Iroh shrugged. "After all, I haven't mentioned tea at King Kuei's yet. I've seen far too much in my day to dismiss your claim out of hand."

"What do I do, Uncle?" Zuko pleaded. Iroh shook his head sadly.

"I don't know myself," he admitted. "This has the marks of some spirit's intervention."

"So, I just have to keep living today over and over until whatever spirit is doing this decides they're done?" Iroh pursed his lips and blew out a long slow breath.

"It's rare for any spirit powerful enough to do this to act arbitrarily," he said. "There must be something you need to do. Some lesson you need to learn. Have you done anything different?"

"Not really," Zuko said. The only major changes had been his conversation with Katara and his hesitation in that final battle.

"Maybe you should try."

So, Zuko did just that. Neither he nor Iroh ended up going to the palace, or to work that day. They stayed inside. Katara never saw Zuko at the tea house. Zuko never ended up in the cavern. Beyond that, Zuko didn't know what difference it had made. He didn't know that without Iroh there to distract his niece, Katara and Aang both died in the cavern. He didn't know that Sokka and Toph had just barely made it out of the city, or that Chief Hakoda driven more by grief than logic had ordered a failed attack on the city that ended with half the Southern Tribe warriors dead or captured. It wasn't until the Dai Li agents arrived at their apartment that Zuko realized that Azula knew where he and Iroh lived. There was no need for her to keep him around now. The Avatar was undeniably dead. The stone cuffs made it impossible for Zuko and Iroh to defend themselves, and in a rare act of mercy, Azula killed them quickly.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Zuko woke up with the memory of lightning scorching his internal organs, and the echoes of Iroh's agonized screams in his ears. He flung his blanket off and threw the door open, startling Iroh, who was just coming in to wake him. This time Zuko didn't hesitate to tell Iroh everything. This time instead of waiting around the apartment all day, they stole out of the city. They were miles away when the city and the Avatar fell. They didn't stop until night fall, and they made an impromptu camp. They sat around the fire quietly, picking at their meals.

"Do you think this will end the loop?" Zuko asked his uncle. Iroh pursed his lips and blew out a long, slow breath.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I hope it does. But maybe I'm not who you're supposed to save."

"It must be," Zuko insisted. "Who else?" Iroh shrugged.

"Who can say with the spirits? It's rare for any spirit powerful enough to do this to act arbitrarily, though." Zuko didn't agree, but he said nothing. Finally, Iroh turned in for the night. Zuko offered to keep watch, determined to stay awake until the sun rose the next day. He drank a whole pot of the strong morning tea they'd packed. Despite their desperate flight out of Ba Sing Se, Zuko wasn't the least bit tired. He was certain he'd be able to stay up.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Zuko opened his eyes and let out a long, loud string of expletives when he found himself in the familiar trappings of his room above the tea shop. Iroh poked his head in, frowning in concern.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"No!" Zuko shouted. "Nothing is alright! I hate the spirits!"

Zuko didn't want to explain anything to his uncle this time. He disappeared into the city, picking fights with anyone who crossed him. Eventually he was caught by the Dai Li and taken to the underground lake prison. His last memory was of a flashing green light and someone trying to hypnotize him. The next few times he woke up, he tried breaking into the palace and catching Azula unawares. He lost three times, died once, reached a stalemate four times, and killed his sister twice.

Most often, he ended up back in the cavern with Katara. Once, she managed to use her magic water on his scar. It worked, sort of. The scar faded until it was just a pinkish blemish over his eye, but then Azula hit the Avatar with lightning just before Zuko took her out. The Avatar died because Katara didn't have the water to heal him with. She was kind enough not to blame Zuko, but the sound of her sobs chased him into the new day. He never let her try that again. The next few times, he found Katara earlier in the day. He managed to get her to listen to him most of the time. She was, he found, more inclined to trust than he expected. These days still ended up with Ba Sing Se's fall, but Katara usually managed to escape with her friends, sometimes with Zuko's help, sometimes on her own, but Zuko never took her up on her offer to join them. Something inside him still balked at the idea of helping the Avatar, though he'd long since given up on returning to his father. Being murdered by his gleeful sister in increasingly creative ways had dashed any real hope he had that his father wanted him home. He learned a lot about Katara on those days, when he managed to get her to hear him out before attacking.

Today, he was exhausted. He went to work his shift at the tea house, because he didn't know what else to do. He was rude and snappish with the customers all morning, barely stopping to listen to their orders, and even though he didn't get a single order wrong, the owner of the shop sent him away early. That was fine. Zuko didn't stop to answer his uncle's calls as he stormed out into the street, running into a smaller person. He reached out instinctively to steady them, ready to berate whoever it was, but he froze. Katara was in his arms, staring up at him in horror.

Of course...

This had happened before, and the last time, both he and Katara had been taken by the Dai Li to that underground prison lake. Now, Zuko let go of her and turned to run in the opposite direction before she even had a chance to react. He expected to feel water snaking around his ankles, an icicle in his back, to hear her screaming for the Dai Li behind him.

None of that happened. Instead, he ran into two more girls. Girls in Kyoshi Warrior makeup. Girls who he'd recognize anywhere, no matter how much paint was on their faces.

"Oh no," he groaned.

"Is that anyway to greet old friends?" Mai asked mockingly.

Zuko ended up in the cavern with Katara. He wasn't sure how she'd gotten caught, but he was there first this time. Whatever tirade she had been preparing to launch into stopped abruptly when she saw him hitting his head against the rock wall with alarming force.

"What are you doing?" she gasped. Zuko was too dizzy to be surprised when she pulled him away from the wall. He could feel something trickle down his face, and whatever it was had Katara staring at him in open concern.

"Let go!" Zuko tried to shrug her off. "I have to get out of here!"

"Zuko!" Katara pulled him away from his wall, and he was too dazed to stop her. She pulled water from...somewhere, Zuko wasn't sure. Maybe the walls. The cave was damp enough. Her hand glowed a soft blue, and the pain in his forehead faded, to his disappointment.

"What did you go and do that for?" Zuko demanded, rubbing his hand over his unbruised forehead.

"Why were you hitting you head against the wall?" Katara countered sharply. She folded her arms and glowered at Zuko.

"I was trying to kill myself, if you must know," he sneered at her. For all the times they'd met and all he had learned about Katara, this was a new day. They were not friends.

"What?" Katara looked stricken, and Zuko felt bad, despite himself.

"Forget it," he said, turning away from her. "It doesn't matter."

"Zuko, what's going on?" Katara ran around him so she could see his face. "Tell me what's happening! Why are we here?"

"Trust me, you couldn't have picked a question I want answered more," he scoffed. "I don't know why I'm here. I've been here too many times to count at this point, and I don't know why! I've tried not coming here, but that doesn't work either."

"What are you talking about?" Katara asked, staring at him as if he'd grown another head. Zuko almost laughed. Maybe he had. It would make as much sense as anything else.

"I'm cursed, Katara," he said a bit hysterically. "I'm cursed. I've lived this day so many times... I...I don't know what to do. I'm losing my mind, and I'm scared." Zuko crumpled to the floor and sobbed into his palms.

Katara didn't know what to do. He could feel her hovering over him, uncertain of what, if anything, to do for him. Finally, she sat beside him, and hesitantly wrapped her arm around him from the side. All pride had utterly fled Zuko. He threw himself into her embrace and sobbed on her shoulder. Katara stiffened, and for a moment Zuko thought she would throw him off of her, but kindness, or compassion, or whatever drove her overrode her hatred for him, and she held him stiffly while he cried.

Zuko composed himself as fast as he could, and pulled away from Katara. He'd left a large wet mark of sweat and tears and snot on her dress, but she was a good sport about it.

"Will you tell me what's going on?" she asked.

"You won't believe me," Zuko said. The words brought back a memory of a similar conversation with his uncle.

"Try me," Katara said, with a wry smirk.

"I already told you," Zuko said. "I'm reliving today and I don't know how to get out of this loop."

"What?" Katara stared at him as if his second head had sprouted wings and started earthbending.

"I told you wouldn't believe me." This time Zuko did chuckle. "I've been here in this cavern with you, so many time's I've lost count. Do you think I'm crazy?"

"I-I," Katara stammered. "Zuko, this isn't..."

"I can prove it," Zuko told her. "We've spoken before. You've told me things. Personal things."

"Excuse me?" Katara stared at him, aghast.

"You have," Zuko insisted. "How else do I know that you have magic healing water from the Spirit Oasis?"

"Y-you were there," Katara said. "You could've been spying." Zuko shook his head.

"Nope," he said. "That's not it. I also know that you lost your mother. We've talked about her nearly every time we've met." Rage flashed across Katara's face at that.

"How dare you-?"

"I'm just saying what you told me," Zuko said. "You told me her name was Kya. And you told me how your grandmother said you're just like her when she was your age." Katara gaped at him in shock.

"How did you know-"

"You told me," Zuko sighed. "Just like you told me that your favorite color is seafoam green, and you miss the dancing lights in the sky back home, and your brother Sokka once got two hooks stuck in his thumb. One time, you ate papaya even though you hate it because a fortuneteller told you to. I have no other way to know any of that except from you. I'm not lying. I'm stuck in some sort of time loop. I don't know how to get unstuck."

"Oh-" Katara sat beside him quietly for a long time, processing the new information. "And I just..told you all of that? Why?"

"I don't know," Zuko shrugged helplessly. "I asked, and if you were in a good mood, you'd tell me. I don't always see you, and when I do we don't always talk." More silence, though, Zuko could almost hear her brain working double time to process all of this.

"Do you know how it started?' she asked after a long while.

"No," Zuko shook his head. He had tried to recall if he'd crossed any priests, or accidentally touched some relic, or walked under a ladder, but he couldn't think of anything out of the ordinary until he woke up and the day repeated. He told Katara as much.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I am, too," he shook his head. "I'm the only one who knows it, but you're all stuck in this loop with me, it seems. I really am sorry."

"That's got to be so lonely," Katara said. Zuko let out another shuddering sob. He hadn't let himself admit it yet, but she was right. It was incredibly lonely. No matter how many times they'd spoken, Iroh didn't remember why his nephew sometimes woke up screaming. Katara wouldn't remember this conversation, or that she and Zuko had made a connection and had more in common than she realized. In a few hours, Zuko would wake up and they would be enemies again. Katara pulled him into another embrace, and Zuko clung to her like a life line. He didn't cry on her anymore, though.

"I'm so scared," he whispered. "I can't even die." Katara stiffened in his hold, but instead of pushing him away, she held him tighter.

"There's got to be a way out," she said. "There has to be." Zuko didn't bother telling her that he'd tried everything he could think of. He pulled away slightly, not quite ready to let go of her yet, and rested his forehead against hers.

"Maybe I'm not dying the right way," he said.

"Why do you think you have to die at all?" Katara asked. Zuko snorted.

"Wouldn't it make your life easier if I were dead?" he asked. "If I die and end this loop, you wouldn't have to worry about me coming after you, or betraying your trust, or...or..." Zuko clenched his teeth tightly. Katara unwound an arm from his mid section and cupped his jaw.

"Where's that stubborn mule-ox who chased us around the world?" she demanded. "Where's that fighting spirit that led you to do stupid things, like challenge me while I was surrounded by my element?"

"I think that bit of me died around the fortieth time I woke up this morning," Zuko laughed mirthlessly. "Katara, I can't do this anymore. I have to figure out a way to end this. Even if it means I die. I can't go on like this!" His grip tightened around her waist, and he felt the tears coming again.

Then his world came to a screeching halt.

Katara's lips were pressed against his. Every thought in Zuko's head flickered out and all he could focus on was how soft Katara's lips were.

She pulled away with a jerk. Already she was babbling an apology, an explanation that she didn't know how else to distract him, other words that were lost on Zuko. Then she stopped talking when he leaned in to kiss her again. It was an urgent, awkward kiss between two inexperienced and desperate teens, with too much teeth and too many hands uncertain of where touch was okay. They kissed until they were breathless. They kissed until the wall imploded. And when Iroh and Aang burst in and the dust settled, they were still clinging to each other in a way that left little doubt of what they'd been doing.

They sprang apart, but instead of rushing over to Aang as she'd done so many times before, Katara stood awkwardly beside Zuko. A bright red blush covered her face and neck, and she looked a bit ashamed of herself as she avoided her friend's devastated face, but she didn't leave Zuko's side. Her knuckles bushed against his reassuringly, but neither of them made to entwine their hands.

There was no time to discuss any of what had happened. Azula and the Dai Li agents had heard the commotion as they always did, and soon they found themselves in the middle of a battle. Zuko had long since given up on joining his sister's side. And maybe the kiss had emboldened him, but this time, he joined the fight against his sister without hesitating. That enraged her, but between him, his uncle and Katara, she and the Dai Li were on their back foot. Zuko tried to keep his sister's focus on him. This time he would see Katara and his uncle escape safely with the Avatar. But something went wrong, and Aang was struck by Azula's lightning.

Katara in her rage was a sight to behold. She caught Aang as he fell, and almost simultaneously called up a wave with all the water in the cavern and froze Azula and her guards. That hadn't happened before. Neither had Zuko and Iroh ever managed to actually escape the cavern with Katara and Aang.

Later that night on Appa's saddle, Zuko watched in awe as the spirit water literally brought the Avatar back from the dead. He was glad that Katara hadn't wasted it on something as frivolous as his scar. Especially not when she looked at him, almost weeping with relief when her friend's chest began to fall and rise again.

In the chaos, Zuko and Iroh's presence had gone unremarked by Katara's other companions, but now that Ba Sing Se was miles behind them, and the Southern Tribe Warriors' camp lay before them, Sokka and Toph finally stopped to question their new companions. Katara told them in no uncertain terms that they owed Zuko and Iroh both hers and Aang's lives, and that they were fine to travel with them as long as they liked. Iroh offered his services as a firebending master for the Avatar once he woke. Zuko was quiet and stuck by either Iroh's or Katara's side- the latter was noted by Sokka with more than a hint of suspicion, but Zuko didn't care. It wouldn't matter in a few hours.

When they landed for an hour to plan their next move, Zuko told Katara as much when he managed to capture a few moments alone with her. She squeezed his hand.

"It'll be okay," she said. Zuko thought she was going to kiss him again, but Sokka appeared, inserting himself between them, with a suspicious glower levied at Zuko. Katara scoffed and went to go check on Aang.

They arrived at Chameleon Bay not long after that, and Zuko and Iroh were welcomed, albeit coldly by Katara's father and his troop. Zuko wasn't sure what Katara said, but he and Iroh were given a room on the Fire Nation ship Chief Hakoda and his men had managed to take possession of. Zuko couldn't sleep, though.

He ended up on the deck of the ship as the moon was nearing its zenith. It was close to the time that the day would reset for him. Zuko had timed it before. He figured he had about twenty minutes before he blacked out and woke in his room at the tea shop. He dreaded it, but he also felt a bit melancholy about it. No one would remember what happened today. His new allies, as fragile as the relationship was, would not know what happened tonight. His uncle, sleeping safely (as safely as was possible, at least) would soon burst into his room, excited about the trap that had been set for him at King Kuei's palace. Katara wouldn't remember comforting him in the caverns. She wouldn't remember kissing him, and when he saw her next, they would be enemies again. He didn't dare hope for a repeat of this particular version of the day, either.

Light footsteps came up behind him, but Zuko didn't so much as flinch. The worst that could happen would be someone slitting his throat. He wasn't overly worried about it, though, and he wasn't all that surprised when Katara sat down beside him, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the stern.

"It's late," she said.

"Yeah," Zuko agreed.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Aren't you?" Zuko scoffed. He glanced at Katara out of the corner of his eye. She was still covered in gore from where she'd caried Aang out of the cavern. Her hair was stiff with dried sweat, and there were smudges of mud and blood on her face and hands. She was gorgeous, Zuko realized with horrified clarity. He looked away from her and cleared his throat. He turned his gaze out on the the water of the bay. The moonlight scattered across the surface of the water, and danced across the waves.

"It's getting close to the time when my day starts again," he told Katara quietly. He sagged against the railing of the ship and rested his forehead against the cool metal. He was exhausted. He was always exhausted when he reached this part of the day.

"What if you stay up?" Katara suggested. Zuko shook his head with a sigh.

"I've tried," he told her. "If I don't fall asleep, or get knocked out or die, I just sort of black out. I can't fight it." Katara gasped, but didn't say anything. She slipped her hand inside of his and held it tightly. It was a nice sensation to end on, Zuko thought. He didn't fight it when sleep came to claim him.

Sunlight on his face woke him. Zuko looked around in confusion. He was not in his room above the tea shop. Above him, he saw the lightening dawn sky instead of the ceiling he'd been expecting. There was no scratchy stiff wool blanket over him. There was something soft and warm, and much heavier than a blanket on him though. He looked down and found Katara asleep on his chest, her arm draped across him protectively.

She must have heard the change in Zuko's heartbeat. Katara began to stir. She sat up and looked around blearily. She was not a morning person, Zuko thought giddily. When her eyes finally landed on him, several things crossed her face; surprise, fear, then dawning realization.

"Did you do it?" she asked. "Did you break the loop?" Zuko nodded, swallowing hard.

"It looks like it," he said. He looked around himself in awe. It was a new day.

#atla #zutara #zutara month #zutara month 2024 #day 30: time loop #ground hog day au #tw: attempted suicide #not graphic #eventually zuko does figure out how he got out #more or less #he got trapped by the canon divergence spirit #they wanted him to pick the right team #...and to kiss katara #but mostly the right team thing #and the kiss #this is super long #i probably should've just posted this on ao3... #oh well!

[wintfleur]

omg heyyy, I’d love to read something of how they would react if Juliette, mat and Quinn are out on a date night, and then when they’re out they get swarmed by paps and they’re kind of taking up their personal space and Juliette starts getting anxious??🤍

ᥫ᭡ Lights, camera, acción!

﹕─┈ pairings ( Mat barzal x Leclerc f1 driver oc! x Quinn Hughes )

°. — details ( g; angsty. w; angst, the paps being fucking creeps. Mentions of the paps trying to see under Julie’s dress. wc; 2.2k )

au masterlist - everything for the AU is under #🍂 ͡ ꒱ Juliette Leclerc

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( hi lovely , tysm for sending in a request !! This is like the first fic I’ve really written for this au so I had so much fun !! So sorry it took so long to get out !! Hope you all enjoy it , and please let me know what you guys think !! )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( also !! I know this is a bit unrealistic because of the privacy laws and restrictions on professional photography in Monaco . . . but let’s just pretend those don’t exist for the sake of this fic please )

“We watched that last time” Quinn complained as he set down his glass of wine on the fine white tablecloth. The linen was so soft, softer than some blankets that he's slept on in the hotels he's stayed at, but he didn't expect anything less from the very nice restaurant Juliette had taken them too. 

He licked his lips, cleaning them of any remnants of the red wine that he knew wouldn't be able to pronounce correctly. What he did know was that his girlfriend sounded incredibly hot pronouncing it and he knew Mat felt the same way with how he bit his lip and adjusted in his seat, turning his attention towards the beautiful view of the sunset covered sky that they got from sitting on the patio. 

“So? Then we can watch the second one” Mat was quick to come up with a solution to their ongoing problem of picking a movie for tonight. Mat wanted to watch The Hangover again, Quinn didn't, and Julie was not going to get between them on this topic again. 

“What do you think sweetheart?” Mat turned his playful glare away from Quinn and to Juliette who had her elbow on the table, her chin in her palm as she watched the two playfully argue with a fond smile on her red lips, her own glass of wine long forgotten. 

“I think” Juliette leaned closer to the two as she spoke slowly, the chill air of Monaco giving her bare arms and legs goosebumps. She watched as both of their gazes fell to her cleavage, lingering on the necklace with their initials decorating her neck. She could tell by the way both of their breaths hitched that they thought she was going to turn there night towards a different direction. Julie gave them a teasing smirk as she continued “That I'm going to pick the movie tonight” 

“So, what you're saying is that we're watching twilight again?” Quinn teased with a smile as he leaned back in his chair, just itching to slip out of his whitebutton up shirt that Mat had picked out for him. Julie had a habit of watching the same group of movies depending on the time of the year and how she felt. And she was really feeling Edward Cullen as of late. 

“I'll even let you guys pick which one!” Julie giggled as she reached for her glass, taking a large sip of the expensive wine. Mat and Quinn could definitely tell that the wine was starting to get to her, she was far more giggly than usual. And with how she kept on nudging her stiletto foot against their leg, touchy as well. Two Telltale signs that she was tipsy. 

Mat and Quinn got lost in their own thoughts as they looked at their girlfriend who sat across from them, their thoughts very similar. Julie looked so ethereal under the fairy lights that hung across the patio, her smile and the look in her eyes were driving them crazy. They both desperately wanted to go home . . . or at least make it to the car. 

Quinn cleared his throat and turned the conversation into a different direction, he could see the look in Mat’s eyes, and they still had to wait for their desert to arrive, and mat wasn't one with patience. Julie slowly sipped on her wine as she listened to her boys talk, tilting her head to look out at the night sky with watchful eyes, just taking in the sweet moment of being with her lovers, in her home city. 

The sweet moment was ruined when she felt a cold chill run down her back, and it was like the calm air around them totally shifted into a tense and uncomfortable feeling. She felt like she was being watched. She looked back to Quinn and Mat who were smiling all lovey to each other, neither of them seems to have the same feeling she did. 

She sat up straight in her chair and quickly looked around the empty patio when she heard the subtle sound of a clicking. That anxiousness and fear started creeping up in her bones at the thought of them being watched, please not again. She cut off their conversation with her anxious tone “Did you hear that?” 

Mat and Quinn were quick to halt their conversation when they heard the desperation in her voice, a look of worry coming across both of their faces. Quinn was the first one to speak up while Mat reached across the table to rest his hand on Julie's trembling hand that rested on the table, caressing her soft skin with his thumb “No, what did you hear?” 

“I could have sworn I heard a camera click” Julie frowned as she looked behind her one more time, all she could see was the building next door and a little bit of the busy street. She couldn't see anything from the ground level. Quinn also looked around and he couldn't see much from where they sat “Maybe you misheard? 

Click!

The throuples heads all snapped towards the sound, Mat moved his hands from Quinn's thigh and Julie's hand and stood up from his chair and walked past the empty table next them to see over the protective railing. His eyes widen when he sees a man standing next to a light post on the street, a big black camera in his hands, pointed right at them. Mat clenched his fists as he hissed in anger “What the fuck” 

“Come on we're leaving” Quinn sighed as he stood up from his chair, holding his hand out to help Julie up. Julie was quick to get up and hold onto Quinn's arm, the world slightly spinning from her getting up so fast while being tipsy. Mat flips the man off before turning around and making his way back to the table, pulling his wallet out and leaving several bills on the table, not caring if he overpaid, it would be a nice tip. 

He followed them off the balcony and through the restaurant to the back exit that led to where her car was parked. Julie leaned against Quinn's side as he led them towards the door, mat was practically seething as he walked behind them, he hated how insensitive people were, it was disgusting how the paparazzi's treated Julie. 

Mat rested his hand on Quinn's lower back as he moved in front of them to open the door for them, he was angry, but he still made sure to smile at them both as they walked out of the door. Quinn could see the anger in mat’s eyes, and he could see the anxiety in Julie’s, he hated how such a good date night turned sour because some people were such fucking creeps. 

Quinn wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she snuggled closer to him, his body warmth protecting her from the chill breeze of Monte Carlo. Mat quickened his steps so he could walk on the other side of Julie, his shoulders were tense as he kept on looking around them, hoping that his gut was wrong and that there weren't more paparazzi. 

They were quiet as they walked to the small car park, but the silence was quickly gone as they turned the corner to the car park. Julie let out a gasp of surprise and stepped back in shock at the loud shouts and flashes from the pictures being taken. Quinn was quick to gently pull Julie behind him, hiding her from the paparazzi that stood next to their car waiting for them. 

“Juliette! Juliette smile!” The paparazzi all screamed their names, shouting out questions and demands. The three of them knew better and kept their mouths closed, not giving them any attention that they desired. Julie winced and closed her eyes; every loud click and shouts made her flinch and move closer to Quinn who was leading her towards the car. 

Mat quickly pulled out the keys and unlocked the car for them to quickly get in, standing behind them protectively as the paparazzi's moved closer to them, they were surrounded, and mat was doing everything to hold back and not shove them away. Julie squeezed her eyes shut and trusted Quinn to lead her, her heart felt like it was going to shoot out of her chest. The flashing lights and the shouting made quick work to give her a headache, the wine in her bloodstream not helping. 

Quinn quickly opened the backseat door and helped Julie in the car while Mat got in the driver's seat. Quinn quickly stood behind her as she got in when he noticed one of the paparazzi crouching down, hoping to see up her dress. Quinn sent him a heated glare before getting in the backseat with her and closing the door. Mat quickly locked the doors and started the car. 

Julie slumped in the middle seat, leaning her head back with her eyes still closed as she tried to calm down. Quinn moved closer to her and softly brushed her hair out of her face, leaning down to place a soft kiss on her forehead as he whispered “It's okay honey, they can't get to us in here. Your safe” 

“Those fucking creeps, there lucky i didn't run them over” Mat hissed angrily with a scoff as he pulled out of the parking lot and into the streets. Quinn kisses Julie's forehead again as she cuddles into his side, Quinn says Mat's name in a calm town, wanting him to calm down before he gets too worked up. 

Mat lets out a heavy breath telling himself to calm down, he quickly looks in the rearview mirror and frowns when he sees the upset look on Julie's face, Quinn was playing with her trembling fingers, knowing that it would help calm her down. Mat asks softly, "Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry that I ruined our date night” Julie murmured sadly, so quietly that Mat almost didn't hear her from the front seat, Ignoring her boyfriend's question. Juliette had terrible luck with the paparazzi, they never left her alone, to the point where she’s had to move twice from the fear of her being watched at her home. A fear that made her anxiety even worse. 

Mat’s heart broke at how dejected she sounded, and he wished he could just give her a big hug and kiss all her sadness away; he would make sure to do so when they got home. It hurt both of their hearts to hear those words coming out of her mouth, especially when it's definitely not her fault. Quinn frowned and continued to play with her hands and hair “it's not your fault angel, please don't say that” 

“Yeah, it's those assholes' faults, besides we have a whole lot of night left” Mat was quick to reassure her, they hated seeing her upset and sad. Mat made eye contact with Julie through the rearview mirror when she lifted her head from Quinn's chest. Mat sent her a flirtatious wink “And i know a lot of ways we can enjoy out night” 

A small chuckle leaves Julie’s lips at Mat’s flirting, he never failed to make her smile. Both of them smiled at the sound of her laughter, happy to have cheered her up. Quinn pressed a quick kiss to her temple before saying sweetly “There’s that pretty smile we missed so much” 

Julie felt her heart flutter as she tilted her head to look up at Quinn, he looked so handsome. He had some stubble from not shaving this morning, his longer hair was a little messy, and God that smile on his lips. Quinn looks down at her with a teasing smirk before glancing at mat “Awe look Shes blushing too” 

“Where did your dirty little mind go sweetheart?” Mat teased as he leaned back in the driver's seat, his right hand falling in his lap as he drove with one hand. He glanced at her through the rearview mirror as he continues to speak “I was talking about us cuddling on the couch watching twilight and eating some sweets” 

Quinn laughs along with Mat when Juliette lets out a loud groan at their teasing. She playfully pushed Quinn away, but he just grabbed her hands and pulled her closer, she was practically in his lap now. Quinn gently cupped her chin and pulled her into a soft kiss. Julie hummed and closed her eyes, her hand coming up to cup his jaw as the kiss got heated. Julie could taste the wine on his tongue, and she wanted more. 

Mat bit his lip to hold in his groan at the sight of the making out in the back of the car, having to stop himself from pressing hard on the gas to get home faster. Julie slowly pulled away from the kiss and sat back in her seat in the middle, crossing her arms over her chest with an embarrassed pout “I hate you both” 

“No, you don’t” Mat smiled as he pulled into the street that led to the apartment building where Julie's penthouse was located. Julie scooted forward in her seat, leaning forward between the driver and passengers' seat to place a quick kiss on his before falling back in her seat with a surprised squeal when mat suddenly drove over a bump, Quinn had grabbed her, and his look of worry turns into a smile at the giggle she let out. 

 “No, no i don't” 

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( this is so poorly written omg I’m gonna sob 💔 )

°. — taglist ( @lovings4turn @toasttt11 @cixrosie @ru-kru @alwaysclassyeagle @theopenlocker @lavisenri @callsignwidow @willowpains @winterbarnesblog @yoontwin )

©️WINTFLEUR

#🍂 ͡ ꒱ Juliette Leclerc #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🤎୧˚ Juliette’s lovers #💌julietteleclerc! #mathew barzal x oc #mat barzal x oc #mathew barzal imagine #mat barzal imagine #matthew barzal #mat barzal #new york islanders #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #vancouver canucks #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fluff #quinn hughes fluff #nhl x oc #nhl blurb #leclerc sister fic #f1 female driver #female f1 driver #mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal x reader #quinn hughes x reader

[moodymisty]

I have another new idea for Cato Sicarius, so we’ve been talking about how Cato Sicarius bullies the reader and sends a truckload of mixed signals with each of their interactions. Now, Sicarius can afford to take this long and painful approach to ‘romancing?’ the reader because he’s doesn’t seem to have any active competition. But what if this wasn’t the case?

Just imagine it, Cato Sicarius sulking and stewing in a corner in rage, watching as another space marine compliments the baseline human and gets her blushing. Now because Sicarius is incapable of basic emotional awareness, he can’t understand that the reason he’s furious, is not because the human woman is wasting his time with frivolously bantering with another marine, but because this space marine is flirting with his human

Now as for the other space marine in this scenario, the obvious choice would be Titus. Because of his natural charisma and being quality husband material. However, you could also have it be a space marine from another legion, someone who’s on Ultramar to meet with Guilliman. Someone who would feasibly come across Guilliman’s favourite cute diplomat. A White Scar who being fun and flirty with the lovely human he just met. Or an Imperial Fist who’s genuinely impressed by the reader’s accomplishments and makes their interest known. Basically Sicarius looks on in envy as he cucked by his cousins

I love this lmao, any opportunity to make Sicarius cope and seethe is good in my books. I wrote this at like 4 in the morning while playing WUWA and keeping an eye on a very sick bird, so forgive any errors.

Warnings: Sicarius’ shitty attitude and being jealous, a dtf Astartes gets all flirty with you, the implication that Sicarius thinks you’re a little harlot for Astartes and really is he wrong?

The Ultramarine couldn’t stop his brother fast enough, speaking to Captain Sicarius through the vox channel connecting their helmets.

“This is going quite well.”

Both Ultramarines then suddenly freeze under the deathly stare of their captain, and they see his heartrates steadily rise in their helmet HUDs.

Higher and higher and higher it goes, as Sicarius’ helmet turns from them back to the scene in front of them. They’ve been tasked to stand guard for you as you greeted the guests aboard the ship, and stand in silence. At least the younger two marines do, the way Sicarius is boiling in his armor is anything but silent.

“Well little one, if you ever find yourself on Fenris, you’re in welcome company.”

A Space Wolf captain gives a wide, toothy smirk at you, and Sicarius turns up his nose at the nonstandard protocol on display at the marine’s red mane of hair. A mess waiting to happen- braids getting caught in armor, something to be grabbed.

“I’m glad to hear that!”

You smile back at him, completely wooed by the Wolf’s obnoxious boisterousness. He’s also massive; Sicarius can see plates of terminator armor blended in with the standard make Astartes armor. The three Space Wolves behind him are smaller, around his size.

The youngest Ultramarine that had nievely commented is visibly confused by his captain’s behavior, while the others, though also confused, have dealt with it for longer and stand in silence. None of them have the command to doubt Sicarius unless there are concerns of him breaching Ultramarine protocol or committing some form of heresy, and so they keep their mouths shut.

“Ahh, but we never realized that the Ultramarines kept such funny little maidens on their ships. Maybe they aren’t as stuck up as we all thought.”

Sicarius seethes; The disrespect on display against the Ultramarines, their primarch, and you! They didn’t even say your proper title, how dare they-

You laugh more, crossing your arms and conveniently accentuating your chest. Sicarius nearly fogs his visor from the heat of his breath. You smile, and the disgusting things that enter his mind at the thought of you and this Space Wolf sicken him. You’ve never displayed the female proclivity for idle chatter so much, he thinks.

Do you, like them? You never act like this in his company. Unless it’s Titus.

“They aren’t as bad as they seem I assure you, they just are very by the rules.” The massive Space Wolf chuckles, before tapping against the bottom of your chin with a knuckle. Sicarius’ heartrate makes a jump, watching you give the wolf a smile with gentle, lazy eyes. He would call them wanton.

Are there no Astartes safe from you? Titus, Helix, half of his men, and now this Space Wolf. He would utter what he thinks you are if he wasn’t dedicated to standing here in silence.

“Alas we should return to our ship. Fenris calls. But we’ll owe you and your Ultramarines a good deal for this assistance. We will not forget this, should you ever call on us for aid.”

Your Ultramarines?

Sicarius swallows a knot in his throat. You do not own him; If anything, Primarch Guilliman owns you, though Sicarius doesn’t understand still why his primarch deems it so valuable. Have you wooed him all the same?

No; His primarch would never fall for such a cheap display of whorish charm. Never. He will not falter either, unlike Titus.

You smile warmly again, face warm at the wolf’s tender touch.

“Then we wish you all safe travels on your return to Fenris.” The space wolves leave, and you turn around to face them all, including Sicarius. You’re much more composed now, smile much smaller and contained. Proper and respectful, unlike moments before.

“That went well. I should report all of this to Guilliman.”

Sicarius doesn’t say anything more than an irritated grunt, turning away.

#reply #Getting bullied by Cato Sicarius timeline #Misty’s book club #Cato Sicarius x reader #space marine x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

[minniesmutt]

⭐︎ ━━━ ARE YOU COMING?

⭐︎ ━━━ CONTENT: ROCKSTAR!HYUNJIN, ALCOHOL, PROTECTED SEX, FINGERING, DRUNK (ISH) SEX,

⭐︎ ━━━ SS + WC: 3 + 1.4K

District 9 was not the best club but if you needed to get drunk, it did it. Y/n was already a couple of shots and a drink in when Changbin joined the group—Jeongin and Felix on their first drinks.

“Why?” Changbin asked

“Why not?” Y/n asked as the music stopped

“Alright. I’m sure you were all enjoying the music but we’ve got a couple of live performances for you tonight. Help me welcome HONEY to the stage.” the DJ said

“Mm, let’s get closer!” Y/n said seeing people break away from the floor and grab drinks or seats.

Y/n dragged her friends towards the stage. Squeezing through the smaller crowd as the band was in their places. “Hello, We’re HONEY and we are going to play a few songs from our new EP.” Y/n assumed what the singer said.

“He’s hot,” Y/n smiled

“She’s got her sights on him,” Felix joked behind her

Y/n glared at her friend. Before their music started. Y/n quickly turned to the stage, swaying just slightly to the beat. They had a more rock/alternative style from what she could tell. But she liked it— especially the singer’s style and voice.

She swayed a little to the music as she sipped her drink. The alcohol in her system and the atmosphere lifted her mood. Especially when the singer made eye contact with her. She kept it with him for a few moments while he went through their chorus then broke the eye contact.

“Does that mean I’m just taking Felix and Innie home tonight?” Changbin asked her

“We’ll see,” Y/n smiled

She kept up with their set, meeting the eyes of the singer a few times before they said their thanks and got off stage.

“Five bucks she’s gonna find him,” Jeongin said

“Five bucks he finds her first,” Felix said

“Fuck both of you,” Y/n rolled her eyes.

“You’ve only fucked one of us. And it’s not me,” Jeongin said

“You make me need a drink,” Changbin sighed

“Speaking of, I’m getting another,” Y/n told them and made her way through the crowd to the bar. It wasn’t too crowded thankfully. However, it did take a moment to get the bartender’s attention.

“Excuse me,” A voice said behind her.

She looked to see if she was in someone’s way and apologize, just to see the singer from minutes ago, “Hey,” Y/n smiled

“Hey,” he replied, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“If you tell me you’re name.”

“Hyunjin.” The blonde smiled

“Y/n.”

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked as they finally came over

“Order whatever,” Hyunjin said as he took out his card

Y/n ordered her previous drink and he ordered one for himself. He paid for the drinks as the bartender got to work on the drinks. “Here with someone?” Hyunjin asked

“Few friends. I wanted to drink and dragged them out,” Y/n explained

“And District 9 is where you guys came?” He asked as they got their drinks.

“One of my friends said he had a couple of clients that said there was live music tonight. I’m just here for the drinks.”

“Just the drinks?” Hyunjin asked

“Maybe a little more,” Y/n smirked and sipped her drink

Hyunjin returned the look as they both walked away from the bar. Finding a clear table and sitting, just talking and flirting a bit as they drank. She could feel her friend’s eyes on her and Hyunjin could feel his friends watching them too.

“Do you live out here?” Y/n asked

“Yeah,” Hyunjin nodded, “Why? Wanna come back to mine?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.”

Hyunjin and Y/n both finished off their drinks before he offered her his hand and brought her out of the club. Grabbing a cab from the street and giving them his apartment address. He kept a hand on her thigh as they had a hushed conversation in the back of the cab. Killing time till they got to his apartment, exchanging phone numbers in the back as well just as they pulled up to the building. Hyunjin paid the driver and the two got out. Hyunjin held her hand as they got into the building and into the elevator.

Once the door closed, Y/n had Hyunjin back up against the wall. He smiled at her and placed his hands on her hips. Their lips met somewhere in the middle, molding together in a heated kiss. His hands gripped her hips tight as he leaned forward. Y/n moaned into the kiss as his tongue swiped along her bottom lip before the elevator dinged. The two pulled away and Hyunjin noticed it was his floor. He quickly led her out and down the hall to his unit. Hurriedly he grabbed out his keys and got them both in the door.

Hyunjin had her pressed up against the door. Lips enveloping hers as his hands held onto her ass. Y/n moaned into the kiss as she wrapped one of her legs around his hip. Hyunjin moved a hand to hold her leg up while he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Y/n held onto his jacket as his tongue wrapped around hers.

He pulled away from her lips just to attach them to her neck. Sucking on the skin as she grabbed at his hair. “Jinnie,” Y/n moaned, feeling his hard dick against her

“What you need princess?” he asked

“Dick. In me. Please,” Y/n begged

Hyunjin pulled away from her and led her down to his bedroom. Pinning her down to his bed after taking off his jacket. His hands went up her skirt and grabbed onto her panties. Y/n lifted her hips for him to pull them off.

Hyunjin practically ripped the fabric down her legs and ran two fingers through her folds. His lips attached to her neck as he pushed his fingers into her.

“Oh fuck,” Y/n whined

Hyunjin kissed her neck and curled the digits up into her walls. Y/n grabbed onto the back of his neck, gripping his hair. A bit shocked at how long his fingers felt in her. They looked long but felt longer. Hyunjin smiled as more moans fell from her lips especially when she moaned his name.

Y/n pulled up the back of his shirt as his fingers spread her open. Trying to get the clothes off his back to feel him against her. His free hand moved up her shirt. Y/n arched her back as his hand groped her chest.

“Need you, please Jin,” Y/n begged

“Yeah? Need me in you?” The singer asked

“Yes!” Y/n begged

Hyunjin pulled away and licked his fingers clean. Y/n took the opportunity to tear off her top and tossed it to the side. Hyunjin followed not long after. Both stripped away their clothing till there was nothing left. Hyunjin dug through his side drawer and found a condom.

Hyunjin tore open the foil and rolled the rubber on his length. Lining himself up at her entrance before pushing in. Y/n gasped and grabbed hold of his forearms. Hyunjin smiled as he sank into her. Pushing her legs up to her chest, listening to her moans as he sank deeper.

“Fuck,” Y/n moaned as he started thrusting into her.

Hyunjin didn’t start slow but didn’t go too fast. He leaned her legs on his shoulders as he planted his hands next to her head. Leaning over her as his hips snapped into her. Both moaning and cursing under their breaths with each hit. Y/n reached between her legs, rolling her fingers over her clit before Hyunjin noticed. Replacing her fingers with his and taking over. Enjoying the moans that came from her. Y/n grabbed at the sheets under her as she clenched around. The knot in her stomach was building till it was too much to handle. Shaking under him as he fucked her through her high.

Hyunjin moved her legs off his shoulders as she came down. His own high on the brink and came on a few thrusts later. Groaning as he filled the condom with his load. Pressing his hips firmly against hers. “Fuck,” Hyunjin groaned as he hung his head, catching his breath

Y/n pushed his slightly damp hair back and Hyunjin looked back at her. Smiling before leaning back to her lips.

⭐︎ ━━━━━━ M.LIST ⭐︎ NEXT

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© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

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[ashwhowrites]

Okay yay!! Idk how this would really go but, what if bratty!eddie decided to try and be dominant in bed just to see how mommy would react? and she realizes and just kinda laughs at him like "really?" and spanks him for it m

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

⚠️ smut because we got bratty Eddie back

Nice try

Eddie moaned as he sat in the passenger seat. His right hand gripped the door handle as his left gripped the seat.

Y/N drove, her eyes on the road but her right hand was pumping Eddie's cock. She had his pants at his ankles and his cock out of his boxers.

He fought hard to keep his sounds back, but tiny whimpers made it past his lips.

"Mommyyyyyy" he whined as he threw his head back. His hips bucked into her hand as she twisted her grip around his tip.

"Almost home," she said, her eyes still focused on the road.

He knew he wasn't allowed to cum in the car, so he knew all the teasing would lead to nothing. He could already feel the frustration building. He wondered how she would like it. To be toyed around and forced to find pleasure in all the torture.

When she pulled up to their driveway, Eddie planned his revenge. He tucked himself back in his boxers and slipped up his pants.

Once they made it into the house, Eddie acted fast on his plan. The front door shut and Eddie had her slammed against it. His hot lips were on hers as he greedily shoved his tongue in her mouth. She kissed him back, allowing his tongue to move against hers. Her hands slipped under his shirt, fingernails running up and down his happy trail. She loved the feeling of his shivering body underneath her hands.

They made out and worked their way to the bedroom. Their lips were still attached as she worked to take off his jeans. He kicked them to the side as they landed on the bed. His hands all over her body, squeezing her breasts and ass. He removed her pants and shoes. They panted and moaned, the only sound bouncing off their walls.

Eddie pulled away, a string of spit keeping him connected to her. He didn't say anything, just moved his hand down her body and slipped into her underwear

Her eyes snapped into a glare, and he covered her mouth with his hand. A challenging look in his eyes as he quickly shoved two fingers inside of her. He could feel the sharp intake of air against his hand. He was rough and fast, his fingers working inside of her. He smirked in victory.

But his victory didn't last long.

He thought he was in charge and would be the mean one tonight. He had her on the cliff of an orgasm, took a few minutes to get her there. His fingers fucking inside of her and his tongue was on her clit. He wanted to get her hopes up, get her thinking she was going to cum all over him.

But as her back arched, her fingers in his curls, and his name leaving her lips, he pulled away.

He watched as her body fell against the mattress, the way her cunt pulsed around nothing and how her wet clit shined. He listened to her pants and groans. The frustrated look in her eyes. That's exactly what he wanted.

"Oh no, did you want to cum?" He mocked, a huge smirk on his face as he stood up. He kept his eyes on hers as he stripped the rest of his body. Her naked body was covered in sweat as she sat up.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" She snapped, her eyes dark.

"Revenge," he said, leaning down so he was face-to-face with hers. He smiled and let out a little laugh. "Sucks to not get to cum, huh?"

"What are you playing at?" She questioned, her orgasm washing away.

"Nothing," he said with a smirk, he crawled back on the bed. She watched confused as his hands skimmed up her legs and pushed her thighs apart.

"What do you think you are doing now?"

Eddie looked up and turned his head. "I was...I.." He stuttered. The intense look in her eyes made him nervous. It was a look he had seen many times before. A look that told him he fucked up.

"Oh no, cat got your tongue?" She mocked. And just like that, she flipped the script. "Were you thinking that you could slide your cock inside of me? Hm? Fuck me a little?" Her hand wrapped around his throat, and his act fell apart as he whimpered.

She smiled at the sound

"Yes, mommy," he whimpered.

He fell into her demands as he let her shove him away. His puppy eyes watched her every move as she stood up, his body on the mattress. He gulped as she crossed her arms. He tried to stay focused on her face but his eyes worked down her body. He felt his naked cock twitch as his eyes skimmed over her pubic hair and down to her cunt. He wished he let her cum, because all he wanted to do was be stuffed between her legs as ate her cum with no shame.

"What makes you think you can just take away my orgasm and then fuck me?" She asked, "Is that how this works?"

"I'm sorry, mommy. I just wanted to show you how unfair it was." He whined.

"Oh, so you wanted to punish me?" She laughed at the thought. The sound of her mockery laughter made Eddie's tip leak with precum. He wanted to touch himself but he kept his hands clenching to the sheets.

"Yes," he confessed. Her laughter died as her face went blank and her eyes got firey.

"Turn around," she said through clenched teeth.

Eddie nodded and flipped onto his stomach. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he waited for the next instructions.

"Push your ass in the air"

Eddie blushed in embarrassment as he placed kept his chest flat but arched his ass in the air.

He moaned as he felt her hands on him. She rubbed the skin on his thighs and then softly played with his balls. He shoved his face into the sheets to silence his whimpers. He felt his eyes roll in the back of his head when her mouth sucked gently on his balls, switching back and forth and taking turns sucking them in her mouth.

If this was the punishment, he didn't think he minded.

He kept his whimpers quiet when she pulled away. The cold air hit his now wet balls, making him shake.

"You know better," she hissed, her hands moved up to his ass. He bit down on his lip as she massaged the skin. "Trying to test me? Where did that get you?"

"In trouble. Wanna be a good boy again," he breathed out, he turned his head so his words weren't muffled.

"Prove it to me," she said, then he felt a harsh sting on his ass.

He moaned as his skin got warm and stung. Another slap and then another. She landed in the same spot, adding to the pain. His hands gripped the sheets into fists as she cracked down again.

She enjoyed the way his pasty skin turned pink. Her hand marks burned into him.

"What a good boy, taking your spankings so well," she cooed. Then she landed another smack on him.

"Love when you make me your good boy," he whined. Even though it hurt, he felt himself pushing his ass against her.

Eddie lost count after the twentieth spank. The sheets were in his teeth as he cried. His face and chin were soaked in his own tears and his stomach was soaked in his own cum. He could feel his ass pulsing from the amount of heat. His legs shook as he tried to keep himself in the air.

His ass was beat red, all around. She spanked every inch of skin he offered. His ass was numb and she could barely feel her hand anymore.

"Say it again," she demanded as she spread cold ointment to his raw skin.

"Mommy's good boy," he cried into the sheets, he sniffled loudly.

"Like you mean it," she demanded again

"MOMMY'S GOOD BOY," he sobbed, his voice cracked and more sobs broke out.

"Mommy's good boy," she praised, pressing soft kisses up his spine. She rubbed his hips, allowing him to fall flat against the mattress. He hissed as his cock hit the sheets.

She grabbed a pillow and set it next to him

"Turn around," she whispered. She helped him flip over, the pillow tucked under his sore skin. He sighed as he closed his eyes. She softly wiped away his tears and kissed his cheeks.

"What did you learn, handsome?" she asked softly, her hands rubbing his chest, helping his body relax.

"Mommy is always in charge," he said, a tired smile on his face. "But I have no regrets." His smile turned into a smirk as he opened his eyes to look at her.

"Of course not," she laughed

"Kiss me," he whispered, his hand leaned up and cupped her cheek. She smiled as she leaned in and softly pressed her lips against his. The kiss was short and sweet.

"I love you"

"I love you too, baby." He said against her lips before he kissed her again.

Y/N pulled away and gripped his chin

"Next time you get the belt, again." She threatened

Tags!

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson fluff x reader #ashwhowrites #bratty Eddie #bratty eddie x mommy reader #Eddie munson smut #sub eddie x dom reader

[alphajocklover]

500 Followers Special: The Hometown Hex, Wally’s Visit

Wallace Power was parked in his parents driveway, a confident grin on his face as he unbuckled his seatbelt, his impressive biceps flexing slightly as he did. While, that wasn’t exactly right. Wally Power was the one getting out of his car and confidently strutting up to his parents house, excited to see his family. Wally Power was a manly, buff, straight, conservative bro who believes in traditional values and masculinity. He was not Wallace Power. Wallace Power was a skinny, sweet, gay man who had a steady boyfriend and, at least currently, was just a voice in the back of Wally Power’s head. The reason for this strange situation was Wallace’s/Wally's hometown of Maxford.

Maxford is a very unique place, one that has a strange effect on the people who live there. Anyone who enters Maxford is transformed into a conservative, traditionally attractive, straight version of themselves. Wally, having been born and raised in Maxford, had spent his entire life as a straight manly jock. Until he went to college and, upon leaving city limits, transformed into a very confused Walllace. Wallace had enjoyed being himself, living without the town's influence, but he wasn’t always able to avoid coming back home and turning back into Wally. He didn’t want to ice out his family completely afterall. He loved them, in both forms. So, Wallace had driven into town and allowed himself to transform into Wally, a horny straight playboy who couldn’t even remember Wallace existed.

Wally knocked on the door, his usual confident smirk replaced by a more genuine, excited grin. It had been way too fucking long since he saw his little bro Eddie. He loudly knocked on the door, and grinned as a younger but equally muscular man opened the door.

“Eddie! Happy birthday lil bro!” Wally said with a grin, taking the younger jock into a short, manly bro hug. Eddie smiled back, accepting the hug happily before pulling back and jokingly punching his older brothers arm.

“Thanks bro. It’s good to see you. Feels like it’s been forever! Always seems like we have to drag you away from that college.” Eddie teased

“Well, you know what they say about college girls.” Wally said with a charming wink and a crude laugh. Deep inside Wally’s head, Wallace sighed. Whatever changed people when they entered Maxford also supplied false memories for their time outside. As far as Wally was concerned he had been fucking sorority bimbos left and right, but in reality Wallace actually had a steady boyfriend named Micheal. Wallace adored Micheal. He was a sweet, loving guy who made Wallace weak in the knees. The only strain in their relationship was that he hadn’t introduced Micheal to his family. One day he’d have to tell Micheal about Maxford… but that was for another trip. Wallace was so deep in thought (technically all he was was thought at that moment) that he barely noticed that Wally kept talking.

“So, what’s with your hair bro? Why’d you dye it blond? It looks fucking gay.” Wally said, making him and Eddie both laugh obnoxiously. Eddie flexed his biceps before replying

“What can I say, girls like blonds. Trust me, no one is going to think a fucking stud like me is a queer.” Eddie said cockily. Wally laughed, filled with pride in his brother. Wallace however only felt saddened. Wallace, while only a voice right now, actually did have some influence over Wally. He had only been able to exert enough influence to get Wally to convince Eddie to drive to a bar out of town. The second Eddie had left, Walllace had gotten to meet Ed. Ed was smaller than Eddie, which was to be expected, but he was also so much… meeker. He had so much more fear in him. Ed couldn’t handle not being Eddie, so he begged Wallace to take him back. Wallace didn’t want to lose Ed… but he didn’t want to make him miserable. So Wally and Eddie went to a local bar. Wallace had always regretted that he hadn’t been able to show his little brother the world outside Maxford… but Wally didn’t give a fuck.

After a while of talking about their recent fucks, football, and how annoying fucking queers are, the two studs made their way out to the backyard, where their parents were waiting. Wally’s dad, Rick, was waiting out there sitting with their Mom, a hand on the MILFs perky ass. He greeted his sons with a confident grin and a strong handshake

“There’s my boys! Glad to see you home after so long Wally. Guess you had to come for lil Eddie’s birthday.” He said, teasing both his sons lightly, who just rolled their eyes at their dads antics. “Glad to see that college hasn’t turned you into some kind of queer.” He continued, causing the whole family to burst into laughter. Wallace sighed. If only they knew

Wallace tried to spend the next week as unalert as possible. He had found it was easier that way, sinking into the background and letting Wally do whatever he wanted. If he didn’t he’d have to put up with the homophobic jokes, the toxic masculinity, and the rampant sexism the entire time. Better to just let Wally take the reins. He just kept to the back of Wally’s mind as he worked out, but partied with his little bro, played football, and (much to Wallace’s horror) hooked up with old girlfriends. Wallace would come out shortly whenever that happened, but only to exert all his will to force Wally to wear a condom. If he got a girl pregnant here he’d never be able to leave. After a week of all of this and 3 different old girlfriends doing things Wally that Wallace would never be able to forget and Wally would never let his brother forget he got to do, Wallace had almost had it. Still he was determined to stick out the final week. Until one day he heard a knock at his door.

Still slightly hungover from the night before, Wally strutted over to the door and opened it, a cocky smirk on his manly face. It took both him and Wallace a moment to recognize the man in front of them. When they finally did they almost couldn’t believe it.

“Mikey?!” ‘Micheal?!’ Wally and Wallace thought simultaneously .

Wally couldn’t believe it. His roommate and best friend had come to surprise him in Maxford! This was the fucking best!

Wallace couldn’t believe it. His boyfriend, the man he loved, had come to surprise him in Maxford, and got turned into a straight jock. This was the absolute worst.

**Hope this was worth the wait guys! I had a blast writing it! I’ll go into Wally’s second week at Maxford and Micheal/Mikeys surprise visit another time. I might even go into Eddies experience one day. Hope you enjoy’**

#muscle growth tf #muscle tf #jock tf #jock transformation #jockification #nerd to jock #reality change #the hometown hex #500 followers

[occatorcreator]

Second Chances

Links - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

3 - Friendship Forged

After the battle, Red, Yellow, Blue, and Green make friends with Purple, in spite of Purple's own doubts getting the better of him.

One of the villagers insisted that Red stay for a check up.

“If what you describe to me is true,” they told Purple, “then there may be possible side effects of her possession. I’d like to make sure she’s fit to go home.”

“Fine then,” Purple said, but struggled to hide his grumbling, “but don’t blame me if these ‘guests’ don’t wish to stay.”

“Oh, please, when they see the welcome feast we’re preparing, they’ll want to stay!” The villager said, nodding.

“Feast?” Purple echoed, “hold on, what’s this about a feast?”

“To celebrate your victory over Herobrine and the Wither!”

As the villager predicted, the stick figures were more willing to stay with the prospect of a large meal. It took some convincing to let the Villagers take Red away for a check up.

“Relax, my villagers mean you no harm,” Purple said.

“I know,” Blue said. She lingered by the window, leaning to look inside the hut. “I just hope they don’t discover something else wrong.”

“Hovering won’t help,” Yellow said, patting Blue’s shoulder. They glanced at Purple. “Say, uh, Purple was it? Do you mind if we help with the cooking?”

“Knock yourselves out,” Purple said, waving dismissively.

Yellow smiled and bowed. “Thanks! Come on, Blue!” Yellow held Blue by the shoulders and ushered her away from the window.

Only Green remained, fiddling with the Minecraft icon.

“Don’t you want to join them?” Purple asked.

“In a bit. I’m just thinking how we’re going to get home given that portal is knocked out,” Green said. He looked around in case the villagers listened in. “You know that creature is still out there?”

“You mean the Wither? I’m well aware of that,” Purple huffed, “give it some time, it probably will float off in the Nether elsewhere. It’s a large place.”

Green shot Purple a skeptical look. Purple kept his face as neutral as possible to appear firm. 

“Plus, if that way is blocked for you,” Purple said, “then I can show you how to use that block to make a portal home.”

Green regarded the icon in his hands nervously, eyes flicking to the window.

“And I’m certain that the spirit that possessed her has been purged from it,” Purple said, “just hold onto the icon for her if you’re still worried about it.”

Green’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he smiled at Purple.

“Thank you, for everything,” Green said.

“Don’t mention it,” Purple said, head lifting as he basked in the gratitude of a fellow stick figure around his age. He forgot how nice that feeling was.

“So!” Green put the Minecraft icon away. “How did you make this place? Or did the Minecraft people make these?”

“You mean the villagers?” Purple asked, finding himself smirking. “This was a joint effort between me and them, though my castle was…”

And, like that, he found himself just chatting nonstop as he led Green through a tour of the village. Talking was rather easy, much to Purple’s surprise. He felt like a wise sage, imparting knowledge to a curious and willing pupil. Green wasn’t the only one with questions; they ran into Blue and Yellow while cooking, and they too decided to follow Purple around with their own set of questions.

Purple quickly learned that these three had developed preferences in the single day they had played Minecraft. Green had a keen eye for design and building, offering way too many suggestions to improve Purple’s buildings. Blue favored farming and cooking and really wished to learn about potions, while Yellow took to redstone and suggested helpful contraptions for the village. They were earnest, sheltered, and nothing like the jaded teens at school.

I wonder if these dorks could even survive high school, Purple thought in amusement.

It did leave the question about what Red would be interested in, had she not been possessed. And with thoughts returned to their friend, the three became anxious.

“I’m sure they’re done by now,” Purple said, leading them back toward the direction of the hut.

As they retraced their steps, they spotted Red in the middle of a crude animal pen, petting the cows and the pigs.

“Aw, these ones are so cute,” she cooed. She looked toward an empty space, grinning as if she was looking at someone. “Which one’s your favorite?”

“Um, who is she talking to?” Yellow asked, scratching his head.

“Spirits,” the villager beside the gate said, “or what she believes to be spirits.”

“Excuse me? She’s hallucinating?” Green balked so loudly that it startled Red.

“Hallucinating?” She repeated, looking worryingly from her friends to the empty air.

“Oh, don’t fret about it. Side effects are to be expected after a possession from Herobrine, and luckily this one is minor,” the villager said. They went up to Red with a metal bucket. They milked a cow and gave the bucket to Red. “Take a regiment of 3 buckets of milk daily for a week, and the symptoms should fade.”

Red looked down at the bucket, frowning.

“And if seeing spirits still persists after that, come see me again,” the villager added, patting her back. “And no skipping a dosage, got it?”

“We’ll hold her to it,” Blue said.

The group left Purple’s side to crowd around Red, chittering and asking of her health. Purple gave them some distance, but couldn’t help but listen in.

Spirits, huh, Purple thought, I didn’t see any online guides mentioning that. I heard of Herobrine, but he wasn’t in the game, not really. Did Alana mod the game?

His chest tightened at the thought. If something could be added to the game that could make people see “ghosts”, then why couldn’t someone add a way to stop aging?

Purple’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a caldron being hit.

“Soup’s on!” A villager shouted, “Eat up!” 

“Oh boy, I’m starving!” Red said. She gave the cow one last head pat before vaulting over the fence. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”

“Not fair! You're cheating!” Green exclaimed and, with a burst of energy, he, Yellow, and Blue came running after her in an impromptu race.

She got her good cheer back quickly, Purple thought, blinking as he walked up the stairs after them. A dining table was constructed in the center during the cooking, filled with all the Minecraft dishes available. Of course the villagers made nice color-coded seats for their guests of honor, with a throne at the end for Purple. 

Purple, trying to shake the creeping funk that threatened to ruin the mood, strutted to his spot and sat down with Green and Blue at his right and Red and Yellow at his left. Villagers took their own seats further down, passing bowls around.

“Wow, these are so good!” Red exclaimed as she took a bite of bread.

“Yeah, you were missing out from the tour earlier,” Blue said, “Purple’s got a nice place!”

“Lord Purple,” a villager shouted, “could you and your guests tell us all about your battle today?”

Purple took a sip of water and nodded. “Well, I was going into the Nether to collect some… resources, when I heard a sound…”

From there, the group partook in stories, questions, and then just silly jokes and anecdotes. Purple quickly learned that Red was the clown of the group, quick to make a pun and run her mouth. She had a soft spot for the animals too, avoiding most of the meats aside from fish upon reading its descriptions. 

The conversation was lively and Purple found himself chuckling at some of their antics.

“You gotta teach me potion making!” Blue said as Purple corked open another water bottle.

“Maybe next time,” Purple promised. He raised his glass. “A toast then?”

The others raised their glasses.

“To a new friendship!”

The four beamed back at him.

“‘To a new friendship!’” They shouted in unison, clinking their glasses together.

This was nice. Pleasant. For the first time in a long while, Purple felt truly joyful.

I could lead them on adventures and teach them all the tricks I’ve learned, he thought. Their curiosity and joy of the game, despite the harrowing ordeal, was infectious, and Purple wanted to recapture that feeling again. Just like when he and mom were building the castle and —

“Be grateful you never met him. He’d be horrible to you too.”

Chestnut’s words came to mind without warning. Like a thunderstrike, his good mood vanished in a puff of smoke so painful and sudden that it startled him. He froze, the scene before him slowing to a crawl and forcing him to observe it with fresh eyes. Delicious food turned to ash in his mouth and looked just as appetizing. The festive crowd turned from bubbly to oppressive and noisy.

The stick figures smiled and laughed with each other as they toasted, but Purple now found their laughter annoying and smiles too wide. When Green looked at Purple and saw the visible change of mood, his smile faded. 

“You alright?”

No, Purple scowled at Green’s concern. 

Out loud he said. “I’m tired,” he said, “I need to retire for the night.”

He left the table, pushing past the villagers coming by with more food.

“Lord Purple?”

“Purple, wait!” Green called out.

“I’m not in the mood. I’m tired,” Purple hissed. And it was true. It was like he was drained of battery. His limbs were stiff, and inventory items weighed him down with every step. 

How could he partake in joy like this? How could he deserve to have good meals when his mother will never eat with him ever again? How could he be proud of his accomplishments when was too weak to fight Red’s possession the “proper” way? How could he bother to make friends with them when all his friendships crumble to dust in the end?

“But, we need to go home, remember?” Green pointed out.

“Unless you want them to stay the night?” a villager added, unhelpfully.

Right, Purple did not want them to stay. He marched back and stuck his hand out to Green for the Minecraft icon. He climbed to a distant spot from his castle and made the portal frame, lit it, and tossed the icon back to Green.

“When you enter, you need to make another portal in this formation,” Purple said, “when you do, light the frame just like I showed you, and it will take you to where you need to go. Now, if you don’t mind.”

He marched past Green and Red, ignoring how the group stared at him as he retreated to his throne room.

Just get away. Get away.

When he collapsed on his bed, he instantly fell into a dreamless sleep.

=

“Lord Purple?”

Purple groaned and waved the villager away.

“Let your lord sleep,” he grumbled, turning away.

“My lord, you’ve been holed up in your castle for a month,” the villager said, “and we haven’t seen much of you. You’ve not fallen ill, have you?” 

“‘m not sick,” Purple said, “I’m just tired.”

“You’ve been tired for a very long time.”

Purple buried his head in the pillow, feeling terrible. It wasn’t like the villagers were wrong; this was the worst fugue he experienced since his mother’s burial. The sour end to the feast with those stick figures ended up coinciding with his birthday week. The realization that he was another year older, with only himself and a bunch of video game NPCs to celebrate it, left him with no energy to leave his bed. His mother wouldn’t be there to see him, to share gifts and spend time with him. He had no friends his age to invite, and thinking of those stick figures he met only hammered in how absolutely alone he was. 

As such, he spent his birthday laying in bed, crying. He knew he was breaking his promise to his mother to take care of himself, but how could he keep going knowing he had a future of more lonely birthdays and solitary holidays?

What's the point of trying anymore, Purple thought, if I am always going to feel this way?

“You also have visitors here,” the villager cut through his ruminating thoughts, “They want to see you.”

That got Purple to pull himself up from his bed. It was most slow and painful, as his fatigued body struggled to prop himself up. He shot a confused look at the villager.

“Who’d be visiting me at this hour?”

The villager quirked an eyebrow in return. “Your friends from the Wither battle.”

“Wait, they came to visit?” Purple asked, eyes widening further as he straightened up. 

As if on queue, the door to his chambers knocked wildly.

“Hey, Purple, it’s us!”

Purple let out a groan, recognizing Green’s chipper voice. 

Why are they back? He thought, covering his eyes, it’s been a month! I thought they'd forgotten about me…

“Can you send them away?” Purple groaned.

“I will try,” the villager sounded unsure. Purple heard them walk back, opening the door, only for the door to be slammed open as the gang burst through the door.

“The hell?” Purple jumped to his feet, shocked to find his poor villager flattened by the doorframe and four eager stick figures crowding before him.

“Rise and shine!” Red greeted, waving.

“What are you all doing here?” Purple snapped. He didn’t care for decorum at the moment, all he felt was irritation at the sight of their chipper faces.

They at least looked sheepish about their intrusion.

“Well, we wanted to follow up on you,” Yellow pointed out. “Sorry we took so long! We tried earlier, but your villagers said you were too sick for visitors.”

“We sent them a soup recipe for you!” Red said “Did you like it?”

Purple nodded even though he didn’t know what either of them was talking about. The month cooped up in the castle was a blur, and he had no memory of them visiting or eating any soup. Or much of anything, come to think of it.

“Plus, you said you’ll teach us how to brew potions,” Blue said, continuing on, “remember?”

“Yes, but,” Purple started, “it’s been awhile…?”

“I know. We would have visited a little more,” Green said, “but now we’re here. And you’re…” he paused as he actually took a good look at Purple and his room. “…feeling better, I hope?”

Purple shrugged. “Sort of,” he grumbled, “but I can’t teach you today.”

“Are you still under the weather?” Red asked, having the gall to sound so down. All four visibly deflated, their eagerness fading into sadness and concern. 

The sight of it made Purple both rankle from and clamor for their attention. A dual desire for their concern twisted and tumbled with the urge to be left alone to continue sleeping. He really didn’t know which he should follow.

“I’m not sick anymore, really. It’s more so that I’m… out of supplies,” he lied, “I didn’t get any time to stock up. Given that I was in bed for a good while.”

To that, they perked up. Green grinned widely at Purple. “We could get you some!”

Wow, Green just offered a nice way to get them off his back, but he did still need to play it up. 

Purple turned away, shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to do that, it’s such a long list,” he exaggerated.

“No problem!” Yellow said, “I bet you could give us 100 items and we’d get it all to you in under ten minutes.”

“Is that so?” Purple remembered their conversations and his observations. These four were rather competitive; they loved to boast and heckle. Oh, this would be very easy.

“Very well, I bet I can add a little incentive,” he said, pulling out his list of potion ingredients from a chest nearby his bed. “This is what I need. The first one to come back here with all the items on this list will be the lucky one I tutor in the secret art of potion brewing.”

There it was, the manic look in each and everyone of them. These were sticks determined to win.

“Got it memorized?”

The group nodded in unison.

“Then chop chop, timer’s ticking,” Purple said, clapping.

At that they proceeded to scramble out the door with shocking violence. Yellow and Green were elbowing each other out the door, while Blue sharply shoved Red into the villager just as they pried themselves free of the door.

“Sorry!” Red bowed before tearing off, “I’ll get you for this Blue!”

There, Purple thought, dusting his hands and laying back on his pillow, gets them out of my hair for a bit.

“Here’s everything!”

Blue dumped a bunch of potion ingredients. Given that Purple’s inventory was full, the items piled on him, floating, but the sound of her entrance shocked him out of his doze.

“Uh? Huh?” Purple blinked, looking around for the others. “How did you-?”

“I may have pulled some tricks on my opponents,” Blue said, rubbing her arm bashfully. “Honorably, of course!”

“Honorable trickery?” Purple said, eying each item. “That’s an oxymoron.”

“Look, if I happened to dare Red to tame a wild horse or ask Yellow what he would make with glowstone dust,” Blue said, “it’s not my fault they got distracted and wasted their time elsewhere.”

The sour mood eased as he smirked at Blue for her cunning. How unexpectedly sly! Maybe he was too quick to brush them off earlier.

“And what of Green?”

To that Blue paused, looking rather embarrassed. “I told him he forgot to grab ender pearls for the ingredient list,” she said.

“Lying?” Purple let out an exaggerated gasp of horror. “Color me shocked, I didn’t think that would qualify as an ‘honorable trick.’”

“Yeah, but-”

“I knew you were full of it!” Green snapped, appearing suddenly. He marched up, pointing a finger at Blue while looking heavily bruised, no doubt from his scraps with angry Endermen.

“What? I thought it was true!” Blue whistled.

“Bullcrap!” Green tossed his stuff down. “Purple, you can’t let this cheat get the win!”

“I dunno,” Purple said, “I didn’t give any rules on how you were to get it, just to get it.”

Green gave the most amusing irritated reaction. Purple needed to stifle the laughter bubbling in his throat. 

But then, Green’s shock turned to scrutiny, then into a smug smile.

“Well, she can’t win anyways,” Green said, pointing at the pile, “there’s no nethwart!”

“What?” Blue sifted through the pile and sure enough, no netherwart. “But I collected it- oh no!”

She gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth.

“What?” Purple asked.

Of all the things Blue said next, Purple wasn’t prepared for it.

“I ate it all!”

“You what?” Green shouted.

But Purple couldn’t speak, for he fell off his bed and onto the floor cackling.

=

Purple didn’t know how these four stick figures wormed their way into his life, but they managed to carve a space, bit by bit.

At first it was only a once a month visit. Sometimes, they bumped into each other while out in the Minecraft world; other times, they showed up randomly on Purple’s desktop. Then it became every two weeks. Then once a week.

Alana quickly caught wind of new stick figures visiting her desktop unannounced, and she was annoyed with Purple. She instated a rule that visits were to be strictly over the weekends and that they were not to touch her files. The gang were amenable to this and ended up visiting Saturday or Sunday to meet up, trade with the villagers, and play with Purple on the desktop.

One day, Purple was invited to visit the color gang’s computer. It was initially to judge some impromptu build completion, but ever since, Purple ended up visiting their desktop every Wednesday to hang out or play games. Windows was a different experience than Purple’s Mac. For one, their Animator, aka Alan Becker, was more present on the computer than Alana was, but he was fine with Purple visiting whenever he felt like. Sometimes he joined in their play, other times he just kept to himself and didn’t bother them much.

It took a long time for Purple to admit this to himself, but he was glad that he became friends with  Red, Blue, Green and Yellow.

That didn’t mean it was all sunshine and roses.

The four were hyper competitive and loved to fight. Way too much, in Purple’s opinion. They got up in arms over such little things. Even Blue, who opted for taking a peaceful approach when possible, was quick to join in a fray. Purple found himself either stomping out potential skirmishes or letting them tussle it out of their system. Purple wondered if Navy had met them, would he try to coax him to be more like his friends?

The thought of their similarities to Navy plagued him. It didn’t help that of the four, he and Green got into a lot of frequent clashes when they were out adventuring. Green seemed to be a de facto leader of the group, and haughty. Purple found Green the most vexing; some days he went along with Purple’s ideas, and other times Green wouldn’t stop nitpicking them.

And Purple learned the hard way that if Green was crossed enough, he would raise a sword against him.

They were in the middle of making a build, Purple and Green already started with an argument on either building a pagoda or a castle. When neither could settle the dispute, Blue suggested building on the castle on one side and the pagoda on the other. That worked for a bit, until Purple discovered that Green’s castle cut on his side where his pagoda should be. Purple tried to mine down the walls to make room, causing Green to come by to stop him. They argued and argued, only stopping when Green pointed his sword at Purple.

“Green! No!” Blue scolded, forcing Green’s arm down. Purple could see Green’s arm strain, glare not leaving Purple’s for a moment.

How that glare reminded him of Navy…

“That’s it, we’re done here,” Purple said, dropping his materials and marching away.

“Wait, where’re you going?” Red asked as Purple pushed past her.

“Home. And don’t bother coming this weekend or any other weekend after that,” Purple snapped.

“Wait- why?” Yellow balked.

The question, so simple and yet so stupid that Purple had to stop and look back at them.

“Why? You raise a sword at me and ask me why?” Purple yelled, “I’m not going to be friends with people who’ll raise a sword against me over a stupid build!”

The gang looked between him and the others in complete horror and shock. Green stared at his sword, slowly blinking as though it had only occurred to him what he had done.

“But… fighting is part of the game!” Red said. “I mean, we’ve fought with swords before, and you weren’t bothered by that?”

“I WAS bothered!” Purple said, “You have no idea how much it bothers me with how violent you all get! You guys are on the cusp of violence half the time, and it’s scary!”

Red, Blue, and Yellow exchanged an unreadable look. Then, Blue tentatively stepped up, hands clasped. 

“Why didn’t you let us know that it bothered you before?”

“It was obvious!” Purple snapped, stomping the ground. He deflated a bit when he saw Blue flinch back. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence before Blue continued. “We didn’t notice, honest! I know we’re easy to rile up, but if you told us that this bothered you so much we’d try harder to do better.” She rubbed her arm. “We probably could have avoided this if you had.”

“Plus, don’t let yourself off the hook,” Yellow added, “I mean, you kept riling up Green over this build instead of dropping it, and talking over him whenever he said anything.”

Purple rankled and pointed a finger at Yellow. “So? That doesn’t mean I deserve to have a sword pointed at me!”

“I’m not saying that,” Yellow said, raising his hands in defense. “I'm just being honest about how I feel- you dislike how we fight each other, and I dislike that you aren't clear about how you feel. It didn’t need to come to this point.”

“We’re your friends,” Red said, though with a questioning lift to her tone, “surely you should feel safe enough to tell us these things?”

No, I don’t, Purple thought, but he couldn’t get himself to say it out loud. He hated that, right now, he was proving them right. Hated that he always felt the need to clam up and hide his true feelings. Hated that he was being put on the spot. Hated how nervous and hurt they looked when he kept saying nothing.

He looked to Green, who had not said a word the entire time. Green stared down at his sword, muted and contemplating. When he looked up to see Purple’s gaze on him, he let out a nervous sigh and dropped the sword to the ground. The others turned to him upon hearing the clatter.

“Green?” Blue asked, but Green didn’t say anything. Very slowly he walked up to Purple, stopping only when Purple felt his foot move a step back.

“I’m sorry,” Green said, “I let my temper get the better of me. I shouldn’t have raised my sword at you over an argument over a build.”

Purple looked down at their feet. “You are aware that could have hurt me,” he said, quietly, “Killed me if you were careless.”

“I-” Green blanched, “No, I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry I didn’t know our fighting bothered you that much.”

Purple looked down at Green. His eyes were hidden, and his normally confident stance subdued and ashamed. Whatever vindictive thought Purple had about leaving or telling him off vanished.

I don’t want to be like my mom, making excuses for Navy, Purple thought, but I’m not doing myself a favor in ditching them.

He should give them a second chance.

“And Green? I’m sorry too, for not explaining how I felt earlier,” Purple said, looking at Blue, Red, and Yellow too, “let me be honest now: I don’t want you to fight like that. Swords and TNT shouldn’t be drawn or thrown over something as trivial as builds. I don’t want to ever feel like I’m going to get hurt if I did something wrong.”

“We will work on that, starting right now,” Yellow stepped up, “No matter how difficult it is, we’ll do better! We won’t fight like that again.”

“Promise?” Purple asked.

Yellow nodded and Blue stepped up. “Yeah, we promise.”

“But you’ll need to give us grace,” Red said, “We like sparring, but we’ll spar only when it’s appropriate- not when we’re angry.”

“Well, a spar’s different than a fight,” Purple said, “I just… I’ve seen what fighting like that leads to, arguments and fists.” His head drifted down. “It hurts people more than you think.”

It was the closest to voicing his mother and father’s whole affair to them. He should tell them, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“Then, can we still hang out?” Green asked. He blinked rapidly, and Purple saw tears forming.

Purple looked down at Green, acknowledging the hopeful look in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Purple nodded and opened his arms for a hug. “See you on Saturday.”

He wasn’t prepared to be ensnared in a group hug as the others joined Green in hugging them, but their embrace felt comforting if a bit tight.

I just hope I’m not repeating my mom’s mistake.

#occatorart #alan becker #animator vs animation #animator vs minecraft #second family au #ava purple #ava green #ava red #ava blue #ava yellow

[xoxochb]

okay lemme use my big brain and my smartie pants for this one:

imagine imagine uhh lifeguard percy jackson having to constantly save reader from drowning :O but its like fluffy and not angst drowing

and maybe he ends up teaching reader to swim :OoOoO

˗ˋ a moment of warm sun ˊ˗

warnings: mentions of drowning. there’s also a percabeth reference at the end because I love them with all my heart <3

pairing: percy jackson x fem reader

summary: read the request!

“you’ve really got to stop drowning” Percy scolds

“well I’m trying to learn how to swim so I won’t drown anymore, but I’m unfortunately unable to do so”

this is the fourth time percy has saved you from drowning

you always go to the beach hoping that you’ll magically be able to swim, but you always end up failing, falling into the water

currently, you’re sitting on the shore, coughing up the water you inhaled, percy sitting next to you making sure you’re alright

“then how about you only swim in the shallow waters then? simple solution to a not-so-simple problem” he suggests

“how am I supposed to learn anything if the water is shallow? It doesn’t work that way” you sigh

he thinks for a second, “maybe I could teach you”

“teach me? how to swim? you’re really confident if you think I’m capable of being taught how to swim” you laugh, but cut off short when you start chocking on water again

“suit yourself” he stands up, and then you do the same

“fine. you can help me, and if you can’t you owe me ten dollars” you smirk

“that’s not a fair deal” he crosses his arms

“fair to me” you shrug

- 🌊 -

“alright first things first: you need to know is how to float? do you know how to do that?” he inquired

“clearly not” you throw your arms up, gesturing to the water you’ve drowned in

he mutters something under his breath and then says, “alright then that’s what we’re starting with”

after an hour and a half of of swimming practice you had successfully learned how to float, and half-swim, but percy said it was good enough for now because you hadn’t drowned, and he did ask you to learn how to fully swim for the next time you visited the beach

and he would also never tell you that he actually enjoyed saving you all those times, and he felt a little sad that you weren’t going to drown anymore, but he kept this to himself because it didn’t sound very nice

you now were sitting on the beach with him, a ‘well deserved break after the hard work’ he said

“do you always teach people how to swim?” you ask

“only pretty girls” he looks at you

“oh yeah? and how many pretty girls have you taught how to swim?” you smirk, playing around, but in reality you want to scream, and the butterflies in your stomach are highly suggesting it

“only one”

you smile and stand up, you don’t want him to see the blush on your cheeks

“we are you going?” he asks

“to swim” you say walking to the water, and percy follows close behind

“never thought I’d hear you say that” he teases

you walk out to deeper water, using your new floating abilities

“you’re a show off” he laughs

“I’m just using the skills this pretty boy taught me” you mock his earlier words

“do you always let pretty boys teach you things?” he swims closer to you

“only one” you go underwater, and he mirrors your action

you smile when you see him in front of you, and without wasting another second, you cup his face and pull him in for a kiss

and it was pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #pjo spoilers #percy series #pjo hoo toa #pjo show #pjo fanfic #pjo x reader #percy pjo #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x reader #xoxochb

[writingsofwesteros]

I am obsessed with Jamie can you do a fic like Jamie x servant reader and they have like a few kids and cersie hates her I would die if you did

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

It was an open secret. One, even the old lion himself had long accepted and was one step away from legitimising his son’s bastard children. Still, you enjoyed the intimate, secret space you and Jaime had carved for yourselves. Especially as the harsh glares of the Lioness Queen herself followed each step you took. “Mama!” The sweet call of your baby girl allowed those thoughts to leave you; if only for the moment. “Are you running from your lessons?” Gently, you caught her in your arms as she burrowed into your skirts. Skirts that were far too expensive for your station as were the clothes on your daughter. In fact, the chambers you stood in and claimed your own were far above what you should have. The soft sunlight moved in through the cotton curtains; a small breeze blowing them. “No mama!” She giggled out. You only hummed, not believing your sweetheart for a moment as she reached for your delicate, ringed hand. Your free hand slowly moved over the slight bump that the large amount of fabric hid; if only for now. “We shall go and find your brothers, hmm?” A soft smile came over you as she bobbed her head in excitement. Her little hand clung to your own as you finally gathered the courage to leave the chambers. Your fingers began to play with her bright locks as the both of you wandered through the corridor that was thankfully empty.

It did not stop your heart from pounding in your ears as you looked down to your child once more. It was easy to find them as you followed the noise of swords hitting each other. “Are they training again and ignoring you, sweet girl?” “Yes mama!” She grabbed at your skirts once more; cuddling on your side whilst your giggles echoed. “So mean they are.” You fought to keep her spirits up as your lovely daughter stepped forward; the guards pushing open the large, wooden doors. The raised platform allowed for the whole training courtyard to be in view as you stepped in; hand in hand with your daughter.

A curtsy and a bow of your head that your sweet daughter copied gracefully was your greeting to the King and Queen. Cersei’s eyes of envy moved over your figure as you fought the gulp coming to your throat. Still, it was the sight of the hound himself on the training court that had your heart frantically pounding in your ears. A flicker of a smirk came across the Queen’s face as you gracefully moved yourself and your daughter to the other side of the platform. “Shall we see who can better the heir himself?” Cersei hummed; dark amusement flooding her eyes as she turned to you. With strength that surprised even yourself; you stared ahead. 

Her daughter’s gentle hand kept a hold of your skirts as the sight of your twin boys came into view. You could not stop the step you took as your hand rested on the viewing platform. Thankfully, your daughter only saw the excitement in the movements below. Nervously, you began to bite into your plump, bottom lip. Their sweet, soft faces broke out into a smile as they noticed you and for a moment, you were flooded with love. A graceful wave was what you gave them before Joffrey came into view with his famous scowl in place. The hold on your daughter’s hand only tightened as the sparring match between the boys began.

You made the mistake of looking to the side and noticed the look Tywin Lannister himself gave you. His eyes that held such intelligence looked over your body before the arrival of your lover held your attention. As ever, the tension began to rise when the two of you were in the same room; as Jaime did not hide his enjoyment of you. Thankfully, it seemed your sweet girl had learned her lessons about calling for her father, especially in public. It did not stop Jaime from making his way over to you. It was shown instantly as the knight pressed a soft touch to your hip as he moved on the other side of your daughter. It was not long before you were giving him your complete attention.

“I have missed you.” Jaime whispered without shame as his hand gently rests on the small bump your dress hid. A scoff was heard from the other side of the platform and the both of you ignored the sound from the Queen. His free hand ruffled the golden locks of your daughter who in turn giggled and reached for his hand. “And I you.” You finally allowed yourself to admit even as you ducked your head once more in shyness. Thankfully, the training below brought the attention away from the sight happening in front of them. Your heart was caught in your mouth at the hits Joffrey was roughly placing down on your son’s shields, the act only had you leaning closer over the edge.

“Do not worry so much.” Jaime whispered into your ear but how could you not. “How can I not?” You replied as your hold on the wood only tightened. “I would not let anything happen to them.” His words only brought a slight comfort to yourself. The knight beside you could only protect your family for so long, you knew that. It seemed Jaime as ever held on to the naivety his father would discourage him from displaying. You could not help but find it endearing. His hand gently stroked your lower back and you could not stop yourself from relaxing into his touch. Your daughter sweetly reached for his hand that was thankfully out of sight.

The small bubble around your trio burst as a crash sounded out from below. Your head snapped to the side before you realised. A near sigh of relief came over you as you noticed it was Joffrey on the floor. “Robert!” You heard the Queen yell as she lost her composure. The sight of your twins staring down at him with such a look you had never seen before caused panic to stir.

“Jaime…” You softly whispered; worry etched on your face and tone as your daughter clung to your side now. The lion only stared at you for a moment before he was moving to the stairs; Cersei moved to call for her son now. Gracefully, you followed; arms reaching for your twins as you ushered them away to a quiet corner. “What has happened here?” Robert called out; annoyance dripping from his tone as Cersei cooed over Joffrey. “He called my mother a whore!” Your eldest called out, the name had you flinching and for a mere second, the lioness in front of you smirked. Your eyes twitched in rage as you brought your son closer as Jaime watched on with an unreadable expression.

“Father.” His voice was cold as he locked eyes with the old lion who had been silent. You could hear your heart pounding as the two of them moved to take their conversation elsewhere; ignoring the King and Queen completely. You clutched at your children and fought against the blush threatening to come over you at the attention. “Come..let us return to your chambers.” The anger vibrating from your son was clear to see as you tried to steer your children back home. 

You knew this was only the beginning.

#jaime lannister x reader #request #game of thrones fanfic

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

SOMETIMES, you'd like to know who your mother was before she became your mother.

You want to know where the acidic and corrosive elements that precede each of her statements come from. Perhaps she acquired it from your father—someone even more poisonous than she was. However, from how it blended with her expression every time she said: “a man’s heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing!” you can't be convinced otherwise that before she met your father, she wasn't like that—that she was once a loving girl before he wrecked her and made her your vengeful mother.

Time heals all wounds, they say. And yet, as far as you know, your mother's is still dripping with blood. Rotten. Maggot infested.

You believed it was exactly what she wanted—so that it wouldn't heal, so that she wouldn't forget how much it burned and constricted her. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, and she will undoubtedly carry it with her until death. “A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing,” she says, as if she's sure you'll forget what happened to her—to both of you. As if losing the love of her life was hereditary. “Don't you see, sweetheart? We are a paradox of contrasts and twins.”

You're still wondering whether it was a warning or a prayer. Good mothers ensure with all their body and soul that the past does not repeat itself, that their daughters do not embody everything they might become – their mothers. God forbid they dragged themselves across the floor, trembling fingers stretched stiffly clawing at doors that had been long since being slammed shut. However, your mother wasn’t always a good mother, and she often swore over her mother's grave that you would feel the same way she did.

And yet, despite her curses and how much you hate her as much as you hate your deadbeat father, apparently a sense of familiarity is what you're searching for.

Perhaps, that’s what made him catch your eye.

Soft footsteps were created when several pairs of ballerina pointe shoes came down the hallway after the performance ended. Smiles and laughter were among them—a familiar sight; the audience was satisfied with their performance, and they were sure that the ballet director had no more notes for them because, firstly, Marie, the main ballerina in the role of Giselle, had become the center of conversation thanks to her gifted movements, leaving no room for talking about little "building" errors for the other dancers. Second, this season has reached its end, which means they won't be showing "Giselle" again for at least the next few months.

“I saw you sneak chocolates before the show, El.” One ballerina teased.

“They're for energy!” Eloise insisted with a grin.

The ornaments on their heads moved as they both laughed. You flashed a smile but didn't dare enter into the conversation. Satin-clad feet kept moving in the direction of the corps de ballet dressing room door. More laughter and gossip ensued as you passed through the door to the small vanity you shared with another dancer.

"So where are you going after this?" someone at the next table asked, not at you.

You turned around, periodically glancing in the mirror to wipe away the last traces of makeup. "I don't know! Somewhere that can help me relieve stress, obviously. Soph?” Claudine directed her question at another, still not you.

“Sorry, girls, but I have to sit this one out. My mamma has been protesting about me coming home late lately ever since she saw some protests on TV. You two have fun without me.” Sophia declines—that leaves Jules and Claudine alone then. You were ready to return to your own thoughts when Sophia's hazel eyes fixed on you and called your name. "What about you?"

Claudine turned to you, her lips forming a teasing smirk. “Gonna go home and practice some more, no doubt,” she teased. “Live a little for once! Come out with us.”

You focused on untying your pointe shoes while the other two laughed. “No thanks, I'm tired. Think I'll just relax tonight.”

Rather than a teasing smirk, now Claudine's lips resembled a declaration that she was correct once more: "Look, I'm right, aren't I? She's still the same boring girl. No surprise that the best role she can get is dancing as a leaf in the background." It's no longer a myth. It is no longer a myth that other dancers—old and new—only see a robot prodigy, soulless in her single-minded pursuit of perfection. Your movements were full of precision, tempered by years of being under the training of a Russian coach your mother sought out for you. And yet your body is sharpened for nothing more than the purpose of being a vessel. Hushed jokes about you selling your soul to the devil for your skills.

“Aww, not even for one night? Loosen up that tight bun of yours?”

You shoved the last of your things hastily into your bag, not paying attention as someone else's hairbrush and chapstick were forced to sit on top of your toiletry bag—you can always return them tomorrow. The other girls are still laughing while you swing the overstuffed duffel over your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” you say tensely, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your shoes and hurried out of the dressing room, their taunts echoing in your ears.

London streets glistened wetly as you made your way down the sidewalk. The recent rain left dark spots on the pavement. You pull your coat tighter around you, shivering in the damp night air. As you passed a rowdy pub, loud voices and laughter spilled out onto the street. Warm light and the smell of beer beckoned from within, but you hurried on without glancing in, not wanting to face anyone's eyes.

The entrance to the subway glimmers under the streetlamps. You descend the stairs slowly, your shoes clicking on the concrete steps. The underground platform was nearly empty at this late hour. A lone figure dozed on one of the wooden benches, and a teenage couple whispered together further down the tiles. Your eyes roam over the tiled walls and ads for shows you'd never see—anything to avoid looking at other people and risking a confrontation.

The screech of brakes announces the arrival of your train, followed by beams of lights illuminating the dark tunnel. You boarded the mostly empty carriage and sat down, watching the dark tunnel walls pass by. On the opposite side, your weary reflection in the glass glances back at you.

Soulless.

Soulless ballerina.

TWENTY-THREE YEARS HAVE GONE BY: Thirteen times, you were part of the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. And now, the new director—whom they “imported” directly from somewhere in France to replace the old one—announces that the next season will be Swan Lake. You don't have anything against it—why should you? Thirteen times. Thirteen times in the corps de ballet, and this time will make no difference to you; just another faceless dancer in the flock, never the Swan Queen—they wouldn't risk a soulless ballerina in the spotlight. But wouldn't audiences grow bored of the same classic retold so often?

"Now now, I know you are all tired of this ballet," he said calmly. "But we will be doing something different - a new interpretation, with a fresh artistic vision. This will be Swan Lake as you have never seen it before. Rehearsals will focus on bringing new emotional depth and dimensionality to these iconic roles. Who knows – maybe some new faces will emerge for leading roles. I’m looking forward to seeing what you all can do. Now let us begin."

The familiar piano notes of our warm-up piece drifted through the studio as you took your place at the barre, fingers curling around the worn wood. You close your eyes and focus on steadying your breathing. Even when your muscles hurt from fatigue, you persist through well-known stretching exercises with a focused effort. Your eyelids flutter open, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the new director watching silently at the edge, his sharp eyes taking in each dancer.

“One.. and.. two.. and..”

As you move on to tendus and plies, you let the rhythm of the count wash over you – “.. three.. and.. four.. and..” Your burning thighs, your stretching calves, your flexing toes. "First position...and plié. Second position...and tendu. Third position...and rond de jambe." and the coach's familiar count. Your mind wanders as the dancers continue, thinking about the director's words about seeking new depths. Stealing a glance through the mirror, your eyes returned to the man—his ringed fingers in front of his lips as he pondered.

The music continues to play, swelling with a crescendo. You concentrate on your movements again, lifting your legs high according to standard and extending your lines through fingertips.

You found your eyes drifting to the director's reflection in the mirror more and more. The coach's voice faded into a blur as you studied his intense expression, watching for any sign of interest or approval. But time and again, his gaze passed over you without pause, lingering instead on Claire or Amelia as they executed perfect pirouettes or graceful penche poses. A familiar ache of longing and envy twisted in your stomach. No matter how hard you focused or how flawlessly you hit each position, you remained invisible to him.

Your breaths are shallow, and your head is whirling. Your eyes couldn't stop following him; he was walking around watching dancers who weren't you. He spoke to the coach, then stepped back with his hands linked behind his back. Still not you. As the music nears the end and the dancers have transitioned into combination movements, he still doesn't look at you.

You know the truth: this will be your fourteenth Swan Lake, and you will once again blend into the anonymous corps de ballet. The reflection of a woman in the mirror—your reflection, somber with lifeless eyes and dull hair pulled back in tight bun. The director stated that he wanted to bring forth new depths and emotional aspects to distinguish his Swan Lake from those of other opera houses, therefore it's fitting that he didn't choose you. As an empty ache expands in your chest, you accept the truth: this is your fourteenth Swan Lake, being another swan for the fourteenth time.

The director won’t choose you.

He won't choose you.

He won't choose...

You.

He chose you. You don't know why or how.

An hour later, you find yourself standing in Studio A, facing uncertainly across the hardwood floor. Five of the girls sat at the end of the room while the director watched Claire give her interpretation of Odette in her white swan act. You watch her movements critically, noting the slight wobble in her lower back and how her port de bras could be straighter. Her pirouettes needed more control and spotting—you counted two extra turns that threw off her balance. Then she launched into the black swan's sinister variations. Gone was the white swan, replaced by a vixenish temptress oozing sensuality from her pores. The director made a few thoughtful comments you didn't quite catch before dismissing her.

The director breathed out your name and you were quick on your feet. He crossed his arms over his chest as you took your place in the center. You looked at the girls behind you through the mirror reflection, then at the director, then signaled the pianist to begin.

The famous White Swan melody plays, and you start. Plie, tendu, glissade—your limbs moved through the steps as they had a thousand times, polished, technically perfect. Your movements rely on muscle memory, analyzing your every move through a critical lens. First pose: left arm extended, back straight, neck long. Check. The second one: right leg stretched to the sky, toes pointed to the max. But was your ankle tilted just now? You furrowed your brows while making a mental note to adjust. Entering another glissade, you land on the ball of my foot, keeping your plie low. One.. and.. two. You count the seconds, nitpicking any imperfections.

“Slow down, dear, find your breath.” The director's voice cuts through your thoughts. Find your breath? You were in complete control of your breathing, hitting every mark precisely as the music demanded. What more should you find?

You barreled ahead through the choreography, unwilling to let up on your own rigid standards even as he continued offering feedback. "Loosen your shoulders...savor each moment rather than rushing to the next...let us see you feel the music, not just hear it."

But you are feeling it. You feel every crescendo and decrescendo—you stay in rhythm with the music as the score enters the ritardando section. How could he say you didn't feel the music when you lived and breathed each score? You knew this piece inside and out. From the opening notes, you have remembered not just the choreography but every key change and tempo variation. By the time you sank into your final pose, you were a bundle of nerves.

“Your technique is superb, but so tightly wound,” the director said. “Try to loosen up your lines and embrace the artistry, not just the steps. Now, show me your Black Swan.”

As the dark notes of the Black Swan coda swirl, you pour all your focus into hitting each precise movement with flawless technique. You arch into an arabesque, extending your working leg to the maximum while maintaining perfect turnout. Your spot was fixed, and your balance was unwavering. You continue through the practiced motions, and you fly into your final fouetté combo. As the last note faded, you struck your ending pose.

Slowly, you straightened your body and lifted your gaze to meet his, pressing your sweaty palms together tightly. The director remained silent, hand in front of his mouth, and looked you up and down in a way that made you want to flee. But, you restrained yourself, waiting patiently for his consideration. The pressure in the room was so intense that it made you suffocate.

After what felt like eternity, he gave a small nod – neither acceptance nor rejection. “Thank you, Mademoiselle, that was… illuminating. Please check the cast list tomorrow morning – we will announce our decisions then.”

The compliment is ambiguous, with two implications that you know tend toward the negative. Your anxiety failed to calm down, and all you could muster was a hushed thank you before you left the studio in a daze, questions still swirling around unanswered like always.

Now here you are, unfortunate enough to be under the wailing sky of London with minimal cover from a shuttered cafe. The dense fog and wind impede your eyesight, making it difficult to see the towering structures. On the left side, several cafes and pubs radiate their orange lights from within, beckoning anyone in need of somewhere to go for a quick drink or two. Anyone but you, apparently.

The city streets felt hauntingly deserted through the deluge of falling water. Shivering even in your coat and tights, you knelt down and tightened your scarf. Puddles of water begin to form in the potholes, and you desperately hope that the rain will stop soon; you still have a long ride home on the subway to prepare for tomorrow.

Just then, a splash of heavy footsteps caught your attention.

Through the sheets of rainfall, you glimpsed a tall figure hurrying down the sidewalk, taking in what little details you could discern. His leather jacket and boots, yet the way he hunched his broad shoulders against the storm conveyed a certain roughness. You squinted to make out his face, only to find it covered by a mask and a hood pulled too low. It's unsettling, but disturbingly, it makes you enthusiastically guess what lies beneath it—was he handsome or scarred? Young or weathered by experience? It intrigued you so much that you didn't realize he was only three steps away from you.

As the stranger approaches, you take more details that should have set off alarms. His all-black leather jacket may have been fine material, but it was worn and faded. And although broad-shouldered, his build spoke more of hardened muscle than gentility. Everything about him screams danger. When he drew up beside you, you intended to duck past and continue on your way.

But something held you rooted to the spot.

Now, two strangers stood side by side, between them were raindrops dragged cruelly by the cold wind. His towering figure was as still as a statue; for a man his size, he was skilled enough to be almost invisible, almost. The scent of him washed over you then—alcohol, but not the refined wines and spirits of high society. This was something rougher, meant to burn away thought rather than enhance it. Beneath that, cigarette smoke and a musky men’s cologne, attempting to cover something.

The man is still silent, and you should've taken this as your second chance to leave. There are only two possibilities for a man like him: a perverted stalker or a serial killer—most likely the latter, because for what reason would he decide to take shelter under the awning of a dark bankrupt cafe with a woman when the surrounding pubs are still serving happy hour?

While the stranger settles against the wall, you notice his large hand drift casually into his pants pocket. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in panic wondering what weapon he might pull out – a knife, or worse. All instincts screamed to run away, but your feet remained rooted to the ground, frozen.

“Nasty night.”

Your body comes to a complete stop. The air is forgotten, and you wonder if you really heard him speak just now or if you were just hallucinating. He has a roughness to his voice, gravels, and a low range with a hint of timbre muffled by his dark mask. Unknowingly turning toward him, you stared at his side profile until he met your gaze, and you swiftly looked straight forward again.

“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” You stuttered in reply, cursing your trembling voice. Gripping your duffel bag tighter, you tried not to say anything that might offend him.

Minutes pass, the rain as the only noise. Finally, he spoke again, "Subway, yeah?" Between the sound of the rain and his muffled ones, you tried hard to make out what he was saying. After fully understanding it, you give it a nod.

“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”

The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. From the corner of your eye, you knew he was taking off his mask. Your heart beats fast as you resist the urge to turn your head, settling to look at the dark street in front of you instead. Smoke wafts between you both, creating faint, short-lived tendrils in the air.

The two of you were in silence. You wanted to talk to him again but didn't know what there was to say; it could be that he just wants to smoke with a company, a quiet company. He let out a puff of fresh cigarette smoke, and you inhaled it all. Toxins are bad for the skin and lungs, and yet you're better off suffocating than giving the impression that you're disturbed.

“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He took the last drag and threw the cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.” His voice muffled again – he had put his mask back on.

You hesitated at his offer, biting your lip as you weighed the options rapidly in your mind. On one hand, the rain shows no signs of letting up, and this awning provides only a little protection at best. But to follow a strange man through the streets, alone, allowing him to take you to a spot where inebriation may be present—where his worst pals might be waiting. Girls your age being spiked is something you hear about a lot.

Shaking your head, you manage a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”

He tilts his head, his eyes peering from the mask's shadows as if reading your unspoken fears. Does he see the consideration behind your polite refusal—how now you are a vulnerable woman, and this relative anonymity without further conversation is a safe option, despite the discomfort? Within his dark eyes, there was a stirring that you didn't understand. Pity? Or mockery? Under his towering height and massive body, you were nothing but a frightened rabbit.

Gusts of wind drive cold droplets under the awning. You suppressed a shiver, hugging yourself tighter. “Really, I'll be fine. The rain can't last forever." A forced laugh follows your words.

You seize the chance to stare back at him. It was impossible for you to know what calculations were going through his mind, or what emotion lay beneath that mask. It's pretty unfair, you think, that he can hide under a hood that nearly makes him invisible in the dark of night while he can see all of you—a greasy-haired woman hoping the man in front of her will respect her dumb decision. It's the least he can do.

Just when you think this staring game would go on for another minute, he turns his gaze. “Suit yourself, love.” His voice comes out gruff, and your heart drops thinking you've let him down (but, for what?). "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."

A pang of guilt crashes into you as he turns his shoe the other way. For safety's sake, you rejected him, thinking you're being sensible; but there's an authoritative voice in the back of your mind telling you, "He's the first nice guy in a long time, and look what you gave in exchange for his kind offer." Self-doubt is playing in your heart. His back was already turning, boots squelching away into the rain.

“Wait!” You called after him, hating how small and frightened you sounded. He paused and searched back, eyes questioning through the mask. Steeling your nerves, you step into the downpour. “I'm coming with you.”

If this guy thinks you're an indecisive woman who can't even commit to a decision for more than five seconds, thank goodness he didn't say anything other than give you another stare. He led the way as he went, holding the door of one of the busy London pubs. More liquor and tobacco smells. You both entered, bringing a burst of damp wind with you. The warmth and noise within are a shock after the storm outside.

He steers you towards the fireplace, shrugging out of his soaked jacket. “Get yourself by the hearth,” he said, nodding to an empty chair. “Dry off.”

You did as he said gratefully, holding your hands out to the flames. The colors returned to your cheeks; fear slowly evaporated away.

“What'll you have, love?” He asked, and you frowned before understanding. Oh, drinks.

“Something light,” is all you say, eyes lowered again. The man gave a nod and went to give the bartender the order.

He returned not long after, setting the drinks down and taking the chair opposite to yours, stretching out his long legs toward the fire. You took the gin with a murmured “thank you.” He settled with his own—whiskey in a glass, neat. You glanced at the remains of rainwater dripping heavily from his clothes in a growing puddle at his boots. The drinks were enjoyed in companionable silence, still trying to find calm after the storm's fury.

The fire crackles merrily as you sit. Finding your voice, you clear your throat gently.

“Thank you, for…” Your fingers tapped nervously on the glass. “Well, for everything, I suppose.”

His eyes lifted from the flames to meet yours, and you offered a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

As the name slips out, you berate yourself. How stupid, giving up something as personal as your name! This man was still a stranger, no matter his kindness so far. For all you know, bad intentions could be lurking behind that calm gaze even now. But in the cozy glow of the fire, your sense of awareness wavered, lulled to sleep in a false sense of security.

He merely nodded, moving his hand to the mask hook over his ear without expressing much emotion. Your eyes widened, and your heart was pounding. The breath in your lungs stilled in anticipation as the fabric peeled slowly back, inch by inch. Is he about to...?

The man removed his mask, appearing at ease and lacking in secrecy. He looks at you, and you quickly look aside, pretending to offer him a little privacy. You wait for him to finish, to put it on again, but he never does. Is it okay to look-

Deciding to no longer be the uneasy one (since the guy looks completely unconcerned as he takes a long sip of his drink), you follow suit and allow the liquid to cascade down your throat. There's a slight thump as your glass hits the aged wood. Your curiosity is piqued even more by the fact that he hasn't made any moves to wear it again. Slowly, you raised your gaze, meeting that unveiled gaze – a secret not meant for your eyes.

Blonde eyelashes – pretty. Faint shadows hung under the eyes. Light stubble. Scars dotted his jaw, thin white slashes earned from unknown origins. His nose sat slightly off-center, clearly broken more than once in past altercations—bar fights, perhaps? Though something about the precise thinness of the lines didn't seem right for brawling. Regardless of which one, he is clearly no stranger to violence, and being near him is enough for someone to sense the danger he was capable of.

But, there is something about that powerful jawline, the intensity found only in his hooded eyes, spokes of steel and intricate details that defy explanation. Fire in his eyes. Even after taking off the mask and grasping it between his lengthy fingers—just when you think all the curtains have been exposed—he still remains a mystery.

(And you're just another gullible woman who believes she knows how to solve the puzzle.)

You wait; surely he will offer his own name in return now that you've bared yours. But seconds ticked by in the silence, and still he said nothing.

A flush crept up your neck at the realization that he had no intention of reciprocating. Did you misread this entire meeting? Why did he bring you here if not to talk? You observe his stony profile, wishing you could see past him. Did he intend to remain a mystery—an enigma full of intrigue? Or is it actually a test to see how long your curiosity can last?

Your fingers fidget with the condensation on your glass. Under this new tension, the easy silence fell away. Seeking an escape from the awkwardness, you looked for something, anything. Your gaze landed on a group of regulars in the corner, laughing boisterously.

“Do you, um, come here often?” You ask lamely, cursing your inability to make small talk. But there was an amused glint in his eyes that put you back at ease.

“Aye, I'm 'ere often enough,” he replied, taking another sip. You assume he finds humor in your discomfort, rather than mocking it. The knot in your shoulders loosened, and you relaxed into a smile again.

For good or ill, this man stirred something deep inside you—and you're desperate to scavenge for light, safe conversation topics to continue the conversation.

“So, um, what kind of work do you—” You catch yourself, cheeks warming. Too personal to ask a stranger met by chance. You let out a dry laugh. “Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It’s just… making conversation.”

At the small thud of his glass meeting the scarred wood of the table, your eyes darted up in surprise. Already empty—have you been so lost in thought that you missed him finishing? A swell of questions rose inside you as you watched his movements for a clue. Would he signal the bartender for a refill, extending your time together? Or was this the end—the strange encounter came to a close because you somehow offended him for prying too much?

“Military.”

Unexpectedly, he gave a single-word reply. Military—that explains a lot, from his physique and bearing to the scars and the lingering scents that cling to his coat.

"Oh!" was all you could think of as a response. More questions swim to the surface, demanding to be asked, but you quash them, not wanting to risk being presumptuous a second time.

Feeling indebted, you then offer, "I do ballet, with the Metropolitan Opera." The words slip out before you can check them, and inwardly you curse yourself once again. 

Great. Name, job, and workplace. Why don't you give him your address next?

You bit your lip. Risking a glance up, you hope he won't take your openness as foolishness. His quiet acceptance has so far calmed your nerves, and now you find yourself craving that ease again.

“Must be rewarding,” is all he offers—you grow accustomed to his terse responses. Plain, perhaps even half-hearted, but you smile as though he had read you a lovely poetry full of flattery.

“Yeah, it's really rewarding to dance and like, share that joy with others.”

Liar. What can a soulless ballerina have to share? So far, frustration is what you inflict on your director, and criticism is secretly a “reward” for your fellow dancers. You understand perfectly well, from the top of your head to the balls of your toes, that there is no joy that you can share. However, this man didn't know. He doesn't know who or how you are. Since the very beginning, you have spoken truth to him; allow this one deception to pass.

Your fingertips made a gentle squeak as they rubbed across the condensation on your glass. “If I may ask… what inspired you to serve?”

For a moment, he was quiet, considering with eyes turned to the flames.

"It was a calling, I suppose," came the gruff reply. “The world had its darkness even then. Felt a duty to stand against it.”

After providing an answer, the two of you returned to silence. You gazed thoughtfully into the flames, thinking of how you might spark another conversation that didn't rely solely on question and answer. The last thing you want is for him to view you as overbearing or pushy.

“What drew you to ballet, then?”

It was unexpected for him to pose a question, and you were taken aback when he did. Your lips curved into a smile as you thought about the answer, and your mother's role in starting it all.

"Well, I think it started because Mom thought ballet was 'cute'." A tone of amusement permeates your voice. “She had no idea about the art or discipline—she just wanted to see her little girl swirl and spin in frilly costumes. But I had fun dancing, dressing up, and listening to the music...”

Somewhere in your head, your mother's voice echoes again. Bitter and resentful, encased in an everlasting nightmare. Your mother stood in the audience, and you ran towards her, tutu skirt fluttering gently. She wiped her eyes and knelt down in front of you, whispering, "You were marvelous, sweetheart," as she drew you in. She smiles, but it stops short of her eyes. Then a string of apologies, saying that he’s gone—that she knew he had promised you to be here, but he's gone. Dad is gone. And he'll never see what you can do.

“My first real performance, in elementary school… I was so proud when the curtain fell.” You continue, remembering another face that has long been a ghost in the past.

("Why did you let that man walk away?")

You clear your throat softly. “After that, it just felt right, you know? Like I'd found where I belong.”

Liar.

Steering away from the bitter past, you change the direction of the conversation again. “Are you from around here?” It's a simple question, maybe even stupid. His accent alone makes it plain he grew up in this land, but, no matter how long you've lived in England, you have a small grasp of regional dialects within the country.

“I mean, I know you're obviously from here—your accent kind of gives it away.” You waved. “I just meant—is this area home for you? Or are you from elsewhere originally?”

The barest upturn of his lips catches your eye. Was that a smile? On this gruff, grumpy stranger who has only revealed so little so far? Your heart beats at the sight, rare as a summer snowflake. He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and held it between his dry lips. The lighter ignited, and white smoke was blown out.

“Manchester, originally,” he said, intonation hanging. He took another drag of his cigarette before exhaling slowly and adding, “A different world now. You?”

“I've been in the city for years now, but I'm from San Francisco.” You said. “When the chance came up to transfer here from my old opera house back home, I leapt at it. Felt it was time for a fresh start, to spread my wings and live on my own. And maybe get out from under my mom's feet—love her to bits, but she can be a bit much sometimes.”

From your own remarks, you can't help but question if mothers are as harsh on their sons or if this is solely reserved for daughters. Girls are taught to keep close to home and their hearts, while boys are free to roam and explore. Is it any wonder, then, that spreading your wings felt like escaping? You wanted to ask him but ended up lacing your tongue tightly.

The fire's burned low, just embers burning gently in the fireplace. Time passed unnoticed as the two of you sat chatting quietly. But outside, the rain began to subside until it was a fine patter on the roof.

“Storm’s passed, seems.”

As he speaks, you glance up to find his guarded mask has fallen once more into place. The easy openness that had soothed tired nerves now closed again – strangely making you bereft. A feeling of melancholy welled up in your chest at the thought of parting, of kissing away the intimate bubble the two of you had crafted and going back out there into the cold reality where you would be strangers again. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you searched for words.

“I suppose you're right… it has eased off some.” Your voice came out small and awkward to your own ears. Licking your dry lips, you added, “thank you, for your company. It was…nice, not to feel alone.”

 He stood up, stretching his tall frame. After this, the spell of the evening will evaporate, and everything will return to the reality of loneliness once again.

“C'mon then, let's get you home,” he said gruffly, offering a hand to help you up. His strong hand envelops your smaller one—rough yet tender, sending warmth through your limbs that have little to do with the fire now dying.

Pushing through the heavy doors, the night air is a contrast to the warmth of the pub. Thick fog covered the streets, rain-slick stones glistening under the street lights. He waved at the first cab that passed—and you prayed it wouldn't stop so you could buy a little more time with him.

It stopped. The night was set to end.

He holds it while you slip inside. Through the open window, your eyes met his; he crouched beside the window, broad shoulders hunched. He's talking to the cab driver, but you can't hear it—not when your heart flutters madly in your breast over a single question. The ache of still not knowing his name. It seems wrong, unfair, that he knows you so well, yet you know nothing of him in return.

The cab lurches into motion, snapping the spell. Panic rises in your throat; you can't let him disappear into the night—to the back of your head like another passerby.

“Wait—please! I don't know your name."

Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out in a desperate rush.

The second ticks by as you wait. He finds you foolish, for sure—just another desperate, nosy girl who wants to play detective the second she sees a puzzle. The clinginess in your request must have given the impression that you were a fool in love—gullible and name-obsessed.

Something shifts in his dark eyes, and you hope it's a wall crumbling away. Then, in his low rumble – “Simon.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, almost parting your lips in question before—

“Name's Simon,” he repeats.

(And the sun breaks through storm clouds.)

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